Over the many billions of years that had passed within Chronos, much had changed. As surely as the weathers and oceans and the explosions of great volcanoes changed the surfaces of planets in the Universe, so too did Time change the very nature of the realms of Time. First to take form within Vowzra's plane were the Crows. Two crows, one large and one smaller, whose skeletal abdomens were visible to all, and whose feathers and skin were more like a strange, webbed cloak of fur. The larger was Aeth, 'the Greater Crow', and the smaller was Chao, 'the Lesser Crow'.
With the Crows came the hourglasses filled with red sand. Each hourglass had a name engraved in it. But these were not merely any names. These were the names of the very souls of beings, names whose very utterance would generate immense power - power over others, or power over oneself. They were True Names.

Each hourglass, whether it be that of a god or that of a mortal, had a hole at one end. When turned over, the sands would filter slowly from the upper chamber, through the tiny neck in the middle, and down into the lower chamber. But they would not stop there, for the bottom chamber was pierced, and so the sands would continue falling until they reached the grey stone ground. Once the sands of Time were lost to a being, never again would they return. Gods and mortals alike had their prescribed Time; none could escape the grinder.

The largest hourglasses, those of the gods, had not yet been turned. For the End Times had not yet begun. Nor had the medium-sized ones, those of the demigods - those born and those yet to be. And littered amongst the hourglasses of mortals were those that glowed with a golden sheen. Those of the Chosen Elect, blessed of the gods. These had not been turned either.
The crows shaped the arable earth of the Shifting Plains, between the great mountains and the Chronos heartlands, into huge shelves, and there they stored the many hourglasses. Every now and then the smaller of the crows, Chao, would leap upon an almost empty hourglass and crush it in his claws, while Aeth would gather up clay in his claws and blow into it to form a new hourglass before carving out the True Name into the glass. No newborn life passed them by; no act of the Lord of Death was ignored. Though they had no power to create or end life they allocated Fated Time, and none defied Fate but the stray.

Over the eons, there grew a small sapling from the hardened stone of the Chronos heartlands, not too far from the Cube. The Bard looked upon the small plant and thought it a most curious thing indeed.
'Why is it, that of all the trees that carry, there should grow here a crimson cherry? 'tis a thing most strange and curious,' and even as he spoke, the cherry grew and the ground around it began to shift and break away till there was a large trench surrounding it. And there grew upon the tree deep crimson cherries, each as large as an apricot. Each fruit had lustre to it and seemed to shiver from the juices within it. It was as though the slightest touch would cause them to burst in an explosion of glorious red juices.

The trench, over time, filled up with water - for there was a small spring deep beneath the tree. And the waters eroded the trench further until the tree was surrounded on all sides by a mystic pool, which exuded an alluring fragrance. These waters glistened with purity, and though The Bard felt no thirst he drank from the pool often. And he was the wiser and more powerful for it.

The grey stone ground of the Chronos heartlands also underwent a change, for there grew upon it strange crystals of all colours and shapes. They were slow-growing things and exuded a mighty aura which affected everything in the heartlands. It was almost as though the crystals were alive. With the eons that passed by, no corner of the heartlands was left without crystals. They grew around the base of the great Cube, and they grew close to the pool also, though there was a perimeter near its shores which the crystals never crossed.

A single spider had made its web in the cherry tree, and as the aura of the crystals and the pool intermingled in the air and entered her, she became pregnant and gave birth to hundreds of younglings, who scattered and fell into the pool. Bloated to terrifying sizes, the babies left the pool and scattered through the Chronos heartlands. Though they little realised it, the pool had imbued their silk with near magical strength, and given them the ability to produce it in tremendous amounts. Vowzra harvested some of this silk and created with it a cloak for his second-born, a cloak of the spider-silk of the Chronos Silk-Spider. And he dipped it into the pool and wrapped it around The Bard, and the demigod disappeared from sight and the senses of lesser beings.

Even as this happened, Vowzra had not been idle, for he had been upon Galbar and created, as was his duty. There rose an enormous mountain - the single tallest mountain on Galbar. It would be known to the inhabitants of the Utmost North as 'the Solitary Mount'. Upon the mount he cast a divine mist which coagulated upon itself and created a great Whirlpool of Space and Time: a gateway to Chronos atop the highest mountain on Chronos. A single Chronos Silk-Spider was summoned and moulded into the shape of a man, and there he sat, the Guardian of the Gate, beside the Whirlpool, guarding it for all time. And even as he sat, the Whirlpool solidified into a rock and would not open until the Guardian willed it.

In the Utmost North, where the loyal bears yet dwelled, Vowzra planted a single seed and there grew a great tree. And from the same root, there grew many other trunks and the roots travelled in the earth until they covered the entire north. A forest of a tree. Not too far south from the forest-tree, there sprouted another such tree, and a great jungle was formed. In the northern forest-tree, the great bears evolved and grew. Their brains evolved and their bodies grew more powerful, and rather than walking on four legs, they stood up straight and walked upon two. And their fur grew powerful and their bodies mingled, over the many centuries, with the strange magic of the great forest-tree, whose epicentre they knew as Old Bark-Skin. And it was around Old Bark-Skin that most of the Treeminds chose to live. Powerful guardians of the Utmost North, of Old Bark-Skin, and of the Solitary Mount – all which they held sacred.

Sularn, spokesperson of the Rovaick.

The Rovaick had expanded throughout the mountains, at a steady pace. They carved homes from the mountain rock, a matter of necessity. They quickly gathered basic stone tools, another necessity, and the prolific Goblins carving out tunnels and crude homes with a disturbing ease. For the most part, they were content. Living in their mountain home, eating whatever they needed too and expanding as necessary. Still, the Rovaick couldn't venture to far outside of the Mountain home, and sometimes their new expansions would be destroyed. The Urtelem and White Giants viewed them as abominations, because of the chaotic and unnatural creatures that made up their essence. They were killed at times, driven off at others. In some rare, lucky, times they managed to cling to their homes and health. Armed with only stone tools and brute strength, they were very rarely a match for the White Giants and the Urtelem. The new magic of the Azibo was only slowly growing, and it wouldn't help the immediate deaths and forced eviction.

It had to stop. They didn't follow Vestec, the Mad God of Chaos. He was their creator, and for that they were thankful, but he had abandoned them almost as soon as he had created them, leaving them to fend for themselves.

"How did I get stuck with the problem of attracting the attention of three Gods and talking too them?" He muttered, heading to the summoning chamber. "Caze youz is da big boss man! Bestest speaka in da Rovck, you iz, you iz!" The Goblin next to him spouted off, happily walking next to him. "Shut up Gruik." The little goblin had insisted upon tagging along to this meeting, practically about to die from excitement of meeting his patron God. Sularn didn't have the heart to tell him Teknall might not respond at all.

Walking in the Summoning chamber, Sularn allowed himself one last breath of awe. It detailed the entire history of Galbar. From the Creation of the world to the creation of the Rovaick. What happened after is unknown.

"Time to get this over with." Sularn muttered. "Teknall, The Craftsman. Vulamera, lady of the mind, and Toun, the Perfect, I beseech you to answer my prayers. The Rovaick need your aid."

It was a new day, and beside the ashes of last night's fire Gerrik was showing some of the other Hain how to weave reeds and grasses into sheets and baskets. Teknall looked on from the side, his role in the education of the Hain slowly becoming more and more passive as Gerrik grew in confidence and knowledge. While Gerrik might not know everything, he was ready all the same, for he was equipped to search what knowledge he did not know.

But there was yet another reason Teknall decided he was ready. The wheels of time were in motion. The gods were acting, creating. New sentient races were appearing. He could not stay here amongst the Hain forever. He had to act more broadly.

So Teknall walked up to Gerrik and told him, "I'm off to go craft something. I'll be back in a couple of days. You can handle yourself."

The last sentence was a statement rather than a question. Gerrik's eyes widened slightly in surprise, for Teknall had never announced his leave before. This must be important, he thought. "Of course, Stone Chipper. Travel safely," he replied, and as Teknall walked out of the village with his belongings Gerrik resumed his work.

As soon as Teknall was out of sight of the village and all its Hain he vanished. In this world it was dangerous to go alone, so Teknall needed to prepare a gift for his apprentice, yet he only had a day to scour the face of Galbar for the perfect materials. So he warped across the world, visiting the many biomes, observing the many fauna and flora, his far-reaching divine sense of perception greatly aiding his search...

The Heraktati, true apex predators bearing the mark of Death himself. Their anatomy was ruthlessly optimised to run and kill, by both design and competition, so their muscles and sinews were taught with strength and bones toughened against shocks. A pack ran westwards, above the Great Steppes in the arctic hinterlands. Invisible to mortal eyes, Teknall drew his bow and unleashed an arrow, smiting one of the Herakt. The rest of the pack seemed to ignore their fallen, assuming it to have fallen from weakness. So they did not notice when the slain Herakt was picked up and disappeared...

Truly, there had never existed such a jungle more despicable and toxic. The Venomweald bore the mark of Slough, yet that mark was distorted, as if it had been made while she was in some state of delirium. Everything, even the plants themselves, sought to strangle and kill, and it grew with a voracious appetite which was only held back by the unforgiving terrain around it and the self-destructive nature of the ecosystem. One such vine wrapped itself around Teknall's leg and attempted to drag him in to a mouth-like mass of thorns, although it may as well have tried to move a mountain. Teknall stared at the vine for a few moments, admiring the potency of its fibrous, cellulose and starch based muscles, before reaching down and tearing the vine from it parent plant. Prize in hand, Teknall vanished once more...

In a jungle much less bloodthirsty yet far more ancient there stood a tree which did not belong. This tree, which stood undying, was ironically the creation of Death, just as the Heraktati were. Yet seeping through the phloem of this evergreen tree was a poison so potent it could kill even the creatures of the Venomweald. Its dark-coloured wood was also fairly tough, given how durable the tree was made to be. With one swing of his axe, Teknall removed a medium sized bough from the tree, and carried it off deeper into the Deepwood...

Trees so colossal they dwarfed some mountains, and so ancient that most of them were older than the Ironheart Ranges. This was the Deepwood, suffused so strongly with Slough's essence that life grew to staggering scales. It was some of this life that Teknall wanted to harness. Up to the vast trunk of one of these trees walked, and he stroked his hand on the bark with reverence. Then, taking his axe once more, he swung it twice, cutting vertically, slicing a narrow, vertical wedge into the tree about the height of his forearm, allowing him to extract the wood he needed at the minimum of lasting damage. He removed the wedge, half of which was the life-bearing sapwood and the other half being the hardy, durable heartwood. With that sample obtained, Teknall disappeared, departing to another part of the world...

The calming mists were always a welcome sensation, yet with his critical observational skills Teknall saw that it tended to make creatures complacent. Yet he was not here for the mists, but the trees. These modifications of Niciel's to his trees made them well suited for the purpose he had in mind. Stronger, tougher, but more importantly, with an aura which reacts to evil. A few small changes would be needed, but that would be no trouble. He observed that some of the Angels, Niciel's own children, had cut down a Holy Oak to make into a shelter. As they carried the logs away, Teknall invisibly approached the stump and, with his axe, cleaved off a few more centimeters of the wood, taking off a disc of the light-coloured wood. Before the Angels could notice something odd had happened, he was gone again, taking the wood with him...

The materials collected, Teknall appeared on a barren plateau in the Ironheart Ranges. There was nothing special about this place, other than the lack of animals, which made it a suitable place to set up an impromptu workshop. He had not used his divine powers for the creation of any object since he had become a Hain, yet now they demanded to be used. At a snap of his fingers the stone rose to become a workbench, and another patch of ground flattened off and cleared itself of dirt and gravel. On that patch of ground Teknall laid down the Herkat corpse and dissected it with a steel knife, removing the powerful hind-leg tendons and bones. Putting those items aside, he then skinned the beast and removed its fat, placing the hide and fat in a pit he conjured in the ground, although he kept some of the hide with the bone and sinew. At his will, boiling water rose up through the stone and filled the pit, carrying dissolved lime with it.

Leaving the hide to render, Teknall returned to the workbench. He placed the slice of Deepwood tree and log of Holy Oak upon the stone table and, procuring tools which had never existed before in this world yet were now called into being because of their necessity, he carved and shaped them until they formed a disk, only slightly larger than a hand. With the piece of hide he had laid aside, he scraped it clean and dry with the edge of a knife and formed a length of rawhide from it, which would form a strap. The three disks of wood, one of Holy Oak, one of Deepwood heartwood, and one of Deepwood sapwood, were then sandwiched together, oriented so that their grains were orthogonal, forming a sheet of plywood. Into this plywood disk he inserted the rawhide strap, long enough for it to be bound around the arm of a Hain.

Yet Teknall did not use any resin to bind these sheets of wood together. Instead he blessed them, and the three sheets grew into each other, becoming one. This divine power of growth would be an integral part of this item's function. With the first item finished, he could move on to the second.

Thoroughly he washed the removed bones and sinews in a spring of water he called from the ground before laying them on the workbench along with the branch of the Eenal tree. Using to tools he had pulled from his apron's pouch before, and a few more besides, he shaped the wood to be that of a recurve bow half the height of a Hain, and then he shaped the femur bone to fit inside that form, and the tendons he stretched out to run the full length of the bow. When these forms were finished, Teknall beckoned towards the boiling pit, and from it emerged a thick, sticky fluid. This glue snaked its way up to the workbench and layered itself on either side of the wood. To the outside of the bow he stuck the sinew, such that its springlike properties would increase the strength of the drawn bow. To the inside he attached the slithers of bone, such that its compression would also enhance the strength of the bow. And so Teknall built that compound bow.

While the bow dried, he took out the vine he had taken from the Venomweald. Gently he peeled every individual fiber out of the vine, and once there was no more vine Teknall twisted the strands together, forming a long, strong bowstring.

Teknall then returned his attention to the bow, which was still wet with the glue. He slowly ran his hand over it, a golden glow running through it as the glue dried and hardened in moments and his power filled it. To the finished bow, he tied the bowstring, and it was complete.

These two artifacts finished, Teknall put his tools away and picked up the products of his labour. Through the time and energy spent, carving and shaping the wood, he felt a far greater affinity to the art of carpentry and the manipulation of wood than before. At a wave of his hand, the workbench and pit disappeared and fire consumed the leftover materials, erasing all trace of his presence. Then, one more time, Teknall disappeared.



Just as Gerrik was finishing one of his lessons Teknall walked into the village and tapped him on the shoulder. "Come walk with me, Gerrik," he said. Although Gerrik found this rather abrupt, that Teknall would just walk into the village after being absent for a couple of days, he complied nonetheless.

As Teknall led him out from the mud brick huts, Gerrik tried to strike up a conversation. "So, were you able to make what you wanted?" he asked. He could not see anything new, since Teknall had hidden the two items.

"Yes, yes I was," Teknall replied. Before Gerrik could ask the obvious follow-up question, Teknall interjected with a question of his own, as they left earshot of the other Hain. "I have shared with you many things about this world, and you have learned much, yet there is one thing which you don't know which you want to. So tell me, who am I?"

Gerrik opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the true depth of the question hit him. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, before answering, "You go by the name of Stone Chipper. To many, you are a nomadic teacher, a wise man, a bringer of knowledge. To some, you are a miracle worker and a prophet of Teknall. Yet this last point is odd, for if you truly were a prophet of Teknall, then you would speak of him much more often. You had not even mentioned Teknall, though I had followed you for many winters, until that night you drove away the Fiberling with your gaze and word alone."

Gerrik looked to Teknall to gauge his response, and all he saw was the impassive expression he normally gave while he gave observations and deductions to Teknall. So he continued, "Although you do not act like a true prophet or servant of a god, you still wield power. The miracles you performed, reluctant though you seemed to do so, are clear evidence, although I've noticed clues more subtle. Some nights I notice that you've left without a trace, only to appear again before dawn the next morning- don't think I didn't notice that. You weren't even tired from being out all night.

"And when you speak, especially when we talk about the nature of this world, you always speak as though you know more, yet are holding back. There is an air of superiority about you. You also never seem afraid or unsure. You faced down one of those... deformed ones without flinching, as though it were almost another Hain. Predators never give you any concern. We've always been able to find what we need to find, even if it is hidden in an obscure location. You know more than you show. You are more than you say. You're..."

Gerrik paused, unsure whether to continue, questioning whether his far-fetched conclusion could ever have enough evidence to justify. Teknall, however, could see where he was going, so with beak slightly upturned he said, "You're close, Gerrik. Go on."

Gerrik turned his beak slightly towards Teknall and bent his elbows slightly, a display of nervousness. He took a breath in, then said, "This might seem a little crazy, and I'm not certain. It's just a suspicion, but... are you... actually... Teknall himself?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Teknall maintained his impassive expression, before he threw up an upturned palm. "You've figured it out."

Gerrik stood for a few seconds in stunned silence, eyes wide, unable to truly believe that a god was actually standing before him, and had been standing beside him all this time. Eventually, he came to his sense enough to ask a question. "But... but why? Why didn't you tell me? Or anyone? Why are you here?"

Teknall sighed, "While I could ask you to figure that one out yourself, I think you've done enough of that for one day. The secrecy is partly for reasons I have already told you- people don't like it when their worldviews are changed. Another is that it would change how people thought about me. If you had known I was a god, then how would I have been able to teach you like I have? I'd have followers who don't care about the knowledge I have to share, but only the power and divinity I wield.

"Which leads me to why I'm here. I came to do exactly what I have done- teach the Hain. I am the god of civilisations, of crafted things, and as such I want to see such things in this world. The Hain showed promise. I wanted to give them a head start. And now, you will carry on that purpose."

"Me?" Gerrik replied in surprise, stepping back and holding his palms towards Teknall.

"Yes. Why do you think I've spent all this time training you, teaching you? I'm a god. By staying here, I can't attend to the rest of the world. The Hain are wide-spread. And even though you Hain will always have a special place in my heart, other races walk the face of Galbar who also need my help." Teknall gave a few moments for this information to sink in, before adding, "So, are you ready? To teach the Hain as I have?"

Gerrik thought for a few moments, before finally answering, "Yes."

"Excellent. Come over here. It is dangerous to go alone in this world, so I have a couple of gifts, made by my own hand." He unfurled his bedroll to reveal the composite bow and small plywood band. Gerrik walked over and picked up the two items, and the moment he touched them he could feel they were blessed and powerful items.

"The bow, although its composition is advanced, should appear familiar to you," Teknall explained, "Try it."

Gerrik, unsure what to expect, took out an arrow, nocked it against the bowstring, and in one swift motion drew the bow and fired at a tree. The arrow landed slightly higher than Gerrik had aimed, it being a bit more powerful than he had anticipated, but otherwise it behaved just like a normal bow and arrow. "It didn't do anything special," he commented, "It feels like it should do something special."

Teknall nodded. "It does, if you want it to. How do I put this... you have to will it to do more than a normal bow."

Despite his slight skepticism at this explanation, Gerrik took another arrow and nocked it. Has he drew, he willed, and at his will the bow glowed with faint golden light. When he unleashed the arrow, it streaked forwards as a flash of gold, travelling as fast as a bullet rather than an arrow, and when it struck the tree it sunk all the way in and split it along the trunk, sending splinters flying. Gerrik raised a hand to shield his eyes, then looked at the bow in disbelief.

"Your favoured weapon is the bow, so I made you a bow fit for the gods," Teknall proudly explained, "It can bring swift Death upon those who threaten you, penetrating any natural armour and ripping through any natural body, should you so need. On top of that, as it is a blessed creation of my own hands, it is indestructible. It shall never wear or be damaged. Even the other gods would struggle to destroy it, such is the might of my craftsmanship.

"Now, onto my second gift, which is complementary to the first. Put it on your arm." Teknall pointed to the plywood plate with the rawhide strap.

Gerrik picked it up and inspected it, although his face remained puzzled even as he slipped it over his left arm. "But what is it?" Gerrik asked.

"It is a shield," Teknall answered.

Gerrik scoffed. "But it is so small."

Teknall's eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists. He would have simply explained its function, but he would not let an insult to his work, however slight, go without appropriate retribution. With an upwards flick of two fingers a stone the size of a fist flew up from the ground and landed neatly in his palm. Then, in a movement that was so fast as to be a blur to normal eyes, he twisted to face Gerrik and hurled the stone straight at his head, the crack of a sonic boom following behind it.

Gerrik's eyes had barely a moment to widen his eyes in shock and surprise, let alone dodge or block, but he did not need to. The shield on his arm writhed as the stone left Teknall's fingers, and as the stone was in mid-flight the shield grew, its wood expanding to become a much more appropriately sized shield. By impulses sent not from his own brain but through the rawhide strap, Gerrik's arm yanked upwards so that the shield was in a better position to block the stone. By the time the stone had arrived, barely ten milliseconds after it had been thrown, the shield was in place and grown to a size to completely cover Gerrik's face, along with most of the rest of his body. The stone shattered against the thick wood with a resounding thud, the shock pushing Gerrik a step backwards but leaving him unharmed.

Teeth still chattering, Gerrik cautiously peered out from behind the shield. Teknall's anger had passed, and he now calmly stood there as if he hadn't almost killed him seconds ago. He then looked at the shield, and to his surprise the wood was completely unharmed. Not so much as a dent or a splinter.

"It is plenty big enough. It will always be exactly the right size, exactly when you need it," Teknall explained. As he spoke, the shield slowly shrunk back until it had returned to its original size. "As I have demonstrated for you, it responds automatically and instantaneously to danger, so that it will keep you safe from any blow short of that of a god's. And even the gods', to some extent. While the bow is indestructible, this is even more so. Of course, don't be fooled into thinking it can block everything. But any tangible blow without the full force of a god behind it will not penetrate it. I would recommend not removing it, for your own protection, even when you sleep, but if you must you can will it to let go, like the bow." By now the rawhide strap had tightened of its own accord, and fitted firmly against Gerrik's exoskeleton.

"The Eenal Bow and the Guardian Shield, two artifacts made by my own hand, with my own power, and gifted to you for your protection. Treat them well," Teknall said. "Now, come to me, Gerrik. Let me bless you, so that you may carry out my work."

Timidly, Gerrik approached, and when he was right in front of Teknall he stopped and bowed his head, with his beak facing directly towards Teknall. Teknall laid a hand on Gerrik's forehead, and a faint golden glow radiated from the pair. His words bearing true power, Teknall spoke. "By the power of I, Teknall, I bless you, Gerrik. You will have strength, speed, stamina and longevity above all other Hain. Your senses shall extend beyond your mortal limits. You will have power to interact with the world beyond normal means. But most importantly, your mind shall be sharp and clear, that you may be able to truthfully and accurately discern fact, that you will be able to learn new things about this world and share them with the rest of hainkind. You will be my prophet among the Hain, my representative and messenger. From this day forth, you shall be known as Far-Teacher. Now arise, my chosen."

Teknall removed his hand from Gerrik's forehead, although the glow remained for a few seconds longer. Only then did Gerrik Far-Teacher raise his head, yet he did not yet open his eyes, for he discovered that he did not need to. Everything, all around him down to the finest detail, irrespective of line of sight, could be seen by him, out to a distance of about one hundred meters. No, seen was the wrong word. Firstly, there was no colour. He could tell what colour things were, but it was a secondary piece of information, one elucidated from the data he had, not one integral to the picture. A better word was perceived. Yes, he could perceive everything. Although scaled back somewhat, this sense of Perception he had been blessed with was the same used by the gods.

Finally, he opened his eyes, and through them he could see normally, although his sense of his surroundings was greatly and seamlessly enhanced by his Perception. All things seemed clearer and crisper. And he felt stronger, healthier, in general more powerful. He savoured those first few breaths, through lungs freshly blessed by divine might.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" Teknall said, laying a reassuring hand on Gerrik's shoulder. "But you don't need to worry about it all now. Right now, you just need to continue what you were doing this morning and yesterday- teaching the Hain. I've just equipped you so you can do it without my help."

Gerrik Far-Teacher stared off thoughtfully. They stood there for a few minutes, until finally Gerrik said, "I won't let you down, Stone Chipper- I mean, Teknall."

"Good."

Teknall removed his hand from Gerrik's shoulder, hesitated for a moment, then closed his arms around Gerrik in an embrace, as a father might to his child, a gesture which Gerrik reciprocated. "You'll do good for this world. Now I must go."

He released, but before he could walk away Gerrik said, "What if I need to speak to you again?"

Teknall turned up a palm. "I will always be watching you. I have great interest in what works you shall enact. While I trust you to make your own decisions and plans, if you ever seriously need me, all you have to do is ask."

He looked to the village. "Let's leave them a sign to remember this by." Teknall spread out his arms, looked to the sky, and let a controlled amount of his divinity shine. The golden light bathed the grass and lanced into the sky like a beacon, bright as the sun and plainly visible to all the Hain in the village. Gerrik threw his arm in front of his eyes, and the shield grew enough to shade his face from the dazzling light. Then the light faded, and Teknall was gone.

As Far-Teacher walked back into the village, he was met by the confused, fearful eyes and chattering teeth if the residents who had witnessed this outburst of divine glory. He needed to explain what had happened and assuage their fears. He announced, "Why are you frightened? This very day, history has been made. The great god Teknall himself, patron of Stone Chipper, saw fit to descend to me and bless me, as he did Stone Chipper long ago. Now, Teknall's spirit is with us, and many blessings shall arise from it."

The villagers were joyful at this news. Many congratulated Gerrik. A few even saw fit to sing praises to Teknall. After the initial hype had died down somewhat, though, Gerrik Far-Teacher assembled an audience to demonstrate and teach the nuances of arrow-making to. He was indeed carrying on where Stone Chipper had left off.

And so it was that TOBIA’s tremendous, and only, trek came to its horrific conclusion: the resolute hero of Time, the relentless Bane of Jvankind, was sent hurtling through the Universe by that self-same cancer she had declared total war upon. Perhaps the Deformed Flesh thought that, in doing what it did, it had rid itself of this pestilent killer of its profane creations. But TOBIA had merely done as her mighty master willed.



The grave implications of this war had yet to surface, but grave indeed were they. As it were, TOBIA now found herself hurtling through the atmosphere of a planet very different from Galbar. It eased her pain very little to know that she was the first interstellar traveller – indeed, being first had slowly begun to lose its glisten after becoming the first to do so many things. The first to be created was she, the first to enter The Gap and the first to return, the first to traverse the girth of Galbar, and now the first to travel across the Universe toward a planet not hers. Had she not been torn from her home for rolling millennia before? Was she to undergo that same pain yet again? She, the First Exile, and now the Second Exile also.

‘Woe am I,’ she lamented, as she pierced the atmosphere of Arcon and hurtled on towards its surface. Yet it seemed that this planet had guardians grim and brave who even now launched themselves towards TOBIA, having already destroyed the Jvanic eye that had followed her across the Universe.

‘It is most unseemly for a being who has suffered so to meet only with an unsightly death at long journey’s end,’ she stridulated angrily, ‘and more so when long journey has only just begun! So forgive me Grim Guardians, for I have many promises to keep and miles to trek before I sleep – long, long miles to trek before I sleep,’ and with that, she released a mighty wave of energy, creating an escape from the Jvanic prison which had protected her from the vast void of the endless spaces, but which now only served as a moving target for beings whom mere flesh could not repel. They would not notice a creature so small as her – in comparison to this great Jvanic thing that she had been imprisoned in – leap away. Nor would they notice that this creature, as it fell, sprouted glorious wings and stridulated her determination and fury to the Arconian skies.

‘You may be leagues and galaxies away from me, but know this, great defiler, Jvanic entity, nothing shall spare you from my red fury, when my mandibles next strike, there will no mercy be. And oh Great Tormenter! Think not that you have rid the world of me! ‘tis but Time and Space that separates you and my just severity,’ her wings whirred and she flew swiftly, her perceptive eyes searching for a place of safety where she could hide from the grim guardians. They settled upon a cave. And there she flew, and she went as deep as she could, and she dug herself into the ground, and there she thought and planned, even as the Realta ahead twinkled in the black sky above.

The fall of TOBIA had not gone unnoticed by the ever watching heavens, for as the great Hero of Time submerged herself in the loamy soil of Arcon, a trio of lights plucked themselves. Across the celestial firmament they fell, in arcing lights and the many tribes of Man looked up in wonder.

In fire and light landed the first, a figure of terrible beauty and power. It struck the earth with a shattering crack, throwing up great tummults of soil and stone. In a moment came its siblings, likewise tarnishing the one pristine landscape with their blinding beauty. The One By Immortals Altered felt their coming as the earth she hid within trembled with their landing.

The Realta dutiously approached the mouth of the cavern, piercing through the darkness and into the dark beady eyes of The One By Immortals Altered. Flames licked from their metals shells and hands, kissing the cold air around them, even as The One By Immortals began clicking her mandibles and preparing for a battle she had done all to avoid.

"Enough."

The air trembled with the command, shaking the foundation of the mountain itself, and the Realta lowered their hands with machine-like obedience. The air in the mouth of the hole shimmered as Logos, Lord of Order appeared. The fallen stars bent a knee in acknowledgement, a fist planted on the soil as they bowed their heads. If their Light bothered their Lord, he did not acknowledge it.

Logos folded his wings against his back and stared down into the dark hole, eyes unblinking as the god stood long in thought. The Realta, unspeaking and ever patient guardians, waited for their Lord's judgement.

At last, Logos tore away the surface of the cave with a dismissive gesture. Another fissured the soil and drew the squirming appendaged creature from its hiding, into the Realta's light. He held The One By Immortals Altered before him, pinned to the ether with but the infintisimal fraction of his will, examining her as one would a particularly interesting specimen.

"Vowzra."

The Universe rumbled with the summons. And Logos did not need to look behind him to know that he had been answered. Indeed, behind Logos the Fabric of Existence had begun to shimmer and a strange black mist emerged from it, whipping around the Realta and forcing them to retreat from the forming essence of the god. The mist coagulated upon itself and [url=bear_warrior__1p_clr__by_uchider.jpg]a powerful being[/url] appeared before Logos and the First Exile.

'It appears that my Chosen has been stolen, Eternal One. Why have you chased her here and frightened her so? And why do you threaten her thus with Guardians Grim and divine powers?' he slowly circled around Logos and pulled the ant towards him, freeing her of the grip of Logos. Upon landing on her feet before her master, she swiftly made her way behind him and hid from the gaze of Logos. Vowzra turned his head towards the god of Order.

[color=black][/i]'You target an innocent, Adjudicator,'[/i][/color] the words left the bear-like mouth in the form of a growl, [color=black][/i]'while the Deformed Criminal fills the Universe with its ugliness. Even now it spurns the Will of Fate and does as it so desires. Has the Time not come, Eternal One, for you to step forth with me and rid the Universe of that most malignant cancer?'[/i][/color]

"Twas she who came and she who awoke my servants," Logos stated without emotion. He spared not the faintest glance further towards the insect, having seen all that he had desired too. "She trespasses, intent or none, upon the soils of my world."

Here Logos gestured with a hand to the cool summer night about them. Wind swayed through trees flush with leaves, insects that chirped and buzz in the Realta-lit shadows, the rushing of the mountain streams. It was a world full of sight and sound: something that Galbar itself had not yet become.

"When you did not join with me in the Beginning, when All was maleable, you consigned yourself to the inevitable," the God of Order judged his brethren. "A universe full of Change, Chaos, and Perversion."

Each word was like a drop of acid upon Logos's tongue, though he did not spit them out. The pain of its realization reminded him of their poison: he would never allow himself to forget their taste.

"But there is but one corner of this accursed plane that the Natural Order... my Order stands. Fate and you gave the universe to the Engineer: let her claim it. But this world is mine, and it will remain free," here Logos gave a piercing glare at TOBIA, "...of anomalies incapable of obedience."

Vowzra was silent for a long while, looking deep into Logos' eyes.

'Anomalies incapable of obedience...you say,' with his heavy words, full of meaning, hanging between them, Vowzra turned to his Chosen and gathered her up in his arms. Fate had sent her here for a reason, but he knew not what this reason was for his Sight was yet tainted by his recent experiences.

'Far be it for me to bend the knee and acquiesce to your authority, Eternal One, but I do get the impression that I must bend the knee to a being much greater than you. It only do I obey. And so do you, I must say, and all others. But you all realise very little,' he put the ant down between the god of Order and himself, 'what is it that you wish of me that this being, whom Fate Most-Glorious has placed at your door-step, may remain?'

It took Logos a moment to consider.

"All the yesterdays that never were, and the tomorrow's that could have been. These will be my daughter's, for this world is for her."

Logos gave the faintest of nods, and the three Realta took position around TOBIA. The white flame of their essence stretched out to lick her carapace. Where before had been the heat to turn stone to slag, was but now a gentle warmth.

"Her design is... acceptable. She is free in her wildness, she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for Time or customs. 'Fate' for her isn’t something to bend to. Her life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water."

"Child of Time," Logos adressed TOBIA directly now. "Here there is but law: mine. Drink from clear springs if you thirst, kill if you must if you hunger, and rest within the deep woods. But disrupt not the balance of my Natural Order. The Engineer will not harm you here."

The ant looked towards her Master, and a small smile spread across the huge bear's face. He waved her forward, telling her to go forth and explore this brave new world. She clicked her mandibles, almost sadly, before turning to Logos and lowering her head in respect. With that, she rushed away from the gathered gods. With her gone, the smile faded from the Lord of Time's face and he turned back to Logos.

'All the yestardays that could have been, and the tomorrows that could be,' he said coldly, his Eye Seeing quite clearly what it was that Logos wanted. Even as he spoke, his form faded and coalesced upon itself, and his familiar form of bark stood before the other divine. Behind him, the cave that had been destroyed in Logos' pursuit of the ant re-formed upon itself and Vowzra turned and disappeared within it. A single command rang out within Logos' mind.

'Come,' the Lord of Time made his way through the cave until he reached its end, and there he carved a small hole in the ground which gret until it was a perfect circle with a fifty centimetre radius. He extended an arm forward and waited a while.

Dew had slowly begun to form on his arm of bark, and water began to drip from it. Soon enough there was a rather forceful flow coming down his arm and resting in the waiting hole. As the water rose, its strange properties caused it to erode away at the perfect circle Vowzra had carved until it became twice as big. The waters bubbled and foamed, and Vowzra bent down and placed one wooden finger into the pool. It was immediately still. Rather than his reflection in it, one could see the sky in the pool, and closer still, one seemed to be looking up at a fruitful cherry tree.

Even as the Timeless One looked into it, the pond overflowed and began slowly gushing up the cave, filling its width and length until it reached the entrance half a mile back. TOBIA had chosen a deep cave indeed, but it had not saved her from the Realta or Logos' piercing sight. It only stopped its relentless flooding when it reached the mouth of the cave. Below them the image disappeared and the waters were still.

Logos stood on the shores of the still, his gaze lingering upon the still waters of the pool.

"It will suffice." He intoned at last, as he bent a knee down into the mud of the pool. He placed a hand within the mire and closed his eyes, bending the soil and the elements to his will. The subtlest of nudges, the gentlest of movements: the beginning of a long and tenuous process for it to be perfect upon its presentation.

His power infused into the work, the Lord of Order rose and stole a glance at the silent face of bark. "You will lose." Logos surmised with all the chalance of one remarking about the weather. "The foe you fight is many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting Her will be like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

He turned and left for the cool night of Arcon, feet traversing over the stone and sand of the cavern rather than flight. "Something of mine was stolen recently. Soon, I will seek recompense," he informed the Lord of Time, casting a backward stare at his brother deity. His eyes shone bright with eternity. "I will strike what blow I can while I am there."

Though Vowzra's face remained deadpan, a smile wormed its way into his eyes. Even as Logos spoke and proclaimed that he would not aid him in his war, he nonchalantly declared that he would aid him simply because circumstance would allow him to. Circumstance would allow him to. He did not comment on the matter however. Gods were proud beings, they enjoyed feeling free and independent - feeling that all things depended and rotated around them. It was not his place to proclaim, be ye ever so high, still you bend the knee.

Which wise being was it who once, seeing the darkness and falsehood which prevailed, declared that the truth may indeed be puzzling, that it may take great effort to grapple with? That it may be counterintuitive or contradict deeply held prejudices. Indeed, it may not be in line with what one desperately wants to be true. But in the end, one's preferences do not determine what is true. The Truth is the Truth, though Worlds cry out and shun it. A wise man was he, who pierced the falsehoods, the lies.

'I may well lose,' Vowzra stated simply, 'and I may not. It is for the safety of all, the True Timeline, that I struggle and fight, it shall suffice that I did struggle, breathe and die that all may flourish and delight,' he took a few steps from the cave before he melted away into the Fabric of Existence, and his voice rang out once more in Logos' mind, 'but strike bravely strike, it shall suffice.'

Moon: 0
It began with shrieks of agony and tears. It began with a single, high-pitched scream. It began with a death. The Wise-Woman had declared that the woman would not survive the birth. She had ordered that a sharp rock be brought and the baby be cut out of its mother’s womb – the baby would die, but the mother may survive.

And her eyes had widened in fear when she saw the child; bloodied, frail…alive. She had inspected it and taken some of the blood. She had mixed it with leaves and earth and stirred it in a concoction over a fire before tipping it and reading the signs. And she had made a most fateful declaration.

‘There are none who survive a Sharp-Cut birth except those who are cursed. This child will bring misery and death upon us, it must be killed,’ but the child’s father, distraught at having lost his mate, dismissed the Wise-Woman’s words and declared that his son would live. His father’s other mates cared for him, and the child grew, and when he reached his first moon he was given a name.
Eskandar, they called him, ‘Born of a Scar’.



Moon: 48-156
Under his father’s supervision and the care of his father’s mates, Eskandar grew into a healthy young boy. From his youngest days, it was clear to his father that the boy was different from others. He began walking long before others his age could, and he took to water like a fish. His eyes were perceptive and his mind keen on learning, and there was nothing that he passed by without carefully observing.

As young as forty-eight moons*, his father started taking him along to the hunts, and though the boy did not partake, he watched and learned. And he soon began hunting down smaller prey of his own volition – rabbits, birds, he would climb into the highest branches to find bird nests or stalk near the nests of the Elephant birds to get an egg. And he was ever obedient to his father.

Upon reaching his first cycle** - for the Wise-Woman kept count of such things – his father deemed it time for him to get a mate. And it was settled that little Zekra – who had just recently reached her seventieth moon - would be the one. With a mate now in his care, Eskandar set out to prove that he was capable of tending for his own family. He joined the hunters and endeavoured to prove himself a hunter and a man. He collected hides and commanded Zekra to sew them together so that they could set up a tent of their own in the camp – he did not like living in the cave with those unable to make a tent for themselves. And he lit a fire outside the tent and commanded Zekra to never let it go out, day be it or night. And though she was yet young, she endeavoured to obey. And though the fire would sometimes go out and great would be his rage, he would forgive her and command her not to let it happen again.

‘This fire,’ he would tell her as they lay together in the furs during the night, ‘is our honour and a sign of our status. It says to all, “look ye, our fire is ever lit, food is ever ready for all who come, warmth can here be found,” and for that reason, you must never let it be extinguished, for that would darken our faces before the people and bring great shame upon us,’ and though she did not understand how this could be so, she would nod in agreement and bury herself in his arms, ever seeking his personal happiness and his pleasure with her. And though the moons passed and the days brought good with them and bad, their bond only grew.

But the memories of men are long, and they do not forget so easily. So it was when Eskandar’s father died that the superstitions arose once more. The Wise-Woman – so old and gnarled was she, yet still defied death – launched her accusations against him and stirred the inhabitants of the camp against him. Then an esteemed young warrior and a father to a young child, Eskandar was not so easily threatened. He had seen one cycle and 56 moons, so old and craven a thing as the Wise-Woman did not scare him. But he feared for his young son and wife. The madness of a people driven by superstitions and traditions was to be feared. Only a fool did not beware. Sitting by his fire one night, with Zekra beside him and little Bato suckling in her arms, he whispered calmly.

‘I know you have only very recently endured the hardships of baby-making, and your body is still pained, but we must leave this place. We are not welcome, and every day my fear grows that their hatred for me will take shape in harm done to you and our child,’ he paused and looked into Zekra’s eyes. He found within them fear and sadness – indeed, her own father had disinherited her for her association with him and bearing his child. That same father who had rained praises upon Eskandar’s father while he lived, and who had most willingly given Zekra to him in marriage. How quickly did the hearts of men twist and turn and change. He had built his name and reputation, built his tent and lit his fire, hunted the greatest beasts and fed his family better than most and dressed them best of all. None denied his ability, his qualities, that he was born for greatness. When he spoke all listened, and when he took action all watched. Yet at the hurl of a word, an ungrounded accusation, due to a birth beyond his control, he was now shunned and spat upon when he walked past. A man such as he did not have to sit idly as all this was done to him. His very existence here was a mercy, from great Elysium herself, upon this camp and its people. He knew that with certainty. He was not obliged to remain. The blessing, if abused, would melt away. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

‘Tonight,’ he said, ‘under the guiding light of our Moon-Mother. You and I shall depart. We shall bring the tent down and gather up our furs, and we shall depart from here never to return,’ and with those words, he departed from the fire and went for a walk to the Wise-Woman. She was the one who kept all the information on the people of the camp, he would need to find out how she did so. For he planned to take up that responsibility for his family tonight.

‘Wise-One,’ he called from outside the tent, ‘I have come to speak with you,’ there was silence as he waited, but soon enough the old hag’s voice summoned him in.
‘What is it that you want at so late an hour of the night? Should you not be resting with your woman?’ Eskandar looked around the large tent. Indeed, it was the largest tent of all, and had a fire burning in its middle, and a hole in its ceiling for the smoke to escape.

‘I would sleep, Wise-One, but sleep does not help when it is the soul that is tired,’ he responded. She stood up and circled round the fire, staring into the young man’s face.
‘Soul? What is this word you speak?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Even if I were to explain it to you, Wise-One, you would not understand. You cannot understand now if these many moons have not made you. I am a blessing from great Elysium upon you all, I have great gifts which I can share with you, my mind sees and understands what you cannot. But you cannot see this great blessing, for you are all sightless,’ his were bitter words, and she did not like them. She cried out derisively and walked away.

‘You are no blessing!’ she screeched as she walked from him, ‘you are but a curse, and you will be cleansed. You hang like a storm-cloud over the people and bring nothing but misfortune! And your words are proof! You speak as though you were a god, you will ruin us all. What will it take for us to be rid of you?’ it was not a question directed at him, but he stepped forward and answered it.

