Measured knocks rebounded on the thick oaken door whilst Terrianis stamped down another order.

  Five years passed since chaos swept across the streets of Luth-Astaril, and the seeds began to bloom once again. Strikes against the patrolling custodians, legionaries and praetors grew for the past two years. Always under the cloak of night, using the darkness as their cover, besides relying on perception altering spells. Only recently, by including members of Septurrion’s Circle, did they learn, the assailants were disgruntled citizens, swayed by the New Dawn and its elusive leader.

  “Come in!” He yelled calm across the room. He laid back in his chair, floated the steaming cup of tea, its sweet-bitterness soothed his riled nerves. The recent attack on the square brought portentous winds into his chambers.

  After years of dithering, the New Dawn grew bolder. To attack during the day, in a crowd surrounded not by just the legionaries, custodians but even the Draennith Praetoreath had to be a declaration of a renewed conflict, a reminder that their shadow still loomed over the city.

  Angura entered, his expression doleful for the first time in centuries, surprising and amplified the disquietude within Terrianis. Susuovar followed, wearing his usual mask of indifferent calmness, glided across the hardwood floor like a specter navigating around the clueless victims, blind to his presence. In that moment, Terrianis wished Sussuovar would have shown some expression, something to reinforce only a momentary blunder led to an overreaction in the mood and expression Angura wore presently.

  “What is the meaning of this, our dear son?” Terrianis perched his thin left brow, looking at the piece of paper containing the beautifully handwritten resignation of Angura. Down on the right bottom, he cited the reason being a grave failure on his part.

  “A confession shall clear the confounding clouds, my Elhyrissiar.” Angura said, inhaled as he gathered his strength. “Remember how a year before The Harrowing, you gave me the order to relay to brother Drussaev?” Terrianis nodded after recalling it.

  He felt a chill trailing down his clammy, ridged spine. Heard whispers, angry and disappointed in the tender gust of winter. Not long before the aforementioned report, news reached both from Sussuovar himself, regarding sightings of the Umbral Vaults poking through the manifold tinctured sands. The wind has freed parts of that desolate, abhorrent complex, that even now being the Elhyrissiar, let terror grip his heart. At once they commanded their reburial, though at one segment in the violet desert, north of Khadrath, the cult of the Black Pharaoh unearthed enough to let the shadows prevent their efforts.

  Terrianis still remembered what relics the priests of the Black Pharaoh heaved with themselves, in their retreat to the vaults. The Scepter of the Grim Monarch they all believed got obliterated by the Dawnfather in their last duel; a strange disk capable of tearing into reality itself, create a hole into any distant realm to grant passage to even greater, older things than the Eight. And the Scrolls of Vermius, which true purpose only a few knew, including his predecessors.

  Even they knew, no mortal should hold such knowledge or power.

  “Tell me, the Scrolls had been destroyed?” He knew the answer, but wished to be wrong. He imagined the words which would bring a soothing cold would come from the thin lips of his son, but reality proved as always to be a cruel master.

  “I wish I could say so, my Elhyrissiar.” Angura began, his indigo eyes remained focused on the ground betwixt him and the table. “But at the time, when news reached back about brother Drussaev and his acquisition of the Scrolls, the notion which led to my folly strengthened only. I believed, saw no doubt that we could use it to call back, free the Prismatic Lord, our Heavenly Father from the bondage of the enemy. But now, I see my mind and eyes were clouded by shadows, the shadows of the enemy who took it from right under our noses.” His countenance soured even more when he relapsed into silence. “Hence, I formally wish to abdicate my chair in the high office of the Order of Maghia’s Truth, father, my Elhyrissiar!”

  Angura shuddered sudden, felt the waves of anger leak from Terrianis. But instead of yelling at him, Terrianis threw down the paper, rose up and walked to the window. Torturous seconds passed for Angura as his father stared, watched his children stride in the gardens, practice on the training grounds, listen to the lessons of their masters in the arkhaine ways or etiquette. All these sceneries soothed his searing nerves.

  “Certainly, it was a mistake bringing it to our infested home, but I can see the reasoning behind the decision.” The sharp point of his fang dug into his lustrous lower lip; a streak of his prismatic blood trickled down his chin. “But instead of handing in your resignation, find another avenue to make up for your mistake that may cost us greatly.”

  “I shall not disappoint you. I shall find the Scroll myself!” Sussuovar chuckled a little, a faint draught in the windless room.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “I doubt that is what father seeks of you.” Terrianis turned, his burning gaze of calmness pierced Sussuovar who remained unaffected. “Focus on the little endeavor of yours brother. The Scrolls are beyond us, I am quite sure about that.”

  “He is right.” The firm words of his father, his Elhyrissiar silenced Angura. “We shall keep a vigilant eye over the city. Whatever use they may have for the Scrolls, the ritual of calling shall most certainly won’t pass our senses.”

