“My brother inherited so much of our father’s traits. Things that, in moderation, could be seen as virtues. My father is hardworking and dedicated to the betterment of our family’s name and position. He upholds the laws, punishes the guilty, and is loyal to the empire.

If that was all, then I could forgive him for his failings.

But he is focused on his work, to the point of singlemindedness and neglect of those around him. His dedication leads him to accept no less than perfection from his children, who will carry on the Brookmoor family name. He upholds the laws, because those very laws serve his interests.

His loyalty to the empire is self-serving. What loyal servant’s anger could leave the emperor a blubbering mess after a private conversation with my father?

My dear brother, he inherited all these qualities from our father. A perfect son. Even his looks are a near perfect clone of him, a younger version of the Earl, and just as prodigiously talented.

My father is lauded in the Empire. His skills with sword and spell are legendary. If he hadn’t been forced to accept the earldom from my grandfather at such a young age, he may well have become the first demigod the empire had seen in decades.

If Markus has one difference from Father, one trait that sets him apart, it would be what he inherited from our mother. She was kind and gentle, loving all three of her children equally. Markus and my sister treated her with disdain for her perceived weaknesses. But Markus is like our mother in one aspect, their shared devotion to their faith.”

Excerpt from the diary of Wilhelm Brookmoor

Chapter 88

Markus stood completely still, sword drawn and held upright in both hands, his left foot forward as he maintained his ready stance, waiting for the mana to build around him. It was like a raging inferno in his veins, waiting to be unleashed, but he held it in, concentrating on controlling the chaos inside on him.

His senses were heightened as he observed the open field around him. Every blade of grass, the leaves on the trees, even the air currents from the gentle breeze blew in from the east. Nothing was hidden from his sight.

Markus drew deep, steady breaths as his mana reached a crescendo, his Core humming with the power he was drawing from it. He had just broken through to Rank 16 earlier this morning, the culmination of half a decade’s hard work.

When he had graduated from the academy five years ago, he was only a Rank 4. An amazing feat, considering he had gotten to that low rank just on his talent and training alone.

Without experiencing real life and death combat, he had reached a bottleneck, one that could only be overcome by throwing himself into danger, the risky action bringing the desired rewards.

Focused on the empty field in front of him, Markus suddenly dashed forward, a blur to all but the keenest observers. His new rank gave him a physical prowess far behind anything a normal human could achieve.

To a rank-less, they would see nothing at all as he moved. They would only know of his presence by the sudden gust of wind he left in his wake.

Sword lifted high, he gathered mana along the blade, forcing the magical item to glow an intense red, before slicing down, releasing the gathered energy.

The force of the blow was cataclysmic, splitting the clouds above in half for miles ahead, and leaving a razor thin channel in the grassy field, barely noticeable as it simply erased the ground from existence.

Markus wasn’t done yet. He summoned his mana around him, pulling another version of himself from his shadow. Another him, a pale, translucent copy, stepped out from behind his back.

Cloaked in mana identical to his own, and wielding an exact replica of his blade, his ‘echo’ disappeared from beside him, reappearing directly ahead, sword held upright and ready as he faced the original.

Markus smirked as he observed his opponent, an action copied by his echo.

Fueling his body with all his remaining mana, Markus flashed forward, slicing at the copy with his red glowing blade. His echo responded to the attack by simply disappearing, teleporting directly behind him and answering with a slash of its own.

Back and forth the duo fought, ripping the ground apart from the power of their furious exchange. The ringing of steel on steel made a constant keening sound.

So quickly did they move that only glimpses of their bodies could be seen. Flashes of the two fighters could be observed as they locked blades, before moving away and striking again.

Finally, as the sun began to sink low on the horizon, both settled back on the ground.

Markus was out of breath, mana drained and muscles protesting from the abuse. Panting slightly, he watched as the echo nodded at him, a smirk on its face as it faded away.

For years, Markus had trained with this partner, this ‘echo’ of his. He was never sure if it was the same echo every time, pulled from the same separate, unrealized timeline, or if the echoes came from multiple timelines.

The echo grew in power to match his, always duplicating his mana, his equipment, even his personality.