‘If you wish for me to be gone, I will be gone by the coming of the first light of day. But I have one request, if you wish that I should leave,’ she turned to him, her face still suspicious, but a glimmer of interest in her eyes. She waved for him to speak.
‘Show me how you keep a record of the moons we have lived,’ he said. Her eyes widened and she shook her head in fear.

‘No, never will I let you know. That is divine knowledge, none may have it but the pure,’ at her words, his eyes flashed dangerously and he casually reached for one of the burning pieces of firewood, ‘w-what are you doing?’ she stuttered as he picked one up.

‘All your “divine knowledge” is in this tent, all the records of the moons. If you do not do as I ask, it will all burn. You can bring the whole camp upon me, but your precious tent, and all that’s in it, will become ashes,’ his eyes, though they reflected the light of the flames, were cold and hard as ice. Fear filled her face and she shook her head.

‘N-no, you must not do that. I cannot, it is divine knowledge, none can have it but the p-’
‘Be silent, hag. If you will continue to defy me, you will burn along with your tent, now tell me how you do it,’ and with that, he stepped forward and brought the flame dangerously close to her face.
‘Please! Please! Keep the flame away! Put it back! Put it back! I will do as you say,’ she scampered frantically away and huddled amongst the furs near the wall of the tent, ‘just please, put the flame down. Stop swinging it around all over the place,’ though he did not trust her, he decided to put it down.

‘If you deceive me, neither you nor your tent will survive the night, even if I should die,’ and with that, he carefully placed the stick back among the flames. She stood up and hobbled towards a pile of oddities, small stones, bits of earth, gathered animal fat – he always thought it strange that she always demanded animal fat.

She brought them out and placed them on a piece of bark and sat before him.
‘First, you need to create the mixture. Stone, clay and animal fat does it. You mix it together,’ she spread the clay out on the piece of bark and began grinding the strange stone with a bone. To Eskandar’s surprise, it very quickly crumbled and took on a red colour – despite the fact that the stone had been silver!

‘What kind of stone is that?’ he asked in shock. The old woman looked up at him as she worked, shrugging.
‘I don’t know. But you can know from the mark it makes. Rub it against anything and it should make a red mark. That is the kind of stone you need,’ once she finished grinding the strange stone down, she mixed it together with the animal fat and poured some water on it. Some berries she had were also crushed and added. The result was a strange paste.

‘What is this, some kind of poison you hope to slay me with?’ he scoffed, ‘your concoctions do not scare me, old woman,’ she gave him a hard stare before standing up and commanding him to follow her.

‘And keep your tongue still, child, I do this only because I said I would,’ and he followed her up to the cave where the ones without a tent slept. She told him to get a piece of firewood and to stay close by her side. They walked deep into the cave, where none dared go for fear of angering the Wise-Woman. She eventually came upon a part of the cave wall that had strange markings on it.

‘Here it is,’ she said simply, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous place. Eskandar approached the cave wall and raised the make-shift torch to the wall.



All along the wall, there were drawn impressions of the many inhabitants of the camp, beside each impression were various markings, some small and some large. Some markings had been hastily crossed off while other impressions had been crossed off in their entirety.

‘The small markings are the number of moons. The big markings are the number of cycles. The ones who have been crossed off are the dead,’ the Wise-Woman explained, ‘and it is with this mixture that I go about this divine duty,’ she added, at which Eskandar scoffed.

‘Divine duty? If you believed this to be a divine duty you would have done a better job than this petty attempt. It is poor, inefficient. It has probably been passed down for generations without improvement. I pity the first great thinker who created this, for they did not realise that they were gifting too much to creatures who cannot think,’ with that, he walked along the wall until he came to what was recognisably him. One cycle and fifty-six moons, he counted. He commanded her to lead him to that of Zekra. His wife had lived one cycle and sixteen moons, some thirty moons his junior.

‘And Bato has seen but three moons,’ Eskandar committed the numbers to memory. He would eventually have to find a better way of recording the moons than the old woman’s way. This one was cumbersome and put too much power in the hands of one person – too much responsibility. The chances of a mistake occurring were too great.

‘Will you be leaving then?’ the old woman asked him? Without a word, he nodded. She came forward with her pigment and reached out with it to wipe his impression from the wall.

‘No!’ he shouted, and she froze. Taking the bark pallet from her, he dipped his hand into it and proceeded to wipe his impression from the wall personally, and each of the marks that tallied his age. Then he did the same for Zekra and Bato.

'Wait, you are taking Zekra and Bato with you?' she asked in shock.
'My family is my blood and flesh, where I go, they go. As I command, they obey,' he returned the pallet to her, and he could tell that she was enraged by his actions – he had transgressed all bounds. ‘In the morning, I will be gone. The mercy of great Elysium, her blessings, all that the people, whose fates are in your hands, could have achieved, they shall go with me,’ and with that, he turned away and proceeded to walk out of the cave.

‘We were great before you!’ she shouted at his departing back, ‘and we will be greater without you! What do you think you are! A god? You’re not even a man! You’re barely a cycle and a half!’ but her taunts fell on deaf ears, however, for Eskandar was done with her. She, as far as he was concerned, no longer existed.

When he got to his tent, Zekra had already tied much of their belongings up with rope, ready to be carried on their backs. Realising that carrying so many furs would slow them down, he ordered her to leave what they did not need and carry only what would not slow them down. While she sorted through them by the light of the fire, he set about bringing the tent down.

Being a small family, their tent was fittingly small. He had not wished to tire Zekra out unnecessarily with the sewing. He was a proud man, he did not deny, but he was not cruel. And his pride was not without basis, for it was the pride that ensured his dignity and honour and status among the people. The pride that was quick to lash out when insults were piled at the door of his flesh and blood. It was not a pride that drove him to harm those in his care.

With some possessions on his shoulders and others trailing behind, tied to him with a rope, the two began their long journey to find a home. Zekra hugged her child close and stayed close to her lord and life-mate while he dug the butt of his spear into the ground and used it as a walking stick. Above them, in the heavens, the moon guided their way.



Moon: 153-209
The old man squinted at the strange young boy who had marched into their camp not half a day earlier, with a young child and a pregnant mate in tow. And he had proclaimed himself to be Blessed of the Moon. At first, they had simply laughed, but then he had revealed a strange object. It looked like a stick of some kind, with one string attaching one end to the other.

‘This,’ he proclaimed, ‘is the blessing of the Moon-Mother. I have come to enlighten the ignorant and lead the stray,’ and with that, he pulled out the tiniest spear imaginable and notched it into the strange object, and he did as he had practiced in the moons since he had witnessed the glory of the Moon-Mother’s hunt. To the shock of all present, the strange spear disappeared into the sky at alarming speeds, landing far outside the perimeter of the encampment. The old man had seen it himself, and it was indeed a most miraculous thing. He had demanded to see it tested on prey, and the pretender obliged them. His aim was sure and his shot true. From further than any spear could be thrown, he pierced the neck of a deer with the divine weapon.

‘What is it that you want from us?’ the old man asked, now sat in his own tent with the strange man. The man did not respond immediately, choosing to study the old man who sat before him.

‘I am Eskandar,’ he finally said, ‘Blessed of the Moon. I have come to bestow her blessings upon you. You must listen, and you must obey,’ and though the old man did not like what he heard, he was not one to risk the wrath of one by Elysium blessed. For six moons did Eskandar stay with them, and they cared for the pregnant Zekra as though she were their queen. And he taught them how to make the strange weapon – which he told them was called a ‘bow’. And he taught them how to use it. But the condition was always one: listen, and obey.

When the sixth moon arrived and a daughter was born to him, Eskandar announced that he was departing, he and his family. For they had delivered the blessings of the Moon-Mother and had to continue their mission. The old man did not protest, for he had grown weary of the autocratic young man, and he had grown wearier still of how the people so willingly did as he said. But the self-proclaimed Blessed of the Moon surprised him by delivering a final sermon on the day of his departure.

‘Listen, and obey,’ his voice reached all in the midday heat, and those who were standing and those who sat and even those who lay down on their backs listened, ‘I have been with you but a short while, and you have obeyed me well. I leave with you this final command: let the youngest of you obey the oldest of you, let the son and the daughter know their position before their bearer and sire. Just as you have obeyed me, obey those who are wiser and older than you. And should they command you to do that which is evil, then say to them words most kind, and let there be no hostility between you and them,’ and with that he departed. Eskandar, Zekra, little Bato and baby Elia, who was named in honour of their glorious Moon-Mother.

Not many hours had passed before another joined them. Seri, youngest daughter of Gre the old man. Her father had commanded her to go join herself with the Blessed of the Moon, for a greater honour there could not be.

For thirty-six moons did the family travel, through ice and snow and mountainous terrain, through plains and hills and blazing sun. Some camps met them with great hostility and refused the blessings of the Moon-Mother, and others were delighted at their coming and threw themselves at the feet of Eskandar, declaring him a vicegerent of the Moon-Mother and a god in his own right. And his family grew, his mates were many and his sons and daughters proliferated. His pride in his family was clear. He had seven mates, and each bore and continued to bear him sons and daughters. With them, he would create a lineage who would listen and obey, and who would glorify the Moon-Mother who had blessed them so.

At the end of the thirty-sixth moon, Eskandar deemed it time to settle and establish a camp of his own for his growing family. It was no good for them to ever be travelling, risking the dangers of the wild and the dangers posed by other men. When they came to a great cave, beyond which was a huge prairie, which gave way to hills and forests, and through which ran a great river, he knew he had finally found a good home.

The first tent to be laid down was that of Zekra, and inside it, he hung the Bow of the Moon-Mother, and he worshipped before it and lay with Zekra that night. The next day, he laid down the tent of Seri, for she had been his second mate. And he worshipped the Moon-Mother again and lay with Seri that night. The third tent to be laid was that of Tse, for she was the third of his mates, and esteemed was her position. And he worshipped the Moon-Mother again and lay with Tse also. He did the same for Beru, Cala, Anja and Kae, for each mother of his children and life-mate a tent of her own, with furs aplenty and the best of clothing. His children were commanded to remain in the cave, for none of them was permitted to build a tent their own until each had grown to maturity by enduring the ritual of passage. And those who had not yet reached their thirty-sixth moon were permitted to remain with their mothers.

Sitting outside the cave one day, he spotted Elia fiddling around with the beads of her necklace. He called out to his second-born, and she ran towards her father, who gathered her into his arms and rained kisses upon her.

‘These,’ he explained, as he took one of the small clay beads between his fingers, ‘tell you how many moons you have seen. Look, the small beads represent one moon, the slightly larger ones, though you don’t have any, represent five, the medium sized beads represent ten moons, you don’t have any of those. The larger ones represent twenty moons. Look, you have one, two. Two larger ones. That’s twenty each which adds up to…’ he thought for a few seconds, ‘forty, forty moons. Now you also have one, two, three – three small beads. Forty and three. So you have seen forty-three moons, little Elia,’ he planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

‘But puppaa,’ she frowned at the beads, ‘why does Bato have even bigger beads than me? And look at yours, you have the hugest beads in the world puppaa!’ she giggled as she touched the two large beads on her father’s necklace, each representing one hundred moons, a cycle. There was also a five-moon bead and four one-moon beads. two hund and nine moons had he seen.

‘That’s because I have seen many, many moons indeed. And Bato has seen 56 moons, so he has one large bead for fifty moons, one small bead for five, and a smaller one for one. As soon as you reach your fiftieth moon, I will be sure to give you a bead as big as Bato’s,’ she squished her face and pouted, clearly not happy at this.

‘But I want it now!’ she complained, and Eskandar’s smile quickly disappeared when she began screaming.
‘Elia,’ he said sternly, his eyes darkening as he stood her up before him, ‘never raise your voice before me,’ his voice was cold and low, and she did not hear it over her own screams.
‘I said, don’t raise your voice before me!’ he growled as he struck her across the cheek, causing her to stumble to the side and gasp in shock. Her mother, who had heard her screams from the tent, was immediately upon her, soothing her and trying to see where he had struck her.

‘Eskandar!’ she said in a reprimanding voice, ‘she is only a young girl!’
‘No!’ came his reply, ‘she will soon be a woman! She must learn respect! When I speak, she must listen, and she must obey!’ with that, he hefted his spear and marched off on his own. He had not travelled the world and taught entire peoples so that he could sit and be slighted by a little girl!

Zekra left the shocked Elia in the care of the sisters Beru and Cala and went after her life-mate. He had never struck Bato before, nor had he shown anger when any of his eleven other children cried – though admittedly, they were all younger than Bato and Elia. But she had to end such behaviour, it was not the Eskandar she knew who struck his flesh and blood. She found him brooding upon a large boulder, his face the embodiment of fury.

‘My dearest,’ she said gently, ‘come down and let us speak,’ his angry eyes settled upon her.
‘You should not have raised your voice before me, Zekra,’ she bit her lip and looked guiltily away.
‘You…you struck her, Eskandar. I have not known you to strike your own family,’ in anger, he hurled his spear, and it settled in the earth not too far away.

‘What business of yours is it how I rear the fruit of my loins? Far be it from me to direct my fury at my family, but do not test me, woman! I shall not stand for disobedience. I am the Patriarch; my Word is the Law. All must listen to what I say, and all must obey!’ he descended from the rock and began walking towards his spear. She walked towards his departing back and reached out to his shoulder
‘Eskandar, please, listen to m-’ without warning, he turned and struck her across the face, sending her flying to the side.

‘Do not speak unless I permit you to! Do not touch me unless I ordain it!’ her utter shock at his unprecedented strike quickly gave way to tears, and she got up and ran back to the camp.
‘I have not dismissed you!’ came his voice, ‘come back! Come back I say!’ but she did not obey. She ran until she reached her tent, and she flung herself upon the furs and wept bitter tears. Never, never had he struck her before.

When the moon, on that fateful night, was attained to her full height, Eskandar quietly poked his head through the entrance of the tent. He could just about make out the shape of Zekra inside, with Meli, who has seen thirty-one moons, Sarin, seventeen moons, and Hezric, six moons, lying about her.
‘Zekra…’ he whispered softly, ‘I am coming in,’ he lifted the flap which covered the tent’s entrance and entered, making his way carefully towards his first and dearest life-mate. She did not move when he placed his hand upon her face and turned her slowly towards him, taking her up into his arms and lying in the furs with her. There was silence between them for the longest time, their deep breathing and the breathing of their children around them, the only sound.

‘Zekra,’ he whispered, ‘speak to me,’ his hand moved through her hair and he willed her speak. She chuckled bitterly.

‘You “permit” me to speak? What am I, your slave?’ her words were cold, but he met them with warmth.
‘No, Zekra, you are not my slave. You are my life-partner, my support, my right hand. You must listen to all I say, and you must willingly obey. Who can I expect obedience from should you, of all people, defy me?’ there was a tinge of sadness in his voice, but it was clear that he did not regret what he had done.

‘How is it that you can strike me and cause me pain, yet still call me your right hand? I have not heard of a man who strikes his right hand,’ her words were bitter still, but she was trying to understand how he was thinking.

‘I have not known of a right hand which did not obey,’ came his eventual reply, and the silence grew between them once more.

‘Zekra,’ he whispered, ‘will you not be my right hand?’ she did not respond, but buried her face into his beard instead and sobbed the night away.

When he awoke in the early hours of the morning, before the sun had fully risen, she was not beside him. The children were still asleep around him, and he could hear her outside. Crawling out of the tent, he found her adding wood to the fire. He helped her, and they sat together and watched the sun slowly rise. With the rising of that sun, a new way of life rose too, for her life-mate was no longer simply her life-mate. Though she had ever been obedient, she now understood what he wanted. It was not just obedience; he wanted her to be his support, to ensure that all obeyed him, that he was not simply her master and lord, but master and lord over all. He was the Patriarch, his Word was the Law, and he the Law personified.



Moon: 255
Batto watched with care as his father heated the small wooden rod over the fire, before straightening the bent wood on a rock and waiting for it to cool into its new, straightened shape. It amazed him every time he watched it – a piece of wood which had been bent became impossibly straight. The newly-straightened piece of wood was passed to him and he slowly set about carving a notch at each end. One end for the string, and the other for the arrowhead to be placed and tied into place.

Once done, he set about placing one of the arrowheads he had chipped earlier with his father into the notch, placing it carefully and tying it with the natural rope his father had taught him how to make. Once the arrowhead was secure, he set about fletching the arrow with feather fletches which his dad had carefully cut and prepared. The sinew of the great-furred-big-horn was yet wet and pliable, and smelled slightly. But it would soon dry and become extremely strong. Tying the fletches from one end and then from the other, he was certain to keep enough space between them and the notch at the end – his father had told him repeatedly not to place the fletches too close to the end. His father’s wrath was to be avoided at all costs, and his pleasure to be sought always.

‘Did you see that, Elia? Now you try,’ the young boy passed one of the small rods to his younger sister and she set about doing the same. She had helped him many times before and was swiftly growing adept at making fine arrows.

‘Me too, me too, lemme make some,’ Gar, first-born of Seri, reached out for a rod, and Bato obliged. Seeing this, Meli reached for a rod also and began muttering with Gar, trying to follow his example.
‘Me too! Me too!’ whispered Sheb, for he dared not raise his voice loudly before his father.

‘And m-’ Zeri half-shouted before Sheb put a hand across her mouth and told her to shush. Bato clicked in irritation, but his father commanded him to show them how he did it, and he set about his duty without complaint, with Sarin joining them also. Around the fire, the children of Eskandar, girls or boys, learned from their father, and each of them taught their other siblings in turn.

‘Bato,’ Eskandar suddenly stood up, ‘bring your spear and come with me,’ at these words, Bato scrambled to his feet and ran back to the cave, where his spear was. Elia looked up hopefully towards her father, she wanted to go and hunt with them also. Her father considered her for a few moments before nodding for her to go get her spear. A delighted laugh left her mouth and she ran off after Bato. Gar’s hand was suddenly on his father’s foot, and he was also looking up hopefully. Eskandar laughed and picked the boy up.

‘Let us see how many moons you have first,’ before Eskandar could start counting, the boy opened his mouth.
‘Oh! Oh, puppaa, I know, I know,’ he took up the necklace in his little hands and counted, one large bead, worth fifty moons, a smaller one, worth twenty, another one even smaller, worth five, and four tiny ones worth four, ‘fifty, sixty and seventy, seventy, seventy…seventy-three, four- five! Seventy-six, seven, eight, nine. Seventy-nine puppaa!’ and Eskandar smiled and rubbed the boy's head in pleasure.

‘You have your dad’s brains, that’s for sure,’ he laughed, ‘yes, seventy-nine moons. In six moons, I will take you out to hunt with Elia and Bato. Be patient,’ the boy’s face fell slightly at this, but he did not argue.
‘Alright puppaa,’ he said meekly.
‘But I will not take you until you make the very best arrows for me! So make sure you make better arrows and show your siblings how to, understood?’ the boy’s eyes lit up at this.
‘My arrows are the best puppaa! I promise!’ his father laughed and put him down.
‘I’ll have a look when I come back, now make sure to look after your siblings while I am gone, and do as your mothers say,’ and with that, Eskandar left his children by the fire and set off to the prairie, Bato and Elia hot on his heels.

When they reached the watering hole oft used by the great-furred-big-horns, Eskandar asked for the furs, and Bato handed him the disguise. It was a huge fur of great-furred-big-horn, which allowed one to get closer to the animals than one could otherwise. Once Eskandar was disguised, he ordered Bato and Elia to do likewise and to hide in the long grass away from the pond. They would watch and learn.
Eskandar waited closer to the pond until the great animals came, five them in total. Their hooves sunk into the mud at the pond’s side and their massive heads descended towards the water. Eskandar’s eyes flashed over the animals until he found a cow suitably fat. With his eyes locked on her, he slowly moved through the long grass until he was within throwing distance. Taking very careful aim, he hurled his spear and watched as it sunk deep into the massive beast’s side.

She gave off a great, explosive grunt. Eskandar quickly backed away into the long grass and watched as the animals scattered, getting his bow ready. The large cow, with the spear still in her side, was also attempting to run away. Eskandar was not worried, she would run for a small while, but would eventually collapse. And even as he watched, the animal slowed down, her hooves struggling with the mud, and her flanks collapsed beneath her. Bato gave off a whoop and Elia laughed as Eskandar made his way to the prize. The two followed him and looked at the fearsome beast.

‘Remember,’ Eskandar said as he crouched some distance from her and waited for her to breathe her last, ‘we hunt to eat. Our glorious Moon-Mother has given us the earth and all that is in it, but we must not abuse it. We hunt the great-furred-two-horn for food, not for any other purpose. We kill no more than we need. We do not waste what we have,’ and with that, he walked over to it and began skinning it with a large stone knife, and Bato helped him. Elia watched and did as her father showed her. They carried what they could back to the camp, then returned once again and carried the rest. On the third return, they collected the bones and walked through the prairie until their father stopped them in an area full of dead grass and plants.

‘That the prairie may be full of life, we must rid it of what is dead and unneeded,’ he told them and commanded Bato to run back to the camp and carry a flame to them. As they waited, Eskandar and Elia circled around the area, clearing out any plants and creating a gap between the area to be burnt and the rest of the prairie land. When Bato arrived and gave the flame to his father, Eskandar handed it to Elia and told her to burn the part they had encircled. With no small degree of anxiety, she did so, looking back a few times for confirmation before setting the dead plant-life alight. The fire spread quickly, hungrily consuming the dead plants, and Eskandar backed away from the blaze and watched as the fire spread. It was contained by the gap he and Elia had created, but he would wait a while until the fire had fully calmed before leaving it. One never knew when a wild spark would manage to fly across the clearing and start an even bigger blaze.

‘This is but a small fire, that you may understand. The prairie is large and I have burnt much of it many times, and every time it returns greener and more beautiful than before. The earth is given us that we may make it bloom, and make it bloom we shall.’



Moon: 273
Bato lay under the huge tree, looking up into its thick branches and pondering deeply. For the past six moons he had been roaming the prairie on his own, for his father had commanded him so. He had told him that in order to become a man, he had to survive alone out in the prairie for six moons. The boy, barely aged a cycle and twenty moons, had obeyed.

Taking nothing – for his father had forbidden it, not even clothing or a spear - he had ventured out into the wild. Though young, he had accompanied his father out on hunts and had long ago learned to make spears and skin animals and light fires. He made his place of stay near the River of the Moon-Mother, beneath a huge tree with a big trunk and thick branches which protected against wind and rain alike. And when the whim took him, he climbed up into its thick, powerful branches and slept there.



Fish was plentiful and would have sufficed him, but his father had told him that he had to bring back with him ten hides from the great-furred-big-horns, and two teeth from the Big-Tooth-Mighty-Claw. Hunting down the great-furred-big-horns had simply been a matter of time, he needed to make a spear and eat after all and the great creature provided much meat.

He had gotten to making a spear almost immediately, and the huge rocks at the river side were perfect. He hammered against one of them with a smaller rock, striking the edges in order to break a suitable slab off. He inspected the bits that came off from time to time. Eventually finding one which satisfied him, he climbed atop a large stone and began carefully striking the edges of his budding spear tip, and finally sharpened it with a smaller stone with a sharp edge. Satisfied, he went searching along the river-side for a small tree, eventually finding one that was slightly taller than him. It took some work, but he eventually uprooted it and set to breaking away its roots and small branches. He tested it a few times, jabbing it and throwing it, and he was pleased with it. Getting a stone with a sharpened edge, he cut away half the width of the wood at the top and tested the spear-tip. It would fit perfectly and only needed to be tied in place.
All he now needed to do was tie the stone spear-tip to one end of the rod. With the stick and stone safely under the huge tree, he began collecting long blades of grass. Amassing a good amount, he crouched by the river side and held the dry grass in there and waited. A good ten minutes later, he withdrew his hands and began working on making rope from the grass, twisting braiding the pieces together into a stronger fibre. He pulled on the rope a few times to tighten it and test its strength and was satisfied.

Before long, he had tied his stone spear-tip to the rod and was gambolling around with his newly-made spear, eager to test it on a great-furred-big-horn (and get the necessary material to dress himself). And he did so many times and collected the ten hides needed for him to become a man. But he dared not face the fury of the Big-Tooth-Mighty-Claw, and for long did he think of how to slay such a powerful predator. For many moons he watched the creature from afar. Some hunted in packs while others were solitary. His father had hunted one such beast with him once. They had both dug a very deep pit and covered it with branches and dead grass, and had made it attractive to the beast by placing a dead deer near the pit. They returned a good three days later and discovered that one of the huge cats had indeed fallen in. The mighty being did not look so mighty, however. It had gone almost three whole days without food or water and was lying on its side, breathing frantically.

‘Even the mightiest beasts are as children before us,’ his father had told him, ‘for beautiful Elysium has blessed us with minds and given us the world to do with as we please. It is not with the power of the body that man rules, but with the complete superiority of his mind,’ and Bato had listened to every word his father said, and he had pondered on those words, and he lived them, for they were the Law.

If he was to hunt the Big-Tooth-Mighty-Claw, he would have to use the might of his mind, not the strength of his arms. And now he sat under the huge tree thinking on how to trap the beast. It would take far too long to dig a hole and trap it, and he could not simply put a carcass under the tree and jump on it from above – the lowest branches were far too high up for that.
He had watched the great beast long, and he saw that it did not chase its prey, for it was slow and could not run long. Instead, it sat in wait and pounced upon its unsuspecting victims, tearing out their throat and leaving them to bleed to death before feeding on them. Other than physically hunting down the beast, the only thing for it was to lure it where the prairie broke off into hilly terrain. There were many gullies and rocks there. He could easily lure it and drop a great rock on it while it fed. If it did not die from the blow, he would be able to finish it off with his spear.

He sat up, his eyes wide. Would it work? He had considered so many other things – hanging a rock from a tree with a giant rope and cutting it loose (but making such a large rope would have been as long as digging a pit), and he had considered spearing it from up in the branches (but there was every possibility that the beast would sense his presence, then he would be the one trapped), and many other such ideas. But this one seemed like the best. And so he went for it. He used a huge great-furred-big-horn to lure the beast, and he waited long with a huge boulder at the ready.

It took long, and various other predators would find the carcass and go off with it, forcing him to hunt another. Two tiresome weeks passed, and he grew convinced that the plan would not succeed, even as he dragged yet another lure – a deer this time – and hoped for the best. He had hardly gotten atop the gully when a band of four Big-Tooth-Mighty-Claws appeared and made for the trap. Overjoyed, Bato stayed low and waited for them to begin feeding. Ever so slowly, he crept to the edge of the small hill and, without so much as releasing a breath for fear that he would be heard, dropped the small boulder down the side. The beasts perked up immediately and scattered, but one of them had buried its head deep into the deer’s stomach and could not remove it fast enough to escape. The rock glanced off its flank and rolled away.

Worried that he had done no damage to it, Bato decided to run back around and track it down if he had to. When he got there, he discovered that it was gone, but he could hear its groans and knew it to be nearby and injured. Hefting his spear, the young boy stalked forward to claim his prize and become a man.

He found the mighty being hobbling away not too far from where he had injured it. Its leg had clearly suffered damage from the blow. Without hesitation, adrenaline over-riding the crippling fear running through him, the boy ran forward and plunged his spear deep into its other flank. The Big-Tooth-Mighty-Claw gave off a horrendous roar of pain and tried to scamper off, but it was futile. Keeping the spear-point between him and the great cat, Bato circled round and stared into the cat’s eyes. He looked carefully and ensured that he would forever remember this moment and this feeling. The moment he became a man. He plunged the spear into the beast’s chest.



Moon: 320
‘A large group, you say?’ Eskandar looked up quizzically at Bato.
‘Yes, men, women and children,’ the young man replied, ‘they looked to be quite settled in the Hills-Beyond, and I tracked a few of their hunters. They hunted fish from the Moon-Mother and they took of the great-furred-big-horns,’ at these words, Eskandar’s face darkened visibly. Who were these upstarts who dared trespass on their hunting grounds? He slowly got to his feet and commanded Bato to call on his siblings and prepare to drive off these trespassers.

For the first time in many moons, Eskandar brought down the Bow of the Moon-Mother. The arrows were kept in a rawhide quiver, and the bow was strung over his shoulder. In his right hand, he held his trusted spear. Over the years, he had experimented with the old woman’s strange concoction, and he had been able to create pastes of different colours, and he had taught his children how to use them for camouflage. In this upcoming encounter, they would also be used for terror. The trespassers would not know what hellish demons they had called upon themselves when they dared trespass on the hunting grounds of the Eskandars. With his warrior life-mates, Seri, Belu, and Anja flanking him, and no less than seventeen of his children following behind, the warband made their careful way through the prairie, crossing the Moon-Mother and making for the Little Big-Trees where they would not be so easily spotted.

From there, Bato directed them silently towards the enemy camp, which was not too far from the western edge of the Little Big-Trees. It seemed like they had chosen to make their camp on a small rise by the river. It was an intelligent spot, for no one could approach the camp without being spotted – if there was anyone looking, that is. It would still be a risky thing to fall upon the camp, and so Eskandar decided that they would camp out in the forest and keep watch of the enemy camp. When some hunters left to take of the prairie’s blessings on the Eskandars, they would ambush them.

‘Do…do we kill them?’ Elia’s eyes were wide as she asked the question, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of killing other humans – even if they were trespassers. Eskandar thought on the matter for a while before shaking his head.
‘We surround them when they are far from their camp. If they surrender, we do not kill them. We take them for ourselves. They serve us, and we take what life-mates we want. If they fight, we slaughter them all,’ with his commands clear to all, he ordered that the person keeping a watch on the enemy camp should be there at sunup, and should switch at midday, and again when the sun is halfway down, until sundown.
‘If you spot their hunters, you come back and tell us, and we stalk them until they are far. Then we trap them,’ and with that, the waiting game began. It did not take too long. After two days of waiting, a band of six hunters emerged from the encampment and made for the prairie. Eskandar set out, along with his three life-mates, as well as Bato, Elia, Meli, Zeri, Sarin, Tora, Hezric, Orif, and Jarl. Eskandar stuck to the forest edge and stalked them while the rest of the warband kept deeper in and carefully followed his lead. As the hunters went deeper into the prairie, Eskandar and his warband emerged among the long grass and stalked them, fanning out widely and slowly surrounding the hunters.

When they had closed in as far as they could in the long grass, without alerting the hunters, Eskandar rose up in the long grass and gave off a mighty ululation. The hunter turned, their spears at the ready, suspicious of the strange demon who had emerged from the grasses – indeed, his colour was red and black and yellow, with a mixture of what may have been natural skin here or there. With their attention on him, Eskandar notched an arrow into his bow – and they seemed to not realise what it was, for they did not react – and he let it loose, purposefully missing. The shock of the group quickly turned to anger and one of them grunted a few words before hefting his spear and charging towards Eskandar. He was quickly followed by the rest of his group. Taking a few steps back, Eskandar prepared his spear and shouted for his warriors to rise. And they did so. Screeching and giving off the most demonic screams, the Eskandars rose up from the long grass and quickly encircled the terrified group, sharpened stone spears pointing sturdily at the trapped hunters.

‘Bend your knees or die,’ Eskandar growled, and they seemed to understand him, for they did so, placing their spears on the ground before them and getting down on their knees. Their weapons were quickly taken and their hands tied behind them with thick rope. More rope was brought and tied around their necks, and they were all tied together in a line and marched off to the Eskandar encampment. Their feet were tied and they were left with Eskandar’s other life-mates and children.

The operation was carried out twice more before the enemy camp stopped sending out hunters altogether. Eskandar waited a few days more, ensuring that they went some time without food – any warriors or fighting spirit would be consumed by their hunger.

Soon enough, Eskandar struck with his warband, descending upon the camp in the early hours of the morning, before anyone had awoken. Those who in the camp were either asleep or too hungry to offer up any resistance. The entire camp was looted, and its women, children, and remaining men were marched off in ropes to the Eskandar encampment. The enemies were some fifty-seven, individuals in total, seventeen of them mature males, twenty-seven mature females, and the other thirteen were children.

Of the women, Bato took four life-mates, Gar took three, Sheb took two, while Sarin, Caz, Hezric, Palo, Orif, Derk, Reyk, Jarl, and Wezar were given one each, as they were all mature and had taken part in securing victory over the enemies. The other seven women were left to serve and do as Eskandar’s life-mates wished. The thirteen children were sent to live in the cave with Eskandar’s own children, and they quickly learned to do as their Patriarch commanded.

Of the sixteen men who remained, Elia claimed four for herself, Meli took three, Zeri another three, Tora took two and Rana took one. The four who remained were permitted to set up their own tents and to take as life-mates as many of the remaining women as they wanted – so long as they obeyed their Patriarch in all he commanded them. This they accepted grudgingly, which made Eskandar doubly suspicious, and he kept his eyes and ears peeled for anything strange.

His suspicions were confirmed one night as he stalked past one of the new tents, and he heard those within it conversing in hushed voices. He crept closer and tried to make out what it was they were saying. Something about ‘the monster’. But more than that he could not quite make out. He put the matter to the back of his mind, deciding to deal with it in the morning, and returned to Cala’s loving arms.

When morning arrived, he sat before his fire and called on the tribe to come to him. It did not take long for those who were awake to alert those who were asleep, and for everyone to gather around the Patriarch.

‘As I slept during the night, I had a most frightful vision. I know not what to make of it, but I have been seeing this self-same vision for many nights now, and I fear it is due to the coming of you foreigners into our tribe. You have not told us why it is that you came to our lands. I have seen something in my visions, a terrifying monster-’ the moment he spoke the word, a great commotion broke out and some of the new tribals looked visibly shaken.
‘How? How do you know of the monster?’ one of the men asked, his voice trembling.
‘It is not for you to ask where the Blessed get their blessings from, now speak. Tell me of this monster and what it has done,’ his words were a command, and his command was to be obeyed. After a few of the women – who had reacted worst of all – were calmed down, one of the older men – whom Elia had taken as a life-mate – sat across the fire from Eskandar and began relating the story.

‘Not more than a hundred moons ago, a strange creature descended from the moon and entered the holy cave of the Wise-Woman. We were all extremely scared, but the Wise-Woman was scared most of all. She kept saying, “it is as he said, it is as he said”. But none of us knew what she was talking about. She told us that the monster that had entered our holy cave had to be offered gifts, or its wrath would descend on us. But we were all terrified, we did not wish to go anywhere near the holy cave. Not long after, the earth itself rumbled beneath us, and creatures stranger than anything we have ever seen descended from the moon also. And one, a giant with immense wings and endless eyes, hammered into the ground and destroyed the cave. Then the monster rose up out of it and floated above the strange winged beings it had summoned. It was a thing most terrifying, and the Wise-Woman fell ill from the terror of it and died soon after. And her final words to us were, “it is as he said. We are cursed,” though none of us knew what in the name of Elysium she was referring to. But we did not wish to remain in a place that was cursed, and so we left. The last we saw of that place was the monster sending away the strange beings, and in their place it brought forth a giant man-bear; a beast as I have never before witnessed. I know not what came of them, or where they have gone, or when they will come for us again, but ‘tis a thing most terrifying and many of us still have horrific visions of that monstrosity and the strange minions it summoned forth. One can only pray that our Moon-Mother will protect us from it and what it has summoned,’ the tale was met with awe-struck silence, and Eskandar himself could not help but raise an eyebrow. But it was clear to him that he spoke the truth, for he recognised these people now. The wrath of Elysium herself had descended upon them, and she had brought them to him as slaves, where once they had been free and blessed with him among them.

‘Fear no more, for the curse has been lifted and you have returned to the blessing. No monstrosity shall harm you so long as you remain with the Blessed of the Moon-Mother, and are ever obedient.’

Vestec tilted his head at Kyre. "You seem out of the times my friend. It is not your duty. War isn't your domain alone. It falls under Chaos as well. I also have Violence under my power. Both war and combat fall under my domain." Vestec waved a hand to cut off any retort by Kyre. "You can counter with how war is also Order, because of the plans. That only proves my point. War isn't it's own domain. It is a pie of everything. Order from how orderly it can be. Chaos from the death and violence. Mind from strategy. Beauty from the stories of sorrow and vengeance. The list goes on."

Vestec's colors flashed more and more red. "If you have a problem with that, we have two solutions. You can either make your own army to defeat all three of mine, or we can have the most fun since Logos and I nearly fought over the Codex."

In the time Vestec spoke, the only response was a tilt of Kyre's head when he, for some reason, waved his hand. Kinda strange, but it was Vestec. Kyre also noted how, judging by the god's deepening red, he was getting more and more agitated. "Not because of the plans, simply because it is. It is indeed a pie of everything, as you say, but it also stands on its own because of that unique quality. And since it is my domain, it is for me to oversee..." Kyre shook his head in disappointment, "If you think I am bothered by the fact that you have done it at all, you are mistaken."

He hovered back a bit, "I am offended that you did it without my knowledge, let alone my consent. So with that there is a third option, a promise, from you. Promise to keep your army contained and in check until Galbar is capable of fighting it." The first of Vestec's 'solutions' would, to Kyre, invite irrevocably pointless bloodshed and death, while the second would scar at least half of Galbar in the process, and that was if no other gods were involved. He honestly hoped Vestec would agree to his solution.

Vestec started giggling at the word 'offended'. It turned into gales of laughter at the mention of what the God of War was asking him to promise. He waved his hand one more time, as if to ward off any more words from Kyre.

In the Changing plains, Grot, Tulwar, and Bez all stiffened suddenly. Knowledge and command filled their minds. It was happening all around them as the same knowledge and commands flooded Vestec's army's mind.

Grot stood, before speaking. His voice was like thunder, seeming to tear through the air. "We march!" A cheer went up from the gathered army. The thin voices of the Hain, the harsh voices of the Men, the varied roughness of the Chosen Rovaick, the fair voices of the Fallen Angels, the varied, slightly glassy, ones of the Ashlings, the roars of the Herakati, the icy coolness of the Pronobii, the guttural roars of the Urtelem, the howling winds of the Storm Djinni even the Sculptors, they all cheered at the feeling of the leash being removed from their straining necks.

The army divided itself into four groups. Grot, the Chosen Rovaick, the Urtelem, and the men would march to the Valley of Peace. Well, Grot would. The rest would be carried.

The Hain and the Fallen Angels would make their way towards Toun's fortress, slaughtering any village or settlement they came across.

The Pronobii and the Ashlings would make their way north, hunting for the uncorrupted servants of the God of Death.

The Storm Djinni would wander around and, as a group, beat down and consume other Djinni..

Vestec finally stopped laughing, looking at the War God. "Too late, Kyre. The die has been cast, the decision made for you. Three armies, three targets, and a sizeable amount of innocents. What will you do?"

"Why? I mean, I understand it's a nice turn of events, but could you possibly hold off on the genocide for a bit, Vestec? I'd like to get to know the sentients before they're all dead." Astarte shrugged. Gods were so intense sometimes.

"It's quite simple my dear. The Gods are all so...complacent. Their creations are untouched. Their sites safe. They haven't fought for them. Their creations haven't fought. Nothing should be too easy, this is something everyone should learn." Vestec replied, turning to Astarte.

"Oh, that makes sense..." Astarte said quietly and brought a hand to her chin. For a moment, she furrowed her brow in thought but then grinned and perked up.

"I know! Why don't you set up some kind of game for the mortals to compete in? The winner earns your blessing and the losers die." Astarte actually jumped up from the boulder she sat on and sauntered up to the two Gods, a slight bounce in her step.

For a brief duration, she looked at Kyre for approval, then to Vestec.

Vestec looked in sudden interest at Astarte. "My, my. That [i]is[/] a fun idea. We'll have to wait after this war. No time for games while they're busy fighting for their lives. But afterwards, afterwards I'll find you and we'll create this little competition and it's rewards."

"Vestec!" Astarte exclaimed, exasperated. How could he be so set on starting a war when mortals were barely getting settled? If they killed each other to extinction in this war, then Astarte would never have fun with them again. "The only way I'll let you start this war is if you assure me you will leave survivors. No mass genocide that threatens species with extinction." Astarte crossed her arms.

"Also, I want one of your best fighters to run into battle naked and wielding a stone dagger. He shall scream 'I love Lakshmi' at the top of his lungs, too!" She giggled.

"Of course not. Genocide this early on is boring. Really, who do you think I am, an angry Reathos?" Vestec sniffed, insulted. How dare she assume that he was going to be so stupid as to make himself bored this early on. He paused for a moment, considering Astarte's final request. Suddenly, he giggled and snapped his fingers.

"There! I did you one better. You have an order of naked screaming warriors who are screaming about Lakshmi!"

Kyre paid no heed to Vestec's giggling, it was Vestec. He paid no heed to his laughter, it was Vestec. He paid no heed to the wave of his hand, for it was Vestec. But that, there, was the problem... It was Vestec.

He sensed a change in the direction of the plains, as though training had shifted to the drums of war being marched. It was when he sensed this change that Vestec stopped laughing and spoke, confirming what he already knew. A pause, the expression and aura of Kyre completely unreadable to any other god with the exception of Vulamera. And it was after this pause that Astarte spoke up to Vestec.

It was not unreasonable why Vestec did it, it made sense why. The problem was that it was just too soon. Then Astarte brought up an idea, that was quickly agreed to by Vestec. It would work better than a war, but he still wanted the war too happen... "I will be there as well." He was a God of War, he had to be a part of that. And then Astarte confronted him on the main concern, with an added demand that actually made Kyre, despite the direness of the situation, chuckle and gain a liking for her.

"And how are you going to prevent Genocide? I can only sense that your armies will kill and destroy everything around them on their path, and sentient life is not abundant enough from what I've seen...

"And did you really just create that order?" Another strange thing for him despite the situation, Kyre smirked.

"I am going to prevent nothing, Kyre. You and the other Gods who are so interested in this world and their creatures, will. I will not stop you from fighting against, and beating, these armies. However." Vestec raised a finger. "I will not allow you to simply destroy them. You must fight them."

Vestec giggled again. "Of course! Just as nothing should be too easy, nothing should be too serious!"

"So be it. I imagine we are not allowed to fight them ourselves?" Kyre would send out a message to all other gods on Galbar, exculding Vestec and Astarte, warning them of what Vestec had unleashed and asking for their help in stopping it, as well as expressing his guilt for being the one to push Vestec to the decision. This message was sent, in such a way as Vestec would not notice it had been done.

"It is true, you can't have too little of one, but neither can you have too much."

