Though it was later called "the Battle of Belhalla," it was over in an instant. Surrounded by the elite Weissen Ritter and Rotten Ritter, disarmed and unsuspecting, Sigurd's army was completely unprepared. The army shuffled about in messy rank-order file. They saw Sigurd speak with Arvis. A few heard Sigurd's cry of anguish:

"Arvis, you dastard!"

A distant rumble was heard, then all hell broke loose.

From the folds of his robe, Arvis produced a deep scarlet tome. In despair, Sigurd lunged at the nobleman, but the spell finished too soon. A wall of flame crashed into Sigurd, searing off his eyebrows and much of his hair. Sigurd screamed in pain, rage, and frustration all at once, but he could not hope to overcome the fiery confluence. He was thrown to the ground and could not get up. Then the meteors began to fall.

The Weissen Ritter mages continued their spidery chants as softball-sized rocks blew craters into the ground. The mess of bodies of Sigurd's irregular swarmed like a massive beehive. Cries of confusion broke out in the ranks. One by one, the soldiers realized: they had been betrayed.

Father Claud grasped Sylvia by the hand. She trembled like a small rabbit, eyes darting back and forth across the sky. "Stay close to me!" He ordered. She nodded, holding tight to his arm. The others in the army scrambled to and fro, seeking to evade the falling debris. The smells of sweat and smoke filled Claud's nostrils, and the screams of dying men filled the air.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

"By Saint Bragi and all the gods," Claud pleaded, "Save us from this nightmare." He held aloft his Valkyrie Staff, hoping its divine light would protect against the doom from above.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Beowulf had seen the wall of flame, had heard the spidery language. He now looked up at the sky and saw the fiery rocks. As everyone around him panicked, he stood completely still, and looked up with an odd peaceful look on his face. Since his dream, since Lachesis had left carrying his child, Beowulf had known his fate. It would be all right. He knew that Lachesis loved Finn. She would find her way to Leonster. He would take care of her. It was okay. His mentor Voltz had met his end because of Beowulf's betrayal. It seemed only fitting that Beowulf would likewise suffer death by betrayal. His darling Lachesis was traveling safely, and in Isaach the other women and the children were safe. Amid the smoke and screams and chaos, Beowulf was at peace. He mused to himself, "Them that take the sword shall perish by the . . . falling magical rocks." A fiery heavenly cannonball screamed toward him, darting right for his chest. A small devil-may-care grin passed Beowulf's lips as he passed into the next life.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

At the first sign of the rumble, Erinys knew what was coming. Her pegasus was without saddle or harness, but she knew she had to escape. With one swift motion, she swung onto its back and urged it to fly, but Lewyn drew his hand to the beast's chest, calming it. His eyes were dark and stern. "You won't be able to avoid all of the meteors in the air. You'll have to just stay close to me.

A small circle of soldiers gathered around the wind sage and his wife as Lewyn produced a tome of his own: the sacred book of Forseti. Meteors darted towards the group, but with a bit of skill, Lewyn managed to deflect the incoming projectiles away with his magic. They were safe . . . for now.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Jamke and Brigid were side by side when they heard the meteors start to fall. Instantly, the pair produced their bows, attempting to take aim at the mages, but they were locked within the mass of irregulars. Bodies blocked their every shot. Without a word, they began to push through the bodies, seeking to end the assailants. Thunderous blasts shook the earth as the meteors collided with the ground and with soldiers. Dust flicked into Brigid's eyes. It seemed for only a moment that she reached up to wipe them, but when she blinked away the dust, Jamke was gone.

"Jamke? Jamke!" She cried, but it was no use. He had vanished. She shouted an oath, but she couldn't be distracted now. If anyone could defeat these mages, the heir of Ulir could.

She reached the outskirts of the circle, and the Holy Yewfelle was in her hands. She took aim at the first robed figure, and the arrow sang true, striking him in the lung. The figure crumpled, and Brigid aimed for another. Farther down the line, another of the Weissen Ritter was struck by an arrow. That's Jamke, Brigid thought to herself.

Four mages had gone down when she heard a whisper at her shoulder. "Another troublesome one."

