The Vaid Empire

Vaid Empire: Conquest

Chapter 123

37th of Silla, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Deep Desert. 

The desert prepared to taste the blood of humans and Arkos alike as their inevitable battle grew closer day by day, yet an imperial princess blocked out the world. Sequestered in her bedchamber, Nafalya stared at her mask. Alone, she rested on her side. The mask in her hand was emotionless, a mirror of her own expression. She let it slip from her tired fingers. 

Where was the advantage of mourning? Her grief felt like a weight binding her to the bed. She could see no lesson in her exhausted sorrow. Her game with Hesin had forever ended. As she lingered in lonely silence, she knew it had never actually been a game. 

She had loved him. Now he was gone. 

Once more, she forced herself to pick up her mask. It was the mask of a Truthseeker, an assassin, The God Emperor’s shadow. What use was she if she continued to languish in her defeat? 

Her flexible limbs felt heavy as they begged to remain in bed. She forced herself to rise. Sitting up, she donned her mask. Hesin had granted it to her for a reason, and that reason wasn’t to wallow in her self-pity. 

Every instinct sought to convince her to stay in bed. She stood up. Donning her revealing robes, she abandoned her lonely chamber for the first time in three days and ventured into the night. 

The memory of Hesin’s blood made her steps feel heavy, yet still she walked. Her grief tried to drag her down, yet still she began to climb to the rooftops. Truthseekers watched all that occurred within the village from above, and she quickly joined her nearest companion. 

“You,” she demanded as she unsheathed her thin dagger. “Don’t hold back.” 

Nafalya prompted the masked woman to draw her own dagger. Beneath the gathering clouds blocking out the moonlight, two Truthseekers dueled upon the rooftops. 

They heard the sounds of legionaries moving about the village below, stripping the Wonak of nearly all supplies and leaving the population just enough to survive. In mere days, their march would resume. 

Every thought of Hesin made her want to surrender and return to bed. Instead, she fought, dueling, her blade dancing with her silent companion. When she knocked the dagger from her opponent’s grasp, she chided her with a silver glare and a shake of her head before leaving her behind to duel with another. 

The Arkos hadn’t killed Hesin. Naram had assisted his murderer, though her blade hadn’t claimed his life. As Nafalya climbed to another rooftop and began to duel with the next Truthseeker, she thought of how she had tortured the helpless assassin. Her pain had accomplished nothing. There was little purpose in harming a defeated opponent. 

Again, she forced her skilled opponent to submit when she maneuvered her blade to press lightly against the woman’s throat. With a nod of mutual respect, they parted as she sought another. 

Dueling, training, she tore through her exhaustion and grief. Her sorrow lingered, yet her body moved with determination. Hesin’s murderer lived. The Dril was out there hidden upon the dunes. 

As she trained throughout the night, hour after hour, pushing herself beyond her limits, she thought of nothing but the Dril’s dark helmet. She’d give her sorrow purpose. She would hunt down the Dril, and when their blades met at last, she would be ready. 

She would avenge her master. 

40th of Silla, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Deep Desert. 

In the days following the attempt on his life, Cliax lived.  

Drinking from a cup of water, Cliax tasted every drop. Truly tasted it. He had nearly lost the ability to drink, to eat, to breathe. Inhaling deeply, he smelled the spices lingering in the air from the previous inhabitants of the chamber that had become his temporary home. 

He had been forced to move, of course. The chamber that had nearly become his tomb was left empty, along with all the others that were connected by the tunnels of the assassins. Having shared a room with the twins due to Arinax’s insistence, he now watched as The Prince Upholder packed his belongings. Today, The God Emperor intended to depart from the horrid Wonak. 

Looking down at his cup, Cliax thought of Lord Hesin. No longer could the man drink ever again. Frowning, he remembered the dark blade that had pressed against his throat, the same blade that had carved open Hesin’s stomach. Why did he still live while his savior did not? 

“Are you alright?” Arinax asked when he looked over. He left his belongings and sat on the bed next to the blond boy. 

