Reignheart-Extended!

The boy peered into the darkness that surrounded on all sides; it wasn’t threatening nor was it welcoming, but instead merely unknown. He breathed in slowly and steadily trying to ignore the welling up of fear in his throat. There wasn’t much he could do, being unable to make out even his own hands, which he swore were right in front of his face. The boy crossed his arms and shivered as a cold breeze crawled past him. The breeze lingered, settling on his shoulders like the devil and angel of conscience, and in each of his ears he heard whispers, soft tempting whispers, that told him to run.

Suddenly he shot into movement. His arms, on his sides, moved up and down with his legs as he ran. His stomach dropped and twisted with the rest of his body as the blood surged to fuel his sprint into the dark. The boy caught sight of something up ahead. A light perhaps or maybe a flame; a flicker of hope, the possibility of salvation; he swallowed and increased his speed.

There was a beating now, a thunderous drumming sound that came from the very air that poured into his lungs. It rung high and low in tone, faster and heavier as he continued. It was something like a war drum. A calling sound that pushed him onward to the light. But, there was an obstacle coming up, a wall almost, defined by a glow from within. He slid to a halt as to not hit it.
His body folded as he gasped for air; which was now warm and thick, like breathing under water or in a heavy fog. He looked up, his eyes meeting a dark curtain that fell from the endless above. The boy stood up facing the curtain, questioning for what to do next. Behind the wall of thin cloth he could still see the gentle glow of the light. His curiosity won, He pushed the cloth aside an entered.

Now it was within reach; the soft but enduring light; emitting from a heart that lay there waist level on a plume of cloth that resembled an odd of table. The black cloth curtain swayed with the low beats of the sound behind him, as the boy neared the heart. It was like a sanctuary, a small haven in which he stood, with him and the heart in the center.
The boy looked deep into the pink and red light, it warmed his face. He put his hands on the rim of the altar, now seeing them as if for the first time. He leaned closer into the light and gazed ever harder into the beating heart. He yearned to reach out for it, but something inside held him back. He pawed at the curtain bed in anticipation. His body shook in un-action. Then from the dark outside came screams of terror and pain. The voices yelled out his name, screaming and chanting for him to take the heart. The screams became shrieks.
He caved and grasped out taking hold of the heart. The screaming persisted and the drums picked up. The battling noises consumed him for a moment and he stumbled back a step, he didn’t fall though, something held him in a hover. He looked towards the table and realized. Black cords connected the heart to the table.

He regained his footing and tried pulling again and again, with more force every time; but to no avail. The cords weren’t even that thick, but they held true, refusing to budge in the slightest. The boy’s attention was taken by something outside the curtain. White figures were drawing near.

The figures were hazing, having little definition at all. But, the boy determined, they were the ones screaming; for as they drew near the screams became louder.

He wouldn’t let them stop him, he pulled harder. Thick black oil spouted from the cords and the table. The liquid coursed down the table and some of it became airborne. The oil hit his face and hair. Drooling from the cords onto his hands and down his arms. The white figures where almost upon him. The screams were changing. Sounding more like laughter, haunting laughter.
The boy summoned on all his strength and in one final attempt he lifted the heart, severing its connection to the cords. As the heart was raised from its bed by the boy the cords burst and bled, wildly slashing the streams of light that now shined form the heart. The boy raised the heart high into the air above him. He looked out, the figures where gone and so were their voices. He let go a long sigh of relief. Then suddenly a white skeletal hand flew from within the table top and grasped his arm. His eyes widened then shut, he screamed.

The boy leapt up, falling out of his bed and onto the floor. He was sweating and his heart was pounding. He leaned up against the side of his wall and caught his face in his open hands. The boy felt the tears stream from his eyes into his hands and then down his arms.

“Just a dream…”he whimpered. “…just a dream.” The boy lifted his face and took a long breath. His whole body fluttered and he looked back down to his hands and the small pools of tears. He closed his eyes slowly and with another drawn out breath he tilted and almost fell asleep. When his eyes were fully shut and the darkness of sleep returned so did the image of the beating heart and the soft rhythm of the drums.
He shook his head, trying to defeat the very notion of sleep.

