The Legacy of Lethe: The Kiynan Chronicles, #2

By Eric P. Caillibot

The past is forgotten, but not gone.

 

In a time before humans dominate the world, an empire of grey-skinned, magic-wielding giants erupts into civil war. Verletzt, a bold idealist, challenges the status quo and starts a movement that struggles desperately against their brutal rulers to win freedom and lead his people to a glorious destiny.

 

Millenia later, Kayla Freeland's prophetic sight shows her an approaching worldwide apocalypse. The devastating threat is somehow connected to an ancient weapon, hidden elemental forces and Vertletzt's long-vanished civilization. Racing against time, she assembles an expedition to delve into the past and solve the riddle of her visions before it is too late.

 

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The Legacy of Lethe is both sequel and prequel to "The Conquest of Kiynan" but can be read as a stand-alone book. The story is split across multiple viewpoint characters in two timelines, forced to navigate conflict, heartbreak, coming of age and magic. The threads are gradually woven together, leading to a single, thrilling conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unrealism Books
• Release date: Jan 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9781999235727

Eric P. Caillibot

Eric P. Caillibot has spent decades writing fantasy and science fiction stories, inspired by the likes of Tolkien, George R.R. Martin, Robert Silverberg and Lloyd Alexander. He blends original concepts with the fundamental elements that draw readers to these engrossing genres, whether expressed in books, short stories, or role-playing games. He was born and raised in Montreal, Canada, but he has also lived and attended university in Ottawa, Toronto and Strasbourg, France. He holds a bachelor and a master degree in aerospace engineering, as well as a certificate from the International Space University.

Book preview

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To Sandrina, Lila and Adelyn

Special thanks to Adam, Cordell and everyone who helped make this book possible

If you like the book, please post a review! Each one makes a big difference. Then get a free story by joining my newsletter at ericpcaillibot.com/newsletter.

Copyright © 2022 by Eric P. Caillibot

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by copyright law.

Contents

Map 1040 A.F.

Map 4000 B.F.

Timeline

Prologue

1.Wenloq

2.Swift

3.Haven

4.Friloq

5.The Drifts

6.Lament

7.River Acheron

8.Swift

9.Haven

10.Friloq

11.Frozen Keep

12.Buccaneer's Bay

13.Greloq

14.Amity

15.Spire

16.River Acheron

17.Silver Sands

18.Soloq

19.Swift

20.Silver Sands

21.Huloq

22.Buccaneer’s Bay

23.Maloq

24.Anuk

25.Fayl

26.Frozen Keep

27.Cold Sea

28.Greloq

29.Daybreak

30.Wenloq

31.Lament

32.Silent Sea

33.Swift

34.Haven

35.Friloq

36.August Point

37.Swift

38.Lethe

39.Anuk

40.Shattered Islands

41.Shattered Islands

42.Starkeeper’s Tears

43.Skyclaw Mountains

44.Blood Rush

45.Haven

46.Swift

Afterword

Houses of Ornland

Parkel

Haven

Skywall

Parkel

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Prologue

Red are the furious, boundless and bold,

Strong and relentless, a blaze uncontrolled.

Blue are the oracles and lords of the mind,

Able to glimpse fate’s whims and designs.

Amber are envy, and passionate lust,

With mirages and flames they burn as they must.

Black are the shadows of hatred and frost,

Spiteful and loathing, and fueled by disgust.

White rely on awe, reverence and pride,

Blasting winds, behind barriers they hide.

Green are the joyful who wield nature’s might,

Hopeful and kindly, they thrive in the light.

Grey are the grieving, those lost to despair,

Who commune with the after, and those that rest there.

Magic is great danger, power in form,

A force of destruction, reader be warned.

