Shib Be'r-Jaz breathed raggedly as he made his way through the rot and darkness, and he held his hand to the great wound in his side which he had managed to wrap in a dirty rag once he had escaped the deathtrap that his people's encampment had become. He tripped but just about managed to hold himself upright with the walking staff he had made for himself. There was a horn tied to its top. "Be'r-Jaz aid me," he muttered as he continued. Beneath him the ground squelched and he shivered as he looked down at the black stuff. He could not tell what was rotten plant, what was decaying flesh, and what was mere mud and rainwater. Though death hung heavily in the air, beetles, flies, maggots, slugs, snails, millipedes, worms, cockroaches and all kinds of detritivores, continued to flourish and thrive. Shib Be'r-Jaz trembled in disgust, remembering how maggots and termites had started to emerge from the flesh of all those (mostly newborns, the ill, or those who the gods in their wisdom had decided to create frail and old) who had died of starvation.

These insects were everywhere now. When he slept in the night, he would hear the cockroaches scrambling about in the darkness. When he woke up he would accidentally step on slugs and curse in disgust, and their trails were everywhere. The flies would not leave him or anyone else alone. No sooner had he swatted some away then ten more had landed on his face or arms. Even now as he walked in the darkness he could hear them. And the mosquitos... he scratched at his arm. Some had died because they were bitten so much, and he had begun to see mosquitos that were far bigger than normal. He remembered the first mosquito he had smacked as it sucked his blood, and his hand had come away stained and dripping red.

He stumbled on and the only sounds he heard were the eternal rain of Be'r-Jaz and the wind in the tree. His sensitive hunter's ears could not hear any animals, though there was here and now the persistent chirping of crickets and other insects. As he walked he saw light in the distance and his heart jumped hopefully as he finally came to the great mud path that led to the Cave of Light. He immediately realized that there were others on the road, and when he looked closely he saw that it was helpless valls like him: the injured, the old, those who were heavy with child, others who held children to their boney chests while looking at him with haggard eyes and skeletal faces. There was fear in their eyes too, and when they saw Shib Be'r-Jaz (who had been called Sieghbrien before, but had changed his name upon taking up the worship of Be'r-Jaz and whose new name meant "the one who worships Be'r-Jaz") they avoided him and gave him a wide berth despite the clear face that he was injured and of no threat to anyone.

Shib Be'r-Jaz continued along the road. An older vall further ahead suddenly raised a hand upwards and said, "may the Land show them its merciless justice!" And a few minutes later the same old vall said in a louder voice: "avenge your people, vengeful Be'r-Jaz!" When Shib Be'r-Jaz finally came to the mouth of the Cave of Light he saw hundreds gathered at its mouth and others within. It seemed that despite the terrible things the Rot had done, this was still a place of peace and safety. At least a bit, from time to time shouting rose and he saw even the old or the injured fighting and clawing at one another until they were driven apart. After all, despite the safety of the Cave there was still no food and everyone here was old or injured or unable to hunt.

For his part, Shib Be'r-Jaz lay himself down and put his head on a rock to sleep. When he woke up there were a few people around him prodding at his chest, and he gasped in pain. "He's not going to make it." One of them was saying, and another gave him a pitying look. Shib Be'r-Jaz shivered, sweat layering his head and body. Soon he was alone again and he slipped back into a fitful sleep. He woke up a bit later and looked at his wound, and he was shocked when he disgusting little insects all over the great wound. He tried to scream but there was only a mewl. He felt far too weak. When he next woke up he felt a bit better but was starving, and when he looked at the wound he was surprised to find that it was clean. He wrapped it up and got shakily to his feet. Using the help of his walking staff he walked around trying to find food.

Going into the cave, he found that the people had been making marks on the cave's walls similar to the markings of Be'r-Jaz. These showed the coming of the valls led by the Queen-Mother, and showed how she had separated them out and commanded them to go and live across the island. It showed their lives in central Be'r-Jaz and how these valls that inhabited this area in middle Be'r-Jaz came to call themselves middelvalls. And then the drawings showed he coming of the Rot and the great disorder caused by this, the death and starvation and disease, the social strife and the turning of encampment against encampment. It showed how many middelvalls turned to the terrible act of cannibalism and it showed how terrible rulers, the Tyrants, came to rule; and the greatest and most powerful Tyrant of all was Gildrik.

And the next drawing showed how Gildrik the Tyrant and all of his warriors were brought low by a horned creature with a terrible frowning visage. Rather than the rays of light that usually surrounded the Land's countenance in the cave's drawings, this one's head was surrounded by blood. It was the one the people were calling Det-Ard, the fury of the Land and its terrible vengeance. He had slaughtered the great tyrant, who had forsaken justice and the ways of the Land and who had hurt the people over the hurt they were already hurting. He was the great hero born in blood and rot and darkness.

Beside the shrine the people had erected to the Land, all the injured and ill and vulnerable valls who had come here to seek refuge and safety built a great effigy to Bloody Det-Ard. Then a group came and presented a broken horn, claiming that the Land itself had given it to them and that it was one of the Land's own horns, so that it would be placed on the effigy. Shib Be'r-Jaz was surprised by this and touched his walking staff and found that the horn he had tied was still there. It was the horn Be'r-Jaz had given him as a trophy not so long ago. "I- I also have a horn from the Land, a trophy. Please take as the second horn for the effigy." And so they placed the two horns on the effigy to complete the graven image of Det-Ard. When it was complete the all fell before it and praised the Be'r-Jaz and his blood-born and chosen warrior.

Then there was screaming outside and shouting and the sound of running and commands. Shib Be'r-Jaz's eyes widened and he gripped his walking staff and hobbled out of the cave even as people ran inside. Outside, by the Cave's light, he could see blood-stained warriors, their skin marked and painted in preparation for battle, their hair tied up and decorated with feathers, snarls on their faces and spears in their hands. They were all armored and the bones of warriors they had felled, like ribcages, decorated their armour and also provided an additional layer of protection. One of them, the biggest and clearly the leader, had an already-bloodied stone firmly tied to a staff instead of a spear. It was clearly a custom weapon of his own making. Shib Be'r-Jaz was shocked that someone would attempt to attack this sacred and sanctified place. There were already a number of dead middelvalls in the Cave's vicinity and a few others had been captured alive and were weeping and crying bitterly. One of the warriors stepped forward and shouted with a great snarl: "We are here to claim you all in the name of Heghdsur. Come freely, or you will be brought!"

Inside the Cave cries rose up and people begged for mercy and protection at the shrines to the Land and Det-Ard. A great bark was heard and the rain seemed to gather strength. "This Cave has a strong and wrathful Land, Heghdsur. And the Land hears the cries of the poor." A voice rose in the rain and rot and darkness. The massive warrior who was clearly Heghdsur looked around with a scowl and then he snarled, releasing a growl. From above the cave leapt a great shape, and it landed right before the Cave's entrance. It was a red-haired middelvall with a spear in his hand and inexplicable fury in his eyes. The molf shook its head in irritation and then released a long, loud howl. The warriors around Heghdsur seemed uncertain, but the Tyrant scoffed.

"The Land sent only you? You're not even a fitting appetizer. I guess I'll nibble on your bones." Daethyrd's angry eyes grew cold and he scowled disdainfully at the giant middelvall.
"Not only a criminal and a tyrant, but an ingrate too. You will be made to pay the blood price, and it is I who will be delivering your sentence." And without any further words or a warning, Daethyrd leapt from the back of the molf and high into the air. His spearhand cocked back, he threw it with a swift, mighty gesture and it accelerated at lightning speed and accuracy towards the Tyrant. With only seconds to spare the Tyrant lurched to the side and the spear caught him in the shoulder rather than running him through the chest.

Daethyrd landed and drew his bone knife, then dashed right for the giant. But Heghdsur's warriors had gotten over their shock at the sudden attack and rushed forward. One of them swiftly got between Daethyrd and the Tyrant. He stabbed at Daethyrd, but the Executioner slipped past with catlike grace. He looked into the outlaw's eyes for what felt like an age but what was in reality less than a second before his knife slipped across the trespasser's throat. What followed was a bloody display that the people in the Cave watched with slack jaws. It was a terrible thing, but it was... beautiful.

At last it was only Daethyrd and the Tyrant. Heghdsur looked at the Executioner without fear, only contempt. He did not fear death. But that lack of fear would not shield him from Daethyrd's bloody justice. Though he still had the spear stuck in his shoulder, he swung his great bludgeon wildly with one hand. Daethyrd easily avoided the swings with his unnatural grace and captivating movements, and when he slipped his knife into Heghdsur's throat the Tyrant smiled as blood spluttered from his mouth. "That's... goood..." were the massive Tyrant's final words before he fell back and slowly welcomed death. Daethyrd gripped his spear and withdrew it from the Tyrant's shoulder and cleaned it. Then he cleaned his knife and sheathed it. He turned to the people who were standing and watching from the Cave.

Then a cry rose up and became a mighty chant. "An'u Qit-Tu! An'u Qit-Tu!" This is Justice! This is Justice! Daethyrd smiled and raised his spear.
"Qit-Tu!" He declared loudly, and the people of the Cave responded in kind, again and again. Then a number of molves arrived and sniffed at Gul-Tir's snout. They had heard his howl before and had come to see what was going on, and when they saw the blood they seemed disturbed. A group of them sat at the Cave's entrance, clearly intent on remaining to protect Ya-Shuur's place of thought and contemplation. From time to time a molf disappeared and returned with a catch of fish, laying them on the shrine to the Land, and the people ate and were protected from both the tyranny of the hunger and the tyranny of fellow middelvals. Not long after this a molf came that Daethyrd immediately recognized as the one that had been with Be'r-Jaz when he last saw him. He realized that it was attempting to make him follow, and so he jumped on Gul-Tir and rushed off to obey the Land's summons.

• Summary [+]

  People are flocking to the Cave of Light for safety during the Rot.
  Daethyrd has become quite well-known and an effigy of him is built next to the shrine to Be'r-Jaz in the Cave of Light. He is called Det-Ard.
  A Tyrant named Heghdsur attacks the Cave, but Daethyrd arrives and defeats him and his warriors. The people celebrate this as Justice. The word Justice in the Be'r-Jazi tongue seems to be "Qit-Tu" and this seems to be a name the people give Daethyrd and which he acknowledges and takes on.
  Molves come to protect the Cave and also bring fish for the inhabitants. A molf then comes to summon Daethyrd to Ya-Shuur, which brings him to the time he meets the valthumir and joins their quest.
• Prestige [+]

  Prestige Rules [+]

  • 1 Prestige for each post in which a Hero plays at least a minor role; this should still be more than just an offhanded mention or a few lines of dialogue. The role must advance the story in a notable way. ✔
  • 1 Prestige for a hero if they are the focus and the star of a post. ✔
  • 1 Prestige to each hero involved, if the post was collaborated between two or more people. ✘
  • 1 Prestige if the post follows a hero on a quest. ✘
  • 5+ Prestige if a Hero completes a quest they pursued over three or more posts. If the Quest is completed in two posts, this is halved and rounded down to the nearest whole number. ✘

  
  +2 Prestige to Daethyrd
  9 Prestige in Total

---

The chorus of soft wooden steps parted the tall grass, a low, harmonious tapping among the rustle of wavering stems. Split could barely hear them when she tried to. Most of the time, she simply forgot about them. The peoples of the beaches and rivers they had met had told her that this happened to all of them with the rush of the water, near which they spent all their lives, and that was one of the few times when she really had understood these strange, flabby creatures. The murmur of a river or the crash of waves on a strand were always alien and baffling to her, and a little frightening for someone who had only known water in small dirty springs, but then they felt the same about the wooden march. This made them even.

Now, the breathing of the sea was within earshot, and that was what she listened to. It was faint, far away, and anyone else would not have caught it over the rhythm of the mannequins’ procession. Sometimes, a cricket or some other nocturnal insect screeched nearby, and then she had to strain her ears to hear the waves again, but that was not often. The column was large enough to scare away most animals, to the point that she had to make some wide circles to catch anything. Even the bird she was skilfully plucking and cutting open as she walked on three hands had cost her a short detour before sunset.

Damocles’ – a name still difficult to roll off her tongue, maybe because she almost never called it – following had grown much since the first night she had seen them. The way it did had mystified her at first; in the first few villages they had come across, she had followed his purposeful movements gaping as wordlessly as one of the dummies, only throwing confused looks at the terrified beings that either ran or crowded around her. Luckily, when he had deadened the limbs of the first to fail his judgment before her (someone who either hoarded food or took mates with an unfair contest, she did not remember now), she had understood the why well enough not to hew him in half. It wasn’t hard to grasp, if she looked at it, and it was fair. She would not have done much differently if it had been up to her.

She still didn’t know why really it was up to Damocles to decide, no thanks to him never saying much, but he was good at it, which was enough. Someone had to do it, and it was better this way. As soon as she had realised that, she had stopped trailing him every time, expecting to catch him in a mistake, and taken to milling around with the rest of the villages’ people. It did not take long for them to stop being afraid, maybe because she was grey like them, and got more so as her age started to show. They looked funny, with too few eyes and four stubby arms, but they could do a lot, and, when she started to understand them better, had a lot to say. Almost always, they could use a hand with something, and she was happy to stretch her arms for some fish and a few stories about the place. Both fish and stories blended into a nondescript fog in her memories after a while, but it was good to have friendly if strange faces to talk to – she had only realised that some time after leaving the spot of her first conversation in many years – and leave knowing they might live a little better off for a bit.

For all it felt good when things were done fairly, it was better when the dummy didn’t have to do anything, and so that night Split’s mood was high. They had left the last place the day before without adding another wooden figure to their number. With no newcomer to study, she busied herself with the bird, snapping its ribcage open and licking up the innards before they spilled to the ground. The only part that still bothered her about eating as she walked was having to stop when she dropped something.

There came a moment where a dot upon the horizon could have been mistaken for a bird, except it grew in size as it approached, forming into a tall figure of radiant white. The figure flew leisurely, as if it didn’t have a care in the world, or it wasn’t paying attention. As it came closer, more details emerged. The radiant white that adored it was actually armor, and covering its head was a helmet of wings. It had been flying directly adjacent to them, but with a turn of the head it began its descent to their location. The puppets gave the figure no mind, as it, or she (for the armor was form fitting), landed across from Split, as the puppets continued on as they always did.

The glowing woman was tall, taller than even Split but not as tall as some of the puppets. At her side she carried a sword, but gave no move to grasp it. Instead, she looked at Split and tilted her head.

The kostral blinked with her fore-eyes, pulling back the hand with the bird. One of her arms went to the haft of her axe, strapped over her back with a belt of some beast's leathery hide, but stopped midway. Her gaze ran over the newcomer as though seeking a certain particular, and a light of distant remembrance seemed to flicker through its murk, as though she might suddenly recall something gone by long ago.

But the light passed, and she looked old as she blinked again in confusion and asked "Who're you?" in a worn voice.

There was a concert of creaks as the marching parade of mannequins suddenly all turned their heads towards the standing figure, including the blank face of the leading puppet. The ensemble stopping to bear witness as they surrounded the scene.

"Oh Split…" came a sweet but sad voice. The woman's helmet then turned to mist to reveal familiar black eyes, wide and brimmed with black tears. Her face was small and dainty with high cheekbones and small lips leading up to a nose. Features that at one point in time, had never existed, but now seemed to fit just right. "I never thought I'd see you again." she said.

Split’s eyes narrowed to slits as she struggled with the haze of years over her memory, then widened as recognition finally flitted through them. She pushed herself up to two feet, letting the rest of her arms fall down her sides. “Akhrya? That really you?” The long unused name came out distorted by the harshness of kostral speech. “You’ve been-” Words were lost in a dry rattle in her throat and sought another way through the first thing she could pick up on. “You got a mouth now?”

The woman began to laugh. ”Split!” Arya’s demeanor changed to happiness as she made her way over to the kostral. ”Come here you!” Arya said, hugging her even if she resisted. Split stood stock-still, craning her head to follow her. One hand clumsily laid itself over Arya’s back.

“Spit, girl-” The hand suddenly shot up and cuffed the back of Arya’s head. “What’d I tell you?! Stay back, di’n’t I?!” The kostral breathed out in a hiss and grasped her back with full three arms. “You coulda been dead all I knew!”

”I’m sorry.” Arya cooed into Split. ”I’m so sorry. It hurt Penelope… I had to… I’m sorry Split. I should have listened.” Arya said, her voice thick with emotion.

“You spitting right should’ve,” the kostral grumbled, buffeting her again, though far more lightly, for good measure. “You’re lucky you got to learn that on your skin and came out of it. Better remember that,” she eyed Arya’s sword and tapped it with a finger, “Or this works too. Wised up about always having a cutter at hand, hrm?”

A creak sounded behind Split, the many empty faces still staring.

”Oh yes.” Arya chuckled before stepping back, reluctantly letting go of Split. She put her hands on her hips and looked the kostral over, before looking over her shoulder to the puppets. ”That’s uh… Quite the crowd you have. Who are they?” she asked.

“That’s,” Split scratched her teeth and corrected herself, “used to be people.” She twisted her head, looking for something among the wooden crowd, then pointed towards one particular shape. “That’s Damocles. We’re clearing this place up.” She nodded at the massed dummies. “People here live together, get each other to run things. We see if they’re doing good, and if they put their arms on other folk’s heads, they get made like this.” With a heavy breath, she dropped back to four hands. “Better than killing.”

Arya looked concerned for a moment, before nodding in approval. ”That’s something, I suppose. Still… Are they really alive after turning?” Arya said, looking back at Split.

The sword that hung above Damocles twitched and a sound akin to a branch straining creaked eerily in the air, "...yes..."

Arya turned back to look at the leader, Damocles with a surprised expression on her face. ”Who created you?” she asked.

"We..." The creaking sounded again, "Have... A... Task... To... Do..." The many faces shifted in unison to face Split. Arya turned to look at Split again.

The kostral rolled her shoulders in a sequence of what looked like shrugs. “He’s always like that. Haven’t got much more out of him in years.” Her side-eyes ran along the circle of eyelessly staring heads. She made some quick, dry gestures in Damocles’ direction. “Don't think he gets that I'm not made of wood either. Never lets me get a break. Want to come along with us a bit?"

Arya eyes the puppets skeptically before wrinkling her nose and turning to look at Split. A smile crossed her face and she nodded. "I'd love to! We have so much to catch up on." she said excitedly.

"Lots of talking," Split made another sign at the dummies and began to pad ahead, the shambling procession continuing its march, "Never thought I'd need much of it, but go long without any, then more with just him, and spit if I feel it." She took a bite from the bird, which had now been shaken back and forth a good deal. "You know what's been of the rabbit?"

At the mention of Penelope, Arya shook her head sadly. "I haven't been able to look for her, or for you, otherwise I would have found the both of you years ago. I was hoping Penelope might have been with you… But that doesn't seem to be the case. I… I hope she made it out alright." Arya said walking along.

"Let's," Split assented, "She'd got that far with us." The bird was quickly disappearing into her mouth. "Where've you been all this time? I can't get around easy as that, but you got that. The world out there really that big that you'd gotten lost too?"

"Do you remember the God I told you about, K'nell? I found myself bleeding out upon his continent, Tendlepog. I was found by Hermes, a Dreamer and one K'nell created personally. She and her wife, Xiaoli, avatar of Shengshi took me in and nursed me back to health. I… I stayed with them for a long time. Looking back on it now, I should have searched for you when I had the chance… But I grew comfortable there. And then they had babies and another quest and then I found my sister or she found me and and… And… I'm sorry Split." Arya said, her head hung low.

Damocles seemed to regard Arya for an uncanny moment, his head spun completely around on his shoulders as he walked forward.

"Don't beat yourself on me, girl," the kostral grumbled, loping up to give Arya another affectionate cuff, "Right as guts, looking after a nest's important, I'd know that. I'm old enough to
stay whole on my own, hatchlings ain't." She ruminated on something as she plucked the last bones dry and threw them away. "Don't know what any of them are, but they sound lively. Which of the two got to be mother?"

Arya gave a small smile and then said, ”Hermes I called mom, Xiaoli I called mother. Both were females. They had a beautiful life.” Arya said forlorn.

"How'd you say, both?" Split blinked, befuddled, "How's that work? It's already weird that some people can lay the hatch and stay alive both," she gestured in the broad direction of the last village they had left, "But you're saying the two of them laid it together?"

Arya scratched the back of her head. "Well uh, beats me Split. They never told me how they were able to do so. I kinda just figured that some sort of blessing or divinity made it work. It's just one of life's many questions and one that will probably never be answered." she finished with a sigh.

"Lots of things in the world we don't get," Split thoughtfully looked at the dummies surrounding them, "Guess they won't tell us now they're dead. Didn't know that happened to godly things too."

"Not dead… Well… I guess dead. But they went… Somewhere else. Hard to explain. But yes, I suppose godly things can die." Arya said shrugging.

"If they're still somewhere, can't be that bad, long as it's not this way," Split's hand slapped the wooden flank of a dummy. The figure trudged forward without even turning. "Be good if there was a real death for the bigger ones too, though. Sometimes this," she nudged her head at the dummy, "can't cut it, you know."

"Not bad." Arya agreed. "Well… Not everyone deserves death. Some just need help to see the error of their ways, you know. Death should only come as the final, last resort." she said softly, the faceless Damocles seeming to stare.

“Maybe you’re right,” the kostral’s look was still pensive, “But you’ve got to deal with some things good. There’s not always time to think. Or there is and it doesn’t help for spit. You got this for a reason.” She pointed at Arya’s sword. “Might’ll get to it that it’s you or them, and I’ll rather have you around.”

Arya looked to the ground, wrinkling her nose as she did. After a moment she looked up with a small smile. "Thank you Split. I know things can get fast suddenly, and we don't have a choice, but it never hurts to try, within reason of course."

"...Choice..." A lone creak sounded. It seemed as if there might be more to it for a lingering moment, but then nothing more ever came.

"Yeah, choice," Split waved her head, "We always got that, you know. Can be anytime that we'd choose to just lie down and die," she stepped down louder than usual with one hand, "But that wouldn't be a right one. Gotta always mind what's right. Not that hard if you got a bit to think about it."

"That's true." Arya said, stretching as she walked. "So, how did you end up here, on this continent?" Arya asked.

"Can't really say. Was a gutted long time ago," Split gritted the sides of her mouth against each other, "Think I was back in those tunnels of Chop's, then I just wasn't. Bet that thing's made to pass easy. Being here, that's been the hard part…"

---

The night dragged on along with the steps of the cortege. Without clouds to obscure the sky, its progress was clear to anyone that cared to look up, but none did; neither the blindly tireless dummies, nor Arya and Split, caught in each other's tales of the years since their descent below Galbar.

The Garden had passed well over half its course when the memories finally ran out. For a bit there was silence, much like on the nights of their first voyage, save for the rhythmic march to their sides. Split did not hear it, and reminisced.

"All that," she mused, scraping an elbow against her side, "and walking at night's still the same."

"It is." Arya agreed, as the chorus of night took over. After a brief moment of silence between the two, Arya looked towards Split and said, "So… What now? Will you continue on with Damocles or… Or maybe you could come with me, to the Eye?" Arya asked sheepishly.

The kostral let out a whistling chuckle. “I can’t fly, girl. I’d slow you.” Her head motioned at the dummies, or perhaps the spaces past them. “‘Sides, there’s still a lot left to do here, and other places after that. Someone’s got to keep the world clear.” She propped herself up on two limbs, and laid a hand on the back of Arya’s head. “We’ll get to where you’ll be someday. Who knows as maybe I’ll be the one as needs your help then.” She chuckled again.

Arya looked into Splits eyes and nodded slowly. She sighed and said, "A most noble quest, Split. I wish you could come with me though… The Eye is a beautiful place. But I understand, I do. But when the day comes and you need help, you'll know where to find me." she kicked a stone as she walked and looked at the ground again before looking back up in thought. "You know… They don't expect me back at the Eye for awhile. I could stay a couple days before leaving. If you want."

“Think I’d chase you off?” It was not easy to tell if Split was ever smiling, her mouth being hidden and voice coarse, but she was trying to make it perceptible now. “Stay long as you want. You’ll see us working.” She walked on on her two arms, staring away with her opposite side-eye. “Then we’ll see that Eye you got someday. We got time for everything.”

"Perfect!" Arya said, flashing a toothy smile.

"...A.... Task.... To... Be... Done..." Damocles seemed to agree in his own way.

---

The coasts of Kalgrun were an untamed wilderness. Dense forests, imposing mountains and frozen landscapes held all manners of creatures. Ashalla’s pseudopods curled out of the sea and licked against each new species Ashalla saw. Although she had seen many of these creatures in the sculptures of the winter-spirits, it was only here that Ashalla could taste them. Many of the creatures bore Kalmar’s signature, although some had the mark of Phystene or Seihdhara. There was even one species which had been made by Narzhak.

Eventually Ashalla came to the east coast of the continent, where the forests gave way to plains. Rising from the plains, almost blending into the clouds, were tiny wisps of smoke. There were intelligent mortals in these lands.

Ashalla continued along the coast until she found a pack of the mortals. Their camp was a collection of furs, animal hides and leaf mats strewn across the ground. Some pits had been dug to hide food. In the midst of the camp was a circle of blackened branches and white ash.

A few groups of mortals were within walking distance of the camp, out hunting for sea-birds with their slings or foraging the scrublands for edible plants. These mortals adopted the common humanoid form - notably they were taller than Dreamers and their features bore an animalistic sharpness, particularly their ears, teeth and nails. She also noticed the grace and agility with which the hunters moved. Yet unlike the selka, none seemed to be hunting the fish of the sea.

Within the camp remained one adult mortal. The red-haired male sat on a rock, bone-tipped spear lying nearby. He gave the occasional glance around the camp, which contained a couple of infants asleep on a mat of animal hides, but he was clearly bored.

Ashalla watched the mortal for a time from the concealment of the ocean. Then she approached. While the man was looking the other way, Ashalla flowed quietly across the sand of the beach like a creek running in reverse, then reached the dirt and grass. A pseudopod crept up the rock, but before it reached the man Ashalla thought better of it. Instead the water gathered up and rose.

The sound of water moving was just starting to gain the attention of the bored man when Ashalla spoke with a voice like a crashing wave. “Mortal man.”

The man reached for his spear and turned in alarm, yet when he saw the towering woman of water his mouth gaped open. There was a stunned silence for a second, until the man’s mind caught up with the situation. He leapt to his feet, held his spear upright, crossed his spare fist across his chest and bowed his head. When he looked up again, though, a quizzical expression overtook his face, and his mouth twisted as though trying to find the right words to say.

Ashalla pre-empted the man and said, “I am Ashalla, Goddess of Water. Who are you?”

The man bowed his head again. “I am Nym.”

“What are you, Nym?” As Ashalla asked her question, a thin pseudopod of water snaked along the ground and licked against the man. Nym tensed at the touch and stepped away from the pseudopod, although another pseudopod had sprung up on the other side of him. “Answer the question.”

“I-” Nym tensed again at the watery touch, although the icy gaze bearing down on him made him think twice about resisting. “I am a father, a hunter, a Vallamir.”

The tendrils finished probing Nym and withdrew, allowing Nym to relax a bit. “Who are your gods?”

“My kind were created by Kalmar, Roog, Arae and Li’Kalla. They taught us how to survive in this land of Kalmar’s.”

A little bubble rose through Ashalla and popped at the surface. Li’Kalla? She’s whole again? Ashalla did not hesitate for more than a moment before continuing with her questions. “You are a hunter, yet you are not hunting.”

Nym looked over his shoulder at the sleeping babies in the camp. “No. Today I’m doing the task of a father and watching the camp and the young.”

“Your mind and hands were idle.”

Nym looked a bit sheepish. “Well, yes, it is a bit boring.”

Ashalla rumbled thoughtfully. Her gaze then shifted to a section of scrub nearby, within which lurked a badger. Although the badger appeared ordinary to mortal senses, Ashalla could sense the faintest odor of divinity. A pseudopod stretched out with unnatural speed and wrapped around the animal. Ashalla regarded the badger for a moment, then released the animal which promptly scampered off.

Carrying on as if nothing had happened, Ashalla asked, “Have you ever considered hunting the animals of the ocean?”

The vallamir’s brow furrowed. “No, um… hadn’t had the need. Although, it wouldn’t hurt, although don’t know how.”

Ashalla rumbled again, and glanced up and down the coast. She had seen the equipment the other vallamir had been using, how little the items they had found had been modified from their raw forms. She looked back to Nym. “I will show you how. And I shall also show you something to occupy your mind and hands while they are idle. But first,” Ashalla’s arm stretched out to grab a small rock, then retracted to a more natural length, “I shall teach you how to better shape the world around you.”

---

Nym’s pack had returned to find him banging rocks together at the direction of a large woman made of water. Although it had seemed to be a lot of pointless noise, when they got closer Nym showed them the flakes of sharp stone which he had produced. They made handles of wooden sticks and plant fibres for the stone shards, and in this way they were able to make stone tools, from which they could better make more tools.

During the evening, by the light of the campfire, Ashalla prompted the vallamir in one use of the stone tools, which was to create carvings in wood, bone and soft stone. It was to be an activity for their downtime, a chance to express their creativity, a way to preserve their memories and a means of non-verbal communication. The carvings were mediocre in quality, although the vallamir seemed to pick up the art fairly quickly, so Ashalla expressed her approval of their artwork.

The following morning Ashalla called some of the hunters, including Nym, to the sea. While they were skilled hunters on land, Ashalla taught them how to hunt in the ocean. The vallamir’s heightened reflexes were of great advantage to them, for they could spear fish with great accuracy once Ashalla showed them how to correct for how the water distorted vision. She also trained them in swimming, so they could dive beneath the water and peel away molluscs with their new stone knives. The hunters returned to their pack that evening with a bountiful catch of sea life.

The vallamir expressed their gratitude to Ashalla as she departed, her work with that pack finished. She bore a desire to teach more vallamir the same. As she travelled and taught, she came to the mouth of a large river and decided to head inland.

For a time, she travelled unopposed. Then, a colossus-sized wolf appeared upriver, defying the very laws of physics while it bounded across the water as if it were solid ground. As it neared, it began to slow down, skidding to a stop as it sniffed the air and, with its sole-remaining eye, peered at the Goddess inquisitively, or at least the region of river water which was the Goddess. In return, tendrils of water licked at the wolf’s fur. Dark and heavy clouds formed in the sky above, the cumulonimbus seeming to take the form of a face which loomed over the wolf. Two eyes of crackling lightning manifested to bear down on the wolf.

“Beast of Kalmar, did Kalmar send you to greet me?” said a voice like a gale.

The wolf did not make a sound; it merely nodded.

There was a huff. “Why not greet me personally?”

The wolf raised its shoulders in something that vaguely resembled a shrug. “He was closer,” a telepathic voice sudden interjected, “But I am on my way.”

“Very well,” Ashalla answered. A tendril of water rose from the river and felt the scar of Fenris’ missing eye, then retracted. The wolf not much of one for conversations, Ashalla waited patiently for Kalmar’s arrival.

He arrived mere minutes later, soaring over the western horizon, with the white-furred cloak of an animal of the north, and flakes of snow still in his hair. He set himself down on the river bank, and the water in front of him suddenly began to freeze… until it stopped, and began to melt again - the snow in his hair doing the same. Kalmar looked up at Ashalla and nodded. “What brings you here?”

“I am exploring these lands and teaching the vallamir of fishing, stone tools and carving,” answered Ashalla.

Kalmar nodded again, as if that was the answer he had expected. “Yes. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“It is my pleasure,” Ashalla burbled.

“If you want to explore these lands, you’re free to do so,” the Hunter continued. “If you’re looking for something specific, or have any other questions, feel free to ask.”

Ashalla rumbled briefly, then asked, “The vallamir say that Li’Kalla was one of their creators. Last I heard Li’Kalla had been in poor shape. How is she?”

“The Architect restored her,” Kalmar answered. “But it seems that she lost most if not all of her memories. She’s a different person now, or at least different from when I first met her. More assertive, more talkative. A strange fixation on purity and bloodlines. Even shares some of Shengshi’s obsession with manners. I met her about ten winters ago, and since then she has taken some of the Vallamir onto her island to the east of here.”