“Yes,” he replied. A single word, yet it held the utter truth. Snapped from his dull misery regarding his father, as if the blades of the assassins had jolted him back to life, Cliax drifted about each day with a peace that baffled all around him. As his shock slowly wore away, however, his questions blossomed. “Arinax, why did I survive?” 

The Prince Upholder’s lips parted. “What kind of question is that?” 

He shrugged. Such thoughts were too great for one so young, yet still he pondered. He knew the literal answer, of course. Hesin had given his life to protect him, yet why? Why was he so special? Merely because he was a prince? 

Cliax remembered his grandfather’s words. The entire desert would be his. Why? Even now he sat in a chamber that had been taken from another. Why did he deserve the possessions of others? 

Arinax watched him with concern. Such seemed to be his sole duty since the attack. Seeking an answer, he found his hand drifting to his sheathed Dagger of The Heir. He drew the white blade and held it for Cliax to see. “I won’t pretend that you weren’t lucky to survive, though I’ll make you this promise. If anyone ever tries to harm you, or Zela, or anyone else we care about again, I’ll cut them down myself.” He squeezed the blade. It had failed his mother. He wouldn’t fail Cliax. 

As the boy met his silver gaze, seeing courage dueling against fear, he nodded. 

The sound of the door opening seized their attention. The smallest flicker of terror seized them both, instincts warning of assassins returning to finish the job. Instead, in their distraction, they hadn’t sensed Cendra’s approach. She marched inside, eyeing the blade with a scowl. 

“Apologies,” Arinax said as he sheathed his dagger. 

Cendra’s lips tightened, though it mattered little. Her son was no stranger to blades now. “Come, boys. It’s time to march.” 

Cliax had little to collect, for he hadn’t unpacked since moving chambers. Arinax hurried to finish gathering his belongings, organizing them neatly into a decorated chest that slaves would haul across the dunes. 

He stopped only when his fingers brushed the surface of a tablet, etched with symbols by his own hand that contained all he had researched at Lalian’s side in Arkos-Nu. Hardly had they discovered more than mere legends about ‘waking the desert’. Though they had found references to something referred to as The Oracle beneath Arkos-Tul, very few of the ancient tales had been of use to his father. What his research had accomplished, however, was further fueling his craving to see the vast reaches of the strange world around him. As he finished preparing to march, he supposed he was about to receive exactly that. 

As the princes rose to make their way to the door, Cendra watched her brother put his hand upon Cliax’s shoulder. Seeing the fondness he held for her son, an urge forced her to speak. “Arinax, hold.” 

Both boys stopped and turned around. 

Gritting her teeth, she told herself it may be better to utter nothing. “I’ve said such words several times before, yet…” She sighed, allowing every facade of her stern pride to drop until nothing but her genuine remorse was visible. “I apologize for what I did after Irith’s death. You’ve been at Cliax’s side since Lord Clin was lost to us. I should have been at your side in Praith.” More lingered on the tip of her tongue, yet already had she offered more than she dared to. 

Arinax saw her glance at Cliax. It was clear they both cared for the boy. Though he had kept his distance, he granted his elder sister a faint smile at long last. 

With their time in the vile nomad village at an end, they summoned slaves to carry their belongings as they abandoned their sleeping quarters together. Navigating the pathways outside, they made their way to the rear of the great beast. Zela joined them when they reached the tail, having spent every waking hour of the day exploring all the guards would permit her to. 

As the rest of House Vaid gathered to depart, Cendra stared at her son. She didn’t hear his words as he spoke to the twins. As if submerged in her guilt, the world seemed to bleed away. After all, the rest of her family believed that she had been patrolling the village during the night of his attack. 

What would little Cliax think if he knew that his mother had actually been drowning her sorrows in Zilrinian wine that night? 

The God Emperor gave the command to depart, and the members of House Vaid left all the misery that had occurred upon the great beast’s back behind. The march of the legion resumed, a white storm crossing the cloudy desert to put Arkos-Tul to their blades. 

10th of Senin, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Deep Desert. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through The God Emperor’s tent. Another perilous night among the dunes had begun, yet in the safety of her father’s tent, Vixin lost herself to pleasure. 

