“Seems the Eight has forsook this town too.” A loud burp issued forth Euphronios. A week passed since Haddeag released the thing within the cradle. The Anathema spread like wildfire, first claiming the grain. Fields turned black, the seeds blossomed into hideous flowers, fungus-like, vomiting ethereal spores naked to the eye. Then the people followed in less than three days.

  None suspected much beyond a smaller anathema of the Fire Aspect. Sweat poured their bodies, a heat weakened them into immobility, binding them to their beds. Dreamless sleep followed, none could speak off once the rot started spreading, first their tongue, then onto their innards and organs. All within a day.

  Members of the Dhaekenia’s Circle tried burning the corpses, aware from the refugees the Anathema would puppeteer the corpses. But the flames done naught, but dance upon the cadavers. Inadvertently, it made the job of Custodians ever more challenging. Many in these regions trained to combat against undead, expectant of the coming war. But burning undead proved to be a whole different business. The natural flames blackened like their cadaverous sinew and skin, and as they broke into the outer belt of the city, spread terror amongst the populace.

  “Seems so.” Vakodr uttered, looking at the three courtesans remaining.

  The very same fear glimmered in their glances, forced to remain in the city, despite losing four of their fellows who contacted the anathema whilst spreading the joys of loveless love. Death awaited them beyond the walls, and within. Vakodr felt a little bad for them, he vanished with the cheap wine Euphronios bought.

  To his mild surprise, and little conundrum, Euphronios ignored the spreading anathema. Once or twice, he came to the aide of the Custodians and the members of the Order, but mostly because the ravaging dead disturbed his investigation, stalking of Haddeag. He proved quite adept at bending the elements to his will, even utilized the flames of the first few undead, turned the blackened flames into the golden of Dawn. A feat Vakodr never seen, but heard tales from his master. The Flames of Dawn, hallowed and relegated to be used only by the Dawnfather’s most devoted and chosen.

  He suspected the vagrant magus to be more than meets the eye, though hoped his return would waken suspicion within the custodians. Luck or not, Euphronios returned from another of his scouting the old temple north, the moment the dead awakened on the pyre. First it seemed the custodians moved with suspicion in their eyes, but after a few questions, they shown their gratitude before one nearly thrusted his fist into Euphronios’s face. Despite the circumstances, he remained a hard fellow who simply admonished the Order and Custodians for not knowing anything about the Anathema.

  After that, they kept one eye on him, as he skulked around the town, looking through the outskirts. There Vakodr pondered whether to seize the opportunity, but kept his blade. Since his days in the legion, well into his admittance into the Blackened Circle, Vakodr slaughtered only on orders given by Him, or his master. To his chagrin, his master remained adamant regarding the previous order.

  He thought bitterly, as unease grew in regards of Euphronios. Nearly, he let the bitterness contort his wrinkled, wounded face.

  “What could that be?” Euphronios thought out loud, looking down below the table. The reason for Vakodr’s bitter mood, rested within the gauzed hand’s firm grasp.

  What wakened his murderous urges toward Haddeag. His nostrils flared as he swallowed in the air, carrying manifold fragrances. Each sweet and calming. The night before Euphronios discovered his old home where once they held rituals, offering vestiges to the lesser horrors lurking at the far edges of existence. And where they opened the portal to the island southwards. Or at least the deed should have been destroyed.

  “Do you remember who bought your old home?” His whole body nearly twitched at the question.

  He took a sip, started scraping an old, small wound inflicted by a stray arrow aimed at his throat. He still felt its tip thrusted against the arkhaine seamed shawl, how the fabric nearly gave in to the power.

  He could lie, tell he no longer remembered. It was twenty years, and a human’s mind is not as sharp as an aevhe’s or dwarf’s. But instead, made the choice his master could never make. After all, he always wanted a son, and the sole he got, loved for all its faults. “The White Briar Company. Wanted it to be a cellar. For their goods.” Euphronios hummed, staring at the folded cloth holding it, bathed in its strange, alien colors.

  ******

  Two days passed, when a dragon and its rider arrived to the city. First Vakodr thought the governor called for aide the augmented praetor provided handsomely. A far-southern man, quite tall and bearing the striking features of dragons and draevhei, yet still remained distinctively a human of the southern lands. Nawfal, they called him and reached his ears. And as he learned a few hours later, came on the call of Euphronios who regaled his findings so far. Including his certainty on Haddeag and his relation to the taking of the Prismatic Lord.

