omrades, come to me!" shouted Vil loud and clear, his voice cowing the morning air, drawing to him the attention of all two thousand brave souls that mustered in the Glades of Angdor.

"Now we shall be leaving for Xyroth," Vil announced, "those who know it, I pray you remember your protocols; those who do not, be prepared for a journey of a lifetime."

Few laughed; few trembled, but most remained silent. On many a lip spelt unbridled horror, on many others' curiosity, Mey was one of them. How bad could Xyroth be? Mey wondered.

"But be warned: the red wastes of Xyroth are no spot for holiday," a lieutenant continued, "life there is harsh and unforgiving, and will best you if you're not careful. Despair not, for I am not in the mood to scare you unnecessarily. But keep this in mind: this world is nothing like our own, so be ready mentally and physically."

Commotion swept across the glade, dampening the soft autumn wind which long curled around them. What could he mean? Was it going to be that bad? There was only one way to find out.

The portal fired, blue waves of arcane energy surrounded the brave warriors, its nimble fingers ripping a hole through the fabric of Mundus. Vil and Mey were the first to go, the rest followed behind.

Xyroth: the world between worlds; a cold, red, barren wasteland devoid of life, under ever-dark skies – to more than half the host, that was the first impression of Xyroth: a daunting site where their mettle would be tested.

Many looked upon it and despaired, not in horror but in wonder. To Mey they resembled the steppes of Alinor, but redder and darker, for he had never seen a desert before, let alone an alien desert connecting a multitude of worlds.

The desert floor was torn apart, spilling out canyons and cliffs in every direction. Tall, bulbous trees stood up high above the horizon, breathing the faint fumes which had laden the atmosphere.

Faint winds swept through the desert wastes to construct sand-dunes. Many types of creatures roamed the land, some found on Alledoria, some found in exotic markets, but most alien to the elves.

"This is a treacherous place," said Mey. "I wonder how life still exists here."

"This place was not always like this," answered Vil. "this was once a lush forest land, a realm between realms: used by mages and traders alike to travel between worlds. But alas, everything changed when the stellar gates were moved here."

"Stellar Gates?" the elves muttered.

"Aye, although not intentionally. In an attempt to close the gates on Alledoria, our mages opened one on this world instead. As Morthaur's minions settled in, its face frayed and was lost to memory. By the actions of chaos, the entire realm was torn apart, its atmosphere destroyed, wildlife fossilized."

"Sounds like this world has taken quite a wound," said Meneldir.

"Indeed," answered Vilyánur. "Now come on, we have to find a spot to tarry. According to the rumours, an oracle lives not too far from here, he might be able to tell us about my father, or maybe what course of action will benefit us the most. You folk, move out!"

...

As clear as day the soldiers heeded his command, hastening their march through the barrens, not like there was anything to stop and admire anyway.

The sunless skies never fell into dawn, and yet at times great stars or luminescent gas-clouds lit the deserts, short wisps of sand conjured up and disappeared into the desert. It had been six hours since they began, and yet no signs of life appeared before them.

"If we're lucky though," Vareth spoke at long, "we might see the red-maned manticores of Nurith, although what they will do to us is all but unpredictable."

"Manticores cannot digest us as much as we cannot digest sand," said Vil, "they will not attack us unless we provoke them. The black-crested harpies though, may if they are in a flock great enough."

"We could use some exercise," said Vareth, "even in great flocks or prides, they'll be better off avoiding us."

"Forget about monsters, I do not recall seeing a single living thing ever since our journey began," said Aeresil in caution, "and even then, I have this eerie feeling as if we're not alone."

"We're not," said Mey, signalling a halt, "I caught a smell just as the wind shifted."

The host came to a halt, high on sentry. Mey threw his head back and took long sniffs of the air, drawing in the uneasy smell of the desert wastes, distinguishing the living from the dead. He could sense it – it was evil.

"What do you smell?" asked Vil.

"Come with me," said Mey, setting off towards the cliffs, Vilyánur following him. The rest stood on guard, looking around cautiously.

At some distance they spotted a fire, growing into many as they neared it. Looking down the cliff, careful not to be seen, the two beheld a host of wood-elves camped in one of the valleys hundreds of metres below, between fumy rivers and alien forests. Clinking of metal and shouting of orders bound the wind, issuing worry in Mey's mind.

"Mey," Vilyánur smiled, "You never told me you brought reinforcements."

"They're not my warriors," Mey replied, much to Vil's dismay, "Wait a minute, look at the banners! They're . . . moon-elves, the folk of Nixior."

"What?" gasped Vil, "you mean Nixior followed us into this world?"

"I think so," answered Mey.

