“When Dawn comes back for her revenge, call me and I’ll come to your aid. You’ll get rid of her forever and I’ll get my omni pocket. Everybody wins.” Xedros said.
“You want to merge with Dawn? Do you realize what does it mean?” Lith was flabbergasted.
“It means acquiring endless power, millennia of knowledge and resources. Do not fret. If Mogar considered Dawn a threat, she wouldn’t have survived inside the Fringe for so long. Humans fear cursed objects because they have both weak minds and bodies.
“I’m older than any of them will ever be and I’ve trained my willpower through centuries of magical practice. There’s not a single speck of weakness in my whole being.” Xedros said.
‘No humility either.’ Lith thought.
“Fine by me. If Dawn shows up, I’ll call you. Same in the case I find that hybrid again.” Lith’s answer pleased the Wyvern, who in exchange offered his help with the Council.
Lith left first, resuming his patrol and hoping the three months of military service he had left would pass uneventfully.
***
Blood Desert, Forgotten Plume tribe, the same month when Lith’s leave took place.
Winter was a meaningless word for the people living in the desert. The climate was always hot, clouds were nigh non-existent, and they would see snow only as pictures in illustrated books.
Like all of the desert tribes, the Forgotten Plume was nomadic. They were forced to relocate periodically to let the oases refill and follow the animals that represented their main source of food.
No one besides Overlord Salaark, her fake Awakened, the Feathers, and the merchants they traded with knew the position of each tribe. Moreover, the Blood Desert was the largest of the three great countries.
Those two factors made unexpected guests something more fabled than snow itself.
That day, however, a lonely figure came walking and puffing as he crossed one dune after another, visible for kilometers thanks to his white robes shining under the sun akin to a precious gem.
The children of the village spotted him first and alerted their parents. Even though Salaark and her fake Awakened kept the desert at peace, criminals still existed. Sometimes a small tribe of marauders would follow a migrating village and attack it the moment its Feather would leave.
On top of that, the people of the Forgotten Plume tribe were wary of strangers because their Feather was one of the most wanted men of the Griffon Kingdom, Ilyum Balkor.
The alarm bell resounded the second after a small boy pointed his finger at the approaching figure dressed in white and gold.
“What in the Great Mother’s name is happening?” Balkor walked out of his tent with a cruel smile already on his lips.
“Who could be mad enough to attack my tribe knowing that I’m here and that Salaark can join me any second?” A wave of the god of death’s hand bent the light, allowing him to see the intruder as if they were mere centimeters away.
“Me and my big mouth.” He cursed. “Evacuate the village and reach the first safe point. I won’t allow them to harm a single one of you, but I need to buy time until the Overlord arrives.”
Balkor gave a quick kiss to Eos, his wife, before sending her away with their children. Her name meant sun and it couldn’t be more fitting. She was the reason why he woke up every day and had chosen to not give up his life in pursuit of his revenge.
“What are you doing here and what do you want?” Balkor asked while casting a detecting array that encompassed the area around them for kilometers in search of the reinforcements that were bound to be hidden somewhere.
Ilyum Balkor was a man in his late thirties, about 1.76 meters (5’9″) tall. He had a lean body toned by the regular training he underwent to withstand the most powerful spells and the recent fake Awakening process.
Balkor also had light blonde hair streaked both in black and white. The former was proof of his affinity for the darkness element whereas the latter was the consequence of him spending most of his life force to create his army of greater undead.
The Valors were Balkor’s opus, stronger than any elder of any of the Undead Courts and it took him less than a year to make hundreds of them.
Despite the years of life in the desert, Balkor was still quite pale due to being born in the northern part of the Griffon Kingdom. Unlike the other men of the desert, he had no beard and his robe was black and silver, the same colors as the Black Griffon.
“Is this how you greet a friend you haven’t seen in years?” Krishna Manohar replied while wiping the sweat from his forehead with a wave of his hand.
He was a man in his early thirties, with black hair and shades of silver. He was around 1.74 meters (5’9″) meters tall and had a slender build.
“Do you mean since the last time I was still strong enough to lead the charge of my undead army while you Spellbreakers tried to kill me?” Balkor chuckled while weaving his best spells.
Even though fake Awakened had no access to breathing techniques like Invigoration or Accumulation, they could still use Life Vision, Spirit Magic, Fusion Magic, and cast perfectly silent spells.
Manohar, on the other hand, couldn’t do anything without hand signs and chants.
“Well, yeah. Isn’t that friends do? I mean, Manohar and the King always say they are my friends, yet they try to strangle me on a monthly basis.”
“How did you find me and what does the Never Magus want from me?” Balkor’s eyes turned pitch black and with them the entire space surrounding the two men, yet Manohar didn’t seem to notice.
“You know, I’ve been called in many ways. God of healing, child of light, Mad Professor, but Never Magus is the only one I never understood.”
“It means that you could have become a Magus if only you shared your knowledge about light magic and stopped disappearing at critical moments. Now answer my questions.” Balkor snarled as the Forgotten Plume village was now under a total solar eclipse.
“Finding you was quite easy. Becoming a Feather is quite the feat so I guess congratulations are in order.” Manohar gave him a small bow.
“The problem with fame is that it makes the news of a small, insignificant village getting its own Feather spread throughout the desert as wildfire thanks to the merchants you trade with.
“As for the reason I’m here, well, I need a second opinion.” The Mad Professor scratched his head in embarrassment.
He wasn’t used to asking for favors.
“You, the strongest and most unreliable magician of the Griffon Kingdom, dare asking for my help?” Balkor didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Tell me another.”
Tired of Manohar’s shenanigans, Balkor activated his tier five spell, Shadow of the Colossus. The darkness surrounding the village was sucked by the god of death’s shadow, which detached from the sand in the form of a dark monolith.
It started to grow in size, gaining a third dimension and physical substance until it turned into a 10 meters (33 feet) tall horned giant with purple eyes brimming with mana. The Colossus enveloped Balkor’s body and hid him from Manohar’s sight.