On her hands and knees, she gripped the sheets of The God Emperor’s bed as he continued to thrust into her from behind. Every deep, hard push of his manhood into her soaking depths forced a moan from her pretty lips, savoring the cock that had created her. 

The memory of the Wonak was days upon days behind them, ever marching towards the battle that would decide the fate of the desert. Every night saw her slip into the bed of one of her lovers. Yisi, Salduin, her father, she tended to those she cared for most, delighting in the pleasure of their bodies as she rotated her attention each time the sun fell. 

A cry ripped from her throat as Dominax drove his cock hard against her cervix. She hoped the entire camp could hear her. She wanted them to know the beautiful bliss she felt, a Vaid craving a fellow Vaid, a daughter moaning for more of her father’s cock. 

Her pleasure was a celebration of life, yet as she closed her eyes to endure her latest orgasm, she thought of Irith. She hoped to honor her memory with every incestuous thrust. 

“Blood matters.” 

As such thoughts lingered in the aftermath of her climax, enduring her heightened sensitivity, Vixin gritted her teeth. There was much she craved to say to him about such things. When her father rolled her onto her back at last, she met his silver gaze with determination. 

“Father…ahh…I want to fight,” she dared to mutter. She was entirely at his mercy, her legs spread wide as he continued his deep thrusts, yet she wouldn’t falter. “When we reach Arkos-Tul…ahh…I want to join you in battle.” 

The deep satisfaction dripping from his expression ceased at once. Still he continued to rock his hips, never relenting. “You possess a different purpose…ahh…my flower.” 

Long had she pondered what she craved. In the aftermath of Hesin’s loss, her mind had been settled. “To tend to…ahh…the children?” Never would she scorn such a duty, yet continuing to sit idly while others fell was no longer something she could endure. “Please…ahh…father. I’m not requesting a full command like Cendra has earned. Merely…ahh…the chance to fight.” 

“You ask for me to place you in danger.” Slowing his thrusts, his gaze grew deadly. 

Vixin’s lips parted as his cock met her deepest limit, feeling his body atop hers. “Cendra, Salduin, Anthara, you…ahh…allow them to fight despite their value to you.” Mustering her courage, she attempted to mirror his gaze. “You know I’m just as skilled, if not more so.” Still the memory of their duel felt fresh and alive despite the passing months. “You trained me. I called you…ahh…master. Of what use were your lessons all those years ago if my power cannot be utilized?” 

“Your soul is a raging sun, my child,” he admitted. Despite the subtle pride in his tone, his voice was a deep rumble that offered no debate. “Yet your purpose is better served by leading the Sages. You are the peak of the mountain they must climb to, the summit…ahh…they all aspire to reach.” It was clear that his patience was growing thin, maintained only by the sensation of his cock slowly gliding in and out of her tight sex. “Nafalya does not beg to fight in open battle. She knows her purpose rests in the shadows.” 

She was pushing her luck. Her final attempt came as a soft plea, her warm breath whispering into his ear. “Please, father.” 

“No.” He bit her neck, making her moan. There would be no further debate. Mere words would not sway him. 

Disappointment flooded her body, his seed sure to follow. Mutual pleasure burning in their loins, a father’s sperm yearning for his daughter’s fertile body, he made deep, passionate thrusts between her parted thighs as his finish grew ever closer. 

“No, my flower. You shall remain safely in my grasp.” His heavy tone oozed into her ear, making her shiver with lust. He held her close. He felt her alluring body against his, trapped beneath his control. “My Vixin. My Supreme Mother of The Sages. My pregnant princess.” 

She gasped in utter ecstasy, feeling his seed beginning to erupt within her. Natural instincts forced her legs to wrap around his waist as her body begged for every drop. 

“Do not resist,” he muttered through the pleasure seizing his form. “Your womb had better remain fertile for me.” 

Trembling in her own euphoria, she obeyed. Her control over her body ensured she remained ready to conceive, her ovum waiting for her father’s sperm. She felt his inescapable warmth claim every inch and tight crevice of her loins. 

