ike a bolt of lightning Vil and Mey sprinted across the sullen halls, dodging the many spears and stones of the moon-elves behind them. For what felt like an eternity the chase continued, but the foes, fuelled by the unholy touch of chaos, showed no signs of tiredness.

Once more a javelin was lobbed, and this time Vil was struck on his thigh. Like an unstable cart he tumbled and fell, hitting his head on the ground. Mey's breath was taken away; he looked back in horror, his heart skipping a beat. "Vil!"

Another of the moon-elves lobbed a javelin, but Vil warped away ere it hit him, and was back by Meneldir's side. "I'm alright, continue running," Vil said, pulling the javelin out of his muscles, bent and bloodstained. He tried to take a stand, but could not.

"Come on," Mey wound Vil's hands around his shoulders in an attempt to carry him, but Vil was too heavy for him to bear.

"Let it be," Vil said to him, "curl up closer, it'll save some mana."

Mey curled up under Vil's figure as he cast another warp. The very next moment he was on the other side of the room, in a dark chamber flanked by reptilian statues.

"Are we safe?"

"Not yet," Vil replied, pointing outside the halls: the moon-elves were still after them, spear in hand and gluttony in head, charging up the hallway like maddened undead bulls. Mey embraced Vil, closing his eyes in horror, tears rolling down his cheek.

And there was an explosion, the sound of stone breaking and reptilian gurgling, accompanied by the shrieks of death and despair. But wait, Vil was alive, and so was he.

He looked at the door with awe: the statues had come to life, blocking the path with their shields and spears, shedding the dust and cobwebs off their bodies with sullen vibrations.

The rest of the moon-elves looked on in fear, they couldn't even realise the statues they had been passing under for so many millennia were living beings, and that too one of the most threatening things they had ever seen.

Feral squabbling issued forth amongst the moon-elves, their eyes glowing red with fire and fear.

At last they assembled into a rank, issuing forth a rain of javelins at the lizardmen, but like strands of husk the sullen sticks snapped in two and fell aside as they struck the shields of the Guardians of the Arcaneum.

And the lizardmen charged back, spear and shield in hand, wild snarls lining their faces, like a tide of horror untold, chasing them off and pursuing behind.

...

"What was that?"

"Remember those statues you saw outside the council chambers in Ostithil?" smiled Vil, "here's the truth: they weren't statues, they were the pyramid-guards of the Southern Jungles, hired by my uncle to do mercenary work."

"But . . . these guardians must be at least three thousand years old," Mey gawked in awe, "are you saying they remained still like this for three thousand years without food or water?"

"Yes," Vil laughed, "they are the Defenders of Ardion, they can feast upon the minutest bits of arcane energy flying around."

"Wondrous," Mey nodded, "and what of your leg?"

Vil pressed into the wound, yet felt naught but regular skin. "Ah well, looks like the healing energies are doing their job."

"They are?" Mey leaned in, feeling his fingers slide across a closed wound, much to his awe. At last Vil stood up, walking around painlessly as if nothing had ever happened.

"Let us continue," Vil suggested, "this should be the end of-"

Suddenly he hushed, his eyes widening: something of terrible power was nearing them. Though at first he mistook it to be a mere greater daemon, he knew now that no daemon – greater or lordly, could ever muster as much power as the radiations beckoned to him.

Whatever it was, no proper image of it could be formed by Vilyánur's mind – it seemed to be a sort of monster, or symbol representing a monster, of a form which only a diseased fancy could conceive.

If I could say that my somewhat extravagant imagination yielded simultaneous pictures of a bat, a pineapple, and an elven caricature, I would not be unfaithful to the spirit of the thing.

"Vilyánur," Meneldir turned his head, "are you sure the arcane vortex only cut rifts into the Realms of Chaos?"

"I'm afraid not," said Vilyánur darkly, "when arcane and chaos collide, they revert back to primordial energy, and too much energy at a single point . . . well, you can say what comes thereof is not a product of this universe."

"Not of this universe, what do you mean?"

"Well . . . just know that 'tis something no weapon made in this universe can cleave, and the very sight of it can drive a being to insanity. Should we be mere ants, then this is an elephant."

Mey peered into the long dark corridors – from thence came a rippling call, like the creaking of wood, if wood were a sentient monster. Though there were no footsteps, he could feel it coming . . . but it was neither an animal, nor a divine being – but an entity which by no means could ever be explained.

