by Marc Mulero
“But retain your essence,” the lantern added. “The nature of your being is repeated, or innate, but it appears that the soul learns in a way that we, as mortals, do not comprehend.”
“But then why would Gushda leave this shard for us to find?”
“The Founder came to a different conclusion.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?”
“Dumos left this shard for us to find.”
And with that realization, Seren shut his eyes, thought of a childhood memory and dropped harshly from the shard. The next time he opened his eyes, he was back in the translucent ocean within Gushda, noticing that the tendrils were writhing violently.
He shut his eyes again, readying to release himself once more.
“Ehem.” The lantern pretended to clear its throat.
Seren looked at it with a knitted brow. “I didn’t know you had feelings too.”
“I told you that I’m a very complex enchantment, didn’t I?”
“I suppose.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“My, my, you would think a discoverer would be a bit more well-mannered.”
“Thank you, lantern. And farewell.”
“I could be of more use if you so choose.”
“What do you mean? My answer is clear. My path is clear. Eres was right and so was Wudon. I must recreate the espers as fast as possible and hide this secret as quickly as time allows.”
“I told you already. That’s your choice.”
“So what then?”
“I have a physical form too. I am actually a lantern in Rudo, you know.”
“Hard pass. I’ve had my fill for one lifetime.”
“Suit yourself.”
Seren squinted at the object. “Alright. Where are you located?”
“The Temple of Oriyah.”
“Of course, you are. Goodbye, lantern.”
“Goodbye, discoverer.”
Seren returned to Rudo with a crunching sound in his head, a heartbeat in his throat, and ringing in his ears. He clutched his heart quickly like he’d just been stabbed with a javelin, and then reached one hand back to steady himself on the tree trunk holding him up.
“These must be the effects.” He coughed, feeling a weakness in his joints like he caught a terrible flu. “A few months, the lantern said. Well then, I could never imagine what the Founder must’ve felt after decades of being lost in the shard of Earth.”
He looked at his fingers. “Bare. Now what?” He inspected his knuckles, swinging both hands back and forth to be sure they were really gone, that the espers had really disappeared. But they hadn’t really, had they?
Feeling something protruding from the left side of his collar bone, Seren twisted his Glite into compact form and folded back his cloak to see a short piece of bark infused within his skin like a protruding bone was sticking out. The colors of all of the espers fused to one: bright green, and the symbols were all intertwined to make a perfectly symmetrical pattern.
“This is what Wukaldred was alluding to. After the secret is formed, we start back at square one, where the secret is whole again. This must be the Founder’s complete eye into Gushda. Fascinating. And now I must seek out the Judicator to help smelt this connection down to its roots and reform the espers once more. Fine, you jerk. I promised, didn’t I?
“And you, Eres Way, kin of Agden Way. You were right more than once even if you were misguided. I would be wise not to forget you.
“To the second coming of the Skrols, forged in your honor.”
Epilogue
Under a Sheet of Ice
Ting. Ting. Ting. A relentless knocking on Ramillion’s ice crystal door sounded like metal chiming against glass.
Startled, Ramillion wiped his mouth, stuffed a cork in the vial of God’s Grasp that he’d just drained, and shoved it into a drawer beside him. “Yes, yes, come in.” He pushed himself off of his chair, staring at the entrance of his quarters.
The door swung open.
“Kyta. What is it, my dear?”
“It’s Eres…” she was breathing heavily, “all of the enchantments that we set. They were going off as planned, one by one, until-”
“Yes.” Ramillion dipped his head in sorrow, voice reflecting the same. He then rubbed a thumb against the ornately crafted chair arm to distract himself.
“You felt it too? Oh no, please tell me it’s not true. Ramillion, his heart,” she gulped, “I think his heart stopped beating. How could this be? We planned everything perfectly. The boy had the talent to get past Skrol training and become who he was meant to. What went wrong? Tell me I’m mistaken, please.” Kyta fell to her knees and tugged on the Kujin’s bell sleeves.
Eyes of iridescent wonder gazed solemnly. “My dear,” he said slowly, “I believe an enemy of great power has intervened this day. Under our noses, carefully around all of our defenses. I believe this person may have stolen the life of our great Dawn and left him to wither somewhere within the ice at the Edge of Eternity.” He turned abruptly, now looking to crystal framed paintings plastered so beautifully in holographic fashion. “I didn’t want to believe it myself, truly. But if you feel it too, then I must not be mistaken.”
“He did make it past the Aegod. I know it. I felt it. There’s no way that someone got to him out there. We would’ve known. I can’t believe it, Ramillion, I just can’t.”
“Kyta,” he grasped both of her hands and pulled her to rise, now peering up at her, “your attunement with Sindah is stellar to notice a missing heartbeat, but time, my dear… there is a lapse in time within your connection to this enchantment. I felt Eres’ heart stop beating days ago, and have since sent recoverers into the snow.”
Her eyes filled up with tears almost immediately, waiting while already knowing. She just needed to hear it, hear the words that he was gone.
“They found nothing. I’m afraid he was murdered, Kyta, buried deep, and his esper taken.”
