The Remnant: the Legend of the Seer

By M.J. Chrisman

Rain drenched his clothing as a mob of people circled around him, blocking him in their barrier of tightly formed bodies. The faces of the great host blurred before him; he couldn't make out a single expression. He gazed at his chest and saw blood trickling down and falling into pools of water beneath his feet. At the same time, he held a sword firmly in his grasp. He inched his gaze upward and realized that he had seen this all before....

A soft glow suddenly began to emanate from his body. Starting small, it grew more and more brightly until he was totally consumed with light, power surging through his being. William Ore then let out a terrible war cry that tore into the hillsides as he charged into the multitude.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781449729905

M.J. Chrisman

M. J. Chrisman graduated from Covenant Bible College and Seminary with a bachelor of science in theology. Growing up on a small farm in Missouri, the world of Trinomia began to unfold and develop in Micah's mind the more time he spent outside pretending to be in it as a young boy. He began writing his debut novel The Legend of the Seer in 2003 when he was only fourteen years old. Having completed his first book in the series, Mr. Chrisman is currently working on his second book, The Remnant: The Fall and Rise of the Three Nails. You can learn more about Micah and the Remnant series at www.mjchrisman.com

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Contents

Prologue-

Day Break

The Vision

Dark Tidings

The Heart of Decision

The Traveling Companions

A Voice in the Night

The Battle in the Shadows

A Night With the Dimols

Treachery and Wizards

Out of the Rolban Forest

In the Realm of Patriarchs

Where Darkness Lies

The Gardens of the Sky

The Dark Assassin

The Greatest Hindrance

The Road of Greatness

At the Shores of Lake Tanassa

The Evil in the South

The Rider of the Night

Goldwing and the Arrival at Kildor

The Secret Council

The Feast and The Lurking Menace

The Things to Come

A Rider’s Tale

The Trailing Shadow

The Encounter On the Road

The Chase

The Billowing Smog

The White Dawn

The Beginning of Journeys

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To Kathryn Rose, for giving me the path to walk on,

To Samuel Neil,

For giving me hope and vision to follow it, and

To Shari Rene, for giving me the words to describe it.

Cold be night, cold be heart;

I shall forever sit in dark,

Until one day ride at Flight

Against armies of Thalorion

For last fight

Prologue-

The Battle of Orizon

Obadiah Arkon could feel his heart pounding in his ears like a beating drum.

Sweat beaded profusely on his forehead, his senses heightened by adrenaline. The Mogah General, mounted upon his white horse, stood before his army of brave, Thalorion soldiers, holding the banner of their country. Rippling in the wind and shimmering in the morning sunlight, the flag bore the symbol of the Three Nails—the crest of Thalorion.

As his palm rested on the hilt of his blade, Obadiah’s sword—Calithrin—remained sheathed, desiring to be released from its dark encasing. Forged in the mountains of Kildor and fashioned with the strongest steel in all of the lands, it was a mighty weapon with mysterious powers.

Obadiah’s black and gray hair was neatly trimmed and hidden beneath a silvery helmet. Though he was forty-four years old, the mighty general had the build and tremendously agile body of a much younger man. His features reflected such authority, such grandeur; his fellow soldiers were unable to take their eyes off of him as he stood at the front of their force, waiting for the impending assault.

Behind Obadiah stood several dozen Mogah generals astride armored horses, each one leading a battalion of soldiers. These men and women were the guardians of Thalorion and would now stand behind their Head Mogah counterpart as they led the army to war.

To Obadiah’s left loomed the tens of thousands of Midobian forces, their armor gleaming beneath the dawn’s early light as they hovered a hundred feet off of the ground. Covered from head to toe with gold-plated armor, each winged-warrior sat astride a fearsome, flying war-horse as they waited expectantly for the battle to commence.

To Obadiah’s right sat his most cherished disciple, Mathius.

Only twenty years old, Mathius’ battle tactics, as well as his character, earned him the right to stand side by side with the great general, who was like his very own father. He had trained under Obadiah since he was only eight years old, and he would now exercise all of his knowledge and skills fighting on this terrible day. Obadiah was confident in Mathius’ abilities, and therefore led Thalorion’s armies with his beloved disciple close at his side.