  At first Nawfal seemed hesitant, wanted to be sure, go through the facts, visit the place where he found that wrapped gift of His. It was no surprise to Vakodr, who watched through one of his mice. His master whilst a pureblood, came from the plebeian, rose high after joining the legion, making a name in slaying savages. Using his fame, and being adept at bartering, established his guild that grown to be the fourth wealthiest in the heartland and northern provinces. He held considerable power in Phyrgos and Cordivil, hence why He visited him one night, offered him a place in the new world He and the Nightscale envisioned.

  Besides reaching so high, he never forgot his roots, held charities every third month in each capital, each aimed at the less fortunate, the plebeian and the Atoning. With all these considered, if the two just barged in ready to shackle Haddeag, it could grow into quite the headache for the Draennith Praetoreath, possibly even the Empire itself readying for the inevitable. Vakodr though hoped for it, wishing it would further the wildfire the Blackened Circle were preparing for across Vhalleryon.

  Instead, the two revisited his old home, and this time seen the two held a ritual of scrying, before coming to his shack beyond the walls. There he confirmed the buying, the date of exchange and even showed both the papers penned by his master. A sour look settled on Nawfal’s face, lit by the meager flames of his hearth. The two departed, Euphronios offering another round later. He remained in his chair, staring past the shut door, rocking back and forth.

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  A few more days passed before the two made their move. They entered under the veil of night the local quarters of the guild, though he found their skulking quite lacking. A scuffle would have quickly wakened half the street if there were anyone left within, but Haddeag departed two hours before. Not out of fear, but wanting to commune with Him. Though what led him to this decision evaded Vakodr. Was his sole conjecture as he watched Euphronios searched for him in his strange sorcerous ways. Whilst he done so, Nawfal continued rummaging through the drawers, devouring the contents of his notes, ledgers and diary.

  In one, he did find notes on the old tower, where they held their meetings before he sold his old home. Through his scrying, Euphronios confirmed the presence of the small group. The two reached it in record time, arrived the moment Haddeag egressed through the trap door visibly sore from failure. He looked quite flabbergasted facing the two, neither which wasted time, offering him mercy and a chance to surrender.

  For a short breath, Vakodr feared Haddeag would prove to be a coward, instead hurled both across the ruined yard, leapt back into the antechamber. There he wakened the undead guards left behind by his father. Great, grafted dead with skin bestowed with the sturdiness of galvanized steel. Despite both being considered masterworks in the eyes of erudite nekromancers, neither stood a chance against a Draennith Praetor, and a talented magus like Euphronios.

  The former cleaved through two like butter, the latter scorched both from within. Though as he noted, using not the flames of Dawn, but with simple, common flames. At least on first glance. Watching the flittering sparks, he sensed a sinister presence in each. A presence flooding back towards Euphronios, who returned his gauzed arm under the folds of his rugged robe.

  Beyond the undead guards, thick shadows blockaded the way, blinded both intruders into this frugal sanctum. Within, the caretakers of the Blackened Circle awaited them, daggers drawn, thirsting for blood. One even nearly plunged into Nawfal, at his cuirass’s lower gap. But Vakodr underestimated neither, sensed already Euphronios gathering a spell calling upon the blinding brightness of Dawn, molded into a sphere. All five shrieked in unison, neither of the two showed mercy to them. Nawfal cleaved into the chest of three, Euphronios burned two to the heaps of ashes. The same wicked odor emanated from them, transmitted through the snout of the mice. The sphere remained, illuminating the path ahead.

  In the main chamber, a spear of stone penetrated through Euphronios’s left feet, sending him screaming down before he dislodged it. Nawfal blocked the onslaught of black flames with his shield, prepared his other arm for the killing blow when he reached within five steps. Though the blade missed, and his massive form hurled across the room, landed on his back crushing an old table. A black mark marred the shining, segmented plates protecting his chest, hoarse coughs parted his mouth as he rolled left and right in agony.

  With a flick of his arm, Haddeag encased Euphronios in stone, from head to toe. He stood over the praetor, a gloating smile across his face, blurred a little by the undulating skin. One foot pressed onto his chest, he held his palm over and the praetor, water started leaking from his nostrils, mouth and ear. Waves flooded within him, involuntarily he released his grip holding his shield, though he arced his sword aimless at Haddeag.

