His wings carried him off into the distance, crossing vast chasms of mottled space, glimpses of color and sound rotting through the decrepit void like holes in cheese. Towering mountains rose off of barren worlds, ice glittering falsely under false suns. He spared it all an impartial but curious eye, his winds an impossible expanse as the road the winds of the universe. The scenery did not change much, though whatever vague sense of coherency the new universe abided by (if it actually abided by anything at all) seemed to forget itself as he moved onward. Nothing about the world outside of the world made sense, but it was making even less sense than usual. At first the stars were interspersed among the darkness, crowded among pools, sparkling in cascades of nebulas. But eventually even they too fell away to emptiness, until the only sounds came from his wings behind him, their beat echoing forlornly in the Nothing.

Still, this did not deter Logos, even as he wandered through reality itself, and sound, color, matter and energy all coalesced together. Whatever space he had found himself in did not have any logic or reason to spare, and at some point Logos found himself no longer caring to try and look for it.

Logos did, however, pause chance a glance backwards, wondering what he would see. A Road? Galbar? The Empty Expanse with Fate floating in the far distance?

He saw nothing.

Not discouraged, Logos turned back forward and continued to fly.

He could hear his own heartbeat now, as worlds crashed around him and reality collapsed upon itself in a silent, catastrophic implosion. He could see a bit of everything, in it all. Geometric planes of light and matter crossing as existential, static lines and right angles; energy, paused in this moment.

He was nearing the End.

'The End of What?' he found himself questioning. This caught him by surprise; he was never one to question anything.

The end of meaning. Or rather, the end of everything worth meaning.

Shards of reality continued to pass him by, locked in some sort of endless state of entropy. The universe was ending, it seemed. It was always in a state of dying, so that was nothing new. It crashed soundlessly around him, and he thought he might have seen something familiar in the reflections scattered about, but he found he could not remember anything anymore.

But there were things wandering around here that could remind his memory of things worth remembering. Logos reached out a hand, ripping a hole into reality and peering into the next one. There was a little boy surrounded by floating books. He looked away and looked at all the lines floating about, some wide enough to see things through, others barely enough to see at all. He found himself curious enough to peer through quite a few. Sometimes it was only his reflection he saw; sometimes he saw a little girl with blonde, the eyes of Fate, and a crimson poppy, or a man with cold black eyes.

And then finally, he came to the end.

Logos could feel it, somehow, even though it was not dissimilar to the fading edges of reality he had already been traversing. But there was something cold, out here. Something that reminded him that there were things beyond his realm of comprehension, terrible things; things that had been banished from a reality long ago.

And there was something else there, too, sitting, staring off into the endless nothingness.

Logos found he did not want to stare into the end, but his eyes were drawn to it anyway. It felt like too much for his meager existence to handle, so he finally pulled his eyes away, to the something else; a figure of unknowableness, staring unblinking, directly into the end. He wasn't sure how he could do that—stare so unwaveringly into something beyond comprehension.

"I thought I would find you here," Logos stated, as he sat himself beside Vowzra on this shard of flat dimension.

'And I Saw that you would come, and heard your ever-beating, though ultimately useless, heart-drum. But can it be said that you found me if I willed that we meet? If Fate willed and the Timeline dictated that each of us find here a seat...' the ancient lips of the archaic wooden head moved, but the voice did not emerge from the lips. It echoed all around the wooden body, an infinite number of voices. Each was heard clearly though they spoke over one another, though this one began as that one ended, and this one paused in the middle just as that one ended its pause.

The voids which were his Eyes stared blankly into what the Eternal One had thought to be the end. It was not the end. It was not the beginning. It was simply where they had been Fated to meet. Simply speaking, it was a place that did not exist, could not exist, and would not exist. But it was good that the Eternal One could see and hear the roar of this surf-tormented shore; though all that he could see or seem was but a dream within a dream. He could rip all the holes he wished and stare through them as he pleased, but all that he held within his hands were but as scattered grains of sand which would surely, slowly creep away and be consumed by the endless, unceasing, pitiless waves. The flow would carry them, the unrelenting flow, and the blazing flame would ultimately consume them.

'There are words you are Fated to speak, and there are words that Time dictates I speak. But my words cannot be spoken until yours are uttered; so let it be said, what must be said.'

Logos tilted his head, until the End was partially in his vision. Vague alarm and apprehension caught him in an iron grip, and he found his eyes would not wander any farther. The End lingered in the corners of his vision, and he did not want to look at it. "They made a mistake."

He didn't know what was on the other side, if there was an other side at all, but it seemed so impenetrable that all light and matter and energy just ended at the cut off.

Vowzra stared ahead blankly. He could sense the anxiety of the Eternal One, but there was nothing to fear here. But then again, The Eternal One did not know that.

'No, they did not make a mistake. It is as it must be. There is no mistake - the mistake lies in your heart. That is where the battle must take place, and that is where you must attain victory. Only then will you come to the realisation, only then will you awaken, and only then will you be able to look into this,' a wooden arm moved and a hand gestured towards what lay before them, 'and See.'

Logos made a noise of comprehension, his face emotionless. "Fate is a self-perpetuating lie. A variable with no sum and no possibility," the Lord of Order answered. "For if everything is pre-ordained, then we serve no purpose. If we are not responsible, then the blame for all that is and will be rests on only one."

Vowzra's arm had returned to its position beside him as the Eternal One spoke, and his response came naturally when he knew that the other was done.

'You speak as you do because you do not understand Fate. You cannot See the myriad Timelines and possibilities. You cannot see the infinite choices that have been accounted for, the innumberable paths that may be treaded, and the untold horrors which await down the untold paths. Fate has forged the Timelines, and it is our choices that will dictate which one we walk. For the moment, we have done well. But difficulties will lie ahead of us and ultimately we are responsible for ensuring that we continue down the Greatest Timeline and maintain the Truest Fate - only then can we achieve the Ultimate Order and reach the Dignified Fate. It is we who are ultimately responsible, and we who are ultimately to blame,' there was a long pause, and silence reigned - though the Lord of Time could still hear the crashing waves, and he was certain that the Eternal One would be able to hear it too if only he opened his Eyes.

'The true question is this, however: will you make it your purpose to achieve the Ultimate Order, or will you be contented with causing yourself affliction over the insignificant ebbing and flowing of of the Fated dualities?'

"I know the paths and the variables," Logos remarked. "They are neither infinite nor untold; every equation will have its sum. You may see them, but I made them possible."

Was that the truth then; even in the abstract? In the end, everything was made up of the same laws. Atoms; matter; energy—forms could be as complex and frightening as a blue giant star, or as complex and frightening as a quantum particle, but they could not be extinguished. It was all just reused and reused; except for the moment when nothing became something.

Logos blinked, wings expanding slightly as he forced his gaze to look directly into The End.

The only other exception he could think of was when something became nothing.

Well, he was still there, so he had not yet been turned into nothingness. The two sat in companionable silence, in a place where time and space could not reach them. But Logos did not worry about that for now, absently spreading his wings as he turned his eyes out into the dramatic drop of reality itself. It was a humbling sight to see, and one he would never quite be able to put into words.

"If there was one with whom I would have shared a crown, it would have been with you," the god king admitted. For who else could hear at the very end of Time and Reality itself?

Time was natural, after all—and more importantly, this was not the End. Things did not end when they were destroyed; they returned to the particles of which they were made, to be molded again. Dust and ice and metal came together through the terrifying force of gravity, condensed until they began to burn as one bright, explosive being. And the energy and warmth from that star would breathe life into the barren orbital objects around it. And then eventually, one day, the star would explode, taking all the planets and the life with it; together they would all return to dust and ice and metal, only to be swept back up into stars and life.

"I Am That I Am," Logos whispered softly, and the words shook the very foundation of reality.

But they never really ended. It was a transitive existence that continued into eternity.

"I am Order Incarnate. I have been Order, I am Order, I will be Order. This was a universe born of madness and chaos. It will be corrected. If you believe what you say, then you know what is coming. Will you stop me?"

For the first time in their dialogue, a smile broke out across the wooden face of the Lord of Time.

'So you were. So you are. So must you be,' Vowzra's Voice took form and trailed off into the nothingness that now gaped before them. The waves had disappeared and all sound was gone. His Voice rose up in that nothingness as a dark cloud and both gods witnessed before them the dark visage of an all too familiar being. The darkness leaned in and Vowzra's Voice sounded.
'Thus was it Fated, So Shall it Be.'

With that, the shadowy Voice, which had taken on the shape of the Supreme Being (or had it really?) faded away and was gone, and both gods found themselves hanging in real space. The stars shone all about them and the Eyes of Vowzra saw with piercing clarity the nebulae and galaxies all around...and he Saw The Gap which the Eternal One so despised, and he looked within it and was pleased to see that his additions to the Codex had taken effect.

'You must understand, Eternal One, and there are many Timelines where you do, and there are many where you do not, but you must understand that not all is as you percieve, and not all is as you decree. There are things, even now, which are beyond you. What makes you thing that there is not...so much more...' the god of Time lifted his gaze from The Gap and looked directly at the Eternal One for the first time.

'Even now you believe that I have any desire for your crown. You have yet to See the Ultimate Order, only then will you understand the insignificance of such titles. They are nothing but dreams which we conjure up, and we dream within these dreams and lull ourselves into believing that we have grasped reality. You are asleep; the Sleeper must awaken,' his piercing eyes bored into the Eternal One, 'and so long as the Sleeper remains asleep, it is for those who are awake to ensure that he does not stray. It is not my duty to stop you, you have your Fated duties and you must do as you must. But know that mine shall be the swift and guiding hand when the Sleeper strays, and it shall be the swift and guiding hand when the Sleeper stays.'

With a beat of his wings, he rode the rush of All, drifting alongside Vowzra in their creation as Nothing gave way to Reality once more, expanding and encroaching into the Nonexistence.

His eyes were deep and black, endless and chilling. They felt as if they went on forever, and yet remained as an impenetrable darkness. "Perhaps you are but the Dream, and I the Dreamer, and when I wake up, you shall be gone," Logos dared, matching with his own eyes: white and infinite, absolute and etheral. They promised Forever and yet remained a testmanet to Eternity.

“I am the only absolute in all of creation,” Logos said as he descended lightly to the nebula cloud that churned not far away. “You are but a fragment of my greatest dream, and it is a dream that has become a nightmare.” His eyes burned, two rings of light boring into the wooden face through the darkness. “I cannot lose, Time.”

Vowzra cocked his head and smiled widely, the bark around his Eyes creasing. Perhaps if his Eyes could display emotion, there might have been a tinge of love in them - the love of an elder brother for a stubborn younger one, or the love of a father who watched his child disobey and stray. But he spoke no more, for he knew that no more was Fated to (or could) be said. For even as the Eternal One spoke, he did not question or wonder at what had just happened. Where had 'The End' gone? Where was it? Could he reach it again if he so willed? Vowzra knew that he would not be able to, for it was gone and had never been; a dream within a dream.

He did not mind so much what the Eternal One said, he could not blame him. It did, however, give Vowzra an even greater vision into his brother: he would nearer accept that all around him were dreams or nightmares and his the one truth and knowledge. It was important to have such confidnce in oneself where one aimed to be King.

'Know this Eternal One: you shall not lose. Not one of us shall lose,' and with that, the Lord of Time slipped away into the very Fabric of Creation where none could find him or know of him. There he closed his voids for eyes, but the Eyes of Time were forever open.

The terror of Slough wore off rather quickly. With the marauding goddess gone, as far as the Rottenbone was concerned, all was well in the world. As powerfully as ever, the Deepwood throbbed with life. While Slough rested, fatigued by her unwitting use of godly power, a Deepwood sloth began to sing. Its long, low tones echoed through the trees, filling each branch with a simple but moving tune. A troupe of Slate Apes passed Slough by on their daily journey for fruit, and the youngest of the bunch stopped to watch the deer, fascinated. Slough stared back until the ape’s mother shuffled over to grab it and pull it onto her back, and just like that the troupe was gone. After several minutes, the Rottenbone became aware that a fallen bough only a few feet away from her was in fact a Bushy Arborgator, but the predator paid no attention to the ghoul nearby.

Before too long, Slough started walking. Moving slowly and methodically to ease her pain, she allowed her instincts to guide her –though she had no choice- closer to the center of the forest. Oblivious of what she sought, she loped until she came upon a sunlit patch in the otherwise murky ground. A familiar presence drew her gaze, so she turned her skeletal face toward a lone figure, strange and unearthly in appearance, asleep on the branch of a tree. A few moments passed while she stared before she turned back the way she came. In her wake, however, an azure bluet bloomed, tiny but pretty in the haven of sunlight.