Mathius’s long blond hair crumpled beneath his narrow helmet as his dark blue eyes stared out on either side of his nose guard. His horse shifted in between his stiff legs as his breathing began to pick up, his nerves more vibrant than ever before.

Obadiah could feel his tension. Steady, Mathius. It will begin soon enough.

The young warrior sighed anxiously. Let us hope so. But what is to become of the king?

He will be joining us soon. You know as well as I that he has been gone these many days gathering reinforcements in the southern villages, and he assured that he would return with a force this very day. However, I only hope it will not be too late.

An eerie silence rested over the grassy plains. Only the sound of clanging chain mail and shifting armor could be heard as the warriors of Thalorion, alongside their allies the Midobians, waited restlessly. Their eyes searched over the endless stretch of terrain, waiting for the armies of Mizorah.

An eternity had passed, it seemed, before the warriors finally saw the legions of the Semion horde.

The monstrous Semion army shook the earth as they marched over the hills in the far distance. The maroon hair upon the countless heads of the demonic army shimmered and flowed in the wind like a river of blood. They rose over the plains like an ocean swell, cresting over the distant hills. The Semion then descended into the grassy plain before finally halting at their generals’ commands.

Row upon row of enemy soldiers stood in perfectly straight lines, blackening the fields with their presence, all bearing swords, armor, large shields, and spears. They roared, growled, gnashed their teeth, and banged against their plated armor, openly defying the armies of Elohim, the God of Thalorion.

At first, the Thalorion and Midobian armies were not intimidated by the fierce onslaught; however, when Simoria, the god-king, stepped onto the front lines, even the hearts of Thalorion’s bravest warriors sank.

Simoria stood before his force with great pride and rage. Next to the towering menace stood over one hundred Waythors, each one leading a battalion of soldiers. These dark creatures, empowered by Simoria himself, were fierce sorcerers, making them superior to their Semion counterparts.

The god-king lifted his mighty sword in defiance, a weapon of terrible evil and darkness named Orn-Ninroth. With it high above his head, Simoria bellowed out a spell that shook the ground of the battlefield. The earth trembled at his words, as did the armies of Thalorion. The spell took effect as the sky turned blood red. The earth split and great chasms began to appear in the center of the grassy plains, fire spewing between the hollow gorges. The wheat-colored grasses shriveled away, and all of Orizon began to crackle and char like dark, russet embers.

Though the odds were against him, Obadiah would not let fear creep into his heart.

He looked upon the vast army, the reflection of the fierce onslaught moving about in his gaze. As he scowled at the treacherous leader, Obadiah remembered Simoria’s great deception. These Semion demons, who were once beautiful human beings, were now shamed with hideous faces and maroon hair, forever doomed to carry the mark of this curse—all because of Simoria’s wickedness.

Even as Simoria’s horns curved around his fiery red features, Obadiah knew that he was a shape-shifter. The alleged god-king had always presented himself as a beautiful creature with smooth skin and flawless features. His beauty and false promises had deceived the tens of thousands of warriors who now stood beside him. Now, on this terrible day, his true identity was revealed as the beast within. Although he was associated with the Semion, Simoria was something far worse than the Semion army he led—something far more powerful than any demonic creature on earth.

Mathius swallowed hard and mirrored the fearlessness of his master.

Holding his long sword at the ready, the disciple turned toward his general, and said with confidence and anticipation, Victory will be ours this day, Obadiah; of that I am certain.

Yes, but a battle it will still be, Mathius, the aging warrior said wisely.

Mathius’s face went grave and his tone leveled as he finished with great emotion, No matter what happens, I am honored to be standing here beside you.

The pride is all mine, Obadiah responded, his heart sincerely moved.

They touched blades with each other—both of them ready to wage war on their enemy. Obadiah turned to his troops and called out to them, his voice a mighty horn: Soldiers of Thalorion, men of war, men of God. A sore day this is, but nonetheless, it will end in victory. Do not fear the foe that is already defeated. Now is the time; stand firm and take what Elohim has given you!

He paused only to make eye contact with his men. He then cried out with fierceness in his voice, Death is their cry, blood is their thirst, flesh is their hunger—but fear only hinders the warrior! Courage is our cry! We will not submit; we will not accept! We will uproot! We will pull down! And we will tread upon those who oppose us! He looked upon his men with pride and swore an oath, Fight beside me this day! Strive through this darkness and I promise you will come out victorious! He let out a cry, which was echoed by every soldier of Thalorion and of Midobia.

