Snowflakes hovered in the air. The grand dome of ice overhead rumbled beneath the onslaught of celestial powers bursting from the heavens, all the forces of nature mingled in a single lethal stream of attacks.

Naught of the disaster that went down beyond the ice was audible save for a muffled, steady thrum against the dome that shook the ground. Firelight glinting at his frosty scales, Edis stood at the very heart of Byton in his true form, hoisting the ice-shield with his back and wings. Mist issued from his flaring nares as the attacks of the Gods rose to a more severe degree.

The besieged city was all quiet, both sides of the war stunned into silence. Eyes rose to the God of Winter in fear and reverence.

And underneath it all, overshadowed by the magnificent silver dragon, stood a much lesser known God, faced with a decision no less burdensome than what Edis bore upon his spiked shoulders. On the ground, the many Chains writhed like snakes, covering the streets in a grotesque tapestry.

Pertheran raised his arms, palms up in surrender, face set into a firm expression.

"Kill me," he said.

The God stood in stubborn silence, eyes squinted shut.

Yet time was running out. The ice shield would not hold forever.

"Lord Xenro!" cried Pertheran, "is this really the time to hesitate? There are those who are more deserving of your kindness than I. All Stormvale is at your mercy!"

Painful moments passed until he opened his eyes again, the crumbling world reflected in them.

"I was cast away from the Celestial Realms because I refused to kill," he said. "I grew weary of the mindless violence that would rage there, so very disgusted with myself when I was made to slay innocents. The creation and onslaught of the undead Vasaen, it is no new thing. Souls of the sacrificed mortals would turn up, and I was there to...clean up the mess. I left, thinking perhaps there was another way to resolve it all. Another way that did not involve slaughter and bloodshed. Yet here I am."

Xenro could have laughed at himself. Under Rhilio's command, he'd killed so many without hesitation. And now?

"I'm of the same kind whose corrupt blood taints your blade," said Pertheran, "is killing me really any different from the hundreds you have slain these few days?"

"It would not be, had you not risked your own life and endured endless torture for an enemy you deemed honorable. Had you not gotten us out of the dungeons of Glasswolf and indebted us to you forever. I am none to dictate what is absolute good or evil. But you, in my eyes, are noble."

A strained smile lit Pertheran's face.

"Divine mercy, that. Save it for the people of this land--and not for a foul monster."

"Strange is this land where Gods are cruel and monsters are kind." Xenro lowered his head, streaks of golden hair falling over his eyes. His fist clenching the grip of his sword trembled.

Destruction raged above, reflected in the rippling puddles left by the rain.

Pertheran's smile flickered away, replaced by a desperate gleam in his brimming eyes. He flexed his fingers claw-like, assuming an attacking stance.

He lunged at the God.

He was still a Vasaen, the first of his kind no less. He threw blows, bare-handed, enough to rival another immortal.

"Will you kill me if I leap on you as a monster?" he screamed even as Xenro dodged his attacks, too effortless and swift. "Will you kill me if only to save yourself?"

Xenro staggered when the hits landed on him, strong enough to send him rearing back, but lacking the intent to kill. Here, a bruise from a slamming knuckle. There, a faint cut from nails digging in. His heart, though unharmed, bled far worse.

I have the power to slay hundreds of thousands now. Yet the solution lies in the one murder that I do not want to commit.

At last the young man fell at his feet and begged.

"Free me from this torture, please," he wept. "The life you want to spare me is worse than death. I never asked for this cursed existence. I fell long ago in battle, but the afterlife was not granted to me, no. I was dragged back into the world of living to do someone else's foul bidding!"

Xenro gazed down at him.

There was Pertheran, enslaved by the Chain. Prisoner in a life he was forced to live.

He was not the culprit. The sorcery-wrought Chain was. The true root of the disaster.

"Doesn't my wretched soul deserve to find peace at last?" he pleaded.

Cracks appeared on the ice shield above. The end was near.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Xenro raised his sword above his head with a great cry.

The gleaming blade cut through the snowflakes, the still billowing smoke, the war-tainted air in a flash of white.

He struck the Chain with all his might.

✦✧✦✧

When Farren sat bolt upright, it was pitch dark and she was all alone.