She whirled around and confronted the voice. It was a man in a dark brownish-black cloak with a dark breastplate. She drew her bow, but the figure darted close, keeping out of range.

"Who are you?" She demanded. "Are you behind this treachery?"

The man smirked. He had a hooked nose and deep, black eyes that seemed to have no feeling behind them. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Goodbye, daughter of Ulir."

Blackness seemed to envelop her. Dark tendrils wrapped around her arms and her neck. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out, and the darkness seemed to seep in, icing her bones and twisting her insides. She wanted to curl into a little ball, but the darkness held her upright, wringing apart her very being.

A thought crossed he mind. So this, this is Hel. Inwardly, she sobbed for the pain to end, but instead of tears it seemed that darkness spewed from her eyes. She was going to die, and another thought crossed her mind, better sooner than later.

Manfroy offered a small grin of satisfaction. He picked up the fallen Yewfelle, and whisked it away magically, and then he turned and folded through space. There was still much work to be done.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Dew didn't know how long it had been. 3 minutes? 4 minutes? It seemed like a lifetime weaving in and out of the chaos of men and horses. Nearly two years ago he had met Sigurd and his army in the forests of Verdane. He had grown quite a bit from age 15 to 17, but now he cursed his lanky form as he tripped over yet another fallen body. He had made it near the outskirts of the army when he stepped on the broad blade of a certain sword.

He looked down quickly, but a lump caught in his throat. Beowulf lay there, most of his body horrifyingly obliterated by a meteor that must have struck right in his chest. His body lay face up, and his beloved Beo Sword lay in the mud. With trembling hands, Dew took the sword and scabbard, swiftly strapped it to his back along with the legendary Bragi Sword, and he darted toward the end of the mass of bodies.

He had reached the outskirts, and despair set in. There were maybe twenty to twenty-five elite mages of the Weissen Ritter along this side. If there were as many on the other side, plus some in the front, some in the back, there would be in total over 60 elite mages, nearly as men as there were sloppy irregulars, a ragtag group of peasants from disparate lands. In a moment, Dew's heart seemed to sink from to the bottom of his stomach. He knew. Everyone he knew was going to die.

The edge of the army bordered on a small bluff. Dew was some four or five meters from any mage. With a swift bit of calculation, he imagined he could use the bluff to obscure the mages' vision. He could dart between them and make a break for it over the open turf, hopefully find some cover.

Dew took a deep breath. And blinked away tears. "I'm sorry, everyone." He knew he was leaving them to die. He crept up from the bluff, and darted across the open grasslands. He didn't stop running for three hours.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Lewyn, Erinys, and another half-dozen or so soldiers were clustered around the prince of Silesse, and the group was slowly, ponderously shuffling toward the edge of the army. When they were in range, Lewyn released some expert wind magic, striking down one of the Weissen Ritter. His jaw was clenched and his brow was furrowed in concentration. If they could keep it up like this, he thought to himself, they may just make it out alive. The group began shuffling toward another mage, this one of the Rotten Ritter.

"Enough of this," rasped a voice, and Lewyn glanced quickly at the figure. It was a man of average height in a dark cloak. "I've worked too long to be foiled by a descendant of Ced, of all people.

With a harsh, abyssal word, dark flying skulls trailing ethereal tails assaulted the irregulars. With cries of pain, many dropped to the ground. With a shout, Erinys jumped towards the man, brandishing her lance. Her thrust stopped some centimeters short of the man, glancing off some invisible shield. The blowback snapped the lance out of her hands, and in a moment, he had seized her by her neck. Her body went limp, and she fell to her knees. Lewyn's eyes widened in fear, but he needed to concentrate on deflecting the incoming meteors.

"Your consort, I presume?" Murmured the cloaked figure. "Come quietly or her life is forfeit."

"Lewyn, no!" Erinys managed to gasp out. "Silesse . . . our future . . . !"

Lewyn slowly lowered the tome to the earth, and meteors began to fall around him. "Let her go!" he shouted. "I've done what you asked, if you don't want to face the wrath of Forseti, let her go!"

