Kuor's Folly
Story from the world of The Heart of Anarand
Aartoh-Daggaras
7th Age, Year 103 of Teer-Nadhar
The flying fortress of Anorr
In the Meditation Hall, an unnatural, almost tangible stillness reigned, accompanied by absolute silence. The dark walls, streaked with fine blue lines, were framed in an elegant metallic structure, forming a perfect hexagon. The floor was shaped like an inverted pyramid, with six slanted planes converging at a sharp pillar of a unique dark metal. Intricate spirals of angular symbols were engraved on its smooth surface.
Lord Kuor-Adamarant levitated at the very center of the Hall, deeply immersed in meditation. He had assumed his pure form, appearing as a large orb of concentrated gray-blue mist. His mind was in perfect harmony with Chaos and the countless unstable strands of wild Magical energy that permeated everything in Aartoh-Daggaras. Kuor was in the closest state to complete stillness for a Lord of Chaos—simultaneously terrifyingly near yet infinitely distant from Moritan.
The walls of the Hall had no windows to offer a glimpse of the outside world, nor did they bear anything resembling a door. Instead, the planes of the pyramidal ceiling converged into a large hexagonal opening, framed by the same dark metal, engraved with symbols. Currently, it was tightly sealed by a membrane of chaotically swirling, multicolored energy. The light emitted from it cast a palette of shifting reflections over everything in the Hall.
“The time is near.”
The thought was his, yet somehow alien, circulating separately from the core of his being. A part of Kuor—the one responsible for his rebellious streak—took control of the wild Magic around him and began to weave. Delicately crafted intricate patterns started wrapping around layer after layer of another part of him—the one connected to his creator and Master. It was important that the isolation happened gradually, almost imperceptibly. All of this was normal, entirely within the natural order. Kuor-Adamarant was an utterly loyal son, ready to fulfill any whim of his father. This new spell was merely part of his meditation, a mental exercise, a search for the center.
The final layer of Magic settled into place.
“Done!”
Kuor emerged from his meditative trance. Had he succeeded in isolating his mind from Moritan enough before the upcoming meeting? The answer was uncertain. As with other critical moments in this long-term plan, he was now forced to take a significant risk. Only truly high stakes could give meaning to his immortality—those with significant, tangible, lasting consequences that altered reality. Revolutionary scientific discoveries, grand experiments, breakthroughs in magitech, uncovering the secrets of the Great Infinity—Kuor-Adamarant existed for all of this and was willing to wager everything if the result was worth it. And in this case, it undoubtedly was. Oh, yes! This was the culmination of more than a cycle of serious research, painstaking and precise experimental work, and intermittent yet thrilling collaboration with the mortal enemies of Chaos, the Et’eliani. And all of it remained hidden from his Master.
As he pondered his latest rebellion against the established rules, Kuor felt the cautious touch of an alien mind seeking contact. He immediately cleared his thoughts of any dangerous ideas and responded to the call. The voice of Merr-Amur, one of his lieutenants, reached him:
“Lord Kuor, the vanguard is struggling with the assault on the last city in our path. We need you in the Planning Hall.”
“I will be there.”
With that, Kuor ended the connection and began to rise slowly toward the opening in the ceiling. Moments before reaching it, the multicolored membrane dissolved, revealing the way to his chambers. The newly revealed room was also hexagonal and similarly sized, though here the floor was flat, more suited for beings who moved by walking. Beautifully crafted furniture of metal and stone filled part of the space without detracting from the spacious atmosphere—a large oval bed, a table with an elegant Kettu game, and two comfortable chairs, several rotating shelves with books, tiles, and scrolls, as well as three pedestals displaying relics of the past—ones that reminded Kuor of his grand personal successes. This atmosphere allowed him to indulge in comforts, to which he had a particular fondness when in his humanoid form. There were no windows here either, but one wall bore the familiar opening, covered by a multicolored membrane.
In one corner, a menacing full suit of armor stood on a special stand, covered in sharp edges but without a helmet. Its color was dark gray, almost black, with faint patterns of blue energy running along the surface. The edges were light gray, standing out like the bones of some strange creature. Kuor flew across the room and slipped into the armor through the opening for the head. Moments later, his body assumed its standard humanoid form, filling the metal suit as if it were a being of flesh and blood. Even so, his face remained featureless, made of the same pale gray-blue mist. The only new additions were his eyes—entirely blue with small white pupils at their center—and his fiery red hair. It fell just past his shoulders, unnaturally thick and seemingly moving with a will of its own. Kuor loved this form—it expressed both his desire to engage with society and emphasized the mysticism that was such an essential part of his being.
He arranged the strands of his hair into position with a few mental commands. This helped him control the impatience that had been creeping up on him before leaving his quarters. The corridor he entered shifted subtly, and by the time Kuor reached the far end, the colored membrane before him had opened, revealing the Planning Hall. In the fortress of Anorr, it mattered not which direction you chose to reach your destination with minimal transitions. Most rooms here changed their location according to the needs of their inhabitants—an aspect most barbarians from the worlds of Niamaru struggled to comprehend, arriving here as guests or slaves.
“Nohdar-seagr Kuor-Adamarant kertshir sindur ense ir-arshka (Lord Kuor-Adamarant, our souls belong to you)!” The voices of Merr-Amur and Nan-Door blended into one, and their precise bows appeared unnaturally identical.
