To the owner of this novel,

I hope you had getting fun lost in my world.

Allow me to entertain you in this magical scape one, final time.

Excerpt from, The First Zenith: Men of the Rising Sun, by Scholar Euda Pernici.

First published in 274.02. Crown Age as part of the series, Faith and Restoration. Essential Spiritual Scripts. Edition 01. Volume 06.

Translated by: Brother Endall Vale

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"The endless night has passed and stillness has encompassed strife. There exists peace, fresh and filled with promise, unlike any the world has seen. Men are free from the clasps of iron and blood—and their binds shall remain broken. Voices so long enslaved are finally able to lament all they have lost and all they have yet to lose. No longer will they be silenced. Because, for once, the land knows balance.

Is it only right then, for them to have gone?

Two lights of the world diminished to-day. The third, lost to illness of the mind. But they leave with us their gifts of unparalleled strength and their promise of better days.

Not all are lost, however. The crystal and his creator remain with us still. A final guide through the coming nights. In him, lies power strong enough to mend our dilapidated hearts. He is the leader of the new world. We, his faithful followers, shall remain true until the time comes when we need them to assemble again. When another foe stands unconquerable before us, led astray from the path of morality and virtue.

Until that day comes, let it be known by all that they await their moment to arise from the ashes, to step away from the shadows in which they vanished, and as surely as dawn bathing new light over the horizon—

They shall return."

1

Maurice felt trapped.

He had for a long time now. He tried to hide it, tried to return the blackened feeling to the dusky corners of his mind where it belonged, but it was as useless as pushing the tide back into the ocean. He had thought that time would do away with the sensation of it clawing at his very bones, would scar it just as well as all of the other emotions that could once ruin him, but it was still as raw as the first time. There was no end to this madness. He felt like a rabbit run into the ground, caught between the verge of life and death with his little heart beating out against his will.

He wanted it to end. Creator, he did.

Those he allowed close slowly begun to notice. Practitioners that were at once alike and unalike him in every way. They didn’t know the secrets that he held tight to his chest; they couldn’t even begin to fathom the weight of them. Yet they acted as if they did. Some even had the audacity to believe that they understood him simply because he was the only one that remained from their revered quartet... the only one close enough to reach anyway.

But no one truly knew him. No one could. How could they if they thought of him as blessed when he was, in fact, the most cursed of them all? A beast cloaked in human skin. One that had always been too quick to try the unknown, too eager to disobey caution, and too much of a slave to hope to disregard the starless side roads that brimmed with heinous possibilities.

Maurice dabbled with the atrocious and made friends with violence to corrupt those around him, until only the world he longed for was left—and what a world it was.

He had everything he ever could’ve wished for.

A dream on the brink of being realized. An edgeless throng of men and women eager for a mere glance at his figure. A son from the woman he loved. The same woman he’d stood behind in silent support for so many years. Asking nothing, taking nothing.

Until that downtrodden former slave came along and worked himself between their rock-steady relationship. His hackles raised whenever he saw Thelarius and Pernelia together. In part because he hated how Thelarius could assuage Pernelia’s worries, and in another because of how easily she offered her affection. Thelarius would only have to laugh—a sound he’d never expected to hear without the final gasps of someone dying after—and she’d be too tongue-tied to respond. Thelarius was her sun. Maurice was a stuttering candle in contrast. But what he truly hated, with every fiber of his being, was how Thelarius, despite her love, never considered her to be first on his list of priorities. Pernelia was always outweighed by Silas and a nameless, godforsaken voice.

Oh, she was happy, and her smile cemented that fact, but Maurice wanted her to be happy with hi—

Maurice licked his coarse lips. He brought a glowing hand up to his temple to ease the headache he felt forming there. There was no use dwelling over events that had long since passed. Thelarius had always preferred to be alone with that clinging darkness, so Maurice had granted that desire. That was the end of that... or at least it should’ve been.

He looked down when the crystal cradled within the small iron stand on his desk suddenly sparked. It speared a flash of white across the room, before it was consumed entirely by the being that stirred within. The black mass floated in the air for a split second. It drew tighter and tighter into itself, before a crack webbed down the middle to shatter the crystal inside like glass. Maurice didn’t take his eyes off of it. Not even when the pieces scattered onto the floor of the stand and the heinous thing inside withered away.

Another failure, he thought, unsurprised. He’d lowered his expectations long ago.

