The Wakening - Part 1

Emotions are fickle. They change hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second. They vary from person to person. They are as fluid as a mountain river stream - always flowing and slowly carving their way into people’s hearts. They control minds just as well as entire nations.

The Zarnov empire is a nation ruled by hate. Hate is a powerful emotion and not one to be trifled with. Its wild and unpredictable nature often wreaks havoc on the lives of others. Such was the case with Emperor Zarin II and his loyal subjects.

'What did you say?!' Zarin let out a growl at the clearly battered guard in front of him.

'M-My liege…'

'I pay you to protect me, not lead the enemy across my doorstep!' he shouted and slammed his fist onto the throne, slightly cracking the armrest.

The court was in an uncomfortable silence. The shock from the news briefly stopped everyone in their tracks as they scrambled to make sense of what was spoken. After a few moments, the court began buzzing akin to a wasp nest. It did not take long before the nobles’ chatter turned into heated arguments. Very soon, all but one of them were barking at each other like panicked animals desperately looking for a way to save their skin.

'My lord…' , a voice reverberated across the chamber, garnering the attention of the court and their ruler. 'We must wake the Banished One.'

Once more, the court was in silence. They stared at the hooded figure, with some initially dismissing his statement as a distasteful joke. However, Zarin knew better than to ignore the words of the empire’s most powerful magician.

'You would have me take the enemy to the grave with us, Archmagos Mordreth?' his brows furrowed as he spoke.

'Not necessarily. I believe it can be controlled.' the Archmagos replied. He quickly made his way past the nobles and descended towards the throne. He enjoyed the court’s undivided attention as he continued. 'Our excavations of the ruins have recently revealed what seems to be an ancient shrine to the Banished One. After personally examining the runes carved into the stone, I am confident it is a spell to bend its will to ours.'

The court echoed with audible gasps in surprise at the Archmagos’s words. Heavy chatter ensued with the nobles now set in fiery debates over his proposal. Still, Zarin did not seem convinced. Mordreth was by his side since he was old enough to walk on his own and he trusted him far more than any of his aides. But the look on his face was one that Zarin had never seen before – one of deep, unsettling contemplation. It was not doubt, nor was it fear, but something far worse. A silent, measured calculation, as if he were peering into a future only he could see. Zarin had always relied on his wisdom, but now, for the first time, he wondered if he truly understood the man who stood so loyally at his side.

'What of the alternatives?' he asked with his eyes and ears desperately searching for a more reasonable course of action. 'Someone answer me!'

A cold sweat permeated his body as no answers ever came. Instead, the Archmagos spoke again with an eerie calmness. 'My lord, our defenses are breached and our remaining troops are greatly outnumbered. Even my magic could not hold them off for long. It is simply a matter of time until the enemy breaches these halls and claims our heads.'

'What about the Eternals?' said Zarin. 'They served my father well and may yet change our fate if we act swiftly.'

'Unfortunately, the artifact required to summon the Eternals has been damaged by enemy artillery before we could react. It is unresponsive to my magic and repairing it would take too long.' said the Archmagos.

'Damn it all! I am surrounded by incompetent fools!' Zarin shouted as his fist slammed into his armrest once again. A moment later, he stood up and gazed sternly at the Archmagos. 'Fine then! Wake the Banished One and leave none alive!'

'As you command, my lord.' the Archmagos bowed as he answered. The sound of his staff tapping the marbled floor as he made his way out of the throne room was muffled by cheers and murmurs of the nobles following his exit.

Having seen the magician leave, Zarin sank back down on his throne and exhaled a slow, weary breath. Both angry at the ineptitude of his underlings and fearful of what’s to come, he mumbled to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

'Fools, the lot of them…' He ran a weary hand over his face, his gaze lingering on the door where the Archmagos had disappeared. The magician had not flinched, had not hesitated. That unwavering confidence gnawed at him more than the threat of the Banished One itself.

'What does he see that I do not?' His fingers tapped idly against the broken armrest, the weight of the crown pressing heavier than ever.

'If he is wrong, the empire will burn. If he is right…' His voice faltered.

Nothing was for certain. It was a gamble with fate itself.

'...Then may the Divinity have mercy on us all.'