Simultaneously, the twelve members of the elite squad, positioned along the walls of the Hall, dropped to one knee and extended an open palm toward Kuor. Their synchronization, as always, was flawless. Not all Houses of Chaos adhered to such strict protocols in daily life, but in the fortress of Anorr, and before its ruler, the old customs were observed. This was primarily to maintain Kuor’s impeccable reputation before Moritan. Kuor-Adamarant was one of the first sons of Chaos, and the countless cycles of his existence had convinced him of the value and importance of tradition, as well as when to disregard it in the name of something greater.
“Erh terin’har eshke ir-kreh-razzu (I accept you as my trusted servants),” Kuor responded to the ritual greeting, raising his hand horizontally. “Shar fertah (Rise)!”
The figures before him returned to their original positions, standing still like statues. None of them would move in his presence until commanded. Kuor approached the hexagonal tactical planning pedestal at the center. Upon it lay a map of world 3791-RT-3FN, which was still in the active process of Merging with the Great Chaos. It was constructed from tiny, multicolored crystals and rendered a highly detailed current projection of the world. Over the past few years, its scope and shape had changed drastically from what Kuor had encountered at the beginning of the campaign. Now, most of it had been replaced by a dense, impenetrable mist of countless black-violet particles—the remnants of finely ground crystals—indicating the successful absorption of matter and energy in those regions. Just as Merr-Amur had informed him, the vanguard had already reached the last inhabited location—the city-state of Erhnator. Only one small corner of the map remained intact, where several dozen elegant towers rose, impossibly thin and needle-like.
“The resistance down there continues?”
“Yes, Lord Kuor,” replied Merr-Amur, who had been responsible for the tactical execution of the campaign since its inception. Its successful conclusion would bring him significant honor among the Great Houses of Chaos—and by extension, to Kuor-Adamarant as his Lord. “The vanguard attacked the walls of Erhnator seven rotations of this world’s suns ago. They have sustained losses of thirty percent so far, but they have made little progress.”
Exactly as Kuor had foreseen.
“What measures have you taken in response?”
Merr-Amur blinked several times with his large amber eyes before answering.
“The special unit infiltrated the city three time intervals ago. The beacons that can guide our descent will be activated very soon. The Fifty-Second Legion is already preparing for the assault in the Tactical Operations Hall.” He bowed before adding, “Lord Kuor, even with this, the outcome is not certain. The human warriors are strong and find ways to hinder us at every step. According to information from our agents, we will face an army slightly over thirty thousand. We will need your leadership to ensure the success of the operation.”
“Very well!” Kuor clenched the metallic fingers of his gauntlet into a menacing fist. Their stubbornness and audacious refusal to accept the inevitable gave him an excellent reason to go there in person. Everything was proceeding according to plan, and no better opportunity than this could be hoped for. “Remind me of the limitations in this world.”
“The level of magitech is comparable to the early Third Age by our calendar. The most complex mechanisms functioning there are short-range communicators, energy-coated weapons, basic energy shields, and traditional static armor,” Merr-Amur sounded dissatisfied with this fact, but even the Lords of Chaos could not change how the universe worked. When entering the worlds of Niamaru, the inhabitants of Aartoh-Daggaras became subject to the local natural laws and, therefore, vulnerable to the conventional weapons of that time and place. Any magitech imported beyond the level of the local technological age simply ceased to function, becoming a useless pile of junk. This is why planning each new campaign required serious preparation and thorough intelligence gathering. “In terms of Magic, however, things are more promising. While the locals possess significant knowledge only in healing and biology, the magical background is rich enough to allow for the use of truly complex spells.”
Kuor knew this well, which was precisely why he had chosen this world for the ritual. However, it was always good for the commander to review the existing limitations and make a final assessment before any large-scale operation.
“It seems we’ll have to fight the humans in a rather old-fashioned way,” Kuor observed, mostly to avoid leaving Merr-Amur’s words unanswered. Otherwise, it would seem as though he was displeased with him or his preparation. “It is time I personally lead the final battle for this world. Prepare yourselves!”
In response to his words, the elite warriors in the Hall struck their fists against the metal breastplates of their ceremonial armor and readied themselves to follow him. Kuor cast one last glance at the crystal towers of Erhnator, standing proudly like an insurmountable barrier against the surging tide of raw Chaos. It could not advance further while enough living humans remained below. The souls had to be harvested before matter and energy would allow themselves to be consumed. And the stronger a soul, the greater an obstacle it posed to Moritan and his will. This is why the Lords of Chaos conducted long-term military campaigns whenever a new decaying and dying petal of Niamaru was to be consumed. For them, the harvest of souls was one of the most important traditions in Aartoh-Daggaras. To this end, each preferred to take the closest and most personal approach possible, harvesting as many souls as they could before the inevitable end. The most common methods included infiltrations to destabilize and spread chaos, direct assassinations of key targets, devastating sabotage, and large-scale battles. The entire culture of their civilization was built around this, and the success or failure of these campaigns dictated the social standing of individuals and entire Houses.
This cycle repeated over and over again, in every world whose time had run out. And yet, the humans resisted tooth and nail for every strip that was swallowed. A pointless and brazen defiance against the natural order of things, against the very Path of Creation, but most of all, against the will of Moritan. What blasphemy!