He was beginning to run out of those remnants. Those pieces of misery that he’d pillaged from the temples of those that came before them. They were nothing more than ancient echoes of power to most, but to him, they were the closest thing he had ever found to what he’d successfully drawn out of Thelarius all those years ago. Maurice was hesitant to use what Thelarius had so uncreatively labelled, her, however, only because he didn’t want to tether himself to this world with something that might disappear in the future. If Thelarius died, he didn’t want to die with him. But with the way things were going, he didn’t think he had a choice.

Maurice shouted in frustration. His breaths came out in short, threaded gasps as he lost himself in his work. His eyes snapped to the side when the hearth across from his paper-laden desk let out a series of placid pops. Maurice turned just in time to witness a branch breaking in the heart of it. The strip of flame it brought to life casted a long and waning shadow before his feet like a black-inked guide away from this godforsaken room that he had once called home. It felt little more than a prison now. A cage for his thoughts that had steadily become more manic as the years pressed on.

Out of habit, he looked over his shoulder for the glint of candlelight on steel. There were quite a few places for someone to hide. A folding screen in one corner, a tall desk covered with loose pages of his manifesto in another, and a narrow nook between a bookshelf and the wall. He spared each area a cursory glance. In truth, he was prepared for practitioners to rise forth from the flagstones and howl magic at his ears. For trained men with daggers to appear out of thin air, so they could nip at his skin with blades too quick to evade. But none of that happened. It was just his paranoia getting the better of him. Again.

That awful feeling had taken root long ago. It poisoned his mind.

He wasn’t always like this.

Maurice still recalled the day awareness settled around him like silver shroud in water, elegant and clinging. The day the storm-heavy disapproval he stored within tore down the chains around his mind. Little did he realize that those chains held a dam close to bursting. Metal clinked like a blade meeting stone in his head. Weighted fetters unclasped to let loose the flood. Then, that moment of easy, straightforward clarity had been swept away in the span of two breaths. It had lost to the relentless waves that buffeted him; the symbols of purpose that outshined everything, even the shadows of his once contented dreams.

He knew when those waters first began to brim. It started when he met Thelarius and Silas. They were charismatic in their own right, but a thousand times more together. Silas was one of the most talented Conjurers of his generation with a stunning background and the mind to match. Thelarius, on the other hand, moved the same way a dog that had grown too big, too quickly did. Awkward and graceless. Never in full control of all of his limbs. But he had his moments, and as he grew to fit the gaping shoes that were his powers, those traits became more charming to the public than any amount of polished etiquette.

Maurice, however, never shared their aspirations. So many around him believed that he did, and he never faulted them for that. In the face of all he’d done to help the duo, how could they think otherwise? Nevertheless, Maurice was always surprised by how quick they were to dismiss his background in the face of those actions. The world wasn’t black and white; men could be bad and still occasionally choose to do good. It was shocking how a few compassionate decisions could blind others from seeing him for what he was.

Maurice was a Mentalist first, a Healer second, and a man third. Member of the esteemed First Zenith didn’t even make the list. Let alone friend.

Those fools he travelled with sought to create a simple, idealistic world devoid of hatred, where Nebbin and practitioner could safely roam side-by-side. But with all of his power, Maurice believed that Thelarius forgot just how stark the black line drawn between practitioner and Nebbin was. It was thick ink mixed with oil and tar to ensure an even deeper marking. Its age made it worse. The line was crafted by the Creator when he bestowed upon the first men their magic, and then solidified by the old gods that whispered their darkest secrets into the ears of all those willing to listen. The hatred that those past practitioners imbued into that divide would never disappear, especially not with how his peers handled things.

The First Zenith made moves to blur that rift as best they could, perhaps afraid to do too much too soon. They were unwilling to take that final step, which infuriated Maurice to no end—if you were going to commit your life to a cause, then you needed to do everything within your power to see it through. He wasn’t satisfied with a simple brush of his hand to reduce the divisive streaks in their society; Maurice wanted to erase them completely. He wanted the entire world relieved from the embarrassment that were Nebbin.

But even he knew that he wouldn’t be able to see that dream to its fulfillment. Not when his hands grew more decrepit by the day. Mortality was an affliction, and with each second that passed, he felt the strength of it. His hair had greyed long ago. His once steady legs shook with the effort needed to hold his meager weight. Even his teeth were beginning to give out on him.

