The stone corridors of the Val'dora ran slick with blood. The warm desert air of the summer sands tugged heavily at the movements of the mortal defenders.
The dark legion finally overwhelmed the narrow passageways through sheer numbers. The endless tide of husks and Shadow Sworn ripped apart the Dragon-Oath guards. Despite their absolute mastery of the blade, numbers were the ultimate calculus in this fight.
O'nor fought like a cornered beast. His sword carved sweeping arcs of destruction, yet he yielded ground as the horde forced him backwards. His men and the Anai paid for every backward step with their lives.
Naamah fought fiercely until a Shadow Sworn delivered a brutal, stabbing strike. Her leg buckled. The fiend's blade bit deep into her thigh, leaving a bloom of frosted crystals in the wound and sending her crashing to the stone of the tight passageway.
"Naamah!" O'nor roared.
Abandoning his position, O'nor drew so deeply on the Void that the air around him crystallized. Erupting into a blur of violence, he shattered the husks swarming her, hoisted Naamah over his shoulder, and backpedaled toward the doors of the council chamber.
The Shadow Sworn advanced to cut down his retreat. Three Anai intercepted the fiend, stabbing at its chest to slow its advance. They paid for those bought seconds with their lives. The Shadow Sworn impaled the center Anai through the chest, then backhanded the warrior to her right with enough force to shatter bone. The last Anai pulled her blade back, attempting to sever the monster's weapon arm, but the Shadow's free hand snatched the steel mid-arc.
O'nor did not see the final Anai die; he spilled into the council chamber with Naamah, a handful of surviving Anai, and the last Dragon-Oath guards dragging the unconscious body of his father.
O'nor kicked the heavy doors shut and threw the locking bar into place just as the horde slammed into the opposite side.
The chamber transformed into a slaughterhouse in waiting. The few injured Anai and Dragon-Oath who had made it inside bled on the marble, their eyes wide with terror as the heavy wood groaned and splintered under the onslaught.
The discipline of the Dragon-Oath finally cracked.
"We are going to die here," one of the guards choked out, his bloodied hands shaking as he backed away from the buckling wood. "Nothing can stop them. The dark is endless!"
Before O'nor could bark a command to rally the breaking men—
The doors gave way.
O'nor pulled so deeply on the Void that the ambient temperature plummeted, and the burning candles in the chamber died down to a whisper of light. He stood alone in the breach. His sword hummed with the unnatural speed of the Stillness. There was nowhere left to retreat—so he stood, for a lost step here meant the death of Naamah, of Dak'nor, and of the world itself.
For every strike the Shadow Sworn leveled at him, O'nor answered with three. His mind and the Void perfectly processed the flow of steel against the horde. He severed limbs, shattered chest plates, and ground the advancing tide to a halt.
But he could only forestall the horde. Around him, the Anai and Dragon-Oath who made it to the chambers with him had fallen. Worse yet, the slain warriors began to twitch. Their eyes turned pitch-black as the Shadow Sworn reanimated their broken bodies.
O'nor was surrounded, standing over a bleeding and unconscious Naamah. He couldn't even see if his father was still alive among the horde of husks that now boxed him in.
He needed more men.
He needed more time.
He needed more power.
O'nor closed his eyes and inhaled, pulling on the Stillness with a complete lack of restraint.
And he drank—he pulled in the dark. As O'nor ripped the Void's power into his flesh, the dark reached back. First in whispers of dread, and failure then— voices, overlapping and vibrating against his sanity, clawing at his mind and focus.
She bleeds onto the stone only mere feet away. Save her.
The voice sounded like his own.
Dak is lost, he's in too deep. Find your brother.
This voice echoed in the cadence of his father's.
"What?" the words escaped O'nor's lips in a bewildered whisper.
His free hand slowly crept towards his head. Then it stopped, his open fingers balling into a fist. O'nor locked his jaw and froze. The horde around him paused in anticipation to add another to their ranks.
