In an otherwise empty, isolated cabin to the far north of Morilske, with the great Mount Shyva in view of the windows at the back of the house, the Angels of Ragnor awaited the command of their leader, Vargus Shaytin.
Vargus, clad in his usual dark red robes, black mask, and blue crystal dangling around his neck, sat in a quiet room upstairs with his feet flat on the ground, his hands comfortably on his knees, and his breathing steady, alone. Passively, he awaited the return of his spy in the Magi Rebellion to let him know when the rebellion intended to next seek him and his Angels of Ragnor out.
Actively, as he so often did in moments of solitude, he remembered the day he went from a naïve yet well-taught boy to a man who understood the cold realities of life.
On that fateful day fifteen years prior, in Nibel, he had spent the evening with, of all people, Claire Quin. Though a young girl at the time, she had a playful, aggressive, fighting spirit that Vargus loved to spar. The two would tease each other in public. In private, they would practice their spells, much to the chagrin of their parents. Vargus clearly had the greater potential, but Claire never quit, and she swore Faye could top both of them.
Vargus would merely smile in moments like these, believing—no, knowing—he would become one of the greatest magi ever with his powers.
He imagined following in the legend of Sera, a goddess only to those who didn’t know the full theology and history of the magi. He imagined saving the world from those who sought to eradicate the use of magic within it. He hated how history repeated itself—and only a mere four hundred years later!—but he swore he would set it right. What Sera had done for the magi four centuries ago, Vargus would do for Hydor in its current state.
Then Lucius attacked.
That merciless night. No matter how often Vargus repeated the scene in his head, it welled his eyes and sent shivers through his body.
Vargus could still hear the screams of his mother. He could hear Faye crying, confused by all the madness. With what spells he had, he pushed back on the soldiers, but the sight of Lucius, with his ugly scar, thick gray beard, and soulless eyes, left Vargus trembling. He had never seen a man devoid of a soul until that moment, and truly, he realized, the embodiment of the devil, Iblis, did not have to take the form of a dragon or a mage.
He had taken the form of a man.
In that moment, he understood a truth that would prove necessary but fatal to the world around him. If the Garland Kingdom had devolved into what the Syrast Empire had before it… if sociopaths like General Lucius Mengolus and foolish men like King Arthur Garland ruled the world… if the magi continued to face an endless cycle of persecution that would never see them achieve everlasting peace, then Vargus could only conclude that he could not save human society. It had too many flaws.
If Sera, the greatest mage to ever live, had not brought everlasting peace, no one ever could. Only an intervention from the god Ostus could—something that would not happen without Iblis destroying the world first.
No, humanity had failed. Vargus had to cleanse society of everyone—himself, even—in the hopes that something more just would rise from its ashes. Only one path existed to such a possibility.
As much as he feared resurrecting Ragnor, given what deity he stood for, Vargus feared more the magi going extinct and their murderers living their shallow, cruel lives without justified punishment. He felt great shame at having to undo the most courageous act Sera had undertaken, but hoped that given what had transpired over the years, she would understand.
And if she did not, he shuddered to think of how that conflict would resolve itself.
“If only you too understood, Claire,” Vargus said as he stared out at the distant window. “I do not hate you or this world. I love it, in fact.”
He sighed in the defeated way that men do when they know they must commit a morally dubious act because they have no other option.
“I love it too much.”
If only she understood our history. If only she understood how doomed our people are. If only she understood I do this to control our fates, our lives.
Though Claire had sought to kill Vargus as he had grown more resolute in his path, he had a great deal of sorrow and empathy for Claire and Faye. No one who lost both their parents at that young of an age could have possibly turned out well, and for the Quin sisters to understand their proper enemy spoke well to their capabilities and grit. Had they joined his side, he would’ve praised their spirit like no other.
He just wished they would understand peace would never come in this mortal world.
Vargus’ grief felt overwhelming. Nothing in life had come easy to him since that fateful day. Nothing in life had felt good since that dreaded day. Nothing in life had given him joy since that day of judgment.
He didn’t want to rule the world. He just wanted to reset it and let the newly birthed generation learn. Why couldn’t he do that?
He reached for his mask. He had both hands on it and prepared to remove it. He—
A sudden rapping on the door came. Vargus collected himself. Though he had learned from the mistakes of the last person who had sought to rule the world through destruction—even if Artemia Theros, the master of the Dragon Hunter’s Guild, had no way of knowing she was doing just that—just because he would show compassion to his followers did not mean he could show weakness.
“Yes?” he said, his voice steady, betraying no vulnerability or grief.
“My Lord, I have returned from L’Ega,” he said. “The Quin sisters intend to head for the university library. They said something about beating us there to claim a map.”
But the map is supposed to be at the castle.
How could the tales be wrong? Did Sera herself move it long ago? Or am I missing something else?
No matter. Going to the university will not take us off our intended path.
“A surprising move, but not one that will alter our plans greatly,” Vargus said. “I will come downstairs when I am ready. Let me be so I may ponder our next decision.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
A pause came.
“It was all too easy, my Lord. The Quin sisters never saw my betrayal coming. They are fools who will—”
“That’s enough,” Vargus snapped, letting an icy silence settle. “Do not let one oversight on their part lead you to underestimate them. Such a mistake will cost you your life.”
Marc, wisely, said nothing more. Vargus almost said, “they are not the enemy,” but he kept his thought to himself.
“We have now lost our ability to monitor them from within,” he said, but with little bitterness. “Consider it a blessing that we less need to do so. But do not consider your actions a triumph.”
When Vargus heard Marc descending the stairs, he dropped his hands down by his side. For the first time since… perhaps he had begun the Angels of Ragnor, the dynamic with the Quins no longer felt like him teasing them as he led them. It instead felt like a race, one in which he’d already fallen behind. The thought made his fingers curl and his shoulders tense.
On the one hand, perhaps the Quin sisters had incorrect information. Maybe if he headed for the castle, he could bypass the Magi Rebellion, get the knowledge he needed, and end the cruel reign of the Garland Kingdom—and humanity—swiftly.
But if he failed, then he would never accomplish his goal. Hydor would rot under the supposedly “peaceful” watch of the rebellion, and they would perish without having done anything of true value. Vargus would have wasted his enormous power because of an intellectually indefensible decision.
No longer could he say that he kept himself five steps ahead of the Magi Rebellion. Now he had to pursue them and see what they found.
If that’s how it’s going to be…
We’ll make the most of our current situation.
