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watch against the perversions of the dark gods since time began. But now it was all gone; the gods, light and dark, his kin and friends. Artiss Gran lived a lonely life and prayed for the time when his services would no longer be required so that he might join all those who went before.
    Yet such simple delights were not to be. The dark forces were rising again. It had been so long since Artiss was forced to defend the world he didn’t know if he was up to it anymore. He was old. Everything about him screamed it. The darkness swirled around him, threatened to creep in and consume his soul. It called to him, beckoned him to action. Fighting the urge wasn’t an option. His sole purpose was to stop the dark gods from returning to claim this world as their own. Three thousand years he had laid dormant, awaiting and dreading the day when he would be needed again. And now it was time.
    He felt older, much older than his ten thousand years implied. His skin was stretched tightly over his thin frame, discolored and leathery. The marrow of his bones had long since dried to dust. His body was a shallow haunting of its former self. The dark grey cloak concealed what had become the ruin of his flesh. The gods didn’t care. They demanded service and he had no choice but to accept. Artiss failed to find fairness in it. Even the gods of light had abandoned Malweir and left the races to their own devices. They left Artiss with just enough to accomplish his purpose
    “All these long years and now there is no time,” Artiss muttered to himself.
    Ancient torches sprang to life as he passed, as if a whisper could command such. He was a man who only thought of others. In fact, the entire scope of his existence was dedicated to the preservation of life. A normal life had been denied him ever since he accepted the task of becoming a priest. His own life came to mean little. The moment he’d been selected for ascension to priesthood had been his happiest, his most complete. He eased his way into the plain marble chamber at the heart of the temple.
    No one had stood here in his lifetime. The chamber of conveyance had one task, to show the keeper of secrets what evil threatened the world. Artiss already knew the answer. His awakening was no accident. The visions of mass despair rippling through his nightmares confirmed his darkest fears. The enemies of life had somehow found a way, a breach, back into the world and were quietly planning a new campaign.
    Artiss moved to the center of the chamber. A series of tightening concentric circles crafted from the precious star silver metal had been inlaid when the world was young. They guided him to his proper place. The circles flared to life at his touch. Soon the chamber glowed bright silver, bathing him in its warmth. Artiss felt the raw power surging over him. His body shuddered as it accepted the newfound strength.
    All of this had happened before. Malweir had almost been torn apart during the last war. Pain and suffering were visited on untold tens of thousands for hundreds of years. That’s when he became the last. The dark gods moved quickly and relentlessly against his kind. All of his brothers were killed in the efforts to send them back to the great abyss. Artiss finally won, but at a cost. He alone must remain to keep the dark gods in check. The dark gods nearly succeeded in escaping three thousand years ago and would have had it not been for a handful of Gaimosian Knights.
    Artiss folded his arms across his chest as the circles of light and power opened paths into the ether. He stayed upon the chosen path, for the unknown is a terrifying thing.  One misstep and he was lost. Fleeting images of fell creatures lurked just beyond reach. An ethereal breeze carried his essence into regions of time and space unknown to mortals. He traveled on the breath of time itself, ever hungering for the answers. The powers propelling him jerked suddenly, forcing Artiss to his knees. A collection of violent