Chapter 1 of The Heart of Anarand
Anarand’aris, Year 4.310 in the Age of Last Hope
7th of Yumtal in the Windy Season
D’al Vorat, County of Amalay, Realm of Kiriador
I sprinted toward the song, summoning all the strength I could muster. The distant, melancholic melody filled the air with a heady blend of longing, fear, and temptation. Ahead, the nocturnal forest unfolded like a half-forgotten dream, its shadowy branches clawing at the air like the restless hands of nameless phantoms. A cold wind swept past, brushing my face with whispers of long-forgotten promises.
♪♪♪ dan liadar tir sana k’alano, ru sal radianoni’mii ke’vileno ♪♪♪
♪♪♪ o atri sorono galati eleda esied’iradanno ♪♪♪
“Come, beloved, and gaze into my eyes,” the melody whispered. “They hold the color of a sapphire sky.”
The words, sung in the ancient tongue, resonated in my mind, stirring echoes of memories long buried. They carried a tender invitation, laced with a subtle yet irresistible command. The very air pulsed with their meaning, drawing me toward the source of the song, tempting me to uncover its secret.
Ahead, a dim scarlet glow pierced the darkness. Where the light seeped through, the twisted silhouettes of the trees resembled a blood-drenched gateway to Aartókh-Dággaras.
♪♪♪ dan liadar tir sana k’alano, ru bao lansa’mina ke’binado ♪♪♪
♪♪♪ o atra per’innog enno asa ulani’tamadol ♪♪♪
The melody deepened, weaving a tapestry of ache and yearning around my thoughts. It felt both intimate and inescapable, its words curling through the air like a lover’s caress. I could feel it filling me—strengthening me—with a power that wasn’t mine.
A final barrier loomed ahead—a wall of tightly entwined branches and brambles. Without pause, I plunged through.
The forest vanished behind me as I emerged into a clearing steeped in otherworldly beauty. Across the dense carpet of moss, jagged stones and gnarled roots jutted from the earth like ancient, weathered bones. The air hung thick with the scents of damp leaves, tree sap, and freshly disturbed soil. Mist clung to the ground, catching the scarlet glow in droplets that shimmered like freshly-spilled blood.
♪♪♪ dan liadar tir sana k’alano, ru asa salisuni’minani ke’nasmao ♪♪♪
♪♪♪ o atri bognu galati eleda alerid’karidan ♪♪♪
The melody was inside me now, resonating in my bones with a promise I couldn’t ignore. Just as I couldn’t ignore the light ahead. Its source was deceptively small—no larger than a closed fist—yet brilliant. It appeared motionless, but within it, a scarlet core pulsed like something alive.
A crystal orb.
It hovered atop an altar at the heart of the clearing, its surface worn smooth by centuries of rain and wind. The colors of the world seemed to drain around the orb’s glow. The trees, the stones, even the sky—everything faded to washed-out gray shadows. Only the scarlet light remained.
It seared into my vision. It called to me.
♪♪♪ sana azur’din enno liadar’min, ru kalit’din enno ♪♪♪
♪♪♪ sana meeru’dina enno liadar’min, ru roshta’dina enno ♪♪♪
♪♪♪ sana dan ree’vedeo, este ’moritan ran’alano ♪♪♪
The song whispered of life and death, of passion and pain. It was a complex tapestry woven from threads I dared not unravel. Its meaning was dreadfully familiar. Unseen, unknown, undetectable, it had always been there, waiting in silence for me to remember it all.
To remember her.
With effort, I tore my gaze from the orb—only to meet her still, motionless figure.
She knelt before the altar, draped in heavy scarlet robes. The melody, once vibrant, now spilled from her concealed lips as a soft, wordless hum. Sensing my eyes upon her, she rose with an ethereal grace and turned toward me. From within the shadows of her hood, unseen eyes locked onto mine.
A force beyond reason compelled me forward. Every instinct screamed for me to turn back. Yet my feet moved of their own accord, as if pulled by invisible threads.