There was a rumble from Ashalla. “Perhaps I should visit her soon.” Ashalla then shifted to another course of inquiry. “You visited Azura recently regarding the soul crystals.”

“I did,” Kalmar nodded. “What do you think of all that, anyway?”

“I care not for the mortals. But it is her prerogative as a god to shape the natural order to her will,” Ashalla said with a voice like a waterfall.

“That prerogative goes both ways,” Kalmar mused. “And means other gods are free to try to stop her. Then other gods will defend her, we’ll have a war, and all our creations will suffer.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the agreement I made with her was that I wouldn’t try to stop her efforts, I would help defend the souls within the vault from harm, and I would offer my own power to help her find a solution, if I can spare it and the solution is agreeable. I also made it clear that the agreement would become invalid should we run out of soul ash before her alternative is completed.”

“That is very reasonable, Kalmar,” Ashalla commented.

“It is good that you agree,” Kalmar said with another nod. “I have a question myself. When you say you don’t care for the mortals, do you mean the state of mortals after they die? Or do you not care for them when they are alive as well?”

There was a brief contemplative rumble. “After a mortal’s demise, they are of little use to me besides the information stored in their soul. During their life, mortals are of interest, amusement and some utility. Although I may grow fond of some individual mortals, unlike Azura I feel no close personal connection with mortalkind as a whole.”

“I’d say mortals have more value than that,” Kalmar said with a shrug. “Though my interest in them doesn’t go as far as Azura’s either. Creatures like the Vallamir, or the Jotnar, Dreamers, and Selka may be smarter than most, but they shouldn’t be put on a pedestal because of it.”

The was a light huff. “Yet their intelligence, which grants them limited power to shape the world around them, makes them clearly superior to unintelligent beasts. Not to say that unintelligent beasts are unimportant, of course, for without them life would falter.”

“Superior in intelligence, yes,” Kalmar nodded. “But can a selka swim as fast as a megaladon? Can a Vallamir track as well as a direwolf?” the Hunter questioned. “Yes, mortals are better poised to take advantage of our direct teachings and gifts than most, but that doesn’t mean their lives inherently have more value. And what we do provide them should be carefully managed. Or else they might take it for granted, and even try to abuse it.”

Ashalla rumbled, then said, “Indeed. Each species has its place and function, if well designed. And what we provide to the mortals often comes with expectations.”

One of Ashalla’s eyes turned to the horizon. “If that is all, Kalmar, I have the rest of your continent to explore.”

“Would you like me to accompany you as you do so?” Kalmar asked.

There was a rumble for a moment, then Ashalla said in a melodic voice, “If you wish.”

Kalmar turned to Fenris and waved a hand. The beast nodded, and moved out of Ashalla’s path, stepping on to the bank of the river where he then proceeded to lay on his belly. Kalmar himself began walking westward. The storm clouds above receded, and a woman of water rose up beside Kalmar. “If we continue upriver, there’s an island…”

---

---

Kalmar, Arae, Roog, and Li’Kalla created you. You are the Vallamir.

Karamir jolted awake. Within a second, he was on his feet, and within another second, the Weapon was out and had taken the form of a sword. He swivelled in place, scanning his surroundings, yet there were no threats to be seen.

Strange. He could have sworn someone had just spoken, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to mean. Kalmar was the only name Karamir recognized - as far as he knew, ‘Arae’, ‘Roog’, and ‘Li’Kalla’ had nothing to do with him. And the name Vallamir… he had never heard that before in his life.

He glanced up at the Lustrous Garden. It was well into the night; day would soon follow. Yawning, he took the time to wipe his eyes… and then paused as a strand of hair appeared at the top of his vision. It was white.

Something had happened, after all. But what? Another glance around. No sign of anything, or anyone. He took flight, and circled the area surrounding the Stone Book. Again, he found nothing. ”How strange…” he muttered to himself. Talking to himself had become something of a habit, now. Not since his time on Kalgrun had he gone this long without somebody to converse with.

He did not go back to sleep. With weapon in hand he awaited the morning, continuing to practice his magic in the meantime.

When the sun finally rose, he took flight and found the nearest clear body of water. A quick glance of his reflection revealed that his hair had in fact changed colour… but only a small portion. The front was now white, but the rest remained the same light brown. ”What happened?” he wondered aloud.

Could it have been an effect of what Abanoc did to him? Doubtful. The encounter had been over a year ago, so why would such a change only come about now? Was it a result of his proximity to the Stone Book, or some belated side-effect of one of the many things that had been done to him in the past? It was impossible to be sure.

The most likely possibility was that Kalmar had finally gotten around to creating a species modelled after him: Vallamir was the name of the species, while the gods Li’Kalla, Roog, and Arae all helped create it.

”Karamir… first of the Vallamir…” he spoke aloud, testing it out.

He rose to his feet. If there truly were others like him, then it was time to get moving. He still needed to seek out the other mortal species, and the other gods. And once he had learned from them, he could share that knowledge with other people - including his own. He had remained near the Stone Book to continue practicing mana, but there was no real reason he couldn’t practice as he travelled. Being able to use mana while flying would be a useful skill anyway.

And so, on that note, he took flight and began a journey west, practicing his manipulation of the winds as he flew.

---

Eventually he reached the coast, of course, and he did not fancy another journey over the open ocean just yet. So instead he turned southwest. In the meantime, while he wasn’t attempting to summon gusts of wind mid-flight, he had contacted Kalmar, who confirmed much of what he had theorized. Though apparently a few changes had been made to the species, one of which led to the partially white hair that Karamir now had.

At some point he flew over a rather eerie looking forest, and a dense fog gradually enveloped him. He was no stranger to fog, but this felt rather sudden. Still, he couldn’t rightly call it unnatural, since he had never been to this area before. And after what he had seen in the Palace, Tendlepog, the Infinite Maze, and the Observatory, a bit of fog was hardly the strangest thing he could encounter.

He lowered himself to the ground, passing through the forest canopy until he landed on the ground before. It was rather eerie; like something out of one of Diana’s nightmares.

He drew his dagger, and willed it to become a staff. It wasn’t the most deadly weapon, but it felt comfortable to carry. He began to walk through the forest on foot, stopping occasionally to inspect plants or insects, every now and then glancing up at the forest canopy.

Unable to see the sun, he once again found himself in the concerning position of not knowing the passage of time. He wasn’t sure how much had passed, but after quite a bit of wandering and inspecting, he eventually came across a rough trail. No animal could have made this - or at least, no animal he had seen before.

”Are there mortals nearby?” he wondered. No, Abanoc’s book had not informed him of any within this region. ”The work of a god?” Or was it yet another oddity that had no clear explanation.

Anyway, he decided to follow the trail. ”Surely it leads somewhere...”

Time continued to pass, but it was not long before he came across another oddity - this one much larger than the insects he had grown accustomed to. A large tentacled slug, almost the size of a direwolf. It did not seem to possess any eyes; could it see him? Karamir circled around it, yet it did not react. He prodded it with the butt of his staff, and it lazily flicked a tentacle to ward off his pestering.

It didn’t seem to be hostile, and he didn’t even know if it was edible, so there was little point in disturbing it. He briefly wondered what its purpose was, but it wasn’t like he could ask. Instead he carried on, leaving the beast to drag itself along the trail.

On and on he walked. His cloak was spoiling him, he realized; he had almost grown unused to trekking vast distances on foot. He would have to take walks more frequently, instead of simply relying on the cloak to get anywhere. There may be come a time when he might find himself without it. ”Seems like the perfect place to get used to long walks…” he muttered to himself.

Eventually, the trail lead him to a clearing, and while that would not have been unusual, what was inside it was. A table, mostly stocked with plates of food, and one of the slug beasts from before was there, hungrily shoving food into its mouth with its tentacles.

Karamir was quite hungry himself, come to think of it. He walked around the side of the table opposite the creature, and noted that the foods the creature was eating included meat. It didn’t seem to notice him, but it could see the food in front of well enough. How did it perceive the world, he wondered?

Karamir closed his eyes and focused. It had been a long time since he had needed to call upon the Hunter’s Sight granted to him by Kalmar, but the power had not left him. He slipped into the creature’s perspective, and found that it could in fact see… everything except for him. Because as Karamir gazed through the creature’s eyes, he was looking at the very spot where his actual body should be standing… and there was nothing there.

He slipped back into his own perspective to confirm that he had not moved or been transported in any way. If the creatures could not see him… that was a remarkably easy weakness to exploit. He glanced back down at the table. His better judgement told him not to touch it, that this food had been left out here for a reason… and then his stomach growled. It had been too long since his last meal.

So, he grabbed a rather large loaf of bread from one of the plates, turned, and continued onward. The oversized slug didn’t even notice. He took bites as he walked, until eventually he had eaten it all.

At some point he decided it was time to take a break. He fell back into practicing his mana; using the loose yet controlled movements required to manipulate the air around him. He then looked down at his robe, which had grown increasingly worn and frayed.

Thankfully he had taught himself another spell for this.

Concentrating deeply, he drew upon the raw mana in the air around him. Raw mana was dangerous, and volatile, yet the result of this particular spell would hardly be catastrophic if it somehow went out of control. Slowly, the small tears, holes, and loose strands in his robe began to repair themselves, threads reattaching back together. He was sweating by the time he was done, but the clothes had been repaired in the end. ”Still dirty, though…” but there was little he could do about that until he found water.

He sat against a nearby tree, and breathed in the foggy air. He was not concerned; he could leave at any time he wanted. All he had to do was fly above the forest canopy, pick a random direction, and commit to it until he made it out. As far as he knew, he was still on Galbar, and so this forest must have an end. Even if he had somehow ended up in another sphere… even the Infinite Maze came to an end at some point, despite its name. As far as he could tell, he was in no danger. He was here by his own choice and his own curiosity.

He rested there for some time, until he saw an odd light in the corner of his eye, steadily coming closer. Warily, he rose to his feet and readied his weapon, only to see a rather strange sight emerge from the smoke: A lantern walking on a four-legged pedestal.

It came near to him, close enough that he could feel its warmth, and then suddenly it retreated, only to stop and then inch closer. Karamir took a step forward, and again the lantern began to fall back… only to start shaking itself in what appeared to be frustration, as Karamir had not moved beyond that single step.

”You want me to follow?” Karamir questioned with a raised eyebrow.

The lantern tilted itself slightly, in what Karamir assumed was meant to be a nod.

”Why not…” Karamir shrugged. If this was some sort of trap, he could easily get away. If it wasn’t, then it likely led to something interesting. So, he followed it. Time continued to pass, and Karamir continued to walk.

Eventually, however, his eyes began to droop, and it was getting darker. He needed to sleep. So, he stepped off the path, laid down near a tree, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

---

Karamir awoke to something wrapping around his leg.

Just as it began to drag him, however, his cloak slipped out from underneath him and suddenly began to drag him in the opposite direction, as he floated an inch off the ground. He craned his head to look at his mysterious attacker, but saw nothing save a faint, blurry outline. He kicked at it, but it did not relent. All the while, the unknown assailant and his cloak continued to play a tug-of-war over his body.

His hand closed around the Multi-Weapon which lay next to him, and it morphed into a glaive. He swung wildly, severing an unseen appendage, and then he was free. His cloak dragged him over the dirt for several feet until he willed it to stop, and rose to his feet.

He could see the blurry outline of the creature, but it was practically invisible, and it was heading toward him. Despite its obscurity, he realized its size and shape was comparable to the beasts he had seen earlier. Quickly, he used his hunter’s sight to slip into the creature’s perspective, and realized that this time, they could see him.

It wasn’t particularly fast, however, so it was a simple enough matter to hold out his staff. A nearly-invisible tentacle wrapped around it, and then suddenly the glaive became a sword, and Karamir pulled it back, cutting through the creature’s flesh with ease. It recoiled in pain, and then the sword was a spear, and Karamir plunged it through where he assumed the monster’s brain would be. It collapsed.

He prodded the transparent corpse with the butt of his spear (transforming it back into a staff as he did so) and drew in a deep breath. Did these things become transparent at night? Or had eating the food affected him in some way? Either way, it seemed unwise to stay here.

A quick look around, and he saw a light in the distance. The lantern from before. Or at least, he assumed it was. It began to rapidly shake, as if urging him to follow, and so he did.

---

For three days Karamir followed the lantern. It led him off the trail, onto new trails, and even to food shrines. He realized that the creatures remained invisible even during the day, so therefore it had to have been the food that resulted in this change… somehow. Or maybe it was simply the result of being in this forest for a certain amount of time. ”If only I had some way to record all these thoughts…” he wondered aloud.

A quick experiment revealed that the food was indeed the cause. He ate some of the food in front of the creatures, and soon enough it went blurry and transparent to almost completely invisible.

It might have been a good idea to stop, but… he needed to eat something. The creatures were already invisible, the food was available, and it wasn’t like they were completely undetectable anyway - he could see faint imprints in the dirt and grass, marking where they stood, and he had his Hunter’s Sight ability anyway. In the night he flew up into the trees, used his cloak to tie himself to a branch, and allowed himself to drift off.

He marked trees to ensure that the lantern was not leading him in circles, but that didn’t address the concern that it might not be leading him anywhere at all. ”One more day of this,” he decided as he went to sleep that night. One more day with no results, and he would simply leave this place.

But around noon of the fourth day, he finally reached the pagoda.

It was five storeys tall, now, and disappeared far into the foggy sky. The giant wooden treadmill-crane standing on scorched ground beside it was the only sign that, somewhere far above, construction was ongoing. What was finished was already painted, plastered, and paved, and dozens of huge circular kites flew from its windows on long strings. They turned to look at him as he emerged from the jungle, displaying vivid irises.

At the edge of the forest, a curious being with a heavy green parrot on his shoulder turned to him. It had a peaked copper lantern for a head, and wore a heavy robe, a slender cane emerging from its sleeve to tap at the moist earth between them. Saith the parrot, “By the feathers of my beard: A stranger? A danger? A deep-forest ranger, seeking for yon places weird.”

”I am Karamir, of Kalgrun,” Karamir declared to the stranger. ”Who are you?”

A delicate pair of pliers emerged from the creature’s other sleeve, and tapped its chest, where a simple glyph was woven into the fabric, gold on black. It made a harsh whirring noise, the light in its lantern flashing unevenly as it did so, as if a shower of metal sparks had burst inside it. Then it bowed.

“Better luck, o traveller,
Cannot be found speaking with her.
The lantern heads don’t speak, or blink.
This one’s X4B, I think.”

Lanternhead X4B shook gently, tapping the earth with its cane. She was laughing. After a moment she raised her head and motioned towards Karamir with the plier-hand.

A look of befuddlement briefly flashed across his face. ”What is this place?” he asked, taking a step forward.
Lanternhead X4B paused momentarily, then walked- or maybe glided- back to the edge of the forest, where she had left a small basket filled with leaves. This she retrieved, hanging it on a wrist hidden under her sleeve, and with the plier-hand cracked off two slender twigs of even length. These she handed to Karamir before turning and ambulating back towards the great temple. The parrot looked back at him from her shoulder.

“Hmm, well, err, um.
It’s called the ABACADARIUM.
And while we’re out for names to give,
For the record, mine is Liv.

”I see,” Karamir said, studying the twigs in his hand and having absolutely no clue what to do with them. ”Is there anyone else here?”

“You’ll just have to come and see,” said Liv, her voice barely audible as X4B crossed a bridge over a tile-bound stream running through the foundations of the temple. “For certain, not just you and me.”

Someone high up on Abacadarium’s youngest floors split the air with a yell, blasting apart the sound-eating fog to reveal a swarm of bright lights spiralling around the worksite. The greyness soon crept back in.

Karamir glanced up at the sudden yell, and grasped his weapon, but with no sign of immediate danger he let go. He did a quick scan of his foggy surroundings, and then followed X4B in silence.

The pagoda was about as big on the inside as it was on the outside, which, while not a supernatural feat by any means, was still a feat. Part of the stream had been channeled into shallow grooves around the edges of the enormous ground floor, and the rest was all pillars and mats and stairways and vast open space, floor after floor after floor. Lanternheads stood here and there, often in circles or rows, flying kites from the windows, tallying things in bundles or under lenses or trickling through hourglasses. Some of them seemed to be fighting, in a slow, turn-taking kind of way. They lit up the floor of each successive storey, and chirruping clusters of flying paper-lanterns lit up its ceiling, twirling their streamers and fluttering around Karamir, who resisted the urge to swat them away.

They emerged onto the ceiling of the fifth storey, the floor of the unfinished sixth. There a goddess sat crosslegged with her back to the newcomers amidst a pile of scorched butterfly nets of enormous size, sulking.

She seemed important. He needed to think of something to say. Something that wasn’t too vague, but also wasn’t too bloated with explanation. But where to begin? So instead, all he offered was a rather lame ”Hello?”

“Ah fuck what now,” said Chopstick Eyes, waving her hand in the air without looking back.

His eyebrows raised. That was not the response he expected. Certainly different from the parrot’s rhymes, or X4B who didn’t speak at all. ”I am Karamir, from Kalgrun,” he answered. ”I was exploring this forest, when one of the walking lights led me to this place.”

Chopstick turned her stitched-up head and focused her sticks on Karamir for the first time, and her eyebrows untangled. “Oh, hey, dude, that’s a dope cloak,” she said. “Hold up, hold it right there.” She scrabbled to her feet and closed the gap between them in two fast steps, pressing her body into the Cloak of Red Feathers and smelling it deeply, then sniffing her way up to his face. He winced slightly as the chopsticks jabbed him through the cloak. “Damn, you smell like… Ten gods.”

Karamir allowed this only because he knew who she was. The eyes gave it away. ”I have met a lot of gods,” he confirmed. ”The first was Kalmar, my creator. Then Phystene. Then K’nell’s Avatar. Then K’nell himself. Then Kalmar’s Avatar. Then Abanoc. And now you. I think your name is… Chopstick Eyes?”

“Well, I do have them,” said the god who had chopstick eyes. She looked up. “K’nell. The dreamboat. Is he an asshole?”

Karamir frowned. ”He was friendly enough, at first, when I visited his sphere. But it seemed like I didn’t fit there, so I left, and then he decided to send me out of his lands as well. His avatar, on the other hand, is a living nightmare who takes fun in tormenting people - myself included. That’s my experience with him.”

“HRRRMMMMM. Hmm.” Chopstick took another deep breath of Karamir and detached herself. “Hmm hm hm. Here. Take this net. You’re Kalmar’s boy, so I figure he’s taught you at least something about catching things.” X4B made a grinding noise, which Chopstick ignored, scrabbling around for a net for herself. “He has, hasn’t he? I hope he has. Make yourself useful. You too, sparky.” Lanternhead X4B stooped laboriously to the floor and picked up the closest, smallest, most beaten-up butterfly net within reach, and held it limp-wristedly, turning her head briefly towards Karamir.

Karamir accepted the net, and looked at it with a quizzical expression. ”What am I supposed to catch?” he asked.

“The, fuckin’. The flying… You’ll see,” said Chopstick. “You can catch things, r-”

Strange lights flashed in on a misty wind and Chopstick screamed. Karamir drew his dagger, which suddenly became a sword.

There were some three dozen of them and each one was everything the Lanternheads were not: organic and random and wildly nimble, tumbling and turning and kicking and leaping. Their shapes were fantastic, their colours lurid, blazoned on wings and flaps and tails and jets stitched together with curious textiles and wire, like hot air balloons that had studied the fish and the squid. Their fireball hearts blazed free and airy under their skin, blasting them along through tubular vents.

Oh. So this was what he was supposed to catch. He glanced down at the small, battered net, and scowled. Some use that would be. Then he looked at his sword, and he had an idea. He cast the battered net aside, and suddenly the blade of his sword began to shift. Instead of a sword, it became a net itself - only with metal where there had previously been rope, and the rim being wider and larger.

Then, in a blur of red, he shot forward and upward, flying himself into their midst. With his metallic net he swung rapidly, catching as many as could fit, before darting back down just as quickly as he went up. ”Where should I put these?” he asked Choppy, as he willed the opening of the net to seal itself.

Chopstick watched her fire-spirit scorch its way out from under her net in a flurry of sparks and spiral off whistling into the fog before standing and turning to check. After a moment of absorbing the scene, her sticks rolled widely and she snapped her net over her knee. “Aw GUT ME. Why didn’t you think of that, huh? Huh, sparky?” Lanternhead X4B tossed her unused net aside without moving much. Chopstick sighed and strode over to Karamir’s catch, which was snickering like a mechanical horse. “A metal fucking net...”

There were two of the strange creatures in the Weapon, though one was curiously bifurcated. They weren’t much larger than pigeons, and substantially lighter. “Sparky, what are they saying?”

Lanternhead X4B whirred and scraped.

“Olivia, what’s she saying?”

“She wasn’t talking to you,” said the melancholy parrot. Chopstick smiled broadly and touched the sides of her head as if they were about to explode. “Do they understand her?”

“No.”

Chopstick turned to Karamir with sticks splintering audibly before her face and said, through gritted grinning teeth, “I’m gonna fucking lose it. Who sold you that net?”

”Kalmar gave it to me,” Karamir replied, taking a cautious step back. ”Why?”

Chopstick stared at him with no smile for a moment. Then she deflated. She combed her hair with her fingers. “...I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this,” she said, looking out into one of the eye kites. “I don’t even know why you’re here. Let’s go inside. Sparky, bring me a coat. I’ll explain everything.” X4B stamped her cane on the ground once in affirmation.

They disappeared back down into the pagoda, closing a trapdoor behind them, and at Chopstick’s request released the spirits into one of the storeys once all exits had been sealed. They bumbled around merrily with the flying-lanterns, teasing them. Chopstick spoke as they worked. “I’m the god with the chopstick eyes. The Market Lord. This was meant to be my office, and it’s gonna be. These people are my staff. I made them to keep track of my things. And things generally. Hey, gourdface, hey, hatboy.” Two Lanternheads, one a pumpkin, the other with a wide-brimmed hexagonal lid, greeted them, already illustrating the fire kites on broad easels.

“I tried to make them last for a long time, but that didn’t work. They’ll wear out in a few decades. So I’ll have to make more. But concentrating enough soul ash for these guys was a… slog. So, I went back to the magic lanterns I made them from, took a few of those, made them halfway into lantern heads so that their souls would fit, then mixed them together with wild kites… You might not know what that is. It’s what it sounds like. The kites can make babies, anyway, so I’ll never run out of new fires. And then I amped up their souls a whole lot.” She watched as one of the spirits alighted on ‘hatboy’s hook-hand, her scarred lips tight. “Lanternheads are nice- and they work hard- but they’re very… Patient. I was hoping that if I did all that with the new batch of souls, they’d be kind of less passive. Well… turns out they’re still kind of passive, but at ten times the speed. I call them Spitfires.” She sighed.

“Guess I’ll have to take the least ditzy of them to make new Lanternheads. Anyway. That’s where I’ve been at. I wanted to have this building finished ages ago, but these guys took so long to make that I couldn’t, and I don’t even really know how they work. ...Sorry if I snapped at you.”

Karamir had to admit: this was all somewhat fascinating, but there was a troubling concern nagging him from the back of his mind. ”Just to clarify…” he said, glancing back and forth across the room. ”We’re still on Galbar, right?”

Chopstick shrugged with several spare shoulders. “I mean I’d hope so,” she said.

Karamir breathed a mild sigh of relief. ”Sorry, it’s just that I’ve only ever seen things this… strange… when I was in a god’s sphere. This is all very interesting though: how long do you think it will take to be completed?”

“‘Nother few years.” Chopstick dug around in the pockets of the big wool coat X4B had brought her and pulled out some wire and fabric, which she deftly worked together into a kite. “I… get you, though. This is kind of a special place. It’s a very me type of place, and I’ve been cooped up here a long time. You probably feel like you’re snooping in someone else’s messy bedroom.” She threw the little glider into the room, where one of the spitfires pounced on it, feasting on it midair in a flurry of sparks and smoke. “You’re welcome to stay, though. Did you come looking for something? I can totally set you up.”

Karamir glanced up at the ceiling. Ideas were beginning to take shape inside his head. ”I’m not looking for anything specific,” he admitted, ”...but since I’m here, is there anything I can do to help you build this place?”

“Probably not. If you could tell me how that net of yours works, though, that’d be super cool. Or your cloak. You can fly with that, right? And besides, I owe you one for helping out.”

He nodded, and held up the net. ”It’s not really a net,” he said, and with that it morphed back into a dagger. ”It can be whatever weapon I imagine, with some limitations… but apparently tools count, so that’s how I did that. As for the cloak… yes, it lets me fly.” He returned the dagger to its sheathe before Chopstick got a chance to reveal her own blade and compare sizes. ”If I can’t help, I’d still like to stay, for a time. It’d be useful to have a place where I can practice mana without worrying about the weather, and it will be good to see how a place like this can be built.” He shrugged. ”I like to learn things.”

“Well, in that case, maybe you could start with these!” Chopstick flipped the top of a nearby box, almost tipping it over, and pulled out two books, one bright and one plain. The bright one was titled ‘You Are A Moron: Pictographic Calculus for the Completely Illiterate’. The other was written in a braille, its cover embossed with ‘Advanced Watercolour Painting for the Blind’.

“I don’t know what they’re about, but I gave them to the lanternheads and apparently they learned a lot,” said Chopstick Eyes, grinning ear to ear. “They’re real good at this whole counting and painting thing. They even use paintbrushes.”

Karamir glanced at the titles and squinted. ”Pictograph… Calculus? Watercolours? What do those even mean?”

“Is that what they say?” Chopstick smiled blankly, flicking through the mathematics textbook. “I know watercolour is paint with water as a fluid medium for the pigment, instead of like, oil, or acrylic. That’s not what Hatboy and Gourdface are using right now, but I know the others are keen on it.” She tossed the book over her shoulder, where ‘sparky’ caught it without looking, then looked at it curiously for a moment and returned it to the box. “I can show you that pretty easily. The rest, you’ll probably have to get the lampnoggins. Ask around! They’re pretty helpful, just not when you need them to talk.”

”I see…” he said slowly. ”I’ll have to get on that. Another question: you don’t mind if I practice mana here, do you?”

“Don’t know what that is. Is it explosive?”

”Uh… it can be,” Karamir answered reluctantly. ”Abanoc told me about it. It’s this energy that can be found all around the world. Mortals can use it to do things they can’t normally do.” he held out a hand and a small flame flickered from his finger, before sputtering out.

“Oh, so that’s what this stuff is,” said Chopstick, rummaging in her coat pockets until she found a crisp dollar bill. She folded it neatly into a paper man and tapped it, whereupon it morphed into a crude clay figurine, wriggling weakly. “Leverage.”

Karamir raised his eyebrows, but he was unsure if she actually used mana, or if she simply used her divine powers. Best not to question it, he decided. ”Yes… but I was told it’s called mana. Can any of your ‘lampnoggins’ use it?”

“Nah, they’re paid in art supplies,” said Chopstick, squashing the figure.

”Well then…” Karamir said. ”If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going back outside. Let me know if you need help catching any more of those… things.”

“Figure I can manage, now that I’ve got these to practice on. Hmm.” She stretched. “You pay the air to fly, right? Something like that.”

”Uh… no,” answered Karamir, who had already been in the process of turning to leave, and now had to look back. ”The cloak allows me to fly at no cost to myself. I don’t know if mana could be used to fly without it. I haven’t tried.”

“Give it a shot if you’re practicing on my grounds,” saith the Lord. “I can push you out of a high window if you want. Or if you’d rather do some, I dunno, botanical illustration, you’re free to stay and mess around with the candlemugs as long as you’re keen. I’ll leave it up to you!”

”I... will keep that in mind.”

---

Time passed.

Bricks were made and baked and raised, and there came a moment when, all of a sudden, the Abacadarium stood complete. Clouds streamed over it and off its edges, like water, and kites floated from it like the distant leaves of a branchless tree. Chopstick kicked apart the gargantuan treadmill-crane with great mirth, and set it on fire thereafter. When the ash was cleared and the grounds were paved and gardened, they soon sprouted into a maze of finished charcoals and watercolours, hung to dry or to display, depicting things the Lanternheads had seen or been brought. Some of them depicted Karamir.

Chopstick pranced daydreamy through the paper and canvas, a shoal of Spitfires whining at her, tugging her silk shirt this way and that, each begging to lead her away and show her some trinket or other. She played with a bundle of steel wool from a steel sheep, tossing fragments of nutritious wire for the spirits to swarm over.

“I guess you’re not staying much longer, huh?”

Karamir was seated in an empty space of grass that was clear of flowers or drawings. A fire had been built, and somewhere he had found a grate which he used to construct a makeshift grill. His multi-weapon had been converted into a spatula, which he used to flip a sizzling fish. He leaned forward to inspect it more closely, sniffed, and then looked up at Chopstick.

”Probably not. It was interesting to see this place built, but there’s more out there for me to see,” he admitted. He wasn’t sure how much use what he had witnessed could be - for example, how could he possibly replicate something like that crane? He had, however, made ample use of his time, by honing his understanding of mana. In addition to advancing his skill over winds, he had also begun to practice the manipulation of water, finding that it required a similar move and mindset. There was a stream that flowed through the pagoda, at which he had practiced at almost every day. ”Thanks for letting me stay,” he nodded.

“No problem. You’re a cool kid,” said Chopstick, sticking a marshmallow on a stiff wire and setting it on fire under the grill. “Tell Kalmar I said hi, if you catch him again. Or anyone else, really.”

”I will,” Karamir nodded, as the spatula became a fork and he speared the fish.

---

After being introduced to Yullian over a terrible supper, Song found it hard to go about her day regularly, too eager for the promises Yullian spoke to her. Eventually giving up on a regular day, she retreated back to her ‘humble’ room in the palace, content with simply waiting for nightfall and avoiding anyone who may jeopardize her giddy mood.

A simple favour in exchange for the love of her life? How could she say no?! It was almost too good to be true!

A seed of doubt planted itself in the fields of her heart - was it too good to be true? Was she about to say yes to a favour that would impact her life for the worse? Would she have to act out pranks in the divine’s name?

The seed sprouted a painful thorn, but the heart retaliated viciously. No! No matter what she would have to do, as long as Yullian held up their end of the bargain, it would be worth it in the end! Accelerated thumps in her chest brutalised what remained of the doubt.

“Urangtai,” she whispered quietly to herself and giggled.

“Hello there, miss,” A silky woman’s voice all but whispered, the alabaster head of a handsome middle-aged woman poking into her room, “Do you have a minute?”

Song snapped out of her trance and spun around with a quiet ‘eep!’ “O-oh! Sorry, uh-- Sure!” She went over to the door, eyes looking down in light embarrassment.

Crinkles formed in the corner of the woman’s eyes as she smiled and stepped into the room. Without saying anything,she quietly closed the door behind them and pressed an ear to it for a moment, “I think we are as alone as can be...” her voice sang the last few syllables.

Putting their fists on their sides and standing upright, the woman cleared her throat, “Right-o then, lassie. We have a man to woo, don’t we?”

Song blinked. “Wuh-what did you say?”

“Don’t play silly,” The woman sneered, “We agreed that we would make your lovely lover fall head over heels for your very voice, image, what have you in return for a little diddy of a thing later on, remember?”

“Wait, did you hear tha--” Song stopped herself. “Your Holiness, is that you?!”

Yullian winked and adjusted her dress, “The one and only. You’ll find that a god such as myself isn’t bound by the restrictions of physicality, how better for you to have yourself in my favor, eh?”

“Not bound by-... I mean, yes! I’m really happy, I mean, honoured to be in your favour. No, wait, honoured that you find me worthy! Snap, I sound like great-uncle Wenbo…” Song scratched her scalp in frustration.

“I’ve seen the old codger and I have to say you’re much more fun,” Yullian offered idly before tapping her chin, “That gives me an idea for later.” She shook her head, “But for now, I’ve put plenty of thought into my favorite mortal’s plight and I think I have come up with a several step plan to snag your smoocher.”

All confusion and agitation evaporated like water on lava and Song’s face was inches from Yullian’s in seconds, grinning so broadly one would think her lower jaw would fall off. “Tell me!”