The roar rose up like an ocean of lions, resounding through the fields. As the tens of thousands of voices tore into the plains, Obadiah drew out his sword, Calithrin, and held high the banner of Thalorion with pride. He nudged his horse forward and began galloping into the open field with Mathius close at his side, the armies of Thalorion following closely at their backs.

As they plunged deep into the molten valley, the enormous force resembled light marching against darkness itself. They charged into the unknown with the armies of Midobia flying through the skies at their left flank. The Mogah Generals, as well as the men of Thalorion, tried to dodge the chasms of fire, but many fell into the fiery death pits as they flooded the valley.

As the armies collided in the middle, armor clanged against armor by the tens of thousands. Hundreds fell dead within seconds. The Mogah Generals attacked swiftly and violently, leaping and maneuvering through the chaos like mountain lions, their claws the points of their blades. As the warriors of Midobia flew overhead, they hurled thousands of ten-foot long spears upon their foes below. The spears poured down like bladed rainfall, sinking effortlessly into Mizorah’s hordes.

As over a hundred thousand bodies smashed together in the Battle of Orizon, men grew faint and suffocated from lack of oxygen amidst the crammed bodies. Some fell unconscious, but Midobian warriors saw them with their keen eyes and swooped down from the skies to take them out of the battle.

In the center of the conflict, Mathius began to rally the warriors around him as he charged deeper into the hordes of Semion. Swinging his blade from side to side, the young disciple slew countless Semion monsters with ease, their blood spewing from his cold steel. He seemed invincible as he severed his enemy’s heads. Mathius encouraged the Thalorion warriors around him to press forward as he attacked the enemy. Rather than lose their lives, the beasts began to retreat as he approached.

Mathius suddenly stopped and looked across waves of warring armies—over sword and spear, over man and beast—until finally settling on the reason for all this death: Simoria.

The god-king fought in the distance, rising above his enemies—over twelve feet tall—clad in black armor. His terrible helmet curved around his fiery red face and horns with iron spikes protruding from the top. In one hand Simoria grasped an axe, and in the other, Orn-Ninroth. He used both weapons as his tools of death as he claimed countless lives throughout the battlefield.

Mathius knew he could lose his life if he confronted the god-king, but it was a risk he longed to take.

When Simoria turned around, he saw the fierce apprentice running toward him with his sword at his side. Simoria responded to Mathius in the same manner. The two charged at one another, unconscious of the world around them.

The giant god-king raised Orn-Ninroth. Mathius raised his blade also, but as soon as he stood before Simoria, terror seized him. Using his dark powers, Simoria’s sword burst into black flames as it swung downward. The young disciple swung his blade upward to meet the blow, but it was of no use. As soon as their swords met, Mathius’ steel shattered into a plume of ash.

The power of the sword rang out with such might that all of the soldiers fighting around Simoria and Mathius were blown back a hundred feet, leaving a charred circle around the two. Mathius lay on the ground, losing consciousness as the sword’s power took effect on him. Simoria crossed the battlefield, his black, armored boots squishing into the blood-soaked earth as he moved to finish off the perishing youth.

General Obadiah pushed through the thousands of still-warring armies, trying to get to the devastating scene. Finally he arrived at the empty circle. He saw his beloved disciple, lying on the ground with Simoria standing triumphantly above him. Simoria sneered with pleasure at his mortal enemy, taking evil delight in destroying his one and only disciple.

Mathius could barely move from Orn-Ninroth’s crippling powers, but gathering all of his strength, he inched his gaze upward to see his leader. Their eyes met; Mathius’ dark blue eyes filled with tears as he knew he was seconds away from death. Obadiah cried out in rage and despair as he charged across the open space to save his disciple.

The world moved in slow motion as the space between Obadiah and his disciple seemed to grow with each step the general took. With horror, Obadiah watched Simoria lift Orn-Ninroth over the young man’s limp body. The desperate general looked into his disciple’s eyes one last time as Simoria’s dark blade sank deep into Mathius’ heart.

Obadiah screamed in agony as he ran more fiercely than before, holding his sword firmly in his hand. He would kill Simoria even if it meant the end of himself. Simoria wrenched his sword from the lifeless corpse and charged toward Obadiah, fire spewing from his nostrils.

