Haul woke in a place void of time and light. He looked around, trying to make sense of the emptiness, until a voice pierced the void.

  “You have died, Haul Blackmoor.”

  Haul could not see the source. “Who… and where are you?” he asked.

  The voice boomed with a holy resonance. “My form is too much for a mortal to behold. Just know… I am God.”

  Haul, skeptical but intrigued, replied, “You say I am dead… this cannot stand. I must return—I have a kingdom to rule.”

  God’s voice held a knowing calm. “I know this, Haul Blackmoor. But you must understand, your blood is special. Varnath knew it at the end of his life when he made a pact with the other gods. That pact changed many things—your blood, your favor among the gods. What I am saying is this: the gods can choose a mortal to favor, and we have chosen your bloodline—for generations to come. With this favor, you will endure.”

  Haul frowned, trying to grasp the weight of it. “We are blessed by the gods?”

  “Yes,” God replied. “Which means you will win this war—and all wars to come. You will be the most feared house across all seven islands.”

  Haul had a thousand questions, but he did not know where to begin. “Why us? What makes us so special? We are commoners.”

  “Commoners, yes,” God answered, “but what makes you special is a hereditary trait that surfaces every other generation. This trait makes your blood dangerous merely by being born. If trained, one could slay three hundred trained men single-handedly.”

  Haul’s mind reeled. “How would we know if someone possesses this trait?”

  “It is a birthmark,” God said.

  Haul rubbed his face. “I do not recall having a birthmark.”

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  “And why are you here?” he asked, more urgently.

  God spoke with weight and precision. “The assassin who killed you is not from Korval or Ashvire. He hails from a faraway land called Hill Land Point, in the west. It is a small island, but its people wield power and influence. They know of your blood and understand that if you remain in power, they will fall. You will not only face the houses of Ashvire—you will contend with twenty-seven other great houses. Your only ally is House Velastra.”

  Haul’s mouth fell open. “Twenty-seven other great houses to fight… how can I possibly win such a battle? The odds are… zero to none.”

  God laughed. “Ye of little faith. I shall be there alongside you—not in form, but in spirit. I will bless the men of your army. You will win this war. All I ask is that you have faith, Haul Blackmoor.”

  Haul nodded solemnly. “I will have faith. Just… point the way.”

  God healed Haul as he awoke, still in his chamber. Blood had dried on the floor. He looked outside—the night was dark. Rising to his feet, he walked through the halls and descended to the king’s chambers, where one of his men awaited.

  “Tell the advisors to meet me in the meeting room. It is urgent.”

  The guard bowed and went to fetch them. Moments later, the advisors entered. Haul sat waiting, calm but resolute.

  “King Haul, are you well?” they asked.

  “I am,” Haul replied. “An assassin entered my room and briefly killed me. But… when I died, God appeared and revealed a frightening truth: it is not just the three great houses we face—it is all seven islands.”

  Theodore rose. “Your Grace, I must apologize. I knew there might be an assassin, but I could not warn you without endangering my spies. I pray you forgive this betrayal.”

  Haul smiled. “All is forgiven.”

  Theodore, relieved, continued. “Your Grace, I have also learned of a powerful house from Hill Land Point. The houses there are among the strongest. They have no banner, but they bear a sigil: a cross, with the top forming an eye, from which blood spills at the corners.”

  King Haul leaned forward. “This is important. It tells us how they may strike.”

  Theodore’s voice trembled. “Indeed, they will deploy ships around Enora, with over a hundred thousand troops on foot—and still counting.”

  Haul sat back. “God said we would win… yet I do not see how. Still, I will have faith.”

  “How many ships?” Haul asked.

  “Two hundred, my lord,” Theodore replied.

  Haul nodded slowly. “Thank you for the information. That will be all for now.”

  The advisors bowed and departed. Haul returned to his chambers, gazing out into the night. The crickets sang, owls called, and the darkness seemed heavier than usual. He knew the coming storm would test him in ways faith alone could not prepare him for—but faith, he realized, would be the hardest battle of all.