Present Day

Year of Unity 1880

A dead man sat on the roof of a crooked old building while the suns rose over the horizon. He paid no mind to the coming dawn, that gentle medley of gold and pink, and the only sign that he felt the morning chill was the rosy flush to his cheeks. All his focus was fixed on a point in the distance, where Unity's clock tower cut into the pale sky. If he could cut it down with glares alone, it would have crumbled into the ocean by now.

When the long hand struck the hour, bells rang out over the city, interrupting the night's quiet. The sound made Egil wince and press a hand to his beating heart, as if trying to keep it still in his chest. With a soft hiss, magic flared out from his core — he'd fought hard to keep it from Aleksir Bardon, but now he was alone. The magic billowed owed from him like sickly green smog, obscuring him and his rooftop and making it so he could no longer see Unity's island.

Inside the cloud of smog, his eyes turned entirely black.

He'd had years — decades — to prepare for this moment, for seeing the island again. It hadn't been enough. He'd thought he was ready to face Unity, to face this vicious, bitter city again, but now all he wanted was to flee, to forget Unity, forget the Oracle, forget Amos Nochdvor. In his defense, he hadn't expected Leandros to be here, too. That made things difficult.

But in all his time away, in all his adventures and failures and losses, he'd learned one simple truth: Unity had to fall. He'd meant what he said; he'd be doing the world a favor. Making a better future for people better than himself, people like Aleksir and Leandros. Unity had to fall, and if not by his hand, then whose?

A tremor wracked Egil's body, but he forced a deep breath. In, out, then again. Slowly, the smog dispersed and his eyes returned to normal. The magic at his core dimmed. Hand still pressed to his heart, he took another breath and felt it begin to beat again. He laughed, alone on that rooftop. He laughed, and even he could hear the edge of madness cutting through it like a blade. Aleksir was wrong about him, about all of it.

The clocked quieted after the sixth bell and Egil realized how long he'd been sitting here, watching the minutes pass as night pressed into morning. Below him, the city stirred, and ahead, a dragon swept low over the city, red sunslight warm on her white scales. Twisting between church spires and weaving between buildings, she eventually made her descent toward the strip of green park along the coast and disappeared between the trees there.

Egil did not look at the clock tower again. He would have his time. He would not run, he would stay and fight, do what he'd come to do. After all, Unity's destruction was the only thing that could bring him back to life. It would fall, as would anyone that got in his way.