Embedded Files
Prologue
There are places beyond what we can see and hear. Places that we only feel as if part of some instinct or deep calling. This is the world of titans and deities. Beings whose every action can be felt throughout the universe and though we are rarely welcome in their world, sometimes we experience it when we least expect to.
In the darkness of the universe, a feeling calls out. One that starts as a muffled buzz and begins to grow into an audible conversation. A dialogue which draws us in to be silent observers. Though it may feel wrong to eavesdrop, it starts to feel intentional.
A warm feminine voice spoke with a forcibly subdued sense of joy. “You do have a very clear theme in your work, sister.”
The response came from an unnerving and energetic girlish voice. “It’s artistry. Skulls and death can accent anything and given the chance to create a true masterpiece – one should strive to leave their makers mark and to try something new.” Sound echoed off unseen walls, with a dampened muffled effect as it was felt more than heard, a finger snap drew our focus as the voice continued. “Ice... we will coat him in ice for flavor! Or rather... a lack of flavor when it comes to taste... but flavor as in theme!”
Senses turn back to the warm and melodious voice as she replies in turn. “How long do you think he’ll last before our siblings catch on? You know they dislike your creations running around.” She waited only briefly before she asked another question. “To that very nature, which of them do you think will respond first?”
The unnerving voice returned as she spoke to herself. “What a splendid creature... he is perfect.” The admiration almost warmed the cold tone of her voice. “He wields a marvelous weapon, a heart twisted by hatred, the icy demeanor of a ruthless tyrant, and a drive hellbent on destruction.” The silence that followed gave the sense that both were admiring the creation but from wildly different perspectives.
“When seeking inspiration, one ought to look beyond Mythrir itself. A world built of warcraft and a world with an allmother deity, one who has left her world to ruin, serves to be quite... inspiring.” The cold voice broke out into an off-putting giggle before an abrupt halt. “One could claim brother Esohr would act first. He has never liked me.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Which has been a sad truth for me as I’ve always enjoyed his chaotic energies and his predilection for runaways. Taking an outcast such as this, coaxing the hatred in his heart and giving him a purpose gives one an understanding of Esohr’s distaste... but it will not stop me or ruin my fun!”
Clicking sounds echoed off the nonexistent walls, from what could only be sharp pointed heels on the stone floor. The energy in the room changed from admiring the creation to an odd sense of observing it in action. The feeling as if time itself slipped ahead drew us in. “Look what my creation has already achieved. The slaughtering of a goliath horde; all just to make himself an army of their dead...” She seemed to sigh in admiration. “They learn so fast.”
Another pause as the feeling of the room remained constant but the sense of time once again shunted forward. “He’s taken his army and now aims to conquer our elder sister Eone’s silly little zealots! Crush their order of sparkles and sunshine, or whatever they call themselves... Crush them my champion!”
The warm voice returned to cut off the colder one. “I would think you would show more concern for your ice knight of death. Should Eone turn her attentions towards you and your creation...” Her sentence went unfinished as she was interrupted by a wild, shrill, and biting response. “She wouldn’t dare to challenge me, Valtia. she may be elder but one does not rule over darkness and chaos only to fear the light!”
With a brief pause to let the words linger, the warmer voice grew jovial and broke the silence as it drew their attention back to the world they observed. “I think, darling Orandr my sweet sister, that you will be quite surprised and enjoy this development then.”
Orandr in tone alone was clearly curious. “What... is that? ... It’s confused, no, it looks lost. It is lost! Discarded?” They turned their attention to something we couldn’t sense. “Look how it clings to its ideals as it’s lost in the immaterial. What a pitiful thing. Why... would that... interest me?!”
“She is most certainly lost. Discarded? Not quite. More like reaching out for a greater destiny, if I was to make a guess.” Valtia spoke with a growing sense excitement. “And that sense of being lost, appears temporary.”
Orandr’s voice became shrill as she shrieked “WAIT A MINUTE!”
“Quite temporary, it would appear. She’s left the most impressive crater upon landing.”
The sense of warmth tingles in sharp contrast to the cold that had dominated the room while Orandr spoke, as Valtia’s excitement continued to grow blossoming like flowers through a spring thaw.
The giggles returned to Orandr as she needled at Valtia. “You surely jest! My champion commands a dragon!”
“She commands her faith.”
“Mine has drawn an insurmountable army of darkness!”
“She has drawn... friends it would seem.”
“The runic blade alone would give mine the upper hand in any battle... Valtia, I’m starting to doubt what you’ve found is even going to stand up in that crater... She’s sooner to belong to Vossinae than she is to stand upright.”
“Her soul is quite in her own keeping... Now about the sword. I doubt she even wants a sword; she strikes me as the hands-on type, but we shall see.”
“He is undying... he cannot be killed! None can slay him! Strike him down, he will simply rise again! You are a fool, and one enjoys you for it.” Orandr’s shouts betraying a chaotic spirit. Quietly, “but... One does like surprises. We can watch, if only for the sport of it.”
“Fate leaves little room for surprises, I will enjoy this as well, my darling Orandr.”
Biting wind cuts through to the bone only to be washed away by warmth like a spring’s sun. The two sensations clashed until the resonance that had carried the conversation disappeared and left us in a sensory deprived darkness once again.
Chapter 1: Darkness
In a dark place where senses held no meaning, only endless darkness, and the confines of the mind. A woman, reflected inward, unsure if dreaming or haunted by a nightmare. The sense of being awake did not calm her in the least as she continued to draw herself inward, not hungry, not thirsty, but very awake. A strong sense of being trapped. As she reflected on that sense of being trapped, her thoughts roamed to memory and to faith. She saw herself at the beginning of her journey, swearing a powerful oath to a mother goddess to atone for not protecting her family when evil came for them. The pride she felt then gave her a moment of clarity and the sense of being trapped had begun to wane. This did not last as her memories moved to the companions she joined to achieve that goal.
The impression of being trapped led to a numbing sensation in her extremities. In a world of darkness without sensation, this was like an itch that could not be scratched and a binding panic combined in one. The numb felt foreign, as mountain-born do not get cold, for a goliath to freeze took considerable effort or powerful magic. Her mind reeled to the time when she stood in a blizzard as her tribe, her people, were slaughtered by a monstrous figure in an unnatural blizzard. Glowing runes, etched into a wicked blade, shone sickly green as it carved flesh from bone and stole life from all it touched. The evil eyes glowed wicked as they peered out from the helm for the next goliath warrior, woman, or child to be cut down. This visage of evil was carved into her very being as her mind continued to paint the scene of what she recalled, what she swore an oath to destroy.
This vision became a waking nightmare, so she refocused her mind on the sensation of being trapped, she thought of her training, and of the companions she traveled with as she sought to find and destroy that great evil. She remembered the people she had helped and the good she had done but a nagging sense of being held back remained. When she had stood up to bullies to protect the abused, fought with monsters, and even looked after orphans - these things felt good and noble. Yet when she remembered the companions that she traveled with it did not help. They decided her quest and the greater evils could wait as they sought to deal with romance, lover’s quarrels, and local politics instead. When she turned to her faith and even communed with her goddess, the mother of all, she was told to trust that the mother goddess had a plan for her. Trust that she was where she needed to be, with this unusual group of adventurers.
She had tried.
She had leaned hard on her faith and as she sought to regain focus on the evil that threatened the world, both the mother goddess and the adventurers seemed to care less and less about that threat. She never gave up though, she waited and supported them where she could, as best she could.
Her last memory being of a caldera and a legendary forge. Of a companion who aspired to forge a weapon, one that could set the group back on the path to hunt the evil she had wanted to hunt for so long – of a chance to destroy the evil that took her family and countless others outside her tribe. As the hammer struck the anvil, that’s when darkness enveloped her.
The numb feeling and the itching that pricked at every nerve ending began to subside and be replaced by a strange shaking sensation and it was not gentle. Eyes locked shut with the feeling of blood now pounding to her head, a welcome sensation albeit painful – it was at least a start. Her fingers stretched and then clenched with cracks as they flared with cramps. Realizing she was laid out on her back, the cold of snow on her neck pressed between her skin and the armor she wore, hands clenching snow and the ground, trying to pull herself to wake fully.
Eyes opened to the dim of a moonlit winter’s night, heavy snowflakes barely visible in the film that covered her eyes as they strained to focus, and her head turned to look at what was shaking her. The hands that clasped her plate armor and shook her drew her eyes to focus in on the man shaking her, he was shouting something, but she could not hear through the ringing in her ears. The din faded to a low buzz as his words began to penetrate.
“Wake up! You are not safe here!”
Her eyes scanned the surroundings, and she returned to her training ready to assess threats. The snow-covered forest was lit by moonlight, and she saw the mountain behind her, she sat in a crater of some kind that only had a thin layer of snow in it and looked as if it was created by an explosion, a massive boulder, or siege equipment. The mountain gave her a sense of comfort and familiarity. It was only when she looked beyond the soldier who had been shaking her awake did she catch the torch lights scrambling through the trees in the distance. With strained focus she could see massive shadows that appeared to swallow the torch light whole, before the sound of battle echoed to her ears muffled by winter snows thick blanket. Battle cries and screams mixed with crashing sounds of trees and heavy slams. The soldier put himself in front of her vision and grabbed her gauntleted hand and pulled with all his might. She barely sat up as he continued to say things in a panic. All her equipment was accounted for, muscles began to flare to life with fatigue and strain. Blood flowed through her veins powering muscles and flexing them back to use as she started to stand up on her own. She flexed hard and pushed through heavy cramps and the haunting memory of the paralysis that had plagued her before.
“What unit are you from? My lor... my lady?” The soldier was momentarily awestruck looking up at the size of the woman before him. “Your armor does not match the Order’s but you’re clearly not one of them... the dead, I mean.” He spoke fast out of panic as his thoughts raced into words. “Never mind we must make haste and leave this place!”
Arms shook to relieve the tension before she took up her shield and set her sights into the woods where the sound of battle became clear to her. The soldier began to lead her out of the crater along the outside of the battle and towards the rear line of the soldiers. She watched the battle as they moved along until her attention turned at the powerful crunching sound of a tree snapping and falling before them, and the heavy footfalls that followed it. This caught both their attention as a massive silhouette stood before them – piercing blue eyes shone bright with vile magic. She stared down the monster, but she wasn’t the only one. The soldier had caught the gaze, and he locked up, as hoarfrost clawed at his armor. He had begun to freeze in place – he turned his head in terror and shouted. “Run!” his last word as his body froze to death.
