The End of Emblar

Wrothgar threw down his weapons and shouted, “Do not harm them! Storn should have the final say on what happens to the ones we left alive!” Rikka, still holding a sword to her prisoner’s throat, said, “he would not suggest we ransom them! These Shifters are dangerous, far too dangerous for that kind of mercy.” The sky grew darker and things were changing all around them. “You’re right,” said Wrothgar, “but we’ve yet to hear from Jorn or Storn since they left to have talks with the Waning King. Their tongues are sharper than our swords you know.” Rikka nodded at her brother and then slit the throat of her captive. The other Shifters, who were in the service of Elonwye, looked on at them as savages but never showed a glimpse of fear. This world was living its final day and the sun was just near its resting place on the horizon. Blood ran across every inch of ground on Emblar. The other 8 worlds had already met their fate while Emblar itself still gasped for air. “I heard from the others that the ships were almost ready. Elloga crafted these to ride the rifts of Outer Darkness, hopefully somewhere far away from this place,” Wrothgar said hoping to reassure his sister. She was lost for a moment, gazing at a field of stone graves on the other side of the battlefield. She said to herself in a quiet voice, “Look after the place while we’re gone, father.” Wrothgar pulled Rikka by her hand and they ran toward the shipyard to meet with the others.

Meanwhile, in a small disk above the clouds, Jorn scolded Elonwye for his part in the destruction of Emblar. “I gave you my word, Elonwye, and you swore that this place would be safe from your coming, so long as we did not interrupt your cycles. Are you so hungry for repetition that you would risk our final war?” Jorn stood facing Elonwye as his bodyguard, Storn, guarded the entrance. “His mind is made up, My Lord,” said Storn, “Coming here would only prolong a negotiation with no resolution. Meanwhile, my men lie dead among the ash trees because I was not there to fight beside them!” Jorn knew that Storn spoke the truth but even so had no interest in letting Elonwye taunt him into another war.

Elonwye was calm, sitting in a throne made of Shifter Stones with a thought-cloud lingering above his head. He is analytical and sees only the facts but the truth gives him a headache. Jorn was the one who taught him to distinguish truth from facts. “You knew it would come to this,” said Elonwye, “our agreement was made in an age when our mingling had yet to occur. Did you think it was a secret that one of your Honored-Dead-With-Snakes-For-Hands had shared a bed with one of my Drones? The child of this union could end our cycles entirely and what would this place look like with no kings? It would be led by the Half-Blood who usurped them. I know you thrive in this kind of chaos but this would lead to a world where the universe could never even conceive of us. Is that the kind of freedom you are after? You are a daring man, Jorn, and our rivalry was surely the heartbeat of these worlds. Go now, join your men on the frontlines of doom. I will be here, waiting for the arrival of the one who is sure to come for me.”

Jorn, disheartened, walked toward the exit escorted by his trusted hound and Storn. He picked up his weapons that were held for him by Elonwye’s Drone but had a thought weighing on his mind. He looked at Elonwye and saw himself staring back. The mirrors were playing tricks on him again and he now knew that this war was inevitable. Jorn turned to speak to Elonwye, the last words to be exchanged between the two in this age. Jorn said, “I am sorry for you, Elonwye. You know everything but have clearly learned nothing.”