Kuor-Adamarant turned his back on the crystal map and exited the Planning Hall, followed at a respectful distance by his elite squad. This time, the corridor led to the vast Tactical Operations Hall. Unlike the other chambers in the fortress of Anorr, this one was static and occupied the entire lower section. Here, the walls and floor were made of molten crystal and entirely transparent, except for the reinforced metal structure supporting them. This allowed the inhabitants to observe, in all directions, the terrain over which the flying fortress passed.
At the moment, the Hall was filled with the cacophony of warriors from the Fifty-Second Legion of House Adamarant, preparing for their descent. Twelve thousand assorted individuals, most of them weathered veterans from past campaigns in other, now non-existent and long-forgotten worlds. Upon Lord Kuor’s entrance, the warriors closest to him immediately stopped what they were doing and knelt with an open palm in the traditional greeting posture. The movement rippled outward like a living wave, and soon every being in the Hall had frozen in anticipation. The previous noise was replaced by silence, broken only by the occasional mechanical sounds of various magitech devices.
“Rise, Children of Chaos!” Kuor’s voice was not loud, but it carried to every corner of the Hall. “Today, we shall end this campaign in victory!”
His words were accompanied by the sound of thousands of metallic gloves striking against armor, followed by renewed, feverish activity. The ready squads formed up into predetermined formations around the three massive circular Acceleration Gates, symmetrically embedded in the floor’s structure. At the moment, their surfaces were covered by familiar multicolored membranes, but this would soon change. Outside, through the crystal walls and floor of the Hall, the ever-shifting landscape of Aartoh-Daggaras was visible. Directly below, several thousand meters beneath the fortress of Anorr, lay the vast, black, constantly swirling mass of the vortex-like Portal to the nameless world whose time had run out.
Before long, the last of the warriors had taken their positions, ready for the descent and the impending merciless battle against the humans. The Hall fell into tense silence, and all eyes were fixed on Kuor-Adamarant and his small group. They remained motionless until a crystalline chime echoed through the Hall. One after another, the structures around and beneath the Acceleration Gates began to stir. Thin red beams of light descended from their centers and plunged into the churning mass of the Portal. The beacons were active and had successfully connected with Anorr. All the prerequisites for the assault had been fulfilled.
Nan-Door stepped forward before his Lord and, with a deep bow, offered the staff Anratakar—the sacred weapon of the ruler of Anorr—with both hands. Lord Kuor accepted it with his right hand, signaling his intent to use it in the upcoming battle. Seeing this, the warriors of the Fifty-Second Legion began rhythmically pounding the floor with their metal boots. The resulting crystal thunder was deafening. Along with it, the mixture of impatience, excitement, fear, and barely restrained lust for unleashing a wave of violence filled the space.
Wasting no more time, Kuor strode toward the nearest Acceleration Gate, holding Anratakar high in the air. The warriors along his path quickened their stomping, raising their various weapons in response. Some of them would not see Anorr again after this day, but that too was part of the Path of Creation. To create, one must first destroy. There is no new life without the death of the old and the worn-out.
Followed by his elite squad, Kuor neared the Acceleration Gate, whose multicolored membrane melted away, revealing the Acceleration Funnel beneath it. Countless speeding particles of matter and energy darted along threads of harnessed Magic, guided by the red beam toward the Portal far below the flying fortress. Kuor did not even slow his pace as he crossed the threshold and hurled himself straight into the center of the funnel. Instantly, he was engulfed by the unique sensation he had experienced only during descents. It felt as though his body existed in two places at once—on the one hand, still in the Tactical Operations Hall, standing in the center of the Acceleration Gate, and on the other, flying at uncontrolled speed straight toward the black maw of the Portal. This lasted for several endless moments until, without any perceptible transition, Kuor found himself in the center of a small square, surrounded by a group of surprised human guards, fully armed and with weapons drawn.
He attacked without warning, unleashing a wave of destructive energy through the multicolored crystal embedded in the head of Anratakar. Within a radius of nearly ten meters, the bodies of the human warriors were reduced to a bloody mist and tiny metal fragments. Kuor felt the harvested souls sink into the special ring on his left hand—the first of many who would follow on this glorious day.
A blink later, and Merr-Amur materialized a step away from him. Following his Lord’s example, he launched himself at the stunned guards. All that could be seen of him was a whirlwind of metal blades and blood splatters. Another blink, and Nan-Door appeared on the opposite side, holding an elegant metal horn in his dagger-sharp claws. Leaving the initiative to the first two, he brought the horn to his violet lips and blew. A beautiful, terrifying, heart-stopping sound echoed from the center of the square, reaching every corner of the city of Erhnator. From somewhere far off, a similar call answered. The vanguard was in that direction and would now triple its efforts in the attack on the wall. Kuor did not expect them to break through, but only to divert enough defenders’ attention from what was happening inside. The true conquest was his and the warriors of the Fifty-Second Legion’s to achieve. The battle would be long, bloody, and merciless, but it would bring honor and glory to all who partook.
Meanwhile, around the three Lords of Chaos, the members of the elite squad began to appear one by one, followed by the warriors of the legion. The veterans among them needed no orientation and immediately threw themselves into battle with the humans. The novices, however, required a few additional moments to adapt to the altered reality. Some of them paid with their lives for that delay.