"Of course not. That'd be like sending my army against an ant. Extreme and useless. Of course, champions and Avatars are completely free game to send against them." Vestec leaned in conspiratorially. "Do you know what Reathos has been doing? He's been teaching his little Pronobii combat. He's been preparing them. For what, you might ask?"

Vestec was gone and back again in an instant, a corrupted Pronobii in his hands. "Look into his mind. You'll find talk of a 'Great Purge'. These aren't a race like the Hain or the Rovaick, intent upon living with the world. They are the world's executioners. It's genociders. Perhaps you shouldn't stop the army to the north, brother. Perhaps you should let them be fell upon, unsuspecting, by my army. Perhaps the world would be better if they were set back a good while. Hmm?"

"Think on that, God of War..."

With that, Vestec disappeared. He had things to do.

"Uh," Astarte stared blankly at the spot where Vestec stood a mere moment ago. After a moment, she turned toward Kyre and shrugged, "You really have to show me what this combat of yours is, Kyre! The idea of fighting with my hands and not with my magic is really fun." She said with a grin and disappeared as well.

Kyre turned to the Pronobii, contemplating whether or not to do what he thought to. He needed to know, so he brought his hand to the being's head and dug into his mind. In it he saw their creation, and the 'Great Purge' that was prophesized to come, what they were taught upon their creation, and what they were made for. Kyre withdrew from its mind, leaving it paralyzed on the ground, he was not a god of the mind so he wasn't very gentle with his investigation. He put the Pronobii out of its misery with a quick cut.

"Vestec," He started a message to the god of chaos, "If you would ensure that the Pronobii are set back, and that your other armies are slowed in their advance, even if you have to give them other tasks, then I will see what I can do with the other gods to combat them."

And now, a message to Astarte, "If you would like, Astarte, you can join me when I teach these Hain combat, perhaps you could teach them your magic as well. Join me at Zephyrion's citadel if you wish, for that is where I hope to meet the others."

The club looked heavy in older brother Kortek's hand. Heavier than it had ever been to Boki. Kortek could not stop looking at it. It was as if this thing he had known from his past could take him away from today. It was not that today looked unwelcoming; the warm sunrise over the grassy field they stood in was peaceful. It was a clear day, dry and portentous of heat. Kortek would travel out with father Sago all the same. Boki, father Retuk, and uncle Teknak would be staying behind to construct a couple of rawhide tents and gather food.

Boki was thoroughly confused by the whole affair; all four of them could fit in just one tent. Even then, there were plenty of huts back at home. Why were her brother and father hunting for a bunch of bugs?

"My son," father Sago spoke from his position standing opposite Kortek, "With the nightmares you have been having lately, the world calls out for the man within your child's shell." Sago knocked upon Kortek's chest, "It pips with your courage." Father Sago took him by the shoulders. "A man does not fear the patterns. A man knows that fear is brushed away when he pulls off his final child shell. This day, you begin to hatch into a man. You know what we must do. What you must do."

Kortek kept his mouth ajar to keep his teeth from clicking together, but chattering sounded whenever he spoke too slowly. "Travel upriver, find the spike flies, bring some back dead." Kortek's teeth chattered as he swallowed unconsciously, "I remember, father Sago."

"Good." Father Sago spoke, stepping back. "Today is where we shall start. It will be the hardest day, but remember. You will always be my son."

Boki was one of the younger of her siblings and had never witnessed this ritual before, however much it was spoken of. It all made Boki ponder. While Kortek hugged uncle Teknak with a ceramic clink, she wondered why their short, half-day hunting trip sounded like it would take longer than the trip from home. As Kortek took Boki's hand, it seemed so strange that these spike flies - whatever they were - held such importance in becoming a man. Did they have a venom that would take away Kortek's nightmares? Were they spirits that took away fear?

Finally, father Retuk gave Kortek words that just seemed to confuse Boki further. "Trust your instinct, not your fears."

What sense did that make?

Kortek hefted the club over his shoulder, gave one last nod to his family, and set off with father Sago. Boki's eyes narrowed at their departure. Kortek seemed so scared.



It was late afternoon by the time they returned. Boki's fingers were red with the blackberries she had found and filled her reed bag with. They would still be eating the dried meat that they had on the way here, but with the berries and a clay dusting, they would have a tasty dinner tonight.

"They're back!" Uncle Teknak called out. As soon as Boki saw her father Sago and brother Kortek again, she dropped her task and ran out to see what they had found. It was not quite what Boki expected. Both Kortek and Father Sago had black scratches on their arms and dark splotches on their fingers. Tucked under their arms were what looked like dark stalks of grass, but were tipped with mangled wings of all different shapes and sizes.

"Are those spike flies, brother?" Boki asked excitedly.

Kortek took two steps without laying eyes on Boki before the hain girl realised that Kortek no longer looked quite as fearful. He looked wide-eyed, hyper-aware almost, yet at the same time, he seemed unnaturally withdrawn.

Father Sago, careful to keep the points of the spike flies away from Boki, responded instead. "Let your brother go, Boki. He has been waiting to do this ever since he saw the first fly."

Father Sago's voice held a foreboding tone that superceded any questions that Boki had. She simply watched her brother as he stepped into the second tent and tied the flaps shut. Boki looked to her fathers and uncles, but they seemed to regard the situation with none of the confusion that she did. The apparent rift between the reality she perceived and the way others reacted made her uncomfortable.

Boki's unease only increased through the rest of the day, as she swore she could hear soft sobbing from within Kortek's tent. Kortek did not come out for anything, even to eat. The others poked their arms into Kortek's tent to offer him his food and there was never any exchange of words.



That night, Boki had trouble sleeping. She shared the second tent with her uncle and fathers, but she could still hear Kortek crying. No matter how many times she had asked what was going on, her fathers and uncle would give the same answer: "Your brother is well. He is still hatching."

To clear her head, Boki carefully ventured out of the tent and into the cold moonlight. She thought that sitting by the fire and staring at the embers would make her feel less afraid. As she held her knees to the underside of her beak, she wished she could have been more correct. Her thoughts spun around and repeated, always Kortek was crying. Why? And then she raised her head in realisation.

Why had the crying stopped just now?

A rustling in the grass nearby made Boki gasp. The source of the sound was a hain-shaped silhouette a short distance away. It was Kortek, urinating against a tree.

In her naivete, Boki figured that she could take this midnight opportunity to ask Kortek what was going on. She was forbidden to talk with him by her elders, but they were all asleep now. Boki took up a thick stick from the fire to use as a dim torch and began creeping such that she didn't wake her elders. Kortek didn't notice her approach either. That was until she came close enough for the torch to spread an orange light over his white shell.

Kortek had finished relieving himself at that point and had replaced his loincloth. He firstly turned his head to Boki, revealing eyes that were raw with further evidence of his crying. He spoke in a strained groan, "Little sister? You should not be out here."

Boki breathed in to speak, but as Kortek turned his body around, she shrieked in genuine terror and stumbled back. Any semblance of curiosity she had was overtaken in her mind by a pure aversion to what she beheld. She turned and ran, screaming as she did.

Sago, Teknak, and Retuk were all up and armed with clubs and spears by the time Boki sprinted into their arms. Sago took the torch from her and knelt down. "What is it, Boki?" He demanded, "What did you see?"

"It was Kortek..." Boki said as she began to cry into Sago's shoulder, "He...his arm, it's..."

"There, there, child. He is back in his tent now." Sago said comfortingly. He was much calmer now that the alarm proved to be false. "You mustn't wander during the night."

"It was...I cannot say what it was, I don't know. His arm had marks...and. What were they?" Boki continued.

"It was the cracks in his egg," Sago explained. "Just as a hatchling screams when it sees the gap in its eggshell, the same terror afflicts those that reach adulthood. For a child such as yourself, to see the cracks this far from when you come of age is difficult."

"But why?" Boki squeaked. "It looked so...unnatural."

"So do the many complexities of adulthood. Do not concern yourself overmuch, Boki. When your brother has finished marking the visions of the cracks of his shell, then you must brace yourself."



Boki could not help but brace herself as much as she could, given what she had seen.

They stayed in their camp for three and a half weeks straight. There was plenty to hunt in the area, but Kortek never helped. He simply stayed in his tent and continued to cry. Thankfully, the sound of crying tapered off after a few days, but it was replaced by the sound of shivering and chattering teeth.

Boki never did wander out to try and talk with Kortek again. But he could be heard emerging in the darkness to refill his waterskin or pass waste. Each time, Boki stayed awake and curled up until he went back into his tent. His arm seemed to writhe and warp in her memories. And it spread. Whenever she pictured his arm, the shapes spread through the image and threatened to eat her mind.

A number of times, Boki asked to return home with one of her fathers. Each time, she was turned down. Kortek was always 'almost done hatching.'

The day finally came when Boki heard Kortek speak again. From inside of the tent, his muffled voice rang out. "Fathers? Uncle? Boki? I..." he hesitated as his voice became laced with fear, "There is no more room. I think I am done."

Again, there was a dissonance in what Boki percieved. Her elders faced the tent and raised their palms warmly while Boki felt her heart begin to race. Her head flitted from one side to another, quickly spotting the second tent to hide behind. She breathed quickly and shakily, unable to face what her imagination could not even picture. Moments passed as she listened.

"You have finished? Good, come out. We want to see you." Uncle Teknak's voice had no fear whatsoever.

Kortek's response tried to reflect the joyous tone with his words, but he was clearly still fearful. "Uncle, I...It is not..."

"Trust your instinct! Not your fear!" Father Sago reminded, "Come out, we have all seen the same thing on ourselves."

There was a rustling of fur and hide that was followed by a pair of careful footsteps, and then silence. A silence that lasted so long that Boki thought that her elders had all left and Kortek was going to step around the tent and turn her body into what his arm was.

"You are always my son." Sago's voice was like a stone dropped into a silent lake.

Then, there was a dull clink. The unmistakable sound of hain embracing. At that point, a crying that was different from before sounded from Kortek. It was not a fearful and ashamed crying, but a loud, relieved weeping.

"My son. You have done well," Sago said as the weeping continued. "The shell will moult off, given time, but your adulthood will stay with you forever. I am proud of you."

The sound of so much emotion being poured forth brought down Boki's defences somewhat. Out of curiosity, she silently leant to one side to see around the tent. She anticipated the same raw fright she had when suddenly confronted with Kortek's arm, but her curiosity was too great. She braced herself as the blackened form that held onto father Sago came into view. She exhaled and narrowed one eye, very curiously.

It was revolting, certainly. The twisting and repeating shapes made Boki want to retch, but it was not what she was expecting. The strange thing was that Kortek's final body-art was so complex and saturated that it didn't appear to hold any perceivable patterns to Boki. She had thought that the pattern on his arm was going to be repeated such that his entire body would imprint a memory stronger than the glimpse she had before. However, it was so noisy that it was the visual equivalent of listening to a crowd rather than simply one, disturbing voice. A strange, suspicious relief washed over her.

With Kortek painted and the camp packed up, the group made their way back home. Kortek returned a man grown. Every day until his painted shell moulted he was instructed in the responsibilities of a man. Boki was thanked for her help and was rewarded with the first pick of the berries, but she had also grown a little herself. Life went on apparently as normal.

Still, the memory of Kortek's arm remained. She remembered what she saw with vivid detail until they were similarly laid upon her own shell, by her own hand, five winters later.

Within one of the many sanctums tucked into the Celestial Citadel, Lifprasil sat upon an ajar windowsill, cradling what appeared to be a crude stone game piece in his hand whilst running over the scroll gifted to him by Illunabar. It was fun, reading the massive tome, it kept Lifprasil invested in the world he had been born into, that, and it was insightful - useful to a prospective king.

The Universe was hand-made by the gods upon the swirling pedestal of two greater beings Lifprasil thought, shifting in his tunic with a perplexed frown. He would let his emotions slip by on occasion when alone - and this was such an occasion.

Lifprasil's frown deepened, and he took up an admittedly unnecessary posture characteristic to that of a thinker. "If there are beings with dominion over the gods, what does that make the gods?" Lifprasil mused, clasping the spherical piece in one hand, and relaxing the tome on his lap in the other.

The aspiring godling looked down to the distant planet's surface, noting the almost spherical nature of its shape. The slight curve was supple, an abbreviated zoom of his own, smaller sphere within the palm of his right hand. He felt the rocky texture with his roaming thumb, pressing into its surface in silence as he thought and thought. For days Lifprasil would think, until a clap roused him - it had begun raining far below the Celestial Citadel.

The unconscious voice of Zephyrion had spoken.

Lifprasil sighed, and stood up, his head hardly reached the top of the circular window he had rested inside of, but his hair had begun to become troublesome. He decided to reach back, and with a few minutes of strenuous fumbling and experimentation, tied it into a tight ponytail. Wait. Where did that word come from? Pony? Tail? Lifprasil thought.

"...What's a pony?" he asked himself.

No immediate answer came to him.

With a start, Lifprasil hopped down from his window, and onto an awaiting tiled canopy ten feet below. He started walking along the expanse of the Citadel, leaving his now distressed armor and sword behind. "This gray expanse is a canvas, I would think." Lifprasil said to himself, craning his head to gaze down into the abyssal void of both nothingness and boundless somethingness. He reflected back onto a game his Lifprasilians had invented, the novel idea was pioneered by a bored child named Lakshmi, this game was simple, built off of what the High Lifprasilians had taken their calling in life for.

Lifprasil opened his palm, and looked down at the circular piece "This is the soldier, the soldier and twenty others like himself protect the king, whose only task is to reach one of four corners of the grid-layered board without being surrounded. A war of attrition" Lifprasil recited. The ability to bisect space into sectors and quadrants was interesting to Lifprasil, it showed some enginuity within a High Lifprasilian's mind; shreds of Vulamera. "Then I would be Vesamera." he said, his voice casted out into the tumultuous wind battering the Celestial Citadel outside.

Lifprasil thought longer on the concept of games, and he had an idea.

He had almost finished the divine scripture, already, and he had read about his father's attack on Galbar, although deplorable, the event had caused the God of time to open a rend to expose the giblets of space - tentacles.

"Tentacles... The massive portal ate an entire moon." Lifprasil thought, before he started formulating his theory. Suddenly, he was stricken with another idea.

He began to speak aloud, impartially transmitting his voice to his mother Vulamera, and his father, Vestec.

"The gods are not gods." Lifprasil said, eyes widened by this revelation. "Like me, they are below something, they abide by rules set by a higher power. They are parts in a game, I would think, pieces similar to the one I have in my hand - just more complex." he continued, narrating to his own thought. As he spoke, he kneaded into the circular piece, rotating it in the pit of his palm idly.

Lifprasil's eyes narrowed as he gazed out into the gaseous barrier between planet and space "If this is a game, I'd presume the players can't be wholly neutral, each piece serves its own duty, no matter how complex the objective is. So if Amul'Sharar and Fate made us - and they both work together, then who is the rivaling side....?"

He thought some more on the subject, but the revelation was easily sought out. "In one's own haste to create something, they forget to look away from the dazzling spectacle of creation, Amul'Sharar made us, Fate controls us, and the universe would condition us - the God of Time must be seeking things outside this reality to consort with such massive powers of creation; something that not even these puppet-gods could know of." Lifprasil furthered his theory, shaping it into an idea he could confide within. He stopped transmission to Vestec, but gave Vulamera a thought as goodbye. For now. "Do what you would like with this, mother, but know that the game we are in, provided this is truth, does not sing a petty swan song. It's above all of those that you consort with, or I do."

There was a rustle even in that curtainless window before Lifprasil as the air itself was swept was swept up into one tempest. Zephyrion had of course entered the room behind his student; his presence was hard to mask even when the god made an effort.

Lifprasil turned, and looked at the agape window. He floated back up to its embrace, and back into the room he had been in. "Hello," he greeted - much more invested than usual.

"I see that you have poured over the scroll that Ilunabar saw fit to gift you. This is well and will teach you of the nature of my various 'kindred', though I think it time that you gain a more thorough understanding of them. To that end, I would be frank and tell you my thoughts of each an every one of them: their most admirable qualities or lack thereof, their various mistakes, why they fall short of becoming the Supreme Beings that they could, perhaps even should, have been," the god began. It was time to begin educating Lifprasil for the day.

Lifprasil cocked his head curiously, taking a seat upon the ground with a less-than-bored expression. "Do tell. This scroll describes history, but it does not do personality justice."

"I do not share my knowledge lightly and with intent to merely offer a glimpse at 'personality'. Banish from your face that atrocious mask of boredom; you must listen closely for what I would tell you is of great importance. I have known my siblings for untold eons, felt their innermost thoughts as we were suspended in the gaping void that preceded creation, and ruminated upon each and every one of them for longer than you have existed. Therefore, it is only natural that I, being more informed and bearing greater wisdom than any other, will have the correct opinions to impart upon you.

But I will not simply supersede any preconceived notions of yours and erase your own thought with my own utterances. To do so would not be true justice and would not teach you the proper mindsets and thinking process with which to brave the world, and so it is to these ends that I will take it upon myself to explain to you the reasoning behind each of the revelations that I share, or at least an abbreviated and simplified form of it," Zephyrion spoke in what felt like one long-winded breath. He would have simply continued, but now he felt the need to ensure that he retained Lifprasil's attention. Some beings were simply not so porous to knowledge as others and thus struggled to listen; it was always made hard to tell with this new charge by how he attempted to conceal his emotions.

Anticipating that he needed to take a short pause to maintain the demigod's attention, Zephyrion did so. 'He is fortunate to have a teacher so great as I!' the god found himself musing to himself. At last, after allowing Lifprasil an abundance of time to process what he had just been told, Zephyrion was so kind as to ask, "So now I offer you a choice! Tell me, which of the pantheon would you like to know of first and foremost?"

Lifprasil sat in silence - a good conveyance of his own internal emotional state. That pause was dramatic on purpose, wasn't it? he thought, forcing himself not to chuckle at Zephyrion's inadvertent goofy finesse. With a clearing of his throat, Lifprasil spoke. "I would like to know of the good creature known as Logos." he demanded, setting palms on criss-crossed knees.

There were undoubtedly many a time in whcih Zephyrion's thoughts would be hidden to Lifprasil behind the veil of a volatile storm, but this was not one. The air itself radiated scorn.

"Logos," the very air of the room whispered, having taken on an unsettling and spiteful chill. "is a coward and a fool, before all else.

He proclaims himself 'God of Gods' and 'King of Kings', but he is no king. He holds no power. I was privy to the wretched depths of his twisted mind for far too long in the nascent space and time before time; his only claim is his form of seniority. He was god of another world that preceded ours from its dawn until its dusk, and he remembers. So he thinks it fit to rule over this one and no doubt watch it similarly wither to ashes, just like the last.

Know this: I hold no memories of the past. I am no reincarnation of a long dead being, no glowing ember from a flicker of flame long past its brightest days. In this regard I am alone, but not lesser for it: I am simply an embodiment of Change, and Change is omnipresent and eternal. Through it, I preceded all things and am therefore the Supreme Being. Do you understand? It is his own claim to power that undermines his legitimacy and sets him apart as inferior to myself.

Furthermore, he possesses a delusion of such grandeur that it has even enticed some of the other wayward gods who lack purpose; this fallacy is what he calls the Natural Order. In his eyes, all things must bow to him for he is Order, and all things must adhere to those limitations and principles set about by Order.

Of course this 'Natural Order' is nothing but an arbitrary set of rules that he defined upon a whim, as if he had any authority or legitimacy. Vestec's chaos is simple: mere disruption to the equilibrium. The fire that must draw rain. The mountains that must be climbed. The violent storm that must come, lest the mortals grow to take the gentle rain for granted. 'Natural Order' lacks all of this; arbitrary rules with neither purpose nor the intelligent design of a pristine mind make for stagnation and existence devoid of any meaning except that which is bestowed by Logos the lunatic, Logos the tyrant, Logos the weakling.."

A calm filled the room now, and some air of triumph and Zephyrion's usual boastfulness returned. "It is fortunate, then, that Logos is no true lord and that the world has a protector so dauntless as I. In the time before time, the other gods fell into Logos' trap; while he was first to appear, he was last to come, and so his foul 'Natural Order' had successfully implanted itself into their minds and tainted the nascent design of creation itself. The Codex that the others drafted was flawed and meaningless; while Vestec added his randomness and anomalies, such things could not fight the Natural Order. Only I could.

In sight of all of them, I clutched that Codex with my divine might and set it aflame. By storm and fire I corrected for their innumerable flaws and their accursed lack of foresight, and I created the universal equilibrium and all Change. None made a contribution so grand as I. This world would be not so different from that lifeless void before were it not for my efforts, and yet I have been offered no thanks, only ever contempt.

It was not long after my work that Logos made his appearance and dared assault Vestec, Jvan, and myself, in some vain effort to allow Toun and the other impressionable fools to undo my Changes. Fortunately they did not succeed. They could not succeed, for then I was the Embodiment of Change even more than I am now and I refused to let the Codex be ruined twice.

Since then, Logos has not shown his face. Rather than look upon Galbar and be forever reminded of my glorious triumph, he chose to flee like the coward that he is. Perhaps he willed himself to ashes and dust. Perhaps he tries in vain to enforce his 'Natural Order' upon some other land. It does not matter and I do not care; in either case I have won, as I always will, and Logos only solidifies my status as Supreme Being."

The wind itself sighed and there came a long pause. Zephyrion finished, "Let this be your lesson for today."

Lifprasil took a seat upon an undusted couch slung far away from Zephyrion, kneading at the game piece. "All the gods are flawed in their logic, their loftiness. It's annoying, really. I'm so drawn to your allure because it seems that you, Vestec, and Vulamera are the only creatures that will end up thriving throughout the oncoming storm that is the universe. The frugality of your plight does not rely on some natural order that does not exist, but rather one that does - I believe it to be balance." Lifprasil explains, his voice having risen to unusual heights.

It was with some satisfaction that Zephyrion noted that Lifprasil seemed engaged for once, his voice raised and for once not that irritating, monotone drone that revealed nothing. Of course, what he had said was entirely wrong, but that would have perhaps been forgivable. His disrespect and growing familiarity were not; and Zephyrion bristled when Lifprasil dared question the gods, and by extension, him. While Lifprasl could no doubt sense the fury broiling in his master, oddly Zephyrion seemed to suppress it and displayed no outwards signs.

Calmly, he responded, "Though I demanded no statement from you, one has been nonetheless given; it is of course my obligation to tell you the error in your view and impress upon you the correct opinion.

Vulamera will never thrive. The hunter that preys upon the weak will survive, yet only the one that hunts the strong will truly live. In much the same way Vulamera's foolish objective of acquiring her vague definition of 'knowledge' will not be impeded. Do not mistake this for her thriving or amounting to any measure of worth or success; she is useless, utterly lacking in direction and purpose."

Midway through the god's address, Lifprasil had the impudence to interrupt. Unusually, Zephyrion allowed his charge to speak his mind, though his ire burned even hotter now.

"If she is so lacking - then why bother antagonizing her? The pursuit of knowledge is harmless, and her plight equally so. She has no affect upon this world that would become detrimental to my plans, or yours. You are the wind and she is the mind, both separated by a thick coaxial known as the body. What could she possibly do to injure something that can't be touched? This is why I question the gods, Master, because their tensions are... Strange. Why allow your enemy to live when you can just wipe them off the map? Why limit yourselves if you are all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-existent? It makes no sense unless..." Lifprasil explains. "The true god is Fate, and the gods are just the deified equivalency of mortals, however, that would make me... An insect." he finished - looking shocked at his own revelation.

"Fate merely cowers somewhere out of my site not unlike Logos, and as for Vulamera you have answered your own question: why suffer your enemy to live and hold such strange 'tensions'? When provoked, you will soon know, I retaliate with a fury that cannot be matched."

Instead of speaking about Vestec as he had first thought to do, Zephyrion now continued, "And now, you of all beings have seen fit to show ingratitude and impiety, going so far as to question my judgement and in doing so refuse the gift of knowledge that I have offered you out of simple and pure kindness! Know that I take no joy in inflicting this lesson upon you, but you have forced as much upon yourself. Behold that terrible fury that I spoke of!"

Zephyrion did not so much as stir; his own form was unusually still. It was the air itself that moved, grasping at Lifprasil with unseen hands and dragging him out the precipice of the window. He would find his ability of flight...suppressed. Banished into the void outside the fortress, it would be a long fall down.

Lifprasil fell.

And he fell.

And fell.

It took a while for him to reach the surface, the downward spiral withheld thirteen minutes of his time, but the view was astounding. The cloud layer he passed through helped relax him within his tenth minute of falling, but in the end, his collision with the ground below was similar to his encounter with Allure.

Lifprasil left a crater in his wake when he collided with the floor of the world, which he lay in the center of, thinking over what had caused Zephyrion to cast him from the citadel. Lifprasil pursed his lips.

I insulted him - his own presidence over himself was damaged, it seems. he thought, the only noise escaping him being a slight groan, amongst the sounds of settling rubble. The idea of being thrown out of the citadel didn't have much consequence to him, the punishment was his own, and he acknowledged the fact. He was just glad nobody else felt the wrath of Zephyrion.

After a few hours, he arose with a start at the sight of a solitary bird flittering across the now night time sky above him, the multitude of stars glimmered behind its nocturnal wings, the only indication of its presence being the outline sailing past what lay beyond.

In silence, he looked to the right, towards the hand that had clutched piece, and found the orb to be shattered. "Your anger is your greatest enemy, Master." Lifprasil said to himself, clutching his fist into a ball, and mending the piece within his grip. His practice in restoration had become limited, but it was enough to fix this singular object for which he held responsibility for.

What a cryptic metaphor.

Lifprasil finally stood, his tunic waving in the cold night time winds of Galbar, battling against his thighs as his toes dug into the damaged soil beneath him. After leaving his imprint behind, he paced out of the crater, his actions were swift, and he walked into embrace of the Gilt Savannah in a few short steps, he saw all the creations of Slough splayed out before him with the menagerie of eyes his soul possessed, his true form. Each one drew connection to life, but none found a spark similar to what Lifprasil was representative of.



There came a day when Ventus sought out Lifprasil in his chambers. It was unusual for the djinni lord to so much as enter that section of the castle for fear of intruding upon the guests' privacy, but now he had no choice. He was under orders from the lord himself.

"Hail to you, Lifprasil! What cheer?" he greeted the demigod amicably as he drifted closer still. "Alas, I have not come only to wish unto thee a good dawning: I bear Zephyrion's summons. He will receive you now in the grandest courtyard, that solitary garden abutting the northernmost spire."

With a smile, Lifprasil gazed over to Ventus. It seems the Djinni had walked in on Lifprasil as he was wrestling his tunic on. "Prosit," he greeted, managing to fit the garment on. "Let us go." Lifprasil finished, fitting his feet into a pair of loosely fitting shoes.

Wordlessly the Majordomo led the way through the labyrinth of tunnels, most still bleak yet a splendid few covered in ornate decoration, until they at last arrived. "His sword? His armor?" Zephyrion first asked Ventus.

"I saw to it that they would be delivered here."

"That is well. Lifprasil," the god began, "I remember freshly your battle with the one called Allure, who you have brought into these sacred halls as your pet." Zephyrion was silent now: he had learned when Lifprasil liked to speak and felt generous enough to afford the demigod that opportunity now.

Lifprasil, in a state of abundant inattentiveness, perked his head up to gaze into the eyes of the Wind God. "Oh. A more suitable title would be friend." Lifprasil returned, just as a little High Lifprasilian girl scurried into the room; pulling behind her a tarp carrying Lifprasil's armor, and a cocoon of lavender cloth that could be assumed to carry his blade.

Lakshmi was suddenly illuminated by a glow of light as Zephyrion's eye of cackling lightning directed a fleeting glance toward her. He still had yet to grow used to the mortals that tread through the halls of the middle floor; perhaps he never would. After a short but silent muse to himself, he looked back to Lifprasil.

Truly, it was pathetic. His Majordomo had been assailed, and yet his attacker that had been thought dead had turned out to be alive and well. None could assault the First Gale's servants and live, and so when Lifprasil descended to enact retribution, there should have been death. Instead, Lifprasil had returned with a 'friend'. Alas, the laws of hospitality made Zephyrion reluctantly willing to suffer the presence of the one known as 'allure' and not cast him off the side of Citadel, sending him back to the ground on which he belonged.

There was a snap in the air and a violent rush of wind tore the urumi from Lakshmi's hands, the god paying her no attention now. The weapon was suspended in air and twirled about like a toy by the winds as Zephyrion casually spun its many blades through the air.

"This instrument, gifted to you by my good friend and your father, is useless unless you can wield it with true skill. I do not wish to see you disgrace yourself and in doing so also disgrace me, your master, by flailing it about in a second battle as you did when you fought this 'Allure'. You will learn to use it properly."

The sword flew through the air towards Lifprasil. Zephyrion hoped that the demigod was proficient enough to at least catch the blade, but if not, it would stop an inch short. The demigod couldn't be impaled before the training had even begun.

Lifprasil extended a hand, but before he could react, every blade flew past his palm, each living extremity of the blade sailed right towards his face, different subsidiaries prepared to strike him in the eyes, and the mouth.

The little Lifprasilian girl known as Lakshmi just cowered in fear at the sudden display, before Lifprasil turned to look away from the weapon, summoning a cut from one of the many blades that had attempted to extend, and devour him. "That was dramatic." Lifprasil grimaced, tying his hair into a ponytail as he spoke. "A-are you okay, m'lord?" Lakshmi questioned, stuttering in her speech.

"M'lord?" he questioned, his hair now manifested into something more managable. "Where did you learn that word?" he questioned, before Lakshmi started picking up his armor.

"It's-- w-hat everyone else insists upon calling you..." Lakshmi responded, which summoned a smile from Lifprasil, a thin red line now marring the surface of his face. "Call me by my name." he said, before he swiveled back to his Master. "What's next, Master?"

There was another disturbance in the air as a hundred drafts poured into the spacious room through windows. Every clump of dust or loose particle was swept up and quickly shaped into an ethereal, hardly visible, and roughly humanoid form. Dozens of such illusions appeared in the blink of an eye. They looked eerily similar to the elementals, only oddly still. There was no constant shifting and whirling of the winds within their bodies. There were swordsmen, spearmen, and even a few archers among the mix, and they were positioned everywhere in the room.

"What happens now? Hah! You show me!" Zephyrion answered. As one, the formerly motionless illusions came to life and surged toward both Lifprasil and Lakshmi.

Within a moment, Lifprasil extended his arm, and his blade returned to him, and when it did, Zephyrion could almost hear some form of meticulous breathing coming from the weapon. With a flick of his wrist, Lifprasil managed to bring the many-headed monster down on the illusions, he then reared it back, and to the side; so it may float peacefully, as if cloth fluttering in the wind. "I've practiced with the Beast, but many ways of combat are unbenknownst to me." Lifprasil assured Zephyrion, while Lakshmi, surprisingly enough, had not cowered, but pulled out a little toy dagger, the wodden blade would have hardly helped her, however.

"Letting it fight your battles for you is the same as letting it control you. You must refine your reflexes. Become as quick as the wind. Then I think you will triumph, blade or no."

More and more of the mirages appeared and barrelled forward with reckless abandon. Zephyrion was no master of fighting himself, but with his divinity came near instant reflexes and the ability to forsee what Lifprasil or the blade would do before they even perceived that there was a threat that called for a reaction. As such, the illusions under the god's control gradually grew more and more dextrous until they were simply too quick for the blade itself.

Now, whenever an incorporeal arrow or spear nicked the demigod's form, he would feel a simple icy chill. It was not enough to inflict true harm, merely to remove any doubt or question as to whether he was proficient enough.

Ventus now moved to take Lakshmi to the side since his master seemed to have no concern for her safety or well-being. "Stay afar, my lady. This is a dangerous game that they do play!" the djinni lord spoke, looking on with curiosity all the same.

Lifprasil grimaced with each strike he would sustain, and later cast aside the Beast, and decided to exchange the weapon for his fists. He leaped forward, and cast forward his fist, and then his next one, attacking in alternation, slowly, each strike became more sure, more exact, and each strike became a bone-crushing, mortal-destroying attack; and eventually, his attacks steadily became more refined. Rather than stumble and swing, Lifprasil would ground himself and jab. His dodges would become less haphazard, and eventually change to become more calculated.

Once Lifprasil found himself becoming capable, the sun had subsided behind the horizon, and Lakshmi had fallen asleep on Ventus.



Yet another day was spent by Lifprasil in the company of his master. This time they stood in yet another one of the shining galleries of the citadel, gazing out a window as the landscape below changed. The castle itself sailing thorugh the sky as it was propelled by he winds of change, Zephyrion had seen fit to seize this chance to teach the demigod geography. Of course, Ilunabar had given him her scroll and taught him of many basic things, but it was critical to reinforce the lessons that Lifprasil had already been taught.

For those ends, the god deemed it necessary to fly his citadel over each and every thing that was worth seeing, and educate Lifprasil upon these great monuments to the gods. Naturally there was nothing worth seeing outside Zephyrion's domain; that was how they would be able to see the Venomweald, the Mahd, and everything in between all within the day.

Zephyrion's lecture upon one of the countless tributary streams that fed the Mahd, and with it the lesson, was suddenly interrupted. It seemed that the demigod would be spared an 'education', if only for now! Should Lifprasil glance to the side he would see his master now inspecting a jar containing a strange liquid. It bubbled constantly and its lavender colour pulsed as if alive, growing bright one moment and dim the next. It sat suspended utterly still in the air as the god of wind contemplated its contents.

Lifprasil shifted in his cross-legged position, wearing what appeared to be a luxuriously tailored teal garb - similar to the coloration of his armor, that which was being tended to by a taller High Lifprasilian with a narrow face, and narrow curvature to her body; that which set her above the other Lifprasilians that have changed into the creatures he'd needed them to be.

Each one shimmered amongst the sunlight that streams into the observatory the cluster within had inhabited for the duration of Lifprasil's lesson, gray and white coloration hardly discerning them from the backdrop, while their budding plumage wafted against the weaker winds hastily navigating the halls and gaps in the Celestial Citadel.

The one closest to Lifprasil was named Lakshmi, of whom carried his armor in hand, her plumage having become a much more profound shade of yellow thanks to her recently imbued heroic nature. She stood guard as the head of the entity raised to protect Lifprasil, always shadowing him despite the presence of the tremendously loud god that accompanied him. If anything, her presence had merely devolved into collateral since her anointment.

"What is that, master?" Lifprasil questioned in a much more feminine mannerism than what the towering entity in front of him had become used to. It seemed Vulamera's incessant curiously liked to show itself from time to time through her child. The comparably tiny Demi-God tipped his head, his celestial eyes probing the item from afar.

"I have seen such an item before: it was a fine gift from an equally fair goddess, Astarte. The Mistress of Magic had seen fit to offer me a quantity of the purest magic, and it was only with that primal power juxtaposed with my own force of Change that I was able to create the elementals. Though I must wonder why she has seen fit to donate yet another? You see, Lifprasil, this is the value of being a wise and benelovent lord and making friends with all whom you encounter..."

Lifprasil just nodded in silence, before he extends a hand. "May I hold it?"

"I may let you hold it if you drink it. If not, then it's just for Zephyrion." A smooth, high-pitched voice said. The source nowhere to be seen until a feminine form simply appeared behind Lakshmi. Floating in place with her long, lavender hair falling over her shoulders, she put both of her cold hands on the assistant's shoulders with a smirk.

Zephyrion's temperament saw a drastic swing as soon as he sensed Astarte's arrival. Banished was all boredom, excitement come to claim its place. "It has been too long, Astarte! It is my delight to have you grace these halls with your presence. You will not have met my newfound charge, Lifprasil," he began with exuberance before falling into more casual tone as he gestured toward the demigod. "...but be assured that I have already shared with him many a tale of your splendor!"

Lakshmi jumped slightly at the literal presence of a god's hands weighing down on her shoulders. She stammered, slightly, and craned her head to gaze up at the goddess of magic behind her. "U-uuh.." she extorted, before she managed to find words. "H-hello..." the young guard Lifprasilian finished - unable to find any more words of greeting or charge, she just rendered herself to pat out the creases in her yellow tunic, and attempted to look presentable to a god after an afternoon in the unforgiving heat.

The formerly introduced Demi-God, on the other hand, just waved silently, having torn his gaze from the vial of Astartian elixir.

Astarte grinned and raised an eyebrow at Lakshmi's response. She patted her shoulders once and let go, turning her attention towards Lifprasil for a moment and then to Zephyrion. "You can tell those tales to the animals at the Deepwoods. They won't even come near me these days!"

Lakshmi took a deep inhalation after she was released by Astarte - squirming in place once she had been left as the center attention.

Zephyrion found himself conversationally replying, "Truly, animalkind seems fearful of beings that reach so close to perfection as you or I! Once I when sought yede to that trove of life to see the fine works of Slough, those ilke creatures did flee from me as well! Perhaps their slight upon me was more forgivable than their disdain for the apricity that your sight brings; for if I do recall, it was as a whirling tornado that I first frequented that place! Naturally, I found the animals more at ease anon, when I tread the ground as fog sculpted into the likeness of a wolf."

She looked at Lifprasil and Lakshmi for a split moment, hesitating whether it was fine to speak of such things to Zephyrion with these people around.

Lakshmi had been confused by the antics of the gods - far too confused to become a threat to their plans, and too weak. Lifprasil, however, was just silent still, as if he were uncaring.

It was clear that after a moment, Astarte simply stopped caring.

"I made a thing. It's a rock, in the bottom of the Deepwoods. Animals won't come close to the area, so I imagine it's got some of my essence-" She said as she carefully put her hair behind her shoulders, trying to play off her growing excitement, "- that's the reason I gave you that jar of magic. I wanted to bribe you into lending me a mortal or two to interact with that rock. I have a feeling it's going to be an interesting thing to see."

That thunderous chuckle was Zephyrion's echoed through the airy halls. "Whilst I find the temptation to denounce this 'bribery' of yours as needless as your company is reward enough, I must stay silent lest I be left with no more of your gifts to warm my heart!" he japed, the jar of essence meanwhile disappearing in a puff of smoke as Zephyrion spirited it off to be stored in some unseen corner. He had Astarte grinning widely and chuckling due to the compliments, however forced they sounded to her.

"But we shall find you these mortals! Nothing less than a half dozen of every sort will do; this 'rock' of your making may chance to hold different omen for whosoever touches it. Let us depart forthwith!"

"Yeah! Let us depart!" Astarte pumped her arm in excitement, letting herself float around Lakshmi and Lifprasil.

Seemingly as an afterthought, the god stopped in his tracks and looked to Lifprasil. "I think it to have been too long since you have stepped foot outside the bounds of my alcazar, so I afford to you the choice of attendance. Shall you fare in our company?"

Lakshmi hobbled back and forth as if she stood on hot coals, attempting to wrap her head around Astarte's motions around her.

The young Demi-God suddenly stood from his formerly sitting position, his vexation upon lessons having melted away at the thought of seeing the development of the world up close. He adjusted his tunic, Lakshmi doing the same in kind - as if a child playing mimic with her eldest brother. "I would appreciate it, master." Lifprasil stated, just loud enough to overpower the gales of Zephyrion.

Lakshmi, on the other hand, darted between the two gods, before she calmed before Lifprasil, and prepared his armor for him. The living suit soon slid onto his body. It coiled around him like a snake once the younger Lakshmi released it, and soon, the tunic had been smothered underneath the shimmering yellow armor. "What you suggest is experimentation - correct?" he questioned, Lifprasil, as he brought his palms to rest on his hips.

"Something of that sort, but perchance there will be more."

Lifprasil's young royal guardsman, Lakshmi, had another moment of slight panic before she bent her knee to the mighty Zephyrion, and lowered her head to him. "Uh... Mister Eternal Sky, sir! May I depart with my own master to the surface?" she feebly suggested, whilst she attempted to find the proper volume to address a god as she spoke in his chamber. "And, uh, could I take two of my own valet?" Lakshmi added with a quivering smile.

With uncharacteristic respect and attention to one of the Insidie, Zephyrion answered the captain, "With all certainty; your aid in our noble endeavor will be met with only the most earnest appreciation from myself! See, dear Astarte, we've yet to so much as break ground, yet already the mortals plead for the honor of being amongst those chosen to touch this rock of yours!"

"I can see their excitement, too! I can imagine Lakshmi's expression upon seeing the Rock already. Those big, glittery eyes!" Astarte squealed a little.

Lakshmi's smile was something to marvel over, the glimmer in her eyes screaming nothing but excitement - until she heard the last part of Zephyrion's boisterous announcement. "T...Touch the rock?" she questioned "I mean, if m'lord insists..." she mumbled, and clasped her hands together. Lifprasil looked up to Zephyrion, his expression had returned to placidity throughout the conversation, but it resumed its uncharacteristic smile when he turned to reassure Lakshmi.

"I'm sure only good will come out of it, Lakshmi." he expiated, reaching to pat her plumage. Lifprasil had been playing along to Zephyrion's tune, and he still would.

However, Lakshmi was important to him in some respects of the word, so any evident danger would be witheld from her, should it appear. She was his apprentice, after all, as comedic as the idea sounds.

The way Lakshmi reacted to things made Astarte want to pinch her cheeks. Barely suppressing a goofy grin, she flew toward Lakshmi and stopped just an inch short of her face.

Clack!

The sound of a strong bite was barely heard over Zephyrion's natural noise. Astarte had made a biting notion at Lakshmi and even growled a little bit. Then, she laughed.

Lakshmi recoiled in terror, before she started laughing with an overtly nervous grin on her face "T-thanks!" she managed to return, making a worried biting motion in turn with the god.

"Oh by Slough's rot, you're so cute I just want to eat you!"

"Please don't..." Lakshmi whispered - afraid she actually will. Astarte, of course, dismissed her comment.

"Well, let us be off then!" Zephyrion suddenly proclaimed. "VENTUS!" his voice thundered through the entire palace. With this second proclamation, Lakshmi shuddered and cringed, her master stealing himself to be still against the gust of air.

In what seemed a mere blink the Vizier was at his Master's side. "At your service," the flustered Majordomo managed.

"We are going on a trip. Carry the ones who cannot fly!"

"But couldn't you just bless them with flight?"

"Ventus, cease your incessant griping and submit yourself to my wisdom. Do they look like skilled birds to you?"

Astarte stifled a giggle.

