Epilogue

"Wow, this is some prime real estate." Ka'thax exclaimed in that horrid gravelly voice of his, the fact that he was so excited only making it sound worse. Lyra couldn't help but cringe when he started talking again, his eyes wide with excitement. "How'd you find this place?"

Lyra grimaced as she looked at all the broken stalagmites, lingering evidence of her battle for survival here. "Let's just say it was serendipity."

"I have no idea what that word means, but this place is great!" Ka'thax beamed. He turned to Lyra. "Thank you Lyra Blackrose, maybe your kind aren't so bad after all."

Lyra couldn't help but let a little smile escape her lips. "Good to hear. Just stick to hunting animals for food and sport. Or I may have to visit you again."

"Rest assured, I'm tired of the fighting. You may not believe it, but just like your kind not all the Shadow were made to be warriors." Ka'thax replied. "We have a society too, such as it is. But in this world you only get to see the armies."

"Really?" Lyra was genuinely surprised. For some reason the idea that the Shadow had anything beyond the love of violence didn't occur to her. "One day you'll have to tell me about it."

"Maybe one day I will." Ka'thax replied. "I'll be seeing you around I suppose?"

"Possibly. Goodbye Ka'thax." Lyra said as she walked out. After she had left Ka'thax took a deep breath in and surveyed his new home.

First order of business, a bed. Ka'thax mused. Then lunch.

Lance knelt down in front of the tombstone at the end of his mother's grave, touching the top of it gently and biting back the tears. He remembered she was so angry with him when he left for the big city, because she knew what he would become. And she was right. He'd been a scoundrel for a long time, a thief and a womaniser. Rogues were folk legends, the dashing anti-hero that spat in the face of authority, stole from the rich, and always got the girl. And he was damn good at it.

Fast forward a decade, and that fateful day when his mother was taken from him, killed in one of the hundreds of forgotten Shadow attacks since the war began. She had been in the field, toiling away at the crops when the Gargoyles had attacked the village, for no reason other than sport and bloodlust. Even now, the sight of one of those monstrosities brought his blood to the boil. He was grateful it was Lyra on the rooftop that night as he would never have bargained with Ka'thax, and he knew deep down Corvinus would've been lost because of it.

But the death of his mother changed something in him, had given him the desire to make her proud of him. Her death was the very reason he started work with the Human Alliance, first with Serena, then with Gunther once the Alliance had become a cohesive army. He knew that without that push, he would still be cutting purse-strings and getting wasted in bars. It didn't make the pain any more bearable however.

The cheerful exterior he always presented was merely a defence mechanism. The life of a soldier was a thousand times harder than the life of a rogue, and he had always refused to make it worse by getting really close to people. Of course he had friends, they were needed to bring in the good times, but he had refused to truly care about someone. Lyra had been the closest person to him, like a sister really. Until now.

"Hey, are you ok?" Amber asked, putting her hand on his shoulder. She was dressed in a full length gown, the edges of which were getting filthier by the second standing in the cemetery. Lance himself was dressed in his finest gear, which honestly wasn't saying much.

He placed his hand on hers. "Yeah, I'm fine." He replied as he stood up. The fact that Amber was willing to come here before their dinner spoke volumes about her, and how well she complemented him. Deep down she was the same as him, appearances to her were less important than what was inside. It had been three months now since Corvinus, and they'd been among the best three months of his life, due to Amber. She had made him feel like he was worth it, ironically without doing anything at all.

"We should go. I don't want that dress to get any filthier." Lance stated, looking at her. "You look beautiful."

"You don't scrub up so badly yourself." Amber replied, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "Now, I'm getting hungry."

Lance smiled and led her out of the cemetery. "You'll love this place; they do the best pheasant you'll ever eat."

As the two lovers made their way down the street, Clarissa looked on from the shadows, the desire for vengeance burning in her infernal soul.

"Careful!" Gravebone hissed at his husks as they dragged the giant carcass over to the altar, its armour clanking on the stone floor. They rather unceremoniously dropped it once they reached their destination then shuffled off.

Gravebone shook his head from frustration. He really needed to put more effort into his 'creations', but it required too many resources. Besides, those two husks were veterans of Ravendark hurriedly resurrected in the heat of battle, so Gravebone was surprised they were still functioning at all. "Tyrell?" he called out.

A healthier looking husk made its way over to Gravebone. Tyrell was also from the time of Ravendark, however as he was meant to be an envoy and personal servant of Gravebone, more of those aforementioned resources had gone into his resurrection. "What can I do you for sir?" He asked cheerfully.

"The chalice, if you will." Gravebone stated, and spinning on his back foot Tyrell went to retrieve it. He was entirely too happy about being dead, that one. Gravebone mused. The thing with resurrection was that the more time, care and resources that went into it, the more of the subject's personality and faculties returned with their body. Tyrell had been a happy soul in life, so it made a sick kind of sense that he was happy in death too.

Tyrell returned with the chalice. "Here you are sir." He said, handing it to his master before looking down at the corpse. "He's a big one, are you going to need more?"

"This should suffice." Gravebone replied. "I will need the crystals laid out around him though. Thirty will be enough."

Tyrell blinked. "That's a lot of power. You want to bring him back whole?"

"Almost whole." Gravebone stated. "Grab the crystals."

Tyrell did as he was asked and before long the altar was prepared. Gravebone gingerly lifted the helmet of the corpse and poured the contents of the Chalice into its mouth, a disgusting mix of gold, silver, sulphur and various other powdered minerals suspended in the blood of a human sacrifice. But this concoction was missing one crucial ingredient, the one connected to memory. When this corpse awoke, he would not remember a thing about his life. Satisfied, Gravebone began the incantation.

The crystals surrounding the altar flickered with light as they amplified Gravebone's magic, channelling it into the corpse, imbuing it with unholy vitality. For a minute there was nothing, but then the corpse began to convulse, the concoction in its mouth forced down into its gullet. With a start the corpse sat up, a slight groan leaving its lips. It had worked.

Kairos belonged to Gravebone now.