Efedagon

The night sky was pitch black. The moon looked white, a bright beacon high above in contrast. Far below, the sea breathed and snarled. The swell both a lull into complacence and a defiant beast; a legendary killer of men.

The bonfire's music drowned out all the rest. The fire was built like a tower. Upon the ruin by the sea they had come to, it was like a tower upon a tower. The fire had none of the sky's vastness, none of the sea's indecision. It did not have the woe of the stark, solitary moon.

Months before in the stone cell of a dungeon, Ryheric saved the last fragment of his decimated spirit by one obsession. The idea that, even if it killed him, he would end the life of Vahiy's puppet overseer, General Efedagon.

Now, he rode beside his nemesis. Both warriors equally cornered into the next mission. Equally despising it, for vastly different reasons.

The most bizarre development to Ryheric was his realisation he wanted Efedagon to live through this. He would even fight and bleed with him to see it so.