Prologue: Darkness of a Different Kind

  Darkness fell.

  It wasn’t the usual darkness that came with the end of day, carrying a hint of warmth, however faint. Nor was it the darkness of midnight, wrapped in silent peace, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the cold wind. It wasn’t the comforting darkness found moments before sleep, safe and warm in your bed, for that darkness holds the promise of a new day and new light.

  No, this was a void, an emptiness found only in lost places and forgotten times. Heavy and oppressive, it seeped into the soul, turning every heartbeat into a thunderous echo.

  And this darkness belonged to one man.

  Henry stood silent and still on the plush grass encircling Castle Roandair, the fortress looming like a shadow against the dark veil he summoned to shroud the kingdom. The chill of the coming siege crept into his bones, but his thoughts wandered to a time when his hands knew the smooth stroke of quills instead of the cold weight of swords, when his nights were bathed in the flickering glow of candlelight and not the blood drawn from hate and torment.

  Osira had often been beside him then, her laughter a faint melody now swallowed by that same void. The memory of her smile tugged at his heart, drawing him deeper into the past—to the day they first met, to the life they shared before... all of this.

  But the present surged back into focus, a cold wind cutting through his reverie. His eyes, once filled with the dreams of knowledge, now held the darkness that flickered around his body, the twilight cloak licking at the air as he concentrated on the siege ahead. The time for reflection was over—now, only war remained.

  His army waited in silence behind him, tension rising off of them like heatwaves in the cold air, a lull before the coming storm. He felt the answering fear as it poured forth from the battlements before him.

  Were they afraid of the battle to come, or of him? Was this truly what he had become? He pushed the thought from his mind. There was no room for it now. He had to focus.

  Torches lined the stone walls of the castle and fought to shine through the inky waves of eldritch power. Occasionally, a piece of light would find its way to cast the faintest glint upon the Roandian soldiers’ armor.

  Inside the castle, hidden in a secret chamber within the king’s quarters, lay the beautiful Osira. Her thick black hair splayed out across a makeshift cot as her entire body sweat in exhaustion. The chambermaids that attended her had never delivered a baby before.

  Though in a few moments, that would change.

  This fact was not what was troubling Osira.

  She clung tightly to the emerald crystal that hung from her neck and tried to focus through the pain. The crystal glowed gently through the gaps in her fingers. Her tears were not from the pain or coursing adrenalin. Nor were they for her own life.

  These concerns were pushed far from her mind by the single, dominating demand she made.

  “Protect my children.” The crystal hummed in understanding.

  In the corner of the room, a small dust of light that called itself Pik chimed anxiously.

  “I know, but what can we do about it? We can't take on the whole cursed army ourselves,” Bertrude complained, his voice a blend of frustration and helplessness as he cleaned his unusually large, pointed ears with a silver letter opener he had “found.” His stout half-goblin frame was taut with tension, every muscle coiled as if ready to spring. The dim light caught on his mottled greenish-brown skin, highlighting its rough texture. Unruly chestnut hair tumbled into his sharp, angular face, partially obscuring the vivid emerald of his eyes, which glinted with a fierce, watchful intensity.

  Pik chimed sharply.

  “Alright, alright, no need to get nasty,” Bertrude sighed. “I don’t want to leave her either. But we have our orders.”

  Pik’s green glow dimmed slightly as he let out a low whizz.

  “I know, old friend. I don’t like it either. But the children must survive.”

  When midnight found them, the air was damp and thick. If not for the cursed darkness filling the sky, the moonlight might have struggled past the impending storm clouds and cast a solemn light across the two armies. But, it did not.

  “Steady!” The king, resplendent in Roandian blue steel, paced the battlements.

  He barked orders and profanities to the Masters of War.

  The Master of Archers repeated his orders, shouting his own curses and critiques at his men, adjusting their armor and their aim. Memories of his younger days as a simple farmer, before the war changed him, flickered in his mind. The Master of Swords followed suit, slamming his gauntlets on the back of a slightly slouched swordsman, nearly knocking him to the floor. He remembered his own training, the harsh discipline that had shaped him into the warrior he was today.

  The soldier did not cry out, but saluted as he rejoined the ranks. This was a familiar thing, the only comfort they had, and the familiarity of it helped the soldiers stand their guard.