There was no telling how much time passed. To Slough, it might have as well been hours. Nothing interesting happened until a new, weird creature appeared in the Deepwood, one altogether more bizarre than the slimiest Violet Slug or the most vivid Rainbow Silky. Slough paused in her feeding to follow the bulbous, flitting thing with her head. Like a dust mote it ducked and circled, but it appeared to be pink and winged, held up by a process suspiciously like life rather than some errant wind. When it had Slough’s full attention, its array of mouths opened, and in a medium of impulse it communicated to the decaying deer the wishes of the distant All-Beauty. Then it flapped off, and Slough felt it appropriate to honor wishes. Drawn to a point far away, beyond the edges of her vibrant home, she moved at a brisk pace. When she came to the edge of the basin, which by now featured plantlife all its own, she walked into a nearest tree as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and reappeared on a branch hundreds of feet above, a short jump away from the surface. Slough hopped nimbly from the huge branch onto the earth, giving a short cry at the agony of impact, but soon straightened up. Before her stretched an endless and featureless expanse. Grass from the Deepwood had spread out some way, but beyond it and a few scattered trees of thoroughly unremarkable size, nothing interrupted to barren waste.

Then Slough started to run.

Despite her everpresent hurt, she moved with the certain elegance one discerns in a functional natural system, and as she left the grass behind more sprouted beneath her feet. New plants, bulkier, greener, and without leaves, erupted from the soil. The intermediate between tree and cactus, they would colonize the region between the forest Slough left behind and the desert she would encounter on the way to the Fractal Sea. Thorny bushes emerged from the earth, and from between the brambles came new, hardier creatures. Tortoises, scorpions, rabbits, lizards, peccaries, and more dotted the scrubland. The power of life beat mightily in Slough as her own heart, but for now no true might eked from the essence of life she left behind. A rather unsatisfactory scrubland took hold, but in time nature would resurge and create an expansive habitat all its own. Even now, though, unique forms of life took hold. Fleet-footed Manglers raced across the savannah-to-be like blurs, hunting Pearskin Cattle and avoiding gargantuan Brush Beasts, from whom Toun might take notes on the concept of ‘giant’.

As Slough advanced, her influence waned. Less life energy poured from her, and by the time the climate became too hot and arid to sustain the same kind of ecosystem as that she left behind, her power was spent. Nevertheless, the Rottenbone trekked on through the sandy waste, compelled by her own wild volition to seek the Fractal Sea. The desert through which she traveled offered only one thing of interest: a six-armed being of porcelain white. Slough went around it.

Vestec paused a moment to simply watch what all his other siblings were doing. After all, he couldn't have as much fun as he'd like if there was nothing to play with. Slough was wandering around the world, dropping life wherever she went. He had no plans for, nor did he see any fun in, scaring her so he let her be. Her creatures were already chaotic enough without his meddling and there wasn't anything quite worthy of them to be attacking. Jvan had embedded herself in an ocean and was happily creating life, but was apparently helping Zephyrion and Illunabar create things. Speaking of the God of Change, he and Teknall had created a palace. A place of power.

They weren't the only ones who had been creating features on the planet. Teknall had soon added a mountain range to compete with Niciel's, and Vakarion had frozen the edges of the world. There was more life steadily growing on the planet. What's more it was interesting life. Toun was creating these...giants, creatures that were scattered all over the world and seemed to be intent upon protecting life.

Vestec rubbed his hands together with glee, giggling as he thought about all the plans that were coming together. That he was just about to have all kinds of fun with. As he looked up at the Galbar sky, he pondered what he could do to officially start off and let all the other Gods know that he wasn't going to idly watch as they made their orderly creations. The God of Chaos laughed as he looked upon the seven moons of Galbar, knowing exactly what he was going to do. It'd even help make the planet look better.

Vestec was up in space (next to Lex) in a heart beat. He gave a cheery wave towards Vakarion and Vulamera, deep in their chat, and turned his attention to the largest of Galbar's moons. "Lets play a little game." He announced to whichever Gods would be listening. "I think I'll call it Stop-the-moon-before-it-smashes-into-Galbar. No. That's too much of a mouthful. Catch will do." With that, Vestec gathered his power and punched Lex as hard as he could, his arm going up to the elbow as he poured chaotic power into it. Like a thrown rock, the largest moon of Galbar began to race towards the surface. There were cracks all along it's surface, pulsing with various colors. Quickly, Vestec went over to Perfectus and used his remaining power to kick it in front of Lex. If only to see what would happen.

What happened was that Logos exploded. It shattered into hundreds of millions of pieces of various sizes, burning, shining, or pulsing with different colors. Perfectus itself was damaged, pieces of it's dull rock mixing with Lex's remains, and sent flying towards Galbar. If it landed, there was certainly going to be a rather large boom. Vestec gathered the pieces of Lex, largely through the manipulation of the Chaos energy in them, and organized them in a set of crossing rings over Galbar. Whenever night would fall, their many flashing colors would shine down on the planet. "I think I've done good work here." Vestec giggled, forgetting about Perfectus already. There was a vial in his hand, and a message from Astarte. "Oh? My, my. We will have to experiment with this won't we?" He replied examining the 'Magic Essence' with an almost palpable glee.

The Embryonic Angel soared into the heavens, its curved and asymmetrical web of sails filled by a pulse of the Other. Jvan watched the tiny entity go, questioning herself.

The Unborn will see this as an insult, or a challenge. I may have been honest, but I do not trust her, either. Indeed, the All-Beauty had few doubts about the nature of the gift, gorgeous as Mirus was. It was a bribe. A distraction too perfect to resist, though resist she did. Surely, if Vulamera sought peace, she would have simply taken for herself a body, any body. Truth? Lies? Such things were for words, not flesh! No god existed who could not take on a fitting form! And yet, this... Aborted sister of mine shows great promise. Science, art, engineering, all these traits she has displayed for all gods to see over Galbar. Am I judging her too harshly for her disability? Was Vulamera perhaps not unborn but stillborn, like the Rottenbone, only none recognised her potential enough to heal her?

Clink.

A porcelain echo ricocheted through Jvan's creative core, abrasive and sharp. No. She searched for a word, one which she had never needed to use before. Vulamera could not be allowed to stay as she was. Vulamera was... Imperfect. She is imperfect. More must be done.

Clink.

I have seen such potential before. It is not sufficient. A deity that considers itself too perfect to change must be forced to, for their own sake. My patience is great, but one day, I must see that Vulamera's art becomes heartfelt. I am not sorry, sister. It is not the first time I have broken a god.

Clink. Clink. Clink.



Sheltered under the softly shuffling pink mists of the Mother, a Jvanic Eye rested, alone. It was rather large, as such constructs went, likely occupying about a cubic metre of space, and its force of impact had led it to skid over the mountainous earth and settle itself in a long gouge of upset gravel. The visibility wasn't particularly favourable, but what could be seen was pleasant, and Jvan had no reason to try and move or retrieve her Eye.

Time passed, and the valley changed little. The first lichens, windborne as spores released by the Deepwood, were slowly starting to settling on the rock. Only a disruption of the quiet brought the Horrorsome Engineer's attention back to the lost Eye.

Something large and seamed was visible to the colourful probe, and its white mass was approaching quickly. Jvan focused her vision, and saw a great, gleaming white creature approach with a rapid hexapod gait, clicking regularly and sharply from the end of its expansive neck. It drew near. The White Giant knew its way, and its missive, and Jvan saw over the cyborg flesh a layer of ceramic. A perfect match for what she remembered.

The entity reared, elegance wrought in muscle and metal, and shattered the Jvanic Eye beneath its fists, pounding its viscous fluid organs into the gravel. Within the mind of the Engineer, there was quiet.

...Nice work, Toun. I like it.



A smaller Jvanic Eye found itself not only watching, but watched. Soon it received a welcome rather different to automatic destruction, and even more exciting. The winds of Zephyrion carried the organic sphere to a shallow bowl of raindrops atop an elegant roof, one that cupped its lower surface and allowed it to roll endlessly in any direction without moving. Such generous authority! Why, just as Niciel is a mother, Zephyrion almost fills the role of father, confident and bold.

Jvan listened closely through the visceral device. Generosity was manifesting itself in other ways, too; A major commission had been issued, under the power of the First Gale. The Engineer felt a thrill of joy at the recognition of her domain, both in her and her sister proponent of art. To see the score of the Muse sung into action upon Galbar would be truly inspiring. Even the plans were set together elegantly. I hope they're kept on display somewhere. Teknall surely left wall space for such maps.

Ilunabar's reserved words not only for the project, but for Jvan herself. They were odd words, but the goddess felt the warmth of them. The next embryonic angel was large and well-developed within its amnion, and it rode the winds of Change far and swiftly to its goal. As it grew, it became rectangular, and its fragile skin grew translucent over a layer of chromatophores and texture cells, that morphed as it spoke and settled into a colourful model of the same map Ilunabar had designed, bar some small additions.

A speaking organ was set over the face of the map like a title, and it intoned directly to Zephyrion, with all the courtesy and magnificence befitting the situation.

"Lord of Change and Lady of Dreams, your welcome is well appreciated. May my eye remain here always as a gesture of goodwill to your domain, Zephyrion, for innovation and whim alike are written deep into the nature of art.

"Ilunabar's designs are wholesome and mature, and contrast the Shattered Plains pleasantly. My propositions are modest, but will compliment its own themes. I suggest that a precise channeling of storm winds will cause rivers and falls to run between the mesas of the Stone Horns, and fill the canyon floor with a network of shallow lakes, which may later be populated with low forests and wetlands to fill the air with petals. The motion of this water may provide breath for further musical organs which may compliment the horns. The peaks of each mesa may be designed also as nesting sites for such creatures as will, one day, thrive on the wind..."

As the mouth of the angel moved, a second message, encoded in light so as not to interrupt the main voice of the goddess, played itself for the benefit of Ilunabar. It was a short pattern, but its glows were subtle and optimistically colourful, and if the luminous organs of the back of the angel were made to pen a written tongue, it may have read like this:

"There is no movement without debate, nor composite without clash. Do not lament the harsh feelings spent over me, Ilunabar, for even they come from an elegant source. Mostly, anyway. And though I don't follow parts of your discourse, either- The precise mechanics of order and chaos don't hold me for long- I think we can agree that we shall both work to preserve dynamic interaction between chaos and order. For my work is only a setting for a story, and what is a story without intrigue? Even the white giants are pretty, though I don't think they like me. If you enjoy my work, sister, use it to stage something magnificent. Use the whole world."



As a message was relayed, the Jvanic Eye of the Citadel swivelled faster, and the body of Jvan too gazed upwards at the beautiful ruin of glowing rings unfolding over Galbar. Has the Unborn gone truly mad? No. No, Vulamera would not do such, though Jvan had certainly found her unpredictable before. The Mindful God would rather hold Galbar to ransom. This is Chaos, gambling with our creations- Playing with our responses- At the risk of complete annihilation- Logos! Where are you when you're useful? In haste, Jvan gathered numerous samples of all her creations into her body cavities, assimilating some and killing others where struggle was inconvenient. The Deepwood. I must warn the gods to move-

A harsh pulse of scarlet radiation pulsed over Galbar and into deep space from the body of Jvan as she regretted her exhaustion and regretted Vestec, a warning light to those who could still act. Someone would. The orbit was still entirely repairable. Ilunabar has strength yet. She will see this if no one else- Sudden cataclysm doesn't make a good story- Unless she's into that, I guess!

Vowzra's Moment

As Perfectus hurtled towards Galbar, the Lord of Time watched. This was a moment for him. That very moment was Fated to be his. Not the moment before and not the moment after, but that moment.
Perfectus was utterly still. The other moons froze in their orbit and far off pulsars stopped mid-pulse. Galbar span no more and the winds halted in their tracks. The pink mists hovered in place, utterly without motion, and the grasses and trees stopped their growth and the very moisture within them flowed neither up nor down.

Rays from Galbar's distant star were immobilised and were stuck forever in Vowzra's moment, forever moving, yet still within that moment; forever in the process of moving from the previous moment to the next moment, but stuck in the moment in-between.

Up in the branches of the Deepwood's tallest trees, a cowardly Marble-eyed Gargoyle stood shrieking his terror as he attempted to flee the coming of the moon, his fear and cowardice immortalised in that moment of Vowzra's. In contrast, a hive of Stripe-faced Aphids further down the same trees were frozen in the same moment, one of them halfway through putting up another branch before the entrance to their hive - the entire community was frozen in their moment of preparation for the coming apocalypse. Their moment of futile hope was immortalised also in Vowzra's moment. And the White Giants all over Galbar who stood still, their blind faces raised towards the sky. Was it curiosity that froze them there before Vowzra's moment? And would curiosity continue to freeze them once the moment was done?