It was a sunny spring day and the sun was high above the mountains. The sunlight crept through the trees, resting on the shoulders of three boys as they walked through an overgrowth path. Two of them sulked while the younger boy waved his arms about as he jogged in front of them, yelling loud enough to scare the birds from the trees.
The two of them were older then the boy before them, and yet they were receiving the lecture, until one of them finally cut him off.
“…we’re not signin’ up for anything but death! I’m telling you Lahrami, go back to playing with toys and enjoy every minute of it, it don’t last long…”

The Lahrami shook his head, “You’re wrong, you’re signing up to defend your home! Your people! What about your family? Who’ll defend them, Tetcha, if their only son won’t…”
The older boys stopped,
“Laharem, have you ever see any of our boys return from the war? No! But we sure get a lot of those white envelopes and cameos in the obituaries. Come on man, these monsters can’t be beat. It’s useless to throw every strapping young man like myself and Belomy here into the fire fight of some lost war. Might as well have our graves pre-dug.” He nodded, as if to reassure himself and then continued.

“Think of what we’re up against! They’re monsters Laharem, monsters!” he exclaimed
“I heard they’re made up of the bones of the dead all wrapped up in a blanket as dark as the night.” The three began to walk again, but the woods around them seemed ever more hostel and dark as their imaginations opened up and consumed reality. The surrounding shadows caught their eyes and at every twig snapping their minds went reeling.
“Yeah, I heard their skulls even glow, pale like the moon in the winter. And two hallow eyes follow you as they hunt you. They can see your soul right through your skin, right through!
“And they move about on just their arms, dragging themselves through anything to get at you.” their clambering voices were gone, and now they whispered on as they went. Their conversation had turned to a ghost story, using their words to build a fire that fed their fears.
“Wait, just arms? What about legs, they’ve gotta have legs…”
“Nope, it all stops at the ribs, cept’ the spine that drags along. Now see, it’s that cloth of theirs; in the shadows they can fly with that cloth, swimming fast through the air. And they don’t eat you, no, they burn you alive. Circling you in the air and then swooping down and wrapping you up too…” He paused and knelt, taking up a hand full of sand. “Leaving nothing but ash…” and at this he blew softly into his fist, letting the sand swirl out into the breeze.

The trees looked grey and the sun that had guided them was now loosing its saving grace. The two boys looked from side to side, for they felt the eyes of something watching or was it all in their heads?
Laharem, though, didn’t speak. He just followed taking in what they said, for further use of course. For these monsters would be his prey someday, and he would save the people from their fears, like the knights in the stories he had read. But something stuck out, “hey Tetcha, can they talk, like the bears can? Or do they just roar…or…or growl?”

Tetcha shuddered, recalling the many rumors he had heard. He stopped in his tracks and the three stood huddled close enough to hear each other breath. His eyes shook and shifted from side to side until finally locking onto Larhami’s.
“That’s the worst part,” his whispering paused and he gulped, “they don’t roar of talk at all. They scream Laharem, and laugh all at the same time. I’ve heard it can shake your helmet with its echoing. It’s like being taunted, likes its playing with you, toying with you. It can paralyze the soul…”
The wind hissed through the trees and the three jumped. They now realized a shadow in the path. Closer and closer it came, fast too. The rocks and dead branches grinded under what ever it was. The older boys turned and ran, tripping over themselves.

Laharem stood, as straight as he could, and fighting the will of his body reached for the handle of the dagger on his waist.
“Laharem don’t be a fool, you can’t do anything with that knife, just run!” they yelled.

But Laharem was unable to move; he pulled out the dagger, but his hands shook and he almost dropped it. The shadow was nearly upon him, only a stones throw away now and he could feel his eyes shutting in fear. At last they closed so that only a sliver of them were open, and from that sliver he saw nothing but a dark figure before him.

He could feel the soft warmth of breath on his face and he smelt something dreadful. He didn’t dare think to breathe anymore, feeling himself unable. But he let go his air as he felt a wet smack on his cheek. He cringed as the hair of the animal brushed up against him. Lahrami opened his eyes to see the familiar face of the Comook.

It was only a little taller then him, while on all fours. It shared the likeness of a cow, but it had the legs of a bird from knees down. The boy rubbed his hands behind its curled horns, and onto its ears.
“Reshgull, do you know how scared I was. I mean you had my soul paralyzed and everything.” Laharem laughed, hugging the beast around its neck and pressing his face into its wool like fur.

