The fall into the Stillness was easier this time.
The chipped black crystal acted as a conduit, strengthening his own skill to enter the Stillness, shearing away the friction of the transition. The heat of the desert air transformed into the icy abyss of the Void.
Dak'nor had one objective: find a way to end this. But as his consciousness settled, the infinite black seemed all-encompassing. The Void was no longer just an empty expanse; in the silence, he could almost feel the Stillness vibrating with a faint trickle of life. His heart burned with the desperate urge to study it, to know the how and why of this dark dimension, but he forced the curiosity down. All that mattered now was the plan to find the light in the dark.
He scanned the Void, but Dak'nor saw nothing. He could not find the brilliant speck of light he had found so easily before.
What is different? he thought, his panic rising.
Dak'nor dug frantically at the memory of his first trespassing of this realm. He immediately realized the flaw:
My mind is thinking. I must focus. One point at a time.
Though his physical body lay completely paralyzed on the marble of the council chambers, Dak'nor's projected consciousness began to move. He began the dance he was taught as a child, back when his father still believed his eldest son would be a blade for the Beh-REET infantry.
The Viper Binds the Stone. The echoes of Kal'nor's stern teachings whispered in his mind as Dak'nor shifted his stance in the dark. Bind the enemy's attack. Control yourself to control the opponent.
He transitioned smoothly into the next form, his breathing slowing. Dragon Ash in the Wind. Speed. Move with urgency to overwhelm the enemy, forcing a mistake or a retreat.
Finally, he settled into the anchor of his people. Beh-REET Defends the Stone. Find your balance. Your power doesn't come from the strike, but from the core of your base.
The familiar, repetitive motions of the martial forms allowed Dak'nor to harness his wandering mind, control his breath, and reach deep into himself to search for the light of his own soul.
When Dak'nor opened his eyes, the Void had changed.
The speck of light was there, dancing like a dying star in the vast distance. But he was no longer alone. A towering wall of thick, oily smoke blocked his path to the star. As he attempted to step past it, the smoke condensed, pulling itself into a familiar shape.
It was a mirror image of himself.
The shadow-copy lacked features, composed of writhing black smoke, but its posture was undeniably Dak'nor's. When it spoke, the sound did not come from a mouth. It sounded like the wind howling through a dead canyon at night, dozens of low pitches bleeding together to form words.
"Why do you reach for...IT?"
Dak'nor's mind spiraled, a dozen questions colliding at once. What are you? How do you speak? Why are you attacking us? Who—what is...IT?
The copy seemed to waver, flickering in and out of Dak'nor's vision, overwhelmed by the volume of his thoughts.
"Loud," the shadow whispered, its form vibrating with disdain. "You are the seconds. We are the first."
The dread of realization washed over Dak'nor. His theory of a civilization existing before humanity wasn't just true—it was standing right in front of him.
"The light here—" Dak'nor pointed to the dancing star. "It gave you life?" He forced his mind to project the question clearly.
The shadowy copy flared, its edges boiling with sudden anger. "Stolen life! We take back from the H'Utter-ance!"
The puzzle pieces snapped together in Dak'nor's mind. "This H'Utter-ance took the light of life from you—and gave it to us?"
The shadow ceased its violent writhing. It gave a single, chilling nod before whispering a single word. "Unearned."
Dak'nor watched the shadow slowly closing the distance between them. "Why take your light? Why would the H'Utter-ance do this?"
The shadow seemed momentarily confused by the question, its form tilting in a mockery of human curiosity. "H'Utter-ance is all, and... is nothing." It paused, the wind-like voices layering over one another in a chant. "We take back our light."
Dak'nor realized with horror that reason was not an option here. This wasn't a misunderstanding. This was a cosmic eviction. The Shadow Sworn wanted their life force back; they wanted the world back. And this H'Utter-ance—the star in the distance—might be the only thing in the universe that could stop this usurping of their world.
"H'Utter-ance attacked you with creations of flame," he projected. "Dragons?"
The shadow paused its advance. "Light thieves."
"Then they took your light," Dak'nor continued, "and bonded you to the Void?"
"H'Utter-ance used light thieves on the first," the shadow hissed.
Dak'nor thought of the black crystal heart of the dragon O'nor had slain. "Dragons pulled in your kind, the "first," and pushed you into the dark."
The layered voices spoke out of turn, and for a moment what came out was a single voice, a man exhaling. "Yes."
Then.
"Take back—"
"Listen no more—"
"Light thieves—"
"He is Second—"
The voices came in waves now as if the shadow before him was being told conflicting orders.
Dak'nor braced himself, abandoning the parley, and took a deliberate step toward the speck of light.