The creature stepped forward into the moonlight and let forth a guttural cry, from non-functioning lungs through a broken and disjointed jaw made of necrotic flesh, it was an awful sound. Lifting the great axe that it carried high into the air - it swung hard in a wide swinging arc. The swing went out and around at the woman standing before it. The stinging rime that had frozen the soldier clawed at her body, gnawed at the plate chilling it, and tried to encase freeze her to death. It was then that she lifted her shield up with a resounding clang. She blocked the axe and sent the axe head out and away. The force pushed her booted feet through the snow, leaving a solid trench. All the ice that had collected on her exploded away from the excessive force of the block and sent ice shards into the nearby trees like shrapnel.
“I... am Helena Hellabore.” She said softly to herself, caring not if the undead monster could hear her, more to relight the fire inside.
Helena reached down to grab the mace that hung from her belt and drew it up and with a flick of her wrist it shone with radiant divine light, forcing the monster to briefly recoil before it pulled its axe back and roared again. Helena breathed deep as her arms flexed to lift shield and mace, she rolled her shoulders and shook her head as her unruly red tresses settled onto her shoulders like a wild mantle. The mountain-born goliath woman set herself to battle.
The monster slammed the axe head into the ground and tried to force its gaze onto her again, so she leveled her shield to break line of sight and stepped forward to raise her shield up and slam the mace hard into the monster’s leg which forced it down. With a grasping hand, it swung out to try and grab at her. Helena caught the hand with her shield and as it tried to grab, she rolled her shoulder and sent the hand downwards off the shield before it could. The next swing of her mace was directed at the creature’s face forcing it to the side. Bone was broken; its face mangled further. It was forced to turn where it would grab the handle of its axe and with great force it caught Helena with her shield raised which collided with her chest and pushed her back, sending her into a snowbank. She felt heavy and slow. The paralysis was gone along with the numbness – the thought intruded: had she grown weaker as she waited with her companions? Helena stood from the snow and breathed deep of the crisp air and as warm breath was exhaled. She cleared her mind and braced for the monster to strike again, as it surely would.
The beast took its great axe in hand, hobbled forward with an abnormal gate from its destroyed left leg as it took the axe in both hands and swung hard vertically. She watched as the off-balance strike moved through the cold night air pulling large snowflakes with it and sidestepped as fast as she could to her left. Pivoting her right leg hard around her and forcing herself into a spin that ended with her mace crashing hard into the back of the monster’s right knee, shattering it, ripping animated necrotic muscle and shattering the bones, forcing the beast to trip. Helena tossed her shield to the ground, spun the mace in her hand before she clenched both fists around the haft, raised it high, and then slammed the head of the mace dead center on the skull of the undead behemoth. The skull was crushed and the spell that animated the undead beast was broken. She reached down to pick up her shield and turn her attention to the battle in the forest.
Chapter 2: Order
It was a forced rush as Helena charged forward into the trees and set her sights on another of the large undead giants. A mighty club slammed down into an unsuspecting soldier as his body was crushed into the snow. She was too late to save that man, but not the next, as the mighty club was raised high to smash its next victim, Helena shoulder checked the monster’s hip throwing it off balance where other soldiers rushed forward with spears. As heads turned to her in confusion, she turned her eyes to their standard and found nothing of familiarity here. Before she could ask anything, the soldiers all closed ranks to cover their ally’s retreat. Helena huffed as she stepped over the downed enemy and moved after the next one. The undead giant that moved up to fight Helena next roared at her and began its charge through the trees, bursting through trunk and branch alike. Fingers gripped the shield strap as it raised high, the mace firmly in hand shone with light, and feet were set firm to brace for the impact, eyes leveled keenly at the creature.
The creature practically leapt through the air as it crashed into the ground before Helena and she was surprised by the opportunity, she slammed her mace down through its skull and then slammed her heavy booted foot down on it, for good measure. She looked up, raising her shield as she saw a figure who jumped onto its back. A thin keen edged blade that glinted in the dim moonlight was all she could see at first before she was surprised again that she recognized the shape of the figure. One of her companions, Simon Redsun, stood holding what must be the blade he had set out to forge when the anvil was struck, before all of this. She opened her mouth to ask but was denied the opportunity as the last of the undead giants turned from the retreating troops to charge the two of them.
The three of them.
A small fairy flitted out from Simon’s coat, casting a dazzling spell that caused the giant to recoil, stumble, and glow bright in the dark forest surrounded by the vibrant snow that reflected. Myth’ia, another companion, had given them an opening and Helena and Simon sprang through the snow and dispatched the last giant with brutal efficiency. They had ensured the soldiers’ retreat would be a success.
They looked to one another with unspoken confusion. The soldiers were now in full retreat. They carried their standards, wounded, and anything they could in their panic to regroup. Intent to find shelter from whatever had attacked them – the torches danced through the woods as the forest grew dim once again under the soft pink light of the moon above. The three looked around and began to follow the retreating soldiers when the soft hue dimmed further yet and the forest was then cloaked in a very dim orange light. The moon had been concealed by cloud cover yet orange light cast from a second moon now filled the wintery forest with an ominous hue as they looked up at the sky in astonishment and wonder. There had not been two moons before. Wind began to stir and build around them as the snowing landscape turned into a whirlwind before them. The gale sent the snow into a flurry and buffeted them with wet and melting snow as it smashed into them drawing the heat from their bodies.
A moment later the wind stopped abruptly. In the clearing before them was a man clad in black plate armor, carrying a two-handed sword, with eyes that glowed a violent red.
He exuded malice.
Helena could feel every ounce of this man’s vile nature; she could smell it on the wind to the point where it outweighed the cold airs bite. His similarities to the man who killed her people drew her focus in tight. Yet he was not him, but his likeness spurred Helena to action.
“I am the black guardsman – Vorcal. Vanguard to Sir Byleth. I shall savor stealing the life from you.”
The three wasted no time with the introduction; Myth’ia used a spell to immediately blind the black guardsman by turning his helmet around backwards, allowing Helena to smash his chest plate in with her mace, leaving openings in his arms and torso for Simon to plunge his rapier in and through. He dropped down to his knees and before they could finish him, they each had to turn to fight back shambling undead that crawled from the snow at their feet and through the darkness of the forest cast in auburn. Mace, magic, and sword quickly dispatched the shambling force of undead as the black guardsmen stood back up and turned his helmet back to rights.
Vorcal stood alone, as Simon thrust his rapier forward and it was deflected by the two-handed blade. “You see the power of undeath, we may fall but we rise again.” Some of the undead were slowly rising and Myth’ia would hurl spells at them to keep them down. Helena lunged at the black guardsman with a feint and forced him off balance as he fell for it and swung his massive sword past her. She followed the swing and bashed the hand with her shield before she took the mace, glowing with radiance, and slammed it hard into his chest plate. As it landed she spoke a soft prayer under her breath as she forced divine energy through her shoulder down through her grip and like a conduit through the mace itself - holy energies from a paladin’s smite seared through the black guardsman as his unnatural life was burned away, and he returned to his knees. Helena stepped back and as the black guardsman settled, head dangling, she stepped forward hard and placed her booted foot squarely in his back and slammed the body into the snow and rock beneath.
The stillness in the air gave way to the blizzard that had been raging before this moment. The three began to push through the heavy snowfall towards where they had seen the retreating soldiers, they could not wait out the night in this storm. Their situation demanded they focus on staying together and not becoming lost, they marched through the snow following the scattered tracks and frozen corpses of the soldiers through their previous camp and down game trails as they pushed through the woods. In the distance, a single lantern light shone as it approached them. The three prepared for anything but were glad to see that the lantern was carried by an armored woman on horseback, clearly alive, and surrounded by a small force of armored soldiers. She introduced herself as Lady Commander Niamh, of the Order of Light, she questioned the three if there were additional survivors, for which there was none to report. Given the circumstances she offered them aid and a place to rest for their actions, they would need to tell their story of course.
Niamh asked how the three had managed to find their way so far out into the forest, she learned that they had all woken up in the forest and had moved to where they saw fighting. That they had no idea where they were and that things here seemed foreign. The Order of Light was a paladin order that worshipped and served the Titan of Light, Eone. Niamh was quite versed in religion and theology but as they spoke, she was concerned when she thought Simon had used the name Zeskyl, when he instead had used the name Zahal. Surprised to think that Simon was a scholar or sage of some kind to know of such ancient religious teachings as the great devil gave her great concern. Until he spoke more about this Zahal as a winged dragon which gave her a different sense of pause. It was strange to hear that the three had never heard of the Titans, that they knew not of the moons Ora or Soma, that Helena had sworn an oath to a goddess named Fëa who was supposedly mother to all gods and life. Given the pressing circumstances, the theological discussion would end as they arrived at the ruins where the Order had setup a forward staging area for their host of soldiers. The staging site was setup across a large snow field before a massive mountain side fortress which was illuminated from behind by the starlit sky under the light of both moons. The Order had need of warriors and though they were foreign, they would be needed in the fight to come. Niamh gave them a place to rest, although more like a place to set up a campfire.
They finally had time to talk about what they witnessed that night, what little they remember about before, and what they could hope to do next. Simon held out the rapier that he had used in the battles prior and showed it to Helena, saying that this was what was made at the forge located on the caldera. That it was called the “Morning’s Edge” and that it was what they had originally set out to forge. Helana had no memory beyond that first hammer strike on the anvil, except that she didn’t recall Simon wielding the hammer at the time, likely a mismatched memory. They closed their eyes briefly and rested and waited for dawn to see if they could better understand where they were in the morning light. As dawn broke, they roused themselves to look out over the field between the camped soldiers and the fortress on the other side. In the dim light of morning and the fog of the snowscape they could see uncountable numbers of undead creatures that shambled and others that stood stock still out on the frozen wasteland between.
The sound of a great horn rang as the soldiers and full fighting force of the Order of Light were marshaled under the Lady Commander, who rode her warhorse out to the front of the force. The three made their way up to the commander and positioned themselves towards the front of the force. Eyes were focused on the fog that concealed the nearly endless army of undead, covered in frost and rime, as the world around them woke to war.
Chapter 3: Gate
Troops formed into neat rows and columns creating a mighty fighting force that bolstered the fighting-men’s resolve. With a full host of undead creatures stirring to their own disorganized hordes in response to the living threat. Helena and her companions looked to Niamh as she commanded her lieutenants into motion and the full complement moved out onto the field. Then the companions found their own spot at the front of the line alongside Niamh. They walked side by side with Niamh atop her warhorse as she relayed to them that their enemy was a lord of death, and that failure was not an option.
The sound of a horn rang out as Niamh signaled the charge – soldiers rushed to engage the enemy as ice exploded from frozen traps on the battlefield, siege equipment sent boulders into the throngs of undead. The clerics and magic-users of the Order of Light chanted and emboldened the troops with spell and divine protection. The battle that started with a clash of arms devolved into a slog of the living fighting the tireless undead.
