PROLOGUE
Mist threaded its way through the Varden's camp near the city of Feinster, a day after its bloody siege. Peace prevailed over the still camp, safe from the tramp of sentinels as they stood guard against enemies unknown. No one noticed anything at first, for the night was as quiet as any other. The silence itself was something odd to hear, as well as to feel, for hate-filled cries and screams of pain had but become a sound accustomed to the people's ears during the days of the siege.
The mist was even more unnatural, for it did more than block out sight; it dulled everyone's senses, blotting out consciousness as easily as a sword took a life until the entire camp; even the alert sentries, the Nighthawks, and the Urgals, who camped a little away from the humans were deep in slumber. Perhaps it was the first time they had the chance to rest in quite a while.
On and on the mist kept coming, and someone looking from the walls of Feinster would have found it an odd sight, for the rest of the landscape was entirely devoid of it. It was as though the mist had originated, and had spread, only near the camp.
Two shadow-like figures appeared within the camp. It was not in the sense that they were seen, they were more like entities. There, and yet not there. Silently, they slid through the camp until they were right in the center of it. Suddenly, one of the shadows solidified, turning darker and rose to a tall position, finally taking upon the shape of a brilliantly glowing bird with flaming eyes and a magnificent tail. It was airborne, but barely moving its wings. The mist immediately cleared around it. So bright was the brilliance of the creature. It turned a fierce eye upon the other shadow and said, "Akera."
The other shadow seemed to nod in reply before swelling up and turning into a horse. But it was no ordinary horse, for it was monstrous in size, glowing a pearly white. Huge wings rose from its trunk and a thin horn rose from its forehead, the tip of which would have cut through solid stone. If the mist was scattered before, it disappeared completely for a few feet around them, under the combined radiation of these two creatures. As though displeased by this, the pegasus, Akera, inclined his her head slightly. Immediately the mist flowed back, stopping only a foot away from them. With a toss of her proud head, she regarded the flaming bird. "Xanthomemanon. It has been long time."
Xanthomemanon inclined his head in reply, and landed on the ground, large enough to look Akera in the eye easily. "Indeed. I believe we last met during Du Shurtugal-"
"Do not speak it!" The cry, both mental and physical, would have torn through the thickest minds and killed any lesser mortals instantly. But Xanthomemanon merely looked at Akera as her eyes blazed with a purple fire and the skin became less white, looking rotten and diseased before her anger subsided and the skin glowed white again. Understanding emanated from his eyes but still, he asked, "Why?"
"That language of power...I wish I had never created it! It is the source of half the mayhem and pain in this land."
"There was even more of all that before you created it. You remember, of course the-"
"Yes, I do. The humans of the precious era nearly destroyed their entire world because the magic in their minds ran free. They speak of it among these children - it was odd to know that she was talking about the present races of Alagaesia - they speak of it as a great disaster because of the manuscripts which suried."
"Then you did a noble thing. But this era seems to be faring no better. I think-"
"I know what you want to happen. You want some sport, do you not? This war is entirely devoid of any interesting happenings," said Akera in a jesting tone.
Xanthomemanon merely shrugged, and replied," I am what the humans would call a God of Destruction, am I not? I crave it, i feed on it, and i enjoy it.. Many souls have i harvested in the course of battle and given them to you, to start them anew. But this war is meaningless"
Akera eyed him, but her eyes gleamed with distaste,"Aye, i take them and create them anew, for i am indeed a God of Creation, as the humans would say. These battles are pointless to my mind, but it is true that we depend on each other."
"Yes, we are as darkness and light, and as the sun with the moon," laughed Xanthomemanon, his voice musical. He proceeded to look into the distance.
The mist cleared away from a particular point and a shimmering image appeared in the air. It was almost like looking through a window, into another world. The people in the image were unlike any seen in Alagaesia, for their very selves shone with a pure energy, and their shapes were slender and artistic compared to the sturdy people of the present age. To even compare them to humans was an error, for they were different, in mind, thought, shell and living.
Then the image changed, and the landscape was dark. Huge storm clouds obscured the entire sky. It was a barren land that lay beneath, the very soil red and parched with thirst. There stood an army of hooded figures, seemingly in prayer, for their voices rose and feel as one, giving an ominous feel to the already eerie landscape. At their front, on a raised rock stood a person, obviously their leader.
