Prologue

The pale sun glinted off the water as a gentle swell drifted across the bay. Omli held the tiller on the small skiff steady as his two sons readied the fishing nets. Dawn’s early rays held little warmth, and the light breeze kept his hands shaking with the cold. Winter was well on its way, and the days spent fishing from his small boat would soon end as the ice appeared and the bay became frozen from end to end. 

Turning into the wind, Omli readied the boat to drop the nets when a faint noise drifted across the water on the breeze. Looking up towards the headlands that allowed access to the open sea, a faint mist was forming and growing thicker in the middle of the passage. While almost winter, the days' rays still held enough warmth this far south to dispel any mist, and the sight caused him to pause and stare intently. The vapor was increasing in density as it was pulling water up from the sea below, highlighting its unnatural origin. The eerie vision sent a shiver down his old spine as he watched, enthralled.

Snapping out of his daydream, he called out to his sons. Turning the boat away from the wind, he dropped the single sail, allowing it to catch the breeze on the boat’s beam, and set a heading back to the docks. As the mist neared, the air became still, and the boat lost speed. The faint noises could be heard more clearly and sounded like wailing and groaning. Looking fearfully over his shoulder, he ordered the boys to break out the oars and mount them in their rungs. The mist was frightening him in ways he hadn’t felt since he was a child. 

With a son on each oar, they kept pace with the mist and stayed in front until they reached the dock. Omli knew he needed to run as far from the sea as he could as the glimpses he had snatched of what was inside the otherworldly mists scared him to his bones. Jumping onto the pier, not bothering to tie off the boat, they all ran for their home. 

Approaching his hut from along the village’s main thoroughfare, Omli yelled at his wife to run. Screams from the villagers closer to the water started to join the howls and ghostly laughter from the things within the mist. Omli’s wife’s eyes widened as she dropped the basket of laundry and started running ahead of Omli and her sons. Quickly catching up with her, both sons lifted her off her feet on each side and continued to run as they carried her. 

Running past the village's edges, they kept moving along the road, away from the sea. Omli was driven to save his family but also felt obliged to raise the alarm with the local lord at the larger inland town. Looking back, Omli saw no one else had escaped the village. The unnatural mist had stopped and hovered over the fishing village, even with a stronger wind that had started to blow. Still moving as fast as they could, Omli and his family slowed their hectic pace to a walk and never looked back. All wore grim expressions as they tried to shut out the blood-curdling screams.

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Slamming her fist onto the folded camp table caused it to rock dangerously. Furious, she looked at the Crown Prince reclining in an extended chaise, beautifully covered in dark grey velvet. The sizeable and luxurious item was one of the few concessions to her station she had brought on the campaign. The man was a fool. He always had been. Chasing whispers and rumors of Amath’s hordes pouring south out of Glendar into the farming kingdom of Ondar was no concern of theirs. Agar was a vain, ego-driven simpleton, but at least he looked after his own Kingdom relatively well. The beasts were his concern, not Sundar’s.

“My lady, are we not the largest and most pious of any Kingdom in the United Lands? Is it not our sworn duty on Eoth as Senua’s chosen to rid the lands of these foul creatures? Through our God’s divine wisdom and her Voice, Sundar’s largest military campaign in its history finds itself perfectly placed to destroy these spawning beasts before they become a problem for all of the United Lands.” Crown Prince Luke D’Renhold lectured the older woman patiently.

“My Lord, as the Voice of Senua on Eoth, I believe I know our God’s intentions more than anyone living today. The biggest threat by far to the stability of Sundar, and indeed the entire United Lands, is this so-called Shar’Adan. This man grows in power by the day and will soon invade and conquer every Kingdom on Armarth. He must be brought to heel and be killed off before it is too late. The prophecies are clear. The Shar’Adan is referred to as the ‘Destroyer’ for a reason. The threat he poses is far greater than some of Amath’s spawn.” Christina D’Balinson argued back. 

“Your Holiness, I must assert my authority and divert forces to meet this threat coming out of Glendar. The peasants die by the thousands every day, and I can not turn away from their plight. I will take the first through third legions and ride myself to meet them. Agar is reported to be already heading into the far north of Snowden, and it would make sense if the rumors about untold wealth in the north of the country are true. That man was always driven by greed.” Luke D’Renhold declared with as much authority in his voice as he could manage. 

“If you wish to pursue your folly, I will leave the remainder of the legions under your command. My father and I only agreed to this campaign because we saw a potential land gain from Snowden. If Gerald still lives, we expect an enormous sum to repatriate the lands we take from him. No one has seen the man in years, and no public announcement has been made, so we may be dealing with his young wife. If that is the case, it is even more likely that we will be able to exploit events to further our interests.”

“Father is of the impression Gerald is indeed dead, but I am uncertain. Whatever the truth, the secret of his demise is being closely guarded. If news got out about his passing, others would seek an advantage. While remote, Snowden has some rich farmland in the south, and the wool from their herds in the north is of a fine quality. Agar’s actions indicate he knows something we do not, and that worries the Royal family greatly.”

Prince D’Renhold paused his monologue as he looked out into the distance through the open tent flap. Looking back at the Holy leader, he voiced his decision.

"Regardless of events and the possible opportunities in Snowden, we must meet this threat coming out of Glendar, as the Ontarians have little in the way of a standing military. I feel we have a chance to annex Ondar if we play this right. That country is far more important to Sundar’s growth than our frozen neighbors to the north.”

Luke moved to rise from the chaise, and Christina asked a more personal question with a slight hint of pleading.

“Are you at least staying the night? I have missed your attention, Luke, and we rarely have time at court. Surely you can wait until dawn to ride away from me?” Christina asked directly.

“Father would disapprove. My wife is pregnant with our second child, and it does not feel right to sleep with another during that time. You are aging, Christina, and your appeal to me fades. It is best we leave our young lives behind us. We were never meant to be,” Luke answered, smiling sadly. He swept out of the tent with little more than a nod.

Christina lifted her brush and slammed it down onto the table again, finally causing the overly abused furniture to collapse. Ink and parchment were scattered as the tears, long held in check, started falling.