Prelude

"In the Elder Days, methods for forging mithril, a metal of magical strength and durability, were known to the consulate. Precious little of this wisdom remains.

The Bard Rhennalus,

From 'The Histories'

Sadden's Manor,

Arendelle

May 16th, 1843

Elsa Siguror stood upon the highest balcony, staring out to the sea and pondering the inscription on an ancient leather scabbard. She had spent a long night thinking about her conversation with Montaigne, and many more things besides, until her mind felt raw. She focused on the blinding glare of the morning sun against the horizon, staring until her eyes burned and she had to close them. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers over the soft indentations of the inscription, eyes still closed.

The Words were unspeakably old, written in a language that had been dead for millennia. They were known not even to the ascetic monk Wulfric Shaw, the last Keeper of the Stele and Elsa's only window into a past that seemed destined to repeat itself. And yet, somehow, they were supposed to help her. Guide Elsa through the darkness so that she could save mankind, like some forgotten hero ages before.

She took a centering breath and opened her eyes again. The city was just beginning to wake up for the day; down below, the market criers and shopkeepers, seamstresses and street-sweepers, fishmongers and sailors, were trickling into the streets by ones and twos. The sound of clopping horse-hooves, squeaking wagon-wheels, and threshing wash-boards teased at the edge of Elsa's ears. She allowed the tangibility, the overwhelming real-ness of the moment to bring her back to the present and out of her dark thoughts.

The city was slowly overcoming the trials of the last months, but Arendanes were a resilient people. Elsa was proud to be their shepherd. There were plenty of buildings to repair, streets to repave, and graves to dig. That last bit was less pleasant, and certainly less constructive. Her people had pushed off mourning for the wedding celebrations and the rebuilding, but in time they would experience the great losses that Everdark had forced upon them. It would hit the city hard, she knew. Hardly a family had not known the loss of someone close, or loved.

Her ministers still hadn't prepared the official number, and she expected that they would put their fingers on the scale to try and brush over some of the atrocities, but the truth couldn't be silenced. The truth was in the blood that had run in the streets, in the oversold morgues and cemeteries, in the powder burns and bullet-holes that riddled too many buildings. Over five thousand citizens of Arendelle had died in less than two months, and a great many more were wounded. Over three thousand men, from lowly soldiers to the majority of Arendelle's Court, were currently imprisoned and under investigation for collusion with the Lord Insurgent.

It was a slow process, and it was unclear how many would be acquitted of charges. The whole thing was a goddamn mess. But it was workable. Elsa remembered something her father always used to say: The best time to tackle your problems was yesterday. The second best time is today. And so, step by step, Arendelle was washing away the pain. Every day, things got a little better.

Elsa shifted her weight to the other elbow. That is, until Everdark gathered its strength enough to strike again. For all Elsa knew, its forces were already at work again here and across the globe, tainting humanity and pulling the weak and corruptible under its sway, building an army of powerful witches and wizards to do its dark bidding.

She took another deep breath. But it could wait. The world wasn't ending today, and Elsa still had time. Time to become what she needed to become. And in the meantime, her people still needed their queen, and that was something she knew how to do.

Elsa stepped back into the chambers that she was using for the moment – construction on the new palace was just getting underway, and although she'd be here for some months or years to come, it was tough to ever really start thinking of this place as home – and set the scabbard atop the burnished old dresser. Elsa sighed as she gazed down at the unassuming old relic.

An ancient hero had once held the blade to pair with it, supposedly a legendary and powerful one, a sword to cast away all shadows and bring light to places darkest. All Elsa was left with was an empty sheath.

"I know how you feel, friend," Elsa said forlornly to the old relic. "You and I are both supposed to be hiding something heroic beneath our skin, something that saves the world from a force we can't possibly understand."

She sat down on the bed and yanked the braid free from her hair, heedless to the painful tug. "But we're both hollow. We've got nothing inside."

Celestus

in what is now Present-Day Iran

c. 3650 BC

Ashanerat the Protector stood atop the Tower of Watching, gazing down upon the world and contemplating her Words. She was afforded an excellent view of the deadlands that surrounded her once-beautiful city; where once lush, irrigated fields stretched as far as the eagle flew, dotted with the little adobe houses of farmers, now harsh blasts of sand stung the eyes and burned the throat. Great chasms had opened with the ceaseless earthquakes, some of them splitting apart thoroughfares in the great city itself. In some, kindling brimstone lay just beneath the surface, threatening to run over any moment.