The creatures of the Deformed Sea, perhaps due to their unnatural source, were unperturbed by the destruction descending from the heavens. They continued as they had done before - here was one feeding on another, and here was another fleeing a potential predator, and there was one taking its prescribed sleep. They were not creatures with enough mind to understand that it was doom that descended upon them. Perhaps that was the vital difference between Life's creations and the creations of the Deformed Flesh.

As it were, Fate and the Timeline willed that this happening was not to be, and Vowzra had willed likewise - for he was the manifestation of their Will, Vicegerent of one and Guardian of the other. With that, he emerged from the Fabric of Creation and looked with his voids for eyes upon Perfectus, and he Saw the purpose of this celestial object. The Cloud of the Mind had not known it when she created it, but this one would have purpose.

The Lord of Time raised an arm and pointed a wooden finger at the moon. At its tip there whirled a small black Whirlpool of Space and Time. The Whirlpool grew slightly and Vowzra released it from his fingertip before floating away from it and disappearing into the Fabric of Creation.

Then the moment was over.

Immediately, Perfectus began moving once more and the flow of Time returned to the Universe. But where before the moment there had been no Whirlpool, now there was. Within seconds the thing expanded to enormous proportions and a horrific, otherworldly shriek sounded through the vacuum of space. It was heard by all. An enormous purple tentacle slowly emerged from the Whirlpool, and the shriek sounded once more - this time accompanied by incessant clicking.

But before whatever horror existed beyond the Whirlpool, in The Gap, could emerge into the Universe, the great celestial body of Perfectus sealed the Whirlpool in its entirety. The moon was sucked into the Whirlpool and disappeared from Galbar's skies. Behind it the Whirlpool closed and one last, unnatural screech was heard before it was heard no more.

Then Vowzra's voice sounded in the minds of all the other gods, an infinite number of voices beginning and ending at different moments, but each voice was clear and could be made out from the others.

Several interesting things had happened during Teknall's walk. He had spotted Toun going about creating these towering giants of porcelain, moulded as a potter with his clay. Teknall viewed these peaceful guardians as a skilled piece of handiwork.

Then Astarte gave Teknall a vial of liquid magic which glowed brilliantly as though it were composed of pure light, and was asked to decompose and analyse it. As one of the principle authors of the Universe, he knew that it wouldn't be actual liquid light- even if you could make light take a static form, it would be invisible unless it was constantly evaporating, which would give it a very limited lifespan. While he could give it a go, he was no scientist, and he didn't even have a workshop yet in which he could perform the decomposition, if he could find a way to do so. He would need to go to Vulamera for help, once he got around to it.

Then came Vestec, who decided, as normal, to try and destroy everything. This time by dropping a moon on Galbar. Lex was blasted towards Galbar, but was intercepted by Perfectus. Lex shattered and exploded, forming a ring system around Galbar, but Perfectus received all the momentum from Lex and hurtled towards Galbar even faster. Teknall lamented that he had no strength to spare to protect this prized planet, but at just the right moment a great portal opened up, a hole in reality exposing the Universe to the Gap outside. He could sense that this was the work of Vowzra, who hadn't done much he could see up until now but was evidently quite powerful. Before whatever eldritch abominations from the Gap could climb out into the Universe, Perfectus slipped through the rift, and the rift sealed behind it, swallowing the moon without a trace.

Then came a calm. After an untold period of time, Teknall felt strong again. In fact, stronger than he had before. Once more he was ready to reach out his hand and craft the world to his liking.

His wanderings took him through Deepwood once more. He saw the life, and saw that it was wonderfully complex and detailed, and that everything fitted very well with each other. The machine which is life operated on many levels, from the whole biosphere to individual ecosystems to groups of creatures to individuals to organs to cells, and such recursive detail and interconnectedness awed Teknall. Indeed, Slough had taken up his challenge.

Then Teknall inspected the trees. As the craftsman he was, he realised that the wood of the trees would make an excellent and versatile material. It was easier to manipulate and lighter than stone or metal, was still fairly strong, and could handle a reasonable amount of compression and bending. It was also far easier to obtain than metal or stone and is renewable. As well as a building or crafting material, it could also be used as fuel.

But it would not do for the future civilisations to have to come to the Deepwood, this sacred place, and chop down all these trees. And the trees which would work best for building would be tall, straight trees, although maybe not quite as titanic as some of the trees in Deepwood. For other crafts, fibrous parts such as the bark would be considered, or even softer, spongier wood. Additionally, faster-growing trees would be most convenient and sustainable. So Teknall took saplings of trees with the most favourable qualities, and manipulated them to both accentuate those qualities and adapt them to life in a wide variety of habitats.

When he had finished his modifications, Teknall multiplied the saplings and by the sweat of his brow carried them across Galbar, along with fertile soil to hold them and insects to pollinate them. Across the savannah, beside the Fractal Sea, up the Ironheart Ranges, even along the icy tundras to the north and south. To every barren corner of the planet Teknall seeded the trees, except for the desolate and inhospitable Shattered Plains. Over time great forests would cover Galbar, enriching its atmosphere and encouraging life to spread. And then when civilisations arose, they would have ready access to vast amounts of lumber.

Ilunabar's ardent praise warmed Zephyrion's ethereal heart and left him in gracious, flattered, and most benevolent mood. So her request to stay in his palace as a guest was most pleasing to Zephyrion; the company of another would ease that lonesome feeling that became inevitable when one was alone in a vast citadel so high up in the skies as to be detached from everything. It was gratifying as ever to have a palace so magnificent that the goddess of beauty would want to make it a home, further legitimizing it and him. Perhaps her stay would even serve to add to the citadel's splendor, if she passed the time adding decor to those bleak white walls. "Without a moment's breath, a second thought, or hanging doubt, I bid you welcome once more, Ilunabar! Be ever at home here, you may have a wing of the lower halls for your own with my blessing, O Gleaming Ray of Starlight!"

Zephyrion allowed an aura of some joy radiate from his chaotic form once Ilunabar and Jvan drew up their plans. Their cooperation was much appreciated. He nodded his agreement occasionally and once or twice glanced off in seeming boredom, but paid courteous attention for the most part, more or less. After patiently allowing them to finish detailing the plans, he had them copied (along with the many maps that had been made and those many more that would come with time) onto the walls of one specific tower where they might be preserved forever.

Just as he had been about to begin the process unleashing his mighty storms to work his will upon Galbar, two spectacles garnered his immediate attention: first was the crazed antics of his amicable yet wild brother Vestec, who had sought to tamper with Vulamera's moons. This utterly delighted Zephyrion, until he realized that Vestec intended to collide the ruined remains of Perfectus into Galbar. Such wild Change was purely destructive and utterly undesirable, and would interfere with the work of half a dozen other gods. The notion of having his toy ruined by Vestec whilst Jvan and Ilunabar watched was enraging, and Zephyrion stopped for several moments whilst the thoughts flashed through his mind. For once, he was genuinely unsure of what to do. Dare he confront Vestec, the one that he had thought a friend?

Fortunately Zephyrion was spared the trouble when he sensed Vowzra's machinations at work, foiling Vestec's silly plan. Strangely thinking hardly anything of Vowzra or the manner in which he had nonchalantly stopped that moon, Zephyrion prepared to go right back to his work. But then he realized that he held something, the object spinning wildly as it was trapped inside the vortex of his body. The Skylord effortlessly expelled the object and then manipulated the air to bring it hovering before him where he could examine it. It took the mundane form of a jar containing some sort of odd substance, almost like liquid light. At first he was confused; he sensed an overwhelming amount of energy emanating from within, but it was not his energy, the true energy, that force of Change that he ruled over. Rather, it somewhat stubbornly resisting his control over it and worked in strange and unpredictable ways. He then recognized it for what it was--primal magic.

He wondered where that jar had come from. Suddenly it clicked and he remembered Astarte's message. He had heard her clearly enough whilst Vestec had put on that delightful show, though so engrossed had the First Gale been that he had hardly processed what he heard. But now he had a moment to think on it and respond to Astarte. He reached back to her with his mind, "A most splendid and intriguing gift! Its energy acts most unlike those that I command. One day you must fare to my palace and see it in person; when such time comes, I implore that you bring more of this strange substance! The jar before him evaporated into a cloud of strange smoke and then materialized once more somewhere else in his palace; Zephyrion was sure that he would find the time to tamper with that magic at some point. Now, however, he was otherwise occupied.

At last, the voice from within the howling vortex that was Zephyrion roared out the fated words, "WINDS! OBEY MY COMMAND!" The First Gale inhaled deeply, and in doing so summoned a tide of air and raw divine power that would infuse itself into his form. He inflated and grew larger, the vortex that was his possible speeding up and cackling with newfound power. An intangible appendage burst from the size of the vortex and pointed its airy fingers down below, directing the winds with what appeared to be both haphazard indifference and utter precision at the same time. No longer paying much heed to the actions Jvan and Ilunabar or caring about whether they even stayed by his side, he worked tirelessly. Many years rolled by as nothing to him, so transfixed was he in that work. Catastrophic storms raged below on Galbar's surface during that time, blasting away dirt across the entire world and eroding the stark landscapes into something greater, following in line with the plans of Jvan and Ilunabar for the most part but differing whimsically and arbitrarily whenever Zephyrion felt like adding his own touches.

The Fractal Sea had nearly the entirety of its eastern coastline changed, and its waters receded as Zephyrion gouged out another vast basin in the world and interconnected it, thus creating the Sparking Sea. It was between these two vast bodies of water that a great desert was formed as the waters receded to make salt plains and the endless winds blew away any and all soil. The stony hills weathered to sand and left behind looming, narrow mesas to rise from the ground like a thousand needles, the winds whistling between the stone towers. For now that would be the only music in those lands; he had not yet created the mystical instruments that Jvan and Ilunabar had implored him to make, but he soon would if only by request.

Further inland were larger plateaus and rolling hills, where one day a great jungle might grow. From those higher grounds water sprung up and flowed down to snake through the parched land in three great rivers, and in a vast valley near the rivers' delta the three came close enough together to hydrate the desert and create a lush river basin. Perhaps it would one day be there that the bricks would be laid down for a great empire; after all, there already existed a solid foundation underfoot.

As Niciel rested, occasional images and feelings flashed in her consciousness before fading. Most of them were small and insignificant. The image of a group of laughing and smiling people. The pitter-patter sound of rain against a roof of a building. The pleasant smell of a freshly baked butterscotch cinnamon pie. They came and went, Niciel hardly paying attention to them. However, there were a few feelings that caught Niciel's attention. The sound of a crying baby. A pain in her back. The feeling of coldness and liquid around her arms and head. The darkness. Niciel was troubled by these thoughts. As far as she could tell, Niciel had no reason to be affected by these feelings any more than the others. Niciel thought more about them, and began wondering about all the other feelings that had been coming and going. Surely, they were just random insignificant thoughts.

Weren't they?

Then, a light began to glow, slowly growing and washing over the images and feelings within her mind. It seemed to move closer and closer, and then it stopped. Niciel reached out for it, and the light shined even brighter. A warm feeling spread from her arm to her entire body. Soon the light completely enveloped her mind, and it was then that Niciel awoke. At first, Niciel was disoriented, having no idea what was going on. Then she remembered. She had been resting in the center of the Valley of Peace to recover her power, which was now back and even better than before.

Niciel looked around, and saw that there were now saplings dotted here and there within her Valley of Peace. Curious, Niciel went over to one and examined it. Niciel didn't know much about trees, but even Niciel could tell that they were going to grow wonderfully. However, Niciel thought that perhaps they could be improved just a bit. Gathering some of her power, Niciel touched a sapling with her finger, which caused the sapling to turn white with blue leaves. Niciel continued doing this for more and more saplings until most of them were white, although there were times when the tree leaves turned pink or yellow. Niciel went out of the Valley and saw that there were saplings all around the Nice Mountains as well. Naturally, Niciel went over to them and began giving most of the nearby trees the same treatment. Eventually, there was a plethora of white trees with pink, yellow, or blue leaves.

Niciel's work done for now, she then peered into her Orb of Escry to see how her Holy Wisps were doing and what they had learned. They had now multiplied to a decent number of 15. Vestec had apparently caused some trouble while she was asleep, although a rather incredible event occurred to prevent the moon from crashing into the planet. Niciel recalled a moment in her sleep when Vowzra himself spoke to everyone about it, although she couldn't make heads or tails out of it at the time. Other than that, though, things were rather uneventful.