He rested atop her in the aftermath of their bliss. Incestuous satisfaction radiated through their interlocked forms as Vixin knew she would fall pregnant. Her fingers traced idly through his silver hair with reluctant affection, knowing his seed would see her further kept from danger when it took hold. With a bitter sigh, she had little doubt that such was his intention. 

Lying together for what seemed to be an eternity, she offered her final argument as a soft whisper in his ear. “I would fight to protect those I care for, as you do, father.” 

They were the only words that could give him pause. He moved to peer down into her glowing gaze. “You hold no place in the coming battle, my flower. You will not spill Arkos blood at my side, yet when they kneel and my gaze returns to the Lanthians, you shall find that I have deeper plans for you yet.” 

Lingering in her own thoughts, pondering the future, she only sensed the approach of her sister a moment before she entered. The firstborn of The God Emperor required no announcement from the guards. Ever free to enter, she marched inside to discover the aftermath of their sex. 

“Cendra?” Vixin muttered in surprise. She attempted to cover herself, though failed as their father remained between her legs, his sperm continuing to leak from her sex. It was a reflex she felt around no other, shamed only by the distant memory of Cendra’s cruel words. 

She had called her vile names for falling pregnant by their father long ago. Now, as she beheld the aftermath of their latest passionate breeding, Cendra merely cleared her throat and looked away. “Apologies for the intrusion. I need to speak to father.” 

Dominax permitted Vixin to rise. Though she covered her dripping sex for a moment, she dared to let her hand fall away to reveal the truth of their deed as she stood from his bed. Cendra had already seen her naked. They had already experienced pleasure at each other’s side under Irith’s insistence. Letting old shame die at last, she strolled towards Cendra and granted her a departing nod. “As you wish.” 

Offering no judgment as her sister slipped out into the night, Cendra’s focus remained upon The God Emperor. In her grasp she carried a cup of Zilrinian wine. He eyed it with disappointment. “Speak,” he commanded, sitting naked on the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t mistake my intentions, father. I haven’t had a drop.” She peered down into the cup. “In fact, I haven’t since we left the nomads behind.” 

He studied her closely. Her tone didn’t offer the drunken slur it held whenever she drank. When her silver eyes met his, her gaze was clear and sharp, driven by purpose. 

“You said I require a clear head in this place. You were right.” Holding the cup out before her, she began to pour the wine onto the floor. “I’m done with such distractions.” 

Ever one to appreciate dramatic gestures, Dominax couldn’t help but smirk approvingly. “A bold claim.” 

“One I intend to uphold.” She tossed the cup aside and strolled forth, her steps calculated and deadly. “You named me your Goddess of War. So I shall be.” 

Dominax guided her into his lap. He met his daughter’s lips to taste her resolve. “Your mother would be proud,” he said, holding her tightly. 

His words only hardened Cendra’s decision. She knew the dangers of revealing her true reasons. Everything she couldn’t say lingered behind her lips as she melted into his grasp, her sanctuary. 

The God Emperor’s hands crept up his daughter’s smooth thighs to slide beneath her outfit. Having recovered from his finish while lounging with Vixin, the feeling of Cendra’s warmth in his lap stirred his cock once more. “I’ve already sent an entourage to deliver my terms to The Kromak. He’ll know we have his daughter. In mere days, my flower, he shall kneel at my feet, or we shall cut him down together.” 

A gasp escaped her as she lifted herself, her body eager as she sank down upon his shaft. She tried to avoid thinking about the remnants of Vixin’s juices that still coated his manhood, yet the knowledge that it assisted in allowing his cock to slide deep inside her sex incited a strange tingle that she did her best to ignore. 

Holding her hips, Dominax allowed her to move in his lap. He savored the determination in her gaze, demanding her ambition. 

If she revealed that she no longer cared if she lived or died, would he still offer such approval? 

Cendra moaned, pressing herself against her father. Briza, Irith, Clin, nearly everyone she had ever cared for had abandoned her, all but him. She clung to The God Emperor, his firstborn, his imperial princess. Now her son had nearly been claimed by chaos, and she would waste no further time with her own pity. She would fight. She would bleed. She would be The Goddess of War he demanded her to be, or she would die trying. 