“Look at you,” Yullian poked Song’s nose, “Adorable... like a kitten.” Taking a step back Yullian folded her arms, “Well the first step is rather simple, and you’re going to help me do it -- shouldn’t be more than a fraction of a minute.” Closing her eyes with almost a smug aura, “I’m going to unlock my true godly potential and peer into the minds of mortals -- with yours to start...” She trailed, “Is that okay?”

“Peer into--”

Yullian waved a hand and laughed, “It doesn’t really matter, I’ve already done it.” They kept their eyes closed and made a few exaggerated ‘oh’ and ‘oo’ faces, “My, he is a handsome one isn’t he?”

Song shook her head and covered her temples, her face rouging like a ripening mango. “You-you didn’t see everything about him, right?! RIGHT?!”

“Oh, of course not,” Yullian softly reassured, “I’m not the type to peek.”

Song swallowed. “Y-you mean it, right?”

“So here is what I’m thinking for our first step,” Yullian put a friendly hand on Song’s shoulder, “Do you like to bake?”

There came a hum. “Yeeeeaaah, yeah, I suppose.”

“Good, good,” Yullian nodded, “Because you know what they say -- the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Yullian leaned in, “I just made that up right now, pretty good, huh?”

“Is it really? Wait, so does that mean that when Urangtai eats other women’s cooking--” Her black eyes might as well have been sickly green from the envy they scowled out into the air. “Tell me more.”

“After he tries my very special baking I made in your place, I don’t think he will be eating any other woman’s cooking,” Yullian tapped her chin and waved a hand. Suddenly a platter of silver completely smothered in steaming cookies appeared in her hand, “The first step is simple -- just give him these cookies. Make sure he eats all of them, now, at all costs -- understand?”

Song eyed the plate. “That’s a lot of cookies. What will I do if he doesn’t want all of them? Can I help him?”

“I don’t see why not, a little sharing helps a relationship bloom after all,” Yullin tapped their chin, “But no more than four for you, got it?” Yullian’s face softened and they hooked an arm around Song, “Listen, Song, Wen Song, the one and only -- You love Urangtai, yes?”

“With all my being,” Song confirmed.

“I know, I can feel it on you, I really can,” Yullian nodded, “Don’t you think...” Yullian stopped and bit their lip, “Well what I mean to say is, don’t you think it is about time he shows you juuuuust a little in return? Surely eating a rather tasty plate of cookies is the least he can do, no?”

Song tapped her chin. “... You do make a very good point.” She took the plate in her hands.

“Perfect,” Yullian grinned, “Now remember, only four for you -- the rest for your lover to be. Oh! And save one for me, I am a sucker for taking the last cookie.” Yullian rolled her eyes, “Well off you go!”

Song nodded eagerly and spun around, charging at the door like she held a grudge against it.

“Oh one last thing,” Yullian suddenly piped up, “Keep in mind this is but one step in our little foray, keep the faith.” Yullian winked. It was uncertain whether Song truly had heard them, for she was already out of the door by the time their sentence had gotten to “little”.

---

Moksha was clear in the night sky and Urangtai has just pushed his final steps of his journey. His entire body ached from a long day in the fields, his mind aching even more with desire to be working at the smithy instead (a task rather hard without ore). He longed to try his hand at metal, he truly did. He put one hand on the face of his door, his youthful frame slouched with exhaustion, “What a day.” He yawned and pushed the door in.

Stumbling into the cold house he had claimed amid the residential quarters of the city, he fumbled past the tinder he kept on his table -- sure he wouldn’t need it if he just went straight to bed after his wash.

With a groan followed ever step, he made his way to the small room where he kept a clean wash basin and plunged his head into it. His alabaster hair blossomed around in the water, only to slap against him as he pulled himself out for a breath of air.

“Snap.”

He craned his neck and tugged his shirt off. Slapping a palm onto his wash rag and dipping it into the cold water, he lifted an arm and went to scrub his rather odorous underarm when he suddenly heard the squeak of his door.

“Hm?” He hummed loudly, “Who’s there?”

“Uraaaaang!” came a melodious call, followed by the nutty smell of baked goods.

Urangtai flinched, what was she doing here... at this hour!? He scrunched his nose, “Song! It’s a little late, don't you think? I was just washing up for bed.” He paused, “Wait how did you know this was my house?”

“Late? No-no-no! Never too late for a midnight snack!” she offered happily as she walked into the wash-room and nearly shoved the plate into his hands. “Here! I made these for you!”

Urangtai flinched as the hot plate was shoved into his bare chest. He made a face, his wash rag slopping onto the floor with a wet slap.

“Song...” Urangtai looked over the smiling woman, “I’m not very-” He hesitated, her eyes boring straight into him, her smile faltering only slightly as he spoke, “What I mean to say is, I’m not very hun-” He lifted the plate, “That’s a lot of cookies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you eat them,” Song giggled helpfully and picked one up to feed him. “Open up and say ‘aah’.”

“I just- ppbt” He scrunched his head back on his neck, “Can I get dressed first?”

“Why? It’s just a snack,” she smiled back and allowed herself to ogle him for a moment.

Urangtai rolled his eyes, “Come on,” He sucked in a sigh and walked out of the wash-room and into the large dining room that sat silent. It was spacious and rather empty, save for a small kitchen area and a thick wooden table with four chairs. He pulled one out for Song and placed the cookies on the surface of the table.

“Stay here,” He looked at her intensely, hoping his words would sink, “I’m going to get a fresh shirt.”

Song looked a bit disappointed, but nodded with a quiet, “okay”.

Urangtai slipped into his dark bedroom, closing the door behind him. He slapped a hand to his forehead and looked forward dumbly. In the room, lit only by the starlight outside, he longingly looked at his messy bed -- his body creaking and protesting. He puckered his lips, how he longed to feel his pillow. He took a step forward, eager to touch the fluff of the fibers.

“Uraaaaaaaang?”

He closed his eyes and begrudgingly snatched a shirt from an idle chair, why was he putting up with this. He pulled his shirt on and walked back out into the dining room.

Song seemed to beam like heliopolis when he came back. Judging from the crumbs on the tabletop, she had already had a cookie. She made an innocent face and giggle. “Sorry, I had one. They’re just so tasty - and for you!”

“I... bet,” Urangtai sat down carefully across the table from her. He pinched one of the cookies into his fingers and lifted it lazily -- Song’s eyes following his every move. He took a crumbling bite, the cookie having a snap to it as well as a warm and chewy texture. He made a face, “These are really good.”

“Because I made them with my special handsome Urangtai in mind,” Song winked. “Have some more!”

Urangtai shrugged and had two more, “So...” He started awkwardly, munching on a third, “Just felt like making night-time baked goods, huh?”

Song blinked, then nodded eagerly. “W-well, of course! Y’know, found some leftover flour, some nuts, some water. You know I really like to bake - it’s weird that I don’t do this more often, really.”

“No!” Urangtai said a bit too fast, “I mean, if you do it too much, it won’t be special any more, right.” He put a half eaten fifth cookie back on the platter and folded his hands, “but... uh... thank you.”

Song’s eyes went sparkly. “You think this is special?” Her cheeks flushed. “You make me so happy, Urang.”

“Oh,” Urangtai sunk in his seat, “But like as happy as your family and friends make you, yeah?”

Song cocked her head to the side and frowned. “N-no, Urang - a little happier than that. Way happier, actually.”

“Well,” Urangtai gulped, “Thank you for the cookies, really, but I think I’m feeling full.”

“Oh, come ooooon. Have another! Here, I’ll take another one to help you out.” Song reached for her second cookie. Urangtai made a helpless face and held up his hands.

“I don’t know, Song, it’s late and my stomach really is full -- I worked all day,” He shook his head, “They are good though, don’t think they aren’t. Best I’ve ever had, really.”

Song’s face flashed frustration momentarily and recovered into a slightly uncanny grin. “W-well, are you sure? They’ll be stale tomorrow.”

“Maybe one more,” Urangtai tucked a slant into his cheek, “But really, I’m not that hungry.” He snatched another cookie and nibbled at it slowly.

“Oh, since when did ‘being hungry’ give you a reason not to eat cookies?” Song defended with a forced laugh.

“Haaa.” Urangtai’s eyes betrayed a certain fright as he finished his cookie and stood up.

In a desperate move, Song leapt to her feet, grabbed as many cookies as she could hold in her hands and thrust her hands towards Urangtai, holding them still before his frozen stature. “Please! Just a few more! There aren’t even that many left!”

“Song,” Urangtai’s eyes widened even more, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but are you feeling alright?”

“Amazing, how about you?” she replied as if she wasn’t currently holding cookies against his throat like a myriad of knives.

Urangtai took a step back and held up two palms, “I’m... tired, I think.”

“Eating helps you fall asleep, I’ve heard,” Song replied and took a step closer.

“Why... why are you so insistent I eat all these cookies?” Urangtai felt a thud as his back hit the wall.

“Because you will-- I mean, I made them for you and spent a really long time doing so!” Song sucked in a breath. “Now eat.”

“I- I don’t want to eat,” Urangtai’s eyes were so wide he was almost cross eyed.
Song pulled away as if stabbed. “W-why do you hate my cookies so much? Is it because -I- made them? Do you hate me? You hate me, don’t you?” Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“No! No that’s not it,” Urangtai waved his hands.

“Oh, are you denying it now? I’ve seen the way you look at--” She choked on her tears. “-- other women. I bet you would eat Meiyun’s cookies for hours!”

“That doesn’t even make sen- what?” Urangtai grasped for words, “Song, we aren’t even...” He looked at her tear stained face and gulped, “Fine, what if I have a few more?”

The tears dried up like they had been seared with a blow torch and Song’s sobs gave way to relieved giggles as she neatly plated the cookies in her hands and offered the plate back to Urangtai. “That makes me so happy to hear!”

“Okay but after, you have to leave,” Urangtai tried on a stern voice, “Okay?” He picked up a cookie.

Song hung her head. “... Only if you eat every single one,” she pouted, then blinked. “Oh, wait, every single one but, uh, one!”

Urangtai was already two cookies in, “Whash?” He said through the crumbs as he stuffed another one into his mouth, leaving two on the plate.

Song stared into his frightened eyes and sighed. “Oh, you are so adorable when you eat…”

Urangti’s brow fell as he swallowed, his hand reaching for the final two, eager to get this over with. Song suddenly remembered what she had just said and slapped the cookie out of his left hand. “NOT THAT ONE!”

“Ow!” Urangtai said, nearly choking on his final cookie, “What was that for?”

Song blinked. “Uh! Uhm! That-... Thaaaat one’s foooor… Mom! Yeah! That one’s for mom. Gotta save one for mom, am I right? Mom’s always happy to get a cookie, and wouldn’t wanna disappoint mom!”

“I guess,” Urangtai wiped his sleeve over his mouth, “Cookie’s are all done, then, yeah? No more surprises?”

“Surprises? Oh, sure! Yeah, no more of those! I promise!” Song replied eagerly, though squinting eyes kept scanning Urangtai searchingly.

Urangtai wore a confused face, “Um, shall I walk you out, then?”

Song slowly pulled away, wearing a wholly disappointed expression. “... Yeah, I guess.” She tucked the clay plate under her arm and followed Urangtai to the door. There, she turned to him in the doorway and made a shy smile. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”

“T-thank you?” Urangtai seemed at a loss of what he was witnessing.

Song giggled sweetly. “Let’s see each other again some time.” Then, she remained standing in the doorway, simply staring at Urangtai’s face with the same searching expression and half the smile.

“M-maybe,” Urangtai leaned back, “I’m going to be busy lately though, how about I let you know?”

“You definitely will, though, right?”

“You’ll know!” Urangtai forced a smile and backed into his house.

“Will you tell me yourself?” Song pleaded and began to step back towards the door.

“Oh, of course,” Urangtai quickly agreed, nodding, “Goodnight?”

“You promise?”

“Uh, yeah,” Urangtai put a hand on the door and slowly started to close it, “See you later, then.”

“Alright, make good on your promise now!” she managed to say just before the door was slammed shut and locked. Urangtai’s eyes widened in post-shock and he slowly walked into his dimly lit house, wishing he had a roaring fire and maybe a shield or two. His heart was pounding and his stomach was queasy.

“What did she put in those cookies,” He twisted slightly, “I think I ate way too many.”

---

---

The Jotnar were a new species, but they adapted well to life. Much better than the Vallamir did. The Frigid Forest was a special place, and the Jotnar had essentially been made for it, so it was only natural that they would thrive. Their height was perfect for plucking icefruit, while their strength and durability allowed them to go toe to toe with even the fiercest of predators. They required more sustenance than the standard Vallamir, it was true, but they were also fewer in number, and thus there was still enough food to be found.

As he had with the Vallamir, Kalmar traveled amongst the Jotnar, telling them stories of the other gods and bestowing teachings that might aid in their survival. They listened to his tales with interest, and took note of the values he tried to encourage.

Then, he received word that Ashalla was exploring the eastern coast of his continent, and so he had traveled south to greet her.

Now that he was returning, it was time to continue his interaction with the Jotnar species. As he soared through the chilly air, he began to consider his next step. The Vallamir of the south had already been taught to wield various tools and weapons, yet those took time to craft. It could take hours if not days to carve a stone or whittle a piece of wood to a point where it could be usable for its intended purpose. And even then, there was only so much the resulting tools could do before they had worn themselves down and needed to be repaired or replaced.

An idea had taken form. He set his sight on a large mountain. The Jorag Mountain, he would call it. Why not? It was the perfect place to implement his new plan, and so, he changed course toward it. In the meantime, he sent out a message.

---

A number of Jotnar had already made their homes in the hills and highlands surrounding the mountains. He passed over their camps as he flew. He frequently saw fighting, but when he stopped to investigate more closely, he realized it was for sparring purposes only. And strangely enough, everyone - even the fighters themselves - seemed to take joy in it, cheering and smiling as the fight carried on. Other tests of strength were common as well - two Jotnar engaged in an arm wrestling match on a flat rock. Two other Jotnar were competing to see who could lift more objects before they fell over, laughing in the snow.

A bit unusual, but it maintained their fitness and their skills, so it was hardly impractical.

He flew to the northern side of the mountain, where he came across a section of raised, flat, rocky land, nestled between the mountain and the coast. It was where he had his meal with Kirron, actually.

Kalmar landed, and he waited.

---

The next day, as the sun was setting, a massive blue dragon appeared over the northern horizon. It was Vendral. The heads fixated on Kalmar, and the great winged beast landed, peering down at him.

"It's been some time," Kalmar stated. Vendral had been left to remain on the Twilight Isle, to observe Azura and her work.

Vendral nodded one of its heads. "It has," he said non-committedly.

"Anything to report?" Kalmar questioned.

"No," Vendral answered. "No major changes have been made. None that I know of."

Kalmar frowned. "I see," he said, clearly disappointed. "And what about you? I know there's not much up there."

"I can manage," Vendral answered. "There isn't much, but the cold is comfortable, and there are still some things available to eat."

"Well, you might not need to stay there much longer," Kalmar suggested. "A few more years, maybe, and there will be someone to perform the task in your place."

Vendral appeared somewhat relieved. "Did you call me down here just to tell me this?" the blue dragon asked.

"No, there's something else I had in mind," Kalmar revealed, and then launched into an explanation. And Vendral listened.

---

The dark mountainside was suddenly illuminated by bright blue flame. There, as instructed, the five heads of Vendral concentrated their coldfire on one specific point. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

Then Kalmar stepped forward. Before the freezing flames could dissipate, the God of Cold outstretched his hands, and then clapped them together. The coldfire was suddenly condensed into a single frigid ball of light, which hovered toward him and into one hand. He raised his other hand, and a great slab of stone rose from the ground. With his mind he shaped, hollowing it out, creating a grating which things could be put on, a door with slots to see through. Had Kalmar known what an oven was, he would have observed that this very much looked like one.

Then, he tossed the blue light inside, and shut the door.

At once the light expanded, back into its coldfire form. It crashed against the walls of its new container, fighting to get out, with streams of it erupting through the slots. Then, Kalmar focused his will, and it began to settle. It continued to roar and flicker, but the coldfire no longer fought to escape or spread, and it would stay that way.

He lifted something from the ground next to him. It was a simple stick, made entirely out of ice. As a weapon, it was worthless, and would surely shatter before it did any real damage. He opened the forge, and stuck it inside. A minute passed, and he pulled it out. Now, the ice glowed. He reared it back and, with force that would be impressive by mortal standards but disappointing by divine standards, swung it against the wall of his new construct.

Neither the ice nor the stone broke.

The Hunter smiled. Yes, this might work as intended.

---

Weeks later, the Jotnar Tribes began to arrive. There were four tribes in total, the smallest numbering twenty and the largest numbering forty. As they ascended the slope leading up to mountain shelf, and gazed up at it in the afternoon light, they were amazed.

The first thing they saw was a colossal tower, twelve stories high, and made of what appeared to be ice. They followed it downward, only for the tower's base to be obscured by a wall. The wall itself was impressive: forty-feet in height, and divided into sections by nine smaller towers - one of which was, oddly enough, made entirely out of stone rather than ice.

When the tribes had ascended up to the shelf itself, they saw that one of the sections of wall had an opening. They assembled in front of it, talking and whispering amongst themselves. Kalmar had called them here. He said nothing of this structure. What was it. What was it for? Where did it come from?

Four individuals - three men, and one women - stepped forward. Each one was the leader of their own tribe, and it was a position they had achieved through charisma, courage, intelligence, or strength. Either way, they had all been chosen for leadership, and what sort of leader would tell their people to enter a location without first ensuring it was safe?

So, the four chieftans stepped through, their people following behind them. The wall was as thick as they were tall. They stepped into the courtyard. The colossal tower was in the center, and there were three more icy buildings built around it, against the rock of the mountain.

Kalmar stood in front of the entrance to the great tower, waiting.

Some had seen him before. Others had not, but knew him from description. All did the customary show of respect: a dipped head, and a clenched fist across the chest.

Kalmar's eyes swept across the crowd, his gaze settling on the four chieftans. Ingrid, Ralof, Wulfgar, and Asvald, their names were. "The four of you. Come with me," he commanded, before turning and walking around the tower, toward one of the buildings behind it.

---

"This," Kalmar said, as they stood within the vast icy room that was empty, save for a pile of odd stone slabs with strange shapes called into carved into them, and a stone monument which contained glowing blue fire, "is the Coldforge."

The four looked upon it with wonder. Kalmar lifted one of the slabs. The shape had been filled in with snow and ice, and appeared to be some sort of weapon or tool, shaped like a cross. One end of the cross was about as long as the width of two Jotnar hands, and had was made entirely out of compacted snow, while the other was half as long as a Jotnar was tall, end was made out of ice. "This is a sword," Kalmar explained, as he opened the Coldforge and slid the slab in, before shutting it.

The blue fire seemed to come to life, enveloping the stone and the 'sword'. Kalmar allowed this process to continue for several long moments. Then, he opened the door, and the coldfire died down. He pulled the slab out, and removed the 'sword' from it, which seemed oversized in his hands. It was mostly unchanged... only the snow now had the texture and smoothness of stone, while the ice glowed a soft blue. "The handle is as strong as stone, and the blade as strong as metal," Kalmar informed them. "Though you don't know what metal is."

He wrapped the hilt in fur, and then held it out. The blue-haired Ingrid stepped forward and accepted it, inspecting the blade with interest. She pressed a finger to its edge, only to wince as a drop of blue blood was drawn. Asvald with his bushy blond beard walked up next to her, took one glance at the sword, and then looked back at his God. He opened his mouth to speak, but the grey-haired Wulfgar spoke first. "This is what you wanted to show us?" he asked, in a gruff voice similar to Kalmar's. Blond Ralof winced slightly.

Kalmar nodded. "It is," he confirmed. "Consider it a gift. Not just for you, but for all the Jotnar. With the Coldforge, you can create tools and weapons which will make your tasks easier. If you wish, you and your tribes are free to live here." Four pairs of eyebrows shot up. Ingrid smiled, Asvald and Ralof were shocked, while Wulfgar seemed skeptical.

"However," Kalmar continued. "There will be conditions. In choosing to live here, you must take up the task of guarding the Coldforge against those who might abuse it. You also take up the task of distributing its weapons and tools to your fellow Jotnar. You may request food or supplies in exchange for this, but only based on necessity. You will not give these tools to those you know will abuse them, and you will not abuse them yourselves, or raise them against your fellow Jotnar unless provoked. Do you agree?"

"We do!" Asvald said at once with a nod.

But Kalmar did not seem convinced. "Long ago, on another continent, with a different people, there was once a leader who was given a gift. Weapons, which he could have used to aid his hunters or defend his people. Instead he chose to strike at his neighbors. Countless lives were ended on both sides, nothing but bloodshed was accomplished, and in the end, he lost everything. His army was trapped and destroyed - not by the hand of any god, but by the mortals he tried to dominate. He died, and all who remembered him hated him." His tone was harsh, and grim. "I do not want to see this story repeat itself. If it does, you will share the same fate."

Three of the four seemed taken aback by the dire warning. Wulfgar, however, stepped forward. "It's a fair offer," he declared, giving another respectful salute. "I accept."

"I accepted as well." Ingrid saluted.

"And me."

"I as well."

Kalmar nodded. "Good. Tell your people of these terms. All who do not accept are free to leave. The rest will stay here, and make as many weapons and tools as they can. I will spread the word, and when I do, people will seek you out. Be ready. Remember my conditions, and know that you can be replaced if you disregard them."

And with that dire warning, the Hunter exited the room.

"This is a blessed day," Ingrid smiled.

"A lot of pressure, though," Ralof pointed out.

"So?" Wulfgar arched an eyebrow. "We've been given a task. It's time to rise to it." He looked to Asvald. "You have anything to say?"

Asvald shook his head. "All that needs to be said has already been said."

"Then let's get to it," Ingrid declared, her smile returning.

---

---

High in the sky’s sapphire vaults, hunting birds hung almost motionless in the distance, held aloft by the strengthening westerly wind as their sharp eyes scanned the branches far below for an unwary prey seeking to satisfy a long winter’s hunger on the new green of the Kalgrunic timberland. Their wings were silent on the spring breeze as they effortlessly rode the thermals rising more strongly now, with Heliopolis nearing its perihelion.

Easily seen, but ignored by the high-flying raptors was a herd of plains deer grazing hungrily on the new grass of the south. They too gladly filled their bellies with the tender and supple blades of new grass that pushed its way out of the hard ground and winter debris to gather in the sunlight. They had enough gnawing the bark of northern trees to fill hungry bellies during the deepest of winter’s cold embrace. They swiftly ate, knowing that this brief respite, this window of peace would soon close, as it often did in nature.

The herd’s lead buck, a broad-shouldered male with spring velvet still covering his new season rack, gave a start when a low snapping sound echoed over the plain. With vigilance meaning survival to the deer, any unusual sound found its way quickly to their attention. As had this sound; head up and ears pricked forward, big brown eyes swept first in one direction, then another, searching out the low, almost inaudible sound’s source.

Ears tuned to subtleties of sound that would escape creatures not so dependent on caution, the stag felt his body tense as he finally recognized the sound, now grown loud enough to be felt through the thick stuff of their hooves. It was the sound of Men, of hunters, come to reap a deadly harvest from the flesh of the stag’s charges.  

The stag didn’t hesitate from that point; swinging his magnificent head around, he bounded for the trees northward, his herd hard in his shadow. 

With his back to the south, the stag’s sharp eyes didn’t see the dark shadows flitting through a large grove nearby. Even if he had though, even his vision would’ve been hard-pressed to make out the forms behind the shadows. But it would hear the shrill whistle it made, piercing the air as sharply as any arrow could as the herd dissolved into the forest.

Ever graceful the Stag and it’s herd struck out deep into the timberland, not bothering to consider the warble and its possible implications. All knew to swiftly seek shelter when Men were about. Especially in these days of turmoil amongst nature and the two-legged dwellers. 

After what seemed like an eternity the Stag finally slowed to a crawl, the city of bark parting into a natural glade. With dangers of Men far behind the herd, the buck resigned himself to the comforts of the clearing, lowering its massive rack to graze upon the bounty of green and sweetgrass afforded them. To bask in nature’s blessed windows of peace and escape the greed of Men was their existence.

The little peace afforded to the buck and his herd blunted their ever-sharp senses as they missed the shadows filtering silently within the forest's border. Then the nearest passed through a column of sunshine that had managed to penetrate the new growth forming the grove’s canopy and, for the briefest of moments, it was revealed.

It was a man, bent low over the back of a bush. His face was hardened and chiseled by long months exposed to the elements and by days of trial and travail spent striving against nature. Even harder still were his eyes; chips of stone as they stared ahead, fixed on a distant goal, his battle-hardened body draped about with furs and a tunic of dull and plain colors: browns, grays, and blacks. That clothing showed the signs of heavy wear and travel, his fur cloak still damp from the last snow the man had traveled through.

In an eyeblink, the man was joined by a score of others; silent as ghosts, dangerous as a pack of wolves. Bent low, the dark company pressed for the edge of the grove, marked by a splash of sunlight in front of them.

Then, with an explosion of sound and motion, they burst out of the grove to pound recklessly across the ground, clods of sod flying in their wake. Revealed in the light, the company numbered twenty souls and the smell of death lay close to them, both man and animal.  
 
Panic set in, the Stag was quick to attempt a retreat, but a second company burst from the rear.

Surrounded.

Then the hard-eyed man set upon him, stone-tipped spear effortlessly striking like a scorpion’s stinger until it sawed through flesh like butter.

The pain came like a sudden squall out at sea, a searing fiery burst pulsating at the jugular, intensifying with each dragging turn, jarring and brutal. A spear shaft jutted out the Stag’s neck. With each staggering step the pain amplified, the bloody muscle quivering and his consciousness ebbing. 

All around the buck, his cadre were put to the blade, slaughtered with brutal efficiency. Not one escaped. Finally, legs gave out, bring the massive buck to the ground. Black mists swirled at the edges of his mind as his murderer approached, affording him a final glimpse of the man’s visage. 

Handsome in the way only Vallamir were, the slender hunter was pale and intense, with a face chiseled by an artisan's hand from stone and eyes of brilliant sapphire. Locks of golden hair tinged with streaks of white-capped his skull in a topknot, to keep them from blurring his view of the world and hindering the sensitivity of his pointed ears.

With grim determination and the slightest hint of satisfaction dancing across the man’s face, the Stag was drawn into sweet oblivion as it’s wooden companion piece was dislodged from its neck with a sickening 'crunch'. 

The wiry man knelt before the majestic creature, planting his weapon hard in the dirt between then. ”Rest in the flames, wee’ king. For’ from the cycle you came and to the cycle you return.”

Oath still hot on his lips, the blonde Valla drew a stone dagger from the folds of his furs and deftly set about dressing the kill. All about the glade Valla were abuzz with activity, a number went about cutting into their kills as well, expertly opening up the carcass and removing entrails, careful not to puncture certain organs and risk tainting the meat, while others materialized from the forest shadows, producing flat sleds made of Kalgrunic wood and twine with logs of stark white wood stacked atop them. 

A team of two Valla dragged one of the pallets over to the blonde man. One of them, a wiry Vallamir with his cobalt blue hair in a neatly trimmed topknot and eyes a bright green, flashed him a wicked smile, sharp canines on full display.

“Steady now, Lugo, you vibrate wit tha song of tha wild!”

The one referred to as Lugo swung electric blue eyes the Valla’s way, wiping clean his blade on the hollow belly of the buck. 

”Come naw Arth, ta have been part o' something so magnificent, how could’a man not?” His normally strong and assured cavalier throaty with his wonder.

The second Vallamir, easily as tall as the blonde hunter, was powerfully built for one of her kind. Her loose huntsman's garb doing nothing to hide muscular arms and legs, a deep chest and jutting breasts. Yet, despite her size and obvious power, the brown-haired valla woman moved with the grace of a hunting cat, her brown eyes still darting this way and that, even though the prey lay dead all around them.  

“Aye aye, both o’ya burnin daylight. Permafrost ain’t wait for any ol’valla. Help me wit tha blessed thing.”

A smile dancing on his face, Lugo stepped back to allow Arth and Udele through. Quickly they hoisted the stag up and onto the sled with a heavy thump. Then with leafy twine they strapped the carcass down and took the white logs they had brought with and stuffed it full with the timber. Cut from the arms of the Brumal Tree so common in their homeland, the logs were naturally cold to the touch, imbued with the deep and intense chill of the Permafrost.

“Frost me solid, ol’bastard weights bout’a father ice bear. Master Hunter blesses tha tribe.” Udele breathed heavily, stretching to pop the knots in her back.

”Aye, tha lowlands bounty is plentiful.”

Arth tied the heart and the liver in a bundle of brumal before looking up. “Lowlands ain’ our place. Should be hunt’n Kalmar’s bounty in our own lands.”

Lugo felt his jaw clench in response at the slight yet said nothing, choosing instead to clean the blood off his spear tip and set off into the forest.

“Oi oi.” Arth called in vain, quick to fall in step with him. “Come now you know I’m not wrong. Help me here Udele.” 

A ghost at their backs, Udele had quietly taken to dragging the kill through the forest, as had the rest of the company. Like wraiths they moved through the forest towards the icy chill of the Permafrost. 

“I’m not one fer beatin’a dead doe, but Arth has a point. We all do.” she affirmed, her powerful brows furrowing with concern.

Lugo sniffed. He had been the one to lead the Exodus north, his natural charisma making him an obvious leader of Men. With Arth by his side, they fought their way to and settled in frigid frontier they called the Yataul–a name taken from the first of the dead on their journey–picking up dozens of brethren along the way. With time the Yataul gained a second name as the permanent sting of the white barked forest and icy plains set itself deep in the bones of its denizens: the Permafrost. 

”What tha people say is war, Udele.”

“Be that such a’bad thing?” Arth countered. “Ain’t it tha Frostfire actin’ outta turn? Instead of unitin’, chasing us and tha other outta tha hunting grounds. Game gettin’ scarce.”

Udele spoke up. “Tha other tribes have called tha Iceni to convine on matters, Lugo. Tha people is expecting’ you to go. Wi’oot to do something bout this and quickly. ‘Fore our children face they pyers.”

”So wi’set our brothers and sister to burn?!” he counterd as sharply as a spearhead. ”I’m no bricka’ice Udele, I know what’s on tha line here. I just fear what Drephin and tha Frostfire willin’ to do to keep they selfish grasp on the Yataul. What they doin’ this for?”

“Frost what tha motive is!” Arth bit back. “Who knows with that ol’bastard Drephin?”

“Wi do what we need to do to survive, you’oot to know that better then anyone.” Udele breathed. Lugo set his lips in a hardline, a painful memory resurfacing like bile rushing up the throat. 

A quiet settled between the trio, and with time the soft patter of crushed grass became the hard crunch of angry ice, the Kalgrunic timberland melting into the brumalwood of the Yataul. Here frozen fruit grew on the trees and everything exuded a bone-chilling cold, and here did the most daring and hardened of the Vallamir settle, seeking safety from the lowland predators. Yet they found only an enemy within themselves. A greedy Valla leading an even greedier cadre of kinslayer. 

Soon the soft firelight of the Iceni longhouse pryers came into view, beacons signaling the end of their hours' long journey. As they reached the edge of the village the company split, those dragged sleds veered towards the storehouse while the bulk made for the main house. 

Arth placed a knowing hand of Lugo’s shoulder. “Aye, and tenday away be the summit, make sacrifice and send prayers to Kalmar, we trust you not lead us toward oblivion.”

With that he left for the heat of the mainhouse, the jovial sounds of lore Valla singing the tales of the Exodus and the feats of the Iceborn, the warrior men and women who sacrificed themselves to protect the newborn travelers.

Lugo stood alone, the last vestiges of warmth leaving the place where Arth placed his hand, exposing it to the endless cold of the Permafrost. 

.

“Ugh, glad that is over with,” the snake muttered as the ship sailed through the sky towards the centre of the Foot. The Nebulites had been deposited at the delta of Taipang and the snake could return to his other duties. He plucked at his beard.

“He Bo? What was next on my to-do list?”

