Circle of Reign (79 page)

“You are wrong in one thing, Jayden,” Reign said shyly as she stood. “Evrin was not the last to have known one of the Ancients.”

Jayden looked up to Reign, uncertain what she meant, but then Reign saw understanding come across her face accompanied by a smile.

“I am the first in the rebirth of those who once were,” Reign said.

The return of the Ancients is not what most have assumed; those who once lived will not return. We must return to them, to their ways
.

Reign looked east, feeling the discordant currents of those just outside the forest’s borders. Crimson Snow came to her side, gazing where she looked, ears pointed forward. Reign’s stare was intent, penetrating. Strong. The grip on her sword’s hilt tightened.

And then she felt a deep sadness from her father, sudden and potent. Something had just happened, something unexpected—she could feel it grip him. There was something…some
one
to redeem in all this…she could not discern Thannuel’s growing despair and it frightened her.

Threyil?
she asked inwardly. But he was too distraught to even answer. As her father’s despair came into focus, she understood.
We will find him
, she told him.
I swear we will
.

“Increased Light always casts darker shadows,” Aramith warned. “The Dark Mother will also grow stronger as we do.” Daneris nodded in agreement.

Reign remained undaunted. “Let her come.”

EPILOGUE

Day 17 of 2
^nd
Dimming 412 A.U.

THE HELSYAN STOOD SHOULDER TO SHOULDER
with his brethren in a row that spanned more than almost his eye could see as he looked left and then right. He felt his brethren in the Dark, the Dark into which he had been reborn. There were over a thousand of them now. The Shatterer had brought many to the Dark, and would bring thousands more.

In front of him lay the Arlethian forest, pulsing with vibrancy and Light. He could sense it and it frightened him. He wanted to destroy it. The urge coursed through his powerful Helsyan frame. He could also feel the vibrations of life within the forest through the ground, unlike his brethren that stood beside him. Though he struggled against the Dark inside him, he could not fight it any more than a man could slice water in half with a sword. The glyph carved into his back had become his new identity.

Kyllak
. The Ancient Dark constantly called to him by this name and he knew it to be his. It was not like his old name, the one that he was born into the Light with. He had been reborn to the Dark Mother. It was her voice—her song—he heard inside his head. Tantalizing. Irresistible. Binding. A melody simultaneously discordant and beautiful.

Kyllak had struggled mightily against them when they came for him. He thought he was safe, hidden away as he watched new Helsyans born to the Dark. He ran when they came for him, ran for the succor of the forest, for Arlethia.

Why did I do that?
he wondered.
Why did I resist?
It seemed foolish to him now as he felt the Dark rip through his body, empowering it. He had been nearly famished before his conversion, but physical hunger no longer beset him. He saw himself as no more than a child before his rebirth.
But who was I?
he continued to ask himself.
My name? What was my name? Who am I? Who
was
I?

The more he tried to grasp for this tendril of forgotten knowledge in his mind, the louder Noxmyra sang. The Song of Night whispered that he was only Kyllak and had always been. Still, he resisted.

There’s something deeper!
Images of himself as a warrior flashed in front of him and the song grew louder inside him, striving to bring his mind back to her. He felt drawn to her and repulsed at the same time. There was still something, a dim spark inside him that resisted. The Shatterer, Dralghus, could not carve out the last of it.

Arlethian!
his mind shouted.
I was an Arlethian!
More images cascaded in front of him like a kaleidoscope out of focus but he knew them to be of his former life, the one stolen from him.

“You were weak then, Kyllak. I have given you new life,” came the seducing lyrics in his mind. He saw a woman—vaguely familiar—and three small children.
My name!
he pleaded.
Cursed Heavens, what was my name!

He sank to his knees as the song became deafening and brought his hands up to cover his ears. He could give in, give up. It would be easy.

“The Dark is a kind master,” he heard her voice calling to him. “I am kind.” So soft, so mesmerizing. Full of promise of comfort and power.

Something else told him it was a lie. Who he now was, what she sang to him.

Arlethians and Helsyans were enemies, he knew. He was here to destroy the Warriors of Light, to suffocate the Lumenatis’ Influence.

Dimming Light! My name! Please!

Just before the Song of Night caressed him back into Noxmyra’s deep and soothing waters, making him forget all he once was, the name came.

Antious Roan
.

THE END OF CIRCLE OF REIGN

BOOK 1 OF THE DYING LANDS CHRONICLE