Chapter 38

“Pathetic. A disappointment, like all the others.” The Armored Warrior said quietly, staring down at the body by his feet. He had expected more from the person who inherited his tooth. After a moment, he reached out his left hand, waiting expectantly for a moment.

His long missing sword settled into his hand comfortably, the white handled contrasting his black armor.

“Tsk” He muttered, disgusted by the look of the weapon. With a brief pull of his mana, the white blade was dyed a midnight black. From the sword’s edge, a faint golden light softly emanated, the last remnants of Wilhelm Brookmoor’s mana. With a wave of his hand, he dispersed the mana, removing the vestiges of the weak human from the weapon.

“Welcome home.” He said, looking down at the traitorous blade. Pulling on his mana, he drove it into the sword, the darkness thickening along its length. The air hummed with power, each movement of the sword sent a keening wail into the night.

Raising it high above his head, the Warrior slammed it down onto the corpse, sending a wave of black mana skyward. The explosion shook the ruins of Aachen, and the Night grew darker as even the stars were covered in blackness from the attack.

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Time Unknown

Wil awoke in his room in Ur, resting in his bed under a pile of sheets. The room was frigid, the fire must have died sometime during the evening. The harsh winter chill was unbearable in Northern Lund. Especially for an Illyrian from the temperate south.

Dreading facing the cold, Wil eased his way out of his bed, throwing off the sheets and creeping across the rug covered floor on his tiptoes. Behind him, a silver haired woman rolled over in her sleep, the top of her head the only thing visible beneath the covers.

Throwing several split logs into the fireplace, he lit is with a wave of his hand, his magic bursting to life. With his skin covered in goosebumps, he hurried back under the covers, when a pair of blue eyes met his.

“You forgot to add wood to the fire, again.” Astrid said, staring at him accusingly before scooting closer, sharing her body warmth.

“I thought it was your turn.” Wil joked, kissing her forehead. She snorted as she buried her head under his chin.

“It’s never my turn, Wil. You should hire some more servants if you can’t take care of yourself. My father will never forgive you if I perish from the cold.” She replied.

“He won’t forgive me if he finds out you’ve been spending your evenings here, either.” Wil retorted. She had been staying with him for weeks, adventuring with him during the day and sharing a bed when they returned home.

For the first time in awhile, he was content, even happy.

“If you think he doesn’t already know, Wil, than you are a fool.” Astrid said.

At her words, Wil’s vision shook and his mind reeled. Voices shouted at him, as if from a great distance, their words echoing.

“You’re a fool, Wil.” Mara said, her voice teasing as she kissed him.

“Don’t be a fool, Wil.” Annabelle Quentin whispered, her body wrapped tightly around his.

“Pray to me, fool! Pray for the release of death.” The Armoured Warrior shouted, while Wil was engulfed in pain.

“I’ve been a fool, Wil. I love you, and I’m so sorry.” Astrid said, sobbing into his chest. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, he kissed her, the feelings between them as strong as ever.

Wil bolted forward, throwing the sheets off his body. Gasping for air, he looked around the room desperately. Beside him, Astrid looked at him with alarm.

“Wil, what’s wrong?” She asked, confused.

“I…I don’t know…I seem to have forgotten…something.” He said, the memories fleeing his mind, like the loss of a dream on waking.

“Did you have a nightmare? It’s alright, Wil. You’re probably just worried about the Patriarch. Today is the ascension ceremony, it’s normal to be concerned for him.” She said, kissing him on his shoulder and running a hand across his back.

“Ascension ceremony?” Wil asked. The room had changed, his bedroom from Ur was now replaced with the small farmstead he had shared with Astrid in his vision of the past. He remembered it as if it were his own life.

“This isn’t right!” Wil said, getting out of bed and running from the room. Clad only in his undergarments, he rushed down the stairs, flinging open the front door, he stood on the deck. In the sky above, a single, white moon shone overhead. The night was quiet, only the faint chirping of birds and the occasional sound of an animal in the barn disturbed the silence.

“What is happening.” Wil whispered. Spinning around, he was about to call to Astrid when the world shifted. The farmstead blurred, the world turned to black, before he found himself in another place. He stood on the Patriarch’s floating palace, the golden structure hovering over a sleeping city.

He had been here before, but had seen it destroyed, the city in ruins. Looking around, he realized he was dressed once more, this time in long, flowing white robes. Running his hands down the garment, he could feel the stitching, the soft silk of the material.

“What is happening?” Wil whispered, looking around.

“Isn’t it obvious, Wil? You’ve come to me for help.” A voice called out behind him. Turning, he saw the Patriarch standing at the edge of the floating palace, staring up at the moon. The man looked ethereal and otherworldly, almost transparent against the white moonlight.

“Help with what?” Wil asked. He couldn’t remember what had happened! Why would he seek him out? What assistance would he require that he would come to this place, to speak with a dead man?

“You’re dead, Wilhelm. Your soul has begun its journey to the other side, casting off its old life in preparation for a new one.” The Patriarch explained, turning to him and smiling gently.

With his words, Wil remembered what happened. The fight, the Armored Warrior, Serena and the need to close the portal, to protect everyone.

“I can’t die!” Wil shouted, rushing forward, and gripping the Patriarch’s arm tightly. To his surprise, he could actually grip the ghostly figure, as if he were flesh and blood.

“I need your help. You’ve given me power before, contained in the sword. The Elder Dragon has returned, and it’s connected to a portal that is birthing fiends into our world.” Wil said.

“I know, Wil. I know everything. Have you forgotten? We’re connected, I know everything that has happened to you.” The Patriarch said gently, placing a hand on top of the one Wil was clutching at him.

“Then you’ll help me?” Wil asked, practically sagging in relief.

“No. Have you forgotten? I’ve moved on. I’m merely a memory, a remembrance of a different time. I have already started my journey, my next life. You should know, Wilhelm, for I am you.” The Patriarch explained, staring at Wil with sadness.

Wil collapsed onto his knees, overcome with despair. He had hoped that some shred of the man remained, one last burst of power that could set things right. Looking up, he watched as the Patriarch slowly faded, the connection between them severed forever.

“I am sorry, Wil. Whatever piece of me that you held in that blade is gone. Your foe will not make that same mistake twice.” He whispered, before he disappeared completely. Wil felt as if a piece of him died, ripped out of his core, and shattered.

“I can’t die.” Wil whispered, his mind turning for a solution. With a sudden burst of clarity, he thought of a Coin, a Golden Token with the symbol of…

“Secundus!” Wil shouted, standing upright. He looked around for an exit, a way to leave this floating palace, when the world shifted around him once more.