The other two boys came out form their hiding places, after hearing the laughter and began walking towards him; their faces still drown out in shock. Tetcha patted off the leaves on his pants and tried to stand as if he hadn’t fled from a Comook. But the two of them couldn’t help but laugh at themselves.
Laharem put the dagger away and with it his smile. “You two ran. You expect me to fight this ‘beast’ all by myself!? You can’t even handle Reshgull here and you’re going to join the military to fight Fathoms?”

The two boys hugged the animal too and then turned to the question. “Oh just drop it Lahrami…” they said, almost in unison, but they both blushed.

The boy sighed, ‘they’re never gonna understand.’ His soft brown eyes peered up again at them. They were on their way to be drafted, and he was to be left behind. Left here in the village he had lived in his whole sixteen years alive. Here with the trees and the easy flowing Yhamana River and its blue stones. Here, while his friends went to war and probably death.
His voice turned quiet, “If I could, I’d go instead…I’d…rather face and fight death then sit around waiting for it to come get me…” he trailed off, looking back at his feet.
Belomy placed his hand on the small ones head, “Don’t worry Laharem, I’m sure we’ll be fine, you just wait we’ll be the first ones back! Right Tetcha?”
Belomy turned to him. Tetcha was too overwhelmed to give a sincere response, his mind raced with uncertainty, he had no idea if he would ever see the boy again. But, he wanted to leave the boy with something.
“Yeah sure” he said. “But, Laharem ‘ill still be here all dressed up with nowhere to go.” He flicked the dagger that hung at Laharem’s side. “I mean look at him he’s more ready to fight then most the men in the village. Hell, I can’t even picture you without this butter knife.” At that they continued to move down the path towards the village.

The tree line stopped abruptly and beyond its boarders laid the village of Isaiah, their home. In the center, the town square and built around that were shops and homes of different shapes and sizes. Isaiah had once been a great city of white marble and statues, but riches seemed to lie in the valley below the mountain ring. Many of the founding fathers had left to chase the wealth bellow and built Horndruff. But some villagers had been faithful to their roots, sort of speak, and remained.
Laharem split from his friends with a casual bye, leading the Comook to follow him to the temple. Letting the laughter die down into an awkwardness as they moved on to the military’s black bunker and the draft sign up, Laharem couldn’t stand to see them go, but he found himself watching them as they walked on to the bunker.

It was an awkward structure indeed. Like a big black egg, dull and seemingly unaffected by the bright light of the sun which it refused to reflect. Laharem tried to think back to how long ago that the egg had been dropped from the sky onto their village. About five, maybe six years ago he figured, but since it had landed the men of Isaiah had been torn into the war, mostly against their will.
Outside of the bunker stood one man, a soldier. That soldier was something Laharem had always feared; finding it hard to believe there was really a man under all that black metal.

They were known as the Valgaren. Their bodies hidden under heavy armor and thick padding. And, for as long as they had been there, Laharem could not recall ever seeing the man’s real face. It was always behind a mask, with three spouts that protruded from the mouth and cheeks. The eyes where perfect circles, pale yellow, with sunken indents under them that gave a true expression of sorrow.

The Valgarn turned and glared at the boy as he passed. Laharem felt the stare on him like a branding iron. He mounted the Comook and pulled hard on the reigns as he sped along through the village.

Laharem continued on towards the temple. When he reached the river that surrounded the temple he stopped and dismounted. Laharem tied the animal to a small dark stump and Reshi began gnawing on the grass as Laharem patted the comook's head and then he tunred and began crossing the bridge before him.
Around the temple was a moat cut by a single bridge of black and grey stone. Roots from the spouted out from the clear water and wrapped around the stone path. Laharem climbed down the Comook and walked down the stone bridge, being sure not to step on the roots. A great doorway with statues on either side was the entrance. Stone carving danced up the archway, the stone looking like it was braided. Laharem shook in the brief cold aura at the doorway as he passed through it, but the open room before him was beaming with light. And in the center was a white tree that stood in a small pool of water.
It was the Corner Tree; no taller then the height of a man though and no thicker. Its roots ran through the pool, under the temple and into the moat. The roots circulated the fresh water of the rivers that channeled into the moat. Serving as a filter for the pollution of the rain and smoke of the cities bellow and far away.
Laharem knelt beside the rim of the pound making a cup from his hands to drink the water. He could feel the water move through his very blood. It was a requirement to walk through the temple; it was believed it cleansed your body. The boy looked up at the bark, tracing faces and animals in it; a childhood game.
His eyes shut slowly. He felt the worries for his friends fall from him, like the passing of a breath.
“Valerynn will take care of them, they’ll be ok,” he paused “…all it will be ok.”
He finished whispering his prayers, reciting passage and such. But, even with his prayers said he still felt uneasy.

