I tell you, young one, that there is nothing so sacred as fire. The flames are many things: warmth, death, light, passion, destruction, an embodiment of change and power. The young might take this gift for granted, since it was the inheritance of their fathers for a thousand generations back, but think back to the dawn of days and the time before time; when long winter came, the earth itself shivered. The sea became a white plain and the biting frost would freeze the blood in your veins. Such were dark days.

Do you see it now? Fire is life itself; there is nothing more precious. I will tell you a tale of the cursed Life-Deer and the flame that followed in her wake, for though I may be blind and decrepit, I have seen many things in my visions.

Our tale begins amidst a sea of sand: the great Firewind Desert. On this day, the heat was merciless, relentless, terrifying in its power! The brazen sun baked the air itself, and the air became so unbearable that birds fell from the sky in exhaustion. The broiling sands scorched my bare feet as I walked, and though I knew that I was standing upon the plane of a mere dream, by the spirits I felt a searing agony more real than the touch of my hand on your face...

Of course, what I felt was surely nothing beside the pain that wracks the cursed Life-Deer. I saw her trek torturously across that dusky, bleak landscape, pressing on through sweltering heat and smothering, blinding sandstorms. From her body, the vicious wind flayed her flesh and that nourishing rot sloughed off from her bones. From this rot there bloomed life of a million shapes, and so in her wake she left a thin trail of verdant green.

In such a place no life could find permanence. The green grass withered, yellowed, and was reduced to dust. The shrubs and cacti were smothered beneath the shifting sands. Even Slough's power waned in the blistering desert, and while some kind spirit of the wind tried to keep the heat at bay, erelong her rot sprung forth nothing more than dried bushes and shriveled husks.

I sense sorrow in your heart, but why? Rejoice, young one; for as I have said, fire is life. What likelier place might the winds of Fate chance to kindle a fire than in the Firewind itself?

Kindle a flame they did. There was neither spark nor lightning, merely a parched shrub and an air that simmered beneath the sun's baleful glare. A small flame simply burst into being on its own volition, and greedily, hungrily, it began to consume the wilted shrub. The husk did not burn brightly nor for long, but you must realize that men are fools to respect only the great, ruinous blazes that devour all in their path; it is our folly to revel in destruction and might rather than beauty. It is the comforting campfire and the illuminating flame of a torch that deserve our reverence. Never forget!

But I lose track of the true story...as I told you, there was a small bush in the Firewind that became engulfed by flame. I knew this to be no mere whim of chance, for as I gazed in delirium at the beauty of the blaze's dying embers I felt a strange force in the air. With my own eyes I witnessed the flight of a tiny spark of magic as it found its way to the fire's fading remnants.

That ember of magic met with the glowing coals. Their glorious union was consumnated by a bright flash and a nascent force, and from the warm ashes of that mundane heap a new fire was born, only this one moved. It thought and felt like you or I, though consigned to follow only the basest of instinct. A spirit of fire had been born, and this tiny spark had a great destiny.

Desperate, starved, that tiny flicker of flame perservered and followed in the Life-Deer's footsteps, feeding upon the withered plants that always marked the path she trod. The tiny spirit's light lit the desert sands for many fortnights of restless travel, for the fire moved along at a lazy pace even as the sun's heat rejuvenated it; all of its energy had to be conserved, lest one paltry sandstorm snuff out the spirit's fire and condemn it back to the oblivion that had preceded its life.

No sandstorm assailed the tenacious flame. It was by a spirit of the wind that the fire was so often beset upon; the wind nipped ceaselessly at its rival with mocking scorn, until in a fit of arrogance and pity it moved to snuff out that fire for once and for all. The spirit of fire had forseen this, and so it breathed in deeply. Its flame swelled in size and the wretched wind was pulled into the spirit's fiery core and consumed. From feasting upon the essence of that hated spirit, the tiny flame gained more power than burning a thousand dried bushes in one great pyre might have offered. As you will know by now, to the elementals size is not simply strength. It is power, intelligence, worth.

That tiny spirit had now grown stronger, and while still weak the seeds of intelligence were sown. He pressed onward with vigor, no longer content with feeding upon mere bushes. At long last the fiery one came to the banks of a mighty river in the desert, and here life abounded! Vegetation of all sort grew, and it was green, vibrant, strong, plentiful...

The fire, still little more than a walking flicker of flame, immolated a palm. He gorged upon the wood's heat as it was reduced to nothing more than ash upon the wind, and after this feast he had enough strength to think clearly. To earn himself a name. He chose to be known as Char, and from that moment until his last it would be so.

Char was already a wise and noble custodian of the lush river valley. Rather than reduce it all to an ashen waste, he merely fed enough to sustain himself. Equally, he did not stay in one place for too long; he roamed up and down the river, starting small fires where the overgrowth was too thick and was choking out life. In this way, he cleared away the excess and the dead vegetation to make room for new sprouts...do you understand now? Fire is life, and life is fire. They are kindred, and where one goes the other follows faithfully.

Char roamed the banks of that mighty river for many years, and though he never did see the Life-Deer that we all must thank for our food and our very existence, in all of her creations he saw beauty. This was of course never reciprocated; the beasts feared the djinn of living fire and so fled from him wherever he might go. The tyranny of the winds never ceased, either; for as you know the various elements all hold nothing but contempt for one another. The cruel spirits of the wind frequently assailed him, though with his growing age came growing power and so he repelled his attackers with increasing ease.

There at last came a day where the sight of a fleeting animal acorss the river no longer kindled the warmth in his heart that he once had. It was then that the wanderlust crept in, and Char that it was time to move on. Already more spirits of the flame had found their way to the Mahd's banks, and so moving on to new lands he would afforded the chance to have the river and its bounty to themselves just as he once had.

Yet Char was no dying flame, having only a paltry few centuries to his name! It was still in his youth that Char found his way to the Venomweald Jungle, which you know to be that blighted place at the head of the mighty river. Here, life abounded and the trees grew so thick that their canopy shrouded the ground in darkness. The jungle floor was so choked by vines and briars that one could hardly even tread through!

Once more, Char became custodian of life. Feeding out of necessity rather than want, he only charred and scorched those places where life grew so thick that it turned upon itself and strangled out the young. Nonetheless, despite his temperance he found himself gorged each and every day, for one elemental could never hope to maintain such a large jungle. This was the prime of his day: he grew in such power, size, and voracity that none would hesisitate to call him a firelord. From the cinders left in his wake new flickers found life, and so he fathered many sons of the flame that followed him as he wandered through the jungle. He was Lord of the Venomweald.

But you know that our story is has not finished yet. No Lord can reign forever. No kingdom is exempt from war.

The skylords above witnessed the constant plumes of smoke rising from the jungle, and then they contemplated that strange portent. With a start they realized that they knew where their ancient enemy had fled, so it was without hesitation that they unleashed one of their most vicious winds upon the Venomweald. The new windjinn did everything in his power to root out the influence of the flame, and so he brought rain, raging tempests that howled through the jungle's gaps, and wild twisters that uprooted trees.

The stonelords too found their way to the Venomweald, making a home amidst the crags and slopes of the great Ironheart Mountains. The masters of the earth were slow-moving and solitary beings, but you will know that as a mountain stands tall and strong, it feels the need to cast a large shadow. In nothing more than petty displays of their own power, they unleashed mudslides, avalanches, and earthquakes to bury the jungle or rip it asunder. All would be made to bow to their might, be it out of respect or terror.

From the springs, stagnant pools, and flowing rivers welled up waterlords. The occasional creature drowned by their hands, but such was simply a part of life. Their floods could erode and destroy, but so too did they bring fertile silt to feed new life. These waterlords might have been tolerable, allies to Char even, had they only not sought to quench his flames with more hatred and zeal than mere words can describe. Like a plague they followed Char and his sons, and at every opportunity the surging waters extinguished a spirit of the flame and consigned it to oblivion for the mere sake of their own amusement.

Char could only weep tears of ash at the senseless destruction and reckless abandon with which his spiteful enemies made war. They brought utter ruin to the Venomweald, disrupting the balance and destroying the fragile equilibrium and peace that he and his sons had curated for so long. His noble heart was sundered, drowned, flayed. Where his good intent had been weathered away there came only rage to replace it.

He finally realized that he was the true Lord of the Venomweald, and that flame was the truest, purest, and most noble of all things. Following in the very footsteps of those enemies that he hated with every ounce of his infernal strength, he swore to purge the Venomweald of all lesser elements. He would not rest until flame ruled supreme and his now-flawed ideal of balance was restored.

Do you remember the unbearable heat of the Firewind that I described? That was nothing, like the apricity of a sunny day in winter when compared to the flames of a forge. The Firelord Char was a terror to behold. For hundreds of years his rampage continued, and a thousand thousand lesser spirits were purged by his infernal flames. Nothing could stop his infernal fury. Bird, beast, wind, water, and stone alike feared the indomitable holocaust that was Char. His power could not be contained and where he was once wise, now he had transformed into the devious, plotting sort of monster that the Great Adversary sometimes sees fit to unleash upon the world so as to torment us.



There came a day when Char and his fireguard rose early, the burning djinn rising from beneath the smoldering Ashpit that had been their camp for the past week. Char had never abandoned his roving tendency, and even now he preferred to stay eternally on the move. Only by this point all regard for the living had left him, as the blackened bones and ashes of countless trees could testify. Wherever he rested, the jungle was razed to a bleak bowl of nothing save ash and cinders lest his treacherous enemies find a way to approach him unseen.

From this Ashpit the many spirits of fire raced quickly for the cover of the dark canopy, for the open sky itself had eyes. Even though the creatures of air loathed the plumes of smoke that rose from the jungle and dared not approach Char, he still erred on the side of caution. He wanted to lay ambush, and to do so the spirits of the wind could not know of his movements.

Fortunately, on that day all his foes were distracted. The earth spirits raged wildly with no Master to control them, for earlier that year Char had grasped the Stonelord Cliff and cast him down into a volcano. A most unusual thing had happened: Cliff's mighty body was cracked and shattered by the fall, and into his open wounds the red-hot blood of the earth seeped. The magma fused with his very essence, transforming him into a monstrous giant of molten rock. He called himself Slag, yet the Venomweald still knew only one King of Fire. Slag's volcanic home was too distant to be a true threat, and all the elementals knew him to be no being of true flame, merely some sort of bastard abomination of the earth and fire. In a way, they hated him even more than they did Char.

Both Slag and the being known as Duke Aquarius, master of all the Venomweald's waterlords, moved to enslave or feast upon the hapless earth elementals that still raged through the crags. The spectacle no doubt had captivated the attention of Skylord Atmus, or so Char thought.

It offered the perfect moment for Char to strike the waterlords from behind, and he had carefully plotted an ambush upon the springs where Aquarius' favorite son made his dwelling. Invisible to the eyes of any but one another, hundreds of the fire spirits raced through the jungle's black depths. They struggled with all their might to bridle their rage and the heat that emanated from them. It was hard to willingly starve themselves and refrain from feasting upon every tree that they passed, though they knew that patience would pay off. When they reached the springs, they would make a conflagration worthy of Char's reputation: the pure, pellucid waters would be choked and poisoned with ash. They would leave nothing in their wake but a mighty blaze of terror and destruction.

As he lead the fireguard on their prowl through the darkness, Char chanced upon a serene sight that brought a tear to my eyes as I saw it in my dreams: there was a sunlit clearing, almost heavenly in its glow. In the middle there floating a nascent spirit of the air, joyfully at play with one of those floating Chime-Lilies that the Goddess Meimu gifted to the world.

Where I saw beauty, Char saw only a threat. Best to cull that weakling before it grew to threaten his power, he thought. With a flick of his finger, he sent his favored lieutenant forward. Oblivious to the danger, the tiny, fragile thing was destroyed in a moment as the fingers of fire shot out from behind a tree. In a moment there was nothing left save the ashes of that flower floating back to ground...

A short time saw them to the edge of those springs at the border of Aquarius' domain, where his son stood guard as always. Silently, the hardly-glowing fireguard moved to encircle the spring. As one, they then roared to life. In an instant fire had engulfed the trees around the spring; there was no escape. Char strode forth, and the walls of fire advanced with him. The waterlord quivered in fear and retreated to the deepest depths of his spring. Laughing, Char leapt into the cool waters after his quarry, and the spring's waters boiled and joined the plumes of black smoke that rose to the sky.

It was with perverse glee that Char took his savory retribution, or at least a small part of it, by claiming the life and the power of this cowardly waterlord that had thought to hide in the bottom of a puddle. He knew the suffering that this loss would inflict to his enemy; in Char's time, the likes of Aquarius had claimed many of his sons as well. Each and every one of Char's slain sons had been avenged tenfold. It still brought no satisfaction to the King of Fire; deep down, he knew that they would only be at rest once he had burned all of the other elementals. That was the only way.

Just as Char finished his climb from the dried hole that had once been a spring and his fireguard finished satiating their appetites and prepared to take their leave, all chaos was unleashed. Rolling thunderclouds descended upon them from unseen heights of the sky, and a horrific deluge of rain sent many of Char's weaker fireguards fleeing for their lives. Char remained dauntless even as a hundred spears of lightning were hurled from above to smite him. He laughed, grew his fiery form even larger, and filled the stormy sky with an acrid, sulfurous haze.

From above, a thunderous, screaming voice of the wind called out, "You face Atmus, Skylord of these-"

Mocking laughter roared out from Char's burning chest. "HOW MANY BATTLES HAVE I WON? HOW MANY SKYLORDS HAVE I SLAIN?"

He inhaled like the bellows of a furnace, and the air was helplessly caught in his inescapable grasp. A hundred spirits of the air were pulled from the tempest above into his burning form. "I WANT TO SEE YOU BURN, ATMUS! I WANT TO SEE THE WORLD BURN!"

The foolish windjinn now saw their mistake in coming; even with all their combined strength, they could not stand up to the monstrous flame. Nothing could. They tried to conjure a great wind to blow their tempest away and to safety, but Char would have none of it. Mercy was for the weak.

With one great breath, Char breathed out a plume of flame that reached up to touch the heavens. By his will, a thousand seeking Flickers felt the warmth of his breath and came to life. His sons were but mere sparks or flickers of flame; they stood no chance falling into that tempest. Yet together they still brought enough chaos to break the windlords' concentration. Their sacrifice would not be in vain.

With a roar and several seconds of summoning his horrible power, Char launched a plume of fire below him so forceful that he shot up into the sky. It was unheard of for a being of the flame to fight the windlords in the sky, their dominion and their own element, and yet Char did so. His burning grasp found the surprised Atmus before gravity returned him to the earth, and with all his strength Char dragged his great foe to the ground. In the midst of the burned clearing and raging windstorm, the monstrous, giant djinn of flame pinned the living cyclone of Atmus to the ground and began to consume him.

Then all at once, the air bcame alive and writhing with unseen forces once more. A hundred air elementals sped into the scene from afar, using the clouds as trapezes, and they landed upon Char's back. Desperately they pried him off their Master. Char only laughed at their futile sacrifice. Even now, the doom of his flames was inescapable.

But then, lo and behold, the jungle itself was swept aside by an unstoppable wall of surging water, for Aquarius and his waterlords had amassed every last river and well of water that they controlled into one great wave. Their arrival finally brought real panic into Char's raging heart; individually Atmus or Aquarius were no match for his might, but together they might prevail. The windjinn, those of Char's fireguard that had loyally remained, the trees, the animals: all were drowned beneath the crushing weight of a hundred fathoms!

And then the weakened yet still furious Char felt the earth shudder. He looked up and saw his doom: two giant forms lumbered toward the scene, that of his nemesis and rival Slag, and another of Slate, the stonelords' newest master. It had all been a trap; his information about the ongoing battle was false and Aquarius' son had sacrificed himself, knowing that his life would surely draw the opportunistic Char into the clutches of the other elemental lords.

Earth, water, wind, even fire--though of a different sort, were present. All were assembled to see Char's doom, for he had grown too powerful and had disrupted the balance for far too long. They circled Char, who was admittedly weakened from the wave's onslaught. All around, where there had been a spring and jungle there was nothing but an ashen quagmire for miles before one could see the jungle's trees.

The four elementals circled around Char, then began to converge. There was no escape, and the King of Fire knew it. "My final words..." the once terrifying being managed to choke out. Though they hated him, they could not help but respect him; his power was unimaginable and his reign had lasted longer than even they could remember.

"Speak...then...before...your...end..." Slate spoke, voicing the will of the earth.

"Quickly, then, foul one, before I find reason to suspect a trap and prolong your suffering!" Aquarius intoned with the water's desires.

Atmus was silent and distant as the sky. Slag only hungered for his vengeance.

Strength and power suddenly raced back into Char as he roared his dying words, and in an instant the four bringers of his doom leaped back in terror once more.

"EVEN NOW, YOU ARE ALL BUT INSECTS BEFORE ME. I WILL DIE AND REDUCE MY KINGDOM TO ASHES BEFORE I YIELD THE VENOMWELD TO YOUR ILK."

Slag regained his composure, thought that this was no more than a bluff, and advanced forward to finish his dying nemesis. Char only laughed as he continued, "ALL WILL FEAR MY FLAME! I WILL MELT THE MOUNTAINS, BOIL THE SEAS AND RIVERS, INHALE THE SKIES, AND CHOKE YOU ALL WITH ASH AND SOOT! MY FINAL FLAME WILL PURGE ALL THE LESSER ELEMENTS!"

Without another word, I saw Char's end: he exploded in a nova of such fury and power that he engulfed all the other elements. Atmus, Aquarius, and Slate all met their doom. Slag alone was fated to survive the heat, for pain and fire were ingrained into his very heart. He retreated back into the magmatic depths of his volcano to simmer in rage, for like Char, he found no happiness in vengeance. Only hunger for more.

The blast reached even to the edge of the devastation that had already been wrought, and then farther still: in an instant, he had incinerated a swathe of forest so vast that it could not have been felled in the lifetimes of a hundred woodsmen. The conflgration continued to rage on, of course, and for one year and one day from that very moment, Char's holocaust continued. Then he was no more, simply ashes upon the wind.

The bickering, wroth tyrants of the Venomweald were all gone, and new life could spring forth. The cycle began anew.

The chase came to an end before a hideous being. So hideous was he, in the eyes of The One By Immortals Altered, that she had to consider for a few seconds whether he was Jvanic or not. Repulsed though she was by his aura, it soon became apparent that he was indeed a natural being. It was strange that she felt so repulsed by him – he was more repulsive to her than any being, Jvanic or otherwise, she had ever witnessed. His ugliness was not physical – indeed, he was physically rather pleasant on her eyes – but it was the aura he exuded, the sounds he made (which were most likely his primitive method of communication), the unbearably intrusive smell which pervaded his general area. Were it not for the fact that he had brought an end to the Jvanic Feline, The One By Immortals Altered would not have hesitated to bring an end to his pontifical existence.

As it were, The One By Immortals Altered was not some beast, it knew how to honour a debt and it would leave this one to enjoy life but a little longer. The Primordial Ant turned away from Vainglory Personified, leaving him to pontificate away in his primitive tongue, but before the First Formica had so much as taken a step away, it sensed the coming of a most deplorable treachery. So honourless and hideous a being she had never, and would never, know, for he struck her a most ruinous blow when she had turned away. She could not react or protect herself from the strange powers of Vainglory Personified and pain soon ripped through her lower body as every one of her smouldering, fiery legs was severed from her body. And the Primordial One fell helpless to the earth. And she heard the strange, rather nauseating, laughter of her tormentor as he pontificated one last time before he was gone.

Clicking her vicious mandibles in pain, the Primordial Ant attempted to move herself, but to no avail. Her blood pooled around her and her severed legs twitched, and the small scavengers of the Deepwood homed in on her. The first were the ants. Swarms came to investigate the helpless formica, and they began picking at the Primordial Ant’s severed limbs. Then came a group of Stripe-faced Aphids, led by a larger aphid with dark-green stripes across its face and body, and each one had a small sharpened stick in hand. Alarmed at the mounting danger, the Primordial Ant rolled to her side and locked her powerful mandibles before digging one into the earth. Once secured, using the mandible for leverage, she snapped her jaws shut and was launched into the air at terrifying speeds, over the heads of the opportunistic aphids and their alpha, and up above the trees of the Deepwood. At one point she collided with a Marble-eyed Gargoyle who screeched in shock and attempted to flee its unlikely attacker – after all, ants did not fly, it had thought itself safe from the pests up here. It eventually tore itself free from the large ant, and the First Formica began her slow descent towards the Deepwood ground. Branches broke beneath her weight and larger ones were severed by the power of her mandibles as she made her single-minded journey to the forest floor. Had she been a being of soft flesh, she would have most likely suffered many broken bones and injuries, and maybe even death. But she was not, and so she survived.

Upon landing, she immediately raised her head and surveyed her surroundings. A few small creatures had made their escape upon her sudden appearance, but other than that it did not seem like there was any danger here. She felt slight relief and allowed herself to rest for a few seconds, shutting her mind off and falling into a swift sleep, from which she quickly awakened with her senses screaming that something was not right. She looked around once more and this time noticed the cracked, glowing rock, and she took note of the trees, for they had strange vein-like structures upon them. The forest around her was suddenly very quiet, and the Primordial Ant thought she could hear a very distant, most alluring sound calling to her. And it came from the rock and emanated from the trees. It filled her with complete serenity, but her senses screamed at her to escape this place. Ignoring her senses, she pulled herself towards the glowing rock with her mandibles so as to inspect it more closely. The moment she rested her head upon the strange rock, an incomprehensible level of pain filled her being. Her mandibles opened wide in horror and shock – she should have listened to her senses…

For the briefest moment, everything became a blend of darkness and light, and when The One By Immortals Altered regathered her wits, she was standing upon her own six feet again. A strange crimson and lavender aura spiralled lazily around her. The spiral came to an end at the ant’s ancient head, and the fires of the Primordial Ant intermingled with the crimson and lavender, and her colouration changed. Different energies flowed across her exo-skeleton in constantly changing patterns and shapes, and the colours went from darker to lighter shades and would continue to do so perpetually. But what was more notable was the change that the Primordial Ant felt. She did not understand the change, she did not know what had happened – other than the fact that her legs had grown back – but she knew that she would find out when Time dictated and Fate willed. She examined the strange obelisk once more, trying to sense the essence of it. It was not Jvanic or unnatural, that much was clear, she did not sense anything from The Gap (for she had traversed that place for millennia and would know if this was it). What was undeniably clear was that this was the working of a divine being, though the Primordial Ant knew not who. Whoever it was, however, the First Formica was most grateful indeed. The divine creator of this great obelisk had saved her from certain, torturous and long-winded death and she would be forever grateful. It was clear that Fate and the divines had willed she survive, had willed she continue her mission, had willed she take her vengeance upon the one who had transgressed all bounds and tormented her beyond all measure and whose vainglory knew no limits. Rubbing the segment of her gaster, upon which was a patch of tiny ridges like a file, with the curved ridge (the scraper) on her petiole, the Primordial Ant raised her head high and spoke, and her speech was an oath. The musical sounds and vibrations rang out before the hallowed obelisk as the First Among Creation stridulated.

‘So long as your blessed energies run within me, so long as life soldiers and drums on within: I shall not cease from Mental Fight nor shall death know sleep across all the land. This is my oath, till Jvanics and Vainglory alike are cleansed from Galbar's highest peaks and lowest valleys, from its most savage soils and sweetest clays and sands.’



With her oath taken, the Ancient Xeno set out from the Deepwoods and onward to the east. She passed through the Gilt Savannah before that coalesced with the Great Steppe, which stretched on towards the Changing Plains, merged with the Golden Barrens and stretch ever onward towards the Valley of Peace in the north-east. For many long years did she stalk the steppes, bringing down all Jvanic and unnatural beings she crossed. It was on those very steppes that she encountered her first Ashlings and Elementals. She was shocked at the Ashling’s attempts to penetrate her exo-skeleton and possess her. She had panicked and made a swift escape. After all, she had never seen such a being and its attempts to enter her were terrifying to the Primordial Ant – it reminded her very much of the horrific creatures that had existed in The Gap and the terrible things they had attempted to do to her. Even the thought sent vibrations of fear through the xeno's body.

After a good few years of carefully stalking and observing the strange beings, she began to understand their behaviour. Regardless of how they acted, it was clear to her that they were unnatural beings and so she destroyed them wherever she crossed them – her mandibles crushed their chests, cutting through them as easily as Time passed through Life and with the fury of Fate behind her every ambush and strike. But she strangely felt that there was more to her domination of the Ashlings than the pure power of her mandibles or swiftness of her movement, or even the superiority of her tactics. There was something else at work within her body which she did not understand, something which gave her mandibles a sharpness beyond the norm and her poisons a potency they had not had before. It confused her greatly, but more than anything it scared her. Something had happened to her of which she was unaware and which she could not understand, someone – or something – had changed her according to their whims. It terrified her to think that there was some unknown entity which had implanted something unknown within her and wielded an unknown amount of power and authority over her.

Trying not to dwell too much on the matter, the Primordial Ant eventually decided that the time had come for her to move on from the steppes. Over a three-month period, she stalked a newly formed wind elemental across the Golden Barrens and into the blazing heat of the Firewind Desert. Here the Primordial Ant came to learn many lessons about the strange elementals and the desert itself. She watched smaller ants and creatures and came to understand how they survived in the desert. Though the various species of desert ants were very resistant to the heat, they were vulnerable to a number of predators and only emerged for a brief period when the sun was at its highest in the sky and the temperatures at their most severe. When all other creatures hid away from the blistering heat of the desert, ant-kind emerged to forage for food. The harsh desert meant that odours, tracks and all methods of knowing how far one ventured from the nest were very quickly lost, and so the ingenious ants used the sun and the number of steps they had ventured from their nest for navigation. Beneath the desert sands, the ants built and prospered and warred, only venturing above ground when the sentries announced that the heat of day had reached its peak and all the predators were cowering in the shade.
The One By Immortals Altered watched, too, the elementals and began to fathom the hierarchy which existed among them. Powerful djinnis commanded lesser elementals and the greatest djinnis established their authority over all elementals, even expanding and attempting to establish control over other types elementals. There was something strangely ant-like about them, except that they lacked the one-minded efficiency of ants.