The dark bishop chuckled but released her neck. Erinys's body crumpled to the ground. "She lives," he clucked. "But you must not."

A wave of darkness sprang towards Lewyn, and he fumbled to grab the holy tome. With a word, he sent his own wind force above the darkness, crashing into the dark high priest and throwing him to the ground. In that moment, the darkness hit Lewyn.

In moments, Manfroy was climbing to his feet. It had been years since he had suffered bodily injury. It would be important not to underestimate the power of the Crusaders going forward. He brushed himself off and admired his handiwork.

Prince Lewyn was locked in an eternal silent scream, the darkness of Hel encircling his body. If that didn't manage to kill him, the Rotten Ritter would finish the job, Manfroy said to himself. He turned to go when a light shook the heavens.

Manfroy wheeled around to see figure of light descending from the sky toward the young man. "Impossible!" the dark bishop cried, but still it descended. The glowing figure seemed amorphous – sometimes man, sometimes dragon. The being of light descended to the Silessian prince, and the darkness holding him faded away. For a moment, the figure stood above the kneeling Lewyn. Then the figure extended a hand. Lewyn took it.

In rage, Manfroy cast Jormugand spells at the two, but he knew it was useless. The Dark One take me . . . he thought to himself. He had not envisioned a dragon intervention. The figure and the prince turned their heads toward him as the dark spell glanced harmlessly off some divine barrier. Forseti's tome lay on the ground, but the figure and Lewyn raised their right hands. As a wall of magic burst towards him, Manfroy fled the battlefield.

The figure and Lewyn stood, side by side. Their eyes locked on the fallen Erinys. Together they strode over to her. Lewyn picked her up, throwing her over his shoulders, and without a word, the three suddenly flew into the clouds, heading northward, leaving behind the holy tome.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.

Sigurd lay supine, his eyes cast upwards toward heaven, pleading for the intervention of some deity. He had been saved from the jaws of death many times. Perhaps he had cheated death once too many?

His beloved Tyrfing had protected him from incineration, but his eyebrows and part of his hair had been burned away, and his knightly armor was black with soot and patches were burned from it. He gasped for air, and the ringing in his ears did little to drown out the sounds of men dying around him.

Rough hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him up. Two mages propped him up as Arvis stepped forward. The fire mage pried Sigurd's jaw open.

"Arvis why . . .," Sigurd managed weakly, then cried out in pain. Arvis clamped Sigurd's tongue with is thumb and forefinger, burning away all power of speech. Sigurd yelped and howled weakly, then hung his head as Arvis finished removing the front of his tongue.

If Sigurd had looked up, he would have seen the pity in Arvis's face. "No more intrigue. No court politics, machinations, or betrayals. Finally, for the first time in centuries, peace will come to Jugdral. Sigurd." He paused to see if the paladin would respond, but he only hung his head weakly. "In only three years, a dozen noblemen and women lost their lives at the hands of their own family. Thousands of peasants have lost lives and property because of the squabbling of a few traitors. No more. How many lives has your little army uprooted? How many kingdoms did you overthrow? How much blood was spilt?" Still Sigurd hung weakly. "I will not let that blood be spilt in vain. Peace will come to Jugdral. I will be Emperor Arvis, with Empress Deirdre at my side."

At the mention of his wife, Sigurd began to shudder. The mages lowered him to his knees and he began to sob. Deep, guttural cries cast across the tormented battlefield. Much of the army had been blown apart, and slowly the meteors began to cease. The mages descended from their perches along the bluffs and began to subdue the few survivors. Sigurd wept for them. He wept for his child and the women and children he had left in Isaach, all fatherless and widows. He wept for the friends he had made along the journey. He hadn't liberated anyone. He hadn't established justice. He had paved the way for this tyrant. Sigurd wept bittlerly.

A post was laid to his back, and ropes were tied across his body. The post had a cross-beam, and the mages propped his arms over it, then tied his wrists together in front of his abdomen. He was propped up on the post, supported by his shoulders and tied at his waist. He was hoisted into the air as his body sagged. He was put on a cart of some kind, and the cart rolled into the city.