The bucket built for an ocean
In the Void, Dak'nor was losing.
He had taken five steps toward the dying light, but the resistance multiplied with each. The shadow-copy no longer fought him alone. Shadows flooded the Void.
Sensing the threat of Dak'nor reaching the H'Utter-ance, the Shadow Sworn abandoned the physical world, pouring their essence back into the Stillness to stop the scholar. An ocean of writhing black slammed into Dak'nor, a weight that forced him toward his knees.
Then, the fabric of the Void quivered.
O'nor's reckless, unrestrained draw on the Stillness in the physical world tore a partial rift in the veil between the Void and the realm of men. Through the swirling black mist, O'nor's consciousness breached the Void.
For a fraction of a second, Dak'nor witnessed O'nor surrounded by a mountain of shadows, his hand balled in a fist beside his temples. Dak'nor understood the mechanics of the end in this moment.
A lifetime flashed through the dark. He saw O'nor as a young boy, laughing and chasing Jo'val through the sunlit gardens of the Val'dora. He saw the quiet resignation in his father's eyes on the day Kal'nor finally accepted that the library, not the training ring, was his eldest son's true armory—those books would always be Dak'nor's blades of choice. He felt the lost of his brother's will and saw the tendrils of oily black infect his brother's body, watching him turn into the shadows he battled.
Under the pressure, Dak'nor stopped pushing forward. He pulled.
He pulled all the dark directly into himself. He turned his own soul into a gravity well, a siphon so impossibly strong that it tore the shadows away from the Shadow Sworn in our world and violently ripped nearly all the Stillness out of O'nor's grasp. The entities shrieked as the vacuum dragged them backward, sucking them out of the physical world and trapping them within the cage of Dak'nor's pull.
Back on the marble floor of the council chamber, Dak'nor's body clenched around the fragment of the crystal dragon organ. The jagged stone ignited, glowing with a shifting, purple-black rainbow of energy.
Dak'nor's physical body burned from the inside out. The crystal fragment seared his skin, the dark heat spreading rapidly from his palm to consume the rest of his body.
O'nor looked back at his brother on the floor, feeling the skin-charring agony Dak'nor endured to hold the shadows at bay.
Dak'nor could not reach the light of the H'Utter-ance, but he possessed his own. The scholar used his own light of life to bandage the bleeding Void, locking the shadows inside himself.
The reanimated husks and the invading Shadow Sworn dropped to the stone floor, lifeless, their dark essence severed from the world.
O'nor stood in the center of the carnage. His eyes returned from the edge of the abyss. He lowered his sword, his armor steaming as the residual cold of the Void boiled off his skin. He looked down at the lifeless body of his brother on the floor, watching the chipped black crystal roll harmlessly from Dak'nor's charred hand.
In the corner, Naamah lay unconscious, bleeding but breathing.
Near the stone benches of the Val'dora council, movement broke the silence. Kal'nor struggled to his feet, clutching his side.
"Father, you're alive," O'nor breathed, his voice cracking with exhaustion as he took a tentative step forward.
But Kal'nor did not look at the son who had just held the line against darkness. His eyes were locked fully on the seared, ruined remains of his firstborn. Dak'nor's body smelled of burnt ash, the horrifying toll of caging an entire dimension of darkness within a mortal.
Kal'nor dropped to his knees on the blood-slicked stone, reaching down with trembling hands to gather the charred body of his boy against his chest.
Before O'nor could speak, the splintered remains of the wooden doors were shoved inward.
Tor'val stepped through the breach followed by his daughter Jo'val. His armor was scarred and slick with a mixture of black and red viscous fluid.
"We were pinned down in the outer corridors," Tor'val panted, his chest heaving as his eyes swept over the impossible slaughter. "The horde had us completely trapped. We only pushed through because the dark legion suddenly... inexplicably... just dropped dead."