Her whole body seemed to lose its strength as she almost fell with her face buried in her palms. “He was a good one, Ram.”
“I know dear.” He comforted her. “I looked forward to training him once he returned. He would have made the UnderSpire that much brighter, don’t you think?”
She nodded weakly.
“A shame.”
She breathed in a stuffy sob, pulled away, and looked down at her master, expression suddenly determined. “When you deem me ready, Ram, I’m going to avenge him.”
“Oh ho.” He grabbed her hands again. “Kyta, breathe my dear. Deep ones. Deep breaths. The UnderSpire, the Skrols, us, we will all have justice. But hear me… vengeance is not the way. Your Sindah will become clouded if you run in blindly to find his killer. Chase knowledge first, my dear. Understand the larger picture as you did so well on your initial journey to me all those years ago. Do not become corrupt by devious actions. Look at me! Do not!”
“Yes.” She dipped her head, letting the tears roll off of her chin. “Yes. You’re right. But I need time, Ram. I need to process this.”
“We will both mourn my dear.”
Ting… ting. A more measured knock was now at his entrance, but the tall Dagos had already let himself half inside since the door was already open.
“Come in Houyar,” Ramillion called.
“Arch General.” Kyta wiped her nose and composed herself.
“Kyta,” the general replied, “I trust all is alright?”
“It is. I’ll… leave you two be.”
“Kyta!” Ramillion startled her. “Look at me. It’s going to be okay.”
She nodded dejectedly.
“Have Mudry honor his memory. Have him find a bright happening of him in Gushda and sculpt the grandest of pieces to honor him.” He winked at her.
“That will help, I think,” she replied on her way out.
Once her footsteps were far enough away, Ramillion clenched his fist, sending his door to swing shut. Icy mist puffed all arou
nd it. With his other hand, he waved it in the air as if he were clearing a windshield. There, above his desk, a map protruded from the ice wall, marked and all.
“General…” Ram stared at the muscular Dagos, who had the most vibrant feathered hair trailing from head down to lower back. Oranges, browns, yellows, and blues. A few more colors and his mane would’ve echoed Ramillion’s eyes. Two ice spears crossed at his back, faded blue armor of ice-like Glite wrapped his legs and around his torso, leaving patches of muscle exposed for intimidation. This man was built for war. “Lasarius did not check in,” he finally said.
The general seemed concerned. “That means…”
“Yes.” Ramillion folded his arms within his sleeves and began to roll them. “There is only one conclusion to be made. Our greatest weapon in the Silent War is no longer.”
“And KQ?”
“They will report back as soon as they’re able. But it will take longer now that they don’t have a Magus Sorcerer with them.”
“You should really train more, Ramillion. It would be in your best interest in the times to come.”
“There can only be a limited number of Magus, Houyar. You know this.”
“As if there are limited sources to pull from around here.” The general formed a ball of ice from thin air around his fingertips.
Ramillion laughed. “Do you know what happens with two Magi in a room?” He watched the General shake his head. “I have half a mind to show you, but that would be like cutting off your manhood. They steal all of the elements for themselves in their summoning, leaving the rest of the sorcerers useless. Over-saturation of Magi,” he wagged his finger, “would be the same as having a civil war, you see. So that’s why only the lords of the Sanctum Cities and their apprentices will hold those levels of sorcery. And we will make do just fine once the Silent War becomes loud.”
“But they will never follow without the secret in your possession.”
“We have just taken a giant step back. Yes, General. This is a dreadful time for Verglas, for the UnderSpire. But within our enemy’s extreme actions there is always silver lining. Always. We just have to look closely enough to see it.”
“We’ve lost all of our espers at once, Ramillion. It appears we will have to make a grand pivot and try to unite the Sanctum Cities in a new way. We have no choice.”
Ramillion paced, listening.
“The Osa Sphere grows arrogant within their Factions. They will soon spread to our realms, terraform our sphere, and spread like the greatest virus ulmanity has ever faced. We needed Lasarius to succeed. Now we’re pushed to the brink. Let us call upon them, Ramillion.”
“No,” he said plainly, “not without glue. You see, if we do what you suggest, at the slightest hint of trouble within our coming war, the cities would retreat and curse me. We need a unifying agent - the secret. We need that at our disposal. That is the only way.”
“Then tell me of this silver lining.”
“Yes, well. When I dispatched Kovella’s Quittance to search for Eres, I had to be sure that my feelings were correct.”
“What feelings?”
“That his heart stopped within the very glacier where Seren Night had completed his own Skrol training. It is true. There was an enchantment reformed on that mountain, an extremely powerful one, which could only have been produced by one man that I know of.”
“The Judicator,” Houyar suggested.
“The one and only. Seren somehow recruited him, Masarian Bo. The ’incorruptible’ himself. The only Skrol trainer who has not broken neutrality even once. His mission had always been to harbor and grow Skrols. To do his duty without getting involved with inter-factional conflict. Seren must have convinced him that Eres’ training was in conflict with the Skrol ways, that I was no longer committed to the Skrol ways.”
The General was hesitant to say anything.
“Speak your mind, Houyar.”
“Is that not the way of things?”