Kyre was the last of the gods to awaken, as there was less need of him than any others, and it would be that way for some time. He awoke to see not the barren world of Galbar, but one that had been touched already by the hands of several others. He watched the movement of the Fractal Sea, appreciated Niciel's Valley of Peace, traversed the Changing Plains, made first by Vestec and changed by Zephyrion.

He passed through the Deepwood, watching as its residents lived among and in them. Their fights for territory, the docile existence of some, and aggressive hunts of others.

As he walked, the moons were made, and he watched as they were. Vulamera, making several, decided to gift a few to others. His name was called, the most beaten and abuse looking one, the one that reminded him of battlefields before, during, and after a battle, named Periditus, was gifted to him.

"The Warrior of Gods! As you've probably noticed, I have created 7 moons around this little world of ours. None of them are truly useful, but nonetheless, I feel I owe you a 'thank you' for your contribution to and, more importantly, protection of the Great Work. I am sorry that it is impossible for me to give more, for your contribution to the Great Work was strong. You may have the sixth moon, Periditus.

"I think you'll find the moon is a reflection of yourself, in many ways. It is war-torn, violent in appearance. Yet... a strong force lingers. A resilience. I hope you will appreciate its imperfect beauty, for can there be any other kind?"

He traveled to it, talking a small form and walking all over its surface. It did, indeed, fit him. "I thank you, Vulamera, for your gift, and I accept it. I hope that in the future I may give you something as well."

Then, he sat, and he would remain that way for some time. He witnessed Teknall's creation of a mountain range, visibly to Kyre rich with ores and minerals. He witnessed the creation of porcelain giants, only dwarfed by another of Slough's creatures. And then, Vestec happened. In a fit of emotion, possibly jealousy, he destroyed one moon and in the process sent another hurtling towards the surface of Galbar.

Kyre began to move in an effort to stop a cataclysmic and apocalyptic event, but the power of who was his wisest sibling shown itself. Vowzra opened a rift, from which the sounds of horrid creatures could be heard, and signs of them trying to escape could be seen. But before they could, the moon entered, plugged, and pushed into the rift, which then closed behind it. The feeling of how dangerous the beings on the other side were, was only reinforced by the cryptic message left by Vowzra.

And then, time passed. years and years, millennia upon millennia. Kyre remained, only gathering more power in the process. Then, Teknall once more moved to add to Galbar. He took a sapling from the Deepwood, and modified it, before copying it and spreading it throughout the world. Zephyrion, in his own inspirational time,created a new sea and with it, a desert. Niciel would also add her own changes to many of Teknall's trees, changes their colors to vary more.

It was in watching this that Kyre began forming an idea. Maybe he would add a piece of his own to this planet, but where would he put it?

Vestec clucked in disappointment as he saw Vowzra interfere. He had wanted to see how the other Gods would have reacted, and the God of time had moved quickly enough that no other Gods had reacted or done anything. It was...disappointing. "No fair!" He called after Vowzra's cryptic voice echoing through the void. "You didn't even give them a chance to try! Where's the fun in that?" Of course, there was no reply from the enigmatic God of time. Vestec turned his attention to the world at large, noting all the new creations that walked on the earth. From Jvan's horrors to Toun's creatures, Teknall's mountains to Niciel's wisps, there were many things to play with now. "Oooooh. Time to have some fun." He giggled, spinning around in space. In an instant he was back down on Galbar, casually strolling through the hills at a pace nearly incomprehensible to mortal eyes. He stopped once he came upon a White Giant of Toun's. Immediately, the thing bellowed in rage and charged him, only to be knocked to the ground as Vestec smacked it down to examine it. "My, my. Toun has been busy I see." He laid a hand on the thing's thrashing head and began rooting through it's mind, searching for a purpose.. "Oh? Protectors of the life of Galbar? Perhaps Galbar does need protectors. But it also needs aggressors."

In an instant Vestec had picked up and taken the White Giant he was busy with, quickly finding another. His colors changed to a solid black as he began to corrupt and manipulate the White Giants, making his new race. Their roars of anger were quickly replaced with screams of pain, and eventually, fury. He filled them with a lust for violence and bloodlust, a need to recreate more of themselves, and a hatred to fuel all of their attacks. The Ashlings lumbered to their feet, already searching for targets.

"Go, my pretties. Have fun and spread like a foul plague." Vestec giggled as they lumbered off, locking on to something, he didn't quite know what, to kill.

"One last thing to visit..." Vestec darted over the planet, hunting down the creations of his sister, Niciel. Jvan's creations were already suitably chaotic, and needed no pushing from him. Vestec stopped in front of a Wisp, dodging it's first blast of holy energy. "Why hello their Niciel, you wouldn't mind if I took this would y-Agh!" Vestec, giggling as he approached, had gotten to close to the Holy Wisp. It blew up in his face. His cry was more of annoyance than actual pain. "Hmm. Effective, but annoying." In another instant, Vestec stopped in front of another Holy Wisp. He didn't waste anytime mocking Niciel this time, instead corrupting the Wisp and moving on to roughly a dozen more. "There. Should be enough to keep an eye out and corrupt things for me." Vestec announced to no one in particular, satisfaction clear in his voice.

Cosmic dust, matter and different types of ionised gas slowly swirled around a single point in space. The forces existing inside the magnificent Divine Nebula were slowly but steadily working towards restructuring the Primordial Star. Gravity slowly exerts itself upon the matter inside the nebula, pulling it together, condensing it into one big ball of matter and gas; temperatures slowly building up to the point where nuclear fusion begins to happen. Through this process, Ull'Yang emerges once again, in his fourth iteration this time.

"Ah, finally awake;" Ull'Yang spreads his divine awareness around him, noting his location and scanning his surroundings for anything of interest. Alas, he is, once again, alone. Stranded in deep space, eternal castaway on the island called Fate. His only consolation? Mingling with the other gods' creations through his Avatar. Ull'Yang had spent millennia walking the surface of Galbar, the god's first experiment lab, before entering the hibernation stage. Every god, just like with the Grand Codex of Creation, had contributed to the terraformation of Galbar, albeit some particular gods' creations arose doubts as to the thoughts those gods had when they were creating said lifeforms.

For example, take Toun's White Giants. Ull'Yang had spent quite some time observing the eccentric creatures. Towering giants of white flesh encased in porcelain armour, the White Giants are every bit as weird as their creator. Totally blind and without any sense of smell, those creatures seemed to be driven by nothing more than the sheer will to protect all that was natural in the world, and by extension defeat all that was unnatural. Obviously, Ull'Yang realised that it was not of their own volition that they did that, no. Toun had programmed the beings so. All in all, although the beings were not by any means, pretty to look at; White Giants were ultimately the fruit of Toun's efforts to protect the life that Slough oh so obliviously propagated all over the planet.

Ull'Yang was also present when Vestec did what Vestec does, smashing two moons together, destroying one and sending the other on a collision course towards Galbar. At that time, Ull'Yang couldn't really do much about the moon hitting the planet and destroying everything that they had strived to create. Fortunately, Vowzra came to the planet's rescue. He utilised his knowledge of The Beyond to open a rift in space, connecting The End with the solar system. Before the moon was completely swallowed up by the rift, Ull'Yang managed to catch a glimpse of what lied beyond the rift, inside the End. At that point was it that he realised just how important Vowzra's existence was to the grand scheme of things. If such...beings managed to slip through the fabric of reality and reach the Universe...

Let's just say that it's good to have someone willing enough to guard the Universe against them.

In his travels, Ull'Yang had also seen Zephyrion and Teknall's joint creation, a magnificent palace floating high above the surface of Galbar, atop what seemed to be a thousand or so clouds. Ull'Yang didn't directly visit the Celestial Citadel but merely opted to observe it from afar. He didn't know if his brothers noticed him observing their floating abode or not; he didn't care either way. What did, in fact, pique his interest was one of Teknall's other creations, the Ironheart Ranges, a colossal mountain range spanning thousands of kilometers in length, stretching from the southern tundra, up to a short distance south-west of the Nice Mountains, then heading west to the Fractal Sea and the Shattered Plains. Most of the mountains didn't reach more than two kilometres in height, except for one. Mount Bormahven, as he came to call it, was a gigantic mountain, much taller than the rest of the mountains surrounding it. Its only flaw? It was an active volcano.

The volcano reached a staggering twenty kilometres above sea level, the tallest of all the mountains on planet Galbar. From its peak, one could enjoy a view comparable to - and if not better than - the view from the Celestial Citadel. "Truly, this might be the single best place on this planet when it comes to stargazing," Ull'Yang thought as he stared at the stars, little pieces of himself adorning the night sky. "Hmm, I wonder how come no one, and especially Teknall himself, has yet to discover this volcano. One would think that the Craftsman God would need a proper workplace..."

Ull'Yang raised his hand and shot a beam of pure solar energy from his palm towards the sky. "I hope you notice my signal Teknall. This body cannot mentally communicate with the gods right now and my true body is really far away, way out of my divine awareness' reach," Ull'Yang thought and waited.

Had Teknal failed to notice the signal, Ull'Yang would return back to Deepwood. He had found that Slough's domain induced a certain calmness in his mind. It was so easy to fall asleep there that Ull'Yang had made it a habit to visit the place ever so often and spend an indefinite amount of time there, relaxing his mind, before continuing on with his travels.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZyo2gcHOVc&ab_channel=Mushinronja

The Adversary

Level 2: 10 Might 3 Free Points

There was a light in the dark. It grew, slowly, burning bright against the silence. The un-world stuttered. Air rushed past and tugged at His fingers, at His brain. The blaze swallowed Him whole.

Lightning arced around His swirling body. Thunder rolled above His head. Waves crashed and thrashed against his hands and feet. Electric fury coursed through His veins. Fire rose, metal chimed, eyes glared and a grinning snake danced within His mind and it wouldn’t end. The universe shuddered. He raised an arm against the blinding light only to realise He was a word. He saw himself upon a clear white page until his gaze was torn away.

And then He opened His eyes.

And then He froze.

Shards of ice punctured through His brain and stunned His mind to silence. Thirteen billion years he writhed in static agony. The universe struck Him like a hammer against anvil. A pounding reverberated through His stomach. The stars blinded Him. The crush of earth and stone thrashed through His being. The endless growth of life -- wonderful life! -- rent Him apart again and againt. He relished every second of it.

The ice melted. The mind returned to baleful plasma. The Adversary looked upon the universe with clear eye and saw what lay in front of Him.

He saw the world He had been condemned to prowl in His thirteen billion years of wonder. A world that lay inside all things. The submaterium. A hall of endless energy, a realm of magic made by His own hand. A length of burning red lead from one material object to another. Lightning crackled across each line, the black energy of the universe clashing and crashing and pressing against its bonds. Just one small push, and…

He smiled. The material world ripened, rotted, burst its sweet sickening vapours. A careful worm could feast. He licked His lips. He grasped the ropes of coiled power and pulled. He broke the bonds of lethargy and released the magic that demanded to escape. And He brought the course of fire to His own will.

Out from the corners of the word flowed a sickly oil. It bubbled and burst the seams. A river of dread dripped from Him, long fingers of grasping nothingness. A foul miasma of brimstone rolled across the world, attacked the back of the throat and made one wretch. The escaping fires of the submaterium burnt the air. The world was fixed, surreal. The pressure popped and hissed. The air screamed. With a thunderous crack the slick darkness split, tar roiling apart. Thousands of dripping members fell to earth, wriggling and writhing like worms in a bird’s beak. They twisted into formless figures, smooth muscle segmenting into legged chitin. Their gasping mouths searched for food, longed to consume. And they found it. They collided with the ground with a shattering snap.

Wide mouths swallowed land and sea and burrowed deep inside the planet’s crust. Deep and deeper, to the depths of the world. A hundred thousand punctures marked the surface, a hundred thousand testaments to the world’s glory. The wyrms were not satisfied. They needed to eat. They turned under the earth, leaving smooth tunnels in their wake. A latticework formed beneath the dirt and ocean. A labyrinth in eternal flux.

The holes in the world were chained to the submaterium. They were the locked doorways to the occult energies that dwelt therein. Magic would pound against them, ready to rise above the levee and swamp the land. It would be so easy to lift the latch and let the fires flow out, if only you knew how...if only you would make the sacrifice.

Braziers burned against the cloying darkness. Within His chamber sat the King in Red, a crown of quartz and lead upon His head. The coloured light of a hundred stained windows played across the Adversary’s hands, the crackling majesty of the submaterial cables. His bleak throne was simple, and smooth. He clicked His hands against black pillars wrought with centipedes and snakes and worms and eels, His glimmering incense smoke floating up to reach His vaulted ceiling. The Adversary had a plane to match His wretched role.