As they collided, the god-king swung his blade, black flames shooting into the air as their weapons clashed, but Obadiah’s sword, Calithrin, did not break under Orn-Ninroth’s powers. Dazed, Obadiah flew back several feet. With uncontrollable rage, Simoria brandished his sword to finish him. As he thrust Orn-Ninroth toward the Mogah, Obadiah dodged the blow within inches of the impact. Hatred burned in Simoria’s eyes as Obadiah sprang back to his feet like a swift leopard. Once again, Obadiah charged at the evil leader. White and black sparks flew as the two warriors battled ferociously.

Obadiah quickly dodged a fatal blow, tumbled forward and then sliced the back of the giant’s leg as he rebounded. The towering beast dropped to one knee in pain, quickly swinging his blade behind himself to ward off his opponent. As the god-king’s blood spurted from the fresh wound, Obadiah took his chance and stabbed him in his side, piercing through his armor. Shock flashed across Simoria’s features as he looked down at his bloody side. The span of cold steel protruded from his innards, its handle still clenched by its mighty bearer. The beast slowly shifted his gaze from his deathly wound to glare at his mortal enemy.

Obadiah instantly pulled his double-edged sword out with a violent wrench. As blood streamed down the tip of the general’s blade, it was proven that Simoria was no god at all.

The giant beast, with one last effort, rose to his feet. Blood seeped out of the god-king’s side and into his hand as he hissed a spell through his teeth: Narfargosco iglarshven!

Simoria waited for the injury to heal but it did not! His red eyes flashed down to the fatal wound and saw that his life was still draining from within. The Mogah General smiled with delight. Although Obadiah’s Kildor-blade could not reverse spells, it had the power to prevent them from occurring.

Because this wound had come from Calithrin, it could not be undone.

Simoria roared hoarsely as he limped on one leg and quickly assailed the Head Mogah. Obadiah fought the towering menace, knowing that he simply had to wait for his strength to fail. Every blow from Simoria’s sword and axe was like a brick wall smashing against his blade, but the general persevered until the god-king suddenly slumped to the ground.

Obadiah slowly circled his enemy as Simoria’s deep, heaving breaths slowed. The beast finally toppled over to his side, his enormous, scaly frame flat across the earth. A large puddle of blood pooled into the grass, soaking it red and black as Obadiah moved warily over to the dying creature. He held Calithrin with a tight grip, fire raging in his soul.

You liar! Deceiver! Obadiah wailed furiously. You have caused all of this bloodshed! You have set the whole world on fire! And now… you have taken my only son from me!

Simoria slowly shifted his blurred gaze and met his adversary’s stare. "Before the end, you, Obadiah Arkon, will lose everyone you cherish." His fangs flashed with delight behind his dark helmet.

Obadiah kicked Simoria’s giant upper body over and let out a terrible cry as he drove his bloodstained sword through the twisted creature’s heart. Tears of rage and hate bulleted from his eyelids as he drove Calithrin through the god-king’s chest. It wasn’t until the tip of his sword met with the grass underneath that his hoarse cry subsided.

When his hazel eyes finally opened once again, Obadiah saw that his hands still clasped onto the hilt and below lay a corpse.

Mathius, he whispered. He turned and ran across the short distance to where his beloved disciple lay. Obadiah fell to the blood-soaked earth and pulled his closest friend into his arms. He wept over Mathius’ lifeless body, staring sorrowfully into his pale features. Although the battle raged all around, Obadiah did not care. This was where he belonged.

Dark tears coursed down his face as the great general wished in his heart that he had never brought him here. Mathius never should have come to battle on this accursed day, but now he was dead and Obadiah would have to live with this mistake for the rest of his life.

As tears fell upon his disciple’s brow for the last time, Obadiah laid him down and whispered, A son you will always be to me, Mathius. I will never forget you— Obadiah touched his heart and then touched the heart of his disciple before turning back to the fallen god-king.

The general glared at his dead foe once more as he made his way back toward Simoria. Arrows shot by, but Obadiah moved through them with ease and without care. When a Semion-demon got in his way he just thrust his blade through him without mercy or thought.

