The Garden drifted lazily across the night sky. As usual, Mengcheng was rampant with baby wails and groaning parents; this had become routine, however. Most could sleep through meteor strikes by this point. Chuanwang gave a yawn that shook the waves below and bubbled along calmly. The gentle tremors rocking through the city sparked the occasional giggle or lulled the children to sleep. In some houses, it caused more to wake up in tears. In spite of all the noise that coursed through the city like a breeze, Wen De sat in deep concentration in the light of Moksha. He droned a bassy, melancholic mantra, glistening tracks of tears evident on his cheeks. A troubled breath escaped him and his eyes forced themselves open. He looked at Moksha; it stared knowingly back. Wen De lowered his head and swallowed. He drew the breath back in and resumed his mantra.

A distance away, Zhong Ming walked along the city wall near Chuanwang’s head. She held her strung bow in her right hand, her full quiver ready at her hip. The sea made her uneasy - even after all these years. She trusted Chuanwang with all her heart; she did not trust the ocean.

The colossal turtle suddenly gave a quiet, surprised drone. Ming looked down at the head. “What is it, great turtle?” she asked and unfurled the rope ladder which let her descend down to the head. From a leather satchel, she extracted the Babblefish, which greeted her with a, “Howdy, gen’ral. What’re you needin’ from lil’ ol’ me?” Ming place the fish down on Chuanwang’s head, holding her hand on the fish as well.

“Babble, what’s Chuanwang mumbling about?”

The fish hummed. “‘Parently, there’s a landmass on ahead. Chuanny here’s sayin’ he needs a rest.”

Ming made a face. “Is it new?”

The wooden fish shrugged in spirit. “He’s never seen it ‘fore, at least. How ‘bout y’all check it out, huh?”

“... I suppose the Academy would want to prospect the land at the very least.” She patted the turtle’s colossal head and picked up the fish.

“Hey, gen’ral.”

“Hmm?”

“‘Parently, just as you lifted me, Chuanny smelled somethin’ iffy.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me!”

“No, no, somethin’ else. Put me back down.”

Ming did as told and the Babble Fish kept listening to the turtle’s quiet droning. It occasionally let out the odd, “mhm… mhm… yup, yup… ooo, is that right… mhm…” Ming frowned impatiently.

“A’right, he’s sayin’ it smells civilised - as in, they’ve got stationary sewage.”

“Gross, Babble!”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, darl’. Anyway, they ain’t far. Just a couple hundred yards past the beach.”

Ming nodded with pursed lips. “Alright. We’ll head in in the morning. Tell Chuanwang he can rest.”

“Roger that, darlin’.” Chuanwang seemed to breathe out in relief before its one crystal blue eye closed, removing its bright reflection from the water surface. Ming satcheled the fish again and stared into the dark land barely lit by the Garden. From the moisture and scent of life she could tell that it was tropical, similar to the Foot. However, Chuanwang’s assessment hadn’t been wrong - the air here felt different. She supposed the answers would come the next day.

---

The usual expedition force had gathered by the Industrial Square gate. Zhong Wang had brought along Wen Taishan as an expert on botany to complement his own knowledge on the matter; Zhong Ming and two guards by the names Ekbataar and Timur, both of the Chagatai clan; and finally, Zhong Rong, a prospector. Wang went over a list of inventory, which Taishan had to confirm was complete. Ming had the gatekeepers open the great, creaking doors and the party proceeded as soon as the inventory was accounted for. They soon found themselves on a long stretch of white sand, the dry beach air contrasted by moister inland winds. Ming eyed the forest line suspiciously and strung her bow, the guards doing the same.

“We move as one, alright? No matter how interesting any of those plants are, you don’t run off and-- Taishan, TAISHAN!”

Taishan was already inside the forest, giggling joyously at all the foreign growths. Ming groaned and gave chase. Zhong Wang frowned and Rong gave him a shrug.

“Is he usually like this?”

“He tends to be more disciplined, but… Well, it has been a while since we made landfall. Still, they ought to not…” he sighed, “outrun the rest of us. Come on, Rong.”

“Hear, hear.” The two strolled along into the woods, which had already grown loud with scolding and excuses.

“What did I -just- say, Taishan?!”

“I’m sorry, general, really am. It’s just… I mean, have you seen this?” He showed her an enormous flower, one which petals were nearly the length of the clay sword at her hip. “Have you ever seen anything like this?!” He gloved one of his hands and picked a petal, shoving it into a small pot with some difficulty. Ming groaned.

“Flowers are not a valid excuse to endanger the whole expedition, Taishan, regardless of how pretty they are.”

“They are really pretty, gotta admit,” Timur added supportively. Ming shut him up with a glare.

“Regardless of how pretty they are, we -do not- endanger the--”

There came a rustling in the bushes. Ming and the guards turned around with arrows knocked to the bows. “Who’s there?”

A miniature deer with tusks bolted from the bushes, running adjacent to them until it vanished into the undergrowth of the forest. There then came the sounds of more footsteps, followed by voices quickly approaching. What came through the bushes were no deer, except very tall humanoids, who froze when they saw the Dreamers. Both were males, but another voice came from the rear, and a female appeared before going silent as well. Their skin, reminiscent of the Moksha were colored in the pattern of the stars. The taller male was a deep crimson, speckled with gold and swirls of black. He was bald, but his white glowing eyes conveyed intelligence. The shorter male, but still taller than the rest of the dreamers, had black skin with white swirls that glowed softly. His white hair was cut short. The woman’s skin was purple and pink swirls, the same as her hair, but it glowed softly. Her skin was riddled with stars.

All three had spears and bows, with simple quivers. The only clothing they had were cloth strips to cover their more sensitive regions. The taller male spoke something to the larger one, but was given no response. The female tilted her head inquisitively.

“God, they’re tall,” whispered Timur and lowered his bow. Ming and Ekbataar did the same and the general gave the master scholar a glance. Zhong Wang nodded back and Ming opened the satchel at her hip to extract the Babblefish. Holding it out by the tail, she motioned for the strangers to come closer.

The strangers did not move right away. Instead they gave each other looks and whispers. Mostly the males, whispering to the woman. She gave a side glance at times, before seemingly being fed up by the males, who stepped forward, planting her spear in the ground. With a couple long strides, she was before Ming. the tall woman looked at the Babble fish curiously. The Dreamer gestured for her to touch the fish, and the woman swore she could see it winking playfully at her.

Hesitantly, the woman reached out her hand and touched the fish.

“Howdy,” it went in a soft voice.

“H-Hello?” she said.

“Forgive my piscine appearance, madam - it’s just the way my creator made me. I’m the Babblefish. You talk, I translate. Usually, I can only translate one way, but miss Ming ‘ere found a nice lil’ loophole by holding me while you’re holding me. Y’see, I can only translate into my user’s language, so if you’re both using me? Eh? Eh?”

“Then we may understand each other?” she said looking at Ming. Her voice was exotic, rich but sweet.

“As long as we stay connected through the fish, yes,” Ming answered with a smile. She visibly calmed down and straightened herself a little. “We are the Dreamers, sons and daughters of the Elder Mothers. We come in peace, with no intention of harming anyone or anything that lives on these lands. All we ask is that we may rest our vessel at your beaches and peruse the woods for herbal remedies and the ground for mineral treasure.”

“Dreamers?” The woman said, as if thinking. “I’ve heard that name before… Oh! That’s right, you know Arya, correct?”

The Dreamers blinked at one another. Zhong Wang stepped forth and put his hand on the fish. “We know -of- her, but none of us have actually met her. Well, except for me once or twice in my youth. There should be a few more of us who would know her personally, though.”

The woman blinked, before frowning. “A shame, she speaks so highly of the dreamers. But where are my manners? Welcome to Nebulan, I am Lily, Daughter of Orvus and Rowan, sister to Ava. Thought I cannot say for sure if you are allowed to stay, I’m sure no one will really care. Come, I am sure Arya would like to see you.”

“O-oh, we--”

“We would love to come along,” Zhong Wang interjected with a smile. “I am Zhong Wang, headmaster of the Hermian Academy. This is Zhong Ming, my niece, general of the Dreamer forces.” Ming nodded politely. “We will follow if you’ll take us.”

She nodded at the both of them. “That is Cassian and Apollun. Please, follow us and be weary. We are not the only ones that now call this place home.” she said, letting go of the fish. She walked backwards before picking up her spear and speaking to the men, before she beckoned for them to follow.

Into the jungle they went.

The foliage was thick, green and abundantly beautiful. The trees were old here, and giant with their canopies blooming in size and teeming with life. Large colorful lizards basked upon warm rocks were the sun's rays could hit and the birds flew every which way, singing their myriads of songs. Insects both small and large buzzed about, dining what they did, but the foreign group stayed on edge throughout the trip as they passed creeks, ravines and went over hills. Their eyes were constantly on their surroundings. Every snap of a twig was met with a whisper and raised spears. But as they drew nearer to their destination, they began to see more of their kind, the tall beings wore simple clothing and were exotically beautiful. All had weapons of some sort as well and they were never alone either. Some even flew! But most importantly, all eyes were upon the Dreamers as they walked and there were many hushed whispers.

Lily usually dealt with the onlookers, waving disapproving hands at the others and speaking words. They came in so many colors and patterns, that it was easy to tell them apart. Eventually they reached a very large clearing, guards practically everywhere holding spears, always looking outward. There were many farms here, not as grand as the dreamers but of a different design and different crop. There were also many simple houses, with leaf roofs and wood. But perhaps the jewel of the area was the magnificent structure that rose to meet the stars. It was a plethora of colorful rocks that twinkled in the sunlight.

They walked past the mega structure and went onward as children, some roughly the same size as the dreamers, ooed and awed at the newcomers and try as she might, Lily could not dissuade them. Most curiously were the pale skinned, pointy eared children who were much smaller than the colorful ones. They looked nothing alike and were perhaps a different species entirely. As questions were made, they at last came to a clearing of two immaculate wooden cabins, spaced a ways apart. There were many flower gardens here and rocky paths.

As they walked to one cabin, the door opened and out walked a woman of white. She wore a light blue dress and a had a top her head a wide brimmed sun hat. Her smile widened as she floated over to them and without even waiting she began to hug each and every dreamer while saying, "Oh what a pleasant surprise! I was wondering when you all might show up. Welcome! Welcome to my home!" She beamed. The hug itself was the warmest one they had ever received and that warmth was not the heat kind, but the sort that made the soul feel safe, and less weary. The Dreamers hummed gleefully and bowed to her.

“D-did you expect us, Lady Arya?” Ming asked uncertainly. “Y-you are Lady Arya, correct?”

Arya looked at Ming, her expression unwavering. "I am indeed." she said bowing to them, before rising with unnatural grace. "It was always in Wenbo's soul to explore. I would have found you eventually but I am glad that you've come to me. Now, where is my dear brother and sister if you don't mind me asking?"

“The Lord and Lady, correct?” Zhong Wang asked. He wore a calm demeanour about him, if not one slightly tinted with heartfelt pain. “Lord Wenbo is unwell. The lady watches over him daily.”

A look of worry washed over her face as she looked upon Zhong Wang. "Where is he?" she asked.

“At the royal palace, my lady. He is being tended to by our finest physician - one every one of us would trust with our lives.” He bowed his head. “You needn’t worry.”

”Worrying is what I do best, I’m afraid.” she said with a small chuckle. ”I shall go see them soon, but for now I’m guessing you have many questions?”

“A number,” Wang confirmed, “the majority of which regard this island, these people and your esteemed self, Lady Arya. Would you mind if my assistant for today chronicles our conversation?”

Taishan blinked. “W-wait, I’m your assistant?”

“Nergui isn’t here, well, is she?”

Taishan nodded. “So it seems,” he mumbled and produced a roll of bark strips connected into a scroll by flax thread. Zhong Wang nodded approvingly. “What is this land?”

Arya giggled. "We call these islands the Eye of Desolation. It was formed thousands of years ago by my father, Orvus, who in the infancy of this world… Threw a meteor at it. From destruction, came life itself. Funny how that works." she mused. "This island is called Nebulan, home of the Nebulite people. Years ago Orvus returned and built upon it the foundation for this fledgling civilization. It has only improved since."

“Certainly quite a feat. Would you tell us about the Nebulite people? What is their culture like? In all our years of travel, we have yet to meet their likeness anywhere else.”

"Where would I even begin?" she said. "The Nebulite people are scattered across the world. Each group now different than the others. Here they are a simple farming people, who enjoy crafts and the arts. There is peace here… Or there was until a certain avatar decided to bring… Creatures with it. But that is not a pleasant topic of conversation."

“I will not pry, then,” Wang assured. Taishan scribbled furiously down the conversation. “What manner of crafts do they practice here?”

"Wood working, stone masonry, fletching, weaving, just to name a few. Some I've taught to fight and others I've taught to dance. Oh! And let's not forget clay working." she said smiling widely.

“Dancing, is that so?” said Wang with a smile. Ming perked up. “Yes, our Elder Mothers were quite fond of dancing. The art of the War Dance was even passed down through our parents - well, some of them.”

“Batbayaar is teaching me,” Ming blurted out. Wang gave her an acknowledging nod.

Arya eyed Ming happily. "I remember those days fondly. Waking up full of excitement at the chance to dance. Mom was a good teacher." Arya reminisced. "Batbayaar sounds familiar, but my siblings had… A lot of kids. I'd love to see you dance though." she said to Ming.

Ming cleared her throat. “The dance is less of a dance and more of a… Elder Mother must’ve explained the basics to you, yes? The martial dance?” Taishan took a breather and dipped the worn brush in ink.

Arya nodded. "Of course dear. I've even added to it over the years."

Ming’s eyes twinkled. “C-could you show me-- us?”

Arya smirked, ”Of course, but not now, I’m sure there are more questions to be had, and I’d like to see the Lord and Lady first.” she said with a wink.

“A request that can be met,” Wang agreed. “You have given us knowledge, so it’s only fair that we grant your wish as well.” He bowed curtly. “If you would follow us to the beach…”

Before she followed them, Arya turned to Lily and said, ”Double the defenses and if anything happens, pray.” Lily nodded before turning to the other Nebulites. Arya then began to follow the Dreamers.

As they passed through the jungle, Ming quietly noted, “You aren’t leaving anything to chance, are you? Is this mysterious foe that powerful?”

”There are many of them.” Arya said quietly, ”They haven’t attacked yet… But I can hear them every now and then. They probe our borders, checking our defenses. One can never be too sure when they might strike.”

“That’s terrible… Can the village withstand them, you think?”

”The Order I have taught, will do their best. We should be fine.” she said reassuringly.

“A standing force?” Ming proposed. “An order of elite warriors? Batbayaar’s told me that we should make one of those for the royal family when our young grow up.” The glistening of the beach filled their views. “... We’re close now. Chuanwang should be right over here.”

Sure enough, the resting turtle laid by the beachside, droning a quiet snore to the beat of the waves. The city on its shell was alight with the buzz of life, and the many buildings stood bathing in Heliopolis’ rays.

The Nebulite woman paused before the view, her mouth agape. ”Well…” she began, ”He’s beautiful.”

“He’d be happy to hear that,” said Ming and brought the group to the great staircase leading up the turtle’s flank. They ascended the flights together and the gates opened upon recognising the group. Inside, the market square was buzzling with hundreds of Dreamers, primarily young children. They zoomed around through the streets, but many stopped and stared at Arya with open mouths. As one stopped, more followed, and soon the streets were flanked with curious Dreamers all the way to the inner city gates. Ming and her soldiers formed a protective triangle formation around Arya and occasionally had to reroute curious toddlers straying too far from the flanks.

Arya couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. ”My oh my, so many little ones! You’ve all been very busy I see.”

“Yes, a phenomenon spurred on by divine aid,” Wang explained. “It was odd when it happened, but it was all explained quite recently.” He stopped and bowed. “If you will excuse us, Taishan and I will return to the Academy and archive our findings.”

Ming nodded. “Alright.”

”Farewell.” Arya said to the two Dreamers. She then turned back to Ming, ”Divine aid? Who helped?” she asked.

The other guards remained to guard the door, and as Ming and Arya entered the courtyard of the royal square and moved towards the palace, Ming thumbed over to a great statue depicting a humanoid shape in all its heroic glory. “That would be Yullian the Helpful.”

Arya looked upon the statue and frowned. ”I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.” she said.

“Neither had we until quite recently. They’re a pretty mysterious being, for sure. Only one that really knows them is, well…” She swallowed. “Wouldn’t wanna bring that up before we see the lord and lady.”

”If you insist, but I would like to know more about him, if this person wants to talk.” she said warmly.

“She wouldn’t,” Ming insisted with a sad frown. “Apologies, but her spirit is quite ill and she rarely talks to anyone anymore - not even her own children. I mean… I suppose I can ask someone to introduce you, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

”Hmm.” she narrowed her eyes if thinking. ”You would be surprised what a little compassion can do. I’d like to try, all the same.” she said smiling.

Ming appeared unconvinced and gave a pitying nod. “As you wish. I’ll see that it’s done after our meeting with the lord and lady.” As the arrived at the palace gates, they were approached by a robed man trailed by two boys in the middle teens. They all gave Arya hard, curious stares. Ming bowed. “Lord De. Lord Tu, Lord Yun. Moksha’s light bring you peace and tranquility.

“May Moksha’s light bring you relief and understanding, general. Who have you brought?” asked De back with a smile.

“This is the lady Arya, our aunt and leader of the Nebulite people. We have come to see the lord and lady.”

De blinked. “Aunt Arya, is that really you?”

She nodded, ”Hello De, it’s so good to see you again. And who are these two?” she said, looking Tu and Yun.

“My, what ages it has been! I was, well, I cannot even recall how young I was when we last met. Either way, since then, I, too, have started a family of my own! These are my sons Yun and Tu - well, two of my sons, anyway.”

“The oldest…”

“... and handsomest,” they boasted one after the other.

“Boys, not now.”

She chuckled. ”Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Oh I’m so happy.” she said cheerfully.

“Oh, what for, aunt Arya?” De asked.

"To see my family thriving." she.

put simply.

“Oh,” De chuckled. “Of course. We are happy to have been so fortunate, and even happier that you would come to visit us.” He nodded at Ming. “Mother and father are upstairs in the royal chambers. Do they know you are coming?”

“We haven’t sent word,” Ming explained.

“Would you like me to tell them?”

“No, I think they would prefer the surprise. What do you think, lady Arya?”

”A surprise would be wonderful.” she mused.

“Then your arrival will be our little secret. Hear that, boys? No telling grandma and grandpa, alright?”

