They meet at the ancient cave of Raygor, hidden in the mountains north-east of the burning plains where the last battle of the Daemon war has ended. The earth scorched by battle, churning up by the boots of a thousand men, kicking up dust, invading every crevice of their armour. The desolate terrain is devoid of any sign of life; no plants or animals stir. The moon's reflection casts a haunting crimson glow upon the cave's sleek walls.

   A tall, slender figure strides towards the mouth of the cave. The stench of blood and burnt flesh pervades his nostrils, mingling with the taste of ash on his tongue. His armour is scratched and dented, the metal bearing the scars of countless battles, and his body and mind are weary from the final conflict. Each step is a laborious effort, but his determination carries him forward, closer to his destination. The world around him seems muted and surreal, as if he is walking through a dream. The only thing that feels real is the pulsing pain in his muscles and the memory of the fallen.

   He spots Arrimis and Aisha standing a few paces inside, their blue armour reflecting the faint light of the moon; both with broad shoulders and stocky legs, one taller than the other.  

   He steps inside the dank and mouldy tunnel with the darkness at his back. His sharp eyes can see the ancient scripture, feel the hand-carved runes as he runs his fingers along the walls, sending a shiver to his core. Closing his eyes, he remembers his teachings from long ago. His nose wrinkles as the putrid stink of death mixed with the metallic scent of blood. It invades him with each step he takes inside this wretched place of life.  

   “Folknor!” Arrimis booms. “You look tired, my friend.”

   Folknor lifts his weary head. “I feel it too.” A short laugh escapes him before he continues in his Kankorian lilt. “It will soon be over, I hope. Where are the others?” 

   He looks around, not waiting for an answer. His eyes bleary, the space between them shifts and sways. He turns back to Aisha and heads towards her, his body jerking as if pulled by a string. By the Gods, I need to sleep. Squinting in the gloom, he shudders as his senses sharpen again. He shuffles back and forth, lifting little puffs of crushed bone-dust from the ground. 

   Aisha looks at Arrimis frowning. “We had thought they were with you, Folknor?” 

   He looks up, his green eyes brightening in the gloom. “No. I saw Demitri and Dana on the far side of the battlefield at the end. They were helping with the wounded. But of Manu and Maya, I have not seen them since we began our assault.” Where could they be? 

   Aisha tilts her head, the reflection of the moon, turning her blue eyes a deep shade of violet. “Strange, they were with us at the beginning. Then we were separated shortly after the first assault.” She glances at Arrimis, her king. “We heard murmurs about Freya’s… end.” She looks at Folknor, eyes downcast. “I am sorry, old friend. She was a great queen, Folknor. Noble. And a magnificent woman.” Aisha bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. She shuffles her feet. “Did you find her brightstone?” she whispers. “You know we—”  

   The sound of heavy footsteps echoes around the cave. They freeze, looking into the darkness as the stench of the cave envelops their senses. Every sense picks up the faint grey glint and the sound of clanking armour. They relax, not realising each of them had reached for their weapons.   

   “Demitri and Dana. They may have seen the others,” says Folknor.  

   He watches as the new arrivals reach the mouth of the cave. He studies them, his eyes picking out the filth and scratches from battle. Demitri carries his helm in the crook of his arm, his short red hair seeming to light his way. Dana, a hair breath shorter than her king, follows at his heels; her helm still on, but unable to keep her long, fiery hair at bay as it flows out behind her.  

   They stop short of the entrance in unison, their nostrils flared, taking in the rancid scent of spilt entrails. “I hate this place, Demitri,” whispers Dana. “It reminds me of all that has been. We need to finish this and be done with it.”  

   Demitri flicks his head towards the cave. “Yes, but we are missing Manu and Maya. And Folknor is here without his queen. Where is Freya?”  

   “I know not, my love. Wherever she is, we must be on our guard,” she says, removing her helm.

   “I hope Folknor at least has her brightstone? We need them all to finish this.” 

   The light dims as they continue and enter the cave of Raygor, they notice the ice spreading along the roof as they join the others in this destitute place of death and life.  

   Folknor greets Demitri, “It's good to see you both made it. We wondered if Manu and Maya were with you? No one has seen them since the start of the assault.” 

   Demitri looks at Dana with small grey eyes, her brow creased. Dana spins to Folknor, her fiery hair whipping around behind her. “Maya told me they were joining the fight with you and Freya.” Her eyes blaze. “What have you done? Where is your queen, Folknor? She should be by your side.”   

