Preview the Gamma Rewrite of The Shattered Ring!

Hey, all! Hello and welcome to this preview of the latest version of TSR's prologue. Thus far it's the part of the rewrite that's changed the least... but it's changed a lot.

Prologue

Six thousand years ago

The Tower of Kariel rose above the White City Narielle like a spike of alabaster, glittering in the sunlight. Its pinnacle pierced the clouds, reaching high into the domain of angels.

Their celestial song drifted on the cold wind as the Architect herself hovered above the flat roof of the spire, legs crossed and eyes closed in a posture of meditation. Her mortal shell took the form of a half-elven woman, still young and beautiful despite her immense age, framed in golden tresses and blue silks that blew in the wind.

Sylphs darted around Kariel as she focused her mind through the ritual circle drawn beneath her in soul chalk. Her hair and dress whipped wildly around her in a whirlwind.

Many thousands of years before, she had given birth to that wind from the breath of her lungs, and even still the frost it bore on its wings remembered her and dared not attempt to bite her with its bitter cold.

Would that Fire still offered the same reverence.

The world of Aiaona was unlike any other; its Wind was a living thing, with a spirit and will to call its own, for the world was the Wind. 

Near Aiaona was another world, wrought from Fire, whose name was Darios. Another power resided there, a burning Soul who reached out for her across the astral plane.

Kariel met it halfway and became acutely aware of the true nature of the presence. At its heart was the sigil of a burning anvil, and the heat and pressure that radiated from it were like the fury of a thousand suns. 

Kariel answered it with her own force of self, projecting the power of the Wind which sighed and blustered and could not be restrained. She met the violence of Hell with the indomitable will of Heaven, and from the clash was born equilibrium, an eye in the storm wherein their voices could be heard.

In her mind’s eye, she could see him standing high in a tower of steel, hands on the wrought iron railing of a balcony above the burning world. His broad back was turned to her, but she could clearly make out his black vest and pantaloons tucked into leather boots. His arms, well-muscled from millennia of craft, were tense and ruddy with bulging veins.

El-Endor, the man who had given her everything and now the fiend who threatened to take it away.

Kariel clenched her fist, reaching into the ring that brimmed with power on her finger. Carved into its Soul were eight divine Runes, the aspects of her power: Destruction, Creation, Innovation, Harmony, Intuition, Wisdom, Division, and Wonder, each with their own unique desires and abilities. She let them suffuse her, filling her with all the celestial energies she could bear to hold.

“Master,” she said. “It’s been a long time.” Since the foundation of the Elsphere, actually, some twenty-four thousand years ago.

“I can smell her on you, girl,” the Lord of Wonders growled. “You’ve spoken with one of the Moirai.”

Kariel stifled a curse. She should have known the Weaver would leave some sort of trace on her that an Aeternal could sense. 

“What did she say?”

Hear ye, for the world shall die, and yet live. 

“The words of the Moira are for my ears alone, Master,” Kariel replied. “Speak to her yourself, if you wish.”

“We both know that you won’t let me within spitting distance of Aiaona’s gravity well,” El-Endor said. “Don’t play games with me, apprentice.”

The board is set.

Kariel considered her response, consulting her powers for a brief moment. Allowing Harmony to speak through her, she said, “Master, it doesn’t have to be this way. Come peacefully, put an end to this war, and we can work together as we once did.”

“Before you stole my glory, you mean,” he spat. “I promised you hell for your sins, and I’ve come to deliver. If you have nothing more for me than craven mewling, Kariel, then be silent and allow your betters to speak.”

An end shall come, like a serpent devouring itself, and the great twilight shall follow.

“Not craven, master,” Kariel said softly. “This is between you and me. Why involve my people?”

At last, El-Endor looked over his shoulder at her. His face was just as she remembered it: handsome with a strong jaw, short snow-white hair, and eyes that smoldered deep red-orange with an inner kainaric light all their own, which spread out like veins across much of his face.