I took a step. Then another.
With each pace, the air grew heavier—dense with unspoken promises and thick with a presence that pressed against my skin. It felt suffocating, vast, intimate. I could almost see it: a slow-churning web of crimson ethereal tendrils coiling around us, threading reality into something else.
And then—somehow—I stood just a breath away from her.
Without a sound, the robe slipped from her shoulders.
My heart faltered.
Before me stood a vision of impossible beauty—her bare form radiant with a grace that seemed sculpted from the fabric of the most sacred of dreams. Every curve, every delicate line, every secret spot shimmered beneath the mist as a living poem bound in flesh.
My gaze ascended, tracing the cascade of luxuriant crimson hair that flowed down to her waist—and then halted in bewilderment.
A mask, pale and flawless, concealed her face completely. It bore neither features, nor markings. Only the cold geometry of a white ceramic oval, with two narrow eyeholes and a slightly wider opening at the lips. Its pure, absolute blankness unsettled something deep within me.
My hand rose—slowly, instinctively—gliding across her damp, silky skin, toward the hollow of her throat. There it hovered, trembling, suspended in aching stillness. The space between us pulsed, charged with desperate yearning.
And I reached for her face.
A voice shrieked within me, pleading with me to stop. But something older—primal and unrelenting—whispered that the answers I sought lay behind that mask. That all the truth I longed for began there.
My hand moved. My eyes never left hers. My heart thundered as I tore the mask away.
The spell shattered.
Like a lumin-crystal struck by lightning, the enchantment holding me collapsed. A scream tore through the trees—raw and discordant—and it wasn’t mine alone. Two voices, interwoven: one filled with horror, the other with pain and rage.
The sound surged outward, fractured the air—
—and ripped open the silence of my bedroom.
For one vertiginous instant, I hovered between worlds. The darkness around me shifted; it writhed, swelling beyond control, ready to burst and drown me in its waking nightmare.
My pulse thundered. Sweat trickled down my brow, stinging my eyes. Madness clung to me like a second skin because I could still sense her. I could still catch a trace of her scent in the air, the fading echo of her song whispering from within the spirit world.
“By Azur’s light,” I muttered, dragging a trembling hand across my face, as if that could wash away the nightmare.
Even without the adrenaline coursing through me, the night remained oppressively warm. The silk sheets clung to my damp skin—smooth, clammy, and stifling. A sensation all too familiar, bringing an echo of her embrace… and all that came with it.
Passion. Pain. Violence. Death.
I couldn’t bear it.
I threw the sheets aside and rose abruptly. Yet even upright, the bedroom walls seemed to close in, towering and suffocating. I needed air. My legs carried me toward the balcony in uneven strides, bypassing the lumin-crystal lamp on the nightstand. I didn’t want its light; all I needed was Ria’s silver glow, pouring generously through the wide windows, eager to guide my steps.
The night wind enveloped me like a shroud of salvation.
Still strong for the tail end of the Windy Season, it carried with it the familiar scents of the city—fish and brine from the lake, the acrid tang of fresh tar, and the distant hum of the northern harbor. It didn’t silence the echoes of my dream, but it gave me something else to hold onto.
I leaned on the stone railing, letting my gaze sweep over the countless lights of D’al Vorat sprawling beneath the castle. From here, I could see the city in full—serene, ordered, and eternal. Even on the most ordinary of nights, this view brought peace to my mind: the comfort of being home, where everything was in its place.
Tonight, I cherished it more than ever.
“Ra’maen.”
Her name escaped me unbidden, and with it came a flood: anger, hatred, longing… and an old ache that hadn’t dulled enough in ten years. It sent a shiver through me, unearned by the night’s warmth, leaving behind a bittersweet taste on my lips.
“Ra’maen… why do you haunt my dreams again, after all this time?”