The copy's mind violently slammed against Dak'nor's. "You would wake the H'Utter-ance? It would take all light! NO!"
A wall of shadows erupted from the copy, rushing forward to physically push Dak'nor back into the dark. But as the dark force collided with him, Dak'nor didn't fly backward like he had in his first encounter.
The force felt weaker.
The shadows washed over him like water breaking against a boulder, leaving Dak'nor standing firmly on the path to the dying star.
Dominion of Men
Alarm bells rang at the outer walls. O'nor's instincts screamed at him to run out the massive front doors of the Val'dora to assist in the defense of Beh-REET, but his feet froze in the gardened walkway of the estate.
I can't defend the walls and my brother.
As the thought anchored his feet in place, a soft hand fell onto his shoulder. When he turned his head, it was Naamah. Her face was veiled, but her blue eyes spoke of a profound sadness for his people. O'nor could not stand by and allow good men to die. They didn't even know what they faced.
Before the thought could fully form, O'nor made his decision, proclaiming the orders to issue a retreat to his position.
"Naamah, take your sisters and one of the Dragon-Oath. Find as many of my men as you can and bring them back here," O'nor commanded. "I can't leave my brother unguarded, but I cannot let good men die without at least trying."
Naamah and four of her sisters took the orders as seamlessly as if they had been under his command for a lifetime. As a single Dragon-Oath guard moved to follow them, O'nor grabbed him by the shoulder plate and pulled him close, dropping his voice to a whisper.
"Bring me back as many of my men as you can, but the Anai champion must return to me."
The Dragon-Oath nodded in obedience as he followed the Anai warriors, who now set out on a mission to save their former enemies.
As O'nor moved towards the garden of the Val'dora to cover this contingent's rescue mission, he saw them in the distance, toward the burning inferno of the 'nor family estate. Husks had already caught wind of O'nor's contingent protecting Dak'nor. Oddly, the husks here moved differently than the mindless horde in the canyon. These seemed to be searching for something rather than wandering.
They are searching for Dak. O'nor realized
"Ready arms!" O'nor called out to his remaining guard. "We die here or we live here, but here we fight."
As the first husk crossed into the hibiscus garden, O'nor lunged. A rainbow of colored petals fluttered in the air as he swung his sword, easily cutting down the husk and severing its head from its shoulders. He braced himself for the writhing black tendrils, but the body lay still in the dirt.
It did not reconstitute itself. It needs a Shadow Sworn to reform. A tactical plan formed in his mind with this new knowledge. If they could kill the scouting husks and hide their bodies, they could drastically reduce the enemy's numbers before the true masters arrived. O'nor barked an order to dispose of the husk's remains in the Beh-REET sewage drains—deep holes in the stone that fed directly into the city's central well.
O'nor pulled his men back to the massive doorways of the Val'dora, springing out of the shadows only to engage isolated husks. They hacked them down in silence, dragging the severed remains and dumping them into the deep drains.
But this method had a drawback. The husks were a search party, and with each scout that went missing in the Val'dora gardens, it only drew the attention of the dark. Every corpse dropped into the drains hastened the inevitable conflict with the Shadow Sworn.
After the fifth downed husk, silence in the Val'dora garden dragged for what seemed hours. Something is wrong the echo rippled through O'nor's mind.
The distant clash of steel and the roar of the burning estate of O'nor's home suddenly felt muffled, as if the warm dry summer air itself had thickened. O'nor crouched in the shadows of the Val'dora's stone archway, his hand raised in a closed fist to hold his remaining Dragon-Oath guards in position.
A figure stepped through the garden gate.
It was a Shadow Sworn. It wore the ornate armor of a Beh-REET Dragon-Oath that was assigned to guard his family and the Anai. Its eyes were twin voids, devoid of light, sweeping the garden. The creature took a few steps forward, its armored boots crunching over the hibiscus flowers, until it stood over the small opening to the city's sewage drain.
O'nor held his breath.
The Shadow Sworn knelt. It simply reached out a gauntleted hand. Thick, oily tendrils of black oozed from the Shadow Sworn's hand, slithering like vipers down through the opening and into the deep well below.
A horrifying sound echoed up from the drain—the wet crunch of snapping bone and tearing flesh.
It's recalling them, O'nor realized, a spike of adrenaline hitting his chest. If the Shadow Sworn pulled those mangled bodies back to the surface and reconstituted them, O'nor's men would be overrun in seconds. They couldn't wait and react. They had to dictate the tempo.
O'nor opened his fist, pointing two fingers sharply toward the creature's blind spot.
"Now!" O'nor roared.
The Dragon-Oath guards surged from the shadows, their boots thundering across the stone walkway bisecting the garden of flowers. O'nor led the frontal charge, closing the distance within two heartbeats.
