In the beginning there was only One. This One wasn’t time, not space, light or darkness, neither good nor evil. This One was Ara, so called in Empira, the language of the ancients – ‘What creates’. No words can describe this One. Since no time existed, there was no beginning, and there will be no end. Time itself is transient, as Ara created it. Ara is the force, the energy, which create all things. Only allegory can describe this being.

According to the gospel of Ethesia, Ara is a heart. The blood running out of this heart each time it beats shapes our world. Four times has this heart beaten until our time. The first beat laid the foundations of Time (Ana), the invisible and untouchable arches under which everything else takes shape. The second beat built Space (Esa), the visible and touchable walls and floors. Ara created Ana and Esa as manifestations of itself, but also separated them, like the rays of the sun and the sides of the sphere. They are one, but still not.

But still there was nothing inside the Hall of Time and Space. It was absolutely empty, pure and unspoilt. Not even darkness filled this hall since the creation of light had not yet taken place. But when Ara’s heart beat for the third time, the Eternal Fire was created, the source of all life that can be seen, heard, smelled or felt. Ara blessed the fire and named her Ela. Ela was Ara, as pure as One itself, but visible, audible, perceptible, a materialization of Ara which our senses could comprehend.

One demanded Ela to dance. And Ela danced. She danced like innumerable auroras through the great Hall and the embers left behind her became a world called Sira – Paradise. Then Ela entered her world. She took the remaining embers and shaped statues of creatures with them, ten times ten times ten statues she made. She placed them in a row, then split herself into ten times ten times ten parts which filled these statues, these shells, with fire and gave them life. These creatures became Avatara – ‘Those who came down’. At that very moment Ela gave life to the Avatara, the Eternal Fire seized to exist in its pure form. Ela became Avatara, individuals, beings which created their own ideals and opinions. With their thoughts the Avatara could shape their lives, their assets, even their own fires and souls. Uniformity became diversity.

The world of the Avatara remained pleasant and peaceful throughout the First Age, the length of which only those who lived through it truly knows. But peace was not to endure forever. As time paced, differences between the Avatara were more and more evident. Soon the Avatara split into two different fractions, each one fundamentally separated from the other in terms of moral and theory of life. With time hate grew in between. Eventually, differences became so elementary Flame itself changed color and shape. One nature of Ela became Yahela, the Hot Fire, golden yellow. The other became Suezela, the Cold Fire, blue as frost on a pine tree.

So came Tar-Sur, the first Grand War of the Avatara. It was greater than any word we have to describe greatness. The powers let loose were so huge much of the world that was Sira was destroyed and drifted into the Great Nothing. But the battles continued, and it wasn’t until Ara itself intervened that the First War ended. The One saw the wounds on his world that the Avatara had caused. Sira itself was about to collapse, as the very foundations of Ana and Esa were damaged and threatened to crumble. And so came the fourth beat of Ara’s heart.

This time a wind blew through Sira. It was a tearing wind; it ripped apart all light. It was a crushing wind, shattering the walls of darkness. It was an invincible wind. The Avatara who were not killed by this event – which later was named Aracelaci, the Cleaning – threw their weapons on the ground and fell on their knees to this all-powerful wind. They expected nothing but obliteration.

But the wind that was Ara was also a merciful wind. Ara did not obliterate its children. It decided to let them divide and conquer as much as they sought, but only within the boundaries of Ana and Esa. They were never allowed to touch the pillars of Time and Space, the very first things One created. The verdict of Ara was Law; it was the Father of all Light, and all power rested in its hands. But it was also a good Father, and good fathers let their children live free as long as they follow the rules of the father.

The remaining Avatara swore to obey the words of Ara. Then Ara left this world and the Avatara to fight their earthly wars, but before it left it promised to return to Sira the day after the thousandth thousand day from Aracelaci. The Flame that ruled everything in the Hall at that time it would take, and shape when its heart beat for the fifth time. From this beat an even more magnificent world would emerge: Ura – Perfection. This Ura would then remain until the last hour of all hours was struck and gone and the Great Hall of Ana and Esa fell down.

At a ceremonious meeting in the centre of the world, the Yahelas and the Suezelas took an oath. They promised never to go outside the boundaries of the Hall until the return of Ara. The Yahelas and Suezelas came to the meeting as friends and equals, but left as bitter enemies. Ara’s last statement on Ura had spurred them to continue the fight, and neither side would rest before only one of them remained.

