And it was all done live

It’s hard to believe it’s finally here: the end of the story. I wrote the entire thing live on the air, with YOU, the viewer!

If you didn’t watch it, it’s okay. I had people ask me to do this for a long time, and I held off because it seemed like a really boring thing to watch, but I had a few loyal viewers who definitely helped break up the monotony of clacking keys. Also important was my ambient project, Zul. I generated many hours of music since I started “doing it live” in late 2023, and that provided some great background music. Check out the latest album if you are into ambient guitar.

The book ended at just over 116,000 words, making it almost eight times longer than the first book I wrote live, Sorcerous Blood. I don’t know of anyone else doing this sort of thing, and I still don’t know how many people care about it. It proves that the book was 100% not AI. I did have a few people ask if I was worried about people stealing my story, and I’m not. That would be a very quick case, considering I wrote the book LIVE. Also, I think it’s probably easier these days to just have AI write some garbage instead of plagiarizing.

As always, you can watch this last chapter being written on the YouTube replays for free:

https://youtube.com/live/MZ14mKX70qQ?feature=share

https://youtube.com/live/UHWcXA0Ts8w?feature=share

https://youtube.com/live/8qP_GLySndg?feature=share

The content below was originally paywalled.

Chapter 27

“Forgive me,” said Darolex. “I did not know what would be inside, and I feared he might detect any deception or illusion. He had grown powerful.”

“It is forgiven, but—” Alfred turned to see Athelredy lying on the ground, his head in Victoria’s lap. He ran to him. His friend’s face was all black and purple, his skin peeling, his surcoat burned away, and on every link of mail was a coating of bright gold.

“Damnit, I said to kneel!” said Darolex. He knelt and ran a hand over Athelredy’s face. “It is bad and might be fatal.”

“What do we do?” said Victoria.

“It is my fault,” said Darolex. His face, now deeply lined and wizened, leaned close to the heavy-breathing Athelredy. “I will force the healing and take him back from the brink. Just give me a few breaths.”

“That will kill you,” said Alfred.

Darolex looked at him sideways.

“Do not lie to me.”

“I didn’t. But I must. This brave lad deserves to live, and his lord will need him.”

“I will not trade one life for another.”

“You must! I have lived a long life. Far longer than you realize, and I will live on, in a sense.”

“There is another way,” said Victoria. “If it has not been all smashed. In my satchel, in my dress. There is the bread your grandmother gave us.”

Though tears were in his eyes, Alfred laughed. “That was for my mother. Mother!”

He stood up and meant to dash for the door but froze. Gwyndolyn was already standing there, radiant like the dawn now rather than fading like dusk, her golden hair flowing around her.

“Mother?”

“I am released at last. She stepped close to Athelredy and Victoria and sat close by. “I can wake him for a bit, and you must get him to eat the bread.”

“Mother,” said Alfred. “I think I can see through you.”

“Yes, my hold here to this world is fading away.”

“But the magic holding you, the poison… Is it gone?”

“Some hurts cannot be healed in the World-That-Is. They must wait for the Dream. It is well. What I treasured above a kingdom waits for me. Take out the precious meal.”

Victoria shifted position, and Alfred reached into the pocket opening of her skirts, found the satchel there, and drew out a small, brown loaf of bread. Instantly, its fragrance filled the space.

“Again, am I not trading one life for another?”

Gwyndolyn smiled. “Break the bread, and I will revive him.”

“Can we not split it?”

“You can split it between yourselves, but I do not need it. Soon, all my love will be fulfilled, and I will give you to Victoria.”

Alfred wiped the tears from his eyes and obeyed. Steam rose up from the supple interior of the loaf as if the warmth of the oven had never left it. The queen ran her hand over Athelredy’s trembling face, and his eyes opened, wet and strained. Alfred held a piece of the bread to Athelredy’s lips, and instinctively, he opened his mouth. He began to chew.

“It is for all to share, for your labors have been long,” said Gwyndolyn. “Spare a bite each at least. Whole and part are no proper division.”

“Then you must have some,” said Victoria, “and revive yourself.”

Gwyndolyn shook her head. Smiling, she leaned forward and kissed Victoria on the forehead. Gently, she pressed the girl’s hand, which held a piece of the bread, toward her mouth, and she ate. Then, looking at her son, she grew in light, her body becoming like a shining beacon. With a sigh, she grew translucent.

