A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 21: Countdown to Extinction

"Tell me again why were you so casual, and not angry at your father for not being there when you needed him? Had my father done that, I'd never have forgiven him."

"He was always there," Vil replied, "not physically but..." Mey offered him a death stare, "...I know, in a couple days I'll get angry about how he wasn't there when I needed him (at least not physically), and then you'll have to comfort me, that is how I am, if you met me yesterday."

Mey laughed. "Your personality has become a meme as of late."

"I'm aware of it," Vil rubbed the sweat off his tense brows, "anyway, we're back."

Vil pointed towards the valley in relief, it had been a tough week and they could use some rest. But at least on their way back they saw the moon-elf settlement abandoned and ruined, so that was good news: one less enemy to worry about. I wonder if the skali know who the Oracle is, Mey wondered, if they've served together, they should recognize him with ease.

But alas, it seemed fate didn't inscribe rest for them. The two of them trekked through the wastes for so long, trying to find a way back, only to find their camp smoking.

Vil was taken by shock: Did daemons follow him? Or did the skali betray them? Questions poured into his mind like a violent thunderstorm, scattering his wits about.

And the worst: the sounds of battle still pervaded, from afar they could see the backs of the high-elf warriors turned towards the enemy, holding their shieldwall against their foe.

"My lord," a skali squire ran up to him, "you've arrived just in the nick of time, we have been under attack for two hours now."

"Oh no, not good," Mey barged in, "how did they find out? Where are your warriors?"

"A great many have fallen," the skali answered darkly, "but they bought your troops enough time to mount a defence of the last few islands, allowing us to retreat safely into the deeper corners."

"Last few islands?" Vil squirmed in fear, "how many of the islands have been taken?"

"All our villages," the squire replied, "they fell faster than leaves in autumn, but luckily we saved most of our villagers, and that is all that matters."

"What matters is our survival," Mey replied, "we must find a way home, even if it is through the gates of hell. Get the women and children-"

...

He hushed, neon curls of light emanated from behind them: a portal opened right in between the island. Vil and Mey unsheathed their blades, ready to face off an ambush, but no.

Out stepped Raucion, his hands raised into the air.

"Raucion," Vil responded in immeasurable joy, "brother, what are you doing here?"

"I thought you needed aid in battling the daemons," said Raucion, "so I brought a host of them with me. Also, father wants you to know: a portal cannot be powerful enough for an entire legion to pass through without the strain killing your infants, you need to use a warpgate."

"Ah," Vil sighed, half of relief and half of concern, "so our only choice is to defeat the daemons?"

"Worry not, it's doable, but there are some instances which he can't predict."

"As in?"

"Let's just say the hordes are not your biggest problem," Raucion said in apology, "the Hand of Morthaur: the Master of Change, he is upon you now, Vil. His master has tasked him to hunt you down and destroy you, and he will not stop unless defeated."