-- The Magician’s Codex, c. 0 After Founding of the Houses (A.F.), in Ornish reckoning

Chapter 1

Wenloq

c. 4000 B.F. (Height of the Lethean Empire)

High Priest Comanth stood atop the Pentad Temple. From the elevated vantage point, he could see in all directions, almost to the edges of Wenloq, the sprawling capital city of the Lethean Empire. Spring was upon them and the morning was beautiful. The air was warm and the sun shone brightly, illuminating the High Priest’s long, lean visage. Like all Letheans, his face was a smooth grey slab except for a single eye, a wide slit stretching across the centre of his face. Unblinking, it stared northward.

In the distance, a dozen of Comanth’s soldiers approached in a circular formation that stood out against the otherwise chaotic bustle of the city streets. Although they were expected, and he was eager for them to arrive, Comanth watched their approach with apprehension. The prize they escorted, bound and shackled at the centre of the circle, was the most dangerous Lethean that had ever lived.

As he watched them draw nearer, Comanth’s eye emitted a faint orange glow, revealing his state of restless anxiety. Turning his face toward the sun, the warm light soothed his restless thoughts and his eye color faded to a soft, calm blue.

The Earthwatcher is paying close attention to us today, Comanth thought to himself, contemplating the sun.

Looking back toward the convoy, he saw that they were approaching the end of the artery that ran in a perfectly straight line from the edge of the city to the gates of the Pentad Temple, from where the Pentate Priesthood ruled over their people. They would be arriving in minutes.

Turning his back to the scene, Comanth headed toward a broad staircase that led from the roof into the temple itself. He pulled up the loose, white robe he wore, freeing his feet to avoid tripping on the hem. As he descended the steps, Comanth drew himself up and calmed his mind. As he did so, his eye’s blue glow intensified.

Part way down the stairs, Comanth was met by Jaden, clothed in a light grey robe marking him as the most prominent of his subordinate priests. As soon as Jaden spotted Comanth making his way down, he stopped his ascent and waited. A faint flicker of orange passed across Jaden’s eye before it returned to its usual, uniform blue. While Comanth would ordinarily have reproached any disciple who allowed control over their emotions to lapse, he said nothing. Only a fool would be completely free of concern moments before the sentencing of Verletzt, the leader of the Iconoclast movement that threatened the very fabric of Lethean society.

High Father, the younger priest greeted Comanth soundlessly, inclining his head as his eye flashed the familiar pattern.

Father Jaden, Comanth’s eye blinked in response.

Jaden turned and fell into step alongside Comanth. Side by side, the priests proceeded down the stairs, their heads turned to ensure they could simultaneously see each other’s faces and the path ahead.

Everything is ready for the proceedings, Jaden continued. Everyone has gathered. They await you in the Sanctum.

Good, Comanth nodded. "With Verletzt sentenced and gone, all of this unrest and talk of change will surely die down. This nonsense has gone on long enough."

To himself, the High Priest added chidingly I was a fool to allow it to continue as long as it did. I should have ordered more beatings, more arrests. As of their first so-called protest, I should have had every one of them rounded up and executed. Publicly.

Nothing more was said as the men continued their long descent.

As they reached the foot of the stairs, they walked into the temple’s southern antechamber. The room was busy with soldiers on patrol, clothed entirely in metal, every part of their bodies hidden under plates of steel or links of mail. Their brightly polished helmets, which covered their entire head and neck, were attached to their shoulders as well, forming a smooth arc. But for a narrow eye slit, their faceplates were a solid veneer with no holes or openings.

Beyond the antechamber, the priests entered the Sanctum, the pentagonal room at the center of the temple. As he walked past one of the room’s five corners, Comanth glanced at the statue it contained, recessed into a niche in the wall. A blue giant, the statue’s entire face was a bright yellow circle. The Earthwatcher. Chief among the Pentate of Gods worshipped by Comanth and all Letheans.

Comanth arrived at last at the raised dais at the southern end of the Sanctum. Climbing its steps he took his seat on the throne at its centre and began to inspect the crowd gathered before him. The rest of the Priesthood were there, as was required of them, along with the highest ranking soldiers in the Lethean military and numerous prominent citizens of the Empire. Comanth did not need the hurriedly concealed orange flickers in their eyes to know how nervous they all were. The tension in the air was palpable.

