Acat took his daughter into his arms, holding her shivering form close to his chest and hummed to her the tune her mother had sung many moons before. The stone steps of the Sanctuary were illuminating, from top to bottom, as the moon rose over the far peaks. Her quivering stopped after a while and she looked up into his eyes.

"Why father?"

He had spoken with her many times before, but now, with the other assembled parents communing with their children for the last time, he could not bear to lie to her. The ivory bands around his neck marked him as one of the clans higher arbiters, but even he was not immune to the Harvest.

"The Gods have been very merciful to us, have they not my eldest?" he asked. Ixtab nodded. "When the forest folk came up to the mountains, with their power, did we not survive? And when the Purifiers scorched the land, did we not successfully defend against them?" Again she nodded. He took her hand.

"In return we build the tombs and the traps in their honour, and the Sanctuary so our prayers can be heard. And," he squeezed her hand tightly, "they take our children so our warriors can fight."

"They took your mother too. Each septem full moon, when the heat of the forest rises, the Priests come. Your sacrifice means the village survives my daughter."

Ixtab nodded one last time and hugged her father. The warriors of the tribe began rounding them up, leading them to the highest point of the temple. There they entered the cool darkness, twelve children, descending into the maze of passageways and tombs that their ancestors had built to the Gods' designs.

Finally they reached the sacrificial chamber. Twelve stone beds lay around the central dias and without speaking they each took their place. As the silence came over the room Ixtab did not shake. As the Priests shuffled into the room, the sound of thier bare feet echoing off the stone walls, she did not look. As the Priests began to light candles, thier shadows casting itself onto the ceiling, she did not murmur. Even as the Priest's began to chant, silently, then then growing louder with each second, thier voices flowing in unison, orange flames now glowing green, she did not think.



And as the Priest's gleaming blade was plunged into her heart, it was too late to scream.

----

"I despise the moons." a voice murmured pointedly.

The words belonged to She'ma, a Priest of the Aleani Tribe. From the moment she was born, in the forested plains of her homeland, she was trained. Trained to become a Priest; a follower of The Occult and masters of the Dark Arts. She'ma hated it, hated it with a passion. From second she was came into the world, under the sanguine glow of a blood moon, her life had been planned out. She would be a prodigy, her connection to the Occult would be untold, she would be the one to replace the High Priest. But she did not want this life. She hated the fearful gazes of the people. They were not saviors or providers, but they were killers, and family destroyers.

Tradition dictated that every septem full moon, twelve children were to be sacrificed to The Occult, to replenish the magic power of the Priests, and in turn, the gods. Weapons and armor were created from the souls of the dead, serving as a catalyst for the magical reaction. The very spear that She'ma held in her hand, was forged through this method. The Ritual was simple, yet complex at the same time. Items had to be procured, candles lit, sacrifices chosen, blades cleaned, Priests prepared, prayers made, chants spoken, and hearts stopped.

It was all tradition.

She'ma let out a ragged breath as she gazed up at the many moons that crowded the night sky from her perch on a tree. Only a few moments had passed since the Harvest had taken place. Even here, on the outskirts of the village, she could feel its dark energy, the clammy and glutinous touch of deaths hand sliding its icy finger down her spine. It disgusted her. She couldn't take it anymore. She never could. Every Harvest for two-hundred and eighty-eighty septem full moons, she had vowed to leave, and every time she failed to do so. She was chained to Aleana, she was chained to the Priesthood.

From her makeshift watchtower, She'ma watched sadly as father sobbed loudly, ripping off his ivory beads. The Harvest took someone from everyone. Even She'ma had lost a family member or two. But the greatest loss to her had been that of the sister she never knew, taken years before even she had been convinced. She had only been six when the Harvest chose her. Her parents had watched helplessly as the Priesthood took thier firstborn from thier hands and shoved a knife into her heart. It was funny how the Priesthood singlehandedly severed her family in half. Her sister was taken for The Harvest while she had been taken to become the very people who had taken her.

"She'man! She'ma! SHE'MA!!!" bellowed a voice below her. She'ma eyes widened as she snapped out of her trance. Quickly, she responded to the voice.

"I am here!" she called, her voice unnecessarily high as she searched for the owner of the voice. Gazing up at her with an exasperated look on his face stood O'rin, a fellow Priest and a childhood friend.

"A watchman is trusted with protecting thier people from danger, yet here you are, staring off into space. O'rin sighed, his mohawk dropping as he shook his head.

She'ma grinned sheepishly. She knew O'rin was only playing her, but his words did ring true. She had a job to do. "I apologize O'rin, I was only dwelling on the past."

Immediately, O'rin's eyes darkened. He to had lost many to the Harvest, his own mother had been taken from him. A blade was forged from her death.

"We cannot change the past She'ma, we only serve to change the fut-"

O'rin suddenly fell silent. In the distance, thier was a thwack and a whirring sound from off in the distance. Then there was a close-up thunk. O'rin turned pale and looked confused.

She'ma's eyes widened as she stared at her friends skewered form.

An arrow, as long as her forarm, stuck sickeningly out of his chest. Like a stone, O'rin fell to the floor.

Immediately, She'ma let out a call.

"AR'MI'A!!"

Her voice carried throughout the village, alerting everyone to danger and calling the warriors to arms. Quickly, She'ma leapt off the tree next to a motionless O'rin. Tears formed in her eyes as she ripped the arrow from his back and turned his body over, praying for him to say something, anything.

There was nothing. All life had left his body. Just like that, the Harvest and claimed another soul. She'ma's eyes grew hard as she closed her fallen Priests' own. She then rose to her full, impressive height. The forest folk would not survive her wrath tonight.

Quickly, She'ma took off into the village, her glowing spear marking her as a Priest. Soon, warriors began to join her. At first, only a few came, then dozens came to her side, all ready to follow her orders. As she neared the southern gate, the commotion soon reached here ears, then, she finally laid eyes upon the enemy. Dozens of her brethren lay strewn about, killed by warriors in white.

The Aleani were outnumbered, She'ma knew that. She also knew that there would soon be reinforcements.

She'ma, took a deep, inward breath, raised her spear, and screamed into the air;

"MASH'SHTA!!!"

The warriors screamed in unison, and sprinted into battle, thier own spears and tomahawks glowing. She'ma didn't have an opportunity to watch over her brethren, as she did not fight like they did, she was a Priest.

She'ma tuned away from the battlefield, yanking a skull off her belt, the contents sliding about within. As she had been trained, she poured its crimson content into the earth; the blood of a lamb. Immediately, she began to chant;



The earth under her feet began to respond to her command, breaking apart and reforming, rumbling and swerving, but She'ma kept steady.

She had been trained.



The world around her began to grow, her garments formulating a sphere of protection, blocking enemy fire; her spear grew brighter, blinding those who looked right at it. Under her feet, a stone hand rose from the earth, slowly at first, but soon, a whole being ripped itself from the ground. A golem.

She'ma had barely broken a sweat. From her newfound height, she could better observe the battle. It was bad. Nearly half the men that had joined her were dead, and the invading army was still going strong. The warriors axes only managed to rip there armor, but nothing cut through. She'ma took to the offensive, throwing her golem forward, the sound of grinding rock pulsating throughout the battle field.
Under her command, the golem launched a massive fist at the invaders, hoping to crush them completely. A large explosion changed that plan. She'ma reared back as her Golems' hand was incinerated to the elbow. She gritted here teeth, ignoring the sudden pain in her ankle as she through a second punch with here good arm. Twice over, an explosion stopped her in here tracks. This time aimed at her golems chest. She'ma barely heard this one as she was thrown like a ragball from her perch. Her golem fell to pieces, unable to keep itself intact. Above her, levitating in midair, stood a winged creature, his face distorted by the dirt and rock that washed over her as crumpled to the ground.

Blinding pain cut through her skull and then only darkness. 

----

She'ma's head was pounding even before she forced here eyes open. When she did, shapes and colors blurred around her. She squinted and slowly things became clearer. She'ma lay exactly were she had the night before, surrounded by the rubble of the night battlement. The village stood silent, eerily so.

"So, you have finally awoken."

She'ma's head whipped toward the voice, here heart racing, was it a survivor? Did here brethren succeed in holding off the attack? Her hopes were quickly dashed. Sitting upon the head of her golem was the winged creature from last night, gazing intently at an Aleani Axe. She'ma remained unmoving before the creature who looked human, his stance was not threatening, it was welcoming in fact. But that did not pull She'ma from the edge.

"Who are you? What have you done?" she called with a shaky breath.

The creature simply smiled and turned to her. "Who am I? I am a King. An aspiring god. A conquer. A scholar. I am Sin itself. But as for you people-" the being visibly shuttered. "You'd be surprised how willing mortals are to resort to Treachery to save thier own lives. Worry not Priestess! Your people live on! Encased in stone!" he proclaimed, gesturing behind her. She'ma gazed into the eyes of the creature. His eyes were a fathomless onyx, bottomless like burning pits of coal. Cold and merciless.

Slowly, She'ma turned; her mind starting to fail. She couldn't formulate a thought. Teeth chattered due to a quivering jaw; clenching the teeth in an effort to keep the jaw still; dropping the jaw so as to breathe in more oxygen in preparation for what's to come.

Behind her, stood an army of stone creatures. They stood rigid, straight, unmoving; and they all seemed to be starring at her.

A Wolf's Fate

The Sorcerer King
&

The Twilight Queen
Level 5 Hero
35 Khookies

Nothing. Another concussive blow fell upon the dormant body of Yang'Ze, and still there was only stillness. Nothing.

Luna's body shifted inside the small boat as she slowly started waking up.

Satisfied, Ommok willed Luna to desist. The muscles of her body stopped with an unnatural abruptness and her fist stopped midway through another swing. Ommok sat in simle contemplation, and so his vessel was still as her master's sleeping form.

She raised her head and looked around her. "This..." Luna was dumbfounded with what she was witnessing. "Is this... my consciousness? B-but how? How did I get in here without wanting to?"

Above the avatar's body there hovered an unassuming staff. Ommok willed Luna to gingerly reach forward, wary as he was of whatever power kept the thing suspended. As Luna's hands touched the cold metal shaft, a flash of blinding light filled the cave. After the staff had registered that Luna was in possession of the Uthkrein, the light died down.

While the werewolf was trying to sort out the confusion in her mind, the small boulder engraved with Ull'Yang's symbol shined a brilliant light, illuminating the small corner of her mind where the boat was. Luna watched in awe as a portal-like apparition appeared above the boulder, and a fuzzy image was shown. "What?"

Ommok felt its cool handle through the flesh of her hands. With her arms, he tested its balance and at once marvelled at the flawlessness of the thing's craftsmanship. It was simple and uninspiring in design yet everything about it was perfect nonetheless. Still, immortality had taken away the Sorcerer King's appreciation for aesthetic and so he cared little for the trinket.

"Why am I holding master's staff? Huh? WHY CAN'T I CONTROL MY BODY?" Luna was beginning to panic as she found out she was practically a cast away inside her own mind. She tried to calm down and after a few moments, she closed her eyes and activated her spirit sense, prodding her surroundings.

The dark sorcerer felt her consciousness stirring, and so he concentrated and once again bludgeoned it into submission. Luna's spirit form immediately blacked out once more when suddenly, a giant thunderbolt fell down from her mind's skies, striking her. The bolt would have completely annihilated this sliver of consciousness that was left if it wasn't for the small boulder shouldering the majority of the impact.

Even after so many years of honing his powers, he occasionally struggled to keep control of a being as it left his immediate proximity. Luna, unfortunately, was already in his clutches, and he gripped his slaves tightly.

In one hand, he had Luna bear that staff. It was a fine specimen of a weapon if only a plaything for a creature of his size. With her other hand, Luna supported the back of Yang'Ze as she slung his limp form over her shoulder. Slowly, the emburdened wolf made her way back to the cave's entrance where Ommok waited.

The echo of her footsteps rang out through the cavernous depths. Eventually, Ommok began to hear those steps twice: once from Luna's ears and once from his own. He lifted his Stone once more and from it there came a glow that illuminated the being before him. Strange, it was; he had barely taken the time to examine this wolf-creature at first.

Deciding that such curiosities could be sated later, his gaze wandered towards the staff in Luna's hand. She outstretched her arm to present it to the king, and Ommok roughly grasped the thing.

The moment Luna released the staff, a tremendous force was applied to it as the weight enchantment activated, and the stone floor itself shuddered as the staff fell to the ground. The ground upon which it rested began cracking beneath the sheer weight, and Ommok's already broken hand was unable to move from beneath the shaft, so it only continued to bear down upon him.

With a mighty strength that could have bent rods of iron, his arm thrashed in vain to free itself. The Sunderer's weight did so much as shift, and genuine fear crept into Ommok's heart for the first time in many decades. Desperation's icy touch brought clarity to his mind, and so through the stifling pain, he managed to issue one simple command to Luna: lift the staff. She did so effortlessly.

Heaving for breath, he brought his maimed hand in contact with his Stone and cradled it like a mother might her child. Its glow grew ever stronger, and with an audible crack the dislocated and broken bones in his hand were snapped back into place. The injury would heal in time, but its pain would stay with the king as a reminder for many months to come.

He grimaced now at Luna and the staff that she bore, and with an enraged brutality he forced himself into her mind and forcibly recalled what memories he could, searching for knowledge of that staff and its dormant guardian.

Suddenly, countless memories flowed from Luna's mind towards Ommok. The name of the Sunderer, its abilities, the identity of its creator, and who exactly Luna was. As her spiritual form that represented her conscious self - the one that had control over her mind - was incapacitated by Ommok once more, the Ogre King had free reign over all the memories regarding what she was. However, even with his powerful mental abilities, Ommok found himself unable to break through certain pockets of memories in Luna's mind.

Unknown to him, everything that had anything to do with Cygnea, Ull'Yang, and the small boulder were enveloped with a strong barrier that scorched everything that dared touch it.

By Ommok's will, Luna marched faithfully at his heels. Days passed, and eventually, they were at the seat of his power. He had spent many restless nights on the journey studying the staff and Yang'Ze. Try as he might unravel the mystery of who that guardian was (for he sensed its divine power) and why he remained unable to wield the Sunderer, he found no success. The answers were within Luna's mind, he knew, but the relevant sections of her mind had been barred by another being more precise in its manipulations than the ogre.

So he was left with the taunting knowledge of the Sunderer's powers, and nothing else! What little information he managed to ascertain about this 'Luna' was similarly limited by his inability to access her memories of Cygnea. Regardless, he was determined to unlock the Sunderer's power. He had Luna bring it to the foot of his throne, where it was under the protection of countless of his most loyal warriors and just as many ogres that he had mentally enslaved. Those that proved themselves loyal and those that openly rebelled and had their minds broken were the only ogres that Ommok truly trusted; his paranoid mind saw only treachery within those that walked the line between. It had driven him to tyranny in past years.

As in for Luna, he kept her alive and close. On occasion, her consciousness stirred once more, but each time he suppressed it once more; she remained as mindless a servant as the rest of Ommok's many slaves. Until he understood the mechanism by which the staff could be wielded or until he found another being capable of lifting the staff, her presence was necessary.

On the other hand, Ommok could ascertain no particular use that he might have for the staff's guardian, and Ommok knew that if the dormant guardian's aura was strong enough to catch the attention of himself then it would be sure to bring others. He would have to be rid of it soon.

Fortunately, he would make for a fair bartering chip indeed, for a being that held the power and thirst to consume divine energy.

It was only after a few days of rest within his fortress that Ommok set out once more. He clasped the Stone. 'Come,' he bid Luna, and her body obeyed. Delicately, she lifted the staff and followed. Ommok found his way to Gormon, his greatest and largest soldier, his loyal ancient. "Gormon," he began, "have the guards bring out the Sleeper. It is high time that we visited our ally, and I think that he will find a suitable offering in that worthless shell."

Gormon grunted in acknowledgement of his orders and moved to obey.

Ommok walked on through the halls of his stone fortress and came across one of many ritual chambers. There, a few of his sorcerers were at practice; some honed their Astartian magic upon some of the more feral war wolves brought from the kennels, whilst other manipulated flames under the guidance of a watching fire djinn.

"Come, students," Ommok commanded, "we go to the mountains once more, to ask our ally for knowledge and offer him our gifts."

Eagerly, they obeyed and fell into the retinue at Ommok's heels. The King led the procession out the great doors of his fortress and into the great city that had grown around it. Everywhere there were training grounds and spears; his kingdom had grown strong in the last few years, and they had made use of all the knowledge of weaponry and toolmaking that their King had seen in his travels.

They left the city behind and made for the Venomweald's edge, then followed a narrow trail deep into the heart of the jungle. It was a trail that few dared walk without the King, for it was only through the magic of his Stone that the jungle was made tame and the horrors within were kept at bay.

Past the carnivorous trees and great pools of corrupting green sludge they marched, always in the darkness beneath a thousand trees. At last, they came to the slopes of the Ironheart mountains, the ground here so rocky that not even the choking jungle vegetation could take root. Onwards they walked, across ledges and narrow mountain trails until at last, they came to a great mountain that smouldered and spewed out ash. Into a gaping wound within the mount's side they walked, and the cavern's winding passages finally brought them to the end of their journey: the heart of a volcano.

Ommok stood at the precipice of a ledge that led down to a great magma chamber below. Something sensed his presence, and the magma stirred.

---

Luna stood beside Ommok, a blank look plastered on her face, indicating that Ommok's influence over her was still strong. However, inside her mind, something had once more stirred. Luna had already woken up many times before, and all those times she prodded the giant black thunderclouds above her with her spirit sense, trying to find a way to wrestle back control over her body from that strange being that possessed her.

Yet, each and every time she was struck down by the sheer force of the creature's powers. If it wasn't for Ull'Yang's symbol on the small boulder, Luna would not have been able to survive under the ruthless oppression of Ommok.

While on their way to the Ironheart mountains, Luna opened her spirit eyes. The boat rocked back and forth due to the turbulent currents of her spiritual sea, but it didn't capsize. Above the small boulder, an image appeared. At first, it was fuzzy, just like the first time she had seen it. Now, it was clearer.

Luna felt the being's control wavering like it was distracted by something. A thought passed through her mind to attempt to take back her body but she knew that she was too weak, and the moment the creature realised what she was doing, it would once again throw a thunderbolt at her and make her pass out. Thus, Luna decided to observe silently through the window above the boulder.

---

From the volcano's fiery heart emerged a magmatic being of titanic proportions, its great hands gripping the stone walls to pull itself up. Its body was formless, flowing, and terrifying cascade of Galbar's blood. That rising mass of molten rock coalesced into a visage, or perhaps that head had been lurking beneath the lava all along.



"So you return, Ommok, in person no less," the giant spoke with a harsh and grating voice like the rumble of a landslide, so deep that it seemed to wash over all like a wave of fire. Where the volcanic tunnels had already been stiflingly hot, the aura of that being was like being burned alive; were it not for the sweat that already drenched all the mortals upon the ledge, they might have been immolated.

"With tribute, great Firelord Slag, and desire for know-"

"Silence," the fire djinn interrupted, and the normally prideful king snapped shut and obeyed. "...I am Firelord NO LONGER! The wretched djinni highlords of the lesser elements have taken to bestowing upon themselves ever higher titles, lest they be like the other pitiful and lowly 'lords', and so I too have claimed a title. You shall name me Baron Slag henceforth, lest your warm ashes fall from the skies like snow.

...Now, what are these beings that you dared bring before me unnanounced?"

---

Although her eyes were glued in front, Luna was able to sense her surroundings through the illusionary window. At first, she scanned her body from head to toe, checking if there were any injuries. Fortunately, it seemed that the being that had taken control of her body found some use in her, and hadn't mistreated it. Luna sighed in relief, as she wouldn't have to worry about any injuries impairing her escape, should she find a way to rid herself of its control.

Then, she turned her attention to the group of creatures surrounding her. With tall, muscular physique that was filled with strange symbols, the ogres struck Luna as brutish at first. However, she could not deny the fact that she could sense a kind of power emitting from within their bodies. It wasn't like the spiritual essence that flowed through her nor like the divine essence Ull'Yang unconsciously emitted. It was different... and very interesting. "I definitely have to ask master about this strange power once I reunite with him..."

As she was thinking that, an enormous amount of heat surged from within the depths of the volcano. Rumbling sounds were heard from beneath and two giant lava geysers erupted upwards. The lava coalesced into the form of hands that gripped at the mouth of the volcano as they dragged an even bigger mass of lava out of it. Luna simply stared at the beast as it took humanoid form and started conversing with a creature much like those that surrounded her, yet completely different at the same time.

Back at the cave, the werewolf had only managed to see the silhouette of Ommok in the darkness, right before she was struck unconscious by his power. Hence, it was her first time seeing the Ogre King in all of his glory. Luna eyed the creature, instinctively knowing that it was he that had attacked her and seized control over her body that day.

Even if she could only see his back, his towering figure, near twice taller than others of his kind, was able to instil a sense of fear into her that made Luna even more cautious about picking the right time to try and escape.

However, at that moment Luna felt a string of warm essence flow through her body. Inside her spiritual sea, her consciousness, a dim golden glow appeared beneath the boat that carried her. Luna immediately sent her spiritual sense to follow the string of essence, and she followed it all the way to her hand where her master's weapon laid.

The moment her mind touched the Sunderer, all the information about its abilities and potential uses that had previously flowed inside Ommok's mind entered hers as well. "So this is master's weapon, Ull'Yang's weapon!" Luna's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "With this in my hands, I can at least protect myself from these creatures." Luna's spirit form stood up inside the boat. She extended her hand in front of her and the Sunderer appeared in it; albeit semi-transparent and incorporeal, inside her consciousness, the divine aura the staff radiated was greatly amplified.

---

Meanwhile, the conversation between Slag and Ommok went on. "That one? It is some sort of divine; I sensed a presence deep within the Venomweald and found him at its source. It seems dormant. Do with it what you please; it is my gift to you, Baron Slag," Ommok answered, his speech delicate but quick.

Slag's brazen visage looked on impatiently as its burning gaze turned to face Yang'Ze, the hapless avatar still slung over Gormon's shoulder.

"Gormon!" the King snapped.

The brute simply grunted in acknowledgement.

Seething in frustration at the guard's stupidity, Ommok roared, "Bring it forward!"

Gormon grunted and began to slowly trudge closer to the precipice.

"As in for the other one, back there, I know not what it is; I found it attempting to enter the cave where I found the Divine. It is simply my vessel, for it can carry that staff. That staff is a strange artefact, one that I was hoping you mi-"

Slag's petrifying gaze remained locked on the approaching Gormon, and even that giant ogre was transfixed in fear. The fire djinn paid no heed to Ommok's rambling, for he was captivated by the sight of Yang'Ze. A divine, and one hapless at that? Such a thing was a feast unimaginable; its power would be his!

Ommok realised that Gormon had stopped, and once again seethed in silent anger. He stormed over to his ensign and roughly seized Yang'Ze, then carried the limp body over to the precipice's edge. As Luna was watching through the portal, she felt her captor's control over her waning even more. She could sense the feeling of anger slowly well up inside him, surely because of the mental link her had created between them. Luna grinned and clutched the essence-Sunderer with both of her hands.

"Take this offering, then, Baron Slag!" the Sorcerer King's voice resounded as he hefted Yang'Ze and made to cast him into the infernal pit. A simple fling was all it took for Ommok to hurl Yang'Ze from the ledge. The avatar, limp as ever, fell towards the bubbling lake of magma below, but his descent was stopped by an updraft. A cloud of superheated volcanic gas lifted Yang'Ze up to where Slag's face loomed, and the terrible djinn took a moment to examine his offering more closely.

"Right now!" she shouted and with a mighty heave, struck the small boulder in the centre of the boat, yet instead of shattering, the boulder remained still, like an ancient iceberg.

"Oooooooong~"

The moment the staff made contact with the boulder, waves of sound echoed throughout Luna's spiritual sea. At the same time, in the outside world, the Sunderer started vibrating and emitting rays of light.

"Oooooooong~"

Wherever the sound waves travelled, the ocean would revert to its previous calm state, the thunderbolts would cease, and the ominous black clouds would part.

"Oooooooong~"

Right behind the soundwaves, a scorching light washed over everything in its path. The light, a combination of the essences from the Uthkrein and the Sunderer, was able to purify and rid Luna's consciousness of Ommok's control.

In that instant, Ommok fell upon his knees and he too nearly plunged off the precipice. Though Slag took it for nothing more than simple grovelling, the proud king hadn't tried to kneel. It was a splitting headache that brought him low, for without warning a shockwave of force had travelled through his mental link with Luna and assaulted his mind. Just like that, his tether over her had snapped and she was free once more.

Clutching his head, he rose to his feet once more and spun around, only to see her clubbing one of his minions in the head. As the ogre fell over, she swiftly jumped on it and using it as a stepping stone, leapt towards the Yang'Ze's levitating body. Power surged through her fingers and the Sunderer suddenly shapeshifted, changing its form into that one of a red hook attached to a long, golden chain.

While in mid-air, Luna shot the hook forward towards the avatar's body. The hook coiled around Yang'Ze's leg, and Luna immediately pulled the body towards her with great force.

A gargantuan hand of molten rock swung out as if to swat a fly, but instead, it grabbed the golden chain. It was like trying to grasp a single thread of a spider's web, but nonetheless, Slag's grip was iron. His semi-liquid hands flowed through and around the chains, so there was no breaking his grasp. Luna did not expect such a huge being like Slag would possess such swift speed, to be able to grab at the chain right before she had retracted it.

Unfortunately for her, she did not have wings and could not fly. As such, Luna suddenly found herself swinging all over the place as she held on to Sunderer's chain. Slag lifted the chain and looked at the dangling body of Yang'Ze, and on the other end, the little wolf that still clung onto the Sunderer's shaft.

A faint howling was audible in the distance.

"Let go you vile beast!" Luna shouted, but deep inside she knew that there was no way something like that would happen. Her mind started racing. Using the power of the Uthkrein put an immense stress on her mind, and if Ventus could deflect its blow, then Luna was sure that the elemental in front of her would not so much as feel a sting.

A deep, diabolical rumble resounded from within Slag's chest: laughter. A cloud of fine volcanic ash and brimstone poured out from his maw. Luna coughed as the fumes invaded her nostrils. Although she was finally in possession of the Sunderer, she was no expert when it came to staff techniques and its abil-

"Wait! Abilities! Yes, I can do that!" Luna's eyes darted to where Yang'Ze's body hanging. She then looked over at Slag and a sly smile appeared on her face. Luna circulated her essence and the Sunderer emitted a dim light. Suddenly, Yang'Ze's body disappeared, sucked inside the Sunderer's own storage space.

The nearly inaudible howls had grown, and now it was like a hundred screams echoed inside the cavernous walls, and yet there was no discernable source.

The dazed ogres and Slag alike had a look of confusion about them for one long moment, and then there was havoc. A mighty gale billowed down from the vent above, and amidst the writhing, winds were distorted patches of air: wind djinn.

A dozen streaks cut through the air in a dervish around Slag's colossal body, and the air itself cackled and shivered with static energy for a moment. Then, in unison, they hurled spears of lightning at the baron.

"Submit, Firelord!" rang out the voice of Cyclonis from amidst a great vortex above.

Slag watched as some foreign magic stole the avatar away from his grasp and then a dozen flies manifested to assault him. In an instant, his temper was gone, and the volcano itself trembled at his ire when he roared.

With callous and tremendous force, he hurled Luna down to the cleft where the ogres stood. Luna let out a scream and crashed down, but fortunately, the ogres were there to cushion her fall. She manoeuvred herself to land with her feet on one of the ogres. Cracking sounds of bones were heard and the ogre beneath her was pinned face down on the ground. Luna borrowed the rebounding force and somersaulted a few feet away.

The Sunderer in her hands changed its form to that of a spear, and Luna - trying to balance herself as the tremors from Slag's outrage shook the mountain - shoved it on the ground with force and held on to it.

"YOU DARE BRING THESE INTERLOPERS HERE, OMMOK? YOU THOUGHT THAT THIS PLOY WOULD WORK ON ME?"

Slag bellowed with a wild and primal rage, and from his breast there surged a plume of fire that writhed and shrouded him. The ravenous flames sucked in and devoured the air, and the dozen wind djinn about him only barely managed to escape. They retreated to the very edges of the magma chamber, but Cyclonis surged forward.

Ommok choked out some explanation or plea for mercy down below, but it went unheard over the djinn. Cyclonis, unfazed and arrogant, proclaimed, "It was the Council that bid me extinguish a rogue flame, and it will be to the great Vizier Ventus and the Conclave of Winds that you swear fealty to!"

Once again, Cyclonis commanded, "SUBMIT!" From the djinni lord's fingertips there came a gale that would have flattened a village and scattered mortals like leaves upon the wind, but to Cyclonis' horror, it did nothing to Slag. If anything, it only fed his flames, for Slag seemed to glower even brighter from it.

"YOU CAN'T CONTAIN ME, WRETCH!"

A gargantuan hand flew through the air in a backhanding motion, though Cyclonis dodged it easily. Striking him was not the purpose. Slag brought his other hand up, and in the superheated region of air where he had waved his hand, there was suddenly born a flame. With unimaginable swiftness and raw power, the flicker of fire grew into a raging torrent and Slag channelled the inferno towards Cyclonis.

The wind djinn darted and soared through the air in evasive patterns, but Slag only cackled as the river of fire flew from his fingertips, recoiled upon the walls, and rained down to scorch and incinerate everything below. Two of the dozen greater djinn under Cyclonis' command were caught in the flames, and their harrowing screams rattled through the magma chamber as they were devoured by fire.

Luna watched as the chaos around her unfurled. Through the booming sounds of explosions and the mountain rumbling, she heard the familiar voice of Cyclonis shouting something at Slag. Luna did not give it a second thought. "Huh, why should I care for those that refused to aid me? They deserve to be similarly abandoned as much as anyone else..." she thought.

"It's not like they need help, they outnumber him completely..." However, that thought was immediately scraped when she saw how easily Slag deflected the collective might of the djinn. As his fires consumed two of the bigger humanoids amongst the wind djinn, Luna started having second thoughts. She looked at the tunnel behind her and then looked at djinn in front of her that were currently battling with Slag, and a great dilemma arose in her mind. Willingly put herself into a dangerous position in order to help the djinns, and potentially obtain a powerful ally, or escape and live another day?

---

As if oblivious to the raging heat below, a small brush clinging to the side of the volcano rustled in the cool breeze. A peculiar patch of dense, moving fog left some dew upon the plant's leaves.

Synnefos scoured the bleak mountain slopes; he had been on Luna's trail once more and had tracked her thus far, but here he was at a loss. He had smelt that particular aura of Ull'Yang up to this point and he felt it nearby, but hours of searching the mountain had led to nothing. Surely Luna, the aura's source, was not within the volcano? Synnefos dared not battle the plume of ash to enter the volcano's chimney, and he similarly doubted that any being of flesh would be so foolish.

After some time he eventually discovered a hole in the volcano's side that led into a seemingly expansive cavern. That was his best bet, and so the rolling cloud of fog drifted inside. Quickly Synnefos became lost in the labyrinth of tunnels, and the stifling heat was anathema to him. Nonetheless, he pressed on and soon came across an alarming sight: a panicked ogre charged down the tunnel, making its way to the cave's entrance. Synnefos moved in the direction that the ogre had come, and quickly saw more; it seemed that was not the only one fleeing from whatever awaited.

As he drew closer, a confusing cacophony of sounds became clear. Synnefos flew swiftly, for now he feared that Luna might be in danger.

---

Chased by Slag's flames, Cyclonis wove back and forth with all his swiftness, deftly evading it and awaiting the end. Slag only laughed on and on, and there was no end to that torrent of fire. Never before had Cyclonis seen a djinn of such power; defeating him would take all his skill.

In one agile manoeuvre, he darted laterally before predicting the path of Slag's flames, ducking below it, and flying straight for the Baron. Cyclonis tightened an ethereal fist and conjured a shroud of cackling energy, then delivered his blow. With a fist of lightning and at devastating speed, he struck Slag straight in the chest. Nothing.

So shocked was Cyclonis that he failed to evade Slag's grasping hand, and so he was clutched by a hundred amorphous fingers of fire and lava.

"At last, I have you now," Slag rumbled. His hand tightened around the djinni's essence, his own essence holding it in place. Djinn were intangible to mortals, but they had a way of grabbing hold of one another.

Slowly, tortuously, Slag tightened his grip, superheating and killing Cyclonis. "BURN! SUBMIT!" he jeered and mocked.

Cyclonis unfurled his physical form and exploded outwards as a mere Flicker, only barely managing to escape. He pulled together the air about him and coalesced into a physical form once more. Weakened and utterly defeated, he let out the command, "Retreat! Fall back to the skies!"

The ragged remnants of his cohort were only too ready to oblige.

Slag roared and threw great globs of magma at the fleeing wind djinn. Insects. They were nothing before him, fit only to be crushed and burned!

His attention turned once more to the ledge before him. Ommok still stood there, trembling in panic, but there nonetheless. That was more than could be said for the most of other ogres. Slag felt the heat within each of the worthless fleshlings as they ran through the tunnels. There was only one ogre remaining by the King's side: Gormon. The ancient lazily yawned as he awaited his master's next order, either brave beyond belief or too stupid to realise his own danger.

Baron Slag inhaled deeply, seeming to calm if only slightly. "OMMOK!" he roared, "Bring that one back to me." Luna's whole body trembled, her hair standing up straight as the elemental's gaze locked on her. She had made a mistake. She hesitated, and now she would pay for that mistake.

The Baron pointed one massive finger towards Luna's minuscule form, and Ommok quickly spun and raised his Stone. The thing was pulled straight from his clutches, by a cloud of mist no less.

Synnefos cast the Stone towards the precipice, and with a yelp, Ommok dived after it and only barely managed to knock it back onto the ledge. He scrambled after the Stone as it rolled across the floor.

Meanwhile, Synnefos swept right around Gormon (who welcomed the unexpected respite of a cooling mist) and into Luna. Though she did not perceive him with her sight, Luna yelped as she felt a chilly current sweeping her up with surprising force and making for the tunnels behind her. His voice hissed out, "Bite not the hand that rescues you; I come as your salvation." Luna at once realised that it was a djinn that had rushed in to save her, and although she was suspicious of the djinn, she wouldn't refuse the help it offered.

With a terrifying roar that dwarfed all those before, Slag awakened the sleeping volcano and made it erupt in a violent explosion. The magma below welled up and surged upwards, flooding the entire cavity. Synnefos, Cyclonis' cohort, and the fleeing sorcerers raced through the vents and tunnels as fast as they could, though the lava outran an unfortunate few.

In his fit of rage Slag did nothing to spare his incompetent ally. Fortunately, the Stone was more forgiving to Ommok. The Sorcerer King muttered an enchantment and then clutched onto the Stone for dear life. Using that magically buoyant stone as a float, he bobbed atop the lava as it bubbled out of the volcano's crater and slowly flowed down the mountainside. So terrified was he that the fireproofing enchantment might fail, he hardly noticed Gormon clinging onto his back to share in the Stone's protection. Gormon grunted in thanks for his master saving him from the scary-red-hot-water, then fell asleep.

From sleeping on her feet to flying in her dreams, Tauga found that her grip on her own consciousness was improving. Just as her flexible black mask slowly repaired its cuts and scratches, subtly reinforcing what had been damaged, her own brain and body were cautiously self-adjusting without her volition.

It let her dull the edge of impatience as she stood listening to the on-paper councillor justify his reluctance. At some interval that appealed to her intuition, Tauga tuned back into the mood of the hall and cut in: "Convene the council."

A stark pause in the flow of words. The troll's own frustration momentarily evaporated, driven out by the shock of her audacity. When it returned, he was too aghast to hold it in with condescending diplomacy.

"Council, council, council! Always you mention the council as though you are the Énas himself, gods-rest-his-name, and the wise men of Xerxes toil to execute your singular will! We are powerful men, Tauga! And it is not by coincidence that this is so!" The troll's hands made sharply measured gesticulations before him, and as he spoke the sunlight flowing through the grand entrance-hall of Cipher glinted from a thin wire of alyum nayam wrapped on his tusk, expensive import from the mountains where such things were now made.

"We're men of ambition! Of great pride and intellect, of ferocious rivalry! The old council would never yield before an upstart like you, no matter how violent, and neither will we! You can't just create order by obliterating the City's infrastructure, and you never will! Only the unified hearts of the wise in loyalty to a king, an office which no longer exists, can deliver you your idiotic fantasy, and no amount of threats and murder can win them over! It is crude and childish! I myself hav-"

Boom, reverberated the stunning tremor as it jolted the councillor's eyes wide open. Small ornaments crashed and clanged their way down elsewhere. His guards recovered quickly and levelled a ready gaze at Tauga.

"Convene the council."

He raised his palms slowly, held them up low. Considered for a moment and found his words, holding them level with the trained care of a leader. "Tauga, please. Take a moment. Let that rage of yours cool long enough to consider the consequences of what you're doing. I know, I confess that the City is hurt, it's not what it should be. No- more than that. It's a deep wound, and I know how that must hurt you. I was young too, once."

"But more blood will not heal us. Making ashes won't see our buildings rebuilt. The council must work as one, if it is to work at all. You have a great gift, Tauga, but the ones in power cannot be lifted up on the edge of an axe, only broken on it. For the sake of what is still precious in Xerxes, you must not-"

This time the impact knocked his balance, and he saved himself from falling to his knees only to have the second strike force him to brace himself with a hand on the floor. Another deafening metallic clang, another, another, from left and right, becoming one continuous clamour as the Bludgeons shook the Cipher Pyramid. Its divine architecture held firm even as its foundations quaked.

With low stances, advancing when they could safely take a step, the guards lowered their spears and advanced on Tauga, the only one still upright.

With a final crack of moon-forged metal on pavestone, a sphere slammed over the huge doors of the palace, severing the sun. Only the bleak white of its orbiting plumes was left to glint on the heads of their spears as the tremors faded.

Tauga slipped her scabbard from her shoulder and unsheathed Help's scalpel. Surrounded by private soldiers at five points, she held the weapon lightly in one hand, point down, with a voice as casual as it had always been.

"Keep talking."

In the pause forced by her calm and the spreading silence, the councillor stood on his feet and tried to see what lay behind the insectile gaze of the mask. And, looking, as invisible snakes seethed horribly around his face and neck, as his guards one by one felt their confidence crack before the demon, he saw nothing but the same flat stare she had held at the beginning.

Heard nothing but the apathetic ease with which he knew in his heart this hain had slaughtered Usgalo and all his cronies and his family with them, and crushed his barracks for good measure.

"I'll do what I can," he whispered, and the barricade vanished, the reaping Bludgeon returning to the skies. Tauga sheathed her weapon and shoved past a bodyguard on her way out.



Certain things were stirring, late and pitiful, shuffling pieces within the City's ever-flowing body. Markets were filtering open, ruins counted and unbought imports claimed. Bodies buried. It did nothing to fill the empty hearts and bellies of the many, or hold the broken hands of the generation that had built Xerxes. And still, for all the lost promises and cast-aside people, a faint spark of hope was visible. Hope not for themselves, but maybe, just maybe, their children would see the City whole again.

Winds were blowing, and as they strummed the cords of the Bludgeons, they hummed with the sound of Change.

Tauga's gait was relaxed and brisk, and Pumps the sweetheart bobbed eagerly above her shoulders, the tube bouncing at its neck. Alert, she spotted the streetwalkers that spotted her first, recognised several of them as people that had seen her before. It wasn't unusual to see her on the streets, the strong and unknown among the innumerable weak. That was how she lived now. Sleeping lightly at midnight, on the move before dawn.

One huddled cluster of wide-eyed watchers in particular drew her attention and Tauga changed course slightly to meet them at the end of the street. They did their watching piecemeal in fearful glances, longer and longer as she approached until Tauga was receiving two frightened stares.

The moment before she was within speaking range, she heard the sidelong whisper- "It's the blowfly." Then she was in earshot of ordinary folk, and the three hain were quiet.

Without talking, Tauga pulled back her mask roughly, shedding the face of the monster, and loosened her rucksack, holding it awkwardly on her knee. Her homeless hosts smelled the contents before they saw, and even the hatchling with the unchanging downcast gaze looked up. Small and trembling hands rose to receive the wrapped bundle of rice. Her eyes held only wonder.

The sack was still nearly full. One of the fathers' beak clicked a few times as his dry tongue worked to find words.

"Free," interjected Tauga, choosing to spare him the further humiliation of thanks, no matter how honest. The streets of the City were Death's door. To beg in a place built on the back of greed denied reality. Better to starve quietly. Stay out of everybody's way.

Hain had the worst lot of all. Rovaick could eat masonry until scurvy took over. Female humans could survive if they were young enough, though the risk was terrible. Soft-skinned, hairy, promiscuous animals were the race of Men, just like the apes and the dogs, out for blood with no family but themselves. No room in their heart for stray beakies.

"There's more. Come with me. I can keep you safe." She let one of the parents hold the bag and waited as they stood on shaky joints. The other father picked up the child. Tauga felt like it was an appropriate moment to stroke her head, but instead they only shared an indecisive look. Pumps came to her rescue and hooted happy sounds at the hatchling, who screamed at its squishy pinkness and then laughed and then screamed again when she saw it. Her carrier crooned softly.

"It's not far. Down well street."

"Wherever you want," assured the other hain hurriedly.

It wasn't far, by Tauga's measure. Tauga, who was tall, and blessed with divine stamina, and had spent much of the last few weeks flying. After a while she saw that the hain with the sack looked weak, offered to carry it. He declined. Of course.

A faint set of notes was wandering out from a distant street as they neared, the wooden clatter of a marimba. Street music, wavering and unpracticed and present all the same.

When they finally slowed, it was clear where Tauga was leading them. Fire had blackened everything, every stone and shard of pottery in the burned district around the House of Jvan. And the soot rose from those ruins in faint clouds as it stained even the skin and clothes of the labourers working there, obscuring the crossed tattoo they all shared. Working, for no clear purpose, to clear the rubble and salvage whatever was worth the time- Who was feeding them? Who had the resources, or the desire? Everything of real value had been stripped long ago.

A glance was shared between the hain. Hauling stone was preferable to famine, no matter the reason, or the benefactor.

But their eerie guide didn't stop. Past the line of workers, to a space already cleared. Here, it seemed, their journey ended. Four men stood armed and ready, wearing no uniform but mercenary armour, their faces hidden behind black scarves and bandannas and still plainly recognisable as soldiers. Between them was a stained pot, several bags of rice, an open strongbox and a line of people much like the ones Tauga had caught on the brink of death. Stragglers. Families. Mostly hain.

Tauga motioned them to join the queue. At its head, a frail woman with hands stained finger to wrist with ink was pulling dead faeries from the pot, using them to inscribe a simple X-shaped tattoo into the left shoulder of each new worker. All but the hain- They, too, received a small spot in the only place where ink would not be shed with the moult, on the tip of the tongue. Several such newcomers were recovering to the side, sipping vinegar to soothe the irritated spot.

One of the armsmen approached Tauga as she drew near. A human, only his eyes visible. She recognised him all the same. Sen, the soldier she had knocked down on the day of her return. Neither of them had the faintest trace of affection for one another, but Sen was good at his job when he had to be. And he had seen, in person, how coldly she could choose to end lives.

"How many so far?"

"Five score and sixteen today. More than a thousand on the whole." A small nod without words. It made Sen uneasy. Tauga looked so soulless, if you stared long enough. "If we keep this rate going, we might run out of coins."

"Coins," she repeated dumbly, looking at him.

Sen saw that he'd slipped and moved to recover. "It's what the men have been calling the tokens, sir. We found a coat, sir, salvaged, sir, and decided to bet it on what name the workers would use for them, only, after a few days of banter about coining the name, they started to think that 'coining' was the name. Of the ration system. So now everyone calls them 'coins'. ...No one won the bet."

"Sounds stupid," said Tauga without interest. Sen was again left in the quiet.

"Some of them have started swapping the coins for other things, sir, without exchanging them for food or clothes first. Should we stop them?"

She thought about it a moment, then shrugged. "I don't care. It'll happen anyway. Let them get what they want if they can." The three hain she'd reeled in from the street were still standing there, perhaps scared to leave her side. A whistle and a gesture, and Pumps jetted to the strongbox, came back with two tokens. Small triangles in gleaming copper, stamped with an eye. "Here," Tauga said simply as she handed them over. "For you and your kid. My men are guarding the granaries, so you can swap them for more food or clothes. Go let Erjang mark you. It means you're mine. Like a tool. You'll work for me and no one else, and I'll keep you safe, as long as you live. You won't get dumped on the street any more. I need you too much." Life was cheap in the City. Property had value.

Tauga wondered why she found the idea of slavery so familiar.

The fathers glanced at one another and whispered unsteady thanks, their child asleep on the taller one's back. Sen pointed, and they shuffled into the queue. It was mostly hain.

"You sure don't like seeing beakies starve, do you?"

