"You say it's a warlock!" gasped Darius, his eyes wide with horror. "The most terrifying warlock I've ever seen, I'd say."
It was hard to tell whether the thing was looking at them or not. The hollow sockets of its skull held nothing but a pale, ominous glow, yet its head slowly tilted toward them.
"He's a warlock. I can tell," said Henry with certainty.
"He is?" Darius whispered.
"Or so I think," Henry answered. "I once read some old manuscripts—tales from the Age of the Gods. They spoke of the first warlocks, beings granted magic as a favor from the gods, who grew into such powerful beings that the gods themselves were forced to bind them away in divine prisons, so they would never again walk the world to corrupt it. But I never imagined the Circles could be those prisons."
"So we stumbled upon a prisoner during our prison break," Darius said, forcing out a weak grin. "That might've sounded like a good thing… if it were just an ordinary human, not another myth of the gods who would definitely never let us leave!"
"Let's hope it has no divine magic," Henry said, his face turning pale. "Or—"
"Lies!"
The word ripped out of the ancient being like something torn through stone.
The boneyard shuddered. Bones clicked and rolled across the ground in uneven bursts, as if the earth itself had briefly lost its balance.
A ripple of pressure swept through the air—visible in the way dust lifted, stalled, then dropped again.
"Lies!" it roared again. "That is the lie they left behind. The lie carved into your histories and buried in your beliefs!"
Henry froze.
The ancient warlock stepped forward, chains hung from its body, black with age and etched with fading runes. Torn robes drifted around its skeletal frame like funeral banners. Beneath them, there was no flesh, no blood, no life—only darkness, and the cold red fire burning inside its bones.
"They called us warlocks," he said, his voice lower now, though no less terrible. "They called us many things now that I remember — monsters, traitors, abominations. But we were none of those things. Before all those monickers, we were known as the Archmages!"
His burning gaze fixed upon them as the title rolled across the boneyard like the echo of some forgotten crown.
"We were never mortals, and we were never gods either," He continued. "We were something between—born when the gods chose to bind themselves to lesser beings out of desire. We were demigods… the first children of the divine path to walk among mankind."
He took another step, crushing a skull beneath his feet.
"The gods feared us from the beginning. They feared that we would look upon the suffering of mortals and choose them over their thrones. So they raised us as their weapons; they made us their warriors and generals, and let's marched beneath their banners in the wars against their enemies. We bled for them against the Ancient Ones. We hunted the monsters that crawled from the Great Circles and cast them back into the dark."
His voice darkened.
"And when those wars were won, the gods expected us to stand beside them and watch mankind kneel forever."
The glow within its eye sockets brightened.
"But we had walked among mortals. We had seen their cities burn for the pride of the gods. We had seen kings broken, children buried, and entire nations offered upon altars in the name of divine order."
He spread his arms proudly, chains clinging as they shifted.
"So we rebelled."
The very word seemed to shake the clouds above.
"We descended from the realms of the gods and brought magic to mankind. We taught mortals to wield fire and lightning, to break mountains and command the sea. We forged the first staffs, spoke the first language, and raised the first mage-kings. We gave humanity the power to stand for themselves."
Henry could barely breathe, the words sinking into him, heavy and unwelcome.
"You..." he whispered. "You started a rebellion — against the gods!."
He turned his gaze direct onto him.
"I led the Archmages and mortals into the war," he answered. "For three hundred years, the world burned. Mortals and demi-gods stood together, and for the first time, the gods knew fear. We shattered their temples. We slew their champions. We tore down the gates of their realms."
His voice became softer then, but somehow, that made it worse.
"But we lost in the end."
The chains around its body rattled.
"One by one, my brothers and sisters fell. Some were slain. Some bowed down, out of cowardice. The rest of us were cast into the Lesser Circles, condemned to remain here until the end of time, while the gods erased our names from the world."
He raised his skull-like head toward the dead sky.
"And now I rejoice that the gods are no more."
The words hung in the air. Henry and Darius exchanged a glance.
"Their thrones are empty," the Archmage continued. "Their kingdoms have turned to dust. Their age gave way to the age of men. And yet I wonder… why the Ancient Ones never rose to reclaim what was rightfully theirs."
Slowly, impossibly, the skull seemed to smile.
"And I am free!"
The chains binding his arms cracked. One by one, they shattered and fell into the bones below.
"I am Vagla, son of the forgotten gods, one of the Archmages, the first of my kind," the ground trembled beneath his feet, "and I claim the right to rule the new golden age of men!"
His burning gaze locked onto Henry and Darius.
"You have freed me," he said. "Beings like you should not stand apart from me. Join me, and I will make you more than mortal. I will make you heirs to everything the gods stole from us."
His eye sockets flared even brighter.
"Together, we will raise a new age… the age of new gods."