The Shadow Sworn's head snapped up. The Void tethering it to the sewer, where it had reached for its scouts, momentarily slowed its reaction time.
O'nor stepped violently into the creature's space, driving his shoulder into the Shadow Sworn's chest plate to shatter its balance. In that same motion, O'nor brought his blade up in a two-handed arc, slicing cleanly through the armor and thick leather beneath the creature's arm.
Black blood sprayed across the garden stones. The Shadow Sworn staggered backward, but the victory was only a fraction of a second. The crippling wound O'nor had just inflicted instantly began to knit together, dark threads of black stitching the severed flesh back into place.
Within the next heartbeat, the flanking Dragon-Oath dismembered the Shadow Sworn with a flurry of slashes. The coordinated attack cut away the remaining arm, head, and both legs.
"Toss it in with the husks before it reforms!" O'nor's voice bellowed.
Even as the Dragon-Oath moved to follow the order, the first severed arm reattached to the torso. It violently grabbed one of the men, attempting to halt their task of discarding the creature. O'nor again cut the gripping hand away at the wrist, allowing the Dragon-Oath to successfully toss the squirming parts of the Shadow Sworn down into the drain.
Only the severed hand was left behind on the stones before a black, oily tendril shot out from the drain opening dragging the severed hand down the drain to join the rest of the creature.
"Let us hope the steep decline of the drains forces it to find another way out before it reengages," O'nor breathed.
But as if it were a cruel joke, the words seemed to summon the horde. From the streets beyond the walls, a legion of husks and Shadow Sworn from around the burning city had caught their scent. The dark tide was converging directly on O'nor and his small contingent of Dragon-Oath and remaining Anai.
The Anvil and the Hammer
The numbers pouring into the garden were staggering, a relentless tide of blackened flesh. But O'nor refused to yield the open space of the garden just yet. If they retreated into the narrow corridors too early, the horde would simply batter the doors down with unchecked momentum.
"Hold the garden!" O'nor roared, planting his boots firmly on the warm stone steps of the Val'dora. "We use the Void!"
The Dragon-Oath locked their ranks and embraced the Stillness.
The impact of the dark legion sounded like thunder echoing off the stone walls of the Val'dora. O'nor swung his sword in sweeping arcs, punishing any husk that stepped into his range. But for every creature they cut down, three more scrambled into the garden. The weight of the bodies began to press O'nor's contingent backward, step by agonizing step. The horde's rabid focus was entirely on breaking O'nor's line to reach the council chambers.
They were getting overwhelmed. O'nor raised his blade, preparing to call the retreat, when a sudden, violent disruption rippled through the back of the enemy's formation.
From the rear of the horde, the dark ranks suddenly buckled. Naamah had returned. She and her Anai sisters carved into the distracted rear like a scythe through wheat. Beside them fought the single Dragon-Oath guard O'nor had dispatched, leading a ragged but fierce squad of Beh-REET guardsmen.
But it was who they were protecting in the center of their formation that made O'nor's breath hitch. Supported between two guardsmen was Kal'nor. The old patriarch's armor was shredded, his breathing labored, and his body badly injured from his lone stand at the estate—but his eyes were still alight.
Because the horde's attention had been entirely consumed by O'nor's frontal defense, they were completely blind to the maneuver of attacking reinforcements. Naamah and the guardsmen punched a hole straight through the chaos, shattering the enemy's center and taking the head of a commanding Shadow Sworn from behind. They successfully linked up with O'nor's beleaguered line.
With the surviving forces united and a wounded father to protect, holding the open garden was no longer a viable option.
"Fall back!" O'nor commanded, shifting his stance to cover his father's retreat. "Back into the Val'dora!"
Moving with haste, the united force of Dragon-Oath, Anai, and guardsmen held the gap just long enough to shuffle backward into the passageway. They funneled through the grand entrance of the Val'dora, yielding the garden to the dark.
As the last man crossed the threshold, O'nor and three Dragon-Oath grabbed the massive iron rings of the front doors. With a synchronized heave, they slammed the wooden doors shut against the encroaching tide of shadows. They threw an iron locking bar into place and immediately began shoving stone statues and heavy ceremonial benches against the wood to barricade the entrance.
The doors groaned as the horde slammed into the other side, the deafening thud of their fists echoing through the corridor. A terrifying sound followed—the sharp, violent scrape of the Shadow Sworn's Blade beginning to splinter the door from the outside.
O'nor rested his forehead against the vibrating wood, his chest heaving as he tightened his grip on his sword, the steel blackened by the blood of those he had slain. He closed his eyes, releasing his hold on the Void and dropping his voice to a desperate whisper.
"Dak... you gonna hurry this up, brother?"