The sun shone brightly on the soldiers’ gleaming silver helmets as they rode along the cobblestone track, approximately a day’s journey from the city of Arkhen. The surrounding hills concealed the legion’s headquarters in the westernmost reaches of the Arkhen territory. If they maintained their current pace, they would arrive at the legion in a few days. The sky was clear, but a gentle breeze provided some relief from the weight of their heavy, dark gray uniforms.

  Marcellus Sulli, the esteemed Archon of the thirteenth legion, rode with his young ward and cousin, Lukas. His imposing figure was adorned with a silvered chest plate intricately carved with delicate ornaments, a testament to his noble lineage and the city’s most powerful family. Beneath the chest plate, he wore a light purple silk shirt and fine black pants that were elegantly tucked into well-crafted leather boots. A black sword, a gift from his father upon his ascension to the Archon’s position, hung gracefully at his waist. This sword, however, held a special significance, as it was adorned with a black gemstone, a symbol of his power and position as one of the nine wielders of the echoes, the divine entities that guided the city’s fate. Marcellus’s fingers traced the blade, an exhilarating sensation that still coursed through him whenever he laid eyes on the weapon or felt the divine power of his god’s wraith flowing through his veins.

  His young ward, though not nearly as adorned in armor, wore similar garments, and his clothes were of inferior quality. That would have to change; no Sulli would be perceived as a lesser noble in the legion or in society by his side. Marcellus observed Lukas meticulously brushing his long blond hair out of his eyes and remained steadfastly focused on the road ahead, disregarding his cousin’s attention.

  I have no idea why I agreed to this. However, Lukas, having finally turned sixteen and made his first wraith pact, his father convinced Marcellus to take his cousin under his wing and train him in harnessing his wraith’s power for battle. Marcellus felt gratitude for the legion; he could enlist the assistance of his men in the lad’s training. Marcellus had already begun contemplating potential trainers for his young cousin.

  Marcellus caught a glimpse of Lukas summoning his wraith from the corner of his eye. A faint crimson glow emanated from the battle-worn man beside Lukas. The wraith fixed its gaze on Lukas, its eyes gleaming with an intense light. One of its hands held a set of cards.

  That Damn Kid. “Now, Lukas, what did I say about summoning your wraith?” His voice was stern as he addressed the boy. It still astounded him how fortunate his young ward had been with his first pact. Within the wraith, there was undeniable power; anyone with any experience would have sensed it in an instant.

  The wraith vanished in a burst of crimson smoke as Lukas turned to his cousin. Before he could react, Lukas quickly lowered his head and averted his gaze. Marcellus made an effort to maintain a composed expression, but he couldn’t deny the annoyance that radiated from his eyes. Ah, he promptly recalled the lesson.

  “They don’t appreciate being summoned without a clear purpose. They are our partners, not mere servants or toys,” Lukas recited each word with precision.

  Marcellus nodded in acknowledgment. This had been the sole lesson he had imparted to the young boy a week ago when Lukas’s father had dropped him off at the family manor.

  “Better. If I see that again, I’ll assign you latrine duty with the others. You’re a Sulli, not some common Arkenite. Adhere to the rules I’ve laid out,” Marcellus lectured. “I understand you’re young, but your father entrusted me with the task of teaching you how to harness the power you’ve acquired. Follow my rules, or I’ll send you back.”

  Lukas kept his head bowed, trying to hide his embarrassment. Marcellus noticed the young boy’s struggle to avoid glancing at the other soldiers. Marcellus turned his attention back to examine the men; they all had subtle smiles that vanished as soon as they sensed the Archon’s gaze. These were the finest soldiers in his legion, his elite guard of twenty individuals, and the ones he had absolute faith in. Each was acutely aware of the gravity of displeasing or angering the Archon. The third legion was renowned for its exceptional performance, and Marcellus would not tolerate such lax behavior that could undermine the discipline of his soldiers. Despite the generally peaceful atmosphere within the legion over the past few years, they could never afford to let their guard down.

  They steadily continued down the road, with Marcellus and Lukas leading the column. Two soldiers rode beside them, each carrying a banner. One bore the White wraith banner of the city of Arkhen, while the other held his own Sulli blue raven banner high. Their group was returning to the legion after a brief visit to the city to see his wife and daughter.

  “I apologize. It won’t happen again,” Lukas finally lifted his head and looked at his cousin.

  “Good. When we finally reach the legion, I’ll assign a trainer to start your training. We need to determine the exact power that wraith is bestowing upon you,” Marcellus replied. “By the look of it, you’ve made a sound pact.”

  Lukas’s hand twitched, and Marcellus could discern the internal struggle in the boy’s eyes. He had almost summoned the wraith once more. Marcellus struggled to suppress his urge to laugh and slap the kid on the back of his head.

  “Why do you say that, cousin?” Lukas inquired.

  How much should he reveal? They still had multiple day’s journey before they reached the legion, and he would have to explain everything he had deduced from meeting Lukas’s wraith for the first time.

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  The wraiths of the city of Arkhen… how long ago had he formed his first pack with such a frail wraith? It had been approximately forty, fifty years? Now, he held command over one of the Echoes of the dead gods. In an era long forgotten, thirteen gods were slain within the City of Wraiths. The exact manner in which these gods were trapped in death remains an enigma. Only nine echoes still persist today within Arkhen, eternally working with the city’s inhabitants to prevent its downfall. He could still recall the exhilaration of triumphing in the contest and the surge of power that coursed through him when the pact was forged. However, these were not the sole pacts made within the city; numerous wraiths of varying strength lay dormant, awaiting their chance to claim their pact. Lukas, along with all of his soldiers, shared one of these pacts.