Helena and her companions charged head long into the mass of enemies and began to carve their way through the shambling, grasping, and clawing undead. Magic flew from Myth’ia over Simon’s shoulder, his freshly forged blade pierced through every enemy he faced. Helena stood as a bulwark, smashing her shield and armored body into the horde of enemies. They worked, methodically, to dispatch the countess number of enemies before them as time pressed on and the light of day rose behind the storm and clouds, which granted only a small increase in light – but time was dragging and the gate no closer. With a wide swing of her mace Helena cleaved back a wave of enemies, only to draw her attention to the clouds above.
Sound reverberated through the battlefield dampening the battle din. A deafening unnatural roar shrieked as the clouds parted around the source. A massive undead dragon with black scales and exposed rotten flesh broke through the clouds. With each flex of its wings ice was cast out onto the battlefield. With another unsettling shriek the beast lunged downward towards the ramparts of the castle. Castle walls buckled and crushed under the weight of the undead behemoth as it landed and then pushed off the castle wall, tattered wings flexing before it took off with its unnatural flight.
“Your assault is futile.” Magic empowered the voice as it boomed across the entire battlefield in a wave of sound that left a silence in its wake.
Stammers turned to shouts throughout the living on the battlefield as the name “Byleth” bubbled to the top of the din as soldiers called out the name of the castle’s master who rode atop the undead dragon. Black armor made the rider difficult to perceive, he was as a shadow on the back of a monster.
“This desolate land will be your grave... Shiver-Eye shall rend you asunder, then you will serve me as a thrall.” His voice carried like a thunderous boom through a raging storm.
The best way for Helena to take on a flying foe would be to summon her flying mount, Menowyn, but with her faith in Fëa in doubt the prayer seemed to go unanswered. She looked to her companions and breathed in deeply to recenter herself. Myth’ia blasted back a shambling corpse as Simon dodged out of the way of a skeleton claw, all eyes turned fully on the dragon and the rider atop it, all but Helena’s. She focused inward again with thought of the large warhorse and the bond that they formed over the years. She then ushered her prayer again and left the words on the wind as she turned her eyes to the dragon that now exhaled death unto the forces of the living.
A loud crunch of hooves smashing bone turned Helena’s attention over her shoulder as her summoned warhorse crashed down onto nearby enemies. He then reared with a mighty kick and cleared a circle. She made her way over, no real time to greet her longtime friend, but climbing into the saddle was greeting enough for the winged warhorse. With a hand extended out to Simon to pull him onto the back of Menowyn along with Myth’ia riding on Helena’s saddle, they were ready to make their way to the skies. With a mighty kick and flex of his wings Menowyn carried Helena upward towards the terrifying dragon in the sky.
Soldiers along the ground reformed their ranks and positioned themselves with a wall of shields and spears between themselves and the horde of undead, they were overwhelmed and being pushed back from the front line as the dragon soared overhead. Myth’ia saw a chance to let her magic aid the warriors as she began to reign down destruction in the form of an arcane barrage. Like a tiny siege engine hurling blast after blast of arcane fire down into the undead assault and pushing back countless enemies. The small fairy flit around Helena as they gained altitude and banked to turn towards the dragon and its rider.
Head-to-head with the dragon as Helena and her allies prepared to engage the threat, with mighty flaps of the undead dragon’s wings it leveled its eyes at them. The creature’s mouth opened to blast forth another exhalation of annihilating breath, as Menowyn banked hard and then flew up to avoid the blast. Simon drew a dagger from his belt and then threw it hard and fast at the dragon. Using a spell, he teleported himself over to the dagger that was stuck into the dragon’s hide, and grabbed it firm with his hand, using his other hand to stab in with his second dagger and give himself a moment to latch on and mount the beast. The wind whipped past him giving him a slight reprieve from the foul stench of the frost-burned dragon’s hide as it flexed and then rolled through the storm clouds.
Menowyn banked back and allowed Helena to slide in the saddle to her right side. To take mace in hand and begin to strike at the dragon as they passed over the dragon’s right wing. He kicked as he glided past and turned to stay above the dragon as the dragon’s own massive wings opened wide to engage the combatants in the sky. Shiver-eye’s head turned, bit, and his claws swung and lashed out at the flying warhorse and goliath paladin that now threatened them. Sir Byleth astride of Shiver-eye never turned his head or even acknowledged those around him as he held the reigns of the mighty undead dragon. Helena let go of the reigns entirely and held Menowyn only with her stance, trusting him implicitly. She leveled her shield and mace at the death knight on the dragons back, the first swing she made at him was blocked as the dragon threw his wing up to deflect the mace and force the flying warhorse to evade. They reset their position, and the warhorse lunged back at the dragon.
Positioned down by the tail of the beast, Simon pulled one dagger at a time and climbed his way up the back as the dragon leveled out to use its tattered wings to keep it aloft as it fought off the flying horse and rider. Simon stood with treacherous footing and earned every step closer to the rider as he tried to draw the Morning’s Edge and thrust at the rider. The dragon’s rotten muscles flexed and made the strikes impossible to land, so he turned his attention to stabbing the monster instead. Each thrust was made easily, but hurting the monster would be the ultimate challenge as every thrust found nothing but rotted and wasted flesh and scale.
The dragon rolled hard and broke from the entanglement, forced Simon to grab hold, and created space from the flying warhorse and rider. Gliding down and throwing ice shards at the battlefield as the shards smashed into the lines and destroyed friend and foe alike with no concern. The dragon banked and turned with unnatural serpentine patterns, Menowyn fought to fly alongside the monster and to keep his rider in range to strike. Helena watched as the cold air whipped past her and the snow tried to blind her sight as she pushed through the maelstrom. The gap between the dragon’s wings gave her the break in the weather to aim at the rider again, but another bank of the dragon’s body sent the mace wide. The dragon’s breath exhaled once more, those hit by the attack were flash frozen, wounded severely, and some even drove to mania. On the ground, the Order of Light’s magic-users tried in vain to throw up barriers to protect their warriors.
Myth’ia’s continual bombardment was one saving grace, she continued to create pockets and crush large numbers of the horde which gave the living who fought chances to breathe between waves. Myth’ia separated from Helena briefly to gain a better angle for attack and as the dragon turned, it bit to crush the fairy in its teeth. Teeth gnashed together and Myth’ia was nowhere to be seen, until Helena looked to her side and saw Myth’ia had teleported herself over to Helena’s shoulder. The dragon roared since it did not taste fairy on its unnatural tongue, it then banked away and turned back to make a direct line towards the flying horse and rider. Helena clenched her fist around the mace and shield as Menowyn flew upward and Helena leaned hard in the saddle forcing the warhorse to lean to his side, as the mace aimed for the rider. The black knight grabbed the reigns and turned the dragon sideways as the mace missed the rider but found the shoulder of the dragon and cracked hard with radiant light, forcing the dragon to fall slightly in the sky before stretching the wing out to glide.
Simon pulled himself up and dashed forward towards the rider as the dragon was level to recover, he thrust his sword expertly at the knight in his saddle, he threw his full strength into the thrust and would have flown clean off had he not found his target. Sir Byleth rolled his shoulder to catch the blade with his pauldron and allow the point of the blade to pass by the knight’s helmet and allow Simon within range for him to grab him with vice-like grip in his gauntlet, only to lift him off his feet, off the dragon. As his feet clambered for purchase, he tried to find an opportunity to strike the knight again. The dragon’s wing lurched, cracked, and caused the dragon to drop once more. Simon felt the grip release as he stabbed with the Morning’s Edge at the knight who was rapidly moving away from him, he realized as his feet didn’t touch anything that he was flying to the side and had begun to fall, grasping at the air helplessly.
The dragon’s claws came up for an attack at Menowyn as it rolled belly up. Helena pushed Menowyn to the side with her legs as she leaned in fully with her shield to block the claws, her arm buckled and she flexed hard back against it leaning her full weight into it, blocking claw after a claw as her shield was dinged and dented by each strike. A strike that would rip a human’s arm clean off, forced her to wince hard and clench her teeth as she peaked her eyes over the shield only to see the massive jaws of the dragon about to clench on them. The teeth glinting in black onyx and the throat glowing with necrotic energy about it, as she stared into the void that was the monster’s maw, she gritted her teeth in anticipation. Light blinded the scene before her and faded as a sudden rush of wind pulling away gave the sight of the dragon recoiling and pulling away as Helena’s eyes refocused and she could see that Myth’ia had used a spell to protect.
In the haze of the flash Helena felt Menowyn pull in a direction away from the dragon, she blinked and from the edge of her vision she caught the flailing form of Simon falling and grabbing for anything to stop his fall. Menowyn tucked his wings and set himself into a dive as Helena reached out with her hand to grab for the fighter, grabbing him by the arm as he clasped his hands around her forearm and latched on in desperation. With wings unfurled the warhorse slowed their descent as they landed on the ground and Simon climbed back up onto Menowyn, putting the three companions together again. Eyes set to the castle wall as the dragon soared high and then landed, turned back to the battlefield and looked down upon it as the rider surveyed the scene below.
The Order of Light had managed to push through the hordes of undead and drove their formation as a wedge to the gate of the castle. Their commander, Lady Niamh, trampled through the front line of the undead on her warhorse as she rallied her men at the gate itself. Shouts of triumph were muffled immediately by a terrifying roar from the dragon on the wall, shields were raised in panic and warriors ducked in preparation for another exhalation that never came. The terror alone was enough to quiet the battlefield and draw all attention to the monster on the wall. The head turned and went behind the wall as the creature slinked over the wall and disappeared. Muffled silence permeated the battlefield as everyone looked around for their enemy or the cause of the unsettling feeling.
The army of undead outside the gate had been routed and the soldiers secured it as they prepared to breach. Helena flew Menowyn over to the gate and strode aside of the commander as they studied the barred gate before them. As Niamh prepared herself to ask Helena and her companions to be the vanguard of their breach and assault, she was relieved to see their conviction and determination. None knew what was on the other side of that wall beyond the dragon and its rider, they simply knew they had to break this castle and destroy that evil.
Chapter 4: Bridge
The Order rallied and slammed a battering ram against the old rotten timbers of the gate, it splintered and buckled at the hammering. With each strike the gate broke down further. Teams of soldiers continued to disassemble the door while Helena and company pushed past and charged forward through the breach. In preparation for a counterattack, they held the ground just inside the door as they surveyed the scene within. A massive bridge spanned what appeared to be an impossibly deep chasm. On the edges of the chasm, ramparts, and the far side of the bridge stood more of the endless hordes of the undead. They stood stoically still on all sides, which only served to unsettle the soldiers of the Order as they continued to pour through the gate and form ranks. Below, the chasm formed a dark abyss surrounded on all sides by the mountain’s cliffs and ledges. The castle before them, on the other side of the bridge, was held aloft over this chasm through unknown forces. The only path forward was the stonework bridge that connected the castle to the ground beneath their feet.
