Prologue-The Fall

“I’m not the violent beast the stories make me out to be. I don’t know why I still do it but there was a time before all of that, before I became this thing that only knows how to hurt.”

- He who lost sight of what mattered most.

The old farmer worked tirelessly. The sty fence had finally given way the night prior and let the pigs run rampant. Havoc had erupted, thankfully they’d managed to save three-fourths of the crops before the damned animals got them. For a moment he thought of sending for the butcher, that would be fair retribution. He was never much for pigs, but his father had reared them, so there was an expectation. One he’d be passing to his first lad soon enough.

The carpenter and hired hand helped him set the last of the posts. Once the beams were placed the pigs could return. Maybe he could butcher at least one of them, the treat that would be. At the very least, it would make this back aching work worth it. He stretched, felt his spine click before he heard it. Then a sharp twang of pain.

That was it. No more work for the old man. He hounded the youngsters, pulled them from their other chores. This had to be dealt with and he needed rest. He sat nearby, enjoying the light breeze, it eased the ache, if only slightly.

If no calamities befell them, they could make do with the harvest. Then as the ice of the next winter thawed, he’d hand over the farm.

“Pa,” his first lad spoke, his voice hoarse and breathing heavy. He sucked at the air with every breath. A fine young man, fit with the muscle of a farming-man. The lad brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes. Some time had passed and the beams were already set.

“Aye, we’ll get the damn hogs. Best round ‘em up before the sun hits its peak. Fetch the rest of your brothers.”

“Nay pa. Something else. A strange man’s coming this way. Looks he’s got a sword with him, something big on his back too.”

The farmer turned westward, found the stranger some paces away. He walked with a slow gait, almost dragging his legs. Every step seemed a challenge. Press on and suffer or collapse and surrender to the world. Only one type of folk walked like that.

Adventurers.

He wasn’t all too keen on hogs, adventurers even less so. No sense of an honest day’s work in them, they touted some heroism but were no better than bandits. They’d squeeze a man of every coin he had just to clear out a few bog crawlers.

“What business have you!” he demanded when the stranger was in earshot. “Get yourself an axe lad, I’ll not waste time on some adventurer,” he muttered to his son.

The adventurer did not respond, only pressing forward.

As he drew closer, the farmer could finally see the baggage he hauled. Nay, not baggage. A man. A cripple.

“What business have you on my farm,” he demanded again.

“Water,” came a rasped quiet voice in response. “Please,” the adventurer begged. He held out a worn waterskin.

The farmer’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the adventurer, but the harshness in his glare passed quickly. Dirty and disheveled, tired eyes that hung low, a rancid stench that no stream would cleanse. This was not the look of any adventurer he’d met before. If heroism was to look like anything, it would be this. A man pushed to his limit and pushed farther. Emaciated, half confused for an animal, but soldiering on, hefting his world atop his shoulders.

He pointed at the well, “Help yourself.”

The adventurer stumbled past, towards the well. Collapsing against its foundation. Unhooked the cripple from his bindings and with tender care, lowered him to the floor. He did not drink, not yet. He gave the first sip to the cripple; only then did he drink. A dark metal glinted in the light from around his neck, it shared the appearance of a collar like the ones used to restrain the hounds.

“Where did you come from?”

The adventurer pointed towards the mountains in the distance, to Fallow and Bour. A journey of several weeks, had he carried the cripple that full distance? What drove him to keep walking, was it a choice or something else?

“Where are you going?”

The adventurer pointed to the nearby mountains, to mount Tefraa. What ludicrous goal did he expect to find atop that volcano? No good could come from it.

“If ya’ need, your friend can rest here while you undertake your quest.”

The adventurer refused the offer, something about them needing to see it through to the end together. He did not stay long after retrieving some water and filling his skin. He shouldered the cripple once more and continued on with his quest. Nothing seemed more important to him.

***

There was a soft crunch underfoot, grass gave way to packed dirt and loose stones. How many footsteps had it been? Too many to keep track of. Had the boots worn through 100 steps ago, or was it 100000? How many days had it been? What was even the point of counting? This one would end and tomorrow he would rise alongside the sun, brush off the dirt, then return to his march.

Kairan stumbled, nearly toppling over; the worn piece of timber that had made for a good traveling companion had snapped. That bit of exertion had been too much. He needed rest, to remove the responsibility he shouldered for but a moment. He could be spared that much, right? The sky would not fall if he took a break?

