text: [Themes: fantasy, action, war, fantasy]
  
  You cut your way through to the Imperial commander. Off in the distance, you see Horne masterfully backstabbing fleeing Empire troops. His talent for blending in extends to the battlefield, using the chaotic setting to catch his enemy unaware. The commander stands between two fully-plated knights with kiteshields. The commander's thick mustache covers his top lip, but even then, you can see the tremble underneath.
  
  "Stop!" he shouts. "Lay down your arms and you will be given a merciful death."
  
  The two knights beside him point their spears in your direction for emphasis. You eye them for a moment, then wave your hand. Dark missiles fire from your open palm, bursting through the heavily plated knights. They crumple to the ground with a clash of metal brought on by their armor. Their spears roll harmlessly on the ground away from their limp hands.
  
  "The Emperor will deal with you. It's my honor to die in his service," the Commander says, charging forward.
  
  You wait until he's almost upon you. The commander's sword is arced back, ready to strike the killing blow for his leader. You stand, unmoving, at the threat in front of you, so long that the commander actually believes his blade will strike true. At the last moment, you spin to your right and swipe your sword out in the his path. His charge takes him full force into your sword, separating his upper half from lower.
  
  "Your taste for the theatrical is most amusing," the muffled voice of Horne speaks.
  
  "An enemy with nothing to lose is more dangerous than an overconfident one," you say wiping the blood from your sword.
  
  "I have a hard time believe either pose a danger to you," he answers.
  
  "I have a realistic understanding of my abilities," you answer. "Though I'm not prideful or short-sighted enough to believe I cannot be beaten. No man is untouchable, not me, not the Emperor."
  
  "Speaking of which," Horne says. "The capital is ours for the taking."
  
  "Rally the men. We march forward."
  
  The capital is built in a circular manner. The main keep lies in the center, surrounded by varying sections of the city. Besides the city walls, the residential and merchant portions of the city aren't defendable. The keep is where the true defense lies. Tightly packed buildings, built more vertical than horizontal, fill the city. As the city grew, it looks like the only option was to build up rather than out. There's only so much space within the city walls, even for a city as massive as the capital.
  
  As you enter the city walls, alarm bells ring throughout the city. You don't see many civilians; the shut doors and closed shutters alert you to their location. It seems the news of your arrival traveled quicker than expected, although it's likely the people boarded up as the Empire's main force went to meet Seth.
  
  Several groups of the city's watch attempt to stop you, but they give less of a fight than the Imperial soldiers. There is little resistance up until the keep. The main gate into the fortress is shut, and you can see lines of soldiers standing at the ready within the courtyard. Archers stand overlooking the fortress' walls, firing down on your force as you draw close. You order your men to scatter into nearby streets to avoid being freely fired upon.
  
  Leave them to me.
  
  Lorthander raises his staff into the air and shouts incoherent words. Magic pulses into the air in a ripple, as if a stone dropped into a body of water. The ripples extend from the staff and pulse through the archers. The heavy rain of arrows stop for a moment, and then you hear cries from the keep walls. You see some of the archers lifelessly fall from the top, leaving behind red stains and protruding bone on the ground below. The top of the keep becomes a chaotic mess of infighting. Imperial soldiers fire on their own and take up arms against one another, similarly to your first steps inside the crumbling ruins Lorthander resided in.
  
  No longer exposed to arrow fire, you charge the front gate. Simultaneously, you and Lorthander blast the gate with magic. The mix of shadow bolt and psionic wave shatter the metallic gate. With a screech of metal, the gate implodes, unable to bear its weight in the weakened condition. White and gold armored soldiers stand at the ready, but don't meet your attack. They assume a defensive position, waiting for you to enter.
  
  "Ki--" you begin to command before resisting the voice. You feel it build within you. It wants to be released. It coaxes, wanting to let you rest and take control for awhile. And why shouldn't you? You've fought hard enough up until this point. Why not allow it to finish things?
  
  > fight it off
  No. You've spent your entire life building up a defense against the voice. The mental barriers you've built must remain strong. For the most part, you've kept it under control and surrendering now would make that all for nothing. It would be the easy way out. Instead of relying on your own resolve, on your practice, it would be cowardly to surrender now. You shake your head as a visible commitment to your decision. There's no going back now. You must press on.
  
  A wall of white and gold awaits you. You tear through their ranks like a sieging ram. Your sword cuts through Imperial soldiers, finding vulnerable spots in their armor. Each swing of your blade either sets up or finds the killing blow. Using the power Lorthander honed, you back up the deadly display of swordsmanship with dark magic, illuminating your sword in a shadowy purple flame. The magic eats through the Imperials' armor like flame into dry parchment.
  