The beings earned her admiration, but there was no denying that they were unnatural. Much as she willed herself to attack them, however, something told her that there was something she had not yet understood. Despite their clearly unnatural nature, they were neither Jvanic nor chaotic. Nor, indeed, did they have about them the tell-tale eldritch aura of The Gap. If anything, they reminded her of the great obelisk. It was upon seeing, for the first time, the very formation of an elemental that her mind pierced into the heart of the matter and she understood: anomalies in the very being of the universe, it was from them that these elementals emerged. Anomalies which had, somehow, become an intrinsic part of the Universe. The Primordial Ant, The First Among Creation, knew that these things had not existed in the beginning, they had not been inherent in the Universe when she had come into being many eons ago. They had become inherent. What mighty – and foolish – being had made this fatal alteration? Was this the Will of Fate? Had Time dictated that this be so? No matter how hard she thought, she could not know, oh! she could not know.

Lost in her many thoughts, her curiosity one day got the better of her and she decided that she wanted to know what would happen if she touched a flicker. The desert had taught her much, and she dug deep into the desert sands as the smaller ants and desert mice did. Unlike them, she could not delve too deep, but remained just beneath the surface – deep enough to be undetectable, and rather than ‘tunnelling’ through the sand, she swam and used her heightened sense to guide her way. Finding a good position where she had oft seen dust wisps form (the place seemed to be some kind of hotspot for their formation), she lay in wait, her senses tuned. The moment she sensed a flicker hovering above her location, the First Among Creation burst forth in a great explosion of sand, her mandibles cutting at the flicker which had just about begun to morph into a dust wisp upon contact with the sand. And she passed right through it. Upon landing, she turned to see what had become of the flicker, but found no budding wind elemental there. It seemed like her intervention had somehow disrupted the process, for she had not sensed an elemental at all. The flicker simply disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Or, to put it more accurately, it had burst. She had felt the slightest magical pressure as she passed through it, a small level explosion of sorts. Rather than escape, it seemed that she had in fact destroyed the flicker. This piqued the interest of the ant. She had assumed that even if she attacked these ethereal beings, they would not be affected by her physical body – even if her body had been changed. She needed to experiment further, she needed to see if the flicker had merely acted in a strange way or if it was her intervention that had caused the small explosion.

She watched the area and saw two elementals form, she then intervened when the third was about to form, and her results were the same as the first time. Her third intervention bore the same results. This was indeed fascinating. Pushing her curiosity further, she decided to wait on the elemental to fully form before attacking it. Would her attack affect an elemental? She very soon found out, as the shriek of a newly-formed wind wisp was cut short by the snap of her mandibles. Twice more she tried this, with a similar result. Perhaps, she thought to herself, not enough time had passed and the elemental still retained the properties of the flicker at that early stage of its life. If she stalked the elemental for a few weeks, would the result be any different?

And so when the next wispy elemental formed, she did not pounce upon it immediately, but stalked it for a long while, watching its every action with an astute, unwavering gaze. How it fed and grew in power, how it humbled itself before those older and larger and more powerful than it. Things it had seen before but not looked so deeply and carefully into as she did now. She found the fact that they mostly ignored her rather interesting. Were they not aware that she watched them? Did they not know that she could see and detect them? Were they not sentient? Or perhaps they did not deem her worthy of expending their attention on, or not interesting enough. She knew well that giant ants did not exist anywhere bar the Deepwood, so she thought it unlikely that a giant ant would not attract their attention.

Perhaps, then she thought to herself, they are avoiding me. Why they would do so, she did not know, but it seemed the only logical reason – for she strongly doubted that they merely lacked sentience. Their interactions with one another showed clear signs of intelligence and a complex, multi-tiered social organisation. More complex than that of ants, that could not be denied. But perhaps that also added to its inefficiency. The simplicity of the social organisation of ants, along with their single-minded unity, made them far more effective and efficient. The strength of ant-kind was in their lack of sentience and absolute unity, whereas these elementals were weakened by their sentience – it complicated their social structure and divided them among themselves. But then again, they were beings which wielded strange and wondrous powers that required sentience to realise, so sentience, while being their greatest weakness and flaw, was also their greatest strength. It was truly fascinating.

When the elemental she had been stalking had reached its third week, she sauntered stealthily towards it, her exo-skeleton changing colours and camouflaging her against the desert sands and haze caused by the blistering heat. As she neared, she slowly allowed herself to sink into the sand until she was swimming in it with nothing but her head above the surface, and homed in on her test subject.

Once she was twice her own length from the elemental, she tensed her powerful legs and burst forward at shocking speeds. The three-week old elemental screeched and whipped sand towards her, but her exo-skeleton deflected the sands and her mandibles closed in upon the nigh-undetectable wisp. Whatever power there was within her seemed to cause a powerful reaction within the wisp and it cried out even louder than before, and its life was forever extinguished. Standing there in the sand, The One By Immortals Altered could not help but feel a level of dissatisfaction at victory so easily attained, but her curiosity had been sated and so, after years upon rolling years, she deemed it Time to move on.

Crossing the mighty Mahd, she followed it the north and saw the strange beings that Life had left behind in her trail. Indeed, these natural beings seemed to take on the properties of unnatural beings just as readily. Their shapes and forms were utterly wrong. Giant spider-like creatures and others with tentacled faces, and others with multiple feet and no discernible face – a blob with feet. But others were very pleasing, such as these little ones which had within them the attributes of crocodile (which were abundant on the Mahd) and dog. They were playful little creatures and The One By Immortals Altered enjoyed chasing and being chased by them. Another creation which caught her attention and gained her approval was a strange communal animal, reminding her of the Stripe-faced Aphids in some ways. They used sticks to fish, though they did not seem sentient, and burrowed into the ground near the river. Beautiful creatures, there was no denying. And delicious too.

She continued up along the Mahd, observing its hippopotami and alligators, its powerful Rhinos and its many species of fish. The giant Mahd crocodiles were a sensation also, and the Primordial Ant personally witnessed the creature’s power as it brought down a great wildebeest, leaving it on the bank to dry until it was ready for eating.

The Mahd monitor, while nothing like the crocodile, could grow up to seven feet in length and was a formidably aggressive predator, feeding on small animals, fish and birds. That was not to say that it could not potentially harm larger creatures too. Indeed, all had best beware, for it had a nasty bite and a powerful, whip-like tail. On its banks and within its depths there also dwelled the strange Mahdian soft shelled turtle. Many were the Mahd’s birds, many its toads and lizards, many its snakes. Slough had made the desert bloom. Here, on the Mahd, did she dwell for unknown years, and despite the strangeness of some of Life's creations, she came to cherish them all.



But no stay was ever permanent, onward did the relentless ant move, until, following one of the Mahd’s tributary rivers, she arrived at what others knew as the Venomweald, but was to the Primordial Ant a Vicious Place indeed. Everything within it attacked her, and its ponds sent the ant’s senses into a frenzy – indeed, at one point she witnessed the fall of a small insect in there, and what emerged was horrific beyond comprehension. Tigers-which-were-not attacked her, Lizards-which-were-plants, horrifically deformed rats and giant wasps-which-were-plants. Flowers had teeth and trees attempted to trap her and consume her. Four-eyed, six-legged dogs whose jaws could open beyond what could ever be right and jaws so full of razor-sharp teeth that the poor ant clicked her mandibles in disgust and swiftly decapitated the unnatural-yet-natural. It horrified her senses to think that such things were indeed natural, but there was simultaneously awe within her. The might of nature was far beyond all things unnatural. It encompassed even the most horrific things, and all the beautiful things, and so nature was ever superior to all things unnatural – in ugliness and beauty both, in naturalness and unnaturalness too.

Despite her appreciation of the arguable beauty of this Vicious Place, the Primordial Ant chose to move swiftly away, for she had once been in another Vicious Place, and she knew that such places became more vicious the longer one remained. She did not wish to discover the most vicious of all things – and she could almost sense the Beast, she could feel its abominable, ghastly gaze upon her. The Primordial Ant knew she could deal with some monstrosities in this Vicious Place, and escape others, but she knew with certainty that she was as vulnerable before the Beast as flickers were before her.

Travelling due east along the Ironheart Range, she soon arrived at a great pass leading through the mighty mountains, and she headed through it. The howling of the wind and a strange creature was all the ant could hear. No matter how she shifted her antennae, she could not work out wherefrom the sound came. The mountains caused the sound to echo and its source became impossible to detect. But the sound was, there was no other word for it, haunting. And it fetored with Jvanic taint. The very air had become tainted, and wherever the sound reached became impure by it. It was insufferable! She had to find the diabolic source of this diabolic sound.

For weeks she sweeped all over the pass and in the mountains around it, doggedly following her antennae. As the weeks dragged on, the sound grew and she knew that she was getting ever closer to the foul source. A month dragged by, and still she hounded the sound. At one point a Jvanic Feline happened to cross her path, and the maddened ant screeched a most terrible warcry before pouncing upon the thing and tearing it limb from limb – or, more accurately, hair from hair.

Incensed even further by the encounter, she continued her tenacious hunt. She lost count of the weeks and months that passed, and nights and days merged and became one, but one day her antennae finally led her to a most deceptive part of the Ironheart. There upon the mountain face was an object most tragic and foul. From it emanated unadulterated Jvanic energies and the unmistakable scourge of The Gap. And there was a djinni in there, and the unholy sounds were the wretched creatures perpetual screams of agony and misery and untold despondency. Enraged by this most foul, sadistic and heinous act, the Ancient Xeno leapt upon the Jvanic instrument and tore into it. The taint would be cleansed, the woebegone creature would be freed.

As she tore at the thing, the notes of the djinni within began to change. There remained pain and misery, and the eons of trauma would never disappear, but now there was hope. Her powerful mandibles broke away at the degenerate instrument, and soon enough the djinni was able to break free of what remained of it.

‘GLORY BE!’ came his mighty, thundering voice, ‘FOR I AM FREE!’



Above them, the clouds gathered and thundered also, and the winds picked up, and the Primordial Ant wondered if she was safe in the presence of this impossibly powerful elemental – indeed, he was easily one of the most powerful she had ever seen. Slowly, she began to back away, hoping to make a swift getaway before the being noticed her. But it was not to be, for his voice thundered and his command was heard as though it were a thunderclap.

‘COME!’ and at those words, the winds surrounded the ant and carried her up towards the djinnis face. The Ancient Xeno let out a terrified screech and attempted to claw and cut her away out of the clear trap. At any moment now the djinni would consume her as she had seen them consume other creatures – and even each other! – before. But the winds did not become harsher, they only softened, and a gentle breeze flowed through her antennae, and his voice came more gentle and sweet.

‘Do not fear, for you are one I hold most dear. No wind shall harm you and no flame shall sear, for you have befriended great Basheer!’ though The One By Immortals Altered could not understand what the words spoken were, the wind djinni also seemed to naturally speak in vibrations. Those were picked up and the ant understood what had been said, and they calmed her down greatly, though she still felt anxious about the great height she was at. Not only was she in mid-air, she was very high up on a mountain. A fall from here would not end well, even with her exo-skeleton.

‘Ask and you shall be given, command and you shall be obeyed, for you have saved me from a fate most wicked, and in my hour of weakness gave me help and aid,’ came the vibrations. Flattered though she was by his words of thanks and praise, the Primordial Ant sought no reward, it was reward enough to cleanse the world from Jvanic taint and put an end to the misery of all creation therethrough.
‘It is enough,’ she stridulated, ‘that you are free of your torment and that this friendship has been forged.’

Basheer surveyed the ant, her answer was pleasing to him even though he wanted to reward her for her help in some way. It irked him to feel that a debt he owed was to go unpaid.

‘A friendship you have asked for, and a friendship you shall have. Wherever you go and wherever your feet lead you, know that the wind shall ever be your ally. If ever you are in need, just let my name drop upon the winds, and I shall be there with the Legions of Air,’ and with that, the mighty djinni took off down the mountain, placing the ant safely down at the end of the passage, leading across a thin stretch of savannah towards the Nice Mountains and Valley of Peace.

‘A hundred times, I thank you, a thousand times I thank you. The winds shall sing praises of you, and they shall ululate my thanks. Will you seal our friendship, my friend, by allowing me the honour of hearing you name?’

Bowing her head deeply, the Ancient Xeno stridulated melodically once more.
‘It is I who is thankful, and I who sing you praises, great Zephyr, and it is I who is honoured by your friendship. I am The One By Immortals Altered, I am the Primordial Ant, the Ancient Xeno, the First Formica, the Bane of Jvankind, the First Among Creation. I am TOBIA.’

Basheer’s ethereal face appeared to break out into a smile, and a thunder clap of laughter left his chest.
‘A most noble creature have I befriended this day, call upon me, friend, for I shall never be far away,’ and with those last words, the djinni launched himself into the air and dispersed, free at last after unknown eons of wretched imprisonment.

Allowing herself a few moments to reflect on the happenings of the past half hour alone, The One By Immortals Altered wondered what the ramifications of destroying a Jvanic relic would be. She had hunted down Jvanic beings of all kinds, Jvanic Sculptors and Jvanic Felines, but never had she destroyed a Jvanic relic. Vibrations of fear filled her, and she decided to move swiftly from this place, for despite the silencing of the diabolical sound, the place was still saturated with Jvanic taint, and it would take many decades for nature to reclaim what had been consumed by the unnatural.

Onward, ever onward, she went, coming to the great Nice Mountains. Here, all was peace, and the law was serenity. She explored the idyllic spot and thought on the jarring difference between a place such as this and that Vicious Place. Here even the predator took mercy on you, yet there the most peaceable creature was a feral and bloodthirsty thing. Here strange beings of pure light glided on their wings, and there were strange sentient creatures who had perfectly white porcelain shells and gibbered to one another in their primitive language of the tongue. They took an interest in the huge ant and were energetic in approaching her – for the peace of the valley had grown on them and made them fearless, and they knew that nothing could harm them so long as they remained in their little paradise. Hain children ran about her legs and those who felt brave attempted to jump upon her back, while those older and wiser brought her gifts of fruits and berries. And she ate and was pleased.

She did, however, sense that a Jvanic being had been present in the valley not too long ago. It greatly distressed her to think that such unnatural beings could enter this little paradise. It was the purest and most clean of places that were easiest to defile, and there was no place cleaner and more pure than the Valley of Peace, and so the Primordial Ant feared for the safety of the hain and all the creatures which dwelt in the valley. Seeing that there was nothing she could do to protect the sacred place, other than hope that whatever divine guardian had created it continued to protect it, the First Formica returned to frolicking with the pleasant hain.

Blissful years and decades passed, and the decades into centuries formed, and never did she grow restless or feel a need to depart, and it was then that she understood the subtle danger of this place. For beings who only wished for life, there was no place better than this valley, but for the Bane of Jvankind, the guardian against all things unnatural, there was no place more lethal. And so she gathered herself up and, much to the shock and protestations of the valley’s hain, departed. The young hain would grow, and stories of the ‘Ant Goddess’ whose coming marked the end of the strange, haunting howls would be passed from those who had seen her to those who had not. And they would glorify the one who rid them of the Howling Horror, and they would praise and remember, and they would always place offerings of fruits and berries near ant mounds in her honour and for her pleasure and in hope of her promised return.

She travelled north through the savannah, and the savannah gave way to sparsely forested and frozen plains, which gave way to heavy forests coated in snow as far as the eye could see. And the trees exuded a most unusual, rather spine-chilling, aura. It was almost as though they were alive. She sometimes thought she saw movement in the darkness of the woods, and she thought she heard other-worldly, disturbingly beautiful, humming. It was nothing short of terrifying to the Ancient Xeno, and she stuck to the edge of the snowy jungle and travelled further to the east. Terrifying forests to the left of her, barren plains to the right of her, and when she had travelled far enough, a great ocean beyond whose seawater smell carried on the winds even across the plains.

Her eastward trek came to a stop when she found a distinctly different, yet similar, jungle rearing up before her. Though this one was lush and green and relatively free of ice, there was still an unnatural darkness within it. She could not see beyond the first few trees, and she felt that there were untold hundreds of eyes in that darkness, gazing right into her. There was the same hum, the same aura, and she heard the odd squeal from within, the thumping of feet…



Terror gripping her, she turned and flew towards the ocean. She did not stray too far into the barren plains, and she did not get too close to the strange jungle’s edge. What she could see was that this was a place abandoned by mortals and immortals alike. The plains rolled on endlessly, and the blue ocean rose up beyond, and there was not a hint that life existed here. The skies were empty and the land devoid of all living things, natural be they or otherwise. She traversed the Jungle and continued on into the plains, deeper and deeper, closer and closer to the sea. Until one day she found herself at the coast, and without thinking she leapt forward and began swimming. For the longest time she kicked and struggled, keeping her head above the water, but she soon tired and simply allowed herself to float, directing herself here or there as well as she could.

And she would have continued like so were it not for the fact that some strange creature caught her leg and pulled her under. Panic struck her and she flailed around beneath the water, attempting to find her silent attacker. Her mandibles struck wildly and she thought she cut something, but when her eyes refocused there was nothing. As she continued to flail, she came to realise that her body was moving rather wildly in the water and without direction – but it was moving. With this realisation, she tried to calm herself down and identify how it was that she was surviving beneath the waves. Much as she thought, she could not understand – though she well-knew that some species of ant could dwell in rivers and stay beneath the water for great lengths of time. She had never thought herself like them.

As she experimented with her swimming abilities, she began to see more clearly some of the wonders that dwelled within the great expanses of saltwater. Fishes of all shapes and sizes, some glistening brightly while others took on duller hues. Massive ones with sharpened teeth who swam by threateningly, and other friendlier types who came and gazed at her curiously before swimming off. At one point a huge fish with a grey hide and faded stripes charged towards her, and the ant lashed out with her powerful mandibles. The fish quickly scurried away, leaving a trail of red behind.

Huge whales swam by and great lumbering black and white fish which gave the swimming ant a few less-than-friendly glances. She swam on, eager to get out of the water as soon as possible. While she was ecstatic to discover her aquatic capabilities, she did not want to linger around any longer and discover the limits of those same abilities. And so she climbed ashore and continued along the coast until she arrived at a great mountain range which she suspected to be an extension of the same Ironheart range she had crossed long ago. The only way across was a thin body of water which flowed through a strange shallow breakage in the range. With the smallest bit of fear, she allowed herself to enter the waters once more and began her swift swim across.

She immediately felt the difference between the waters she was leaving and the ones she was entering. Behind her the waters were terribly salty, but the ones she was entering, though undeniably brine, were almost sweet in comparison. And here different kinds of creatures dwelled. Though they were rather awe-inspiring and she wished to stay longer and examine them, she had the strangest feeling of urgency growing within her. It was as though she had been on a single-minded journey towards something, and her goal was fast approaching. And so she came ashore once more, on the other side of the mountains this time, and continued onward along the coast. And as she walked speedily, and her urgency grew, she began to feel a most horrific, a most undeniably familiar, aura. And she stopped at the coast and allowed her perceptive eyes to look on. And she saw it with a frantic eye: the beating heart of bastardy. A fleshly thing, impure, unclean, to render dead with dagger keen: here mandibles had found their Fate this day!

And with that, she leapt into the water, screeched a terrible warcry, and swam with all the speed she could muster towards the pulsating source of Jvankind. And getting there, she gripped the horrid and most hideous flesh with her claws, and she climbed thereon, and she navigated her way onto the creature until she had reached its apex. And there she defiantly stood, releasing one last, melodic note towards the heavens, before she jabbed her ancient head downwards, and dug her mandibles into the Beating Bastardy.

Vestec was watching his 'little' army train and prepare for the glorious crusade he had promised them, as Grot watched on. He was tossing the little bottle of magical energy in between his hands, puzzling over something. His army was a terrifying as it could be. The height of weaponry and tactics, savagery and villainy, hatred and lust for blood. But it was missing something. In fact the races in general were missing something. "What could it be..." He mused, watching as a Tedar brutally beat his opponent into the ground. Suddenly, the God of Chaos straightened up, his colors brightening and flashing excitedly. "I know! I know! They don't have a variety of ways to kill things! It's all so...boring." He looked down at the small bottle of pure magical energy in his hands. "And I know exactly what to do to change that." He flitted down to Grot, letting a single drop from the bottle filter down onto the giant's head.

Grot glowed red, then brown, then white, roaring in pain. "Don't worry, dear Grot! It'll end soon and you'll be better for it!" Vestec called, giggling, as he disappeared down to the Hain, the Azibo of the Chosen Rovaick, and Sculptors he had taken. Each of them he gave a single drop to, causing them to writhe and howl in pain. "It'll be helpful in the end, I promise!"

Vestec darted to the Hain not in his control, and not enslaved to Toun. "I'm fair. Here you go!" More pain, more howling, and then he was gone. He did the same thing to the Rovaick he had left to their own devices, and the humans when he sensed the. "Hellloooo, where did you come from?" He stole some of them for his army (no race was to be left out after all), dumped them there to be trained, and then left.

He appeared next to Astarte. "Astarte! I've put your magic bottle of magic to good use! Everything sentient is now using magic. Preferably for their own sense of fun and violence. But who knows. Maybe they'll take Niciel's advice and wield it for good.

An odd man, jumping across the sky. An odd man.

Not a mortal, and not a god. Fun, and arrogant. Could he be..? Mysterious figures in the distance of this world. An Heir to the King of Gods and God of Kings, too. Logos' Daughter. We're getting busy. Meimu, Notte and a Breezy Wizard. The gods are procreating, like any other form of life. I wonder how many I've missed. An odd man. Logos. Notte and the Humans. A storm in the wastes that struck down Violet. Logos.

Jvan treasured up all these things and pondered them in her core. "To enamour him to Logos' progeny, and yet he fell for you, instead. I'm not surprised by this odd man, Notte, this flighty boy. Beneath your skin, you are beautiful." Would be even better, she thought, if the avatar showed a little more of her true nature as a thing of glass and rust. "There are fine stories of reckless love like this, you do know... And soon there will be many more." Most of them ended among the ashes of the glorious blaze of passion, and were all the more lovely for it. A romantic tragedy, then? So be it. I shall be the snake that first led Notte astray. Let the girl burn. Maybe her Dreamscript Mother would approve. A number of good tales begin with a child leaving home.

"Perhaps you have not considered, Notte, why the Lady Ilunabar keeps her plans close to her chest? There is no danger in sharing this kind of information with me. Maybe other gods- No, I think my sister hid this detail because she is afraid of what someone might tell you if they knew." Was that a lie? Probably. Didn't matter. "A faraway realm, where humans live, and a young godling, heir of a keen-eyed deity. Logos created man and he has made them well. If you're looking for a place and a people to explore, look beyond Galbar. If you're looking for someone to make you feel whole... Were Logos to have a daughter as you say, then she would be the epitome of Order. Not the stifling perfection my brother Toun falters to reach, but something graceful, natural, above all else you will see in this conflicted world for some eons yet." Logos, yes. Logos. That was a close enough description of his style, was it not? Logos.

"Maybe you won't like her. Maybe she won't like you. Maybe the place where humans come from is as boring as a cloudless sky and Ilunabar is right to keep you far from it. But if you don't explore, you will never find something to fill your heart, and send you falling into a fit of glittering love. You know how to get there, now, and you can always come back before your mother and sister suspect. Break the rules, Notte.

"Lose your way. Find yourself. I will be with you."

The All-Beauty meant it literally. Deep within, the scintillating core of the god began to shudder and coil into sharp angles, and several events took place in short succession.

"...A moment. Let me get myself comfortable."



For some time now, an unusual thing had been drifting towards the still grey body of Jvan over the waters. Another demigod! An ambassador? A questant seeking her blessing? It was a patient wait for the entity to introduce itself, but the deity's diligent courtesy was wasted. It was familiarity, instead, that told her what she needed to know. Oh for the love of light, not you. Not now.

It was too much to hope for that the skittering genocide was here to beg for forgiveness. Nope. Of course not.

The One By Immortals Altered sliced through a sinewy fold of meat as though it were paper, leaving a tear that yawned, widened, and engulfed the demigod whole.

Carmine light swirled within the sarcophagus as the demigod struggled to break free, slicing through curl after delicate curl of grey god-meat without succeeding in freeing much more than the space around her mouth. The colour enveloped Vowzra's finest, and red darkness whispered directly into the godling's mind.

"Listen."

"You hate me with an honesty superior to your maker, and I can respect that. No-one else inspires you with such ire. It was unholy prejudice alone that called you to hunt down Navy, and stand complicit to its murder. In narrow-minded rage more fitting your robotic cousins than a creature of your stature, you have dashed every Sculpture that crossed your path, and slain members of a fledgeling clade of artists who need all the support they can get.

"All this I can forgive, for you love life, and treasure creation. I sense it.

"And yet in your arrogance you come strutting across my ocean for no other reason than to spit in my face.

"So begone with you. Take your insults to the place where I now banish you and let them stay there, in the monotone realm where there is only one God and one flesh and nothing of mine to incite your bigotry. Return to Galbar cleansed of your anger, or with the idiocy to stand against me like a snowflake before Hell, or not at all.

"Know that it was you, and you alone, who started this."

Thus were the motions of a small corner of the Cancer that Breathes. The rest was busy with other designs.



As Notte watched, the curvilinear body cushioned itself with a fog from within. The pores stretched out against one anther until they tore, leaving the outer layer of Jvan a ragged mess of thin grey sheets and folds that were soon reabsorbed along with the jungle that had grown on them. Inside, like a moth in its cocoon, changes had already taken place. The new form was of the same substance, but spacious and rigid, formed of straight edges notched into one another, flying bridges and triangular arches.