Tauga shrugged. "I've been there." Sen said nothing. "It annoys me."

"Ah."

A marimba melody drifted on the air. Tauga knew why the musicians were playing again. She owned them.



On her feet in a ruined house was how Tauga normally slept. She wasn't sleeping now, though, and this house was only empty because it had no roof. Other than that it was quite serviceable. A night mouse scuttled in from the room's uncovered doorway. It didn't know that the eyes behind the black goggles were open and watching it idly, the brain behind them focused elsewhere. On a stool, a bundle of blankets was softly breathing as Pumps slept its way through gentle dreams.

She could hear the assassin coming from this distance, pad-footed, like the mouse. Taste him, too, with a single tentacle that rested lightly on his shoulder, as if reeling him in.

Step, step, step. The anticipation grew. Tauga didn't hold her breath as the critical moment neared. He was maybe two steps outside the doorway now.

Split the air- A long scream- Sudden fwoomph- Bones hitting masonry- A seething hiss- Gagging- Hissing- Hissing- Hissing-

Tauga calmly stepped out of the room and into the darkness that filled the unfinished hall, the shadow under no roof. Brushed away the outer layers of the fiberling with her hand; The hairs writhed away at her touch. The tendrils she was holding its incorporeal cell-form with twisted their grip, forcing it to bend its catch towards her, bringing him to face level with the hain. His eyes were twitching in primal horror and she could smell urine. When he realised who was staring him down in the darkness, he tried to sob through his gag.

She remembered when Help had first showed her a fiberling; She, too, had screamed, even as the Sculptor demonstrated how safely playful the monstrosity was in her presence. Then she'd screamed some more. This fiberling, on the other hand, had been forced into the City, unable to fight the tentacled creature that could wrestle its invisible puppeteer form into submission. It seethed with feral rage, tightening its grip on the assassin with a sound of grinding carpets.

Still no real empathy, though. Damn. I guess.

The fiberling reluctantly let go of his mouth and the man vomited. "So who paid you?" It took a while before he could speak again.

"Don't-know," mumbled. "G-g-gobbo in a hood."

Hired by proxy, of course. "Where?"

"S-south wall gate... Please. Please."

South wall gate. That could mean Yio Hu, or that mine-owning councillor with the forgettable name. A fairly useful hint. Not that it would matter, at this point. A chained fiberling sent a more powerful message than a thousand inept flailings of her scalpel ever would. There would be no more assassins.

"Please. Please! Family- I, I-"

"Yeah, I know," said Tauga softly, and he quietened down, lost to despair.

A low, concerned whistle. Toooo, oo?

"Pumps, go back to sleep," warned the hain, and her sweetheart obligingly tucked itself back in. Hooo-o-oo. A few seconds, then back to the assassin.

"Any last words?"

Tauga very slowly counted to three, with no response but mumbling lips, then reached into the mass of hair, pressing the man's windpipe with her fingertips until she found the jugular veins. She wrapped her hands around the man's neck and used her wrists to apply pressure to the sides until she couldn't feel a pulse any more, and then some.

The throat carries air, but only to the lungs, Help had once taught her, in the child's voice that knew so much. We breathe with our blood. When we bleed out, we are asphyxiating. She blinked away the memory.

"Okay. Now you can have him." Tauga turned and walked back to her room, releasing the fiberling as she did. It fled immediately, revealing the mousehole it had been hiding in. Tauga nodded her head and fell asleep to the distant sound of ripping clothes and scalp.

I need to do something with these deaths. was her last thought. The tube of arksynth was visible in Pumps' blankets and she avoided looking in its direction. Next morning. Next morning she could deal with it. The people are scared. I need to let them know that they don't... Have to be...



Two armsmen stood aside, relaxed, attentive, as four slaves waited for instruction. Their presence was unnecessary, at least to the end of supervision. Everyone with Tauga's mark was well aware that the cloth-masked militia guarded their food stores and beat the thieves who came at night. Those and the unruly, but few were unruly. Better not to make trouble. No, the soldiers were here for another.

Besides, a far more dangerous player was on the field today.

At a brisk knock, the door opened. A woman looked, mouth open in greeting, then was silent. It took her a second too long to try and pick up the words again. Tauga jabbed her under the ribs so she buckled, then decked her with a blow to the face.

"Sareh, tie her up." Tauga hopped over the fallen human and into the back of the house. One of her soldiers followed, the other preoccupied with rope.

On the surface, everything was in line. Pots, chairs, a loom. Meagre bowls of rice. No suspicious crates or bundles under heavy cloth. The soldier glanced at Tauga. The hain was standing still. When the soldier moved closer to comment on what she saw, something brushed past her, as if by accident. "There's a false floor under the bed," said Tauga abruptly, then turned and stepped off. "It's in here."

Together they lifted the simple wooden structure and set it aside; Under her bandanna, the soldier raised her eyebrows slightly at Tauga's strength. The hain was at least as strong as she was. Tauga scraped away the concealing layer of chalk they found below, revealing slats of wood on a floor that was mostly pale earth. Beneath this was a pit, and in that pit were hefty sacks of rice and lentils.

A nod. The soldier called in the slaves and they set about dragging out the contraband. Tauga stepped outside, where the second armsman was watching a fully conscious and defiantly quiet perpetrator. Quiet, at least, until Tauga showed her masked face. "Fuck you," said the woman, and spat in it. Sareh clipped her forehead but Tauga didn't flinch.

"Énas Amartia wouldn't have done this."

Tauga shrugged. "I'm not the Énas."

"What's fucking wrong with making sure I can eat for a few months then?"

A subtle shake of Tauga's head as the armsman raised his hand again. "In a few months we'll be harvesting gram and the famine will have broke," she explained, maybe just to herself. "Just have to keep people from starving until then." The slaves stepped out of the house, carrying two sacks each on bare peasant muscle. Tauga nodded, the soldier flung the woman over his shoulders and seven figures set off into the street.

By now the recognition was open. "It's the blowfly."

"Hey, look."

"Fuckin' hoarders."

"Is that- Tauga?"

"Blowfly."

"Watch out."

"Who got caught this time?"

"The rotflies are here."

As they walked, they passed street-sweepers and murals. Fresh murals, joyful murals. Etchings of a single Bludgeon flying like a comet, trailing a splendid plume over the skies of a shining City. Paintings of harvest-time, flowers and fruit and dances, and a Bludgeon in the distance. Xerxes, whole again, was whispered from ear to ear. Fear not the Bludgeons. Fight not the Bludgeons. The Bludgeons protect us. The Bludgeons purge the traitors. The City will rise.

Tauga knew those whispers. Thespians, poets, minstrels- those who trade words can only find food when food is plentiful. Now she owned the finest whisperers in Amestris. Of course, some of the whispers had started on their own.

Tauga. Blowfly with the dark gloved suit and black-eyed mask. The Jaanite hain. A cultist without faeries. Help's assistant, come back to heal the City in her absence. Peasant girl who pulled out her own heart and all her soul and happiness with it, leaving an empty being. Whose heart could still be seen flying around her head some days as a phylactery. So that she could wear Jaan as a skin and remain uncorrupted. Demon princess who summoned fiberlings and Bludgeons.

The carrot and the stick, the bludgeon and the blowfly. Or maybe, thought she, it's the other way around.

They came to the burned district. Rubble was heaped into a low hill in the roofless skeleton of the House of Jaan. At least two hundred people stood by. Crows were gathering. Burned beams held up hanged bodies.

Sen was waiting, with some twenty other members of Tauga's militia. Ex-soldiers now claimed back into the fold of a leader, youths that had taken clubs and tried to defend themselves in the anarchy. Tauga was choosy about who she fed and trusted with a sword. Only those she could rely on. Here they stood, masked, marked each one by a wirework badge of precious copper, scrubbed in salt and vinegar to form a brown-green patina. The shape and colour of a blowfly.

Atop the mound was death row. Looters and lockpicks, pimps and pushers. Yio Hu the councillor, who paid an assassin. The gathering crowd parted for Tauga and her slaves, and the soldier dumped the hoarder in the row next to a Chipper who had raised her voice against bond labour and led the slaves to riot, even though they were well fed. Now she was muzzled. Tauga didn't take risks like that.

The sacks of food were packed, one by one, at the feet of the hoarder- Evidence of the crime. Similar artefacts were aligned with each of the other convicts. Food. An ingot of giant's bone. A bloody knife. A ragged woman with a clear view of her revenge.

Sen's badge glinted. The slave artist who made it had been told to include garnet chips for eyes. He was in charge. The mask emboldened him.

"Criminals. Anarchists. Profiteers. Look at these men who led you to believe they were your brothers!" The crowd rustled to his shout. "Traitors to Xerxes! Do you not remember the days of Usgalo? Would you see this famine come again for the greed of the few? Is the City so weak as to let these leeches go? Parasites!"

A rising murmur. Tauga extended her hand to a slave, who passed her the long haft of a stone hammer. Humans were soft, and bled easily- Her khopesh scalpel was enough for them, poor swordsmanship or no. To execute a hain required a different kind of weapon.

"We stamp on the head of the worm and rise again! Under the light of the Bludgeons, we will rise again! See the true Amestrians separated from the chaff! Every tree that does not bear fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire!"

Sen saw Tauga rising to the top of the hill, bearing the sledgehammer. She nodded. He muscled the Chipper to the fore and stepped back.

She looked over the people. Some of them knew her, even before she had moved to the quarries and returned without a soul. All of them had seen her since. All had seen the destruction of the army and of the line of Usgalo. Many were slaves. Resting from a day tending derelict fields. They had seen her working, day night day, always in person, to keep the City stable. Her presence alone silenced them with more awe than Sen could ever stir. Something unseen flowed around her like a hurricane.

"For the betrayed."

Tauga raised the hammer and the people roared.



People stepped aside for her now, shying away from the face, even without her mask. Pumps gave an excited little whistle every time someone looked at them, then a disappointed one when they passed by or turned away. Then without pause the sweetheart would see someone else and the cycle would repeat. It might be annoying, to have such a noisy pet tucked in an open leather rucksack, but, like much else, Tauga found she didn't care.

The only ones who did not inch back a little or avert their gaze were those already far enough to feel safe, those confident souls who whistled or raised a fist or cried 'Xerxes lives!' from rooftops. Those, and the wealthy.

Captains of large ships or small fleets, mostly, or traders dealing in river imports. Most had cronies, well-dressed servants or keen-eyed quartermasters, private bodyguards with hidden knives. They hailed her and Sen, calling wholesome greetings to the small troop of militiamen. Some approached her outright, intending to offer grateful donations or plans for reform, and were promptly ignored. Full-bellied oligarchs, all, who had never in their lives had to eat dirt. Tauga didn't trust a single one.

As they strode briskly through the City's extensive harbour, Tauga flicked her head constantly fore and back, birdlike, looking for prey. Her tentacles sprawled through the surrounding streets, counting the bustling workers by touch. Many of them were hers. Several skippers had died in the fire, as had hundreds of oarsmen. Idle boats had drifted untouched. Fish dwindled the markets. Now, as the slave crews learned, they started to come back.

Tauga recognised the dingy she'd stolen to row to the Siren's Isles. Ears covered and wearing a double blindfold, she'd navigated by tendril-touch and stolen hairs from the sirens themselves as they sang and plucked their violin-like stringed song. Several slave murals had been painted with brushes made from that hair before it faded, though the rumour alone that Tauga had survived setting foot among the sirens without drowning wove perhaps an even stronger aura of mystery.

Towards the end of the docks Tauga saw what she was looking for and made a quick gesture. The troop followed her slowly as she broke into a half-run.

The docker was human, and didn't see Tauga approach until too late. Barking rough and ragged orders to a work-gang as he hauled a barrel with one hand and a stump with a hook, he turned at the sound of footsteps. Shock grew quickly as he saw the unmasked face with a sword at its shoulder. Tauga pointed to the barrel then to the ground. "Down. You're not in trouble."

Immediately the barrel was set down, and the docker bowed, though Tauga had no official office. "Your workers. Which one do you trust most?" The request was quickly processed and the answer didn't stammer.

"My wife, sir."

So he was used to thinking fast. Good. "Call her."

A huge, anchor-tattooed woman who was already watching over a stack of amphorae stepped up at her husband's call. Tauga noted her name, Mako. "And yours?"

"Ruthar. Sir."

"Mm. Mako? You're in charge of the gang. If you need more muscle, see-" Tauga jabbed the air behind her with a thumb as the troop approached- "Sen or his officers for slaves. Ruthar?"

"Yes, s-"

"No 'sirs'. Ruthar, I'm leaving. For four days. The Bludgeons are coming with me. I've been getting ready as fast as I can, but even taken by surprise, that's still plenty of time for the Council to make plans. The longer I exist, the weaker they get. Do you understand?"

"...Yes. Tauga."

"Good. So. For the next four days, and maybe longer, you, Ruthar, and your gang, are going to be me, Tauga, on the docks. What that means is, if anything falls apart, you're going to find out why and who, then help the blowflies move in to hold it together. That's it. That's all. And Sen here is going to make sure you don't flake on me. Here." Two coins and a copper-verdigris badge changed hands, the same wirework blowfly the soldiers wore. The last one in her pocket.

"These-" Tauga gestured to the two pairs of militiamen behind Sen- "Will be patrolling wherever you need them. They know how to break up a rabble. They'll be watching you too. Understand?"

"I understand," rasped Ruthar cautiously.

"No, you don't. Spit it out."

"...Ruthar don't lead no men, don't want no trouble. I just haul. Find a cap'n, maybe they could, uh, take over. I don't know where to even start. Ruthar's just some salty dockrat with a missin' paw."

"How long have you been a docker?"

"Since 'fore I had a beard."

"Then figure it out. Keep your eyes open. I see you shout at the executions, so don't disappoint me if you don't want to end up there yourself. Impress me instead. You have four days. Clear?"

A nod. Tauga motioned Sen forwards. "Embrace." The men butted into each other shoulder-first, gripped, then stepped back. "Sen, make sure he gets what he earns. This was the last one." A curt nod.

Tauga reached into the air, felt her tendrils wrap around the cords of the waiting Bludgeon, and lifted herself into the sky. As she disappeared, she saw Ruthar's thick brows knit together as he began to discuss a simple plan with her lieutenant. Already adapting, as he had to the missing hand.

The flexibility of desperation was one of the few things Tauga could trust. She'd been poor too, once.

As she left the city behind, the patchwork of rice paddies opened up before her. Those that had been abandoned now shone with water as her slaves began a late sowing season.

Once.



Travelling with four Bludgeon cores is considerably easier than flying with two. Between two spheres, only a single cord can exist. Cords only take the most direct path between spheres, and are thus always rigidly straight lines. To fly with a Bludgeon of only two spheres is thus not unlike being towed behind a god-sized trapeze, albeit one that Tauga could control from hundreds of metres away with tremendous precision.

With four spheres, however, the cords can form any number of configurations, between which they can easily alternate- Square, tetrahedral, chain, or three orbitals around a central sphere. Alternatively, they may separate into two single-cord Bludgeons. In all such cases, the ability to position cords three-dimensionally relative to one another allowed Tauga to easily adjust her orientation and position in the air using the tension of her cord-binding tentacles alone, rather than rely on being dragged and swung by a single cord.

It made it easy to sleep. Strange dreams carried down into her head through her tendrils as Tauga cocooned herself between three humming cords, high above the ground.

She dreamed of earth and coloured glass, and hands, and intricate etchings she didn't understand. She dreamed of golden light streaming from a brilliant storm, through which an entire world sailed like a ship. She dreamed of a restful mountain plateau, where coloured mists drifted on the air, and of an escape to something visceral and satisfying.

These dreams were not silent. When she woke up, Tauga only half-remembered the words, spoken in a hymn-like melodic language with deep intonations. They darted quickly without much connection between sentences. A few were sonorous and soft, like metal. She lost count of how many voices there were.

One plural came up clearly and often- Ophanim.

It's what they call themselves. One ophan, four ophanim. And each ophan in turn had many voices. Tauga rotated in the air, accidentally waking Pumps, who whistled like a songbird in her rucksack. White fractal plumes darting restlessly over the surface of the sphere, silent as always.

Huh. She'd always thought of herself as lonely, up here. Guess that's not the case. The thought of her Bludgeons being whole communities of mute souls was no more unsettling than the number of people she'd killed over the last few weeks, but it was a queer surprise.

Tauga stretched in the air, flexed her tentacles, and holding a cord on either side of her, she completed her journey.

She'd been following the coast north of the Purple Sands, the furthest reaches of the City's fishing fleet, where only the largest whaler-vessels went, disappearing from the docks for weeks on end if not forever. Here, their reports were ultimately confirmed.

Acalya had stripped the grey-green coastline flora of its colour, bleaching everything with a pale blue. Open woodland was reduced to spires of glass reflecting the sun in painful glints that Tauga's dark goggles filtered away. The sprawl continued, a continuous mass of desolated life, right up to the edge of the torched border where the curled mounds of resting Urtelem held watch. That swathe of salted ash looked pitifully thin from above, though its narrowest point must have been at least fifty paces across.

Tauga positioned three of the ophanim into a broad wedge in front of her, the fourth above and behind, supporting her where the three cords converged, and leaned into a dive. Accelerating before impact, the hum of cords became a wail.

Metallic scrapes mingled with the keening, crashing sound of shattered quarts, an ongoing maelstrom of noise as Tauga ploughed through the Acalya forest, the long cords before her scything crystal trees like wheatstalks before the harvest, the spheres between them simply crushing everything in their way. Fragments of crystal hit her and ricocheted from her flight suit. It took ages to reach the far end of the corrupted forest.

Once free of the cacophony, Tauga rose into the continuing sound of toppled trees breaking under their own rigid weight, wondering what to do next.

Too big to destroy completely. It was rare for such a grim story from abroad to be an understatement rather than an exaggeration. I'll just do the edges. Make sure it doesn't spread any further.

Manoeuvring the three ophanim into a staggered line, Tauga circled and started the long task of following the edge of the plague zone, obliterating every crystal thing that Acalya had perverted within a stadion of the ashen border.

It was almost at the end of her onslaught that she found it.

Dashing out from the center of the grove, the only thing with colour and opacity- A fox? No, far, far larger. It only sprinted until it was out of direct danger, then swirled in on itself, completely exposed in the border zone, and lay dead still.

Tauga paused the wrecking and descended, noting that the ophanim were deeply scraped from hours of battering quartz. Hardly an impediment, given their absurd size. Even so they would need some time, and maybe a long bath in the mineral-rich waters of the sea beyond the Purple Sands, in order to restore their gleaming, patterned surface.

It was a fiberling, despite its vast size and vivid colour. Amber, like a vixen, streaked with white and bistre. It didn't flinch at her tendrils, even as she tugged at it like a puppet. Inside its mass of hair, Tauga felt two objects- A stunningly detailed glass eye with an ever-shifting pattern, and a ruined hunk of meat split open, perhaps by a falling crystal tree, perhaps by an Acalya guardian, to reveal bubbles of membranous wings and gagging valves. Tauga dumped the latter and let it keep the former.

"Why did you have these?" she murmured, as Amber tried lazily to pull back the sack of flesh. At a flick of her tendrils, it let go. "Why are you so... Weak?"

No answer, of course. None of the usual seething or sprinting, even though Tauga was barely holding it back, had seen how fast it was when threatened.

"You're like me, aren't you." The tentacles moved, and at the lightest touch the fiberling swished into a long fox's tail that spilled out behind Tauga, flicking lightly in the air, responsive as a lover. "Something's missing inside you, isn't it? Some little spark. I wonder who enslaved you."

Probably Jaan. That eye looked startlingly familiar, and aware.

"Come," beckoned Tauga, and Amber obediently began to compress itself into an insulated pocket of her suit, where Pumps greeted it warmly. "I think we better stick together, you and me."



At the exact moment when the sun disappeared over the mountains, a water-clock was filled; A measured hour later, heavy bronze gongs resounded thrice into the night. Another import. Patrols began and only supervised workers were allowed to stay out after curfew. Vigilate and Scitis shone halves under a vivid river of galaxy, crossed twice by the sparkling pinkish rings of Lex. The four ophanim played in gentle orbits of their own, plumes trailing directly overhead.

All this was easy to see, sitting on the capstone of the Cipher Pyramid.

Pumps was whistling a slow dusk tune, dancing wide circles around Tauga's unmasked head, now fast, now gentle, now upside-down, the tube of arksynth bobbing in its straps, untouched. She looked out and saw the torches and braziers of the rotfly watch. In the moonlight she could make out all the streets she'd known so well, and for so long.

There now was the burned district around the House of Jaan, cleared and marked into plots for new buildings, better slave housing. Over there were the docks, where Ruthar and Mako served tirelessly as inspectors of suspicious goods. Dozens of tents were pitched on the site of the old barracks, where Sen the watch now slept as Sareh went on patrol. In the distance, Lex glimmered in the river, and fields of gram stood ready for harvest, some already emptied.

"Hey, Pumps," came a tired voice. "Why do they call me the blowfly?"

Pumps shrugged a little and made an 'iunno' sound.

"Is it because they see me around dead things? Is it because I came out of a dead thing?"

In the distance, two boats were candle-fishing, and the sirens, no doubt, tried an opportunistic song.

"Is it because no one can catch me? Or because I'm everywhere, and no one can ignore me?"

No answer but the breeze.

"Is it because I fly around? Is it because they hate me?"

Nothing.

"I think it's just the way I look."

Tauga unfurled her tentacles into the wind and reached down, hooking them into the lids of the closed Eye of Cipher. Something in the organic architecture responded to her touch, and she pulled, straining against the Eye as it struggled to close, until all at once it snapped open, gazing once more over the city of Xerxes.

The City. Her city.

Such a city as could only be built on the back of the many, the myriad selves seeking only to build until they stood at the top, only to become footstools for those who built yet higher. A city of people, for people, controlled by people. A city that refused any rule but itself. Xerxes had become its own beast, under its own crown.

This city had created her, the first generation, and, in time, it might breed many more. Xerxes would be ruled by a Xerxian. It was her city, and it was her city.

"What do you say, Pumps?" A cheery whistle echoed her mumble.

Tauga closed her eyes, and slowly, surely, as Galbar revolved in the heavens, the City forgot its need for a King.

He was dead. She had not known the turtle long, of course, but he was dead and within her was a certain degree of unhappiness. And she could not say, with any confidence, that she had liked him very much at all, but she had been most grateful to him. And he was dead. And she could not say that she had very much appreciated him taking her into the midst of a divine stand-off, but she had been indebted to him and did not complain. And he was dead. And he had seen the danger of it all and, perhaps, saved her a second time. And he was dead and she knew not how he had died, exactly, though his wounds hinted at the cause. And yes, he had been an odd fellow, for he was of Vowzra yet was not cold, and he was of Vowzra and spoke not like him, and he was of Vowzra and maintained none of that aloofness and disdain. Yes, he was of Vowzra and was in every way not of Vowzra except that he argued just as vehemently as that imperious one did. Yet he was of Vowzra, and she had been grateful, and she owed him a debt. And he was dead.

There he lay, the desolate shadow of a god, upon his stomach, his noble chin buried in the sand and his eyes - which had only been open for a short while - forever closed. His shell defied the unrelenting glare of the desert's furious eye, and his shadow provided her with some shade. Even in death, with his very body, he protected her from the manifest danger of the desert's heat, and he shaded her from the whipping of the winds and the sizzling sand. But in her mind was one thought, one singular desire. And yes, it was selfish. And yes, it was ungrateful. And yes, she felt guilty about it and hated herself for it. And yes, she thought it still.

Leave me alone.

It was odd, of course, for one to desire the departure of a creature already dead. But Belru desired it. She desired the turtle's departure, and she desired Vowzra's. She had grown to hate how he had pervaded every aspect of her life, every movement and thought, every relationship. She hated the fact that he was her only friend. Her only hated foe. Her only love. He was her brother, yes, and a father now, and were it not that he was the sire of her child, and were it not that he was the one ever protecting her, she would have said he was as her own child also. Yes, his only redeeming factor - for she hated him so! - was that he, out of all of them, had not forgotten her and had become all those things to her.

They had all forgotten her.

And so while she hated him for his overbearing presence and his imperious Eye and his uncompromising Sight, she loved him because he remembered her. And perhaps, in his own strange way, he honoured her. Yes, he alone had Seen her, and even if he had not meant it, he had come to her and had comforted her and he had birthed, where there had only been numbness before, love and hate and joy and misery and pain. So much pain! But it was far better than that numbness.

And now, she wanted him to leave her alone. Forever. She wanted him to be like the rest of them. She wanted to hate him without reserve - that peremptory Eye, that Sight, the innumerable voices in his voiceless voice. All he had to do was leave her be, and she would be able to hate him for what he was to her just as she hated the others for what they had not been - or even tried to be.

Damn you, and damn them; damn the essence which sustains you all, and damn the hubris which elevates you all beyond your true stature. No, I shan't be sad that you have not soiled me with your friendships and enmities. I shall mingle with beings of far higher rank and stature than you... and even as she thought it, an ant passed by and she smiled and picked it up and stared at the beautiful little thing. And then she remembered its creator and her eyes darkened and grew cold. And she crushed it between her fingers and ground it into nothingness.

Then she stood and turned around to face the corpse. And she raised a hand of power, and she subdued the flesh and bone of the carcass to her will, and she rent it asunder and shattered it, and even as she did to that ant, she did to the shadow of god. And there in the dry and torrid air, a cloud of cremated god hovered. And the sand below it also was subdued and rose to encompass the cloud of divine dust, and a quill appeared in her right hand and she wrote upon the back of her left, and a pact with blood was signed, and it was thus: that the subdued sand would heat itself and morph, and would carry the cremated god in phials of glass until a date decreed. And the pact forged on the back of her left hand disappeared. And another was written; and what sand remained clumped together and was watered with the dormant goddess' blood also. And what was sand was not sand, but a bag which would never be full. Into it went the phials, and round her shoulder went the strap, and the quill disappeared. And, though her mortal body was suddenly exhausted by her unnatural divine exertions, she pushed on and began her trek beneath the blazing hole in the sky.



When she, at long last, reached the edge of the desert, her skin had darkened and flayed, and her lips seemed to have burst in countless places, and the sand seemed to have found a permanent place in the ink-black of her dishevelled hair and brows and eyelashes, and had become deeply lodged in her wounded lips and crispy, abraded skin. And a jungle wilderness now rose like a never-ending wall before her. It was dark, and it was deep, and it was dank and reeked of death and poison and all the terrors that mindless life goddess could concoct. But at least there was shade in there, and at least the Mahd ran just as pure within it as in the desert, and cooler. And she knew that there would be in here things to fill her empty phials, and there would be things forgotten by gods and time.

She entered the Venomweald in that weak and delirious state, and she stayed by the river and drank often and bathed in it, and she ate what fruits she saw were safe, and she kept the small animals at bay with a stick she broke and fashioned. But that did not keep the larger ones at bay, only her stealth - and it surprised her just how great that was! - could keep her from those sauntering, predatory monstrosities. And despite the horrors of the Venomweald, it was brimming with life and energy and health, and that harmonious state was very soon clear in her as her wounds began to close and her skin began to heal and the sand, after many bathing sessions in the Mahd, began to leave her hair and skin. Feeling far better than she had in many weeks, she dared to wander deeper into the Venomweald, and in that manner crossed the strange pools festering with nothing other than pure poison. And she gently pulled the liquid out with what divine energies she could muster without exhausting herself, and filled of her empty phials what pleased her. What did that Vowzra think she was? What had she grown to think she was?
Yes, she had grown somewhat...soft. A side effect of motherhood, perhaps, of a little too much...well, love. She looked into the phials and her eyes were cold. It was not bad, what she had become. Not completely, at least. But she had allowed Vowzra and all he had done to her to affect her far too much. Too soft had she become...miserably weak. She had forgotten her inner strength.

She did not need a saviour. She moved on.

And as she wandered further into the jungle, she collected of the Venomweald's leaves, and she peeled off portions of the barks of the trees and took of its moss, and flowers, and fruits, and she pulverised of its creatures what she thought useful and placed them in her phials. And there was a calculated coldness about her as she did it all, a sharpness. Cold and sharp as a quill scraping papyrus. Cold and blunt as the decisive full-stop.
And when she happened upon a particularly large and predatory creature which had fallen at last before the greatest predator of all, that relentless predator Time and his closest consort Death, she would take of them also.

Then came the day when she stumbled upon none other than the greatest of the Venomweald's predators, the monstrosity before whom all monstrosities - even divine ones - waned. The Writhe of the Venomweald lay dead. It was as though Fate itself had brought Belru to it, and she spent many days circling it and taking from it samples and pulverising of it what she thought useful. And even in death, the strange, demented energies flowed freely within it. It was unlike anything Belru had ever witnessed - nothing could quite compare to this fascinating thing! If she had the power, she would have pulverised it all and taken it with her, but it was a behemoth, a leviathan of the land, and so after weeks had elapsed in her study of the creature (for even in death no other Venomweald being dared approach it, and so she was safe to sleep and remain in its vicinity however long she pleased) she at last set off once more the way she came. But as she passed by the last of the Writhe and was leaving it behind her, the strangest sensation ran through the dormant goddess, and she froze.

For she felt the presence of a god.

Turning slowly, she looked in the direction of the pulsing divine essence. She could see nothing, and nothing in the area moved. Half of her wished to run away and ensure a tremendous distance lay between her and this presence, but another part of her was curious and she remained still and watched, like a squirrel who stood frozen with an acorn in its clasp in the midst of a clearing waiting on its suspicions to be confirmed. And nothing moved, and the divine essence pulsated as clearly as before. Belru looked from side to side before taking one cautious step towards the source of the pulse. Nothing happened. Nothing moved. She took another and stopped. Again, all was silent, all was still, and the pulse was clearer now than before. It came from the ground not at all far from the Writhe's looted remains. With more confidence now, she approached the place of the pulse and kicked at the roots and grasses until her foot hit something hard. Bending down and clearing the area, she found herself staring at a muddied object of some kind. And the pulse was coming from it. What was this, some artefact one of her siblings had left here?

She brought it close to her and slowly brushed the mud from it and dusted it, and it became clear that it was white. And it became clear that it was a human skull. Or at least the upper half, for the lower jaw was missing. And oddly enough, skeletal fingers were protruding from the top of the skull, like some kind of morbid crown. She stared at it for the longest time, trying to work out what its function was and who could have simply left it here. After some time, she gave up the useless pursuit and decided to place it in her bag and examine it further at some other time. The very fact that it had some kind of divine presence made it useful, that was certain. If it came to it, she could always pulverise it too and use it for some other purpose. She would soon be mingling with beings who were, in her view, higher than gods after all. She would have to make herself useful. She would have to be...she thought back to the Treeminds and to their ancestors who had cared for her and Vowzra and Belvast so long ago...she would have to be part of the community. And a useful part at that.

She looked around in the area for some time afterwards to see if any other such objects happened to be around, but finding nothing she turned away and made her way back to the Mahd, and from there she began walking along it back into the desert. For she had passed human settlements on her way here. There would she establish herself, and there would she live and give to those strange and beautiful beings. No Vowzras were they! No, no lonesome, cryptic autocrats, no dominators or imprisoners, no selfish forgetters. They were a community. Ah! How beautiful was that? The very notion was so...well, romantic. No member of that species could, alone, survive. They were all dependent on one another, all lived together and by so doing confessed their greatest weakness and embraced their glorious strength. Ah! A community!



The room was dark, the ceiling high and the walls lined with shelves. A ladder was standing by the entrance and the floor gave way to gloom the further in one looked. But there, on what may have been a table of stone, or a high altar, were two glowing phials of glass - no, two phials which had within them some strange, glowing, green concoction. Even from here he could see it bubbling and simmering. Even from here his body knew it to be most dangerous and his hairs stood on edge. And the shelves were lined with an unknown number of similar concoctions and powders and bits of things from far off times and places; things eyes had never before seen and ears had not heard, things the nose had never before smelled or skin felt or tongue tasted. Far off sensations and sights, far off dangers and darknesses.

'Are you planning to stand there gawking all day, or will you come in and make your business known?' his head turned in surprise at the voice, and he unconsciously stepped away from the entrance of the so-called Miracle Room, back into the light of the hall outside.
'I...uh, I...I'll come in,' he swallowed uneasily and stepped into the dark room, the curtain falling behind him leaving the large room in darkness bar what little light the eerie green concoctions in the phials gave.

'You are Yara, yes? The one claiming to be Master Zephyrion's Witch-Priestess?'
'I claim nothing of the sort.'
'They say that the blood of the Great Prophet Primus flows within you also, and that none but the Priest-King is esteemed more highly in all the land by Master Zephyrion than you. Is it true?'
'Let them say what they will, and let he who believes it believe, and let he who will deny it deny.'
'They...they say Master Zephyrion has blessed you and that you can, with his will, work miracles.'
'They may say what they will, but only the eye can ascertain the truth of it, no? Come, come, tell me what it is that you need, and if you have what it takes, you shall take what I have.'
'I...my mother is ill. She is old and feeble, and she is dying. Will you cure her for me and restore her youth to her?'
'And do you have what it takes?'
'W-what do you want?' he looked into the darkness but saw nothing. It was as though the darkness itself was responding and there was nothing truly there.
'To restore youth to your old mother, I shall need the years of another. Wherefrom shall I get these years? For as you know, there must be absolute balance in the world, your mother cannot be granted years from nothing, another must lose the years that she will gain - else He Who Over Death Presides shall smite you, and your mother, and me, and the earth and all that is in it. Wherefrom shall I get the years?'
The man stared quietly for a few moments, hesitant to say what was on the tip of his tongue.
'F-from...from me...?'
'And you would give up your health and youth that your mother may regain her's?'
He gulped and nodded.
'That is all very well. But do you have what it takes to make me go through with it? I may be, as you say, Witch-Priestess to Zephyrion, but this is not a charity that I run. What shall you give me that I may render this service to you?'
'I...I have some precious stones, it is of value in the markets.'
'I have no need for such things, the temple's coffers are brimming with such useless things.'
'I can work for you, I will be at the service of the temple for however long you wish it.'
'What need will I have for you and your service once I render my service to you and you are a crumbling ancient of faltering health?'
Tears seemed to gather in the man's eyes as he desperately thought for some way to incentivise the holy woman to aid his mother.
'Have you any children? Wife?'
He nodded slowly, 'yes, a wife and four children. Two boys and two girls.'
'Then the matter is settled. I shall have the youngest of your children.'

At this, the man stood frozen and wide-eyed, unable to believe what he had heard.
'N...no...you can't mean that. Not little Chjekaya,' he bent down until he was on his knees before the altar, and he stared at the witch veiled in darkness, 'please, anything but my children. What use have you for my family?'
'What matters it to you? Are you not resigning yourself to death that your mother may live? Are you not damning your wife and children, and even your mother, to a life of poverty and hardship without you to protect and serve them? You can rest assured that, at the very least, your youngest, this Chjekaya, will be cared for well here at the temple, and she will be fashioned with my hand and will grow under my unfaltering gaze. And I will be pleased with her, and bless her, and teach her as I have taught the many priestesses you see.'

'But...but the life of a priestess is one of difficulty, and many amongst the people look upon you with...suspicion. Not all believe that you are truly a servant of Master Zephyrion. They say-'
'Let them say what they will, boy. It is no concern of mine. Have you what it takes to take what I have? If not, then begone and waste my time no more.'
He nodded, 'but you cannot take my youth. I must remain, and I must watch over my family as you have said.'
'And where shall the years come from?'
'I don't know, but they will not come from me, and they will not come from any member of my family. Chjekaya is all you shall take from us!'
'Very well, if you shall not give up the years, then here, I offer you this. Surrender not your life to me, but your death.'
Confusion was clear on the man's face, 'what do you mean?'
'I mean that when you finally breathe your last, you shall not die. But you shall come to me, and you shall be mine.'
He frowned sceptically at these words, 'I do not think you have the power to seize me when I die, blessed as you may be by the Master.'
'Think what you will, for I know what you know not.'
'Then you shall have it, this "death" of mine, and much good may it do you if what you say on this matter is true - and I do not think it is.'
'I am many things, boy, but a liar I am not. And there is no promise that I give, and no promise given me, except that it is written and shall be upheld. And that is an oath written in the fabric of all that exists. You can take my word on that. Yara does not lie.'
'Very well, I, Makinatos, agree to all that we have discussed.'

There came a scraping sound, and there came glowing red blood, and a perfectly white and smooth hand was extended, across the altar-table, to him. And he shook it.

'You shall be held to it.'

And a knife was placed on the altar-table, and he was commanded to cut his thumb and place one drop of blood on the papyrus upon which the contract was written. And when that was done, it was rolled up by her two marble hands which swiftly disappeared into the gloom behind. Makinatos heard a rustling, and what must have been the placing of the papyrus where many others were.

And that was all.
'When your mother wakes tomorrow, she will be younger than even you. And I shall expect Chjekaya here before the midday sun begins descending in the sky. And when death comes for you, it will be to me that you come.'



'Gadar! Gadar!'
'What happened to him?'
'By the Master! His face! His neck! Somebody stop that bleeding. His back!'
'How? How did it happen?'
'I-I don't know! One moment we were carrying the grain to the- then he was writhing on the ground! All blood, all that.'
'Master protect us all. Will that bleeding not stop?! The man will die at this rate! Somebody do something!'
'I know! To the Temple of the Bond, let us take him there. The Witch-Priestess will surely be able to stop this unearthly bleeding.'
'What, that temple of heretics? We can't possibly-'
'Oh shush you, babbling ingrate. To the temple, let's go!'

And they heaved the unconscious Gadar and together walked him speedily to the Temple of the Bond. When they got there and had walked through the courtyard and up the large steps into the visitor's chamber of the temple, they were met by the two priestesses who stood watch over the chamber, and they saw the predicament at hand well before anyone tried to explain it to them. And the other priestesses were called and the bleeding man was rushed into one of the wards in the temple's left wing, which was dedicated to caring for and curing the ill. But much as they tried, the priestesses, even those personally trained by the Witch-Priestess herself, could not stop the bleeding.

'Sister Olakhat, please call upon the Witch-Priestess. This is a most unnatural injury, and only her expertise can save the man,' and with a small nod, Sister Olakhat rushed off to get the Witch-Priestess. It was not long before Yara made her way into the ward, floating in and bringing with her the sweetest scents and the brightest smile.



'Sister Olakhat speaks of a patient in need of my attention, an incessant bleeder she says. Let me see,' and she walked beside the stone bed upon which Gadar lay. She touched his bleeding face, and the white of her skin and dress was dyed crimson. Her eyes narrowed and the slightest hint of confusion showed for a few moments, before it was once more replaced with a carefree smile.
'Oh! This will not do. Sister Malikhet, bring me one of the phials from the third shelf please, and some of the Mahd Monitor blood you recently had harvested. If we still have any of that Crocodile meat, that will do some good also.'
As they waited, Yara dabbed away at Gadar's bleeding face, trying to stem the relentless flow of blood in whatever way she could. It was particularly difficult as it was not only his face and neck which were injured, but his back also. By the time Sister Malikhet returned, he was more or less swimming in his own blood. But Yara was not at all worried.

She took the phial of powder and poured the slightest amount of it into the phial of Monitor blood before shaking it until the powder had dissolved completely. Then, parting Gadar's lips ever so slightly, she poured some of the liquid into his mouth.
'And the Crocodile meat, Mother Yara?'
'Yes. He should stop bleeding in the next few minutes, and should wake up in an hour or so. When he does, make sure that the meat is ready for him so that he can eat and regain some strength. Feed him well until he has managed to replace the blood he lost, and I shall come see to him then.'

And so they did. When Gadar woke up, his bleeding having stopped and his wound having already closed up, they brought him the cooked meat. But he could not bring himself to eat anything, and they resorted to feeding him - almost forcefully at times. But over the next few days, he grew in strength, and he spoke somewhat, though anything he said was rather confused and delirious. Whatever the injury he had received was, it was clear that his mind had been somehow affected. After a week or so, Yara returned to see him, questioning him on how he received his injury. But he remembered nothing. Even his own name, Gadar, had been told him by the priestesses who fed him, and he had taken it up as a matter of fact. But other than that, he remembered nothing at all.

Moreover, the injury to the left side of his head meant his left eye was no longer functioning, and the scars, despite the concoction she had given him, remained. It was unusual, to say the least, but there was nothing that she could detect from him to suggest that any divine being had caused the injuries. A freak accident of some kind? A glitch in the Universe? One of the unfavourable consequences of the Codex's process of creation? Who could know?

'Gadar, there is nothing more that we can do for you here. We have nursed you back to health, and you may return to whatever life you can salvage.'
He stared blankly at her - whether confused by what she was saying or mesmerised by something he saw in her, she could not tell.

'I...would rather stay here,' he said at last.
'Whatever would you do here? The priestesses certainly have no time to babysit you, if that is your intention. You are no longer ill, and so you must leave.'
'I...don't mean that. I can't remember anything much of what's beyond this room. I'd much rather stay with you. I don't know, whatever work needs doing I can do. The priestesses told me that none of you can leave the temple - let me be your permanent link to the outside world. I will get you whatever you need and do your work beyond the temple walls. Consider it...well, my way of repaying you for bringing me back from the brink of death.'

Yara raised an eyebrow and sighed, 'very well, you make a good case, and we do indeed need some kind of permanent link with the outside. Some of the...unsavoury rumours that spread about us certainly need combatting. Sister Malikhet will be your contact point. Try not speak to the others as much as possible. I will arrange for separate sleeping quarters to be prepared for you,' and with a brisk nod, she turned and walked out of the ward. Gadar watched her leave, a frown on his face and a thoughtful look in his one good eye.



'You summoned me, Mother Yara,' Gadar stood at the door, lifting the curtain to the well-lit Temple Library. It was a large, long room, with a high ceiling which let light in from the top and torches on the walls. Stone desks sat to either wall, with a stone bench behind each, and the largest of these desks was at the very back, behind which the Witch-Priestess now sat reading from a manuscript. Behind her, on the wall, were numerous shelves which held many other such manuscripts. From what Gadar had learned of this place, the manuscripts held in them the Vetruvian historical narrative, some religious practices and some things written by Yara herself on medicines and other such things. Despite its status as a temple, however, the Temple of the Bond was only marginally involved in the religious life of Vetros, it was far more a place of learning for the priestesses who came here and a place aimed to cure the ill and care for the health of the community at large (and, Gadar confessed, it was known far and wide as a pre-eminent place of healing, there was no ail but could be cured by the miraculous power granted the Witch-Priestess).

'Yes, Gadar, please come here and be seated,' came Yara's reply. She closed the manuscript and placed it on one of the shelves, before returning to her seat and surveying Gadar.
'You have served the temple faithfully for years, and due to your vigilance the reputation of the temple has been cleansed of many of the vicious rumours which plagued it before. And you have become more learned on the workings of the city outside than any other within this temple's walls. More even than I,' and with this, she brought before her a plain piece of papyrus, an inkwell and a quill, 'and so I will require your services for the foreseeable future as I document the ways and life of the people of Vetros. It is all good and well reading the religious books and history, but that tells us nothing of what is occurring in reality. You know, and you shall tell me.'

Gadar scratched his head anxiously, clearly daunted by this tremendous thing she was asking of him.
'Well. I mean. I can try, I guess. Where do you want me to start?' the priestess considered him for a few moments before smiling and nodding.
'Start with the land. It is holy, after all, is it not? And all of Vetros is built around the sanctity of the land and the life it gives.'

'Ah, yes. Well, it is as you say. The land of Vetros is viewed by all as the source of all life, and the Mahd a blessing. The very soil is said to be blessed and when one dies, they can never rise up to Master Zephyrion except that their body should be returned here, to the land of the Mahd, cremated and thrown into the river. In that way, one's body returns to the land and from death comes life, and one's soul, with the body rooted deeply in the earth, can at last rise up and join the Master in eternal tranquillity. He who dies far from these lands can never know salvation, and will become in death as though he had never been. The armies of Vetros, for this very reason, seldom wander far from the homeland - not even when giving chase to marauding Horse People. It is best always to remain in the cradle of the holy land to which the great Prophet Primus brought us, and to breathe one's last here that one may be saved,' as he spoke, Yara nodded silently and wrote away on the papyrus.

'For as you well know, the people of Vetros came here many, many centuries ago, guided by Master Zephyrion's elect. And those who persevered and endured the hardships, and stood steady by the Prophet, arrived here and were blessed and were chosen by the Master. And those who were weak of heart, and who rebelled against the Prophet, remained far from this blessed land - and today their descendants, those Horse People, constantly attempt to invade and loot this blessed land. But they are forever denied the sweet fruits of this bountiful place for their rebellion.'

