[First Era – Year 6 of the Divinity War; Kapurn, command palaces]

  Elithir’s chamber was bathed in ambient light, a radiance that could not be touched by the darkness that lurked just beyond the walls. It was here, in this sanctuary of light, where Elithir’s petrified body sat. The frozen hero had summoned the drackmoor to him, and now they gathered, encircling his still form. Though his body was unmoving, his presence filled the space, resonating within each of their minds, undeterred by the limitations of the physical world.

  Moraithe looked out at his fellow drackmoor as silence descended upon them, their forms shifting uneasily, anticipating the reasons Elithir had gathered them, and how it would shape the course of everything to come.

  Then, Elithir’s voice rang out—not in words, but directly into their thoughts. It was a presence, overwhelming and clear as if time itself bent to his will.

  “My friends,” Elithir’s voice echoed within them, resonating deep in their bones. “You are here because the darkness has come. Barthum is upon us, and he seeks to claim all that we hold dear. His power is immense, his mind sharp beyond reckoning. With every passing moment, he grows stronger, more dangerous. His potential is limitless—he has the power to obliterate all light, to extinguish everything, leaving nothing but shadow. Should he succeed in this, there will be no way to stop him. No way to fight back. All will be lost. Forever.”

  The drackmoor felt the weight of his words settle into them like a cold, heavy stone. The terror of the thought—the idea that everything they had ever known could be wiped away in an instant—was enough to cause even the most steadfast among them to tremble. But Elithir did not let the fear linger long.

  “But I see the future,” Elithir continued, his thoughts calm despite the gravity of the situation. “I see a path. A way we might still win. But this path is not easy. It will demand everything of you. And it will require that each of you trust me with everything you are.”

  There was a pause, and each of the drackmoor stood still, feeling the weight of his words, as if each of them had been chosen for something far beyond their individual lives.

  “The path to victory will take all of us. Only together can we triumph. I will need you as you will need me. I can no longer gain self-assurance because I have become a fixed point, unable to grow. You will have to grow as strong—no, stronger than I’ve ever been, to entangle me across all of space as I am entangled across time. That is our path to omniscience and omnipotence.”

  “How do you expect us to grow so powerful?” Quentorn was a researcher from a different laboratory who had recently joined them as drackmoor. “We cannot match you. No one ever has.”

  “The Amnesia Bomb is coming. Barthum has devised it to destroy you. But I will turn it for your good. Resistance yields growth. And oh, what growth it will be. Trust me, you will become more powerful than you ever imagined.”

  “Power corrupts.” The voice came from a beautiful drackmoor girl, Coralie, whom Moraithe knew very little. “You want us to trust you, but how can anyone be trusted with all power?”

  “I believe the saying is ‘if power corrupts, then absolute power will corrupt absolutely.’ Note the word ‘if.’ Have I ever been corrupted by power? If I am not corrupted by this power, then why would I be corrupted by more power? This does not simply hold for me. For when I am raised to omnipotence I will raise you up with me … I will raise up all those who follow me and prove they are not corrupted by power.”

  Those words brought stunned silence. Who would share power like that? Elithir, of course. Where others sought unique powers—to monopolize each power for themselves. He was never jealous of power, never sought to hold it alone.

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  “I do not seek to control anyone as Throm’tor did. You are thinking beings with your own thoughts, will, and desires. I respect that. I will never control you, though sometimes you may beg it of me.”

  Elithir’s thoughts rang out again, his tone firm. “I will only guide you, warn you, and give you strength to navigate the trials ahead. There will be times when the road becomes treacherous. You will face hardships, you will suffer losses, failures, and some of you may even face death. You may cry for answers from me that it would not be prudent for me to give. But if you trust me, if you follow me through the storm, we will prevail.”

  “Your words are ominous.” Norgoth swallowed. “How dangerous will this be?”

  Elithir’s thoughts deepened, resonating with the ancient wisdom that flowed from his being.

  “I cannot promise you a life without suffering. I cannot promise you an easy victory. But I can promise you this—If you endure, if you stand together, we will triumph. And when we do, it will be more than survival. You will emerge as conquerors over every chain.”

  A murmur rippled through the gathered drackmoor, a mixture of uncertainty and determination flickering across their faces. But it was not doubt that spoke now—it was the silent call of resolve, the stirring of a deep and ancient instinct to fight.

  Moraithe felt it stir within him—a surge of purpose. He looked around the chamber, his gaze locking with Norgoth’s and Saffrael’s in turn, and he saw the same determination mirrored in their eyes. There was no turning back now. The path had been set.

  “What say you?” Elithir’s voice rang out in their minds again, persuasive, unyielding.

  They all shouted in approval.

  But within Moraithe’s heart, something stirred. This moment, this commitment required greater solemnity. It needed an oath to be remembered for all of time. He dropped to one knee, his heart pounding in his chest with the weight of his decision, the solemnity of the vow he was about to make.

  “I pledge myself to you, Elithir,” Moraithe said, his words ringing on stone, filling the chamber. “I will follow you through whatever hardships. I will endure whatever is necessary. Lead us to victory.”

  The others around him followed his example. One by one, each drackmoor knelt, their forms bowing before their petrified commander, each giving their pledge, not only in words but in the unspoken bond that connected them all. They would trust him. They would follow him.

  Elithir’s presence in their minds swelled with approval, a silent acknowledgment that reverberated through them all.

  “Then together we shall become infinite,” Elithir spoke again, his voice now filled with a strength that resonated like the sound of distant thunder. “I will carry you through the trials ahead as you carry me. And in the end, I will raise you up, as conquerors, as victors. You will be the ones to defeat Barthum and the Severed and claim ultimate freedom.”

  The light around them seemed to grow brighter, almost blinding. And then Elithir spoke once more, his thoughts laced with finality.

  “But for this to work … you must each carry a piece of me with you.”

  A ripple of confusion passed through the gathered drackmoor, but Elithir’s form, though petrified, seemed to pulse with power, as though it were alive with the very essence of the future itself.

  “Take a fragment of me,” Elithir instructed. “Carry it with you. It will be the tether that binds us, that links us all together. It will be our strength, our unity. Through it, you will know my presence, my guidance. And through it, we shall defeat the darkness.”

  Moraithe stepped forward with a mystic grin, then looked at his hands, unsure how to proceed. Saffrael pulled a hammer out of her revenescent and put it into his hand. He nodded to her and moved toward Elithir’s petrified form.

  Holding the hammer in his trembling hand, he broke off a jagged shard from Elithir’s body—the tip of his forefinger. The stone was cold to the touch, yet it thrummed with energy, an almost imperceptible hum of power. He closed his hand around it, feeling its weight as the weight of his promise.