There he languished for centuries, in the heart of the Abidan prison-world. Just him and Oth’kimeth.
Four hundred and nineteen years after his imprisonment, he escaped. It was a feat never equaled before or since in the history of the Abidan.
Daruman was pursued by the second Makiel, who chased him into the depths of the void. To the horror of the Court, Makiel was defeated, suffering damage to the origin of his existence that would eventually cause him to pass on his mantle.
In a message broadcast to all of Sanctum and several others of the Abidan core worlds, Daruman declared the Abidan tyrants and swore himself to their destruction. He gathered up his original Iteration, forging it into the great fortress Tal’gullour, and moved to another world.
The people were all that mattered to the Way, he said, not the Iterations themselves. The Abidan were nothing more than jailers, and he would gather power until he brought them down.
It was determined by the Court that his will had been corrupted by Oth’kimeth, and he was given his new title: the Mad King.
[Suggested topic: the fall of the second-generation Executors. Continue?]
[Denied, report complete.]
Mount Samara’s ring was beginning to fade when they arrived at the eastern entrance to Sacred Valley.
The white halo around the snow-peaked mountain was dimming with the approach of sunlight in the pre-dawn twilight, and Lindon found his eyes growing wet.
Every night of his life for fifteen years, he’d slept under the light of this mountain. Now, it filled the windows of his own personal cloud fortress as he returned.
Lindon blinked his vision clear. He’d been preparing for this moment since the day he’d left.
So he couldn’t mess it up.
Tell the ships to land and power down, Lindon ordered Dross. Send as many Golds after us as they can spare. We expect to return within three days.
Dross obeyed, though he added his own commentary on the likelihood that they would actually be back within three days.
The Akura ships set down at the border of the blackened forest that represented the Desolate Wilds, but Lindon and the others flew closer to Mount Samara.
They couldn’t get any closer than the smaller mountains and hills surrounding Sacred Valley, as the aura was starting to fade already. Lindon’s spiritual sense couldn’t penetrate far beyond this point, and he was having to spend more and more energy to keep their cloud base afloat.
Next to him, Eithan shuddered. “It’s like diving face-first into a bucket of ink. I’m afraid my bloodline legacy won’t be of much use to you from here on, although I myself will be the same emotional asset and source of courage as always.”
Ziel slumped against the wall, his horns glowing slightly green as he regarded the view in front of them. “It’ll be more uncomfortable than you think.”
As Lindon landed on a snowy mountainside within sight of Mount Samara, he risked a moment of inattention to glance back at Ziel. He hadn’t considered what entering a power-dampening boundary formation would feel like to Ziel. It could dredge up years of painful memories.
Then again, he hadn’t considered Ziel much at all. Eithan was the one who had recruited the man, not Lindon. Ziel had linked his cloud fortress to theirs as they approached, so it would land as they did.
“If you would like to stay here, I would be grateful to have someone reliable protecting our base,” Lindon suggested.
“I’m used to having my power suppressed. But if you want me to stay here, I’ll stay here.”
Lindon doubted he was just being polite. As usual, he sounded as though he wouldn’t care if the ship exploded around him.
Mercy was standing right up against the window, staring at Samara’s ring. “It’s beautiful! I can’t wait to see it from up close!”
“Only get that view if we stay at Heaven’s Glory for the night,” Yerin pointed out. “Which I’m not panting and begging to do.”
From Lindon’s shoulder, Little Blue gave a ringing agreement.
Lindon found it hard to pry his view away from the shining loop of light, but he forced himself to move. He ran his spiritual sense through the beautiful, roomy void key now hanging from his neck. His wintersteel badge hung on the outside, a lump of cold power that resonated as his attention moved over it.
Dross was ready. Little Blue was ready. Orthos was an indistinct lump in the back of his mind, a comforting heat. Lindon hoped for the chance to track him down after this