In The Oblivion of Shadow

In the Oblivion of Shadow

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An End to the Saga of Ones Forgotten and Troupe Tantalum

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A thread which binds the events of these yarns of fate together:

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Ruby and Leopold Winchester

Leopold and Ruby had always dwelt between bliss and rage. They had averted countless disasters and not all of them were by their own hand. Never had they encountered such trials and tribulations as when Duffy Bracken had entered their lives. Nearly six centuries later, he still vexed them utterly.

“What he is asking us to do is impossible.”

“Is impossible to achieve, or impossible to understand?”

Ruby Winchester never used such definite terms. She believed that if you set your mind to a task, anything was probable. All the same, she found herself with no choice but to admit defeat with Lysander’s request.

“Both.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that word.” Leopold reflected on their many years. He was right. Ruby had never said impossible. It was not something she believed in.

“I’m not in the mood for frivolities, Leopold.”

“I’m just surprised. We made a pact to see this through, to free our souls of this endless nightmare. Yet, posed with a solution to our troubles, you turn your cheek?”

“I will when we’ve spent half our lives trying to keep the oath alive!”

Seated opposite one another, the couple lounged in wing back chairs nursing delicate drinks and fragile egos. Their discussion had started at midday, and now, as the evening faded long past midnight, the sound of the dawn chorus told them a new day was dawning. The stalemate was solidified as the grandfather clock in the distant hall sounded the seventh hour.

“In the last few months business has never been better. Granted, the little shit blew up our house, came back from the dead again, and now he has asked us to literally shear him from the history books. What about any of this isn’t impossible?”

Leopold’s sincerity and frankness gave Ruby pause for thought.

“You’re right. We are used to the fantastical happening wherever we go. But this has a finality to it I do not like.”

“Everything dies, Ruby. Even us.” Leopold’s sincerity turned to blunted truth.

“We’ll lose him. For good this time.” Ruby frowned. “I’m not sure how he intends to do it, given he’s been too stubborn to die for centuries.”

“It’s a heavy torch to bear. We will all sacrifice much to put an end to this charade of gods and monsters.”

“Yet we’ll be short of our leading man.”

“Hardly. Young Duffy will still be here.” Leopold wrinkled his nose.

“That’s hardly a fair substitute,” Ruby chuckled.

“Lysander has promised to teach him everything he knows before the end. He will pass on the torch as each of our former lives has to the new face of the troupe.”

Ruby’s resolve faltered. She could not argue with that. Over the centuries they had lived so many lives and every time they had to change faces, they carried with them some of that experience until they had difficulty remembering who they were. They were all an amalgamation of heroes and villains etched into the sands of time.

“I’m too tired for metaphors,” she said with remorse.

“Not once in all our married years have, I ever gotten away with one. All the same, here is another: We are all plays in the lexicon of time. Lysander will copy over his parts to Duffy’s folio and some of him will be with us for years to come. Our face may change but what we stand for remains the same.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “If Duffy stands for anything it’s belligerence and stubbornness.”

“Exactly! No matter if he is tall or short, young, or old, the man inside remains the same.”

“I can’t even remember what he looked like the day we met.” Ruby remembered the snotty nose and the whiney voice, but not the haggard expression and street fighting scars.

“I don’t remember you either.”

“I looked exactly like this!”

“Did you?” Leopold grit his teeth. “The point is it’s not what we look like that matters. It’s what’s in our hearts.”

“Nice save,” Ruby seethed.

“I’d love you no matter your size or shape. If anything, I thought you would be pleased to have a younger brother to boss around again. What did Wainwright used to say about you two?”

Ruby looked back to those heady days of summer and smiled. “The student always surpasses the mentor.”

“That’s it. Duffy became everything you taught him to be and more besides.”

“He did. Everything I had to teach still was not enough. His curiosity is insatiable.”

Leopold sipped his drink and watched the hearth’s last embers begin to die. Rather than stoke it, he let it die hoping the ensuing chill would give him opportunity to move their discussion to their warm, welcoming bed. His bones still ached from the reconstruction of their home and the endless nights spent pouring over accounts and ledgers to somehow make the damages disappear into petty cash.

“I won’t do that again. I’m done with the stage.”

Leopold blinked. The shock was visible on his face even in the twilight.

“As I live and breathe, did Ruby Winchester just hang up her cape?”

