Hello there, again! Two out of four, done!


Oaths are taken very seriously by Magic herself. It is something strange, yet very well known, and yet often ignored or at least underestimated by most. Vows are exchanged among men, and breaking them entail foul consequences upon the infractor. The firmer a bond is between two, the more sacrilegious is to break a promise. It may cost one his life, or his magic or a part of him; memories, emotions or even a sense. I have seen it plenty. Fools who thought themselves above the rules of this world. Their fall was far greater than they ever imagined.

I myself have broken some oaths. Not in pursuit of science, as I am not so foolish yet, but because of my emotions. I have paid the price, of course, but that is a piece of mine to never mention in a book. I will carry my curse with me into my grave.

Lawrence the Third, in 'Magic, and all I dare to say about it', chapter 7.


Chapter 61 - A bridge across the ages

Like the lighting which preceded a thunder, Herpo's words brought the storm upon them all.

There was a tense silence in the beach which embraced them all oppressively. To move even a finger, it required a semblance of courage and temperance which could not be put into words. An overseeing eye seemed to stare down at them from above, through the overcast sky, watchful of the briefest of their movements. Save it did not come from above. It was those of a man who stood before them all.

A dead man yet alive.

Herpo the Foul was first to speak. "It gladdens me to see you all here. Our end was not a kind one, that I know, and the blame is mine alone to carry. Fate seemed to think we were yet bonded, however, thus our story does not seem to end even when dead. Again, I am the one to blame. The oaths I broke long ago, it filled even Magic herself with sorrow."

Kayle dared to take a step forward; those emerald eyes of hers ablaze with fury. "There is nothing we must talk about, Herpo," she hissed. She wore her golden armour, though Ron hoped it was not meant for battle yet. "To be here with you, it pains me greatly already. All I want is to kill you, once and for all. Because those oaths and promises you once broke, they are what tie us to this strange world. I failed long ago, and I condemned those dear to me to wander around eternally. I owe them their awaited rest."

Herpo raised his brow. "Ah, yes. Your justice and your fairness. Just a weak, crumbling shield to mask your thirst for revenge, I see. It was always that, do not think otherwise. It all started long ago, in the War for Dawn. And with a reason, for your people were slaughtered cruelly. You put the blame upon the proud Alazthi and their violent nature, and then upon me. For I had been the one to ruin those little, weak men you thought worthy of your love."

Herpo glanced at Kayle's companion, confused. She was a exotic beauty, young and moonlight pale; so out of place in this strange and colourless world. Of light purple eyes, yet blemished by a mist within them. Her hair seemed to be locks of molten silver, which cascaded down to her upper back, bristled and dirty. The witch did nothing as all the eyes fell upon her, standing so still Ron thought of a statue of her.

"It confounds me," Herpo went on. "What made you bond a descendant of the blood you hated so profoundly? This girl, she is of pure Alazthi blood; as undiluted as you may find in this present age. Ah, but she is a cripple too. Sightless and mute. It makes her all the more amusing, I suppose. Her mother named her Adigele. It means chosen one in Alazthi. Hmh. Does she, perhaps, remind you of some of your relatives?"

Kayle's features were devoid of all colour. "How do you know all of that?" she gasped, frozen once more.

"Because I possess all the memories within this vessel's mind," Herpo explained as he walked around, allowing the dark water to nip at his legs. "And his mind is vast and able, just as his body is strong and healthy. Unlike his magical prowess, which is a shame for a man of my likeness. I cannot complain so much, I suppose. I am alive, and that is all which matters."

Herpo's gaze travelled to another pair of faces. One of them, Ron knew it very well.

It was a man he'd seen in Gerd's memories. Once her saviour, and later a wizard who would become like a father to her. Tall and burly, like a mountain made a man. Of black skin and bald head, with thick, trimmed beard. Those firm and calloused hands of him, Ron had seen them wield an axe with unbelievable mastery. But now they stood peaceful. Trembling, unable to commit violence for much they wished.

"Herpo," Kadir grunted, staring back at him. "You are a most kind sight to my old eyes. You cannot believe how long I spent searching for you. Going from one end of the world to the other. Up the mountains and deep into rivers and lakes, through endless forests and growing cities. Bonding with men and women of every kind so I may make use of all they could offer. Yet I found nothing. I dreamed about you every single night, I did. And now you stand right in front of me. Oh, isn't life beautiful when it fancies so?"

Herpo shook his head, disappointed. "Ah, Kadir! You have fallen far lower than I thought it was possible. I see venom in your eyes and nothing else. Yes, you do not hide your real desires beneath a fake and just ideal. You want to kill me, to make me suffer the worst of pains. Ah, the irony! To think you were once regarded as the noblest and justest of the warriors. The scourge for the strong, and the embrace for the weak. And now you are fueled by rage alone."

"I am what you made of me!" Kadir hissed back. "Our life wasn't easy, so full of war and blood and death, but it was good enough. It was life! And you had to ruin it all. You and your stupid ego. All you could think about was in your damn Ascension. You never cared about us. Only used us to bid you a bit of time, to make the Citadel and the Alazthi believe you were trying to save our society. You killed us all. Doomed us all to wander eternally as the ages came and went. Purposeless, for a long while. But now I've found mine, and I desire to see it fulfilled!"

