Athrin hurriedly lodged the key into the lock and the gate opened with a loud creak that screamed throughout the entire tower. Athrin started to hear yelling upstairs.

“Hurry,” said Athrin. “We don’t have much time!”

“Wait!” called Xeleoth.

“We don’t have time for this Xeleoth!” retorted Athrin.

“We can’t just leave him here.”

“Who?”

Xeleoth pointed to Barrowm.

“We can’t bring him, he’ll be trouble!”

“He is a soldier of Remnoth, like me. We Remnothis respect all dwellers of our city and we think of them as our brothers and sisters.”

Athrin’s bright blue eyes looked into Xeleoth’s gray eyes. With a heavy heart, Athrin bestowed Xeleoth the permission to take the wretched Barrowm with them, not knowing that this was very foolish. The sorcerers and sorceresses followed Athrin through the curved tunnels of the dungeons, sprinting as fast as their legs could take them. Bellra and Sapien lugged behind. A jet of fire shot past Athrin. He repelled back with a blast of red light. The warlock shot backwards, hitting the wall with extreme force. Different colors of blasts were coming this way and that. Bellra couldn’t keep up, she tumbled over and stared into the eyes of another warlock, about to blast her with a jet of red. Athrin stared in horror.

“BELLRA!” screamed Athrin.

He dodged every burst of magic, pushing through the crowd of the other sorcerers. The blast of red fled from the warlock’s hand, aiming right towards Bellra’s head. Then, Sapien ran from out of the shadows, and cast a bright blue shield around Bellra. The blow returned to its caster, and a burning hole had singed through the warlock. He fell to the ground with a thud. Athrin ran to Bellra and carried her the rest of the way.¬†Light had seeped through the doorway, filling the eyes of the magic users with delight.

“C’mon,” yelled Athrin. “We’re almost there!”

Athrin broke through the oaken doorway. The sunlight erupted onto their faces, lightening their expressions with the heartiest of joyousness. Athrin turned back towards the dark and sinister icon of the entire world, its walls nearly indestructible, and its spirit tarnished by the terrible Vildrin. Athrin reached into the back of his brown cape. Out he pulled a jewel of the brightest of reds. Its edges jutting out from its center like a sea urchin. It was so perfectly polished without a speck of litter upon it that it cast a red shadow upon the grass that was set aflame. Every prisoner stared in Athrin’s direction, waiting to see what next heroic deed he would create. Athrin looked down at the brilliant gem, then looked at the tower, warlocks getting closer to the doorway. Athrin made his decision. He raised the marvelous jewel into the sun. A blindingly white beam struck the stronghold. The warlocks cowered back in fear and amazement. Soon, screams echoed through every crack in the spire as the tower burned into ashes and the nothing was left of the amazing, brilliant, mighty Thunder Hold.

Bellra’s knees buckled, and she spilled onto the green grass, still wet with dew. She was howling with pain as something red and raw began to take shape. Flamecrest ran towards Bellra, for she was a healer in Thornhelm, and she had delivered many young ones. Time passed, and Flamecrest held a pink, sleeping, soft, perfectly healthy newborn baby.

“I bestow upon you, the heir to the throne of Thornhelm!” called Flamecrest. She gave the baby back to Bellra. Bellra held the baby in her hands so gently, that it would almost feel like you were floating in midair. Athrin calmly stooped down towards his heir.

“What shall we name him?” asked Athrin.

“It should be in the language of your ancestors, since he is the next Stone-Carrier.”

Athrin stood thinking, and finally a name came to his mind.

“His name mean the everlasting star of the north, the great barrier of justice that stands between the dark and the light, his name shall be Aried!”

Bellra stared at her new baby for a long period of time.

“Aried you say,” said Bellra. “Perfect.”

Barrowm’s eyes flickered while he rested on the shoulders of Xeleoth, who had been carrying him the entire time. Barrowm quietly pulled out a dagger from his cloak. Barrowm kicked Xeleoth hard in the jaw. Barrowm fell to the ground and scurried back to his feet. He charged towards Athrin and stabbed him in the back. Athrin stared into Bellra’s eyes as she looked back at him in horror. Bellra screamed in anger, but Barrowm stabbed her too. Bellra quickly cast an invisibility charm on Aried as she and Athrin fell to the ground in silence, the prince of Thornhelm, the son of Anrhys, and descendant of Deishma, had passed on, and joined all of the deceased men and women in the World of the Dead, along with Bellra. Barrowm then saw a gleaming red light in the lifeless hand of Athrin, for he had not dared to drop the gem. Barrowm reached toward the prince with his disgusting hand. His hand began to singe and the smell of charring skin filled the air. He screamed in agony and dropped the knife that had been set ablaze. Barrowm spotted Xeleoth with his hand clutching toward Barrowm. He felt himself raising from his feet. Barrowm quivered in fear as Xeleoth came closer and closer.

“You are no guardian of Remnoth!” cried Xeleoth with red fire in his eyes. “You are a monster!”

Barrowm was flung towards the ground simultaneously, and when Xeleoth was finished with him, Barrowm looked like he had just run through a thousand-man army.

“You are hereby banished from Remnoth by word of Xeleoth Everdwell, protector of King Tothris, the Ruler of Remnoth, Lord of the Lion!”

“Tothris has given you no such authority.” said Barrowm. “You are just a worthless citizen of Remnoth.”

“Tothris gave me the Royal Heirloom.” Xeleoth pulled out a small dagger from his green cloak with strange script engraved into its blade. “Get out of my sight, for you know well what this incredible blade can do.” Xeleoth stared hard with his dark, gray eyes into the soul of Barrowm. Xeleoth’s blond hair reminded Barrowm of the lion that was embedded in the Remnothian flag with its golden mane blowing in the wind, and its razor sharp teeth gnashing at its enemies.

“The Age of Deishma will soon be over wizard, and you will end with it!” yelled Barrowm. He pulled out a handful of black powder and cast it upon the ground. A humongous cloud of darkness shadowed over the wizards, and the cowardly warden had vanished. Xeleoth quickly grabbed the gem.

“What have I done?” whimpered Xeleoth, his face glowing with the red light. “This is all my fault. If only my admiration had not conquered my mental being. Prince Athrin, son of Anrhys, king of Thornhelm, is dead, because of me!” he sent a flaring blast of fire into the sky in anger.

The cry of a baby echoed as the flame distinguished. Xeleoth had forgotten all about Aried, wrapped in a white blanket was a rosy baby, for the invisibility charm had worn off. He looked almost exactly like his father with his brown hair, blue eyes, handsome looks, and his pointed nose.

“I will make this right.” he whispered as he placed the wondrous jewel in the palm of the newborn baby. Xeleoth picked up the infant and motioned for the other sorcerers and sorceresses to follow, and to bury the prince and Bellra, to become one with the earth.