The path spred before Kavan, to undo an ancient wrong and cleanse away the primordial evil seething at the heart of Enesfel, at the heart of an Teren-Elyi conflict that had boiled for centuries, meant going back. Going home. Facing the pain he had tried to forget. Facing the adoration the healing of his hands would certainly generate.

Facing Princess Diona again.

He did not feel ready. He did not want to go. But Kórahm had bid it, and Kavan knew there was no thwarting destiny.

Unsure of what awaited him, unsure what the Heretic-Saint’s commission would lead him to, be it victory or death, Kavan accepted the inevitable and began the arduous journey back to Rhidam, back to family and friends, back to himself with Wortham at his side in a desperate race against a deadline he could not foresee.

With that evil dogging him at every turn, the young Lachlan King fighting to find his footing in an adult world he felt ill-prepared for, and Rhidam struggling for its very survival against the taint of the Elyri-hating Corylliens, Kavan could not know if he would arrive in time to do what history demanded of him.

Or if there would be anything left of the world he had known, those he loved the most, if he did.

He had to succeed. He did not believe Rhidam, or the Lachlans, or the Elyri in Enesfel would survive another year if he failed.

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