Wrath of the Titans

PROLOGUE

They say that our gaze is so fixated on the past that we are unable to see the happiness that lies beneath our feet. But sometimes, to see the future, it is enough to look back. However, in our case, we will look back to dive into the distant past, when the terrible Great War broke out.

In ancient times, on the Travellian Islands archipelago, on one of the largest, called Eastern Dragosh, a battle of the Gods broke out between the underground kingdom of Elysium and the heavenly dominion of Gella. On the field of the firmament, the Titans of Gella clashed in a battle to the death with the Ifrits of Elysium. According to legend, that night the earth shook, and heavy, menacing clouds closed their multi-layered ranks, wrapping all the islands in pitch darkness, sprinkling the earth with the flames of the fallen Ifrits. And thunder rumbled from the heavy battle, tearing apart the peaceful silence, and thousands of lightning bolts burst forth, incinerating the young earth. They say that the glow from them was such that even the brightest day could not compare with it. The exhausted earth could not withstand such an onslaught and cracked, and a hole formed in the mountain of Dark Eternity. Fires burst out of the dark abyss of the mountain, and pillars of flame soared, touching the heavens with their tongues. And then, against the background of a bloody-crimson glow, he appeared. One of the minions of the Gods of Elysium arose with a horde of hellish creatures that knew no pity, sorrow, and most importantly, fear, for they were the fear devouring this world. They destroyed cities, eradicated entire nations and devoured everything in their path. A wave of horror swept over all who still dared to breathe. But despite the trembling of the earth, despite the evil that came into this world, a faint hope arose in the face of the united peoples inhabiting this world. They say that in the midst of the battle, their magic and the power of iron were as if it were a dance of flame with a raging wind of spears and arrows, and their power was hidden in some artifacts, the true meaning of which was lost over the long centuries.

One fine day, evil finally met its end, and the mountain’s pit was hidden forever. Many houses were destroyed. Not only houses, but many cities lay in ruins on the scorched earth. It was from that moment and that day that a new era began - the era of the Renaissance of the Mirindar region, located in the center of the island of Eastern Dragosh and most affected by the appearance of the servants of darkness. In fact, this date gave rise to a new chronology for all peoples and in all cities, except for the Talandriels, whose true intentions are hidden to this day.

Whether this is true or not, no one will tell you. But the fear that arose after this legend held everyone in its power for many human generations. Most began to adhere to the opinion that it was better to keep silent once again and not to remember the past history, so as not to bring upon themselves another misfortune and curses. But at least a thousand years passed, and this story gradually turned into a legend, and then into fiction, for the amusement of children. And so it was exactly until the day when a red glow shone over the Wasteland Valley, in the south-eastern side of the Mirindar region, blinding the night sky with a bright tint, which gave cause for new unrest to all peoples and all kings.

The King of Men, Barin Moronger, whose domains extended far to the south and abutted the the Duskmire Mountains, which bordered the Valley of the Wasteland on the east, did not hesitate and sent out a research party to establish the true cause of the Fiery Sky - as the common people called the radiance.

Year 1008, city of Ehglow.

Written and signed by the High Abbot of the

Miriostin community, Airesei the Radiant.

Mid-summer, Year 1008 since the End of the Great War (E.G.W.).

In the Frozen Gorge that divided the Twilight Mountains, two riders galloped, breaking the silence with the resounding clatter of hooves and heavy breathing. The wind screamed in their ears, and the horses, groaning from fatigue, drove forward among the tight, tall stone blocks that stretched out like fortress walls on both sides of their path. Above their heads stood a dark, gloomy night, shrouded in clouds, from under which both moons occasionally emerged, illuminating the riders’ path. The riders silently raced forward, listening attentively to every rustle that was heard behind them.

It seemed to them that a terrible shadow was already overtaking them, but the only sound in the entire area was the clatter of the hooves of tired stallions. The road before them kept trying to lead them astray, twisting left and right until it narrowed into an even greater gorge, like a log cut in half, where rocky walls rose high into the sky, dissolving under a vault of impenetrable clouds.

The riders, drawing level with each other for a moment, exchanged brief glances in which the fear that had overtaken them in the depths of these mountains beat. Until suddenly, as if from nowhere, a gust of icy wind appeared, snorting at their backs, which was unusual for this summer time, giving even greater malice to the horror that pursued them.

“Faster! We have to get out of here! Faster!” the one who was a little ahead shouted to the second one, whose heart was desperately trying to break out of his body.