The servant bowed dutifully. “To this servant’s knowledge, His Lordship does not keep a to-do list.”

The snake turned and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so. Well, have any prayers arrived of late? Any desperate requests for my presence?”

“His Lordship would know that better than this servant would, with all due respect,” He Bo replied politely. The snake sighed.

“I should make some sort of postal office - a centre aboard my ship where prayers could be collected and archived. Having to remember everything is just so… Tedious. Very well, give me a minute while I recall what I can…”

He Bo stood by faithfully as the snake curled up his tail and sat down, leaning his temple on a balled fist. He closed his eyes and dove deep into his mind. Thousands of calls for aid echoed through his skull like droplets in an empty cave and a tired expression spread across the snake’s face. Eventually, though, after sifting through the Nebulite prayers begging him to come back and help them, he heard the words of pygmies, specifically a family of hunters.

“... Interesting,” he mumbled in the way one does when searching for attention.

“What is, Your Lordship?” He Bo asked politely.

“A number of pygmies are saying that the Xishan plains are much too barren and the jungles, much too empty.”

“The Xishan plains are naturally barren due to lacking precipitation. The presence of the great twin peaks Xishan blocks the storms from the Saluran Strait.”

“Yes, I am aware, worthy servant,” the snake assured. “However, I am in agreement that they are still much too empty, as my jungle is.”

“Will His Lordship answer this prayer, then?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I will.”

The ship took a sharp turn and set a course for the jungles of Nanhe first.

---

After travelling across the world multiple times, the snake had to admit that Nanhe was not the biggest jungle in the world. That truth stung slightly - it always felt like a victory knowing that one ruled the largest things in the world. However, nothing beyond the sea could sport a biodiversity such as the one seen on the Dragon’s Foot - each river, unique in its species. However, that was just it - each river was unique. Roaming the rest of the continent were only boars, dragons and the occasional camel. Certainly, some of the animals from the Seihdh river ecosystem had begun to make their way around the Qiangshan mountain range, but the snake confessed that the majority of his lands were empty or sparsely populated.

Today, that would change.

Shengshi had already walked a distance from his ship, which now rested neatly on the waves of Nanhe. Around him, the dense woods formed thick walls that would be nigh impossible to break for mere mortals. Though the snake passed through them with ease, he clearly saw the issue of having woods this dense. He would begin with the most obvious obstacle, one he observed even obstructed the great farmer apes in the distance.

With its restricted insect and fungus life, the forest floor had gathered years and years of detritus, almost none of which had been processed into healthy soil again. The snake confessed the stench alone was a definite indicator that the forest floor was in desperate need of a clean up crew. Thus the snake took a large rotting leaf from the ground. In his hand, the leaf became worms, beetles, flies, wasps, ants - insects of all kinds. They dropped onto more leaves below, and every leaf they touched transformed in the same way. After the forest floor underneath the snake had entirely become insects, they stopped multiplying in the same manner. The ants began to gather around their queens and carry them off to make their hills; worms dug into the soil; the beetles began feasting on the dead plant matter; wasps soared off to make their hives.

The snake then picked up the gooey remains of rotten fruit and watched it become a series of mollusks. These snailed their way out of his hand and began to feast as the beetles did, more of them spawning as they ate.

The snake took a rotting branch and watched as it became arachnids of all sorts. These immediately began to spin webs in the trees and keep the rampant flies and wasps from reproducing beyond sustainability. Some of the webs became colourful butterfly larvae, some of which quickly spun pupae, metamorphed instantly and sprung out as amazingly beautiful butterflies.
The soil began to refill with nutrients from the maggots’ and insects’ work. Around the thicker spots of detritus spawned tall mushrooms, some nearly reaching the canopy above. Some snaked their way around the trees like constricting anacondas. Some mushrooms manifested as tiny white caps that blossomed in the millions, like chalky strands of grass. As the soil finally grew healthy again, flowers began to sprout around the feet of the trees, flanked by shrubberies.

Already, the woods were beginning to feel purer, livelier. The snake wasn’t done, however. From the soil around him rose great apes similar to Anu, only these had black arms, shoulders, chest, legs and rings around their eyes. Otherwise, they were white. These panda-patterned gorillas took a moment to grow familiar with existence before they went off into the woods in their respective packs. The snake hoped these wouldn’t fight too often with the farmer apes - these, at least, weren’t bound to the river.

Around the canopy, thousands of macaws, birds of paradise and other avians spawned and began to sing their songs. The already present Gardeners seemed a little uneasy at their new neighbours. Branches became great anacondas that began to stalk the woods for tasty frog monkeys. In the puddles on the forest floor spawn poison dart frogs and massive cane toads. A myriad of other amphibians also spawned and began to look for the nearest rivers.

Tigers similar to those around the River Seihdh jumped out of bushes onto newly forming water buffalo and small elephants, though none of these creatures had the overall menace and bulk of their northern cousins. Mice came out of the ground. Some of them grew wings and became bats. Finally, the stones lying around broke apart and became rhinos which immediately began to defend their young against vicious tigers. Satisfied with his work, the snake left this young life to its own and continued towards the great Xishan plains.

---

The Xishan plains was and had always been a rather uninteresting sight. Certainly, to a degree, it was stunning to behold - endless plains of yellow grass set under a scorching dawn with the occasional bypassing boar. The snake shook his head. This would not do at all.

He flicked his hand and tall pillars of mud and clay rose out of the ground, sparsely covering the whole of the plains as far as the eyes could see. From within the pillars, curious termites crawled out to behold the surrounding world. The snake flicked his wrist again and many of these termites metamorphed into wild bees, flies, wasps, mosquitoes. From the ground sprouted hundreds of acadia trees, scattered around the savannah. Fat-trunked baobab trees sprouted in small groups. From the roots of these magnificent plants spawned buffalo and wildebeest with colossal horns. Antelopes and gazelles bounced out of the grass, eagerly skipping at the joy of creation. Alongside them came zebrae and small horses. Watering holes and rivers running off the Xishan tributary filled with birds, both flying and landbound, small hippos and crocodiles.

The snake put his hands on his hips and hummed. The plains would need some carnivores. He picked up a nearby boar bone, snapped it in half and dropped it on the ground. Out of nowhere came packs of wild painted dogs to battle over the marrow. The skies above filled with naked-headed vultures, and small badgers began to stalk the grasses in search of newly spawned mice, rats and meerkats.

Finally, the system would have its apex predator. The snake went over to a boulder and placed his hand upon it. There came a deafening roar from within and the stone cracked to reveal a pack of enormous lions, nearly seven feet tall. The males had manes of bloody crimson and sprouted long, black, menacing horns out of their foreheads. The females had smaller horns, though they were still a sight to behold. They immediately began to skulk towards the shade underneath an acadia tree, where some bees already were making hives.

The snake, now a little tired and quite satisfied with his work, set off back towards Nanhe. The Dragon’s Foot was perhaps not the largest continent, but none could dispute that it was a haven of life.

---

It was rather incredible, the way that a ship the size of Jiangzhou seemed to cross the world in the blink of an eye. A moment ago, the Nebulites onboard swore they still could’ve felt the moist air of the Eye, the lush jungles oozing forth an almost choking humidity. However, that had all changed, and now a dry, dustier air parched their throats unlike anything they had ever felt. Below them stretched first an endless sea of green bordering the actual sea, followed then by thinly grassed plains speckled with spots of trees; bordering that again was a beach greater than any ever seen by a Nebulite before.

And the ship was sailing towards a thickening blue thread that curved its way through the land before ending in the bay. Pallason, Philia and Titanon sat staring over the side of the railing down at the lands flanking the great river. Pallason furrowed his brow.

“Is -this- the land he’s giving us? What, some strip in the middle of endless waves of sand?”

“Hush, Palla!” Philia cautioned. “Don’t be rude out loud. He can probably hear us.”

“Yeah, but-... Look at it! The land beyond the river is dead - dead!”

Titanon shook his head. “Look, there’s probably more to it than this. For all we know, the big beach could have, I don’t know… Lots of tasty game?”

Pallason pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Doubt it. Face it - a life of luxury in a dry, scorching, barren place like this? Polly might believe it, but I’m not falling for it.”

“It’s a bit too late to pull out now, Pallason,” came another voice. The three turned to face a particularly tall and muscular Nebulite male, his arms crossed across his broad chest and his face in a dark frown. “You sounded loyal to our queen just yesterday - what happened?”

Pallason knew this man well. He was Hectore, one of Polyastera’s favourite partners, and a fantastically skilled hunter and brawler. In comparison, Pallason was a bright twig with few talents beyond a beautiful voice and the knowledge to use it.

“... Well, Hectore, you see as well as I do that the land beneath us is barren. His Lordship’s gift to us is obviously lesser than what we thought when we bargained.”

Hectore leaned over the side to look. “Judging a whole land from the skies tells you nothing about the life that walks it; the plants that live in it.” He patted Pallason’s curly hair with fake affection. “You may want to peruse a little closer before you start accusing our Lord of not making good on his promises.” He then turned and went off. Pallason sat glaring down the hunter’s back.

“What an ass,” he muttered. Philia laid a supportive hand on his shoulder and pecked him on the cheek.

“Palla - would you like some more wine?” Titanon gave Philia a nod and rose up, walking towards a nearby refreshment table. Pallason nodded slowly.

“Yes, please…”

---

In the king-size bed, Polyastera laid sipping on a cup of wine. She was dressed in thin, translucent robes that outlined her thin, slender frame perfectly. The goal of life couldn’t really be expressed more closely than the stay aboard this ship, she thought to herself. She would replicate these standards in her new queendom - that, she swore. She pursed her lips. She would need all the help she could get in its establishment. She had her followers, certainly, but there were only so many she could control - especially alone.

Having Hectore on her side did help things along, but how much longer could she keep him entranced with her love and charm? No, her most valuable piece was her prize ‘concubine’, as the bath house servant had so eloquently put it.

“Laurien?” Polyastera called sweetly.

”Mhmm?” came Laurien’s reply. From across the room, Laurien came around a corner. She wore a silky robe that left the middle of her body open. Her hair was a mess of curls, but there was a smile on her face. ”Yes?”

“Do you love me?” Polyastera asked pleadingly and beckoned her over.

Laurien smirked and walked over to the bed, where she sat down. She faced Poly and said, ”Of course I love you. Where’s this coming from?”

Polyastera sighed. "Ever since we got rid of those luddites who didn't want to come along, I've been thinking. Thinking about those whom I consider to be truly loyal to me - those who love me." She gave Laurien a smile. "You are among those, yes?"

Laurien gently took Polly’s hand within her own and scooted closer to her. ”I’m here, aren’t I? And that isn’t going to change, darling.” Laurien affirmed.

Polyastera smiled affectionately and planted a soft kiss on Laurien’s lips. “I love you so much, my dearest Laurien. You make my life worth living.”

Laurien smiled widely and giggled as she fluttered her eyes. ”Oh stop it you.” she said, giving Poly another kiss.

“I’m looking so much forward to building our empire together. Everything will be perfect - we will have food, wine, music and make lots and lots and lots of love.” She exhaled joyously. “We will be absolutely free to do whatever we want.”

Laurien nodded in agreement, ”It will be delicious, Polly and so much fun!” she said enthusiastically. The woman sighed and then frowned as she caressed Poly’s cheek. ”Though, make no mistake, my dear. To live like that… It won’t come without cost.” she moved her hand down to Polly’s stomach. ”Then there’s our ten year deadline for a temple to his Lordship. It won’t be without challenge, and hardship, but once we do that… Then the real fun can start.” Laurien said softly, but with a warm smile.

“Yes, yes, all that will be dealt with.” She cupped her hand over Laurien’s. “How do you think we best should motivate our populace into completing these projects?”

”Hmm, this is tricky. For one, we’ve shown them a lifestyle many are already addicted to. It might be hard to wean them off. I’ll have to think about it. For now, let us see where his Lordship places us, and we can work from there.” Laurien said thoughtfully.

“Yeah - yeah, let’s,” Polyastera agreed.

”Good. I am glad.” Laurien purred. ”Now come on, let’s go see where were headed.” she said, rising from the bed, and holding out her hand to Polly. The smaller Nebulite took the hand in her own and graciously rose to her feet. Together, the two ascended onto the deck.

However, it was not a beautiful sight that met them - in fact, it was quite a sorry sight. An argument had broken out on deck, one where Hectore and Pallason stood face to face with bloodthirsty scowls aimed at one another.

“What’re you going to do? Complain to His Lordship?” Hectore challenged the smaller man.

“I just might,” Pallason snapped back before his eyes fell on Polyastera and Laurien. “Polly, come look at this.” Breaking away from the tall hunter, Pallason guided the two of them over to the side of the ship and pointed at the relatively narrow strips of fertile green flanked on both sides by endless dunes of sand. “Look at what we’re getting! This isn’t at all what we bargained for!”

Polyastera, however, wasn’t listening. Her eyes glistened with wonder as she eyed the colourful reefs below, the dense woods ahead and the mysterious sands beyond. A gust of dry wind washed over the Nebulites. Bird song and animal calls echoed through the bay. It was musical, entrancing. Despite the environment, life here thrived. She cast a look at Pallason and sneered.

“Palla, do us all a favour and be quiet, would you?”

The young man stood scoffed and tried to formulate a sentence, but crumbled before the smug frown of Polyastera. He looked away, groaned and stomped over to a corner to sulk. Titanon and Philia soon went to his side. Meanwhile, the snake appeared on the platform far above and gave the deck a slight frown.

“A messenger brought to my attention that there is some discontent regarding my selection of land. Is this true?”

The Nebulites jerked to life and turned to face the veranda surrounding the great spire of the palace. Polyastera and Laurien were at the front, and Polyastera spoke, “Absolutely not, Your Lordship. What you have given us is outstandingly magnificent - the beautiful desert, the wonderful flow, the majestic beasts and trees. It’s perfect!”

The snake hummed and looked to Laurien. “How about you, my dear? Does this land satisfy?”

Laurien glanced overboard again and nodded in satisfaction. ”It’s very beautiful, your Lordship. You have picked a good spot.” she flashed a smile up at him.

The snake nodded back. “I thought so. Gratitude is a virtue, young mortals - exercise it.” He looked to the sky and pointed at Heliopolis. “When Heliopolis glares down at the sands in this very manner ten years from now, I will return - if my temple stands, your continued stay on this continent shall be blessed with prosperity and riches; if it has yet to be completed, then I shall reveal unto you the price of making promises one cannot keep.”

A bridge of water formed to the shore and the Nebulites were herded up and sent to the bridge by a crew of slightly impatient servants. “Best of luck in these new lands,” the snake said. “You will certainly need it to create your paradise.” As soon as the Nebulites had made it across, the bridge fell apart and the ship sailed off on a skyborne river.

The Nebulites stood there on the shore in silence. Looks were exchanged in increasingly sheepish manners, until one finally asked, “Now what?”

Polyastera looked at Laurien. “I suppose we shall start constructing our city of luxury, then.”

Laurien had her arms folded behind her back, a small scowl was on her face as she watched the Jiangzhou become a speck on the distant horizon. She turned to Polly and blinked, there was no smile upon her face this time. ”Indeed, my love. I… I’m going to survey the area first and make sure there aren’t any hidden threats. In the meantime, set up a camp and get a stock of what supplies we have. I’ll be back shortly.” she outheld her hand and up into the sky, Aaldir finding it within a blink. Black armor erupted from her body and without another word, she took off.

---

She flew over the river, taking in the sights along the banks and the life that flourished within. Then she flew up, higher and higher to see the stretches of lifelessness, cut open by the waters of life. It was beautiful, that she did not lie about, but such a spot… It was not ideal in the slightest. They had nothing to start with, no lay of the land, and nothing looked familiar. How did his Lordship expect them to build a temple in his honor? How did he expect them to do anything?

She sighed, letting herself float back to the ground. Perhaps if her people had not been so rambunctious, his Lordship would have left them with something, but that was not the case. Perhaps this was punishment for what she did… A form of karma.

And her train of thought brought her back to Abraxas, and the final wish. If she was going to live like she wanted, it was the only way. The Nebulites would suffer without help, even if that help wanted to kill them. Then again, they didn’t have to know… Now did they?

”Abraxas…” she whispered, ”I pray to you.”

And the Avatar answered. Around her the land seemed to grow quiet as his hollow voice entered her mind. ”What do you want, little hero?”

She gulped, she hated that voice. ”I have thought of my final wish and request your presence upon the Dragon’s Foot. I stand in a delta near the mountain of fire.”

There was an eerie silence, before the avatar spoke. ”Very well.” and as quickly as the presence came, it was gone.

Without knowing when he would show up, Laurien shrugged and walked around. The land wasn’t going to explore itself, after all. And so she did for most of the day, learning from her new home as she went. She found that the life around the waters was complex and contained. Hardly anything large lived far enough away from the waters and she took note of that. Water was life, after all. She also became aware of the animals that called this place home, and which ones to avoid.

As the sun went down, the land became empty, a herald of the presence that came. Like an angry cloud, Abraxas came streaking across the horizon, honing in on her position. He landed with a loud THWUMP, sending sand everywhere. Methodical footsteps approached, the hollow one had come again, ushering silence into the world. Laurien stood her ground, defiant in the face of the monster she had born.

”What is your final wish, girl.” Abraxas voice washed over her, sending shivers down her spine.

”This is to be my, and my peoples, home. I require a city and the means to protect it, with ample space to grow.” Laurien said with an air of authority, holding her head high.

The avatar began to laugh, and the very air laughed with him. ”You think yourself so mighty, so high upon the totem pole. How easily it would be to wipe you from existence, and the rest of them that were brought here. How easy indeed.” the avatar grumbled. ”A wish… is a wish and then, we are done. Know this, exile of the Eye. To call upon me again, will bring doom, for that is my wish. Now, where do you want this city.”
Laurien cleared her throat. The threat had been noted. ”This spot will do. It has everything we need, from water, to animal life, to rock.”

”Spare me the details. I do not care.” the avatar rumbled, before turning around. There was a raised highland before him, a flatland of dirt and sparse shrubs. Abraxas raised his hand, and the ground rumbled, sending Laurien into the air to avoid it. She flew up to see what the demon was doing, and to her surprise, she was amazed by what she saw.

The land had sprouted buildings of sand and stone, of multiple stories and in the fading light, she could make them out to be a light brown, with some gray. In common the buildings had a particular shape, appears as cuboids in a trapezium shape with only marginally smaller tops than bottoms. The small city, or town, was spaced and had a plethora of different constructions, but from her distance, she did not know what they did. An enormous block with several stories overlooked a majority of the other buildings, but several more came close to its stature. She was excited to go and explore but before she could, she was reminded that she was not alone.

”It is done. There is your home, with your walls… But this is not the only gift I set within. You and your people will remember what was done here by my benevolence. Sat below this city, there lies a forge. A monument of my power, and the means of your protection. To gain from it weapons and armor, requires sacrifice. Are you willing to pay that sacrifice? It matters not to me, for in the end, all must destroy to create.” the Avatar laughed, before slipping off into the sky without a trace.

Laurien was left perplexed, but Abraxas and his cryptic words would have to wait. Now was the time to find Polly, and bring her people home.

---

“... Look, I’m just saying, we don’t even know where to start! How will we even -get- stone to build without any tools?”

“You’re really not going to give this up, are you?”

Pallason punted a pebble into the delta, scaring some tall birds into flight. Titanon and Philia stood behind him and exchanged worried glances.

“Look, Palla--”

“No! No, I am -not- going to just wave this off like the rest of those sex-crazed, delusional apes! Can’t you guys see? Polly got the short end and we’re taking the hit for it.”

Titanon ventured over and placed a hand on the frustrated young man’s shoulder. “Look, Palla, we’re here now. Flying home will take… I don’t know how many years. We’re halfway across the world. Let’s… Let’s just make the most of it, hmm?” The muscular man pulled the smaller one into a warm embrace. Pallason resisted for an instant, but then sighed.

“You always do this, you big, dumb-...”

“Come on. Get all that frustration out.”

“... Asshat…” Pallason looked up with a wry smile and Titanon planted a kiss on his lips. They held it for a while before slowly pulling apart, Pallason’s cheeks gently flushed. “Thanks… I needed that.”

“You certainly did. I could taste the frustration in you,” Titanon teased. Philia stood giggling on the side. Pallason joined her with a sweet chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s, uh, been a, a while.”

Philia stopped giggling and raised a brow. “What, you mean you got nothing on the ship? That’s a load of--”

“No, no, I did - just not in the emotional sense. Having you two around really helps, you know - makes this whole situation bearable.”

“How about Polly?” Titanon asked curiously and sat down on a nearby rock. Pallason rolled his eyes.

“Polly’s… You know…”

“We know?” Philia asked expectantly and sat down in Titanon’s lap, curving her arm around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder.

“Well, she’s--... Not -that- nice.”

“She’s our friend, Palla,” Titanon protested with a frown.

“She doesn’t care about us, though!”

Just as Pallason finished that sentence, tremours ran through the ground, great quakes that sent the birds screaming for the sky and riled up hordes of rhinoceros hippos, the terror of the great spike on their muzzles multiplied by the size of their long-fanged gapes. The three Nebulites took to the sky to avoid the rampaging animals stampeding out of the river. In the river itself, fish and dolphins made for the delta and the sea. In the delta itself, it seemed as though some of the plants dove for cover; mollusks and crustaceans dug themselves into the sand.

“W-what’s happening?!” Philia cried in confusion. From a distance away, the rest of the Nebulites came flying over, led by Polyastera.

“Polly!” Titanon shouted, “what’s going on?!”

“I don’t know! I can’t find Laurien anywhere either! Have any of you seen her?!”

All three shook their heads. Polyastera’s panicked eyes flickered around as she scanned the ground. She turned to the others and commanded, “We must find her! Split up and search every nook and cranny of this land! I dare not even think about what could’ve happened to her!”

The Nebulites did as they were told and Polyastera turned to the others in hyperventilation. “What-what-what if she has gotten flattened by a rockslide?! Or, or killed by a monster! Titan, what will we do?!”

The muscled giant did the only thing he knew tended to mend situations like this and floated over to hug her, but Polyastera pushed him away. “Don’t just stand there! Help me look for her!”

The three simultaneously recoiled and subsequently flew off. Polyastera remained floating in place, holding herself in a fruitless effort to calm herself down. Laurien couldn’t be gone - not yet. How would she consolidate her power--no, how would she feel loved in the evenings? No one could replace Laurien!

Hectore soared into her view and stopped a small distance away. “Polly?” he asked carefully. The woman looked up and wiped the frightened tears running down her cheeks.

“Did you find her?”

Hectore nodded slowly. “Yes… And we found something else, too.”

Polyastera frowned. “What did you find?”

---

They’d be coming soon. It had not been long before she found Hectore and told him to bring the others. He was a good man, Laurien knew. Now, she walked upon the paved roads in the town, eyeing what the so-called avatar of destruction had made. The buildings were large enough, and tall enough, to accommodate several families of Nebulites. The houses themselves were barren and modest, with many windows and ventilation holes, most likely to deal with the heat. The layouts were basic, with only a couple of rooms but some of the houses had more, and as the stories went up, that the view was lovely and perfect for people who could fly. There were other buildings she had no idea what purpose they might serve, but she knew they did not look like homes. Then there was the open spaces here and there, most likely room for expansion.

Most of the nicer buildings were made of a substance that looked like sand, but was much harder. It was cool to the touch, and the patterns were beautiful. Those buildings had the most rooms, the best views and even a courtyard with room to grow things. Most of the other buildings were made of stone, and she realized that they came second to the… sandstone… ones. The rock ones had a few more rooms, a smaller courtyard and did not reach as high as the sandstone ones. Lastly, there were buildings made of, what she could only think of as, mud bricks. Those buildings were shorter and only had a couple rooms each story, with no courtyard to speak off. They were smoothed and the color of tan, and Laurien realized that this was most likely the building block of life around here, as the brick buildings outnumbered both the sandstone and the rock ones. She flew up into the sky, to get a general overview.

It was tiered, she realized. The farther she had walked in, the buildings went from brick, to rock, to sandstone but before she could go any further, she flew back to the gates to await Polly and the other Nebulites.

It did not take time for them to arrive, and all of them froze for a minute, merely ogling their town that had appeared before them as out of thin air. Then, a deafening cheer broke out. Polyastera screamed her joy and flew into Laurien’s arms with giddy laughter.

“Oh, praises be, Laurien! How did this happen?! Did His Lordship take pity on us?!”

Laurien spun her around and laughed. Then she said, ”It was not his Lordship, no. I had… I asked a favor from another god. They did not want to be named, for I will complete a task for them when the time comes, one of secrecy. But the Holiness did say if anyone asked, that we built this town with our own hands. They aren’t a big fan of his Lordship I think… But look, all we have to do now is build the temple and we can begin immediately.” Laurien said, giving half truths. The lies just kept flowing.

Polyastera seemed not to truly care and shouted a loud, “Fantastic! Let’s get to work immediately!” She turned to the Nebulites. “Hectore, you will take your best hunters and start filling out larders with meat and whatever else you can find along the rivers. Make certain to look for farmable crops. Titanon, take every good mason you know and start surveying the land for good stone. The rest of you, get to know the city and its wonders.” She grinned from ear to ear. “Let us set forth on the journey to luxury.”

The Nebulites cheered and got to work. Polyastera turned to Laurien with a wry smile and shook her head. “I cannot believe this… You are too good for us, my love.”

Laurien shrugged, she hadn’t wanted to live in the desert for the next few years. They had to start somewhere. ”I’m not going to let us fail, Polly. Now, this city, and your empire… They need a name.” Laurien smirked.

“Oh, the empire name is simple,” Polyastera smirked. “Let it be known as Asteria e, I say. What do you think?”

”A wonderful name, darling.” Laurien agreed, hugging her tightly.

Polyastera squeezed back and hummed comfortably. “... I have an even better name for this city, though - something that really captures its beauty.”

”Oh, and what’s that?” Laurien cooed.

“Laurienna.”

”Oh my. That’s… Beautiful… I would be honored. I am honored. Oh you!” Laurien said happily, kissing Polly over and over on her cheeks.

Polyastera stopped her kissing with a hand and gave her a ravenous stare. “Hey… My lips are here.”

Laurien obliged with a giggle, and instead attacked Polly’s lips, with a deep kiss.

---

Now that he had met his mother at long last, Ya-Shuur took the opportunity to travel among the valls of lower or southern Be’r-Jaz to see what they were like during this difficult period of Rot. He walked through the settlement around the new manor, noting that it appeared to be in various ways more advanced than the nomadic encampments of middle Be’r-Jaz. Instead of the simple dens that the middelvals made, these southern valls built quite impressive structures that looked to be small wooden attempts of building something like Li’Kalla’s manor. They made use of poles gained from trees that had not yet fully developed. These were tall but not quite as thick as a more developed tree, and once they had gathered many and gotten rid of small branches and leaves they were packed tightly together to make a round barricade which formed the wall of the hut, and the roof was a mixture of several layers of these poles and leaves and mud, though they were placed in such a way that rainwater would not gather on top but would drain down the sides and onto the ground. They were still primitive structures and at risk of flooding, but quite impressive overall when compared with the temporary dens the middelvalls dwelled in.

As Ya-Shuur walked among them the hungry and emaciated inhabitants of the settlement, they gave him tired but curious looks. He smiled thinly and greeted them and they responded with their stiff and respectful greetings. That was another thing that differentiated these valls from their relatives in the middle Be’r-Jaz. Those ones were not quite as attached to these respectful gestures. These seemed more refined and cultivated, which was probably the effect of being near his mother.

But despite that, the Rot was having a negative effect on valls here too. As he continued from the settlement he came across many who were in active and hostile disputes with others over scarce food. It had not become a terrible and bloody carnage as had happened with the middelvals, but here there was death of the old, the vulnerable, the ill, the young. There was much sadness and anger, and petty squabbles erupted into fistfights which evaporated after some time. It was clear that Li’Kalla’s influence was strong enough to ensure that things did not completely fall apart. It was not quite a might makes right world down here, especially because the Valthumir seemed to step up in this period of difficulty and take up the mantle and responsibility given them by Li’Kalla. It gave everyone a focus and hope, and it was not uncommon for Ya-Shuur to come across settlements where the leading Valthumir had grown in power due to the Rot and had been able to organize their people in such a way as to reduce the effects of the Rot. There was equal sharing of scarce food, with those who were most in need of help and support getting the most support and help.

Ya-Shuur approved of this. “Those who most need help are to get the most help,” he mused to himself. It seemed that the system that Li’Kalla had set up, seeming unfair and arbitrary at first, actually resulted in overall good. Resolving the matter of leadership with her divine mandate meant that in times of hardship the valls here rallied readily around their divinely-mandated leaders, and so were more organized and better equipped to survive and thrive. It was the exact opposite of the middelvals whose leadership was uncertain, and who had fallen into a might makes right trap the moment extreme hardship had destroyed their nascent organization and tribal social structures because they had not been able to cope with the changing realities around them.

Ya-Shuur found this interesting, and it made him think that if simple divine guidance had protected the southern valls from so much pain, how much more could direct divine intervention and leadership do so? His attempts to simply teach the middelvals about the idea of justice had done them no good beyond giving them an ideal of how things should be. Perhaps he should have taken a more active approach...

It was at this time that he finally gathered up the power and strength to put a halt to the curse of Rot. From all that he had seen and his discussions with numerous valls, valthumir, and with Li’Kalla, he was able to ascertain with some certainty that the curse was unjustified. He had not been able to speak with the one who had set up the curse and he regretted this, but there seemed to be no way that Ya-Shuur knew of to track the god in question down. After this, Ya-Shuur set off to return to Li’Kalla’s mansion.

• Summary [+]

  Ya-Shuur travels around south Be'r-Jaz and notices that due to the structure that Li'Kalla has established the Rot has not led to complete destruction and carnage, but actually the Valthumir and hierarchy have been a force for order and overall good. This makes Ya-Shuur wonder about how much better it would be for the middelvalls if they had direct divine intervention and leadership. It is after this in the time line that he dispels the curse, which happened in this post: roleplayerguild.com/posts/4945618
• Might Summary [+]

  No Might points or Free points spent!
  0 Might points and 7 Free points left for Ya-Shuur

---

The waves were swelling again. The sea forever tried to take some land for itself, but never succeeded in holding it. Such a sight had prompted the one who was long ago told it was called Eurysthenes to think about holding power.

Take the land and the sea as an allegory for what I am about to suggest.
The sea is power, and the land is opposition. The sea uses its power to take from the land, and thus I may draw parallels.
The land which is held by the sea is eventually, willingly or not, given back. It is in power’s nature to never hold too much.
No matter your power, there will always be something new to overcome.
So, from this we can draw the conclusion that opposition is infinite, and power must always give in to opposition.
It smiled as best as a puddle of parts could. The work of several years, concentrated into a handful of succinct sentences.
Power is temporary.
One conclusion.

Purity was a thing easy to find beautiful, so it was easy to find beauty in this conclusion.
Beauty was a deceptive thing.
So This One did see, in observing critters hunt. Beauty is a front which is used by ugliness to cause prey to march, smiling eagerly, into their doom.
Take the conclusion as another example. It is a mere sentence, yet has much careful consideration behind it.
Beauty is deception.
And such was another conclusion.

With two conclusions, some lustre of the first faded. It no longer seemed so novel to draw such simple rules which stretch so far.
But it caught itself. They were each as pure as the other, and the existence of one certainly did not depreciate the value of another. Rather, it made it less alluring.
This fact did not satiate This One, but it made it wonder why.
Why is it less fun to create, when one has already created?
Well, having already created, one would have had practice, tricks they learned the first time, and a starting point. The whole process was made easier. One was more comfortable with the process of creating, causing it to become boring.
Comfort is diminishing.
This is what it named the third conclusion.

This third conclusion is what caused This One to rise again, as it was comfortable on the beach. It picked up a handful of sand, scooped up some water, skewered a critter, and smooshed them into a ball. It spoke the Three Conclusions into this ball, and buried it.

