They were not prepared.

James had no trouble repeating this phrase and allowing it to dictate what he did that day. He remembers back to when he was first starting as a knight, making powerful allies and bitter enemies, both on the battlefield and in the courts. Becoming stronger, possibly the most powerful swordsmen of his generation with very few rivals. A prince known for running into the battle recklessly instead of sitting far away and leading his army, as one would expect of his general. Being in the fray, not where he is supposed to be. Then, something miraculous happened as a result. He had drawn the attention of powers even beyond the mortal imagination. Beyond mortal magic, beyond mortality. And he embraced that power, believing it would save his nation from a threat he foresaw, and sought to destroy with an unrelenting vigor.

Now he looks back at what is left of him as he traversed the deeper halls of the castle where few men walked. He is alone. He lost his lover and his only child in that struggle. His friends are dying off one after another. The evil he sought to destroy has been reborn a new, and perhaps even more dangerous than before. The power he once wielded has scarred him, crippled his ability even with the sword. And had taken away almost every relative, making him the sad punctuation of a legacy spanning generation. His heart had become so shattered that any will to rekindle love or heart to have another son isn't really an option to him. It would be a disservice to the hole that woman left in his heart. He has failed as a king. Nothing was better when he put on his crown; they just hid themselves to give him his false sense of security. The peace he garnered with Torlak. The pressure that the Frostlands posed in the north. All of it was meaningless.

He promised Wilbur that he would be the greatest king. Before meeting him, he actually considered allowing his sister to take his place. But then, Wilbur rekindled some deep ambition lying dormant inside of him. And he intended on keeping that promise. He may not be able to do much now, but he can at least open doors to those who will come and save his empire. That is why he was here, standing in front of a blank stone wall. It was to reclaim what he'd thought lost but has returned. Celia has already chosen her path; it was his time to do the same. He took out a box, the one that sat under the floor planks of his bedroom. The power of the gods is likened to a siren in his ear this close. But he was more than willed enough to move forward. He opened the box up, allowing a pale orange light to spill out like a small torch. He took a deep breath, the light warming his skin like sunlight. After looking around, trying to sense if there was anyone nearby, he looked to the blank wall and spoke in a small voice.

"The mountains have laid upon the ocean. The fields have buried the skies."

Immediately, there was a small shifting sound, like metal and stone sliding against one another. He watched as lines of white roibegan to appear on the surface of this stone wall, geometric in their make. They formed a Torlakian sigil, a small spell, but one taught to every member at some point despite their aptitude to these arts. And where it led was far more important. For generations, godslayers have joined and congregated here for various purposes. Most often is to keep the influence of the gods away from the mortal world. Whether that be directly from Talin or other, more harmful sources, it was here before the castle, even buried in the mountain. This was the official birthplace of Theurgy as a guild, a sanctuary of knowledge and shelter while also housing many of the relics taken from Talin, be they of godly make. Before he lay a large chasm, the bottom of which received no light. A narrow bridge stretched across, suspended by chains and made from metal slabs that had no sign of rusting or damage. At the very end was a platform, two statues made from crystals in the make of lions. Their eyes were replaced by rubies and claws of a yellow Stone. He passed the guardians, patting the right one on the head fondly. The next chamber was a legacy room, statues lining each side. Numerous people he didn't know, few he was starkly familiar with. He paused once he got to the end, where his generation's statue lay. They simply appeared one day, sometime during the war. And from the perfect state of them all, they are magical in nature. And the room never seemed to run out of room either. There was space, however, for more. Six more. He's sure this space did not exist last he entered this room. There were no statues, but he has no doubts they will appear as well. He stopped at the place of statue, depicting a woman looking beyond. Several glyphs were scrawled on its surface while the pendant of darkness was still lying within the glass casing. While most godslayers insisted on caring for the pendant personally, including him, others didn't have a chance to make that decision. Others took their pendant to their graves.

"What have we died for?" he whispered to himself. "What have we fought for all these years? What have we changed?"