They raced, no, they flew with the wind, racing through the gorge that pierced the Shadow Mountains and paved the way from the Valley of the Desolation to the Dry Valley, where the camp was located. The camp of the people. The riders, from time to time, overcoming each turn, looked back restlessly, afraid to see what had filled them with fear and despair. But, fortunately for them, in the distance, beyond the last stone arch, the dry foothills were already visible, which meant that they were almost out of this damned place. The wind grew stronger and pierced the riders’ bodies with its sly fingers, as if frosty steel touched their skin, penetrating to the bones. But the fear bending their necks was stronger than the fatigue trying to knock them off their feet.

Soon they finally emerged from the cleft of the gorge, cut into the sheer rock like the prow of a great ship, and a sandy valley spread out before their eyes. But when they saw it, their oppressed hearts did not find the desired peace. They rushed on, rushed, without the slightest possibility of stopping for a moment, because they were afraid that every moment could now cost them their lives and the whole camp that was located there, in front.

“No-no-no!” they urged the horses on with their whips, racing along the road paved with cracked slabs and not having a single, even dry, tree in the area.

A flame sparkled on the horizon and the souls of the riders finally found partial peace. Never before had they been so happy about the ordinary flame of the camp pitched in the distance. Although it was still too far to make out the banners fluttering alone in the wind, the outlines of black silhouettes of people and dark squares of wagons against the background of flickering lights were already quite clearly visible.

Having reached, the riders abruptly jumped off their horses onto the ground marked by the light of the fire, and ran as fast as they could through the camp dotted with field tents. They ran, not noticing what was happening around them. Their eyes seemed to be no longer under their control and only dictated to their legs where to go, but they saw what drove the riders from the very depths of the Cold Gorge.

Covered in dust and sweat, the scouts reached their leaderʼs tent, where two nondescript guards stood watch.

“Stop!” one of them said sternly, and his hand rose, stopping the scouts. Despite their gloomy appearance, he added:

“The commander is holding a meeting now.”

“Let us in immediately!” one of the riders shouted sharply, his eyes flashing furiously.

Without slowing for even a moment, he slammed chest-first into the guard’s outstretched arm.

The second guard, tense and wary, grabbed the hilt of his sword with a jerk and prepared for decisive action.

“I told you, you can’t!” the guard repeated, losing his temper.

The scout, looking up from the hand holding him, looked into the eyes of the guard. His eyes flashed with unnatural malice, like a fire burning in the bottomless darkness, and a short impulsive speech about what he thought of them burst out of his mouth. Periodically inserting fragments from his sortie into his “loving” story. After that, the guard removed his hand and entered the tent first.

The commanders’ meeting was interrupted by the guard who cautiously pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside, followed by two more. One immediately dropped to one knee, the other stood as straight as he could. All those speaking instantly fell silent, and their indignant glances were glued to those who had burst into the tent.

“Where?!” the guard snapped. “I told you to wait outside! Excuse me, my lords, these two are from the scouting party that was sent to the Valley of the Waste this morning. They claim that they were the only ones who survived.”

“What do you mean, they were the only ones who survived?!” the leader Tomen asked anxiously, turning his gaze from the guard to the scouts. He was standing, leaning over the table, above which hung several oil lamps, illuminating the map of the area spread out on the table.

Two people appeared in front of Tomen. One was skinny, with curly, tousled hair and a bleeding wound along his entire forearm, the other, who could barely stand on his feet, was heavier; a red bandage hung around his neck. Their clothes, hands, and faces were far from untouched - fabric torn, skin scratched and in places bluish, as if frostbitten. Tomen cast an uncomprehending glance at them and gestured for them to speak. The scouts began interrupting each other, their words bursting out in a frantic stream, their hands flailing wildly in the air. However, this devolved into an incoherent jumble, which meant only one thing: their story didn’t bode well.

“Hey! Stop! I don’t understand a damn thing...,” shouted Tomen Moronger (the leader). “You,” he pointed with his hand at the one who was standing more collected. “Slow down. Start over. What did you see? And where are the others?”

The soldier shuddered, remembering what had happened, as if death itself had embraced him, and looked at his leader with concern. He nodded.

“Death awaits us there, my lord. Believe me, we must quickly get out of here, otherwise this evil will swallow us all!”

“Well, hurry up! What are you standing there for!?” shouted the second scout, turning as pale as chalk.

A sudden silence, then bewilderment, overtook all those present in the tent. They looked in confusion from Tomen to the scouts, but no one dared to speak first. Tomen, although he looked at them with apprehension, at the same time radiated icy calm. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. Although he was already quite tall, under the light of the oil lamps his figure cast a noticeably huge shadow on the wall of the tent.