Once across the plains, Obadiah knelt to the ground beside Simoria’s still body and pulled his helmet free. The dark helmet, which bore the very symbol of power and authority, was now lying in his hands—there was no more reason to fear the dark lord. It wasn’t until another arrow came perilously close to his face that his mind came suddenly back to the battle. Obadiah knew that he needed to rejoin his men. They needed their general to lead them.

Even without their god-king, the Semion were ruthless, bent on winning this battle; their eternal curse was their driving force now. However, without their king, they would be disorganized and easily succumbed… or so he thought.

As time slowly bled like an open wound, it seemed almost impossible for Obadiah’s armies to overcome the pressure of the advancing force. The Waythor generals rallied their battalions and pushed the allied forces back, bathing the lands with dark blood. Obadiah became tired and weak as he continued to fight alongside his weary, yet brave warriors. The Midobians and the Mogahs were beginning to lose the battle as the horde of monsters began to thwart and overtake them.

The winged soldiers of Midobia tried to advance against the armies of Mizorah but were instantly repelled. The Waythor sorcerers were casting their spells into the sky, heaving large fireballs at Midobian warriors, scorching hundreds. The fight turned to anguish as Midobia lost thousands of their men, their bodies falling from the skies like charred rain.

Obadiah Arkon almost lost hope, until he looked up.

The mighty ruler himself, King Feomor, crested the distant plains, holding in his firm grip the most powerful sword known to mankind: Rhema. Thousands of reinforcements came charging through the fields on horses, all bearing swords and spears. The rallied villagers engaged their enemy headlong on the battlefront, smashing into the Semion’s front lines and relieving Obadiah’s position. The bloodbath tripled as the king’s cavalry of militia waged war on the dark beasts, pushing them back into the valley.

The Seer-King took the blade, as clear as glass, and darkened it with the blood of enemy warriors. With every swipe and lunge, Feomor’s sword Rhema began to shine brightly with the power and glory of Elohim. The light emanating from the powerful creation grew more powerful by the second, until finally it could not contain it. White and blue flames went ablaze on the blade’s edges and seared into every foe that the king drove it into. The Semion armies were overcome with terror at the glorious sight. They turned to flight and began to fall back.

The power of Rhema reversed the curse on the heavens as the skies turned to pure light and gold, an illumination that lifted the warrior’s hearts from despair. The chasms, which had torn the earth apart in flames, returned together to their natural state. As the Waythors shot black flames from their palms, the king’s sword diverted the spells, launching the devastating fires back into the horde of Semion.

Relief washed over Obadiah as he watched thousands of Semion fall instantly dead while the rest were curtailed by Rhema’s onslaught. The king rode steadily toward Obadiah—toward his friend. The flashing flames began to dissipate on Rhema’s glassy blade until finally it returned to its natural state.

King Feomor’s warm smile filled Obadiah with new hope. Well done, my brother! Your victory today will be remembered throughout all history! Truly, Elohim was with you, said the king.

I thought all was lost, dear friend, the weary Obadiah replied.

Suddenly, a poisonous arrow wisped over Obadiah’s ear and sank deep into the king’s heart. Horrified, Obadiah watched the king fall abruptly from his horse and down onto the ground, his hands clutching the arrow in his chest. With an overwhelming fury, Obadiah grabbed for the knife in his belt and turned around to throw it at the Semion archer—

But it was gone.

Obadiah dropped the knife, sending it piercing into the bloodstained earth. He ran to the king’s side and lifted his royal head off of the filthy ground.

Feomor was the legendary Seer-King and, yet, he had not foreseen this.

Feomor could hardly breathe as the deadly poison began to work its purpose, yet he managed to whisper to Obadiah with his remaining strength, All is well, friend. A slight smile curved his lips as he continued slowly, Please, take care of my daughter; she is a rare jewel. Tell her that I love her and will always be proud of her.

He coughed violently as words began to fail him. King Feomor breathed deeply and grasped onto Obadiah’s collar. Elona will be queen now and must be protected… but until she is of age, you shall be the official Steward of Thalorion. Obadiah, the king looked more earnestly, please take the Sword, Rhema. May the Great All-Father grant the same revelation to you as He has to me. Give the Symbol to my Elona when she becomes queen, he coughed once again, blood seeping from his lips.

Seconds away from eternity, King Feomor looked into the heavens and whispered his departing words with great emotion, A life I have lived and have found just that… life. His eyes looked upon his friend one last time, a smile of assurance and peace on his features as his spirit left to be with Elohim.

