Blood Immortal

Thrall of Izabaldo

The fires in Jerelaith gave the forest of Grisfall a reddish appearance, making it resemble a world whose time for an apocalypse had come. Aarian and his intrepid companions nevertheless made their way into the sweltering wilderness that choked them with dense smoke. Indeed the inferno burning what little remained of the capital city had already begun to spread, and that included its lethal smolder.

From a distance, at least to Aarian, it looked as though his kingdom had been transformed into a living hell. Despite a week of traveling through the forest, he couldn’t help but look back every now and then, wondering why this happened. Thinking of all the people who suffered for his selfish actions made him feel sick to his stomach. He hated himself for feeling so wretched and believed that this appalling feeling had a name—guilt. And it was such guilt that made him feel skeptical of ever being heroic like his entourage.

“Prince Aarian,” called out Dargain.

“Huh?” said Aarian, snapping out of his pitiful daydreaming.

“Don’t drift too far away from us,” said Dargain. “We need to stay close together in order for us to be your shield.”

Aarian nodded, realizing that he had in fact distanced himself away from the group while daydreaming about his failure, and rejoined them. The forest’s trail was very narrow. As they pressed on, the manmade path eventually came to an end. They had no choice but to travel deeper through the hilly wilderness. An intense fog made it difficult for the surviving company to see ahead, much less aloof what with the smolder diverging from Jerelaith into Grisfall’s canopy.

Bushes, soft plants, and colorful flowers littered the knoll-like ground of the forest. And moss-covered trees that stood at least forty feet high were scattered all around. There were many thorny branches, and as the band of survivors progressed through the woods they noticed that the thorns expanded onto slanted trunks of trees. It looked as if the trees had been deformed. In fact, even the plants had grown sharp bristles.

Although the environment appeared creepy to the brigade, it still seemed natural to them. When the prince saw giant stipular spines with prickles, however, he slowed his pace and stayed even closer to Dargain who sliced them apart with his swords. This motivated Olwe to do the same with his axe. Taveric couldn’t mimic their actions since he wielded an enormous hammer, but Frostwarm cast freezing spells on the larger ones, allowing the paladin to shatter them. The wallop of his maul pulverizing them made a much more strident sound than an axe or sword, which only gave out minor thwacks.

Upon seeing his entourage take action without fear, Aarian, not wanting to be helpless any longer, raised his sword and struck down his share of overgrown stipular. He also battered his shield on the icy ones, shattering them into pieces.

“A fine shield, Prince Aarian,” said Taveric.

“Thank you, Lord Taveric,” replied Aarian, a weak face turned slightly confident. “Other than practicing with Master Dargain, I’ve never used a sword before.”

“You’ve trained well,” said Taveric, pulverizing a frozen plant that had stipular.

Despite the horrific situation, Aarian smiled at the paladin. Though keeping up with his protectors, he continued to occasionally glance behind him; seeing gulfs of flame still spreading from his ruined kingdom made his smile vanish. Dargain noticed this and frowned, feeling sorry for him. Yet he refused to console him. It was time for the prince to take responsibility and pull his own weight, Dargain conceded, and so he pressed on without a word.

“I sense a great evil approaching,” said Frostwarm, griping his staff.

Squinting his eyes, Dargain checked the group’s flank. He couldn’t see or hear anything suspicious other than the approaching fire from behind. Aarian swallowed, keeping his guard up yet feeling damned. The rest of the company remained vigilant, especially the high elves who were used to forests regardless of the situation. To their surprise, they sensed nothing abnormal around them.

“Ar’e ya su’re ’bout tha’t, laddie?” asked Olwe, his voice low.

Frostwarm, still alarmed, nodded. The forest’s canopy made it difficult to see; however, the wizard spotted a faint flicker high above. It was difficult for him to make out its origin, but he had a terrible feeling that the phenomenon wasn’t a star.

“What is it, Magi Frostwarm?” inquired Taveric.

The wizard did not respond. Instead he closed his eyes, strengthening his senses. Silence descended upon the brigade, broken only by a snapping branch in the nearby distance. Eëràndir widened his eyes and armed his bow.

“Mor’vyi’dou!” he shouted, releasing an arrow.

At that precise moment, elves as black as night leapt from the shadows of Grisfall with double-bladed swords. Their wild screams of hatred filled the air, disorienting the Vlydyonians. Only the dwarf roared just as loud, leaping off a hill between two trees and plunging his axe into the grisly face of a dark elf.

