The Rising Sun: Episode 3

by J Hawk

“It all started at the dawn of our world … the dawn of the age of man.” Mantra’s voice was laced with the faintest thread of sadness. “Before the Xeni’s evil empire rose, our world was elevated to the heights of peace and stability, guarded by an establishment that surpassed the nobility of all that were ever known. It was known commonly as Sirengard, although some also knew it … as the empire of Elderon.”

 

  Ion felt himself drawn back across the corridors of time, to an era far, far away … far off their reach. As Mantra spoke, he felt his mind zoom over visions of an age that held its place in the revered memory of the good.

  “It was called so, because of the beauty of the age over which it stood.” went on Mantra. “And because of the unshaken ideals of justice and peace that the great empire stood for. And also because,” He smiled. “It was truly believed to be the empire of Elderon. An empire borne out the force of goodness himself. The ancient empire sealed an era of great harmony over the peoples of the world. The spectrum enjoyed prosperity and peace like no other age, and mankind reached the pinnacle in the great purpose it held in creation. Sirengard was ruled by a great Kingship - a great Kingship that was said to be borne of the blood of Elderon himself, for the wisdom and goodness they stood for. The Kings of the empire came by blood, and their bloodline stood guard over the greatness that their empire had wrought. Mystics were idols of great respect, for it was a time of clarity and understanding, and in this clarity, the world understood that these great beings were just men who bode a supreme command over their own mind, and through it, the vast reserve of inner powers that lay slumbering within every man, but tapped by very few. And under their guidance, the guidance of mystics, the world was a temple of goodness and harmony. It was at the dawn of this age, when the ancient empire came, that the Brotherhood of Nyon was founded…”

  Ion wondered if it was just his mind playing tricks, but as he looked into Mantra’s eyes as he spoke, he saw his surroundings blur … He looked to Qyro and Vestra, who were both there just as solid as he was. But everything else around the three of them seemed to turn groggy, swimming into a haze.

  “What the…” breathed Qyro.

  But as the three of them stood in the middle of the spinning blur, before them, swirling into existence, came a scene as starkly clear as reality itself … an image woven off Mantra’s words themselves, throbbing with the emotions of his voice…

  A great, elegant structure, a building with a mortarly craft that seemed to transcend any known one. It was the same structure he was now standing amidst. But the Nyon temple seemed to be erected brand anew. The radiance of the temple seemed to shine out from within its mortarly craft. And the scene zoomed into the walls of the structure. And there, sitting in a circle in the very same room Ion had sat in a few minutes ago, were a dozen men.

  They weren’t all old as the masters of the present day temple were. Some of them looked to be in the prime of their youth. Some of them were slightly older. But together, all of them seemed filled the room with a warm, lively glow. All of them had closed eyes, and were seated with their postures stiff in meditation. They were all adorned in Nyon robes, with a long, black cape clasped around their necks.

  Ion saw the scene move around the three of them, as though they were the focus of a camera shifting inside of the room … and they was staring at the face of the man in the centre. A tall, thin Elfling, the man had a moustache ending with a slight curve. His sharp Elfling eyes held the meanest sliver of a gap as he meditated. The man seemed to take half an eternity as he slowly inhaled: the space in his lungs looked to be unbounded, growing as more air flowed in…

  The three of them watched as he continued in meditation with his eyes semi closed, breathing with a methodical, rhythmic slowness.

  Then Mantra’s voice reached the world they now stood in as a mildly resounding boom, an echo reaching him across eight thousand years: “The greatest mystic to ever tread our world, master Engranus conceived and laid the stones of foundation for an brotherhood of mystics that stands upto today … the Nyon, a brotherhood of mystics devoting their lives to preserving the harmony and peace within mankind.”

  The minute gap in Engranus’s eyes widened steadily, and Ion found himself looking into a set of brilliant, blue eyes as clear as the sky itself. And sparkling with a beauty unobtainable from anywhere around.

  “That’s him.” whispered Vestra. “The founder of our brotherhood.”

  Engranus’s clear blue eyes bore a depth uncontained, seeming to churn with a power like no other. But also bearing a vast pool of tenderness and compassion. The lives of billions seemed to reflect off his clear oceanic eyes. The lives of the billions for whom he lived…

 

  Mantra’s echo like voice came over the scene:

  “The Nyon were initially founded as servants of the great Kings, and the upholders of justice in the empire of Sirengard. They existed for the sole purpose of serving the great empire, as watchkeepers of the peace. But they were, in the essence of their existence, more than that. Much more. They were the soul of the empire … the soul of our world.”

  Ion felt transfixed as he continued to gaze into those clear blue eyes. Eyes of humanity and love.

  “They were embodiments of the goodness that nurtured and kept together this realm.” said Mantra. “They were symbols of harmony and good. And so … they made their place in the great empire as the upholders of goodness, and the protectors of the people.”

  The scenery swirled, and now Ion was looking from over the roof of a giant tower, and sprawling beneath him was a great city … The towerly build of the structures dwarfed any stone structure Ion had seen on this day. The city was filled with large palace like structures made of not metal, but a material as polished and as elegant as any metal, yet bearing a superiority that transcended all known metal. The structures all rose hundreds of metres above the ground, some of them wide and fat, some of them thin, stick like towers. The air over and between the buildings was abuzz with vehicles soaring all over in orderly passages, as though bound by invisible tunnels.

  And there, standing atop the roof of the building he was now over, they stood…

  Seven Nyon, standing at the edge of the building, their black capes flapping in the wind. They stood in a watchful gaze over the world beneath them. The world which they were the guardians, and keepers of…

  “The ancient members of our brotherhood were the greatest ones as well.” came Mantra’s voice. “The finest, and most powerful of the mystics that walked our spectrum. They had powers like no other, which had trickled out of the grasp of the mystic world later on, when their age had died. For beginners, they could sense the stirrings of evil and anarchy elsewhere. They would sense trouble … find evil at its brewing stage itself, and instantly rush to stomp it out…”

  As Ion and the other two watched in awe, the seven Nyon took a step forward as one, and launched themselves off the roof of the building … plunging into action. To save the day in the world below them.

  Like the voice over of a movie, Mantra’s voice played over the scene:

  “Under the supervised rule of the ancient empire, with the Nyon by their side, the world … was a far, far better place. Man climbed to the highest decor of elevation that awaited him, and the people had found peace both within … and without.”

  The scene changed, and now, Ion was floating in the middle of a wide, boundless expanse of black. His breath stalled for a second, as he found himself not just looking at the abyss of space, but almost filling it … being one with it. He almost felt as though the expanse around him defined his very entity, the soul of his creation … and he felt as though the massive stretch of their universe was the mass which filled his body. And it was the most scenic, mindblowing feeling ever. And Ion thought he felt a faint tune, a soft yet ringing melody, play in the beauty of the star strewn chasm…

  A tune of peace. Of harmony.