The fierce fight with the defenders did not last long, and soon Kuor destroyed the last human guard remaining in his immediate vicinity. He planted the base of his staff on the stone pavement beneath his feet and surveyed the scene. Of the initial group of humans, no more than a dozen continued to offer merciless but futile resistance. Soon they, too, disappeared beneath the unstoppable wave of attackers, who had begun spilling into the surrounding streets in search of their next victims. Amidst the remains of the humans, there were also quite a few bodies of his warriors. This was the price that any of them might have to pay when leaving the boundaries of Chaos: an end to immortality and eternal oblivion in the realms of Niamaru.
The sound of a new horn echoed from somewhere far ahead and to the left, pulling him from his thoughts. A few moments later, it was followed by a second from the opposite direction. The warriors from the other two Acceleration Gates had also arrived and had established tactical control over their descent points. Kuor-Adamarant raised his gaze to the sky-reaching towers—some of them close, others distant, but each one unique in its elegance and beauty. Very soon, they would exist only in the memories of the invaders.
The final battle for Erhnator had begun.
An indeterminate time later—he had no concept of how time was measured in this world—Kuor pulled the sharp tip of Anratakar from the chest of the man before him. With a final, desperate groan, the man collapsed to his knees, and his ornate golden armor became yet another pile of debris in the square in front of what was once the palace of Erhnator. His eyes—deep violet—locked onto Kuor with an incomprehensible plea before the light within them extinguished forever. King Euros Erhnat, the last ruler of this world, was dead. The last powerful soul had been harvested. In the square, the warriors of the Fifty-Second Legion, along with the members of Kuor’s elite squad, let out victorious cries and knelt with palms extended toward him. Nothing now stood in Chaos’s way of consuming the last untouched fragment of this place. The campaign had been successful, but for Lord Kuor-Adamarant, there was still something left to do before this world vanished forever. Something that, to him personally, was more important than even this victory.
“Be proud, warriors of Chaos!” Kuor’s voice rose above the heads of the kneeling warriors and reached every corner of the square. “Today, the will of Moritan has been fulfilled, and you shall all be blessed! Rise!”
As one, the warriors rose to their feet and struck their breastplates with their fists. Kuor extended Anratakar horizontally toward Nan-Door, signaling that he had finished using it. His lieutenant hurried to approach and received the bloodied sacred weapon with the reverence the occasion demanded. Following traditions older than most worlds in Niamaru, he would clean it and return it to its place in the fortress of Anorr.
“Merr-Amur!” Kuor turned to his other lieutenant, who stood a step behind him. “My congratulations on a brilliantly executed campaign. Honor to House Adamarant!”
“Honor to House Adamarant and to Lord Kuor!” Merr-Amur replied with a deep bow.
“You may begin the withdrawal.”
“Yes, Lord Kuor.”
With that, Merr-Amur departed, gathering the warriors of the Fifty-Second Legion. The withdrawal from the ruins of Erhnator would take time and required careful organization. The surviving warriors were scattered everywhere and had surely given themselves over to looting and slaughter. But this was part of every campaign, and Merr-Amur was experienced enough to extract them from this state in time. The Portal would remain open only until the wave of raw Chaos engulfed everything in its path.
“Nan-Door, you may return to Anorr,” Kuor said, pointing to his elite squad. “Take them with you. They have earned their rest.”
Nan-Door and the warriors with him bowed, then left the square in the direction from which they had arrived, following the Path of Blades. None of them even thought to question Kuor-Adamarant’s decision to remain alone and unguarded in what was still enemy territory. Their Lord’s orders were absolute.
Kuor waited until they had gone far enough before opening a small Portal to the agreed-upon meeting place. The reality before him tore like fabric worn thin by time, revealing the familiar gray-black essence of the strange non-place between all realities. With one last glance at the palace, now engulfed in flames and billowing black smoke, Kuor stepped through the tear in the world’s fabric… and found himself in a small clearing, at the center of which stood a gnarled and almost withered tree. From here, there was a panoramic view of the distant towers of Erhnator and the advancing wave of pure, raw Chaos. Beautiful. Majestic. And inevitable.
A girl’s scream tore him from his moment of blissful reverie, and Kuor directed his attention to the two figures on the other side of the clearing. One was a young female human, and Kuor’s sensitive eyes immediately caught the strong glow emanating from her core. This was a sure sign of a powerful soul, and under different circumstances, it would have been necessary to rid the world of her. But in this case, the human had another, far more important purpose—to serve as the vessel for the upcoming ritual.
The other figure was his secretive, intriguing collaborator and partner in this forbidden endeavor. Today, she was dressed in a practical-looking suit of crimson, finely decorated leather from an unknown animal. Her pants clung tightly to her long, elegant legs, tucked into knee-high boots with sharp metal heels. The vest over her white silk blouse, with wide sleeves and delicate crimson embroidery, cinched at her waist, causing her firm bust to rise under the fabric. Where her breasts peeked from the neckline and smoothly transitioned into her delicate neck, her skin had a slight copper tint, impossibly smooth and flawless, like that of a statue. Her loose, luxurious crimson curls, from her impossibly long, strangely thin hair, cascaded down her back and shoulders like a cloak, yet they hung unnervingly still. Her face, as always, was mysteriously hidden behind a featureless white mask. From the eye holes, two smoldering crimson flames observed him, filled with a cocktail of incomprehensible emotions. Lady Ra’maen of the Et’eliani.