You’re unfamiliar with futility, Maurice recalled in Thelarius’ powerful tone. He despised how even in his mind, his voice still boomed. I’ve known the sense of it better than my own name for the last two decades. Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you want them to, Maurice. In this case, perhaps that’s for the best. I understand where you’re coming from. I am a supporter of change, but your plan demands too much suffering for the sake of it. You’d divide and trap her for eternity, you’d modify children and adult alike, you’d even turn those currently at the bottom wrungs of society into powerful elites with no equal overnight—the ramifications of the last one alone would be endless. Unrivalled magic in the hands of hate-filled men and women will only result in a bloodbath.

... You’ve gotten so much older now, Maurice. You should stop and rest. Admire what’s around you. Unlike me, you have the chance.

Maurice, however, didn’t want peace.

There was none to be found in this wretched world where those inferior were ignorant to how much more they could grasp if they were just willing to make a few bloody sacrifices. They could turn Ferus Terria into a land where all people were touched by the light of magic. Where birth and skill determined status. And if tens of thousands, no, if hundreds of thousands had to die to make that a reality, then so be it. At least they knew their sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

You’re wrong, Thelarius, Maurice whispered menacingly. His hands trembled with vigor that had ripened long ago. Too long. Everything will be just as I want it.

He wouldn’t give up. If he had to take the darkest path to realize his dream, then he would. Without a second thought.

It was in that moment between staring at the broken crystal before him and pondering what he could do that all of the pieces fell into place, hammering home realization like nails in a coffin. The path he needed to take suddenly seemed so clear now. Crisp and right. As natural as a hidden path of leaves just waiting to be discovered. His entire body shook with a rush of adrenaline so abrupt that he had to move. Maurice shot out of his seat and looked wildly around the room. His mind ran with thoughts of what he needed to do.

Destroy the memos, pack the crystals, double-check the locks in my private treasury, tuck away the first forty-eight pages—

He gathered the scant few documents he deemed important and stuffed them inside of a metal chest. The rest, he threw into the fireplace. He didn’t care that he was burning thousands of pages of meticulously handwritten research. Maurice had no use for them now, and he’d rather his descendants put all of their effort into exploring what mattered most to him, rather than these half-baked ideas that, when it came down to it, were nothing but distractions.

Maurice threw open a wooden trunk filled with his belongings. He grabbed his grimoire. It was a hefty thing that’s cover was made from the bole of an old oak tree that had been fueled by magic since it was a sapling. The weight was familiar to him. Maurice lifted the grimoire with ease. The feel of it in his hands provided impossible safety in a work chockfull of threat.

Next, Maurice took the handful of small crystals stacked haphazardly in a corner of the trunk. They were packed with dark tendrils. He rummaged around to find another, bigger one—an accident that he’d created, but what he deemed his life’s work regardless. He tucked that into a pocket hidden deep inside of his robes. It was the only thing he’d be using immediately. The rest of his possessions, he left for other men to pick apart and hoard amongst themselves. He wouldn’t need them anyway. Not where he was going.

On his table, beside a half-empty bottle of his favored wine and a hopelessly stained glass, he left a note for his son. No warmth in the words. No final farewells. Only a goal and the instructions needed to achieve it.

He walked out the door without another look back.

***

Maurice breathed in the frigid air around him.

The packed snow under his feet was as familiar as it was unwelcome. He already had difficulty moving, and the cold only added to the burden. But, he supposed, there were worse things. At least here he wouldn’t be disturbed by any overly zealous practitioners or snippy advisors. The body of water before him was a frozen wasteland; the area behind, an endless expanse of white so pale that it hurt. Magic ran strong and vital here. It thickened the air like a taint, at once suffocating and satisfying him with every breath.

He exhaled a cloud of white smoke as he looked up at the whorled clouds overhead. They seemed to twist tighter and tighter into themselves. A storm was brewing. Not that he’d be here to witness it. Maurice placed the large crystal he’d ever only used once before on the thick sheet of ice before him. He didn’t activate it yet. That could wait a few more instances.

Instead, he stepped back and spread his arms out wide. Maurice closed his eyes. He stood there, basking in the glory of the moment, of the fresh and cool wind that pinched the tips of his ears. It filled his lungs. Rejuvenated his insides in a way that had him feeling like a young man again.

It would be a long time before he got to breathe in this air again. He wanted to savor every second of it.