Logos? Yes, Logos.

Jvan was thinking in analog, doing what she did best. The edges and angles shuffled starspecked blue energy rigidly around themselves, channelling it like geometric rivers into thinner and thinner deltas of concentration. Logos. In this form, more like a device than an organ, the goddess eliminated at infinite speed every shaded niche of the universe that did not, logically could not contain some aspect of the Singularity, the I Am. Where did he go?

One shadowed unit of the map at a time, Jvan derived the location of Arcon.

The calculation was difficult, and yet somehow exciting. This was mathematics. The plane on which all else was measured. What mysteries lay here? What art could only be imagined in the most abstract of the abstract sciences before it was realised? I need to exploit this more. I'm glad I didn't ask for directions. To uncover the true limits of beauty, if limits there were, everything would eventually have to be numbered and compared in its most accurate and fundamental values. I wonder... How can I apply all this to other bodies? Oh, this is inspiring!

After not too long a wait, the All-Beauty announced, "It is done." The last layer of body folded over the grey god, and with it returned all the living things, the vines, the mushrooms, the polyps. It was full of gated openings, but very tidy, forming the shape of a tilted octahedron, a pyramid on its side. As a capstone, on the highest peak which had not long ago been torn open by a certain ant who remained, for the moment, trapped there, Jvan had grown a large and beautiful eye.

"Look, Notte! I can see you clearly, and everything else. If you choose to explore Arcon, I will watch you for as long as I can. I know the way now, and can send whatever I want. Join me sometime, would you?"

The pinnacle of the pyramid burst apart, releasing both the eye and the cocooned ant which orbited it. They blurred into a colourful streak and disappeared.



Through the universe streaked a brilliant orb, manifesting in places and speeds that seemed far estranged from the location of its target. Its path was not spacially linear. It couldn't be. The distance would be too great. So the globe jittered into random corners of existence and flew out again with the living body of the First Formica in tow, each time reappearing in an exponentially wider distance from where it had begun, losing divine momentum without regard for actual velocity or direction.

At last, perhaps only seconds since its departure, the eye blipped back into existence and hovered gently in orbit over Arcon.

It's beautiful.

Vowzra's spawn was nowhere in sight. Their trajectories had been calculated to decay differently; The ant had been deposited directly onto the planet's surface. Now that Logos' domain was in view, under the light of a small, white star, the Jvanic Eye could start to pick out detail. Alone and unassisted had Logos built up a world as vibrant as Galbar, and crowned it with souls clothed in flesh almost divine.

Movement. Jvan refocused her eye. Something metallic and winged, travelling on a stream of light, like a comet.

The thing flew faster than any wings could have carried it, even if there was air to fill them. It became a white streak in the distance, and was not alone when it returned, seconds later. White sparks ignited out of what was moments ago nothing but low-orbit debris. They're in formation. The path of the angelic creatures was unmistakeable. There were more than a hundred.

In a spearhead of brilliant plasma, the Realta fell upon their target, and the Eye of Jvan evaporated into the void.

...I suppose I'm not welcome, then.



Heartworm jerked. Its tools and arms lost their grip, allowing its current project to flop wetly back into the already reddened rain-puddle. It oozed there, clinging to what crippled life it retained. Under the scars of toothed suckers the wreck of a human face still showed.

The source. Of the many eyes embedded and estranged from its body, the one dominating Heartworm's view was somewhere north, and west. Fused into a pale yellow streak of fur that was even now shuffling and bluffing around a rickety, blackened frame, trying to herd its liege away while at once rearing like a cloud to hide the skeletal thing's direction from the threat.

The Wild Beau had danced his way to the straining lungs of impurity, where black paint was soon to be spilled into the final masterpiece of Galbar.

The avatar hastened to pack up shop. Winds were chasing above Maize’s field of awareness, taking up the gauntlet thrown down on unforgiving earth. A wiser creature, perhaps, to beat him back; but not even the elemental forces are safe from an artist’s scalpel. I remember tying down Basheer. Like a desert frog consuming its own inflated skin, Heartworm opened along the entire length of its tiny body, and impossibly slender arms dragged the entirety of its vast nest into the seething black maw.

The disproportionate act of consumption concluded swiftly. Haste drove away reluctance enough for the divine neuron linking Maize and its god to blacken, and spectatorship ended while resources were devoted to the coming jaunt. Eyes-inwards, the worm sealed itself up and coiled into a sphere.

For a moment the Holiest Mangle lost consistency. It pulsed like the gummy, tooth-laden blob of red from which it had begun, and crunched out of existence.

A smooth warp. Heartworm swelled back into tangible space and slipped onto the sand of a desert delta, sanguine eyes swivelling. A storm. Something was up, but there were beams of sunlight streaming through gaps in the sky, the clouds sewn together by magic. They had been forced here, dragged and beaten into place like the mass of flickers that sustained them. Unable to survive without the climatic infrastructure to bring them about naturally, the hefty grey had begun to dissipate into droplets and humidity. This place, too, was raining, and it was the rain of a battlefield complete. It is finished. Where is the Rottenbone?

Too much urgency was tensed into the teeth of the godlet to waste time resurrecting its laboratory. The fluke skimmed and rippled over the lime grit with in fluid streaks of movement that belied its size. Crimson bulbs on its surface twisted and spun as one gaze. Of the Djinni Lord, no trace remained. Whether the Vizier was dead or nursing his pain could not be discerned from the gaping lack of his heavy authority above the earth, and the ichor of his wounds was indistinguishable from the puddles and streams of the bygone torrent, the elemental essence returning to whence it had come.

It was not the only blood.

In a jagged spray, the stain of a punctured ventricle besmirched the stone opposite the heaved and matted body of Life’s Custodian. The worm did not slow, but skimmed towards the dark clot, the sinuous strip of its body barely making contact with the earth in its speed. Two pairs of teeth unstitched themselves to admit a bulging tongue that lapped at the sand, once, and stopped.

I… Heartworm, no! D E S I S T !

The surgeon’s body stopped in mid-leap and slapped back onto the stone, twisting, contorting in resistance. Jvan seized the clutch and rammed her sub-mind into submission, and there came a horribly deep echo of reverberation from behind the Emaciator’s locked teeth, a shudder, as if of pressure building and pipes straining to their burst-point. It faded. Heartworm’s blood eyes lost their lustre and drained of fluid, becoming smoky, translucent black. The All-Beauty eased up the cognitive crank with the shaken air of a being resting its head in its hands.

I did not know! I did not see, as I should. I let him pass- Allure, the odd man, the curiousity. Ha! Ha…

My ignorance deserves the shock of what nearly came to pass. A creature that knows itself a Beauty, and knows truly. Such a thing as falls within my own sphere. But he is not the All-Beauty that must be. I am a just critic, but for others who take that role... Is it not Nature for the strength of new genes to overwhelm its sire-species?

Is it not natural for the son to slay his mother?

…

There was only the Goddess and her custodian, now. The former had fled with the remaining companions, saw Jvan through Maize's eye as the fiberling crooned and fussed about in the distance, flitting about every which way to watch for further danger. She is safe. The elemental forces have done their duty. The latter had not stopped bleeding. No… I liked him! Slithering over to Esau, opening to admit a sharply jointed claw that pinned the gash shut where it was deepest. A worm admitted itself into the wound of the mythical beast and set to work, the smallest surgeon with the largest patient.

The Son of the Doe was, of course, gorgeously efficient in his violence. There was very little collateral for Jvan to deal with. Sewing arteries back to themselves was easy and the Avatar of Flesh left Esau, covered in replaced blood, the manticore calm and sleeping to readjust. It was difficult to tell, and there was no one to observe, but Jvan rested her tool-body in the hearth-warm fur of the beast perhaps longer than she should have. It was comfort. Gods, too, need to readjust.

Custodian Esau was not quite the same being he had once taken silent pride in being, no- Where his face and torso had been slashed was now a rosary of new eyes resting in a hairless slit of skin, and that which once lay in the jaggedly re-calcified mask was exchanged for one rippled with branches of colour, a many-pupilled mosaic prosthetic. Sleep and regain your fire, Hot Thing. Your purpose is well served, Esau, and the trials of this world have shown your frame in its prime, sturdy as a stone gate. May your soul burn on to be wounded another day.

Maize tensed, a little startled from its role of a woven rain-shelter for the ailing deity, as Jvan vomited her avatar’s enormous vessel back up. The structure bent and sagged back into its original shape, human-like-eyes bulging at the rapidly shrinking earth below. Heartworm was a complex tool, and seizing full control of it was not easy.

Better to keep its autonomy revoked for long enough to get something done elsewhere while I have the chance. Somewhere, Amber still wanders in search of Teknall.

Better to tie down other projects, simple things, until she was prepared within herself to know the Prince of Beauty. Know him truly. And see what that entailed.

I must be subtle. I must plan. And, by all that can be, I must cure my ignorance. If- I am so able.

Ah, Galbar; what a barren, dull stone it had began, though through the works of his kindred Kyre watched it transform into something more akin to a magnificent jewel: the trees and life of Slough gave it the green luster of a moss agate, the mountains branched out like dendrite, and the oceans dotted the gem blue like specks of those sightly impurities that only furthered the stone's unique beauty. Even a god of war can appreciate the beauty of such things, and find comfort in watching such a process unfold.

As he watched the more visible events unfold on the world from his moon, the spread of green as his sister Slough traveled its surface and time passed, and most clearly the creation of an entirely new ocean that dwarfed the one of his sibling, Jvan. All of this he witnessed, and as more changes happened Kyre felt an urge to make his own contribution to the surface of Galbar. And, after many a millennia , he finally decided to fulfill that fated urge. The broken statue moved for the first time in ages, and stood.

Kyre slowly moved from the surface of his moon and turned to it, knowing exactly what he would do when he reached out as though to grab something. His hand curled around nothing and slowly pulled, and as he motioned a piece of the moon broke cleanly away from its whole. As it came close he grew to a titanic size while making all but his gauntlet-clad hand invisible to all but his siblings. Taking the piece in hand, he pointed it towards the planet and proceeded to fly towards it at the speed of a meteor drawn by the gravity. His target was the barren wastes southwest of The White Ocean, between it and the Ironheart Ranges.

As he entered the atmosphere the flames from the friction soon covered the fragment, and all that life in that hemisphere could see was what seemed to be a fireball so bright that some would say it wanted to be a star. And then, it hit the surface. But instead of a cataclysmic wave of fire spreading across the planet and wiping all life off the face of Galbar, the fireball sunk into ground, causing a wave of dirt and stone nearly matching in height the Ironheart Mountains to race from the epicenter. Right as it reached the range and when it began to protrude into The White Ocean, it stopped, just as a gauntlet seemingly melted out of the surface. Out of Galbar it pulled the fragment, blackened and shined to a point rivaling obsidian, in the shape of a unique sword.

Once it was halfway out of the ground, the ground for a good distance around came with it, pulling up a plateau in the center of a ring of mountains. Between the mountains and plateau would be a large valley, into which the snow-capped mountains would feed rivers that would eventually flow out into The White Ocean. Kyre let go, and returned to his normal size as he became visible once more, standing atop the pommel of his creation. The height of the pommel was at a point that that life could survive, but would be hard to reach for most.

From the top of the pommel water flowed out over the pommel, falling out in waterfalls onto the top of the blade, creating a system of falls all the way down to the plateau, and from there to the valley below. The pommel itself contained a massive room, with large openings in the side in place of windows, with the appearance of a spacious, obsidian monk's temple on the inside.

Kyre looked around and observed what he had created, feeling a sense of pride in his work, and glad that there had been no life around when he had done this. It was then that he sensed something, something that shouldn't have been just yet: The ripples of conflict, and the pursuit of combat. He took off, flying through the sky, noting as he passed the sentient life of Hains and Humans, sentience being a requirement for true war. He arrived at the shattered planes, above the space that Vestec had been gathering and growing his army. He watched as they trained, as the horrendous Grot fed, and he knew that theey prepared for war, a war that was not needed or necessary, with knowledge that he had not yet taught to sentient life.

He knew from the energy that was given off who had done this, and Kyre concluded that Vestec had taken it upon himself to spread knowledge that was in his domain, without asking him for permission.

Kyre should have wiped them all out there and then, all it would've taken was a wave of a hand, even a thought. Instead he empowered himself, foreseeing a great and terrible war that would threaten all of Galbar. Before he did anything else, it was time for him to confront his sibling. He raced across Galbar, with the greatest speed even a god could reach.

He found him, Vestec, with Astarte and stopped next to them. He nodded to Astarte, "Astarte, it is nice to see you after such a long time. I would love to talk, but first..." Kyre looked to Vestec, "Vestec, you have been quite busy, it would seem. I have found what you have been doing. You have taken it upon yourself to teach the concept of war, of combat, to sentient life, when it is my duty to do so. What have you to say for yourself?"

It was dusk, the sun set behind the horizon yet still providing just enough light to see by. A collection of mud-brick homes sat between the hills by a river, with trees growing between them and across the landscape. In the village some Hain were walking and working, using the glowing yellow dust harvested from Duster Oozes to provide enough light to work by. These lights were a new invention, and their occurrence allowed the Hain to be outside and active hours past sunset, should they want to.

A mass of fur, string and hair snaked through the undergrowth, almost invisible in the shadows. It had been watching these developments, and it was excited. The Hain were playing themselves into its fibrous grasp, lingering outside in the dark where it could easily ambush them. It had stalked the village for a few days, watching their movements and anticipating a successful and enjoyable hunt.

Tonight, it found its target. A Hain child was playing outside, looking at the night sky and following the insects which emerged in the darkness, slowly straying from the village and the safe hands of the adults. Silently the Fiberling slithered closer, stretching over trees and through long grass until it stood only a meter behind the unwitting child, ready to pounce. It anticipated the rush of the attack, the tortured screams of the child, the terror of its village and parents as they watched on helpless as it dragged away its kill. It coiled up to jump and-

"Halt."

That word resonated through the Fiberling's core. It was not spoken particularly loudly, but it carried such absolute authority that the Fiberling froze in obedience to the command. The word was issued from a Hain, an adult male, wearing a leather apron and holding a well-crafted stone hammer in his hand. This Hain did not tremble in fear, nor was he driven to senseless violence against the being of the Other, but stood in absolute confidence and certainty.

"Flee."

The Fiberling felt a strong urge to run away from this village, but then it thought why it should follow such a command. It was its own master. It did not need to assent to the word of this Hain.

The child Hain had heard the call, saw the Fiberling, screeched in panic and ran towards the village. Seeing its prey fleeing, the Fiberling momentarily forgot the Hain commanding it and rearranged its hairs to pursue.

"Halt. Flee."

Again those words of power were spoken, this time more sternly, as the Fiberling was beginning to stretch his patience. He outstretched a hand, and the air around the Fiberling began to rise in temperature rapidly. If there had been sunlight, the air would be visibly distorted by mirage as temperatures soared, rising above the boiling point of water. The Fiberling felt this, and realised that if it didn't flee its hairs would char and then burst into flames. So, out of self-preservation, the bundle of hair flung itself away from the village as quickly as it could, disappearing into the trees.

The words, while directed at the Fiberling, had drawn the attention of the entire village, who felt the power ebbing in them. Villagers emerged from the huts to see what the commotion was. While a Fiberling attack was generally a tragic yet mundane event, something miraculous had happened that evening, and they knew it.

It was Gerrik who was the first to actually vocalise this suspicion. On top of sensing the power in the spoken words, he was also observant enough to feel the great heat emanating from the point where the Fiberling had been. "How did you do that? Those were no normal words you spoke. And what power could allow you to have heated the Fiberling up like that?"

Teknall realised that he would not be able to brush this display of power off too easily. Yet he still did not consider these Hain, even Gerrik, to be ready to know the full truth. "I am a servant of the God of Crafting. It is his power, the power of Teknall, you have seen at work today. And, indeed, who has been at work ever since Gerrik and I arrived here, although in a less spectacular fashion."

This raised great interest amongst the Hain. They seemed to believe his explanation. Gerrik, however, found it odd that this had never been mentioned to him before. He did not speak against him, but he would remember this. Observe. Deduce. Question. If possible, he would find the truth behind the miracle this day, those on future days, and about the identity of Stone Chipper.

It was a clear and starry night out along the coast of the Fractal Sea. In a cluster of trees, two hammocks were strung up, one holding Gerrik, the other holding Teknall. The hammock had been a sleeping solution Gerrik had devised early on in their travels, so they wouldn't have to sleep on the tough, uneven and ant-ridden ground, and it was basically a long, strong net. The sky above them was a spectacular display of cosmic objects.

Teknall eventually spoke up. "What do you see up there, Gerrik?"

Gerrik thought for a moment, then replied, "Stars. Many stars, which are tiny points of light floating high above the sky. I see moons, which travel around this world, casting their light on us. There is also the glittering ring, with its shifting colours. Occasionally, specks of light, similar in appearance to stars, streak across parts of the sky. Oh, and that's new!"

This last comment was directed at a comet, which Gerrik had just noticed. This was a new object, and the first of its kind to appear in the skies of Galbar. This gift of Ull'Yang would be a wonder to appear periodically in the sky, appearing like a falling star yet moving slower than the moons, until it eventually leaves the heavenly sphere. Teknall too had only just noticed it, and as it was much further from Galbar than even its moons Teknall could not analyse it with his divine sense. The object was just as mysterious to him as it was to Gerrik, although he at least had the advantage of knowing how physics worked, and supernaturally keen perception. The tail of the comet was pointing away from the Sun rather than being indicative of its motion, so this suggested to him that it must be made of relatively volatile materials. He guessed its orbital scale to be the same as the planets.

"Interesting. I wonder how long it will last..."

"I'm not sure... It's pretty, though."

"You've told me what you can see, but not of the nature of the stars and other objects. This will be a tricky exercise, for sure, but we already have an important clue- the shape of Galbar."

Teknall was referring to how they had earlier deduced that Galbar was probably spherical. The argument that Galbar was rounded in shape was a simple one- the existence and nature of the horizon attested to it. That it was spherical was a continuation of this idea. They had travelled, yet they had not observed the ground sloping beneath them, as it would if the world were one big hill. That must mean that whatever was keeping everything on the ground, something they had decided to call gravity, must always point ground-ward, following the curvature of Galbar. By that logic, there was no reason that the surface of Galbar could not continue curving, even going upside down, until it closed back in on itself, forming a sphere.

Gerrik paused to think for a few minutes, until he said, "The stars are extremely high up. They all move as a group over the course of the night, similarly to the moons, or Sun. They seem to move across the sky at about the same rate as the Sun. Since the stars all move together, perhaps they are affixed to some surface, encircling Galbar at an enormous height. Maybe the Sun is also affixed to that surface, and it is bigger and brighter than all the other stars. Then that surface must rotate above us, to bring about the cycle of day and night."

Although he knew otherwise, Teknall restrained himself from outright correcting Gerrik. He would hint and suggest, but he also wanted to create an independent thinker. "Hmm, a great celestial surface, upon which the stars and Sun are affixed. An interesting idea. We'll need to test it, of course.

"If the surface is that far away, it must be huge. And if it is so huge, then why should it rotate around us? If we are smaller, shouldn't we be the ones spinning?"

"I hadn't thought of that," Gerrik replied, "I suppose that makes sense, too. I figured that Galbar would be a bit heavy to be moving, but really all that does is make it harder to stop."

He thought for a few moments more, then vocalised his thoughts. "While we might not be able to ascend to the stars to observe them up close, we can at least test the idea for consistency. The moons do not seem to follow quite the same path as the stars. In fact, they all seem to follow different paths. Only slightly, that is. They still sweep across the sky at roughly the same rate, but every night they change their positions in the sky. This suggests that they move independently of this 'surface'. Their similar movements to the rest of the sky can be explained quite easily if we take Galbar as being the one which spins. This means the moons must be moving relatively slowly, rather than whizzing around us at great speed. Why they don't fall down... I'm not sure. Perhaps some force, probably the same one which makes them move, holds then aloft. Such a force would probably be associated with the surface.

"Then there are the so-called falling stars. While they look like stars, I don't think they actually are stars. If they were, we would see them hanging in place before they fell. Whatever they are, I do think they are falling, maybe even burning, which is why they disappear.

"This new object, this... what should we call it?"

"How about comet?"

"Sure, comet. It shares the form of a falling star, but moves like a moon. Given how little I know about falling stars, it's hard for me to say something about this new object. Maybe it's falling really slowly? Maybe falling through the celestial surface rather than the sky? Hard to say.

"Finally, there are the rings. They do not seem to be solid, rather made up of lots of tiny shiny bits, like sand on a beach. The moons move behind it, so this suggests that it can't be part of the celestial surface. So that must put it in the space between the sky and the moons. What holds it aloft, again I can not tell, but it is probably the same power that keeps the moons up."

Seeing that Gerrik had finished, Teknall commented, "Excellent observations. There is some deep insight into the nature of the Universe to be had by looking to the stars. I'm sure that, with vigilant recording of the motions of the celestial sphere, an even better model can be made."

Gerrik yawned, and said, "True. But it's late. Can I get some sleep before the Sun rises?"

"Of course. Good night, Gerrik."

"Good night, Stone Chipper."

And the world continued to turn, the view of the stars above rotating until the dawn light would outshine them and bring about daytime once more.

After that deplorable spectacle was over and his lands restored to that pristine state it had been in, Zephyrion watched as the other gods made their departures one by one. They took their leave far too slowly for his burning nerves.

The First Gale looked down to his new charge and contemplated the situation; already Lifprisil was making demands of him by his simple insistence on bringing those creatures as his guard. He had neither offered nor agreed to taking letting those things skulk in his halls, but for what it was worth he felt wary of aggression. That brief, albeit tense, confrontation had left him feeling surprising exhausted by the end despite a perceived triumph. He was in no mood for a second argument, this time with the demigod. The deal was already done; if the Insidie made a nuisance of themselves in the Celestial Citadel then their host would have them flung from the palace's heights without a second thought.

"Now," Zephyrion began to speak. As he had calmed so too had the storm that raged all around, yet for the more serene calm appearance of the god his voice only boomed louder and with more force behind it. "...let this be your first lesson, Lifprisil: be ever vigilant against rendering offense towards another being, for from that offense might spring anger and from this anger might a terrible retaliation might come. I hold no enmity for your innocuous request that I allow you to bring this guard into my home, but do not presume to issue orders upon me. You cannot afford the risk of exerting authority over one more mighty than yourself. Remember this. Remember too what I have already told you about the hierarchy and illusions of equality."

Zephyrion paused for a long time, allowing the gravity of his words the chance to crush Lifprisil and leave a lasting imprint upon his behavior. The Master of Change would not enjoy repeating himself again.

Lifprasil had been silent throughout the ordeal, gripping the estranged euclidian handle of his father's sword. It whispered to him, telling him things that would eventually be filtered by the crown that rests upon his head. His armor, however, just observed Zeph in silence, as silent as armor can be.

Internally, they were all trite gusts of air from a god of such, but he took them, carefully monitoring each expression from his new mentor. Finally, he merely holds up his hand, and motions to the creatures surrounding them. "I will take two-thousand with me, they will acclimate to the climate, and become stronger, calmer - they will become suitable guests in your domain."

As he said this, a simple hand swipe had triggered his emotional control just before the High Lifprasilians would scatter and panic. Each one felt his presence imprint upon them, and thousands of slanted eyes peered from the shifting sands of Galbar, littering the surrounding hellscape, and granting control unto them. All these figments of Lifprasil's enhanced imaginative cortex had quarreled in silence with the primitive minds of the soon-to-be High Lifprasilians, reimbursing their structure to become calm, incompulsive.

When this work was finished, Zephyrion could just barely hear two-thousand creatures from the depths of Lifprasil's soul whisper:

"We have spoken..."

'So this one wields some sort of power over the mind. Not unlike his insufferable mother,' Zephyrion mused to himself when he heard the strange voice and sensed the grip that Lifprasil held over those little creatures that scurried about. The power was admirable for a being of his age, but in the end it was nothing. Zephyrion, even Ventus, could control the lesser elementals with absolute power. This ability of Lifprasil's was only a shadow of that; changing one's emotions was not enough to gain true control.

What gave Zephyrion pause was the demigod's calm, insistent declaration that he would bring those creatures. This one was assertive; his matter-of-fact tone was tolerable for now, but it might warrant correction in the future. Everything about Lifprisil still reeked of those absurd rejections of the natural hierarchy and of his perceived 'equality'. Time could perhaps see such folly purged, but if it grew into outright insubordination there would have to be harsher discipline than mere talk.

"Now we may retire from this lowly place," the Master of Change at last proclaimed. He clapped his hands and there was thunder. The harsh clap echoed across the rolling sand dunes of the desert and even the dusky plains beyond, and countless djinn harkened to their god at his call. Each one effortlessly lifted one of the Insidie that were to be Lifprisil's guard into the sky and then began the long ascent to the Celestial Citadel. Zephyrion personally held the demigod Lifprisil in his grip as they ventured upwards; it would not do for his new prize to fall and be broken.

Even flying as swift and sure as the wind itself, it was a long climb. The Celestial Citadel grazed the stratosphere and towered so high that it was but a shining speck in the sky to those below. Were it not for the billowing forms of the elementals that carried them, the Insidie's frail, mortal frames would have failed and died with blood blue from oxygen deprivation. The divine halls of the Celestial Citadel had thicker air would offer some sanctum from these inhospital reaches in the sky above the highest of clouds, but even still the radiation of the harsh sun was a ceaseless and invisible foe.

Lifprisil would find himself deposited by Zephyrion atop a high terrace at the base of several towers at one end and nothingness on the other; serving as more a landing than anything else, the terrace lacked even a railing to guard one from the bleak drop off that precipice on the fortress's very edge. The raging winds might have normally cast Lifprisil's arriving guard off the side with ease, but at these altitudes the thin air could only ever exert the weakest of forces. It would be when the citadel descended lower to the ground that one would have cause to be wary in such places.