Rain began to fall, and soon the entire scene was obstructed. As they drew near the leader, all that could be discerned was a bright orange glow, piercing even the thick sleet of rain. At this point, Xanthomemanon sighed and the image disappeared.
Akera had seemed reluctant to look at it, staring fixedly at the blazing bird and uttered a single tone in a vibrant voice at the end of the display. "No." The sound reverberated through the air, even through the unnaturally thick mist that permeated them.
But Xanthomemanon's voice was fiery now, as he spoke with great passion. "The humans here are going nowhere Akera. You know it. Their 'king' has more energy in store than all of them put together ten times over. They will never win. You shaped destiny with me!"
"I did...but there is one part of them we cannot control. Their will: I confess i relied on them to make ample use of it-"
"And they failed. Miserably. Let us give the precious era another chance! I suppose i feel more for them because they were my first creation. They must get another chance, for they were shaped with reason and logic, something which we lacked dismally when we first made the world together. I have made countless on my own, but your spirit inspired the reckless part of me."
Xanthomemanon laughed then, and their landscape suddenly became blurred, until they were suddenly in a huge hall, glittering and magnificent. Curiously, the source of its brilliance was unseen. It existed and it glorified sightlessly. He went to the centre of that hall, flying soundlessly, and Akera followed, her soft steps equally soundless. And in the centre was a great hole, extending infinitely deep, impenetrable and impermeable. They stood near it, both of them, and looked at each other, as though battling mentally.
Finally Akera sighed, and said," Very well."
A sudden light glinted in her eyes, making her look more lively. As for Xanthomemanon, his eyes blazed with excitement. "It is a challenge, then. I shall change one thing in the previous era. If their destruction still takes place, you can change one thing in this era."
"A challenge it is then!" she cried, her voice vibrating as she laughed, a sound sweeter than nectar and more frightening than any other.
Xanthomemanon replied by flinging his head to the top of the never ending hall and shrieked a sound which shot through the land of Alagaesia, waking every living being before sounding like an enormous horn, the Horn of Judgment. The land slowly blackened, losing its lustrous feel and the humans disappeared as the mist surrounding the Varden's camp did, until nothing was left, only darkness.
A single white glow sparkled in the center. Akera neighed, and the glow floated towards her, and then entered inside of her. "The soul of a lost world," she stated, and regret ringed the edge of her voice.
"And the seed for a new one," countered Xanthomemanon.
He sunk onto the floor, his part of the process completed. The unseen lights which lit up the endless hall dimmed, as though in anticipation of the next event. Akera sunk her head to the floor, and all was silent for a moment. Suddenly, a brilliant ray of light burst through her, forcing even Xanthomemanon to close his eyes. As the light withdrew, Akera's entire body's seemed to be one, seamless source of pure light. Then, as the light dimmed further, the source was separated into a thousand tiny orbs, like the soul of Alagaesia. One orb detached itself from the rest, and floated through until it was lost from sight. Another blinding flash of light occurred, and the two Gods found themselves standing on a hillock. Dense forest adorned the ground below, and at its edge, on top of a tall cliff stood a single village, small and homely. It was night, and the crescent moon glowed brightly between two snow-capped mountains.
Akera sighed, and took off the hillock, traversing the distance to the horizon in an instant.. Xanthomemanon ignored her, and proceeded to fly to the village. Just as he neared it, he changed, becoming invisible. Not a single soul was seen in the village, save for a number of wolves, which were obviously pets and guards of the village. They seemed to sense him, but accepted him without hesitation, preferring rather to roll about on the ground and gnaw at huge bones. Xanthomemanon flew towards the very edge of the village, towards a two storied house where total darkness reigned. As he entered - passing through the seemingly insubstantial wall - he saw what he had expected. A dark haired boy sleeping soundly, traversing the endless maze of dreams. On this boy did the whole challenge - his part of the challenge - rest.
He bent towards the sleeping figure, and blew gently on him. As the boy stirred, he vanished immediately, leaving that land as if he had never been there. At that same instant, Akera awoke a girl, in a different house, in a different village, in a different part of that land. The pieces were set, and the game had begun. History had changed: For the better or worse - only time would tell.