Tor'val's gaze locked onto O'nor, standing alone at the epicenter of the carnage. The bodies of husks and Shadow Sworn were stacked knee-high in a perfect half-circle around O'nor. The center of the room looked like a meat grinder, and O'nor stood alone at its axis, his armor still steaming with the residual frost of the Void.
Awe bled through Tor'val's features. "You killed them all, how?"
O'nor never looked back at the old council member, his eyes settling on the charred remains of his big brother resting in their weeping father's arms.
"No," O'nor answered, the truth locked silently behind his teeth. Dak...Dak stopped them.
Leaning on Jo'val's shoulder was a battered Dragon-Oath guard, his armor was a mess and his face pale with blood loss.
The battered Dragon-Oath guard slipped from Jo'val's grip as he attempted to walk towards O'nor. As he collapsed to the stone floor he struggled back to his knees, staring up at O'nor with reverence.
"You held it," the guard gasped, his voice trembling as he looked at the mountain of dead. "You sent us away to save others, knowing it would leave you surrounded. And you held the dark alone."
O'nor looked at the guard, his mind still reeling, the truth of Dak'nor's sacrifice burning in his throat as he watched his father weeping over Dak's corpse.
Tor'val heard the guard's worshipful tone. His eyes darted from the kneeling soldier to the weeping Kal'nor, and finally to O'nor. This was no longer just a soldier or a dragon-killing general. In the span of a few days, O'nor had transcended mortal ranks. He was becoming a living legend.
Tor'val's jaw tightened, his grip squeaking against the leather of his hilt.
"Get off your knees and secure the garden!" Tor'val barked, the crack of his voice echoing off the blood-slicked stone. "We wouldn't want a stray shadow to catch us off guard, would we?"
The guard's gaze remained unbroken on O'nor.
The blatant disregard of a direct order stoked Tor'val's frustration into a seething rage. He took a threatening half-step forward, but Jo'val smoothly intervened. Jo'val stepped between them, placing a firm hand on the Dragon-Oath's shoulder to physically break the man's trance.
"...Oh. Yes, Councilman Tor'val," the Dragon-Oath stammered.
The guard staggered to his feet, turning slowly to head toward the gardens of the Val'dora. But even as the elite warrior exited the ruined chamber, his eyes drifted helplessly back to O'nor.
Tor'val's face contorted into a tangled mask of rage, his eyes boring into the back of the retreating Dragon-Oath.
"Father, are—" Jo'val began, stepping toward him.
Tor'val walked right past her, completely ignoring his daughter's inquiry. His boots tracked warm blood against the stone as he aggressively closed the distance to the grieving Kal'nor.
"Answer me!" Tor'val spat, his words tainted with a manic undertone. "How did you kill the unkillable?"
Kal'nor merely raised his eyes, looking straight past his former rival in the Val'dora as if Tor'val were nothing more than a ghost.
"I need to bury my son," Kal'nor whispered, his voice hollow.
The disrespect, Tor'val's mind fractured, the toxic jealousy finally boiling over into unchecked madness. You think you can ignore me? We are equals. No—no, I had you defeated. I had you removed from the Val'dora. You are nothing. I am your better!
The movement was sudden, completely stripped of honor...
Warm blood leaked down the length of Tor'val's blade, spilling over the crossguard and staining his fingers a dark, wet crimson. Shock violently shattered the silence. Jo'val gasped, taking a horrified step back.
Kal'nor, the legendary general who had just survived the apocalypse of the Void, let out a wet, ragged breath. His eyes locked onto Tor'val's rage-riddled face, uncomprehending. Then, his knees buckled. The last of Kal'nor's strength bled out onto the stone, causing him to collapse and drop the charred body of his eldest son to the floor.
The moment froze O'nor's mind in an agonizing suspension of horror and sorrow. He took an unconscious, trembling step toward his fallen father and brother. Then, his focus snapped to Tor'val, and everything melted into blinding rage.
"NOOOOO!"
O'nor raised his blade, launching himself at the murderer who had just taken the last of his family.