Herpo ignored him. "This man you bonded with, he has been Consumed. Whether it was by his own hand or that of another, I cannot discern. Oh, but I feel the same scorching rage within him as I do within you. So kindly a flame, so ablaze with hatred, with a desire for power. You share it too, my old friend. Even if you refuse to show it, even if you desire power for a different purpose, I know it is there."

The pale, slim man took the word for himself. "Are you really Herpo the Foul?" For how weak he looked, his cheeks hollow and sunk into his face, eyes haunted and dark, his black hair devoid of any gleam, he did not hesitate nor did his voice tremble when he spoke. "And where the hell are we?"

Herpo gave the hint of an amused smile. "I am Herpo, indeed, but I am not foul. I find it amusing that this is how people from this age regard me. Anyhow. Tell me your name, wizard. I find you interesting enough."

"Ashram, that is my name. Now, answer my question."

"Careful now. I like you, think of you as an interesting toy. But I am not to be spoken to in such a way by the likes of you."

Ashram did not shy away either. "Same goes to you, Foul One. I've always respected you, as the great wizard you were and the great feats you achieved. But I now serve a far mightier wizard—the Chosen One, blessed by Magic herself. And his alone is the fate to bring us, the Wizarding Kind, back to where we belong. Atop the chain, as the rulers of this world."

Wait. Don't tell me he's speaking about Voldemort. Ron shuddered at the mere thought of the wrath he encountered two years ago. Here, right in front of him, the redhead had living proof of a wizard who had conquered death. And those two were one of a kind, like a lord and his heir.

Herpo's eyes gleamed as a cold breeze blew across the beach; the forest rustled and the sea waived, though silently. "Tell me about the wizard you serve."

Kadir hissed in anger, hand extended forward. "Enough of this!" His battle-axe was summoned into his hand. Its crimson steel gleamed, standing out amidst the colourless world. They all witness the speed in which Kadir lunged at Herpo, how his axe seemed to be alive in his hand, in hunger of flesh to cut and slice.

Yet the axe bursted into a cloud of gleaming frost, as crimson as the blood it had wanted to feast upon.

"What?" Kadir gasped in disbelief, looking at his hands. He flexed his fingers, having trouble believing he'd let go of his trusted weapon.

No one came to even utter a word, much less join the frenzied wizard in his sudden attack. It took Ron little to figure something out. These people, they all hated Herpo, yes, but they too mistrusted one another. Proof of it was the way the Essentias' eyes darted to their once companions, vigilant and wary. They were alone, just like Gerd had told him long ago. Perhaps Kayle alone was of trust, their purposes aligned if just a bit. But it was clear she walked a different path, even if their destination was the same.

Herpo regarded Kadir with a mocking mirth. "Once again, your emotions got the best of you. Blessed be them, however, for they whispered into my ears a secret you wanted me to never find out about. This mighty wizard, you want to use him, right? To end me finally, mayhaps? No, that does not make sense. Does not fit with your character, either. There is something else. Something more profound."

"You best control yourself, Kadir," a new voice, a rather nonchalant one, cut in.

Ron turned around, facing eastward, to where a tower atop a cliff could be seen faraway; where he'd first met Gerdnyaram. There stood a man, who was tall and slim too, without an ounce of muscle on his bones, yet one to look healthy regardless. Of short hair, with far more grey streaks than blacks. He wore a white tunic with a crest sewed on his breast, that of a wooden staff with twin wings atop it. It was the crest of the Citadel, Ron remembered.

"Ah, Niklos, my dear brother," Herpo hummed. "I am afraid your intervention arrived far too late. And I too see that you know of this wizard. Now, are you also keen on using him for whatever ambition consumes you? Hmh. I cannot tell yet. You were always good at hiding things from me. And to envy me, also. You envied my genius and my ambition, but also what others felt toward me."

Herpo tilted his head, almost amused. "But, like a shadow of mine, you could not step away from me and that which I entailed. Let it be admiration, love, hatred or revulsion, you desired it all for yourself. Hence the reason why you became a Sage of the Citadel. And you became a witness to it all. You saw me end the world and destroy all those dear to us, and decided to end me once and for all. Not to save the world, nor to avenge your loved ones. So you could finally step into my place and be my shadow no more. Yet you failed yet again. Now, do I need to fear one of my own blood once more?"

"I will let you decipher the riddle," Niklos said haughtily. "You have always been the most intelligent one, were you not?"

The two brothers held a duel with their eyes. It was the first time Ron saw Herpo break his neutral character.

He used that time to stare at Niklos's bonded one.

She was a woman of tanned skin and black hair, styled in a thick tress, and she was dressed in brown rags which hung loose around her body. Her face was so covered with dark paint it was hard to catch a glimpse of her features; drawings of strange glyphs and symbols were depicted there. Still, what stood out most of the woman was her bearing. There she was, surrounded by monsters, in a strange world which defied logic, and she was calm enough to sit down and close her eyes, arms folded before her breast.

Herpo was first to abandon the duel, his eyes darting toward Ron, and then following the boy's gaze. "Oh, yes, my dear brother's bonded one. She is very special, I can tell with a simple look. As it could only be, I suppose. Ordinarity never suited the great Niklos. To him, all shall be beautiful in one way or another. And this woman's serenity, it is breathtaking. Yet I see so little ambition in her. So unlike you, brother. You use her for a purpose I yet ignore, just as she uses you for the same reason. Hmh, interesting! May you tell me your name, dear?"