“Sure, dad. Have a nice day, aunt-- uh, I mean, grandaunt Arya,” Yun said with a bowed. Tu followed along. De smiled proudly and bowed along.

“Moksha’s peace be with you.”

“And with you, my lord,” the general replied.

Arya bowed humbly to them. ”Likewise, have a blessed day.”

The three remained behind as Arya and Ming continued into the palace and up the stairs. At the foot of the third floor flight, a middle-aged lady was wiping her hands with a cloth. She blinked at the arrivals. “General? Have you come to see the lord? And, uhm… Who’s this then?”

“Doctor Zhou, may Moksha bring you wisdom and knowledge. I am bringing the lady Arya to see the lord and lady.”

Zhou made a face. “Huh. Well, if that isn’t something. You wouldn’t happen to be related to our aunt Arya, would you?”

Arya laughed, covering her mouth. After a minute she said, ”Zhou, I am your aunt.”

“Fascinating,” Zhou answered and stuffed the rag in her satchel. She approached and cocked her head to the side, wearing a sly smile. “To think that even though I last saw you so many years ago, you haven’t aged a day. If you happen to know the recipe for an immortality potion, I would love to know it.”

”Hmm, if only there was such a thing.” she said, rubbing her chin. ”I would gladly give it.” she smiled.

“Yeah… The afterlife is eternal, but the ‘life’, well… Not as infinite. Now, regarding the lord, well… He has a terrible cold - he’ll be fine, but keep your distance to avoid spreading the disease, if you would.” She looked up the stairs. “I’m going back to the Academy to fetch some more sootheleaf and knacker root. While you’re up there, would you make sure the lord drinks his medicine? He never does when he’s alone.”

“The lady isn’t with him?” asked Ming.

“No, she went to see to the reconstruction of the broken grain silo. She should be back later, though.”

”Not to worry, I’ve never been sick in my life. But I’ll get him to drink his medicine.” Arya said softly.

“One time’s always the first. Take care now!” Zhou went off down the stairs.

Ming went up a number of steps. “Worry not, lady Arya. Even if we don’t see lady Ai today, Chuanwang will likely need a few more days to rest up. We won’t leave right away.”

”Oh my dear, I can always go find her if I need too.” Arya mused.

“Understood. This way, my lady.”

They continued up to the fourth floor, where the stairs gave way to a long hallway that split into three directions - left, right and centre. The centre one was short, leading up to a finely adorned door. Ming knocked on the door and waited. After a moment came a frail voice, “Come in…”

Ming pushed open the doors and entered. “Oh, it’s you, general. Have there been more news of destruction and loss?” Wenbo gave a sneeze and sniffed.

“My lord,” Ming said with a deep bow. “You have a visitor?”

“Hmm?”

Arya entered after Ming, a wide smile on her face. ”Hello, Lord Wenbo.” she said playfully.

Wenbo gaped. “A-Arya?” He sat up in his bed and tightened the loose robes about his figure. “Wha-... How--... It’s-...” He smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you, my sister. I would be better dressed, but, well, you’ve caught me in a bit of a predicament.” He sneezed again. “What do we owe the pleasure?” Ming, meanwhile, took a step back and went outside.

Arya held up a hand, ”Now now, you’re sick remember? Don’t worry about a thing.” she said walking over to him, and embracing her brother. ”It’s good to see you again.” she whispered. After a moment, she pulled away to look at him, a small smile on her face. ”It seems your home landed upon mine. I was hoping you would find me eventually, intentionally or not. I would have looked for you years ago… But I had duties to my people.”

“Your people? What sort of people do you govern?”

”I was going to tell you… All of you, but then Tendlepog became something else entirely. Around ten years ago, Orvus and Ohannakeloi created a people in his, mine, and Laurien’s image. Shortly after, Orvus and Laurien disappeared and I was left to watch over the Eye of Desolation. I’ve had my ups and downs… but things are much better now.” she smiled warmly.

Wenbo nodded. “I would be honoured to listen to your story if you’d tell it, sister. I’ll have Bei set the teapot to boil and Tian bring up some sweetbread.” He sniffed and stared out the window while wrinkling his nose. A moment passed before he muttered “ugh, nothing” and turned back to smile at Arya, sneezing promptly thereafter. “There it is.”

Arya beamed him a large smile before she began her tale of the last ten years. She told him how she met K'nell upon Tendlepog, how she met the Selka prophet, how she reunited with her old friend Split and then her arrival upon the Eye. Then she spoke of how she dealt with her loneliness and her thoughts and feelings about Orvus and Laurien seemingly abandoning her with no one to turn to. She did not tell him any of her thoughts about Paradise and what she did was vague at best.

Her stories went on until they got to the present and how she met Ashalla, Arrayn, Karamir, and then Shengshi all in the span of days. It was then she told him about Laurien's deceit and betrayal and the pain she caused. She mentioned the avatar Abraxas and his dealings with causing the moon to fall and the motes to spread. She spoke of Vrog and the creatures he brought, and how scared she was for her people. Then she grew quiet.

"I should say that Abraxas didn't just lay siege to our world… He mortally wounded Kalmar. The God of the hunt is dead and in his place, Karamir has ascended." she took in a deep breath. "But before that… Orvus had to give up his divinity to stop his avatar and in doing so… I've become a demigod as well." she said, looking at Wenbo to gauge his reaction.

Wenbo bit into a crumbly piece of sweetbread with fruit, his black brow furrowed greatly. “... This is a lot to take in… Mother and mom told us about the fall of Vakk, but… To think two more have passed.” He gave Arya a stern look. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you? That gods are, fundamentally, mortal?”

"The fall of Vakk? When did he…" her voice dropped and she blinked. "It seems I wasn't told everything, but no, I haven't told anyone specifically. Though the Nebulites know that Orvus is no longer divine." she said.

“... That information…” He grit his teeth and his voice became a whisper. “It cannot be allowed to spread. As much as I apologise for saying this, sister, I was careless just now and spoke too soon - Vakk’s death should’ve remained a secret, even to you.” He eyed the door. “It’s our duty as leaders, after all, to maintain the piety of our people.”

"You sound so much like mother." Arya sighed. "I understand where you are coming from, I do. But keeping secrets does no one any good in the end. But we shouldn't have this talk, not when I haven't seen you in years."

“Agreed.” Wenbo poured another cup of tea for the two of them. “So… Demigoddess. That makes three divine relatives. If I didn’t know better, I would almost say the Dreamers were the babies of divinity.”

"You practically are." she giggled before taking a sip. "And what's this I hear about a Yullian? That's not a name that strikes any bells."

“Right, Yullian. They are an elusive character - last seen a few weeks ago. Frankly none of us knew about them before they revealed themselves by constructing a colossal statue of themselves.” He frowned. “Apparently, they have been living among us for ten years, speaking as themselves to no one - except…”

She raised a brow. "Except…?"

“... My granddaughter, Song.” He drew some long, quiet breaths. “... Anyway, they aren’t around anymore. At least, we cannot find them.”

"Hmm Song, what a pretty name. I've already asked General Ming if I could meet her. I've been told she's not willing to talk to anyone. What happened, if I might ask?" Her voice was soft.

“If possible, I would rather not talk about it. It’s a shadow over our city that is still very much in the process of healing. Forgive me, Arya, but I would rather it be so.”

She smiled weakly and gave a small nod as she sipped her tea. "Besides that… Things are well here?"

“Apart from that, and a few other things, existence aboard Mengcheng is blissful. We have all the food we could eat, all the houses we could fill, and only truly need to stop our exploration of the world to fill our storages with resources or, if the seasons are dry, our pots with clean water. Most of that comes from the rain, though, and the skies have been kind this year, praise be to Li’kalla.”

She chuckled. "I think the rain is the last thing on Li'kalla's mind but I am happy to hear that life is good here. It fills my heart with joy, it does."

“A rain goddess that thinks not of the rain?” Wenbo chuckled. “Interesting characters, the divines… I suppose I should start referring to you properly now, shouldn’t I, lest mother scold me for my manners in the next life?” He bowed his head and smirked. “Your Holiness.”

Arya rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Please no, at least not around me."

Wenbo grinned. “I’m merely jesting. Tell me, are the Nebulites fond of music?”

"I've taught them dancing but alas, music always escaped my grasp. If they are anything like me, they'll love to listen to it." she mused.

“Then let us come over and play some for you. I’ll-I’ll do my best to come along! I’m not so old as to let a cold get the better of me.” The old dreamer began setting aside teacups and plates so he could rise out of bed without tipping them over.

”Wenbo… You know you shouldn’t leave bed. In fact, you probably need to take your medicine.” Arya chided.

Wenbo slowed down and muttered, “I just drank it.”

”Still… We could always bring my people here?” she said.

“Well… How many are you?”

"Not everyone would be able to attend, a few will have to stay behind to protect things but we number at about two thousand or so." she said thoughtfully.

Wenbo furrowed his brow. “I… I doubt we could host close to that many. Not to be rude, sister, but our policing forces have not the numbers to oversee… That many.”

”Then the beach will suffice. We’ll just have to be extra vigilant.” she said, putting a balled fist into her other hand.

“I trust your people to be civil and well-cultured in Shengshese etiquette, given what mother had us go through. We cannot provide snacks and wine for all of them, unfortunately, but that is to be expected when your people are so numerous. We will see what we can make of tea, perhaps.”

A sheepish look crossed her face. "Uh… Well, they're civil but not very well versed in Shengshese etiquette I'm afraid. But really Wenbo, it's okay. We can bring food and drink as well." she said.

Wenbo furrowed his brow. “Well… I trust you, then. Have them gather on the beach and I’ll ready the band on our part.”

"I can do that but first… I need to see Song." she said, getting up.

Wenbo groaned. “Arya, please…”

"I can help her, now more than ever before. It is my duty, Wenbo. I will no longer stand idly by while people suffer, powerless to help." she said firmly.

“She’s--!” Wenbo swallowed. “Will you enchant her, is that it? Lock her feelings inside herself with magic? Divine power can heal many wounds, sister, but can it truly fix those that bereave the soul of joy?”

"Perhaps it can, perhaps it can't. There's only one way to find out, brother. A little compassion can go a long way." she said, her expression saddened.

A hand dragged itself slowly across Wenbo’s face and he sighed into it. After a few seconds, he called, “General Ming!” The door swung open and the general entered and bowed.

“Your orders, my lord?”

“Take my sister here to see Song. Stop by Fei on the way and pay her a small visit, too. If she is to see the spark, she may as well see the flame, too.”

Reluctantly, it seemed, Ming uttered firmly, “As you wish, my lord,” and turned to Arya, gesturing to the doorway, “If the lady would follow.”

"Thank you, Wenbo. I'll see you soon." Arya said softly.

“You won’t be thanking me after you’re done,” Wenbo replied somberly, facing away from the two. “I wish you good luck. Help her if you can. Moksha’s tranquility trail your feet.”

She bowed and then followed Ming out the door. They walked down the stairs, the general silent and strict in her demeanour, though leaks of emotion dripped through occasional twitches in her eyes and the shape of the curve of her frown. She kept one hand firm on the pommel of her blade and the other swinging back and forth to the rhythm of her steps.

Arya's face was neutral as they walked, yet there was great thought behind her eyes. The streets they passed through were abuzz as was usual in the afternoons. Even as Heliopolis began to redden the sky, the Dreamer children flew back and forth across the paved roads, running in circles around Arya and making all sorts of comments about her height, complexion and brightness. The outnumbered adults did their best to shepherd them away.

It brought a smile to Arya's lips and she did not mind, giving reassuring comments and kind words. Nonetheless, the parents apologised for their children’s behaviours. The torrent of happily squealing children seemed endless, culminating into a small wall outside one specific house. While the children all individually sought to gain Arya’s attention, Ming rapped on the front door and waited. A minute and another round of raps passed before the door opened and out looked the groggy face of a woman Ming’s senior by about a decade. She looked surprised when she saw who had been rapping and said,

“Heeeey, general? Out of everyone I would expect, you are not one of them. Unless--”

“No, Fei, I have not changed my mind.”

“Figured as much,” she muttered. “What do you need?”

Ming stepped to the side and thumbed at Arya, who was still under assault by the tidal wave of curious kids.

”Hello Fei.” Arya began as a couple girls pulled on her sleeves. ”I’ve come to see Song.” she said.

What little colour Fei had in her face left and she gave Ming a hard look. “Is she serious?”

“Afraid so. We’re heading over to her house later. Thought she should know a bit more about her situation before we did.”

Fei drew a long breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know how I feel about this whole thing, Mingy - I already take care of, of…”
“Yes, and you’re doing a stellar job, Fei, but…” Ming shifted her look to Arya and back. “She might be able to help her.”

Fei did the same, but eyed Arya for a little longer. “... If you say so, general. Come on in, you two. I’ll go get the oldest.”

Ming nodded and stepped inside, beckoning Arya after her. She followed, bending down to enter through the doorway. The inside of the house was incredibly roomy, almost deceptively so judging from how it looked from the outside. Along the walls were bunk beds stacked in towers of five, and hammocks were stretched between the towers and the walls where no more could fit. Along the centre of the room ran long tables flanked by benches, and the hall ended in a great hearth at the far end where a massive clay pot stood steaming. A number of the bunks spawned heads, and from every corner of the room came more children to marvel at the stranger. Fei and Ming tried to shepherd them back to their beds.

“You can either go outside and play, or stay inside and sleep! There’s no middle ground!” Fei scolded as she pulled one of the more enthusiastic children by the arm back to the bunks, the boy crying all the while.

”Are all of these… Her children?” Arya asked, bewildered.

“Not all of them,” Fei replied as she pushed another flock outside. “While the majority are hers, these are all children that were either unwanted, orphaned or somehow left without a willing caretaker. So yeah, by majority, I mean that there are, maybe, four or five that are not hers.” She clapped her hands free of dust and bowed to Arya. “By the way, I am Wen Fei, third daughter of Wenbo. I manage this orphanage.”

”Orphanage… Interesting.” Arya murmured as she looked around at all the small faces.

“I would have gone with ‘stressful’, but interesting comes close, too, I suppose,” she agreed and took a seat by the table, gesturing for Arya to do the same. Ming remained standing. Four children, three boys and a girl, came over and sat down next to Fei, opposite of Arya. Their eyes looked everywhere but to the front. Fei frowned. “Lady Arya, let me present the eldest children of Song and Urangtai: Gan, Yongbei, Ulagan and Nuya. Say hello now, children.”

In quiet, empty voices, the four bowed their heads slightly and whispered, “Hello…” Fei sighed.

Arya sat awkwardly at the small table and on the chair, but smiled at the children, even if they would not look upon her. ”Hello Gan, Yongbei, Ulagan and Nuya. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Arya, sister of Lord Wenbo and Lady Ai and your great-aunt. I’ve come to help.”

The children were silent. Fei groaned. “What do we say when someone offers help?”
Eventually, the one introduced as Gan muttered a faint “thanks…” Fei took him by the ear and he repeated himself louder. The other children bowed their heads slightly.

At the display, Arya stared daggers into Fei. ”You may leave, niece.” she said softly.

Fei blinked. “Huh? Why me?”

”They won’t talk to me if you are standing over them and chiding them to speak. Now please, go.” she said.

Fei scoffed, looked to Ming and found no support in the general’s eyes. She got to her feet and walked outside with a surly demeanour. The children all sat with pursed lips and shifty eyes.

Once she was gone, Arya clapped her hands together and immediately the room popped with uncanny warmth. The temperature did not rise, but the hearts of the little dreamers would see Arya in a new light. She was no longer some odd stranger, but a beacon of kindness in the dark waters that surrounded them and clouded their vision. Ease and tension, slowly drifted away as emotions began to rise.

”I understand your sadness and your anger.” she began, ”Please… Speak to me, let it all out.” she said warmly.

“Why?!” Yongbei suddenly shouted, scaring his siblings.

”A question we all ask, Yongbei.” Arya said.

“Wha-?”

“That’s dumb,” Ulagan muttered.

”Is it?” she asked. ”Now, your mother… What can you tell me about her?” she asked softly.

The children grew ever gloomier. Nuya began to sob and Yongbei crossed his arms furiously across his chest. Gan stood up and walked away. Ulagan glared at Arya and said, “We don’t talk about her.”

”I see.” she said, sympathising with them as she watched Gan leave. ”You know… My father kicked me out of my home. It was cruel and mean and I did not understand. You have my sympathy children. We don’t have to talk about your mother, not unless you want to.” Arya then reached across the table and wiped a few tears away from Nuya’s eyes. ”It’ll be okay, little sunshine.”

“Why did your dad make you leave?” Nuya mumbled through the sobs.

”He did not know how to love, and he was afraid that he would never be good enough for me.”

“That’s dumb,” Ulagan interjected angrily. “Why was he not good enough?”

She turned to Ulagan, ”He was though, Ulagan. It was his own self worth that kept him from being able to see that he was good enough. It wasn’t instantly, but a long time and when he finally found me again… He apologized for what he had done.”

“How long?” the boy snarled back, scraping cuts in the tabletop with his fingernail. Yongbei and Nuya sat wordlessly and stared at their laps.

”As long as it took.” Arya said, staring at his hands.

“How long?!” Ulagan snarled again. Nuya began to sob again and Yongbei got up and left.

”I’m going to go find out.” Arya said, standing up. She turned to face Ming, her expression wordlessly blank. The room’s strange warmth, returned to normal.

The general uncrossed her arms and put one hand on the pommel of her blade, bowing. “My lady?”

”Take me to Song.” she said, the kindness in her voice absent as she looked ahead.

Ming sighed. “My lady, are you certain?”

”No, but now I have too.” she put simply.

Ming bowed curtly. “As the lady wishes.” She turned to the door and went outside, Arya following along. The pair made their way to the far right side of the turtle where the dust in the streets was thick and the sounds of children laughing and playing were distant. They zig-zagged past empty houses waiting to be filled with new Dreamer families in time, god-built shelter that was resistant to the elements, but not to insect infestations. Eventually, they came upon a house which made itself unique in that it had a guard outside. She perked to her feet as she spotted the general and bowed.

“G-general! Initiate Zhong Jianbing awaiting orders!”

“At ease, dear niece,” Ming replied. “Is she awake?”
Jianbing eyed the door briefly. “Yes, general. At least, she was a moment ago.”

“Very good. Take a break, initiate.”

“R-really, general?”

“Yeah, go get yourself some supper. I hear Wen Bei will be making beef noodles at her stall. Hurry along if you want to get some before it runs out.”

Without a word, the initiate set off on a sprint back to the livelier part of town. Ming made a short-lived smile before eyeing the door again. She turned to Arya and said, “I will be here if you need me. I don’t know what you have in mind for her, but… I trust you’ll do your best.”

