The palace was a magnificent place, built in the vision of the old imperial palace of Dundee. Of course, it was not as rich. The grand mineral deposits of Dundee were no longer at Albe's disposal.

Albe made his residence in the upper floors. A series of waiter trolleys provided food and drink to the emperor, but he otherwise had little contact with the outside world. From this lofty height, he kept track of the world around him and made his best attempt to drink himself into a trance. Neither ever worked.

He shuffled through some parchment, spymaster reports written across them in Lazarusian runes, unreadable to those who did not intimately understand it. Though he made no public appearances, he still dressed the part. His clothes were the finest. They bore a sharp contrast to his demeanor; slouched, with baggy eyes, and a look of defeat. He had not slept well in a long time.

He placed down the reports and walked to a cabinet nearby. He took out two finely-crafted mugs from the cabinet and a bottle of hard beer, and then walked back over to the table with the reports on it.

Pouring the beer into each mug, he spoke. "It's been a while since I've had guests."

Clink...Clink...Clink...Clink...

The ceramic footfalls were a new sound in the palace. Nothing was meant to get this far uninvited. Albe was past caring.

The door to the chamber unlatched. Beyond the door, as it creaked open, was a porcelain statue of an enormously tall, thin, plate-armoured knight, kneeling to look through. The statue's helmeted head turned left and right, regarding the portal. It's head straightened, then it leisurely pushed its wide shoulders into each side of the door frame. The masonry around the door cracked and crumbled in its wake. As it pushed through and stood to full height, the terrified guards behind it slunk quietly away, dragging their injured comrades with them. The white clay of the knight's long hammer still beaded with spatters of dwarf blood.

Clink...Clink...Clink...

The knight and stepped forward across the high-ceilinged room. Its helmet angled down to give Albe a faceless regard.

"Dwarf Albe," the knight intoned in a broad, cavernous echo.

Without looking up from his reading material, Albe slid the second mug across the table, motioning for the knight to take a seat. "I know you want information from me. I will give you what you desire, but you must play by my rules. Sit."

The knight's porcelain helmet turned to the seat. Albe could not tell whether the being breathed. It did not appear capable of much body language at all. Only whatever calculation that caused it to pause so. It finally laid the heavy end of its hammer upon the floor and lowered, scraping, into a cross-legged position on the floor across the table. It picked up the dwarf-sized seat with one hand and placed it aside. Its palm settled still on its knee, while the other held the haft of its weapon perfectly vertical.

"I am Majus," the knight stated. "Servant of Toun. You are a servant of Lazarus. Tell me where your mistress is."

"I was a servant of Lazarus. More than that, a son of Lazarus, the progeny to her secrecy, and thrall to her madness." Albe paused, looking over the knight, before taking up his mug and sipping from it. "Tell me, Majus, what do you know of Lazarus?"

Majus' head did not move with its speech. "Demigoddess Lazarus has been observed thus; experimental with the Gap, paranoid of deific influence upon her, she has switched bodies once in a means to save her life from the Gap -- her new body created by Toun-"

"Stop," Albe said, lifting a single hand. He took another sip of his mug, savoring it before slowly opening his mouth once again to speak, "I did not ask for what she did. I asked what you knew. You, the manifestation of a deity. Are you acting purely out of obligation, or have she or her creations wronged you?"

The knight's porcelain helmet had no eyes, nor slits to view through. Yet it had a way of staring without blinking. Majus waited for instant before Albe could regard his silence as an answer.

"No. Vengeance is not my duty, dwarf Albe. I act, for my father wills it. My obligation is to locate Lazarus."

"You and I both know there is more to this than duty. Rather, something more personal. A failure, perhaps? Tricks and lies deceived you?" Albe responded, pointedly asking his question as if he already knew the answer.

"Dwarves are created with the thought to seek vengeance upon their kind. I have no kind, and thus none upon which to seek vengeance."

The foam at the top of Majus' untouched mug fizzled down.

"I tire of these games," Albe finally said. "Let me remind you that you speak to a creation of the very personification of secrets. You will be hard-pressed to hide them from me. Not one mention of Cinead? Is it denial, or are you just dense enough to not know your audience?"

Majus' helmet tilted to Albe's left by exactly ten degrees. It straightened just as slowly. "My elements per volume mean little to one who asks for knowledge he already possesses. I demand knowledge I do not possess, as a creation of the very personification of perfection should do."

Albe slammed down his mug, suddenly, and loudly. His tired eyes narrowed and he said. "I have the information you seek, but I told you from the start you will have to play by my rules. For the supposed emotionless-"

"It is my understanding that you tired of games but a moment ago."

Albe responded in a low growl. "The only game in the room is the one you believe you are playing. The rules of which I wish for you to abide are by no means a game." He paused. "And I tire of secrets. Lazarus certainly has given me my fill of them. You will leave this place empty-handed if you continue to skirt my questions."

Albe then took his mug again, taking a large gulp. "I believe you insofar that you were given an order to find Lazarus. But you continue to try and avoid the original question. Why is it personal to you?"

The knight remained a looming statue. It calculated further.

"I will elaborate my unclear answer," it said. "I act, for my father wills it. If my father wills it, and I cannot act, I am nothing. Is this a satisfactory answer?"

"The continued presumption that you may hide your reasoning from me speaks more of you than you could ever explain to me," Albe responded, continuing as his voice seemed to growl once again. "It is a test. You have failed it miserably so far. I already know of Cinead -- you speak to Cinead's own brother. I have seen him in my dreams, as is the fate of all Legates, inexorably bound together as we are. I know what he did, and yet you continue to deny it. You continue to hide it, as if you can will away your failures and your grudges by denying they ever existed."

He took another chug of his drink, narrowing his eyes into naught but small slits. "Wake up, Majus. You are the emotional equivalent of a petulant child, and things do not go away because you pretend you never saw them."

"...I will elaborate my unclear answer, again, dwarf Albe," Majus calmly told. "I act, for my father wills it. If my father wills it, and I cannot act, I am nothing. I know this only for experiencing my father's will and my failure to act in turn. Such knowledge requires the failure you claim I deny."

"If you do not deny it, speak it openly!" Albe said heatedly. "Prove to me you understand what happened. Otherwise, I will not hold you here longer, nor will I entertain your questions. I will not tolerate vagaries if I am to lead you to Lazarus."

"My father's will was to see Minus returned to him. Minus is a servant of Toun. Minus' mind was corrupted by memories hidden within it. The corruption manifested in attached behavior to dwarf Cinead. I pursued them to the ruined rovaick settlement of Takordi. There, I defeated Cinead and his sibling Inga. Inga surrendered Minus. I took Minus back to Cornerstone. Father inspected the body and found its carapace empty. Father perceived Minus in the Valley of Peace, with the hidden knowledge now fully decrypted. With the knowledge revealed before Minus could be recovered, I failed." Majus reached his free hand forward and pressed a pointed finger upon Albe's mug before he could lift it again. "Is this a satisfactory answer?" it asked.

The mug did not budge no matter how Albe pulled on its handle. Huffing frustration, Albe took hold of the bottle he poured beer from and took a long swig. "Yes, that is satisfactory. Now, tell me, what reasons, exactly, do you search for Lazarus? If you wish for my help, you will need to accept the personal reasons as well as the orders."

"If I answer, you will answer me." It was not a question.

"One question. I will give you that much if I find your answer satisfactory." Albe said as he took another long swig.

Majus alighted his finger from the mug and returned his palm to his knee. "My first reason is my father willing Lazarus observed alive and safe. My second reason is to await Cinead's return, with Minus."

"Ask your question." Albe said simply, pouring more beer into his mug and placing the bottle back down. He was already two thirds of the way through the vessel.

"...Is this a satisfactory answer?"

"Yes, which is why I asked for your question."

Majus spaced out his words. "Where is your mistress?"

Albe paused before speaking. "Not here. You must remember Lazarus is the personification of secrets. They are excellent at not being found. Lucky for you, I know someone who has done their research."

"You will tell me of this someone."

"Unless you can provide something of value to me, this is all I will give; Search the dwarves in Alefpria. Your answer lies with them." Albe said, sipping at his mug.

Majus' helmet rotated to the right, where a mural of a map had been carved into relief on the wall. The broad end of the Ironheart ranges tapered towards the equator, where Alefpria lay.

"And what do you value that will trade for the name of the dwarf I need to find?" Majus asked.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Albe mused as he took the mug once again, slurping from it loudly.

Majus' gaze snapped alarmingly fast back to Albe. The porcelain knight flicked his wrist and its pole hammer was suddenly hooked around Albe's chair. Albe and his seat were lurched forward over the table as the hammer haft shrank. He came to a violent halt barely arms-length from Majus' visor. His middle was in the cold grasp of Majus' gauntlet. Spilt beer ran down Albe's tunic.

"You value your life, dwarf Albe."

"A bold assumption," was all Albe said, as he tossed the empty mug aside.

The gauntlet squeezed all the same. Albe's lungs were empty within two seconds. His body was sturdy, but Majus' grip was unnatural.

"If I am incorrect, you shall not need your life to begin with."

Blood rushed to Albe's face. His ears pinned back as his unconscious mind screamed out to resist. His conscious mind did not. There was little point.

A rib cracked. The points of Majus' fingers broke his skin. He closed his eyes and embraced his coming death.

"Enough!" A different voice altogether dominated the room. Masculine, if quavering and impatient.

Was it Farxus, come to lead Albe's soul?

"Majus, release the dwarf," it complained.

Albe fell from the cold gauntlet and onto the table. He reflexively coughed and grasped at the lancing pain inflicted on his torso.

"I have a proposal for you, Albe. Do not waste my time," the voice said. When Albe's watering eyes cleared, he saw no sign of the voice's source. The only new addition to the room was a tiny white bird, perched on Majus' shoulder and with eyes burning blue. "It would take me but a moment to come before you and scour your mind of every secret you seek to so cleverly tease in your empty melancholy. A moment that I see hardly worth spending, especially with what occupies my moments without spare. Instead, consider that you might gain from this exchange. Before you is the mightiest warrior you are likely ever to have at your disposal. The power to make a change that you so cynically cannot reach yourself. Give it an objective you wish fulfilled as well as the answer to its question. This is your last chance. Take it or I will take you."

Albe coughed, looking up at the bird with fiery eyes. "The name is Baern..." He coughed again, spittle flying from his mouth. "All I ask is that when you find Lazarus, you kill that bitch."

The bird's head twitched to view the side of Majus' unmoving head. "Is that all?" The voice did not give Albe time to answer. "Well then...What a waste, indeed. Majus, you have your new objective."

The bird launched away, droning back into the palace halls. Majus rose to its feet and turned to walk away, leaving the pitiful lynx-legate behind.

Clink...Clink...Clink...Clink...

Albe slowly stood up, unsteadily stumbling from the table and walking around to lean on his seat. He grabbed the bottle and downed the rest in a long, continuous draught, sliding back down against a leg of the table as he did.

The story of the hidden poet opened wounds in Edda's heart. She sat with fresh tears streaming from her eyes.

Even so, her level voice had not wavered at any syllable.

"He was the only survivor of Iulyarom in the end. Previously, in King Akol's conquests, there are more survivors, even amongst the defiant states. The warriors of Loralom take slaves regularly at such times. Iulyarom was different. There was too much hate. Not even the mourning undead were spared – they were ground to pieces and thrown in flames by the Lorals, I was told. There are moans on the wind there now. Not djinn. Moaning hain. Unseen. Looking for the crystal trees they were never carried to."

"And the king," Caress interrupted. "He let you take in the survivor?" She was rapt despite the still-frantic knitting action in her lap.

Edda took a deep breath to stay calm. "Yes…"

Iulyarom, 6 PR

"He summoned me to his tent as soon as he heard about my impasse with his warriors. That was well after the slaughter ended. The loot was being collected and catalogued quickly nearby in an effort to draw the army's attention away from burning the rest of Iulyarom polis to the ground. They still needed infrastructure for the mine they intended to operate for the ravenstone.

The king did not speak immediately from his cushion seat. He merely stared at me with two eyes, tired and hiding an emotional ambivalence. He usually had a calculating glimmer to them. This was different.

I looked back at him as resolutely as I could. The last Iulya, the poet, was bound in rope next to me. I would not let him out of my sight. We both sat before the king without knowing what to expect.

We got nothing but silence for long enough to break our stares.

Then he finally began. 'Nothing is…simple…about this, Edda,' he said. 'I know you know this.' He huffed frustration through his nose. I felt the heat of his anger blow across to me. 'You are dwelling in an army that unanimously wishes that hain next to you dead.'

I took the risk of talking over his pause. 'Does that include you, my king?'

His eyes slowly closed. 'I want to be honest with my friends, Edda. I will be honest with you. That hain's life means nothing to me personally. It suits me to have him killed to keep my army together. Surely you understand.'

'If you could not care for any of those people who were just dragged out of their homes and executed-' I threw an arm across to the pavilion walls. '-Could you not at least care for this one!? Who just lost everything he knows and loves!?!'

'There are tragedies beyond the coping of one hain that a king must-'

'Your men look up to you!' I pressed on in a passion. 'They respect you! Why did you allow them to do this!?!'

He showed his teeth. 'Silence yourself!'

I did, whether I liked it or not.

The rational side of me – the part wishing to sway the king – soon returned to press against the back of my eyes. I should not have let myself be swept away with anger. Too late. The king was quick to riposte, as he was wont to do. He did so severely:

'I do not have to remind you that all my family died to a faceless slaughter. I do not have to demonstrate to you that my eyes, ears, and nose remain uncovered to the all the gore, all the screams, all the laments, and all the waste that occurred this morning.' He leant forward with his hands clutching his knees. 'Do not presume me to negligence while I build my kingdom, Edda.'

After a defiant moment, I faltered, blinking and breaking eye contact.

He straightened and followed up with his wrath simmering down. 'So, you wish to save this one boy's life. Why?'

It felt like a trick question. King Akol likely knew why I would do such a thing. I considered my answer carefully. It only made me look weak.

'Because I do not wish Toun's mission to be stained by the massacre of an entire hain city-state.'

'Iulyarom is gone,' he shot back. 'You cannot preserve it through one man.'

He was right. Though I was resolute.

'If I cannot bestow mercy upon this boy, why would anyone call me Ramyem?'

He paused. I knew I had to hold back my emotions, but my voice was renewed.

'Listen,' I continued. 'I know you well enough to see you did not want a massacre either. You know I am…I am furious that you allowed it. With this sparing of a Iulya, I am demonstrating to the campaign that I disapprove of this savage display of hate. I cannot allow the Feathers of the Angel of Mercy, as they chant, to become so swallowed by their vengeance that they forget why they are here! This kind of massacre can occur no more while this kingdom fights. I doubt you have a better way to teach your men this lesson when so few remain innocent.'

He blinked. We entered another staring contest, he and I.

'And if I instead order the boy executed and deal with my men my own way?' He asked.

'Then they will leave,' I declared. 'You know why they marched, why they united.'

Akol shifted his balance and turned to look at me with his other eyes.

An unspoken conversation exchanged in our minds; we both knew the words and did not need to speak them. It was no secret that Akol's army consisted largely of pilgrims and other faithful. If this scar was left untreated with a spiritual touch, not only would his army shrink, but Loralom's faith could regress right back to its aimless depression. He did not have such a spiritual touch.

My riposte landed well.

I could see him weighing up the situation, trying to find another manoeuvre.

'Alright,' he said, before pointing a finger at me. 'But don't ever threaten to leave again…' He let his hand fall. '…I…It wouldn't end well for either of us. I know you know that.' I sensed a twinge of anxiety in his eyes that I had not seen before. 'I do not want to see you go.'

My heart made a strange movement. I did not recall mentioning that I personally would leave. Come to think of it, I probably would have.

Akol sharply breathed. 'But, you cannot simply adopt the boy. He cannot be one of us. Lorals take the conquered as slaves. That will have to do to make sure that your growing faithful don't split in half, understand? They follow customs just as closely as their faith. The boy will fully be your responsibility.'

I nodded quickly. It was the best I could have hoped for. 'That will be fine,' I added.

'And Edda?'

I craned my head, listening.

'We'll do better,' he said. I was surprised to hear him say it. 'I promise we'll do better.'"


Edda was looking down and tweaking the fabric of Caress' so-large-it-was-spilling shawl between her fingers. "To his credit, he did make great changes to the attitude of the army. He found a way to convey to the warriors that succumbing to hate in spite of their goals was a failure, and he did so without brewing resentment." She blinked. "I think enough of them were young and new to killing innocents. He timed his words like a smith timed his hammer: While they were malleable and feeling wrong about what they had done."

"And you clutched the poet as a slave?" The clicking and fibrous tugging of Caress' work flowed on. She gave a thoughtful hum. "It is a chin-scratching thought, what you demonstrate. Slavery is its own kind of mercy, before the slow tearing that is genocide."

Edda peered up and spoke dryly. "I am unsure about calling it mercy, though I understand your point. I admit, at the time, it was intense guilt driving me. Too intense to fathom. It was an instinct to protect him. It was all I could do."

"Guilt, hm?"

A shadow cast over Edda. A near-silent length of fabric settled into a rough covering around her body. Two of Caress' idle arms straightened her half-completed shawl around Edda. It felt scratchy and soft, like a hug from a sheep. Edda realised at that moment how similar the shapes were on the shawl to the events of her retellings. She could not comment before Caress spoke up again.

"I feel the hurt that graces you. I do recall one point on our voyage where you-"

"I remember it," Edda interrupted suddenly.

Caress resumed her frantic knitting, only now having a twinge of guilt on her full lips. "What did this last Iulya point to as a name?"

"…That is its own story. He fulfilled tasks here and there, he would play the lyre for me upon request. But…His name? Well, he did not speak anything when we took him home, let alone his name…"


"I tried to extend understanding at first. The poet had no remaining friends or family. I gave him the march back to Loralom as a time to grieve and…only attempted to converse with him once or twice a day. He was silent and blank, no matter my words. No matter the time.

I should probably just recount one attempt to speak with him. The one where I was closest to giving up.

When we returned to Loralom Palace, I resolved to visit him early the next morning, before he began his duties, just so we could talk in private.

He had nothing to say to me.

And that's about all the substance there is. He had nothing to say, no matter what I spoke. I had tried everything.

When I left the room, I had to stand in the hallway to rebalance the sudden burden that almost tore my shoulders with its weight. I thought I was thinking at that moment, but in hindsight, I was not thinking at all. My mind stewed with a cloying doubt that transfixed me into swirls and swirls that never ended. I questioned the worth of my decision. I was not exactly full of hope.

Soon enough, a distraction came. My eyes were drawn by little Greng and Sata clapping their young feet down the hallway to my right.

'Sata! Stop chasing your little brother around so much! You'll run into someone!' Sira rounded the corner at a brisk walk and scooped up one of the hain children.

I stooped and showed my palms to Greng, before picking him up as well. Their laughter did brighten my mood. 'Hello there, little one,' I asked him. 'Are you getting into mischief again?'

Greng waved his little arms and giggled like newly walking hatchlings do.

'Good morning Edda,' Sira said to me on approach. 'These creatures get more energy by the day. They'll be outrunning me before long.'

I laughed less than she did.

Sira noticed and craned her head. 'Are you well?' She asked me. 'You look exhausted.'

I looked at Sata gnawing on her own fingers. My hesitation lasted long enough to give Sira a partial answer.

'It's the poet,' I finally said. 'He is…'

'…Still not talking?'

I shook my head and tried to remain stoic. I felt utterly stupid.

Shifting her child in her arms, Sira placed the back of her hand gently on my shoulder. 'He shall open himself eventually. Perhaps…you could try telling him about our mission?'

'-I tried everything while we marched and while he has been here,' I interrupted her. 'Every variation of it I could think of. I do not believe he shares faith in Toun's teachings. He has lost all trace of faith for anything. He just sits and refuses to see the world for what he can make it.'

Sira glanced away and back. She took in a little gasp. 'Perhaps Toun will have to convince him?'

I barely huffed a laugh through my nose. I did not realise Sira was being serious. 'I prayed to him in the Poet's stead. I am unsure that Toun will raise a glistening set of monuments for every doubtful hain,' I said. 'Akol was one prayer out of many by now.'

'I did not mean that, specifically. Not having him pray for new spires. I meant taking the poet to the spires. He might hear Toun if he sits beneath the blue stone, no?'

My head shot up level with Sira. 'Oh, of course!' I turned up a palm and would have turned up the other had it not been supporting little Greng as he hugged my shoulder. I drew Sira into an embrace with the children between us. 'That is an excellent thought! Thank you! I will take him there today.'

And so, I did."


"Um," Caress interrupted momentarily. "Point me, if you would, to what is special about this blue stone you mentioned?"

Edda was more than happy to explain. "The glowing blue stone in Akol's Spear, the central tower of the Loralom Spires, bestows visions when one meditates beneath it. People see Toun's suggestions on how to improve themselves and the world around them. Even the faithless walk away with more certainty about their lives."

Caress cocked her head. "So, Toun speaks to you this way?"

"Not exactly," Edda said. "We simply see what he wishes us to see. To better ourselves."

With a high hum, Caress continued her knitting. "Toun's feet must be numb to move if he needs his faithful to gather under a great stone to communicate."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh…" Caress let her mouth hang open. "Nothing of import. Us sculptors are never truly without the touch of another, that is all." She smiled sweetly. "Please, tell me, how was the visit to the spires felt out?"

"Well…"


"Poet, as we simply called him after a while, may have been a quiet one. But, he was still young enough to be tireless on our walk out to the spires. I took several monks with me, as I usually do in public, just to help against the more enthusiastic Lorals that come to meet me. Thankfully, there were only a few who made me pause to speak on the streets.

At first, my excitement was dampened upon Poet's reaction to the spires up close. Or, rather, his lack thereof. Every other hain I knew who saw them for the first time pained their necks to bend and see the glimmering white summit of the tallest towers, looking up in sheer awe. Poet kept his eyes down, as always, as if nought was up there but sour grapes.

'We're almost there,' I told him in the small hope of goading a response. 'I think you will like what you have to see. There is wisdom in the walls. You can experience it.'

We ventured across the long white bridge with its many muddy footprints. The pilgrims were sparse in their visits that early in the day, but there were plenty of monks who greeted me with calls from afar. I showed a greeting palm to each of them.

'Perhaps you would like to meet some of the caretakers, Poet? They are lovely people.'

No answer.

I shook my head and moved us on. We entered the central tower under one of its great archways. There, the blue glow of the stone in Akol's spear lit countless sitting pilgrims. They all sat in quiet contemplation, eyes closed and listening. It was odd, I thought, how the blue light made all their shells look like those of the Iulyas.

Already I felt the familiar call to attention that the sitters stopped to listen to. That red texture that lined the inside wall always looked like a voice.

I looked to the last Iulya with a palm open. 'Poet,' I said patiently. 'I will not pester you to talk here. But you will follow my orders as you have done for everything else. I simply wish for you to sit a while. Sit and…consider things. I will be outside if you need anything.'

I gave his shoulder a reaffirming grip, and then I turned to leave him. He sat down in the sombre light as ordered, just as wordless as before.

He spent half the day there before he emerged. I asked him what he saw.

He did not answer.

..."

"But your tongue tasted a hope, hm?"

"Not initially, Caress. I was, all things considered, without hope for Poet. A pit grew in my stomach from the shame of even trying something so foolish. I spent the silent walk back to the palace wondering what I would do with him. He was still my slave. He could still serve, if quietly. But I wanted to do better for him. He would be a constant reminder of my failure."

"But?"

"Indeed. I noticed something.

He was not keeping his head down on the way back to Loralom Polis. He was looking at the fields around us. His eyes twitched to every pattern-breaking detail. I noticed he was not moving his arms in smooth and precise ways.

I did not sense discomfort from him. Not in a simple way. However, I could not be drawn from my own thoughts enough to ask him why he seemed so different. The remainder of our walk was full of second-guesses. All the way back into the polis, through the streets, into the palace, and to the servants' quarters.

At the closed door to his tiny room, he stopped, facing away from me. I sensed another change.

I waited, curious.

His voice, croaking forth from a long-idle throat, bounced off the door in front of him. 'Ramyem, may I play you a song before you leave?'

A tingle ran back over the top of my skull. It was the first thing he said to me since I found him.

He did not turn around. 'I have one in my mind,' he said. 'I believe you should hear it. Please, Ramyem.'

I regained my wits and flitted my head to check the hallways. 'Of course,' I said. How I did not stumble over my words, only the gods knew.

His breath was held tightly, if otherwise shallow. When he took up his lyre and seated himself on his bed, he checked the strings with the look of a man who held a snake biting his heart. I sat on the floor beside the low bedding with my hands on my knees.

The Poet breathed in deep and shuddered it out. His fingers curled above the strings. Then, he closed his eyes and began.


His song was slow. I sat staring as droll, single notes were plucked in slow time.

…

A pause. For a bar.

…

A low note and the song resumed.

I found myself wondering, at first, what had taken Poet's mind in such a sudden desire. He never asked for anything since we left his homeland.

…

A pause. For a bar.

…

The song was all unfamiliar to me. Or perhaps I knew it and had forgotten.

I felt it before I could remember anything. The song applied a mournful push to the temples of my head. I dared not speak. There was some dark inspiration in the melody.

Not 'dark' to speak of anything malign, no.

Dark like a cold night, lying awake and almost asleep. But never succumbing. Remembering a fond event while wrapped up in comfort.

I sank.

The song was relaxing in a way that warned my mind against it. The sinking feeling was irresistible.

And as I sank my legs into the floor, I was swept into my own limbs. Previously unfelt tensions slid gradually out of my shoulders and core. I felt my eyes easing and my fingers letting go.

In a wave, my white robes felt cold against my shell. A draft breathed through and chilled me. Made me shiver.

I remembered the voyage. I remembered Xerxian faces I thought I would forget.

Swelling waves rocking the ship around them. Heads covered in crystal lolled hopelessly back and forth with the tide.

I knew them.

My eyes burned all of a sudden. I scrunched them shut to keep the faces out of my mind's eye.

Was the poet summoning ghosts?

It could have been some magic of that witch goddess the Poet worshipped. I had a mind to stop his music and put an end to whatever trick it was.

But as I pushed my eyes open and leant forward in my seat, I stopped. It was no magic.

The poet kept playing with his eyes closed.

It was just music. I took a breath and tried to take my mind off the song.

Now, with my mind distracted, I saw the Poet twitching. His breathing was slow and deliberate. Though his fingers missed not a single note, his hands shook whilst holding the lyre.

Then, as a barely audible high note was plucked, a sudden pair of clear rivulets flowed down from Poet's eyes to the end of his downcast beak. They joined in a shuddering glassy bead at the pointed tip and fell, leaving a droplet mark on his clothing.

I scraped away the gathering tears around my own eyes before they could fall.

I only then felt the full weight of the melody upon my temper. The Poet's song was never meant for beauty – though it was beautiful. It was a song meant for memories of the lost past. It was a song of grief. He played not for me, but for himself.

Another three droplets fell from his beak. He did not sob, he just kept playing.

I could only imagine the things in his mind. A young life's worth of people, places, events, friendships, ambitions, and loves. All invoked by his song. All gone forever. Leaving him behind.

The song more-or-less repeated its slow, painful self once more. The only way to keep my composure, I knew, was to stare strongly ahead and not listen. It might have been insulting to do so, but better I remained composed than steal Poet's solitary moment to acknowledge what he had lost.

I was patient. I only let a few tears fall from my beak. I wiped my eyes dry immediately after the song completed.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. They were red and glistening. I was unlikely to look any more confident than him.

I took a breath. I had to breathe my words out to keep myself from bursting. 'You were saying goodbye just now, weren't you?'

He nodded slowly.

'I am glad,' I said. 'What changed your mind? You were dead to the world until now.'

He looked at the top of the lyre in his lap. 'I did not die with them,' he murmured. 'That stone. Toun. He made acknowledge that I did not die with them. I pretended I had died so I would not feel the pain. But I had not died. He made me acknowledge that I could honour them with my skills. There are so many beautiful things that I could never see real if I held onto their spirits. My matron wishes us only that we make beauty. Toun only wishes that I do it well. He dared me to let go. He dared me to cease the mace I was knocking against my broken heart. He dared me to make beauty instead. So, I let go.'

I clenched my jaw and relaxed it. 'And what beauty do you wish to make, now that you have let go?'

'If you would allow me,' he asked with his eyes down. 'I would like to document the unification of Yorum. I would like to compose an epic as it unfolds.'

I stared at him. I stood up to my heels and clutched the Poet's shoulder. I clutched so hard it hurt fingers. 'What is your name, Poet?'

'Anzien.'

'You may begin tomorrow, Anzien.' I let him go. 'Take the rest of the day to yourself.'

I tried walking out of the room naturally and closing the door behind me. I was stiff and uneasy walking through the palace hallways. I could hear myself breathing.

It was a kind of experience where you question if you had just been in a dream. You list about with a dizzying disbelief of reality around you.

I could not reach my bed chambers before I crossed paths with Korom, the advisor. He raised his hands happily and spoke to me. 'Edda! There you are. Thank you for your advice on Greng's cough. The honey helped him to sleep last night.'

I slowed to a stop to regard him.

'Sira told me you took that slave, the Poet boy, to the Spires. How did you…'

I doubled over with a sudden sob, interrupting Korom.

'…fare?'

I fell to my ankles before I could even breathe to sob again. Korom was immediately close with a hand on my back and my arm. He was open-mouthed in concerned shock.

'Edda, what is wrong? What happened?'

My hand went to the side of my head. I could not stop weeping. I could not even talk. Every breath I took poured back out in a deluge.

Korom was a wise man. Wise enough to know that ill health did not send me to this state. He wrapped his arms around me as we knelt on the hard floor. I embraced him in return and wept loudly into his robes.

I wept for longer than I cared to count.


Edda stopped when she heard Caress make a sound. She looked up to the sculptor's face, only to see her pursing her lips hard and sniffing.

"Is something the matter, Caress?" Edda asked. "I did not wish to make you sad."

"No, no…" Caress used her many arms to simultaneously continue her knitting, wipe the tears gathering under her blindfold, and wave Edda off dismissively. "I was thinking I would share your tale and…another sculptor began humming a song in the-…in a memory of mine, while you recounted what Anzien played. It cupped my heart in two palms."

Edda did not know what that meant. When Caress sniffed deeply again, Edda produced a handkerchief for her.

One of the many arms provided Caress with the fabric to trumpet the worst of it out of her nose. She took a breath through her mouth and spoke again. "Enough about my organs, this your story Edda. Were you smoothed over in the end? I hope the Poet's grief did not inflame your guilt to a painful red."

Edda looked to the sky to search for her next words. "I was relieved at first, actually. After all the punishment I had given myself, I thought he would open up." She bent a stalk of yellow grass between her fingers. "He made friends with some other servants. He was obedient and respectful. His songs and poems were unmatched. And yet he kept the chapters of his Epic of Yorum a secret. Moreover, towards the royal family and myself, he was cold and distant, at least at first. I felt he blamed us. He resented the campaign when it resumed. I was terribly worried about him, let alone the tone his epic would take."

"'At first,' you say?" Caress wiped the last tears from under her blindfold. "What hand turned?"

"A peculiar one, Caress…"


"The next march was into a city-state of shamans and djinni worshippers. They were lorded over by the lake djinni who referred to himself as Cuumulo. Thus the Yorumglot suffix for describing a home – -rom – allowed the place the name of Cuumulo's home. Cuumulom.

…Why do you giggle, Caress?"

"Because my tongue danced Yorumglot before Yorum's soil first met your toes, Edda."

"Of course, yes. Sculptor. You are correct. It was merely the way it was explained to me. I thought it interesting. But I digress…

King Akol and his council helped me greatly in teaching the army against further hate. It helped us much that the next adversary was a community of hain essentially enslaved by the djinn around them. They were doomed to always be their playthings and projects. Faith was renewed that we might liberate them, and the marching chants took on a well-reminded unity once more. We knew what we were fighting for again.

It was the chants that turned Anzien's head as he accompanied us. One of the rare moments where he risked primally expressing himself.

It also helped to have bronze. The elite formations now glinted in the sun with bronze maces, spearheads, and helmets. King Akol's regalia had been laden with enough bronze to make him gleam like a demigod, with a full complement of arms and armour. He even had a reflective shield in his left arm, winking back at the sun above.

But, it was not only handheld weapons of war that the bronze enabled. The better tools and materials enabled greater feats of construction. Inspired camp followers wrought wooden engines of war so large they moved on four wheels: Horizontal bows three fathoms across that threw bolts and stones large enough to crack hainshell through shielded formations. They made splinters of the palisade walls that protected smaller city-states. The men called them Tarthna, the Yorumglot word literally meaning 'large hurler.'

I even obtained new regalia myself. One of my monks studying the symbols in the Loralom spires discerned the symbol for Toun. It was two red circles in a third red circle, the outlines tapering to invisible points before they touched at their horizontal halves. We took it as a banner, on a white field, just as white as the spires themselves. It was not a perfect replica, but the calligraphy of the monks was improving by the day.

Of course, no amount of cloth or bronze diminished the challenge before us. Loralom had a mighty army, but Cuumulom's shamans were superior. Not to mention, they had powerful djinn on their side. King Akol knew it would be costly, but we outnumbered them enough for a reasonable chance at victory. The only alternative was a diplomatic solution, and while they had proven effective in the past, none of Akol's negotiations had addressed the fickle and enigmatic djinn before.

Such a relief we felt, then, when we encircled Cuumulom polis and heard our parley accepted.

It was the afternoon during the camp setup. Cuumulom polis was couched between two rocky hills as part of a broad range of such hills. The bulk of its construction was a crescent of buildings embracing the far-side of a large lake. On the long stretch of lakeshore between the city and the rocky lesser hill was a paved road serving as the main ingress to the polis itself. The Cuumuls had built a gate fort to protect it, which we approached. The hills cast a broad blue shadow across the ground, engulfing the area.

Akol rode halfway to the gates of Cuumulom's forward fort on his beasthound chariot, flanked by his best bodyguards on their own chariots. My chariot came forth as well, in the hope that Toun's mission could touch the heart of a djinni as much as a hain. I left Anzien behind for the sake of safety, though I did not like keeping the young man out of my sight.

We were met by a delegation of Cuumuls toting long hammers trailing blue ribbons. The leader of the delegation bowed. He was a well-washed, buffed-to-a-shine hain in a flowing robe and a helmet crested with blue feathers.

'The Great Cuumulo, feeder of crops, protector of our people, welcomes you most humbly to his kingdom,' the crested delegate hain said. 'Cuumulo expresses his gratitude for you fulfilling his expectations. Long has he anticipated the king of Loralom and his people's faith for the Hermit on the Sea to visit him.'

King Akol stood tall and unwavering. He called back to the delegate. 'Cuumul, the messages we sent forward made our intentions clear, yet your lord did only politely decline our requests. It is my wish that he ponders on my earnest army and sees what is best for his hain. I am here to negotiate the terms of our federation.'

The delegate hain had an odd way of splaying his fingers from his happy upturned palms. It was like he was amused. 'The Great Cuumulo knows exactly that your intentions are to force our surrender. Although, will this not be a costly fight for you? You campaign to unite the region, yet an assault on our walls would meet with the wrath of the djinn. You may prevail, but only by tearing off your legs in payment. Your campaign will continue elsewhere, good king, if you wish it not to end.'

Akol had remarkable patience for the smooth-voiced delegate. 'If Cuumulo knows my intentions, then he knows I have weighed the costs. I will not turn back here.'

The delegate urged with his elbows tucked in. 'My good king, the Great Cuumulo does not wish you to leave so quickly!'

We flicked our heads in confusion. All of us except the king, that is.

'…Nay, he has long been intrigued by your person, King Akol. He wishes to see how one mortal can amass this power with his droll reputation preceding him.'

Akol lowered his beak. Where his patience remained untempered was with confusing rhetoric.

'The Great Cuumulo suspects, of you, a hidden erudition. He challenges you – or your champion wordsmith – to a game of riddles on the morrow. He, along with allowing you to give the first puzzle, shall even speak Yorumglot to give your eloquence a fair handicap against his centuries of practised allegory. If he wins, Cuumulo shall spare the lives of your men and allow you and all of Loralom to withdraw from our borders in peace, forever. If you win, Cuumulo shall swear allegiance to your god Toun, and join you on your mission.' The delegate giggled under his breath like a child who was playing a trick. 'If this challenge is refused, well…come what may. He believes this alternative resolution shall be best for his hain and yours, good king.'

The rest of us were uneasy. This had to be some ploy to delay the army. King Akol crossed his arms and stared the delegate down.

'My king?' I ventured quietly.

He peered back at me. I knew that look even before it was turned my way.

'May we deliberate on this?' I asked.

The king spoke directly to me. 'Why? I have heard of the wordplay djinn engage in. I do not see why I should accept.'

'Please.' I gave him a look he knew.

His eyes softened. Only a sneezing beasthound broke the silence. With his bodyguard waiting for him to act, Akol turned his head and his chariot before making some distance away.

We only rolled a short way from the delegate before Akol gestured for me to continue. 'Tell me why this is not a waste of time, Edda.'

'Akol, why did you come to the hunt with a mace and not a bow here? This is a chance to spare so many lives.'"

"Excuse me…I am not sure my mind rolled past understanding, Edda. When was there a hunt?"

"Oh, it is a Yorumite turn of phrase. You can kill game easily with a bow, but you need a mace to kill a hain. It's a sign of bad faith to carry a mace to a hunt, so the phrase implies bringing bad faith. The king, indeed, appeared to have no intention of ending the parley peacefully with his indifference to the opportunity before him. However, I did not give him enough credit, as I shall explain."

"I see now. My apologies, continue."

"…King Akol's argument back to me was jaded. He spoke thus. 'The Djinni Lord Cuumulo is an ancient being. He would only do this to delay my assault and to humiliate me. There is no gain in entertaining his challenge because there is no winning it.'

'And what if you did win?' I asked.

'Then I would still have no reason to trust him.'

'Is he a dishonest creature?'

Akol paused. 'By all accounts, he is a just ruler. He is no arbitrary judge. But we are not his subjects.'

'If you can still win, you have no mandate to opt for the plan that will take lives from your army.'

The king sighed. 'Edda, this isn't about hate and vengeance anymore. I am a general as much as a king, and it is my responsibility to pick the plan that buys us victory. I can see no strategy that renders victory over Cuumulo in a game of riddles. You know Korom and Sira are better with words than I, and even they are not djinn.'

I looked around, then came to a realisation. 'I know one who can improvise words better than any other in all your kingdom. He can read the spirit and draw it out of one's body with words. I have witnessed it myself. I know he can do it.'

'Who?' he asked."


"Aaaaah…" Caress smiled brightly. "Dear Anzien, the solitary poet."

"The very same."

"Was he willing?" Caress asked. "His disposition was a sneer to you, was it not?" The tapestry in her lap was already depicting the misty greys and blues of water djinn.

"The process was as difficult as it was simple…"


"…But, you can likely predict his reaction when I spoke to him in our pavilion.

'This war destroyed my homeland,' he said. 'Why should I contribute to it?'

In my excitement, I had forgotten to temper the shock those words would strike me with.

Anzien continued. 'My only wish is to document Loralom's rise. If it fails here, the epic I write shall reflect it in kind.'

I was crestfallen but determined.

'Anzien, I have seen your fascination with Loralom's spirit. Are you sure you wish to see it fail here?'

'Victory or defeat does not influence me here,' he very nearly spat out the words he spoke. 'I will allow no blood on my hands in this march, and that is why I object.'

My breath left me. I knew, Caress, that my little knowledge of Anzien would be put to the test. I could not simply order him as a slave – it would hurt me to do so, and he would not bring his passion to the task.

'I understand. You dislike the coming battle.' I lifted my eyes to his. My first approach began. 'But, this not a bloody fight I invite you to. It is a contest of words. Your area of expertise and talent. I know you can do this. I want to see you accomplished.'

Anzien pondered. He slowly lowered his beak. 'A war is no place to lose humbleness. I do not want to clash wits with a djinni for my egotistic fulfilment.'

'Of course, right. It is no motivation to you here,' I had to concede. 'Perhaps you can see this as a way to prevent what you are dreading. King Akol would rather assault the city in spite of whatever Cuumulom brings to bear. This is your chance to have your say in staying the king's bloodshed. You could save lives like none could in Iulyarom. These may be strangers, though your experience may be one held in common with them by the end of the attack. And I saw what happened. Anyone with half the heart I have would not wish it upon any other hain. And I know you have more heart than I. You were compassionate enough to recite a poem for me during that horrible morning, in spite of it all.'

Anzien pondered again. 'What of the next obstinate city-state? They will not challenge the king to wordplay. I cannot expect the ongoing campaigns to stay their maces if they are victorious here.'

I had to concede again. 'Hm. You still see the remaining campaign painted with blood, I see.'

I was almost deterred. 'I think you should have more faith, Anzien. Not for Toun or yourself, but for the hain around you. They are shaped by their experiences. Their lives are a kind of poetry. This verse, you would write it before their eyes. What shape would you prefer this experience to take? The shape of bloodied sling stones and maces? Or, perhaps, the shape of one hain's skill and determination overcoming a great djinni with nothing of the former violence. They thought they had no other option in Iulyarom. You can show them otherwise in a way they will never forget. Your words are powerful. They can make a difference.'

Anzien pondered again.

And he continued to ponder.

I pleaded with my eyes. 'I care that you feel hope for this. I protected you in Iulyarom so I could give you hope. Please.'

'I…' Anzien ground his teeth. 'Very well,' he sighed. 'I will do it. But only because you convinced me, and because Toun dared me to swim instead of wallow.'

I was so relieved I almost laughed. 'Thank you, Anzien.'

He was a flurry of ideas, not a minute after he agreed. I had not seen the young man so active in all the time I knew him.

He strode about the camp looking for inspiration. He would talk to the soldiers and camp followers. He would find high places to survey the landscape. Nothing was beyond his consideration.

He kept the exact wording of his riddles to himself. I was asleep before he was done. He worked through the night.


Anzien walked straight and tall when the time came to face his adversary. All the soldiers around him, the king included, looked his lesser in height. How he, one knowing he faced a powerful djinni, had been so inspired to courage, I could not fathom. I never thought I would feel worried to see him so confident.

Anzien rode on my beasthound chariot in the same procession as the previous day. We were wordless, mostly because my nerves dug at me like they never had before. King Akol regarded Anzien with passing looks. Anzien paid the king no heed; slaves had no words for kings, after all.

Once more, the Cuumul delegate with the blue-crested helmet met the king's procession, flanked with his brace of hammer-wielding soldiers. This time, the two groups rendezvoused near to the lake shore itself. The barely-lapping waves of the lake on the morning wind was oddly peaceful. It was a calm scene, pregnant with anticipation.

How was Anzien so collected? I kept asking myself.

The crested delegate spread his arms as we stopped. 'The gratitude of Cuumulom could never be expressed in the words of just one hain, good King Akol,' he said. 'Your punctuality is a virtue as well. Watch! When the sun glints on the lake, the great Cuumulo shall generously meet your most noble selves.'

We were, indeed, just in time. The light of the sun already painted the entire western hills in a bright yellow. The converse shadows cast a blue darkness over the rest, including where we stood. In the distance, I could slowly trace the darkness retreating from the base of the hill, over the polis buildings on the other side of the lake, and nearer to the shore.

The blue shadow crept away. The yellow hit the shore. The water glinted in greeting.

That was when my eyes blurred. Or, it seemed as such when looking over the lake. I rubbed at the discomfort and found my vision still affected, or the air wending and rippling, I could not tell. The blur resolved to a mist above the lake waters. In a second, it obscured all the polis beyond. Limbs of the mist rose in cloudy tentacles up to the clear blue sky. The tendrils collectively grasped at their tips and spiralled inward to the centre. Their white masses united to form a shapeless beast from another world, growing and drawing cloud from the tendrils that fed it. It solidified, as only clouds could. Two great arms unfolded from what became its chest. A small head between its broad shoulders grew a beak, much like a hain.

The mist djinni. The lord of this lake, Cuumulo, towered above, taller than a brush beast.

His cloudy expanse shrank and moved in our direction with no show of locomotion. His mass condensed as it shrank into an ever-whirling shell of tiny glittering water droplets.

When they take a recognisable form, most djinn prefer the shape of humans. Such beings are not easy to find beautiful. To my surprise, Cuumulo instead took the form of an enormously tall hain. He was smaller than his titanic introduction, of course, but shrank no smaller than a tedar rovaick. The way the water droplets swam like a never-settling waterfall glinting in the morning light made a beauty I would never forget.

The Cuumul procession fell to one ankle each and lowered their heads in supplication. Meanwhile, Akol's bodyguard shifted in their chariots. None had seen a djinni as large as this. Not up this close.

'Hail, hail, in sheets on earth…
The thrum-drumming hail I heard…'

'Your hailstones white, hainfeet they be…
Hain as you, who I hail, like others…

King Akol, I hail to you, to greet as my guest.'

The djinni lake-lord Cuumulo had a voice with a cool, needling touch, like drizzle on one's shoulders. His arms curled and gestured in flowing hain body language.

Cuumulo's appearance seemed just another detail to Akol's calculating gaze. The king raised a hand. 'Cuumulo. I have come to answer your challenge. Before we begin, know that your chance to concede to federation has not been lost. I will unite Yorum, make it greater than it ever was.' He nodded forward. 'And you can be a part of it.'

The djinni spread his watery palms in a grotesque hainsmile.

'Consider, hain king, your kills and clamours crying creation of countries creeping and counted…
Speculate, hain sovereign, the silence and speech that slices and sluices smooth siren songs to myself…

To you, to me, they form the tree travellers, tricksters, and trackers ascend to try tracing true targets.
And why?
It is the water in our lakes.

Know you what I speak, mortal king?'

King Akol nodded as if it were obvious. 'If it is your desire to continue, then your riddles are better addressed to my champion. You promised we could give the first riddle.' He looked to Anzien and firmly waved him over.

Anzien looked at me for confirmation. I nodded to him, hiding my anxiety.

As he stepped off the back of my chariot, his feet looked heavy and his knees light. His confidence was a performance that only his upper half could maintain perfectly, it seemed. But he showed courage approaching Cuumulo in the first place. The great djinni regarded the last Iulya with looming curiosity.

'You face Cuumulo, the king crowned of Cuumulom, colossal and considered.
A word does wend the wake of you when you would word yourself, and it shall be…what?'

'You may call me Anzien.'

The shimmering lake djinni sighed in approval.

'Both you and me, be given three, of a chance to see, what all words be.
The mystery first, in the best of your verse, be it long or it terse, begins as your curse.

Begin, Anzien, hain king's champion.'

Cuumulo uncurled two fingers to indicate Anzien had the floor. The rules were simple to Anzien if they were not completely clear to the rest of us. They would trade riddles. When one made a third incorrect guess, that one stood defeated.

Anzien broke his eye contact with the djinni and cleared his throat.

And so, the duel began.

'In Yorum, I jaunt, as I jaunt all the world. My coming stirs dread in all mortal hearts. A certain tyrant with a mace unbreakable.
Every step is a sweeping humour. Every breath tolls a blade of grass, a tree of leaves, a child's life.
The lesser rivers dare not run, such is their sorrow.
And for months I campaign. I laugh and howl.
Then, when my victory draws near, I circle home to the north to let the world go free.
What am I, great djinni?'

I clutched my palms, one of them up. I had to subdue my pride at Anzien's first riddle.

Cuumulo angled his beak back in delight. 'Bring you the bough of unbearable breaking about the mortal body? Your words do well to waver unwise ones. Although, which way do you wander to wait for watery spiryts such as we in the wind…but…in…winter? Winter is your word.'

Anzien graciously bowed his head. 'You guessed correctly. Your turn, Lord Cuumulo.'

My pride turned to worry. I pressed my closed fist against my chest.

Cuumulo drew in his gently misting arms and spread them in a strange ritual that shed a sheet of rain onto the lake water under him. Then he spoke his own riddle.

'A feaster, famished forever and for all, freely frolics fanatical and furious.
Found in flames, freezes and flurries, furies and famines, the first and last refuter of all triumph.

No sympathy seems to seep from such a seasoned force.
It suckles not for life. See, its silence is the last that will ever be assumed.

Can it care for cries of rovaick? Howls of hain? Moans of men? Anguish of angels? Damning of dwarves?
It listens for none. Its objective is but one. A desire drawing depths and distances back to blind and baleful beginnings.

What have the hain to name this eternal bane they blame, mortal?'

Anzien looked to the pitiful waves on the lakeshore.

While he pondered, I stood frozen and unbreathing. I had not a hint of what the lake djinni spoke of.

'If you seek to remind me of death, Cuumulo, you will find my fear of it long gone. Death is what you speak of.'

Cuumulo began at a low rhythmic laugh. His beak shook side to side.

'Your mortal mind muddles in muds and mucks that maroon you.
Death is distinct and dares to destroy only by a droll – if dulcet – dance.

Be broader before you belt a blunder as brash as you just bleated!
Answer again, Anzien. Your first flounder has fallen forth.'

I could hear Anzien's teeth grinding all the way from my chariot. He appeared otherwise calm and collected, for all that mattered.

What had the djinni spoken of? Something airy and abstract, I was sure. One of many reasons I became a chipper and not a poet myself.

Come on, Anzien, I spoke in my mind. You can find the answer.

'Then it is Entropy. Entropy, chaos, destruction.' Anzien spoke without a hint of questioning in his breath. 'While there stands progress and creation, there is uncaring entropy to fell it. Entropy will make the last sound, as it will cease only when nothing else exists.'

The tall hainoid djinni happily threw up his arms, sending a spray of water up and down onto the surface of the lake.

'Yes! Your yoke is alighted, last Iulya!
Entropy ends your erudition only elsewhen from now, it seems.

Wright me now a riddle in return.'

Anzien's shoulders relaxed.

Hope remained.

'An event I never forgot was one that, before the eyes of all, broke the courage of a still stone.
An immovable thing shows its fear, and we all show as much fear as we ride upon it.
The fear so great, the danger so felt, that this fear roils the seas to a panic to assault the shore.
The fear, as it passes, makes its claim in the deepest of voices, pertaining to forever.
But it passes.
And the fear passes with it, in little echoes.
What is this fear that makes the unmoving move, for which none of us hain ever know the true cause?'

Yes! Surely this would cause the djinni to make a mistake, I thought.

'…An…earthquake, Anzien.
The sprays of seas and slashes of shores speak shortly after the shattering draws.Earthquake is your word.'

It seemed so obvious with the words he used. My eyes lowered in disappointment. This djinni was just as fast to answer.

Again, Anzien graciously bowed his head, though I spotted him blinking in an anxious way. 'You are correct again,' he said. 'Speak your next riddle.'

Cuumulo brushed a glittering hand across the side of his beak in another strange gesture. These djinn made little bodily sense.

'The habits of hain to hold heartfelt hampers and hassles is ahead handed heresy in this I howl:
For you all can commit a cunning scheme of courting a craven chord.
A chord having heinous hysterical hate hailing into your homes.
Only one single solitary soul suffices to step and descend.
Trust is tried to betrayal.
Intimacy ends in impassion.
…Pause…it Putrefies…and is Performed…
And the absence ever after always alters the outcome…
For the platitudes of cunning and peals of hate sit pale when placed up to the pile of pouring…pain…produced post hoc.
Recoil, you, reticent reprobates! This act is never absent from the annals of all with animus!
Recoil…
Until, you, driven to desperation, dive deep into this same depraved desire individually.'

