ilyánur twiddled the fork around the pierogi, waiting for them to be cool enough to not burn his mouth. "I swear they would work," he said, "the only thing our horses are fearful of are bigger horses."

"Do horses that big even exist?" asked his sergeant.

"Yes, and no," said Vil, biting into the soft starchy flesh of the dumpling, the taste of soft meat mingling with the sauce, melting in his mouth with the grace of a thousand suns. With another bite he engulfed the whole bag, half the size of his fist, into his mouth.

"Neighing horse-shaped beasts, no," Vil said, steam leaving his mouth, "but giant beasts you can ride, yes."

"Well, why don't we get one then?"

"Because they're expensive to maintain," another soldier inserted, "and they aren't like horses anyway. It'd be less like riding a horse and more like sitting atop a walking tower."

"Damn, the very mention of it makes it sound like something so great," a squire replied.

"I know, and it feels glorious too," said Vil, taking a sip of the soup, "fit a cannon atop one and you'll have mobile artillery pieces that can flank and strike from naught."

The soldiers looked at each other, widening their brows. "What kind of behemoth could carry cannons?"

"You'll see them when they're here," said Vil, "and whoever rides them will command a great force. It'll be like riding a wyvern, only if wyverns were walking behemoths."

And so their chatting continued, Vil observing from behind. Some of them chugged their brandy, others tasted their pierogi, active in discussing a variety of questions about these 'great horses'. Where do they live? How do they act? What do they eat? Who rides them? Why do they even let other people ride them?

...

"My lord," a maid approached Vil, breaking his semi-reverie.

"Uh, yes?"

"There's someone outside who wants to meet you, he said he wants to talk to you on matters of flight and fire."

"Oh," Vil's eyes widened, "tell him to wait, I'm coming."

The maid nodded and left, Vil quickly finished his food and followed out.

There, adjacent to the main road stood a renowned scholar and good friend of Vilyánur. Larkon of Alinor, arguably the second most knowledgeable people on Alledoria in the field of medicine, the most ambitious apprentice of the House of Healing. The very sight of his waist-length black hair and dark eye-shadow brought a sense of peace to Vilyánur.

"Larkon," Vil embraced him, tapping onto his back. "How are you, comrade?"

"I'm fine," he replied, "and you?"

"Fine as well," said Vil, "so did you make any new discoveries?"

"Not yet, but I did do something: and you'll love it."

"Will I?"

Larkon nodded, pointing to the cliff, "come," he said, taking Vilyánur with him to the cliffside.

From the cliff they looked over the rolling hills of Vyro: those elegant cairns of green and grey which dotted the landscape of Vyro: the small blue planet revolving around Arcturus, it was much different from Alledoria, built atop an arcane nexus, awash with arcane energies, built up not as an outpost but as a research facility.

But there was something else that Larkon had brought him to show, not the rolling hills: something which glided over those rolling hills like a gust of wind, slithering and soaring through the benign skies like a snake through silt: at first it was an eagle, then a lion, then something else entirely.

"Banewing!"

Vilyánur jumped in joy, his griffin had come for him: a majestic beast which resembled an eagle in flight, lion on the run, and a cat when not on the hunt. Vil was attached to her. Though some doubted the empathic capabilities of a wild animal driven by nothing but her own instincts, Vil trusted her with his life.

Banewing landed before him, her wings folding into legs as she landed on the ground with a gentle thud, then she ran to Vilyánur, embracing him ever so happily.

"Oh, girl, am I not so glad to see how your wings have healed."

"She was far more compliant than most other creatures I've treated," Larkon reassured, "at first I thought treating her would be harder than treating a lion, but she's almost as docile as a cow."

"I know," said Vil, "I believe she was a gift from the gods to me, as if Elinor himself conjured her from light and wind for me."

"Perhaps he did," said Larkon, "anyway, now you can ride her, she is strong enough for that."

"So so – she will accompany us back to Alledoria, upon her back I will be in good hands . . . or wings..." he pointed to her front limbs, which resembled a lion's paw but with an elongated finger that spanned into a wing. "...or whatever these things are called."

*****

The cities of Vyro were unlike anything they had seen before: instead of spanning out horizontally, the cities spanned up vertically, built as tall towers of silver and steel, their blue window-panes blending into the skies.

Sure stone roads are a marvel of modern engineering, but on a place like Vyro even these felt too primitive, for here the roads were paved with arcane, travelled on by flying chariots which whirred and flew with arcane energy.