”I hope so.” Arya whispered, entering into the house after a brief pause.

The inside was black as night save for the dimmed evening light passing through woven linen curtains. There was an awful congregation of rank sweat, rotting food and other bodily odours cursing the air. From what Arya’s divine vision could see, the house was largely empty save for a table, a chair, empty wine pots and the faint contour of a bed towards the back behind a wall. Before she could close the door, there came a voice:

“Leave.”

Arya ignored the voice and took another step inside. A clay pot shattered against the wall a distance away.

“LEAVE!”

She did not flinch as the pot shattered. ”Song…” Arya said sadly. ”Please, let me help you.” Her foot squeezed some rotten food.

Song spat. “Is ‘go away’ any clearer?!” Another pot smashed against the wall, this one slightly closer to Arya. “GO AWAY!”

”No, I won’t. I’m going to stay here and help you. Because I haven’t been able to help anyone else, and I’m not going to leave knowing that you are wasting your life away, while your children need their mother.” she said, balling her fists while only slightly raising her voice.

“STOP! STOP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!” More pots smashed apart, this time at the floor around Arya’s feet. One or two actually hit her directly. Song was standing now, a starved skeleton of a Dreamer with black, ruined locks of hair and a weakened body wrapped in rags. Her breathing was heavy, as if throwing things made her winded. “SNAP OFF! I DON’T CARE ANYMORE!”

”Why don’t you care, Song? Please, I just want to know. You don’t know me, but I want you to know, that I care for you.” Arya said, taking a step closer.

Song picked up the stool by the table and swung it in the air. “I don’t need your PITY!” She swung at Arya. Arya paused and blinked as she dodged the swing. Oddly, it went by very slowly. ”You… Are correct, Song.” she said, taking a step back.

“SHUT. UP!” Song took another swing. “Why?! WHY WON’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!” At this point, she was slowly moving the stool through the air in a manner that could possibly be a threat to a pillar of dry sand.

Deftly, Arya grabbed the stool in the air, preventing Song from swinging it. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead narrowed her eyes in thought and said nothing. As gently as she could, Arya took the stool from Song.

Weeks of neglecting to eat and drink properly had finally caught up with her, and Song collapsed forward against Arya, hammering weakly at her torso. “Snap oooout… Get the snap oooouuut!”

After a moment of letting her hit her, Arya reached out and embraced Song into a warm hug. Song seemed too weak to resist, though she still kept screaming for Arya to let her go and leave. As the hug lasted, she began to sob and beg to be alone. She eventually tried to lie and say that she felt all better, only to break back into furious scolding when it didn’t work. And still she hugged Song, something compelling her to hold the girl against her torso. She realized that before Song could even think about helping others, she had to help herself first. She slowly began to run her fingers in her hair, combing what she could.

Eventually, Song whimpered, “Why do you torment me so?”

Still Arya said nothing. She thought hard however, and from her fingertips, a small glowing comb appeared. It’s purpose, to comb hair, was but a side effect to what else it caused. It had a small aura of compassion, that only worked when hair was being combed. It was her first artifact and it seemed right.

“What makes you think you can just, just waltz into my home - not even my home - the house they threw me in and think that you can just--” She made another attempt to push and pull herself loose. “I hate you! Go snap yourself! Go--!” She coughed and swallowed her curses.

”Let it all out Song.” Arya whispered, while holding back her own tears.

“Who do you even think you are?! I am royal blood and you have NO right to, to, to… To treat me this way!”

”A friend.” she said simply, at last combing the entirety of her hair. It was then she let go of Song and held her by her upper arms. She still tried to wriggle herself loose.

“A friend?! What sort of friend ignores my demands to leave me alone, traps me in a hold and then so selfishly tells me to talk about my feelings as if they’re not for me to keep!” She tried to form a ball of phlegm in her dry mouth, but failed. “You, you are a pest. Leave. Me. Be!”

She let go of the girl, her arms falling to her side as she clutched the small comb. She shrugged and went about, beginning to clean up the place with unnatural speed.

Song watched in disbelief. “Are you deaf, is that it? Did they send me a deaf servant in hopes that it would cure my heartache?”

She continued to clean, by picking up the broken pottery and rotten food and placing it into a pile by the door. All the while she listened to Song. So it was heartache. Fei had said a name… Urangtai. Something had happened to him, for she knew he was no longer with the living. Yet, still she said nothing.

Song kept a surly glare and slowly made her way back to bed. “Well, whatever it is, feel free to leave at your earliest convenience.” She laid down on the wooden bed with a creak. “I will die here, alone and unloved. There is no other fate for me.”

Arya continued to clean, occasionally glancing back at Song with wondering eyes. She felt unloved? Alone? It seemed hardly possible in such a place, but who was she to judge such a thing? Song was deeply hurting and no one knew what to do, not even her really.

“Are you done yet?” came an eventual complaint.

”No.” was all she said.

“Well, hurry up. Night is approaching.” The outside was indeed getting rather dim.

”That it is.” she said back to her.

There came no answer. Song laid in bed facing the wall, angry breathing being the only sound she made. After a time, she began to sob.

Sensing this, Arya stopped cleaning and went over to the bed, sitting down next to her. It was probably the last place Song wanted her, but Arya knew she was close. So, she began to hum a tune, one that was Dreamer in origin, called the ‘Summer’s Heart’. She forgot who wrote it, save only that it was a long time ago. Back when her siblings had been teenagers. Many a tear, back on Tendlepog, had been shed while she hummed.

After a while and a number of sniffs, Song asked, “What song is that?”

”Summer’s Heart.” Arya said after a pause.

Song swallowed. “I’ve… I’ve never heard that one before… At least, no one’s sung it in my presence.” A moment passed. “Why have you come here?”

”I wanted to see my niece.” she said.

“That’s it?” came a sour reply. “You wanted to see the niece you have maybe seen once or twice before? Why?”

”Because she is suffering, and it breaks my heart to know it.” she said softly.

“Of course, I’m suffering! The love of life is gone!” She curled up into a ball. “How can I go on? The father of my forty children and the reason I exist - gone.”

”How did he pass?” she asked gently.

“He--...” The sobbing worsened to the point where she couldn’t speak. “Go away…”

”I’m sorry… That was insensitive.” Arya sighed.

“Go awaaaay…”

Arya stood up and wiped herself off. She walked over to the door, but before she opened it she turned her head and said, ”Thank you for your time, Song. If it all you want to talk… Just pray to me.” she said solemnly, before opening the door and leaving her behind.

There came no answer save for sobbing. Outside, Ming was waiting faithfully along with Jianbing. As Arya closed the door behind her, the general and the soldier both bowed.

“How did it go, my lady?” Ming asked.

”About as well as you probably expected.” Arya sighed. ”Her grief and sense of self worth are low, and she believes herself to be alone, and uncared for. She loved Urangtai deeply, didn’t she?” Arya asked.

“Love doesn’t come close to it. She was fanatical. Clung to him like a tick wherever he went.”

“We eventually pieced together that she likely got some help from Their Holiness Yullian in actually making Urangtai fall in love with her again. How they did it, we still don’t know, but… Well, it’d be hard to fall in love with, well…” Jianbing shut herself up and put her hands innocently behind her back upon seeing Ming’s glare.

“Either way, my lady, we must return to the city. Lord Wenbo has already made preparations for tonight’s concert.”

”This is concerning news… It would have been nice knowing that, going into this… But for now, go tell my brother I’ve been delayed. I’ll need to go get my people ready! It shouldn’t be long.” she said, beginning to take off.

“Snap, she can fly?!” Jianbing yelled after her.

“Ssh! Not so loud. Stay at your post until your replacement arrives.”

“When’s that?”

“Shouldn’t be too long now. Just make certain she doesn’t, y’know…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jianbing replied knowingly and saluted. Ming saluted back and went off back to the city.

---

Night had fallen and most of the children had gone to sleep. Torches lit up occasional areas of the city, but it was largely cast in darkness - except for the right gate. It was open and surrounded with flickering torches. On the beach below, a number of Dreamers dressed in their finest clothing had brought morin khuurs, guqins and drums. They were tuning their instruments, lead by Batbayaar and Wen Bei. Bows sawed at the strings and sticks hammered against drumskins. Batbayaar and a few others unleashed the gentle bass of kargyraa throat song while the women backed up with the lighter khoomei. They tried to practice as much as possible before the Nebulites arrived.

And arrive they did, up above the trees and through the forests, tall, exotic beings, wearing simple garments in tow. With them they rough baskets of food and other crafting items. At the forefront, was Arya. With her was a man and woman, who more closely resembled the Dreamers, then they did the other Nebulites, and upon closer inspection, there were many more intertwined in the group.

It was time for the festival to begin.

---

The meeting had continued for another dreadfully slow hour until most of the nobles simply began their retreat back to their high tier estates. In the throne room remained only Helionna, face in her hands as she tried to stack small pebbles in an abacusian manner to evaluate the state of the state coffers.

"Helionna… I'm glad you remained behind." came Laurien's whisper in her ears.

Helionna perked up and jerked her head around in search of the voice. “L-lady Laurien?”

"Yes. I'm here." she said, floating down from the shadows to land in front of her. "I've taken an interest in you, little one."

Helionna swallowed. “M-me?”

"Of course." she said sweetly, standing before her now with a smile. "You did not bow, why is that?" she asked softly.

“It’s, it’s just…” Her eyes moved to the floor. It stared back with a stone-cold glare. “... You murdered her, didn’t you? My sister.”

"Your sister… What was her name?" the Goddess asked.

Helionna frowned. “Of course, you wouldn’t know…” She put the stones away and got to her feet. “I’m sorry, lady Laurien, but I have matters to attend to.”

With uncanny speed Laurien rested a hand upon her shoulder. "What was her name." she asked again, her smile turning into a neutral expression.

“Philia, my lady. Her name was Philia.” She twisted her shoulder. “Now would you kindly let me go?”

In the blink of an eye, Laurien's body changed to that of Philia and she smiled at Helionna. "She always was loyal to Polly." Her sister's voice said.

Helionna froze. “Ph-... Philly?” She reached out to touch her.

"Yes… and no." Philly said, leaning into her hand. "This is nice, isn't it?"

“... What… What’re you doing to me? My sister is… My sister--” She felt the warmth in her palm and felt her throat choke up. “... Am I dreaming?”

"Yes. I'm dead. And Polly got me killed by going insane." Was her response.

“Yes, she grew… Ill of mind towards the end of her life, but…”

“Lady Laurien,” came a call from the doorway to the throne room, through which walked Enigmaron, the Laurien-loving officer from earlier, and a small number of nobles. “We have come as you requested.” She eyed the tearful Helionna and the very familiar Nebulite next to her.. “Ph-... Philia? How are you--”

Philia molded back into Laurien's shape and the demigoddess left Helionna in tears as she walked over to the others. "Hello darlings. I'm glad you came. I was just asking Helionna some questions. She is not to leave the room."

The Nebulites stared in awe at the display until Enigmaron eventually broke out of the trance and saluted by hammering her chest with a fist. “Of course, my lady.” The officer next to her went over to stand behind Helionna, who had collapsed to her knees. “Now, how may we serve you?”

"I have a gift for my most loyal. One that can be used in many ways." she hummed. "Will you accept?"

“What is it?” asked one of the nobles.

"Power." she whispered seductively.

The nobles grinned at one another; Enigmaron couldn’t help but smirk. Helionna sniffed and looked up with furious eyes. “What--... What will we give in return?”

"Nothing but your loyalty and love. A simple thing really." Laurien said.

“I’ll accept it with all the joy and love I can offer,” Enigmaron exclaimed and bent the knee. The officer and the nobles did as well. Helionna remained frozen, not standing, but sitting on the cold stone floor while shiny trails of tears dried on her cheeks.

"Good." she whispered, looking at Helionna.

The sound in the room, suddenly ceased as the sun seemed to disappear, leaving the throne room eerily dark save for a dark purplish hue upon the sandstone, filtering in through the darkness outside the windows. Laurien rose her hands as she shut her eyes. Almost immediately afterwards, unearthly voices began to flood into the room, whispering a language none could understand. It was unnerving, and frightening and elicited a sense of fear so profound, the very air felt as if it could snap.

Laurien’s body began to shake- no, vibrate, as a purplish smoke began to course through her fingertips and onto the floor. It enveloped the floor of the room quickly, bubbling and rising, growing thick as the whispers became chants. Laurien continued to vibrate, her serene image becoming but a blur, growing in a ghostly light as a scream echoed throughout the chamber. The purple smoke then grew still, before pulling back to amass itself within a ball above the chamber. There was a loud clap of thunder, and Laurien grew still as the power that had amassed shot out and into the bodies of the loyal Nebulites in attendance.

The entire chamber, nay, the world began to flash in vivid scarlet before a simple snap, and everything was back to normal, as if what they had witnessed had never happened at all.

Laurien stood straighter, opening her eyes as a devilish smile graced her lips. She looked upon her people and knew that they were only the beginning. "Now listen… Listen and learn. "

She taught them how to use her dark magic, one she called, the Devil's Breath or the Blackness. She taught them how to manipulate it, how to use it to amplify their strengths and cure weaknesses through incantations. Words, sentences and letters that could be used to channel Devil's Breath properly. They had to speak what they wanted to do, but in time, Laurien told them it could be wordless. Then she taught the basics of hexing, small things akin to curses but not nearly as dire or far lasting, at least in the beginning, that was.

She merely opened the doorway and explained that the more they delved into the Blackness, the more powerful they would become. As more and more possibilities were explained, Helionna felt herself more and more drawn to this power.

“This… This power… Could I change, say, the direction of dice underneath a cup?” she asked quietly. The others laughed at her.

“Oh, here she goes again,” one of the nobles taunted.

“It’s a legit question!”

“I would agree if you weren’t already massively in debt to half the court. That gold necklace will be going soon, I reckon.”

Helionna clutched the medallion about her neck and swallowed. “N-not if this Blackness can fix this. Can it, my lady?”

"It can do anything you want. The solution to that problem could come in many forms. Practice and grow." she said with a smug smile on her lips.

“R-really?” Helionna whispered and looked down at her hands with a crazed look. “Th-then…”

“How do we practice it? Are there any rituals you can teach us?” Enigmaron asked.

"You practice like how you do anything else. Fighting, crafting, building and on and on. Do such practice in secret and with one another, there's no telling what could happen. Tell only those that can be trusted and do away with those who might speak unfavourably. I think you'll find that sacrifices are most useful. Rituals though… she mused, her smile deepening. "You will have to explore that route, but there is one I can teach you, one that should only be used as a last resort until you are powerful enough to control what comes after."

She walked forward and began to run her finger in a circle in the air directly in front of her. Following her finger, a glowing ring of inky purple materialized, etched with demonic runes not unlike the ones that now married her body.

"This is a minor summoning seal. This knowledge will be imprinted into your mind, but take note. Drawing the circle is only the first part. The second requires a great deal of power or a blood sacrifice, to properly activate the seal. Doing so will summon a demonic entity. Be wary, for at your current state the creature will not be able to be controlled. The larger the seal, the more will be summoned and the greater the cost. They are more likely to devour you then to obey you. Understood?"

“Forgive me, my lady, but… What exactly is a… Demonic entity? What do they look like?” Enigmaron asked. The other Nebulites nodded along slowly. “See, we have used the term often, but it’s more of an insult than an actual thing. Are they… Like us?”

"No… They are not." Laurien said as the ring pulsed. The letters warped into a shimmering opaque glass, before shattering out a creature withering in a mass of tentacles and eyes. It began to scream wretchedly from tiny mouths as the portal evaporated. Laurien looked at the withering thing and then snapped her finger, mutating the creature into a being of desire. The mouths and eyes retracted as it's flesh bubbled and grew. What began to take shape was a slithering creature of flesh, eyeless and mouthless. Like a giant worm, it slithered up her body and wrapped itself like a snake around her shoulders.

She stroked the creatures head, and from it a mouth of tiny, ripping teeth revealed itself as it smiled awkwardly.

"Any more questions?" she said after a moment.

“That is… Horrifying! What use will such a beast have for us? Can it create gold? Can it make me more beautiful?” The nobles broke into a disorganised rabble, aimed more inwards than at Laurien. Yet even those who didn’t join them appeared skeptical; the general frowned at the spell.

“With all due respect, my lady,” she went, “what use is a creature of might that will likely kill us and is only really useful for murder? We have slaves that can murder in our stead.”

There came some disapproving hums. Enigmaron glared. “Oh come on, everyone does it.”

"Be calm. Demonic summoning should only be used as a last resort. At least at your stage. But make no mistake, there will come a time when this city is under siege, when our enemies come crashing down with desire for revenge. All options will be considered to save yourselves and the people… Even if the option is unsightly and hungers. Let them feed upon your enemies." she said smoothly.

“What enemies? The Dari?” Enigmaron scoffed and many of the nobles laughed. “Savages with no concept of civility nor unity. They raid in packs because they cannot feed themselves - they are instinctively drawn to take from others. Such lowly life forms couldn’t possibly hope to form any army that would actually threaten Laurienna.”

The demigoddess began to pace as the demon around her neck lifted it narrow head to look at the General. "But what if they did? Would you be prepared to fight a united Dari army? And not to mention any outside threat you cannot see. Would you be prepared? Would any of you?" she said narrowing her eyes.

“There are no outside threats sizeable enough to challenge Asteria, Laurien. Starforged weaponry, flying soldiers, the protecting Natal - all of these have made our lands unconquerable. The only possible threat would be Talemon to the northwest, and we would be warned months before their armies would arrive.” The nobles nodded along confidently. Helionna swallowed and raised a hand.

“What?” Enigmaron asked.

“Apart from the summoning of demons, my lady, what other power can we use?” The others hummed agreeingly.

"If you say so." she whispered at Enigmaron before turning to Helionna. "Come here. The rest of you gather round."

Helionna approached her timidly while the rest did as they were told. Laurien smiled at her as the demon around her neck, curled tighter. "You desire coin, a stepping stone to greed or perhaps a coping method… Regardless, you need to quench it." Laurien reached out and tugged at the necklace around her neck, and then took it from her. Within the palm of her hand, and with a free finger, she drew a rune in inky purple in the air above it, and showed the symbol to Helionna. It looked like gibberish at first, but slowly she came to realize that it said, 'Forget me not', before the symbol leached into the necklace. Laurien then handed it back to Helionna.

"Put it around your neck." Laurien said.

Helionna blinked. “What did you do to it?” She lowered it down over her head and let it hang down over her chest.