  “Your wraith radiates power; you may not sense it, but your father did, and so do I. This spirit must have been formidable in life, and as you know, our actions in life resonate through eternity,” Marcellus explained. Now, the question remained: how powerful would the wraith become? It would undoubtedly be more potent than a regular Arkenite wraith or the soldier’s battle wraiths. But beyond that, they would discover, and then the appropriate training would commence. “We shall see; I can only speculate at this moment. Certainly, it will surpass my first pact.”

  “So, how will we ascertain its power?” Lukas inquired, glancing briefly at the soldiers.

  Before Marcellus could respond, a powerful gust of wind struck their group, overwhelming them with force. Red sand or dust billowed around them, obscuring Marcellus’s vision as he struggled to identify the source of the disturbance. The valley they were in could not possibly contain such an abundance of sand.

  Marcellus summoned his wraith, Sorana. However, just as the power surged through him, something struck him, causing him to lose his breath. His left arm went numb, and pain spread through his chest. He looked down to see a black arrow with yellow fletching protruding from his breastplate. Had it not been for the power of his echoes, he might have died.

  Marcellus channeled even more power, and a veiled woman in a shadowed dress appeared beside him. He began to wield his magical abilities.

  ———

  What in the abyss? Lukas stared wide-eyed at his cousin’s chest, where an arrow protruded. Horror and fear surged through his body. He struggled to comprehend what had transpired before a wraith materialized beside Marcellus’s horse, her hand barely touching his cousin’s thigh.

  “Cousin, who are they?” Lukas called out, his voice trembling. Sounds of horses and men echoed beyond the steep hills that formed a valley, trapping them between forces bearing down on them. The dust settled enough for Lukas to discern hundreds of soldiers clad in silver-plated mail, wielding swords and spears, marching down the road ahead. A crescent moon, emblazoned on a black banner, soared high above.

  “Lukas, stay vigilant,” Marcellus instructed, holding one hand at his wound while simultaneously unleashing bolts of shadow at the advancing soldiers with the other. Screams and shouts reverberated as men and horses fell. Dust and rocks concealed the carnage from Lukas’s view. However, more troops emerged, and the lines finally converged as the battle drew near. Marcellus channeled increasing power, unleashing a torrent of magic that spread like wildfire.

  Lukas, frozen on his horse, couldn’t summon his wraith despite seeing dozens of them around him as the soldiers fought and perished to hold the line. The battle raged on. Plastered to his cousin’s side, he witnessed the dazzling flashes of swords. The acrid smell of blood seeping into his nostrils forced him to struggle to suppress vomiting from the overwhelming odor. Miraculously, Marcellus remained unwavering, unleashing a barrage of bolts into the enemy. Suddenly, a crimson bolt pierced through Marcellus’s side, shattering the silence with his piercing screams. The excruciating pain in his cousin’s voice shattered the barrier of Lukas’s fear, and he hastened to his cousin’s side.

  “Cousin, are you alright?” Lukas asked, helping Marcellus sit up. What can I do? What can I do? His cousin’s face was contorted with pain as Lukas steadied him on his horse. Power surged around them—the shadows of a void forming a barrier between them and the fighting, shielding them from more red bolts slamming into Lukas’s shield from beyond the mass of men. Marcellus’s soldiers fought and fell, their wraiths soaring into the sky and vanishing as they succumbed. Lukas attempted to locate the source of the bolts of crackling power, but they remained concealed from view.

  “Be prepared… to ride as soon as I say.” Marcellus grabbed Lukas’s shoulder firmly and spoke in a strained voice. “I intend to create a path for your escape. Ride swiftly and swiftly to the city and convey the details of today’s events. They will be informed of my demise before you reach the city, but you must ensure they know that someone has attacked us.” Marcellus held the arrow between his fingers, maintaining his other hand on Lukas’s shoulder, speaking as loudly as possible. Lukas was compelled to lean in close to hear him. “I am unaware of who the enemy is, but remember everything you can. The city must be prepared for what is to come.”

  “No! What are you saying? How am I supposed to do this?” Lukas screamed, struggling to formulate all the questions he wanted to ask but failing to utter most of them.

  Marcellus cringed as another bolt of lightning struck the shield. Almost all of the soldiers who had accompanied them were either dead or succumbing to their injuries—only one of the bannermen still fought valiantly against multiple soldiers bearing the white wraith banner, his grey wraith by his side. However, he too was swiftly overwhelmed and his shade vanished with his demise.

  “You must, for the city and our family, make it to them. The families must be informed that war is imminent,” he coughed. Lukas could discern frothy blood on the back of his cousin’s hand. “Be prepared. Ride out of the valley.”

  Marcellus coughed more blood. He wiped the blood from his shirt before continuing. Enemy soldiers were relentlessly slashing at the shield, attempting to breach its defenses with their weapons. “Do not halt for any reason. Ride through the night. They will pursue you relentlessly.”

  Marcellus handed over his sword, “Be prepared to fight if necessary.”

  “No, I can’t,” Lukas pleaded, fear gripping him tightly as he gazed sadly at Marcellus. Suddenly, power surged around him, and his cousin extended his hand back towards the city. The violence unleashed by Marcellus nearly threw Lukas from his saddle; he clung to the reins with all his might. Black power swept through everything in its path, leaving the enemy soldiers either dead or dazed.

  “Ride now!” Marcellus shouted before turning to face the mass of men.

  Lukas’s horse responded, and he held on for dear life. He glanced back to witness waves of darkness engulfing the men before another bolt of red magic pierced through his cousin. A streak of shadow streaked into the sky and swiftly flew eastward as his cousin’s body plummeted from the horse.

  “No!” Lukas cried out, turning back with tears streaming down his face. He had no time to grieve as multiple horsemen turned and pursued him relentlessly. Lukas seized hold of his horse’s reins and galloped as fast as he could back towards the city.