Cuumulo craned his huge head forward to speak nearly above where Anzien stood. 'Answer this act in a word, Anzien.' He hissed exaggerated disgust.

I swallowed. Anzien could be swept away in a blink by this creature. He somehow remained in place.

'Rebellion,' Anzien said. 'Rebellion is your word.'

'No!' Cuumulo sprayed his arm across soak Anzien from head to toe with water, making him flinch and blink. The blow had not enough mass to disturb the poet's balance – a chastising gesture. 'No! Rebellion reeks of ringleaders and rabbles around and about the battle and bears the bothers of boorish beasts, braying! Rebellion is liked by the louts lingering, lascivious on the land. What I riddle is revealed in the range I so respect it with. Air! Sea! Heavens! All are accused.'

Cuumulo settled back to his large posture. His patience returned in an instant. He probably enjoyed the theatrics for their own sake.

The djinni added. 'One more answer with which you wander to wicked invectives will leave you without the victory.'

Anzien took his time.

How was he so calm? Be careful, Anzien! This is your last chance!

'Murder.'

I winced at Anzien's quick answer. Could he not have pondered for longer? I thought.

'I know murder,' Anzien continued. 'The gods murder their kin, the djinn murder their kin, the hain murder their kin. Everything with a mind does, as you put it. And I understand, now, that desperation you also mentioned. It almost drove me to murder as well. But you are only wrong in underestimating the chance to resist its temptation.' Anzien lifted his eyes to Cuumulo, squinting in the morning light. 'Murder is your word.'

Cuumulo kept his patience in some supernatural way. The mist djinni sighed in satisfaction once more. 'You are correct. I anticipate your upcoming utterance. Utter away, Anzien.'

As Anzien paused to ground himself once more before the djinni, my mind felt coated by a hot wax, dripping and hardening. This competition was not playing out as I had hoped. I saw king Akol on his chariot, already contemplating the broken shells that would furnish the lakeshore soon. I saw his bodyguard lowering their eyes in spare moments as if they knew the duel was lost.

I almost felt I had made a mistake. The crushing weight almost came to my shoulders again. Almost. Anzien was still so collected and calm. I did not know why or how, only that it gave me hope.


'Cuumulo, listen well,' Anzien began once more. 'Look at them…' he swept his arm across to the people in both delegations.

'They are hain.

What they are now, you know.
When they age to dust, just so,
They will leave a strength behind.

A strength unseen, acting on worldly matter;
Ambitions build up and obstacles shatter.
Immortal, such lords as it grows.

It moves earth at a whim and brings forth living water.
The air takes its songs to the darkest of corners,
And my eyes are scarred from its burning.

A mercy that fears not failure nor wounds.
With vision, it rises to rise past the moons.
This power to shape like clay,

Shaped mortals here today.

We shall not march away.

Compelled by this, are we, to be free.

What is this mercy, Lord Cuumulo?'

A moment passed before all my heart swelled. There, I saw Anzien's gambit, as did King Akol and all his bodyguard. Their eyes lit like stars. I knew Anzien has summoned ghosts to them as well.

You'll see why, Caress.

The djinni spoke, thinking himself sly. 'You, so keen to preen from a theme in a gleam I have seen in your eyes. Winter was first, then earthquake was versed, this natural order now sings? Immortality? Elemental power? We shape the world and not just mortals! Just now you jump forth, a joke of a generation! Your words junk and jive in their injustice for the word djinn. Djinn is your word, and a jilting gem it is. Pfah!'

But he was wrong.

'You are misled, Cuumulo,' Anzien flatly answered. 'I was particular to a different power. What djinni shapes all elements at once and shapes mortals in the same way? What djinni of this description has defined a mortal? You will find none, for the djinn merely define the base matter of the world, and so you must answer again.'

The sparkling droplets of Cuumulo's tall body slowed their swirling. He looked at Anzien and gradually straightened.

'Pride yourself, Anzien. Your pattern did prescribe a path into peril, I perceive. And peril did poke my pelt most painfully.'

Cuumulo's chest puffed to regain his stature and pride.

'Artful Anzien, I answer thus,' Cuumulo said. 'The good gathered in your grand poem speaks gratefully of a lasting grace. What force goes never-grinding thus in this gormless gravel universe but gods? Gods is your word.'

Anzien shook his beak from side to side. 'Again, you are misled.'

My shoulders tensed with subdued excitement. Cuumulo had only one answer left.

But this time, Cuumulo was not so friendly. His arms shed large droplets menacingly into the lake below. 'How, hain? Explain.'

Anzien did not falter. 'You have limited yourself to the most tangible of answers. Gods, it is true, are powerful beings that created mortals and djinn alike. Their touch can shape the elements in impossible ways. But which god compelled us to be here? Which god raised our thoughts to march here today? Which god made us free? If you think it is Toun, you are mistaken, for he does not compel us at all. No threats, no violence, nothing from him met those that turned their backs on us. We are here by choice compelled by something else, and it is no god. Answer again, Lord Cuumulo.'

'Hark!' Cuumulo lowered his beak in disgust and pointed a watery finger at Anzien. 'Have you, hain, any hint on the hold upon your head by hazards wholly beyond your comprehension!? Hallow only one entity left in your haughty harmonies! Only one exists!'

'This will be your final answer,' Anzien declared calmly.

Cuumulo bared his misty teeth. His voice lowered to a dire warning. 'Your feint is flawed, for I fear your word is…Fate.'

Anzien lifted his beak. 'Are we compelled by fate to be free? Are we compelled by fate to stay or march away? If you would claim fate compels all to everything, fate's compulsion is meaningless to the opposite the word compulsion implies. But that is hardly relevant, Lord Cuumulo, for your greatest failing is assuming fate is a mercy.' Anzien stood on his toes and pointed a thumb to his chest. 'I, amongst mortals, know all too well the cruel weavings of fate! She plays upon the world for reasons incomprehensible to any, least of all for mercy! You are incorrect, and your final answer is spent.'

At this, Cuumulo bent down to lean his large hain hands upon the lake shore. He stared close and coolly at Anzien with his left pair of eyes. 'If Fate be not your word, and your answer not absurd, with justice you should gird your word before me, little hain.'

With his mouth opening for the word 'hain,' Cuumulo looked ready to swallow Anzien whole. Gone was the dramatic and beautiful creature risen from the lake. His proportions grew beastly and textured itself to a roiling mass of nauseating holes.

I could hear Anzien's breath shiver as he gathered his temper.

'It is a concept I know absent to your awareness, Cuumulo.' Anzien jabbed out a finger towards King Akol's bodyguard. 'Ask any hain who marched here today why they were so driven. If you did, you would see my riddle's answer found in their open hearts!

'They are hain! – creatures forsaken by nature to struggle and harden in the fires of godly whims!

'Unseen, but in actions upon worldly matter! – all the acts of these hain themselves in defiance of their lot! Production! Invention! Organisation! Technology! Tradition! Harmony of their march! They do all this and more for a reason.

'It moves earth at a whim and brings forth living water. – Such acts are as easy as lifting twigs when done by the many hands of our people. See what we build! What we raze to the ground! Even living water such as yourself rises to our presence, as we are not to be ignored any longer!

'Compelled by this, are we, to be free! – Free from the history of pain and rejection behind us! Free from the chaos that defined this generation! Free from the shrinking away we have done before to survive!

'It is an idea, Cuumulo! A sanctuary of our creation! My word is Yorum! Yorum united by the power of will before you!

'This is our mercy. A mercy unto ourselves, wrought by us, determined by us!'

Anzien turned his head and raised a fist and shouted. 'Mir-zenem dis-shorm!'

We are the spear…

King Akol's bodyguards replied instantly, lifting their shining maces to the air and taken by Anzien's power. 'Ron statter dis-glar!!!'

…that shattered the earth!!!

'Aum ver fornem dis-leym!?!'

And who shall shape the clay!?!

'Dis-greym hetn hain!!'

The ready hands of hain!!

Cuumulo, escalating himself, opened his mouth in slowly separating films of water like a drooling hound.

Anzien returned Cuumulo's intense and transparent gaze. He did so with the anger that defied the danger he was in. His teeth held clenched, his eyes narrowed, and his fists creaked tight.

In a sudden shrill crackle, spiralling horns of ice tore out of Cuumulo's back and the sides of his arms. He drew himself up as his left hand bulged into the shape of an immense mace of perfectly clear ice.

Anzien took a single half-step back.

'A little laughable idea as is, immortal? Hah! It will last little longer than a generation! But, your insolence is easily included in your insults, insect!' The mist djinni bellowed and raised his gleaming weapon. 'You, finally, will fear death from me for your faili-!'

And Cuumulo became still. I thought for a moment the rest of him had turned to clear ice, for not even the soft breeze rippling the lake shifted a drop of his body.

A second passed. None knew why he stood still. I looked to the Cuumul delegation and they were just as confused.

Then the water collapsed into a fit of pain. 'EEEUAAAAAARGH! AAAARGH! YAAAAAAAAAGH!' The screams degenerated into a fit of thrashing water and foam. In his cry, Cuumulo's mace-arm melted and his arms clutched at his head until his eyes fused with his hands in a horrific display.

Suddenly, the discord halted. Cuumulo gradually reformed. He took on his sparkling hain body with decorum, even brushing his shoulder of a cloud of brown silt.

'Friend…' The djinni uttered. 'You are fond friends, forever. You bested me.' His icy protrusions melted away. He looked cordially at King Akol. 'Either I honour my oath or I oust my honesty. Cuumulom welcomes Yorum's King's coming. Tell all the tale today; Toun is treated to Cuumulo's treasured time and toil, until tribes of Yorum talk together in turn, united. Hermit in the Sea, hear me, I am given to thee.'

The djinni bowed.

Odd through Lord Cuumulo's concession had been, Anzien had prevailed."


"At the end of the day, I embraced Anzien," Edda said, her throat now gravelly with extended use. "I held him tight. I was relieved that he was out of danger, but much more than that I was proud. He saw what our mission was all about when he composed those riddles. He had to find it, to find something a djinni like Cuumulo would not understand."

Edda looked up and saw Caress sporting the widest of grins. The sculptor looked to be holding her breath to keep a laugh contained.

"Your story is growing the texture of a bardic epic," Caress said. "Complete with bardic embellishment, with the way it quivers out of your beak."

Edda looked down and laughed through her nose. "The version the real bards are telling is already embellished beyond recognition." She turned her eyes up. "But I do not like lying to my friends. That was the real tale, I promise."

Caress lifted up one of the sections of her now-absurdly long tapestry with a spare hand and thumbed over it. "It is a most fascinating tale, denial cannot be thrown of that."

"It's not the most fascinating turn of events to have occurred in the last few years."

"Oh?" Caress showed an elegant surprise. "Was Anzien changed further?"

Caress leaned her head away. "Oh, he continues to be…avoidant of me. He is no longer cold and dismissive, and even makes poems and songs for the royal family now. But, no matter my patient kindness towards him, he keeps brushing me off. Even after four years."

"Hm? Perhaps your wings are stifling to the young man," Caress offered. "You have clung to him like a mother clings a child, Edda."

Edda was silent. Caress noticed the silence in Edda's held breath.

"…Speak if I am wrong," Caress said cautiously. "Those you lost to the crystals…they…"

"It is not the same, Caress," Edda answered as Caress trailed off.

Caress closed her mouth and exhaled. "I interrupted you. Excuse me. Continue with what you were going to say about the more fascinating things." Caress pulled a smile to defuse the tension.

Edda closed her eyes.


"Peaceful outcomes were far more common once Cuumulom joined us. Loralom's army grew to such a size that almost every city-state capitulated. Others outright joined us on faith alone where my monks could get a head start on the army. They were spreading our mission.

I was drawn to more negotiating duties as we could afford to compromise to get people on our side. In truth, we are all but unstoppable. Some central kingdoms made up stories of a demon in the south building an army to eat the world, but such a fantasy was the only counterargument that anyone seriously held.

King Akol was happy about our progress. We embraced with relieved laughter whenever a city could be brought in without any lives lost. I enjoyed seeing his dour cynicism washed away in those moments. It was as if he had gained the honest hope that I wanted to give Anzien.

I thought it was going well. Then Akol, Sira, and Korom brought me into a private meeting. Just this morning, actually.

I know them personally as close friends, got to know them outside of their public lives, worked alongside them, minded their children, and so on. Had I not, I would have been concerned about the suddenness of it. I was unsure, either way.

They betrayed little in their expressions when I sat down. It was just me and them.

King Akol sat between his partners on the opposite side of the table. He was hesitant to get to the point of the meeting, which was unlike him.

'You probably know already, Edda,' the king began. 'There have been rumours about the court. Our negotiations on the last march were good, do not mistake, but the rumours are inflamed when a parley turns out unfavourably for Loralom. These rumours are that you are…calling too many decisions, undermining our authority.'

I was shocked. True, the rumours existed ever since word of Anzien's riddle gambit got out. That was a risk, true, but I did not think the rumours were so powerful as to force action. Neither had I any hint that Akol, Korom, or Sira disapproved of my decisions.

King Akol averted his eyes. 'All of these new vassal kingdoms makes these politics unwieldy. Something has to change.'

I spoke with care not to stammer. 'I see. What is going to happen?'

'Well, we cannot exile you,' Akol said. 'It shall not help to imprison you. And we cannot kill you-' Click!

Sira interrupted Akol with a backhand to his arm. She gave him a disapproving look.

Akol huffed and rolled his eyes, before looking straight at me. 'We have come to a decision which will resolve everything.'

I did not know what to make of Akol and Sira's behaviour. 'What would that be?' I asked cautiously as Akol hesitated.

Korom and Sira gave each other, and Akol, a look. They turned up both their palms and lifted their beaks in quiet, genuine, excitement.

Akol was always the more subdued of the three in these matters. He was probably nervous. It was no wonder with what he asked me.

'Would you join our family Edda?'"


Caress stopped her knitting and drew in a happy gasp. "Oh, Edda! Congratulations!" The sculptor leant over to wrap Edda in many pairs of gaunt grafted arms.

Edda did not struggle against the embrace. She did not return it, either.

"But what hand is over your mouth?" Caress pulled away and looked with her blindfold at Edda's dubious face. "Are you not happy, Edda? You and they have grown close, I could hear it in the way you speak of each."

Edda did not look directly at Caress' face for a moment.

"You are unsure," Caress said.

Edda sighed. "I do feel their affection. And remarrying would be good for the mission, politically speaking. The latter reason alone is enough that I will accept."

"…But?"

Edda looked down past the grass around her. She gently rolled another stalk of it between her fingers, watching it spin this way and that.

"I lost a part of me when I lost my first family, on the journey to Yorum," she said. "That part of me that loved, it's…left a hole. I do not know if I can give Akol, Sira, and Korom the same love. I do not know if I can give anyone that love anymore. And those three? They are going to see more of Yorum than I will. They are younger. This mission is the only reason that I exist, but they have more to live for."

Caress smiled sympathetically. "Edda, my friend, I believe your mission has taken you away from your hainity. I think you should marry and let them help you find what is left. I think then, perhaps, this matter of Anzien's attitude may fade as a problem in your mind." She straightened in her seat in the grass, taking up her tapestry with a wry smile. "I only wish I could pad my feet in the polis and attend."

Edda's hollow look broke into a breathy laugh. "Caress, I told you because I'm inviting you."

---

The border of the Ironheart range and what was Amestris was always a common area for something to happen, for foul creatures strode from those mountains and those who would wish to prey upon the weak would no doubt raid and pillage. Since the collapse of Xerxes, the fragmented city-states, no longer supported one another which led to chaos and for an opening for the might of Lifsapril’s armies and other external and internal threats. Not only that, but there was much debate for who was to resume the crown of Amartia, as he has left no valid heir for the crown. While some knew of Keriss, she had simply been viewed as a demon that slaughtered for the will of the god-king and had been killed after the battle of Xerxes.

Yet, that is not the focal point of this story, nobody likes reading about civil wars and the like, not even me and I used to be someone who delighted in the needless slaughter of the people simply because it cause pain. Good thing I am reformed now, wouldn’t want to derail a good story with needless exposition and yada, yada, yada.

What was that? I already have derailed the story? Whoops, ugh…

”I’m telling you the plural for a group of djinni is djinnis,” a child’s voice sounded through the rocky surface of one of the many mountains in the Ironheart Range.

“That is incredibly stupid,” another voice said, more annoyed of the two and far more bird-looking than the other. Kri’Tal, for five years, has been dealing with this child and her strange ways of formatting her sentences. He went on to explain, “Do you call a group of deer deers? I’, telling you that it’s djinni and that’s final young lady.”

The two have been travelling south for some time now, navigating through the mountains and going through many miscellaneous adventures that provided no real character growth between the two. However, something that they have established with one another, is that Orphan is the stronger of the two, after an incident in which she casually broke his arm in a game of ‘Who Upset Keriss More With Some Reckless Action?’ Needless to say, Orphan won that one hands down. With no contest of the hain warrior as he had a broken arm at the time and was screaming in pain, though currently it is debated if that would have made Keriss laugh more than it would have upset her.

”Well guess what. Whoooom,” Orphan said, egging on the hain who turned to face her and made a strangling motion, only to be subdued when the girl’s cloak made several ashen spears behind her.

“You are lucky Keriss gave you that cloak, child.”

”Why?

“Because I would have strangled you the first chance I got.”

Why?

“Because you are annoying.”

”Why?”

“Because of what you are doing right now.”

The two laughed for a bit after the exchange, but soon they came across a clearing. The clearing had old, blackened soot on the ground skeletons of the deceased and weaponry. There had been a battle here, though not all of the buildings had gone down by the torch.

“I wonder what happened here, looks old as the mountains from what I can see,” Kri wondered out loud, putting up a silencing finger before Orphan had the chance to make a snarky comment. The two wondered for a bit before coming across more skeletons, however, they came across an arm. Not an arm that had been dismembered from a man, but from a something the size of a babe. It was out of place and surrounded by a scorched earth, and not from it was the skeleton of a woman, the singed clothes the only sign of gender.

Orphan stood over the arm for a bit, something deep inside of her whispering for her to touch it, and it was hard to resist. She crouched down and with her ashen arm, went to grab the bones, but the moment she made contact, a burning sensation ran through her arm, a pain that was far worse than it should have been. She held her arm close and closed her eyes to concentrate on stopping the pain.

When she opened her brown orbs, Orphan found herself in the center of a village, the screams of people all around her as fire roared and the sound of battle became prevalent. She was overcome with fear and she saw people look as if they had run through molten rock go past her. Then her attention turned to laughter that came from next to her, she saw the grim outline of Keriss, wildly laughing and black as night. There was no other form other than that shadow and Orphan instantly took a step back before falling to the ground, no longer wanting to see these visions.

She opened her eyes again and saw that Keriss was standing over her now. With large, leather wings outstretched and a look of disgust on her face. ”Pitiful,” she said with a voice colder than how she normally was. Orphan went to respond before a hain stepped through Keriss, dissolving the vision into trillions of particles of ash.

“What’s wrong, Orphan?” Kri asked, crouching next the child.

Orphan just looked at him for a few moments before continuing her silence with looking down at the ground, the skeletal arm staring back intently. ”Nothing,” she said before stepping on the bone, snapping it in half. She looked up and simply saw the hain staring blankly back before shrugging and turning away.

“Let’s leave this place. I don’t like the idea of meeting anyone close to the Amatris. Why are we even heading to the place where a battle of quite literal cataclysmic proportions happened anyways?” Kri questioned, walking south once more. The child following closely behind to contemplate the question for a few brief moments, delivering her answer in her own monotone voice.

“I guess I’m just trying to find Keriss. Or her friend, the Blowfly. She always told me that if I couldn’t find her then I should find her instead.”

“Please, the Blowfly is a myth. I’ve never come across a hain that could be so stupidly powerful,” Kri commented, skeptically.

”Oh trust me, if you’d been around as long as I have, you see some weird things.”

“You’re a fifteen year old in a ten year old body, where as I am extremely old for a hain. You have no room to talk,” Kri chuckled before he spoke once more but in a quieter tone, “Be careful, we are being tailed by something tall, dark, and ugly. Operation Kick-Ass is a go on our Magnus.”

”Do the thing?”

“Do the thing.”

Orphan extended her arm, traveling faster than the average mortal could perceive, cutting down all the trees to her left. Then all she heard was a terrible screech, High-pitched and rattling to the soul, it was more annoying than anything but then she felt a pain in her chest only similar to one being. Only Keriss could produce such a torturous feeling but this was far weaker than anything she had known Keriss to do to her. But it had its effect on Kri, who was on his knees covering the holes that hain used as ears, though this magic could not be blocked, only endured. Luckily, Keriss’ training to increase Orphan’s pain tolerance has come in handy for she merely stood as normal, grinding her teeth.

The child looked forward and in the air she saw wings flapping, a horrid creature was in the air producing the screeching sound. Her arm shot forward and the being dodged, narrowly, stopping it’s screeching to focus on the sudden combat that it had entered.

”How dare you attack a dagon, welp?!” The Being screeched

”Dagons are all dead, got slaughtered by whatshisface in the battle of the place,” Orphan explained rather badly.

”What?”

”Yeah, besides you look more ugly than intimidating like a dagon.”

”What?”

After a pause in the very meaningful conversation, Kri’Tal had gotten to his feet and chimed in, “You are a creation of Keriss, only she can make that kind of magic.”

”You are correct hain. I am Mortas, Prince of Ash and apparent last surviving dagon, made this way by that wretched lizard.”

“We are looking for Keriss, could you point us in the right direction? I have to deliver a spear into her chest for ruining my life.”

”And I’m largely indifferent though she pretty much is my abusive, adopted mother.”

”Last I saw her was in Xerxes.”

“Xerxes, eh?”

”That place is gone. Just kinda popped out of existence, or to a different plane of existence. It’s weird. There was a lot of carnage, death, and fighty bits all around.”

”What?”

“Ignore her. Anyways, we’ll head that way, unless you’d rather kill us. You seem like that type.”

”You’d be right. I’m going to kill you all now, purely because I am both offended and annoyed by your presence.”

“Welp.”

”Whom!” Orphan exclaim.

---

Lifprasil's palace gates eased open. From between them, the flickering yellow light of torches cut lines in the nighttime road, silhouetted by the comparatively small figure of Conata spreading the gates open. Looking on behind her were a handful of tall, horned, high lifprasilian palace guards with glaives and lights. When she made enough distance, the guards shut the gate behind her and let her disappear into the city.

The dark of the early morning hours did little to cool the humid tropical air. She paid it no mind. She walked, brisk but unrushed and neutral.

The market district was not difficult to find. Most roads seemed to funnel to its main square. Finding the chipper workshop would have been harder, had Conata not lived in the city for the past few years. No established craftsman or woman was ignorant of them. Still, she never before approached their shrine.

The workshop was barred shut at this time of night, naturally. Conata did not so much as blink before drawing one of the bronze pitons on her belt and pressing it to a thin wafer. The wafer slotted between the double doors easily enough for her to lift the wooden bar off its seat from the outside.

She pushed open the doors. Moonlight cast into the dark space beyond. She closed her eyes, stepped in, and shut the doors behind her. The workshop was left pitch black, though Conata did not need to see. She could feel the shapes of the various fixed metal tools; anvils, vices, nails, and so on, all around her. They were all points of reference to the centre; the local chippers held the tradition of hanging up their hand tools near the shrine to Stone Chipper himself, in the centre of it all.

Once near, Conata heated her bronze wafer until it shed hot orange light. Mercifully, there was an unlit candle. Conata set the metal to. It illuminated the lonely scene in yellow.

The altar itself was a practical, stone thing with a single, dust-covered, untouched hammer in its centre...Reserved for Stone Chipper, should he need it. It was the only real thing that formalised it being an altar.

Conata reached under her black feathered cloak. Her hand reemerged holding a newer hammer, with a fresh handle and a head of gleaming adamantine. She looked at it. Her copper-faced reflection looked back on one of its facets. With a sigh, she placed her hammer gently on the altar, next to Stone Chipper's.

And then she stood for a while.

She had come this far -- she thought she would have more to say.

Standing still was not helping any matters.

Her lips curled in, sick of the stillness. "You know..." she began. "Emperor Lifprasil told me to ask you something. He said you would answer, because you liked questions like that. He told me to ask you how I was made."

Conata let out a single laugh. "I know all the other chippers would talk for ages if you asked them how they made their latest projects. I kinda get it. I get proud of what I make, when I do it right. When the effort pays off. Call it showing off, I guess."

Her smile faded. She looked down and wrung her little finger nervously. "I thought the question would make you answer, no matter whether you're my dad or not, but that's just a guess. Either way, it got me thinking." She paused. Her neck broke out with rust and the pauses between her sentences broadened. "I would have been made by someone. Metal things are. Didn't...I didn't hatch out of an egg or get born. I was made. I don't know why I was made, exactly. Never really known. Not sure I need to know. I just...If I was made, I just hope I've done things right. I hope I made my maker proud. Someone they would talk about like a project that paid off."

The darkness around the chipper's altar held its breath.

Conata bit her lower lip. Her voice tightened up all the same. "I don't know if you can hear me. But...if you could tell me what you think, I'd really appreciate it...Teknall."

She swallowed, looking at the hammer as if it would answer.

"You were carefully designed, then cast in a mold."

Conata spun around, startled. There stood an aproned goblin in a corner behind her. He walked forwards.

"Every different metal in existence was mixed together to form the alloy from which you were made. This was poured into a graphite mold, which had been carved into the likeness of a young girl." The goblin drew near to Conata's side. "To provide the divine impetus which animated you and granted you the status of demigoddess, one last ingredient was added." He opened his left hand to bare his palm, across which a scar was still faintly visible. "My own blood."

Teknall looked up into Conata's face with tender warmth. "I am sorry for making you wait so long, my daughter."

Conata's mouth hung open. Without breathing, she brought her half-closed hands up to look at them. They were magnesium. She was magnesium all over. Her hands felt different.

"You're..."

A rush of disorganised images flew past her mind's eye. She blinked hard. The pearlescent whites of her eyes glazed.

"It's a lot to take in," Teknall said. He laid a reassuring hand on Conata's arm. "Take a deep breath, gather your thoughts. We're in no rush."

Conata did as the goblin said, inhaling slowly until her lungs were filled. She only managed to breathe out halfway before the rest came out in a loud laugh, which she quickly breathed in again. "I thought you'd be taller!" She said the first thing that came to her head. She sniffed and found her nose blocked. "You're Teknall, right? Not Vestec dressed up to trick me or anything?"

"I am indeed Teknall. Teknall would take strong objection to Vestec interfering in this moment, were Vestec to try such a trick."

"I suppose he would." Conata giggled again. The iridescent bismuth on her skin swam over rough orange rust. She tried taking a deep breath again.

She found herself pausing as her mouth curled down. She asked faintly, "Father...Where were you?"

Teknall let out a soft sigh. "Of the many things Choukkud and Wutni taught you, there was one thing which they emphasised above all else: the heart of a tedar. Growing up in Rulanah, living with the Rovaick, you gained empathy for your fellow mortals. You came to identify with them, to understand them, not as pawns to be manipulated or lesser beings to be aided, but as friends. I left you with Choukkud and Wutni so that you may learn these things. I have been following your growth closely, and you have indeed made me proud. In my absence, I gave you a precious thing which no god could give yet is so valuable for development: a childhood."

Conata brought a closed hand up to her collarbone and looked away to the ground. Clearer memories came to mind. Memories of chasing goats over the mountain grasses. She remembered Wutni and Choukkud's warm hugs when she was sad.

"Choukkud said that," Conata said. "I remember he said I had the heart of a tedar. I remember he was upset about it. I didn't know why at the time. I guess that explains it, if..." Conata swallowed. "He was going to tell me all of this when I turned seventeen." She looked to Teknall again. "Did you really have to keep it all a secret from me? I didn't even know what I was until the realta attacked."

"Divinity brings power, authority, and superiority. If you had known of your divinity, would you have honestly considered the mortals your peers and equals? Would you have let yourself be raised by mortal parents, when you had access to a godly father? It was not a decision I made lightly, but without the secrecy the plan would not work."

Conata's face stilled. Her eyes searched Teknall's. He said all he needed to.

She let her arm drift back to her side after a long moment mulling.

"I don't know how to answer that," Conata said blankly. "I don't know gods. It hurt to not know about you. It...really hurt. But, it's not like it matters now."

Conata blinked and her eyes flooded. An attempt to breathe it back only made matters worse. She scrunched her eyes shut and felt rust creep out from their corners until it spread over her face like an eye mask. A breath in, properly this time, let her partly open her eyes and speak again.

Her voice broke. "I didn't really think this far ahead, Teknall," she admitted.

Teknall stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around Conata in a comforting embrace. "You've made it to here, though, my daughter. That itself should be cause for joy."

Conata knelt down and put her arms around Teknall. Short though his form was, his words made the tears finally escape Conata's eyes. She sobbed heavily into his shoulder. She closed her eyes and squeezed her father hard enough to injure any usual goblin. The release sent a wave of relief over Conata, turning her bright silver, even as little veins of rust kept their place. They held one another for some time. The culmination of years went into their embrace.

Only after a minute or two did Conata start to calm. Teknall gave her the time she needed but kept her previous statement in mind, which he answered.

"You were hoping to receive direction from this event. Perhaps it would help you if I told you why I first made you."

Teknall took a step back, leaving Conata on her knee, sniffling and looking on. He picked up the hammer to Stone Chipper from the altar and dusted it off. "Before you were born, the Rovaick were in a poor position. They were trapped in the caves of the Ironhearts by Toun's White Giants, and their access to resources was sorely limited. I had blessed the Ironhearts with great mineral wealth, but the Rovaick knew nothing about metal, a situation shared by many mortal races at the time.

"So they prayed for aid; or, specifically, Sularn prayed on their behalf. Toun and I answered the prayer. Toun gave them what you know as Sularn's Oath, which marks the bearers as Toun's so that the White Giants do not attack them. Toun also taught them agriculture, so that they may have food and grow. I pledged to teach them the ways of metalworking. That is where you come in."

Conata found her eyes wandering to the red marks on the back of her wrist. She snapped back to attention.

"Previously, I had walked amongst the hain as Stone Chipper, spending several generations bringing knowledge and skills to the primitive tribes. However, Galbar had grown fuller and busier since then. I could not afford to dedicate my full attention to such a small area. So I made a helper to perform the task of teaching metalworking to the Rovaick on my behalf: you. And you have performed that task admirably."

Teknall ran a finger along the head of the hammer, which was made of high quality Alefprian steel. With a small nod of approval he set the hammer back in its place. "But you are more than a tool built for a single purpose. You are a person, with autonomy and free will. I've told you where you started, but it's up to you to decide where you want to go next, and what mark you want to leave on the world."

Conata was at first silent. She stared at the hammers on the altar, hers and Teknall's, until enough copper overtook her complexion under her tears to think.

"Well..." She thought out loud. "I guess it's good I was made for working metal. I've always loved doing that. But, I've never really thought too deeply about 'making a mark' or something. I've never wanted to conquer the world or marry a prince or anything like that. I hope you don't mind, I think I need time to decide."

"Take your time," Teknall replied.

"Mm. I'll think about it." Conata wiped her eyes with the hem of her feathered cloak. She paused and opened her mouth reluctantly. "So...is it just...you?" She struggled with the question. "Rather, I know you told me how I was made. I just had this idea in my head that there was a family or something. A mother, maybe some siblings...Do you have a wife? Did you...make any other children?"

The corners of Teknall's mouth curled up into a smile. "You do indeed have a sister and a mother."

Conata's eyes lit up.

"Ilunabar aided me in your design. Your sister was created around the same time you were, with similar plans in mind."

Bronze spread up Conata's cheeks like veins. "Ilunabar?" Her mouth spread into an open smile. "The goddess who built this city!? You're joking! She's my mother!?" She covered her hands over her mouth. "And a sister, too? Gods, I..."

Conata lurched up from her kneel to crouch closer to Teknall. "Where are they? Can I meet them, too?"

"Soon. I can take you to meet them soon," Teknall said, "But not tonight. Tonight is just for us. I'm sure you have plenty more questions, and some tales to tell."

The bronze on Conata's skin lost some of its polish. She sat back kneeling, her hands on her upper legs. "Right, sorry. I'm just excited."

Teknall reached his hand towards the altar and picked up Conata's hammer. He inspected the adamantine head. "It was a pretty impressive feat of smithing you did to forge this hammer. Want to tell me a bit about it?"

"Oh, that?" Conata bowed her head forward and rubbed the back of her neck, thinking. "I made that with Helvana's help." She peered back up at Teknall. "You know her, right? She's a demigoddess, too."

"I'm aware of her," Teknall replied.

"The thing about adamantine...It's..." Conata let out her breath. "It's a long story, it took a lot of effort. Is there any particular part you want to know?"

"Tell me what it was like trying to manipulate the adamantine."

Conata glanced at her hammer, unsure. "Most of the time, it was like trying to manipulate a cured brick after shaping clay with your hands for so long. It's metal, to every sense I have, but feels immune whenever I try to move it -- or use any of my powers on it. It wasn't until Helvana and I inspected it together that I could even tell what was going on." She nodded to the hammer. "With a weakening curse upon it, I could feel some of my power affect it. It was resisting, like some metal when you try to bend it but it wants to go back to its original shape. Trying to shape it with the curse on it felt like pushing a huge boulder up a hill that got steeper as you went. A boulder big enough to roll back over you if your strength failed. I was rolled over a few times when it threw my powers back against me."

She stopped for a moment. Her face blanked as she stared at the hammer. Her memory tried to piece together what happened next. "Helvana tried another curse to hold in the backlash. That worked really well, and...Maybe I could do it then because I wasn't afraid of the backlash? I don't know. I trusted Helvana, so I pushed myself. I concentrated on my feel for the metal. I focussed so I could understand it. Then I had to line up my power and push it in as efficiently as I could. It took all I had to wake the metal up so it would move." She furrowed her brow. "It's strange, because I felt like it should have been harder. It was hard, for sure, but I got this weird burst of energy at some point. The kind you get when you're really focussed and don't feel yourself hurting or getting scared. I was floating. The only thing in front of me was the metal, nothing else. So, once it woke up, I shaped it how I wanted. I even got to put pretty details on the knife I gave Helvana, Lloyd, and Gwyn. Then I woke up in a pile of smoldering wood as if it was a dream, ran over to the adamantine, and there it was. Shaped just so."

Conata's lips thinned apologetically. "That's probably the best way I can explain it."

Teknall placed the hammer back down onto the altar. "Adamantine is a resilient metal. That is its nature. I would know; I designed it to be the strongest and toughest elemental metal in the universe. Adamantine typically takes some nuance and advanced equipment to work properly, so your persistence in getting it to work is admirable. Although, that's not so surprising; a good portion of your own resilience would come from the adamantine in you." Teknall smiled at Conata. "There are probably a couple of tricks I could still teach you, though."

Teknall stretched out his arm beside himself. Motes of golden light flickered into existence for the briefest moment as Teknall conjured his great adamantine maul into his hand. He spun the maul half way around and placed it head first onto the floor.

Conata raised her brow. "Woah."

The hammer's haft was as long as Teknall was tall, and the mass of the metal hammer head easily exceeded that of a goblin. Conata almost destroyed a city by shaping her little tool-sized hammer. Guessing the power required to shape Teknall's maul made her head spin.

"What kind of stuff do you make with that?" She asked. "Mountains?"

"Yes."

Conata's copper skin dulled. "...Pardon?"

"This is primarily intended as a weapon rather than a tool, but I did use this hammer to create the Ironheart Ranges," Teknall clarified.

"Oh." She nodded, and then realised in a bloom of bronze. "Oh! I didn't know that was true, I just thought it was a metaphor for something..." She cautiously reached out and peered up at Teknall. "Can I take a closer look?" She asked quietly.

Teknall let go of the haft of the maul. "Go for it."

Conata grasped the maul and stood up. Even levering the handle towards herself was a struggle. Only adamantine in this quantity could make her appreciate just how heavy metal really was -- she could not just will it around. She bent her knees to wrap her other hand down closer to the weight and heaved. Her teeth pressed together. Streaks of iron broke out on her arms and legs. With a low ring, the edge of the maul scraped away from the floor.

Up the absurd hammer ascended. Conata did not breathe except in little sounds of struggle. She finally lifted the maul up over her head. Her iron-and-bronze arms looked as though they were about to burst.

Her eyes went to an anvil hidden in the darkness of the workshop. With a flick of her toe, it slid across the floor until it stopped suddenly in front of her. Again, with just the smallest movements of her left foot she could afford, a scrappy bronze chisel unhooked from the stand around the altar and flew across to them. It laid itself gently across on the anvil.

Conata slid her foot back and let gravity reclaim the maul. Her arms provided no force but to direct the hammer head to the chisel.

The ring of adamantine was the only sound that lasted more than the moment it took for the maul to shatter every object between it and the ground. Conata fell forward with it. Her red eyes stood out against the swirls of reflective tin and selenium that framed her shocked face.

"...Wow."

Teknall stepped forwards, gripped the handle of the maul and lifted it off the ground with Conata still hanging on. Conata let go so he could hold the hammer by his side. "You have just used a divine weapon. Few demigods have the privilege of having done so. Although, you possess the skills to create similar objects if you desire."

Conata stood up, brushing back some of her wiry hair. "Ahem, I think I'll stick with my own hammer for now." The corner of her mouth grinned, tense and bronze.

Teknall's grip loosened and his maul faded away into motes of golden light. His head then turned to the disaster site. "Although, I can't imagine the Chippers will be happy about the damage you've done next morning."

The iron anvil was unrecognisable, its form sheared and flattened into rubble. The stone floor was shattered where the anvil had been driven into it. All that remained of the chisel was a bronze smear. "Let us tidy up this mess."

Teknall knelt down by the crushed objects. He lifted the hunk of iron out of the ground and deposited it beside Conata.

"Er, right..." Conata was quick to gesture up with her hands and will all the metal into the air. Remaking the chisel was as easy as bringing all the bronze between her hands and pinching out its shape, short of its now pulverised wooden handle. The anvil was hastily clapped back together, though she took a moment of care in fusing its glowing form. It would need to be just as hard as before.

She was so distracted that the previously broken floor beside her -- now perfectly repaired as if nothing had hit it -- caused her to double-take and break out in a green patina. Teknall's hand lifted from the floor.

"W-. Did you-?" Conata's surprise gave way to a dull tin. She sighed and worried her brow. "I could've fixed that, too," she said indignantly.

"Stone is one of my talents." Teknall reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a segment of a tree branch. He offered it towards Conata. "Did you want to make a new chisel handle or shall I?"

Conata pouted. She snatched the branch out of Teknall's hand. She looked at it, then back up to Teknall, frowning, and then back to the branch. Scars of iron wreathed her neck and face. "I can do it," she said. "Just so you know."

She turned and strode to a hefty wood-and-bronze vice fixed to a nearby work table. The vice and the remade chisel itself would do most of the work. Rather, the metal of the chisel -- she first shaped its bronze into a disc with a rim of tiny serrations. She used her power to spin the disc like an endless saw, cutting the branch to length on either side. The disc then took the form of a broad rectangular blade, which Conata used to shave the wood's breadth in sweeping movements.

Conata unfastened the vice and held the result up, blowing off some of the sawdust. She had a rough cylinder of wood. She could have drilled a hole through its length and been done with it.

She glanced at Teknall. Then at the cylinder. She hummed.

She turned and walked towards her father, and then walked past him. In a pigeon hole below the tools stand were sheets of rough brown parchment. She pulled one out with a scrape and returned to the vice.

Over the next few minutes she worked with her back to Teknall, gesturing to reshape the metal of the chisel to suit her needs with not even a pause. Little drifts of smoke, shavings of wood, and the occasional lengthy spray of sawdust flew from her fabrication. It ended with a minute of near-stillness as she held something in front of her. Delicate hisses were the only sound in that small stage.

Wood slid and clacked on metal. Another hiss. Conata turned around with her apron covered in sawdust and a little smile on her face. She held, by the blade, the completed chisel.

The bronze metal itself shone like a mirror, but the handle was a work of art. It was lathed and smoothed into a uniform shape to fit perfectly in the palm. Around the wood itself was a repeating pattern of waves scorched onto its surface as if by a tiny branding iron.

She held the handle out to her father, her other hand behind her back.

Teknall took the chisel from Conata and inspected it. He gave a nod of approval. "Craftsmanship befitting of a daughter of the crafting god."

Conata's skin faded into a more reflective bronze than the chisel. She smiled.

Teknall placed the repaired tool in the stand around the altar where it originated. He then looked back to Conata. "I think we might be done here for tonight."

She dulled, but kept levity. "You don't want to come and drink wine with my friends?" She asked.

"Tempting, but I have preparations to make, and it might be a bit overwhelming for them to meet a god face-to-face. Besides, it's getting late." Teknall stretched up and kissed Conata on the forehead. She bowed to receive it without thinking. A very faint golden glow suffused her metallic forehead before fading away. "A lot has happened today. Sleep on it. I'll see you again in the morning."

"Okay..." Her smile faded again.

Teknall padded over to the door of the workshop and pulled it open. He turned back to Conata, framed by dim moonlight. "Goodnight, my daughter."

"Thanks for answering!" Conata said in a rush. Her hands were clasped tightly together. One of them still held that sandpaper. "I got too used to the idea that you wouldn't."

Teknall paused for a moment. "Thank you for calling. We've been waiting to be reunited with you for many years. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow. I have some things to show you then."

She nodded. "Goodnight."

Teknall nodded, and then turned and walked out of sight.

The doors shut in Conata's view. The flickering yellow light of the candle dominated the room again. She picked up her hammer from the altar and realised just how bright of a silver her skin had turned. She let her eyes drift closed and her smile gently show.

For the first time in years, things were starting to make sense.

The spiritual epicentre of the Ironhearts was a far cry from the decade before. Narrow slopes had been dug into guarded roads. Thin passes were fortified with gates housed by stone walls. But behind the smoke wafting from the south, much of the stone fell broken. Hidden in the shadows cast by the low, orange, evening light were armoured corpses. Rovaick of all kinds were reclined in dried blood, covered with flies. Amongst them were the furred shapes of warrior dwarves and their gryphons, also traded in life for the ground they took.

The Ironhearts burned.

Sularn looked out from a tower striking up from the Rulanah holdfast to see his vision of the greatness of rovaick curling up in pillars of ash from the south. His porcelain-plated fingers creaked around his staff in fury.

"Prophet, the dwarves are moving," an azibo advisor spoke from behind him. "We believe they are committing to an assault."

Sularn did not turn around. "Tell the legions to hold fast and prepare for battle," Sularn said through grit teeth. "We shall not let them dirty this sacred place."

"We are outnumbered, my prophet. The defences will not hold the night."

With two broad steps, Sularn turned around to face the advisor. His face was wrinkled in anger, but two shining rivulets had fallen down his azibo cheeks. "I know. That is why I evacuated the rest. Our duty remains here."

A slide and clack brought Sularn's porcelain visor over his face. "Kill all that approach."

---

The bronze-clad yeti-like creature slowly stepped up to the siege tent erected on the greens outside the city of Rulanah itself. It had been moved multiple times, as more and more ground had been gained in assaults, tightening the noose around the city of Rulanah. This yeti held maps, charts, and reports, of which he knew there was almost naught to fear.

He took a deep breath, entering the siege tent. Inside were the prophets and generals of the crusade of retribution, including the arch prophetess, Elspeth herself. Rulanah, they all knew, was a center of great importance to the Rovaick. Vast sections of the Third Legion had surrounded it from all sides.

The crusaders looked narrowly at him as he brought up a board and laid out the charts and reports that had been compiled. He let his breath out slowly, before sucking it back in. He began, “The burning of the heretical bastion has already begun. Our trebuchets have made their calculations and are now accurately bombarding the city. Our aerial troops suggest that the palace district, the church district, and the residential district above ground are up in flames.”

He paused, and waited for their reactions. Elspeth nodded, and the rest soon followed, signalling their approval. The yeti relaxed slightly, continuing, “I have begun massing the northern and southern siege camps for a two-pronged assault. The orders have already been relayed. The western section allowed a number of Rovaick to escape into the mountains. The eastern section will be reinforcing the siege lines while the western side diverts to track down the refugees. Despite that difficulty, a large number of the refugees were slaughtered, as per your instructions.”

That report gained mixed receptions, Elspeth remaining quiet while some quiet grumblings and slow, satisfied but not elated gestures of approval. He took another deep breath, and projected, “The tunnels below the city have been breached by our sappers. A number have troops have entered, and we will be ready to assault the belowground portion of the city soon. I have relayed orders for the tunnel soldiers to assault midway through our above ground assault. The troops have not reported any significant resistance, nor have they allowed any escapees. It is possible that they do not yet know we are in the tunnels.”

The reception for that report was particularly positive, but some simply did nothing. He finished with, “The enemy legions have been reported by our scouts to be massing. They know it is their last stand. We will burn away their tainted souls, and may Lazarusian light cleanse even the darkest of corruptions.”

---

The sound of boots filled the air. Rattling of chainmail moved to a crescendo as the Third Legion finished its preparations. The sun had dipped below the sky, the landscape bathed in the orange glow of Rulanah’s misfortune. The ground itself shook under the weight of pike hafts smashing into it, a demoralizing racket of metal-on-earth. The Third Legion, in the dim light, seemed endless, troops stretching in great columns far into the darkness.

Great balls of flame stretched over their heads, an initial barrage of fiery stone flying towards their target. They cast great shadows among the columns, revealing the utter thousands of troops of the Legion. The din of marching boots began again as the columns began to move, the stone smashing into the holdfasts.

"Steady, men!" The troll sergeant shouted from under his helmet. His white tusks framed his shouting mouth. "Remember what you are!" The metal of his plate armour scraped in the gaps between the dwarves' rhythmic pounding on the ground.

Along the wall he strode, between himself and the battlements, were armoured trolls with bows. Every twenty paces stood a tedar ready to toss great rocks. They all stood still as statues.

A rock rushed overhead and thudded to a stop beyond.

"You are Toun's chosen! Those wretches beyond the walls stand below your height on the ground!" He gestured out to the columns of pikes. "Look at their puny little arms! They're contemptuous of our perfection! Let your perfection pierce their armour. Use your perfect hands to tear their arms from their sockets! Every drop of blood is homage to your oath!" The sergeant raised a fist. "Let no rovaick die today without blood-soaked fists!"

The rovaick on the wall barked out four thunderous shouts.

The dwarf pikes continued their rhythm.

"Volleys on my mark!" The sergeant's stretched his fingers up. Little sounds of wood clattered as the wall put arrows to bowstrings.

The dwarves continued to march forwards, their shields assembling into walls. They shouted their own battlecry in return, a single call chanted in unison. “Lazarus is with us!” they cried, as the deafening sound of shifting metal and boots thundered across the battlefield. Another volley from the trebuchets flew overhead, once again casting the battlefield awash with orange glow.

"Draw!" The sergeant drew out his shout. Hundreds of bowstrings creaked.

Another flaming stone lit up the scene. A crunch of flying stone and momentary bestial screams sent a segment of crenellations and a pair of troll bowmen broken off the wall. No others moved.

The sergeant kept his eyes fixed on the dwarf frontline.

The troll arrows glinted with little red symbols.

"Loose!"

The bowstring chorus sent rain towards the pikes.

The advancing shieldwall met arrows the size of spears for their scale. A number punched through to slay the least lucky. Others bent shields in as their impact was glanced away. Entire spheres of the line saw the massive arrows break their speed with pulses of psychic power.

"Draw!"

The dwarves converged into the momentary holes in their lines and marched over the fallen.

"Loose!"

Another downpour lanced into the formation.

Always more replaced the fallen.

The trebuchet volleys went eerily silent, the darkness in the sky obscuring the sound of metal and wings. They grew closer and closer to the holdfast, only the most perceptive of Rovaick hearing them over the din of the columns below.

Until the gryphon-riders dived. The gryphons folded in their wings, dropping suddenly atop the holdfast from far in the sky, long lances outstretched to meet the helmets of the Rovaick.

"Flyers! Fire at w-"

The gryphons stormed in like a squall. Those rovaick without the reflexes or notice to defend themselves were run through their armour. Most gryphons were out of reach before any retribution was possible. One tedar used a rock to blunt a lance before grabbing the creature out of the air. The victim was twisted and torn in moments.

The next pass run was met with a front of arrows. More rovaick fell to the lances. Pierced gryphons broke their necks on the wall they could no longer avoid.

"BRING THEM DOWN!" The sergeant pointed, his men complied. Teams of goblins manning ballistae at the parapets swivelled and loosed great nets into the air against the more headstrong gryphons. More lost control.

Yet as the assault dragged on, the sergeant saw fewer of his soldiers yet standing. Still hulks of armour dripped with red blood on the stones around him.

"Your oaths keep you standing! Fight!" He bellowed. "FIGHT!"

The remaining gryphon-riders made their escape, as ladders began to scale the holdfast’s walls. The diversion had worked -- the columns had made it to the walls. They shouted another warcry, in Dwarven, and the ladders creaked under the weight of dozens of soldiers climbing them. No matter how many ladders were kicked down, there remained yet more.

Simply not enough Rovaick remained standing to completely defend the walls. The top of the holdfast walls began to flood with Dwarven troops. Pikes were extended, and the superior reach of the weapons kept the dwarven soldiers at a safe distance. Not enough stones could crush them, not enough arrows could impale them. Not enough skill fencing spears could keep the sheer number of clustered pikes from reaching between the rovaick armour.

The sergeant led the retreat back to the cave mouths. His sword and arms were spattered with dwarf blood. His breath heaved through grit teeth as his mind ignored insignificant swathes he and his surviving compatriots had killed. He turned at his allotted checkpoint and raised his door-sized shield. "Toll every inch with a thousand souls!" The shields to the left and right of him locked into a wall. "Block these tunnels with piles of their fallen!"

Behind them, further in the tunnels, the distant din of metal could be heard. Reinforcements?

The sergeant's ears detected one sound which dispelled the notion.

The ear-splitting shriek of an ogru dying.

The beastly ogru were meant to be in reserve for the tunnel fight. That fight had started early.

He pulled away from the front line, allowing the others to close his gap. He strode to face the rear and shouted. "Rear shields form up!"

A wave of sliding metal drew another shield wall closed. The sergeant dully contemplated their trapped position.

Dwarves emerged from the darkness, in columns similar to their counterparts on the outside. The columns converged on the Rovaick shield walls, though they did not charge. They remained a respectable distance, prodding the Rovaick, forcing them closer and closer together to avoid death. They brought the Rovaick as close as possible, silently, like a well-oiled machine.

"Plow!"

The troll shields angled back all at once and overlapped like scales. Unified footfalls joined the shield wall surging forward. The dwarven pikes slid up the shields and snapped against the cave ceiling. The enemy column compressed against the sheer weight of their opponents.

The shield wall slowed to a stop against the pressed bodies. Their undersides lifted, spewing out the small forms of screaming goblins with daggers and shortswords. Compressed dwarves were cut at the legs and stabbed from below.

The shields let go for only the moments required to let bodies fall.

The rear of the dwarven column were brought to stop the cheap trick.

The Psykers stepped out of the lines. Plumes of fire from every side converged onto the Rovaick, heat bombarding the soldiers and cooking them alive in their own armor. The tunnel went silent except for the sound of screams and flame, the great columns watching the death of their enemy.

