Shadowguard
Prologue

Sixth of Highsun, Year 1410 After Great Cataclysm

Shroud reigned eternal.

Arys repeated that mantra as she lifted the burning incense towards the censors hanging from the ceiling. There were three, each fashioned from gleaming black metal twisted into the shape of a thorned crown, around which a venomous snake coiled. The snakes' eyes, set with two fine rubies each, bore into her as she placed the joss sticks in the narrow troughs carved into sides of the censors. Upon placing the last joss stick, the thin ribbons of smoke bent towards the snakes' heads. The tendrils forked, much like the tongues protruding from the gaping maw of the creatures over which they linger, before they vanished inside the rubies.

The eyes glowed, at first softly, then with blinding intensity.

With all three censors lit, Arys gathered the flowing sleeves of her dark robes and retreated to the base of the dais, where an altar of black marble sat. She surveyed the ensemble atop, noting the position of each item. A sash of deep crimson, dyed in sacrificial blood, blanketed the top of the altar. Black candles, etched with a series of jagged red runes, stood on either side of the sash. In the center of them sat the offering: a black pearl ground to the finest of powders mixed with the blood of the innocent.

Upon ensuring she placed each piece correctly, as imperfection would not stand, she lowered herself to her knees.

The altar stood in the center of a circular sanctum. Black marble columns, veined with glowing red, rose from the floor to meet the domed roof overhead. In the walls between the columns, effigies of the Primordial One sat inside arched alcoves framed with shimmering silk curtains. Orderly runes encircled the marbled floor beneath the dais. They, too, glowed red, thrumming with power enough to saturate the air. She felt the magic deep in her bones, the whisper of its touch against her skin.

Everything was as it should be, and she took great comfort in that knowledge.

Shroud reigned eternal, but some within the Order doubted such. Heretics, — ignorant and faithless in their sacrilegious beliefs. The Primordial One was eternal, more so than the traitorous gods who stripped him of his rule and banished him to the deepest layers of the realms. Even they did not have the power to end him. To insinuate that his undoing would be of mortal design was utter blasphemy.

With that thought in mind, Arys placed her hands upon the lines etched into the floor. A brilliant burst of magic shot through the runes, trailing up over the dais and then onto the altar. Then she waited.

To speak with an Attendant of the Primordial One was an honor few received. They did not waste their time with the useless vermin that cluttered the once-revered ranks of their order. Thieves and beggars — lowly riffraff with no loyalties to speak of and no reverence for their exalted god. They came not for the glory of the cause, but for personal gain, as if Shroud was nothing more than a black guild perched on the streets of a derelict city.

Though treacherous as they were, they had their use. It was for that reason she tolerated their presence, if only just.

The air of the chamber turned frigid, heralding the Attendant's arrival. Smoke, as black and dark as shadow, rose from the offering, the tendrils lashing about like violent flames. The mass congealed, shifting from slithering wisps to dense clouds. Glowing eyes, much like burning cinders, appeared near the top of the swirling gloom, and the Attendant took form.

"Why have you disturbed me, Seer?" the Attendant asked, its voice disembodied. It echoed through both the chamber and her skull, disjointed and without a source, as if he were everywhere but nowhere all at once.

"Forgive me, Attendant," Arys said, inclining her head with deference. "I have tried to soothe his worries, but Cairell insists upon assurance. There have been rumors as of late, preposterous as they are, that Shroud may not be as ‘eternal’ as some believe." Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The Attendant laughed. It was an unpleasant sound that sent a shiver down her spine and left her ears begging for silence. There was no comparison; it was a noise worse than even the shrieking of chalk or grinding metal. It echoed both inside her head and through the chamber, compounding with each reverberation and growing louder before it tapered out and a moment of blissful silence reigned.

"Foolish mortal," the Attendant said, and though his voice carried no tonality, she felt the stinging bite within each word he spoke. "The only thing truly eternal is the Primordial One."

"And so long as he reigns, so too does Shroud," Arys replied.

"Shroud is nothing more than a mortal creation. One His Excellency has lost much faith in, as you've failed, time and time again, to serve your purpose."

Arys swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. This was not at all what she expected to hear. "There have been setbacks, but no longer. Fate has ordained—"

"Fate," the Attendant said as if the very word offended him. "You mortals speak of fate and destiny as if they're more than delusions. There is no greater meaning in your bleak and miserable existence. In your misplaced arrogance, you forget you are nothing and that you will always be an insignificant speck in the shadow of the Primordial One's greatness."

Arys drew in a breath, steeling her nerves. To argue with the Attendant would get her nowhere; he was beyond mortal comprehension — a being that had lived for eons and would remain for many more. He knew what she could never hope to understand.

"With all due respect, Attendant," she began, choosing her words with care. "Shroud cannot fall before we've served our purpose. I must ask for your guidance. There are those who believe Shroud, perhaps even the Primordial One himself, is at great risk. I must know the nature of this threat, so that we may see it destroyed and assure the Primordial One's return to his rightful place within the realms."

The Attendant's form shifted.

Arys expected a famed hero or a knight bearing the crest of a false god. Perhaps one of Shadowguard's rats. Since their creation by the wretched Queen Everna, they thwarted their every attempt to see the Primordial One reclaim his mantle. It was always Shadowguard.

Yet, that was not what appeared before her.

Within the ever-shifting gloom, she saw the image of a young woman. A mess of copper waves cascaded over her shoulders like roiling flames. She was small, almost delicate, and dressed in a country maiden's homespun gown. She held a spark of intelligence in her wide hazel eyes, but she was otherwise as dull as every common milkmaid.

"Shroud's undoing will be... a common girl?"

That couldn't be correct. A commoner posed the greatest threat to Shroud? She couldn't think of a more absurd insinuation.

"While fate and destiny are meaningless, there is a certain, albeit broad, path that events must follow. What you see before you is but one possibility," the Attendant declared. "Be warned, Seer. If Shroud is to fail, you will suffer the wrath of the Primordial One come your day of judgment."

"Have you no other wisdom to impart?"

The Attendant remained silent for several moments. "You would be wise to remember that while continuous, the future is ever-changing. Choose your actions with great care, as you do not know the consequences. It may be Shroud that sows the seeds of its own destruction."

In a flash of blinding light, the Attendant vanished.

Arys remained kneeling for several moments, her hands trembling as she wrung her fingers. She had hoped the Attendant would dismiss Cairell's fears and prove she was the ultimate authority on matters concerning the Primordial One as far as Shroud was concerned. She was a seer — a mortal gifted with the foresight of the gods, and the highest priestess of the order. Every iteration of Shroud's leader deferred to her; they took her word as law. Without her guidance, they would be nothing.

Then Cairell arrived clinging to his predecessor's coattails, and everything changed for the worst. She no longer received the respect she deserved despite her three hundred years of service to the Primordial One. With this recent development, she only faced further disrespect. Cairell — damn him — had been right.

Her blood boiled at the thought, but she forced her anger to aside. Her personal plight was irrelevant. At least with the answer she received, she could take pride in what she uncovered. She could leave Cairell with a pointed reminder that, without her, he would be none the wiser.

Shroud reigned eternal, and she would be the one to see to it.

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