Alfred saw Darolex tear a piece of the bread and eat, and a more desperate bite he had not seen a living man take, and yet he chewed it slowly. Finally, looking at his mother, Alfred reluctantly put a piece of the bread in his mouth.

Gwyndolyn was gone, faded like the sunset to dusk and dark, a mere shimmering set of motes where once had been a woman fair beyond compare.

Alfred began to weep. Feeling the arms of Victoria around him, he looked up and saw that Athelredy was awake and the bread was gone. The young knight, who moments before had born terribly grievous wounds of fire and darkness, was smiling. Dark layers like burnt paper were falling from his face and blowing away. His shock was not in the healing as much as the mail he wore, which by some remnant of the terrible magic was now gold.

“It’s gold,” he laughed. “I live, and it’s all gold. Gods! It’s heavy, Alfred.”

“You should be strong enough soon to bear your fortune,” said Darolex. “And I am awake and asleep.” He sighed. “That I should see the end of fair Gwyndolyn in the World-That-Is… That is hard to bear. But still, I have fulfilled my friendship.”

“What of Mucel? Is he not attacking the city?” said Athelredy. “We must see to the defense.”

“We must, yes,” said Alfred. “But the gate has only once been taken from without, and never the keep. Mucel is not some grand conquering army. We will survive. I am certain of it.”

“What of him?” Athelredy said, nodding to where the body of Edward lay.

“I ought to put his head on a pike and stick it above the gate,” said Alfred. “But he is still family, and desecrating his body will do nothing to heal the hurts he has caused. Mucel will know his cause is for naught soon enough.”

“Assuming he has not taken the gates by some trickery,” said Athelredy.

“Let us see—if we are all fit to stand.”

“I am as fit as ever,” said Athelredy. He stood up, bending under the weight of his armor, and took a breath. His eyes lingered on the still form of Edward. There was an ugly, grey cast to the face as if he were an image that had never held true life.

“Let him lie for now,” said Alfred. “We have more pressing issues than the blood on the floor.”

Victoria watched his face and his eyes as they lingered on where his mother had been, which was now empty space. Lightly, she touched his face, and he turned away.

“Athel, you should lose that heavy armor,” said Victoria. “You’ll torture your steed.”

“This?” Athelredy fingered the gold. He laughed. “My old heart does not trust it to stay, but you are right. Help me out of this coat, at the least, Alfred. If it is stolen, so be it.”

Alfred laughed but did as he was asked. They removed Athelredy’s burned surcoat and the coat of now golden-hued rings and cast them on the ground where Gwyndolyn had been. The jack beneath was soiled and charred, revealing fair skin beneath. Darolex removed his cloak and threw it around Atheredy’s shoulders. The wizard, no longer draped in folds of dark cloth, looked suddenly younger and more robust in his simple shirt and pants, smiling a little as he looked at Athelredy.

They walked briskly from the hall and down the steps of the keep, then out into the deserted inner ward, following Darolex, who had lit an eerie light on the end of his narrow staff. The night was deep, and there were no torches lit, but a pale moon shed its silver light on their feet. They could see their way well enough without the wizard until they reached the castle gate, where their horses waited, still dutiful, swishing their tails in the sea breeze. A line of haggard-looking soldiers sat by the mote, their hands bound by thongs, while a pair of armored knights stood by, sharing a wineskin between them.

“Drinking to my health already, eh?” said Alfred. “But what of Mucel?”

“We hold the gates and he is as impotent in arms as in his bed,” said one of the men, and they laughed. Realizing it was Alfred, he suddenly dropped to a knee and said, “My king.”

“At ease. I am not king yet, sir, and even if I was, I would not hold you to such honor. But be on edge and don’t drink too deeply. Mucel is clever.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Mounting, they rode down the great avenue toward the massive city gate, which was all lit by torches and lamps. Manfred called down from the ramparts as they arrived.

“My lord, Mucel mounts an attack!”

“I will be up in a moment! Edward is dead.”

“I guessed as much.”

After ascending the steps, they found Manfred looking over the parapets at a field of torches. He ducked briefly as an arrow flew up and struck a stone nearby.

“What is our status?” said Alfred.

Manfred bowed and said, “Sir. We underestimated Mucel’s support. He has at least two companies of mercenaries. Some are orcish men and other foreign types.