Laurien snapped her fingers and the necklace ended up back in hand. She wore a smug smile on her face. ”That, my dear, is how you use a hex to get your fortune back.” she then handed the necklace back to Helionna again. ”One time use, you’ll have to hex it again for it to work. As you grow, however, I can see you expanding such trickery and put it to good use. Be careful now, for now they know a secret.”

Helionna blinked and rubbed her thumb over the sigil. “How… How will it help me gain all my wealth back? I’ve gambled it away, it’s long gone. Will it, perhaps, have it arrive back in my home vault?” She turned to the other nobles. “And stop eavesdropping, you!” They all grinned menacingly and rolled their eyes.

Laurien leaned in next to her right ear, "Sell it, or something else, and when you have the money and you know the item is out of knowing eyes, summon it back." she said, kissing quickly on the cheek.

Helionna flushed, looking at the medallion intently. “Yes… Yes, this is perfect. Laurien, thank you so much. Thank you!”

“Lady Laurien, if you would indulge me,” one of the nobles spoke.

Her eyes fell upon the noble in question, a man of starry green. "Yes, Alonis?" she asked.

“Would you oversee us practice for a spell? I reckon we could have a slave summoned up here and see what we can perform.”

“Oh, yes, a splendid idea,” a number of the others went. Enigmaron nodded approvingly.

"Of course my lovelies." she mused, petting the demon on its head.

“Guards,” Alonis called. A pair of palace watchmen, starforged halbers in hand, came over and saluted. “Go into the lower tiers and find us a human or something. Age is irrevelant, looks are irrelevant. If it breathes, it’s enough.” The guards, though reluctant, saluted again and ran off.

“A human? In the palace? An outrage!” a noble named Xenoluna shouted. Alonis wagged a finger.

“Now, now, my lady, it will not live long and it will be used to empower us, which is more than can be said for what it would be doing in the streets, gods be good.”

“The slaves will be scrubbing the floor for days after that filthy human’s been here,” Enigmaron sighed.

"Ah yes, an unfortunate side effect of nebulite reproduction. Oh well." Laurien said.

“Who’s idea was that particular quirk, if I may ask?” Xenoluna voiced in a surly manner.

"Orvus most likely." she shrugged.

“... Not to be rude to the gods, but… Was he, um…” Xenoluna made a face, “of a perverted character?”

Laurien giggled. "He molded all of you after me, so. Perhaps he is. I doubt any will ever ask."

“Odd creatures, the creators. I will be extra observant next Floodfeast to see if His Lordship brings any similar strange gifts this year.”

Thirty minutes passed before the guards returned, a maimed and struggling human child locked between them. She was crying, her rags sogged around the collar from the streams of tears running down her cheeks. She couldn’t say a word before the nobles all scoffed with disgust.

“Ugh, it’s so ugly! You just had to find the ugliest one, didn’t you?” Xenoluna complained.

“The lords and ladies made it clear that looks were unimportant,” one of the guards defended.

“Well, yes, but this? I would hardly wish to--”

“Be quiet, Xenoluna. Our subject is acquired. Lady Laurien, how should we proceed?” Enigmaron asked.

”What do you wish to achieve?” she asked, eyeing the child.

“Why, power, naturally. Human children are an untapped resource and let’s face it - they likely won’t live long after all. If what you say is true, we can trade the soul of this creature for magical might.” Alonis rubbed his hands together. “For now, I would like us all to achieve beautiful looks.”

"So be it. With the knowledge I have given you, create a circle with the child's blood and write the incantation runes within it, without killing her. That is vital. Her life force needs to consumed upon her death when the circle is complete and the words said. When the process begins… It will come naturally to you." she whispered.

“Fantastic. Guard, your dagger,” Alonis commanded. The guards brought the struggling child over as the nobles formed a circle. The closest guard unsheathed a knife and gave it pommel-first to Alonis, who held it high for all to see before sending it down in a swift motion to slice off the child’s hand. The girl screamed in agony and blood gushed forth onto the floor in multiple puddles.

“Ugh! I got some on my dress!” Xenoluna complained.

“Must she be so loud?” Enigmaron seconded.

“The faster you draw, the faster she’ll shut up. Guard, hold this.” Alonis gave the guard the still-attached hand, which the guard clutched tightly. The child sat on her knees, squealing, while the nobles dipped their fingers in blood and drew like their lives depended on it. Before long, a circle similar to the one Laurien had showed them before laid prepared. This time however there came new words in the form of runes. Each an expression of what was wanted; Beauty. The Breath began to take root in the seal, growing with power as it did so and glowing with energy as the child's blood filled the cracks and lines and began to have a mind of its own as it formed smaller, more precise runes.

Dark whispers began to flood the room as the fanatical process consumed their minds. Until at last the final rune was set within the circle. The seal began to glow brighter, signifying that the time had come for its completion.

“It’s working! It’s working!”

“I know it’s working! How do we complete it?”

“Shut up, you two - it’s supposed to come forth naturally, like an instinct.”

As they focused and let the Blackness guide them, the words deciphered into a phrase, over and over again; 'KILL. CONSUME. ENHANCE.' and one by one they began to chant the phrase in the devil's tongue. Alonis then took the mewling child from the guard, who by that point had lost far too much blood to remain wholly conscious. He placed the limp girl in the middle of the seal and the runes began to wrap themselves over her skin, becoming burned into her flesh as her body grew black and shrivelled, her life essence flowing freely amongst the Nebulites as they consumed it with glee. The seal then shattered as the girl died, and her body turned to ash before them. Laurien could hardly contain her giddiness as she looked upon the enhanced Nebulites… The beginnings of Devils.

While a certain demigoddess converses with the lord...

The afternoon was possibly the hardest time to work. The principal’s study truly did match the ideals of heshui architecture; however, with Chuanwang’s current positioning, Zhong Wang’s eyes were being seared shut by a particularly nasty ray stabbing at him with all its dying strength as Heliopolis set for another sleep under the horizon. It had been like this for hours -- the only other spot in his office with as comfortable a position as this one had to be the tea table, but he couldn’t very well spill ink on the tea table scribbling notes onto bark strips, could he? With a pair of black-spotted fingers, the principal rubbed some exhaustion out of his eyes.

Knock, knock, sounded the door.

“Come in,” the master answered.

The door swung open slowly to reveal Nergui carrying a tray topped with a steaming bowl, a steaming cup and a bark strip scroll.

“Ah, is it that time already?” Wang asked and pulled his brush through a cloth rag. “What is it today?”

“Wen Bei’s beef noodle soup, sir, as well as the analysis you asked for regarding the flora of these islands.” She gently nudged some piles of tomes and scrolls out of the way to set the tray down in their stead.

“Oh, that quickly? The doctor and her apprentice are certainly swift on the delivery…” Wang took the down off the tray along with a pair of chopsticks. “... Will you be attending the concert tonight, by the way?”

Nergui nodded. “I was considering it, sir. From what you and young Taishan have told me, these ‘Nebulites’ seem like an interesting group, to say the least.” There came a short pause. “Are you?”

“Afraid I will be missing the spectacle, at least. There are a number of passages in this particular volume that require a deeper perspective. I would like to finish as much as I can by tonight.”

“Understandable, sir. Then I hope you wouldn’t mind if I excuse myself for the evening.”

“Oh, please, don’t let me keep you. They are certain to start any minute, are they not?”

Nergui pursed her lips. “Actually, master, they plan to begin at twilight, so about an hour remains.”

“I see, I see.” There was another pause. Wang took the steaming cup from the tray and took a long whiff of its greenish contents. He gave Nergui an expectant look. “Would that be all, Nergui?”

Nergui seemed to snap back into reality with a few blinks. She turned to Wang and nodded dutifully. “Yes, sir.”

Wang furrowed his brows curiously. “Very good, then. I’ll… Let you know if I have any-- Oh, no, wait, you’re going to the festival, right.”

“Right, sir.”

“Right.”

With the atmosphere of the room growing uncomfortably heavy, Nergui bowed slightly and turned to the door. She pulled it open halfway before turning her head and saying, “Actually, there was…”

Wang looked up from his soup bowl. “Yes?”

Nergui opened her mouth hesitantly. Eventually, she shook her head again. “No, nevermind. Have a good dinner, sir.” She closed the door behind her and left only echoing steps down the stone hallway. Wang frowned in concern. Nergui was rarely like this: Usually, she was of a much more confident character, with a keen sense of duty and dedication. He hadn’t seen her like this often. A few pensive chews coloured his face a curious hue as he unfurled the scroll from the physicians across his desk. He had never been much satisfied with doctor Zhou’s handwriting -- Shengshese was already bewildering enough on its own. His keen eyes were, however, well-acquainted with the River God’s calligraphic script, so much of what was written could be discerned from the context.

“... I see,” he mumbled to himself, “... So this new ‘sundrop nectar’ might have a soothing effect on sore throats. That should be treasured, then.” His eyes scanned further down the page. “What kind of name is ‘bellyburn root’? What does it-- oh… Oh, dear.” He slurped another pinchful of noodles. “... That poor lad. She better not be making him try all these.”

Another round of knocking struck the door quite gently. Wang barely looked up from the scroll as he shouted, “Come in.”

“Master Wang, if I may,” came the deep bass of Batbayaar’s voice. Wang looked up in surprise.

“Master Batbayaar? I was certain you would be at the concert. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, sir,” the warrior poet replied and closed the door behind him. “It’s regarding the armament project.”

“The clay weapons? Has there been any progress?”

Batbayaar furrowed his brow. “It’s slow, sir -- slower than the spin of Tendlepog. However, Yum-Yum helped us make a discovery this morning.”

“Yum-Yum? Your son’s cloudling?”

“The very same, sir. It caused a bit of an accident in the workshop this morning, but in the process it led us to an important discovery…” The warrior laid a vague, gray shape on the desk, part of which broke apart brittly. Wang pulled his noodle bowl to himself. The shape appeared knife-like, but like one that had been made of wood, then been put into a burning stove and extracted as an ashen piece of charcoal.

“Batbayaar, with all due respect--”

“Master Wang, did we ever consider pressure as a solution?”

Wang frowned. “Pressure? In what sense?”

Batbayaar picked the ‘knife’ up again and turned it around in his hands. It flaked off some more, so his moves were smooth and careful. “We’ve previously tried to make the weaponry like we make pots: We’ve mixed together a batch of clay using all manner of metallic sands, wet earths and river mud; we’ve shapen it into blades and spearheads; then we’ve fired them in the kilns. However…” He unsheathed a prototype from a sheathe on his belt. It shone with a transparent glaze, save for the twin edges which had been roughly sharpened. “... These may be tough, but they respond poorly to sharpening, and most break when we test them with whetstones.”

Wang intertwined his fingers and rested his nose ontop of them. “So… This pressure you spoke of -- what are you suggesting?”

“Yum-Yum achieved something we’ve never observed before, master Wang. He tipped over a number of boxes from the top shelves just as he removed the moulding tools from this particular type. They hammered against it with great force of a short time, but…” He offered the flaky shape to Wang. “... This is the result of an instantaneous, single effort, and it has held its shape all the way here from the workshop.”

“Yes, and it’s falling apart, master Batbayaar,” Wang replied with a straight-mouthed frown.

“After such short exposure, it’s a miracle it ever held together. Keep in mind, sir, that this is sand that would normally have existed as a powder. Granted, there is a certain amount of moisture in this particular type, but with the right amount of pressure, I believe we can make greater strides.”

“And, if your opinion, master Batbayaar, where will we find a pressure adequate enough? I doubt we could hammer it with boxes all day and night.”

“If we could find a sufficiently hard surface to serve as the anvil, we could use Chuanwang as the hammer, sir,” Batbayaar replied with a half-smile.

“The Millennium Tortoise… As a hammer?”

“A press would be more accurate, when considering its purpose; however, know that this is but a piece of the puzzle, master Wang,” the warrior poet cautioned. “The ideal ratios of sands and clays must still be found out, as well as the firing process - or whether there need be a firing process at all. All will be revealed in time, though -- I am certain of it.”

Wang smiled. “I haven’t seen you this overjoyed about something since the arrival of the cloudlings.”

Batbayaar crossed his arms over his broad chest and thundered a chagataian laughter. “Moksha has advised me to step away for a moment from the gardens of the palace and meditate instead on the various arts we practice within the Academy. Besides, general Ming has almost become a match for me. I must prepare myself for the day my apprentice supersedes me.”

“Will you go from martial artist to claymaker, then?” the principal asked with a wry smile.

Batbayaar tugged at the goatee about his chin. Another chuckle escaped him and he began scooping clay flakes off Wang’s desk and into his hand, depositing them from there into a basket full of scrapped bark strips. “I doubt I will see such a dire change of heart in the near future -- however, a richer choice of trades in the future to complement my writing brush will only give me more muses to draw from.”

Wang chuckled to himself. “It’s a joy to see such determination from you, master Batbayaar. Every apprentice we take in with the years are overjoyed that you remained here instead of choosing the spear.”

Batbayaar’s smile faded a little and he turned to the door. “Oh, I am hardly through with my military career, sir. I will see to it that each soldier educated at the royal barracks will fight with the spirit of our Elder Mothers, and even then my task will be far from done.” He pushed open the door. “Will you be coming to the concert, by the way?”

“Oh, no, I will remain here to analyse some additional passages. Wish the musicians luck from me, would you?”

“Thank you, sir,” Batbayaar replied with a grin. “I will tell the rest of us.” He then stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Wang snickered to himself and turned the ‘dagger’ around in his hands carefully. “... Pressure, huh.” He felt some droplets of joy evaporate out of his spirit and he looked out the window opening at the Heliopolis rays which were no longer there. A very distant chorus of instruments being tuned could be heard beyond the idle chatter and noises of the city below. The principal pursed his lips before laying the knife back on the desk, slurping some more noodles and returning to his studies.

There was a Spitfire with green recurve wings, three on each side of its body, perfectly stacked. Its name was Green Recurve Wings. This is a good name for a spitfire.

The spitfire Green Recurve Wings had once been a spitfire named Blue Recurve Wings, and before that, Recurve Tail. Recurve Tail lived in the paintings the caged fires had made, and whenever Green Recurve Wings approached these paintings, and asked where this pretty spitfire was, the caged fires said that it had been Green Recurve’s name, a little while ago. Green Recurve found this very interesting. The caged fires said that Recurve Tail was one of the very first spitfires ever made by God, and that Green Recurve Wings still looked a lot like it had looked then, which other spitfires would always confirm. This made Green Recurve Wings feel very special.

For a little while.

Green Recurve Wings liked following the caged fires around. Every morning it would do a lap of all one hundred and seventy-nine of them, including the ones deep in the forest, and later on, when it got bored, it would do another lap of them. This second lap was easy, since the caged fires didn’t move very much from where they were at the start of the day, but it was also hard, because if Green Recurve left it too long then it wouldn’t remember where they had all been, or how many there were. Green Recurve would have to go and spark at the other spitfires, gnawing and fighting over the cottontail weeds or the woolly moss, and ask them, how many caged fires are there? what do they do? where are the ones I can’t find?

Some of these questions would have answers. Some of them wouldn’t. When Green Recurve Wings had found all the caged fires around the Pagoda, or most of them, it would zoom back and spark: one-hundred-and-fifteen caged fires! I found one with a hexagon hat far upstream! he was doing funny things to the water!

And other spitfires would go and investigate, and Green Recurve Wings would fight over the woolly moss, and the cycle would repeat.



The Lanternhead B5Y, whose number was fourteen and to whom had been given the name Hatboy, stood still and quiet between the splatters of a great wave, thrown up from the river and frozen in time. He spoke sentence number 48se28.4.m56.0df9t308c0i.

This sentence was the introduction to a lesson. It silenced the spitfires onlooking.

Hatboy tapped the fifth corner of his lantern-shade with his chopstick hand, as was his tendency, and the frozen wave collapsed, running back down into the shallow river and bouncing off an invisible umbrella as it went. The spitfires began sparking, and, by way of quelling their excitement, Hatboy raised between his chopsticks a smooth bauble of water, perfectly still and clear as glass, and let it rest in the air before them, unmoving. They chattered, and then murmured.

A thin, green strip of something was raised in his other hand. Slowly he brought it to the bauble. A grave would not be quieter.

This, said B5Y, using hand-signs, is what we call, Mana.

The bill touched the bauble, and a second later a perfect sphere of ice fell to the ground and shattered, snowflake patterns still perfectly visible on its surface. One of the spitfires began shrieking ecstatically, and was swiftly wing-slapped by another.

When we toil in secret, said the hand-signs, we who are caged and destined to serve our Lord, this is what we harness. The vaults of God are many and of mystery, and within them lies great power. By riding on its ebb and channeling its flow, we release God’s power back unto Her. Sometimes, as now, She trickles it down upon us- when there is a need.

Several feet away, between a tree and a leaf, hidden beneath the dappled shade, small mote of nothing fell into a fake black insect, which almost immediately crumbled into dust. The spitfires saw it clear as day.

And Hatboy thought, thanks, Karamir.



Green Recurve Wings flicked its tail and watched the sun glance on the gold leaf enlaid thereon. Green Recurve did this often, because it was pretty, and because otherwise it would be easy to forget how much there was. Of the three thin bars of gilded glow on the spitfire’s tail, one was halfway finished, and the other two still there.

Green Recurve Wings remembered when it had been painted with those stripes. There had been a hubbub of many instructions, and rituals, and dozens of its kin marked the same way, or almost the same way, and it had sat quietly, or maybe not so quietly, and the instructions had been perhaps superfluous between the grandeur of the demonstrations, or so it had been told, because the demonstrations really did have great grandeur, even moderated as they were, but all of this was rapidly fading, some of it already lost. It existed in the chorus of sparks flurrying between the spitfire circuits, but bit by bit it was wearing down.

Still, Green Recurve Wings remembered when it had been painted with those stripes. It remembered, of all the words signed and sparked, these ones:



Green Recurve Wings called the violent winds around it, and shot into the morning, the gold leaf on its wings shrinking little by little as it joined the flock that travelled south.

---

“Where do we go now?” Fenris asked.

Karamir looked around. The air was moist with fog. His divinely-enhanced senses allowed him to see well enough, and Fenris was exceptionally perceptive himself, but the reduced visibility was still rather irritating. ”I think it would make the most sense if we followed the coast,” he suggested. ”Until we find something else to follow.”

And on that note, they made their way north. And so they walked and walked until the air cleared and they could see further. It was only temporarily as the fog was quick to come back, but they managed to see a plume of smoke further inland into what seemed to be green, breezy plains with very sparse trees. White smoke, perfect for signalling.