Eëràndir and Parla’vasa took cover by the bushes, shooting arrows at the approaching Mor’vyi’dou whose bodies were covered with crimson war paint. Dargain stood firm, parrying and riposting against two dark elves. Upon another Mor’vyi’dou sneaking up from behind and jumping to dig his blade into Dargain’s back, Taveric swung his maul into his chest, rupturing his ribcage. Frostwarm’s eyes lit up in flames, as did the ends of his oak staff, while three dark elves advanced toward him. He then swerved his weapon forward, melting the colliding blades and setting his foes ablaze.

During the battle, Aarian kept his shield raised, blocking several arrows. He wanted to throw his sword at one of the frenzied elves, yet he feared being attacked without a weapon to defend himself. Kneeling in a corner, he spotted Parla’vasa launching arrows into the woods. Seeing her fight with such a strong will made him feel even more ashamed of himself. He felt that he had to do something other than just hide and block incoming attacks with his shield. His entourage was outnumbered, and if he continued doing nothing he was sure they’d meet their end.

Not wasting another second, Aarian rose to his feet and charged forth. Sprinting toward Dargain, he managed to bash a Mor’vyi’dou using his buckler and then, watching his mentor’s flank, attacked another with his sword. The elf, however, parried and counterattacked. Aarian blocked with his shield and gasped, stepping back. Without thinking, he ducked and fell to the ground in an attempt to evade the double-bladed sword from splitting his body in half. He rolled to the side and stood up, deflecting another strike with his sword.

“Humyns are pathetic,” scowled the dark elf, his blade denting Aarian’s shield. “I will enjoy gutting you.”

“Master Dargain, help me,” wheezed Aarian.

Parrying, he glimpsed at his mentor and noticed he had too many elves pinned against him to help. The elf grumbled with a maniacal grin as he drew his sword closer to Aarian who accidently bumped his back on a slanted tree. At that exact moment, the elf thrust his weapon and disarmed him. Aarian stiffened, staring blankly at his rival. Fearing his demise, he dropped his shield, knelt down, and waited to be killed, feeling unworthy to pray to the Nine for arcane transmigration. Just before being decapitated, an arrow struck through the dark elf’s neck. The prince, slack-jawed, watched the Mor’vyi’dou fall dead to the mucky ground. Turning to where the arrow had come from, he realized that the princess had just saved his life.

“If you’re going to fight, then fight!” reproached Parla’vasa, arming her bow.

“Right,” replied Aarian, picking up his sword and shield. He strode over to Dargain and the others as he shouted, “For the eternal Spirits!”

He thrust his edge with all his might at a dark elf who swiftly blocked his attack. Using a double-bladed sword, the Mor’vyi’dou vehemently fought against Aarian and Dargain. His speed was extraordinary, making it difficult for the duo to harm him. While riposting, the prince saw a fireball cast by Frostwarm hurl past him, decimating an elf. Moments later, the wizard conjured an ivory bolt of lightning that struck three approaching enemies.

Beginning to lose concentration, Aarian took a few steps back while Dargain decapitated the elf he’d been fighting against. Although blocking with his shield, he panted and observed the battle like a ghost what with the dark elves ignoring him. Olwe, Taveric, and Dargain fought side by side. Frostwarm, in the meantime, stayed beside Eëràndir and Parla’vasa who attacked from a distance.

“Might of Thay’tal, what am I doing?” Aarian asked himself, trembling.

He wanted to be a competent warrior, yet no matter how hard he tried to swallow his fear and fight against those responsible for destroying his home, he’d find himself fleeing. Even now, his mind clouded in hatred, he felt terrified and wanted to escape. Raising his head in an attempt to converse with the Nine, he musingly stared at the same twinkling phenomenon Frostwarm had spotted prior to being ambushed. It was drawing closer to the forest—too close.

Aarian couldn’t take his eyes off it, hoping it was a divine sign that the immortal Spirits would help. Gazing at it for a few more seconds, however, he realized that that was not the case. No, he conceded, it wasn’t an immortal descending from the heavens to protect his people, nor was it a falling meteor; it was something else all together. Dread became him. He turned away without a word, darting over to where the Mor’vyi’dou were coming from.

“Prince Aarian, come back!” exclaimed Dargain.

“H’as he los’t his mi’nd?” asked the dwarf, a bushy eyebrow raised.