But Vilyánur had not the time to revel in the glory, he was on a mission: on his way to The Imperial Library, a tall glass structure, the citadel of learning – a place where knowledge knows no bounds, and as per rumours, there is not one book that you cannot find.

And that is where Vil had to go – he was in search of records, he needed to know the secrets of his father and grandfather, and any secrets the ancient Alledor might've possessed.

His air cruiser came to a halt on the docking levels of the library, people left and right greeting him, warmly welcoming him to the home of knowledge. But in the midst of the shadow, one man stood out: an elf draped in a dark cloak, fearful of the lights.

"Late is the hour at which the Sarmäcil chooses to appear, but alas the dawning of the darkness can be hindered should the right answer be known, and knowledge is the key to the gateway between foolishness and wisdom. Is that why you come: Lord Vilyánur of Alinor?"

"Prince Caranthir," Vilyánur spoke back with a hug, "a star shines upon the hour of our meet, my old friend."

"Indeed," said Caranthir, "come on, let us delve through the archives."

...

And so they entered the library, commencing their scouring of the multitude of books and scrolls. Using their arcane lamps they traversed across the labyrinth of books, until finally they discovered the records of the Alledor and of Alledoria.

"Remind me again, what are you looking for?" asked Caranthir.

"Anything that tells me how to defeat Mor-" Vil looked behind him, wary faces eyed back, "how to defeat Him, whether be it a record of my father's activities, or the tales of Emperor Inarius, the first mortal to ever best Him."

"You know we have no evidence for his existence, right? Except from what a fascist dictator tells you, which might as well have been propaganda."

"Ah! There it is-" he called in half-joy.

"What did you find?" asked Caranthir.

"No, nay, not this book, never."

"What book are you even talking about?"

"A book titled: 'The Account of Avamanyar Tulcalad and the fall of the Alinor-Alledor Commonwealth'."

"Ah," Caranthir nodded, "is that not the book you're looking for?"

"At this point, I do not know what I'm looking for. But surely not a book about how my grandfather caused the fall of our great AAC."

Caranthir nodded, "how exactly did it fall again?"

"They were trying to perform an experiment of unknown nature, but their experiments failed, resulting in a catastrophe which tore a hole in the fabric of Mundus, and His forces found a gap to enter from. Both the kings died there, my grandfather and King Arvedui's father."

"That's sad," Caranthir lamented, "but you know what, just take a look at it. Maybe you can figure out something from it."

"If you say so," Vil shrugged, taking the book out and throwing it upon a reading table.

The cover was an interesting thing: a silver effigy of tangled webs in a circle sewn to the brown leather cover.

In Keldi'i mythology, this resembled the tangled webs of fate. But Vil didn't believe in fate, he believed he controlled the outcome of his fate, and so did everyone else. Your fate is what you make of it.

*****

"So what am I looking for?" asked Vil. "Anything specific?"

"I think the first question you should ask is 'why?' . . . why would He invade your world?"

"Well, isn't it obvious: we did something that if we succeeded in doing, would've resulted in us gaining enough power to perhaps take over all of Mundus, like how Emperor Inarius did."

"So He can suddenly predict the future now?" asked Caranthir.

"I do not know," said Vilyánur, "maybe the real reason for it is much more complex, and requires delving into the depths of nihilism and mortal philosophy, or maybe something as simple as misdirection, but whatever is, I do not think anyone but He will be able to tell us."

"There must be a reason, and as I've seen, the cause is often directly linked to the effect."

"Do not speak in riddles, what are you trying to say exactly?"

"That the simplest way to intercept Him would be to return to your roots, and dig up from there, maybe we will know why He is doing what He is doing: assailing your world a third time. You need to first figure out if the attack is local or global."

"I already asked that question once, when I was but twenty, and they all replied: ''We did not know why He did it, but then we did not ask the question, we just did what we had to.'"

"Then at least find out how He was stopped the previous two times."

"He stopped himself when His goal was accomplished. The first time was a crushing defeat, our old capital was destroyed and the AAC was severed, and the second time was inconclusive: even though He failed to destroy the world, the Kingdom of Alinor was maimed beyond redress, and the veil weakened enough for other daemons to come through."

"But no, that is not the point, I suggest try finding out if King Avamanyar had some personal animosity with Him or something, or maybe he was trying to do something evil."

"Fine..." Vil nodded, flipping through the pages of the book.

~*~

Year 4550 of the First Age of Alledoria: The Account of Avamanyar Tulcalad, High King of the Minyär Elves of Alledoria.