  The king strode across the ramparts with more confidence than he felt, each step a battle against the gnawing fear in his gut. “If you move before I command, the creatures below will be the least of your worries!” His voice echoed in the night.

  He stared down at the darkness below, trying to pierce it with his mind. He did not see Henry so much as he felt his presence. And with that, Henry felt him. The blade of the king’s sword glowed faintly as the crystal embedded in the hilt hummed.

  “We could spare these men,” the king whispered into the night.

  “And spare the fun?” A silent whisper came back.

  Suddenly the clouds were ripped by a blinding flash of light and the dull pound of thunder. Streaks of white tore at the sky and then vanished, consumed by the dark curse above. Thunder rolled like stone giants in the distance and rain crashed down upon both men and undead alike.

  The minions of darkness began to march, and the earth trembled beneath their iron-clad feet. Their march quickened to a trot and then surged into a full run. The ground pounded in unison with the hearts of the defending soldiers. Arms trembled, not only from fear or exhaustion, but from the quaking earth beneath them. They had stood there, poised and ready, since the first whispers of night crept across the horizon. The once vibrant energy of anticipation had long faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness and the relentless grip of dread.

  “Steady, damn you! Steady!”

  An infinity passed in a moment.

  “Fire!”

  Arrows mixed with the night’s sky and found their marks along the ground. Blood of all shades spat across the grass from the injured creatures. Cries of pain turned to vicious howls as the army of terror surged forward faster.

  “Lightning Acid, ready!”

  His orders were repeated in shouts across the length of the crenelated walls. Men with glass vats of glowing liquid moved gingerly to the edge, careful not to spill a drop.

  “Release!”

  As the undead creatures reached the base of the castle and began to claw, the glowing green death poured over their heads. Shrieking hisses filled the night air as the alchemical solution quickly ate through the nearest invading forces.

  Clouds of arrows filled the sky and fell with the rain upon the encroaching undead. The undead creatures wore little protection from arrows and appeared to hold no regard for their own wellbeing. As they fell, more climbed over their still bodies and fought through the falling acid and steel. Not a single answer of arrows came in return, only the vicious howling of undead beasts and gnashing of teeth.

  Minutes became hours became lifetimes.

  Horns blared out from across the undead army, and more creatures surged forward, an unending torrent clawing their way past their fallen brethren.

  They piled up the wall and a few of the foul creatures made it to the parapets. Lightning flashed again and seared the sky for a moment before being eaten once more by darkness.

  The men upon the battlements poured down vat after vat of alchemical acid, followed by enormous stone boulders, crushing the undead creatures below and causing them to collapse upon themselves - all in a vain attempt to stem the tide.

  The battlefield seemed to pulse and surge in sync with Henry's own heart. He allowed the darkness to lift for a moment, granting the candles and moonlight a breath of freedom. In that moment, the horde of creatures became clearly visible to the Roandians, the horrific sight piercing them to their core.

  When ropes and claws failed to get his undead successfully over the battlements, a new approach had to be used.

  Henry admired his handiwork as his army surged past him and battered themselves against the castle walls. Grotesque half-faces, patchwork figures, amalgamations of bone and steel… the sight was more horrifying than death itself.

  Henry felt the waves of fear roil off the castle and smiled a bitter, wicked smile.

  He welcomed the fear, drawing it in with each slow breath as it seeped into his core, intertwining with his aether like a dark current, quietly fueling his power.

  “Goodbye,” he sent a thought to the king.

  He reached into his cloak and grabbed the black crystal that hung from his neck. Holding it to the night sky, he cried out. All the pain and hate that filled him flooded the crystal and it lit with a black void of energy that enveloped all that touched it. Lightning crackled in the sky.

  It struck the ground not fifty paces from him. Then it struck again before cascading in a searing line through his soldiers, ripping skeletal figures in half.

  Sacrifices must be made, he thought, and urged the ripples of lightning towards the castle.

  When it met the castle walls, not even the king himself could hold it back. The wall beneath the king staved in like brittle clay beneath a mallet and he was swallowed by an avalanche of stone and steel.

  The undead army poured in.