“We need to respect the prince, Olwe,” said Taveric.

Just then, the forest lit up as though the sun had risen. The factions gazed up at Grisfall’s canopy and shriveled like Aarian at what they saw. Approaching from the sky, burning the now red canopy, sizzling the trees and grass, and crashing down to the surface of the scorched forest was a being of hellfire.

The thrall of Izabaldo stood up from the charred ground, standing sixteen feet tall. Its eyes seethed in an amber fury, spiral horns sprawling from its cranium and tentacles writhing from its winged back. Without hesitation the demon struck a regiment of startled Mor’vyi’dou, roaring and baring its needle-shaped teeth. One swipe of its claw ripped the dark elves apart. Blood squirted all over the burning trees and plants.

“By the Nine,” gasped Parla’vasa.

“Attack!” shouted Eëràndir, releasing arrows at the demon.

The projectiles pierced the fiery being’s chest, instantly thawing. Snorting, the demon gazed at Eëràndir with revulsion and leapt toward him. Speed being his talent, Eëràndir rolled aside and avoided the pounding, bulky fists of the demon by an inch. The thumps caused several Mor’vyi’dou and Vlydyonians to lose their balance. The demon cackled as it turned to Eëràndir, giving its prickled back to the others. Despite a fiery haze forming on the demon’s spikes, it felt an abrupt chill run up its spine.

“Ar’dosis kel’ta rei!” shouted Frostwarm, a freezing orb of ice hurling from his hand and blasting the demon’s back.

Though the spell didn’t harm him, the tentacles on his back froze. Taveric hastily lifted his maul and struck one, shattering it. Olwe couldn’t reach them, so he swiped his axe into the demon’s ankle. Upon attacking, fire ignited from the wound, burning the dwarf who yelped at the top of his lungs. Taveric, eyes widened, rushed over to Olwe and placed his palm over the dwarf’s burnt face. The paladin’s eyes glowed blue as he healed the dwarf.

“Tha’nk ya, laddie,” said Olwe weakly. “I ow’ ya my li’fe.”

“You’d do the same, old friend,” replied Taveric, preparing to attack again.

Bellowing, the demon spewed flame from its mouth at Frostwarm who shielded himself with a magical barrier of frost within which emitted ivory symbols of the Nine. At that moment, Eëràndir shot an arrow into the demon’s eye. It roared monstrously, etching a spell in the air with fire. Afterwards, the same rune formed on the ground beneath the high elf.

“Eëràndir!” called out Parla’vasa. “Run!”

He didn’t know why the princess had told him to retreat when he’d just gravely wounded the demon. The crafty smile on his face sharpened as he aimed his bow at the other demonic eye. Before releasing the arrow, however, the ground he stood on burst, consuming him.

“No!” shrieked Parla’vasa.

Taveric attempted to cast a healing spell on Eëràndir, but it was too late. No magic cast by a mere mortal could resurrect him. Tightening his grip on the mallet, he slammed it against the demon’s knee. It gave out a deafening roar, striking the paladin with its fiery elbow. Taveric yelped horrifically as he was sent into the air, slamming against a tree that fell with him. Master Dargain, finally slaying the last Mor’vyi’dou in the vicinity, reached Taveric’s bloodied body before Olwe could.

“I won’t let you join the Nine yet,” said Dargain, dragging the paladin away.

Olwe, rage in his eyes, raised his axe and roared, charging toward the demon. When he was just a few feet away from attacking, Frostwarm cut him off.

“It is futile, Olwe.”

“Ta hell it is!” he retorted, pushing the wizard out of the way.

“We must retreat!” demanded Frostwarm, yanking Olwe back. “Revenge is not possible today. You would only disgrace Lord Taveric.”

“This way!” called out Aarian, reappearing from the south. “There is a cave ahead.” Taveric cast a weak healing spell on himself and joined the prince first. Then the others united with him while Frostwarm held the demon at bay with minor lightning and frost spells. His strength had waned, no longer capable of casting powerful magic. He simply wasn’t strong enough to defeat the hellish being, and so he, too, turned away and ran with his comrades into the southern wilderness of Grisfall.

Though running, they heard the demon bellow as though it were right behind them. This was the first time the group followed Aarian. Just so, they couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time they’d do so. There wasn’t a single manmade trail. They simply sprinted through a seemingly endless wilderness filled with poisoned plants and rotting trees.