  Whilst reveling in the sight of the choking praetor, Euphronios broke free, his gauzed arm free. Both looked in surprise, Haddeag’s mingled with clear terror as the hand of shadow and infernal flame came right for his throat. Both snaked into his body, invaded through all his orifices. His eyes melted, vaporized. His ears cascaded down like molten candle wax reaching it final stages. And his veins lit up like a fuse, myriad sparks charging across them before his flesh, tendon, bone and skin burned to ash, forming a gangrenous heap of ash at Nawfal’s feet.

  In the face of his wish coming through, a notion formed within Vakodr. He knew Euphronios would prove to be a headache for the Blackened Circle, he knew his master would relent not until the severed head of Euphronios and Nawfal were delivered to his desk, to his collection. For both of these, Vakodr vowed, Euphronios shall not leave the town alive. He shall indulge his old desires once more.

  ******

  Not a word spread in regards of Haddeag. Despite their sweep across the chambers beneath the old ruins, neither Nawfal nor Euphronios found anything that would link him to the Blackened Circle. Euphronios cursed himself for killing the dwarf, though Nawfal reasoned he had little choice in the matter. On the side of the town’s protectors, the custodians and the Order, both remained focused on beating the Anathema, even believed Haddeag fled or perished to it. After a few days, Euphronios even reinforced this belief that puzzled Vakodr.

  Two gentle knocks battered his door. “Enter.” He yelled in his raspy voice, sipping tea of a potent mildewy taste. Cheap, and shit, but sharpened his mind, suppressed the killing urge to a point not even an adept vhouromancer could sense it.

  “Came to bid farewell.” Euphronios poked in, then entered wholly. His sack upon his shoulder, glass clinking within. Vakodr showed a smile to him, beckoned him closer, to sit across him. Within three or four steps, he could easily kill him.

  “Finished here? Or afraid?” He asked, standing up, retrieving a few glasses from the cupboard. And reached in for a vial.

  “I am afraid of nothing.” He said, in an aggravated, yet friendly tone. Vakodr looked back, sneering his sallow teeth at him.

  “Everyone’s afraid.” He said, using the short moment Euphronios focused on the dancing flames in his hearth. In a breath’s moment, he defied the woes of human aging, uncorked the vial, poured a drop into the glass meant for Euphronios.

  “Is that so?” Euphronios picked at his gauze, emanating the infernal scent of Taerebus. “What are you afraid of old men?” He asked, his cadence lugubrious.

  Vakodr reached beyond the glasses, slid the empty vial into his pocket. “Flowers. Living flowers.” He pulled up his other sleeve, revealing a peculiar bite mark. He recalled the petals wakened by the antlered aevhe, latching onto his vambrace covered arm. The wicked odor of burned flesh, steel and the acidic saliva chafed his nostrils still. Though the cheap wine’s scent Euphronios brought dampened the mnemonic scent.

  Euphronios chuckled taking the glass. “I fear nothing lurking in our realm. I fear only what lurks in the far corners of the Almodo’s domain.” He said with an honest smile, tapping the glass against his teeth. Then his eyes shot wide as soon as the poison took effect. His limbs tightened; he fell out from the chair onto the floor. A long groan parted from his gritted teeth, as tiny ethereal needless stung his arkhaine points, threw his inner mana into disarray.

  “Once upon a time. I feared my father too.” Vakodr said, walking back over to the counter. From its top drawer, heaved out a ceremonial dagger. Its blade jagged, long, along its fuller etched with weird symbols even his gifted sight could not decipher. Its hilt, a broken spiral. “An evil man, he was. One who enjoyed power over the weak. One whose fist I dreaded each night. Whom I escaped, serving the dream of the Elhyrissiars.”

  Slowly he stepped closer. He brandished the dagger over Euphronios, let the flames light be devoured by the black blade. “When I returned home. He withered. Looking at him, I saw no more the ripe man, but one who indulged contentment. He was blind, like they all are above us. There, pressing my fingers into his throat. Listening to his final wails. I knew, I feared not him, but stagnation.” He inhaled the air, free of any odor. Except that of winter, crawling in the interstices of the shaky walls.

  “I am truly sorry.” A mirthful smile drawn across his wounded lips. It faded, noticing the gauzes loosen around Euphronios’s hand reaching out towards his ankle. He chuckled, before he crumbled into the same heap as Haddeag.

  Euphronios rose, grabbed the bottle and downed the whole, leaving not a drop of the cheap wine. He stared into the flames dancing, hearing their screams still, saw the shadow and flame again. As before, he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply. “Fear no more.” A whisper, he could muster only, sitting there solemn. Euphronios rose, ambled towards the door. A long road awaited him to Phyrgos, where Dusk gathered…