   Aisha gasps and looks at Folknor. He blinks, taken aback with the ferocity in Dana's voice. Confused with the sudden accusation, he clenches his fists hearing the pop of his knuckles. His skin crawls as sweat runs the length of his neck, seeping into every crevice of his armour. He takes off his helm, releasing his topknot, his jet-black hair falling straight to the base of his backplate. His piercing green eyes look up meeting Dana's. Rising to her full height, she stares back with defiance as the seconds go by, king versus queen. Then finally, she slumps and looks away.

   “Demitri.” His body rigid, his eyes still locked on Dana, boring into the back of her head. “I will not be spoken to like that again!” Relaxing, Folknor turns to him, “As I said to the others, I have not seen them since we began our assault. And of my love and Queen, she fell… in battle.” He looks down at the blood-soaked earth squelching beneath his boots, remembering what felt like a lifetime ago. “They cut her down from behind,” he breathes. “I was... too far away. To reach... reach her in time.” He takes a deep breath, holding it in, filling his aching chest. “She died honourably. As we all... should.”

   “But, what of her brightstone?” blurts Dana.  

   Folknor looks up again, his brows furrowed, his face contorting at the memory of his fallen queen. “I was carried away in the surrounding battle. I know not where she fell. Her brightstone could be lost forever.”

   “That will not do, Folknor! We have to find her. We have to find—”

   “Enough!” shouts Demitri. His voice echoing off the cave walls in a sudden crescendo of sound. 

   The silence after is deafening, each of them stare at one another with bated breath. 

   “What is all this shouting about?” A wiry voice speaks from the darkness.  

   They turn to the entrance, startled that they let the footsteps go unnoticed. Silhouetted in the mouth of the cave, in their red-tinged armour, stand Manu and Maya. One is tall and slim, the other shorter and rounder. Their red eyes are the only visible feature from beneath their half helms.  

   “Finally, you are here, and we can begin!” Folknor barks, still angry with himself for being goaded so easily. He looks into the depths of the cave, and without waiting begins the walk to the Sacred Well. The others follow in silence, the only light coming from the reflection of the moonlight on their armour.  

   “Wait! Where is your queen, Folknor?” asks Manu, stopping them all in their tracks.

   Folknor turns, his voice weary, “We are here now, Manu. Now, let us finish this.” 

   Manu ignores his response as if he didn’t hear. “Where is Freya, Folknor?” he demands. “She should be here. We need her brightstone,” Manu's voice is shrill with annoyance.  

   “As I said to the others. If you had gotten here earlier, you would have heard that she has fallen in battle.” His resolve almost breaks, and he drops his head. “I know not where she or her brightstone lie.”

   Manu's ears stretch up like a bat. He looks at everyone gathered, suspicion in his eyes. “What! How can you not know?” His voice rising an octave. “You're keeping it for yourself, aren't you? Where is it?”

   Folknor looks around, a sudden fire lighting up his eyes. “Calm yourself, Manu, or you will regret it.” His voice is steady, calculated. But inside his mind races and churns, wanting to rip his eyes from their sockets.

   Manu reaches for his short sword, reflexes as quick as a snake. In the same moment, Folknor grabs his two hurlbats at his belt, his arms rippling as his gauntlets squeeze the sharpened edges. Arrimis steps in slamming down his massive Warhammer, sending out a shockwave felt by all.  

   “Enough of this!” Arrimis booms. “We have come here to fulfil a task. Let us do that, instead of bickering like children.”

   They remove their hands from their weapons but continue to stare. Maya pulls her king in close, trying to calm him. Folknor, fists still clenched, takes a breath. Calm yourself. This is nearly over. 

   Folknor turns, and they carry on, Arrimis taking up the rear, watching with vibrant blue eyes. The only sounds are the echo of footsteps and the clink of rubbing armour. They see the light ahead and lengthen their strides. Sighing, Folknor says, “This is it, my King’s and Queen’s. We are here, at last.”

   “Good,” says Aisha, nodding in agreement. The rest happy to stay silent.

They exit the tunnel and enter a cavern that extends farther than they can see and higher than any building. It makes them all shiver as if hit by an invisible force. They shake themselves off and follow Folknor moving towards the centre. 

   Each of them gathers around the edge of the sacred well. It spans fifty paces across; a perfect circle cut deep into the earth. With a spectral glow, every possible colour swirls around, reflecting off the smooth walls, its background a deep black nothingness reaching down and down. They look on mesmerised, caught in the magic of this mystical wonder.  

   “Remove your brightstone’s,” says Folknor, breaking them from their trance.

