Devon had pushed forward all night. When he came to the desert, he turned due south, rushing to catch up with the others. Their plan had worked thus far, and now they could only hope that it would be enough. The men who had fought alongside of him had known that they were going to their deaths, but hopefully their sacrifice would not be in vain. Devon had known that his brother’s intention had been to kill him from the battle’s start, but he did not intend to die there. He was truthfully not even sure that he was able to be ended. Nevertheless, he had known that he would have to convince his brother that he had succeeded. More importantly, he had needed to bring him to the point where he would sever himself from the field of their thoughts.Though it had caused Devon more grief than he had ever known before, he knew that if Korah had not been cut off from their minds, there could be no hope for the humans. He still wondered as to whether he had made the right choice.

Basil, Jasper, and the three wives had stood out of sight, just north of where the battle had raged, waiting for Korah to pass by. In their hands, they held the top of the granite hill upon which the Capitol stood. Inside the city walls, every home, storehouse, and workshop was full to bursting with men, women, and children. The people had gathered together their books, as well as the painstakingly worked and honed creations that they had developed over the centuries. They had spent days measuring and carving off the hilltop, and had carefully lifted it and transported it to where they had waited. They were on their way south now, almost to the edge of the land. They had finally left the desert behind them, and were just entering into the jungle peninsula of the South when Devon caught up to them. He knew this place well. It was the land where he had rested with Aeva when the archetypes had all parted ways. They pressed hard through the thick foliage until they came to a clearing. Here, they flattened out the earth beneath, and laid down the Capitol’s peak as a crowning jewel in the middle of the lush rain forest. It was admittedly different from the homeland that they had known, but it would suffice as their home in this time. Aeva, Avellia, and Aurora stayed behind with the Capitol and its inhabitants, securing it properly into the ground, and aiding the people as they poured out from the city and into the surrounding land. Devon, Basil, and Jasper set a course back to the desert’s edge for what they hoped would be their final task in securing safety for the people.

By the time they reached the desert, they had no time to lose. They could tell from the darkening sky to the north that Korah was drawing near. They spaced themselves out across the land and began bringing force down upon the ground. A chasm began to form that filled with water, slowly separating the lush south lands from the desert, and bringing up hills on either side. the divide widened until a great bay had formed. The peninsula had become a large island, and the archetypes knew that Korah would be too fearful cross the abyss that they had put between them — afraid of the deep, and of the abomination that lay beneath. They realized that, in doing this, they were also imprisoning themselves on this island with the people. They were not sure how they would return, but this was the best solution that they had available to them at this point.

Korah arrived just in time to see his brothers vanish over an expanding horizon of water. He was too late. He made a maddened attempt to draw up the land in front of him, but his whole being ached with exhaustion. His hate could not fuel him for any longer. Crystals formed in the ground beneath him from the pressure, but nothing would budge. Could he cross? He stared fearfully into the deep. It called to him. It wanted him to enter.

He stood there at the water’s edge, both fuming with anger and absorbed in the void that his mind had become. Grief overtook him — grief for his lost beloved; grief for the now-present knowledge of himself; grief for his actions, and his apparent fate. A low wail escaped him, and the rocks vibrated, as if in sympathy. He could no longer bring himself to riot as he had been. His fiery hate had dissolved into a quiet agony. He felt powerless. There was nothing else he could do but to return to the only semblance of a home that he had ever had. He turned west, toward the mountains.

Across the new bay, the low moan of Korah’s heart breaking reached the ears of the other three archetypes. The deed was done. The men were saved for now, but somehow, this knowledge did not bring them any peace. They had lost a sister, and now a brother. With heavy hearts, they headed back to their wives. The men and women of the Capitol greeted their return with cheers and applause, but there was no joy in their hearts. a season was taken to mourn their losses.

Mourning could not last forever, however. Before long, both the humans and the archetypes were conspiring of ways to return to the mainland. The men took hold of the sturdy trees of the rain forest, and began fashioning for themselves a fleet of seventy fine ships to carry several thousand of them across the sea. It would be a hard journey, fraught with peril, but a necessary one. The storms of this sea were not light, and the demons that inhabited it were many and fierce. Furthermore, they were not guaranteed safety when they would reach land. Demons, lurkers, and perhaps even Korah himself might be there to oppose them. The archetypes were worried. This was a journey that the people would have to make without them. They knew that, on top of all of these dangers, perhaps the greatest opposition that the men would have would come from within their own ranks. Division, competition, elitism, segregation and partiality seemed to arise so easily from their social nature. It was pride — to the archetypes, an ugly reminder of the way in which they had formed their own creatures. Devon, Basil, and Jasper retreated into the rain forest; leaving Aeva, Avilene, and Aurora with the humans to guide them and help them to work on their fleet.

Deep in the heart of the jungle, the three of them set their minds to the task of writing a book that would serve to guide the men and women once they had gone out on their own. It would have to inform their development and preserve wisdom that would keep them safe until they could all be reunited again; but more than these, it would have to unite them, and keep their own pride from bringing about their downfall. They wrote so carefully, purposefully choosing each word and filling each phrase with meaning. They preserved the history that the archetypes and man had experienced in the past. They issued commands and disclosed realities to guide them in their present. They preserved promises that would give them hope for the future. In time, the three emerged with their completed tome. Another gift, they gave for the good of mankind, enclosed and locked inside a small chest. A strong, esteemed man of middle age, Arcus, was chosen from among the men to know the contents of the chest, and to hold the key.

Years passed, and the fleet stood finished in the water, seventy strong. More sea-worthy vessels had never been created. Each ship would carry one hundred and twenty men, women, and children across the sea, only this time, they would be crossing east of the island instead of returning west. This would hopefully put distance between them and Korah, but who could know? Thousands poured into the ships, with thousands more standing and weeping on the shore. Arcus took the helm of The North-star, the lead vessel, and the most well-equipped of the fleet. It held the tome as well, and the chest of the archetypes. They pushed off with the blessing and well-wishes of all behind them, and the promise from the archetypes that they would come for them in their greatest hour of need. Seventy ships sailed into an ominously calm sea.

…

The ninety-third day of the harvest season. Twelve ships desperately ran aground on a bleach-white shore. The North-star was not among them. The journey had taken 6 days, nearly twice as long as it should have. Storms and demons had claimed fifty-eight ships and nearly seven thousand lives. Men, women, and children spilled out onto the shore, weeping loudly and kissing the white sand. Out from the wreckage emerged another survivor, Arcus, walking with a book under one arm, and a chest under the other. A lawless and unfamiliar world lay before him.