-Grand Cathedral of Keadmon-

  -Conclave Chamber-

  “There is something we have that the Archon does not,” the High Cardinal said. “Together, we shall employ it in a last assault on our enemy before he can throw the balance of Argwyll into eternal chaos.”

  Outside the Conclave chamber, the thin veil of night was lifting, giving way to a bleached red dawn.

  And in this light, High Cardinal Remiel delivered his plan to the waiting members of this meeting, unaware of what was waiting just beneath his feet.

  “I did not think that the Grey Ones and their priests were fans of drama,” Manus the barbarian king muttered. “Show what you have, man of Kaedmon. Words are not enough.”

  “Even combined, there would be only a slim chance…” Tangeon said, his hulking shoulders sagging slightly at the thought of fighting with these puny humans against the Archon in the West. “This thing you speak of – this weapon – how do you know it can destroy him?”

  Remiel looked to Garviel beside him, taking in the sight of all of them once more before he took a deep breath and raised his head high towards the image of Krea in the stained-glass above them all.

  “Not destroy,” he said. “Neutralize.”

  The assembly leaned forward, waiting for him to finally get to the point.

  The weight of destiny is now heavy upon me, he thought as he spread his hands across the table, asking them all to join him in a group Appraisal. I must reveal our hand to our would-be allies. In doing so, I take a risk greater than any of the faith ever had. I sense your hesitation, Lord. I know you are weak. I know you have turned your face from us since we let your Lightborn die. But I now understand what we must do. I now understand why I was given the gift I was born with.

  A High Cardinal of the Church of Kaedmon was not a position that could be inherited. Every century, one was chosen – often in the immediate aftermath of an Archon’s defeat. And, at the turn of each century, in this very chamber, the light of the Lord would bestow upon the anointed a Skill that no other in all of Argwyll could possess. A skill that was meant for them and them alone.

  On the day Remiel was chosen, he had been simply a young, pale-faced boy, with only devotion in his heart and a fire in his eyes that spoke of total conviction in his Lord’s cleansing light. When he ascended the podium and felt the arms of the one true God embrace him, he came away changed. He came away with something that no one had ever seen before.

  This skill, and this skill alone, was what had allowed him to life longer, virtually unopposed, than any other High Cardinal before him. It was the most well-kept secret of Eastmarch. And it was time to bring it out into the open to gain the trust of the world.

  If we must cleanse your earth ourselves, Remiel thought as he transmitted details of the skill to them all, then let it them know. Let them see that we still carry your light within us. Let them see it…and let them tremble.

  “Behold,” he said as the table shimmered with divine light. “The ultimate weapon against this abomination!”

  System Purge (DIVINE SKILL)

  Effect: Complete System shutdown on contact with target. All Skills are wiped from the target’s mind. The User’s memory and Skills are also cleared.

  The two warriors’ eyes lit up – Manus staying quiet and reserved as he looked on the skill with almost confusion, and Tangeon gasping with bestial desire to possess it.

  “Why does your precious Kaedmon not bestow this skill upon all Argwylians?” he roared. “This Skill alone is all we need! Why use the Lightborn at all. Why –“

  “You would presume to know the mind of a God?” Garviel interrupted. “Consider: all beings of Argwyll are given this skill. From the lowest common [Urchin] to the most vaulted [Monarchs]. If that’s the case, how long before this entire world is plunged into chaos? How long before rebellion spreads across all nations and swallows us whole, plunging Argwyll into just another gaping pit of despair? We wish to save this world and preserve the order that has existed for five centuries – not lead it into further darkness.”

  “And the Archon would find it,” Manus nodded, rubbing a snake-tattoo burned into his shoulder. “If we were all equipped with this, then the Archon would just kill one human and have all the power he needed.”

  “Which is why the contingency exists,” Remiel added. “Whoever uses this Skill also suffers complete System shutdown. It is a protection Kaedmon has added to ensure that ultimate power – power that should be wielded by none other than Him – is used to correct this world and then is rejected.”

  “Which the Archon would never allow,” Garviel added. “Our reading of his tactics and mentality suggests nothing more than a power-hungry tyrant intent on swallowing this entire world. The last thing he would do is give up the chance for more power.”

  Remiel nodded, fixing his eyes on both the heretics again.

