Epilogue

Lent watched Abel and Jessie disappear, and he was alone again. The others weren't coming back, and his only company was the immortality he now held in his heart. Lent began to walk south; there were many blood fountains in Nosgoth, many vampire artifacts he could acquire on his path. He would need as many as he could find if he hoped to stand a chance against the Sarafan. His master, Kain, would need him as strong as possible, so that he might serve him when Kain conquered the land.
Lent pressed on his new quest, a path which was his alone to carry. After years of wandering the land, Lent would eventually find a new home which he had unknowingly founded. The slaves he had once saved were building a village unknown to the Sarafan. They would be the first to devote themselves to Kain's empire, and Lent would spend many years protecting the village until it was time for his master to rise to full power as ruler of Nosgoth. He did not know this, of course, so for now he merely set out with the goal of surviving long enough to be useful.

Meanwhile, in Dark Eden, Gadorian was completing his trial. "I'll be dammed if he is to be left here," Novanus said as he turned and located Gadorian with a probing thought. He summoned up all his power. And bore a hole straight through the wall of the shrine. This would lead Gadorian straight to them. He sent out the thought to Gadorian. "Take the tunnel. Follow us." Gadorian snapped to attention, nearly falling off the statue's hand again. He ignored Novanus' warning, and stared forward, stared at the mountain face in front of him, stared down at Nosgoth.
The mist covering the city was not fog, but clouds. Here, in this illusion, he had found it. He remembered it. North of the oracle caves, before they even housed that treacherous liar, and high in the mountains above, he was in the city, Celarania.
He glided down to the street and ran towards the square, dodging streamers and decorations as he went. Finally he saw the grandest spectacle yet. Minstrels and dancers tried desperately to keep up with the excitement from the crowd. The city had been honored. A human-turned vampire had been given the task to pick a guardian for a gift, a sword he had been entrusted with by the ancients. He picked the guardian from here. Gadorian, son of Celarania. He remembered.
"I'll never have to forget again. I can be here, I can be happy, forever..." Gadorian closed his eyes and opened them to find himself in the center of the square. All around him, his friends and family, people he hadn't known existed for millennia, poured out their love for him. "Hurrah! Let us celebrate the honor that has befallen our own Gadorian!" The fantasy would remain, forever. Gadorian would remain, forever...
The ambassador turned to Gadorian. "You have been chosen. This sword, forged by Serioli and ancient, will be bound to you, as it is to me. With the gift of my blood, you will be bound to me as well, your brother of the sword. We will be one, and though the ages may pass, our pact will remain."
He held out his hands to Gadorian, as if holding something...but there was no sword. His hands were completely empty, except for a slight shadow, which somehow seemed to have weight. Gadorian looked back up into the smiling face of the ambassador, and again down at his empty hands, now grasping a hilt that was not there. A tear rolled down Gadorian's cheek. Gadorian turned away, and in an instant the illusion, his home, fell away, forever.
Gadorian raced forward to find Novanus stepping into a great swirling portal. "Took you long enough. We have a world to save, remember?" "Oh please. I've got a world to save. You're just here to make me look good." Novanus smirked before plunging into the portal. Gadorian started forward as if to follow, before collapsing to the floor.
He felt time slow and warp around him so as to prolong the pain. The process was being forced, what was meant to take years was happening in mere seconds. The pain was unbearable, but after it finally subsided it was followed by a wave of intense power. Gadorian stood up, shakily gaining his balance on his new cloven feet. Cracking his three-clawed knuckles, he walked into the portal.

Just as the portal faded into an eerie green glow, a hero finally learned to live up to his destiny. Somewhere else in Nosgoth, an angel learned to fly. Deeper and closer to Nosgoth's heart, a great cry echoed through the night, heralding the end of a dynasty and the beginning of a new age. An emperor, a tyrant, a God, had awakened to reclaim his throne.