Liberi Reader

The bone whistle has cracked. The bone pen has broken. Blood flows the corner of his lips.

The Nachzehrer King spreads his arms wide.

The tattered banners draped over him rise up, as though echoing the countless wars the Sarkaz have fought.

Rotten flesh and blood fall from his wounds new and old, nourishing the battlefield. New branches sprout from the soil, repairing the warriors that have been damaged by incantations.

The fallen Sudaram rise again.

The Nachzehrer walks atop mists of decay towards the young Banshee.

The Banshee utters the final incantation, so soft it is almost inaudible. The cutting words become a tangible blade, which he grabs with his hand—

And cuts off the Nachzehrer King's right arm.

The full blast of the Nachzehrer King's power hits Logos in the chest.

He falls from the cliff.

The ground made of Originium begins to collapse.

Logos pictures how the familiar ship treads mountains and rivers, its tracks giving off the same rumbling.

He remembers the first time he came to Rhodes Island and stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the deck with Theresa. She looked out over Kazdel, while he listened to the wailing in the wind.

He remembers Mechanist hunched over, fiddling with parts, chiding Closure for wasting materials. Outcast and Blaze betting on how long it would last, and a robotic arm reaching over to grab his hat.

He remembers Ace's bloodied palm by his shield and cup. Scout's palm was a little cooler, about the temperature of his crossbow, and he could tell them apart by shaking their hands and high-fiving.

He remembers the Doctor and Amiya saying goodnight in the corridors, when Amiya suddenly stopped him to ask if he was ready to go to Londinium.

He remembers Dr. Kal'tsit taking Amiya's hand and bringing her between them—

'Theresa is gone. Amiya is the new leader of Rhodes Island.'

Logos keeps falling—

Falling until he is completely submerged in cold water.

He remembers himself many years ago.

The song of the Banshees surrounds their young lord.

The water becomes warm, like a pair of warm hands that pull the fallen back.

Logos opens his eyes.

He seems to see his mother, and everyone else he holds dear.

'Aefanyl, the most beautiful wave of the Valley, its loveliest song... we must stay and watch you go away...'

'But our blessing will be with you, wherever you go.'

The power of incantation fills Logos, to the very ends of his limbs.

He opens his lips again.

A song filled with power echoes on the river reflecting the most beautiful wave.

All the pursuers are compelled to stop.

Nezzsalem walks to the edge of the cliff, without the help of any Arts.

For an instant, he looks like an ordinary old man.

Nezzsalem looks down the cliff.

Wind passes through the holes in his body that have not healed, creating sounds without meaning.

Salus reaches for the drop of blood at the top of the altar.

Originium burns, and the myriad souls roar.

The powerful witchcraft quickly turns her fingers into charred black crystals.

Shining removes the guard's mask.

She remembers the face. He was one of the first mercenaries that the Confessarii brought to Londinium.

They knew nothing at first. They were only tasked to excavate the ruins outside the city.

The young man had expressed his gratitude to her directly, thanked the Confessarii for giving them a safe, well-paid job.

It was not long before she stopped hearing those words.

The Leader of the Confessarii came to Londinium.

There were no more idle mercenaries drinking and playing games. Everyone put on the same mask, and did not speak except when necessary.

They had no special bloodline. Qui'sartuštaj should not have been able to control their will so easily.

But the part of them that belonged to themselves died before the great dreams of the Confessarii.

It was she who killed them first.

The mask cracks. The pieces stab at Shining's palm.

She continues her journey to the top.