The ancient texts he studied to gain this power had said it was shades of himself, from timelines that could no longer be, with only echoes remaining.

“Markus” A woman called from behind him. Her beautiful, singsong voice sent a thrill through him when she spoke his name. No matter how much time he spent with her, he always craved more.

Turning slowly, he drank in the sight of her. Silvery blond hair fell in waves across her shoulders and down her back. The dark, indigo light of the setting sun reflected on her full, red lips, pale white skin, and blue robes with scarlet red trim.

But it wasn’t her looks that drew him to her, or her Rank 17 power, so close to divinity that he even felt slightly stifled by it.

No, it was her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, that had him fall in love with her. The first person to ever make him feel this way. Those eyes were filled with trust and reflected her love for him.

He could remember vividly when they had first met. He had graduated from the academy at Rank 4, leagues ahead of any of his classmates. Although he was talented in magic, it was the sword that held his true passion.

His father had wanted him to join the auxiliaries, or even the legion, to get combat experience before coming back to assist him with running of the fiefdom. Markus considered himself a good son, dutifully performing whatever tasks his father asked, but it was only this one time that he refused.

He hadn’t spent much time with his mother when she was alive. He was always training with his father’s guards or studying magic with his tutors. When he wasn’t training, he was following his father, closely watching the Earl as he performed his duties around the fief.

His mother wasn’t strong, or talented. He knew that their marriage was arranged when they were young by his grandfather. It was for coin, and the betterment of the family, rather than love. His mother’s dowry was considerable, and the fief needed the funds.

Despite accepting his grandfather’s arrangements, Tiberius considered his wife to be weak, and he discouraged his heir from spending much time with her. The only exception was when he visited the house chapel. His mother was devout in her worship of the goddess, something that Markus shared with her.

In fact, the only time he had ever seen his mother angry was when Tiberius attempted to keep her son from attending service. Even his father had backed down from his mother’s rare show of temper.

For Markus, duty was everything. Loyalty to the empire, to his family but most importantly, to the gods.

When he announced that he would be serving the Church of the Twin Suns after graduating, his father had been furious. He wanted his son to become stronger, to gain enough power to bring the Brookmoor name to ever greater heights, and to take over as Earl when his time came.

It was the only time they had ever fought, ever argued. But Markus, like his mother, stood his ground and eventually, Tiberius Brookmoor relented, grudgingly granting permission for his heir to serve the church, until it was time for him to come home and assume the mantle of Earl.

Markus had left, joining the church, to serve the gods. It was there that he met the beautiful woman before him, and now, five years later, he had reached a Rank far beyond even his father could ever obtain.

But more importantly, the woman, Kathryn, was his wife.

“Markus? Are you alright, did you hit your head training?” The woman asked, her expression showing concern at his strange behavior, as he stood silently, staring at her. For a moment, he had been so caught up in memories, and the sight of her, that he hadn’t responded to her call.

She stepped forward and laid her hand on his face. Her hand felt cool against his face, flushed from his training, as she channeled a small part of her mana into his body, assessing him for injuries.

“No, of course not. I apologize, I was just thinking for a moment.” He said, frowning slightly at her concern. He didn’t like worrying her.

“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s alright if Echo beats you. He is you after all.” Kathryn joked, smiling at him.

Markus scoffed at the comment, shaking his head slightly as she kept her hand against his face. He was careful not to move his head to much, enjoying the feeling of her cool hand against his flushed skin.

“Night will be coming soon. We need to perform the Augury.” She informed him, grabbing him by the hand as her mana flared, swirling around them as the divine spell matrix formed beneath their feet. She hadn’t even given him a warning in her rush to travel.

In a flash, the 6th tier magic ignited, and they were plucked from the grassy field and transported to the beautiful Cathedral of the Twins in the Capital of Illyria.

As the spell circle faded, Markus’ vision cleared, and he took in the marbled floor and opulent wooden paneled walls of the large office they were in, as he steadied himself from the abrupt transport.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with books on a variety of subjects. He spotted the faded black leather book that held the secrets of his own training method to become an ‘Echo Knight.’

He spent months in this room, when he first arrived here, pouring over the ancient books and unlocking its secrets.