  “As you wish, my Elhyrissiar.” He bowed.

  “And you, Sussuovar, call upon your best, if there is any word, a whisper about them–be it mistake or conceit–we want to know the very moment the word parts from the foolish mouths.” Terrianis hovered back behind his chair, sat with a sigh. “If that is all, be gone from our sight.” The two bowed and left. But as Angura continued onwards in the aisle, Sussuovar’s cold hand he felt upon his exposed shoulder.

  “Meet me in the heart of the mountain.” He whispered before vanishing, leaving no chance for his brother to refuse.

  *****

  Deep beneath the Cathedral, rages a storm of clustered mana flown from the converging leylines. The target of many great beings who could use it to construct an avatar, and fools who tried empowering themselves, increase their limits to keep the Rage far away from mauling them in impossible ways. Below that, tunnels led even deeper as Angura learned upon taking the chair in the highest office of the Cathedral. Tunnels dug by hands and wills of those who settled before the exodus, those favored by the Elder Dragons, the Titans who guard the realms of the Deossos and the Almodo, the furtive Fey whose plays end in tragedies, and many others who silently linger in and outside Mortal Realms.

  Tunnels which trail down into the heart of the Isle, the source his predecessor believed to be the cause of the vibrant, golden vegetation growing across the Caesselis Isle. Which grants its citizens a pleasant climate, and as they learned not too recently, also extend their lives by a few years. He wondered, whether his grandfather sensed this power, hence choosing this place to reestablish their hegemony here instead of in the heart of Vhalleryon.

  Still, he harbored little doubts regarding whether it was a gift or not. One reason being the strange statue hewn upon the ceiling, an upside-down figure, slender, bestowed with both feminine and masculine features, one too many limbs, and a face he could not envision a divine being like The Almodo would wear before the select few whom he granted sight of his presence. A face ripped open, each layer grotesquely detailed, revealing a cluster of eyes–some adorned with roundish pupils, others draconic slits. At the center, the largest a fractal eye.

  From the strange eye, a light pulsated, bathed the whole grand section in its eerie bright color he could not name at all. Just looking at it awakened a primeval terror, sending shivers across his ridged spine and along his hairless, slender arms. And unease paired with it, noticing Sussuovar stand right beneath it, as if letting the strange pupil stare right at him.

  Then his bald head draped in his tattered robe tilted towards his way, a genial smile appeared on the ever-listless face. “Thank you for coming brother.”

  “Tell me, why call me here down.” Angura wished not to waste his time, even wanted to just stay in their hidden laboratory to continue their work on the Talos Endeavour.

  “Came here to invite you, to beseech your aid in the coming days.” Sussuovar approached him slow, following the rhythm of the pulsing light.

  “You know my hands are already full?” Angura raised a brow.

  Being the head of the Order, working on the endeavor proved to be his limits, the fumble with the scrolls accentuated that fact bitterly. He wished not to also be responsible for clandestine operations, the management of spies and assassins. Those fields also stood far from his expertise. He left most dealings with ruffians to acquire materials to his disciples.

  Sussuovar chuckled softly, then went calm abruptly. “Misunderstand me not brother, this invitation is not to be a shadow of the Empire, but an invitation into the Circle of the Almodo, a group which existed even before our great-grandfather dreamt up his ambitions.”

  “Father knows about them?” He asked.

  “No. He earned not the privilege. Neither did grandfather nor Anessarion earned it.” Sussuovar glided around him, measured him with his haunting eyes. Then he vanished, sensing the earth moving, forming into a cage to keep him in place. “Pardon my tongue again. I meant you not to betray our dear father. I simply invite you ahead of the Chaos that is coming.”

  “We should prevent that Chaos, not wait and profit from it.” Angura said, shuffling around, his eyes searching for Sussuovar who appeared on a growth of stalactite, sitting and peeling a tangerine with his sharp claws.

  “I don’t mean that. You have grand role to play, The Almodo wishes you to be a guiding star for his Chosen in the challenging days to come for our fading Empire.” As his claw dig into the soft flesh of the tangerine, juice sprayed upon his dark robes.

  “Spoken like a traitor.” Once more Angura missed his brother.

  “Believe me, I wish not for this. But do you truly believe in the dream of our Elhyrissiar?” Sussuovar whispered the question into his ears before he vanished.

  “I do.” Angura uttered his answer, devoid of hesitation.

  “Then tell me brother, what is the price of eternity?” Sussuovar appeared before him, chewing on a small slice of fruit. “What have the empires before us have missed that they now are forgotten? Think about it, and about our offer until your tin army is ready to serve. Then you shall see the folly of going against the Will of the Almodo.” His voice echoed across the hewn-out section, then Angura hissed as a sealing mark burnt into the tip of his tongue.

  With a sigh, he stood silent, staring at the hanging statue. Darkness filled the hole, where the horrid eye watched unblinking.