It was a parade. Arvis stood at the head of the army, followed by ten or so Weissen Ritter. A cart drawn by a mule carried Sigurd's body. He was propped atop his post, and the crowd jeered at him. "The traitor gets his due!" cried one, and "May the Dark One take you, filth!" cried another.

More mages followed, prodding along some and nearly carrying others. Noish and Alec leaned on each other. Noish had lost an arm, but the Rotten Ritter had tied it off. Arden hobbled with a makeshift crutch, nearly carried by two mages because his right foot was gone. Midir's corpse lay on the battlefield. Lex defiantly struggled against his bonds, thrashing against his captors, and they beat him for it, the crowd roaring in approval. Azel huddled with his wife Tailtiu. They had both escaped intact, but Azel was missing a large chunk of his left hand. Ayra's body was never found. Her husband Chulainn had passed out from blood loss and was carried in on a stretcher. Jamke had also managed to escape unscathed. He had seen his wife suffering at the hand of a dark spell, when suddenly she was whisked away by a being of light. He prayed to all the gods that she yet lived and prayed for the gods to care for his twins in Isaach. Bishop Claud and his wife Sylvia brought up the rear Claud had a shocked look painted on his normally sweet face. Sylvia looked even worse, white as a sheet and all the blood drained from her face. She held tightly to Claud.

The parade carried these few stragglers to the hall of judgement, where Arvis took the stand. A few dignitaries and noblemen were already seated, while a few more filed into the room. Lex saw a familiar face, dark and grave. Lex leaped forward but his captors held him back.

"Danan! You scum! You've got what you wanted, the power you craved!" The mages held him firm as spittle flew from his bruised face. "I applaud you, lord of Dozel! I know you and Dad were in on it. How do you sleep at night, villain? How many lives lost, just to suckle at the teat of political power? How much blood spilt? Answer me!"

Danan sat, stoic and dark. "The man is mad, and a traitor. Let him be judged and found guilty."

Sigurd had been the first to enter the hall of justice, and with its high ceiling his post easily fit in. He was place in the 'box of the accused,' and watched his comrades file in. He would have wept more, but his tears failed to come.

Bright flooded the hall through the massive stained-glass window. It portrayed the great goddess Naga. She extended two hands, one palm-up offering mercy and the other palm-down meting justice. Noblemen from across Jugdral had gathered to witness the end of the rebellion and the dawning of a new age.

Arvis stood in judgement beneath the great window, his emblem of Fjalar glinting in the morning light. "We gather to deliver justice today to the traitor Sigurd and his band of villains. First to the stand.

Sigurd watched as one by one, his friends were put to a kangaroo court. After a few moments of testimony, Arvis would cry that the accused was lying, and demanded the truth. If the witness insisted on innocence, they were sentenced to execution. First Noish was carried off the stand to the prisoner's exit, then Alec soon followed.

"And you, knight?" Arvis asked the next witness.

Arden paused. "I am Arden of Chalphy, one of the Grunen Ritter. Sigurd is one of the finest men to walk this earth-"

"Lies will not go unpunished in the court of law!" snapped Arvis.

"And treachery will not go unpunished by the great god Naga!" cried Arden.

"Take him away, guards!" demanded Arvis, and the big man hobbled to the prisoner's exit.

Lex was next. "State your name."

Lex was battered and bruised. His struggles against his captors had earned him a black eye and a swollen lip. "I am Lex of Dozel. I am a bastard. My father was second-cousin to Lombard, and wanted to throw me to the wilderness. Lombard took me in and raised me as his own son. He is a father to me and Danan a brother. I am husband to Fand and father of her children."

"Who is Fand and where is she?"

"She was the handmaiden of Ayra, swordswoman of Isaach. As to her whereabouts, I swore never to tell a soul."

Arvis's eyes narrowed. "Very well. What say you in defense of your treachery?"

"I am guilty to the last, and may I stand before Naga and give an account of my deeds. I feel she would reward me more handsomely than she would you, Emperor Arvis," he spat.

"Blasphemy!" cried Danan, rising from his seat. "Let the man be slain for blasphemy, treachery, and patricide!"

"Take him away," ordered Arvis, and Lex spat on the ground.