Tor'val's skill with a sword was noteworthy by mortal standards, but it was meager compared to the first Dragon-Oath. Tor'val raised his blade to parry the opening volley, but the force of O'nor's strike nearly shattered his wrists.
O'nor unleashed a torrential barrage of steel, each strike heavier and faster than the last. Tor'val scrambled backward, his footwork sloppy, his martial pride crumbling into panic. Sparks rained across the blood-slicked stone as O'nor battered Tor'val's guard aside, forcing the Councilman backwards.
"Stop!" Jo'val screamed in protest, her mind unable to process the sequence of events that had led the man she loved to attack her father.
O'nor didn't hear her. He didn't want to hear her.
He chased with a relentless fury that reduced Tor'val to a coward before the last living 'nor. With a final, horizontal sweep, O'nor shattered Tor'val's guard, driving a heavy boot into the Councilman's chest and pinning him against the stone seats where Kal'nor and Tor'val had once passed judgment on the laws of Beh-REET.
Pinned and helpless, Tor'val's terror finally broke him.
"I'm sorry, it was a mistake!" the words spilled out of Tor'val in a panicked rush. "I didn't think... forgive me!"
The coward's plea turned O'nor's stomach. Sensing the end, O'nor reached out to pull on the Void to strengthen his resolve. He drank in the Stillness, but the tide was shallow. The icy dark that coursed through his veins was only a fraction of what he could draw upon before—merely the residual ink left behind by his brother's sacrifice.
It didn't matter.
"Forgiveness?" O'nor's voice was a guttural snarl. "I have given my life to be the blade of Beh-REET's armies. My brother gave his life to save the soul of the world. And you take my father's life in jealousy." O'nor raised his sword. "I have no forgiveness left to give."
Sensing his execution, Tor'val launched a desperate, flailing attack.
To O'nor's Void-enhanced senses, the movement played out in slow motion. O'nor simply brought his blade down on Tor'val's wrist, cleanly cleaving the man's weapon hand from his arm.
Tor'val shrieked. Warm crimson pumped violently from the severed stump, spilling onto the stone.
O'nor reset his stance, raising his sword for the final strike.
"Your duty was to the mountain," O'nor snarled, his voice cold with the judgment of the Void. "Now you are but dust beneath its stone."
He drove the steel downward.
But before the blade could connect, a sudden, burning agony pierced through the cold numbness of the Void.
O'nor's movements froze in confusion as he looked down.
A bloodied steel blade was protruding out of his own abdomen.
He slowly turned his head. Standing behind him were the wide, panicked eyes of Jo'val. Her hands hovered over her mouth, her fingers trembling and stained with red.
"Why?" O'nor breathed out, thick blood leaking past his lips.
"I... I..." Jo'val backed away, sobbing. "I could not let you kill my father."
O'nor would not fall. He could not fall. Instead, he reached down, gripping the sharp steel protruding from his gut. With a wet, sickening slide, he pushed the blade backward, forcing it out through his own back.
As the bloody sword clattered to the floor, the open wound in his abdomen began to slowly knit itself shut. Small, writhing black tendrils of the Void reached across the edges of the severed flesh stitching the muscle and skin back together.
Jo'val looked on in shock, her breath hitching as she watched her lover heal like one of the monsters they had just fought.
As the fatal wound sealed before her terrified eyes, Tor'val reached down with his remaining hand. Scooping up his fallen blade, the mangled Councilman swung with all of his remaining force.
The steel connected.
The blade sheared through the collar of O'nor's armor, biting through muscle and bone. O'nor's severed head tumbled from his shoulders, striking the blood-slicked stone.
The First Dragon-Oath's headless body swayed for a second before collapsing into the gore of the council chamber.
Jo'val fell to her knees, the sharp impact of the stone vibrating through her legs.
"What have I done?" she whispered, her voice a hollow rasp. Her trembling hands reached out, hovering over the lifeless body of the man she loved. "What have I done?"