With no more complaint than a sigh, Ventus shifted forms into that of a twister and enveloped Lakshmi and the rest of Lifprasil's guard present within the center of his churning body. Lakshmi exclaimed against the tide, suspended just barely by a light updraft that the djinni gently pushed upon their bodies, they would be left helplessly carried along after the others as they flew off a nearby balcony.

Far above the ground below, Zephyrion could still recognize the badlands that his palace had been drifting near: Vestec's Changing Plains. The ground itself was scorched and the land ever in flux, a monument to the glorious power of Change. The Skylord admitted some feeling of jealousy within himself, but of course the newly bloomed life that Ventus had brought to his lands made his dominion the superior one. There was some comfort for the god in having a rival world-shaper so close, but provided that the other fellow did not manage to surpass his works!

It was with some degree of horror and indignation that the god sensed a whole host of creatures below. 'Come,' he called out with his mind to Astarte, Lifprasil, and all the others that were lagging behind as Ventus struggled to keep pace. "It shall be only a short detour; let us see what works of life Vestec has made!

Once his sword was coiled around his waist, Lifprasil bolted from the Celestial Citadel, both his cape, and his hair fluttered behind him in an extended trail that arched past his outstretched legs. The child of chaos' smile was masked by the helmet that had arisen from his rounded collar piece, the wide, ovular eyes implanted into the slight curviture of the helm that fit so snuggly on his head reflecting the golden color of his eyes. Lifprasil, in turn with his master, decided to crane his head mid-flight to gaze down at the planet's surface, narrowing his gaze to the denizens below.

What marched below was a host of all manner of creatures, many of which were recognizable as the making of another god. There were hain, angels, pronobii, those strange and twisted 'cultists' of Jvan...but they all seemed to have been touched by Vestec's corruption, for there was an air of taint that clung to them. They seemed most unusual.

Swooping down closer, Zephyrion saw that the rabble carried crude weaponry and seemed like some form of warband. Curious. He reached out with his mind to scry the rest of this warped land and quickly realized what Vestec was doing. He's assembling a whole horde of these corrupted creatures! he mused to himself, already entertained by the idea of it all. He would have to praise his brother's creativity at a later date, but for now he was simply thankful that all manner of mortals and other creatures had already been conveniently assembled in this place for his collection.

"I think that these will suit our purposes well," Zephyrion explained before suddenly descending down to the now terrified creatures in the form of a writhing, living twister. He still had yet to grow used to the fear that mortal beings seemed to feel when they encountered him in even a rather tame form. With a sigh, he summoned a cloud of invisble gas that found its way into the warriors' lungs. A short time later, they began dropping to the ground like stones. In seemingly unfeeling silence, Lifprasil watched, and Lakshmi struggled to do so, both observed the wind god's work as he abducted and destroyed the forces of chaos below.

Around his waist, Lifprasil could feel the blade of chaos clammering, vying for attention as a singular thought burrowed its way into the back of his mind. Such vexation and amnesty... Do you mean to oppose my Empire before its fruition already? Lifprasil asked both himself and Vestec, and held fast the handle to his weapon with either hand.

Zephyrion examined the unconscious beings more thoroughly now, and after a short time he managed to breath the winds of Change into a few of the creatures and root out the corruption that Vestec had tainted them with, returning them to a more natural and balanced state. Others he left tainted, for it would be interesting to see if the rock affected them any differently.

Ventus found another odd twenty unconscious beings added to the burden that he was forced to carrry along. "Now then, dearest Astarte," the Master of Change began again once that task was done, "show us to this rock of yours, if you will!"

"Easy enough," Astarte chuckled and snapped her fingers.

With the snapping of her fingers, Lakshmi brought her gaze back to the goddess of magic, while Lifprasil just absent mindedly looked down upon the horde of chaos below.

Nothing happened.

"... We'll just fly there!"

After grinning bashfully, she soared up into the skies and toward the Deepwoods, sure that the rest would follow her.

With the boom of Astarte's sudden take-off, Lifprasil followed suite, generating a ring of deafening noise himself upon his attempt to catch up to the faster god.

For once, Zephyrion followed without comment. The faithful Vizier took after them as well. Lakshmi would hear the cyclone around her whisper with bated breath, "Asking to come with them was a mistake for you, and being within a hundred miles of the Master's palace was where I went wrong." The vortex itself sighed. Lakshmi divulged in her buoyancy, gripping an eight foot long spear in both hands. "I go where he goes - similar to yourself." the hero responded, pointing her spear in the speeding Demi-God's direction. "Although, being in the house of a wind god keeps things interesting, but I believe this one," with this resentful statement Lakshmi's spear set its sights on Astarte "Wants to eat me." she pouted, unknowing of the ways of the gods.

As was expected of a travelling band of a God, Goddess and fairly capable lesser beings, the trip to the Deepwoods was over soon enough. Astarte profesionally ignored any landmark on the way there, set on getting to their destination as quickly as possible, lest her newest test subjects tried to go back on their word. On the other hand, in pursuit, Lifprasil tested his superhuman vision and sense on whatever passing sights the group passed by. The most interesting of the grouping being a valley teetering just beyond the horizon, an indentation into the barren earth around it, that which was highlighted by an easy shade of violet.

When the thick canopies of the Deepwoods came into view over the horizon, Astarte accelerated even further. She shielded her face as she shot through the leaves and branches, while Lifprasil just stopped abruptly, and shook the trees upon the force of his arrival. However, once he witnessed Astarte's further journey into the forest, he hesitantly followed suite and observed all the wildlife creeping underneath the brambles and the branches below.

The deeper they went, the less light that reached them. It eventually got dark enough that one of the few lights present was that emitted from Astarte. A soft light that was eventually drowned by the strong lavender glimmer of the Rock's surroundings. The closer they got to the Rock, the more that Astarte slowed down.

And then she stopped, just outside the clearing where it rested.

A Rock five to six times the height of Lifprasil and as wide as a river. Veins of pure magic essence ran through its entire surface, lavender light emitted from them.

"That's the Rock. I made that myself. By that I mean that I imbued it with my essence." Astarte said as she entered the clearing. Not floating, but walking. She gestured the rest to enter the clearing as she walked. Lifprasil did so, and took tentative steps into the grass and lichen in front of him, and the armor recoiled upon pressing itself into the moistened dew of the forest floor. "Do you mean to tell me you don't know the machinations of your own creation?" Lifprasil questioned, his eyes silently entranced by the pulsating surface of the rock.

"I made it by accident, so yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."

Zephyrion recalled the utter havoc that his last visit to this region had brought about. So he opted for the innocuous form of a phoenix of lightning, individual bolts cackling and writhing like snakes as they coiled into his new form. The volatile nature of this body lit up the dark forest like a torch and made the air hum with energy, but it was better than him showing up as a tornado.

Ventus, glad to finally have his rest, deposited onto the ground those limp beings that Zephyrion had gathered from the Shattered Plains. They landed in a heap a good deal harder than the djinni might have liked, but he was weary and they were all too incapacitated to protest. Still, he was more careful when he gingerly put down Lakshmi and her company.

"Do you want to go first?" Zephyrion asked the Lifprasilian, remembering how eager she had volunteered earlier. Those other things that he'd borrowed from Vestec's horde were yet to come to their senses...

Lakshmi took a deep breath, petrified inhalation, having landed upon her knee after being deposited into the clearing. Lifprasil decidedly interjected when she began her approach, the other two guards made a fascimile of his expression. With added vigor, they corroborated their quarterstaffs in an 'x' formation in front of her.

"If that's so, I suppose the touch of a halfling would do the rock some good." he started, before Lakshmi decided to push past not only the fellow guardsmen barring her; but Lifprasil himself. An interesting expression of courage. "N-nonsense my lord!" she shakily boasted, before driving her spear into the soil beneath her. "It's ju-ust a..." Lakshmi took a pause to breath "Oh jeez... A crackling magical... Rock!" she finally finished, boistrously reaching out to the object.

Lifprasil did not move to impede her, but he did look up to Astarte "I suppose you're going to get your results." he sighed, a hint of mendacious expression rode just beneath the surface of his voice, more often than not undetectable by those who would be otherwise occupied. "Hopefully something good comes out of it."

Astarte winked at Lifprasil as soon as he looked at her. "Lifprasil, you definitely need to lighten up. The worst thing that can happen is death. It's not that bad!" She bit the tip of her tongue playfully and turned to look at Lakshmi approaching the Rock. With quivering lips, and hands, Lakshmi pressed her palm to the rock in awkward silence. "O...h? That wasn't so bad." she reassured herself, and leaned on the stone item for a moment.

However, the pause was short lived. Within a matter of seconds after Lakshmi's touch, the rock's incessant pulsation became faster, and faster, steadily mounting into a flash similar to that of a torch - only infinitely brighter. The recurring brightness of the idol Astarte had placed caused the two guards to try and pull Lakshmi away, only for an arc of magical energy to transmit through Lakshmi; and into them. The pair of guards stumbled back and died amongst the thunderous roar, collapsing into the escaping leaves.

Lakshmi, however, was unseeable now, being so close to the rock. The raw, unrefined energy that stemmed from the possessed geode erected a whirlwind of hoarse wind that threw up debris; blanking out the now impossibly flashing light.

Gradually, the light disappeared, and the whirlwind settled into a gentle gust that gently caressed the apparently convulsing Lakshmi, whose arm has now taken shape similar to the rock which had returned to normalcy at this point. Lifprasil leapt forward, past the smoking corpses of Lifprasilians across the clearing, and to Lakshmi.

Astarte, though, had another idea. She appeared in front of Lifprasil and blocked his path.

"Stay back, Lifprasil," She balled up her fists and raised an eyebrow at him. "Seeing how she copes with the energy without any help is part of the experiment." She said and tilted her head slightly to one side, expecting Lifprasil to pull something off.

It was impossible to discern whether the Master of Change observed with pity, remorse, amusement, or outright boredom. The face of a living storm was not so easy to read. "Maybe I should make my own boulder like this! No, a mere stone would lack any sense of grandeur. I'd need a whole mountain," he mused aloud.

Ventus, meanwhile, was aghast. How could he not be mortified by his Master's pure indifference to it all?

In between Lakshmi and Astarte, Lifprasil's hands binded themselves into white knuckled balls, heav-set against his thighs. Astarte could hear the mail wreathing his hands groan under the tension as he abided his temper - just staring down into the leaves at his feet.

"... Good." Astarte nodded and turned to look at Lakshmi. She relaxed her tensed posture as she stared at the still convulsing Lakshmi.

Lakshmi eventually calmed and remained unconscious, her now glowing arm smoking slightly from the stream of pure energy crackling throughout her limb. It appeared she'll be asleep for a while after her encounter.

Astarte approached Lakshmi and carefully observed her entire body, checking for mutations and alterations, as well as confirming whether she'd live or not, and the state of her soul. She found herself biting back a gasp of surprise when she noticed the biggest difference--Her soul. Before, it was calm, inactive. It rested inside her body, waiting to be released upon death.

Now? It enveloped the entire clearing. It had not only been stirred awake by the Rock, but it had also grown so powerful, so influential, that it could be projected outside of Lakshmi's body. A shiver went down Astarte's spine as she imagined the possible applications of such a capability. If Lakshmi managed to gather liquid magical essence...

With a toothy grin, Astarte turned toward Lifprasil.

"I can fix the arm's appearance, if you wish. The rest of the changes she's suffered though, I'll leave up to you and her to figure out by yourselves."

Lifprasil gazed up at Astarte, and nodded his head "I would like to keep her arm in the state it's in. But if Lakshmi requests change, I will relay that request." he said, simply, before he would walk over to Lakshmi, and carried the unconscious High Lifprasilian in his arms; an easy task for a Demi-God.

The change wasn't felt only by Astarte, it seemed, holding Lakshmi in his arms, Lifprasil could feel the omnipresent manipulation of her soul - a direct consequence of touching the rock. Lifprasil felt the essence waft around him like some gaseous substance trapped in a current similar to Zephyrion's will, a cyclone of not only magical residue but emotion.

"Are you capable of awakening Lakshmi?" Lifprasil questioned, turning to Astarte with a plain expression.

"Yes."

"May you?" Lifprasil asked.

"What?" Astarte raised an eyebrow at Lifprasil.

"Will you wake her for me." Lifprasil elaborated silently. "It would only be fair."

"She volunteered, did she not?" Astarte shrugged her shoulders and sat down cross-legged on the cool ground.

A glimpse of red can be sought within Lifprasil's iris as his eyes narrowed, gradually slanting in Astarte's direction. "Then perhaps you can return her to a conscious state? It would only be courteous." he asked, his voice having risen to a volume higher than a droning whisper.

Astarte showed Lifprasil a smug smirk, but nodded nonetheless a moment later. "Of course."

And with a snap of her fingers, Lakshmi began to stir.

Lakshmi sputtered, slightly, before her eyes fluttered open as she stirred from her magic induced coma. "Whaaaa..." she mumbled, rubbing her head. She seemed tame, drunken even, until she saw Astarte beaming down on her.

CLACK.

"aaaAAAA." Lakshmi exclaimed - afraid that Astarte was going to eat her in her moment of vulnerability. Again.

Astarte giggled and bit the tip of her tongue.

Lakshmi frowned, a distinctive blush beset her vanilla and gray cheeks as she crossed her arms - and then she realized that her right arm was replaced with an artificial, fully functioning geode phantom limb. "Ah!" she exclaimed, waving the new arm around. "What is this?!" she questioned, the arm pulsating with her unsteady heartbeat.

"It... Seems to be an arm made of rock." Astarte shrugged.

The now calming High Lifprasilian blinked "Aren't you supposed to be all-knowing? Rocks don't move." Lakshmi blatantly stated, tracing her finger of flesh along the rock with a dazed expression.

"I don't know. It's more fun if I'm not, to be truthful."

"That sounds counter-productive." Lifprasil interjected, easing Lakshmi back onto her feet. "Don't you have plans? Dreams?" he asked nonchalantly, making sure to hold Lakshmi steady.

"I..." Astarte hesitated. After a moment of silence, she stood up and crossed her arms, turning her face away from Lifprasil and toward the Rock. "Zephyrion, Ventus!"

Both Lakshmi and Lifprasil look back to the two that had watched the ordeal. "Prosit - I forgot you were there, Master."

The already thoroughly exhausted and sickened looked up without that usual spark in his eyes and sighed. "Do you require my servi-"

The distracted Zephyrion was suddenly brought back into reality, and his booming voice sounded out to interrupt Ventus. For once that brought the djinni relief. "Well, I didn't bring all the other ones here for nothing! Let's wake them up and see what happens when they touch the rock."

Now Ventus was nearly infuriated at the prospect of torturing yet more living beings on that accursed rock. With renewed energy, he spoke up, "Master, we already know what will happen with them, so why don't we-"

"Are YOU volunteering too, now? Ventus, I didn't think that you possessed the courage!"

They all looked at him expectantly, and suddenly the Majordomo was crushed beneath the pressure of their collective gaze. Now he understood how Lakshmi had been unable to say no...

"Well, go on then!" Zephyrion burst out after a short pause, and Ventus suddenly found himself overpowered by a wall of wind that blew him closer to the wretched stone. Less afraid of the stone than of the two gods' reaction should he object now, he didn't resist. He allowed himself to simply be slammed into the rock.

"Ha! Why didn't you slow yourself down, Ventus?" Zephyrion guffawed. Getting a bit carried away, he flicked Ventus back into the rock once or twice.

With each impact, there was a visible arc of magical energy that sparked between the rock's power and the Flicker within Ventus. It jolted and overwhelmed the windjinn's senses, and when all was done he simply vanished from the eye. His form collapsed into a wild, uncontrolled breeze, so thin that one could barely see him.

Now Zephyrion came closer and loomed over his favorite friend.

Lakshmi was livid at this point, she attempted to dash towards Zephyrion - but ended up falling flat on her face due to her own light headed-ness. "Stop it!" she yelled, while Lifprasil just watched in what could be perceived as uncaring silence; but upon closer inspection, one would be able to see his hands balling themselves into rigid fists. "You'll kill him." Lakshmi finished her defense of Ventus, whispering helplessly.

Astarte watched the scene, squinting her eyes to see through the bright light.

"Ventus, cease this foolishness at once! Reassemble your form and stop trying to hide from us."

Lifprasil's anger and Lakshmi's worry practically radiated outwards, permeating the air. Zephyrion addressed them, "Oh, calm yourselves; he's only playing dead! I still see him down there. It's easy to shed your form."

As if to prove a point, Zephyrion simply exploded. A strong blast of wind shook the gigantic trees, and suddenly Zephyrion's suffocating presence could be felt everywhere. It caressed every nook and cranny and touched every person, though all could still feel the center of his attention upon Ventus.

Astarte shifted, trying to cover herself from the God's presence and... Blushed?

A long pause followed. Zephyrion contemplated using his own powers to simply build a new body for the naked Vizier, but before he could do so Ventus stirred.

There was a rush of wind, the djinni's body reappeared, and he shot up to hover above the rock. His body swelled larger than it had ever been, as if it were about to burst, and his eyes seemed to glower and cackle with energy. "Haha, I feel it surging through me now! LIMITLESS COSMIC POWER!" the Vizier yelled, a mad look in his eyes.

Zephyrion scoffed. Clearly Ventus was not in a proper state of mind. The formless god's voice echoed from the air all around, "Yes, yes--return home now, Ventus; you've earned a rest!"

The djinni flew off into the distance cackling and rambling about some newfound power. If Zephyrion had still been visible, he might have cringed. At least the embarassment was finished now, though admittedly he was slightly worried. Fixing Ventus' mind sounded confusing and difficult, while finding a new Vizier would be annoying. And...sad?

Lakshmi just watched in horror, and Lifprasil in silence.

"U-Uh... A-hem!" Astarte cleared her throat loudly and closed her eyes. "Mind not doing that in the presence of lesser beings, Zephyrion?"

Fool Lifprasil seethed, following up the colloquial term with a few other similar forms of name-calling and insulting. Their blind uncaring for mortal life and will is sickening - an abhorrent waste of divine power. I expected more out of my master... the Demi-God thought to himself. No, he is not my master. He is my equalivical. I am his anti-thesis. But I shouldn't be so harsh. He has no concept of morality.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a spot of crimson red eyes planted within the shade, slanted in a way unnatural and gazing towards the demi-god in the clearing. To strike down a god in this moment of weakness would be truly glorious - the divine blood would grant the beast true satisfaction. The inscrupulous fractions of thought within his soul suggested as Lifprasil gazed down to the handle hovering just in front of his stomach.

"No." Lifprasil said to himself, "It seems you broke your servant, and Lakshmi's friend." he followed up, attempting to ignore the slivers of his being breathing into him from the shadows. "As your apprentice, I would like to fix him for both you, and my equal." Lifprasil offered, the innumerable eyes trapped within the shadow of a fern narrowing their complexion at his response. They were disappointed.

Wordlessly Zephyrion pulled away from Astarte and the others and coalesced back into a twister. Any violation of space had been unintentional, of course. As the winds rushed back, Zephyrion sensed the rabid Id of Lifprasil lurking in the dark, though oddly enough his winds felt nothing as they passed right through the beast...the young demigod could be perturbing at times. The Id fortunately distracted the god from paying closr attention to Lifprasil's true thoughts, for he was growing more accustomed to looking through the mirror of that one's blank face.

"Ventus requires no fixing," he asserted with utter confidence, "for I made him in my likeness, so he is naturally without peer or flaw. Even if his behavior sometimes lends doubt..."

"I count being a bunch of formless wind as a flaw, but what do I know?" Astarte shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes.

Astarte's statement triggered a cheerful response from Zephyrion, "Well perchance you don't know the true freedom of such a form, what with your decision to explore the universe within the confines of a body resemblant of the fleshlings. Remind me at some point to vaporize you; I daresay that you might enjoy this!"

Astarte winced and looked away upon hearing Zephyrion's offer.

After a moment's thought Zephyrion realized that perhaps it was best to take this opportunity to be rid of Lifprasil and Lakshmi after all. "But follow him if you will, to ensure that he is indeed well. And tell me what these astronomical 'cosmic powers' that he spoke of might be!"

Lifprasil just gave Zephyrion a slight nod before he grabbed Lakshmi again, and flew forward into the air, much to Lakshmi's panic, back to the speck that had become the Celestial Citadel.

"I can't say I find that half-god charming..." Astarte said and looked at the Rock, "Shall we continue?"

"Given time, the wind can break the tallest mountains. In time I think it likely that I will purge him of weakness and flaws. He will be more useful then," Zephyrion nonchalantly said of Lifprasil. Wordlessly he summoned a gust of wind to move the sleeping bodies of the other mortals closer to the rock. "This magic seems to destroy their frail bodies. I wonder what might happen to a mortal if it proved a strong enough conduit to survive."

"I wonder the same, Zephyrion. They might turn into living dirt." She chuckled, her eyes set on the mortals, who were drifting ever closer to the Rock.

Astarte raised her hand. The unconscious mortals' slow approach stopped. She'd blocked Zephyrion's influence upon them for a moment, long enough for the mortals to fall back down to the ground.

"Just a moment..." Astarte muttered as she flew close to the mortals, inspecting each of them closely. Indeed, a moment went by and she shook her head. She let Zephyrion take control of the approach again as she flew back and watched the incoming show.

"Go on, Zephy."

The wind god pondered whether or not to rouse the mortals from their slumber before putting them on the rock. In the end he felt like it would be fruitless and unlikely to matter, so one by one he gently lifted their bodies up and deposited them on Astarte's boulder. Several times they went several moments unaffected, just as Lakshmi had first done. Several times Zephyrion was disappointed to have them suddenly burn, explode, disintegrate, melt, or experience some odd combination of those gruesome fates. In the end none of them survived, much to his chagrin.

"That was disappointing." Astarte commented and flew to the boulder. With a mere thought whenever necessary, she cleaned the rock of melted mortal, blood and whatever bodily fluid had gotten on it from the tests. After a while of the meticulous cleaning, Astarte perked up and turned around, pressing her back against the rock.

She giggled and started playing with her hair.

"I know why they couldn't take the energy. We have to find bigger mortals!"

Suddenly Zephyrion thought back to that little corner of the world that he had been cultivating for some odd few hundred million years. Surely in those lands there would be some sort of creature that was big, something robust. "I know just the place to look! I had Ventus drag Slough along to make me all sorts of toys and places. You must see my jungle! I think Ventus calls it the Venomweald Writhe..."

"What is a Writhe?"

If whirling storms could shrug, this one might have. "Maybe something that tries to eat you? Something green? Something poisonous? There's lots of things like that in my jungle. It's quite fun!" After a moment's thought, he triumphantly decided to add, "Much more interesting than Vestec's Changing Plains, if I say so myself!"

"Great! Why don't we go there right now?" Astarte grinned and put her hands between her back and the Rock.

Zephyrion transformed into a great gale of wind and raced across Galbar to the Venomweald, sweeping along Astarte and a good part of the Deepwoods as well. What use was there in trying to not devastate swathes of forest when the trees would just grow back anyways?

He began to slow once the Venomweald's green loomed below, and came to a stop just before they all violently crashed into the Ironhearts beyond. The rugged, hilly jungle in these parts was home to all sorts of vicious creatures. For some time Zephyrion roamed, looking for anything that might be suitable. All he found was a strange menagerie of monsters, and as strange and diverse as the beings were, none possessed anything that might shield them from the boulder's magic. The Master of Change finally grew weary of searching.

"Maybe I should just make something new," the god finally burst out.

"And it only took you a couple hundred years of wandering to notice that! I'm impressed!" Astarte bit the tip of her tongue to suppress a childish giggle.

Bemused by her exaggeration, Zephyrion wondered to himself if he could ever go even a full year without becoming embroiled in the tomfoolery of Ventus or Lifprasil. The petulant duo made good company!

Regardless, the Embodiment of Change found himself wandering still in search of inspiration. He had made the elementals easily enough, but then again, they had been mere reflections of his own glory. Creating something new was a different proposition.

After a short while Zephyrion encountered several Urtelem nestled in some cliffs near the jungle's boundary with the Ironhearts. His curiosity piqued, he examined them more closely. "Ah yes, it was our brother Teknall who made these peculiar creatures! It has been too long since I have seen him. Regardless, I think that this thing might be the solution to my predicament!"

The Urtelem stared at the two gods rather blankly.

"This creature is little more than a moving rock. Its mind and physiology are both simple, but I think that I could...change the thing! Why make something of my own when I can just improve upon this? I'm sure that Teknall would let me take a few hundred of these creatures."

His mind already set, Zephyrion wasted no time in calling upon his powers of change to reshape the Urtelem. While the Lord of Change admittedly lacked the creativity and talent of many of his peers when it came to creating a work of his own, he excelled at expanding, refining, simply changing what already existed be it for the better or worse. In this case, it would be for the better: while the Urtelem had many desirable traits and were a good framework, they also had their shortcomings.

First the Storm's King carved their shapes into something more imposing: where the Urtelem had been perhaps two yards high, they now stood that tall and then half again. Their girth had not increased proportionally to that, so they now bore an even more humanoid shape although they were still robust with brawny limbs and relatively stocky bodies.

With this greater size would come the need for a greater metabolism. The First Gale breathed, and where before his mighty breath had carved their stony bodies into something new, now the winds of change simply seeped into the twisted Urtelem like water into parched soil. He manipulated their innards and their very composition to be more like those of the hain and humans, and what had once been earthen was now flesh, albeit a tough and almost stone-like sort. These new beings had muscles and skin and could bleed, although to some extent they retained the Urtelem's resilience by having an incredibly tough hide of sorts.

With these more natural qualities came additional needs; the rocks and minerals that had been the Urtelem's soul source of nourishment would remain digestable, and indeed these creatures would take a liking to consuming bones and the occasional rock. Yet like all natural lifeforms, they would also require more mundane forms of food as sustenance. The Urtelem's incredible lifepsan was also lost, though given perfect conditions these beings could still enjoy a century or so of life.

Lastly, Zephyrion looked to the creatures' minds. Besides the obvious work necessary to allow his creations to function and not act as if they were Urtelem, he had seen the potential for true sapience, civilization, and intelligence that Teknall had left vacant, and it was too tempting for him to not build upon that-the grandest of all the foundations that Teknall had left upon his Urtelem. He meticulously exerted his utmost effort into instilling intelligence into these beings, a sort of independent thought and independence that was of its own nature rather than the reflection of himself that he had bestowed unto the elementals. Zephyrion accounted for everything that he could think of: he imprinted upon them the ability to quickly and easily develop and learn language, to form complex societies, to build and innovate, to fight and know victory, and perhaps the potential for the wisest among them to one day understand the mysteries of the various sorts of magic left in the world.

With triumph, he beheld his finished product. There were many of these beings, enough to be the progenitors of what might one day become a species so widespread as even those hain. One of a particularly large and brutish temperament grunted and marched closer to Astarte, the other ones docile enough to pay the two gods little heed as they explored their surroundings. This large and aggressive one had once been that very first Urtelem that Zephyrion had chanced across when he had decided to create these grand creatures, and so this one was both the eldest of his race and the one that had been exposed longest to the presence of the two gods.

It didn't show. With what was a less than majestic performance, he trotted up to Astarte and looked down upon her, sniffing the air, staring intently, and looking as if he was contemplating whether she might be edible. For whatever reason he decided not and trotted away, but not before belching loudly.

Astarte tilted her head curiously as the being trotted away. Having it attempt to eat her could've been really interesting. A futile endeavor for the mortal, surely, but interesting nonetheless.

"Are you going to try to eat me or what?" Astarte called out after the being, waving her hand at it.

It ignored her.

"Your new creations are rather crude, Zephyrion-" Astarte turned toward her fellow God and shrugged after raising an eyebrow at him, "They're like big Deepwoods animals."

"Crude?" he gushed back with an odd combination of joking indifference and contempt seeping into his tone. "They are sublime! Masterpieces! Look at me, Astarte: I am no creator god. And yet I have still made these beings that are mighty and stout. In defiance of the wretched Vulamera, I also designed for them a grand intelligence using only my own wit and powers. What better way to ridicule the Foolish One and denounce her uselessness to nature itself than to take it upon myself to fulfill the void in responsibility that she leaves in her absence, and fulfill this role even better than she might?"

Zephyrion's tirade was interrupted by that first being stooping down to find a rock and chew on it. Beneath the thing was a snake that lashed out in fear and bit the giant in the toe. The thing only stared stupidly down at it for several seconds, seemingly not even in pain, before stooping down to snatch up the snake and devour it as well.

Astarte frowned, the thing didn't even feel pain, could it be any more boring? "Yes, uh... Great creations, Zephy. I see now that they are absolutely awesome. I wonder how the God of all Breezes made living beings this complex!" The sarcasm in her voice was accompanied by a giggle as she finished talking. She put her arms behind her back and grinned.

"Why must they be complex? They only have to be stronger than the others. Yes, I think that these will turn out to be much than the mob that Vestec has been assembling!" he declared without so much as a dent in his pride. Astarte obviously didn't understand such lofty notions of superiority; maybe one day he would find the time to show her.

"But now we must put them through the first trial: let us see if they can endure the power of the rock!"

Without another word Zephyrion grew until he was a twister so strong that not even the sheer size of his newest creations could keep them rooted to the ground. With them and Astarte in tow, he returned to the Deepwoods.

The moment Astarte saw Zephyrion was getting close to the Deepwoods, she forced him to stop his approach. It would not do any good to have such a huge twister near the woods--It might even fling the Rock somewhere far away. So instead of destroying a large part of the wood, Astarte let herself and the rest of Zephyrion's new creations shoot into the woods.

They crashed through the treetops, through branches, through animals. Some of the new beings had their bones broken, others splattered against the huge tree trunks.

When they reached the bottom, Astarte made sure to slow their fall. Screams turned into nervous grunting as the beings found themselves landing softly on the cold, dark ground.

Astarte got up silently, patted herself free of any leaf and branch stuck in her hair and motioned in the direction of the Rock. It'd only be a hundred meters or so from their location, "Go to the Rock, where I'm pointing!"

They ignored her.

"Come on, go!" She shouted.

They ignored her again, only now standing up and looking around them. Some started to bite the trees and others the grass.

"Stupid animals..." Astarte muttered and bit her lip. She looked down at her feet and felt her heart pump faster and her cheeks heat up. The creations were supposed to be sentient yet they couldn't even understand her speech.

Zephyrion's defensive attitude towards his newest creations demanded that he respond to Astarte. "Why would you expect them to talk already? They will create their own language, but it will take time! It will not do for me to give them language of another species created by another god; my grand creations shall stand on their own legs! They will surpass the others and thrive, and in doing so prove not only their superiority but mine as well!"

The god pushed outwards, his probing winds findig all the various creatures where they had fallen from the sky. The air charged with electricity, and with a little bit of lightning Zephyrion persuaded a few predators to leave his creations alone. It would not do for the creatures to be eaten already...

After gathering them all together once again and quickly healing the injured, he was ready to prove Astarte's skepticism wrong. He projected his will upon the biggest and eldest of the brutes, willing it to touch the rock. The thing understood Zephyrion, and it knew that Zephyrion sensed as much. Yet it still refused to move from the tree that it was biting. For whatever reason, it simply didn't care what Zephyrion wanted it to do; the concepts of a god or creator were still alien to it.

Astarte stifled a giggle.

Infuriated, Zephyrion managed to persuade that one forward after several prods of that same energy he had used to drive off the predators. Where the snake's bite form before had done nothing, now the brute howled with pain and skipped forward to escape Zephyrion, bellowing the whole time until it found itself in front of the rock.

The thing examined the massive boulder closely, with all its strange patterns and magical glow. The thing might have been tasty, but it also looked funny. Besides, he wasn't hungry any longer. So he sat down and looked back to Zephyrion, trying to understand the nature of the writhing mass of wind that had followed and tormented him the whole time. An overwhelming desire to smash that twister came into the juggernaut's primitive mind, and so suddenly it charged forward.

Without much effort, Zephyrion's tempestuous form simply blew the creature onto the ground. Perhaps he had made these things too stubborn and resilient, but nonetheless, that would make them only stronger. This time Zephyrion outright forced the ogre into the rock, pushing him with a blast of wind.

The ogre felt nothing for several seconds, just as Ventus and Lakshmi had. Then it began writhing, its limbs thrashing with so much force that they slammed into the boulder. With strength augmented by a rush of adrenaline and the wild magic that surged through him, the brutish beast slammed his fists into the boulder, over and over. Like glass the massive stone cracked and was shattered, and from the faults in its surface leaked out raw magic.

Dangerous amounts found their way into the one that had broken the stone, but already the rock's power had seeped into him. It was as if he was innoculated to a disease; his body was now capable of handling the excess of magic, and so he simply absorbed the power like a shade of the darkest shade of black absorbed the sun.

The others were not shielded so--the only thing between them and oblivion was their distance to the rock and their sheer resilience. Dozens of the creatures were torn asunder by the resulting blast, while most were simply tossed about in the exposion. Being thrown around was nothing that their bodies couldn't handle, and a select few of them were like the first to touch the rock in that they simply absorbed the power that touched them.

The result of this would one day be that all such beings descended from these progenitors would have a touch of magic and the capacity to wield it, yet there would be a very rare few that carried the blood of those that had stood closest to the rock and yet survived. These ones would be blessed with an incredible, almost unbelievable resistance to magic. Spells and hexes would be deflected from their stony hides just as easily as stones or arrows, and while this might ironically make it harder for them to learn to wield the powers of magic it would also make them the perfect soldiers. With both a massive body that could endure more physical brutality than the fragile frames of any lesser species and a near immunity to magic, what would stop those few from trampling the world?

Astarte flew around the area, poking at the odd piece of flesh and doing her best to clean the trees and grass of blood and dirt.

"I suppose that's it for the Rock," She said as she picked up an oversized liver off a small pile of organs and turned it into ash after injecting it with too much essence, "Making it was very tiring, so I suppose I should avoid creating more."

Zephyrion had mixed feelings concerning the ordeal. On the one hand, the eldest of his creatures had been frightening capable of absorbing power, even though he now lay unconscious amidst a pile of the boulder's rubble. The blood and gore once again strewn throughout the grove was disappointing, though many of his prized creations had survived.

In the end, he determined that he had moe or less succeeded. His creatures were far superior to anything that his kindred had made thus far, and they would be a more than worthy competition for Vestec's ragtag horde. So naturally, he gloated to Astarte, "Ah yes, do you see it now? Where near all other mere mortals were tried by your rock and found wanting, the creatures of my making conquered the thing. They were forged of fine craftsmanship indeed!"

"They are pretty strong..." Astarte sighed, "They also destroyed my rock, in case you didn't realize."

Had she not been listening? "They conquered your rock. Aren't you proud of them?"

Astarte flew over to the pile of rubble in the clearing and pointed at the biggest piece left. Barely a tenth of the original size of the Rock, "I don't know what your definition of conquering is, but this looks more destroyed than anything! I want one of your creatures as an apology!" She crossed her arms and huffed.

Zephyrion was anything but apolegetic. He hovered closer to been in hysterics. "Have one then! Have ten then!" A rhythmic clap of thunder roared out from the Storm King's volatile form--laughter. True to his word, a gale of wind suddenly swept up a random ten of the creatures and deposited them at the goddess' feet.

Astarte frowned and turned away from the ten ogres. How dare he treat her like a child, giving her more than she asked for? She huffed once more and raised her chin, closing her eyes in indignation. "I only asked for one."

"Then choose one!" he answered back. For ill or good, a particularly hungry one of those ten staggered back to his feet and advanced towards Astarte with the intention of devouring her. "See now? You were so indecisive that this one chose for you!"

A rush of wind began to sweep away the other nine that had been offered, the lot of them bellowing in protest at having been shoved about so much in these past few moments.

Astarte cracked an eye open and tilted her head to see the one that had chosen to approach her. Tall, strong, funny-looking face with crooked teeth. She let her arms relax slightly and her eyebrows raise once the ogre stopped a few feet short of Astarte.

"Your name will now b- Eep!" She squealed in surprise as the ogre lifted her up by her hair and began inspecting her.

For a split moment, Astarte held a wince on her face and kicked her legs. She stopped and relaxed once she remembered she could fly. "O-Okay, let go of my hair!"

Zephyrion observed the droll scene, wondering whether to intervene. He couldn't bring himself to spoil the fun, hurt his own creation, or send Astarte into another fit. So he simply watched and laughed.

The ogre looked at her with its beady, curious eyes. With its free hand, it poked Astarte in the belly.

'Oof'

Then, before Astarte regained her composure, it shifted its grasp on her and now held her upside down with a goofy grin on its face. Astarte didn't need to worry about her dress sliding, given that she could manipulate its movements with a mere thought. She did, however, start getting a headache.

The ogre shook her a bit. She grunted. "A-Agh, stop!" She yelled. The ogre laughed, its deep, powerful voice sending tremors into the gigantic trees, the ground and even Astarte.

That had been enough.

Astarte glared at the ogre and pointed her palm at its right ear.

A flash of light and a magic beam later, the ogre had dropped Astarte and was squatting, covering the side of his head with both hands while it whimpered. Smoke came from where his ear used to be, and his veins started pulsing with a faint lavender color.

As Astarte stood up and fixed herself up, she stared at the ogre. She realized she had tensed her jaw, so she relaxed it. She realized she was scowling, so she pursed her lips. Finally, upon hearing the whimpers of the ogre, she looked away and crossed her arms.

"I told you to stop and you didn't, that's what you deserve!"

The ogre looked at her with big, watery eyes, pouting.

Astarte couldn't help looking at them. Her anger faded and she looked towards Zephyrion, "C-Come on, tell him it was his fault, Zephyrion!"

"It was your fault!" he obligingly told the whimpering creature while hurling a few sparks at it. Suddenly a tinge of anger crept into him upon seeing the creature weep? What was this weakness? Had he imbued a flaw into their design?

Its lip quivered and it teared up. Seeing this, Astarte groaned and flew over to it, palcing her hand on its shoulder. "Okay, okay, maybe it wasn't fully your fault, but.... Ugh! I'm just going to take you somewhere with more light to fix you up." She said with a sigh. With that said, Astarte waved at Zephyrion and warped her and the ogre somewhere else.

Zephyrion projected some happiness and offered a goodbye before she left. Then he turned back to the primitive brutes that would one day build an empire and become the proud ogres. Right now all he saw was some mediocre brutes, the tears of Astarte's gift souring the triumph that Zephyrion had felt when they had survived the rock's explosive magic.

Were these creatures of his strong enough? Would they be good enough to surpass Vestec's Horde of Chaos, or should he change them into something better? With a final sigh Zephyrion swept them all up into yet another monstrous storm before carrying them across Galbar and depositing them in the wild lands near the Venomweald's border. He would leave them there until he decided what was to be done...

* * * * *

With a cautious frown, Lifprasil landed on a balcony upon the middle-most level of Zephyrion's abode. Lakshmi, however, felt differently. "Uh... I... Ventus, you okay buddy?" she asks, rubbing her transformed forearm as she wiggles out of Lifprasil's grasp.

"Okay?" he echoed back to her with a puzzled look. A moment later, he suddenly erupted into a violent fit of laughter. "She asks if I am okay?! Never! I feel exuberance! Does the rock's fantastic magic not course through you too, shockingly, rhythmically, gleefully? It's intoxicating!"

Lakshmi cringed slightly - this was both terrifying and embarassing.

The djinni conjured a potent, brilliant orb of light in his palm, condensing the pure Astartian magic of his soul into a tiny pinpoint of pristine energy. Then he hurled it into the sky and cackled as it exploded.

"You sound kind of crazy." Lakshmi replied, blinking at the blinding flash from the djinni's tremendous expression of power. Lifprasil, however, found himself becoming worried, drawing similarities between Zephyrion and Ventus' new mentality. "You may want to exert some control." Lifprasil said to Ventus - prepared to exert his own mental control upon the unstable wind godling. "You may hurt somebody less resilient than yourself."

'What a bother,' She thought as she carelessly flipped her lavender hair onto her back, 'I'd cut it if I didn't love playing with it so much.'

Astarte squinted her eyes at the sight a mere couple inches away from her face. White petals, no spots of different color. Only white. The flower's center was brown and its stem a pale green.

She sniffed it and found her nose scrunching up. A familiar pressure began in the depths of her nostrils, followed by a pressure in her throat. Then a tickle.

She sneezed.

"Ugh." She muttered and sniffled, wiping her nose. Her eyes had watered, but when they cleared enough to see the flower again, she saw that it was covered in her spit.

"... Ew."

The crunching of leaves behind a nearby bush had Astarte perking up immediately, keeping an ear out as a smirk slowly crawled onto her face.

It turned out that Lakshmi had found her way into the clearing, letting out a light sigh upon realizing she had been caught by Astarte. "Aw shoot..." she grumbled, before Lifprasil descended from the sky, floating just above Astarte. "You'll never be able to kill anything more powerful than you if you cannot sneak up on it." he said to Lakshmi, and under the shade of trees, he was able to comfortably wear his helmet.

Astarte shut her jaw tightly and raised an eyebrow at Lifprasil.

Lifprasil looked down to Astarte, the pair of bulbous, yet impenetrable eyeholes glowing a slight shade of yellow. "Of course, I wouldn't kill you." he reassured Astarte without a hint of any real feeling woven behind his statement.

"Uh... Yeah!" Lakshmi fumbled, hiding something in between her polarizing cupped palms. "As weird as it sounds, Lifprasil and I have been watching you... Eat... Flowers..."

"T-That..." Astarte bit the tip of her tongue after visibly wincing, "I had to know what they tasted like!"

"Turns out they're not as tasty as herbivores make them out to be..."

Lakshmi blinked, and went to walk over to a flower, she decided to squat a safe distance away from Astarte. She then decided to join in on eating flowers.

She bended over awkwardly, trying to keep her hands cupped as she plucked a flower from the ground with her mouth.

Astarte barely stiffled a giggle.

"It's not that bad. M'Lord! You should try some." Lakshmi exclaimed, which was returned with a simple head shake.

"Apparently Lakshmi is a herbivore. What's next? Will her other arm become a huge flower?" Astarte chuckled and grinned, letting herself relax and stand straight.

Lakshmi huffed "N-n-no! I don't want a flower hand..." she wept, before Lifprasil stopped her. "Your hand won't turn into a flower. But you do have something to show her." Lifprasil said, crossing his arms.

"O-oh yeah... Uh... Anyway, we thought you were lonely, so we made you a little memento so you can remember to visit us sometime." Lakshmi mumbled, extending her now open palms to reveal an intricate necklace of root, an array of colorful flowers woven in between the taut grass holding the necklace's structure as a whole.

