Jerrod had accepted the words of the Pontiff though even then some part of him had not been able to fully embrace the official interpretation of the dream. Yet he kept his doubts silent lest he be accused of lacking faith.
It was only when Ezra—one of the Order’s most revered Seers—approached him that he learned there were others who shared his misgivings. Ezra drew him into the circle of those who rejected the official interpretation of his vision and Jerrod was quick to embrace their cause. Unlike the Pontiff, they did not believe Daemron would perish before the Legacy fell. Ezra and the followers of the Burning Savior believed a mortal champion was destined to arise and turn the Slayer’s own weapons against him in order to save the mortal world.
For twenty years Jerrod had devoted himself to this new belief—first, as a secret follower working within the Order to find and recruit others to the cause, including Rexol, the most powerful Chaos mage in the Southlands. Later, when Ezra died, Jerrod became the leader of the old Seer’s small but loyal group of followers. Eventually Rexol exposed him and he was forced to flee, but he never lost his faith.
His belief was so strong that when he had a vision of Rexol and his young apprentice being imprisoned beneath the Monastery, Jerrod had arranged for himself to be captured so he might help them escape. And when Rexol was destroyed by the power of the Crown, Jerrod had been quick to take Keegan under his wing. After all, who better than he himself to protect the prophesied savior of the mortal world?
Throughout it all he had remained confident in his convictions. The exact details of the prophecy were unclear, and over the past few months he had refined and clarified the specifics of what he believed. At his core, however, one fundamental truth remained unchanged: The Children of Fire were saviors who would destroy Daemron the Slayer.
Yet ever since Norr’s death, the first seeds of doubt had taken root in the corners of his mind. For the first time in over twenty years, his confidence had wavered.
Part of it had to do with his normal vision’s being restored. With the white veil across his eyes removed, he struggled to use his Sight. But the effects were even more far-reaching; he’d felt it when he faced the Inquisitors in the ambush a few nights ago. With his focus split between combat and allowing his Sight to pierce the images of his normal, human visions, he was much slower than he had once been. If not for Scythe, the Inquisitors would have won that battle.
You’re letting your lack of faith in yourself weaken your faith in the prophecy.
But he knew it was more than just that. Something Scythe had said when they set the soldier free kept gnawing at him.
“There’s Chaos in our blood. We are bringers of death and destruction! Daemron was a hero once, too—and look what he became. In a thousand years, will the Order be looking for someone to save the world from us?”
Keegan had power—he’d seen ample evidence of that. And Scythe had an incredible, almost indomitable, will. But was that enough to save the world?
He’d watched Keegan struggling to do the right thing, trying to use his power for good. He’d helped Norr win his duel with Shalana even though he clearly had feelings for Scythe. He’d refused to let them execute a prisoner, making every effort he could to spare the soldier’s life.
He’s still just a kid, but at least he’s trying to be a good man.
Still, Jerrod had his doubts. Keegan still showed flashes of the selfishness and arrogance Rexol had taught him. What if defeating Daemron required him to make the ultimate sacrifice? Did he have it in him to give up his life—or his power—for the sake of others? Or, like Scythe had said, what if he had to sacrifice her? Would he be willing to pay that cost?
And what about Scythe herself? Despite her insistence that she was ready to do whatever was necessary to fulfill her destiny, Jerrod still had his doubts about her.
Norr’s death had changed the young woman. She no longer fought Jerrod at every step. She even seemed to embrace her role as one of the Children of Fire. But what was really driving her? A hunger for vengeance? Nihilistic rage and hatred? Could she really be a savior if her motives weren’t pure?
Jerrod had chosen his path long ago; he wasn’t about to change it now. But as they marched inevitably toward the end of this long journey, he was no longer certain they were doing the right thing.
He’d tried to recall the vision that had inspired him so long ago. But he was no longer able to recapture the vivid intensity of the dream. The details were blurred and half-forgotten, faded over the years just like the certainty of his youth.
This is the danger of letting dreams and prophecies guide us, he thought. When the visions stop, what are we left to cling to?
—
Keegan stands on the shores of a white sand beach. He recognized his surroundings; he’d seen this place in other visions. This time, however, something was different.
Previously, there had been another with him—a woman lying on the sand at his feet. A figure of fire had loomed above him, and he’d seen the enemy hordes rushing through the breach in the Legacy. This time, however, he was completely alone.
Yet though the island was deserted, it wasn’t empty. Farther inland, a massive black obelisk rises from the earth before him. Curious, Keegan begins to walk toward it.
The obelisk pulses with power, simultaneously compelling yet repulsive. Reaching the base, he reaches out with his good hand and places it on the surface. Instantly, a collage of images floods his mind: the Old Gods, the Keystone, the creation of the Legacy, the banishment of Daemron the Slayer.
He staggers back and drops to his knees, overwhelmed. Yet on some level, he knew what he’d seen wasn’t real. Unlike his previous visions of the island, this one felt unnatural. Manufactured. Artificial.
“Something’s not right,” he mutters.
And then the Keystone explodes, swallowing him up in a pillar of searing blue Chaos fire.