The woman opened her eyes; they were of a light shade of brown, a most common one. She set them upon Herpo, trying to stare through his very soul. It made him blink, perhaps in surprise or even in discomfort.

"Clexa," she said coldly. "That is my name. You shall remember it, Foul One. Lest you forget the ice within my voice, and think of yourself above a woman's fury. I will warn you once. Do not come for us, do not disturb our peace, else I will kill you beyond rebirth. Do as you please with all else, kill as many as you desire or die the way you fancy, for all I care. But leave us alone."

That said, she closed her eyes once more.

A reunion of monsters, indeed, Ron thought with a shudder. And I'm in the bloody middle.

Herpo blinked in response to such a blatant threat, looking, for once, at a loss for words. His hesitation was used by Kayle once more.

"Unfortunately, I know you far too well, Herpo. I am certain nothing we may say to you is of any interest, nor will our feelings toward you change the slightest. And if you simply wanted to know about our bonded ones, let it be due to fear or simply to satiate your curiosity, you did not need to retain us here against our will for this long. Say what you will, and let us be done with this nonsense."

"Why, Kayle," Herpo wondered aloud, stepping out of the water, away from the waves. "Can I not worry about those I once held so dear?" He shook his head. "Believe it or not, I do care about all of you. In one way or another, I do care. Yet, just like Kadir said, I care about my dream way more. However, there is one person to whom I owe a few words."

He turned sharply toward the forest of dark trees, where a woman awaited in silence, afar from the other eleven. She sat with her legs crossed beneath, her long hair, marbled in grey, fell down her shoulders and chest in a long braid. Her eyes were of a dark purple, soft and kind. She held close to her the body of an old man, who laid curled in a ball, wheezing and whaling in pain. The white tunic he wore was drenched in blood, his own. He lacked one hand, and the one he yet possessed was closed tightly against the remnants of a silver ring.

She did not raise her eyes from him. "Will you grant me the answers I so desire, my dear? It is all I need to let go of this sad, eternal life. I am certain that is all which attaches me to this world. My purpose. One Magic herself is eager to see me fulfil, so she may grant me rest at last."

Herpo made his way over the woman, all the eyes set upon him. He came to kneel before her, showing a kindness Ron had not believed possible for him to have within.

"You once were my beloved wife, Kassandra. I loved you dearly, even when I murdered you. I would love you still, but I fear I am unable to feel any emotion as of today, so much of myself I abandoned. Ask as you may, and I will answer truthfully."

They all held their breaths, eager to know of those words even if they had nothing to do with them. Ron himself felt pulled by them. He felt attached, somehow, to all these monsters. He supposed it was the same for them.

"Do you have any regrets?" Kassandra asked as she caressed the dying man whose head laid on her knees.

"Not a single one. All I did, it was with a reason. I stand by my actions, not proud of them yet neither in shame of them. Would I have tried to avoid so much death were it possible? Yes, undoubtedly. Yet it was not possible, so I could only believe firmly in myself and move forward."

"Why did you kill me?"

"Because I deemed it necessary. To Ascend, to achieve Immortality, one must pay a price. Such is the reason why no one but me has ever been able to beat Death herself, as far as I know. Because they were not ready to reach as far as I did. To abandon so much of themselves as I did. Alas, to make a Horcrux, one must sacrifice a life; a soul for a soul. And the more precious one life is to a man, the more powerful the Horcrux will be. And you, my dear, were my most precious."

Kassandra nodded slowly. "And our ring of union? That too?"

"Yes, I am afraid. One must choose an item to anchor his soul to the realm of living. That item, it must mean something to one, else the ritual may end up a failure. I could not take any risks, did not dare to, and so I made peace with myself and did what I must. Had it been another way, I would have saved you, my dear. But there was not."

"Your reasons, were those you claimed?"

Herpo hesitated, then let out a deep sigh. "At first, I swear they were. I wanted to prove the Citadel and the Alazthi Elite, proud fools beyond salvation as they were, how far we could reach were we all to join together, to discard all our ancestral rivalries and conflicts. I wanted to reach Scala ad Caelum, to become one with Magic herself, so I founded our Order, surrounded myself with brilliant people from each and every kind."

He looked down, sinking his hand into the cold sand. "But my dreams, they consumed me. Kept me wide awake at night, made me go mad. It frustrated me greatly that I could not achieve something of such importance. Like a whisper, it spread through my mind. I delved into magic long forbidden. Until I found a trace. And like a hound I lunged at it, did not let it go. Therefore I became a husk of a man, with a foul ambition for a heart, and murdered my beloved wife, a brave girl who tried to save me, and my brother and a dear friend. After such sacrifices, I could only take that final step."

Kassandra raised her eyes, at last. There was a sombreness within them so very alike to the overcast sky from above. "And last, was it worthy?"

Herpo held her gaze, unfaced. "Yes, it was. Without the hint of a doubt, it was."

The woman smiled sadly. "I see," she hummed, raising her eyes upward in search of a light that never was. "This world, is so very ugly. And that we left behind, is sunk in war and hatred, the same as we left it so many centuries ago. I was cursed to wander about against my will. But now I have set my purpose right. I have sought truth, cursing my poor Isaac white at it, until I found it. I am free, at last. Free of all duties. Free of any bond. Free of any oath."

Kassandra glowed brightly for a moment, becoming a purple flash. And then she bursted in a rain of purple sparks, which streamed upward toward the overcast sky, where they dispelled away.