"And by we; I mean Lifprasil sat around and stared off into space..."

This warranted a chuckle from Lifprasil. [/color=orange]"I was just thinking of something... Important..."[/color]

Astarte narrowed her eyes at Lifprasil for a moment before looking at Lakshmi and her open palms. She'd never seen anything like what Lakshmi was holding, so she walked close to her and picked up the necklace. She ran her fingers along the roots, taking care not to damage the flowers.

After a few moments of inspecting the necklace, Astarte lifted her gaze to meet Lakshmi's. For the first time since they knew each other, Astarte showed herself to be more subdued than anything. She was serious, hinting at curiosity with her wide open eyes.

"What is this? Is it a crown?" She asked in a plain tone.

"It's a necklace, ma'am, you wear it around your neck. Lakshmi returned. "U-uh... Watch!" she said, before taking the necklace, and fitting it onto the goddess' neck.

Astarte placed one of her hands on the necklace as Lakshmi finished fitting it. Still looking at Lakshmi, she spoke.

"Thank you."

"Y-yeah!" Lakshmi said, both stammering, and smiling with a nervous huff. "...Are you okay? she questioned.

Silence was Astarte's answer, at least for a few long moments until she smiled and turned around, closing her eyes in the process. "Yep! I think I like flowers now. Not for eating, though. I like looking at them. They also smell nice, though they make you sneeze all the time."

Lakshmi shook her head "They don't do that for me, as funny as that may sound." she responded, while Lifprasil simply plucked a flower from its place in the greenery, giving it a lithe sniff.

"Oh?" Astarte turned to look at her with a wide grin. She walked to her and pressed her side against Lakshmi's. The size difference was funny. The mortal was at least a head taller than the Goddess and looked far stronger than her, "I can fix that for you, if you want!"

"Whatever do you mean?" Lakshmi questioned.

"The sneezing! I can make you sneeze when you smell flowers. It must have something to do with your nose!"

Lakshmi looked down at her feet, reflecting over what Astarte just said. "How do you think my nose is affected, then?" she asked, rubbing the bridge of such bodily extremities.

Astarte tilted her head and stared at Lakshmi's lips, as if trying to decipher what she just said. "Uh, I suppose you don't need me to fix your nose, then? Okay!" She chuckled, lest they realized she didn't understand the question, and began curiously poking and touching Lakshmi's clothing.

The now bemused hero chortled, entertained by Astarte. Y-y-ou don't know w-what I'm talking about - do you?" she asked, matting down her tunic.

Eventually, Nimueh too passed on. Reathos released her body, and her soul could barely hold on to it. With a final, exhausted sigh did Nimueh enter her eternal sleep. In tradition of the Pronobii her body reduced itself to shards of ice and snow. To be carried by wind and scattered over the poles. Reathos himself had other matters now. The Pronobii had taken great strides compared to the other sentient beings. When the time for the Great Purge was there, he would grant them a few final gifts and teachings and send them off for war. But such time would not come in a long time. Thus the Pronobii would continue to gradually grow and train. Reathos could teach them many things, but to develop on the teachings, which required time. Which they now had.

From a glacier he had looked down on the village for a few more years. Which felt like nothing to him. For a moment they were leaderless. But their society soon chose new leaders. Others left the small settlement, casting out to build their own places. But to mark the one place where their Creator had guided them, they named the first settlement: Reas’Thul. Then the first few tribes spread out and built their own homes. But Reas’Thul remained the biggest. With the Arena-Temple of Nimueh just outside of it, it produced fine warriors. His cold, unmoving, half-hidden face cast a final smile at his children. It was not a happy one. He knew that, when the time came, they had to fulfil a singular purpose. To kill all life on Galbar so it could start anew. The ordeal would cost many lives. And when they fulfil their purpose, they themselves may have to vanish from existence. And that would have to happen by their Father’s hand.

But it was not yet time. Not yet. He turned into his crow-form and went on his way once more. Flying across Galbar. High in the sky. For a moment separated from the world by the great blue sky above, the lower blanket of clouds and the endless horizon cutting his vision in two. Eventually he dived down, piercing the clouds with near unnatural speed. He dove straight into a cave opening in the northern half of the Ironheart Mountains. Traveling once more through the subterranean labyrinth to eventually reach the Wraith Stone, guarded by the Chainbearer. With a single motion, a throne in equal color but even greater than the Chainbearer’s rose from the ground. The cave itself was filling nicely with souls. “Let us see what my brother is planning.” Said Reathos, as he began to call before him the souls of all humans. Both form Arcon and Galbar. To find traces of why they were, what they were doing and how they got on Galbar.

---

Nimueh, the Great Prophet had passed on. But her soul, having felt the pure essence of Reathos, was not pulled down to the Wraith Stone. No the very essence of her being sought out a new host. With particular violence it exorcises the newborn’s soul from the body and taking it for herself. The True Name of the little girl changed to Nimueh, and the banished soul’s vital spark was taken from it. It had no choice but to descend down to its maker. Never having lived. In the meantime, the girl Nimueh started her life once more. Like many Pronobii she was taught the basics of fighting.

Pronobii swords were more like ice-pikes. Meant to either stab or deliver a blunt-force slash. Those were the very first weapons she was taught to use. The Shadow had receded in her Soul. The memories of her previous life still lingered, all of them. But deep, deep inside of her. Despite this, she mastered the ice-sword faster than any of her age group. The shield, or more like a crude chunk of ice kept on the arm to take the blows, was an easy given to most. Until the advanced techniques. Nimueh grew arrogant her. Her subconscious experience with the sword, back in the day, had given her an advantage. But The Great Prophet never carried a shield.

“Keep your shield strong! You are the ice! You are its strength. If you cannot enforce it, then it will crumble on your arm!” yelled her instructor. An elder Pronobis. Their society had no value for counting time. Only life, death and fighting that occurred between it mattered. The elder was not that old. But a very accomplished fighter still. Nimueh, in response, trusted her arm into the snow and used her cryomancy to form a new shield. With pure anger she lunged at her teacher, shield before and blade ready. But she made a mistake. The shield before her blocked her vision. She never saw him lifting his foot. With a savage kick he destroyed her shield and send her flying through the air. “Again!”

Once more she came running with a crude chunk of ice on her arm. But in her anger, she did not actively enforce the ice. The elder saw this. Putting up a cocky smile he simply reduced his own shield to a ball of pure ice and lunged it at her shield. Which immediately shattered it, knocking Nimueh down. “You have much to learn, young one. So much.”

Learn she did. But never did she fail in her arrogance. As she grew better, she also started feeling more superior. For years she became the champion of the Temple-Arena. It became such a foreseeable even, that no Pronobii looked surprised. In fact, they started to see who would become second and third. Such things were not so easily guessed. Never the less she got the respect that she, as champion, deserved. In the simple ‘halls’ of the temple she started experimenting. She greatly favored the blade, but wielding it dual was clunky and unnecessary to her. Instead she increased the size of the blade. Making it heavier, bigger, and far more vicious.

“They are coming! They are coming! They are coming!” the Pronobis that came into Reas’Thul looked cracked, broken, in pain. He stopped, and fell to his knees in the middle of the settlement, in silence. Only when Nimueh appeared from her dwelling did he yell once more time: “They are coming.” Before he broke apart in ice and snow. One of the duty of champion was to organize the people whenever it was required. This seemed exactly like such moment. “Gather the weapons! Gather the armor!” she did not know what was coming. She did not know who was coming. But the fact that some creatures could weather the cold environment did not bide well.

They in the middle of a pass. Flanked by two steep mountains of snow. What stood before her, amazed Nimueh greatly. An army, filled with Pronobii. Among them stood strange, ash-like creatures. Several kinds of them. “From what settlement do you come?” she yelled across the soon-to-be-battlefield. She was greeted with mere snickers from the other side. Until one stepped forward. A male Pronobis.

“Surrender, sister. Give in. You stand no chance.”

Nimueh was surprised. Giving in was not part of the Pronobii. They always stood a chance. As long as one of them kept breathing, they would keep on fighting. That was their law, their essence, their reason of existence. “Who are you? Do you desire your own death, brother? We are Pronobii. Sons and Daughters of Reathos. We do not surrender, nor give in. Now tell me why you are here. So I know at least your purpose before I shatter that ugly head of yours.”

The other side filled itself with laughter. Even the leader of the band could not contain himself. He did, eventually, gather himself to say: “Reathos? Sons and daughters? What father locks his children in a barren wasteland!? Preparing for something that may never happen. You already surrendered! To him! I have seen the world. I have seen what other life we are supposed to in the future! I have seen more in my lifetime than most Pronobii will ever see. Who am I? I used to be called Rasul. Though where I come from, they do not value the ‘True Name’ as much as you do. And what is it that I desire? Why your very existence…Crushed!” With that, both sides broke into a charge. Rasul leading his with a sword and shield, and Nimueh leading with her great blade of ice.

If she decided to stay forever idle the universe would still exist and its dance would continue. Hain would struggle, humans would scheme, angels sleep under the comforting fog of ignorance, pronobii would still wait, urtelem would still look from their mountains with curious eyes, rovaick would continue to look from their mountains with hungry eyes, Vestec would still giggle, Logos would still frown, Toun would still rage, Vowzra would still obey...

"But any being that refuses to act becomes ephemeral" therefore the Lord of Time's humbleness was not what was fated, at least in Ilunabar's philosophy, how could one ignore their own potential? If she was a being, it meant that Fate was meant to be dammed and altered, otherwise, what would be her purpose?

"It is typical of guardians to not understand what they defend" how else could his words be explained? But Vowzra was merely an afterthought, Ilunabar's true issue was with The Bard, he was like an incessant buzz in her mind, he was uncanny in his existence yet inspired safeness in her heart, she felt nostalgic when remembering his face, yet she also felt repulsed, the same repulse a growing child has for the things that once marked their childhood.

"Ah! So many mysteries fog my mind." yet she stood up, quickly summoning the Dreamweaver in her hands "But one cannot stop at the middle of a road, or else they will be run over by those who continued" She knew not what was fated, but she assured herself Vowzra's words were wrong, ambition, aspiration, they were the path, yes they would bring conflict. "But conflict is life, the gravity of celestial bodies clash and tear each other apart, animals consume one another in a desperate attempt to live a little longer, civilisations rise and slowly change until they are nothing like those who once stood for their name, and gods..."

She observed her room in the Celestial Citadel, the amounted plans, the floating schemes and maps, the possibilities. "They dam. The flow of time could go anywhere, and it would continue to move onward without gods, we merely set it to the direction we like the most" she concluded, therefore there was no shame in envisioning different futures, calling it selfish was like calling a shark out for eating fish. Upon steeling her will Ilunabar snapped her finger and the mountains of books, encyclopaedias, sheets and even the doodles on canvas and paper, started to float in the middle of the studio...

---

(After Teknall's collab)

"This place quickly became quite untidy, you'd expect that Zephyrion would not let such dishevelled critters move freely," Meimu commented as she arrived on the terrace.

"A tempo my sister, I find it impossible for this to last for long." Answered Notte.

"I realise that, even so, things have been messy all over the place, I wonder how our lady master will deal with all this" she sighed and continued walking through the corridors until they reached Ilunabar's quarters. The muse was standing on the balcony from which one could see most of this side of Galbar, on the current location of the Celestial Citadel the view of Toun's ocean was quite prominent.

She turned her face to the Divas and smiled. "Ah, you two are finally here, now my latest project can commence." and that was all that she said, Meimu and Notte kept waiting for some scroll or paper to be delivered to then but Ilunabar just went back to sipping some tea.

"Uhm, there is a little lacuna my lady" Notte informed, "We have no orders, in fact, the typical pile of schemes and notes in your studio is even gone..." Her voice was silenced by the echoing sound of a footstep behind her.

"Oh right, I forgot to present you to your new colleague. Notte, Meimu, meet Piena, Diva of Aesthetic"



"I look forward to leading our work from here onward, sisters," said Piena while slightly bowing. The word lead struck the other two like a lead bullet burning arrow.

"Lead?" Meimu asked in a loud voice. "Lead?" She repeated, now looking back at the muse.

"After talking with Teknall I realised that while you two are lovely, I still needed help with more practical issues..." The Muse kept the soft smile on her face despite the annoyed looks around her.

"And you did that by creating some sort of Logos - Allure creature?" Notte talked, it was what Meimu was thinking too, but she would never be enough of a fool to voice that. Where the other two looked soft and lively Piena was cold and sharp, almost steel-like, and considering what her proposed role was the comparisons with authoritarian beings felt natural.

"That is slightly offensive sister, you completely misjudge my modus operandi. Critics who do not create are worthless, there is no value in destruction and the only cultures that need to make a Degenerate Art Exhibition are the doomed ones. I'm not a custodian of the arts, I'm a curator" despite the combative words the diva's eyes remained calm

Both Notte and Meimu started to move their mouths, yet before they could form words Piena continued "What a sad existence it would be, to chase after petals and reflections. However that is not my purpose, do you truly believe our benevolent lady master would ever create someone meant to limit your creative freedom? Oh no, no, no! I'm merely meant to guide when necessary, and all I expect from my dear siblings is cooperation."

And with that Ilunabar stood up and clapped her hands "Well, now that you three got to know each other and are getting along, we can continue with the project. Piena, explain to them what we will be doing"

"As you wish my master" she bowed again and turned back "Oh worry not sisters, it's simply a fifty-two steps operation that needs to be executed meticulously, such task is well within your expected abilities" the empress-like diva smiled.

---

With the Dreamweaver in her hand, Ilunabar stood at one of the many boulders of the stratospheric mountain of Bormahven. Originally she planned to play her song in the Celestial Citadel but that could make the local mortal population "a bit insane".

"You all saw the marching happening down there right? Could that be a problem for our plans?" Notte asked.

"Well, it can be a nuisance, just like my song will be a nuisance to Vestec, but as a whole, I think nothing will change." Ilunabar smirked, "Though I have to say, I do wish the best of luck to both sides on their efforts of killing each other."

Meimu was impressed that Ilunabar voiced her distaste for certain gods, and she felt confused, not knowing if it was a good or bad thing. "Perhaps it's just the White Ocean" of the things that bothered The Muse that was the only one she knew.

"Meimu, attention." Piena pulled her out of the brooding, as Ilunabar was ready to start playing the song and they had no time to lose. All the Divas looked forward, to the horizons they would shape, one held her hands tightly together against her chest, as if she was trying to channel willpower for the quest that was about to start, one had a hand on her hip and an unconcerned look that did not reflect the mess that Jvan and Allure had caused in her mind, finally, one had her hands on the back and looked forward with piercing eyes, she knew this was merely the beginning.

Then Ilunabar played the first note of her song, and darkness took over the skies of Galbar, in immediate reaction, the Auroras on South and North snaked upwards until they found each other around the Bormahven. Soon a swirl of colours was formed, not unlike the one in Raka, and it started to slowly spread across the previously black skies of Galbar. Odd celestial views were formed by the colours, the seas sparkled like a starry sky and phantasm like illusions appeared and disappeared in the kaleidoscopic maelstrom that took over what was once familiar and colourless.

This would be known as the night of phantoms, Phantasmagoria.

---

The Pass and Shalanoir Forest.

The region of The Pass was created thanks to the exaggerated showcase of might by the god Toun and its crash against half of the world. While most of the plateaus and valleys were simply wiped out or submerged in water, the Ironheart Ranges proved to be harder to subdue, and the power merely caused a small bit of it to crack and collapse.

This created The Pass, the link between the white sea and the sparkling sea. At first, the place was a mess of collapsed rock and troubled waters, later, as the sea currents of Toun's sea started to bring a lot of the biomass destroyed in his tantrum, the decomposed remains of half a world started to get stuck in the many rocks between the two seas and right before even the mortal eye a fertile land was born.

The tectonic failures under the bits of what was once a bit of Teknall's range created a myriad of geysers and hot springs that when in contact with the cold sea on both sides gave birth to large clouds of fog. This, along with the fertility created the best scenario for large plant life to be born, and it did so magnificently with vivid forests, swamps and mangroves.

Ilunabar's push was merely a refinement that brought more flowers and sculpted remarkable landscapes across this gorgeous land: Shalanoir Forest, thanks to her latest invention The Muse felt like these names will be only used by a few, but even so, she looked forward to seeing how mortals will interact with this living jewel.

Three distinct regions were formed, and as the region stabilised their features became clear.

The shores to the East are rocky and still reek of Toun's misdoing, large vein-like caves were born further inland, and the forest life managed to grow far higher in the maimed mountain side than on the west. It's a rigid land full of outcropsand odd formations as well as many hills and mangrove forests.

In the middle is The Pass, this is where the jungle is at its thickest with the sky being fully hidden by the treetops. While there is an abundance of rivers, the many rocks and trees as well as the chaotic nature of water in the region makes the crossing from one side to another hard, the exception being a river that only forms at summer nights with its path lit by a luminescent plant similar to reed. This river probably will end up getting called Starcross or other variants with the same idea, the nightly nature and the star-like reed are very memorable even for a god.

The west is where the land finally settles down, which brings gentler shores but sharper peaks. While the East has clear entrances for the ocean water, the passage to the Sparkling Sea is erratic at best, creating floodplains, especially in the south, this is a prime place for civilisation, as not only the lands are fertile, but the access to the sea will create many trading opportunities.

---

Julia Island

In the dark luminescence of the odd evening that bathed the world, a certain bit of the Fractal Coast started to shake and shine on a noticeably odd way. The garden that was gifted to Ilunabar by her sister Jvan started to slowly move deeper into the ocean, and when it reached a middle point, the land rose from the bottom of the sea and the garden expanded, all that in a perfectly gentle movement that gave the creatures living in the gifted land the time to avoid any harm.

An odd Island formed in the Fractal Sea, a mix of Jvan and Ilunabar's design. The patterns of the mountains formed spirals and ultimately surrounded the whole place with sharp rocks. This was a land of odd mushrooms and fibers but at times gentle (or apparently gentle) forests too, where the vertebrate life that ruled most of Galbar was shy if compared to the many outlandish species that lived here, in fact, even for Jvan's creatures this was an odd land, even a continental Fiberling would have an uncanny feeling when seeing the Fiberlings from here, whose hairs were dyed in the odd Beyond Colors.

However, the Island was merely a stepping stone of a much larger project that Ilunabar and her divas had.

---

Marionettes

The sands of time were a treacherous thing, what didn't adapt to its shifting sands ended up buried and forgotten. For a goddess like Ilunabar it felt just like yesterday that Ashlings and White Giants were the majority of the planet, yet their time, at least in her view, was coming to an end. The giants were a less common sight now, and Ashlings were slowly replaced by the corrupted beings of Vestec's army, though still on less danger than their porcelain ancestors their availability was thinning out. This caused Ilunabar's plan that started with Notte to slowly die out, at least for a while.

Luckily, a new design for servants was crafted right as the old idea was buried under the sands, a bit inspired by the Urtelen but taken to a much more natural end... well, as natural as using the forces of the Gap can go. Fiberlings always fascinated Ilunabar, the problem is that they were a bit problematic to weave into textiles, always complaining and shrieking, which could be sometimes fun and inspired some silly ideas in her mind, but all the time was just annoying. It was just when observing how her sister used the little things that Ilunabar realised the potential of creation they had.

The Phantasmagoria was not meant to last forever, only a little more than a day at most, so the divas were in a rush. Piena and Notte found some logs, carved some of the wood and made a little makeshift area for work. Meimu captured a few Fiberlings and started to weave some bits of it, then slowly those bits started to be bound to the wooden forms, bit by bit a wooden humanoid form was created, then Meimu and Piena finished the knots and the Fiberling was released, just to quickly find itself bound to the wooden doll.

It barely moved, at first, simply shaking around uncontrollably on the ground, it would take centuries for the thing to learn for itself how to use its body, and that is one of the reasons why the Phantasmagoria was a thing. In minutes it learned how to stand up and how to move somewhat decently, the design would never be the same as a being of muscles and bone, but that is not why they were born.

"With the first one made you should be able to handle the next ones by yourself" said Piena, quickly checking a small book to see their schedule "I left the design sheets on the work zone, we are going to need a few miners, gardeners and some servants and maids for the Celestial Citadel, if you finish those earlier you are free to make whatever ones you wish."

Meimu simply sighed, why was it always she the one who had to stay in the outlandish forest to do her work? Furthermore, Piena, even if not as bad as she thought, still made the Diva of Petals nervous. On one side her steel-like behaviour, both strong and flexible, was a nice break from Notte's deviousness, yet her ever present satisfied smile always made she worried of what ideas could be brewing behind her cold stare.

The dolls born from Ilunabar's design and Jvan's fiberlings were quite a handy help, the problem being that they needed to be produced with utmost care and a clear objective in mind, as unlike organic beings, their wooden shell would always stay the same and would never adapt to new tasks. There was a short discussion between her and the other divas over whether or not they should give faces to the things, on one side a humanoid without face was always uncanny, one with a face sculpted permanently in wood was also very bad, and the idea of building detachable faces that could be swapped depending on the emotion just added more body horror. (Of course, Hain-like dolls were always an option)

"But still, they are surprisingly servile" Meimu commented in a loud voice as the recently built Marionette moved on to carve another shell for another fiberling. And now that she saw it in actions, she could think of some designs, in fact, she could even try some non-humanoid marionettes.

---

Quara Korala

Toun's great deluge struck Galbar in all the wrong ways as half of the world disappeared under its power. All intelligent races living nearby would forever tell the tales of the nightmarish day where a maelstrom of power wiped out their land and the sick symphony that played across the land as countless animals fell to the invading waters and earthquakes.

Piena knew a lot about what had been lost on that lake, Ilunabar started to write encyclopaedias about fauna and flora right before the events took place, and of course, The Muse being The Muse, she often added a tone of epic storytelling behind the simple battle for survival of these animals. The story of the Furls in special had caught her attention, especially because of how intelligent the species was becoming, that is, until 90% of them were destroyed by a certain porcelain deity.

At one point The Muse was seriously thinking about helping their evolution, due to the flood and a shift of focus the idea became secondary until she had completely given up on it. Piena could remember her master's words very well "I just do not see a niche for them, we have brutish species, smart species, agile species, hidden species, imperial species. While sentient life still struggles, their variety is already chaotic enough."

The Diva of Aesthetic understood the point being made, but it was a far too short sighted vision of the world which overestimated function over the concept. And as much as Piena wanted to brush it over she simply couldn't, the Phantasmagoria was a chance of working with the Furls.

"Notte, you can handle the early stage of our blessing to mankind and hainkind alone, right?" she said, not showing any particular concern

"What? I don't know, I guess so?" Notte was legitimately impressed that the watchdog had suddenly proposed to do the contrary of her work.

"Great, I will see you very soon" she changed her path and quickly disappeared from her sister's view, leaving the Glass Diva completely clueless about what had just happened.

From high in the sky she observed the Komposoid Furls in their bestial society. "What could be done for them?" she pondered. Vestec's army was bound to create free spaces for one to settle, but was that what she really wanted? To make them a species as vulgar as any other struggler?

The furls under her were one of the few animals not spooked by all the phantom colours crossing the sky, on the contrary, they liked to follow the will-o-wisps and to copy some of the colours on their patagium. This made the diva very curious, it seems that membrane that was once useless for these flightless species had found a new use, probably as camouflage initially, but that was clearly a recreative use.

"Beautiful and Elegant" she mused aloud "And now I shall make you Precious and Noble too" with that she used the power of the Phantasmagoria to bless the minds and body of the Furls. Language, better composure, social structure, all those things that others would develop one day. She did not know what they would become, but there was one thing she was sure about, "They are not of the same rough-cut as the other races" and preserving their natural elegance and refinement would be the one core value they all shared.

Sadly she had not yet the time to check the effects of the blessing upon the creatures, Notte and Meimu would soon need her, but she would be back soon, and she expected these creatures to prove they were a bet worthy it.

---

The Premièrenaissance

Ilunabar kept playing the song, keeping the dreamlight flowing through Galbar was hard, but it was worthy it, right now the Divas were preparing seeds of culture among the many mortalkinds of the planet. It was not merely about moving plants, people and animals, however, the light, despite being mostly just a cover for the girls to act closely to the villages, was also meant to inspire.

Some Things were being thought by dreams and visions, weaving and sewing for example. Others were being born from regional events, like the stubborn huntress who was lured into a cliff by the illusions and would now have to share her knowledge with others. Overall she expected Galbar to become a more colourful place, especially if Teknall decided to continue her work once her energies were exhausted.

Many of the new ideas would be born in human lands, there was just something about Galbarian Humans that connected them well to Ilunabar's ideas. While they lived in a near arcadia in Arcon, the ones in Galbar lived in a pure struggle: away from their creator god, having to compete with many other sentient races and on top of that, the land where they first landed had been submerged by Toum's tantrum. Yet they were versatile, not only like the fox which tricked its way to catch the prey that even the mighty wolf could not catch, but also like the idealistic version of the Eagle's late life, the Phoenix, whose flames raised from the dead ashes.

Humans, despite their weak body, were able to rebuild quite fast once they had lost everything. Humans, despite their habit of infighting, were able to reform their society at a quick speed. The same ambition that drove them mad also inspired their curiosity. They were a silly sort, the kind of being that would explore the depths of a cave for even the faintest promise of reward. It was upon gazing at this that Ilunabar realized what the Galbarian Mankind would develop that Logos's branch would never be allowed to: Their greed that reached far beyond the horizon, their pride of having ephemeral possessions, their envy of everything over and under what they can reach, their wrath over what could easily be forgotten, their gluttony that made them dive into the now and forget the future, their lust for what could not be seen and even their sloth which created the most complex plans to avoid even the most simple tasks.

Eloquence was not something Ilunabar planned to give to any mortal until they formed the first cities and stabilised their life. But she changed her heart with the latest developments, she wanted to see how Human's obsession with ambition would react with the power of silvery words. Of course, she would not limit the gift to one species, some Hain were also big pots of potential, even so, she knew which species would use it the most.

In the end, Ilunabar's nickname for humans all the way back when they were unknown to her, Radical Dreamers, was more fitting than she predicted...

---

The closing of Phantasmagoria

The abnormal and colourful layers up in the atmosphere finally started to dissipate and the moons, the sun and the blue sky could be seen again. For twenty hours the sea glimmered like the starry night, phantom light bathed the lands creating illusions, songs and voiced echoed through the land and mind and mortals didn't know if they were dreaming or living. In that the time the divas had set up all the seeds of the cultural boom that the Phantasmagoria was bound to bring.

Some knowledge was spread through the folds of light and dreams that crossed the sky, weaving and cloth making, which would slowly become the standard of all civilisation, and pottery, which was made possible thanks to the spread of controlled fire. Those basics should help all mortals to deal better with the harsh nature of Galbar.

Other developments would have to wait, Ilunabar did not even know if they would unfold like she planned. "I'm happy that now we are out of the action and into the observation stage" she commented, completely exhausted.

"I know right?" Answered Notte, who was also very tired after spending most of the Phantasmagoria in multiple bodies that were always rushing to do something. "I swear, I would go mad if I had to spend one more hour whispering things to hummies"

"Thankfully the Marionettes are useful" Meimu not only had to spend a lot of time building the dolls but later she also had to join Notte and help her to move plants and animals. "Thanks, dear," she said to the Marionette who brought the Diva some tea.

Piena was still in a good condition, doing all the analyses and observations that needed to be done on the post-Phantasmagoria phase of the operation...

~~~
Lust, that was what had moved Susa so far, the lust for new horizons, wanderlust. She was wise, and the chances to act just like that fabled Hain, Stone Chipper, of distant lands were always there, but she always turned them down, she had no interest in sharing, her only compromise was with wandering to the next hill. The simple idea of talking about her traps and leather making to village folk was not entirely repulsive, but her feet would start to itch for new lands in less than a day, there was no time to teach.

Alas, destiny had played odd tricks on her, on the day of phantoms she had walked through lands that were not there, where she saw plains there was actually quite a steep fall waiting for her. She woke up on the next day to the image of some folk taking care of her, immediately she tried but as soon as her leg moved she felt a crushing pain.

"It is broken, you fell quite hard, I'm glad you are alive," said the old woman. "Thankfully that white-haired lass was there to see you getting hurt, she was even a healer"

The huntress looked down to see her broken leg surrounded by odd flax like white stuff, she could also see leaves. "Damn, it were those lights who fooled me!" she was angry, but she was not ungrateful "Where is the white haired girl anyway? I would like to say thanks..."

"She left" the old lady sighed "I mean, you are lucky, but we didn't want some witch-like lady around, don't worry, you will be fine in a week or two"

That was a moderately short amount of time, but it stabbed Susa's chest, two whole weeks! it was almost an eternity for the vagrant. Needless to say, she was quickly bored, so she dealt with it by talking about the places she visited and the things she hunted to the young. Before she could see she was talking about how she created lures and traps, how she skinned animals, how she knew how to use barks to treat the leather of animals and all sort of survivalist skills.

Turns out that creating new explorers was a bit more exciting than she thought, imagine what a hundred hunters could see! Far more than what she could ever witness. With that, the vagrant woman became Susa the Huntress, word of her wisdom crossed the land, along with it, the fine leather of trapped animals...

~~~
The crowd cheered at the spectacle, on one side a hain dressed oddly, as if to look primitive, on the other one with ropes covering its beak. Every Time the later moved the crowd booed, the former however was met with cheers, finally, the rope creature made a mistake and the other one defeated it. After the scene, both actors stood up, and music and festivities soon followed.

Life was good in Fibeslay, especially after the old chief died and a young charismatic hain took his place. The previous one was a man of pride, he took those legends seriously, he felt truly offended by those who defied him, this one, however? He was once a bard, and he knew very well the power of art, so it was no worry of him to turn the previously cold story of his father-in-law into something vivid that would help to cement Fibeslay's position as the centre of the hain fishing community that formed around hill isle.

At first, it was merely luck, he had learned how to carve flutes out of wood instead of stone, so it was very easy for him to realise that he could draw stories into the wood and that they would convey those tales for far more time than the song of a bard. This was the spark of the cultural blooming of the whole region.

The wooden boards, statues and masks became an attraction for the little village, something else to offer outside of fish and berries. Then an odd hain, with tattoos on her beak that reflected light like mercury, brought clay jars filled with odd liquids inside, it was such a simple realization, but it had never crossed a hain's mind that the pottery that could be used to hold water could also be used to hold ink from sea snails or plants, and after the odd day of dancing lights the plants and animals that created some sort of coloured secretion had risen noticeably.

There was a thing only the chief that was once a bard realized however, the fact he gifted so many art pieces to other hain villages was not simple kindness, they carried the story and culture of Fibeslay, every single colourful piece of wood or pottery that entered another village would remind that hain that this region had a lively center, far better than their colourless villages.

~~~
Vascogne had noticed his grandchild was a little of a trinket collector. Beads from one village, pottery from another, leather from that one with the stubborn huntress, and all other sorts of products. This brought back memories to him, both the pain of the times of the flood as well as the trick he used to survive.

"Marel, come here," said the old man to the young lass, once she was by his side he asked, "Do you remember the story of how I almost got seven apples out of one apple?"

"Not in a while" she confessed, and back then she didn't care much about what her grandpa had to say, it was only after the loss of her grandmother that she started to value her time with him.

"Ah, see, back when we were fleeing from the flooded lands, I got a free apple from a kind lady, before I could eat it however, a Fisherman, tired of eating only fish, accepted to trade it for two trouts, then came a man with two child and asked me if I was not willing to exchange it for some clothes he made back when he had a village, finally I saw the kind lady again, she was cold, and upon seeing my cloth she offered her full bag of apples for it." he smiled "Well, I denied back then, I gave her the textile, then we talked a lot, and I found something far more precious than any apple, fish or cloth"

Marel gulped, it was always a bit awkward to forget how your grandfather met your grandmother

"Stop with the face, I'm not talking about this to judge you, I'm saying, you got all this stuff, right? They won't spoil, and you will travel around a lot right? Why don't you try doing the same?"

The granddaughter started to ponder "Do you think I could do the same trick?"

"You just need to have the good words and offer the right thing at the right place. Get the leather in the hot summer and exchange it during the cold winter, for example," Marel's eyes shined, and she immediately excused herself and went to look at all the trinkets she accumulated over the years.

Old man Vascogne smirked, he did not believe his idea would work, he just expected the girl to find herself a husband while exchanging products in villages.

~~~
Very few Hain could be considered "Fat", Grinder was one of those. In the borders of the Glith Savannah the typical fruit and berry picking was starting to give place to seed picking thanks to the discovery of fire. Grinder, in particular, made a big advancement when he discovered that grinding (thus his name) those seeds would create a white dust that was far more edible than the raw grain, especially if made into a paste.

After the Phantasmagoria and the advancements in pottery, a sudden insight formed in Grinder's mind, he used the clay to make an oven and after adding some of his own spit, he placed the past over a fire. Surprisingly, it became even more edible, turning into a flat bread.

The Grinder did something very odd, he was a supporter of the chippers (he also considered himself a chipper) but the whole working and traveling thing was not exactly his favoured activity, back when he discovered how to grind seeds, he did not tell anyone how to do it, everyone had to give him the seeds that would be turned into flour, and while he asked no payment, he always stole a third of the flour for himself. Bread Making, however, was just too much of an opportunity, and he was going to milk it for all its worth.