While wars were raging in the world of the Avatara, other things took place in other parts of Sira. Below the world of the Avatara (also known as Chila, or Sky), there was another world in the clutches of shadows called Oeos. Among the mortals this world is known as Earth.

This was the home of Amunara, the third people. They had also sprung from the creation of Ela, but not from the Eternal Flame itself. They were from the deep well of Darkness, Brothers of Shadow as they called themselves. As I’ve already told you, neither light nor shadow existed before the creation of Ela, but at the same moment Ela came to the Hall so did Shadow, Nara. Shadow is antilight, its negative mirror image and polar opposition. In the eyes of Nara, light is shadow and shadow is light.

A part of the Shadow was brought to life and became the people known as Amunara. They only answered to Ara itself and were not subordinated to light. Still, they were bound to the same oath the Avatara took and were thus forced not to touch the columns of Ana and Esa. Not that they would’ve ever had a reason to. The Amunara were peaceful and did not care for the wars of the Avatara. They were not enemies of Light but neither were they its friend. They simply had nothing to do with it. Their highest wish was to live their own life without a role in the history of Sira, but time would give them perhaps the greatest role of them all.

The two people of the Avatara created one realm each. The Yahelas called their kingdom Zaia, the Suezelas named theirs Zeta. These empires became what we refer to as Sun and Moon. The light that was ripped apart by Ara’s wind during Aracelaci became Sonos, stars, Lost Flames. The stars are no longer Avatara, they’re just light coloured by different thoughts that were thought long time ago. Thus some stars are yellow, red and warm, while others are white, blue and cold.

So came the Second War, Tar-Oro. This war lasted throughout ten thousand years. During these years, the art of warfare changed. Some Avatara used their fire to create creatures of great diversity. While this drastically weakened these Avatara, they had perhaps five or ten creatures at their command, servants with powers unimaginable by a mortal’s brain. Even if the Avatara who created them died, the creatures would live on to exact vengeance. These great beasts were called Tauroks.

Other Avatara used their fire to spawn numerous less powerful creatures – Serenta – which they flooded the enemy with. A Serenta on its own was relatively weak, but just like a million ants can kill an elephant, these beasts were powerful in combat if used wisely. If a Serenta died, its fire would return to the Avatara again for him or her to spawn a new one.

The Suezela had some initial success during Tar-Oro, such as conquering the great Yahela warrior Drachurim at the Clash of Amastris. But soon thereafter, internal conflicts among the Suezelas allowed the Golden Fire to strike back on its cold foe. Some great battles were fought on the frontiers of Zeta, almost all won by the Yahelas. Witnessing the decline of their empire, some of the Suezelas converted to Yahela, adding to the desperation that plagued Zeta.

At last Zeta was overrun and levelled with the ground. This became the end of Tar-Oro. But it was not the end of the Suezelas.

The remaining members of the Cold Fire separated and fled to different locations across all of Sira, constanly pursued by Yahelas. Some where caught and killed but most survived. These were people who refused to let their fire die and be forgotten, and although they would have to wait many years, the day when Suezela would rise from the ashes of Zeta would come – sooner or later.

So came the beginning of a long period of peace and cultural prosperity. The Yahelas continued building their empire and Zaia became more beautiful than ever. But the Sun wasn’t without its spots. After the end of Tar-Oro, the Suezelas who converted to Yahela and fought alongside the Golden Fire were persecuted, prosecuted and executed. In the opinion of the ruling Yahelas, these Suezelas had nothing to offer Zeta since they were and would always remain children of the Cold Fire in their hearts. True or not, all Suezelas in Zaia were killed on the ninety-ninth anniversary of Zeta’s invasion. Never before had so many Flames been dispelled as on that fatal day.

Many years would pass until these news reached the Suezelas in exile.

[This message has been edited by Oliver (edited 06-23-2006 @ 05:00 AM).]