  The age of Elderon.

  Ion now full
y understood what it was … and what it felt.

  And Mantra’s voice came like a distant, faded echo. And now, it was tinged with the first, mildest note of sorrow. A sorrow that seemed slight and contained, yet bearing a depth uncontained.

  “Some wondered if it was meant to last forever … and in doing so, could they have been more right? For all things must erode. Even the best gifts of goodness, even the most revered of treasures. All things must come to an end. Good or evil. That … was the tragedy of the universe. And so, the era drew to a stop. Here, the tale turns to one of woe and sadness. Grief like nothing else washes through me as I retell the most tragic happening ever … and forcefully listen, myself.”

  The world swirled, and now, the three of them were standing inside of what looked like a small room, with a group of cloaked men within it. They were standing in the Nyon temple in a circle. One of the men was standing in the centre, moving his hands in an animated display of the words he spoke. He was inaudible to Ion and the other two, who were standing at the back of the room, watching…

  “The Nyon, at the height of their power … became prey to their own carelessness.” said Mantra’s voice. “The age of greatness, which they had a hand in carving, had left them with a stroke of arrogance. At this time, the brotherhood became subject to brushes of complacent thinking. The signs of this, signs of a wrongful nature, a slow darkness, stealthily breeding within them, did not go amiss: There were those who warned the Nyon. Mystics of the outside world cautioned the Nyon of the growing ignorance among the younger of their initiates. They confided in the Nyon their fear that the brotherhood’s power was causing a very subtle swaying in the ideals it stood for. Especially among the younger, less experienced ones. But at the height of their power, the Nyon had absorbed a pride that dulled their intelligent reasoning. And so, they brushed aside such warnings … and this was the ancient brotherhood’s single greatest sin. A sin that would cost the entire world too dearly…”

 

  As the man in the centre of the circle of young Nyon spoke, his voice loudened like a speaker’s, falling clearly above the air in the room.

  “The Nyon do not understand what needs to be done.” the man was saying. “They never will, and they have allowed misguided ideals hold them back.”

  One of the others in the circle of young Nyon took a step forward, addressing the man in the centre.

  “What are you saying, Redgarn?”

  Ion felt his breath seize, and heard the sharpest of gasps escape Vestra from his right.

  “That’s … him.” came Qyro’s stunned voice, standing by his left. “Redgarn … was a Nyon!”

  Redgarn, the cloaked man in the centre, was in the prime of his youth. He was tall and thin, and had a powerful, radiant demeanor. His face shone with a promise of greatness and nobility. He belonged to no known species, with no feature of appearance distinguishing him. But his hair was deep brown and tidy, and his features were nourished with a youthful glow.

  “I am saying only that which you already know yourselves, my good friends,” He carried his eyes slowly over the circle of men, pausing carefully to let his powerful gaze sink into each one of them. “I am saying that we have been gifted. We have been given a gift of great enormity … and that we are wasting it.”

  A slight stirring effect passed the crowd of Nyon.

  “Wasting it?” asked one of them, tilting his head as he gazed at the one at the centre.

  “Yes,” replied Redgarn in his continuing smooth, powerful voice. “We have been given a gift. A gift of superiority. But we are not utilising it, are we? No, if anything, we are living as inferiors. And significantly enjoying it.”

  Some of the young men looked at each other, while others held a deadpan stare at Redgarn. Most of their expressions had now transformed from curiosity to disapproval. But some of them continued to look very faintly curious…

  “Tell me honestly,” Redgarn’s voice crept softer. “Tell me, brothers, is this really order? Is this really justice?” He threw his head back and uttered a rough laugh that lifted the peace in the room. “No. this is deception. This is slavery. Slavery that has come about through a blinded delusion. And the enslaved have been held so through this delusion that has covered their eyes, blotting the truth for millennia.”

  “Delusion?” growled one of the men, stepping forward. “Did you just imply that the great empire is-”

  “I did not imply anything, my fellow brother,” said Redgarn, dropping his tone to a pleasant, alluring one as he faced his challenger. “I am merely exposing you to reality. I am but an instrument of destiny. And destiny calls for change. For justice … and for truth. And so, today, I make my stand, to honour the truth that has gone misplaced for ages now. I show you the truth, and ask you to search your hearts to accept it as well…”

  As Redgarn spoke, he left a silent, molten power to linger after his words. His speech was ignited with the brilliance of his words, capable of moving anyone who heard them. Ion was almost half led to believe that this man truly did stand for goodness and for change … while he quietly swayed the room with these slowly building twisted ideas.

  “And what is this truth, which you have accepted,” asked one of them, a faintest brush of real curiosity hidden in his challengeful tone. “And which you want us to accept as well?”

  “Only this,” Redgarn whirled around, letting his eyes flow over the other young Nyon in a full circle. “That our great brethren of the Nyon are not meant as such. We, as the great, gifted beings that we are, are not meant to lie below the feet of such woeful establishments. Of structures so flimsy they fall apart on the merest prod. No, we, the great brotherhood of the Nyon, are not meant to work under the Kings of the empire. We are not meant to go about with the dirtywork of the empire which has come about only through the sweat of our toil, and through the glow of our knowledge. The Nyon must not serve the empire, the empire must serve the Nyon.”

  A short, slightly rigid silence…

  “Must we all blind ourselves to the sheer, undisputable truth based on childish ideals of equality?” went on Redgarn. “Must we, really? Who among us here can deny that we are not equals with the world outside in every manner? That we are unique? That we are far greater in the echelons of creation than them? That we are gifted and that our gifts, gifts incomparable to any other, place us in elevated positions that the rest of mankind? Who among us can deny that we are greater than other ordinary men … because we are mystics, the pinnacle of evolution of the human mind, and the precipice of creation? Who among us can deny this? Will you delude yourselves with the idea that all men are really equal? Will you blind yourselves to the undeniable truth that we are greater beings than them? Who among us can deny it?”

  A faint stirring brushed past the circle of men. They were clearly unnerved by what they were hearing. It clearly caused a slight discord in them and the ideals that they knew they stood for.

  And yet … some of them almost looked to want to accept what they heard, as much as they couldn’t.

  “Step aside from the delusive ideals the Nyon have been blinded to, and accept the truth. The truth … it rings in our minds, and yet we choose to ignore it. This, brethren, is the truth. We have been given power. We are placed at a superior position than others. And this gives us the right, the responsible right, to lead them. To guide them. And to rule them…”

  As silence fell again, the air seemed to climb with a heavy tenseness … some of the cloaked figures turned to the others with confused and slightly trepidative looks. They were now beginning to grow wary of what was being fed to them. And yet, a silent sense of thrill was growing in the air. Redgarn’s speech left a twin edged effect in the men. The fluent glow of his speech incited a new call in them. A call that struggled for supremacy against their conscience and their reason.