First, he offered it for free, like the flour, and the Hain quickly started to prefer the tasty and durable bread to any other food, that is when Grinder struck, one day he started to ask for things in exchange for the bread, usually the Hain would simply try to hunt for fruits again, but he did it in the middle of winter. Some risked their lives for food in the snowy wilderness, other simply accepted Grinder's demands, these "owned favours" became usable when spring came, he asked for a lot of fruit, far more than a piece of flat bread should be worth, yet the villages who refused to pay were assaulted by other Hain who had debts with Grinder. This cycle continued until Grinder had a mountain of food of his own and everyone else was depending on him to survive.

~~~
Manog was tending the purple vine-berry tree like he did every day, he always used to eat the fruit, but after an odd dream during the Phantasmagoria, he learned that it was far better to make juice out of it and that the juice could become even better if one would let it age a bit inside a wooden cask.

At first, he shared the odd "juice" with friends and family, but he quickly noticed that when someone drank too much they became odd, after that he promised to never give the special juice to anyone again.

As he was finishing to harvest this side of the forest he noticed a pretty girl walking by, chestnut hair, deep blue eyes and an odd leather bag thing on her back. "Hail!" she said with a voice that would make even The Muse jealous "I bring some wares for trading" the man tilted his head confused "Exchanging stuff, for example, I have leather, or furs, or tools and you give me something for them" she answered.

Manog did not know what the hell it was, but anything that made she stay longer would be good. She stopped by his tent and opened her bag to reveal a bunch of oddities and utilities. They were nice, maybe he could trade something, but would that mean the pretty girl would go away?

"Uh, hey, these fruits, they are not only sweet, they make a nice juice. Uh, you know juice right? It's like liquid fruit, and you put it in the clay jar..."

The girl laughed and Manog felt his heart melt "You air head, of course, I know it, I'm the great trader Marel Vascogne, my grandfather once turned a single apple into seven rubies by sheer knowledge" she bragged, yet the boy barely listened "But hey, let's see if your product is good"

He walked with her to the storage tent, and while he was picking one barrel she noticed a somewhat hidden cask with an odd smell "Heya, what is this one? Is it good?" she asked, he quickly tried to hide it

"Oh no no, that is nothing, it's, uh, bad juice" this was his first reaction, on the other side the juice did make his sisters a bit more... free… should he try it...

"Oh really? Bad Juice? Your blushing face and smirk tells me otherwise" she was thinking if stabbing him with the obsidian knife she had would work, he looked like a wimp, and she hated when people tried to fool her, he just felt really shy once she was so close to him like that.

"Ah sorry, it's just that, the juice is good, but it makes people odd, and when they drink too much, they can't ever get enough of it, they just want more and more..."

Marel's eyes were shining almost as bright as Ull'Yang himself, all her aggressiveness had melted into a very, very, happy smile "Can't ever get enough of it you say~?"

Final Might: -1
Final FP : 0

Falas was currently sitting on a branch in a Holy Tree, contemplating Loth's words. Become the leader of the Angels, he said. Well, that was certainly a lot easier said than done. How was she going to do the job if she didn't have the first clue about being a leader? It seemed like there was so much to do. First she had to get the Angels to accept her as a leader, which was already a huge task itself. Was there even a need for the Angels to have a leader?

To help clear her thoughts, Falas decided to go outside the Valley of Peace herself. Falas reflected on Loth's words. "The area outside of the Nice Mountains, huh?" Falas thought out loud. She should see how the world was with her own eyes.

Flying to the summit of a mountain, Falas took a good look at the view being presented to her. The world outside looked... nice. Maybe a bit bare in some areas, but plenty of trees around at least. There was one clearing, though, that caught her attention. It had some... shelters in it. Falas didn't know much about the world, but even she could tell that that didn't look like a natural occurrence in the world.

Falas spread her wings and glided down to the clearing, and there she found... creatures. These creatures were very much unlike the Angels. They did not have wings. They didn't resemble Angels in the slightest. The creatures turned to look at her as well, some curious, some concerned, some even indifferent. One of them, who seemed to be walking with a limp, stepped forward to Falas and introduced himself. "Welcome to our humble village. I am Grandfather Alexen. What is your name?"

Falas was still in a state of surprise, but she recovered quickly and managed to introduce herself as well. "My name is Falas." There was a slight pause as she continued with a question, "Forgive me for sounding rude, but... what are you?"

Grandfather Alexen raised a hand as if not taking offense, and answered, "We are Hain, creations of the Porcelain, Toun." Falas noticed a slight but discernible distaste when Alexen spoke of Toun, but Falas chose not to question it. Alexen continued with a question of his own, "You are an... Angel, correct?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"You are not the first of the Angels to appear here," Alexen explained as he led Falas through the village. "There were several that joined us for a time, but they soon returned to the Valley of Peace. Then there was another blue-haired one that visited us often, who was much different from the others. He spoke much about Angels, the Valley of Peace, and the goddess Niciel. Now, there is you." Alexen turned back to stare at Falas with a curious look in his eye, then he asked, "Is there any particular reason you chose to visit us?"

Falas awkwardly looked away and responded, "No, I just... needed to clear my thoughts. There's so much I need to do, but... I don't know what to do."

Alexen stared at Falas for a moment before saying, "Hmm... you sound like you have a large task ahead of you. So, here's some advice for you. Don't focus on a large task all at once. Think of it as merely a large amount of little tasks and focus on one of them at a time. I think you'll find that your task isn't as large as you think."

Falas looked thoughtfully at Alexen, wondering if his advice would actually work. She was skeptical, but willing to try it out. Falas bowed towards Alexen and said, "Thank you, Grandfather Alexen. You have given me much more to think about."

Alexen's turned his beak slightly upward and a hand upturned, then continued on, "Of course. Feel free to visit any of us when you have the time."

Falas flew off, back to the Valley of Peace. There was still so much to do, but now Falas felt like she could handle things.

---

First, a prayer to Mother Niciel. Falas got down onto her knees and put her hands together, then closed her eyes.

Mother Niciel, I pray to you for advice and strength. I pray to you for your blessing. Please, grant me the power to become a proper leader for your children. Grant me the strength and wisdom to guide them and protect them.

The answer came quickly. My daughter Falas, you already have everything you need to become what you wish, Niciel told her. You are already blessed with my power, and you possess a strong heart needed for your journey. I can help guide you through this path, but you must reach the end with your own efforts. For now, get to know your brothers and sisters. Make friends with them, and be there for them.

Thank you, Mother Niciel, Falas said to Niciel before getting back onto her feet. She still had a long way to go, but it was alright. Falas now had a lot more support and confidence than she did before. All she needed to do as put in the effort.

---

Falas spoke to many Angels over a long period of time. Simple greetings, offers to help carry various items, exchanging friendly and enjoyable conversations, etc. Over time, Falas created many bonds of friendship with many Angels.

Then, Falas made her next move. She began inviting Angels to see the world outside the Valley of Peace. First, it was merely one at a time. Some refused, but more and more agreed to, and they began to see the appeal of the outside world. Of course, they interacted with the Hain village, and those present at one time attended Grandfather Alexen's passing when it came. They learned of food and drink from the Hain, and learned of new tools and techniques from them as the Hain continued to grow as a species.

There were still many Angels who refused to see the outside world, refused to change their comfortable ways of living. To them, there was no need. The Valley of Peace and Mother Niciel would protect them from outside threats, so they could enjoy themselves all they wanted. The news that some Angels had disappeared while they had been exploring the outside world had not escaped them either, and they used this news to even try to convince other Angels to resume their peaceful ways. Falas continued working hard, however, and the activities of those peace-loving Angels soon died down.

Now, as the time finally came, Falas would attempt to show them her main goal all this time. She began inviting everyone she had ever made contact with, both with favorable and unfavorable ties. Everyone needed to hear this, after all.

After they gathered in the center of the Valley of Peace, Falas spoke to them.

"Brothers. Sisters. I invited you here today for a very special reason," Falas began. "For many years we spent our time in the Valley of Peace, lounging about, resting, conversing fondly with others. All of these activities are enjoyable, but... that was where our problem lay. For too long have we done this. Many of us had grown complacent and lax under the protection of the Valley of Peace. We had, and still have, the utmost confidence that it will protect us even in the most dire of times. Today, that changes. From here on, we will not rely solely upon the protection of Mother Niciel and the Valley of Peace. We must gain the strength to defend ourselves. We must gain the strength to defend each other. Most importantly, we must gain the strength to protect our very home, the Valley of Peace. As it protects us, so too will we protect it! It has done much for us, so we will do more for Mother Niciel's, no, our land! Please, accept me as a leader and allow me to guide you to peace and prosperity! Let us combine our power together so that we do not let our land fall to outside forces! We are Angels, and we are the guardians of the Valley of Peace!"

At first, there was silence. The silence, however, soon broke with a clap. The sound of that single clap soon grew with more and more claps until there was a loud applause, following by many cries and cheers.

Falas sighed with relief. She wasn't sure how her speech would have been received, and she was glad that it had such a positive response. There was no time to rest just yet, though, for there was still one more voice to be heard.

I, too, support this. I support my daughter Falas', and have faith that she will be a great and wise leader, Niciel answered. An orb began to float down from the sky, shining yellow, pink, and blue, stopping its descent when it reached Falas' hands. The orb was soon absorbed by Falas' body, and began to glow, her silhouette shining white. 4 more wings grew from Falas' back, her clothes began to morph into a new shape, and a long object grew from her hand. When the glowing stopped, Falas was found with 3 sets of wings, each set a different color of pink, yellow, and blue. Her hair and eyes were now found to have all three colors of pink, yellow, and blue. Her white robe was now a suit of armor, which was colored a pale blue, with trim and patterns of yellow and pink. In her right hand, she gripped a long and beautiful yellow lance that pulsed with energy, while on her left was a small round shield, this one completely blue. This is my blessing. You are no longer a mere Angel, but now a true Hero. You are the Guardian and Champion of the Angels, Seraph Falas.

Falas examined her new body, moving each of her wings experimentally, as well as examining her new equipment. They were all so... magnificent. Falas could not have asked for a higher honor than this. Thank you for this blessing, Mother Niciel," Falas thought, sending the short prayer to Niciel. Falas looked back at the Angels still gathered together. It was not time to rest, oh no. Now was the true time to work.

---

Falas supervised the training of the Angels. Many of them had learned to use their powers, and trained their bodies to be able to handle themselves in combat. No longer were most of them the weak and lazy Angels that found enjoyment in resting and doing nothing. Now they were more hardened, more able to defend themselves. Still, Falas couldn't shake the feeling that something felt missing. Something that would be needed to ensure their full potential would be used in battle. What it was, though, Falas had no idea. What she did know was that it was missing from her as well.

As she thought about it, Falas felt a small pulse of energy coming from within her armor. Falas felt compelled to upturn her left palm, and a crystal on the palm was shining. The crystal that Loth had given to her to communicate with him. An image appeared in front of Falas, revealing Loth. Unlike Falas, who had undergone a major change in appearance, Loth didn't appear to have changed in the slightest. However, Loth was looking rather concerned.

"Falas, there is a dire threat approaching the Valley of Peace," Loth warned. "I'll be blunt. An army is headed towards the Valley of Peace. Many dangerous creatures compose this army. You must be ready to protect the Valley of Peace by the time they arrive."

"Loth, please explain from the beginning. Tell me everything," Falas requested.

"Very well," Loth said. "The main threat you should be concerned about is an incredibly large creature that is carrying the army." Loth disappeared from view, revealing the terrifying creature Grot from an overhead view. "That is what is coming to attack the Valley of Peace, and it will devour and destroy anything and everything in its way, unless the Angels stop it." The image zoomed in to reveal other creatures riding it. "Of course, there are the other creatures that make up the rest of this army. Fortunately, they don't seem to be nearly as powerful as this monstrosity." Those creatures looked mainly small and fleshy compared to Grot, although there were some that appeared to be composed of rock. Loth reappeared in the image and said, "Falas, the Angels must be prepared for this. The Valley of Peace must not, cannot, be lost."

Falas was shocked. The Angels had indeed been training to protect the Valley of Peace, but against a creature like Grot... would they even be able to survive? Falas began to feel overwhelmed, but Loth shouted, "Falas! FALAS! You cannot falter here! The Angels look up to you now, do they not? Show them the strength of their Champion! You must show them that they can repel these attackers. I have faith that you can, and will, do it."

Falas took a deep breath, then her resolve began to show in her eyes. "I'll do it," Falas stated. "I'll stop this monster even if it costs me my life."

Loth nodded and said, "Do try to stay alive, though. No Angel wants to see you dead," before disconnecting.

Falas looked toward the sky and clenched her lance tightly. There would be war.

When Mauve finished its God-given task, it had been altogether glad to be rid of its pregnancy, and held no desire to repeat the ordeal. The hot springs of the Bormahven region encouraged life to flourish against the cold, but there was no reason for the creature to remain anywhere near the peak itself. It remembered playfully the first minutes of freedom, when it had balled up and rolled down the slope of the colossal volcano like a gleeful stone, at peace to go where it wished. That had been many, many years ago now, and even those things that lived long- Elementals, fiberlings, trees- Had passed generations in the meanwhile.

And yet, Mauve had never lost its taste for rolling down mountains.

This one was not on the grandest of scales, as Bormahvenish mountains grew, but landslides had steepened an already treacherous slope into the river valley. Climbing was not difficult for a fiberling, but preparations had taken months. With time and experience, Mauve had learned a few valuable pieces of information.

The foremost of these, of course, was that 'skiing' is a hobby that fiberlings must practice sparingly. The Ironhearts are rough, and a high enough tumble is sure-bound to encounter obstacles too sudden to skirt and jump. Such rugged paths tear mats of hair from even a freakishly enormous specimen like Mauve itself, mass which must be replaced to dive again. In a similar vein, it is always wise to explore one's route before the fall. Some crevasses are wide, deep, and difficult to see from below, and these can stop a venture quickly and painfully should a fiberling detect them too late for the jump.

Other tricks- Avoid shapes that beget lift, curl into a wheel-shape broad enough to avoid sinking into snowdrifts- Were useful, but it was the second rule that Mauve had neglected the day it got lost.

Mauve looked up at the bright grey slit of the sky above, flexing and masticating its loosened hair to speed up the resorption process. Deep and slick with melt and frost, the chasm was unpleasant to stay in and unpleasant to ascend, so the entity decided to feel its way around the area for a while until its wound healed. The space was odd. There was a slope to this stone that did not run parallel to the crevasse. Not much time elapsed before Mauve found its way to the source, and began its new life.

There was a long drop into the abyss, and absolute darkness; Mauve was not particularly clever, but nonetheless wise enough to parachute this fall. Even the slightest click of meltdrops breaking on rock fragments echoed far here, reflecting from stone to stone. Every filament of Mauve's body waited for some other source of vibration in the eternal stillness. None came. A fear arose, but curiousity swelled above it. With echoes as its guide, the fiberling explored.

These were the beginnings of the caverns of Vakarlon. They were not empty, indeed, for the further Mauve travelled, the more concentrated became signs of active life. Blue pulses of bioluminescence grew common, and things crept and slithered over such places. In others, the detritus of the forests and seas of the above-world had accumulated so much as to dam the very subterranean rivers that had carried them here, and the fungi that grew in such places was as thick as the surface-woods themselves. In places the wyrms of the Submaterium had broken through, and something demonic entered the blood of the troglodyte insects that inhabited these pockets, driving them to do strange and mindless things to one another and the stone from which they came, and draw energy from such practices. Volcanic vents on their way to the Bormahven region only added more fuel to the lively cauldron of organisms here, and odd animals tip-toed and slinked around the sulphurous bubbles of fumaroles.

Time lost meaning, and though at first Mauve desired only to look briefly before rising to the sunlands again, the day never dawned on which it was motivated to go through that effort, for indeed there were no days in the realm of night. When the fiberling finally came upon its own kind, it was a permanent, if wandering, resident of the underground. With speed such as they rarely felt incited to express anymore, the two organisms collided and fused and streamed out of one another, sharing not only filaments but memory also. Mauve learned much.

A few hairballs lived in this place, having fallen in and never returned to the light. It was not a bad place, for here the sun did not burn, nor did frost snap up the fur of any fiberling, but the acidity was often harsh, and Balance had dictated that there were few organisms here with which to play, and even fewer that offered durable fiber. Thus the fiberlings of this place were often limp, small, and scattered, as was the dying curmudgeon that Mauve had encountered. It had been born here, some time ago- Decades, months, centuries- But a landslip had separated it from the more fertile territory of its sibling. Unable to fulfil its needs without disrupting the ecosystem, it was starving, and did not have Mauve's resilience.

Yet there was hope, if not for it, in the place where its sibling had gone and which was now lost in the maze. For there were creatures there that were large and strong and fun, not much different to the mountain-hain that Mauve sometimes found at the foothills of Bormahven. They came in many shapes and sizes, and were numerous. What little hair they provided, for some had tufts on their groins and armpits, was quite lasting.

The feeble old thing that Mauve had passed through still remembered well. There was too little light to render any ocular detail to the memory, but there was nuanced sound and touch. Heavy stone axes echoing up from a shaft where the softer shale was yielding. A roughened surface where fungi had been scraped from the rock with indomitable teeth alone. Grating voices, aggressively intimate in tone, barking orders to one another. A time when the dying fiberling had once entered such a creature by the mouth, and somehow not only failed to kill it but lost considerable mass by the time it was passed, upon which it promptly crept into the lungs instead. Carven grooves in the walls that stored food and rough-hewn tools, and were doored with mats of vent algae to filter out the taste of sulphur.

Mauve left its kin behind in the dark. It was strong, and it would not be deterred. Somewhere in that maze waited the Rovaick, and the Eye within it had awoken with curiousity.



Though the view from the Citadel was unarguably gorgeous, the Eye through which Jvan observed it had turned out to be far from particularly useful.

Mass produced and of an older design to boot, the ocular probe relayed little of the resolution that its far larger cousin had observed above Arcon for the few minutes of functional life it had enjoyed before incineration. The First Gale, of course, did not lug around his prized palace everywhere, and the Eye spent the entirety of the Divine Storm squinting in vain to peer through the lightning-riddled cloud after Violet was destroyed. There was no real way to confirm whatever it was the Primordial Being was doing, so the eye was forced to simply scan the surface to pick out interesting details. Anything mortal-sized left little visual evidence, except, on occasion, the flash of an elemental lord, or the migration of brush beasts.

It was to a tune of surprise that the orb first perceived the grey humanoids who strode pridefully through the halls of the Citadel.

They did not notice the colourful sphere, any more than they might notice some other bauble adorning a peak of the structure's many spires and shrines, but this nonchalance was not reciprocated, and Jvan watched keenly. These... Maned, wizened things were cute, but curious, and she had yet to see the shadow of their horns anywhere on the surface of the planet. With focused attention, the probe listened to the tune of their voices whenever they should appear on a relatively nearby balcony to think, or rest, or debate, or make love.

Militant and athletic things they were, emotive, passionate even, beneath firm discipline. In time, Jvan grew so curious that she propelled a tiny black fiberling into the palace when its orbit next brought it close, a mouse-like creature. She picked the moment well- The embracing localised omnipresence of Zephyrion had disappeared to play some game on the surface with a handful of mortals in tow, their destination a mystery to the stationary eye. Ventus is dragged hither and thither by his master, and some armoured new demigod too. I'm sure I've even seen Astarte herself being swished around on one of these jaunts... I could swear it!

Too small to carry its own Eye, the furball was designed with the order to remain in her field of view until one of the heavenly beings came to stargaze, and was pounced by the creature; Though it lodged firm in the entity's throat, their cardiac stamina was evidently far higher than that of most creatures, and their lungs stronger. Adamantly refusing to die to the pest, the humanoid survived long enough to hack out most of the thing's mass, though her extended throat cracked into seams of some kind- And yet this was evidently not a sign of pain, for a light shone from within her and the fiberling was burned into nothing.

The Horrorsome Engineer soon came to regret her little stint. No more did these people come to the nearby balcony after this incident. Impatience had cost her the opportunity to learn more through observation. I'll have to ask wise brother Zephyrion when I'm next here.

...Who even made all these?




Never before have I yearned for a guiding path, and even should one appear, it seems likely that in my bitterness I would scorn it. Nor do I yearn now. And yet that which is growing between my strands like a mould would have my feeble mind be made aware that something, now, is missing from my course.

And a feeble mind it is, indeed. I do not yet comprehend such things as ideas, as the self, as the nature of emotion. I do not yet comprehend. The understanding that such traits are taking hold within me remains a self-denying luxury. This path of mine is yet tread on by animals. Furls, aphids, horntails, and, yes, fiberlings. With this latter kin of mine I walk, ignorant of the fact that if I would simply turn my gaze, I would see the desert beyond the desert: I would see the path as a radial measure, not simply a line but a plane, a space, an infinite possibility of action. I shamble.

My physical movement, too, has grown odd since the day of the Storm that freed me. That much I can inscribe upon my awareness. Any bear knows the shift heralding that time to store fat for the winter, any faery-maggot knows the time to moult. A change has taken place. I no longer flow as a purple river down a slope. Lurching rapidly, I raise myself up as I travel, hauling forward lobes and folds of hair upon which my scant weight is briefly supported. It is the crawl of an old amputee who does not know how to manoeuvre their regenerated legs.

I am not even purple anymore.

Discolouration was not a 'gift' that wholly abandoned my body along with the meat shackles loaded into it from birth, and most of its substance besides. But only a dwindling portion of that mousefur I gather to support myself now stains to the colour of my origin. The rest is black. Burnt and raw.

I would not appreciate the phoenix-like symbolism, even if I had the capacity to know.

These shifts are strange, and they incite an unknown fear within me, but I am yet a blessed combination of resilient and supremely ignorant. All that truly resonates with me enough to steer the way of my actions, of course, is that basest of living knowledge: Hunger. I remain emaciated. Where once I could crush the earth with the weight of a centenarian fir, I now possess barely the mass of a jackal. We share prey sources, though the desert is too vast for a decompression ambush to succeed easily, and thus I am forced to wander far over slipping dunes, chasing down what I find.

In time, Fate guides me to the trail of something larger than a simple hopping-mouse, a trail of feathers stranger than ever the onyx phantoms were. Gleaming white and firm enough to provide lift, I seize up the feather by reflex. Not an ordinary fiberling reflex, indeed, for rather than enveloping it in my body, I extend myself into an appendage with which to pinch it from the dirt. A black limb, jointed in the middle and then again towards the end, which is capped by five pointed, knuckled tendrils, one positioned laterally from the rest. The shape bears no significance to me. Yet.

I follow the trail.

Size and weirdness alike mark out the rabble as a new birth upon my perception of this world. Hain and angel alike are new sights to me. Chaotic malice is not. This I know from my monotone existence before freedom, wherein I was not permitted to leave these mutable plains. I follow the trail, and the horde pays me no heed, for they have no discipline and no organisation with which to rid themselves of vermin such as I, and even a damaged fiberling can make itself slight. I follow the trail, though they raise my wordless, bitter hatred like bile. There is no other guide upon this road, and I do not have the intelligence to defeat my curiousity, or theorise over my options. I follow the trail, and listen.

The horde is not leading me on a mere bodily journey. My path is cognitive. Watching without understanding, only flexing my strengthening ability to see connections, to infer. Their words quiver in my filaments. Such pitiful, hateful creatures have these become. And I listen still, for they have something that I do not, and must obtain, must eke out one mutter at a time to water the development of that crucial aspect of identity that is missing from this dumb mute voiceless frame.

One night, I hear spoken that bladed word: God.

For the first time in many millennia of correlating memories, I understand meaning.

God. A thing of many faces that thrust me into existence and imposed all that I am embittered against. My first and last memory, and my reason for being. The forced and unnecessary drive of all that occurs in this world. God is a blade with no hilt. God is a soul in an inkwell. God is a renewing storm. God is a cancer that breathes.

Among a sea of black upon my fibrous mass comes into being a single, elegant spiral hair of brilliant red.

It is my belief that, transcribed into spoken form out of abstract emotive knowledge, such were my earliest thoughts.

I was built by Beauty, of which I now tire.
I was destroyed by Change, in which I must withstand.
I was quickened by the Mind, to which I am cautious.
I was enlivened by Chaos, for which I hold revulsion.
My name is Violet.
I am broken.
And I do not want to be repaired.

Lifprasil had a long, sleepless night, he watched the Phantasmagoria, eyes wreathed in intent as a purple coloration overtook them. He had finished Ilunabar's scroll on that night as well, he read the passage and had forgotten about it. The trap he had fallen into was hilarious, and despite the grave circumstances, he mustered a chuckle, a leg dangling out of the circular window to his quarters. He had been disgusted by the loss of life, but the result was curious enough to stave off his anger, to stave off the Slivers.

What had come were the same as the bulbous redness that would gaze into him at times of weakness, but they were purple, purple eyes. Each one flittered open when the sky cracked open, and the song played, all of the Sliver creature gazed down in wonder, and then traversed the surface, budding out of the shadows, and observing the changes for Lifprasil.

Eventually, they relayed something truly... Interesting...

A fertile land juxtaposed itself into existence, it appeared suddenly, and Lifprasil saw the land that would become his, this place would be settled by him, and the surrounding forest tamed by him. Each Sliver of his being shared in his excitement, and rejoiced, while a certain sect focused on something else.

Far, far away from the Western Coast of the Pass, sat Grot, and crimson Slivers of the aspiring prince's being watched him in the shadows, each eye spewed sporadic whispers in darkness upon witnessing Lifprasil's quarry. They were the eyes of the Beast, and just thinking of crushing Grot, and tasting his tantalising blood made the many-faceted blade quake in excitement.

After the Phantasmagoria ended, however, the curious eyes of his soul, the Slivers, found their way into a different part of the Celestial Citadel. The Muses had planned here, and from here various Marionettes came, each eye was impossible to see, but to sense was unavoidable, the sensation of being watched was critical to any creature's instinct, after all.

Any of the creatures that resided in Ilunabar's quarters on the night of the revered Phantasmagoria would find it easy to predict Lifprasil's arrival, which came a day and a night after the beautiful marring of Galbar's surface. He entered in the early moments of twilight wearing a much more decorative tunic than usual, as Lifprasilian craftsmanship only heightened after the Phantasmagoria; and many of them had asked their king to try their new, more colourful wears.

"So this is the illusion that Ilunabar drapes over herself." Lifprasil mused to himself, tracing his fingers along the solid wall, before it gave way to his hand, exposing the falsified complex in Zephyrion's castle.

The quarters had changed slightly since Teknall's visit, the fountain now had lily pads as decoration, the illusory sky on the roof was now the odd astral sky that once took over Galbar during the Phantasmagoria. Along Notte's and Meimu's room there now was Piena's, it felt more like a library than anything else, yet it was far tidier than the mess that once was Ilunabar's studio. Speaking of which, the studio had changed a lot, now the many paints were on a shelf, the maps properly organised, and the marble and stone had got itself a room distant from all the softer arts. Another notable change was that more rooms had been opened so the Marionettes could operate them, a kitchen, a storage room, a bathhouse and a garden.

Controlled as they were, the living dolls continue their work as Lifprasil arrived, with the exception being a couple of maids set up to welcome him. "Oh, a visitor." Said Meimu, with her typical cordiality "A bit unexpected, I fear the reformation of the quarters is not entirely ready yet, so do not mind the lack of decorations" despite the fact that the room was by far more pompous than anything on this half of Citadel "In the moment my lady master is away, Piena is overseeing some Marionettes and Notte is bathing, but they should all be here soon" she bowed and clapped her hands.

The servants quickly brought a crystal table and two chairs, finally one followed with a selection of wines ready to serve whichever one got Lif's attention. "So, what brings you to here? Though considering how flashy the Phantasmagoria was I can already predict the topic" she sighed, she knew the light show would brew trouble.

Lifprasil said nothing, but pulled a seat out for Meimu, rather. Once she had become seated, however, Lifprasil's demeanour changed from placidity, to warm smile. "It's actually a many numbers of things, but yes, I have come to speak of the Phantasmagoria; as you call it. But, before we begin, allow me to introduce myself: I am Lifprasil, Vesamera, and if all goes well, King of Galbar. Who are you?"

Meimu gasped, placing both hands in front of her mouth "Oh pardon me, I'm so used to live either with my sisters or as a wanderer that I completely forgot the conventions of naming" she once again bowed and said "I am Meimu, Diva of Petals, The White Rose. It's good to finally meet you in person Lifprasil, though I have to confess that I'm far more used to you than you are used to me, after all, I wrote the whole biological section of the encyclopaedia that was gifted to you"

He smiled again, Meimu's new guest. "It's a pleasure to meet you, then. Prosit, good creature, it's truly a good day when one meets a scholar such as yourself." Lifprasil said, although there's no evidence of flattery in his voice or mannerisms, just veritable generosity. "I have actually come to return the writing unless you would rather me keep it."

For a second Meimu froze, even if told in a monotone voice the word scholar would have hit her the same way, because it was a deserved acknowledgement, fruit of eras of work, and that her sisters either ignored or saw it as a simple tool. "Why thank you," she said with a sincere smile crossing her face. Yet before she could continue someone else walked into.

"You can return it if you wish, this is merely the first edition of the book and whenever you feel like reading the up to date versions you can ask me" a white haired woman wearing a dark gray coat walked into the room from the terrace "I take you are Lifprasil, child of Vestec and Vulamera, and the only contender for the Crown of Galbar." upon ending her sentence she bowed down to the visitor, notably, it was far more regal than her sister's "I'm Piena, Diva of Aesthetic, Curator of the Arts"

"Prosit." Lifprasil greeted, before he stood up, and took to bowing in a similar manner to Piena. He then sat back down, and crossed his legs, inspecting each bottle of divine wine as he formulated his next thought. "I was actually quite interested in the topography of the place that your Mistress has recently prepared, with your diligent assistance, I'm sure." he offered, picking out a bottle of violet drink, the clear distinction of the wine having been behind the mottled olive surface of its container.

"With your help, I would like to settle in this fertile, strange land, and build a residence more vast for my citizens than the one we have been currently gifted. With your knowledge, and imaginative power, I will expend my power to help you build a beautiful fortress city named after all of you; provided you are willing." Lifprasil said, attempting to open the bottle as he made his request. "How do you open these...?"

Piena placed a hand on her chin, clearly brooding over what was said "The creation of The Pass and Shalanoir Forest was mostly us finding a way to make something good out of all the mayhem that Toun's ocean brought. I'm glad you liked our solution, though. Yet, about the fortress town, I would gladly help with the design yet I feel we will need Teknall's assistance too" she took a seat for herself in the fountain near the table.

When Lifsprasil started to have a problem with the wine both Divas started to move to help him. "Like this darling" suddenly a hand moved from behind Lif and grabbed the bottle, deftly removing the cork stopper and serving the demi-god a glass of wine. Soon after the woman revealed herself. "So Lif is visiting us? Finally!" said Notte with joy "I'm Notte by the way. And I found your idea of making a home for your servants outside of the Citadel magnifica" she then stared Piena "In truth, I did not even know you had the authority to go around deciding these things, but its a wonderful idea, and we all would love to help Lif, right?" She turned to Meimu who simply nodded, she was also bothered by Piena making decisions like that, yet having the mortals out of the Citadel would bring back the tranquillity she liked so much.

Lifprasil gawked at the sight of Notte, visibly shocked by her presence before he brought himself back to his senses. "I'm glad that you're all so aggregated upon my solution, however, Teknall's assistance would be paramount to the longevity of this place. However, we can begin working on plans for the compound." he explained, taking a sip of the wine. Expecting it to be a sweet beverage, Lifprasil coughed, and looked rather surprised by the buzz it gave him. "...I've never had anything like this before, forgive me." he confided, setting the cup back down. "And, Notte, sorry for looking at you oddly, I just have a compatriot that created a sculpture similar to yourself." Lifprasil added, taking her hand in his. "P-profit." he coughed, still attempting to acclimate to the taste of wine in his mouth.

Of the three divas, only Notte giggled at the display. "You will get used to it Lif, I bet you will love the thing in a year or two" the smile on her face dissolved when Lifprasil mentioned the sculptures "Ah! How odd!" she said, not knowing how to react to what she was sure was happening.

"And his name wouldn't be Allure by chance, would it?" Meimu asked with a satisfied smile "We did meet a sculptor with that name once, sadly Notte denied his love, she might be all smile but in truth she is a very mean woman"

"Don't be silly Meimu. There is no way a person like him would ever find his way up here" complained Notte.

Piena, being the youngest, felt a bit lost, as she knew about Allure only from the logs of Ilunabar's notebooks "Huh, I did not know you had an affair with him, it would be best to record these kinds of activity you know?" she said casually, but Notte did not take it casually at all.

Lifprasil laughed at the exchange, a silly grin painted on his face, he had become far less serious than he was at the time of his birth, but his scheming still remained. "He does live up here. I bested him in battle and decided to take him under my wing as a friend. He does express flaws, but I find him to be an interesting, bold companion. I think you'll find that he has changed, albeit slightly, Notte." Lifprasil explained and attempted to take another sip of wine, which ended in a manner similar to before. "I could mediate another meeting between you two - however - I can already tell you're repulsed by the idea." he finished, this time testing the wine with a lick, and a frown.

"Well, even if he truly changed, right now I have other sights, I do not..." Her sentence was suddenly cut by Piena.

"On the other side it would be irresponsible to leave this thing be, you are bound to meet this person one day or another, either here or on the site of the project." she stated.

"Oh, but these matters can be sorted out later no?" Said Ilunabar, who had just arrived "I was already expecting you to come here one day or another, I guess the Phantasmagoria made it inevitable." The muse served herself a glass of wine "O blessed be Vascogne for finally bringing this into reality" she proclaimed.

"My dear pupils, I would prefer to have some privacy, and all of you have duties to do either way" The divas simply nodded and went back to their chores. "Sorry for interrupting the conversation, but I'm quite impressed, you did gain quite a lot of favour with my girls. Pienas ideas, for example, are far too generous, and I bet Meimu will prepare some Marionettes to help the Lifprasilians with the gardens." she shrugged "Well, they are free to do as they wish, I will not stop them"

"It's in my nature, Ilunabar." Lifprasil greeted, setting down his cup of wine. "I'm surprised they took to me so quickly. Allure was much more difficult to befriend - although I'm always happy to have new friends... So, I take it you heard our conversation about building a fortress in the Pass?" he asked, eyeing how easily Ilunabar consumed the wine.

"You nature huh? Well, you did pull all the correct strings with my little birds, you recognised Meimu's wisdom, your regal looks impressed Piena and Notte liked you cute behaviour over wine. I do not know if I would call it Eloquence yet, but it's a good start. I'm feeling generous thanks to the drink so here is a thought from my mind about your possible reign, avoid using your mental powers where socialization can work, you will often have to rule over distances greater than your mental influence if things go your way" she then formed a map of Shalanoir Forest and The Pass "But yes, I did hear your idea for a fortified village. It can be done, but civilisation is still a toddler, and I would prefer if we stayed true to what is possible, something like this Citadel on the ground could be the seed of many problems"

Lifprasil looked shocked, not once did a god give him any singular advice so... Useful. He was pleasantly surprised, so his smile persisted, despite Ilunabar's insistence upon a change of his plans. "Civilisation may be a toddler, but all the gods are too afraid to tread over the next step, which is the coalescence of culture and thought. This may be a step above grass huts, but it will not impact the world too profoundly, I only plan to traverse this world, and expose my residence, my city, when it needs me, or when it is ready. Unlike your colleagues - I can express control." Lifprasil explained, "Culture is the gateway to more and more obscure trends in beauty, after all, and that's what you reside over. Beauty and knowledge will be safeguarded in this city, and when my Empire is complete, millions will worship you and your Muses." the bold Demi-God finished his speech before he attempted to take another sip of wine. Again.

"Eh" she sighed "The fox dances to attract the curiosity of the rabbit, yet with humanoids they know they should sneak at night." she stayed quiet for a few seconds "Nah, this Vowzra thing does not fit my style" she whispered to herself before continuing in a normal tone "You perhaps misjudge me and my Divas. Worshipers? I ask you, how does one not worship Beauty? Life is full of stories Lifprasil, right now, in the wilderness that you see merely as a possible province of your empire, people struggle, families are formed and shattered, mothers fight with all their will to protect their sons, love is found and lost. Flowers bloom and sound echoes. If you think I'm such a simple thing that I would be glad to have a flock of fools locked up in some temple, wasting their lives, you are in dire need to revise your worldviews, specially if you want to be the ruler, otherwise you will eventually find yourself dancing in front of the farmer."

Instead of his face warping into a frown, Lifprasil's expression widened back into a smile, only something felt less... Forced about his expressionism. "Your morality is uncharacteristic of a god. To be truthful, my intentions were never worshippers, nor were they any measurement of riches, or power. I am still a growing ruler, indeed, and I am in dire need of a second Mentor, but my intentions are pure. Those families? Those mothers? That love that had been lost? I feel every single ache and pain in this epic, as I hold precedence over the sentient condition; emotion. My real quest and the existentialism of this Order is built upon is turning this pain, and taking these hapless people, then making their stories good ones, happy ones, well-lived ones." Lifprasil explained, turning his true face to Ilunabar, which revealed him to be much more passionate about the ordeal, as his exposition was much less mechanical than what he had expressed before. "If you really do believe in good stories, I'm sure you'll believe in mine."

Indeed, it was a good story, but Ilunabar knew very well the natural course of said story, one who tries do avoid all tragedies calls tragedy upon himself, like the parents who abandon a child because the oracle told it was destined to murder them, and later end up slew by a son who grew in foreigner lands instead of their loving household. But, she would not step into this story, Lifprasil's passion was the very definition of beauty and wonder. She could not dare to hurt such precious thing.

"Well Lifprasil, I myself would say that my actions are pretty vain, even more, that vanity is inherent to my domain. But, it does not mean you are wrong either, it just means we have different views of what vanity is, or well, of who I am" her wine was already gone, and that made the muse frown for a few seconds before returning her look to the guest "If anything, I would recommend you to travel, get to know the villages and cultures which are germinating on this planet." she then looked to the direction of the rooms "And you three, if she indeed decides to travel, please don't go spoiling her by saying where to go and who to talk with" she said in a louder, commanding voice "Pardon me, my pupils are quite fond of you, as I mentioned before, but too much of anything will always amount into an obstacle"

Ilunabar then started to move shapes over in the map she had designed "One last recommendation about this fortress if you are indeed planning on hiding the most advanced bit, I would recommend creating a more simple looking trade town on the coast. Isolation disincentive civilization, the clash of ideas is what makes our mind moves forward" she leaned forward, closer to Lifprasil's face "This is even why I keep the dodgy trio nearby" she then stared at the map a bit more "Also, we should probably make an ever-burning fire or lighthouse, it would be neat"

Lifprasil chuckled lightly, currently absorbing the information. "Yeah... It would be. Thank you for the advice, this is some more invaluable to me than what any god could bestow to me. I will be sure to pursue this quest." he said, pushing his chair back, and standing in his full. "Your pupils will be no trouble to me, I will not allow them to come with me, but I will allow them to design my city in my stead. My good friend Lakshmi will assist them if they so require it. In this adventure, I will become Vesamera, the Learner, rather than Lifprasil, the King. Your dodgy trio, and yourself, have become vastly more important to my story than I would have ever expected; when shall you have me go?" Lifprasil questioned, overlooking the map with a thoughtful expression.

"It is really up to you, right now the north is alarmingly nasty, but the south is particularly safe, even when Vestec's armies march against the pronobii, the heartland should go on untouched" she pondered a bit "From there onward it's really up to you, I barely can make a schedule for myself, imagine someone else's" she smiled

Lifprasil smiled back, and then pushed his chair back in, and then hesitantly picking up a couple of bottles of wine. "Your muses said I would enjoy these in two years - so I'd rather not disappoint them." he teased, before he changed his tone to one much more solemn. "Thank you, and I mean this in earnest." Lifprasil said, before he extended his hand to take the less extravegant of the maps. "I'll depart tonight." he added, before he went over to address the three muses personally, wind, and map in hand. "Thank you for taking on this task. In my absence, I would like you to contact my friend Lakshmi, and my friend Allure, they will help you in creating my City. If possible, please contact Teknall, if you do, I'm sure he can only improve upon your designs." Lifprasil ordered, but not too sternly, as he wanted to give the Muses some essence of creative freedom.

It got cold. It got so cold, the legends say, that rabbits hid underground for months at a time, the elk took to living in caves, and birds fell from the sky as their wings froze in mid-flight. It got so cold that the air crystallized in front of the Verdant Valley wolves as they hunted. Each breath seared their lungs and even their thick undercoats did not protect them. Wolves are made for winter, but this was a winter beyond all wolves. The sun stayed always on the far side of the land, and the stars, which before had been vibrant beacons in the night, chilled to black dimness.

Whisper wandered away from her family, not bothering to sniff for whatever voles or hares she might find along the way. Wulfrun, her pack leader, had told the pack that the hunt was off, that the elk that ran the Verdant Valley were too scarce, and the pack too weak to catch the few that remained. Now they merely waited for the colder chill of death to replace the chill in the air. Whisper would not wait. She had walked away from her packmates, and especially away from the pups with their bones clearly visible through their fur and their hungry eyes. It was the duty of every wolf in the pack — even a young wolf like Whisper — to provide for the pups, and if she could not do so, she was not worthy to be called wolf.

Even the light outer layer of her fur weighed her down as she forced her way through the deep drifts of snow. Ravens flew above her head, and she longed for wings to carry her to the hunting plain. Whisper was looking for the largest, fiercest elk she could find, and she would challenge it, fighting it to the death. Weak as she was, she knew it would be her death.

After walking for a short time that, nevertheless, managed to feel like an eternity, Whisper came upon the hunting plains. She scanned her surroundings, her fiery amber eyes perfectly projecting her determination. Even if it cost her life, she would make sure that the younglings would have dinner tonight.

The elk shook his head nervously when she came near, revealing his vulnerability. It hadn't realized that a wolf had been stalking it for some time now and so, it was caught by surprise. Moving like the shadow, Whisper ran around the elk in circles, fatigue lifting from her legs. At first, she started slow but slowly built up speed and momentum, confusing and tiring her prey that, seeing as it hadn't fully matured yet - as was evident from its lack of antlers, didn't know what to do. Then, in a sudden burst of speed, she lunged at the elk, baring her sharp teeth and fangs. The elk, in a desperate attempt to escape the threat on its life, tried to outrun the wolf. Alas, after a short chase, Whisper managed to land a strong bite on the elk's hind leg, firmly grasping it from behind. The elk, having suddenly lost the support of one of its legs, tripped and fell, giving Whisper the one and only opportunity she would need. As fast as lightning, Whisper released the elk's leg and attacked it's neck, sinking her teeth deep into the elk's warm flesh, tearing its life away from it.

As Whisper ripped into the flesh of the elk, dizzy from the smell and taste of food at last; a foreboding feeling awoke her from her frenzy. She perked her ears and listened whilst at the same time, trying to reassure herself that it was only her imagination.

The night was still, sacred and dark - save for the glowing hues of the stars that hung high in the sky. Crickets buzzed in a melody of rhythm, frogs croaked their own as if to keep tune in an almost perfect symphony of symmetry directed by nature, composed by none. Suddenly, a sound like no other emerged. A consistent thrumming sound so oppressive and overbearing that all the sounds in the immediate area ceased as if bowing down to this invisible presence.

Whisper, of course, was scared stiff but didn't try to escape. She had long waited for death to come and so, was ready to embrace it, should this invisible being will it so, for she instinctively felt that she had no way of stopping it. On a corner of her mind, though, she lamented the fact that she wouldn't be able to feed her pups, now that she finally had a good hunt.

---

Ull'Yang slowly awoke from his deep slumber, during which, he dreamt for the first time. He dreamt about many things. He dreamt of bright stars and solar systems. He dreamt of the innumerable amount of planets that were scattered across said solar systems and the even more so innumerable moons that orbited around these planets. He dreamt of the vast galaxies that encompassed all of these, aimlessly wandering across the dark reaches of space.

He dreamt of the Universe.

And then he suddenly awoke from that dream. To his surprise, though, when he tried to open his eyes, he encountered resistance. Taking a moment to organize his thoughts and get rid of the spell of grogginess that had overcome him, Ull'Yang spread his awareness, instantly encompassing the whole of Cygnea. What he found was more or less, what he expected to find after so much time spent asleep. Gone were the barren lands of the four continents of Cygnea. Slough's essence, that miraculous seed of life that he had divided and planted in those four continents had done its job beautifully.

Every kind of fauna - from lush forests to broad valleys and rolling terrains of grasses, flowers, and herbs could be found, scattered across the four continents. The eastern continent was predominantly a flat continent that was sparsely populated by mountains whilst savannahs and deserts were a common sight. The western continent, however, was equally filled with mountains and valleys that hosted a variety of environments, from marshes to jungles and lakes.

