Chapter 18: The Legacy of the Archmage

  “In early November of the year 1750 after the Day of Union, four noble houses—Horn, Cames, Lagour, and Porim—rebelled under the instigation of the Crestorim Empire. They besieged the palace of Lorencine with the intent to overthrow the throne and crown the young Prince Fastinga.

  With the aid of Duke Sacoren L’Thomas and the soldiers he brought from the Red Duke’s walls, King Aravirel heroically led the Royal Guard to break the siege and crush the rebellion.

  Later that month, reinforcements called by Queen Mother Matharine fell into a trap while attempting to assassinate the King. All were executed before the palace gates.

  Following an investigation led by Duke Sacoren, the Queen Mother was confined to the desolate palace indefinitely. Prince Fastinga was acquitted for lack of evidence but, at Sacoren’s urging, King Aravirel decreed that the Prince must leave the capital for the Red Duke with five hundred elderly guards—despite reports that twenty-one thousand pirates had already surrounded the fortress...”

  — Excerpt from “A History of Orancles” by Flaming Gurdiora Sytarp.

  Ivyl Wall desperately cast a spell, but as the purple energy struck the sleek brown fur, it dissolved into shimmering sparks that coiled around the lion’s mane. The Great Beast, Ogris, let out a long roar, suddenly halting its flight and descending slowly to face Aeron with the gentle beat of its eagle wings.

  Ogris stared at Aeron with piercing emerald eyes, indifferent to the thousands of stunned soldiers who had frozen mid-combat. Strangely, Aeron felt no fear. A profound connection resonated within him, warm and familiar. Ogris sniffed the air, then suddenly emitted a piercing cry that dazed everyone in the vicinity.

  To Aeron’s ears, however, the sound was not a screech. It was the calm, resonant voice of an elderly man with a kind face and snow-white hair, appearing within a mist-filled void that momentarily replaced the battlefield:

  “The servant greets the Lord,” the old man said, kneeling at Aeron’s feet.

  “Please, stand up!” Aeron stammered, reaching out, but his hands passed through nothing but cold, white vapor.

  “Do not trouble yourself with my form, Lord,” the old man continued. “This is but a Pseudo-Reality created by my meager magic.”

  “I see…” Aeron said, finally understanding. “This is a recorded memory of a mage.”

  “I am Alaris Derenire Garcia.”

  Aeron gasped. “The legendary Archmage who disappeared six years ago?”

  The phantom of Alaris continued:

  “For five hundred years, I have been guided by the gods to serve the supreme mission: to find the descendant of the Sign-Bearer. Alas, I am old now; my knees are weary, and I can no longer help you reclaim the throne. By the time you receive this message, I may have departed this world. Six years ago, my power was stripped away by a traitor. Thus, my Pseudo-Reality can only be summoned through the roar of this sacred beast.”

  “He was searching for a Signer,” Aeron whispered to himself.

  “I raised this beast from the egg. He is named after the legendary Demon Sword, Ogris. From this moment on, Ogris will serve you and only you. He will guide you to the Oritexaz Range, where I have dedicated my final years to writing the chronicles of your ancestors—the Signers. This chronicle is more than history; it contains the lost arts and forgotten magic of your bloodline. My mortal mind could not capture everything, but it will serve as the foundation for you to reclaim the glory that once spanned this continent. Your destiny is to end the Empire's tyranny. The fate of Orancle is now upon your shoulders. Fare thee well, Lord.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The roar ceased, and the vision vanished. Aeron shivered as the cold air rushed back into reality. Seeing the Imperial soldiers around him still clutching their heads in pain, Aeron knew he would never have a better chance to strike.

  “You will follow my lead, won't you, Ogris?” Aeron asked, hoping the creature understood.

  Ogris nodded and lowered his massive body. His eagle wings spread wide, and his back arched. Aeron stepped forward, stroking the golden mane. Ogris remained still, accepting his new master.

  Before Aeron could find a handhold, the wings snapped downward. Ogris surged into the sky, drawing a startled shout from Aeron. But as he adjusted to the rhythmic beat of the wings, fear turned to exhilaration. His legs locked firmly into the natural notches of Ogris’s wing joints, and he let go of the beast’s neck, embracing the freedom of flight.

