Book Title: Remnants of War: Shadows of Light

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Tonight, Vaemin Moradin would betray his brother, fulfilling a promise that branded him a kin slayer.

Nightfall enveloped the sky as Placeris Halls—the ancestral home of the ancient bloodline- stirred quietly. These familiar grounds brought forth emotions from a lifetime ago when he’d shaped himself into a warrior on the cobblestone roads he walked on now. Vaemin always failed at burying memories of this place and the regret that culminated fifteen years ago when he’d laid his friends to rest.

Striding past the Inner Gates and down the thoroughfare his thick braids of gray laced with white hung over the large collar of his long, black cloak. Embroidered lines of gold and silver streaked down the cloth’s seams, like lightning in the sky. Underneath, he wore a boiled leather tunic reinforced with copper links and various chunks of metal that shuddered with each step. His boots grew heavier, yet he no longer felt exhaustion when he drew from the dark power, using the connection between his soul and the sword. What created the shadows under his eyes and sleepless nights was a lifetime of misgivings that tensed his broad shoulders permanently. The burdens of old mixed with the choice Vaemin was forced to make tonight would haunt his life as his memories often did.

The sins of the father come to collect on the son, Vaemin thought.

Pale moonlight rippled softly across the stone road, splitting the courtyard of nobles that led to Laar manor. Recollections flooded his mind like a vast torrent. Though he was not born on the mainland of Illetora, much of his adult life had been spent at Placeris Halls and in the Palace City of Laar. Vaemin had dreamed of being a Laar warrior who would help unite Illetora for a greater purpose at the cost of his humanity. Now, all that remained from those delusions were the consequences he still dealt with. One of them being his nephew, who he’d hunted throughout Western Illetora, returning him here to where it all started.

He was close now.

Thoughts of his warrior brother Zarian, and of Zarian’s son Zalon, the man waiting for him in the manor, swooned his mind. Before he realized it, his hand grasped the hilt of the sheathed dagger on his belt, gripping it until his forearm trembled from the strain. Guilt drowned his mind like a tyrannical wave cresting over him.

As he sauntered, hymns of wind sang through the barren courtyard and crashed against what Vaemin recognized as the commandant quarters. The absence of life increased his curiosity.

Why is nobody here? he wondered.

He veered left toward one of the houses, a two-story building with stained glass windows Vaemin recalled were red and green—the ancient colors of the God-King lineage. He pushed open the door and entered cautiously. A horrid stench ran up his nose like a rat scurrying through a hole for food. Scanning the room, his gaze focused on a leg protruding from beneath the table in the middle of the room. He kneeled to discover a man lying face down on his stomach. Vaemin placed his fingers on the man’s neck to search for a pulse, but the body was cold and rigid. With a heavy sigh, he stood and looked around not finding any signs of blood or a struggle but on a nearby stool, he spotted a dagger glittering in the moonlight. Vaemin raised it to his eyes for a closer inspection. Sleek ripples of a black liquid had dried on the crystal blade and stretched to its onyx jeweled hilt.

The Dark Essence has been unleashed, Vaemin thought, exiting the quarters.

His stomach clenched. How long had the Shayde festered at Placeris Halls, he wondered.

“I will not fail you, Zarian,” Vaemin muttered. He needed to say those words aloud to convince himself to continue down this path for if he wavered in fulfilling his promise, a deeper darkness would arise.

Vaemin was aware his time was limited. Zalon had to predict he would return to stop him so why had he traveled this far away from the Palace City and the protection from his family? He pondered whether this was a trap set to obtain what Vaemin had sworn to protect, his family’s most prized possession and the reason for their exile generations ago. Strapped to his back by the baldric around his shoulders, a sword sheath embedded with gray stones on its surface contained the most powerful relic in all Illetora. Continuing, Vaemin clenched his jaw as he saw his destination ahead. Enormous and ornate, the Laar Manor appeared fused with the sky.

Three massive domed atriums and four stories tall, the manor was thrice as large as any other building at Placeris Halls. Many of the stained-glass windows on the left side reflected moonlight tinged with red and green, while smaller lights emitted brightness from inside the second level. Atop the ridges prowled six massive statues Vaemin recognized as the Elderai Warriors—legendary fighters who embodied the warrior society of Laar.

Reaching the last step, he was greeted by six pillars of white stone extending from the entranceway. Two golden braziers the size of small boulders were placed on each side of the opening to the manor, their flickering embers rising into the night air. Vaemin entered the manor and walked past a wall of torches illuminating tapestries depicting the Timeless Ages. His vision reddened as memories of past carnage from another lifetime overwhelmed him. Screams rang in his ears as he breathed deeply in an effort to control the visions coming from his connection to his sword.

At last, he was able to clear his mind and enter the atrium. He knew Zalon would be waiting in the main chamber on the second floor where his father held his secret meetings. A loud crack rang through the manor as Vaemin inched closer to the staircase. In the blink of an eye, two hooded figures in white robes appeared at its base. On the peak of their hoods, a golden circle encased a black flame which Vaemin recognized as an ancient symbol. His eyes narrowed on that as if there was nothing else around him.