A shadow crept across the temple floor. The clouds turned darker and blacker above the village. The villagers stopped, trailing off mid sentence as they looked to the sky. Laharem awoke from his trance, staring now at the stained glass that shined no longer. He ran to the temple doorway, it was then that the thunder started. The clouds shook and the trees howled in the winds that picked up the debris all around and curled it towards the sky. Laharem’s eyes glazed over as he refused to blink and his mouth dried instantly as it opened.

The people screamed as they scattered for cover as the wind became stronger still and began catching people, sending them hurtling around like dolls. Laharem held close to the vines on the temple. As the storm swept things up as it lowered; as if the clouds were crawling downward from the sky threatening to land on the village. The thunder clashed as the black blanket of cloud drifted closer and closer upon the village square.
A black tear drop formed at the center of the cloud. Laharem thought for a moment that he saw a white light in the drop. Slowly it descended into the square. As it landed the people and carts and the very ground all buckled under it. A large plume of smoke and dirt blew into the sky around the impact. As the debris settled only a black flickering flame like cloth remained.
Laharem watched from the temple doorway as the cloth twirled up from the ground like fire. The people scattered into the woods and headed for the temple, others remained on the ground. Echoing sounds of bones rubbing together, scraping and gnawing overtook the Laharem was frozen in place felling the warmth drain from his body.
People began clogging the temple entrance, knocking him about as they passed.
In the distance the dark mass in the square began to take form, a white skeletal structure with a heavy ribcage lifted on two long arms. The dark flame spiraled up and fell back down, clinging to the bone. A head arose from the dirt as the neck lifted. Screaming filled Laharem’s ears…and laughter. Hissing and screeching, deep and high tones until Laharem could hold the statue no longer and fell to his knees to grab his ears. But a much louder more familiar sound pulled him back from his pain, a gunshot.

Laharem felt his heart collapse within him, he knew, he knew what this was. The crackling of bones and the grinding of teeth came crawling into Laharem’s mind. The villages gave in to their fear, wailing as the sirens did; a chorus of noise and chaos. They continued trying to run, but some lay in the dirt dragging away from the void that hovered above them.
A skeletal hand came from the dark flame on the ground, the size of Laharem’s chest, and dug its fingers into the dirt. “And great white arms, to which it drags about on,”
Laharem found himself repeating what his friends had said. Finally the other arm crept out and lifted the remainder of the rib cage and lastly the giant skull. Shadow hung on it, like a fabric, waving and twisting in the wind.


Laharem grabbed at his ears at the sound of gunshots. The Soldier paced before the newly formed line of the city’s militia. Their guns all locked on the monster and The Soldier was saying something, although Laharem couldn’t understand it over the commotion behind and before him.
The phathom stopped its siren, closing its gruesome jaws to reveal a flashing grin at the men. The Soldier and monster were in a staring contest and the village stood still with them. The Soldier lifted the gun to his shoulder and took aim. His finger moved slowly back to the handle, click…boom!

The first few rounds went right through the cloth, one hit beside Laharem’s head missing him by only a few inches. The Soldier dropped his arm, waiting for the following shots, but none came. He turned around and realized his reinforcements where gone in the woods, screaming in fear, as they disappeared into the dark. He tried to yell for them but the monsters hissing over took all sound.
He turned back to his opponent and fired. This time the bullets hit the creature. The bone did not break or shatter though; instead it was merely dinged and scratched. The monster paused for a moment and shook like a wet animal.
It bolted and the man froze in fear, placing the gun in front of him as if to shield himself. The large white hand flew at him. He tried to brace himself, but it was too fast and too strong. It sends him through the air hitting the face of one of the houses. He slid out of the crater The Soldier’s unconscious body tipped to the side and remained there with little motion; except the twitching of his swelling muscles.