No answer came. Of course not. And yet, for one aching heartbeat, I yearned to hear her voice again, just once. The silence mocked me. It was a cruel reminder that some wounds never truly heal, despite the passage of time. My fingers traced the scar at the base of my neck; they recoiled, trembling.
“Why now?” I whispered into the dark.
The question hung there, empty and absurd, before the wind swept it away.
Suddenly, I needed a drink—something strong. Di’erae with a bitter flavor, perhaps. I had just the one in mind from Karrte & Sons in my study. It was far too early for alcohol by my own standards, but… what harm could it do?
With that thought, I turned and strode purposefully toward the door.
The sudden flap of wings overhead stopped me mid-step. It was a highly unusual sound at this time of night. I froze, my gaze snapping upward.
The stars were sparse tonight, scattered across wide patches of darkness—ample space for a predator to hide, to maneuver unseen in the endless expanse above. Years had passed since the last gah’ardar attack—a huge twisted mutant from the Faithless Lands—but the chaos and destruction it wrought had left its mark. Even now, people still glanced at the sky with unease. And in my current state of mind, I half-expected to see that winged horror descending on the castle once again.
For several tense moments, I scanned the night. Then I saw it—a vague silhouette gliding high above. The source of my unease, it seemed, was no monster but a bird. Large, swift, and unmistakably headed for my balcony. As it dipped low enough to catch the light of Ria, its feathers burst into a soft, amber-gold flame.
An Amber Hawk, I realized, surprised. Not an ordinary bird—but a viliehar. A messenger.
The hawk descended toward the stone railing, wings beating slow and steady to check its speed. The wind stirred by its descent brushed against my face, carrying the scent of wild air and distant stormfronts. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting it wash over me. When I opened them again, its talons had already found purchase on the railing. Its wings folded with a faint shiver.
The hawk tilted its head, inspecting me with one unblinking eye—then the other. A soft, expectant cry escaped its beak.
“Viliehar v’alano,” I murmured and extended my right fist. Welcome, messenger.
The hawk stared a moment longer, its amber eyes sharp and fearless, then hopped onto my arm. Its talons gripped my bare skin but didn’t pierce it—this was part of its magic. A small black box was fastened to its left leg.
“Is this for me?” I asked quietly, though I already knew the answer. Viliehari never err in finding their intended recipient.
The hawk let out another cry, sharper this time, impatient.
I smiled and carefully unfastened the box. “Thank you. You are free to hunt upon my lands.”
The hawk gave me a final cry as if saying goodbye and, with a few powerful strokes of its wings, vanished into the night. And I stood still, gripping the box tightly. An irrational fear twisted in my gut—the impossible notion that Ra’maen might be the sender.
Sentimental fool, I scolded myself, staring at the small object. You know full well where she is.
Even so, it took more effort than I expected to open my hand and examine the seal. A moment later, I exhaled in relief. It bore the crest of my brother, Arin Vorat. Still… it was strange. Arin had never sent a viliehar before. I hadn’t even known he possessed one. Why not use a comm-disc, as he usually did?
With a mix of curiosity and unease, I broke the seal with my thumb and carefully unrolled the note. Ria’s moonlight was enough to make out the writing. As expected, the text was encrypted—his handwriting, unmistakable. But what truly caught me off guard was the cipher Arin had chosen.
The dream and the thought of di’erae vanished from my mind.
Arin had used the most intricate cipher known to the Vorat Family. Unlike him, I needed the codebook to decipher it—a task that would demand focus, time, and clarity. I hurried back into the bedroom, seized the first robe within reach, and all but sprinted toward the study.
The fifty or so steps up the spiral staircase felt endless, each one stretching as if to mock my urgency. By the time I reached the top, impatience burned like a fever in my chest.
I burst into the spacious oval room.
The book I needed was secured in the small vault beneath my desk. With a sweaty hand, I unlocked the mechanisms and hauled open the heavy steel door. Lumin-crystals embedded within flickered to life, casting a cool glow over the contents: documents, a casket of gold anarandi, another of precious gems, several rare artifacts… and at last—the Vorat Family codebook.