The wind blew furiously for a moment, bringing a sudden chill to them.

Herpo stared at purple sparks until they were no more. "Farewell, my dear." He finally stood up, turning around to face them once more. "And six became five. Our fates all bonded together, all gathered around mine. I can see it in your eyes, my once friends. You all know of your purpose, whether you approve of it or not. To finally rest, it must be carried out. And free of any oath you shall be rid."

Kadir's eyes were still set on the thick clouds above. "She was my sister. Not by blood, but I still loved her all the same. And she did not say a word of farewell to me, so broken you left her. Yes, I know of my purpose. It certainly is tied to yours, Herpo. For I will not rest until I've killed you. And there will be no rebirth once I am done with you, I swear."

A tense silence fell upon them yet again; if it had even left them, to begin with. It was only broken by the old man's pained whaling.

A man of silvery hair and blue eyes, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. "May I grant Isaac his mercy?" His voice was cold, yet respectful and elegant. The robes he wore were the same as those of the dying man, though of a different shade; full silver, yet unblemished by so much blood in his case. There were specs of red, and specs of black so fiercely the silk had burnt, but the pristine silver stood its ground fiercely.

"I thought you were enemies," Herpo observed curtly.

"We were, indeed," the man said. "I hated him, just as he hated me. Still, Isaac the First entailed all I respected in a wizard—power, birthright, ambition and intelligence. I would have welcomed him in the new world I planned to build, had he not crossed me. The Written Fate had it this cruel way, however, and so it was. I was proven victorious, on the right, and he was proven defeated, his ambition far lesser than mine. Yet the hatred we shared with one another does not forbid me to rid him of needless suffering."

"You may grant him a merciful death once we are finished here, Xaladir the Second," Herpo asked. "I know that you moved heaven and earth in my search. That you wanted fervently to find my Horcrux. To use it, probably, but not to submit my powers and knowledge for your use."

The man kneeled down. "Yes, I wanted to use it. To bring you back to life. Because I have great dreams, Herpo. I once belonged to a Great House, but I forsworn my birthright in pursuit of a far greater purpose. It brought me here, before you. And that dream is to rid our world of all vermin and weakness. To make us raise once more, as proud and tall as we did in the past. For the nobility of this modern age has done nothing but shaming magic, spilling plenty of pure blood in vain and pointless war. Only a legend like you shall guide us back into sense."

Herpo stared keenly at the kneeling man. "Rise, Xaladir the Second. You shall have a seat by my side. I will swear to you no oath, however. Our ambitions are aligned, yet they are not the same. Aforesaid, I have no regrets. I murdered those dear to me because I thought it was needed to achieve my ambition. Your dreams are a small trifle when compared to that. As long as they remain aligned, I will favour you due to the sacrifices you made to make me return. Once they do not align any longer, however, I will discard them and you with them."

Xaladir stood up once more, stiffly. Any would read his disappointment, so very well expressed it was in his eyes. Yet he said nothing, simply nodding.

Instead, it was Ashram who raised above the newly found tension. Just to add more wood to the growing fire.

He pointed his finger at Xaladir, accusingly. "You could have achieved your dream long ago, Xaladir. Back then, when my lord was still alive, had you helped us, we would have taken over England without much trouble. And then would have followed the entire world. But you were afraid of him. You ran away like the coward you are. Don't come with that nonsense now!"

"Silence, you fool!" Xaladir hissed back. "And mind your words next time you dare to open your mouth. Your lord was fated to perish. A man who dwells in the future and its uncertainty is doomed to fall, as he well proved. There is no chosen one, save Herpo himself. Look at him, Ashram. He is alive! After more than two thousand years, he is alive!"

"Hush, you two," Herpo hummed calmly. "This is not the place for you to fight, nor your time. Here, it is the past that matters. You are just like the stray seaweed carried ashore by the tide…"

Herpo set his gaze well past Ron, smiling truthfully. "And talking about the past. Step into the light, my most loyal. I believe it is time you show yourself. I would not be here without you, Konstantinos, he who never gave up on his master."

Ron turned around with a gasp, heart beating uncontrollably. He was witness to the coming of a new person, who simply became visible as if he'd masked himself in the shady picture.

A short, young man. Of black, curly hair and bright, blue eyes, with a gleaming smile brightening his face. He wore a loose tunic of dark-green, simple yet strange, for it seemed to change its shade whenever he moved, mimicking those of his surroundings.

The young man fell to his knees, eyes full of tears. "Oh, Master! I've eagerly waited this day to come, for so long I thought it would never come! To see you here, in front of me, of flesh and bone yet again… It fills my heart with so much joy. I bonded myself with so many wizards and witches through all these centuries. I tried to raise you from the dead myself. Yet I, a far less bright mind, could accomplish nothing of the sorts. But I never surrendered! Until this man, Xaladir the Second, allowed me to reach for you. Hear his plea if you may, Master. He is quite alike to me."

Herpo made his way over him. "I am returned. Thanks to you, mainly." He helped the young man to stand on his feet, then embraced him warmly. "When everyone rose against me, thought a monster of me, you went against them, raised in my defence. It granted you many enemies, still you did not falter. And when I was murdered, you did not give up. Even after death, you did not give up. You are to stand closest to me among all my companions, Konstantinos."

Konstantinos sniffed loudly, face hidden into Herpo's taller frame.

