Saruth, Kan, and Rhon arrived at the scene of the clash.
"Divine beings must have clashed here," Saruth murmured, his gaze sweeping over the ravaged landscape. "Not even Sheax would have been capable of creating something like this."
Rhon pointed. "Hey, look over there! It's Saland and the human, but they're both out cold."
Saruth turned to Kan. "Kan, can you tell who won?"
With a subtle ripple, a third eye materialized on Kan's forehead. It was a striking azure, and within its irises swirled indecipherable script. After a moment of silent observation, Kan stated, "We didn't win, but we didn't lose either. It was a draw."
Saruth and Rhon exchanged bewildered glances. Without another word, Saruth bolted towards Saland, his heart pounding with urgency. He needed to know if his comrade still lived. But as he reached the fallen figure, he found a human already kneeling beside him, clearly with the same desperate intent.
The human looked up at them, his expression weary. "My name is Thota," he said, his voice carrying the weight of survival. "And I am the last human fighter who survived you three. You are truly strong."
Saruth offered a curt nod of acknowledgement. Thota continued, his words carrying a surprising weight of diplomacy. "Wakawa told me, before he completely lost consciousness… he decided to become a friend of your sovereign. He also decreed that we humans must retreat. And… on behalf of all humans, he apologizes for what happened. Lastly, he will put pressure on our human king to unite our kingdoms, for better stability."
Saruth, Kan, and Rhon remained silent for a moment, absorbing the unexpected words. They finally responded with solemn nods. Thota then carefully heaved the unconscious Wakawa onto his shoulder and began the long trek back towards his own kingdom.
A month passed. Against all odds, Wakawa managed to sway the human king, convincing him of the wisdom in forming an alliance. After a significant meeting between Saland and the human king, the kingdom of Amalor and the kingdom of Saxasol merged, giving birth to the new Mylem Empire. The two realms became one. Initially, the two species found integration challenging, their cultures and customs clashing. But as the seasons turned, a fragile understanding began to blossom, and within a year, they started to find common ground.
A year had spun by since the earth-shattering clash with Wakawa. Saland was now twelve, a young age for the heavy responsibilities he carried. However, the grievous wounds inflicted upon him in that battle lingered, festering beneath the surface. A relentless illness took hold, defying all attempts at healing, be it through conventional medicine or arcane arts. Saland lay on his deathbed, his breathing shallow, awaiting the inevitable.
Into his somber chamber glided Shatly and Ari, their usual playful demeanor replaced by a quiet sorrow. "Saland," Ari began softly, her voice tinged with regret, "we are so sorry, but the wounds you sustained… they will claim you."
Saland's voice was a mere rasp. "I know," he whispered, a faint smile gracing his lips. "And I have no regrets. I am ready to die."
Shatly's eyes were clouded with sadness. "We are deeply grieved by your impending departure, Saland. Even our magic cannot mend such deep wounds. But… we can teach you a way to bequeath your legacy to someone."
Saland frowned slightly. "If you mean Mountain Cleaver… I am ready to give it to anyone. It will be of no use to me in the beyond."
Shatly shook her head gently. "No, Saland. We speak of your true legacy – your life energy, your strength, your very abilities. These can be passed on, to serve someone in the future. Do you not agree?"
Saland pondered this for a moment, his gaze distant. "Alright," he finally murmured. "Tell me how it is done."
Ari stepped closer. "First, you will need a newborn human baby. When you find one, bring it here. Before your final breath, you must recite a spell in the demonic tongue that we will teach you. Then… it will be done." With these enigmatic words, the two ethereal figures slipped out of the room, leaving Saland to his thoughts.
Saland summoned Saruth. "Saruth, my friend," he said, his voice weak but earnest, "I have a favor to ask of you."
Saruth's brow furrowed with concern. "You can ask me anything, Saland. You know that."
"Good," Saland replied, a flicker of his old determination in his eyes. "Then bring me a newborn human. I need it… for a spell."
A look of shock crossed Saruth's face, but he quickly masked it. "At your command, my lord," he said, his voice unwavering. He turned and left the room, a single tear tracing a path down his right cheek.
Winter had just tightened its icy grip on the land. Saruth found himself battling through a fierce snowstorm, the wind howling like a banshee. But the innate flames that danced around him provided a guiding light, allowing him to press on. He finally stumbled upon a small, isolated village, seeking refuge within a humble cottage until the blizzard subsided.
