Echoes of Immortality

Prologue: Begin Anew

Over three million years had passed since Lord Avion last heard a human voice. To be more precise, since he last heard a human speak with purpose and meaning. He had heard plenty of voices since then-screams, mostly. Screams from those foolish enough to leave Dragas Keep, desperate to confront him. The brave or the desperate came for his storied treasure, or on quests for glory, to rid the world of his so-called evil. Their screams always ended the same way: in choked gurgles as blood filled their throats.

Avion had long since grown tired of these fools. He had no patience for the so-called heroes who sought fame, not justice. They weren't noble. He saw through their shining armor to the dark stains that marred their souls. These "righteous" men were driven by selfish ambition, eager to hear their names sung by bards across the land. But Avion had once been like them-once a hero of the world, lauded for his deeds, before being condemned as its greatest villain.

From his crumbling throne in the ruins of Hyperion Keep, he pondered bitterly. Who had shown him mercy when he needed it? Who had heard his cries? Who had heard them now? Not the gods, certainly. The gods had turned their backs on him long ago. Instead, they had cursed him, their voices booming across the heavens for all to hear:

"Kill him! Kill the Evil One! Slay the Dog of Yvaine!"

After the gods' proclamation, the world united against him. There was no corner of the earth where he could find peace, no place where he was safe. Beg for forgiveness? Avion scoffed at the thought. He was too proud to beg. And besides, he didn't believe forgiveness was something he deserved. Deep down, in the hollow of his soul, he knew it was not something that should be given.

Night after endless night, he sat alone in the grand hall of his ruined Keep, forced to listen to the mournful songs of the accursed elf women, eternally bound to remind him of his crimes. Their voices echoed in the desolation, singing of a young man once gallant and handsome, whose passions led him astray. They sang of how he seduced an elf maiden, getting her with child, and of his wife-betrayed, silenced, and conveniently removed-so that the elf could be welcomed into his Keep.

The ballad twisted darker. They sang of the elf maiden's horror upon learning of Avion's deceptions, and of how she prayed fervently to the gods. In her innocence, she begged for his salvation, believing there was still good within him. The gods answered. They granted him the power to stop the king-priest of Ishtar from proclaiming himself a god, a disaster that would bring forth the Cataclysm. Avion had the chance to save thousands of innocent lives, to redeem his name for his unborn child.

And yet, the song soured further. The elf women sang of the gods deception, how they intercepted Avion on his journey and filled his mind with lies. They whispered of his lover's betrayal, of secret affairs and a child that was not his. Consumed by rage, Avion abandoned his quest and rode back to his Keep, denouncing his wife as a whore and her child as a bastard.

The world trembled as the gods unleashed their plot, casting down a fiery mountain upon Planet Ishtar. The Keep itself quaked as the chandelier, resplendent with a hundred burning candles, fell from the ceiling, igniting his wife's hair as she tried to shield their child. Their screams-the child's desperate cries as his flesh blistered, his wife's anguished curses-echoed in his memory.

He could have saved them. He should have saved them. But he had turned away, leaving them to burn.

Each night, the elf women reminded him of his crime, and each night ended with the same final verse: his wife's curse. She had damned him to eternal life, bound to his throne in this desolate keep, forced to live with his sins as time crawled endlessly forward. Minutes dragged into hours, hours stretched into years, and his years were hollow and cold-colder even than death.