  Roaring, you look up to see the Emperor himself riding atop a wyvern. The beast flaps its wings in the air, bearing its fangs in your direction. A golden mask stares at you, as if contemplating the outcome. The Emperor, wearing a mask of gold, commands the wyvern forward, flying over both armies, abandoning his. The wyvern becomes a small dot in the distance, and the defending force, crippled by the sight of their leader fleeing, lay down their arms in surrender.
  
  "Take them prisoner. Enough blood has been spilled this day," you order.
  
  "Are you sure that's wise? In our position, they would put us to the axe," a nearby soldier comments.
  
  Your gaze falls on the man speaking out. He nervously looks around, hoping someone nearby will support his decision.
  
  Calmly, you address him. "That's what separates us from them. There's no honor in execution, in defeating an unarmed prisoner. The day is won. We mustn't stain the glory of our victory with massacre."
  
  Their cheers keep you up. Late into the night, inebriated shouts following unintelligent laughter fill the air. You sit, kneeling, in a room deep in the servant corridor in attempt to find peace and quiet. You don't. The city is alive; fires burn in the streets, illuminating the destructive behavior of the men, your men. Even here, in the corner of the keep, the night breeze carries their drunken cries, partially mixed with smoke from the fires.
  
  A knock at the door appears, distracting you momentarily from the army's celebration. Standing outside is Seth holding two tankards. He offers you one, which you take with gratitude.
  
  "We did it. The Empire is no more. Tomorrow we'll abolish the unified government and allow each territory to rule themselves. It's taken decades, but we finally made it," he says.
  
  "History has changed for the better," you answer. "Any word of the Emperor? Well, I should say, the former Emperor."
  
  "There's been sightings of a wyvern heading towards the Ellehorn Forest. It's as good of a place for someone who doesn't want to be found," Seth replies.
  
  "Can't say I don't blame him," you say, taking a small sip from the tankard. The ale tingles on your tongue, bursting with a sweet, frothy flavor.
  
  "You don't mean that. Sure, they're overindulging a little bit, but this is the greatest day of their lives. Let them celebrate, and not to worry, their penance will be a splitting headache in the morning."
  
  "I couldn't have done it without you, Seth. Your guidance kept me on the path, even when victory felt far away. I have no illusion that your part is equally, if not more, instrumental in the Empire's defeat."
  
  "You'll get no argument from me there," Seth says with a smile.
  
  Suddenly, you know what you must do. You place the tankard on a nearby table and strap your sword on. Your possession are few, and you pack them in a traveling pack. The small lantern illuminating the room is extinguished, leaving you in the night's darkness. Seth's figure stands at the doorway, still. His crimson robe looks ceremonial in the backlight of the hallway's torches.
  
  "My part is over here. Politics don't interest me. I didn't come all this way to rule over my fellow man. I saw evil and had to act. The Empire is no more, and perhaps we can live in a peaceful time. I've witnessed the good of man, along with the darkness that can inhabit one's heart. Ellehorn forest you say? Nature has always been a welcomed ally, which is more than I can say for the city here."
  
  Seth's eyes meet yours. "This is it then."
  
  "It is."
  
  "Let the bards sing of the last mountain monk, survivor of the monastery massacre, and conqueror of the Empire."
  
  You place your hand on Seth's shoulder. "Let them sing what they will. A man's actions are his own, not to be influenced or swayed by others."
  
  > Epilogue: The Wandering Conqueror
  Daylight. The rising sun peers over surrounding hills, sending its golden rays long on the green hilltops. You sit, cross-legged, waiting for the light to appear. Eventually, it rises high enough for the rays to land on your face, sending its warmth throughout your body. Off in the distance, a crow squawks, disturbed by another animal.
  
  Your sword is laid out in front of you. You eye the familiar sheathe, the protector of your most treasured possession. As if still at the monastery, a voice rings in your head. Not the Unbroken voice, the one tainted by darkness, but the voice of the monks.
  
  Form one! You move into action, performing the technique as best as one can do. Still, you identify areas to improve. Each time you flow through the forms, you see certain ways to progress. The work is never finished.
  
  Form two! Strength pours from your limbs. Your muscles are strong, built up from practicing each morning. It doesn't feel stale; it never bores you. The practice flows through you as you flow through the practice. You become one with the forms. They push your body to greater levels, and you gladly welcome the challenge.
  
  Form three! Your breath becomes heavy, labored by the intensity of the practice. Still, you press on, not allowing your physical limitations to hold you back. It's even more of a motivator, not letting your physical form affect the forms. Your jaw clenches as you deepen your breathing to continue on. Each movement is paired with a breath. You time it perfectly, allowing the fresh morning air to fuel your muscles.
  
  You spin, using the momentum of your body to power your heel kick, finishing the movement with a jumping overhead swing. Sweat drips from your forehead, creating a small mud puddle at your feet. Taking a sip from your waterskin, you take another deep breath of morning air. It's cloudy, but you can tell the sun will soon burn through, transitioning the sky into a bright blue. You've not yet reached your destination, but damn if you won't enjoy the journey along the way.