  Henry pulled out his User Interface stone, a rough, silver device barely larger than his palm. Its edges were jagged and the mismatched pieces of metal hinted at its hasty assembly. The runes carved into its surface flickered weakly, some already fading.

  He took a deep breath and activated the stone. Instantly, his HUD flickered to life, but it was far from functional. The screen shook violently, and the usual clear text was replaced by garbled symbols and fragmented words.

  Henry squinted, trying to decipher the jumbled messages. It felt as if the universe itself resisted the integration, the world pushing back. He tried to navigate through the chaotic interface, but each tap only resulted in more distortion. His health, aether pool, and quest log was lost in a sea of glitches.

  He sighed and closed the HUD with a frustrated swipe. "Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed."

  I’ll have to let the support team know about this, he thought, pocketing the stone. For now, there were more pressing matters.

  Cries of a different sort came from the hidden chamber where Osira lay.

  “He’s beautiful,” a chambermaid said softly, placing the first child in Osira’s trembling arms.

  Osira smiled weakly, tears of joy mingling with the sweat on her face, but her relief was short-lived as another wave of pain seized her.

  “The other one is coming,” the chambermaid said, her hands moving swiftly. “Keep pushing, my lady. One more to go.”

  Exhausted, Osira summoned the strength to bear down once more, the room filled with tense anticipation, punctuated by the cries of the firstborn.

  Finally, a second, stronger cry echoed through the chamber as the twin was born. The midwife quickly cleaned and wrapped the baby, placing him gently beside his brother in Osira’s arms.

  Pik wisped anxiously.

  “Praise Eileithyia,” the maid whispered.

  “I’m not crying. Just got something in my eye,” Bertrude protested, rubbing furiously at his face with a sodden sleeve. The motion only acted to smear dirt across his eyes and cheeks.

  The roar of undead crept closer.

  Osira soothed the babies, whispering, “Hello, Alexander. Hello, Greyson,” her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and resolve. She took a moment to embrace them, inhaling their scent, feeling the gentle rise and fall of their breaths. Some moments last longer than others, and she willed this one to stretch as long as the gods would allow. In that fleeting eternity, she held them forever, feeling the rapid beats of their tiny hearts against her chest.

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  Alexander, with strikingly bright gray eyes, stared up at her with a calm, curious gaze, his tiny hand reaching out to clutch her finger with surprising strength. Greyson, with darker, stormy gray eyes, squirmed restlessly, his small cries louder and more demanding.

  There was no sadness to be felt, only a deep and unending love. She marveled at their differences, the quiet strength of the first and the fiery spirit of the second. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she smiled, savoring the warmth of their tiny bodies and the soft cooing and cries they made.

  But like all moments, this one too had to end.

  “Fetch Harkenwell from the hall.”

  Her words were certain and martial.

  A chambermaid darted from view and returned moments later with the king’s guardsman, a tall, tanned figure. Though Hark and Osira were roughly the same age, his scars and ivory hair made him seem older, his youth stolen by years of war and strained magic.

  “It’s time, Hark. We need to move fast now.” She whispered an enchantment, and the babies fell asleep.

  He nodded and drew a pouch from his leather satchel.

  “Are you sure we can trust these two?” He asked Osira, nodding towards Bertrude and Pik. If they felt offended, they said nothing. The scrape of claws and howls of hate continued to grow nearer.

  “I trust Bertie and Pik with my life,” she said. Bertrude flushed at the pet name.

  This seemed enough for Hark. He knelt beside Bertrude and handed him the pouch, pausing before letting go.

  “Use this when you are outside of the kingdom and beyond the Trackers. The boys must survive. If either dies, so do you.” The last statement was not a threat, but a warning. If they died, so would they all.

  Hark allowed himself a glance at the newborn boys sleeping in their mother’s arms and instantly regretted it. Emotion swelled in his throat, but he shoved it down, steeling himself for what was to come.

  Pik hummed.

  Osira wrapped them in warm cotton blankets and handed them to Bertie.

  “Now go! And don’t stop for anything or anyone,” Osira said as she sat straight in her bed and forced an air of command to her voice.

  A small servants’ entrance opened and closed and Bertie, Pik and the children were gone.

  Only then did she allow herself to feel the loss, sobbing in deep, gasping breaths.

