Chapter Text
Unlike the two voices that boomed across the world at each other, increasingly full of righteous indignation and infernal wrath respectively, this voice was soft, its aura a pale blue, "Ramda is still in existence, as am I. We have no body to interact with you, as such..."
"I thought you three couldn't survive without a body."
"This is the absolute simplest essence. It is taking everything I have to speak with you right now, from such a distance, amidst all this chaos. I can only do so because Ramda has a brother here, except we have to hide from him right now. I am not sure how much I can trust him," said the voice, "It is fortunate our signature is made so small by this miniscule existence."
"You... are you...?" Presto frowned.
"I do not think we have met but you have definitely heard of me, from Ramda. I am Frest," explained the voice, "I have been following you from the Tower, out of Legendra. I want to thank you for finding one of Ramda's brothers for him. They all miss each other equally."
"Wait, you mean, Madruk is...?"
"We cannot find Madruk. If anything of him still exists after that battle, it is too faint, either too small or too far away. Ramda says he is not sure if that is a good thing or not," said Frest, "In any case, you need to leave here now. He can't come in person - Lokithus would detect him instantly - but our bond is strong enough to share a common pool of energy. I must stop talking now, if I am to use the rest to teleport you safely out of there. What I am about to do now... will rival even how we found each other again, back then."
"But how..." began Bardal.
"I know you must have endless questions. I'm sorry I can't answer them for you. What's happening here is important for you to remember but it is far beyond the scale you can interact with right now. You need to go back and warn everyone. Even that is technically forbidden, but... let us say, a lot of rules have been broken. Now, I need you to think about each other, come close to each other so that you have enough combined energy, then I need you to think about home - about Legendra."
Don't tell me its time to talk
You used to tell me I talked too much
And the only words you ever heard
Were no retreat, no surrender...
No retreat and no surrender
We'll keep fighting for Legendra
Even if we are the sole defenders of our home
In this world
In this world...
Humming the favourite song that represented everything he loved about Legendra, as personal to him as a true name in some ancient royal enchantment binding him to the land, Bardal thought about home. He thought about Presto, the one person he feared losing the most.
He imagined holding the other man's hand. Even he was surprised at how vividly he could envisage this act. He remembered the rough feel of Presto's hands, larger and broader than his own but still not exactly a Beastman warrior - Bardal had Elven heritage somewhere along the line and was one of the more delicate-featured human men he knew. He remembered Presto's warmth, his smell, usually of residual magic and expensive perfume and perfectly pressed suits, the feeling Bardal had whenever the other man was close.
He wondered what Presto was thinking right now, whether he was visualising the same things about Bardal, whether Bardal even meant the same to Presto as the performer did to him. He wondered if it actually mattered, for both of them to get home safely.
Then Bardal felt that Presto was fully beside him, as distinctly as if they really were back in the tower together. The two mages began a duet in perfect unison, Presto's voice deeper but just as rich, a harmony to Bardal's melody.
As they did on the last night of a grand concert, they poured every tiny fragment of their magic into the spell-song. Arcane energy flared up around them, vibrant blue like the sky of a new day after the night they had been drifting through for what seemed like aeons. Inside this curtain of blue fire which roared with power, they saw two other shapes apart from themselves. Another couple, hands joined. They nodded to acknowledge each other, then the bards began to fade away as the brother of Madruk and the ancient Apostle of Astea walked in the other direction, back towards the flames of gold and crimson and the mechanical stars hanging in the sky.
"Brother?" Lokithus asked, bemused.
"Lokithus. Let's walk away from all this. We don't need to keep on doing it. We should appreciate our freedom, not return to the things that tied us down."
"We'll never be able to bring back Madruk..."
"Madruk can take care of himself. He was the stronger of us, remember?"
"But Harsgalt..."
"Madruk picked the fight with Harsgalt, let him get out of this one by himself. For all we know, he has a plan. Come, brother, it is time for us to go. There's so many more interesting things to find in this Universe than this cold, lonely place."
"I'm not lonely. These machines... I'm part of their system now. Ramda, they're waking up, whether we like it or not, and... this may be my fault... they've already noticed Legendra. Even if Harsgalt uses them for himself, or worse, gives them to Valhart as a gift - something I cannot allow - they have their own commander. Once they revive, they are likely to head for the only place they know."
