Prologue

The hallway was narrow and dark. There were no windows in this part of the tower and all the fires had gone out. Jon considered lighting the torches. It would take little more than a slight use of his Ruak. And he would have the advantage of sight. Just as he was about to, he felt a nudging somewhere at the back of his mind to stop. He was used to this subtle internal warning. It had saved his life and that of his compatriots more than a hundred times over the course of the war. Jon chose to listen to it. He would need to cross this hallway without any light. 

Jon reached behind him and unsheathed his sword. It was a thing of beauty. Its hilt was golden and in-laid with ruby – not that one could tell in the stark blackness of the room. He took a deep breath and channeled his Ruak. His body came alive. Ancient power flooded every part of him. He took another breath letting his body acclimatize to it. It was always different when he channeled his Ruak. He felt invincible. Like he had transcended mortality. Like he could do anything. But then he remembered the first lesson his master had taught him. Never let your guard down. 

Jon strained his eyes to see in the dark. His Ruak flowed with barely a thought and pooled around his eyes improving his sight beyond the natural. Immediately, he made out three shapes hiding out in the darkened hallway, waiting for any unsuspecting Witness trying to get to the Circle Room. Unfortunately for them, Jon was no ordinary witness. 

He twirled his sword in his hand, Dulamite blade thrumming with the power of the Ruak flowing through it. It was the best weapon for a witness but it was rare. Jon was lucky to have had one gifted to him by his former teacher. She never did reveal where she got the rare and coveted blade from. Jon did not care. All that mattered was that he had it. And that the members of the Black Order hiding in the darkness would soon feel its edge. 

"I see you" Jon whispered and immediately shot off. 

In a fraction of a second, he was on his first victim. His sword swung out in an arc, slicing through armor like hot knife through butter and cutting through the man – or woman, Jon didn't care. There was no time for that. The other two had been alerted to the fact that their ambush had failed. With his Ruak enhanced vision, he could make them out in the dark, retreating further down the hall. Jon could not let them do that. This hallway led directly to the Circle Room. The fact that they had been camped out here meant that they were here as guards to keep anyone from entering the Circle Room. That meant that their master, the illusive Red Mage was inside the Room. That meant that his own master was in grave danger.

He channeled his Ruak to the muscles in his leg boosting his speed significantly and shot forward like a cannon. The next man reacted quicker than the first. He brought up his sword in time to block Jon's first strike. Jon pressed down on the man pulling them into a battle of strength – one that Jon was winning. But that was what the man wanted, his partner took advantage of the distraction to attack Jon from the side. 

Once more, Jon felt the nudge inside of him and his lips were moving before he knew it, speeding through a language that he himself barely understood until he stopped on a word that he did understand – Gale. Wind exploded out of his body like a sphere, throwing his two assailants away from him. The first was flung down the hall and into the door of the Circle Room while the other was smashed ruthlessly into the wall of the hall killing him immediately. 

"Thank you" Jon whispered in prayer to Yachwah above. 

He stalked his way down the hall towards the last surviving member of the ambush team. The man pulled himself to his knees with considerable effort. Even in the dark, Jon could make out his cold blue eyes glaring at him. He carefully placed his blade on the defeated man's neck, along his jugular. The man steeled himself. He knew what was coming next. They all did. This was war. People died. Blood was spilled. Jon hated it. But that was the reality of Behemat's war. 

"Is your master in there?" Jon asked, pressing his blade deeper into the tissue of his neck and drawing a thin stream of blood. The man did not even flinch but Jon pressed on with his question. "Answer me. Is the Red Mage in there?"

"I'll never tell you anything" the man replied. 

Jon sighed. He should have expected nothing less. The members of the Black Order were all fanatics and they had bought into Behemat's lie. They viewed all Witnesses as the enemies to their cause. 

"You still have a chance, you know" Jon said. "Right here. Right now. Renounce Behemat and his ways and even this evening, you will be in paradise with the Forgotten King."

The man smiled, bloody dentition on full display. "I'll rather die than believe in a false god."

Jon sighed again. At least he tried. He had offered mercy to the man but that was the extent he could go. He would be foolish to let him live. There was no telling what countless destruction he could wrought. Maybe time and the right teaching could eventually convince him but they had neither. They were in the middle of a war.