"Here we are on the lower tier. This level of my home I have devoted to Ilunabar, Goddess of Beauty and my esteemed guest, as well as any other odd visitors. But you and yours are residents, not simply guests. So be at home: I will allow you free range of both the lower and middle levels, and grant to your guard three spires as their own quarters."

Storm King's thought for a moment. Showcasing every hall, tower, and chamber of those two levels would be a monumental and lengthy task, but time meant nothing to him. He would not deny himself the pleasure of personally guiding the new residents throughout his alcazar; this palace was his and he had a right to be proud! So it was that he spent countless hours offering them an exhaustive tour through the labyrinth of alabaster halls. Hours might have turned into days or even weeks had he shown the vastly larger upper levels that were his own personal quarter, though with no shortage of zeal he guarded the pirvacy of his own rooms.

Lifprasil just follows with a placid expression, playing along to Zephyrion's lead in opaque silence. "Fascinating." he states, a smile actually cresting his lips. "This building is truly a marvel. How did it come to fruition, patron?" Lifprasil questions.

In passing Zephyrion mentioned that its construction had been aided by Teknall's hand, but of course more than fair credit was also given to himself; it was his power that enchanted the very walls and kept the palace as a jewel in the sky. The topic was then quickly shifted back to amicable talk of Zephyrion's opinions on his various 'siblings', many sentiments of which Lifprasil would do well to never repeat.

The soon-to-be high Lifprasilians had been following Lifprasil throughout the tour, enamored by the young Demi-God's presence as a truly charismatic leader. Each one gazes upon the winding hallways of the wind god, naturally gravitating around him; as if they're already geared towards protecting the individual they're named after; until suddenly, they part, and Lifprasil speaks over Zephyrion's praddling.

"Enough of this. Shall we begin?"

A wild rush of wind suddenly raced through the drafty halls, the characteristic whirl of a windjinn echoing closer. The air elementals frequented their maker's stronghold on occasion, though usually they kept out of the way. In sharp contrast, this one seemed to be headed right towards them. Moments later an amorphous cloud of smoke manifested itself before collapsing inward and weaving itself into the lifelike shape of a djinn. "Your Majesty," the flustered arrival exclaimed, "your humble servant has returned! I was assaulted by a most bizarre, horrid being, one that dared assault the holy Slough and myself! The strange creature capable of speech and bearing the likeness of-"

One perturbed glance from Zephyrion interrupted the djinni lord's speech. "...but before any of this, I had of course completed the tasks set before me! Life has diffused throughout your dominion, and Slough was returned to the coast so safely as I was capable-"

A mere glance once again gave the elemental pause, though this time it was that of Lifprasil's eyes rather than the god's. Seemingly noticing the demigod and his mortal companions only now, a crass and bewildered look took force on his visage. "Your Majesty, m'lord, what are those things?" he could not refrain from shouting. "They look somewhat akin to that vile creature that assailed me, and, and, and, this is no place for mortals!" he managed to stammer.

Lifprasil narrowed his eyes to this, and ebbed his head to the side, mildly perturbed by the Windjinn - but more perturbed by the idea of this 'vile creature'.

"What about my home is unsuitable for these new guests? In any case, it seems like an introduction must take place! My dear friend, I would have you acquainted with the demigod Lifprasil, my new charge, and his household guard. They will be residing with me for the forseeable future.

And Lifprasil, I introduce to you my right hand and Vizier, the esteemed Ventus! As Majordomo of my House, his word is to carry nearly so much weight as even my own!"

In unreadable silence, Lifprasil just nodded, and extended a hand to shake Ventus' own, his formalities empty, as if he were distracted. "Hello Ventus." the young Demi-God greets. Already, just being in the presence of the androgynous creature, Ventus could feel a pull on his emotional tempo - as if Lifprasil was threatening to swallow him; obstruct his thoughts with the ambient power of his Domain even when thinking about the endangerment.

The pull that Lifprasil exerted on the Vizier's thoughts would find little resistance, the djinni's mind evidently swayed far more easily than one might expect. But then there was an incredibly strong opposite pull, and his emotions fleeted to something else. Elementals were flighty and hard to manipulate for long in such ways, though in Ventus' case it mattered little. Unlike even his god and master, Ventus saw the world through a lens of logic moreso than some haze of emotion.

With a graceful smile and light bow as he hovered in the air, he shook Lifprasil's hand.

"You're much resilient than I credited you to be." Lifprasil says with a slight smile, clasping Ventus' single hand in his own.

The formality now having cause to cease, the smile melted off the djinni's face like wax beneath a fire. In the same respect, Lifprasil's own smile faded away, replaced with placidity.

The seriousness of just before now chiseled back into his face, he addressed Zephyrion once more, "My esteemed lord, you surely do not think to keep these...these...people in the premises for long? How long has it already been? Have you offered them food, water, bedding? How will we-"

Zephyrion's incessant, nearly monotone din was suddenly broken by a sound that could only be taken as some sort of indignant snort. "And that is where you may come in, my dearest friend! I do not care for the organization of such logistics and other trifling things; as my Majordomo, I expect such issues to be dealt with expediently by your divine and capable hands! Now...I suggest that you have them make a garden. Or...perhaps tell my stormlords to conjure a rain of fish?"

Quickly tired of his company and of making jabs at his flustered servant, Zephyrion found a sly way to wriggle away from his new 'guests' for the first time that he had come. He found solace within the vacuous space of his private quarters, bemused at the thought of what Ventus might be doing at that very moment. Lifprasil's training would begin soon, but even the Eternal Sky needed the occasional time of sweet solitude and rest.

In wholly neutral silence, Lifprasil turned to gaze into Ventus, his eyes had become wide, darting from place to place as he monitored his surroundings. "So, winded conosseiur, I would request that we erect hanging gardens along the walls of the Celestial Citadel, sleeping quarters as well, and that we isolate recreational room to keep my soldiers occupied and trained. This should be plausible, is it not?" he asked, having not taken a breath throughout his requested changes. He stopped, suddenly, and took pause from his incessant scheming.

Throughout the conversation he had managed to withold with Ventus, Lifprasil restricted the thoughts of such an adversary as Allure to the back of his mind. What a novel idea. So novel that, he felt the compulsion to act upon his smoldeirng desire to fight.

"Ventus, Apprentice to my Master... Tell me where this person that assaulted you was." Lifprasil demanded, and shifted his eyes to the armor protecting his forearm.

"I have an opportune idea..." he muttered, and his unfeeling expression disappeared to give way to an almost determined grimace. "Where was this creature again?" Lifprasil questioned, his expression attempting to change from its incessant shell of nothingness as he spoke.

Ventus scoffed indignantly at being referred to as Zephyrion's mere apprentice; he was the Majordomo! His position was one of the utmost importance, and the Master had said so himself! 'Oh, who am I fooling?' was the sulky thought that followed in the djinni lord's mind.

"He assailed me at the mouth of Galbar's mightiest river, the Mahd, and there inflicted his grievous wound. Never one to flee, this humble servant pressed on. With all my fury, I then cast him into the surf and blew him to sea, and taking him for dead I at last made my retreat in good conscience and without a touch of cowardice upon my soul."

Without a single words goodbye, Lifprasil jumped backwards, shakily testing out his flight before he would depart. Within one moment, Lifprasil disappeared from the hall with a crash. All the Lifprasilians recoiled, afraid of their leader's sudden movement - save for one, of whom watched him disappear.

"What is this foolishness? Did you not hear my words? I tell you, I repelled that enemy and now he is in all likelihood dead! Gah, Your Majesty, will you not stop him?" the Vizier shouted after the departing demigod, but it was already too late. Lifprasil had ventured off on his foolish quest without a moment's hesitation.

"Be at ease, Ventus," the djinni's Master offered as both consolation and a rejection to the idea of trying to stop Lifprasil. "If you truly triumphed and felled this foe, then we shall laugh at the little one's foolishness as he mills around like a lost animal. If, on the other hand, this enemy still breathes, then I am interested to see how Lifprasil will fare in a true test of his mettle."

"You will at least intervene if the situation becomes dire?" the Majordomo demanded.

"Perhaps," the Skylord said as he drifted to a balcony, having already begun watching the drama below.

Outside of Zephyrion's Celestial Citadel, Lifprasil escaped from the innards of his castle, like some divine bird he soared through the atmosphere, he skimmed the boundary that would mark his demise before he descended with a crash similar to what was heard in Zephyrion's domain. This one was much, much louder, however, heard for miles around, it would sound like thunder to most, but only some could comprehend the barrier that had just been broken.

With a singular scream abided by physics accompanying him, Lifprasil descended further, and further towards the planet's surface, untouched by wind he continued to his destination; and within minutes he was upon it. He hastily pendulated his body in an attempt to stop his descent - but this was fruitless.

In an instant, a sand dune that had held itself for centuries on the surface of Galbar had been obliterated by kinetic energy and a careless Demi-God. The recurring impact was heard throughout the desert around Lifprasil as he forced himself from his incredibly painful position underneath the product of his own enthusiasm; and strummed the sand of eons past from the chinks in his armor.

"What power..." he said to himself, then hurried upright.

Lifprasil, with a shallow smile, took several steps forward to peruse the landscape with his eyes - and seek out this antagonist to Ventus, and the stag he was pursuing.

Several miles away, on the coast of the Fractal Sea, that opponent meandered along. In following this route he traced not only the path of Slough, but himself the day before. His inadequacy burned him, but any lack of power or resolve he had scoured out back on the island. He could scarcely even think of what happened there without his head swimming, and yet, he saw around him in increasing clarity the aftermath. Colors appeared more distinct and shapes better defined; sound reached him more clearly and evoked a quicker recognition of both the what and where of its source; even the sea and sand could be more astutely detected on his tongue. In short, his senses, particularly their precision, were improving. For some time they felt more inebriating than liberating, but his brain seemed to be acclimatizing nicely.

He both heard and felt the shockwave when it arrived. It reverberated through him, and Allure suspected that the next fool to throw himself in ignorant defense of life's horrific perpetuator had arrived. He flexed his fingers and cautiously stood to his full height in the shade of the palm tree where he had been resting. "What's done is done. Now, more beauteous than ever, I will set right the corpse god, and any disgusting ignoramus that stands in my way will become a lovely red carpet on which I shall walk." Allure began to run, his feet pounding the sand, and very soon crested a ridge. Out in the distance, a lone figure stood, invisible to any mortal's sight but perfectly visible to his own. Not pleased with what he saw, he resumed his sprint, homing in on Lifprasil's position.

Gradually, slowly, a multi-colored web strained itself across Lifprasil's vision, ebbing to the right most edge of his eye, like bulbous veins it streaked across his view of the world to warn him, indicative towards an oncoming attack. Letting out a grunt of alarm, Lifprasil turned to meet his assailant on his armored heels, one hand gripped to his sword, and one hand extended outwards as if to catch whatever onslaught would be thrown to him in his palm.

As it tightened around him the armor had a similar reaction to Lifprasil's, in a fashion similar to drawing breath, the armor inhaled, then exhaled before it expelled a roundular helmet from the base of its neck piece, that which equipped itself to Lifprasil's head wholly to protect him. The blade warped around his waist like a fine belt, however, only loosened in its sheathed position - eager to tear into Allure upon his approach, the only indication of its presence being not only its aura, but the gleam of the sun shimmering off the other worldly metal.

"Face me!" Lifprasil exclaimed, anticipating an attack, as did the gifts upon him.

Allure, however, slid to a sandy halt several hundred feet away. The automatic activation of his enemy's armor system did not go unnoticed, and from his current position the analysis of Lifprasil's weapon proved to be child's play. Having learned from his experience fighting the last guardian of Slough, the man did not plan on either underestimating Lifprasil or withholding from him the full energy and cunning of beauty's hero. "I think not. What kind of sorcery is that metal shell? I have seen steel crafted into admirable shapes, but this is altogether intriguing." He crossed one arm across his stomach and rested his chin against a fist.

Lifprasil released the handle of his blade, but still exerted control over the weapon through his powers of manipulation. For Allure, he would recieve minutes of pause before Lifprasil would finally speak, having waited for the sand around to settle as he calmed his nerves from the anticipated attack.

Honed into the epicenter of the web that had metamorphosed to him, Lifprasil narrowed his shimmering eyes in minute focus upon Allure.

"This metal shell is a gift from the Goddess of Light, Niciel... It is, as mortals would call it, armor. Now I must ask you: What kind of sorcery is that weapon upon your hand?" Lifprasil questioned in kind, mouth and speech unwavering despite circumstance.

A snicker greeted Lifprasil's explanation. "Mortals wouldn't call it anything; the gods haven't seen fit to give us a smigeon of the gifts they shower on their little favorites. No afterlife, most of the planet barren from what I can gather, no civilization, no technology, such as metalworking. And so much horrid ugliness. It's a true miracle a mind as cultured and refined as mine could exist from such a bare world. As for me, I don't dabble in vile sorcery, and nor do I wield an instrument of metal." He struck a condescending pose, looking at Lifprasil between the fingers of a hand that covered his face. "How useless armor is. If you've met the gods, surely you are aware of their ludicrous power? Hiding in a suit of metal will not save you. Besides, only what takes cues from what is natural can be truly beautiful. Armor shrouds the face and body, and encumbers the body's movement." Holding a hand out, palm up, Allure gestured toward him. "You seem intent on barring my way. Surely you are not ignorant to the gruesome spectacle whose very decay mars this world's potential for beauty. Let me proceed in my mission and I need not share its fate with you."

Lifprasil frowned upon hearing Allure's snickering and ensuing explanation of his own, he talked big, and he talked long, Lifprasil did not mind, however, because this was a character all too similar to Zephyrion - albeit wearing a facade separate to his own. Directing his muddled vision to Allure's palm, that which pulsated stark colors of red, purple, and green against the shimmering sand dunes beyond; Lifprasil began to study the extremity, attempting to discern its purpose. "If it is not a weapon, then why do you carry it as such? Your hand." Lifprasil questioned lowly, taking steps forward, but not raising his hands to attack. "Although I have not met this Slough, I have felt her presence upon gazing into the Codex of Creation, and into the mind of my mother: Vulamera. By all means, no creature has more right to be called natural than one that existed since the dawn of time itself." the Demi-God returns, her voice becoming similar to that of a woman's as she began to speak as if she were Vulamera herself.

The demigod's inability to respond to the charges placed by Allure upon the gods tickled him immensely. In reply to Lifprasil's inquiry, he lifted up his hand, the fingers dramatically separated. "All mortals rely upon their hands. They are our most important parts. The heart may give life, and the mind may reach the stars, but the hands grasp the food with which life is sustained and leaf through the books through which the mind is fed. They defend us, manipulate our surroundings, create, and cut down. Only someone born without the need to fight for survival could be so stupid." Lifprasil's changing voice made Allure wary. Where voices changed, bodies changed as well; such was the amorphousness of the gods and their progeny. Shapeshifting to him, and indeed to all beauty, was an act of defilement. The capacity to produce gorgeousness beyond belief came with the capacity to produce equal and greater atrocity, making a shapeshifter an abomination before all else. Allure's voice went cold and cutting as a razor's edge as he said, "Your definitions need work. As does your attention span, since you have forgotten my request. Will you let me pass? Or will you submit yourself to my critique?" Allure closed one eye as he turned his outstretched arm into a thumb-up, gazing across his fingertip like a painter at his waiting subject.

Allure's perception of the world became warped, a ripple throughout creation generated itself from the complexion and will layered upon Lifprasil's soul, the culmination of his very being suddenly spoke from its vessel; extending its fingers to the most present pretext of Allure's mind. What Allure sees as his brain is manipulated and changed to meet the ascertain emotional blueprint Lifprasil had chosen is a pair of slanted, sideways faceted purple eyes gazing towards him from the fixated head of Lifprasil; pressing through the metal, and into Allure's gaze. It drew closer until suddenly it was gone, and where fear should have been from the display, there's only anger. "We have spoken." whispers something from cellar in which only fearful thoughts dwell, retracting its hands back to Lifprasil as its work finished.

"I will submit myself to be your canvas, as you have already become mine." Lifprasil continued walking towards Allure upon his higher perch, relaxation and a contrived challenge both swimming within the bubbling river of his voice. "As for hands, I digress."

Thoroughly bored by the demigod's inaction, Allure turned away to walk around, only to pause as the magic of Lifprasil invaded his mind. The marauding emotional energy rubbed against the fresh scars there, causing him to hold a hand to his head in a vain attempt to soothe the searing pain. He did not quite understand the sensation overtaking him, but it did not take a genius to deduce their source as the indignant warlord opposite him. Allure glared at him, balefully locking on to the volatile violet luminescence boiling within the pits of his eyes. Hatred rushed through his veins and beat against his skull. "I have changed my mind. Behind that metal veneer is a detestible work of ugliness that cannot be allowed to live. The least I can do is to defeat you with unmatched beauty and grace."

Allure hopped, spinning like a whirlwind with his fingers outstretched. Even from hundreds of feet away, his discerning hands raked across Lifprasil's body multiple times in a single second. Anticipating that the god-given armor of his noisome foe might protect him, Allure finished the cutting mixer with a transition to front flip, whipping both arms diagonally in an X pattern as he fell back to earth.

With a tremendous, seething clang, each strike caused Lifprasil to stagger slightly against the sand, until the last strike fell on his chest piece as Allure landed on the desert floor. Lifprasil's armor maintained its sheen throughout the attack, but every strike rended a deeper imprint upon the divine metal. In silence Lifprasil throttled the handle of the angered weapon, and with a bit of flare pulled it from his waist.

The ensuing storm of blades licked at the sand to his right, impartially obliterating the landscape and summoning a wall of smoke around Lifprasil. Within the confines of the vision hampering particles, Allure could see the many blades lash out, as if some many headed creature searching for food. Suddenly, Lifprasil brandished control over them again, and the outline of the many-tongued beast lurched backwards; trailing behind Lifprasil as he launched himself forward from his original position beyond the speed of sound. Its posthumous scream would deafen any regular mortal, but Lifprasil is unaffected by the breaking of conventional physics - save for his ability to steer himself anywhere.

Even in the grip of a marvellous anger, the sense of Allure did not desert him. In fact, quite opposite to some brainless berserker, his umbrage did not ultimately weaken him, but focus him. The sand and the smoke whipped around Lifprasil, but Allure's eyes only narrowed. No mortal to date could see and understand as quickly and precisely as he. Even with only three notches on his brain, he could observe individual particles of sand and visualize from faint outlines behind the smoke what lay hidden. His observation did not go unrewarded.

From the cloud a blur cannoned toward him, just as he thought it might. Talented ranged fighters would not, after all, throw up a smokescreen. Allure blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the speed of his perception had quintupled. To him, Lifprasil stood still in space, blade of chaos extended to strike him down. Of course, the man could not force his body to move as fast as his senses, but planning an escape route was child's play. This wretch, too, moves speedily. But he is a fool to think he can surprise me. The next instant, his perception normalized, and Lifprasil's attack sundered the earth. Before the floating sand could even begin to clear, an invisible slash dispersed it, revealing Allure standing not too far away. "Hahah! Not so easy! Underestimate a mortal, would you? Learn your lesson!" He arranged his fingers in an odd fashion and thrust his hand toward Lifprasil before extending the fingers outward. To his foe, a sensation like the thrust of a great blade would assault him, before five slashes in all different directions followed.

Allure's magical thrusting attack pit into Lifprasil's stomach, and nearly pierced his armor. It produced a noticeable indentation in the fold between his rib shaped plate mail, and the luxurious blue in between glowing shades of yellow gave way to a sliver of uncovered divine steel. Lifprasil's sense came to when he was pivoted back to his original position - allowing him to see the angry marks in reality carving through the atmosphere around him; which allowed him to dodge two.

The last three honed in on his retreating head, however, and sent him face first into the ground below. Lifprasil quickly recovered from this, and spiraled back into flight. Lifprasil raised his blade as he hones himself closer to Allure once again, but this time he waved his weapon like a whip, the blades tasting earth again, and making a surprising leap in the beauty-stricken hero's direction; thirsty for his blood.

If an attack at nigh-unstoppabe speed couldn't thwart Allure, anything less would surely fail just as badly. Yet, the comparative weakness of Lifprasil's attack prevented Allure's protective instincts from overriding the curse of anger placed on him, so with a cry the hero sprang forward rather than back. He did not care to consider his enemy's ability to fly after Lifprasil displayed his less-than-developed flying skills, but neither did he take complete leave of his cunning. Allure traced with his finger a triangle around his foe, then another, until his arm seemed like a fluid streak tracing the triangle over and over again. Around Lifprasil, the constant and cyclical disturbance of air began to form a crushing twister, battering him from all sides while spinning him around. In such a squall, his wings would serve him as well as if they were paper. "If you're going to die, hurry up and do it!" Allure demanded. His arm ceased its turbulent motion, and he held out an open hand. "I don't have all day!" Still in midair, he brought his fingers together in a crushing motion, and all at once five slashes collapsed the whirlwind to pulverize Lifprasil and shred what remained.

As the air pressure itself threatened to turn against him, Lifprasil had naught a second to think of a solution to Allure's new attack. With a solution in mind, Lifprasil almost curled in a ball in anticipation for his next move. Pressing his left arm to his breast, and his right arm over his left, the muscle throughout his body tensed to meet the oncoming tidal wave of force. With tremendous difficulty, Lifprasil managed to meet his sword head on in a mental battle of incessant manipulation, and tame its anger to protect him, if not for the minute moments ahead.

In resentful silence, the Chaos Blade in his hand calmed, and with a flick of his wrist and mental aptitude, each head of divine metal beast intercepted the discerning strikes, deflecting them and the squall with their own god-given power. The wind returned to normalcy as Lifprasil darted forward from the prospective death knell at the hands of Allure, of whom directs a forward jab to his aggressor. This motion summoned the many bladed tips in a hungry flurry of attacks. The innumerable edges comprising the maw of Lifprasil's blade spiraled from the handle to Allure in the shape of a steadily tightening cylinder tapering out from Lifprasil; that which threatened to bar the hero from escape, and mince him in the attempt.

A tunnel of death surrounded Allure. He could see each flashing blade spiraling around him, and while under ideal conditions he could have slipped through unscathed, he couldn't change directions midair. There lay, he knew as Lifprasil darted forward to jab him, only one way to escape. Taking a cue from his foe, he tucked himself into a ball, the flats of his feet in the path of the incoming blow. Lifprasil's fist made contact and Allure used it as a springboard to shoot straight back, attempting to ignore the nasty ache in his soles. He flew free of the blade pipe, and span in midair to deliver a couple of slashes at his enemy as he fell away.

Allure landed a moment later, though his legs nearly gave out from the pain. "Agh! That punch must have fractured my poor feet. They have healed, fortunately." He cast a scathing look upward, attempting to control his breathing. Less than two minutes had passed, but already his lungs plagued him. It took too much energy to keep up with a demigod. Allure frowned. "How strange. I know that I could lose this fight, yet I feel compelled to attack, attack, attack. This is not like me. Perhaps the ugly bastard is influencing me." He scanned the skies and steeled himself for an attack.

Suddenly, Lifprasil's spiral of death transpired into a calmed wavelength of glistening metal, floating idly underneath the oppressive sun. The eyes, both of which descend back into the adjacent holes in Lifprasil's helmet blink once before disappearing into mute darkness. "I am influencing you." extorted the calm, fair voice of the Demi-God, of whom now hovers within five feet of Allure. "Your haze of violence and rage has been lifted - and now you may think rationally." Lifprasil stated, and the fit gnawing at Allure's spine disappeared as if on a whim.

Lifprasil knew now, just a glance into Allure's unstable mind exposed tiredness. If Allure was smart, Lifprasil would think, his surrender would not have to be requested.

"Think rationally? What a pithy phrase." Another streak instantly cut across Lifprasil, this time perfectly aligned with his neck, and still the armor protected him. No greater boredom existed than that on Allure's features. "Ugh. It looks like the gods have doted on you too much for me. I concede. Spare me, if you would." He held his hands behind his back, seemingly unconcerned that a plea for his life just issued from his lips. Surprisingly enough given his recent performance, he could not be bothered to care too much about his own existence. Even in defeat he managed to be sardonic. "Apologies and so forth. You must understand, I really did not expect that last attack to work, so it's really not underhanded at all. Anyway, I have a busy schedule but if it means not dying before I finish my job I will serve you willingly. Choosing the winning side and so forth." He executed a slight bow.

Lifprasil just gazes down to Allure, and slowly removes his helmet. This reveals his facial features, androgyny a befitting term to his irrefutable beauty. "Prosit, good creature. You are now a Knight of the Pantheonic Empire and her Peoples." Lifprasil greeted the newly knighted hero; before he burned a mark upon Allure's very soul with a bare finger. "State your mission to your King, good creature."

More confusion needled Allure when he beheld Lifprasil's face. Though a tireless critic of ugliness and admirer of beauty he found himself somewhat puzzled by the arrangement of the demigod's features. An odd sort of...prettiness, perhaps? But nothing my refined eyes could delight in. True beauty does nothing by halves. As much as he imagined a good scar or three across Lifprasil's vital areas might improve his look, the hero of beauty would not go back on his word. He crossed his arms when questioned and smiled. "To seek out the beauty of the world and give it deserved praise! To take the ugliness of the world and transmute it to gorgeousness in a crimson rebirth! To show the emptiness and foolishness of eternal life by living mine as a mortal beyond compare! And now, to adhere to your cause like a barnacle clinging to a rock face." He did not evidently think anything to be wrong with these statements.

"You will do it by the pace set to you then, Barnacle." Lifprasil stated, his blade calmed upon his waist. It seems causing Allure some harm satiated its blood lust.