Let the universe be tested in a lake of frozen fire, in a sea of burning ice.

Though only half again as large as the scrubland across which Slough traveled, the desert proved far vaster than might be expected. The shifting sands troubled the decaying deer’s hooves, slowing her pace drastically. With neither food nor water available, the arid waste tormented Slough by forcing her to rely on her internal life-power for sustenance. In doing so, her body atrophied all the faster, however much it regenerated. If a lost eye were to glimpse the Rottenbone, they would observe little more than a shaggy, shambling skeleton trekking painfully over the barren. Black, foul-smelling rot flowed from her necrotic flesh, but it spattered weakly against the soil, giving rise to only thorny bushes and burrowing flies that might have just as well been dead from the start.

Along with the agony and bleakness, however, another constant presence hounded Slough: the White Giant of Toun. Though she skirted around it just yesterday, the lumbering construct had been following her ever since, spurred on perhaps by its urge to protect life but for all of its might totally unable to render Slough any protection from the harsh elements. Instead, it merely followed, sometimes close enough to provide the dying goddess shade, but often farther back, far enough so that the desert mirage distorted its shape or made it appear to be not one, but two.

When Slough finally crested a dune and glimpsed in the distance an inviting and sparkling line of blue, the White Giant stood alongside her. Eager to sate her thirst, Slough bounded down the sandy slope with a rickety enthusiasm, but paused at the hill’s foot to look back at the unmoving giant. As she watched, the guardian turned around, but not so quickly as to escape the vicious pounce of another creature, like it but malformed and ashen. The two giants rolled down the hill in a pile, fighting brutally all the while. While the pure giant battled with an undiluted strength, its ashy foe exhibited a manic drive and a propensity for growing new limbs to attack with. Panic flooded Slough, freezing her in the spot. In only moments the fight was over; the pure giant lay in still-living pieces, and the Ashling, its hatred craving a greater death, threw itself toward Slough. Only after it struck her and sent her flying, tufts of fur and shards of bone scattered across the sand while she shrieked, did the Rottenbone start to run. From the pieces of herself that fell, twisted briars sprang into existence, tangling the Ashling just long enough for Slough to pick up speed. Blinded by fear and pain, she galloped straight for the Fractal Sea with the Ashling not far behind. Despite all those who pledged to defend life, only the creation of the perfectionist strived to fulfill his pledge, and with it in pitiable chunks, there existed no salvation for the Deepwood’s ghoul.

As Slough neared the sea, the ground grew harder, more dirt and clay than sand but no more green with life. Globules of rot that flew from her body evoked grass and flowers from the surface, but the Ashling thundered over them. If not for the fallen giant’s wounds, it would have caught Slough easily and torn her apart, but the doe managed to douse her ankles in the Fractal Sea’s water before her pursuer could create a lance of ash to gouge her flank and make her fall. Shrieking again, Slough stumbled and flopped onto her side, her empty eye socket fixated upon the mad thing that stood above her. An odd light entered the eye, and before the Ashling could crush her, the light shot from her socket with the force of a cannon to smash against the giant’s head. With a mighty bellow it tumbled backward, shaking the ground with its impact. Slough painstakingly stood up as the white ball of light hovered in front of her, and watched while her rot created a new creature. It appeared to be a lion, red-furred and with the shelled tail of a scorpion, whose gorgeous orange mane opened up into a fanged mouth to snap the orb from the air. After that, the golden eyes of the beast’s mask glared to life.

It looked back at Slough, warily observing, and after a moment prostrated itself before her in a crude imitation of kneeling. The roar of the Ashling, however, caught its intention, and the beast leaped to catch the fallen giant in mid-jump. The two wrestled, claws and fangs ripping and tearing, and this time the Ashling was torn apart.

The next moment, the two beasts stood together on the edge of the Fractal Sea. Slough glanced at the beast, who waited attentively and silently, and she knew it not only meant her no harm, but would be her guardian where the others failed her. She limped to the water’s edge to drink, and Custodian Esau followed suit.



Meanwhile, the scrubland left behind by Slough blossomed into an expansive and beauteous savannah. Hills and odd formation of land, all carpeted by strange gold-flecked grass, interrupted the flatness. Sacs for the first members of new species arose from the ground rather than trees, and life flourished in the Gilt Savannah—now a place of beauty and nature approaching the Deepwood in splendor.

On a desolate plane on a barren world, Logos landed for the first time.

His eyes open to a white sea of cracked sandstone that spans the horizon—a murky black sky blanketing it. The world falls under dim light that seems to come from everywhere at once. Here there are no stars: they are too far away. Their light will take billions of years to reach him, and even then it will be faint. This world was at the furthest edge of their little universe, drifting alone.

Calling for purpose.

There is nothing around for miles. No life. No movement. Not even a breeze. There is only him, and bit of sandstone is as white as his eyes are.

Logos shakily stands on two legs, and looks around with curiosity.

There is so much room, and all of it empty. He takes a step. And his foot makes a sound.

Body flinching at the sharp noise, he takes another anxious step. The noise comes as expected, but it’s no longer startling.

He walks.

His footsteps make rhythmic sound on the white sandstone, a steady tip-tap that breathes life into his actions. She begins to notice the quieter sounds, like the sound of his feathers ruffling in the vacuum, which are as white as his eyes and as white as the sandstone beneath them.

Once in a while, he stops to look over his shoulder at where he came from, but when he stops to look back, it’s impossible to tell he has moved at all. The plane is flat and featureless, the stone hard and trackless.

Nothing happens in the world unless he causes it.

As he walks, his steps become graceful and confident. He has no reason to walk, but he has no reason not to either. Time stretches ceaselessly as he travels, and soon he begins to forget how long he has been walking.

In the middle of a step, a white-hot spark appears in the sky.

He stops for the first time in billions of footsteps.

It is gone just as fast.

It reminds him of the many stars he had passed, so long ago, on his way here: to his quiet little world.

There is material aplenty in this universe. He needed only a little. Gases from a nearby nebula begin the slow journey towards him. It collects in his palms for a billion footsteps: the pressure builds and builds and he clasps it tightly. He molds it, forming the spherical shape.

A spark of his own divinity ignites it.

He can feel the sphere of light, and it is under his will. The light warms his with its soft, intimate glow, a loving child.

It is his star. A sun.

It’s alive, and yet it’s not.

A suitable replacement.

He opens his eyes and all he sees is white. The sun paints everything around it so brightly, that the ground beneath it disappears. It looks as though he is standing on the sky.

His sun is too bright.

He looks at the ground beneath him that even his own divinity cannot see, and banishes the orb of light into the sky - and it changed.

It becomes rich, illmuminating the darkness. Rich purple, lighting the expanse in traces of violet and lavender.

For some time he simply looks up at the sky with his eyes wide. The color is majestic and all-encompassing. It’s calming and serene. It’s beauty and modesty.

It would suffice.

The desolate plane that spans the horizon in every direction were being brought to life by the sun. The sandstone has changed. It has details he had failed to see, and something new fills the cracks in the sandstone. It’s dark.

Even the false contender would have his place in the Natural Order.

He and his shadow walk for a long time.

And after a while, things stop moving again.

The sun hangs overhead, always in the same spot. It creates shadows, always in the same spot.

Some part of Logos is aware that nothing has changed.

The flat sandstone still spreads in every direction, and although its every intricate detail is lit, it still never changes.

There is so much room, and all of it empty. That hasn’t changed.

He looks at the sandstone and looks at the cracks where shadows are cast. He closes his eyes, his wings glowing with the light of the sun, and a sound louder than he has ever heard cracks and resonates beneath him.

The sandstone he stands upon rises above the rest. It lifts him towards the purple expanse above. At the sides of where he stands, the sandstone falls off abruptly and jagged cliffs form on the sides of the elevated rock.

He looks out at the horizon. It stretches onward into the distance, white stone and purple skies. He walks to the edge of the mountain and looks down. The ground is so far below.

And then he leaps.

He experiences a new sensation: the air rushing past him as he falls. It feels cool, like the opposite of the sandstone, but just as comforting in its own way. His white hair whips in the air rushing by, and he looks back at the cliff face rushing past with frightening speed.

The ground is still far and he still has time to fall. He watches the cliff race by with an indifferent face. His wings snap open.

He tilts them and pulls up from his free fall. His wings are magnificent and wide, each twice as long as his body, and he is no longer falling. The air rushes past him in a different direction as he soars away from the cliff face. His hair blows behind him, whisps of etherial whiteness.

He flies.

He flies for a long time.

As he flies, he stops to create more mountains. Fairly soon the desolate plane isn’t as much of a plane anymore. Flat areas are broken up by mountain ranges, hills, and cliffs. He still keeps areas flat, as a reminder of how things have been for so long. He experiments by making pillars, valleys, canyons, and by creating trenches that dig deep into the ground, their bottoms hidden by shadow and their walls steep. Each wingbeat a nudge, a subtle pressure to make things just so. Shalestone, iron, and diamond, and more.

The horizon is broken. Razor sharp mountains give detail and feature to the distance, and one direction is no longer indistinguishable from another. He looks out from the peak of his highest mountain, and knows that all that there is on the planet is because he willed it.

It is not enoough.

His eyes glows intensely with the color of the sandstone. A noise like wind, only deeper, rises from the ground at the base of the mountain, and the earth rumbles. There is riches beneath the surface, even if he must add to them.

All the base materials are here: he merely needed to the time to seek them out.

Everywhere Logos can see, geysers erupt, fountaining thousands of teardrops high into the air. The drops fall to the ground and make pools that fill the cracks and trenches in the white sandstone. The tears come together to form water, and the water collects in vast quantities to create seas. The sound of rushing water fills the world.

And then Logos stops.

He stops when he realizes there is almost as much water as there is land, and the geysers trickle to a halt.

The sea stretches past the horizon on one side of his mountain. The broken horizon was flat again, but it was no longer white.

It was sea-green.

The surface of the sea shakes from its creation, waves bouncing and coalescing with one another. Logos watches entranced, the sound of waves pushing up the shore, only to retreat, repeat, once more.

The sea slowly calms as the waves lose their vigour. It takes great time, time enough for the water to gouge the sandstone.

He wills the sun to leave. Just for a little while.

Darkness falls across the land, and the colors he created become dim and blurred, but the dark feels relaxing on his eyes. Looking around at the pitch-black landscape, Logos walks to the water’s edge, its green color has changed to a deep, dark blue that he feels will swallow him if he stares into it too long. The sky has become as black as it had been when it arrived.

Empty.

Desolate.

It would be fixed.

His gaze focused on one piece of the sky and his magic flared, as it had with the sun. All it took was the matter, and a little nudge.

It starts off as a speck, looking like a piece of dust in the night sky, but it begins to grow and take shape. The speck grows to an orb of pale light, perfectly spherical, and the same size as the sun, but dimmer, glowing a pale yellow where the sun shines on it from the other side of the world’s sky. Vulamera had gifted him something very smiliar: but where hers had been flawed, his would fit into the Natural Order.

His powers flared once more.

"Let it begin," Logos commanded.

And the world obeyed.

Logos alighted to a nearby plateu out off a cliff, watching the sun come up. The black gives way to blue, gives way to mauve, gives way to white, as the sun peeks over the edge of the world. He sat in silence and watch the sky change, long shadows trailing on the stone behind him.

The sun continues to rise, and the colors disappear and return to purple.

For the first time in billions of years, the sun rose on Arcon and the celestial heavens of this world danced in their roles of the Natural Order.

---

Logos sat. It was not a position he assumed very often. He looked now at the shattered moon Vulamera had once gifted him in tribute, spread out around Galabar a galaxy away, sundered by the clash of gods. The fragments of moonstone drifted aimlessly in the cusp of the planets atmosphere, ignorant in its serenity. The spark that had inspired his own son so many footsteps ago...

They were ants, and emboldened by their capacity to lift a weight ten times their own, they were trying to move a mountain. But Logos was immovable.

Logos stood, walked three paces,and looked down on the exact center of the plateau. He drew a hand across the ground, brushing away dust and pebbles to uncover the smooth rock beneath. A touch to the stone, and a slight ripple of power disturbed the air, the faces off of cliffs around the broken mountain. It returned to him in moments, carrying the character of a power he had long since forgotten to feel.

A savage raged against a thunderstorm, unaware of the titanic conflict the elements waged within. What could one god, one unenlightened brute do to end the churning tempest? Vestec would rage, and the lightning would come. But would his death suffice, or did his transgressions call for true retribution?