Though the High Priest knew they had little doubt concerning the sentence he would deliver, he also knew that they were wary of the repercussions that would follow. The Lethean Empire had always stood for order and stability. Comanth valued these things above all else and he was determined that under his rule, these fundamental values of the Lethean people would be maintained. Not since ancient times had the future of the Lethean Empire been clouded with uncertainty. Comanth despised uncertainty.

After a few moments, a soldier hurried forward and spoke discreetly to the High Priest that his troops were waiting outside the doors to the Sanctum. Comanth nodded curtly, and the soldier hurried back to his post.

Bring in the prisoner! the High Priest commanded, his eye beaming bright white as he swelled with determination.

As one, all eyes turned toward the northern end of the Sanctum where soldiers were already pulling open thick steel doors to reveal a cadre of soldiers wearing blood-red uniforms. These were the Priesthood’s most elite warriors, to which the most critical missions were entrusted. By unspoken command, they marched in lockstep into the Sanctum, their heavy boots clanging in unison. Every eye in the room followed their progress. Halting directly before the dais, the soldiers saluted the High Priest, turned and marched back the way they had come, leaving the man they had been escorting alone at the foot of the stairs.

Comanth looked down at the prisoner. Verletzt was bound at the wrists and bare-chested. His demeanour was downcast; his eye barely shone and seemed to show defeat. The High Priest felt a certain satisfaction at witnessing his adversary’s humility.

When Comanth had last seen Verletzt, he had been rallying a crowd of eager onlookers, his eye shining with distinctive staccato patterns and a variety of colours, full of intensity. The crowd had been enraptured. He had sown seeds of doubt among the normally devout Letheans. Comanth had been reluctant to act at first, fearing that any action he took might draw attention to Verletzt’s movement or lend it credence in the eyes of the masses. He had worked instead to tarnish Verletzt’s credibility, hoping his audience would grow distrustful of his words and eventually lose interest altogether. His strategy had failed. Disruption had resulted. More and more Letheans had begun to press the clergy with questions they had never thought to ask before. Questions that were difficult to answer. Too late, Comanth had ordered that all Iconoclast rallies be broken up by force and participants arrested. Greater and harsher force had been increasingly necessary over time to quash the spreading movement. The unrest had spread for months, until Verletzt himself had finally been captured.

Now, to put an end to this nonsense, Comanth thought to himself. Once and for all.

As the soldiers took their places around the Sanctum and the echoes of their footsteps faded, an expectant stillness fell over the witnesses. Comanth rose slowly to his feet and raised his arms.

Citizen Verletzt, he began solemnly, his eye gleaming white.

Slowly, Verletzt raised his head until he was looking directly into his persecutor’s face.

You have been found guilty of heresy and treason against the Holy Empire of Lethe. Your crimes are heinous and unforgivable. As everyone gathered here knows well, the punishment, Comanth paused to survey the room, is death.

Everywhere in the Sanctum, the onlookers shuffled their feet uncomfortably and exchanged looks. Some showed agreement, but to Comanth’s distaste, he also saw furtive glances of disapproval.

Before your sentence is carried out, Comanth continued. I give you one last chance to repent. Denounce your crimes and beg the Pentate for forgiveness before the Deliverers come for your wretched soul.

Verletzt’s expression changed subtly as Comanth finished speaking. Instead of resignation, a subtle look of defiance appeared.

Comanth felt a vague portent of danger. Forcing calmness through his mind, he tried to focus his power of premonition. Scanning the scene before him, he sought anything that might be amiss, but saw nothing unusual. His guards were in position and alert. The bindings which held Verletzt appeared secure. The doors at the back of the room had been closed and barred.

Despite the signs, Comanth’s powers had never misled him before and he suddenly knew that Verletzt had planned something terrible.