   They pry their precious stones from their weapons and armour, clinking, and shuffling are the only sounds in the giant space. Arrimis and Aisha two blue stones; Demitri and Dana two grey; Manu and Maya two red and finally Folknor removes his green brightstone from the middle of his chest-plate. He looks at the gem sitting within his palm. Its beauty baffles him still, the multi-faceted edges sucking in the tiniest bit of light. He stares into the centre, sure that he can see movement there.   

   “I hope this works, Folknor? For your own sake,” rasps Manu.  

   Folknor takes a deep breath, still staring at the marvel in his hand. “It will, I was assured by our historians. This is the only way to finally end this plague.” 

   “Bah, your historians know nothing. My mages tell me it is more complex than that,” replies Manu.  

   Folknor sighs again, his head feeling heavy. “It will work,” he says to reassure himself more than the others. “Now pass me your brightstone’s,” he speaks with more authority this time. He looks to each of them as he offers a hand for the precious gems. He turns to Manu, his eyes fierce in the torchlight. They stare at each other, neither willing to look away. “Manu?” he asks a final time. 

   His only response - a smirk, with not a single hint of joy behind his snake eyes as he hands over his brightstone. 

   As Folknor turns to Maya, he sees a glint in the corner of his eye. Then a searing pain to the side of his skull blocks everything else out. The stones topple. He collapses to his knees. There is only pain and the sound of his blood rushing through his veins. 

   Then nothing. 

   Only darkness.   

 

⛬

 

Hearing muffled footsteps and the faint clash of steel on steel. He tries to look up but can't. He blinks to clear the dust from his eyes, he sees bodies on the ground scattered everywhere.   

   His field of vision limited; the only thing he can pick up is the red of leather armour. Manu's... troops, he thinks sluggishly. Looking past the troops, he catches a glimpse of them, and his heart stops. First is Aisha, her eyes dull, her hair matted with blood and dirt. With an effort, he turns his head, making his vision swim to see Demitri and Dana heaped together with a ring of bodies around them. Demitri's chest caved in and Dana's arm-less body still seeping blood into the hungry ground, she twitches a final time as he watches the light leave her eyes.  

   Folknor can still hear the crash of steel. He swivels his head around, seeing sparks fly from short sword and Warhammer. Manu and Arrimis, he thinks, his vision starting to clear. He tries to make sense of this chaos. He watches as Manu, quick as a snake, darts in and out of range, of Arrimis' giant Warhammer.   

   Arrimis bellows a defiant cry and charges forward. A hint of a smile touches Manu's lips, and he ducks under the blow, missing him by a hair's length. Then he sees it: the sparkle of Manu's brightstone on the pommel of his sword, the blade piercing straight through Arrimis' armour like butter.

   “Noooo!” croaks Folknor as he tries to rise. He gets kicked from behind and hits the ground face first; it bursts his nose, feeding the earth with his blood. Struggling to look up, he sees Arrimis fall to his knees, Manu's sword still buried in his chest.  

   Arrimis licks his dry lips as a trickle of blood forms at the corner, threatening to spill over. “Why, Manu? Why?”  

   Manu looks at him with those deep red eyes and rips his sword away in one vicious move. Blood spurts over his armour as Arrimis topples back. Folknor sees all this in slow motion, not believing, watching as his blood flows, and then slows down to a mere trickle.  

   Manu turns his attention to Folknor, “Well, my old friend, look what has become of us all.”

   “What have you done, Manu? What… have you… done?” he struggles to find the words.

   “I have claimed what is mine!” he spits.  

   The blood drains from Folknor's face. “The king of fire aye? You are mad, Manu. Mad!” He closes his eyes. This is it. It is my time. Our reign finishes in this wretched place, and I will never see those rolling hills of home again. Oh, Freya, what have we done? His eyes snap open as he frantically looks around, remembering why they were there. 

   “Where are the brightstone’s, Manu?” he demands.

   “Maya has them.” She raps Folknor with the pommel of her short sword. A sign she has been by his side from the minute the chaos started, guarding.  

   With black spots at the edge of his vision, he tries to speak, “Will you end this war? Or will you let them return and destroy our world forever?” He tries to turn, but thinks better of it, “Maya? Surely you can see this is wrong?” he pleads. She stays silent; her eyes focused on her king, with her short sword still only inches from Folknor’s neck.

   “Maya is with me. She is my queen, Folknor. There is no stronger bond.” He smiles.  “Now, let us finish this task.” Using his dagger, Manu pries his brightstone from the hilt of his sword, then takes the others from his queen. He turns to the sacred well; the spectral glow illuminating his eyes and stops at the edge, his palms outstretched.