His lifetime was too short for him to see his dreams fulfilled, so he’d let his children and their children’s children do so in his stead. And once they were ready, they’d call upon him. They’d wake him from his long sleep, and he would rise again in answer. Maurice would break free from the cage that he already knew halted time and step onto the lands of Ferus Terria once again. He would call upon those beings which gave magic its potency, those from where magic stemmed—and then trap whichever one was foolish enough to listen. So, he in turn could be set free from the burdens of mortality to erase the line between practitioner and Nebbin once and for all. Until all blood was pure.

For that reason alone, he would summon an old god.

He’d offer the life of all of those that went into the creation of his crystals, even offer the life of the unfortunate soul that would eventually set him free. Maurice would let loose the power that would be sleeping beneath his skin for the coming ages, and then force those fickle beings into turning around and giving him their undivided attention. If Thelarius could do it, then so could he. No, he had the potential to do it even better. Maurice would beckon something far more powerful than that lonely being that only took pity upon Thelarius.

His hands glowed blue as he invoked his power.

Maurice crouched to press each digit onto the crystal. It reacted to everything he released. The awareness that he’d roused the remnants trapped within discomfited him in more ways than one. Even still, he didn’t let that stop him. There was too much at stake for fear.

Eventually, it reached a point where he was no longer unleashing his magic. The tendrils that stirred inside actively took. They slurped more than he was willing to give, utterly unconcerned for his well-being. Each second that passed bled the lifeblood from his veins. He’d be nothing more than a hollow husk if he allowed this to continue... but he couldn’t pull away. Sight and noise were made dim by an unknown veil abruptly cast upon him. The shape of a world he sought appeared, brilliant and gleaming, before his eyes. The illusion was hazy along the edges. A distorted dream that flickered on and off to leave a cupped hole of emptiness whenever he tried to reach for it.

A sparkling light appeared in front of him. The same one that did all of those years ago when he had trapped Thelarius. It shined gold with the promise of a future close enough to taste. Maurice craved that future. More than he’d ever craved anything before. His head snapped to the side when a distant voice called out, as deep and immense as a call to the ocean. Moments passed before he realized that it was saying his name.

Maurice reached out.

His hand grasped something solid. Too solid for dreams. The world turned black in all directions. There was a spark, and then shards of ice struck the darkness to form a field of sparkling stars around him. It was breathtaking. The sound of it breaking rang in his ears, even as the dying echo evaporated to blend with the nothingness before him.

He stared when the shards reflected a passing shadow. It was so abrupt that he thought he might have imagined it, but then it happened a second time, and then a third. Maurice drew closer to peer into the shattered ice. Unease swelled inside of him with each step he took.

Something cold and malicious shimmered in the back of his mind. His heart stuttered in sudden dread.

It was then that Maurice felt that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The distinct sensation of someone staring at him bubbled in his gut. It wasn’t like the adoring gazes of the practitioners that looked to him for guidance or the disdainful ones of those that believed him too arrogant for his own good, no, this was pure burning. Eyes that held onto his form in a way that suspended him in the moment.

He whirled around in wild circles to find the source of his discomfort. When he didn’t see anything hidden in the gloom, he took to examining the shards more closely. Despite the lack of light, the shards glinted brightly in the darkness, giving him something to focus on.

Maurice panicked when two horrific slits abruptly appeared within every shard. Terror gripped him like a fist. It was tight enough that he couldn’t turn away. A mouthful of pointed teeth surfaced next. The creature’s upper lip was bared high in scorn. Flashes of its face kept appearing, and Maurice stifled the urge to shout.

It wasn’t that the glimpses were particularly ghastly. Rather, it was the feeling that exploded within him with each one that he saw. He felt as if he was impeding upon the territory of a violent, atrocious predator that desired nothing more than to be left alone—and right now, he was profaning that desire. The realization was as shuddering as the swift pale curve of a blade that came unheralded in the dead of night.

The distorted realm he was in lurched beneath his feet at the being’s arrival.

What’s going on? Maurice thought, unable to find his voice to question the presence himself. Where am I?

An abominable tone broke the quiet around him like glass.

Was it you that disturbed my rest?

That voice!

But this was far different from what he’d expected. The being that answered him sounded as if it were submerged in the darkest depths of the sea. It was interlaid with a dozen other timbres to create a tone far deeper than any he had ever heard. This voice wasn’t soothing or tantalizing like the breathless whispers he used to hear whenever a new Orivellea was formed. No. This was the strong, maddened speech of a man. A violently angry man.