Azel approached the stand. "Hello, brother."

"State your name for the court." Arvis's words were strict, but in his eyes Azel saw pleading. He could tell – Arvis didn't want to sentence him to death. Just lie, he imagined his brother saying. If you just go along with my way, I can save you.

Azel hated it. He hated it with every fiber of his being. But he looked back to the box of the accused. There was his wife, his beloved friend and confidant Tailtiu. He had her to think about. He could have a future with her.

"I am Azel of Velthomer, son of Victor."

"You stand accused of aiding and abetting the conspiracy against Prince Kurth and the rebellion against the crown of Grannvale. What say you?"

Azel gritted his teeth. He looked to Sigurd, to his comrades, and to his wife. "I had no knowledge of any conspiracy against Prince Kurth." Not a lie. "I joined the army to help save an old friend, Edain of Jungby." Again not a lie.

Arvis hesitated. "Why did you continue to accompany them in defiance of House Friege, House Jungby, and House Dozel?"

Azel's face didn't betray his internal anguish. "My beloved, my wife Tailtiu, was among the rebels. They . . . threatened to kill her if I didn't go along with the attack."

Tailtiu gasped, but she didn't say anything. A murmur went through the crowd. Bloom of Friege was among them, with his wife Hilda. He glanced at Tailtiu, pursed his lips, but stayed silent.

Arvis proceeded quickly. "If other testimony confirms that this is the truth, you may go free. For now, proceed to the prisoner's exit and wait for further instruction. Do you have anything else to say?"

Azel bowed his head. "May justice be served."

Tailtiu was then called to the stand. She looked at her comrades, then shuffled up.

"Your name?"

Tailtiu looked around. Her eyes met Bloom's, but his face remained stoic. "I'm Tailtiu of Friege. I'm the daughter of Reptor and wife of Azel."

"You stand accused of aiding and abetting a conspiracy against Prince Kurth. What say you?"

"I had no idea of any conspiracy against Prince Kurth's life."

Arvis prompted her. "Then why did you join these rebels?"

Tailtiu looked at Claud. "Claud and I were at Bragi Tower, and we were chased by the pirates of Orgahill. The rebels offered us safety."

Arvis needed more. "Then why did you continue with them when they marched against Lombard and your own father, Reptor? Is it as Azel said, that your life was threatened?"

Tailtiu paused and looked down. She twiddled her thumbs. "It is true that they held my life in their hands. At any time, they could have killed me. It is possible that they threatened to take my life to Azel and I was unaware of it."

"Then why did you stay with them?"

Tailtiu seemed to think. "I was travelling with them. I had nothing to do with the death of Lombard. I couldn't cross the Yied Desert alone. I hoped to reach my father Reptor and . . ."

She paused. "And what?" Arvis urged. "And he would keep you safe from the rebels?"

She looked up at Arvis. She saw it in his eyes, pleading. Just say 'yes'. You and Azel can get out of here.

She looked at Bloom. His stoic expression had fallen into a small scowl. Hilda whispered something in his ear.

"Yes."

"Very good," said Arvis. You had nothing to do with taking the life of him, nor Lombard nor Kurth, correct?"

"Yes."

"Very well, carry on to the prisoner's exit. You will soon be freed if all other testimony corroborates this.

Jamke was next to testify. "I am Jamke, the prince of Verdane. I am the son of Batu, the husband of Brigid, and father of her children."

An attendant mage whispered something in Arvis's ear. Arvis turned to Jamke. "Where is Brigid now? Her body was not recovered from the battlefield."

"I know not," Jamke replied, stone-faced.

Arvis tapped his finger on the bench, thinking. "Prince of Verdane, whether or not you aided in the assault against Reptor and Lombard, your people are guilty of crimes against Grannvale and Jungby. I sentence you to death. If there is anything left to be said, say it."

Jamke was surprised. He had imagined he'd get a chance to speak in his defense. He gave a stunned look to the crowd. The noblemen all sneered at this barbarian prince of a wild land. He opened his mouth.

