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Ralathor, please!” The wind howled around Prince Angus' like an angry beast, threatening to sweep him off the cliff like it did his voice. He had no doubt Ralathor could hear him anyway. Clutching the hammer tightly, he took another step, and another, the magic of his ancestral weapon shielding him from some of the power unleashed upon his already ravaged homeland.
“Ralathor!”
Angus regretted not listening to him, not listening to the way he had argued, so entirely different from his usual controlled self. Perhaps he could have saved him.
Ralathor, or what used to be him, was untouched by the gale. He hovered a few feet above the barren plain, bathed in blue light. It illuminated the elaborate robe adorned with raven feathers and crystals, silvery steel plating glinting on his slim shoulders. The wind whipped up dust into an impenetrable wall, scattering what had been left of Auchtermuchty after the brutal assault. Angus had grown up with tales of the Unicorn Invasion of Dundee, but he'd never quite believed it. Until now.
“You don't have to do this!” Angus called out, the wind spitting his words back into his face. “Ralathor! I know you're not evil! Destiny doesn't want this for you!”
For only a moment, the wind abated, giving him the chance to close in further. The blinding light dimmed, finally affording Angus a look at his friend's face.
He was smiling.
“This was always the trouble with you princelings,” he said. “Always so preoccupied with destiny .” Though his words were soft, like speaking to a child, the hatred in his voice made Angus stop in his tracks.
“Blinded by your own ego, the thought of your noble bloodline .” He laughed, rough and mocking and terrifying. “Your bloodline is responsible for the destruction of entire dimensions. You've been nothing but trouble from the second Dundax set foot across the Tay.”
“But- but that's why I'm here! I- We can fix this! Ralathor, you've always been a force for good-”
Angus barely knew what he was talking about, he didn't understand how they had ended up here, not really. They'd defeated Zargothrax, they'd started to rebuild . He'd assumed Ralathor would take a little vacation, take a breather after all the responsibility of commanding the rebels fell from his shoulders. Instead he had returned to destroy what little Angus had managed to salvage.
“Ralathor-” Angus repeated.
Ralathor waved him off. He floated a bit closer, all bright light and opulent robes. “A line of royal idiots obsessed with whatever they're sold as destiny was useful, so I got careless. My mistake. All your line ever achieved was self-aggrandizement at the expense of others. It's time to end the charade.”
“I suppose it is so,” Angus replied. He wished Ralathor had worn a hood, so he could have at least pretended this was some spectre of Zargothrax’ making, not someone he had once called a friend. The hammer weighed heavy in his hand, symbol of who he was meant to be. Its noble purpose didn't make it easier to wield.
Ralathor was barely fifty yards away, hovering just off the dry earth. They were trapped in the eye of the storm, a hero and a lost friend. Thunder boomed overhead as Angus began to run.
“You could have been- my advisor. A prince, even, it's not unheard of. You didn't have to be jealous !”
For just one second, Ralathor seemed frozen, surprise written all over his face. Angus’ feet left the earth, catapulting him upwards with his hammer arching towards the wizard, the Hootsman’s axe speeding towards him from the opposite side.
“Farewell, Angus,” Ralathor said, and the world vanished in bright light.