  It was evident that despite their disapproval of what they were hearing, they yearned to believe … to follow him.

  But some of them were
clearly not fooled…

 

  One of the young men stepped forward, taking himself to within a few feet to Redgarn. But when the young man spoke, there was no challenge in his voice. Just a calm that gave him an almost fluidic tone.

  “I understand what you are trying to state here. But,” The man shook his head. “The idea of establishing supremacy, on the basis of being greater…” The man sighed. “Redgarn, Redgarn. This is rather intriguing. How is it possible that those greater of mind, those more spiritually elevated, can sink to such low levels of thought?”

  Redgarn turned to face the new challenger, two feet before him. The spark of anger in his eyes was gone as soon as it had come. “Now, believe me. I do not go around spewing dogmatic ideas just because you think I do. I know what I’m saying. I know it to be of complete genuine brilliance. I just accept a bold method of bringing my greater mindedness into aid for the world.”

  “But that’s where you’re sinking.” said the other man, and he gave a short, amused chuckle. “You’re saying that you can do a better job of ruling the world than the great empire itself? The Kings borne of the blood of Elderon? That should imply that if you were our King, this world would rejoice under a greater golden age than the one we face now. I find that,” The man clucked his tongue. “slightly hard to believe.”

  “Believe what you want.” Redgarn’s voice turned very mildly rough. “There are facts that slip the capture of less minded. And this is one of them. If you want to continue being less minded, go on and wipe the soles of those Kings who’ve held our brotherhood back for millennia!”

  “Kings who’ve held back our brotherhood, but have managed to keep up peace and stability for millennia.” quipped the challenger.

  Ion sensed fury loosening on Redgarn’s face slowly. But when he spoke, he managed to hide his anger behind the same smoothened etiquette that his words flowed with. “All I’m saying, good friend, is that the world was meant to be as such. It was meant to be the way I now declare it. The pyramid of power is built with us on top. The power to rule is our right. But this right is not for us, but for the sakes of the people we live amidst. Because they need our light and our guidance.”

  “Well as an eye opener,” said the other man, his challengeful tone just as smoothened as Redgarn’s. “to guide, and to shower light upon our people, we serve them. Not rule them, and as a member of the Nyon, you must have clearly studied the difference between them in depths. Because ruling them implies that we are greater than them, and that is a very sadly misplaced lie. We most certainly are not. We are equals with the rest. And we will behave as such.”

  Redgarn stepped closer to the face of his challenger. His voice was now washed of all smoothness, and now came as a deadly hiss: “This is how deluded you have been made to become. You chew and digest utter humbug that the Kings weave to keep you under your control!”

  The escalating tempers now begun to loosen control over the two of them: when the challenger replied, his voice was teetering on the edge of an angry outburst. “We choose to be under their control, fool! The Nyon do not answer to anyone but themselves … to their own conscience. And we know what we do is but the highest nobility. The empire is the highest nobility, and its Kings have proved their nobility to us. If they had not, we would not serve them. We serve goodness, justice. And your words show us that you’re nothing but a deluded, twisted little fiend. You consider your mystic powers as some sort of right to rule? Some kind of weapon with which you can subjugate the world to your will?”

  “We subjugate people to our will because we were meant to!” growled Redgarn, the fury rising dangerously in his voice. “Because we were marked by creation as greater minds, and we fail to accept and embrace the fact that the world is less in evolution than we are! Well, enough of equality. It’s time to show the world that we’re not equals any more than ants are equals with lions. Lions rule the jungle!”

  “This is not a jungle,” said the other man. “This is an empire. An establishment of men. Not savages.”

  Redgarn took a step forward, his eyes boring lethally into the other man’s. The first, faint traces of madness were now seeping into his youthly features, distorting them … turning them almost bestial. For the first time, Ion could identify a creature that had enslaved the world and ravaged it as he looked at the man standing in the centre, glaring at the man opposite to him.

  “If you don’t mind me pointing out,” came the voice of one of the other men, as he stepped out of the circle and paused to turn to the others. “We don’t have the luxury of time to spend all day sitting here in this debate. We have a schedule to keep to.”

  That seemed to knock the rest of the youngsters into reality as well. Together, the circle disbanded and the entire lot of young students filed out of the room through the door across it. As the crowd drained, two men were left standing in the centre of the room, locked in a steely glare with each other.

  Redgarn took another step forward towards the one who had challenged him, his eyes containing such a mighty fury that Ion thought whatever they fell upon might sear and broil…

  “I’ve worked on this long and hard,” he said, his voice leaving him as a deadly whisper. “And if you … or anyone else gets in my way,” He brought his hands before the other man’s throat, making a show of enclosing them around his throat. “Hell won’t know fury…”

  And with that, Redgarn turned, his cloak leaping around, and swept out of the room.

  The three of them stood there, watching the man who had challenged Redgarn. Ion looked at the other two, and saw that they had been just as intensely absorbed in the goings on as he was.

  “Well, that was entertaining.” said Qyro.

  Ion turned back to the man left in the room. A man who had mustered the boldness to oppose a wrongful ideal … a man who had probably died in vain, along with all the other innocent members of the Brotherhood who had died opposing Redgarn ages back.

  But as the man sighed and turned to face the window which the three of them stood in front of … Ion felt shock erupt within him. And his mouth fell wide open.

  Mantra was tall and thin. He had long brown hair that fell to his shoulders at the back, and was tidy at the front. His face bore a youthly radiance. But the glow of his handsome features were marred by a new worry. He stared out the window that the three of them now stood in front of.

  And the voice drew over the world again, the echo reaching it from across a distant chasm, bearing an unbearable grief… the weight of millennia.

  “I watched the tale unfold myself.” said the voice of the real Mantra, the one speaking as the vision played. “Watched the most tragic story weave through the events around me … helpless. Unable to stop it.”

  The scene swirled, and now Ion found himself in a larger, more lavish room. Curtains hung over the large windows by both sides of the wall, all of them painted in an exquisite green colour. The walls and floor, along with the high raised ceiling with a chandelier sparkling atop them, were all dressed with a polished, maroon glow. A large table stood at the centre of the room. A table that bore the emblem of the Nyon. The very same one which Ion had witnessed with his eyes some time back in the present. Two cloaked men were lingering at the back of the room, both of them looking deeply engrossed in a serious conversation. One of them looked young, while the other was significantly older. The older man was a Brownling, with short brown hair all over his body. The two of them came strolling closer to end of the room where Ion, Qyro and Vestra stood, and their voices slowly grew audible.

  “I was there myself, as he made this speech.” Mantra was saying to the other cloaked man. Like all other Nyon, the master was tall and thin. He gazed ahead of him as Mantra spoke, absorbed in thought. “I fear this may turn into a threat … a grave one, if not attended to, master.” Mantra frowned and looked ahead of him, and Ion sensed a brewing fear in his eyes as he searched for the words to go on.