Logos’s gaze pierced stone and earth and spell, seeing for the first time what he had drempt of an aeon past. Each of them dared to wield their divinity against King. He would use their divinity against his subjects.

The earth shook.

They were all wretched parasites, crying out against the very being that had given them meaning and sense and order. Their crushing insignificance, their debilitating simplicity had fascinated Vowzra. They forever craved the demands of their design, and so the ghost of intellect with which they were gifted attributed to these things higher forms so as to justify their primitive pursuits. Love, for companionship. Knowledge, to guide their mentality. War, as an assurance of survival. As if they could comprehend true divinity. As if Logos had not already strived to give them peace.

The false plateau cracked and broke beneath him, the sound loud enough to break mortal ears. The earth seized, and mountains were torn free from the earth, their foundations snapping as dirt cascaded from their forms. Logos ascended.

There were few who saw a glimpse of his vision of the Natural Order. So prescious few, and even then, all they glimpsed was some twisted, perverted ideal of it. Blind and deaf, they mewled out for salvation

The arms of The Citadel were now distinct. They heaved their way out of the ground around him, each carrying a thousand tons of broken stone and soil. A small effort of will, and Logos blew most of the debris away. He folded his wings and set his bare feet down on the shards that rose to receive him for the first time in a millenia and a half.

They were cosmic dust caught within the pull of a star. They could not even comprehend the being that they reckoned with, and they did not understand his divine providence. Each led each other in a dance of anarchy.

Logos began to ascend, the elementary white of his magic filling the sigils of the shards wherever he stepped. The remaining debris was annihilated and recycled as The Citadel came to life. His greatest creation; next to this world that was.

They were machine beings, worth only the matter that composed them. The divine blood in all of them had caused them to malfunction as intellect warred with instinct to create a hybrid monstrosity. Was exterminating each and every one of them only answer left?

Simultaneously, each petal-like arm of The Citadel met its neighbors, sealing Logos within the metal tower. He continued his climb to the uppermost ring at a leisurely pace. He was in no hurry.

Perfectus was gone. No doubt Vestec saw fit to that. Had Toun retaliated? Would Vestec meet him in battle alongside Zephrion? Were they so infected by ideals that their basic arithmetic could fail them that much? Did they truly hold on to their whims?

Logos reached the summit, and his eyes burned like a star brought low. The walls of The Citadel were lit with his power, and the great spell shaped itself in his mind. Each ring formed from the floating shards beneath him, and a single beam of white light shot skyward.

High above Logos, a wave of energy travelled outward from the point where the beam met the sky. The first spell was the call. The electrons in the air shifted, their charges building in the ozone far above.

Another wave. The second spell was the storm. Pulling the gases in the air, cooling them, giving shape to the prescious liquid. An atmosphere.

A curtain of cloud creeps from the horizon and makes its way across the sky, concealing the sun and eventually blotting out every trace of purple. The air begins to pick up around him, blowing in a harsh wind that howled in his ears. Up above, the veil of white darkens, and jagged bolts of light danced through the clouds, creating echoing bangs as they arc through the sky.

Only Logos could tame the feral elements, now.

The final wave did not come, for the final spell would take time. Such was its magnitude that Logos himself could not have cast it without The Citadel to provide the design, to deliver his gift to the world.

He had decided that the other gods could be salvaged. Genocide was beneath him. Instead, despite all their resistances, they would would be fixed. The final spell would kill only the things that made them weak, only the things that made them imperfect servants of the divine authority. When it was finished, they would fit perfectly into the natural order.

His eyes flashes once, nicking an ethereal finger. A drop of divine ichor, as silver as starlight, beads at the tip. He helds it aloft, and the light takes it, carrying it into the atmosphere, into the storm.

It would take millions of years of waiting - waiting for the culmination of the final design, but Logos was patient. When all was ready, all would be remade in his image.

Could a more perfect world be imagined?

The king was the strongest piece. The only piece that mattered. The piece that bore the burden of both victory and defeat. The piece that was the avatar of the player himself.

And in all of creation, from the hot and screaming birth of the universe to the unfathomable end of time, from the edge of the cosmos to the center of the most massive, seething star, from the youngest god to his own beating heart, there was only one true king.

The words of Jvan echoed through Ilunabar as if her whole being was being crushed by stones. The last time she felt like that was when Toun gave orders to her, but she saw no major dubious intent from her sister. The fault was on her, the fault was on the empathy she felt, she could perhaps even sympathize with her sister, but never empathize. All gods were equal actors in the cosmic play directed by Fate, but Ilunabar performed the part of a writer, and no good storyteller would stop describing a Tragedy because she felt sorry for the characters.

“I see sister, I apparently lost my sight for a moment. I regret that you had to remind me and I vow that you will never have to repeat such words”

Not too long after that the moonfall started to happen. Another thing a good storyteller would never do is to let such distasteful developments happen. As much as seeing the face of a confused Zephyrion was a peculiar wonder, letting the song of life end on its first chords was a stupidity.

“I have no means to stop the moon, but I can guard Slough” she explained, already floating away from the Citadel, it would mean bringing Raka into play a little too early but what could be done?

The opening of The Gap and the “swallowing” of the moon terminated the small heroic moment of Ilunabar.

“Deus ex Machina huh? I wonder if Vestec knew he would force such contrived device to come into into play.” she thought “Probably not, at least not in this scale, but that makes it even better”

After this event time went by fast, there wasn’t much to do, at least not right now. Ilunabar watched as Zephyrion constructed the project she and Jvan had designed, life started to become plentiful, giving the muse resources to weave into curtains and tapestries and sights to immortalize (for a little while) on the canvas.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

BUM BUM BRUMBLE BUM BRUMBLE BUM BUM

A loud rhythm rumbled through a stretch of land between The Nice Valley and The Changing Plains. On one side White Giants were punching furiously giant drums made from Redwood Logs and Brush Beast Hide with Jvan’s algae as decoration . On the other side, Ashlings of the Giant type were beating their own drums, instead of algae this one had simple flowers inside them and the hide had been tanned by the white barks from the trees created by Niciel. In the middle the few creatures who didn’t find a drum to beat were fighting each other in a metaphorically bloody spectacle.

The maestro of this violent symphony was sitting in a distant tree, lazily watching as her plan unfolded in expected ways. “Yawn, it took me such a long time to set this up and so far the results are underwhelming. The creatures have no rhythm, their sound is not inspiring, and even the battle, despite being a surprise, is far too slow to be exciting” said Ilunabar as she gazed over her little project.

The duality and nuances between order and chaos was what she wanted to test there, but so far all it did was to show how the corrupted thing and the original were similar. “So far the only difference between the two fields is that one side is made by black ash and the other by white porcelain” as she finished she had a sudden realization.

“Wait…” she said, still forming the idea.

“WAIT” she said, as a sudden sparkle formed on her mind.

Instantly she moved away from the fields, leaving the rumbling drums and the disappointing experiment behind. On her way to the Celestial Citadel she gathered marble and obsidiana and for the next few hours she would sculpt those stones until finally the project was complete….

“Another achievement if I had to say” she said looking to the creation, on a checkered board of wood a few small sculptures of the giants stood, on one side they were made from white marble, on the other they were made from the dark purple obsidiana.

The muse’s content smile soon evaporated, she liked sculpting and creating trinkets like these, but her bigger project, the Raka, the dreams, weren’t going to anywhere, of course, with no intelligent creatures in sight there was no rush. “Animals are dumb after all, what can a monkey dream? What can an ant dream? What can arborgators dream?”

Her distaste for simple beasts started a while ago, just a few eras after the “moon fall”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

“Come, Dreamweaver!”

The Muse had a confident smile. Finally she had theorized most of the things she needed to make dreams flow freely through the universe, soon the dormant potential would awake as the creatures went to sleep. Despite the fact such thing existed since the start of the universe the flow had yet to be set.

Ilunabar started to play a melody, it was a unchangeable cyclic song, a perfect phonetic palindrome. The notes silently resonated across the universe and then they echoed back to its origin. The reverberation bloomed when it met the Dreamweaver again, and a new plane was created.

Raka, The Realm of Dreams.

Arriving in her own plane soon after its creation the muse expected it to be an empty land, a chamber yet to be filled with sound. For her surprise there was already a flow in there, little swirls of color were all around her, sometimes those swirls mixed together forming little crystals. The Muse smiled brightly like she never did ever before.

But there was work to do, she needed to know how dreams worked, how feelings transformed them. The most simple way of doing that was “diving” into them by having her being transformed into a flow of energy that mirrored the patterns of dreams. And so she did, disappearing in the swirls and crystals being formed.

ýv•@t Ó┼sÏ¢ ¾v=┼. gpuV« ÝoÞ=e _,>q¾ _mÌ>© Þ▓k=╦ x* õ• æß┼¤± zYd*a ø▀t_h ┼▀ÌϨ Óòø░ø ©TýI need to build a nest, nest, nesty >•&ib ÏeY§ò WEvýj yßwq( Vgò▒q Ó y%k± ¤Þ*k¾ Z@qvv z¶Ó.¢ .m┼ho ╬•Y▓b ÌW¶§Ì ©wQßõ I’m so hungry so hungry▒h"¥ø m»>+x æ_s», gr'p▒ oib¢h ▀q╬¢Ì ╦yu'Q $T,ææ ¾Yx-‗ gt-¢& ð@i#i %p'i▒ QÏV¾Q $zcmc a-loÓ «Ó«cg wrbVY r•▓æ╦Did you think you could escape me? I’m the greatest detective in Lond<%øRÏ a'#ÝW .jqõ¢ ░j(s@ ¢z=w- m‗qò» $c«xE e#g┼õ x&▀)▒ Þ@.a┼ òõ"$æ ÌÏÌ

Ilunabar violently snapped back to her original human form. “What is this!?” she felt, thinking about the flow of things she had just witnessed. It was not good at all, at all! It was a mess, a polluted mix of many emotions following randomly created logic. She did caught glimpses of discernable things, like a creature dreaming of a chase, or food, or shelter. But it was not enough to salvage it.

She couldn’t see anything in her method that lead to the failure, she couldn’t accept it, so she shifted the blame. “Beasts, what dumb things. What can they dream about? Such simple creatures. All worthless. I’m a fool, I gave my holy efforts to dogs, I cast my pearls to pigs, all they do is to trample over them”

And so the muse decided to wait until things had evolved to a level worthy of her inspiration.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Now she was already tired of the damn thing, she was not a strategist or a schemer, all she could think about was that the black and white pieces moved forward. “Tsc” she said, feeling bored again. She had no immediate plans again, maybe she would mess with Ashlings a bit more, though that required far too much planning. “I will just go to the balcony and watch the sky”

She sat on one of the crystalline chairs she and Teknall had designed one time and started to look at the now greener Galbar and its mountains, valleys, plateaus and rivers…

Then suddenly she heard an odd sound, when she looked to her side she saw that an odd creature had just flown into the Celestial Citadel. It was grey with a few hints of colors and it moved by doing small skips. Its head looked around turning in sudden movements, as if it was a clockwork machine.

“How did you even get here?” the creature stared at her with its little round black eyes.

*Chirp*

The muse tilted her head at the response she got, the thing was cute, very cute actually. “It's not like I hate animals, they just can’t appreciate my work” she thought.

*Chirp* *Tweet* *Chirp* *Tweeeet*

“Wait…” Was that a song? How could it be? Had she gone mad for good? Had she bumped into Vestec without noticing?

The little feathered animal continued to sing the song, slowly a memory from long ago returned to Ilunabar’s mind. It was from before this universe was created, in a time with no space and no sound, yet the harp still played the song as the musician composed the very first tune and the very first dream for a simple doe.

“How do you know this?” she asked, but all that it did was to make the bird fly away back to the green forests of Galbar.

“I’m baffled. How could I have forgotten this?” and it had been just a few billions of years! How insensible of her. “I have surrounded myself with dead stone, dead fibers and dead paint, no wonder I forgot the value of life. The animals are not to be blamed for my problems with dreams” but that raised a higher question, what was the problem?

The question would make Ilunabar perplexed for the next few days. She started to seek inspiration around Galbar until she finally reached The Deepwoods. She had already strolled through the wilderness a good many times, but perhaps she had missed something? Maybe there was a primordial inspiration that she was oblivious to?

After a long journey she realized the answer. “Probably not”. There was a lot of beauty she had ignored on these lands, but nothing there gave her any insight on how to solve the problem.

A while later, as she was walking toward the edge of The Deepwoods, she noticed a line of thorns. What odd thing those plants were, Slough was probably in a lot of pain when her life created such violent plants. In the middle of those thorns there was a little budding flower.