From the place where the ball was buried, a being grew. It was merely a sprout at first, but it grew rapidly into a pale gold coloured form, similar to Eurysthenes but with fewer arms. It was a beautiful thing on the outside. It had shining and sparkling skin that reflected the sun in a manner mild enough to cause a small glow, but not so harshly that it was glaring. It had a motif of soft, long curves accentuated by chunks of elegant chitin.

But Beauty is Deception, and underneath its skin was innumerable teeth, waiting for the skin to part so they can bare themselves and show their viciousness.

”What am I?” it asked. A small split in its head opened when it talked, showing rows and rows of teeth.

”You must tell me when you find out,” This One replied.

”Oh.”

---

This is the story that the Bujzell tell as their creation story, and it is a true one. From then until now, a small village has been built on the beach. The god that created them built them a village and taught them basic ideas about how the world works, as well as how to build their own houses that will last.

The village is bustling, and shows the beach more activity than it has ever seen. It’s a small village, about 10 structures, one of which is the court hall. Each is built of roughly wrought stone, and sunk halfway into the ground.

Ziqse, the one the god had made first, was gathering food to eat when it saw something that looked somewhat like it, but different. It had two legs, two arms, light skin, pointed ears, and brown hair with a streak of white. It wore a plain grey robe, a red cloak made from what seemed to be feathers, and a staff of silvery metal.

”What are you? it asked the outsider.

”Karamir,” he answered, ”from Kalgrun. First of the Vallamir.”

”No, what, not who. It is nice to know who you are, though,” Zisqe responded, mildly annoyed that this thing didn’t know the difference between who and what.

Karamir, for his part, seemed equally annoyed. ”First of the Vallamir, I said. Now what are you?”

”Oh. Apologies. I’m used to people being far more than just the first of something,” Zisqe mumbled, slightly underwhelmed. ”I don’t know what I am.”
They paused for a second. Hadn’t this Karamir introduced themselves as the first of their kind?
”I am in part, the Storyteller and the first of the Buzjell.”

”The Buzjell?” Karamir asked, seeming somewhat confused. ”I do not know of your people. Were you created recently?”

”I was grown long ago, and I grew the first other from my finger shortly after. We didn’t know other things that could talk existed.” Zisqe said. It crossed its arms.

”Well they do,” Karamir answered somewhat matter-of-factly. ”In great number. But all the ones I know of are on other lands.”

Zisqe’s eyes broadened. ”Like the place across the Gap? Is your kind the secret it holds?”, it asked, somewhat excitedly. It had found the Gap when it was young, and decided that it would tell stories about what secrets lay on the other side.
They stepped closer, trying to get a better look at the Karamir.

”What is the gap?” Karamir asked.

With a look of suspicion, Zisqe said ”The place between the lands that isn’t ocean. It’s where you come from. Do you have another name for it?”

”I don’t even know what you’re referring to,” Karamir shook his head. ”Where is it?”

”Over there,” they pointed toward it with a long, slender finger, ”Anything could be there, but I know there are a great deal of mountains, and what looks like a cursed part.”

Karamir slowly turned his gaze south. ”There are mountains, yes. For the cursed part, I don’t know if you’re referring to the Feasting Forest or the Boiling Sea. But across the boiling sea there is another land, and although I have been there it is not where I’m from. It should have talking species of its own, but during my time there I never met any.”

”Well then where are you from?” Zisqe asked.

”Kalgrun, as I said. It’s on the other side of the world. Much further than the land beyond the ‘Gap.’”

”I thought that was just the name of the one that grew you. You know,” they made wishy washy gestures, ”’Karamir, from Kalgrun’. Unless the one that grew you was named after your land?”
Zisqe sat down, cross legged. It motioned for Karamir to do the same.

Karamir sat, his cloak seeming to move on its own volition so that it would not be trapped underneath him. ”No,” he said. ”I was made by Kalmar, God of the Hunt, and the land was named after him, because he was the one who created it.”

Zisqe leaned forward a little, in interest and suspicion both. ”That makes little sense. I don’t name the ones I grow after me. Why does he do this?”

Karamir shrugged. ”Kalgrun is short for Kalmar’s Ground. Maybe he liked the way it sounded, or maybe he couldn’t think of anything else, but it is what it is.”

”It is what it is, but that might not be what it seems to be. You can use that sentence instead” they said, smiling a toothy grin. It pointed north east. ”What’s there?”

Karamir glanced up at the sun’s position. ”If you head in that direction…” he thought for a moment, trying to imagine the continent’s layout in his head. ”You might eventually find the gateway to the Observatory; the Sphere of Abanoc.”

Zisqe’s face folded in confusion. ”Huh? What do you mean?”

He sighed. ”What do you know of the gods?”

”I know one made me from the Sea, the Sand, and an insect. That one also built a town for us when we needed it, and taught us how to make the things we know how to make. I know one called Kalmar made you. I know they’re powerful, and I know they can ruin you if they’re in a bad mood…” Zisqe said, trailing off in recollection. ”Why?”

”Well, the gods made this world, called Galbar, and each god has a sphere which influences Galbar in a certain way. To give some examples: Kalmar has the Hunting Grounds, which tells you when you’re hungry or thirsty. K’nell has the Palace of Dreams, which is where your mind goes when you sleep. And Abanoc has the Observatory, which records everything that happens on Galbar.”

”So what’s the Sphere of the god who made me?’ Zisqe asked. They leaned further in, listening intently. Usually it was the one who told stories.

”What is the name of your god?” Karamir questioned back.

”I don’t think it has a name. I can tell you how it looks, though.” Zisqe said.

”Tell me, then.”

”It’s tall and it shimmers in many different colours. It has seven arms, and no eyes. Sometimes it’s just a pile on the floor, and that’s when it can ruin you.”

”Ruin you? How?” Karamir narrowed his eyes.

”I’ll tell you a story. The first one made by the first one I made was called Uzit, and was sweet and young. They looked up to me, and wanted to be a storyteller. One day… they went over a hill and came back with wide eyes that saw things that nobody else did. I went over the hill and saw the god that made me,” Zisqe paused for a moment, looking Karamir directly in the eyes, ”It saw that I was there, and turned back into the god I knew. It apologised for what it did, then commanded me to leave or suffer the same.”

”What happened to Uzit?”

”You must tell me when you find out.”

”And what do you mean by that?”

”I mean that when you find out what happened to Uzit, you should tell me. I would like to know.”

He frowned. ”Why don’t you know what happened?”

”Because I do not know everything.”

Another sigh. ”Where is Uzit now?”

”You should tell me when you find out.”

Karamir was glaring now. ”When did this happen?”

Zisqe leaned back for a second. It had to think about this. ”Long ago, before we had our houses. They were the first that went,” they shook their head and creased their brow slightly, ”But we speak of other things. What’s the Sphere that belongs to the god that created me?”

”I don’t know,” Karamir said. ”You don’t know the god’s name, and none of the gods I met match the description, so I can’t tell you.”

Zisqe looked at the ground. ”Oh. I’ll tell you when I find out.”

Karamir nodded slowly. ”Back to Uzit, then. When did you last see them?”

”That night. They were rambling on the sand one moment, and gone the next. Isi, the first one I made, was distraught. They came to me for comfort, and I had to stop them going to our god”

His eyebrows rose. ”Did this happen more than once?”

Zisqe’s eye’s narrowed, and they said, ”I think I already answered that. You’re very interested in this god.”

”I’m just trying to find out what happened,” Karamir said. ”And every answer you provide leads to more questions.”

”This is why I’m a storyteller. Zisqe shrugged. ”Yes, it has happened once more, but to someone more distant to me. They were called Vurtez, and they were my third’s second’s first.”

”So how often do you see this god?”

”Often enough. They never go for too long, and when it’s here it commands us. It’s a very sage god and commands wisely when it’s here. It’s only when you go to find it that this happens.”

”When do you think it will be back?”

”You think I know a lot more than I do. Tell me when you find out.”

Again, Karamir frowned. ”You say it never goes for too long. What is the longest period of time it has been gone for, and what is the shortest?”

”Shortest is less than a day, longest is still going. It hasn’t come back in seven days now.”

Karamir began to stroke his chin. ”On its last visit, did it do anything strange or unusual, that it doesn’t normally do?”

”No, why?...”

”Well, if it is unusual for your god to be gone this long, there must be a reason. Maybe how it acted during your last meeting can give some sort of clue?” Karamir shrugged. ”You know this god far better than I, though.”

”No, nothing strange beyond its usual. It asks a lot of odd questions.”

”Such as?”

Zisqe rubbed its face. ”The most confusing one is ‘Slippery as a fish, more passive than a craven, harder than metal. Real as a wish, as loving as a haven, testing your mettle.’, which is not a question, but it told me that it was meant to be answered like one.

”Maybe it wants you to think of something that has all those traits,” Karamir suggested.

”Well that is the first thing one thinks of. But what has all those traits?”

”Give me some time to think…” Karamir said, and then began to think. Every few seconds his gaze shifted: first to the sky then at the sand of the beach, then to the forest, then out to sea. And on he went, shifting between the four in some sort of odd cycle.

”I think,” he said, after a while, ”the question itself has those traits.”

”Yes, indeed. A new reflection always shows more things, I’ll give this answer to the god when they get back.”

”Are there any more villages like this?” Karamir asked next.

”Tell me when you know,” Zisqe said. It stood up and turned around, ”I need to go now. It has been good to know you, but I need to be getting food.”

Karamir nodded. ”Goodbye, then.” He rose to his feet as well. ”I might return, but I make no guarantees.”

And with those words the Hunter’s Son took flight, turning his back on the village, its strange people, and its mysterious god. Part of him wanted to stay and seek out more answers, while the other part was wary of the danger. In the end, the more cautious part of him won out: he had spent enough time on this continent already, and it was time to put it behind him.

---

---

A Night Under Moksha

Amid chittering quolls, snapfruit saplings and young patches of sweetgrass, Yisu sat hunched in her new birthday dress. It was plain and blue, but her mother had sewn it just for her and that made it special enough in Yisu’s eyes to match even Lord Wenbo’s Shengshese outfits. Yisu’s eyes were closed, and her knees were pulled up to her chest as she sat nearly in a nap. The day was exciting but long, and with the sky turning dark and Moksha peeking out between the clouds, Yisu’s young mind could barely keep her awake much longer.

She stirred and patted her messy alabaster hair, “Rice cake?” Her eyes opened and she knitted her brows, “Rice Caaake?” She shifted onto her feet and spun around, tiny red circles under her tired eyes, “Rice Cake??”

She stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. She shoved little fists into balls and stomped towards her parents’. The walk was short, with her father having taken the closest house to the Tendlepogan-esque fields.

Yisu pushd the door in, the orange glow of a soft fire hitting her. The foyer was really the living room, with a cozy set of chairs and footrests, plus her own mother sitting by the fire with a spool of wool. Seeing her daughter stumble in with hands rubbing her eyes, she let out a sigh, “Yisu, I was just about to call you in -- it is far past your bedtime, missy.”

“Mom, have you seen Rice Cake?” Yisu pouted, ignoring her mother’s warning.

“No dear,” Yisu’s mom put the wool down, “I’m sure he is fine, now off to bed.”

“But mom-”

“Do you need your father to tell you too?” Yisu’s mom rested a hand on her hip. Yisu pouted, but her mother didn’t seem to back down.

“Okay...” Yisu shuffled into the house, finding the long hall that separated the various rooms. Yisu’s mother called out to her from the living room, her voice a harsh whisper.

“And don’t wake up your brothers!”

Yisu stuck her tongue out in her mother’s direction and made a face. Puffing up a little, Yisu quietly strolled down the hallway, her eyes falling on the closed door that separates her from her own bed. Her eyes trickled to the right a little more, the door to the cellar was ajar. She pursed her lips and silently shuffled over to the basement door.

Peeking through the crack of the opened door, she shivered -- it was dark down there. Something moved, her heart slammed against its cage and she jumped back with a loud yelp.

“Yisu!” Her mother whispered harshly, a couple of thuds indicating that she was now on her way.

“Mom it wasn’t me, there is something in the basement,” Yisu pointed at the door pleadingly as her mother came angrily down the hall.

“You always think there is something in the basement, Yisu,” Her mother ushered her away from the door.

“But mom, I really think I saw a monster this time.”

“Yisu, you’re being silly.” The mother pursed her lips.

“Mom,” Yisu whimpered and her mother sighed.

“Would it make you feel better if we put a new pebble on the house guardian’s shrine?”

Before Yisu could nod, the basement door suddenly snapped open, forcing a loud shrill scream from Yisu and a surprised yell from her mother. All at once, a pillar of cloudlings flooded out of the basement, popping wildly as they crackled their way to every open window, door and crack in the building. They smelt of the wine that Yisu’s father kept in the cellar, especially one specifically saturated cloudling painted a dark maroon. It bumbled through the air drunkenly as the other cloudlings had already cleared the house. It landed on Yisu’s nose and she giggled.

“Mom, it was just Rice Cake.”

Yisu’s mom stood with wide eyes, “Just?”

---

A deep rumble vibrated in the back of Batbayaar’s throat. He sat atop the roof of the academy, legs folded and his fists open in his lap. His chin was tilted up, Moksha washing over his face. By his right knee was a clay tablet with three gentle lines of poetry adorning it, and by his left knee was a minimalist hand-sized painting of his older brother and his father.

He tucked his thumbs flat against his palms as he held them open, the light of Moksha seeming to pool between his fingers. As he meditated, thoughts of his father kept invading his mind -- the large man riding on an albino tree-eater, a victorious grin twisting the blue stripe that dominated the left half of his face.

Batbayaar lifted his left hand, tracing his own stripe. A watery tear caused his finger to stop its journey. He wiped it away from his cheek and opened his eyes. His pupils dilated, having opened to the sight of the swirling nebula that now served as the final memory of his life before Chengweng. Thoughts fell to his wife, who was likely putting their daughter to bed as he thought, his eight sons were likely already asleep having worked the fields of heritage. He sucked in a shaking breath, it wasn’t easy being the only one of your family to decide to stay. He also couldn’t let the remaining dreamers forget the ways of the elder clans, and as the youngest of his father’s -- it was his duty to keep the traditions.

He could still see his mother crying, a sight he had only seen once before. His gut twisted. He was the mountain, he was the stone, but even then he could feel the tug of erosion in his heart. He clapped his hands back together and closed his eyes, refocusing on Moksha.

He could feel the anger and the frustration that kept him silent during the day swirl as easily as the nebula. He could feel his distaste and his concerns, his hesitant acceptance of Ming’s leadership, and his own queries over his Elder Wenbo’s ability in light of her appointment.

Pop!

Batbayaar’s eyes shot open, “Cake?”

”CRACKLE-POP-POP-POP-POP-POP-CRACKLE!

Suddenly a flood of cloudlings passed over him, nearly causing him to tip over as they blasted by. A surprised laugh chuckled from his throat, the first since he had left his home. Finding his feet, he watched the stream of cloudlings swirl onwards. Tucking a newfound smile in his cheek, he sent after them.

---

Nergui let out an exhausted groan and stumbled through one of the academy’s many exits. Planted along the cobblestone walkway of the academy gardens was a myriad of different flowers, with two meter tall obelisks standing at every corner. All of it slowly swirled to a black stone platform in the center, a white and black obelisk standing side by side. As she passed through the door proper, she plucked a pebble from her pocket and dropped it into a ceramic bowl by a miniature black obelisk.

Her gait was more of a sleepy stumble than one of an uptight scholar as she made her way down the swirling path. Finding the center, she kicked off her leather boots and slipped on quoll fur slippers before stepping on the black platform. She fell to her knees and walked on them all the way to the twin obelisk shrine. She dipped her head three times before the empty bowl that sat in front of the shrine, then dipped her head twice - leaving her forehead against the cold stone on the second dip.

“K’nell, My God -- keeper of my family, receive me and my prayer,” She kept her eyes closed as she sat back on her ankles, hands set on each knee. Sucking in a breath, she opened her eyes -- Moksha swirling between the obelisks.

“I’m scared,” She admitted, “I feel alone.” A tear fell down her cheek, “I miss my grandfather, and I pray he isn’t mad at me. Tell him that I had to, tell him I didn’t know I’d be the only one to go.” She held a fist to her chest, “Forgive my candidness, my God.” She sucked in a breath, “Recieve my mind, so I may see them again when my day comes.”

Nergui sat in silence, her eyes fluttering all around the arms of Moksha before she finally let out an exhale she didn’t know she was holding, “I don’t want to be alone. I thank you for Master Zhong Wang, and the others -- I do... but I can’t help but feel...” She flicked a finger across her Temujinite nose, “Alone.”

“I pray, God K’nell, that you take away my loneliness, take it away, take it far away -- I don’t want it, my God,” She whimpered, “It weighs upon my mind-”

Suddenly a loud crackling wave washed over Nergui, the white flood of cloudlings wisping through the air. Dancing on popping sounds and tiny raindrops, the cloudlings soaked through Nergui’s clothes before continuing their nighttime journey.

Nergui sat drenched with wide eyes, “T-Thank you, God!” Was all she managed through a surprised chuckle, her tears dry. Jumping to her feet, she quickly ran after the cloudings.

---

“AaaaaUUUGGGHGHHH”

Ming groaned loudly, landing backfirst into her bed. The bushels of grass pushed against her spine, releasing the day’s work and causing her to ache. She whimpered silently, letting her body drain of its exhaustion. She turned her head as she laid starfish, eyes peeking out of the open window and at the starry sky above. She shot out an exhale from her nostrils as she saw Moksha swirling away.

“I’m supposed to meditate on you, huh?” Ming said quietly, “Expose my weakness and my secrets I bet, too.”

Without turning her body to the window she closed her eyes, “Well I’m afraid you won’t find any here... I’m the great General of Chengweng.” She shot another sgh from her nostrils and her nose pulsed with a little pain. She flinched, “The greatest, beaten down by a nose bleed.”

She huffed silently, Moksha swirling the same as ever, “I just want a little respect.” She surrendered, “I’m trying my best-- I can say that because I am. I know, I KNOW, I could do better, I know.” She bit her lip, “And I’m trying to get there, I really am.”

Moksha didn’t reply,

“Well it isn’t my fault that Batbayaar wasn’t chosen,” Ming gulped dryly, “Maybe he should’ve...” She cast her eyes away from the nebula, “But he didn’t, I did, because I asked -- and I’m trying my best. He can... he can just get over it!”

She looked back at Moksha, “I know he is bigger and stronger, and knows more about this than I do, but this is a new world. This isn’t the plains anymore. A new world needs new leaders... Who cares what he thinks.” Anger tinged her voice and she clicked her tongue. A long silence fell between the two before she gurgled out of frustration, “I do.”

She raised a hand to her forehead and groaned, “I do, I care what they all think. I know how they see me, I’m not blind.”

Moksha was silent.

“Well fine!” Ming almost shouted, “You tell me what to do then!”

As if answering her, flickering shadows blinked across Moksha and Ming’s eyes widened with shock. A chorus of popping filled the night air, forcing Ming to sit up, her fingers holding her nose gently.

“What the...”

---

Zhong Wang stood in the open plaza that intersected the residential and market quarters. Here the night wind was strongest, and the view of the night sky was the best -- in his opinion at least. His eyes carefully studied Moksha above, to think that’s where they all will go someday.

He sucked in an impressed breath, and to think that here he is until then. He put his hands on his hips, he went from a lowly student of his father to being the master of all academic research for the dreamers in a single day. He could feel the pressure on his shoulders as strongly as the butterflies in his stomach, though.

Something about the responsibility caused his gut to clench up, forced hunger from his mind and dried his eyes endlessly on the infinite writings of Shengshi and his own. Even now he wasn’t sure if he was hungry, full, stressed, or even relaxed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, if he didn’t have Nergui, he wouldn’t know how well he would be faring in his position. Sure he had the knowledge, but the ability to actually do is a lot harder to keen than the ability to know.

His gut clenched as his mind skimmed over all the things that could go wrong, and what sorts of disasters he would be responsible for should he ever hiccup in his position. Some days he could barely look at the other dreamers, their faces no longer holding the friendly visages of family but rather the scared looks of people his actions would directly affect.

“Oh Lord,” he moaned, eyes rising to Moksha, “You know my pain.”

He sighed, “It’s just... been so long since I’ve...” He stifled on his words, “To relax just seems forbidden.”

Zhong Wang’s eyes rested on Moksha and he closed his eyes in an attempt. His body swayed slightly in the night wind as he focused, trying to picture the great swirling mass in his minds eye. He strained and then slowly relaxed his shoulders -- and as his muscles went limp, he swore he heard something. Two gentle violin’s playing against each other, hidden behind the sound of the night wind. A small smile formed on Wang’s lips as the music played in his mind. It reminded him of a story his father used to tell him in jest.

A long time ago now, Chagatai had gone to Zhongcheng and Wenbo in a fit of frustration: he needed to write a song for his teenage crush, Altansarnai. His brother’s agreed to aid him, and spent all night constructing the perfect song for him to use to woo his beloved -- only to find out on the day he went to sing it to Altansarnai, that she too had gone to Zhongcheng and Wenbo for a song to sing to him. In Zhongcheng’s clever way and Wenbo’s wisdom, the brothers wrote each of them half of the same song -- turning their meeting into an entwined duet of their truest feelings.

Zhong Wang smiled, picturing the scene between the fiery couple, their words fresh in his mind as if he were there. He gently sang out Chagatai’s opening lines.

“Blue hair so as the sky,
Blue hair so as my soul.”



Nergui’s voice surprised Wang and he turned to the woman, a gentle smile on her face, and a rush of cloudlings crackling behind her. Zhong Wang’s brow furrowed and his eyes widened in surprise, “Cloudlings!?”

The apprentice went to speak, but was cut off by Batbayaar’s deep voice, calling out as Chagatai once did:

“Blue hair take my love,
Blue hair take my heart.”



Nergui’s singing voice nearly tripped as Ming’s and Yisu’s joined hers. She turned to see Batbayaar’s family standing next to the general, all wearing surprised smiles. Batbayaar walked over, arms wide as he pulled his wife into an embrace, his voice joining Zhong Wang’s.

“Blue hair you’re my night,
Blue hair you’re my day.”



“Blue hair never go,
Blue hair as above.”



The impromptu group broke into laughter as the line finalized. Zhong Wang could feel his stress falling from his shoulders as the cloudlings crackled along, and Nergui gave him a friendly grin. The woman felt her worries wash from her as easily as the dye was running from her soaked clothing.

Batbayaar laughed loudly as he held his family tight, his sons punching each other playfully, his little girl clinging to his leg. Seeing Ming standing idly between his family and the other Scholars, he reached out with a hand. His knuckle bumped her shoulder and she turned to him. His smile was gone, and she gulped. Her flicked his nose twice and gave her an approving nod, causing a smile to form on the general’s face.

“Thank you, Lord K’nell.”

“Hm!”

The hum was one more of frustration than thought. Zhong Wang slipped his ink covered stylos back into a wooden bowl filled with charcoal based ink. The rice paper in front of him was nearly blotted out with Shengshese characters, save for the bottom most, which seemed to be the target of a frustrated glare.

Luckily the stone room was cool and the fire was unlit, because Zhong Wang could feel the anger burning in his chest. His head turned to the pile of completed sheets and he sucked a breath through his nose and closed his eyes. Fidgeting himself into a perfectly upright position, his legs perfectly bent at right angles and his hands resting open in his lap, he began to slowly breath. As his lungs emptied, his slowly sucked in a control breath, his chest expanding and his frustration cooling.

Out. His breath spilled over the desk as he emptied his chest once more. In. He started to suck in a longer and deeper breath-

“Master Wang?” A gentle rap against his door was followed by Nergui’s voice, the scion of Temujin already halfway through the doorway. Caught off his rhythm, Wang coughed loudly on his own breath. He pounded a fist to his chest, choking harmlessly on his own hiccup, a tear running out of his right eye.

Seeing the empty plate of food near his desk, Nergui’s face paled more so than normal and rushed over. Wordlessly she wrapped a wrestler’s grip around the man and pulled him off his chair. Zhong Wang flailed but Nergui pushed his back into her front, her fists forming around his stomach. Her body tensed, about to squeeze when suddenly Zhong Wang found his voice again.

“Nergui! Wait!” Nergui’s arms went limp and Wang turned around, nearly headbutting the woman. Nergui did her best to hold a stern face, but a deep red in her cheeks matched Zhong Wang’s in embarrassment.

“I thought you were choking...” Nergui explained, suddenly adding, “...Sir.”

At the moniker, Wang straightened his robe out and took a step back, closing his eyes and wiping his stray tear from his face, “That’s quite alright, Nergui. I appreciate... your fervor for my health.”

Nergui knitted her brows and let out a single chuckle. Wang opened his eyes and arched a brow, but before he could ask, Nergui cleared her throat. Her different colored eyes turned to business and she bowed her head, “In manners of health, Doctor Zhou wishes to discuss a new project with the academy.”

Zhong Wang tugged on his beard, “That may be a fruitful endeavor. Is she here?”

“Yes, Master Wang,” Nergui nodded, “I have her waiting in the foyer.”

“Send her in.”

“Yes, Master Wang,” Nergui bowed her head. She went to turn around but then hesitated. Zhong Wang arced his brow again and Nergui idly nudged her chin towards the empty plate on the desk, “It’s good you know...” Zhong Wang cocked his head and she continued, “That you’re eating.”

“Your cooking is second to your scholarship,” Zhong Wang stood up straight and folded his arms behind his back, “So thank you.”

Nergui bowed her head once more and exited the room, a content look on her face.

---

“So… We boils these?” Taishan asked uncertainly as he held a fistful of green leaves and brownish bark over a bubbling pot of water.

Zhou raised her eyebrows, the doctor having found her way into the kitchen. She smiled, her dark purple lips spreading into a hermian crescent as she gently patted Taishan’s back, “Only if you want to aleve that headache of yours.”

“Which of them aleves the headache?” the young scholar-in-training asked absentmindedly as he dropped the ingredients into the pot.

“The willow bark,” She nodded, “The leaves cut the nausea that follows.”

“O-oh! I see!” Taishan gave the pot a curious hum and cringed a little at the bitter smells. “How long should I boil them for again?”

“Just until the-” Zhou was cut off as the door to the kitchen opened. A silent Batbayaar pointed a heavy finger and Nergui slipped in.

“Thank you,” She whispered to the large warrior poet as he hulked away. The apprentice stepped into the kitchen and tipped her head, “Master Wang wishes to see the doctor, now.”

“O-oh, I was in the middle of...” Zhou shook her head, “Lead the way.” The doctor turned back to Taishan and pushed the pot out of the fire below before tapping the scholar’s arm and beckoning for him to follow. Taishan blinked around in quick confusion before dutifully and hurriedly followed along.

The three made their way through the decorated halls of the academy before finding their way to the large door that stood between the main hall and the Master’s study. A gentle meditative hum from the back of the throat could be heard behind the door, as well as the smell of burning flowers. Nergui wrapped her fist around one of the large wooden knockers that dressed the thick door and let it fall flat against an inlaid stone, creating a resounding crack. The throat singing halted and Zhong Wang’s voice could be heard, “Come in.”

Nergui pushed the door aside and ushered Zhou in, who tipped her head respectfully to Nergui before passing through the portal. Zhong Wang stood by his desk, arms locked behind his back as his stare fell on Taishan who remained on the other side of the door.

“I invited him, Master Wang,” Zhou explained, tiny wrinkles in the corner of her eyes deepening as she grinned respectfully. Wang couldn’t help but smile back at Zhou and waved a hand at the door.

“Then won’t you join us Apprentice Taishan.”

“E-excuse me, then,” the young man said and stepped inside. He gave Zhong Wang a deep bow and then shuffled his feet anxiously.

Zhong Wang gave an acknowledging tip of his head, but not enough to formulate a bow. He turned to Zhou and waved to a seat, “Please sit.” The master then took his own seat behind the desk, the others sitting shortly after.

Zhong Wang looked to Taishan, “Apprentice Taishan, take up a wooden slate, paper and stylo -- record this meeting.” He looked to Nergui, “Could you check on Scholar Yang and Master Scholar Li Jian?” Nergui bowed deeply and backpedaled towards the door before turning. With a soft click the door was shut and all attention fell on Zhou.

“You certainly know how to make an atmosphere,” Zhou folded her hands and smiled.

“I am sorry, Lady Zh-”

“Doctor Zhou,” The doctor winked and Zhong Wang winced.

“Of course, my apologies,” Master Wang swallowed, finding every inch of this as awkward -- being only a decade older than him, Zhou had babysat him as a child before learning the ways of the medicine men and women. Master Wang cleared his throat, “Taishan, strike that insult to our good doctor from the record.”

With an audible lick of the brush, the young scholar overlined the remark and instead added the much more appropriate title of “doctor”.

Zhou looked as if she was about to laugh at the whole ordeal before pursing her lips, “So I came to talk about medicine.”

“Of course!” Wang said a bit too quickly before composing himself.

“You see, with the installment of the military, we have been getting a lot of new illnesses and wounds,” Zhou sat back in her chair, looking as if she belonged there -- looking as if she belonged anywhere she desired, “And I think it would do our city good to catalogue known treatments and research new ones.” She looked over at Taishan, pulling the apprentice into the conversation, “I was actually just going over a rather fresh treatment for headaches and small pains with Taishan, isn’t that right?”

Taishan looked up from his sheet of paper. “Huh? O-oh! Yes! She was.” He looked back down at the paper. “Was that intended for the notes or should I strike it out?”

Master Wang seemed to cringe slightly before waving his hand, “Keep it in, but strike your last question.” Zhou smiled innocently and Wang continued, “Well I think that’s a marvelous idea, our scholars and scholars to be could use the work, no doubt.” Wang tapped his chin just as Nergui reentered the room.

“Scholars Yang and Li Jian are making ample progress in the remaining writings of Elder Master Zhongcheng,” Nergui announced out of turn. Wang sucked in a breath and nodded.

“That’s good news, inform them that a new task has risen,” Zhong Wang smiled at Nergui who smiled back.

“Master Wang?” Zhou crossed a leg and leaned back.

“Yes, good doctor?”

“Since I will no doubt be aiding in whoever is tasked with this endeavor, would it not be fair to give me a say in who I work with?” Zhou was smiling.

Zhong Wang nodded slowly, “I suppose that is fair, you proposed the idea and we all know you to be wise. Please, who would you pick, Master Scholar Batbayaar?”

“Apprentice Taishan,” Zhou folded her hands in her lap, a humming grin on her face. Both Nergui and Zhong Wang looked dumbstruck. Taishan looked back up from his paper.

“Sorry, did you call my name, doctor?”

“Yes,” Zhou shrugged her shoulders proudly, “I want Apprentice Taishan and add Master Scholar Batbayaar if it makes you feel more comfortable, but really I had already started dictating to Taishan, and our medicine tradition says I best finish his education, least I be responsible for any of his mismanagement of medicine in the future.”

“Well Doctor Zhou,” Master Wang folded his hands on the table, “That’s very noble-”

“It is isn’t it?” Zhou gave a toying smile and Wang exhaled through his nostrils.

“Taishan, stop writing,” Zhong Wang stood up, causing Nergui to give him a concerned stare. The apprentice put down his brush and started passively reading through what he had written. After a moment, his eyes went wide.

“Wait, you choose me?!”

“Taishan!” Master Wang scolded before looking back at the doctor, “I know you have been against the more rigid restructuring in our more hierarchical institutes, Zhou, but really Taishan is not yet ordained as a scholar of this academy.”

Zhou made a face, “You know I approve of all that you do Master Wang, I really do, but this is beyond my distaste for change, I think.” She sucked in a breath, “Since we Dreamers first entered the land of medicine, it has been unheard of for a medicine man or woman to stop teaching all they know once they started, or the student could get very hurt or hurt someone else with misinformation. Now I admit I was tricky enough to start talking to Taishan about it before consulting with you and I apologize, but you can’t deny the little spark of intelligence behind his eyes.”

Master Wang went silent as he chewed his lip, “I know.” He finally said, “I said his name to His Lordship Shengshi for that very reason.” He sighed, “Fine, on one condition.”

“Name it,” Zhou tilted her head up to look at the standing man.

Zhong Wang broke into a wide grin, “Stop making me look like such a fool in front of my students.”