Only the exiled should have those robes. The cloaked figure on the left unveiled her shroud piercing him with her gaze. To his relief, only one of her eyes was gold, the other a pale green.

“Our true Laar King and the Edict of Light knew you would try to stop the ritual,” The woman sneered, brushing crimson hair away from her face. She looked to be in her mid-twenties.

“I am not here to save him. I am here to stop him.” Vaemin stated.

“You cannot stop what has been set in motion since the dawn of time.” The woman said. “In the binding of darkness only light can prevail.”

Fool’s gold, Vaemin thought, but her mention of old scriptures he recalled from his origins perturbed him. Zalon knew more than he thought, which meant his father Zarian did as well.

“I told his majesty you deserve nothing short of a bronze dagger to your heart!” said the other hooded figure. “That is how we from the east deal with monsters such as you.”

He stood eye to eye with Vaemin but had broader shoulders, which made Vaemin wish he could have fought him twenty years ago when his body was sculpted and not in its current flaccid state. Unlike the woman next to him, the man did not remove his hood.

“Avenge our fallen by putting down this rabid beast.” The woman asserted, taking a step back to stand on the first step of the staircase.

Vaemin grabbed the hilt of the hulking sword sheathed to his back and momentarily closed his eyes. He sensed hints of the dark power in these two, but not enough for them to draw upon. He detected no tether between them and the swords they carried, and yet, he sensed a third essence above them, swelling with tremendous power. Zalon.

“Move Aside. I do not wish to fight you.” Vaemin opened his eyes as a combination of different voices fused into one whispered in his head, feeling like an itch he could not scratch.

Behind you, Vaemin heard.

He turned barely evading the man’s crystallized blade. The jagged sword began to glow blue as it sliced the ground, leaving a crevice in the marble floor. Thankfully, the sword his attacker wielded was much like the others Vaemin had seen and studied in the past, but nothing like his own. The man tried to deliver multiple strikes, but Vaemin grinned as he dodged all of them. This was no time for amusement, but to send these two against him was a cruel joke that quickly turned his smile into a grimace.

Unable to land any blows, the man quickly succumbed to his anger. Crass swings and misguided lunges told Vaemin that he depended too much on his weapon rather than his skills. Even though his opponent could not draw upon the dark power, it did not stop him from fighting as if it already coursed within his veins.

There was something else in the boorish attacks that Vaemin didn’t need his abilities to detect. Within the wild lunges and irrational movements he sensed an underlying pain. This felt personal, hinting that Zalon was controlling his opponent. But there was not one soul on Illetora who understood Vaemin’s affinity with the dark power.

“Fight me!” the man yelled, his voice cracking on the last word.

Enough, Vaemin thought as he evaded another slash aimed at his head. He hit the man’s sword hand and grabbed the weapon as it flung out of his grip. When his palm clasped the hilt, multiple voices flooded his mind, yearning to grasp his attention. All yelling to be heard. All wanting him to call their name. Vaemin focused on finding the right one. He sifted through the multitude and concentrated on the faintest voice as it whispered a name to him.

“Ezina,” Vaemin said, and his attacker froze where he stood. Even his eyelids did not move as if he had turned to stone. Vaemin had severed whatever connection Zalon forged with the man, using his mastery of the dark power. The sword dropped to the ground, and his hands, stained black for a few seconds, returned to their normal color. The man attempted to mumble something inaudible, then collapsed to the floor.

“There’s. . . This can’t... He was right... You are him,” The woman said as she rushed to the man, kneeling next to him. She looked up at Vaemin with tears flowing from her anguished eyes, then began pleading for her companion to awaken. Vaemin felt the shame of his past twist his stomach into knots. They knew who he was, and vengeance sprouted in their hearts like a vine climbing a tree.

“Leave this place and your pain behind,” Vaemin said as he walked past them and started up the stairs. “Take him with you and get as far away as you can. Away from Zalon. Away from me. Abandon the darkness.”

He ignored the woman’s sobs. He was going to finish what he had started. What he was responsible for. His heart pounded as he reached the main chamber on the second floor. This was it. His promise to destroy the Shade Power had led him to confront the fallen king’s son. The fault did not lie solely in the father’s actions and decisions. Vaemin and Zarian both had a role in birthing Zalon. Vaemin stared at the large wooden doors for what seemed like an eternity. He sensed darkness waiting for his soul and darksword on the other side but knew what must be done. All roads for Vaemin ended with Zalon, regardless of the path.

Risenya, grant me the power I need.

Finally ready, he gripped the handles on each door and pushed them open. If his promise to his warrior brother demanded him to stop these dark forces from rising, he would embrace it dutifully by destroying the remnants of the Shade power. If Vaemin Moradin accomplished his destiny, he would not live to see the outside of this room.