But the news would eventually reach them, and incite terrible fury in the hearts of the exiled Suezelas. All called for action – that is, all but one. His name was Ashita Kageera, known for his bravery and short temper. His heroic deeds during Tar-Sur and especially Tar-Oro were legendary, as was his evil deeds. He slaughtered his first-born, Ashita Krotara, with his own sword during the successful siege of the Emenha Stronghold, a Yahelan castle situated not far from the Golden Gate of Zaia. The son were one of the first who had deserted his roots and joined the Yahela. None close to Ashita dared to follow the path of Krotara after this event.

Ashita abhorred the Suezelas who had converted to Yahela, and he did not weep a tear when the news of the massacre on them reached his ear. “These Suezelas do not deserve to be called martyrs”, he said. “Traitors is still the word I prefer. We should wait for better days and not let fury lead us towards the dangerous path of hasty decisions.” But he soon learned that the other Suezelas did not share his point of view, and Ashita was given the cold shoulder. This infuriated Kageera. While the others secretly met at the darker corners of Sira actively preparing for the Day of Revenge, Ashita prepared a plan of his own.

Many lonely days and nights did Ashita Kageera spend in his hidden tower on the borderline to the Great Nothing. Kageera, being one of few true masters of Serentan warfare, was troubled by a question: Since an Avatara could by nature reclaim the Flame of a fallen Serenta, could he also teach himself to capture the Flames of more powerful creatures, maybe even other Avatara? Until that time, no Avatara had recaptured the soul of a dead Taurok, but maybe one could be taught to? Ashita knew that if he could learn this ability, he could also learn to absorb the fires of other Suezelas - and become more powerful than any Avatara before him.

Ashita experimented and exercised. Each night he spent creating monsters, killing them right away and absorbing their fire, only so he could recreate them again. As he had foreseen, the more powerful creatures he shaped, the harder it was to reabsorb them. But Kageera kept practising, and finally he was able to shape full-blooded Tauroks, slay them and recapture their fire without the slightest trouble. However, this was not enough to satisfy him.

Ashita’s wife observed with growing alarm the progress of her husband. His newly gained power seemed to twist his mind into doing acts even more terrible than any he had performed before. She implored him to stop these devilish experiments before they mislead him into doing something terrible, but Ashita refused to listen. He was obsessed with the thought of becoming the most powerful Avatara this world had seen, and listened not to the voice of his frightened wife. Everything she feared could happen became reality one bleak winter’s morning when Ashita came down to her room, a smile on his thin lips and a fire unheard-of in his eyes. He slew her that morning with his cold blade. One mighty blow was enough to decapitate her.

But why would he do such a dreadful thing? The answer was simple, but repulsive. When Ashita had mastered assimilation of creatures he summoned with his own fire, it was time to move on. He needed to know if he was able to capture the Flames of other Avataras. He would have to sacrifice someone “for the good of the research”. This ‘someone’ became his wife. So Ashita killed her, a cold-blooded, vicious act - but successful. Ashita managed to catch her fire before it was dispelled, although it required much of his own power. He passed out and remained unconscious for two weeks, but when he woke up he was twice as powerful as before, having completely assimilated the soul of his wife.

Ashita laughed. It was time for Phase Two.

Meanwhile disputes were frequent among the other exiled Suezelas. Although all agreed that they had to bring justice upon those who let the massacre in Zaia happen, most were of the opinion that it was still too early to strike on the Yahelas. These were mostly lower-rank Suezelas who in some cases had not even seen the days of the First Age, but they were far more numerous than those ten higher-rank Suezelas who claimed the time to strike was now. These ten Avatara were, together with Ashita Kageera, the only remaining Suezelas who derived their origin from the Eternal Flame itself. They called themselves Hiranaya, “the Eldest”, and usually what they said all others listened to. Usually. This time the Hiranaya failed to gain support from the other Suezelas. Although this enraged the Ten, the decision of the other Suezelas could not be ignored. The Hiranaya now knew that their planned full-scale invasion on Zaia was unfeasible, and so they had to redo their plan into something they could carry out on their own.

Their new plan was to strike in the heart of Zaia and kill the Yahelan Emperor, Antarioz. They weren’t many – The Hiranayas themselves, and their Tauroks and Serentas – but they were strong, far stronger than any Yahelan would’ve imagined. In the darkness they had reforged their broken blades, shattered shields had been mended, their spirit relight. The exiles chose wisely their moment to attack, when the Citadel of the Sun was unguarded and the Emperor alone with only his Tauroks for protection. They had built vessels which glided through air like eagles, and which these they arrived to Zaia sheltered by golden rain clouds. They took the Citadel and the Tower of Menos in twenty minutes. The Emperor’s creatures fought bravely that day but could not withstand the tide of the Ten. The Suezelas slew them all. It seemed like their plan was about to succeed. Now none stood between them and the Yahelan Emperor. None but one.

