Ten years had passed since the death of Annabell. In those ten years, Filnora fell. When news of this reached Haul, he was saddened, knowing he could be the last Blackmoor. But the thought did not frighten him.

  He traveled to the great city of Enora, for it had no king upon the throne. Five years after Annabell’s death, Haul returned to Filnora and spoke with King Varnath about what he had given up. While there, the king told Haul of the pact he had made—how he did not wish for the other houses to claim his kingdom, and how he ruled another kingdom to the south, Enora, which would become Haul’s upon his death.

  Haul accepted.

  He traveled south, riding for many days until he reached the great city. When he arrived, he saw a massive kingdom—grand, though not as large as Filnora. Still, it was mighty. Haul rode through the gates and ascended toward the castle. Upon reaching the inner gates, he looked at the guards and spoke.

  “Who rules this kingdom?”

  One of the guards scoffed. “Do you live in a hole?”

  Haul frowned. “No, I do not live in a hole.”

  The guard laughed. “King Zarland of the East.”

  Haul smiled. “May I see this king?”

  The guards laughed openly. “See the king? No man simply sees the king.”

  Haul’s patience wore thin. He looked at them with murderous intent and gripped his sword. “Is there a reason I cannot see the king?”

  The guards only laughed.

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  “Answer me,” Haul said coldly, “if you wish to keep your heads upon your shoulders.”

  They continued laughing—until, with a single swift motion of his wrist, Haul sliced through them. Their heads rolled into the sand as he raised his bloodied blade.

  Haul opened the gates and walked inside. More guards rushed toward him, staring at the blood dripping from his sword.

  “You cannot be in here,” one shouted.

  Haul looked at them calmly. “Is that right?”

  In one rapid motion, he cut down all ten guards, using the technique Aetheris, which he had learned from Varnath. He stood before the great doors, blade hanging at his side as blood dripped onto the stone. Then he pushed the doors open.

  Inside, the king sat upon his throne—a throne meant for a Blackmoor.

  Haul stepped forward. “You’re sitting on my throne.”

  The king looked down at him and mocked, “Am I now? And who might you be?”

  Haul raised his blade and flicked the blood from it. “I am Haul Blackmoor.”

  King Zarland laughed. “Is that right? Then come and take the throne.”

  Haul’s face was dead calm, his eyes locked onto Zarland. He placed his left foot behind him, his blade held at a ninety-degree angle, his left hand forward. He smiled.

  “Fine by me.”

  Zarland reached for his weapon—but suddenly felt himself falling. His head had already left his body. The last thing Zarland saw was Haul standing behind him, glancing sideways with a faint smile. Then everything went black.

  Haul walked to the throne and sat upon it.

  The guards rushed into the chamber and froze at the sight of Haul seated upon the throne. Haul cried out, “The true king of Enora has arrived! Haul Blackmoor, descendant of Varnath Blackmoor. Know my name!”

  The guards fell to their knees, chanting his name.

  Haul leaned forward, resting on his blade, thinking, Annabell… are you seeing this?

  When word spread of Haul Blackmoor, the other great houses were displeased. His rise threatened their power. The three great houses conspired to wage war against him. This conflict would become known as the Battle of the Great Houses.

  Months passed after Haul became king. He was loved by the people, and Enora grew into one of the strongest kingdoms economically. Though Haul knew war was coming, he did not yet have the forces to withstand it. He spent the following weeks gathering men, even seeking aid from distant lands.

  House Velastra of the Kingdom of Ashvire answered his call, sending five hundred of their finest soldiers for the coming war.