It was a single plume, which meant it was likely controlled. ”Civilization,” Karamir said, pointing in the direction he had seen the smoke. ”Let’s go find some answers.” The pair walked inland, and eventually the fog gave way to a moderate sized bonfire. Around it, three individuals were sitting down taking bites out of dry-looking strips of meat. One of them, a Vallamir with white hair and grey eyes stopped eating and looked at the Fenris and Karamir critically. Then he nodded and motioned towards the vast space around the bonfire before pulling out several strips of dry meat and offering it to them.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen a Divine approach our lands without the intention to go directly to the Queen-Mother’s Manor.” Said the white-haired Vallamir, who looked straight at Karamir for a few seconds, “Sit wherever you like. I possess the name of Sun’Kalla. What do people call you two?”

”My name is Karamir,” Karamir said, returning Sun’Kalla’s gaze. ”This is Fenris. We’re sons of Kalmar.”

“Karamir and Fenris it is. Kalmar is one of the creator Gods, so I assume you come from Kalgrun.” Sun’Kalla broke the gaze, “So are you two going to sit or do you prefer to stand? I suppose as a Divine you feel no physical exhaustion, Karamir, but what about Fenris?”

Karamir looked to his companion, who shrugged, so Karamir stepped forward to sit near the fire, while Fenris did the same. ”We’re here to find out what happened to the Vallamir who followed Li’Kalla to this land,” Karamir said, as Fenris accepted a piece of meat and eyed it critically.

“It’s dried meat, it keeps for longer. Taste is not as good, though.” Sun’Kalla took another bite of his, swallowed after way too little chewing and nodded, “Those Vallamir are alive and well. Well, most of them anyway. Quite a few died during the Rot a decade ago and many settlements either splintered, were wiped out, or turned to cannibalistic behaviours and raiding as their way to stay alive. If you go further north you will be walking into The Stalkers’ territory. Go directly east and you will find the New Monster Cult. To the west, living mainly on large boats on top of the water and coming to land rarely are The Droplets.”

There was a short silence, and Sun’Kalla sighed, “Only safe path is southeast, through the Eternal Forest. Be warned however, those plants are clingy. You can count yourself lucky if you don’t stumble into them in your way through the Forest. After you’re out of the forest, you should be in safe territory. It’s very rare to see any raiders, slavers or cannibals in that territory as we’ve culled most of them over the last ten years. So just head east and you’ll eventually find a road under construction. The eggheads are giving it their all lately. That road will take you to the Holy Capital.”

Karamir stared at him incredulously. ”Raiders… slavers… cannibals?” he asked, in a mixture of shock and outrage. ”How did this happen?”

Sun’Kalla shrugged, “The Accursed River Worm, Shengshi, cursed the land to produce rot instead of fruit or produce edible to Vallamir merely because of a difference of opinion to the Queen-Mother’s stances on certain topics. The rot poisoned the land and those that ate it got sick and died, many animals included. Eventually, those that walked away from the Queen-Mother’s protection had nothing to eat but the occasional half-dead, diseased prey or the corpses of their fellow Vallamir…” Sun’Kalla furrowed his brow, “We Valthumir never had that problem. We would get dozens of refugees every day who’d bring in all the food they had. With sensible rationing we managed to make it last. It was difficult to everyone and I remember almost all of our firstborns perished. That alone would make a lesser mind break and turn to cannibalism.”

The mention of Shengshi’s name caught Karamir off-guard. That was the god who had healed him. And while Karamir knew he had a temper, he had never heard anything to suggest he would commit such… such an atrocity. ”That’s… that’s terrible…” he whispered, and even Fenris grit his teeth in anger at that.

“That snake has a knack for treachery,” Fenris said, his voice low and filled with fury.

Sun’Kalla chuckled and put away the meat he was biting at, “I wouldn’t call it treachery. It seemed to be a burst of anger from what the Queen-Mother told me a few years ago which is... Expected, of a lesser mind. I was surprised a Divine would show such lack of restraint. Either way, it is all in the past. We have had many sons and daughters since then and wounds have scarred.”

Karamir sighed. ”Kalmar once told me of the other gods. He always said that Orvus, Vakk, and Sartravius were the ones to be wary of. He said that Shengshi had a temper, but… I was never led to believe it went that far. Shengshi saved my life, not too long ago.”

Sun’Kalla perked up and raised an eyebrow, “Did he? What kind of weapon would even manage to graze a divine’s skin, may I ask?”

”I… wasn’t a god back then,” Karamir admitted. ”That happened only a few days before I became one. The weapon was a sword. I don’t know what it was made out of, but… I was stabbed. When I woke up, I was told that Shengshi had healed me.”

“Ah,” Sun’Kalla rubbed his clean shaven chin in thought, “I’ve never seen a sword, so I’m afraid I cannot picture it. It is fortunate for you that a God healed you, in any case. You must have performed tasks exceptionally well for him in the past in order for him to consider you worthy of defying nature.”

Karamir blinked. ”I never met him before that,” he said. ”And by all accounts, he and Kalmar had never gotten along.” As he spoke, Karamir pulled a dagger free from his belt. Then the blade and hilt extended to become three feet in length. ”This is a sword,” he said. ”And no, they don’t normally change shape.”

“I see. What material are swords usually made of?”

Karamir shrugged. ”Wood? Metal? I’m not sure. Kalmar gave it me, and well… I can’t ask him how to make one.”

Sun’Kalla furrowed his brow even more, “Metal? I admit this blade has a similar glint to strange rocks found in the Abyssal Rift years ago.”

”Maybe I’ll have a look at it,” Karamir said, as the blade shrank back to a dagger and he returned it to its sheathe. ”There’s… something I should tell you,” he said, his expression turning hesitant. ”Kalmar is dead.”

Sun’Kalla’s breathing paused for a moment, and so did the other Valthumirs’ present, but quickly they went back to eating and talking.

“So that’s why the sky stopped falling apart? Was that a funeral ritual for a God?” Sun’Kalla asked.

Karamir furrowed his brow. ”What? No!” he objected. ”He was wounded while putting a stop to that.”

“I see, who was he fighting and why?”

”It’s a long story,” Karamir sighed. ”But I will tell you what I know.”

He leaned forward. ”Orvus is the God of Desolation. He has two daughters. Arya, and Laurien. More than ten winters ago, Laurien for some reason tried to kill him. Somehow, that released a creature known as Abraxus, who trapped Orvus is in his own sphere, Veradax.”

”While this was happening, I was on a land known as ‘The Kick.’ There, I met two gods. Abanoc, who taught me how to tap into a new source of power. And Chopstick Eyes, who offered me a place to stay. I stayed there for years, developing my skills and learning what I could, before moving on. I reached a land known as Dragon’s Foot, and there, I discovered a city called Laurienna. Named after Laurien,” he said, letting them soak in that information.

”There were a number of warning signs that all was not well. But I was inexperienced in dealing with mortals, and naive. I met with Laurien. She was friendly, and we talked about our experiences. But then she revealed that she was having problems with some of her people - they kept making attempts to overthrow the city’s leadership, and their most recent attempt had killed the city’s queen. She said these ‘rebels’ had been put to death.”

”It sounded like a serious problem, so I offered to help. I suggested we go to Abanoc. He’s the God of Recording. He sees everything that happens on Galbar, and might have known something about the issue that she didn’t.” He took a deep breath, and shuddered. ”Then she tried to kill me.”

”She was afraid Abanoc would tell me her secret,” he said, his voice low. ”She attacked me, I defended myself. She called for her guards, and I defended myself again. But they surrounded me, and that’s how I was stabbed. After that, she used her powers to damage my very soul. I nearly lost everything. My memories, my personality...”

”When I woke up, I was in a new land, called the Eye of Desolation. My cloak allows me to fly, and it had carried me there to safety. I was with Laurien’s sister, Arya, who had kept me alive until Shengshi could arrive to heal my injury. But meteors were falling from the sky, and it seemed like the world was ending. I learned that Kalmar had gone to Veradax to save the world from destruction. In the meantime, Abanoc arrived and repaired the damage done to my soul.”

”Eventually, Kalmar did return, but… it was bad. He had stopped the meteors, and freed Orvus, but Abraxus defeated him. Orvus had to sacrifice his divinity so that the Goddess Ashalla could kill Abraxus. Then, the Goddess Arae carried Kalmar and Orvus back to the Eye. Before he died, Kalmar’s last act was to pass his divinity on to me…” A tear began to form in one eye, but he wiped it away. ”And that… that’s what happened.”

“I see, you’ve been through some things. As for Laurien, I wasn’t aware she was on the run from so many Gods. We were tracking her after she left the Queen-Mother’s Manor until a few weeks ago, when we lost her trail near the Endless Tree.” Sun’Kalla said simply, all the emotion from Karamir’s speech seemingly sliding off his skin.

”Laurien was here?” Karamir asked, wide-eyed, while Fenris nearly choked on his food.

“What do you mean you lost her trail?” Fenris demanded.

Sun’Kalla nodded, “Yes, the Queen-Mother housed her in her Manor for a few short days, after which she left without an escort. We traced her all the way to the Endless Tree just southeast of here, but we assume she took flight as there was nothing to go on after that. None of us sensed any malice from Laurien’s presence. Though granted, most of us never even saw her in person.”

”Oh, I didn’t see any malice in her either,” Karamir said. ”At least not until she tried to kill me. I need to find her.”

The Valthumir raised an eyebrow, “Seeking revenge?”

Karamir shook his head. ”I’d like revenge, but no. That won’t help me. I want answers, and to ensure that she won’t hurt or betray anyone again.”

“Heh. So revenge it is. If you truly wished to ensure no one got hurt or betrayed, you should seek the erasure of sentience. Yes, that includes the Gods. You can certainly choose to lie to yourself and assure yourself that you’re hunting Laurien out of a desire to be a kind entity, however.” Sun’Kalla pushed at one of the pieces of wood in the bonfire with his foot and watched as the flames crackled.

”It’s no lie,” Karamir grit his teeth, ”And I would say I know myself better than some stranger who just met me minutes ago.”

“Perhaps I spoke too honestly and too truthfully. So, what are you going to do?”

Fenris glared at the man and was about to issue a harsh rebuke on his brother’s behalf, but Karamir spoke first. ”Leave, for a start,” he said bluntly. ”I won’t share a fire with someone who calls me a liar, and can’t admit when he misjudged a stranger.”

With those words, Karamir rose to his feet and walked back into the woods. Fenris followed behind him, casting a warning glare back over his shoulder, only to see the Valthumir group remain as they had found them, relaxed and completely unphased by their existence. As they walked away, Sun’Kalla waved goodbye.

“South-east, then east after the Endless Tree. That’s the way to the Holy Capital.”

Fenris turned and spat. The two kept walking, which happened to be in the direction he had advised.

---

“You shouldn’t have stood for that,” Fenris said, once they had gotten out of earshot.

”Stood for what?” Karamir asked idly as they maneuvered around a particularly dense section of ferns and bushes.

“The disrespect. You’re the first of his kind, the son of his creator. He barely even blinked when he learned that same creator was dead. Then he named you a liar, refused to take back his words when challenged, and in the end you were the one who walked away.”

”I walked away because I don’t care for his opinions. His words were false, I told him so, he didn’t accept that. I’m not going to sit and be judged by some stranger I don’t even know, and I’m not going to seek vengeance just because he was arrogant. That wouldn’t have changed anything.” Karamir waved a dismissive hand.

“It would stop him from sharing his lies with others,” Fenris suggested.

”Or others would think I silenced him because his words might be true,” Karamir shook his head. ”Let it go. There are thousands of Vallamir. The opinions of one matter little by comparison.”

“And when others take up his opinions?”

”Why would they?” Karamir asked. ”If they’ll make such judgements about me without even knowing me, then I don’t see why I should care about what they think in the first place.”

---

It was a new, cloudy day in the Eternal Forest. Silver was on her knees meditating in the middle of her favorite clearing with Rose laid down around her protectively. The world was dark and cool and that’s what she wanted. To be able to see, and hear… It was too much information for her to be able to think properly. This way, she could fully focus on her own self. She took note of every single thing she felt, no matter how small.

From the way she felt a little tickle each time one of her leaves twitched, to what it felt being in her own skin and even the subtle heat emanating from the sleeping giant that was Rose.

Everytime a foreign thought entered her brain and disrupted her meditation, she would let it run its course and then softly bring herself back into relaxation.

This is how she coped with the world. This is how she confirmed that she was, after all, real. That she had a body, that she felt the world… A tiny smile grazed her face and with her eyes closed, as soon as she felt the tingling of the sunlight dancing over her leaves to signify midday, she decided it was time to begin her daily practice.

If her body had turned out to be more humanoid, she would have used breathing as a catalyst for what she was about to do, but since she didn’t even have a throat now, she had to make do with her willpower.

And so slowly, carefully, with light pulls and pushes, Silver would draw out the essence of magic from her surroundings. So carefully indeed that she was able to mix the mana coming from so many different sources into one invisible, amorphous blob the size of a ladybug. Then she drew that blob into her body and felt the shock travel through her system. From the smallest leaf at the top of her head to the tip of her toes, a slight warmth suffused her body.

And it went deeper, crawling in past skin, past fibrous muscle, past ultra-dense wood and straight into the intangible, mighty thing that was Silver’s soul.

And she gained complete control over the mana as it became a part of her. Much like an animal would take to excess nutrition, her soul would store it for further use in the future. But that wasn’t the plan. She meant to use it now in her exercise.

With a mental exhale, her soul detached a small part of itself from her body, and that small invisible part swiftly coated every part of her body, including her living dress, and relayed information back to Silver.

She could see herself, taste herself, smell herself… All because her own body had mana coursing through its veins, mana that reacted to that within her detached soul and allowed it to sense.

On to the next stage of the practice, Silver willed her detached soul to expand and grow in size, encompassing her and Rose and most of the clearing. It never ceased to amaze her, how different the world seemed when one could actually see and hear things properly. How colors looked and how the sounds of breeze synchronized to the imagery of gently swaying grass and leaves…

Then she caught wind of a new and unfamiliar scent, beyond the range of her newfound ‘soul sense.’ A solitary entity, with a vaguely canine scent, approaching her position.

Then, for one moment, the scent stopped moving. The next moment, it rushed forward at almost imperceptible speed, and then the individual was in the clearing.

It was not one individual, but two. They were both males, and they were both tall. The male with the canine scent was holding onto an even taller male, who carried no scent at all, but possessed the unmistakable aura of a lesser god. They let go of each other, and while the shorter male eyed Rose warily, who was picking himself up off the ground, the taller of the two turned his gaze to her. ”You can use mana,” he said, eyebrows slightly raised.

Silver smiled at the divine male and nodded her head, then slowly opened her black eyes out of politeness.

”My name is Karamir, the demi-god of Mana,” he introduced himself. ”What is your name?”

Silver grasped at the thread in her mind, connecting her to Karamir. Silver.

”So, Silver…” Karamir said, continuing to speak aloud, ”Where did you learn to wield it?”

Here, by myself.

”I see…” Karamir said, in a tone that suggested some level of disappointment. Then his brow furrowed. ”You seem to be… divine?” he asked. ”But you don’t have the aura of a full god, and you’re somehow different from any demi-god I’ve encountered. And it also feels like you’re being restrained somehow. What are you, exactly?” he asked. ”If you don’t mind me asking.”

Silver furrowed her brow in imitation. There was no point to speaking of the past, and his question was very specific anyway… A Foreas. We’re plant humanoids that take after the Eternal Tree. What are you?

”A demi-god, a Vallamir, and the son of Kalmar,” Karamir answered. ”I saw some of your kind on the way here. You are different. Why is that?”

I am wearing a dress made of living plant matter, that is the biggest difference. As for why, it’s because it feels like I’m being embraced all the time.

Karamir let out a small sigh. ”I meant the divine aura.” he said. ”Are you an Avatar? Did Li’Kalla create you?”

What is an Avatar? Silver asked as she rose to her feet.

”An Avatar, from what I was told, is a fragment of a god,” Karamir said. ”And shares its creator’s power. From what I can tell, every avatar’s relationship with their creator is different.” The furrow returned. ”If you aren’t an Avatar… what are you?”

Silver’s smile faded, It isn’t important.

Karamir frowned, but did not press the issue further. ”How long have you been here, then? What can you tell me about this place?”

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. This is the Eternal Forest. All the trees you see are actually the roots of the Eternal Tree, which is the Tree that goes above the clouds. Beings that look like you come from the east every once in a while.

Karamir nodded. ”Yes, we’re called the Vallamir,” he said. ”Creations of Kalmar, Li’Kalla, Arae, and Roog. I was the first. We hail from a land called Kalgrun, but eleven or twelve winters ago, the Goddess Li’Kalla led a portion of us to this land. I came here to find out what happened.”

They’re alive and thriving. What does it feel like being the first of your kind? Silver asked with a tilt of her head.

He scratched his chin. ”For a time, I was lonely. I knew little about the world, I couldn’t reproduce, there was nobody else like me. I wandered, and for a time I found myself in bad company. Then, decades later, when Kalmar first told me he was going make a species based off of me, I was overjoyed. I would no longer be alone. There would be thousands of people who would accept me, that I could lead and teach.”

”When I finally met them, I was happy, and I have been teaching them some things - how to wield mana, mostly. But by that point, it had become a responsibility. Kalmar, my father, had died, and he expected me to take up his role as their guide and protector. That’s why I came here - I wanted to make sure the ones who followed Li’Kalla hadn’t walked to their death as some claimed.”

Silver nodded, And if they had walked to their deaths? What then?

Karamir blinked in surprise. ”W-well… I’d need to find out what killed them. If there were any survivors. I’d need to find out if Li’Kalla was still alive, and if she was, I’d have to find out why it happened. Was it intentional? Was it an accident?” He shrugged. ”Once I had that information, then I would decide would to do.”

Silver smiled and shrugged, I don’t think about death and justice that often- It doesn’t seem necessary here. Everyone’s happy, we all get enough sunlight and nutrients and we share our love. Some of us leave every once in a while, too - I imagine to see new lands - but they never do so out of spite… I would not think they walked to their deaths just because I never saw them again. I would think they found a new home, and are waiting for me and others to reach them so they can share their Little Dream with us.

”I didn’t believe they walked to their deaths either,” Karamir said with a wave of his hand. ”At least not at first. Back on Kalgrun, some said those who followed Li’Kalla found death. Others said they found paradise. And others said they were still walking. I came here to find out the truth, but as I crossed the bridge I found bones.” his voice turned sad. ”Dozens of bodies. Then I learned that hundreds more were killed by a god named Shengshi. So you can see why it was a relief to learn the rest were alright.”