“If he surrenders, they will scatter.”

“Or cut him up since they won’t get paid.”

“What about bribing them?”

“How? We cannot get across the river without being slain.”

Alfred nodded in thought. Manfred turned away and hugged Victoria, though grumbling quietly but with an underlying anger.

“Where is my father?” said Athelredy.

Manfred gave him a hard look. “He took his men for a sortie while we retreated inside. Where they are, I cannot say. Hopefully, in the woods somewhere, but drawing away their cavalry does little to help us here.”

Athelredy sighed. “I will hold to hope, then.”

“He is a resourceful man. We will see him again, I am sure. But for now, I am more concerned for ourselves than for him. He can run. We must endure. Look and see.”

Manfred went back to the parapet and gestured out at the plain below. On the other side of the river, amidst countless torches, there was preparing something like a siege engine and a battering ram.

“What is that engine?”

“I cannot say,” said Manfred. “It seems to be impervious to fire. We struck with several volleys of burning pitch, but they had no effect.”

“They must be soaking it with river water.”

Darolex chuckled nearby. “Come now, my liege. Is that how little imagination you have after all we have been through? That thing is hardly mundane. No, I think Mucel has more to him than we reckoned.”

Alfred scratched at his face. “Will it work? What are we to do about it?”

“Well, I can try my hand to stop it when it comes, but I don’t rightly know what it is. It has wheels that I can see, but beyond that, all is dim.”

“Perhaps a sacrifice,” said Manfred. “I can send for a cleric at the temple.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” said Alfred. “But the gods work along with our hands, so we must prepare. Can we get the bridge up?”

“I’m afraid all the cranks were damaged in the attack, but we have the iron doors and portcullis, and they are holding fast.”

“I cannot think of doing more than you are already. Make sure the bowmen have plenty of arrows and bolts, and save the pitch for when they bring that thing to bear. We at least have one wizard with us.”

“Ah, but will I be much use?” said Darolex. He was leaning against one parapet, gazing at the milling battlefield, which looked like a bed of hot coals under the moon.

Time dragged, and the machine grew. Men were piling on pieces, and it grew tall as a tower. It was covered over with something that had a bestial look, like great pieces of hide, and in the dim light, some trick of the moon made the whole edifice look like a yawning skull. When it had grown as tall as the gatehouse, the enemy began to mill and become noisome. A cry went up, and a rider came forward, bearing a flag and holding forth an empty hand.

“Hail!” came his voice, loud and clear.

Alfred stepped forward. “Who comes against the crown of Latheria, bearing arms of war?”

“Lord Mucel demands you release King Edward from siege and come down. If you do not, you will all be killed.”

“Now would be the perfect time to pitch his head over the river,” said Victoria.

Alfred called down, “Edward, the usurper, is dead. Lord Mucel is to surrender, and after that, we will discuss an amnesty for those bound to him by oaths of loyalty or led astray by wyrmwords.”

“You have chosen.” The rider turned away and rode back toward the crowd. The men chanted something unrecognizable, and the siege engine began to move forward.

“The fool doesn’t give up, eh?” said Athelredy.

“He has no reason to believe us,” said Manfred. “You ought to have brought his head.”

“We cannot worry about that now. He does not intend to starve us out.”

The siege engine moved closer, flanked by infantrymen with shields above their heads and in front of them, and the whole thing looked like a gigantic turtle with its head raised, slowly advancing. Flames leapt up from the engine. Arrows flew, and they had to duck behind the parapets.

“Can we destroy the drawbridge?” said Alfred. “Drop the pitch onto the bridge as they come near. Do not worry about pulling it up.”

“Ah, I can assist with that,” said Darolex. “Let me run downstairs, and I will work a bit of magic on our supplies.” He did not wait for confirmation but dashed off and disappeared down into the dark.”

“It will be sword work up here,” said Alfred. “Victoria, obey me in this command. Get below and stay out of the way.”

Victoria did not argue. She touched his face once and ran down the same steps as Darolex.

Alfred drew his sword. “I do not think this will be our end. It is the last gasp of a dying beast. All the same, stay guarded.”

