The Pact

**DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING STORY HEAVILY INCLUDES CHARACTERS, EVENTS AND SETTINGS CREATED BY RAIN ALLEN OLAGUER.**

SYPNOSIS: The True Seer Zalor has prophesied the taking of Dragonspire. In a desperate contingency plan to ensure the safety of the Artifacts, the Dragonseer's Court entrusts two to their allies. When one of the Artifacts is endangered by the destruction of the Coven, a surviving Lief Moonfall must go on an epic journey to the Dreadfort with the Dragon Seer's Staff, allying himself with the Netherbane and several eccentric factions.

*For Anderson, Hana, Agnes and the rest of the Vortex Masters*

**AFTER COLD AS ICE**

## Prelude

**I**

A contented sorcerer and renowned magi of the Coven, Victor Summery casually examined the many curious enchantment books in his possession, occasionally pausing to peer at some intriguing spell or line through his heavenly blue spectacles. He had a lot to think about that nightfall: the constant attacks by the Undead, that new, potentially world-ending incantation in the Forbidden Scriptures and the Ender Watcher's-

there was a sudden noise behind the wooden door of Victor's humble quarters, a clumsy knocking that echoed and bounced throughout the wood-paneled walls. He sighed and said: "Come in, Magus." A loud creak came from the door as it slowly opened, and the Coven pyromancer Magus Infernius entered the room, unusually rushed and panicked. "What is it, pyromancer?” Victor inquired, "Another attack from that godforsaken Herobrine? Maybe we should look into studying the Protective Scriptures-"

"No, it's not that sir," Magus cut off, "it's not that."

"Then what is it, Magus?"

"Several of the Ender Watchers are here. Vordus, Zeganirn, and several other Endermen. They seek an audience with you, sir."

Victor sighed. "Whatever for? To burst into our Village like this, at such drastic times-"

"They claim this matter is extremely urgent, more than all others."

"Tell them I will meet with them shortly in the archives of Fundamental Scriptures. Stella and the Moonfall will accompany me as well as you." Victor paused, "Let us see what on Minecraftia the matter is."

\*\*\*

Kane rushed down the Nether Brick corridor. His heart pounded against his chest, the footsteps of Naeus' Wither Skeletons ringing in his ears. He made a sharp turn, and then came to a halt at the maze of hallways and staircases. He turned frantically, and then glanced at a small room that blended in with the bloodred color of the walls. He made his move. A second later, with his cleaver in his hand and his ear pressed to the wall, Kane heard the squadron's footprints grew fainter and fainter.

He sighed loudly in relief. Turning, he saw a small table with a Netherite Scythe and an opened book in it, marked with yesterday's date. Overhead, a decrepit, wooden sign read "Intelligence Room: Blinded to the Eyes of Foes." His heart relaxed, he took slow, deep breaths. Taking the scythe and the book, he opened the door. There was an alarmingly large creak; his heart sped up again. He looked both ways, and came back the way he came.

Running swiftly, he looked back and forth; then Kane stopped suddenly. Oh no. The guard's rotation". He looked up and down, left and right- no hidden trapdoors, no doors, no nothing. He was panicking now. Then he looked at the ceiling again; he had an idea.

Shuffling, casual footsteps, then two pigmen walked down the hallway, oblivious to the person hidden behind an extension on the ceiling. People seldom looked up. After a few minutes passed, and no noise had been made, Kane jumped down and continued his flight. He was nearly at the entrance of the Nether Fort- just a few more turns- so close- he could taste his success, and-

The towering, formidable form of Naeus seemed fill the narrow hallway; as if he was a personification of Death himself, reaching out for his soul. Those empty eyes burrowed into his heart. He froze, unable to will himself to move. "Ah, I suspected the Netherbane was behind this." the General said. "Stop, soldier", he said, halting a Wither Skeleton that was pursuing him, "I want to have the pleasure of killing him myself."

A cleaver boomeranged into the air at the Skeleton. It was met by an ear-ringing, metallic bang, a sword was lifted into the air, and suddenly two people charged violently at each other, interlocked by rage. There was a flurry of blades and a blur of arrows. Kane aimed his cleaver at Naeus' back and simultaneously fired several wicked-sharp arrows at his face, but Naeus dodged the arrows and blocked the cleaver. Blades clashed, and Kane threw himself into the air, a roundhouse at Naeus' face.