In a calm voice he said:

“Remind me of your names, soldiers.”

They exchanged glances.

“I am Alfie, my lord, and this is Douglas,” the scout stammered, shifting from one foot to the other and pointing at his companion.

The eyes of those present again moved to the man, who had his head bowed low, and who was constantly twitching and shaking.

“Okay, Alfie, now collect your thoughts and report to me like a Breston soldier should, and not like an abandoned girl! Tell us the whole story from beginning to end,” Tomen declared in the commanding tone characteristic of all Morongers. “And get this one off his knees already, for the love of all that is holy!” he shouted in addition, noticing the guard at the tent flap, who still had not left the tent.

“I fear there is no time for this, my lord!” cried the more collected soldier and immediately regretted it when he came into contact with the cold gaze of his leader. “We must leave this damned place, otherwise...,” he added timidly at the end.

“Listen here, soldier,” the leader interrupted his timid speech, “now we will waste more time listening to your snot and whining. So let you first explain yourself properly, and then we will decide. And that’s it!”

The second soldier was grabbed under the arms and sat down on a chair, but he did not even raise his head, touching his chin to his chest and rocking back and forth, all the while whispering that everything was over and there was no salvation. The shocked guard uncorked a flask of water and handed it to him. With unnatural speed, he swung his head towards the flask and grabbed it, draining it in one sitting. The guard shuddered, shook his head in dismay and turned his frightened face to the second scout, who had already begun to tell the commanders about what had happened to them.

“We were moving along the Styly Gorge... It was well past midday... I would even say the sun was already moving towards the sunset when we ran into a blockage of stones that blocked our path. At first, we thought of going around them and finding another way, but we quickly found out from the maps that there was only one road in this place. In general, we dismounted, tied our horses nearby to the only dry tree we found and took the bare necessities with us, and quietly moved on foot. Having overcome the blockage quite quickly, we moved for about another hour, or maybe two. Presumably, the sun was already on the horizon, and we saw a ribbon of gray-blue sky above our heads, but it was already quite dark in the gorge and visibility was getting worse with each treetop*. And suddenly that mysterious glow again, only it was shining not in the sky, as we were used to seeing it, but in the gorge, somewhere ahead. Then an icy gust of wind swept through the gorge, and he roared as if some invisible throat had spat him out into the world. It rushed past us, throwing dust in our eyes, and rushed on, disappearing around the first turn. And again there was silence... I remember Connor saying there was something sinister going on there… But what’s there to lie about, we were really scared and hid behind the nearest boulders sticking out of the ground, and immediately fell silent. But this silence was soon broken by strange restless voices, squealing, I would even say. Do you know how a pig screams when it’s going to the slaughter? It was the same, only there were many voices. They screamed as if they were scared of something or someone. In short, having found a crevice between the stones, we began to peer through it and saw them - the Goblins.”

Krona* is a unit of length equal to two thousand meters or two thousand one hundred and ninety yards.

“Goblins?” asked the elder Varin, standing to the left of Tomen.

“Yes, that’s right.” Small, slippery creatures with pale yellow skin and a skinny body. At first, we thought to jump out and quickly deal with them, but what happened next... We had never encountered anything like this or even heard of anything like it. A soul-stirring sound was born, more like a whisper. This sound filled the entire gorge, every corner, every crevice, and caused a wild tremor in our bodies, which penetrated every cell of it. We did not attack, but continued to look through the crack between the stones. Hearing this, the goblins squealed even louder and soon disappeared into a crevice in the rock hidden in the shadows. And then... - he paused briefly, looking into the darkness of the tent, and continued. - Then, out of nowhere, a thick fog appeared, covering the entire gorge. It was like melted milk, covering everything in front of us, and it was so thick I couldn’t even see my boots. Along with it came a deathly silence I’ll never forget.

After these words, the second scout began to sob, clutching his head as if a sharp pain had pierced him, and the first scout looked at him sympathetically, seeing in him a reflection of his own suffering, and continued in a hoarse voice:

“All I saw at that moment were the nearest frightened faces of my comrades. And then... Then a terrible sound arose... First there was a grinding sound, as if a dagger was being drawn across glass, and then clicks were heard, like the sound of blacksmith’s tongs, echoing throughout the gorge. But it was not them at all, I know how this instrument really sounds. We did not see anything, but these sounds came from everywhere, tearing us apart. I remember how we looked at each other and pressed our backs against the boulder, hearing how it clicked and clicked, not stopping for a moment. And a moment later, others answered him. These sounds grew louder and louder with each passing second, becoming clearer, more distinct, as if something was approaching us. And then... And then...