  “Whoever faces the Archon to deal this final blow must lose their mind with him.”

  The two heretics looked up at the Cardinal then, while Garviel shifted beside him, suddenly drawing his sword and dropping to one knee.

  “My Cardinal,” he said. “Again, I must tell you that the duty should be mine. Allow me to avenge my fallen Westerweald brethren. All me to sink my blade into the Archon as the Lightborn of Westerweald could not. Let me carry this burden for you.”

  Tangeon scoffed. “Humans and their ‘honor’…”

  Remiel gave his servant a wrinkled smile.

  “Rise, Garviel,” he said. “When I am gone, Argwyll will need strong men to lead it into the new age of light.”

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  The Greycloak looked up and met his Cardinal’s sunken eyes. Outside, the heavens broke, and a flash of thunder echoed through the dying night.

  Keadmon is watching, Remiel thought. He wishes to know if, like the Lightborn before me, I shall waver on the final steps of my Path.

  “No,” he said quietly. “No – the one to end this reign of terror must be me, Garviel. Kaedmon has made his choice. He asks me to pay the price that must be paid to see this world set right. I am old, and I am tired, son of Krea. I pay the price gladly.”

  The other two warriors looked to eachother before Tangeon banged a bulky fist on the table.

  “We are not here to watch this play unfold, are we?” he roared. “Why have we been brought to see this? You do not intend to share this doomsday Skill with us. So, why are we here?”

  “Because we cannot reach the Archon alone,” Remiel said. “And because we require certain intelligence that escapes us.”

  Remiel’s eyes flew to Manus at this point. Surprisingly, the heretic human faced him right back, straightened and calm.

  “You wish to know where he is going.”

  Both Remiel and Garviel tried not to show their anticipation.

  “…yes,” Manus continued quietly. “I have heard whispers from the animals of Westerweald. The wolves of the Ashfalls, always seeking freedom, have heard that the Archon is bound for an Island to the far north, one shrouded in mist and craggy rocks. Why he wishes to find this place they don’t say.”

  This time, both devotees of Kaedmon attempted to hide their panic.

  Then it is as we feared…Remiel thought. He knows of the Cradle…

  “We must act now,” Garviel grunted. “If we hurry, we can head him off at Mistborne. I can rally a detachment and be there in a fortnight.”

  “To reach him, we shall need more than the Greycloaks we have,” Remiel added reservedly. “Manus of the Hinterlands, Tangeon of the Giants – you have seen what humanity has been reduced to. You bear we devotees of Kaedmon no love. But I ask you both, as two beings with more power than anyone left on this earth, to join us for the final battle for all of Argwyll.”

  The giant and man glanced at one another. Their expressions, now, were not hateful – though they weren’t exactly trusting either.

  “We have one chance,” he said. “Will you stand with us?”

  …

  -Cathedral Undercroft-

  The smile of the Shepard finally left his face.

  “…so, that's it,” he said with an oddly weary sigh. “A pity. For them to come so close and yet still be so far from the answer. I thought that, maybe...”

  Langley watched in mute fascination as the Shepard squared his shoulders, drew back his hood, and gave a long stretch. It seemed to him - he couldn't say exactly why - that the Shepard was conferring with someone else in this moment.

  He could hear the rumblings of the voices above as they conferred further – both Tangeon and Manus demanding benefits in the wake of their victory. All the while not knowing what was about to happen.

  To let them dream of a future that would never be…was that cruel? Or was that justice?

  So preoccupied was he in such thoughts that he didn’t even register the Shepard’s crooked staff bumping into his chest.

  He looked up to see that he was being offered the stave.

  “A memento of the time we shared,” the Shepard said. “And of the talks we had in the night. They often say that to defeat your enemy you have to know your enemy. But in knowing my foe, I didn’t expect to find a friend.”

  Langley looked at him with what must have been an expression of considerable unease. Because next he asked,

  “You have your doubts about me, too, don’t you?”

  Langley took a breath. He knew he couldn’t lie. Not to him.

  He nodded.

  “That’s natural,” the Shepard said. “I’d be a hypocrite if I told you to just blindly believe in what I’m offering. But you know I’ve got to ask you what it is that troubles you?”