Their faces couldn’t be seen through their helmets. The light of the flames cast long shadows across the crevices of their armor.

The rovaick sergeant gathered the last of his unscorched strength and threw his sword through a distracted psyker's chest. One last act of spite before his flesh sloughed from his bones.

The columns marched on. The battle continued elsewhere.

---

The city was collapsing. The dwarves had made their way to the city itself, and had set to work destroying all they could. Underground supports were cut in half, the top of the city both burning and sinking into the ground. There remained one last bastion of defense, in the central palace. The rest of the crusading army ran pillaging and preventing escape, while Elspeth gathered her personal force.

Anger filled her. Anger towards those who had refused Lazarus’ blessings. She forged it into purpose -- to destroy the Rovaick entirely. She had been preparing for this moment ever since the siege had begun. And, in the dusty underhalls that rumbled as vast portions of the city fell upon them, Elspeth and her personal, elite column moved in towards the holy chamber that Sularn himself was expected to be defending.

The psykers projected battering waves of divine mindlances, disorienting the Azibo mages that came across the column. Just as much flooded their minds with urges to strike their neighbour. The unseen melee between magicians left blurring shockwaves in the senses. But, the soldiers marched prepared, equipped with the finest gear the army could offer. Their equipment was covered in Lazarusian runes of nullification. Elspeth lead at the front, clad in fine armor and a faceless helmet.

When the chamber’s outer defenses came into view, the column began to charge, ignoring all attacks upon them in their single-minded, fanatical goal. Elspeth in particular reached the outer defenses in seconds, naught but a blur of immortal speed.

The rovaick could not stop her if they tried. Enemies of all shapes and sizes were sent flying.

As Elspeth stopped to kill as many as possible, a shockwave flew from the holy chamber that struck the minds of all the dwarves. Like blood sinking from their brains, their vision saw stars. Elspeth recovered quickly.

Another shockwave struck out. Dwarves in mid-charge were overcome by an uncontrollable bloodlust.

A third mental wave used their zeal against them. They met with the rovaick lines, flailing and striking madly. The dwarves behind the vanguard struck out at those in front of them. And the line behind struck at whoever was in reach. Madness reigned in all directions as the legion fell upon everything around it.

Elspeth knew its source.

She charged through the final defenders of the chambers, the heavy doors blocking access crashing down and clattering to the floor against her charge. She screamed to whoever was in the chamber, “In Lazarus’ name, your ilk will be wiped from Galbar!”

A caped figure kneeling in front of a porcelain statue rose. He had a helmet of porcelain himself. His old azibo eyes turned to Elspeth, visible through the slits of his visor. With a step, he faced the dwarf leader.

Most of his exposed skin was porcelain. Bright scars upon the clay revealed themselves to be symbols. Not Lazarusian runes. Heretical scrawlings the filthy mountain men called calligraphy.

"You rush to destroy yourself, Elspeth!" Sularn spat out the last word. "Your wanton waste disgusts us all. You will kill as many as you can, and you shall always remain nothing!"

Sularn's large, porcelain gauntlets emerged from the curtain of his cape. His fingers tensed and the symbols upon him shone.

Elspeth suddenly jerked to the side, sensing the divine energies flowing through the room. Two clay spikes emerged from where she was standing. She yelled at Sularn in a rage, “I am the chosen of Lazarus! It is to her I give thanks for this impending victory! Your false idols have lead you astray from the true path! I am not only Lazarus’ chosen, I am the scourge of Toun!”

Sularn waved up with each arm in turn, launching more sharp clay up from the floor.

Elspeth was a blur as she moved rapidly out of the way of each one, seemingly unperturbed by the energy she was using.

"Your scourging lays you low!" Sularn retorted. "Your purpose makes you a slave! An animal!"

Sularn stomped the ground, bringing a pillar of clay up in front of him. A flourished push in the air caused the mass to slam down in Elspeth's direction. She jumped high into the air, gripping the top of the pillar and flipping over it. She was closing in on Sularn, as she screamed, “I will ensure you take no comfort in your death, for I bring the end of days! I ride with a million warriors! Your world will burn!”

She flourished her sword in his direction as she charged forwards, continuing with, “Where is your god now? His final act speeds ever towards him!”

Sularn shot an arm out to one side. A blade of clay extended from his fist. "He waits for you to do better..."

Elspeth's lunge was turned aside by Sularn's sword. This was exactly what she wanted. She spun around, going under his blade arm, and slicing her sword through his armoured midsection. She spun out of his reach as his guts bulged from their porcelain covering onto the floor. He fell to one knee, shrieking, and supported himself by his blade point on the floor. His other hand desperately pushed at the blood-pouring flesh above his waist.

“The world is changing. The end of Toun is upon us,” she said, more quietly, standing up straight as she looked back at Sularn.

The azibo prophet sucked in a breath. The visor of his helmet opened under its own power. His pained sneer lifted to meet Elspeth's gaze.

"May you outlive your anger…" Sularn said, shivering. "May you be swallowed by the void you created inside. May death deny you, and let you suffer...hollow…"

Sularn erred forward. He slumped face first onto the edge of Toun's gift; the pattern of red symbols still on the floor, having been his race's salvation so long ago. His consciousness ebbed.

Elspeth felt the pressured itch in the middle of her mind wane. Sularn's influence was lifted and the unnatural madness in her ranks dispelled.

The slaughter outside finished in short order. The remaining troops entered, and upon seeing Elspeth’s handiwork, began the final blow to Rulanah; tearing down their holiest symbol.

None of Toun’s gifts survived the night.

Except one little bird that followed without notice.

---

Blood loss made Sularn's mind slow. His brief moments of wakefulness allowed by the tenacity Toun gifted him were only good enough to stare. This close to the symbols of Toun's gift, he could make out a few he had not spotted before.

The sound of breaking stone and defiling acts were all background noise. The tiny symbols taught the idea of only letting the strongest livestock live.

Selective breeding. Funny, they had figured that one out on their own.

Perhaps they were improving themselves after all.

Toun might even be proud of that.

The corner of Sularn's mouth lifted.

The cave floor felt like ice.

The only other symbols were too close to read.

It was cold.

It was quiet.

Dwarves might still be present. No point. He could not hear them.

The shuffling of cloth and a single pair of feet sounded off across the room. It came closer to Sularn, and then, a gloved hand touched his shoulder. It rolled him over, revealing the masked figure of Burning Fist, that Archon from the demiplanes who had so long ago been torn out of it. They looked over the wound, unaware that Sularn was still alive.

Sularn saw the stranger's mask and took a breath. "Majus," he whispered. He could barely move his mouth. "Toun, I failed you."

The voice that emerged from the white, porcelain mask was quiet and embedded with tones of emotion alien to creations of Toun. They said, “Be still, rest a while. You haven’t time.” They took a piece of loose cloth, wet it from a flask, and dabbed Sularn’s forehead. They then slowly brought the flask to Sularn's mouth.

Sularn weakly lifted his head enough to take one mouthful. He swallowed half and let the rest dribble from the corner of his mouth.

"That is enough," Sularn whispered. "I can do nothing but die now."

They shook their head. “You are dying -- that much is true. You will not last the night. But -- you have a story, a legacy to pass on. Will you tell me this legacy, with your last hours?”

The robed, masked figure sat down next to him. “If you may, start from the beginning. Go to the end, and stop once there is no more. Your story may not be forgotten yet.”

As if one last achievement was in reach, one pivotal effort in Sularn's mind reached utter clarity. He stared blankly up at the soot-coated ceiling and let himself begin.

"I was born before the first copper flowed," he mumbled. "We were hungry...We were cold...We were trapped...I prayed…"

---

Sularn's body was still. His face pale green and bloodless. His story had ended just as he let out his last breath. It was morning now. The tragic last passage of his tale was written all around him.

They reached out and shut his eyes. “You will not be forgotten.”

Burning Fist stood up slowly, looking at the devastation around them. They slowly shook their head, and began to pile the smaller pieces of rubble over Sularn’s body, covering it from the elements. It was the least they could do.

Eiyar was already of middling age, but he was observant and wiser than his years might have suggested. That came from the experience of ruling his tribe for so many years, Makmud imagined, but now he was concerned with the fellow chieftain's wisdom as an ends of its own rather than with how Eiyar had come to know so many things.

Makmud, the youngest of all the chieftains in this newly forged confederation, had sought out Eiyar for assurance as much as anything else. He entered a grandiose tent and found the warrior chieftain at work knapping his own stone arrowheads. "Do you think Inoch is making a wise decision?"

Eiyar looked up without ceasing his work. "This decision was not Inoch's alone," he admitted. "He consulted the seniormost chieftains and the eldest shamans, and all agreed that this may be our only means of repelling the ogres forever. I know that you and some of the others would be content with repelling them now and buying enough time to take refuge in more distant lands, but to those of us whose tribes are not yet uplifted, you must understand that our lands are of great sentiment. My ancestors fought and died to earn the clay that we build our huts upon, and if I am the one that loses that land it will bring a shame upon my name that shall persist throughout all of this life, and perhaps even into the next."

Makmud fell silent and found his gaze drifting once more to the ornate spear that he had inherited from his father.

"...how long has he been asleep?"

Eiyar looked back with a blank expression that Makmud had never before seen in his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted. "The shamans speak as if it has been generations, at least. None alive have spoken to him directly; their dealings are with those of his servants that have remained awake."

"It leaves a foreboding feeling in my stomach. I have seen the urtelem matriarchs, and they have admittedly to being wary of this as well."

"You know that the urtelem and djinn are prone to sometimes butting heads, but the urtelem rarely find reason to quarrel with the passive spiryts of stone."

"If the tales are to be believed, this great spiryt is anything but passive when he becomes roused to anger."

"Then let us hope that he is terrible indeed to our enemies."

---

When the sun was retreating back to its sleeping place, word traveled through the stronghold like wildfire--the ritual was beginning. Atop the fortified mesa there was one large hut consecrated by tradition as a temple to the distant gods in the sky as well as the god that slept right beneath their feet. A large room had been painstakingly hollowed out beneath the hut, and it was there that the shamans did their rites. The temple above and the space outside were filled with throngs of hain. For lack of space almost all were denied the chance to witness the proceedings below, but Makmud's status as chieftain was enough to earn him that privilege.

A spiral staircase, rather than a mere hole with a ladder, led down into the room below. In the room below there waited the greatest shamans gathered about a stone altar, with the chieftains standing closer to the edges of the room. Nearly every facet of the stone walls had been painted and engraved, but in a few untouched places there were stonedjinn resting halfway inside the room and halfway within the earth itself. One or two others stood fully within the room and dominated its space with their motionless presence.

It was not the shamans who first broke the silence, but High Chieftain Inoch. "Turm, we spill this blood in your name, and ask that you rouse once more."

Upon wooden trays the shamans bore great flanks of still bleeding meat. They placed them upon the stone slab, then beat them dry with wooden mallets, and then repalced the tenderized meat with more fresh cuts. They repeated the process until the entire altar was covered in a thin layer of blood that dripped off the sides and onto the dirt floor.

In case the scent of blood was not enough to garner his attention, they brought a brazier and filled it with dried herbs. The incense's smoke quickly filled the room, and then the shamans began their dancing and incantations. They spoke in the strange tongue of gods and djinn, so Makmud could not comprehend the meaning of their chants. Instead, he simply allowed the rhythmic chants and the sweet smoke to carry him into a deep trance. After a few moments, even he could hear the mighty voices of the earth!

He listened to them in a strange understanding, and it felt as though a soft healing rain was falling upon his shell. Perhaps that rain would wash away all of his worries, and things would be once more as they should have been.

...

...

Then, there was a violent shaking. It was Eiyar, grabbing his shoulder. Makmud returned to his senses and saw a half dozen hain staring at him. The blood upon the altar was dried, and there was dirt upon his shell. The rain hadn't been water after all, but rather loose clumps of dirt falling down upon him from the ceiling. "It's over now. You breathed too much of the smoke."

He tried to answer, but it was a cough that escaped his throat rather than words. He tried again, "Did the shamans commune with Turm?"

"Yes. When he roused from his slumber, the entire mesa shook."

Sunlight glimmered off the surface of the ocean which stretched along the coast. The water circled about an island which sat in the middle of a small bay, fed by a couple of rivers. Hundreds of boats were dotted across the coast, with fisherhain casting their nets and throwing their lines and spears. Rounded huts made from smoothed clay, rawhide and leather covered the land surrounding the bay and sat upon the island. A tall tower stood upon the highest point of the island, visible for many miles. And within the town bustled the white shells of thousands of hain.

Elword clicked his tongue in astonishment. "It's pretty big."

"It's grown since I've last seen it," Gerrik commented.

They looked over Fibeslay for a minute longer, until Gerrik said, "Come on, let's go."

They descended from the hill and started walking through the outskirts of Fibeslay. Here were farms which helped to feed the village. Although most of Fibeslay's food came from fishing, agriculture was starting to be implemented. Gerrik noticed with a touch of pride that some of the farmers were using instructional aides produced in Tallgrass to help establish their fields.

They soon made it to the town proper, with huts and houses crammed together along narrow muddy streets. They navigated around busy hain carrying bundles of food or materials or crafted goods, past groups of children playing and around racks of things drying. As Elword followed behind Gerrik, he noticed that Gerrik wasn't really looking where he was going, or anywhere in particular, although he was having no trouble navigating.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" Elword said.

Gerrik nodded slightly. "Yes. I can't perceive it all at once, so we may be walking for a bit."

They wandered through the streets of Fibeslay, zig-zagging along to cover the most area. As they passed near the chieftain's hut, Gerrik glanced towards it. "Bard's not there any more."

"Who?" Elword asked.

"The chief when I was last here. He wasn't exactly young when I met him, and it's been a few years since then."

Elword inspected Gerrik's face as they kept walking. Gerrik appeared unperturbed. "What's it like, living so long? Things like this would happen often."

"Not as often as you'd think. I've rarely visited the same village twice on my travels, so outliving people has not been a huge concern of mine until recently," Gerrik replied.

"You don't want to outlive your family."

Gerrik was silent for a moment. "No, I don't. Although, there are benefits. You have a nearly unlimited amount of time in which to learn new things, train new skills and travel to distant places. And, with any luck, you'll outlive your enemies."

"Let me guess, you haven't found Shammik."

"Not yet. It's not definitive; he could be elsewhere. I can tell that someone has taken over Bard's position as chief, which implies either his death or retirement. Shammik was just a craftshain, and there are many of those around, although his absence is promising. There are still some of the other craftshain who were there with him, though, but I can't say whether they've kept to Shammik's lies or seen sense without more information."

A short while later Gerrik and Elword reached the market. The market sat by the docks, where merchant ships could unload to sell their wares and buy goods which could be shipped abroad. A wide road led from the market out of the village to allow overland merchants easy access to the market. The market contained many stalls where merchants were brokering deals and showing their wares. There was even a human amidst the hain merchants, easily spotted due to her height, who was selling fine silk from a distant land.

Gerrik pushed his way through the crowd, with Elword trailing behind him, until he reached some sailors unpacking boxes of spices from their boat. "Hello! Is business going well?" Gerrik hailed.

The sailors looked up, and one of them paused from his work to greet Gerrik. "Hello. Yes, so far. We've managed to ship these spices from down south. We should be able to get a good return on them." He gestured to the crates, as though offering for Gerrik to sample some.

Gerrik ignored the spices. "I'm more interested in travel. Have you ever sailed to Alefpria?"

"Alefpria! That's an ambitious destination," the sailor-merchant exclaimed. "Never been there myself, but I've heard about it. They've got a lighthouse, I hear, and the biggest docks you've ever seen. Ruled by a child of the gods, they say. People of races you haven't even heard of gather there. And they have riches beyond measure." He let out a hearty laugh. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to go there," Gerrik replied.

"Ah, well, it's a long trip there, I hear. On the far side of the ocean, beyond the range of any of our boats. Maybe you could take the journey in pieces."

Gerrik nodded. "I expected as much. Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem. Good luck on your adventure."

Gerrik turned back to Elword and stepped away from the sailors.

"What now?" Elword asked.

Gerrik pointed over the heads of the crowd along the dock. "We ask those two."

It is difficult for most non-hain to be inconspicuous amongst hain due to the great difference in height, but these two were particularly conspicuous due to their bright colours. The taller one was iridescent green, while the shorter one (although still much taller than any hain) was green and brown. Both had skin, but no hair, and they had webbing and frills protruding from some of their fleshy bits. They moved gracefully and wore fine clothing.

"Quara korala," Gerrik said, "I met one when I learned of Alefpria. Part of an order called the Grand Parade. Their homeland isn't far from Alefpria, so they're probably our best chance for getting to Alefpria. Provided they're not being secretive or something."

More successful in maintaining his secrecy was a rather inconspicuous elderly hain who sat behind a stall of clay pots and figurines, watching the duo with interest. Old Maro had not thought he would live to see the return of Gerrik, but there he was. And, unless his old eyes deceived him, the hain looked not a day older than fourteen years ago. Evidence confirming, to Maro's believing heart, that Gerrik had been right all those years ago and that he had not strayed in taking up his teachings and calling the craftshain of Fibeslay to venerating him. And Maro had known that Gerrik would not simply leave them to Shammik's heretical and dangerous ways, knew with certainty that he would return one day. And there he was.

'Gerraken,' old Maro spoke. A young craftshain beside him looked up.

'Yes, master?' Maro gestured with a hand towards Gerrik and his companion.

'Do you see those two?' The young craftshain turned his head to the side and looked in the direction Maro had pointed. Spying the two strange hain, he nodded. 'I may be old and half-way senile, but that's one face I can't ever forget. That's Gerrik-Lightbringer, or I'm a toadstool.'

Gerraken's eyes widened momentarily before his beak rose up in joy. 'I will go to him and bid him come with me!' The excited craftshain said, rising. Maro nodded, reaching for his walking stick and rising also.

'I will have the others gather at the usual place. The day of our redemption is here at last.' And the old craftshain hobbled off as Gerraken rushed off, paying no heed to the stall and all on it.

As Gerrik and Elword made their way through the crowd, Gerrik said quietly, "Someone's following us."

Elword's beak turned slightly (it does not take much for a hain to look behind them).

"A supporter, it seems," Gerrik continued in conspiratorial tones, not breaking his stride. "Maro was one of the few craftshain who were perhaps on my side back then, although was unable to act in my favour against Shammik. From what he just said, there are other supporters who he is gathering now. He called me 'Lightbringer' and said this is the day of their redemption. It appears that the lies spread by Shammik have taken hold among some, but a resistance has formed. Also, the young hain following us is called Gerraken, at least by Maro. A very telling name. He's about a few moultings past his second hatching, I'd say, which means he's adopted the name at some point rather than receiving it at birth. Regardless, it means things have gotten a lot more interesting than I anticipated over the past few years.

"Don't worry too much about him yet, though. We'll deal with the quara first." Gerrik and Elword finally made it to the quara korala just as they had finished speaking with some other merchants. Gerrik hailed them. "Hello. How was your journey here?"

The taller Quara just sideglanced at the traveler while continuing to work on polishing up a small silver bracelet. The shorter one smiled and nodded at the Hain. "Good day! Our journey was thankfully safe, even as we visited many, many lands since when we first left the grand city of Alefpria."

"That is fortunate. In fact, I am planning to travel to Alefpria myself. Would it be possible for you to provide any assistance in that matter?" Gerrik asked.

The taller one turned towards him. "It depends on what you define as assistance.." he shook his head. "We can provide maps, we can perhaps sell things that could help in such a journey, but our religion does not allow for foreign people in our caravans; we are a pilgrimage, after all, and we follow very strict rules."

Gerrik cocked his head. "Is that so? The pilgrimage I met led by Salassar-Madori contained at least one foreigner. Susa and Lakshmi might not be foreigners to Alefpria, but it was quite clear that Chroma was very foreign."

The short one looked to the tall one, both staring at each other for a moment, communicating in unspoken words by use of their color shifting skin. To know about all that, about Susa, about Chroma...

"You know master Salassar?" the short one asked, turning towards Gerrik; in a trick move, he spoke in Alefprian.

The language was totally unfamiliar to Gerrik, although 'Salassar' needed no translating and the inflection indicated a question. "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with that language. Did you ask something about Salassar?"

The tall one said, "We asked you about whether you knew master Salassar. He had spoken in Alefprian, which would be useful for someone going to Alefpria to know." Which, from the complexity of the language, implied that the hain had no place there.

"I met Salassar and the First Parade fifteen years ago in the village of Susa. I had been directed there by a dream, and went to meet Susa the Huntress, a fellow travelling teacher. When I got there she had only just returned from a long absence, and Salassar was with her and was able to translate between us. I stayed the day and night with them, and we conversed. Salassar suggested that I go here to see some of the work the Grand Parade had done. It was here that I discovered a lighthouse had been commissioned by the Grand Parade, yet no one could build it, so I designed the lighthouse and oversaw its construction." Gerrik gestured across the bay to the lighthouse on Hillisle.

"The lighthouse... you must be Gerrik. We have heard much about you," the tall one said. “Even after traveling so much, we have trouble telling apart any of the Quara that were not Korala.”

The short one grabbed Gerrik by the shoulder. "You should have told us your name sooner, friend. Although, I could tell you were no ordinary hain. You had an aura of distinction about you."

"I think some proper introductions are in order. I am Gerrik Far-Teacher, and this is my apprentice Elword," Gerrik said.

"To keep it brief, I am Mugnas and this is Zantor," the tall one said.

"Do not be too worried about the language. It is my god-given talent to learn quickly, and there should be enough time on the trip over," Gerrik said.

"We travel here on special boats direct from the capital," Mugnas explained, "They are a bit uncomfortable for us mortals, but they are faster than any other means of transportation. The lighthouse cloaks the ships in illusions so that they are invisible in the dock, although you should have no trouble seeing through such illusions."

"When do you depart?" Gerrik inquired, "Since I have some unexpected important business here to attend to and I am unsure how long it will be."

"I suspected that might be the case. We leave tomorrow evening. However, another boat carrying cargo from the capital will be here at the end of the week, although there will be no one on that boat."

Gerrik's jaw clenched briefly. Time would be tight. "Thank you, Mugnas and Zantor. You have been of great assistance."

Then Gerrik turned and stepped away into the crowd of hain milling around the docks. He stopped suddenly in front of Gerraken.

"Did you wish to see me?" Gerrik asked.

Gerraken, who had busied himself with studying the wares of various stalls while keeping a close eye on Gerrik and his companion, was taken aback by the abruptness of the approach. He did, however, manage to regain enough composure to whisper, "Master, are you Gerrik Lightbringer?"

Gerrik nodded. "I am Gerrik Far-Teacher, whom you call Lightbringer." Gerraken raised an open palm heavenward in clear joy and, looking behind him warily, gestured for Gerrik and Elword to follow him.

‘If you would, Master, there are those who are waiting for you.’ And backing away, Gerraken turned and began making his slow and cautious way through the streets. Once Gerrik and Elword were beside him, he inquired about Elword’s name before explaining to both in hushed whispers, as they wove their way through back-alleys and little-known paths, about how they had been expecting Gerrik Lightbringer, the greatest of the Chippers, the most enlightened and true to the ways of Stone Chipper. ‘I was but a hatchling when you first came, and I can’t well remember what happened beyond that terrible creature from the sky, but Master Maro tells us Shammik and his people treated you horribly and cast you out. They have not ceased cursing your noble name since, Master! I am certain that if they knew you were here they would go into a frenzy!’

Gerrik nodded gravely. “I suspected as much. Tell me, Gerraken, is Shammik still around?”

The other hain shook his head. ‘No Master, Shammik perished in an odd incident not too long ago. I don’t know much about the details, but he was found crushed under a rock he managed to force from the great lighthouse. He always disliked it - perhaps he thought to bring it down somehow. Either way, the damage he did was quickly fixed.’

“He had wanted to tear down the lighthouse back when he ‘banished’ me, although Maro managed to talk him and the others down from that extreme,” Gerrik said. He reflected silently on the news of Shammik’s passing for a few moments. Then Gerrik looked ahead. “I see we are almost there. I look forward to meeting the other faithful Chippers.”

And with those final words from the great master, Gerraken paused and looked with a single eye to the darkening sky above. Night falls, he thought, and darkness descends - but our light here ascends. And he turned into a doorway and led Gerrik and Elword through a narrow passage at the end of which was a round wooden door. Gerraken knocked on it and, after a brief wait, it swung open to reveal a large well-lit gallery filled with hain of all shapes and sizes staring expectantly.

‘The Master is returned!’ a declaration sounded, and Elword was immediately swept aside as hands reached out for Gerrik and he was carried on shoulders - even as all in the room attempted to navigate closer to him - to a raised wooden chair at the other end of the great room. Gerraken, who had also been swept aside in the excitement, looked to Elword and raised an open palm sheepishly.
‘Forgive them sir, they are full of joy and relief - they meant no insult.’

Elword was still staring in disbelief at the scene in front of him. He had known Gerrik for years. He had seen many other Chippers in his time. But never had he seen any group of Chippers so fanatical. Elword flicked his hand towards Gerraken in a gesture which ended with an upwards palm. “Uh, yes.”

With Gerrik firmly established on his throne of sorts, and with old Maro seated on a stool before the others, silence slowly began to fall. And all eyes turned to Gerrik in expectation.

Gerrik’s eyes scanned across the expectant faces. Although he was almost as surprised as Elword at this greeting, he did not show it. Once he had their attention, Gerrik spoke. “Faithful Chippers, I thank you for this warm greeting. I see that you have been troubled by Shammik’s followers. It grieved me to see, fourteen years ago, Shammik lead astray so many Chippers from the will of Stone Chipper. And I see that his zealotry to stop the mission of the Chippers lives on to this day. So I ask you all this: What have you done about it?”

His words were met with an excited surge in noise as each faithful Chipper attempted to explain, in so many words, what they had been through and the countermeasures they had individually and communally implemented. The barrage of noise continued for some thirty seconds before all those gathered realised they were not getting anywhere and quietened down. But though it may have been indecipherable noise to Elword or Gerraken, Gerrik heard.

‘When that Ono tried to steal my innovative tomato and pea soup - with a sprinkle of sea-salt, that’s very important - I showed him whatfo-’ one young male Chipper chirruped, before his voice trailed away into silence. ‘And I led the effort to fix the lighthouse when that nefarious Shammik died trying to sabotage it!’ A female declared - and some dozen others around her rushed to claim that they had helped too. ‘And I spoke with young Jindchin here - why he was a right Shammikist zealot not more than a year ago - and I made him see the light!’ And the rather elderly hain who spoke was quick to bring Jindchin forward for Gerrik to see.

When silence fell, the one who stood to speak declared that it had been his idea to have a safe haven in the growing town of Fibeslay, a place none would notice or know of, where they would be safe from the constant harassment and repressive ways of the Shammikists. ‘And more importantly,’ he declared, ‘a place from where we can build up and prepare - Fibeslay must be purged of the Shammikist scourge!’ There were some murmurs of approval here and there, and disgruntled harrumphs.

Maro, who had remained seated and silent, spoke up. ‘Now Goxiq, we have spoken of this matter before and it is no way to go about this. Whatever our quarrel with Shammik’s disciples, we do not spill blood. We have no such authority. When Shammik called for the death of the Master, was that not the retort that stayed the Shammikist hand Master?’ And so saying, Maro turned to Gerrik expectantly.

Gerrik pointed a scowl at Goxiq. “That is true, Maro. I had pointedly asserted that the authority to banish or execute lay with the chief alone. What you propose, Goxiq, is nothing short of murder, and Stone Chipper would be appalled at the thought. Put those foolish ideas aside and let us discuss a more civil solution.”

Goxiq was visibly crestfallen at Gerrik’s decision and made to protest, ‘but Master - these people are not civil. For fourteen years they have preyed on us and incited the people against Chippers. For fourteen years they have cursed your name and warned the people of Fibeslay against you and your potential return - lying and defaming your good name, painting your generosity in saving Fibeslay as some kind of divine retribution against them all for harbouring you. Their sole purpose has been our destruction - how are we to be civil with the likes of these?’

Gerrik grit his teeth. This was what he had hoped wouldn’t happen in his absence. Another hurdle to deal with. Gerrik leaned forwards to address Goxiq. “Tell me, Goxiq, have you ever killed a hain?”

The Chipper shook his head firmly at this. ‘No Master, I have never had cause or reason, and the matter is unpalatable to me. I am a Chipper, not a killer.’

“And yet you suggest that ‘Fibeslay must be purged of the Shammikist scourge’?”

‘But Master, we are manifestly in the right, and they are astray - and not only astray, but ruthlessly insistent on being so. What is to be done with such as these? You have the weight of Stone Chipper behind you, His judgment and justice. What does He command? You will find us faithful and obedient, trusting in Stone Chipper’s justice.’

Gerrik leaned back slowly and closed his eyes briefly.

A solid conundrum.

Your advice?

You have everything I taught you. Collect more data on the Shammikists. See if you can find any way to dissuade or subvert them.

Gerrik opened his eyes and spoke. “Never before have Chippers been asked to take up arms in Stone Chipper’s name, and he does not ask it now. Our ways are peaceful. Those who reject Stone Chipper’s light may wallow in ignorance, but it is not our place to force ourselves upon others. Do not let Stone Chipper’s name by stained by blood you spill.” Gerrik turned his eyes towards the other hain and his focus settled on Jindchin. “Jindchin, you used to follow Shammik’s teaching. Why did you change?”

The young hain - perhaps eighteen or nineteen years - seemed terrified at being addressed directly by Gerrik himself. ‘W-why did uh- I? Well, uh. Sodir,’ he gestured to the old hain who had pushed him forward, ‘was very- very convincing. He told me a g-great deal about … well, everything. It made me want to know more - that’s good, right? Wanting to know. That’s why I’m here. Are you- you’re not angry with me are you? I didn’t do anything wrong!’

Gerrik stared down Jindchin for a couple of seconds. Gerrik could read every subtle cue in the young hain’s body language and physiology, and their message to Gerrik was particularly blatant. “I just wanted to know more,” he finally said, before casting his focus back to the room as a whole.

“If we want Chippers to be able to act freely in Fibeslay, it won’t be enough to get rid of the Shammikists. An outburst of violence would only reinforce the fear which the general populace have for us, which the Shammikists have sown. Even if the Shammikists were to be removed peacefully, the ideas they have sown amongst the people of Fibeslay would remain. Our efforts, then, must be to undermine Shammik’s lies and turn public opinion in our favour.” Gerrik paused for a moment, then continued. “Have you seen the artwork obtained from the trade routes towards the south? Specifically, that artwork with diagrams of tools, plants and other instructional aids. I saw farmers using such items, and I’d guess that many of you would possess such items as well.”

The gathered Chippers murmured and nodded, clearly aware of these. ‘I got my pea and tomato soup idea from something I saw in one of those! But the salt was my idea - lots of experimenting true, but it tastes divine.’

“I made those, along with my apprentice Elword,” Gerrik briefly gestured towards Elword up the back to identify him to the crowd and all heads immediately turned to the apprentice in admiration (other than Goxiq, who seemed rather shocked), “so that we can teach without even being present. And that Chipper business spread through Fibeslay in spite of the Shammikists.

“We have a key advantage over the Shammikists. The population of Fibeslay has grown enormously since I was last here. Many of these people have migrated here from distant villages. They do not share the cultural prejudices of the natives. Their ancestors never warred against Chippers. They never falsely thought of the Blinding Purge as being sent by Stone Chipper. Chippers practice freely in lands beyond Shammik’s reach, and many of them must have come here. Tell me, what happens when a new Chipper arrives in Fibeslay?”

Goxiq stepped up to respond, glancing ever so briefly at Elword before responding, ‘My experience, Master, is not unique. I am not of Fibeslay, but was for a long time a travelling Chipper, as were my fathers and grandfathers before me. We followed in the footsteps of Stone Chipper and His chosen apprentice - you. I had for many years desired to… well, that is of no matter. My travels brought me here, where I was almost immediately set upon by those fiends. They castigated me for coming here with my beliefs and ideas, they called upon the people to cast me out or have me imprisoned. No one responded, naturally - at least, not everyone. Some places I could not venture or else I would be stoned or pelted with filth. In some neighbourhoods they bribed the children into harassing me in groups. When I offered my services to any, they cajoled and blackmailed them until they refrained from dealing with me. I desired very much to leave, and had I not been taken in by these faithful Chippers - who promised me that Gerrik had been here once and would return anew - I would surely have left. Sodir there, he is older than me, nearly as old as Maro; his travels brought him here also and they had no mercy even on an old hain such as he. And the stories are endless Master. But it is true that in recent years more and more Chippers have begun to slip through unharmed - so long as one does not stay too long, they might not even notice the Shammikists at all. But we locals know and feel it all too well.’

Even as Goxiq spoke, young Jindchin backed away from where Sodir had placed him and made a silent exit. Gerraken gave him an odd look, then murmured something to Elword about the relatively new Adventist being overwhelmed and meaning no disrespect.

Just as Jindchin placed his hand on the door, Gerrik called out, “Where are you going, Jindchin?”

The young hain froze in his steps and looked over his shoulder. ‘I- I must go, M-Master. This gathering- uh. This gathering was called for at a very, very short notice. It is late, my sister- she is not well today. And my father is- she needs me, is what I’m trying to say. So please, if you don’t mind. I didn’t want to disturb anyone. I’ll go quietly.’ He began to open the door, still looking behind him in mild terror.

Gerrik rose to his feet and began to walk towards Jindchin. “Oh, it’s no trouble. I’ll see you out safely to the street; make sure no Shammikists hinder your journey.” Despite his clear fear, Jindchin remained rooted in his place.

‘I-I really don’t think- but if you say so. I- I guess I’m safer with… you.’

“Good, good,” Gerrik said as he reached Jindchin, laid a hand on his shoulder and led the young hain out the door. Before the door closed behind them, Gerrik said to the Chippers, “Talk amongst yourselves.” Then the door shut.

Gerrik led Jindchin a few paces away from the door, away from any eavesdroppers. With a firm hand on Jindchin’s shoulder, Gerrik said in a low voice, “Sodir never convinced you of anything, didn’t he?”
‘Wh- what do-’
“I’m not going to hurt you. I meant what I said about that. But don’t think I can’t see through your lies.”
Jindchin was silent for a few seconds, his eyes wide. He gulped silently and his teeth chattered somewhat as he looked at the older hain. ‘I don’t care for Shammik. I- I don’t care for… for… you,’ he winced slightly and his chattering grew louder. ‘If I tell them everything, they’ll let my father go. Forgive his debt. That is all. Please, let me go.’

Gerrik thought for a few moments, although his eyes clearly softened. “Is your father being held unlawfully?”

Jindchin shook his head. ‘They’re not as evil as you people make out. Of course it’s not unlawful - they reported him to the chief, and the chief had him detained. Unless the debt is paid or is forgiven, he will not be released. If I do this, they will forgive it. Th- that is all. Please…’

“First, how much do you know of the Shammikists? How many of them are there? What’s their power structure? What resources do they control?”

‘I- I don’t know. I only ever spoke with Vidin. But your people know many of them by name and face - their leader is Heyek. I saw him when he was with the chief. The chief listened to him seriously. Nothing we said could dissuade him when Heyek brought the matter before him. But he doesn’t seem cruel - if I keep my end he’ll… uh. Vidin is… a thug. I mean, I don’t know if he’s really a thug, but he’s not very nice to me. He, uh, he has a daughter. P-pretty. But she’s not with them. I don’t think. Your people know the others, I don’t know anyone else. Please.’ He seemed to have calmed down somewhat, somewhat secure in the knowledge that Gerrik wished him no harm, ‘will you… you said you would let me go. No harm.’

Gerrik stared into Jindchin’s eyes for a few moments longer. Then he released his grip on the hain’s shoulder. “How long until you deliver your report to them?”

Jindchin hesitated, then spoke more certainly. ‘Vidin hates it when I come to him late at night. Last time I did he kicked me and wouldn’t listen. I have to go tell him now - b-but maybe he won’t listen. Then I’ll tell him in the morning.’ He glanced up the dark passageway then back at Gerrik, as if waiting for his permission.

“I hope things turn out better for you,” Gerrik said. He turned back to the door. “I’ll see you later.”

‘P-please sir,’ Jindchin chittered, ‘you’re… you’re good, I see that. Don’t tell the others. I- I don’t want them to hate me.’ And without waiting for a response, he turned and fled up the passageway and into the night.

Gerrik paused for a couple of seconds to watch him go. Then he opened the door and stepped back into the gallery.

The Chippers were huddled in groups within talking with a greater sobriety than had existed before. The matter of how to deal with the Shammikists had clearly haunted them for a very long time and what Gerrik presented to them was not the immediate deliverance they had foreseen. Goxiq had made his way towards Elword and appeared to be deep in conversation with the other hain. Despite the situation, Goxiq was already deep into explaining his idea for explaining the concept of nothing in mathematical terms. ‘We have numbers of course, one hain, two hain, three hain - but how would we explain no hain mathematically? I’ve been haunted by this for the longest time - but see, I think I might just have the solution…’

On Gerrik’s entry, all eyes turned to him and Gerraken took a peek out the door to see if Jindchin was still there. ‘Is everything alright Master? Jindchin seemed to be in quite a state.’

“Jindchin’s family is in a poor state at the moment and he is quite distressed about it. I sent him safely on his way.” Gerrik closed the door behind him. “But now, to the matter at hand. The Shammikists clearly have considerable resources and influence, with which they can manipulate the population against us. To plan our countermeasures, I will need to know details. How many Shammikists are there? Who are their key members? What assets do they control? What assets do we control? And also, tell me about Fibeslay’s chief.”

Goxiq and Maro took it in turns to explain the situation. The current chief was a second cousin of the one Gerrik had known and had overseen the swift expansion of his village into a bustling centre of trade. The influx of foreigners meant that he emphasised the importance of law and order - those who did not respect his laws and the peace of Fibeslay were punished swiftly and severely.
The Shammikists formed a powerful guild of sorts - many of them were traders and craftsmen who worked together, agreeing on prices and ensuring the quality of their wares never fell below a certain level. They prided themselves on the quality of their wares and for being the “truly authentic” craftsmen and traders of Fibeslay. There was no great hostility between them and the general populace, and the chief generally listened to them and accepted their generous “donations” to the cause of Fibeslay’s growth and prosperity. They did not take kindly, however, to self-professed Chippers, and this was known. Many attributed this distaste for Chippers to the fact that they could compete with the wares and prices the Shammikists offered - though any close examination of this theory revealed that it was fallacious, for the Shammikists did not treat with suspicion exotic people from across the sea who came with strange and wonderful goods. But that was the view most held, and no one thought too much on it.

The central figure in this “Shammikist guild” was Heyek, a close friend and disciple of Shammik. He was a metalsmith, and a skilled one at that, though he had for the past few years taken to buying and selling goods and leaving his forge to a few of his apprentices. Heyek, Goxiq admitted, did not wish for an all out war to start of Fibeslay’s streets - he favoured threats and blackmail, and proselytisation. On the one occasion Goxiq had conversed with the hain he had made clear that Chipper disputes should stay between Chippers, and it seemed his view had not changed in that regard.

As for those who awaited Gerrik’s return, they were few - many had left Fibeslay over the years. Those who remained were skilled craftsmen or apprentices. The Shammikists considered them competitors and advised all merchants and craftsmen in Fibeslay to charge them extra and not buy their goods, and that had meant that many of them had to sell their shops and find other means of work - most did simple labour, though senior citizens of Fibeslay (like Maro) commanded enough respect not to be targeted. Maro’s wares alone sustained a few families. Goxiq - whose wares were of such quality that merchants could not resist buying them - supported the greatest number of families. With their profits going on ensuring others survived, little remained to expand their businesses or compete with the Shammikists.

Once Maro and Goxiq had said all they could think of they fell silent and looked to Gerrik.

Gerrik sat for a while in silent contemplation. Synthesising the just-received data and his hundreds of years of experience with hain interactions, Gerrik imagined scenarios and trailed strategies in them. It seemed that the balance of power was stacked against him and these Chippers, and he could not expect the kind of intervention received at Hillfort. But there was still one path which could be taken.

Gerrik finally spoke, breaking the silence. “What do Chippers do?”

The assembled hain were silent for a few moments as they considered this odd and direct question. ‘Chippers build!’ Someone declared.
‘No! The answer is obvious and is in our very name - the essence of Chippers is to chip. Chipping is a specific craft, but it represents all crafts in general. And so that is what Chippers are - craftshain and artisans.’ Other disputed this and gave their own definitions - chipping is not a craft, but rather a metaphor for the act that a Chipper does, and that is to chip at ignorance; that Chippers follow Stone Chipper, that being what they ultimately do above all else; that the essence of being a Chipper is in fact in travelling and seeing and coming to know the world; that to be a Chipper is to seek truth; that Chippers, at their heart, seek mastery of the worldly elements -, but finally Gerrik spoke.

“Chippers seek knowledge and learning,” Gerrik said, “And after obtaining that knowledge, they seek to teach it to others, and use it to improve society. If we wish to overcome the resistance of the Shammikists, it is this we must focus on. We can’t beat them by crafting, so we shall teach. We shall find what the people desire to know, give it to them, and thus gain their trust. We must do this fearlessly and persistently, for will the people reject what they can see for themselves to be good? The Shammikists are strong, but they are a mere twig against the will of Stone Chipper, and they too are bound by the laws of this town.

“Now, listen carefully, for time is short. I shall tell you what each of you must do. We must capitalise on each of our talents, and reinforce where we are deficient, if we are to be successful. And each of you have a part to play if we wish for Chippers to be able to speak freely in this town.”

Over the next few hours, Gerrik provided clear instructions to each hain gathered. He spoke with them, identified the strengths and weaknesses of each individual, built up his knowledge of Fibeslay, and assigned tasks to each Chipper. Some were to teach the young. Some were to provide aid to the needy. Some were to treat the ill. Many were to raise conversations with their colleagues while labouring. A few were to travel to neighbouring towns outside the reach of the Shammikists and enlist support from other Chippers, especially covering skills which were lacking among the Chippers in Fibeslay. If specialist knowledge was needed for any of the tasks, Gerrik provided it in a form that was clear and concise. Elword would be present to provide assistance where it was most needed, and provide teaching expertise in the most valuable areas. In this way Gerrik outlined how the Chippers would evangelise to the people of Fibeslay. The last person to be covered in Gerrik’s plan was himself.

“As for myself, at dawn I shall attain an audience with the chief. Individually, you can enact change among the people you interact with on a daily basis; the importance of this cannot be understated. But I can reach a higher sphere of influence. I shall gain the chieftain’s support, and I shall also seek a project similar to the lighthouse for which we can utilise our skills.”

Gerrik stood up and walked forwards. “There is one last thing to do before we retire to our beds for the night.” He turned around and pointed at the wooden throne. “While a generous gesture, this chair must go.” Gerrik held up a palm to still the protests of the hain. “Imagine the slander the Shammikists would spread if they discovered that you had built a throne for a foreign chief. It cannot stay here as it is.”

Maro looked to Goxiq, and the proud Chipper looked away uncomfortably. The brief silence was broken by Maro.

‘It will be as you say, Mast- hmm, it will be as you say, Gerrik, for your advice is sound.’ And with that the gathered Chippers began to make their way out. Some approached Gerrik with questions, others simply wanted to touch to touch his shoulder in a display of respect. Goxiq watched quietly for a minute or so, clearly deep in thought. None approached him, and he departed alone.

Gerrik watched as the gathered hain trickled out. Gerrik got a few hain to help him move the wooden throne aside and hid it under some cloths and behind some furniture. Then Maro led Gerrik and Elword out through the streets of Fibeslay to his own home, where he offered to let them stay during their time in Fibeslay. They had supper before Elword and Maro retired for the night, for it was late. Gerrik, however, turned towards the doorway.

“Where are you off to?”

The question came from Elword, laying in his hammock.

“Scouting and investigating,” Gerrik replied. “I have until tomorrow morning to know the layout and situation of this town.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to sleep? You have a big day tomorrow.”

“You should sleep. As for me, the overall impact of a missed night’s sleep on my performance is negligible.” Just as he was about to leave, Maro made his presence known.

‘Gerrik, if you are going then take this,’ and he handed the master Chipper a small, wooden sculpture, ‘it is for Goxiq. He is a proud hain - and with good reason - and the events of this day have no doubt shaken him. Perhaps you should reassure him. He sits at the top of the lighthouse whenever things weigh him down.’ Leaving the small piece with Gerrik, Maro retreated to his chamber and all was quiet once more. Gerrik then pushed his way through the curtain of Maro’s abode and exited into the night.

It would indeed be a big day tomorrow.

Though Xos had absconded Galbar and returned for the time being to his fortress on Caelum, his servants upon Galbar were still numerous, and through them, his machinations continued.

Beneath snow and mountain there was Ba'Sard and his seizure of the dwarven stronghold at Dundee, and above that the newly appointed Vizier Murmur suppressed ruthlessly those djinn that still defied their new master. But below all of that, deeper within Galbar than even the gods ever sought to go, there was one horrible lord whose ambitions burned with a heat as great as his infernal domain. Xos had intentionally slighted Baron Slag in passing over him to proclaim Murmur as his Vizier and foremost servant, yet his loyalty was secured nonetheless by that weapon he had gifted unto Slag: the hammer, Armageddon. It was hard for any djinni to see a weapon itself as more than a mere trinket, but this one represented a chance to rise in favor and station.

To rise, perhaps, high enough to usurp the abomination called Murmur.

The last directive that Xos had left to Slag was that he strike at Jvan once more, but even compared to him, the mightiest of all djinn, a direct strike was suicidal. Slag's blow to Jvan had caught her by surprise when she had been preoccupied with Xos, but now he enjoyed no such advantage. He would be faced with the full might of a god if he attempted another such strike and hard pressed to escape at all, much less to do so unscathed. But well secluded within Galbar's core he could sense much and strike nigh anywhere, and so his attention soon turned to another site--Metera, a mortal civilization that nonetheless had been perverted by Jvan's influence. Xos had told him that there was such a city. It had not taken long to find once he knew what to search for; he could sense that She was there, somewhere. Or at least a piece of her was.

Such a small shard would be like kindling to him; gods were mighty indeed, but their avatars were not so great that they could not be destroyed when the earth sundered and lava washed over the land as an apocalyptic flood.

And the pressure was building, once more, even now...

Tick, tick.

Stone was melting, earth was quaking. Subtle, subtle. Gentle, gentle.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

Where did the echoes go? They scatter so wildly. Back and forth and back and forth, a shadow of a sound growing darker around each corner. But, if one was clever, always visible.

...Tock.

There we are.

A seismograph trail wipped and quivered its way down the earth, synchronising itself to the solid mass. Better not to lose oneself to the crush and the dark, no matter how long it took to navigate the maze of earth by sound alone. Second chances, it seemed, were not to be squandered, and Phi knew her time grew short. Though never so short, of course, as to abandon her style.

A certain blueness entered the sound, as though the waveform was written in ink across the ore.

"O Djinni," spake the voice through a hundred miles' stone, "I hear your feet approaching. Why do you turn thy face against me?"

There was silence. Then, a long groan.

All pretense of subtlety was abandoned when Phi revealed to Slag that his presence was known, and the firelord surged through the crust with a force that heaved aside tons of rock in mere moments. The blue dissolved, then reformed, a presence pulsed forward in quavers as Sky City grew closer.

"It's not Mysa, is it? No, you neither fear her nor loathe her. Could it be Phlegethon and his line? No, you are brothers in isolation. Are you snatching, o djinni? Are you reaching for things that your Vizier once kept from you? I do not think so. Then wherefore crawl thee under my soul, Rumbler? Could you have been bade here?" Nothing in those words but pity.

Chiral Phi spoke when she should have quivered, prattled when she should have fled. She received nothing in response from Slag; perhaps he hadn't even heard her words for anything more than mewling.The earth shook with such a violence that trees fell and massive crevices began to spread like cobwebs across the ground, and then there was one mighty crash that let loose a volcanic eruption. For the briefest of moments the head of a colossal hammer was visible as it broke through the ground's surface, but then the clouds of dust and ash hid its sight when the subsequent strikes came. But every strike could be felt even in the air, for they reverberated for miles with enough power to shake buildings to their foundations. It was a testament to Phi's forethought that Sky City had none to shake.

The base of the great bowl glowed amber in his light, the great scaled legs holding, despite everything, their place. A white flood was spilled as the City rebalanced on wrecked earth, and then no more. Divine architecture stared down the rising magma from above.

Chiral Phi manifested as a blaze of indigo blacking the weaker blue of the sky. "Welcome, Slag."

He let his weapon speak. The hammer, enduring such searing heat that it looked a part of Slag's own molten form, warped into something akin to a long spike. He plunged it into the earth and ruptured one of the ground's fissures so wide that a pillar of ash and fire erupted upwards.



Blue light met amber, and disappeared, forced to hide behind incandescence of its own. A blast of light heralded Mysa and her daughters, and was followed swiftly by a godless flare, a great conflagration that spilled from Sky City and roiled over the molten stone, searing away at its basalt armour. The fire retracted and Mysa stood. She was but a mite before Slag, yet she remained a hulking beast of a djinni, huge and insatiable. So it was all the more infuriating that he hardly seemed to even notice her, so intent was he upon finding the source of the obnoxious voice.

"Do you seek me still, o djinni? What will you do when you find me? I bear no power for thee to steal. I offer no challenge for thee to pit thyself against. Only frustration lines thy way, volcanic lord." The voice had no source, now. The blue light was all gone. Mysa did not cease to roar against Slag's stone, melting away little by little to reach the fluids within.

Armageddon suddenly came down to scratch at the itch upon his chest. Mysa was blown apart, like so much hot smoke upon the wind. His own body was hardly immune to the decay that the unholy weapon brought forth, and even as the hammer's head brushed against the basalt and obsidian shell of his body the stone began to crack. But where those cracks ran deep, magmatic blood oozed out to reform his armor.

"When I find you, Shadow of Jvan, you will burn and die."

"You know me poorly, Slag," said Phi. In the distance, a hissing: Phlegethon was coming. "I am the Light, daughter of Logos. Gaze upon me, and see no flesh. Listen to my voice and feel no horror. Intuit my fate, o djinni, and you will find no death."

"Light does not hide in the shadows of the flies that worship it." The firelord punctuated his disgust by spitting a glob of fire that melted through the white stone that it fell upon. His eye turned down to the tiny djinn that swarmed before him, those just-orphaned daughters of Mysa that howled in rage and the bastard-lord Phlegethon that advanced toward him.

"What do you even fight for? Your master throws you at me knowing your deaths shall not even slow my advance. Your miserable existence is as caltrops too soft to pierce the feet that crush you!"

"I am not fighting, you oaf," said the Lord of the Springs, as a great fog covered the land, obscuring to vagrant glows the daughters cast as they turned on one another.

A wild swing of Armageddon went towards the insect that had dared offer insult to his better. But fog was fog, and only fog, and little more than fog; and Phlegethon had long learned to soar with the God. "Gah! Very well! You have made your point."

Phlegethon condensed in the cumulus fashion; better for him to rise before this heat dispersed him further. "Baron! You are beating at the throne the chiral goddess warms for me. If you intend upon Sky City, be clear! If not, let me flush her out of my halls for you, and otherwise part ways. I tire of her shine."