The Order’s knights and warriors now stood ready to follow Helena and her companions through, Lady Niamh moved herself to the front after she witnessed Helena charge through the door and caught her just inside the gate. She held her forces and looked to Helena and her companions whose focus was steadfast and directly forward. The commander made the unusual decision to keep her troops in reserve. She brought her warhorse alongside Helena astride Menowyn with Simon and Myth’ia in tow, she said nothing but gave a hopeful nod as Menowyn began to step forward on his own drive.
The warhorse carried the companions forward onto the stone bridge, his hooves the only sound that resonated out. It echoed briefly off the low walls of the bridge only to become muffled by the expanse of the area round them. Siege ballistae poised to strike, formations of skeletal soldiers carried shields and spear, and even some of the massive giants were in the formations as well. A full host of the enemy stood between them and the next gate to the keep. Each hoof-fall continued to pierce the painful silence, the wind even seemed still as they pushed onward into the trap with every intention to spring it and bring the full force down on them. With slow focused breath coming out as steam, eyes trained to the horizon and watching for the moment that would come. The companions began to tighten their focus. More hoof beats, slow and methodical as Menowyn moved to the center of the bridge. Legions of the undead did not move, only watched through lidless sockets as all in attendance suddenly turned their attention to the sky.
Dark storm clouds parted as a massive shape barreled down towards them, it was out of instinct that Helena pulled the reigns hard and squeezed her legs around Menowyn to urge him to move away. Simon leapt from the warhorse and rolled along the stonework of the bridge as the undead dragon slammed into the bridge shaking it and lashing out. Shiver-eye’s tail lashed at Simon as the swordsman jumped upwards and barely cleared the attack. The dragon’s claw swung to strike Menowyn, Helena pulled him away in time, spurring him to the sky. With Helena and Myth’ia now airborne astride Menowyn the undead dragon set its glowing blue eyes on Simon who was running along the bridge in search of a way to mount the beast. Claw, fang, and tail all lashed out as Simon leapt up on to the wall of the bridge and nimbly forced the dragon to give chase. Myth’ia shot out arcane magical bolts from her position on Helena’s shoulder as the paladin and flying warhorse turned to dive on the dragon chasing their companion. As the arcane bolt struck the beast, Simon pivoted quickly and then firmly set his heel into the stone beneath him and as the dragon turned its head to see where the bolt came from, he lunged, aiming at the exposed eye and thrust with all his might.
The strike missed the intended target, the Morning’s Edge pierced deep into the monster before Simon was forced to draw it back, quickly looking to try again with another quick stab which pierced deep but still missed the vulnerable eye. He was forced to duck and then roll down back onto the bridge, off the wall, as the dragon bit down hard on the wall where he was. It shattered and the dragon recoiled back. The dragon was now solely focused on the swordsman as it reared back coiling to strike, with immeasurable power it dove forward and opened its mouth to snap at the swordsman. Menowyn dove with Helena leaning hard in the saddle with mace glowing in hand as they raced the monster. The mace swung and struck the monsters head as the warhorse kicked and slammed its shoulder into the side of the monster knocking it off course.
Simon, surprised by the opportunity, doubled back and tried to quickly climb the dragon’s shoulder going after the dragon’s rider. Helena slammed the mace down onto the head of the dragon once more before Menowyn kicked and lifted her away with great effort. She looked at Simon who now stood precariously on the beast’s shoulder and her eyes turned to see what he saw, there was no rider, the saddle was barren. Eyes turned to the horizon as Menowyn circled, Helena saw the legion still watched without moving and all eyes were fixated on them, even those of the Order who stood at the gate watching in rapt fascination. The dragon lashed out at Helena and Menowyn as it rose on its hind legs to bite down on the warhorse. Myth’ia flitted down and put her hands on the warhorse near the saddle and as the dragon bit down hard, she pushed warm healing magic into the winged warhorse. Menowyn neighed in pain and kicked hard as his wings flapped to regain balance from the shock of pain mixing with the numbing of the healing wave disorienting him. Helena, through practice and bonding, drew Menowyn back to the battle as the warhorse kicked the dragons head and flew back.
The swordsman, disappointed the rider was not there, stood on the dragon’s shoulder as it reared. To stay near he was forced to jump into the air, stab his dagger into the beast’s shoulder, and hold on to it tightly. The creature flexed tattered wings and began to take flight as Simon held fast to the dagger hilt embedded in Shiver-eye. With his other hand he stabbed with the Morning’s Edge and needled at the dragon. He aimed for the gaps in scale and bone to strike at the exposed necrotic flesh within, every strike another attempt to wound the creature. Helena turned Menowyn back and began to dart in and struck the dragon where she found the opportunity. The dragon twisted in the air as it slashed with its claws, Helena leaned hard in the saddle and angled the flying warhorse so she could absorb the strike into her shield, shoulder, and armor. She protected Menowyn as best she could as the warhorse then flapped hard to change angle and dart away from the larger beast. The dragon continued to claw, bite, and thrash at the winged warhorse and rider, as it flew away only to dart back. Helena breathed heavily as she gained a height advantage astride Menowyn, only to prepare another dive, the goliath paladin and winged warhorse were not small but compared to the dragon they were the sparrow striking the hawk.
The battle in the sky continued as the dragon turned and the paladin smashed her mace against the talons that clawed out at her, used her shield to bash attacks away as the talons dented and dinged her shield and armor. Myth’ia, one hand on the warhorse and the paladin, continued to invigorate them with her magic, sealing wounds almost as they formed. The battle was not clean, the warhorse kicked and neighed as it struck and was struck. Helena worked to intercede with each strike she could and continue to hammer the monster with her weapon. This dance left Helena fatigued as she put herself in the most awkward of positions and continued to put her shield and armored body in the way to protect Menowyn, Myth’ia, and herself. Every strike shook through limb, muscle, and bone as the sheer strength was impressive. With the warhorse tangled up with the dragon, the swordsman stabbing incessantly into its body and the paladin’s mace smashing about, the dragon drew its heavy tattered wings tight to its body and then rolled away, descending rapidly. Menowyn stabilized, Helena and Myth’ia’s eyes turned to Simon who clung to the blade as the beast fell away. The wings opened and the dragon rose high above them in the sky. They continued to watch for Simon, as they saw the dragon’s mouth begin to glow as it turned towards them again.
Terrible light formed in the maw of the beast as it breathed in and exhaled a torrent of necrotic and frozen breath. The miasma roiled forth as Helena winced and raised her shield high. She turned Menowyn’s head away to shield him as best she could and to keep Myth’ia safe as well. As the little fairy held on to the saddle horn for balance, she began to recite a spell. The energy slammed into them, excruciatingly painful, as it arced through them like a lightning rod. Helena clenched her fists, her legs, and her teeth, as she tried to think of a way to direct it away but could not. She fought to hold it with all her might. Menowyn let out a neigh in pain which grew weaker as the warhorse thrashed in the sky, Helena grew concerned they would fall to their deaths in that chasm, but she held on. Seconds felt like centuries as the miasma washed over them shrouding them in pain and darkness, until a flash of light forced Helena to close her eyes, when she opened them again, Myth’ia’s spell had been cast. They were now in a bubble of iridescent light with calming waves of magic that protected them from the remnants of the dragon’s breath attack. The blizzard that now raged around them looked like a rainbow outside. Helena leaned forward to throw arms around Menowyn’s neck, hugged him tightly as the shield and mace clanged in her clenched fists in front of the horse’s chest. Helena’s arms glowed as she hugged and focused hard on the struggling warhorse as energy poured from her, reinvigorating the warhorse.
They were wounded but they weathered the onslaught.
A deep breath from Helena, as she aimed to refocus, was interrupted as Menowyn drove forward on instinct to restart the fight. Helena caught her balance, lifted her shield and mace, and readied herself. The paladin and her warhorse focused on the dragon, while Myth’ia realized she could not see Simon.
As Helena charged at Shiver-eye, she slammed her mace into its body relentlessly and despite the radiant energies of the magical mace cleaving off chunks of its flesh; she didn’t appear to be slowing it down at all. As she breathed in deeply, knowing that the rebuke was to come. Once again, tooth and claw struck out at both mount and rider. Helena shifted to put her shield between its claws and herself and then her mount. Her shield was holding, but she began to doubt how much more abuse it could take. The bite caught Helena’s mace arm and shook hard. The strength almost pulled her from the saddle. She maintained her grip somehow. The dragon used that opportunity to kick up and cut into Menowyn, an attempt to end the flying mount and force them to land. With a loud neigh, the flying warhorse endured.
Joints cracked as Helena forced her hand to flex around the mace, locking her grip. She shifted to clear her vision of the battered shield, setting her eyes on the dragon and just beyond it was when she saw it. A hand on the edge of the bridge, followed shortly by Simon pulling himself up from the edge of the endless chasm beneath.
Helena leaned forward in the saddle as Menowyn flew under the dragon’s wing and Helena smashed at the same spot she’d been focusing; the first strike hit scales and tore yet more undead flesh. All these attacks still did not slow the beast. She turned her eye to the joint on the shoulder and prayed; she cut herself off, expedited her strike to hit the shoulder and let the prayer fall away.
A small shutter was their only reward as the dragon turned to renew its assault on them. It rolled backwards and let its wings curl in as it fell the distance down to the bridge with a massive thud. The dragon set its sights on Simon again and prepared to lunge at its prey. The sinewy muscles in its legs flexed and coiled like a spring, something caught Simon’s eye right at the portion of the dragon’s side that Helena had been hammering on. A quick flick with an envenomed dagger flew and struck the dragon in the face, surprising it and causing it to become disoriented. It was no longer focused on Simon as he dashed along the wall, leapt, and lunged with the Morning’s Edge. A clean thrust at the chest segment that Helena had torn away, he aimed to pierce the monster. The man was now elbow deep with his blade thrust through to the unnatural engine within - the dragon’s heart. The surprise of the attack and critical strike to its magical heart was overwhelming. Simon pulled hard to draw the blade out as the undead dragon began its death rattle, an almost barking sound came out of its mouth as its jaws clamped and bit as the light faded from its eyes. The monster’s muscles spasmed and drove it forward, which sent Simon sprawling backwards and away.
It stumbled and slammed headfirst into the wall of the bridge, broke through, and fell into the near infinite chasm below.
