An enigmatic cult arises in the eastern lands, from the vast steppes of the U’skar to the border realms of the Carth Dominion. A sister religion to the Golden Sun Cult, according to the obscured rumors of distant realms, that worships Kharothir, the God of the Primordial Hunt. A deity of wilderness and freedom unbidden, promising a way of life unshackled from the domination of others.
The mortal souls devoted to the White Sapphire Sun have long dwelled in the bleak, unforgiving lands of Khios. Having survived their entire lives walking hand in hand with perilous death, newfound prophecies lead them out of the frozen wastes.
The tales born from such harrowing journeys are often filled with tragedy and sorrow. Yet there are many such stories shared around the hearth, every one containing glimpses of heroism, kinship, and intimacy.
Fragments of memory forever linked with the stories of those that have endured a fleeting existence for the promise of another life. Seeking the whispers of a quiet place beyond the veil, where the forest thrives eternal and the winter sun shines like whitest sapphire…
Just before the moment of impact, Vahe tipped the spear in his hand low. He lanced the weapon through a White-and-Vermilion Wolf’s lamellar cuirass, breaking the iron scales apart in a shower of blood and sparks. Six companions from the Anahir Immortals charged alongside him, laying into the steppe warriors with bludgeoning steel and elegant blades.
A pair of his comrades were unseated by well-placed strikes from point-blank arrows. Another missile slammed against Vahe’s flank, knocking him hard to one side of his saddle. The foe struck clean through by his spearhead toppled from his mount without a sound.
He kicked out with a vicious boot into a passing raider’s wooden buckler, forcing its wielder to keep the defensive weapon lifted instead of attacking. An Anahir Immortal rode hard along the raider’s opposite flank, parrying the White-and-Vermilion Wolf’s steel with one stroke, cleaving open the warrior’s throat on the counter-swing that left him on the ground, bleeding.
An elegant glaive cleaved a glimmering arc through the midnight air, severing an Immortal’s head from his shoulders in one fell swoop.
Vahe wheeled his mount around after breaking free from the melee, reformed a line with a pair of his comrades that had done the same, and charged again.
He cast the spear in his hand through a steppe raider’s chest and then drew the sword sheathed at his waist. Blade lifted overhead, Vahe cleaved diagonally, cutting the raider clean from shoulder-blade to ribcage, in addition to the spear haft embedded in the White-and-Vermilion Wolf’s chest.
His mount did not break stride as the mortally wounded warrior toppled backward from his mount into the snow.
The chaotic melee ended swiftly afterward as his remaining companions surrounded their quarry and struck them down, one after the other. Silence returned to the winter forests of Calathai as the last of the wounded were granted merciful deathblows.
“Wait here, my brethren,” Vahe commanded, “tend to your wounds and seek out any of our wounded.”
Affirmed grunts echoed out around him into the still night, though the four remaining Anahir Immortals looked miserable. Vahe could hardly blame them, they had survived a major engagement and several skirmishes through the afternoon into the midnight hour. Each carried a plethora of recent scars and weeping wounds, but appeared determined to keep upright and stand tall, even with their grim countenances.
Looking away from the remaining Anahir Immortals, Vahe turned his gaze farther west, finding a lone woman resting against a great war stallion. He spurred his mount into a gentle trot toward the mysterious hunter of the ethereal woods.
“Yumera’s lantern guide your way, stranger.” Vahe called out with the most jovial voice he could muster, filling his aching, winded lungs with winter air. “The Mother of Portent certainly keeps an eye on you, for a hunter at this hour of night to stumble across Old Myrian Knights in her hour of need.”
He paused upon straying nearer, reigning his hesitant mount to a halt. His horse seemed intimidated by the greater female standing guard over her huntress master.