Barkran’s conviction and inflexibility were not the only attributes that had made him the Supreme Hierarch. Yes, he was a strong and determined man, he never showed weakness, and he carried an aura of authority forged over the years.
But there was something else that granted him leadership—something that set him apart from all others: magic. Barkran was a natural summoner; his magical affinity was enviable, and he had done everything in his power to refine and sharpen it further.
And ever since he had become an Ethereant, he had trained day and night to master the signature weapon of the order: the khori. Few of his brethren could boast the same level of skill—something that Sadhalir, a veteran member of the order, was now painfully realizing.
Barkran’s powers of wind and lightning clashed against Sadhalir’s magic of water and ice, which the elder wielded like an artist. The Hierarch had not underestimated his opponent despite his age, but little by little, he was gaining the upper hand.
The crystalline projectiles Sadhalir launched shattered into thousands of shards upon colliding with the serpentine bolts summoned by Barkran. Waves of water were caught in swirling winds as the weapons of both Ethereants clashed again and again.
However, the Hierarch knew he had to put an end to their battle soon if he wanted to succeed in his mission.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Barkran?” Sadhalir asked, stepping back to catch his breath.
“Are you going to accept my invitation to join me and the Hierarchs?” Barkran already knew the answer—he was merely offering a formality.
“You know perfectly well that—”
“Then stop wasting my time,” Barkran interrupted. He could see through Sadhalir’s cunning. His opponent was stalling, waiting for his allies to come to his aid.
The duel between the two Ethereants was anything but discreet, so it was only a matter of time before someone arrived to assist Sadhalir.
And Barkran had only a few moments left for his assault on the Summoners’ Coalition camp to bear fruit.
It was his only hope of convincing the Norduri of Jarferun to accept his proposal for an alliance.
Despite having conquered Ulterian and offered it as a gift, it had not been enough to forge the friendship Barkran wanted—and needed.
The Jarferunir had accepted the invitation to a council in the heart of Ulterian, their curiosity piqued to the point that even their Matriarch had attended. The Hierarchs had worked the Ulteriani to the bone, making them prepare to receive Jarferun’s spiritual leader with the highest honors and lavish offerings.
No war fundamentalist could attempt any foolishness, so the Hierarchs maintained an iron-police control over the city’s population. It had not been excessively difficult; in the end, the Ulteriani did not care under which banner they fought. They only wanted to survive and protect their home, so finding themselves shielded by the Norduri and the Hierarchs seemed like a good omen.
But the Matriarch remained unimpressed.
“The mere fact that we share common enemies does not make us allies. The phrase ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ is a lie,” she had responded bluntly to Barkran’s proposal, filled with promises of glory, strength, and a brilliant future for both Jarferun and the Hierarchs.
Her words had been like daggers of ice to the Supreme Hierarch’s stomach.
Some of her advisors had shown interest in the alliance, but to make matters worse, the Voice of Light—one of the most influential advisors in Jarferun and in the Matriarch’s ear—was reluctant to accept such a partnership.
“Barkran, you are an ambitious and powerful man—qualities I admire and applaud, for I am the same,” the Voice had begun his speech. “But because I am the same, I understand that behind this proposal lies a hidden agenda that the Hierarchs are not revealing. Clearly, this friendship would benefit Barkran far more than it would benefit Jarferun, Matriarch, and so we must be cautious. What seems a sweet gift today may well become a rotten fruit tomorrow.”
“Matriarch, Voices, it is true that your friendship would be of incalculable benefit to us,” Barkran had insisted. “But you will see that it would be highly valuable for Jarferun as well. Ulterian is only the beginning; in fact, in the south, some of my most capable agents have begun influencing the Empire of Elfendar. After years of tension at its borders, it has finally prevailed over its neighbors. I know that the Norduri wish to build a stable and lasting home, and just as in Elfendar, we can help fulfill their goals.”