As always, she appeared at their meeting in perfect form. Kuor was fairly certain that the form she had chosen today would be highly attractive to most human beings from Niamaru—something he could appreciate without needing to experience it. The pleasures of the flesh were not among his favorite vices, and such things rarely concerned him. Indeed, in some ways, human females had similar characteristics to certain ladies from the Houses of Chaos when they chose to take on humanoid forms. In this regard, Lady Ra’maen could be perceived as a very exotic representative of the dominant gender. Kuor had existed long enough to freely admit to himself that the mystery and unrevealed secrets surrounding her intrigued him far more than her outward appearance—almost as much as the results of today’s experiment.
“Oh, if it isn’t the long-awaited Lord Kuor-Adamarant,” her voice was sharp, enticing, and now carried the sting of her dissatisfaction. “Had you delayed any longer, this place would have ceased to exist!”
“Lady Ra’maen,” Kuor replied, bowing as if the two of them were at a reception in one of the Houses of Chaos. With women like her, it was always better to show excessive courtesy and respect. “It is always such a pleasure to meet you in good spirits.”
“Oh, is it now!”
Lady Ra’maen was attractively fierce and dangerously unpredictable, but she could hardly compare to some of the daughters of the Great Houses. In fact, Kuor enjoyed her explosive temperament and relatively predictable nature, despite her being Et’eliana and technically—an enemy.
“Indeed.” He inclined his head and caused the small Portal to the palace square to close. It would be problematic if one of his warriors decided to investigate where it led and stumbled upon their secret meeting. “I see you have found a vessel for our purposes.”
He shifted his attention to the girl and approached her to inspect her more closely. It was important to verify personally that she was suitable for the delicate ritual ahead. The girl tried to move away from him, crawling backward, but that did not prevent Kuor from reaching her in just a few steps. He lifted her into the air and looked into her eyes. When her white pupils met his, their minds converged in a place beyond this world.
“Do not resist my will, human child!” Kuor spoke in her mind as he examined the structure of her soul. “Today, you have the honor of participating in an unprecedented experiment.”
“Let me go! Let me go, you monster!” The girl somehow found the strength to respond.
Very good. Very good, indeed. This inner strength would serve them well during the ritual and afterward.
“Be careful not to harm her with your clumsy movements and sharp armor!” Lady Ra’maen’s voice, prickly with displeasure, interrupted his examination. “We need her intact!”
“As you wish, Lady Ra’maen,” Kuor responded and immediately released the girl. He had seen all that he needed. “Were you able to obtain the other necessary component?”
“Oh, of course!” Lady Ra’maen pulled a small, crystal-clear sphere from the pocket of her vest. In its center, a bright purple light pulsed rhythmically and powerfully. With a deliberately casual motion, she let the orb roll into the center of her palm. The satisfaction with her accomplishment was evident in her posture. “I must admit, Lord Kuor, the Magic of the or’dain proved far more effective than I had anticipated.”
“I worked for nearly an entire cycle on this unique magitech, Lady Ra’maen.” For Kuor, the moment of triumph from creating the process to extract and store soul essence had long passed. What was the point of revisiting it now? What mattered was the final result and its application. “I would be surprised if you had reported a different outcome.”
“And where is your part of the agreed-upon preparation?”
For some reason, Lady Ra’maen now sounded displeased. It was difficult for Kuor to decipher her emotions, and the primary obstacle was certainly not her mask.
“Here.” Kuor pointed to himself. “I will use my own power as the catalyst.”
“That is… unexpected.” There was something new in her tone. Something that almost sounded like… concern? Was Lady Ra’maen worried about him? No, no, more likely about the outcome of the ritual! “And why have you decided to risk your immortality, Lord Kuor?”
Yes, she was definitely concerned. Naturally, she had expected Kuor to come prepared. But indeed, there was no other way. In every corner of Aartoh-Daggaras, Kuor-Adamarant was in constant connection with his Master. If he had created his or’dain there, Moritan would have sensed it immediately, and their carefully crafted plan would have been annihilated. Kuor was uncertain of the severity of the consequences for Lady Ra’maen, but for himself, he was sure that at best, he would face endless cycles of soul torture. Even here and now, under the protection of the isolation spell and hidden just a stone’s throw away from the cacophony of a disintegrating world, his upcoming actions were indeed a folly.
The risk today was shared by both of them. Kuor reminded himself that he had a partner in this endeavor, someone with whom he would share both success and failure. For a moment, he allowed himself to experience an unfamiliar emotion—closeness to another being. This made him feel awkward, and he quickly shrugged it off, taking a few steps toward the withered tree. It was dangerous to begin the ritual while ruled by emotions and stray thoughts.
“Out of boredom, Lady Ra’maen,” Kuor responded after a brief moment of thought. It was the safest answer. “And perhaps a bit of curiosity.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very convincing reason.”
Expected. Besides all her other admirable qualities, Lady Ra’maen was also exceptionally perceptive. But he had already chosen a path and could only move forward.
“That’s just who I am, Lady Ra’maen, a descendant of Moritan.” Kuor spread his arms wide and turned to meet her gaze. “You still have a choice—either we continue with the ritual now, or we each go our separate ways.”