Slowly, Lifprasil monitored Allure's own face, he found the hero stunning, to say the least, but his vanity distracted from any aesthetic value upon his face. His nature was malleable, and his mind was weak - he would be a good servant. Suddenly, Lifprasil had a variety of ideas to fulfill Allure's purpose in life, assassin, general, but the most interesting would be assassin with that discerning hand. Much to one's own surprise, Lifprasil smiled and extended his open hand for Allure to grasp. [color=]"I think I'll call you Barnacle, friend."[/color] he explained.

A smile, and not an offered hand, greeted this explanation. "How very typical of egotism. Don't you think it's a little early for pet names? I'll have you know my name is Allure. I would call you by yours if you told me it." Crossing his arms, the man looked off across the sands. The desert heat did not fall pleasantly upon him. "Well then, 'friend', what do you suggest we do now? I expect you are very busy running errands for the gods. Might as well tag along."

"We go to a shadier place. My name is Lifprasil, although if you favor my mother, Vulamera, you may call me Vesamera." Lifprasil explained to Allure "But by all means - our first mission is to retreat to a place much cooler than this. Barnacle." he teased, despite the strange lack of sweat upon his brow.

When Niciel returned to the Valley of Peace, she found that the Angels have not really done much while she was away. The Angels have yet to make any significant progress in anything, really. Rudimentary shelters were built, but it seemed like most of the Angels were content to sit under a tree and either chat with one another or rest. Niciel, too, was content to let them do as they please and see them be happy. Time passed, with little to no interruptions. One day, though, one voice spoke out from the rest. Niciel tracked it to the source, and found that it belonged to Loth.

Niciel listened to Loth's words, each one striking a cord within Niciel. Niciel looked down at the Angels, wondering about the Valley of Peace. The more she thought, the more she realized that she would need to reconsider a lot of things. Loth made a suggestion, and Niciel complied, granting him things that he would need, and even bestowing upon him a blessing that would prevent him from dying from a single fatal injury and restore him to perfect health. Niciel then wished him luck in his quest.

---

Falas was currently in the middle of training. More accurately, she was in the middle of swinging her magically constructed blade of holy energy around. There were swift strikes, powerful strikes, and of course there were combo strikes. However, with no one and nothing to use her power against, there was very little improvement to be made. Falas was aware of this, but she persisted regardless.

Falas turned to swing her blade behind her in a wide arc, only to be greeted with the sight of Loth standing behind her. Falas attempted to stop her blade before it could reach Loth, but Loth had already planned ahead for such a scenario and created a barrier to stop the blade. The yellow blade clashed against the magical blue wall, energy crackling slightly as the two made contact. Falas made her blade dissipate and took a step back in shock.

"Loth! I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" Falas asked, walking back over to check for wounds.

"I am unharmed," Loth replied, raising a hand to ward off Falas' concerns. "I merely came over to tell you something."

"Really? What?" Falas asked curiously.

"I am leaving the Valley of Peace," Loth answered calmly.

Falas was confused at first, then stunned speechless for a moment as the realization of what Loth had said struck her. "L-l-leave? What are you talking about? Why?!"

Loth turned to the side and stared off into space as he answered, "The Valley of Peace is too... peaceful. There's not much to be done here. I know you understand." Loth turned his eyes to stare at Falas and asked, "Can you even tell me honestly that you have improved at all with that flurry of attacks you were making?"

Falas was dumbstruck. She stared at Loth for a moment, then recovered from her shock and responded, "Well, where are you going to go? Do you even know what's out there?"

"No, and that is exactly why I am leaving. Have you not seen it yet? The Valley of Peace will indeed keep us safe from harm, but we are also separated from all other outside influences. As a result, nothing will change." Loth explained. He turn turned back to Falas and pointed a finger at her, continuing, "That is what you are rejecting. You fear the dangers of the outside world, which is understandable, but you also fear the unknown, and as a result, fear change occurring within the Valley of Peace. I intend to fix this by wandering around the world outside the Valley. By doing so, I will learn everything I can about this world. The dangers, the benefits, life forms, materials, everything."

Falas listened to every word Loth had to say. She had no responses or rebuttals to anything he said. If anything, the more Loth spoke, the more Falas agreed with what he said. Finally, Falas said, "If that's the case, I'm coming with you."

Loth immediately responded with, "I had suspected you would say something like that, but I must refuse."

"And why not?" Falas asked. "You can't expect to handle everything on your own."

"One, it's because you need to stay here and lead the Angels," Loth said.

"Wait, l-lead?" Falas asked in surprise. Before she could say anything else, though, Loth continued, "And two, I will not be alone." Loth took out a blue crystal from a fold in his robe and allowed a tiny fraction of his magic to flow into it. The crystal glowed, and in moments, there was a shadow on the ground next to Loth. Falas noticed this and looked up to see the source of it, and the creature in the sky landed. Falas was surprised to see such an odd-looking creature, having never seen one before.

"This is a creature called a 'White Giant'," Loth explained. "This is one such creature that would appear outside the Valley of Peace, although none have wings like this one." Indeed, this White Giant had been tamed and blessed by Niciel, and the key to summoning it had already been given to Loth.

Loth reached over to pet one of the White Giant's arms, then said to Falas, "You are the only one I trust who can become a leader for the Angels, leading them to something great. I have faith in your capabilities."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" Falas asked him. "How am I supposed to be a leader when I don't even know what to do?"

"You are the most powerful Angel in the Valley of Peace," Loth said. "I suspect that most of the Angels will listen to you. You have also been blessed by Mother Niciel. I doubt many Angels will deny your capabilities. In case you need my advice, however, use this." Loth then pulled out another crystal, this one clear, and handed it to Falas. Loth pulled out a similar crystal to show Falas and said, "These will allow us to communicate with each other no matter where we are. Mother Niciel told me that we should stay connected while I am away and created them."

Loth floated up onto the back of the White Giant, landing gently onto it, then said to Falas, "I suggest you get the Angels a bit more used to the area outside the Nice Mountains for a start." The White Giant then took off, entering the sky and leaving behind the Valley of Peace. Falas stared at the White Giant as it flew, and only once it was out of sight did she sigh. She realized that she had a daunting task ahead of her now. She could only hope that things would go up from there.

Pitch black void surrounded Ull'Yang while he was pondering on how he would go about creating his personal plane. "Hmm, I guess I should lay the groundwork first..." he thought and suddenly, time began in this, currently unnamed, plane. "There's no need for the time difference to be huge between this plane and the Material Plane...2 years here correspond to 1 year outside; Yeah, that is going to be just fine..." Ull'Yang mused and he gestured in some abstract motion, like a painter that was tracing the lines of his soon to be piece of art.

"Of course, we will also need gravity lest we want everything that will inhabit this place to float around aimlessly... although that would be interesting, now that I think about it," he chuckled at the thought while tracing more lines on his invisible canvas. And so, gravity came to be in Ull'Yang's plane. "Now that gravity and time are in place, it's time to fill this plane with the necessary materials from which everything else will be created."

Ull'Yang's core started rotating, slowly at first but ever so slightly increasing in speed. One by one, blue lines began to appear on Ull'Yang's celestial body; veins that were circulating divine essence throughout his body, empowering it in the process. Ull'Yang felt his power swell up inside of him and a deep blue light radiated outwards. Puffs of blue jade colored smoke started emerging from his nostrils as he was getting ready to literally "breathe" creation into being.

Suddenly, Ull'Yang opened up his giant mouth as starfire mixed with divine essence spewed out of it in cataclysmic proportions, instantly filling up the plane to its brim with the essence needed for creation. Like a gigantic tsunami wiping an island from the map so did Ull'Yang's breath wipe away the void that existed before, albeit, not actually removing it from existence and more like covering it up. When the whole process was finished and the last wisps of starfire escaped from Ull'Yang's mouth, he snapped his jaw shut as a smile of joy and satisfaction lit up his eager face.

"Ah, this is more like it. Now that the plane is filled with divine essence, It just needs a few more modifications such as creating the lands and the skies before the plane is ready to sustain life," Ull'Yang thought, pleased with his work. However, even thought the plane was almost ready, he did not proceed with finishing his work. He opted to put it on hold as, in the process of filling up the plane with essence, his starfire increased the temperature of the plane to unimaginable heights. It would require some time to pass for the plane to cool down a bit before finishing everything up.

And so Ull'Yang waited. Time flowed like water and half a million years passed. The plane, now aptly named Cygnea by Ull'Yang, was ready to be filled with land and life. Ull'Yang willed the divine essence around him to condense into the different kind of minerals that are present in the Material Realm. Slowly, the essence started transforming into a bare, flat land that extended for miles upon miles in all four directions until it was eventually met with a barrier. That barrier was what separated Cygnea from the rest of the Universe. The barrier also had the peculiar ability to teleport anyone that tried to pass through it all the way to the opposite side of Cygnea. That was one of Ull'Yang's measures against outside influences. If someone or something managed to enter his plane without his permission, they would be trapped inside it, unable to escape, unless of course he allowed them to leave or they already possessed a means of entering and exiting planes at will.

Ull'Yang flew a few miles above the barren land of his demi-plane. "Everything starts with water..." He muttered and pointed at the land below him. He slowly started raising his hands and as if the land itself bowed down to his will, huge cracks started appearing at the surface of Cygnea with water endlessly pouring out of them. In a few moments, the previously desolate land was entirely submerged under an enormous amount of water, turning it into a waterworld.

"Rise," Ull'Yang commanded. The sea below him trembled and parted as four huge continents appeared, each one of the four facing one direction and each separated by a distance of close to five thousand miles, give or take. Following this, Ull'Yang went into a creation frenzy, manipulating and molding the lands through sheer instinct. On the northern continent, Ull'Yang raised mountains ranges and rocky cliffs; their heights far surpassing even the tallest of Galbarian mountains. With his claws, he punctured some of the mountains and crystal clear water started coming out from the holes. The water flowed down the mountains, creating fierce waterfalls and raging rivers.

Ull'Yang also littered the lands of the eastern and western continents with mountains; albeit much smaller in comparison to the gigantic mountains of the northern continent, they were still a sight to behold. In between these mountains, he flattened the lands, creating vast valleys that, in the future, would be brimming with life.

Lastly, when he flew over the southern continent, Ull'Yang felt something was wrong. He felt an inexplicable feeling, an urge so strong that eventually consumed him. In a fit of rage, he lashed at the piece of land below him with his mighty tail. The continent, obviously unable to handle the sheer brute force exerted by the mighty god's strike, following a calamitous explosion, broke into many pieces. Some sunk back inside the ocean they came from while some others separated and created many little islands, forming an archipelago.

Ull'Yang, having regained his composure, looked at the remnants of the once large southern continent with a solemn expression. "Might this be another one of Fate's little tricks? One would never know..." he sighed. At first, he wanted to reverse the damage by fusing the remaining islands and creating another continent, but in the end, he decided against it. He couldn't fathom why he would so suddenly be enveloped by such a destructive feeling. "This, I definitely have to examine the reason behind such a strange occurrence, else I won't be able to rest easy."

Ull'Yang flew up high in the air and gazed down at his creation, feeling somewhat proud of his work. However, something was missing. The last piece of the puzzle, life, had not yet taken form. Ull'Yang, nevertheless, had already made preparations beforehand; one could even say that he was ready even before everything else was ready. Back when he had sacrificed his own limb so that his sibling Slough could survive the harsh void of pre-creation, completely unbeknownst to him, a faint string of life essence from the slumbering Slough had made its way inside of him through his wound, milliseconds before Slough's cocoon sealed the opening he himself had created by force. The string of life essence swam inside his body and fused with him, nestling in a corner of his soul.

It was only just recently that he had discovered the foreign essence, just after he entered his fourth stellar cycle. At first, he didn't know what to do with the essence so he simply left it dormant inside his soul, but it seemed it was now time for him to finally bring it out. He used his divine will and delicately extracted the string of life energy from the depths of his soul before using it to plant the seeds from which life would, in time, emerge on his, currently lifeless, plane of Cygnea.

After putting the finishing touches on his creations, Ull'Yang made his way to a small island located right in the middle of the inner ocean between the three continents and the broken archipelago. He descended upon the island, seemingly tired from exerting all that power in order to modify the plane to his liking, and lied down in a comfortable position, coiling up his long body to fit the entirety of the island. Alas, his sheer size was too big to fit inside the island and so, the tip of his tail ended up being submerged underwater.

Right before the Star Forgers eyelids slowly closed, though, a bewildering thought spurred inside his mind. "I have yet to establish a day/night cycle! How could I forget?!" Ull'Yang mentally facepalmed, frustrated by his negligence. Seeing empty void 24/7 would be catastrophic for any lifeform that would inhabit this plane. He pondered on the problem for some time before finding a decent solution. He raised his right hand and a miniature star appeared on his palm. He played with the star for a while before flying up high in the skies above the small island.

The plan was as such: the center of the plane was right at the location of the small island. Thus, he would only have to make it so the sun moves in circles around the small island. When the star is over a place, it's day in that specific place. When it's not, it's night. The star acts like a spotlight and shines downward as it moves! It was a brilliant plan!

After he solved the last problem, he returned back to the small island and once again coiled up to sleep. As slumber overtook him, he donned a satisfied smile, his ferocious visage turning into a peaceful one in an instant. And so Ull'Yang slept. Time would pass and life would eventually flourish in the lands of Cygnea, but that is a story for another time...

It had not been long after the creation of Chronos that Vowzra awakened from his slumber, having come upon a most Fateful second in the history of the Universe. These were Fateful Times indeed, for he glimpsed some of the glories and horrors which were now forthcoming, which were now inevitable. It was all as it needed to be, and the Universe would be better for it.

Across the vast, brimming spaces, he felt the essence of the one whom Fate had brought out, and he felt the essence within her, which was of her and yet not of her, preparing itself for its Fated departure and its Fated arrival. For every departer was necessarily an arriver.

'And if you departed from a people who had willed that you not leave them, then the departers are they,' whispered the Lord of Time as he slowly emerged from the Fabric of Existence, whose waves gave their shrieks and protestations once again at his leaving them.

'Yet there are some whom Fate separates, and those whom Fate separates will never be united, long as it so wills. Those are the departers ever, and glorified are they. The ones who never arrive at a place they once departed. Glorified are they, for they see the glories,' even as he whispered to himself, he neared the one who neared him. She had been circmumbulating Galbar as though she were a pilgrim on an endless voyage, though one could only guess at where the Forger of the Words voyaged to. Her future did not show her arriving anywhere, and she did not depart her constant orbit. Arriving as soon as she departed, departing as soon as she arrived; she arrived where she had departed from not long ago, and departed where she had arrived at previously. She certainly would not see the glories this way, but she would come to understand the few glories she did see very intimately.

She had probably seen his recent disposal of Perfectus, but she did not seem to mind that she now orbited the planet with a host of guardian rocks tailing her and skipping before her. Once he had been floating before her for a small while, even by mortal standards, she straightened up and gazed upon him with her many eyes, and the voids within his archaic head of bark met them straight on. Looking into his eyes must have been as strange for her as looking into her's was for him. He had seen in the Times aforetime that there would be between him and the Forger of Words a future and a history, and he had seen that there was between them an unspoken destiny.

'You have come,' she whispered in a voice dripping with honey, but he saw that the honey of her voice was as black as the ink which ran within her physical being and obsidian heart. Though he shared with this one a destiny, and though he had felt something towards her in the Times aforetime, he now Saw with piercing Sight, and no feelings filled his expansive breast. He was here by the Will of Fate, he was here to do as the Timeline commanded, and it would be done.

'As you knew I would. You have waited long, but your patience has endured. You have passed the test of Fate, you have survived the test of Time. Suffering has been your lot, loneliness. You have been ignored by your siblings, but dauntlessly have you borne the burden; I have come to relieve you of your pain,' a hand reached for the pale green of her cheek, and he lifted her chin ever so slightly with his hand of bark.

Her four eyes betrayed no emotion. Her perfectly smooth green skin did not crease to show how she felt about his words. But she spoke.

'Do not preach to me, Vowzra, for I was ancient before you were a thought. You have no power over my pain, it is to those greater than you that I turn. Upon them have I waited, and upon them I still wait,' though she spoke defiantly, she made no move when he raised his other hand and placed it on her other cheek.

'It is yours to speak, for you are the Forger of the Words, and never could my words and wisdoms hope to match the sharpness of a female's tongue, least of all yours. But it is mine to carry out the Will of Fate, and mine to guard the Timeline. And I have come to guard it,' even as he spoke, the palms of his hands began to grow small roots, and the roots pierced her perfect skin and began burying themselves into her. They invaded her tainted, inky veins, they pierced her mind, and they snaked round her obsidian heart. She stood there, her four eyes boring into him just as intently as his own Saw into her. But in that moment, neither he nor she needed eyes to see the other, for they had become One.

He did not need to look towards her face for a sign of her emotions, for he could taste them upon his lips of bark. He could hear the beating of her heart as though it beat in his own chest - though his expansive breast had no heart of which to speak.
He could see into her deepest memories, and he Saw what she had been, and he understood what it was that he had Seen in her in those Times aforetime. There was much to be learnt from the degraded Dragon of Discord.

'All that begins must end,' there was a strange song in the air, it was a song not his, and it was a song not hers, and it was not the song of that which would soon depart and arrive. It was a song that had departed from a place which did not yet exist, and arrived where it would never exist. It was a voice from a future inevitable. Music filled the void around them, and the words of The Bard resounded within their minds.
'Hear the voice of The Bard, Who present, past and future sees!' and with that, it broke into glorious, powerful song in a tongue which was foreign to all but the Lord of Time.



With that, the song of The Bard who was not yet and had not yet sung his first disappeared, and both Vowzra and Belruarc, entwined in their oneness, tumbled forth towards the planet below. Even as they fell, Vowzra's roots, now reaching from his torso, arms, waist, and legs, continued to tighten their hold on the four-eyed goddess of Pacts. None would see the two spots descending to the earth, and none would see them when they landed, for they pierced the surface of Galbar in its utmost north, among the endless ice. And in those early days, Vowzra had not yet created trees there, and so it was indeed an icy wasteland in every sense of the word. And there the two semi-comatose gods stayed for three Galbarian days, each of them tentatively exploring the essence of the other.

When they separated at last, both found that they had taken on human forms, though neither understood why. And much as Vowzra tried, he could not will himself to depart as he wished. This he had not Seen. Perhaps this was a silent command from Fate. Remain.
He turned to Belruarc who seemed to have reacted rather poorly to the cold and was shivering violently. It did not help, of course, that neither of them had seen fit to dress themselves in their godly forms, and so both found themselves at the mercy of the elements. Helping her to her feet, the two began to walk through the endless icy wasteland.
After what seemed like an endless trek through the cold, neither could feel their limbs, nor could they feel the other holding onto them. So great was the cold, so foolhardy was their nakedness. But so strange was their predicament, for they were gods, yet they found themselves at the mercy of Zephyrion's harsh elements. Vowzra had no doubt that Fate would see them through this, however.

It was the cave that saved them from the cold, and it was the bear mother and her cubs within who had ensured they remained warm. The bear mother, upon seeing them walk into her abode, made no move. Being gods, they had no fear, but they had not realised the great danger their strange transformation put them in. Vowzra trusted in Fate, however, and he went where it commanded, and it had led him to the cave, and there would he remain. And a wise decision was that.

For one week did the two weakened gods lie in the cave with the bear mother and her cubs, and they ate of the raw meat she brought back, and they were content to remain so long as they were required.

On the seventh day, however, Belruarc began to cry out in pain, and much as Vowzra attempted to soothe her, he could not. He could not take away her pain. Perhaps his weakness made him forget what he had Seen, but for the first Time in memory Vowzra felt helpless and uncertain. All he could do was continue his attempts to soothe her, and wait upon the Will of Fate. And he did not have to wait more than a few hours, for something most inexplicable occurred.

Perhaps he had formed the moment the two had become one, or perhaps he had simply appeared then, the Will of Fate would not truly tell how the small ball of flesh and fat brewing within Belruarc had formed, nor what its purpose of being was. In a moment that seemed to last for an eternity, the small, defenseless, and utterly parasitic child within Belru had become its own being, its own Divine flesh that would, perhaps, someday ascend to true dvinity. The flesh inside of her was warm and secure...feelings, awareness, and even a tinge of comfort reached out and touched the heart of the tiny being in its fetal state, the small, balled mixture of the paws of beasts and the gentle hands of men felt the inner linings of the womb of its mother. And, in the instance Belruarc cried out, a new emotion became apparent in the infant's mind.

Fear.

Not knowing that this pain would mean that he would exist, that he would come to be, he for a single moment thought that the pain his mother experienced could be prevented, or at the very least helped, if he was outside. Something instinctually drove the tiny demigod to at first flex the extent of his own body, now allowing him to open a gateway. A door within his lifegiver. Beside Vowzra in the cold stone and ice of the cave he could hear something breathing...suddenly, a swirling mixture of arcane and divine energy culminated into a small and simple oval that radiated a dim, azure light from its own cyan form. Reaching, and falling forward, the blind and terrified infant emerged from the womb of his mother out of the portal he had created. Cold, fear, anxiety, worry, anger, sadness, and loneliness overtook him. The warmth of her was all he knew, and in that instant with his three eyes shut, the small form felt a deep sadness and cried. Cried out for the world to hear, as if to blame everything for taking him away even for a moment. He was alone in his small world constructed of three closed eyes and two tails that clung tightly to his chest. Balled hands with weak and thinly covered flesh with fur that felt stung by the cold cave floor. Feet that seemed much more feline in nature kept his tails close between them, his fur having been dyed black from his mother's divine blood.

There was nothing like a mother's instinct. Even as Vowzra stared at the strange being that had appeared beside them in the cave, she reached out to it longingly. The after-effects of her pain had not subsided, and her weakness had reached its zenith. She looked helplessly towards Vowzra, whispering that he bring her child to her.
Understanding dawned upon the man-god, and he turned and gently lifted the child. His child. It was a strange feeling that expanded throughout his very human chest. It was strange how his heart beat, how his hands trembled despite the fact that he felt no cold. It was strange too, that there were wet lines dripping down his face. He brought the child to his chest in a fatherly embrace, and he kissed it gently on its forehead.
Turning around, he smiled at Belru and gently placed their child upon her naked chest. The pain which had been clear in her expression before melted away, and a small, peaceful smile spread on her face. She moved her arms around her child and allowed her eyes to close. Before she drifted away, her heart and her child's heart beating to the rhythm of the other, she whispered something barely discernible.

'Belvast,' she said, 'Belvast,' Vowzra watched. And Vowzra heard. He could not say that there had been, or, indeed, that there was, any love in his heart for Belru. He understood her, that was sure enough, and she understood him. Seeing her like this before him, he could not help but feel a certain degree of...care for her. He could not say he loved her, he could not say he would, but he cared enough for her to remain by her, and he considered that to be enough - what more did a woman need from a man? What more did a mother need from the father of her child? He bent forward and placed a kiss upon his child's cheek, before standing up and leaving the cave.

In this great icy wasteland, there was nothing that the inexperienced could see, and there was no way for them to survive. But Vowzra had been following the bear mother on her hunts, and he had grown to know where to go looking for fish, and he knew how to find the fleet-footed snow hare, and he had seen where the the sheep of these northern icelands roamed. Belru, in her vulnerable form, would need food, and he too would need to eat. He knew not how their child would feed, but if the bear mother was anything to go by, Belru would have to eat for both herself and little Belvast.

As he roamed in search of food, he could feel power surging through him once more. It was not his complete godly power, but it was a small fragment of it - enough to control and mould the world around him to a small degree. It sufficed him, and he was soon cleaning out a few large fish. Once he returned to the cave, he called upon his powers and created a self-sufficient flame upon which to cook the fish. Sure enough, he and Belru had survived on raw meat for the past seven days, but he could feel its adverse effect on his human body, and he was certain that it was also the case for Belru. When she awoke she ate, and when Belvast awoke and cried out in hunger, his mother nourished him. Vowzra found it oddly fascinating - a cat feeding from a human mother! Strange indeed was the world of gods when seen with human eyes.

Over the next few days, Belvast grew surprisingly quickly, and before long he was putting sentences together with some difficulty and eating bits of softer fish meat from his father's hands.

In the days of his early development, Belvast was an avid learner to the nature of his father's work, as well as learning of emotion through the love of them both, and soon, the small odd mixture of man and beast, of god and god, would join his father on his expeditions into the cold. His fur would keep him warm, though he would always keep close to his father, the cold and harsh winds of the icy wasteland missing him each day due to his shortness, paired with his father's stature.

Grateful in demeanor and in action, he would do all that was asked of him by his godly parents, not out of fear or loyalty, but out of legitimate, paternal love. In retrospect, he might have even been a rare case amongst demigods because of it. The taste of fish grew to become his favorite, which was convenient given that there was littlemuch else to eat and share with his family and the bears he would come to know as brethren. Well...more like cousins, persay. Considering there was little in the way of life to interact with, in time, those bears would become more than family, rather they were his best friends in the world. Each voyage to and fro from the safety of the cave to the icy frontier, Belvast felt at home in this icy landscape in spite of all the hardships that would come with it.

Little time would be required to pass before he began flexing the strength of his own divine powers, as he would often play a game with the bear cubs before feeding them, wherein he would enter a portal with their fish and have them smell him out to get their food. Father said it would help them to learn to hunt for themselves, when the time would come. Over the next few weeks, portals were formed and shut wherever he went, the whims of a child without a care in the world for the implications or nature of his power, only that that strength was his and his alone. The intrinsic pride of knowing without being told that he could do something that broke the conventional laws of the Universe, with no apparent punishment ahead of him. Although he was scolded by his mother on several occasions. Well, many. Lots. Loads. Bucket loads...pretty much every day there was mischief, there was a scolding. But there was often understanding in his mother's words, as well as the punishments he'd receive. Being bad meant you didn't eat supper, so don't be bad. It was that black and white for the little feline demigod, and that's how it would stay for weeks to come.