  Henry let his hold of the darkness relax across the night sky and the moon burst through in all its wonder. The rain was fading then and had waned to little more than a trickle, leaving the stars visible and bright. But their light came with little hope or joy.

  Men, unlike undead, grow tired and hungry and Henry relied upon this fact. It only took a few hours of battle within the castle walls before most of the remnant soldiers had either died or surrendered to him.

  Henry walked along the halls of the castle, slightly peeved that the king’s sword and Shard was lost beneath the rubble. He knew his creatures would find it, eventually.

  Bodies lay lifeless at his feet, and he took solace as he made a mental count. This would raise quite the army for him when he had time to summon their remains.

  Two skeletal figures walked behind him. He called them Death Knights, for each was worth a dozen enemy soldiers. And each was the product of a month’s conjuring.

  His Black Shard warmed upon his neck, telling him that another was close.

  His lesser minions raced ahead of him, crashing into walls and breaking open doors, leaving a cacophony of wreckage in their wake.

  A blue light exploded from the king’s chambers and several undead flew out the door and fell into crumpled heaps.

  Henry smiled darkly and walked closer, urging his Death Knights ahead of him. They entered the room and flew out in a burst of light. Two months of work, lost.

  “Hark, I thought I’d find you here!” Henry called down the hall.

  Another burst of blue light streamed from the room and bent itself toward Henry’s voice.

  “Temper, temper. Let’s not be too hasty. I just want to chat, for old times’ sake.”

  “What happened to you? It’s not too late to stop this,” Hark called out.

  Yes, it was.

  Rage dug into Henry’s chest. He clung to his heart and felt the cold crystal. He let it numb him, and his feelings faded. "Where is she?"

  "You're too late. She's gone," Hark replied from around the corner, his tone casual, almost bored. "She left the moment she knew you were coming."

  The words struck Henry like a blow, and for a moment, he faltered, his shoulders sagging under the weight of despair. He had fought through the hordes, driven by a single purpose—to find her. Now, that purpose felt hollow, slipping through his fingers like quicksilver.

  I need to talk to her... to reach her somehow.

  He had believed—no, he had hoped, desperately—that if he could just speak with her here…

  Hark’s voice softened, a rare tenderness creeping into his flat tone. "Stop this, Henry. Please, I don’t want to hurt you."

  A cold, deadly calm had took hold, and his fists clenched as anger simmered beneath his skin. "Too late," he murmured, his voice low, carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "Let’s not pretend to be friends, Hark. Orisa isn’t here to see us play nice. But not all is lost, I suppose. At least she won't witness what I’m about to do to you."

  Hark's eyes narrowed, his softness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "As you wish."

  With a flick of his wrist, Hark sent a bolt of searing energy toward the door. Henry moved like a shadow, diving beneath the burning light, his body a blur of motion. In a fluid movement, he hurled a beam of black energy into the chamber, its darkness cutting through the air like a blade, and rushed in behind it.

  Hark had only a moment to deflect or he would have been baked beneath its dark-fire heat.

  In answer, he sent blue beams of energy to slash out at Henry.

  Henry parried them with ease and sent the broken beams flying off in every direction. Chairs burst into flame as the blue light splashed against them. The king’s bed collapsed. The stone ceiling ruptured, strips of itself flinging down.

  Torrent after torrent shot from the dueling men. Black and blue energy swirled around the room, drawing into a vortex of chaos.

  The darkness crept closer and closer to Hark. Lashes of black velvet licked at his face, leaving lines of red flesh. Henry smiled and pressed forward.

  “Tyr, hear me. I need your strength.” Hark cried out. He whispered a Word of Power, summoning a protection field around him.

  Henry laughed, his voice a tortured rasp, “Your gods can’t help you now.”

  The darkness grew closer and Hark bent onto a knee, pouring his entire essence into his concentration. But it wasn’t enough.

  Rage and tainted joy covered Henry’s face. Black ink spilled from his very skin. He laughed as he gave himself to the darkness. He would need to surrender to it if he was going to make the killing blow.

  Hark felt the end coming closer.

  And then green light filled the room.

  “Enough!” Osira shouted, as pulses of brilliant green shot from her outstretched hands.