“It is. It is.” He sighed. “We all have our reasons, it appears. This is just one that I could not fathom.”
“Perhaps that is the same from Masarian’s perspective. Perhaps it is even the driving force.”
“Maybe,” Ramillion agreed. “Anyway, this confirmation that Seren has collected Eres, broken my tracking enchantment on him, and likely turned him to his side means only one thing.”
“What?”
“That the Secret is closer to being formed. There are only three now who can wield it. Wukaldred, Seren, or Eres. Each have their own right to claim it, but it is anyone’s guess who actually will. Once we hear back from KQ, I imagine more will become clear.”
“So, you’re suggesting we may not be after scattered Skrols and Heralds any longer.”
“Right. Instead, we will be chasing only one. Whichever of the three forms the Secret, or the lot of them if they choose to keep it separate. Either way, our path is clear. Without risk there can be no reward here. And since our reward is our survival as a people, it seems the most desperate risks must be taken.
“Ramillion, no.”
“Yes, Arch General Houyar. I will be traveling to the Osa Sphere.”
Acknowledgements
Angela Rose, where do I even begin? You’re the one person who has suffered my worst, most laughable writing when I started this venture all of those years ago. Still though, you didn’t quit. We’ve fought about repeat words, crazy sayings in conjured languages, character arcs, and still… you didn’t quit.
Now for better or worse, look what we’ve grown into. Rings of War is our proof of progress, and I hope and pray that there is success attached to it so we can look back at all of your hard work and say it was worth it. Your developmental skills are legendary, and I would be lost without you.
Alexandria Berardi, your comments are as helpful as they are hilarious. If it wasn’t for you highlighting my most ridiculously crafted sentences, I never would have seen how ridiculously crafted they, in fact, were. You put it best: My story is a stone that is being endlessly refined into a sculpture by yours and Angela’s critiques.
Right now, you’re probably reading this and contemplating how best to strangle me for terrible grammar, or strange words, or run on sentences, or too many commas, or, or. :)
Billy Christian, this was my first time working with you and will certainly not be the last. What an epic creation you’ve made. You brought Seren Night and Eres Way to life in a way that continuously inspires me. Thank you for being awesome.
Shawn King, your cover design turned my book cover into a movie poster. It’s insane. There’s a reason why you’re crowned the best in the biz. Can’t wait to work with you again on my next project.
Please Read! It’s Important!
Thank you for investing in this journey that was over a year in the making. After tweaking the phonetics of a conjured language, defining the rules of a universe and the parameters of a new world map, we finally made it. Rings of War is now an official part of the fantasy genre. None of it – and I mean none of it – would be possible without you.
The first installment of the Rings of War series, The Darkest Dawn, is a testament to your commitment and dedication to this readership.
With that being said: To be a full-time author is an uphill battle akin to that of the Skrols, save for all of the killing and stuff. And to have such a dream realized starts with you. Therefore, I humbly ask… no. I desperately beg that you leave a rating or a review on Amazon upon completing the first part of this journey. Please don’t disregard this, or think your contribution too small to matter, because it’s not. Think I’m kidding? There are thousands of new titles released daily. Over a million yearly. It would be literally impossible to be seen without your support. Doing this one small deed is actually the most profound way to help an author gain some recognition in their voyage into the ever-so-vast world. Amongst a sea of corporate battleships, best-selling submarines, and wide spanning talent-seeking lighthouses, equip this independent aut
hor with another ore for his canoe… because with it, he will never stop rowing.
Phew… okay. Now, enough about my dreams. Reader, thank you again for spending some of your most precious commodity – your time – on the Rings of War universe. If you’re interested in providing me with feedback directly, or would just like to chat regarding your thoughts on the book, character arcs, story direction, or whatever, feel free to reach out to me on my website below. I would be happy to chat anytime.
Until we meet again, stay awesome.
Marc Mulero
www.marcmulero.com
Other Books by the Author
Unearthed
Unearthed: Allegory of Pain
Unearthed: The Forsaken Bond
Unearthed: Spiral of Silence
About the Author
Growing up, Marc Mulero was out of his mind (and perhaps still is). He knew full well that his creative, untamed mind was divergent from the pack. Ill-equipped with an inability to focus in school and a strong desire to explore, Marc was barely present wherever he was expected to be. It wasn’t until his twenties that he retreated from indulging in the vibrant scenarios playing out in his head and emerged to join the business force, or as he calls it, the Spock-side of this world. So, there he went, earning his master’s degree and CPA license in the process. Surprisingly, he managed to find some enjoyment while experiencing this new chapter in his life.
One winter’s night, in the midst of a bout of insomnia, he heard the sound of a lightsaber beam within his head. Being an avid fan of all things unnatural and missing the colorful world of imagination, he realized that he’d abandoned a part of him that he once valued above all. So, in the spirit of staying true to oneself, he decided to resurrect his passion in the form of a novel. He worked long hours during the day dressed in suit and tie, so that he could relish in scribing his fantasies deep into the night. His tenacity was an attempt to unload one of his stories onto the world: a story with depth, intrigue, and complexity, one he’s hoping people will get lost in.