You take your position as First and Guardian very seriously. At that pace you might not last long at all, mentally speaking. Why must you act as a protector for so many people? I don’t see the point, besides trying to fulfill the wishes of your late father.

”If I don’t do it, who will?” Karamir asked. ”Life is cruel as is. I’m in a position to make it easier. And besides, I enjoy helping people, and sharing information.”

Oh, in that case I can understand your reasons. And, since you admit that you enjoy sharing information, I have a request. Um. Silver suddenly felt sap rush to her face as she took a step closer to the two males, a phantom reaction from her past as a human. What she was about to request would have been taboo in her old bodies. In this one, however, it meant nothing inappropriate. Her leaves began twitching and she lowered her head a little as she clasped her hands. Would you mind describing my appearance? I can see myself with my ability, but it’s not the same sight you possess.

”You’re blind?” he asked, clearly surprised by that, but went on to comply with her request anyway. ”Your skin is a pale orange. Your eyes are black. You have leaves where most two-legged creatures would have hair. The colour is red, and they reach all the way down your back. Your… clothes… are also red, and look to be made of plants, just like your skin, but there are some green vines on them as well.” He shifted his gaze back up to her face. ”Is that a good enough description?”

What kind of red? Can you touch me? Can you tell me how I feel? Describe me. I want to know myself. I feel like touching myself with my own hands isn’t giving me the correct feedback. As she conversed with Karamir, Rose, who had been standing still decided to walk up to Fenris and lean his massive featureless face into his space.

Fenris did not blink nor back away. “You’re lucky I only eat meat,” he said, looking up at the giant and speaking in words Rose could not hear.

Meanwhile, with some reluctance, Karamir stepped forward. He ran one hand across Silver’s arm, and with his other hand he patted her on the head, eliciting a grin and a starry eyed look. ”The skin is soft and smooth. More so than most people I’ve met, I think. And the leaves feel like… well, leaves. Rough and coarse.” He pulled his hands away from her.

Silver remained there, frozen as if expecting more. Then, after a moment, she pulled away and smiled sheepishly, I understand, thank you. So I wasn’t wrong to think we Foreas are exceptionally soft and huggable… Huh.

”So are you the only one who can communicate like this?” Karamir asked her, changing the subject.

Yes, but only with Divines.

”I see. And you’re the only one here who can use mana?”

The others have had no reason to try to learn it, so yes.

”But are any of them capable? Not just anyone can use mana. If some of them can use it, I could teach them.”

There are potential users, but you’d have a really hard time teaching Foreas as they are now. No sight, no hearing, no speech and only basic thoughts. They’re barely a step above animals. Wait a few years, let them mature.

”If you say so. Tell me, have you travelled at all since your creation?”

I wasn’t created. I awakened on my own, with the help of the Eternal Tree. But no, I haven’t left the Forest in this life, I guess. Silver said, furrowing her brow and shrugging.

”So what have you been doing in all that time?”

It hasn’t been that long. I don’t know how long exactly, but I have probably felt less than a hundred starlight cycles… And I guess, I spend my time interacting with other Foreas and coming to this clearing to work on my experiments.

”And do you enjoy it?” Karamir asked, raising an eyebrow.

Of course! I love it… But I do wish to travel. I want to see the world I’ve awakened to, and I want to bring my memories back to the Tree when I come back here. I don’t know if I’m ready though...

”And what makes you think you aren’t ready?”

She pursed her lips, I don’t know how to defend myself, and if I leave Rose and everyone else behind, I won’t have anyone else watching out for me… There are many herbivores around these parts… And the mud balls, ugh! They’ve gotten a bit too complex over a short span of time. I think they ate a leaf off of someone’s head a few cycles back. I don’t want to have my leaves eaten!

Karamir looked to Fenris, and then back to Silver, before pursing his own lips. He thought for a moment, and then spoke again. ”Well, I’m still new here,” he told her. ”I still need to see the rest of this island. Fenris and I can handle ourselves easily enough, so… if you want to explore, I suppose you can come with us.” This request caused Fenris to break his tense staredown with Rose, and look askance at Karamir.

Silver stared at Karamir, frozen like a statue. After a long time, she clicked her tongue and nodded. As she did so, a wave of uncertainty washed over her and she felt her heart wrench itself in a sudden nostalgia. Was her infancy in this new life about to end…? This soon, this suddenly? She preemptively wiped at her eyes and smiled. Yes, I want to go with you. I have one question though Karamir. Your friend smells like a canine, do you two travel with a dog or pup of any kind? I would like to meet it if possible!

Karamir smirked. “Not a dog. A wolf,” he turned to look at Fenris. ”Do you think we should show her?”

Fenris scanned his surroundings. “This isn’t the place for it,” he said. “Not enough space, and there’s no practical need just yet.”

Karamir nodded. “Fair enough.” He looked back to Silver. ”You’ll see it soon enough.” Fenris squinted at him but said nothing more.

Silver looked at Fenris and then back at Karamir and nodded while pursing her lips. Okay, so if we’re not going to see it, I want to show you my dog-friend. It’s back at the Tree. Do you want to visit it?

Karamir nodded. “I have been meaning to get a closer look at the Tree. Let’s go.”

Silver’s smile widened into a grin and she swiftly turned around and began walking towards the Eternal Tree with Rose, Fenris and Karamir in tow.

---

After a while, Silver’s leaves twitched a few times and without turning her head she spoke into the minds of her two acquaintances. A fox and a wolf jumped into different pods as they closed, and a few days later our new dog friends came out.

They approached the entrance to the Great Tree, and immediately a crowd of Foreas assembled and curiously watched the one dressed Foreas and the two foreigners walk into the Tree, through the biggest, lushest entrance and into the expansive interior that was the base level of the Foreas’ home.

The ground was covered in a green, with dirt paths naturally occuring leading to different areas of the Tree. At the far end of the Tree flush against the thick bark were slopes that led either down or up, visible only because the path kept anything from obscuring the view. Anywhere where there wasn’t a path, however, quickly became overgrown with vegetation of all kinds. Some of the spots showed tampering, with some resembling hammocks, and others forming small huts or stalls. One Foreas was in one of the rough stalls and a queue of others,both males and females, were waiting to go up to her.

Whenever anyone would go up to her, she would dip her finger in a bowl made of branches and thick leaves and it would come out coated in a thick yellow liquid, which she then jammed into the mouths of her kin. Many visibly perked up and loved the taste, but the males who only wished to fit in would find their faces smeared with the liquid, as they lacked mouths.

Honey. She’s spent a long time going up to bees. Longer than I’ve been alive.

“Her name is Honey?” Karamir asked. ”Or are you just saying what she’s handing out?”

Huh… I guess that could be her name. I don’t know. Foreas don’t use names. We can’t speak. I would like to change mine, to be honest… I don’t think it fits me very well. She said with a shrug and kept walking. Rose fell slightly behind the group and whenever a Foreas attempted to go up to the strangers, he would push them away without hesitation. After a few moments, the Foreas stopped trying to approach and just kept on the sidelines. The small divine group passed by several improvised structured and objects made purely out of living vegetation, and once they reached the end of the path a kilometer or so after, they went down the slope into the underground levels of the Tree. And they went down and down and down…

Silver wasn’t tired at all, Rose was fresh as well. The darker it got, the brighter the bioluminescence that the vegetation possessed. And even in the dark, the two strangers could see Silver’s body emitting a soft, slowly pulsating bright orange light in a complex swirling pattern across her skin. The lights were mostly covered by her living dress, however.

At a point, deep underground, Silver stopped and turned sharply into a very brightly lit level. It was devoid of the usual overgrowth, and instead there were rows upon rows of large closed, softly luminescent pods growing from the very bark of the Tree, which at this level was everywhere. Internal root-like bent pillars of bark went from floor to ceiling and even in those pillars, pods grew. While Fenris maintained a guarded expression, Karamir took the time to admire their surroundings.

It was beautiful, and for a entity that could breathe, breathtaking. Like a living art masterpiece, with all kinds of different colors of light that still somehow managed to follow some unseen harmony. The weird, natural architecture of the place clearly spoke of the divine nature of the Eternal Tree, and the sheer lifeforce that was emitted from that level...

Silver stopped for a moment to take in the feeling with a sad smile, and then pushed forward down a main path. In the side paths one could see the occasional Foreas checking up on the closed pods and making sure they were healthy. Eventually, there were no more rows or side paths and the level opened up into a central sort of park. The ceiling was completely bioluminescent here, and it was the color of the sky. It gave the impression that they were out in the Forest. Even the scent was similar to the one on the surface… Only here, there were no predators, and there were very few animals made of meat and fur.

The moment Silver stepped into the park area a shadow jumped out at her and propped itself up against her legs.

It was a green mass of holly leaves stacked on top of each other in such a way that it resembles the fur of a dog, with a great big fluffy tail made of long plump leaves and a pair of very functional ears that perked up at every sound.

It panted silently with its dark green tongue lolling out its mouth and looked up at Silver happily, pawing her thighs a few times and then letting itself fall back to the ground, still looking up at Silver.

She grinned at the leafy dog and got on her knees to pet it and roughly push it around. It squirmed and wagged its tail and dropped to the floor belly up, so Silver rubbed its belly and it stretched its whole body out. While she pet her dog-friend, Silver spoke again.

Forean Hounds. A mixture of fox and wolf. They’re naturally tame and friendly and love to be pet. I haven’t seen any of them approach a meat-person, however. I guess no meat-person has ever been this deep in the Tree, to be fair.

“And they were created when a fox and a wolf jumped into… a pod?” Karamir asked curiously. ”What became of those two animals?”

They spent a few days inside the pods, the fox died of thirst I believe. Sad, but the dog survived and was taken outside the Tree after the pod opened again.

Fenris scowled at the news. “Such a senseless sacrifice,” he remarked angrily. “Just to create… this,” he gestured to the Forean Hound. “Does it eat? Does it hunt? What purpose does it even serve?”

A purpose? It lives, it feels, it loves. It needs sun and air like everyone else. You do not need to kill in order to have a purpose. As she said so, the Forean pup rolled around and pressed its snout against Silver’s hand, licking her palm.

Karamir, meanwhile, had turned away from the argument and walked back toward the pods. He approach the nearest one which happened to be closed, inspected it for a moment, and then ran a hand across its surface. It was hard, like a walnut’s shell. Tiny hairs which tickled Karamir’s hand extended from its surface, and the moment his hand touched the pod, a light current of energy coursed through him.

He instantly withdrew from the pod and stepped back. His hand closed around the grip of his weapon, but he did not draw it. ”What’s happening?” he demanded.

Silver shrugged, I don’t know. You can relax here. There are no predators, there’s no greed, no fear… You’ll be fine. The Tree’s gentle.

”You say that like it’s alive,” Karamir said. ”Er… well, all trees are alive, but you say that like it has feelings.” he did another scan of his surroundings. ”Where did it come from?”

The Tree’s the Mother of all Foreas. It nurtures us, allows us to grow, teaches us about ourselves and the world while in the Dream… There are no records yet, so I don’t know where it came from specifically. I expect the soil as it is a Tree, after all.

”It had to have been made by a god,” Karamir concluded. ”I can sense divinity all over this place. Not unlike your own aura, actually. If I had to guess… I’d say Li’Kalla or Phystene? I never met Li’Kalla, and I only met Phystene briefly, but Li’Kalla led her people here, and Phystene is the Goddess of Plants, so it’s likely one of them…”

Silver looked at the pup in front of her, and shrugged. Improved perhaps. Had its growth accelerated, perhaps… I do not think a God is capable of creating something this beautiful, though. Not in this world.

”According to Kalmar, this world used to be nothing but ocean, until the Architect called the gods here,” Karamir said. ”But yes, there is a certain beauty to this place, unusual as it might be. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Fenris cast him a disapproving look, but said nothing.

There was silence for a few moments. The only sound was the rustling of leaves, until a hiss and the sound of liquid splattering on the ground echoed through the area. Silver sniffed the air and grinned, and another Foreas came out from one of the side paths and ran down a different one. Silver stood up and the pup looked up at her curiously.

Another one’s awakened. Let’s leave now, we should give them space to get used to this life before having to meet strangers.

Karamir nodded and, after one last look at the strange underground chamber, turned and made his way back the way they came. Fenris followed, staring warily at the plant-hound.

Silver walked a few paces, then turned back to the pup, who looked at her with wide, shiny sad eyes. At this she clapped her hands and the pup rushed up to her and stuck close to her side, tail wagging excitedly with every step. At this point, Silver rushed to stay ahead of the other two so they wouldn’t get lost, and they started making their way up…

---

The edge of the Eternal Forest. They’d left her home merely minutes ago and on this cliff overlooking the landscape, she could catch all the scents wafting from where she used to live, and could barely see Rose standing amongst the trees watching her leave. She waved at him but of course, he could not see her.

She smiled and her heart fluttered, and her smile turning into a grin and her eyes became wet and tears began to flow. Her leaves twitched and squirmed and she wiped her tears with one hand and tried to hold down her leaves with the other.

As she felt her goodbye, she saw Rose hesitantly turn around and walk back into the Forest. Before disappearing between the roots of the Eternal Tree, he stopped to sniff the air once more. This was his way of remembering her existence, Silver realized. The pure hearts of the Foreas cared not for names, or appearance. They cared for the way a being would stir their hearts. The feelings left imprinted into their memories were what they held dear to them.

That night she spent out in her clearing right after awakening, only to be attacked by a predator… In many ways it should be a bad memory. It should be, but in Silver’s case, she only remembered the way her heart warmed up when she was saved by Rose’s mighty swings. They never shared a word. They never truly saw each other, or heard each other… And it felt like a more genuine, grounded connection than anything else she’d experienced.

Her first friend.

Not Silver’s first friend, but hers.

My name’s not Silver. It’s Ami.

---

---

The low rumble of thunder slowly passed as the night progressed, the sky was overcast with remnant gray clouds from the storm. Anshumat lay at the fireside the entire night, their wounds stitching and scarring in front of them. The morning promised to be a gloomy one, as if the world was perhaps cognizant of the events that had transpired.

The hazy light of the sun filtered through the gray clouds, dimly revealing the landscape. Anshumat, silent for most of the night, then elected to speak first, saying, “We need to get back to the river,”

The one who dragged the demigod to shelter, Phialu the Determined One, stirred where she slept.

Anshumat shifted themselves up into a sitting position, “we have to find the rest of the K’nights. We need to protect the village.”

Phialu slowly sat up against the wall of the cave. She was exhausted, her eyes still crusted by the mix of tears and mucus she had been intermittently shedding throughout the night. "Uh…" She sniffed and wiped her mouth, blinking hard. "A-are you...Can you walk? You were badly hurt."

Anshumat responded, “It’ll hurt, but I can.” They slowly rose to their feet with a wince. “That doesn’t matter. We need to get back.”

"Right." Phialu stood to her feet with a tiny groan. Getting up quickly was something they both had practice with at this point. She went through the motions of kicking dirt over the coals of the fire and accounting for her bow, her spear, and everything while she spoke. "They said they were going back to the river. That's the fastest way home. If we swim hard and smart, we should be able to catch up."

Phialu stooped to pick up their two whale-bone clubs and held out Anshumat's. She kept her eyes low and away from the demigod.

Anshumat stared sightlessly at the club, hesitating for a time before taking hold of it. They avoided looking at Phialu as well, cradling their club as they said, “We should get going, then.”

"I was trying to find anyone from the missing lake tribe," Phialu spoke up suddenly. "That's why I went ahead. I...couldn't find anyone except you."

No response. The demigod took the first steps out of the cave, looking out at the landscape, searching for the river. It strung like a hazy blue ribbon across the landscape. They began to climb down the rocks. With a brief glance to see if Phialu was following them, they set off across the woods at a breakneck pace, wincing with every step.

The trees slowly passed by Anshumat as they haphazardly weaved through, trampling undergrowth undershell without regard. The trees rustled in the breeze, and the chatter of morning birds sounded off occasionally, but nothing else presented itself.

There was no sound of shifting rocks, the demigod noted, which meant at the very least they hadn’t been followed by Wass’ killers. They then tucked those thoughts away. Listening for the river was the more important task.

For thirty minutes this continued, travel across an empty forest, the demigod paranoid of ambushes by either the Ihokhur or the reaperspawn. But nothing ever came, and as the earliest of the morning birds filtered away, the babble of the river took prominence. They had made it to the river, though the rest of the K’nights were nowhere to be found.

Phialu slowed to a stop and hung her head, catching her breath. She had not said a word since the cave. She looked upstream, downstream, and then to Anshumat. "Can you swim?" she asked. "...Never mind. Stupid question."

She took two quick steps into the river and squat down before kicking off horizontal across the top of the flowing water. Like all selka, her movements instantly changed from an effortful gait on the earth to a graceful swim in water. She turned downstream without waiting.

Anshumat watched her go before entering the stream, kicking awkwardly and painfully in the water. Nevertheless, their divine endurance and strength saw them through their clumsy and injured swim, and soon enough they returned to pace with Phialu.

The swim, too, passed uneventfully as the two swam in sullen silence. The sun slowly moved across the sky as they travelled, soon reaching mid-day by the time the earliest traces of other Selka could be found. It was the middling shape of Kyko the Smiling one who stepped out onto the river bank to wave the pair down. Even he was not smiling today. Not until he saw who emerged from the water, but even that was more out of immense relief than any humour.

"Phialu!? Anshumat? We thought we had lost you." He held out his hands to help them up. "Reph made us wait, just in case."

Phialu took Kyko's hand and hoisted herself up, dripping and not making eye contact.

Kyko craned his head to look behind them. "Is Gralph with you?"

Anshumat grabbed hold of Kyko’s hand, and as they were lifted up answered, “No, I don’t know where he is. I don’t think he’ll be meeting up with us, though.”

Kyko's smile faded.

Anshumat moved on over to the center of the camp. The k'nights looked to their arrival with some sounds of relief and laughter, some standing up to greet them both. Just beyond the group was the hulking shape of Kreekh, who raised a rocky hand in greeting.

Whatever they all said did not matter much. Anshumat looked down at the fire as they said, “We need to get back to the village, before those creatures Gralph fought do. We have to be ready to defend them.”

A quiet second passed.

Reph peered up from his seated position on a small fallen tree. He had a look of intense thought on his face. His snout flared open. "He's not coming back, then?"

Everyone looked at Anshumat.

Anshumat shook their head solemnly, saying, “No, he’s not.”

Reph blinked down and leaned his mouth on his open palm. He sniffed in a deep breath while running his hand quickly up over his face, but did not hesitate to stand up. "K'nights! Pack up and form up!"