Zhou laughed and the tension left the room, “I don’t think that was me.”

Long strides took Garna’Tenth of the Dragon’s Jaw tribe through the Desert of Sandravii the Jotundar called home, the giant bellowing loudly as she went. Around her where the remains of a divine clash, a graveyard of monster bones and pillars of eternity burning iron half buried in endless sands. Life was rare here. Scrubby bushes. The odd cactus. Hidden roots. Monsters from the war. And, racing away from her as she stormed after them, Jackalopes. The massive rabbits with their fruit bearing horns where rapidly bounding away from her, darting too and fro to avoid the grip of her massive hands. She didn't even try. That wasn't the point of this.

Out of a dune ahead of where they were all running burst Rath'Took, the old giant roaring and waving his arms while to her left another giant emerge from where she had slowly, carefully looped around the giant bunnies’ grazing spot. The cowardly Lagomorphs panicked at the appearance of more giant humanoids and darted right only to find a final Jotundar emerging from the sand in their path. This one was no giant however, if any present had known what a human was they would have said he was about the same size as a male adult, nor did he bluster and rage like their kin.

The Jackalopes decided to take their chances with this least threatening of their pursuers, rushing him and trying to nimbly dodge his grasp. This was a mistake. The boy’s agility was yet to be stolen by size and so his faster hands succeeded where others have failed, leaping at a Jackalope and catching it by one of it’s horns.

The bunny struggled, dragging the boy along through the sand as it continued to try and escape, but his grip remained tight and slowed the beast till Garna’Tenth caught up, a great hand grasping the burdened bunny’s other horn. She stood two and a half times as tall as the boy and had since the day she was made.

“Good work boy. First try too!” came a distant shout from Rath’Took. The other two giants had stopped running once Garna’Tenth had caught up.”took Ayr’Sala three tries to catch one first time we took her out!” he added before he and the fourth giant, now grown enough for a name and simultaneously too slow to filer old role, began bickering over that fact.

“Now get a better grip on it and I’ll get this over with.” Garna’Tenth instructed, her free hand going for a knife made of a scavenged dragon fang taht was tied to her hip by a crude leather strap. He did as instructed, gripping it firmly around the neck and getting a better stance to stop it escaping. Garna released the beast's horn and moved a hand, whispering “shh it’s okay” as she brought up the knife. Then with a swift motion predator fang met stem and a ripe fruit fell from its antler to the desert sands.

“Why don’t we kill it?” The boy asked as the Jackolope struggled in his grip “It’s been ages since we had meat.”

“We don’t kill them. Ever. last time was an accident.” Garna’Tenth explained curtly as she continued to harvest the fruits from the rabbit’s massive antlers. “Poor thing broke a leg. At that point it was us or one of Fear’s monsters.”

“But why not kill them? I remember how happy everyone was last time you brought meat back.” the young hunter pressed on, as he eyed the beast hungrily.

“The Ashen Hands ate all the Jackalopes they found” she said, as if that explained everything

“Never heard of them” the boy responded, rightly confused.

“Exactly. They butchered all the Jackalopes in their territory and then had nothing left to eat. Most starved. The ones left formed the Tooth Takers.” she explained properly.

“The Raiders? I heard they eat people” the boy responded matter of factly.

“Those are the rumors. They’re bastards the lot of them even if they don’t. That’s what happens when you don’t respect the land, you end up living in the wasteland of your own making.”

“But we’re Fire! We aren't supposed to respect that land. Right? Because fire consumes everything in its path in a glorious inferno!” the boy’s sudden surge of righteous rhetoric spooked the Jackople even more than it already was.

“And then it burns itself out.” she finished for him before softly stroking the fur of the jackalope to try and calm it “Yes, we are fire, but if you want a fire to live you don't just pile all the fuel you can on it at once. You feed it and stroke it. Nurture the flame and it’ll keep you warm all night instead of only for a few minutes.” she explained, plucking the last fruit from the jackalope. She pet its head gently as she could with her massive hands and then told the boy to “Now let it go”

The boy hesitated for a few moments before reluctantly releasing the rabbit, which bolted off into the dues as soon as it could. “You’re all ok with this” he asked the others, who had arrived but remained silent as he and their boss talked.

“Yeah.” Rath'Took, who, like Garna’Tenth, was made rather than born, replied. “Might not be righteous, but it works.”

“You were telling us about the war just last night!” the boy complained. “When you were warriors fighting against a world that would smother our flame if it could.”

“We aren't the armies of god any more” She scolded as the other two came to help gather up their haul of fruits. “We’re just people now, and we’re going to do whatever it takes to survive”

---

After catching two more Jackalopes they were done. Night was a few hours away but the frigid desert night was no friend to the Jotundar and so the party made sure to leave plenty of time to reach camp. They were wise to do so, being forced to hide from one former monstrous allies that etched out a living in the wastes, and reached the metal spike they were currently calling home only a short time before sundown.

The Jotundar didn't have much in the way of possessions, and so the camp was mostly defined by the presence of the giants themselves and the rough pile of trade goods they had stacked up. Shards of ever hot metal and bones and fangs of old beasts where the main goods found in the desert, along with some preservable arid plants. They'd trade those for fish from the river tribes and acquire salt to preserve it from the ocean ones, both of whose trades required either extreme bravery or extreme foolishness depending on who you asked. Obsidian blades could be acquired from those who had settled near mt Eldahverr after having failing to enter it and floating rocks to lighten their packs could be acquired from the madmen that lived near the world scar.

Once they were close the relief the party felt was still palpable, the heat from the spire of red hot metal washing away their fears of freezing to death in the desert night.

“There you lot are!” came a call from the closest lookout, a Jotundar armed with a pair of Dragon claw knives the size of short-swords. “Argar has been worried sick about you Rath'Took.”

“Well he can stop worrying, I made it home like I always do!” the old Giant called back cheerfully “and it’s been worth the worry. This boy’s a natural Jackalope catcher.”

The lookout eyed their armfuls of fruits hungrily “They’ll be glad to hear that! Everyone else is back already, thank father flame none are as slow as you, but it looked like we were going to have a meager evening till you lot showed up last thing”

“They started cooking already?” Garna’Tenth asked, not liking the sound of the others hauls. They’d probably have to move again soon. It was always a risk, but one they’d taken a hundred times already.

“Yeah. better hurry if you want that done around the same time.”

The party nodded and then hurried on past. Meager had been the right word for it. A few roots, cactus flowers and bugs you needed nerves of iron to catch where all roasting away close to the iron spire while the Jotundar sat around on rocks and skulls to talk.

The party dropped off their haul with the cook for the day and went their separate ways till dinner time. It was while they were digging in to their haul that the past returned.

Garna’Tenth had been discussing when and where they’d be heading off too next now that the area looked like it needed time to recover when a shout drew their attention.

“By Sartravius’s beard! The Turtle, it’s coming!” came the cry. All eyes turned north, to the distant Giant’s bath where, sure enough, the great turtle of the river leech was descending from its seat of power for the first time in years. Silence reigned among the shocked and horrified Jotundar, until one finally cried out that “It’s coming to take its revenge!”

“Quiet, we don’t know that!” Garna’Tenth shouted down the coward before they could spark panic, but the ember of doubt was already sparked. Worried muttering began to circulate speculation running rampant.

“What are we going to do.” someone asked

“We’re going to go,” Garna’Tenth said with certainty “where everyone else is going. Back to the Final Crossing”

---

It took a week to reach their destination, but once they caught sight of it, it was clear they had not been the only ones to decide to come here. An agreement had been made decades ago, after they burned the boats they'd used to cross the Taipang, that they’d come back together there if it looked like the wordless admission of surrender to the wrathful storms hadn’t ended the war. The burning of the ships, gorlied rafts really, had been a declaration that they’d never return to the forest’s they’d ravaged, lacking as they did the resources to build new ones to cross the deadly river once more.

Here, now, gathered among the ashes of that surrender, was gathered the single largest host of Jotundar since the war for the Dragons Foot had ended in defeat for the forces of destruction. Despite hardly representing the totality of their kind, for those who had traveled far had likely not even seen the turtle, it was still a pot all but ready to boil over.

They quickly learned that turtle had descended at the call of its masters ship, and had then had a strange construction built on it’s back through the night. The screams caused by that construction had been louder than any they had ever caused during the battle, or so tale from the river giants went. Child like people had boarded it and then it had lumbered off into the forest, crushing everything in its path. Suffice to say the fact that it was not swarmed by angry squalls for this hypocrisy was extremely unjust in the eyes of the Jotundar.

Now that it was gone to destroy the jungle nobody could agree on what to do. Some left, but those that remain bickered endlessly as tensions rose. The local river tribes were getting both fed up and worried about the damage the mas encampment was having on their local fish stocks and a number of watery graves were not helping matters. Grudges, old as the war and dnew as the desert, where boiling to the surface.

The Dragon’s Jaw tribe managed to accrue all of this information in the day after their arrival and came back together for and evening meal to discuss it. They were not sure why it wasn't so cold at night nearer the river, but it meant they could handle the night with just a campfire made from the greenery that clung to the edge of the great desert, nurtured by the river. Not that there was much of that left now after a week of Jotundar occupation.

“This has been a Vulkandr sized waste of time” Garna’Tenth admitted in between bites of overpriced fresh fish. The river giants where demanding extortionate trades for their skills, both because of demand and to try and convince people to leave sooner. “I’m sorry I said we should do this.”

“Ah it wern’t just you” Rath'Took said from across the fire, stepping in before his old friend began beating herself up to hard for this “and besides, it was worth coming to not having to worry about becoming turtle food”

“A steep price for peace of mind” Garna’Tenth responded. They’d burned a lot of supplies getting here, and going out into the desert again. “But one we’ve paid already I suppose. Best get out of here before the rush”

“If they’d delayed this long I wouldn’t expect them to head out anytime soon. Not till this place is a wasteland at least.” Rath'Took said.

“Can’t believe they’re arguing about what to do. The ones trying to reform the army are the worst of the bunch, just fools grasping for power. Even if they get tribes onboard they’ll have nothing to fight. Except everyone else.” Garna’Tenth replied, ending with a touch of worry

“Mmmh. Wouldn't worry bout that.” Rath'Took responded “Didn’t someone try that already? Yarta’far? Yogsta’rar?”

“Yanta’zar” Argar’Took, who was sitting next to him, supplied.

“Yeah! Yanta’zar.” Rath'Took clapped the other Giant on the shoulder int thanks and then continued “Sea Giant. Got a couple hundred odd Jotundar together few years back after a bit of conquering and then tried to invade the desert. Whole thing fell apart down way south of us as I heard it.”

“When’d you hear this?” Garna’Tenth asked. Rath'Took was never one to leave a story untold a dozen times over.

“Today” he replied “Me and Argar heard it from some fisher-woman while we were asking around. Was why she was sure it’d never get off the ground. Only other option was to go conquer the north, which is even dumber”

“Fools errand that” Garna’Tenth said, and most of the old giants nodded in agreement.

“There's some in there that’ll argue till the end of time if they could about that and all sorts of other things. I heard that there was a big hoo ha over some old fear monster’s grave up near the mountains that's just been discovered. Half a dozen tribes all shouting and hollering about who gets a claim once they all go back north” Argar’Took began to gossip before being interrupted by a younger voice.

“Was that it?!” Complained the boy who had helped the pair of hunters

“Was what it?” Garna’Tenth asked

“The turtle is gone! The Giant’s Bath lies undefended! And your just going to dismiss the opportunity to finally claim it so easily? Like this isn't a golden opportunity to finally strike back?“ he asked

“The war is over boy.” she told him, tired of repeating herself already “and serpent’s titan leaving its post makes it perfectly clear that we aren't considered a threat anymore, so we don't need to worry about it starting back up again anytime soon.”

“You say that like its a good thing. That it’s good to be considered weak and meek and of no concern to anybody. How does that not fill you with shame? Because the enemy has left their gate unguarded and any brave warrior of Sartravius should be jumping at the opportunity to take revenge. But all I see here is cowards.” the boy retorted, fire in is words.
Garna’Tenth lashed out with a hand at the child, but found only dirt as the boy scrambled out of the way just in time.

It had left an impact none the less, the confrontational bravado replaced with panting fear and shock. “You know where the ‘Brave’ warriors are” Garna’Tenth shouted at him, before pointing across the river. “You can find their bones over there. You haven't seen war child, haven't seen the clash of the titans that trampled us underfoot without even noticing. You haven’t watched as your friends and your lover were torn apart by storms given life by a vengeful god. No. We aren't the brave ones, or the strong ones, but we are the smart ones. That fight was over before you were even born boy and only the ones who accepted that are still alive.”

The old Jotundar was left panting after letting lose her wrath. After a few moments to compose herself she spoke again in a quieter voice. “You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on your foolish words on night watch boy. So sit back down and keep quiet if you know what's good for you.”

The boy looked at the other faces in the crowd, getting only stern looks from those who had been in the war, but a few fleeting looks of sympathy from the other children and those who had once been children like Ayr’Sala. These were quickly hidden before they could be noticed however, leaving the boy alone in his shame.

Scowling, the boy returned to the circle and picked up his dropped fish. While the others gossiped and planned the boy silently ate, and schemed.

---

Garna’Tenth rolled over in her sleep and then woke up feeling a touch of cold. Grumbling, she opened her eyes and found that it was near dawn. The soft orange glow of Heliopolis’s immanent arrival was smudged across the horizon, so it took her a few moments to realize that the night fire was out.

“Damn that boy.” she muttered, standing and looking for his incompetent disobedient ass, yet found no trace of him. Nor, now that she was looking, could she find any trace of most of the half grown children. Ayr’Sala was also gone, along with a scant few adults.

“Children! Where are you! This is no place for games!” she shouted, rousing the rest of the tribe in the process.

“What’s going on” Rath'Took complained as he awoke to her haulering. He extracted himself from his lover's arms and looked around for a few moments, but instead of noticing what Garana had he spotted something going on deeper into the sprawling Jotundar camp.

“What on earth is going on over there,” he asked, pointing towards a large gathering near a great bonfire at its center. This in and of itself was not unusual, some would be leader was always throwing speeches around somewhere in camp, but what was was that the attendees of this meeting where mostly half grown children like the Boy.

Garna’Tenth joined her old friend in looking down at the congregation “That. Does not bode well.”

“Urangtai?”

Her voice was like a grind and a screech all rolled up into one. Urangtai winced, the metallic voice bouncing around his head and rattling his brain. He clenched his fist, “What!?” He snapped.

Zhong Meiyun, a slim woman was dark Xiaolian hair and a silver speckled nose, looked surprised at the sudden outburst. The two were standing in the street, a half eaten square of sweetgrass powdered flatbread in Urangtai’s hand and a basket of hot seconds and thirds in Li Meiyun’s. The woman cautioned a glance over Urangtai’s clearly irritated face, “I was just wondering if you liked my sweetbread?” She gave a weak smile.

“Oh,” Urangtai tried to concentrate through her scraping voice. In truth, he had always enjoyed Meiyun’s food as well as her soft voice -- this was all new to him and in truth, the sweetbread was awful. It tasted rotten and smelt none too good either. Urangtai seemed to teetar for a moment, “Well...”

Meiyun cocked her head and Urangtai cleared his throat, “You’ve made better.”

The woman’s eyes squinted and she huffed a breath, slapping the half eaten bread from Urangtai’s hands, “I don’t know what is with you today, but if you’re trying to hurt my--”

Urangtai seemed to flinch deeply under the assault of her ringing voice, a pained expression forming across his face, “Could you please stop talking?”

SLAP!

A wide eyed and furious Meiyun held her hand up, a red mark forming on Urangtai’s cheek. Her jaw was hanging in shock and hurt, she looked as if she was about to say something but instead clenched her jaw closed. She expelled a hot breath through her nose and stomped off, not granting Urangtai another glance. A single word hissed from under her breath as she turned the corner out of sight.

“Jerk.”

A lead ball fell in Urangtai’s stomach. Today had been a strange day, and now with an angry Meiyun added to it, he was ready to call it the worst day of his life. First he woke up with a twist in his stomach, as if his body was warning him about today -- then he was nearly sacked after snapping at his boss, a strong woman married to none other than Batbayaar. For some reason her voice just irritated him beyond belief today, a trait he was surprised to find repeating itself with every woman he had met that day -- even Meiyun’s.

He swore under his breath, he had never seen Meiyun so angry, and the worst bit was he couldn’t help but still feel irritated at her voice. He knew he didn’t have the place or the right, but there it was -- her screech just seemed to linger in his skull, same with all the others. A throb formed in the front of his head, a headache. It was as if he spent the whole night drinking, and it was getting under his skin.

His whole day was awry now. There was no walking Meiyun back to her place from the palace as he did every Li’s day, no helping Doctor Zhou by delivering her the herbs that grew alongside the fields, no helping set up and daydreaming about the smithies, nothing. He held his head, he was just glad his father wasn’t here -- he must look like a lazy slob. With dark ringed eyes, Urangtai decided it was probably for the best if he just went home to go to bed.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched as he walked down the empty streets. There weren't many people out right now, there wasn’t many people in general with the city being many times larger than the population that filled it. Urangtai didn’t always mind, sometimes the quiet was nice, it let him think.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and sighed, he really messed up today. He groaned loudly, his eyes shut and his knuckles white as he pinched his nose as he thought through his mistakes of the day, “Snap!”

“What ails you?” A kind voice like silk suddenly asked. Urangtai froze and slowly let go of his face. Opening his eyes he was met with the red striped face of a stranger. The stranger was a man maybe ten years older than him, with an attractive smile and kind eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Urangtai stood up straight.

“You were just swearing,” The man let out a friendly chortle, “I just assumed...”

“I didn’t think anyone was around,” Urangtai defended.

“Me either,” The stranger leaned against the wall of an empty building, and squinted, “You... you’re Li’s grandson, right?”

“I am... who are you?”

“Huang,” The stranger grinned, “You grandfather taught me the morin khuur.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Huang stood up straight, “Where ya heading? I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh!” Urangtai barely got the word out before he found himself walking alongside Huang, the man looking up at the sky, in search of birds. Urangtai cleared his throat, “I was just heading home?”

“Home?” Huang looked back down at the young man, “So early? Did you hear about the little get together in the palace courtyard today, why don’t you come? You look like you could use it.”

“Oh... no that’s okay,” Urangtai shook his head, “I have to work the fields tomorrow, plus I’m already nursing this headache.”

“Headache, huh?” Huang clicked his tongue, “Well you know the best cure for a drinking headache is a little more drink.” He winked and gave Urangtai a playful tap on the shoulder.

“Well, no, it’s not from drinking.”

“Ah,” Huang made an embarrassed face for a split second, “I just assumed again, I’m not prone to headaches myself.”

“Neither am I, usually,” Urangtai head his head and Huang pinched their own chin.

“Well, what’s it like?” Huang suggested, “Did you hit your head?”

“No, nothing like that-- I just woke up with it-- well no I didn’t really wake up with it, it started at work when my boss started talking to me.”

“Ah, was he chewing you out?”

“She, and no not really. Just every word she said seemed to cause my head to reel.”

“She, huh,” Huang bit his finger.

“Yeah, she,” Urangtai turned to Huang, “Why?”

“Well,” Huang tilted his head back and forth, reluctant, “Just an old tale comes to mind is all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah but it’s just a tale,” Huang defended, “What you should really focus on is drinking water, I hear that helps with headaches, maybe some meat.” Huang bit his finger, “Ever drink milk from the teet of a Tree-Eater?”

“Ew, no.” Urangtai made a disgusted face, “You’re a strange man.”

“Maybe, but it works,” Huang wagged a finger, “Not that we have any around here.”

“True,” Urangtai stuffed his hands back in his pocket and silence fell upon the group again. Huang made an uncomfortable face and started to turn to a different direction as the road split.

“Well I gotta make that get together,” Huang started, “Feel better.”

“Wait,” Urangtai stopped and turned to Huang, “What was the tale, anyways?”

Huang hummed and raised his brow, “Oh, something about... now stay with me on this one, but they say that when the heart has made up its mind, everyone but the one who captured your heart just seems to be in the way. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why married men seem so irritated.” Huang shrugged as he backpedaled, “Doesn’t make much sense though, but then again what does.”

“What does,” Urangtai gave a single silent chuckle before shaking his head, “See you.”

With that he was all alone again, his head still throbbing as he walked. Hoping the fresh air would help, Urangtai decided to go a really roundabout way, only reaching his part of the city, perhaps an hour and a half later than expected. The roads in this part of the City of Dreams were wider, with more people hustling about -- it being so close to the palace. The new noise didn’t help much and before long Urangtai found himself holding his head with his eyes closed once more.

THUMP!

Urangtai’s eyes shot open, something warm and soft bouncing off of him. There on the ground in front of him was Song, the woman having fallen on her behind. Urangtai felt both a tinge of guilt for knocking her over as well as a thread of annoyance at bumping into her of all people.

Momentarily, Song’s face betrayed similar annoyance up until the point where she looked up and recognised her assailant. She giggled and smiled from ear to ear. “Oh, hey, boo!”

Urangtai froze, something was different. It was as if a great stake was removed from his skull, if but momentarily. Song’s voice came in crystal and clear, subsequently dispelling his throbbing pain if but for a second. He blinked, eyes narrowing around Song, too frozen to even think about helping her up, “W-what did you say?”

Song cocked her head on the side and furrowed her brow at the reaction, her smile weakening a little. “I, uh, I said ‘hey, boo’, heh-heh. Is… Is that weird? I’m sorry, I’m on the ground and everything and--”

There it was again, her voice parting the seas of pain that crashed upon his mind. He felt it was almost dramatic, but the results were worth exploring. Urangtai’s head seemed to lift off his shoulders, slightly more free from the weight of the day’s headache, “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t feeling very well.” He held out his hand.

Song’s heart skipped a beat and she slowly stretched out her hand to take it. Her face flushed a light pink, and as she was hoisted to her feet again, she shuffled them awkwardly. “W-well… If you’re sick, you should rest, y’know. Wou-... Would you like me to make you some soup?”

“N-” Urangtai stopped as he stared at Song’s anticipating face, her eyes seemed more concerned than wild (as they usually looked) and her voice was a cool ointment. He felt he was going to regret this but, “Yeah, sure... if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah… Yeah, no, I understand. Kinda weird for me to--” Song froze and then visibly recoiled in surprise. “Did you just say yes?”

“Only if you meant it,” Urangtai took a step back, his headache slowly ringing back in his head as he did. Song’s eyes darted around.

“U-uhm-- Of course, I did! It’s just you’ve--” She shuffled her feet and and poked her fingers together sheepishly. “You’ve never said yes before…”

“Oh,” Urangtai looked down, her voice pushing his headache away once more, “Never, huh? Really?” He felt a little bad, as if a snake of guilt was worming its way into his stomach.

Song quickly grabbed his hand and shook her head. “No-no-no! I didn’t mean it like that! It’s okay, really. You said yes, so all is forgiven.”

Urangtai felt a certain relief, maybe in more ways than one, “Well, if you don’t mind then?” He didn’t realize he was still holding her hand as he tugged towards his house. He opened the door and the two stepped inside, hands still linked together sweetly. Song’s face was still that hot shade of pink and in a quivering, uncharacteristically timid voice, she said, “You, uhm… How about you just lay down and, uhm… And I’ll just get cooking, hmm?”

Urangtai nodded, ushering himself to his bedroom, his hand almost reluctantly leaving Song’s.

---

Song gulped. Her heart was threatening to skip out of her chest and flutter to Heliopolis. Even as she reached for some dry scallions from a cabinet and some garlic. She prepared a cupful of oats and some water. She then lit a fire in the hearth and hung a clay pot over it. She filled the pot with water and sat staring awkwardly into the flames. Thoughts clogged her mind like thick sap. This -had- to be Yullian’s work. Something like this had never happened before and-- and what was she supposed to do? She had always asked - over and over and over again - and never once had he actually said hello.

Who could blame her for not actually planning for the next step?

Song timidly cut some garlic with a clay knife and shyly hummed to herself. “S-so… You, uhm… You come here often?”

"I- I live here," Urangtai's voice came from the room. There was rustling as if he was moving around.

“Oh! Heh! Right!” Song’s mouth flattened as she stared longingly at the knife in her hand. Snap her imagination. Another time passed. She asked, “Do yooouu liiiiike, uh, lots of garlic or not as much?”

Urangtai appeared in the doorway, the bags under his eyes seeming to have partially faded away. He pulled a chair out for himself and sat down, mere feet from Song, “I like it,” He answered.

Song pressed her lips together, the drumming in her heart rolling along uncontrollably. “S-so… Should I add, uh, a lot?”

Urangtai seemed to snap from a thought, “Oh, yes. Please.” he stammered, “Do you like garlic?”

“YEAH! I-I mean, uhm… Yeah, I suppose.” Another silence filled only by the dunk-dunk-dunk of the clay knife hitting the tabletop. “Urang, have you… N-no, never mind.”

The man flickered his eyes in confusion, “Have I what?”

“Nuh-nothing! It’s nothing, really. It’s stupid and dumb and stupid and oh God, I said stupid twice, and ugh! I cut the garlic too big, sorry, sorry, sorry!” She tried to aim her knife to properly part the already microscopic specks of garlic.

“Oh oh!” Urangtai’s eyes widened with worry, a hand reaching out to steady Song’s shoulder as she hastily chopped near her fingers, “You’ll cut yourself.”

“I--!” Song’s finger dodged the sharp blade as Urangtai’s hand clasped her shoulder. She blinked and turned around, staring into Urangtai’s eyes. Her lower lip quivered and her breathing flew in and out her mouth like bees around their hive. “H-how’re you feeling?”

Urangtai went to tell Song that he was actually feeling a little better, but as he did, Song’s eyes were pulled from him to right behind him. The wall of the kitchen seemed to shake for a moment, two black eyes appearing on it. With a wink the eyes disappeared back into the kitchen wall --

“Woah!” Urangtai was suddenly cut off as he lost his footing, the floor slipping out underneath him. He landed into Song, knocking them both to the floor. Remembering the knife, Urangtai squeezed Song close as he rolled them out of the way just in time for the blade to clatter against the floor tiles. Urangtai’s heart was pounding against Song, “I’m so sorry,” he was wide eyed, “I guess I just lost my footing.”

Song stared wide-eyed back at him. Part of her seemed to squirm lose, but the other slowly began to wrap a pair of arms around his back, locking the two together. Her cheeks were at this point practically glowing like two small stars and she swallowed. “It’s… It’s okay. It happens.”

Urangtai went to stand up, only to notice the tug of Song’s arms that gripped him, he gave her a nervous smile, “Um, Song --” Her voice seemed to keep him lingering despite his clear move to leave her grasp.

Song immediately let him go and looked away. “SORRY! Sorry, sorry, sorry - it was just the heat of the moment, andIjustreallywantedtototototo--” The girl looked over at the now boiling pot. “OH, look! The water’s boiling!” She rocketed to her feet, grabbed the minced garlic, oats and uncut scallions, sprinted to the hearth and dropped them into the boiling water. She stirred around chanting sheepish ‘dum-dee-dums’ and tried not to look at Urangtai.

“Oh-oh,” Urangtai sat up, face flushed as he thought on something, “Do you believe in myths and little tales?” He suddenly asked.

“Huh?! Oh, uh-- sure! Which? I mean, uhm, depends on which.”

Before he could answer, there was a sudden knock on the door. Urangtai scrambled to his feet and walked by Song to get it. A few steps more and he was pulling to door aside.

Standing in the doorway was Meiyun, a slant tucked in her cheek and her hands folded in front of her, “Hey Urangtai, I just wanted to apologize for slapp- oh!” She leaned to the side and peaked in, “Hello, Song!” She looked back at Urangtai, “I didn’t know you had a guest, I’m sorry to intrude.”

“No it’s--” Urangtai held his head and blinked, “It’s fine. Really.”

Song shot Meiyun a venomous glare and faked the best smile she could, looking a little like a grinning tigress. “Heeeeeeeeeey, Meiyun! Wow, so nice of you to drop by. Look, reeeeeeeaaaally sorry to say this, but we were juuust in the middle of something. Could you come by a little later, maybe?”

“Oh,” Meiyun looked surprised, “If that’s what Urangtai wants...?”

The man was now holding his head in both hands, gritting his teeth. The woman in front of him twisted from side to side uncomfortably, “Urangtai?”

“Yup, hm?” He looked up and blinked, his eyes wide.

Meiyun let her brow fall, “Maybe I’ll come back l-later, then?” Her voice was more confused than anything else.

“N-no,” Urangtai managed and shook his head, Meiyun mimicking the head shake in confusion, “I wanted to, uh...”

“Be alone with Song,” Song finished mercilessly and grabbed the door handle. “Have a nice evening, Meiyun!” Then she slammed the door shut.

Urangtai seemed to jump at this and turned to Song, his headache slowly fading once again as Song’s voice tickled his ear, “What are you doing!?”

“Wuh-uh-- I was just… We were busy and, y’know, I didn’t want her to interrupt.”

“Ugh,” Urangtai held his head, “I need to sit down...” The man lumbered over to the kitchen table and plopped defeated into the chair, head throbbing. A tendril of particles broke from the wall and out of sight, slithering alongside the floor and up Song’s back. The little hair of particles flicked at her ear.

“Tell him you just didn’t want him to exert himself, tell him you saw his pain coming back, tell him to relax... Let him soak in your voice... also,” The tendril flicked to the other ear, “Bring me a bowl after, that smells amazing.” The tendril slithered back down and snapped back into the wall.

Song swallowed. “It’s just… I didn’t want you to exert yourself… I saw your pain coming back, and, well… I just want you to relax, okay? You’re such a handsome, hardworking man, and you just need to take a day off on occasion, don’t you?” She found a bowl and scooped into it some of the shabby porridge.

Urangtai seemed to melt in his chair, the bags fading from his face as she spoke into his ear. He soon found himself nodding along and then eating her porridge. He didn’t say much, clearly exhausted until finally, “Thank you.”

Song gasped and had to look away as hot, wet tears moistened her eyes. “Y’know… You make me so happy.”

“Your voice...” Urangtai managed, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, “I never noticed how nice it was.”

Song gasped again and giggled. “R-really? Then…” She put her head on his shoulder. “Would you like me to sing for you, too?”

There was a soft bump against her head as Urangtai succumbed to sleep, a gentle snore rumbling from him -- the day proving to have been too much.

Song giggled and went over to the cupboard. She took the biggest bowl she could find and filled it with porridge.

Yullian would get the biggest tribute for this!

---

She broke through the clouds with a giddy laugh, diving in a free fall towards the blue of the ocean. Her body was like an arrow, shot from the bow of the sky, and traveling at such a fast speed. She delighted in it, for truly, it was freedom. She loved flying, from her earliest days. As she thought of Arryn, Arya pushed her arms forward, and used the momentum to shoot off towards the island of green. She flew close to the water, dipping her finger into it. She was home, her only home now, it seemed.

After spending a few days with Split, she had said her goodbyes to her friend. It was difficult, but the fact that she had even found her again, was absolutely incredible. Yet, at the same time, it opened up a yearning for her to travel again, perhaps find Penelope, see Wenbo, Shengshi, Kalmar, maybe even Arae and reconcile with Arryn. And the more she thought about it, the more she knew that was what she needed to do. First, she’d rest at home for a time, and then travel the world, and right old wrongs. Just like what Hermes and Xiaoli would have wanted. She had still not entered the heavenscape… It wasn’t because she couldn’t, but more so, she hadn’t tried. Not yet, anyways. There would be a time, of that she was sure.

As she flew over the tall, jungle trees, she wondered if she should tell her family about the Moksha. Perhaps that would be a discussion for a different day. Soon enough she flew over the Marble Star, it’s beauty unlike anything she had seen in the waking world. She was happy it existed. As soon as she crossed over the tip, she came into view of the large settlement of Nebulan. It’s growth, only yet begun, but still making headway. Yet, the place was more noticeably empty.

And as she attracted attention, most Nebulites she saw looked downcast, even sad. Though many perked up at her arrival. A small crowd gathered around her as she landed before her father’s house.

“Arya you’ve returned!” Said a rosy colored Nebulite. Arya flashed her a smile.