“Your beauty will never bloom here, I will take you to a better area where you can grow free from these terrible things” said the muse.

However as she touched the flower and looked closer she saw that the flower was not surrounded by thorns, it was part of the thorns. With her touch, the plant was filled with vitality and color, the whole line of thorns started to bloom with delicate flowers in intense colors of Red, Orange, Yellow, Purple and Pink. Gentle green leaves started to grow until they finally had hidden the thorns and turned it all in a lively green bush.

“Huh, who would have guessed? You are part of this too, your beauty and the thorns are one and the same” she said to the first Rose she had touched, this one had bloomed in an unique White color.

“I sorry if this is too much to ask, but I still want to take you with me”

And so she did, gently picking the white rose and holding it on her hand. Then her soft touch turned into a tight grip, the thorns piercing the goddess’s skin. Finally, she released them, letting the flower fall to the ground.

A swirl of white petals formed as the flower disintegrated, then inside it Ilunabar’s energy started to form a vortex. Finally the spinning light and petals started to fuse and take a form.

“A long time ago a bird taught me an important lesson. I never had the chance to say thank you to it”

She told to the forming person. The mind of this newborn being was Ilunabar’s, she knew every detail and she controlled every thought. However The Muse was the goddess of Story, and what good storyteller didn’t know how to create detailed and almost independent characters from inside their own mind?

“I learned a bit today and I look forward to learn more” That, after all, is why we invented fiction. How many lessons were learned through imaginary characters?

“So I would like you to teach me, stay on this forest, learn new things, listen the song of nature, but most importantly, take care of the flowers, help them bloom and spread, all of them, the colorful, the fragrant, the thorny, the poisonous”



“I will ensure that beauty will bloom” Said Meimu

“My silly little bird, beauty always bloom”

----------
1 Might spent to create Raka
1 Might spent to create the avatar Meimu
1 Free Poiint spent to make Roses bloom
8 Might left

Teknall walked, observing the craftsmanship of the other gods. Slough continued to populate the world with all manner of life, both mundane and extraordinary.

Then there were the Ashlings, which Teknall recognised as bearing the corrupting mark of Vestec. Not only were they themselves corrupted, but they had been imbued with the power to spread such corruption. They were special in their own way, but unlike every other creature he saw they threatened to upset the balance of the global ecosystem. He would need to fix that. As Toun had created the White Giants to defend against unnatural life, Teknall too would have to add his own contribution to the defence of Galbar.

As he walked, he came near a pack of four Giant Ashlings. As a god, they could not possibly surprise him, as he had seen them coming from over a hundred miles away, but he expected that they may have the sense to not attack a god. He had thought too highly of them. As soon as the Ashlings sensed Teknall nearby, they turned and approached, their towering forms galloping towards Teknall. Not intimidated, Teknall drew his adamantine maul, and his eyes flashed with divinity as he grew in stature to match the size of his opponents.

The Ashlings spread out and came in flanking Teknall. Three of them moved within striking range first, but before they could act Teknall swung his maul with speed which made it seem as though it was built of light wood rather than solid metal. But the maul carried a lot of momentum, and it was charged with divine power, so it plowed right through the first two Ashlings, shattering them instantly and burning their ash with golden light, leaving no remains. The third Ashling ducked, and went to strike with its claws, but Teknall parried the blow with the handle of his maul and pushed the Ashling back with a mighty kick. As the Ashling reeled, Teknall rose the maul over his head and swung down, shattering the Ashling like the others.

The final Ashling realised it was bested and began to flee. Teknall took his right hand off his maul and channelled his will, and in that hand formed a relatively small war hammer. This hammer was weighted perfectly, by balancing the placement of alloys of adamantine, mythral, titanium and steel, such that it could be thrown effectively. With an overhand throw, Teknall hurled the hammer at the retreating Ashling, the hammer spinning end over end until it struck the Ashling. As with the maul, the Ashling exploded on impact, and not a trace remained. With a wave of his hand the throwing hammer disappeared and reappeared in his grip. His quarry defeated, Teknall stowed the maul and throwing hammer and shrunk back to his normal size.

"What a nuisance," he grumbled.

---

Not long in the future a great light flashed over the horizon like a beacon. Teknall saw this, and decided to inspect it, as it had seemed to come from the Ironheart Ranges. In a few massive strides, Teknall was at the base of a massive 20 kilometer tall volcano, towering high above all else. His jaw dropped at the sight of the impossibly high mountain. How had he not noticed this sooner? It was visible from at least 500km due to its great height. Some of the magic or chaos in the Blueprint must have been responsible for the formation of such a spectacular landform.

Atop the mountain he sensed the presence of an Avatar of Ull'Yang, and in a single bound Teknall stood atop the mountain beside the radiant Avatar of Ull'Yang. He breathed slowly as he took in the surroundings. Here was a vantage point of the world as brilliant as that of the Celestial Citadel. The clear skies meant he could not only see a huge portion of Galbar but also clearly see the heavens, unimpeded by the thick troposphere. Yet its sheer height made it uninhabitable, with only a measly 5% of the normal atmosphere and temperatures hovering around -50°C, except for when volcanic smoke rose from the depths. Due to its size this volcano would probably only properly erupt very rarely- more often than not the magma would find an easier way out, although if it did erupt the lava could possibly shoot all the way into space, if it were to erupt violently rather than have a gentle overflow of lava, which seemed to be the style of eruption which would allow such a volcano to form.

Teknall turned to Ull'Yang, and said, "Nice view up here, isn't it?"

As Niciel watched events unfold on her Orb of Escry, one of them came into Niciel's immediate attention. Vestec had shown himself, and of course he was up to no good again. Niciel could see that Vestec was trying to do something with her Wisps. One by one, their connections had been cut as they became corrupted by Vestec's chaotic essence. Niciel was willing to forgive one or two, maybe even three, but thirteen? Unacceptable. There was no way Niciel could approve of Vestec's actions. All he was doing was creating chaos for the sole purpose of having chaos exist. He was like a child.

Leaving the Valley of Peace, Niciel went off to track down the Wisps that Vestec had corrupted and purify them. It did not take much time, really. The Wisps seemed to be drawn to her, actually. One of them had floated up to her and immediately blasted her with a ray of corruption, which Niciel blocked with a glowing white hand of pure energy. Niciel then extended that energy into the Chaos Wisp, and purified it back into a Holy Wisp. She continued doing this until she was sure all the Chaos Wisps were transformed back into Holy Wisps. As the Wisps circled around her, Niciel held up her Orb of Escry and her Orb of Holy. She concentrated her energy, then linked the two orbs and the Wisps together. Now the corruption of the Wisps would never happen again.

Niciel then released most of the Wisps back into the world, keeping 2 of them with her. Niciel gave the last two commands to search for Vestec and keep an eye on him once he was found, but to stay hidden while doing so. The two Wisps went off soon after. Now that the immediate crisis was over, Niciel wondered what she should do now. As she returned once more to her Valley of Peace, Niciel thought it felt... lacking. What it was lacking, Niciel didn't really know, only that it was so.

Meanwhile, a few of the Holy Wisps managed to stumble upon interesting locations. One of them found Slough and its guardian in the Fractal Sea, and it floated over to Slough, its curiosity piqued. Another found the Celestial Citadel and immediately entered it, drawn to the power it emitted.

The Celestial Citadel wandered through the heavens as a thousand gusts spurred it ever on. Zephyrion rested atop one lonely spire, gazing down at the world below. His work was magnificent: the Sparkling Sea gleamed like the light of a thousand scintillated gems as the sun bounced off the wild waves of its sapphire waters, and to the north his the scorching winds blew through his Firewind Desert, always shifting the dunes so that it was not unlike the Changing Plains that lay to the north. All of that was not to say that others' work was not good; Teknall's mighty Ironheart Ranges were the great spine of the world, and those lands seeded by Slough had a beauty of their own. However, what design could ever be held next to one of Zephyrion's and not look pallid? He was a Supreme Being, Master of Change, an artist and engineer that worked on a grand scale far beyond the limits of imagination.

But perhaps even he could find inspiration among the creations of others. The vortex that was Zephyrion ceased spinning and unraveled into an unrelenting gale of wind. Joyfully the King of Storms descended to the lands below, racing through the flats of the Gilt Savannah's expansive veldt, soaring over the Fractal Sea and creating a tsunami wave of enormous proportions, and then coming upon the vast expanse that was the Firewind Wastes. The scorching sun heating the air in these parts, Zephyrion swept over the land as a mistral that offered no cool or refreshment to those things that it touched, bringing only stifling heat and dry sands. In the path of his winds were one of those lumbering White Giants that brother Toun had created. So strong was the First Gale that he swept up the massive creature and carried it along, the seemingly dumb thing's unperturbed confusion rather than rage or panic being seen by Zephyrion as joy. What wingless creature did not envy the clouds that hovered ever above?

Probing eddies of wind groped every crack and orifice of the White giant as it soared with the god, examining the creature inside and out. It was strange, indeed! not at all like those other, 'natural' lifeforms of Slough's making that he had earlier encountered in the Deepwood many years ago, this creature was wholly different and powered by other means. Such a proof of concept made the Skylord think. He was an artist, but not a creator-god like Slough and Toun or a builder like Teknall; if he were to have a creation of his own, it would have be through changing and altering something made by another. But this elucidating experience showed that there was another way: he could use his own energies to animate beings and create life of a different sort. Somehow that seemed right.

He continued onwards deep in thought, encountering a new creature as he went--an ashling. Sensing Vestec's touch upon this curiosity, Zephyrion allowed it to be swept up by his winds as well, and oh how it and the White Giant yearned for one another's touch! Wildly they thrashed and fought the winds, that they might close that impossible gap between themselves and be united...or so Zephyrion had fancied thinking in an idealistic imagination. Not being one to separate the two, he brought them together and immdiately they had proceeded to engage in a brutal fight rather than some harmonious dance. Rather amused yet still perturbed by how they had defied his imagination and prediction, Zephyrion cast them down. The landed roughly upon the sands below, tumbling uncontrollably as they seemingly died. Hilariously, just as Zephyrion began to slip into the horizon and they left the range of his senses, he could feel them rise again to continue their battling.

At last the great gale of wind pushed ahead of Zephyrion reached the Ironheart mountains, recoiling off their jagged slopes and billowing back down the flats. The First Gale, however, was not stopped by any mere mountains. He blasted effortlessly through one of the great mounts that stood in his way, grinding and eroding it to sand in mere moments and creating a pass through that daunting range. On and on he flew; circling over Galbar to see up close all that the world had to show him. Teknall's trees were an amusing distraction, lighting the land like giant torches if one simply ignited them with a well aimed bolt of lightning. After his wanderlust at last faded, Zephyrion returned to his home in the skies. The Celestial Citadel floated now so high that the winds could not even reach it, and Kyre had possessed sharp sight indeed to even notice its gleaming spires so high up in the heavens. No mere mountain or volcano could ever surpass its height, for Zephyrion was the Eternal Sky and his palace loomed over all.

He returned to his alcazar to find the Celestial Citadel horribly empty, a vacuum just as absolute as that black void that lurked between the countless stars. Zephyrion's presence livened it somewhat, his loose, airy form expanding to fill the halls and encompass the complex within a bubble of air. Echoes of his own thoughts had a way of rustling through the alabastrine rotundas and towers, ironically making the place feel only more lonesome.

It would seem that even his guest Ilunabar was away. He struggled and reached out, sensing her presence very far down on Galbar as she roamed about making those instruments that she had spoken of earlier. Kyre, Slough, Teknall, a weakened form of that one that had vanished and become a star, they were all down there as well...though in the detached temperament that he carried now, Zephyrion had no desire to reach out for any of them. He continued to probe for thoroughness' sake, wondering where the rest of his missing brethren had scurried off to. He then found Astarte below, and was at once reminded of the magic she had gifted to him. Like lightning Zephyrion wrapped himself back into the form of a vortex and whirled through the hallways of his palace.

He knew what he had to do.

It was only a blink of an eye later that he was in that empty, out of the way chamber where he had left the jar of liquid light. His eyes of cackling lightning stared down at that strange energy, examining its every detail. There were some things that not even the eyes of a divine could discern. He reached out with his power and his soul, the very force of Change, and touched that jar. The two energies coming into such direct contact produced a great shock. A volatile Flicker of raw energy was created, the sudden blast of energy destroying the feeble jar. It would have vaporized the entire room too were it not for the quick action of Zephyrion, who managed to keep the cloud of raw, unstable magic just barely stable and trapped in an unnaturally still suspension in the air.

