the call
CHAPTER I
All things take time, whether god, demigod or otherwise. And so those who gather at the foot of the Cordillera do so in fits and starts over the course of a day. These are people you know, people who lead and fight and act in the image of their deities.
It's by luck more than design (says I, the writer) that those who answer on behalf of the New Gods do not clash with those who approach on behalf of the Old; they pass like ships in the night, swallowed up into the churning mountains.
It is to these warriors of old that we will go to first - respect your elders, and all that.
They arrive on wings and on foot, through realms of spirit and reality, until the Cordillera bears down upon them, wreathed in smoke and lightning.
We have the Sword and the Sentinel, one a Warden of Halo and the other a demigod of Vi, both battle-hardened men whose resolve and determination needs no introduction.
We have the Huntsman and the Lullaby, demigods of Safrin and Ludo respectively, bound by love to one another and by duty to their heralds to see this through.
And we have the daughter of Mort herself, emerging from the world of ghosts and spirits, and the Nightshade of Torchline, beloved by the gods and commited to the cause.
These valiant six are the first to cross into the mountain range - but they are not the only ones. And they aren't the fastest, either.
For with the passage of time, day naturally turns to night, and those who speak for the Voice are more agile beneath the moon. The Wraith arrives in the blink of an eye, a steadfast warrior for her mother goddess. With her comes the Lone Ranger, similarly blessed and armed (literally, you'll see) to the teeth to fight.
Alongside them comes the youngest of the Voice's demigods, hand in hand with the Remedy of the Hollowed Grounds; healers both, someone must provide aid in this snarl of chaos and war.
We will spare you the race through the Cordillera in too much detail, for the main event will not begin until we reach the summit. Suffice to say that the wonders of the region are wasted on these soldiers of fortune; no fields of sleeping wildflowers or weightless waterfalls can soothe them, no drifting beacons can guide them with any certainty. Gifted as they are with a stamina that goes beyond the mere human, neither group suffers with any physical exhaustion, though the mental and emotional toll speaks for itself. While the world rages outside, within the Cordillera all seems eerily subdued and calm, as if our warriors are caught in the eye of a monstrous storm.
In the end, against all the odds, the Voice's quartet are the first to reach the very peak of the Cordillera. A harsh rain begins to lash down, stinging the skin - though for the Ascended this will feel like little more than a tingling in their sensors. Dark and jagged and rising sharply into the clouds, the air around Caido's seat is thick and still, like a held breath.
And, one by one, six sets of reptilian eyes blink open around the sharp cliffs; six pairs of wings spread wide, crowning the skies with shadows blacker than the night.
The first trial begins.
