Interlude I: Egil
Present Day
Year of Unity 1880
A dead man sat on the roof of a crooked old building as the suns rose before him. He hardly seemed to notice the coming dawn, that gentle medley of gold and pink, and the only sign he gave that he felt the morning chill was the rosy flush to his cheeks. His focus stayed fixed, instead, on the point of the horizon where the Unity's clock tower cut into the paled sky. He glared at it, as if he could cut it down with his stare alone. He glared with a hatred almost inhuman.
When the long hand ticked onto the hour, bells rang out over the city and cut into the night's quiet. The sound made Egil wince, then press his hand to his beating heart as if to keep it still in his chest. Magic flared out from his core, magic that he'd fought hard to hide from Aleksir Bardon. It billowed from him like sickly green smog, obscuring him and his rooftop and making it so he could no longer see Unity's island.
Inside the cloud of smog, his eyes turned entirely black.
He'd had years — decades — to prepare for this moment, for seeing the island again. Clearly, it hadn't been enough. He'd thought he was ready to face Unity, to face this vicious, bitter city again, but now all he wanted was to flee. He wanted to forget Unity, forget the Oracle, forget about the alfar King. His only consolation lay in the knowledge of what he'd come to do. Aleksir was wrong. Unity had to fall. All his time away, all his adventures and failures and losses, they'd all taught him that one simple truth.
And if not by his hand, then by whose? He couldn't wait any longer.
A tremor wracked Egil's body, but he forced a deep breath. In, out, then again. Slowly, the cloud around him dispersed and his eyes returned to normal. Hand still pressed to his heart, he took another breath and felt it begin to beat again.
He laughed, alone on that rooftop. He laughed, and even he could hear the edge of madness cutting through it like a blade. Aleksir was wrong about him, about all of it.
The clocked ceased its tolling after the sixth bell and Egil realized how long he'd been sitting here, watching the minutes pass as night pressed into morning. Below him, the city had begun to stir. Ahead, he watched as a dragon in flight swept low over the city, red sunslight warm on her white scales. Twisting between church spires and weaving between buildings, she eventually made her descent toward the strip of green park along the coast and disappeared between the trees there.
Egil did not look at the clock tower again. He would have his time. He would not run, he would stay and fight, do what he'd come to do. After all, Unity's destruction was the only thing that could bring him back to life. It would fall, as would anyone that got in his way.