“Where in Khordalam’s name is that cave?” asked Dargain.

“It’s less than a mile away,” replied Aarian, huffing and puffing. He gazed skyward and spotted more spheres of hellfire descending from the scorched heavens; though, they were falling toward his ruined kingdom. “See them?” When he glanced at Dargain and saw him nod, he went on, “That demon you were fighting was just one of hundreds.”

“Impossible,” said Parla’vasa, running beside Aarian.

“I’m afraid the prince may be right,” wheezed Frostwarm, losing his breath. “What we once thought were meteors are probably demons. But now is not the time to debate. If the cave Prince Aarian spotted is near elven ruins, then it may be Tor’kales.”

“W’ho bloody ca’res wha’t the da’mned th’ing is ca’lled,” said Olwe.

“You should,” said Dargain. “Tor’kales, if it’s still intact, contains a passage that leads to the southern coast of Vlydyn.”

“What does that mean, Master?” asked Aarian, running out of breath.

“It means we’ll be at Keldoran’s doorstep,” answered Dargain.

“Aarian, did you see any ruins nearby?” asked Frostwarm.

“I’m sorry,” he began, haggard and slowing down, “I can’t remember. The moment I saw it I thought it’d be the perfect sanctuary for us and ran back to get you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t abandon us altogether,” murmured Parla’vasa.

“I beg your pardon?”

Not a second later, Aarian tripped on a log and fell to the ground. Dargain hurriedly turned to where the prince had fallen and gave him a helping hand. Getting back on his feet, Aarian heard an outrageous roar and grew pale, leaning against Dargain who realized that the demon was gaining on them.

“Hurry!” said Dargain.

They picked up their pace, heading deeper south. The trees, grassland, and plant life were decaying around them, and the soil was turning gray like ashes. Pounding stomps filled their ears as they ran through the dying woods.

Finally catching up with the others, Aarian noticed splintered stones scattered throughout the region. When he’d first ran in this direction and discovered the cavern, he thought they were natural rocks. However, now that he knew elven ruins existed here in Grisfall, he was sure these pieces were either marble or some other material used in elven masonry.

“Tread carefully,” said Frostwarm, his old keen eyes reconnoitering the dreary ruins of a once majestic kingdom.

Aarian and his entourage warily searched the area while still sprinting ahead, making sure the Mor’vyi’dou weren’t planning to ambush them again. Although there were less trees around this area, the forest was still dense.

“Look!” said Parla’vasa, pointing eastward.

Not more than a mile away lay the entrance to Tor’kales, a dilapidated cave nestled in a moss-covered mountain. The surviving company rushed toward the cavern, hoping to get away from the demon. Yet they still heard its thunderous footsteps.

Aarian turned while sprinting and saw the fiery horns and tentacles of the hellish fiend rising above the remaining trees. The demon was relentless—it’d be this way until he and his companions would be dead, he concluded. Aarian grew tired of this. Foolish or valiant, for better or worse, he slowed his pace and unsheathed his sword and shield. Then he stopped altogether, letting his protectors pass him.

“Prince Aarian, what are you doing?” asked Dargain, halting too.

“I’ve had enough of this,” said Aarian, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Go into the cave,” said Dargain sternly.

“No,” replied Aarian, his voice just as stern. “I’m tired of always running. If this is the end, then I want to die fighting for my kingdom.”

“Don’t be foolish,” said Dargain, scowling.

“I’ve been foolish all my life,” said Aarian, brandishing his sword and shield. “From this moment on I’ll stand by those who have protected Vlydyonian blood.”

That instant, the trees before them were smashed apart by the demon’s forearms. Its left eye, no longer wounded by Eëràndir’s arrow, seethed with as much flame as its right. Snarling, a wisp of sweltering smoke billowed from its fiery teeth. It then snorted and bellowed at the top of its lungs as fire blew out its mouth. Aarian deflected the inferno with his buckler that, after a few seconds, started melting. In the meantime, Dargain approached the demon sidelong, slicing its torso and tentacles with his blades.

Screeching in unexpected pain, it turned its breath of fire to Dargain who slid away. The flame was merely a foot away from him when it turned to ice, shattered by an enchanted arrow. Frostwarm and Parla’vasa emerged behind Aarian, their countenances unwavering. Just then, Olwe charged out and hurled his axe into the demon’s face, splitting it. Cackling, it removed the axe, which sizzled in its hand, and gazed upon Aarian and his remaining entourage as the flames of hell healed its face.