Ruby pouted.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We tried. The spark kept us warm through grief but it’s never going to be more than nostalgia. Years apart fighting our own personal wards put the troupe to the sword.”

“Not once in five centuries have you been anything besides an actor. Song and dance and platitudes are in your blood.” Though supportive, Leopold’s mind wandered to the prospect of having his wife home more often. He started to say his prayers for his liquor cabinet.

“I know. But life is too short. Especially now. We have one life left; I don’t want to spend it on the road.”

“So what will you do instead?” With his liquor spent, he instead thought of the gold she could bring plying her ample talents to the furthering of their business in Salvar. She made deals and connections he could only dream of, though he was not sure if it was her acumen or her bosom that swayed men’s hearts. Perhaps both?

“If you think I’m being your trophy wife, think again.” Ruby could see her husband’s mind hard at work.

“I’d never suggest such a thing, you’re just exemplary at building a customer base.”

“A favour if you recall. I’ve given you a head start it’s up to you to make the most of it.” Ruby adjusted herself in her chair, a wince indicating she too had enough of headstrong conversation.

“I very much appreciate it. Go on, then, enlighten me?”

“My power lies in spell song. My voice defines me, its’ power stemming from my elven heritage. I will return to Raiaera to finish my education.”

Once, Ruby had been an elf and learnt blade singing under the scrutiny of the High Bladesinger. She had fled the country at the end of the Corpse War, circumstances leading to them killing Nalith before the High Council. Though the elves believed them traitors, the simulacrum of Pode had poisoned their minds and their deed allowed Nalith to turn the tide of the war upon her return.

“Do you think you will be welcome?”

“I will atone for our crimes. They will know what we did was necessary. Nalith will have proved Pode instructed their Council with her doppelganger.” Ruby sounded certain, but Leopold’s expression told her he remained unsure.

“We killed the High Bladesinger in broad daylight. That scar will run deep.”

“I’ll drag the Forgotten One’s corpse into the capital myself if I have to. We were never the enemy.”

“Fair enough. You know whatever you do you have my support.”

“You know what it is I’m asking, then?”

“Not once have I ever denied your whims.”

Ruby chuckled. “I’m not that insufferable, am I?”

Leopold finished the last of his cocktail and let the silence talk for him.

“Fine, fine…I have my moments. Let us hope the Aria remains in Lysander’s wake so that we can utilise the portals still. Raiaera is a long way to walk.”

“There are other ways to traverse that distance I’m sure. When do you intend to go?”

“Not till the spring semester. That gives us a few months to tie up loose ends.”

Leopold nodded. “I’ll acquire your lodgings after the tax year ends. I’m not having you sleep in the dormitories.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine. What will you do?”

Ever since Lysander’s return, Leopold had thought about what the rest of his life would look like. He had three choices. First, continue with his business and settle down to a life of number crunching and business meetings. Second, he could return to Berevar and re-join the throng of the Conclave, be Rook once more. Third, he could pick up his sabre again and return to the frontlines, ever ready to save those who could not save themselves. Whatever option he chose, he doubted he would ever find the same sense of being as he once had.

“Oh, I’ll figure something out,” he said deflated.

Ruby nodded. “You usually do.”

“You mean I’m resourceful.”

“Something like that.”

“Heh, I’ll take it as a compliment before you lose your tongue. With that decided, it’s time I show you how Lysander will achieve the impossible.”

“Wait, you already know?”

Leopold clicked his fingers. An abyssal sphere appeared from nothing, floating before the hearth and dancing in it is last light. The umbral surface sent a shiver down Ruby’s spine.

“You remember what this does?” Leopold pointed at it.

“It’s a lot smaller than I remember…” Ruby stared at it. “The Orrery.”

“This is only the core. The framework you see in the Castle is a stabilising device so those who cannot attune to the Tap can utilise its power.”

“I’ve had enough of spheres exploding in my house for one lifetime,” Ruby warned.

“There’s no danger. I made it; I can control it.”

“You made…that?”

In the days before he and Ruby met, at the height of his power, Leopold had been the Old God Rook. He had helped create many of the world’s artefacts, tools of power gifted to the most faithful of the world’s first tribes. As time marched on, and the communion with the gods came to an end the relics had been scattered and lost. In reclaiming in millennia later, even Leopold had been surprised it still worked.

“As Rook, I was tasked with keeping the dead and the living on a tight schedule. I bound the march of time to this artefact, so that I could monitor the ebb and flow of fate.” He moved his hand slowly, to show that it was connected to him. It turned as though moved by his will.