Keegan woke with a start, his heart pounding. He didn’t know if he’d cried out, but Jerrod was at his side in an instant.
“What’s wrong?” the monk demanded.
“A vision,” Keegan said, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart.
“Great,” Scythe said from close behind him. “These are always so useful.”
Jerrod shot her a sour look, then turned his attention back to Keegan. “What did you see?”
“An island,” he said. “A place I’ve dreamed of before. I think it’s where we will battle Daemron when the Legacy falls.”
“Let me guess,” Scythe interjected. “You have no idea where this island is, do you?” When Keegan shook his head, she added, “Perfect.”
“What else did you see?” Jerrod urged.
“There was an obelisk made of dark stone. Like the walls of the Monastery. It’s called the Keystone.”
From the blank look on Jerrod’s face he clearly had no idea what Keegan was talking about.
“It’s where the Old Gods created the Legacy,” Keegan said. “The Order doesn’t know anything about this?”
“Perhaps the Pontiffs knew of such a place,” he explained, “but if so, it was a secret kept from the rank and file.”
“I thought the Order was supposed to defend the Legacy,” Scythe noted. “Why would they keep this from you?”
“The existence of the Crown was a secret known only to a few,” Jerrod reminded them. “Perhaps the Keystone is dangerous. If it was used to create the Legacy, maybe it can also be used to bring it down.
“What else did you see?” the monk asked.
“Nothing, really,” Keegan said. “But there was something odd about this vision. It felt off.”
“What do you mean?”
The young mage shook his head. “It’s hard to put into words. The vision felt artificial. As if it almost wasn’t real.”
“It wasn’t real,” Scythe said. “It was just a dream.”
“Visions feel different from dreams,” Jerrod insisted. “They are projections born from the Sea of Fire, man
ifestations of raw Chaos seeping into the mortal world. There is an intensity—an insistence—about them that is unmistakable. If anything, they feel almost too real.”
Keegan nodded. “Right. But this vision didn’t feel like that. It almost felt…staged.
“I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but I’ve seen this place in other visions. It’s familiar enough to me that I sensed something wasn’t right.”
“Maybe someone is trying to trick us,” Scythe said. “Is it possible to send out a false vision?”
Keegan shrugged and looked over to Jerrod, who shrugged in return.
“I suppose such a thing is possible,” the monk admitted. “Though I have never heard of it. It would require incredible power.”
“Maybe it’s Cassandra,” Keegan suggested. “She could be using the Crown to reach out to us!”
“Or maybe it’s the Slayer setting some kind of trap,” Scythe countered.
“Daemron cannot touch the mortal world,” Jerrod insisted. “The Legacy keeps him at bay. That is why he sent his Minions to be his agents.”
“Then maybe it’s one of the Minions,” Scythe said. “Or maybe the Legacy is weaker than you think.
“You keep talking about Daemron’s return, but it seems like you haven’t really thought it through,” she added. “If he’s out there waiting for the Legacy to fall, do you really believe he’s just sitting around doing nothing all this time?”
“You speak about things you cannot possibly understand,” Jerrod told her.
“Don’t pretend you’re some all-knowing oracle,” Scythe shot back. “It’s obvious you’re stumbling around as blind as the rest of us!”
Keegan was glad to see some of the fight had come back to Scythe, but he didn’t want his companions to keep arguing.
“If the vision returns, I can explore it more thoroughly,” Keegan offered. “Maybe even track it back to its source and find out what felt so strange about it.”
“No!” Jerrod barked, surprising them both with the sharpness of his outburst.
“The history of the Order recounts several such attempts in our past,” he explained. “A number of powerful Seers—many of them among the greatest prophets ever to dwell within the Monastery walls—have tried to seek out the source of their visions.
“Through meditation and mental exercises, they learned to induce their dreams on purpose, then tried to strip away the projected images to reveal what lay beneath.
“None were ever successful. They all became lost forever in the Burning Sea, their identity swallowed up by the flaming ocean of Chaos. What remained was nothing but an empty shell of flesh and blood—a mindless husk that lived on for days until it withered away from hunger and thirst.”
“Of course,” Scythe said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Why did I think anything about dreams or visions could actually be useful?”
“Promise me, Keegan,” Jerrod said, grabbing the young mage by his shoulders. “If the vision returns, do not do anything foolish.”
“I’m not going to throw my life away,” he answered.
Jerrod stared into his eyes for several seconds, then nodded.
“A Blood Moon hangs in the sky above us,” the monk added. “There are difficult and dangerous times ahead. Whatever your vision means—whether it is a call from Cassandra, a trick from Daemron, or something else entirely—will be revealed soon enough.”
“There are still a few hours until morning,” Scythe grumbled. “You two get some sleep and I’ll take the next watch.”
When Jerrod hesitated, she added, “You still need to rest, even if it’s only a few hours a night. Maybe it’ll help get back some of that special Sight you’ve lost.”
Keegan braced himself for an angry retort, but the monk only nodded. He hadn’t realized how much Jerrod was still struggling since the return of his normal vision, but it clearly hadn’t escaped Scythe’s notice.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe sleep will help him.