Chapter 5: Sacrifice
Shiver-eye was no more. Helena landed Menowyn near Simon, who stood and dusted himself off. The companions were together again in the aftermath of a victory. The legion of undead enemies that watched them had not changed at all. Their work was not finished here, and their real target resided in the castle beyond. Helena brought Simon back onto Menowyn as they began to fly up to see if they could fly over the castle’s walls. Once airborne, they looked back to see that Lady Niamh was marching her troops across the bridge towards the next gate. The nearer they drew to the castles upper most wall the more the darkness of the night sky beyond gave way to the magical barrier that protected the castle from the sky. An idea was proposed that the barrier would not stop a person but that it was meant to hold out magic or siege attacks so it stood to reason that they should test if someone could pass through. The high of victory may have impacted this decision as Simon prepared himself to leap from Menowyn and attempt to land on the other side of the barrier. They rode within a short distance of the barrier and Simon leaned off the warhorse. He tumbled down and intended to pass the barrier to land on a rampart below.
Menowyn leaned back and away as he flapped his wings to let Helena and Myth’ia watch Simon. The man turned to prepare himself for a rolling landing when he smashed into the barrier and was now tumbling down the side of the magical dome. Arms and legs sprawled out as he clasped for purchase on the smooth magical dome. He drew daggers and attempted to use them like ice picks. They bounced off the barrier and fell from his grip as he gained speed in his erratic fall. Each bounce threatened to disorient him and knock the wind out of his lungs. The edge of the castle slid beneath his view only a few feet away. The fall sent him out past the keep and now down towards the abyss below. The confidence they felt from the victory over Shiver-eye that fueled this idea drained away and was replaced by panic.
Helena kicked hard and turned Menowyn’s attention to the falling swordsman, the winged warhorse tucked his wings and descended into a dive. Simon had continued to pick up speed as he bounced, which in turn meant Menowyn had to commit fully to the dive. Myth’ia held onto his mane as she was buffeted by the wind and speed as they raced down to catch the falling swordsman. Simon attempted to redirect his fall towards the bridge as he held his arms out but knew it was nearly impossible, he turned himself over to look up at the sky instead of his impending doom only to see Helena, arm outstretched on the diving warhorse. Simon reached out and the two clasped arms and held on tightly. Menowyn immediately opened his wings to glide only to hear a horrendous crack as the weight of both Helena and Simon at this speed was more than his body could handle, he neighed in agony and then flexed hard on his broken wings to hold them in place. The winged horse underestimated the weight and his body and now had only one purpose.
The flight was unstable, Helena could do nothing to help Menowyn while she clung to him. She could only hold on tight to Simon to keep him from falling into the abyss. The horse tumbled and his wings flexed erratically, Myth’ia was thrown clear as she recovered and tried to fly along after them. Their trajectory turned back towards the bridge and Helena could sense what he was intending to do, through the pain of broken wings he fought to get them closer to the bridge. When they were narrowly above it, Helena swung Simon down towards her leg before she flexed hard and flung the man out towards the bridge where he could crash and survive. Helena saw the ground approaching rapidly. Her intent to protect her friend drove her to try to, somehow, throw herself between the horse and the ground. She tried to lean in front of Menowyn, he threw his wings open and flexed as hard as he possibly could downward to slow them, which threw Helena’s face into his mane and neck. The rapid brake forced her eyes to shut as his hooves and body hit the hard stone. Helena’s entire body was clenched tight, and her heart seemed to stop. She dreaded the sound she expected to hear, the one of bones breaking, body smashing, and the death wail of her friend who she clung tightly to. That sound she feared hearing never came. The sudden knock sent the air from her lungs as Menowyn’s body absorbed the brunt of the crash only to throw her body clear as she rolled out on to the stone bridge. Her body struggled to breathe as she rolled back onto her knees and up to see that Menowyn’s form disappeared, and she knew her friend had been forced to return home in the most painful of manners. Menowyn, like his master, was stubborn and selfless. Despite the fact he was summoned and could be summoned again, the sheer pain was not something a creature like him would soon forget. Helena slammed her fist into the stone and stood, this place just reminded them they could not play around.
Helena spoke a soft prayer, voiced her gratitude to Menowyn, and then set her sights back on the castle gate.
Chapter 6: Whispers
When they reached the other gate, Lady Niamh’s soldiers circled the gate itself, watching intently and forming barricades in case the standing legion moved or reacted at all. The undead thralls which made up the force still contained large siege engines made of bone creatures, hulking giants as tall as a house, and numbers beyond counting. The fact this army hadn’t moved was a growing concern for the Order of Light and their warriors. Simon had investigated the gate to the castle and realized it had no lock, such that when Helena and her companions went to open it, it did so entirely on its own. The barrier that Simon had bounced from permeated down through the doorway. Helena reached up and put her hand on the barrier only to find she could pass through it. She gestured to Simon and Myth’ia to enter with her. Lady Niamh tried to pass through but could not, she warned Helena that they would be alone but at that point it went unheard as they were already gone. Outnumbered easily a hundred to one, the Order formed their ranks and prepared if the army mobilized against them. They waited with bated breath for Helena’s success.
Once they crossed the threshold, the companions decided to split up to cover more ground. Simon and Myth’ia would travel together, and Helena would go on her own. Helena went left to take the northern side of the keep, while Simon and Myth’ia hooked right to go south. The sounds of undead movement on the ramparts above let them know they weren’t alone, in spite of the lack of forces on the ground level. This was an open invitation it would appear, another trap to be sprung.
Simon and Myth’ia snuck through the snow-covered castle floors as they moved through the alleyways, keeping an eye out for any sentries or threats at all. As they traveled, they felt the air grow colder until it bit at their skin. Myth’ia, while wearing a winter coat, opted to fly into Simon’s jacket for warmth. She watched as Simon moved quietly with practiced expertise through the tight alleyways and gaps between the buildings of the keep. When they reached a door that seemed to lead into a building and further inward and towards the central courtyard, Simon then opened the door and crept in. Inside the room was empty and continued the barren appearance of the keep. On the other side of the room was a door that might lead towards the courtyard and center of the castle. Myth’ia felt the cold permeate Simon’s coat as she shivered and closed her eyes. When she did, she could feel the darkness surrounding her and making her feel strangely isolated.
“I see you...” A dark voice spoke coldly to the small fairy, and only to the small fairy. “Your strengths and gifts are wasted on your companions. You offer so much more than they will ever know or appreciate. You were given as payment of a debt you never owed, your life for the life of another. A barbarous lizardman threw his life away in your homeland and then your master, your fairy leader, offers you up as payment for that life? You are made a slave.” The voice did not speak with malice, only as if reciting facts. Myth’ia rebuked the claims, what was said in response was only for her to know. The voice returned “Your only contribution was to gorge yourself on sweets and to follow commands... a fairy that follows orders is not a fairy but a slave, such is why I call you payment. You could free yourself and be more.” Myth’ia ignored the voice as she opened her eyes and the darkness faded, whether or not this rattled her, was unclear. Myth’ia saw Simon was now working on the door that was on the other side of the room when she closed her eyes.
Simon had slid his lockpick into the locking mechanism and was working the bumper over the cylinders inside, jostling the pick, he was focused as he closed his eyes to listen, his world went black. The dark whisper slid to his ear. “Once again, Redsun, you are sidetracked from where you are meant to be. Quest after quest, journey after journey, none of them your choice. You’re sneaking through my castle, like a rat in the shadows.” Simon listened, giving the voice time to speak. “How does it feel to hold Baelan Shiversteel’s great work?” A soft pause to let that carry. “You hold a blade you were meant to forge, instead it was crafted by another’s hand. Gareth Redsun left you the task, your family looked to you to complete it, and here you are holding another man’s masterwork with only your permission as a maker’s mark... You slink through the shadows, but you will never be free of that shadow.”
Simon responded to the voice and flicked the door open as the lockpick had undone the latch and the door swung open. Whether or not the words carried weight for him remained unseen, yet they remained spoken.
Helena searched through each room and moved fervently through the keep, hunting. The temperature dropped below freezing, which did not bother her in the slightest. She had seen herself as a bulwark defending Menowyn and Myth’ia as they fought the dragon and the undead army but now, she was on the hunt. A fire burned inside her belly, driving her forward to find this Sir Byleth. Her muscles ached with exhaustion, silenced by purpose and resolve. It was as she turned through a winding alleyway towards the courtyard through a large gate that the voice spoke to her.
“Your heart burns for vengeance... I will take pleasure in snuffing that out.” Helena focused inward as the voice seemed to resonate from every dark corner and shadow in the castle as it spoke to her. “You stand here because you failed... You failed to protect your family. You failed as a wife and your greatest sin was to fail a mother’s sole responsibility.” The low rumble of the voice returned with a new echo, a shrill feminine voice with an edge of insanity. The two spoke in unison: “You failed to uphold your faith to the one you swore to, your goddess, your Fëa.” The voice of Byleth began to fade out for the feminine one to rise into a crescendo as she spoke loud and proudly: “the one who looked at the world you came from as it were a series of game tiles ready to cascade for her own amusements!” A fit of shrill unsettling giggles echoed around Helena through the castle pathways and created a cacophony in her mind. “She set creation into motion and let those pieces fall as they may. Watched as a spectator as the world fell into ruin as her first children, the divine gods she created ascended, fell, lost their minds, and threw tantrums like the children they truly were... All the while, mortals suffered. A neglectful mother to all... this one quite likes her...” The momentary pause as the voice seemed to think. “How fitting a path for you... you let your family suffer, much like she left all her children to suffer.”
Byleth’s voice, low and resonating, returned: “I do not see why your faith in her is weak. She lacks love, cares not for her children, and has damned a world for her own selfishness – all tenets you share.”
Helena broke their discordant voices as she defied their statements, what she said was between her and them. Byleth responded flatly.
“True Death Knights are born of a failed paladin; you have failed at your oath to this Fëa. You are more worthy of the title than I.”
Chapter 7: Courtyard
Helena stood now in the center courtyard of the keep when Simon and Myth’ia entered through a side door, Helena turned quickly to assess the threat and recognized them. They gathered in the center and looked around. A central doorway into the throne room of the keep was all that was left unexplored. They were cautious, they did not want to repeat the recklessness of the barrier again, so they regrouped in the center to plan their next move. With nothing else nearby, they would want to breach the keep, but they knew their host was prepared for them.
A loud crash of metal on stone drew their attention to a large blade, etched with glowing runes, embedded in the stonework. They each moved to jump back as a thunderous explosion erupted from the blade itself and sent a dark miasma of electrical energies out at them. With the force of the wind buffeting them, the miasma filled every crack and space as it made the air unbreathable, and then the lightning hit and with each arc sent pain through each of them. Feet scrambling to keep balance the companions all survived the explosion as the swirling wind blew the miasma around them, clouding their vision. As the wind howled, their vision cleared and standing next to the blade was a figure clad in onyx black armor, coated in the rime of frost. He wrapped a heavy gauntleted hand around the hilt of the massive great sword and drew it from the ground with one arm. The harsh sound of the blade scraping the stonework as it was freed into the death knights’ hand was sharp and drew everyone’s eyes.