Ron's eyes darted toward Kayle, who had hissed in anger. "It has been long, cousin," she said stiffly. "Curse you and the mother who brought you into this world. To see you yet alive when other, and greater, men died… It fills me with both sorrow and rage."

Konstantions let go of Herpo, cleaning the dampness within his eyes with the back of his hands. "Greetings, cousin. I didn't miss you either. Always so haughty toward me, so resented for a reason I never came to understand. I was so joyful when news of your death reached me. Your dear father, however, not so much. He hung himself from a tree shortly after. From that tall one you made flourish when you were just a toddler. Pity, I supposed. He did not deserve such a foul daughter."

Ron expected retaliation, so bright Kayle's emerald eyes alighted with rage. Yet all she did was to stare at the young man, eyes as if sharp knives. "I will kill you, too," she said slowly. "Rid the world of our foul bloodline, at last. It is the last favour I might do to your mother."

Konstantinos's only answer was a shrug of his shoulders. Herpo, instead, just walked in between the two cousins. "Now, there will be a time for blood and death soon enough. Today, however, it is a day for words alone. And there is one last person to whom I may make amends with."

Herpo's eyes set upon them once more. "Gerdnyaram, the one chosen by the Great Sight. She who started it all. I am so delighted to find time was not able to change you, unlike it did to all others. You remain as I once knew you. So courageous, so attached to fairness yet one to also betray and move through the shadows. So insecure yet arrogant all the same. A woman cursed by her Talent, who bended to the duty the Written Fate set upon her, yet who remains relentless to save the world she loves dearly."

Gerdnyaram remained silent, lips drawn into a thin, white line.

Herpo shook his head, amused, instead glancing at Ron. "And you, child, you are worthless and talentless. To see you bonded to the once great Gerdnyaram, it confuses me. Why would she ever anchor herself to someone so ordinary, I do wonder. Such a talent wasted in such a companion. Magic ought to weep for this horror."

Gerd clenched her jaw, eyes alight. "There is no blindest man as the one who refuses to truly see, Herpo. Do not underestimate this child. I myself did it once, just to be proven a fool. I would worry about yourself, if I were you. Time will make our paths cross once more, as the Written Fate called it long ago. This time, however, I will rise victorious. For I will not stand alone, but in great company. Ronald and I, we will both stop you and your madness."

"Vain and foolish words, those are," Herpo sniffed. "Come the time, you will kneel before me. Else, you and this beloved child of yours will meet death."

The man glanced around, words spoken aloud for all to hear. "And so it goes for the rest. Let it be known that I, Herpo, was born into this world with a purpose worthy of no other man. I am bound to Ascend, to reach Scala ad Caelum and become one with Magic herself! I will deliver our kin into so great heights never imagined before! It was stated in the Written Fate, and proof of that is my returned presence. For not even Death could take me on her boat."

Cold fingers gripped every inch of Ron's flesh, making him unable to move, unable to avert his eyes from the man who turned his back on them all. Herpo walked into the sea, his feet sinking into the cold sand, the water rising on him with each step he took.

"We all will meet soon enough, my companions," he announced, long sunk into the water now, though his voice resounded from above. "I will pray in the meantime. Pray, for you to know better and take my hand. Because you all deserve a seat by my side once I embrace Godhood. Farewell, for now."

The shady world seemed to shrunk on them, becoming darker, too oppressive a wall for any noise to pierce through the void it felt like. Ron felt nauseous, falling to his knees as everything seemed to spiral around.

Kayle, her golden armour shining against the engulfing darkness, took a step toward the boy. "Find a woman named Shana, child!" she exclaimed, yet it sounded so faint as a whisper. "She is of fiery hair and just nature, as you are. Find her, for she will take you to me!"

And darkness consumed the Soul Sanctum.


The timeless voyage in that strange and impossible world ended in a flash for Xaladir, who no longer thought of himself as the Second.

Xaladir was ashamed to admit that such a sudden departure had made him nauseous and light-headed; like a frail child after his first flight atop a broom. It had felt as if the very world had spun on them, kicking them out furiously as if they did not belong to it. He came to stand amidst the gleaming, endless cavern, surrounded by that sea of colourful lights.

Within him, his bond toward Konstantinos roared fiercely, with an emotion Xaladir had never known for the silent Essentia to possess. Euphoric, delighted, happy beyond comprehension. Still he remained away, in the shadows, as he preferred.

"You have returned, Master!" A voice said from behind.

Xaladir turned around, still weak on his feet, to face Wolf, his loyal Inquisitor. Mask covering the upper half of his face, he gave a semblance of exhaustion so improper of him. There were no visible wounds on him, fortunately, and his robes were only sullied by dust and dirt instead of blood.

"What has happened?" Xaladir asked, fighting to find his words.

"You disappeared on me," Wolf replied. "So suddenly. It confused me. Was it a strange spell that took you out, Master? Isaac's last stand, perhaps? Or Aura's secret weapon?"

Xaladir turned, facing toward a solitary presence which stood at the far end of the caver. It was Herpo's—his aura so alike to that of the man he'd taken for a vessel, yet so unique and special at the same time.

"It was none of that. What happened to me, it was my dreams come true, at last. Walk with me, Wolf. We must change the world."

The High Inquisitor said nothing, yet his doubts lingered rather evidently. Like a loyal, sharp blade, he was to obey, not to question.

"Hawk is dead, I understand," Xaladir muttered with a bit of sorrow. She'd been a loyal blade, too. One not so sharp as Wolf, however.