He had raised a hand to strike at the cloud that harried his advance, but then its words caught his attention for long enough to give pause. "This mound of stone means nothing to me. Find her, then, and I shall spare it along with you."

Uncultured barbarian, thought Phlegethon, and turned the cloud upon his city.

But Slag did not entirely trust this stranger. The obnoxious voice of Chiral Phi had been silent for the last few moments, and though such silence was a respite it was also cause for suspicion. Perhaps this one was only a diversion, buying time to cover her escape.

There was a cloud of volcanic ash that had been rising as one great plume from the searing hole that Slag had bashed through the ground when he first emerged. Out of the clouds spewing from that newly formed volcano there came a thousand little ashdjinn that made their way over the city and began to search the skies. But in the place of the goddess they sought, they found only one little frostdjinn, sitting arms over knees on an orb of steel, hovering in the stratosphere.

"Hush," she whispered to the ash, trailing along in jagged streamers around her. "Watch. She is coming."

But they could not simply be silent, for they were so weak that their wills were not so entirely their own. Their eyes were his, so like lightning Slag's head turned to looked straight towards the snowflake in the sky. His grip on Armageddon tightened. From far away, Lumikki's head turned, just slightly, and met his own, across the horizon. "Flee," she whispered, and dissolved.

In the canals and spires of Sky City, Phlegethon released his shaken son. Where is she? Damn that owl-faced prophet, WHERE IS SHE?

He raised his hammer and an arc of black energy left Armageddon and surged through the place where Lumikki had been. It was well that she had already vanished of her own accord, for there would have been nothing left of her if the dark power imbued by Xos into that weapon had been given so allowed as a glancing blow.

She could hide her body, but the mind of a djinni lord reached far, and this Baron was a lord of lords. His thoughts echoed like thunder and pounded within Lumikki's mind even as she hid, "Retreat? You dare tell the lord of all fires to flee? Pathetic worm! Just as you scatter before me, so too will Her ashes be flung into the air and carried away by scorching wind!"

Phlegethon swept into the blood tunnel, a rogue daughter of Mysa buying his passage. Here, the labyrinth, was the only place that She could hide. Indeed, there she was: a simple glow, a jewel in the arms of Old Walker. He leaped, condensed, became a choking force.

The Prophet only stared. As Phlegethon rose in fury, his power turned to anger, fear, then pain. In the dark, Old Walker heard him djinni sink into the bloodsplatter, heavy as no spirit should ever be.

A hand arose from the steam god's shoulder. "Not for you," it said to the enfleshed Phlegethon, and folded itself from existence.

Slag's blast collided with the sphere of iron, shot it far across the sky- yet it did not burn. "The Horror watches its bastard," whispered the voice of Lumikki, blown about as a snowflake should be in the wake of the recoiling Bludgeon. Joined by two others, the great iron weight wailed its terrible song as it descended to smite that which threatened its new god. In the once-domain of Mysa, smoke was rising. "These stones were only laid to contain her."

The Bludgeons fell on Slag, air splitting on the razor winds between them. Sound could not offer forewarning of a strike so unimaginably swift and deadly, but Slag had already reared his head up. He sensed their imminent approach, even before his eyes could discern their descent.

With perfect timing, he brought down Armageddon and then swung it upwards to collide with the foremost of the Spheres. That entire Bludgeon was obliterated in a single explosive strike that enveloped the ophanim colony, but mercury and smoke could not deter the other two bodies of his assailant. What the wind-wire could not cleave was broken by its weight, and Slag felt his encrusted shell crack before the Cord.

The collision was only an instant, and the ophanim were soon trapped, dragging laboriously on either side of Slag as the Cord heaved to penetrate the molten core that had sealed up around it. Slag felt the monumental tug of the creatures pulling him, for all his mountainous stature, by the loathsome wire stuck in his belly. Galbar sounded of volcanic fury when the Baron let loose a long rumble and grunted in pain. An infernal hand with fingertips the size of houses clasped at one of the ends of cord that protruded from his sides, but pull as he might, it would not snap. His liquid innards had near instantly flowed around this wire and the outer shell of his abdomen was already hardening once more, so removing this wire would take nothing short of eviscerating his own body. So for the time being: he simply ignored the hindrance.

After that sour turn of events, the firelord's patience was rapidly thinning. His enraged roaring rocked the heavens with even greater violence than his previous expression of pain, "Little lord of steam! You have mere minutes left to offer me Jvan's puppet, lest I grow tired of waiting and raze this insipid pile of rubble!"

But the only steam now cast from the city was smoke. Mysa's daughters had offered no safety, and where Phlegethon was, he could not halt them. The lives and possessions of Metera were alight, and though they cried, no god or djinn would aid them.

"Your path is open, Slag," said Lumikki to the smoke. "My ophan cannot save you much longer."

The billowing clouds of smoke and volcanic ash roiled as the countless djinn within searched for the source of the mysterious voice. Slag listened not so much out of caution as for desire to find that prattling gnat that deigned whisper in his ear. He would swat it from the sky were it not so adept at concealing itself. Even so, Lumikki's time was limited; there was only so long that she could hide from the eyes of those djinn in her vicinity, and Slag himself no doubt had a perception powerful enough to sense lone presences if he focused upon it. It seemed, his ashen horde reported, that she had finally elected to flee.

As he watched, a figure so like Phlegethon leapt from the edge of Sky City and departed into the dying light, pursued by more flames. Even the steamlord's progeny had fled the flame, now. Phlegethon's quest and control were lost. So exasperation at last took hold. With a mighty heft, he hurled Armaggedon into the air such that it came to fall upon the metropolis above and level a block. Even held back by the burden of the wires entombed within him, he advanced towards one of the walking city's legs and began to grasp at it. For all its strength, the stone blackened at his touch- and then the world turned itself inside out, and its folding blackened the moons. For a small moment, Slag's deep red shine was but an ember on the blaze of hollow light that bloodied the air.

"SLAG!"

The word was not spoken, but emanated from the blossom of sinew and petals that now grew as a bud overhead, planted in crippled air and requiring no size to dwarf its city. The billowing ashes fled.

Har! Har!

A deep cackling echoed back. Slag raised one hand and called forth an eruption from the ground. Galbar's burning blood surged upward and a river of liquid fire fell upon the city's periphery, washing Armaggedon back over the precipice. Down below, it fell upon Slag's colossal fist and the amorphous lava flowed around the grip to hold the weapon. He sneered and brandished it high.

The sinew watched. And, as it watched, it replied in turn: with the edge of a too-long finger, it reached out before it, and dragged a perfect horizontal line into the universe, thin and flickering, flickering- in scarlet red. The bloom took hold of this with no flourish. In one gristly motion, it uncoupled its remaining eight legs from its stem, and stood on air.

"Like Char before you," it intoned, "Worthless."

A quick and disdainful few swings of Armaggedon helped the firelord to adjust his grip and find the hammer's balance. "Char was the faintest of sparks before my incandescence. I survived his fury and emerged stronger. The world melts and burns at my whim; bow down and grovel, and then perhaps in me you will find a more generous master than Him."

At that, a tensing that Jvan did not care to suppress. Such stagnation. Such simplicity. She said nothing through the Isonymph, but her aura made it known.

"I tire of wordplay," she announced. "You are burning that which I little care to replace. Your birth is wasted on you, and your line is as lacking as the rest of your kind. You wield a grotesquery of the Shade. And you struck me, Slag." The lily bloomed a little brighter. "You tried to fight me."

There was nothing left to be said, for both had grown tired of idle speech. His answer was to erupt skyward as a geyser of brimstone and pumice and fire. The violence of the explosive surge consumed and utterly blew apart the closest of Sky City's legs, such was the force needed to launch Slag's great mass into the air. But when he collided with the Isonymph in the air above just above Sky City and brought the both of them down upon it, the entire structure shuddered and began to tip. Entire city blocks had been leveled in a single moment. Stone was shattered, and joints broken, and Slag felt the tiny fizz of the possessed Avatar beneath his weight as he landed. And yet she was not crushed.

For a brief moment, as the waters of the City boiled, Jvan stood beneath their surface, and held Slag above her head.

"Be careful what you wish for."

She threw him, and with a mighty heft, freed herself of his crushing weight.

Slag landed close to the precipice, but she had not been powerful enough to cast him off the edge and back to the lands below. I am not to be trifled with!

He barreled forward on a lava flow and swung his hammer in a great overhead arc at Jvan's avatar. The flower bloomed, inverted, and rematerialised on one leg, balancing on the top of its staff of distortion; when Slag struck it, it carried a shock through his arm like a fleshling striking stone, and stalled his hammer in its tracks.

Jvan dragged a new staff to replace the shattered as she ran up the Djinni's arm. In a blink she had launched herself into his face, twisting the universe like a six-sided mirror, from which she struck him at all angles and was gone. When reality unfolded she was behind him.

All the while, Armaggedon's swings missed as they collided with the water or towers or nothingness, but never Isonymph. She was dexterous in this rage-induced flurry, not unlike that fool Anshal. But mere punches could hardly inflict more than pain upon him; on the other hand, it would take only one blow from his hammer to seize victory. So when he sensed her presence behind him, he nigh instantly twisted about in an inhuman and grotesque form that broke his obsidian plating. As he spun, so too did he bring around his hammer in a lateral swing.

The blow was inescapable- Jvan didn't try. Contracting time within herself, she whipped her stave against Armageddon, once more allowing it to shatter; and flourished a new one in the broken instant. As Armageddon stalled, she let it fall on the cane between her hands, breaking that, too, and throwing her out, out and away like a bolt across the sky. Time uncoiled from her muscles and the world became a blur.

Slag saw this only in real time. Scarlet light snapped over his hammer in two flashes as he broke the Isonymph's parry and sent her flying. He swiftly recovered his arm and his aim. Even out of reach, it would only take one blast of Armageddon's power to destroy the Avatar, and with time now dilating within her to recover the lag, she was helpless to evade the next strike.

Yet so was he. Too lightly had Slag given up his armour.

The Bludgeons still strung through Slag hurled themselves along their cord, one directly away from him, the other striking his back with both their strength. With his rigidity shredded by Jvan's blows and his own hubris, Slag splattered across the waters as the sphere dredged its way through his body and crawled red-hot into the sky to meet a recovering Jvan. Much better, she thought, admiring the deformation of his liquid flesh.

Molten stone may have solidified on contact with the waters of Sky City, but Slag was an elemental lord. The water about his form was instantly vaporized and the bubble erupted upwards, sending tidal waves of boiling water through the streets. Jvan had seen less beautiful carnage, but not in some years. Even the birds could hear the screams.

In the center of it all, an enraged Slag rose once more. His palpable rage had ionized the air about him into an infernal corona, and brought forth a heat that burned his reddish glow into a white incandescence. The Sphere that had passed through his body melted away in Jvan's hands, and she let it fall. The Plumes gave one last turn, and fled into the rising cloud as the Cord finally snapped.

The one vulnerable point that remained visible was the red-hot hand that clutched Armageddon; that weapon seemed to drink in his surge fiery rage and heat and nullify them just as easily as anything that fell beneath its crushing blows. Opportunity.

Still carrying the unmelted, unfeathered and dying Sphere in her psychic grip, Jvan stretched the Isonymph's roots until they multiplied, enwrapping the iron ball. New life seeped into it, soft meat penetrating the metal, sprawling within its innards and colouring crimson. He shall not cool.

Jvan gripped raw air and flung herself across the fulcrum of hard space, hurling the orb and all the arms with which she held it, dividing with a gruesome tear. The ball rocked the bowl as it collided, striking Slag's shoulder and liquefying instantly, burning with foul airs as it boiled into him. The spectra of Slag's aura shifted, his atoms intermingling with the metal flesh, growing lustrous, growing soft. No stone would form on him. No metal would escape.

Pitiful tricks. Even as her corrupted metal vaporized and seeped into his form, he rejected its weakness just as he did pleas for mercy. Great heaps of infernal flesh sloughed off and rained down as molten cascades, and shockwaves of heat and fire and volcanic gases erupted outwards. For what it was worth, the brighter glow of metal clung tightly to his stone, but in his attempts to shed he had become a living volcano whose fury engulfed yet more of the city.

Jvan drew her fourth staff and leapt for the Djinni's exposed wrist, right into the flames. She struck true and the volcano's thunderous din amplified tenfold, but there was no resounding thud as Armageddon slipped from his grasp and clattered upon the ground. Amidst the smoke and blinding haze of sulfur, Slag had instantly seized up the weapon in his other hand and was already swinging it at the Isonymph once more. She let her quavering barrier once again shatter in its wake, yet fled easily thereafter. Slag's weapon was become far deadlier than the magma lord himself. And now-

"Be struck," spake the God of Sinew.

If she had fought the rest of the battle with nine limbs, now there were surely more, for when the cracking ricochet of the first blow had echoed across the coast from Metera to the Ironhearts and blown away the haze with its shock, the others did not cease. With knuckles of newforged steel Jvan belted Slag, her dance of speed not slowing for his hammer, the collision of her fists more than sufficient to shatter what remained of his elemental shell into droplets that cooled on the wind, and tear apart the fiery heart at its core. The firelord's form unraveled into a pyroclastic explosion that swept outward, bathing Sky City in hellfire. With flows of lava dripping off the sides, the legged city sagged one last time, and stiffened forevermore.

When it was done, and her nine fists glowed red with the fire, the Isonymph hovered over the basalt-covered basin, long since dry; and wondered what hubris it took for such creatures of liquid and vapour to presume their brawn greater than that of the Flesh God.

"Reform," she commanded. "Flee my heel, Flicker, with whatever body you can find. I'll wait."

Ha!

He didn't make her wait for long. An burst of endothermic activity stirred the sulfur-laden air and created a great wind that carried heat into a new vessel. From amidst the ashes and rubble, Slag's incandescent Flicker constituted a new shell and he was reborn.



"You cannot kill me, O God of Pitiful Flesh and Mortal Filth," he spat. "But take solace in your small victory of surviving my fires. You have won the chance to quiver a little longer, until He returns to earn your terror again, and forever."

"Cry more," said Jvan. "Think of me when your vassals eat you alive." She flexed her psychic muscle over the hilt of Armageddon, lifted it, felt its aura scald her mind. Horrible, horrible little thing. Vile implement. Let it bear my curse. A cocoon enfolded the hammer. When it had burned itself clean again, the scent of Other flesh filled the scorched air.

Jvan had wrought beauty out of entropy once before. In much the same way was the weapon transfigured. Shedding a light that was powder, finer than the mist that falls from moth wings, the change-eating aura of Armageddon was no longer a pupil but an iris, ringed and striated with folds of brilliant fibre. Its haft was now as gnarled as the galls of an ancient tree. The familiar hues of Diaphane flesh flickered on its head. Jvan watched the Isonymph's face from the many-pupilled Eye in its hilt.

"Kill as many of Zephyrion's spawn as you can before you die," she said, throwing it at him. "You'll need this."

Carried by its weight, the once-mighty Lord of Magma tumbled dripping from the edge of Sky City, and was gone. Jvan hovered alone.

"...Well played."

Jvan was silent, as Heartworm before her.

"I suppose I owe you a debt, for what remains to be recovered," said the Painter, seeping from the boiling, ash-laden waters. "Not that you could ever trust me to repay it, nor ever should. Hahahaha. Alas, it's true- we have little choice but to continue as befo-"

The light snapped with a brutal twist of intervening space. When it unwound, it was not the ghost of Chiral Phi that hovered in Isonymph's palm, but the Kernel of God herself.

"I've realised something," said Jvan. "You are a liability." A second arm drew a thin and flickering scarlet stave that landed in the palm of a third. "And I dislike you."

The arm reared back, and hurled its lethal cargo into the City true. For an instant, a rigid line of scarlet light connected the god and her daughter's city. Struck to its core, the great bowl of Sky City groaned, buckled, and settled at last upon its weight, paralysed to move. A beautiful ruin.

"Debt paid," said the Engineer. "Bait me no longer to your aid. I will not play your game." The Kernel disappeared.

After a second, so did the Isonymph.

---

"Whenceforth now, my brother dear?"

Mrrrrrr.

"Don't be that way. You know I was planning to leave anyway, with developments being as they are. Ha! My fraudulence, punished at last. By Fate herself, wouldn't you say? And to think- despite what that Victor godlet did- it was all going so well..."

Mrr.

"Better a fragile plan that offers victory at all possible conclusions than a sound one whose interruption begets failure, Old Walker. The collapse is beautiful. I am an aesthete of blood, Old Walker. We are not so different, Jvan and I. That is why you cannot resist me."

...

"There there, enough banter. Come. Let us abscond into the mountains, and begone from this place. It is up to Oriana and Lumikki now. Our next game lies elsewhere- whatever it may be."

Mrmph.

---

"Begone."

"I should smite you for your impudence. Once I have rested, I will put an end to you and your whole line, and laugh about it to your old master, Boreas. I imagine it will be most satisfying!"

"Ah. I forget. You are a traitor who spurns loyalty."

"I am as strong as I have ever been, Lumikki. Do not test me! My quarrels with Slag and the Abomination have only tired my arms. Soon my energy will return, and-"

"NO! QUENCH THAT LIGHT, DAMN YOU! BEGONE! BEGONE, MONSTER! DO NOT LOOK AT ME!"

"..."

"...You are cruel."

"I will make no such concessions. I would sooner die."

"Ah. I see how it is."

"Strike, then. Let the eldest of my sons take on the name of Phlegethon, and purge me of this curse."

There is a snap of cold that crystallises all moisture. The remaining fog sags on the ground amidst the blood and wyrm-filth, like fat or slime. In the dim light of her Sertz, Lumikki sees veins.

"Rest well, brother," says Lumikki, impaling the abomination on an icicle. "I cannot preserve your kingdom- but I will do what I can."

Watching the shaman scribbling on the sand, Luna did not know whether to laugh or cry. The man was on the verge of death, yet he had the strength of will to try and communicate with her, even during his last moments.

Luna watched on as the man dragged a shaky finger through the sand. At first, she couldn't understand what the man wanted to say to her, the shakiness of his hand blurring the image he was trying to draw, yet he persevered. Simple lines and circles at first slowly started coming together to form images in the sand that depicted what had happened to the village. A band of humanoid creatures, surrounded by what seemed to be fiery auras from what Luna made out the symbols drawn next to them to mean, had descended from the skies, bringing devastation to the village and everyone in it.

Luna's mind blanked when she understood what had transpired. Startled, she made to ask the shaman about the creatures, more so to verify her suspicions than anything else; she was pretty certain that the beings that had attacked the village were of the same race as the one that had attacked her. Before she could even utter a word, however, she was stopped in her tracks when the man started coughing wildly, blood mixed with phlegm spattering the ground and painting the tiny figures drawn on it a deep crimson.

Luna's eyes widened in panic. "He's almost dead..." Her thoughts raced, trying to think up a way to help ease his pain. She knew the man was beyond saving at this point. It was a miracle that he had managed to survive this long with this type of injury.

The shaman, knowing that his time was almost up, raised his head to look at the supernatural being that was holding him in its arms. Through blurred vision, he strained to take a good look at Luna. He wanted, before his death, to know that one person at the least had known about the misfortune that had befallen their tiny village, even if said person might very well have been the reason for their demise. For all he knew, the all-mighty Skyfather could have been displeased by their co-operation with foreign god worshippers when they pointed Luna towards the direction of Vetros, and had thus decided to smite their village in retaliation!

It was then that the shaman noticed a faint shadow forming behind Luna, something that she had yet to notice. A brown cocoon-like amalgamation of gas and shadows slowly rose higher and higher before taking a vague, humanoid form. Curiosity quickly turned to sheer terror when two cloudy eyes, completely devoid of irises, appeared on the previously featureless "face" of the being that was now looming eerily above Luna.

The shaman felt his already shallow breath catch in his throat when he felt the presence locking onto him, his eyes unable to stare away from the shadowy being. He raised his arm, his hand trying to grasp at Luna to warn her about the creature behind her when he suddenly stopped; the creature was holding a finger over where the mouth was supposed to be, signalling to him to be quiet.

The shaman was petrified, either out of fear or incredulity due to the sheer bizarreness of the whole experience, and was unable to do anything other than comply. The shadowy creature slowly nodded affirmatively before sending out a very thin string of essence, easing into the human's body and stabilizing his injuries while also acting as a quick relaxation agent, promptly knocking the shaman out.

All this transpired in a few breaths of time, and although Luna noticed the strange movements the shaman was making, along with the clear rapid change of emotions he was going through, she did not think much of it, reasoning it to be nothing but a dying man's last moments. What she didn't imagine was that after the man fell limp in her arms, he would still be alive.

Yes, the shaman was still alive, albeit having a very, very low heartbeat, so much so that it was barely detectable by her sensitive ears. "I..I can't believe this..."

Luna laid the man's upper body back on the ground as she had found him, careful to not dislodge him from where the rock had fallen on his body, and stood up. Then her ears perked, and her nose started sniffing the air quizzically. She was picking up a faint scent, something akin to sulfur. Of course, she was almost 100% sure that the village was attacked by those lava beings and thus her picking up the odour of sulfur was nothing out of the ordinary, but this was something else, a different kind of smell that she could not exactly pin to one specific element but could only approximate it.

She swiftly turned around, eyes closed as she let her nose lead her to whatever she was picking up on. She slowly started walking forward, sometimes stopping to sniff the air here and there before continuing onwards.

Her quest, however, did not lead her too far away from her previous location; just a few meters away from where the shaman's body was trapped under the rubble Luna stopped and opened her eyes. What greeted her was the ever-present gaze of Owlfrun the owl.

"Are you done, little puppy?"

Uh-oh...

When the Shade left Galbar, it came to rest on a world where the continents were adrift upon the wind, soaring through raging skies and separated by seas of nothingness rather than water. The daylight condensed into golden clouds and the riddling djinn carried them and let the droplets of magic and rain fall juxtaposed. Legend said that one god slept and was the slow-beating heart within the ribcage that was the shattered world's core, but the inhabitants knew the terror of another master, one who lurked in the shadows and demanded sacrifice.

Zephyrion's bleeding aura was the mechanism that made it so. Though every eddy and crevice of Caelum was laden with his power, this lifeblood was not the wild and unstable sort that had once been his very quintessence. It did not bring the raw powers of creation or destruction to bear, and nor did it bring order to the strange world or through chaos make it stranger yet, but rather it acted as the force of sustenance and stability that held the unnatural world's laws in place and maintained things just as they were and had always been.

It was fortunate that such a state was what the ailing god willed, for in truth, he knew that he likely lacked the potency to reshape or change his prized world even if the fancy struck him. If the Caelites had truly understood the peril of their place, their prayers would haunt him. In a way, it was perhaps best that they lived in as close to an ignorant bliss as could be managed upon a world of turmoil and scarcity. But Zephyrion banished such thought from his mind; in the past, his hubris would have him cast aside philosophical musings and deemed them wholly fruitless in a world devoid of meaning, but now there was not even that defiance left to animate his existence. There was only silence and exhaustion overwhelming. The First Gale had long since died, and now there was nothing left that even resembled a storm.



From the darkness, there was a sudden genesis of motion accompanied by a familiar presence.

"You have returned."

His child did not answer with words. Instead, a dark tendril reached from within the breast of the god's armor, down through the sleeves of the robe that rested on top, and twisted upwards before wrapping twice around the ornate helmet. With a snap, Xos tore off the mask. His visage erupted upward and spilled out from the now-gaping hole in his suit of armor. The rest of his body followed the head, pouring free like wine from an uncorked bottle.

Then as he was naked the silence shattered, as if the wine bottle finally fell from the table and left all its pieces bare upon the floor. "When I went to Galbar, I found a part of myself that had been missing all this time. Just as I thought I might," Xos breathed, each whisper echoing like thunder. Before Zephyrion's very eyes, Xos' inky mass began to undergo some metamorphosis. "I found substance to back my convictions. I proved my strength. Now, perhaps your own powers will not taunt me so."

"Taunt you? I raised you as I would any offspring. I tried to imbue you with wisdom, but could never find purchase enough to weather and overcome your defiance; at least I did show you your birthright and how to wield your powers, if nothing else. And now it has been many decades since your powers have overshadowed my own, and still you find cause for jealousy?"

"Hmph. You are a better brother than I," he confessed even as the aberrant shaping continued. "But though I have come to think you weak, you have always had one power that was denied to me--the ability to control your body. How am I to be a god that works to promote change if I cannot even change myself? Existence itself is an insult and a mockery to all of my sensibilities when I alone am denied the prerogative that every other divine being so effortlessly achieves; I am entombed within this crude, decaying shell! I loathe it! How could I not have envied you and all the others?"

Zephyrion was silenced by Xos' unusual openness, so the shade continued, "...but I was wrong. I meditated as I traveled here, and I finally divined my purpose and my true calling in this world. And with that knowledge, I've become a force too great and too beautiful to stop; a fiery flower blossom that blooms from the filth and rises above it."

The transformation was complete, and before Zephyrion was an entirely corporeal, hulking body blacker than the darkest of nights, but still more corporeal than mere smoke and shadow. The shade, if he could still be called that, exhaled in relief at the end, but he was still far from finished. Zephyrion could tell that this shape was not entirely what had been intended, and the discrepancy between vision and reality infuriated Xos now, just as it always did. But Xos always was good at wearing masks when the occasion called for it. Xos recalled his momentarily discarded armor. It rocketed through the darkness of the void to return to its only wearer, and with a touch it twisted and grew to take on an entirely new appearance.



"There is nothing more that you can teach me, no power that you can wield over me in your decrepit state, no way to prolong your destiny and no more excuses to face your fate in following my shadow. So come now. I will have my brother by my side when I return to Galbar, that there may be another to witness its restoration."

"If for all your professed love you shall not spare my self-determination, then at least offer mercy to my creations here. You know that if I were to leave, their world would crumble and they would be extinguished in a few moments. Xos, Xaas, Zo: regardless of whatever names they call you, they have given you no grievances and they have come to worship you as their lone god. So answer their prayers this once and grant them mercy from the ruinous powers that obey your whims."

"..." he hesitated.

"Zyus."

"You know that I cannot stay the claws of chaos and entropy forever. Their time will come and they will all die; all things succumb to chaos, except chaos itself. I won't even be able to spare you in the end, and perhaps my devouring powers will eventually turn upon themselves. Then, not even I would remain. Am I the cruel one, brother? You would only delay their end."

As he waited for an answer, the emptiness of Zyus' eyes bored into Zephyrion, but the golden god met the cold gaze. He looked into Zyus' eyes as no other would or perhaps even could, and within the voids he thought he saw the tiniest flicker of light.

"I shall grant you this."

The embodiment of decay snapped a finger and defied physics. The proverbial blankets of destruction that had come to weave themselves above and below Caelum all came unbound, and order would reign supreme for another hundred years.

"With such powers at your command, you could just as easily take the other side. You could be the floodgate that holds back the tides of darkness. Surely the other gods saw this potential in you! What did they say when you went to Galbar and saw them?"

"Their mouths offered me little save spittle and slights. But their eyes betrayed their fear. They know that I see them for the worms that they are, and that I will soon be rid of them. They would all die eventually, but I shall grant them mercy by ending their hubris prematurely, and once I stand alone atop the ashes, I shall meditate and perhaps find some peace in my newfound omnipotence. And then perhaps my burden and my torment can finally end."

He breathed. "Hmph. Now, we go."

---

"Surprisingly little had changed in the time since they drove you out. The very reality of Chronos was warped; it is hard to say how much time has passed upon this plane during your thousands of years of imprisonment, but surely no more than two hundred cycles. Your pet Akthanos is dead, as is Ventus, but their direct successors still live. I shall show you."

They drifted through the world as a shadow and an equally invisible breath of wind. Zephyrion was quiet as he witnessed the djinn; he felt as though they had somehow changed. Eventually they came to the Celestial Citadel, or what little still remained of it. If mere wind could weep, it would have in that moment. "I see the irony now. I called myself supreme; I declared myself lord of change and altered the world below and the works of others at a mere whim, thinking it my mandate. But I had always hoped that this place could stay unchanged and unsullied. You've ruined and broken it. There's nothing here but emptiness, and...Ventus..."

Zyus was utterly cold. "Ventus was nearly a god. When I came to this place, I found that he had tapped into this place's power and siphoned our energy away. Do you think me blind to the loathing and hatred and blame that dwells even in your eyes? Cast it at me no longer; he was the cause for your decline. He stole our power, so I punished him."

"Hmph. And when you open your eyes, and look outwards to see all that is ill with the world," he began to preach, "know that it is the fault of the vile Jvan. That you or any other could ever think of her as more than an abomination is beyond me; she has tampered with the djinn, culled their ranks, twisted the natural way of things that you designed, and ultimately forced my hand. She spits upon your name and scorns mine; my only regret is that my first attempt to slay her was stymied. But that only means that I shall have even longer to enjoy the task of ripping her asunder! Even now, I have set in motion what loyal djinn remain, and they will undo her corruption."

He collected himself and let the acid drip free from his tone. "I have appointed a new Vizier. He is a certain djinni called Murmur, one that you doubtless remember. In him, I think I saw a kindred soul. He yearns for silence just as I do, but he is tortured by how he must always be loud. It is only through our own wills that we are set into motion; he has his pain to drive him onward, just as I have mine."

As if on queue, the air began to hum and Vizier Murmur made his way to the crumbling chamber that they occupied. Zephyrion sensed a moment of trepidation and recognition in the djinni lord, but then Murmur's aura focussed its attention upon the presence that truly dominated the room. The room reverberated with his voice, "My lord, it is well that you have returned now. Your plans have been set into motion."

"Hmph." Zyus looked to Zephyrion. "I'll be back."

"Our suspicions have been confirmed. The mirror has been spying on Kinesis and Pictaraika. We must make appropriate preparations."

With a long-drawn-out sigh, the goddess answered, ”I do not feel Xos' presence anywhere near any mirror, so I take it's one of his sycophants doing the spying. There is the possibility this means it will be a lesser force, there is the possibility this is something far more troublesome. We need to deal with this considering this could be an attempt to bait you into Galbar or to diverge attention from somewhere else."

The Muse stood up and walked around the index, a turmoil of reports flying past her as she quickly tried to find as much as she could from her own sources. ”Nevertheless, it would be better to bring Kinesis to a deeper layer of the Pictaraika. I could create a fake illusory image and then use a mirror portal to..." the goddess stopped looking to the sides confused, as if she had lost something. ”Why are all the magical mirrors in Kinesis' workshop broken? I cannot create a portal."

"It turns out that glass and high explosives don't mix. You'll need to find some other means to contact Kinesis, and quickly: the mirror is also tracking a target on a rapid sub-sonic trajectory towards Pictaraika. We have time to act and prepare, but only if we move quickly."

”Right. I will project an image to her at this moment," the goddess told without further ado, in an uncharacteristically objective response to an issue.

There was a loud ring in the workshop, deafening the sounds of machines and any activity within the building. ”Kinesis," an illusory apparition of Ilunabar told, ”There is an attack of some sort happening, and you are its target. Do not leave the workshop, as in the open ground you will be an easy target and I am not sure if infiltrators have sneaked past my perception. The enemies come from the broken citadel of Xos, so you know what to expect. Me and your father are preparing defenses, and I am sure you are already thinking of some as well."

Kinesis looked up, startled. "What?! Oh." Kinesis gathered her senses, picked up a toolbox in one hand and a makeshift firearm in another, and bowed her head towards the image of Ilunabar. "Right. Yes, Ilunabar. Defences. Elementals."

"Ilunabar, you should also conceal our preparations from the view of the mirror."

”I did that as soon as I entered the room. It will take a moment, but I will expand the illusion to the entirety of the surface of Pictaraika. Kinesis, have you finished the lever based Marionettes? If operational they could prove to be a decent line of defense, should any skirmishes break through the main area."

"Yes, Ilunabar. They've been ready for a while now."

”Ah, good. Ready them up, I will be sending magical weaponry soon. Again, stay indoors and focus on defending." she added. "Teknall, have you discovered anything else?"

"The inbound target is a wind djinni and his army."

”Ah, of course, the type I have the least means to deal with. Nevertheless, transgressions were made and I will have to distribute some punishment." She hand-waved as if she were to cast off an annoying fly and turned to Kinesis. ”I will need to cast off my illusions so I can focus on setting up the defenses. Stay alert for any surprise attacks. I doubt this will be a conventional fight."

"Yes, Ilunabar."

The apparition of Ilunabar faded away. Kinesis stood in her workshop, agitated and conflicted. She looked around at the devices, machines and parts littered about her workshop, and her marionette attendants. "How can I help with the defences locked up in here?" She hesitated for a moment longer, then turned to the door and left, gesturing for her marionettes to follow.

---

In the presence of so many great djinni lords, the scene looked surreal. The deathly-still surface of the sea was utterly flat and devoid of even waves. It seemed to gaze up in deference to a second sea above, one of roiling clouds and turbulent typhoons. The fantastic image of that scene cast aside the natural and ordinary way of things, but there were no mortals nearby to look upon such a sight and doubt their own eyes. There was only the silent murmuring of a djinni.

His was the song of the sea, and it called out to the storm-ridden skies above, "What do you see?"

"After managing to evade my eyes for a short time and disengaging from Boreas (how I loathe that crude, despicable traitor!), Anshal is being tracked once more. His force seems to be in full retreat from the battlefront, though his flight is still a swift and organized one."

"Retreat? I do not think that is his way. Surely it is a feint, designed to lure you into overextending and scattering your armies in a hasty pursuit. His way is to be predictably unpredictable; though his movements may follow no rhyme, his attacks do. He strikes only where and when we are weakest. You know that he will not accept any true engagement in which he does not have the advantage of overwhelming force."

"Perhaps he is wary of being trapped between the whetstone of my approaching storms and the cesspool of filth that is Boreas. He hopes that we will fight one another, rather than both strike at him. Perhaps I will grant him that desire! But worrisome also is the withdrawal of numerous roving remnants of Thermaron's army; it would seem that a firelord has arrived to finally rally Slag's great legion once more. We should strike before he has the chance."

"Ah, Kindle. I too have recently heard word of his arrival."

"By all of my sources, this firelord is called Catharsis."

"The two are one and the same. In any case, I would fear not. He is one of a rare few that reject Slag's rule; it is doubtful that he would number among our true enemy's ranks."

"How could you know all of this, Salis?"

The ocean seemed to heave with laughter. "The reach of my watery dominion extends far beyond the sea, and 'Catharsis' has been known for many centuries by the rivers and their djinn."

---

'You set a taxing pace at double speed.'

'The Vizier said that time was of the essence. Our host will endure. Any stragglers that trail off are unworthy of serving you.'

'No, I will not have our numbers diminished, and nor shall I foolishly begin this engagement with an exhausted and demoralized force. Slow to full speed.'

Rasp was silent for only a moment. '...as you command, father.'

Still, the host traveled as an epic storm of dust and dry soil and even sand from distant deserts; the massive sandstorm stretched from the ground into the heavens, cleaving through clouds and shaking trees with a fury that oft uprooted them. Even at their somewhat relaxed pace, they were quickly outpacing all but the swiftest of Komnestos' scouts. The rearguard occasionally broke off to quickly dispatch of those pursuers that came too close, but they then had to advance at double speed to rejoin the storm of djinn. As their journey went on and the rearguard tired, such excursions became less frequent.

Eventually, Rasp and Anshal brought them close enough to see shrouded mountains rising in the distance. That was where their quarry waited.

Upon coming within sight, they wasted no time. It took only minutes for the horde of djinn to descend upon Pictairaka. In an unnatural manner, the air currents had lifted the entirety of the sandstorm high into the sky and then brought the dusty clouds over the valley alongside a deluge of loose dirt and sand. But that was only a show of force, or perhaps their way of trying to disorientate the defenders, for they remained in the sky somewhat above the valley. Mayhaps there was also some element of paranoia to their hesitation, for like such exotic places as Cornerstone, the Pictairaka had no native djinn and those outside were always loathe to near it for fear of its strange aura and enigmatic nature.

But while they waited for a few precious minutes, there was one djinni that descended low enough to truly enter Pictairaka, and he swept through it with purpose.

”When I visited the Celestial Citadel, it seemed to me that most elementals knew and respected proper protocol and courtesy," a voice suddenly said near him, a phantom image of the goddess following him, "Did something change? I have no recollection of inviting an army into my holy land, and yet, the other possibility for your presence is such a despicable and irrational mistake that I have trouble considering it. After all, there is no way Djinni culture has decayed so much, correct?"

The dry wind arrested itself just long enough to address the apparition. "Though words are worth little, I still beg your forgiveness and offer my remorse for this intrusion. But we are here on behalf of a will greater than our own, and one that supersedes your own."

”Would you have forgiven an enemy if he had attacked you due to his fear of another being? In the end, the results of attacking one god or another will still be the same, the only difference is that there is honor in standing to a usurper but only scorn in dying for one." she told, staring at him, and then whispering. ”And yet, there are fates worse than either. The plea of cowardice will not gain your kind forgiveness today, neither will it when Xos lies defeated. We were here before the first wind traveled shyly on the sterile rock that was Galbar, affronts of this sort will never be forgotten. My last warning to you and your ilk is clear, either stop this madness or fight to your death, those who do not perish will learn to long for a coup de grace."

But her words drifted away on the wind unheard by Rasp, for in resuming his frenzied search he had already billowed past her. He had thought to simply ask her where he might find their quarry, but he was not so foolish as to expect Ilunabar to be forthcoming.

High above, when the faintest echo of her words reached the clouds, Anshal heard them all. Ha! She thinks my son and I cowards for waging a war against the very gods? Were that He was merely an usurper, and it not our righteous imperative to follow this path.

His gaze shifted away from Ilunabar's vanishing apparition and back to his son. Rasp was sniffing out the source of a very particular aura, and with every passing moment he grew closer to where the demigoddess hid. 'You were not needlessly brash, but Ilunabar still took offense to your words. Be wary of her wrath.'

'My eyes are open.'

As Rasp flew onward, he could hear as faint echoes the noises of metal striking stone and metal. The djinni homed in on these unnatural sounds, which led him to a valley nestled amongst the mountains, above the dark clouds of Pictaraika. Several poles with what appeared to be brass flowers with cup-like petals had been set up at the entrance to the valley. He swept over them without halting to contemplate what their purpose may have been, and then the weather vanes were triggered as the heavy air pushed aside by his grating winds spun them wild. A wailing siren echoed throughout the valley.

Within the valley scurried many Marionettes, made from wood and metals such as brass, bronze and steel. Many bore tools or carried loads, but a few carried bejewelled scepters which reflected light in strange ways. In the middle of the valley, hastily putting the finishing touches on some large mechanism within the ground, was a being which could almost be mistaken for a human woman except for the fact that she had four arms. She had her tool box sitting beside her, a large pack on her back, and a large-barrelled firearm holstered to her side.

'And these...mortals?'

'What of them?'

'They look to be some sort of guardians to our quarry. Or perhaps devotees. Shall we strike at them preemptively?'

'Pay them no heed, and if they are wise they will stay out of our way. But I shall not savage them unprovoked; such barbarism can be left to the likes of Komnestos and others beneath our stature.'

Kinesis looked up suddenly when the siren sounded. Although Kinesis had been previously alerted by the storm brewing overhead, she had delayed her departure perhaps longer than was wise in order to finish her part of the defences. She quickly gathered up her tools and ran for a doorway built into a cliff face. The djinni called out, "Halt! Our lord demands your presence!"

She did not even slow as she rushed into the tunnel. The heavyset door began to close, but Rasp was upon it when there was only a crack of space left between the door and its frame. He blasted through the tiny crevice at full speed and billowed through the tunnel within as a suffocating stream of dust. Kinesis, still running, glanced behind her at the sound of wind, and her eyes widened when she saw that the elemental had made it through the door. Her hands darted to her weapon, rotated the barrel into place, then fired it behind her. A large cartridge hit the ground in front of Rasp and sprayed out an alchemical solution which cooled the air to cryogenic temperatures in an instant. As the endothermic reaction ripped the heat away, her pursuer's form began to condense. Though it disorientated Rasp to suddenly have a body of liquid nitrogen and oxygen where before he had been a dusty gale, his fortitude and resolve both remained. He swept across the floor in this strange new liquid form, his advance towards Kinesis having been slowed but hardly stopped.

Kinesis began to gain some distance from her condensed pursuer. She rounded a corner and dashed down another corridor. As Rasp sloshed around the corner in pursuit, Kinesis passed through a bit of corridor framed by open metal tubes. She reached out and twisted a valve as she ran past. Pipes rattled and hissed for a moment, then jets of high-pressure flaming oil sprayed along the corridor in Rasp's direction. He narrowly managed to avoid the jets of flame that licked at him. In passing so close to the burning oil his liquid form was nonetheless heated and he vaporized once more, but now all that dust that he had carried along was gone. As a pure rush of wind, he became invisible in the dark tunnels. He followed Kinesis silently, as if he had perished in the flames, and steadily closed the gap.

Kinesis kept running a little longer, then slowed when she noticed the silence, suggesting that her pursuer was absent. She peered quizzically behind herself and saw nothing. But then realisation caught up with her. Rasp had contained lots of liquid oxygen in his condensed state, meaning if the flamethrowers had caught him there would have been a very obvious explosion. Her hands darted to the barrel of her weapon, twisted it, and fired a cartridge down the corridor. Where it struck the floor it spewed out thick smoke, and this smoke clung to Rasp and revealed the approaching elemental. Kinesis turned and bolted away as fast as her legs would carry her, a whistling rush of wind close on her heels.

Kinesis shouted out ahead of her, "Marionettes, defend!" Out from a side passage stepped an imposing yet elegant figure of bronze, wielding a halberd in one hand and bejewelled scepter in the other. Kinesis moved to one side of the corridor as the metallic marionette levelled its scepter with the corridor and fired a prismatic bolt of Astartean magic at Rasp. The entirety of the djinn's form flattened itself upon the wall as he near effortlessly dodged the projectile without slowing. Kinesis ducked around the marionette and kept running as it fired another bolt. There was the sound of magical explosions, but also a voice that cut through the din, "No harm shall come to you or this place if you surrender yourself!"

"Nope," Kinesis shouted in reply, still running, and adjusting her firearm.

Rasp blew past the Marionette. The automaton swung its halberd through the djinni's vaporous body with a mighty heft, but the blow accomplished nothing. He was close to his quarry now, so close that he was able to manipulate the tunnel's pressure in such a way as to push her backwards. Compelled by an unnatural suction, the air farther down the tunnel erupted into a violent surge that slammed into Kinesis head-on with enough force to have battered a mortal and sent them tumbling backward and into Rasp's clutches. Though Kinesis was not a mere mortal, she was still staggered by the blow, and she realised how perilously close her pursuer was. She pointed her weapon down where she was standing and squeezed the trigger. A pink mist spread out around Kinesis and filled her part of the corridor. When Rasp came upon the mist, he entered a peculiar state of mind. Niciel's power seeped into him and pacified his inner turmoil; for a moment he was utterly at peace, but then he began to contemplate why it was that he was pursuing Kinesis in the first place.

'What are you doing? Follow her!'

His father was of course watching all of these events unfold, and the disdain that crept through Anshal's telepathic link was the anchor that began to drag Rasp back into reality.

'I don't want to hurt her,' he meekly answered.

'That mist is controlling you! Fight it!

'I don't want to fight...'

'You are not to fight the demigoddess,' he answered after a pause for thought. 'Merely to escort her into our Master's hands.'

Of course.

Rasp fell once more into lucidity; it was like he had been thrown through a pane with enough force to shatter the glass, or been plunged from the warm desert air into an icy hole of frigid water. He raged against the momentary weakness and the nausea that accompanied it, once more pursuing Kinesis. He had a vigor and tenacity about him, if nothing else; she had not gained too much ground on him, for that entire mental battle had been fought and won within the span of a few long moments.

Kinesis had gained enough ground, though. She darted under another row of metal tubes and twisted the accompanying valve. A sheet of flames roared down and created an incendiary barrier between herself and Rasp. That would be enough to give most windjinn pause, for they were all of course aware of their own compositions and of the danger in creating a deadly flare when rushing into a flame and fueling the fire's appetite with their own vapors. But he knew also of how heat had a tendency to rise and the greater part of a flame's energy radiated just above the licking flames. With that in mind, he made the fateful gambit to not slow, but rather accelerate as he came upon the wall of flame. He blasted straight through the lower part of the burning gases at near supersonic speed, and then he was upon Kinesis.

Kinesis screamed and thrashed her limbs as Rasp's winds wrapped around her and lifted her feet off the ground. Ethereal wings manifested and flapped furiously, tugging against the elemental and resisting his pull. Another armoured marionette emerged, aimed its sceptre, and fired a magical bolt at the winds enveloping Kinesis while trying to avoid striking the demigoddess. Wind whipped about through the narrow corridors. The invisible nature of Rasp made it impossible to discern whether he had contorted himself so as to avoid the magic or if it had passed through him harmlessly. The marionette's sceptre only managed to fire several bursts of explosive energy at the walls further down the corridor before Rasp grew tired of its tumult and tore it in half. He could have displayed similar brutality towards the demigoddess in some attempt to subdue her, but it quickly became obvious that he was restraining himself as much as she would allow.

Between Kinesis' rapid breaths and cries of futile exertion, the djinni spoke with a steady voice. "Beautiful divine! Cease this ignoble grappling; so long as my form still lives, your wings will struggle in vain. A god demands your audience, and it is an ingrate and a fool who would deny the wishes of the Master of Change; let us lead you to him as your procession of honor rather than as your captors. I beg you to let me escort you to my father, before he sweeps down with our endless host and razes this place to take your hand by force."

Although Kinesis' physical struggles lessened as she realised their futility, she was still defiant. "My father won't let you drag me to that horrid murderer!"

"Yet our master will not suffer us to return empty-handed, so here is the impasse. We shall see whose will is stronger!" With that final decree, Rasp began to bear down on Kinesis with an even greater strength than before.

From all across the mountain, bells rang aloud. At first, the noise was nothing but a faint distant sound, albeit all-encompassing, but then it started to echo and at that point, the torment started. Now there were bells everywhere, on the ground, in the sky, inside one's mind. Then the dark expanses started to bloom, the little star-like white spots bleeding until below them there was an endless expanse of iridescent shining light.

The bells continued, mostly the loud rhythmic strikes that came and went but also a rising and constant resonance; that resonance had only one source, and it was from the area where Rasp and Kinesis were. Another sound graced only the ears to those two, music, albeit both heard the same melody in different ways. To Rasp, there was the sound of tuned brass teeth being pulled, a sound much more discreet than the bells, but far more agonizing. To Kinesis, there were the howls of the wind that surrounded her, the melody echoing from his very being.

Down in the depths of the Pictaraika, Ilunabar was manipulating the levers and keys of the Orgel. It was terrible to have to test things on the first go, but she had theorized this long ago. If she could hear a faint resonant melody when observing anything mortal, then there was the opposing frequency to that, which, if released, would result in the annihilation of both sides. Anti-Reality. Albeit she had not enough time to deduce the information, the current situation required immediate action; she would not allow Kinesis to be taken by Xos, she had lost a lot already and she would not stay idle and see another person precious to her taken away.

”This... is quite draining." the goddess told her divas, all of them behind her as she played the universe-deafening tune. ”I hope my suspicion is right and this is the leader. Nevertheless, I want all of you to get all defenses ready to be deployed. Give it all."

The form of Rasp, all the wind, dust or even vapor that could be vaguely identified as him started to twist, stretch and bend, all of him shone brightly yet the light of the room did not seem to change, shadows stood still as if he was not there. It was as if an entire universe was collapsing on him, and the ringing and sound never stopped, it just became louder and reached deeper, making it harder even to listen to one's own mind. Then, it went silent. His indomitable grasp upon Kinesis suddenly vanished, and as she fell to the ground she heard the air let loose an agonized howl, and then there was only stillness in that tunnel.

But above, the skies raged and Anshal somehow howled louder than even his firstborn son.

"AAAAARGH! Rasp is fallen, stuck down by fell powers! Avenge him, my brethren! Sweep down and defile this place; grind and erode it until there is nothing left! Rip apart the lifeless constructs of this place! Rage and show them fury of the desert sands!"

And then they did as their lord bid them, and the clouds of sand and dust fell upon Pictairaka. As the raging winds descended, a vast mechanism buried in the valley leading to Kinesis' workshop clicked into life. A network of subterranean vents roared with mighty scorching winds fueled by stored power from the solar forge. Hatches on the surface hinged open by an unseen agency and unleashed these furious winds in forceful columns, with the hatches shuttering open and closed so as to not leave a consistent pattern. These powerful winds battered against the djinn, hindering their progress and tearing apart their formations. Meanwhile, marionettes upon the ground fired bolts from their magical sceptres into the descending dust cloud, bolts of destruction magic tearing apart the elementals' ethereal forms.

With a sneer, Anshal looked down at the trap that had been engineered for them and realized that their attack had hardly been the ambush that they had expected. Those first few groups that had darted down were quickly disorientated and suppressed by the marionette defenders. But while this disruption might have entirely succeeded against the rabbles that the great scions of wind commanded, Anshal's host was small but incredibly disciplined and they excelled at fighting together in compact formations. So Anshal intended to do just that.

His roar cut through the air as sound and resounded within the minds of all "Regroup! To me!"

Those that had ventured down quickly fought their way back into the skies high above the valley where Anshal had waited. However, as they drew together into a line behind Anshal, Ilunabar's own defenses rose up from beneath the clouds. Black spots appeared on the sea of white light below, then flew up towards the djinn and through their clouds. The blades of obsidian, despite coming in ceaseless waves, did nothing to the advancing djinn. Yet, among the blades, there were a few orbs of glass that burst as soon as they reached proper altitude, and from them rapidly growing versions of the Flying Lily Pads she had once gifted to Zephyrion were released. These, however, were not the gentle flowers made for djinn to play with; they grew fast and large like weeds, and within those leaves repugnant looking fruit grew which, when sucked into a wind djinni's vortex, would burst up into a viscous goo that would attach to the dust and vapor of a djinni's constitution until it was so heavy it plummeted down into the distorted land below.

At the same time the plants were released, the ground started to grow brighter, and brighter, becoming about as blinding to look at as the setting sun, then it started to change color, not slowly, but flickering from one hue to another at a maddening speed. Adding to that, the perceived depth and distance of the mountains started to change, such that some onlookers would find themselves about to crash into the rocks while others would feel as if it was becoming a distant visage. Finally, the whole landscape would appear as if it was spinning, the skies and walls of rock dancing up and down, left and right.

As the illusions and manipulation of color peaked, the countless obsidian blades made their return from their heights. Before they came as sole attackers; now they returned like flocks of raves, passing through the djinn with precision. Then flocks united, forming clouds of those blades, and finally all these clouds gathered into one large funnel cloud of rapidly spinning blades. The objective of the blades was not to cut, but to use the massive weight and size of the flying obsidian to dislocate air and create powerful currents.

The disorientating illusions began to quickly confuse those lesser djinn with weaker minds, but through their telepathic communion the vast legions kept their collection sanity, if not quite the perfect cohesion of their formation. Several stragglers were falling off from the group after being struck by the marionettes' magic or by Ilunabar's queer weaponized flowers, but their lord still raged on.

The great vortex of Anshal's form wrapped about one of the massive chunks of obsidian as it fell, tearing it from its trajectory and trapping it within his own body. "I'll destroy your servants with your own weapons!" With that, he hurled the whirling blade and watched as it ricocheted off the ground and destroyed no less than than a half dozen marionettes defenders before coming to a rest.