Events preceding her deep slumber swam through her mind like a dream. She did not know for how many days she must have been knocked out, but the only thing she was sure of was that she was not dead yet, and had woken back again into the same nightmare she wished to escape. Every inch of her body ached, a knot of pain thrumming in her head.

Sounds of battle raged all around the palace. The enemy had infiltrated the courtyard. It would not be long until they barged in through the front doors.

Farren sucked in a sharp breath as a figure appeared out of the gloom, a flickering lamp in hand. A palm pressed up against her forehead, then against her wrist.

"Thank the Gods, lass," said Eliora. "You made it."

As her eyes adjusted to the low light, Farren could make out the outlines of an infirmary. Wounded women of the army occupied many beds.

"What on earth happened?" Farren asked with a groan, clutching her head.

"The worst episode of withdrawal, of the deal you had. We let you be when you went and stayed with Sergeant. But you never woke up. Hours passed, and the lad came running, bringing you to me; no breathing, barely a pulse and skin deathly cold. Fights, sorcery, tiresome journey--you've overworked your system, lass--that's too much to take even for someone without withdrawal. You have been out for three whole days."

Three days, war had ravaged Midaelia, and she could do naught to aid them. Instead she lay incapacitated by symptoms brought on by her own mistake and drained the healers, who could have used their sorcery on the soldiers more deserving of it.

"I'm a resistant no longer, but look how I still hold you back," she said and struggled to her feet. Farren's head swam, and she grabbed the bed frame.

"Nonsense!" cried Eliora, holding out an arm for support, surprisingly strong despite her age. "If you're dying, I'm gonna drag you back from Draedona's clutches. Simple as that. Don't you dare give me that noble shite! The Queen wants you back on your feet, and that you shall be."

"The...Queen?" Farren's disoriented mind was jammed like an old carriage in mud. When she finally made sense of it, she grabbed the fateful dagger from where it lay on a side table and tightened her belt.

"I must go find Her Majesty," she said, groping around for her boots and slipping them on. "See if I can be of any service."

The elderly healer looked as though she wanted to protest, to stop her and claim she needed more healing. But she gave in to her desperate look.

"You'll find her on the rooftop of the Royal Sorcerer's tower."

A ghastly scene welcomed Farren when she threw open the doors to the tower. Dried blood lay splattered across the floor. Many red bootprints suggested the passing of hurried feet. Smoke fizzled from a charred pile of books in one corner. Her heart ached at the desecration of the beautiful workspace of the sorcerer, and she could only imagine what state the rest of the city might be.

Farren trudged on, hand pressed against the stitch at her side when she climbed the stairs.

Above, the scene of the capital city was far more bleak. Rough winds whipped the wide terrace above, surrounded on all sides by battlements. It provided a clear view of the surroundings of the palace and the districts below, situated at the highest point as it was.

And there was Queen Lysandra, the hood of her raincape thrown back over her emerald gown, a grand golden crown resting over her mane of dark curls. She stood speaking to her council of black-clad spies. Captain Walric stood alone off to one side.

Yet amid the spies today there strode a newcomer. A tall woman emerged on the rooftop to join them, clad in mismatched armor, a battered helm on her head and a smoking pipe caught between her teeth.

"Countess?" Farren whispered out loud.

She turned and a grin lit her face. "Whoa there, you're a big girl now!"

Queen Lysandra looked between them and laughed, despite all. "I'm not even surprised that you two are acquainted with each other."

"Of course we are," said the Countess and threw a heavy arm over Farren's shoulder. "So whaddya say, Milady? I've got my folk guarding the tunnels now, so your soldiers can go get healed and catch some rest. Got extra supplies too. Would you take the ban off the Dragontail trade now?"

Lysandra raised her dark, shapely brows. "Feel free to withdraw your forces, in that case."

Countess let out a hearty laugh.

"Liven up, Milady. I only jest," said she. Then she sobered, offering a bow. "If indeed the Drisians take charge of the city, it would be my people--the wizardfolk of Silver Knife whom they'd turn to slaves and make them do their foul bidding of necromancy. I would serve you for their sake. Until the last breath."

Farren looked around at the many others present upon the terrace.

Healing magic crackled on her left. Farren turned to see Gray sitting there, leaning against the battlements.

"Gods, when would you stop being such a stubborn idiot?" said Linder with a sigh. Bandages still covered half his face.

