He breathed in the sea air as the waves of The Adean collided rhythmically with Korkanath’s rocky foundations. Turning on the spot, he noticed the darkness encroaching on the cave, a living shadow that erased the sanctuary’s details inch by inch. It wouldn’t be long before the Crissalith dissolved it all and banished him from the ethereal space and back to the pain of the real world.
Moving away from the spreading darkness, towards the craggy entrance, he realised he was alone in the sanctuary. Malliath was too occupied with Athis to allow his mind to inhabit the cave.
What was he even doing here? he asked himself. Inara was wrong. Yet here he was, having heeded her words. Alijah shook his head and growled in frustration. His mind felt as if it was unravelling.
As the Crissalith encroached on his bond with Malliath, severing the strands of their tether, flashes of memory assaulted him, each one a physical blow. They blinded him, showing him things he had done over the last two decades, things that made him feel sick.
“NO!” he screamed in a bid to reject the images and sounds of so much death. But there was no escaping the truth of what he had become: a necromancer.
The half-elf fell to his knees in the dirt. The darkness was beginning to lick at him from all sides except one: the jagged entrance to the cave, where the ocean washed up again and again. Instinctively, he moved away from the creeping abyss and towards the water.
He had done this before, he knew. He had walked through those waves, sunk beneath the surface, and emerged with a bond in keeping with the Dragon Riders of old, free of the way of the Dragorn.
Hadn’t he?
Try as he might, he struggled to recall that memory with any clarity. He remembered Gideon telling him of the bond, of the potential influence dragons could exert on their companions, as Nylla had once done with the great Elandril, centuries ago. It had deeply offended him that Gideon would think Malliath capable of controlling him in such a way. To overcome his nagging doubt, however, Malliath had encouraged him to leave the sanctuary via the water and see for himself. He had emerged in the real world feeling no different, confident that Malliath had never attempted any kind of control to begin with.
But here he was, standing with his feet in the surf and unable to recall his actual steps into the water years earlier. More images flowed through his mind, causing him to stagger forward into deeper water. He saw himself, full of conviction, aiming his Vi’tari blade at his father’s heart. If it hadn’t been for Inara’s intervention, he would surely have killed him.
Then he saw his grandmother, Adilandra. His actions had sealed her fate and sent her to the watery grave in which she now rested. Heartbreaking as it was, to see the disappointment on her face at the end, it was even worse to see the men, elves, and dwarves he had condemned to death. There were so many of them. He fell to his knees and yelled at the storm before hammering the waves with his fists.
Malliath had been behind it all…
That singular thought began to sharpen as new memories came back to him, memories that had been scrubbed from his mind by the dragon. His every emotion had been manipulated to direct him down a particular path, a path of destruction. Malliath hated magic with every fibre of his being. He had been the victim of it time and time again throughout a history that was so long he had earned the title of ancient. But it didn’t excuse the dragon for using him as a tool to meet his ends.
Alijah’s shoulders sagged and his head turned to the sky. He had been used. Powerful forces had turned him into a weapon and handed him to the oldest being in the world, to be used however he saw fit. And what evil things he had done. Alijah looked at his hands, hands that Malliath had used to craft the darkest of magic and turn it upon the realm.
He had been tainted to his very soul.
It was all so painful to comprehend. There could be no redemption for him - he had become the embodiment of evil. There was a part of him that wanted to return to the real world and allow Malliath to maintain his influence, to erase these memories and feelings for good. But ignorance wasn’t bliss, it was dereliction of duty, a duty he had sworn to many years earlier when he had been in the company of good men like Hadavad… and Vighon. He had sworn to protect the people of the realm, not break them.
Alijah looked down at the water and took a breath. He was going to plunge deep and emerge a free man, whatever that might be. And he would accept the consequences.
Inches above the water, his head stopped before submerging. A single thought occurred to him. It was, perhaps, the clearest thought he had conjured in nearly twenty years. He thought of the battle raging in the sky above The Bastion. Athis was a powerful dragon, but Alijah knew what was in Malliath’s heart, in his iron will. Inevitably, Athis would fall to Malliath, as so many before him had fallen. And then Ilargo would take his place and find only the volcanic fury of the black dragon, his death assured. And without Alijah as his weapon, he would surely resort to burning all of Verda to the ground. There were simply none who could best him.
Except one.
The effects of the Crissalith were almost absolute, the sanctuary closing in on him. Yes, he thought. There was one who could beat Malliath the voiceless.
All he had to do was let himself go and take a single step. To take a step was a simple thing,