”The djinn are stealing the obsidian I am using and using it against us." Notte told her master. "Marionette numbers are dropping fast." Piena added. The goddess sighed, tired from using her Orgel. She now recognized Anshal, but it was too late to use the Orgel on him.

"Order them to act in a defensive stance until the anchors are ready. Order the sun mirror to be deployed. Finally, Notte, call off the obsidian storm, instead, use Teknall's design C. Distant turbines to keep them pinned and the attack," the goddess told her divas, before focusing to send a message to her sibling. "As predicted, I am having trouble dealing with the wind elementals with our makeshift efforts. Please tell Kinesis to pay extra attention to her own defenses."

Meanwhile, in the tunnels, Kinesis sat where Rasp had dropped her, breathing heavily and terribly shaken. The sounds of the chaos outside was dull from where she was, although their ferocity was unmistakable even from this distance.

Kinesis, my daughter, get up. The battle is not over yet.

Kinesis looked up as Teknall's voice spoke in her mind. Hearing her father calmed her down, and she pulled herself to her feet. She adjusted her toolbelt and her firearm.

Be wary. The djinni's Flicker still persists, despite the destruction of his body.

Kinesis' head darted around, and her hands twisted the barrel of her firearm, selecting another munition with a click. Cautiously, she peered about herself, searching for any sign of Rasp's Flicker. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a faint glow like that of a firefly, but when she turned to face it the source darted into some cranny. Perhaps it was merely her imagination, but the air in the room also seemed to be gently churning whereas for the past few moments it had been deathly still and stagnant.

Kinesis raised her firearm and scanned the room, but she had no visible target. After a few moments, she asked, "How long does it take an elemental to rematerialise?"

It varies, but I would estimate that given the lingering resonances of Ilunabar's tune it would take this one several hours at a minimum, and he definitely won't be anywhere near as strong as he was before.

Kinesis eyed the air with suspicion for a few more moments, before turning and heading deeper into the tunnels. She went to fortify herself in her workshop and remotely operate her defences from there.

At the same time, Ilunabar's own defenses shifted to adapt to the enemy. The obsidian storm distanced itself from the core of Anshal's army, suddenly breaking up, all blades starting to fall. Some would form massive rings of spinning blades, aiming to keep the air flow of the battle within Ilunabar's control to avoid giving the djinn freedom of movement; others would stop mid air, aiming their tips at the dust clouds but not yet moving.

Marionettes started to fall back if they could move, while, in a distant hill, some of the new models of lever manipulated Marionettes, made from thick refractory ceramic, unveiled a cloth that stood in front of a metallic disk. As soon as it was fully unveiled, it beamed a focused ray of light at searing temperatures. The mirror this was connected to another one, placed in outer space near the planet Ilunabar sometimes used for her purposes. It focused raw sunlight, its spectrum shifted such that Galbar's atmosphere was transparent enough to it to allow propagation, but with just the right absorbance for the air to flare to thousands of degrees at the focal point of the beam (a suggestion from Teknall). In typical Ilunabar fashion, one attack did not come alone, and as soon as the flash of the ray hit, the thunder of the obsidian blades being thrown at near sonic speeds started, another Teknall suggestion, and the blades exploded upon reaching the sound barrier.

The mirror created a ray so intense that it ionized the air before it and effectively disemboweled the vaporous forms of the djinn that fell under its murderous beam. Anshal led the djinn lower to the ground and they cast great volumes of the rocky soil into the air as a protective cloud of dust; that makeshift sandstorm offered some respite and concealed their exact locations. The shards of the explosive obsidian cut through the air and further broke up the formation even as they fell upon some of the straggling marionettes in the valley below as friendly fire. Then after being seemingly suppressed by all the weapons wielded against their formation, Anshal rallied his host once more. They quickly swept horizontal to the mirror's focus, faster than it could be moved to have its focus trace them, and they began to charge its position further up the mountain.

The mirror, while precious artillery, was merely a pawn in the long plan of delaying and hurting the Djinn to make time for more defenses to be prepared. As it became clear they would be overrun, the Marionette delivered one last attack by making the mirror shine its searing light in a wider range in front of them before the thing went dull, no longer refracting the sunlight as the Djinn stormed it. All of the sonic blades were released at once upon the elemental reaching the spot, bombarding the area they knew they would take to stop the mirror, albeit it was obvious by now it would not be enough. The foremost djinni was of course Anshal, and the mighty lord rebuffed the projectiles with utter indifference as they passed through him; his was a storm too large to be undone. The elementals behind him pushed forward a wave of dust and dirt that fell upon the mirror and rendered it useless, whilst Anshal swept up the marionette operators and hurled them down the mountainside.

They had suffered attrition, but now the valley's defenses were failing. Through brute strength, Anshal had torn them to pieces. With even more brute strength, he intended to attain vengeance. Breaching their way into the subterranean parts of Pictairaka seemed like a good place to start. With a mighty heave, Anshal and his entire host began to tear the mirror free from its restraints. They carried it high into the air and then dropped it, the heavy disc of silvered glass landing with a resounding thud, its impact powerful enough to bite into the ground and cause a collapse. The tunnels directly below it began to cave in, and as the rubble swept through the corridors, so too did a stream of djinn blast their way through the loose dirt.

"Kinesis, Teknall, I have depleted my current arsenal. The magic bolts and the plants will continue to be used, but that will not be enough. I will be preparing more weapons, but those will take a while. Can your defenses hold them back for long, Kinesis?"

"I hope so."

The djinn found themselves in a labyrinthine network of tunnels, which must have once been a mine. Most of the tunnels were dark and abandoned, but as they neared Rasp's location the retinue came upon some of Kinesis' traps. Blocking their way were jets of burning oil and sheets of flaming gas. They had already seen these obstacles through the eyes of Rasp when he had first traversed these tunnels, so they were prepared. They swept down the corridors with them a great volume of the soil that had fallen into the tunnels, and when they came upon the jets they spared no time in plugging and burying them with dirt. They advanced with an alacrity fueled by their lord's cold anger, until they came across a tiny eddy flitting through the otherwise stagnant air of the tunnels. Anshal knew at once that this was Rasp, or what little his son had managed to reform of himself. He was weak now, but still alive. Rasp moved as if to take head of the group, but he was too weak, and his father too relieved. Anshal had his son fall into line with the ranks behind.

They moved on, slower now but still with purpose, until they came across a reinforced door. It stymied their efforts, for while breaching such a thing would have been child's play for any djinni lord of flame or stone or even water, Anshal and his incorporeal lot could hardly dent it. "Sweep the area! There is always another way."

The droves of elementals under his command turned over every nook and cranny of the tunnels around, until one came across a discreet air vent. It had a grate over it, but that was easily torn free. Though he thought it unbecoming for one of his stature, Anshal compressed himself and forced his way through the tiny vent. His following were on his heels advancing through in single file, and though the progress was slow by the standards of windjinn, they soon found their way through the labyrinth of vents and emerged somewhere on the other side of the door that had barred their path.

They've bypassed the door, using the air vents. They have emerged in Branch A17.

Kinesis, from the supposed safety of her workshop, was startled by the news. She slid her chair over to a series of labelled handles which had been hastily installed in one corner of her workshop, with cables snaking out of the boxes and through the walls. Her hands hovered over the handles. "A17, A17..." Finding the handles she wanted, she took hold of them and forcefully pushed them down. Electrical impulses raced through a few of the cables and along the mine shafts until reaching walls near the elementals. There the pulses entered boxes of explosives, supplied by Teknall, strapped discretely to the walls and ceiling. They detonated with a sharp explosion, tearing through stone and air alike and collapsing the tunnels. A thunderous roar rumbled through the rest of the tunnels, and dust was shaken free when the vibrations passed through Kinesis' workshop.

You did remember to block the air vents, right?

Kinesis' eyes flew to the vents in her own workshop, made to carry away dust, smoke and fumes. Teknall's voice continued, Alchemist's cement would make a good blockage, given your time constraints.

Kinesis picked her firearm back up, rotated the barrel to the correct munition, and hurried over to the vents. She removed the grating, stuck the barrel of her weapon into the vent and pulled the trigger. A cartridge of alchemists' cement burst within the stone vent, rapidly expanded to fill it, then hardened. She repeated this process for each vent.

The djinni lord lives, although the tunnels are quite blocked, Teknall informed Kinesis.

And then there was a long, deathly silence in her control room. The wait was nothing at first, but it was like she had held her breath and dove into water, and now the tension and pressure were only growing as she sank deeper and deeper.

There was a creaking that echoed through the stone walls. It sounded like the agonized groan of metal being strained, but it was probably no more than the weight settling upon the nearby air vents and other various rooms. The entire complex had just been rocked by a chain of explosions, after all. But then there was a soft hiss, followed by a scratching sound. A faint smell of smoke began to waft into the room, with the horrifying implication that there was somehow a breach that led into the detonated sections. But to her eyes there were no visible holes in sight, no signs of any tunneling.

The hissing grew louder, and it quickly became apparent that it was coming from inside one of the air vents that she had blocked with cement. In its hasty solidification, the cement had been created with substantial porosity, and now the tiny pockets of gases trapped within the dry cement were forcing their way out; there could be only one thing manipulating them so. The logical step was to plug that vent with even more cement, but it was in vain. As that second layer dried, it too began to hiss before the cement had even fully formed. The lime and various components in the alchemical cement suddenly seemed to erupt; the compounds were shattered at a molecular level as oxygen and carbon dioxide broke free to explosive effect, and the cement plug was reduced to nothing but sandy grains. One massive, indomitable elemental lord swept into the room as an ashen, sooty haze.

With a scream Kinesis staggered back from the wind lord. Her hand picked up a bejewelled sceptre, swung it around to Anshal and unleashed a beam of destructive magic, tearing through the djinni and the wall behind him. But then, the smoke was all about her. This elemental was so swift that her eyes could hardly even register movement, much less follow, but the entire room reverberated with his rapid motion. Trapped within the vortex of his body, unrelenting and absolutely overpowering winds wreathed her. He was far, far more powerful than that previous assailant had been, and in his grasp she was not even strong enough to struggle. Try and strain as hard as she could, the raging air pressed her into stillness and her body could not even squirm.

Anshal held her in that oppressive state for a few moments, seeming to contemplate what to do next. There were no words that escaped the vaporous lord in that time. Quickly enough, a decision was made; thrashing her limb about as if she was merely a ragdoll, he had her swing her sceptre again with so much force that it felt as though her arm would come free of its socket. Once, twice, thrice. Again and again he forced the motion. With every swing the artifact hurled another bolt of magic, and it became clear that he was going to blast a way back to the surface using the very weapon that she had sought to wield against him. Before long, he had already breached the layer of stone that separated the control room from another section of the tunnels farther up. As agonising pain shot through Kinesis' arm, she forced her fingers to uncurl against Anshal's pressure, and the sceptre came free and floated within Anshal's form. That was no matter; he could sense that its stored energy had been nearly depleted. He hurled the sceptre forward and allowed the last of its power to come free as the magical gem exploded.

Anshal lifted his quarry up into the next section of tunnel, only to come across several sceptre-wielding marionettes that had seemingly been attracted to the sounds of explosion. They didn't even have time to react to his presence before they were met with Kinesis' fate, swept up by unstoppable winds and made to act as the djinni lord's puppets as they used their weapons to mine upward. The marionettes had been the first to react to the sounds of his explosive digging, but they were not the last. A steady stream of surviving djinn made their way to him in varying states of weakness, but they all wordlessly joined the lord. With bitter determination they set about using their erosive powers to aid him.

The going was rapid, as far as mining went by mortal standards, but it was still time intensive. Meanwhile, Kinesis was kept under that unwavering and strangling hold, and there was nothing to be done but to watch and listen. Several faintly pulsing and detached flickers likewise drifted to rejoin their lord, the fallen djinn slowly reforming their bodies; perhaps the first of her assailants was somewhere among them. Between the steady roar of erosive winds and the deafening boom of Anshal using the magical scepters, faint echos of other faroff explosions occasionally sounded. In other sections of the tunnel complex, other separated groups of djinn were still fighting the marionette defenders and triggering traps as they too sought a way to regroup with their lord and make an escape.

When the first rays of light from the outside slipped through the cracks from above, the djinn seemed to find renewed fervor and a second wind. There was a sonic boom as Anshal instantly crushed his marionette puppets and allowed their sceptres to clatter onto the ground. The other djinn drew up behind him, and then they surged upward in unison and blasted their way through what little rocky soil remained between themselves and the open sky. With nothing but sky above Anshal and his host, and Kinesis in his grasp, victory seemed certain.

Suddenly, a hypersonic rod of adamantine ripped through Anshal's form and Flicker. The following shockwave and blast of ionised air shredded the mighty windlord apart with divine fury. At the beginning of the projectile's trail stood Teknall, cloaked in his Mirror Armour and holding up his railgun, with a droningbird hovering beside him. The echoes of this thunderous report rumbled throughout the mountains. Kinesis, free once more, tumbled downwards, and Teknall stepped across the valley and caught her. The rest of the djinn scattered like the dust on the wind that they were.

Kinesis was still trembling from her ordeal. "Kinesis, my daughter, the elementals are gone now," Teknall said, his voice resonating from within his armour. He set Kinesis down on her feet. "Come, let us get deeper into Pictaraika before-"

A ray of magic struck Teknall with such power that it breached even the Mirror Armour, and in the wake of so much energy there followed an explosion that hurled away Kinesis and tore apart the droningbird. It was perhaps serendipity that his armor had failed to deflect the attack, otherwise it might have leveled the mountain and torn Kinesis asunder. But there was no time to contemplate twists of fate or even to look towards Kinesis, for Teknall was on his knees and Xos manifested within an arm's span. If shadows and masks could ever gloat, they did so in that moment when Xos stood triumphant and smug in his trap's success.

He cast his empty gaze down towards Teknall's shuddering body. "Hmph. Zephyrion always held you in high esteem." He brought out the Primordial Spark from its hiding place in the black maelstrom beneath his armor. The tiny jewel rested upon his palm and drowned away the entirety of his body in a sea of blinding light. "But I? I look upon you and sense only a feast. I see you for the writhing worm that you are."

Pain shot through Teknall's body from the injury he had received, but his mind was sharpened to a point by the threat and his attention crystallised around Xos. The beam of power, the shade's destructive aura, the Primordial Spark at rest; these first-hand observations were synthesised with the recording of Xos' fight with Jvan in a fraction of a moment. And from Teknall's memory repeated Toun's words: 'Xos will kill one more. See that it is not you.'

In an instant Teknall conjured his maul and delivered a blow of enormous force to the shade, slamming Xos into the mountain behind him. With calculated precision Teknall struck the ground with his maul with the follow-up from his swing, driving up pillars of earth which buried Xos just as he hit the mountain.

"Run!" Teknall shouted to Kinesis. He then blinked across the valley to gain some more distance from Xos. The Shard Conduit spun out from empty space and affixed itself to Teknall's armour, its power restoring the faltering shields on the Mirror Armour. He drew his railgun and held it ready for Xos' next appearance. Toun, Xos is here, Teknall called telepathically. Hurry! I can't hold him for long.

"Hmph."

The blinding light of the Spark once again washed over Teknall. Xos had reappeared. A darkened hand reached out to grab Teknall and bring him to the ground, and under Xos' withering touch the Mirror Armour's shields failed once more. Teknall lashed out with his hammer, striking at Xos' head. The helmet crumpled beneath the weight of the hammer, but the disfigured visage on the mask still bore the same empty gaze. When the hammer's head came free, even its adamantine bulk had been corroded and cracked. Utterly unfazed, the shade lifted his pearl high, then brought down the Primordial Spark itself upon Teknall's body and pressed it into him. Teknall drew the reserved power from the Stellar Engine via the Shard Conduit and funnelled it all into his armour. The shields flared back into life and the light of the Primordial Spark reflected off the Mirror Armour in a dazzling display. For several long seconds the landscape around the two gods boiled away under the exposed fury of the Primordial Spark. In these moments Teknall tried in vain to pull away from Xos, but the shade was far stronger than the craftsman. Panic set in as Teknall's plans ran out.

The well of power from which the Primordial Spark drew was far deeper than the Stellar Engine, and the latter's reserves of energy soon ran dry. Xos felt his adversary's resistance fade as he burned away underneath the spark's searing power. Teknall screamed in agony.

A rasping laugh escaped from Xos' helmet. "Let us see if the smith can withstand the forge that wrought me."

The Primordial Spark surged with the entropic fury of the universe, and reality itself seemed to bend and burn. A shadowy appendage lifted the Spark's fiery weight off of Teknall and dragged it across the open air. It cut a gash into the nothingness of reality, then opened a rift that swallowed the world.

The sun was gone, replaced by a gaping void in the sky. Instead of stars, there were a thousand thousand deadlights that faced out into every corner of the universe. Kinesis clambered closer, gasping for breath, but it wasn't true air that she was breathing. The raw magic that saturated this place filled her lungs and dissolved her very being, but at least this strange air didn't carry the sound of terrified choking. Through one of the windows above, Conata watched in mute horror, blind to the shadowy tendrils that grasped at her from behind. Through other windows were maddening glimpses of an unfathomable creature, staring with eyes-mouths-orifices-teeth, reaching with tentacles-claws-fangs-feelers through the windows, trying to get closer to Teknall. In yet another, there was an entirely unfamiliar monster: some oily abomination of darkness and inky slime gazed down with its red eyes. Xos manifested beside its fetid, globular mass, and it knelt down in His presence.

With a few rapid blinks, the deadlights blurred and then began to fade altogether along with the faces of those that peered through. They were all so faint, just the most paltry of golden lights, a sickly color besides the immaculate white of the porcelain figure looming over him. Toun. Teknall reached out and tried to plead for aid, but Teknall's throat tightened and no words could come out. Toun's eye stared down at Teknall with a look of scorn and derision. But then, Teknall looked more closely at Toun, and saw that his robes of flowing porcelain were not so pristine after all. There were tiny streaks, blemishes...red cracks. They were growing, tracing out twisted maddening patterns. Toun let out a pained cry, and then the cracks at once became massive fissures and he crumbled and became nothing more than a pile of broken clay fragments. The figure of a golden djinni appeared next, and when it beheld Toun's fate it wept tears of gentle flames. But then it banished all its remorse and found resolve to replace it. The djinni set about sweeping up the pieces, gathering up all that it could fit into its hands before absconding with them.

Then Galbar stretched out from Teknall, and it was burning. White fire descended from the heavens and devoured villages, hain burning from inside out before their exoskeletons too were reduced to ash. Gerrik crumpled down as stones were hurled at him, before invisible claws rent him apart in a spray of crimson gore. Human towns were flooded by oceans which stripped the flesh off their bones and levelled their buildings. Herds of urtelem were torn apart by eldritch tentacles and claws and reduced to gravel by howling winds. Countless Rovaick were crushed as the Ironhearts collapsed in on themselves, and the dwarves perished in droves as lava surged up to consume their mountain homes. Then primordial chaos blossomed in the sky and the atmosphere was rent asunder. The primal fury of the Shattering Disunity consumed all life and civilisation upon the face of the planet, boiled away the oceans and ground the mountains to dust, before the planet itself shattered and was hurled to the far reaches of the universe.

Spinning in this void Teknall saw his siblings. Kyre, his flesh burned away to leave a charred skeleton. Belruarc, her front sliced open and her innards spilled out. Reathos, butchered apart and torn to pieces. Vowzra, consumed by claws which were teeth which were mouths which were tentacles which were hands which were madness. Vulamera, clutching her head in madness and her soul compressed to a point. Vakarlon, flesh peeled off from his body and reduced to sludge. Vestec, torn limb from limb as his flesh was slowing disintegrated by a withering aura. Mammon, his body withering away and consumed by demons. Julkolfyr, swallowed by darkness with a hideous wail. Jvan, her mountainous body burned to bedrock, sliced into pieces, then exploding into an all-consuming tangle of twisted spacetime and eldritch teeth and eyes and tentacles.

The unfathomable limbs and appendages filled all of space, and Teknall was surrounded by the Other. A small yet uncountable number of things which could be mistaken for eyes observed the weak and dying god with a soulless stare. Sounds of chittering, static and sucking assaulted Teknall's ears and pressed down on his mind. Limbs which could not be described reached towards Teknall, getting closer. The world distorted around the maddening abomination, an eldritch pressure bearing down on Teknall like fire. And it was getting closer. Eons ticked by like seconds and second became eons as time lost meaning and entropy and chaos were replaced by things so utterly alien as to cause reality to tear itself apart in protest. Tentacles of black oblivion prised open the cracks and let forth breath which carried the cold chill of death.

And it kept getting closer.

---

Jvan waited, wearing a sarashi and a big silver knife and not a substantial amount else, swimming circles in the clear blue waters of Atoll. They curled their many-finned tail upon the endless mosaic floor of the palatine cathedral, and gently turned some idle thoughts as they studied the sounds echoing in from outside.

Coral breaking. Screams. People moving very quickly. It was much like they had expected.

The grand door banged with a shoulder thrust against it, then slid open soundlessly. Jvan raised head and looked up through a pair of fractal lenses to see two more Kirghal join the room, three hundred fins whipping in rippling waves along the sides of their tails. Prrhyi was resting both upper-arms upon his shoulders, gauntlet-blades curving easy over his knuckles. His lower-hands held a pneumatic pike.

Ceeln, of course, swam up as close to Jvan as they needed to be to embrace, but eventually resisted the urge. Jvan smiled. Ceeln did not smile.

Said Prrhyi, “Tueda, the Senate is taking the city.” As if it needed to be announced. “We are leaving. Now.”

“I know.”

Ceeln did not question Jvan’s calm, but was thankful for it. “We can leave by the Palatine tunnels. If you’ve-”

“I haven’t,” said Jvan. “We’re not leaving that way. We’re taking the Horror.” Ceeln looked again, noticed the myriad tools on Jvan’s knifebelt. Heard Prrhyi’s caution. But nodded.

“Lead the way.”

It was a quick and lethal route to the reef where lay the war engines, though not so lethal as Prrhyi had warned. Jvan had helped clear the route for them. Ceeln briefly touched each drifting body as they passed, and was only slightly less disturbed by the way the bodies had been carved, than by the way Jvan had managed to strike every last one in the back.

These were things Ceeln would become very used to over the course of the civil war.

They swam out into the blue of the open sea and Jvan flipped the glowing stone key out of their knifebelt. In the sea-filtered mid-day light, Ceeln’s ailing eyes came to the aid of their hands and ears, and saw the Horror. Ceeln recognised it instantly, even as a blur of black, and wondered again at how Jvan’s creation towered over the other war-engines. There was something foreign about it, though Jvan had never left the city of Atoll. Something primal, almost sublime- some cruel aesthetic twist that neither exalted nor belied its duty to kill.

Prrhyi’s vision was none so poor, nor so easily led aside. “We’ve been sighted. Tueda! They’re bringing war-whales!” Prrhyi’s hand clamped Ceeln’s wrist and his ample body dragged the smaller worm along like a toy. “They know where we are.”

“Yes,” said Jvan, thinking: Excellent. “Come in quickly. The hold.” Still acutely conscious of the beasts the Senate had hired and how quickly they were closing, Prrhyi pushed Ceeln into the copilot’s niche, stuffed himself into the Horror’s cargo bay, and trusted the now-rogue Senator. Ceeln realised suddenly that Jvan’s niche was the only one with controls.

Sharp zips and chirps echoed through the Horror as it came alive under Jvan’s fingertips. It kicked off from the reef, folded away its massive legs, and thrashed into the sunlit waters with such force that a smaller engine toppled in the wake of its tail.

Vast as it was, the Horror did not have time to escape the mercenary beasts before they closed. Grapples were shot, gripped the surface of the Horror, held; teams of saboteurs crawled their way up along the cables and onto the hull, wielding explosive kits. Ceeln and Jvan, it seemed, were not wanted alive.

Jvan’s lower-hands cracked their knuckles and traced eight circles over the smooth interface. Valves blew open along the sides of the war-engine, releasing charges of razor eels. Inside the Horror, Ceeln heard nothing, but watched Jvan’s alarm-lights flash back to normal, one by one. No more saboteurs.

Jvan accelerated the Horror towards the city’s edge with the whales still in tow. With another arcane gesture, the Horror’s sonic weaponry pressurised, released a blast of sound that dislodged the grappling cables. It pressurised again, focused, amplified, and penetrated the closest war-whale with a pulsed echo that crashed into the city below, razing gardens, leaving the beast to drown and sink under the weight of its broken spine.

“That was my favourite garden,” said Jvan. Ceeln tried to find emotion in the voice of their twin.

Free of pursuit, the Horror churned away from the grand city, out from its towering reefs and into the open sea beyond. Ceeln breathed, then was startled out of calm, clutched suddenly to the padding of the copilot’s niche by a set of hidden restraints.

“We’re taking a dive,” Jvan advised, wearing no restraints at all, and sent the Horror plunging into the dark. Ceeln waited.

“…Where are we?”

“The tunnels,” said Jvan.

“We’re not in the palatine tunnels.” Jvan laughed a relaxed and brotherly laugh that darkened Ceeln’s thoughts.

“No, we’re deeper. We’re in the magma tubes, under all of Atoll.”

The obfuscation of deep water grew suddenly blacker as they passed away from the last of the light. No wonder Ceeln felt so alone- these were the god-tunnels, the undersea haunt of the Cavern Lord, Achozaal. Some said all of Atoll was built to contain him. “We can’t hide here, Jvan. Once they find the palatine tunnels empty, they will go deeper. They’ll come for us.”

“I’m not hiding,” said Jvan, and Ceeln heard something pressurise. Jvan traced a supple finger over the words scratched into the inner walls of her masterwork.

'Ringing, Call, yet Mask Faces Not; Blinding, Discern Song; for that which Sees gives Voice its Hooded Glam, Unreaching, and ye who Know be the Bell that Beckons- a Socket in the Skull of the Choir.'

Ceeln heard the crack of the Horror clamping into place, the groan of the great ram winding back.

“Jvan…”

The collision slammed the Prrhyi against the wall of the hold, blew the water from Ceeln’s lungs, banged a still-unrestrained Jvan’s head against the forward window, and rocked and shuddered on long after the war-engine recovered, deep into the guts of Atoll City’s foundations. Woozily nursing a bruise, Jvan strapped in and prepared the next blow.

“Jvan!”

The Horror ram crashed again into the stone, an instant of shock that quaked earth, cracked rock. Ceeln lay, near deafened, even under the Horror’s heavy armour; the sound reverberated through all the city and all the ocean, was heard in the very dreams of those who would survive the war to come, reverberated forever more, and was feared.

“Tueda!”

Jvan rubbed three palms against two eyespots, and, one-handed, steered the Horror away. Ceeln lay recovering.

“Strap yourself in.”

“I… have,” said Jvan, light of head. Ceeln exhaled.

The pressure pushing Ceeln’s tail up against the top of the niche told them that the Horror was rising. Ceeln saw the blue blur through the war-engine’s eyes brighten, but the sunlight brought their soul no warmth.

“We’ll have to… We have to… Fight the Senate, Ceeln. We have to fight it again. Soon. I don’t want to fight them if they-” Waving hands, as if Jvan’s sisterbrother hadn’t preempted their entire sentence. “The treasury, the war-engines. The people. They’ll come for us again. But without Atoll on their side.”

Ceeln nodded, reaching out to grab Jvan’s wavering lower-hand and grip it. “I know. I understand.” Ceeln had understood from the minute the Horror had aimed its ram, though they would never have guessed that such powers were possible, even from Jvan. Guilt stabbed Ceeln. They had underestimated their little twin.

Atoll and its wealth would not be wielded against them. Ceeln squinted through the windows as the war-engine turned south. No, Atoll would not be wielded against them, because Atoll lay in ruins. The song of quake and aftershock still echoed from the capital, and would do so for many days as the city’s volcanic foundations collapsed on themselves, folded up and vanished into the tunnels below, a maze of lost bodies and crushed buildings from which many Kirghal would one day be born. Ceeln prayed that the noise would not reach them through the war-engine’s armour, but sounds carry far under water, and the blind have keen ears.

It had been worth it. Not worth the decade or so that Ceeln had left to live. But for the centuries ahead of their slow-aging sister, it had been worth it. So Ceeln believed.

“Jvan...”

“...”

“It’s in ruins. I know it is. I can hear it.”

“I know,” said Jvan, squirming in their seat, turning back to watch the city of their birth as it crumbled. For a while no more words were passed, but it was not a silence of shock.

“...You always thought this place was beautiful.”

And Jvan, who had carved a pattern into the skull of every palace guard they’d murdered, replied: “It still is.”

And Ceeln trusted Jvan, seeing, if only for a moment, if only through blind eyes, if only through a veil of despair for what a sister could become- seeing the horror and the beauty as one.

---

Jvan’s right upper-hand drew lazy perfect circles over the skin of the commander-engine, watching the lifter-engine in its pheromonal thrall inch closer and closer to the Project. Her left hands both fidgeted with a scrap of godmeat they’d picked off the workshop floor an hour ago, and her right lower-hand held a stick of some biomechanical wizardry, a little tube grown like a tower.

Closer, closer, closer closer closer.

Cakk!

The fleshen mountain of a mechanism butted against its socket, casting a bright daylight shadow wide enough to lose villages in. Jvan slowly relaxed the cords holding the socket open, letting it clamp the mechanism into place. The lifter-engine withdrew. Everything held.

Jvan harumphed with a whisper of a smile. Taking the tip of the tube in her teeth, the demigod took a shallow breath through her crushed lungs, let the device whirr; wheezed out a cloud of black fog, marked with a wisp of carmine. The command-engine purred.

Yanking a bolt on the prosthetic steel legs that took over where her body terminated at the navel, Jvan flicked open a familiar silver switchblade and jammed it into the thick flesh of the Project. A metal leap threw her from the shaded canopy of the command-engine, and she let gravity take her down the slope of flesh, skidding on two legs and a knife edge down to a lower level of the Project, leaving a deep, long cut behind her.

But what was ‘deep’, on a Project this vast? Jvan looked off the side of the slope and saw its shadow stretching beyond the horizon.

She leapt off to a lower slope, and clanked towards a special cavity. The joyride had burnt her skin again, though it had only taken a few seconds. Jvan didn’t mind. She loved the way her fragile deep-water skin scorched in the terrestrial sunlight, the sensation of old meat sloughing, loved the patterns she made as she stitched new skin on. She liked them even better than the ones left by the natural healing process she’d experienced when she was alive.

“In today?”

Jvan’s voice echoed into the cavity, down into the endless caverns riddling the Project, past innumerable chants and poems written in scars. She waited a few seconds, long enough for the command-engine to catch up and skitter back next to her, then shrugged. She took another half-lungful of stimulants, adjusted her old fractal goggles.

The sun was bright. So bright.

Jvan tapped the hinge of her knife to her lips, thinking. Then she clambered on top of the command-engine, settled her land legs into ‘stable base’ configuration, and flicked it open.

“‘Tis familiar, to see yon youthful artist catch the germ of inspiration,” said a slow and ancient voice from the cavity. “Hast thou finally seized upon a name?”

“Yes,” said Jvan, carving two lines in a deep right-angle glyph taller than she was, then another, identical to it. ‘L L’.

The Cavern Lord crept a little closer to the mouth of the cavity, carried by a myriad spidery legs, ancient goblin face asmirk with curiosity. “And shall yon youthful artist tell her patron what that name may be?”

“You’ll see,” said Jvan. She carved a set of three horizontal lines connected by a vertical one, then a narrow angle with a bar across it. ‘E A’

She took another breath of stimulance, feeling her broken torso spasm around her ribs. She drew another glyph, a vertical line with a horizontal one descending, then one with three equilateral rays. ‘T Y’

Jvan motioned the command-engine back and looked at what she had carved.

A L L - B E A U T Y

She quirked a smile.

“A curious nomer, suited to a curious being.”

“Yes.”

“Be it the second Horror?”

“No,” said the demigod. “The Horror was a moment. Like an image from a dream. My whole life was just a flash of colour and music, a singular aesthetic, flowering in a moment, gone in the blink of an eye. But my Project will last forever.”

“Yet Horror has not abandoned thee.”

“No. It hasn’t. And it never will, Achozaal. Horror is my art. It’s my gift to the universe, my splash of blood on a colourless canvas. All-Beauty is the horrorsome, the free body that will carry my gift to the next world and enrich it, make it brighter, darker, more strange. It will live among the gods.” Jvan turned to the goblin god, watched his spiderlegged body rest motionless in the cavity, hiding from the sun, patient as the newt from which he took his shape. “But horror is just one art. All-Beauty will witness all beauty. Horror, glory, silence, peace, rage… All. It’s my gift, and eternity will be my reward.”

Achozaal thumbed his gossamer beard and gazed upon the Project. Her reward, indeed.

“Art thou well suited to eternity, Tueda of House Nuul?”

Jvan shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? If I see everything, I’ll just start again.”

And Achozaal thought: Ah.

---

“-she wouldn’t. There’s nothing for her to take here. Tueda is practical more than she’s a killer.”

“You don’t know that, Qelang! You know nothing! There’s nothing stopping her from-”

“What do you think will happen if we swim? That’s the Horror, fool! The fucking Horror! She has us cornered anyway, it’ll only-”

A sound flashed, a snap of distorted static, so high and so brief that it was no more perceptible than a flash in a thunderstorm, leaving nothing but tinnitus and death. Jvan crept from the Horror and swam into the limestone village, wearing no armour. There was nothing left to be slain.

The bodies of Qelang and his friend lay on the brown-coral floor of the village, bleeding from the mouth, the gills, the eyes. It was the first time Jvan had seen one of the Shark Folk up close; they weren’t a common kind of merm in Atoll.

But they still bleed red? thought Jvan. Jvan lifted the body of Qelang, such that it could be lifted by thin arms (even four of them). He was bigger than Jvan, though his tail was shorter.

I wonder what it tastes like. Jvan pulled off their goggles and pressed their lips to the body’s bleeding gills, softly kissing its neck. Oh. Like that. They kissed it again, for good measure.

Jvan let go of the body and put the goggles on again. Lifted a hand to their goggles. Pink- translucent pale skin, and carmine blood underneath. Ceeln’s skin was the same, but their blood ran umber. Strange, how common red blood was in the fish people, and how rare in Jvan’s own.

One day I’ll have shining blood, thought Jvan. They opened their silver knife and put a small cut in their wrist, wincing a just a little. Deep, crimson blood, as expected. Blood in blue and gold and green and pink. But eventually, I’ll come back to red. I like this colour.

These were good moments, moments Jvan was fond of. Alone, unsupervised, and powerful, surrounded by flesh over which Jvan had control, it was like the days they had spent in their workshop, years ago, before they had worked for the Senate. But there was no time for these things any more. Jvan sighed and swished up and back to the Horror.

Target neutralised, Jvan later signalled across the seabed to Ceeln’s vast army, via the war-engine’s whalesong. Then, Life is too short to see everything.

---

Jvan hovered, laying back, the light of the sun filtered yet warm in the surface-waters. Below, the city of Atoll lay thrumming, rebuilding, makeshift bridges strung across the crevasse left by the quakes slowly being replaced by new coral.

It was over, said the people aloud. They were wrong, and they knew it, and everyone knew that they knew it. The life they knew had been over since the moment Ceeln fled the city with their sister and war captain. What had begun on that day was only now starting to reach its crescendo. The war had not been the throes of death, but of birth.

Even now, Prrhyi and his men were chasing the last of the old Senate through the streets, marking them one by one for trial or for slaughter. Even now, the body of Jvan’s would-be replacement lay alongside them on the roof of the Palatine Tower, carved from gills to tail-tip, a trophy to behold.

Jvan waited for the cry that was inevitable.

“Jvan!”

There it was.

Ceeln shone in the daylight, so bright their armour, so bright their voice. On a day years ago, Ceeln had found Jvan on the same roof, spoken to them in the same voice, to give them the gift that Jvan now wore as a trademark, those bright fractal goggles; but now Ceeln was old, senescing rapidly, though the twins’ years numbered the same. Now it was Jvan who was nearing the prime of life. A prime that could last for centuries.

“Ceeln!”

The two collided, and embraced. Jvan’s goggles banged on Ceeln’s collarbones and they both winced. Then they laughed. Said no one: it is done.

“Jvan...”

Nameless feelings in Jvan’s chest swelled until Ceeln realised that some things cannot be spoken over. Ceeln rubbed a hand on Jvan’s back, felt hot young blood still pumping. Jvan’s grip was now as strong as Ceeln’s was. “...It’s for you,” they said eventually. Jvan perched their chin on Ceeln’s shoulder and listen.

“All I am and all I was, all this war has won… It’s for you. Take it. It’s all I could ask that you take it. You loved this city, and you still do. I pass it on. It’s yours now. Make it...” The right words escaped Ceeln, but when they saw the face of the one to whom they were speaking, the word came unbidden. “Make it beautiful.”

“...Thank you.” Jvan held their sister with shivering hands and wavering eyes, able not to savour the moment, only to live it. “Thank you.”

Jvan opened their knife into Ceeln’s chest.

There was a briefest heartbeat of surprise, then Ceeln clutched Jvan again, tighter than ever. Jvan wrangled back a sob.

You gave me the world, Jvan half-mouthed, half-whispered. You asked nothing else. Ceeln. You knew this was coming, didn’t you? Somewhere in your heart of hearts, you knew you’d be my martyr. But you loved me. And you were afraid. But you loved me. And you let me have it all. I was a child, but you made me as a god.

“...Ceeln?”

...

“...Ceeln...”

Jvan kissed their sister’s forehead, feeling something, then let the body lay. As Jvan watched, it began to break open, both it and the body Jvan had prepared to frame as its murderer falling slowly apart into pieces, pieces that would one day emerge from the plankton as new life. One by one the germs of Ceeln’s descendents disappeared into the ocean, leaving only a sister for an heir. In death, Jvan saw that he was male.

They stayed there for some time.

But that time was never Fated to be long.

“T H O U O F F E R T H Y S E L F A C I T Y,” said God. “B U T I G I V E T H E E S O M U C H M O R E.”

Jvan turned and felt true terror. Everything turned black, everything turned cold, everything turned silent. Rising from the tunnels, from the depths of the earth from which this petty palace had been raised, and now gazing upon her with eyes that had been blind since the moment of God’s birth, was the Ancient.

“H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A H A”

Jvan tried to escape, but Achozaal was God and Reality was His web. Surrounded by His spider limbs, Jvan could not even turn from the face of the Cavern Lord, but was forced to behold it, and melt before its awe.

“LONG HAVE I WATCHED THEE, TUEDA OF HOUSE NUUL. LONG HAVE I WAITED. DID THOU NOT REALISE? WITHIN THEE SLUMBERS THE SEED OF THE DIVINE.” Achozaal undulated forth on the goblin-headed body of the newt, took Jvan’s knife in His delicate hands. “TODAY THOU HAST PROVEN THY WILL TO POWER.”

Achozaal lay his hand on the chest of the Kirghal. Jvan’s lungs imploded, crushing their chest, quenching the feeble spark of Fate they called a life.

“TODAY THAT SEED SWIMS FREE.”

With a swipe of Jvan’s own knife, Achozaal cleaved Jvan’s oh-so-human upper body from the tail. Female in death, Jvan’s severed flesh split open- and was immolated in god-flame, ending her mutant lineage forever. Only a whisper of undead lust would remain.

Still laughing, Achozaal reached into his chest and tore out his own cavernous grey lung, forced it into Jvan’s arms. It heaved and inhaled, breathing life into her carcass: life unliving, unfeeling, undying. Jvan awoke a demigod.

“FROM THIS FLESH,” said Achozaal, “SHALL THEE BUILD THY TRUE REWARD.”

With a blur of divine power, Achozaal departed that place, and took his darkness with him.

All that remained was the blood of Jvan, hanging in the waters like a carmine fog.

---

Jvan lay, laughing, upon the spray of earth that surrounded the god-sized crater. The tip of the spear shone in the night, illuminated by a distant fire, a raging glow on the horizon that was slowly growing closer. Jvan put her hands around its haft and felt where it impaled her.

They’d missed. The idiots.

Growing woozy, Jvan settled her head such as she could against the bank of mud and stone, prosthetic legs still kicking deep trenches into the well-turned dirt. The silhouette of her wrecked command-engine grew clearer as the fire grew closer, as did the sound of the army still approaching. Too late. They could kill her, maybe, if they had the aim for it- hah! - but too late.

The crater now lay empty. All-Beauty was gone.

Gone where? She didn’t know. All she knew was that it was gone- somewhere, somewhen, into a new world, into a new life. A Jvanic emulator, carrying within it everything that was Jvan.

What would it see? What would it do? Jvan could only dream, and laugh.

Oh, the joy of birth!

As for her, well, she had no intention of waiting out another army. With a shaking upper hand, Jvan flicked open her trusty silver knife, and ran it across her wrists. The psychochemical preservatives in her veins ran down into her lap, fluorescing in every colour. Blue and gold and green and pink.

Now, thought Jvan, laying her head in the fading nothing. Now I want to start anew.

---

Thus end the revelations of our Lord.

Praise unto All-Beauty.

Flashes of white, purple, yellow and lavender fill my vision; my consciousness is then covered in a haze that could only be related to absolute darkness.

.

. .

. . .

It is the skull-splitting pain in my head that awakens me, and as I open my eyes, with my vision blurry and my mind in disarray, the first thing that I see are the blades of grass swaying to and fro with the breeze, with the horizon behind them and the blue early morning sky above all.

But those things do not catch my attention. I struggle to my feet.

Most of my wooden armor was missing or damaged beyond repair so I quickly strip out of whatever remained on my form and stared at my left wrist, where a crude message had been carved and scarred onto the sensitive skin.

‘KILL THE TRAITOR’

A chill went down my spine and I felt a tightness in my chest. My vision goes red and I start breathing rapidly and grunting as my body threatens to lose its balance.

“GGGRRAAAAAHH!”

I roar as I turn and smash my fist into a tree.

I take a few deep breaths and calm down. I look at the tree I just punched and admire the cracked and splintered surface my fist left behind and then look at my fist. The skin covering the knuckles was gone and I could see the cracked bones underneath. I felt no pain, however, as my eyes caught sight of something far worse.

Behind the tree I’d just punched was a large battlefield… Or should I say, a graveyard. It extended for as far as the eyes could see, overflowing with rotten blood, ruined soil, mutilated bodies of both men and beasts. Flies roamed in swarms, and now that I was calm and was more collected, the smell hit me.

I was lucky I had nothing to eat for a long time.

I do not remember much of what I did next, but now I am here, in an inn on the outskirts of a town somewhere in this gods-forsaken World. The woman sitting in front of me across the table takes a big swig of her ale and sets the mug down loudly.

“So, y’want to join m’team, heh!”

She said in a foreign accent to mine, before looking up at me with a smirk on her face. She was short, and I was tall.

I looked her up and down slowly, at least the parts I could see. She wore the thick calluses on her hands proudly, and the way her lean muscles threatened to explode into action at any time told me all I needed to know. We both were strong.

I nodded my head.

“You’re a quiet one, I like you,” She said, sobering up, “and we do need more hands if we wish to head up north. You’re in. Got weapons?”

I nodded my head again.

“Good, and armour?”

I shook my head no.

“A shame, at least I see you’ve got furs for the cold,” She says as she admires the bear furs protecting my body from frostbite, “We’ll get you some armour on the way there. Could you repeat your name for me, girl?”

I look at my hands, remembering how quickly my injuries healed and stare at the message on my left wrist again. I caress the scars with my fingers and feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“My name…” I muttered, my long blonde hair serving as a curtain between me and the woman. Flashes of memories I did not recognize filled my mind for a moment, and then I lifted my gaze and stared the woman right in the eye, “My name is Seraph.”

Nokeyeor 1 - Nokeyeor 2 - Nokeyor 3 - Mesathalssa Divinus Wikia page

Tsoti 1 • Tsoti 2 • Tsoti 3







TSOTI 4 (63 PR)

Gentle light entered the room through the window, piercing the dimly lit area like a spear, outside, a variety of birds sang in a cacophony, many voices were heard from under and to the sides of the room whilst the sound of plates and utensils clinking and tinkling started to intensify. Mavadzugji rose up from his bed rubbing his head, he had not rested well since he entered the sunlands.

On the other side of the room, Denolyo was sleeping soundly, no issue on his side. His wife had left a while ago, the priest still remembered the moment very well, they were walking down a path when suddenly a woman clad in white with blank hair of a color that was neither Dzanya white or old person white appeared, walking on a similarly pale horse. She whispered something in an unknown language and Karcelli nodded apprehensively, 'well, it seems we will need to part ways, I will meet you on the approach of the abbey' and off she went.

With a rumbling stomach, he had little option but to get dressed properly and walk down towards the main hall of the inn. Inns in Mesathalassa were typically well organized to the point of being a bit intimidating, it was also one of the few places were barter was simplified and standardized, that was amazing to Mavadzugji, who could not tell apart the worth of gold from the worth of dirt and was often on the losing end of a bargain.

The big problem was food, everything down south was so greasy and overpowering. Boar meat, Gorgon mazard meat, even the fish were extremely oily. It seemed Mesathalassans not only had no sense of grace in their music, but also in their food, they did not know how to prepare delicate dishes and instead just added more and more meat and salt to their steaks and sausages, the wine was said to be great, but it seemed that was a West Mesathalassa thing, here in the north it tasted like spicy juice. To make the whole thing enjoyable, the priest would boil cassava he bought himself and add to the meat dishes as a neutral counter-measure to the strongly flavored meat.

It was said innkeepers were the defacto leaders in some places near the central mountains, not here though, the leader here was a brutish man, beardless, like most Eveman, which was thankful, one could only imagine the filth that would get stuck in there if he had one.

Mavadzugji always disliked his land's own nobles, but he was starting to see that while they had their own failures, they also had their own merits. The Dusklands were so old, no matter what an Elysianist might tell you, that everyone was part of one clan or another, especially with the habit of larger group marriages inherited from Hain influence, this created an odd situation where everyone was noble to an extent, but few had the power and wealth to truly act on it. This had interesting ripples in their society: Etiquette, complex speaking, the constant showcase of wealth and the manutention of traditions were all manners to separate classes, actions made with the intention of being hard to act upon unless you sat on so much comfort you did not need to fight for survival every day of an epoch-week.

Of course, this led to pettiness, but it also did make the upper class more... pretty? The priest did not know the word, but it gave them something to work towards and created work opportunities for many, including tailors and priests. Meanwhile, southern nobles were born on it and had no reason to justify their situation, they owned the place, move along or face the consequences, as such, so far, every single noble he had met was a brute of worse quality than many of the peasants, addicted to the rawest of activities and with no interest in refinement. In his mind, Mavadzugji prayed the Mesathalassan nobles he admired, such as Sheru or Runza, were more graceful than men such as the hog sitting on the largest table of the inn.

After eating his breakfast, always well incremented in the typical Dzanya style of strong early day meals but fasting during the night, he walked past the crowds of this inn made popular by good weather and nice trade locations, and moved onto the nearby village. Many houses were tents, meant to be moved later at during the year, this was curious because the system of centering temporary housing near a larger permanent building was also part of Dzanya culture, as much as he was having a cultural shock from how different the sunlands were, he also could not help but see the similarities.

This was his second day in his area, in the first day he was typically fine, but on the second, merchants would hear about how easy it was to squeeze out a bargain from the young dusklander man, so three steps out, and a young huntress girl was already upon him. "Hey! Would you like to help us by exchanging some goods for these leather prints amulet? It would really help us out, and it is all for the local temple." she almost yelled, surrounding him like a wolf intimidating a deer. "You have a pretty face... but... it could be better, for a small fee..." a sculptor said. "Quara goods from across the ocean! Sparkling stones, singing plants, eternal flowers! This is a one in a lifetime opportunity my friend." another human added, the priest was sweating, he had no interest in any of the services, but the expecting and/or intimidating eyes, froze him, as if he would be morally wrong in not at least buying something.

"Shoo! Shoo! Go away pigeons." Denolyo arrives just as the young man was reaching for his coin purse. "Come on now boy, you need to do better than this." the ex-sailor said with a sigh. "You are almost out of valuables, all spent on useless trinkets." he reprehended.

Mavadzugji sighed, feeling bad about the whole situation. At least this time Denolyo had arrived in time, on some other day the dusklander had given a palm-sized silver piece to a man pretending to be a dying beggar.

"You need to learn how to resist this sort of influence. You are too manipulable." the sailor added. "Anyway, let us get going, we are almost at the abbey."

---

The topography of north mesathalassa was always somewhat broken by hills and valleys, but in the last few days the increasing heights had become a constant. This made the travel more tiring, but, according to Denolyo, this would be the last time they set up camp in the wild.

Mavadzugji typically woke up earlier than anyone, his body confused the earliest lights of the breaking down with the faint change in light that the sun at its full height brought to the Dusklands. This typically left him with plenty of time to spare, which led to him always searching for something to do. Exploration was typically out of hand, as he feared most things that one could find while wandering around the wildlands, yet, sometimes boredom and curiosity got the best of him.

He had seen a building hidden by the trees and tall grass, it was not particularly fancy but it was somewhat large, which is why it stood out among on the overgrowth in the first place. While later in his journey the priest would discover many interesting new things, what he found on that morning would shake his worldview.

A ring-like stone home, two stories tall, in the middle of a series of long-forgotten home foundations. The priest stood on that visage for a long time, not believing his eyes or that he was awake and this was not the superimposition of different memories. These sorts of buildings were typical of earlier Dzanya settlements but had gone out of use centuries ago, as populations increased and each the normal homes took the ring shame. What could something like that be doing this far here? It made no sense! There were no records of that architecture being used by sunlanders or of dzanya settlements away from the dusklands.

"Ah, there you are," Denolyo said.

Mavadzugji blinked at his sudden appearance, he wondered how the man had found him so fast considering he had walked quite a bit to arrive on this area, his answer was standing behind him, Karcelli had returned, so had the person clad in white, but now the person was clad in green and brown, the once colorless hair and clothes now made to match the color of the location.

"Why are you here, priest?" Denolyo continued, walking to his side.

"This fortress... Why does it exist?"

"I would say it was made to keep the inhabitants safe and consolidate the power of a ruler." The sailor laughed.

"No, the architecture... are there any locals who make houses like this?"

"Not that I know off, but I have seen many ruins such as this while traveling, I think we saw one in the south as well, didn't we, love?" the sailor looked to his side.

Karcelli sighs. "Perhaps." she told, as unwilling to help the priest, or anyone, as always.

"In the south? Past these mountains, near the harbor kingdoms?" his mind raced at the possibilities of such a finding. What could it mean in the context of the history of his people? No, this was deeper than that, it changed the whole question, he was now asking himself what changed in the history of his people in the context of this discovery.

Any thoughts would end up delayed, however, as the clash of humidity and warmth of the early morning started to brew together into rain. It was time to finish the journey, but the priest knew this would not be the last he saw of this place.

---

To the amazement of many, Batsami had picked up on read and writing fast. Of course, being familiarized with the flower language it was an easy jump to learn the written version of that, even if sometimes the connection between flowers and symbol was awfully abstract. Not so surprising, was her commandeering tone and ability to center things around her, at least not to those who knew her.

Mavadzugji's Manyadjir was already at work, even before the first parchment from the priest in the south arrived. He had an extensive personal collection of sunlander works and some of his own writings, it had been set that those would be translated first, to test ground for the future, more serious, work the group of priests wanted to do.