  Above, the voices of the Conclave were heightened. It seemed an agreement was being reached between all parties.

  And Langley felt something else – a kind of loosening. Like an invisible knot around the city being slowly unraveled.

  He knew what that meant – their time was up.

  “Kaedmon, for all his faults, has given us security and certainty,” he said quickly, though quietly, as though speaking the words would mean instant obliteration. “The system of the Paths is not perfect. But no system is. I fear – I am apprehensive – about what new world could possibly exist without them. There will always be difference. There will always be conflict. Without a role that is clearly defined for all, there is part of me that sees only chaos.”

  “Spoken truthfully,” the Shepard smiled. “And by choice.”

  “Then it is settled!” a voice cried above. “Let this Conclave make a solemn oath, here in the light of a new dawn over Argwyll!”

  The Shepard’s eyes closed. Behind their lids, Langley could see those eyes still moving. The mind – all the minds – within this man that was no man at all – was working.

  “Langley,” he began. “When all this is over, look to the West. If you still don’t believe that coexistence is possible, then take your people and come visit Arcona. Come and see a world where humans and hybrids have started to build something together. See it yourself, and then decide if it’s a world you want to live in. You don’t need my permission to accept or to reject it.”

  Langley saw the skin of the Shepard begin to bubble and change before his eyes. He knew that this was his one chance to take what was being offered to him or to turn away in fear.

  For once in his life, he made the choice to do the former.

  He snatched the staff from the elongating hands of the Shepard and stood back, watching the body contort, stretch, and bulge – muscle and bone twisting and forming great pale limbs that ended in two flaming blades throwing light across the entire Undercroft. A set of quadruple wings tinged in violet then followed, blooming from the Shepard’s back like a dark rose wreathed in moonlight. Four violet eyes now gleamed at Langley from the face of the Shepard. And above them sat a little blue hat, with one crimson eye looking straight up at the roof.

  [Mimic Form: Deactivated]

  “Take care of them, Langley,” Ethan said. “This is goodbye.”

  …

  “Let a new light be cast upon the world!” Remiel cried out from his podium at the end of the round table. “Let this Conclave be the vanguard of a new era!”

  Tangeon and Manus rose, both of them raising their fists and adding their voices to the cries of the Cardinal. Assurances had been given – when it was all over, the land would be carved up between them all. The giants would have their desert. Manus and his barbarians would have the West. They could keep them – for a time.

  Remiel was not at that moment thinking of the long future that lay ahead. Instead, he focused on the destiny that was immediately in front of him. To see clearly the final steps on your Path was a blessing few ever received in life. And tonight, he was among the lucky.

  He grabbed the mailed fist of the Greycloak commander beside him and smiled.

  “We shall see this through as brothers,” he said. “They will speak of this night one day, my friend. They will speak of how we stood against the tide of darkness and stemmed it when no one else could – when all seemed lost. They shall speak of –“

  “MY LORDS!”

  A bloody squire ran through the double doors of the Conclave chamber, followed by the pair of Greycloaks that had been posted outside.

  The Conclave stopped. The squire gazed up at the hulking Tangeon and tried to keep from soiling his nethers.

  “By Kaedmon…I – High Cardinal Remiel, we must – we must leave!”

  Gaviel stood, hand already fastened to his vibrating blade.

  “What is the meaning of this interruption? His holiness was not to be disturbed – least of all by the likes of you.”

  The squire managed to take his eyes off the giant as the two Greycloak guards grabbed him. Yet, the terror in his face did not abate.

  “T-they came out of nowhere! Shadows born from evil itself! Coming to swallow us and take us to the abyss!”

  Remiel’s mouth opened. It was not madness that possessed this boy.

  “Take him away!” Garviel shouted. “And by Krea lock the damn –“

  “The Barrier!” the boy screamed. “The Barrier’s gone!”

  The Conclave members each turned to the other, then, as one, looked past the stained glass to see – rain. Rain that was now falling upon the windows directly.

  Remiel looked into the glassy eyes of the angel of Kaedmon as the raindrops formed tears that ran down her pale face in the sunlight of day.

  He felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. He felt all conviction that had swelled in his breast suddenly, instantly melt away.

  And by the time he had enough sense to summon up his defenses, it was already too late.