Each rune flared to life, one by one, as if breathing in the very destruction it wrought and pulled in the miasma, the lightning, and even the life force from the companions standing at the edge of the courtyard.
The blade pulled at the magic and energy in the air and the temperature dropped far below freezing as even Helena could feel the bite of winter. Her allies would not be able to stay here without a heat source, they needed to end this. She drew a deep breath as she watched her companions regain their footing and their breath after that miasma. The cold air made it hard to breathe, but they would push through. The determination had begun to return, each setting their eyes on the man before them, each thinking of how they would overcome this challenge. For once in a long time this group was now honed on a single call to action; kill a death knight.
With the companions rallying together, Sir Byleth had his chance to speak to them, to monologue if he so desired. He did not.
Sir Byleth leveled his helmet and his glowing red eyes directly at Helena. She began to sweat, underneath the plate and layers, she was chilled through as her eyes locked with the monster in front of her. Helena dropped the mace from her right hand, the one that had held that handle in an unbreakable vice grip this entire battle. It clanged to the stone floor beneath her and rolled away. She tore her eyes down and with her now free hand reached into a leather satchel she carried. With a hand clumsy from exhaustion, she drew out a precious keepsake, a doll that belonged to her family. She wrapped her hand around it and focused intently on it, digging for the strength of conviction to deliver justice. Time seemed to slow around her as her mind became the battlefield.
Her eyes closed as words of prayer spoken repeatedly, countless times before, rolled off her tongue as soft-spoken whisper but the act of prayer escaped her. She thought of her prayers to Fëa, the ones she always thought were like one mother talking to another, ones she had cherished. They seemed so shallow now, much like a reflection after a betrayal, a sense of not being heard. When Helena had taken her oath to the mother of all gods in Fëalta, she expected Fëa to be part of that oath being fulfilled. Doubt swirled in Helena’s mind; doubt sewn by reflection. Defeating a death knight was never in Fëa’s grand plan for Helena and likely not even for her own children. Her only guidance came in half-truths, her assistance favored her past companions, companions who became beloved by Fëa while Helena was always tasked to wait, stay with those companions and bide her time as evil ravaged the world.
She grew frustrated with this mental spiral as she opened her eyes to look down at the doll she held firmly in her hand. Her heartbeat could be felt through the leather of her gauntlet, pulsing against the doll held tightly in her hand. A deep inhalation, holding her breath, forcing the heartbeat to thrum through her as the rhythm slowed her mind as it tore at the falsehoods and thoughts that continued to claw at her ability to focus.
She opened her eyes to see Sir Byleth lash out with his fist to interrupt what he perceived was a paladin’s war prayer. His gauntleted fist never made contact, as Simon sprang forward and stabbed the man in a gap between his armor. Simon drove his blade through and tore it out as he spun low and dodged away. Simon narrowly avoided the massive great sword that lashed out at him with blinding speed. The death knights swing was a wide arc, then raised high and slammed down vertically into the stonework. Simon narrowly avoided the second strike again, drawing the death knights focus. Sir Byleth shifted his stance as he took the rune blade in a low hand position and seemed to be waiting for the swordsman to strike first.
Helena, her mind still clouded, turned her gaze at the enemy fighting her friends. She looked down at the doll and then forced her left hand open, the gauntlet had locked up and her hand ached with fatigue and protest. The doll was placed in her shield hand as she clasped it and the leather hand strap and she flexed her hand hard and bent the gauntlet back, locking her grip and fixating on that item, using it as a conduit for focus. Warmth radiated from it, at first it was the aching muscles but then it was the plate around it and soon like a torch flame it exuded some warmth. Helena snapped her eyes up and stepped forward hard and everything felt heavy. She opened her now empty right hand and reached for her belt to grab her mace, which was not there, and she had already taken too many steps to turn around for it. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, in sync with her left hand, she raised her shield arm high and tried to tackle the death knight.
Sir Byleth turned his body in one fluid motion turning his low stance into a high stance and making a massive overhead slash towards the charging goliath woman. Her shield was raised just enough to catch the strike, but it slammed through her body with enough force to cause her boots to crush into the loose stonework of the courtyard, the resonating strike rattled teeth and bone. Helena grunted as she held her shield up against the force of the pressure of the blade trying to carve downward, she looked up at the weight she lifted with her battered and broken shield. She looked at the doll peeking through her gauntlet, the hand stitching and all the minor imperfections sparked memories of when she made it for her daughter.
That sight alone cleared Helena’s mind; her focus returned. She was at the top of the mountain, she had wanted this fight, and now that she was here. Gods with her, she would finish the battle.
Helena breathed quickly and then side stepped to let the blade slide from her shield towards the ground. She grabbed the shield with both hands and spun to generate momentum. The metal shield swung hard at the death knight; she used every ounce of her strength in this attack. Sir Byleth knelt low with his blade still low to the stonework as the shield flew over his head, he uppercut Helena hard to the stomach, enough to stun her. Before Simon or Myth’ia could move to react - Sir Byleth stepped back and slid the rune blade along the stonework, sparking in a circle, as he swung it around and over his head to cleave the goliath woman down the middle. With arms limp at her sides, body standing out of sheer willpower but with nothing else to draw on, she closed her eyes – accepting fate that she may be destined to lose.
What she did not expect to hear was the terrible sound of magical metal on magical metal, as Helena opened her eyes to see the rune blade was stopped midway through its arc by a familiar suit of armor with arms held high and crossed to create a catch for the blade. Artemis Gearforge held the rune blade at bay before they turned their helmet to look at Helena, they saw her face, nodded silently and stepped back to let the blade fall and in one swift motion Artemis pushed Helena a step back as they quickly cast a lesser healing spell on her with intention to grant her but one moment to reset herself.
Simon dashed in with another stab but was sent back reeling as the pommel of the great sword smashed into his side. Myth’ia flew under the death knights’ blade and stayed near Simon to continue to use her healing magic to keep him going. The swordsman ducked and thrust but whenever Sir Byleth managed to catch him, he was sent sprawling.
Sir Byleth smashed his fist into Artemis’ armor only to find an arcane shield that stopped the strike. Snow and wind exploded outward from the point of contact, Artemis and their magical suit of armor now became Sir Byleth’s sole focus.
Helena was beyond exhaustion as time dragged for her. She watched the others fighting before her. The world threatened to pull her to the ground with relentless force, locking her in place. Her armor was shattered, her pauldrons dangled from torn straps, her shield was less than scrap at this point. Muscles locked up with overexertion and she felt every bruise and every broken part of herself. Her faith and prayers to Fëa that went unanswered, the mother goddess who appeared to her as a young girl dressed in white, that was the last time she was near death and ready to die. Her mind was heavy on the thought of her family, the plague that took their lives while the powerful Fëa did nothing. All the death knights that Fëa saw fit to let roam the world that she created and the one that slaughtered Helena’s people in that snow covered town, what mother would leave their children to the wolves like that... A thought echoed louder, what was Helena supposed to wait for, what came after all that?
If Fëa wasn’t the answer, then maybe the Order of Light had the answer. Focus turned inward and Helena thought of their warriors, their commander Niamh, and the very few things she learned about Eone, goddess of light and life. Helena thought of all of them and her thoughts raced again; how does Eone receive prayer? Can Eone do anything in this world? Unlike Fëa, Helena had never seen Eone. The desperation in her thoughts had been unbearable. Helena clenched her right hand in frustration, she would not do it again. She would not wait on deities, but she had no weapon because she had focused solely on that doll. The doll...
Helena smashed her right hand against her chest plate at the top and flexed hard which bent a section enough to allow her gauntleted hand to grab the pendant she had worn since she swore her oath, the one made up of seven interlocking circles. She snapped the leather cord that held it on her neck and discarded the pendant as it clattered out onto the stone and snow.
Divinity be damned, Helena was going to finish this fight for the family she lost to a cruel world.
Forcing herself against limitless gravity and the weight of exhausted muscles she willed her muscles to move against all protests. Helena began to shout, a scream of frustration turned into a battle cry, as her body finally moved towards the fight. As she lifted her left arm, light shone from the doll in her hand, warmth and light radiating out. She drew it tight to her chest, if her only weapon was her charging body to tackle the death knight, so be it.
The light of the doll near her heart, shined out as tendrils lashed onto the goliath woman. The armor plates were enveloped and glowed as she appeared to gain bulk, her shield took on a resplendent glow as it too was shrouded in light. Her armor had mended itself as it was encased in magic. Each step she took grew lighter, but no less thunderous as her boots stamped the stonework. The tendrils became like wings off her back, as smaller threads of light wrapped over the wounds on her face and ran through her matted hair. Wildflowers began to bloom atop her head as her hair grew even more unruly and vibrant, from a collection of curls to a lion’s mane of bright red crimson. She charged forward.
Sir Byleth stabbed the rune blade into the stonework and slammed a fist into Artemis’ helmet and sent them back. Then he grabbed his blade to deflect Simon’s thrust, his boot kicking the side of the rune blade only to guide Simon’s strike clean past. Artemis leveled a punch with their thunder gauntlet which caught Sir Byleth in the side, the damage seemingly absorbed. The death knight took the opportunity with Artemis so close to step back, spin hard, and full swing at the armored artificer – when the strike landed on Artemis it sent them sprawling, the padding inside their magical armor cushioned the blow. Simon dashed forward and tried to strike the death knights hand to force him to fumble the blade away. The Morning’s Edge pierced the death knight’s wrist, but the blade did not drop, Sir Byleth turned hard with the blade still lodged in his arm and kicked Simon back. Sir Byleth then grabbed the blade with his left hand and drew it from his wrist, looked at it briefly then tapped it against his rune blade and watched it seemingly spark with arcane power. The death knight threw the weapon on the ground in front of Simon, unfazed. Myth’ia, saw Simon get pushed back, flew recklessly past the death knight towards Simon to support him. The death knights helmet turned fast to the small fairy as he stepped twice in quick succession and with one arm, swung the great sword at the tiny unsuspecting fairy.
Helena’s right hand grabbed the arm of the death knight as she interceded and turned her grapple into a shoulder tackle and forced the man back with her. She swung her left arm up and slammed him with her resplendent shield sending the death knight back against the wall, shrouded in shadows. The battle clarity and purpose cleared her mind, and the rush of blood pumping throughout her body energized her. Until now she stood as a bulwark and staunch defender, now she was on the assault, she became a hunter. A hunter without a weapon. She turned her head to see her allies and turned back to keep focus on the death knight, she felt something catch in her hair briefly, she reached back to grab at the obnoxious sensation only to find the hilt of a weapon. She pulled it free of whatever had held it and saw that it was a sword, as she turned it over and squeezed the hilt the blade thrummed to life as if a barrier of magic formed around it and cascaded down over the metal. It was big for a long sword, forged for goliath sized warriors. It would do.