The siege engine came on. The bridge began to creak. Pots of liquid flame came flying from the windows of the gatehouse, not at the engine but at the bridge below it. They burst and fire overflowed, falling into the river finger where the flames continued to flicker as the slow current moved them away to their left. The men on either side of the engine lost their mettle. Some fled, and a few jumped into the river, desperate to quench the fire that had leapt up their trousers, but the water did not help. They thrashed about, screaming.

And yet the engine came forward. They saw now that it was not pushed or pulled by beast or man but moved of its will—or by a will beyond the World-That-Is that caused its enchanted wheels to turn.

Another yell went up from Mucel’s army. At first, it sounded like the fury of impending victory, but it soon changed its form and became a cry of despair.

Alfred leaned his head out and saw, far across the field, another battle. There was another small army forming ranks of infantrymen and a cadre of cavalrymen running up and down, attacking the disarrayed army of the Tower of Dusk with spears and crossbows.

“It is your father, Athel,” said Alfred. “He has returned and with men to spare!”

“Aha! Perhaps we were lucky, so few showed up. They were just taking their time. Now we have them.”

“Only if we can press the attack, and we won’t do it with this engine here.”

Just as Alfred said this, there came a boisterous crash. They watched as the siege engine, covered in metal and hide, dropped like a stone as the drawbridge came apart under the stress of the ever-burning fire and the weight of the tower. Voices all along the battlement cheered. A plume of water went up, followed by white steam, and Mucel’s men began to wail.

“Quickly!” said Alfred. “A volley! And Athel, come with me below. If we have a few long planks, we can make a hasty bridge over the river and rescue your father.”

“I don’t think he will need rescuing, but let’s do it.”

They ran down the stairs as the archers and crossbowmen wildly fired across the river finger. In the dark, they saw Darolex and Victoria near a window, cheering.

“Wizard, we need more of your work if you can stand it,” said Alfred. “Athel’s father has joined the fray, and we must relieve him if we can. Planks! Any fresh hands, find the longest lumber you can.”

“Aye, there are beams below to shore up the door,” said a soldier. “But will they span the river?”

“We will do what we can.”

The portcullis was raised, and the doors swung open with some effort as debris had been piled up on them and inside. The men worked quickly, placing long beams of pine first over to the wreckage of the siege engine, which still smoked as the river water swelled against it as if it were a dike. A few daring men ran across to the wreck with more boards, and soon, a very narrow and tenuous bridge spanned the water.

“Every armed man with me!” said Alfred. He was the first to race across the new bridge, followed by the men already on the hulk, and the sight was so inspiring that the gatehouse began to empty. Archers and infantrymen ran across, along with unhorsed knights (for the narrow bridge could not be traversed by the beasts).

There was hardly a skirmish to be found, however. The front of the army fell into a rout immediately, having already despaired of the siege engine’s collapse, and they ran full speed into the reinforcements who were themselves running from the army on the shore. Alfred and Athelredy did their best to order their own men, but in the chaos, there was little hope for it, and it was not needed. Mucel’s men threw down their arms and sued for mercy, ran full speed into the woods, or jumped screaming into the river. Some got caught in the marshes and gave up. There was a greater problem collecting prisoners than winning a battle.

Mucel, himself a gangly man of weak posture and sallow skin, was caught when his horse threw him while he tried to ford a marshy section of the delta. By the time Alfred and Athelredy met Rodrick in the center of the folding army, he was already tied up and on the back of Rodrick’s horse.

“My son!” cried Rodrick, striding forward and pulling Athelredy into a hug. “But what has happened to you?”

“I’m no worse for the wear, and tales will wait till later. Where did you find this army?”

“They were slow in coming. After I harassed Mucel’s line, I thought we might run and hide. He cut off our retreat to the gate, but on the road, we met a few advanced riders. Word of your return has spread further and faster than I had expected or even intended. But the swords were welcome. Well, every man is happy to join a battle when it is already won.”

“Is that what you told them?”

“I was right, was I not? Edward is overthrown?”

“Alfred has slain him.”

Seeing Alfred, Rodrick kneeled. “My king!”

“Be at ease. What is left?”

“Just mopping up, I suppose. What of Lord Mucel?” He gestured to the man lying across the back of his horse.

“A cell, for now, I suppose. We will let the gentry judge him.”

“You don’t want to hang him now?”

“That is not tradition. Besides, it will be good for the councils of our noblemen to take part in the affairs of state if we are to move forward. He will be judged by his peers, not just the king.”

“Wise.”