Obadiah stood to his feet, wiping the tears from his face. He had now lost the two people closest to him in this life. He began to sink into despair and to wish death for even himself, and yet, the last words of his king pierced into his soul, words that would never be forgotten: A life I have lived and have found just that… life. Obadiah remembered that this was exactly what they were fighting for—the chance to have life.

Turning, the great general bent down to retrieve the mighty sword, Rhema, which was lying on the ground with the Symbol attached to its pommel. Its magnificence captured him. He slowly picked up the Sword and held it in front of his face.

He had never seen anything so amazing, so beautiful, in his entire life.

His hands slowly glided over the gold and silver Symbol, its core a sapphire blue with Elohim divinely engraved in its center. Next, he felt the vermillion handle, and then observed the runes etched in the glassy blade.

What could the words engraved on the sword possibly mean? No sooner than the thought was out, the strange language changed into words he could understand. Astonished, Obadiah sheathed the Sword, still not comprehending that it was Elohim who had given him the revelation of His Word.

Obadiah then turned to look at the raging battle. He knew what needed to be done: he needed to regroup his men and command them to push forward. Mounting King Feomor’s steed and raising Rhema for all to see, he shouted as he plunged through the valley, For King Feomor!

After a full day of raging warfare, the battle had finally ended.

The bodies of both armies lay cold and lifeless, strewn across the landscape as far as the eye could see. In just one day an entire nation’s army had been wiped out. The Mogahs and the Midobians finally laid hold of their victory. The few Semion regiments that tried to retreat were quickly cut down and abolished. Hundreds of thousands lay dead before the victorious legions, and they all knew for certain that the Semion nation was no more. The men of Thalorion began to gather their wounded and fallen warriors to return home.

Meanwhile, Obadiah went to search for his disciple’s body, returning to the same plains of Orizon where the great duel had been fought. But as he looked for Mathius’ body in the failing daylight, he could not find him.

He searched long and hard… but he was gone.

Obadiah sank to his knees and holding his face in his hands, he began to weep. Who could have taken him and why? Had it been destroyed through all of the fighting? Questions burned in the general’s mind—questions that could not be answered. Rising to his feet, he promised himself that he would later find Mathius’ body, even if it were the last thing he did in life. However, the great march back to Thalorion would soon begin, and he would need to lead the procession. Thalorion needed to know about their fallen Seer-King, and Obadiah would be the one to tell them. He turned back to his men, mounted the king’s white stallion, and with a grief-stricken heart, led his army home.

The weary soldiers of Thalorion returned to a joyous celebration. They were greeted by thousands of men, woman, and children from all around. Music, tambourines, and laughter filled the air as they all thanked and praised Elohim with a song, singing:

"Come all who’re tired and weary,

Let’s eat, dance, and be merry

For the battle has been won!

Though an army waited at our door,

All-Father destroyed them and they

Are no more,

For the battle has been won!"

Children danced in the streets as their fathers and brothers marched through the middle of the city.

Obadiah led the warriors through the crowd to the center of the gathering. A group of valiant troops carried their lifeless king upon adorned shields. King Feomor’s body was covered with a dark purple drape and was heavily laden with white flowers, but no one in the city noticed; the excitement of Thalorion’s victory was too great.

While the people congratulated Obadiah for the victory, he walked with a heavy heart. He needed to speak with young Elona to tell her the news of her father before he addressed the crowd. Obadiah’s eyes began to scan the crowd for the child, but could not see her. As he ascended the steps to the platform above, the multitude soon realized the sadness in the general’s eyes as he made his speech.

Friends, the Great All-Father has been gracious to us this day in giving us the strength to overcome our enemies. He raised the helmet of the god-king high into the air and shouted, Simoria lies dead on the battle plains, proving that he was nothing more than a liar and a deceiver! His voice was immediately cut off by their roaring applause. The people cheered for the great general before being silenced by Obadiah’s other hand. However, he began once more, sometimes even when we are blessed, we are still required to sacrifice. Thalorion, he paused for a moment as the scene before him began to blur. Obadiah sighed deeply as tears rolled from his eyes. He had lost more in the Battle of Orizon than anyone else could ever dream of losing. First his closest disciple, and now his beloved king.

His burdens were too much to bear.