Tor'val dropped the sword. Ignoring his daughter's horror, the Councilman tore a thick strip of leather and cloth from his own robes under his chest plate using his teeth and his remaining hand. Panting heavily, his face pale with shock and blood loss, Tor'val wrenched the makeshift tourniquet around his severed wrist, biting down on the knot to pull it tight.
He staggered forward, dropping to his knees beside Jo'val. He wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders, trying to haul her away from the corpse.
"How?" Jo'val wept, her fingernails clawing at the stone as she resisted his pull, her tears cutting tracks through the blood splattered on her cheeks. "How will I raise this child alone?"
The agonizing throb of Tor'val's severed wrist momentarily vanished. The Councilman stared at his weeping daughter, his political mind spinning with the confession. He looked at the mountain of dead Shadow Sworn. He looked at the bodies of Kal'nor and Dak'nor. And finally, he looked at O'nor.
A child. The heir of the man who had just saved the world.
"Listen to me," Tor'val hissed, his voice tight and urgent. He grabbed Jo'val's chin with his bloodied fingers, forcing her to look into his manic eyes. "We will remember O'nor for the hero he was. Not the Shadow Sworn he was becoming."
"No," Jo'val sobbed, shaking her head violently. "He was still him! He was still O'nor!"
"You saw his eyes, Jo'val!" Tor'val countered, his tone hardening. "You saw the dark stitching his flesh together. He pulled too deeply to stop the darkness, and the Void tugged back. He was lost."
"It's because of you!" Jo'val screamed, pushing her father's bloody hand away. "Why would you kill Kal'nor? You murdered his father!"
Tor'val searched desperately for a lie to salvage the moment, but the horror in his daughter's eyes offered no quarter. He settled for the truth.
"I was wrong," Tor'val admitted, the words tasting like ash. "I made a terrible mistake. But what has happened, has happened. We cannot raise the dead. We must move forward."
Tor'val leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "O'nor is the First Dragon. He saved the world. When the survivors see this chamber, his son will be revered as a god. The people would have named O'nor king if he had lived to call for it."
Jo'val stared at her father through her tears, her mind reeling. "But Beh-REET is not a monarchy. We are ruled by the Council."
"Child, look around you." Tor'val gestured with his bloody stump toward the slaughter. "The Council is dead! O'nor could have asked for anything for his deeds here today. You would have been his Queen. He would have ended the war with the Anai and brought peace between our people. Will you throw all of that away because of an old man's mistake?"
Jo'val looked down at O'nor's body. The weight of the consequences threatened to crush her.
If she told the truth, her father would be executed for treason, and her child would be born to a fractured, warring state.
"You can lead in his absence," Tor'val pushed, sensing her hesitation. "Tell them O'nor fell saving us from the dark. Tell them Kal'nor fell holding the line. We can build a kingdom for your child in your image, Jo'val. A kingdom O'nor would be proud of."
Before Jo'val could answer, the heavy, echoing thud of armored boots rang out from the adjacent corridor.
The Dragon-Oath guards were returning from the garden, drawn back by the screams.
"They are coming," Tor'val whispered, panic finally bleeding back into his voice as he clutched his daughter's arm. "Decide, Jo'val. Right now. Are you the daughter of a traitor, or are you the Mother of the next Dragon?"
The heavy boots hammered closer. Steel scraped against stone as the first wave of elite guards rounded the corner, their weapons drawn, their eyes wide as they took in the impossible carnage of the Val'dora chamber.
"By the Stone..." the lead guard breathed, lowering his sword in horror. He looked at the weeping woman kneeling in the blood. "Lady Jo'val... what happened here?"
Jo'val closed her eyes. A single, trembling breath shuddered through her chest as she placed a protective hand over her womb. "The Void," Jo'val said, her voice eerily calm as she looked up at the guards, cementing a lie that would span a hundred thousand years. "The Void took them all."