'And this despite the fact that they worship Zephyrion just as faithfully as Vetruvians, is it not?'
'Well, yes, they do claim to worship the master. But what they say and what they do are at complete odds! For they glorify the name of the Master even as they butcher the faithful, and they oppress us and each other, and they live lives which are directly in conflict with the sacred and eternal Law of our Master. So they may well believe that they are worshipping the Master, but it is agreed by most people, and by most priests whom I have spoken with, that they are heretics and ascribe partners and brothers and children to the Master. Such a thing is manifest heresy! There is no god beside the Master, and he has no partners or children or siblings - what is he, a lowly animal that he may rut and eat and defecate as we do? And even were they not heretics, they live in lands unblessed, and when they die are not cremated and so have no hope of salvation. And even were their land blessed, they did not follow the Prophet and the Priest-Kings after him, and so the anger of the Master is ever upon them. But surely, I am speaking to one who is more knowledgeable on this matter than I!'

'Oh no no, don't worry about that, it is certainly interesting to hear it from a living tongue, rather than reading it,' Yara smiled and waved for him to go on.

'Ah, yes, of course. And the people here, despite the hardships, tend to be rather happy, for they live here and are grateful for all that they have. In fact, being ungrateful is a grievous sin, as you well know, and to ensure that all are grateful for what the Master has blessed them, all are reminded yearly of the Five Gifts of Zephyrion,' Yara looked up quizzically at this.
'And what are these gifts? And what is this reminder?'

'Well, every year there is a week-long festival - and I have never seen the temple here take part in it, though I would have liked it - where the many people of Vetros make their way to the temples, and they are lined up before the priests and the priestesses, and one by one are reminded of the Five Gifts. Whenever one steps forwards towards the priest, the priest takes their left hand and raises it, and commands them to say what the five most important things to them are, what are the five things they would most miss should they die. And once that is done, the priest looks to that left hand and raises it high, proclaiming: "These are the Five Gifts of Zephyrion, you have these things to be grateful for always, and should one be lost, you gain another in its stead."

'And so, when the worker goes out to work the fields under the unforgiving heat of the sun, and he sees his left hand, he is reminded of the gifts and endures his hardship, and when the highest of the high, the sanctified Priest-King himself, is beset by the hardships of kingship, he too sees his left hand and is reminded of the Five Gifts and endures. And all are grateful for what they have, and all are, for that reason, for the most part happy,' Yara seemed amazed by this revelation and was writing eagerly away.

'When this festival comes next, we must partake in it!' she announced once she had written of all he had told her. Encouraged by her reaction, Gadar leaned in and continued eagerly.

'Now, Vertuvians believe strongly that the Master created all things from original chaos, and he brought order and harmony to all things and has stabilised it that mankind may live in peace and prosperity under his caring and benevolent eye, and he fashioned the mighty Djinn, his messengers and warners and carers for those who praise him and glorify his name. And when he created man, he fashioned him first of eternal wisp and air, and then clad him in the mud of the Mahd - and so, when that mud of the body at last returns to the Mahd, so too will the wisp and air of the soul return to the Master. Now they say many things about the nature of the soul, and I truly can never get my head around it-'

'Oh worry not about that, I have read about the soul in more manuscripts than can be counted, and I well know of this tradition of pseudonyms which are used in place of one's "true name", so you have no need to worry about all that. Go on,' and at this Gadar nodded and continued.

'It is very clear to me that Master Zephyrion has blessed the people of Vetros unlike any other creatures on the earth, especially the disgraced Horse People. For here we have unlocked the secrets of glassmaking, and the very papyrus you write on was invented here who knows how long ago. And where the Horse People can only utter their twisted and guttural tongue, here we have those who read and write and keep record of our history and ways - though I, as you know, cannot read or write and very few are those who can beside the priests. And whereas, it is said, the Horse People live in tents, we here live in grand structures and build great temples and palaces, and whereas they must hunt for survival, we have the fertile soil of the Mahd from which grow things as diverse as wheat and peas and lentils, and many other such things. And we can ride the waters of the Mahd itself on our boats, and we have tamed the noble ox, unlike those wild Horse People who have tamed the savage horse, and we do not dishonour ourselves or the ox by riding it, but have invented the wheel and the cart and the plough also. And as is apparent from the near-miracle you worked on me, our medicine here in Vetros is unmatched by anything anywhere in the world. What we have discovered here, when it comes to the body of the human and cures for illnesses, is as magic and divine intervention to savages elsewhere. And we clean ourselves regularly, and our teeth, and we have perfumes and cosmetics for men and women, and our beer is to the beer of the Horse People what the waters of the Mahd are to sewage - though I have been in temples where they forbid the consumption of intoxicants like beer!

'And men are dressed in the loincloth of dignity, and free woman are dressed in full-length dresses, more elaborate depending on wealth from what I see. And as for slaves, they tend to be naked as is right for their status. It is said, however, that in times past it was highly fashionable for women to bare their breasts! Now that is quite something!' he chuckled to himself as Yara wrote away and unconsciously smiled.
'Yes, quite something. I wonder whose idea that was...' she gave him a cheeky sidelong glance, 'doubt it was the women.'

He rubbed his head in embarrassment and nodded vigorously in agreement, 'of course not! What sane woman would come up with that of her own volition...after all. But of course, Master Zephyrion has given men and women equal status, and much as men may suggest to women what to wear, it is - as far as I can see - entirely up to women how they wish to dress. And many of the men I speak to tell me that there is no issue with it all, a woman's chest is no more strange than a man's - and we men walk around all day with nothing but the loincloth on, exposing all our chest to the sun and prying eyes,' Yara nodded thoughtfully as she noted down what he said.

'That is indeed interesting, for the Horse People dress in furs always, do they not?'
'Ah yes, wild people with no respect for the beauty of the body Master Zephyrion has fashioned. And they oppress their women something vicious! And they oppress our people too - why they kill the innocent and the young and- ah! Are they humans at all? Have they no remorse? It must be that the viciousness of the land on which they live has filled them with viciousness also, don't you think? For I have heard some priests say that the earth and the water and fire and the air are all alive, just like the Djinn. And some lands are better than others, and they who live on good land are good, and they who live on evil land are evil. Surely the land of the Horse People is amongst the most evil there is, and the air they breathe full of poison, and their waters hideous, and their fires full of rage, and so they are too,' Yara shrugged at this.
'Who can tell with these things. Perhaps you are right.'

'Now on that matter, it appears to me that men and women both are far better off here in Vetros than anywhere else - least of all that land of barbarian Horse People. For there, it is said, a man possesses his wife like any other property! And not only that, the villain can marry as many wives as he pleases! Imagine the disorder and chaos it would create! Here things are far simpler and in line with what the Master wills. A woman marries, usually, at the age of thirteen and upwards, and men from around seventeen, and all that a man possesses is shared between himself, his wife, and whatever children they have in the future. And unlike in the barbarian lands, women here can own homes and property, and can be merchants and, as you are, priestesses, and in all manners are free and happy. For it is the purpose of the Master that all be happy and at peace, and it is the duty of the Priest-King to ensure that that purpose is achieved - and what is the home and marriage but a source of peace and delight? And I cannot fault the Priest-King when it comes to upholding these things, may the Master reward our great Priest-King for all he has done for us, and keep him ever in the best of health, and bless his progeny and descendants until the final day.

'Now, as you may well expect, those such as you and I, and even the priestesses here in the Temple of the Bond, who are adults and unmarried, are deemed very odd indeed. It is, in fact, one of the things that still cause the people to suspect the temple. Why is it, Mother, that the priestesses here must remain unmarried?' Yara cocked her head at this question and pursed her lips.

'It is not that, so much. Rather, it is just that none can leave the temple. That makes marrying very difficult for obvious reasons.'
'Can the priestesses not do their jobs equally well if they lived outside the temple?' Yara blinked blankly at him for a few moments before managing a response.
'Uh, well...I never...I never really thought about that.'
They stared at each other for a few moments before Gadar suddenly looked away and an awkward silence grew between them.
'I...um. Will think about that. Is...is there anything else I should get down? It is getting rather late now, after all...'
'Um, no, nothing much really. I mean, Vetruvians love swimming, of course, and boat sports. And there are many sources of entertainment and whatnot, but I think we can go through all that another time if you like.'
'I shall see. Thank you for your time Gadar. I will let Sister Malikhet escort you to your quarters,' and at the mention of the priestess' name, the curtain covering the temple library's door was parted and Malikhet stood waiting on Gadar to come. He turned one last time, before leaving the room, and thanked Yara for what had been an oddly...nice evening.

Yara sat back and thought on what he had said. Perhaps...perhaps he was right in a way. She looked back over all that they had written and frowned.
'Damn it, we didn't get into any detail about the Priest-King...' even in her weakened form she could feel the implausible amount of power pulsing from the the Priest-King's palace. How that could simply exist there without drawing attention from any of the divines was rather bizarre. But it did not truly concern her all that much, really, she was merely curious.
'Ah well, I doubt Gadar, trusty as he is, would know about all that.



The night was dark, the moons were out, and no one was wandering about. At least, not here on the banks of the Mahd where Yara sat gazing into the starry sky. The air was cool, the wind was soft, and her onyx eyes were hoisted aloft. The Dark Moon, Azmund, drifted like a shadow, a cancerous nothingness in the night sky where no starlight could break through. And there, Zephyrion's Eyes, Ayzof, blazed like two small suns in the ocean of the heavens. And there was golden Mamoor, and there was the scarred 'Victor', Manzor, and last of all was the Strange One, Ghurab. And there were the two roads in the sky where it was said Zephyrion ascended and descended to and from his great palace in the heavens, the mauve roads known simply as the Torgs.

It was a rare night indeed when all of Galbar's moons could be seen, and it was considered by the Vetruvians as a cause for celebration. But unlike most of their festivals and celebrations, this was cause for private celebration in the home with one's spouse and children. And so on this night, not even a shadow of a living being - other than the odd cat or dog, or the odd crocody doggle - could be seen. Only Yara was out, sat on her little raft watching the rare night, listening to the crickets and the strange noises of the animals in the night. And every now and then a monitor would swim lazily past and Yara would watch it go; two strangers crossing paths in the night, saluting one another with a brief secretive glance, before moving on. But her raft did not move with the river's flow, tied as it was to a damp wooden post hammered into the soft riverside. There she sat, in an unmoving raft while the river swept past to who knew where.

Some years back, she would never have dreamed of finding herself outside the temple, as she now was. She had committed herself to forever living within the temple and building around her a community therein. But she had thought on what Gadar had said to her and had realised that it was of significant importance for human women, who had but a limited life, to find love and build a family. At the very least, it was particularly important in Vetruvian culture from what she could see. And yes it was true, the priestesses were now more distracted, but she did not remember seeing them quite as happy before as they now were. Happiness was important for a successful community, it appeared. Happiness. Yes, happy communities were made up of happy individuals, and the Vetruvians attached utmost importance to the happiness of all, no matter their status within society. All were important for the survival of the community, and all were important for it to thrive. It was alive. Yes...a living community. She looked into the night sky, filled with those moons, and the ghost of a smile seemed to dance around her lips and glisten in her eyes.

It was said that Azmund, the Dark Moon, was the abode of Azor'Inyu, the manifestation of evil and darkness in the world. It was not a living, conscious being, but rather a force. Within each person the forces of Azor'Inyu and Zephyrion clashed, and one's choices decided who it was that emerged victorious. By living happily, caring for those to whom one had a duty (including one's family and the society at large), observing the commands of Zephyrion, and by staying ever close the land of the Mahd, one could ensure that the forces of Zephyrion within them prevailed over those of Azor'Inyu.

And so when only Azmund could be seen in the sky, it was universally acknowledged by Vetruvians as an omen of misfortune and a sign that they needed to return to the light of Zephyrion. They were rare nights indeed, when Azmund alone could be seen in the sky, but they sometimes came about. On such nights, every temple was expected to light a Zephyronian Fire in the front courtyard, and the priests and priestesses would have to keep up a continuous chant from the moment Azmund was spotted until the sun rose in order to keep the forces of Azor'Inyu and misfortune at bay. Indeed, every temple had in its front courtyard a huge brazier which was always full of wood and kept covered for just such an occurance. Fire, after all, was light. Fire was warmth and hope, the shedding of wrongs and the embracement of purity. All things were cleansed by the flame, darkness was routed by the flame, and in it light waved its banner of victory. The fire was everything that Azor'Inyu was not. The fire was the worldly manifestation of that Zephyrionian force which inhabited every human. Praise the flame!

That was not to say, of course, that things like water and soil and air were not also manifestations, but it was the flame which tradition had elevated above the others in the Vetruvian psyche.

The two moons Ayzof, unlike Azmund, were representations of Zephyrion's all-seeing eyes and blazed with the light of his Truth which shone the way towards a blissful, happy, and successful life in the material worldly, and salvation in the next. They guided the way and seeing them was always cause for hope and joy - though these two moons appeared so often that a festival occuring whenever they were spotted was deemed (probably by some rather wise long-dead priest) as insane at best.
It was said that the two moons Ayzof were created of the same mud and clay as the land of the Mahd, and that was why they glowed in the darkness of the night, just as the Mahd and its surroundings glowed to the celestual beings who looked down upon it from there.

Mamoor was one of the odder moons, for it had not appeared to Yara - when first she began reading on the matter of the moons - that its name had anything to do with the Vetruvian religion at all. The source of its name and what it symbolised seemed to have been lost to mainstream Vetruvian society altogether. However, in a strange little tome which had been falling apart long before the Witch-Priestess acquired it, and most of which was indecipherable even to her, she had been able to read enough to make an educated guess on this mysterious matter of Mamoor.

It appeared, from what she could make out, to have been named after some great and powerful Djinni by the same name, 'Mamoor'. Strangely enough, however, he had never had any direct contact with Vetros, this powerful Djinni. Vetruvians had learned of him through lesser Djinnis who spoke of his relentless hunt in the heavens. What he hunted, she had not been able to find out, but she had been able to read therein that he had a loyal companion, one 'Zakeer' or 'Kameer' or some other such name which she could not quite make out, for the papyrus had been terribly ripped and the ink faded. In times past both Mamoor and Zakeer had had quite the following in Vetros, it seemed, an entire cult dedicated to them and their mysterious, perpetual hunt. But all of that seemed to have faded away, just like the ink in that ancient tome, and all that remained was the name of the golden moon.

Manzor, on the other hand, 'Victor', the scarred harbinger of war and victory, could not have been more well-known in the Vetruvian psyche. While the Temple of the Bond was not the first destination of soldiers and generals, they sometimes had the odd military man come their way, and it was always Manzor they asked about. For Manzor was not only the harbinger of victory over the foes of Vetros, but also the manifestation of Zephyrion's just punishment and ultimate victory over all things. When all things returned to dust and the souls were gathered, it would be Zephyrion who would inherit the world and all that is in it. Absolute victory would be his, and through him would the faithful also be victorious. And Manzor's appearance spoke of worldly victories in preparation for Zephyrion's ultimate one. Or at least, that was what the Vetruvian priest-books said. It did not matter to her whether it was true or not, but what fascinated her even more was what such beautiful belief inspired. They embellished the gods and gave them virtues they did not possess, and they were inspired by what they created, and in that way inspired themselves towards works of greatness and propelled themselves towards both happiness and glory.

She had been right. These beings were truly greater than gods, for they did not think that they were.

Ghurab, much like Mamoor, seemed to mean very little to contemporary Vetruvians, other than the fact that it meant 'Strange One' or 'Stranger'. Some older books, however, contended that it meant 'Crow', though Yara thought that odd. What was more odd was that there was absolutely nothing else on the origins of the name, not even neglected, half-disintegrated manuscripts. Most strange, but that was only natural given the more accepted meaning of the moon's name.

Suddenly tired, Yara rubbed her eyes and lay down on her back, looking into the starry sky. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she would be able to lose herself in this place. Perhaps she could become human. Perhaps she could become...well, happy. Just like them. And the stars blurred and darkened, and her eyes closed, and she fell asleep in that cool Vetruvian summer's night.



The moth fluttered slowly around her upturned face, as though caught in a whirlwind which eventually caused it to, ever so gently, land on her nose. She lay there, in a bed of darkness, her long, inky hair spreading out around her head in all directions, and her onyx eyes staring blankly above her even as she drifted in the strange darkness. Had she fallen into the Mahd while she was sleeping? She did not feel wet though...

And there were no stars above. And there were no moons.

Her head turned deliriously from side to side. Had she been kidnapped? Perhaps she had been drugged...

'Bel, Bel, Bel,' a strange voice almost tutted, almost hissing. The voice seemed to slither across her skin and up her neck, before crawling into her ears. An empty scream left her throat and she attempted to shake her head and move her body, but could barely move. It was enough, however, for the moth to take flight and disappear into the darkness for a while. She could still hear it, though, as it fluttered blindly around before returning to her as though she were the sun and her nose its ultimate perch.

'Did you think...I would forget?' the voice crawled across her, and she looked down half-expecting a snake to be slithering across her body. But there was nothing, and the sensation continued its movement until it once more forced its way into her ears and she convulsed and shook in primal disgust and nausea.

'Stop...' she managed. And the moth once more fluttered away at the movement. Once more the moth fluttered around, and she expected it to return. And she was surprised to find that she involuntarily moved her nose upwards to greet it. But it did not come.

From the gloom above, their descended a face from the most freakish of nightmares. And when she screamed this time, her voice was unlocked and she found herself sitting up in the raft and near enough falling into the Mahd.

'Why...don't you_{...give it,'} she looked around as the voice faded away and her quick breath and thumping heart became the most apparant noises. She gulped and wiped the sweat from her brow with an equally sweaty hand. On shaking feet, she got up and managed to crawl off the raft and onto solid land. After a few moments of lying face down in the mud, delirious and confused and nauseous, she managed to get up once more and began making her trembling way to the temple. And the streets were empty, the night was dark, and nothing could be heard but the odd yap or bark. Arriving at the temple entrance - which was a large, open, sandstone arch - she slid down to the ground and sat with her back against the stone and allowed herself to rest, all the while looking around herself in the darkness for any signs of that face - those cold, imperious eyes - and that voice.

It had been some time since she heard it, but she could not forget it. How could she forget it? And the winds drifted softly by, and they seemed to carry his whispers and a promised return. She had never understood what he had truly wanted from her, and she did not understand now, but she would have to be pre-

'Mother? Is that you? Are you alright?' she turned her head slowly and stared into the courtyard beyond the arch, and saw the shadowy figure of Chjekaya coming closer.
'Ah, little Chjekaya, am I glad to see you. Come here and help me to my room,' and the young woman nodded and hurried to help the Witch-Priestess.
'You are very hot, Mother. Are you ill?' Chjekaya asked as she helped Yara to her feet.
'Not at all, not at all. Just...slightly rattled,' and the two began walking through the courtyard, 'how is your father these days? And your grandmother.'
'Father is very well, Mother. He sings your praises daily and has been tremendously happy ever since you allowed us all to leave the temple and visit home and marry. And grandmother is a monument to health and youth! Master Zephyrion has truly blessed you and elevated you above many of his faithful servants, and has brought contentment to our hearts through you,' Yara nodded absent-mindedly as the girl spoke.
'Yes, yes. Of course,' she was silent for a few moments, 'and when shall you bring delight to us all, Chjekaya, by starting your own family, hmm?'

The girl smiled and looked away, then shrugged.
'Is it not I who should be asking you that? How can I go and marry when the Witch-Priestess herself has not done so yet?' Yara slapped the girl lightly on the shoulder and chuckled at her elusive words.
'You cheeky girl, I know exactly what those words mean. Who is it then, hmm? What lucky boy has managed to steal our beautiful Chjekaya's heart?' and with that, the young woman, blushing profusely, let go of Yara's hand and rushed ahead.

_{'How cute.'}

Yara stopped in her tracks and turned around, eyes wide and fear gripping her once more. She was not sure if it had somply been the wind or her mind playing tricks on her...but she had heard his voice again. Without waiting around to find out, she turned and rushed up the stairs and into the temple, and when she arrived in her room she closed the door's curtain and stood frozen at the doorway for a good minute or so before backing away towards her bed and sitting there.

'And do you still think that those stars you saw were indeed stars?' he asked her. Her head snapped to the side and she saw his figure hovering there in the darkness.
'What do you want?'
'Answer my question. Did you see the stars?
'I said, what do you want? she repeated, raising a hand sizzling with magical energies and an eye glinting and cool.
'Calm down, Bel. No need to be so...edgy. I only come to warn you, for you have grown lax here and have failed to see the obvious. For instance, the massive well of divine power which sits festering in the Priest-King's palace.
'There is a difference between noticing something and being worried about it. It is of no matter to me what divine energies lie hidden in the palace.'
'But surely something so great, so unparalelled, must have piqued your-'
'I. Don't. Care.

Oradin-Thulemiz emerged from the shadows, and she saw the full horror of what he had become; light green skin melting and decaying, yellow-green eyes glowing, lips flayed and dark, hair long and thinning and a deathly yellow, and huge ulcerous wounds and various swellings dotting his body.
'The stars will soon descend on this misbegotten world while you are here playing games. The strength you have is wasted, and you will be no use in combatting the coming horror - even the dead will have no respite from it. But you seem to have found something which could be...quite useful. Give it to me and I shall leave you in peace - though you shan't enjoy that overlong anyhow.'
Yara's eyes narrowed at his words. She had been actively blocking the growth of her divine senses, which had over the past years been growing more and more active for no reason she could fathom.
'What do you mean? Stop speaking in riddles. What is coming?'
'Give me the crown, and I shall give you what I know.'
'Crown?' she asked, clearly confused.
'Don't play dumb with me, I can feel it pulsing with deathly energies even now.'
'Ah...so you want the crown,' she looked at him as realisation dawned upon her, and she knew she had him now, and she smiled, 'but truth be told, I don't think this mere "information" of yours is sufficient consideration,' she circled around the Necromancer and surveyed him, 'well? What do you have? An undying thing such as yourself cannot give up its soul. I have no interest in possessing you either way, but...' and here she placed a hand upon his shoulder and peeled off a layer of decaying skin.
'Spit it out already before I take what I want and leave.'
'Truth be told, you are an odd being. Your existence is strange, and your powers are not of this world. Give me a sample of your powers, your essence, and you shall have your crown.'

Oradin-Thulemiz nodded slowly.
'On the condition, of course, that you not only give me the crown, but that you also inform me of any...discoveries...you make from experimenting on this essence,' Yara laughed and shook her head.
'Oh no no no, if you want that you would have to come and make another deal. The crown for your essence, or you leave empty-handed.'
'I guess I should be honoured and all that, what with you showing me your vile true nature,' he whispered loudly enough for her to hear. Her smile disappeared and she stood there uncertain of what to say, and when he raised his hand to affirm the agreement she could only shake it numbly.
'Then, we have a deal.'

She turned away and signalled for him to follow her. They walked the largely empty hallways of the temple until they reached the temple's dark Miracle Room. The Necromancer surveyed the shelves of phials while the Witch-Priestess rummaged about in the back. It seemed that behind the altar-table was a small door leading into another room where the woman kept more of her collections. Curious as the Necromancer about what the Witch-Priestess had in her collection, he stayed put and kept his hands to himself. It was best to not fiddle with things one was not familiar with, after all. Yara eventually emerged from that small room with the crown in one hand and a medium-sized phial in the other, and she placed both on the altar-table and looked at him, nodding for him to take the crown. And he reached for it.

His decaying flesh met the crown, and almost immediately - aye, without much pomp or ceremony, without a sound or a flash, without pain or shock, without a lengthy process of essence-extraction - the phial next to the crown filled with a translucent, dark substance.
'Ah, black. Fitting,' he muttered approvingly, and with that, he looked one last time at the Witch-Priestess before collapsing and melting away into a thick impenetrable smoke, and he disappeared into the gloom of the room and was as though he had never been. She was uncertain how he did that, but she knew he was gone. She turned to her phial and looked into it, and a certain sadness overcame her.

'I...' she whispered, 'I'm not vile.'



'What's wrong with it?'
'Hmm?'
'You called it a rose, no?'
'Ah, yes. Nothing is wrong with it. Now come here, let me sort out your hair, Chjekaya gave the wilted rose another glance before doing as Yara bid her. She turned around and sat on the stool while the Witch-Priestess brushed and perfumed her hair.
'You have to look your best for today, after all most girls only ever get married on-'
'But look at it! It's drooping and looks ever so sad, and the colour is gone from it!'
'And what of it? The date palm droops too, and many beautiful things are lacking in colour.
'But that's a different drooping and a different colourlessness. This here is a wilting drooping, a colourlessness of death,' Yara tugged on the girl's hair as she brushed it and Chjekaya winced slightly.

'The rose does not wilt, Chjekaya. It does not die,' she said as she oiled the girl's hair and ran her fingers through the obsidian silkin strands, 'no, it melts. It carries a great weight and heat within it, you see. A mighty burden, an impossible furnace. And when that all bursts forth, the rose melts away with a flourish,' she circled around the bride and looked into her eyes.
'It melts with love. For what physical body or heart or rose-at-full-bloom can hold so great and pure a love and hope to remain intact? A rose at full bloom has not yet reached its acme, for that is merely as far as it could go by containing what love it can within itself. It is at its acme when that love grows so great that it must be released, and the rose melts and burns and bursts for love. Do you understand?'

Chjekaya stared with wide eyes at Yara, mouth slightly agape.
'I...think so...' she said slowly, before frowning and shaking her head, 'no, I'll need to sit down and think about that for a while,' Yara chuckled and reached out for the intricately designed kohl bottle.
'Don't worry, you will understand it soon enough. Chin up, stay still,' and with care, she ran the small rod along the inside of Chjekaya's upper and lower eyelashes, before doing the same with the other eye, 'there we go. My, that really does bring your lashes out. Would put the eyelashes of a camel to shame!' Chjekaya blushed and looked away.
'Don't say that...' Yara smiled at the girl and bid her stand. She circled her and nodded approvingly, before taking her by the hand and seating her by her on the bed.
'Now,' the Witch-Priestess said, 'tell me one more time how this whole marriage process works,' smiling, and biting her lower lip slightly, Chjekaya nodded and began.

'Well, there are three parts to the process: the first occurs before the wedding, the second is the wedding itself, and the third occurs afterwards. And each of these parts is split into various procedures and ceremonies.

'First, when a son or daughter of the family reaches a marriageable age, the parents begin looking for a suitable potential spouse for their child. In most cases, the child already has their eye on somebody and things proceed from there. Once the potential spouse is decided upon, the Zayra-Seghr ceremony takes place. For this, representatives of the man's family are either invited to pay a visit by the woman's family, or themselves request to visit her family. This visit is meant to acquaint the families with one another more than anything and does not involve any commitment. The Zayra-Seghr can take place more than once, but usually not more than twice. After this, both the man and the woman can consider each other more seriously and, if both are interested, they can arrange to move on to the next stage, the Zayra-Kebr.

'At the Zayra-Kebr, the man's family must make a marriage proposal - and it is accepted tradition that it must be the man's family who does so, as he will be the head of the household and the one whose property is shared between himself, his wife, and his children; unlike the woman whose property remains her own.

'The man's family is usually seated in the main reception room (usually the only reception room!), and the woman's family tend to be first to speak. They extol the woman's virtues; her modesty, her loyalty, her intelligence, her cooking and embroidery skill, her ability to entertain guests - here things such as singing or whether she plays a musical instrument may come up - her piety, and her loyalty and ability to endure hardship. After this, the man's family responds in kind and lists his virtues also; this includes things like modesty and loyalty and intelligence, but rather than cooking and embroidery, things such as diligence and skill in his craft are highlighted. And of course, his financial situation and ability to provide for the happiness and security of the family's daughter are important.

'Once all this is agreed, the woman is usually called in to serve the man a special drink, a mixture of warm milk and honey if she approves of him and wishes for the marriage to go on, or a mixture of warm milk and salt if she does not approve. And I have heard of times where the milk has been so sweet that the man could not finish it (to much teasing and laughter!), and times where it has been so salty that the poor man let up the content of his stomach all over the wretched girl!

'Where the families and the couple-to-be already know each other, or are related as in the case of cousins, the Zayra-Seghr and Zayra-Kebr are in fact done together in one go. After this Zayra-Kebr, the intention of the couple to marry is made known to everyone in the neighbourhood, and the family and couple must go to a temple as soon as possible and sit around the Taal-e Aqd, the table of contract, where the priest will write down the marriage contract, detailing all the obligations of both the bride and groom, as well as any unique agreements the particular couple have come to. This contract has a divine mandate, and can be enforced by any priest should either husband or wife break it. Breaking it can even be a ground for a dissolution of the marriage altogether, though this is extremely rare. I have never heard of a marriage ending in any other way but the death of either the husband or wife.

'With the Taal-e Aqd done, the woman is officially prohibited from being with any other man, and the man prohibited from being with any other woman, and either of them must seek an official dissolution in order to cancel the rest of the wedding. In order for them both to become husband and wife, the man must, first, present his bride with the necklace and the bracelet, and she must present him with the ring, and this must be witnessed by two priests, two members of the groom's family, and two members of the bride's family.

'This happens at the wedding ceremony itself, which usually takes place in the main courtyard of a temple. A special canopy must be constructed where the exchange happens - representing the new family and home they are building together -, and a small fire must be lit just outside the canopy over which both the bride and the groom must leap, while holding hands, after the exchange. The fire represents light and purity, and by leaping over it the couple purify themselves of all past misdoings, and bring upon themselves the blessing of the Master and good fortune. The groom's mother then places a finger dipped in honey in the mouth of the bride, and the bride's father does the same for the groom, and the sweetness of the honey is a symbol of hope that their lives together would be just as sweet.

'With this all done, a large feast is had - usually hosted and financed by the temple, though if the couple's families are rich enough they tend to contribute to it. All members of the community are welcome to come and join in the festivities; the eating and the dancing and the singing. And thereafter, the couple retire to their new home and, in seclusion, complete their spiritual union through physical oneness,' Chjekaya rubbed the back of her hand softly as she finished, and Yara - who had lain back onto the bed - gave a small sigh.

'Isn't that just beautiful? How many times have you told it to me now?'
'At least ten times!' Chjekaya laughed, lightly slapping the Witch-Priestess' knee.
'I just never tire of hearing it. And soon enough I'll see it here for myself, and you will fill all our hearts with great joy,' Chjekaya smiled and nodded at her words. She was silent and thoughtful for a few moments, before reaching for Yara's hand and gripping it with both her own.
'Moth- no...Yara. I just want you to know that I'm ever so-'
'Oh shush you, getting all emotional all of sudden. Let go, let go. Won't have any of that!' Chjekaya could not help but giggle slightly as she fought to keep a hold on Yara's hand, only to have her ultimately escape, 'come on now, you better get going, I'm sure both your mother and grandmother want to fuss over you too,' the Witch-Priestess said. Chjekaya sighed and nodded and, glancing at the wilted rose one last time, got up and made for the curtained doorway, only pausing to look back one last time at Yara grinning like a crocody doggle on the bed.

The battle axe. Skillfully formed, with flakes being removed from both faces of a flint nodule, the almond-shape of the weapon testified to the expertise of its makers; and its glow appraised its enchanters. Sin examined the weapon, taking in its features and craftsmanship, he even examined its application in battle. While the khopesh was an unbalanced weapon that could earn more leverage for more powerful strikes, the axe was light, fast, and well balanced. The pros of the axe seemed to far outway the pros of the khopesh, he would have to look into that when he returned to Xerxes. As of now though, more important matters needed tending to.

Amartía sat silently on a settle of stone within what She'ma called: The Sanctuary; lounging as both Victor and Golem shuffled about; lighting candles, preparing berths of smooth rock, and readying his sacrifices. It was all quite a process, but the Golems were tireless. They were walking monoliths of stone with a mortal souls bound to thier core; capable of taking and carrying out simple orders. While Amartía considered this experiment to already be a success, he could not stop there. How far could he take this? What were the secrets behind The Occult? How far could he push the boundaries of Logos Law?

All these questions could be answered! They had to be answered! All he had to do was try, and She'ma would help him do that. One of the two survivors of the Alenai clan sat eerily still, forced to kneel next to him. Her eyes were empty and her face woebegone; an expression Sin thought didn't fit her exotic countenance.

A Victor stepped forward, interrupting his contemplation. "My lord, everything is complete. We are ready to perform the Ritual." Amartía smiled and turned to She'ma. She had heard the Victors words. Sin could taste the sense of dread that filled her at that moment. She to would commit the same heinous acts that her fellow Priests had but hours ago in this very room.

"You heard the man. Rise." Amartía said softly, caressing her shaking shoulders.

But She'ma would not move. Here eyes widened in horror as she began to shuffle backwards. "I-I cannot. Please, please." she muttered, her teeth chattering.

Amartía stifled a laugh. "Come come now daughter, you have nothing to fear. Rise." he cooed.

Still, she refused, tears streamed down her face. She would never, she would rather die. How could she betray her morals? Her people. Herself.

Amartía frowned. He had grown tired of her impertinence. With a bone crashing grip, Sin thrust She'ma into the air. "I TOLD YOU TO RISE!!" he bellowed. She'ma crumpled back down to the ground, sobbing vigorously.

Amartía stood over her, his breath ragged. Such a stubborn child. "Maybe you have me mistaken She'ma. You have NO choice in the matter." Sin berated, his face impassive but Wrath churned deep underneath. She'ma returned the look with one of her own; a steady gaze of perseverance, unflinching and unwavering.

Sin simply shook his head. "Do you really believe I am evil She'ma?" Sin cooed. She'ma made no move to answer him. Sin smirked.

"Some people say I'm evil, but I say I'm just wired differently. Others look at a squirrel and see something cute, but I see something I can kill. I don't want to just behead it though, I want to see how long it can last while I disembowel it nice and slow. I want to see the light go out in it's rodent eyes while I examine it's innards. I could say it's scholarly, but that would be a lie. The truth is I enjoy it. I get a kick out of it. Just be glad it's an animal in my sights right now, not you." Amartía avowed, letting out a deep breath. She'ma hadn't moved. Her posture still betraying her eyes emotion.

Amartía let out an exasperated breath. It seemed that his words hadn't sunk in. "It unfortunately seems that you still don't understand you position. Well, since I'm in the experimenting mood, I might as well test this out." Amartía simpered, a crooked smile plastered on his face, the same way a wolf would smile at a lame lamb as black electricity began to crackle down his arm.

She'ma did not whimper. She had dried her tears. She was ready to die for her clansmen, to be thier representative in the grave. Her eyes closed as her breath slowed, within moments, she had resigned herself to her fate.

Amartía merely laughed. That was not at all the response he expected, but he would take it.

Without warning, She'ma felt Amartía abrasive grip on her face, callous and passionless. For the first time, She'ma felt true fear. It was all consuming. Shear and utter panic flooded through her. There was a metallic taste akin to blood on her tongue. There was an acute awareness of her beating heart. Lungs that never seemed to fill, even with access to all the air she would ever need. She was frozen in fear, incapable of speaking a word or even moving. 

Her skin crawled as the inky darkness arced off Sins' outstretched hand. She could taste the forgien mucilaginous magic that invaded her body. Without warrant, emotions that she rarely felt began to buddle forth to the surface.

Why do I care for my clan? I am free!

"N-no. she murmured.

I'm no longer shackled to this accursed place.

She'ma's eyes widened as she cradled her head. These weren't her thoughts! But they were. She was being influenced, changed. But she always felt this way. She could never betray her people, her tradition. But she would.

She'ma let out a piercing scream. It sounded like a scream of wild panic. A scream of hysteria and disbelief, bordering on terror. Eyes wide with horror, the mouth rigid and open, her chalky face gaunt and immobile, fists clenched with blanched knuckles and the nails digging deeply into the palms of her hand.

But a second emotion fired through her, replacing her dread with an emotion she had never felt before. For the first time in her life she felt rage. It was an all consuming anger; her nostrils flaring, her eyes flashing and closing into slits, her mouth quivering and drooling, slurring words that were unintelligible came spewing into space like a volcano releasing its pent up emotions into the darkness. 



Then, there was darkness. She'ma's consciousness fell deep into the murky depths of her mind. As she plunged into the abyss the watched misty forms of herself disappear. One at first, then two, then three appeared then disappeared. Before long, hundreds of apparitions came into existence only to be whisked away. With them, grew the whispers. Whispers of revenge, hate, lust, and freedom. At first she refused to listen to them, but they grew louder and more incessant, and she was forced to listen, to give in. Then she disappeared. Dissolving into mist, and she felt nothing.

Amartía stood over her, his hands at his side. She'ma slept soundly beneath him. The lines of care and toil had smoothed and virtually disappeared, the crows feet round her eyes now but a memory. Eyelids closed against the dim light of dawn and her breathing deep and relaxed, all the muscles in her face and body were totally at peace, like a baby in its' first throes of slumber and before the dreaming began. Not a twitch, not a spasm, barely any movement of her breasts rising and falling with each intake of air such was the depth of her oblivion. This was a body totally at peace, at rest, at one with itself, rejuvenating the mind and muscles before the onset of yet another day of turmoil.

It wouldn't last long. "And now we see the results of out little experiment." Amartía snapped his fingers, the resounding click echoed through the halls, breaking the silence.

She'ma wakened.

Eyes opened like two touchlight beams, heart pounding and mind empty. It was if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into here carotid. The Priestess remain unmoving, blank and silent. Amartía smiled. "Rise."

She'ma rose.

She did not know why. Her body seemed to move on its own, her brain firing off commands that her mind couldn't authorize. Her face remained vacant and impassive, her mind a black sheet. She felt nothing.

"Quite interesting. Not exactly what I was expecting, but I can make due- Sin gestured to a Victor, who quickly padded off. Within seconds, the warrior returned, dragging with him to prone figures. On was a fairly large wolfhound, bound and silenced. Two other Victors stepped up to lay it on the stone bed. The second was much more recognizable. It was an old man. The elderly personage had a fringe of grey-white hair around his balding, mottled scalp. He had a wizened face and a back slightly hunched. With each movement there was the creak of old bones. He had the resigned look of one who knows that at his age life had stopped giving and only took away.

She'ma recognized that face. Memories began to flood her mind. His voice, his look, his mien. The man who ripped her family apart. The man who professed her to be prodigy. The man who dictated her life for so long. The man who abandoned his people. Her people.

The High Priest.

"It was you." She'ma spat. Her eyes are bulged out, a vein throbbed in her throat, her jaw tensed. It looked as if she was ready to strike and scream, but she held back, barely. 

Amartía smiled. "So you know one another? Well that's great! Our High Priest friend here has been plenty helpful, but I think its time for him to join his brethren. Don't you." he cooed.

She'ma did not speak, nor did she react, but the High Priest did. "My daughter, do not look upon me with hate. Did I not raise you as my own, my pupil, my child." the old man rasped.

At that moment, She'ma snapped. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF ME AS YOUR CHILD!!! YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM MY FAMILY, TO LIVE THE LIFE OF A MURDER!!!!"

The High Priest dipped his head. "My child-"

"ENOUGH! I don't want to hear it," she whispered before turning to Amartía. "I am ready to go through with the Ritual."

Amartía's face brightened, satisfaction oozing from his eyes. With a clap, the Victors surged forward, grabbing hold of the High Priest. "Plea- no- MY CHILD! HELP ME!" The old mans screams fell upon deaf ears as She'ma stepped forward. In that moment, she felt powerful, in her element, were she belonged as she began to chant.

She'ma found it ironic.

The High Priest screamed.

It was a gleaming summer morning. The breeze was delicate and the strong sunlight was turned into soft warmth by the canopy of the trees.

Near the rocky shores of a river, two kids, a boy, and a girl, carelessly played around. The girl looked tomboyish and moved around the rocks with the same ease and familiarity one has when walking in his own home, the boy was far softer, but at no moment he showed the lack of confidence.

"Getting tired?" The girl teased, assuming he would be shy about his slowness.

"A bit." he smiled, showing full acceptance of his limitations. "But no worries, I can still walk a lot."

The girl expected to fluster him but instead she was the one feeling shy. It felt odd to have someone along with her on these matinal journeys.

"Good! We still need to walk a lot to arrive."

They kept going upwards into the forest, up to the point where the river was still just a small collection of streams. In this area, there was a grove with a tree noticeable different from all others, looking older and taller than anything else, this is where the girl liked to travel to when life in the village was a bit too annoying.

And in most days it was annoying, she barely knew her mother beyond the fact that she came from another village and disappeared as suddenly as she appeared, and her father was a big game hunter who spent most of his time away, she lived with her mother's friend, the boy's mother, and all of this together made her an easy target for harassing among the other children in town.

Recently it all had stopped, probably related to her inheriting the strong physique of her father, even so, her vision of the kids of the village was still one of a bunch of irritating brats and the quiet wilderness felt much more welcoming. There was a single exception...

"So this is the place huh? It's pretty." The boy commented, bringing her back to the present.

"It is. If you climb the tree you can see all this valley."

"Really?" He sounded excited "How do you climb it?"

"Don't push yourself." At first, she had joked about his stamina, but in truth, she was a bit worried. He had been a very sickly kid for most of his life, though on the last couple of years he started to get a bit healthier.

Neverminding her advice, he started to climb the tree, though as he got higher his stamina started to fail him, eventually leading to dizziness. He was about to fall from the tree when the tomboy grabbed his hand.

"I told you." she scolded him.

"Sorry, I thought I was a bit stronger than this." he still smiled.

They would visit the forest a few more times until the boy decided to voice something.

"So, where else there is to visit?"

"What do you mean?"

"This place is interesting, but I want to see more." by this point he had already managed to climb the tree and see the whole region. "Have you seen anywhere else that is curious?"

The girl didn't exactly follow him "No, I just came here whenever I went out."

"What? I thought you had the whole region explored. Isn't that how you find this?"

"I... I just went upstream one day and ended up here."

"Ah... lame. I thought you liked to walk around searching for neat stuff."

"I like to move my legs..." she sighed. "And silence, but that is mostly gone."

"Hey, let's make a deal. You could go around trying to find other interesting places around here. I can't do it myself because, well, you know."

"Eh? And what I win?" she asked

"How about I don't tell the kids in the village about this." The boy smiled and opened his hand, releasing a panicked butterfly in the girl's direction.

She immediately yelped and ducked to avoid the bug. The boy laughed "So I was right. This is cute."

The girl rose up again with a face red with embarrassment and anger.

"I noticed how hard you avoided certain bugs and figured out there was something going on."

"Marcelo..." she was grinding her teeth at this point.

"I mean, like, you are not scared of some big centipede showing up, but the smallest of the flying bugs makes you cower. Cute." He would have continued with the teasing, but he had to run, the girl was already really close and it would be better to try to tire her a bit before the inevitable beating ensued.

---

The odd dream was interrupted by Lakshmi. "C-Chro-roma. T-Time t-to go." she said, everyone had already packed their belongings and the journey would resume very soon.

"Ah sorry, I was just having a strong dream again" she explained. Somehow, ever since she left the island some of her dreams have been very vivid yet mostly featuring persons who she didn't even know.

"Lucky you, I had another terrible night. My face must be terribly tired"

"Y-You alway-s lo-look te-terribly tire-red Su."

"Thanks for the free jab, couldn't start the morning without it." she jokingly winked at Lakshmi.

They had spent the last few days traveling across the western coast of the region. Unlike before, where they made stops at each village, they were now doing a broader work across the Harbor Towns, merely sending messages and gifts.

The human side of Mesathalassa was basically divided into two regions, the shores, with its Harbor Kings, whose access to fishing was key to their subsistence and the inland area, mostly wildland and tribes, with the exception of the Innkeeps, where hunters would gather midway across the journey to trade resources and resupply.

This was the current division of power in the region, masters of harbors in the beach and masters of inns in the deeper land. Though with the advance of agriculture, this balance of power was bound to shift, and while the Parade was sure harbor kingdoms would fully adapt to the future, the persistence of Innkeepers once Hunting is no longer the main source of food was unstable.

For that reason, the Parade's only prolonged stop in this region was at one of the Inns, so their culture could be studied and recorded should the worse come to fruition.

If not for that, Salassar would have surely hurryed through the region and started to make the way back to Alefpriel. Things had been odd recently, a sudden eclipse, news of waves of fire and a second tsunami, and general oddity all around.

"So, where are we going today?"

"We are going to leave the shores and go deeper inland, I want to visit a particular Inn"

The huntress soon saw herself walking into familiar lands, though it had been such a long time, some things were still the same. Most of the villages had been long dislocated at Vestec's war, though, in turn, a new keep had been built.



Lakshmi followed close with her party, valuable items that had once been flourished to the open air now lay under hide and furs, hidden from the realm that didn't even know what a ruby was.

It was a lively place, far more than what she expected it to be. Everything had similarities to what she had seen in her childhood but at the same time, a lot had changed.

"Just like the paradox that Marel Vascogne had proposed..." Susa whispered.

"P-paradox? T-this reminds m-m-me of the first days of A-lef-f-fpria, w-while the-the mannequins w-were still s-strange c-creatures to m-myself. I-I could b-best describe t-this s-s-sensation aaaas 'n-nostalgia'." Lakshmi noted, her jaded sword bouncing on her waist.

Lakshmi then looked to the worried huntress. "H-how d-do you k-know this place?"

"I was born here. Well, around here. The village is no longer around" she pointed to the valley outside. "I did say this region was my homeland back when I jumped on the boat, and well, this is the exact place."