“Jarferun has already broken free from the prison of its ancestral borders,” the Voice of Light had remained unfazed by Barkran’s words. “We did not need the Hierarchs before, and we will not need them later. If we reject your proposal, what will you do? Will you make us your enemies? I do not believe Ulterian can afford to antagonize Jarferun, the Coalition, and the Protectorate all at once. Let us go, Matriarch, we can waste no more time here. If the Voice of the Shadows were with us, he would agree with me.”
“But the Voice of the Shadows is not with us. The Coalition has him,” the Matriarch had replied, catching Barkran’s interest. “And we must make a decision.”
“One week,” the Supreme Hierarch had suddenly pleaded. “I implore you to consider my proposal and give me a final answer within a week. That is all the time I ask to prove the worth of my brotherhood and the justice of our vision.”
It had been a desperate request — but without Jarferun, the Hierarchs wouldn’t have enough support or power to stand against the Summoners’ Coalition. The Voice of Light was half right: the Actubrion Protectorate was indeed a formidable enemy, but Barkran knew the true threat came from the Ethereants, Viridimancers, and Wizards of Khäria.
Conservative and narrow-minded, they would do everything in their power to crush the Hierarchs’ dream.
And that was unacceptable.
He needed the Norduri — and they needed him, even if they refused to see it. For centuries, Jarferun had been isolated in Khäria’s far north, excluded by the other nations for the simple fact of being a Norduri city. The last Norduri city, in fact, since their homeworld had been lost millennia ago.
Barkran pitied them and saw in their struggle a reflection of his own. The fight to kill or be killed — to walk the thin line of rising above others or disappearing forever.
The key to winning Jarferun’s friendship and walking that line together lay in rescuing the Voice of the Shadows from the Coalition’s clutches and presenting him to the Matriarch within a week.
It was the perfect opportunity to strengthen the bond he sought — but at the same time, it was a suicide mission. Not only would he have to infiltrate the heart of one of the Coalition’s camps, but the Voice’s jailer was none other than Sadhalir — an Ethereant who had survived countless battles. His tactical summoner team was just as seasoned as he was, and Barkran couldn’t take them all on.
The time had come to end the fight.
“You won’t succeed, Barkran — whatever you’re planning.”
His enemy was panting but showed no signs of exhaustion. Yet the Supreme Hierarch had more than just weapons and air magic. The Ethereal of Radiance, Anda, had blessed his mission.
Barkran had heard its voice many times and surrendered himself to the entity — but it wasn’t until he earned his title as Light Before the Dawn that he knew he was Anda’s chosen.
And now it was time to prove it.
Barkran charged at Sadhalir with the confidence of a man who knew himself protected by divine power. With his heart and spirit, he called upon Anda — and felt the brilliance’s power surge through his body.
The light was so blinding that Sadhalir’s eyes were seared shut instantly, and his chest was torn open by Barkran’s khori. With a single sweeping motion, the Hierarch carved two deep slashes across his opponent’s torso, breaking ribs and exposing his lungs to the open air and a relentless torrent of blood.
The camp erupted in shouts of alarm and the hurried movement of soldiers — but Barkran had the opening he needed.
He rushed to the cell where the Voice of the Shadows lay, weakly slumped on a broken, filthy cot, treated like less than an animal.
“Can you stand?” Barkran asked after carefully unlocking the iron bars. In other circumstances, he would have torn them apart — but he could feel they were made of a metal that nullified magic. The Voice had to be truly powerful.
“I think so…” the Norduri rasped. “This vile cage… it drains me,” he panted.
Barkran could feel it too. It wasn’t just the metal — the air itself hummed with enchantments that weakened his magic.
Even so, he was strong enough to help the Voice out of his prison.
“They’ve likely been feeding you mushrooms or other magic-dampening substances,” Barkran reasoned. “But not for much longer. You’ll have to give everything you’ve got if we want to get out of here.”
“Who… who are you?”
“I am the Supreme Hierarch. And you… you are the key to the future we both dream of.”