"Time, they say, is impossible to be tamed. Everything that has a beginning has an end. But alas, the dark age of superstition has ended, and with it Kaal's supremacy over us. No long shall we fear the gods, but now they shall fear us."

"We did a few tests with a dark star, observing how string-based spells bend the fabric of time. This knowledge may come in handy one day, although right now it is difficult to say anything at all."

"Just now we performed a test on ley lines and spirit channels, and have decided to increase the arcane flux and energy intensity to threshold point, hopefully it will not cause the recipient to explode, which may or may not kill us but will surely ruin our tests."

"So far all our experiments have been successful; therefore we see no harm in trying to increase the intensity past the threshold point, even though this puts us at the risk of tearing a hole in the fabric of the world. Hopefully nothing will go wrong."

~*~

"Ah," Caranthir looked about, "at this point I can't say if he was being sarcastic or not."

"I feel so too," Vilyánur replied, "but well, feels like I was right about this: they were planning to take over nature, and that is why He attacked: for the sole purpose of stopping them from taking over the universe."

"What else does it say?" asked Caranthir, peering into the books with dire interest.

"Not much more," Vil replied, "except a few famous events which occurred three thousand years ago, and then some mad rambling in some language I do not understand."

"Well, now at least we know about the first invasion, what about the second one?"

"If I remember correctly, it was a continuation of the previous invasion. Last time the stellar gates mysteriously closed and opened three millennia later, nobody knows why. The only person who might know about it now is my father."

"So what? You will go to heaven and back to ask him that?"

"I do not think I can," said Vil, turning his head sideways at the sight of a veiled character, "but I believe we can find the answer to that question in The Arcaneum: where these first experiments were performed. Even though that place is a little more than ruins now, it still retains much energy; we can use it to learn more."

"Ah, to that I agree. So is that what's on your mind now: to return home and visit the Dark Tower?"

"If it were that easy, would I not have done so earlier?" asked Vilyánur. "In sooth, there is something there which even we heroes fear: something which lurks in the shadow – and devours those who dare to step into that unholy sanctuary."

"What do you mean?" asked Caranthir. "You felled hundreds of daemons in decades past and you fear something lurking in your ancestor's abode?"

"It is not that simple, believe me . . . I have faced daemons before, even slain foes of unimaginable prowess, but what I felt there was far greater than anything that even a Chaos God can conjure. Birds fear to go near that place now; even dragons are wise enough to avoid that shadow-haunted tower. My huscarls: Vareth and Aeresil, lived in that time and even fought against the daemons, and the last thing they recall is: 'a haunting presence, a choking mist, a whispering darkness'-"

...

"Lord Vilyánur!" a call interrupted him all of a sudden. Vilyánur looked towards the hallway to see one of the wood-elf twins there, by the appearance on her face it seemed certain that she was in no good mood, for there was tension at her face.

"Arial, what is it?" asked Vilyánur, praying for the news to be no ill.

"A catastrophe has taken hold," she said huffing loudly, "Prince Meneldir..."

"What happened to him?"

"He . . . he slit his wrists last night."

The book dropped from Vilyánur's hand, taken in a shock unlike any he had ever experienced before. "What did you say? Tell me 'tis a joke! Tell me that is untrue!" he said with teary eyes, his mind faltered and sank with his voice.

"Come on! We have to return to Silverhearth!" said Arial and ran outside, Vilyánur warped out and with her flying about he warped down the path to approach the skyport.

"Caranthir!" he shouted, "take care of the books; I will be back in a while!"

As he said that, he stepped into his air cruiser with Arial beside him. He turned the engines on and sped the cruiser as fast as he could through the flight paths. Arial looked at his face to see his eyes ever-open and face pale with horror.

"Is Mey alive?" asked Vilyánur, "could your druids save his life?"

"Luckily, yes. We found him on time and stopped the bleeding, although still much of his blood had flown out. Even though for this petty matter I'd put no effort on calling you, we thought it would be better for us to have you know this."

"What issues are you having?" he asked, wiping his tears from his eyes.

"He has lost a lot of blood, and transfusion is having no effect on him . . . he's simply not taking blood. Last time I touched him, his body was ice-cold and his skin as pale as snow," she answered.

Vil made no response, he was too fear-struck to reply.

"I think there are ample chances for him to survive, although that will only be if he wishes to . . . for it seems he has lost the will to survive. Lord Vilyánur, he needs you: know that if he is to the light of another day, he needs your aid to survive. Do whatever you wish, for it is up to you now to save his life."