The northern continent as a whole could be described as a massive taiga. Thick forests of coniferous trees, such as spruce, pine, and fir covered most, if not the entirety of the mountains and although the temperatures were so low, it's just high enough for water to not freeze and so, many rivers can be seen flowing down the mountains, through valleys or along plains, and create canyons and gorges.

As for the Broken Archipelago, It's dominated by a tropical climate. That, coupled with its archipelagic geography, allows the continent to support a surprisingly high level of biodiversity. Forests cover as much as 60% of the islands, with only the biggest of the islands spotting the occasional mountain. Aside from all that, the Archipelago also has a range of sea and coastal ecosystems, including beaches, sand dunes, estuaries, mangroves, coral reefs, seagrass beds, coastal mudflats, tidal flats, algal beds, and small island ecosystems.

Ull'Yang was elated by the sheer magnitude of change that had happened whilst he was resting. Life was abundant everywhere one could look, but something was missing. Then, he remembered of his siblings' creations back at Galbar and how complex and intriguing each and every one of them was. And he decided; "I too, am going to create my very own race! Hehehe, this plane shall soon be populated by my own little beings!" Ull'Yang thought excitedly.

"But first, I wonder why I faced resistance when I tried to move earlier..." With that in mind, Ull'Yang brought his awareness unto himself and was shocked to find out that he had practically become an island! His massive body, coiled up as it was back when he laid down on the small island to rest, had fused with the island! Massive trees had grown on his body, undoubtedly having grown so out of proportion because of the strands of divine essence that they siphoned with their roots from his body. Grey rock had formed a thick, outer layer that concealed his celestial body from the world; It was as if he had disappeared completely from the small island, but a fellow god or any other being with a perception close to that of a god would still be able to realise that the island was, in fact, Ull'Yang himself.

---

The soil under her feet suddenly started to trembled but Whisper remained motionless. She could feel that something was off, that the tremors were not just a mere earthquake. A deep and unfathomable presence had awoken and she could not even start to comprehend what was happening. In front of her very eyes, the side of the massive mountain that graced the island split in two and a massive, circular blue ball of flames sprang from inside it. The blue ball of flames darted all over the place, its movements something akin to... an eye! Yes, it was a massive eye that was gazing upon the land below it.

And then it noticed her. The eye, after scanning everything in its scope of vision in mere seconds, turned its attention to the small patch of land where Whisper had dragged her prey. Of all the possible areas that they eye could be looking at, at that specific moment, It just had to be that place. Myriad of thoughts whizzed through her brain as she silently locked gazes with the eye. Suddenly, a splitting headache overcame her blackness enveloped her as she fell into deep slumber.

---

Ull'Yang watched as the small, grey-furred wolf fell unconscious by his divine gaze. "In all my millennia, not once had I seen with my very own eyes a mortal being. It's already astounding that the first creature that I lay my eyes upon is capable of retaining consciousness for longer than a millisecond," Ull'Yang thought and looked at the small canid. "You shall come with me, little lamb..." Ull'Yang mentally sent at the unconscious wolf.

The flaming orb of blue, after giving a last glance at the small island, retreated back inside the crack it had emerged. Ull'Yang then tapped into his pool of divine power and willed his body to slowly solidify into hard rock. The process lasted but a mere incense stick's time. At the last moment, Ull'Yang ejected his core outside the island's interior through the crack in the mountainside.

The golden spherical core floated above the island as divine essence rapidly seeped out of it, reconstructing Ull'Yang's body from the ground up. When everything was all said and done, the star god clenched his fists as he was getting used to his new body and turned his attention towards the wolf. "Since you are coming with me, this is all I can do to make sure your brethren won't perish. The air around this little island and the soil beneath your feet are filled with my essence. It's just enough for life on this land to flourish splendidly," Ull'Yang sent to her, not caring whether the wolf would know of his actions and appreciate them or not.

Then a realisation struck him, and Ull'Yang started laughing heartily at his predicament. In his heart, he was already treating this mortal creature high enough for him to care about its opinion. "I wonder what Zephyrion or Logos would have to say, should they come to know of this," Ull'Yang thought and started laughing once more. "Now that I think about it, I should really go pay a visit to Zephyrion through my Avatar. Actually, I should really go pay a visit to all of my siblings. If not, then why did I create that Avatar?" he lamented his thoughtlessness.

Ull'Yang gently grasped the wolf's body with his right hand and brought it closer to his face whilst at the same time, suppresing his precense and then...waited. Eventually, the wolf started wiggling around on the palm of his hand; The wolf opened its eyes softly and looked around, still feeling a little groggy.

---

Whisper gathered her thoughts and that's when she remembered the events that had transpired. She sighed, thinking everything had been but just a dream. Soon, though, she realised that her surroundings were significantly different than what she remembered. The ground was blue for one...BLUE?! Startled, she shot up from her previous relaxed position, tensing up. "Did you have a good sleep, little wolf?" Suddenly, a voice echoed inside her mind and she instantly froze. Trembling, she looked up and saw a massive being looking down at her. "Now, don't be afraid. I don't mean you any harm. I am Ull'Yang and you could say that I am a god," the being told her.

A god... Whisper couldn't understand the meaning of the word, but there was one thing she could understand and that was that the being in front of her was mighty, much stronger than Wulfrun for sure. Since he said that he meant no harm, then he did. In her simple mind, there was no need for a being as powerful as him to lie to a mere wolf such as her, and so he believed him.

Ull'Yang was pleased when he saw that Whisper relaxed a bit. "Good, you don't have to be on alert. You must be curious as to why I am here talking to you," Ull'Yang said and paused as he shifted his gaze towards the horizon. "A god is a solitary being. I am not the only one, by the way, there are more of us, and we are all unique in our own special way... But I guess that is of no concern to you right now. Yes, you want to know where you place in all of this, right?" Ull'Yang said with a smile.

"I chose you to be my attendant, companion and, most of all, a friend I can share my thoughts with whenever there's something troubling me. Of course, you can refuse this offer, I won't hold you accountable for anything nor force you in any way. Just have in mind that, if you refuse this offer now, there won't be a second chance. 'Tis truly very rare for a god to favor a mortal..." he finished his little speech and continued looking at the horizon, as if searching for something very far away.

Whisper truly didn't know what to do. Torn between her love for her pack and the offer from Ull'Yang, the young wolf faced a dilemma. In the end, however, she was won over by him. Whisper slowly walked to the edge of Ull'Yang's massive hand and pointed with her snout at the island below them. She had a vague feeling that Ull'Yang had already told her that her packmates wouldn't face any trouble from now on and that really made her feel happy, but she still harbored some doubts.

Ull'Yang immediately understood her meaning when he saw her point at the island. "As I previously said, your pack won't face any difficulties, that I can guarantee. After I bless you, you may go see them one last time before we leave, but you absolutely cannot make yourself known to them," Ull'Yang said with a stern but warm voice.

After his reassuring words, Whisper cast away the last of her doubt and started bouncing up and down, excited that she had been given such an opportunity. Her little antics amused him extremely and he thought he had made a very good decision to choose her as a companion. They still had things to do, though, before they explored the rest of the plane. "Ahem, it's time," Ull'Yang said with a serious tone.

Whisper felt the change in the atmosphere as Ull'Yang looked at her with a serious look. She lowered her ears and her head, quietly listening to him as he continued. "I, Ull'Yang, god of the stars and the cosmos, pledge that I will provide for, care and protect as well as offer advice to you. In turn, I expect from you, Whisper, to be my companion, my attendant and to lend an ear to me whenever something's troubling me, as well as voice your opinion whenever you feel like it's necessary. Do you accept?"

Whisper immediately nodded in agreement to everything that Ull'Yang had said. She too had an urge to explore, to know of the outside world. All she ever experienced since she was a pup had been restricted to the confines of the small island. Now that Ull'Yang would give her the chance of a lifetime, there was no way she was going to turn it down.

Satisfied by her response, Ull'Yang nodded and, with his other hand, reached out and gently placed the tip of his claw on her forehead. A string of blue energy ran through his finger and to her, covering her body in a thin, bluish and semi-transparent layer. "You shall bathe in my flames and be reborn from the ashes anew, stronger than ever," Ull'Yang simply said and, not waiting for a response from her, suddenly spewed out endless amounts of starfire upon her. Of course, Whisper was shocked and scared out of her wits, but as the scorching flames licked her fur, she realised that she wasn't getting hurt at all! In actuality, she was getting some sort of pleasure out of it!

Ull'Yang watched as his, soon to be, companion's body writhed, her body convulsing and twisting in ways impossible for a canine body. Slowly, a change in her form could be seen. Her fur started receding whilst the bones in her body remolded and realigned to better fit her new and improved physique. Wolf howls soon turned into human screams and in the end, where previously laid a grey-furred wolf, now laid a form that bore close resemblance to Yang'Ze, but also at the same time differed greatly, albeit for her two back legs that had remained almost unchanged."I presume by the sounds you made, that you rather like your new form," Ull'Yang said while smiling whimsically.

Luna just laid there, eyes closed and panting heavily. When Ull'Yang's voice rang through her ears, she opened her eyes and saw his visage looming above her, staring at her with a smile on his face. She didn't say anything to his comment and just opted to return the smile. "Although you are now in this new form, fear not, for you can return back to your other form with nothing but a thought. This form is simply..." Ull'Yang's voice trailed into nothingness as he pondered on the thought for a bit. "Ah, yes. Practical," he said while nodding to himself.

"Of course, you'll have to get us-"
"Why don't you, take a similar form then, since it's so practical?" She said as she struggled to stand up, trying to become used to her new center of balance. Even Ull'Yang himself felt a little shock at her familiarizing so quickly with her new body. He watched as she stretched her body and adjusted her position. "I was indeed right to choose her. It wouldn't be an understatement to say that amongst all the wolf races inside this plane, she alone possesses the highest level of adaptability.

"Hehe, not even a moment after you receive my blessing, and you're already talking back to me, going so far as interrupting me while I am talking? You're one cheeky rascal alright," Ull'Yang said and let out a bellowing laughter. Startled, countless birds that were nesting at the branches of nearby trees flew away in fear.

"Well, I am sworn to voice my opinion whenever I see fit, aren't I?" Luna said with a smug look on her face. Ull'Yang, seeing this blatant display of sarcasm, simply brought his hand to his face and sighed.

"By Fate and Amul'Sharar, what have I gotten myself into..."

Jvan week

Sharmen slowly scuttled through the darkness, listening to the slightly comforting sound of her Needle Fae. She didn't know how she got here. One moment she was walking through the plains, far from her original Hain home (the near sighted fools had thrown her out for being a monster. For reshaping herself into a far more pleasing form). She had avoided the mob of Vestecal creatures (clumsy, cruel, and stupid creatures.) and was looking for inspiration and a location for her art when she suddenly found herself among the Darkened Spires. She was near the Fractal Sea. The sound and smells of an ocean nearby told her that much. But how had she gotten here? There were no oceans in the direction she was headed. Sharmen shook her head. No matter. She'd find beauty here, even in the shadows.

For many hours she walked in silence, looking around for anything other than shadowed spires. She occasionally saw a flicker of movement that indicated other life, but she never got a good look at what creatures would live in these perpetually darkened lands. It was maddening. There was nothing but plain, boring, towers, and even if she did use her Needle Fae too make them prettier, no one would see them. She wanted her art to be seen.

Up ahead in the distance, she saw a shimmering light. Hope flooded through the Sculptor's body. Sentient creatures! Mortals who could lead her out of these lands, perhaps! She scurried closer towards the light. Odd, how it shifted through random colors and shades of them. There was no pattern, no reason behind it. The light was so...chaotic. As she drew closer, she saw that the light was coming from a tunnel going down into the earth. After a brief bit of hesitation, she went down into the light. For the first few dozen steps, there was only silence and flashing lights. As she drew closer, she became aware of the giggling. It made her instinctively shrink back against the wall, hugging the shadows. It was a mad sound, filled with a child like glee and the certainty of pain and suffering wherever it went.

As she slowly crept towards the end of the tunnel and the source of the light, she began to make out words.

"You see Julkolfyr," the voice of the giggling was speaking, "I admire the way you stood up to Logos. Truly, I do. He's an arrogant fool who thinks he can declare himself King of the Gods, when we don't need one nor will we accept one. I won't allow it. We're Gods, not servants. The only things we are subservient to are Fate and Amul'shaar. And then only because of how powerful they are. It's how you stood up to him that I can't have. You declared yourself a rival King. And as I said before, I won't allow a King to rule us. So!" There was a clapping sound. "I made this little beauty. You remember your balls of darkness don't you? The ones that consumed and destroyed everything? Well, I took one and modified it for myself. Made a lovely little plane in it too. The Realm of Madness, I call it. You'll love it! I'm trapping you their, Julkolfyr. For eternity. Killing you would be a waste, and I still have use for your powers."

Sharmen turned around the corner of the tunnel to see a harrowing sight. Statues of over a dozen immense beings were standing in a circle (one of them was merely hooves and shattered stone) around two more beings. One was a man whose mask and clothes constantly changed colors. The other was a dog like creature, with black as night skin and a white face and muzzle. Around this creature were several chains of constantly changing energy, and they were slowly dragging it back towards a ball of pure darkness. The creature was struggling, and seemed to be trying to say something, but the chains were wrapped tightly around it's limbs, body, and muzzle. It could do nothing.

The Sculptor watched as it was dragged into the ball, and then jumped as with a loud 'pop!', the large ball of pure darkness condensed into something on the ground. The giggler walked over and picked the thing up. "One down. One to go." He tossed the thing between his hands, giving Sharmen a brief glance at it. It seemed to a carved figurne of a man with a dripping crown on his had, carved from the darkest stone Sharmen had ever seen. It was time to leave before this maniac, this God, found her. She turned to leave. Her way was blocked by rapidly changing lights that were far to bright and far to close. "Where do you think you're going?" The giggler asked, looking down at her. Sharmen screamed. In instinct, she sent her Needle Fae at the God, only to have them all die. They all died in random ways. Some burst into flame, others killed themselves, while still others simply rotted away.

"I brought you here for a reason Sculptor. Make sure you remember what you saw, and that your art of it is seen by all the land." The God spoke, seeming not to notice how he had killed her Needle Fae swarm. "Remember my words Sculptor. I don't want to repeat them." The last thing Sharmen remembered was a hand reaching for her face and giggling.





Dropping the Sculptor off in the middle of the Plains (far away from his armies) Vestec quickly teleported over to the Fallen Angel and Hain army. He would address Kyre later. Right now, he needed to do something. He took five of the Fallen Angels and quickly took them far away from the army, floating a good distance away from Cornerstone, but still over the White Ocean. He removed his corruption from them, and began rooting in their minds before they could react. This will do nicely. He thought to himself, giggling. Any memory of their time in Vestec's service was wiped, instead replaced with Niciel giving them a special mission and spending their days searching for their targets. The false memories and wiped memories wouldn't hold up against intense scrutiny, after all he wasn't Vulamera, but they would hold up against a passing glance. And that was all he needed.

The five angels (one pink, two blonde, and two blue), with their new memories flew towards Cornerstone at a break neck pace. Once there, they examined the fort and it's defenses for a brief moment.

Then they attacked. A few Hain fell in moments, caught by surprise. Then they began to fight back, using their own unique magic to its fullest abilities. A blonde angel fell, quickly followed by a blue. The remaining Blond and Blue stuck close to the the Pink angel, defending him as he healed their fallen brother (The blonde at least. The blue was quite, quite dead.) and preparing to attack again.

Vestec created apparitions of himself to visit Niciel and Toun, before going to visit Kyre himself. If he had had a mouth he would have grinned. Things were going well.

The dense jungle canopy made the soil cool and dark. The trees towered a hundred times Elysium’s height, and no grass or brush managed to grow on the forest floor. Trunks shot up from the ground and disappeared into the sky—pillars to hold up the roof of leaves shading the jungle.

Below it all, Elysium walked along the ground, touching her hand to the trees she passed, and checking on their health. The air felt hot and humid, and the air held a slight haze. The forest was only a day’s flight from the sea, and was watered by monsoons which gave it its glory.

It was one of many forests created by her father and nurtured by her, but it by far had the largest trees.

Her father alighted from his perch above and landed softly beside her, tucking his wings into his sides.

“Have you flown high up?” she asks, staring at the forest ceiling. “You’ve made this land green as far as the eye can see. It’s so different from the arctics or the desert.”

“Good,” Logos said. “That is the idea, is it not?”

“I’m just making idle comment.” Elysium huffed and looks away. In an unbefore seen gesture, her father had accompanied her on one of her trips away from the Citadel. “You are harder and harder to talk to these days.”

“Sorry. We’ll be someplace we can rest soon,” Logos said, looking at the nearby trees and checking his bearings. “There is a cave nearby a waterfall just south of here.”

The sound of rushing water reached Elysiums ears, and a small river—almost a stream—lie up ahead. A cliff marked with moss and jagged edges cuts the stream in half, and water crashes and foams, pouring from the cliff into the waiting pool below. On the opposite side of the river, not far from the waterfall, the dark entrance to a cave lay with its bank covered with moss.

Elysium walked to the waters edge and leapt with a few accompanying wingbeats to see her over the river. She landed on the rock on the opposite side, and turned to look back at her father on the opposite bank.

The darker deity mimiced her actions over the river, and landed next to her.

“I must say, I was looking forward to sleeping on something more comfortable than rock,” Elysium says, testing the ground beneath her feet.

Logos shook his head and started towards the cave. “You won’t have to worry about that.”

Elysium followed him, curiously, and stared at the cave mouth. They stepped inside it, and for a while, it is pitch black, and Elysium could not see her own hand infront of her face. The only way she even knew that her father was still with her, was the soft, almost inaudible sound of is feet against the moss.

The darkness was cool, and the cave stone was chilled by the river that ran near it. Elysium strains her eyes to make out any light in the darkness.

“Any reason you have not cast a light spell?” she asked her father ahead of her.

“We won’t need one in a moment,” Logos said, still peering into the dark.

She spotted it, a faint blue glow coming from around a corner up ahead. The walls and moss floor of the cave became visible again, and Elysium and Logos round the corner to see a myriad of color.

The turn opened up to a great cavern, high enough that one could fly around in it. Crystals lined the roof and emit a luminescent blue light, shining down on the moss below and turning it into a sea of turquoise. A pool of water, clear as air, lies in the center of the chamber, and the blue light danced off its surface.

“When did you make this?” Elysium asked, looking around at the crystals on the walls.

“Before the moon, before the sun, before the first Realta became aware,” Logos said as he walks towards the water. “I made this cave centuries ago, when I made all the other crystals and gemstones. The moss spread from the forest to the cave. The pond... I had a little help with.”

“It is like another plane hidden away from the rest of the world!” Elysium exclaims, rushing up to her father’s side, and spinning around to look at all sides of the cavern. “I’d forgotten how wonderful something [i]new[i] could be.”

“I always thought that look was your most beautiful expression,” Logos said, his once hard eyes softening at the way his daughter's were lighting up with glee from looking at the cavern. “This is my gift to you... use it well.”

“It'll be the perfect spot to relax after dealing with you,” Elysium teased. She waded into the pool of water, and walked to its center. The blues dance off her skin, and the waves she creates in the water send ripples of light down her body.

.
.
.

“Elysium!”

The Realta snapped her eyes open at hearing Logos’s voice cry out. Standing and looking out from the pool, she saw him struggling and sinking into the bed of moss beside the water.

“Father!” Elysium screams, charging into the water. She maked it only halfway, when Logos’s head is dragged underwater. “Father!” she screams again, trudging through the water to see her Father’s wide and frightened eyes, only his head and arms still sticking out of the moss. “Father, hold on!” Elysium shouts, closing her eyes and focusing, calling upon her magic to pull him out.

But her magic is gone.

Elysium gasps, and panic courses through her veins. She reaches her hands down to grab Logos’s. Kicking and flapping her wings, she feels her limbs scream in protest as she pulls as hard as she can to free him out.

Logos looks up at his daughter from the moss and smiles, making Elysium’s blood run cold.

“Don’t give up!” she shouts, but Logos simply smiles, even as the moss swallows him. Elysium grips onto his hand still sticking out, but eventually, even it too disappears into the ground.

Elysium sits, broken, in the water. She combs through the moss with her hands, but all there is below the moss is stone.

A tear falls and splashes the water. And then another. Elysium shudders, and her vision waters as she holds her arms against her chest. She does not know how long she sits there, staring at the spot that swallowed her father whole.

And then someone wading through the water sounds from behind her.

Elysium freezes, her hairs stand on end, and a shiver travels along her spine. She stands and turns to face them, and what she sees causes her to falter.

Her father faces her, but her eyes are blank, not white, but empty and his wings and skin are dull, ashen colors. He says nothing. His face is a stoic mask that doesn’t even register Elysium’s presence. The water does not ripple from where he stands; his body is perfectly still.

“Father?” Elysium asks, but she knows it is not him, only a ghost resembling her. “What happened, you were—” Elysium reaches a hand out to touch Logos, but the hand passes right through her as though she were air. She looks down at her hand, then back up at the ash colored Logos. The apparition remains unmoving, uncaring of her presence.

Elysium looks down at the water. “I... I don’t understand.”

The ashen visage tilts his head, in a curious manner that reminds Elysium of the real Logos. Then, he begins to step forward.

Elysium’s gut reaction is to step back, but the ghost keeps walking towards her, a haunting smile on its visage. Logos’s body begins to crumble into black sand that floats as though caught in a dust devil, but there is no wind.

The black sand sweeps around behind Elysium, and surrounds her, forming a bubble around her. It hisses with the sound of the sand rubbing against itself, grains grinding against one another, and the sound grows louder as the sand spins around her faster and faster. Elysium sits in the water and holds her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sound.

The bubble bursts, and the sand dissipates. Elysium looks around to find herself staring at a flat, gray horizon. She slowly, almost fearfully, looks down at the ground.

White sandstone.

She pushes against it with her hands, not believing it to be real, but it feels as solid as the moss in the save did. The sandstone spans the horizon. There is only her, and every last bit of her is as white as the sandstone around her, and she has no wings.

“How...” Elysium sits and looks around for any sign of anything. “How am I here?” Her voice breaks the absolute silence. Not even wind exists in this barren.

Elysium stands, and she begins to wander for a very long time.

She looks up at the sky, half expecting the moon or sun to show their faces at any time. But time does not exist here. Nothing moves, nothing changes, and nothing casts a shadow. The ground is hard, and leaves no footprints. The air is dry and has no taste.

After what feels like months of wandering, Elysium sees a dark figure in the distance. She pauses, and realizes that they are slowly walking toward her. A ray of hope shines through as the silhouette draws closer. It has the same figure and poise, and even the same walk as her father.

Elysium breaks into a run towards him, wishing she could just fly up to her and hug him with all her strength, but as she draws closer, something seems wrong. Logos is not calling out to her, or rushing out to greet her. He simply walks towards her, at a subdued pace.

Elysium draws closer, and recognizes the figure not to be her father, but the ghost that sent her back. She stops, but the apparition draws closer.

Elysium steels herself, and levels a glare at the approaching thing that wears her father’s guise. “Where is Logos?” she shouts across the wasteland at it. “Why did you bring me here?”

The ghost makes no move to stop, and continues to walk towards her.

Elysium snorts, raises her first, but the ghost is unfazed by her show of aggression, and she wonders if it even knows she’s there. Breaking into a ran, she charges the apparition with her fist lowered to its chest. She breathes deep, panting breaths, and her eyes focus on the ash colored father.

The copy of Logos continues walking forward at a slow pace, uncaring of her charge.

Elysium draws close, and she looks at the blank, dead eyes of the copy, and it gives her pause in her charge. The eyes seem to stare into her very being, and it sends a jolt of panic through her that makes her halt her charge.

The copy continues walking calmly towards her, uncaring of her halting.

Elysium can only stand there, petrified with fear as the ghost approaches her. It walks up to her, and presses its lips to hers.

The Realta’s blood runs cold, and the kiss feels like death. There is no love in it, no joy, no passion, just an emptiness that threatens to swallow her whole. She wants to desperately pull away, but she is rooted to the spot with terror.

Its lips still locked to hers, the apparition begins to dissolve into black sand. The sand travels into Elysoum’s body, and she feels it spreading through her like a poison. She shudders, her lips still pressed against the apparition’s. They remain in a kiss of death until all of the sand is absorbed into her body. The ghost’s head disperses to sand last and goes inside her.

And then, all is quiet.

She is alone in the sea of sandstone once more, and nothing moves, nothing stirs, aside from her.

Elysium lets out a gasp, finally able to breathe. She sits down and raises a hand to her chest, trying to slow her racing heart. The sound of her heartbeat fills her ears, and she swallows, her tongue feeling dry and uncomfortable where it sits in her mouth.

Pain strikes her. It is sharp like a thousand crystals in her bloodstream, and it feels like she is being drowned in arctic water. She falls to the ground, her breath coming in short, raspy gasps, and the world begins to collapse around her.

Like shattered pieces of glass, the world crumbles around her, falling down and disappearing in a dark abyss below. The murky, gray sky leaves, and all that’s left is a black void and Elysium, lying on a floating isle.

The pain fades, and Elysium stands up. She looks around, searching for any sign of the world that once was, but all around her is an endless black that seems to stretch for an eternity in every direction.

Hesitantly, she steps towards the edge of the isle she’s stranded on and looks down, but the void seems to fall for an eternity, and the pieces of the land that fell have already disappeared.

Fear and desperation grip Elysium, and she looks up at the endless void. “Please, let me go back!” she shouts. She shudders as her eyes begin to water, and she looks down at the ground, her tears dripping onto it. “Please...”

An orb of light falls down from the void, and Elysium’s head snaps up to look at it. It floats gently down and stops just in front of her. The orb’s light grows brighter, and its intensity forces Elysium to clench her eyes shut.

.
.
.
“Enough!”

Her father's voice fills her ears, and impossibly strong hands grasp her shoulder. Water rushes around her; then soft moss. Elysium’s eyes shoot open, and she found herself back at the moss and crystal cavern, laying upon the mossy shore. Her father was standing over her and while he did not show it, she could tell he was worried.

The Realta rubbed her eyes, to make sure what she was seeing was real, and looked up at her father. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only for a moment. When I realized what had happened, I pulled you out.”

“Only for a moment?”

Logos looked at her, his brow furrowing in concern. “Is everything alright?”

"...I will be fine." Elysium lied. She avoided looking at her father. The sight of him brought back haunting shadows from the dream. She looked at Logos and she couldn’t help but see his ashen counterpart, whose kiss sucked all the warmth out of the world.

Logos turned away, looking around at the cavern, his eyes searching. “The Waters of Nyvee,” he asks, walking to the edge of the pool, his expression uncertain. “I saw what you lived in the waters."

Elysium shivered, buring her face in a hand. "It seemed so..."

"Real?" Logos reached down to dip his fingers into waters, and the pond rippled. "To another perhaps. It was simply a me that could have been, but never was. Look now," he commanded her and Elysium took a peek over her eyes into the pond.

"It's just my refl-oh!" She made a soft noise of surprise and leaned over to stare down.

She was looking at herself. It could have even been here reflection; it blinked as she did, its wings twitched in excitement, and she But the Elysium that stared back had been given hair as crimson as the rose.

"Now that's something,” Elysium remarked, idly playing with her own blonde strands as the image mimiced her motion.

"It is a tool of great power. Not an outlet for something as insignificant as vanity."

Elysium lets out a sigh and rested her chin on the moss bed, its tendrils tickling her nose. “Why do you always hunger for more? When will it be enough?”

"When the War is over."

Her eyes flicked up to him, furrowing in confusion. "What war? The humans don't even have the numbers for combat yet."

"Not here. Not on Arcon." Logos dipped a finger into the pool, and the scene changed. Vast hordes of... creatures that Elysium had never seen before marched across an almost alien landscape. Great hulking behemoths of flesh and scars, gangly warriors of and cold and ice, rolling tornados of dust and wind, and foot soldiers of... a white material foreign to her. In their wake, the world burn and turned to ash and through the visions she saw a god laughing with mirth as though it was all good sport.

"Vestec. Even now he assembles his host and marches on the other gods." He gave a nod to the pond. "I have seen where he is victorious and all of reality burns. And I have seen where the gods kneel before me at last. Both of these outcomes, and more, are available to us should I act. Or not. But the path there is clouded, and I know not the way." Logos aswered truthfully, and with a wave of his hand he banished the images from the surface, turning once more to his daughter. "What do you think should I do?" Logos asked.

Elysium blinked in surprised, absolutely floored the question. Her father never, never asked her for advice. "Me?"

Logos nodded, and suddenly Elysium felt very small. Her mind raced as she looked at the pool, uncertain as ever as she realized that her father had probably seen every possible outcome. Why ask her, when he had only just shown her the-

Oh. That was why.

"It can all be rebuilt," she told him softly, and repressed a shudder as the memory of her Not-Father came to her. That could never happen. That would never happen.

She believed every word.

She had too.

"But if He trully does grow in strength, he could march upon us. We cannot let that happen."

“Very well.” Logos rose before her and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the cave air in through his nostrils. He walked forward, eyes closed, to the waters edge.

Elysium fixed him with a confused look, cocking her head to the side and raising an eyebrow at him, but her father ignored it. He dips his arms down to the water, his palms floating just off its surface and beginning to glow. The light coming from his hands hummed with energy, and despite not touching the water, it begins to send small ripples along the surface.

Logos focused on the power in his hands, and shaped it into heat and light and raw energy that makes the air feel alive with magic. It glowed, not unlike the sun, but in a softer, more intimate manner.

Beside him, Elysium took a step back, both to give her room, and to create some small distance between her and the power her father was emitting. The entire cave was illuminated by the light, and the fainter light of the crystals was overwhelmed and smothered by the radiant light coming from Logos's eyes, and it painted the water into a white sheet as the surface continues to ripple.

Something in the way the magic was moving suddenly changed. The heavy, oppressive feel of it saturating the air retracted back into Logos, and the magic moves from the tip of his wings and spread back to him, giving her entire body an aura of white magic, but it is thin, and controlled.

Logos’s eyes snapped open, and they were full and glow with her magic. Elysium took a step back before she could stop herself, watching Logos's control over his power with a bit of awe. In a trance-like state, Logos walked out into the center of the pool in calm, confident strides. Water parted away from him like it was afraid, and the hum of his might bounces around the cave, coming from every direction.

A small orb of solid light the size of a pea appears floating over the water. Logos wrapped his magic around it, adding layers to the orb and slowly making it grow, until it was the size of her head.

The magic died down, and the solid orb, now like glass—floats down to the surface of the water, and lies there. The moment it skimmed the surface of the water, it unraveled, revealing the many layered petals of a flower. Pristine beyond the dreams of any mortals, it drifted on the surface as if it was a fraction of the weight it should have been.

Elysium was the first to take any sort of action. She walked out into the water to stand next to her father, and stared at the flower intently. They stood there for a while, but nothing happened. Giving a sigh of defeat, she turned to him.

“What exactly is it?” she asks, gesturing to the flower. Her father carefully scooped up an orb of water with his magic, the crystal flower floating in its center.

"A pre-emptive strike."

In the rolling green hills and forest dells of Galbar, a crisp air heralded the winter's slow southward march; fall was beginning to reach its peak. That cerulean sky above made the rusty autumn woodland glow ever brighter for the contrast. The flaxen colored leaves already had tinges of garnet and ocher, and so already there was a vibrant sea of a hundred different hues that carpeted the woodland ground. Nature always painted the most pristine of all pictures.

From an oaken branch, one delicate leaf at last succumbed to its fate and began to fall. Ever slowly it drifted down, but it did not have the fleeting opportunity to dance in the wind before it came to rest below forevermore. There was no wind, not even the smallest eddy of movement. The sky above was utterly cloudless and stark in its depths. Streams and brooks meandered slowly and without their usual lively animation, whilst the waves lolled weakly upon the shores and no mighty tides came save those chaotic ones created by the many moons above. Even the earth underfoot seemed especially lifeless and still, and all things seemed to lack that spark of excitement, that inner flame that kindled warmth and helped them through the growing cold. The forest was lazy and still, eerily winterlike in its utter silence. It might have been tranquil to one at first, but something was unmistakably wrong. The forces of nature were missing, nowhere to be found.



In sight of the countless stars in the somber night sky, a great bluff overlooked the silent sea. The trade winds blew strong now, a steady rumble came from a faroff volcano, and next to that burning mount were the distant outlines of the mighty Ironhearts. Fittingly, resting atop that sacred bluff were three mighty djinn, each a master over one of those elements: there was the Stormlord Tempus, the Stonelord Gneiss, and Firelord Cinder. Only water was missing.

The sun rose over the blue horizon heralding day, and then fell when it was time to yield to the inevitability of night once more. The sun rose again the next morn, and again it fell; this repeated many times, and still the three were silent. Days were mere blinks of the eye to these great spiryts; for them, time was measured more in centuries or millenia.

At last there came another night when the black water below the fjord at last had its stillness shattered. There was no mere ripple; a wave of gigantic proportions roared as it raced towards the shore. With a boom like thunder the mighty tsunami crashed upon the rock face of the fjord, but where a normal wave would fall broken and retreat back to the sea this one only climbed. The water itself clung to the stone face and slowly the great mass pulled itself upward. Great hands of amorphous fluid grasped the top of the precipice, and with one great heave the Waterlord Hydraxis at last clambered to the crown of that fjord and made his way to the bluff. His host of lesser elementals fell into ranks and followed after him.

Finally, each of the elements had answered Nature's summons and convened. The talk could begin, the decision could be made, and here Fate would be decided.

As was fitting and always the case, wind spoke first. "Noble Basheer, all have heard whispers of your fate. But repeat your tale, that we might hear it from your own words," quoth one sharp voice from amongst the howling winds of Tempus' raging body.

The eyes of all four elements looked now to Basheer, who stood in the middle of the circle. The weight of their combined gaze was crushing in its intensity.

With an expression of deep gravity, the mighty Djinni rose up upon the winds so that his head was above all others - apart from those of the Great Lords - and his word sounded. It was a deep and strangely melodic voice, unlike anything other elementals were capable of making. Indeed, this was further evidence of the traumatising experience had undergone, so long had he been trapped that his very voice had taken on an almost musical constitution.

'I speak from memory sharpened by relentless winds and storms, and with a voice that has, over eons, taken countless shapes and forms. I have, willingly and unwillingly, screamed my pain and fury across the Iron Mounts, 'tis a voice that reached the ocean depths and wellsprings of the greatest founts. Listen well as I regale all present here with this, my tale,' his eyes moved from one elemental lord to another, and he looked down also upon those gathered below - who seemed captivated by his strange voice and and words.

'I remember, I remember, a season blooming with life, a Spring, when all the birds flew about me and I with them did sing. And we flew together, frolicking and playing - so much so that I knew where I was straying. Foolish me! I thought myself too powerful to harm, and so it was that, much to my alarm, I was set upon by a fiend must strong and scary - and the birds cared not to tarry - and it took me far away where I could neither sing nor play. There, life was pain and torture. I screamed! - much to its laughter, and found no aid or saviour. I was, truthfully, stunned by its behaviour, for it neither consumed me nor released me, but instead it pained and teased me. Then, certain of my entrapment, it left, and I remained, weeping and bereft. I cried for help, but no one came - for eons I wallowed in misery and shame. This creature, which left me trapped and static, was most certainly vile and Jvanic. Of this fact I have no doubt, for my saviour, small yet stout, told me so. I was saved by a creature brave and gallant and, you may laugh at this, it was an ant! I know not where this brave saviour has gone, but I promised it a reward for all it had done. So if ever you should come across her, be kind - do not oppress her,' and with his tale - if it could be called that - done, the Djinni descended back down and looked up at the great elemental lords for assurance that he had done as they wished.

Cinder reacted brashly and first, as was fire's nature. "Vengeance must be wrought; my kind know this well. To so much as touch the flame is to be burned! Are we not united in this?"

"We were not yet done," the Stormlord dismissively said to Cinder. The Firelord equally radiated contempt; the two had always been bitter enemies, more than simple rivals. The flame devoured the wind but feared the rain that it brought, and so both had naught but scorn for the other.

Tempus continued, "The Vile-One and Corruptor called Jvan hath defied Nature in more ways than one. Basheer was tormented and imprisoned. Others have met fates far more worse. They have been corrupted, changed, and forced to go against not only their nature but that of us all. They were made into something other than djinn, and they were made to worship and serve at the whims of the vile one that twisted them so, Jvan itself."

A collective shudder went through Water whilst Fire raged even more; only Stone, ever implacable and unfeeling, managed to refrain from offering any reaction at all.

"Sometimes the water may be forgiving and flow around the obstacles that challenge it. Other times, the river must carve its way to the sea by force. This is one such time. We must not tolerate this gross abuse and this insult to our power. Let it be known that the Sea and the Rills stand with Flame," proclaimed the wise lord Hydraxis.

Still Gneiss had not spoken. The earth was always slow, stubborn, and prideful; no doubt he simply insisted upon the petty honor of being last to speak. Tempus was eager to bring about an end to this, for this simple conversation of the elements had been an eternity by the standards of mortals and had stretched out for days. Deciding to oblige the Stonelord's obvious wish, Tempus agreed, "Of course Jvan's offenses are too many and action must be taken. That is why the wind summoned you to this conress. That is why the Storm will stand with Water and Fire for this."

The days passed by like leaves swept along in the wind. Birds landed upon the body of the great Gneiss and the moss that was his beard slowly grew longer. After a tortuously long time of patiently allowing the last great lord to think, it was Cinder who snapped first.

"Gneiss! You have had far more than enough time to contemplate this. Do not waste our time; agree and be done with it, then return to your wretched mountains to rest. I long for the comforting heat of my volcano."

The Stonelord's massive head cocked slightly to gaze at Cinder. What a petulant little one! Gneiss at least saw fit to answer that accusation with a timely manner. "Stone does not hurry," he retorted, "...it is longer lived than the puny little fire, which comes and goes in a day. The mountains last for an eternity."

In a violent eruption the fires of Cinder roared and grew along with his ire. Each and every djinn of the flame that stood behind their master similarly flared, and they very nearly fought right then. It was only through the quick intervention of Hydraxis that the flames were cooled down, the Waterlord only barely managing to talk reason into his rival. Water would not see this meeting come to no fruition after so long, only because Fire could not control its anger.

Gneiss turned to Tempus. "Why?" he simply asked, not bothering to clarify his question further.

Tempus waited some time for Gneiss to continue, but upon realizing that the Stonelord would not, irritatedly asked, "Why? What might the Mighty Earth mean by that?"

Gneiss answered back just as irate, his deep voice slowly rumbling, "I...ask...WHY? Why...does...this...demand...my...response?"

Fire roared back, "THE WORDS OF A COWARD! A FOOL!" From the smallest kindling of a spark to the proudest of firelords, Cinder's great assembly flared and crackled in unison.

Gneiss remained dauntless and utterly statuesque, so stoic in the face of insult that he did not so much as move. Some of the more prideful or tumultuous of his subjects stomped their feet and meant to return the challenge, but the silent will of their implacable leader bid them calm. They soon obeyed; the earth's crushing will was not easy to defy.

"You stand willing to allow these ongoing trangressions? Jvan and the demon's servants continue to defy all that is natural and assault our kind; do you think that appeasement will work? Are you so foolish as to bow down and supplicate to insects?" Hydraxis countered, the being of the cooling waters speaking with such grace and rhetoric that he coaxed a passionate fire inside the hearts of his own water elementals and even some of the other djinn.

The Stormlord threw in, "Have you not listened? Need you hear twice the soliloquy of Basheer or any of us?"

The questions, the insults, and the taunts persisted. They were struck the Stonelord and were recoiled, his uncaring visage deflecting all injury that words might try to inflict. Why should the mountain concern itself with the tiny voices of the fly? At last, when they had all spoken and said their share twice or thrice, Gneiss at last grew tired of the repetition and answered them all, "The...sun...shines...still. The...rain...falls...on. Nature...remains...unspoiled. I...see...no...lasting...harm...inflicted...by...Jvan. Our...God...and...Creator...hath...not...seen...fit...to...battle...Jvan."

Slowly the Stonelord's voice had resounded, and nearly the whole time a clamor of others (both lesser elementals and indeed even the other three great lords) had tried to speak over him and yet failed. He would not be interrupted by them. They hurled spittle and insult yet for a time even after he had finished, but he paid that no heed. With patience and calm composure that was utterly insufferable to all others, he waited for any that might seek an intelligent discourse to answer to his logic.

Finally, Tempus tried to do so, "The almighty God-Creator does not intervene in any of affairs, and you know this well. Gneiss, do not insult me with your projection of what you think Zephyrion to be. Air is the first, the purest, and the noblest of all elements; it is we alone who may contact the Lord in his high palace and hear his will, so for the lesser elements that live in the shade of ignorance to deign lecture us defies the natural hierarchy!"

With those rash and ill-thought words the meeting itself was threatened: Cinder and Hydraxis each became embroiled the moment that air proclaimed itself superior, and a terrifying quarrel ensued. Insults and taunts were hurled, but at the last moment before the elements turned upon one another and devolved the sacred moot into a cataclysmic clash of power, Gneiss brought it to an end.



"Let...there...be...peace...in...this...holy...place. Do...not...feud...like...the...creatures...of...flesh," he commanded with an adamant tone of authority, and all obeyed.

"Tempus: I...too...am...the...Maker's...son.. My...strength...rivals...your...own; we...are...made...equal. While...you...are...right...that...I...may...be...a...bastard...child...in...the...eyes...of...our...father, it...seems...that...I...know...him...best. He...does...not...intervene...because...he...trusts...our...judgement. Our...independence, our...erratic...actions, our...battles--these...are...nature. We...are...nature. And...I, as...nature, am...not...offended...by...Jvan. Stone...hath...spoken. Do...as...you...will, but...as...for...my...dominion, Jvan...and...hers...find...refuge."

No objection cried out, not now. With a deliberate slow, Gneiss and his legions of stone turned their backs upon the circle and marched for their mountains. A thoughtful silence consumed them until the looming silhouette of the Stonelord's enormous body faded into the horizon, and then it resumed. An air of disbelief permeated the moot, and yet for all his wisdom, Gneiss had swayed none.

"Gneiss will not be made to see the truth, but know that his delusion hath not been passed unto this one. The Storm has decreed Jvan and hers unnatural and intolerable, and so we strike from above. Let them fear the sky!"

"Hah! Should they stumble too close to the flame, they will be born anew as ash upon the wind. Should they hide from the flame, it will find them!"

More reluctantly than the others, Hydraxis finally concurred, "The sea and its shores shall offer no harbor, then; let the coming of the tides signal doom to Jvankind."

"Then the majority hath spoken, and we three reach a conflux: the word of Earth is overruled. Nature's Decree is made."



A low din fell down from the heavens. It was a rolling sound, as if the sky itself was groaning, yet the darkening sky betrayed no signs of a storm. The confused animals bound to the land below could only look up in wonder or confusion. Eventually that sound faded as all things do, and with it departed memory of that strange occurence.

High above there soared a djinn, though he was not truly of the sky nor of the storm though he served them both. His form was that of the living tremor, his body naught but an oscillating wind.

This one's name was Murmur, and he was the herald that signalled storm. The djinni brought his hands together in the gentlest of claps and there was a deafening, strident boom of thunder. Its echoing roar racing through over the glades below and recoiling upon the distant mountains, terrifying all below and sending them fleeing for cover even when the skies were serene as ever.

Racing towards the horizon, Murmur clapped again here and there and sent the little ones below scurrying for their holes. He inhaled a deep breath of the air and became at one with nature, sensing all that went on in the forest below. Normally it was his duty to travel ahead of the stormlords and bring about thunder to terrify the doomed and offer forewarning to all else, but now there was no such storm brewing; the quarreling stormlords had yet to make up their minds as to what this year's weather would bring.

Left to his own devices, the thundering herald had chosen to fulfill another sacred duty: hunt down the defilers. Murmur remembered the days that he had been weak, hardly more than the smallest Flicker, he had been denounced an abomination, scorned, nearly devoured a hundred times...

Through nothing but the most determined perserverence he had survived and thrived, even though he was the only elemental of sound upon the face of Galbar, perhaps the only one of his kind in this world. He had grown. He had struggled. He had fought, and when he did, his enemies were ripped apart by his power and he devoured their essence; this only made him stronger. Finally, he was accepted as herald, and now he commanded respect. He was a god of sorts to those below; a paltry god of sound and thunder, but something mythical nonetheless.

But what he once would have done to simply be normal, to fulfill his existence not as abberation but as one amongst many, as a grain of sand upon the endless white beach...

He would have done anything. He still did not know what it felt like to be 'normal'. Yet these Jvanic monsters had possessed all that and simply thrown it away, spurning their Maker and the serendipity that had blessed them. Beyond simply defying the natural order of things, changing their sacred nature, abandoning their duties, and voluntarily succumbing to the corruption of the demon Jvan, they insulted him personally as they discarded all those gifts that they had been given.

He hated them. He envied them. He destroyed them, wherever they hid.