"The blood of we innocents will pay for the crimes of you guilty. One day, not many days hence, the lords of the continent will travel to Verdane to pay homage to its king, a bearer of the Holy Blood and Holy Bow of Ulir!"

"Enough!" Arvis snapped, and Jamke was taken away.

Chulainn was unable to testify. A meteor had obliterated a portion of his hip, and he was taken for medical treatment. He would later be executed with Noish, Alec, Arden, Lex, and Jamke.

"Next witness!" barked Arvis.

Claud was attempting to leave the box, but Sylvia was clinging tightly to his arm.

"If I may, your honor," offered Claud. "My wife is quite distraught. May she take the stand with me?"

Arvis allowed it, and the two took the stand. "State your name."

"I am Father Claud of Edda, bishop of the Bragi Church, and husband of Sylvia of Edda."

A murmur went through the crowd. The holiest man in Jugdral was part of the rebellion? He was married to some commoner that no one had heard of?

"You stand accused of conspiring against the life of Prince Kurth and rebellion against the Houses of Belhalla, Friege, and Dozel. How plead you?

"Your Majesty, I didn't even travel with the rebels until after the death of Prince Kurth, so I certainly have nothing to do with his tragic murder. As for a campaign against Lombard and Reptor, I have never in my life inflicted harm to another human being, and neither has my wife. We traveled with the army always to do good. I have healed many Jugdrali harmed by this war."

"If you were against violence, why then did you travel with the rebels?"

Claud sighed. "For one, Reptor and Lombard sought my life, simply because I travelled with Sigurd. For another, travelling with the army was an opportunity to do a lot of good for a lot of people. As I mentioned, many have been in need of my healing and comfort."

"Including the rebels?"

Claud gave a small smile. "It is the teachings of Bragi and doctrine of the Church that every life is precious, even that of the enemy. Many times I was able to relieve the pain of these wounded, yes, that is true."

Arvis sat thinking. "Claud, I cannot find you guilty of murder or violence of any kind. However, you can be found guilty of treason and aiding these traitors. Do you owe any allegiance or loyalty at all to these villains?"

Claud gave a pause. "No. My allegiance is to my religion, my god, the great god Naga, to my ancestor Bragi, to my wife, and to the people of Jugdral."
"If you will swear allegiance to me and to the throne of Belhalla, you may return to Edda in peace with your wife."

To the court, it seemed that Claud sat in silence, but his voice rang out in Arvis's mind. I cannot swear allegiance to you, nor to the throne of Grannvale. Not many days hence, the throne will be defiled. I see your dilemma. You want me to walk free, but you don't want me to cause you any more trouble, raise up a rebellion. I understand. Let this be your answer then.

"I cannot, Your Highness. The Bishop's allegiance must be to things more transcendent than thrones or people. But Bragi has given me this instruction: let my lips be sealed. A vow of silence. From this day forth, I have sworn my allegiances, and can swear no more. Amen."

Before anyone could speak, Claud raised his staff. A light shone, and then dimmed. Claud and Sylvia were silent. Sylvia searched Claud's face. "Claud?" she asked in a low whisper. "You can't speak?"

"You can't speak?" asked a shocked Arvis. A cry went up from the courtroom. He can't speak! Saint Bragi himself prevented him from swearing to the throne!

"Order! ORDER!" Arvis shouted down the excited nobles. "Clearly Bragi is still with you, Father Claud. Return to Edda, and none will ever speak of this rebellion again. Take your wife and go.

Sigurd had heard all the proceedings. Azel and Tailtiu and Claud and Sylvia had escaped with their lives. Edain, Oifey, and Fand had taken the children: Shanan, prince of Isaach; Edain's and Midir's children, Lester and Lana; Brigid's twins, Febail and Patty; Lex's and Fand's children, Creidne and Dalvin; Lewyn's and Erinys's son Ced; as well as his own son, Seliph. Ayra was nowhere to be found, but she and Chulainn had been trying for children. A pregnant Lachesis was en route to Leonster, and Finn could take care of her. It wasn't over. Hope and light still live on, even in the deepest darkness.

Sigurd heard Arvis speaking. "Sigurd of Chalphy, the traitor, son of Byron of Chalphy, the traitor. Simple execution is too good for you. The flame of Fjalar will cleanse your sin from this land.

