Prologue Three
Valtor knelt behind a large rock as his band of adventurers silently moved into position near him. It had taken far less time than he had anticipated to identify the location of their target. His people, of course, were well aware of Sylena’s, now known to be Seassa’s, sanctuary far away from the war of conflict. But beyond a vague interest in the Asharaina of this world, he had not suspected she had been an accomplice who had enslaved his people with golden bracelets, binding them to Trina’s system. Nor that she had conspired with Zel’alor to drag them to this world to be fodder for some war that was not their own. Caja’s revelations had sent a shockwave through his people. Together, they rose to demand Zel’alor be scattered to finally end his people’s abductions from their home world.
He knew he owed much to Caja, whose brave mission to The City of Halos had brought them closer to freedom. While Caja had been released from service due to her extensive and heroic history in Stigandore, she had bravely accepted the quest to infiltrate Seassa’s organization within Halos. Through her efforts and forged friendship with Vina, she had exposed Seassa’s treachery and identified Zel’alor as the one who brought his people to this world.
Remembering Vina, Valtor’s thoughts flickered to the runes she had carved on the portal ring. They were too similar to Larathana’s glyphs in Stigandore. It was too much of a coincidence from his perspective, even if Caja denied it. While he and his people had never succeeded in reading what Larathana or Vina had written, he couldn’t help but wonder… Could Vina be the resurrected Larathana or, even better, the key to their return home? If not, then Zel’alor’s death would have to suffice.
Movement below caught his attention. Copies of Sylena moved around the compound, her teachings ending as the sky darkened into night. Numerous students with weaponry of all kinds slowly filtered in several large houses. Smells of fresh dinner filled the air, and still Valtor waited for his people to prepare. Slowly, down in the valley, lanterns were dimmed and candles smothered, but Valtor didn’t dare make his move until he knew the small sanctuary was asleep.
While he suspected, on his own, he could take on one or two copies of the sword master, he had seen at least four throughout the day. With the help he would receive today, he suspected he could defend against all four copies of Seassa but killing her completely would likely prove to be a more dangerous challenge. But bringing her to justice this evening was not his intent. His sole focus now was the permanent destruction of a Valchara that had murdered countless numbers of his people over centuries.
When all seemed still below, Valtor began his preparations, knowing deep inside they would get only one shot at this. It had taken his people hundreds of years to gather enough Shimarath for this attempt, and he was not willing to waste it. As the darkness fell and became complete, only a single building still had a dim glow of light. Valtor knew that was where his target awaited him.
“Relamatha,” he whispered softly. Four stepped forward from his group, each carefully carrying thin metal strips with thick gloves. The metal glowed a bright red in the night. Quickly the instruments were pressed into his skin, burning into his arms, chest, and back. Almost immediately they adhered to him with a burning hiss. But Valtor did not make a sound through the burning pain. His was a role of perfect appreciation to an honor few benefited from in his world.
“Telisarath,” he whispered softly, ensuring his tone remained even and unstrained. Dozens of hands were immediately placed upon him, their tender touch gliding across the hot metal was brief before their owners sagged only to be caught by those behind them. They were swiftly carried away with respect and dignity. But Valtor felt their strength and speed pressed into the metal his body now adorned, already infusing him.
“Shimtarra,” He gently called out as he looked at a single Charavara. His voice suddenly sounded strange to him, seeming to hum and vibrate in the air in a way it had never done before. The person, named Talyra, smiled modestly as they ran a hand through his hair, an action that seemed to take minutes to Valtor.
“Apologies Kalenar. You’ll get just one from me,” they whispered in his ear, their voice sounding distorted to his senses now. “Come back to me.”
Valtor nodded his appreciation at them. His gaze remained a bit too long on them as they slowly faded into the crowd. As the Relematha continued to leech into his body, he almost bit his tongue with how quickly he could speak. “Darimal-Telisar.”
Two valchirin approached and knelt before him. Their eyes closed as two gray forms extruded from their hands before separating entirely. Their elongated forms shifted and distorted as they padded over to Valtor, their flat mouths opening as if tasting the air. One began to gently clean its wispy paw, long claws flexed with every lick, making Valtor smile. It had been too long since he had seen a Pardal.