"Right the day when you stop being a reckless fool," said Gray with the smug look of a man who had no regrets, even if none of them lived to see the next dawn. His sword lay cast off to one side, blunted and covered from tip to pommel in black blood.

With both hands, Linder pressed a soaking cloth over a wound in Gray's stomach while Foxward worked on closing it up.

Around them paced Rendarr, grumbling all the while and adding to Linder's scolding.

"--and you know, Sarge? Then he runs head first at the Vasaen rushing into the tunnels when the enchantment hadn't even set in yet!"

Now Gray looked up at her, hearing the footsteps. "Wanna add somethin'? Since everyone's getting turns having a dig at me."

"Give him a zap of intensive healing," said Farren to Foxward, "and he'll know better not to play the suffering hero next time."

The other two snapped their heads up to look at her as though they'd seen a ghost. Only Linder had a relieved smile on his face.

"You--you--" began Rendarr, rushing up to her.

"Aye, I lived," said Farren, then looked at the destruction all around down below. "Unfortunately."

Arm thrown over each other's shoulders, Farren and Rendarr looked over the battlements as a stormy wind rose, strong enough to throw off their balance if not careful. The city glowed, smoke rising in plumes. The labor of so many, all going to waste right before their eyes.

Below, Klo's squad still held on, reloading their lone firemount. Behind them upon this tower, flanked by battlemages, Queen Lysandra held council with her folk still, refusing to give up and coming up with what other scheme, Farren listened not.

The truth was laid bare before her eyes.

"So this is it, huh?" she said, swallowing the painful lump in her throat.

A cold hand held hers, interlocking fingers. Farren looked up to see Linder beside her. On the other side by Rendarr, a now healed Gray stood, linking his arms with the former. Rendarr pulled him close, eyes on the horizon.

"We did our best," said Rendarr. "Have that consolation, at the very least. Even if we all perish in the end."

"Aye," said Captain Walric as she joined the row of soldiers. She pressed her silver pendant to her lips. "We did not go down without a fight. The Nameless One smiles down at us today."

"Where's Xenro?" Farren asked the captain. "And what of Perth?"

She lowered her head and sighed. "No clue. Searched for the lads everywhere I could, but then they blew off the ramp. Still in the lower district, is my guess."

The Queen stood beside the captain and said nothing, watching her reign end so soon as it began. Saying no more, Farren reached for the summoning ring, but got no further.

This was when the heavens came crashing down upon them.

A collective cry rose from the battlemages who stood guard. The dark shadow that had loomed overhead for the last few days flickered away into nothing, leaving them beneath an open grey sky.

Before any of them could figure out the reason of this sudden change, their surroundings lit up with a blinding flash. The entirety of the tower shook and groaned from the whirlpool of celestial sorcery that the city became.

That moment of distraction, that spilntered sceond was all the enemy needed.

Farren knew nothing for the seconds that followed, only that her fingers grasped the stones that lined the edge of the precipice, her companions thrown off balance, the deafening boom of a failed ward that the battlemages tried in vain to conjure around the tower.

So this is how we go down. Farren closed her eyes.

A fearful roar echoed all around the city as a wall of ice rose above it. The shadow of a giant ice dragon fell over all, like a shroud over a dying land.

The Apocalypse. The end of the world.

Everything fell apart in the matter of minutes. The defense that the palace walls had held up till now was demolished, the Drisian army breaking through the entrance. Gears and chains of the drawbridge failed, hundreds and hundreds of heavy boots thrumming across it. Those that jumped into the moat perished at once, flesh peeled off their bones-but they continued pouring in their huge numbers. The surrounding walls flooded with Vasaeni. Chains trailed in their wake, moving and thrashing about as though they had a life of their own.

Huddled on the edge of the tower now standing crooked, words failed them all.

Firemounts surrounded the tower on all sides, mounted on the palace walls. Loaded and ready to put a bitter end to the last stand of the new Queen of Midaelia.

Across from them, standing on top of the mountainous pile of rubble that had once been the front entrance, there was a lone general.

His face was one Farren never wished to see again outside of the dungeon of Glasswolf. His pale hair rippled, lone eye, completely black, looking directly up at them. He no longer looked human.

He was worse, something awfully worse than the Vasaeni he commanded.

Flashing a ghastly grin, Emric motioned his men to fire.

Many hands reached to light the fuses.

Yet none got the chance to spark to life.