I reached for it. But something else caught my eye.
A small pouch of pale leather lay nearby, its strings hanging loose where they should have been tightly bound. Through the opening, I glimpsed what lay inside: a nearly transparent crystal orb, no larger than a hen’s egg, faintly pulsing with a scarlet glow at its core.
My outstretched hand went numb.
“By Kalit’s oblivion… she awakens,” I whispered, the floor seeming to vanish beneath my feet. I staggered back, gripping the desk for balance, my senses reeling.
The nightmare that had jolted me awake took on a far darker, far more sinister meaning. Still… surely, I could delay this—just for a while?
A foolish hope. But one I clung to all the same.
“Dan vis’d’amni ke’stetto visnu’vis,” I murmured. The d’amni, one by one.
With a swift motion, I pulled the pouch’s strings tight and turned back to the codebook, forcing myself to refocus. After a heartbeat’s hesitation, I shut the vault door and sat at the desk, placing a solid barrier between myself and the orb.
The familiar embrace of my chair offered a fleeting comfort. For a moment, I considered pouring that coveted glass of di’erae—but I pushed the thought away. I’d need a clear mind. Besides, even the five steps to the drinks cabinet felt too far right now.
Time to unravel this, I thought, flipping to the correct page.
Minutes stretched into segments. Segments into partitions. Until, at last, the Blood Dawn crept over the world. Its concentrated light spilled through the tower windows, bathing the pages in crimson. Even with the codebook’s guidance, decoding the message was slow, grueling work—just as it was meant to be.
I stared at the fresh lines in my own handwriting, the meaning of Arin’s message now clear.
Kael,
My extensive research has finally borne fruit, and we stand on the precipice of our childhood dream. But a grave matter has arisen. Someone has discovered my findings. I know not who, but they have already attempted to seize them, and matters grow perilous here. I am under constant surveillance.
I wished to return to D’al Vorat to prepare an expedition, but I fear I would not make it far from Westgate now. Your aid is urgently required.
I have taken refuge at The Golden Nugget inn. Trust no one, save perhaps our mentor, and come swiftly!
Arin
P.S. Beware the comm-discs! They are compromised!
I read the letter again, then used the fire prism on my desk to destroy both the original and my painstakingly decoded copy. My fears were justified—Arin was in danger. And this time, it was dire.
Yet I still grappled with the implications. I had a general understanding of his current research, yes—but what, exactly, had he uncovered that he dared not write of, even in code? What childhood dream could he be referring to? A shadow of a thought flickered through my mind—a forgotten fragment, a wisp of memory from our earliest years playing in the vast halls of Castle Vorat. Then it disappeared amidst the mounting worry.
I knew my brother well. He was never one to exaggerate a threat. He possessed a keen sense of his limits, and of when to seek help. If Arin’s instincts were sound—and they usually were—I could afford no further delay.
Also, how, by Lanat’s cunning, could the comm-discs be compromised?
A discreet knock at the study door broke my concentration. I looked up from the smoldering ash—all that remained of the two letters.
“Enter,” I called.
Moments later, Daaris, my s’uldin, stepped inside.
“Lord Vorat, you are up early today,” he noted, forgoing unnecessary formalities.
“Nightmares, both in slumber and waking, Daaris,” I replied dryly. “To what do I owe this visit?”
He gave me a look of quiet concern. Overt curiosity, however, had never been his way, and he didn’t waste time circling the matter.
“A situation, My Lord. One of the patrols due back last night has vanished. There is no trace of the three guards. Their comm-disc remains silent, and neither the city nor the castle has sighted them since their departure.” When our eyes met, the worry in his was unmistakable. “This is the third such disappearance in the past two months.”
“By Moritán’s ruin, of all times…” I muttered, glancing upward as the weight of it all settled on my shoulders. Misfortune rarely arrives unaccompanied. “What was their assigned route?”