Alfred signed and squatted down.

“Tired, my lord?”

Alfred nodded. “Yes. I should like a long rest when we are done. Bread sustains, but I am still a man, after all.”

Rodrick gave him a curious look. “As you say, my lord. I am tired, too, but leave it to me and Athel. Say, where is your armor? I am not so poor I could not buy you a coat of rings, am I?”

Athel laughed. “It’s back home. I was wearing armor pilfered from Lord Manfred’s house.” He looked down. “I suppose I shall have to return it.”

“Why don’t you ask him to gift it to you?” said Alfred. “I am sure he will be grateful.”

Athelredy smirked. “Maybe he will, but I suppose I must tell him about it.”

“I don’t follow,” said Rodrick.

“In due time,” said Alfred. “For now, let us have some water and a pinch of wine. I dare say it will taste better than my grandfather’s.”

*

The dawn came, clear and cool, with a breeze from the sea that drove away all the mists. Coming over the mountains, the sunbeams went from grey and purple to sudden glory of white, and the field outside the capital was green despite the toil and blood spilled there.

Albert, unblinking as he faced east, the cool wind drying the grime and sweat on his neck, breathed deeply. Victoria found him on a hill, standing by his father’s banner while Athelredy lay on the earth, laughing.

“I am whole,” he said as she approached, meeting his eyes, which were changed in the shifting light to an impossible hue of aquamarine. He took his right glove off and extended his hand, and she took it. Even though the grit of battle was upon him, she kissed him.

“And I. I had no doubt of it.”

“Only because we have passed on to the other side.”

Victoria laughed. “Yes, but I must keep up appearances.”

“You need not; the beauty of dawn is greater than dusk.”

“It is not,” she said and kissed him again. “We are mirrors of a sort.”

Alfred’s face grew serious. “That is something I have read. By Verbus, perhaps.”

“The writings of a god?”

“Of him, there are some. You can ask… Well, you would be the first I would ask, anyway. It is familiar.”

“Perhaps because you wrote it. Or will.”

Alfred sighed. “You are well-named, my beloved. But with victory comes toil. There is much to be done.”

“And you will command it all, now.”

“Indeed. What shall I do for my parents? There is nothing to bury, whatever tradition they might like.”

Victoria thought for a moment, twisting her fingers in his large hand. “She is of the elder folk. Build her a tomb as a monument. It can stand empty.”

“I will make it so, then. But like you, no image can do her justice.”

“It need not for the purpose of remembrance.”

“You both talk so nicely, but some of us are trying to catch a wink,” said Athelredy from where he lay, his helmet over his eyes.

“You know,” said Victoria. “You have earned a good deal of respect from my father, no doubt.”

“That’s nice, I suppose. But what shall I do with respect?”

Victoria laughed. “You really are dense.”

“It keeps me alive.”

The hulk of a siege engine was pulled, piece by piece, from the river finger that surrounded the outer walls, and nobody, not even Darolex with his long-drawn wisdom, could make sense of it. Wheels and axles of shining steel were merged with materials of alien, perhaps magical design. The people of the hamlets, who were quick to scavenge most things of that sort, refused to touch it, and in the end, it had to be buried a hundred yards from the river in the field where criminals were usually placed to rest or where their ashes were plowed into the earth.

Alfred assembled a tribunal, made up of Rodrick, Manfred, and Jory, the steward, to quickly judge the rebels. Most were relieved of their arms and released to go home, having taken an oath to never raise arms again against the king and to live under the yoke of the new lord of the Tower of Dusk, whomever that should be. A few landed knights were stripped of title but otherwise allowed their liberty. Only Mucel and his closest compatriots, including a mage in his employ, were condemned and thrown into the prison of the castle to await punishment.

Days later, when the hurts of Edward’s reign were being addressed, first in the city and then in the surrounding country, the issue with the empty fiefs came up. The tribunal discussed this with Albert and Victoria while they dined out-of-doors, for the inner ward of the castle still reeked of death and the golden fire of the terrible dragon.

“It will be easy enough to sell these lands to esquires and second-sons,” said Manfred. “But there remains the Tower of Dusk. That has been an important fortress against incursions from the lowlands and the practical seat for the northern territory. It cannot fall to Mucel’s relatives, whatever the law might say.”

Albert nodded. “Well, I have one loyal man who might take it on.” He smiled at Rodrick.

