Chapter 40 – The Echoes of the Great War
Chapter 40 – The Echoes of the Great War
The faint shimmer of the teleportation field dissipated as Tyler and Milo materialized once more in Yandi. The soft, glowing runes of the teleportation circle under their feet flickered for a moment before dimming to nothing. The swamps and eerie silence of the Ebon Hollows were behind them now, replaced by the familiar, warm earthiness of Yandi’s underground enclave. The scent of scorched stone and arcane residue clung to the air, and somewhere nearby, a hammer rang rhythmically against metal.
“We’re back,” Milo muttered, wobbling slightly as he stepped off the circle. His armour still bore a massive hole in the chestplate, the reminder of the Hivebound Cockroach’s brutal assault.
Tyler wasted no time. “Let’s get your armour fixed. I don’t want to see your intestines next time you get hit.”
They headed straight for the forge chamber, where Vitamin Ape stood surrounded by molten ingots and mechanical contraptions whirring with enchantments. Sparks danced like fireflies across the walls.
“Aye! If it isn’t the Storm wizard crushers!” Vitamin Ape called out, his simian face split into a wide grin beneath soot-smeared goggles.
“Hey, we need a repair. This armour’s been torn to hell,” Tyler said, placing the broken chestplate on the counter.
Vitamin Ape examined it, letting out a low whistle. “Looks like someone tried to turn your pal into a meat skewer. It’ll take me a few hours, but I can patch it back stronger than before. Might even add a few enchantments if you’re willing to toss in some mushrooms.”
Milo flinched. “Not the purple mushrooms, please.”
Tyler laughed. “I’ll see what I can spare. Also, any updates on the magma shards?”
Vitamin Ape scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Ah, about that… I’ve been busy. Storm wizards have been making more trouble than usual. Had to hold the forge down while fending off their scouts. Haven’t had a moment to experiment with rare volcanic minerals, unfortunately.”
Tyler frowned. The storm wizards again. They were becoming more than just a minor nuisance.
“Fine. Just let us know when you can get back on it.”
From there, Tyler and Milo made their way to the heart of the underground sanctum—Yandeon’s cave. The faint hum of the cave grew louder as they entered, and the All-Seeing Eye shimmered once more, floating above Yandeon’s spectral form like an ever-watchful sentinel.
“Well, well,” Yandeon spoke, his voice echoing like ancient stone cracking beneath pressure. “You return much sooner than I expected. And… stronger. Considerably so.”
Tyler crossed his arms. “I met Myrrak. He surrendered. Gave me the key and a new skill.”
Yandeon’s spectral form flickered, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his ethereal features. “Is that so? Myrrak, the Veiled Fang, showing pacifism… curious.”
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Tyler told him everything—Myrrak’s loneliness, the fate of his followers, his resignation to immortality. Yandeon listened in silence, his hands folded within the voluminous sleeves of his robe.
When Tyler finished, Yandeon finally spoke, his tone softer than usual. “Yes. What he told you is true. Primordial entities—they do not die as mortals do. When one of them falls, their essence returns to the flow of Aether. In time, they reconstitute. One month, maybe more. But they return, whether they wish to or not.”
Tyler exhaled slowly. “So even if I kill one of them, it doesn’t really matter.”
“That depends on your perspective,” Yandeon said. “Some might see it as futile. Others might see it as mercy—a temporary reprieve from their cursed eternity.”
Tyler was quiet. Myrrak’s expression still lingered in his mind.
Yandeon stepped forward, his eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood. “But now that you’ve bested two Primordial Beasts, there is something you deserve to know. You must have heard about the Great War before. Perhaps it is time I told you what truly happened.”
Milo perked up. Tyler leaned in slightly.
Yandeon raised a hand. The cave darkened, shadows stretching like tendrils across the stone. In the centre, an illusion took form—a projection of a battlefield.
“Long ago, the continent was ruled not by kings or guilds, but by faith. The people worshipped the Primordial Beasts—not as distant gods, but as present forces. Shindeon, the Infernal Warden of the Underworld, was among the mightiest of them. His followers were zealous and unyielding. They sought to bring all lands under his flame.”
The illusion showed armies clashing, villages burning, and a towering fiery beast crushing entire battalions beneath its molten claws.
“Shindeon grew stronger as his following increased. That is the nature of the Primordials—their strength is not fixed. It waxes and wanes with belief. And at the height of his dominion, Shindeon himself descended upon the battlefield. Entire towns fell in hours.”
The projection changed. Yandi, still lush and unscarred, stood defiantly against Shindeon’s flames.
“But then he came here. To Yandi. And I could not allow him to consume this place. I fought him. The battle raged for days, then weeks. It was not just a battle of fire and arcana—it was a battle of wills.”
Yandeon’s voice became strained, reverent and grim.
“In the end, I defeated him. But it cost me everything. The spell I used consumed my lifeforce. My body died, but my soul remained, bound to this cave.”
The vision faded. Only silence lingered.
Tyler asked quietly, “And what happened to Shindeon after that?”
“His spirit was cast into the very hell he once ruled. His essence shattered, but not destroyed. And now, his followers—the storm wizards—seek to resurrect him. To rebuild his form. And reignite the war.”
The flame of the All-Seeing Eye pulsed with agitation.
“Their activity has accelerated,” Yandeon said gravely. “I sense their rituals, their callings. They are not confined to this region. They spread, like disease.”
“Vitamin Ape’s been handling the ones nearby,” Tyler said. “But if they’re spreading, then we need to deal with the rest.”
Yandeon nodded. “That is why I ask you, bearer of keys—seek out the storm wizard camps. Root them out before they complete their rites. You may be our only hope.”
Milo raised a hand timidly. “Uh, how are we supposed to find them?”
Tyler pulled the parchment from his inventory and unfolded it. Its surface was blank, save for the faded message that had once revealed the hidden path:
[Sometimes the answer we seek are hidden in plain sight—revealed only to those who look deeper.]
He smiled. “We don’t always need a map.”
Milo squinted. “What does that mean?”
Tyler folded the paper and slid it back into his bag. “It means we start looking. Carefully. The enemy could be right in front of us.”
Yandeon smiled faintly, the edges of his spectral face softening. “Spoken like someone who has begun to understand. Go now. Time is short.”
Tyler nodded and turned, with Milo trailing after.
As they emerged once more into the open air of Yandi’s surface, Milo looked up at him. “So, where are we going now?”
Tyler didn’t break stride. His eyes burned with purpose.
“To take care of the rebels.”
And with that, they stepped once more into the unknown, the echoes of ancient wars guiding their feet into the storm yet to come.