Paragon of Destruction

The only traces of life left in the world were sparse, stunted growths that only barely qualified as plants, along with a rough kind of moss that covered some of the rocks strewn about the lands.

And even that sad excuse for vegetation served little purpose, as there were no animals to feed on it. There were no goats among the rocks, nor birds in the sky. In weeks of travel, Arran encountered not even a single insect.

It seemed that the only living creatures that remained in the world were the Remnants, and whether those were truly alive, Arran did not know.

Yet most troubling of all was the lack of Natural Essence. Even with the Shadow Essence blanketing the lands, Arran was certain that he would have Sensed it if there was any. By now, his Sense had grown strong enough for that.

But no matter how much he searched, he found none.

Not even the slightest trace of Natural Essence could be felt in this barren world. It was as if all of it had been taken, or extinguished somehow.

In his own world, the vitality of Natural Essence pervaded every tree, plant, and even rock. Even in the deepest caves and atop the highest mountains, traces of it could be Sensed. Yet here, it was completely absent.

He asked Karanos about the matter, but from what the mage said, the world had already been like this when he first found it. And how it had happened, he did not know. Perhaps the world’s Natural Essence had gone extinct when its people and animals did, or perhaps it was the other way around.

Whatever the case, the answer had been lost to time.

The same was true for most things related to the Shadow Realm. Karanos had first entered the place long after its fall, and he knew nothing of the cataclysm that had destroyed its people and civilizations. Everything he knew came from spending countless years searching the ruins, but even so, those had contained few answers.

The only thing Karanos could say with certainty was that once, this world had been much like theirs. And while that wasn’t much, it was enough for him to worry that the same fate might one day befall their own world.

It was a worry that Arran shared with his companion. Having witnessed the ruined world firsthand, he now understood that entire worlds could fall to disaster. And if that was the case, his own world might face similar threats.

Those worries were further fueled by what he had witnessed in the Ninth Valley’s mountains.

Arran did not know whether the Remnants in this world had caused the devastation or whether they were a result of it, but that similar creatures existed in his own world was a discomfiting thought.

But there was nothing he could do about it. Once he returned to the Ninth Valley, he would scour its libraries for information that might help him understand the Shadow Realm, and perhaps find a way to stave off the threat — if there was one.

But until then, his questions would have to go unanswered.

The journey was a long one, and although Karanos did not have the answers Arran sought, Arran found himself glad for the mage’s company.

Much of the time they spent making their way through the wastes, Karanos regaled Arran with stories of his past. He spoke little of magic — for all his power, he seemed to have little interest in the subject — and instead detailed the rise of Amydon, gleefully recounting how he had built the quiet mining town into a center of trade and commerce.

Arran listened with great interest. Although trade and politics weren’t topics he usually cared for, Karanos told his tales with such enthusiasm that he made even negotiations over mining rights sound like epic battles.

To Karanos, perhaps they were.

The man was a merchant at heart, more interested in trade and wealth than in war and magic. And even if the world had forced him to become a powerful mage, it was clear that necessity had brought him no love for magic.

Although Karanos’s tales were plentiful, the journey was long enough that long stretches of time still passed without either of them speaking.

Arran used these hours of silence to study his sword and feed it his Shadow Essence, hoping that strengthening his bond to the weapon would allow him to gain some control over it.

But while Arran’s efforts did strengthen their bond, it didn’t take him long to discover just how vast an ocean of Essence the weapon held. Compared to that, whatever Essence he fed it made little difference — actually controlling it was something that would take years of effort, if it was possible at all.

Nevertheless, the weapon proved itself useful on several occasions. While the barren wasteland held far fewer Remnants than the city, the ones it held still posed a deadly threat — or they would have, had Arran’s sword not alarmed him to the Remnants long before either he or Karanos could Sense them.

Yet that wasn’t the only thing of which the weapon warned.

During their long months of travel, the Shadow Essence around them continued to grow thicker with each passing day, eventually turning so dense that even Arran’s Sense could barely penetrate it.

And as the Essence thickened, Arran’s sword radiated an ever-increased aura of urgency, as if it saw a great disaster approaching.

This aura only grew stronger when, nearly half a year into their journey, the Shadow Essence suddenly stopped growing denser. The change happened in an instant, and it was like the Essence had somehow run into a barrier — something that prevented it from thickening further.

Arran was immediately reminded of what had happened in his body when he became a Master. His Essence had grown as dense as it could, and then, after some time without anything happening, its state had suddenly shifted.

If something like that was to happen here, he had no desire to experience it. He did not know what would happen if the Essence that filled this world turned liquid, but it couldn’t be good.

Not only would the Remnants be given a feast beyond compare — and grow even stronger than they already were — he feared what being surrounded by liquid Essence would do to his mind and body.

Yet even as Arran began to feel some panic, Karanos breathed a sigh of relief.

"We made it," the mage said, gesturing at a shallow hillside cave. "The portal is in there, barely a hundred paces away."

"Then we can leave?" Arran asked, scarcely able to believe that they had made it to safety. "Right now?"

"The sooner, the better," Karanos said. "But when you return to our world, there are several things I want you to do."

"You’re not coming?" Arran’s eyes went wide with surprise. He had expected that they would leave the Shadow Realm together, but from the sound of it, Karanos had no intention of departing — which was utter madness, given the situation.

"The portal is a threat," Karanos said, his voice weary. "Perhaps not to our world, but certainly to the lands that surround it. If anything passes through, I dread to think what would happen to Amydon. So I intend to close the portal."

Arran gave the mage a nonplussed look. "You can do that?"

"Not yet," Karanos replied. "But once the Essence here changes... My control of Shadow Essence is good enough that I should be able to draw on its power. Hopefully, that will grant me the strength to close the portal."

"And if it doesn’t?" Arran asked, not at all convinced that what Karanos proposed was even possible.

"Then I suspect I will die," the mage said. "In which case, someone else must find a way to close the portal." The glance he gave Arran made it entirely clear who that person would have to be.

"But..." Arran began, voice unsteady with shock. "I have questions..."

He had expected that he would have the opportunity to learn more from Karanos once they returned to their own world. Had he known that Karanos intended to remain behind, he wouldn’t have wasted their time together listening to stories of trade.

"There’s no time for questions," Karanos said curtly. "But in my quarters, you will find three books. One of them contains my notes on this world, while the other details what I have learned of Shadow magic over the years. You should find both of them useful, both in increasing your own skill and in figuring out what happened to this world."

"And the third?"

"The third," Karanos said, "details the history of Amydon. I know you have little interest in history, but I would ask you to bring it to someone who will appreciate its contents."

"But..." Arran began.

"There’s no more time," Karanos interrupted him. "It might take the Shadow Essence here another decade to change its state, but it could just as well happen a second from now. You should leave."

He hesitated briefly, then added, "Whatever you find in the caverns, you can take. But I ask you not to reveal their contents or location to anyone — doing so would spell disaster for Amydon."

With that, he took Arran by the shoulder, then guided him into the shallow cave, where Arran immediately saw the portal — a tear in reality, shimmering with power, like a bright vortex that hovered a pace above the ground.

"I have one last—"

"Farewell," Karanos said. "And remember what you have seen here." Then, without waiting for a reply, he pushed Arran into the bright portal.

For a moment, Arran felt an overwhelming sense of nothingness. But a moment later, his senses were overloaded with the cries of a thousand kinds of Essence, each of them so intense it would have made him scream in pain.

With the power of all of them combined, however, the agony was unbearable. In an instant, Arran’s consciousness slipped away.