The sky showed no signs of displeasure. It remained far above, observing as it always did. Silently judging perhaps, but seemingly content.

In the distance a dark grey cloud loomed, the type that promised rain. The rain brought its own promise: to quench the arid air and cracked dirt. Both were the type to lie.

Kairan brought the last waterskin to his lips and indulged in the refreshing drink. Cool water slithered down his throat, offering momentary reprieve from the harsh dryness that had assaulted him.

He took a second sip; his eyes fastened on the cloud as it drifted over the volcano’s peak. Rain. He welcomed it.

His throat in protest, he pulled the waterskin away and examined it: the bag was already half empty. Not enough to last the daunting climb.

Kairan knelt, nestling the waterskin in both hands.

“Just a little further James, then it is finally over. Here, I need you to take a sip.” Kairan tilted James’ head back and pushed the waterskin between his lips. Kairan heard the first swallow, then the second and third, all the way to seven.

Finished, Kairan took the waterskin back. A pitiful amount remained. He hoped it would rain.

“You don’t mean that,” James croaked, words hoarse and dry despite the drink. He shifted slightly, the little his frail body would permit, eyeing the mountain between the cracks of his droopy eyelids.

“You’re awake! How do you feel?” Kairan asked. With tender care, he removed the bandage and felt James’ forehead. The fever had not yet broken, just as hot as it was three days ago.

“You can’t climb that with me on your back,” he mumbled, his voice slipping as stupor attempted to claim him again.

Kairan turned his attention to the path behind them. James was right, this climb would be treacherous, even worse while carrying a person, but he had made it this far already. 10 days he had marched, ferrying James across the great plains of the island, evading every beast they encountered, just so that they could reach the volcano…it had not seemed so big before but now it felt gargantuan.

Kairan sat back, leaning on the rock James was slumped against.

“A cruel bit of irony, isn’t it? Our freedom right before us and we have not the strength left to grasp it,” Kairan mumbled aloud. “In any normal circumstance, our freedom would have been guaranteed upon escaping that shipwreck; and yet, they prepared for that,” his words trailed off.

“Do you think the collars will fall off when we finish?” James asked quietly, several pauses filled his speech.

“I hope so.”

“Me too.” His eyes drooped closed and his head dropped to one side.

Kairan paused, staring at the wilderness they had traversed. If only…

As thoughts of fleeing swirled in his mind, the collar activated. The first seal: a gentle prickle that rapidly grew in intensity until he was convulsing in electric pain. The second seal: a cloud of fog filled his brain; it pushed away his thoughts, stifling them, he struggled to remember what had held his mind.

“We need to keep moving,” he said dully.

“Leave me, you’re wasting energy,” James mumbled.

“And let all my effort from before go to waste? I would sooner have my legs fail me, than willingly surrender now. You’re seeing this through to the end, while there is breath in my chest, that I swear.”

Without another word, Kairan slid straps from the makeshift pack over his shoulders. Aided by the rock, he staggered to his feet and lifted James upon his back.

“Comfortable?” he checked, adjusting the straps. James did respond instead he laid his head against Kairan’s back.

Kairan gritted his teeth and started off. The first step of their finale. Haggard beyond belief, he climbed upwards – retreating into the solitude of his rhythmic footsteps.

It was then, as they ascended a third of the volcano’s face, that a terror emerged. First to react were the insignificant pebbles; they rattled and jostled ever so slightly. Then the air began to quiver in trepidation.

A muffled noise slipped past Kairan’s ears.

“Kairan!” James forced, his throat aching at the effort.

“What?” he replied. The pitch of his words falling as he spoke; his brain still addled from its sudden tear from solitude.

“The ground! Something is amiss, don’t you feel it?” From the depths of the rock below, a rumble shook, and a tremor clawed its way to the surface. Spurred by the awakening of that ancient terror. With an explosion, it broke free from its earthen tomb. Burning claws raked across the sky as molten rocks descended upon the valleys and plains below. A stifling darkness took the sky, highlighting the wicked trails of fire.

“An eruption…” Kairan mouthed silently to himself, the tremble in his voice held the words hostage. Such accursed luck.

Move! They had to depart, to flee at once, but to where?

He scoured cliffsides, his eyes falling upon their sanctuary: a deep cave nestled into the rock of a risen outcrop.