You seek power.

There was a pause, before...

I do! Maurice shouted, rapid enough to make him seem desperate. The blueblood in him wailed in a corner about the need to always maintain his composure, but the more cogent side of him knew that before this being, any attempt to save face or to hide his intentions would be worthless.

Patient, yet eager. I can see it in your memories. You have met another like me... and trapped her.

Maurice shivered. The anticipation of retribution was more than enough to send him into hysterics.

Fear not, for I hold no grudges against you for what you have done in pursuit of your ambitions. But know this, I differ from the pitiful ear that your kin managed to reach with his cries of terror and desire for death. We are unalike in every possible way.

I do not want your soul or your company in exchange for my gifts. Unlike the one your kin has appealed to, I do not wish to be burdened with a companion within this edgeless expanse. And for that, you should consider yourself fortunate—for eternity here is both instantaneous and neverending. In my dwelling, eons and seconds all bleed into one. This solitary haven is not for you to perceive or to contemplate for eternity.

Thus, heed me when I say that you shall rise again from the serenity of this abyss. I make that vow to you.

The world around him abruptly drew in on itself. The air looped in wide circles that pulled closer with each spin—and there he was, at the center of it. Every heightened coil of air was pure noise that made his ears feel like they were bleeding. His temples pounded with a vengeance unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It extended outwards. Little webbed cracks of pain that moved across his forehead, before consuming the rest of him. Maurice cupped his face between his glowing hands and tried to make it stop, but this hurt wasn’t one so easily appeased.

Despite all he was going through, despite barely having the capacity to consider anything past the pain, that voice still rang loud and clear. It bounced along the walls of his mind. Cold fury from a being that couldn’t be bothered with dealing with the likes of him.

Ages have passed since I last met a man vigorous enough to pierce the water, to reach inside of this infinite night and draw me out. Stillness is paramount here, but you have managed to create ripples in the dark. An extraordinary feat, though by no means exclusive. Be proud, however, for your desire will be granted because of it.

Amidst the agony, the barest sliver of joy swelled in Maurice’s chest.

... It was taken away in an instant.

But if you are so keen to tear this world apart to realize your dreams, then I shall show you exactly what that means by beginning with you. You shall feel exactly what it is like to become a sacrifice offered to a heinous god. Over and over and over again. Until the day you are beckoned back to the world above.

That is the payment I seek.

The being didn’t even wait for him to agree. It simply vanished in a cloud of icy dust and accepted Maurice’s screams as an answer. Vicious gusts of enflamed wind burst around him. They pulled at his body, yet against all logic, he remained as still as a statue. He could feel their effects though. The way they burned his flesh, turning it soft and pink and too raw for anything more than a feather’s touch. It tore him apart at the seams. The wind spun in the empty spaces between his pores, rolling needles against the exposed tenderness of his insides.

Maurice wanted little else than to screech profanities at the top of his lungs, to shout at this being to stop, but any ability he once had to think past the blurs of hurt had been stripped the moment that wicked voice made his decision for him.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

The space he was in felt as if it had siphoned into itself for the sole purpose of thrashing against him. Maurice knew that the creature decided to bless him for one deluded instant though because a vision of endless warmth appeared before his eyes. Fleeting and real. Maurice returned to the world he’d basked in. Everything was just as he’d left it—the frozen water and the storm clouds ready to pour their tears overhead—as if they didn’t just witness how the last few moments had shifted his entire life into a different course.

The world was always so silent to the plight of men.

Maurice watched as the water suddenly began to boil. Steam blew out in an arc. It rose high into the air, obscuring everything from the distant sky above to the stark green trees spattered around him like specks of paint on a grey-white canvas. Ice cracked, then broke messily apart. The sharp sounds filled him with dread. Every inch of the water bubbled in a way that reminded him of overheated stew, made and eaten during simpler times when he camped with the rest of the First Zenith on their march to the north. It allowed him a proper look at the water, which was so thick that it appeared black. Although only a few seconds passed, the entirety of the icy ring in front of him had already returned to its natural state.

Maurice couldn’t speak. He was unable, or rather unwilling, to explain the sight. Because he knew what would come next if he did. Once he realized for himself that this was no longer the reality that he wanted so desperately to be trapped in.

But time waited for no one, and without his consent, it