“The Nine have forsaken us,” said Aarian, his mouth agape.

“Blasphemy!” announced Taveric, raising his hammer.

Before the demon could turn to determine the source and identity of the voice, a luminous light appeared near it. It craned its head toward the glow, only to be greeted by a massive maul. Taveric struck the demon’s chest so hard that the iron mallet cracked and broke off the wooden handle. Without hesitating, he leaped into the air, his palms joined, and cast a spell of holy light in midflight at the demon.

The paladin’s bloodied visage lit up like a demigod, a blue aura surrounding him, as his entire body transformed into a gleaming nimbus. The demon snorted at the illumination, which then blasted through its ruptured chest. Even though the fiend was cursed with holy power, it remained alive.

“Taveric, ya foo’l,” uttered Olwe, a tear rolling down his bearded cheek. “Wh’y di’d yer sa’cri’fice yer’self in v’ain?”

“No,” said Dargain, standing firm. “I refuse to believe he died as a martyr. No, he died a warrior’s death—one as honorable as I hope to have.” He raised his swords and charged toward the demon, evading its ferocious swipes while stabbing it. Fighting toe to toe with the fiend, he shouted, “Come, brother! It is time to end this monster once and for all!”

Staff in hand, Frostwarm placed his fingers on its spherical tip, a wave of frost magic launching into Izabaldo’s thrall. Ice formed on the demon’s feet, keeping it in place. Aarian, meanwhile, struck the fiend from behind with Dargain. Parla’vasa stayed beside the drained wizard, continuing to shoot arrows at it. For the first time since its arrival, the demon showed signs of being injured. This helped give Magi Frostwarm the will to cast his strongest spell of lightning yet: cracked rays of white death stretched from his illuminated staff, electrocuting the demon.

With the exception of the wizard, Aarian and his companions backed away. They gazed at the fiend in fright, watching it slowly crumble to its knees. When the demon collapsed to the ground, however, it produced an ear-screeching roar that staggered Frostwarm, sending him back a few steps.

“Begone, spawn of hell!” shouted Aarian, throwing his sword at the demon.

“Your attacks are futile,” uttered the demon monstrously, catching the sword. “Izabaldo now rules this fallen land, and you shall all be his servants in death.”

Aarian swallowed heavily, wondering if there was any way to defeat this monstrosity. He had never seen Dargain look so defeated. He’d always thought of Dargain as the greatest warrior in existence, a man incapable of losing in combat. Many had died since the incursion, including Paladin Taveric who’d sacrificed himself in an attempt to vanquish the demon. Yet it was all for nothing, he thought. Now he understood Olwe; as a matter of fact, he couldn’t help believe that he and his people would be slaughtered in vain.

Then, out of nowhere, it seemed, he saw a shadow of hope. He’d caught something from the corner of his eye move skyward. Upon gazing up, he spotted a violet-haired dark elf leaping from Grisfall’s canopy with a double-bladed sword. In midflight he etched a spell into the air using his blood, and as his purple eyes glowed, the soil beneath the demon became hazy, a runic symbol appearing as though carved by wraiths.

Aarian stared at the elven glyph with a ghastly face; it was a nine-pointed star encircled with blood—he would never forget it. The demon tried to break free, but the ice that Frostwarm had cast on him earlier still kept him imprisoned. Giving out another deafening bawl, the demon struck the manacles of ice with its fists, shattering them. Before moving out of the way, however, an earthquake started, and the runic nine-pointed star on the split ground turned into slimy hands of blood, clutching the demon and heaving it into the depths of oblivion.

“You cannot prevail!” roared the demon. “Izabaldo shall hunt you down and consume the world with fire until everyone in Yunedar serves him.”

Upon the thrall of Izabaldo being devoured, Aarian and his entourage targeted the dark elf who’d just landed on a hill beside the sinkhole. Even though the prince didn’t have a sword any more, he positioned his shield vertically, ready to use its sharp circumference as a weapon. The elf, whose indigo skin had multiple black runes, remained still while the others approached him.

“Lower your weapons,” said the elf finally, rising to his feet. He noticed Parla’vasa ready an arrow along the string of her bow when he stood up, at which point he dropped his sword and added, “I am not your enemy, Quel’de’nai.”

“Who are you?” asked Parla’vasa in a demanding tone. “Are you responsible for this nightmare?”