Obadiah forced himself to face the crowd and to release his sorrow-filled words, which felt like lead as they rolled off of his lips, A great sadness has befallen us. Our great Seer-king, Feomor Vilari, has died in battle. The people gasped at his words and stood in silence. Let his name forever be remembered; let the name Feomor Vilari forever rest on our lips. He was the one who foresaw this terrible day through visions; he saw the great deception before Simoria ever rose to power. Had he not rallied our nation into unity, perhaps even we would be accursed; perhaps, even we would have perished. So let us honor him; let us remember all that he has done for our country, our people, and our families.

As he descended the stony steps, the crowd parted and Elona came running to the general. Obadiah’s loving arms embraced the little girl readily as they held one another for a few sorrowful moments. Although Elona was only seven years old, she understood that her father was gone. The heartbroken man could barely contain his grief as he held the weeping child close to his chest.

He then softly whispered into her ear, Elona, your father loved you very much. Before he died, he wanted you to know that he would always be proud of you. He is with Elohim now.

The little queen buried her face into his shoulder, overwhelmed by it all, but at the same time feeling safe in Obadiah’s arms. She looked up at him innocently. Am I going to be with you now?

Yes, you will be with me now, he replied with a smile, staring past her freckled features and into her child eyes. Elona hugged him, clinging to him as he carried her home.

As the impact of the news spread throughout the city, the people began to mourn for their great Seer-king. Each person said a prayer to Elohim for help and strength before departing for their homes.

Obadiah wished to destroy the helmet of Simoria, to forever rid the nation of his treachery. But rather than destroy evidence of his great deception, the Mogahs voted to take the helmet of Simoria to the palace, to be kept in the Thalorion war archives. If such a scheme were to ever unravel again, they would use the alleged god-king’s helmet to remind the people of the accursed race and to remind them of their fate should they submit to such an adversary. They sealed it in one of the chambers so that the memory of Simoria would forever be locked away, but the legend of the god-king would not be so easily shadowed.

In the darkness of the night, across the miles of devastation—amidst the rubble of decaying bodies—lay Simoria, the one who had killed King Feomor. Unbelievably and against all reason, the deeply wounded beast slowly stood up from the carnage surrounding him and glowered at the magnificent city a great distance away.

Some day this will be you, oh great city of Thalorion! he cried. With rage-filled eyes, Simoria stood and gazed upon his massacred army. As far as his red eyes could see lay the bodies of his Semion armies.

Hatred filled his heart even more than before.

The giant menace stooped and picked up a handful of the blood-soaked earth, and raising his clenched fist to the sky, he prophesied with an oath:

"Cold be night, cold be heart;

I shall forever sit in dark,

Until one day ride at flight

Against armies of Thalorion

For last fight…."

Twelve years later.

Day Break

The showers descended like never before, blanketing the rocky hillside with vicious sheets of rain. The biting raindrops drenched William Ore’s clothing as a faceless mob of people encircled him, blocking his every escape. Although the young man couldn’t make out a single expression, he knew the horde was intent on killing him.

William gazed at a gaping whole in his chest and saw blood trickling down, red droplets falling into the pools of water beneath his feet. At the same time, he held a sword firmly in his grasp. A soft glow suddenly began to emanate from his body. Starting small, it grew brighter and brighter, until—

William Ore awoke with a jolt, his breathing fast and irregular. His lean, yet muscular body lay across the bedspread, a cold sweat glistening on the surface of his skin. His wavy, brown hair, which was just above shoulder length, outlined his features.

The third time this month, his mind whispered. Although surreal dreams were a natural occurrence for the young carpenter, they had never been so vivid with such detailed images. In fact, Will had never had the same dream three times until now.

Suddenly, the warm, morning sun crested over his windowsill and reached his handsomely tan face.

Oh no, Will said with a huge sigh as reality set in. He jolted out of his covers and rushed toward the open window. Gazing out at the harmonious panorama, Will saw that the rising sun had already dawned over the distant palace, and realized what time it was. I’m late again! Obadiah hates it when I’m late!

The young man, fully awake now, dressed hastily and prepared to leave.

After running outside, he realized he forgot his practice sword and bolted back into the house. Retrieving the blade replica, his mother, Linya, heard all the commotion and called from the kitchen. Where are you going, Will?

William turned around, trying to run backwards, and yelled