She remained silent, watching him for several painfully long moments before declaring in an unexpectedly carefree tone:
“Oh, very well, Lord Kuor! Do as you wish, but let me offer you one piece of advice: don’t become an obstacle to my plans. Let’s begin!”
Kuor nodded in response, feeling momentary relief that the risk he had taken proved justified. He then turned his attention to the vessel for the ritual. The girl was still trying to escape, crawling backward as far away from them as she could.
“Come here, human child!” Kuor commanded.
The girl shook her head in stubborn defiance and continued to pull away. A strong soul, no doubt. In a moment of inspiration, Kuor decided to preserve as much of her spirit and consciousness as possible. It was a good opportunity for another small parallel experiment, one that would not jeopardize their other goals. To achieve this, he needed to temporarily isolate her body from her mind. He took control of the wild Magical threads that surged from the depths of the approaching wave of Chaos and began to weave them together. Moments later, a complex pattern appeared above the girl, and with a brief gesture of his hand, the Magic sank into her head. She lost consciousness and collapsed silently onto the grass.
“She doesn’t need to be conscious for the process,” Kuor explained, preempting any questions.
“As you wish.” To Lady Ra’maen, this was evidently of no concern. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes.”
Kuor brought his palms together before his face and closed his eyes, focusing his inner gaze on his soul. It took him a little time, but soon the fine, pale lines that made up Kuor-Adamarant began to appear in his mind. At first, just a few, then dozens, then hundreds, and eventually too many to count, even for the most precise mind. Carefully, Kuor selected six of them, which he could sever without destroying the complex structure. Had he made a mistake or chosen the wrong threads, his soul would unravel like a torn piece of cloth, and Lord Kuor-Adamarant would cease to exist. Not even Moritan could bring him back from that. But this was another risk he had long ago decided to take. There was no price too great in the pursuit of new horizons. Very soon, he would find out if the day for payment had arrived.
Almost without feeling his body, Kuor began to slowly separate his hands, millimeter by millimeter. In the perfect center between them, he started to form the future structure of the new or’dain. Precision in choosing the right place was crucial to maintaining balance across all sides of the new artifact. Complex constructions of Magical threads began to shape an artificial cocoon, initially smaller than a pinpoint, but with each passing moment, it grew, layer by layer. This part of the process was complex and required precise control over the Magic, but it wasn’t dangerous. Here, the most important thing was to properly prepare the structure, which would later control the energy source—a fragment of his own soul. In the original plan, the next step required a catalyst—usually another soul—to act as a buffer between his own and the dangerous, wild, uncontrollable Magic of the partially constructed or’dain. Naturally, during the extraction process, this buffer would be completely destroyed, but the risk and pain for the creator of the or’dain would be minimized.
Kuor did not have a catalyst. On the one hand, it was difficult to secure one in Aartoh-Daggaras without arousing dangerous curiosity, and on the other, using a buffer inevitably drained some of the energy that was supposed to power the or’dain in the future. Kuor never settled for mediocrity when creating something. Even if it meant enduring some discomfort, he preferred to achieve the most efficient artifact possible.
“Discomfort. Ha! It seems even I am not immune to the tendency to downplay unpleasant things,” he thought.
Without giving himself a moment to hesitate, Kuor refocused his attention on the six pre-selected threads from his soul. He grasped the first one and carefully began to pull. The agony that followed had nothing to do with physical pain. Kuor-Adamarant’s entire being screamed in helpless torment and tried to curl around this one point. With a titanic effort of will, he endured and continued to pull until the thread tore away. It almost caused him to lose his sanity, but a part of him—the one responsible for his unyielding persistence—overcame everything else. Without losing a moment, Kuor directed the severed thread into the center of the or’dain’s construction. Reaching the space left for it, the thread sank into it, connecting with two of the free ends and becoming an integral part of the whole. A faint red light appeared in the center of the structure. One of six steps was complete. Five more remained, and with each subsequent one, the power of the new or’dain would grow exponentially.
Kuor gathered his will and continued onward.
An eternity of indescribable agony later, the six threads from his soul had found their place. The impossibly complex weave between his palms moved like something alive, with microscopic energy impulses flickering through it. If he let go, it would instantly seek out the nearest living being other than himself, attempting to invade it from within like some nightmarish parasite. Of course, he had no intention of letting that happen. The wounded parts of him pulsed with a sensation beyond pain, but after a careful inspection, Kuor confirmed that he had chosen well. His soul was not in danger, though it would take time to fully recover. That wasn’t important. What mattered was that the hardest part of the process was over. All that remained was to create the casing and seal the living construct within.
Kuor focused once more on the wild Magical threads and began to build a new, different structure around the future core of the or’dain. It didn’t take long for the weaving to be complete, and with a bright flash followed by a quiet crack, the casing snapped into place. In Kuor’s hand materialized a small sphere, black as the Void itself. At its center, much like Lady Ra’maen’s, pulsed a tiny purple light. He allowed himself to admire his creation without opening his eyes—his inner gaze showed the artifact in absolute detail. Every or’dain was similar to the others but was also completely unique. The final result depended on the specifics of the soul, the catalyst, the Magical style and skill of the creator, and even the location where it was made. When he returned to Aartoh-Daggaras, Lord Kuor-Adamarant planned to continue his research into this fascinating field of magitech.