Beside him, Vareth, one of his companions spoke. “Valtarra.”
Valtor nodded as he drew upon the shimarath he had hoarded for this day, freed now that his bracelet had been removed by Caja. Although he had a vast selection of options given his lineage, Valtor felt most closely connected with Tharimak, one of his far distant great grandparents. His heroics were renowned amongst his people, and his accomplishments seemed most closely aligned with Valtor’s goals tonight.
Taking a deep breath, Valtor accessed Tharimak’s experiences and evoked the final Valcharam he had access to. “Ikarashar, sidira,” he spoke, hearing Tharimak’s voice instead of his own. He flexed his even more sizable muscles and gripped his hands before him. With great effort and skill at manipulating Shimarath, a massive two handed shard greatsword formed in his grip. The weight seemed inconsequential to him despite the fact the weapon was longer than he was tall. Its shattered purple blade glittered darkly in the night, hiding the thickness of the weapon and the sharpness of its edge.
Seeing Kwinsartol in his hands once again was exhilarating, but his preparations were not yet complete. “Bring it forward,” he commanded. His hands soon closed around a bottle containing a red liquid so dark, it almost appeared black. Uncorking it with deep respect, he silently thanked whoever had provided it. Their benefactor was a secret still not known, but Valtor had his suspicions. Then he slowly poured it over Kwinsartol. To his fascination, the liquid did not drip from the blade, but clung to it like some kind of glue.
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With a final look at his people, he leapt from the waterfall down to the glade before landing softly on the blue grasses. The two Pardals followed along with him, their forms hovering above the ground as they traveled by his side. Together they raced across the glade, easily leapt a boundary fence, and were immediately within the small settlement’s walkways. Instead of going around the building in his way, Valtor effortlessly leapt up to its roof and ran down its length to the other side. The building still lit in the dark night was his only focus.
He leapt from the building, brought Kwinsartol above his head and slammed it down on the walls of the still lit building. A thunderous roar filled the night as Kwinsartol obliterated the building’s wall. From the point of impact, a shockwave cracked the ground beneath it. Without hesitation, Valtor rushed inside, his eyes quickly scanning the scene.
In an instant he saw an old woman kneeling at the edge of a low desk. Beside her was a thick and long white staff, resting beside her thigh. Her body had turned toward him at the intrusion, but she made no reaction other than to gently set down the quill in her hand. A thin piece of silk was wrapped around her head, covering her eyes.
To his left was a sight far more concerning. All four copies of Seassa also knelt, facing a wooden platform upon which Zel’alor rested in an oversized chair made from the trees of the surrounding forest. Valtor could tell the Valchara rested uneasily with its blackened arm, the intel that Vina had wounded it was clearly accurate. Even as he absorbed the situation and planned his attack, he saw the normally vibrant light within this Valchara had now dimmed.
Valtor's heart beat, as loud as a drum in his ears, just a single time in his chest as he assessed the situation in a fraction of a second. But within that time, the copies of Seassa moved in unison, their movements graceful and controlled as they appeared to slowly rise from the floor. Each grasped a different weapon in their hands as they moved in a coordinated manner. The old woman behind him remained motionless however, her presence a shadow in the corner of his vision.
With a scream, the Seassa with a massive greatsword charged first, her blade shimmering in the light. She swung it forward and seemed to defy gravity as both she and the weapon flew through the air, spinning toward him. Valtor met her with a swift upward slash of Kwinsartol, sparks flying as their blades collided. The air around them crackled, and Valtor felt a burning heat flare from the sword’s edge. A bright flash of gray light blinded him momentarily, forcing him to rely on the instincts of Tharimak. He ducked low, feeling the searing heat pass over his head, and retaliated with a powerful sweep of his own greatsword. Their weapons collided when Seassa blocked it, but the impact sent her skidding backwards directly into the wall. The impact caused her body to slump into unconsciousness.