“My lord, I have done so little for you.”

“You have done more than you realize.”

“Give it to Athelredy, then. Who is better to guard your flank than he who has proved more loyal than all? Besides, my own fief provides for me well enough.”

“I know it does not, but I will add to it. Manfred?”

“Yes, my lord?” said Manfred.

“I have a letter for your daughter. Will you see it to her?”

“I will send it with the next messenger. May I ask what it says?”

“You may not, but trust me when I say the privacy will not last long, and you will always have the judgment of a father. Which reminds me. I have not requested your daughter’s hand.”

“I assumed it was a foregone conclusion. You are king—or will be, and so your word and will rule. Besides, she would not listen to me if I forbade it. Both of my daughters are rebellious and prefer to elope than to submit to their father.”

“Even so.”

Manfred looked at Victoria. “You have my permission and blessing, of course. I need consult no oracle to agree.”

“Excellent.” Alfred sighed. “Another thing to plan, then.”

“Her mother will make the arrangements, I am sure.”

*

It was during twilight on a late spring day that Alfred and Victoria wed. The temple was covered in creeping vines, all in blooms of purple that matched the sky fading in the east where a fingernail of a new moon stood white, while the flames of the torches and sacrificial pyre blended to the orange sky in the west, and the clouds above, twisting with the ocean wind, mingled the lights over a crisp blue backdrop and single, shining star that was new appeared, delighting and confounding Darolex.

Athelredy, that same day, placed the crown on Alfred’s head with the high priest. He found, with a mixture of delight and despair, that at the feast, Victoria’s sister Charity was seated beside himself.

Alfred was in a mind of high dreaming pleasure, tasting the wine given to him by his wife, so he scarcely attended the conversation he had conspired near to him. Charity, as he guessed, was of a new mind regarding Athelredy and fawned over him, but his friend did not know how to react.

The night deepened, and a bard with a silver-strung harp sang a new lay for them, recounting with some exaggeration their adventures on the road and in the Twilight Realm, as well as the daring battle of Athelredy and the Wyrm of Gold and Darkness. During this bit, Athelredy leaned to the king and said quietly, “I wonder if anyone believes all this.”

“I think the ones who matter believe it.” He cast a glance at Charity.

“Has she changed her mind about me?” Athelredy huffed softly. “Now that I have a title and a golden coat of armor, she’ll love me. But what of loyalty?”

Alfred shrugged. “Such questions I cannot answer unless you want to take her on your own adventure to some hidden realm of danger and death.”

Athelredy’s eyes glassed, and he was lost in thought for a moment. “It was another life and another me.”

“If you are wondering why I hated you so, it was for my sister’s sake,” said Victoria. “She fell madly in love with you and found you to be a liar. I hate lies.”

“I…Well, I didn’t tell the whole truth, I admit.” He downed his wine and said, “I can tell I will not get good judgment from you two.”

“You speak so to the king and queen?”

“To my friends, aye,” said Athelredy. He bowed and stepped back to where Charity was, enraptured by the music, though her eyes were on Athelredy.

“They will have a long and industrious marriage,” said Victoria. She smiled and said, “Thus I prophesy.”

“Interesting choice of words. Industrious?”

“Don’t you know that the marriages with the strongest battles are also the most productive? In issue, I mean.”

“Then how shall I make war with you?”

Victoria laughed. “I take it back!”

“You can’t. I won’t allow it!”

Forgetting the bard and the audience, they kissed again and were glad.

*

A tomb was made for Gwyndolyn and Peppin, though there were no bodies to lay within it. It stood facing the west, where the sea beat its never-ending song on the black rocks of Latheria’s wandering coast. Effigies were made upon the doors of the old king and queen, and sitting atop the marble structure was a statue of Vestilia, robed in the style of the ancients, holding a bread basket and looking west to the water. Vines grew there and were green, and behind it, the priests let grow waving fields of wheat that were never harvested except a little at a time to make bread for some holy occasion.

Lovers would come there and pray for blessings and make fires and sacrifices of simple things like oil and cereal.

As time wore on, and many things changed, but the monument remained, white and unchanging, an island in a sea of time, standing in remembrance of an age too quickly gone in the mortal lands, just as twilight lingers for a brief moment in all its beauty, its singular stars and planets blazing through hues of dark blue, and then is lost to night.