I do not seek forgiveness from the Pentate, Verletzt’s eye shone red with anger. He turned and addressed the crowd behind him. I renounce the old Gods!

The people became agitated. Comanth saw confusion, fear and anger spiraling in their eyes. The High Priest immediately motioned for his soldiers to take the prisoner away. Some of the soldiers began to comply, but others moved into their path. Comanth’s eye blazed red.

The Pentate are a myth! Verletzt continued. A myth perpetrated to empower the Priesthood and to oppress our people! Only by denying them can we be free to control our lives! Free to pursue our true destiny!

Some people were moving toward Verletzt, their fists raised in support. Arguments and fights were breaking out among the others. Soldiers were drawing their blades and facing off against each other.

Comanth was at a loss. He had hand-picked only his most loyal soldiers and followers to be present, yet even they appeared divided.

How can it have come this far? Comanth thought to himself in disbelief.

A section of the southeastern wall of the chamber suddenly exploded, showering all present with fragments of brick and mortar. The statue of the Waterdweller was thrown from its niche and Comanth watched in horror as it shattered on the floor of the Sanctum. Before the High Priest could react, an armed group had forced the crowd aside and cleared a path to the hole for Verletzt. The prisoner immediately ran toward his supporters, stopping at the gap in the wall. He turned and called out.

The time of subservience is over! The time has come to fight for what you believe! To fight for our future! Join us now! Our glorious destiny awaits!

Verletzt ran out, his rebels following him. Many of the soldiers and other spectators followed in his wake, pumping their fists in the air.

The soldiers loyal to the Priesthood attacked. Some of those trying to flee were suddenly blocked by invisible barriers of force and cut down mercilessly. Razor-sharp shards of ice flew through the air and impaled another pair of escaping rebels. Suddenly, a blinding gout of flame gushed into the room through the hole in the wall, scorching a handful of soldiers and forcing the rest to dodge backwards. When the flames faded, the confusion began to die down. Less than half of the room’s original occupants remained. The surviving soldiers hesitated and turned to look for direction from their High Priest.

Comanth stood frozen in shock amid the rubble, staring at the disembodied head of the Waterdweller statue. With an effort, he raised his gaze and eyed the Letheans around him. They looked at each other, grasped their heads in their hands and finally turned to stare at their leader. In their faces, Comanth saw shock, horror and most of all, fear. He knew the same emotions were visible on his own face.

This has only just begun, he realized mutely.

Chapter 2

Swift

c. 1040 A.F. (Present Day)

Edvard Quickeye sat in the boisterous common room of the Swordfish Inn. With a quick flick of his head, he tossed his long brown hair out of his eyes, giving him a clearer view of the playing cards he held in his muscular fist. His handsome face framed the bright green eyes he had inherited from his father and they darted up from his miserable hand to survey the faces of the men at his table.

Two were Edvard’s countrymen, Caimen, both sailors on shore leave. They were struggling to keep their expressions neutral, but Edvard’s long gambling experience had given him the ability to notice even the faintest tells. One obviously had nothing, but the other probably had a strong hand. The olive-skinned Qume trader at the table had already discarded his cards in disgust and was now watching the others with apathy. That left the Gaurvian merchant, who had the largest pile of coins stacked in front of him.

Edvard eyed the man carefully. Of everyone at the table, the Gaurvian had been the hardest to read, which was why Edvard had lost so much gold to him. Or perhaps it had something to do with the man’s beautiful daughter who had been frequently returning to the table to check on his progress, giving Edvard a suggestive smile every time.

With only a few coins left and lousy cards, Edvard knew that his only chance was to make one last, desperate bluff. If it worked, he would be back in the game. If not, well, he could find other ways of entertaining himself. He drew himself up to his full, imposing height and pushed all of his remaining money into the centre of the table. He looked down at his hand again and deliberately let a tiny smile cross his face for the briefest instant.