Day of Terror. That was what it would be remembered as. A Day of Terror for the Hiranaya. They walked with confidence towards the hall of the Emperor, but stopped abruptly the moment they saw he who stood in front of it. “You will not go past this door”, he said. “And you will not find a reason to. Antarioz is dead. His blood stains my sword.”

“Who are you?”, the Suezelas asked. The stranger slowly lifted up his head, his face covered by the shadow of a hood. A moment of silence passed. Then he laughed. It was a terrible laugh which went like a frigid wind through their ears. “Come and find out”, he said. And they came. All at the same time. Shouting their warcries. Their swords and pikes pointing towards the ceiling to deliver the fatal blow. But all their warcries drowned in that terrible laughter which echoed again and again throughout the corridor.

He killed all of them. The precision in his movement lacked any sign of humanity. It was the emotionless work of a surgeon. It took not more than two minutes. Once they all lay dead at his feet he laughed again and unveiled his face. He watched the souls of the dead Avatara rose from the corpses. They aimed for the windows, but in vain, because he had already started to sing his song.

It is not well-known in the world of mortals that ‘magic’, as they call everything that involves the active use of one’s possession of fire, is mostly summoned and controlled by singing certain songs in the Empira language. Even the Avatara themselves use this technique. Different songs summon different kinds of magic, but the golden rule is the more powerful the magic, the longer and more difficult the song. Not everyone can sing all songs, a mortal cannot sing the chants of the Avatara. The fire has a life of its own and do not listen to those who are not meant to use it. Only the mightiest can invent new songs, and even they have to practice long time before the fire will fully listen to them.

Ashita Kageea had invented a song of his own. He called it the Hymn of Blazes, and it was this song he sang when he killed the Ten. The crystal clear tones of his voice caught mercilessly their fires and forced them to gather around him. The light surrounded him, danced like a thousand stars in concert with his voice. Then the stopped singing. Everything was silent for a while. The Flames stood still like frozen in time. And so he said: “Namath!” It was the last word of the song.

As if that particular word was the final spark that set the gunpowder alight, a unimaginable deep rumble filled the hallway and shook it like ten earthquakes combined. An instant later the Flames rushed towards Ashita Kageera and penetrated his body. He screamed, overwhelmed by great pain, and felt like being combusted from the inside of his body. Then he keeled over. For thirty days and thirty night he remained unconscious. Nevertheless, his plan had gone well and he had successfully assimilated the Flames of the Ten. He was now the very last Suezelan Hiranaya. But he was more than that. Much more. And he knew it.

Finally he woke up. The light dazzled him, he heard blurry voices but could not grasp any words. But eventually his eyes got used to the bright light. He found himself surrounded by Yahelas, observing him as if he was some strange beast from the wilderness. He tried to move, but failed. His hands and feet were tied together by a flaming rope, thick as a sixteen-foot javelin. He looked up and grinned. The Yahelas took a step backwards as if they had seen blood on the sharp teeth of a dragon. All but one, who stood as fast as a piece of granite. Ashita recognised him; it was Eskaioz, son of Antarioz, the Emperor. The dead Emperor. Ashita grinned again.

Eskaioz considered the grin an insult. He paced quickly towards Kageera and slapped him firmly. Ashita felt nothing, as if he was made of stone. “Murderer!” Eskaioz yelled. ”You killed my father!” Ashita laughed as an answer, so Eskaioz kicked him. Once again Kageera felt nothing, but judging from the look of Eskaioz’ face, he did. The Yahelan grumbled, turned away and said: “Execute him. I never want to see the man again.”

“Do your worst”, was Ashita’s only response.

Maybe the Yahelans should have suspected something already then. We will probably never know the answer why they didn’t although they found him lying unharmed in the midst of a circle of Suezelan corpses, although he so boldly provoked Eskaioz and encouraged them to use ‘whatever powers necessary’ to kill him. All we know is what really happened.

