Home. Kyrad felt the familiar wind brush against his skin as his ship stopped at the dock. The Neverus Isle, one not many people knew existed, and for good reason. Any foreigners who made it to the island were captured and either enslaved or killed. That was how the Durmaddons had survived since their defeat fifteen hundred years ago to the rebels of Aidris.

  Despite knowing that Aidris was his ancestors' true home, he doubted he would ever feel at home in Aidris. Kyrad had spent his entire life on the Neverus Isle. Once Aidris fell to the Durmaddons, he imagined he would never visit this place again.

  Two men clad in black armor were standing at attention with his father’s advisor, Eddard Ransookle. Kyrad smiled; of course, Eddard would be here. He jumped off his ship as the crew began tying the boat down. That was the work of his men, not him.

  “Welcome back,” Eddard said, bowing. His long black beard was almost down to his chest. “Is it true that you have an important announcement?”

  “I do,” Kyrad said as he wiped his hands on his pants. He had been vague in his letter, for he couldn’t allow the wrong hands to read his message. That would have been disastrous. Only his father would understand the gravity of what he sent.

  “Excellent,” Eddard said with a smile. “Emperor Bazeir is quite eager to hear the news.”

  “I expect my father to be very happy,” Kyrad said. He turned as two slaves, the Yurankles, walked past him to help his crew with his boat. The natives of this island. A pitiful folk who had been too weak to keep their power. Their assistance would be beneficial in the war to come.

  Kyrad, the advisor, and both guards began to walk off the dock. There were so many ships and people crewing them, all awaiting the word to move out. Only one thing had to be done, and then the war they all craved would begin.

  “How was Aidris?” Eddard asked.

  “Did you not read my letters?” Kyrad said.

  “Your words will provide me with answers I could never get from your letters,” Eddard said. “For example, how are the people there?”

  “Divided and loyal to their nations,” Kyrad said with a shrug. “They should be easy to conquer. They are always fighting amongst themselves. Aidris needs a single leader.”

  “Their loyalty to their individual nations will make them easier to conquer,” Eddard said. A wagon full of supplies forced them to stop. Weapons, food, and various other items were being moved about. “What about their fighters?”

  “Most are weak,” Kyrad began moving once the wagon had passed. There was excitement in the air, far more than when he had left. “There are some skilled warriors. I fought one with a giant sword. Reminded me of the old legend, Mujarin Ostiktski, though this warrior was nowhere near as skilled.”

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  “I take it you killed this man?” Eddard said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Perhaps, given time, that man could have been the next Mujarin Ostiktski. It’s a good thing he wasn’t, or you would be dead,” Eddard said.

  “Maybe,” Kyrad said. He didn’t believe a lot of the tales of legends. Stories were always exaggerated, and he had no doubts stories of Mujarin Ostiktski were no different. “Either way, he’s no longer a threat, and that’s one less warrior to worry about.”

  They talked for some time before arriving at the palace gates. The palace that no Emperor had entered since Kalthone’s decree, that was until Bazeir said the time had come for their attack on Aidris. For seven hundred years, this palace had been maintained by slaves and was now occupied by his father.

  “We’ll talk more later. I have so many questions about Aidris,” Eddard said, stepping aside and leaving Kyrad by himself.

  He walked through the gates and saw his father, Emperor Bazeir, sitting on the throne. He was wearing his battle armor, though he had no weapon on him. Then again, no weapon could come close to the power. Kyrad had learned that the harsh way growing up on this island. Bazeir’s dark black hair was cut short, and his gray eyes showed a hint of eagerness. Standing next to him was the leader of the Mardimers, Tusdar, one of the strongest power users Kyrad had ever seen. He had yet to see something that compared to Tusdar’s power in Aidris. Then again, he hadn’t seen many power users there.

  Walking forward, Kyrad stopped ten feet away from his father’s throne and kneeled. “I have returned,” Kyrad said.

  Bazeir stood up from his chair and walked the final ten steps to Kyrad, who got back up. “Welcome back, my son,” he embraced Kyrad.

  Bazeir ended the embrace and a large smile spread across his face. It was these rare moments that made Kyrad forget he was the son of the most powerful person on the planet. “Your message indicated important news. But first, tell me about Aidris.”

  “The rebellions we started were successful. Our enemies have many weaknesses, and they don’t like helping one another. Only one nation assisted, and that was Azzellia,” Kyrad said.

  “What other weaknesses did you notice?”

  “As you know, there are five nations. Their petty squabbles stop them from helping each other. When we attack, the other nations won’t help. Before I left, I heard rumors of Vandalor in talks with Azzellia, but the other three nations won’t lift a finger to assist Azzellia or Vandalor when we attack,” Kyrad said. It was hard to hide his excitement. He had been preparing for this moment his entire life. There was only one last thing he had to do, and then the war would begin.

  “I did read those reports,” Bazeir said, sounding a little disappointed.

  “The reports I sent can’t explain their biggest weakness. If you saw what I did, you would know I’m right,” Kyrad said, not missing the fact he stole a bit of that from Eddard.

  “I believe you,” Bazeir said. “After fifteen hundred years, we’ll reclaim our homeland and bring peace to a troubled people. Tell me, what is this important news you bring?”

  Not even Kyrad could hide his smile. “I have discovered where the Sword of Calamity is.”

  “What?” Bazeir’s mouth dropped open before closing. The sword had been impossible to find, and they had been searching for the past twenty years. “Are you sure it’s the sword we are looking for?”

  “Yes,” Kyrad’s grin widened even more. “I spoke to someone on Aidris who studied the Sword of Calamity, which is now called the Sword of Cataclysm. He was able to tell me the old name and how it belonged to our family. When pushed, he told me this sword belonged to Emperor Talberon Durmaddon.”

  “Where is the sword?”

  “In the capital of Azzellia, Carhan.”

  With that, father and son laughed joyfully. For once this sword was returned to its rightful owners, the Durmaddons would invade Aidris and become its sole rulers once more.