Akalash was flying north. Far below him, he knew the war was still raging. He could feel, even in the high and pure skies, the stench of the Divine Plague rising to his nostrils. Gamala had struck, as he had said he would. The metallic dragon quickened his pace slightly, glancing down. Through the thick gray winter clouds, he caught a vague glimpse of the spectral fog of the Fury smothering the Rakurians. He was of course too high to hear them distinctly, but he could make out the suffering cries of the whole swarming mass, which was enduring martyrdom under his feet. He could also imagine the prayers addressed to him or to Kirin, the desperate pleas, the groans of agony…

"Suffer the consequences of your actions, Nordics. Let this be a lesson to you, in the future. The sentence of a hero is indisputable. I will not come to your aid this time. "

After being roused from his long sleep, Akalash had the reflex to head south. He had sensed that he was'nt the only one awake. And he had not been wrong, for Gamala, was indeed awake too.

The Hero did not like these names and their heroic appellation, but he was forced to use them. He preferred their true and original names, but since no mortal should remember them, Heroes were forbidden to use them. The other gods had set these rules. Because Heroes were Gods who, concerned about the welfare of mortals, had agreed to take on a heavy responsibility: that of making Justice.

When the Gods saw that the Old World was in turmoil everywhere, they knew that the time had come for the monsters to accomplish the ultimate revolution: the overthrow of humans. The monsters who had been living apart from the humans became bold and destroyed village after village. Those who had pledged their allegiance to the humans turned against them, breaking the bond between them and their tormentor without remorse. And when there were only a handful of men left, entrenched in fortress cities on Earth, the Gods themselves appeared. Under their command, the united monsters destroyed the most tenacious cities. Akalash remembered that time, when he was still hailed as Kushala Daora... The Gods then let the monsters make this world their own, leaving behind some useful human knowledge, and withdrew from mortal sight. But, fearing that this New World would end up like the old one, corrupted and devoid of Justice, they decided to send three of them to this Earth to watch over its balance. Thus, Gamala, the Misery Spreader, protector of honor, Akalash, the Steel Warrior, defender of oppressed peoples, and Falkav, the Silver Slayer, executor of evil-doers dangerous to this balance, descended in turn. Together, but also separately, they had the duty to help, in case of extreme necessity, the people to which they were affiliated. When a punishment of divine order was delivered by one, the others had to comply with this decision. They were gods. They made no mistakes. So this rule did not bother anyone. Alas, because of this desired closeness to mortals, the three Heroes had to give up their divine names and adopt others. At the same time, the mortals gave them names. They also had to give up the glory of their actions as Gods delivering humans. Thus, the sacred books that were transmitted to mortals did not mention them, except to evoke in a vague way their role of heroes... The Gods belonged to History, while they remained simple legends.

When they did not intervene directly, the Heroes slumbered and watched over the world through their dreams. Some real facts were added to the usual dreams, and thus they were informed about recent events. However, it was not infallible, and many elements of medium or low importance escaped their minds.

Nevertheless, most of the facts of this new history were known to the heroes, and even to the invisible Gods. States were born on this continent of Solhatar, where they had been sent. Those who had not wanted this revolution and had survived it fled together from the other nations and created their own country: the Brotherhood of Scavengers. Most of them were originally ex-monsters, associated with the Riders, the slavers, but as time went by, this small enclave between the Nordic Mountains and the Skypiercers' lands welcomed other monsters.

Political refugees, atheists, or other Mounts, who until then had blended into the mass thanks to the sharing of common values. Most of the Gods as well as the Heroes hated these beggars claiming to be independent of them. It was ungodly and blasphemous, for without the very Gods they rejected, they would never have achieved this state.

When he found Gamala at the top of the Mount of Lamentations, he learned that his awakening was due to the murder of this young Rathien princess, whose culprit was still unknown. His blood ran cold, and he had been searching for the villain ever since, to no avail. His anger had increased tenfold, and he was pacing like a caged lion, unable to perform his noble task. The steel dragon then explained his own situation. The Rakurian Emperor's request, his preemptive refusal, and then his hunch to come all the way here. "You have done well, my brother," Gamala replied, "for the people who beg for your strength have recently done wrong, and I must punish the outrage committed. An atrocious act that does not need to be described. So do not interfere with my decision, but you are free to do as you wish afterwards. Falkav still sleeps, despite the growing threat of the Burutian leader. I therefore take the liberty of ignoring his opinion."

He had complied, of course, for a treacherous act of this sort deserved a just punishment. He could not defend the Rakurians on this one. But he solemnly promised himself to come and offer his help later, when they had paid the right price for their dishonorable arrogance. So, after this talk, he flew again to the Nordic lands. And even in the sky, he felt the misery of the lower world and its sufferings. He saw the wars. He saw the consequences of these wars. Famine. Epidemics. Death. Desolation. But as a God and a Hero, he was well placed to know the world was naturally unjust.

And that's why, since his awakening, he has been splitting the winter white skies. To re-establish the part of Justice that he embodied. In his flight, almost mechanical because of its monotony, Akalash remembered the prophecies written by mortals, attributed to each of them. There was one about Gamala...

"In the old days,

When crime and horror only begat disarray,

Everything went unpunished, even the most severe outrage,

And the monsters suffered in silence injustice and concealed their rage.

But justice had to be done on Earth,

And from black skies descended its wrath in a shade even darker,

Showing up as the Misery Spreader.

Fear the one who watches over honor,

He who brings vengeance and happiness to victims,

And to the blasphemers the divine punishment of the fury of misfortune.

Fear the hero Gamala, bound to this value. "

Falkav's ...

"In times long past,

Where felon roamed free,

Inflicting the worst crimes and infamy,

The monsters lived in fear and insecurity.

But justice had to be done on this horrified Earth,

And rising from the desolate peaks,

Appeared the Silver Slayer.

Fear him who watches over safety,

He who brings peace to victims,

And to wrongdoers a dreaded sentence,

Fear Falkav, bound to this morality."

And his ...

"In the forgotten times,

Where power was fiercely coveted,

Mischief, plots, atrocities abounded,

And monsters trembled under perpetual despotism.

But justice had to be done on this martyred earth,

And dispelling the storms within terrified hearts,

Appeared the Warrior of Steel.

Fear him who watches over legitimacy,

He who brings strength and support to the crushed,

And to tyrants his wrath to quench their thirst of ill,

Fear Akalash, bound to this truth. "

He mentally recited them again in nostalgia, as he began his descent halfway between Ignis and the Rakurian border. The cottony clouds disappeared, revealing the landscape that passed under the steel dragon's talons. The plain of the Rathlands, the beginning of the Nordic taiga... He could even make out the Rakurai palace on the horizon, as well as the Nordic Mountains, dominated by Mount Tsereve, his home. But Akalash did not go there. As he roamed through the snowy pine trees, he landed in the middle of the Rakurai's entrenchment camp.

At the very moment his claws touched the ground, he felt hundreds of eyes on his person. His God-like senses were sending him all kinds of information, as well as the feelings in the air. The air was saturated with anger and pain, but also with the foul smell of the Fury. Many of the people present were infected, breathing out a sinister mist. Their skin also seemed darkened. Akalash could feel the fever that was weakening the sufferers. With a look that swept over the whole assembly that witnessed his arrival, he conveyed to them the clemency that had brought him here.

Then, with a sovereign attitude, he made his way to the emerald and gold tent of the emperor, with a confident and calm step.

"Don't be afraid, Nordics. Once you have paid the price for your insolence, I will help you regain the time you lost. This is a promise of Justice. "