Sir Byleth’s eyes glowed red from the darkness that shrouded him as he stepped out and faced Helena and her companions.
Chapter 8: Fight
The wind kicked up and began to smash into all who stood in the courtyard, Helena’s aura permeated and generated warmth that pushed back against the gnashing and clawing cold. Sir Byleth held his rune blade up and let it rest on his shoulders, the runes alight with unnatural green light, black miasma smoldering out from his armor as his red eyes scan each of them. Each of his footsteps slow and methodical as his offhand pointed and waved to whip the wind around the companions as if trying to play with a toy, controlling the blizzard that now raged around them.
Helena set her feet and then nodded to her companions as she charged the death knight. A stroke of the sword she held missed the death knight barely as he stepped aside and punched her core. Artemis shattered the ground beneath their enemy destroying the stonework and hammering the armored knight with magic. As the death knight was struck, he punched Helena again. Simon dodged behind Helena and aimed a thrust at a gap in the knight’s armor, finding purchase and immediately ducking away before he could be struck – but he was not the target. Sir Byleth stepped as if to strike Simon and then instead slammed his rune blade into Helena’s sword and clashed with her. Myth’ia spoke quickly and launched a bolt of light at the knight and struck him alighting him with arcane magics, and once again, Sir Byleth hammered the paladin with his rune blade, this time he caught her shield and the dark magic on his sword clawed and reached out as if gremlins climbing over her shield.
The rune blade carved through the air in a flurry, Helena bolstered by her elder champion form was now breathing heavy, exuding heat from the exertion, sweat had formed and would not freeze. She slammed her shield against the rune blade and then swung hard against the arm of the knight, her blade thrumming with power dented the armor as she unleashed many strikes. In her assault, she left herself open, as the death knight parried and then drew his blade back to thrust forcefully at her. Artemis lunged to intercede, knock the blade away, then slid past to try and draw the death knights focus. The wind and darkness around them continue to claw at all of them. Myth’ia worked to keep them all still standing as the evil magic in the area continued to lash out and continuously drain the fighters, it had become a war of attrition.
Sir Byleth ignored the armored artificer as they would put themselves between him and his prey, he only need attack the other companions. The swordsman was fast and a nuisance but easily pushed back which forced the fairy to use her magic to heal him. The death knight backhanded the swordsman away just as he predicted and then swung his rune blade at the downed man only to hit the armored artificer, while the fairy moved to heal them both. Slamming his feet into the ground he picked up the rune blade in both hands and then slammed it hard into the courtyard as a crater formed beneath him and the world went black around them all. Helena glowed with the light emanating from her form against the magical darkness. They stumbled in the dark as the death knight stepped forward and with the rune blade in his main hand, backwards grip, he slammed the hilt into Helena’s stomach and then slammed his offhand fist into her back, as he turned and swung the sword in a wide arc to strike at her exposed back, slamming the blade into the back of her armor and knocking her to the side. As the magical darkness faded and the others could see again, the death knight jumped into the air lifting his sword high to carve into the downed paladin. Helena rolled to lift her shield up to block the attack and as it slammed into her shield and she was forced down into the destroyed stone beneath her, she flexed hard to hold the block. Sir Byleth grabbed the side of her shield and pulled hard and forced her guard open as Helena looked up and rose up and slammed her shoulder into his stomach and began to run towards the nearest wall, shoulder slamming him to the wall before she stepped back to see the shattered stone as the death knight lifted his hand to face her, the black miasma and roiling lightning formed in his hand before it flew and slammed into the ground near Helena detonating and exploding in a dark wave of fire and pain.
Artemis and Simon rushed between Helena and the death knight as Myth’ia landed on her shoulder and looked her over. The unholy fire had burned her but the light that poured from her washed over the wounds and recovered them. She flexed her hand and the sword she carried hummed with intensity.
Sir Byleth pulled himself from the wall, rolled his shoulders and held his hand out where he summoned his rune blade; he then spoke for the first time.
“You will make great thralls... when you are dead.” Simon gave him no time to continue and darted forward with a feint followed by a thrust of his blade. The death knight grabbed him firm by the neck and lifted him off the ground. As the rune blade was lifted to stab into the man, aimed at his heart, Simon disappeared. He clutched his cloak, and a bat flew away in the shadows. The death knight turned his attention, “come then, living armor.” He spoke to the artificer as the runes on his blade began to glow and then lunged forward. A nearly instant crosscut flew past Artemis as they gauged to block and realized at the last moment they had to cast their arcane barrier as the blade smashed into it and threatened to carve through the magic as it sparked with vile energies. The darkness of the blade appeared to try and eat at Artemis’ arcane barrier as the death knight pushed the blade further against it. “You will break.”
The weight of the blade pushing down on Artemis forced them down as the magic gnashed at them. Sir Byleth, with his sword in both hands, pushed hard to bring the artificer low. Artemis looked up against the oppressive force and saw as Helena’s blade smashed into the plate of the death knight and thrummed with magic as then a flash of radiant energy arced and cascaded over the death knight forcing him to step back and relent his attack. Helena stepped forward and slammed her shield into the death knight’s chest knocking him back against the wall again and slamming her weight against him to hold him.
“You are stalling the inevitable.” His left hand reached up to grab her shoulder and try for her neck. “I am undying, I cannot be killed.” His right hand clenched around the hilt of his blade as it shone with violent energies. “...and you have already fallen from your grace.” With unnatural strength he flexed and dragged her head and shoulders closer to his face with his left hand and Helena could feel the icy fog that rolled out from his helmet as the glowing red coals of his eyes leveled with hers. Helena broke the gaze as she pulled herself free and leveled her shield between her and his sword, recognizing the glowing runes as the sword erupted with an explosion that forced her back and destroyed a section of the wall behind the death knight.
“Now, let’s begin again.”
The rune blade slammed hard into Helena’s shield and rocked her body as she felt his hand grab the side of the shield and try to jerk it away. She held firm and stepped back, which allowed the death knight to step to the side and drag his blade around to slash downward at Helena’s exposed arm. Artemis interceded again, blocking the blade like before. Sir Byleth slammed his fist hard into Artemis’ stomach but from the outside it was impossible to tell how much it hurt the artificer; a second strong punch followed it. “Soulless suit of armor.” Drawing the blade back from the block that was holding it. Sir Byleth stepped hard and used the momentum to slam the blade harder into Artemis’ forearms as the artificer turned to block that next strike. The blade clanged against the armor like a hammer on metal ingots. “You are merely a child who hides under the blankets. Cowering way from the world.” He pulled the blade back and stepped back from Artemis. “Pathetic.” He turned his back to the artificer, completely disregarding them as a threat, as he held his blade up to block a luminous bolt of arcane energy fired from Myth’ia.
The death knight spun his blade around into a low stance as he charged at Helena again, she raised her shield as the death knights left shoulder hit her shield and then was swept aside by the man’s arm as he swung recklessly hard upwards and caught Helena on the plate of her stomach. The blade carved into the metal, dark tendrils grasping out at her. Light pouring from the heart section of her breastplate battled back against the grasping darkness as the blade bit into her armor as she was lifted off her feet for the moment. “Embrace damnation, fallen paladin.” The death knight leaned the blade onto his shoulder lifting the massive goliath woman onto it. He levered her body up and over, throwing her back towards her allies.
Within his palm a mote of dark flame appeared and as he held it out explosions rocked nearby each of them. Throwing Simon tumbling as the man worked to keep his balance and try to dodge the attack. Artemis was forced to take the brunt of it, though his armor didn’t show, what was going on underneath was hard to tell. Myth’ia cartwheeled through the air as the explosions sent her flying. Helena rose up as the explosions of dark fire pushed her left and right as they exploded around her. When the smoke cleared with the blowing snow, each of them looked worse for wear, but they were all standing.
Helena held her sword towards the death knight, then clanged it against her shield, taunting him.
Sir Byleth ignored all the others as he rushed Helena. Striding forward with unnatural speed and wheeling the two-handed sword he carried around to build up momentum, with dark tendrils forming on the blade he swung hard vertically but short of Helena, as it was a feint, the man rolled his shoulder and continued the swing around like a windmill and slammed it down hard. Helena, not using her shield this time, stepped and then slashed down against the man’s neck with her sword, finding purchase and knocking him to the side, the energies crackled off her sword as another burst of her divine powers shone through and arced across her enemy. Simon stabbed the man from behind, the Morning’s Edge piercing through and cutting armor straps and undead flesh. The death knight turned to swing his fist at Simon, but he had already repositioned. Artemis slammed his fist into the death knight and pushed him back towards Helena, who shoulder tackled him and used her fist holding the sword to slam into his helmet with a massive right hook. Simon, stabbed at the gaps in the back of the man’s leg, cutting tendons causing him to falter.
For the first time, Sir Byleth let out a roar of pain. An unnatural rending of sound and energy. The blade in his right hand swung in a wide circle forcing them back only for Helena to square up, sword slamming against the knight’s armor. A punch meant for Helena was blocked as Artemis stepped in, which allowed Helena to draw the knight’s attention up as she raised her sword hand. Simon stabbed the other leg, cutting tendons, and making the knights movements erratic. The sword swing from Helena was blocked as the death knight rolled his sword up in time to deflect hers. Artemis created a thunderous shockwave knocking the death knight around, Helena pushed forward with her shield and the full weight of her body behind her, slammed the death knight across the difficult terrain. Simon stepped back as the knight stumbled and from the force was knocked and began to fall onto his back.
Just as the death knight was about to topple, his form coalesced into shadow and moved to the side before it appeared again in full charge. Even with the erratic gate, he moved with unnatural speed and ignored all but Helena. With blade level and trained on her heart, the death knight was aiming to end this with overwhelming force. With the rune blade in both hands and high, he rushed her. Magic arced from the blades hilt as motes of dark flame shot out and exploded around Helena. She braced and fought back against the explosions and held her footing but was blinded briefly as her eyes refocused. She saw she was exposed to the incoming cut. Helena planted her feet and pushed forward hard to meet the cut, she’d take it and take him down with her.
A vine lashed out and caught Sir Byleth’s left hand pulling it away from the hilt, forcing the death knight to swing with only one hand. This forced him off balance, as the Goliath woman slammed into the blade and the death knight, the blade fell from his hand and lodged into the ground as the force of collision sent Helena back. When she looked up, the blade was lodged into the floor between her and the death knight – the blade seemed to call to her.