"O-oh y-yeah," Lakshmi chuckled, visibly flustered.

"I-I remember that. D-did the Horde d-destroy y-your old home?"

The huntress nodded "Yes. Lifprasil said it was one of the armies marching south. at this point there was not much emotion to what she said, it bothered her, but somehow it all felt distant and unreal.

Lakshmi, feeling the distance in the Huntress' estranged heart, decided to cease her speaking and simply follow along with her.

Susa smiled "Maybe I will show you some neat places I found when I was a child. They will make the springs we saw in the north look like ugly puddles."

At that, Lakshmi's smile returned to her palor face. That tinge of worry disappeared. "T-that sounds l-lovely," she replied, setting a hand on Susa's shoulder. "I-I haven't seen m-much of the Galbarian l-landscape outside of Alefpria."

At first, the people around her were just ones she did not recognize, making her wonder just how bad had the horde been, but eventually, a familiar face welcomed them. Livina had been the one who instructed her into proper hunting and along with her sister, had been one of the first to think about leathermaking.

"Hello, welcome to Saen..." once she caught a glimpse of the visitor her jaw dropped "Hawke?" she gasped.

The huntress didn't even know what to speak to her old teacher"H-Hey... uh!" a sudden hug left her out of breath. "It...It is me." she added, struggling to breathe.

"I would never have imagined, of all people..."

"I know right? We have a lot to talk." she held her teacher's hands and struggled to keep her emotions in control "Is there anyone else from the village that is still here?"

"Oh...!" Livina had completely forgotten just how long Susa had been gone. "Well... Our village was directly attacked and razed by the horde. Only the hunters who were away at the time survived." she sighed.

"Then your mother, of all people, showed up. She lamented being too late to save the village, but along with other Shamans, she helped us to build this keep."

"My mother? Are you serious? How can someone disappear for decades and then just... Sorry. It is fine, I'm glad you are safe."

"It was hard... I lost many friends, my sister, too. But we rebuilt, and I took in every one that sought shelter after their villages were attacked. That is how this place became this large."

"It is a beautiful Inn. But... wait, is my mother still here?"

"No, she left. You know how she is..."

"Actually, I don't."

[Day 2 of posting]

"Just think about yourself or your father except she is far more religious, you have no idea."

"Ah, but I digress. While our old village has mostly spread out after that, with some people going to the shore, others to different inns, there are still quite a few of us who stayed at this keep. Maré, Vista, Corale, Lance and Marcelo."

The name hit the huntress like a boulder. "What?" she said "Marcelo?" she shook her head "The one who got mad on dreams a looong while ago and travelled to the far north ages ago"

"Yeah. That one, your little sweetheart too." The instructor smiled.

"Bullshit." she muttered. "How can one go mad like that and just return after gods know how much time?"

"Ask him yourself, Hawke, he has been in the room for a long while."

Immediately the huntress started to look all around her, she was both startled and vicious, she didn't even know what she would do once she found him, she felt like punching him many times over, at the same time...

Finally, she found him, their eyes locked on each other's "Peace" he answered with a brief hand wave as if it had been just a few hours since they last met.

Susa was almost paralyzed. There he was, barely looking older than when they last met even. He was even wearing the same outfit which Susa had got hold of back in Fibeslay, but how could that even be? Finally, she snapped and giggled. "Oh, Sally will have to answer me for this one, his little goddess can't play with me like this."

There was nothing but silence in the room. Susa looked at her friends, who looked all confused, even Sally, and then back to Livina, and finally, she stared at Marcelo. "No. This... Damn it. For real? I swear if..."

"Just... Tell me why. Why did it happen? Were you even... That bad? Or did you just want to leave everything and EVERYONE behind?"

The man sighed. "First you must rest. Once you are calm, we can talk, and I assure you there will be a reasonable explanation to..."

"Oh, great, you assure me, now I can feel calm, yep, can't get more trustworthy than that."

"See, you are being unreasonable right now."

"I'm going to be unreasonable on your face."

Suddenly she felt someone grabbing her hand. "Hawke, dear." said the instructor. "Please don't start a fight at my Inn. Let's relax, eat something, then you two can talk in private. Yes?"

The huntress bit her lips, but a quick look at Livina and her friends made she return to her senses. "Fine."

Salassar sighed in relief, he had no idea this was such a personal place, he even wondered if the goddess had intentionally sent him there or not. "Glad this didn't end in a fight. Right?"

"I-I wasn't t-too worried," replied Lakshmi, even though she perpetually looked so. "W-well -- m-maybe I was." she added in the First Tongue, speaking with more liquidity than the practiced dialect she had learned from Susa.

Chroma didn't even hear the question, she looked dazed, far more than the other two.

"Chroma. Hey, Chroma."

"Wah! What? What is it?"

"You were spacing out. Are you fine?" this was hardly her first time seeing Susa barking around like this so he doubted the discussion was the reason.

"Uh... yeah. Salassar, you are like, a dream master or something like that, right?"

The Quara sighed "Not the words I would choose but you say so."

"Can I talk to you later?"

Salassar tilted his head, curious about the why of such question. "Surely. Whenever you want."

At this moment the man Susa had met decided to come closer to them. "So, you are the group that has been traveling with Su?" he glanced at each one of them, and for a brief second something close to disgust discretely showed in the corner of his mouth before it was quickly covered by a smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Lakshmi looked down on the human, feathered horns neutral against the pleasant atmosphere of the inn. "A pleasure." she forced, metering her speech.

Salassar answered "Likewise. Even though this was a bit of a troublesome start."

"Talk about it." he laughed "I need to go now, but we need to talk again later, for now, enjoy your stay here, and if you could, make sure Su is relaxed, otherwise I might not survive past this evening.

---

Salassar usually waited until he had gathered enough information from his surroundings before partaking in his missions, however, considering how many personal issues had arisen since arrival, he decided that it would be best to make his move as soon as possible.

He approached Livina not soon after she finished serving the guests with food and drink.

"This place is really fascinating, ma'am. Furthermore, unlike the eastern human towns, it doesn't have the reek of rotten fish."

"You know what is up." she chuckled.

"But I do wonder, how is the supply of resources kept? Is it all brought by the hunters?"

"Most of it, yes. Inns cooperate a lot to exchange goods, furthermore, we have a good relationship with the local tribes."

The use of plural made it clear for Salassar just how much the Innkeepers felt like a community. It had a structure similar to the community of hunters that lived in the village Lifprasil had met Susa. This made sense, considering that Innkeepers were often former hunters, the difference between the northern group and this one, however, was in how complex the relationship was. One was merely a glorified school, this one had evolved into a society.

Salassar knew one of the ingredients behind such success.

"So, tell me, what is the story behind the odd symbols carved in wood that is all over the place."

"Oh, just some bored hunters cutting lines in trees, really."

Salassar knew this was not the case, however. The Wanderer's Code was a series of markings used by southern hunters to describe locations. Originally it was just about saying how deep a swamp was or how safe it was to swim in a river, but Salassar had seen then being used on some very interesting cases, for example, forests where the tribes from this region should not be hunting as they belonged to Hain, Harbor Towns or were deep within the North.

In fact, it was those markings out of this region that gave him the clue that unlike what the Parade's intel told, the code was being used to describe people. When used to aid poaching there were unique symbols being carved into tree trunks probably describing the behavior of the local population.

"For how long have the Inns like this existed? I never heard Susa mentioning them."

"Well, Susa left before the Horde arrived. And really, it was that what really made keeps like this one be built. At first, there were very few tribes around anymore to properly support hunters and travelers."

"I understand, but before that..."

"Hmm, I don't remember well the story. But there was a family of hunters that built the first few lodges west of here."

The use of the Wanderer's Code to describe people probably started there. A problematic client or a good business opportunity showed up and one brother wanted to talk to the other without being obvious so he used the secret code shared between the elite of the southern hunters.

Communication links could have been built from there, then when the Horde attacked those who had a more developed information network were able to prepare for the disaster if not outright avoid it. Thus the Innkeepers became prolific and deeply connected but...

Salassar knew this couldn't be all that there was to the richness they held.

"Sincerely, I don't know much of the history before Susa's mother and the other shamans recommended me to become the Innkeeper here."

This sentence lit up Salassar's mind. The Shamanists were an important group of the Mesathalassam culture, Hain and Human alike had their own sects and rituals, but both shared the preference for isolation. It was odd that they would provide such aid to the Innkeepers.

"Ah, wait, someone is calling me," Livina said, "Sorry, I need to run the Inn a bit."

"It is fine, good luck with your chores" It was probably better he didn't go on questioning the Innkeeper either way as she could start to suspect him.

He kept exploring the impressively well-organized premises of the keep in search for more details of the local human culture. At one point he walked into what looked like a garden full of rare flowers and herbs, it felt more like private quarters than a public area but Salassar was curious about it.

"Hey, friend, what do you think of this garden?" said Marcelo with a smirk on his face.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean to invade your property, I just got lost... it's a large keep"

"Typical Susa behavior really, just leaving her friends lost around. But do not worry, this is not a secret place or anything, furthermore, you are not our typical guest either."

"Speaking of Susa, what is the issue with her mother? She didn't even seem to know her."

"Oh, Susa's mom was a Shamaness, and I don't know how Shamans work for your people, but the ones around here are supposed to be virgins and die without leaving descendants. I think they pardoned her mother for it, but in turn, she had to abandon her daughter."

"Really? Why is that?"

"A mix of exalting purity with a few prophecies about how the children of the Shamans will bring trouble."

"Couldn't imagine Susa doing that, but I will keep an eye out for her" he chuckled

"Eh, she did bring some odd guests. The Lifprasilian is fine, and you seem to be a nice person despite the fact I have never met your species, but why are you all traveling with a Jvanic creature?"

Salassar was impressed the man knew so much about the gods to the point of even identifying who Lakshmi was.

"Chroma... I have to admit, I'm unsure about her, but she has done no evil. On the other side, we were never supposed to have her journeying with us."

Marcelo looked somewhat worried. "It is just odd, considering how much your goddess is revered by the Victors." there was a hint of nostalgia to his voice.

The quara didn't know what to answer, the man talked about foreign concepts and there what he said didn't seem to connect to any of the Parade's orders.

"Oh well. I need to get ready to face Susa later today, you can keep looking at the garden if you want, just don't take anything from it."

The Quara sighed. "He is Susa's trouble" he repeated to himself before trying to focus on his own questions and mission again.

Then he realized the beginning of the link. If Shamans didn't have kids they must pick new members from the villages and towns of the region, apparently they care a lot about the past of the person, so the more information the better.

Due to the nature of their work they must be familiar with the forests of the region, so if a bunch of markings started to show up, they would be the first ones to notice, eventually, this could lead to them learning about how the Innkeepers work.

"Perhaps they keep records of everyone who even visits these places"

Which helped business and to get an idea of how each person worked, however, it could also help the Shamans to do their recruiting, perhaps a lot of their work too.

"So it's an alliance." Or perhaps even more. What Salassar knew was that the Parade was completely wrong in its assumptions about this region. If only he had enough time to visit the Shamanistic groups.

Before leaving he accidently brushed his feet against the border of a plant revealing a little plank of wood under the herb, it had a collection of symbols carved on it. Upon closer inspection, most of the plants had been tagged.

"Amazing. We completely underestimated these people"

---

Elsewhere within the Inn, Lakshmi unbridled herself of all her burdens she had carried along the way, peeling away extremities like heavy clothing, armor, and weapons, down to her lighter, more casual clothes. She beset them upon her bed, the fabric of her mattress having been cushioned by feathers, cotton, all sorts of comfortable things accessible to the people of this region.

The room around her felt much like a lodge, interpid with heavy logs, and supported by beams that erected themselves in a regimented, carefully calculated pattern; cutting into the geography of the gruff walls. To be truthful, the simple architectural value was interesting, compared to the smooth foundation of stone that became commonplace in Alefpria.

Lakshmi opened a window, examining the raw iron nails effaced into their splintery craters in the lodging.

She then got to writing.

Within her pack of supplies, Lakshmi had saved something from Lifprasil, a cube wrapped in thick, yellowed parchment marked with the wax, teal moniker of Alefpria. It darted into the center of the room, gravitating into a fixed position in front of its beholder.

She pressed into one of the corners of the device, letting purple blood seep from a small wound in her index finger, and into the rivets of the portal. Without any conscious attachment to the device, Lakshmi had to utlilize bloodletting to open the Artefact.

Outward, tendrils of scroll flexed from their confinement, and Lakshmi caught one.

She then retrieved a piece of charcoal she had gathered upon their journey, and flattened the coarse paper she had retrieved onto her room's circular table, and got to work. She wrote in the First, Divine Tongue into the day, making sure to carefully analyze previous events, and scrawl familiar excerpts into the tome.

By the time she finished something she was satisfied with, the sun looked as if it was descending beneath the trees, the luminescence pressing a pair of nearly identical spheres into an extended shadow across the twilight sky. Two of Galbar's moons.

Lakshmi never really bothered to learn the names, but she was quite hungry, now that her mind drifted away from work. She even noticed that, for the first time in a while, she felt dirty. Strange, how such things could skip her mind with such ease...

---

Chroma had always been advised to keep most of herself covered whenever near a crowded area. She found it odd, after all, people didn't seem to ask the same of any other species, but since her friends had no reason to lie to her she preferred to do as she was told.

She really disliked such exaggerated amount of clothing and often engaged in strolls in the areas surrounding the settlements they visited, where she could at least take off her hood. It was also a time to let her mind wander, though this wasn't intentional introspection, instead of being merely a side-effect of her energetic behavior and a lack of interest in the wild landscape of the region.

Usually, her thoughts were pretty similar, no matter how many weeks had already gone by, she still found the whole "living in another world and traveling around odd places with odd people who are like a bunch of hippies" a bit odd. She didn't feel particularly nostalgic for Iridia, but at times she did wonder how much longer she would stay there and what she would even need to do to go back. Today however she was far more occupied with the issue of prophetic dreams and how she would discuss it with Salassar without coming out as some sort of freak.

"Man, I never really saw myself as the psychic of the team. Does this mean I now need to be aloof and stuff? Is dreaming about something that is from the past even consider premonitory?" she asked herself, she always saw herself as the action type, it was odd to suddenly have powers more fit to a mystery solver.

Distracted by her own otherworldly musings, the heroine walked deeper into the woods until she found herself in some sort of clearing by a river spring. The place felt awfully similar though she had yet to pinpoint exactly why.

"Yikes, Dejavu"

Suddenly she heard the sound of rustling grass as someone else walked by. Usually, it was Susa who met her in these nightly walks, but today it was someone different, the Marcelo person from earlier today.

At first, there was nothing, just the two staring at each other. She was a bit freaked out by him not because he was scary but because of some sort of uncanny aura about him, probably due to her "stolen" dreams from Susa's childhood.

He analyzed the creature, clearly fit for a fight and with probably as much raw strength as a normal Victor but when it came to training she was millenniums away, and that is where the battle would be a sure win. No matter how much she adapted, if she created multiple limbs or if she calcified her body into ivory armor or any other trick, he would be prepared and his sword would strike with precision.

Yet, even with the sureness of victory, he didn't do anything. The image of a young girl in love crossed his mind, was the fact she cared about this entity what was chaining him?

"Ah, you are not the one I expected to meet here." he said with a smile

"Sorry! I didn't know there was someone already here! I will be going already, good luck with Susa." she said almost too fast to be properly understood.

The "mother of words" was masterful at creating dissonance of perception and reality, the aura the jvanic entity had was something that inspired the idea of a youthful girl, and it would do so no matter if it was accompanied by an actual child or an adult or even a rock.

"Chroma, right?" the girl was starting to move out of the grove but her name being called made her stop and turn around. Anxiety all around her.

"It's a bit late, isn't it? If you don't go back to the inn soon people might be worried, or worse, you might miss the supper."

Her reaction was immediate "W-what are you, my father? Seesh, I can take care of myself." she turned back and started to move out again, this time stomping her feet on the ground.

Marcelo chuckled at the sight before he was once again left alone is his waiting.

---

"Sweat baths are foolish" Susa thought as she walked back to her room. Apparently being in a scalding room full of vapors was one of the many rituals the Shamans introduced after the horde attack and reconstruction, yet the huntress did not see the point, she did not feel even a bit more purified after spending gods know how many hours in the tent.

"Steam doesn't hold the same fluidity of water, I can't see how this can be a substitute to the nightly diving rituals at all. There are plenty of hot springs too if you want warmer options." the mental rant about bathing habits would have gone on if she had not met a certain someone in her room.

"What are you doing here?" she immediately reached for her leather cloak in order to cover herself.

"Well, you kept me waiting for a long time back at the old place."

"I don't remember saying I would meet you there."

"Was it necessary? Apparently, even your new friends agree that it is hard to go to groves and ponds around the forest without meeting you."

The huntress rolled her eyes. "I was too busy trying some new form of bathing. I just stayed there all night to see if I would feel anything out of it."

Silence reigned for a while before she decided to continue. "Don't you have some story to tell? Last I saw you was back when you had lost your mind and kept mumbling about going to the north where the aurora is. Was that even real or just one of your lies?"

"It was very real. The medicine your mother created did keep me from getting any worse but at the long run started to keep my mind a bit too deep within the Raka."

"What? This is the first I ever heard of this medicine."

"The whole reason why your mother came to the village was to help her friend's son. Has anyone ever explained to you about..."

"The whole shamaness thing? Not really, but I figured it on my own as I became more familiar with the traditions. But let's not stray away from the issue here."

"What issue? Ilunabar is a harsh mistress is all I take from my story."

"For a start, why are you fine? Surely the time at the lifeless icy wastes of the north didn't just make you get better all of the sudden.

"Why are you still young despite your actual age? Where have you been? Why are you together with a religious procession?"

The same questions every time. This time, she didn't feel like answering it.

"Fine, I get it. I guess this also explain the two pairs of the exactly same outfit."

"Huh?" he peaked around the room just to see the battered outfit "Oh. I thought I had lost that one ages ago."

"I found it all the down in Fibeslay, yet I can't find how it could possibly be there..."

"I met that Hain close to the savannah and the primal jungle over the everdark mountains. You of all people should know people can move from one village to another."

"I... Well... It does explain it."

"Wait, were you legitimately thinking that I left the village not because of my mental state but just to do that ages-old idea of traveling the world?"

"Uh... Yes. We were in a very bad moment at the time and you just left so I just took that as a lie. The outfit... was proof of it, but you gave one explanation I didn't account for."

"Bad moment? Was it truly like that?"

"It really was. Maybe I didn't see it back then, but now that it is so distant I can see it clearly, even if you hadn't disappeared, it wouldn't work."

"Really? That is not how I remember it at all."

"I was all about you. From the very moment you first requested me to explore the valley, it had always been a quest for more praise...."

"From what I remember it was about me blackmailing you with a butterfly."

She chuckled. "That too... but you know, when you left, I was aimless with no clear objective in life, I understood that it wasn't healthy."

"If that is what you think there is little I can do to change that. Though don't you think you have been a bit too harsh on me..."

"Spending all those afternoons swimming with Livina's sister in the lake didn't help our situation a single a bit."

"Those were swimming lessons and are you in a position to talk about bathing with others?"

"That was just an example, there were other cases of you being sneaky. My mom's medicine for example."

"Fine. So let me tell you a thing. When I went to the north, I faced death, but I was saved by a group called The Victors, I became a warrior under them and currently I'm in a task to scout this region, just like you.

This caught the huntress by surprise. "Why the sudden change in mind in keeping that a secret?"

"Because of the things you said. I heard you are traveling with a priest of a goddess you don't like and in service of some celestial kingdom from across the ocean. Why?"

"I just like moving my legs, really."

She sighed.

"I'm hungry, do you think dinner is ready?"

"It was ready hours ago, now it is either eaten or cold, but before you leave... Look, I know what we had before has been over for a long time but do you think there is..."

"No."

With just him, Goliath, and Violence left here, Custos knew there wouldn't be any more interruptions to the fight. Sure, Astarte's choice in her involvement hurt him, but now was not the time to think about it. Readying his two swords, he rushed in to slash at Violence with one while guarding readily with the other.

Violence sighed. "Really, no one has formalities anymore!" A dome of shields appeared, blocking Violence from sight. His voice still echoed through, of course.

"You have to say something noble before attacking! 'This ends here, fiend!', or 'I will avenge those you have killed!'. You've got to make a show of it now, otherwise, the legend tellers will just embellish things you don't want later on."

The shields forced Custos to stop.

Goliath approached the shielded Violence, stepping around Custos. With another step forwards, Goliath bashed dome in and the shields aside with its two warhammers and thrust two swords and a spear at Violence. As the shield dome was destroyed a swarm of daggers burst out, all heading towards Custos. Violence himself darted out of the way of Goliath's assault, sliding to a stop a short distance away. "You I'll forgive for your breach of protocol. Teknall didn't give you a 'talk' feature."

Custos easily sidestepped the daggers, immediately moving around Violence.

Another javelin appeared in Violence's hand before being launched at Goliath, followed quickly by two more. Goliath deflected the first with a buckler and strafed away from the second. The third javelin, however, managed to get past Goliaths defences and embedded itself a few centimeters into its armour plating. Violence himself leapt above the robot, a rather large warhammer coming down to smash into the robot. With a burst of its jetpack, Goliath darted out of the way of the crushing blow, and its two sword arms lashed back at Violence as he landed.

From behind, Custos summoned a whip and swung it at Violence's hands, wrapping around them and giving a quick pull to both stop his strike and force him off balance.

Violence dropped the warhammer and yanked forward on his restrained arms, attempting to throw Custos into Goliath, as another shield appeared to stop the two swords. "No fair! I've had enough of being restrained. It's time we play all together!" Two axes appeared, trying to cut off Custos' legs.

Custos jumped to avoid the axes, this allowed Violence to pull him through the air. However, he was thrown only a short distance and avoided hitting Goliath, landing on his feet before and growing a glaive in his hands.

Goliath stepped aside from where Custos was thrown, then advanced upon Violence again, swinging its axe and two hammers and stabbing its two swords and spear at him.

Violence darted backwards and to the side, drawing two greatswords and spinning them around as he faced the two other avatars. "Come on now. Is this because I made you both realize you're hypocrites? It's hard not being the paragon's of justice you want to be, isn't it?" He threw both greatswords at Custos, called down a hail of a dozen javelins upon Goliath from above, and drew two great axes, waiting for the two of them with a smile.

Goliath raised its shields over its head and tried to evade the swarm, but its shields were quite small so quite a few of the javelins got past and stuck themselves a couple of centimeters into its armour, and one even struck its head. The injuries were all superficial to Goliath, though. As it plucked out the javelins, Teknall's voice came out from Goliath commenting, "We've been wanting to kill you for the past few weeks, for reasons already mentioned, which predate Vowzra's intrusion. Courtesies have never been high on our priorities." Goliath's head turned to look at Custos, as though waiting for some kind of signal.

Custos waited for the two to finish speaking, then immediately rushed at Violence, loosing an upward slash with his glaive that spat up dirt and grass from the ground. Simultaneously Goliath also rushed at Violence, its path curving around to Violence's flank before attacking with two swords and an axe.

Violence glanced off to the side briefly, head tilted in interest, before smiling. As the two avatars attacked him, Violence merely held open his arms to receive the blows. Custos' glaive hit him like a freight train, multi-colored blood splattering the ground as he zoomed backwards, lacerated and a leg missing from Goliath's axe.

As he flew through a tree and into the brush, a flash of white could be seen as he smacked into a hain, the two of them falling in a heap. The Hain took a breath as if to scream. All of Violence's blood rose and poured into the open mouth, silencing his screams as he thrashed on the ground.

When the last drop of blood had been drunk by the Hain, he stilled, as if dead. A moment later he sprang to his feet, eyes now multicolored whirlpools.

"Ooooh." He cooed, holding up a hand. "A new toooy." A ball of what appeared to be compressed air formed in it, before being thrown towards a tree. The tree exploded into thousands of splinters, flying through the air.

"What do they call this magic...destruction magic? Simple, but apt." He threw out a hand, a beam of compressed air appearing and eradicating the trees and rocks around him. He giggled. "I am Tular. Herald of Violence! Well, technically I, Violence, am in control right now, but Tular can be in control too! At some point. When he's done freaking out!" Tular threw a dozen balls of destruction magic at the two Avatars in front of him, intent upon seeing how well it'd do.

With a burst of its jetpack, Goliath burst high into the air above the explosion. As it ascended, it aimed and fired two crossbow bolts at Tular.

This is quite the turn of events, Teknall thought to himself. Next time I get the chance, I need to give Goliath some better armour.

Custos summoned an ethereal bubble, shielding him and shrugging off the explosions. He drove his glaive into the ground and a split second later, roots with sharpened stone tips erupted under and around Tular's feet.

Tular darted away, cartwheeling to the side as crossbow bolts slammed into the roots. "Tsk, tsk! Didn't you learn from beating me up? The same tactics over and over again don't work!"

He threw eight more balls of destruction at Goliath, two on each side and two above and below it, before firing a beam at Custos.

Already flying, a quick burst of Goliath's jetpack was enough to get clear of the flurry of destruction balls. As Tular aimed and fired a beam at Custos, Goliath swapped its spear and axe for two more swords and took the opportunity to charge. Its jetpack at full power, Goliath cleared the distance between itself and Tular at supersonic speeds. Goliath crashed down on top of him, then attacked, pressing forwards and stabbing out with its swords repeatedly.

"Really now. I heard that from a mile away!" Tular rolled under Goliath, dodging the crashing limbs and swords. Quickly, he gathered destruction magic and released it in a sudden dome of magic, the bubble of seemingly clear air going a good 100 feet and destroying almost everything in its path.

The explosion hurled Goliath away from Tular, and Goliath tumbled across the ground until it came to a stop, where it pushed itself back to its feet. Goliath's strong armour and frame prevented the blast from destroying it like it did to the hillside, but it was clearly battered. The breastplate was buckled, a crack ran across one eye, and its right shield arm had suffered a misalignment and now only moved jerkily. Despite the damage, Goliath was far from disabled.

"Come on, Custos, we need to work together on this one!" Teknall shouted.

"I will shield you while you move in, I will hold it until the last moment," Custos responded, the shielding around himself dropping and instead forming a full bubble around Goliath. At the same time, he started charging at Violence, one hand towards Goliath and a summoned sword towards their opponent. Goliath charged as well, the shield following him as he closed in on Tular.

Tular cracked his knuckles. He gestured and the sword was shattered by a ball of destruction. "My, my. This is rather brute forced! You didn't even try to flank me!"

He gathered a mass amount of destruction magic and sent it in a stream towards the charging Avatars. The shield Custos had cast around Goliath served its purpose, and the stream of destruction did not touch Goliath as it approached, pushing through the magic. When Goliath was a meter away from Tular, it sidestepped as the shield disappeared then struck at Tular with its swords.

Tular dodged backwards, letting out another dome of destruction magic. "You seem to like doing nothing while others die or fight for you, don't you Custos!" He taunted. "For an Avatar of War, you seem awfully content letting Goliath do all the work."

This time, Goliath was able to brace for the dome of destruction magic, countering the knockback with its jetpack such that Goliath only skidded backwards a few meters with just a few extra dents.

Custos hadn't, in fact, been doing nothing. It was just that Goliath got to him sooner than he did. It was right when he finished talking that Custos' blade would be slashing at him, inches from Tular's form and about to make contact.

The blade smashed into a shield, protecting Tular's side from most of the damage. Immediately, the hain avatar's arm came down, hand gripping the blade, trapping the weapon. A dome of destruction magic burst off of him again.

The dome of magic forced him to let go of the sword and let it crumble as he was forced back, his feet making deep lines on the ground.

Tular angled his beak upwards slightly, one palm open. "Nowhere to run now Custos...and no time to hide." He followed up his words with a ball of destruction magic.

Custos looked up in time to see the ball coming at him and raised his arms, crossing them in an 'X' shape as strong shields formed. Then impact. The ball exploded, cracking the shield and in other spots chipping away at it. He was sent into a hillside, a small cave being driven in by him.

Tular giggled. "What? Can't do much now that you aren't the only ones with magic? Everything is equalized now and you're getting thrown around like rag dolls! I'll be sure to show your followers the severed heads of the champions their Gods sent, just to demoralize them before their lives are brutally ended and their villages destroyed!" He threw three more balls of destruction into the cave Custos had made, before turning his attention to Goliath.

"Run, run as fast as you can. It won't matter in the end, tin man!" He sang, creating a disc of destruction magic and throwing it at Goliath, adjusting its path with gestures of his hand.

Custos erupted out the top of the hill, the balls of destruction impacting inside and creating a large cave inside. He landed on the top, only for a moment.

The disk followed Goliath as the robot strafed to the side. It braced for the blow and brought up a shield, but the disk flew around to Goliath's right side with its damaged shield arm and Goliath could only parry with a sword. It was an ineffective defence, and Goliath was hurled across the ground, tumbling and sliding. The sword was thrown even further and embedded itself in the ground fifty meters from Goliath.

The giggling from Tular erupted into a hysterical cackle. He paced forward with both palms upturned, only for his hain fingers to claw and gather another pair of destructive disks. The disarmed and stunned avatars before him prepared to meet a coup de grace.

"THE TIDE PEAKS!"

The unnaturally low and booming voice cut through the entire fight. Nearby, a thin, porcelain, humanoid stood straight and tall as a giant, holding a pole-hammer as tall himself in one hand, shaft end against the ground. The giant's body was covered in thick white plates of armour, leaving no features for muscle tone or a face. A tapering red circle containing two more red circles within it broke the pattern at the centre of the giant's chest.

The red insignia's origin could be processed in the time it took for Tular to react to the ringing of chains from behind himself; not long enough. Wickedly barbed, mace-like weights spun around each of Tular's wrists, wrapping them in equally vicious porcelain links. An incredible tug from both chains shunted the hain's body around like a puppet. His eyes found the second challenger.

Tular tsked. "Toun, it's not your turn yet! You'll have to wait in line. I've got to deal with this village first!"

The chains faced a thin, porcelain armoured figure with a red insignia on its chest, similar to the giant. Unlike the giant, this one was petite and almost feminine, shorter than any avatar present. It was standing braced with feet spread wide, back hunched and arms forward and back. In either gauntleted fist were the other ends of the taut chains that bound Tular's arms. A wispy white cape drifted with the wind behind it like a cloud of fog and its voice touched with similar gentleness.

"But my wall yet stands..."

The lesser one scraped her foot in a quarter-circle on the ground while it turned to its side and whirled its arms up and away from Tular. The dust rose as it followed through, whirling its arms low and up in front. For a blink, the chains had slackened. Then, it threw its hands as low as it could, bending its knees.

Tchchchchchchchchch!

The chains' slack was tightened by kinks that ran from the figure to Tular. Every link was being thrown up and dragged down. Tular was the last link. He was whipped into the air as the chains let him go.

"WRAH!"

The greater figure had already leapt up after the possessed Tular, bent back and the polehammer wound up to strike him back into the ground.

Tular looked up at the hammer about to smash him into the ground. "Us damn it." A shield quickly formed in front of the hammer, taking the brunt of the blow. The kinetic force still sent him smashing into the ground, however, and he left a dent in the ground from where he hit.

"This is all rather abrupt. Toun I told you I'd visit you later! But here you are, interrupting a session not even belonging to you. Tsk tsk my good man, bad form."

He threw a dozen balls of destruction at the big one and darted towards the little one with two axes.

The destruction flung at the greater figure prompted its defence for long enough for Tular to escape. One end of its hammer blossomed out into perpendicular spokes as a shield. Each impact of the exploding destructive spheres ground its feet back along the dirt.

Meanwhile, Goliath had gotten back onto its feet. Any emotions Teknall may have had about the arrival of the porcelain figures were not conveyed through Goliath. Goliath did not go to retrieve the dropped sword, for that would take too long and it had three more. Instead, it advanced back into the battlefield.

Custos in the meantime had been watching the proceedings, he had known for a while that the two porcelain figures had been nearby thanks to Kyre's sense, but had not seen fit to do anything about it due to no hostile intent being detected. At least not enough intent to be truly worried. However, now that they've made their goals clear, this fight would be over that much quicker. Summoning an ethereal katana to his hands, Custos moved back towards the battle.

The lesser figure raised its arms either side of its shoulders, curling the chains up to hover loosely in the air while Tular closed the distance. The last instant before Tular struck saw the figure dip around such that its body was obscured by its floating cloak. Tular's axes pushed the ethereal fabric aside, but did not chop into anything more than air. The lesser, one obscured by the cloak, had already flipped over Tular's head.

Tchchchch-kn! The barbed chains bit into Tular's ankles. The lesser figure twisted its upper body and the chains were thrown to the side away from Tular. They took him with them in an instant.

Goliath moved in to intercept. As Tular swung past, Goliath thrust its spear forwards to impale the hurtling hain.

Tular summoned shields erratically to block the spear, and the weapons that followed them. One slipped through, smashing into his shoulder. Tular screamed in pain and rage. A bigger dome of destruction magic erupted free of him, forcing back Goliath and going as far as the little one was with its chains. The lesser one braced and held its chains taut to remain standing.

"Enough games!" Tular snarled. He grasped the chains bitten into his ankles and heaved, yanking the little one towards him, a ball of destruction magic already ready to meet its face. The ragdoll-like tumble of the little one appeared at first to be uncontrolled. However, halfway through its flight, it pointed its feet together towards Tular and flew straight. From off to the side, the greater one held out its polehammer and it stretched forth until it was shot into the lesser one's path. The lesser one's feet landed upon it and its knees bent into a deep squat against the haft of the porcelain weapon. It was slowed to a stop, held up by the chains. With Tular looking ahead, one chain had wrapped up between his legs, behind his torso and up around his wrist.

There was a loud crack and the lesser one bent back. The chains flew from Tular, broken. The lesser backflipped onto its feet on the ground, one foot just behind the other and cape floating down behind it. The chains curled back, broken from the barbed chains that now partially bound Tular with his pulled backwards towards his ankle.

With Tular distracted by the new arrivals, Custos flew in from the side. Readying a downward diagonal slash at his arm.

The greater one shot its head around to Tular as its polehammer slid and snapped to its natural length. It broke into a run for the hain, polehammer held forward in both hands.

Tular snarled in annoyance. He ignored the multiple chains around him, instead focusing on the charging porcelain figure, and Custos who was closing in with a slash. He threw a couple destruction balls at them, sending a swarm of daggers right after.

The greater figure spun to dodge one of the balls. The other projectiles it met with a stop to brace and a thrust of its hammer, detonating the destructive force with a paraboloid of creative energies that casting the greater figure in a shadow of safety. The daggers ricocheted away in turn, casting off in different directions.

Custos' slash was instead used to cleave the destruction balls in halves, detonating then and enveloping him in a cloud of dust. Instinctively a wing swung around and covered his front, thunks sounding as the daggers hit immediately after.

The lesser one had repositioned already. It stood a short distance away, legs slightly apart in a strong posture. Its chains were suspended and curled in the air either side as it slowly raised its splayed fingers. A low thrum sounded. Tiny beads of red ink formed on its fingertips. The thrumming stopped. The beads of red, like tiny red flies, ran up the two chains until they reached the ends. The last links of the broken chains expanded into another pair of barbed white weights, these ones inscribed with tiny red glyphs.

The weights shot forward towards Tular. The chains whipped in waves behind them. At the last second, the weights diverged and curled around either side of Tular, homing in on his torso in a blistering orbit. They spun around and wrapped him in the chains fully, constraining his legs. They then pulled to the ground and forced Tular to his knees.

Finally Tular was immobilised, and Custos finally caught up with the fight. Taking the katana in a reverse hand style, he swung it horizontally at Tular's midsection, using his elbow against the back of the blade for more force.

Goliath wasted no time in seizing the opportunity as well. It fired two crossbow bolts at the hain and advanced into arms reach, where it struck out with weapons from each of its six hands.

A dome of shields appeared around Tular to block the attacks from Custos and Goliath, but they did not stop for a moment. Each frenzied strike tore away a shield, such that Tular was fully focused on replacing the broken shields that were his barrier between himself and the other avatars. Yet Goliath and Tular were doggedly persistent, and between each of its blows there was an opening it Tular's defence. There was nowhere to run.

So distracted, Tular could not halt the advance of the greater porcelain figure. It banked in its renewed charge, peeling away from Tular and Goliath until it looped around. It had its hammer raised to one side, poised to strike at Tular's back. The last pace had the giant skid to a stop, bend its knees, and see all of its remaining momentum flung through its arms into the arc of its polehammer. The tip of the hammer strike tapered into a hooked point in the last instant.

The Avatar of Vestec could only scream in frustration, abruptly silenced with a vicious crunch as the point slammed into his head. Multicolored blood and porcelain spikes exploded out of the body in a bright spray. Tular was limp and lifeless. The blood rapidly drained into the ground, disappearing all to quickly from sight.

At once, the cacophony of the raging divine battle had given way to the wind and the pattering of blood.

The chains that bound Tular's corpse uncoiled and lazily snaked away, their red symbols having evaporated. The white spikes that had violently ruptured Tular's shell receded and allowed the body to slide off the point of the polehammer it hung upon. The greater twin stood up straight and dug the haft of its weapon into the ground. The blood beaded into rivulets and dripped from the hammer point. The giant's voice reverberated over the new peace. "The tide recedes."

An unusual breeze counteracted the field and the lesser twin's cape settled low. The cape's movement was the first sign that it had taken up position next to the giant, standing with one foot slightly forward. Seeing them side-by-side only increased the difference in their statures.

"Brothers," the wispy voice cooed from the lesser twin, addressing Goliath and Custos. "What business had you in stopping Vestec's avatar if his horde was made to claw at Cornerstone?"

Goliath sheathed its weapons and returned to a neutral stance. If Goliath had been capable of emotion, it may have been relieved that the battle was over, or possibly joyous that victory had been achieved, but instead it just stood there.

Teknall's voice came from Goliath in reply in a matter-of-fact manner. "Many, many villages stand between here and Cornerstone, all threatened by the horde. Without Vestec's Avatar, those mortals have the opportunity to win a victory over the horde. Preparations had already been made to battle the horde before Vestec created his Avatar, and that Avatar jeopardised those plans.

"I should thank you for your intercession, though, regardless of your motives. It made a significant difference. Send Toun my gratitude."

The twins were still. The lesser one's cape billowed loosely in the wind for a few seconds and its faceless head angled itself. "They are...your servants?"

The soft words of the lesser twin were interrupted by an oppression in the atmosphere. From the smooth face of the greater twin, a horizontal split formed and bulged. The slit widened to reveal a bloodshot blue eye. A voice they all recognised spoke with its signaturen quivering temper. "You would do well not to depend on my incidental actions to protect your feral hain. Majus the greater and Minus the lesser will not always be there to slay Vestec's agents of chaos."

The lesser twin, Minus, turned its head around to Majus' new eye through which Toun was projecting. It had a pace of curiosity.

Majus twisted its head to the still-bleeding corpse below him, and then up to Custos. The blue eye did not blink. "And what of you, creature of Kyre? What is your hand in this affair?"

The avatar of war was silent for a few moments, looking down upon the hain corpse. His weapon dissipated into the air as he looked to his equal, in size. "It was my actions...," Kyre spoke from the mouthless face, "My actions gave Vestec reason enough to send out his hordes, and I aim to fix that mistake. This fight was part of it." He looked in the direction of the future battlefield that was the hain village, "And now there is one last event to oversee to finish it."

"So it was your actions that sent the horde and that abomination this way?" Majus was still, but the eye on his face quivered as the words were spat into the air. "Do better next time, brother. You are not to lower yourself to Vestec's behaviour. I will be seeing you both again, in time."

Both Majus and Minus turned on one foot. Minus turned its head and gave the avatars another blank look over its shoulder before they both lifted into the air. A boom rang out as they shot back east, towards Cornerstone. The wind lifted a sigh of sand in their wake.

There was quiet for a few moments. Then Goliath's head turned to face Custos and Teknall said, "Don't worry too much about him. All of us make mistakes some times. I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity to make up for those mistakes." Goliath took a few strides across the churned and cratered earth until it came to its dropped sword. It reached down, picked it up, and sheathed it like the others. "Today was one such opportunity. When the horde marches upon the village, that is another. And there will be many more wars in the future, I'm sure, where you'll be able to do more good than bad. Goodbye for now, Kyre."

Goliath's jets flared and it rocketed skywards, heading to low orbit. Custos watched Goliath depart, then turned and walked away, disappearing amongst the trees, leaving the scarred earth and the corpses of Violence and Tular behind.

After the Realta struck at the face of Alefpria, the tremendous city dwindled in its former atmosphere - a sort of disease of fear and doubt permeated the streets. Soldiers were stationed all around the city, particularly near the open sore in Alefpria's defenses known as the bay. A massive blockade was established, forts made of wood dotted the beaches and the brick layed ramp leading into Alefpria's coastal streets, that which were still being repaired from the previous incursion. All eyes in Alefpria's vast population looked to the skies, and all mouths spoke of horrible creatures of solid crystal.

Except for one person, who meditated deep within his chambers, mediated his thoughts and his senses as he found words to say to his people, reassurance to give after such a horrendous massacre. Upon the neatly tiled ground in front of him sat the slain Realta, assorted in a gruesome pile of twisted limbs and torsos. He gazed into the white skin of such creatures, narrowing his eyes at any dips or flaws in their destroyed landscapes, and then it came to him.

"These are the enemy." was comfort enough.

With just a single speech, the hearts of the thousands of sentient beings under his charge can suffer a titular shift in alignment, it was simple social physicality. Emotions were Lifprasil's domain after all; it was such an advantageous and fickle thing to have precedence over. He picked up the halved Realta, jerking it from the throws of its dead comrades as he stood to his full height, the many-bladed beast upon his waist quaking in anticipation.

It would not have its slaughter today, but some days after this, it will, Lifprasil knew this much, it would bite his enemies, and they would be slain by his rage. He stepped forward, marching through non-euclidian corridors to an open hall aligned within near perfect symmetry with the seemingly vertical cut in Alefpria's body: the Grand Road of Alefpria. This would be where his allies would meet.

Lifprasil dipped off of his perch, floating down above the crowded street below, filled to the brim with worried hearts: hearts that needed a void to be filled with the reassurance of their formerly gentle leader. Lifprasil had to change to save his people, and to make his promise of a fantastic army under his guidance a reality; he had to make himself stern.

With the sweep of an arm, the halved Realta corpse fell into the street below, causing the crowd to recoil in fear.

"Have naught fear, but stand courageous against that is your enemy," began the exalted Demi-God, speaking however gently. "This beast was created to exterminate that which is to necessitate our continued existence: ourselves, as a culture, as a city, as even a memory. These creatures were built to annihilate these things that make us, and Galbar in its entirety. As their target, we must become steadfast as their hunted, and we must strike out where they reside, and bring unto them fury that we've experienced within these past few days."

The crowd seemed tense, but Lifprasil sensed a subtle hint of joy trickling up from the bottom of their psyche. He had their attention. Soon, that joy began to fill the cup of his audience's collectivity: he influenced these people directly, for the first time he extended his power to the masses, rather than just individual people.

He was using his emotional control to inspire Alefpria.

"Soon, the gods will visit, and with them I promise unto thee an army so mighy as to defend Alefpria's sovereignty from these monsters, so I ask of those beneath me to take this time to grieve: but in due time, Alefpria will be the one to repeal this invasion, and assure the safety of you and your children for a thousand years." finished Lifprasil upon a high note, which was met with quiet, preceeded by a low drone, then followed by a tremendous cheer. Lifprasil relinquished his control, now what motivated the crowd was its own forward motion.

He lifted himself away from the roaring crowd once it ceased its cheering, and a rain fell upon Alefpria. "Be with yourselves and your family, recover from these darker days, and soon we will stoop to greater heights - my beloved people." dismissed Lifprasil as he ascended back to his palace. Back to the hall he left.

The rain fell in a thick lot, hanging over Alefpria, but rather than dampen its mood, it felt as if it cleansed away the negativity, leaving only a clean slate within its wake. A perfect meter for the gods to arrive upon.

One god in particular, of course, was- In her peculiar way- already there.

The cloaked figure seemed to glide within the crowd, those people that had yet to shelter from the rain. Those who had lost nothing but their illusions in the attack, and whose grief was not intimate but shared for the whole of Alefpria. With no such bitter edge to dull, their anger was already beginning to resound into resilience. Some of them looked up at the squat vagabond between them before they returned to their quiet talk.

No guards blocked him on the bridge- All Alefprian citizens were permitted to approach the palace. Its inner gates were more difficult. Two well-armed trolls in the bright ornaments of the palace wardens took an appraising look at the sopping wet stump of a citizen, draped with so many hoods and scarves that they must surely cover his eyes, and crossed their polearms.

There was some verbal confrontation. The charmless stranger kept edging away from the guards as he spoke, backwards and sideways, though his cloak didn't move. They insisted he at least show his face in order to enter, and in a diplomatic habit of a liar he said this was not possible. At last he consented to show them something wrapped in his sleeve, and with some discussion, they accompanied the sleazy fellow in.