  The two of them came to a stop as th
ey reached the end of the large corridor. They turned, now facing each other fully.

  “He is not the kind of person that you see in him, master Tesmor.” Mantra’s voice carried a sense of foreboding, along with a silent plea to hear it. “I know Redgarn. We grew up together. Here, in this very temple. I know him, and that is why this scares me. Deep down, he is something other than what you and the other masters view him to be. Deep down, Redgarn is the kind of man that obeys no boundaries. The kind of man that will stop at nothing to achieve something that he envisions for himself. Anything. He is to be kept in wares, or else he may turn into something of an enemy. To our brotherhood … and to the empire itself.”

  Tesmor, the Nyon master, gazed at the young disciple before him. He nodded slowly, coming out of his thoughtful reverie.

  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, my young disciple.” he said. “But I guarantee you, such trivial issues are no cause for your anxiety and concern.”

  Mantra’s jaw hung open, with no words coming out. He was clearly expecting a more serious take on this issue.

  “Redgarn is a young, and quite honestly, a very accomplished member of our brotherhood.” said Tesmor. “These are nothing but youthful ponderings of his and they will pass. They shall be no cause for worries…”

  “But master,” said Mantra softly. “Surely you don’t believe this is of no -”

  Tesmor held up his hand, shaking his head gently. “I appreciate your concern and your alertedness for the welfare of the pillars that keep our world together. Your heart is in the right place. But do not let irrational anxieties cloud your mind, Mantra.”

  “Irrational?” asked Mantra, the note of alarm in his voice now growing louder. “Master Tesmor, I -” He stopped, as if the words choked in his throat. Something daunting … something terrifying seemed to brew deep within those familiar, hazy eyes. “I don’t know how to explain this, but…” He looked away, his eyes fluttering, as if in remembrance of a bad dream. “I fear … dark stirrings around us, master. I can sense them. I can hear whisperings of a breeding evil … waiting…” He stopped and pulled himself together with a deep breath. “I can pick up the bodings of a great darkness ahead. And that’s why this alarms me.” He turned back to Tesmor, who was watching him with concern. “For it aligns with this turbulence that I can sense, master.”

  “The brotherhood has endured for ages, Mantra.” said Tesmor, with the tiniest hint of complacence in his kindly voice. “Do you really believe that something can catch us so unaware?”

  Mantra looked at Tesmor uncertainly, clearly half in a mind to answer, ‘yes’

  “You fear that the Nyon, and the ancient empire, both of which have stood across millennia, are now about to face an imminent threat from the childish meanderings of one of our own?” Tesmor shook his head and gave an airy chuckle. “The empire cannot be de stabilised. And neither can the Nyon. We have both stood the test of time. And if you believe that there some sort of inner conspiracy brewing amidst us … and that too led by Redgarn, the foremost and most admired of our new graduates,” He held up a forefinger, wagging it in a nanny sort of way. “I know Redgarn as well, Mantra. And he is one of the greatest prides of our brotherhood. And great minds are meant to wander into thought, bound to explore unopened territories of thought. They are meant to test and try to build ideologies of their own. They are bound to explore and reinvent old thought patterns.”

  “Master Tesmor,” Mantra shook his head, his voice now growing heavy with desperacy. “This is not re invention, this is madness! I was there, when he made this speech. He declared, in front of a whole circle of our age group that the Nyon were meant to rule, and that the empire was meant to serve us! That the Kings of the empire had deluded us, and that we needed to rebel against -”

  “Mantra, calm down.” said Tesmor, holding up his hand. “Whatever he said to you, I believe is nothing of value. And nothing worth worrying over. The group of you have just entered full fledged Nyon-hood, and the stress of the new life must be taking its toll on him. Give him time, and he will come back to realise things himself.” He patted Mantra on the shoulder. “Redgarn is the greatest of our students, and the gem of the new generation. And want me to believe that he will turn against, and backstab us?” He gave a firm shake of his head. “No. not Redgarn. Never. If anything, he will make us proud.”

  And with that, master Tesmor turned around and strode down the room, leaving Mantra standing where he was, a heaviness in his eyes as he watched his hopes of reaching a warning to his elders vanish in that instant.

  The vision swum, and now Ion, Qyro and Vestra were in a large room. Lurking in the corner, along with a bunch of other cloaked men his age, was a slightly older Mantra. He looked to have aged a year or two since the last vision, now twenty or so.

  The room they were in was large, expanding over a giant empty space. Its walls were all metallic, adorned with rich crimson curtains over the windows. Through the windows, Ion saw a magnificent city outside, its structures rising to dwarf any city Ion had ever been to. A steady stream of air vehicles and occasional ships glided over through the air. The room they were now in was apparently in one of the towers, rising high over the ground so that the first, faint cloud strewn layer of the upper sky was seen outside the window.

  Ion thought the room was empty, until his eyes fell on a large semi circular bench of seats at the centre, with a table ahead of them. The seats and the table were raised higher than a metre over the ground. A group of cloaked men, some of them middle aged and others elderly, sat over the bench. Sitting in the middle of the bench was the master Tesmor, the lines on his face tenser, tighter than the last time. There seemed to be a quiet distress in his gaze, which was fixed on the large double doored entrance opposite to him.

 

  Mantra was among a small cluster of young students standing at the corner of the room. They were chattering in low, nervous voices, looking slightly tense. Mantra was standing at the edge of the group of young men, his hands folded before him. He was silently watching the proceedings before him, while the rest of his friends chatted among themselves. Ion couldn’t help noticing how Mantra’s eyes darted between the bench of masters and the doorway opposite to them.

  And then, after what felt to Ion like a few years, the doorway opposite opened. All chatter, murmurings instantly fell still within the courtroom…

  Dragged into the room by mechanical robots tougher in appearance than the Rash-cons of the present day, were a group of cloaked men bound in thick iron shackles. There were nine of them, and one of them was being pulled far before the rest. He was being dragged by two guards on either side, his feet scraping over the ground, his long, ravaged looking hair hanging in front to cover his face.

  Mantra and the other initiates had their wide eyes fixed upon the foremost of the men as he was dragged to the centre of the room. The mechanical guards stalled before the bench of masters and shoved the group of men forward roughly. The foremost of them, the one with the ravaged long hair, tossed his head upward so that his hair was thrown back. Redgarn’s face was robbed of the youthly radiance it held in the previous scene. His eyes seemed to carry a scarlet gleam, and his face had gone sunken, the lines stretched tightly over it. There was a sickened reddish tinge over his skin. It looked as though he had locked himself up in years of intense study in some secluded room devoid of light. And warmth.

