Eastmarch, Holy Camoran

Grand Cathedral of Kaedmon

Rain spattered on the spiral turrets of Kaedmon's Grand Gathedral, nestled deep in the heart of Eastmarch's capital city of Camoran.

Inside, High Cardinal Remiel had just finished his evening vespers, dismissing his flock with words of peace and tranquility in these trying times, and offering prayers to their neighbors in Westerweald.

He watched the people of Argwyll's most holy city shuffle into the cold, wet streets of the capital with murmurs of discontent upon their lips. Ever since they had received word of the Archon's coming, and of Westerweald's fight against him, a grim darkness had fallen upon the people.

Some of them understood the proclamations of the Council of Cardinals – the seat of authority within which Remiel held the highest position. The decision had been made long ago to secure their own borders, keep their own Greycloak detachment at Caer Weiburn ready, and ensure they were well protected if the worst-case scenario should come to pass. Some grumbled about this – particularly Cardinal Langly, who had often taken up the position of agitator in these recent months. He believed they should be sending as much relief to their Western cousins as possible. Why Kaedmon anointed that boy to be part of the council, Remiel could only guess.

The old Cardinal shifted, turning towards the grand statue of the Lord that lay at the end of the Cathedral where he spent most of his days. In trying times, it behooved the faithful to look upon Kaedmon as he had first appeared to them: regal, tall, with long flowing golden locks and one hand raised, pointing a finger towards the future. In his other hand, the Lord held a set of golden scales – representing his commitment to balancing all things in the cosmos. To maintaining order.

That was what the people sometimes forgot – including the young Langly. They loved the Lord, but believed that their own will sometimes superseded his commandments. They did not understand that what they called 'free will' was simply an illusion born of fear – fear that the Lord's plan, the path he was laying for the future, may not be the right path to walk. Such heretical thoughts could strike at even the most fervent of hearts.

Remiel bent his knees and arched his back, whispering his vows under the watchful gaze of his Lord. He reaffirmed what he already knew to be true: that the Lightborn had been raised in Westerweald. That he had failed to complete his destiny due to his own fear – a reaction of his own will. And that the Lord had given him another chance. That was why another Archon had been spawned. That was why it was no business of theirs to 'help' Westerweald's people fight it. Kaedmon had looked into the souls of the Western men and found them lacking in conviction. Now, it was the Lightborn's turn to forgive them their sins.

He'd once met the Lightborn long ago. It was customary that the High Cardinal of Eastmarch bless the new bearer of Krea's most sacred oath, and young Pendragon had been no exception. Upon their meeting, Remiel had thought him a rather sickly child. Pale, dejected, and possessed of a strangely isolated air that was uncommon in the Lightborn – especially in their youth. Still, he'd administered his blessing and wished him luck, knowing that he would fulfill his destiny as his brethren always had.

When word had been brought of Gyko's fall and the boy's strange persistence, it was High Cardinal Remiel who had not even bat an eyelid as the other Cardinals squabbled over what it meant.

"It means only that Kaedmon's plan for young Pendragon is not yet finished," he said. "He has battled Gyko to admonish the sins of his innocence, and that of our world. Now, he must admonish the sins of his experience. There shall be another Archon. And this one shall be his."

And he will succeed, this time, Remiel thought. He must. For the sake of all his people, and for human life on Argwyll, he will -

A burst of light silenced the Cardinal mid-thought. He brought up an arm to shield his eyes from the sight that had just unfolded before him.

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Kaedmon's eyes had just started glowing with such intensity that they threw a beam of gold across the entire cathedral, lighting up every corner of the dark.

The High Cardinal found that he had no words to utter. In all his life, he'd never seen the statue like this.

"High Cardinal!" someone shouted from outside. "Lord Remiel!"

One of the guards had just thrown open the doors and sprinted inside, allowing Remiel to hear the awestruck sounds of the people outside.

"The – the statues!" the panting Guard wheezed. "They – they are-"

"I know," Remiel replied, voice deep and gravely as the stone the statue was hued from.