  In that moment, Henry lost focus, his concentration broken by her sudden appearance. Wild black tendrils of energy, barely contained, swung madly around him.

  “Osira?”

  Time slowed.

  It had been nine months since Henry had seen her. Golden robes wrapped around her body, covering all but her arms and face. Her cheeks were flushed, and eyes shined bright from tears.

  He reached out to her with his mind but was immediately rebuffed.

  “What are you hiding?” He thought to her.

  She fought to keep up a screen against his intrusions. Something was different, but what was it? With a surge of effort, he pierced her mind for the barest moment.

  The answer came with a flood of emotion that nearly knocked Henry to the floor.

  “A child?” Henry called out.

  He tried to stop the current of energy he had unleashed, but he couldn’t.

  Once he had given himself over to the darkness, there was no way back.

  Hate turned to fear as the tendrils poured out from him.

  Hark charged forward in that moment, gripping Henry by the neck and using his focus to hold him.

  Henry tried to scream, tried to tell Osira to run, but nothing came out—Hark's grip was too tight.

  “Hark, stop!” Osira shouted.

  Hark did not stop. The fate of the kingdoms was in his very hands in that moment. The countless deaths that could be prevented… he had no choice but to squeeze tighter.

  Green light flashed out and crashed into Harks side, knocking him to the floor.

  The vortex grew unchecked.

  “Stop this, Henry!”

  “Run!” He screamed, choking through his strained neck. But it was too late.

  Shards of darkness encased the room, the walls pulled in and the ceiling gave way.

  Henry focused everything he had left within him on the crystal. It would not obey. In a final act of desperation, he slammed the black jewel as hard as he could upon the stone floor, willing it gone with every part of his mind. He could feel it crack. It was a deep, guttural feeling. Like suddenly forgetting something important and knowing you have forgotten it.

  There was a scream. And then silence.

  The black vortex calmed and then faded from the room.

  There was no sound now. He frantically looked around, searching for any sign of her. Dust and blood fogged his vision. His heart met his throat when he saw her.

  Her hand lay still, jutting out from under a stone slab. He rushed to her, but he knew it was too late. He grasped her hand in his and prayed to Hades, but there was no pulse and Hades did not respond.

  He looked around, his mind numb, senses dulled.

  Hark was nowhere to be found.

  The night became silent. And a new darkness found the room.

  This last darkness was not one of magic and power, but of hope lost and a shattered soul.

  Horns and drums sounded behind them as the half-goblin and pixie raced as fast as their will would take them.

  “They’ve found us!” cried Bert. “And they are coming!”

  Doom, doom, doom - with each beat of the drum, the earth shook beneath them.

  Pik whzed fiercely.

  “No!” said Bert. “There’s no chance we can take them. We have to hide.”

  Another shrill horn-call bleated into the night’s sky, the stomp of hooves and the clank of steel close behind it.

  “There! Under that.”

  Bert and the twins, with Pik in tow, dashed to a large felled tree; its slightly hollowed carcass providing a small canopy of cover against the moonlight. They tucked their bodies as close as they could against the rough bark. Pik dimmed himself into darkness. Alexander and Greyson were blissfully silent, still asleep either because of or despite the rhythm of the run, Bert could not say.

  They waited for what felt like a year in a single, agonizing moment. A rustle of bushes sounded just feet away, sending a shiver down Bert’s spine. He fought several urges within him then - the burning impulse to look, the desperate need to flee. But his wits told him to stay steady and still.

  The sound of hoofs drew nearer until they were right behind them. His heart throbbed in his chest and he covered his mouth to muffle his breathing. In the moonlight he could see the faint shadows of a horsed figure standing above and behind them. It moved closer and Bert could just make out the horse’s bit as it flashed in the light.

  This was no normal horse. A stench filled the air. Rotting flesh mixed with fresh blood and dirt.

  Even more terrifying than the sight and smell was what was not present. There was no sound. No breathing from either the horse or its rider.

  The creature moved closer still. When it passed the tree it stopped. Its head tilted from side to side as if trying to peer through the darkness.

  A thick, feral fear took hold of Bert, and he clenched his hands on the bag Hark had given him. He knew that if he used it now, they would be tracked, and the boys’ safety couldn’t be assured.