"Vil, what should we do now?"

"Run," he whispered, pulling Meneldir with him before speeding his way across the corridor as fast as a bolt of lightning.

*****

Panting like wild dogs they hastened across the stone halls, until as last the fell aura had ceased. They were now in the Hall of Elements, half a mile away from their initial location.

"That was close," Vil sighed, dropping to the ground, "thank goodness we didn't look at it, the very sight of the creature would have driven us to insanity."

"How can you be driven insane if you're already so?" Mey looked at him.

"You think I'm insane?" Vilyánur poked him, Meneldir grinned back at him. "I may be," he replied, "now come on; we have a long way to go. There is a secret elevator at the edge of this which will lead us to our destination."

The Hall of Elements had crumbled to a mere shadow of its former glory, the stones which paved the floor had been parted to reveal cracks under the earth that seemed to rise out of nowhere and devour the tower whole, reminding them of the struggle which took place there.

Vil's heart sank at the very sight of it, as if it were personal to him. In his mind he chanted prayers for those who were no more. These ruins so faded reminded him of the poems of Shell and Smith.

Amid the cursed desert sands

stood the pedestal tall and dark:

the only sign of civilisation

among the yellow seas so stark.

"I am He, the King of Kings,

Lord of Earth and Sea and Air;

look unto my works so mighty

and thus in haste ye despair."

But naught but desert remained

whence His kingdom stood,

His sculpture broken and bare:

the only relic of His kinghood.

"Such a sad scenery, and such a sad tale. No matter how great you are, no king rules forever, that is but a quick truth..." Meneldir looked up, spotting the shadow daemon again. "Vil! Look up!"

Vilyánur looked up to see the creature's tail as it traversed across the rooms, using the bridges and scaffoldings above to jump and sprint through. "What do you want from us?!" he screamed, yet the creature seemingly ignored them.

"He's gone," Mey traced his steps back, "although . . . I do not think this creature has any evil intentions. He saved your life, remember?"

"Daemons are no eviler than an earthquake; they are but forces of nature. If you stretch the meanings a bit, even we with our innovative farming methods and road-building are evil. You cannot classify daemons by personalities either – neither do they hold grudges, nor repay favours. For them 'tis another game, death but mere defeat . . . they have been here since long, and they will live till the strange aeons when even Death ceases to exist."

"Well then, let us hope he doesn't serve the enemy, then," he said and pranced across the room with Vilyánur. "Anyway, let's press on."

"No, not yet," said Vil, taking a seat upon the rubble.

"Vil, does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't, I just want to sit here for a while. Ever since the day began, we've been flying, running, fighting . . . I can't take this anymore."

"Well, fair enough," said Mey, sitting next to him.

For a while they sat there, eating biscuits and tea. Vil taught him to dip the biscuits in tea and eat before it breaks, careful not to waste anything. An hour passed by before they could bother, and they were now ready to leave.

At last they stepped into the elevator and cast the warp, hoping to reach the top of the tower. But no, when they opened their eyes, they beheld glowing stones lighting a windowless room, at least a couple floors below where they were. "What? Where are we?" Meneldir asked in annoyance.

"This tower has a mind of its own," said Vilyánur. "Nothing which happens here is accidental, or so say the legends. Maybe it wants to tell us something, I think we should heed."

"Fine," said Meneldir as he joined Vilyánur's side and walked the corridor.

...

Arcane lamps illuminated the long, windy path, paving the way through the dingy and dark halls. However dark it was, there seemed to be something eerie about it, as if some surreal magic was at work.

From one window Meneldir peered out to see two elves: a high-elf crowned with eight stars and the other a wood-elf with a crown of thorns. Meneldir made no mistake, they were Avamanyar and Aurendil, the grandfathers of the two of them, comrades then.

"Welcome to the Union of Alímar," said King Avamanyar, "I will be proud to dub you and all who dwell in your forests as Red Elves, regardless of origin or actual race, for to that we are blind."

"I will be proud to lead the sceptre of the people," King Aurendil replied, "I implore you, let all the other Houses of the Union know: no longer are you the Nation of Alinor, we are now the Alinor-Alledor-Commonwealth."

As they passed a pillar, the vision shifted. They now beheld mages and druids, working together on an immense vortex. Every second they made immense progress in arcane arts, but they knew what was to come. The elves overcome by greed persisted on the experiments, until at last their fears came true.