A few momentary seconds of knockback and confusion allowed Kane to jump to the ceiling and hurl himself at the exit. He found his makeshift base, squeezing himself through the crack near the Lava Lakes when Gigabone turned the other way, and collapsed on the floor in exhaustion.

**II**

At the archive of Fundamental Scriptures, Vordus was the first to speak, a deep, scratchy voice piercing the silence usually maintained in the archives, as it was a place of study, "I acknowledge the many wishes of the Gods, and pray to them for the safety of the whole of the realms." Vordus was an elderly, bearded Endermen of a frail, old form, whose amethyst-colored eyes glowed in the streams of dusty morning light that flowed through the small, open windows. He wielded the Dragon Seer's Staff, a long, crystalline blue staff fueled by a single Ender Eye, and one of the sacred Artifacts of the Ender Watchers.

The meeting drew the attention of many students scrutinizing the contents of the archives, to which Victor dismissed them back to their studies of the ancient scriptures, then said, “Well, Dragonseer. I hope your Gods are all well and alright (The Ender Watcher’s religion was dead in the other realms), but let us get to the point. Now, I wish to know, what have you come here for? " Behind him, Life Moonfall, the son of the legendary sorcerer John Moonfall, Stella the descendant of Ceris, and Magus, the Pyromancer awaited their reply. Stella, an enchantress of the end matriarch Ceris' house who wished to prove herself to the Ender Watchers, looked intently at Vordus.

"Zalor of the Tundra, one of the true Seers, has foretold the taking of the End. Nineteen hundred moons from now, a mighty oppressor is destined to take Dragonspire." Vordus explained casually, "Only the Dragonseer's court has knowledge of this matter, as these events must pass naturally with no interference from those who wish to defy destiny."

Gasps rose from the room; these prophesied events were unbelievable, like they had been forged. The Ender Watchers had long been the vanguards of the realm of the End for so long, it seemed a preposterous claim that they would fall so soon. What great power was so powerful that they could destroy the Ender Watchers? How could Vordus utter those words so casually? But it was not the business of even mighty sorcerers to doubt the foretellings of true Seers, especially those of such respectable a Seer as Zalor. But the Artifacts... what this could mean for Earth...

A sea of voices erupted from the archives like a volcano; it appeared many of the students were still eavesdropping:

"Did you hear that?..."

"No. Not possible."

"Who would... could... do this?..."

"And what of the Artifacts?..."

"Silence." The words were so quiet, but Victor was a master Sorcerer and the leader of the Coven... it took barely a whisper to reduce voices to nothing. "You know what this means... has Ceris been informed of this, Dragonseer?"

"No. Only we."

Why have you come here to inform us of this first? This is secretive information... we have no business in the confidential affairs of the End." , Victor said.

"Victor, we need to prepare. The end is coming, and we cannot even defend against Herobrine." Magus insisted, tugging at his leather-clothed arm.

"Wait, Magus." Victor replied. He turned back to Vordus, “Why?”

“The knowledge of these future events has persuaded the Court to form a contingency plan, one which may guarantee the protection of the Artifacts and the subsequent retaking of Dragonspire. Part of this contingency plan entrusts the Dragon Seer’s staff to you, the Artifact safeguarded of the Court.”

More gasps. ‘We have no dealings or alliance with you, and yet you entrust us with one of your most sacred relics.” Victor said steadily, confounded, “What exactly is your contingency plan?”

“The artifacts will be entrusted in time, to those who we believe are, although not our close allies, respect or follow our mission.” Vordus explained, “This will mean the Artifacts will be safeguarded by these “heirs”, until we can recruit our closest allies to defeat this mighty oppressor.”

“And who is that?”