Kuor opened his eyes and met his partner’s gaze.
“And here is my contribution to our shared goal, Lady Ra’maen,” he said, silently reprimanding himself for the weakness that had crept into his voice.
“I see, Lord Kuor.” Her voice was cold. “Are you ready for the next step, or shall I wait for you to gather your strength?”
It was obvious that Lady Ra’maen had sensed his fatigue, and for beings like them, any sign of weakness was anathema. Kuor couldn’t afford to appear weak, not in the eyes of a temporary ally or a potential adversary. In either case, showing weakness in her presence could prove fatal—if not for him, then at least for the experiment. So, he focused his mind on the wild Magic surrounding them and summoned it into himself. Countless threads spun toward him, biting into his body like attacking venomous serpents. Drawing energy this way was dangerous, and if Kuor lost control, he would be reduced to nothing more than an empty shell of armor. Just another risk he had to take.
“I don’t need rest, Lady Ra’maen,” he replied after mastering the energy influx.
“Then let us proceed!” she declared, stepping closer to the girl.
Kuor followed her, and the two of them stood opposite each other, with the girl between them. In their outstretched hands, shimmering like living things, were the two or’dains—one as transparent as a freshly shed tear, and the other as black as a drop of hot tar. These were his creations. For more than a cycle, Kuor had worked on the process of their creation and on the ritual they were about to perform. And despite him being the brilliant mind behind it all, the desired result could not be achieved solely with Chaos Magic, nor with the Magic of Niamaru alone. To see his ultimate goal realized, he needed Lady Ra’maen and her complete dedication to their shared, forbidden endeavor—an endeavor banned by all the existing laws of the universe. In this respect, Kuor-Adamarant had found the perfect accomplice in her. With her help, he would change the established rules and create something entirely new and unprecedented.
Lady Ra’maen signaled that she was ready to begin, and without further delay, she unleashed the manifestation of her power—an ethereal aura of countless intertwining pale pink and crimson-threaded strands of energy, resembling ghostly, majestic wings that filled the space around her and extended for meters in every direction. The Et’eliani called this t’iar, and Kuor found it captivating. The first time he had seen it, he had added it to his list of things he wanted to study in great depth. Perhaps after they completed the ritual, he and Lady Ra’maen could go somewhere where she might allow him to conduct some preliminary measurements…
Kuor forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The work was exceptionally delicate and allowed for no mistakes, not even the smallest one. He followed Lady Ra’maen’s lead and summoned his own power, which had a very different expression, invisible to outside eyes. The Children of Chaos had no need to flaunt their power in the way the Et’eliani did. The sounds of the languages of Aartoh-Daggaras and Elianno filled the small clearing at the same time—something that usually only happened in scenes of mass violence. But not today. As the more experienced of the two, it was his responsibility to maintain the synchronization of their voices—synchronization that was critical to the success of the ritual.
Guided by the pattern of the spell, the two crystal spheres lifted from their owners’ palms. Gradually, they expanded like soap bubbles, and the lights within their cores pulsed more and more fiercely until they finally roared with an unseen force. Kuor could clearly feel the growing resistance of the black or’dain and had to put more and more effort into keeping it under control. Compared to the challenges of its creation, this was of a different nature entirely. Now the artifact had its own will and fought against what was happening with every drop of power it had. And having reached this point, the ritual could not be interrupted. The two opposing and alien Magics were deeply entwined. Losing control could cost him dearly.
As the spell progressed, the two or’dains swelled to the size of human heads. Their casings had thinned to the extreme. Millimeter by millimeter, the two spheres were forced to move toward each other, occupying the same point in both time and space. The moment of fusion was nearly upon them, and Kuor steeled his will in anticipation of the inevitable reaction. For a single instant, the two spheres ceased to exist, and the raging forces within them were suddenly set free. The untamed, furious energy collided with Kuor’s consciousness… and spread like a wave crashing against an unyielding breakwater.
Kuor-Adamarant ignored the sensation and focused his attention on the magical spectacle. It was exceedingly fascinating to witness the real outcome of his theoretical work. Before his eyes, the alien forces fought ferociously with each other, intertwined in exceptionally complex patterns, layer upon layer, seemingly into infinity. This was the moment of truth. If either of them had made even a single mistake in weaving the Magic, one defect in the patterns, the incomprehensibly complex structure would unravel. The consequences of that would be unpredictable, even for him.
Gradually, the layers of patterns settled into place and stopped rebelling. The entire structure froze in anticipation. Kuor allowed himself a brief moment of respite and met the gaze of his partner. The crimson flames behind her white mask unmistakably radiated a triumphant glow—a feeling he shared completely. But it was still too early to celebrate the success of the ritual. The final, most delicate step remained.
The two or’dains rematerialized and gently returned to their owners’ hands, though the pulsating power within them had visibly weakened. Their voices rang out again, and the magical construct before them began to unfold precisely according to design. Like some strange serpent, its free end shot downward and plunged into the belly of the still-sleeping girl. The force released was so great that her body jerked as if released from a coiled spring and lifted nearly a meter off the ground. Had the girl been conscious, the sensation of the merging would have likely damaged her mind. This was precisely why Kuor had separated her mind from her body. How could they expect her to bear offspring in the future if she became feebleminded?
