During the final days of the Moral Fracture, the Swordsman swung his black blade, Eadala.

  He did not know it would be for the last time.

  It struck true. The head of his opponent, an Aged One, came away with a single hit, and the body fell to the ground. The Swordsman raised his two swords and cried out in triumph at last.

  The battlefield was a mass grave. Hundreds lay dead, Fey and Human alike, alongside the dead divinities that emerged from the realities they called home. Aged One blood, golden and shining, was splattered over the modest obsidian Eadala, whilst the tar-like blood of the Denigrations coated the glorious silver Alaintiqam.

  The Swordsman panted, laughing at the victory that he had secured for himself and for his people. He turned to see his people. And there were only a few…

  The Swordsman blinked. A few? Only that? He had hundreds on his side. Hundreds. What had happened?

  A woman stood, her face a beautiful rage and as ferocious as the sun.

  The Fire Queen had flames flicking from her eyelids, for her eyes had burned away a long time ago. Imbued with the Mark, she commanded the power of the sun, the power of fire, and was peerless in the field of war. With her power, she could have even brought her real eyes back, but that would take time and be painful to lose them once more. She strode up to the Swordsman and struck him across the face with a heated palm.

  The Swordsman stared at her in confusion.

  The Fire Queen screamed. She accused him of betraying what they stood for. The ideals of peace. Of unity! Where was the honourable man that she fell in love with all those months ago?

  Who was this person who declared wars in his name, leading hundreds to untimely deaths in needless battles?

  The Swordsman retorted angrily. They were defending the world from those who would threaten it. Anyone who posed a threat must be dealt with.

  The Fire Queen laughed bitterly. Those who threatened it are all dead because of him! Look around! Look at the enemies at his feet.

  The Swordsman looked around and saw for the first time, amongst the dead divinities, were the bodies of children. They were young enough to wield a sword or an axe, but not much older than he when he found the swords. They were boys and girls, all of them dead.

  The Fire Queen howled. They were drawn by his call to arms. They wanted to fight in his name! They wanted to prove themselves! And because of his past glories and historical victories in their war, they all came. Against great odds, they still came. And they all died in his honour.

  The Swordsman felt a sickening feeling erupt in his heart. It was like a hand of ice lurched and gripped his chest with cold nails and twisted his flesh.

  The Fire Queen pointed her finger at him. She swore that she would make him pay for his foolishness. This wanton slaughter would end. She turned and walked away, careful not to step on or over the dead children.

  The Swordsman watched the woman he loved walk away. And he felt anger course through him, pulsing from Alaintiqam and into his mind. This woman had no idea what pains he had to go through to achieve the victories they grew from. The victories that he himself forged. And now that she had seen the ugly side of their war, she called for his punishment? Who was she to decide what was right and wrong? Who was she to tell him what he could do?

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  Alaintiqam shivered with raw emotion.

  The Swordsman pursued her, his feet treading on the dead.

  He drew back his sword, drew back Alaintiqam and poised to strike her down while her back was turned and -

  He paused. A warm, calming energy flowed from the black blade, from Eadala. A clarity came across him. A call to peace. A call to act. To stop himself from doing something he would never forgive himself.

  He saw Eadala in his hand. The black blade that was ever silent. Ever unassuming, but brimming with unlimited power. And always by his side. And it was then that the Swordsman recalled his vows. His promise to protect his friends and loved ones. His oaths to his people, ones that he swore when he took the bales as his own. The oaths that he had just broken.

  Without hesitating, the Swordsman drew back Eadala and swept down.

  The hand holding Alaintiqam fell from his wrist. The Swordsman screamed in pain.

  The Fire Queen turned. Saw what had occurred. And shrieked in horror. She ran back towards him.

  The Swordsman saw her coming. Saw her concern, her fear. He glanced at Alaintiqam. The sword that … willed… him to attack his lover. She would never be safe from the sword… not unless he…

  The Fire Queen was steps away, only steps, when she saw the Swordsman flip the black sabre he had in the air. He caught it in reverse, pressed it against his chest, and fell down into it. She screamed out a no. But the sword pierced his chest and ran through his body.

  She grabbed him as he dropped to the ground amongst the dead.

  She cried bitterly. She looked up to the sky and begged for the Creators to intervene. For the Light to heal his wound. For the Black to delay his end. No answer came.

  The Swordsman gripped her hand and looked into her flames with a reassuring smile. He promised that he would wait for her.

  The Fire Queen denied that. She wanted him. She would not wait.

  Then the Swordsman whispered to her not to give up. She would not have to wait for long. Someday, they would meet again. In another place and in another time… someday.

  His eyes clouded over, and the body fell limp.

  The Fire Queen did not move for days. She had remained there in her grieving, holding the body of her beloved, even when the unkindness of ravens and the murder of crows crowded around her and continued and finished their carrion banquet of the battle’s dead. Eventually, his body was brought away with his silent partner. His body was prepared for the pyre which she herself ignited.

  His swords were left abandoned in the battlefield.

  The Fire Queen forbade them to be burned with him.

  He was a good man before he found those blades. He was a woodsman who cut down pine trees to make homes for orphans. She fell in love with him even then… She was determined to ensure that his end be without them.

  And when his pyre was only ashes, she pushed her hand into the hot red coals and held onto the heat, uncaring that it burned her. She swore to uphold his promise and do so in his honour.

  Soon afterwards, the final battle came. The Marked of Essena gathered as one and confronted the divinities in their greatest assault upon the world of the mortals. Using all their powers and wills, the Marked banished the ethereal beings to their birthplaces and sealed them away forever…

  At the cost of their lives.

  The Fire Queen was the last to die, for she was the strongest of them and possessed the most power.

  She began to crumble to dust, much like her companions before her. She nodded, accepting her end. And when the dust reached her stomach, she felt it.

  A warm breeze that brushed the flesh of her neck. And the scent of pinewood. It was him. It was him. She smiled and closed her eyes. He was here. To be with her, even at the very end.

  ‘In another place. In another time.’ That was what he said.

  The Fire Queen laughed. So be it. She would have to wait then. That was fine. She could learn to be a little patient. He was worth it.

  Her head and heart were dust in one moment and her whole being was carried away by the wind in another.

  Into a brightening, blue, cloud-speckled sky.