Catching the soldiers and their queen off guard, those who had given up hopes and stood proud to embrace their end, the Chains turned...gold.

✦✧✦✧

The repercussions as his sword struck the links hit Xenro worse than the bolt of fire that Edis had shielded him from. His senses were ablaze, all strength stolen abruptly from his limbs, and all he could see was a blur.

Edis let out a roar of protest at that. So intense was the backlash that it had reached even him where his reptilian head hovered with the clouds.

'Do not strike the Chains, fool! They not only drain Draedona, but devour everything you toss at them! They will devour you too!'

Yet Xenro was not listening. He slammed his sword into the Chain again, managing to weaken a link this time, and paid the price. It drained him dry, taking nearly all he had.

Edis stirred, swaying his thorny tail from side to side, wings beating violently.

'Kill the lad! Destroy the bearer and the Chains would follow suit!'

But that is not how you free a prisoner, brother. It is not their neck, but the chains you must break.

Had slaying the bearers of the Chains, the Vasaeni the right solution, Xenro should have ended the disaster long past. But it was not so.

Pertheran watched petrified as Xenro plunged down the sword and raised it, parts of it crumbling with each swing. The ice dragon growled in fury, but got no moment to interrupt as the Gods resumed their attacks over the shield.

A severe tug came from within the Realm of the Dead, someone heaving on the Chain to weaken them with all their might. Draedona herself joined the fray.

The pitch black of the Chain links turned to gold from the power it sapped from Xenro. Their radiance lit up the streets wherever they stretched, glowed luminous in the dark depths of Draedona's realm. Should they perish under his blade, he would too.

With one final, desperate strike that took everything Xenro had left in him, the Chain broke.

And so did he.

Waves of glittering gold rose from the ruined streets and lanes of Byton as the Chains disintegrated. The first trace of color was in the city after days of grey storms and black blood.

With them went the Vasaeni, the binds of sorcery that bound their souls coming undone, bodies once again turning to their original forms. The change progressed, wave-like from where the first Chain lay broken.

✦✧✦✧

No firemount blazed into life. No deadly blow hurtled toward the tower to end those few standing atop it.

Farren opened her eyes, hearing an ever rising chanting mingled with cries from the legions of Vasaeni.

They perished before the horrified eyes of the general, one and all. Where there had been standing an army but moments ago, there was a heaving mass of lifeless corpses, all crumpling to the ground--degrading, degenerating into shrivelled skin and bare bones. Weapons clattered and armors clanged together as they all fell.

"Praise be to the Nameless One!" hailed the battlemages.

Cheers arose from all around the palace. Byton was encased in a golden light, unreal, ethereal in its beauty.

But in the midst of it all rose a cry, a horrific amalgamation of two voices mingled together.

"This can't be!" bellowed Emric, his words unnaturally amplified through all the clamor.

A sudden quiet fell around them, minds gripped by terror at the voice alone.

Yet Queen Lysandra held her ground in her ruined palace. There she stood at the very edge in the dying rain, crown askew and hair flying.

"It is as it should be!" she shouted after her long silence. "The Gods have chosen your destiny to be thus. Kneel, general."

Emric, or the creature that resembled him stood there motionless.

Farren felt a faint crackle of sorcery in the air.

"Give in and your life may be spared. In Midaelia we are merciful," said Lysandra, the mercenaries already mustering up their powers. Fires leapt from their palms. "Yet should your depraved self take another step out of line, nothing will be left but ashes."

"We'd all be ashes," answered the creature. "Once I'm finished with you."

Farren's warning cry died in the chaos that ensued next.

The floor below her boots started to quiver ever so slightly, delicate waves of sorcery surged through the air. A white haze had started to form around them, encircling the whole of the palace.

Emric was raising an enormous Death Ring.

"Kill him!" Captain Walric shouted at the top of her lungs. "Finish the bastard before he can doom us all!"

In ghost-like agility, Emric leapt from where he stood, and the sorcerous attacks hit nothing but stone. The magic he commanded was someone else's, someone with almost godlike mastery over the force. The Death Ring engulfed them all in seconds, and in seconds too it began to shrink inwards.

The palace walls began to crumble. The corpses it passed over turned to dust.

The greater they are, the faster they shrink....and destroy everything in its way.

The captain's advice rang loud and clear in Farren's mind.