He looked over at the Caimen sailors. The first hesitated for a moment then shrugged and discarded his hand. Edvard’s hunch had been right about him. The second hesitated longer. He stared at his cards, deep in thought, periodically casting furtive looks at the Gaurvian and at Edvard. Finally, with a sigh full of regret, he too cast aside his hand. He crossed his arms savagely and glared at the Gaurvian. The merchant wore the same placid smile he had shown since he first sat down at the table. He looked into Edvard’s eyes, clearly sizing him up. Edvard returned the look, genuinely full of confidence, although not because of the weak hand he had been dealt. The Gaurvian’s eyes returned to his cards for a moment. With a decisive gesture, the man matched Edvard’s bet.

His heart sinking, Edvard was forced to reveal his hand and expose his bluff. The Gaurvian placed his cards carefully on the table. His hand was also weak, but strong enough to win this time. Seeing the cards laid out, the Caimen sailor uncrossed his arms and threw his hands in the air in exasperation. While the Gaurvian calmly claimed his winnings, Edvard picked up his mug of ale and bade the men a cheerful goodbye, reflecting that the false smile might not have been subtle enough to fool the wily merchant.

Edvard made his way through the crowded inn, his bodyguard, Hadar, never more than a step behind him. The prince breathed in the hot air, full of the smell of sweat and spilled ale. He sang along for a moment with the ever-cheerful bard, who was leading onlookers in a rowdy sea shanty. The Swordfish Inn was one of Edvard’s favourite haunts, although he was fond of many such places in Swift.

Edvard was a happy young man. The gold he had just gambled away, while a considerable sum, was of little consequence to him. As the son of the High King of Varice, he had access to more gold than he could deliberately gamble away in a lifetime in a place like the Swordfish Inn. There was, in fact, very little that was of any consequence to Edvard.

He reached the bar and casually pointed to his mug. Seeing him, the bartender immediately rushed over, interrupting the refill he had been giving to another customer. Smiling exuberantly, the bartender served Edvard, and was rewarded with double the price of the drink, as usual.

Spotting the Gaurvian merchant’s daughter nearby, Edvard made his way over to her. She noticed him approaching and gave him a shy smile before turning away.

Excuse me, Miss, Edvard began when he reached her.

The young woman turned to face him and Edvard was pleasantly surprised to discover that her face was even prettier up close. Her long black hair contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and blue eyes. She had high cheeks, flushed with a healthy glow, and a small, slightly upturned nose.

Smiling, Edvard quickly gave her a once over. His enthusiasm was slightly lessened as he noticed that the girl’s clothing seemed intended to conceal how skinny she was. He sighed inwardly, but decided that, even if she were not his ideal type, her companionship would most likely prove enjoyable. Especially since he now owed her father a little payback.

My name is Edvard, the prince introduced himself with disarming confidence.

Anna, the girl smiled, her blush deepening.

I saw you by the card table while I was playing.

Yes, replied Anna, sounding thrilled that Edvard had noticed her. I was checking on my father. He does love to gamble!

He is a very talented card player. You are Gaurvian, are you not?

Anna nodded and covered her mouth with her hand as she giggled.

How could you tell? she asked.

With a wave of his hand he branded the question as trivial, but answered nonetheless. All my life I’ve seen travellers from across Kiynan and Varice come to Swift, the prince answered candidly. Whether by their looks, manner of dress, accent and even behaviour, by now, I’ve learned to recognize them all.

Anna giggled again.

You think I behave like a Gaurvian? she asked coyly, fluttering her eyelids.

Edvard moved closer to her and whispered into her ear.

You’re too pretty to be anything but Gaurvian.

As Edvard pulled back again, he watched his compliment have its intended effect. Anna blushed even further and launched into an almost uncontrollable bout of giggling, which ended with her giving him a falsely reproachful tap on his chest.

Edvard smiled knowingly. While he had considerable experience at gambling, this was his favourite game.