Batsami obviously had not read it all, she had better things to do with her life, but, she had had Tura summarize it to her, the poor priestess being forced to follow the manyadjir around telling her all she knew multiple times so the girl could get an idea of what she would be working with.

"These works have a big problem inherent to them." Said Batsami.

"Oh? Well, I would agree. In the end the scope is very limited and Mavadzugji works too much on the notion the clay tablets contain proper representations of reality when in truth..."

"No, wrong. If people cannot read, how will they trust there is truly something interesting contained in that paper? I mean, for all you know, it could be blabbering."

"Uhm, if we are to distribute it for free... I am pretty sure we are not supposed to charge for knowledge."

Batsami gasped. "Charging for it? Oh no, absolutely not. I am impressed you can even think of such things."

Tura's eyes went wide. "What? No I did not..."

"Nevertheless, there is a point to that. Whilst we of course are charging for the writings, we cannot ignore the truth that hete paper costs us a lot of time and there is not enough ink in the world to write texts for everyone in the dusklands." she tapped her chin, smirking. "So, my great idea is to accept donations, paper and ink, for example, but also, you know, goods in general would be good."

The manyadjir then shook her head, killing that topic before any flaws could be noticed. "But that is detail, we missed the main topic, how do we make it interesting, Tura?"

"I am sure the words of a priest would be taken as proof it is a worthwhile reading."

"Ideally yes, practically, well, not everyone goes to the temple, do they?"

Tura stared at the woman for a moment and slowly nodded. Batsami echoed that gesture in response, it was thankful she had had a solution to that situation even before she presented the issue at hand.

"See, I have friends, many friends. Hirike is one of them, and her family works with pottery." she started.

"Oh, are they not the ones who make those expensive vases?"

"Exactly! Despite having the same use as any other jar, they charge way more, and that is because there is a differential to their craft."

"The little drawings?"

"The ornaments, yes. People love the imagery, people love the color, and they love, you know, interesting things, as opposed to poor things... I mean, plain things. The same way the outer walls of our houses have ornaments to them..."

"Those are not ornaments, they are wards and glyphs, to bring fortune and peace to the families, to protect the home from wicked spirits and..."

"Yes yes, I know, it was an example." it always impressed Batsami how the priestess focused so much on what things were supposed to be, instead of how they really were. "Albeit, in a way, the ornaments of the jars are also wards that bring fortune to Hirike's family, hah."

"I do not see how."

"That is fine. Anyway, we should stop sidetracking from what I want to say, which is, I will get Hirike to do murals representing each of the works we are translating. There is interesting imagery in these things, I think, great cities, fierce battles, gods doing godly things, I trust Hirike and her family can convert these in quite luring ornaments."

Tura pondered over what the manyadjir was proposing, it indeed seemed like a sound plan even if she had trouble fully believing Batsami's commitment to the actual cause. "And how much would it cost? Even for your family, who sees controls great wealth, it seems a bit excessive. One mural is a thing, but we are talking about many."

"Oh, do not worry, I will do the talking and I will get Hirike to help us. I am sure there is room for compromise, and the cause is such a noble one, to safeguard our past and our future, how could anyone say no?" Batsami giggled.

---

The abbey itself was a complex of structures built from marble, which was simply abundant in the region. It was possible to see the history of the settlement if one paid attention, an older wooden house, now repurposed as a storage room, signaling the first arrival of Denolyo on the region. From what the sailor told him, that structure was likely made in his first visit to Mesathalassa, he could clearly see the outlines of the wooden palisades he had built with his friend Yan. Then there was the first stone house, it was built outside of the walls, that was made way later than the wooden home, and it was made with purpose, it was a stepping stone to the building of the abbey and to this day it was still a workshop used to prepare the building materials to repair the building. The building proper was a series of large weird mixes of home and temple, built sparsely from one another but connected by covered walkways, the tallest of all buildings was a tall tower with what looked like a bell, larger than most Mavadzugji had seen, with a golden shine to it.

Design wise it was entirely alien to him. Admittedly, he only knew a small fraction of the styles popular in north Mesathalassa as well as the duskland's, yet even conceptually it felt different from what he knew in terms of shape, room distribution, which areas were shared and which were private, event the way it dealt with the environment, be it trapping the heat and or letting the air flow. It was no wonder, Denolyo had traveled the world and knew lands far beyond the limits of most people's imagination.

Across the travels, he had talked a lot with the sailor. Discovering much about his past, as the son of a trader who fell in love with the city of Fals on the Firewind coast, a harbor market city which was famous, and a bit infamous, for its art and stories. To the priest' surprise, Denolyo had spent almost forty years in the town, even if he did not look much like a man in his fifties, almost sixties. It was also to his knowledge that Fals had long lived past its prime and was now either gone or decadent.

Another odd detail of the story was Karcelli. The supposedly older wife of the sailor, unlike him who had a masked age, she outright looked young, a woman in her thirties. It was clear she was involved with something in the realm of the occult or the mystical, she had weird skills and was followed around by weird companions such as that person who wore clothes that made them hard to see against the foliage of the forests. The problem was that Karcelli did not cooperate with his questions, on the contrary, she seemed keen to keep him on the dark, even if she did seem to want to help others with the skills she had. One day, when asked for a reasoning of her actions, she simply answered that a gifted flame will keep a person warm, but the gift of flame making will make a person burn. This was perhaps more alien to Mavadzugji than the very architecture, to withhold information seemed to be the very opposite of what his culture and religion believed, it almost seemed mean spirited, even if he saw Karcelli as a good person.

This was not only troubling to the dusklander priest, the one who had the most trouble with Karcelli's insistence on not passing on knowledge was her and Denolyo's daugther, Trisana. The young woman had the adventurous spirit of her father, but was clearly interested in the hunting abilities of her mother. Sadly, even that was not enough to make Karcelli change her mind, leaving Trisana to figure out things by herself. The young woman had amazing skills, her aim, her balance, her endurance, it was all far beyond what most had, still, while skilfull, it was a far call from the supernatural-like skills of her mother.

Mavadzugji wanted to get to know more about the family and the abbey, however, it was clear to him that at least the first week would need to be dedicated entirely to recording his journey from the dusklands to the abbey. Along the path, he had made many notes of things he had learned, from local culture to rumors he would hear on the taverns. Furthermore, he felt like he needed to communicate with Batsami and his fellow priests, his heart was still full of insecurities towards their overall approach, even if the path was now clear to him.

---

The priest was impressed at how fast he managed to compile his notes into text. His initial idea of spending a week had turned into two days and a half. The abbey's very architecture seemed to work in favor of his endeavors, there were very few interruptions, the sunlight would always be present in his room and never become overpowering, the paper was more accessible and less crumbly and the ink and quill available to him made what he had previously used look quite primitive.

Of course, after that, there was the business of sending what he wrote back home. It was a bit late to reach for Denolyo, and he also wanted to take a closer look into the abbey grounds to take notes of how it was built and the way the rooms and yards influenced the people who lived there, so the priest decided to leave these matters for the next day and instead just explore the building for the rest of the night.

Most of the walk was peaceful, as most of life in the abbey was, as it was designed to be. However, while walking over one of the gardens of the building complex, the sudden sound of something flying across the night sky took his attention. It landed on a wooden log, and upon closer inspection, it was an arrow.

"What are you doing? Get out of there before you end up a hit. Stupid foreigner." Trisana told, and the priest was startled by the sudden voice, he had not seen anyone. Looking up he saw her, wearing a dark green outfit with a black fabric covering her arms and legs, upside down on a rope that extended between the roofs of two buildings, supported and balanced by the back of her knees. With ease and grace, she spun on the rope and stood on it, walking back to the building and dropping from window to window until she was on the floor.

"It did not hit you, right? No. That is good. I guess that is enough training for today."

"You really do train a lot, do you not, I saw you running around when I woke up, and even now in the deep dark you are doing something else."

"I need to perfect my nightly senses. My mom can see the slightest of movements deep into the night, I want to develop something like that."

"I see... Shame she does not help you with these lessons."

"Eh, it cannot be helped. But there is no problem... With a lot of effort, I am sure I can rediscover such techniques."

The priest pondered over that for a moment, he wasn't sure of what she said, but he tried to be respectful. To no avail, as she noticed his doubt.

"What? You don't think so? Even if somehow mom's abilities are done by magic, surely that magic must come from somewhere..."

"Not so much that. More that... Well... Most of the things I invented, I did it based on the works of others. And to me, it seems clear they too based it on someone else's work. For me to make the duskland writing I need paper, which could only be invented in the dusklands because the creators lived near hete farmer, for that farmer to learn how to farm hete, he had to learn from others, from previous farmers of the plant, who in turn just started planting is based on the fact other people were cultivating other plants. If I lived back when such things did not exist, even if I had twice the motivation and intelligence I would still not be able to create it."

Trisana sighed. "Hmm... Well... most of what I learn I just emulate nature... and well, mother as well. Furthermore, there is someone else who seems to come from the same group as mother who gave me a few tips, even if I do not see her much anymore."

"I see."

The young woman laughed. "The person is a woman who lives in a village over... there." she pointed towards the horizon, as the abbey was high up in the mountains it was possible to even see the faint glimmer of the village's main fire source. "I sensed you wanted to know more about whoever it was."

"That is kind of you, albeit, I doubt I will have the time to go after a distant village in less than... ten days."

"Dad told me you are some sort of priest-scholar."

"That is a fitting description, I guess? I just see myself as a priest, all else is just me taking record of things that exist, writing down what they are."

"What you think they are," Trisana answered with a teasing smile. "That is cool though, must be a lot of pressure."

The priest nodded and sighed.

"And what is it with your bag? There is far too much parchment in it."

"Oh? Yeah... I was searching for a way to send them up north to the Dusklands, I imagine a trader would be the one to go for. I also wrote a few copies so I can increase the chances of at least one reaching my homeland."

"Oh... Got it." she pondered then smiled. "Hey, I might have a solution to this. But you will have to promise to keep it a secret."

---

Tzevami, the poet-priest, sighed as he saw the crowd in his way. He needed to be there in this instant, but from the looks of it, it would be late into the night before the crowd dispersed. Looking around, he saw a cart, and pulling it closer, he climbed it, then walked on the roof for a bit, making sure he was stepping on the support beams and not on the pure thatch, and then slid as gently as he could down, falling into the central area of the potter's family home.

"What are you doing!?" Batsami questioned, gasping as he saw him do that.

"Oh, do not worry, nothing I had not done before." the priest said with a smile.

"Probably while breaking the rules of the temple!" Tura said, her tone making it unclear if it was a joke or a true reprehension of his ways.

"Indeed. Now, is it just me or is half the region here?"

"Yes!" Tura agreed, perhaps complaining. "Batsami said she would do things to bring more people over, but I think she may have done it too much."

"Oh, do not be a baby, this is good... on the long term. On the short, we might be murdered when the stories about the Imga War are all sold."

"You are selling the parchments already?" The priest questioned, incredulous. "It is too soon! Most do not even read yet."

"It will be an incentive for them to learn already. " the Manyadjir answered.

"Maybe once we are almost out of parchments we should turn the vase to the side without the image. Since I guess its too heavy to bring inside while navigating the crowd."

"Good thinking Tura. Go do it right now."

"Me? Oh... fine."

The poet then smiled. "I have never seen you so tired before..." he said, looking at Batsami.

"Well... I had to do so much! Day after day, going around, moving clay vases around, pretending I was moving them when in truth I just wanted to spark people's interest. Going to feasts and whispering about this as if it was a hidden truth. Creating drama among the priests to add that inflammatory edge..." she sighed.

"You did great with this. Perhaps you too should pick up writing, eh? Surely the world we are trying to create will need your wits."

"Eh? If everyone becomes as savvy as me the world will devolve into chaos. One of me is more than what the world can take~" she laughed. "Speaking of more than what I can take, so... how did the meeting go? Please tell me for once you priests have come up with a sensible solution and I won't need to brute force results."

He unveiled a parchment. "Well, Mavadzugji did greatly, this time. Even if the main export of our town is arguments about religion and culture, his writing has been mostly accepted by all. Of course, there are those worried about their pet dialect not getting properly represented, but they are a minority and will eventually bow to us, of this new united dzanya people."

"Yes, yes, go preach to someone else. Do you have what I need?" It was no overstatement that they needed to work on making more people able to read the texts. Mohavumika was a cultural hub, and reading was spreading fast within it, but Batsami knew without better techniques than sending a priest to people's home they would have trouble spreading within the town, imagine across the region.

"Its right in front of you."

"You know I do not know how to read too well and..." she said, before squinting. "Ra... lli... nye?" she tilted her head. The parchment had been done in a very different manner than any other, it did not use simple black ink but a whole range of colors, flowers were pressed into the paper and the very letters had been written in a non-standard manner to resemble objects.

"It feels... easier to read. I can almost figure it all out by myself."

"Each syllable is a flower, so I composed a poem which uses all the sounds of our language. I also did that while focusing on the most iconic objects related to the sound, I think this will help people remember the words the best. It almost works like a guessing game."

"How did you write something so big with so many conditions??"

"Skill."

"Well... Huh. I will give you this, Tsevami. Typically you only boast, but I think this time you have done it."

"Manyadjir!" Tura entered, going to Batsami. "Mutaraka is just out here! He wants to talk with you!"

"Mutaraka?" she gasped, that was a big name, she kinda had been expecting her to be noticed, but that was fast.

She ran to the entrance and exposition area, where a bunch of priests and the whole family of potters struggled to keep up with the crowd, albeit now everyone had stopped to see the warrior looking at the images in the vases.

"Hmmm. This is... this is... Ah! It's the sunland west coast. It has that Kivico Ruby on it and down here is Tri-Harbor. Wouldn't have guessed from the way you painted the coast."

"Sorry! I did not know much, only what was written."

"Not your fault, but I am not interested in this one." he looked around.

"Oh! Look at this! This has to be... Runza! On the throne, the deer riders dead or bowing to her. Good work. They will love this back at home, I will take it."

"One parchment?"

"The vase. Whole."

"Mutaraka!"

"Batsami!" he said, patting the woman on the head as if she was a child. "What a mess have you made, eh? Always believed in the boy, seems like he will make a name quite like his father."

"Seems so, I am his manyadjir, did you know?"

"No? He is your family's manyadjir."

"Well, yes, but, not on the literal meaning of the word, on the... uhm, conceptual way. I am keeping up with his tasks, organizing his work, helping him around."

"So you are a great manyadjir then."

Batsami smiled in response. "I try~ But, uhm, do you know how to read? And you do know all parchments in the vase are the same text, correct?"

"I do not! And I do. I want to have the boys at my home to learn both to read and also the tales of warrior of the past. Weird the boy has not written about his own dad..."

"Oh. I see."

"Ah, I also have some letters for you." he laughed.

"What?" she looked confused.

"Manner of speaking, I was going to say I have some words for you, but that sounds like a threat. A few days ago a strange small humanoid creature gave us some parchments, said to be from Mavadzugji straight from the sunlands. Why not come with me to gather them personally? Someone will need to bring the texts home anyway. Furthermore, you know how to write well, right? You could teach my boys as well as the warriors who stay near my home, such as Llapur Dyetzu and other nobles."

Batsami's eyes shone. "Oh, surely, I am a master writer myself, I will teach them personally!" she turned around and rose her hands up "Everyone, the event is over, thanks for your donations, I need to leave with haste!"

For recap see the post above.

---

TSOTI 5 (63 PR)

“Thing has been delivered, Tris.”

“Thank you Lilul.” the human said, picking up a small bag and taking a shard of glass out of it. The little humanoid creature reached forward and took it, buzzing its dragonfly wings as it observed its shininess… and sharpness.

From the other side of the room, Mavadzugji watched the scene with curiosity. The last thing he would have expected to witness in the south was to meet creatures who were typical of Dzanya folklore. Tales of humanoid creatures with insect wings had been popular as of late, typically called Fadja, though the priest had recently discovered that word was borrowed from a different creature, with butterfly wings as well but as far from a humanoid as one could be. Fittlerling was the name Trisana used.

”Llillulle… uhm, I mean.” he took a deep breath and tried to contain his accent. ”Lillul” Tris smirked while the little humanoid looked up at him, tilting its head.

”Are you somehow related to the oddlands?” he had observed long ago how the tales of such creatures were tied to the borders of the oddlands.

Lilul was confused, opening its mouth slightly and looking up at Tris for help.

“The lands to the north, Lilul, a bit beyond where you took the papers.”

“Ah! The Glam. Yeah! Lilul is made from that stuff!”

Now it was Mavadzugji’s turn to be confused as to what Lilul meant, ‘made from that stuff’. Did it mean she was made from the same energies that were turning the dusklands into the oddlands?

”And from where does ‘that stuff’ come from? What is it?”

“Uhhhh. Its… energy.” the humanoid couldn’t really answer past that. “Once Lilul lived in another world, but thanks to that energy, she made it here.”

Tris sighed. “The world of dreams.”

”Huh? The world of dreams?”

“Yes, it is a world beyond this one, we all go to it when we sleep, but shamans like my mother can access it at will and manipulate it.”

”So Lilul came from the dream world? Why is it leaking into ours?”

“Only the gods know,” Trisana told. “I imagine the Dusklands, or The Spires to its east, are some sort of… a meeting point of worlds. In the ancient times the Dusk was brought from there, but now…”

”I see.” he looked to the side and pressed his lips together.

“I am sorry,” she said.

”Huh? For what?”

“I know what you were going for, if there was a way to save your homeland.”

”Do not fret. It is not like you are at fault for explaining things how they are.”

---

Tura sighed as she stepped out of the boat. It was a hot day, even if always covered under the dark, sometimes the tropical Dusklands became unbearably hot. As the Tsefo (the council of priests allied to Mavadzugji) had decided, spreading reading and writing was the most crucial task at the moment. Tura was to meet a priest in a nearby village and teach him how to write so he could pass on the knowledge.

Distracted by the view of the town, she barely noticed when she stepped on an ‘odd looking branch’. The true nature of the branch was soon revealed, as it hissed. The priestess barely had a moment to gasp when the snake lunged forward. Tura closed her eyes and expected the worse… but that never came.

Opening her eyes slowly she looked down and met the gaze of huge yellow eyes. An owl had caught the snake the moment it rose from the tall grass. It then moved away without a care, it had just taken the snake to feed itself and its family. Nevertheless, Tura couldn’t help but say “Thanks…”

A few steps later, into the town, she noticed other owls, not one or two but whole parliaments. The village followed the classical ring house shape of the Dzanya, but near the altars, or sometimes in the roof, some homes had nest-like shapes, and many trees, the shape of an araucaria but much smaller, were planted near the doors of the home.

When Tura walked past the carved pillars, into the hut that was the village’s temple, the first thing she had to discuss with the priests was that odd sight of the many owls.

‘Over two generations ago a family had noticed an owl nest on the ground near where they wanted to build their home. Not wanting to disturb the creatures, they changed the whole project and built a smaller home, giving space for the nest. This was the start of an odd sort of friendship between the couple and the animals. They would feed it during the day, but never during the night, they built fences to protect newborn owlets, and soon the owls had learned they were safe to stay around. The owls, in turn, would hunt mice, snakes and other vermins.

As time passed, more homes started to take the animals, never as a pet, more like associates, giving protection and some extra, better quality food, in exchange for the owls to hunt down the critters that plagued the village. With time, this led to the current situation. And never had the village lost any crop season to grasshoppers and rats ever since.’

Tura was enthralled with the story, she always found it amazing how it was possible to find something so amazing in such a small village. She also started to understand Mavadzugji’s worries far better, soon, this land would be overtaken by the oddlands, and the village and its story would be gone. Perhaps she could work to save it and the act of housing owls, but… she couldn’t help but wonder about what other villages she would never meet, what the world had already lost. Nevertheless, she was a practical person, she would do what she could, saving one was better than saving none.

---

The first texts Mavadzugji focused on was, without much surprise, those about Queen Runza Thanfong. He had always admired the queen for her ability to craft a realm in a mere decade, even though her life was so short, the entirety of South-West Mesathalassa, even as it broke back into city-states, was changed by her. Ayisi, a woman of the ethnicity of the deer riders of from the cold south, who became Runza’s loyal assistant, had made amazing and well detailed, if not almost confidential, accounts of her years under Runza, from her rise to her death, as well as all the queen had told her. It was an intimate and factual take on power and kingship, so it was no wonder Ayisi had to run away from Imga, thankfully, to a place not too far from Denolyo’s abbey.

Ayisi’ writings eventually branched out from just Runza and Imga, she had noticed Mesathalassa knew little about lands out of their own, so she wrote all that she knew from her travels as a deer rider in the salt road. Tales of lands half a world away, of wicked Tzertzeh and its demon king Hamartsiha. Of the Rovahike. Of mysterious Metsera. Of the luxurious lives of the Korallara in Tsarano Nonyir.

The library of the abbey went far beyond just Ayisi’s writings, however. It had many sources from the harbour kingdoms of the west, as well as an impressive wealth of texts from further beyond Mesathalassa. Of course, this had one problem, the fact he did not know how to speak or read anything from across the oceans. Thankfully, Denolyo had been willing to help him out with the basics and Trisana would answer a few questions, albeit she lacked the patience for any long explanation.

While working down on his language skills, he focused on more specific matters of what he had access to. Describing in details the process of candlemaking within the abbey, Mavadzugji also adding his own musing about beeswax, organized beekeeping instead of foraging being something exclusive to the dusklands, who had the knowledge in clothmaking to prepare proper gear for the task. He had also noticed the use of oil for lamps, something he would also describe. Anything within the realm of medicine was a must for him, medicine in the dusklands, despite the strong herbalistic knowledge of the region, was not all that well developed, mostly due to how people preferred to ‘take care of themselves’ over seeking the help of others.

The more he studied, the more he realized he had to study. The world was not becoming smaller and easier to understand, as he expected, instead, it became more and more complex, harder to understand… and scarier.

‘Every sense of wonder is followed by a sense of inadequacy. You see the towering mountain and look in awe at its immensity, then comes that creeping thought, of just how small you are.’ he wrote.

The world felt old, older than he imagined, he learned about distant cities much larger than the ones he had imagined so far, entire kingdom and empires, great wars, great people, technologies beyond his comprehension. If so far his plan to maintain and fortify his culture in the troubling times ahead seemed hard, now it seemed impossible… and sometimes futile. Would his effort, like those of the people in Fals, be buried by the sands of time?

Nevertheless, he continued searching, he would not flinch and he would do all he could, he had to, not doing that was against all he stood for.

Eventually he noticed something, The construction was far more complex than anything he had ever seen and the only things similar in scale and complexity were found in societies more complex than anything within the realm of Mesathalassa.

“Hah, I thought you would notice this one day or another,” Denolyo said, upon the question being brought up to him by Mavadzugji. “Come with me.”

They walked deeper into the abbey’s central building, going downstairs until a very simple room, with plain walls and blocky pillars. “I have never shown you it, have I?”

He walked towards the end of the room, where a picture of a woman was displayed. It was not simply a drawing, it was something else, the colours, the lifelike semblance, the… everything, even the priest who had not bought the sailor’s talks about the goddess Yekoloria.

“I found this in an abandoned temple, it was a hain temple, in a land that never had hain for longer than anyone could remember.”

”That picture is of a human woman however.”

“It is...Curious, is it not? Did humans even exist back then?”

”And how does this answer my question?”

“Well, upon finding the picture, my life changed. I had left Fals for a while, my art was just not the same, but this… it gave me inspiration. First I continued my journeys, here, and on other lands, for a long time I helped settlements out, I had a temple in The Great Ring, then I returned to Fals, and despite the people there only believing in different gods, I stood my ground, and often added aspects inspired by this picture to my work. I grew in popularity, in the homeland and with foreigners. And as such, I was soon one of the names that made Fals what it was.”

He stopped. “Then I had a vision, and I was tasked with drawing a temple.”

”No way.”

The sailor smiled and nodded. “I was told to return to my old wilderness home… and it was here, the whole abbey.”

”So a goddess built this place for you to worship her?”

“Initially that is what I thought, but… perhaps not,” he smirked now.

”Now you are just not making any sense.”

He called the priest to the side and picked up a box hidden behind a pillar. “This was forgotten here.”

Inside, there were picks, saws, ropes… and some weird round object.

“The one you don’t know what the name of I had to search for a while. It is called a pulley. It seems to be originated from the hainlands east”

”Oh… so the Hain built this… it does not look like Hain architecture though.”

“It does not. Correct. It is the perfect mirror of what I drew. Yet they built this… and then they left, they did not live here for a single moment.”

”This… must be a miracle after all.”

“Yet it had to be done like this… Curious, is it not? Something for you to think about, priest. Now, do you want me to explain a bit more about how these tools were used? Surely this will be another valuable addition to your texts.”

---

Batsami stepped out of the boat along with three other priests, who all carried crates with important texts, but not the Manyadjir, who was dressing the best of her dresses and the most adorable of her hats.

Mutaraka’s home was one of the largest homes in the entire world, she assumed, though from what she heard the distant lands, far beyond the sunlands, had even larger buildings. Nevertheless, the warrior merchant’s three-storey house was something else. It was also decorated with many mirrors as well as delicate paints, a tall entrance and the clan’s Gjatze, a mask that represented the family’s guardian spirit, often being used as a clan emblem by some cultures, was carved in rare wood and looked heavier than the boat Batsami had used to travel.

Despite all that, it was still a ring-shaped home, meant to be used as much as a social gathering point for the clan as it was used as a private sleeping quarter. Clay and adobe had substituted many of the planks and grass used in simpler homes, and although the roof was built from the same material as most houses, Mutaraka could afford to build it far thicker with no worries about costs. The central fire which kept the home illuminated was built in a far more elegant and complex manner, with a proper dugout and structure instead of just being a glorified campfire.

The tall man soon appeared, greeting everyone himself with his typical warmth and forwardness. “Hah! Let’s see what you people are all about,” he said almost in a tease to the priests while hugging the Manyadjir. “You as well, Batsami, always believed you would make a name for yourself. Heard you have been gaining quite some wealth from all of this.”

“Oh no no, everything I received are donations for the Tsefo and the temple in general.”

“Right, haha.” he patted her shoulder. “Well then, come in, come in. The boys are eager to meet you.”

The boys, in question, were some of the most powerful armed troop leaders in all of the Dusklands, Llapur Dyetzu, surely, but others as well. Tsilluhan Dyetzu, remained by his side, though he still looked what Batsami would describe using a paradoxical mix of the word boy/kid/brat and the suffix for young/hatchling, too shy and distracted to be around man such as the ones close to him. The Tsir clan was being represented by an elder, not its Elder, just an old man of the family. The Huro clan was present and led by the young Funmih, its future leader, most likely. The Nyotehe clan had a woman in there, probably doing the same role as the Tsir elder. Tzeba, a famous local warrior, was in there. There were a few more she did not recognise, but she was sure she saw the emblem of the Tzollotsihlle and the Ruhtseke.

“Whoa, you were not lying! This is such an illustrious crowd,” she whispered to Mutaraka.

“When have I ever overpromoted something?”

“Well, not to say you exaggerate but… you do typically say words prettier than the reality.”

Mutaraka just laughed and pushed Batsami to the front of the crowd. “This is Batsami, Manyadjir of the Tsefo.” the wording here did not only cause the group of warriors to look confused but Batsami as well. She was Manyadjir to Mavadzugji.

“How does that even work, Tsefo isn’t a family, it cannot adopt a girl. She also looks way older than the Tsefo, despite being just a girl-ling.” At that Batsami gasped, there was no justified reason to use the word of child/girl and the suffix for a young / hatchling to describe her. She wasn’t shy, she wasn’t a silly dreamer.

Nevertheless, she swallowed her pride and answered softly. “Well, you see…” she had to think what Mutaraka meant by describing her like that. In the end, it seemed he had used the word as loosely as she had used to declare herself Mavadzugji’s Manyadjir. “The group is formed by priests, so I am an outsider, and I was brought in, much like an adopted person. Yet, I was picked for my neutrality but also for my skills, as I am expected to help with the organization of tasks, create deals and, uhm...” she tried to explain.

“That is clever.” Llapur noticed. “It seems you people really love to play around with words.”

“Oh, hehe… I guess.” Batsami blushed.

“So, you will teach us how to read these… things.” another man said.

“Of course, it is simple, I wouldn’t want to eat too much of the time of such important people.”

“And is it true that it describes the great fights of the sunlands?”

“Yes!”

“And what does that differ from the stories we already have told to us.”

“Because any storyteller can go around saying things, even if they are not speaking untruths, the stories still had to make a long travel, across, uhm, time and space.”

“Time and Space? What do you mean Batsami.”

“Well, there is a great space between where the fights happened and here, the stories are retold many times surely some things are lost on the way. The same thing happens with time, some events happened long ago and no living person was there to see it, so we just hear stories retold by multiple generations, also losing accuracy on the way. Writing, however, does not change on the path and does not change with time, this makes the written words true and accurate. I have texts written by people who walked side-to-side with the great people they write about.”

Llapur pondered over those words but did not say anything. It also seemed like Batsami had fully swayed the group to make an honest attempt at learning how to read, even if everyone there had an interest in the topic, some were just looking for the flaws in the rising Tsefo group.

However, despite the tense political situation which was being discretely handled by Mutaraka during the ‘class’, the actual teaching advanced quickly. Perhaps because those who were truly interested were quick to whisper about the tales of the warriors of the sunny lands, or because Batsami had managed to sell the idea of reading as an advantage not only to current power, but to a lasting legacy, a sudden and recent worry of many of the affluent families that controlled the Dzanya lands. It was also helpful that Tzevami’s work in making writing more inclusive and easy to understand, creating the guideline on how to teach new readers, had been very successful so far.

Despite having allowed the priests to handle the teaching, Batsami had to keep the role as the overall leader, going to talk with all groups, speaking about concerns and ideas of the clan leaders, which mostly had been to endure rantings of the older and more traditional of those who were present. Soon, the sun was setting and the day was over.

“Eh, I thought we were going to hear about battles and soldiers! Not just talk about flowers.”

“I am sorry and I am must ask for your patience, it's hard to convey complex strategies without using all the sounds of our vocabulary,” Batsami answered. The priests had initially agreed to teach them by telling the stories of the south they already had, but Batsami wouldn’t allow that. She wanted to keep those stories dangling in front of them like mice to an owl, furthermore, she guessed a bunch of seasoned soldiers or young blood burning warriors wouldn’t take nicely to a priest sitting down and telling them those stories. if allowed to read by themselves, they would create their own pace and imagery, furthering the effect those writings had on them.

After a small moment of scowling, the old soldier gave up and retreated across the empty central space of the home to one of the many rooms in the building. Of course, clan leaders and such had closed rooms, but unlike most wealthy man, Mutaraka liked to have his house more open than usual, either to promote unity… or just to keep an ear at any intrigue going into the rooms.

“As expected, you did well today, girl.” The old clan leader told Batsami, she hated to be called a girl, and for a long time disliked Mutaraka’s forwardness and casualty, now, however, seeing so many other clan leaders at once, she was becoming fond of the openness of the man. His ways she once called primitive were certainly refreshing over the excessive prudence of this new culture increasingly influenced by the south ever since the mercenaries returned from that big war that happened in the sunlands.

“Did I?”

“Absolutely, I expected many to drop out, but you held out very well.”

“Hah, let’s hope they all stay. But say, I expected this to be more intimate, like, you and the two nearby clans at most, this class was quite a collection of important figures.”

“Well… I reckon its best to not play favourites, we need to keep peace within the valley for as long as we can. It was that peace that allowed the flourishing of things such as the Tsefo on the first place.”

His tone was far more serious, and weirdly, more personal. Batsami gulped at that, recognizing this is what importance looked like, he was not talking frivolities or just stating facts, he was making a demand, telling Batsami the role she would need to take.

“I do not understand much about what people like you and Mavadzugji do, but I knew your parents well, and I trust them, so I will trust you as well, as the carriers of the light which will guide all of our people.” with a nod, he withdrew from the room, and Batsami was left a bit shocked, letting it all sink in.

It was very curious to her, that the most traditional of the man in the room, the one who walked around without a shirt and preferred game and forage to anything using crops, was also the one the most interested in promoting a young group of people with ideas and values that caused a certain discomfort to the more established members of their society.

Turning around and sighing, really needing a long bath and a nice night of rest, the young woman turned around and blinked, behind a crate she saw a foot, small, belonging to a child, thankfully still attached to it, as the foot shook as she stepped closer staring at the crate, all the sudden, the child hiding behind the crate jumped away, starting to run. It was a girl, wearing very tattered clothes, yet recognizable immediately since she had light orange hair.

“Hey, wait!” Batsami told, giving chase, but she was an untrained woman in a fancy dress, she could not match the speed of a kid who was faster than usual, without a moment of hesitation, the girl left the room through a window and Batsami followed, by the time she stopped to realize it was quite a drop until the ground below, albeit too late, as she started to lose her balance.

“Thief?” a voice said behind her, running and grabbing her before ended up hurting herself.

“Huh? Huh!” She saw, seeing Llapur so close to her side.

Seeing that babbling as a yes, Llapur took out his bow, despite being blinded by love, the idea of what Llapur could do immediately shook Batsami out of the charm.

“Wait! No, it's just a child. I don’t even think she stole anything.”

The warrior stopped and looked to his side, sighing. “So you saw her? Say what she looked like and we can discover later.”

“Uhm… well, it was a girl, and she had short hair, looked kinda foreign, but not really... it was pale orange“

Llapur stopped. “Well, that was an unique description, I am sure we can track her,” he said, and immediately stopped following the girl with his eyes. “Are you fine? You almost fell.”

“I am just not used to houses so big the windows are not close to the floor.”

“Hah, that is cute. You better get used to it though. Certainly, an influential woman such as yourself will not be sleeping on thatch hovels for long.”

“Eh… I don’t think they are too bed, clay gets too hot at times. And… you think I am influential?”

“Think? I would say that is a bit of a fact. The Tsefo keeps growing as a group, and the local thought is slowly starting to gravitate around it. Soon your friend Mavadzugji shall have what he wished.”

“Mmm, but I do not have anything to do with that…” the bait was thrown.

“Do you truly think so? I think you are also a bit of a rebellious thinker. Better yet, you are the sort who easily sells their ideas.” he smiled. “Did you not see what you did today? The use of the title Manyadjir in such a weird way, it is quite subversive. You take one the structural positions of clan society and place it in a different context, furthermore, manyadjir are often used as servants, yet you justified it as a role of leadership. There were more than a few frowns in the room.”

“It was not entirely within my intention to cause such a reaction.”

“Entirely, huh?”

She laughed. But then she became a bit more serious. “Should I be worried? I know the Tsefo has a been growing a bit of a reputation, especially Mavadzugji’s comments about the high clans made so long ago…”
“Yes. I would say there is a lot of suspicions. But the Tsefo is just a small part of the whole, and in the end, no clan has the authority to persecute any of you except Mutaraka’s, and he has made it clear he supports you.”

She nodded. “I know… Uhm, but, Mavadzugji really changed his opinions as time went by, I do not think he is…”

“It does not matter. Have you ever learnt the basics of cloud patterns?”

Batsami blinked, confused. “Uhm… no.”

“Hah, I guess most do not. I did, however. My mother used to run a farm before she married my father. I learned it from her. The basics are simple, and I do not mean the recognition of patterns and coming rain, but how you act when you see the storm brewing. You take measures because while the storm might disperse, you will surely be the safest if you acknowledge it, storm arriving or not. Mavadzugji sees the storm and acknowledges it and acts accordingly, I do not agree with certain objectives of his, but at least he acts, something the many clan masters of these lands fail to do, instead just resting on their silk sheeted beds all day while presenting no alternative solution of their own.”

He sighed. “So, I can understand from where the disgust towards the clans comes from. In the face of the oddlands, we have nothing.”

This caused Batsami to blink. “Uhm... “ she stopped to reflect about all the Tsefo talking points, nothing about the oddlands seemed to come up in her mind. She really wished to not look slow in front of Llapur, but she wouldn’t worsen the situation by feigning knowledge. “The oddlands?”

“Yes. You have not noticed it, I take? Well, it is understandable, you are sharp, but you must have far less information than even the daftest of clan lords. Perhaps, it is best if you do not think about the wars and intrigues that haunt us men of the banner and sword. Nevertheless, understand that the oddlands created the situation for groups such as Tsefo to rise, but Tsefo is not the only group. I do believe one day or another the local clans will get their act together and provide a better, more experienced solution to our situation.”

Batsami tilted her head slightly. “But let’s say they do not…”

“Well, that would be quite a disaster, would it not? Then Mavadzugji’s criticism would be true, the clans were not worth their status… and we will have to pray that there will be, what do you people say again… Dzanya people left to gather the potsherds.”

“Well, that was bleak.” Batsami thought, also not liking that some information was being withheld from her, surely she could put some thought into the matter and help Llapur out with whatever was stressing him. But instead, he patted her shoulder and turned his face.

“I think this is enough intrigue, go enjoy your free time, not all of us need to waste their youth with babbling old soldiers.” he laughed as he left. “Oh, and please, do not mention the girl you saw earlier to anyone. It will just cause more problems.”

---

Northwest of Susah, South of Pictaraika, stood a wooden building. It was built like most North Mesathalassa lodges, albeit not very traditional and well tuned to the latest architectural developments of the central town of Susah, even with some Hain influence, albeit rarely were humans capable of replicating Hainland technology. One would need to have a sharp eye to notice the subtle eastern duskland influence on the buildings.

“Disgusting Dzatsu Kafu, do not think your crimes will be forgotten.” Said a bound man, forced to bend his knees in front of the throne.

“Crimes?” The chief questioned, rubbing his chin and looking at his guests. “What crimes did I commit… hmm,” he wondered what to call the man, “Dzadje Kafu? Oh, perhaps Re Kafu.” his subjects in the room laughed at that.

“You attacked your own people while they were defenceless.”

The chief shook his head. “My people?” he looked to his side. “My wife, Muvemi, do you remember those people being subject to my banner? No? Well, then you must be mistaken, I did not attack my people, just a bunch of poachers and trespassers.”

“They were refugees from your own homeland! They lost everything to the oddlands.”

“And that is their lord’s problem, not mine. If perhaps they had said they wanted to serve me, I would have… considered giving them a few hovels and some tools, the ones who proved themselves they could even join the charging lines of my army.”

“They had no lord.”

“What? Do not be silly. You are saying to me that whatever place they had settled just had no chieftain?”

Realizing he was talking too much, the man stopped talking, it didn’t take long for the chief to order one of the captors to beat the words out of him.

“Tsonya Kafumi has no chieftain, no clan owns the settlement, though a few clans have houses in there.”

The chief looked confused, and so did his men, albeit, some thoughts that crossed the men’s head as doubt, or perhaps a possibility, crossed the chief’s like an arrow. “Well, I will not doubt you, after all, its people were left to be preyed upon. The price you pay for forsaking tradition.”

This was received with nods. The chief sighed in relief.

“Bah! Looks who says that. You who rest in a sunlander palace has no right to utter the word tradition.”

“Being born in the dusk is not a distinction and not worthy of special treatment. I survive, I thrive, I do my duty as a clan leader and make sure my people are safe and fed. I will not create war with my neighbours just because they come from the sunlands, I will not deny a warrior’s skill because he uses bow and arrow instead of lance and sword and I will not allow people to consume my lands like locusts just because we speak the same tongue.”

The man was about to answer but his attempt was cut short as the chief ordered him carried away.

“Drown him later, accursed fiend, took down three farmsteads before we caught him.”

“Yes, my master.” his most loyal warrior said, before noticing the chief was still pensive over what had been said. “Do not mind his words, his heart is filled with insane ideas.”

“I do not know, Dzubi. It seems to me these people are becoming more and more insane as the day goes by.” the chief sighs “This is the acts of snakes such as Mutaraka, the Dyetzu, the Ruhtseke… They want to hold to these people no matter what, they fear what will happen if they become servants to my clan instead.”

“And they hold no barriers when it comes to their power grab, the number of lies they tell is absurd. We just had to fight the refugees because hidden soldiers such as that man you talked with kept creating panic among them. I would not doubt he was also the one leading the pillaging.”

“So you do not think it is true.” The chief pondered.

“Of course not, I have never seen a Kafumi before, but, surely they must be ruled, either openly or by the shadows. This has always been Mutaraka’s way.”

“I do not. This whole situation, this Dzanya talk… They would rather collapse our own society than to lose their power.” Dzubi added. “And here I thought that ancient talk of Djodjewadjodje was already insanity…”

“I do not know. Chieftain of chieftains was just a dream… but it seems they have a lot of structures along with this Tsefo talk.”

“That Mavadzugji snake is much like his father, a troublemaker, leading young men to their death on the pretext of dusklander superiority. We should make an incursion back into the Dusklands and end this for once and for all.”

“That is too much.” the chief waved his second hand to calm down. “We will be at an disadvantage by crossing the border, the only safe crossing is held tightly by Mutaraka. The oddlands are advancing anyway, one day or another the snakes will need to leave, the best we can do is to make sure we continue to ensure the prestige and power of clan Mudjara, as we have done since my grandfather crossed into the sunlands sixty winters ago.”

The fight had broken out quickly after Kri’Tral’s words, with Mortas launching himself towards the two, screeching a most wretched screech which put the hain onto his knees. Orphan had time to rush in front of the old man, her cloak forming a wall of ash to stop Mortas, or at the very least delay it. Yet, Orphan knew there was no contact, and suddenly Mortas was above them, diving to meet them, yet the cloak expanded the wall and eventually just decided to envelop the both the child and hain. Even then, Orphan could hear the muffled screeching of Mortas, wanting to just break down from the pain.

She heard a spear lodge itself into the ground, turning to see Kri’Tral attempting to pull himself up in order to do battle. However, his old body was something that could not keep up with a battle between two beings such as Orphan or Mortas, being but a mere mortal with a drive for revenge. Her eyes held tears for the hair, not wanting himself to be pushed too far, especially in this situation.

“Kri,” she began, moving towards him only for him to raise a hand.

“Orphan, do not worry about protecting me. Right now, ugly is planning to kill the both of us and, frankly, you are the only one who even has a chance to fight him,” Kri’Tral stated in between breaths. His eyes met Orphan’s and he gave a chuckle, “You need to do what Keriss trained you to do. Rip and tear until it is done.”

Orphan only looked at him, not believing that he had told her to give into what Keriss stood for. Her hands went to the strap of her cloak, unhooking it in order to give it to the hain. The dome of ash crumbled away the moment that she put it around Kri’Tral, she was left with only her arm and will as a defense. Her eyes came up just in time to see Mortas coming at them from the sky once more and without hesitation she launched her hand to meet him.

She felt her hand slice through his shoulder, however he continued through and swooped onto the child, forcing her to the ground. With a single kick, Mortas launched Kri’Tral back, however, doing no damage as the cloak protected its wearer from such attacks.

”Valiant effort, child, but Keriss did not teach you well enough!,” Mortas growled, raising a claw, only for his hand to be caught by the ashen hand of Orphan, with much effort she threw Moras off to the treeline, struggling to her feet as he began screeching once more.

”Fool, I wil-” suddenly a large white being with massive hands charged from the treeline. Mortas could only turn to briefly see the form of a white giant wrap two massive hands around his body and effortlessly ripping the being in two. Blackened blood leaked from the two ends and splattered all over the ground before the white giant threw the two halves to the side. It’s massive form lumbered towards Orphan before lowering its featureless head to the child.

“Alright I’m up and ready to fi-,” Kri’Tral was running up, his head initially down at his spear to make sure it was in fighting condition before looking up to see the mangled body of Mortas as well as the White Giant, “Well nevermind then.” Almost instantly the White Giant ran up to Kri’Tral and lowered its head to the hain, its smaller arms simply touching and poking the hain. Kri’Tral was more than uncomfortable towards the situation, and if his beaked face could contort into something of shock and uncomfortableness, he most definitely would.

“Ugh, stop,” the hain said simply taking a step away from the white giant, simply staring at it for a few moments before stepping to look at Orphan, “You know this thing?”

”Not at all.”

Kri’Tal could only make a long winded sigh for a few moments.

“Welp. Ugly thing with wings, check. A child with a badass magical arm, check. And finally a giant behemoth of thing that snapped the ugly guy in half, but not killing him, and writing in the dirt check. I will chalk this day up as ‘slightly above average’ until something spontaneous comes out of the sky.”

”Look! Something spontaneous coming straight toward us!” Orphan exclaimed, pointing to a streak of white light head towards the group.

“Ah, now it’s above average!”

In a moment the being landed in front of them, it’s form was that of a woman with light brown hair that ended in curls just below her shoulders. Her body was lithe, and her toned arms were apparent, though the rest of her body was covered by a white dress, and along her body seemed to be a golden glow. She was confident, looking down upon the child and the hain before her eyes went to the behemoth for of the curious white giant that simply looked at her.

”Hello. Orphan, acolyte of Keriss. Kri’Tal, the Wandering Soul, it is good to finally meet the both of you” the being greeted with a smile, giving a curt bow, ”I am Avulus.” Her voice was calmed and radiated a politeness about it, however, it was apparent she was nervous from how her eyes constantly shifted to the white giant.

“Erm, hi there. How do you know us?,” Kri’Tal asked, as Orphan moved to hide behind him though it did not do much.

”I have met you all before, though you may not remember it. I shall relay it to you at the city, there I shall reveal all to you as well as restore you to proper health. Come,” Avulus commanded, still in the same polite tone, before she turned and began walking. Her arms were folded in front of her as the three looked amongst each other before silently deciding to follow.
“Where are you taking us?,” Kri’Tal asked.

”The City of Aurum, though it was not always called that. In fact, it was recently renamed to that when the people decided to honor me with their position of Queen.”

“You are a Queen? And you can fly and mystically know our names? Something tells me you are more than just a standard human, I mean, you glow. I don’t know many who physically glow. Orphan here has a physical ash arm though that was was given to her by Keriss, who you also know,” Kri’Tal began to ramble on for a bit before Orphan decided to walk up to Avulus.

”How do you know Keriss?”

Avulus looked up into the air, a look of regret came upon her face as she did not stop walking, and other than the rambling of the hain, there was silence. ”It is difficult to say, especially since Keriss has left a mark of pain and destruction. I suppose you can say that I know her from reputation,” Avulus stated, though her voice betrayed her. A bad actor that was reading from a horrid script, however, Orphan did not press the issue of her adopted mother.

“...To be honest, getting your own city to rename itself despite coming into power is strange. So why not tell us about that?” Kri’Tal said, finishing his rambling in time to change the subject.

”Ah, then it allow me to regale you the tale of Aurum.”

---

There was once a city, destitute and in mourning, besieged by a band of demons. The people were demanded to give tribute to these demons, a live sacrifice to satiate their hunger for a month before their inevitable return. Soon their populace began to dwindle further and further before they were a mere hundred, yet the demons continued to demand more than the people could provide. Once they were warned, they would return in two months and if they could not provide then they would raze the town and move onto the next.

Between this time, as the people were preparing for the worst, a stranger would pass through. With a holy glow, the people would look unto her and tell her of their plight, warning her to leave. Yet, she did not fuss nor give in to cowardice. The woman would stay and promise to make all right from the wrongs that the demons had caused. The people did not believe her, but decided to pack what they could and began to leave, one by one until there was only one blind old man who stayed with the woman, begging her to leave.

However, his pleas would not change the mind of the woman and instead, she would say that so long as he would remain in the city, she would defend it even if it would cost her life to so. She gave the old man a kiss upon his forehead and restored his eyes. The old man, out of gratitude and joy would bow to divine, seeing now that she would save them. Then she would request him to find the people and bring them back to the city so that they may resume their lives.

After that, the divine would wait for the demonic band to come, standing in one spot until she saw their blight coming forth. And so the army saw her and laughed, a singular woman would dare to challenge what an entire city of men feared?

Then, the battle begun, the woman charging the army and killing twenty in a single blow, not even breaking a sweat over such an action. The demon began to fight her all at once, but not even their crude swords or claws could break her skin. Their kind began to run for the cover of the city, but the divine did not care, instead destroying any building that house a demon in one fell swoop. She would not rest until every demon had been killed, only allowing one to retreat and tell of what happened so that all may be warned of her fury and mighty strength.

Her duty was not yet done, as she used her godly powers to reconstruct the city into a paradise, with building strong enough to repel any mortal attack. Going forward she ripped open the fabric of life and death in order to bring back those who had wrongly died by the hands of the demons, giving them life anew.

These people, reborn and reunited with their loved ones would look upon their savior and bow, proclaiming her queen to rule over all they knew. She would accept on the condition they revoke their worship of Sin and instead worship the true divine of above her, those who had granted her life; Vestec, Teknall, Vakarlon, and Vulamera. Though some of the gods be dead, she would not tell them, instead allowing them to worship as a memorial for those she lost.

---

“Wow, sounds like you are a divine being.”

”Yeah, couldn’t tell at all. Especially not with all the flight and glowing.”

“You never now, she could be some form of mutant human. You know, like the dagon.”

”Are you saying she is a dagon?”

“That’s not at all what I said.”

Avulus could only sigh before stopping the two who were talking to each other. ”Behold, Aurum, the city of New Life!” she exclaimed gesturing to a city that looked as if it were lined of gold. From their point of view, they could see the populace bustling and tending to their daily business with a joy that neither Orphan nor Kri’Tal knew.

”This is where your lives start anew!”

---

TSOTI 6 (63 PR)

The 63rd year since the realta was drawing to a close. In the southern hemisphere, this was the height of summer, though in the tropical areas this was known as the wet season, and in Northern Mesathalassa in particular, a region known for the constant downpour of rain, this meant most days were at best overcast. Mavadzugji enjoyed that, it reminded him of home.

Though he had seldom time to focus on the beautiful mantle of grey covering the landscape, he had finally started to understand a few more foreign texts and a whole new world of information had opened itself to him. He had forsaken direct translations, which were impossible with the time he had, to work on writing down what he had learned about these places.

Though it was a tricky business. Most of Galbar was still illiterate, knowledge of distant places travelled in the tongue of merchants, and sometimes those words were not true. Siplũlasag, for example, a land he was certain existed somewhere west of the Deepwoods, it was commonly described in south Firewind sources, but then he noticed the translation of it when studying the tribes north of the Firewind, land of the bone-like towers, which was a good description of Yorum. And the more he thought about Siplũlasag, the more he noticed how much of it was just Yorum warped by countless horizons of travel.

Nevertheless, he found himself doing good work, the best he could with what he had. People after him would write as well, and if any mistake escaped him, they would certainly be shot down by future generations. If the Dusklanders were to have any future generation, that is.

“Hahar wa Dziveh” was his first finished work, covering the people of the ‘sunlands’, though the term referred to anything beyond the Dusklands, it was mostly used to refer to west and north Mesathalassa, so the priest went with that.

Naturally, “Kokin wa Llahinveh” was next, talking about the “hain lands” and its tribes. Of course, Mavadzugji now knew Hain existed far beyond that area, but there was just no word he knew to describe such a land.

“Har wa Hiriketzur” and “Har wa Rutotzur” seemed to be the next step. It was rare for anyone to use “har”, people, as an isolated word, but it was true that along the shores of the Silver Sea (White Sea) and the Golden Sea (Fractal and Shimmering Seas) many sorts of peoples existed.