"If we cannot kill him fast enough, this is the end for all of us!" said the captain beside her.

It appeared Emric knew exactly that. He cast wards about himself and deflected all that the battlemages sent against him, be it scorching flames, freezing ice or cruel immobilizing spells. The Ring closed in on all of them, seconds away from destroying them all. He was near invincible, as though he had two souls in the same body.

Two souls...

Even as the tower shook with the issuing of sorcerous attacks, things shifted into place in Farren's mind.

‘The barrier cast upon you by a Death Ring is similar to a wall that can only be breached by a great sorcerous force.’

'And what might that be?' she'd once asked the captain, long ago over a crackling fire on their way to Drisia.

'A human soul.'

"Captain," Farren said now, "I think we can break the Death Ring ourselves."

Many faces besides the captain turned to stare at her in disbelief. "What?"

With a nod, she rose and strode to the very edge of the tower, where a broken stone slab jutted out precariously. An odd sense of peace prevailed, the sorcerous currents of the Death Ring coming closer with the second and ruffling her hair. In a few minutes, it would all be over. Standing upon the very brink of sure death, she smiled as she pulled out her dagger from the sheath.

The wondrous little blade that had started it all, and it would end it, too.

Protesting voices cried out, trying to stop what they did not understand.

A little cut, a tinge of pain was all it would take to summon him.

But today it would be different. She would not be manipulated. Because today, she would ask nothing for herself, but for all the others.

The blade sliced through her finger. It hurt far worse in her withdrawal ridden body.

The all too familiar feeling of hopelessness grasped them all, pressing upon their chests like heavy stones.

In the midst of a city in ruin, a palace on the brink of collapse from a Death Ring, Atruer appeared in his strongest form, drawing power from the overwhelming despair all over the land. A giant wisp of black smoke billowed in mid air before Farren.

Through it appeared his hooded visage, pitch black wings holding him aloft.

Even Emric paused for a moment.

"What did I tell you, lass?" Atruer said as he laughed. "You came back to me. They all do."

For the first time in her life, she was relieved to see his cursed face.

"Of course you were right. Who else but the Gods would know the destinies of us puny mortals?"

A crooked grin spread across his pale face. "What is it that you wish for, then? Ask away, if only you can pay the price."

Farren was ready to pay any price today, if it meant saving them all.

"I want my deal back," she said. "Fuse another soul into me. Make me a Vasaen again."

"Ah, that I can do. There's never been a shortage of human souls, but..." Mischief danced in Atruer's eyes as he hovered closer, long-fingered hands outstretched. "What do I get to take from you?"

Everything, Farren wanted to say.

Yet she did not wish to die here. Not when victory was so close. She wanted to live again, not simply march from one battle into another.

Farren wanted to drink ale with Klo until she'd have to drag her out of the inn. She wanted to go on crazy adventures with Rendarr. She wanted to stand upon a sun-kissed meadow with Linder. She wanted to serve Queen Lysandra with all her might. There was so much she wished to live for.

Yet if there was one thing she would rather live without...

She took a deep breath. "I would give up my...magic. All of it."

"And then what? Depend upon blade alone when in battle?" he urged, although greed gleamed in his eyes.

Farren nodded. What was but the use of magic if they all turned to dusty bones in the end?

"You really wish to be so bland, so woefully empty and plain in a world full of wonders?"

"My people are all the wonders I'll ever need," she said.

Atruer smiled wide, clapping as he retreated into his home of smoke. "Then so be it."

All sorcerous power fizzled out of Farren, and a force swept back in her again--the soul of some unfortunate merging into hers.

She wasted not a second. The Death Ring was upon them now.

She plunged the dagger in her arm as deep as she could.

The Sacred Blade drove into her, severing the bond of sorcery that held an immortal soul in mortal flesh... for such was the power of the ancient weapon.

The soul thus set free, collided into the barrier of magic with an overwhelming force.

The great ring of sorcery came undone.

The Death Ring's shrinking edge struck Emric even as it shattered from the power of the soul.

Naught was left of the general but dust.

Farren fell back, many arms reaching out to cushion her fall.

Midaelia was freed at last.

✦✧✦✧

Cries of victory and wonder rose from all around Byton in a chorus.

Pertheran was freed at last.