"Murdered by that impaired bitch, Master," Wolf said bitterly. "Stabbed from behind by that strange sword of hers when she was distracted by Hikari Sakai. A pitiful death for someone so honourable. Damned be all! I will avenge her one day, I swear."

Xaladir nodded, already banishing the matter to the end of his mind. It took them little to reach where Herpo stood. Not alone, as he had first judged. For Isaac laid nearby, beside the remnants of the chrysalis. What little remained of the Ring was tightly held in his weak hands. Just as his heart held on to what little life was left on him.

Herpo stared at them, curious. Xaladir did not kneel this time. Not after the way Herpo had dismissed his dreams. He was to honour them, helping him achieve them, just as he was to abandon Xaladir no sooner they entailed an obstacle to his own. Still, the former Master bowed his head a little; a faint sign of respect. A sight which left Wolf utterly perplexed.

"Master?" he mused. "There he is, that foul and treacherous mercenary! Shall I kill him? I'm tired, but not even ten of his likes would be enough to stop me."

Xaladir commanded his Inquisitor to stay put with a gesture of his fingers. And he simply made his way over to Isaac. All he could hear was his ragged wheezing. And then Xaladir stood before him. Isaac's eyes, once so bright and fierce, had turned milky and misty. His brown skin devoid of all colour, life sucked out of it. His once so pristine robes, white as the moon itself, soaked in blood, piss and shit now that his bowels ran out of his control.

And still did Isaac hold to the Ring, like a baby holding to his mother's breast. He did not deserve such a pitiful end.

"Farewell now, Isaac," Xaladir said. "You belonged to the new world. If only your ambition had not been as great as mine…" A green flash brightened the cavern, and Xaladir's wand reaped another soul. "It is the way the Written Fate had it, I suppose."

"Master?" Wolf questioned again, hesitantly.

"Where are the others, Wolf?" Xaladir asked, turning to face his loyal blade once again.

"Either gone or dead. When you disappeared, so did that tramp of Adigele. Aura went in Isaac's search, but he too had disappeared. I watched it from afar, Master. The Sakai woman knocked her own Master unconscious, then fled away with her. Dragon went with them, whereas Raven limped away in solitude. And Snake…" Wolf's eyes darted southward. "He's a damn excelling coward, I suppose."

Xaladir chastised himself—yes, there was another presence not so far from them, and he'd ignored it so focused he'd been on Herpo. Snake was to be watched, but also to be made a tool once more.

"May I know what is happening, Master? I beg of you, please."

Xaladir clenched his jaw as Herpo's footsteps resounded on the rocky ground; steady, firm, powerful.

"Change, so is happening," the Foul One said. "For the world is to change now that I am reborn. The rivers will not dry, the earth will not crevice nor will the sky be covered by a dark, endless cloud. Life will remain as it is, though more prosperous and wonderful for our kin. Because I shall begin a new Age, brought upon the wizarding kind by their own First God. Let us call it the Age of Light."


Adigé woke up with a start, heart beating so fast it seemed about to burst out of her chest.

"Hush now, child," a voice said softly. "You are safe, away from any harm." Such a polished and calm signature, it could only belong to one woman—Aura Lessard.

She turned toward the witch. A gesture the Fourth Master considered one of worry. "My wounds are not grave, fortunately. Just a few shallow cuts and frail burns. Though my pride is wounded beyond healing. I have never met so grievous defeat before. And Isaac, the man to whom I swore a Vow of protection and servitude, is dead. I'm certain of that. Alas, I am free of my Vow at last, as I have wished so fervently long since. Yet all I can feel is shame and sorrow."

There was another presence nearby—a way less refined aura, flaring like a violent fire, roaring like a furious beast. A magical aura only proper of a warrior.

"Hikari is well, too," Aura hummed. "I did not allow her into battle as she desired so fervently. Instead tasked her with a much more important duty. She also failed to carry it out. But again, we all failed today."

Sense came to Adigé bit by bit. The noise of wood charring reached her ears, and so did the scent of food and the feeling of warmth on her skin. A campfire had been set, it seemed. She expanded her magical aura toward every direction; yet tentatively, fearing for their enemies to roam about despite being assured of their safety.

Her aura gave Adigé all she needed to know. A forest of short trees grew around them. They'd set their camp in a little clearing which stood amidst a sloped valley. A narrow creek ran through it not so far away from them. Birds chirped, insects buzzed, and even a few squirrels observed them from afar, curious.

Adigé also used her aura to transmit her feelings, using Magical Transmutation. First and foremost, her confusion, and then followed her anguish, her sorrow and her pain.

Aura let out a tired sigh. "I do not know what happened to you, child. I was fighting Xaladir when he disappeared. Gone, just like that, and there was no trace of him to follow. The same happened to you, I believe. And to Isaac. A part of me yearns for the answer to this riddle. A larger one just does not care enough."

There was silence. Then Hikari took the word; tentatively, whispering so faintly, almost scared of speaking aloud. "I found you while I was carrying my Master back to safety. Unconscious in a deep crater, breathing and unwounded. And yet, for much I tried to wake you up, you remained deep into slumber. So I took you with us, of course. But that's all I know."

There's deep regret within her, Adigé noticed. Hikari Sakai had done something which filled her with shame. It had something to do with Aura Lessard, she was sure of that. It was the only thing the Inquisitor seemed to really care about.