Afterwards all was silent. Except for that laughter, Ashita’s laughter. Oh, how he laughed! His thunderous voice shook the carcasses of the dead Yahelas that lay all around him. “Fools!” he hissed. “You dared to challenge my powers and paid the price! You cannot kill me, you will never kill me! Mortals may kill themselves and no others, Avatara may kill themselves and mortals, but I may kill anyone and be killed by noone. Fools, you are! I am no longer an Avatara. I am above the Avatara. I am above all!” And with those words he turned his back towards the dead Yahelas and left Zaia. The time had come to reassemble the broken empire of the Moon.

[This message has been edited by Oliver (edited 06-23-2006 @ 04:59 AM).]

However, the exiles didn’t know how to welcome back their new, self-appointed Emperor. They all knew what kind of a personality Ashita had – intolerant, irascible, impulsive and most of all: power-hungry. Now that all the other Hiranaya were gone, there was none left strong enough to challenge Ashita. The remaining lower-rank Suezelas feared Kageera would slay them and grab their souls to become a man of even greater power if they questioned his leadership. In the end they did the only thing they could do: praised Kageera, praised him as the new and rightful Emperor of Zeta. They all gathered around him and so began the long journey home.

The Yahelas did everything to prevent their enemies from reaching Zeta. They surrounded the marching Suezelas and unleashed all their devastating powers, but the mighty Ashita Kageera watched over his people and repelled the attack with a laugh. He made the Yahelan hurricane feel like a gentle summer’s breeze, but when he launched his counterattack it took forty great Yahelas to hold it back with much difficulty. The Suezelas reached the ruined land of Zeta unharmed, and the Yahelas could do nothing to prevent them from reclaiming the Moon.

There was one thing though that irritated Ashita; Eskaioz, Antarioz son, had survived. He was severely injured, yes, but not dead. Beneath Ashita’s irritation dwelled fear, fear of not being the omnipotent overgod he thought he was. He started to doubt. The encounter with the Yahelas at the Citadel of the Sun had convinced him that no weapon, no matter if crafted by Avatara or mortals, could hurt him – that is, no weapon yet created. What if it was created, this weapon that could deliver to him the lethal blow? The thought made him shiver. He could not let that happen!

The restoration of the ruined fortresses and cities all over Zeta progressed with swiftness. Messengers were sent out all across Sira to find the remaining exiles, Suezelas who had taken refuge so far away from Zaia, Oeos and Zeta they had maintained little or no contact with anyone for decades. All were asked to answer Ashita’s call. Some refused to comply – we’ve had enough of war and death, they said. These were either killed or driven away into the Great Unknown. Tolerance was not one of the Emperor’s strongest gifts.

The Yahelas watched the chain of events with frustrated eyes. They could do nothing but wait for the attack that would eventually come and shatter their beautiful world. At first they tried to attack the Suezelas at places were Ashita wasn’t present at the moment, only to realise the Suezelan Emperor used most of his power to maintain an invisible but impenetrable barrier of Fire which surrounded Zeta. No Yahelan could pass through this wall without the use of violence, but if one did he would alert Ashita who would immediately come to his people’s aid. No, the only thing the Yahelas could do was to prepare their own defences, awaiting the storm that would come. But not even in their darkest dreams could they imagine a storm as destructive as the one Ashita was preparing to unleash.

While the Yahelas shivered behind their walls, Ashita Kageera became increasingly paranoid. He started to distrust the generals, advisors and consuls around him and secretly assassinated some. When their death was brought to public attention he blamed the Yahelas, but everyone knew he was responsible, seeing as he if anyone would notice if a Yahelan breached the barrier of Fire. The only one Kageera truly trusted was his second son, Ashita Karuto, who fanatically admired his father, even though he knew he was responsible of his mother’s death. Rumour had it that Kageera had brain-wash him rather than killing him along with the others, as he was “useful enough to spare”. True, Karuto had inherited several characteristics from Kageera, such as being a natural-born leader and warrior and a short-tempered tyrant, but many were certain Kageera would kill even him one day when his megalomania had gone too far.