“'Your people’?” he snarled. “Your head has grown too big for your shoulders, girl. You forget that your only claim to deity is that vile Ring you wear.”

“And yours is the ashes you’ve left in your wake,” Kariel replied with Wisdom. 

El-Endor smiled, baring his teeth. “Come closer, child. See what I have wrought on this world of Fire.”

Hesitantly, Kariel complied. She stepped out onto the balcony and gasped.

Far below, tens of thousands of men were gathered. Even from this height, her enhanced senses could detect signs of armor and weaponry; these were soldiers, arrayed in perfect formation.

“An invading force,” Wonder whispered in dismay. “So soon?”

El-Endor chuckled. “Your final lesson is overdue, girl. Don’t cross me.”

The queen shall fall, and the pawns shall become princes.

Kariel drew strength from Destruction and said sharply, “Aiaona is mine, master. So long as I live -”

A stinging pain on her cheek sent her stumbling to her knees. Still channeling Destruction, she felt rage bloom in her chest. He’d slapped her! She could feel warm blood trickling down her face from the gash a jeweled ring had left behind.

She quickly released Destruction and used the resolute will of Intuition to rise to her feet. She turned to her master and fixed him with the coldest glare she could muster. “You should never have taken me in.”

El-Endor shook his head. “I would not have suffered the humiliation you have given me… but neither would I have been able to pry the Ring from your ungrateful corpse. Besides, Kariel…” He gestured to his tall leather boots. “I needed new boots.”

“And now you have to kill me,” Kariel said with bravado, “If you even can.”

From the ashes, one shall rise, baptized in blood, and the thunder of his footfalls shall cause the ages to come crashing down.

“Oh, not just you,” El-Endor snarled. “In order to truly earn my Vengeance, I have to burn this blighted system down.” He sighed. “Alas, my dear apprentice, I think we both know that unless something gives, we are at a standstill. You can prevent portals from opening to Aiaona, and I can prevent portals from opening here to Darios. The accursed Grand Edict all but forbids more… militant methods, so I suppose it is time to truly see who is greater: the Lord of Wonders or the Architect. Whoever first makes planetfall will be in an… interesting position.”

Kariel swallowed what little saliva still moistened the inside of her mouth. “I challenge you to single combat, master. You and I, why can’t we settle this in -”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” El-Endor asked with a baleful smile. “That’s reason enough for me to refuse, but more importantly, this is about sending a message. This system is an extension of yourself, so all of this will burn, and I will build it anew. Perfect. Wondrous.”

Inside Kariel, Wonder squirmed. It hated its association with this… creature. Kariel refused to even call him a man anymore.

Kariel closed her eyes, drawing deeply on Innovation and Wisdom. Her mind expanded, and she became aware in a sense of some of the threads that made up the future. In this state, she was able to trace them, find where they branched, and identify the choices that would cause each future.

The Moira was right. There was only one way forward.

The Tarnished Prince shall court vengeance and wed death, and in his wake none shall stand.

“If it must be so,” she said through Wisdom, “So be it.”

“Good to hear,” El-Endor replied. “I was hoping you wouldn’t make this too dull. Run along then, girl, and ready yourself. I’ll be calling on you before too long.”

Kariel inclined her head, an empty gesture of respect, and then withdrew from the astral plane.

In a rush, she was back in her own body, and this time, she didn’t bother to hold back the torrent of profanities. Childish though the outburst was, it felt good to vent.

She’d forgotten how petty her old master could be. He had trained her to become the greatest artificer the Kosmos had ever seen, second only to him, then grew jealous because he would never be satisfied with anything less than everything.

Because of that, he intended to burn everything she had ever made.

Kariel wrung her hands. She hadn’t told Tharain that El-Endor had even entered the system, to say nothing of their children. She supposed that time was running out; it was only fair that they knew before she started an interplanetary war.

Especially given the prophecy.

The worlds and stars shall stand still, and Fate shall forsake all who tread upon stone, so that they shall die and in that dying live, like embers on the wind.