He brushed the dust off of the display and moved on. The hall ended into a hexagonal chamber. Within lay a library, of sorts, that doubled as a counseling chamber. He has had many arguments, debates, and decisions brought to the round table that dominated the room's center. On all four sides of the room were bookcases several meters in height with ladders propped against them. There was enough space to fit the pendant bearers and any member who shared their cause. The center was a globe, the size of a cantaloupe, a black sphere with white quarts continents and seas of obsidian, spinning every so slightly in its elaborate golden casing. Between two enormous book casings, the far wall was a small stone slab, a semicircle that jutted from the wall and sloped to the ground floor. There, an even larger magic circle laid inlaid. He walked slowly towards it. He hadn't used it in years. It was meant for the direst of situations. But this was indeed dire, beyond that even. This would threaten the very existence of the empires of the west.

He stepped into the platform and felt that familiar tingle of roi in the air, responding to him. It vibrated even his bones as he placed a hand against the geometric pattern. He was far from being a mage, but it didn't take even a novice to use such a device. It was meant to give anyone who stood upon it instant access to anyone who shared the same pattern upon themselves. That very tattoo itched as he willed roi to the circle. He felt as if his mind was being stretched, near to pain but merely bordering on an uncomfortable squeeze.

He felt darkness surround him. Lines of roi were visible everywhere, even where he did not expect them. However, the strongest were distant lights to him, and he had to will himself to find them-first, a familiar one. A mass of churning oceans of roi terrified him at first until he realized what he had found. Its ravines of dangerous flows of roi were held firm by a damn of greater might. Then, he felt his perception shift, and instead, the roi took the appearance of a woman, with long braided blond hair, a scar running up her left cheek, an expression that warned of repercussions. The next was far more manageable. It was even greater in immensity but also calmer and smoother in its flows. This was most definitely something he could get behind. He blinked once more, and in this sea of black they floated in, he saw a man, face somewhat obscured, standing before him as well. His hair was also braided, black hair still clinging to youth, and a worn expression dawning him. And finally another, one just as intense as the first, but also smaller. He smiled as her presence formed. Her hair was in locks and loose. Her face was drowsy, a sign she was just awoken, but she was as focused as a rack once she realized the situation.

"What is it, James?" Celia asked. Her voice sounded as if he was listening to her with an ear filled with water. But it was easy enough to understand. "This is only meant to be used in the direst of situations."

"Isn't this dire, Celia?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I know. I'm actually glad you chose now of all times. I didn't want to believe that Talin had regained its power. Even after . . . then. But I recently encountered one of the Plithos."

"Plithos?" Remmus came with a curious question. "I thought we had done away with them all. And with Umerius dead how is this possible."

"It appears that is not the case," Celia looked over to him. "It appears that they have found a way to revive them in the time we last fought. But something was rather odd. I encountered Thanatos."

"Thanatos," Lizbeth repeated in a heated tone. "That bastard. I would rip him to shreds myself if I had the opportunity. Sister, you should have stayed in Hath where I could have helped you. We could have easily killed him."

Celia's eyes became downcast. "Are you sure, Lizbeth? Are you sure we can with our power so restricted? It's a torment even to touch the damned things. Just look what happened to . . ."

She trailed off, staring at James now with an apology written in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "I am ok. And she is right. There is no way we can take a Plithos, especially one on one. So, Celia, how did you survive something like Thanatos. Did Lyse manage to assist you?"

"No, actually," she whispered, looking down at her hands, and they all became still. They saw the roi surrounding her, a mix of disturbed and morbid faces, looking at the pale green energy intertwined with her own, like a poison within her. "I had to do it. He would have killed him. But he seemed off."

"Thanatos, you mean," Remmus gave a peculiar look to her, effortlessly ignoring the permanent scar upon her. "If I remember correctly, he was troubling for all of us. How is it that you managed to take him on even with your abilities hindered? It should be impossible, even if you pushed your connection with the godly power."