Their pleasure echoed through his tent, her movements in his lap obsessive and frantic. Minute after minute, she sought to drown in the deep bliss of his touch. 

She could endure no further losses. Always had she been so fragile, a porcelain warrior beneath steel armor. No longer. She would rise to become everything he required of her, a Goddess of War that could stand without fear nor sorrow, or she would die. 

Only a coward would take her own life. Such was what she told herself, though in truth she doubted she held the courage to do so. Still the memory of Hazia’s blood lingered, knowing she would not allow her sacrifice to go to waste. Her death had incited Cendra to rise, to seize The Capital of Lian in her grasp and slay the ruling Miarch. She would continue to fight beside her fellow Knights, honoring their loyalty and Hazia’s memory by becoming who she had always craved to be, or receiving a glorious death. She would accept nothing less. 

She could endure nothing less. 

As thoughts of Briza, Irith, and Clin ran through her mind, she felt her father guide her hips as they gradually crept towards their mutual satisfaction. When at last she reached her climax, her body quivered as he pulled out. A few final strokes of her trembling hand brought his finish, moaning as she felt his seed paint her stomach. It drenched the front of her skintight outfit and oozed over the white and gold plates of armor decorating her breasts. 

“To victory or death,” she thought to herself as she rested her head upon his shoulder. Such had been the words that had driven her army to battle. Now they’d be her fate. 

21st of Senin, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Holy City of Arkos-Tul. 

“Sarak, I’ve come to say goodbye.” 

The chamber echoed with the sorrow of The Holy Kromak. Kneeling beside the slab that held his love’s shrouded bones, he was offered only silence. 

“It’s time. My army is prepared to march. Your people are prepared to fight. I think you’d be pleased with them.” He bowed his head. What use were such words if she could not hear them? “I can’t promise that I’ll return, yet if I don’t, perhaps I’ll see you again.” 

He doubted that any belief system across Magnius was correct. Arkos, Dril, their gods were no doubt as false as his own divinity. Deep down, however, he hoped some afterlife existed. If indeed there was a soul within him, he’d find her in the darkness. 

If his followers could see their holy ruler now, bowing to his doubts, the army he had forged would melt away in an instant. 

He lifted his head as he heard footsteps descending the stairs. “Goodbye, my love.” 

“Father?” The voice of Saros echoed through the chamber, her gaze settling upon him as she entered. “Okaros is waiting.” 

The Holy Kromak rose to his feet. Peering down at the slab from his intimidating height, a looming giant once more, he turned to regard his daughter at last. “So be it.” 

Saros offered her arm. Accepting it, he turned his head towards the descending staircase. A darkness waited below. The offer to wake the desert and see his enemies consumed lingered, the price far too high. 

Tightening his hold upon his daughter, he led her away, scorning The Oracle below. He would face the humans alone. 

The countless gold rings decorating the skirt of his armor jingled with every step. Pristine, spotless, his armor had never seen battle. Nor had he. 

Reaching the throne room, they found The Kromak’s Voice waiting. Okaros bowed low as Krom’s powerful steps filled the chamber. “We are ready, Holy Kromak. The Keeper of The Bones is prepared to lead the final rituals before your departure.” 

Krom nodded, permitting the short old man to rise. He watched Okaros summon the four longest-serving concubines of The Kromak’s harem so they may serve their secondary purpose. Aside from tending to their holy ruler’s every need, so too were they tasked with caring for his blades. The naked Arkos women knelt before him, each presenting one of his axes. Akarnos, Damos, Marosak, and Carkanos, each weapon held the name of one of the four Arkos Gods of War. 

His superstitious followers possessed a god for everything. He picked up his holy weapons, his axes short to allow him easier movement when wielding all four at once. The gold blades shimmered in the light. Untested in battle, they had only tasted the blood of loyal slaves he had trained with. 

He would wield the names of false gods and see them put to tangible use. Such was his legacy. 

Ready for battle, he marched through the halls of The Great Temple. Saros and Okaros followed closely at his heels as he emerged to meet the city he sought to save. The women, the children, the elderly, all offered their cries of worship as he loomed atop the temple steps. The people Sarak had cared for looked to him for salvation. Their traditions, their beliefs, their very way of life rested in his grasp. A false champion of Dril lies he may be, yet as he held up his blades for the gathered crowds to behold, his blood boiled with determination. 