Finally it came, the true Day of Revenge. A huge army left Zeta. All the remaining Suezelan Avatara together with fourteen dozens of Tauroks and hundreds of thousands of Serentas. Although the Suezelas were much fewer now than before Tar-Oro, they had never been so strong in spirit and thought. And although many of them disliked the reign of Ashita Kageera, they all agreed that he was the kind of leader they needed if they wanted not just to break the Yahelas, but to eradicate them. This was all Ashita had in his mind this day. It was time now, time for Revenge.

This army walked through the abandoned lands of outer Zaia. There was hardly any life left there – all had fled to the Citadel of the Sun – and if there were the Suezelas killed it. They sound of marching feet could be heard miles and miles ahead, the ground shake with every step of the Tauroks. But strangely enough none of the Yahelan scouts who observed the march of the Suezelas caught even the slightest glimpse of Ashita himself. Where was this dictator? At least he wasn’t here, with his army. The Yahelas were confused, but their hearts were also filled with foolish confidence that they would have to pay dearly for the next day.

The army made camp two miles from the Citadel. The stone walls, shimmering as if made of pure silver, were so tall and thick they appeared to be more impregnable than the mountain chain surrounding the Valley of the Sun. But this didn’t discourage the Suezelas; they smiled and pointed at the wall, then laughed as if it was made of sand. Ashita Karuto were the one in charge – there was still no sight of Kageera.

At last they began to line up their troops. It was indeed a huge army, but Eskaioz, now the new Emperor of Zaia, wasn’t afraid of the army itself. In fact he commanded a greater army in terms of numbers, as more Yahelas than Suezelas had survived Tar-Oro. He was confident this Suezelan army would never breach the walls of the Citadel, and even if they did they wouldn’t stand a chance against his men. If it wasn’t for one single thing, he would instantly order his troops to rush out of the fortress and crush the Suezelan army at the spot. This one thing, this one person, was of course Ashita Kageera.

But where were this man, this legend, this ‘Overgod’ as he entitled himself? He was certainly not present on the battlefield; a man of such power and character would be impossible not to notice. Indecision plagued Eskaioz. His men called for action (“Let’s run over these fools right now!”) but he hesitated. Last time he had acted thoughtlessly and impulsively he had almost got himself killed. He was not going to make another mistake, and certainly not underestimate his opponent.

Then suddenly, the Suezelan army began to disband! The lines split and the troops headed back towards the camp. The Yahelans didn’t understand why their enemy had so gutlessly retreated from the battlefield. All they understood was that their foes had their backs turned against them and that this was the ideal moment for a counterattack. Eskaioz refused to let anyone leave the Citadel. He feared a stratagem. None listened to him, some even accused him of being a coward, and so the generals ignored his orders and took command of the army themselves.

The gates were opened and the Yahelas and their Serentas and Tauroks stormed out. They rushed towards the the Suezelas like a tidal wave, ready to strike them down with unimaginable force. But half a mile from from the rear end of the disbanding army the Suezelans turned around, howled their warcries and charged. The sudden moral change took the Yahelas with surprise and they instinctively slowed down for a fraction of a second. Now they also saw the strange, cerulean glow that surrounded each Suezelan and his servants, and it filled them with doubt. The moment before the two armies collided a terrible laugh echoed through space. Eskaioz – alone in his Citadel with only a few loyal Avatara at his disposal – shook his head. He remembered that laugh. He remembered it far too well.

[This message has been edited by Oliver (edited 06-23-2006 @ 05:00 AM).]

What in this world can be measured – and what cannot? Death can be measured. As many as one thousand Yahelas were killed at the Battle of the Citadel, the Suezelans only lost a tenth of that. The corpses of hundreds of thousands of Serentas lay everywhere. Here and there were the colossal remnants of Tauroks, monoliths standing as reminders of the conceit that brought their lords to their knees. All this was measurable. The extent of the defeat, the impact it had on Zaia, the change of the power balance… all that was… immeasurable.

Many days after this crushing defeat, the remaining Yahelas learned the secret, the secret of the blue fire that had surrounded the Suezelas and their servants. Obviously they already knew the effect of it; it was a protective shield, a shell that couldn’t be penetrated by the weapons of Tauroks and Serentas, thus making them obsolete. Only an Avatara could cut through this armour, but only with much difficulty. Although the Yahelas were more numerous than the Suezelas, they also had to battle the Suezelas’ soul creatures without the aid of their own. Thus they were quickly overrun. Most didn’t have the time to escape back to the Citadel. But the secret, the source of this new armour, wasn’t known to the Yahelas for a long time.