Daemons flooded the world; Morthaur stepped out of the portal to stop the elves on their plight. As the pillars changed, they saw Vareth and Aeresil, alongside several companions battling the daemons to no end. "Flee!" a voice echoed. "Evil is upon us!"

The next thing they saw was a train of high-elves and wood-elves retreating from the Arcaneum, whilst it lay in ruins, smoking and crackling. Amid the ranks of wood-elves they saw King Arvedui, a mere child of twenty, riding away with tear-laden eyes. It's all their fault, he muttered, we should've never trusted the high-elves.

The visions changed, and this time they were in the court of the King Arvedui, but there was an air of anger there. "You deny fighting against that which seeks to destroy your people?" a rough voice spoke – Vareth.

"I will not shed the blood of my kin for a mistake you people did," the king pranced about. "You will die, and that will be good, but no aid will come from the wood-elves."

Thus the three visitors walked away, disappointed and wrathful. Mey peered closer: two of them were Vareth and Aeresil, but the third was someone he failed to recognize. He looked like Vilyánur, only much older, crowned with eight stars – King Eldärion.

*****

"Vil," Mey looked at him, his eyes brimming with tears. A new vision appeared as they passed another pillar.

"What will you name him?" an elven maiden pale of hair, garbed as a queen, asked King Eldärion.

"Vilyánur," the king replied, "I believe he is destined for greatness."

The vision changed again, this time to a group of heroes standing upon a hill, high above a sea of elven warriors. The sky loomed scarlet, clouded by char.

"Hold your ground, sons of Alledoria. I will not say do not despair, for you are right to do so. Most of you who follow me now will not return, but if we fail, you will all die too. You have a choice here: either go home and die cowering like wretched mongrels, or die here as heroes, on the fields of battle, alongside your comrades, doing your duty and earning your place in the afterlife. We will show them: we are not weak, we will not surrender! Fight, my people, not for your kings or lords, fight for our families, for our homeland, for Alledoria!"

Cheer coaxed the air; the speech of King Eldärion echoed long, instilling courage into their hearts. "Wait, that's my mother," said Mey, looking at the maiden beside King Eldärion. "...and my father," Vil complied.

For long they watched as the great host of elves rushed into the fray of fire, battling their foes where they met. They watched the ballad, multiple legions locked in combat, laying to ruin the land they fought on.

Three hundred years ago the battle raged: an event to be remembered. Until now they had only read, but now they could see with their own eyes: for a month they fought on sea and land, until at last the first portal closed, but to little use: another portal had opened in the border-world of Xyroth.

But that wouldn't stop the elves; they warped through the portals to Xyroth, battling Morthaur where they met. There for thirteen months they toiled in the wastes, until at last none of them stood, but the forces of Morthaur were utterly obliterated, never to be the same again.

Tears brimmed up in both their eyes. The visions ceased, but the memories remained. "I know now..." said Meneldir, "...why my father is so prejudiced."

Vilyánur kissed Meneldir's hands, embracing his trembling figure with all the love he had. The moment they parted, they were back in the Hall of Elements. The tower showed them what they needed to know.

...

"Vil, I will follow my mother's footsteps. I want to fight beside you, to hell and back," Mey promised him, their words echoing through the hollow caverns.

"I know what we must do now," said Vilyánur. "We have to go to Xyroth, that is where my father and your mother were, and my heart tells me that is where we will get to know what we have to do."

"I will join you," said Meneldir, "but first we must return to my father, I need to tell him that I am alive."

"Very well," said Vilyánur, "let us lea-"

And so it warped before them – the Terror from the Great Beyond, an indescribable abomination from another universe. A mere glance of it drove them both to half-insanity, sending a chill down their spine.

"Run!" shouted Meneldir, doing the same as he did before, but alas, this time it followed them instead of staying at one place. Beckoning each other to neither look back, nor sense its aura – the two of them fled ere their path was blocked by a shadow daemon.

The daemon kept looking at the two of them with glowing purple eyes, an aura of shadow about him.

"What do you want?" asked Vilyánur, but Mey remained. They knew they had no time – before them was a shadow daemon, and behind a cosmic terror.

The daemon looked at them, waves of energy surging through his eyes. With a clasp of energy he warped behind them, not to flank them but to defend them from that which came behind them.

"Go," he said in a fell, reverberating voice. The roof of the great hall collapsed and all voices ceased, Meneldir and Vilyánur were freed.