Aslakahm cried when the Horn bothered its already decaying slumber. Restless heads searched the infinite bounds of the Materium, expecting an arrival, yet knowing it will bring nothing of value. Alghamior almost fell when the noise bothered his thoughts. His fallen limb has become difficult to hide anymore. It wouldn’t be that much of an issue, if his councillors would cease displaying looks of concern for his health; they themselves barely look any better. Health is a matter that lacks importance in the face of what looms before existence. And whatever visitor the guardians were able to inform the kingdom about, clearly he would expand the already existing threat.

  “Lightstealers,” Garkalon muttered, his voice carrying a heavy burden with each word.

  Alghamior shifted in his seat as the words spoken dwelled on the Throne. His eyes snapped toward the last brightest child, still granting the Materium a little hope with its survival. The moment of invasion has not yet arrived. Lightstealers promised to grant Aslakahm freedom until the last of the brightest faded. What is this intrusion supposed to mean? Has Rahmanegol’s thirst for violence finally erupted?

  “Mighty king, shall we send the guards to battle?” Garkalon inquired, pacing toward Alghamior. “We can’t risk you suffering whatever the Lightstealers have decided to inflict upon us.”

  “And you would rather send our barely trained kin to certain demise?” Alghamior asked. “What about afterward? Success is not a concept we will possess out of a war against them.”

  “Your wisdom must be guarded with every resource at our claws. Losing your brilliant mind will only accentuate the doom that searches us all.”

  In the distance, guards ascended, Spears of Light ready to be used. Why are they chasing after death? A fog of darkness descended like a falling star, its path on the verge of crashing into the brave Starmakers.

  “What is that Lightstealer doing?” Orequelon asked, dashing for the edge of the Throne. “What sort of boldness is this?”

  Alghamior’s eyes widened. The fog permitted the form of a Lightstealer to emerge, and soon the guardians were smashed aside by his swiftness. He opened his wings—four mighty extending limbs, mimicking the look of crowns. Starmakers cried beneath, alerting the others to strike the intruder, yet the speed of the shadow far outmatched any attempt of impeding his efforts.

  “Protect the king!” Garkalon commanded, and his councillors rushed to form a wall before him. “If the Lightstealer strikes, subdue him at once!”

  A shadow emerged, its size forcing Alghamior to shift back. The Lightstealer landed, the Throne whimpering as a result, and dashed for the wall. He gripped Garkalon by the neck and threw him below, two limbs immobilizing him. He squirmed beneath, words unable to emerge from the pressure. Garkalon’s wings fought to escape, yet only worsened the Lightstealer’s wrath and grip.

  “What resolution have you brought us, king?” the Lightstealer demanded. “We’ve treated you kindly, despite your obvious inaction. We’ve granted you our trust, and your stars are fading, while you do nothing!”

  The councillors tensed, wings extended. “You’ve gone too far, Lightstealers!” Furieon protested. “Has your lord approved such a mockery upon our great king? Have you lost the wits Tribunal gifted you?”

  “Do not lecture me, Starmaker!” the Lightstealer snapped, stomping Garkalon. “Your words mean as much to me as the tasks you’ve been entrusted with. The mockery lies here! Gaze at what surrounds you and how you move not even a limb to protect it!”

  “Our king does everything it can, invader. Is this the reward your kind show us for our efforts?” Orequelon asked, his voice fighting to remain peaceful.

  “Perhaps you’ve been blinded by the wisdom Alghamior boasts of having,” the Lightstealer sniffed. He lifted Garkalon and shoved him into the wall, forcing the councillors to move so they could catch him. “Alghamior, what is your answer to our situation? Is the seat you stand upon comfortable? This disease must feel like a mirage for you, correct? Why would you even bother?!”

  Alghamior shuddered. The sight before him bore burning hatred within each muscle, within each word, within each gaze. What answer can he grant him? What opposition can he as king bring in this scenario, when his only weapon is his mind?

  “Do not treat our king as such!” Bauruloun commanded, lifting himself on two limbs. A tremble seized him the more he held his position.

  “Am I supposed to be threatened by your desperate act, Starmaker? Your body can do nothing besides striking the eyes,” the Lightstealer scoffed. “Besides, I inquired for an answer from your great king. Speak to me, Alghamior.” The Lightstealer stepped forward, prompting the wall to retreat and tighten. “Give me your answer!”

  “Why are you doing this?” Alghamior asked, then swallowed. “What sort of outcome do you believe this will lead to, apart from more damage to us?”

  “And what outcome has your scheming brought us so far? Do I see the stars completing their cycles? Do the planets now live without experiencing disorder?” The Lightstealer extended his claw. “Look upon this, great king.” Essence of life soared within his limb. “This has been absorbed from five stars. I suppose your mighty wisdom is capable of understanding what I mean.”

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  “What?!” Alghamior asked, the sight before him forcing him to frown. “That is an impossibility.”

  “And yet I stand before you. And yet this is what I was able to acquire.”

  Alghamior’s eyes examined the essence. That is what remains of the glorious stars? How shall the furnaces be supplied with so little? How shall eggs be brought forth when they require so much and are given so little?

  He dropped his head. “Why, Tribunal?” he whispered.