“All this time I thought it only showed you possible futures.” Ruby watched it turn, entranced by its presence. It hummed softly, growing louder with every rotation.

“That is true, to some degree. You can use the Orrery to see one possible thread, but it’s true purpose is to show you the precise moment of birth, and death of every living thing.”

Ruby balked. “You kept that from me?”

Leopold’s expression turned from revelatory to forewarning.

“What sort of life would we have lived if we new when we would die?”

“So you know…”

“I bore that burden alone, but I realise now I was wrong. We are talking about ending the hubris of the gods, so it is time I shed the self-same power we seek to end.”

“So you know when I’ll die?” Ruby’s voice trembled with fear.

“I have always known, Ruby. I have counted down the days we have been together, treasuring each second as though it was the last to avoid being consumed by guilt.”

Ruby leant forwards to inspect the surface, hoping to gleam her demise.

“No. I’m not telling you when you die.” Leopold pulled the sphere away from her, resting it on the arm of his chair and allowing it to become motionless. He rested his hands on the arms and took a deep breath. “I will show you one thing, then this wretched orb will go the same away as the Ice Henge.”

“You would destroy this gift?”

“Is it a gift? To know when all your loved ones will die and be powerless to stop it?”

Ruby made to talk.

“Enough. Lysander is going to die, and the Orrery will show us how to make sure that happens.” Leopold set the orb lose and it returned to its elated rotation. “Do not ask me again.”

“Fine.” She watched it with renewed obsession. “Show me.”

Leopold reached into the heart of the Orrery and tugged at the knot of threads which connected all life to it. When he felt fondness for a thread, he pulled at it until the sphere shoo to life and began to spin rapidly. A hum of power swelled out from within. Time seemed to slow, then stop, before the smoking room melted from view leaving the duo suspended in an infinite abyss. Ruby peered over her knees into the dead drop and shivered.

“That was unsettling…”

“Don’t worry. You’re quite safe.” Leopold sent his power back into the Orrerry, fighting against the resistance until he overwhelmed its defences.

“I’m not reassured.” She leant back into the chair and held on tight to the arms.

The cracks widened, forcing light into the shadow as the orrerry broke apart and formed a fantastical melee of silver shards. They rotated in a pattern so complex it was mesmerising. Leopold looked away. Ruby, entranced by the motion, found herself enthralled.

“Whatever you see, and whatever happens in that vision you must not in any way try to interfere.”

“How can I interfere in a vision?”

“Promise me, Ruby. On the sanctity of our marriage.” Leopold’s tone soured.

Ruby shook her head. “I promise.”

With a rush of blood to the head, the black abyss erupted into life as the orrerry projected a vision of a man’s end all around them. In an instant, they were no longer in their home; whisked away through time and space to an ancient temple hidden deep beneath the earth.

“Where are we?” Ruby turned on the spot, her feet leaving no footprints and her steps making no sound.

“Three weeks from the present day. Lysander will gather allies to his side and march on the last bastion of the Forgotten Ones.” Leopold points to the gaping maw in the rock ahead, leading down into the underworld.

“So we actually find him…”

Leopold clicks his fingers and they bolt through the vision and re-appear in a vast ante chamber. Beneath them, a long cavalcade of crumbling pillars guides a familial band of friends towards imposing, demonised doors to the north. The iron wreaths with life, molten metal contorting into terrifying visages as though possessed.

“I see them. I don’t recognise all but there’s Lysander.”

“Duffy, Lysander, Shinsou, and the last Mystic find the temple and approach the Anchorage unsuspecting…”

“Unsuspecting of what?”

The party below march towards the door, and when they arrive, Leopold brings ruby closer so she can see what happens next. Lysander climbs the stairs and asks his friends to prepare themselves. As he reaches the top of the altar, the doors contort and writhe free of the wall; the molten metal gathering into a hideous mass.

“For centuries, Apotheosis has lain trapped beneath the earth. Watching the world become that which he abhors, the playground of the Thayne. His wrath at the sight of the very Thayne that killed some of his kin breaks his chains.”

The metal shrinks, writhes, and contorts into the outline of a man. Leopold brings them closer and Ruby picks out the detail. Slender ears. Elegant, spiked mail. A blade in each hand.

“…an Illar.”

