Page 460 of Of Empires and Dust
Kallinvar surged forwards, dipping below the swing of a crimson blade before carving a Fade in half with his Soulblade, a shriek ringing out. He turned and swept aside another strike meant to take his head from his shoulders before a second blade carved a deep furrow across the breast of his plate. As the two Chosen fell upon him, Kevan, Sylven, and Varlin charged in, smashing into the creatures’ flanks.
A pulse of the Taint erupted deeper in the temple, and Kallinvar broke into a run. He smashed through the doors of the Heart Chamber and out into the great halls beyond. Bodies lay scattered about the floor, blood smearing the stone.
He followed the oily tendrils of Taint through the halls until he reached the Tranquil Garden. Before he stepped onto the soft grass, some part of him already knew what he would find within, but his heart still cracked when he saw Brother Tarron standing over a score of headless bodies, Watcher Poldor to his right. The blood from the bodies pooled into the many streams that fed Heraya’s Well, tainting it.
The rest of the Watchers and priests of the temple were all lined around the well, shaking and whimpering with their heads bowed.
Two more Chosen stood between Kallinvar and Tarron, the runes in their silver armour burning stark against the vibrant purple flowers of the Hallow trees.
“Brother!” Kallinvar roared, stepping further into the temple, his Soulblade blazing in his hand.
Tarron turned to face him slowly. He wore his Sentinel armour, though the plate was cracked and worn, crimson light shining through. When he lifted his gaze to Kallinvar, his eyes glowed with a deep red and his skin was pale as stretched parchment.
“No… No, brother, no.” Kallinvar lifted his Soulblade and pointed it at Tarron. “Let him go!”
“Let me go?” Tarron said, raising an eyebrow. “I chose this, Kallinvar. I see clearly now. The wool is lifted from my eyes.”
“The Great Deceiver, Devourer of Souls.” The ground sank against Kallinvar’s weight as he moved. “I will not let you into my heart. I will not swallow your lies.”
“You are too late.” Tarron shrugged. “It is done.”
As the last of Tarron’s words left his lips, a surge of Essence swept through the air, so great that it brought Kallinvar to his knees, and for a moment his vision went black and all sounds drowned in his ears.
“He is here.”
The very airin the chamber crackled with power, the runes on Garramon’s body burning with such a fury that smoke rose from the man’s flesh. Black tears ripped through the fabric of the world, taking tangible form in the air around Garramon, spreading like cracks through a broken bowl.
About him, all the Vitharnmír stood with their armour receded, bare flesh and runes open to the air, eyes glowing with red light.
Tendrils of black and red burst from the tears in the world and clung to the runes in Garramon’s flesh. The black gashes spread, cracking through the air until Garramon vanished entirely, enveloped by a black sphere.
For a brief moment, just a fraction of a second, Fane felt a tinge of hesitation, a touch of uncertainty. This was a god he was summoning. A creature so powerful it had ascended from the mortal plane – and he was calling it back. What if he had been wrong? What if the future he saw would never come to pass? What Efialtír had been pulling the strings all along, twisting Fane’s mind, carving out Fane’s path with the illusion of choice and hope?
Those doubts flickered and died. If that were the case, then the path was already too long trodden. He would face whatever stood before him. Nothing would stand in his way. Not even a god. He would be what this world needed and kill the pieces of himself that it did not.
A pulse of Essence swept outwards from the black sphere that surrounded Garramon. The force of it knocked Fane back a step and shook the entire chamber. The Heart ignited in Fane’s hands, and a beam of crimson light burst from within andcrashed into the black sphere, swirling around it like sweeping fire.
The flames consumed the black, revealing Garramon within. As the sphere burned away, Garramon slowly lowered to the ground, his arms outstretched, the Chosen beginning to chant in a tongue foreign to Fane’s ear.
Garramon’s bare feet touched the stone, the runes carved into the ground reacting to his touch, billowing black smoke around glistening red light.
Fane stared in awe at the power that radiated from his old friend, at the way it rippled in the air as heat did across stone on a hot day.
Garramon’s gaze fell on Fane, and Fane dropped to one knee, holding the Heart of Blood out in his hands.
“Rise.” The words were spoken in a deep, powerful voice. The same voice Fane had heard speak in his mind a thousand times.
He did as commanded, slowly lifting to his feet and pulling the Heart to his chest. “My lord, Efialtír. Today is a day that will be spoken of throughout time. You have returned to us.”
“You have done everything I’ve ever asked of you.” Efialtír stood before Fane in his bare skin. “And you shall have everything you were promised.”
“I live to serve, my lord.”
“No, you do not.”
Those words sent a spark of fear through Fane.
“But I do not wish for a servant,” Efialtír said. “I wish for a general. I have crossed the veil between worlds for the first time in millennia. I am weak. My body is still frail and new. The others will not simply lay down now that I have crossed. There is much still to come, my child. And we will see how quickly they abandon their sacred oaths now that I have returned. Their hypocrisy unsheathed.”