The doors to the afterlife were open to him, eternal peace just moments away. He would endure no more pain. No more sorrow. No more suffocation of being trapped into his own corpse. Slowly, he lowered his powerless body to the ground, curling up on the bloody cobbles in the manner of a babe in a womb.

"Thank you," he managed to mutter, the tears that had formed in his eyes rolling down as he shut his eyes.

Xenro heard and saw little. In his eyes were darkness, in his ears a shrill ringing. His knees hit the dirt and his sword clanged to the ground from his limp hands. Groping in the dark, he took hold of Pertheran and held him close as he passed, shielding him from the chunks of broken ice that rained from above.

Foul Chains and ancient sorcery bound him to the world of living no longer. And so Pertheran left the mortal realm without pain, in the arms of a dying God.

His skin flayed away and flesh decayed. In the end, Xenro was left clutching pale bones as life left his own limbs.

✦✧✦✧

'When the Torch flickered to life, I broke out of Father's imprisonment at once. And from there I flew between realms posthaste, just for you. And this is how you repay me, you fool of a brother!'

The huge head of the ice dragon was eye to eye with Xenro as he knelt, feeling the last of his strength leaving him. Icy puffs of wind fanned over him as Edis drew breath. His enormous forelimbs rested on the ground, eyes fixed upon him as a wordless communication went down between the brothers.

"Forgive me," Xenro pushed the words out of his numbed lips. He tried to rise one last time but failed. Edis stretched his head forward to catch him as he fell. Xenro spread his arms over the coarse, silver hide of the great dragon, touching their foreheads together in some semblance of an embrace.

Cold water dripped from above and dotted the puddles. The shield was melting. A clear blue sky beamed through it. Sunbeams fell upon the brothers.

'We did it, Xenro. You did it. The Gods defied Father's command. They withdrew from the Apocalypse once they witnessed the destruction of the Chains. The heavens hail your name today, Xenro. You are remembered once again.'

Large tears welled in the slit-like, silver eyes of Edis and rolled down his scaly skin.

Xenro felt a pull, a desperate calling from the distance that tore through his final rest. He was being summoned.

Slowly he pulled away from Edis.

"Grant me leave," he said. "I must go to them. For one last time."

'Go.' Edis lowered his head, clutching with his talons the soft haze he left behind.

Shadowy silhouettes surrounded him when he emerged on top of a crooked tower. Outlines blurred together and flashed in his failing vision. He was doubled over, palms pressed against the flagstones.

"Lord Xenro..." said a shaking voice. "What curse fell upon us that we wiped your name from our memories for so long? Forgive me for all my insolence I have shown in my ignorance!"

The Captain bowed before him, head lowered, hand raised to her chest as though greeting a king. Yet she was the one who should command the respect of a monarch, she who had by her sole efforts held this company together, she who had saved a God from being lost into oblivion.

"Rise," he said, and it seemed to take every ounce of his strength to utter. "My time among your people has been the best I have ever lived in a long time. Never will I forget you, Captain."

Many more words were spoken, but they mingled in a buzz in his ears, head failing to make sense of it.

Flecks of gold flew through the air like embers as his very being began to fade, flickering away from existence in the mortal plains. He felt no pain, but a deep ache of parting in his heart.

He did not wish to leave them so soon. He wished to live. He would not be greedy. A few more years among the mortals was all he asked, some more stories to hear over the fires, a couple more songs to sing and drinks to share.

Glistening eyes regarded him from all sides. A miniscule whirlwind of sorcery surrounded him where he knelt. Its power was his own, breaking apart and disintegrating like the Chains. Folk feared to enter it, yet here was Farren on all fours, barging in the midst of it anyway. Ever the headstrong moron, this one.

Something crumbled behind her bright eyes as she inched closer to take his hands. Her fingers passed right through him, who was now but the shadow of his former self, dissolving, vanishing into thin air.

"No, no no no!" she cried, trying to catch a hold of him and failing. "You can't leave us like this. we were supposed to get through this together, damn it!"

"But we already have," he whispered. "Have we not?"

She screamed and howled in denial, so high it seemed she would drive herself mute from the shouting. Blood ran in thick streams from her wounded arm. And Xenro could not even lay a reassuring hand on her.