  But he stood glaring at the bench of masters before him with a furied defiance burning in his eyes.

  The group of them stood facing the masters, who stared back at them with something inscrutable in their faces. The silence in the room seemed to constrict the air, pressing in on them all.

  The masters sent their gazes wandering over the entire bunch of men who stood before them in iron shackles.

  But Tesmor’s stare, gaunt and disbelieving, was latched upon the man standing right before him. Redgarn. He stared at Redgarn as though seeing him plainly for the first time, and unable
to believe his eyes.

  Then, as the seconds crawled by, Tesmor cleared his throat and stood. He tapped a spot on the table before him, and a small holo screen formed before him in the air, over the table. His eyes flowed down the holo screen slowly, before moving back to Redgarn and the cluster of other young men around him.

  “You have called before this court,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear over the entire hall. “the court of the Nyon, servants of the empire, Gralin, Aztok, Syros, Variad, Crystic, Daleqog, Mardor, Tylon, Vornag…” His voice sank softer, “… and Redgarn.”

  His eyes found Redgarn, with something hard and cold within them. And yet, Ion thought he saw the ghost of a long lost affection flicker within them as he stared at his favourite student.

  He read on:

  “You have called before this court to answer for crimes against the code of the Nyon … and against the great empire. For conspiring, and spreading enmity against the empire, and against its King.” He paused, his eyes sturdily perched on Redgarn.

  Redgarn stared back, unflinching.

  “And on this date,” continued Tesmor, and something hardened in his voice. “You were found guilty of planning and attempting a group of assassinations on the government of the great empire … one of which was the King himself.”

  As one, as silence landed after his words. The air in the room had gone rigid and tense…

  “All in all, seventeen assassination planned, and attempted,” went on Tesmor, his eyes moving back to the holo screen ahead. “of which nine which went astray, one of which was, fortunately, our King. But eight were successful. And you have been called before this council to answer for these heinous crimes.”

  Ion and the other two turned as one to look at Mantra, who stood silently at the end of the room. Mantra had his attention fixed on Redgarn. The rest of the crowd stirred behind him, clearly shaken by what these nine of their fellow Nyon had turned into.

  The real Mantra’s voice came over the scene:

  “Redgarn and a small group of his followers, in time, came to form a company of conspirators within the Nyon, aiming to overthrow the established ways of the brotherhood. As time passed, this secret company bred secretly within the brotherhood. In time, they carried out their plans to bring down the empire. They planned and executed a series of assassinations, one of which was the King himself. But when they were later caught and brought before the council of elders, to answer for these crimes … there was a diluting of reason in the court. The empire’s well guarded prison, Taurandor, was the rightful place for such heinous crimes. The crimes that Redgarn and the others committed deserved nothing less than a life sentence in Taurandor. And if justice had been served that fine day … then things would have gone very differently for the entire spectrum. But sadly, fate has its own ways of twisting men’s judgements. Even the finest of them all.”

  As they watched the scene, Ion felt himself engrossed in the sheer tenseness of what was at play … After reading out the crimes of Redgarn and his eight supporters, the masters were making their interpretation of the Nyon code to hand them their punishment.

  Ion could feel Mantra growing stiff as the proceedings rolled on. Something in the depths of those hazy white eyes seemed to kindle with an unseen foreboding.

  And at last, master Tesmor reached a conclusion, swaying the council to his belief that the rightful punishment for these atrocities, which clearly deserved a grander punishment, deserved nothing more than …

  “Exile.” he said in a low voice, his eyes scanning the group of nine shackled men. “Expulsion from the brotherhood, and exile from the great empire.”

  Across the hall, the three of them saw the eight thousand year younger Mantra’s posture retain a sudden new stiffness. The lines around his eyes tightened as he frowned.

  “The nine of you,” went on Tesmor, “shall temporarily be expelled from the empire, and from our brotherhood.”

  “Exile?” spat Qyro. “They murdered eight people. They tried to assassinate the King for god’s sake! This deserved far more than just exile.”

  Ion scowled, looking down the line of masters. This had to be very odd indeed. Such a type of crime would surely call for a greater punishment in any ordinary establishment. But in the great Nyon, how could it go so woefully unpunished?

  Mantra bustled across the room and before Tesmor, speaking to him in a hushed voice.

  “Master, they’ve assassinated eight important government members.” he said. “Surely this sort of a crime deserves nothing less than -”

  “I shall decide what it deserves, Mantra.” said Tesmor, his voice pinched with a trace of anger. “Redgarn and the eight others will spend their years in exile, striving to learn the err of their ways.” He heaved a slow sigh, his eyes fixing over Redgarn’s. “And when they do … the brotherhood will be more than happy to let them return to us.”

  Mantra’s mouth fell open, and he rounded to look at Redgarn. His hateful red eyes were fastened to Mantra … with a grinding force of scorn and fury within them. The fact that this person was going to go on to live free was certainly the blackest turn fate could have delivered them.

  “Take them away.” commanded Tesmor.

  His gaze followed the group of men as they were dragged off. And as Ion looked at the face of Tesmor, he suddenly realised it. He knew…

  Tesmor was too attached, even now, to his favourite student. His affection for Redgarn, whom he believed to be gem of their brotherhood, had held him back and had blinded him from delivering justice … and this would one day go on to fall in history as the singularly most devastating mistake ever made…

 

  The scene swirled.

  As the now watched, standing in a night worn, cold desert, and the nine cloaked figures ploughed down the meandering land, all of them looking forlorn and demolished. They had been banished to this planet of the outer spectrum, and they were now reaching it, completely alone and friendless.

  And Mantra’s voice, the real Mantra whom they now knew, played over the scene:

  “Redgarn and the small group of young Nyon he had gathered as supporters were exiled. To the furthest reaches of the spectrum. Master Tesmor, blinded by his own arrogance, and his belief that Redgarn would see the err of his crimes and return to them in a new leaf, had made the single greatest mistake of history. A mistake that would demolish everything he and the other masters had spent their lives guarding and protecting.”

  The nine Nyon slowly trotted down the lands, and at the very back, Redgarn turned to send his gaze down the endless expanse behind them. And Ion saw his eyes possessed of a fury like no other. Growling to himself, he turned and continued on.

  “The exile was meant to teach them the err of their ways,” came Mantra’s booming voice. “But it did quite the opposite. Humiliated and enraged by it, Redgarn vowed revenge against the Nyon, and to tear down everything they stood for. To tear down the empire… and make the entire world his. Sealed outside of the empire, alone and guardless, the nine of them hatched their plans in complete unguarded secrecy. Sealed in complete secrecy outside of the empire, Redgarn’s mind bred with a growing insanity. He began to seek the ways of dark, satanic arts … mystical arts that had been forbidden in the Nyon, and anywhere else in the empire. He started to follow the path of Mezmeron. Over the years, he devoted himself to the darkest form of power … the power of chaos and oblivion. And he slowly began to channel the spirit of Mezmeron himself. The force of anarchy itself.”

