Lyren was in a rage. The reason? Do you need a reason to be angry? No, just the urge to destroy everything in her path. She'd even come close to knocking out her little brother as he tumbled down the steps of the guild hall. He'd dodged the blow and returned a sweeping blow to the back of her legs. Lyren was left flummoxed.
In fact, there was. There was a reason, a profound reason, even. After the sacrifices she'd made, the energy she'd given for the empire, cutting herself off from everything that had been her past, and now the responsibility she'd been given to lead the legions, without any help.
Azazor, that hero, that living legend who jumped at every problem and into every hole that presented itself. Lyren thought briefly of his mother, also a legend in the art of getting bogged down in trouble. The two had found each other, it had to be said. But now, what? Was Azazor, in his condition, even alive? Jumping into a rift in the bark, filled with deep-sea ktins and who knows what else even more dangerous. You can't survive that long in there, with no water, no food, and above all stinking and oozing sweat like any fyros in need of shooki. The kamis hadn't brought him back. The kamis, whom he still trusted despite everything that could have changed his mind. If he'd survived and made it back from the old lands, it really wasn't thanks to them.
No. Azazor was over. He was dead. How could we be sure? Impossible, but how could we be sure he still had a chance of living? Azazor, ghost of the past. His time was over. The Fyros Legions were Lyren now.
And it was time she forged them in her own image. It was in her blood. Her mother had been in command, as had her father. She'd never met him, but according to Azazor, he'd been the greatest leader the legions had ever known. Who could protest, argue that she didn't belong, and challenge his vision?
No, no one could. It was now up to her to make decisions. The right decisions. And it started now.
In fact, there was. There was a reason, a profound reason, even. After the sacrifices she'd made, the energy she'd given for the empire, cutting herself off from everything that had been her past, and now the responsibility she'd been given to lead the legions, without any help.
Azazor, that hero, that living legend who jumped at every problem and into every hole that presented itself. Lyren thought briefly of his mother, also a legend in the art of getting bogged down in trouble. The two had found each other, it had to be said. But now, what? Was Azazor, in his condition, even alive? Jumping into a rift in the bark, filled with deep-sea ktins and who knows what else even more dangerous. You can't survive that long in there, with no water, no food, and above all stinking and oozing sweat like any fyros in need of shooki. The kamis hadn't brought him back. The kamis, whom he still trusted despite everything that could have changed his mind. If he'd survived and made it back from the old lands, it really wasn't thanks to them.
No. Azazor was over. He was dead. How could we be sure? Impossible, but how could we be sure he still had a chance of living? Azazor, ghost of the past. His time was over. The Fyros Legions were Lyren now.
And it was time she forged them in her own image. It was in her blood. Her mother had been in command, as had her father. She'd never met him, but according to Azazor, he'd been the greatest leader the legions had ever known. Who could protest, argue that she didn't belong, and challenge his vision?
No, no one could. It was now up to her to make decisions. The right decisions. And it started now.