As soon as they were within sight of Lifprasil himself, the trolls made practiced salutes as another set of warriors announced them, the vagabond made a bow, revealing how shrunken his whole upper body really was compared to his head, and how disproportionately tall his legs must have been.

"O Emperor of the Alefprian Nation and Territories, Divine and by Divine Right, your Most Humble Servant, Honoured he is to be in your presence, who is called by the name Dabbles, has come from the Sacred Enclave of the Great Other God, Horrible Engineer of the Sea Beneath the Sea, and been Chosen to perform His Voice." The tone changed into something less sweet, and probably more honest. "When it is pleasing to you, my liege, or perhaps when the divine cast is convened, the flesh puppeteer will direct my tongue." Dabbles stood upright and put his stubby arms together in his sleeves, head bowed in a polite show of patience.

Lifprasil was seated at the head of the table, looking out into the despondent sea of cleansing rain outside. He crossed his legs, setting his hands on a knee.

"Prosit, Dabbles, please take a seat beside me," said he, swiping a finger, and pressing a chair out of its place with a thought. "I hope you've enjoyed Alefprian hospitality. Lifprasil then said, wearing a reluctant smile, despite his mood.

A thud was heard through the room as the body of a Goddess appeared on top of a chair near Lifprasil, "Ugh-" She grunted. Her hair was long, lavender in colour and lightly curled at the tips. Her voice was soft and comfortable to the ear and she wore a silken white dress that reached down to her ankles. She was trying her hardest to find the chair comfortable, but the way she shifted around betrayed her true thoughts of the furniture. "I can't say much about the hospitality, as I haven't been around that long, but I enjoy the happiness your plants exude."

Lifprasil looked to the formerly ditzy goddess of magic with an air of suspicion - things had changed. "You're not the Astarte I remember you being," Lifprasil greeted, he felt a tinge of reassurance at the fact, however. The former Astarte was very intent upon nearly getting his second-in-command killed.

"No matter how much you may change, you are still my friend," spoke the Demi-God of emotion, tender upon his delivery. "And whatever miscreants have wronged you are an enemy of Alefpria," he then added; alluding to her experience with Amartia. "How are you?"

Astarte smiled demurely at Lifprasil, taken aback for a moment from such a show of friendship. "I'm fine," She said before looking elsewhere, at the guards' shocked expressions. It reminded her of some of the things she'd seen around lately. And also made her want to bite them.

For some reason, she always felt like biting mortals who were surprised to see her.

"I don't believe your mortals are used to Gods and Goddesses, though. Are you sure they're well prepared for the meeting about to take place?"

"I am confident in the competency of mortal men and women. They won't be afraid of the awesome power of the gods on this day, but rather be amazed by it - such fantastic and unbridled power is the thing of myth, after all; and who doesn't want to see their favorite myth come to life?" responded Lifprasil, "This will be a day most talked about, I would say. he added, smiling pleasantly at the positive attitude of Astarte.

It was one of the many expressions of positivity the bastard child had in his repertoire - but this one seemed the most innocent, as if Lifprasil was just a young, lost child again. This expression was no lie, either, nostalgia, if it could be called that, was a pleasant sensation. After all, what may have been only moments apart for some of the beings attending this summit was thousands, and thousands of years for himself. If not longer.

Lifprasil decided to gaze back into his meditative state - just to see if any other gods were making their approach at this opportune time; and to gaze into his target, the tear in the universe at the top of the world, guarded by the Universal Owl he had come to know as 'Logos'.

It was an ugly mark on the fabric of reality, this rift, not nearly as expertly laden as Belvast's, and as if simple geometry, roughly guided a path between two worlds.

Suddenly, the dream was punctuated by a change in scope, he was perturbed back to his palace - but not within his summit.

There was a saying that nothing in life is free, and indeed, it was clear from the beginning that the palace that Ilunabar created for Lifprasil was a deal, not a gift. Beyond just being a cultural symbol and the most gorgeous of the wonders, it was also meant to be a connection between the goddess and the emperor, a figurative one most of the time, but not always.

Lifprasil was walking trough the halls of the palace when one of such connections was opened. Many areas of the building had gorgeous mirrored floors that almost felt water-like, suddenly, however, they became de facto water-like, and the emperor found himself diving into darkness.

Eventually, white shapes became clear, slowly forming a pure white forest. Dark snow fell from darker skies, making an unreal scenario of heavy contrast.

Only one non-monochromatic entity could be seen in this entire landscape, the goddess of dreams herself. Ilunabar looked distinctively different, not only was her outfit swapped from an extravagant garb to a discrete cape covering her whole body, but she looked oddly worried, if not tired, which was a great departure from her typically irradiant personality.

Lifparsil, upon his landing into this shaped reality, took to his knee, bowing before Illunabar, of whom had guided and helped him in these past few years.

"My Aunt of Dreams, what brings you to call me at such a time?" questioned Lifprasil, trying to hide his duress at her unkempt, terrified form.

Ilunabar stared at him for a few seconds, somewhat confused. "It was you who called me Lifprasil. But since I could not go to you, I decided to bring you to me."

Lifprasil stood, letting out a nervous chortle. "S-sorry. I expected you to join me in Alefpria. Why are you here? So far away?" he asked, looking at the distant horizon of this world of troubled fantasy.

"I believe you have already met the direct effects of Logos' arrival. The reason of why I am hiding away should also be evident."

She stood up and walked closer to Lifprasil. "He would have arrived anyway, he always desired kingship and to cleanse Galbar of what he perceives as mistakes. But, some people have it worse, no?"

She chuckled "Like the one person who stole mankind away from him. And I would have done that a thousand times again, I do not regret it, however..." she brought her arms out of the cape, they were as soft and delicate as always "Look at these, I know looks mean little for a deity, but these are a representation of me, I'm not a fighter."

She stared the emperor for a few seconds, waiting until he opened his mouth to speak before shushing him. "And I know what you will say. Oh, auntie Ilunabar, you have allies, you have your wits."

Lifprasil nodded slowly "Yes, and you have me," he responded, curious as to the reason behind Illunabar's exile.

Ilunabar sighed. "It was irony. I'm at wit's end and most of the people that resemble allies ask too much from me. Or are gone, like Zephyrion. Or are dead."

"So, for me, the only way to deal with all this, was the exile. Logos will want me to pay for the theft of mankind, so reality is a bit dangerous, very dangerous in fact."

Lifprasil felt crushed, needless to say.

"How long will you stay hidden? Exiled, I mean," questioned Lifprasil, pressing a hand into the handle of a blade long betrothed to him. The cusp of the rod was sharp, edged at the tip, so the sensation grounded him in the urgency of this crisis. "Alefpria wouldn't be the same without the Goddess of Dreams, you know."

"Ah" she pondered "For a while. I don't want to fight, and there will be a lot of fighting. There are also other issues beyond Logos. This is all very complicated." the cowardice was noticeable in her voice.

In her mind, every single sibling was a source of problems and a source of fear. No matter what path she took, the goddess could only see doom looming.

"Though Logos will probably find me either way. But here, I will not be immediately in the losing position. Ah, I really wish he could be gone, but that would be bad too."

She stopped walking and stood still for a few seconds, before eventually returning to herself "But worry not for Alefpriel, they can't escape my influence anyway, and reality is full of fissures I can exploit. Most of the societies are like that. Furthermore, the parade will go on, monuments will be built. I'm really unnecessary right now, my existence is limited to being the target of my sibling's ire and lack of appreciation."

Lifprasil frowned, he didn't like this turn of events.

"Tell me, how powerful is Logos? What does he look like?" he asked, "All I have is a prophetic vision of an owl and an impossible egg. As silly as it sounds, I believe my inane grip on what the Codex of Creation was allows me to see things unseen; whatever pages I have at my disposal, that is. And it's shown me visions of Logos." Lifprasil explained, wanting to share these things with Illunabar.

"I think everyone has been having dreams of Logos, he has been making his presence known for a good while."

"He is a big, grey-white man, large wings. He is also the master of physics, and in that sense, I fear most gods are in disadvantage if compared to him. Teknall's tolls, Toun's porcelain, Ull'Yang's sun, Niciel's.... nice things. He created a planet by himself."

The muse sighed and sat on a nearby rock that was perfectly hidden among the pure white of the ground and vegetation for anyone but the creator of the place. "Even Vestec's chaos or Jvan's flesh are very physical and therefore can be broken down into atoms by him. Now, there are gods who control concepts that are beyond his reach, I think, your mother had The Mind and I have dreams, but, I don't want to fight anything, I will just get myself hurt."

This was all, of course, the personal speculation of the goddess.

Lifprasil sat in front of her, cross legged as he thought upon the subject.

"If you are afraid, I should be terrified," he began with a low frown. "I am a demi-god, with only emotion as my true strength... But, I must do this, Galbar is my responsibility, the dignified timeline is my responsibility. I want to protect all these things, and I have to ask: don't you feel responsible for something? I've come to the conclusion that duty forebodes strength, so if I am dutiful enough in my approach, perhaps others like you can borrow my own determination." Lifprasil explained to the cowardly Illunabar.

He shifted in his seat, looking down at crossed legs. "I feel as if you should be at least a little concerned with something other than yourself and this place. Galbar needs protection." Lifprasil finished, his demeanor having stooped from worry, to fear, to sadness.

The world suddenly came to a halt, the dark snowflakes halted midair and the trees froze in position. Ilunabar rose up again and stretched her arms up, usually, this was accompanied by the sound of her many pieces of jewelry tinkling, but now that she only wore a cape there was nothing but silence.

"My only responsibility is to inspire others, Fate told so. The dead cannot inspire or create, so I have all the right in the world to worry. Furthermore, it is futile, even if I survived confronting Logos out there, then someone else would take the crown of terror. It could be Vestec's rampage, Jvan's consumption of all or maybe Teknall will finally succeed in teaching mortals how to make gods obsolete."

Lifprasil nodded.

"Terror cannot be ceased, no, but the need for it can be stifled, where does terror appear? With Vestec, Jvan, and Teknall, it appears from autonomy, from detachment. I think that maybe I may speak to this Logos, and make him see the wonders of this world; after my armies defeat his Realta, and he is forced to grant me audience. If not, I will kill him myself, just to show you how important these small upheavals may be. I will cease terror, however temporarily." he promised, as still as his entrapped surroundings.

"Even so, we speak of universal terror, terror that can easily step across reality to reach you. If you do not confront it, what will you do when it catches you? You cannot run forever, and the more you do, others will suffer."

"Even if killing Logos was within the realm of possibilities, then what? There will be a time when the god of logic would be needed to stop something worse and whatever happens from there onward would become your responsibility, or... you could become a new source of it, after all, Logos is full of good intentions and even Vestec thinks there are benefits to his chaos." the thought saddened Ilunabar deeply, Lifprasil was someone she cared for to a certain extent, even if she knew how thorny his path was.

"Huh? I thought I explained exactly why I exiled myself to here. Logos will follow me here, and I know that. The question is, how much is he willing to lose. I'm afraid of being hurt, but if my demise is certain, then I'm no different from any other cornered animal"

She laughed and waved her robe around a bit "If you don't understand it yet, just take a few steps back."

Lifprasil did just that, correcting his posture so that he backpedaled to a fair distance. "Alright - enlighten me, Illunbar."

On the third step back, the monochromatic land disappeared right before his eyes, turning instead into an odd wall of organic, or at least fibrous, looking metal.

Turning around would reveal a sight that Lifprasil might have sensed, but never witnessed himself, the flow of dreams, the Raka. Violent storms made of creative energy raged around him and entire dreamscapes crashed about just a few meters away from the young emperor.

However, there was something very odd about the location they were at. It surely looked like the Raka, but everything felt more *physical*. A quick glance up would reveal that the wall was, in fact, a tower, or perhaps the better word up would be "a bridge" as it was quite to notice that it went across a large planar rip that lead directly into the heart of Galbar.

The storm flowed toward the real world, yet it was blocked and filtered across the way, forming what could be called "a floodgate".

His eyes widened, watching the tumulous Raka rage against the wall that Illunabar held to protect Galbar. He was in awe at what he witnessed here, in Illunabar's phantasm.

"Is this the power of sentient creatures? Energy from the thoughts of all things? It's so immense." Lifprasil commentated, hair blown in tremendous, writhing arches from the pure, unseen force of the brilliant Raka. "Why is it targeted torwards Galbar?" he then asked, his exuberance dissipating like water to a flame.

The goddess shrugged "The need to become real is something that ranges from the lofty dreams to the creeping nightmares, so it is natural that with such a large connection, the flow will turn toward reality."

"But, there is no need to worry. I'm keeping everything in check, as long as I am fine the barriers will be fine."

Lifprasil nodded, the powerful flow of encapsulating energy pulsating, writhing in a line before him. "I see - and what if this barrier was broken? Would the immaterial become reality?" asked he, reaching out to touch the literal stuff of dreams.

"It would certainly bothersome." she smiled "To just thin the line between the real and unreal like that, to let gargantuan amounts of things that are not into the world that is. I think it would be a major hindrance for just about anyone and would surely get me on Fate's bad side, but then again, if I were to surely die, why would I even care."

He smiled, and retracted his hand. He would not touch the unreal today.

"I would care. But I see your reasoning, however troublesome it may be. I will not impede your wishes and your cares - but what do you gain from having this construct here?" Lifprasil voiced as his own, last quandary.

"Ah, I would have done this anyway, the fissure, in reality, that is." she grabbed Lifprasil's hand and carelessly flew with him at high speeds towards Reality, going up across the many dream worlds that acted as the layers of the seal.

Fields of flowers, a large library, a cityscape lit in the night, a land made of brass and orgel and finally, an oddly empty land. The only objects were replicas of buildings from Reality, including Lifprasil's palace.

"I needed some sort of purlieu between Raka and The Real for the sake of experimentation. Of course, that would only need some small connection, not a full-time impalation of reality. The weaponization of the concept is a product of our time."

She brought Lifprasil into the palace where he could see himself and his audience in the reflection. "For example, the land behind the mirrors has always existed conceptually. It was with it that I stole the humans, after all. But now that the fissure exists, I can properly materialize it."

Finally, she sighed "It is getting a bit hard to hold you up here, though, I guess you really need to wake up? For example, you have yet to tell me why you called me."

Lifprasil was shocked, so much material to process at once - this was truly a revealing venture.

"I'm sorry if I've been slow to my point - Alefpria was just attacked by Logos' Realta, and I've called Niciel, Vestec, Astarte, and Jvan together to form an alliance, and create an army mightier than what I've already built in pretense. I was hoping you could attend in this rallying cry against Logos, but I see now the scope of his fear mongering," he said, quickly.

"In short, I would like whatever help you could spare in this regard."

"There isn't much I can do. As I said, all my resources are running dry at the moment. Furthermore, I do not see how I can help the militaristic endeavors beyond the creation of pretty uniforms, something that Alefpriel is already full of."

Lifprasil nodded. "Thank you for your consideration, Illunabar, I'll be sure to contact you again when I've fulfilled what I've set out to do," he sighed. "You may send me back again, my Aunt, and I'll leave you to your duties."

Ilunabar nodded back. "Thanks for your comprehension Lifprasil. Good luck." and once again, the floor under Lifprasil turned into liquid and the emperor found himself diving down into darkness.

Falas and Loth were already inside, watching as each respective Goddess made their appearance. Falas barely knew any of them, unsure of what to expect. She remained motionless, her fingers intertwined in nervousness. Loth, for once, was also as ignorant in the subject as Falas was. He heard the names here and there, but he hadn't exactly made an effort to find and meet every God and Goddess that made Galbar.

As they waited, an orb of light began to form on a chair. It expanded slowly for a second, then it erupted into a pillar of white light, which quickly faded. Where the light once was now sat Niciel, her pure white wings neatly folded behind her back and her hands in her lap, one on top of the other. Her long white hair extended past her shoulders, and she wore a long light blue dress. She smiled at everyone as she appeared. "Hello, everyone. Lifprasil, thank you for sending me that message," Falas greeted them.

Falas bolted up from her chair at the sight of Niciel. "Mother Niciel!" Falas exclaimed. Falas immediately bowed deeply, not daring to show disrespect to her, and was mimicked by Dabbles. Loth also stood up from his chair, albeit more calmly, and nodded his head toward her. "A pleasure to see you again, Mother Niciel,"

"Both of you, please, sit," Niciel responded, motioning for them to do so. Once the three sat back down, Niciel added, "This meeting is not about me, but about Logos and his attacking forces. Let us keep it that way for now." Falas nodded, replying, "Yes, Mother Niciel." Niciel then turned to Dabbles and gave him a stern look, his mimicry having not escaped her attention.

After Niciel had finished speaking to her 'pets', Astarte sent the Goddess a friendly telepathic poke. Once Niciel turned her way, Astarte smiled warmly. It was quite clear as well that she was putting in a considerable amount of effort into keeping herself planted on her seat. Niciel turned toward Astarte, who had caught her attention with the poke, and smiled back.

Lifprasil stirred from his Illunabar-induced slumber as if nothing had happened - and it appeared as if the other attendeeds were hard pressed to notice. "Shall we begin? I'm sure Vestec's chaotic nature is causing him to be fashionably late." proposed he at the head of the table, arms and legs crossed, and facing towards the unjulating curtain of rain across from him.

Astarte nodded at Lifprasil, "It's to be expected from Vestec, I'll get him up to speed if he arrives, so let's begin."

Lifprasil took pause, waiting to see if any other words needed to be had before the beginning of this convention. Dabbles dipped his head. His chair seemed to have inched away from Niciel. "At your will, my liege."

"Very well," stated Lifprasil, attempting to shake away his incessant drowsiness.

"To bring it to a point, my friends, I want to create an army unlike anything Galbar has experienced, even more fearsome than the Realta of Logos' creation. I want to form an alliance between Jvan, Niciel, Astarte, Vestec, Illunabar, and myself all within a faction where we can use our merits peacefully to meet a mutual goal: destroying Logos' Realta, and routing him back through his portal," spoke the aspiring demi-god, his words flowing off the tongue like the serenity of a brook blue with its purest intentions.

Lifprasil punctuated his summary with a question.

"Does this sound reasonable?"

"No."

The rigid pose Dabbles had assumed in his chair had collapsed into something far less formal. His hands worked across his hoods, stripping off wraps and rags and tossing them to the floor. A flurry of faeries was rising from the folds.

"It is in intention alone that your plan has any viable chance of success. It can be done, Lifprasil. All things are possible. I just doubt that it will work." A thick layer of cloaks was pulled away from Dabbles' loaned body, revealing no head. What sat on his neck was a huge, clenched fist, black and red, the skin of a Vestecian bodysnatcher. On the left shoulder bulged an eye, and on the right, a mouth with which to speak.

The fist uncurled and displayed a huge green eye on its palm. Jvan rose from the seat and glided across the floor, pacing, not bothered to pretend this body had legs.

"Astarte." A nod. "Have you been looking for yourself?" She turned away, nodded, stopped. "Niciel." Pause. Then the palm turned back to Lifprasil, Dabbles's gloved arms gesturing.

"You have tremendous faith in mortals, little sovereign. We know that. But when Logos comes, how much are do you think you can entrust to their hands? Do you think you can save yourself behind a meat shield of your subjects?" She gestured broadly over the table. "Do any of you?"

"I've had help, Jvan. Like yours." Astarte smiled, "But to answer your question, I actually have no subjects, so I have no meat shield. I suppose a magical barrier would suffice, but it was a rhetorical question, so we shall never know."

"...Was it?" The hand turned to Astarte, curling back slightly. Then it opened, shrugged, and Dabbles slumped back into his chair. "Maybe not. Maybe I'm just looking for hope."

Lifprasil decided to interject at that.

"For somebody who relies on the strength of flesh, you have very little confidence in its ability. I don't intend to hide behind those I've chosen to assist me in this venture, in fact, I intend to lead them myself. That much was apparent in my battle against Grot," he explained, prompting an attempt to settle the doubts that plagued Jvan.

"Sentient creatures are an extension of myself, and I care deeply for them, and putting the ability to fight against the terrors of space in their hands, however few of them, is exactly what I want to do. In the end, however, I intend upon confront Logos myself."

"The terrors of space," Jvan echoed, drawing idle circles on the table with her index finger. "Have you considered becoming one?" A sigh, and a dismissive wave. "Better to have loved and lost, sweet Lifprasil, but no one has lost as much as me. It isn't... Fun. Did you know that it's my children he's coming for? If not for Teknall, millennia of work would have just... Gone. I still need to thank him." She lifted her hand from the table, quieter now.

"I can give you what you want and more, if what you want is to join me in losing it all again. I'm no saviour of the weak. Everything bleeds in the end; Only gods are unkillable. And I wonder."

"I know so, Oevadia was the cause of the Realta attack on my land, they were after her, and all those that were in her general proximity. Innocent people. Good people, of whom had no cause to be in this conflict. As for joining you in losing..." Lifprasil began, and stood from his ornate chair. "If it were with any of the people in this room, I would join them in loss ten-fold, just so the world would know my loyalty to them. And for this new threat: I will shoulder this burden by proxy."

Lifprasil paced, the armor upon his body shifting with each step, while the living blade upon his waist tightened its grip on him, past the mail that protected his flesh. He paced around the room, running hand against grooved pillars.

"No god cannot be killed, Aunt of Flesh, in my lands I hold the power that the God of Time left behind, something you wrote, and I read myself. In my charge, I now hold the Codex of Creation, accommodated in the form of a girl," gently spoke the immortal Emperor of Alefpria.

His voice was strange, it reverberated off the walls of his palace like music, straining in a way supernatural to reach his attendees.

"Your munitions are low, Jvan, but with my help, I can use the power of the biting Codex, and a fraction of your might, to not only destroy Logos' Realta and secure the safety of your children, but cease his transgressions completely; provided he does not see reason."

While Lifprasil had been talking to the others, Falas was in a bad mood. She did not like even hearing the name "Vestec", regardless of the reason or circumstances. "Don't look so moody. Vestec is a necessary evil," Loth said. Falas turned to him, surprised, and barely managed to say, "How-" before being interrupted. "I think I know you well enough to know what you're thinking, at least on a topic like this."

Falas then sighed and replied, "Vestec is the God that threatened to destroy our home with his horrible army. How could I not hate him?"

"You haven't even met him," Loth remarked.

"I don't need to meet him to hate him for his actions," Falas rebuffed.

"Fair enough. His actions are unforgivable," Loth conceded. "However, if anyone should hate him, it should be Mother Niciel, don't you think?" There was a pause to let the point sink in, then Loth continued, "Vestec's army could have destroyed everything we care about, yet Mother Niciel attends this meeting knowing that Vestec will take part in it. At the very least, we will meet this Vestec before we pass judgement on him. Is that fair?"

Falas was still displeased, but could see the reasoning behind Loth's words. "Very well," Falas said.

Niciel had been listening to the discussion between Lifprasil and Dabble, nodding on occasion. She took especially keen interest when the Codex was mentioned. Niciel hadn't thought about the Codex in a long time. "If I may interject," Niciel said, raising a hand. "Did you say you possess the Codex of Creation? How? And what do you mean by 'accommodated in the form of a girl'?"

"In the battle against Grot, a girl named Tira was involved in the conflict, with nobody to turn to, she was taken in by Lakshmi and Susa, who have cared for her since. By chance, Vowzra gave her the changed Codex before his untimely demise, and now she holds its power within her." explained Lifprasil in brief to the meeting, donning a ponderous smile.

Loth and Falas were now listening to the meeting, both confused and curious about the new development. "Mother Niciel, what is this 'Codex'? Loth asked. Niciel looked thoughtful, unsure of how to answer that question at first, but then she turned to him and said, "The Codex of Creation is perhaps the most powerful creation that the Gods have ever made. Back when the world was nothing more than a empty void, nearly every single God and Goddess added their power to it, and through it, this world and more was created. I am unsure of what happened to it after everything was created, though."

Niciel then turned to Lifprasil and said, "I would prefer that the Codex not be used against Logos and his Realta. Not unless it is our final resort. That much power.... I dare not think of what would happen if it was being used carelessly."

"Using the Codex would be a great risk, Lifprasil. I have to admit that I'd enjoy watching the results, though. Either way, I believe we can make do with something less... Extreme." Astarte raised her eyebrow and tilted her head toward Lifprasil.

"Which raises the reason of this meeting: the founding of an army of mortals that have power above and beyond the already mighty army of Alefpria. I would only use the power of the Codex against a truly omnipresent threat, but not against the Realta. The issue that stands is that my army of fifty-thousand mortals is incapable to fend off the engines of war that Logos beset upon Galbar, but take a fifth of that number, and give them the means to do so, and we may have an alternative solution to wiping out this threat; and protecting the things we so carefully manifested upon Galbar." Lifprasil set as response.

"May," repeated Jvan, whose focus had been keen on Lifprasil for some time now. A few things had fallen into place. One by one, her hand cracked its knuckles with its thumb. "If you're ready to send that army to its death, then I am ready to build. May their scars be many, and the blood paint freely."

Dabbles stood, and gazed out into the rain, seeing something beyond the grey deluge. "There is something else. A few things, actually. Foremost of them is something I've been waiting to give you, but I think, this time, it's better to break the surprise early. Don't you?" She looked back. "It's on its way. When we're all agreed, we can start our project there. If we can agree." A stump-armed, open gesture to the others.

Lifprasil stood not far from Dabbles, in fact, he was on the cusp of standing alongside Jvan's impromptu portrayal of herself.

"And what do you wish to bestow upon this meeting?" he asked, unphased by Dabbles's seemingly grotesque form. The bright green eye watched him from one side, blinked, and the hand flexed, stretching its fingers as far as they would go, flicking its wrist like a pianist before the keys. "I think you'll be well pleased," she said, teasingly, and somewhere behind that voice, one could hear a grin.

Astarte merely watched the exchange between Dabbles and Lifprasil. 'Was I ever that eccentric?' She wondered in relation to Jvan's cryptic behaviour, and so Astarte tried to change the topic from Jvan's cryptic message and back to the original point of the meeting.

"I'm all for the army idea. I wouldn't like to have to get involved personally in a fight against Logos or the Realta, so you can expect me to provide a good amount of help in building this force."

Lifprasil turned around.

"I was hoping you would - what do you have in mind for these 'Cosmic Knights'?" he asked, curious to see what the Goddess of Magic herself had in mind.

Vestec suddenly appeared in the room, burshing bits of plasma off of his body. "Sorry I'm late, some followers were requesting help and I can't let Teknall have all the fun. Now, what's this about an army and destructive spark?" He waved cheerfully at Niciel, bowed to Astarte and merely wagged a finger at Jvan. "You have only yourself to blame for this. If you had killed Vowzra quietly, Logos wouldn't have ever found out."

"Lifprasil, kindly instruct your father to set himself on fire at his earliest convenience." Dabbles hadn't turned from the window. "Oh, wait, no. The Realta already did that. Maybe I should be grateful to Logos after all."

"Tsk, tsk, now you're just being upset because I'm better at killing Gods than you are. Besides, aren't you well enough acquainted with being set on fire? What with the systematic execution and eradication of all your followers, creations, avatars, and things you've made. " Vestec giggled, floating upside down in front of Dabbles, who deftly continued to avoid looking in his direction. "However, for a favor I could protect you from him...and the other Gods, for two. They deem that you need to be put in check, to be judged for your crimes. Regardless, we've got an invasion to deal with. I snagged four of them recently, the other four I killed, and I can add one of them to this. I have plans for the other three."

"Vestec, do stop causing trouble with the others here. Jvan, don't provoke Vestec into doing it even more." Niciel scolded the two Gods. "We can hold this meeting without us squabbling amongst ourselves, and I suggest we do so."

"Niciel, dear, I would never cause trouble. But as you wish, poking fun at Jvan will have to wait." Vestec replied, disappointedly floating back over to the center of the room, still upside down.

Falas didn't really know what to expect from Vestec, but she wasn't expecting someone so easygoing and mischievous. "So, what do you think about Vestec so far?" Loth asked Falas. Falas was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then replied, "He's.... odd. I expected someone a bit more... evil, not this being in front of me. The more I think about it, though, the more I still hate him. He's still the one that sent an army to destroy the Valley of Peace. I'll never forgive him for that." She turned to look at Vestec again, only to find him gone.

"That's rather rude." Vestec spoke up from behind them, conspiratorially leaning in with them. He had teleported over immediately, at the mention of his name. "Assuming that I have to be like Logos to do my job. I didn't send to destroy, but strenghthen! If your Valley had never been attacked, the concept of death and war would still be a mere theory to you, while to the Realta it would be their bread and butter. You're far more prepared for the invasion now than you were before."

Loth and Falas, startled, jumped back when Vestec made his timely appearance next to them. After his justification of the army, Loth appeared thoughtful. "Hmm...." Loth thought out load. "If what you say is true... while I cannot agree with such methods, I cannot say that it didn't work." Falas was having mixed feelings about Vestec. On one hand, she wanted to strangle him. On the other..... well, she still wanted to strangle him, but she couldn't find the words to argue against Vestec. Instead, she merely remained silent fuming at him Vestec.

"My methods always work. It's your perspective that deems them monstrous. Your angels are used to death, and won't panick at the sight of it. They've seen far worse horrors in Grot than these invaders. They're hardened. Ready. Balanced against whatever other forces that they deem evil will arise." Vestec elaborated, floating around them in a circle.

Lifprasil was ready to greet his father, until the talk of Vowzra's death was presented. He didn't say anything, he just watched intently as the Gods squabbled about deals, and absent-minded threats.

Fantastic.

"Father, greed behests nothing from allies, and talking of deals lacks class. I've called on you for a mutual agreement, rather than a talk of one-sided deals. Can you manage that father? For me?" Lifprasil asked, pacing closer, and closer to Vestec, until he was toe to toe with the God of Chaos.

"Besides, I'm the one here who wants to do the fighting, you just have to give me the means."

Vestec turned his attention back to Lifprasil in an instant, completely forgetting Loth and Falas. "Tsk. You assume I have a care for class. But fine. For you, I will not talk to Jvan about saving her skin. Now, what's this army you want and how bloodthirstily insane do you want them to be?"

Lifprasil thought, pondered even, upon the idea of his great army's mood.

"I want them to be capable of mastering the chaotic nature of things, and harnessing the powers of destruction to protect. I don't want marauders, per see..." said Lifprasil, crossing his arms. "I want guardians of this alliance's things, or what they hold precedence over, not wreckers, so to speak." he explained to his father, sifting through his own thoughts.

"Well that's boring. How abou..." Vestec trailed off, looking up towards the sky light. In an instant, he was in front of Lifprasil, Chaos energy roiling off of him.

The moment stretched and blurred in time. Something was falling towards the high, clear arch of the hall's largest window with the slow grace of anticipation. On the instant that Vestec moved to respond, the illusion broke and stained glass shattered over the room.

Astarte jumped up from her seat with a gasp.

When the shock of high-pitched crashing faded into a tinkling ambience of raindrops clattering on fallen shards, Dabbles, still staring up through the next unbroken window, raised his arm and gestured easily towards the curved and ridged path of grey-brown steps that now rose steeply into the sky, seemingly unaware that someone had been interrupted. "It's here," commented a relaxed Jvan. "When we're ready."

Lifprasil tensed, and raised his arms up to brush away falling glass. That was going to be difficult to clean up.

"I see," said Lifprasil, while the guardsmen in purple all edged away from the shards of tempered glass scattered along the floor. Lifprasil, however, just stepped over it, and onto the risen steppes. "Let's see what Jvan is so eager to show us." he then announced with an inquisitive smile, nevermind the destroyed tapestry.

Dabbles nodded, and with a snap of his fingers- Relatively deafening, given their size-, he slid over the pointy mess and onto the base of the steps, then out, into the wind. For the second time, the fleshshaper was drenched. Perhaps that was useful. He was a small, light-bodied thing, and the path had no railing.

High in the heavens, something loomed, hovering on the powerful, humming groans of its engines.



"Wow," Astarte muttered once she glided over to the beginning of the steps, raising both of her eyebrows, "That's big."

Vestec looked at the ship with the air of a giddy child. "I'm getting one."

Loth and Falas stared at the ship in stunned silence, unable to believe their eyes. Loth was the more shocked of the two, realizing just how incredibly ingenious the Gods of this world could be. "Marvelous..." Loth whispered to himself.

Niciel stared at the ship, impressed. Not even she could begin to imagine how it worked.

Vast beyond measure for a living thing, the Fathership waited, easily a kilometer from end to end. Without an instant of fear, Dabbles climbed the many steps with an even legless gait, the path as thin as a hair in comparison to the metamorphosed, final form of the Ark. An airlock awaited at the peak, from which distance it was impossible to even see both ends of Father Dominus at once. The cultist waited like an esoteric concierge. "Come!"

Lifprasil heeded Dabbles' call, and followed him in an attempt to keep pace with his guide. His pace was much more frantic than the possessed person so eagerly scaling the impossible stairs of Father Dominus.

"This is very similar to your other creation, the one that produced Oevadia." Lifprasil commented, making sure to give the ground that steadily fell away from them a skirting glance, every once and awhile throughout their ascent.

"Really?" answered Jvan noncommitally. She seemed preoccupied with her own success. "Well, the one did make the other. I've been getting plenty of use out of my factory. And I think you'll enjoy the same from this one." Perhaps unwisely delaying Lifprasil's chance to enter, she made another odd bow with Dabbles' body. "Welcome to Father Dominus!"

A whirl of cloak and Dabbles was gone.

Airlocks sealed and reopened with solid, hissing snaps. High corridors congealed rather than built expanded before them, and work crews of Sweethearts jetted and whistled overhead. Many things that were clearly devices sprouted neatly from the walls and its recesses. All the architecture resembled the inside of a hollowed shell that sedentary creatures had claimed for a home. "The Fathership is an Ark, one of two. Designed and matured for mortal pilots, to protect what is fragile. It can traverse the stars at the speed of light itself. Hah!"

Sudden turns through the hangars and massive tubes led Dabbles to the ship's vast bridge. Grown into the arch of the near ceiling was a huge, glowing statue of what Father Dominus had looked like before he matured. The far wall, at the prow, was a transparent, hemispherical window, the size of a city gate. In between were devices like stringed instruments of thin tendons, pulsing drums and keyboards of teeth. Jvan spun on the spot, taking in all the fruit of her labour.

"This is it! This is the Ark. This is where our favoured mortals can be blessed and guided. Within its foudries we'll arm the Knights, body and mind!"

"I love it!" Vestec declared, scooting from place to place. "I'm so delighted you made this Jvan! There were two, you say? Won't be hard to find the other one. You'll be willing to share, I'm sure."

"Lifprasil, tell your father to shut up," said Jvan, reflexively.

"Jvan, I am currently one of the few Gods who don't want to judge you for blatant murder. I'd be nicer if I were you." Vestec tsked, idly pouring corruption into the ship. The pilot's panels took on a slimy, deep black aesthetic, glowing with stripes of green. Some of the modified levers looked suspiciously sharp.

"Uh, I'd actually like to use these things, you know," Astarte said in delight and took a sniff of one of the walls, "Do you think I could make plants here? I don't really like flesh all that much."

"You say as you walk around in a mortal form that is mostly flesh." Vestec noted, trailing a hand and corrupting as he walked. Dabbles flicked a cord with whatever was under its coats that passed for a foot, and a set of jaws locked over the delicate machinery with a sharp 'clack'. Vestec yanked his hand back, looking at Dabbles. "You could have asked nicely!"

Lifprasil gazed up, absorbing the architecture of the alien structure that was Father Dominus.

"This is all mine?" asked Lifprasil, bending a knee to run a finger along the floor beneath him.

"Yours!" Jvan threw back her hand and cackled. "And your army's. Take care of it, now; I have my own to keep busy with." Sliding into the engineer's pit, Dabbles began strumming the finely tuned strings, delicately tapping the stretched surfaces.

Streams of colourfully glowing particles were ejected into the air, and the vast viewing walls turned opaque. The hovering plankton arranged themselves into a ghostly shape of a nude Lifprasilian warrior.

"My last adjustment to this Ark was a wing of self-assembling industrial equipment. It was a crude work, and it will collapse over time, if you don't maintain it with your own power. But you will have your ten thousand from it. Now we configure them."

Dabbles turned to Lifprasil, holding a sealed metal tube with a single, flickering red slit of light. "A resource has recently come into my possesion, ideal for the Emperor of Alefpria." More accurately, it had been shot at her from orbit. "A... Certain agent has devised a material of much the same type as the Ark itself is constructed from- Arksynth. It's designed for human experimentation. Your Knights will be clothed in it. Like Teknall teaches craftsmanship, it is a means by which any mortal may follow in the footsteps of my divine art. Even though I craft them, your army will be its own, subject to its own mistakes, its own science and modifications."

"...And where would one find this...material of yours?" Vestec inquired innocently. An atmospheric port opened in the wall unnoticed, and a second, far smaller tube was promptly ejected in a burst of steam, smacking Vestec in the side of the face. "Thank you!" Vestec called as he tossed it into the Realm of Madness, protected by a bubble of Chaos energy.

There was a sparkle in Lifprasil's eyes, as if something had clicked within his trouble cerebrum. He extended his arms forward, immediately forcing a wreath of protective flesh over the warrior's body. Dabbles measured the specifications of the proposed change from his pit of flesh, and whistled from the shoulder. Numerous Sweethearts began whistling on the air, biting into control ports, fussing over Astarte and Vestec with chittering giggles. Even in a limited body, Jvan's knowledge of her own architecture was complete, and as Lifprasil adjusted the hologram, the engineer became a blur of vibrating cords and tapping fingers. A one-man crew, architect, and draughtsman, superhuman by experience alone.

Lifprasil then replaced the old flesh, exchanging mortal musculature for strength that could only be contained by the harsh, fibrous outer layer he had applied to the prospective Knight. Lifprasil envisioned destructive force unseen by even Logos' Realta, or even the Ogres of the Venomweald, masterful creatures of annihilation and protection to be pointed like a spear towards Logos' nest.

He ceased, however, realizing there were other people in the room.

"The plans are not yet finished, and leave much to the imagination." Lifprasil said, inviting the other gods to add to the still pliable draft.

The invitation fell on deaf ears when it came to Astarte, as she was busy giggling and playing around with the Sweethearts currently swarming her. At one moment, though, she yelped and flew straight up, phasing through the ceiling and out of sight. Dabbles' shoulder eye followed her in a startled glance, but was forced to concentrate on his work.

"Oooh! Ooh! I've got it!" Vestec darted over, regretfully leaving the Sweethearts all around him, hands moving a mile a minute. In a short moment, he had the new knights looking like mini-Grots. "Whoops. Wrong design." He erased it, adding things to them and erasing them as he mused. "Hmmm. Too many spikes. Too much murderous rage for some people's tastes." He looked pointedly at Lifprasil. "Too much weight. To little power...they're missing something...I've got it!"

At that moment, Astarte flew in through one of the walls, straightening out her dress and shuddering.

Vestec disappeared, reappearing in an instant with a wriggling Ashling in his hands. The human ashling was panicking, begging Vestec for mercy. "Lord of Chaos, please! I have served you faithfully! Slain your enemies! Spread your word! What have I done to deserve this!" Vestec looked down in surprise. "Oh. You're sentient. Oh well." The rest of the repetitive pleas were ignored by him as he examined the thing's essence. "There it is!" With a shattering sound, Vestec ripped him in half, tossing the bits of glass to either side as he cupped the essence. Dabbles picked up a shard that fell near him and flung it back.

"Versatility. That's what they were missing." He tossed the essence into the design, watching as it spread all throughout the body, like a blood system throughout. He idly caught the glass shard, throwing it back towards Dabble without a second glance.

"There! Now they can change their bodies like Ashlings!" Vestec stared for a minute. "....They also may be prone to bouts of uncontrollable murderous rage." Vestec shrugged. "That's my bit. Back to the adorable heart things."

He flew over to the Sweethearts, cooing as he pet them.

"... That human seemed nice, I hate it when you do things like that, Ves."

Vestec tilted his head at her, scratching a Sweetheart. "Nice by what standards Astarte dear? He tortured children, slaughtered women, and killed innocents. By most standards he was a monster. Rule number one about mortals. They're always nice and evil by someone's standards. I enjoyed him as a follower. Niciel here probably hates him. Rule number two. Your favoured mortals you can protect, and even enrich them. The rest are expendable and will die. Why not make them die in a good cause? A fun cause? Something that will give their short lives purpose."

"Astarte, tell your toy-boy that he's a hypocrite," let slip Dabbles absent-mindedly.

Vestec shrugged. "Never claimed I wasn't, Jvan dear. But what brought this conclusion about?" Dabbles hurled back the slice of glass.

Astarte sniggered, "Toy boy," She bit the tip of her tongue and punched Vestec playfully on the shoulder.

"Yes, yes my dear. I expect that nickname will never go away." Vestec giggled, flicking the glass at Dabbles again. "Cute but not an answer my dear Jvan. Or are you going to play the silent game with me? Should I ask Niciel to answer for me?"

Lifprasil sat between the bickering two, watching the shard of glass make flight between Dabbles, and Vestec. "I feel as if Vestec's point is relatively sound, however cruel he was to somebody who trusted him. Those who commit crimes must be brought to justice for their transgressions against those innocent." stated Lifprasil, spouting off his usual bout of social critique.

"That so?" Dabbles had been holding the glass between first and second finger, but his hand was shaking. The shard was crushed between thumb and index. "Don't make this harder for me than it already is, Lifprasil." She was whispering. "Please. Respect who I am." A thin whine sounded from the control booth, and Dabbles virtually spun between his work.

"I just grabbed him randomly. Could've grabbed an innocent Ashling dog just as easily." Vestec idly replied, watching Jvan.

Lifprasil's stance on the subject dwindled out of Vestec's favor.

"Sorry, my Aunt of Flesh."

"Ooooh. I think someone's maaad." He sang out, getting close to Jvan. "Who exactly ARE you, Jvan dear? The destroyer, like me? The conqueror, like Logos? The crafter like Teknall? The protector, like Kyre? The Artist, like Illunabar? The healer like Nicie-" He stopped, looking over at Niciel as she spoke up.

"Vestec, I believe I told you to stop antagonizing Jvan," Niciel said, looking down at him with disapproval. "And Jvan, it's not nice to call people 'toy boys', even if he does seem fitting for that name." "It is amusing though." Vestec remarked.

He held up his hands placatingly. "I'll have you know, I never start anything with our precious little murderess over here. She despises me for some reason, and tries to insult me. As if I have pride like Logos to be insulted."

"I don't care who started it, I want both of you to end it," Niciel said sternly, folding her arms across her chest. "You will both apologize to each other, NOW."

Vestec shrugged, glancing back at Jvan. "Why do you hate me. I imagine if we figured that out, apologizing would be easier for you. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I critiqued your style of murder. It was very...theatrical."

Dabbles's stumpy arm smacked a whorled node in his booth, harder than his ordinary mind would have allowed. Jvan withdrew her left fist, bleeding through its wraps, as an opaque black dome unfolded over her control pit, sealing her out of view. Waves of darkness passed over the holographic warrior, and after a brief power failure, it reappeared in a line of eight others in various species and styles. They flicked through alternate configurations with distracting speed.

"Father, cease this madness, before Jvan kills her envoy in anger and collapses this entire agreement." Lifprasil warned, reaching out, and setting a hand on Vestec's own.

Vestec shifted, his colors flashing in brief confusion for a moment. "Fine. I'll keep quiet. Stealing these adorable heart things though."

Astarte stared emptily at the eight quickly alternating configurations of warriors. Her face showed nothing but confusion at the things going on in the room. She'd never seen things like that before. How an image of a mortal could change so quickly with no divine intervention was beyond Astarte's understanding.

After a moment, she frowned and scrunched up her nose.

"I'll just throw my bit in," She said while raising her hands towards the eight figures. It was with no delay that her hands flashed a bright white and transferred some of her energy to the area the figures occupied. Energy that, when put into a living being, would bolster their soul into such a level of power that changing the course of a battle with their mere intentions would be within their reach.

She also made it so that they liked eating flowers and added a predisposition toward taking gardening up as a hobby.

"Let's hope that the modification reached the new soldiers."

There was no way to tell if Jvan had heard, but one of the holograms, the pink-blue ogre, gave Astarte two thumbs up.

"Pleasant," commented Lifprasil, perusing the interface.

He stopped, and inspected the eight figures, again. "To be truthful, the amount of variety would prove hard to modify with the Arksynth. We need a simpler jargon to this project," Lifprasil then said, bringing all eight creations to a synthesis. Taller than any other Lifprasilian, yet retaining the nimbility of a human being, the Cosmic Knights had a uniform shape.

However, something strange happened. Flowers appeared on the surface of the two remaining knights, both identifiably on either end of the gender spectrum.

"Even living machinations of war yield fruitful growth in the form of strange fauna, bred from current disposition." added the Immortal Emperor of Alefpria.

