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When Salius finally recovered Wraithverge, I enlisted my fellow historians to follow Paegus for me. I felt that the story of the brothers was not over and that it would be necessary to follow the paths of both. To an extent I was relieved to keep the eyes of my peers away from what came next, for I could barely maintain my objectivity.
Salius was experimenting with the weapon, rather than merely using it. He tested its limits, its efficiencies, all the while documenting his observations. His methodology was so ardent and thorough that I grew to feel a kinship with him. I became fascinated with his work. I anticipated his next findings. I saw in him my younger self when first I categorized the unorganized records of our world. But then I saw the culmination of his research.
It was a bleak day, as many of our days still are, where the air feels even colder because the sun is present. Tall mountains capped with snow towered in the distance. Salius stood within a cemetery where a newly dug grave had been reopened. The corpse, still fresh and looking in the repose of sleep, lay before him. Salius aimed at the body and a group of wraiths burst forth from Wraithverge. They screamed as they flew and hovered around the body. After a brief pause they dove into the man and ripped forth his soul, dragging its flailing form back into the Wraithverge.
Salius continued this process. The more he corrupted the Wraithverge, the more twisted the wraiths became. He was able to grant them a physical form so they would no longer need to return to the weapon. With a small army of these wraiths at his side, he began to attack the cities he had aided only years before. With the fall of the cities, the ranks of the wraiths swelled. I was honor-bound to inform the outside world of this, but my efforts proved ineffectual.
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