She gave a thoughtful glance. "From what I can deduce from the encounter, he didn't seem all there. He was far more composed last we met. But this time, he seemed like a completely different person, personally calling for me. He acted . . . mad."

"Dionysus is the god of madness, sister," Lizbeth spoke. "It wouldn't be unreasonable to say that the power of your pendant is what drove him to such a creature. It was you who killed him after all."

"Perhaps you are right," she sighed. "My son, Lyse. He hates feeling useless. He's been training even harder than before, trying to master the power of the pendant."

"Wait, Lyse is the next godslayer of life?" Lizbeth said in astonishment. Celia nodded morbidly. "Unbelievable. To think the gods could indeed be so cruel. Fate as well, so unkind. How long have you and Wilbur known?"

Celia gave a pained expression. "Wilbur did not . . . he fell in battle. They came upon us in a swarm. They took my daughter and killed him in the process. Nearly killed me."

"Oh, Celia. Bless his soul," Lizbeth gave her a sad look. She knew full well just how many families meant to Celia. They grew without much of it, under a man who saw them not as daughters but pawns to some game of power. She hated that she chose to live in simple terms, away from even her friends' protection, despite knowing the dangers of this world. But she also understands. After such a long time in the game of power, anyone would take the opportunity to get out of it. Yet she still can not shake the feeling that if she was there, she could have done something, anything of it.

"I am fine," she said. "He'd want me to do all I can to protect our children. And that is what I have promised myself. That is why we are coming to you, Remmus, with a party of knights so you can locate her."

He furrowed his brows, scratching his short beard. "I decreed that knights be unallowed on the land of magic. Even if this were a decision of our council, for me to allow four knights, even if they are of your clothes, would paint me a hypocrite. This law is the clan's repentance from the wars they brought to our shores."

"But surely those laws can be . . . bent if it meant in service of saving the country."

He gave her a cock-eyed look. "I don't remember telling you that I would not help you, just that it's not allowed. I am the Grandmaster of the mystic arts, after all. What rules bind me so? Besides, this is bigger than all of us."

"Well, if that is your course of action you must take, I will lend you as much support as I can lend as well," Lizbeth told her. "You are still a citizen of mine, as far as I'm concerned."

"Thank you," Celia said. "But we are planning to keep a rather low profile while we travel. Talin still hunts us, and I doubt we will be nearly as lucky as our encounter with Thanatos. Be he any stronger, and he could have killed us all. We can't give them an opportunity like that again. We are actually traveling with your disciple, sister."

Lizbeth raised a curious eyebrow. "The child? I must say it would be interesting to hear from her. I have not even received a letter from the girl since she stomped away. Although what I here from the merchants who sludge my halls, she has made her name for herself in the businesses of trade and transport."

"I would certainly like to meet her," Remmus told her. "Her parents were so brilliant. If she even holds a fraction of their knowledge."

"Enough, Remmus," James sighed. "This is not about that child. This is about godslayers. Theurgy. They must return. New members will soon be joining us. One has been confirmed, and he's at the front lines already in this confrontation. The gods must give us guidance to find the others before they fall prey to the claws of Talin."

"The gods?" Remmus scoffed. "Haven't heard a squeak in years. They just won't respond to anything anymore. Almost like they want nothing to do with us. I swear I'll find a way I to heaven to strangle the lot of them."

"You know how they are, Remmus," Celia told him. "They will tell us when the time is right. Now, I ask you to prepare for our arrival. Please use all you can to help us."

"Of course," he nodded. "Anything, Celia. I owe Wilbur that much, at least. I await your arrival. It's also good to see you all. It's been rather lonely here in Torlak."

"No one cares," Lizbeth spat at him. "Now hurry and prepare. If my niece dies, I'm holding you accountable."

He got into a defensive and sad expression. "Why do you hold me accountable. It's not like I kidnapped her."

"Grandmaster of the mystic arts," she growled. "You hold such a title and yet show no results. I should stuff you in a donkey's ass."

"Must you be so vulgar?" Celia asked.

