Ezekiel, a red-skinned half-demon, having been crowned King of Gorova one year previous, sat coolly on his elegant throne, awaiting a response from the messenger kneeling before him. He tapped his fingers on the large armrest and blew the hair out of his eyes as the genuflecting man caught his breath. The human was scrawny, with emerald eyes full of fear and perturbation. His knees wobbled as he stood to deliver his report.

“Your Majesty, my name is Gerald Lin of Caratyn to the north. I come bearing regretful news. We’ve been attacked—”

“By whom?” Ezekiel interrupted, suddenly sitting straight up on the throne.

“I- I- Sir, we aren’t—”

“Spit it out, Lin. If you’ve been attacked by Darshuk or Serevus every second is precious,” Ezekiel was restless now, stepping away from the throne to meet Gerald’s eye.

“N- Neither, Your Majesty.”

“Impossible. We would have been notified earlier if Elvendraugh or Axylstrait moved troops. How could this happen? Were your ports attacked? Are we on the verge of a world war?”

“Your Majesty, the infiltrators are not of our world.” Gerald was shaking even more intensely now, as if he were reminiscing about a previous experience.

“Elaborate, kid, quickly! If we are in danger we move now!”

“The Abyss, The Hells, I don’t know—this is just what I’ve been told. They aren’t supposed to be here, Your Majesty. That’s all we know. Terrible demons, monstrosities, I—”

Ezekiel placed a hand on his shoulder, which both stabilized his unhealthy trembling and ended his rant. “You did well, Lin. You stay here in Gorova, it isn’t safe for you to return.”

Gerald nodded, and swallowed visibly.

“Men, we have fortification to do. We’re dealing with something we haven’t dealt with before. Take up your arms and make for the walls.” The royal guardsmen in the room quickly left to warn the others and make their way to their posts.

“Your Majesty, where do I go?” Gerald spoke up, yet still spoke quietly.

“You’re coming with me to spread the word to as many folks as we can.” Ezekiel removed his crown and clasped it at his side. “Call me Ezekiel, the time for pleasantries is over.”

Their world having been breached by the planes of Evil, King Ezekiel and Gerald Lin swiftly left the throne room of Castle Fairspire and made for the town square.

The crowd grew quickly as the King of Gorova himself stood upon a fountain in the middle of Fairspire, the wealthy district of the kingdom. Next to him stood a lean, young adult bearing the colors of Caratyn on his clothing and the colors of terror on his expression. The crowd quickly grew silent as Ezekiel mumbled an incantation to amplify the sound of his voice.

“I, Ezekiel, am hereby declaring a state of emergency—do not panic!” The crowd shifted and voices began ringing out with questions, but it soon became quiet again as Ezekiel did not answer any of them. “Our neighbors to the north have been infiltrated by a force of unknown origin. I am instructing you now to remain within the walls of this kingdom, and, by my honor, I will do everything in my power to keep this unwelcome threat on the other side of them.”

“The Abyss, Ezekiel, The Hells. Tell them, maybe someone knows something,” Gerald muttered to the King.

Ezekiel swiftly dispelled the incantation.

“Ignorance is bliss. They’ll never have to worry if we keep this abomination out of our kingdom. Do you understand me, boy?”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“I’m making a decision,” Ezekiel replied quickly and sternly.

“What about Caratyn?” Lin’s lips quivered slightly.

“That is not my concern at the moment.”

Gerald stood there for a moment, eyeing the King, before he stepped away and into the crowd, quickly being forgotten by those gathered as they returned their attention to Ezekiel.

The half-demon ignored their proliferating questions and watched the messenger dart through the crowd, away toward the port city.

Ezekiel sighed, reluctantly resuming his spell.

“I would ask that you please return to your typical dealings here. We are safe, I assure you,” Ezekiel continued, “thought it would be nice to warn you.”

His final words were lost in a sea of voices as Ezekiel stepped down from the fountain and took to the alleyways to avoid the crowd.

As His Majesty moved effortlessly through the convoluted backstreets of Fairspire, a memory slipped into his mind. He was 11 years old, darting likewise through alleys in Vishapin with his twin brother. They had stolen bread from a local bakery—it was how they survived—and were swiftly making their escape with the food. Ezekiel smiled at his brother as they ran, feeling the wind careen past their scarlet faces, filled with glee.

It was a simpler time then.

The northern gate of Gorova’s walls was shut tightly and heavily guarded when Ezekiel finally reached it. The King climbed to the top of the wall to oversee his soldiers, but was aghast at what he found.

Ezekiel fixed his eyes on the horizon. To the east, smoke rose from the Terran Forest. To the west, the shouts of royal guardsmen rang out as directly to the north, an army of otherworldly monstrosities stormed the walls of their kingdom.

Leading the charge was a dragon-like creature made purely of bones. The devil looked Ezekiel directly in his eyes as it bared its teeth and pressed forward. Behind it, hundreds if not thousands of undead humanoids and demonic creatures of grotesque description rushed the barrier.

Ezekiel’s thoughts flooded his mind and clouded his judgement as he stood, helpless, on the wall.

I’ve doomed my kingdom. I’ve secured the end of my life, their lives. That monstrosity in front of me may very well be the last thing I see. My twin would return to find me dead. I have so much to tell him…

I can’t leave my men to die, but do I die with them? Is this my decision to make? Is there a driving force in this world? Is there fate, destiny? I have so many questions and so little time. I can see my death coming now. It’s slowly getting closer as I hesitate.

The guardsmen around him took to arms, and began firing their crossbows and cannons. One by one, the terrors fell, but it wasn’t enough.

This is the only way I can preserve this kingdom. This is the only way I ensure that I don’t die harboring secrets from the one person about whom I truly care. I can’t stay to perish with my men. This is my decision to make. My fate. My grave mistake.

Ezekiel stepped away from the chaos and climbed down from the wall. As he made his way back to Castle Fairspire, he was distressed to find that the eastern wall had been compromised. Horrible monsters stormed the kingdom; civilians fell in large numbers. As Ezekiel ran through the alleyways, every bit the child he once was, a single body caught his eye.

The hair was a light auburn, short and thin. The man was falling—Ezekiel only saw him for a split second. His face was as pale as one could be, the eyes closed, but Ezekiel could imagine their color. The mouth was agape; there was blood trickling out of the corner. He wore the colors of Caratyn on his clothing, and the colors of terror on his face. Ezekiel could imagine his emerald eyes.

This was his punishment. Ezekiel made the wrong decision and he paid for it. He may have survived after leaving the wall, but he was forced to bear witness to the end of a short life. He was forced to watch someone he disrespected meet an untimely end.

He disrespected them all. They all met untimely ends.

Then, as if more time had passed than Ezekiel originally perceived, the bone devil stood atop Castle Fairspire and drenched it in flames.

This is my atonement. It was my decision to make. My fate. My grave mistake.