“It is a story told and retold all across Gadir, and I trust it will resonate here on Thanet. A beloved royal family, destroyed by an evil invader. Their child, claimed to be dead but secreted away to survive. A mysterious hero, come to right the wrongs of the past. Let us ignite the people’s imagination, Cyrus! We will tell a story of Thanet’s vagrant prince, miraculously returned from the dead, who would kill all who oppose him and who would stop at nothing to retake his crown. And all the while, I shall be using my wealth and connections to build you an army, one that shall swear allegiance to the Lythan family. When the time is right, you shall cast aside your mask, reveal your survival to the entire populace, and capture Vallessau to mark the start of your rebellion.”

Cyrus brushed his fingers across the grinning skull. Could he resurrect the war his parents had lost in a single evening? Could he hide behind a mask, and become some phantom killer to inspire the populace? The logistics of it left him baffled. Where would he learn to wield a sword? What would be his targets? And who all made up this elite group Thorda said he would be the figurehead for?

“What would I have to do?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around any of it.

“Accept my tutelage,” Thorda said. “I will teach you to fight. I will show you how to become, not a mere mortal, but a mysterious and legendary killer the people will love and embrace. It will not be easy, nor will it happen in mere months. Are you willing to swear everything to this cause, Cyrus? Are you willing to forfeit any semblance of a normal life for one bathed in blood?”

Cyrus imagined that mask covering his face. Mere days ago he was a hostage, convinced only of his inevitable death as his island was slowly rebuilt in Everlorn’s image and the last of their two gods was publicly executed. Now there was hope, however grim and fleeting.

“This hero you would have me imitate,” he said. “The Skull-Amid-the-Trees. What happened to him?”

Thorda leaned back and crossed his arms.

“They hung my husband, still breathing, from the gates of the capital. It took him three days to die. The resistance there died with him. The same fate may await you, if not worse. You must be stronger, and faster. My chosen elite will fight alongside you, and protect you as best they can, but they can only do so much in the heat of battle. The hopes of your nation will live and die by your hand. What say you, Cyrus?”

Memories flashed unbidden through his mind. Magus of Eldrid, cutting down his parents. His mother’s scream. The dying cries of Lycaena, cut apart by the God-Incarnate’s daughter. Despite how much it frightened him, it was no choice at all.