“You always have a choice, only if you’re prepared to lose.” These words of Kilian applied oddly well in this case. By rejecting the Sura Queen’s path, by letting go of this Ashera-granted Fehl Taint, these 400 chose defeat. Were the roles reversed, Kilian would never make such a choice.
After all, morals and nature aside, what did they stand to lose? Said bluntly, the gains far outweighed the losses. Yes, if the roles were reversed, Kilian would probably make the same choice as the Sura Queen, and strive for this one opportunity to fight back. But as he swept the 400, Kilian realized that those suras’ choice didn’t stem from false bravado.
They did fear death, they did fear the pain, the anguish and all the nightmarish consequences that awaited them. However, they feared one thing above all else: the loss of their identity.
Across those millennia, the right to cling onto their culture, nature and ancestral beliefs was the only thing that none could take from them. The resisting suras knew that once they followed their queen, regardless of the war’s outcome, sura identity was doomed. Suras would become fehls, the Sura Plane a sub-Fehl Plane, the trees, glades and forests would crumble, replaced by towering castles, luxurious mansions, and monuments meant to glorify the new leaders. Out of shame of their humiliating past, the new leaders would quickly erase all records of their ancestors—ending what remained of their own ethnicity.
However, though he could empathize with them, Mark of Greed or not, Kilian had one rule he’d never break: to fight for those willing to fight.
His gaze hardened, and he aimed his right hand at the 400 suras. A bang akin to a gunshot followed, and their makeshift weapons burst into dust powder.
“No need to bare those at me. I’m not here to fight. If I were, you’d be dead already,” Kilian said, and ambled toward the trembling suras.
“I’m here to wake you all up. What you’re doing is blind stubbornness. Unless you surrender to your queen, you will die within three days. Most of you will watch your few children starve to death first—then follow them into oblivion. As we speak, all those that rejected the Sura Queen are facing the same choice, and have the same timeframe to choose their end.
Either you surrender, or vanish. Regardless, there will be no true sura left in three days. You will fall like pests, accomplishing nothing.” Kilian’s words were like sharp blades, piercing and twisting in the suras’ hearts. Although they didn’t want to accept this truth, he was right. The Sura Queen’s extreme move made their resistance futile. All they could do was to die stubborn.
However, dying is simple. But watching loved ones fall one after the other? Now that’s a lot more challenging. Stopping one meter away from the 400, Kilian crossed his arms behind his back, and stared into their leader’s eyes.
“But I can give you an alternative. You say you have nothing to offer me, but I disagree. Although you don’t possess offensive spells, thrones aside, you suras are the most gifted in Formation and Ritual Magic. With those skills, you could even help the Prime Lord defeat the Night Master. How is that nothing?” Kilian rhetorically asked, using the words and broken memories of his Fehl Sura victims to build his case.
“I just want one thing from you: everything. Pledge your lives and souls to me. Surrender the principles and Arcana of your Sura Magic, and I pledge to carve out a future where you can remain whom you wish to be.
I will not compromise you. I will not pervert you. But in the battles to come, I may put some of your lives at risk. If you’re willing to accept this contract—” taking a pause, Kilian snapped his fingers, making a five meters tall green rectangular stele appear before the suras. On that stele, the details of the contract unfolded.
“Sign in your blood,” Kilian offered, and instantly, the 400 suras’ arms dropped as their eyes widened at his words. Never did they expect that so close to the fatal deadline, another entity would give them a third option. However, the initial rush of glee was soon replaced by wariness, and the elder suras’ gaze narrowed at Kilian.
“Sir, from what we can see, you’re either human or some shapeshifting creature. Which one is it?
We can give you what you ask for. But we must first find out who we’re dealing with, and what type of contract we’re signing. What if we’re now surrounded by an illusion and led to sign the complete opposite of what you promise? How do we know that...” the elder rattled off.
After Adramelech’s incursion, suras learned one thing they initially didn’t possess: suspicion. The elders—especially—no longer took words at face value, and sought deceit in every pledge. But as the leader attempted a probe, Kilian raised his hand and cut:
“I will not try to comfort your fears. If you believe in me, sign. If you don’t, refuse. Trust is the foundation of all bonds. Master-servant pledges are no different. If you must seek all possible pitfalls in my offer, this contract is meaningless,” Kilian said, and at his back, Eleonora’s lips into a smile.
The past Kilian would have praised the Suras for seeking all pitfalls. But the current one realized that in this unique case, he had to give them back what they lost: faith.
If they held no faith in him, if the only thing binding them was the Mark of Greed—should he one day lose it, an unpredictable future awaited. By laying out the pros and cons, by clearly stating his stance, Kilian painted a beguiling picture in the hesitating suras’ eyes. And though they seemed to flounder at his words, after a brief discussion, the 400 formed three lines before the stele, and one after the other, signed their names in blood.
Green light surged at the glade’s entrance, sweeping Kilian and his 400 new followers to mark the covenant. But though he let nothing transpire on his face, Kilian felt a mild rush of satisfaction swell in his heart.
“Since you’ve chosen to follow me, I will not let you down,” he proclaimed, easing the lingering apprehensions of the 400. In tandem, they dropped on their knees and bowed in submission—making Kilian the first foreign Sura King.
…
Meanwhile, within Kars’ ducal palace, Klaus hovered in a golden crystal, with his convalescence reaching an end. His eyes opened, no longer sapphire, but pure gold—the crystal then burst into light particles.
Wilfried’s death, registered by Klaus’ hypercomputers, was transferred to his mind—enabling the duke to witness all his most loyal servant felt and saw before his fall.
“Wilfried, more than anyone else, you believed in me. But ultimately, I still failed you—as I always do.
Across these two tedious lives, father aside, no one held onto me as much as you did. I hoped that I could at least let you see the future we all wrestle for. Who could think that you’d fall before me?
I’ve let my wife down.
I’ve let my son down.
I’ve let Kilian down.
I’ve let you down.
But Wilfried, I will not let the world down.
Friend, you can rest in peace. The Gate will soon open, and regardless of the cost, I shall use the Altar of Eternity to bring an end to this world’s chaos,” Klaus pledged as two teardrops streaked down his cheeks.
Having poured a massive quantity of dra into Kilian’s Eye of Fehl, Klaus knew that he’d very likely return. Better, he hoped that he would. And though he didn’t anticipate the Blood King’s appearance, thanks to him and Wilfried’s memories, Klaus figured out where Kilian currently was—and his new identity.
“Kilian, work hard. For all those petty foes are nothing before what I have in stores for you.”
Clawing through the air, Klaus tore open a portal toward the Sura Plane and sent a detachment of 300 Crystal Lords, reinforced by blood drops from his Throne Heart, to rescue and support Anke.
