Shifting Swords

I am Timothy, last priest of Lachdavan, and I write these words while Chandel dies. From the towers of my beloved city I have watched the light retreat, street by street, temple by temple, soul by soul. The armies of Night have come not merely to conquer Altera, but to corrupt it. They do not seek only our lands. They seek what lies within us: our fear, our pride, our anger and, finally, our willingness to surrender the freedom by which every soul is defined. Yet I still write of hope. Trinian Komasir has returned to Altera, though the man who came home is not the knight who left it. Once called the Justice Bringer of Chandel, Trinian was taken into the Realm of Night, stripped of his soul and remade as Sicarius, a vampiric assassin whose name became known in Hell. Now restored to mortality, he carries the memories of both men within him. He remembers the lives he saved. He remembers the lives he destroyed. And every step toward redemption is shadowed by the knowledge that the powers of Sicarius remain within his reach. If Altera is to survive, Trinian must become worthy to wield the Ankh-Djed, an ancient weapon of divine power that can heal, restore and perhaps turn back the forces consuming our world. But worthiness cannot be taken by strength, claimed by title or earned through another victory in battle. Trinian must confront the pride that once made him believe he alone could bring justice to the world and decide whether he is willing to become something greater than the hero he once imagined himself to be. He does not make that journey alone. Beside him stand Shahdeaux, an elven mage whose faith in magic has been shaken; Sabre, a were-panther who knows what it is to live with a monster inside; Kahari, a shaman marked by both curse and devotion; Irisa, whose spirit moves through the hidden streams of mana; and Kromias, a young saunt whose almost unreasonable faith in goodness may prove wiser than all of us. They are wounded, stubborn, frightened and, on occasion, remarkably foolish. They are also among the few left willing to stand between the innocent and Hell. Against them moves Xiomara, ancient strategist of the Zri, whose plans reach far beyond armies and ruined cities. Hell has learned that mortals are most easily destroyed when they can be persuaded to destroy themselves. Its most terrible weapon is therefore not a demon, an undead legion or a blade forged in darkness. It is choice corrupted until evil begins to feel inevitable. That is the war now being fought across Altera. Not simply Light against Darkness. Not Heaven against Hell. It is the battle for what a soul becomes after it has failed, suffered, sinned, hated and lost almost everything. I do not know whether Trinian and his companions will save us. I do not know whether these words will survive when Chandel does not. But I know this: Night has not won while even one soul still has the power to choose.