With his bodyguard keeping an eye out for Anna’s father, as per Edvard’s instructions, the prince continued applying his charm. After convincing her to accept a drink, despite her father having forbidden it, their conversation quickly grew more intimate. When Edvard mentioned the private room that the Swordfish Inn kept for his personal use, Anna declared herself eager to show Edvard more of her Gaurvian behaviour.

Edvard led her away from the common room, up the stairs and down a long corridor, to a wing reserved for the Inn’s wealthiest guests. He posted Hadar in the hallway and pointed out the nearby door to his private room. Grabbing his hand, Anna pulled him excitedly toward it. Closing the door behind them, they rushed into the room where Anna took a moment to survey the large, richly adorned chamber. Apparently judging it to be acceptable, she whirled around, wrapped her arms around Edvard’s neck and kissed him with more passion than the prince had hoped. Lost in the moment Edvard soon found himself stumbling toward the enormous, canopied bed, the girl’s body all the while pressed tightly against his own.

Although it felt to Edvard as if no time had passed, he suddenly heard an urgent knocking at the door. Reluctantly pulling his lips away from his companion he shouted.

What is it?

Someone’s coming, my lord, answered Hadar through the door.

Before he could respond, Anna sat bolt upright in a panic.

My father! she gasped.

Edvard looked at her and hesitated. While he had no concern for himself regarding anything the Gaurvian merchant might say or do, he also felt that it was unlikely that he could convince Anna to play it cool with her father nearby. Making up his mind, he put a finger on her lips.

Be still, my sweet, he whispered. I will see if it is him.

Anna seemed to accept this and remained seated on the bed, her face still frozen with fear. Edvard got up and hurried to the door. As he approached it, he heard a commotion just outside.

Hadar! he called to his bodyguard in an urgent whisper. What’s going on?

There was no answer, but a moment later several loud thumps and bangs emanated from beyond the door, followed again by silence.

Feeling more confusion than anything else, he opened the door a crack and peered out to see what was going on. He only had time to make out the outline of a man before the door was kicked open, knocking Edvard to the floor. Behind him, Anna shrieked.

A stocky, brawny man, clearly not the Gaurvian merchant, stepped calmly through the door, his cold, cruel eyes fixed on Edvard. The prince, slightly stunned, pushed himself away from the man, toward the bed and its screaming occupant. The intruder drew a long dagger from his sleeve and advanced deliberately, his gaze never wavering.

Finding his voice at last, Edvard shouted for his bodyguard.

Hadar! Hadar get in here! Help!

A shadow of a smile appeared on the stranger’s face and he spoke in a deep, gravelly voice.

Hadar can’t hear you, boy.

Panic setting in, Edvard glanced back toward Anna who had not stopped screaming since the door had opened. She looked at his face and, seeing his fear, began shaking hysterically and redoubled her shrieks.

Edvard turned back toward the intruder in time to see a dagger descending toward his throat. Instinctively, he rolled to his right and heard the dagger cut into the wooden floor. Scrambling to his feet he managed to duck under a slashing attack. Keeping his head low, Edvard ran for the exit. As he reached it, a searing pain ignited in his shoulder and the force of the impact swung him through the open door. Staggering into the hallway and slamming into the wall, his gaze swung back toward the room.

There his attacker stood, lowering his extended arm, his hand empty. Edvard groped his right shoulder and felt the hilt of a dagger protruding. Before he had time to absorb the fact that he was hurt, the stranger drew a second dagger and came at him.

Without another backward glance, Edvard raced down the hall toward the common room, his long legs moving faster than ever before. He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and in the background, the girl was still screaming.

He reached the stairs, but as he took the first step, a heavy hand grabbed his left shoulder, twisting him around. Edvard saw his attacker raise the dagger for a killing blow, and he leaned backward to try to escape. The hand on his shoulder lost its grip and Edvard lost his balance.