“THEY ARE GONE!!!” the second rider screamed in a voice full of horror and despair, covering his ears with his hands, as if he heard the sound again in reality.

The unexpected scream made everyone flush hot. Even Alfie (the second scout) jumped up, crossing his arms over his chest. Tomen, the leader of the squad, noticed how the expression on the faces of those present in the tent changed from doubt to confusion and worry. The exception was the second commander Remis, standing to his right. He was closely examining the scouts, and contempt was clearly etched on his face.

Tomen only now noticed the guard standing next to the sobbing scout, and commanded imperiously:

“Take him outside! Let him whimper there!” and with a gesture ordered Alfie to continue his report.guard standing near the sobbing scout. He gestured for Alfie to continue his report.

The scout, trying to cope with his fear, continued:

“I only had time to look at Connor, when suddenly...” he turned to the exit of the tent, as if afraid to see something there that was seriously worrying him. At the same time, he continued to speak, not taking his eyes off the entrance. “Suddenly something grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up, over the stone. He was screaming... He was screaming so much...”

“And what grabbed him?” the commander asked tensely.

“I did not see, my lord. At that moment, without thinking twice, we ran as fast as we could back to the horses. I ran without looking back. All I saw at that moment was how Maurice fell in front of me into the fog, and I stopped to help him up. Jorah ran up, and together we began to look for him. But the fog was so thick that we could not see anything below our waists. Then Jorah fell in, too, with screams and sounds as if he was being dragged somewhere, and then they started tearing him apart. I heard it... I heard it... And then... Then my eyes and my ears seemed to no longer be mine. I ran... I ran and ran, not stopping, until I got out of the fog spreading out before me. I reached the rubble and climbed up, then looked back, but the fog had already crawled up to the rubble and began to envelop the first rows of stones, approaching me. I jumped off, flew to the horses and jumped on mine. I was about to let the others go, when suddenly the fog rolled over to the other side of the rubble and stones began to rain down. I froze for a moment, for a tremor gripped my body, but then I saw Douglas (the second scout) coming out of the fog, screaming in a voice that was not his own.”

“And what was he screaming?” asked the sergeant-major.

“I don’t know!” the scout cried out impulsively, and his face immediately softened upon realizing who was standing before him. “I don’t know, his entire speech alternated between curses and indistinct words, mixed into a single stream of sounds. I didn’t have time to question him, and I didn’t want to either. But I’m afraid he’s seen much more than I have... Then we rushed here without stopping... And by the grace of the Gods we are here. But we don’t have much time,” he looked imploringly at the commanders. “My lords, we must quickly get out of here... Otherwise death!” he said the last words a little louder, looking Tomen straight in the eyes.

Tomen felt a chill run down his spine. The look of the scout Alfie left no doubt, and as soon as he opened his mouth, anxious cries and voices were heard outside the tent. The leader jumped up from his place, ran to the exit with large strides, threw open the tent flap and went crazy.

A thick fog immediately slid inside in a wave, reaching up to the ankles and covering the entire base of the tent with its haze, and another wave of anxious cries sounded outside, all predicting the same thing. Tomen ran out into the street, but the picture there was no better. The whole earth was shrouded in a thick white haze, rolling in from the east and rising smoothly upward. Glancing down the aisle between the two rows of tents, beneath the glow of the blazing fires, at the edge of the camp, Tomen caught a glimpse of a large grey wall of billowing smoke, slowly approaching the camp like a tsunami.

Following the leader, scout Alfie jumped out of the tent, saw a wall of ghostly smoke and froze like a spitting image of a statue, his mouth open. Then he began to twitch awkwardly and, moving with sideways steps, ran away. Tomen remained silent. Frankly speaking, he had no time for him. He was at a loss, absolutely not understanding what was happening and how to deal with it. How to protect people? Where to go? What to do? A voice suddenly sounded behind him, prompting him to act.

“What the hell?” Varin cried, standing behind him and holding the tent flap up.

Deeply troubled, Tomen turned to Varin but remained silent. His confidence was gripped by a vice-like grip of terror, and recalling the scouts’ words, he seemed frozen. But pulling himself together the next moment, he ordered Remes to prepare the horses for their immediate departure and ran back into the tent, snatching the papers from the table.

Varin glanced inside the tent, watching the leader hastily stuff the papers into a travel bag. But he was immediately startled when a cry came from the edge of the camp, already almost completely engulfed in a mysterious, seething white shroud:

“AAAAAA, he’s gone!” A heart-rending scream erupted from the lips of one of the soldiers, and then other voices joined in:

“His legs were blown off, I saw it! Save yourself!”