“Thank the gods.” said another and Arya rose an eyebrow.

“Where did Or-” Arya began to frown.

“Arya! Mom! It’s Arya!” Shouted the unmistakable voice of Lily, interrupting the Nebulite. Arya quickly spun around to see Lily running from the front porch before the girl flew into her arms. With a puff, her armor dissipated, replaced by a simple worn dress and a large smile. What she was not expecting was such a tight squeeze, but Arya returned it in kind as a concerned look spread across her face. What was going on?

Ava and Rowan then came out the front door, Ava bounded down the steps in her human form as Arya went to her knees. Ava hugged her tightly as well, and Arya gave each of them a kiss on the top of their heads.

“I’m glad you came back.” Ava whispered, as she nuzzled into her neck. “I am too.” Lily said, with equal longing in her voice. Arya pulled them in tighter, a feeling of warmth blossoming in her chest as she looked up at Rowan, with her hands folded across her dress. Silent tears fell down her pale cheeks.

”W-What happened?” Arya asked in a shaky voice.

---

Days turned into weeks, and weeks to months, as time marched on in the Eye. Eventually months turned to years, and growth was abound. After the initial shock of learning that Orvus and Laurien were gone, leaving Arya with a people to watch over, her grand plans for seeing the world were over. Her duty was to the Nebulites, and Vallamir who now called the Eye home. Not long after she arrived home, the Dragonborn couple left one night, and they did not return. Where they went, Arya and the others, simply did not know. Orb was gone too, another mystery never to be solved. Soon enough, the only questions she found herself asking was why Orvus had abandoned her- No, them, again.

She could hardly believe it at first. She was adamant he would return and all would be well, but after the first year and the birth of her brother, her heart soured. Wherever Orvus had gone, it seemed he was not coming back. She wanted to believe that something vitally important had come up, but it became harder as the years went by. Then there was her sister. Laurien had left with Shenghsi, without even saying goodbye to her. Often she wondered what had driven her sister to such a course of action. Was it something Orvus did? Had she grown so cold to her, that she simply couldn’t be around anymore? She could only guess, in the end.

She told herself frequently that all she had to do was pray. Pray for help, and she almost did, on several occasions, but in the end, she never did. Why? She didn’t really know. Perhaps she had a sour taste in her mouth, after learning what befell Tiben and how he was murdered by ‘Winged Demons’ from some foul god. She knew not the culprit, nor did she want to find out. Or perhaps she simply didn’t want to bother them. Or perhaps… Perhaps she knew not why they never tried to contact her. Was she so little in their eyes, that they simply didn’t have the time? She called herself a fool, but there was something ironic about the whole thing.

The one God who she would have asked, the one who did have the time, (mostly), was in Paradise with her mothers. A place, she seldom visited. For all of its wonders, for all of its promises and endless potential, her life was rooted more deeply every passing day, upon the soil of Galbar. She never told them about what was truly going on in her life, and when she did, it was always half truths. She did not want to be a bother, after all. If she herself had lived in Paradise, she wouldn’t want anyone to ruin that, especially those she couldn’t help in person. That would break her.

But none of this ever deterred Arya, nor greatly brought her spirits down. She realized the situation was unfortunate, that it was even at times depressing, but she had her family there. She had Rowan, Ava, Elowyn, Lily, and Doron. Plus Myra and the Vallamir, and the entire host of Nebulites at her back. They were her people, and they needed her as much as she needed them. Life was abundant and she took upon herself the roles she had cultivated over her lifetime. She taught the Nebulites and Vallamir how to write and read Shengese, which they then modified to their own standard. Language was eventually shared between the Vallamir and Nebulites, and the two species flourished by the others side.

Arya also taught them how to dance, which many took a liking too. On many nights, many would gather around a great bonfire and sing and dance in merriment. It became tradition to dance under the Moksha, when Veradax hung low in the sky and the Garden bloomed with the brightest light. So to did Arya teach them to fight and protect themselves. After the incident with Tiben, she knew it was the only course of action, especially without a God to protect them. She could only be in one place at once, which is why she also founded an order to maintain the peace. They named themselves, Knights of the Black Tear, after Arya herself and all she gave to the people. It was poetic in a way. Lily and Ava were the ones who came up with it, and it the others agreed. The Knights were equipped with the sharpest spears and knives, and pieces of reptile hide to act as a layer of protection. Arya even fashioned wooden swords for practice, in hopes that one day she could give them weapons akin to Wreanon, but that seemed… A ways off.

Lastly, Arya taught clay working, after the Dreamers. The jungle was rich with clay deposits, and many took to it as a pastime and eventual job. And as the tenth year dawned upon them, the Eye was in a state of blissful peace under Arya’s watch. She took on the role of leader, and punished those accordingly. Everything was usually minor, like stealing food, or disputes between neighbors. Then there was the accidents, and unfortunate deaths. They were uncommon but did occur several times every year. What broke her heart most, was the wails of a new mother whose baby would never fly. She could never grow use to it, else a part of her would die, she knew. It reminded her of what the Moksha was able to do, but how did you teach a baby? Or even a toddler?

She felt guilty that she had the answer for the afterlife, and she could hardly give it away to those that needed it most. Slowly she became disillusioned with the Pyres, and it was not long after that she told Rowan, Ava and Lily how to enter Heaven, and swore them to secrecy. They did not understand why K’nell had done what he had done, but they did not object, even if they were immortal. Next on the list was Doron and eventually, Elowyn. The two children had rekindled Arya’s childlike joy. Elowyn was the daughter of Ava and her partner, Ciellion. She was just a baby, not even two months old. Her skin was a light purple, with darker swirls. Her eyes, when open, were starry white like most others and being so young, her hair was only just beginning to grow. It was too soon to see what color it would be. Then there was Doron, the rambunctious ten year old who had a knack for getting into trouble. He was short for his age, at least a head shorter than the other children of his age. His skin was golden brown, glowing ever so slightly. Sat atop his head was curls of golden hair. Strangest of all, his eyes were black, same as Arya. His appearance, much like her own, was an oddity or rarity, among the island Nebulites and there was nothing wrong with that.

Life was what it was in the Eye, after all.

---

There was a crack of wood on wood, followed by heavy breathing and a growl. The smell of sweat hung in the humid air as the sun beat down in the clearing. The clearing was behind Orb’s old home, which had been expanded upon and added too. Much of the original architecture remained, as well as the engravings, which were the basis of other rock carving projects that had erupted across the Marble Star with eager vigor. The home had been turned into the order’s base of operations and where members could go and train, sleep and attend meetings.

The clearing itself was rather just a stretch of cleared forest, and modified with targets, and grass dummies. There was a cache of wooden swords to the side, as well as long sticks and throwing spears. A back balcony had been constructed in the house, very carefully, and took about a year to complete. It wasn’t terribly big, but had a good vantage point for the clearing. Arya stood up there now, hands folded across her chest. She wore simple cloth garments that covered her more sensitive parts, and her hair was held into a bun. She looked down upon Lily and Myra, who were fixated opponents. Lily, in her Nebulite form, had grown up to be taller than even Arya. Both the twins had actually. She wore the same attire as Arya, and had her hair in a loose ponytail.

”Both of you still need to work on your footwork!” Arya exclaimed, ”You have the hitting part down, now all you need to do is the dancing part. Again.” There came a grumble from Lily as she took her place opposite of Myra.

”Did you say something Lily?” Arya said, unamused.

“No, not at all!” the girl said, with a deadpan stare on Myra.

Myra stood with a sparring sword in one hand, and the other behind her back - a technique that she had come up with, and insisted on using with any one-handed weapon. She cast a sardonic look at Arya, before turning back to Lily and pointing her weapon toward her.

Lily grimaced slightly, before twirling her own sword, then using the momentum to jab forward at Myra. With a flick of her wrist, Myra parried the taller woman’s weapon aside, stepped forward, and reversed the course of her own weapon to swing at the now vulnerable opponent. The Nebulite girl snapped her arm back and up over Myra’s head, allowing the wooden blade to catch her opponent’s with a crack. Lily then sidestepped Myra to the right and brought her own blade back down to strike at her.

Myra sidestepped the downward strike, and as the wooden blade passed she launched into a lunge at Lily’s stomach. The blow hit, knocking the wind out of Lily as she fell to her knees. Quickly she pushed herself up and got back to her feet with a scowl of frustration.

Myra turned to Arya. “I think you said something about my footwork?”

Arya rolled her eyes and said, "It's not about making yourself look better Myra. It's about growing and learning together. You'll learn that one day." Her gaze turned to Lily, who had begun to pace as she stared daggers into Myra's skull.

Myra frowned. “I lose, and I am criticized for not fighting well enough. I win, and I am accused of trying to show off. There’s just no pleasing anyone, is there?”

"No one is criticizing you, specifically Myra and you aren't being accused, it's simply the truth. Instead of making sure Lily was uninjured you turned to me and mocked my previous assertion of the two of you. Surely, in your wisdom, you can see the problem there." Arya said coolly.

Myra frowned. “I waited until she got back up,” she pointed out, before turning back to Lily. “And you weren’t injured, were you?”

"Not anymore." Lily gritted through her teeth.

“It’s just a fight,” Myra said, her frown deepening. “It’s not personal.”

"Of course. Nothing personal." Lily feigned a smile.

“I think the problem,” Myra went on, “was that you over-committed yourself, and let me get too close. You are taller than me, and your arms are longer, so you have more reach. You could fight in a way that keeps me at a distance, and then maybe I won’t be able to attack you,” she suggested in a neutral tone.

"Gee, thanks for the tip Myra." Lily said in a sarcastic tone before looking up to Arya, "I'm done for the day." Before dropping her sword and flying off. Arya frowned as she watched Lily go, she could tell the girl was angry at herself for losing again, but Myra did have a point.

"That's all for the day then." Arya said looking at Myra.

Myra stepped forward and knelt to retrieve the discarded sword, carefully brushing off the dirt and grass. “That’s it?” she asked, sounding disappointed. “There’s nobody else I can train with?”

"Well… Everyone else is out on their patrols as you know. I guess… If you really want to train more…" Arya said, floating down to the ground. "It's been sometime since I trained, how about it?" she asked Myra.

“I don’t see why not,” Myra said with a shrug, before holding out Lily’s sword.

Arya took it and stepped back as she twirled it within her hand. She faced Myra before bowing, then taking a defensive stance, sword twirling, her posture relaxed and the expression on her face blank.

Myra, meanwhile, resumed the same stance she had taken before: one hand behind her back, one foot ahead of the other, and her sword held forward. She waited for Arya to make the first move.

With a frightening burst of speed Arya was upon Myra, feigning her first attack, a slash at her upper arm, before jabbing at her stomach instead. Myra recognized the feint a split-second too late, the wooden blade striking her stomach before she could block it in time.

The blue-haired girl doubled over, gasping for breath… A look of concern erupted across Arya's face as she went to make sure Myra was okay but Myra then swung her blade out at Arya’s knees. The blue-haired Vallamir rose to her feet, offhand clutching her stomach while a defiant expression remained on her face.

Arya was hit and grunted, but did not fall over. She stepped back and smirked at Myra. "Clever, knowing that I'd check to see if you were okay. But now it won't work twice." Arya said, resuming the same position she had earlier.

Still gasping slightly, Myra began to circle to the right, bringing her weapon to shoulder level and pointing it forward.

Arya did the same, but opposite of Myra. She eyed her opponent, waiting for her to attack. The air became palpable with anticipation, but still, Myra did not move. It would have to be Arya. The nebulite woman began to dance, letting the fluidity of the movement to bring herself closer to Myra. Her blade began to spin quickly within her hand as she made her approach.

Myra, however, did not allow Arya to close, instead choosing to backpedal away.

In another burst of speed, Arya was upon Myra, slashing her sword at Myra's right side. Myra blocked it just in time, then stepped forward and attempted to swing her weapon across Arya’s stomach. In a flash, Arya parried the swing and with the hilt of her sword, went to slam it into Myra's stomach.

Again, Myra went down, coughing and gasping. But then she dug the blade of her sword into the ground and used it to push herself back up, breathing heavily.

Arya looked over at the girl again, a flash of disappointment came over her, coupled with excitement. Then a wave of guilt hit her hard and concern was painted across her face as she felt disgusted with herself for feeling that way. Shakely she said, "I think that's enough for today, Myra."

At those words, Myra’s legs gave way. She slumped to her knees, gasping more loudly and panting more heavily. It seemed as though she had been hurt more than she let on. “You… think…” she choked as she coughed onto the ground.

Arya threw her sword to the ground and rushed over to Myra, catching her before she fell and hurt herself even more. All previous thoughts abandoned her as she focused on the girl. She cradled the girl, a strong sense of guilt and anger at herself came in droves. "Oh I'm so sorry Myra, I didn't think I hit you that hard. I-I… Just breath Myra. Breath."

“St-sta…” she tried to speak between breaths, but couldn’t, and so she knelt there gasping as Arya held her. Minutes passed. The pain began to fade, and her breath was correcting itself, so she tried again. “Stop… throwing... swords,” she breathed. “People worked… hard… to make… them.”

Arya rolled her eyes before laughing. "Oh Myra. Your life is far more valuable than a sword. We can make more of those, but not you."

“You say that, but the others…” she coughed. “They’ve been busy… lots of children… won’t be long before they replace us…” Myra, for her part, didn’t have any children at all, and over the years seemed to have completely avoided coupling with Nebulites or even the other Vallamir. Many had tried to woo her, of course, but after so many years of refusal that vast majority had given up.

Arya ran her hand through Myra's hair, getting rid of the dry grass that had found a home and said, "Your uniqueness can't be replaced Myra. Not by others, not by replacements. Is… Is that why you haven't had children? Are you afraid you will be replaced?"

She shook her head. “No… that’s not it…”

"Mhmm. Then what is, dearie?" Arya cooed softly.

“Well…” she thought about her words carefully. “When we first got here, the Nebulites kept trying to get us to come to the tree. There was something about the way they acted… they expected it, some even seemed to feel entitled to it. The others went, but I didn’t. Then, months later, children began to be born, and the ones who made them had to raise them, but I thought… if I had children, shouldn’t it be with someone that I trust? But I didn’t have a bond with any of the Nebulites, and the other Vallamir had already paired up with each other. There was nobody left for me, nobody I felt attached to…” she took a deep breath, “or at least nobody who felt the same way.”

Arya embraced Myra gently at the end of her confession. She felt sorry for the poor Mir and strangely, she felt the same way. "You're not the only one who feels that way. The Nebulites… They had a predisposition for that lifestyle, I fear Laurien corrupted that further and Orvus did nothing to stop it. But I also know that someone is out there for you. He or she might not be here but one day you will find them or they will find you and it will just click." she said with a smile.

“Has something like that happened for you?” Myra asked, looking up at her. “Did you meet anyone during your travels?”

It took a moment for Arya to respond. There was someone who she thought once but… She hadn't seen him or heard of him in a very long time. Another unintentional side effect of the Palace leaving. "I… There was someone once, or perhaps there could have been. I don't know." she said.

“What happened?”

"I woke up." she said, smiling softly. "Now… Enough of me, how are you feeling?"

“I don’t feel like I’m dying, at least…” Myra muttered. She pulled herself free from Arya, and rose to her feet, offering a hand to help her up. “There is something else I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

Arya took her hand and rose, then placed her hands on her hips. "Oh?" she said.

“Two days ago, Kalmar finally answered my prayers.”

"I see… And what did you Pray for, Myra?" she asked, surprised.

“Answers,” she said. “He told me how the Vallamir were created, and why. He was surprised to know that some of us ended up here. Apparently we were supposed to land on a place called Kalgrun,” she explained, and then hesitated. “He offered to take us there, but most of us would rather stay, and the rest can’t decide.”

"And you?" Arya asked with a wry smile.

“I don’t know,” Myra shook her head. “I haven’t even seen Kalgrun, but if there’s more of my kind there…” her voice trailed off. “He said he would send his avatar here soon, to take any who want to leave. I suppose I have until then to decide.”

"Arryn? Coming here? Oh my oh my." Arya said giddily. She then collected herself and put a hand on Myra's shoulder, "Do what you think is best, dear. I will support you either way. Avatars travel fast, so it should be any day now, if not hour." she said.

Myra’s eyebrows rose at Arya’s reaction, but she chose not to comment on it. “What can you tell me about Kalmar?” she asked instead.

”Kalmar is the God of the Hunt, creator of Kalgrun and the second person to find me upon Galbar. He raised me for a time. He’s a good god… But at times he can be… Difficult. Thought I might be wrong, I haven’t seen him in years.” she said.

“And what about his avatar?”

”Arryn, the Falcon of the Hunt. He was… My first friend. He was strong, and unafraid to protect those that he cared for, regardless of the outcome it might have had on his own person. I haven’t seen him in… A very long time.” Arya said, her voice full of sadness.

“What happened?” She found herself asking for the second time.

”It’s a long story, Myra. One that I am ashamed of. If Arryn does come… I’ll tell you after.” she gave a sad smile.

“Alright… I’ll let you know if he arrives,” Myra nodded. “I think I’ll head home now.”

”You did good today.” Arya said, scratching the back of her head, ”Sorry about hitting you hard Myra.”

With a nod, Myra turned and walked away.

Arya watched Myra leave, before looking down at her hands. They shook slightly. It was not because Arryn was coming, no, she only felt nervous when she thought about that. This was something else. A familiar presence came upon her and she turned around to see Wreanun floating silently behind her.

His deep voice rang out with clarity. “You couldn’t control your swing, could you?”

”No… I-I felt joy…” she whispered.

“It is what we feared, Arya. I am corrupting you.”

---

The clearing in the jungle was now neatly paved with stone. A proud Orb stood atop the stone foundation, a large hole that lead right to the jungle bedrock beside it. It had taken a while, being limited to percussive and abrasive methods of removing the blocks of stone, but it had been done. Orb looked over to where they kept their pile of stuff and grinned, happy to have the wind play on their bare face while they worked. Building was one of the few things that kept their bad thoughts at bay.

“Shrub!” They called out, “I think the foundation is completed, what do you think?”

Shrub had been laying down on the newly made stone tiles, soaking up the warmth reflected by the material and bathing in the sun that fell incessantly onto their forms. She turned her head lazily toward Orb’s direction and stretched a hand towards her friend, squeezing at the air before letting her arm drift back down.

Orb smiled, “I think so too,” She filled in before looking out, “Do you think we should have the sides be smooth slopes or jagged steps?”

’Owb.’ Mouthed Shrub in response, suddenly jumping up to her feet and running over to Orb’s side to pet her friend’s head.

Orb scrunched under the barrage of petting and grinned, “I need to teach you more words.”

’Owb I Owb you Owb Owb… Ow… O…. Or-b. Rr. Rrrrrr.’ Shrub pouted and hugged Orb.

Orb squirmed as Shrub grazed two bumps on Orb’s ribs and then returned the hug for a brief second before pulling away, “Stone.” Orb said slowly, picking up a rock and handing it to Shrub, who immediately brought it up to her face and gave it a kiss. Following that, Shrub put her free hand on top of Orb’s mouth and nodded.

“Stone,” Orb said into Shrub’s hand, “S-T-O-N-E.”

’Stone?’

“Yes!” Orb said into her hand.

’Yestone!’

“No, just stone!” Orb tried to correct.

Shrub threw the stone over her shoulder and pressed her finger gently against Orb’s forehead. ’Orb Shrub I No You Stone Yestone No, just stone. Just Stone. Just Stone. Ooooowbbbbbuuuu.’

After a while of staring at Orb, Shrub picked up the baby griffin from the makeshift nest they’d made it, and held it up to Orb. ’Stone.

“Infant,” Orb corrected, holding up a finger. They squatted to pick up a rock and popped back to their feet, presenting it, “Stone.”

’Infant.’ Shrub frowned and pointed at Orb, ’Orb,’ Then at herself, ’Shrub,’ And finally at the baby griffin, whose feathers had begun to grow sizable, ’Infant. Infant…. Are? Stone.’

“No, no, Infants are premature models of an adult form,” Orb corrected with a rasp.

Orb then noticed something in the corner of their vision. At some point in the conversation, an unusual bird had landed on the edge of the stone paving - one they had never seen before. Perhaps two feet in height, with brown and red feathers, and a beak that was an unusual shade of yellow. It observed them silently.

Shrub turned her head sharply and sniffed the air, then looked in the direction of the strange bird, who smelled like a more refined and soft version of a Griffin, and her leaves began quivering.

Suddenly the plant wrapped her arms around one of Orb's and looked up into her friend's eyes with wide, starry ones of her own. 'Owb Orb!!'

Orb followed Shrubs cues and patted her -- rather stiffly -- on the head, "It's a bird." Orb said matter-of-factly, "Likely a local species designed to hunt larger prey items."

No, a voice echoed in their minds. I’m unique.

Shrub's leaves stood on end. She looked like a very lush cactus. In her mind's eye, she merely saw images representing the bird's message. And she saw a very weird leaf she'd never seen before. She wanted to lick it but she was also afraid it would be poisonous. So she erred on the side of naivety and crouched down, beginning to crawl slowly towards the bird, so as to not scare its gentle heart.

Orb seemed confused for a brief moment, only to be snapped out of their awe by their companions sudden crawl. They quickly caught up to Shrub and knelt by them -- ultimately scooching to keep up with the plant. They took Shrub's hand and put it over their mouth "What are you doing?"

’What are you doing?’ Shrub replied, then licked Orb’s cheek summoning an eye roll, ’Orb.’

Orb let Shrub's hand go and stood back up. Dusting their cloak off and turning their face away from the bird, they spoke out loud, "What is your designation?" Orb rasped, moving away from the scene and towards their discarded pack.

[color=brown]Arryn, Avatar of Kalmar, the God of the Hunt, Arryn replied. He looked to Shrub. You smell of Li’Kalla, he said within both of their minds, and then turned to Orb. You smell of Orvus, K’nell, and… the bird paused. Something in his eyes seemed to darken. Narzhak. Explain yourselves.

"It isn't polite to discuss another being's odors," Orb replied as they rummaged through their pack before extracting their pale blank mask. Securing it over their face and slipping their hood back over their feathers, they turned back to Arryn, "We are here to build." A certain anxiety seemed to worm out of the back of Orb's mind as they reapproached Shrub and stepped directly in front of her, "That's all."

Shrub looked up at Orb her leaves freezing and coming back down to rest against her head. She quickly stood up and looked back, seeing the blurry figure of the waddling baby griffin a few steps back. Curiously, she pointed at the baby and then at Arryn with an adoring grin on her face.

Why do you have a griffin? Arryn asked her.

A bunch of seemingly endless blurry images, scents and sensations flooded into Shrub’s brain, depicting her journey from the Endless Tree to Kalgrun through involuntary Griffin air traffic, and how she borrowed a newly hatched griffin from a nest because it was clinging to her and she liked feeling its tiny heartbeat whenever she hugged it. Outwardly, Shrub tilted her head and stole a few glances at Orb’s hood-covered head.

And you, Arryn asked Orb, Why are you here?

“To build,” Orb answered, “That really is it.” Their voice was as sad as it was stern, immediately making Shrub hold their hand and look up at their masked face in concern, having felt the strange vibrations coming from the tone of Orb’s voice. “We aren’t looking for help or trouble.”

Yet you come bearing the scent of two gods that have caused trouble for my master and his creations in the past, Arryn countered.

“I apologize,” Orb held their head up to look at the bird through their mask, “But I do not originate from either of those gods, nor do I possess any tasks to be processed in their directive. I am Orb, this is Shrub, we are here to build, and that is all there is to it. If our presence in this location is not preferred, we can relocate...”

You do not originate from them, but you have encountered them - whether you know it or not, Arryn insisted. His gaze shifted over to where Orb’s supplies were piled. He swiftly flew over, landing on the metallic cage. I was mistaken, the bird suddenly realized. Narzhak’s scent comes not from you, but from this. Where did you get it?

“Same as I encountered you,” Orb insisted back before looking over at the cage and freezing momentarily, “That-- that is a very bad object.” Twisting anxiety leaked out of their heart, “Given to us- me before... it is a very bad object.” Orb stuttered, “It is best just to leave it alone.”

It is best that you tell me what it does, Arryn pressed. I can see inside your mind if necessary, so there is no point in hiding the truth.

“It requires the consumption of a species member to work,” Orb tapped their fingers together, stomach twisting as their mind replayed horrible images from the beach, “What it does after that has never been tested, and... won’t ever be.” They looked away, heart dropping as they found Shrub’s face, “Can we discuss a new topic?”

Disgusting, Arryn commented. How did you get it?

“I really don’t wish to converse on the matter,” Orb felt a heat form behind their eyes, a wobble in their chin.

Suddenly, Orb felt a presence invade their mind, and images begin to flash before their eyes: within a few seconds they relived the events of that day - Narzhak’s messengers, the ‘sacrifice’, the ‘gift’, Tiben’s death. Then the presence left, and it was over.

Orb’s face was a shade of red, silent tears dripping off from behind the mask as they stood violated. Shrub looked helplessly at Orb and felt her own eyes tear up. In the end she wasn’t able to do anything but hug her friend close. Instead of squirming away like they usually did, Orb just seemed to stand there and accepted the hug, silent as ever.

Arryn did not - or pretended not to - notice their discomfort. It is admirable that you and your friend turned down Narzhak’s offer. It is also admirable that you persisted despite his death. It seems I misjudged you. Then he paused, and after a moment, spoke again. I will offer you my aid.

“I...” Orb began, squeezing the raspy words through a tear, “You all... just take what you want from me whenever you want it.” Orb fell to the ground, landing on their behind, “Here... there... everywhere.” Orb pulled their legs up to their chest, turning their whole body into a lump of cloak.

Shrub fell along with Orb and twisted and turned her body so there was as much contact as possible against Orb. She tried to get Orb to lay down on the floor and cuddle up to her while waving dismissively at Arryn.

“I just want to build,” Orb said almost silently, “I didn’t want help, I didn’t want trouble, I said that this time...”

I was trying to make sure something like what happened to you would not happen here, Arryn explained. You are not the first of Narzhak’s victims. Now that I know what the threat is, I can remove it. I will take the artifact away, and I will trouble you no more.

“Destroy it,” Orb said without looking up at the bird.

I will try, the bird nodded, But a lot of power was used to make it. If I can’t destroy it, then I will ensure it won’t be used.

“Observe the material it is constructed out of and unbind it,” Orb instructed simply, their raspy voice on old, cold tears now -- a methodical tone returning to their words, “That’s what I was intending to do.”

Divine constructs are not so easily unmade, Arryn explained.

“You’re conversing with a divine construct,” Orb countered softly, “They can be dismantled.”

Anything can be dismantled. That does not mean it will be easy, or that it is within my power. Some things are harder to destroy than others. The power used to make you is nothing compared to what was used to craft this. But as I said, I will try.

“I understand relativity,” Orb finally looked up at the bird, “I also understand that I will in fact destroy it if it remains in my custody, can you not offer me the same guarantee?”

I cannot, but neither can you, so don’t lie to me, Arryn stated firmly. [color=brown][i]Even if you have all the time in the world, and even if there is a way for you to destroy it on your own, you may lose it, or you may die. Any fool can bash your head in with a rock and take it from you, or Narzhak himself might try to reclaim it.”[/color]

“And what about you?” Orb asked with a hollow voice, “Are you going to just take it from me?”

This is about more than just you. If you lose it, then what you seek to prevent may happen anyway, and other creatures will suffer for it. I will take it, but I will give you something in return. And unlike Narzhak, it will not demand a terrible price.

Orb went silent and looked at Shrub for a moment, they seemed at a loss for words. Their hand sneaked behind their mask to wipe their face in silence. Shrub frowned and turned her head slightly to give Arryn a sideways glance, then rolled her eyes and waved her hand again, dismissing the bird before turning back to comforting Orb. The cloaked figure shifted, allowing the comforting while facing away from Arryn, heart pounding in their chest.

You do not realize it, Arryn continued, But both of you are in danger.

“I know,” Orb rasped quietly, “I am very scared.”

The Griffin you took, Arryn looked to Shrub, has a mother. By now that mother will have returned to the nest to find the hatchling gone, and is likely searching for it as we speak. It will kill you, and it will take the hatchling back… but the hatchling has already accepted you as its mother. Do you understand the problem?

“Are you going to hurt us?” Orb looked at Arryn, nearly blurting the words.

Why would I do that? Arryn asked. No, I won’t. But I can help you, if you want. In exchange for taking this item from you, I can give you a blessing which will make it harder for the predators of this land to track you. It will not guarantee your safety, but it will prevent the mother griffin from finding you, and you will be less likely to encounter danger.

Shrub huffed silently and nuzzled her face into Orb’s cloak. “You should know why; you tore into my mind,” Orb answered.

I saw only what I needed to see, and I looked no further, Arryn countered. The rest of your secrets are still yours. Now I am offering you my protection, and this will come at no cost beyond what I have already asked.

Orb looked at shrub as if asking for her opinion. Shrub looked up at Orb’s mask and pursed her lips, then gave a half-hearted shrug and a nod.

“Agreeable,” Orb surrendered.

Arryn outstretched his wings, and a light breeze briefly passed over them, but there was no significant change. It is done, the bird declared. I will leave now. But first, I will give you some more information, he pointed a wing north. If you head in that direction, you will eventually find a species of mortals which have similar intelligence to yourself. If you learn to communicate with them, you may be able to find a place there. If you would rather live in isolation, you can remain here, or pick a different direction. And with those words, Arryn wrapped his talons along the much larger Goregrasp, and took flight, leaving the two behind.

Orb stayed in silence for a while longer. Eventually their glove hand reached up to their hood, ripping it off their head. Taking their mask on the other hand, they tossed it -- the solid frame smashing and skidding across the stone. Their face was downcast and filled with a mix of sadness, anger and nauseous relief. Shrub barely gave Orb a second before her hands found their way to Orb's face and she began to feel around, very efficiently beginning to replicate her friend's expression, then trying to sculpt Orb's face into a smile, getting a tiny grin.

Hate. It was something that Asceal had once struggled to imagine, something learned from cruel experience, and now? It was staring her in the face. The Selka before her glared at the Goddess and for the first time she understood what it was to be reviled. To be something worthy of nothing but disgust, contempt, and hatred in the eyes of another.

It was not something she had expected, and it shook her to the core. Worst still, the Selka man had paired his look with a veritable flood of insults. Each one had struck her like a blow. She’d come in response to a prayer unlike any other she’d received, one that cursed her name and accused her of bringing death and suffering to those she’d never even seen, let alone spoken to.

The invectives came as soon as she’d materialized before her accuser, and in the midst of his vitriol she’d learned why he loathed her so. Which left her as she was now, dim, tears streaking down her face, and a silent visage regarding her sorrow as little more than what she deserved. The worst part of it all was that she knew that was true.

She’d looked into the furious Selka’s mind and she’d seen the truth of his words. Her ‘chosen people’ the few Selka she’d blessed, had used what she’d given them in a way she hadn’t, no, couldn't have anticipated. They’d taken a gift of life and used it to bring death.

Perhaps one of, or any of her siblings would have foreseen it. Give someone the ability to endure nearly any injury and they could act with immunity. They could decide to take what they wanted, and who would stop them? A tribe with clubs? Crude spears? If all it took was a moment to recover then an attacker could simply outlast any reprisal.

Which was exactly what Ovmo had done. Before her was a bruised and bleeding man whose only crime had been carrying his bounty of fish from the shore to his people. A bounty that others desired. His injuries were slight, but the food he’d lost was a greater blow that any club could deliver. Tonight his children would go hungry.

Asceal had taken his angry words, even the blows as he’d tried to exact his revenge on her, and known that it was infinitely less than what the Selka had endured. She knew, even without peering into his mind, that no words could soothe him, and no actions could restore his faith in gods, least of all in her. So she didn’t try. With a motion she healed him, and with a thought she evaporated.

She hadn’t followed Ovmo and Shufoyu to their home, but she’d heard their prayers and the prayers of their people. She was there before the furious Selka she’d left had even managed to blink.

She didn’t take the time to revert to her original form, nor did she take care to moderate her presence. Just over thirty Selka tried to scatter as a searing light engulfed them and rendered them temporarily blind, but each and every one halted as the voice of a Goddess boomed, “What have you done?!”