“Lysander will come to the same conclusion. When the Illar lost their crown to the ‘lesser races’, the strongest amongst them vowed to destroy that which gave the Thayne power. They learnt to harness it first, to weaken the gods, and then sought to destroy the Tap forever.”

“But they failed. His allies are gone. The Thayne are all but powerless.”

“Apotheosis has been trapped here, betrayed by his kin, for millennia. His mind, though once one of the purest and most brilliant has warped into a vessel of ruin and rage. Lysander thinks himself mighty enough to kill something far worse than a Thayne.”

Ruby watched, transfixed by the image but uncertain what to believe. Lysander draws his blade and advances slowly, his allies approaching behind him and spreading out. The Illar, an elf radiating light with wings of energy trailing behind him smiles warmly.

“I have waited an eternity to see the gods brought low. Now, you have the audacity to think yourselves better?”

“The Thayne were once brothers to you, Apotheosis. Two parts of a whole that crafted this world and many others.” Lysander bowed.

“You are not my equal.” The voice reverberated in Ruby’s chest. The temple shook.

“That much is clear. You have become something far greater than a Dunam. You are King of Kings; man and elf and god bow before you and tremble.”

Leopold clicked his fingers and the image froze. Lysander, blade held aloft, ready to charge. Apotheosis, mid summons brought his wings forward into bladed arrays.

“What happens next will change the fabric of reality.”

“Show me!”

“Look at me, Ruby.”

Hesitant, Ruby turned away from the vision to her husband.

“You are witness to the death of the last Illar. The beings who created all of us. Man. Elf. Orc. They were beings of light without true form who spanned the stars before their brothers turned against them.”

Ruby tried to recall her history lessons as a debutante but fell short of something insightful.

“He said the Thayne were kin. What did he mean?”

“What we call Thayne were once Illar. Just as the Forgotten Ones turned against their elven brethren, in disagreement about the Tap, so too did the Thayne turn against the Illar.”

“Why would creatures such as they fall to jealousy and bitterness?”

“The Illar are the Tap. They are part of all living things. They created the Thayne to act as avatars to each of the races they created and scattered through the stars. The Illar bent the Thayne to their will, so that they dominated the races through piety and fear. The Thayne had other ideas. They grew complacent and distant, so much so they became less and less part of the Tap and their forms changed beyond recognition.”

“How do you know this?” Ruby’s head reeled with revelations. All the while, she kept looking back at the suspended vision desperate to see more.

“I was there. You were too. But just as the Thayne became distant from their creators, the Old Gods grew distant from the Thayne; we were all once Illar. We were all born of the Tap and will all return there when we die.”

“I knew the Old Gods and Thayne were cut from the same cloth. Why does that matter here?”

Leopold advanced the vision. “Listen.”

“You bare the responsibility of your kin, Thayne.” Apotheosis gathered his wing blades into two pure light sabres and crossed them. “You thought to control that which cannot be tethered. The Tap is not for mortals. We were wrong.”

Lysander smirked.

“I disagree. The Tap does not belong to gods and monsters. I will set it free. I will give your children their choice of fate and be shot of you all.”

“Your self-included?”

“I was first amongst the Thayne, testament to the fallen artistry of your ancestors. I will be the last.”

The vision froze again.

“Oh gods. Is that true?”

“Ruby…listen to me. This will be hard for you to hear.”

Ruby turned to Leopold with a worried expression. The vision shattered and fell away into blackness, leaving the duo once again suspended in cold, silent space.

“Tantalus was created first. The Illar, free of mortal need spent their time creating. Stars. Moons. Planets. They wanted to pass that on to the first races and thus Tantalus came into being. He danced amongst the stars with his harp inciting brilliance in the first elves, accompanying the drinking of men, and the war drums of dwarves and orcs.”

“Does Lysander know that?”

“I suspect he does. Perhaps not all of it, but he knows he was made first and wants to ensure what has happened to this world does not happen ever again.”

“Why do the Thayne always corrupt?”

“Mortal lives are so much less…capable than the Illar. You feel the reverberation when he speaks, yes?”

“It was like thunder in my chest.” Ruby touched her breast as though she still felt it.

“The very presence of an Illar is enough to fray even the strongest of minds. They could shatter mountains with a single word and rewrite history with a single thought. The Thayne were their avatars in every sense of the word; they spoke through the Thayne.”

“Like envoys?”

“Precisely. Tantalus was the first to question this. He proposed to the others that they should live on the worlds they protected; to separate themselves from the alien Illar. The Thayne, not as free-thinking or strong willed as the god of bards rejected the idea.”