Albeit not as detailed as the former two works, the two coastal books made up for that with content completely foreign to most Dusklanders, it was common to hear about the Harbor Kingdoms and the Hain Tribes through trade and rumours, but, lands such as Vetros, The Great Ring, Axotal and Loralom were things of legend, talked about rarely, vague images not unlike the lands of gods in the heavens above and the earth below. Now, however, they had something new, loose second-hand descriptions with a heavy bias and some misunderstanding.

Zebras become ferocious tiger-like horses, Axotal is just on the shore of Xerxes. Yet, it is the image of Alefpria that would be the most memorable of these writings. It all starts with the god emperor, son of gods, of course, it was a common hobby of kings of petty kingdoms to declare themselves sons of heroes and gods, but Alefpria was described with such glory by travellers from east and west that one was led to believe it, furthermore, it did align with Dusklander myth, the heavenly daughter and the earthly brother… it would mean Lifprasil was indeed the son of gods, but, it also brought an unfortunate implication, Momumepo was Elysium, meaning the Elysian sect would be correct and Tsefo was foolish in their resistance against the southern religion.

But the details did not end there, and what came next left the priest wordless, even if it was the light that would save Tsefo as a philosophy. “Alefpria is always grey” “Hidden under the clouds, Alefpria looks overcast” “The clouds of Alefpria were said to be a gift from a goddess to hide the city of jealous looks.” each of the sentences was written in a different language, by people of the desert, of the tundra, of the savanna, yet all agreed on this. Then the emperor, “alabaster skin”, “golden eyes that look as if they shine”, “silver hair”.

The priest felt for a moment he had been mad, but those were the words used to describe him. Who else in the world had those features? What other region was overcast? The description of the dusklands in the tongue of foreigners was not flattering, they were not said to be beautiful, “those who live in the mires of Ner Hunu always have a sickish grey tone, no matter the colour of their skin.” “The lands of Koch Hiv are bountiful but inhabited by tribes of primitive peoples.” “It is said the Havupis north of Misatala are people with hair the colour of the fur of a rat or a seal and empty eyes of bizarre colours.”

However, he knew what words his own people described themselves, it was just too much of a coincidence. However, to jump into conclusions and just assume that all sunlanders are sons of the sister while his people are sons of the brother seemed foolish. For one, the aesthetic similarity seemed oddly misplaced when the only humans lived half a world away and no attempt of communication was ever made. Furthermore, it did not escape the priest that the descriptions of the imperial capital could get… somewhat grotesque at times. It would be one thing if it were the description of rival lands but often wonder and elegance seemed to walk hands in hands with the repugnant and dreadful, the lack of humans was also suspicious. Furthermore, it did not connect properly with the dusklander views on divinity, especially when the dusk came into place, who was the goddess which brought the clouds over Alefpria? Which of the tales of how the dusklands became dark was true? How does it connect with the tall black stone world mountains that bordered the dusklands? What if the city had been built thousands of years ago but slowly overtaken by weird crawling creatures?

With little time for further thought but still not having the heart to cut off Alefpria, Har wa Rutotzur ends with a simple description of Alefpria, written as neutral as someone who is seriously pondering over the possibility of his people being some lost part of an ancient empire overtaken by weird creatures could write it. The implications he considered were not mentioned, though he knew his people who come to the same conclusion as him, and then one day, when back home and with his compatriots, he would try to understand what Helleperiha meant for the Dzanya.

Finishing the Veh Ramu (land study) books was “Huchuveh joh Har kufih.” Weird (distant) Lands and its peoples. This one talked about the most distant lands, where earth met heaven, where the Tsatahar (winged people / angels) lived, as well as all sorts of bizarre Rogjehar (strange people) lived, such as the hulking creatures that inhabited Hogjerunveh, whole kingdoms deep beneath the land that had dug so deep they had somehow reached the stars, and the passage of Tsarano Nonyir with its phosphorescent rivers… a colourful forest that seemed weird like the oddlands in description, its proximity to glorious Alefpria worried him, but the descriptions of the swamps were centuries old, so he worried not.

Of course, talking about the lands was not limited to talking about its people and its sights, foreigners held a lot of knowledge foreign to the Dusklanders. The art of using numbers was one of them, the Hainlands on East Mesathalassa, the desert cities, and many sailors knew how to use numbers in weird yet logical ways. It impressed Mavadzugji, it was no wonder some sort of Hain under the spell of a mysterious god had built the abbey, so writing a “Todza Ramu” (number study) was a logical next step. It was a shame he did not have the time to visit the Hains and the deserts… and Alefpria, but, what was important was to share knowledge with his people and advance the Tsefo, and as Batsami had told him, first they must catch the people’s attention then they can bring about the change necessary for the people to prosper even in the times of adversity that were to come.

Even then, there was always more, he wanted to write about crafting techniques, about architecture, about the wonders of other civilizations, yet, time to go drew near, he was a priest and had a duty to study, but at the same time, he had political duties, and the Dusklands could no longer wait. Slowly he went from well-rounded studies with a clear focus to raw consumption of knowledge, too fearful any word he missed would be something important that his people would not know.

“Hey, priest.” It was Trisana. “You are about to leave right? Didn’t you want to visit one of the nearby villages?”

”Ah?... Oh! Yes. I would love to. I have been a bit lost lately.”

“Lately… hah. I think you were born a bit lost, friend.” she laughed. “But it is no problem. Mom and Dad won’t accompany you when you go home, right?”

”Yes, it will be one of Karcelli’s friends that will escort me.”
“Yup, and between here and the town where you will meet this friend, there is a village I think you’d like to visit. So, how about I take you on a little detour? We can leave a day earlier than the combined and spend it on this village.”

---

Llapur Dyetzu extended his hand up, stretching, and then sighing. Mansion or home, Dzanya houses always had good ventilation in its halls, keeping the centre fresh, yet the rooms could become quite hot. Though that was the last of Llapur worries’ as he entered the room.

“Tavitze. Report.”

His good friend was as nervous as him. “Seems like we had a few of ours captured, nobody important. The traitors from the south become increasingly more daring. They are trying to find their own border passages… or to take ours.”

“They won’t get past Mutaraka’s troops, we have the number advantage and better equipment. They may have Sunlanders, but bows and arrows don’t help in that valley or in a cave.”

“I don’t know, they are not only using obsidian but also a lot of bronze recently.”

“I thought we had strikers along the trade route?”

“Oh, not from the Harbor Kingdoms, from the Hahin.”

“Really? That weird, I guess those skirmishes we heard about made some of the tribes desperate enough, but still, how can they even use those weapons? They are made for human hands.”

“Short-blades mostly, which is why it is not a serious advantage. We would do good to sour their relationship before the Hahin decide to make weapons tailored for humans.”

“No. We cannot strike at two sides, it would overstretch our banners. I do not trust having our men so far from our control and it is hard to keep everyone in check. Any defector could spell disaster.”

“I see.” Tavitze sighed, sitting near the window so the air blew against him. It was an infernal day and the heat changed one’s mind, it was hard to think. “Are we done for? Seems like the traitors have the upper hand.”

“They do not. Why do we call them traitors?”

“Because they left without warning the other clans?”

“Do you seriously believe that? That we would not do the same if we knew what they did back then?”

“We already don’t do that. We have the opportunities if we really wanted to just flee.”

“I mean back then, sixty cycles ago, not now. Everything changed now.”

“Oh come on. You don’t actually believe in this whole anti-clan crap that has been growing here. First your brother, and now you.”

“Do not put words in my mouth. Listen, we need to look at this objectively, this whole sentiment is not born from hate towards the clans, but of a realization, the dusklands are ending, Tavitze, and we might end with it.” the warrior walked closer to the window. “We lived in isolation for countless generations, all we knew were the great clans, but now most great clans are gone and we know of the foreigner armies. Tihtzin was a genial commander, but what could he do against the might of the Harbor Kingdoms? Nothing. The moment he was against them, he was done for. We can barely ensure our safety against some small tribe of Dusklanders on the border of our land, we, the largest coalition of clans that ever existed.”

Tavitze slowly shrank as Llapur talked, wanting to object, but not seeing a counterproposal in sight.

“If nothing changes, or if the traitor wins, we will be destroyed. No clan will remain, and all of the dusklanders will be forced to bow to foreigner kings.” Llapur continued “But this Dzanya talk, it unites the clans, it gives the people who have been clanless since the fall of Tsefo Valley to the Oddlands a banner to stay behind, it makes people such as the lords who fled south traitors in need of atonement or punishment, in traditional clan society they would not be bad, they were just smart, other clans are just slow, but we know that is not the case, want it or not, everything has already changed. You know that, after all, you keep your first daughter is such a terrible situation just because she is half-sunlander.”

Tavitze’s eye shot up, and soon the man was up, grabbing Llapur’s intricate silk coat.““You need to stop saying whatever comes to your mind, Llapur. This is none of your business. Don't you think I haven't seen you talking to her."

"Me? No. She sneaks around, impressively skilful for someone who is a servant. Loves to hear Batsami talk about the world, especially the soldiers. If we could train her, she might have some worth."

"So one moment you are boasting about Dzanya and our value, on the next you are judging me for not wanting a bastard foreigner as my successor."

"And this is what you do not understand. I am not like my brother, I am not blinded by the thoughts of Dzanya and Tsefo. I merely acknowledge it, and see for what it is worth, a good tool for recruiting soldiers, something that makes enemy clans less likely to bring in foreigners much more powerful than ourselves. You and all the other folks old of mind just do not see that I am no revolutionary, my objective is to keep myself and my family in power, and by extension other clans as well, it is how my family survived the chaos when thousands of thousands had to flee Tsefo Valley. There are things in the priest's philosophy that annoy me, and I deal with them one at a time, it is all about taking the good and leaving the useless, the same way we eat the fruit but leave the seed behind. But really, you can hardly be blamed, there is a reason why I am the most prestigious clan leader." he laughed and gave Tavitze a short punch on the shoulder.

"Do you really think you can tame it all, Llapur? I do not think you can. Just like you thought it was a good idea to force me to bring the girl, but you can't keep her in control."

"If Fernya annoyed me, she wouldn't be here anymore. There are ways to control things without forcing others to bow, and in truth, the real leaders don't need to yell that they are command every five steps they take. Now let's go. We have to escort Batsami back to her hometown. A good time to get acquainted with all the Tsefo fellas. Oh, and to hear about our shipment of bronze weaponry."

"You really are crazy to send so much silver and gems to some random sunlander in rags who says he can smuggle past the Kivicois."

"A hunter who only plays safe doesn't even go as far as walking into the forest. At worst, I will have lost some cluttery. At best, I will have the best equipment for the best-trained army of the dusklands."

---

North Mesathalassa was a land of hills, ravines, and broken fields. If Mavadzugji had once been accused of not focusing enough of his time as a priest on the praising of gods, he had surely paid that debt back with the number of prayers he had made under his breath as they crossed the gaps between mist covered crags through bridges of simple and old rope. The mist itself was not a problem to the priest, as a dusklander, his vision was good when facing darkness or fog, but everything else was just terrifying. Trisana, however, walked with ease and without worry, even if she could barely see her own feet while standing.

“Don’t worry priest, we are almost there! No more bridges after this one.”

There was still a whole lot of jungle, however, many rocks, and rain, a lot of rain, dry season for north mesathalassa meant rain season, and rain season meant storm season.

But no incidents happened, and soon, they spotted the little village they were moving for.

Entering, and it felt pretty much like a typical sunlander village of the type you find in the north. Walls of wood and clay, roofs of tree leaves bound by nets. Everything had to be built deep within the forest, else the strong winds of the plains would tear apart any home to shreds. This was perhaps, one the factors that made north mesathalassa so sparsely popular in comparison to the harbour kingdoms.

‘The round homes of Dzanya probably could survive the storms’ Mavadzugji thought, before he blinked. There was a round house in front of him and not one in the style of the large stone fortress he had seen in the ruins, but one of a distinct dusklander style. If this had given him a hint, the next step would deliver the whole idea, as he had seen white hair in the village, and not only the white hair of an elder, but the silvery, sometimes even iridescent, hair of a dusklander.

“Ah, damn, seems like we arrived at the time of a ritual. Let’s wait. I will go catch a friend of mine, you can stay here. Try to not get into trouble, just say you are with Tris should anything happen.”

So there stood a priest, awkward and pensive, thankfully not misleading himself with thoughts of some ancient dusklander society, he knew the age of buildings and could guess how old they were by the wear on the wood and clay. 50 cycles at most.

“Homelander?” a person sudden asked by his side, eyeing him with great curiosity. “I do not know you…” she was speaking the common language of the dusklands but with a heavy accent he could and some oddities. “But your clothes do not look like of local tribes.”

”Oh? Ah yes” he smiled. ”I am from the dusklands, I have travelled south to visit the abbey.”

“Amazing! I have never met any from home!” the man seemed legitimately impressed by that, and his exclamations brought the attention of others around him.

“Say, how are things in the home? Has it all been taken over by the Pantalei?”

”Pantalei? You must mean the oddlands. No. Their progress has slowed, but it continues.”

“Shame.” he pondered. “Do the clans fight? What is the strongest clan?”

”The clans have formed a coalition to avoid fighting. Not all clans adhere to it, but the strongest do, and attacking one means war with all.”

“Amazing! Grandfather said that was only happening if the chickens could swim faster than a fish. Good to hear that was not the case.”

A woman approached. “Say, priest, could you help us later? We have temples for the sunlander gods, but a lot of us, descendants of the settlers, would like a proper dusklander temple.”

”Wait, settlers?”

“Yes? Oh, you do not know. Our ancestors are from a tribe that fled the dusklands as soon as the problem with the Pantalei started.”

”I see. And, well, I could give you some guidance, but I am only staying for one day. What is the difficulty with setting up a proper temple.”

“Well… See, our tribe broke down long ago, and we had already lost many in the travels. We ended up without much in the way of remembering the rites.”

”My, that is terrible. Say, in what language do you write in this village?”

“Write?”

“I think he means those merchant things. But we don’t do that here, only travellers and the people of the abbey do.”

”For real? Hmm, this is not good, there are so many complex needs a temple needs. But well, its worth a try.”

For the next hour, Mavadzugji would tell the locals about the basics of dusklander culture. It was impressive to him something like that could just be forgotten, but he held no contempt for the locals, they lived in a harsh situation, away from home, among sunlanders. To him, it was impressive they did not just adopt the sunlander culture and still had an interest in the dusklander rites and gods. Furthermore… it was nice for him to have people actually interested in what he had to say about the dusklands.

And then… Tris came back.

“My my, seems like someone is popular, hehe” the woman laughed. “I am sorry though, I will need to borrow Mavadzugji here, we need to talk with the elder.”

”I guess I figured out why you brought me here.”
“Yes! You figured it right. I thought this would be of your interest. Dad should have done this, but he is always distracted by something else.” she grabbed Mavadzugji’s wrist and carried him away from the crowd, neverminding she was shorter than the man.

Soon, they were approaching the hut of the elder, it was a sunlander styled building, but it was decorated in silk, probably brought over by the settlers from the dusklands.

“So, this is the priest… taller than I expected, but still, a boy.”

The woman was a sunlander with white hair of the sort one gets by being old, by her side, what he could assume to be her granddaughter, who was giggling while whispering words to Trisana, had white hair of the dusklander sort.

“Seems like you have already become quite popular with the locals. As you have seen, we have many descendants of people from your land in our village. It is good that you helped them to reconnect with their ancestry a bit, even though I am sure that in the fifty years since they left, much has changed.”

”It has…”

The elder rose her hand to quiet him, she was still talking. “Trisana explained much about you, and I have heard rumours as well, son of Tihtzin, eh? Now that was a controversial person. We have two to three Tabata refugees in our village.”

”Oh? May I speak with them later? I… never knew my dad very well, he was a distant man.”

“Later, surely. I have caught them wondering loudly if the baby Tihtzin had to carry back home had survived. They probably will be happy to see it has and has grown into a trouble maker much like his dad.”

”Trouble? I never… Also… I am unlike my dad, I am not a soldier, people kinda…”

“Expect you to be like your ancestor, I know this well, child. My father is half of the reason why Karcelli, Trisana’s mother, decided to bring about the end of the shamans.”

”What!?” he was confused, he didn’t even know why this was surprising, but a person to make Karcelli like that had to be quite evil.
“Yes, see, he was part of a group of people that had been driven back by the immigrants fleeing the flooding.”

The priest nodded, so there had been people before the tribes that formed the Harbor Kingdoms came about, the idea of a hain inhabit Mesathalassa was misguided.

“... And his plan was to muster the spirits of the earth to sink the harbours kingdoms, pure revenge, but also a way to save his people. Say, boy, what do you think about this?”

”Me? Uhh, I think… It’s evil. I mean, there were other approaches to it…

“Were there?”

”Yes? He could help his people settle, use his powers to increase prosperity…”

“But that would still lead to combat with the Harbors, they wouldn’t want rivals, would they?”

”No, but… It's different? Being declared war upon is one thing, using mystical powers to sink cities is cowardly. It’s all vengeance and that must not be good to the soul”

“Hmm… You might be too young to think about such things, but yes, I do agree, it was a vile act.”

“Of course you do grandma, you married the dusklander who helped take him down.”

The elder looked over to her granddaughter and rolled her eyes. “That is correct, though he didn’t really have the looks himself, dark hair, unlike yours, and dark skin, like yours. He kept his dusklander nature a secret, but then opened up later, which is why he brought his tribe over here.” she sighed. “He would have liked to have met you.”

“This brings us to the most important topic,” she said, “I would like you to take my granddaughter to the Dusklands with you,” she told. “Much like Trisana, she has an interest in gods and in the mystical but wants to know more about her own ancestral heritage. I think it would be good for her to spend some years in the Dusklands, especially since in just a few more years… it might all be gone.”

The priest gasped at that. “I…. Well, yes, it would be good, she could help all the locals, teach them how to make a temple. Perhaps she could learn how to write in the language I devised for the Dzanya language.”

The girl looked confused. “Dzanya?”

”Oh, its a term that changed a lot since you have left, kinda became… uh, the catch-all phrase for the dusklands.”

“Grandma... “

The elder nodded.

“Uhm, and what about Dzanyavehar”

The priest looked flabbergasted. ”Where did you hear that word? I thought… I was the only one who knew it.”

“Grandpa cared a lot about this word.”

”So did my father. But it's a hard word to pin down. I guess at its core, its related to people’s land.” he pondered.

“But isn’t that what saying Dzanyaveh already implied.”

”Hmm, sort, its a question of emphasis. Just do me a favour, and do not say such a word when we walk back home, it would… cause trouble.”

The elder looked at him with serious eyes. “It already has, keep your eyes open on the way home.”

---

The journey had resumed, now with Kadja Regjurnyarha, the granddaughter of the elder. She had taken a dusklander like surname but followed the naming traditions of the sunlands. Thankfully for Mavadzugji, the path forward was much more straightforward, or so it had been.

”So, is the friend of your mom who will help me get to the dusklands a shaman?”

Trisana shook her head emphatically. “No, not even close. He is a hunter, a prime hunter of the hunting guild in Susah. But still just a hunter, his skills are mundane, not much different from mine, and entirely different from shamans who could command animals, nature spirits, among many other things.”

”Oh, I see. Shame they are no longer around. But what happened? The elder said her father was half of the problem?”

“Yes, there was also this woman, mom doesn’t even say her name.”

“Yeah, grandma doesn’t either.”

“But she delved into some, weird arts, taking animal forms…. Also started to dwell among twisted creatures, something of the sort, then she started to spread her wicked ideals among the locals, it didn’t go well.” she shrugs. “Used to think this was just stuff dad told to scare me away, but when I met Kadja here, I guess this was a second source to these talks, though nobody speaks clearly about who it was and what she did, it was bad enough to bring about the end of the shamans.”

”I see… Well, it seems you want to revive it, however?”

“In a sense.” Trisana nodded. “But its hard, nobody wants to speak, so much is lost.”

”Well, it had to be created once, no? And if it was created once, it can be created once again. However, Tris, maybe you should not worry so much about doing exactly what people like your mother could do? You have a set of skills, I don’t think you should be frustrated by the lack of these skills.”

“Hmm…” Trisana pondered. “Maybe you are right, priest. But there is no need to worry, I am young, and there is much to do.”

“Yeah. Trisana here is already pretty much on par with any elite hunter of the guild, I can only imagine she might do some crazy stuff when she grows older.”

“Heh, you overstimate me. Anyway. We are reaching the village, and that will be my stopping point, would love to go to the grey swamps, be among the mosquitoes and the people who speak a language I barely understand, but eh, I will have to pass.”

”Your loss, Tris.” Mavadzugji laughed.

“Well then, take good care of Kadja, remember she is a foreigner there, even if she has the look, all this talk of heritage doesn’t last much in actual practice. And you, Kadja, make sure you come back, I would miss one of my few friends. You too, priest, if things get too heated up in the dreamlands, know the abbey is here, so is Kadja’s village, seems like you got quite popular there~”

”Wait, you aren’t accompanying us into the village? How will we know who we have to meet?”

“Why, because you do not need to search for that which has already found you!”

This made the Dzanya duo to freeze and slowly look back, behind them was a man wearing a long green cape and moss tinted leather, his hair was dark, tinted to be that dark, and his face was covered in face paint. “Good afternoon. It seems I am to accompany you?”

“Yup! That is the duo. And stay alert, might not look like it, but the boy here is quite the talk. We have caught some whispers, and if he is found, you might need to deal with it.”

“So I take your detour instead of coming to here directly was an ill-advised act, was it not, Trisana?” the hunter said in a neutral tone, perhaps it was that that made it sound to menacing.

”Hey, do not blame her, it was my idea to go there because to me it was something important.”

“Well, it was my idea, but it is true it was something important for Mavadzugji. His long term wellness is important as well, you know. And I am sure you can navigate these lands with ease.”

With a short stare at the priest, the hunter just shook his head. “Well, nevertheless, you are right, it should not be trouble to us.”

With the last goodbyes, the hunter and the two dusklanders left, and as they did, Trisana’s smile dimmed a bit.

After a few moments, she turned around and stepped away from the village, wanting to go home as soon as she could, and not only for the sake of avoiding being out in the stormy land. However, before she could, her feet hit a box, a seal of some sort of winged animal on it.

“Damn, that was fast,” she told, looking around her, not finding a single track to follow. “Sneaky bastards.”

She opened the box and took out parchments, all in the kodekzian language. It detailed a whole lot about the ancient shamans, and also went on and on about this legendary figure, Susa of the Ranes. It smelled like grape, if it was an aroma or stench, it was yet to be defined. Trisana hoped it would not be a source of regret.

---

“Is it hard to travel with two strangers?” asked a curious Kadja, Mavadzugji was the one person she could talk with since the hunter was the quiet sort.

”Oh… Not really? Or is it… I mean, I have done this a lot lately, it is not like I knew Karcelli and Danolyo, right? In the end, I think I travelled more with strangers than with familiar faces.”

“Mmm! Weird. But it is good to know you are not uncomfortable.” she told, naturally, both their eyes drifted to the braving hunter in front of them, a very quiet young man, who despite just being not much older than them acted as if he was a distant elder. Sometimes he would walk too close to bushes and it would be as if he had vanished in front of them.

”You know, come to think of it, I did not know the hunters from Susah were so organized.”

“Oh they are not, it is just mom that organized a small group to act as body guards. I mean… I guess they are a bit organized since they are the main source of communication between villages, but its nothing absurd, of the sort you would see amongst the Harbor Towns.”

”The village you come from gains a lot from trade with the harbours, right?”

“Oh, not as much as you’d think. The fact we make silk is useful for them, but I would say the Hain are a more stable trade partner.”

”The Hahin? No way!”

“Yep! I mean, it is tricky trade, but it works. They hate the process of weaving fibers, especially the sort you get from a cocoon, but smooth, clean silk, is the sort of thing they like. So they are pretty open to a trade of these finished products. On the other side, they are much less squeamish about cleaning animals and tanning hide. So this is kind of what we do, we trade raw hides and finished textiles for leather and metals. It's a small trade, but a war between Hain fortresses causes much less disruption than the massive fighting of Harbor Kingdoms.”

”What, does that mean there is war in the harbours again?”

“Oh, when there isn’t war over them? Ever since Runza died the south has been a mess, and in the north, Kivico keeps pushing for dominion but failing, while fields that were once fertile are now becoming arid wastelands. Tris’ mom says its something to do with the spirits of nature. I once met a trader who said you find more and more villages just entirely deserted, and that the towns, who once grew at a fast pace, have all stagnated.”

”Shame, if Runza had survived, I am sure she would have united the lands.”

“Oh do not be silly, she would have stopped Imga from breaking, but she didn’t have the means to move north into Kivico.”

”You think?”

“I… well, I assume. I talk a lot with your dad’s friends, one of them is a sunlander, and he says a lot about strategy and the sorts, he says Runza would never beat Kivico!.”

”Hmm, I think he is biased by the many fights he had against Kivico.”

“Nah, I don’t think so, all rulers of Kivico are legendary, you know? Jehan, Hasvish, Milhel, and that is not even counting Sheru!”

This made the priest stop for a moment, distracted. ”But Runza fought Kivico, in the battle of Tri-Harbor, armies led by Sheru herself, and they lost.”
“Did they? I didn’t know that. But didn’t Runza die in that battle?”

”Of lung sickness.”

“Whaaat? No way! That is so pathetic…”

”I’d say Runza is anything but pathetic, but she was still a human, and no matter if they are a villager or a conqueror, they are mortal.”

“Still lame. But I guess I should be glad, if she was really that great, she would eventually try to move past the mountains into North Mesathalassa. Hell, Harbor Kingdoms used to try that, but there just isn’t much up here to be worth fighting for, they’d need to be really out of space to make the push… and I guess that makes it good for us from the village that they are instead killing themselves over nothing.”

The hunter sighed. “You two, talk too much.”

“Hey hey, hunter man! Give us your cool opinion, do you think a Harbor Kingdom could make it to Susah?”

“No.”

“Ahh… Why?”

“We’d shoot them.”

“Heh, and you think you can break a fully armoured army?”

“Yes, armour not great up here, too hot, too wet, swords also lose their cut. Armies from the people by the ocean are slow, we’d raid them non-stop, eventually, they break in spirit, and a soldier with a broken spirit is no different than a soldier with a broken body.”

“Damn… that is pretty cool. Later you need to talk me more about what you can do! I learned a lot from Tris, but I imagine a fully grown man like you who is an actual hunter could tell me much more.”

“You talk too much. You are startling the prey.”

”Huh? You are hunting? Don’t we have food?”
“Not anymore. The merchant swindled me, he said the meat was good and the oil would keep it safe, but it was of bad quality… don’t know how it went past my eyes, I have never made a mistake like this before.”

“Huh, that explains my stomach was aching,” Kadja said, trying to ease the mood.

”Oh… oh no… a true situation… guess… we will have to drop the greasy meat for one day and instead get some fresh food from the nearby village! Shame!”

“I don’t want to go to villages with you two.”

”But we are getting hungry and the meat we have is rotten.”

“We would have caught prey if it was not for you two talking so loudly all day and night.”

”Still, that is the situation at hand!”

“You know what, fine, your life, your choice, I will have to babysit you in there but ultimately, if something happens and I fail to protect you, it will not be me who will be meeting the death gods.”

The priest gulped, but Kadja laughed. “Its just a village in the middle of nowhere, there isn’t even any dusklander settlement nearby.”

”She makes a good point. Furthermore, we just need a few supplies. I could stay outside… maybe?”

“Let’s not separate.” the hunter added, and the duo nodded, moving into the village.

For their suprise, it was a lively place, made of sixteen or so houses, all clay. It was big enough to have a common area for travellers to move into.

“No hunter guild… Seems like we will have to barter.” the man added.

“Want some of silk? I have a bit…”

“Nah, I have obsidian and rare shells, also a horn of a fierce beast, we just need to find someone who might be interested in that. “

While the trio talked, the priest looked around his surroundings, apparently, there was a whole lot of talk about him being a murder target, if the reactions of the people around him meant anything. Seems like from the start Karcelli and Denolyo knew it was the case, why else would they avoid the main route. It made sense, surely as his writings arrive, the talks of the Tsefo became heated… He prayed that all would be fine when he arrived home.

There was a sudden movement near them, then everything moved too fast for him to realize what had happened. In front of him, he saw a man with a stone club, the club inches from his head, holding the club in place was a spear. From behind him, the hunter immediately turned and tackled the man attacking Mavadzugji.

A commotion had started, but it ended quickly, the hunter was quick with his movements, kicking the man down and holding him there.

“I would recommend settling down, friend. Or it will be a painful death. Hunters like to see the life vanishing from their prey’s eyes. You know?” the spearman told, winking. He was probably the only person relaxed within the whole village.

“You know him!?” The hunter told.

“Not much more than what is obvious. A little dog serving some stupid chef.”

“To the hells with you all.” the assailant said. “This is no sunlander’s business you rotten mercenaries!”

“Why did you attack?” the hunter questioned, shaking the man.

“Why? Why do you think? Mutaraka’s snake. You think we don’t see through you?”

”What lies? What do you know of me?” Mavadzugji stepped forward.

“I know you are working for Mutaraka! He plans to take all of our lands. He wants revenge, especially on his old master. That commoner, that peripheral, he never got over it, did he?”

”I do not partake in clan politics, I worry about the people of the Dusklands.”

“Lies! Your whole group, what has it done but prepare the people to war against us?”

”We keep the history of the dusklands and its people. All of its peoples, including you, brother. And we want to make a better world together.”

“My family has worshiped Momumepo for generations. She gave us a vision, and we left, it is not my fault if others weren’t as blessed…”

”I am not against the worship of Momumepo, and in all honesty, I didn’t even know about early dzanya settlers down here. But there is something you… firstlanders must understand… I do not hate you. This woman by my side is not unlike you. The difference is that she waits to hear my words before deciding to start violence.” he looked down upon the man. ”And about the heavenly sister, I am sorry, but I will never support worshipping her above any other god. She might be matron of the sunlanders, but we are not sunlanders, and she is an unfit god of those who dwell in the dusk… why else would she give visions to some but not all? Why else she would order us to leave our homeland instead of stopping its infection?”

”If that was truly what happened, but it does not matter. I do not care if you believe in me or not, I do not care if you think I only seek to help Mutaraka or not. If you want to just obey your clan elder and hate me because he told you to do so, that is fine. But you must at least question yourself, why did you try to assassinate me?”

“I have already said it, you make people unsure, you prepare the land for war.”

”The latter statement is untrue, I do not want to hurt anyone, dusklander brothers or sunlanders. Did you hear me from the village I visited? You think I would talk to those people if I desire to hurt them? Furthermore, maybe people should be unsure, we live in uncertain times, that is for sure, and questioning is necessary.”

The hunter held the man down for some more time. “Were you sent here?”

“We heard of the Tsefo Priest and moved to cover the towns and warn other clans. We knew you would show up one day or another in one of these villages,” he said… his expression mixed between anger and confusion.

The hunter frowned. “This is not good. Not even the wildlands will be safe, and we can’t clean this village of suspects…” he whispered.

“I could! I am good at reading people.” the spearman said with a smile.

”We are not killing anyone, not this man, not any ‘suspect’.

Three people looked up at him. “This is a terrible idea.” the hunter told him.

”I think maybe… this could be the start of something.”

The spearman shook his head. “It won’t be.”

”We cannot be sure. You never know...”

“I do, and let me tell you this… it won’t.” it was as if his eyes gleamed, but it was probably just a nearby torch casting irregular light.

“Wait…” Kadja said. “Who are you?” it seemed just now the question had downed on all others. The hunter immediately left the man and moved towards him.

“Come to think of it, you do know a bit too much, what are you trying to do? Who are you?” the man said, advancing with a knife in hands.

“I am family! My friends I know it is a tense day but please, let’s not turn weapons against some poor innocent man who just wanted to visit his cousin!”

“Is this man your cousin?”

”I have never seen anyone like this before! My father had no brothers, what madness are you speaking?”

“Calm down everyone. Look, let me just do this.” he jumped a bit to the side, hiding from the curious eyes of the village, and rose his blouse, revealing some sort of birthmark on his upper arm. It was… just a spot, nothing that felt like the setup for what he had done, but Mavadzugji gasped. “Mother-side, Mavy.”

The hunter who was more than eager to get rid of the spear-wielding weirdo immediately read the priest’s reaction. “Oh come on, I was tasked with bringing one, now I bring three!?”

“Thinking ahead is good, my poaching friend, but you are thinking too far, I have food, if that is what you three needed, let’s move away from this crowd, too many eyes for me to keep track off.”

---

In a nearby hill, a new camp was set up, this time without a flame, they were still alert, if not paranoid, after the attack.

“So, you, spearman, start with the basics.”

The man nodded. “Basics, hmm, your plan of taking these two through the tunnels was always terrible.” He smiled, and the hunter massaged his temples.

“Aren’t you a jokester?”

“I am Kallum Vascogne. The current head of the Vascogne family. My mother was one of the three princesses of Kivico, so was Mavadzugji’s.”

“Waaaiiittt, what?” Kadja said, shooting her eyes to the priest, who sighed.

”So… I guess she told you?”

“Never met her, but I knew my aunt’s style, when I heard she had a son it was easy to pick out the males who could have been intimate to her. You were an educated guess. Good thing these birthmarks are a pretty dominant trait among the descendants of the royal house. No wonder we don’t have as many bastards as other houses, hehe.”

“Now this is the backstory, I want the context, why did you come to us?” the hunter had no patience anymore, he was too busy thinking over his travel plan.

“Ah, but isn’t it obvious? Didn’t that vile man explain as much? There has been too much talk about this poor little priest around. From what I gathered, started with some border clan that has had historical hate for Mutaraka, and has since spread all the way down here, emotionally binding Mavadzugji to all the raids they have suffered under dusklanders and, of course, a bit of religious zeal, as it has been said this priest wants to erase Elysium from their pantheon when in truth he just wants to say she might be evil or at least uncaring. I heard those rumours, and started to try to find him and help out, after all, he is family.”

“Good story, but you smell weird, familiar weird, have we met before?”

“Oh I am a trader, didn’t I tell? Didn’t you hear my family’s name? Isn’t it easy to guess? I would not be impressed if we crossed paths, and I guess I am the only winemaker around, a quite unique aroma.”

“Yes you are, which adds to my suspicion, wouldn’t your harbour kings prefer you to help them to supply their land instead of doing suboptimal trade with the north?”

“The Vascogne bow to no king… well, we bow to many, but, its all cordiality, we don’t actually work for anyone in particular, just our own wealth.” he smiled. “And you’d be impressed if you saw the sort of deals we can squeeze out places others think are worthless.”

The hunter started pondering for an answer but Kallum was already on the last step of his plan. “Which brings me to my proposal. Let me take Mavadzugji and make a detour, I have a route that smuggles bronze into the dusklands, it will be a much safer walk home than anything in the tribe filled north. Especially if they start to employ rival hunters.”

“What? I am not allowed to turn back and just leave the priest to someone else.”

“You could take the girl, she is not a wanted priest, after all. Way cuter too!”

”Wait, when did I agree to this?”

“Well, wouldn’t you want to travel with some never met before family member? Especially one that is a rich merchant and has a whole lot of writings you might like?” he smiled. “Furthermore, I can break these paths much faster than the hunter over here. And without having to worry about stalkers, we can just use horses.”

There was an awkward silence. “Okay, look.” Kallum started. “Let’s keep moving north a bit more, when we reach the best spot to cross into West Mesathalassa, you make your decision. If you decide to go with the hunter, at least let me also accompany you, so we have more hands to deal with any possible attack on your life.”

The priest gulped, the memory of the club right over his face coming back to his head. Kallum smiled, to others it felt reassuring or playful, but to Mavadzugji, it felt weird, as if despite the fact he stared directly at him, his eyes felt distant.

---

Somehow, the proposed split did happen, Kallum was just great at playing people’s expectations and needs. Mavadzugji’s fear, the hunter’s worries, these were things he could use. Furthermore, it was clear quite soon he was indeed the priest’s cousin, and to seal the deal, he did a little spar with the hunter, and somehow, despite his body looking untrained, he outwitted the man with ease and grace.

Mavadzugji was excited at first, it was something he always dreamed about, someone close to his mother, perhaps, someone who could tell him more about the harbours… but… As if mocking him, the Vascogne man just kept going on and on about the most trivial of things, about meaningless court drama, he didn’t even know much about the current leaders! The first meaningful conversation came one morning, as they rode their horses through the arid lands near the passage from North to West Mesathalassa.

“That is Tabata.”

”Huh… it's smaller than I thought it was.” he looked down. ”Weird, to visit a place I already have been in, but not remember it.”

“You know what is weird?” Kallum forced a smirk. “Going to some place for the first time and remembering it.” the priest laughed, not noticing it wasn’t exactly a joke.

“Want to visit it, Mavy?”

”Uh, no, we are in a rush and our supplies are fine.”

“Wait, for real?” he showed an expression Mavadzugji had not seen the man make, surprise, and immediately looked off into the horizon while pondering over what he heard. “This… was unexpected. I was sure you would be interested in it, perhaps scout out its walls so you can repeat your dad’s act, eh?” he laughed.

”You assume too much! I have no interest in war.”

Kallum nodded, his mood had changed, now he seemed… interested. Before he always had a hint of bored. “But… well, you do know, that once the clans have to flee south, wars will happen?”

”Didn’t we change course because of the many settlements of dusklanders who seem to already exist? Aren’t they proof we just settle peacefully?”

“Yeah, uh, but they are also proof chieftains wouldn’t be too interested in having opposition to their power. Now, in the north, people don’t care much, you are human or hain, but in the west, things aren’t so clear. Each village has their identity, then the harbor kingdoms have their overbearing cultures, then there is the Eveman and the Imga…”

”Well, if they attack a dusklander settlement, then we might defend ourselves.” he shrugged.

“But what if dusklanders attack them?”

”I want to keep the culture and weave together the loose threads of Dzanya, but, I can tell them to stop, much like I tell the firstlanders to not hunt me, but they might be stupid and not hear me.” he looked at Tabata and its ancient walls over the dusty rocks, thinking back at his father’s takeover. ”They probably would die anyway.”

“And what if they are not? Look at those walls, see how they have layers? Each layer is a failed holder of that fortress. What if they win?”

”Again, it is not my worry.”

“I think it is.” he tried to keep eye contact even if Mavadzugji looked away. “What do you plan to do once you are down in the south?”

”Have finished my writings so the culture can be kept even as we flee, perhaps help Kadja’s village finish that temple…”

“Ah…” he nodded, having already deduced the rest. “So you plan on settling in that village and forming a little theocracy maybe? Like the abbey?”

Mavadzugji’s eyes widened… then he slowly nodded.

“Well, that is a possible path, I can see it, you finish your writings, then move south along with the others, then the other clans would follow your ideas and stay distinct but still exist as they did in the north…. No, with some sort of urban-centred government? Like an early harbour kingdom, or any of the small ones… Hmm... “

”There, isn’t that nice?”

“It presumes a lot of peace and goodwill, it presumes no other coalition of clans like Mutaraka’s won't exist. It presumes no clan leader wants to go on a campaign to unite the tribes, which, mind you, will be natural once you help them to see themselves as one group separated by clans. It presumes the north will stay the same. It presumes no Harbor Kingdom will fall to a dusklander band of refugees… and you say I have too many assumptions.”

He looked at the priest and assessed his reactions, especially, his worry. Kallum smiled. “Though I won’t deny, it could happen, or it couldn’t. From my viewpoint, I think you will at least get to have your little temple in the south… maybe a big temple. Heh, with that trade route going so close nearby, you could get your new society in quite a strategical place. Mixing natural influence with the political influence you are making, you could do a lot. And I mean… a lot. Can you imagine that? Imagine if the man to unite all of the Dzanya was not a warlord but a priest? Tsefo is already guiding the people’s culture, guiding the people is just a question of a small powerplay.”

”That would be a theocracy similar to the one in Mirny, correct?”

“Well, minus the slaves… I hope?”

”Do not even joke about such things, I would never accept it anywhere near a temple. But, onto what you say, I am afraid it is not what I imagine. A centralized religious system like that of Mirny is fit for Harbor Kingdoms and sunlanders, but the temples in the duksland won their independence from the clans, one of the earliest events in our known history are the shamans and holy man stopping the depredation of holy sites by declaring it to be a free zone.”

“Well, I guess there is this angle, that is why the temple doesn’t apply gender distinctions within its members right? You basically become an entirely different sort of person, free from the binding ropes of earthly intrigues.”

”Well… yes, there is a religious reason though, but I do think there is some relation to the functional need… And it worked, that is, until Elysian thought entered the dusklander mind, that religion makes it easy to get tied up with politics, to give favouritism to the rich.”

“I think you misplace your focus, even if you took off the Elysiun, you would still have the fertile grounds where such ideas bloomed, nobles and chieftains want preference.”

”It's a vicious cycle, Kallum, and dealing with one side enables me to deal with the other.”

The merchant looked to his side and pondered, before nodding. “Well, anyway, since we won’t visit Tabata, we might as well try to move deeper into the land before our horses get too tired, could save us some time.”

---

In enough time, they would reach the rocky shores of the White Sea, or how Mavadzugji called it, Hiriketzur, the silver sea. It was a perfect match to the descriptions he had heard, while the old seas had gentle shores with proper fauna and flora to match, the young silver sea, created by the deluge, was as if the earth had been cut, and the whole coastline was filled with cliffs, dying forests unfit for the coast, and even some roads leading into the sea.

”If I remember the maps right, we are near Puperute?”

“Oh, that village has been gone for a while, razed in the war and never recovered. No, this is just some minor fisherman village.”

The priest blinked, making a second take, the village he was seeing was large… way larger than anything he had seen in his life.

”Minor…?”

“Well, it is influential, but not enough to compete with the harbors, who dwarf it.”

”Dwarf it!?”

Kallum laughed. “Reality shock? The cities are big.”

”I imagined… but that is really big!” he said. ”I mean, Danolyo’s journey’s diary says the harbors aren’t even that big…”

“Oh, compared to the world, that is true. Mesathalassa seems to be a bit behind, I… I mean, my father, has visited a few villages north of the Dusklands, and wow, are they big. He entered this city called Thau, and it was enourmous and wasn’t even the biggest in the region. They had tall temples that made the royal palace of Kivico look like a hut. Hell, their previous king was married to an angel, and the current one is able to perform miracles.”

”Heh, no offence, but it sounds like your father might have exaggerated his tale.”

“I wish he had. But I fear the word out there is big, some scary things out there, you think you can deduce it all from reading, but in practice, it is different. Have its advantages, we are spiky enough to keep the pirates off but not big enough to make them really interested in dying on our shores, but what if someone decided, hey, it’s worth to topple those cute villages, what happens? The deer riders rode up to half the continent and they weren’t even that much of a powerhouse.”

By this point in time, days into the journey, Mavadzugji had already got the idea that the Vascogne merchant was not one to say things without an objective. He was a charming and amicable person, who would rarely say ‘the wrong thing’, and that was perhaps what alerted the priest the most, everything was too direct and it was clear he wanted to hold certain information while sharing others. He did not tell anything about the Harbor Kingdom’s daily life or how the politics worked in practice but seemed to always have an opinion against Mavadzugji’s autocephalous approach to the priesthood.

”I do not think I am in a spot to opine on this. My world has already grown a lot in the period of a year, all that I knew has been shaken up, I will need some time to let these thoughts settle to even consider understanding what you are trying to say.”

Kallum looked down onto him and then rolled his eyes. “Yes, sorry, you are only human after all, but just keep this situation in mind.” he then dismounted and helped Mavadzugji out of his horse. “Get ready for a long boat trip, okay? You dusklanders are accustomed to riverboats, but the ocean is a different beast.”

---

It seemed the trick of Kallum’s smuggling was simple, instead of using a normal trade barque, he created a boat that looked like it was meant for fishing, partner that with a diurnal journey instead of a sneaky nocturnal trip and you have a crime in plain sight, without the patrolling Harbor Kingdoms ever suspecting the fishing boat was bringing metal up north.

He expected them to stop near Grehvew, but they continued, and this worried Mavadzugji, the oceans near the frontier were said to be wild and dangerous, full of sharp rocks and strong waves, and indeed, they were, but somehow Kallum was able to sail it without a single worry, it was as if he had memorized every single stone pillar and sandbank, it was just absurd.

Next on the trip was a sight he did not expect, as he never had seen it mentioned anywhere, but sharp colourful shapes rose from the ocean, creating a long barrier like strip all the way into the horizon. It was also of his not that they were already in the duskland, as the sky had dimmed, though the transition seemed to be less noticeable this far west compared to the eastern location where he did his first crossing.

Again, with extreme care, Kallum was able to cross through the corals, which Mavadzugji assumed to just be weird rocks, the lack of any other ship whatever made it clear to the priest that what the Vascogne merchant could do was something unique, that no other harbour sailor was able to replicate.

“And here we are.” he stopped his ship in a sandbank in one of the coral islands. Makeshift housing existed here and it was easy to see why, in the centre of the island, nested by rocks and coral, was a natural pool of fresh water. It seemed no one else lived in the island at the moment, but there was space for more than one person in the house nested in a small cave. “Drink and eat as much as you want, we will be too close to the Pantalei once we go up, and if you eat tainted food, you can kiss goodbye to your future.”

”Aren’t the Tsadzami tribes still inhabiting the river?”

“Oh they are, so are the Papurabibi near it, pretty place, but it's too expensive and it takes too long to barter for anything, let’s just soldier through and we will be back in your homeland in no time, okay?”

The priest nodded, and then morning broke, taking with it the high tides, they left, crossing the maze of coral and sand with ease, and finally reaching the gravel shores of the Dusklands. It seemed the whole Djoratsonya river was tainted by the oddlands, but the delta tribes, the Tsadzami, still kept their large towns intact, according to Kallum the magic on the water was still not strong enough to avoid being filtered by the mangrove and waterfalls.

The dealt was left behind as they started to go up the mountains, it was similar to the passage from North Mesathalssa to West Mesathalassa, a path full of valleys, plateaus and large waterfalls, but it was also much gentler and could be crossed directly while the southern passage was a long snaking route, the Cogne was also much larger than the Djoratsonya and was accompanied by smaller rivers while the dusklander river was the only one.
Across the path, Mavadzugji was shocked to see how close the colourful oddlands, Pantalei, were. Across the large Djoratsonya, he could the north completely taken over by it, sometimes he would go up a tree and see that it went as far as the horizon. The scariest moment was when it started to appear not north of them, across the river, but in front of them, right before they took a boat south in one of the tributaries of the river that once connected all of the dusklands.

With the boat they took, they entered the Mikahagje, the lake plains, his homeland, though they could not reach Mohavumika by boat. The villages here were had a feeling of dread, and it was easy to see why, the oddlands were advancing south, and once they take over a river, everything goes to hell fast. It was absurd to think half of the lake plains would be gone in a decade or so.

“Well, this is the best spot to stop our boat, we will need to cross some swampland from here to reach the river, but then we will be in Kutonyahar and from there its a short boat trip to deliver the bronze and you.” Kallum laughed.

”This is an odd path, if we kept navigating south there would be way less land to cross.” the priest said.

“Yes, but those lands are harder to cross. You will be impressed, but we will reach the village before Kadja and that weird hunter, despite taking the longer path.”

For a moment Mavadzugji thought about asking Kallum how he knew the lands better than a local like him, but that did not matter, seeing all he had seen, and finally being so close to home again, he felt anxious, but also ready to take it head on, to do all that needed to be done, to take Tsefo and make it into the light of guidance for all the Dzanya.

An instant to travel was not fast enough. Every fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the time Toun spent speeding to Pictaraika defiantly slowed in his hyper-aware perception. Acres of land and sea fed their details to his eye. Every drop of water taunted him. Every speck of earth punished him for not being at his quarry. Even with his enemy at the edge of his perception, the valley before Toun embraced a dark tempest rolling with mocking laughter.

Swirling clouds of black dust and smoke driven by scorching winds billowed about the valley. The blotted sun cast deep, twisting shadows. Bolts of lightning and magic crackled within and clapped upon the ground. The mountainsides facing the valley glistened with dark, glassy, fused earth at what they had seen to cause it.

Directly beneath the turbulence where sheets of fire and lightning danced, the ground had twisted into dark igneous stone. Sparks and flames danced on the shards and leapt up and into the storm. Closer to the centre, the ground grew soft and malleable. The dark stone lurched and bubbled like a black, glowing slime. It inclined up as the earth peeled away to reveal the jagged lip of a grand crater, within which the eye of the polluted storm swirled and roared over endless thunder.

Crackling motes of light born by the currents of the great whirlwind flew in the churn. Invisible pieces merged and split. Flickers, spawned from raw magic like tiny flames from kindling. The countless little djinn ignited into existence like so many dizzy insects. They fought the raging elements, they fought and devoured one another, and most perished in short order.

The very middle instigated it all. A blinding light. Around the epicenter buzzed residual energies of raw Change. Photons, electron-positron pairs, and more exotic particles fizzled in and out of existence. Atoms in the air and earth cycled through elements and isotopes thereof. Molecules were torn into their constituent components and blasted away. Energy and impossibility resolved into the protest against the physical rules bending around them; the vast storm engulfing it all.

Laying below, past the vaporised matter and buzzing energy, was a figure glowing with white-hot incandescence. Unmoving. A super-heated suit of metal armour. Holes had blistered the surface open, revealing charred god-flesh underneath. Golden ichor cauterised by raw power. Above the wounded figure was a rippling disturbance in the air -- a scar where the fabric of reality had been torn by a recent collapsed portal.

And in the still-glowering air besides, amid the violent core of the shockwaves, there stood one utterly black and motionless shape. It loomed over the fallen god like death itself, as if inspecting its own handiwork. It spoke with soft words that cut perfectly through all the din, "Hmph. For good measure..."

It held up a tiny pearl that radiated a light and a heat that darkened everything. The portal reopened and there was a second explosion that carried all the fury and cataclysmic effects of the first. It ceased after a few moments. Zyus finally relented his assault and rested with some measure of ease.

And then he was gone.

In a sound-breaking wake, the storm clouds blasted open in a cone of clear air, momentarily flooding the crater with natural light. At the cone's point was a white spear. Holding the spear were a pair of shivering clay hands. These hands lead into flowing clay robes worn by Toun. Coming with Toun was a single-minded focus that broke like a bottle against a wall.

Toun drew up his spear and glanced about the clouds. The realisation of Xos' absence sublimated his temper to gas.

"XOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOS!"

The god's shout echoed halfway across Galbar. Even the storm sounds were cowed, and crept slowly back to noise.

Toun angrily pelted his spear into the ground, burying it halfway in the still-molten rock, and then threw his elongating arms to clutch Teknall's armoured shoulders. His fingertips hissed with the heat. Toun's head stretched by the neck with his arms to loom over Teknall's glowing helmet.

"Where is it!?! WHERE IS THE MURDERER!?"

Toun hesitated. The clouds finally darkened them. Teknall's lack of immediate response drew him away from his rage. Toun's entire chest sank and his eye rounded in disbelief.

"...Brother?" Toun almost stammered quietly. "I expect you to persist, brother. Cease hiding your last pieces of self this instant!"

As desperation grew in Toun's voice, his eye shone with a light that searched for Teknall's essence. Miraculously, there were still traces of Teknall's life-force within the body encased in the armour. But the wounds were grave. His essence was weak, and fading.