Adigé emphasised her anguish, then. For a few seconds, the wood charring was all which could be heard.

"I do not know what comes next," Aura said slowly, tearing the tense silence apart. "Xaladir obtained the Horcrux for himself, I suppose. Also, we cannot go back to the Tower, as he will make his next duty to conquer it. They have the edge on us, both in numbers and power. Dragon abandoned us, as she had no bond toward any of us. And Lawrence… All the old man cares about are his books. I fear he will adapt to Xaladir's rule if that allows him to keep his writing."

And there was silence once more.

Adigé stood up on weak legs which almost gave away. Limping, she made her way over to the narrow creek. She felt small fishes swimming there; their life essence but faint sparks to her sense. She too felt other forms of life; too insignificant for her Sense to identify. She cleaned her face and arms there, the fresh water a delight to her sore flesh.

Hikari's voice reached her from the clearing. "We could go in search of Shana. Beg of her pardon, admit she was on the right all along. Swear our loyalty to her and her forces. With their help, we could avenge our fallen. Defeat Xaladir once and for all, take back the Tower from him, restore the Order of Merlin anew…"

Aura was quick to shut down those dangerous thoughts. "Revenge is a path for only the fools to take. No, it will take us nowhere. Only toward more blood, more death and tears. I believe we have shamed ourselves well enough." She halted, and her aura gave a semblance of sourness and regret. "For the first time in many decades, I am lost. The crossroads which lies before me is one which all its paths lead to uncertainty. All I am certain of is one thing. I will never wield my magic against another for a selfish purpose. If the world is to be put in danger by Xaladir's foul ambitions, then I will rise once more. If not…"

Aura stood up, filled with a semblance of determination. "I need time for myself. To think about the past, to wait on the future to choose its course. What purpose is there for a Master whose Order is no more? Whose Vow she could not carry out? Who sees life as nothing but a pit of hopelessness and despair?" She hesitated, sighing. "For a woman who has always believed in power and its rule, yet who lost despite being the most powerful?"

Hikari stood up too; frenziedly, bursting with anxiousness. "Master! What of me, then? I've always been your loyal blade and shield! My purpose lies with you."

"Perhaps you are wrong to think that. Just as I was wrong to believe for our Order to be eternal, and for my Vow to be unbreakable. Mayhaps is time for us to reconsider many things, now that the world is about to change. Besides, you said it yourself. The Order of Merlin is no more. Therefore I am no Master, thus I am not in need of an Inquisitor. Yes, you must live your life, Hikari. Both you, younglings, must find your very own path. We will meet again, of that I am certain. Be safe, my dear Hikari. May light guide you."

Footsteps resounded upon the soft, muddy ground; getting fainter and fainter with each second. The birds chirped no more, the insects buzzed no more. And Hikari Sakai, such a strong and proud woman, a trueborn warrior, fell to her knees. Devastated. Lost.

Adigé walked past her, halting just a second to let her hand fall upon the Inquisitor's shoulder, giving it a soft, warm squeeze. And then she left. Nothing bound her to these people anymore. She had failed—the White Dread had been reborn. And now the world was to know true war and death once more. One last seen in the War for Dawn and the Doom.

Kayle's voice reached within her. A cold, hissing melody. So unlike her melodic and beautiful touch. Because her words were an oath of vengeance. Not one of justice nor of a fair purpose. But of cruel and oppressive revenge.

"We must kill those two, the Lord of Death and his heir. Herpo and Voldemort, they must die for this world to survive."


Clexa jumped down the tallest tree of Caelem. It was a long fall, as the tree raised high into the sky, about seventy metres from the ground. The gleaming flowers all over its branches gleamed into the dark veil of the night, and the cool breeze brought its fair scent to the city.

The ground creviced beneath her feet when she landed, a numbing spark going from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. Still there was no pain. Clexa strode forward, ignoring the whispers. Their faint, ragged voices slithered through the green thicket. It was no innocent whispering, she knew. Because those beings belonged to war, just like she did. And they too could feel the upcoming storm.

Clexa made it to the Shrine shortly after. There awaited Niklos, gleaming fiercely in orange and red against the night. A man made of light itself. Unique, she had believed until today. But it turned out there were six more like him. Once his companions, yet alive for a reason only known to them each.

A tense silence preceded the unavoidable conversation.

"War awaits," the Essentia said stiffly. "I can feel it, and so do you."

Clexa clenched her jaw. "A war you brought upon us, Niklos. Your past companions, your own brother… You belong with them. Neither I nor my people do. And yet we are to be caught in the rising storm. But I will rise against it, be sure of that. And so will you, as your oaths oblige you."

"Be assured I will not stand still as the wind blows and the rain falls, child," Niklos said haughtily. "To protect your people, which I consider my own too, to protect this place, I would set the world ablaze. And I fear that is all I may do to save us all. Because Herpo is only to be stopped by a likely monster…"

His words hung in the air. An oath of blood and death, to be carried away by the night's breeze just as many lives would soon enough.

"I will grant Lord Voldemort his so desired vessel. And then we will set him loose and free, to unleash fear and death as he pleases. That wretched man will see Herpo as a threat for his bloody throne. They must destroy one another."