  Now, as the scene swirled again, Ion and the other two were standing inside of a dark, pitch black cave. But standing in front of it, amidst a circle of black cloaked men, was undoubtedly the horrid creature who had grown even more devastating in the years of his exile…

  Redgarn’s skin seeming to flame with a crimson red colour. His eyes were piercing red, small and bead like. And his teeth seemed to have turned razor like. There was a screech of madness in every pore of his deadly, blood red skin. He
was bent over a large table like object covered in a dark cloth.

  “And with the use of a mystical tablet, a greatly powerful instrument in the realm of the mystic, Redgarn spent years tapping into the spirit of Mezmeron and using it to avail a dark force like no other.” went on Mantra’s voice. “It took years, and meanwhile, the Xeni were growing steadily stronger in their exile. Many stray mystics of a twisted nature like Redgarn were beginning to fall to the lure of the power that the Xeni promised … and they joined them. Over the years, the Order of Xeni bred, growing steadily stronger, while Redgarn spent all his reserved in the task of unleashing Mezmeron to his aid.”

  Redgarn pulled off the large black sheet covering the table, and Ion saw, through the darkness, a large table. He took a seat on the ground behind the table, closed his eyes, and began chanting … And through the darkness, a sudden new burn of red lights occurred … The black pits of the cave were suddenly lit in a swirl of blood red lights that shot about like cords, twining about the inside of the cave … Redgarn continued to chant, waving his arms madly in front of the table.

  “Redgarn had locked himself for years, learning the darkest of mystic arts.” said Mantra’s voice. “The darkest of spells and powers that had been locked off bounds for the Nyon. With the help of the mystical tablet, he used these spells to channel the spirit of mezmeron, with which he summoned a force of chaos like no other into this world. To aid him. Years after he had started this long, dark process, he succeeded … and through the life force of mezmeron, he had woven an army of evil, an army of terror, for his aid … and this army that he summoned, was a horror like never seen before.”

  At the last word, the scene shifted. The three of them were now standing in the same dark cave with Redgarn in front of them. But standing between them and Redgarn was a strange, smoke like entity…

  This being, Ion could somehow tell, was not like any other known … He seemed to be half solid, half smoke. As the three of them stood and watched, the creature walked over beside Redgarn and turned … And Ion’s heart froze within his chest at the sheer horridness of what he was viewing.

  He was nothing like anything they’d seen before.

  His skin was pale blue, his eyes ice like. His form seemed to be made of something between solid and gas, and what could be seen of his body was shaped through his smoky outline. But the creature seemed to exact a cold, lifeless aura around him. So that any life form chancing close to him would have withered and died. As Ion watched it, clouds of darkness invaded his mind … it was a creature that stirred anarchy within anyone who set sight upon it.

  “With Redgarn’s knowledge of the dark mystical arts, the Xeni mustered an army like no other.” said Mantra’s echoing voice. “Through his black spells, he managed to create and take control of the darkest of creatures ever known to walk this realm. Demons. “

  The demon they were looking at, who stood beside Redgarn, smiled as he spoke:

  “I see you need our aid,” he said, his words leaving a slight shiver in the air after them. “And we are the lifeblood of Mezmeron, and we will live where there is chaos and anarchy. The forces of Mezmeron have long awaited the chance to test the boundaries of sanity of your kind.” He shook his head at Redgarn, who stood just as still with his red eyes unmoven from the demon. “And we see that we haven’t scraped the surface of the amount of sheer chaos man beings can bring about.”

  “You will now.” replied Redgarn. “I now give you the chance to break all borders, to use your powers of Mezmeron to plunge the entire realm into dishevel.” He grinned. “Frost the demon, you and the rest of your kind, the kind of demons, shall now join us. And we shall bring about a new order in this universe. An order of chaos.”

  The demon, Frost, threw his head back and laughed. It was a cold, icy sound that almost made Ion’s insides writhe.

  “My good man, I live to serve madness.” said Frost. He turned and gazed at where the three of them stood. And Ion felt all three of them freeze as those icy blue eyes focussed on them. But they then realised that he was gazing at the entrance of the cave, which they were in front of.

  “You have moulded us through the life blood of Mezmeron,” the demon hissed. “And serve Mezmeron we shall.”

  And as Ion and the other two twisted around to meet the demon’s gaze, they could feel their hearts stop as one…

  Outside, down the expanse of the cold desert, a hundred … a thousand smoky figures slowly materialised, all of them forming out of thin air and hovering on the spot, faced towards the cave. And then, the entire army of demons, as one, came floating towards where the three of them stood, towards the entrance of that cave, where Redgarn and Frost were…

 

  An army of demons.

  An army of terror like no other…

  Ion was, for the first time, thankful that this was only a flashback and not reality that the three of them were now standing amidst.

  “And together,” said Mantra’s voice. “They unleashed their evil. Their revenge. Redgarn brought the Xeni, aided with many other stray mystics they had garnered support of over the years in exile our of hiding. And together, with the unmatched terror of the demon army, they unleashed their onslaught against the empire, and against the Nyon.”

  The scene changed…

  Now, they were floating in the sky, and through the clouds … But below them, a terrible battle was raging. On ground, mayhem seemed to have broke beyond all limits as two forces clashed with a titanic might. The sounds of the battle reached him from where he and the other two were, hovering a mile above the ground.

  “Taking the pursuit of his goal, and of his revenge, to a new storm, Redgarn accomplished the greatest of all evils.” played Mantra’s sorrow stricken voice, over the scene, dulling the sounds of the battle and its explosions around them. “He killed master Tesmor, who once stood up for him and protected him, and several others among the elder council that governed the brotherhood. Then, as the Nyon lay plunged in chaos, he fulfilled his long dreamt goal. He took control.”

  And then, everything around them fell to a soothing, sudden calm … and the three of them were suddenly enveloped in blackness. “He brought down the ancient empire, having overcome and brushed aside its armies, and having killed the King and destroyed his heirline as well. And the world was consumed in darkness. For the age of gold had come to an end. And the age of Iron … had begun.”

  They were now standing in a planet. And all around them, there was a quiet like no other. A quiet that seemed to blare with the screams of a thousand agonized voices. Ion felt his jaw land open as he realised what was going on…

  They watched in horror, as lines of civilians stood around, moving step by step. All of them chained, and shackled. They were all wearing expressions of anguish as their fates sealed itself. Standing around the lines of shackled civilians, watching them, were the demons. In their fiendish, smoky forms. Their cruel blue eyes were all fixed on the lines of shackled prisoners that they were now masters of, watching them hungrily. There were also robots, but these were not of Sirengard … they, Ion could tell, were of the new evil empire. The Xeni’s evil empire. Together, the armies of the empire stood spread over the land, watching the lines of shackled, enslaved people move slowly.