"What – what does it mean?"

Remiel lowered his hand before he responded. The light of the Lord was nothing to shield oneself from.

"It means that the Judgement of Kaedmon has been unleashed," he declared, his wrinkled face twisting in a smile that was a long time coming.

"It means that the Lightborn is finally about to fulfill his destiny."

***

Sanctum

Ash and silence followed the Angel's final assault. The center of Sanctum had become a crater carved into the earth. The place that would be the Archon's final grave.

Above, every rescued Hybrid had felt the tremors of the attack. The shockwave from the Lightborn's [Judgement] rocked the earth itself, and entire patches of land sank into the ground from the seismic blast. Cracks split, swallowing whole sections of Triant forest. The Ashfall mountains rumbled and boulders were dashed from their peaks. Luckily, the Hybrid magi who had been led to safety by Borlor's group managed to shield the survivors.

But everyone knew what had happened when that light came through the cracks in the ground.

The Lightborn had struck his penultimate blow.

The world held its breath in a moment of absolute stillness.

Smoke trails wafted from the crater's core, and what lay inside, barely alive, could be seen only by Artorious.

The Archon – its form split apart, each one of the vile Chimera's heads decapitated and strewn across the blackened dirt. Its wings were clipped and charred to pieces. Its Onixia claws – broken into tiny fragments.

And the hat itself lay flopped and out in the very middle of the core. It's crimson eye staring up at Artorious with despair.

The angel appraised his prey.

He saw what he'd only dreamed of seeing:

Ethan Hawke (LVL 150)

HP: 1/2500

He did not laugh. He did not gloat. Instead, he floated down gracefully, letting his feet touch the dusty, scorched earth. He felt the embers of Argwyll's crust beneath him. But he did not let it affect him.

Eyes staring unblinkingly at the Archon's form, he strode forward.

"A century of sorrow ends here," he said. "Before it begins."

Ethan groaned, flapped about, desperately trying to affix himself to something – to one of Revok's bloody heads.

"You were right, back in the City of Illusions," Artorious murmured. "I was too weak to do what needed to be done. I was too afraid of my duty."

The Angel appeared right above the tiny hat, fanning its wings so that every body part of the chimera was tossed aside. This moment was meant for the two of them – the last of their kind.

"Do you know why?" he asked, voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

Ethan said nothing back. His single eyeball wavered over the angel's terrifying presence.

"It is because I didn't believe," Artorious said. "In the Greycloaks. In Kaedmon. In my own title as Lightborn. I didn't – I couldn't – believe in any of it. After all, it was Kaedmon himself who initiated the whole cycle of suffering. First Archon to you, he let it all happen. And I thought 'what kind of God would allow such torment? How could He stand by idly while his chosen people died by the millions every century?'"

Ethan's eye flashed to the tip of Artorious' blade. The Lightborn was about to make his final strike.

"But that secret dies with you and me, Archon," he said as he collected all the light of his Lord and channeled it into one decisive strike. "The cycle will end here, with us. I suppose you technically get what you want. You get to see your old enemy dead. All of you do – all your predecessors - finally get to rest easy, knowing there will never be another Lightborn. But you'll also know that it took a human to finally make the sacrifice that beat you all."

Ethan watched the Lightborn's power dance along his blade.

And as Sanctum was once again bathed in the light of a God, Ethan Hawke gave a hoarse chuckle.

"You know something?" he said. "I almost want to let you do it, Arty. Just to see if you have the balls, this time."

The Lightborn halted, sword raised above him, face streaked with sudden confusion.

Then – realization.

Too late.

"But I've got other plans."

From above, there came a roar that tore through the cavern. Then – a fiery light that blazed and grew till it became an infernal storm of surging power.

And the angel of Kaedmon, saw what was moving within the flames: The Chimera of Westerweald, and the hat that rode it.

"Impossible…"

The Lightborn's whisper was barely even heard. Instead, the battle-cry of Ethan Hawke, at full HP, pierced the ears of every mortal being above and below Sanctum.

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