And yet, her people survived. Ashanerat turned and began to descend the spiral stairs from the antiquated tower, her hand straying to Lightbringer's hilt as she heard a child's cry below. After a few moments, she saw a band of small children rush into view on a street far below, kicking about a leather ball. What had sounded moments before like a cry for help was revealed to be a shriek of laughter. Ashanerat relaxed, and smiled, weakly. She'd heard precious little laughter of late. The ability of children to find happiness in hours darkest never ceased to impress her.

The Tower of Watching was set at the northeast corner of Celestus's walls, to look upon the wide deserts beyond. Rhennalus the Watcher spent long hours atop it, pondering the world with his ancient, wide-ranging mind. Of all the members of Celestus's consulate, he was the only Founder, the only wizard who seemed able to live forever. Even his survival seemed to be in jeopardy with Everdark's grip tightening by the day.

Ashanerat reached the wall to find that Circu the Learner was waiting for her. The handsome, dark man wore the robes of white favored by the consulate, unadorned save a gold trim around the right cuff. She didn't remember the particular significance of that particular adornment. Ashanerat wore armor in days of battle, went without something as ostentatious as the consulate's robes during days of peace.

"What is it, Circu?" Ashanerat rolled her left shoulder, wincing as the action was met with a sharp twinge. Her duty as the city's Protector certainly wasn't getting easier, and the city's walls were getting weaker. There were flaws, places where the barricades had broken. The next time endless waves of the dead came, she would not be able to stop them.

Circu, a model of politeness in the form of the rest of the consulate, pretended not to notice her display of weakness. "The rest of the consulate has come to agreement that we cannot wait any longer. We must ask you to revise your earlier decision regarding Everdark, and the rituals that would banish it."

Of course she'd known all along why he'd come to her. The consulate did not speak to her about other things, these days. "I should have guessed." She thought for a long moment, and then sighed. "I will entertain a meeting with the rest of the consulate. Speaking with them can do no ill."

Circu inclined his bald head, ever-so-slightly. "Thank you, Ashanerat. That is all we ask."

They began the long walk to the Paliendron, the magnificent, glass-domed temple that housed the Forum of the Consulate. There would have been plenty of time to talk, if Ashanerat had felt like speaking. It seemed that Circu was content with a contemplative silence, as well.

When they passed one of the many wells placed around the city's squares, Ashanerat watched the long lines of citizens, plaintively hoping that there would be water when there hadn't been for some time now. They were wretched. Hungry, and thirsty, and many of them wounded. Too many of the combat-able men had been injured or killed helping her fight back the endless waves of the dead, so in the last attack spears had been given to any who could wield them. Young mothers cradled underfed babies awkwardly, with one remaining arm. Boys barely old enough to grow wisps of a moustache wore ragged, dirty bandages over grisly wounds. The city was dying, and not slowly.

Ashanerat felt her own tears burning at her eyes, saw them fall onto the dirt by her feet. If she was stronger, she could have saved so many lives. If she could fight Everdark, so many would not have died. But she was weak. Unfit to be Celestus's Protector.

They came to the Paliendron. Its once magnificent spires were cracked, and in some places totally demolished; the great glass dome that had once been a wonder of the world had shattered just days ago with the worst earthquake in living memory. Fires had burned the great library within, destroying generations of learning. The Paliendron was a shell of what it had once been. Surprisingly, the three other counsellors were waiting in the eave underneath the double doors, in quiet conversation as the Protector and the Learner approached. They glanced up solemnly and raised their hands in greeting to Ashanerat and Circu.

"It bodes well to see you here, Ashanerat," Rhennalus said solemnly. "We wondered, of course, whether you would come."

"You mistake my hesitancy to enact a poor decision for a hesitancy to act at all, Rhennalus," Ashanerat said wearily. Once upon a time, the Protector had been friendly with the rest of the consulate. Those days had largely passed.

"Perhaps we will be able to convince you of the err of such a statement, Ashanerat," the only other female counsellor, Sakina, said as they turned into the Paliendron. Despite the building's broken stature, it was still sacred, and as such major decisions of the consulate must be carried out inside. It was the way things were, the way they always had been, since time immemorial.

Ashanerat's feet crunched on shattered glass as they made their way to the forum, picking their way around wreckage. Beautiful murals decorated with inlaid gemstones had once circled the wide entrance chamber, but since the last earthquake shattered the dome, the Paliendron had been pillaged by bands of looters. The cracking of the glass had been seen as a sign of the consulate's weakness, a view that was hardly wrong. The murals were now faded and cracked, their luster tarnished.

It was incredible how, even as the world fell apart around them, humans still displayed an overwhelming preclusion for avarice. Many of the looters wouldn't even live long enough to enjoy the gemstones that they had stolen. Ashanerat kicked aside the head of a magnificent statue.

