"I don't understand - you'd think that making the entire ground shake under them would be enough to scare them out of war," translated Tigaern, before adding, in his own voice this time, "Or cursing them to fear the very thought of violence."

"Men already fear war; we must do more than that if we wish to nip this battle in the bud. It takes more than just the notion of terror to get one to step down from their pride - we must convince them that their worries are justified. Only then will their emotions be powerful enough to take over Ammat's control."

"And I suppose you know how to do this better than a Guardian?"

The battlefield converges all around us, the colours of each land flashing as they gather towards each other, each one as thirsty for blood as the next. From the sky it must be quite a sight, almost like waves of blue, gold, and iron preparing to crash against each other. Though I can only imagine how this would look through the eyes of a bird, my imaginings are more than enough to convince me that this result is not one which I want.

"I do not claim to be more powerful than the Guardians," I clarify. "But I daresay I know a fair share more about fear than any of you."

Though Tigaern raises an eyebrow, he does not question my words; perhaps he knows more than he has let on - perhaps they all do. The thought that the four beings in this world more powerful than me know of my deepest weakness is more than enough to terrify me, but on the outside I remember that I must appear unaffected by the world around me. Whatever ideas Tigaern may have, they are not ones which I would like to encourage. He smirks, watching as shadows surround me, and this Cheshire smile is the last thing I see before darkness covers me in its entirety, carrying me across a distance it would take me hours to walk on foot.

I grip my rose as the shadows stop to cover me, holding on to all strength I have gathered over the years as I watch each camp stare at me, confusion etched onto their face. This will no doubt be a test of my endurance; though I know that I have enough power in my being to do what I know I must, I am also more than aware that I do not have much more than that. A series of spell of this grandeur is something which I have never attempted to accomplish, and now, as the first time approaches me, I begin to worry that I may not be able to do quite what I wish after all.

"Hello, brave warriors of Halyin," I whisper, the darkness in their hearts carrying my words into their ears in the same quiet, composed tone I first used when meeting Evora. "I believe I have a story to tell you."

A man, taller even than me, and with shoulders twice the size of mine, swings an axe towards his direction, but a dark hand emerges from the blackness which surrounds me, gripping the weapon and snapping it in half. He blinks and takes a step back, but the hand wraps itself around his throat, leaving him on the ground, eyes frozen open with a look which could strike fear into a heart of stone.

"I really must caution against doing that; I would so hate for my pet to kill each one of you."

The armies do not move, though I can tell that there are members pushing to take steps back. The weaker ones amongst them appear to have been freed from Ammat's hold, but there are plenty more to go. As the hand comes back into my vortex, puffs of smoke escape it, folding themselves into a being so nightmarish that even I find myself struggling to look at it. I know every piece of it, of course; from the cloak darker than the blackest of my shadows to the face, so beautiful it seems to belong to an angel with locks blonder than the sun, this is the being which had haunted me for years now. This is a faith far worse even than death.

This is Life; the beauty which only the blackest of souls can face, let alone summon. Though she is just a copy, I know she will have the same impact on them as she had the first time I met with her.

"Do any of you know who I am?" she asks. "Or what I can do, perhaps?"

They do not speak.

She flashes a glimpse of eyes bigger and bluer than the sea which borders Craorag. "I can make you live forever."

Upon hearing this one woman comes forward. Tall and amazonian, she must come from Lirima, and yet soon she will be nothing at all - a shell with as little name as country, stripped of all identity but life, in its darkest, twisted sense. The cloaked angel sticks out a perfect hand, which she shakes, and as she shakes it, all life is drained from her. When the angel lets go, the woman is grey and her eyes empty, a shadow of what she once was. Perhaps if I wanted to, I would be able to claim control over her at this point, but my energy is focused on maintaining the presence of the angel.

"This is what eternity looks like," she says, a smile brighter than the sun but darker than death growing on her face. "Challenge me and you will life forever: forever hungry, thirsty, and tired. Forever hoping that one day I may tire of tormenting you, but forever knowing that no such kindness will ever be shown to you. I would recommend you drop your weapons and turn your ways now, before my patience runs out - I do not have much, I'm afraid."

Before me, soldier after soldier turns, back towards their own homes. There are many things which I have learned in my life, but none as potent as this; if men knew what Life was, they would find it foolish to fear Death. Mercy, after all, is something which should be welcomed with open arms, when the time comes.

Left before me still is the woman from Lirima, now reunited with what my vanished illusion had stolen from her. "Witch," she hisses. "Once I kill you, you will have accomplished nothing; war will once again reign."

"I will be very interesting to see how you kill me, considering you cannot see me."

I vanish just in time to see the blank look of blindness fill her eyes before the shadows swallow both me and her sight.