Lizbeth gave her a cockeyed look. "Don't think you don't deserve some tongue lashings. The first thing you should have done was call upon us. Instead, we had this oaf buzzing in the middle of the cursed nights."

"She has some point, I guess," John said sparingly. "But I do not blame you. You have a lot on your plate at the moment. At the very least, we can lighten the load."

"Yes," Remmus agreed. "That's what we are here for. With your loner tendencies and Wilbur's stubbornness, I used to fear what could be produced by the likes of you. I do hope he is more cordial."

"He is a fine lad," James smiled distantly. "He has heart and passion, and the wits to put them where it matters. "He'll make a fine leader, certainly better than I. I am happy to see you all, by the way. Ironically, I felt alone in this fight, like a soldier staring down an army."

"And why is that?" Celia furrowed her brow. They all turned their attention towards him, in fact. The somber comment was not made from a friend that was happy to reunite, and it sounded more like someone who might not return. They knew this man far too well, know him well enough that he was very good at keeping his emotions tightly lit. This show of humanity was far from characteristic among any of them, and they could sense that something is certainly wrong.

"What does that mean," Remmus crossed his arms. "You speak as if you expect to die in the coming days. Don't tell me something ignorant like you plan to. I've seen a lot of friends go, and frankly, you don't seem the type to go to a whimper."

"Is it an attack?" Lizbeth asked. "Do you know anything?"

"I don't know anything, I assure you. It's just a feeling. They got Wilbur. They are trying to get Celia. And in the condition I'm in, I doubt I can do much if they come for me."

"You're a king of one of the most powerful empires of the western nations," Lizbeth told him in mortifying tones. "Tell me how they will get to you."

"You know as well as I that power means nothing to men like these," James said in low tones. "Be I a farmer, or the ruler of the entire world, their knives and their words will strike me. Be I a godslayer; then I have no hope at life. None of us. The claim we have is to fight the mountain and hope that it may crumble."

"I rarely see someone compare fate to a mountain," Remmus said. "And even more so, you doubting yourself. It's unbecoming of you, Colton."

"John gave a sad smile. "Well, people change Remmus. Most do. I don't intend on dying; I can swear you all that. But nor am I afraid of death."

"I understand," Celia told him. "But if you die, you will leave your country us without lead."

"The Senate will vote for a new one," he turned to her. "I have given up my right long ago, Celia. I want you to be there for them if and when things come to that.."

She gave him a confused look, one that permeated through Lizbeth and Remmus as well. The implications that he was proposing was ludicrous in mind. She doesn't even know who is on the senate, much less how much support she has for such a thing. It was no secret that such a role belonged to someone like Wilbur, a wonderous legend on the battlefield that outshone her due to his closeness with the king. If he were here, James most likely would have offered it.

"I . . . can't accept that," she said hesitantly. "You are not going to die. Lizbeth, tell him he's not going to die."

"I doubt anything I say will sway whatever dumb idea he has conjured". she sighed. "Frankly, I am not the most encouraging of person to do such a thing anyway. All I can say is don't die, but was he ever a fan of listening."

James laughed hollowly. They all frowned, but he merely ignored their pestilent moods and tried to sound nonchalant. "I take offense to that, queen of Hath. But I do take our words with grace. You're the only person left with any lineage with the royal line. Every Colton lay in cold coffins. And your relation to the late King of Hath cements that. Well then, I believe all have been taken care of. Theurgy has officially been resurrected, and we; its caretakers now. We will not fall, will we? We will live forever. I bid you all farewell, my friends."

He was prepared to cut the link, but before he did, Celia spoke. "Farewell, James Colton. You are not going to die"

Remmus sighed, clear that he was not fond of the circumstances. "Farewell James, I do hope your journey would be as graceful as your past has been honorable"

"Farewell, James," Lizbeth frowned for a moment, then smiled. "I hope you take down a hundred with you to the other side. Drag those bastards to hell with you."

He smiled again, genuinely, and spoke softly as the image of his friends faded like misty clouds under a beating sun. "I'll do my best."