Panic gripped him and, instinctively, he reached out and found his foe’s shirt. The next instant, the two men were tumbling down the short staircase. With a crash they landed on the floor of the common room, surrounded by its patrons. A sharp pain exploded inside Edvard’s head.

His breath knocked out of him and thoroughly disoriented, the prince rolled painfully to his side searching for his would-be assassin. The music stopped and suddenly, several people were shouting. There was a surge of movement around him and then a piercing cry cut through the noise.

Edvard!

He looked up to see Anna at the top of the stairs, her hand over her mouth. Finally able to breathe, Edvard struggled to look around to see what had become of his attacker. Two hulking Caimen were holding him between them. Relieved, the prince let his head drop to the floor and closed his eyes.

Is that Prince Edvard? came a voice.

With a supreme effort, Edvard lifted his increasingly heavy eyelids and looked at his enemy again. The man had given up struggling against his captors and was glancing desperately in every direction.

That man stabbed the Prince! yelled an enraged voice.

Angry muttering broke out. The Caimen tightened their grip on their prisoner, their expressions darkening.

Weariness finally overcoming him, Edvard’s eyelids came crashing down and he let his awareness go.

Chapter 3

Haven

c. 1040 A.F. (Present Day)

Duchess Kayla Freeland the Blue stood atop of the North tower of Haven, watching the sunset. Although she enjoyed the natural beauty of the scene, it was not why she had sought out the vantage point. Standing there brought back memories of her youth. Life had seemed so simple and carefree then. Her days had consisted of riding her horse along the beach and playing with her friend and guardian, Thalamir. She missed those days, and she missed Thalamir even more. She forced herself not to relive the painful memories again. She had cried enough over the last twenty years.

There had also been lessons to study, adults to deal with, and… her nightmares. Two decades later, the memories still sent shivers down her spine. She had seen the horrors that Daimin the Conjurer had brought forth into the world. Creatures never meant to walk the realm of the living.

Of course, that was all in the past. Daimin had been defeated and Kayla’s nightmares had disappeared along with him. Until now...

Closing her eyes, her mind soared over the fortified city of Haven. No longer merely the capital of her people, the Fled, she had made it into the citadel of House Calm. With a final glance at the darkening landscape, Kayla sighed and left the tower. Hopping off the first step she caught herself in midair. Levitating just slightly above the stonework, she effortlessly glided down the long winding staircase. Reaching the bottom, she lightly touched down on the cool flagstones that lined the corridor of the student wing of the castle where she lodged the novices eager to learn the magical ways of House Calm. Many of her students were from Ornland, but several had come to her from the Fled as well.

After the end of the Second Conjurer’s War, Kayla had managed to encourage interaction between her people and the Faithful who had remained on Ornland during the worst of the Ornish civil war centuries ago. The Fled had taken to learning of their former religion, their history and magic, with insatiable appetites. Many families, sundered so many generations prior, had found long lost relatives and celebrated their common ancestry. The Ornish peoples had been reunited. Between this unification of the Fled and Faithful Ornish, as well as the resurrection of her House, balance and order had gradually returned to the continent of Ornland. The neglected roads between the strongholds of each House had been rebuilt, trade routes had been reopened and the people were now free to travel across the entirety of their homeland and beyond. Some damage from the Second Conjurer’s War remained, but most had been repaired thanks to the cooperation and generosity from all sides. The magicians had even begun to collaborate in their magical studies, and new discoveries had been made for the first time in centuries. It was a new golden age. Which made her new nightmares all the more disconcerting.

In them, she had witnessed a catastrophic eruption of magical energy. An explosion so powerful, that it obliterated all life across the entire world, from Ornland to Varice. But her visions did not end there. In the wake of this apocalypse, all that remained was a barren wasteland. Over time, new life began to emerge, and strange, ethereal creatures moved openly among the ruins. There were some that she recognized as wraiths, like those she had seen walking among the mists in Lethe. Others resembled animate rocks in the shape of tiny people with conical heads.