"Fool!" Toun shouted. He dropped to his knees, looking frantically over the wounds. One of his hands twisted and morphed into a needle point. He brought the point down into the largest hole at the front of Teknall's armour and clinically pierced the wound. The care he took belied his voice. "Stone-headed... bauble-shaping...sentimental FOOL!" Toun fell to a murmur. "I cannot allow this mistake to be your end. Not you..."

The point in Teknall's body stopped just short of his heart. Tiny porcelain roots branched out to wrap around Teknall's heart and elicit a golden glow.

"...Especially not you."

Pale blue light ran from the roots, weaving around the golden light of Teknall's heart like so many spreading capillaries. As a wave receding, the blue lines ebbed back into the porcelain and no golden light remained.

Toun slowly removed his arm and at its end was a shining golden pearl. His hand regrew around it, his fingers holding it preciously in his fist.

With his other hand, Toun grabbed the well and truly lifeless armoured husk by the arm and looked into a direction in the roiling clouds. Beyond, somewhere, was Ilunabar.

---

A few moments before, the goddess had watched in powerless horror as the battle unfolded. Every moment was filled with fear, but also temptation. The temptation to burst the powers of Pictaraika against Xos, the temptation to reach deeper into the wave and see if she could change this reality to one where Teknall was safe. But Zephyron's banishment was alive in her memory. The trauma of once again being an eyewitness to the loss of a sibling was dwarfed by the terror of breaking the unspoken rules between gods and primordials. Her hands stood still, but her mind raced, the pages of the Index flying about in a chorus as all the archives were consulted.

Ilunabar, sister, Toun projected in his mind nearby. We are not too late. He needs us.

No questions, no context. Toun's voice called for action and brought her hope. It was the time to act, now or never.

The bells of the temples of Pictarika rang, the white clouds going back to black, being reabsorbed by the facilities. The ringing, however, did not stop, and would be used to counter and dispel the storm of change inflicted against the goddess' realm. The sound lulled the raging atoms and particles of the battlefield. Soon after, the molten glass impervious to the actions of elementals started to rain against the breeding flickers, trapping them within the clear substance. Though the technology was developed too late to be used in battle, it could at least be used to suppress and normalize the region.

In the seconds it took for Ilunabar to do the above, she took one more action. Mercury from the solar furnace mirror and the ones melted or destroyed in the battle flowed down the mountain face, creating a large mirror portal near Toun. From it, the goddess emerged, clad in her long cape and with a serious, almost frozen, expression. She knelt near the two others.

"You arrived in time...Thanks." her voice was tired but held true sincerity.

Toun blinked at his fingers closed around the golden pearl. He gave Ilunabar no apparent regard.

"Indeed, of the fates I predicted, we are already in one of the best branches, yet the battle rages on...I wish I could directly use my powers, but..." no further words, only a frustrated expression. Nevertheless, thinking back on the very design of Teknall and Ilunabar's creations, she started to mutter. "The girls' hearts...the essence holder...originally designed with Teknall's powers in mind...the design, if repurposed..." she rose her hand to the mirror, and from it, two bands, one of gold and one of bronze, along with few gems, flew into her hand. Quickly, Ilunabar assembled a primitive copy of what Kinesis and Conata held in their chests. She handed forward the weak stabilizer, meant to delay the dispersion of the soul.

Toun's half-closed eye lifted to it.

"And if we look into Thacel...your calligraphy...Do you remember the words? We need to keep him with us." she told in a voice that was suppressing mountains of anxiety.

"We do," Toun responded. He let Teknall's corpse in his other hand go and reached for Ilunabar's makeshift god heart. With the care of a machine-like jeweler, he uncurled his hand to reveal the golden pearl and fitted its bright form into the apparatus. There, the last vestiges of Teknall's essence were sustained without Toun's grip trapping it.

Toun flicked his gaze up to meet Ilunabar. He reached and took Ilunabar's upper arm. His grasp was not quite painful. "Focus," He said quickly. "This is where we renew."

A stream of meteoric flame plummeted from the sky and impacted the face of a mountain across the valley, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel with an earth-shaking boom. A moment later a ten-limbed mahcine wreathed in mirror-like reflections leapt out of the dust cloud and landed with a clunk on four legs several metres in front of Toun. The being stood, silently assessing the scene. Then, it stepped forward and reached out with its six hands for Teknall's body.

Toun stood up and turned his head as the creature slid its master's remains off the ground. "Witness," he dryly said. "His avatar yet functions. Until its connection runs empty, Teknall may be saved." He raised his voice. "Shall you remain passive to this, child!?!"

The words echoed out of the valley. There was no response.

Goliath turned its head towards the edge of the crater. It stepped towards Toun and offered Teknall's body to him.

"Leave that here and carry out what you intend," Toun said dismissively. "Our next step is more important..."

Goliath deposited the body on the ground and then walked away in the direction he was facing.

Toun stepped to face Ilunabar. "I remember the calligraphy. I remember our efforts to remake Kyre were aberrant. It will not be sufficient to perform the same act here."

"Of course I would not want to repeat that." she declared in a cutting tone. "But not all of that was useless. A few concepts work. I just want stability until we can restore him."

The goddess did not wait for an answer. Looking around, trying to keep her mind clear, she started to wonder out loud. "The creations of a god anchor them to this world. This is what I believe. With Teknall, it is no different. Yes. It is obvious." she mumbled, a hand over her mouth and eyes moving erratically.

"But how does that help us, sister?" Toun said softer than usual. "Are you suggesting we could make use of Goliath over there? Or that piece of machinery on Vestec's shoulder? Some sleeping urtelem?"

"If I were to be in the same situation, I am sure the divas would be the key to..." she immediately stopped and rose one finger as her mind absorbed one of the pieces of information Toun had shared. "Machine? On Vestec's shoulder?" she questioned with a heavy emphasis on each word.

---

Outside the valley, under a rocky outcropping on a mountain slope facing away from the valley, Kinesis sat hugging her knees around her ears, a pair of hands clapped over her mouth, hair matted in front of her face, rocking back and forth trembling and crying. She hardly noticed Toun's call.

Even the hissing, winding, and thumping of Goliath's walking legs could not move her. She was oblivious to the construct's approach.

"Your father sent me to protect you."

Kinesis' head perked up suddenly at the sound of Teknall's voice. Her eyes turned to the voice's source. "Father?" Hope against hope crept into her voice.

Goliath stood silent and motionless. As the seconds ticked by, it appeared to sense something was expected of it.

"Your father sent me to protect you," it repeated, in exactly the same tone as before.

Tears rolled down Kinesis' cheeks she bit her hand to hold back sobs. Goliath reached down, gently pulled Kinesis' hand out of her mouth, then stood back up to its full height. Kinesis looked at Goliath for a moment, puzzled, and then let her eyes contort into grief. She wrapped her arms around Goliath's leg and wept into it.

---

In the distance of the crater, Toun gesticulated with one flat hand as he calmly explained his interview with Vestec back in Teknall's workshop.

"...After the prosthesis was attached, Vestec expressed no struggle in assuming it as if it were his previous arm. Our brother Teknall builds to purpose." He gave the remains of the mirror armour a look. "However, I fail to see how Vestec's narrow escape from Xos helps us here, either, sister."

"The...The interaction between machine and essence. It is the key, brother, it is the key factor to save Teknall. It all comes together." she told in an anxious tone, one hand resting on Toun's shoulder. "If you can patch a limb, you can mend a whole body. "

The goddess almost smiled, but then the hope wavered, her hand going to the side of her face, eyes closing with the frown as she felt her plan hit a wall. "Yet I have no knowledge of how such fine machinery works to replicate it. What cruel irony, Teknall is the only one who knows how to save his own life..."

Toun looked down at his hands. "I am a creator. But, if I tried now, without knowing Teknall's methods, my own essence would interfere. We do not have time for such a pursuit."

As if emptying his lungs, Toun's shoulders sank. His hope ebbed as well. And yet, seeing Ilunabar's anxious frustration, his expression changed. His hand lifted halfway, hesitated, and then gently took Ilunabar's wrist to bring her hand away from her face.

"Please, do not be upset," he said with more softness and sympathy than Ilunabar had ever heard. "Please, sister. There is a way. There must be."

He glanced in different directions. "When we tried to recreate Kyre, the body produced was merely a mix of our own essences. There must be another way to create the body. It would have to be from Teknall's essence alone. Or...at least enough to be compatible..."

In that moment of hopeless quiet, the wind calmed over the battlefield. In the pauses between the light breezes that carried the white smoke away, the sound of Kinesis' sobbing echoed across the crater.

Toun lifted his head to the source of the sad sound. His eye narrowed, not in scorn, but with the glint of inspiration that Ilunabar had seen in countless beings before. The goddess looked up, first at Toun then turning her head around to hear the sound. Then the same thought sparked in her mind.

"The girls…!" she gasped. "They might…They might be the ones who can do this."

"They will have to be." Toun took a single, instantaneous step across to Kinesis' hiding spot with Ilunabar still held by the wrist.

Toun let his sister go and showed Kinesis the bejeweled godheart in his other hand without any preamble. "You, niece of mine. Put your hand to this device to see your chances of saving your creator's existence."

Kinesis looked up at Toun, momentarily puzzled. She reached out and put her hand on the mechanical heart without thinking. She sniffled and wiped tears from her face with two other hands. Only then did Toun's words and the device in his hand begin to register in Kinesis' consciousness.

"What? My...father? In there? How?"

"He is not dead, niece," Toun said plainly. "He is dying." He rolled his wrist back to pull the device away.

In a frightening rush of movement, Toun's other hand snatched Kinesis' outstretched arm. One of his fingers grew in a pointed hook. It pressed painfully into Kinesis' hand.

The previously unmoving Goliath blurred into motion. Two swords sliced through Toun's wrist and forearm. Thunder clapped as Goliath's mirror armour amplified in intensity. The severed heavy clay limb clacked into two pieces on the ground, while the hand remained clasped to Kinesis arm.

The robot's other four arms lifted up their weapons as Goliath advanced towards Toun.

To his credit, Toun's reaction was not physically aggressive. He lifted the stump of his arm up to inspect it, before turning his cross brow to Goliath. "You crude machine. Is violence and investigation inseperable to you?!" His stump arm bulged and forked into a fresh hand. He closed it into a fist.

Not one for conversations, Goliath was about to strike when Kinesis stretched out one of her free arms and with eyes wide in terror cried out, "Stop!" Goliath froze. After a moment it lowered its weapons and returned to its vigil beside Kinesis.

Tense seconds passed before Toun removed his attention from the avatar.

Kinesis felt a hot moisture on the back of the hand. Seeing it, she beheld a tiny droplet of glowing rose gold blood weeping from the porcelain hook point intruding her flesh. Kinesis took hold of the porcelain finger and, in trying to bend it, broke it from the severed hand, releasing her from its grasp. The pieces fell away.

Toun knelt to bring himself to Kinesis' eye level. His blue glowing eye squinted in its fleshy socket at the droplet of ichor. "You are of his essence. Blood of his blood. But you are a mixture." The blue eye flicked up to bore into Kinesis' pupils. "You will need your sister's help to save him."

"Right. Um." Kinesis was still trying to figure out what exactly Toun was talking about. But she was starting to piece things together. "Yes. Yes, maybe Conata can help."

Kinesis glanced up over her shoulder at Goliath, who was still poised watching Toun, weapons in hand. "Toun's helping us save father. You can trust him."

Goliath sheathed its weapons and reduced power to its shields. It then walked back towards the crater. Toun stood to his feet and watched it stomp away.

Ilunabar, still and unresponsive since their arrival, suddenly looked to the side. "I have sent a diva to search for Conata; it is of my knowledge she is in Alefpria. Of course, it will be necessary to explain her the context of this emergency, but she should be here soon." she told in an objective manner. Her finger rose as she thought about commenting on what transpired, but she had trouble finding the euphemism to describe her opinions on the stubbornness of Goliath.

"Your sister's situation is quite peculiar, she will probably be overburdened with the current situation. Kinesis, I will need you to be considerate, but also to be firm and take the lead." she told, now looking at her creation.

Kinesis bowed her head. "Yes, Ilunabar." A moment's thought passed. Kinesis looked back up and tilted her head. "Does Conata know yet? Did father meet her before…?" Her eyes looked to the bejewelled godheart in Toun's hand, and her sentence hung unfinished.

"They met, briefly," Toun answered. "It was shortly before this attack. I cannot know exactly whether Teknall restored her memories. I could restore her memories myself if it is required, but I doubt the subsequent time spent in revelatory panic will be a cost worth paying here." Toun clasped his hands behind his back with the godheart still in his grasp. "How well do you and your sister know one another? Can you cooperate?"

"We haven't had much time together, but…" Kinesis smiled as the happy memories came to the fore. "Soon after Conata was made, father left us alone in the Celestial Citadel for a time as he found Conata a dress. We decided to make a machine, so we foraged for materials and worked together to make a clockwork dog. That was a good time."

Toun blinked. "Keep that memory in your mind. It will hold the means to synthesise with your sister and craft a new body for Teknall."

Goliath returned, carrying Teknall's maul, railgun and the Shard Conduit. It looked to Toun and Ilunabar and offered the items to them. Toun regarded the machine with near-indifference at first, glancing tiredly at the items.

"The Mountain Builder...the Realta Bane...and..." Toun's arm snatched up the shard conduit like snake and held it up to his eye. "Hold this." Toun pushed the shard conduit into Kinesis' hands and stepped to the side. He prodded into an unseen space with one finger, and before them the disturbance radiated into an ovoid rift, through which Teknall's workshop could be seen.

"Ilunabar, has the second child been found yet?" Toun asked behind him. "And you, machine, bring the corpse."

---

"Watch your step."

"...Where are we, daddy?"

"This is the Celestial Citadel. A grand palace which I built long ago. It floats high above the world of Galbar, which- well, I may as well just show you."

"This is Galbar. It is a whole world. Many people of many different kinds live down there, who will someday soon grow to become great civilisations."

"There is...so much there! I want to see it…"

Conata's eyes opened to see the sun shining on her pillow. The birds of Alefpria sang their morning song. She usually woke up earlier than this.

The sheets slid as she propped herself up with one arm. Her other hand rubbed her face and slowed over her eye. The dream felt real, she realised, because it was a memory. Her breathing halted.

A dull scrap of her consciousness asked herself where these memories came from. The question was drowned out by the events before her childhood overwhelming her. All those missing moments. In a few short seconds.

He had left her behind.

Her next breath came and went fast and sharp. She swallowed. "No, it's...he said..."

The memories of the previous night finally caught up. It jumbled her thoughts to a mess. She clutched her forehead and tried deliberately to breathe while reminding herself of the reality around her. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a clean sheet of parchment on her bedside table. Without anything else to focus on, she took the parchment and sat up. On it was a handwriting she knew but had not seen before.

My dear daughter, Conata,

She read as she emerged and stood up from her bed. Her nightgown weighed on her shoulders. Slow steps took her to the door to the kitchen. She pushed it open.

I am afraid an urgent matter has come up. I hope you do not mind waiting a little longer for…

Conata stopped after stepping through the door and looked up from the page. A woman was waiting by the table near the window. She looked somewhat human and had long steel colored hair -- not anybody Conata knew. On the table, there were a couple of plates, a few teacups, and a teapot, none of which belonged to Conata and all of which looked too expensive to be anywhere but in the houses of nobles and Lifprasil's officials.

"Good morning, Conata." she told, filling a cup with tea and sliding it to the side of the table closer to the demi-goddess. "Please join me, we need to talk about urgent matters."

Conata glanced at the top of letter in her hand and then back to the woman. Perhaps she was still dreaming. In groggy confusion, she scrunched her eyes shut and pressed the heel of her hand on her temple. "Sorry, have we met before?" One red eye peeked open. "And how did you get in here?"

"It depends on how much you value mutuality when considering if someone has met others." she told, gently. "Albeit, even then, you might know me from the statues? Or might have heard my name when asking about who designed this great city?"

Conata winced apologetically.

The diva's eyes suddenly shot to the side, as if she was focusing on something beyond the room. "Someone just… told me, I should be direct as the situation is quite dire. My name is Piena, Diva of the Goddess Ilunabar."

The name made Conata open her eyes wide. "You serve my mother?"

"Yes, but that wording might surprise her. Nevertheless, sit down." she pointed to the table.

Conata stepped up and eased herself onto a seat. She kept her arms by her sides and looked at the tea cup. It took her a moment to reluctantly reach out for it. "What's the...dire situation about?" she asked.

"I do not know if your father explained it or not, but there is currently a war in the heavens. One more serious than any of those which came before." she assumed that Conata would have already listened to Lifprasil's tale and therefore understood how big that statement was. "Your father got into a fight to protect your sister and, well, he succeeded in his objective, but the battle left him…in need of assistance. Assistance which only you, as his daughter and a destined master crafter, can provide."

Conata saw the surface of her arm break out in pits of dull, anxious magnesium. It spread over her neck and face. "He...No, he didn't tell me any of that." Her brow knitted up. "Is he okay? What should I do?"

"Well, in the vaguest sense of okay possible, yes. He is in a bad situation, but we know how to help him out of it, and you are part of that." Finishing her cup, she stood up and looked around, searching for a floor mirror tall enough for them to pass through. Conata sipped her tea as Piena walked around. A home made sheet of polished metal standing in Conata's small bedroom was large enough. "We need your essence and your forging skills. You will understand once we arrive." She extended her hand towards the demi-goddess.

"Oh!" Conata tipped her head back to pour the rest of the tea down her throat. The cup rang down onto the table and she shot up to her feet. "I don't know where we're going, but the door is that way." Conata pointed a thumb off to the side, away from her bedroom.

"We need a better door than that. There is no time to lose. We need to bring you to your father and sister." she said, holding Conata's wrist as she guided her. Conata only got to protest for a confused instant before Piena took a sudden step across the mirror and pulled her through.

---

"-ait!" A set of cold footsteps hit the concrete floor of the workshop.

Toun turned his head to behold Piena tugging Conata along by the wrist. Conata was silenced by her surroundings. She walked along absently behind Piena, facing the walls and the machines around her with a look of overwhelming recognition.

Conata's reverie was interrupted when Kinesis rushed up and embraced her sister. "Conata! It's been so long!"

Kinesis was still taller than her. Conata froze. "...Kin...Kinny?" Conata's skin bloomed into a shining silver. "I know you." Conata wrapped her own arms tightly around Kinesis. Tears sprung out of her eyes. "I know you! Sister!"

A sudden onset of heavy sobbing caught Conata up with years of unknown grief. Scrambled recollections in her head caught a thread and assembled, starting from Kinesis' warmth and love and spreading out to all her earliest memories. "Oh, gods! I remember...I remember it all now! It's..." Conata was unintelligible under her weeping.

Kinesis stroked Conata's wire hair in an attempt to be soothing. "Oh, Connie. It's a lot to take in."

Goliath approached the pair with heavy footsteps. Kinesis glanced over her shoulder at the robot and mouthed ‘not now'. It hesitated before returning to its watch over Teknall's body.

Kinesis continued to hold Conata. "Let it out. Father needs you now."

Conata's weeping slowed. She held on tight.

Meanwhile, Toun looked coolly on from behind a steel table, his hands clasped behind his back. The device with Teknall's remaining essence sat softly pulsing on the tabletop beside him. "If she is only remembering now, she shall need calming," the porcelain god said, ostensibly to Ilunabar. "Sister, if you or your avatar would intervene? Teknall can ill-afford the frivolities of reunion just yet. He decays as we speak."

The goddess looked at him for a moment, as if she too was just now suddenly remembering something about her brother Toun. Her surprise turned into a sense of "of course he did this," and she sighed. She stepped closer to Conata and placed her hand on her back.

"It has been a long time, Conata." she said, having had interacted with the girl only a few times before.

Conata turned her head up to Ilunabar. Tears had already spread down her face.

"However, I fear we will have to wait to truly enjoy this reunion. Time is short and Teknall needs you two." Ilunabar said. She meanwhile tasked Piena with taking the schematics she could find and sorting them by relevance. It wouldn't take more than a few moments before the ones they needed were over the steel table.

"I...You're Ilunabar, aren't you?" Conata asked. A dumb smile spread on her face. "My mother. My real mother."

"In a…vague sense, yes, somewhat." she said, flinching at the words.

A large parchment unrolled with a crackle on the table. The sound snapped Conata out of her stupor. She scrunched her ruby eyes shut and finally let her arms slide away from Kinesis. Her eyes opened to her family and she let her silver skin break out in determined iron. "Right...Teknall, father, he needs help, right? Where is he? What do I need to do?"

"Recover his body…Or reconstruct it? Well, in all honesty, the most I can say is that he needs a working body. How, I do not know, but I fully believe it is possible to do whatever must be done. The technique is there, Teknall has done something similar before." The goddess pointed and drew Conata's eyes specifically to the unrolled schematics of the arm made for Vestec. The metal girl pitted.

"But beyond this, I do not know, it is an area far beyond my domain… but entirely within yours." Ilunabar looked at both Kinesis and Conata.

Conata's face flecked with a green patina. She looked to Kinesis.

Kinesis glanced over at Conata, then Toun, then Goliath, and then back to Ilunabar. Everyone was watching her expectantly. She bit her lip in thought. An idea struck. "We built Jydshi." Kinesis moved over to the bench full of schematics and pulled aside the plans she and Teknall had made for her many-legged friend. "That wasn't too hard. She was purely mechanical. But then a golden djinn granted my wish to make Jydshi able to speak, and she stopped being mechanical. Umm…" She floundered for a few moments as she caught the flaw in her logic. But then another schematic caught her eye. She slid it closer and as she inspected it a knot formed in her stomach.

Conata stepped beside Kinesis and read over her shoulder. The words on the page meant little to her, as did the schematic. She only understood the look on her sister's face. "What is it?"

Kinesis answered. "This is…me. But it's…different."

She had never seen what she was intended to be. The plans had a mithral-titanium skeleton, carbon nanotube nerves, a semiconductor-based brain, and mechanical devices serving the role of every organ. Even her heart was to be very similar to the device currently holding Teknall's ichor. Yet in stark contrast to Kinesis herself, there was not a trace of flesh in the schematic.

"What happened?" Kinesis asked in a pained tone.

"Resonance." Ilunabar answered. "Or something that felt like it. We had added our essence to the prototype you. Along with the plans, the thoughts, the expectations, it was enough to kickstart something. Things started to happen one after another, and then you were born." She sighed. "A common theme with godly creations. Time means little. If it was gardening, it would be like having the fruits of a tree first and its own root last. It is an unclear process. You will have to embrace far more than conventional logic. Keep a perfect, technical and possible process in mind but paradoxically expect the flawless to fail."

The meeting of Kinesis and Conata's efforts, the goddess believed, would be the spark necessary. She wondered if the planning and schematics were truly needed. In her view it was almost ritualistic; a token act of creation and effort that works because it must work. As such, she kept certain details of her thoughts to herself.

Conata's lips thinned. "I won't lie to you. Even with everything coming back to me, I have no idea how to do this. But if this is where it starts, let's try it."

Kinesis looked over to Conata then back to the table of schematics. She took a fresh sheet of paper and pulled a pencil out of her toolbelt. "We should start planning, then." The pencil hovered hesitantly above the paper. Kinesis bit her lip. "Umm…" She looked up. "What do we have to work with?" Her gaze looked over to an obscuring screen. "Perhaps it would be easier if we started with father's body?"

"His body? Is he...?" Conata asked. She only then realised the porcelain statue across the table, the one silently present the entire time, was staring down at her.

"The corpse is Teknall's creation," Toun explained. "Filter its damage from your perception and the patterns are present for all to see. As long as it lasts, that is. His attacker's touch is rotting it ceaselessly." He turned an open palm around to his front, gesturing to the Promethean Manipulators tending to something behind a screen. "If his less elaborate attempts at metallic life have finished removing his armour, inspect it for every detail useful to either of you."

Conata gulped. "Are you a Diva, too?" she asked obliviously.

Toun's expression was blank. "No."

The Promethean Manipulator tending to Teknall's body cast aside the last of the warped adamantine plates stuck to Teknall's skin. Another of its arms slid the screen aside, and then stepped back to make way. Kinesis and Conata gingerly approached.

Conata stopped short to press her knuckle onto her lips. Her eyes locked, broad and shocked at the sight. Her magnesium and iron skin was overtaken by gritty, near-white calcium.

Every surface of Teknall's goblin body was burned in varying severity. Where the armour had been breached the flesh was thoroughly charred and blackened. Where the armour had remained much of the skin had peeled off to reveal raw sticky flesh. What skin was left was blistered or charred. Teknall's head lolled to the side, the left half severely burned and the other half less so, with dried ichor around his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Teknall's lifeless eyes stared forwards, the left one scarred white.

The sight made Kinesis queasy, but she gathered up enough courage to get closer. After visually inspecting the body for a few seconds, she gently prodded its chest. She could tell there was bone and flesh underneath, but she could tell very little else. "I can't see inside," Kinesis said. "Whatever is undamaged is inside. I need a way to see it."

"And done." The goddess placed a transparent glass box in front of them. While initially clear, it soon formed an image of Teknall's body. Focusing caused it to reveal organs hidden by his charred skin.

A metallic clatter drew attention to Conata as she backed away into a tool rack. A wrench pounded onto the concrete floor behind her, falling as she tried to rebalance herself on its perch. Her dark grey face wore pure panic.

"You find this worthy of fear, child?" Toun spoke. "You are correct. This was the work of a creature far worse than even a realta." He emphasised the last word with a pointed glare at Ilunabar, Kinesis, and Piena.

Kinesis looked between Conata and Teknall's burned body, and as her mind recalled some of the stories her father had told of Conata, she was the first to react. She walked up to Conata and held her hand. "Oh Conata, it's terrible, I know. But please, father needs our help," she pleaded.

Conata's throat tightened. Her head shook in a tiny denial. "He's gone..." she whispered.

Kinesis tried to think of what more she could say to calm Conata down. "This…It...It doesn't have to end this way. We can change it. We can change how it ends. But I need your help. Please, sister."

"No...NO!" Conata all but screamed out at Kinesis. Lines of orange rust flared out from the corners of her eyes. "Don't say that! It's just a corpse!" Her breathing quickened. "You don't fix that! Don't lie to me."

Kinesis staggered backwards. She looked back at the table holding the body, which was indeed a corpse. There was also another object on that table.

"Why did you bring me here!?" Conata directed to Piena. "You said he was alive! You said he could be saved!"

"Get me the heart," Kinesis commanded the Workshop. A mechanical arm slid along a rail and collected the mechanical godheart. Mouth ajar, Conata traced the device's movement as it floated across to Kinesis' hands.

Kinesis approached Conata again, moved around and pulled Conata's arm to turn her away from Teknall's body. Her corroded calcium face stayed down in a pathetic kind of dread.

"Look at me. Look at me Conata."

She complied.

"Father's not gone. He's in here," Kinesis put Conata's hand to mechanical heart. "Can you feel it? Father's still here."

A resonant cling vibrated through the heart. A tiny sound, no more present than a bead dropping. Conata lifted her red eyes to Kinesis. The shock stilled her lungs. In crackling patches up her neck and around her eyes, the calcium gave way to silver and tin. "It's him..." she breathed. "How?"

Kinesis glanced over to Toun and Ilunabar.

Toun slowly blinked from the corpse to Kinesis. "There is a repeated part of you in everything that you are. That is your essence. Every deity, in their omnipotence, spreads it upon all they influence. It is proof of your existence and the signature of your life. In that device is the last of your father's own essence."

Conata peered down at the godheart.

"The device is postponing the essence from scattering to chaos. It requires a stable body." The middle of Toun's face almost wrinkled. He had no nostrils to flare but just enough anatomy to express the sentiment. "Now, delicate niblings, have you any further means to waste the precious time Teknall has remaining or are you now ready to begin in earnest?"

Conata shut her eyes. A dull orange glow engulfed the inward curves of her skin, ironclad. "He's our father! You don't have to be here if all you've got is doubt!" She did not even let Toun answer with more than a mouthless scowl before she lowered her head and added. "Kinesis, can...I'm scared, okay? Just tell me the truth. Can we save father?"

Kinesis hesitated for a moment. "I…I think we can. He made our bodies. We should be able to make a body for him." Kinesis looked past Conata to Teknall's body, then back down to the godheart in their hands. "I'm scared too. But it will work. It has to."

"Okay." Conata squeezed Kinesis' hand and looked glumly at the ground. Her voice still shook, despite her best efforts. "I think I saw something that looked like a design for an arm amongst father's schematics. Just show me what pieces to make – you're better at putting them together, Kinny."

"Right." Kinesis moved over to the desk, pulled out the schematic of the arm and passed it over to Conata. The rest of the schematics she perused herself. "Here. These should be enough to get started. I'll start figuring out what exactly we need." She turned around and ordered a Promethean Manipulator, "You, help Conata make what she's making."

Conata and the Manipulator exchanged a glance. She turned away quickly and pushed open the designs in front of her. Meanwhile, Kinesis procured Ilunabar's special viewing-box to inspect Teknall's body.

Despite the time constraints, Conata spent the first while simply to breathe.

Even then, the process started slow and deliberate. Their attentions focussed first on discovery, and discover they did. Their father's works led them through an exhibit of concepts which they took into their minds through intuition and deduction alike. The designs could only have been made with certain materials and mixes, Conata found. The pieces could only have fit together in a certain way, Kinesis observed. Kinesis found the tools she needed as if her hands knew where to reach. Conata beheld the Elemental Siphon as such a sensory rainbow before her and knew immediately which band held the metals she could use. There was no pause for awe with such a project consuming their thoughts.

Action grew from their learning. Toun and Ilunabar noticed the change of pace with the maidens' thoughts and movements. Their time to act started with a complete diagnosis of Teknall's corpse, mostly with Kinesis' keen eyes. Xos' touch had been decaying the godly flesh since before they had started. Even a complete restoration of his original body would see Teknall fall apart in short order.

The demigoddesses put their heads together to find a solution, in spite of Conata's unease around the scorched flesh.

"I could test where it is, maybe we can cut it out," Conata suggested first. With her eyes closed, she directed shreds of iron into the corpse to map which of areas corroded away first. The decay was not homogeneous, but neither was it isolated. They could find no effective parts worth removing.

"I could try sterilising the wounds," Kinesis suggested. The Workshop brought forth ethanol which Kinesis applied to a wound, but testing with an iron shred revealed no change in the rate of decay. Kinesis called forth progressively more toxic substances, such as hydrogen peroxide, formaldehyde and chlorine, but none stalled the withering curse.

Conata remained undefeated. "Maybe it works with heat or cold. I could sink the heat out and see if the decay stops." Wrapping the body in a tight sarcophagus of aluminium and willing the metal to move its 'wakefulness' to the outer edges left the remains frozen solid. And still it was crumbling. Turning the heat inward did nothing either.

"Sister," Toun murmured below the busy demigoddesses' hearing, "I fear their power may not suffice."

"Perhaps we could counter it with the power father stored here." Kinesis ordered two large coils brought over and positioned on either side of Teknall's body. The same coils that had previously been used to empower the Tomb Weaver. Kinesis adjusted the coils to better project their energy into the body. Conata showed nervous magnesium. Kinesis applied power.

While the lights of the Workshop flickered and dimmed, Xos' corruption was not displaced. Kinesis grew anxious.

Conata held her elbow in one hand and her chin in the other. Her eyes bored into to the schematics stretched out on the table. "...What else do we have?" She peered up at Ilunabar and Toun. "How does this decay work? Can't you help us?"

Toun responded flatly. "If I knew how to remedy those wounds, Xos would not have had the opportunity to inflict them."

"If it was a mortal body I could try to bruteforce a solution, but being a god, I fear that is far beyond the boundaries of my power." Ilunabar added.

The magnesium flared further around the sides of Conata's worried brow. "There must be something we can do in time! Something we haven't tried."

Kinesis rubbed her temples and closed her eyes in concentration. "We're trying to fix this problem blind," she eventually said, "We hardly know what it is we're trying to fix. We need to look closer. I need a microscope."

Ilunabar took a few seconds to prepare one. The whole thing was made in a rush and had a rougher design than usual. "Here, let's not waste time."

Kinesis took a swab of Teknall's flesh under the microscope and adjusted the focus to bring the minutest details into view. With the cells comprising the flesh in view, they could see cells slowly withering and dying. Here the necrotic effects of Xos' corruption were most plain, but there was still no apparent way to halt the effect.

Conata could see it on her sister's face. The details gave no further insight.

Kinesis put her head in her hands. "What will we do?" she despaired.

With a sigh, Conata placed a hand on Kinesis' back. Their work had neared on hours, with little progress to show. The dim sounds of the workshop did not take away the silence they had.

Then Toun moved his eye around as if he spotted something hiding. The others felt it as well. A warm presence filled the room, imperceptibly slight. Someone was peering in, or trying to, as best as they could from another realm. It was a very familiar aura to Toun.

Words refracted like water, bending through space and time to find their way to the pocket dimension.

"Outside I knock at thine door
just as death does his.
You must permit my entrance.

My voice be his salvation."

"What is that?" Ilunabar asked with a tense tone. She had never met the aura, and was clearly distrustful of whatever she was sensing.

Kinesis' brow furrowed. "Where do I know that voice from?" she pondered aloud.

Everyone's ears had prickled. Conata looked around the workshop and found no source for the sound. Her only hint at any connection was Toun's smooth face contracting into a sneer.

"You..." Toun growled. "Do not come to gloat so soon, elemental. Our brother has not perished yet. Your prophecy need not be celebrated in his presence."

Conata's eyes darted between the gods. "What? That wasn't an elemental. There aren't elementals here, right?"

Toun ignored her and continued. "...Or have you finally decided to swallow your words and take action against your foresight? No. You proved yourself unwilling in the past and you will be unfit here."

"The wish djinni!" Kinesis exclaimed in realisation, "He brought Jydshi to life, maybe he can save father." Kinesis looked up and called, "Wish djinni, can you save father?"

"Kinesis, do not be so quick to let..."

The air in a vacant corner immolated into a glow of golden light as the speaker entered and became manifest. Conata stood dumbstruck.

Though Teknall's fading remnants were the centerpiece of the room, Aihtiraq's gaze looked only to Toun; the djinni had no doubt already seen Teknall in his visions. From amidst the chaotic storm of magic, a face emerged and from its mouth came words,

"This one acts as Fate decrees.
Teknall does not die;
that I have already seen!

My mere touch can break his curse."

Kinesis was elated. "You can save him? Yes please!"

"Were it only so simple!
He shall forbid it--" Aihitraq began in the same breath that Toun chose to speak, surely enough.

"I shall forbid-" Toun hesitated and glanced at Aihtiraq. He held his head forward, fuming. "I shall forbid it. Apparently, I need not explain why, elemental."

Conata jabbed an iron finger forward. "You do to me, you bald creep! If Kinesis thinks he can stop the decay, it looks like the best option we've got right now. You've been nothing but discouraging-"

"If he touches your father, he will be done for."

Toun's interruption stopped Conata in her tracks. "That...doesn't make sense."

"Little girl, did you not ever wonder why you and your sister are here, performing this task, in spite of the presence of beings and creations well beyond your power before your earthen eyes?" Toun did not let her answer. "This creature's essence is unlike yours and unlike Teknall's. His hand in the process of repair shall taint your father, make him something wholly different to what you know. It will not save him -- it will destroy him and replace him with a stranger. I shall forbid it."

Ashamed tin broke out on Conata's face. "Then what else are we meant to do?"

Toun squinted at Aihtiraq. "We may start by banishing this odious wind from our presence." He raised his voice "Think not to defy me, elemental. I can turn all of your futures to mere vanity whilst here. Begone!"

Since he had been interrupted the djinni had grown completely silent, though his body had visibly grown unstable. Tiny arcs of golden energy crackled through the air he occupied and his makeshift face trembled, but when it was over he turned toward the demigoddesses and away from Toun in complete disregard. Peace manifested upon him once more when he resumed, with the exact pitch and meter that he'd left off on,

"...and shortsighted though he be,

It needn't prove a hindrance.
Listen carefully:
his body feeds on itself,

a snake devouring its tail.
That is Zyus' fate
and the nature of this curse.

Imagination his cage,
he's watched you both die;
all his works reduced to dust.

His essence fades away now
because he seeks death,
trapped in a nightmare prison.

So you must break the circle!
Call out, shout even,
for his spirit can still hear.

Banish the lies and free him."

He finished and remained staring at the bewildered sisters for a moment or two longer, an eerily calm and pacifying smile upon his face. The aura of his mere presence was a calming one; it helped to relieve some of their hysteria and enable them to focus upon his words and the task at hand.

Conata faded to copper and looked to the floor. The riddle made her crevices brighten into a teal patina that crept and wandered.

But just as suddenly as Aihtiraq offered his revelations, in a small whirlwind, the djinni spun back around to face Toun, who was looking no more impressed than before.

"You bite at the saving hand,
yet remain in debt!
I found need for your favor,

and trust your oath remains true?"

Toun slowly straightened. His eye stared, calculating, boring through Aihtiraq's calm visage. One arm swung slow around his body, showing a fist so clenched it crackled as he opened his fingers and lifted his palm level. "Present my token. Name your wish." His blue eye flashed. "But I will not break any of my oaths."

Fingers of golden vapor brushed the fabric of reality, found purchase, and made a tear imperceptible to mortal eyes. Through the portal was the open sky of some remote place on Galbar; a gentle breeze swept through carrying an earthy scent.

Another arm materialized, and from it a hand, and from that the porcelain disc that Toun had begrudgingly offered the djinni for proof of his foresight...or perhaps a mere replica woven from nothingness. An eddy formed an updraft potent enough to lift the thing, bear it across the room, and set it down perfectly upon the other god's open palm.

"An urgent matter demands
we leave at once.
Teknall shall live, however

the dead forbid we tarry."

Toun lifted the disc, turned it to see each side, and then flipped it in his hand. It winked out of existence behind his fingers. He blinked his eye to Aihtiraq. "Your sense of urgency may make sense to a rat, for all it is worth to me. If your wish is that I accompany you there, away from here, so be it."

"Your warm, exalted presence,
though generous, true,
is not what this one demands.

Travel is merely the start!"

With an ecstatic spin, the brazen whirlwind twisted its way through the portal, softly tugging at Toun's porcelain robes to little effect more than annoyance.

Toun turned his head to Conata and Kinesis. "His life depends on you both." His body flowed like a magnetised liquid into the opening and it closed silently behind him.

The workshop hummed on around them, now a little emptier, and a measure more relaxed.

"We just...shout out to him, then?" Conata asked. She turned her head around to the godheart, sitting inanimate on a workbench. "That's what that...face said. Can father even hear us?"

Kinesis scratched her head. "We could give it a go." Kinesis picked up the godheart and spoke into it. "Father, can you hear me?"

Silence.

"If you can hear me, do something."

They waited. No response.

Approaching the table, Ilunabar gently touched the shoulders of both girls as a call for attention. "This is not something the realm of sound can provide. Have you ever seen a mortal pray? Is it the sound of their voices that reach for their gods? You must make your will known."

Conata turned from Ilunabar to the godheart. Her eyes wandered then to where her hammer normally sat in her belt -- neither were there on her nightgown. Remaining calm, she looked to a tool rack and stretched out an iron hand. A hammer flew across and into her grasp.

She briefly inspected the tool. Kinesis and Ilunabar only got a glance from her before she placed the hammer carefully on the workbench. "We'll reach him."

---

It was getting closer.

Teeth, claws, tentacles, hands, fire. They were getting closer. That Thing was closing in. Around Teknall reality dissolved and fell away into a void darker than the deepest black. A darkness beyond mere shadow and out the other side into a regime of anti-light incompatible with all sane forms of reality. Tentacles slipped around Teknall, smothering him. Barbs sank into his flesh and drew ichor from him. Tongues licked acid over Teknall's skin. As Teknall's form and psyche tore apart, the escape of death called to him.

But he felt something else. A presence familiar and warm and coppery. He could just make out a surface of corroded calcium and orange rust beneath his feet. She was worried and afraid. She needed comfort.

Teknall tried to reach out his hand, but the Thing let out an ear-splitting screech and the coiling appendages tightened. A mouth bit down on his hand and yanked it upwards. Tentacles gripped around his other arm and pulled in the opposite direction while lifting Teknall up. Teknall thrashed against the pull, but the creature was stronger. He could see the metal floor beneath him being pulled further away. Resistance seemed hopeless.

He could still feel something. Something gave him a little push he needed.

Teknall extended his will to the metal floor beneath him and pulled. Metal sheets sprung up and sliced through Teknall's restraints with a cling which resonated through the entire domain. The Thing writhed and screamed, tentacles and teeth falling free as Teknall plummeted to the ground. The floor of calcium and rust shattered and Teknall fell through into a space coloured silver and tin.

It was calm. For this moment, the nightmares were distant. Awareness managed to find a feeble foothold.

I'm...dying.

The moment passed. The metallic sheen diffusing all space fractured and twisted away. Around him now was the city of Alefpria, the sky blood red as rods of metal fell from the heavens and blasted apart buildings and skewered Father Dominus. The rubble of the destruction washed over Teknall and he stumbled out into the worm-dug tunnels within Mirus. The shadows clawed at him and as Teknall twisted out of their grasp he fell. He kept falling as space warped around him. Past him raced Heartworm's laboratory, the rooms in which the Sculptors had performed cutting edge research exploding around him, spewing forth flames, acid and poison. He fell past the bloodied corpse of Serandor, the mutilated halves of Heartworm, the battered remains of Tauga and the ashen body of Keriss. Teknall crashed against the airlock and he burst through into the void of space.

Around him spun the stars, which were also windows to destruction and also eyes of a horrific beast. And then he saw Kinesis drifting just out of reach and getting further away. There was a look of panic in her eyes as she gasped breathlessly and frost crept over her skin. Teknall tried to reach out but she was too far; he could do nothing but watch helplessly as Kinesis went pale and limp and froze over.

Then the stars fell from their places, now motes of fire converging on Galbar below. White fire swept over Teknall. As the light washed out his vision Teknall struck stone and rolled along the ground. He was in a cave now. On one side was dear Conata. On the other was a realta, pouring forth consuming plasma. Conata shielded her face with her arms, but those blistered in the heat. She was heated beyond incandescence and her outer layers sloughed off, spattering the walls behind her with molten metal. She screamed until the liquid stumps of her arms let the heat past to gouge her chest and face open in flows of sticky molten fluid. She gurgled and discorporated into a heap of slag.

The realta was now Xos, and its flame replaced by the Primordial Spark. The shade's arm reached out and lifted Teknall by the neck, the very touch rotting his flesh. A low hum echoed through the cave, growing in intensity until the power was released as a single cataclysmic pulse. The world exploded and Teknall was flung far away.

Teknall drifted in ruins and destruction and death. All had been destroyed. All creativity, mortal and divine, was lost forever. Everyone he held dear was dead. All purpose was gone. All that remained was for Teknall to accept oblivion. The shadows bent, then those corners blossomed, and the blossoms imploded and tore holes in the fabric around him, consumed by horrific mouths which spewed forth barbed tentacles tipped with eyes. A fog of static settled over Teknall's mind and numbed his senses to all but pain. There was nothing left. Let death come.

Yet as it was getting closer, Teknall felt another familiar presence. How could there be nothing left if there was still that presence? Yet eldritch chittering and slurps of bottomless silence drowned out all logic and thought. And every moment the Thing was getting closer.

Then there was a voice. A small, sweet, coppery voice.

"Father. I hope you can hear me."

The voice caught Teknall's attention. He looked up.

"You were badly hurt. We've been trying to get you back to us."

Clarity and awareness cut through the droning psychic pressure. Conata…I… The Thing let out a wail that split the heavens and lunged forwards.

"I'm scared. We're all scared."

A tentacle swept Teknall's legs out from beneath him. A chitinous spike-limb pinned him down. A kaleidoscopic maw of teeth opened up above him as mind-burning chittering engulfed him.

"I went years without knowing about you. I don't want to lose you again."

No… The maw descended, but Teknall raised up his hands and gripped it, holding it away from him. His arms strained and trembled. Won't…lose…you…

"We're reaching out. A djinni told us what you're going through before he took that statue-monk away."

The maw shifted and twisted through warped space to try to slip past Teknall's arms. Eldritch shadows crept up around Teknall.

"You've got a curse. It's eating you. Your body is decaying."

The shadows lunged and sunk their terrible needles into Teknall's flesh. His arms were pulled down. The maw re-focussed for another lunge.

"But whatever it is, you have to fight it!"

As the maw descended, Teknall pulled inwards. The world imploded and space inverted. A dark broiling fog surrounded him.

"I know what it is to feel like giving up. To feel like you'll die."

There was nothing but fog and his thoughts. Ì̜'m ̡́goin͌͟g̠̀ ͆ͅt̝͒o ̲̓d̩̓ȉ̳e. It̉͟ ̣̏wil̯͋l find m̫̉e ag̊ͅã̝i̛̗n̳̋.̢͠

"You have to go against what your heart says! You have to keep fighting!"

Keep fighting. The̔͢rè͔ i͈͆s̨͒ ̬̋no̩͂ ̋͜p̡̏ô̭in͚͡t͉̑;̢͒ ̠̕Ï̢ ͓̾c̢̉an̬̎'''t̩̐ es̲̍c̝̋apé̙.̙́

"Like I found my way to you."

There must be a way. B͖̐ut̙̔ h̼́ô̧w?̼̅ It i̻͐s̼̔ ị̚mpo̤͐ssi̹͗b̯̔lȅͅ.̫̽

"Come back to us. We're all waiting."

They're waiting. They must be waiting by something. M̯̐y͍̑ bó̤dy. ̰̍I̙̐t's̤̕ ̟͡d̫͌è͟cay͉͒i͕̚ng̑͜,̳̽ ̜̒dyin͓̍g͕̈,͕̄ loṣ͊t̟́. C̦͒ȁ̘n̥̎n̞͆ot be ͉̌r̦̔e̘͌co̝̓v̬̔ê͕ṟ͂ed̳̕. B͓̊eyo̪̐ň͙d h̘̒op͖͒e.

"Kinesis, mother, and me. We're waiting for you, father."

Yet they still hope. I am not lost. The fog parted, revealing the godheart hovering in space. The̜͘r̮͘ê̜ i̤͗s͇͞ ̝͠so͔̎ lit̻̃ṭ͋le͖͠ ͉͘le̿͟f́ͅt.͔̓ ̰̔İ̱t ̤̾iś͇ so̜͡ ̛̬frail. Í̢t ̳́c̙͡anno̗̚t bë̫́ ̗͒f͙͆i͇̒xe̱͐d.̢͒ But I must try.

"Come back to us."

I̘̕ ͓͊h͇͠a̩͑vḙ͛ ̙͋no w͍̑ã̱y t̤̓o̩̍ r͔͡ea͓͑c͇̋ḩ͞ ̠̅t̫̔ḥ̈́eḿ͓. No way yet.

"Please."

But I can make a way. Teknall extended what little willpower he had remaining into the godheart.

---

"Please." Conata opened her eyes. She and Kinesis stood hand in hand before the hammer on the workbench. Conata did not know why such distinctions counted. In truth, in that empty moment after her words, she thought herself a fool.

The godheart was silent. It had been silent for the entire prayer. The essence in the godheart was waning still.

Ting~

Conata gasped. The godheart rang with a faint note which could easily have been missed if it had not been the focus of all attention in the Workshop. The sisters leaned forwards eagerly.

Lines etched themselves across the godheart, intersecting and winding in tight spirals. They ended in knobby protrusions in a complicated pattern of sigils and connections. After a second the note wavered and faded, the pattern stalling in its growth. Yet Kinesis had seen enough to understand. "Electromagnetic Telegraphy," she breathed.

Kinesis stood up and hurried over to the workbench holding the schematics. "Conata, I need coils of copper wire, as if wrapped around a child's little finger. Make some pairs wrapped around a ring of iron with an insulating layer separating them from the iron."

"On it!" Conata caught streams of powdered metal in each palm from the Elemental Siphon before Kinesis finished her first sentence. "Uh, workshop! Insulating layer!?" Conata turned her hand around the other, willing pure iron into a ring that she tossed, still red hot, at a waiting machine arm. She did not wait for the workshop's response before drawing out wire as her sister ordered. She was not clear on what kind of insulation Kinesis intended.

Kinesis pulled out the designs for a Promethean and the tunnel-exploring drones. She circled the relevant components. "Workshop, transistors, diodes and capacitors." The forges and reactors flared into action.

As the parts started to arrive, Kinesis stood beside the godheart and began arranging the components. "Ilunabar, I need a resonant quartz crystal."

The goddess had such a focus on the machine that she was almost spooked by the request. "Resonant quartz…right, I will…"

"These machines can create it. Or so the documentation says." Piena interjected.

The goddess nodded, "Good to know, but I do not need help to make some simple quartz, do I?" she said, creating a small crystal within her hand, following the specifications she saw in those papers. "Say if you need any adjustments."

Kinesis glanced briefly to the side to look at the crystal and nodded. "Looks good." She turned her attention back to the godheart. She traced lines and patterns similar to those which had appeared spontaneously using ink. "Conata, I need you to install wires and components where I draw them. Ensure the metal parts don't touch any other metal parts unless they are meant to be connected."

Conata busily willed her wire to snake around her complete iron ring, freshly coated in a layer of a sticky transparent glue. She spoke, bewildered. "I don't know what we're making, but I can do that!"

The completed wire-coiled ring landed on the nearest table. Conata drew her wide eyes to Kinesis' drawings. Flowing movements of Conata's arms orchestrated a formation of electronic pieces into place. They welded themselves in as Kinesis drew, several at a time. Tiny lines of stray vapour rose from the alien device that took shape. "Is this right?" Conata asked as she moved.

"That's good," Kinesis replied. More parts came together, including the wire-coiled ring. As the device was nearing completion, Kinesis picked up the quartz crystal and handed it to Conata. "Cap the two ends in metal and attach it to the device."

Kinesis' drawings followed her words and Conata's movements followed the drawings. She swung both arms back, hands splayed, and then drew them forward. Metal from the Siphon flew in two symmetrical streams into shapes matching the crystal's opposite facets. Conata bent her fingers and the plates clapped into place on the quartz. She willed wires to drift to each end and the last connections were made.

Kinesis gave the godheart a final check. Wires, coils and little electronic components protruded from the godheart and tangled around it. Satisfied, she brought over an electric cable to the workbench, spliced the wires onto the godheart, then flicked a switch on the wall.

There was neither sound, light, nor movement. It all seemed in place. Conata stepped back and exhaled.

A few expectant seconds passed. Conata gave Kinesis a sideways glance. Her sister was unperturbed. "What happens now?"

Kinesis stood up and looked around the Workshop.

Conata turned to her. "Is this some alchemical thing?"

"It's an electrical thing," Kinesis explained. "The machines here communicate via invisible signals. I've connected father to this network of signals so he can communicate with us."

Conata nodded and closed her mouth. She looked around at the machinery and ran a hand back over her hair, making the strands audibly slide. "I've still got a lot to learn, huh."

Kinesis kept searching until moving lights on a screen caught her eye. "There!" She rushed over to it and Conata followed. Shining text and images already displayed seemingly random information -- coordinates, offsets, observations. The telemetry was cordoned into boxes labelled with various 'unmanned scout' designations. But other letters had appeared on the screen, out of place. Kinesis pressed a few keys, making all but one box disappear.

The remaining box contained just a few characters.

>Con
>Kin

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