Sigurd felt the post lifted up and hauled into the execution square. The book of Fjalar was in Arvis's hands, and the spidery language tickled Sigurd's ear. While our children yet live, there is still hope!

As the Valflamme consumed his body, Sigurd was at peace. His last thoughts were for Seliph and for Deirdre.

***
Seasons come and go. Time moves inexorable forward. Arvis cemented his rule over the whole continent of Jugdral. Over Agustria he placed the daughter of King Chagall, a puppet queen to rule the region. In Silesse, he chose young Musar, the son of Daccar, to become his duke. The tome of Forseti was recovered from the battlefield and entrusted to Musar, who held the minor Holy Blood of Forseti. Erinys had a second child, a girl named Fee, and Erinys ruled in Thove as a small resistance to the empire. After Fee's birth, though, Lewyn disappeared. He had never been the same since the massacre at Belhalla, and now took his leave to travel the world.

In Isaach, Arvis installed Danan, inheritor of House Dozel. As his sons grew, he entrusted each of them territories within Isaach: First Brian, then Iuchar, and last Iucharba, before Brian returned to Dozel to rule the Duchy.

Under Arvis, Bloom took control of the Manster District, and the mages of Friege soon controlled all of the northern territory. Lachesis made it to Manster, gave birth to her first son Diarmuid, and then promptly married Finn. The two had a daughter, Nanna. With southern Thracia, Arvis entered an alliance with king Travant.

Edda remained under Claud and the Church of Bragi, but Claud was powerless to stop the rise of the cult of Loptyr on the continent. He prayed incessantly for the hearts of the people to turn to the light, to Naga and to Bragi, but the dark religion seemed inexorable. His first daughter was Lene, and his second child was Coirrpre, who bore the mark of Bragi. Shortly after Coirpre's birth, the first child hunt began. The stress and grief of years became too great, and Claud became gravely distressed. He knew Manfroy and the Loptyrian cult sought his life and the life of his children, so one night he urged Sylvia to take them away. She entrusted the children to an orphanage in Darna. After that day, Sylvia was never heard from again. Young Coirpre was soon adopted by a general of Thracia, Hannibal.

At Jungby, Scipio was the chosen successor and Duke of Arvis. He was entrusted with the Yewfelle, which had been claimed in battle by Manfroy. Scipio was raised to see his aunts as traitors and his father as unjustly slain by the treacherous rebels, and he developed a strong loathing for anyone who stood against the new Grannvale empire. Verdane was left barbarous and wild for the following years, and Scipio led many campaigns just to kill and subdue the wild country.

Azel never felt that he could live with himself. He had lied and forsaken Sigurd just to save his life and his wife's. He and Tailtiu had two children together, but shortly afterward, he could bear it no longer, and began to raise his own small rebellion against emperor Arvis. Betrayal within and military might without crushed his rebellion, and Azel was killed. Tailtiu, after years of abuse at the hands of Hilda, Tailtiu took Arthur to Silesse, leaving him with a family of wind mages to care for him. Unwilling to go back and face Hilda, Tailtiu died of starvation in Silesse, and her body was sent home to Fiege.

Dew had escaped with his life. He traveled to Leonster to deliver Beowulf's sword to his son, Diarmuid. He then travelled to Tirnanog in Isaach, bearing the holy Bragi sword.

In Isaach, Edain, Oifey, and Fand hid the children in Tirnanog. Nearly a year after the Battle of Belhalla, twins were left at the Tirnanog abbey, with a little card with their names: Larcei and Ulster. Ayra was never heard from again. In this abbey, these children grew up. When Dew came, he worried that having so many of the children together would put their future revolution at risk. He volunteered to take Brigid's children away to a safe orphanage in Melgen. He taught Patty the art of thievery. Dew later retired to his homeland in Agustria, and he would never get recognition for his small yet significant role in healing the world.

Meanwhile, back in Tirnanog, the years passed. The children trained in the sword, in the bow, and in the axe. The time was ripe. Liberation was beginning thanks to the inheritors of light.