   Manu speaks in the ancient tongue once spoken by Raygor:  

“Wid Saur, Vindur, Baal and Vatn I det shor minesaf tu vu, sal thi potan wi mine heartstone.”

 

(“With earth, wind, fire and water I do show myself to you, seal this portal with my heartstone.”)

 

   The wind picks up even though they are deep within the cave. The dust swirls into little tornadoes along the ground. A howling starts, getting louder and louder until the pitch is so high it is no longer audible to the human ear.

   Manu's men, skittish, exchange worried looks. They hop from one foot to the other. Then one of them turns and runs. And another follows, and another. Manu takes no notice. He can see the giant swirl moving, gradually picking up pace, he stands mesmerised. It's swirling, getting faster and faster, this beautiful giant hole in the universe.   

   The brightstone’s slip from his hands. Zipping to the centre of the well, moving faster than the eye can see.   

Sudden silence. 

   Then, as quickly as it came, the silence breaks as beams of light erupt from the centre of the well. They flash in all directions. Manu stumbles back falling. He looks up from his back, not feeling the sudden pain erupting in his side. His eyes brighten as a multitude of coloured lights bounce off the walls, lighting up the vast cavern. The walls, covered in the ancient runes, begin to change. They stretch and deform, then start to disappear, carried away as the beams of light slowly fade.  

   There is a sudden eruption of ear-splitting sound for what feels like an eternity, then nothing. Just darkness. Darkness, and silence.  

   As their eyes and ears adjust, they see a tiny faint glow coming from the centre of the well. Folknor tries to turn his head but can't. The blood running down his face leaking from his ears. 

   Manu sits up, the wound in his side screaming at him now, he pulls his hand back, his fingers slick with blood.  

   Still standing over Folknor, Maya stares into the abyss, her red eyes now black and lifeless. Her hair standing rigid and dull.

   Scrambling to his feet, Manu hobbles away from the well towards his queen. “Maya?” She doesn't move a muscle. “Maya, what are you doing? Did you see that? That light?” He moves towards her; still no movement. He touches her hand and flinches, her skin stone-cold. Not understanding, he moves closer, his eyes adjusting. She's solid, like a statue to one of the gods.

   “Maya…” His hands drop to his sides.

   Manu turns, not seeing anything other than his grief. The world spins around him, and he screams, it reverberates around them until his voice cracks. Manu falls to his knees, still, silent. 

   Still unsteady, Folknor rises to his feet. This is my only chance. With blood trickling down his face, blinding him in one eye, he shuffles towards Manu, who kneels alone with blood and bodies surrounding him. He releases his hurlbats, one in each hand. One of them clinks against his armour, making him wince, keep moving.

   Manu's remains still, emotionless, staring forward past his queen into nothingness.  

   Folknor steps close enough to strike. He lifts a single hurlbat, steeling himself for the killing blow. He sees a sudden movement too late as Manu strikes. In his despair, he is still quick. He thrusts his short sword straight through Folknor's stomach, not taking any notice of his now dull armour. Folknor gasps, his hurlbats clattering to the floor. Still standing, with Manu’s short sword through his gut, his face contorts as he hisses through clenched teeth. 

   “Why?” Blood starts to drip, tainting his armour. “We could have done this together.” He falls to his knees, hitting the ground with a soft clang. Still holding the hilt of his sword, Manu stands up towering over him. Folknor can see his red eyes and the tight grimace on his face.  

   “I want to rule, Folknor. I wanted to rule with my queen, but you took that away from me.” He rips out his sword. It catches Folknor's armour throwing out a bright spark illuminating their faces.  

   “I did nothing, Manu. The brightstone’s…” He coughs, bringing up a spurt of blood.” When they… fused together… they must… have.”  

   “Quiet,” barks Manu.  

   “How… could… I?” Folknor rasps. The cold setting in as the blood drains from his body.  

   Manu kicks him onto his back. “You will die in this wretched place Folknor. Knowing that at this very moment, your royal bloodline is being wiped out with the others. Mine is the true bloodline, and I will rule. Goodbye, my old friend, may you never rest.” He gives out a strangled laugh and plunges his sword through Folknor's neck. 

   He twitches once, then lies still. The light fading from his eyes.

   Manu lifts his sword, flicking off the blood in one fluid movement. He walks from this place of death and life without looking back, not noticing the faint pulsing of the tiny light as it slowly grows.