  They pierced through the dark clouds, emerging into a layer of shimmering, golden sunlight. Aeron smiled, stroking the lion’s mane. “It’s time to help our friends.”

  Ogris growled in approval. He tucked his wings and dove back into the gloom of the battlefield.

  Below, the Imperial mages had begun to recover, launching spells through the breached gate. On the other side of the white stone walls, Ivyl and the defenders were being pushed back. Richard was calling for a final, suicidal stand.

  Then, a voice thundered from the sky, drowning out the crackle of magic:

  “FOR LORENCINE!”

  Ogris roared. The sound created a massive shockwave that slammed into the Imperial ranks clustered at the gate. Men collapsed, clutching ears that bled from the pressure.

  Aeron drew his blade, cutting down the mages who tried to resist. Protected by fur that repelled magic, Ogris tore through the Imperial Black Armor ranks with lethal claws and teeth. Terror spread through the Imperial army like a plague.

  The Sign burned brightly on Aeron’s arm. The Holy Sword Tonga vibrated against his chest. With a heart free of hatred but filled with the will to protect, Aeron drew the sacred blade.

  Slash! Waves of blue energy erupted from Aeron’s strikes. The energy passed through the soldiers without drawing blood or cutting steel. Yet, as it passed, their will to fight, their malice, and their courage simply evaporated. The Imperial troops collapsed in heaps, their minds cleansed of the urge to kill.

  The Holy Sword Tonga, guided by Aeron’s mercy, had transformed its destructive power into a force of salvation, dispelling the shadows within the enemy.

  Seeing the opening, Richard roared, leading his remaining men out of the gates. Together with the Signer and the winged lion, they drove the invaders back. Aeron moved like an avenging angel; his blade did not take lives, but it stripped the invaders of their strength, leaving them as cowards fleeing in a panicked frenzy.

  The ancient soul of Tonga did not possess him. Instead, it united with his will to drive the darkness away.

  By late afternoon, the clouds vanished. The Imperial army lay scattered—killed, captured, or fleeing in disgrace. The meaningless assault had claimed fourteen thousand lives, including a thousand Lorencine defenders. Six thousand others were taken prisoner.

  Richard nearly ordered a mass execution of the prisoners, fearing they would be impossible to control. But Aeron intervened, asking for them to be disarmed and sent home. However, the prisoners refused to return to Mantorias, fearing the Empire’s punishment for their failure. They knelt as one, begging to serve Lorencine.

  Richard was overjoyed. With six thousand Imperial-trained veterans now bolstering the garrison, the Red Duke truly became an invincible bastion.

  The victory feast lasted two days and nights. Soldiers and former prisoners celebrated together, finding common ground in the relief of survival. Aeron, however, sat quietly, his eyes heavy with thought. Richard approached him, clapping a hand on the shoulder of his greatest student.

  “What’s on your mind, Aeron?”

  “I’ve been stuck here for two weeks,” Aeron replied gloomily. “I’ll never catch Chiryl now. She’s likely already in the heart of Mantorias territory.”

  Richard laughed. “You’re refusing to admit that you’ve started caring about more than just yourself, aren't you?”

  Aeron sighed. “I have. I realized how devastating war is. What is the point of victory if so many must fall?”

  Richard looked up at the moon, hanging serene among the stars. “Did you know an Ocicini scholar once said the moon is actually much smaller than the stars?”

  Aeron looked up, surprised. “Really? But it looks the largest.”

  “Only because it is closest to us,” Richard explained. “Everything is not always as simple as it seems. Perspectives change everything.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “I think you should go save the princess.”

  “You... what?”

  “I think before I speak, Aeron,” Richard interrupted. “War is inevitable when human ambition is boundless. I don’t want Chiryl to be a sacrifice for a few years of hollow peace. And more importantly, I finally believe you have the strength to protect her.”

  “I...”

  “Don’t give up,” Richard said. “You saw what your lion can do. I doubt he’d mind flying you to her side.”

  Aeron’s eyes widened. The horror of the siege had clouded his mind, making him forget the most obvious advantage. Without even stopping to say goodbye to Ivyl or Ifindo, Aeron sprinted toward Ogris, who was busy devouring a massive portion of meat.

  Under the bright moonlight, a dark silhouette surged into the sky, flying fast toward the East—toward the land of the dwarves, the Kingdom of Tar’Muffin.