Kariel went to the edge of the tower’s roof and looked out over her world. Her Tower stood at the very center of her realm, with the sprawling white Divine City, Narielle, below. Beyond that were the lesser cities, the mountains, and the sea at the border of her domain.

She had made a paradise, but its only defense was the Wind.

I have to protect them, she thought. Whatever it takes.

Her powers, all eight of them, resonated. Each of them, even Destruction, were united in purpose: to serve, not to rule.

Kariel took a deep breath and held out a hand. A tome materialized from emerald vapor and golden flames in her grasp, and she flipped it open, turning pages until she found the proper ritual. She ripped the sheet free of its binding, burning it in her fist, and scattered its ashes at her feet. 

Kneeling, Kariel cried out to the high gods. “Hail Amdra, fierce father of flame. Hail Arbriae, glorious mother of earth. Hail Elana, gracious mother of the seas.”

To Daran, the long-dead god of storms, she did not call.

One by one, the three divine sigils appeared around her: the scarlet eye of Amdra to the East, the emerald moon of Arbriae to the West, and the cerulean heart of Elana to the North. Kariel felt the awareness and presences of the three wash over her, questioning.

“Bear witness, my lords,” Kariel whispered, “And remember me.”

Arbriae’s sigil vanished, leaving behind a sense of indignation, but Amdra’ and Elana’s merely faded from mortal sight and followed her as she swept toward the spiral staircase which led down into the tower.

She made it only a few paces before she was stopped in her tracks by a sudden, overwhelming sense of nausea, which was immediately followed by the sound of footfalls. 

Her supernaturally keen senses were easily able to discern that those were the footsteps of a single individual, likely female or a young male, and that they were running up the stairs.

Kariel channeled Destruction through the Ring, manifesting its power in the form of a longsword made entirely of scarlet light. 

Soft shall be the footsteps of the herald of doom.

A young woman scrambled out of the stairwell, her hair disheveled and her eyes wide with panic. Zenara, Kariel’s third daughter, spotted her and rushed over to her, tripping over her feet and the hem of her dress several times. While still in motion, she blurted, “They’re coming!”

Kariel took her daughter by the shoulder and asked in a voice made steady by forced calm, “Who’s coming, Zenara?”

Hysterical, Zenara barely seemed to hear her. “They’re going to kill you Mother I tried to stop them but they won’t listen THEY’RE COMING!” She did not stop even to breathe until the last words had passed her lips, then burst into tears and threw her arms around Kariel, sobbing into her shoulder.

Then Kariel heard the new footsteps. More of them this time; with the power of Innovation, she made out seven people ascending the staircase. She held Destruction at her side, waiting for them to reach the top. Ready to confront whatever treachery awaited her.

Instead, she was greeted by the sight of her children, the seven that remained: Karia, Théara, Kétron, Zerèth, Danari, Anôte, and Saraèle.

Zenara screamed as they appeared, holding Kariel even tighter.

“Shh,” Kariel whispered, gently brushing hair from her daughter’s face. “It’s alright.”

As if on cue, Kétron drew a knife from his belt. Before it could slide free of its sheath, Kariel Forged the Time Rune.

One of the twenty-nine magical Runes which marked the Soul of Aiaona and those born upon it, Trèle was a vessel of temporal power. When broken open, it granted its holder the temporary ability to command the flow of Time itself. Kariel shattered it now, drinking in its energy, and commanded Time to cease.

She took advantage of the stolen time to consider the scenario. Each of her seven children had a dagger forged from black steel, glinting faintly red-orange. Ketron had two, and was reaching for the second.

Eight daggers; one for each of her Aspects. Of course. And Kariel recognized that twisted handicraft - El-Endor’s Furies left kainar’s stain on anything he crafted; more of that hideous taint, in fact, than Alorkos had ever touched.

So this was his plan. To destroy the Ring by shattering it into pieces. But did he have any idea what the consequences would be? The psionic backlash would affect Darios and Gyaran as well - maybe even other dimensions. But then, he wanted the system to burn.