“Do I want to know what happened?”

“They stripped Tantalus of his wings and cast him here, to Althanas. In rebellion of his fall, Tantalus wove new tales about the Thayne and inspired the people of this world to dream of new gods.”

“Fuck me. I always thought the Thayne were other worldly.”

“Did you not ever wonder why our gods are so much alike to the people who worship them?” Leopold smiled warmly. “Their effigies reflect the values of the first people who worship them.”

“I thought belief made gods, not gods belief.”

“I always thought that too, but when I saw this vision, I realised the Thayne we have been fighting all these years are not the same as those our forebears warred against.”

“If Tantalus created his own gods to protect Althanas, what happened to them?”

“It’s well known that the Tap is the source of all life. As punishment for his ideas, Tantalus was stripped of its power, as was Althanas. The planet began to die, even as the first people rose to power the heart and soul of the world faltered. The Thayne did not survive. But their death throes gave birth to more mortal forms who rose to power quickly as the first people called out to survive the turmoil gathered their power to create something unholy.” Leopold paused for dramatic effect. “You know their names now. Y’edda, for example.”

“My head is spinning.”

“I don’t expect you to take all this in lightly. The Thayne reborn were free of the Illar’s sway, who had all but perished in the War of the Tap. To end the war proper they created N’Jal.”

The spider god. The great usurper. The enemy within. Ruby had fought enough of her zealots to know that her reach was endless and her presence maddening.

“That went well…”

“Surprisingly, it achieved their goal. They wanted to draw the severed threads of the Tap to Althanas. N’Jal’s madness weakened the belief in the Thayne and the people began to dream of long forgotten memories. Slowly but surely, wellsprings re-appeared as the first remembered from where, and whom they had come. Unfortunately for Tantalus, the return of the Tap brought about its own problems.”

“The War of the Tap?”

“You remembered your history lessons. Yes. The War of the Tap. The Illar discovered what the new Thayne had done and sent their most powerful envoys to our world. You have met some of them, and there were five in all.”

“The Forgotten Ones…”

“They came to destroy the Tap not because they were jealous of the Thayne, but because they were scared of what Tantalus, and his new Thayne could do if they ever drew upon its power.”

“We are all puppets.”

“Of Tantalus, yes, but his mission remains unfulfilled. Lysander’s rebirth reminded him of why he existed in the first place. Duffy, when he found Tantalus’ corpse was inspired by the history I have just shared with you. Now, three weeks away, that mission will come to an end.”

Leopold made to resume the vision but Ruby interrupted.

“Duffy’s known about this all along?”

Leopold hesitated.

“It’s best I show you.”

The temple re-appeared and, in a flash, Thayne and Illar were clashing swords and the temple shook. The Mystic, Shinsou, and Duffy harangued from the flanks though the wrath between old enemies paled their efforts. Ruby could not keep track of the blows, and in a heartbeat, the party had assembled the Reliquary and driven the blade into Apotheosis’s heart.

The temple fell silent.

“What just happened?”

“Lysander knows that the only way to kill something born of the Tap is to sever the connection between them. The sword does just that. Severs soul from body. The Illar were the manifestations of the Tap’s desires and dreams.”

The light blades fade and the wings shatter below, leaving Apotheosis humbled. Lysander withdraws the blade and steps back with guard raised. The otherworldly presence gone; an elf remains.

“Duffy was distraught for years after. Our combined might couldn’t save anyone.”

“Our sacrifice today will pay that back double. The Tap, Ruby, will be free; an unending, unfaltering wellspring of possibility that this world and all the others can shape their own futures with.”

“Have you seen that future too?”

“I have only seen to this moment in time. After tonight, the orrerry will fade away as though it never existed.”

Ruby scoffed.

“You knew I would say yes before you even asked?”

“You do not want to know why. But this is happening, all that remains is how we react tomorrow.”

Ruby had spent lifetimes trying to change her fate. To see it all meant nothing irritated her. She flared her nostrils as she tried to calm her breathing and resisted the urge to burn Leopold to a crisp where he sat. But there was no denying what she had seen gave them no choice. They had all pledged to leave the world a better place in their wake, and this was the only way to break the wheel.

“Okay. Then do it. Cut my soul free of the Tap. Let us be husband and wife, Bladesinger and soldier and never look back.”