“My name is Xel’vakora,” he said, his purple eyes glaring at her.

“I am the princess of Lar’a’dos and order you to answer me; are you responsible for this nightmare?” she inquired, ready to put an arrow in his black heart.

“No,” he said coldly. “However, I can enlighten you as to who is accountable for ruining our world.” He paused for a brief moment and went on, “Saldovin Keldoran, as with most of my kind, was enraged with your plan to marry the humyn prince and wanted to stop it. He sacrificed his sister, as well as his own immortality, in order to summon a demon known as Izabaldo. And now, as suspected, the demons have begun an invasion.”

“Why are you telling us all this?” scowled Dargain, suspicious.

“I no longer serve the will of Saldovin Keldoran,” said Xel’vakora. Before waiting to be mocked or asked whom he currently serves, he went on, “I now aspire to be like Gar’kon. He is, and always will be, the only Mor’vyi’dou who deserves respect.”

“True,” began Dargain, “because only the Nine can save us at this point.” He took a deep breath and continued, “Your words do not lie. Regrettably, my comrades and I cannot say the same about you. Whether you are an elf of honor, you must prove it.”

“Then allow me the chance to prove it by guiding you through Tor’kales,” said the dark elf. “I’m sure none of you know your way through it. In addition, my black magic can be quite useful, as it was just now by sending the demon back into the depths of hell.”

“I s’ay we gut ’im ’n fi’nd the pa’th oursel’ves,” said Olwe.

“Agreed,” said Parla’vasa. “I don’t trust him at all.”

“Nor do I,” replied Dargain in a whisper. “But he did save us from the demon. He could have easily let the fiend devour us.”

“Indeed,” said Frostwarm, his staff steady.

A long silence fell over them, punctured only by the chorus of insects and the imminent fire causing the trees and loose logs to crackle.

“I have an idea,” said Dargain. “It is time to let our leader decide: Prince Aarian.”

“What?” snapped Parla’vasa before Aarian could even have a say in the matter. “Do you realize how many times he has abandoned us?”

“Yes,” said Dargain.

“Aye, ‘n ar’ ya a’ware of h’ow ma’ny ti’mes we h’ad ta sa’ve ’im?” asked Olwe, snorting.

“Of course,” answered Dargain.

Parla’vasa ignored him and released her arrow at the dark elf. When it reached his chest, however, he grabbed the bodkin with his fingers and threw the projectile aside. This alarmed the others.

“As the humyn with the headband said, let your leader decide,” grumbled Xel’vakora. “I won’t offer my help again.”

“I accept your offer,” replied Aarian. He noticed Parla’vasa roll her eyes while he added, “Just as Master Dargain said, if Xel’vakora truly wanted us to die, he would’ve never intervened. We’d probably be Izabaldo’s undead slaves right about now. And besides, do we have a choice? Does anyone know the passage through Tor’kales?” No one answered him. “Right, that’s what I thought. Now I’m no leader, but if we’re to stop Saldovin, we’ll need this dark elf’s help.”

“Spirits!” blurted Parla’vasa. “You’re so gullible!”

“Call me what you like,” said Aarian. “I probably deserve every ill name you can think of. But everyone deserves a second chance in life, and if even one Mor’vyi’dou wants a shot at redemption, I’ll allow it.”

Dargain smiled at him, a feeling of hope welling up inside him; hope that Aarian wasn’t simply referring to the dark elves.

“Well said,” responded Dargain.

“Wise words indeed,” said Frostwarm, bowing.

“Th’en wha’t the h’ell ar’ we waitin’ fer?” asked Olwe in an irked tone.

Xel’vakora gestured the survivors of the demonic calamity to follow him into the pitch-black cave. Despite the princess of Lar’a’dos objecting to this, she followed the others. But she certainly did not do so on her own accord. She despised all Mor’vyi’dou; and her anger toward the prince wasn’t too far off. Yet she didn’t want to wait for another demon to find and slay her, which was why she ultimately decided to follow the group.

As for the prince, he felt slightly less overwhelmed. Somehow they survived, conceded Aarian, and he wanted to believe they would stay alive. Aarian passed by the ancient elven ruins and gradually approached Tor’kales with his entourage, hoping from this point on he’d improve as both a dependable warrior and prince. Whether that was true, he’d have to travel through the primeval cave and confront Saldovin Keldoran.