Ah, yes.” Vordus observed of them, “Your Coven Village, nestled within the far isolated Mystic Forest, are many moons from any other civilization. Very recent matters have taken place, and we have allied ourselves with the Frostbourne, one of their number being the Dragon Tamer.” Although it would be typical of a normal person to smirk or laugh, the incredibly formal Ender Watchers were known to always wear a stern, unmoving face that never revealed their emotions, unless it was of something extreme. This was also the case for Vordus, whose mouth could be likened to a black void, his eternally glowing eyes unblinking.

“I hereby entrust the Dragon Seer Staff, the second of the sacred Artifacts of the End, to Victor Summery of the Coven.” Vordus recited in a slow monotone, holding out the staff in his long, slender, hands that were gloved a very violent red fabric. Victor eyed the ancient relic, unmoving. Was this some kind of trick… some kind of… What would happen if the enemy found out they were holding the Artifact? What would happen to the Coven, what would happen to his descendants, to his friends, his home? Would accepting this endanger their lives to this powerful foe? Was this the right thing to do; should he take it?

“Why does your loyalty lie to your prophecy, to your Artifacts, Dragonseer?” Victor asked him as he made up his decision, “Such unwavering loyalty is unnatural; why don’t you just flee Dragonspire and leave, saving your life in the process?”

Vordus didn’t hesitate, “It amuses me that you must ask of this. Why would I abandon my home, and the millions of lives I have been entrusted with? Why would I abandon those who have been loyal to me to an untimely death, and leave myself knowing I have betrayed those who would never betray me? With no real purpose, no honor or dignity and no true life? Does this not seem wrong?"

Victor thought about this. Every eye in the archives were on him. This decision could decide the fate of Minecraftia, and the many innocent lives that live in it. But still, the dangers of housing such a powerful relic... he learned long ago that the problem with possessing such valuable things was the covetous evils that wished to take them- at all costs. And the Coven Village already housed many such precious artifacts...

"Please allow me to discuss this with my fellow masters; await the Coven's decision at noon."

\*\*\*

Kane peered through the Intelligence records he retrieved, pausing at a particular line. He gazed closely at it, carefully examining it. He widened his eyes in confusion at what it said. It was a prophecy:

"Dragonspire will fall at the hands of the Horde.

The crown will be won by a skeletal lord.

And although the world may manipulated, captured and torn.

For those bourne of the Frost it looks truly forlorn."

Scrawled messily at the bottom was a note by the petty spy of the Nether Horde was a small but important note: "The Watchers have seen only the first line writtten by Zalor before it was taken. Our dominance is nigh - Djinn".

*Ah, what the hell. Must be a dud prophecy. Zalor wouldn't be so foolish as to let the Horde take this without a fight,* Kane thought. He had seen Zalor before at a secret meeting; he may have been weakened by the labour of protecting the vowed secrecy of the realms' many prophecies, but he was filled with a righteous wisdom and a lingering strength. All Seers were. But then again, the days of Zalor's youth have long gone, and age does something to you. He was armed only with the Staff of the True Seer, the sacred relic that symbolised the Nation of the Seers and Prophets. It granted Zalor amazing power, but the Horde was a most cunning and ferocious adversary, with almost unlimited resources sourced from the lava of their hellish realm, and monstrous, powerful weapons.

No- it wasn't possible-

He couldn't confront the possibility. Zalor didn't DIE! Zalor couldn't DIE! If the prophecies and the Staff of the True Seer got into the hands of the Horde, the Seers, one of the most powerful nations in Minecraftia would be under the control of the Nether. Darkness and hell would reign the realms. And if this prophecy was true, if it was-

There was a faint rustling, and footsteps sounding on the rough, coarse Netherrack ground in the background. It was barely a sound, but Kane needed to be prepared for any situation. He stepped silently to his crossbow and cleaver on the bookshelf, and grabbed them with little more than a woosh in the air, maintaining the uneasy quietness that rang through his alert ears.

The footsteps grew louder and louder with each step. But there was a new sound... something moving in a bag...?

He threw his cleaver at a moment's notice, cutting into the burning air that was so persistent in this hellish realm. At the same time, he grabbed an arrow and quickly inserted it into his crossbow, drawing it at this newfound foe. He was ready to fire if...