Leopold took a moment to compile the artefacts, and when they were ready rose from his seat and approached his wife. He had watched this future a thousand times yet with the sword in his hand, it still terrified him. The steel was cold to touch, and the blade glinted long after the hearth lay dormant.

“To freedom at last.”

The blade fell.

Ruby felt cold. Then fear. Then peace. A whorl of emotion spanning a lifetime compressed into a single, piercing pain. In a heartbeat, the pain was gone and the weight of all her failures lifted.

“Was that it?” She looked up at her husband.

“Not quite.” Leopold lost his hold over the Reliquary and urged it towards Ruby.

Hesitant at first, the spell singer embraced the crown and took the floating blade into her shaking hand. She returned the stroke with kindness, and then, for the first time in millennia, they were utterly, catastrophically alone.

The Reliquary disappeared.

“So now what?”

“Now, Mrs Winchester, I’d very much like to go to bed.” Leopold pointed to the door. “Unfortunately, I can’t conjure drinks from thin air anymore, so I’ll be up once I’ve visited the parlour.”

“Wait, you’re not your own room service?” Ruby smirked.

“Much of our power came from the Tap. All that remains is from our own strength, skill, and talent.”

“So your powers are now guns, women, and bourbon?”

Leopold looked stumped.

“I mean…I guess?” He shrugged.

“Oh lord, I’ve let you become my father.”

Leopold burst into laughter.

“Oh god, I see it, I see it!”

“You’ve even got the beard he had.”

Leopold continued to laugh long after he had sauntered to the pantry.

Alone, Ruby fell prey to her thoughts. Self-doubt made her question who, or what she was now. She clicker her fingers. Nothing happened. No violin appeared. No blade formed from nothingness. Tentatively, she sung a few notes in a scale and sighed with relief when dancing lights appeared around her. There was still hope for her own private war to come to an end.

Lysander & Duffy

Consequences. The word rung in Lysander’s skull like wedding bells and a death toll combined. Happiness and disaster had followed him through the ages. Now, they stood either side of him before the pride of ill will that had assailed him through every one of his lives.

“He’s bigger than I expected.” Young Duffy sized up the titan on the horizon. “Sure you’re up to this?”

“If you think I brought you here to be a spectator, Duffy, you are more of a fool than I remember.” Lysander too took in what he saw. Death. Wrath. Ruin. Marching towards them with earth sundering steps.

“Oh, mate, you can count on me. But you said Apotheosis was an elf.” Duffy gestured to the creature ahead. “That isn’t no elf.”

When Leopold had told him of the future he saw, Lysander had felt fear. The primal sort that overruled all conscience and intellect. He knew, the moment he heard, that he had to do everything he could to alter fate. He had failed so many times, and people, people he loved dearly had paid the price for his hubris. No amount of metaphor or pathetic fallacy could steal away the sincerity and sobriety he now felt.

“If we’re to protect those who would have died in the future supposedly decided for us, we have to overcome this.” Lysander unsheathed his blade, the black hilted katana comfort in his shaking hand.

“Fair enough. I’ve got your back.” Young Duffy, naive, or perhaps fearless, mimicked his older self and unleashed his shorter, but no less deadly Tooth and Nail. “But if he shoots fire or some shit, I’m out of here.”

Appreciative of the humour, Lysander weighed up his options. Ahead, looming a hundred foot over the icy tundra of Berevar, was a monster. Trapped beneath the earth for centuries, Apotheosis had wallowed in a whirlwind of power unseen on this world for millennia. To circumvent fate, Lysander had done the very thing the last of the Forgotten Ones had set out to do. Kill the last of the Old Thayne.

“Our power comes not from that which was given to us, false promise to keep us loyal.” He clenched the blade tightly and raised it into a defensive stance. “Our power comes from the very thing that monster abhors.”

“Awkwardly timed metaphors?” Duffy peered out from under his hood, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Or pitiful puns?”

Lysander smirked.

“No. Our power comes from and will always come from our friends.” Lysander called out with his heart to the last light within. Though he had plunged Wainwright’s blade into his heart and shattered his bond to the Tap, something else dwelt within him that was far greater.

“Wait. I thought that was the Aria?” Duffy shed his pithy expression and led shadows of doubt age him in the twilight.

“It is. But the Aria is not the Tap. They occupy the same space, just as you and I exist in the same time. But the Aria is our will – as friends, family, and bards, given life. We made that realm together, and it has become something far greater than can be defined by gods or planes.”