Chapter 2
Sunlight



Laharem felt himself rampant with emotion. Their defenses were gone, and the Soldier too lay defeated. He watched the monster search out its next victim, an older gentleman who had fallen behind, someone Laharem knew. The man was limping on towards the temple, but his cane was somewhere lost and forgotten now. The beast leapt at him. Laharem saw nothing but a gust of ash “…and they burn you alive…” he recalled the way Tetcha had blown the sand, the old man was gone.
As Laharem held on, paralyzed in fear, he contemplated his own heart. A decision was to be made; and soon for the monster galloped ever closer to the temple. He let go the vines and tried to push through the crowd going away from the temple sanctuary. With one hand he shoved while the other felt for the dagger. Laharem tried not to look at their faces, tears and dismay, they would not fight, he knew that. He always had.
He tripped out on the other side of the riot, finding himself in a circle. He coughed on the dust, trying to force his body up, although it wanted otherwise.
‘This is what you wanted’ he mocked himself, ‘To fight, to die?’. The whimpering of a small girl stopped his thoughts. She sat in the circle too terrified, reaching out for the people as they ran past, but no one stopped. He leapt up to get her. Kneeling beside her he tried to talk but nothing could be heard in the chaos. Then an ungodly breathing stopped his heartbeat. He looked up to realize the Phathom had redirected its blood lust. It was just a stones throw away, moving up and down with the ins and outs of its breaths. Laharem stood, shaking, and unsheathed the dagger. A monster a little boy and the girl he defended.
The creature moved in slowly, the lower half of its body hovered behind it. Laharem’s grip on the handle tightened. “Ok, alright, ok,” the boy ran towards the monster, in his hand, with a white knuckle bracer was the dagger. And with ever step he became closer and closer to the decision he had made; he had to fight. The dagger glowed softly in the coming sunlight and as it did it seemed to melt longer and longer until now twice, no, three times the size it had been. The clouds were moving on and the sun returned to the village and this caused the monster to halt and its shadow covering began to burn into ash; but it did not stop its charge.
The skull shattered and its eyes dimmed from blue to a hollow black. Two large silver bullets carried through the skull and through the black aura; continuing past Laharem’s face. One grazed him lightly, leaving a small red scratch across his cheek.
The demon was swept up by the sunlight and Laharem stopped in its body that had turned into ash; but all around him were the white bones, not yet taken by the light. Its last act was to raise its arm to strike the boy but before it hit it too turned to dust and blew into the wind.

The dust was so cool on his cheek. Powdering him, leaving him standing, dumbfounded in the square. The fathom burned all around him, the black clothe that had been its body became a fine thread that unraveled wildly as the sunlight shone down. It had been the sun that saved him, the sun and…
He watched the dark clouds continue down the mountainside. The Adumbran, or so they had named it, was headed for Horndruff.
The trees began to shake again with the afternoon breeze, but something else in the brush. Out came the black armored Valgaren came from the woods. The soldiers quickly surveyed the village, and then ran to the temple, to which they were met with praise.
“The Valgaren have come!”
“They have saved us!” Their tears turned to broken clapping and a mumbling thanks as the black soldiers stood before them, their flashy rifles reflecting the light onto the peoples faces.
Laharem’s mind was overwhelmed, these soldiers were new to him. He had heard stories, but to see the sunken round lenses, varying in blues and reds that were their eyes, he nearly collapsed.
Something tugged at his hand. It was the girl he had tried to save. She looked up and the two met eyes. Without saying anything she squeezed his hand, lowered her head and scampered away.
A few of them circled Laharem, “Sir we need you to move! Now!” their voices were like diluted echoes. Laharem was paralyzed, as a shadow from up above became bigger and bigger around him. They picked him up and carried him to the temple stairs.
Humming. A heavy humming and the song of many birds. Where the boy had been, there was now a lowering ship. It was the metal bird of the Valgaren, their transport. Its big dark wings flapped to cradle its landing. Gold legs curled out from the belly and clawed at the ground, it stood, and from the side came more soldiers. The Valgaren that was walking towards now, was more like a monster then a man. There were ram horns at each side of his head and his armor was of a dull grey turtle shell. The eyes were different though, one open as the others, but the left eye was shut, closed, with scratch marks.
This Valgaren approached Laharem without the hunch of an old man, but it was evident to Laharem that he was. There was an armored beard that went from his chest to the face.
The soldier lifted Laharem’s arm, the one with the dagger in it.
“Tell me boy, what exactly were you plannin’ to do with this?” The man went to take the blade, but something stopped him. His hand froze, the fingers extended. “I see…”
Someone was yelling behind them.
“General Leer, this areas clear sir! Permission to move on to Horndruff.”
The General looked at the soldier who had reported. “yah…Yes, move on. Its, its time to move on.” The general peered down at the boy with his single eye, letting out a long drawn out breath, an old man’s specialty.
“Boy, never let that go. That courage is all we have in this world. And O’ how we need it.” Leer turned away and took a few steps, the stopped. “Boy! We’ll meet again you and I, maybe then I’ll show you how to use that blade of yours.”
The general waved his hands and at that the Valgaren ran back to the transport. One stopped beside the general, “sir, what about the draftees?”
“Yell oly oly oxenfree. If any come out from hiding grab em’. Leave the others, I have no need for cowards.”