"I thought you didn't care about Legendra."
"I don't, but you do," said Lokithus, "And I care about both my brothers, who are going to be involved with this mess."
"Let me come with you, then, and let's go to the source of all this. That's not the overall Central Command, is it? We'll follow this signal and find it. Harsgalt may follow us but at least we'll be away from Legendra and any collateral damage."
"A strange thing for a fragment of a Destroyer God to worry about."
"I've changed a lot more than you have, Lokithus. I think its because I haven't been alone."
"I haven't either. I told you."
"Then go and find the one for you," said Ramda, "I'm being serious. If you think you can just watch from afar and try to manipulate your way closer, you're really bad at this."
"Then I welcome your advice, brother."
"You lead the way, I don't know where your... machine... thing is."
"Fine," Lokithus sighed, then, to Harsgalt, declared, "I will retreat for now. Other business has cropped up."
"Begone from Legendra and you will not be pursued," the Dragon God replied, "I, too, have... other priorities."
Two portals opened, then both the flight of dragons and the one drone swarm and couple of Katmandos under Lokithus' control disappeared from view, leaving the standing fleet silent once more.
Bardal and Presto returned to the chamber of the tower that was the same as it ever was, except that more of the roof had fallen in and the remains of a chalk circle was now messily smeared over the floor, along with trails of fallen candle wax and a book left where it was thrown, open with the spine downwards.
It was surrounded by armies from Tradnor, Fandaria, Tristan and Palemoon, as well as the Immortals, now overtly returned as a nation. Bozack had apparently gotten distracted by something.
Fortunately, no actual war had been declared, they were only viewing each other with mutual suspicion while glaring with growing paranoia and fear at the tower. When nothing came out except two exhausted-looking mercenary wizards, hand in hand, singing an uplifting anthem, the whole thing was quickly explained without any further international incident.
However, the threat hadn't entirely lifted. Bardal was the first to report the potential danger to Legendra posed by the Katmando fleet so close to them, to the conflict between Harsgalt and Lokithus and the possibility that Madruk was not entirely gone. Added to which, the threat that the Gods who were supposed to protect Legendra might not be sympathetic any more, not now that mortals knew more than they were supposed to about the Universe.
"Well, I believe they were supposed to leave us be anyway," said Reinhart, "Allow their children to grow up, I seem to recall was what they promised."
"In my experience, parents often regret saying that when their children immediately run off and make the worst possible decisions," said Goldark.
"Is that what you think we're doing?" asked Teiris, looking genuinely worried.
"Only if we persist in trying to start another pointless war when we should be co-operating to defend our nation," declared Reinhart, "And don't give me any nonsense about wanting to prove you're the stronger and more able to protect everyone. The threat is now and we don't have the resources spare. Besides which, you've already tried it on and you all lost."
"When there's real peace," said Junon, "You should watch your back, little boy. Because there won't be. Not for long."
"Actually, I'm thinking of not being a little boy any more," said Reinhart, "I was going to announce it sooner but I think I've decided on my grown-up appearance."
"Now this is interesting. Did you ask Uryll for input like I threatened you with death if you didn't?"
"Yes, I have checked, this is definitely a form that will meet with approval by my future bride," said Reinhart, "Very near future, I may add. If we're going to enter some kind of second age of strife, its high time I got the important things over and done with."
"You're right. And I have important things of my own to be getting on with," declared Goldark, "So if you'll excuse me... stop hiring so many mercenaries, don't summon anything else and don't blow anything up. I don't want to have to leave Fandaria again, do you hear me?"
"Is there something I'm failing to communicate about me being the Emperor here?" Reinhart sighed, "Oh, okay, do what you like, as long as you co-operate when it counts and don't try to overthrow me - I'm always watching. Also, you're invited to our wedding too."
“Really?” Goldark looked rather taken aback by this news. It was the last thing he’d ever expected to hear. He wasn’t sure if he even owned a formal suit, or anything other than intimidating spiked armour and furs, hardly suitable for a wedding.
He’d have to ask Kharhaz.