  His breath caught in his lungs, and it became terribly real to him how easily he could escape certain death if only he used it now. His hands were frozen, fixed between the two urges. He fought against his fear with all the might and courage of his goblin ancestors. He wasn’t sure it would be enough, but he clung to that hope.

  At that moment the creature turned its head sharply to the side. In the distance a blue flash of light shot into the sky followed by the red flicker of flames.

  Horns blew again and the creature kicked hard at its horse, taking off at a full gallop.

  The moment it was out of earshot, Bert took off with babies in arm and Pik beside. They didn’t know what caused the flame in the distance, but whatever it was, they would not waste the gift it gave them.

  They raced on until they safely cleared the kingdom’s limits and were outside of the Tracker’s abilities.

  “We are far enough.” Bert emptied the contents of the bag on the ground in front of them. A silver dust spread itself along the dirt and hummed anxiously, awaiting their next words. “A rush of wind, a flash of light, far away and lost from sight,” he chanted the incantation; just as Osira had made him practice.

  And with that they were gone.

  Far away and lost from sight.

  Henry activated his heads-up-display and selected [Log Out]. A timer counted down from ten and he was safely exported back to reality. Unjacking his VR set, he took a breath to gather himself and get oriented in his surroundings. His HUD faded, replaced by the familiar interface of the real world. His heart pounded as he wiped the sweat from his face.

  “Clock, check. Grey walls, check. Bed, check. Window, check.” His eyes and equilibrium took a moment to reset, and he assisted them by noting familiar objects around the room. He shook his head, trying to focus as the intense emotions of the game faded, becoming no stronger than the remnants of a dream.

  The simulations were getting more and more real each time he jacked in. And if he was being honest with himself, he was getting more into the mind-mapping experience. He didn’t mind being studied by the integrated AI of the gaming system. He was used to this interaction. What caught him off guard were the intricacies and depth this game went through to analyze him, learn from him, and even predict him.

  While inside, it didn't feel like a game. If someone had told him it wasn't real, he would have dismissed them as crazy. But now... he couldn't understand how he had ever thought otherwise.

  When he had first signed up for the trial group, the agency told him that there might be side effects, but this was on a whole different level. He had never given much interest to VR gaming, and the horrible media coverage made him even less inclined. “What effect does this have on young minds?” he recalled a newscaster asking pointedly. He didn’t really buy into all the worry. But still, he didn’t like them. They were unreal. They were distractions. They were… his only means of making a living, if you could call it that.

  Since the war, and then the famine, times were tough. A man took work where he could get it.

  He leaned back in his bed and stared up into the darkness of his downtown studio flat. Ubiquitous city sounds filled the room and helped him to orient himself further.

  The image of Osira lingered vividly in his mind. "Queen Osira," he chuckled to himself, the title tinged with bittersweet nostalgia.

  His heart ached as he opened her profile in his Grid Interface. He wanted to call her but he knew how that conversation would go - the same as it had for months now. He hesitated, his gaze fixed on her picture. They hadn't really spoken much since... well, since the game and all that had come with it. It was as if she didn't know him anymore. With a heavy sigh, he closed the profile.

  His neighbor’s heliport clanked in preparation for a landing, and the sirens along the street were momentarily drowned out by the electric whoosh-whoosh of single passenger propeller blades slowing.

  He needed to eat. He needed to relieve himself. He needed… he needed to get back into the game.

  Henry had been playing for the past seven hours, real-world time, without a break. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been hungry in a long time. He would make note of that for the testers. He forced himself to address his physical concerns first, checking his messages while preparing a meal ration. after advertisement flashed across his viewfield. A notification lit small in the corner of his vision.

  “1 New Message… From: Citywide Health.”

  “I’m calling for Henry Williams to confirm his appointment for this Tuesday at 8AM. Please call, message back or…” Henry deleted it and swiped the notification from his view. He forced himself to eat half the ration. His stomach flexed in protest, and he felt the familiar shivers ride along his nerves.

  He fumbled for his pills and downed two with a glass of water.

  He placed the sleek, metallic helmet back on his head and jacked the VR cord into his cerebral adapter. A large blue pop-up notification appeared in his viewfield.

  He paused for a moment.

  “She had a child… a child?”

  He shook his head and punched [Accept].