The two men bedded down while Scythe got up and began to walk the camp’s perimeter, Daemron’s blade clutched firmly in her grasp.
—
Scythe circled the camp with quick, forceful steps. The calm she’d felt in the aftermath of her fight with the Inquisitors was gone, replaced by a restless frustration she couldn’t seem to shake.
She was angry at herself for arguing with Jerrod. She’d vowed to honor Norr’s memory by following the monk and his prophecy without question. She’d promised herself she would see it through to the end, no matter what. And for a while, she’d been able to hold her tongue.
But lately she’d been snapping at him more and more. The cold, emotionless calm she’d worn like a shield ever since Norr had fallen was getting harder to keep up, and she couldn’t stop challenging Jerrod every time he said something that sounded foolish or even insane.
You can’t honor my memory by becoming something you’re not.
The voice in her head was Norr’s, but she knew it wasn’t real. Her mind was just calling up memories of him to try to cope with his absence.
That doesn’t mean I’m wrong. You can’t shut yourself off to emotion, Scythe. That’s not who you are.
That was becoming clearer with each passing day. Unfortunately, as the numbing, single-minded resolve fell away other emotions rushed in to fill the void. The pain of losing Norr was still fresh, and if she thought about him too long, unwelcome tears would well up.
You don’t have to go through this alone.
She knew Keegan was also struggling with Norr’s death; Norr had been his friend.
It’s not just that. He’s also struggling with how to help you cope with my loss.
Once again, Norr’s voice was right. She could see it in the awkward, uncertain glances the young wizard gave her. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. Not that there was anything he could do or say to make her feel better anyway.
You don’t know that. You haven’t given him much of a chance.
Maybe I don’t want to, Scythe thought, arguing with her own subconscious. It will just make everything more complicated.
The young wizard’s feelings for her had been obvious enough though he’d never done anything to act on them while Norr was around. And, to be honest, Scythe had felt a similar attraction to him, too. As Jerrod had said: They were both touched by Chaos. They shared something others couldn’t possibly understand.
She would never have acted on it, of course—she loved Norr with all her being. And now that he was gone, the spark between her and Keegan had been snuffed out by her grief. Her near-catatonic state had been a way for her to try to avoid dealing with Norr’s loss. But it wasn’t just that—it had also helped push Keegan away. The last thing she wanted right now was for him to think she was interested in him in that way.
But he still cares about you as a friend. Quit shutting him out.
She brushed Norr’s words aside; there was a reason she was shutting him out. Jerrod had warned them of a Blood Moon hidden in the night clouds. As far as Scythe was concerned, there was only one explanation: Their quest was going to end soon, one way or another. And she had a strong feeling it would end with blood and death. She knew she was ready to face whatever was to come. But she wasn’t so sure about Keegan. Any feelings he might have for her could make it even more difficult for him.
Or maybe the opposite is true, Norr’s voice chimed in. He’s not as strong as you. He’ll need your help and support before this is all over.
“Maybe you’re right,” Scythe whispered. “You were usually right about this kind of thing. But I’m not ready yet.”
Much to her dismay, the voice in her head didn’t answer. Norr wasn’t really there; it was just some small part of her—the part that wanted to make her into a better person—drawing on his memory.
“I miss you,” she whispered as she continued to stalk the perimeter of the camp, wiping a tear away from her eye. “I always will.”
—
; Keegan had no trouble falling back to sleep again—his body was still recovering from the toll of the many miles they’d traveled that day. He knew he was holding Jerrod and Scythe back on their journey to Callastan, so he tried not to complain or show his fatigue. And though Jerrod always seemed to be watching him, by the time they stopped each night he was utterly exhausted.
Even so, once the conscious world slipped away he was surprised to find himself back on the deserted island, standing by the Keystone.
This has never happened before. I’ve had recurring visions, but they come to me night after night. I’ve never had the same vision on the same night!
He could hear the water lapping at the shore in the distance behind him, but his attention was focused on the black obelisk.
Why am I seeing this again? And why doesn’t this vision feel like the others?
He approached the Keystone, as he had before. But instead of reaching out to it, he simply stared. Strange shapes seemed to dance beneath the obsidian surface. Slowly, Keegan circled the obelisk, carefully studying the twisting, writhing shadows.
There’s something deeper here. Something beneath what I can see.
He hadn’t forgotten Jerrod’s warning: Some of the most powerful Seers in the Order’s history had perished trying to find the true source of their visions.
But were any of them touched by Chaos and born under the Blood Moon? Were any of them prophesied as saviors of the entire world? Were any of them able to call upon the power of Daemron’s Ring?
In his dream, the Talisman hung from a thin chain around his neck—just as it did in the real world.
Scythe is right. What good are dreams and visions if they’re nothing but images and scenes we don’t really understand?
Still staring at the Keystone, he reached up and wrapped the fingers of his good hand around the Ring. On a subconscious level, he sensed his sleeping body respond the same way in the real world.
I didn’t notice the Keystone in my other visions. It has to be the key.
Wearing the Ring in real life was dangerous; the Chaos that flooded into him was always nearly impossible to control. But doing so now, in a dream, might let him draw power from the Talisman without the risk of backlash.
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