An hour later, the storm abated, leaving behind a world draped in pristine white. But as Saruth stepped outside, the serene beauty was shattered by a horrifying sight. The snow-covered path was littered with corpses – humans and magical creatures alike, their blood staining the pure snow crimson. An instinctive dread coiled in Saruth's gut. He made his way to the Executor barracks, but found them eerily empty. A short distance away, however, he discovered three Executors frozen solid, their faces locked in expressions of utter terror.
Saruth pressed on until he reached the village square. And there, he saw the source of the carnage. It was a creature of immense size, easily towering over the houses. Its fur was as white as the driven snow, its skin a chilling blue. An anthropomorphic giant of the northern peaks, a snow giant.
Without hesitation, Saruth unleashed his innate ability, Blue Burns. A fist of searing blue fire shot towards the monstrous figure. The giant retaliated with a freezing blast of snow and ice, but the intense heat of Saruth's flames melted the icy projectile. Catching Saruth off guard, the giant swung a massive fist. Reacting instantly, Saruth activated his Awakening, the power surging through him. He parried the second blow and, with a powerful leap, soared into the air, unleashing a devastating blast of fire that incinerated the giant.
Returning to his normal state, Saruth's enhanced senses picked up a faint sound – the cry of a baby, coming from a nearby house. He rushed towards the building and stepped into a scene of unspeakable horror. A man and a woman lay mutilated, their bodies grotesquely dismembered. The woman's legs were spread wide, as if she had just given birth, but her head was missing. The man had neither arms nor legs, and his face was so brutally disfigured that he was unrecognizable. Blood coated the floor and walls, and Saruth's stomach churned.
But then he heard it again, clearer this time – the insistent wail of an infant. Behind the mother's ravaged form, nestled in a pink cradle, lay a newborn baby, crying forlornly. Saruth surmised that the cradle, hidden behind the mother's body, had miraculously shielded the child from the slaughter. Gently, Saruth scooped up the tiny infant, cradling it in his arms. As he rocked the baby, the cries gradually subsided.
Saruth had accomplished his grim task. He returned to Saland, the newborn nestled securely in his arms. Saland had grown even weaker in his absence, his breaths shallow and ragged. The human healers offered no hope. In the time Saruth had been gone, Shatly and Ari had instructed Saland in the arcane words of the ritual.
Saruth entered the room to find Kan, Rhon, Shatly, and Ari waiting. Ari conjured a small table and placed it beside Saland's deathbed. Saruth carefully laid the sleeping infant on the tabletop. With a monumental effort, Saland pushed himself into a sitting position beside the child. His gaze, though fading, held a profound tenderness. "You pure creature," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "I bestow upon you my strength… and my will."
Shatly traced a shimmering magic circle around the baby. Placing her hands gently above the infant's head, she began to chant in the guttural tones of the demonic tongue. Slowly, Saland's physical form began to crumble, turning to dust. Simultaneously, the baby's small body began to glow with an ethereal, violet light.
Saland's eyes, though dimming, found his friends. "My friends," he murmured, his voice growing fainter with each word, "this is the last time we will speak together. Take care of yourselves… and I beg you… give this child to a family of humble people. I do not want him to grow up with too many burdens. His name… will be Salson. I pray for you… and for him… good luck." A serene smile settled upon his lips as his body completely dissolved into nothingness, his legend fading into the annals of history.
Tears flowed freely among the remaining companions. But Saruth, after a moment of silent grief, wiped his eyes. "He wouldn't want to see us weep," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "He would want us to smile… and to do everything in our power now… to help this child."
As the first heavy snows of winter began to fall, Saruth carried the sleeping Salson to the outskirts of the empire. Before a modest home belonging to a family of blacksmiths, he gently laid the infant down, leaving him to the uncertain mercies of fate, the child's soft cries echoing in the cold air.
In the wake of Saland's passing, the king of Saxasol was assassinated. The culprit was a young man named Kapard, who harbored a deep disdain for weakness in positions of power. He orchestrated a swift coup, seizing the throne and declaring himself the new emperor of the Saxasol Empire. Kapard ruled with an iron fist, using brutal force to instill fear, ensuring no one dared to challenge his authority. Whispers circulated of his immense power and his utter fearlessness. Wakawa, still recovering on a remote mountaintop, did not interfere. He succumbed to his wounds a week later, a silent testament to his final battle with Saland. Even Thota, the hero of the humans, found himself unable to oppose the new, ruthless sovereign.
Kapard, driven by an insatiable hunger for power, forcefully annexed neighboring territories, carving out a circular dominion.
Eventually, an uneasy peace settled over the land. But beneath the tranquil surface, a dark and ominous presence began to stir, casting a long shadow over the fragile peace. Fate, it seemed, had another cruel twist in store for the unsuspecting world.
End First Book.