He would save all Sarak had loved. If he believed in nothing else, he believed in her. 

The crowds were held back by the newly trained warriors of his army. Leading them through the ancient city, he found the bulk of his forces amassed upon the dunes just beyond. Beneath gathering clouds that had lingered above the surrounding desert for days, every able-bodied man and the most capable women he could find stood ready to march. 

They had come from dozens of tribes across the vast desert. Breaking them, forging them anew, Krom had spent every waking moment since their arrival preparing them for battle. 

Hardly were they the ‘one’ force that he had promised, yet they’d have to do. His army was a patchwork of carefully organized warriors beneath the command of their own Chiefs, each with armor and weapons of varying qualities. They were organized to keep rival tribes far from the sight of each other, a logistical feat that had required countless hours of planning on his and Okaros’s part. 

Before his rise, the bloodshed between tribes was a mere fact of life. After his rise, working to keep the fragile peace had claimed the vast majority of his time upon Arkos-Tul’s throne. Still Wonak villages fought their neighbors. Still Arkos blood occasionally stained the dunes beneath his control. Only their mutual belief in him had permitted the increased stability of Wonakaros to persist. 

He knew The Dril Council had never intended his stability to last beyond his eventual death. So too did he know that the human God Emperor sought to inflict his own form of stability upon the desert. Long had Krom worked to see the people Sarak cared for thrive. If this human, this Dominax believed he could rule them better, he was almost amused at the thought of watching him try. 

Dozens of tribes cheered as one for their divine champion. Enemies, allies, rivals, distant kin, they all pledged themselves to meet the existential threat of The God Emperor at his back. 

Marching to the front of his army, The Holy Kromak found The Keeper of The Bones waiting. He would endure their useless superstitions as he had for decades. With Saros at his side, they allowed the old man to perform his duties. 

Empty prayers went unheard by false gods. Ancient rituals that would bring him no closer to victory were conducted, all while he played his part. Their beliefs were false, yet their fervor was not. As he stood for hour after hour, watching his followers drink in the words and prayers of their elders, he felt an empty pit within him that was all too familiar. Their devotion, their certainty, such were feelings he would never experience himself. So be it. 

He turned to Saros. Just as devoted as the rest, she was all he stood for, the last living piece of the woman he loved. The Oracle’s words echoed through his mind, an offer, everything he feared. With a single act, he could wake the desert. With a single sacrifice, he could learn just what kind of man he truly was. 

“I’ll fight for it. I’ll defend it against the humans with everything I have.” Still his vow to Sarak lingered. Still the price was too great. 

Their prayers came to an end as female slaves were ushered forth to stand before The Holy Kromak. With hollow words he blessed the vases of oil the elders presented him before they began to rub the holy liquid upon the naked bodies of the gathered women. Four dozen slaves, a dozen sacrifices for each god that his axes held the name of, he watched as they gladly accepted their fates. One by one, the elders began to cut the throats of the slaves with ceremonial daggers. 

Four dozen purposeless sacrifices in place of one real one. Krom beheld the mandatory waste of life with an expression as hard as steel. 

When the last of his duties were performed, all that remained was to march. 

While tens of thousands of Arkos men and women prepared to leave the festival city behind, his attention fell only to his daughter. With his axes hanging from his belt, he stood still as Saros wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He wanted to squeeze her, to hold her as he had when she was a child, yet before the gaze of his followers, he could offer little more than a light embrace. 

“Return to us, father. Crush the vile humans and return home safely to all those who require your guidance,” she said softly. “Most of all, return to me.” 

He caressed her cheek, seeing hints of Sarak alive in her features. He would not say goodbye to her. Instead, he kissed the forehead of his sweet Tascavi flower for what he hoped would not be the final time. 

A nod to Okaros commanded the old man to escort her back to The Great Temple. As he watched his advisor lead his daughter away, sharing a final glance with Saros, he hardened his heart as he prepared to go to war. 

