That happened. That seriously, actually, totally, definitely happened.

Althein wanted to close his eyes, wanted to review his memories again, and digest everything properly, organize and categorize so that it made some fucking sense. But instead, Livia fell from the sky and splattered against the ground, while Lord Pachel himself was splattered by Kothlin’s fist in that moment of distraction. A flash of light, a moment of unconsciousness, and now…

War. Everything this talk was meant to avoid, and now all this was happening again.

A breath. His own body was still unsteady, and he tightened his fists to stop them from shaking. The explosion, who had caused it? He wanted to say the North, but it had empowered the South, with their greater magical heritages. Couldn’t be South though, could it? The collateral damage had put them all in danger.

The floor rumbled, and Althein’s eyes turned towards the rest of the Keep. Houses were falling, were crashing, more screams drowned out by dust and debris. Everything was normal now. Everything was so much [i]worse[/i].

He pushed himself upwards.

Pachel was dead. Kothlin killed him, then declared war. The bomb that went off had caused casualties on both sides. The Church and the Mage Queen did not show up. No, the bomb went off [i]twice[/i], so was it a bomb at all? Or was it a device, that could be utilized over and over, provided that there was enough power to fuel it? The epicenter was the tower, a tower that had been turned into absolute shit.

The Lord of House Aureolin looked in the direction that the Northern Lords exited, and forced himself to relax. It was going to be fine.

Definitely.

A squall blew behind him as familiar footsteps sounded.

[b]“Brother, what the he-”[/b]

No hesitation.

[b]“Time is of the essence, Aelious. I’ve got work for you.”[/b]

Moments later, a wyvern as white as fresh snow shot skywards, its dark rider urging east towards the closest town: Veilstone.