The following years the Yahelas lived in fear. They had to abandon their homes, abandon Zaia, leave for the outer territories of the known world where they hid and remained silent. Ironically some found the old homes of the exiled Suezelas and used them. Seldom were they given a chance to fight back. The few times Ashita Karuto weren’t there in person to repel their attacks, the Cerulean Shell was there instead. The Yahelans forged new weapons better suited to penetrate the shell, but the shell itself seemed to grow stronger everyday. They had to realise they couldn’t fight this new witchcraft – they had to fight the source of it.

The source was of course Ashita Kageera. They knew he was, they just knew. Who else could bring this new weapon to the Suezelas? He must’ve paid a high price to gain it. What had he paid? Who was the merchant? The Amunara? Unlikely. The Nara take care of themselves and ignore the rest. They have never made business with the Avatara and never will. Some other unknown people? Also unlikely. There were none, at least as far as the Avatara knew.

Slowly the Yahelas realised Kageera were both the seller and the buyer. He had sacrificed his immortality, perhaps even his eternal life, to share his Fire with his people. The people couldn’t assimilate his fire, though. First, they didn’t know how to, only Ashita had the gift of absorbing the fire of others. Second, Ashita didn’t want them to. This was his fire, and although they were allowed to benefit from it while he was vulnerable, he could take it back at any given moment. Instead of merging with the people's own souls, Ashita's fire surrounded them as a protective shield, a chain mail on top of their own fire. The Cerulean Shell.

This was, however, only a theory and nothing more. The Yahelas didn’t know if it was the truth, they just felt so. There was only one way to find out: to confront Ashita. If he was as weak as predicted, they could also kill him. It sounded easy, but wasn’t of course. They all knew of Kageera’s paranoia. He wouldn’t give anyone an ounce of his fire if he wasn’t completely convinced that it was impossible to use this fire against him or for an outsider to come close enough to wound him. Something protected Ashita Kageera. It could be a spell unheard-of, perhaps some kind of talisman. Or maybe it was someone rather than something. Karuto, his son, worshipped his father and would trade his life for Kageera’s. Or maybe it was both. None knew. But the future of the Yahelas depended on Ashita Kageera. If he died, they would live. If not, they would die instead.

The leading Yahelas discussed the matter for months but could not agree. Some called for instant action, while others sought to await more information. Most didn’t know what they wanted. There was even disagreements within these groups. The time when unity was needed the most was the time when it wasn’t present at all. Eskaioz saw his people being ripped apart not only by the Suezelas, but also by themselves. And so he turned a deaf ear to the others and began to act on his own.

Eskaioz left the world of the Avatara, disappeared without a trace. All he left was a short note, in which he entrusted his title as Emperor of the Yahelas to his nephew, Torgaroz. The general opinion was that he had simply fled, incapable of carrying this war on his shoulders any longer. He and his family lost the respect of nearly all remaining Yahelas. However, supported by Zaia’s ancient laws of succession to the throne, the people had to accept Torgaroz as their new Emperor. Two months later he was murdered.

Eskaioz went to Oeos, World of Shadow, home of the Amunara. He came to this world, felt solid ground beneath his feet, but saw nothing. All that surrounded him was darkness. The more he used his light to brighten the space around him, the less he saw. Not a word was spoken, not even a murmuring breeze. He was enclosed by an eternal night that appeared to swallow every sound, every movement, every single manifestation of life. Oeos was a world of death, but not terrifying death with blood and agony. This was death as in oblivion, vacuum.

But something dwelled here. Someone. Eskaioz knew that. His senses weren’t made to see darkness the way they saw light. He knew the world of Amunara was completely different from ours. In this world, we think of a rock as dead and a bird as alive. But what is life? Matter with the ability to reproduce? A rock cannot reproduce, but it can change, alter. The rock becomes sand, sand becomes soil, soil becomes plants and back again, from plants to soil to sand to rock. Is that another kind of life, transformation? Probably. There is energy involved. If the rock was stripped all it’s energy and placed in a completely static universe, the rock would remain static too until the end of time and beyond. This energy, what is it? In our world it’s light, fire. Maybe it is darkness and shadow in the world of the Amunara. Where life isn’t a matter of reproduction, but transformation.