This mortal had once rescued him from his prison, gave him company in this wonderful world, fought and traveled alongside him. She meant to Xenro so much more than a companion found by the bond of destiny, or merely someone who held a resemblance to his once beloved. He adored her, much in the way he loved to watch the sun rise, waves crash on a shore, specks of dew hover in shafts of light. Or the way he loved to bask in the presence of the jolly folk, or perhaps the way he craved to simply...belong.

He would not leave her so miserable, so broken beyond repair.

He lifted the soldier by the arms and made her look up at him, with what little tangibility had he left in his fading form.

"In the end, we have won, Farren," he said. "We have stopped the Apocalypse. We have put an end to the Vasaeni. The battle, crackling beneath the ashes for so long, ends at last. You have fought bravely. A new life awaits you now, my warrior."

"One without you in it?" Tears flowed ceaselessly from her eyes.

"Live for those whom you still have," he said. "But above all, live for yourself, and never again fall prey to the manipulations of others. Be who you truly are at heart. All else will follow through."

Farren looked up at last to offer him a salute in the way of the Midaelian soldiers, tears streaming, eyes red and nose running. Her lips quivered with held back sobs.

Hands rose in the same gesture from the others who surrounded the two.

We will meet again. For the souls of the dead all go to the same place.

Xenro's voice was fading away, the whirlwind coming to a halt in a rain of golden dust. His time had come.

Would you remember me? He wished to ask.

But when Gods die, they are... forgotten.

Perhaps it was just as well, for his memories would haunt them no more. Their faces faded from his vision in a flood of white light.

✦✧✦✧

A cool touch laid gently on his forehead. A soft voice hummed an otherworldly tune and soothed his weary senses. A breeze brushed about him, and lifted all the traces of pain and suffering from his body. A deep calm pressed upon him on all sides, his surroundings dark and peaceful. Such tranquility was familiar to him.

"You were destined to come to me in the end. But never I knew the moment would arrive so soon, friend. Not so soon."

Xenro opened his eyes to see a skeletal face gazing down at him, a sad smile in the hollow cheeks.

He lay with his head resting in the lap of Draedona. She sat cross legged in the middle of a barren vale. Black, gnarled trees gently swayed in the horizon. Wind rustled the dry brown grass.

Peace prevailed once again in The Realm of the Dead. The sorcerous unrest had died down, Chains destroyed into oblivion. The Goddess was restored to her former glory. But not entirely. In one of her eyes was a gaping hole, arms bruised permanently by the marks left by the Chains.

Such were some disasters, so terrible in their enormity that even Gods were left scarred.

Yet it was over at last. He shut his eyes, truly at peace after thousands of years.

"Your act of kindness destroyed you, yet saved us all," she said. "For had you slain the soldier instead of the first Chain, mayhaps it could have latched onto another."

Xenro simply lay there in silence, relishing the serenity of Death's embrace.

The words fell away, and the scene of the valley faded. Darkness surrounded Xenro, the only source of light a bright gateway before him, shedding its rays in luminous shafts. So bright was it he had to raise a hand to shield his face. An ethereal voice echoed from everywhere at once.

'I give you the only reward I can bestow,' she said. 'Mortality.'

'I cannot restore your immortal soul to godhood, no. But I may give your soul...repose from ascension to the heavens.

'Go forth, my dearest, live the life a mortal away in a land where peace prevails, be never plagued by the memories of this life full of torment, be controlled and imprisoned by none. Live to the fullest with the one whom you yearned for centuries. Savor every moment of joy, grow and learn from sorrow.

You will return to me when your time comes, but it is not today.'

A figure sat by the gate, as though in waiting. Clad in a haze of gold he was, but Xenro would recognize him by his mere presence alone.

A hand stretched out to him.

"Took your sweet time coming here, didn't you?" The copper-haired young man smiled down at Xenro. He was still dressed in battered armor, helm hanging askew, as though not a day had passed since the war centuries ago.

"You...remember me?" Tears glistened in his eyes.

"Memories of the Mortal Realm fade after death, aye. Although there are things that can hold you back," said Dresius. "You are my anchor, Xenro."

Xenro grasped his outstretched hand-- feverishly, ardently. Gentle fingers closed firmly around his palm, their touch so familiar, their warmth so missed, their absence so hollow it had left a void in his soul all these years. There went the departed souls, up the steps towards the gate.

"Let's go home."

Thus ends the third and final tale Of Gods and Warriors,  The Apocalypse.