“The same as the last two, My Lord. Along the Border with the Wastes.”
The Wastes—a designation for the vast, desolate territories that lay between the Enlightened Realms and the Faithless Lands. These lands were remnants of the partial merging between Anarand’aris and Aartókh-Dággaras, four millennia past. Even now, they remained uninhabited.
Scattered across that forsaken expanse were ancient ruins, shattered cities, and long-buried relics of the once-great Lir’Anarand civilization. Faithless bands roamed the region still—vicious scavengers seeking forgotten treasures, and a path into the prosperous lands of modern Anarand. One of the many reasons we maintained constant vigilance along the Wastes Border.
“And did none of the guards stationed there witness anything?” I pressed.
Daaris tugged lightly at the collar of his tunic, a telltale habit when deeply troubled.
“No, My Lord. Their final report came from Tower Two-Seventeen yesterday morning, precisely on schedule. After that, they proceeded westward toward Mount Karaahar. That is all I have been able to determine.”
The dream’s lingering grip, the awakened orb, the warning in Arin’s letter—and now this crisis. It all crashed down like a battering ram against the walls of my composure.
“Three well-trained guards do not simply vanish, may Moritán take it!” I slammed my fist on the desk, scattering ashes across its surface.
The pen stand wobbled precariously, nearly toppling over the stack of reports awaiting my attention.
Daaris did not flinch at my outburst. He knew me too well for such things to unsettle him—a trait I quietly respected.
“This incident may not be connected to the previous two, My Lord,” he offered, his tone carefully measured. “The first patrol disappeared north of Tower One-Nine. The second, northeast of One-Twenty-One.”
“Indeed. Then I must be a d’amnos, mustn’t I?” The words came sharper than I intended, but I could not restrain them.
“My Lord, you should not jest about such matters,” Daaris replied with quiet disapproval.
I waved his concern aside.
“What I mean,” he continued evenly, “is that Tower Two-Seventeen lies more than two hundred kilometers away. If this is the work of a single Faithless band, then their range is exceptional… assuming, of course, that it is the Faithless we face.”
“By Moira’s serene grace, Daaris, must you truly indulge in such speculation?” I sighed, regaining a semblance of composure.
“I do not claim the rumors of the common folk to be truth, My Lord,” he said calmly. “But you must admit—whoever is responsible employs methods far removed from the savagery we know.”
And inwardly, I had to concede he had a point.
The Faithless were not known for subtlety. When they struck the Enlightened Realms, they left signs both gruesome and unmistakable: flayed corpses with skins stretched across bone frames, the heads of women and children impaled on stakes, villages burned to ash, livestock slaughtered for no other reason but cruelty.
No… isolated patrols vanishing without a trace, so near the Border? That was not the usual mark of our bloodthirsty neighbors.
Rumors had begun to spread—through the villages, and even within D’al Vorat—of nameless, ancient horrors lurking in the night. Whispers feeding fear among my people. The fact that even Daaris had begun to heed them was troubling. Regardless of what I believed in or my personal issues, as a Count my duty was to address such concerns and calm the populace down. This matter required swift and decisive resolution.
“Dispatch an elite squad of twenty,” I ordered. “Equip them with two comm-discs and instruct them to report to their commander every partition. Should they fail to locate the missing men within ten days, ensure their families receive full compensation.”
“Of course, My Lord. And what long-term measures do you wish to implement?”
“For now, nothing drastic,” I said after a moment’s consideration. “Once I have addressed more immediate concerns, I shall see to this personally. In the interim, augment the border patrols to five men. Ensure they maintain vigilance at all times. Henceforth, they are to report at every Tower along their route. I know this has been neglected of late.”
I leaned back slightly.
“Regardless of the Faithless’ intent, we cannot afford to lose more men.”