"Hmm, I wouldn't trust anything that grew off of them. Likely to be fed on blood and poisonous, given their disposition." Vestec replied, still cooing over the Sweethearts. He had already surreptitiously tossed a few into the Realm of Madness, protected by small cages of chaos energy.

As the others altered the two figures, Niciel pondered her options. There was plenty she could do, but the problem was that her ideas were just a jumbled mess in her mind. There was nothing she felt sure of. As she stared at them, however, pieces began to fit together in her mind. Niciel closed her eyes as she concentrated, letting her thoughts develop and merge together to create an epiphany.

Niciel opened her eyes, ready to implement her idea. Niciel cupped her hands together and concentrated. Four small revolving orbs of energy formed in her hands, each one a different color: Yellow, Blue, Pink, and Green. Niciel then split the yellow, blue, and pink orbs apart to form two of each, and sent one of each towards each figure. The orbs were absorbed into them, and three orbs then appeared around both of them, the orbs revolving around them at shoulder height. The orbs kept randomly alternating between yellow, blue, and pink, with no indication of stopping.

Niciel turned her attention toward the green orb that was still in her hand. Niciel stretched her hand out, sending the last orb forward, which stopped between the two figures. It stayed there for a second, then two tendrils of energy extended from the orb, each connecting with the two figures and creating a tether between the two. The tether soon dissipated, leaving only green sparkles that soon faded.

Niciel sighed in satisfaction, her work finally finished. "It's done," Niciel said, smiling proudly.

Lifprasil blinked. No additions were visible.

"Niciel, what did you do? I don't see any difference between the two, set aside the oscilating orbs." he said, blankly staring at the shimmering, holographic Knights before him.

Niciel nodded and said, "Allow me to explain." With a wave of her hand, the orbs that had been constantly changing color were suddenly forced to become yellow. "These orbs grant different abilites to these Knights depending on which colors they are. Holy Orbs, the yellow ones here, grant speed and strength to them." With another small wave of her hand, the orbs then changed to pink. "The Pure Orbs, the pink ones, allow the Knights to heal at an increased pace," Niciel continued. Another wave of her hand, and the orbs finally changed color to blue. "The Barrier Orbs, the blue ones, create a barrier around the Knights, which will allow them to withstand damage they normally wouldn't be able to."

"The most important orb I added, though, is this one," Niciel revealed, placing her hands together. A tendril of green energy appeared from each of the two Knights, which then connected to form a tether between the two. "This tether connects two Knights together, allowing them to share the power of the current orb the other is using. For example, one Knight would be using the Pure Orbs, while another would be using Holy Orbs. Both of them would gain the benefits of both orbs. Unfortunately, the tether can only extend a short distance before it breaks, and anything that would block the tether would break it as well." On that note, the tether quickly dissipated, as well as the orbs.

Lifprasil nodded, cupping his chin in a hand.

"Impressive," said Lifprasil, nodding his head. He stayed seated, cross-legged in front of the holographic display. "This bond is shared by how many Knights within their general proximity?" he asked.

"All Knights should be able to make a tether, but a tether can only be created between two Knights and no more," Niciel answered.

"My, my. This is quite the force of nature we've created." Vestec noted. "With this army, one could destroy the entire world in a moment. Or establish an empire in a matter of weeks." He looked at his son. "Fortunately for you, I'm taking some of these shiny warriors from you so you don't have it too easy. Empire building requires things after all. The blood of soldiers, the sweat of masons, and the tears of the conquered."

"Save it for after the campaign against Logos. Then go back to your scheming." Lifprasil requested.

"Maybe try not to fill too many rivers with tears though, heh," Astarte chuckled and bit her tongue lightly. She looked in Niciel's direction and floated over to her side, "I like the orbs, they're very pretty."

As though her words had jinxed it, several vents from which the sharp specks of light composing the schematics had originally flowed re-opened. Both figures bowed, and the airborne plankton were siphoned back into the veins of Father Dominus, the orbs joining them in the spiral of fading stars.

"Hey! Where are they going?" Astarte asked, stretching a hand toward one of the leaving orbs a second too late.

Without the colourful display of potential, the bridge felt oddly empty. The number of sweethearts in the room had lessened noticeably, and not just for Vestec's idle theft. Sad little hoots accompanied the remaining crew as they fled into shelters and maintenance tunnels. Four deities and two angels could not fill the vast hall made for many.

Every breath echoed. This ship yearned for a crew.

"Uh-" Astarte began.

"The divine magic is being harnessed," interjected a voice, distinct but not loud, solemnly authoritative- The Fathership's telepathic broadcasting mechanism. "When all are ready, the onboard manufactory will assemble and your harvested energy will be channelled into the necessary machinery."

A curved disc rose from somewhere, like a tarnished jellyfish. Four indented handprints lined its bell. "Your respective individual touch is necessary to initiate the process. Note that this will occupy most of the ship's systems for several seconds. Some disruption may occur."

Lifprasil stood up with a sigh, setting his hand on the estranged creature, his armor retreated - exposing his hand to beset the bell and invest his Might into his army.

"Disruption, huh..." Astarte shrugged and put her right hand on the imprint which best fit her palm.

Niciel look at the handprints, then looked at her own hand to determine which of the prints was meant for her. After a brief moment, Niciel determined which one was hers and placed her right hand onto the print, nodding in silent approval.

Falas could only stare at wonder as the Knights were being created. A collection of Gods and Goddesses were working together to create possibly the most powerful beings on Galbar, minus the Gods and Goddesses themselves. She couldn't even begin to fathom how much power was used to create them. She turned to Loth to get his opinion, but was stopped by his facial expression. Loth appeared... troubled.

"Loth? What's wrong?" Falas asked. Loth, shaken out of his thoughts, turned to Falas, then answered, "It's these Knights. It is clear that they are meant to be incredibly powerful. Enough to turn back Logos and his army? Perhaps."

"So what is the problem?" Falas asked. "Isn't being that powerful a good thing?"

"Not necessarily," Loth replied. "Perhaps I may just be paranoid, but imagine if this power were to fall into the wrong hands. By Logos himself, for example. Imagine that power being used on this world. I doubt there are many forces in this world that could even survive such a catastrophe."

Falas paled in fear as she realized the implications of what Loth was explaining. Then her reasoning took over, helping to calm her down. "It-it should be ok, right? I mean, Mother Niciel's watching over them. A-and the other Gods here won't let such a thing happen, right?" Falas then looked over at Vestec, then added, "Well, most of them."

Loth had more to add, but seeing Falas's reaction, he decided that it would be better not to exacerbate it. "Perhaps you are right," Loth said. "I may simply be overcomtemplating things."

Vestec chuckled, glancing over at Falas and Loth. "You're both missing something quite important. Lets say, for a moment, that your precious Mountains hadn't aligned with Lifprasil. Lifprasil wants them under his empire. But he can't afford the costly siege. So he decided to give up and wait for a better opportunity." Vestec waved a hand towards the console. "A better opportunity has arrived. Anyone who doesn't take the hand will be pinned beneath the heel."

He reached for the disc, placing his hand in the print.

From within, a glow outlined the four hands that rested on the key. Like water in a crevice, it flowed out over the hidden lines of the device, becoming amber, white, yellow and red, tracing delicate symbols on its surface. Below the bell of the disc, a stronger light bloomed.

Four streams of brilliant energy swirled from the key into the floor, intertwining into one pulse of magic that spilled around their feet and ignited the hull with its humming warmth.

As the light faded deep into the shadows of Father Dominus, the key ceased to shine, though the symbols remained. A crackle and a burning hiss pierced the room, and the dim lighting flickered, weakened, then disappeared altogether. Thin veins of steam burst and fizzed hot fluids over the controls. In the distance, a creaking noise, impossibly loud, followed by continuous booms and clangs.

Gravity disappeared and the four gods felt a faint upwards lifting- But the Ark had no artificial gravity to remove, nor had they ever left Galbar. The ship was falling.

The bridge tipped forwards as Father Dominus began to enter a nosedive. Behind them, above and then all around, concussive ringing noise as distant machinery snapped into place. Arcs of lightning discharged over the vaulted ceiling, blinding in the darkness, and the sound worked on, grinding like the spokes of mountainous gears choking on one another. A slow ripping crack, like a joint breaking, as the hull began to shudder- An explosive snap that tossed everything into a quaking blur- Straining metal-

One of the visceral groaning reverberations raised its pitch and the engines fired again, throwing everyone to the ground as the Fathership stopped dead. Vast windows turned from black to transparent, revealing a view of the Ark as tilted but hovering, slowly backing into upright position over Alefpria. The cacophony continued, dwindling without disappearing, until the hull no longer quaked.

Several sweethearts dislodged from their tunnels by the event recovered quickly and seized up broken tendons, binding things back into place, and were soon followed by many more. The black membrane over Jvan's control pit retracted, and a still-possessed Dabbles crawled out, looking none too well and yet still somehow pleased.

"It's done," announced the lone engineer raggedly, reaching for the fallen disc. It was a little big for Dabbles' frame now that it no longer levitated, but the handprints still glowed. "This," he addressed, looking around for wherever Lifprasil had ended up in the chaos, "is a key. The manufactory can be unlocked and activated with it as you please, at least before it runs down. You may handpick the Cosmic Knights at leisure." The palm glanced around, checking for the rest of the contributants.

Vestec swayed as the factory was brought to life, keeping his balance and watching amusedly as the mortals struggled. "My, my. And I thought I was the one who had a penchant for theatrics." He giggled, seeming to melt into the thrashing Father Dominus.

While everything was in chaos, Vestec was busily copying the design and throwing it into the Realm of Madness, safe in a bubble of Chaos energy. He would need it later.

Lifprasil grasped the Key, and then pressed it to his chest, melding the device to his armor in a wavering embrace. The frilled Jvanic landscape contrasted well with Niciel's own handywork, and within his armored chest, the key pulsated with a strangevity not unlike the Blade of Chaos.

"Thank you," stated Lifprasil. "This will be pensive work, changing the face of Galbar." spoke he, and with a shrug of his hand, pressed one bout of tremendous might into the figure of Father Dominus. Distantly, the groaning quietened, and broken mechanisms in the pilot booths were regrown.

Lifprasil moved past Dabbles, to what appeared to be the new bridge of the facility, his clawed shoes clattering silently against the risen, chitin steppes of Dominus. "Let us see my machinations given life, the first three Knights crowned Cosmic of Alefpria - the Wardens Three!" exhumed the Demi-God, along with another burst of might.

Using one Might, three empty, but living husks rose from the construed tendons, pieced together by animated limbs into figures of sleek, deadly design. The first to be created was slender, draped in a glowering cape of flesh. The second to be created was also slender, but the additional aesthetic stood at his waist. The third had as if a great coat on, with the exclusion of his arms, the last Warden Triplet was as if a butcher.

None of the Three Guardians of the Lord had eyes, rather, they had narrow slits formatted around their tremendous horns, juxtaposed by an eerie fluorescence; that which gravitated out of their seemingly featurless mouths, agape with their first, aligned breath. They would be eternally coalesced as one.

"Now I, Lifprasil, Emperor of Alefpria, have declared war on Logos," said Lifprasil, hovering down to the center of the three monsters he had just created.

Each one was accomodated with massive weapons, hunks of serrated blade that stood twice as tall as they, and just as wide, and with a girth that barred them from any class of weapon ever admonished on Galbar.

"Careful. Distance-indirect construction taxes the manufactory's lifespan more heavily," murmured Dabbles, poring over a swarm of hovering lights without any real objection.

The Triplets each grasped their weapons with some difficulty at first, but eventually, they raised their weapons within one hand, harkening them over their broad shoulders, and ceasing them in a pyramid formation over Lifprasil.

"I will march on him within thirty days and nights, and my legions will follow, along with my Cosmic Knights. Any questions?"

Vestec looked at Lifprasil, giving the distinct impression of a raised eyebrow. "You're going to march your legions against his Realta? Even with the Cosmic Knights, they're going to get slaughtered. I have a better idea. Bring them to a location. Draw all of them into one area. Trap them there, and then unleash your shiny new killing machines upon them."

Vestec paused, then gave a malicous cackle. "I even know a lovely city which will just be perfect for such an event. Xerxes is lovely this time of year."

Lifprasil raised a brow. "What is Xerxes? My scouting legions haven't accrued such a name from their travels." he said, oblivious to its existence, or its alignment. Jvan stepped in.

"It's a fairly young city, but very large, by current standards. The coastal capital of the unitary tribes of Amestris, a nation located on the Purple Sands, north-east of Shalanoir." He seemed to be giving the Wardens a thorough inspection, measuring their limbs and flexing their joints without fear of their hefty armament. "It's rather similar to Alefpria, at least in principle. Built on the individual efforts of many mortals. Founded by a demigod, the Énas Amartia." A faint, smiling note rested on that name, obliviously hanging in the air.

Lifprasil raised a brow. Astarte winced.

"When I found it, I blessed him with a palace, though perhaps not much like your own. Since then, however, the city has been attacked by both Vowzra and Logos." The stumpy fleshshaper sighed. "I have no more surviving agents there. Last I heard, Amartia had been kidnapped by the Riddler and spirited away. I could not find him in Chronos. Word has it that in his absence and the wake of the Realta, a crisis of anarchy and famine has emerged."

"He's returned. Sold out to Logos too, the ungrateful swine. Has an army of three hundred Victors. Not sure what else he did after that. I do know that he's agreed to murder every child of Jvan he finds and I'm sure he's heading home to Xerxes." Vestec looked over at Jvan, tilting his head. "What is it with you and showering my children with gifts. Lifprasil has all those fleshy troops and horses and palaces, Amartia his own palace. What's next? Are you going to give Maeus his own fleshy brewery?"

"Maeus," mouthed Dabbles quietly, noting the name without answering.

"And where is Amartia? If he is an agent of Logos, I'll be sure to confront him, however, what about the city? A Realta attack would surely be devastating." enquired Lifprasil, crossing his arms.

However, nestled within his voice was a lack of adversity to Vestec's proposed plan.

"With all due respect, nibling cousin of mine," said Dabbles, testing the edge of a sword on his index finger, "You know more about cities than any of us. The Knights are yours; What lives and what burns is in your hands now." A shrug. "I think I can trust you to stand against total annihilation."

"Very well," said Lifprasil.

"I will march a fraction of my Cosmic Knights upon Xerxes, and when within Xerxes, their presence will act as a proper lure for the Realta. With Father Dominus flying overhead, the remaining Cosmic Knights will rain from the sky, and wrestle the reins of dominion from not only Amartia, but the oppressive Realta." then explained he, stepping past his three guardians.

Dabbles patted the Warden's kneecap and shuffled off to join him, mouthing more than speaking. "Excellent."

From up here, he could see all of Alefpria, puddles blinking in the growing sunlight. No, this had been a prudent investment. Whatever happened, Jvan would not regret creating what it had. Logos had not defeated the All-Beauty. This was just the beginning.

"One last thing, Lifprasil," said Dabbles softly. "Logos... Did not restrain himself to simply razing my work. There is a garden of life, a deadly Sea Beneath the Sea, which some call the Gap. It is mine. I have protected it for long years, and protected Galbar from it. It used to be that I did that just by monitoring it for intrusion." He looked at the Emperor. "...Recently that's changed. My role as the Bastion has taken on a more literal meaning. If Galbar is consumed by the Other, know that it was Logos who destroyed me."

The Sculptor's wrist swivelled suddenly, Jvan's vivid green eye boring into Vestec's mask, pointing with index finger. "You," said he, "are not off the hook." A bow to Niciel, a friendly wave to Astarte, and with that the eye glazed and the goddess was gone.

Dabbles' body stood silent for a moment. Then he blinked, realised his veritable nakedness, and yelped. "Oh- Oh, please! Your Lordships, forgive-" His little stump-arms flailed to pull the hoods back over his hand, tangling himself- "this- most terrible Impropriety- my deepest and truest apologies-" Swaying from side to side as if the ground was slippery, Dabbles dove handfirst into the engineer's pit to escape notice. There were crashing noises. "So very sorry!- A thousand curses- My idiot brain- Di- Dup- Nuh- Ap-"

The Fleshshaper dissolved into blips of half-formed words in various tones of distress and embarassment, tidily removing him from the conversation.

Lifprasil sighed, and smiled. He would let Dabbles recover within Father Dominus, as if the embarassed herald of beauty would mind.

"Thank you all, this summit foregoes an alliance against Logos, and those that would threaten the sovereignty of creation. Stay or go, it is of no consequence, however, Astarte, I would like to set you aside for another ambitious project; if you're up to the task." Lifprasil closed, waving away his greater Knights. They seemed to wordlessly understand the whims of the Emperor, pacing forward, and past the Gods as if they were naught but objects; rather than grand creations of Amul'Sharar.

"Ah, me?" Astarte stood straight at pointed at herself with a raised eyebrow, having been torn apart from her curious staring of the Fleshshaper by Lifprasil's request, "Sure, Lif." Astarte smiled.

And so it began.

There were always moons that graced the night of Galbar. There was always some amount of light that reflected from their surface to guide nocturnal creatures of the valley. Most nights painted the grass in shades of grey and blue, other nights tinged orange or brown. The goblins below did not appreciate it. The night was for sleeping, and they preferred the colourless dark of their burrows.

Natterings about their newest boss -- the tall brassy hain that they hardly realised had the same name as their previous boss -- began each night after work in the fields. Activities transitioned into eating, copulating, and eventually sleeping. Their snoring competed with the crickets to narrate tonight's bright blue moonlight, as it did most nights.

One did not snore. She was a quite one, for a goblin, though she fit in well enough. Said she wandered up from the coast looking for a husband. She found a few. Hardly a pimple on her face, she had. She wasn't bad with the farming tools, either. All the better for a good guarana crop for the boss. Stayed alive better than any of the other gobbos, but she was shifty, just like tonight as she opened her eyes.

She slid herself out from the communal pile of droning rovaick and stood up with a stretch. She often went out on late walks, scratching her left buttock and lurching into the open. She was accused of snacking late at night, though it wasn't as if all the others weren't guilty of similar indiscretions.

She looked the part of a stout slug of black against the blue painted grass, clomping along with heavy foot-thumps. They might have been muffled by the taller grass, but as she stepped onto one of their packed earth pathways, the way her footsteps became quieter was unexplained. So too, was the way her legs and torso silently stretched into a form that was taller and more slender. A blink allowed a transparent cape to float from her shoulders and a soft clinking of chains to sound. Her head was replaced by a white helmet and her entire body gleamed.

The goblin-turned-slender-humanoid continued its graceful strut down a ridge from the burrow. It paced to a stop near the small lake that irrigated the crops. The soft wind made the blue light sparkle with white from the moons and stars, but none of this disturbed the perfect silence.

Minus raised one arm, palm upward as if lifting a weight until it stretched horizontally. A slosh of water invaded the silence and another silhouette rose from the lake. A body, limbs limp and navel arched towards the stars, emerged from the water. Filthy with silt as it was, the dull greys, silvers, and blues of its armour and garb identified it as a certain discarded vessel. Minus curled one finger and the body floated over the water towards it. The dripping from the soaked fabric continued to disturb the scene, poiting and patting into the lake and bringing shimmering chaos to the pattern of reflected light in broad, overlapping circles.

Minus had no words in its mind. Even if this wasn't the first time it had tried such a thing, any thought about the situation could be summed as the mild excitement that came with pushing boundaries. It had not been instructed to do this, nor had it been forbidden from it, but no one knew of its actions but itself.

When the body slowed to a stop within reach of Minus, the weights of its chains snaked out like blue porcelain boas, curiously clinking at Lazarus' old body. Without so much as a tug on Minus, they lengthened and coiled around the corpse's limbs, coating it in writhing chains that soon wrapped around the torso and the neck. The body, now firmly under the ministrations of the chains, turned upright. The visored head rolled forward, just as lifeless as it had been before, but the arms curled forward with consciousness, offering themselves.

Minus turned its own visored face down, looking to one of the dead hands, tilting to the other. Its own white, gauntlet-clad hand reached to take the offered left hand. But, just before touching, they both became still.

That wasn't the game.

Minus stepped back and lifted itself into a hover, dripping mud from its pointed white sabatons as it gained a yard of altitude. The chains gave more length, though the corpse rotated to track her movements as if alive. Bringing its featureless gaze to the corpse's helmet, Minus stepped over the air, circling the corpse until they were both over the lake's waters.

I have to catch you, Minus thought. You know the game.

A whoosh of air attacked the water as Minus flung itself forward with arms outstretched. A wake of water sloshed from behind it with its speed, but the corpse had moved. As if sidestepping the avatar, it had shunted itself to one side and turned to keep track of Minus once more. Its head lolled back with feigned mischief.

Minus spun in the air and tried the exact same manoeuvre. The exact same situation played out.

But I know the solution. I always have.

Minus lowered its arms and hovered upright. Its chest swelled with an unneeded breath. It was held for a moment and then released at an almost imperceptible pace.

Enjoyment from contentedness. Life from harmony. Perfection in imperfection.

With renewed grace, Minus extended one leg a fraction and leant forward. It floated over the water, only disturbing it with a silent dip of one pointed sabaton. Perfectly silent. It slowed to a stop in front of the corpse and looked up to its visored face. This time, Minus took the corpse's left hand and the other hand placed itself against its waist. Minus rested its own left hand on the corpse's shoulder. The corpse's head lolled forward again. Relief.

The corpse stepped silently to one side, Minus followed in sync. The corpse stepped back, Minus followed forward in sync. One foot followed the other in a rhythm of counted threes. The water rippled without so much as a drip, tracing the avatar's steps through the air. The waltz spun faster as they traversed the lake but never lost any grace.

This was the part where Minus always spent half its time wondering and the other half basking in the odd feeling of peace it brought. It had no idea why it enjoyed this dance. It didn't seem to care. Still, the corpse never seemed right to dance with; Minus was still its own partner while it dictated every movement with its chains. It wondered what a real partner would be like to dance with. Minus would have to give up so much control, but just to know would be...

---

Report.

---

Minus tensed up, arching its spine in a surprised jolt. A tremendous series of clicks and crunches preceded the chains collapsing in on Lazarus' corpse. A spatter of blood threw itself across Minus' blue armoured front and the body slipped into the lake, obliterated beyond any use or repair. The chains pushed it down into its hiding place, though it would not be recovered now.

---

There have been developments.
Speak.

---

The chains rang up out of the water in a stream of wet slishing and thunked to their shortest length.

---

Vestec was summoned by Lazarus. Lazarus has taken leadership over the horde, though it may be temporary. They also created a creature known as a dwarf. A servant race for Lazarus. I was not noticed.
Speak more of the horde first.

---

Minus stared down at the darkened waters beneath itself, looking at where Lazarus' remains now dissolved into the lake. It recited its report as it usually did, giving all relevant details to its twin and receiving new information from Majus as well.

Such interactions were needed for clarification since Toun had become silent. He was still in Cornerstone but worded messages had not been sent since he made the Oath of Stilldeath. The twins continued communication to make up for it.

They spoke across the mountain range for several minutes until they were both up to date. Details on Sularn, Conata, the realta, and Toun's cult in the area reached Minus' telepathic ears. The usurping of control from Tez to Lazarus and Vestec's involvement was conveyed to Majus in turn. By the end of it, only one last question burned in Minus' mind.

---

...
There is something further.
Why did you contact me at a different time interval?
The news of the blinding purge, of the realta, was conveyed as a priority.
...
Is the purge a threat to Lazarus?
It is unlikely. Time will reveal.

---

There were no further enquiries either way for several moments. Majus had the first word, Minus had the last word. Their interaction faded without a farewell, as it always did.

Minus continued staring into the water. It was perfectly silent once more, but without a dancing partner, there was no charm to it. It floated to the shore and it began walking back up to the burrow. Minus' silhouette shrank down to the size of a goblin once more. Her husbands might want to try and mate again if they were woken up, but Minus did not have the heart for any more acting tonight. The goblins tended not to question inexplicably being put to sleep this late into the night anyway.

Silence.

Silence caressed Sin's skin like a cool summer breeze, smoothing his soul, taking away his jagged edges. All that could be hard was the constant whomp....whomp....whomp....whomp.... of the Victors cadence on stone. All that could be seen, was the hundreds of eyes at scrutinized Amartía and his army.

Sin walked confidently in front of the Victors, his head held high. He was clad in silk armor, sleeveless, compact, free, plain and short in design, just like that of his followers. Amartía wore armor similar to that of his former captors. He found it perfect, and nearly extremely effective, made by the silk of the spider who he took from Chronos. By taking one of the Victors silken masterpieces, he was able to recreate the beauty with the same, raw bundle of silk. Amartía was slowly beginning to truly understand the Sanguine Stone's power.

Every movement was calculated, measured, fluid and executed. His eyes were hard and filled with disdain. Unlike the pristine cleanliness of his Xerxes had grown dirty. The streets spat up dust that clung to his clothes. Big beams crossed and recrossed the white facades of its buildings, and its roofs were made of wooden shingles or thatch. Carts creaked as their drivers watching him wide eyed. The city shimmered in the heat, but it did not stink like as he had expected it to.

Much to his surprise, its people were not gaunt and foul smelling. Militiamen, uniformed and orderly began to organize themselves at the end of the street, sword belts ready for a fight. Amartía smiled. The mere thought of going up against the army that took him out must have scared them. The their newly transmuted iOuroboros symbol glinting on thier backs. But the hulking mass of walking stone must have filled them with dread.

Sin raised his hand for his entourage to halt, only a few good yards away from the Militia.

A faint breeze whispered, rippling the ties of the bandannas and masks that left only eyes to look back across the street. The moment was surreal. Different day, different street, and a different army, but deja vu set in all too easily. Blink, and you could see the City as it was, when Amartia was Énas.

In the distance, a violin hum slowly increased its pitch.

From the fore, a man with a tarnished wire badge dotted with garnets stepped up. Closing in, he could hear his own pulse, tension teetering on the edge of seeing everything he'd worked and been worked for unravel. With deliberate will stifling the trembles he had last felt as a soldier under the King, Sen raised a hand. "No further. Explain yourselves."

Explain yourselves? She'ma's eyes narrowed. Hadn't Sin said something about this being his city. The former priestess gazed at Amartía's broadened back, which seemed to straighten like a wooden board.

"So my augur rings true," Sin cooed, smiling at the badged official.

"What exactly do you want me to say boy? That I'm a king, parading his army through enemy territory? Or do you wish for me to tell you that I wish to speak to your leader to draft a term for surrender?"

"The truth. Whatever that is. You'll answer to the Blowfly either way." Behind him, a soldier to the rear of his party turned her back and lifted her sickle-sword, glinting reflected sunlight towards the rising sound of ophanim, signalling. Four orbs had appeared on the horizon. "And don't play games. Be quick about it."

Amartía turned his head to the sky, squinting at the rotating vehicles that gyrated towards them in the distance. Jvanic entities? He couldn't tell.

Sin turned back to the official and grinned. [colorCrimson]"Your threats mean little to me, and I would refrain from doing so again. This Blowfly, it leads you? I want to meet it."[/color ]

Behind him, the Victors stood unmoving, but their spears sat comfortably in their hands, ready for a fight.

And still no answer, thought Sen, looking over the army that stared down his meagre squad. Well, he had warned them to be quick. "Alright. You will." Then, raising his voice only slightly, "Scatter."

In a moment long trained for, the troop split into pairs and fours and dissolved at a sprint into the alleys, leaping roofs where they had to. Only the rotfly at the back remained, and then only for long enough to raise both arms, shout, bolt the other way before she threw herself to the ground.

An ophan shadowed the sun.

Careening into the street, the titan of a creature flattened the front half of houses on both sides of the open road, crossing its entire length in some two seconds before forcing a wave of dirt and rubble over the Victor army as it abruptly came to a complete halt. Within an instant, the far end of the road was blocked in the exact same way. The remaining two hovered like raised hammers over the army.

Tauga slipped down from above and crouched on the top of the first ophan, looked, then drew her scalpel. From behind her mask, she spoke without tone or tension. "What is this? Why. Who."

She'ma's heart pounded as the unusual mechanisms whriled and shrieked. Destroying and maneuvering. It was beyond her, but she remained ready. As the first mechanism appeared, She'ma had ripped a bottle of sheep blood from her belt, attempting to start a summoning ritual.

It was Amartía posture that stopped her in her tracks. Sin stood stoicly, a deadpan expression on his face. He didn't even flinch as a plume of dirt and dust washed over them. He simply dusted himself off before turning to the unusual being that appeared before them.

"Im assuming you're Blowfly." She nodded. Amartía sighed as he gazed at the rotating vehicles that now surrounded his army. Contingencies could be made.

"Why you ask? I'm talking back whats mine. Who? I am an Emperor."

"What's yours," copied Tauga, chewing on the words without swallowing. She let her ghostly tendrils trace the faces of the warriors before her, tasting many things foreign and one thing familiar. "You're an..." Implications began to resolve themselves in her head.

"No. No you aren't." The words were coming faster now, defensive against her own thoughts. "You're a Whitemask with a Whitemask army. Only the Énas had a claim to the City and the Énas Amartia is dead with all his heirs. You're just a thief. You're just here to steal what I've earned. Admit that and go."

For a moment Amartía was silent. Astounded by the words of the Blowfly. That silence was quickly broken by the sound of his maniacal laughter. Tears flowed from his eyes as his bellows began to ease and soon silence became the only medium between them.

"Who told you I was dead? Did you investigate? Did you find my skewered body rotting in The Cipher? Or perhaps the gods told you of my death?" Amartía jibbed, shaking his head at the young ruler.

"I- Just-" Tongue too numb to move.

"I vex you no longer, I am not dead, far from it. We may be soon enough if events continue along as I predicted. But as of now no."

Sin glanced at the rotating mechanisms one more before returning his gaze back to Blowfly. "I am no thief, I come for what I have created, what has always been mine. What will you do?"

"What will I do," whispered Tauga. She was still holding her sword. Not gripping, just letting it rest in her fingers, as if she'd forgotten it was there. She had. What threat of bloodshed was vested in the tactical advantage she still held evaporated. The will to fight had gone.

Giving up much of the intimidation she'd set into her stance, Tauga shuffled vacantly into a cross-legged position, hugging her shins and resting her head on her knee. What would she do? What had she been planning to do? Just keep on working, keep on being the Blowfly? That was what she assumed, and there hadn't been any reason not to. Now, there... Was.

Bits and pieces of empty future fell down around her head and she could hear them crash. Her eyes weren't focused any more, and the immediate reason Tauga was here went fuzzy in her head.

"I don't know," she said plainly, answering a question far broader than what Amartia had perhaps intended to ask. "I'll figure something out." She rested her head on her other knee, panning her view of the City with her other set of eyes and wondering if things would go back to the way they were. "Again."

Pity cut through Amartía like a knife. He had respect for the child, respect for ambition, respect for what would be left of her life.

Sin let out a ragged breath, gazing past the Blowfly and looked towards the crowd that gathered behind her. They respected her, feared, even revered her. If Sin wasn't so preoccupied with preparing for war, he would have felt Envy and most likely killed the upstart leader. But Amartía knew his limits. The preparation war Amartía prepared for, involved no mortal army, they were incapable of fighting gods.

He knew that he could not lead, and create such an army. Sin smiled, this is were the Blowfly came in.

"Blowfly. I only return to protect what is mine, my creation. In order to do that, I must do what is beyond your capacity to understand. I cannot rule, and create the impossible at the same time. My daughter, do not fret, for your role as Blowfly is not over, far from it. You will be my right hand, my second in command. My White Officer," Sin proclaimed, raising his voice higher and higher as he spoke.

"Now what will you do?"

A question without a choice, indeed. The figuring out had been done for her. Tauga breathed and turned a page, her feelings as limpid as ever, and let the chapter of the last few months die and be left behind. Her thoughts, meanwhile, were turning back to the pragmatic. All that really mattered.

She sheathed her blade. "I'll do what I can." As always. Something flicked in the air, and the Bludgeons blocking both ends of the road rose suddenly into the sky, flinging her up with them, and, in a moment, she let herself back down. Without her mount, Tauga was startlingly small before the Victors, or at least those that weren't hain. It occurred to her that she should bow, but she didn't know how to do so, and just rested a hand on her neck.

"I'm Tauga. Things have changed," came a simple verdict. "I guess there's a lot to say." Tauga didn't know where to start, though.

Amartía remained silent as his mind drove elsewhere, planning and creating, working and testing. So much to do.

Sin returned his gaze to the Blowfly, his eyes hard for reasons even unknown to him. "Tauga. Your right, there is not much to say. There is only work." He huffed as he started past her, but stopped at her shoulder. "And we start now."

A nod. Tauga flicked her wrist towards the reappearing figures of the Rotflies, signalling them to come, then whistled for Pumps. The Ophanim returned to their circling perch in the heavens. No rest for the dead.

Under le construct.

For a long time, Makeda lived in a constant state of trial. The Muse had prepared dreamworlds of challenge for her and she crossed them all, multiple times. She learned to dodge the falling boulders, crush trough enemy armies and solve inscrutable puzzles, then she learned how to do the three at the same time.

And when she was exhausted, she would sit in fake windows and gaze at fake seas, the only real thing in that world was the food brought by the dark-haired diva. That alone was an extra test in her list, and sometimes she felt lonely, a different, more intense kind of what she felt back at the valley.

But she endured, and then it finally came the day in which she was given exactly what she was promised, a chance to do her duty to Galbar. It was a sudden event, Ilunabar, as always, just showed up and said she had trained enough. The information she was given was scarce, she picked up that the Horde had been defeated and that the Raka had been a bit unstable after another dreamworld collapsed. Either way, she was now free, and she longed to see real, mortal life again.

In the first week, she flew high across the skies of Galbar, getting to know the places she never had a chance to see before and taking notes of the changes that had happened in the places she knew. All that from an aloof position, away from any call for help or terrible sights.

She also took the moment to meditate on her status as an underling of the goddess Ilunabar. From all her newfound booms, the one that brought her attention was her armor, scintillated in gilded glory, but in truth, it was not made from gold, nor any aurous material, it was leather with an illusion cast on it. And if it could be colored in fake gold, it could be colored in fake nothing.

At first, the Muse was resistant to her proposal, she did not want to see what purpose invisibility could have for the heroine that was supposed to be glorious, but Makeda had learned a bit about Ilunabar in her trials, and she knew the words to use. Contrast, suddenness, discretion, legend, beauty.

And Ilunabar was convinced, and she gave Makeda the ability to control between shining in splendid armor or being little more than a blur in the vision of the mortals. With this tool, the angel was finally able to start her patrol of the mortal land.

First, she started by making random apparitions help those in need. Helping travelers lost in the Firewind's endless sea of sand, saving Rovaick from collapsed caves or helping Hain to deal with village fires.

Then one day she found herself in combat as she tried to stop a group of Heraktati from attacking a village. When she first brandished her energy hammer and hit the beast she noticed the weight of the action. Not only the metaphorical one of taking away a life but the literal, gravitational weight of what she was doing.

One of the great oversights of Ilunabar's training dreams was that they were mostly visual, there was no air resistance, crushing bones or other minor hazards common to what truly is. Now that she re-acquired experience with it, however, she felt once again confident in her combat abilities. But across these little interventions, she once again became habituated with how Reality worked.

And then she moved on to what she was really after. Thieves, murderers, highwayman and the unorganized and isolated remains of the chaos horde. It felt extremely inefficient.

At first, she dealt with criminals the easiest way, smashing the life out of them. But the dead tells no tale, so nobody knew who or what was behind the odd deaths, merely speculation. The natural next step was to be a bit more lenient, sometimes scaring, others scarring. It worked on a local level and as the legends of a "golden watcher" or "golden angel" or "dark-haired angel" or "gold-fire djinn" or "yellow iron sister who shimmers" installed themselves, there seemed to be some semblance of peace.

For a while, a short while. There was no way she could be active in all villages at once, even on her constant patrol, memory, fear and respect could fade away in an impressively short amount of time. And even when a repentant criminal was still talking loudly about his experience, others simply decided that the danger of possibly meeting the guardian was not enough to dissuade them from taking the easy profit found in criminal behavior.

And that was only when it was considered wicked behavior. Plenty of Galbarian cultures were based on immoral behavior, the riders from the barrens and steppes, the many institutions of slavery, merchants who made a sickening profit from selling addictive substances like wine and eçarana. And those were merely from the places not warded by divinity, beyond that there were places like the changing plains or Xerxes, both areas she was forbidden to work at by the Muse herself.

Similar tolerance was applied to elementals and jvanic beings, no matter how bad things got. But across her patrol, she eventually found beings who were clearly not natural, but apparently not within Ilunabar's list of prohibitions. The first encounter was when she found a Hain attacking another one of its kind and intervened to stop the fight, for her surprise, the attacking hain crumbled to brittle pieces when she struck it, there was no gore to be found in the scene, only bones. Suddenly, however, the bones took form again, and the Hain slowly reformed back to its old, hollow self.

This was her first encounter with the undead. Many more would ensue, mostly with human, hain or rovaick , though on a single case she found an undead angel, a vampire. Since Ilunabar never gave her the order to be permissive, her typical behavior was to destroy them whenever spotted. Galbar already had so much to worry about, it surely didn't need creatures trying to escape the cycle of life.

Her quest continued across many seasons, and despite it being better than training in the Raka, she still felt one thing, loneliness. Of a different kind than the one, she felt back in the land of dreams or in the valley. She endured it for most of the time, but sometimes she lost herself in feelings of helplessness, stuck in a foolish quest to try to make the life of a miserable place better when most of its inhabitants were keen on making their own lives worse. No amount of worship and gratitude could take away the crushing pressure of trying to swim upstream.

Then the Realta attacked.

---

She woke up to find herself half naked, half wrapped in cloths, inside what looked like some sort of cottage. Her memory of the last night was hazy but she quickly understood the overall idea. On the day before, some sort of creature that looked like an Angel attacked, she fought back, and she won the first, but then more came, and she battled them again, and won, but then there was even more and some of those she had defeated before had risen again from their knockout. Last she could remember, her entire back and most of her limbs were burning, then the forest bellow started to get closer and closer until finally, she crashed into darkness.

She took a minute to thank Fate and mother Niciel for her survival. After some reluctance, she also expressed gratitude towards Ilunabar. Now there was only one factor in her survival left to express her thanks. She wrapped herself in the first grab she could find, and started to look for whoever lived in that small house.

"Third day huh? I'm lucky that none of the animals of this hill know how to gamble, otherwise, I would have just lost a bet." said a voice to her left, and what she saw when she searched for it surprised her.

It was a pale figure, red eyes, and transparent wings. She couldn't see enough of its shape to distinguish gender, but it was clearly a vampire. By instinct, she moved her hand to the height of her hips and prepared to summon her holy hammer, though a quick look at the fleshy white scars on her dark skin remembered her of how much she owed this being, no matter what it was.

"So you are the one who saved me?"

"An overstatement. From the looks of it, you would have survived even if I hadn't bandaged you, though I did take you out of that crater in the forest before the wolves got a chance to have a feast, then again, considering how quick you heal, maybe you would be able to recover even with wild animals gnawing on your body."

The angel didn't know what even to answer, the taunting was worse and more unnecessary than the one Ilunabar provided. "Either way, I thank you for that. Do you know what those monstrosities from the last night were?"

"No idea, not even the end of times seems to bother coming to this hill. It's what makes it charming." the vampire sighed "But a look at the pillars of smoke and the red glow in the horizon gave me a good idea of what those falling stars brought."

The guardian looked up to the sky, her wounds were hurting more than they were before. For a few years, she had forgotten just how good Galbar was at making what was bad even worse.

But that didn't mean she would give up. On the contrary. She would have taken flight at the moment and went for another round with the metallic devils if it were not for her wings being severely burned. For now, she would have to wait, she would also try to get in contact with Ilunabar again since the goddess would probably know more about this than anyone else.

There she was, a lost soul standing among a field of corpses, watching them with anger piercing their very beings. It was then that Keriss realized how long it had been since she had spoken to her mother or father, feeling abandoned almost. However, she knew that they were watching over her and that they would protect her on her crusade.

The Demi-God took a deep breath before turning and beginning to walk through the field of corpses, demons and ghouls laying on the ground with their limbs torn from their bodies. Blood, viscera, decay. Those were the only things that accompanied Keriss on her walk through the new graveyard, the new solemn field of silence where the chaos beings lay in death. She still held no weapon, no armor, just herself and her crown of thorns given to her by Vulemera herself, the only thing convincing her that her mother still watched over her. The Suffering One stopped over a corpse of a ghoul before kneeling down to it.

”I know it not your fault to be one of chaos, however, it is my duty to eliminate you and your kind.”

She reached out and touched the deceased being with her hand, touching its skin before moving to the being’s neck. Her grip tightened before she stood and put a foot on the ghoul’s back, ripping of the chaos being’s head with little effort. Keriss examined the head before raising it into the air with one hand, letting out a roar to signal her victory over the forces of chaos once more.

With a flick of the tongue, Keriss scented the the air before turning back to see one of the ghouls attempting to crawl away, its legs now bloodied stumps. It let out small cries to hope that some of its own kind to come and fight the Destroyer of Chaos. Suddenly it began crying it out in something this being would never have felt before, pain. A shadow came over it, wings spread and pure black eyes. Keriss laughed before tossing her newly gotten trophy to the side. Grabbing the ghoul, Keriss lifted the ghoul before throwing it to ground. She repeated the same process twenty times and another tenth until she knew all of its bones had been shattered, finally another twenty out of fun.

Keriss laughed, lifting the body again and throwing to the ground again almost out of madness. Her laughs seemed to be growing more and more deranged, the corruption of her being showing itself as she repeated throwing the ghoul to the ground. The laughter turned into angered roars and the angered roars turning into crying. Another throw to the ground made her collapse with the ghoul she killed.

”Mother, father. Give me a sign that you still watch over me! Show yourselves and make yourselves once more! I cannot win this war without you!” Keriss cried out, a mixture of anger and sadness coming to her as she tried to understand why her parents refused to hear her pleas for attention. Why would they ignore their daughter that they had created to fight in a war that wasn't truly hers? Why would the Suffering One have to survive her own suffering when it was her job to make the Chaos suffer, not herself.

Keriss felt tears go down her scales, she needed to understand why she had been abandoned and why the only thing she could do to release her frustration was to kill and cause pain. This existence was one that was challenging on her, mentally and yet never physically. This existence was one that slowly killing her on the inside. Was this an unknown ability of the Chaos? This ability of attrition on the mind, her mother’s domain. There Keriss sat in tears.

Tears, no tomorrow.

Pain, a new beginning.

Suffering, her existence.

The air was damp and heavy and smelled of morning dew. There was absolute darkness with the exception of the occasional flash of light from scared bioluminescent animals escaping from the woman. Dressed in a brown dress and with features as clean and beautiful as ever. Her right arm was raised over her head and from the palm of her hand she emitted a bright white light.

Yet the light only seemed to light up a few feet of her path, no matter how much effort she put into it. Was she walking in the right direction? Would she find another monstrosity born from the Rotting Goddess?

Her light caressed the wide, kilometer tall trees' bark, the edges licking at what seemed to be the start of branches and leaves.

"Ow!" She yelped and stumbled. It took her a moment to regain her balance and when she did, she sighed. "No wonder you're a bit crazy, having spent millions of years at the bottom of the Deepwoods…" She muttered with squinted eyes and pressed on.

And so she walked for a long time. Had it been hours, days? There was no way to know, for the trees were so tall and so dense that they blocked out the sun. And there was no way to know, for the magical essence in the air messed with her divine senses. She had been trying to reach the heart of the Deepwoods, yet what should have been a simple task was made increasingly difficult by an unknown obstacle. Something that the Avatar of the Goddess of Magic never expected to become such a hindrance.

Magic.

It was a kind of magic she'd never felt before. So strange and malformed that it actively hid from her. The Heart of the Deepwoods, where Astarte had created the Rock all those years ago, the Holy Site that empowered all these different beings with her Magic, was missing. An area a hundred meters in diameter, missing.

-------------

Brown scrunched up her nose at the sight. In front of her on the ground lay a some kind of dead gigantic bug, its innards spread around its body in a circle, and it was none other than herself who had created this scene. Why? Well, that was easy to answer. Her magic wasn't working.

Her magic wasn't working.

She, the will of the Goddess of Magic made physical, couldn't use her magic.

Her ability to use magic stopped a while ago, she expected it was because she was getting closer to the Heart of this damned place.

So she had to ask for help.

-------------------

"Found it!" A high-pitched voice rung out from behind a tree ahead of Brown.

"Is this another one of your games, Lish'Burath?" Brown rolled her eyes and walked after the voice. When she passed the tree, everything went dark.

…

Though it was only for a second, as her vision was quick to clear up. The first thing she saw was the Demon who brought her here. An Imp, the lowest of the low. Still, he was able to use Magic where she couldn't and so she had to rely on him to show her the way.