"Yeooh," they sounded in defeated unison.

---

Recent rains swelled the river to the point of being treacherous to anyone without the strength of the k'nights, but for them it only quickened their flight back to the river mouth. They took barely a few days at their pace, especially when kreekh learnt to roll along the river bed rather than run alongside or try to swim himself. The nights camping between their legs of travel were solemn, only once or twice having the spirit to sing a song or do anything fun.

Not a single one of them expressed any ideas on how they would stop the Ihokhurs.

Anshumat swam silently with them, curiously lost in thought. They were absentminded and paid little attention to their surroundings.

By the time they reached the coast, Reph lead them out of the water before the volatile currents of the mouth could waste any more of their energy. He squat down with his hands on his knees and caught his breath, as all but the most enduring k'nights did behind him, but when he stood up, ready to move on, he turned around to the k'nights with a look of worry.

"Everyone take a moment," Reph said. "Takos, Anshumat, come, I need a word." He beckoned the two over with one hand and took some steps out of the way.

Anshumat looked to Reph, walking over with a single glance to the rest of the group. They asked, “What did you need?”

Reph sighed and did not look up at the two. "I'm second in command," he said as plainly as he could. "And the first, well, he's gone."

Takos the Clever itched the back of his head anxiously, glancing at Anshumat with his one good eye.

"I don't want to panic anyone, but…" Reph peered up at them from a slouch. "Boys, I don't know what to do."

Anshumat looked down to the ground for a moment. “I’ve been thinking of it. The first obvious step is to bring the tribes of the area together.” They looked back up at Reph, continuing, “They cannot pick off lone tribes one by one that way. I think we can feed so many in one place, with what Toraph has been working on.”

"Those little plants from the seeds?" Takos said sceptically. "They ain't exactly prime trout."

Anshumat answered back, “I’m sure you’ve foraged a berry bush before. Imagine if, right next to your hut, you had a thousand berry bushes. You wouldn’t need a prime trout.”

Takos stroked his chin and lowered his brow. "Hm, thinking about it, I suppose if you had to keep that many people together for a long time, you could clear out enough space and…"

"Anshumat," Reph interrupted. He let out an uneasy huff. "Listen...the food is one thing. The convincing everyone, let's...okay…" he held both his hands forward like he was holding an invisible basket. "Say we got the tribes together and they stay together long enough to fight these things." He pointed to Kreekh, who was whipping his big stony arm down through the air to shed the river water. "How to selka drive them off?" With his question, Reph showed desperation in his eyes.

Anshumat put up their hand, as if they had an idea, and then said, “Well, with such a number of Selka together, entire groups of Selka could be freed up for more specialized tasks -- you only need so many people to tend to plants and fish. A task considered impossible when done only a few hours a day by a handful of people could be finished quickly with an entire group working all day.”

They continued, “Selka alone are not capable of the feats of strength to defeat the enemy, but what if a group of Selka could carve a boulder from the cliffs, and another group of Selka cut wood into a lever of which to launch those boulders?”

Reph narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?" He scoffed with frustration. "No, don't joke around. We need ideas that aren't insane-"

"Reph! Reph." Takos was more level-headed. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it." He turned to Anshumat and pointed encouragingly. "By a boulder, you mean a, uh...like one just big enough to crack their heads, right? That would need a lot of oomph. Even Antoph doesn't have a throwing arm that good."

Anshumat shook their head, “Think bigger. One that not ten Selka could throw. Think beyond what is within a Selka’s limits. Consider a log, it is known that a properly weathered length of wood can bend to a degree, and is eager to return to its original form. What if you were to harvest the power of that wood to launch the boulder for you?” They leaned in to explain. “It is easier to bend the wood than to throw the boulder. A group of Selka bend the wood with a pulley and rope, place the boulder into a bowl at the end of the wood, and then let loose the rope.”

Takos was fascinated. He lifted one finger. "Question. What's a rope?"

"Guuah!" Reph held his fists to his head, his face scrunched up. "I would have to see this to believe this. But..."

"Reph," Takos gave a sly grin. "You know I can build things. Anshumat and me could build it with some villagers."

Reph closed his eyes and thought for a moment with his lips tightly pursed. "...Anshumat, you think you could teach Takos how to build this thing? And find...rope, whatever it is? If we're going to pull this off, I'll need your time to work out getting tribes together and we don't have time to waste."

Anshumat nodded, “I could. Rope is merely a name for lengths of twine tied together to create a stronger whole, like a thick vine. As for the villages, I believe I can help.”

Takos' head went back. "Oooooooh," he realised. "It's like a thick cord? I get it."

Reph gestured firmly to Anshumat with a flat hand. "Okay. Now you have to tell me straight. Can we beat these things?"

“Us, this small group, alone? No. A single tribe? No. A hundred flint spears would break upon their stony skin long before you manage to create even a small piercing. Clubs would smash to splinters. But, together, with new weapons and new defences, yes. It would be difficult, but possible,” Anshumat mused.

It took a long pause of Reph staring straight into Anshumat's blind eyes for him to shift so much as an inch. He eventually straightened and let go of his defeated pose, growing stoic instead. "I'm going to meet with the chief. Tell him what's happened. What we saw. What's coming. By the time I come out, I want Takos working on putting together this big strong lever of yours and for you to be ready to inspect the plants and talk about how to get tribes together." He nodded upwards. "The chief would know more about it than me, and he'll have some difficult questions, so be prepared."

---

The village of the river mouth tribe gathered to receive the k'nights, just as they had the first time. Kreekh had been left a short distance behind them -- Reph figured getting the k'nights to introduce him later would make them less panicked to see a giant like him. All the same, the k'nights' dour trudging coloured the atmosphere in worry. Tribesfolk whispered and murmured to one another.

The river mouth chief was approached immediately by Reph, who spared no pleasantries. "You got a minute? It's important."

The chief leant to look around Reph's shoulder. "Where's the big one?"

"I said it's important," Reph calmly reaffirmed.

The old chief's eyes went wide. He composed himself and turned around, beckoning Reph to follow.

Meanwhile, the rest of the k'nights wandered towards the centre of the village in various states. However, Anshumat was stopped by a familiar voice.

"What happened?" Toraph asked. He stood beside Anboor. They both looked scared. "I saw you coming back up the river with the hood," Toraph continued. "What happened to Gralph? Where's Wass?"

Before Anshumat could respond, Phialu, who had her eyes down the entire time, broke into a sprint out of the village, wiping her eyes with her forearms.

Anshumat looked to Reph and the Chief, before looking back to Toraph and Anboor. They slowly cast their eyes downwards, saying, “Sit down. I can’t talk to you for long right now, but, sit down. Please.”

The air left Toraph and Anboor's lungs in a way Anshumat could only perceive with his sense of essence. The brothers tried and failed to hide their dread from them. Still, Anboor leant down to sit and Toraph slowly followed.

Neither of them looked directly at Anshumat.

Drawing a shaky breath, Anshumat knelt and said, “He.. When we came to a horde of monsters, he ran in. I tried to get him out, but.. He refused to retreat. He refused to leave.” They shook their head, pausing, “I tried. He didn’t make it. I killed a dozen in return, but he.. Didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

Toraph asked quietly. "Why? Why'd he refuse?"

The demigod simply said, “I didn’t explain the situation clearly enough. He was confused. I failed, and broke my word. I’m sorry. His refusal came out of bravery -- but, I didn’t explain well enough. And he died because of it.”

Toraph struggled to hoist himself up to his feet, his nose pointed low and his eyes almost closed. "It's...okay." He listlessly turned around and took two steps before his essence overflowed up his neck, cheeks, and eyes. Anboor was able to keep himself relatively composed by some small miracle, enough to scramble up and wrap his arms around Toraph before the young selka's legs gave out from under him. He tried to push Anboor away but Anboor held on fast.

There were no more words from Toraph, only tears and sobbing muffled by his brother's chest, made between wheezing inward breaths as if resisting it all.

Anboor turned his head to Anshumat again, revealing his own silent tears running from his eyes. "I want to ask you more about what happened," he said. "Not stupid questions this time like I usually ask. But...later. Sorry."

With his brother still in his embrace, Anboor turned around and walked away. Toraph barely kept his feet from dragging lines in the dirt behind them.

Anshumat watched them go before returning their gaze downwards as they walked towards the chieftain's hut.

The selka of the village that had overheard their confession watched Anshumat carefully. Around them, the news travelled through the small group faster than they were walking. All eyes were on the demigod.

The demigod entered the chieftain’s hut silently, and for several hours nobody emerged.

---

Within the confines of the chieftain's hut, Reph, Anshumat, the chief, and his advisors discussed the next moves. Anshumat drew out diagrams of their boulder-thrower, spoke about the tribes and agriculture, and answered questions and sceptics alike. The Chieftain was stubborn, but eventually Anshumat’s ideas did convince him. It was better than nothing, after all.

When all of them emerged from the hut, the sun was low in the sky. Most of the tribe was finishing up for the day or enjoying the last moments of dinner.

Off to Anshumat's left, a pair of k'nights spoke in hushed whispers. It was Humat the Spiritual, the soft-spoken warrior with a keen insight and an answer to every question, standing beside a nervous looking Phialu, now back -- or retrieved -- from wherever she had run off to. Humat pointed to Anshumat and spoke a few words to Phialu. Phialu turned around to look at Anshumat, hesitated, and then walked towards them. She clutched her arm while she moved.

Standing before Anshumat, she took three small breaths before she could say a word. Her fists were clenched pale. "...Anshumat. How...how did the meeting go?"

Anshumat looked to Phialu, saying, “Well. I convinced the chieftain, and after a day’s rest every K’night except Takos and I will be heading out to bring the tribes together. We’ll be preparing new defences.”

She looked up, surprised. "Oh, all of us?" She bowed her head. "Shit. Shit, shit!" she hissed. She took a deeper breath and exhaled slowly through pouted lips. "Okay…" She looked up at Anshumat's face again. "Anshumat, I need your help. And if I have to leave tomorrow, it's gotta be tonight or...soon." The corners of her eyes shrunk. "I want to apologise to Wassamuttu's brothers, i-it was my fault he ran after me, I should have followed Reph and Gralph's order, I'm…" Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "...I heard you and Toraph are acquainted, so…"

Anshumat slowly closed their eyes, saying, “It wasn’t your fault. You did what you thought best. You couldn’t have accounted for what happened. I can help you talk to them, just.. It wasn’t your fault, okay?”

Phialu sneered at herself, avoiding Anshumat's eyes again. She swiftly wiped her face clean. "I...still have to face them. I would appreciate the help."

“Come on, then, I have to talk to them anyways. It’s best we do it soon.” Anshumat responded, briefly looking for Toraph and Anboor before beginning to walk over to them.

"W-? Now!?" Phialu realised it was originally her suggestion as soon as the word came out of her mouth. "Damn it, damn it…" she hurried to catch up with the demigod's lanky stride.

The brothers' hut was a simple stick and mud affair, just like most of the dwellings in the village. It was squat enough for Anshumat to look over the top of its dome-like shape and wide enough for at least five to sleep comfortably, but they could only see one selka within. The back of Toraph's head was visible where he slept by the light of the fire out the front, tended to by a sitting and exhausted-looking Anboor hunched with a poking stick in one hand. He looked tiredly up at Anshumat and Phialu as they approached.

“Do you and your brother have some time to talk?” Anshumat asked Anboor.

Phialu clasped her hands.

Anboor's eyes turned back down to the fire. His lips twitched and he slowly craned his head across to check on Toraph. He was still softly sleeping. He then looked up at Anshumat. "Yeah," he said, a little hoarsely. "I can talk. Toraph'll join if he feels like it."

“Phialu was there when it happened. She wanted to talk to you two about it.” Anshumat followed up.

Anboor's attention went to Phialu.

Phialu waited for a moment before realising that Anboor was not going to say anything in response. She awkwardly sat down at the fire.

"I…" She tried.

Anboor remained listening.

Phialu exhaled. "I don't know how to say this. I'm not a...words person."

"Just speak," Anboor said. "I'm too tired to get angry or sad or whatever."

Phialu glanced nervously. "I really liked Wass." She flushed at her choice of words. It was too late now. "I...really liked him. He was rash, big-mouthed, full of himself, an idiot. But I liked him."

Anboor stared at the fire again with a frown.

"I wanted to admit to both of you that, when Reph told us to turn around and retreat, I thought I could sneak ahead and find captives with the rock people. I wanted to get a notch on my club." Phialu stared at the fire in turn. "Wass ran after me when I didn't retreat with the others. He was exposed and he was coming after me. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Toraph's voice croaked out of the hut. He rolled around to look at them all with moistened eyes. "You can be sad if you like, but it's not your place to be guilty. You can't handle both." Toraph sat up. "Uncle told us that when ma and pa died. Don't be sorry, Phialu."

As Toraph crawled out of the hut to sit by the fire with his knees drawn up, Anboor nodded upwards and sniffed. "Yeah," Anboor added. "It sounds like you liked each other. He told us he thought you were cute."

Phialu let out a single sad laugh. "...Shit," she whispered. Eventually, her hands went up and covered her lowered face.

"You can sit with us, too, Anshumat," Anboor said.

Anshumat slowly sat down in front of the fire, saying, “If only busy days weren’t bearing down on us.”

Anboor lifted a knee and rested his elbow on it. "I heard what's going on from a couple of the k'nights. Kyko and Phassam. You say busy days, but busy doing what? Even they weren't sure what's next."

“The K’nights will be heading out to the other tribes, to bring them to the defense. As for the rest of us, myself and Takos included, will remain here. We’ll be experimenting with a lot of new things nobody has ever built before, and new concepts few have tried -- Toraph being one of those few.” Anshumat answered, taking a stick and tending the fire.

They continued, “We can’t just stab the beasts coming for the tribe. I’ve been devising a new weapon to smash them, but we’ll need the entire tribe if we are to pull it off. We need to clear out woodland and flatten fields as well. After that, that’s where Toraph comes in.”

"What am I supposed to do?" Toraph tilted his head.

Anshumat looked over to Toraph, “Your plants may be what saves us all. Once we bring in all the tribes, hunting and gathering isn’t going to cut it for long. We’ll need much more readily available food in much greater quantities. Something your beans promise.”

Toraph was stunned.

Anboor leant forward. "What do you mean 'all the tribes'?"

Anshumat turned back to look at Anboor, saying, “All of them. Every one we can find up and down the coast, and inland. More Selka than any of us have ever seen in one place before.”

Toraph leant his forehead on his hand. "I'm gonna need to grow a lot more beans…"

The demigod followed up, “And you won’t be doing it alone. You’ll have help. More help than you could ever imagine once the tribes are gathered.”

Anboor had to stop to even imagine it. "I only met a few people from other tribes before. Some of 'em are kinda mean, but...you're k'nights, so if anyone can do it, it would be you guys."

"Hey Anboor," Toraph piped up. "You think you could get the village together like you did when the chief's house blew over in the storm? You were good at getting everyone thinking the same way and rebuilding it better. Maybe they'd follow you doing what Anshumat's said?"

"Oh, I guess," Anboor side-eyed Anshumat. "We had a bad storm while you were away. We've had some practice working together and all that. If you need trees down, land cleared, help building things that you'll be trying out, I can help."

Anshumat nodded. “I could use that help. I would be honored if you could do that for me. We don’t have a lot of time, and any advantage we can get will go a long way.”

"And I'll...try to be a words person with the other tribes," Phialu said. "Maybe I'll just try to protect Reph and let him do the talking-"

A splash like a mighty wave crashing thundered over towards the beach, drawing everyone's attention. There was not a strong swell the last time they laid eyes on the water. At least not strong enough to cause so much noise.

The sound of shouting selka from the village brought Anboor and Phialu to their feet. The four of them jogged and joined the swiftly growing crowd to investigate.

---

In the blue twilight glowing over the sand was a long shape with two flippers, streaming dark blood from wounds across its blubbery body. Yimbo pulled its way up from the shore with pained and deep whimpers.

It was Anboor that broke ahead to run up to the massive creature, prompting a few other brave selka to follow. He only had to take a quick look before standing on his toes and crying out. "It's hurt!" He assertively pointed out one of the tribesfolk. "Maliph, get old lady Rema and her herbs! All of them! And something to stop the bleeding!"

Anshumat trailed behind, unsure of what to do -- they were no healer. They looked over the scene, before charging back to the village to help Maliph with carrying herbs once they had gotten Rema.

They carried back all they could carry. It was all the old selka healer had aside from herself. Rema looked over the weeping red punctures and lacerations across Yimbo's giant body with a look of hurt and dismay. Yimbo's body rose and fell with staggered, pained breathing.

"What do you say, Rema?" Anboor finally asked.

"Old Yimbo is struck low," she said without looking away from the wounds. "I can treat him, but any selka with the same cuts except to their size need be far too strong to survive." The old healer peered up to the crowd from her low hunched back. "This is beyond my skill. Beyond my power."

The crowd whispered and hushed to one another in response. A child began to cry.

Everyone was scared but Takos the Clever. The k'night clutched his own chin and looked strongly into the space in front of him. "There is a tribe downbeach," he began. "A tribe blessed by a goddess of light. The stories say they can heal anything."

Anshumat looked at Takos, questioning, “How quickly could you reach that tribe?”

"Me?" He held his chin back against his neck. "Depends how long it takes to find it. I don't know where it is, exactly." He shook his head. "Besides, Reph told me to build your throwing thing."

"We are many k'nights still," Reph stepped up from behind the crowd. "It is easy enough to follow rumours and we are already bound to strike out to make alliances. A group of us can try to find these blessed healers."

Anshumat looked back to Old Yimbo, putting their hand on the seal as they said to Reph and the healer, “Rema, I know you cannot heal Old Yimbo fully, but would it be within your power to ease their suffering?"

Rema nodded solemnly. "I shall do what I can."

Anshumat continued, “Reph, put together the swiftest team of K’nights you can. Think not just how far they can travel, but how well they can track.” They turned back to the K’nights. “A speedy group is of no use if we cannot track down that tribe. I’ll help Rema tend to Old Yimbo, can you get such a group moving as soon as possible?”

Reph breathed in, grunted, and then spoke from the corner of his mouth. "Phialu, Yim, Phorea. Step up."

Yim the Brief was a master archer, Phorea the Keen was an expert scout. Phialu stepped up last with a look of confusion on her face.

"Phialu," Reph said. "You are a follower of Kalumar, correct?"

Phialu lowered her brow. "My family all are."

"You will lead the way for Yim and Phorea. You will go downbeach to find the healers."

"...I...don't understand, I'm not-"

"Your title is 'the Determined One!'" Reph jabbed a finger onto Phialu's collarbone. "You will be the last to fail on this mission, understand?"