  “Having enslaved all of mankind,” rang Mantra’s heavy voice. “Redgarn sealed himself as the King. With the Xeni under his command, to do his bidding … and to the demons’ forces to keep the world clenched within his hold. The power hungry, cold hearted tyrant allowed grief and turmoil to grind forth for centuries of his rule … centuries of pain, misery and darkness.”

  The scene swirled, and now, Ion and the other two stood inside of a semi dark room. With silent, cloaked figures around. Nyon. One of them was standing right in front of them, his back faced to them.

  They could sense an atmosphere of focus in the room, dampened by a shadow of loss and fury.

  “When the Xeni’s victory had been sealed,” came Mantra’s v
oice. “and when they had thwarted the ancient empire, what remained of the Nyon, now broken and ravaged, was forced to flee. Taking what remained of the Nyon temple after the battle, they hid themselves deep in the outer spectrum. While Redgarn’s dark rule deepened, the Nyon slowly worked against him and his empire, where they lay concealed. Working in complete secrecy, the Nyon slowly built their forces, to one day return to the open and save the spectrum from the evil clench of Redgarn and his empire. But … they knew that they were at a grievous loss. For the demons’ army was terrible beyond all, and they had not the slightest glimpse of hope that there was any force in existence that would stand against them, and win …”

  And as the three of them watched, the cloaked figure standing ahead of them turned. Despite the passage of centuries, the three of them saw that Mantra looked not a day older than the twenty one year old they had seen in the courtroom’s flashback. And yet, his face was laden with an age old darkness, a sorrow that swept away all of the joy and vigour of his youth.

  Now, with the passage of centuries after the fall of the ancient empire, it was obvious that Mantra was the only remaining Nyon who had lived during that time. He was, undoubtedly their leader now. Their only guide in this dark, dangerous time. A Nyon stood beside him, conversing in a hushed tone. Mantra responded in an equally hushed voice, nodding and shaking his head.

  And then, after what felt like ages, their conversation settled to a stop. And the two of them turned to face each other full in the face. Unless Ion’s eyes were deceiving him, he could sense something sparkling in those hazy white eyes.

  “Very well, then.” he said softly, to another Nyon standing beside him. “I guess all is not lost. If this succeeds. And for the sake of this realm, I sure hope it does.”

  The other Nyon gave him a sharp nod.

  Mantra turned and raised his hands, gathering all the attention in the room swiftly.

  “Fellow brothers,” he called. “I fear that too much has gone to loss over the madness of the Xeni’s onslaught. And for centuries, our toil has gone wasted … there is no force in existence that can match the sheer terror that they exact.” His tone suddenly grew quiet. “Except one.”

  As the effect of his words took over, the rest of the rebel Nyon across the room looked about curiously.

  “Which one, are you talking of?” asked one of them, stepping forth towards their leader.

  “What do you mean, Mantra?” asked another.

  Mantra smiled. And for the flicker of a second, he looked like the bright, younger man they had seen in the earlier scenes.

  “There is hope, my fellow men.” he said softly. “There is a way after all, to fight this darkness. And I guarantee you, I have seen it. I have seen the light.”

  The scene swum, and now the three of them were suddenly standing amidst a blinding tirade of light. It was like the light of a thousand suns blasting as one. And Ion, Qyro and Vestra covered their eyes, fearing that the dazzle would leave their eyes scorched.

  But through the flood of golden light, they could spot outlines. Sitting kneeled before the storm of brightness. It was the Nyon. And suddenly, booming out of the endless light, came a voice … a voice like nothing else Ion had heard his entire life. It seemed to leave his soul reverberating as he heard it. It contained a fire that set Ion’s mind ablaze as he heard it.

  “Yes,” said Elderon, his voice thundering across the world of light that the Nyon now knelt before. The soul of creation itself. “You shall have it. You shall have a way. And I will give you the right to win this war, and to bring triumph to our world.”

  One of the Nyon spoke, his voice subdued before the ancient force of good:

  “Thank you.” said Mantra’s humbled voice. “And in return, I promise you, we, the brotherhood of Nyon will fight for you. For your victory. And the rest shall be announced soon enough.”

  Before they knew what had happened, the light sucked itself back in like a vacuum chasm. And the entire batch of Nyon were seen kneeling on the ground of the room. But there was a strange radiance in the air, dispelling the sense of gloom it had been in earlier.

  “The Nyon had communed with Elderon,” came the real Mantra’s voice, playing over the scene as Ion, Vestra and Qyro watched. “And Elderon had given them a gift to fight for his side, and for his world. He had given them the greatest, and most powerful instrument that they could have asked for.”

  As his voice faded into silence, the three of them watched with their eyes wide: the batch of cloaked figures slowly rose. Mantra, the foremost of the Nyon, was still kneeling on the ground. When he rose and turned, one of his hands was clenched tightly. He gazed about, meeting every pair of eyes in the room: everyone in the room was watching him intensely.

  And, with the entire hall staring at him in a deafening suspense, Mantra slowly opened his clenched fist. And Ion saw within it, a bright, glowing object. A closer look told him that it was a conch. It glowed in bright orange, spreading its warmth and light across the entire room, and leaving a flickering gleam in Mantra’s eyes as he stared down at it.

  “What … is it?” asked one of the Nyon, his voice curious and hesitant.

  Mantra’s eyes lit with a smile.

  “All we need.”

  And the real Mantra’s voice played over the scene:

  “The Grael conch was an ancient instrument, one forged by Elderon himself. Elderon had gifted the Nyon an army for themselves. An army woven off his own life force. They were known as the watchmen. The conch had the power to summon the army of watchmen, and to control them. The watchmen were servants of Elderon, meant for protecting the force of harmony in the world.”

  The scene stirred, and now the few members of the Nyon that lingered after the empire’s fall were standing outside of the Nyon temple, which stood behind them. The cloaked figures were all gazing at Mantra who stood upfront, holding the glowing conch carefully within both hands.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, without turning, to the Nyon behind him. “Let’s end this once and for all.”

  And he sounded the Grael conch.

  And as soon as he did, the scene changed. Now, the three Nyon were floating over another raging battle below on ground. A second war. Between the Nyon, and the Xeni’s empire. But this one was evened out: as the three of them floated to a stop on the ground, they saw the watchmen … And the spirits of Elderon were unimaginable in their beauty and energy. Unlike the hazy demons, they seemed to radiate warmth and light. They were all completely normal men, but their outlines seemed to flicker with ghostly flames that robed their entire body. The sight was both awe binding and terrible. They were all carrying ignited swords and slashing past the demons’ army. They moved with the speed of ten men in one, and their fiery forms were a rapid orange blur as they streaked through the army of the smoky demons, slicing them all down.