"I swear, I will banish y-"

"Shut up and look to the right, oh divine magic user goddess thing that isn't actually a thing and cannot use magic." Lish'Burath said and pointed to Brown's right. There, against the tree's bark, grew something great. Some kind of moss had been spreading over the tree, and the moss was lavender in colour and emitted warm, incandescent light. Brown reached out to touch the moss, and found its texture to be soft, like silk, and when she tried to pull it or harm it, it became ethereal, as if it wasn't really there and her hand phased right through it.

Lish'Burath started exploring the area and motioned for Brown to follow him. It was comical, seeing the Avatar of Magic follow a weak, two foot tall barely flight-able Imp with blind trust in its abilities.

And that's when they found it. What Brown had been looking for all this time. In the middle of the clearing where the Rock and its shards once were, there was now a bush. Inconspicuous in most aspects but for the fact that out of it grew five seeds. Nuts.

"Nuts? Don't nuts grow out of trees?" Brown asked, to which Lish'Burath shrugged. The Demon carelessly flew over to the bush and pulled one of the nuts off of it.

"No, wait!" Brown gasped and ran towards the Imp. His pact with her was over, he had taken her here, so now he didn't have to follow her orders. He ate the nut, crushing right through its shell with his strong molars.

Nothing happened.

"… Oh." Brown sighed, a wave of relief flowing over her as she stopped in front of the bush, grabbing one of them as well. This one seemed to have a crown of leaves growing out of its top.

"… Ugh…" The groaning began. Lish'Burath put his hand over his stomach and double over, gagging and retching. But no nut nor remain of nut came out. His body had absorbed it immediately, and it showed.

While he retched and groaned and moaned in pain, his body grew larger. A bright lavender light washed over him, and he began screaming in agony. That was Brown's cue to get out. She went to grab the three other nuts that remained on the bush. As soon as she touched the first one, she was sent back flying into a tree.

Help! Help us! Help! Help! Someone… He just ate another!

Brown was dazed, but she wasn't stupid. She looked at the bush, sight blurry and body giving out, and saw it for the first time. A true Demon. Lish'Burath was no longer a simple Imp. He was now a large, hulking beast with a wingspan any Angel would be jealous of. His eyes were black, soulless pits and his breath turned all but the most resilient of plants to ash.

And he had only eaten two of the nuts.

Look. Look at me.

Brown looked down at the nut in her hand. "Sentient nuts?!" Brown frowned and shook her head.

You must save me. Run. Escape.

"But my Magic-"

Is coming back. The nut's leaf crown twitched, and Brown felt empowered once more.

Now run. The others have been eaten and the Beast will look for me.

------------------

A scream pierced Brown's ears. Not one of fear, but one of rage. The very voice of the Beast broke the Earth apart and threatened to send entire trees crashing down.

"Agh!" Brown nearly tripped on a root and kept running. Using her weakened magic, she was able to enhance her speed to untold levels, but it was still not enough. The Beast was nearly upon her. It swung its clawed hand at her back. She dodged just in time to see the tree to her left fall.

I have to grow. Please don't let it get me.

-----------------

"Leave me alone!" Brown shouted at the Beast. It laughed a deep, haunting laugh. Even in the plains right outside the Deepwoods, his mere presence seemed to make the air heavy and unforgiving.

They circled each other, both waiting for the other to make a move first.

The Beast lunged, claws out and massive maw open.

Brown tensed her jaw and took a deep breath, concentrating all of her energy into her palms. In the blink of an eye, the Beast and Brown made contact. A pillar of light erupted into the sky, and a huge flame burned everything in a mile's radius.

After the light and flames cleared out, the Beast lay in pain on the ground, and brown was on her knees and gasping for air.

"Did I… Beat it?" Brown closed her eyes and looked at her hands, burned to a crisp and shaking violently. She had used nearly all of her vital energy in that strike.

No. Run.

Another laugh was heard. One that sent a shiver down Brown's spine.

The Beast stood up and stretched a hand toward Brown.

At that moment the one surviving nut, which Brown had dropped onto the ground and shielded during the brief fight from the flames, decided to escape on its own. It used what little power it had over the physical world and dug itself deep down into the earth. Deep enough so that the Beast would never find it.

By the time the Beast reflected all of Brown's magic back at her, the nut was safe below Galbar.

No body of water on Galbar plunges as deep as the core of the Fractal Sea.

Those depths defy the heat of the sun and the turmoil of the seasons. In silent darkness that crushes men, where currents irresistable and strange creep along aeons of sludge that drapes the honeycomb arches of stone that convulsed and bled their waters onto the earth long ago, life must light its own fires. Here, the blood of the Life God may pulse yet in the veins of the deepwater denizens, but their die of shape is cast by another.

Spots of bioluminescence swirl around translucent sources. Gleaming horns rise into the current, spearing what the flow brings. Things without faces erupt from the mud and haunt the crevasses, lurking like a shadow in the corner of the eye, patiently stalking quarry that hangs motionless in the water column, antennae stretched and trailing far into the sensory void, awaiting the touch of death.

Sunken into the rock such that one can scarcely discern what is alive and what is dead between one tunnel and the next, the pitted cathedral of Jvan's body exists in exhausted limbo. Corals grow onto and into her, and tube-worms burrow; They take advantage of the flesh that is on offer, that bends the implacable current into softer streams. Her warmth is a boon, no matter how feeble the carmine light within, visible only in the absolute darkness. There is no more motion there.

Only dust that silts up the hollows of a god, grain by grain.

Yet on the surface of the world, waits another. Wings of aetherial starlight from distant worlds lift him above the sea, and a figure as dark as the void of space circled above like a carrion bird of prey. Lower and lower he circles closer to the churning waves, until his feet at last skim the surface of the water.

The Ocean parted for him.

It was no simple task. These waters were as foreign to him as this entire world. But it still existed, and therefor, it was his. In almost an instant, the sea above the Cancer vaporized into steam, flash-frying millions of lesser life forms. Even from here, her porous monstrosity was visible through the clouds, the surrounding waters held back now by his power. He had exposed her to the light of the sun.

Another beat of his wings sent him downward, and he smashed through the wall of steam like it was made of glass, until he flew above the abyssal titan.

"I remember you," Logos said softly, as he cast Singularity. “So I will be brief. Everything that you intended to accomplish will not come to pass. Everything you have accomplished thus far will be undone. You will die."

What answered was less a voice than it was a heavy thought, weighing down a dislocated mind, tugging it into the mist. The steam that was settling, far too quickly, into a dense smog. Discolouring, pillar by vaporous pillar, with the taste of carmine.

Why?

For a moment inflating, the sanguine layer collapsed down into siphons and was inhaled into the vaccuum within, showing those scorched folds as they were meant to be seen- Filled with a red, fluid vagueness. And bathing in the depths beneath those veiled recesses, the inner body began to churn. The malign giant was waking up.

"Not so, Logos," breathed Jvan, "Not so."

And rising first in a faint moan, then in a cascade, the screams of the slaughtered resonated with All-Beauty's own. Its waking shriek snapped knots of heat and radiation into an explosive crackle in the waters around her and the air above and echoed far down the now-emptied telepathic channels that led to her children, dry, burnt husks while she slumbered.

Jvan's skin rent violently to display the teeth below and she yanked the great cold owl, dragging at him with an unseen tongue leading down into the bleeding maws.

It was the opportunity that Logos had been seeking. A flap of his wings sent him spiraling towards her endless maws, spurred even faster by her pull. Deep down into the carmine mist and to the deepest depths of Galbar.

From this range, he could not miss.

“I have had enough.”

A wave of force travelled outward from the king and struck Jvan head on. More flexible than the underlying stone, the matrix dented inwards, forced into concavity by the continuing thrust that collapsed her myriad hollows. It didn’t let up, and from her colossal form the ashes and silt and ocean water were pushed away as well. The bedrock cracked, and its shards of skyrocketed into warm summer afternoon air.

The force persisted, dwarfing gravity itself.

He could probably have killed them all then and there—all of Galbar. And there was no way that with the kind of power he had he wouldn’t be able to. Instead he spoke to her as she lay pinned to the sea floor.

“I have had enough of this resistance. Enough of your attempts to outplay me at the divine game.” His voice sounded harsh. “My leniency is at an end.”

Depleted though it may be, his patience- If that was what it was- had already lasted longer than, perhaps, it should have. What sinews had torn and teeth had splintered by the continuing force were sprouting new ligaments under the cataclysmic pressure, reconnecting to conform with their distorted shape. Strain built and built, forcing Jvan deeper into the underlying stone, until- A tear.

What surface tissue still held up against the pressure rent and disappeared into the blazing carmine engines below, and the force burst into a honeycomb labyrinth of grey walls. Split by the narrow forks in its path, the pressure was dispersed over a wider surface area as it rushed into hundreds of branching throats, echoing at speed into the immeasurable depths of the Body. A last pulse of kinetic energy escaped from the surface of the lattice, a shadow of what had been absorbed by sheer, hollow, volume.

Jvan was still dragging at Logos when the wave was dispersed, and at the same moment she reversed the pull, shoving the still-descending god with a sharp resistance that broke on him as he flew.

His wings caught the returned force and Logos was sent spinning into the air, quickly righting himself. Against the monstrosity that was She, he appeared no bigger than a toy. He stared darkly down at her, Singularity humming in his hands. He would need a single opening for a single slash. She would not allow him to get close enough for that blow.

He would need to make that opening.

He needed materials. Iron. He needed iron.

His eyes blazed as he caused the space above his head to function as a magnet. At first, nothing happened, but as Logos fed the spell more fuel, it began to attract. A tiny nogule was pulled out of the sand and shot towards him. Logos erected a shield, and the pebble bounced up the surface of the purple barrier. When it got to the point above the god's head, it was folded into a pocket of null-space.

Logos fed his spell more power, and soon more stones followed the first. It was followed by more pieces, a million subatomic flecks of sand, raising waves of silt as seams of the material ripped themselves up from beneath Jvan.

He stood at the heart of a maelstrom of iron and stone until the waves themselves threatened to collapse around him. It would not do to be detected, and he was about to be very noisy.

He would need to be fast. Logos blitzed through open space, attempting to regain the lost ground between him and Jvan, pummeling he form with repetitive strikes of gravity, watching as the Body rippled from the force. Water was turned into superheated steam, sand turned into shards of crystal and flung at her form, it was a thousand mosquito bites to the hide of an elephant.

He would need only a second.

First step: Logos created a spell to identify iron, and only iron, then sent it through a portion of his null-space. It would have been an impossible thing to do, if iron were not a basic substance. Rather than map every individual iron quanta, which would be impossible even at this speed, his spell returned to him a magical array of the metal’s distinct signature.

Second step: Logos phased all of iron into an all new, much smaller part of null-space. For another god, separating all the iron out of the debris and water would have also been impossible. For Logos, it was a simple matter of telling all quanta of iron’s previously determined signature to teleport over there.

There in this case happened to be a pocket dimension of folded reality. Once Logos had finished transferring the metal, the extra null-space contained only pure iron. He ceased working with her first null-space, focusing entirely on the second.

Third step: Logos modified the null-space, using even more of his spatial manipulation magic. First, he tied the space together at both ends. If it were a hallway, walking from the beginning to the end would place a person at the beginning once more. Logos had created an infinite space.

Fourth step: Heat. Logos pulled heat energy from the air around him, above him, beneath him. He poured more and more of it into his pocket space, where its only point of refuge was the iron. He used his own magic, as well, casting a very powerful, very simple spell to convert base material into heat.

The Ocean around them had been flash frozen by the time Logos was satisfied with the internal temperature of his iron dimension. He remembered the exact boiling point of iron—it was somewhere just shy of three thousand celsius, or five thousand one hundred and eighty-our farenheit. His was well past that temperature by now.

Fifth step: gravity. Logos ceased adding heat to the system and instead opened it to the curve of space generated by the planet beneath him. The superheated iron began to fall, but Logos’s space was infinite. The iron fell forever, in a system with no terminal velocity. The Lord of Order used a spell to amplify the gravity and increase the iron’s rate of acceleration.

Sixth, final step: weaponize. Logos closed his system off to the planet’s gravity once the iron was moving at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light.

Logos took all the gravity away their battlefield. Weightlessness engulfed him, Jvan, and the world around them. Specks of dirt, bits of sand and ash, and droplets of billions of gallons of water and ice drifted in the air.

Logos took all of the gravity from this and focused it into a single, needle thin channel between himself and the Cancer. The connection was made, and sudden, Jvan was the most attractive thing in existence. Logos pushed all of the air out of his channel. Begone, he thought.

He dropped his sound spell and siphoned the iron into the gravity channel.

Logos’s stream was less than a millimetre thick of compressed, superheated iron. The pure white beam of light that flared into existence between him and Jvan was as thick as a tree trunk. It hissed, a sound that was so loud it was a tearing scream. Logos didn’t care if Jvan had slunk her way through the death of the old Universe, creeping past him on the Road. Nothing made of flesh and bone could withstand superheavy boiling iron travelling so fast. And nothing Divine could withstand Singularity.

The beam punched a hole through Jvan’s midsection, cutting her in two just above her base. It slammed her Body to the ground. She burst into flames from convection; and so did the ground around her for ten miles. The beam didn’t stop with Jvan. Sand in its path became glass. Bedrock beneath the dirt became slag. All the while, the roaring scream of the weapon filled Logos’s ears.

The power of his Law.

Colour died. Char remained, dark boughs collapsing in an inferno of combusting nitrogen into which the Lord of Order dove. Galbar's atmosphere blazed in the oceanic pit and heat stolen from the hovering droplets returned as fallout. Ice exploded as it vaporised in the air, and exotic pollutants roiled from Jvan like billowing liquid shadows, distorting what was left of its silhouette in the Hell that was.

Two halves of the hulk crashed back into the crust with sprays of molten earth.

And still It did not die.

In those fractional moments, Jvan went beyond pain, was cast beyond thought. Ephemeral sensations, both, scorched out of her from the skin inwards. Rose in the smoke and mingled with the exotic cloud of pollutants. But It was alive. It had no will beyond reflex and reflex was enough. All that breathes fights to exist. Even cancer. And ever was reflex faster than cognition.

Even as the husks fell their inner surfaces writhed out of compression and into the fire, each sprawling into its own stump. They connected without the use of physical space- Had been connected always. Those three dimensions were coming apart at the intervening seams, overlapping and pulling away. They scintillated. Abstraction bent in the hollow between the greater and lesser chunk of God and where the hues of plasma and coal failed to make it out of the cavity Logos had so blindly torn into the twisted part of space that was Jvan, they were represented by the only symbol fitting- Sinews, veins, stretched and pumping still.

Visceral creep that sprawled into the only empty space left for it- A tunnel leading straight to Logos.

The folded barrel of the weapon bulged as the All-Beauty further warped what Logos had distorted for his own ends. It aligned the needle of null-space into permanence, internally linear though it curled and twisted like a whiplash umbilicus. And then, a wounded animal gnawing away its own leg to escape the trap, It cut Itself apart.

Synchronised into a single spacial continuum, the fallout occurred instantly across every point within the glitching wreck of ruined universe and meat. Flesh material and less-so splattered within the chasm as the larger half of Jvan expired explosively, uncoupled from the still-living husk smouldering on the ground, its estranged distortion still centred on Logos, a pillar rising between the corpse and the assailing deity. Whirring energy of constant mutation-modification recoiled into chaos and detonated.

Were Jvan still in control, the explosive fallout of twisted geometries unwinding and exotic matter destabilising may have been enough to satisfy her retaliation. But inhibition comes only from the mind, and the All-Beauty recognised no limits. It knew what It had, and It knew what It could break.

The remains of Jvan gave a final, desperate shudder, fighting to keep its occupant contained. Then the shell broke, a flash of light and echoing boom signifying the sudden displacement of natural space. The world around it seemed to ripple, recoiling at the concussion of foreign energy that surged from the broken shell. The explosion rushed upwards, blowing the stone and sea pieces and sending shrapnel miles into the sky.

Held momentarily within the greater half of Jvan, its prison now shredded, was something Else. And as Logos dove at the corpse he created, another rose to meet him from what he had opened in the blink of an eye.

In a monolithic spire with Logos at its peak and its base sprawling out into fresh reality, the Other rose into Galbar.

A hole appeared beneath Order, not with a massive boom, nor with a polychromatic ring, but with a roar that spread out like a wall, tearing through the air in a second as existence ripped from the seams. At its point of origin was a black sphere, one that pulsed a wicked violet followed by a deep orange before growing.

Out of the portal came a ring of ragged teeth, rotting and feasting as great gobs of caustic saliva came pouring out. It screamed with the sound of a thousand thousand souls, gnashing their teeth in a torrent of never-ending anger and pain and suffering.

Focusing harder, he saw a small flicker. It wasn't just the wall, it was the air in front of and around it, it was the entire direction that seemed to become semi-transparent. For a second Logos could see shadows moving across the surface. Strange bipedal shapes with outlines that seemed to be limbs were barely visible. Suddenly, for the briefest of moments, he could see them clearly. Eyes. Innumerable alien eyes staring back into his own.

Long, slimy tongues slipped out of the mouth and shot to the ground below by the hundreds, tearing the chunks of existence from the realm and swallowing them whole. The thing sucked in the air, pulling up every drop of sea within a mile into its destructive grasp. Upon the peak of its form as it clawed into reality, Logos struggled in the grasp of its infinite tentacles which stretched impossibly into the endless gap between worlds in which his corporeal form dwelt, an unknowable number of its countless eyes glancing towards the twitching white god in its grasp. It opened the nearest few of its billion beaks in reply, but did not answer with words. Indeed, its speech produced not sound, but the absolute absence thereof, as though reality itself were recoiling aghast at the very idea of his maddening words. And still the silence itself foretold such terrible catastrophe that within would be heard the screams of entire worlds dying, a swan song for the very notion of life itself.

Its countless appendages swayed in a manner that might have expressed a noncommittal answer from a being restrained to a mere four dimensions of existence. In the Other’s case, the patterns and strange geometries produced by even such a minor gesture created an entirely new fundamental language of reality, which the Gods themselves would have found alien, conveying more in just a twitch than a millenia of understanding. To a mortal, the impossible knowledge would consume them utterly before they could even process the thought.

Logos screamed and thrashed in the Other’s grip. Flames danced across his body; a vain attempt to slough off the impossibility that clung to his reality like a disease. He could feel his skin burning, his hair and feathers on the verge of igniting as he nearly suffocated from the awful Unthing.

The flames pressed tighter against his skin, were absorbed, and then vanished into his flesh as the Abberant’s essence burrowed deeper inside.

There was the sudden and terrible sensation of being filled, of having his very form stretched to its physical limits. It began as a massive headache that spread down his neck and over his flesh, bringing pain and pressure that threatened to split muscle and rupture organs. He could feel hot pinpricks rushing up and down his flesh, like something was crawling over body body just underneath the epidermal.

Worst of all was the presence clawing its way up from the dark recesses of his mind. The sudden feeling of being watched, followed by a strange tingling and twitching in his limbs, like he was a puppet and someone was experimentally tugging the strings.

The heat was dwindling, the tentacle’s withdrawn gone but for the thin membrane of fire that still wrapped around him. A final burst of heat, and the flames winked out, plunging the sea into darkness. Logos closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath, trembling. When he opened them, everything had changed.

The azure sky above them darkened noticeably as the little, puffy white clouds expanded to become dark monoliths that filled with roiling beams of electric light. Winds of lead and mercury howling through the rocky spikes, the smell of acid dancing along. The Other has passed through the tear, and Galbar was overshadowed by it.

Logos beat his aetherial wings and tried desperately to get back to the ground as the monstrosity pulled him in. With a roar of defiance, the deity rent out of the space and reappeared in the air before the gap. The sliver of nothing, Singularity, hummed wildly in his hand and Logos grunted as it pierced the skein. A gap, not The Gap, was created. Between the molecules, between the atoms, between the quarks, between the subatomica there had always been Singularity. It had existed before existence in for a timeless time in a placeless place. If he was the beginning of All, then surely this was the End. It was no small feat to bring the Nothing to light. A gap became a gash. A gash became a cube.

He began to darken as he wove. Space was snipped here, folded there. Time warped and wrapped. A tiny dark slivered out of him and expanded to touch everything, almost softly, the sea, the crater of molten slag, Jvan, then the Other’s tentacles. The sky was next as the quiet glow travelled on. In the center of it all, Logos danced upon Time and caressed Space, the world around them fragmenting and twisting unto itself, again and again...

Everything ceased to exist.

The chasm of waterfalls vanished with nary a protest. The floating ring pulsed one last white glow then shut itself. The mass of nothingness traveled up and around, encompassing everything in sight and beyond.

Just as it had begun, the pure chaos, the entropy, faded.

Logos stood in the center of where the glow had originated. He was panting madly as his eyes rolled back and gravity took hold of the unregion once more. He fell, all the way to the very epicenter of the uncrater he had made, one with smooth edges, as large as a mountain and then some.

With an earth-shattering thump, the Other crashed into the ground and lay there. From the corner of his eternal vision, in this space within space around space, he saw the hovering form of what was left of Jvan.

Chaos relied on contrasts, so when one no longer contrasted, there existed both all chaos and no chaos, both one hundred percent and zero with nowhere to go and no possibility of change. Space within Space. All the same. In the Gap, his Laws were useless. Here, they did not exist. A quintessential paradox; they existed and did not, were real and unreal.

What was not real could not be killed.

Logos levelled Singularity at the creature, now gazing upon it in full for the first time. It was beautiful, it was terrible, it was right, it was wrong.

It was Wrong.

“Abominations like you are immortal, but you can feel pain. This sword can bring you hell,” he whispered, before the first blow was struck.

After a while, numbers stop making sense. The difference between thousands and millions and billions becomes blurry, and when Time has been killed, it’s even harder to keep count. Even Gods could grow tired.

Logos and Jvan were sole witnesses to the fight, and even they felt it was long. Long enough to be seen against the backdrop of eternity, something to be remembered by. Reality never stood a chance; the two had always been proof of that. It was just a matter of Time. Time was dead, however, devoured by this very beast, which something—statistics, perhaps, to referee the inevitability.

So the gods fought against the Other one.

Gods, plural. Jvan participated, now and then and unwillingly, if only because there was nothing else to do. He had long since shoved the burden of maintaining the folded space onto her geometric shoulders as he did the duty of fighting. That’s probably what angered the Eldest God the most.

So the battle was long, but it wasn’t endless. Even infinite creatures eventually meet their end. Singularity worked hard on the Thing From The Other Side, and one by one, the tentacles were cut off. And when more grew, they were cut off again.

When the tentacles ended, Logos went for the eyes. Then, for the stomach. Then, for the head.

He had been right. The creature couldn’t die, but it could feel pain. And, at one point, Pain becomes so great it becomes indistinguishable from dying.

Even though it was immortal, even though neither of them could be killed, eventually, Singularity found a way.

The walls of the cube folded folded upon themselves and the cubes folded upon themselves and the cubes folded upon themselves and the cubes folded upon themselves.

And a voice resonated from the tightening knots of locked and slotted space.

Move.

Not so much a warning as the only remaining faculty with which the Lord of Order could be shunted aside from the moment. Prevented, somehow, from confounding the opportunity that was so crucially needed to execute a plan of desperate delicacy.

In the quiet of an orbit that had seen only distant flashes on the surface of Galbar as it listened to the cruel echoes of bending, cracking space below, the last mechanism remaining to the All-Beauty refined its aim. Precariously compromised the inconceivably precious resource of unadulterated seconds (how quickly do things proceed far below, in the heat of the burning Moment, the teeter on the edge, the breaking point of Time!) with the accuracy of its sights, until, finally, there was no time left, and the risk, the horrific risk of hit or miss, was at its gut-wrenching minimum.

False glyphs scrawled themselves into being in rings of astronomical size around Ovaedis, stabilising effigies that morphed as they calculated, diverting power down, down into the narrow path of its opening maw.

Those esoteric devices blazed, dissolved back into space as dust before a gale, and Ovaedis fired.

A hypodermic spire of bent air penetrated the charred husk of the All-Beauty, pinning it like a needle through an insect, as its twin pierced the developing tesseract. Where an instant before there was nothing, now an afterburnt trail, an arrow-thin double helix, marked the course where the spikes had blitzed down from orbit.

A gossamer film of undulating mirage billowed between the two needles. A flimsy link from the still-breathing carcass to the confines of Pandora's growing box. And as the wreck of a battlefield continued to disintegrate, flecks of black began to sit, tattered edges flapping in the winds of Hell, in fixed spots around the vast core of the rift. Organic black.

Under the outer layers of skin that were scorched to the bone, the All-Beauty was undergoing resurrection. Faint blue pulses lit the soft motes of flesh surrounding the tesseract from within, fading quickly, like thoughts. They grew, unravelled, reformed, until the strain of their own task was too great. Then they unwound into pale cyan flows- and burned off.

Locked into holding the weight It had created, every flicker of awareness that was recovered from the night could only but be incinerated at birth, fuelling the insentient engine that had assembled itself in the fire and was now haphazardly failing to build a hand with which to carry the burden on its back. Any scar produced from the healing was ripped out and recycled to calculate the delicate growth paths of the dark specks, only for them to collapse again. Jvan's eyes flickered open, only to be digested.

Neither effort was succeeding. No compromise existed between repair and imprisoning what had sprouted from the amputated corpse. What healed could not stay healed under the ravenous strain of suckling the motes, and without consuming everything the All-Beauty was still able to weave under the crushing weight of Its own brokenness, those scraps of tissue could not survive.

Always the mind follows the body. The entity was trying to craft a tomb of its own flesh and gristle and all the while abandoning it to unravel alone. A canvas, no matter how bloodstained, is never complete without the heart of its painter.

Succumbing to the strain of the needle, the All-Beauty let itself be torn in two.

Whipped by an unseen wind, the diaphonous curtain between the needles flowed violently as its two terminals realigned. A new crop of dark flecks materialised around the tesseract, cyan pulses pushing their edges to grow. They met, tangled, integrated, formed layers. Glowing vents of energy erupted on its surface and were snuffed out, only to intensify deeper in the rift- A furnace.

But the growth did not wane nor waver. It burgeoned, honing itself into resilience, and channeled every phase of maturation inwards, ever-changing, perpetually compensating for the dynamic chaos within the tesseract. One fragile skin at a time, the anomaly was covered. And with each vivid stroke, the shell redesigned itself, compressing into a tighter and tighter bundle of rippled tissue along perfectly carved lines.

As the frayed and punctured wall of seawater finally began to collapse back into the shattered battlefield and onto its denizen, the needle piercing Its body dissolved from the tips inward, becoming one with the connecting membrane. Freed at one end, the film briefly became a tail, and was consumed by the living kernel, whipping almost playfully.

Then, for a moment, there was only roaring water.

...

In the oceanic dark, the kernel imploded, elegantly folding itself away into a bundle little bigger than a newborn. Its once-colossal surface shrunk into a perfectly symmetrical finish of glossy black, and floral golden polygons bloomed between the indents as if to say, here. I'm complete. Your efforts have made me beautiful. Take me. Lazy ripples of vivid blue drifted over the surface like paint.



A prickle of awareness realised that it was clutching the kernel telekinetically. Still stiffly holding it in place. The mental grip uncurled. The creation rose sharply upwards through the water.

It floats.

An isolated thought, chasing it on its way, a twitch of consciousness without direction, its supporting mental architecture still under construction. More innate instincts moved to recall the device, plucked it out of existence where it was and back into the hollows of the sunken husk. It immediately began to float again, moved by the simple principle of buoyancy. This time it was let go.

The kernel could travel as far as Fate willed. It was still, deeply and ultimately, an iteration of All-Beauty. It would return when it was called. It would die with her. And the Tesseract would die with it. Woe on the soul of one who would break the seal upon the rift. Woe on they who would dare discover the debt Galbar owed the Lord of Order, and the horrorsome Engineer.

For now, the waves could have it.

As the accursed thing made its way to the surface, the entity's awareness blurred away again. Mental conduits began to weld themselves back into being, each one searing its way painfully through the sensory void. Sparks of disregarded memory momentarily sizzled in the nothingness but did not catch.

_Clink.

The last shard of porcelain tumbled from its precarious resting place and ignited a storm of recollection.

Realta. Acalya. Logos. Xerxes burning. They're here.

Sculptors calling to me. Not any more. Thirty thousand dead. Halos- Halos? I made those. Their voices. Why are their voices so scattered? No, I did that. Lens groves melted. Teknall in the skies. Urtelem fighting Acalya guardians- the Distant Dance. Amber lost on the White Ocean infestation zone. A hain? Ophanim. Rovaick hunted. Amartia still missing. My name on the Oath of Stilldeath. Alefpria- Lifprasil. Lifprasil! Father Dominus- Undefended- I need to modify it. Whatever he needs- I-

The memories began to catch up to the present moment. Jvan opened her eyes, and saw herself burned and dismembered at the bottom of the ocean.

"U- Uk- Uagh- A-"

Her voice began to gag. Awareness returned, and with it, pain.

"Uaah-aaagh-"

Unimaginable pain.

Jvan's released a choking moan. It morphed into a wail.

"Haaaaa- A- Ah-..!"

For a moment, the sound weakened, pitch rising until it was imperceptible. Jvan cried out.

"AAA-AA-AAGH-"

The wail became a scream, rose, rose and rose and rose, losing auditory coherency by the second, cracking into a roiling, unending static screech.

Jvan clutched herself as her mind repaired itself one agonising link at a time. Senses switched on, growing keener and keener on her tender consciousness, and the pain grew clearer. And clearer.

And clearer.



Funny, the way things turn out. Too easy to think it was all meant to be. Isn't that right?

A cold dawn on the Sparkling Sea. Distant stars had yet to pass from the horizon. The sky was grey enough to promise gusts.

The Sculptor ambled with a looping, easy grace over the beach, not slow, yet with a deliberate gait that implied no haste, leaving pairs of huge bird-like footprints on the sand while their little front paws and middle paws made smaller, deeper tracks, supporting on four feathered forelegs the weight of a hunched torso and a long, thick neck. An arc-shaped metal halo was fused with that neck at the lower middle and again at the base, and from under its shawl of silky feathers dangled curious tags and vivid beads on cords.

That neck terminated in a sheer white disc, a mask-like face with perfect black circles for eyes and no other features. Faeries followed it with sweeping movements of their long, gossamer wings. Only a slight leaning of that heavy, ruffled neck gave any indication that they were even looking at anything in particular. Indeed they were.

And something was looking back.

What had come to pass had come in a storm of chaos and change, and the stillness that followed seemed almost illusory. Like a quiet afterlife, spent contemplating the tumult of mortal existence. Yet, despite everything, it was very much real. This new existence, this oddly favourable state of affairs- Real.

I'm just over here. That's right.

The voice of the painter beckoned the Sculptor in. An unmistakeable object sat half-buried in the sand, as waves and seagrass puddled around it. They sat down before the kernel, crossing their hindlegs with an oddly human ease, tail feathers fanning behind them, caring not a bit for the wetness of the ground. Four muscled and crested arms banded with bronze reached for the kernel, held it in tiny, dainty paws, squirrel-like, completely feathered and still uncannily resembling hands. Little fingers felt the surface of the device, its smooth rises and falls, its golden spirals. Expressionless eyes watched the slow pulses of blue over its surface.

If only they knew the earth-shattering danger of the thing within the box that was only barely held back by fortifications that had to be continuously renewed as they wore into nothing. Then they might have stepped lightly around the kernel.

As it was, there was no need for alarm. Certainly, the voice felt none. It didn't mind losing what it made. Here, safe under the undulating layers of a hectic reality above, in the vaulted halls of the Tesseract unending, was a white space. So it painted. And the seal held.

On the surface, its mind was free to wander.

"Hello," said the kernel.

'Mmmmoom,' said the Sculptor, by way of greeting.

"What's your name?"

'Moohf, mumf.'

"I see. Hello, Old Walker."

Old Walker's neck twisted to look at the kernel in its hands upside-down. As it did, their simple face seemed to unhinge at the lower edge, lifting away from the neck to reveal a double row of sharkish teeth between neck and face. The hidden maw grinned. Old Walker only ever opened their mouth to smile, for that was the only expression possible to it.

"I haven't chosen a name yet. Would you like to see my face, instead?"

Old Walker nodded.

From within the kernel in its hands, part of the blue glow seemed to escape into the air, revealing itself not so much as a glow at all- Rather a faint ripple of translucent colour that hung in the air. It began to unfold and undulate, flexing back and forth, forming straight lines and sine waves, and spirals, squared, circular, and irregular with tumbling tails, often all at once, in some places dense enough to be opaque, in others almost too faint to be visible, an expression fluidly cycling through many possible forms.

'Mruuuum?'

"I have," said the parameter ghost. "My name is Phi. Chiral Phi, Composer of the Light."

In travelling down the east coast of Mesathalassa, Gerrik Far-Teacher had plenty of time to reflect on his visit to Susa. Not only did he learn of leather working and saw how sophisticated traps were made, but it was also his first up-close encounter with humans. If communication were easier then perhaps he could spend more time learning from humans and teaching them as well. And then there was this Alefpria place, which seemed to contain knowledge far beyond that of the rest of the world, knowledge too valuable to not share.

But Gerrik had more to do than just reflect on what he had done. He had to teach. And that he did, sharing the knowledge he had learned with the hain villages he passed, and learning what he could. Mesathalassa had been deeply affected by the Night of Phantoms, so in every village Gerrik found some new piece of information or practise, however small. Herbalism seemed to be rather common.

As he got closer to Fiberslay, though, Gerrik came across one village which had something markedly different. While in the village of Barbahar, teaching the people his ever-expanding knowledge of skills and crafts, a most peculiar presentation was made. One of the hain donned an outfit of cyan fur which covered her entirely, while a few of the other hain put on masks and costumes. They then reenacted a dramatic event, where the hair-covered hain, appearing to depict a fiberling, pretended to by tyrant over a village while the other costumed hain, which were depicting hain other than themselves, played other figures in the story. The tale culminated in the fiberling being driven out of the village by the united efforts of the hain.

It was quite an interesting tale, although more interesting was the means of telling it. Compared with traditional storytelling, the combination of visual and auditory elements and live actors gave the story an extra degree of immersion and enhanced the drama. Gerrik inquired about it afterwards, and learned that the story came from Fiberslay, brought by a strange band of four non-hain peoples (which Gerrik readily correlated with the Grand Parade he met in Susa). The show put on by the four strangers was so popular that some of the villagers in Barbahar attempted to recreate it, to act out stories themselves. The Barbahar actors said they were creating more of these live reenactments, or 'plays', but the Fiberslay story was still the most popular.

Gerrik could see the value of these plays. Although not too useful for his own work, they seemed to be an effective way to deliver some messages. He encouraged the actors to continue acting, and maybe even perform in other villages. Once Gerrik finished teaching, he departed, going by fishing boat to Fiberslay.

Fiberslay was a large village, as villages went. It was supported primarily by fish from the lake and the Fractal Sea, and supplemented by numerous herb gardens, which served both to flavour food and as medicine. It was also the most colourful village Gerrik had ever seen. Almost all the tents were dyed and painted, some depicting scenes and people. It was this he had come for- some means to record information in a way which did not require him to explain it in person.

Gerrik started how he normally did. After gaining entry to the village, he found the craftshain, introduced himself and began working alongside them, offering advice and sharing knowledge. The craftshain marvelled at how expertly this newcomer was able to shape wood and stone, and thus listened intently to his advice.

But standing separate from the group was another hain, looking as inconspicuous as any hain trying to look inconspicuous - that is to say, not very much so. It was clear from his expression that he was rather baffled by all that Gerrik was doing, for he was very clearly a Chipper this Gerrik. But there he was showing himself openly and teaching the others what he knew!
It had been a long time since Shammik had last seen another Chipper, but he could not say he was all too pleased to have seen one after so long in this way. He would have very much preferred that he not see one at all, in fact! Ever since the Times of Tribulation, when Chippers were actively hunted and hated by all in Fibreslay, and ever since all Chippers in the region had received Stone Chipper's command that they hide themselves, there had been no indigenous Chippers in the village.

Certainly, there were craftshain and others who had so benefited from the Chippers when they were yet welcomed, but Chippers had all but disappeared. That was not to say that they did not exist, they had merely done as Shammik had told them: they hid and waited on the day when Stone Chipper would return and bid them do otherwise. And Shammik was of the personal belief that he would in fact return and lead them personally into a glorious age of discovery and advancement.

As they were by nature inventors, most Chippers who did not physically flee did as Shammik did and became craftshain. They were suspected at first, of course, but it did not take too great an effort to convince the others that the 'Chipper demon' which had possessed them had been so frightened by the other hain that it had simply run away. For hain like those of the Fibreslay, obsessed as they were with the idea of long-ago alien tyrants who similarly possessed and oppressed them, it was not a difficult pill to swallow. And with time, as tends to be the case with these things, most all but forgot about Chippers and the natural state of neutrality towards those creative followers of Stone Chipper returned.

But the Chipper-Craftshain remained hidden, and waited. And now this foreigner had come, ignorant to their ways and the command of Stone Chipper (or, perhaps, openly defying that command!)

'Shammik! Shammik! Come and see this! This one knows much!' one of the craftshain, Bagid, called to him. Startled to hear his own name shouted so loudly (for he had been trying very hard to be very inconspiciuous) Shammik nearly fell over. But quickly regaining his composure and righting himself, he made his way towards the group - if rather cautiously.

'What is it? Who is this? What are you doing?' he asked, giving Gerrik a suspicious glare with the two beady eyes on the right side of his birdlike face.
'A big Chipper! A Chipper Chie-' Shammik immediately whacked the indiscrete Bagid on the beak.
'Be quiet! You know that's a forbidden word!'
'Oh, ow. Sorry Shammik. I forgot...' ignoring Bagid, Shammik once more glared at Gerrik.
'Why are you doing that? Why are you going about telling everyone you are a Chipper? You want us all to die? You want Stone Chipper to be angry?' the zealous hain looked around him to ensure none of the non-Chippers were around to hear his accusatory whispers.

Gerrik gawked at Shammik and his wild accusations for a few seconds, momentarily lost for words. Who was this hain to tell him what the will of Stone Chipper was? Eventually he regained his composure, stood to face Shammik and answered with authority.

'I am Gerrik Far-Teacher, apprentice and successor of Stone Chipper and prophet of Teknall. It is by the command and blessing of Stone Chipper himself that I travel between villages and teach them all these things. If Stone Chipper were angry about this, which he is not, I would be the first to know.'

The others around the pair seemed awed at Gerrik's words, and all eyes (or what they could of them) were turned once more on Shammik. The zealous hain seemed somewhat taken aback by Gerrik's revelation, and he had indeed been told about one 'Gerrik' by his own master many years ago.
'Well, you say that, but we were all commanded by Stone Chipper in a great vision which reached us all - many years ago - to flee and to hide. And we did as he commanded us and our tribulation was lifted. We have not been commanded to come out of hiding, and until Stone Chipper himself commands us, we cannot and shall not reveal ourselves to the people. If you are, as you say, Stone Chipper's successor, then surely you must know of that dream and his command!'

This was news to Gerrik. He had not heard of this command, or why it had been issued. It seemed a very strange command for Stone Chipper to give.

I think I'd better fill you in on this one, came the voice of Teknall inside Gerrik's mind. This event took place a few years after I drove off the fiberling- you remember it. A little over thirty years ago. Word of my miracle reached this village, which as you know has its own history with fiberlings, and the chief took offence that someone else could so easily defeat a fiberling. Furthermore, the ideas drawn from our time observing the heavens were presented in such a way which opposed the local folklore, such that the Chippers were branded liars. There was also talk of bad omens. These factors drove some, including many of the chiefs, to hunt down and kill any Chippers they found. This was the first I had heard of the existence of the Chippers, so I felt a degree of responsibility for their well-being. I came by dream to all those who were in danger, around fourty in number, and told them to be wary and flee for their safety.

Since then, the old chieftains have died, and their successors are a lot more open-minded. Never thought the warning would persist this long. Don't give up on Fiberslay, though. As you might be able to guess, it is one of the most important hain settlements on Galbar, and we're going to be set back some way if you get kicked out.

This information was all relayed to Gerrik in a few short seconds. In that time, he appeared to be in thought, as though trying to remember something. He received the information from Teknall, synthesised it with his enhanced mental prowess, then rapidly assembled a logical argument.
Then Gerrik gave his response to the group. 'Ah, yes, that. The vision which was sent thirty-or-so years ago to the approximately forty Chippers who were in the villages in and around Fiberslay at the time- and those Chippers only. The vision which told you to be wary and flee. That was during the time that many of the more traditional hain were seeking to kill the Chippers, for spreading what they called 'lies' and for offending their cultural heritage. And when you stopped speaking of such things and disassociated yourselves with the offending message, the hain had no more reason to kill you.

'Stone Chipper gave that command as a response to the situation at the time in Fiberslay, and it was sound advice for the time. But times have changed. The old chief is dead. People have forgotten how the Chippers offended them. You lot have developed enough cultural awareness and common sense to not tell people that all their legends and beliefs are wrong, and be smart enough to distinguish between things which are true and things which are just ideas. If any trait is essential to being a Chipper, it is being able to think rationally and logically. So follow the logic. Some actions you did created animosity against the Chippers. You receive advice from Stone Chipper regarding this animosity, which you follow. This removes you from danger, and also removes the cause of this animosity. This animosity is now gone. Provided your words or actions do nothing to anger the people again, it is entirely safe to come out of hiding. Makes sense?'

Bagid, along with most of the other hain, found themselves unconsciously nodding in agreement, but Shammik - though his suspicion had lessened - was not yet convinced.
'No, that's not right. It was not the fact that we fled and hid, in and of itself, that caused the non-Chippers to stop persecuting us. The direct cause of their ceasing was the will of Stone Chipper, not our hiding and fleeing. And Stone Chipper willed that our persecution stop because we obeyed him. Had we taken any other course of action, reasonable as it may have appeared to us, we would have ultimately met with failure: for we would have disobeyed Stone Chipper, and so he would not have willed for the persecution to cease, and so we would suffer still.

'The fact that he has continued to protect us from the anger of the others must not fool us into a false sense of safety, for his will remains only so long as we obey his command, or until another command descends which overrules the last. That is the way.'

'But Chammik,' Salib, who stood beside Bagid, suddenly said with his gruff worker's voice, 'what if it's Dgerrik that comes bearing the second command of which you speak?' at which Shammik smiled.
'The answer to that is obvious to my mind. Here, think about this: why would Stone Chipper send us the first command in one way, but the second command in a different manner? That makes no sense. He knows that we are expecting his second command to come from him in the form of a dream also, and it is only natural that we reject any other form which claims to be the second command.'
'But Shammik,' Bagid this time, 'you told us before that we will only be able to come out of hiding once Stone Chipper himself descends.'
'Yes. I did, and there is no contradiction here - for whether Stone Chipper commands us through a dream or in person is one and the same thing. In both cases we receive the commands from the ultimate source and authority direct. You understand?'

With this said, all eyes turned back to Gerrik expectantly.

Shammik was proving to be problematically stubborn. Not only that, but he had influence amongst most of the craftshain in Fiberslay. He could, potentially, jeopardise his entire mission to Fiberslay. But Gerrik kept his calm. Shammik was not yet a lost cause.

'You say the cause behind all this was Stone Chipper's will, but from where did you draw that conclusion? Stone Chipper never told you or anyone else that the persecutions stopped because he willed it. This was an assumption you made at some point. Furthermore, it is an assumption without precedent. Stone Chipper's mission has always been to promote the spread of knowledge, not to hide it away. Stone Chipper has always promoted common sense and critical thinking, not blind obedience. Whenever Stone Chipper taught us anything, we were encouraged to think rationally about why those things might be true or useful. It is likewise for what he told you thirty years ago in the dream.'

'He does speak rather reasonably, Shammik. I remember our master saying something near about the same once,' Maro, one of the older and more respected members, spoke out at at last, to nods from many others in the group. Silent for a few moments, Shammik made clear his exasperation and gave way.
'Very well, I guess what you say is somewhat reasonable, even if a part of me is yet unconvinced. What have you come to us for, then? Merely to have us declare in the open that we are truly Chippers?'

Gerrik replied, 'My mission here is the same as in every other village I have visited, and a continuation of Stone Chipper's own mission- to teach the knowledge and skills that I know and to discover new knowledge and skills that I don't know. I have come to you craftshain because you are the ones with which I have the most to share. Once I share what I know, I request that you share it with others as appropriate, but that is voluntary as it always has been.'

Gerrik sat back down and picked up the piece of flint he had been working with before Shammik interrupted. Beside it was a broad-head arrow from Gerrik's own quiver. 'Now, before you arrived, I had been showing the others how to make a better arrow for hunting. You are welcome to join us.'

'I'll think about it,' the unseated leader of the craftshain responded, 'but for now, I must go and contemplate on this...uh, unexpected series of events,' and with that, he turned away and made his way out of the village, to find a calm and quiet place where he could think.