They came into the forum, a room that stood slightly more intact, if only because there wasn't much of value to take. The counsellors quietly took their seats, sweeping the settled debris away from the dark wooden table at which they sat. The table was shaped like a horseshoe, running around the entire edge of the room with a wide opening in the center that looked down to the floor a story below. There was a door that led onto this floor, accessible by another chamber and used when the consulate was entertaining a citizen.

Sidique the Presider spoke first in his quiet, raspy voice. "We have had the great fortune to weather another fortnight since last our council met. During that time, we have weathered three more earthquakes, a continued lack of water, and hordes of our own dead rising to take us with them. The time we have left will be measured in hours and days, not months and years. A fortnight ago, Ashanerat was the only among us who did not favor the rituals which would banish the Darkness. Have your opinions been changed, Protector?"

Ashanerat set her jaw. "You speak as if I seek the destruction of everything we hold dear, Sidique. Have I not made the reasons for my opposition clear enough? Of course I fear for our people and wish to save them. But it is not our right to prescribe doom to another civilization while an alternative may exist."

The consulate spoke of a ritual, but the magics they were proposing were far more complex and powerful than mortal spellwork. They would be invoking the power of the Lost Immortals, the ones that had been dominated into subservience by the Darkness. Even with all that power at their disposal, Circu, the council's expert on ancient magics, informed them that the ritual would only be strong enough to delay the Darkness. To send it away for a time, postponing the issue. Defeating the god seemed impossible.

If successful, the ritual might send the Darkness away for millennia. But it would return, eventually. Perhaps to a world without the same understanding of the powerful magics that Celestus possessed. Ashanerat feared that doing so might be condemning a future people to a horrible demise. So, it was her rational opinion that this route should only be taken if all other options were exhausted.

It seemed that they had come to the day where those options were spent. Ashanerat was here because she knew this. The ground they stood upon was shrinking by the day, and it seemed that they would soon no longer have the liberty of pondering moral quandaries like the one that troubled Ashanerat so. In matters of life and death, one did not think about how one's actions would harm another. Survival was a matter of instinct.

"You speak a profound truth, Ashanerat," said Circu, gravely. "However, the head of a starving household does not begrudge the immorality of stealing a loaf of bread. Philosophers may debate in years to come our decision to value our own lives more than the lives of another civilization yet to come, but we have not the luxury. Celestus is the home we know, and we must do what we can to defend it. Even if that means sacrificing the lives of others."

"If we must come to a discussion of worth," Sidique intoned, "there is little doubt that Celestus is more valuable than another civilization. Outside our walls, men are little better than savages. They develop crude systems of writing and numerals while our bards compose epics and our sages derive geometric wonders. They struggle to forge weak metals, whilst our smiths create swords fit to be swung by gods. Our mastery of magic, of the Lost Immortals' last gift to humanity, has lent us prosperity and wisdom. If Celestus falls, a great light in the darkness will be extinguished. Our enlightenment will be lost forever."

The other members of the consulate, save Ashanerat, nodded their agreement. They had weighed the decision carefully, and came to this understanding. It is not that the Protector did not understand their argument; far from it. It was logical. It was probably true. But Ashanerat was disturbed by the detached way the other members of the consulate traded human lives, condemned an entire people to a grisly doom.

"If you will not agree to this ritual, you will be imparting that same doom to Celestus, Ashanerat." Sakina the Recorder said coldly, with a hint of malice. "It requires unanimity. If we had reason to believe that you might actually succeed in defeating the Darkness, perhaps this would be a discussion. In light of your failure to do so, you stand on unstable ground."

The words hit Ashanerat harder than any blow. They were right, of course. She had failed, and the rest of the consulate knew it. A better Protector would not have waited behind the city walls, letting Celestus get weaker by the day, searching in vain for a way to take the fight to Everdark itself. A better protector would have found the way, and done it.

"Pride has no place in effective leadership, Ashanerat," Rhennalus said, his words a gentle rebuke that embarrassed her further. "You tried your best, for far longer, perhaps, then we should have allowed you. We cannot afford to spend any more lives waiting."

She bowed her head, feeling the sting of bitter tears. Ashanerat brushed them away. Not only are you too weak to protect your people, you are a fool, a voice inside of her said vehemently. You have squandered dozens of lives with your ignorance. You should have agreed to the rituals long ago.

Well, no longer. She raised her head again and took a deep breath. "Alright. I have been persuaded. The banishment ritual is the only way. We should proceed with it as soon as possible."

The other members of the consulate bowed their heads in acknowledgement, and, it seemed, in relief. Circu the Learner smiled, a rare occurrence for one so solemn. "I am glad that you have seen reason, Ashanerat. May the steps we take now be the ones which bring salvation to our people."