Encouraged by their success, Kuor and Ra’maen made a final push, completing the spell in perfect synchrony. Before them, the last of the unfolded patterns sank, one by one, into the girl, until finally, nothing remained outside. The flow of energy into her body ceased, and she fell back onto the grass, still unconscious.
“Congratulations, Lord Kuor,” Lady Ra’maen said, her voice sounding exhausted. “That was a job well done.”
“As was yours, Lady Ra’maen,” he replied, his own voice barely more than a whisper.
The ritual had drained all the extra energy he had absorbed earlier, and much more besides. He would need long intervals of meditation to recover what had been lost. He crouched beside the girl’s body and placed a hand on her abdomen to verify the result. Kuor’s touch made her stir even in her sleep, as if trying to shake something unpleasant off herself.
“The girl is fine, and the Magic is in place,” he confirmed, standing up after ensuring everything was as it should be. “As planned, her firstborn child will carry within them the powers of our two poles. Where do you intend to hide her until then?”
“In Anarand’aris,” Lady Ra’maen replied without hesitation.
The cursed name sent an internal shock through him, as if he had been struck by lightning. Although he had considered the possibility of betrayal on her part from the beginning, Kuor still felt a burning disappointment and seething anger.
“Anarand’aris!”
“Oh yes,” she replied in a tone that he disliked intensely. “It is the only world that remains forever beyond the reach of Chaos. And you know as well as I what would happen to the girl if Moritan ever learned about her and what she carries within… Besides, Ilirien, Anestion, and their entire pack have no reason to return there, which is an additional advantage for our goals. They would be no less extreme than your Master when it comes to something like this.”
Kuor did not respond. His mind was feverishly analyzing the situation, searching for the optimal solution. After the ritual, his strength was like that of a newborn, and although Lady Ra’maen was unlikely to be in much better condition, he couldn’t be sure who was stronger at the moment. The Et’eliana was one of the most powerful of her race, and even now, after a millennium of collaboration, he knew far too little about her and her abilities. A confrontation between the two of them here and now was an unjustifiable risk. Not only was the outcome uncertain, but the unleashed, uncontrolled forces could attract the attention of the other Lords of Chaos and even Moritan if the wave of Chaos approached close enough. Although Kuor had risked much to reach this point, the success of their endeavor now fundamentally changed the situation going forward.
“Since you have no objections, Lord Kuor, it is time for us to depart from your delightful company,” Lady Ra’maen declared, lifting the limp body of the girl under her arm as if she were luggage.
Outrageous! He couldn’t leave things like this. He had invested too much, for too long, to surrender at the final moment. Weak or not, Kuor-Adamarant was ready to engage Lady Ra’maen in combat if it came to that. But what she had said made sense, as much as he disliked it. In a final attempt to reach some workable compromise between the two of them, he raised a hand in a halting gesture.
“I leave her in your care, Lady Ra’maen. But this does not mean I intend to remain in the dark. I want your word that I will receive detailed reports on her progress and the outcome of our experiment. Swear an Oath, or the girl will not leave this world.”
That made her stop and look at him. He didn’t need to see her expression to feel her anger.
“My rights over her are exactly equal to yours,” he continued. “I am fully aware that once the girl is in Anarand’aris, she will be beyond my reach. I don’t ask much of you—only regular and detailed information on everything concerning her. Swear the Oath, and I will let you proceed.”
Lady Ra’maen remained motionless for a while. The crimson flames of her eyes watched him as though they intended to consume him whole. For Kuor, it was impossible to predict what thoughts were passing through her mind or what reaction might follow. Without giving any outward sign, he began gathering his strength for a potential attack.
“Oh, very well,” she said unexpectedly, though her tone made her feelings on the matter unmistakably clear. “I, Ra’maen of the Et’eliani, swear this Oath on the heart of Niamaru: I will share with you, Lord Kuor-Adamarant, within a reasonably short time and upon your request, all truthful and detailed information concerning Elania Erhnat and her offspring.”
“Thank you, Lady Ra’maen.” Kuor inclined his head, feeling a palpable sense of relief. Erhnat? So, she was the daughter of the man whose soul he had harvested shortly before arriving here. Sometimes, the Path of Chance twists in very interesting ways. But that wasn’t important at the moment. “The girl will wake up after a while. But you need to leave immediately.” His gaze shifted to the approaching wave, now only a kilometer from their meeting place. “This world will soon become one with the Great Chaos.”
“You know how to contact me, Lord Kuor.”
Her tone made it clear that it would be a long time before she welcomed such contact again. Without another word, she adjusted the girl under her arm and left the clearing where something extraordinary and unprecedented had occurred. Soon enough, the incoming Chaos would erase all traces of it forever.
Kuor continued to watch Lady Ra’maen’s figure as she disappeared among the mirages at the edge of the world. He couldn’t help but wonder whether, despite her Oath, he would ever see her or the girl again. But time was one of the resources Lord Kuor-Adamarant had in abundance. He could be infinitely patient when it came to one of his cherished projects. Sooner or later, the fates would turn, and Anarand’aris would fall. On that day, access to the girl or her offspring would be firmly in his hands.
Kuor cast one last glance at the wave of untamed Chaos, now almost upon him, then opened a Portal to the fortress of Anorr. It was time to report to Moritan on their triumph over yet another world of Niamaru.