Tapestries hung from the ceiling, various motifs dedicated to the twin suns. Dominating the room were large, open windows, with a breathtaking view of the capital city and the imperial palace.

In the center of the room was a large altar, made of rare ‘purple heart’ wood. The altar was covered in runes and glyphs devoted to divination and foretelling. On the dark, purple colored wood, a blue bowl filled with water was positioned in the middle, with a sheet of parchment, a feathered quill and small inkwell set next to it.

Alone in the room, Kathryn didn’t let go of his hand as she dragged him next to the altar, before pointing at chair placed nearby. Taking his accustomed seat, Markus watched as his wife prepared for the divination ritual, seeking to commune with the goddess regarding the upcoming Night.

Every month she performed the ritual, asking the goddess what her faithful could do to safeguard the empire during the Night. Many times, the goddess didn’t respond at all, which Markus took as a statement that ‘everything was fine’.

It was when she did provide guidance that his blood ran cold.

In the five years he had served here, the goddess had responded only a handful of time. On each occurrence, they had suffered losses to their party. It still hurt to think about his lost comrades, even when their deaths were to safeguard the Empire.

Standing in front of the purple heart wood altar, Kathryn lifted the quill from the paper, dipping it in the ink, and placing the tip against the wood.

Markus could hear her whispered prayers as she leaned over the bowl, staring intently into the water.

As she spoke, her voice grew softer until even Markus couldn’t understand what she was saying. From his position, sat on his chair, he could see his wife’s eyes become unfocused, staring vaguely into the water as the quill in her hand made a faint scratching sound as she drew something.

Divination rarely provided a clear answer to questions posed to the gods. Kathryn explained that mortals lacked the understanding to comprehend divine will and intent. When combined with the ever-changing nature of the future, the most they could expect is a single image or word.

She would pose the question to the goddess, and perhaps receive a vision in response in the bowl of water.

Kathryn never remembered what the augury showed her, the divine images couldn’t remain in her mortal mind. The quill would record a piece of the message, allowing it to be shared.

Markus waited patiently, his flushed skin cooling from the breeze of the large, open windows. It was mid-summer in the capital, pleasantly warm without being too hot. His training location had been just outside the city, the grassy field only an hour’s walk outside the city gates.

He watched Kathryn intently as her quill made faint, idle scratching motions on the parchment. He let out a breath of relief as the augury dragged on. It seemed that the goddess had no task for them this Night.

No sooner than he had that thought, Kathryn’s arm jerked forward, the quill digging deeply into the paper. He stood up quickly, walking to her side as he watched her hand drawing a picture, while her face hovered only inches about the water filled bowl.

It was a vague, hazy depiction of a city, with half destroyed walls and crumbling buildings. In the center, a floating, hooded figure hovered in the air, with arms thrown wide open. Kathryn had smeared ink around the figure, as if it was surrounded in blackness.

Above them, in the sky, she had drawn a large pupilless eye, staring down at the ruins below.

With a start, Kathryn stood up, instantly looking towards his chair for him. Seeing it empty, she looked around, finally noticing that he stood behind her. The parchment was now in his hands, Markus had snatched it as soon as the quill halted.

What concerned her the most was the frown on his face.

“Markus? What is it, what did the goddess show us?” She said, panicking slightly. Anything that could cause a frown to appear on her husband’s face must be serious. He rarely let his emotions show, it had taken her years to get him to open up, and only in private.

“I’ll gather the others, we need to leave right away.” He stated, handing her the picture before leaving the room in a rush.

Confused at his response, she finally looked at the picture. The hooded figure gave her a feeling of unease, but it was the pupilless eye that filled her with sheer, unbridled terror. The picture didn’t have much detail, and it took her a moment to spot anything to give an indication of where this threat would emerge.

Studying the parchment, she noticed what looked to be the ocean, the quill scratches making slight waves next to what looked to be a wharf or dock. It wasn’t until she recognized the smudged ink ‘wall’ that wrapped around the city, including the water and dock, that she pieced together the location.

“Aachen.” She whispered, a pit of ice forming in her stomach. Something was going terribly wrong in the dead city.