  “You have failed in providing a suitable response to this curse. It destroys everything we have and everything we do. And now it steals our unborn kin from us.” The Lightstealer spun, marching for the edge of the Throne. “Thus, our lord has brought the resolution to you.”

  Alghamior caught glimpses of movement outside the kingdom. Fog cascaded upon Aslakahm; a circle of doom wrapped the entirety of the kingdom. Figures emerged from within. An army of Lightstealers, steered by Rahmanegol. Rageful eyes burned Alghamior and the entirety of Aslakahm. Bodies of pure strength shifted, their white lines telling him that what shall follow will be more dreadful than his decaying essence. Alghamior scowled at their show of power then met Rahmanegol’s blank stare. He questioned him with his eyes if this conflict would do anything to help them and was left without a response.

  “This is outrageous!” Garkalon cried, stumbling after the Lightstealer.

  “This is the natural consequence of your inactions!” the Lightstealer snapped. His snout crinkled, eyes shifting from councillor to councillor. Then he regarded Alghamior. “You were warned. You were trusted. You failed. Now the Lightstealers shall bring an end to this disease. By brute force.”

  The Lightstealer departed for his kin, leaving behind a storm on the Throne. The councillors erupted in a frenzy of questions and concerns. Disdain almost emerged from their twitching heads and sweeping limbs.

  “Mighty king, we need to find you a haven until this passes,” Bauruloun said, pacing toward Alghamior. “Your thoughts require peace, not violence.”

  Alghamior raised his faded limb. “To what goal? Death is already seizing me without the intervention of a Lightsealer.”

  Is this where existence ends? With a band of beasts that encroach on the corners of his great kingdom, while Alghamior is left with a decaying body and an incapable mind? An even greater curse is the fact that he is rendered useless against such mongrels. He lacks the power to stomp them all. Is this sight enjoyable to you, Tribunal? Is my powerlessness filling you with joy? Why don’t you just return and straighten subsistence?

  “Send word to the guardians,” Garkalon commanded. “All able Starmakers must make a stand against this invasion.”

  “They won’t survive!” Orequelon said. “Gaze upon this calamity, Garkalon. What use are Spears of Light against lightless foes?”

  “Mighty king, please understand!” Bauruloun cried. “Your mind can still craft a resolution. Perhaps we could negotiate with Rahmanegol on your behalf and keep him fr-”

  Alghamior pounded on the Throne, gathering everyone’s attention. “I won’t flee our kin!” he bellowed. He spun away from them, a quiver grasping his wings. Capable enough to bring life into creation, incapable of fending off against curses and mongrels. Why is Alghamior even blaming the Lightstealers for their boldness and desperation? Their own missions are now suffering. Dragons are not only fading, but birth is now slowed to the point of extinction. This was inevitable.

  Nevertheless, Starmakers deserve a better fate than to fall victim to such violations. No Lightstealer shall simply desecrate Aslakahm without at least a form of retaliation. If not multiple. Surrendering to such pressures would only worsen the outcome. The Error must find a solution. He must not only exist to bring disdain and unpleasantness.

  Alghamior regarded his council. “I shall empower the Walls of Creation.”

  An outburst of protests followed.

  “Mighty king, that is not a solution!” Garkalon chastised. “Wasting essence on such a frivolous thing will lead you to consume more of yourself!”

  “Consider this carefully,” Orequelon advised. “Do not leave us without a king. Do not leave your kin to suffer without its light.”

  “Please!” Furieon implored. “Mighty king, existence shall crumble without your mind intact. Pouring your essence into this? Please!”

  “My decision is taken,” Alghamior whispered. “Further words only delay what will follow. I hoped not to be pushed to such an extent, and yet… The Walls shall stall them further, until the Error uncovers his powers. Oversee him. Ensure his survival until then.”

  “Mighty king,” Bauruloun said, “what if he is unsuccessful? Would you truly give yourself away for one such as himself?”

  “Watch him,” he whispered.

  Alghamior shifted his eyes toward the army awaiting the last of the brightest stars to fade. Multitudes upon multitudes of Lightstealers were eager to tear everything apart. At least their numbers are intact, unlike those of his own brethren. This disease must solely adore draining existing life and scarring beauty. Empowering the Walls will have consequences. Consequences his essence can’t fully bear anymore. Yet if he chooses to allow the invasion to happen undisrupted, what shall befall his kin will possess a level of unspeakable vileness. Rahmanegol is concerned with destruction. And judging by the way he sights Aslakahm from within the open Materium, benevolence has long abandoned him. The idea that they were even acquainted is tough to accept.

  Error. Khonameol. Prove your true self to these mongrels.

  Alghamior paced for his seat then slithered upward, his wings extended. Golden particles ascended from his seat; leisurely at first, then faster than falling comets. Concerned eyes searched him from beneath, unseen protests fighting through the limbs and wings of his fellow Starmakers. If he bears no strength to properly fight, then protecting those that need him is, sadly, the last of what his mind can grant them. His wisdom has led him astray for too long and handed him no escape from this predicament.

  He shut his eyes, focusing. Power escaped through him. Essence left him. And his mind dreaded the experience and what status it will leave it in, after the Walls have been raised.