Approaching his Onak, he caressed the bulbous body of his waiting mount, feeling its black and purple feathers. The monstrous quadruped curved its long neck back to point its oval head towards its master, four eyes and four beaks regarding him loyally. 

Mounting the creature, he gave the command to march. From the dunes outside Arkos-Tul, the thundering steps of the largest force Wonakaros had ever assembled echoed across the desert. 

As he rode forth upon his mount, Krom saw several towering stakes carved from charom stems standing vertically in the sand ahead. With his army at his back, he didn’t slow. He knew what they were. High atop his Onak, he could see the dried crimson blood that stained them, for above the sand several human heads had been severed and impelled. 

Never had an outsider stepped foot within Arkos-Tul. Never would he permit any to while he still drew breath. Out upon the dunes, the entourage that had been sent by the humans had been slaughtered without being permitted to share a single word. No doubt they had come to discuss terms, yet words were of no use now. The inevitable could not be stopped. There would be no compromise. 

He would defend all Sarak had cared for, or he would fall trying. 

The stakes were toppled and crushed by the army at his back. The first human blood had been spilled, and he wouldn’t stop until it was completely washed from his desert. 

While the city was still within view in the far distance, a metropolis beside the great oasis, he brought his army to a stop. Here, less than an hour’s ride from Arkos-Tul, he would make his stand. While his people could still behold all they hoped to defend, he ordered them to set up camp. 

The humans were mere days away. When they arrived, they’d find him waiting and ready upon a battlefield of his choosing. 

At long last, Krom would be tested. He’d fight for something real. 

He’d discover what kind of man he truly was. 

24th of Senin, 21 AVE. 

Kingdom of Wonakaros, Near The Holy City of Arkos-Tul. 

The legion marched across the desert, all while a lone Arkos was forced to trudge along ahead. Naked and limping, Naram struggled to stay ahead of their relentless steps. 

Hands chained behind her back, she struggled frantically to rise whenever she lost her footing and toppled over. Hearing the rattling of the long chain that dangled from the metal collar around her neck, she peered back only when she dared to, seeing the other end of her leash in The God Emperor’s grasp. He rode atop his great lixidion, a conqueror ever at her heels. 

The wind licked at her bare skin, gentle at first, though growing stronger. Struggling for mile after mile, day after day, she was grateful only for the clouds high overhead. Though they offered little rain as the days passed, their shade was her salvation. 

Shamed as she felt the eyes of all those behind her upon her bare body, she clung to the thought of Karak. It’d be a simple thing to give into her exhaustion and allow the humans to trample her, yet she wasn’t defeated quite yet. Still she struggled. 

With The God Emperor at her back, flanked by white banners that flapped in the wind, she doubted he would allow her to perish in any case. 

Every step brought her towards the inevitable. When at last she climbed the gentle slope of the latest dune, her lips parted as she was the first to behold what waited beyond. Seeing all she had failed, Naram saw the great Arkos army far in the distance. 

The Holy Kromak’s daughter had come home, stumbling before a horde of humans. 

Rising to the top of the dune, Dominax studied the massive camp. With his legion coming to a stop at his command, a smirk began to creep across his lips. The fate of the desert had arrived. 

Naram despaired as The God Emperor relinquished her leash to a Knight. Yanked back, she was led into the depths of the legion to be held securely among the slaves. No response had come from the entourage he had sent, though hardly was he surprised. Dominax knew they were certainly dead. Though Naram was no longer of use as a hostage, it seemed, he didn’t intend to dispose of her quite yet when she may still serve a purpose. 

No doubt Arkos scouts had seen their approach long ago. Dominax waited, watching. An experienced commander in The Kromak’s position would push his advantage and force an immediate battle while his foe was weary from travel. Instead, the Arkos army did not march. 

Far across the black sands at the very edge of what a normal being could see, The Kromak’s camp stood defended, though in place. When it was clear that his foe would not yet strike, Dominax gave the order for the legion to set up their own camp. 

With such a vast distance between them, either army would have ample time to respond to movement from the other. Content to let The Kromak bide his time, The God Emperor permitted his warriors to rest, if only for a moment. 

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