  “The watchmen,” said the real Mantra’s voice, ringing over the scene again, so that the sounds of the battle went dull. “The spirits of Elderon, were a thousand in number. A thousand warriors possessing every mystical power. They were men in their build, completely normal men, but men whose souls contained the fire of Elderon, and who would never let it dampen.

  “The great army came with an arsenal made for war, one of which was the fastest, most powerful warship ever to exist, known as Flamebird. And thus, the Nyon were gifted with a force that could try and oppose the wrath of the vicious demons”

  Now, they were floating in space again, and Ion felt his breath seize at the awe of the sight before them:

  A battle raging in mid space. A titanic clash between two powerful forces.

  Giant battle cruisers were frozen around, while smaller warships zipped across all over. The black abyss was coloured with a million orbs of light and jet tailed missiles streaking about.

  In the middle of the madness, one of the ships soared right before where the three of them were watching the scene. An orange coloured falcon shaped ship. Majestic looking, and powerf
ul. It streaked through the mayhem like a knife cleaving butter. Slashing right through all the enemy ships in its wake…

  “Flamebird…” Vestra repeated absently.

  Ion let his eyes follow the magnificent, falcon shaped ship as it shot across at speeds unimaginable.

  “And so, with the army of watchmen by their side, the Nyon re surfaced and waged a war with Redgarn’s empire, to set the spectrum free from him.” said Mantra’s voice. “And not long after, we triumphed. The Xeni and their empire was torn down and destroyed. Redgarn and the surviving members of the Xeni were sent to Taurandor … where they were meant to have been from the start. They were left to die there, and the dusted remains of their bodies would be found till this day in the ancient prison.”

  Mantra’s voice gave a moment’s pause. And when it went on, there was a deeper touch of sorrow within it.

 

  “For almost hundreds of years, we had dreamt of it … but when it came, when victory sealed over the evil empire, we realised it was no victory at all. It was just a lessened defeat: the empire of Elderon had gone, its heirs all lost. And the golden age had forever come to an end. Our triumph was but a fleeting glimpse of an illusion of freedom that would never exist. For we knew that now, all of mankind was lost, lost without the guidance of our true leaders. Without the light of the Sirengard. And the evil empire’s tyranny had cast a black taint on the world of the mystic. One that would last eight thousand years hence…”

 

  The scene changed. And now, they were standing in an office room. There were suited men all standing about the place, their faces grim. And finally, cutting through the silence, one of the men spoke:

  “Mystics are an abomination. They were the very reason this tragic devastation of our spectrum happened in the first place…”

  And as the three of them watched the memory in horror, the leaders of the newly established anti terrorist organisation, the Naxim, sealed their statement and their mission as the enemies of tyranny … and as the enemies of mystics. For the two of them, they believed, were the same.

  “… and the rest of the spectrum,” concluded the man speaking at last, while the rest of the high council nodded. “completely agrees with us. All of the spectrum’s newly risen states are willing to form a pact with us, stating their complete opposition to mystics.” The man’s face hardened. “From this day forth, this spectrum will show no mercy to them. Mystics.”

  Mantra’s voice then said: “Faced with defeat at the fall of their leader, their evil empire was broken. Our victory had led them to flee for their lives: the few among the Xeni who had survived the war against the Nyon, were forced to flee. But … the few surviving Xeni, along the demon army, were never going to give up on their long sought goal. Not so easily. With the war’s outcome evident, they knew that for the time being, nothing could be done: For the demon army was being hunted down by the newly established Naxim and the Nyon and the watchmen together. The Xeni were broken, and only a few of them survived the war. The other side’s victory had been certain, and they knew that if they wanted to make a move to reclaim the world, they would have to wait.

  “With Elderon’s victory over Mezmeron, the demons were left in a weakened state: they were borne of the life of Mezmeron and they needed the life force of Mezmeron, or anarchy, to feed them. They could not sustain themselves in a world where Elderon had triumphed. And so, they left our realm. They sealed themselves in another dimension where they would slumber, until this world had come under the clutches of Mezmeron again…

 

  “And so, hidden safely in another dimension, the demon army awaited the time when Elderon’s grasp loosened over the realm, and Mezmeron grew to great power. They awaited the time when anarchy had reached its peak in our world again. And when it did, the demons would return to thrive on the force of Mezmeron, the force that feeds their life…

  “The Xeni held the key to the dimension where the demons were hidden. With their order broken, they went into hiding, but keeping the key safe with them. The key to the dimension where their army of terror was hidden. They planned to bide their time in the darkness, waiting for the right time to strike again: they waited for the time when their order would rise from the ashes again … and took anarchy and chaos to its highest level in the world. And when that time came, when the force of Mezmeron rose again, they would use the key to the dimension where the demon army was hiding, to set them free … and would use them to finish what Redgarn had started.”

  And the scene changed before them, showing a group of hooded figures moving down a large expanse. One of them stopped and held a small object before the others. The key to releasing the demon army…

  … It was the crystal they had recovered from the village.

  This was the key to unleashing the Xeni’s dark army.

  As one, as the three of them watched the scene, the bits and pieces flew together, zooming in to form the picture. And they understood everything. They understood what the crystal was so important for. It was most important.

  “They call it the plague crystal.” Mantra’s echo like voice said. “And it was the instrument of releasing their demon army from the realm where it lay sealed away, slumbering. And for that one reason, it is the singular bane of everything the Nyon had striven, bled and died for.”

  The scene changed, and now, the three of them were in a room in the Nyon temple. but as they stood like ghosts at the back of the room, their eyes fell on the one solemn figure perched on the tidy ground in front of them, his back turned to them as he gazed out the window heavily. Mantra’s form was stiffened as he sat cross legged, but even without looking at his face, the three of them could feel it … the grief and sorrow crushing him whole. And it seemed to expand like a wave, to engulf them as well. They could feel his emotions churning … his sorrow at the greatest loss. The loss of the great empire of Sirengard. The loss of the majesty of time, which would never again return.

  “The brotherhood was forced into hiding, with the newly arisen Naxim’s stand against mystics, which they made following freedom. And since then … for eight thousand years, we have only lived on as a very scarce tint of our older grandeur. Mystics themselves were hard to find, let alone mystics who were interested in joining a brotherhood that had already been marked by the Naxim and condemned. We scraped our way to survival since that day. And our fight for survival, amidst the age of darkness … continues to this very moment as I speak.”

  And everything suddenly blurred. And the three of them were suddenly back in reality on the roof of the temple, and with Mantra standing ahead of them. He hadn’t moved an inch since the flashback had begun.

  For a long, quiet moment, Mantra’s serene white eyes were still over the three students. And then a grin awoke upon those wizened features.

  “Any more questions you’d like to ask?”

  6