Most of the Selka were frozen in shock, some flinched, but only two tried to reply. Shufoyu, cradling a young child and covering its eyes with her hand, managed a halting reply, “My Goddess I- I don’t know what you mean, but please, please, there are children here.”

At the Selka’s words Asceal felt a rush of shame that almost eclipsed her fury. In the span of a moment the searing light faded to a soft glow and the red burns on the Selka around her all but vanished. Still, she asked again, this time with cold edge to her words, “Shufoyu. Ovmo. What have you done with the gift you were given.”

Shufoyu, busy fussing over the child she held, glanced nervously at her brother. She opened her mouth, but didn’t manage a word before Ovmo all but shouted to the air, “What you told us to do Goddess! Everyone in our tribe knows the magic you taught us. Some have taken to it better than others, but we taught them all! Isn’t that what you wanted?”

There was a moment of silence, and the next words emanating from the glowing air seemed calmer, “Yes. That is what I asked you to do. Tell me Ovmo, what have you, what has your tribe, used my gift for.”

The Selka seemed to pale, but it didn’t stop him from puffing out his chest and declaring, “We’ve used it to keep our people healthy, to keep them fed! We’ve cared for your chosen people!”

“My chosen people.” The disembodied voice of Asceal mused, “Tell me, Ovmo, how has my magic managed to keep my people fed?”

Ovmo deflated a little, him and a group of Selka exchanging nervous glances before he spoke again, “We’ve healed out hunters after their injuries. We’ve kept the children healthy and strong so they can help store fish for the winter. Your gift has helped us in countless ways Goddess! You have our- our greatest thanks!”

To Ovmo it was a clever evasion, but to Asceal? She’d looked into the Selka’s mind the moment she’d arrived. She’d known the truth before she even spoke. Asceal had hoped Ovmo would offer an explanation, hoped he would show remorse, but instead he’d lied to her. Perhaps to some it would just be an omission, but to Asceal? Ovmo had lied.

Her tone became biting and again the light surround the Selka seemed to grow unpleasant, “Your thanks. I gave you a gift Ovmo, and in return you lie. You lie and you thank me. Did you think I would never know? Or did you imagine I wouldn’t care? You used my gift, a gift of life, to bring misery and death. To abuse your fellow mortals and take from them what you could not manage to attain yourself. You do all this and you thank me. You thank me for giving you the strength to terrorize others.”

Ovmo tried to speak, but he found the task impossible. It was as if his tongue had been thorn from his throat, only worse. He opened his mouth to speak, to shout, to say anything, but he couldn’t even make a sound. Most of the Selka around him were staring at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief, but a few? They were only afraid.

It was a fear that was more than justified. Seven Selka, including Ovmo, found themselves incapable of making any noise at all. Their words died in their throats. As the Selka around them realized what had happened some began to panic, but not before Shufoyu, eyes wide, shouted, “Please! Ovmo- He couldn’t have! This is too much!”

Perhaps if the young woman had held her tongue things might have gone differently, but she spoke precisely at the wrong moment. Asceal’s voice boomed, “Too much!? Your brother deserves worse than that. And you, you. How is it Ovmo did all he did and you didn’t notice? How is it you didn’t tell me? Were you not my ‘chosen people’? Is your Goddess only worth addressing when you want something?”

The light began to consolidate, and before long Asceal stood before Shufoyu. The Selka held the child, her child, as close to her as she could and all but whimpered, “I didn’t know. I just- I knew he was coming back from the hunts quickly but I didn’t think-”

Asceal cut her off, disgust on the Goddess’s face and in her words, “You suspected. Almost all of you suspected. Some of you even knew. You cannot lie to me, you cannot hide from me, I have seen you.”

She turned around, her wings flared, “I have seen all of you. I have seen how you turned a blind eye, how you let evil into your homes because it wasn’t your evil. If you didn’t help them it wasn’t your fault. I can see you thinking that. And I can tell you this: You are wrong.”

It was at that moment that some of the Selka, all of the ones rendered mute and some of their families, tried to run. The Goddess didn’t chase them, she only waved her hand and turned back to Shufoyu and the few that remained. Her expression cold, but no longer furious. “They cannot run from what they did. From this day forward they will hunger, but they will never be full. They will love, but they will have no children.”

Asceal met Shufoyu’s eyes, “And along with you, they will no longer have access to my magic.”

The Selka woman fell to her knees, and she begged, “Please. Goddess. Asceal. I should have said something, I should have asked Ovmo or prayed to you, but please. My daughter is only alive because I used your magic to save her a winter ago. She… She’s done nothing wrong.”

Asceal paused, and her walls shattered. The Goddess’s expression shifted to one closer to sorrow than rage, and her voice was low and regretful, “No, she didn’t. All the children that weren’t taken by your brother’s people will be able to use my magic, Shufoyu. Teach them how.”

Shufoyu nodded, even as she wept, and the Selka who hadn’t fled with her brother slowly edged towards her. Shufoyu had talked the Goddess down, or at least it looked that way before Asceal continued, “But remind your daughter Shufoyu. Her Goddess will be watching her.”

A warning, a threat, and a promise. It was the last thing Asceal ever said to Shufoyu. Luminous wings sprang into action and the Goddess was high above Galbar. Higher than any Selka could see. She was angry, she was sorry, she was disgusted, she was ashamed, and she was terrified. Not because of what she’d done, but because she’d had to do it. The gods had raged against each other, they’d been wicked, they’d even killed one of their own. She knew that.

So why had she been so certain mortals were better? Ovmo hadn’t had a reason to hurt anyone, and yet he did. Just as Sartravius and Katharsos had. Asceal shook as she realized what might already be happening, what might already have happened. She felt sick as she considered what would happen on Galbar if the mortals her siblings had made were even a quarter as flawed as they were. As she was.

A part of her hoped against hope that it was just Ovmo, but deep inside she knew it was not. Perhaps katharsos had done something to the ash that grew into new souls. Perhaps it was just the natural way of life. Perhaps it had all been a mistake. Perhaps she should have never come to this universe, and perhaps she shouldn't have tried to help anyone at all.

Asceal was paralyzed by the thought, but she had to know. The time for ignorance was over. There would be no more assumptions. She thought back to the moment she’d emerged in the Architects palace, and with her mind ablaze with question and doubt the Goddess went to the one place she could get her answers.

She went to the observatory.

---

At the sound of spring’s rebirth in the city, Anu, King of Talemon pushed aside the stack of reports he had been sifting through and glanced towards one of the south-facing grate windows occupying a wall of his office.

This day, a handful from the late planting season, saw the young divine casual in a light wrap of fine boars hides, just managing to cover most of his massive torso. As his bright gold eyes scanned the clear skies visible through the window, he absently ran a hand down one of his locs, long cylinders of ivory hair palm-rolled and held in place by bands of dry clay. Two about the size of a river snake lay dangling upon his chest. ‘Final hours before noon already,' he mused. 'And here I am, pouring over reports from the rice paddies.'

In spite of the grave, self-deprecating tone employed by Zhu Rongyuan in his reports, the overall state of the rice crops seemed to immensely outperform that of last year. They were merely approaching the middle of the flood seasons and already the crops stretched tall out of the paddies. The most optimistic estimates offered the possibility of a second, additional planting and harvesting season, an outcome that could secure them food safety to sustain unprecedented population growth - provided there came no unforeseen interruptions.

‘Unforeseen interruptions.’ the big king weighed. With mid-spring sunshine pouring into his southern windows, the ideas of unforeseen occurrences where far from his mind. One could not simultaneously prepare for and prevent the unknown.

Chains clinking softly, Anu rolled his heavy shoulders, undoing the knots in his divine body.

”Summon Zhu to me.” he order without looking .

A leaf-bearing pygmy obliged and left the room.

Heaving a quiet breath the demigod lowered himself into his chair and raised thin parchment to the sunlight. With Talemon sustained by rice grain, he could turn his eye elsewhere, strengthening his nation one step at a time.

A quick moment passed and soon, Zhu Rongyuan approached with an inclined head, lowered himself to his knees and prostrated himself before the great ape. “This servant has been summoned by its King. How may it serve?”

”Cherished Zhu, I assume you are doing fine this afternoon?” he began, setting down the sun-kissed report. ”I commend you for you work on the rice paddy project, with your industriousness, Talemon grows.”

The servant dipped his head a little lower, as if that was physically possible. “This servant is unworthy of His Majesty’s praise - it is sworn to see His Majesty’s land prosper, and in time, it shall.” There came a sigh. “His Majesty has no doubt taken note of this servant’s failure as reported.”

Anu answered without looking up, instead shifting through parchment until a number had been separated from the rest. ”The…..Abegunde incident I presume?”

“The very same,” Zhu confirmed shamefully. “The source of the issue is still a mystery. This servant has yet to return to the farm - additional time will be required before the source is found.”

“A lead that strengthens Talemon is a lead worth pursuing endlessly, Zhu. We are Talemonese, failure is only an example to learn from, don’t sully our name by wallowing in shame. We are better than that.” he deadpanned nonchalantly.

The statesman swallowed. “A-at once, Your Majesty.” He sat up into a seiza position, head still inclined. “Moving onto a different subject now that this servant is honoured by His Majesty’s attention, a new system of production centralisation has been drafted. This servant will proceed to read them to You if it may.”

The great ape affirmed with a shift of focus, dropping the Abegunde reports and leveling an expectant gaze at Zhu. The statesman extracted a dry, rolled up boarskin scroll from the fold of his robe and unfurled it slowly as to not damage it. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud the Shengshese logographs written upon the skin in the dry juice of various berries and insects in place of proper stone ink.

“At the request of His Majesty Anu, a survey has been conducted with the intention of pinpointing areas of improvement on the mission to achieve the greatest effectiveness in production. The survey has been conducted by His Majesty’s humble statesmen at the Talemonian Granary Office under the leadership of Zhu Rongyuan and his assistants, M’benge and Idogbe.” The servant’s eyes simulated old age, and in the same manner, he squinted towards the king and inclined his head with a gentle wince at bone aches that didn’t truly exist. “Would His Majesty prefer a summary of these servants’ findings?”

”Please.”

Zhu nodded. “To summarise, these servants found that the current system of private ownership of each farm offers little to the state as a whole. When each farm is tended to by one family without a proper surveillance and leadership structure, it can be difficult to mobilise the farmers to work the fields more than what is necessary to sustain themselves. Furthermore, due to the size of the plot of land required to sustain paddies, allowing every family their own plot would in time exhaust the amount of land we have along the banks of Beihe.” Zhu raised a finger. “Therefore, these servants have reached the conclusion that all food production should be nationalised by His Majesty’s state and managed by a subsection of His Majesty’s court. In order to avoid corruption, as per His Lordship’s teachings about the temptations of mortals, the title should not be hereditary - even though this conflicts with His Lordship’s teachings on the values of parental teachings in political positions. These servants believe this contradiction of teachings to be moot in comparison to what a properly managed agricultural sector could provide.”

”Praise worthy, Zhu. As I respect my father and his sacred teachings I dare not speak ill of it, but a hereditary system stands heavily against the ideas upon which I wish to build Talemon.” Anu acknowledged, not for a moment taking his eyes off Zhu’s face.

”See to the implementation of the bureaucratic entities required and find and train ones worthy of the positions. Have any of the finer details been hammered out? Like workers compensation?.”

“Naturally, Your Majesty - with a worker base under close monitoring, the foremen can more easily pick out outstanding labourers. Such exceptional individuals will be given additional ration plaques for their hard work, thus providing their families with safety in terms of food. The farmers shall not go wanting for the days of their own farms. In regards to the foremen themselves, they shall undergo intensive screening and tests to assure that they are incorruptible. All the grain their workers harvest will go to the Granary and be distributed from there. Any and all deviations from this prerogative will be met with the punishment of death.”

”Good, reward the talent and hardwork of the exceptional. I also assume this would require the implementation of ration plaques on a grand scale. How are we establishing their rates?”

“Using our current system, one plaque offers enough grain for a quarter year per individual. This will have to be drastically reduced - likely down to weekly rations. The state will ensure that enough of these plaques are made so that each citizen potentially may receive two per week. This method of production shall be maintained as long as the state can accurately monitor the number of births in our nation.”

”Set up an office responsible for administering an official census and keeping records of such nature as soon as possible.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” Zhu replied. “Are there any other matters His Majesty wishes to discuss?”

A pause filled the room as Anu rapped his fingers against the smooth wood of his desk table. The thought seemed to escape him.

”Ah! The domestication of the plains boars I proposed earlier. Any update?”

Zhu nodded slowly. “Ah, yes… Once more, this servant can only bring news of a disappointing nature - while the swine responded kindly to the rice we offered them, they seem unwilling to remain in the pens we’ve made. On numerous occasions have there been escapes and lost pigs running through the camps. Most of these sadly are never caught again. The pens are being reinforced as we speak, but much of the clay deposits are reserved either for house construction or emptying. Resource gathering operations will need to expand before we can tame boars on any large scale.”

”A slow going effort then. Keep me updated on that projects progress.” he added. ”I believe that to be all.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Further reports will arrive post-haste.” The servant kowtowed again, rose and walked backwards out the room while continuously bowing to Anu.

Anu let out a silent sigh as he lifted his eyes back to the window. Heliopolis had traveled further into the sky, the bright city taking with it it’s life giving light and allowing the Night-Mother to invade its territory. He’d spent the bulk of his day handling the affairs of state and governing as a king should, he’d spend the rest doing the same.

In one swift motion the massive ape rose from his seat and padded towards the portal, pygmy guards quick to fall in step with their mighty king. Just as he was about to exit the palace, however, a panting pair of guards came running over. They fell to their knees, their momentum sliding them onwards in the humid dirt.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” they called. “A great beast is approaching from the jungle!”

Slits of golden fire blazed like the surface of Heliopolis in the evening light, the giant war-king seething at the sight.

Clarification was not needed. As the guards had foretold, an absolutely massive shadow stretched several hundred metres into the sky, cragly, biological curves and dents on the bottom giving way to structure contours and semblances of great towers and buildings. From Talemon’s streets, it was unclear what exactly the beast was, but what was clear was that it was approaching the city.

”Gather the warband!” Anu snapped at his guard without looking. It was like a snarl of thunder from a storm-filled sky, abrupt and bold. Any semblance of coherence was lost to the pygmy, but stunned they were into sprinting off by virtue of the immediate end they were likely to face otherwise.

With steps befitting a divine on a mission, Anu marched through the streets, his very presence enough to send his citizens cowering for cover, albeit the beasts presence only served to aid this. In a matter of moments Talemonese warriors feel in-step with him, even of the best of the best shaken by colossal shadow, but were visibly awed and shook by the visage of their king.

On his face was an expression of grim determination screwed by vestiges of unadulterated rage that threatens to further crack his emotionless mask. He was a bulwark to the tidal wave of panic and fear that washed through the city, a white tower in the night. Regardless of the pygmies strength, they would prove themselves this night.

The great monster’s shadow covered the whole of Talemon - even the white spires of Tal Eren turned a pallid gray before it. The monster seemed to stop some distance away from the magical barrier of the mansa, but it didn’t seem as though the barrier was the reason. It stood glaring down at the warriors with its one, crystal blue eye. Atop its head, a number of specks unobservable to mortals seemed to look down at the pygmy warbands and Anu, as well.

With divine eyes though, the ape easily could make out the oblong shapes. They appeared pale, bilateral like the pygmies, though hairless save for mainly strands running down along their heads, some running over the shoulders. From what the great ape could see, their numbers were few, and the bulk of them seemed to be quite young. Their clothing struck an uncanny resemblance to those of his councillors.

A small gesture ushered a warrior into a kneel by his side; Lang’engatshoni, a wiry thin but exemplary soldier.

“Your Majesty.”

”Gather up a company and welcome our visitors.” he rumbled, eyes not leaving the hairless apes.

“With haste, my king!” the warrior barked, quickly jumping to his feet and gathering those he deemed capable from the King’s warband. Within moments a cadre numbering only a humble nine picked their way through their city towards the giant turtle.

---

Lang’engatshoni and his warriors hadn’t reached all the way over before four of the hairless apes entered their view. They walked carefully through the grass as though it was their first time setting their feet on this soil. The four of them were rather different in appearance:

The tallest among them appeared to be male - aged, black down adorning his upper lip and chin with black hair uniting in a bun atop his head. His left eye had a large blue circle around it. He wore crimson, cumbersome robes, much in the same way the councillors did. He was flanked on the left by a lady of seemingly equal age, this one, too, dressed in beautiful, yet impractical robes. Her hair was alabaster, and in her hands she held what looked like a wooden fish. Next to her stood a younger looking man in black robes with trims of white, matching his long straight flood of alabaster hair and cascading beard, and finally next to him was clearly the youngest and shortest. She wore tight fitting clothes that seemed useful for manual labour and moving around, on her golden speckled face she wore a stern look, and on her hip she wore a long curved blade of earthen color. The oldest man said something in an unintelligible tongue, looking at the pygmies in what seemed to be an expectant manner.

The Pygmy shifted awkwardly, looking amongst themselves with what could only be described as confusion. Their chagrin was frustratingly familiar yet so unrecognizable.

Lang stepped forward and kowtowed in the way one did greeting his elder. “Talemon welcomes you.”

The four seemed utterly surprised by the act, and the elder lady seemed to tell the others something. She then stepped forward a bit and offered the kowtowing Lang the wooden fish in her hands.

Slowly the ape rose and trepidatiously accepted the thing, unsure of what the fish meant. Murmuring confusedly under his breath, he turned it every which way he could. The craftsmanship was breathtaking, unlike anything he had ever laid eyes on, even rivaling the skills of his toolmaker brother, Ogundairo.

“Ah ah, what is this?” he puzzled aloud, moving to bring the fish closer to his face.

The elder lady said something and the fish uttered, “Howdy, y’all. Please, don’t be frightened of lil’ ol’ me. I’m just a translator. Oh, and the lady says hi.”

Shifting slightly, Lang brought the now talking Woden fish far from his face, not so much startled as much as he was perplexed.

“You speak?”

"Sure do, mister. I'm the Babble Fish - folks babble 'n I make sense of it. Oh, speakin' of, the old gentleman in the fancy dress's sayin’ his name is Wenbo and that he represents the Dreamer race. They come in peace."

The warrior-ape cast a cursory glance at the one called Wenbo, if garb was an indicator of anything, he certainly looked the part.

“Ah, I am Lang’engatshoni, son of Adedayo and warrior of the King’s Warband. We welcome you to Talemon.”

He glanced at the alabaster haired woman and nodded.

“And hi.”

The fish clicked his tongue. “Oh, right - forgot to tell ya. They don’t understand you, sir. I know it’s a bit inconvenient, but could I ask ya to hand me back to the lady?”

Lang glanced at the cadre of Pygmy at his back, all who seemed similarly lost. With expression neutral he handed the fish back towards the lady. The lady graciously accepted it, though it was evident that they, too, thought this process was a little cumbersome. The four looked down at the fish for a moment before relieved smiles spread across their faces. The lady offered the fish back. A tiring Lang received it and the lady began to speak.

“Howdy again!” the Babble Fish said cheerfully. “The lady’s saying they’re all overjoyed to meet ya and to be welcomed. She’s now askin’ if it’s possible to see this King of yours - y’see, these folks are new in the country ‘n are eagerly lookin’ for new friends.”

With a click of his tongue, the company of Pygmy dissolved into the city. “We send for him immediately.” he husked, and gave the thing back a final time.

The Dreamers seemed very content at the answer and proceeded to wait expectantly. The lady produced some small glazed clay disks from a wicker pack the shortest girl had brought along. They was beautifully patterned with various shades of brown and beige and were just deep enough to possibly function as small bowls.

Within meer moments the massive silhouette of the great ape came into view, shadowed by the company of Pygmy. A distinct rattling could be heard from a distance, and as the regal divine finally came to a stop a few get away from the envoy, it was clear that the chain looped around his mighty forearm was the culprit.

Rivers of intense gold bared down upon the Dreamers, although there was no aggression in his posture, he had been filled in on the way.

”I am King Anu, son of Shengshi and Narzhak and lord over Talemon.” he began, all Pygmy fell to their knees at the sound of his voice. ”I was made aware that you were a fledgling nation out looking for friendship.”

The Dreamers collectively blinked. “Son of Shengshi?” the one known as Wenbo went. Then all four of them fell to their knees before Anu. “Your Holiness, it is a most profound honour to meet you. I am Wenbo, leader of the Dreamers and patriarch of the Wen clan.” He looked up and gestured to the three others. “This is my wife, Ai, the Lady of Mengcheng; Zhong Wang, the headmaster of the Hermian Academy; and Zhong Ming, general of the City Wardens. As you said, Your Holiness, we come in search of friends, and bring with us a gift of craftsmanship for this people’s great leader.”

Ai held forth the collection of clay plates. There were ten in total, and their patterns differed slightly upon closer inspection - the difference appeared intentional rather than accidental. “We hope His Holiness finds this work to be an acceptable gift.”

Anu took the plates and held them aloft, studying them for a moment before nodding and handing them to a Pygmy who cautiously took hold of the things. ”Remarkable work, to have skills like these would be of great use to Talemon.” he said, offhandedly adding the second half for his own mental notes and gesturing for them to rise. ”I see you know of my father.” he paused, then blew the air out of his nose. ”The beast smells of him and faintly of the fires to the east, the other scents I fail to recognize. I take it he blessed you.”

"In more ways than one," Zhong Wang spoke with a tip of his head, "We the dreamers are descendents of His Lordship Shengshi's own divine fragment, Elder Mother Xiaoli -- and descended as well from the love of the great God, K'nell, his Hermes. His Lordship Shengshi has seen our fragment of the Dreamer population and blessed us further, granting us this divine beast as our new home upon this land."

”It’s just like him to do such things. Well, Dreamers, if he has deemed you worthy of such kindness, then I too shall count you worthy of my respect.” He made a small motion and a Pygmy farthest from him dissolved into the city. ”I’ve summoned my council, I’d like to get down to business.”

“O-oh! Certainly,” Wenbo said cheerfully. “If I may be so rude as to ask, what are these people Your Holiness rules? Forgive me, but our kind has never seen their likeness before.”

”Pygmies, children I created to tame the wildness of this world. They will sire a world empire.”

Wenbo nodded. “They look well fed and powerful, Your Holiness - such an ambition should be most possible.”

”Of course, Lord Wenbo. Could I expect your support or would leave me high and dry?” he chagrined, his laugh like crashing waves.

Wenbo joined in with a warm chuckle. “While we have no such great aspirations as a world-spanning empire, our God and our Lord both advocate for the sharing of gifts. For example, if I am not mistaken, Your Holiness implied earlier that the great city of Talemon is unfamiliar with claycraft. Is this true?”

[color=MistyRose]”Indeed.”[color] he said curtly, inwardly noting the deviation from his original question. ”Our councilmen can attest to that.” he introduced as the regal forms of his statesmen approached. They walked shoulder to shoulder, their four facades radically different in stature, clothing and posture: Zhu Rongyuan, dressed in black robes worn with wear, walked with a craned back to indicate his simulated age; Qiang Quan, dressed in a worn white gi with a pair of straight kali sticks on his belt, had a chestful of pride in his stride, his back straight as an arrow; Fu Lai’an, though clad in an ageing red silk dress nonetheless gaited cheerfully alongside her colleagues, an improvised leaf fan in her hand; Yong Cai, dressed in overworked linen pants and shirt, kept a hand on the head of the trusty hammer at her hip. They stepped over to their King’s side, kowtowed before the Dreamers and stood back up.

“Judging from what we’ve heard, we trust the esteemed guests are familiar with Shengshese?” Zhu Rongyuan offered politely.

“With a bit of an accent, perhaps--” Ai began before she noticed Fu Lai’an struggled to hold back a giggle. Qiang Quan shot his colleague a quick glare and the musician stifled the laugh. Zhu put his hands together and smiled.

“Now, now, friend - it may just as well be us; for fifty years, these four servants have sworn allegiance to His Majesty, Anu, with the mission of crowning Him as king of the world and forge a realm of prosperity. However, due to our distance from the holy Jiangzhou, there’s a possibility that these servants have adopted some Talemonese linguistic traits. Forgive them if their words turn to soup to the ear.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Ai assured and gave the quietly snickering Fu Lai’an an uncertain frown.

Zhu clapped his hands. “Fantastic. Then allow these ones to introduce themselves and we will proceed to His Majesty’s palace with His permission.” He gave Anu a respectful nod. “This one is named Zhu Rongyuan, His Majesty’s minister of state and agriculture; this one is Qiang Quan, His Majesty’s warleader and commander of the Talemonese forces; this one Fu Lai’an, His Majesty’s minister of culture and arts - a cheerful soul, as you’ve noticed; and lastly, Yong Cai, His Majesty’s master architect.”

The Dreamers bowed again. “A great pleasure,” Wenbo stated.

A sharp clap filled the air. ”Well then, with that out of the way, let us get down to business. Might I offer you shelter within my palace?”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Wenbo said graciously and followed the demigod and his councillors to the palace along with the three other Dreamers.

---

The inside of the palace was dim and cool, as opposed to the mighty shine of Heliopolis outside, but it was far from dark. The bulk of the palace was in reality a great roof carried on hundreds of mighty ivory pillars, making the closed off inner sanctum the only real ‘room’ in the building. In there, pygmy servants had brought a grilled boar, boiled rice and vegetable and flower salads. The councillors took their places on the floor at the flanks of their king. The Dreamers stood and marveled at the majestic interior of the ivory palace - the king’s personal chambres had beautiful carvings on the walls and roof.

” Please, make yourselves comfortable, venerated of Shengshi.” he offered gesturing towards their seats. The Dreamers snapped out of their trances, nodded and sat themselves down with varying speed.

The great ape shifted forward, golden disks eyeing them expectantly. ”Let us begin then. To get straight to the point, you came bearing gifts and the intention of founding a friendship. From what I’ve seen, we’d be quite foolish to refuse.”

"Certainly, Your Holiness. We know next to nothing about this land or the rest of the world, and figure finding friends is of the highest priority. In return for an equal sentiment, we are more than willing to offer our knowledge of crafts, agriculture and animal husbandry," Wenbo said with a wide smile.

”A trade of goods and ideas?” He glanced at his council. ”What say you?”

Zhu Rongyuan nodded. “It is evident that this man has the blood of His Lordship, Your Majesty. In His Majesty’s words, we would be foolish not to accept.” The three others nodded along, especially a very eager Yong Cai.

”Then I believe we are in agreement, Wenbo. The establishment of beneficial trade between Talemon and Mengcheng.” he announced, lips curling.

“Fantastic!” the dreamer celebrated. “Such a joy when friends come to agreement so quickly. Though forgive me, may we be so rude as to ask for a little something in return? His Holiness understands, my people number few, and while we have the knowledge to explore all manner of scientific and industrial horizons, we lack the manpower to harvest the goods of the land for our endeavours. Would it be possible if the mighty Pygmy race could help us gather clay, wood, crops and animals for our city? Naturally, both they and Your Holiness’ realm will be generously compensated for the work.”

Ming seemed to steal a glance at Wenbo, an inkling of surprise in her eyes before looking back towards the council, mind now clearly abuzz.

Anu remained expressionless, though his voice betrayed a jovial tone. ”Surely you traveled far, how did you manage to arrive here with numbers low and store house needing supplies without a stop or two?”

“As His Holiness noted earlier, we have the fortune of His Lordship’s blessing. Our city came will larders full, but the workhouses and storage facilities for industrial goods were empty. We have made stops and gathered what we can, but…” He pursed his lips. “We could achieve more - together.”

“We do not wish to be a burden, though,” Ai assured in an almost interrupting manner to her husband.

"If I may?" Zhong Wang folded his hands.

Wenbo furrowed his brow momentarily and looked to Anu. (ape nods or something)

"I suggest to our two Lords here that should such a deal be struck, the city of the Dreamers acquires no more than thirty new workers. Forgive my openness, My Lord, but we do not have the ability to promise compensation nor security for any more than half our current population, nor would it be in our morals to have our hosts offer to do more work than ourselves, in citation of the words of Chagatai's principles of leadership," Zhong Wang folded his hands back into his lap, "I'm sure our general would be able to validate my concerns?"

Ming looked at Wenbo. The dreamer lord looked a little deflated, but motioned for her to speak.

"Master Zhong Wang is correct, too large an influx of new workers would strain our current security and medical logistics," She bowed her head.

Wenbo gave them both frowns, but his wife nodded along with their words. “Furthermore, I reckon my husband meant for it to be a temporary arrangement - a mission to resupply, if you will. A workforce numbering thirty or fewer will strain neither our capacity to ensure their health and safety nor His Holiness’ own projects and processes.”

Zhu Rongyuan hummed and pursed his lips. “Given that the planting season is nearing its end, we have a higher number than usual of available workers - however, if we are to expand our own industrial sectors with our esteemed guests’ knowledge, then we cannot afford to offer too many.” He raised two fingers. “I propose that we send twenty.”

”Mind you, while clay and wood are resources aplenty–although the latter my council may correct me on if otherwise–crops are not. Am I to assume you request the lot of our fields? Or does the beast carry farmland too?” he surmised.

Wenbo cleared his throat to reassert his role as representative and nodded. “Chuanwang carries enough farmland to sustain our people, Your Holiness, so there will be no need to worry about that. It is merely construction and craft resources we ask for.”

”And you find twenty workers agreeable?”

Wenbo nodded. “That will already be of immense aid, great king.”

”Then it will be done. And in return I am to assume boon?”

Wenbo looked to his followers. “The knowledge of claycraft as well as a selection of the items we make?”

“Sounds fair and just to me, Lord Wenbo,” Zhong Wang tipped his head, Ming following with a bow of her own.

The giant king turned towards his council. ”And what say you?”

“What manner of items, if this servant may ask?” Fu Lai’an inquired. Ai tapped her chin.

“Various plates, pots and disks, if it pleases?” she answered and gave her companions a look. The servant shot a glance at Zhong Ming’s hip.

“This servant couldn’t help but notice that glazed sheen on the lady general’s waist. Pray tell, is that a weapon?”

Ming looked at Wenbo, who returned a slightly disappointed nod. “Go on.”

“It is a weapon,” Ming tipped her head, “Merely meant for the defense of our people.”

“A weapon?” Qiang Quan interjected with a raised brow. “What manner of weapon? A dagger?”

“A long knife, as made by our Elder Mother Hermes,” Ming replied, “Curved to ease in cutting and slashing, long enough to keep distance between the fighters.”

“What is it made of?” the warleader continued.

“Tendlepogan clay,” Ming answered as she ran a finger over the perfectly smooth surface, “Polished in the slippery sap of the stampeding trees.”

“Tendlepog, you say?” Zhu asked curiously. “Is that where you’re from?”

“Can this weapon be reproduced with local clay?” Qiang Quan added.

“Is ‘stampeding tree’ an innuendo of some sort?” Fu thought out loud.

Wenbo looked pleadingly at Anu and said, “We do not yet know if we can produce anything of this quality here - our Mom was a crafter unlike any other mortal. To copy her work is a mission we cannot promise we will complete at this stage.”

A steady palm called to silence the deliberation. ” Did your ’Mom’ perhaps leave any blueprint or recipe to follow?”

“W-well…” Wenbo started and scratched his head. “Master Zhong, what do you figure?”

"Fortunately," Master Zhong Wang began, "Our Elder Mother kept records of her knowledge and that of Tendlepog. With time I may be able to peruse what journals we have taken with us, as well as her special books." The corner of his mouth twitched, "It may take some time, our Elder Mother has been alive since the dawn of creation itself."

“In time, it will be uncovered,” Ai supported. “Until then, unfortunately, such technology is unknown to both of us.”

”Most unfortunate. Nevertheless if and when the knowledge is gained the future, we would greatly benefit from it. As it stands now, I find the terms acceptable.”

“Perfect!” Wenbo smiled and bowed his head deeply. “Then let this be the beginning of a long and, in His Lordship’s words, prosperous friendship between our two nations!” The dreamer lord held out an open hand.

Anu grabbed it. ”Let it, indeed.”