He scrambled and climbed, racing against the incoming flow of lava, to reach the safety of the deep cave.

They hid within the great hovel of the deep cave, but it gave them little reprieve. Already the air was filled with ash – straining their exhausted breaths. Yet, the worst was the heat; even nestling at the backend of the cave they could feel the lava’s radiance beating down upon them still.

“Such accursed luck,” Kairan said faintly, when for a moment the heat stopped stinging his throat.

James had already fallen into prayer, muttering words so softly they were lost on Kairan’s ears.

He let his head rest against the wall, breathing as shallow as he dared; to not waste the little moisture he had left in his throat. The heat that bore down on them was unrelenting; it squeezed life from them much like how a kiln did to the water within a clay sculpture.

Desperate, Kairan retrieved the waterskin, but as he put it to lip, dismay crept into his heart. He cursed and cast it aside with the little force he could muster.

“Damn it all,” he muttered. His head began to throb from the exertion, he felt the blood pulsing in his ears. Why didn’t I save some of the water? He narrowed his eyes, glaring to his side. He drank it all, I shouldn’t have let him drink it all, I… He cursed again, this time chastising himself. How could he believe such thoughts? They were misplaced; he had to tell himself so. An incessant hunger for moisture gnawed on his thoughts, they teetered on madness. It allowed evil to grow.

Nothing was left to ease the stinging dryness, and the rock was not cool as he had hoped.

“What do you want to do after all this, when we finally save their kingdom?”

The question stirred James from his prayer and said: “I have not the vision to see past this climb, I cannot believe we survive it, Kairan.”

Kairan chuckled. It was not a moment for chuckling, but he did so, nonetheless. “When the goal is so close in reach, how can you not dream about its reward. Dream with me for a moment, won’t you?” James did not answer. “I’ll tell you about my dream.”

As he thought on it, some hundred distinct desires ached within his heart. Yet, the most powerful was the face of a mother he’d never see again. He pushed it aside and dreamt of a new hope, one that wouldn’t hurt.

“I can see a farm, nestled away in some hinterland, far away from the rest of the world. It would have some crops, I’m thinking carrots, onions, lettuce. Not potatoes though, never again.” He looked to James for a reaction but found none, so continued: “maybe I’ll raise some animals: sheep for the wool, cows for the milk, and pigs for the…I guess I could get meat from all three of them in the end. What about you? Want to come live on my farm?”

There was pause before James finally spoke, softly, “What dream could there be for me at the end of this? I have no legs to walk, no good hand, let alone a good arm.”

“Don’t linger on that, come, look past it. Tell me your dream.”

“A grave. I see a grave for each of them.” He began listing off with the fingers on his left hand, the friends they had lost and the grave he wanted to erect for each one. As he reached six, he choked on the words, unable to continue.

Kairan leant over, bringing his right hand before James and raising a finger. James continued.

“I’ll make sure they get the graves they deserve,” Kairan finished.

Nine had set out, now only two remained.

Sleep was quick to take him; it was an empty sleep, a dreamless sleep that departed as quickly as it came.

Morning light clung to the cave’s mouth, unable to enter. The light turned it into a glowing ring, beckoning Kairan to march onwards. To climb.

A cool wind drifted into the cave, relieving the pains from the night before, and signaling an end to the volcano’s fury.

“James,” he croaked, his throat burned in protest, “The eruption is over, and the sun has risen. We must set off.” His words fell on deafened ears.

“James,” he croaked once more, yet James did not respond. He shook his friend, calling his name over and over, but it stirred no response.

He took hold of James’ hand, searching for the warmth of life but found it bare, as cold as the stone upon which they rested. The truth weighed heavily on his heart for he knew it so, and naught but a wail could escape him. His eyes stung, but no tears would flow, there was no water left.

James was gone, taken by the rising dawn, and now Kairan was alone.

He buried James there within that deep cave in a casket of stone. He could not linger to lament further for the collar would not allow it, and he feared the chance that a corpse would rise, bearing vengeance. With his mind bereft of thought, he climbed onwards.

And thus there was one.

The shadow of the volcano loomed over him, its daunting visage never shrinking no matter how far he climbed. The old trail had been consumed by the lahar and left the volcanic slopes barren, forcing Kairan to pick apart a new path. An ever-winding trail that continued as though it would not end.