"Oh dear, this is not good. We have to change our direction, go around the hill."

"I was thinking the same," said Mey, the two pounced up and jogged back to their host, only to find them in battle formations. With fear the elves darted around, most of their eyes fixed upon the horizon: red wisps of sand were headed towards them, roused by shadowy figures.

*****

"Steel your hearts!" shouted Vil unto his host, forming a wall of shields before them. For long they peered into the dust, trying to make out who was coming for them. Then they spotted an army of goblins as tall and upright as them, pacing towards them swift and strong.

Vil's eyes looked up and down their bodies: their skin pale and gold, limbs long and lithe, ears long and sharp, face gaunt and grinning – and then it came to him: he knew them. The skali, Vil thought, one of the last remaining folk of Xyroth.

Armed with spears and bows, outnumbering them two-to-one, the skali gathered before the elves, yet from their eyes it was clear: they came as friends, not foes. Their shaman, wise in face and age, scanned the adventurers, nodding ever so slightly to his folk.

"Is that you, Lord Vilyánur?" the leader of the host spoke aloud. "Is that you, son of Eldärion?"

"I am," at length Vil answered. "That is I, we have come here to meet with the Oracle and know my father's whereabouts. Our world is in peril, and we need aid in stopping them, lest our world be destroyed by the daemons as well."

"We know," said the skali chieftain, "the Oracle told me in my dreams that you'd come. Do not tarry now; come with us, for we are told to shelter you."

"Vil," Mey stopped him, "it could be a trap."

"Do not fear, the skali have always been allies to the red elves, my father was once saved by these very folk, we can trust them." He looked back, "follow them, my warriors!"

"I hope you're right," Mey sighed, sheathing his weapons.

...

The trek was long and weary, but under the protection of the skali the elves felt much safer than before. Many of the high-elves recalled the days of nostalgia when they fought beside the skali, but the wood-elves could only hope.

Like a serpent, they crossed the barrens with haste, fending off the fiends of carrion, walking through caves and bridges and rivers of white fumes, until at last they beheld the red banners of Alinor high in the air before them, much to the joy of the legionnaires.

Vil couldn't be gladder to see those banners; to him it spelt loyalty to the state of Alinor. And for good reason: the skali village was an old colony of theirs, furnished by aquifers and aqueducts for which the skali could not be more thankful to the elves.

"Rest now," said the skali chieftain, "here you will find food and hearth and protection from the daemons that prowl the night, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish."

"Oh no," Vil told them, "we do not plan on staying too long over here. My elves may not bother, but the landscape tires the woodland folk."

"We understand," the chieftain replied, "do not worry, we are friends of the Oracle, and we'll lead you to him. Sadly, the only path to his tower is narrow and rough, no army can trek it, but a handful can hike up the trail."

"Oh, excellent," Mey shook his head, "Vil, the two of us can come together."

"Will it be safe?" asked Vil.

"Yes, pretty much," the chieftain replied, "the path is enchanted by the Oracle, no one but those he wants to may walk up the path."

"Well, do we fall in that category?" asked Mey.

"If I remember correctly, he did mention: just two people, one the son of Eldärion, and the other the prince he owes his life to."

Vil stopped and pondered, "That's you," he pointed to Mey, "I owe my life to you."

"Ah well, what if it's a trap? What if the oracle is actually a servant of Morthaur who wants to lure us out and then kill us?"

"Do we have another choice?" asked Vil, "we can instead just bring our entire army up the path, have our line trail a whole kilometre, making us as visible as daylight, and such that there is no use of keeping such a big army."

"Yeah, you're right," Mey agreed, "so when do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," Vil replied, "according to my watch it's midnight, and I want to get some rest."

"Agreed," Mey complied.

*****

For a week they dwelt in the village, getting accustomed to the red wastes. Scouts strode far and wide in search of enemies, but reported none. The moon-elves of Nixior had moved, lost into the red sands of time.

"Are you sure they're not hiding?" asked Vil. "I find it difficult to believe he left."

"They're hiding, aye; moon-elves are masters of disguise, they cannot be seen in the darkness, let alone on a planet without a sun."

"If so, then we ought to be more careful," Vil shrugged, reclining back on the wooden bed, covering his now-frail appendages with the soft wolf furs. "Also, this is no planet; it's a micro-dimension of its own."

Mey climbed on top of him, pressing his nose with a gallant smile. "Is that so? Then you ought to explain to me how exactly it is different from a planet."

"I'll do it when we get back," Vil relaxed his shoulders and kissed Mey, "we have more pressing matters to tend to, most specifically shrugging off the guy who wants to marry you."