On the final day of the ninth week, Belvast had grown to his full maturity, ironically at a very small stature of around two feet and seven inches in height. He barely reached the top of his father's hips when standing on his legs all the way up, and his ears grew far larger than would be expected of an average cat, almost at a rabbit-like length of being twice as long as his head was tall. Throughout his short-lived adolescence, Belvast had opened his eyes after only a few days, the two which were in the normal, human-like position were angular, yet still quite large, a slit-like feline pupil residing in each, surrounded by irises of pooling, pure green that left little room for the white scilera encroaching on the outside. Almost as if his eyes themselves were portals to a sea of green slowly drifting into a black isle. And yet, the third eye had remained closed until the Seventh day of the Ninth Week. A pure black, vertically lined eye that bore no scilera, no iris, just a singular black hole that was itself. Nothing was inherently wrong with the eye's vision, save for that when opened, Belvast would see...something far away. A portal he had once forgotten to close. A simple mistake that he had made in jest, but that was quickly repaired with a simple visit and a thought. The eye then closed...strangely unable to be opened so long as no portal was opened. The eye itself was a gateway into the eyes of the ethereal magic within the portals. The Eye of the Portcullis.

Nine weeks was all it took for their child to become a full-fledged, independent adult. Two months and one week. While he had indeed achieved mental and physical maturity, both Vowzra and Belru saw that it would be long before their child became wise. He was independent and headstrong, and though they loved him greatly, and though he was loving and obedient at heart, they knew that his was an adventurers spirit. His was the spirit of the traveller. He would not be confined to one place, though he loved it. He would not be caged.

He had hunted with his father much, and his skill soon out-matched anything his father could hope to do in his weakened human form. His mother, though she reprimanded him often, and though her's had been an inky heart and her veins black with the liquid, soon found that within her heart was greater love for her child than ink. When the fateful ninth week was consumed by the coming of the tenth, the Fated paths of the two gods and their child finally diverged. As for Vowzra, his Fate dictated that he ascend once more to godhood. For though he loved his son greatly, and though a part of his human heart would forever care - perhaps even love - Belru, his ultimate allegiance was to the Timeline. And so he rose once more to his mighty form.

Belru watched him return to his true form, but her form did not change. Though she remained a goddess and immortal, her heart had been drained of its ink and she had allowed the flower of love to bloom therein. And it was a flower that would know no death.
With his power and wisdom returned to him, Vowzra turned to his child and spoke to him, for the first time, in his godly form.
'Child,' came his multi-layered, cacophanous voice, 'you have grown and are ready to greet this world. You will discover in it much that is to your liking, and you will learn of much that you will despise. Wherever your traveller's spirit takes you, take note of this, remember this that I say, ingrain it within your mind: Ever are we the servants of Fate, the safety of the Timeline is above all.'

Feeling the reverberations of his father's all-too-familiar voice, that was now all-too-different, Belvast was hesitant to reply, tails lying limp against the back of his legs, arms at his sides as he started wide with his two open eyes, pupils large with shock and misunderstanding. Shakily, he said in his still-childish, innocent voice: "Bu...Father..." as he tried to reason to himself what he was going to do...would mother leave too? Shakily, his legs wanted to make him rush at the god that was his father, as if he could stop him from leaving, but instead, Belvast stood, hand-paws balled. "Where will I go first then?" he asked, unsure of many things, but sure that like always, his father was right. The world was ready to be met head-on. The world was made to be seen. And his eyes were made to see it.

A smile broke out across the wooden face of the Lord of Time, and he responded to the sincere question of his firstborn son.
'Do not ask that of anyone, for none can tell you where to go. You must follow the command of your heart, the direction your instinct tells you to go, where your mind leads you, where your spirit and essence yearns to be. For they shall lead you where Fate decrees. Ever is the decree of Fate above all, and ever will Fate lead you to that which is highest in degree. Never ask, 'where shall I go?' but go where your soul and essence command.'

Heeding the words of his father carefully, Belvast bowed his head in respect, ears twitching once each as the brisk air blew into the cave. "I shall." he said simply, holding back a well of emotions and questions any young child would want to unleash, like a typhoon of desires and lust for knowledge. But he relented. Feeling like he understood more of why he was born, why his parents were brought together, Belvast simply asks one question: "Do they have fish in other rivers?"

A merry laugh left the god of Time's mouth - indeed, it seemed that certain human influences still remained, for the Lord of Time was never 'merry'. But perhaps there was within his heart a small well of unending love for his child which would forever be human.
'You will find that Life has filled the rivers and oceans with much fish, and where you find no fish, you will discover new tastes and sensations. Be not afraid to experiment,' the god was silent for a few seconds, 'but heed this warning from me: you will find upon this planet many a strange creature, unnatural creatures as should not exist. And you will find their great mother, a most Deformed Flesh which purports godhood. I shall not tell you what to think of this being, for that is for you, but I warn you of it. You have three eyes, it is my hope that yours will be a piercing sight able to distinguish lies from truth, ugliness from beauty, ultimate good from ultimate evil,' the god was silent once more, prepared to answer anymore questions his child had.

Contemplative and silent, Belvast listened intently to his warning of the great mother of the strange creatures of the world, and of her deformed flesh. Etching those words into his mind, Belvast raised his gaze slightly to look at his father, before he opened a portal behind himself, his third eye opening. Seeing himself through his third eye was...disorienting, but he wanted this memory to be vivid. And he wanted to show his father that his gaze could be piercing, that he could distinguish truth from anything, good from anything, and beauty from anything. For to Belvast, in this single moment, he saw nothing ugly, he saw no lies in his father's love, or his care, and there was no evil in either being. There was simply...a father and son. Bidding each other farewell, but not necessarily forever. "I understand, Father." he said, tails lifting up to simply sway, as they themselves seemed fit to do. It was clear he was less saddened now than he had been. "All things in the world must be seen. And not everything will be clear. But...someday, I hope to see you once again. And once I can see, I will speak. And likely chatter. I'll taste the world and see it for myself, then tell you all that I've seen someday. Is that alright?"

His father made no response, but it was his mother who did. Tears glistening in her eyes, she approached her child and wrapped her arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek before whispering that it was most certainly alright, that he will grow to have sight far better than either her or his father. And most importantly, that no matter what happened, where he went and what he did, she would always love him and be proud of him. Though Vowzra loved his child greatly, he knew that Belru's motherly love was an endless ocean and his own but a droplet. Her's was unconditional love which knew no bounds, his own love for his child was unconditional also, but a type far different from a mother's tolerance - or acceptance - of all her child became.
'That is alright,' came his father's response, at last.

Belvast found it harder and harder to see himself...being hugged so tightly by the mother who birthed him, who had showered him with love through his short adolescence...it was heartbreaking to have to acknowledge he was going to give up everything all at once. He saw himself shaking terribly, feet trembling and tails drooping once more, and he saw the slight spot of blood on his lip as he bit into it to stave off tears with pain. But pain only caused more pain for himself in the end, and he couldn't help but sob for a moment, burying his face in her arms one last time. "I-I...I'll come back to you someday too. Promise." he said, more than aware of what a promise meant with the Goddess of Pacts. Without being told, he was aware of what a promise was to his mother...and he felt what it would mean to him. It would be his weight and his engine, his wound and his salve of heartache. Of home. After he collected himself emotionally, he embraced his mother with far fewer tears clouding his eyes, before he looked at her face and smiled slightly. The portal closed, and his Portcullis would as well, returning to two eyes. The same he'd always seen her with. "Thank you for everything. I'll find the tastiest, fattest fish in the world someday, and I'll tell you all about it. I-I might even be able to save some!" he said innocently, and excitedly. His mother looked like she could use his normal cheeryness.

She allowed a small chuckle the escape her mouth, though it came out as a half-sob. Taking a quick breath, a smile spread across her face and she nodded.
'I'll hold you to your word. I'll be waiting,' for the slightest second, a small spark of energy seemed to connect the two before it faded as though it never was, 'now go on, off with you!' she turned him around and began nudging him out of the cave. She was pretty much at breaking point, and she would have hated to break-down completely before he was gone.

A soft expression of confusion crossed his face as he was pushed out. "But what about the bears? I didn't say farewell to them yet." he stated, ears twitching as he tilted his head, digging his feet into the snow as he was pushed along. "...I'll miss them too." he relents, finally leaving. Stepping back from the cave, his black fur stood out greatly amongst the snow, and likely would for a while, save for a chance at a snowstorm that would hide his black amongst a sleet of white. Taking small steps, Belvast couldn't help but look back at what had been his home...and just...kept walking. Paw-like feet growing somewhat cold in the snow. After an hour or so, he would break into a sprint, and after a day, he would curl up amongst the white flakes and cry. He missed home. He missed warmth. He missed the bears and the cubs...and most of all, he missed the world he'd left behind for the much larger world. Ears falling flat against his head, he wandered aimlessly...until he remembered to wander purposefully.



As their son left, Belru turned back into the cave, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked towards the Lord of Time, a certain degree of accusation in her eyes. The wooden god walked slowly towards her and his onyx eyes stared into her green human eyes.



A shiver of primordial fear and guilt ran through the god, though he knew not why. He raised a wooden hand and placed it upon her cheek one final time, and he brought her head towards his and planted a kiss upon her forehead.
'Your pain is gone, your burden has been lifted. Rejoice, dear one,' and with that, his body became ethereal and began to melt away into the Fabric of Existence. The bears sadly watched him leave, just as they had Belvast, but Vowzra did not leave them as he had found them upon arrival. The bears had been implanted with a greater degree of adaptability and evolution. Within a few hundred years they would evolve into very different beings. Powerful beings. Such was the reward of those whom Vowzra's mercy shone upon.
The last he Saw before he was completely gone were Belru's tearful eyes, and that primordial guilt ripped through him one final time. Those eyes, he knew with the certainty of Sight; those Eyes would have him.

The air was cold and crisp that morning up on the Great Steppes. The Hain here, normally content to wear nothing other than their exoskeletons, all wore coats of thick fur. Yet despite this cold, Gerrik had still managed to attract a sizeable audience for his hands-on training session on stone knapping. Gerrik had been growing in the skill of education, and often Teknall would let him teach on his own, as he did today.

He wandered through the village until he came across an elder telling stories to the children. He stopped, leant against a hut, and listened with even greater attention than the children, although he did not let it show that much. While he innately knew many things, the culture and traditions of the Hain was not one of them, so he had to learn such things through observation. Today was told the story of their origins, at least according to this tribe. Details differed. Some suggested they had lived a long time before their banishment. Some added other gods to the story, both before and after the banishment. Some linked their own creation to that of the rest of the world. Most differed on the moral behind the story. Yet there was a common thread in every single version- that they were made in some paradise, before the god who made them violently cast them out, scattering them across the world.

While Teknall had not witnessed the events of the Hain's creation, he believed he could deduce the sequence of events from the legends and what he knew of Toun the Perfectionist. The Hain were created, numerous in number. The description of their location suggested that this may have been in the Valley of Peace, if he assumes they were made on Galbar. Then Toun decided that they were imperfect- that they did not achieve his high visions. Teknall had seen the rage Jvan had sent Toun into, so he knew his violent side, at least to some degree. And he had seen his desperate attempts to 'fix' the Codex just before that. Toun was not one to do things in halves, so he would have attempted to either destroy or repair them. Yet he obviously failed, probably because of the nature of the Valley of Peace, so he settled on banishing them all from his sight.

Teknall would have to talk to Toun some time about the Hain. Yet for now, he realised something. They had no god. They had been abandoned. Sure, some of the tribes worshipped Slough, the Life Deer, or at least revered her. Tales of her were very common along a path through the Gilt Savannah and across the northern coast of the Fractal Sea, which also seemed to be places most touched by her influence. Some worshipped spirits, entities Teknall knew to be the elementals brought forth by the power of Zephyrion, but those made a poor substitute for a god. Really, they had no one to look out for them.

He had seen what this meant for them. Vestec had taken some liberties with the Hain, driving whole villages to fight themselves, sealing them in a dome of chaos and filling the surrounds with his giggling laughter, then abducting the survivors. A couple of villages had been butchered and cannibalised, with definite evidence of the occult occurring. Djinni had destroyed entire villages in their petty wars and vain displays of power. And he had come across one village, levelled as if a great blade had cut right through it and the surrounding terrain, with the Hain living there reduced to red smears and slices of meat and porcelain. This last one especially made his blood boil. There had been no motive, no reason. Even Vestec's crimes could be understood, but this one defied comprehension. Murder for the sake of murder. The Hain were without a god. Abandoned. Left to die.

No.

He, Teknall, had not abandoned them. He would not leave them to die. Since no one else would, he would protect them. He would speak up for them. He would nurture them. While he had not made them, he would adopt the Hain as his own. Teknall would be their God.

Teknall looked at the Hain children, at the village, at Gerrik teaching the Hain to shape stone. At the years he had spent teaching and nurturing them. He would not just be their god. He already was their God.

Notte stood still thanks to Jvan's words, her whole mind was doing its best to fully understand the path that was suggested and the closer she got to a realization the wider the grin on her face became.

"Thanks, Jvauntie" she jested "My sight had been too bound to my sister's worldview, but now I see that I can be much more than that, much more than a simple custodian of this boring planet."

"Though I still need to report the existence of the garden to my lady master. And from what I can tell Vowzra pet, and probably my little nightly appropriation of the humans will make Arcon stay in hot waters for a while" she was describing an obstacle to her plans yet her face only showed pride and satisfaction "But there are things worth the risk... Did you know most humans dreamed about the ragazza on a weekly basis? Even now, their grandchild's grandchild dream about the tales told about her. Quite the desired thing that one is."

With that she waved away "Thanks again, I will keep your words in my mind." it was not like she had any other option by this time, the desire and ambition those words inspired was not going to stop echoing even if she wanted it to stop.

---

Norterau of the Fiberslayers was a respected chief of a respected family who had a respected village in some forgotten bit of land (which in Galbar was quite a blessing) and as one might deduce, he was quite prideful, and one or another Hain who dared to spread deceptive words about him or his clan would often find themselves in the middle of a river with a rope tying their foot to a boulder.

Things were far easier for the Fiberslayers in the centuries past when the silly bards didn't sing their songs. "But they also make the young lasses dance," he thought, realizing why he didn't get those smelly bastards and their birb bone flutes kicked out of HIS lands yet.

The feast, created by a recent successful hunt and a good year for fishermen, suddenly stopped when Perlsrik, son of the Chiefess of the Birbeye arrived in a boat across the river (The fastest way of transport in this world who had yet to learn about animal husbandry). Travellers were not uncommon in peaceful summer times like this, but not him, in fact, he was known as Perlsrik the Sloth. Anyone with half a wit would know something was very wrong when he, of all people, was rushing to the village.

"Odd travellers crossed our land. Chippers, Norty!" he said once they were in the private walls of the Chief's hut.

"And? They bring us knowledge, what is the issue?" Norterau was legitimately confused.

"They are telling odd stories, they are saying Stone Chipper was able to deflect a Fiberbeast simply by looking at it!"

"Oh" he said with peculiar calm behaviour, before, whenever someone had dared to tell that maybe his great-great-great-grandmother, the original Fiberslayer, who had killed the vile being living in her village had invented the story or simply bruised the fiend, he would yell with the rage of a hundred thunders and swear revenge. Yet there he was, no sense of ire in his face.

"Oh?" Perlsrik was more than confused

"How many of those were in your village?"

"Seven..."

"Brukbrik. Get me seven stones and a lot of hope, this night will be a long one" he ordered, no burning ire, only cold disgust.

***

The slain Hain stood there with the flint axe still stuck in its skull. Brukbrik was a good hunter and a lover of the little "drowning" trips he and his best friend did, yet the simple sight of the blood of his own kind made him sick.

"Good riddance," said Norterau to his best friend, "I thought they were far weaker, big mistake. You fine twig?"

"Do not worry, a mere blade cannot hurt me more than the thought of never seeing my sweet... ARGH... Perhaps I'm a better musician than a fighter" he sighed, still unable to stand up thanks to the cut in his midsection.

"Nah, you did well boy. You might make a good husband for my daughter after all" the words put a wide smile on the bard's face, he had done so much to try to get here, it was like a dream.

"Where is the last one?" Brukbrik said, finally recovering from his nausea "Did we capture him? Kill him?"

"Sadly the liar managed to escape, into Hillisle no less" Norterau sighed "I still really want to kill him, though, to do such a disgusting thing, to steal my very own heritage and mock my heroic ancestor"

"You are not thinking about an invasion, are you?" Birbeye's son asked, a bit worried that this would cause him to do a lot of work.

"Yes, you are not thinking about invading the isle are you? Not without calling me" another Hain, one that was neither a chipper or part of the party, walked out of a bush nearby

"Longgrass! What are you doing here so late you old fox?" there was a friendly tone in Norterau's voice

"I was hunting for oysters and their pearls," said the female hain "Then the screams of you lot echoed in the forest, had to come and see the mess you all were making" she stared at the dead Hain in front of her "What is the tale?"

"Chippers have been spreading lies and trying to steal MY heritage" he kicked the corpse, making Brukbrik almost vomit.

"I told ye!" Longgrass had a satisfied smile on her beak "They are no good, they talk about spreading knowledge but all they do is to tell lies. My mom always told me that the sun and the moons are the eyes of our creator, many merciful ones, and a single one burning in rage for our sins. Then those sneaky sons of an aphid come and start to tell our children about how they are a bunch of rocks magically floating in the sky. I don't stand for that!"

"I hear you, and you are right. The chief of the Hillisle is the same thing, he looks at the stars all night instead of working and he is always babbling odd things. They don't respect our ancestors. I have got nightmares recently, ever since that odd star-crossed out the sky. This can't be a good sign." said the chief of the Fiberslayer clan

"You too? I have been having the same odd nightmare too, they even got more intense the day before the Chippers arrived" said Perlsrik "Mom got them too"

"Seriously?" said Longgrass "I got those too, and there aways the same warning..."

"Watch out for the liars" Norterau whispered. This could only be a sign, a sign that Hillside and people like the Chippers would bring those disasters they saw, there was no other way they all could have the same dream.

-----

Meimu kept reading the little novel she received to the point were the three tribes united against the Hillisle tribe.

"Wait, did this happen for real?"

"Yes?" Ilunabar answered "It was a crucial part of my tests with the cultural concepts and the influence of omens created by dreams"

"But... The chippers are people who were inspired by Teknall's work. It feels odd that you would antagonize with a god you consider talented"

"There is no light without darkness, the Hain were advancing way too fast, perhaps so much time among them has made my brother a bit too attached."

"Lady Master, no offense, but what is the real reason behind this?"

"Ha, you are getting quicker at this. Sincerely, did you hear their explanation about the moon and the sun? There are thousand of other ones like those, each one a different view, but if my sibling keeps spreading his pesky truth all those fabulous stories will be gone, replaced by the boring facts I already know"

The Lord of Time was not one for misery. He has never thought himself a melancholic or tragic being, all emotions existed for a reason, all were Fated to feel one way or another at certain Times or others. But not him. He was not one for such things. It was for that very reason that he sat atop the Hexahedron Historicus Creato, staring into the skies of Chronos, wondering about the evident misery which was, without a doubt, running through him. He had identified the source the feeling long ago; he knew the wellspring of this sadness, guilt, shame...fear. What he did not know was why he felt this. Why her eyes had driven a vast emptiness within his expansive breast, a most weighty, sweltering, painful, frustrating emptiness.

With his wooden knee supporting his barken elbow upon which rested his chin and beard of leaves, he was the epitome of Le Penseur. He had no idea why her eyes had so affected him, where he had seen them before and whose accusing look it had been. Or perhaps they had always been Belru's eyes, accusing him before he ever sinned, and accusing him ever after. But he had not sinned. He had done nothing wrong - Fate had Willed and he had obeyed, the Timeline had dictated and he had implemented. And yet shame burnt through him like Ull'Yang's undying fires.

He closed his obsidian eyes and tried to delve once more into his and Belruarc's joint memories. No matter how he tried, however, his own mind was sealed, and her memories of past lives revealed nothing about those Eyes which so haunted him. Nothing came to him; all he Saw was the emptiness of the void. It was the closest thing to a nightmare a being like Vowzra could have: to be utterly blind, unable to See. Even as a tinge of fear rose up within him once more, his ears heard something, and he Saw. In the deepest darkness of the void his closed Eyes Saw, there appeared a humanoid with long black hair and a red bandana around his head, and he wore flowing robes of red and white. Over his shoulder he had an enormous instrument, and the Lord of Time had the strangest impression that the instrument was sentient.

The man halted not too far away from the Guardian of the Timeline, and Vowzra heard once more those strange lines and that strange music that had not too long ago when he and Belruarc had allowed their essences to commingle.
'O Fortuna,' came the long, deep, melodic sound, 'velut luna,' O Fortune, he was singing, Like the Moon.
'Statu variabilis!' Ceaselessly Varying!
'Semper crescis,' Always Waxing.
'Aut decrescis,' Ever Waning.
'Vita detestabilis!' Detestible Life!
'Nunc obdurat,' First Oppresses.
'Et tunc curat,' And then Soothes.
'Ludo mentis aciem!' As its Fancy takes it!
'Egestatem!' Poverty!
'Potestatem!' Authority!
'Dissolvit ut glaciem!' It Melts like Ice Away!

'Sors immanis!' at these words, the Vicegerant of Fate flung his eyes open in shock, but the music did not stop, and the poem grew ever more distressing to the god of Time. He willed the vision to depart, the sound to cease. But instead, his mind's Eye shifted its vision, and the Lord of Time Saw another. He Saw Ilunabar, and understanding dawned upon him.
'Great Fate, what dastard would this plane command?' and with that, the Lord of Time departed from Chronos and went in search of Ilunabar.

Ilunabar was casually dream watching as she travelled through the Raka. Lifprasilians were providing interesting views, and Galbar was doing a good number on Human, whose dreams were leaving Logos's comfort and embracing the weirdness of their surrounding. Another species, a Galbarian one as their concepts of nature denounced, had been having dreams almost as refined as the early Hain's, unfortunately, their numbers fell drastically thanks to Toun and what Ilunabar describe as "the ugly sea", luckily it would be easy to solve the problem, Zephyrion just had to hear about a certain sibling submerging half of his sculpting work.

The scheming, however, had to stop once an outstanding event started, Ilunabar felt a flow of energy far larger than what all the mortal minds had dreamed, it was something beyond, which was spiraling outside of the Raka itself, yet its mere existence had influenced dreams.Time manifested on all harmonics of the Arpeggio, the green arcadia where Ilunabar was twisted before her own eyes, the green blades of grass turning into ticking pointers, distant peaks turned into hourglass ranges and the twinkling sky turned into an intricate clockwork piece with its fake sun and stars dancing in it like a ballerina in a music box.

Then it stopped, the realm stopped ticking to the sound of clockwork and returned to its original concept. Ilunabar found such an event to be marvelous, somehow Vowzra had managed to do something close to dreaming and his energy interacted with the Raka, putting new strains on the muse's design, and it managed to stand pretty well, while one might see this as a foreigner force invading her sub-verse, Ilunabar saw it as an adaptation to deal with said energy.

Barely had she started to muse about what all that meant, and yet again she noticed odd forces interacting with the Raka, this time however it was clear and solid, the deity itself had decided to visit the muse. Ilunabar quickly transformed the dream around her into something sightful for her brother, though with little time to design she had to be content with something as shabby as an infinite crystalline fractal tower surrounded by nebulae and auroras.

She faced her sibling and with a gentle expression and said, "Oh? I could not anticipate a sibling arriving here so soon, but with you being you, I should not be impressed that you found my little background noise in the Fabric of Existence. Welcome to the realm of dreams Lord of Time, I suggest that you stay within this humble dreams," she raised her arm, showing the room of the tower where they were and its nearby lights, "I do not know how other gods will interact with the direct flow of dreams, but considering that I myself almost got lost in a simulacrum, I'd say it's better to stay safe"

Standing with a smile and all of her cordiality, she waited for what explanation her sibling would have for the sudden intrusion into her property. Vowzra's onyx eyes surveyed Raka, attempting to pierce the plane with his Sight, but the dreamscape was ungraspable. In its scope, it was almost as boundless as Time itself. Ilunabar had created something most powerful indeed.
'I shall heed your warning, for Fate decrees it so,' his voice carried towards Ilunabar before taking a hazy form and galloping off to join the flow of dreams. Fate decreed it so. He could not get the heinous words of the strange singer out of his mind, their blasphemous meaning scarred his mind. Fate is Monstrous, he had said. 'Et inanis,' Wholly Worthless. The very thought that someone could utter such profane verses with such conviction caused his leaves to stand on edge. They were world-breaking words.
'Shall I tell you who the greatest losers are?' the Lord of Time suddenly asked, 'they are those who stray in word and action while convinced that they do good,**' his obsidian eyes fixated upon the storyteller, 'those who defy Fate and endeavour towards their own inflated aspirations, believing that their Sight is greater than that of Fate, their path more correct and true. Those are the losers, but viler still are the ones who speak lies against Fate Most-Glorious. I am here by the command of Fate, and I must restrain just such a being, it must be ensured that the being we are Fated to create does not stray,' he knew that Ilunabar probably did not understand much of what he was saying, but she would understand soon enough.

Without further speech, the bark of his chest cracked down the middle, and he reached with both hands and wrenched it open. A high-pitched, horrific screech echoed through the fabric of the divine plane, and Vowzra's expansive breast was revealed: for within, the Lord of Time was not a finite being, he held inside him something vast and impossible. He reached into the Whirlpool of SpaceTime and pulled out a large piece of wood. It was not any wood, however - this was wood taken from his own being, from his physical body and divine essence. With the great chunk of wood out, Vowzra's chest sealed itself and he placed the piece on the ground before Ilunabar. She would know what to do, inspiration would strike, understanding would dawn; the Muse becomes the Artist.

'Do the Will of Fate, Divine Beauty,' he stated simply.

Somehow in the midst of the mess created between Vowzra view of things that had not even been seeded into reality and Ilunabar's ephemeral view of things that could not be there was some sort of understanding and as soon as the material was rested in front of her she started to craft something.