Back and forth he walked in an eternal loop, hounded by a suffocating silence. For the first time since being ripped from his home, he was truly alone. He carried on until his legs would stand no more, and he crumbled into the dirt. The peak looked no closer than it had hours earlier.

A sickly-sweet thing began to build within his chest, bubbling until he could not contain it further. “Why…why was it us?” the words trembled, barely louder than a whisper.

He screamed – not words nor anything coherent, just a raw, broken sound.

He slammed his fists against the ground, hoping, praying it would change reality. But it didn’t, no matter how hard he struck the earth, all it did was sink him deeper into his own futile desperation. He began to wail; it was a beaten, depressing sound like that of a dying animal.

He collapsed against the earth, exhausted. For the moment, he could press on no further. The last embers of his energy had faded away with a final defeated wail.

Sometime later, when the sun had long set, he re-awoke. Spurred by an unseen force calling him to action. Under the guidance of the two silver moons, he set forth once more. This was to be his last respite.

Through pain and exhaustion, he persevered. It felt as though his limbs had been set fire to, every muscle pushed far past its limits and on the verge of snapping. Beyond weary, he continued to climb, holding onto his dream. It was a hidden strength that gave him purpose to climb.

He reached the peak. It was the culmination of everything they had suffered through. A bleak reward that served no value to him now – not after losing so much. His home and family gone, along with the new family he’d just found.

A shade of the man he once was, a battered husk – the price he paid so that together they might have reached that very peak and be heralded as heroes.

Yet, there was nothing special. No gaping maw that peered into the depths of hell, nor was there some mystical being awaiting his arrival with words of celebration. No, there was only the empty silence of a summer’s night, and a mountain peak lit beneath the stars.

With weak hands, he retrieved the Artefact – it sat comfortably in his palms. A polyhedron of 20 faces, each edge glowed with searing intensity; within it pulsed constellations of burning plasma locked in an eternal cycle of rebirth and collapse. Moonlight reflected off it in all directions, showering the peak in dazzling rainbows.

He held no love or interest in the Artefact, as the catalyst of his misery, it sought only to draw his ire.

With the last of his strength, he discarded it into the bowels of the volcano. Slowly, darkness began to fill his world. His quest was soon to be over; the nightmare was soon to end.

Zero.

As the Artefact fell deeper, sparks of magic began to scatter off it. Then as it struck the magma beneath, a pulse emanated outwards; a surge of magic that covered the world over.

A silent warning obscured to all but those standing atop the pinnacle of enlightenment.

It was a signal marking the dawn of a new era; those whose will and vision sought to shackle the world slowly moved to enact their Grand Designs, obfuscated no longer by necessities for guile.

From darkness unknown to mortal mind, antediluvian horrors stirred. The reign of terror they once wrought upon the land now confined to the dusted pages of tomes long forgotten. Yet their shadows remained ever-present, through twisted folkloric tales to frighten children.

***

“Pa,” the young lad called again. That was the seventh time that morning. What could be so damned important that he was dragged away from his one moment of respite? Morning tea.

His mind had been elsewhere that morning, not on the chores for the day. He sat beside his wife, listening to her soft humming as he thought on the adventurer from the week prior. The man had refused any courtesy offered to him, only interested in water. The farmer regretted the first words he spoken to man, he had deserved better.

Where were they now? The adventurer and the cripple.

“Pa!”

“What, you blathering fool. If ya have something to say. Spit the damn thing out. No use yelling for me and saying nothing!”

“Something’s wrong with the hogs, they acting all strange.”

Another son appeared at the door; hair plastered to his face with sweat. “Pa, them’s something fault with the tatoes.”

In an instant the farmer was on his feet, the tea cast aside dousing the wood. Any caution for his old age had vanished, just as a third son came bearing bad news. In unison they rushed, each trying to convey what might be wrong to their father – talking in unison, talking over each other. Another appeared.

They came upon the fields and witnessed the unspeakable. 100 leagues of rot. Cattle lay on their sides unmoving. The hogs had turned feral; they squealed and stampeded. The smaller ones were crushed in the ensuing calamity, then what followed was grotesque, a scene out of a nightmare. They began to feed on each other.

The old farmer looked onwards in horror, a small bubble formed in his stomach, pushed its way through his throat. He made all attempts to swallow it back but it did not yield.

A sickness had claimed the farm, a sickness that brought forth the rot.