Another field of corpses, more death to Chaos and the undead alike and the sweet sound of a suffering imp as it curled into a ball, feeling nothing but the pain that it had brought to some mortals. Keriss stood over the imp, simply gazing at it as the poor being suffered for simply existing. Without a word, Keriss kicked its head into the earth of the Venomweald, killing it.

The Demi-God sighed before turned her back the majority of the graveyard before beginning to walk forward, into more trees and hunt more chaos. How long has it been since she had started this crusade, since she was born? Days? Weeks? Years? She lost count, not that she cared. This was her job, her purpose of making sure that her parents were proud of her. It was true torture, yet blissful because she was making her enemies suffer.

“Mother, father. I am doing my duty.”

Keriss walked.

”Mother, father. Answer me.”

Keriss walked.

”Mother, father...”

Keriss stopped, gazing into the air and simply pondering as to why she has not gotten an answer from Vakarlon or Vulemera. It was strange, the two used to be so lively before they had suddenly disappeared. Perhaps the others gods would know what happened to them, perhaps they would be able to solve this puzzle. The gods. The gods didn't truly care for her, why should she try and contact them?

There was silence, almost as if all the wildlife had suddenly ceased to exist, leaving Keriss to her thoughts. Standing in a solemn field of silence, not a field for she was surrounded by trees. Was she going mad? The Demi-God shook her head, attempting to clear her mind.

”I need a break from this,” she sighed before her hands grabbed the horns on either side of her head, comforting herself.

“There’s no real way to put this gently, daughter, so I’ll just say it.” Vestec spoke quietly, standing in front of Keriss. “Your mother and the one claiming to be your father are dead.” He waited, eyeing her for a sudden attack.

Keriss’ eyes widen at the sound of the voice, instinctively, she opened her eyes and attempted to overcome this person’s will in order to cause suffering. At the same time she processed what had been said and found it to be a jest, she could tell with these sort of things because her father was a trickster after all.

After a few moments of seeing that this man was unaffected by her abilities, she went in to grab the man by the throat. She would put this being into its place before long.

Vestec faded through her grasping hand, a chaotic swirl of colors. “It’s alright to be angry, daughter. Finding out that the ones who raised you are dead, and have been lying to you your entire life would make anyone angry. But you must recover soon. There is work to be done. Agents of Chaos to destroy, far stronger than any you have ever faced.” He looked over at the dead Cursed around them and chuckled softly.

Keriss roared in frustration, this was now properly annoying her due to her inability to actually do harm to the man. However, she did momentarily stop trying to kill the man.”Who are you? You are not my father. You must be some creation of Vestec!”

Vestec tilted his head surprise before suddenly tsking in annoyance. “Did Vulamera teach you nothing?” He spewed pure Chaos energy into the air, giggling as the multicolored energy soared into the air, simultaneously hissing, boiling, and roaring. Suddenly cutting it off, he gave a sweeping bow. “I am Vestec, daughter. And I am your father, even if I was not the one present at your birth.”

For a moment, fear has shown itself in her eyes upon seeing the Chaos energy. She suppressed that feeling. Though, at the mere mention of Vestec thinking he was her father was enough to cause Keriss to shutter from heretical disgust. ”You are not my father. Vakarlon is my father, and I was born to kill you and your creations,” Keriss growled, baring her teeth to show aggression towards the one who had been told was her enemy.

“Oh is he?” Vestec replied, giggling. “Tell me, daughter, what part of trickery causes suffering? Pain? Destruction? Perhaps, perhaps if you used deceit and tactics to cause all this destruction, I would believe you. But all this…” He gestured to the corpses and devastation all around them. “This is all terribly violent. And since I doubt your dear mother told you, I’ll tell you myself. Violence is apart of me. He wounded Vulamera in their last meeting, and he got some of his essence inside of her. I was able to remove most of it, but at the cost of leaving some of my essence in her, resulting in your half-brother Lifprasil. More on him later.”

He was walking around Keriss, gesturing occasionally as he walked. “Your birth provide Vulamera with a perfect chance to experiment on the idea that you could use Chaos to fight Chaos, without accidentally creating a bigger threat. So you needed a ‘father’ that wasn’t me. Someone who would help her push you towards fighting Chaos. Enter Vakarion.”

Vestec paused, looking at her. “Are you following so far?”

Keriss clenched her fists, listening to Vestec tell her who her true father was, angering her to no ends. She would not fall to his attempts to corrupt her, yet this would be a chance to get as much information as possible out of Vestec, her enemy. A silent nod in reply was given to the chaos god, permitting him to continue with his heretical speech.

“Vakarion was the perfect candidate. Unlike all the other Gods, he would have no qualms about deceiving you about your birth, and would have no problems helping her trick you into believing that he was your father. He didn’t even need much convincing to agree, as he owed your mother anyway. So Vulamera delayed your birth for a while longer until both she and Vakarion were ready. When they were, she stopped resisting. You were born and the rest you know. They declared your purpose is to destroy Chaos and it’s followers wherever it was, in an attempt to curb it. A job you’ve done admirably.”

Vestec was suddenly in front of her. “What they didn’t count on was their deaths and the arrival of Order to cause more chaos than I ever have. Vulamera looked too deeply into the Codex and was driven insane. Vakarlon offered himself up to Jvan, foolishly, and I only know that he is dead, not what became of him. Logos and his Realta have arrived and are burning innocents by the hundreds. You may not believe I am your father, daughter, but I have a mission for you and a gift. Provided you’re willing to accept a gift from your enemy to combat your enemy.”

Keriss thought this over for a moment, mainly processing the facts that her parents were dead which would explain their silence. Unfortunately with Vestec being the only god she has met other than her parents, she may have to just trust his word. However, this may be one of his chaotic tricks to corrupt the demi-goddess. Her eyes pierced into Vestec, wanting to deny him yet he has made too much sense of it all, her parents silence. ”Very well, father, what is this mission that you have said you have brought to me. And if what you say is true then speak quickly for time is of the essence!,” Keriss said in a low, unamused tone, crossing her arms.

Vestec threw his hands wide. “It’s simple daughter! We will end this threat in the city of Xerxes. Your half brother Amartia has set up camp there, and thrown in his lot with Logos. It’s a festering pit of Chaos and soon it will be bathed with blood. Be there. Kill everything that remotely looks like Chaos and be home for dinner. Simple! If it all ends well I’ll even give you a group of friends to murder all the chaos around you.”

“And how do I know you are not simply tricking me into trying to kill those who are innocent at this ‘Xerxes?,” Keriss’ eyes narrowing ever more, a trait of skepticism that she had gotten from her mother. How must it be that this Chaos God has come to the slayer of Chaos to kill more Chaos? Rather chaotic, rather chaotic indeed.

Vestec tilted his head in minor confusion. “Because when you get there you will go into such a homicidal rage at the sight of all the chaos you’ll realize there isn’t any innocents. Amartia killed them earlier.” “Of course, you can just sit here, kill random monsters, and then learn how people did your job for you while you did nothing to affect the world at all. And not get a bunch of friends to kill chaos with you.” Vestec giggled. “Satisfied yet?”

Keriss growled for a few moments, thinking of what to do before giving Vestec his answer. “Fine. I shall go to Xerxes and slaughter all Chaos I find, but if I kill an innocent out of bloodlust then you better believe I will go after you personally.”

“Fair enough daugther.” Vestec gave a sweeping bow. “See you there!” In a poof of multicolored smoke, he was gone.

With Vestec gone, Keriss kicked one of the corpses for she had made a deal with her enemy. However, that was the god who she could trust right now with the others, to what she could assume, to not truly care about herself. The slayer of chaos spread her wings and took flight to the city that she was supposed to destroy.

---

A masculine hand moved over white canvas, debasing its once clean continuance, almost as if his mind was directing it. Odd perhaps, but that was the way it came. His burst of inspiration.

He shuddered. He suddenly saw the world as it truly was, a beautiful array of colors and shapes, ideas and formulas, voids and space, love and fear. It was all a canvas that left just enough space for everyone to paint their own story, their own lives in the whites of the world, and it was time to illustrate his own.

His hand moved instinctively to the right spot, building a new picture, one he had never seen before. His mind was in overdrive, and his was stuck body in a perpetual state of ecstasy as he worked. Colours became vivid, almost to the point of garish. Stroke lines emboldened and images from 'out of this world' formed. It was both stunning and head-ache inducing, it's like a scroll condensed onto a single page.

Time would often slur and slow, then speed up and explode, his brain unable to keep up with itself. His limbs would sometimes inexplicably stretch and widen, which often lead to bouts of laughter and coughing. His body would shake as his brain tittered on the edge of sanity, unable to differentiate dream and reality. 

His hand then stopped, his body stilling. Then it came suddenly like waves crashing upon the shoreline during a hurricane. It began with a warm buzzing around his heart, spreading to his upper arms, head and grew, just as the nerves pulsed downward towards his groin. Then the burning started. The burning sat low and wide, around his hip, then it intensified and localised in his groin, burning more intensely as he held his breath and stretch out his legs.

Great gusts of air rushed into his lungs, and delayed the inevitable for a few more seconds. It is like climbing a mountain, approaching a volcano of pure hot light and at last, just when he thought he couldn't take another second, he tipped slowly over the edge of infinite pleasure, moaning and gasping, falling, as his head exploded with a thousand stars. His eyes widened and his lips formed and 'O' as his body was locked in a perpetual state of paralysis.

Then, he knew nothing, not his own name or where he was. And then he was back, heart pounding, breathing heavily, laughing and sighing deep inside an alley. A giant Orobours symbol was his only company, scribbled onto the wall.

This was a common sight in Xerxes. Morality seemed to crumble as hundreds suddenly surrendered themselves to thier primal desire.  Food and wine had become as abundant as the air itself, seemingly unlimitedly since the Enas' return. What point was thier to work? All that was left was thier own desire, which suddenly led to an all consumed lust for pleasure. A fact of life that only seemed plausible and apparent a few days after Amartía's arrival.

The Enas called it, the Thirty Days of Retribution. A 'massive reform' he called it. He pitched the, 'make Xerxes great again' line; and in his eyes he did. Within days, thier beloved Enas had filled the storehouses to the brim with grain; 'Xerxians will no longer grow hungry', he said. Water became wine at his touch; 'Work no longer, those who toil all day', he freed the slaves. In the eyes of the Xerxians, he became a god, but he wasn't finished thier. 'Eat and drink to your hearts desire'; he proclaimed. The words were like milk and honey to the peoples ears, then things began to change.

People began to truly understand 'pleasure'. Sin no longer brought forth guilt and ill-will, but unimaginable pleasure, a feeling never before derived from such acts.

Woman would walk the streets naked along side men, which would often lead to random displays of passion. Moral boundaries shattered as men began to lie down with men, woman with woman, elderly with the young, and even hain and human. Art became an outlet, as Xerxes seemed to pop with the brightly coloured murals that was splattered upon the walls, particularly bright pinks and purples. Entrails often became a common sight, as intestines and bones lined the homes of many. Children played and screamed on blood drenched the streets, often disappearing, never to be seen again. All work seemed to halt as Xerxes fell into a daze. Dead bodies lined the gutters, most victims being the Rotfly after a slave insurrection. Festival's of death and sex were often held, which often lead to fighting and murder, just to experience the pleasure of the act, the unbridled sense of wonder and flush of self-indulgence, feeling every aspect of life as if through new eyes tinted with wonder that satisfying thier every desire seemed to suddenly offer. Authority crumbled as addiction set it, only the desire to once again feel the orgasmic pleasure of thier actions was left.

Xerxes fell into a state of Anarchy.

Amartía only joined his people. Sin sat in his throne of bronze, enjoying himself just the people did. A young woman sat in his lap, drinking from his goblet as Sin murmured to her. Speaking of acts that best be left unsaid.

She'ma kneeled before him, her gaze locked downward as the meer idea of such deeds were discussed before her. She herself had joined in on the cites demoralization. Dozens had fallen by her hands, sacrificed and used as tools to experiment with. Such acts failed to faze her, but only served to ignite the flames of passion within her. 

After what seemed to be an eternity, Sin threw the woman off of him, growing bored of his plaything.

"Its actually quite rude to watch without asking for permission first." Sin chlorted as he leaned forward in his throne, noticing She'ma.

She'ma didn't flinch as she raised her head to address her King; "I have seen many join in on the acts that you spoke of in the streets without word. Many don't seem to care."

Amartía smiled at that comment. "Truly a dream come true, but what have you come here for, I am sure you didn't come to join the woman."

"N-No.. she stuttered, visibly paling."I only came to check on your perpetrations." she murmured, color returning to her face.

Amartía cocked his head to the side, as if he weren't to understand her, but realization slowly dawned over him. That led to shoulders shaking in silent laughter, tears streamed down his face as a raucous, cruel, cold and hysterical laughter soon rolled from his mouth.

"Have you yet to see what I have prepared?" he crocked, whipping tears from his eyes.

It was She'ma's turn to cock her head. "B-but nothing has changed, only worsened. The city and its people are in tatters, thier minds lost. What is to protect us from your enemies." she huffed, her voice rising as she spoke.

Sin shook his head nonchalantly. "Do you not see- he made a sweeping gesture with his arms. "Everything is ready, perfect! I have freed the people from the shackles of monotony and normality, what is left is only self indulgence and desire! Look- Amartía gestured towards his now empty goblet, raising it up.

Out of thin air, water seemed to simply appear, suddenly coming to existence by condensing droplets in the air. The water levitated right above the goblet, frothing and twisting in a perpetual bubble. Then at the snap of his fingers, the water darkened, becoming crimson in color.

"Water can now become wine." he cooed before scooping the liquid out of the air and downing it.

Amartía then crushed the goblet, and within his hand, it transformed into a stone, cold and drab. Without warning, sanguine energy flowed from his hand, enveloping the stone in red light and transforming it into a loaf of bread that he eagerly bit into. 

"Stone can became bread, filling our storehouses infinitely." he mumbled, chewing grain as he spoke.

"ANARCHY! CHAOS! SIN! This is true perfection, don't you see? We were made to be free and to be above law. I've given that to the people, and to anyone that comes to Xerxes. They will seek pleasure, and fulfil the desires of thier hearts to receive the enhanced pleasure I give them. They are addicted! This is Xerxes protection." Amartía proclaimed.

She'ma sat dumbfounded, unable to comprehend his words. Sin had only arrived thirty days ago, and within that time, Xerxes changed drastically. With Amartía on the throne, only the strong survived, and to seek ones pleasures became the only law of the land.

Amartía leaned back into his throne, grinning at She'ma. "Such is perfection."

"B-but, how is that perfection? Xerxes has fallen into disarray, the people no longer recognize any kind of authority but yours!" She'ma wailed, her eyes wide. Her mind struggled to wrap itself around Amartía's words.

Sin simply shook his head. "Xerxes has not fallen into disarray, it is only reverting to natural order. Survival of the fittest. I promised the people sweeping reforms, and it has and will come. First in the form of the freedom I gave the people, then in the form of new laws, my Sinphonic Laws."

She'ma frowned. "Sinphonic Laws?" she mumbled, confused.

Amartía smiled. "In just thirty days", I have erased all doubt of famine in the peoples heart, such a reality no longer exists. In just thirty days, I have managed to completely throw Xerxes on its head, a bit with some magic involved but that matters none. My Sinphonic Laws will solidify the notion of "survival of the fittest". If you are weak, you are nameless slave; if you are strong, the world will bend to your will. All this is to come to pass under my tillage." 

She'me shook her head, unable to comprehend the sense in such a reality.

"Xerxes will represent what all life on Galbar should be, and it will soon be so. Such is perfection."

"Oh, that is really open to discussion, isn't it?" with the sound of a chime the goddess made herself present in the room. Originally she just wanted to assess the situation in Xerxes and take records of it for posteriority, as she suspected the culture itself wouldn't last much longer. But seeing how turbulent everything became, she started to have some questions that observation alone was not answering.

Outside of her response and sudden appearance she made no other effort to introduce herself. Amartia should theoretically be able to recognize the goddess, even if recently she changed from complex outfits and jewelry to wearing only a long cape. 

Amartía made no move at the sudden appearance of the goddess, his face impassive unlike She'ma, who obviously showed her fear and wonder despite the splitting headache that suddenly developed in her head. 

Sin studied the goddess appearance, beautiful yet foreign, her outfit outlandish but fitting, not his type of woman unfortunately. Her presence was recognizable though, her essence had shown itself plainly in the cities Midna drug. 

"Its not to often that I get to meet a Divine who has actually taken interest in my city." Amartía jibbed, leaning forward in his throne. "I am intrigued, did you appear just to debate with me my views?"

The goddess shrugged "Just a throwaway comment. I fear an actual discussion on the topic perfection would take so long that by the time we give up on trying to change the other's worldview the whole place will have crumbled to dust and cobwebs."

She looked towards the mortal woman. "Dearheart, I would recommend not staring directly at me for too long, the more you do, the more terribly dull everything else will look." Knowing that for the mortal it would be quite hard to follow her advice she was considerate enough to cast an illusory folding screen between her and the woman.

"Either way, I caught an echo of your alliance with Logos and decided to see if you had gone mad. Sin has no height, weight or gravitational pull, what business it had in bending its knee to Physic?" she paused "Though seeing how things are I believe I already understood what you got from the deal."

She'ma's head drooped as the goddess seemed to block herself from her view. She, a mortal, had been spoken to by a god, an honour that her people prophesied would be life changing; while she found the experience to be euphoric, it couldn't be described as life changing.

Sin ignored her presence and focused on the goddesses words. He was quite surprised to find that the Divines were so well informed on his loyalties. Information traveled fast on Galbar, he would have to remember that. 

"Sin craves power of all forms, red energy began for arc of his extended palms. "I will not lie though, bending my knee was no cake walk, and shouldn't be expected, again." Amartía's voice hardening on the last sentence, but his mood quickly lightened once again. "So what do I have the honor of meeting you today. Am I to offer you food or drink, as you know, the stone does provide?"

"I was worried about what you would do to help Logos in his mad quest. Many forms of sin are intrinsical to beauty and you could very well be the beginning of a foul trend. But I believe Logos' lack of experience in the matters immaterial has got the best of him." she looked around and slightly leaned back, taking a more relaxed stance while still floating.

"Thanks for the offer of wine and bread, but I will pass. The stone does provide power, but what does it truly do? Say, if I loved a woman who already had a husband, would using the stone to create a copy of her satisfy my envy and lust in the same way that convincing the real one to engage in an extramarital affair would?"

"No." Amartía's answer was clear, crisp and easily made. "The pleasure derived from defiling the sacredness of marriage cannot be derived from a mere carbon copy. True pleasure can only be felt when both sinners know that what they are doing is evil in the eyes of thier contemporaries. I fail to see your point."

"I noticed, otherwise you would have acted." she smiled.

"But I digress. I just wanted to warn you that I am keeping an eye at your work. We both know about how loyal you are, so does your master, but as I said, he doesn't seem to know how to deal with the fine details of the metaphysical. I should have little to worry about... as long as you are not failing."

"On the case you do start to stray from your path thanks to Logos' influence, well, I'm a very diligent goddess and I won't let sin degenerate. The concept, that is."

The goddesses words managed to put a frown on his face. Her words were jaded and filled to the brim with sarcasm. The goddesses playful nature was starting to get on his nerves already, and Sin showed it clearly.

"Watching me? Stray off my path? It sounds all to self righteous to me. Are you sure that you don't just find this all entertaining and would rather not get your hands dirty? Rather not-get involved."

"Self-Righteous? No, no, I'm actually extremely lenient, but there is a contemptibleness to your vassalage. It's all very entertaining now, but the situation is delicate, and if you are set on a self-destructive path that will do nothing but ruin your work and give Logos a bridge into areas he has no right to be, well, I'd rather act before the fire spreads too far."

She smirked. "But that is all considering a scenario where you fail to resist Logos' puppeteering. Surely, you will avoid that, no?"

"Avoid? It cannot happen. Logos has no hold on me whatsoever. If Logos thinks that he can subjugate sin, then he is much more mentally insane then I thought."

"Indeed, physic has very little power over sin. At least, for the moment." she shook her head.

"But, I fear I have made my visit a bit too sour." not that she considered it underserved, as Amartia's ambition had apparently turned dim recently. "Overall, I do not wish you any ill, but a warning was necessary."

"In fact, in future projects such as this palace you are free to contact me to see if I can help with design or jewelry and such things. Just not right now..." she paused. "It is just that I am particularly busy, with certain arrivals and all."

Certain arrivals? The goddesses words sparked something within Amartía. His mind began to twist and turn. Despite her happy tone, he could sense a certain foreboding in her voice, something that she might of not meant to left slip in such a way.

Sin's eyes narrowed. "I will take you up on the offer. What exactly do you mean by new arrivals?"

"Well, Logos mostly. There will be a myriad of beings of varied might that will be really annoyed at his attempt to turn this planet into burning ruins. You saw what it did to your town, imagine the rest of the world."

Amartía's eyes clouded immediately. "That's a future that I don't intend on letting happen." he spat, the very thought of his world being scorched like the temple of Jvan. "Then again, the ruthless genocide of whole races would be quite a meal."

"How so? More people, more sin." she noted.

"And a constant source. But the meal would be to die for." Sin retorted, his mind elswhere. Amartía mulled over the goddesses words for a moment. The beings she spoke of could be none other then the over pantheon. Which meant if Logos was a target, he was a target. While such news would have sent many into a comatose state of shock, Sin on the over hand began to smile. A wolfish grin etched itself onto his face, an expression of sheer exhilaration.

"So the gods will also be after the target on my back with my new found alliance with Logos." Amartía infered, his giddiness showing clearly in his voice. "I can't say I agree with his vendetta or methods, but the god of Order can sure stir up plenty of Chaos." Amartía admitted.

"Logos or not, you have made some powerful enemies. I have caught some glimpses of your issues with Astarte and it surely isn't pretty. I don't even know what you won from that, but that is sincerely your problem."

"And yeah. Logos stirs up a lot of Chaos. Most gods are like that, full of destructive behavior. I myself am very constructive, and I'd rather avoid cursing someone away from beauty for as long as it is possible.  That is why your comment about the ongoing genocide struck me as inapt, it would be akin to killing the goose that lays golden eggs."

She then looked outside to the ever maddened Xerxes and all the questions it raised about her work and worldview that it rose. It was easy for her  to say that this town was like a yearful of Phantasmagoria instead of single special day, but she doubted it was all that simple.

"Oh well, again, your goose, your gold," she said. Take it all at once and choke on it if you want, she thought.

"I don't plan on dieing anytime soon, so whatever problems the pantheon have with me will be settled one way or another." Amartía sighed, leaning back in his throne.

"They will fail to stop me from reaching my goals on the end. I am patient. I am curious though, what do the gods have in store for me?"

"I have not talked with any god since the arrival of Logos, I also haven't told anyone about your alliance."

Amartía could clearly see the situation laid out before him, and the reality that would come to pass. Xerxes' destruction was immanent, and his assassination, a potential reality. The only problem was, he had no idea what he was up against at all.

Sin leaned forward in his seat contemplating. "I am up against most of the Pantheon, with no idea what I am facing. Yet, the gods may or may not know of my alliance, and may ignore Xerxes all together." a fleeting dream, and the most of unlikelies. "I will take your appearance here as a friendly warning, a warning of potential dangers on both ends. Quite a predicament."

"It is really unfortunate. But creation is not a game where you can win or lose, at least that is what I think." she sighed and went from her relaxed position to a more serious one.

From the collar of her cape, she took out a bracelet, not particularly fancy, being made of bronze chains and a single and small jade jewel. "Give this to that mortal who was here before, should keep her from going mad over the memory of seeing a god."

Amartía lept from his throne, his mind still churning as he took the jewelry from the goddess. To keep her from madness, that gave him an idea. Sin gazed at the jade jewel, its deep green color calming him slightly. "Thats kind of you. Although I'm sure she won't need it." Amartía's wolfish grin returned as a sense of foreboding entered his voice.

"It is your subject. But remember, if she does start talking about traveling north, give her the bracelet."

Amartía gave the goddess a nod. "I will, I thank you for your visit today. Quite informative."

"It was quite insightful indeed, I found out far more than I expected. I thank you for your time." Just like in her arrival, with the sound of chimes ringing and a flash of ultraviolet light, the goddess vanished.

Amartía's eyes were elsewhere as the goddess disappeared, his eyes glued to the glinting jade stone that dangled on the bronze bracelet before he turned to its potential owner. She'ma sat still, kneeling on the dais, her eyes closed. Sin called to her, waking her from her trance.

"She'ma."

She'ma's head snapped up at him, surprised to find that her headache had disappeared. Amartía wordlessly tossed the bracelet her way, startling her as she attempted to catch it. The jewelry landed cleanly in her hand, her eyes narrowing as scepticism set in. "What is th-" She'ma began, raising her head to confront Sin.

The former priestess never had the opportunity to finish her sentence, and she found herself suddenly impaled, the hand of her Enas deep in her chest. Sin's icy fingers curled around her beating heart, his face impassive as he took in the rush of emotion that showed on her face.

Fear, anger, jealously, sadness; all emotions that he channelled through her stalling heart. He then added his own power to the mix. Wrath, gluttony, envy, sloth, pride, greed and lust soaked itself into the tissue of her live giving organ, his essence, his energy.

"Remember when we talked about me being evil and me not believing so and the whole thing about the squirrel. Well it looks like your today's squirrel." Amartía jibbed as his now bloodied hand left her chest.

She'ma could not hear Sin, she had long since gone into shock, praying for the release of death, but Sin wouldn't let her leave, her heart continuing to beat despite the blood loss. The heartbeat was steady like a drummer, keeping rhythm, keeping beat. It is no more fancy that a pitter of light rain or an acorn falling from a mighty oak; but its energy could be felt throughout Xerxes, his energy. Its heartbeat resonated with thier own, thier sinful vigour heightening.

The Sin Heart's hypnotic beat, was Xerxes' unseen defender.

Now accompanied by the fourth, and very enigmatic, diva, Chronicle, the group decided to continue their search for their lady master in the still unexplored paths of Pictaraika. The diva of brass had a vague idea of where the goddess would be, so she led the other three in the deepest layer of the holy site, The Quiet Forests of Paja.

This dreamscape was made of contrast, a forest of pure white under a pitch-black sky. The sense of oppression was justified by the purpose of the zone, which was one of the main components holding back and filtering the torrential flow of dreams from the nearby plane of Raka.

There were some objects, however, that weren't monochromatic as the rest of the region. These were copies of certain buildings and areas of the mortal world, mirrors, crystal clusters, houses, palaces and even some ponds. The common theme between all these was the presence reflective surfaces and having one been touched by Ilunabar's presence.

"Curious, one would think the mirrored links would be within your personal workplace, Notte." Piena noticed.

"Originally they were, but it felt like too much work. I mean, I'm not even the only one who will be using these."

"Well, neither the index and botanical gardens are only of my or Meimu's personal use. But what is done is done, I trust our lady master's decision."

|Down here, in this bleached land so close to the Raka, the mirrors are safer and the reflections stronger|

Eventually, they finally came across the goddess in the doppelganger of Lifprasil's palace. By far the most complex of the structures in this marsh of mirrors, which was easily explained by the sheer amount of work and power the goddess had infused into the building.

Ilunabar was reflecting over some recent discoveries about the many players on the world's stage. Being fully able to peek trough the reflections into the reunion of gods, she was a testimony to the entire ordeal from the moment Lifprasil returned from his dream onward.

There was some beauty to it, but a lot of unsightliness too. Ever since then she had been brooding over it ceaselessly, mumbling about weaponization, bureaucracy, mortal freedom, responsibility, Amartia, Lifprasil, Astarte, and Niciel. All of it was far too disjointed for anyone to understand, including herself.

Eventually, she noticed her visitors.

"Oh, you are all already here. I'm sorry that I forgot about our meeting. It is just that I have been terribly busy with some newfound issues and... Wait. Who is the redhead?"

Chronicle waved her had.

"She is a diva, I thought you would know who she was, since, well, you are obviously the one who created her."

"Did I? Huh... Oh well. Clearly, she exists, and I'm not one to do things without purpose so therefore she must have something to do. Uh. Dear, since you were created along with Pictaraika... Wait. Why am I calling it that name again?"

| I named it that since nobody else took the responsibility. |

"Oh. I take you also know this whole site very well, all the layers, all the paths. Right?"

Chronicle nodded.

"Excellent, this mean you can lead the other three around while I solve some very immediate issues."

"You must surely be jesting. We have so much to work with, from shaping the shrines to getting the equipment and staffing for the ateliers to..."

"Oh Piena dearheart, four very bright girls like you will surely be able to solve any issue." The goddess started to float away from the fake palace.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"And why are you wearing a poncho?"

It all fell on deaf ears as the goddess left anyway.

"Che, it seems we are on our own."

Chronicle whistled to grab their attention. She then signaled with her hand for them to follow her.

---

Above the Purger was the hunting ground, Jaktterreng. This dreamscape took the shape of primeval. wilderness, where the flora was tinted in unnatural shades of vivid or pastel colors. The "sky" was still deep and dark, but the white fog emanating from the jungles gave it something very close to starriness.

Across the land, the dreams of animals flowed trough in the personified form of phantasmal beasts, some stayed alone, but most circulated the forests in the form of a herd, pack, flock, swarm or shoal. Some of these beasts were almost invisible, while others looked were colored in solid, shadeless tones.

"Oh! I didn't expect to see dream energy flowing like this beyond the quiet forest."

"Animalistic dreams are not as strong as the ones born from consciousness. They are not even bound by the Arpeggio's scale.

| It's also in a filtered form, that is why it takes the shapes of animals |

"Look, that one is human shaped."

"That is like... um... A shaman right?"

| Shamanic potential, an actual shaman would be carrying tools and the body would have markings instead of being a single color tone like all animals |

"We still need to produce the first few tools actually. Though that is an issue for later."

---

Em'Ef was the name of Notte's personal dreamscape, the midnight carnival. A whole illusory town existed here, in the frontier between concrete and shapeless, with its scenic streets invoked both the idea of a nostalgic land lost to time and of a utopia that had yet to be.

The buildings followed a similar color scheme of the wildland bellow, though here the fake sky was actually starry and the buildings despite being colored in ways that wouldn't be possible in Reality, still followed more orderly pallets than Jaktterreng.

Most of the structures are hollow, but others appear to hold some purpose, like a carnival, a park, and a tavern. Some dreamers could be observed talking and enjoying these facilities, though every single one was speaking in different languages and incoherent mumbles.

"I.... I fail to see the purpose."

"Huh? You don't like my place?"

"I see no function to it. People are just wandering around, some are declaiming meaningless words and others are enjoying ghostly soirees but I fail to see the why."

"And that is what it is. A place of passion and peacefulness, where people from all sorts of places gather and talk their minds out. I have no idea of what they are saying, but surely among them, there are some of the best poems, tall tales, and intrigues of revolution."

"But nobody is speaking an understandable language, they just babble to each other."

"Of course, to put thoughts in words they would need to think about it, and if they had to think about it, they wouldn't be saying what they are saying."

Piena sighed.

"The food is very good though." added Meimu who had got some sort of flavored ice snack from the nearby carnival. She offered, almost forcefully, a spoon of the dessert to Piena.

"It is alright. she struggled to say "Either way, The Griffin also lives here, right?"

"Yeah. In a big, tall tower of obsidian and light. Really hard to miss.

---

Magnato could be considered something akin to the Griffin's nest. A tall structure decorated in glass and lit in magenta colored lights. The Griffin stored all the information it received from the Vascogne family as well as anything Ilunabar found wise to tell him in the countless obsidian tablets that were stored in the many libraries of the tower.

Beyond that, it was still a very rough place, with plenty of empty areas for future improvements and systems. The Griffin was a very experimental project, perhaps only losing to Chroma, and as such, Ilunabar was very cautious about it.

As the divas entered the tower, its guardian arrived, at first in the formless shape of magenta colored energy, but eventually taking the shape of the chimeric beast that represented ambition itself.

"Oh so this is the famous griffin huh? He is fluffier than I thought." she proceeded to try to pet the almost hologram-like creature.

"He is a being of energy and knowledge, I'm not sure where you see fluff in it."

"So, Piena, what do you think about the tower I made? Quite intricate isn't it? By far the most complex structure I have ever planned."

"Quite a masterful work, yet still very rough. You should take some notes from all the jewelry I have produced with the Quara recently. Especially the necklace that connects the Griffin to the Vascogne."

"To be honest the only thing I would get from taking notes from you would be a new mood marking called pretenzioso." she grumbled in a low voice.

"Ah... Wait..." she looked around as if searching for something. "Where is Chronicle?"

They would find the fourth diva back at Em'Ef, inside a tavern, drinking and "talking" with others. In truth, she uttered no word, but apparently all the dreamers near her were having an insightful conversation with her.

"What are you doing?"

She pointed to her glass

"I'm aware, but shouldn't you be leading us across the Pictaraika."

Knowing that it was her responsibility, Chronicle stood up. The other tavern-goers called out for her and in response, she extended her arms in a shrug, duty is duty.

---

In the exact middle of the funnel, there was the idyllic Arcadia. Supposedly the very place where Ilunabar's palace would be built, but so far the goddess had not expressed any plan to give physical form to the throne of beauty so there was nothing in it but an imaginary woodland.

At this point, the Pictaraika changed a lot with a very clear cut boundary. Here, the need to use Julkofyr's darkness to filter dreams was not so necessary, giving the opportunity for the illusions to cast away darkness, creating clear skies and giving proper colors to the flora. The area was real enough to be mostly unreachable from the dreaming mortals that inhabited the Raka and the lower layers of Pictaraika. On the other side, real and awake mortals would still find this area extremely nauseating and maddening.

The oddest aspect of it all was that this dreamscape was by far one of the most vivid dreams the three older divas had ever witnessed. Even the wind and small details, aspects often absent from dreams, were perfectly simulated there.

However, since there was little meaning to this area without Ilunabar, the group decided to move on.

---

Piena's personal dreamscape was the imposing facility of Anukramanika Akhanda. The Index. In its white halls, there was the space for countless exhibits, from sculptures, to ethnic maps, to the living memory of languages, to domes that simulated the sky of Arcon and Galbar. However, being the most complex of the projects present in the Pictaraika, it was also the one that needed the most development.

Only the grandiva of aesthetics could possibly plan the necessary staffing and research to fill the rooms of this museum, but even then, no amount of planning made the task less monumental. Even Piena's steel-like will felt like it was bending at the pressure of emptiness of this gallery.

| Calm down. We will all be working with you. | she wrote.

"Huh? Do I look stressed? I am not, however. It is just that there is so much to do it is hard to think about even the first step."

The diva of brass pointed to Notte.

"Me? Che... Well... I was thinking. The easiest way to start to collect the information to fill these halls would be to make them think more about their daily lives so the memories are more vivid within dreams."

Piena pondered.

"It wouldn't be too hard for us to make that a habit. It would be like praying, no?"

"Like some sort of Diary report? Yes... I think this would be a fine start for the anthropological sections. There are still quite a lot of work to do, but I see what you meant, Chronicle."

"Just a little, little question. If this is like a library, and Magnato is like a library, why don't you ask for the help of the Griffin?"

"That wouldn't be wise. The Griffin is a creature born from the dreams of a very ambitious woman if it had access to these indexes the power the Vascogne have would increase a hundredfold."

---

It was possible to walk from The Index to the many gardens that belonged to her. Unlike any other dreamscape, this one didn't have a name, for Meimu, in her appreciation of the small things, considered each garden a project and a world of its own. As such, the area was commonly named The Botanical Gardens, but within it, a myriad of different names existed. Like nemurumori, the area where she tried to replicate the bleached trees of the purger, or sarano yoru, which would in the future replicate the flora of Shalanoir.

The main issue was sunlight, that was in fact absent from this area despite the opposite impression the clear blue fake skies might give. Meimu had mastered the art of taking care of flowers and creating new variants, and while she had plenty of flora that fed on energies alternative to true daylight, the lack of it simply reduced the range of her work to meaningless levels.

"I will find a way to get some light down here. I promise." said Notte.

"Eh? How do you know I need it?"

"It is obvious, isn't it? I do not understand why you didn't voice this worry beforehand."

"Well, I thought I was supposed to figure the alternative myself and to just focus on dream-based stuff."

"You should focus on what you want. Didn't you see my Em'Ef?"

"I guess you are right! she smiled.

Meanwhile, Chronicle was looking at the difference between the garden zone and the museum zone. Both had a similar design for a park but they couldn't be more different. Each was formed by a crossroad with a pond in the middle, similar at first, but the difference was in the corners. Piena's design had little metal fences meant to dissuade anyone from the neatly laid paved path. Meimu's design simply accepted that people would prefer to take a diagonal route trough grass if they wanted to go from one of the paved paths of the crossroad to another, so she had a couple of stone steps and flower bushes making sure such path was as scenic as taking the straight route trough the pond area.

But sometimes Meimu just decided that no one was going to walk trough a certain path, and then her efforts to stop people from taking those routes outdid Piena on every aspect, with large thorny bushes and itchy plants meant not only to dissuade but outright punish those who stray.

She had been attentive to such details in each of the sister's style trough their journey, trying to understand more of them along the path and how they perceived beauty.

---

The orgel was something very odd, standing in a pseudo-layer between the surface and the index, it was apparently a transformed Dreamweaver, that went from a simple harp to a complex building made of brass instruments, strings, and what looked like clockwork.

The divas had already asked as many questions as they could about the place, but Chronicle never knew the answer. It was a bizarre land, the purpose unknown, but Piena had a suspicion that just like the Anukramanika Akhanda, Magnato or the gardens, it would only show its true nature once it was properly developed. Unlike those three, the path of this one was unclear and so were the results.

Meanwhile Piena brooded over the structure, Meimu and Notte pondered about the person.

"Did you notice she walks at the same pace as this whole dreamscape ticks."

"I know right? Also, sometimes I catch glimpse of her clicking her tongue in a clock-like rhythm."

"I guess machinery and music are her themes just like yours are flowers... I see a pattern there."

"Huh? Sorry, I don't follow, I'm not very good at gossiping...N-No offense, I respect it a lot."

"Oh, it is probably nothing, our lady master would be very angry if she found out what I am thinking. But really... I even wonder if the caffeine addiction isn't related to something too."

"Hmmm. I think she was just necessary. Usually, a new Diva means our master is shifting her style of work. Though I do worry about what her new way is, did you see her? She was wearing only a long poncho. A poncho! Why not a robe or a summer dress?"

"Eh, elegance aside, it looked comfortable."

---

And finally, they were back to the surface world. Here the illusions of the Raka became weak and Julkofyr's darkness returned with its eternal night. This was still mostly undeveloped land and it had been this way since the time immemorial. At most, insects lived here, though most were displaced by Notte and the few that stayed perished with the beam of energy that fell from the sky or the subsequent flooding.

There was little of note to the moonlit seas of Iarapahira. Most of it was sea, with stretches of land and the large root-like structures sprouting from the ground. Or so it was supposed to be, as the Divas noticed a small structure resting in the exact middle of the whole region.

Clearly a Chronicle based design, it was a round structure made of metal and decorated with many illustrations, mirrors, and lights. It was similar to a carousel, but less mechanical and with no seats. The height of hill in which it was, along with the multiple floors giving it a tower-like appearance, made it similar to a lighthouse, though admittedly a very whimsical one.

"What... is this... t-thing?" Piena said with a cringe.

"I don't know but it is lovely. I need three of these in my carnival... with just a deck or two, though, not five."

| Some sort of aftereffect I think. I did not know it existed until now. | she wrote.

| It looks like a good place to start to plan the shrines, doesn't it? |

"Shouldn't we scout the area outside of the mountains first?"

| It will take time until the changes start to happen. But we should relocate the bugs from the spires to there. |

"Great, I will have to carry bugs around again." Notte lamented.

| About the shrines, what projects do you 3 currently have? |

The highest layer of Pictaraika, the shrines were almost out of the darkness, carved into the mountainside a little above the maximum height that the root-like structures reached. For the moment, they were a simple collection of sixteen monolithic sigils, but the plan was to build more interesting structures in the spots.

It had no proper division until now, but with four divas it was easy to simply give each one four spots to work with. The projects, however, had certain problems, similar to Piena's shortcomings back at her own workshop.

| You three are planning cathedrals, great temples, and palaces |

| These are just shrines, they are meant to be simple and conceptual |

"Are you sure? These are quite important..."

| They can serve as base design and be improved later |

"Sounds reasonable. But where do we start?" Piena stared at the black sheet of paper in front of her, basic concepts of over 7 different buildings spread trough it.

Chronicle looked at that and meditated for a short while.

| Forget the current spot division, each one of us will get a single spot at first |

The three divas protested in unison to the proposal. They were having trouble choosing what projects would fill the current four spots they had, imagine being confined to a single one.

But Chronicle was keen on her idea, and she enforced it by taking away the doodles from the other divas.

| One for each, and it will have to be a new design |

She handed the divas a new sheet of paper, this time, it was not blank as it had a proposal: What invokes beauty? A simple question, but one that forced the divas to rethink what they were doing and what were their objectives.

"I just can't find a way to keep my ideas small. I need my structures to go beyond what you can find in nature, so I like to add perfect lines and circles, intricate colonnades and floor patterns and of course, an imposing size as it must stand out.

| This is not a dream world, we need resources, and resources are limited |

"I understand, but this is as small as I'm getting" she delivered her sheet. The main building was multiple stories high and tower-like, a set of rooms subordinate to the main structure existed to its left and right. The walls were very simple, but Piena avoided a boring look by painting sharp lines and patterns on the walls as well as detailed parapets in the roof. "I know it is too big, but we will need somewhere to serve as a base for the parade directory, and I think this could be the place."

The next one was Notte, and her reaction to the test was the polar opposite from the previous. "Eh, sometimes you people just overthink it all. Beauty is easy to spot, you look at a glinting stone, to stained glass or to a dancing flame and you immediately notice that it is pretty."

Her words might have implied simplicity, but in truth, her design was absurdly complex, though only when it came to the towering windows of stained glass. The rest of the structure was somewhat simple. In Alefpriel she had created symmetrical, cathedral-like, building to hold her design, here, however, the windows were only on one side of the corridor-like rooms while the other was usually windowless and focused instead on providing comfort trough furniture.

Chronicle had no complaints, the glasswork was as intricate as the ones of mosaics, but unlike the structures of stone and wood, glass was easier to control, in fact, at this point Notte could reshape it almost freely.

Finally, Meimu.

| It's a garden. Don't you have many of these already? |

"What? It is not a garden at all, what are you talking about?"

In response, the trees and flowers that occupied most of the design were pointed out.

"No, you got it all wrong. It's a temple with a garden."

| It is a garden with a temple |

"Can you blame me? Nature's ability to create harmonic patterns is just unmatched, of course, it doesn't do it on purpose, so you need to cut out the imperfections and find the patterns yourself, but still, it is a work worth doing, and that is why I filled my shrine with it."

She pointed to the bridges, gates, ponds, pavilions and the main shrine itself, oddly small in the middle of all the structure. "And while my botanical gardens all serve a purpose, this one is just meant to look scenic and harmonic.

With that, the designing process was almost concluded. Piena and Chronicle started to plan out the resources they would need.

"Now that the first parade is concluded, we to see the results and rethink the Grand Parade on a global scenario. Though I believe we will..."

Notte suddenly interrupted them "Wait, Chronicle, you have a shrine to build too, right?"

She took out a sheet of paper with her design in it. It was a tower like structure with three floors, only the second one had windows carved into the walls, and they took the shape of different symbols, like a butterfly, the petals of a flower or a swan, all of them stylized to fit into a round shape. Inside the tower, there was a ring of archways circling a void. In it, there was a sculpture formed by a helix of wind or water from which human-like shapes rose.

"Oh? And what is the idea behind it?"

Chronicle shrugged.

"What do you mean? This is design is filled with symbols, surely they must have some concept behind them..."

| It means whatever you think it means |

---

Ilunabar returned on the same day after just a short visit to Xerxes and some other locations. She expected the divas to be waiting patiently for her orders as there was quite a lot to do across the Pictaraika, but they actually managed to organize themselves properly and were already planning out materials and such business by the time she arrived.

"Ah, I see you are already advancing trough the future designs of the shrine."

"The first four are set. Now we are looking into materials while also thinking about contact opportunities that could be created on the way. So for example, when we visit the Rovaick to gather the metals necessary for the shrines, we might as well see how we can advance our influence in their society."

"Oh... That is nice. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"If you are talking about the shrines I believe we have everything under control. Beyond that, there is plenty of other things to do on Pictaraika, we will be busy for decades by the look of it.

On this moment Chronicle walked to the goddess and delivered her a list of some immediate chores that could be performed, like diplomacy with Astarte and Toun, finding a way to get sunlight into the botanical gardens, helping out Makeda, making scale models of mortal towns and other such tasks.

"Don't give me orders like that" she complained "I know you are new, but I'm the one leading this project."

Chronicle rolled her eyes.

| So what do you plan on doing instead? |

The goddess stayed quiet for a few seconds before saying reluctantly. "The scale models I guess."