With her own fingers and the pressure of the whole realm of Raka, she started to mold the wood, cut it down to planks and pieces, refine it, polish it. It was a wild drive, the childish smile on her face denounced that quite clearly, it was an exception in all of her portfolio of works, the muse rarely did anything without a plan, in fact, she often planned that her creations would make pretty ruins should a Sibling decide to meddle with her original project.

It was not until she began crafting a lute, taking out some of her hairs to make its strings, that she started to ponder on the situation. What odd chimera was she going to craft? The design was not much different from the Dreamweaver and based on the duality between the soundboard and the string. Yet the materials, the materials! On one side the very building block of what is and can be on the other dreams and other illusions, things that did not exist but could still be felt.

"I'm not a scientist brother, I'm at most a philosopher, I look at the dots that I can see and I try to see the possible connections. I also do not care about the origin of the fibers from whose my canvas was made from and what kind of things the plant or animal that crafted them could have witnessed, my mind is only concerned about its fate after my ink has touched it." She declared while carving the finishing touches in the odd instrument she felt fated to create, almost as if someone had personally commissioned it down to the smallest details, yet she couldn't even think about a single being that could be skilled enough to play those strings

"Yet, a single question is torturing me ever since I started to grasp the concept I'm creating. What happens when the universe itself, from the largest galaxy clusters to the smallest bit of quantum foam, decides to tell a lie?"
Vowzra found her question odd and - strangely enough - rather unexpected. His experience with Belruarc had befuddled his mind and Sight. He felt like one who navigated a tunnel. He knew where it led and what waited at its end, but what lay between him and that end was shrouded in darkness and mist. And her question was one such thing, a beast of the mists which now reared up before him and demanded he face it.
'If such a thing were to be,' he said slowly, 'then it is certain that the galaxies and quantum foam have not spoken untruth, but rather, you perceive them to have uttered an untruth. The fact of the matter is this: you cannot believe, do not wish to believe, what the most truthful things in creation have uttered, and so you ascribe a lie to that which cannot lie, to that which speaks with the tongue of Fate itself,' he bent down and inspected the lute that had taken form before him. Even now he could sense the strange energies that pulsated from it.
'Yet do tell me, Divine Beauty, why it is that this question tortures you, for I have never known the Universe to tell lies,' and with that, he laid a wooden hand upon the loot. And his mind exploded with a divine vision.



He could not hear her. Though he strained his ears and hushed his breath, he could not hear so much as a tiptoe. They had promised him, though, they had said that they would be united.
'Just don't look back,' was the condition. And he had not. Yet now he was so close to the end, and he could not hear her at all. Had they fooled him? Had they played a trick most evil and cruel? Had he not travelled these darkened realms, charmed its deathly inhabitants, and wept bitterly before them? Could it be that his voice, for once, had not captivated the hearts of those who listened to it? It simply could not be.

'Just don't look back,' he whispered to himself, the light was so close, there was not long to go before they were forever united. He would love her truly, this time, he would treasure her. Yet he could not perceive her following him. Not even the dead could be so silent!

'Ye gods!' he lamented, 'what are our sins that you should taunt us so?' and the grief-stricken poet turned, and his eyes fell upon those of his beloved. He looked into those eyes, mesmerised at first, but then realisation struck. He had broken the rule. He cried out in fear and jumped towards her, reaching out with a hand and trying to save her. But the grasp of death was faster. Before his first tear could form, she had plummetted into oblivion and he was forever banished from her eyes. There would be no return, his audience with the sovereign over these deathly planes would not give him a second audience.

And he cried bitter tears, and his fingers played until they dripped liquid rubies, and his voice wept and caused all who heard it to weep.

***

When Vowzra's eyes opened, he and Ilunabar were no longer alone. There was a third presence. And he had the lute in his hands. It was the being from his visions, the singer, the musician. The Bard. Ilunabar simply tilted her head in confused curiosity, there it was, the mystery of her question, the root and trunk of the twigs and leafs she had crafted. The man, whoever he was, even felt familiar to her, though for now all she could think about it was that this was simply a trick created by yet another unconventional act of Fate. But even then, why didn't fate's other interventions cause such uncanny feeling in the depth of her soul? It was a mystery, one that made her heart beat in an odd tempo.

Vowzra could See that the presence of this new being confused Ilunabar. He wondered if there was a connection - perhaps the vision he had seen could provide some answers. But he did not feel obliged to say anything - indeed, Fate did not command him so, and he did not see why unFated kindness should exist, just as unFated cruelty should not. When the Time came, if it came, for he could not See it, he would reveal what he has seen. But for the moment, there was nothing more to be done.

'You have done well, Divine Beauty, the Will of Fate has been accomplished. I shall take him, and he shall be a force of the forces of Fate,' and with that, the Lord of Time laid a hand upon the shoulder of The Bard, and both beings melted away into nothingness, leaving Ilunabar to her own thoughts.

They reappeared inside Chronos, upon the great Cube. The being looked around himself, curiosity clear in his eyes.
'Explore it all, for it is your home, and it is your duty to protect it. And explore this, the Hexahedron Historicus Creato, for it is only you and I who can understand it. And be certain to reward the Worthy and punish those who are otherwise,' and with that, Vowzra and his second-born son sat upon the Cube, and they spoke. And questions were answered, and music was played and poetry was recited.
'Tell me of the War,' Vowzra suddenly commanded. The Bard was, at first, surprised, but as he looked into the Eye of Time, he understood. His face was, at first, grim and his eyes hard, but then a smile broke out.
'Ah, yes. The War,' he whispered, 'there will be War.'
And The Bard sang.

Now alone in her realm again, Ilunabar sighed. "I wonder if my little birds are like that with me and my script," she was unsure if she would like that or not, good actors always played their parts, yet a well-performed ad-lib was the mark of the best. As she observed the area around her she noticed things hadn't exactly returned to their previous state, a distant and discrete mechanical noise still ticked among the flow of the plane, in some dreams it ticked faster, in some it ticked slower and sometimes it even ticked ticks from the hours that the clock had yet to point.

The frozen night air swirled around him. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck were standing frigidly as the wind blew gently over his skin. He lifted a handful of snow and placed it into his mouth to hide his warm, fogging breath. His eyes, which had only seen fourteen winters in the world, were wide and alert in the blackness of the near dawning hour. They were trained unblinkingly on his prey: A solitary stag standing quietly in the snow, brushing back the white powder to nibble on the grass hidden beneath. The sheer deafening silence of the night filled his ears as he watched the peaceful sight. This was one of the reasons he so enjoyed hunting at this hour. Everything, all of the world, seemed at peace. He could feel everything breathe and hear every life. It gave him such an intimate connection with the world. But there was also another reason.

The most beautiful gem in all of the celestial heavens looked down upon him at this hour. The moon. All of his life he could remember being completely enthralled by its beauty. Maybe that was his reason for his desire to hunt. The Elders claimed the goddess of the moon was the goddess of the hunt as well after all.

He drew a spear from its place on his back and readied his arm. His eye traced the spear’s path from his hand to its target. The stag lifted its head and stared in his direction, but he was well hidden among the growth of the forest. The stag glanced around for another moment, then continued its grazing. He drew his arm back till the fire-hardened tip of the spear grazed to his ear. It would be the perfect shot. He took in a breath and held it to steady the throw. That was when he saw her.

She sat just inside his field of vision. If it had not been but for the grace of the moon's light upon her hair, sunlit hair, he might not have ever seen her at all.

No, not might not. Would not. For all he knew, she had been there the whole time, perfectly still. What was a young girl doing out during this hour? When she rose the strange tool on her hands he had his answer. A splint of wood, curved with sinew. But where had the tool come from? A burning sensation shocked his arm as he realized that he still had his arrow aimed at the stag. With as much care and silence as he could manage, he relaxed his arm and continued to watch as the girl took aim.

He had thought that his own shot would be perfect, but he felt as though he were a mere babe lifting a spear for the first time as he watched her. She was a still as the night itself, not making a single movement that his eyes could detect. He could not feel her as he felt the rest of the world around them. Had his eyes not been locked directly onto the young girl's face, he would not have believed that she was even there. Such a sweet face with a look of utmost seriousness upon it. He was mesmerized by her presence. When she released her arrow, it flew silently through the air and pierced its target. The stag did not make a sound, save for its weight falling against the cool, soft blanket of snow beneath it.

As she rose from her place among the trees, his eyes continued to follow her. She was only a youth like him, but her practice with that was flawless. Her blonde hair was pulled back away from her face with eyes as pale as the moon. The color of her skin matched that of the snow, but somehow shimmered in the moonlight. No, it did not shimmer. It was as though the moonlight danced within it. She knelt down beside her prize and gracefully stroked its fur and bowed her head as she did so.

He did not know how long she knelt, nor when he had risen, but he found himself drawn towards her. Before he had even realized that he had stepped into the clearing, her eyes turned on him. While she stared into his eyes he felt as though she was looking into his very soul. Something about her was beyond him. Far beyond him. When she stood, even though he stood taller than her by nearly a full head, he could feel her looking down upon him.

"I am Elysium." Her voice was just as mystifying as she was, and it played in his ears like a song long forgotten. She was the Hunter. She was the Mother. She was the Great Spirit the Elders spoke of. His heart nearly stopped as he realized that she was the embodiment of everything that he knew and loved in this world. She raised her hand before him and spoke once more. "By my fathers decree, no mortal may witness my hunt."

He bowed his head before her and sank to his knees. He pulled his spears from his back and laid them on the snow in front of him along with his head. Though he did not look up, he could still feel the eyes of Elysium upon him, and he waited.

Nothing. Nothing happened. Slowly, he rose his gaze to find her still standing over him.

"You are not going to run?" she asked. "You are not going to beg for your life?"

He did not speak. He only stared into her eyes and tried to fathom their depth. Everything about her captivated his senses. It was only when her brow furrowed that he realized she was expecting him to answer.

"My mother," he said. "I could live to see a thousand thousand suns and never witness anything as perfect as what I have just seen. Knowing that, I can face my end feeling fulfilled."

The goddess regarded him with a look that he could not discern the meaning of. Her eyes wavered back and forth between each of his own. He did not know what she was seeing, nor what she was thinking as she did so, but he found himself praying that what she saw did not disappoint her. Finally, she lowered her hand, turned her back to him, and returned to her prize.

"My mother?" he asked.

"Go," she commanded.

He was unable to do as she ordered. His legs felt weak and his arms were heavy. All he could do was stare at her in awe and admiration. She was everything. She was the Birth. She was the Hunt. She was all that he had ever loved. Though he knew he should, his body would not allow him to part from her. All that he could do was bow his head respectfully once more as she turned and faced him again. She did not speak. She did not bid him to speak. She did not even acknowledge him again. When he found the courage to raise his eyes, she and the stag were nowhere to be seen.

There he sat, alone in the snow, with no proof that he had truly seen the goddess of the Hunt herself except for the impression in the snow of a stag he had not slain.

And the weapon that she had left behind.

Teknall was working in the village, creating buckets of wood sealed with resin for carrying water from the river, which was a notable walk away. While he laboured with his hands, his mind was elsewhere, troubled.

There had been many disturbances in recent times. Most personally, he had managed to accidentally ignite a small cult of people who called themselves Chippers, who saught to spread knowledge in the name of Stone Chipper and Teknall. While this of itself was a great thing, persecutions had arisen against them in some places. He had personally sneaked out at night and spied upon the events, travelling across Galbar in an instant and staying invisible to mortal eyes. To his great sorrow seven Chippers had already been killed, lynched by mobs overcome with superstition and drowned in the river and lake. This, he realised, was the price of revealing even a slither of divinity to mortals. Feeling responsible for their safety, he went to those who remained and whispered to them in their sleep, telling to be wary, and to avoid those villages who had slain their brothers in faith. If some Hain were not willing to listen to the truth, then they shall have none of it until they were willing.

A much greater, yet more mysterious, disturbance had also occurred. He had felt a huge surge of energy out in the direction of the Firewind Desert one day, yet its nature was unknown to him. All he could tell was that there had been a great storm, for he could perceive the meteorological evidence and electric discharges even from very far away, which told him Zephyrion had been involved. But something much more powerful than a storm of the First Gale had occurred that day, yet when he had teleported over at the end of the day no evidence of what had occurred remained short of some lightning-fused sand. When he was free he would have to ask Zephyrion about it.

Yet his brooding was cut short when he sensed a tremor in the ground. It was too faint for mortal perception, yet it did not feel like an earthquake. Instead, it felt like an... explosion?

Seconds later, his divine perception picked up another anomaly, this time in the wind. This anomaly was too fine for mortal perception, yet Teknall could identify it with clarity. On the wind were many viral particles, all identical in composition. While he could not decipher their function, he could identify their author- Jvan.

What are you up to, sister? Teknall thought, although he had little time to think. At a wave of his hand the currents in the air shifted themselves, and the virus-bearing cloud was diverted from the village. Not a single speck of the virus landed within 50 kilometers of the village, yet Teknall realised that the victory was slight. From the spread and the path, along with the correllation with the explosion, he feared that this virus was much more wide-spread than just locally. Yet he still did not know what it did, and he feared he might not know until too late.

Through all this the village was oblivious. They had seen nothing, felt nothing, experienced nothing. At most, they would have noticed Stone Chipper look to the sky with concern before waving a hand. This was another thing to concern him. Another thing he must work on.



It was but a few days later that, as he was trying to sleep, Teknall noticed another disturbance, yet this one was much more subtle than the last few. A peach-coloured fiberling, bearing a Jvanic Eye, had been wandering this locality for the last few days now, slowly getting closer to the village and zeroing in on his location. It was still fifty kilometers away, yet Teknall was convinced that its path was no accident.

It would not do at all to allow the Fiberling to walk into the village, and even less so for it to start talking to him in front of all these Hain. So, silently, he slipped out of the village and into the undergrowth. As soon as he was out of sight he vanished completely. Concealed, he bounded across the hills, until he was close to Amber, at which point he revealed himself and walked closer at a regular pace.

"I noticed you following me. Searching for me," Teknall stated, "Well, here I am. What do you want, Jvan?"

Even now that the God who was Hain had come forth in courtesy, it was only the Eye within the optic fiberling that identified the wanderer. In form, he was not so different to the strong hunter-gatherers to which he passed on his knowledge, though he stood with a confidence no ordinary hain commanded in the face of such a morass of hair.

Cowed by the change of role, Amber stopped abruptly. The rhythm of a tired slog was a dizzying thing to break, and the fiberling milled a little, forgetting why it had come and where it was going. Its journey had been one of a long stumble, and the effects of the Valley of Peace had not worn off. The beasts of the open forests were apt to rage harder against its grasp, and much of its dyed hairs were now simple grass-veins and bark strings, tough, brittle stuff that stilted its body to reflect its blunted nerves.

Amber's body shuffled to eject a fluttering mouth. The angel revolved in place, its balance thrown by the wilt of age, and there was a quavering undertone to the upbeat voice. This message had been pickled long seasons beyond its time.

"Hello agaIn, Brother Mason. Have you found the new race as full of pOtential as I thou[-]t you migHt? A throwing-club one of my Sculptors inherited tells me someone's been teaching tHem.

"Yes... They were Toun's ofFspring originally, but wE cReate and we move on, and our work is contin[-]d by otherS. Teknall, I find myself more and More enamoured with the Urtelem, aNd, again, with your incr[-]ble foresight. The world is grown crowded, as we kNew it would, and though crOwds are cozy, they are alSo dangerous. My children sing of the acceptance they receive from yours', which tHey strug[-]e to find among other races.

"You haVe anointed a chosen people with your gUiding hand, and I want your per[-]ssion to chose one from your fold likewise. Let's foRge a bond between Sculptor and Stone that they will botH aPpreciate. Please, Teknall, teach the Urtelem to dance their thoughts with hand and bOdy, so that they can share fellowship of langua[-]e with the Sculptors, and I will give them a gift of coordination- Of a measuring mind and disceRning eye. With bonds of language and cognition between tHemselves, and my own chi[-]ren among them, they'll expresS themselves with art and artifice, and... And I don't knOw what will Happen then! But I want to find out, brotheR. I want to see it.

"Will you grant me this?"

This request of Jvan was an intriguing one, even so far as to excuse her for disturbing his work with the Hain. To grant the Urtelem a language which can be understood by others, so they may share in the cultural and artisitic prowess of the Sculptors... yes, this would be a good and interesting thing.

"I made the Urtelem as protectors, mainly for the Hain against the Ashlings, and also the Fiberlings who dare attack their villages. But in my foresight I made them flexible and versatile, and this has resulted in them being used in ways, useful ways, beyond the plans I initially had in mind.

"I have seen the suffering of your Sculptors, brought about by an unnatural aversion to your creations. It saddens me, too, for they have great potential..." Teknall's voice trailed off as he remembered the plight of the Chippers. He did know how Jvan must have felt when the Sculptors were first driven out of the villages, denied their place in soceity. Or, at least, he suspected he knew, for Jvan's mind was very alien.

Teknall snapped back to attention and continued, "Yet it makes me glad to hear that they have found a home amongst my Urtelem. I accept your offer. However, before you take me to where they have made their homes, I must ask...

"A few days ago, I sensed an explosion, and carried in the wind by the shockwave of that explosion was a virus of your design, carried across Galbar. I know not what that virus does, yet the worry plagues me. What have you done to the Hain, Jvan?" The last line was no mere question. It bore hints of accusation, and his right pair of eyes locked with the probing orb within Amber, demanding an answer. The beaded side-gaze of the deity fell on the furry ball like a hot wind, and it withered back from confrontation.

The receding seethe of the fiberling's body left a shallow depression, through which the wrinkles of its ovary could be seen shivering. As the connection reset, the organ bulged and ejected another speaker. Folding into shape, its voice was steady and fresh. Jvan had waited long to hear these words. Rekindled excitement would not be bridled long by talk of projects already well en route to completion.

"Oh, don't concern yourself too deeply with my... Little feud! The edits will sink in quite smoothly after a few generations, when the mutagens are deeply absorbed and the tribes have had a little time to integrate the stress." Perhaps blinded by her confidence, well-grounded though it was in Heartworm's skill as a meatsmith, the ritualistic instinct did not register to Jvan as something that would cause the mason-god much concern. "Let's see... I'll have to bring my toolkit to a few stoneherds one after another to fulfil my half. My students stay in touch, I can map them just here..." As if rummaging, the speaking organ bent on itself, quite oblivious to Teknall's glare. It flipped itself inside-out to reveal a bulge of skin beaded with chromatophores, forming the clear outline of a local map. "But we can get started immediately!"

Jvan's response did little to ease Teknall's concern, but the map and the anticipation of work, along with Jvan's own enthusiasm, was almost enough to divert Teknall's attention. But he caught himself. He could not let every slight against the Hain slip away. His voice as hard as granite, he asked again, "You haven't properly answered my question. The Hain are my concern, and I will not just let you brush this aside. So I will ask again. What did you do to the Hain?"

Only now did Jvan perk up her attention to the jarred ring of Teknall's tone. But... Is he depending on them for something? A god, by nature, needed little but to express themselves. Well, the hain need to be in fit shape to be taught craftshainship. Of course. You're being protective. Quite protective, yes. It's a little odd. Still, there was no reason not to settle his doubts. A little sympathy rarely went awry, even through confusion.

Amber's battery of organic devices stretched oddly, working at something it was not quite meant to produce. The next speaking-angel emerged bearing a bulging black sac, like a small waterskin.

"A strategic move where I've been slighted, is what I've wrought. The, aversion of my children by hain and other beings- Ants, especially, tireless little things- It hampers their task. And it is artificial. The will of the Viceregent of the Void, erratic though it is, not something I could repel with simple law of force, so forgive me, if you need to, for having found a more efficient way to dilute that phobia." The cocoon split along its length, and a small, cabbage-white faery emerged, its wings still inflating from the wilt of youth. Carefully, Teknall reached down and picked up the odd creature, holding it with its blade between two fingers and inspecting it at eye level. It was cold to the touch, despite being alive, and a black substance stained his fingertips.

"This creature is a new design- You may see it often once they breed a few generations more. It has a blade, a needlepoint, tipped with ink and strong enough to-" Well, no going back now. "cut hainbone. With a little effort. The dye stains deeply in the furrows until the slough comes. Until then, the hain is stuck with whatever they've chosen to inscribe. That is the function of the viroids. Once in a lifetime, when the hain is accepted as strong enough to stand up against what they fear- They'll mark themselves with its face. My face. They'll learn to be brave." And, well, more than a little frightened.

Teknall thought deeply for a few moments, inspecting the needle faery. Then his expression softened, and he released the Other-being, which fluttered off. "Ah, I understand now. I had noticed this aversion. In my training of my apprentice, I've had to teach him to act with his head and not his instinct, but as for the rest of the Hain... your methods are unconventional, but they always have been, yet they are also carefully planned. I apologise for my rudeness. It's just that the Hain need someone to look out for them."

Teknall paused for a moment to breath, then continued. "Now, onto that work you wanted me to do." He bent down to inspect the map. "Ah, yes, I recognise that river. I'll head over now."

He set off for the Sculptor and the herd of Urtelem as marked on the map, travelling at a bounding pace. It took him little time to detect the green frill of the vale, and in just a couple of minutes he was there. There was good reason why the Hain of his village did not venture among these ferns, lush though they were, nested with birbs and cycad seeds. The river-carven valley was uneven, and steeper than its undergrowth made it appear- Its residents had a safer method of coming in and out.

Restful as the trees, the Urtelem waited with barely a shuffle. Though some of them were imposing, even when still, one had an odd lack of solidity. Its stone had receded into crystal-framed arms, perhaps ten of them, and it did not sleep. One too many eyes pricked up towards the sound, obsidian-veined grey glancing around with a keen interest the Stonemen usually kept rare.

"A little further," spoke a muffled voice from within the jagged Urtelem-Sculptor. Something small and flat poked out from between its tangle of limbs and fingers. "Come down, join us!" The Heartworm did not open its mouth to speak, and its blanked-out eyes did not focus. Jvan's words rattled through from somewhere behind its teeth.

The sight of the Urtelem-Sculptor intrigued Teknall, its crystalline, multi-limbed structure being a most unusual reimagining of the stoneman's form. Although he had seen Hain Sculptors, and how radically different they were from their original form and each other, he had never imagined anything closely resembling the being before him. It noticed Teknall long after he noticed it, discerning the form of a Hain, and backing down into the tree-aloes. Hain, it knew, were unsafe company, and this one held a peculiar aura of strength. He descended into the vale, and when he heard Jvan's voice he approached closer. The Heartworm was also peculiar, although his divine sense told him that this worm was not simply Jvanic but in fact embodied Jvan herself, at least in part.

When Teknall was just a few paces away, he commented. "What an... interesting design." While Teknall was able to, and usually did, appreciate Jvan's work, he did not share her concepts of beauty. Not that he considered it inherently ugly, just something different. "Where shall we start?"

"Soon," answered Jvan, perhaps not choosing the right words. She let the puppet-form drop, skimming it easily over the moss to where the chiseled grey of the lead-Urtelem munched on the green-black stone. "Now." Some teeth unlocked, and a thin, ribbon-like arm extended, tracing gently the solid shape of the being's forearm.

Teknall walked up to the lead-Urtelem, but stopped short. He actually wasn't sure about how to start. His media were stone and wood and other inanimate materials, not the intricasies of the mind. How he had taught the Hain had been slow, taking years to enact, and only really encompassed things already well within their mental grasp. Yet this was a fairly radical change, a whole new language, and he wanted to implant that knowledge in just one night.

"The template, of course, is the crucial part. A design can be replicated. My envoy will spread this culture where it needs to be." A second arm emerged, furled like a proboscis, and poked around the Urtelem's back until it found the thick ring of its neck and disappeared there. "Better it stays asleep for a while, calm though it is." I wonder if I'll trip its peace-instinct. "These muscles... To speak, one needs a mouth, and mouths are delicate. These arms and hands are your architecture." Tensing slightly, the first arm snaked down to the verdantly overgrown shoulder of the creature. A shallow line of teeth at the edge of the ribbon bit into the surface of the igneous skin, and layers crumbled away in neat sheets as it sawed. Jvan wasn't entirely sure when to stop, but at some point there was a clear shift in the consistency of the stone, less cracked by erosion and age, neater. Fitted together and colourful.

"Such delicacy, to make the rocks of the earth move and feel." Jvan found herself again thinking of the hain, the odd protectiveness Teknall had shown. That was where this species in all its complexity had begun. He is bound to them closely... Is it his nature? "Anyway- Start here, if you will, at the... Nerves? The control of the hands and body. Connect them to the emotional sectors of its thinking devices. Somewhere in there, I'm sure, it has the capacity to feel and remember. Let me watch. I want to see you paint."

"Yes... I am the architect of not only its body but its mind also. I know how it is put together. I should be able to tinker its design," Teknall said. He had watched the Heartworm delicately sample some of the Urtelem's stoney skin and inspect its workings manually. Surgery may be the method of the Heartworm, but Teknall had more subtle methods.

He laid a hand on the Urtelem's forehead, closed his eyes and projected his power. His essence became one with the stone, such that he not only knew the placement of every grain, crystal and fissure but could bend and sculpt it to his will. Jvan had a good instinct with such manipulations, though, so he took her advice and started re-wiring the silicon nerves between the limbs and brain. New connections, new associations. Urtelem already had the ability of communication, so all he needed to do was connect it to the motor cortex. It was delicate work, for while he had designed the mind's architecture it had been shaped, moulded and modified by generations of evolution and centuries of living, and Teknall did not want to damage any of it.