The figure in front of him dodged his cleaver with ease, and swiftly manouvered through his sharp arrows that gleamed like a shark's teeth hungrily awaiting its prey, the mysterious person all the while clutching safely onto the bag. As he was about to fire another shot and release his cleaver again to subdue this intruder, Kane suddenly paused. The man's cloak, although burned and torn, bore the unmistakable insingia of the Seer Nation. It was clear he went through many hardships to arrive at his base. He stopped, and Kane stopped, but the bag wriggled and moved lively and cries, that of a baby's cries, sounded from it.

"I come in peace," the man assured, "only to give you what the Dragonseer and his court has entrusted to you." The Dragonseer's Court was supposedly a secret division of the Ender Watchers led by Vordus dedicated to ensuring the survival of Minecraftia should the vanguard of the realm - the Ender Watchers themselves - fall, but Kane had assumed they were myths scattered by nowhere.

"What would they want from me?"

"You are dedicated to preventing the Horde, your hatred towards the Nether fueling your mission, a hatred burned by the killing of-"

"Get to the point." Kane interrupted.

"You are very secretive, employing many strategies to evade the most cunning adversaries, and only a prophecy could hint toward your location. Therefore, it would only be fitting that you should guard the Dragon Egg, which will give birth to one of the most powerful-"

"Hang on." Kane interrupted again. "A Dragon Egg? From Dragonspire itself?"

"Yes. It appears so."

"But, but why? They must be crazy, to entrust someone who is not an allie one of their most powerful-"

"All their allies has been mysteriously struck down, it seems, but some sort of assassin group."

**III**

***The Assassin, the Knight and the Eternal Flame***

It *burns*. Hatred. Disgust. Fury. The inferno inside of him keeps blazing, keeps overwhelming. The pain sears inside of him. Agony. He doesn't care. He trashes against the frozen chains that bind him sevenfold, snapping, screaming, *howling*. He *must* kill them. He'll kill them all, for what they did to the Clan. And at once, all those emotions — the hatred, the yearning, the disgust, the *fury* - they congeal into one single flame. It is small. It is growing. It is eternal. It is that animalistic yearning, that base desire, for blood.

In Ilfrit's tongue, they had a word for the rage. *Kǒdiltsimit*. Something to be harbored, something powerful.

Every feeling he knew came from the swift, cleansing dance of flame and fire.

The water comes up from the bucket and everything explodes into pain. The feeling of the clear liquid etching its way into his bright, scorching skin. The pain is engraved into his body, but even that will turn to ashes one day. All will be as it should. For the Clan.

He recoiled. Then he stared into the blood-red eyes of the Wither Knight, his captor with a piercing rage. The *kǒdashima* that will never go out.

\*\*\*

"You're going to die, y'know, Kane."

"..."

"Y'know what I mean, Kane. Goddamned Horde assassins always on ya arse. We barely see ya at the Tavern anymore - it's *your* Tavern. You've been laying low at your small little base in the Nether."

The words of Victor were drowned out by the incessant gossip, drunken laughter. the chinking of drinks. His Tavern. His Netherbane. How merry.

"Stop it, Victor." It was the blonde one, Andreas. "Kane. We're serious. If you keep fightin' like this... you're not gonna be livin' anymore."

What a nice way to put it.

A blur later, blood splattered the wall. Andreas' company lay trying to help him up. He was on the floor, choking and all. Kane didn't care. That boy Andreas didn't know nothing, never knew the thrill of death. He didn't know about the flame, the never-ending hatred, that bound him to this endless battle. Served him right. Kane drew a breath inwardly and turned around.

"Ya don't know nothin'. Get out."

His black-and-white uniform was splattered with dark red like a wave. He didn't care about the whispers that surrounded him.

"Ka- wha- wha-", he struggled to get the words out. "I- bas, basta-"

"Get out."

A lot of heartfelt curses. They got out. They slammed the door. An hour later, Kane stepped back into the Nether Portal. Into darkness and crimson mist he went. At the end of his makeshift base was the metallic purple glint of the Dragon Egg. Kane would not come back to the Overworld until three weeks, when he met Ciara Rose of the Ashkur.
His *kǒdiltsimit* kept blazing.

***TO BE CONTINUED...***