A faint sound from above made Clexa turn abruptly. Atop a flower of red and white petals, one as tall as a mighty tree, stood Death itself. Exados's loose, black robes hung on him freely, flapping to the cold wind. He was as tall as two short men were together, yet as slim as one of them. What little could be seen of his leathery, sickly skin was hidden in between his wide hat and tall neck of his tunic. His scythe, handler of white wood and blade of crimson steel, gleamed like a bloody smile.

Exados stared at the moon, lost in its pale, faraway beauty.

Niklos looked troubled, nerves breaking through his ever calm character. "What do you think of this, Exados, my old friend?"

A cold, hissing voice answered. "Herpo has returned?"

"Yes, I am certain of that."

Exados lowered his gaze upon them, at last. Moonlight fell over him, making him stand out like an angel of death.

"All have rid themselves of the oaths that once bound them. Some, oaths toward death, others, oaths toward life. Yet we stand bound to them still. Perhaps time has come for us to regain our freedom. To take back what we forsworn so long ago. This foul creature, he who names himself Voldemort, he who roams Daendyll, will reshape the world as we know it. So will Herpo, if he is truly back…"

Exados caressed the unstained handler of his scythe. "If the world is to know true war once more, it means we belong to it yet again. Yes. Let it be known, the hordes of the forgotten shall stand anew. As blood calls for blood, and death calls for death, the forgotten will find their purpose at last."

A faraway beast roared in response to Exados's oath. A beast of myth and legend. Its shout of eagerness shook the ground, made the wind still and the flowers sought shelter into their buds. Even the moon seemed to darken, for such a claim for death brought memories of darkness and horror not known in ages.

Clexa shuddered in fear. Her people would be safe, undoubtedly. As long as Exados was to take war away from their sanctuary, they would be safe. She could only wonder if there would be any inch of land left once Exados unleashed a remembrance of dark, past days upon the outsiders.


Ashram gulped down a bit of spit, trying to regain control of his trembling hands as his sight got used to the small room's penumbra. Kadir's eagerness, so well transmitted through their bond, did nothing but to fuel his nerves.

"I-is there… is there any problem?" Peter stuttered, already sitting on his bed. The room was so dark the Animagus's features remained hidden to him, but Ashram knew there would be fear in his eyes. The man had a talent to sense danger, as subtle as it might be.

Storming coward!

Ashram stood up silently, walking toward the open window. Caelem was as still and silent as usual, deep into slumber beneath the night's veil which preceded dawn. All those trees around them, so large and huge, looked like guards to jail them in the hut they'd been confined into. To isolate Ashram from his lordship, the Chosen One.

"A new pretender has risen," he said, clenching his hands into fists. "And he aims for the throne which belongs to my lord alone. We must destroy them, punish their arrogance. Lord Voldemort is to be adored, not to be insulted."

Ashram tried to set the windowsill ablaze. Yet nothing happened. This wood was damp by the drops of dew, true enough, but it should have burned to ashes still. Again he tried. Again he felt nothing. There was no spark within him anymore. His magic, gone to yet return. It filled him with a scorching rage. And with a cold dread.

Because he did belong to the new world, that which Lord Voldemort would build anew once the current one was to be turned into dust. Right? Ashram was one of those few whom Magic favoured. Right? He'd been her champion since he had a memory. He could not be rid of his right to the new world. Right?

The wood cracked within his fingers, splinters sinking into his flesh and making blood pour out. "I am Magic's champion," Ashram hissed in a whisper. "And I belong to the new world."

Behind, all Peter could do was to cry. Because he was clever enough to guess that something grave was about to happen. A calamity never seen before. One which would shake the world. Which would make it change to never be the same.


Ron screamed into the night. He felt like bumping his head against the wall, to fall back into slumber and never wake up again. Herpo the Foul had returned. For a few seconds all he could hear was the drumming of his heart against his chest. Then it stilled as he cooled down a bit.

"Why?" the boy almost whimpered. "Why now? This is too soon!"

Ron pulled open the curtains around his bed. He was alone in the dormitory, fortunately. He remembered today was Sunday; he'd probably overslept through the morning, as jailed as he'd been in the Soul Sanctum.

"Gerd, are you there?"

A flash of blue light appeared within the room. It was Gerdnyaram, and she too looked defeated and confused, as solemn as he'd ever seen her. They shared a glance, feeling no need to resort to words to communicate with one another. They had known this day would come for a long time. It just… It felt way too soon.

Ron readied himself for the day—washed his face, eyes dark and sunk, dressed himself with his spring clothes, and put on a facade of normality and firmness. A storm raged inside him, however. One of dread and desperation, mostly, but also one of courage and honour. Because he had a duty toward the promises he swore long ago. Those in which he had vowed his family would not suffer the cruel fate he had glimpsed for them.

The sun blinded him once the boy strode outside, into Godric's Courtyard. It seemed to mock him from above, for such a bright day did not fit within his sombre mood. Still did his eyes remain wide open, seeing nothing but a bright light. But it was not a light to warm him. The wind was too cold for a day of late spring. There were sombre omens everywhere.

"We'll do it tomorrow, Gerd," Ron said coldly. "We rid Hogwarts of Umbridge. Extirpate her as the tumour she is. And then we prepare for the future. Because the day we dreaded so much has finally come."

Gerd alighted herself in gleaming blue, gliding beside him. "I agree. She is only an insect on our way. And must be dealt accordingly, being stomped with no regard to her. The things she's done to innocent people, even to children, are worthy of no mercy."

Ron could only hope for the castle to be ready, for it would know war, even if it was but a childlike and stupid one.