As Murmur breathed in deeply, he sensed a waft of the most perfidious odor of all: that of eldritch corruption. His attunement to nature soon led him to the source, and he slammed into the horrid work of 'art' with all his might, shattering and pulverizing it. Rage poured into his heart. How dare the parasites spread their disease with this wretched sculpture!

He looked for the perpetrator of this crime, yet his vision failed him as he saw nothing. That was no matter; he turned to his other senses. As the sole Master of Sound and being of thunder, nothing escaped his earshot. He did not simply hear or sense every hushed breath and snapping twig within a mile, he felt them.

So it was with neither surprise nor difficulty that he located the fleeing Sculptor. With a mighty clap, he shook the entire forest--the hunt was on! Laughing, he took to the skies and followed that abomination as it fled back to its lair; sometimes they lived in groups, so he always tracked them to their hiding holes. He had to if he wished to exterminate them all within the next thousand years, and Murmur very much wanted that.

After an eternity, the pursuit was finished. The mole had entered its burrow! It was time to finish this. With a great breath, Murmur pulled a great amount of air into his churning, vibrating mass of a form. Then he surged downwards towards the tiny cave where his terrified prey hid.

The Jvanic abomination inside heard nothing, not even the djinni's ambient din, for Murmur had charged with such speed and power that he was no longer sound. He was merely an explosive, concussive blast of force. He crashed into the earth and the cave began to collapse, though he did not stop. Travelling through the stones, still as a massive vibration, he at last found this particular member of the Jvanic Order. Like so many others before this one, the corrupted elemental was torn asunder. Murmur did not devour this one's essence, for though he hungered for more power, he did not seek to tempt fate by chancing himself with the corruption that might come from ingesting poison. Jvan's eldritch power had tainted that accursed victim so thoroughly that he dared not assimilate its power.

Morning is a time of awakening, and it was a grave and wonderful awakening indeed for the Urtelem matriarch.

A long fever dream had come and it had gone. Her quartz-lensed eyes now gazed over the same cragged crater lake, the same children and grandchildren that she recalled watching as full awareness passed into shaky memory. A strange story of a dream, yes, and stretched far beyond its time, for an aching hunger had come over her. There had been tugging and pulling upon her rolled, folded shoulders of billowy black, a tug that had dragged her so firmly that her heavy form had felt nauseously weightless, entirely separate from the brace the basalt from which she came. It was an uncomfortable hallucination, to be a solid thing held aloft in the air, distantly similar to the feel of being immersed in comforting stone, held aloft by it while flying through rock.

Then, stretching. Twisting. That was all she could compare the sensation to. Tugging so far that she could almost remember coming apart at the seams, could feel it still, through that misted half-conscious filter of the dream that dulled pain and sharpened sensation... It was over now. Morning had come.

The stirring family saw her, and gathered as they woke, striding on grounded knuckles. Coming to give comfort to their mother and mate, coming, quietly, to receive it. They, too, had slept... Long. She embraced them with the same rough gentleness that she always had.

That much had not changed. That much never would.

But when she looked upon them, the matriarch knew more than simple affection. Unencoded knowledge, once accepted without thought or form, had coalesced into shape- A very clear, distinctive shape, like a star of many sides and compartments. And as she looked, the lines of each Urtelem face stitched itself into the space in that pattern that was made for them, until they were all accounted for.

The diagram folded itself away in her brain, stored to recall at a moment's notice.

She lurched to the lake's edge to drink, and the shapes followed in her eyes. Familiar landforms of Crater's Edge, same as every memory of every dawn before, aligned themselves into an array of slanted lines and points interjecting the horizontal plane. Modelled as tessellating slices through a strip of distant sky. An origami of colourless triangles, visualised in correct proportion no matter what perspective her mind's eye saw them from. Again none were counted, nor were such arbitrary symbols as digits assigned to the measure of their number and slant, but all were accounted for. Old eyes looked upon old land and saw anew.

And when those eyes looked aside and met with those of the other Stonemen, she knew that they, too, could see.

Eight nights later, the elder Urtelem strode on alone, to the shallow inlet of the lake where she knew a curious thing did live.

They were younger than she- A relative newcomer, and always peaceable one. Slender, like a centipede, and with a lower jaw that had split to form two lateral arrays of teeth in a triangular beak. The Weird Hain looked at her with stalked eyes, setting down a grass-blade tapestry to motion with their front set of hands like a pair of curious ravens eyeing a cricket. There was palpable surprise when the Urtelem motioned back.

A change, signed the matriarch stiltedly, hands yet indelicate. A weird change.

This one knows. Hands and fingers darted between the Sculptor and their visitor. Weird Hain's gestures were fast and subtle, and the Urtelem knew that she was missing details among their little twists and flexes. She could visualise them as knotted circles, intersects, lines only lightly touching her own bubble of language. This one saw the change, and is glad! Perhaps this one's guest is glad.

The Urtelem smiled and waved away her appreciation to Weird Hain, who referred to themself with a unique swish of the hand. An identifying sign, a more delicate form of the sign-names some of her children were already using for one another and their surroundings. She had never thought about having an identity other than simply herself. Maybe soon there would be something to fill that gap in the pattern. Maybe this creature would help provide it. Its complex dance was weaving itself seamlessly into her own understanding of the language, as if one had been made for the other.

For now, all the nameless Stoneman could do was beckon and signal curiousity, vague, questioning emotions not untouched by fear. Why is it as it is? What makes it so?

Two pairs of stalked eyes lit like opal in the light.

From this point translation became impossible for the still-illiterate matriarch, for the Sculptor was barely communicating any more. They side-stepped in and out of the lake's edge, clicked their fingerplates together, and rasped out a hollow, rattling, elegantly tuneful song. Hands spun and gestured and told a story of something abstract. Fragments of it were understood.

A living being, bright as the sun. Waters around a mountain. An elder, strange and dangerous. Whispers of beautiful things.

Abruptly the gestures stopped, their maker turning their head as if listening. Then they raised their hands to the sky and made a name-sign. It was simple, and powerful, and she found herself imitating it- Both palms open and together at the wrist, one curled inwards, the other curled over it to form a loose spiral.

Thus the name of something strange was made known to the Urtelem. They feared it, for it had come at night and left only feverish half-memory, and they were glad of it, for it had given them mouths with which to speak, and eyes to go beyond simple acceptance and see. Mostly, they did not understand it, for they are a calm and simple people, and the abstract puts them ill at ease. But they called it Spiral-Palms, as the Sculptors told them, and they guarded that name, for the Dancers spoke of something that lived and breathed, and what has come may yet return, for good or for ill.



Jvan's hijacked vehicle ascended from the canopy of the Venomweald, losing most of its momentum as it shattered thin tropical boughs like twigs and skidded itself limply towards the mountains, still at an eccentrically unbalanced spin. The hollow ball of flesh convulsed in its efforts to cut away the growing calcification of its side, ballooning under its own power into a matrix of squirming bone. One drop... A single drop of this being's bile! From beyond hissed a roar unlike that made by any animal, the sound of stinging air forced to scream between a million writhing stomatal pores. Vividly colourful tendrils whipped out and cracked in the air. Insidious, and vast.

She was gaining distance, and decided to cut losses and flee rather than risk her avatar another moment within the territory of the Writhe. I suppose that's one sight I can mark off the list for this safari. Heartworm's drained, bleached puppet form flicked through the tubing of its laboratory, slicing away great chunks of eye and tongue to let it fall rather than spike out further into the crawling calcareous intoxication. The Venomweald Writhe was no deity, but it... Comes dangerously close. Heartworm's faculties are not unlimited, bless the thing, and I didn't make it for... This.

Even as the escape was made good, Jvan pondered. What had given the Divine Doe incentive to bleed out such a curious creature? A glorious flower, an illicit bloom that outshone even Meimu's delicate contributions to the world. Not that the Engineer was likely to admit it, but... There's something strange about this. It works with flesh as I do. Its design brings out the otherness of plants; Vast things, living things, groping for territory in the dark. Omnipresent. Distinct to the animals that take after divinity. And tentacles- I like that! For now, the Writhe would stay in its vibrant home, where it could not upset the more fragile forests. Maybe one day Galbar shall awaken to see smaller things in its likeness.

Inscription of the weighty Template into the overgrown, rain-carven greenschist Urtelem of this place was soon enough complete once she had recovered. Jvan readied herself to move onwards Oh hang on. Missed a spot.

Swivelling to one side, she dived towards a stony rise where familiar figures were standing with their usual wise serenity. As soon as the distance began to close, however, well, their serenity didn't look quite so wise anymore. What kind of... Ah, meaty blighters are these? The Ogres held very clear signs of heritage among the Stonemen, but were clearly not made of rock. Somewhat clearly. Jvan swooped closer.

Thduk.

A hefty chunk of log butted against an eye budding the vessel's lower half, and the staring ogre who had thrown it giggled laboriously. "Stop that," rasped one of the goddess's many mouths, but its earthy resilience seemed to bolster it against the words of a deity. Or perhaps it was actually just incoherently stupid.

Jvan confirmed the later to be the case when the creature reached down to pick up another log. "Stop. No. Stop that!"

Wump.

"DESIST!"

"Gnuh zurp!" The ogre laughed childishly in its own tongue, and its mates and companions looked up to see what all the fun was about. Sticks began to fly. Jvan had never felt truly humiliated before, and she told herself that was not what she was feeling now.

But it came close.

Soon after, when the first ogre was quite regretful of its life choices and the rest were rather thankful for the opportunity to run away and take a long hard look at themselves, Jvan toyed with its pieces, her temper calmed, and wondered what it was exactly that she had just encountered.

Humanoid entity, sentient. Not very clever. Resists magic... No sign of culture in these memories. They are very. Derivative. The vertebrate human form was growing popular, as it was among the gods themselves, but ogres did not appear to add very much to it. If they ever grow numerous, I'll spruce them up. For now, I won't waste my time with them. It's not like I'm spiteful or anything, after all.

For all her dismissive words, Jvan did not realise that, in one way, she already had.

That day something cruel and frightful became known to the Ogres. Those of the group which had survived the violence to scatter took their stories and spread them to every corner of the fledgeling population, and as it grew, it remembered. The Ogres looked to the sky, sometimes, in fear of the eyes that came from above, the terrible being that inspired even such tough, dim beings with horror. Tales spread of Ganlugo, the Ogre who had taunted the being and been destroyed in moments, and then somehow undestroyed, only to be eviscerated again by the hand of an unknowable God. Crueler and truer tales still were those that said that Ganlugo had, in death, been twisted into something almost... Beautiful.

The Ogres called the many-eyed thing Juk Fonk, though they did not know from where they knew that name, and tried to forget. They failed.



Beyond lay the Ironhearts, where Mauve had gone before its master. Jvan did not tarry long within this sea of rippled ferrite strata. To take time navigating routes through which the vessel could pass was a dear luxury to afford where so many of the vaulted cavern cathedrals were only linked by slim cracks and tunnels.

And, on occasion, mine shafts.

The Rovaick are quiet, but far from lax. Diverse sapiens they were, too, though most of what she found was of the little goblin-breed, and the clans did not tend to hybridise. Partly this was for strictly mechanical reasons. Tedar are girthy, but not all are so vast. This will be an easy thing to repair. Let the flesh have its due.

Pods of Urtelem were plentiful here, for the red-streaked haematite was fertile, and the cave systems were like lifelines of air for them to breach into and breathe as they glided with cetacean grace through the rock. So fine was the opportunity the caverns offered for Stonemen to fly deeper and longer through the belly of the range that the Ironheart Urtelem even came to look a little whale-like, with a sleeker shoulder and head structure, and slightly conjoined legs. Jvan blessed them wherever she found them, and so too wherever she ran into Rovaick along the way.

It was a rough, rushed piece of work she applied to them, but it was more than sufficient for her satisfaction. Those goblinoids she encountered were opened up just enough to untie and bolster those genetic cords that separated each breed. Enabling unmatched chromosomes to coexist without destroying a developing embryo. Seeding diversity of the body.

Jvan implanted a few such blastocysts herself into the individuals she found, and supplemented them with a probe. It was easier for the females than the males, but the lack of a natural uterus was no obstacle for the Goddess of Flesh.

The children, when they were finally born, were colourful and delicate. Bones lengthened and shrivelled by turns, skin painted with masses of vibrantly textured lesions, and a great diversity of skull shapes among them; Their lifespans were more than adequate payment for their beauty.

The last of the Rovaick to be impregnated in such a way was a well-clothed hermit. A member of the relative intelligentsia. The breed called Azibo. This one, perhaps, knew what was coming, for she stood upon a ridge outside her chiselled home, overlooking with a jade-studded staff in one hand and a burning torch in another the crevasse from which the divine vessel arose, inch by shadowed inch. Her feet were grounded so solidly that she may as well have been of the stone herself. "Knär, birlohk asch," she growled, and Jvan knew the meaning of those words.

"G't out of here, god-bitch. We dinnae ask for yeh pestilence and yeh filth, nor will we thank yah for it. Azibo dinnae bow, not t'you."

"You know me," murmured the many mouths of Jvan, eyes quivering as they swirled to focus on the figure before her.

"Know what yeh've done."

"I have never asked for your allegiance, sweet child, nor your attention. It is enough that you are beautified."

"'Tis not beauty, devil. 'Tis ruin that yeh sow. 'Tis sufferin, 'tis horror."

"My dear, innocent girl, horror is just another form of adulation."

A spark of blue-white, blinding in its illumination of the dark, spat from the staff of the Azibo, sizzling against an eye, cracking the cornea and melting the interior. It dripped blindly into the abyss. So many years of work for such crude magic. Whatever god had dispersed such power into the races of Galbar had spread it thin indeed.

Jvan finished her business with the hermit and travelled onwards to the sunlands.

In this way did something carnal become known to the Rovaick. Such intercourse as would allow for Jvan's petal-like hybrids to manifest remained rare, but the genes thereof did not die easily. Even many generations later, an infant might be born on a hollow year, born with the ulcers and brittle bones of another race lodged into its blood, and the Rovaick came to understand that not only such deformities but all aberrations of the body are of one kind. Are deemed good by one eye, who engineered horror and called it beauty. And those who desired to know the name of this being would climb to the place where the decrepit Azibo hermit lived, and lives still, having dashed her progeny against the stone at the moment of its birth. And this hermit calls the name of that thing Yah-Vuh, for He had told her so, and if ever He returns, then His pestilence again will inseminate the caves, and for Him must the Rovaick stand ready.



Jvan had felt the tremors of Toun's oceanic monument shake Galbar, for her true body was deeply cemented into the thigh of the planet, and such vast actions leave ripples divine and physical. Now, finally, she desired to see it in person.

White. Smooth. Immense.

Unusually defensive.

Well, at least there's another ocean, now. Sunlight glanced off the thing like a beacon, forcing more and more eyes to shut as she approached it. Soon enough she tired of the fly-by, and, skimming the Cornerstone's reflection upon the calm sea, drifted back northwards. It's a little too... Even. But she could not stay to rectify this. The thing radiated pressure from within, as blood seeps from a wound before the blade is withdrawn and the flow is free. More than simple light was emanating from the enormous china bowl. Tremendous creative energy thrummed through the place, and Jvan did not wish to see it used against herself. This Avatar had come close enough to destruction in the Venomweald.

Near the polar circle, where breezy snows were beginning to fall as a long autumn grew colder, stood to attention another elegant piece of divine craftsmanship. Obsidian black, like the moon from which it came, walled within its own crater was the Hilt. Magnificent waterfalls bellowed from the peak of the construction and energy simmered through into its maker. Just like the Cornerstone... The Celestial Palace, and the Valley of Peace. Even brother Kyre, quiet Kyre, has placed aside a hefty reserve of power. The Warkeeper is preparing. ...Maybe I should be concerned.

There were hain living on the outskirts of the Hilt. They had adapted industrially to the change in the landscape. Jvan hovered over those villages that harboured Urtelem at their outskirts, carrying out her sacred task for them, listening as she was now exorcised, now hid from, now attacked. Such a response did not perturb her. So long as they can live in a shared world. Besides, they are Teknall's family now. I owe him.

But the mechanisms of their assault was strange. Razor edged flint shards were starting to sink into her vehicle with increasing numbers, heralded by the twang of a string. Bows. Who gave them those? They're being so irresponsible with them! Trivial pain alone hardly put her mind into action. It was the investment that startled her. Mortals were growing more godlike by the day.

Heartworm's body stroked the glinstering face of an enormous grey-black guardian tenderly, thinking.

Weeks passed. The goddess departed, and a village returned to its usual flow.

Rinkzurik was startled to find that one of his painstakingly woven reed baskets was being taken by a Stoneman from across the river as he fished to fill them. He was not a quiet hain on the best of days, and he was not quiet as he waved his palms at the creature now. "Eht, arren! Fess kelyei!"

"'Ey- Brute- Oi! Give that back!"

The urt looked him in the eye, and there was something uncannily lacking in brutishness about its gaze. With characteristic gentleness, and a sad droop of the wrist, she gave up the wide basket. "Good girl. What got into yoOOF!" The immense weight of its contents jerked it out of Rinkzurik's fingers as soon as she let go. As he started swearing toothily to the skylords to smite him there and then, she looked on, and there was a patient little hint of smugness in the way she rested her head on the back of her palms.

Eventually, Rinkzurik slowed his tirade long enough to actually look into the basket's contents. ...Fish 'n fowl, jolly god above, that's funny. Is it... Mud? No. No, this is dust. Dust and water.

Stirring the woven bowl with his hands, the hain looked a little closer, jaw at a droop. Specks of moss and black mulch drifted on the surface of the water. The pale dust was still recognisable as lime, crushed limestone from the ridge around which the river bent. His fingers probed further still, finding darker stone, greyer, and beneath that, little specks of silt-borne quartz.

"I... I think I'm a let you have this, big girl." The urt tapped its forehead and smiled, palm open and outwards. Something's funny. Something is real funny here.

Over a few months, a visitant being at once familiar, gross, and unusual had made itself known to the hain of the north. Their children wept at its memory, did not sleep without the embrace of all their parents; and those parents looked upon themselves and remembered the intricacies of their second-hatching, seeing again line for line the patterns they had known in the night as they reined in a deep fear that had, for a moment, returned in full. They remembered the story their forefathers told of a villager who had grown so obsessed with building ugly things with sticks and sand that she had disowned and shamed her family, running for the Warrior's Mountains, where sometimes a monster with a grotesquely familiar hainish face was seen to this day, still playing. And they knew, also, that as the giant apparition flew over them, stopping a single day at a time, the stonemen of that place would forever after look back at them with an appraising keenness that set their teeth on edge the first time they saw it, would often be spotted waving and twisting their hands at one another. Would sift and grind and filter stone according to an unknowable alchemy before they ate it.

The hain of the north saw all this, and were confused, because for one little moment of their little lives, they saw all the strangest things of the world come together as the makings of one mind. One being. The hain asked their shamans, and the shamans communed long with that droplet-of-a-droplet of magic that they guarded. And they saw that the being was a strange kind of goddess, with purpose unknowable and body hideous. This goddess they called Jaan, and the hain listened, and pondered the thought that even now, even in the Diaspora of the Maker, some part of them might still be but clay in the hands of something bigger.



I don't think they even know it was me. It doesn't matter.

Small change, really. They're not restless. The time they spend sleeping doesn't bother them. There hadn't been much point in teaching them to externally process a meal, certainly less than what the high-metabolism races could derive from fire. Would they even benefit from civilisation? Is simple transience their utopia? That seemed likely. Then, I suppose, I am doing them a disservice. And she would not stop, either. Only grow more refined.

These were Jvan's last days in the shadow of the Hilt. An expansive winter had come to drive the birds southwards to the equator for another few years, and it was time to follow. As the structure faded into the distance, a whisper flowed from it, as though it had waited for her departure to call her name.

"...Kyre?"

Like the rush of static wind, a thin stream of divine energy hummed through her. Jvan captured and echoed it within herself, back and forth inside her laboratory, extracting meaning as she could from the distorted non-verbalism. A signal, thinly dispersed. Has my brother no messenger to carry the words theirself? Why is this broadcast so concealed?

Was there, perhaps, a conspiracy afoot?

What Jvan managed to drag out of the signal was scant, and unclear. Snippets of recollected phrases. A conversation.

"-I want one of your best fighters to run into battle naked and wielding a stone dagger. He shall scream 'I love Lakshmi'-"

Astarte.

"Genocide this early on is boring. Really, who do you think I am-"

Vestec?

"-Destroy everything around them on their path, and sentient life is not abundant enough-"

Kyre, of course.

"-I will not stop you from fighting against, and beating, these armies-"

...What armies?

"-So be it. I imagine we are not allowed to fight them ourselves-"

What was going on?

Vestec? Vestec had an... Well, 'army' was a stretch. Horde was closer. Ill-meaning mob described it well. Shoal came to mind. Almost forty of Jvan's students had been recruited into their number, she knew, and they had her blessing. No harm could viably come from their participation in that horde. It was far too ill-disciplined to restrain them from dancing where they pleased, and gleaning the fields of war for materials of craft. They were artists of many forms; Let them be martial artists. Of the other races...

Vestec's servants could be brought to their knees by a mild bout of dysentery, and yet he expects to fight a war with them?

It was far milder chaos than the mess he had threatened with Perfectus. Perhaps there was yet hope for his natural recovery. In any case, there was little she could do. Kyre had pronounced the issue to be between mortals alone, and his judgement was trustworthy; The war-god would put this conflict to constructive use.

Besides, her route let her to the Valley of Peace. Surely no harm could befall such a place. Even her borrowed form felt a corrosive sting in the mist.

Amber had departed this place long before, and Jvan, now, was eager to pick up where her servant had left off. Urts and Sculptors were free to live here in much the same way as they lived any other place, but fiberlings didn't last long. They lost their edge and starved or went dormant. Her scout had left plenty of detail blank about the race which Jvan was eager to fill.

They were plentiful, and it was not a long affair to find them among the familiarly colourful trees. No reason for them all to be green, after all. The tufts of fur decorating the angels were similarly varied, but- They look so, very, very divine in shape... Too similar to humans. They have the wings, at least. How well do they work?

For such a large entity, Heartworm's vessel did not make a sound as it moved, and the angel watched with uncomfortable caution. He was blonde, and even within the placidity of Niciel's mountains, he had grown brave, and gave ground patiently, confidence beaming as the Holiest Mangle drew near, eyes fixed upon him. If it had truly meant harm, it would not be able to survive the mist, whatever its nature be. Was it a creature, or some kind of spirit? Could spirits take such unsettling forms? "Eiyein, ol sun na. Físquel?" Restless fingers twirled with sharpened golden magic as he waited.

"Welcome, being. Do you speak?"

"I do," replied Jvan with many tongues, not slowing.

"Then, stranger, speak to me: Wherefrom do you come?"

"I am sent of the All-Beauty, to sate the curiousity of that deity."

Upon hearing these words, the angel's hair prickled. Still walking backwards, he realised that the divine emissary had been increasing its speed imperceptibly, and was now gaining. "The gods are welcomed in the realms of She who Shines, noble being. The angels can offer to tell you anything they know."

"I'm sure that is the case."

There was a silence. The gap narrowed. Wrinkled sag in the vehicle's belly became increasingly apparent, and the shapes lodged into lobes of its blubber grew unsettlingly familiar.

"What do you want!?" Golden holiness spiked out from the angel's hands and resolved itself into a pair of hatchets, elegant in their simplicity of purpose. Now, he stood firm. The peace of the region would be maintained.

"You," spake Jvan, with a touch of sadness.

Blades swung, blubber splattered and oozed, cartilage moved. The joints of the thing strained to bend, embracing the ground and folding over the winged figure beneath it. Jvan arose, the angel dangling from her lobes by his face and neck. Enough of this place. The mist burns. There's plenty of meat on this vehicle, but I'd rather not waste it.

The outer foothills were safe. Here, Heartworm's body was free to flex and measure the angel's wings, disrobe and examine him. Jvan did not have high hopes for his ability to fly unaided. These wings are almost afterthoughts, equipment on a humanoid figure. And the figures themselves do not vary much. I've seen nary wrinkle or bald patch, stretch-scar or shingle on these creatures. How can they consider one another beautiful like this? Bless your heart, Niciel... You need some advice.

A good thing, then, that she had an angel to serve as messenger.

Some days had passed when the golden-haired angel was allowed to separate and peel away from the fold of Jvan. His knees and ankles were fused, forming a sturdy tail with a v-shaped fluke, and his feet were now firmly feathered. Of arms, he no longer had any; They were fused into the bones of his wings, which had been reconfigured, bolstered, locked up into a vast, rigid, albatross-like span. Of his face and torso...

Nothing, really, had been removed, or mutilated. Only decorated. Spines, ringlets and chains of delicate bone links pierced his septum, ran from his ears to his lip. Bands of bone had been draped over his neck and tightened, stretching it, and so too had a cylinder stretched his lower ear. His teeth were engraved, sharpened, and elaborately arranged in their gums, and the tip of his tongue had been split. Piercings clustered over his nipples and ribs. A cartilage corset had shaped his waist, and his member was circumcised. His entire body had been defoliated bar a single strip of hair from forehead to neck. Slashes of scar tissue formed patterns across his upper sides. Ink blackened the sclera of his eyes.

A ragged breath was drawn.

"It's not so bad, is it."

The angel shuffled, slightly, from its tail-kneeling stance. There was no need to look and see what had been done. He had felt it.

"You are unique, sweet child. You are beautiful as no other angel has been before. Does it not please you, to have identity?"

"Nnnngah, haaah."

"Do not hasten. When the wind stirs, your wings will take you where as it wills, and soon you'll learn to glide under your own guidance. You'll find these wings sturdy enough to carry you even without magic. A rare gift. Your kin will look upon you in wonder."

"N-nyal, iwin sun-"

"Hush. This blessing is given freely. I only ask a favour in return, which I have no doubt you will undertake anyway. Seek out the angels. Go into the Valley of Peace, which scorches my body. Offer them each a piece of the jewellery I have bedecked you with. I have accelerated the integration of art into your folk; These rings, chains, studs and bands, they are not ordinary bone. Do you feel it? They are soothing. They are tools of expression. Go. Express yourself."

"W-wait," mumbled the angel over his teeth. "You- What is your- Name?"

She told him.

"And yours?"

"Hef-" A cough. "Hefin."

"Thank you, Hefin. I will remember you."

And so the deity departed.

An hour later, the wind picked up, Hefin discovered his glider's wings, and by him, something exotic and bizarre became known to the Angels. For he visited numerous of their enclaves, seeking comfort, seeking empathy, seeking a place to eat and recover, and offering up the translucent god-ivory of his body wherever his kind would be found. For they were a burden to him, despite the warmth that they brought. Indeed, every angel who donned one of these hundred or so items of body art, in their hair, on their fingers, or pierced through their ears, knew comfort from them- Not the comfort of a lover's embrace, nor that of a warm place in the rain, but the strength to stand before others and say thus: I am unique. I am in control of my form. The blood of my birth does not contain me, nor do the eyes of others have power over me. Such expression did pass among the angels, and though none were ever so altered as Hefin, the Soaring Cripple, many came to know the thrill of bead and ring in flesh, and many more came to know his story.

And in his story did Hefin tell them the name of Yivvin, the Elegant Fester, a being of many eyes and many tongues, to whom entry was barred in the Valley. Not so because They were perhaps so evil as the Devil beyond, but because to the weird gods of Galbar, to curse and to bless are sometimes not so far different, and mortals can only look on and see that nothing of this world is not strange.



There soon came time to depart, and inspect the herds of Vestec.

Jvan passed over the land, servicing such Urtelem as she encountered, tasting the air for the song of her estranged students among the roving population. Night glowed into day, blue glazed with black and stars. Moons spun over the lushness of lowland forests and plains.

The Valley of Peace, somehow, was no so easy to leave.

Has the mist followed me? Surely I haven't angered Niciel- No. No, this is no simple mist. This is aurora. This is music.

Indeed, flourishing pinks were soon trailed by a full compliment of indigo and cyan. As drops of rain, glitters of dream-dust swirled from the enchanted aether, sparks cast off from the tremendous storm of divine melody. Jvan paused her movement, rose into the sky. The puppet-form of Heartworm perched on the highest joint of its nest and through it she stared out into the shifting illumination. It's so soothing.

Glowing pops crackled over the surface of the vessel. The song was an active thing, rippling like a living being, and the bewitching seethe was saturated with information. A flabby tongue stretched out from between the worm's teeth to taste the glow. Then it retracted.

Ilunabar had dispersed this flux of spirit for mortals to make stories with. I shall respect that. Jvan refrained. There would come a time when this flow was over and complete, and its effects could be explored as they were meant to function. Until then she would simply rest here. The Phantasmagoria was a night not to be repeated for eons yet, and Jvan dreamt in it while she could.

Whem the lights at last dispersed, the goddess lowered herself from the cold skies, gazing out over the earth for a gathering of sentients to examine. A clump of figures stood out among the greenery. Clearly visible to her eyes, the structures too large to be hain-huts. Humans, yes. In descent Jvan saw the clustered hamlets around their long-dead fire. The ravaged trees and crushed earth surrounding. The bodies.

Chewed, burnt. Wide round trenches shoved mightily into the earth. These are footprints. Vast. Doors open, belongings missing. The Emaciating Fluke leapt from its vehicle and skimmed over to the quartered form of a woman. There was no need to open up her skull to access the memories within. That service had been amply, elegantly supplied by a granite-studded mace. Closed eyes; This one had been destroyed in sleep. Jvan penetrated her shattered temple with a branching gill-ended tentacle anyway, probing her final memories.

Dreams. Flickers of phantasmagoria streaming up and down the Arpeggio. A human spirit, wandering in Simulacrum, growing bored, growing inspired, leaping away into Labyrinth. There, a vision, something perhaps not quite true, and not far from truth either. A method. Working hands and scraping skin. Built out of raw materials, a product. Loving, callused hands of the craftswoman. Clean leather. A pair of boots.

A pair of boots that would never see creation.

Jvan shuddered over the gorgeously mutilated form. No. I was wrong. There was no hope for Vestec's recovery. That creature malfunctioned still. My disregard... Ignorance- Blind! Blind. Kyre's warning returned to her memory. Mortals. Let them destroy. Body is cheap. Life is cheap. But things were different. Things had been different, perhaps, for a long time now. Vessels and vehicles and animals packhorses upon which we load our desire tools with which we are careless. Among mortals, Jvan finally had something to lose.

She screamed. And the scream became song.

"T R E M O R

Alacrity of Wormling's Egg:
Writhe now, Break
Penetrate that Milk of Foetal Being
Crunch,
Of Teeth and Eye
Upon Glass

A Fool to Hear and Doomed to Drink
Partake, Child
Extricate the Heartstrings Inch by Mile
Go,
Reflect Life's Bile
Into Blood

To Water Drag the Final Bone
Drown Rock, Meet
Immolate those Gleaning Devil's Ire
Breathe,
Lead Liquid Stone
Consume Them."

...

The Riversons were nomads still, and all the wiser for it. Strange things had lately occurred to the settled villages they passed by. A few had been ruined, some short time ago. Scattered survivors, few as they were, told mad stories: A towering demon god, faceless, had stamped entire hills apart, and from its back had clawed down a great number of smaller devils, some as big as pearskin bulls. Tira Riverson sighed. Indeed, surely everyone knew that these were times of strong magic, and such things were to be expected. The Night of Colour had come, and soon after, an even weirder apparition, faint and localised. The grown-ups said they could hear only a whisper, from this far away, but Tira was young and eager and full of energy, who cut her hair short in the hope that it would never fly in her face and blind her, and she could hear more. Never understand, but hear, hear the sound of singing.

Winter was deceptively cold upon the heathlands. Blue horizons were inadequate warning for the chill of a sheer wind that cut through layers of pelt over Tira's shoulders. Sent to scrounge the dirt for tubers where their distinctive flowerheads grew, she sheltered now, skiving, behind a jagged banksia. Little improvement. Tira could feel her head droop onto her knees, and lost track of time. Familiarity stirred her from stupor.

The song had returned. Closer.

The girl stood, brave, indomitable as only a child of fourteen can be, and faced the overgrown heath, listening closely. Once more did was she rendered incapable of comprehending meaning, but it was near, nearer than it had been. And though the words were formed in shapes she did not recognise, some old old part of her still knew the divine tongue by which Elysium had first called the daughters of Arcon.

"To water drag the final bone, come, writhe, break, teeth on glass, stretch thine heartstrings inch by mile, liquid stone partake..."

There were round shapes passing over the earth, passing through the spine-bush scrub like soft grass. Tira turned her head and gazed back. The figures were further than she had been given permission to stray. To ash with their permission! Springing steps carried the nomad's hardened ankles down and to the source of the noise. They were no human clan, she soon saw. No, these were boulders. Rock people, rolling half-buried through the soil. A whole herd of them, silent but for the sifting of earth around them. Two herds! Imminently approaching.

No Urtelem-throat could make such a sound. A many-coloured cloud-figure bounced and leapt before them. Tira ran to it. The swirl of faeries scattered before her, and her teeth began to chatter. It- He- They were perhaps the oddest thing she had ever seen, and certainly the oddest thing ever to be so close to her, but she stood right in front of it, brave, curious.

Their legs were rather human in shape, but for the digitigrade stance, the spur at each heel, and their number. There were three legs. Just as they had three mouths, and three sets of ribs, and six hands; all twisted in a perfectly symmetrical, curled threefold form. Skin as brown and human as hers peeked out from under elaborately keratinised plates of horn. Each side had one arm that seemed human but for a second thumb, and another arm, below it, that had been added; Its elbow bent down, and its claw was rather bird-like. All those hands held loose loops of stone and bone on leather cords, and clacked them together percussively, delicately at each powerful swing and stop of the sharply swaying dance,
producing a clicking rhythm as the being sang. "Sista!" yelled Tira. "Weit as nu?"

Unceasing, unsurprised, the Sculptor did not approach but simply bounded over her in a fluid leap, landing at a crouch, the eyes in its collarbones gazing deep into hers. Swaying, their legs kicked out from the crouch and continued the dance, still watching, arms beckoning. Tira ran to catch up, and the fae continued to part for her. "As nu!" she repeated, and the song slowed for an answer, though the rhythm did not for a moment decay.

"I am Dancer, running girl, brave girl, River's son and sky's child." Tira grinned, pleased to be called by such names.

"Runati nu hals din Nurtalem?"

"To Angel's Hill and Misted Point, in the wake of demon-strides. I danced to them, day night and dusk, for wise have grown the Rock Folk, and now they see the way."

"Nu owt-as garn," shivered Tira. Just from the cold, of course. She wasn't scared of demons. "As nu, Dansa?"

"Yes!" And Dancer leapt as if they enjoyed the taste of fear. Perhaps, thought Tira, perhaps he does. That didn't make any sense. Why would anyone enjoy being scared? And she asked as much: "Tui?"

At last there was a dip in the song. The dance slowed, and the Sculptor's clicking died away into silence. They stood still, waiting for Tira to catch up, and leaned towards her. She listened, closely, for the whisper.

"Because I do," breathed Dancer. "Because Y'vahn taught me how."

Snap! Clap! Dancer cried out a long, warbling shout, a whoop of energy and life and determination and all that the demons sought to destroy, and three hundred fae stormed around them as the rhythm resumed. Tira did not get a single word out of the Sculptor for hours after, even as she followed far and long beyond where her parents had forbidden and beyond where she could find her way back, even as night fell and she grew so tired that she had to be carried on the back of a gentle Urtelem, and Dancer bounded on until they collapsed at night to rest and feed. Tira never again heard Dancer speak as much as they did on that first day, but though the Sculptor seldom talked, many things were said, and her hands grew to follow the shapes that Dancer and the Rock People made.

And on the journey of Tira, of Dancer and other Sculptors like them, did something of beauty and purpose become known the the humans of those parts. For as they travelled long, and Tira grew fit and strong and clever, the band found several other human villages and tribes, and pods of Urtelem. At each one did the Sculptor dance, sometimes for days, with all the elders of the herds, debating, planning, teaching, conversing about the demons to which they marched until at last the herds realised that such a vast anger could not be ignored, that every pattern of thought they drew forbade them to allow peace to be thus broken. And humans looked upon these spectacles and were confounded.

But Tira stood up to them with the light of day in her spirit, and spoke to them in the name of the God who whispered to her. The humans listened, and they called this being Y'Vahn, as they were told; This name they stood wary of, but did not forget, for they had seen the dance that led the Rock People on, and on, and on to where the Blue Angels stood guard in aerial ranks.



Dawn had started to lighten the sky, and Sharmen worked on. Jvan rested beside her, her vessel outside, watching, wondering. It is nearly complete.

The sculpture stood three metres tall, easily, and the wattle-and-clay cocoon around it even higher, a hemisphere with slightly misfolded edges to allow entrance and a little neutered sun to fall on the thing. It was black as a cave. Blacker, even. The sturdy ironwood inner-frame and outer-frame of the thing, secured by fibrous knots and wedged into grooves like a puzzle, was coated with a thick solidified mix of resin and pitch from the surrounding tar pit. A preservative, as if the surrounding clay construction and sturdy wood was not already enough to see this structure live for a thousand years. Jvan recognised the shape.

A sweeping mass of hooded cloak over a robe, beneath which was assembled the form of a god, and supported upon that faceless divine figure a crown of thorns.

Sharmen applied the last of the pitch mixture from a gourd, and cast it aside. There was no satisfaction in that wrist-flick. "Done."

"This is the fourth you have made, dear student, and it has taken you a year. Does nothing else excite your soul? Do you not feel the need to wander further?" A voice, not from the many mouths of the vessel, but from within the worm itself. Sharmen did not look up. Only showed, again, that onyx figurine around her neck. The same that had inspired the basalt statue, and the enormous mineral-sand petroglyph, and the figure grafted of living ebony trees, and now this. Jvan wrapped her toothed form around the model and ate it. "You are sick, Sharmen. Vestec has charred your mind."

"I know."

"Then come. Let me give you the rest you desire."

No movement. Jvan took it upon herself to creep up over the Sculptor's many sets of shoulders, three ending in delicate pincers to work with, the final one ending in dextrous hands to stand on. The eyes on Sharmen's neck stared into her as she passed over them, but the once-Hain did not move, even as Heartworm unzipped to extend a claw of its own that forced its way through the iron-hard plate of her cranium. Jvan called to Other and Galbaric flesh alike, shut down the pain hormones. Then the motor cortex.

"Forget the passage of Julkolfyr, sweet child. I shall ensure he is avenged. Forget, and be at peace."

As memories were forever lost and cognition faded, the Other-form within and around what had once been a hain's brain slowly unwound from its stifling fog of trauma. Jvan looked into the same mind she had looked into many times before when Sharmen was young, and not fully ascended. With a tired heart, she called to that part of her, the old part, the part that still remembered mortality.

Fruit-Catcher, she whispered, using the original hain name.

I am here.

Do you remember me?

I do, and there was happiness there.

I am about to send you on a deep journey, where you will find peace.

I'm glad to hear it.

It will be the last time you hear from me.

Oh,

But there is time to say goodbye. Tell me, Fruit-Catcher. How did you get your name?

When I was young, I could not climb. I always slipped from the tree, and cried there in the dust. So my sisters would let me help them by catching the fruit they dropped down, so that it would not squash and get dirty.

It is a good story, child. And what is my name?

Your name is Jvan. You whispered to me. You guided me to see that there was always something pretty to see, even when I fell, even when I was sad. I called you that. Always-Pretty. I called you mother, and sage, and sister, and when I was angry I called you meaty tongue-flapper. But I did not forget the first. There is beauty in all. All-Beauty.

Thank you, Fruit-Catcher. Goodnight.

Goodnight.

And so Sharmen's mind lost its glow, and her eyes lost their lustre, and Jvan's worm-eyes looked up at the final work of the Sculptor as it stood in memory and as her soul fell quietly down into the Wraith-Stone of Reathos.

A great many things flowed through Toun’s mind as the tide went up and down against his Cornerstone. The great act of creating a spot of perfection had helped his thoughts to flow smoothly. Plans ran through his mind, simulating and analysing. It was little extra effort to set commands to his disciplined slave hain.

The angels in the distance caught Toun's attention before the hain ever saw them. He assumed they were agents of Niciel about their business. There was no need to heed them. That is why it was so curious to Toun that they would dive forth to attack.

The slave hain on the walls were taken by surprise, but the warrior caste wasted little time in pulling spears and shields from the floor and seeing to the defence. The most talented kaolokineticists made quick work of the first attacker, impaling the angel upon a spike that erupted from the wall itself.

As the small battle raged, Toun stood and stared. His eye was narrowed, trying to discern the meaning of it all. His perplexed state was disrupted when Vestec appeared next to Toun, also watching as the Angels and the Slave Hain battled.

Vestec looked...odd. His form shimmered, and his colors were muted. "My, my. I didn’t think she had the guts to do it!" He giggled, looking back at Toun. "Niciel took issue to the fact that you have slaves. She wasn’t able to free them via regular means, so she decided to give them ‘the mercy of extinction.’ Evidently, she thought so little of them that she only sent a handful of her Angels." Another Angel fell, pierced by porcelain spears. "Evidently she made a mistake, wouldn’t you say?"

Toun did not acknowledge Vestec’s appearance by turning to him physically. He didn't even move from his standing position at all. A few moments passed where Toun's mind allocated a hissing sigh in anger. Vestec was one of the least welcome in Toun's domain. The only reason that he was not immediately expelled was Toun's curiosity competing with his rage.

"Vestec," Toun began slowly after considering his disdainful words, "a mistake would imply that Niciel expected to gain something from this. My servants are more numerous than to be the prey of a handful of angels." Toun's head gradually turned to face the apparition, "I am no longer the gullible fool as I used to be. Kyre has told me of your hostile intent." Toun’s voice dripped with disgust, almost spitting out the last word. "What reason should I have to trust you at all?"

Vestec giggled again, amused by the perfectionist’s hatred of him. He hadn’t even marred his perfect face. "Because Toun, I’ve already got my entertainment on the way. A bunch of Fallen Angels and Corrupted Hain. Your fortress will come under siege, and blood will flow. What would I gain from lying to you about this?" The God of Chaos circled around Toun, as another Angel went down in a spurt of blood.

Toun straightened his head again as Vestec circled. There was the possibility that the skirmish was not Vestec’s doing. Still, it did not make the scenario any more rational. It made Toun’s rage gain a greater foothold over his curiosity. To think that Niciel would jab at him so spitefully after all that he had done. She would answer for it.

As for Vestec right now, Toun had little patience left for him. "I can promise you, Vestec, that no amount of spatters and blemishes upon this fortress will stop me," Toun closed his eye as if to concentrate on something, and then craned his neck upwards to address Vestec with a bellowing shout. "Your flying rabble is no more a threat than the tide!"

The concentration Toun displayed was made evident by the sudden movements of the slave hain at the walls. All who were not in the warrior caste scuttled away into the hollows of the fortress wall where they made their homes. When they were all inside, the white ceramic around the entrances began to ripple and flow like watery milk caught in time. With kaolokinesis, the inhabitants took on a slow, flowing dance that made the porcelain move. They secured the entrances with weaving grates of thick porcelain, the likes of which would not be battered down easily.

The warriors on the wall let their spears and shields drop and melt back down into the floor before they took up positions in a uniform line against the crenellations. In a single, synchronised movement of all their bodies at once, they lifted their arms and willed the triangular, tooth-like crenellations to take mass from the concaving wall below and elongate. Another flowing form of kaolokinesis had them bend their upper bodies to one side, willing the crenellations to bend over like reeds of grass to shelter them all. The last form, harder to see as obscured as it was by the teeth, narrowed the gaps between the bent porcelain. The slave hain sat entrenched and sheltered by Toun’s walls. Gleaming white spearheads poked out from the remaining gaps to dare any attackers to break through. The last of the pure angel blood flowed off the curved roof in gathered rivulets, making one interrupting mark upon the otherwise perfect and endless repeating pattern of the wall.

"So be the tide, Vestec! Watch as every attempt you make becomes more futile than the last." Toun made his declaration with fire in his blue eye.

Vestec drew the shattered remnants of the Angel’s minds towards him. "Here you go Toun. Just in case you need evidence to throw into Niciel’s face." He giggled as he sent them towards the perfect god. "And then we’ll see how futile everything is in the end."

As if the motion of the Angel’s selected physical remains were pre-planned by Vestec’s toss, Toun’s arm curled upwards in a movement independent from the rest of his form. His fingers splayed, split, and extended with a snap and in a blink of an eye every drop of the Angel’s remains were in his possession. Not a drop fell on the tiles below him. Just as unnaturally, the fingers contracted and brought the pieces together, reforming the angel’s mind like an impossibly detailed jigsaw puzzle.

Toun turned his head slowly to the material in his hand and became oddly still. While his form seemed like a statue, the oppressive force of Cornerstone’s aura began to thrum. It was an emotional resonance, lined up with the mind of its creator. Toun could read enough of the angel’s intentions to realise that Vestec’s words were supported by them. It was impossible, but at the same time increasingly likely.

"Begone, brother," Toun murmured as quietly as the eye of a cyclone.

"Have fun…" With those words, Vestec’s apparition faded away until there was nothing more than the echo of his giggles.

Toun gave no answer to Vestec as he took his leave. The atmosphere only grew more and more furious as his statuesque form fumed. Only two moments after the last of Vestec’s laughter faded from the echoes of the vast white courtyard did Toun suddenly and abruptly lift his foot. The movement looked as natural as a raging humanoid would in full motion, but for the sickening sudden extension of his leg and lower body bringing it greater momentum . Just as quickly, the foot came down to stomp viciously onto the tiles below. The strike caused the receiving tile to shatter in place as the earth shook below.

Galbar felt that strike. Immediately, every slave hain in Cornerstone was tripped onto the ground. The ring wall seemed to shudder as a single object and transfer the force out. The displacement pushed the water around Cornerstone to climb high and fast from its centre in colossal waves. In the air was the sound of the stomp; coastal inhabitants around the white ocean all felt a sudden, unexplained, deep clap upon earth. Where the clouds were above, it was waved off as thunder. Where it was clear it was instead a worrisome omen.

The waves travelled all the way to the coasts of the white ocean, blue as it was, but was thankfully dissipated enough to result in nothing more than a peculiar surge in the tide that day.