"May Yachwah look over your soul" Jon whispered in prayer. His sword flashed and the man's head dropped to the ground separated from his body. As he stared at the decapitated head, Jon wondered if he had made the right decision. Maye he should have shown more mercy to the man. 

A loud noise from beyond the double doors interrupted his thoughts. There was still work to be done. He did not have the time to be dilly-dallying. He crossed over the dead man's body and wondered once more, should he have tried again? But he steeled himself. No. That sort of mercy was something only Yachwah could have. 

Jon was not Yachwah. He was only His Witness.

-

The Circle Room was quiet when Jon stepped in. Some noise filtered in through the high windows on the walls but they were mostly insignificant – echoes of the battle being fought below, at the bottom of the tower. This was the largest room in the tower taking up most of the top floor except for the short hallway that led to it. Like the name suggested, the room was a perfect circle and at the center of the circle was a raised stone altar. There was no upholstery in it, no decorations, no tapestries, no stands for torches, nothing but the high windows that let in sunlight into the room. 

The Red Mage was waiting for him. She was standing in front of the raised stone altar. Her gloved hands rested on the hilt of her sword, the tip of which was stuck in the stone ground. Jon marveled quietly at the amount of strength it must have taken to drive the blade into the ground like that. 

She looked as intimidating as ever – leather armor molded onto her lithe but powerful form granting her enough protection but not at the expense of her speed and mobility. Her feet were covered in leather sandals and her left arm in a leather vambrace. But what truly gave her the moniker, Red Mage apart from the copious amount of blood that she left in her wake was her helmet. It was made of bronze and covered her entire head leaving only slits for her eyes and mouth. For a finishing, it had a blood red plume that stuck out from the top of the helmet and ran down to the back of her neck. Her mouth and neck were wrapped in old cloth bandage but her amber eyes were clear to see for those who could get close enough. Only few had ever done so and lived to tell the tale. Jon was one of those few. 

He tightened his grip on his sword. He cast a wary glance at the altar behind her. There was blood on it, smeared carelessly. It could only belong to one person. Jon swallowed down his fear and focused on the dangerous woman standing in front of him. 

"We meet again" He said.

"We do." She replied. Her voice was muffled by the bandage she wore around her mouth but he could make out what she was saying. 

"Master Paul?" He asked already fearing the answer. 

She tilted her head to the side drawing his eyes to the stone altar behind her. Beyond the blood smeared across its side, Jon could make out a pair of feet sticking out from behind the altar – unmoving. Master Paul had failed. 

"He was in the way." She spoke of him as one would when speaking of an ant they had crushed while walking on the road – insignificant, unworthy of thought. 

Jon could feel rage bubbling up within him, like he had never felt before. "You killed him?" It was more of a statement even though it was phrased as a question. His eyes remained on the unmoving legs of his master's body.

"I did what had to be done" She said, like a matter of fact.

"He loved you." Jon replied raising his eyes to meet hers. They were nothing but amber orbs set in the shadows of her helmet. "Even after everything that you did. He still loved you. He still begged for you. He still pled mercy"

He waited, hoping to see some semblance of regret in her eyes. Something to prove that this woman was more than the Red Mage. That somewhere underneath all the hatred and darkness, the woman that had been like a mother to him was still there. The woman who had taught him to dance. The woman who had taught him right from wrong, who had taught him duty. Instead, he found nothing. Her eyes burned with barely controlled hatred.

"He was weak." She said. Then she grasped the hilt of her sword and pulled it out of the stone floor. The blade made a grating sound as it escaped the stone. "The strong do not plead for mercy. Neither do they give it."

Jon's eyes flickered once last time to the stone altar that hid his master's body. Its sides were covered in carvings of ancient writing – some of which Jon could read and others that he could not. That was the reason Master Paul had been in this room. It was the reason they were all here. That altar was the key to destroying the Black Order once and for all. The work needed to be completed. The war had raged on for too long and this was their final hope. This altar was their last chance. Master Paul had failed but Jon would not.

And there was only one thing, one person, standing between him and his goal. 

"You are right." Jon said. "Right now, your army fights at the bottom of this tower. I want you to be certain about one thing. They will find no mercy here." Ruak flooded his body entering every single cell and revitalizing it. His blade thrummed under the weight of the power he was channeling and small sparks of lightning danced around its edge. "And neither will you."