If a whirling storm could smile, it would have. Ecstatically, the Storm's King sputtered and laughed at the success. Eccentrically, he summoned his divine Might and used his power of Change to create a great ripple through existence itself. Straining at the effort, that ripple intensified until it became an unholy rip, and it was in that second that Zephyrion willed all of that unstable magic in the air to vanish and fill that invisible rip, and then conjured his own winds of change to rush into the rip as well and create a second flicker. The grand union of two primal forces coming together filled the rip in reality, the tear having only existed for an imperceptibly short time, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps the others would not have even felt that subtle Change.

But subtle as it may have been, its effects rippled throughout the world. If with great difficulty and only partially, he had altered those solemn and hallowed rules that governed the universe and that the others held in such high esteem. Just as Slough had imbued the world's blueprint with the grand essence and potential of life, Zephyrion now gave it something ever so slightly different. Air, magic, and change had come together to create a flicker that would allow the very forces of nature to emerge and become animate.

In a second it had been all over, and though he knew it to have been a success, doubt still plagued him. Had it truly worked, or was it all an elaborate illusion? With great trepidation, the normally bold and decisive god exhaled a long and gentle breath that contained a small part of his very essence. It drifted lazily, normally, the gaseous particles drifting playfully about as they were always wont to do. His experiment had failed; a great sadness beset him.

But his foolish impatience had allowed his nascent creation to play a ruse and get the better of him; a tiny flicker had appeared, the driving force and 'soul' of laughing in exuberance, that breath of wind suddenly coalesced and took in the joy of life. Nascent eyes examined everything in wonder and curiosity, they were naturally drawn to the whirling form of Zephyrion, and then the entity's gaze suddenly leveled in uncertainty.

"Banish all fear, for I am only your Maker, and you are the first being to exist in my image. I name you Ventus! Speak, move...live!" intoned Zephyrion in the voice of a father, somehow deep, loving, and commanding all at once.

The miniature, whirling vortex wriggled in delight. Upon being named, it seemed to suddenly gain an understanding: yes, it was no longer a mere it but a he, and he was Ventus, and he knew exactly what Ventus was and what Ventus looked like! The tiny storm writhed and twisted until it took on the form of a disembodied human, the waist and above resembling a chiseled and powerful man with the lower body being nothing but a billowing cloud and zephyrs. He was a djinni lord, an air elemental with a flicker so strong that his own magic allowed him to shift forms.

"Yes! I see it now: I am yours, and I exist to serve!" Ventus proclaimed, naturally feeling the urge to bow and obeying his instinct.

"I ask for neither your bow nor your knee; you are a friend, and now I wish for you to merely follow! I sense your innumerable brethren awakening from the dreamless slumber of their lifeless state; a thousand more have been born to the world in these few seconds! Let us see!"

Overjoyed, Zephyrion glided through the halls of his palace until he came to a great balcony. There he gazed down, his vigilant eyes seeing all within his domain of the air. No eddy or disturbance evaded his sight; a thousand tiny flickers manifested and a thousand gusts of wind became sentient beings, the newborn air elementals testing their powers of flight. Ventus was quick to learn. While he did not soar so quick as his Master, it was not long before he too had flown to the balcony.

"Everywhere, they go..." whispered Zephyrion. "Right now they are weak, scattered, and disorganized. You are the first of your kind and their elder, and more powerful and wise besides. So I style you my Vizier, and put upon your shoulders the burden of helping me rule your brethren and protect this sacred place," the god decreed, gesturing to the citadel around him when he spoke of a sacred place. "Will you agree to do this, friend?"

His newest friend and follower nodded. "Yes!" Vizier Ventus answered back gleefully.

The two turned and found themselves facing the Holy Wisp. "Your majesty," the Vizier questioned with a look of confusion about him, "...what is this strange being? Another one of our friends?"

The Skylord, as chance might have it, was not so sure how to answer that question. He debated shooting lightning at the strange wisp to see what might happen.

With his elbow on his knee and his fist on his chin, Toun brooded. Countless seasons spread multicoloured leaves in and out of Toun's gazebo as he sat upon his wheel. Even the immortal mind of a god had to think and plan his long term movements carefully, but in this case, Toun needed to wait for his power to gather before doing anything else. The idleness allowed his mind to wander.

In his thoughts, there was an endless stream of logic and refinement. Occasionally, a flash of the perfect vision came to mind. This caused the porcelain sire to smile inwardly, in lieu of physical lips. However, his smiles slowly faded as the vision flashed more frequently. The flaw was still there, he realised. In that little pillar, the winking crack became more and more apparent. Eventually, Toun could not get his mind off it any longer. The vision was clear and consistent again. His focus was forced to the dark line before him. This time, the horrors within were not content on teasing him.

Toun was taken aback as the crack in the pillar suddenly spread in a mighty clink. Its sudden advance stopped with a spread roughly a hand's length in either direction, branching three more ways. Before the eye could measure this, another mighty snapping caused the pillar to shatter like a bone, but remain in place. The crack spread to engulf it, but it was not done with the pillar. Another peal of crumbling had the cracks spread along the floor. It was now, with his eye looking to his feet, that Toun realised he was secured to the floor. In his personal nightmare, he could not move, even as a god. The next sound spread the cracks onto Toun's porcelain foot. He could feel the corruption blister and burst within.

The crack moved up Toun's foot and leg unrelentingly. His eye was wide and terrified. The clinking sounds of shattering clay chimed on Toun's legs and hips as raw dark red flesh burst forth in tendrils, eyes, and jabbering toothy mouths. The feeling of Jvan's gaze back before the beginning was prolonged across Toun's entire body. He convulsed in pain and found his torso and neck sundered. The impact of the climbing cracks reaching his eye wracked his very being as plates of porcelain fell away to reveal more corrupted flesh. Toun lifted his arm and discovered the cracks spreading further. He screamed.

Another rumbling peal of cracks sounded and the rest of Toun's hide exploded away. His jaw gaped wordlessly as his screams went unheard. He reached for the remains of his vision and found that it was crumbling as well. All his work was shattering. Everything was being corrupted in a torrent of flesh and chaos. The last of what could be described as pure on his form was subsumed.

As the last vestiges of his hopes crumbled into nothing, Toun felt a gallows laughter well up inside of him. He now had so many eyes and mouths that weeping for his loss would drown him. Instead, he smiled involuntarily.

Not...Good...Enough!

Toun's eye opened. He immediately inspected the arm he was leaning on. It was the same perfect porcelain arm. No cracks, no flesh, no corruption. His hand closed into a fist in anger. I cannot let this corruption spread. I shall need to take steps immediately. If I take some kind of action, perhaps these visions will leave me in peace!

Through the mad terror roiling in Toun's godly mind, there were machinations for his next move. I shall need servants, he thought to himself as he pushed off his wheel and turned. The white potter's wheel already began to spin of its own accord. These ones will need to last. They cannot simply be a temporary tool to be driven to extinction. They will need to be subtle as well. They must finely manipulate their surroundings, finding the perfect solutions to their tasks...

A lump of clay began to rise from the wheel as usual, but before it could begin to hover like the white giant prototype, the wheel slowed to a stop. Toun stared at the clay with a thoughtful squint.

"This will take too long without help," Toun admitted out loud. He contemplated asking for assistance from Logos or Niciel, but as he peered out of the gazebo to the trees beyond, he had an idea. "I need not tread all of the path that life has already beaten."


Mere moments of searching from the Deepwood out to the budding desert beyond, Toun had finally found Slough. The deer goddess was accompanied now by a brutish, yet lithe and deadly looking predator. It would not matter--Toun was attempting to hide himself. No servant creature would have the power to detect him. Instead of approaching and attempting to negotiate with the animalistic goddess, Toun simply trailed closely behind until another globule of pure potential life dropped free. The globule did not spring into plants and animals like it normally did, but rather it was peculiarly swallowed by the sands below without a trace.

Toun closed his hands over the globule and sealed it in a state of stillness. As quickly as he arrived, Toun disappeared in a single impossible step.


The wheel spun and spun and spun under Toun's supervision. The clay upon it shined with potential as Toun willed its shape. He could replicate his own creations, but not Slough's life essence. Therefore, instead of making one prototype and creating copies, he would shape each and every single servant individually. Every little figurine was provided a tiny droplet of green life essence that did much of Toun's work of creation for him. With the drop, Toun's red ink also flowed in to control it and shape the creatures. These were long armed humanoids with an curved, elongated head. Beady eyes, two on each side of the head were dormant for now, ready for their maker's command to animate.

Hours passed into days and months. The number of tiny figurines were arrayed in rank and file across every spare surface on the floor of Toun's gazebo. As floor space ran out, they began to hold up their brethren on top of one another, three to the one carried aloft. In the darkness of night, the dormant life potential made the figurines glow softly, painting the gazebo in a pale green light.

When Toun's work was finally done. There was a carpet of figurines spread for metres around in a radius from Toun's gazebo. All of them had a pace between them--room to grow, as it were. He inspected his handiwork with a glimmer of pride, but the pride was overshadowed by the flaws he left. This was done in haste. These are unstable. If I had full control, if I had more time, these would be perfect servants. These creatures...they are not ideal.

The words of Toun's idle thoughts overshadowed a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind. If these creations were as varied as he had to make them, there was a possibility that they would exhibit unforeseen characteristics. Rebellion. Destruction. Chaos.

Nonetheless, Toun raised his arms and intoned, "You are the hain. You are the chosen servants of your sire. Awaken, and fulfil your purpose!"

At once, all of the figurines began to shudder. The rattling of the clinking clay reached a crescendo as each of the figurines began to grow into fully formed hain.

"Hain! Hear me!"

As the hain blinked and gained awareness of their surroundings, they did not stand to attention as Toun commanded. Instead, they began to hum in soft tones to one another, communicating confusion. Their head's flitted from side to side as they inspected each other and their surroundings.

Toun's eye widened in anger. "Hain! Still yourselves!" Toun shouted.

The loud command caused the newly made hain cower in fear. Their confusion turned to panic and they began to disperse into the valley.

"You would dare defy your master!?" Toun lost his temper as his form grew and his fingers extended to claws. His mouth, filled with pointed teeth, articulated his words, "You are mistakes! You will be broken and remade!"

Just as Toun raised his hand, his limb shuddered to a stop as a lance of pain ran through him. The sheer weight of Toun's fury had goaded a reaction from the very valley he stood in. He had meant to kill all of the hain on the spot, but the Valley of Peace would not suffer genocide. With a scream of anger, Toun tried with greater power to resist and try something different.

He reached out with one hand and a shock wave of mind-affecting power radiated forth. The hain in the immediate area screeched and clutched their heads. The ones closest to Toun crumpled as they passed out.

Not even this valley will deny my authority over these mistakes!

Another wave shot forth, dropping yet more hain and affecting others with pain as their minds collapsed. The panicked screams of the fleeing hain echoed through the valley.

As the sickening pain of the valley coursed through Toun, protesting his pulverisation the minds of the hain before him, he stumbled. It was too much. He would have to finish his work elsewhere.

Enough of this! Toun waved his other hand in a sweeping motion and it elongated into a great long sail shape. He scooped up all of the unconscious hain and gathered power within himself.

There was a flash.

When the light cleared, almost all of the hain had disappeared. The small group that remained in the Valley of Peace called out to find one another and held themselves in each other's arms. Tears flowed from their four eyes as they tried to recover from the traumatic experience of their awakening.

Across various places around Galbar, the same vignette played out, to varying outcomes. Groups of hain appeared out of nowhere and tried to find each other in their terror. Some found shelter in trees or caves, but they all stuck together. With each other, they knew innately that they could endure.

The one exception to this, apart from the tragic deaths of lonely hain to predators, was the reappearance of Toun and the unconscious hain he held in his arms. He found himself a long distance from the Valley of Peace, but still within sight of the mountains that skirted it. It was a relatively empty land, save for the wildlife and thin forests. It would do.

Still warped and angry from the insubordination of his own creations, Toun set himself to work. In the style of his gazebo, he built a round, porcelain lodge. It was filled with membranous hammocks, each of which he placed his chosen hain. When they awoke, they would find their minds subservient to Toun's will. This was at the terrible cost of their intelligence and potential, but Toun didn't care at this point. He would have to make do with what he had.

Throughout the night, Toun instilled into the minds of the slumbering hain their orders for tomorrow. They would have to begin hunting and finding food. Once they filled the stockpile, they would begin the true labours.

And there are many labours ahead, Toun seethed inwardly. I should never have even touched Slough's primal essence. It was never the solution to begin with.

Toun then strode out of the lodge and looked up to the heavens. I wonder if my brother would approve of my intentions? His nose scrunched up as he noticed a missing part of the sky. At least that insulting rock in my name is no longer up there.