A thin beam of light broke through the suffocating gloom of hopelessness. Andre opened one eye, looking towards the unexpected voice. Over there, next to the blazing Vor'talon, stood another figure. A dark armored figure with a green flaming skull instead of a face.
Fear surged through him abruptly. Yet another demon? But there was a different feeling about this one. The strange glowing green flames flickered, appearing colder than the blazing inferno of the Vor'talon. In the middle of its torso, a swirling vortex of green fire beat with an undeniable force. The smell of death and rot filled the air, causing Andre to feel nauseous.
This demon was not just any ordinary one. This... this person was a practitioner of necromancy. And not just any necromancer - a name spoken quietly in hometown, a myth surrounded by fear and terror.
Lord Vrn
The necromancer, who they believed was dead for a long time, stood before them, with his flaming skull slightly tilted in amusement.
"Hold on, there, Ignis," he drawled, his voice a chilling rasp that sent shivers down Andre's spine. "Let's not get hasty."
The Vor'talon, Igrix apparently, paused in his descent, the flaming axe hovering a hair's breadth from Andre's throat. Confusion flickered in its burning eyes, warring with the ever-present rage.
A tense silence stretched between the three figures, broken only by the crackling of infernal flames. Then, Lord Vrn leaned in, his green skull close to Igrix's fiery one. Andre couldn't hear the words exchanged, but the look on the Vor'talon's face said it all. Confusion melted away, replaced by a grudging acceptance.
Igrix stood up straight, looking at Andre with a cold indifference. "Go away," he croaked, the word dripping with contempt.
Andre quickly got up, grabbing Voidbane as he rose.
He didn't need to be told twice. He dashed towards the obsidian doors.
He entered through the doors and was met with Ezra's surprised expression. However, just as they were about to speak, the world turned into a swirling vortex of light and sensation. He was in the throne room one moment, and then falling the next. As he plunged into what felt like an infinite abyss, the sound of the wind echoed in his ears and his stomach twisted in discomfort.
Where the hell was he going? And who, or what, had just intervened? The questions hammered at his mind as he plummeted through the unknown, a lone warrior adrift in a chaotic storm.
...
Andre's head pounded like a poorly executed drum solo. He moaned and tightly closed his eyes to shield them from the excessively bright light. Recollections of the fiery throne room, the terrifying Vor'talon, and the chilling aura of Lord Vrn returned, causing a cold sweat to cover his skin.
He opened his eyes slightly, squinting at the bright white walls of a room with a slight smell of disinfectant – a medical ward. A feeling of relief surrounded him, so intense that it almost caused dizziness. He wasn't in the Sunfire Dominion confronting a Vor'talon and an Undead Necromancer. He was alive.
He slowly straightened his back, grimacing at the dull pain. Next to him, sat a person in a chair, with mermaid hair standing out in the clean room. Mermaid hair that Andre knew belonged to one person. It was Res, his close friend.
"Res?" Andre's voice croaked, a rusty protest from disuse.
Res's head snapped up, her eyes widening in relief. "Andre! You're awake! Thank the freaking divines, you scared the crap out of me!"
Andre frowned, confusion clouding his mind. "What happened? Where…?" His voice trailed off as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings.
"We found you lying unconscious in the woods, near the northern gate," Res explained, her voice tight. "Doc Fina said you probably drank too much ale partying."
"The woods?" Andre echoed, bewildered. "What am I doing in the woods? I was… I was supposed to be in the Sunfire Dominion."
Res stared at him, her brow furrowed. "Sunfire Dominion? What are you talking about? You haven't been anywhere near the Sunfire Dominion. You've been in Valconia this whole time."
Andre's stomach lurched. Valconia? But, the portal, the city engulfed in flames, Lord Vrn... it seemed extremely authentic and legit. He felt a chill go down his back. Could it have been…?
"Res," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Was… was it all a dream?"
Res's gaze softened with concern. "Look, Andre, you took a nasty tumble. We all have crazy dreams when we bash our heads, right?"
Andre shut his eyes, the broken memories swirling in his head. The battle against the Vor'talon, the collision of his sword with the blazing axe, the fear... it had seemed incredibly real. But Res's words, the sterile smell of the room, it all pointed towards one horrifying conclusion.
"It was a dream," he whispered, a wave of relief washing over him, tinged with a sliver of disappointment. He had almost faced a necromancer, almost fought for his life. But it was all just a figment of his overworked imagination.
Then, a disturbing thought struck him. All that vivid detail, the fear, the despair… it had been so real.
"But Res," he said, his voice rising with sudden urgency. "The dream… it felt so real. All the details, the city, the Vor'talon… how?"
Res shrugged, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Maybe you've been spending too much time drinking yourself stupor."
Andre shot her a playful glare. Maybe Res was right. Maybe it was just a crazy dream fueled by too much Ale and not enough sleep. Still, the echo of fear lingered, a nagging feeling that what he had experienced wasn't as simple as a heatstroke-induced nightmare.
...
The dusty square was bathed in the harsh rays of the midday sun, causing Amelia's sweat to transform into a glistening layer on her sunburned skin. The scent of fear and smoldering wood lingered heavily in the atmosphere, wrapping around her like spiderwebs. In the heart of the bonfire, Ety's, the herbalist of the village, squirmed. Her loud laughter contrasted sharply with the priest's booming voice, bouncing off the mudbrick houses.
"This woman," bellowed Father Claudius, his white robes stark against the ochre ground, "has defied the blessings of Adhara! She has poisoned our wells, stolen the breath from our children!"
Etys laughter choked into a snarl. "Lies! You fear knowledge, fear what you don't understand!"
Claudius raised a hand, his face twisted in anger. A shining symbol carved into his flesh gleamed with a supernatural glow. He quietly spoke a spell in quick, harsh Latin: "Excludunt diaboli Fraxineam vento Adhara lux pessum hoc!"
Ety was surrounded by a blinding white light that burst from the cross. She went from screaming to a chilling gurgle before falling silent. The fire blazed into existence, eagerly reaching out to the restrained woman with fiery tongues.
The scent of charred flesh made Amelia feel nauseous. Tears filled her eyes with heat and rage. Despite her mysterious statements, Ety has consistently shown kindness, serving as a healer for outcasts the community rejects.
She was now dust carried by the breeze.
Claudius dropped his hand, his complexion looking ashen. Claudius appeared altered, with hollow and distant eyes, as if something had been sapped from him. A chill ran down Amelia's spine.
"It is done," he rasped, his voice rough. He turned to the silent crowd, his gaze sweeping across their terrified faces. "But Adhara demands more. We must carry her light beyond our walls. The War for the True Faith begins now!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. War? Fear morphed into a different kind of terror. Men exchanged worried glances, women clutched their children tighter. This wasn't just about Ety, a village oddity. This was something bigger, something that threatened to consume them all.
John, the blacksmith, his weathered face creased with worry, finally found his voice. "War, Father? Against whom?"
Claudius's gaze settled on John, a coldness glinting in his previously kind eyes. "Against those who walk in darkness, who deny the True Faith! Against the heathens, the heretics! We will be Adhara's instruments, her righteous fury!"
Amelia's heart beat rapidly in her chest. She was overwhelmed by the consequences. War. They were merely a basic agricultural community, far away from the closest military encampment. What could they bring to the table when facing an unidentified foe in battle?