Eskaioz shook his head. He disliked such existential thinking, but nonetheless he had to contact the Amunara, and to do so he had to know how they communicated, and essentially how the lived. Everything the Avatara knew about the Amunara had they received from Ara itself via Ela and the wisdom it was born with. No-one had ever talked to a Brother of Shadow, not even seen one. They knew they existed – sometimes they thought they could feel their presence – but that was also all. Most would say Eskaioz was mad who thought he could receive help from these mysterious creatures. But Eskaioz was not mad. He was filled with determination and carried a conviction larger than life itself. That before his departure from Oeos, the tide would have turned to his favour.

Eskaioz decided the only thing he could do was to wait. The Nara had surely noticed his presence and come to the conclusion that he wanted to speak with them. If anything they would be more likely to be able to contact him than the opposite, this being their realm and home. So he waited. He waited one day, then another, then yet another, until he had finally lost track of how many. He spent his days singing songs in Empira, composing poetry and practicing with his blade. The thought of what would be his fate if the Naras never chose to contact him caused him deep melancholy at some occasions, but after some time he made peace with his mind. Why bother playing with the thought of returning when he had nothing to return to? All had he lost, but on the other hand he had everything to win.

He began to wander the vast fields of Oeos, exploring what first seemed to be a place as dead as infinity itself. However, he swiftly noticed that Oeos wasn’t as dead as a first glance could tell. The places he visited changed slowly over time; transformed actually. A rock could’ve moved a bit to the right, a cliff could’ve lost a piece of its shoulder, all without the slightest trace of outer influence. Whether it was just his minds playing tricks with him, fueled by the paranoia that follows with utter loneliness, or if there was actually some strange kind of action going on in this land remained unanswered.

Eskaioz used his fire to light up and reveal the lands he traveled. Early on he preferred to light up as much as possible of the surroundings, giving him a wide perspective of the environment. But as time increased he found himself using less and less fire, as he slowly realized that the true nature of Oeos only appeared in darkness. His eyes adapted to this lightless location, and sometimes he could even walk the earth in complete darkness, still being able to pass cliffs, rocks and sharp corners with ease.

But one day when he walked a path he had never walked before he got an alarming feeling. Something wasn’t right. Was someone watching him? Following him? Instinctively he let a spark of fire come to life in his left hand and the next moment the whole valley bathed in golden light. No, not the whole valley. One spot of darkness occupied part of the land only a few meters from where he stood. He could see how sparks of light constantly tried and failed to penetrate the black wall. It stood out like a hole in his vision, as if someone with a sharp dagger had cut a wound in reality and left a gate open to another dimension, something untouchable, unobtainable.

Suddenly the spot moved. Something grew (or evolved?) from its right side. It stretched out into thin air as it slowly gained shape. After a while Eskaioz saw what shape it tried to take. An open palm aimed at the sky, a sign. “I am friendly.”

Intuitively Eskaioz raised his hand to a similar gesture; he was surprised by his own action, as if he’d done it without thinking. He had no idea what kind of a creature it was that blocked his path, but he had already given it the gesture of friendship. He watched as the process that formed the creature’s hand reversed. The next moment there was no hand anymore, just that big crack in the wireframe of Space. What now? Eskaioz thought.

The creature changed shape again, now by splitting itself into thousands of tiny speckles. They floated around in the sky like oil in water, refusing to be subordinated the light. The speckles danced randomly across the horizon for a while, then assembled into the shape of a hand again. But this hand was a hundred times larger than the previous, covering more than half of the sky. The hand began to rhythmically open and close. Open palm to closed fist, to open palm and back again. It did so for about a minute, then it freeze in the closed fist position. “It has sent its message”, Eskaioz thought. “Now it’s waiting for my response.”

First he had no clue what to make of the message. His initial reaction was fear; the open palm that changed into a closed fist was a sign of aggressiveness, of violence and combat. But when he happened to glance at his own left hand he suddenly realized what the creature really wanted. The light in your hand. Close it. Rid the light.

At this point Eskaioz was sure he had finally encountered one of the Nara. He knew that if he wanted to gain their confidence in him, he had to prove himself friendly and cooperative. So he closed his fist. The light went away and everything turned dark. But it was in the darkness that Eskaioz eyes finally could see.