Leer’s eye moved across the village, twinkling in the fire light. The village would be fine, water was all it needed. His gaze finally rested on the boy, their would be savior.
“boy, it seems I have room on my ship for new recruits, but none are to be found. Tell me, how’d you like to start the trainin’ now.” His face was stern and hard, but the kid could see him.
It wasn’t the first empty stare Leer had gotten. Although there was something in the boy’s eyes that offered him a wince of hope. The boy blinked heavy and long, taking in the sight of his home in flames.
The boy’s eyes changed from brown to a burning amber. Laharem nodded. Leer didn’t take the chance of second thoughts; he grabbed Laharem’s hand and pulled him along towards the ship. Laharem looked on to the people leaving the temple, most of them crying, “for them…” he said.
The old man lifted the boy into the iron bird, and then clicked a button on the side that sent his mask retracting into the armor around his neck; his white beard blew wildling in the wind from the ship.
He said nothing, the stare told all to the soldiers that tilted their heads in confusion, the boy was his and the soldiers backed off, letting the boy pass through them. The old man leapt in after and guided Laharem to the back of the long belly of the bird. The ship was brimming with the black armor of the Valgaren, leaving only their eyes glowing bright in the darkness. Laharem coughed on the smoke they exhaled.
Laharem could see a light at the end of the tunnel of shadow. Here hanging armor and weapons banged and bumped together. The old man shifted through them, his breathing hastening. The boy stood peering back at the valgaren that stared at him, their wide circle eyes seemed like the ends of flares.
“boy!” Leer exclaimed. “Put these on, we need to get you somewhat protected.” In his hands were two shiny braces. They looked like something out of a fairytale book and the general could see the doubt in the boy’s eyes. “just put em’ on…what’s the matter?
“They look a bit big sir…”Laharem replied, but he pulled them over his arms just the same.
“Good, now hit the button on the side.”
He did, and from the bracers came a sigh of air as they fastened on to him. Laharem jumped, and without thinking tried to shake them off, but they were tight. Leer grabbed his arms and stopped him from moving. “Look at me! Look at me!” Laharem un-clenched his eyes “listen, you are a soldier now. Its time you grow up and get ready. Believe me, death is very real.” He leaned closer and his voice became a whisper “look around, most of these men you will never see again. Hell I don’t know half em’. They’ll die, boy, and we’ll burry em’ and that’s the end of it.” Laharem’s breathing slowed “the military will never think of them again, neither will those damn monsters. But you, your heads in the right place. You know why you’re here.” Laharem knelt down and pulled up a section of the wall, revealing a window. The ship was now above the small village.
“That’s why you’re here. They need you, and you’re nothing to them dead. Think of it that way.” Leer stood, leaving the boy to watch his home become lost in distance.

“Now, its time to tell you what you’re up against. They’re not the mystical monsters you’ve heard about. They’re bone and shadow, damned souls of our past. They’ll chew through you, slash and rip you apart. If they catch you in the dark, the cloth will burn you alive, leaving nothing but ash.” He moved his hand into the sunlight that came from the window, “But, if you can keep them in the light, they’ll loose their shroud. Only them can you hope to fight them.” The general tensed up as he knelt again to face the boy. “Never, never face them on their own turf. The darkness is no friend of ours.”

Outside the bird shook as it hit the back lash of the storm cloud it chased. The valgaren grabbed onto the bars above their heads as the ship rocked back and forth. The ship sang out into the thunder. Inside Laharem tried to hold onto something to keep him from falling. His hands found the barrel of a gun. It was cold.

The old man took his hand from the rifle, offering his last bit of advice, “That’ll give you no support in this war. Take the dagger in hand and face the Fathoms head on.”

Laharem took the dagger from its case on his hip and held it in his hand with his eyes closed, he spoke…
“Meet them head on…death, here I come…”