I did not believe the missing patrols were a sign of an impending invasion. Even so, the Border Towers alone could halt, or at least delay, an army a thousand strong for days. But a measure of added caution was warranted.
“Furthermore, ensure all Border Towers are at heightened battle readiness, maintaining constant vigilance.”
“It will be done, My Lord.”
For now, that would have to suffice—until I returned from Westgate. The sooner I extricated Arin from his entanglements, the sooner I could turn my attention to the Faithless… or whatever else lay behind the vanishing patrols. The Wastes had always been treacherous. But if these rumors carried even a fragment of truth—if they were more than old legends twisted into campfire tales—then darker times might be upon us.
And that was not a threat I could afford to ignore.
With that, my decision was made.
“Daaris, compile a list of all pressing matters that require my attention. I expect it within half a partition.”
“My Lord?” His voice carried a trace of hesitation.
“I must depart for Westgate—and soon,” I said firmly. Arin had warned me not to trust anyone, but if there was one soul whose loyalty to the Vorat Family was beyond doubt, it was my s’uldin.
“So sudden a departure?” Daaris’s expression tightened.
“Unfortunately, yes. I shall carry a comm-disc in case of urgent matters. Westgate is close enough that I can return swiftly, should the need arise.” I fixed him with a steady gaze. “Ensure word of my departure does not spread—at least, not immediately.”
“Am I to understand that you intend to travel without your usual retinue?” His tone hinted at a prelude to a familiar, heated, and most unwelcome argument.
“Indeed,” I said, raising my voice just enough to cut him off. “And we shall not quarrel over this, Daaris.”
He pressed his lips together, fixing me with a long, disapproving gaze. But Daaris knew when to push—and when it was wiser to retreat, even if only for the moment.
“Sustaining such a deception for more than a day or two shall prove difficult, My Lord,” he said, clearly displeased. “If only you had informed me a day earlier—”
I silenced him with a slight shake of my head.
“Then devise a plausible pretext for my absence. A hunt in the northern Amalay outskirts, perhaps… or an inspection of the Border Towers following the recent incidents. That should suffice.”
“As you command, My Lord.” My s’uldin gave a small bow, disapproval radiating from him. “If there is naught further, I shall begin compiling the list you requested.”
I nodded, dismissing him, and waited until the door clicked shut before turning back to the vault.
Ra’maen’s orb awaited me there—an ordeal I could no longer postpone. The problem was, I had no idea how to face it. Suppressing a tempest of emotions I refused to name, I retrieved the leather pouch and emptied its contents into my palm.
The spark within the orb flared—briefly sharp, then softening into a rhythmic, almost eager pulse. As if it recognized me. Its power was but a shadow of what I remembered, yet even this faint trace was enough to send a prickling tingle across my skin.
The or’dain’s awakening to this extent could mean only one thing.
She was beginning to stir.
“Why now, of all times?” I muttered bitterly, not realizing I’d spoken aloud. “Why not five decades from now—or a century? Why can’t you leave me in peace, may Moritán take you! Why can’t you just stay dead?”
The final words escaped me as a near-shout, my voice raw and frayed.
The spark within the orb recoiled, shrinking inward like a loyal hound startled by its master’s sudden fury. The or’dain, of course, was not to blame. It was merely a severed fragment of Ra’maen’s soul—bound by ancient magic. No will. No sentience. No more awareness than a common guard dog.
I exhaled slowly, trying to summon clarity. Calm. Focus.
I released the orb, letting it hover a few centimeters above the desk. Its glow trembled, faint and unstable. How much time remained? Six months, if I were fortunate. Less than a month, if my worst fears were correct.
There was no way to know. Not without seeing the body.
Running a weary hand across my face, I forced myself to accept what I had denied for far too long. The confrontation I had spent a decade avoiding was now inevitable. And the longer I delayed, the harder it would be to descend into that place. The crypt beneath the castle—her eternal prison—beckoned.
With that, I seized the or’dain and rose from my chair, resolved to settle the matter once and for all.