Kariel’s mind raced. She had few options. She could fight, but her power squirmed at the idea. To harm her own children would be an unforgivable crime. She could run, but that would mean abandoning her world. Then again, doing so might save it; if she drew El-Endor away from the system, perhaps he would spare Aiaona. Or perhaps he would raze it to the ground unimpeded.

All paths lead to ruin, but one may lead to a renewal thereafter.

Trèle expired, time resumed its flow, and Kariel reacted.

Softly, she kissed the top of Zenara’s head. Guided by Innovation and Intuition, a new Rune formed in her mind, and she bestowed it on her daughter. Zenara gasped through her tears, then screamed as Kariel released her, dropped her sword, and took the first blade in her chest.

The Arcane weapon cut into her spirit, and a line of molten light linked the gem in its pommel to Kétron’s heart. He laughed savagely and stabbed her again with the other dagger, forming a second lightline.

One by one, five more blades found their mark in her flesh, and Kariel fell to her knees in agony. Her spirit was strong enough to resist the Scarlet Taint of kainar for a short time, but it was not a pleasant experience. 

She looked up at Saraèle. Only sixteen years of age, the girl was clearly terrified. But Kariel could see the desire in her eyes. She wanted the power.

“TRAITORS!” Zenara screamed, jumping in front of Kariel. The bands of light passed straight through her body, heedless of the obstruction. “MURDERERS!”

Ketron shoved his sister aside and barked at Saraèle, “Do it! Before it’s too late!”

Were Kariel to remove the blades, she would heal, eventually. It would take time thanks to the corruption which infused them, like a poison to her spirit, but it was an option.

Instead, she looked into Saraèle’s eyes and whispered, “Do it.”

Saraèle froze. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Do it,” Kariel repeated, her voice heavy with command.

Her children stared at her in stunned silence. Even Zenara froze in the middle of clambering to her feet.

And Saraèle screamed in mingled grief, rage, and determination as she raised the eighth dagger and drove it home.

Ketron laughed in exultation and gripped the hilt of one of his knives, tugging it free in a spray of blood. Red light streamed with it, and Kariel felt Destruction leave her, ripped free of her Ring. It felt to her Soul like she imagined it would feel if one of her limbs were to be torn off. 

Kétron reached for his second dagger, but Zenara yelled, “NO!”

Zenara had risen to her feet again, and she dashed between Kariel and Ketron in a burst of speed. Ketron raised his hand to throw her aside again, but he was too late. Zenara gripped the hilt of his second dagger and met Kariel’s eyes with tears pouring freely from her own.

I’m sorry, she mouthed.

Kariel smiled at her weakly and replied, Do it.

Zenara yanked the knife free. More blood sprayed, followed by yellow light that flowed into Zenara, infusing her with Innovation. Ketron roared in fury, but Kariel didn’t see what happened next; the others were upon her suddenly, pulling their knives free. Creation, Harmony, Intuition, Wisdom and Division fled their mistress. And as they pulled away, exulting in their new power, Saraèle approached, gritting her teeth as she drew forth her knife, the last of the eight.

And finally, Wonder abandoned Kariel as well.

She gasped as she was left alone, with only a small remnant of her power yet indwelling her. The Ring on her finger disintegrated into Light and Kariel’s last bonds to her Aspects broke.

Aeternal no longer, Kariel collapsed, wounds that had been scarcely inconvenient moments before now proving to be lethal. As her last, wavering breaths fled her, she was aware of three presences kneeling beside her, crying out in pain and remorse. 

“I don’t want it anymore!” one voice cried. “Mother, take it back! Please!”

But Kariel accepted her fate. She closed her eyes for the last time, and her spirit drifted upward to make the journey to the next life.

Alone.

And there we are! I hope you liked it! This new TSR is darker and more dangerous, and it presents an interesting challenge for me to write thus far. I've been digging it, though.

Pax bellum,

Matthias Spencer