Helena stepped forward towards the rune blade that stuck out from the stonework. The dark magic swirled around it and the wind grew sour, the smell offensive to Helena’s divine sense. As she approached the rancid smell of evil held a sickly-sweet alluring smell. Like when meat went bad it smelled oddly sweet. The winds that bellowed around them seemed to quiet as she approached the blade. The sword was calling to her; to take it into her hand, she sheathed the sword she was gifted onto her back and then held out her hand towards the rune blades hilt.
The death knight had his left arm entangled in glowing fey vines and his right arm held in a vice like grip by Artemis. They had forced the death knight to his knees. He pulled hard against the vines as he looked out at the fairy holding him with her spell. “Such wasted potential. You’re still nothing more than a replacement. If you were truly free you’d be powerful... yet here? Here you are, squandered.” He turned his helmet forward to see Simon; he now spoke indirectly to Myth’ia. “Maybe one day you’ll see the truth behind the lies of your world and break free of it all.”
Simon stepped forward to end it and thrust the Morning’s Edge into the gap of the neck plate, feeling the undead flesh, and staring down at the monster. “You stab me with HIS blade, courier.” The death knight almost seemed to laugh in silence. “Feel the weight and balance of Shiversteel’s Galathite weapon as it lives up to your family’s legacy... a legacy of nothing.” The death knight turned his head up to Artemis, flexing his arm harder and harder against the artificer’s magical strength, the death knight was winning as he pulled the artificer closer. “You hide in your shell because, like Simon, you’ve done nothing with your life, you are nothing, and you think that by putting your shell between you and others you can protect people?” He flexed hard and slammed his helmet into Artemis’ helmet, glowing red bloodshot eyes bore into theirs. “Hear me, elfling... you will always hide because you are a coward.”
Myth’ia drew the vines tighter and restrained him further as Artemis locked his armor to hold the other arm in an impossible to escape hold.
As the death knight spoke, they all went to take their opportunity to attack him again, but they paused, as a strong blast of wind pushed passed all of them for only a few seconds, turning their attention to Helena, the source of the wind.
Helena had wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sword and her eyes were fixed on the relic. It flared with dark magic and the runes flared in a bright, chaotic, strobe. She drew the blade up from the stonework of the courtyard and lifted it before her face. As the radiant light pulsating from the heart of her chest plate and the ribbons of light on her back flailed wildly. Tendrils of dark energy lashed out from the blade around Helena’s hand and bore into her digging through plate into flesh. Her eyes went white as even at a distance it appeared as if veins ran across her skin with blood colored black. She stepped with purpose towards them, and the wind continued to bellow and bluster. The light on her heart began to shift, flickering from white to red, to a crimson.
Held by Myth’ia and Artemis, Sir Byleth looked at Simon, eyes flaring triumphantly.
“Behold... your champion has fallen fully. She has found her new faith, in darkness, in Orandr, in...”
The rune blade pierced the plate of the death knight’s chest, dark blood pouring out the back as the runes flared and power channeled through the blade. The white eyes of Helena bore into Sir Byleth as her grip tightened, and she twisted the large blade, carving the hole larger. The darkness spreading across her body as if trying to consume her. The pulsing crimson light from her chest flashed with blinding white light that coursed over her and through those ribbons of wings, and down her arm through the rune blade. The tendrils burned off her gauntlet.
“I am Helena Hellabore... I have struggled to rid this world of darkness and of evil... to protect others as a mother does! I am more than what Fëa could offer, I am more than what was offered at Hope’s Rest...” Her voice boomed into the blizzard as the darkness on her body began to recede. “I am my own light and now you know my power, but it is not in vengeance.”
The light pushed through the blade like a conductor as the runes flared with bright burning light. The sword began to crack as she channeled every ounce of her divine magic through the blade and the blade could not contain the power, cracking, and then breaking into pieces inside the death knight, the fragments turning to dust, all but one shard which remained in his body.
Artemis, Myth’ia, and Simon stepped back, not lowering their guard. Helena knelt and grabbed Sir Byleth by his chest plate, as loose and sundered as it was, and pulled him close. He spoke first, dark blood dripping from his helmet. He growled and roared, a death rattle. “You forget I am undying! I will take you all with me!” a sphere of darkness in the center of his body began to form as the light was drawn in to the black hole forming from the last shard of the blade. The companions looked down but there wasn’t enough time to step back or to pull Helena back. Helena could sense the confidence in Sir Byleth, in that his body was immortal and could not be destroyed, and this would not be his end.
Helena’s white eyes returned to her natural green as she smiled and took in the sight of the sundered death knight before her, she saw him in all his confidence.
“I forgive you.”
She spoke softly but clearly as she put her forehead to the helmet. She sensed confusion and then the strong sense of fear from him. Helena could see the glow of his eyes fade and be replaced by bloodshot brown eyes that darted around frantically. He lifted his hand towards his chest where the hole and the dark energy coalesced as if trying to stop his own destruction. Panic set in as he looked up at Helena as if to ask how or why. Helena grabbed the last shard from the center of the painful dark orb. She held the source of all this evil, the root of the problem, and it turned into dust as she crushed it in her hand. The dark sphere exploded outwards like a final retaliatory shout of anger with necrotic energy corroding and biting at everyone as their world began to go dark and they turned to protect themselves from the death rattle, only to feel a sudden an unnatural warmth as the darkness was pushed away by the last flash of light.
The moment that came after felt unreal. The courtyard was quiet, the storm had ended. Everyone could hear their breathing, their hearts pounding as they slowed to a rest. The silence after a hard-won battle was like no other. Snow fell slowly and peacefully in large flakes down past them.
Helena’s form shifted from the radiant and impressive lion’s mane back to her dented and damaged armor. With the shield slung on her arm looking as if it was mangled by machines. The sword she carried remained on her back, tucked under her unruly hair. She still knelt before the body of Sir Byleth as it began to shatter methodically and take the form of dust. She knew that the death knight before her would never rise again and that he was free from his fate. She turned to look up at her allies, who stood haggard, but clearly triumphant. She smiled softly, a sense of achievement filled her heart, she stood and then the big and strong goliath woman hugged her companions.
Chapter 9: Aftermath
The castle began to crumble, the undead that remained around were turning to dust, and as Helena released her companions, they all set in motion to run and escape the castle. They ran through the keep rapidly to the gate as the castle fell to ruin behind them, falling into the strange expanse that created a near infinite pit below. Racing through the gate and over the bridge, none of the soldiers were here, the Order had retreated. They raced to the main gate as the bridge collapsed behind them, blood pounding, lungs burning - they all rushed through the gate.
As Helena crossed the threshold of the gate, expecting to see the Order of Light and their soldiers, she was surprised to see a field. She blinked and then spun around in a circle to take in her surroundings. Her companions were gone, the gate was gone, the surrounding land was a massive field at the top of a hill near a range of mountains. It was not winter but spring, just in time for planting. She rubbed her eyes and then looked at herself to see her armor was gone, replaced by work clothes made for ease of movement and not for war. The sword she had been carrying moments ago, gone.
She made her way down the hill and ran her hands over the tall budding spring flowers. She flexed and felt that her muscles lacked the recurring aches from years of wearing armor daily. More importantly the aches and pains from the battle that was just moments ago were gone. It was intoxicating, the warm breeze comforting, and as she closed her eyes to take in the sounds of the world around her, she was caught off guard by the sound of laughter in the distance. Laughter and the sound of splashing water.
Helena continued forward towards the sound with eyes closed, letting the sensory deprivation empower her hearing, until she stepped towards the edge of a pond. Opening her eyes to see a small girl sitting, impossibly, on the water. Not in the shallows, but as if directly on top of the water. Brief confusion became amusement until it dawned on Helena who she was looking at. It was her daughter.
Eyes opening wide in amazement, Helena wanted to rush out to the girl, to hug her and hold her, but she couldn’t be there. It was impossible..
Her work boots now soaked from standing ankle deep in the water brought her back to focus as a muscular lizard man slowly raised his head above the water. The little goliath girl with tangled flaming locks was securely seated on his back.
“Oh, look Lupio, your mom came to play too!”
Helena laughed, heartily. She could return the doll that she carried with her through it all.
From around the pond near a small, thatched roof house, came a goliath man carrying a small boy on his shoulders. The sun shone warmly and high in the sky. It cascaded a sense of warmth in the cooling mountain’s spring breeze. With spring’s rebirth, nothing was impossible.
Helena had made it home.
Epilogue
Once again, we can hear a conversation that resonated through the universe. As if we’ve returned to the seating box of a great arena.
“He was flawed. One loves their flaws; it adds to the variability. The unpredictability. There was no weakness, flaws yes, weakness... no.” Orandr mumbled cold and calculating, as if talking to herself before it rose to a shout at Valtia.
“This one wants a do over! There is another... there are several! Far superior ones! Valtia, this is just the beginning!”
The tension was palpable, but it was incredibly one-sided as the other voice spoke warmly. “Did you see? All she had to do was go back to her roots, back to her nature, back to the love she carried with her!” Warmth and excitement clashed with cold frustration.
Valtia continued. “You don’t though, my dear, not now at least. Your plans for this Sir Byleth to ruin Eone’s faithful warriors and then bring about an everlasting winter were too perfect for me to ignore. How could I not find a champion of my domain, of love and of fate?”
“You gave her allies!” The icy voice seemed to turn as if looking for something in their workspace.
“She did that herself; she drew them to her cause. I merely permitted them through and then to return to their Fëalta or some such. Let’s not forget, you gave him a dragon.”
“You gave her a sword!” the sound of a foot stomping with an audible heel clack.
“Oh! Did you not see how quickly she stowed that away just to pick up...” The energy in the room clashed like a cold front hitting a warm front. The unseen smirk on Valtia’s face was the epicenter of the tornado that formed as Orandr practically shrieked.
“It wasn’t my best blade! It was crafted for war! Full scale war! To wow armies, not to duel!” Orandr practically screeched incoherently, frustrated.
“It worked marvelously. Watching it crack under her conviction was an absolute joy.” Valtia let out a haughty giggle.
The voice of Orandr grew quiet and malicious.
“Do. Over.”
“Winter is ending dear, spring is coming, I’ll be sure to tell Enyran when I see them.”
The chaos of the tornado swirling in the room, as their energies clashed, dissipated immediately. The soft but purposeful footfalls walking past us, a subtle sense of acknowledgement.
The last thing we could hear was the voice of Orandr shouting.
“Silranas! Get in here. We’re rectifying this, now!” Shrill and determined.
A dark masculine voice “Yes mistress, what is your bidding?”
As Valtia’s footsteps faded behind us and we began to feel our senses weaken, the last words can be heard before nothingness.
“Fetch me Blackrazor, we’re making better blades.
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