“Let’s get out of here!” a third voice shouted.

“Roni, Roni! No... Nooooo!” came the voice of a fourth or sixth, but it was impossible to make out.

Varin saw the nearest warriors, confused, rushing around, looking from the white haze to him. But when they heard the cries of their comrades coming from the outskirts of the camp, they were ready to scatter until he shouted a command, calming their growing panic with a loud voice.

“To arms! To arms! Quickly!” he shouted, striding toward them, hidden thigh-deep in the thick white fog. “Stand back to back! Defend yourselves! Light more fires, more fire! We must see this carrion that hides there...” They twitched, shook their heads, and reared up, as if death itself were whispering in their ears.

Varin fell into the fog, screaming at the top of his lungs. His voice quickly became distant and weak, and soon disappeared completely, as did the courage of the soldiers. Panic broke out in the camp. In despair, everyone began to run in all directions, abandoning their belongings, worries, and all their baggage. Shouts, cries, and the clanking of weapons merged into a chaotic roar in which the last vestiges of order were drowned, and the camp, which until recently seemed a bastion of safety, turned into a scene of chaos and horror.

Four soldiers, seeing how the fifth was grabbed by something and dragged into the thick of the fog, without thinking, ran towards a small group of horses standing nearby. The horses were tied to three trees with hooked, bald branches in the northern part of the camp. Anticipating trouble, they had been snorting tensely, fluttering and restlessly stamping their hooves on the ground long before this, trying to break free from their leashes.

The soldiers hastily began to untie the leashes, cursing this day, this night and the one who had tied the knots so tightly, until, with great difficulty, they untangled them. Frightened, the horses jerked sharply, tore off from their place, together with the rope, which cut the palms of one of the soldiers, leaving severe burns as a souvenir, and raced off at full speed, disappearing into the darkness of the deep night. The soldiers managed to keep hold of only three horses. Under the pressure of the impending horror, they, without thinking, nimbly jumped on their horses and galloped off to the west with a whoop, forgetting about the fourth, who raised his puzzled gaze from his burnt palms to their backs and could not believe his eyes. His cry reached them from afar, growling at their backs, but it was too late... They disappeared... Disappeared in the embrace of the night, taking with them the last hope of the fourth, in the dust that rose from under the hooves of their horses. The one who remained, seized with panic and fear, rushed about, not knowing where to run, until finally he froze, feeling how his insides were stirred by a hissing howl and a repeated clicking sound, as if a bird was clicking its beak nearby. With these sounds came smoky sleeves, wrapping themselves around his body like sinister tentacles, and behind them a whole dark wave of haze with black, deep hollows, swallowing up light and life. A heartbeat later, the fog swallowed him.

At this time, in the center of the camp, a good portion of the soldiers began to run, racing away from the devouring threat. They ran like madmen, overtaking each other, now and then catching and stumbling over everything that lay hidden by the gray shroud under their feet. Many fell face down in the fog, but only a few rose after that. And when, having tripped over something, they dropped their sword or spear, then, for the most part, the soldiers did not even try to find it. Only a few lingered, trying to find their weapons, but as soon as another frightened cry was heard, rushing through the camp, they immediately abandoned this idea and ran away.

Hearing the mapmaster’s sudden cry, a stunned Tomen burst out of the captain’s tent, his bags slung over his shoulder. He whipped his head around, his attention captivated by the terrifyingly high gray wave of fog rapidly approaching the camp. Hastily, he grabbed a passing soldier by the shoulder, trying to find out where Varin had gone, but all he received in response was a crazed look and an inarticulate moan. He let go of the soldier, his attention completely consumed by the figures rushing toward him, vanishing one after another like ghosts in the enveloping fog. He saw two soldiers collide, armor clanking, and collapse into a dense, swirling mass. But only one rose from the whitish shroud. He froze, frozen with terror, and sank back into the fog, as if something had knocked him off his feet. His cry for help cut through Tomen’s ears and was cut off. Nothing else came from there. Chaos overtook the camp, along with a continuous roar that included screams, groans, the restless neighing of horses, and a mournful, strange squeal.

Tomen involuntarily backed away, going around the commander’s tent, turning back every now and then. He was in no hurry to run. His nostrils flared as he drew in heavy breaths, his cheekbones tensed with the pressure of his jaws, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, revealing the steel, which gleamed in the light of the still-fighting fires in the camp. Within his field of vision stood half a dozen fighters, clutching their swords tightly and looking in the direction of the approaching threat. He...