"Not marry me, just abuse me," Mey laughed, resting his head on Vil's arm. "Unlike you, you abuse me the right way."

Vil laughed, taking Mey into his grasp, his head resting on his chest, his lips on his collarbone, slowly nibbling on those jutting pieces of bone. "You know, ever since I gave a part of my spirit to save you, there has been a gap in my spirit, and nothing has been able to fill it, do you think you can fill it?"

"Maybe," Mey smiled, "just as you filled my gap?"

Vil laughed, his innuendos were sly but to the point. This was his Meneldir: the boy he was fond of. But no, this couldn't continue . . . no, he wasn't uncomfortable, someone was coming.

Mey got off Vil and sat upright, turning his head to the curtained door. In came a captain of the skali: the son of the chieftain. "Good evening, my lords, although 'tis always evening here."

"Yes, what news?" questioned Vil.

"Everything's clear, you can leave for your mission whenever you want, it doesn't matter to us. Our watchers shall defend the passage for as far as they can, but we cannot protect you all the way."

"We'll be leaving in an hour or two then," Mey replied, Vil nodded along, "make ready."

The skali nodded, walking out of the tent and towards the watchers, Vil and Mey joined him in an hour, fully dressed and armed to the teeth. "Farewell," the skali wished the two of them, "may the gods grant you good fortune, and may your journey be short and easy."

Mey and Vil saluted back and set off into the vast unknown.

...

For hours they walked up the cliff, trekking through the arrays of nothing with haste; the canyons twisted and twirled at regular intervals, the road turned narrow and difficult to traverse, at last they rested by the mountainside to take in the scenery that was the vast expanse from afar. "You have to admit," Vil said. "Though lifeless and grim, it looks wondrous from afar."

"So it does," Mey said, "remember what the chieftain said?"

"Yes: two days' distance on this road, and then a boat up the accursed rivers, until we see a tower."

"Aye," Mey replied. "We should make haste, these lands make me sick."

"They do?" Vil looked back, "I thought you liked sand."

"A little bit is alright," Mey answered, "but this is too much, although..."

He peered out into the horizon: the accursed earth bent and bowed like a snake, fuming white rivers and forests of tall bulbous trees dotting the terrain, xeric shrublands and fields of pale grass dividing the many terrains. "I must say," Mey continued, "it does look beautiful, from a certain point of view."

But perhaps the most beautiful thing was the sky: yellow and red during the day, pitch-black at night, and wondrous hues at sunset and sunrise. Of course, it wasn't the sun, they were wandering stars, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

Never had he seen it before, and never would he see it again: a gradient of grey and blue, a white dot with blue rims in the middle. At times he just stood there, staring at the stars, wondering how it happened.

"The dust is the right size so that blue light penetrates the atmosphere slightly more efficiently," said Vil, "when the blue light scatters off the dust, it stays closer to the direction of the star than lights of other colours. The rest of the sky is yellow to orange, as yellow and red light scatter all over the sky instead of being absorbed."

"Wow, that's a lot to swallow," Mey shook his head, pretending to understand.

"You never said that to me," Vil laughed.

"Shut up!" Mey pushed him playfully; Vil pounced back at him, striking like a lion, tickling his sensitive body. Under the pale stars they played, concealed behind a cliff to not take the radiation to their face.

"Wait," Mey stopped him, "Vil, look over," he said, staring into a deep canyon, at least a mile below and dozens afar, yet clearly visible in the thin air.

The moon-elf settlement had grown far bigger, at least four times, stretching between two rivers of water.

But there was one difference – black smoke arose from the camp and into the air, there was unrest. They peered closer, and there they saw it: daemons and moon-elves engaged in battle.

Nixior's forces pushed their moon-cannons and moon-golems to war, spending away their very limited resources in battle against the endless horde of daemons that seemed to spring out of holes in the ground.

"Look out!" said Vilyánur, "looks like Nixior is under attack."

"Aye..." said Mey, "and by the looks of it, he's having a good time. Thank goodness it'll be the last time we hear of that paedophilic pervert."

Vilyánur eyed him, "as far as I see, he's using up all his artillery shells . . . I am a poor judge of wood-elves, but I know with dead certainty that this is not a wise thing to do."

"Nixior is like that," said Mey, "he'll waste all his resources prematurely, and then attack with a weary, exhausted army. His main strength lies not in battle anyway, it's in sneaking into his enemy's territory with a small force whilst their entire force is focused on their base. This allows him to wage war on two fronts and win the battle by cutting his enemies off their base."

"Won't work with daemons or high-elves," said Vil, "his tactic won't work anywhere unless he's fighting in an open field."

"He's not good at sieges, only skirmishes," said Meneldir, "whatever be, let us leave."