“But if the Aria is still there, and we are no longer part of it…”

“You’re not listening.” Lysander pointed his blade at Apotheosis’s chest. A vibrant rune burnt on the creature’s torso, which Lysander had carved in the Forgotten One’s withered corpse to ignite the soul trapped within. “We have lost our divinity. Lost the gift of eternal life. But our bond to the thing which defines us is stronger than ever.”

Now that their enemy was closer, the duo could see the cruel features aflame on the umbral and skeletal frame. They could feel the malice washing over them, threatening to boil the air where they stood. Dormant for centuries, the Forgotten One was rekindling the bond it once held so dear with the Tap; invigorated by it is new and blossoming life in Althanas.

“You’re saying we can die, but we’ll damned well die singing.”

Remembering when he and Duffy were one, he smiled from ear to ear.

“As far as the Orrery is concerned, we are already dead. But if I have taught you nothing bar this, I have done wonders: the mortal frame will wax and wane and crumble. What remains to make us immortal?” Lysander drew on his heart’s desire and channelled it to his blade. He prepared a song to bring the sword to life.

For the first time since his rude rebirth, Duffy finally understood what it was he was destined for. Lysander's insistence on ending their immortality had brought them the one thing they were now short of: time.

“Our songs. Our words. Our actions.” He clashed the daggers together and the snow beneath him shook thunderously. “It’s time for a swan song!”

Together the duo charged across the snow, something more dangerous and divine stirring in the pit of their stomachs than the gods could ever muster: the First Song.

Try as they might, they could not muster enough momentum to resist Apotheosis’ opening blow. The great arms descended in balled fists and broke the tundra asunder. Catapulted into the air, the duo flailed amidst a hailstorm that began to whirl around the titan. Lysander clicked his fingers and conjured a grappling hook. He caught it as he began to descend and whorled it over his head.

“Aim for the head!” Young Duffy screamed, oblivious to the very real prospect of crashing to a painful death.

Lysander threw the hook towards the titan’s chest. He loosened every muscle in his body for the impending jolt. The grappling hook chinked against the titan’s hide and skittered off, catching an edge just as Lysander started to roar with anger. Realising how lucky he was, the roar turned to a scream as he slammed to a halt mid-air and begun the nauseating swung down and through the titan’s legs.

“Aim for me!” Duffy pleaded, already falling and suddenly aware of his mortality. He flailed outwards to try and right himself, but the roar of the tundra’s snowstorm drowned away his protests.

Time seemed to stop. Regret came first, then hopelessness, then terror.

“Done!”

Lysander ploughed into Duffy and scooped him up, his swing carrying them both upwards and into clear view of the titan cleaving his fists from the broken earth. They hung for a few, clarion seconds. Their minds still twinned; they came to the same conclusion.

“Arden Janelle wouldn’t shit himself at this.”

Together, they vanished in a whorl of ribbons and re-appeared ten feet closer to the titan. They circumvented the rising fists and scattering boulders of ice with the guile of the Silent Swordsman summoned to their bodies through the Aria. Just as Lysander said, they had a power no god could muster: their friends.

“I still might!” Duffy vanished as the fist drew through where he was, spinning him mid-blink so that he re-appeared disoriented and off-course. “Definitely will!”

The young bard slammed downward onto the titan’s shoulder; the wind crushed from his lungs with the same force as the wit fell from his tongue. Lysander fared better, a third blink bringing him three feet away from the glowing rune on the titan’s chest. Duffy managed to scratch and scrape enough to gain a foothold, but Lysander’s broiling song came out of his lungs with thunderous force. He drew back his blade and drove it into the rune.

“Our lives are always intertwined. Our hearts are all as one. Our dreams will never die because, our family’s never gone.”

The words that had given birth to the bridge of ideas that connected worlds gave destructive force to the katana. Its broke hide of night and malice lost blood of power and promise. Arced bolts of crackling light shot skyward. Apotheosis arced back in pain, arms bent, and eyes hollow. Duffy felt hopeless turn to hope. Lysander felt the recoil of his actions rock his arm: the katana flew away, repulsed by the swell of power which erupted from the titan.

The icy heart of Berevar, for a moment, was illuminated by the radiance of a high summer sun. The orb that formed crushed the bed rock beneath the ice and sent quakes out across the wilderness. Their fortunes turned, the duo was sent haphazard out into the night air once again flailing in a storm of swords and profanity.