Before Valtor could fully recover from his clash with the Greatsword, Seassa seemed to step out from his shadow behind him. In his peripheral vision he spotted her Crescent Blade glowing with a faint, dark light. She swung the polearm in a wide arc, scattering living shadows that seemed to stretch and move. Valtor tried to bring his sword to the side to block the sweeping attack, but even with his enhanced reflexes, he was too slow. The crescent blade skidded across Kwinsartol and sliced deeply into his body, and pain shot through him. But before Seassa could push the weapon through his body, a shockwave erupted from him as Talyr’s Valcharam took effect, flinging Seassa backward off her feet.
“Just one…” he thought as he felt the weapon pull free from his flank, his body already restored. “Go,” He commanded and the Pardals streamed out from his sides, their long bodies stretching in odd ways as each attacked a different Seassa. The women reacted, their mastery informing their attacks and defensive movements, but Valtor knew this was not the way to combat these spectral creatures from his world. Their inexperience proved a worthwhile distraction which Valtor took advantage of.
Without hesitation, Valtor turned his focus back to Zel'alor. The Valchara's light flickered weakly as it watched the battle unfold, its massive form still slumped in its chair. Its arm and shoulder were blackened, the light within completely extinguished. A massive axe rested on the ground beside it, but Valtor could see the fatigue in its gaze, the weariness in its stance. It had no hope of lifting that weapon. Now was the time. He rushed forward, using the strength of the Relematha to leap over Seassa’s struggle with the Pardals.
As he landed on Zel'alor, the oversized chair on which it sat cracked and dumped the Valchara onto the floor. Standing on its chest, with a roar, he slammed Kwinsartol into Zel'alor's chest and held it there with a vicious glare. “False Valchara!” he growled. Zel'alor gave no response as the light within the Valchara brightened until Valtor was blinded. Suddenly a fierce explosion erupted from Zel’alor’s form, casting light up and out, destroying the ceiling and walls. In a matter of moments, its body faded, the stones of its form losing all light. But when he pulled his sword free from Zel’alor’s body, the liquid coating his weapon congealed and dripped a single drop from the tip of his blade which clinked against Zel’alor’s stone body.
Without hesitation, he bent to pick up the now black and red keystone that he had been warned might form. Turning, his hand shot into his pocket, grabbing a second golden stone stored for a quick escape. The light within it had already begun to dim with Zel’alor’s containment, but he hoped it would work one more time. As Valtor's fingers tightened around the golden stone, he felt a sudden shift in the air in front of him. A presence—cold and unyielding—approached with a silent and unbelievable speed. Before he could react, a sharp pain exploded through his abdomen. He gasped, eyes widening, the keystone slipping from his grasp as he looked down.
The old woman had struck. Her white staff slid back to reveal a hidden blade attached to its haft. While seemingly delicate in her frail hands, it now impaled him, its length protruding through his belly, slick with his blue blood. The silk covering her eyes fluttered slightly with the breeze of her movement before it slid from her face. Where eyes should have been, Valtor saw two aspects had been wedged into her eye sockets. Her expression, however, remained serene, devoid of malice or triumph. Valtor's body was lifted off the ground, suspended like a crucified figure.
He felt his strength drain away, the burning pain radiating out from the wound as the sword staff thrummed with power. His feet dangled helplessly, unable to find purchase on the ground below. While his hand twitched towards the fallen keystone, his last hope for true victory slipped away. Seassa held him aloft effortlessly, her strength far exceeding her frail appearance, her blind eyes turning towards him as if to see his very soul.
“What have you done?” The old woman breathed out. Beside her, one of the Seassa’s stepped forward to claim the black and red keystone. Holding it like a newborn, she rejoined her three sisters, of which only one appeared badly wounded.
Looking down on them, Valtor grinned at the women who had enslaved his people, binding them with bracelets and restricting them to Trina’s system, dooming them to a death in war. He would return for them again; he knew he would. Zel’alor was just the beginning. His people would have their… “Justice!” Valtor spat. He crushed the golden stone in his fist. The world around him blurred, the air filled with the sound of rushing wind. As a golden storm closed in, Valtor felt the pull of the stone's power, recalling him back to the City of Randar where he would prepare once again.
