Prologue
Twilight enveloped Calem, turning his light brown hair to a flaming red, his eyes blazes from the depths of hell. His thoughts of anger and hatred was of a deep passion, sent forth in all directions. He hated Areinak, the blasted and vile king who sits upon his throne of lies as he destroys all that was once good about this land. He hated his armies; he hated Illineagh, the rebellion that fought the King; but he hated himself more than any of these. It was by his hand that the man in front of him lay slaughtered, his dagger still stuck in his throat, glinting in the last rays of the sun.
Time continued around Calem, but he stood, paused as he stared at the armored body. It wasn't until night brought a soothing rain that put his fires out, leaving only cold, hard shadow. His tears joined the drizzle as he cried out in lament, bellowing forth a mighty roar before all became still again. His body was filled with tremors as the chill of the rain caught him.
It wasn't until the stars poked through the clouds, gleaming lights of truth, that he broke from the trance he was caught in. All around him lay mounds of mail, glowing in the light of the moon, a dreadfully eerie sight. The smell of death filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath and reached for the dagger, stopping for a moment while he was crouched. All that had happened . . . it had led to what was going to happen next. Far across the field, the lights of torches pierced the darkness. Here, he would make his final stand against tyranny and darkness.
Here, it would end.