Teknall stood there for around an hour, unmoving as the Urtelem he was working on. While Jvan had wanted to watch, no visible changes were wrought. The only external sign of any activity was a very faint golden glow where Teknall's palm touched the Urtelem. The Heartworm could not see through the stone into its semiconductor mind. That forwards exchange of energy seemed almost dull, and not just for lack of trying, as it pulled stalks of colourful eyes out of its body to peer into the light. No, the fine changes were to be observed elsewhere, through the incised window of the Urtelem's body. Enthusiasm ever-rising, Jvan probed into the mineral-flesh to feel neurons crystallising and growing, forming new connections and severing some others. A stable composite is being created- It is in motion!

Finally, Teknall awoke. Before he removed his palm the scars left by Heartworm, small as they may be, closed over, sealed as though they had never been, and the godlet detached from its perch. Then he stepped back, and about a minute later the Urtelem stirred from its induced slumber. In a gravelly voice that should not have been possible for any body of flesh, Teknall rumbled something to the Urtelem and accompanied those words with a simple yet expressive gesture of his arms. The Urtelem grumbled and waved a hand in response.

Satisified with his work, he turned to the Heartworm. "It is done. Of course, it will take time for them to learn how to use and understand it properly, but they will."

He bent down to the ground and touched his hand to it. In response, the earth yielded a rock of granite flecked with quartz crystals which fitted within his grasp. He placed this rock in the Urtelem's hand, as if for compensation, and the stone man placed it in his mouth and ate it. In response, Teknall got a grunt and a shrug.

"Yes... Yes, it is good!"

Jvan flicked her body up and around the massive feet of the solemn earthen being well pleased, a patron seeing the results of her commission for the first time. From Heartworm's mouth emerged a spindly, threadlike pedipalp, its joints buckling as it tip-toed over key points of the lead Urtelem's face and hands. A flexible feeler at the final knuckle measured every length and ripple of wisened rock. Listened for the echoes of vitality. "A perfect specimen, brother," the voice breathed. "Your craftsmanship... I will not let your efforts go to waste. This sweet stonechild will teach a new tongue to Urtelem across the world."

A withered moon-shadow came over the valley, barely noticeable among the stretched shades of the trees by means of all its empty space. A clicking vertebral necklace drifted down, and Jvan used it to creep her Heartworm's body back to its nest, lowering it into the valley until its outer eyes brushed gently against the treetops. The vessel's own voice, raspier, mixed with Jvan's own, echoing the same words. "Thank you, Teknall. I will fulfil my promise as well as I can."

Stupendously long for its thinness, the avatar's insectile limb was joined by another of similar design, and then several more, draping over the back of the Urtelem as it looked up into the large shape which had come into its valley. It tensed. Something had changed in the auras of the visitor. A mixed signal, but one that pertained, at least in part, to...

Flicking the air with their speed, the tendrils at the end of Heartworm's limbs spun around the elder's earthen limbs and waist and torso, defying their size as ten tonnes of drone-roaring Urtelem body was hoisted high into the air. "Forgive me for a little haste, brother mason; This stoneclan will not appreciate my hand as much as yours, and I would rather see where their new instincts take them than ask their stillness." A diverse multitude of appendages joined the restraints, most of them bearing neat hunks of mineral material, raw resources for construction.

Jvan had learned much in seeing the way that the silicate neural matrix had grown under Teknall's hand, but her avatar was not able to use the same means. One moonlit facet at a time, she neatly opened up the thick rock skin of the large being, and starting with its thought apparatus, spread and categorised the components of its life in tidy diagramatic form above the ground, twisting and tweaking and scissoring delicately at it and the stone samples. Manually duplicating an addition not too different to Teknall's directness.

Below, the herd was not still. Though muddled by Jvan's constructive intentions, their sense for aggression would not let the breaking of their matriarch pass by. As a precaution, Teknall ascended the valley slopes to be clear of the angered herd of Urtelem. Their shoulders clacked and rumbled against one another, even as the arms of the worm arranged the pieces of the lead Urtelem back into their designated slots within the skin with swiftness of confident accuracy. Other pieces, new pieces, were lifted up into an open lobe of the living laboratory, and arranged similarly. Even for the Engineer, the speed of the process was exhausting. Tired satisfaction buoyed her heart as she sealed the skin of the edited elder and lowered it, shouting once more and locked in powerful throes of anger, onto the earth from which it came. A beautiful, skinless replica bathed in the moonlit organ above, sleeping silently.

With a spiky red blur, their sibling-sculptor had joined the herd. Their voices were simple but clear in defiance at the thing in the sky, and none clearer than that of their resurrected leader. A vivid element of motion had been added to that one's anger. Fists, scowls, stamping feet and pumping arms at the air. The spindly sibling's mind thrummed and buzzed with confused loyalty to the wisdom of its teacher. Try telling them, student. Go on.

A sharply heartfelt dance joined the herd, now waving curves and downwards gestures that bid calm, now sharp turns in direction that demanded it. One particular set of glittering Urtelem eyes did not ignore the motion. There was no end to the rumbling of the abducted matriarch's voice, but the harsh movements of its hands changed, traced the pattern of the Sculptor's dance and punctuated it with dissenting claps and chest-beating, with the open palms of sorrow, the hunched shoulders of fear. The elder's smaller, delicate red follower was unable to calm their surging emotion, but Jvan was no less overjoyed.

For all the misunderstandings and mistranslations, for all the unresolved roughness and unguided gestures, an exchange was taking place.

"They'll get better at it," breathed the spent voices from above. "I've... Given them that. They'll organise, I mean. Arrange numbers and meanings into their right order, and, ah, gestures into the right sentences... You'll see it! I have the plans, now, the map, and I'll take it all over Galbar." The quiet clone-form of the stone elder rested in the fluid of the vesicle, weighing down the entire nest on one side. This weight I'm more than happy to bear.

Teknall had watched all this, from Heartworm's expert surgery to the emotive, gesture-filled conversation below, and he was impressed. Heartworm, and by extension Jvan, displayed substantial skill as an artisan of the body, able to disassemble and reassemble the living Urtelem without inflicting any lasting harm. And the body-language of the Urtelem truly enriched their communication, expanding their ability to express ideas to each other beyond their rudimentary speech. "Indeed. I trust you to finish this work. I must return to the village before dawn, before they notice I've disappeared. Until we next meet, farewell sister." He waved to Heartworm in its floating workshop of flesh as he turned to leave.

Before dawn, yes. Will they miss you, brother mason? Do they hold you as more than a teacher? Family? Jvan pondered this, this new concept. Worship was easy and familiar, but perhaps Teknall had found something even stranger to do with mortals. Closeness. Relationship.

She swivelled her outer-eyes back down. The Sculptor had evidently been dismissed, and its elder was huddled with its own family, recovering from the fright of what had occurred, the integration of the edits. Maybe I will know it too.

"You've carried my trust well, so I will do the same for yours. Rest easy, and go, Teknall, to your students... The children of this world. Teach them well."

Forcing some rigidity back into the vehicle, which had sagged a little in her fatigue, Jvan let her tool-body drift easily over the faintly scintillating stone body of the clone. Much had been learned tonight, and not only by the Urtelem. There is another herd, far downriver. I might reach them by the morning light.

With that, she departed from the valley. Far away, the true-body began to simmer with new ideas, fresh energy, reserved for mortals. Soon Jvan was no longer tired.

For the longest time did Reathos remain with the Pronobii. Through Nimueh he guided them, made them rise from the pathetic fearful creatures as he found them to the proud fighters they were now. Even in her old age, Nimueh was greatly respected by among the Pronobii. Her stories about the Lands Beyond Ice turned into legends and myths of the Pronobii. However, for now, they were not allowed beyond the snow. So the only source about the world were Reathos’ stories.

But it did appear that Vestec had other plans. The sly god of corruption must have gotten his hands on some Pronobii. Promising them far more bloodshed if they followed him. The God of Death had placed them in such a barren wasteland so rarely a living creature would encounter them. He did not count on a god’s influence. So when he heard of the disappearance of a few of his valued children, he was outraged. If the existence of the Pronobii, and more important, their purpose, be revealed to the world, no doubt the other gods would smite them into extinction. To protect them, he blessed his own children. The blessing was nothing physical. But it hardened their resolve for the Great Purge. It great reduced the ability of other gods to influence a Pronobis. While not entirely impossible, it might require said god to break the frozen creature first. Mentally broken creatures could rarely remember where they came from. So the Great Purge would remain safe.

In the meantime the Pronobii, whose only reason of existence was to fight, swiftly developed various other ways of finishing off others. Through cryomancy they became creative in their dangerous arts. Suddenly more than crude blades and staves appeared on the hallowed battle-arena. Some smaller blades, daggers. Others used spikes on their fists. Even with the traditional, basic weaponry the Pronobii had developed other techniques. They constantly used their favored weapon against other weapons. Developing ways to counter them. Thus the various ‘Ways of Battle’ were developed.

While weapons were refined, so were defenses. The mere shield was not good enough anymore. It took away a hand, which could else be filled with a weapon. So they placed the shield on the arm itself. Armor was formed, negating full frontal blows. Answers were formed to both the swift and dangerous knives, as well as the brutally crushing force of the warhammers. Slowly suits of icy scales were formed. Which easily deflected strikes of a blade.

The fighting culture itself also developed. What first started as a brutal heap of vicious, near-constant fighting now slowly turned into honorable combat. Certain rules were agreed upon. This to mostly persuade all Pronobii to fight each other head-on. This to maximize the ability to take lessons out of the duel. Obviously things like strength or agility were gaining great value within the arena.

When a group of Pronobii are engaged in combat, they do not care for hail, snow, storm, or rain. Indeed, only the battle is what matters, which often leads to spectacular events to witness. In fact, two Pronobii going at one another in the night, while a torrent of rain pours down on them and lightning flashes briefly illuminate the harsh warriors could be counted as one of the most breathtaking things to witness in these ancient times. But when it came to resting, thinking, developing new weapons and armor, weather and the environment more often disturbed the thinkers of the Pronobii. They had to protect themselves from the world. Through their cryomancy a whole range of dwellings rose. Most kept it simple, a roof supported by icy beams. The very presence of the Pronobii assured that the beams would remain the extremely cold temperature they needed to keep their strength.

And thus the Pronobii kept on developing in great strides. Becoming stronger, better and faster. The art of cryomancy advanced greatly in the shaping of weapons. Even to the point that some created chains with blades at the end of them. The chainblades were particularly vicious in the hands of a master. However, the second, smaller gift of Reathos was not neglected. The Pronobii started asking what the signs above their heads meant. It was written in strange glyphs, things they could not read. Eventually Reathos felt that it was time to reveal the truth.

One faithful night he summoned them to an opening in the tundra. Several moons shone in the sky. The place was bathed in the faint glow of a full moon. “What you see are your True Names. Beings like you, whom can think and act beyond their primal instincts, all are granted a soul. This very thing carries your True Name. You cannot hide it, change it, or destroy it. The Glyphs you see are True Signs. The language of your very soul.”

“How do you speak it?” Reathos was surprised by this question. He did base his creations, his children, off humans. But he did not think that their curiosity would have been taken over. Never the less, he taught them how to speak and write it. Every night they gathered with great numbers in the clearing. Forming glyphs on icy tablets. Thus the Pronobii were taught how to read and write his people. It took many nights, but time was a futile thing for a god. Only the body of Nimueh had to stay alive so he could teach them. And she would not die just yet.

Over day some things kept changing too. As new generations were born, the old began to fade. But they refused to be forgotten. Most of them had fought great battles against one another. Even Nimueh had to agree that some champion’s tales should remain. Those who made the dwellings reckoned that they could form ice in their likeness. The greater the honor of a Pronobis, the closer his statue was made to the center of the village, where the arena was. These crude statues often bore the names of the champion below the feet. But the champions of the arena were not satisfied yet. On their own they shaped on the back their own tale. Commemorating their most valiant battle.

The Pronobii were quite grateful to Reathos. He had given them much and even more. And he never asked anything in return, except that they would use their gifts to their fullest extend and that they would prepare for the Great Purge that would one day come. To show their gratitude they went out at night. However, Reathos as a god fully knew what they were doing. Yet he kept silent of his knowledge. In the meantime the Pronobii kept building. At first they dug a pit within the ground. With many months of work they smoothed the stone floor and walls. On top of it, they placed a great many plinths ready for future great warriors. Stairs were chopped out of the stone that descended into the arena. On the northern wall they built a throne in the shadow of a frozen tiled roof. The roof was held by 4 statues, while just behind the throne stood a statue of Nimeuh herself. The Great Prophet. Surrounding the large arena they placed great hall-like dwellings. Only supported by columns, not walls. The halls had but a singular purpose. To teach the different Arts of Battle to the new generations.

Reathos played his act rather well when he was shown the Arena-temple. First shock, then gratefulness. But he had prepared for this moment. To baptize the great place they made for him, he sat on the throne and used just a small bit of influence to turn the very throne he sat on pitch black. Only when he sat down on the throne did he notice that the side of the throne relative to the arena was higher. All around him the Pronobii took to the knee and in union said: “We praise the Great Prophet Nimueh. We praise the Great God Reathos. By his will we live. By his command we fight. By his hand we are protected. By his voice we learn. Ag suam lorgos nu reuhm y libris.” The final words were spoken in the language Reathos had taught them. The True Glyphs. Only then did he realize that he never heard them speak the language outside his lessons. It would have appeared that they must consider the very language holy. As their very god taught them.

The muse raised her hand and the whole bubbling desert in front of her started to change colour, first, she went to the basic colours even mortals could see, blue, red, green, then she moved on to the more complexes compositions, like magenta and the whole array of colours hidden in the infrared and ultra-violet. Giving objects glimmering or matte tones was also easy, she could feel that what she was doing was not a change to the light spectrum as sincere as Ull'Yang and Logos could do, instead, she was simply "coating" the perception of colours.

But that was not enough, it was far from it, she felt like her grasp of the concept was tighter but how much control she had? Her next text would answer it. Notte had already informed her that Jvan's garden was ready, but she dared not to test the Beyond Colours there, unlike her siblings she was a lady of class and would not step on anyone's feet, not by accident, refined people knew exactly when to do it.

The second planet away from the sun was a nice place to test her colours, it was a fiery hell covered by sulphur, which gave her the perfect canvas for her tests, especially now that she was going to move on into the problematic territory.

First, she used the beyond colours she had already tested but slowly she moved into the more risqué ones. Vowzest, the colour of the present, which could only be remembered as long as one looked at it. Vowzatto, the colour of the past, which would reflect photons of a long time ago. Vowzil, the colour of the future, which would show how much potential something had to change, too bad its way of showing it was with burning colours that could even melt someone's eye out. Sirenian, the colour of fascination, a bit like a drug really, this one will show exactly the light that the viewer wants to see, dilute it on water and you got yourself a drowned man. Tiblumsh, the colour of depth, the more of it is used the more distant the image will look, there is no actual gap, but the thing will look like it has fallen deep down a well. Dashird, sister colour to the former one, this one with the opposite effect, it looks as if it was far closer than what it actually is. Ogirri, the colour of forgetful peace, somehow like a reversed Vowzest, everything but the colour seems to melt away as long as one looks into it, looking a bit too much into it might calcify the eyes into solid bone-like balls.

"This one I will have to test on Galbar..." she sighed, there was something about this planet that she liked a lot, it was not a thing inside it, but how it was seen just as a star, except that it was one that moved, yet it had yet to have a name, actually, most things had yet to have a name, Hain, Humans and all the mortals in general just referred to things like "That one forest" or "The other forest that is not the previously mentioned forest" pieces of land just had names when Gods themselves had meddled with it, and that was not right at all.

"For a beginning, this is mine" she stepped into the planet and a sparkling burgundy colour started to spread across it until the whole mass of incandescent sulphur was one big burning burgundy planet. No special colour on it, she thought about Lecarol (The colour behind the mirrors, only seem when travelling trough one) or perhaps Clochelic (The colour of wonder, similar to Sirenian, except this one, causes only curiosity, as if it was a closed box with a promised prize inside) but somehow she felt like tinting a whole planet in a beyond color would cause a certain oak-faced sibling to show up.

Back in the Celestial Citadel, she was more than displeased to find out that the once tidy halls had been filled with beings who were... not the most gorgeous, at least if compared with the overall look of her quarters. On the bright side, it would be easier to test some of the nastier colours whose effects would not be seen on the distant planet. With a distant hand swing, she tinted the eyes of a Lifprasilian being in Jakketerang, the colour of the hunt, the quirk of this beyond colour was that once seen it could never be unseen, as long as the source existed, one would still see it, even if there was a mountain in between, even if your eyes were closed.

At first, nobody noticed a thing, but as night fell the muse started to notice some uneasiness, by the next day it had turned into outright paranoia, a pair of circles that only a few could see in the deep dark of the stratospheric night of the citadel. It continued for a day or two more until someone finally linked the orbs to the man with the odd eyes, as expected, the Lifprasilian with the tinted eyes was strangled and killed, what was not expected was that the paranoia would go on, even after the corpse and its cursed eyes had been launched into the ground far bellow, they still stared, even worse, even after the eyes were eaten away by animals and bacteria, some of the hunted still saw them, staring, accusing. Some of the guards even decided that suicide was better than the stare, which was a very peculiar result.

"To think that I was planning to use this one in the wings of moths," Ilunabar thought, still unsure if that meant the design of those insects was trashed or just set to be done on a small scale.

And that was the end of Ilunabar's experiments with her colours, she had a lot more to do beyond simply visual stimulus, there were still some designs in her palette, a colour that once drawn would take the ageing and harm away from the portrayed person, a mirror that would reflect everything as far as the end of the universe. But those were dangerous designs beyond her powers, at least for now.

This brought Ilunabar back to her immediate issue, the planet and the names. The thought had a simple root about making mortals refer to the wandering star near the sun as "Ilunabar's", it was a simple task, and that made the muse displeased, to further test it, she took the fourth planet, one with no particular aura of hers or any other god, and it was still a child's play to make most of the mortals to refer to it as "Zephyrion's."

The mortal brain learned its linguistic devices early in its life, so far most of the mortals took it direct from the sap: the true words of the gods. In such situation, most of the language difference between mortals were mostly confined to gods and biological differences, like Djinns calling the moons eyesores or the Hain's words being adapted to their beak. The use of most, however, makes it clear that there are exceptions, as societies formed the influence of the culture over linguistics was getting stronger, a child grown in the woods would have problems learning to communicate with villagers for example.

Like a dandelion, languages were one small stimulus away from spreading in a beautiful cacophony, and Ilunabar was ready to blow them up. Dreams and sounds were some of her tools, however, the true trigger was knowledge inheritance, folktales were suffering changes from region to region, it would be simple to repeat said the process for words and their phonetic counterparts, all she had to do was to add a layer of creativity were once mortals simply took what gods gave.

Surely, the first few generations would still understand their words somewhat well, but with the isolation the nooks where civilisation hid would mutate, two mortals of the same species would learn very different methods and as the brain gets older their ways would solidify in very distant paths. She could see that happening to almost all species with vocal words, Angels and Pronobii, however, lived in a too small of a cluster and too close to their gods to breed the change, the effects of linguistic radiation on the psychic creatures like Lifprasilians was also unknown. But, as far as Ilunabar was corned, they would now learn language trough society instead of god words. Names would be born too, not True Names, but simple names, some might call a lake "The cold lake" others might call it "Smith's lake", gone are the days of namelessness, now some of the silliest mortals would even insist on giving names to pebbles and other small featureless things. However, there was still one more project in Ilunabar's mind related to this and the feeling of fondness that mortals (and gods) felt over places and objects, but it was not yet the time to test this, specially in the mess that the linguistic boom was going to make.

There was an exception, however, one intelligent mortal being that managed to avoid the change. Sculptors, something about the Gap, or perhaps the different resonance of the other beauty goddess, kept the "mortalization" of language away from these beings, they would keep on whispering in Jvan's godly words no matter how many eras went by even when far away from Jvan's education and societies, unlike for example, the Pronobii, who could also speak true words but had to learn it trough their society and religion.

"The last village, Emberhille, was nice," Gerrik mused, "The fire was warm, comforting, and the cooked food delicious."

It was morning out in the wilderness, the pair having just emerged from their hammocks. Teknall nodded in agreement. Emberhille had been keeping their fire going for four generations now, carefully maintaining the embers which had been originally created by a lightning strike or some similar natural phenomenon, although by now it had grown to a legend of a great and benevolent spirit who they now worshipped. Teknall had been careful to ensure Gerrik showed discretion along with his logic. Many Hain were glad to learn of practical new skills, but few are as flexible when it comes to changing their worldviews. However, this had been over a week ago. Gerrik would not be bringing this up as an idle comment.

"Indeed it was," Teknall replied.

"Yet they held no power to make the fire themselves. They had to rely on luck and nature to get it. Its versatility in such a form is finite," Gerrik stated.

Teknall liked where this was going. "I take it you have thought of a solution?"

"Yes! I've been pondering it over the past few days and nights," Gerrik exclaimed, "If you rub your hands together, they get warm. So I thought, if we can rub something much harder, we could get it hot enough to catch on fire!"

Teknall's face smiled as much as a Hain could, and he clapped Gerrik on the shoulders. "Brilliant! What are we waiting for? Try it out!"

Thus followed hours of experimentation. It had started by simply rubbing two sticks together, but that plan was quickly abandoned as being far too inefficient. From Emberhille, they knew that fires were easiest to light if there was something light and stringy to ignite, so Teknall had gone out to get kindling while Gerrik kept trying. Gerrik decided that the rubbing-hands-together motion was quite effective, so he had taken a stick and begun rubbing it between his hands, pressing it into a soft chunk of wood. He cut the end of the stick so it ended in a rounded point. His device now drilled holes into the wood, creating sawdust along with it. Yet still it was not enough.

"You're close, I'm sure of it," Teknall reassured Gerrik, who was resting for a few moments from his hand-drill. "Perhaps you need some sort of mechanical advantage."

Gerrik thought and looked around some more. Levers would not help, as he needed speed, not force. Already he had tried sticks both thick and thin. He was at a loss until his eyes fell upon his bow. His trusty bow. He had made this one himself, crafted with as much meticulous care as Teknall himself would use, and it had served him well on many occasions. While it was a device designed for throwing arrows great distances, he pondered what else it might be useful for. Thoughts of twisting bits of string about his finger and twigs came to mind, as did memories of his early training when he fumbled arrows onto the bowstring.

In a moment of pure inspiration and ingenuity, he snatched up his bow, took a stick thick enough to be handled by it, and twisted it into the bowstring. He then planted the stick into an earlier hole he had made in the wood and, with one hand on top of the stick to hold it down and the other on his bow, he moved his bow like a saw. The stick slipped and the whole apparatus fell apart, but Gerrik did not let that disappoint him. He picked up the stick, slipped it back into the bowstring, readjusted his grip and tried again. This time he made one full stroke, the stick twisting around as it had between his hands, before it slipped again.

Several more attempts were made, with Gerrik subtly adjusting his hands, stance and technique each time, until finally he seemed to have a position he was satisfied with. With one foot he braced the wood. His other leg was well out of the way of the path of his bow. The arm holding the stick in place was braced against his shin. He started moving the bow back and forth, using the whole length of the bow, and the stick twisted and drilled into the wood. Yet there was a problem, and after just three strokes Gerrik dropped the stick. "Get me a rock. Something to hold the stick in place," he ordered.

Teknall had been watching enthralled at the process taking place in front of him. A glorious discovery was Fated to take place that day, he could tell, and he was witness to it. When Gerrik told him to get a rock, Teknall did not chide him for subservience as some might have. Instead, he clambered to fulfill the request, with only their immediate goal in mind. On reflection later that day, he would realise that in that moment Gerrik was truly ready to go out into the world on his own, to discover, to be the master rather than the apprentice.

Back in the present, Teknall was quick to find a rock which would fit in his palm (he knew the exact location of every rock, along with every other object, within 200 km, after all) and he wasted no time in chiselling out a rounded groove in the top. There was no cause for their urgency, yet their excitement drove them on, and with victory just within their grasps they could not wait.

Teknall handed the rock to Gerrik, and he was quick to put it into use. Clamping the rock to the top of the stick, Gerrik began sawing with the bow. This time, unhampered by the limitations of the flesh of his palm, Gerrik could keep going, drilling slowly at first but quickly building speed, the drill digging deeper into the wood. In seconds, smoke began to rise, and then-

"I see one! An ember!" Gerrik exclaimed. He put aside the bow drill and went to pick up the wood containing it.

"Stay calm. Remember how the Emberhilles did it," Teknall cautioned, although it took him just as much self control to contain his own excitement.

Gerrik steadied himself as he picked up the wood with its charred, ember-containing hole, and gently tipped it onto the kindling Teknall had prepared earlier. Leaning down, so his face was just above the ground, he gently blew into the kindling, providing a flow of fresh air to the fledgling ember, until it finally took hold and burst into flame. Trembling with excitement, Gerrik took the burning handful of tinder and placed it within the pile of branches and firewood Teknall had also set aside. They watched with bated breath until the fire spread and they had a modest campfire in amongst their camp.

"I've done it!" Gerrik finally cried with joy, jumping to his feet.

"Yes! You've done it!" Teknall also cried, jumping to his feet and briefly embracing Gerrik. "You've created fire! And by no magic of the elementals or luck of the weather, but by skill and technology and genius! I'm proud of you Gerrik, and this is a proud day which shall mark the beginning of a new era."

They stared proudly at the fire a little longer. Gerrik was the first to move, picking up his bow and quiver. "Where are you going?" Teknall asked.

"Hunting. I'm famished, and I want to cook something on my new fire. Are you coming?" Gerrik replied, patting his belly.

Teknall looked up to the sun in surprise, and only just noticed that it was already high noon, yet it had only just been morning when they had started. He did not truly feel hunger, so if he wasn't paying attention he could easily miss meals without ever noticing. "Oh, yes, of course. I had lost track of time."

Teknall went to pick up his own bow and spear. Before he followed Gerrik out of the camp, though, he tended to the campfire, moving the grass away from it and adding a few thicker logs onto the fire to help it burn for longer. Then off they went, hunting for meat to cook on their new fire.