Phialu took a moment of wide-eyed shock. Her gaze went to Anshumat.

Anshumat simply shook their head, saying to Phialu, “He’s right. If the tribe is hidden well enough, it would be your determination that would see the mission through.”

She gazed ahead, blinked down, and felt for her bow over her shoulder. "Okay, I'll do it."

“It’s time to wake up.”

A voice, one she knew well, stirred her from her slumber. With a sigh, she pulled the seemingly luminescent blanket over her head and curled up in bed before whining, “Must I?”

“I would imagine you’ve had enough rest by now, Ivona.”

“Pft,” She threw the blanket off her and pouted at the smiling face of a Goddess, “I’d hardly call the complete obliteration of my soul rest Asceal. Besides, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve seen a bed? Because I don't!”

Asceal stepped up to the bed and all but hauled Ivona to her feet before remarking, “At least I managed to capture your ability to complain incessantly, I was worried about that one you know.”

She grinned at Asceal and retorted, “Well, you could have done better. I don’t have a bad thing to say about the bed.”

“Oh?” The shimmering Goddess before her chuckled, “In that case, it’s not too late to try again.”

Ivona waved her off, “I think dying twice was enough. Besides, why go to all that work? Almost perfect is close enough to perfect for me.”

“Come on then,” Asceal, still grinning, gestured to the door, “There are people you have to meet. And after that? We have something to do, and all the time in the world to do it.”

At that Ivona could only match the Goddess’s smile with her own, “That we do.”

She strode after Asceal, out of the door and into the crystal hallways of a Goddess’s palace, before adding, “My thanks for that by the way. I could hardly have faulted you for reneging on your promise, what with the whole god of death destroying my soul business. Imperfect I may be, but I think eternity is enough of a gift to make up for any errors.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Asceal looked back and dimmed before admitting, “Your re-creation isn’t something I did for the sake of honouring a promise, as much as I wish it was. I have as much to gain as you.”

“Yes you made sure to put that little detail up there,” Ivona laughed and tapped the side of her head, “But I don’t think you’re right on that one. I’m alive, and this time my biggest worry is a job I think I’ll enjoy. Sure, you get your agent, and an old friend, but I’m not sure the scales are balanced on that one.”

Asceal pursed her lips, but only nodded before leading Ivona further into the palace. A few minutes of traversing the ornately decorated halls later the pair stepped into the meeting hall where Liana and Asceal’s children waited. For all Asceal’s apparent enthusiasm, the four within seemed uneasy.

Moreover, it seemed that Asceal’s arrival had cut short something of an argument between Makab and Eline. The two had cut themselves off to stare at their mothers new companion, but the look in their eyes said more than a little about exactly how settled their feud, whatever it was, had been.

Nevertheless, silence fell as every set of eyes present fell on Ivona. As it was, the woman’s looks were hardly remarkable. At least when one considered the audience. Ivona, much like everyone else in the room, save Liana, sported a human appearance and a set of wings. That said, she was a being apart from Asceal’s children.

Whereas the three Angel’s had feathery white wings Ivona’s seemed to be made from iridescent crystal. Furthermore, her eyes glistened in every hue in much the same way as her wings. Beyond that though? Ivona had long black hair, soft white skin, and a simple blue dress. For all her quirks she paled in comparison to Asceal, or even Liana, who were markedly stranger creatures.

Seemingly amused by the attention Ivona waved and spoke with a smile, “Well, hello there. Asceal’s children, and Liana, I presume?”

Liana nodded, but of the trio of Angels only Makab greeted her, “Ivona is it? Mother told us about you. Glad to see you, well,” He shrugged, “Alive.”

At that Ivona could only chuckle. Before she could issue her own retort Eline glared at Asceal and all but shouted, “I’m sorry, Mother, but I can’t do this! Am I the only one who sees that this is ridiculous? You summon us back here after decades, tell us that everything you taught us is wrong, and then go about making some ridiculous replica of some long dead companion?”

Asceal furrowed her brows and opened her mouth, but Eline didn’t give her the chance before she went on, “And then, after all that, you expect us to welcome this Ivona into our family without any further explanation? I’m sorr- No. I’m not. This is too much. I’ve always done what you wanted but no. This, you, you aren’t making any sense!”

The Goddess was, to put it simply, gobsmacked. As was everyone else in the room, save Ivona. The aforementioned ‘ridiculous replica’ put a hand over her mouth in mock shock, but barely managed to hold the expression for more than a moment before breaking out into laughter, “Pft! She does have you there Asceal! You really sprung all this on them didn’t you!”

Ivona wiped a happy tear from her eye and sighed, “And me! While I can’t deny being ridiculous, or a replica, I do hope you’ll consider me part of the family, Eline. Then again, I suppose I can understand if you aren’t ready for that. After all, I’ve been dead longer than you’ve been alive! And it’s never easy to welcome the risen dead into the family,” Ivona grinned before adding, “But at least I don’t smell! That’s always a plus.”

Eline stared at Ivona, temporarily stunned into silence. It seemed the woman had something on her tongue, but the pause gave Asceal enough time to speak, “That’s enough, Eline. And you too, Ivona. I’ll ask you to restrain yourself, regardless of how amusing you find my famililies… difficulties.”

“No. It’s not enough.” Eline smoldered, “I don’t care what your new pet says Mother, and I don’t care what you say. Ever since you brought us back here it’s like you’re not even yourself. You tell us that the mortals aren’t worth being saved, after you’ve dedicated your life to doing that. After you made us to help you do that. You say we need to start punishing people, and not even the evil ones, but the ones that don’t stop them?”

Eline finally lost her temper entirely and snapped, “Who are you!? Why have you, why have we done any of this if it was just some vanity project for you to discard once it didn’t go your way? You’ve made that thing to do what? Wreak havoc on Galbar in the hope that people will act better if they’re afraid of being punished? That they’ll behave if she gives them trinkets here and there? They’re people! Not animals!”

This time it was Makab who stepped in, rounding on his sister while Akam stared at his siblings with wide eyes, “It’s something we should have been doing earlier! You’ve spent just as much time with them as I have. You know what they’re like Eline. The mortals will do anything if they think it’s worth it. Mom’s right, if we want a better world we have to make one. If they’re not afraid of punishment, if they all get saved by Azura, what’s stopping them from being worse than the Selka mom told us about? What’s to say they won’t be as bad as Sartarvius was!”

Eline opened her mouth, face red with anger, but rather than speaking she simply raised her fist and struck Makab. For all he postured, the blow came as a surprise and the brown haired angel crumpled, hands holding his stomach.

“Enough!” Asceal’s voice boomed and the room took on a reddish glow as the Goddess’s rage reflected on her features. She turned her gaze onto Eline and the blond angel, in spite of all her strength, couldn’t help but flinch, “Words are one thing Eline, but you will not touch your siblings. You will go to your room and wait for me. You don’t know enough to say anything, let alone what you have. I have seen mortality in its completeness, you have not. Now, go.”

Perhaps all those years ago, when Eline had last seen her mother, she might have complied. Now though? Her feathery wings flared out and she retorted, “No. I’m leaving, Asceal. Unlike you I’ve actually spent time among mortality. I didn’t gain my revelation by staring down at them from some distant sphere like they were insects.”

She turned, and offered a last word before she stormed off, “They don’t deserve what that thing will do to them. What you’ll do to them.”

Asceal took a step in Eline’s direction, but no more than that. As her daughter fled the palace the Goddess of Light’s angry red form slowly reverted to a pale white. There was a moment of silence, broken by the last two words Asceal wanted to hear at that moment.

“I’m sorry.” Akam muttered, and took off after his sister. Liana, Asceal, and Makab watched him go, each of them as unsurprised as they were conflicted. A rift had formed, and now the only question was how large it truly was.

Not one of those assembled, nor those departed, could say.

We're almost there, little ones. How are you two holding up? Arae asked the two children on her back, Andromeda and Phoset. The two did not respond, which saddened Arae, but she understood. Things were certainly confusing enough. It must have seemed like their life was suddenly spiraling out of control, with their mother gone and them being taken away by a strange entity, even if that entity was a goddess. Arae would do what she could to make them as comfortable as they could for the rest of their stay, but there was only so much she could do to aid them in their struggles.

"...why?" Andromeda asked softly.

Hmm? What was that? Arae asked, turning her head back slightly to look behind her with her right eye.

"Why did you hurt Mommy?" Andromeda asked.

Arae was silent for a time, then began to say, Your mom... did a lot of bad things. She hurt her father, Orvus, and left her sister, Arya. Even after that, she didn't stop doing bad things. Your mom isn't a bad person, though. She's had a lot of bad things done to her, too, and she doesn't know what to do. It's why I did what I did to her. From this journey, I'm hoping she learns what to do from now on and becomes a better person because of it. Does that make sense?

From their blank and puzzled expressions, it was clear that they didn't, but Arae let off a sad chuckle and added, Well, I'm sure you'll understand in time. Soon, they reached the Dragon's Crown, and Arae warned them, This might be a little uncomfortable, but just hold on tight. Then she dived down into the water. The two kids held on, and soon realized they didn't get wet even after hitting the water. The water split apart as Arae moved, as if a barrier was in place to prevent it from reaching the kids.

They emerged from the Pantheon lake, and landed near its edge, next to the Familial Trees. "Here we are, little ones. Welcome to Spekatha, my Sphere of influence. It's not much, but feel free to make yourselves at home," Arae said as the two stared in awe at the various assortment of the Godly Familial Trees.

A serpentine dragon suddenly swooped down, landing in front of Arae. Its passenger slid down its back and bowed down respectfully.

"Welcome back, Lady Arae," Serenis said, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Andromeda and Phoset. "And why have you brought these two children with you?" she asked. Kree made his way over to them, sniffing them both. Then he shrunk down and brought his body underneath them, and expanded again to carry them off and walked over to lie down under Arae's Familial Tree.

"Well, I couldn't just leave two children in the middle of nowhere, with no one to take care of them," Arae said, shifting into her human form. "They need a good home, and it's up to us to find one for them."

"So they won't be staying here, then?" Serenis asked.

"Oh, goodness no. At least, not permanently," Arae answered as she waved her hand in denial. "Spekatha may be calm and serene, but that's all it is, and it is no place to raise children. If they stay here, they'll have all they need here and it won't teach them a thing about hard work. That is why we must find them a home they can properly grow in.

"Hmm... in that case, how about Arya, Lady Arae?" Serenis suggested. "I'm sure she'd be willing to take them in."

"Laurien's sister? Hmm... yes, that could work," Arae approved, nodding. "I'll have to ask her the next time I see her. In the meantime, let us talk about the Spiritii. I hope they haven't been any trouble to you."

"It did take some time to get used to them, but they are a lot more useful than I gave them credit for," Serenis admitted. "But you should already know this, watching through my eyes. Why are you asking?"

"Because it's nice to be able to hear it from you, that's all," Arae said, smiling sweetly at Serenis. Serenis blushed and looked away, which only caused Arae to giggle softly.

"They could do with a little variety, however," Serenis added.

"Oh? How so?" Arae asked, tilting her head slightly.

"All the Fire Spiritii can do is trim and burn away the trees as necessary. However, there are currently no means for the trees to regrow after enduring hardships, Lady Arae. Without it, I believe the trees will have a difficult time maintaining themselves. I've been coming up with ideas on how to improve them, but nothing's complete yet," Serenis mentioned.

"Hmm..." Arae closed her eyes, a hand on her chin as she tried to come up with a solution. Then an idea struck her, and Arae smiled as she returned her attention to Serenis. "Well, keep at it. When your ideas are ready, please tell me as soon as you can, Serenis."

Serenis nodded and said confidently, "Yes, my Lady! I won't fail you!"

Meanwhile, the children were still atop Kree, who was paying them no mind as he allowed them to moving around on top of him. He wasn't sure how long they were going to stay there, but he didn't feel the need to drive them away. He would let them play around him for as long as they wanted.

---

The battle between Kalmar and Orvus' Avatar was intense, and things had taken a turn for the worse just before Arae and Ashalla arrived to support him. The energy discharges from the trees were incredible, and Serenis did what she could to keep them healthy, even after Kalmar's tree died in response to his own death. She was dismayed at the sight, but she couldn't let herself

While she was doing her job, Serenis' mind raced as she tried to figure out how to actually improve the Spiritii. It was a simple matter to just create a new form from scratch, but Serenis soon learned that it was just inefficient on the use of Arae's power. Other kinds of Spiritii would be created, but it was merely a short term solution to what she saw as a long-term problem; it was too inflexible to deal with any future problems that would come up later. She had to find a solution.

Kree and Kris were busy as well. Kree had hunted for fish in the nearby waters outside the Dragon's Crown and did his best to search for edible plants, bringing them to Kris. Arae had taught Kris to create delicious dishes, who in turn taught other Fire Spiritii to help her cook. Kris did what she could to prepare meals for Andromeda and Phoset. She cooked them in front of the kids, making a show out of the process and presenting their dishes with a flourish.

It wasn't too long before Arae returned to Spekatha, shifting into her human form as she landed next to Serenis and looking depressed. "I couldn't save him," Arae whispered. That whisper suddenly turned into a frustrated yell, "He was right there, and I COULDN'T SAVE HIM!" A shockwave of energy blasted out of Arae as she reached out and gripped Serenis by the shoulders, tears streaming down her face.

"Yo-you did everything you could, Lady Arae," Serenis said, trying to console her.

"Did I?" Arae retorted. "I could've done more, if I'd only been faster, been more powerful. I let myself grow complacent, foolishly believing everything would be alright just because we were divine. I can't let this happen again. I can't..." Arae then began to scream as she got a splitting headache, with new images flashing through her mind. Figures she recognized as her friends and family were all around her, each one smiling as they disappeared one by one, despite her telling them not to go. Soon, she was the only one left, and dark humanoid shadows slowly filled the emptiness. They emitted a malicious aura towards Arae as she dropped to the ground, cowering in fear as the shadows grew and towered over her. They began to extend their hands towards her...

"...dy! Arae! Please wake up! Lady Arae!" Silver's frantic yelling and shaking brought Arae back into consciousness. Looking up, Arae saw Serenis, Kree, Kris, and even Andromeda and Phoset around her, looking concerned for her. Arae pushed herself up from the ground, brushing away Serenis' hands as she gave a weak smile and said, "I'm alright, my dears. Forgive me for worrying you."

"My lady, what happened? Why did you collapse like that? You were muttering things, too, like, 'Don't leave me' and 'Please stop'," Serenis said. Kree let out a sad grumble as he leaned in and nuzzled Arae's side.

"It's nothing to worry about," Arae dismissed Serenis' concerns. Getting back up and forcing herself to stay composed, she decided to change the subject and ordered, "Kree, please take the kids elsewhere." As Kree gently nudged them away with his snout, Arae turned to Serenis and asked, "So, how much progress have you made with the Spiritii?"

Serenis pursed her lips in disappointment, but there was little she could do if Arae wasn't willing to share her thoughts. Instead, she reported, "I feel as if I'm close, but I'm not sure how to finalize it. I've been studying the Istalri, trying to see how it forms the Fire Spiritii. The one important thing I've learned from it is that it gathers Soul Ash, then the soul forms and it is birthed into a Fire Spiritus. I was hoping to use that process to create other kinds of Spiritii, but I don't know what the final step should be."

Arae turned to look at the little campfire, giving it a curious look, then motioned for Serenis to follow her. "Come with me," Arae said, the two making their way over to the Istalri. Extending a hand towards it, Arae fired off a pulse of energy into it. The flames flickered for a second before settling back to normal. Arae nodded, saying, "There." Serenis, confused, saw nothing different about the Istalri. "My Lady, what did you-" Serenis was about to say before she was cut short by the sudden appearance of a Spiritus. Unlike the Fire Spiritii that normally populate Spekatha, however, this one was comprised of wind, twisting around and forming tornadoes. Two bright spots appeared as its eyes, blinking twice.

"That was a rather simple thing to do," Arae remarked. "The reason Spiritii were always born with fire is because their souls were always surrounded by fire. Now, their souls is protected from the flames and given a chance to emerge, and it will take in the element it is surrounded with."

Serenis' eyes widened with amazement. She had been agonizing over this problem, yet Arae had been able to come up with the solution in mere moments. It was yet another reminder that she still had much to learn.

"I'll leave it to you to learn how to properly manage them. In the meantime, I have business to take care of," Arae said, walking over to Phoset and Andromeda. It was time to send them to Arya. Soon, they were off, flying out of the Dragon's Crown and towards what would be their new home.

There she sat on her throne, the left side of her body bruised with her ribs being cracked and threatening to break and collapse. Atmav had endured much pain, namely remembering how her wings had nearly been torn off so many years ago before she had broken it off in her fight against Yimbo. However, that pain was something she could not have recovered from, this injury was nothing compared to that but her pain tolerance had fallen over the years of idleness. Now, every breath hurt, each intake and exhale making her life miserable. At least in the safety of her home, no Selka could see her weakness.

Atmav was in no fighting shape and knowing that made her angry, knowing that more of those rock men could descend upon them and she would be nearly powerless to stop them. If Orvus had seen her now, she would have been ashamed of herself and she knew that he would look down upon her for being weak. Instead, she cast a silent prayer to Kirron, someone she figured either did not exist or did not care enough to see to her plea. It was that reason alone that she sat there with her mind repeating itself with each breath.

”Kirron give me the strength to beat back these invaders” her mind said to itself, not truly caring if the creator of the Selka did anything or not. The God-Queen let out a cough into her hand, blood showing itself and letting her know that, despite her durability, the being had succeeded in breaking something that should not have been broken.

“Damn it all,” she cursed, writhing in her pain as she tried to find some comfort in her seat.

Dull flicks of rain pat upon the roof, growing gradually into a downpour that filled the longhouse with white noise. It was a favour insofar as distracting Atmav from the sound of her strained breathing.

But a guttural, beastial roar held her breath for her. Somewhere out by the beach, judging by the sound. It was not a sound that any hulk of animate dark stone could make. But it was a sound that pinched at Atmav's memory.

“Damn it all,” she cursed again, wanting nothing more than to allow herself time to heal so that she may defend her people properly. However, the roar, though tugging at some semblance of memory, continued to elude her as the pain clouded her mind, especially now that Atmav was moving again. She dragged her sword behind her as she walked to the entrance of her longhouse, paining gripping her all the way through.

In the end, she made it to the entrance and looked out onto the beach, her head swiveling to see through the misting showers and clouds at what dared to intrude within her domain. Selka had wandered out of their own homes and were peering down the beach as well. At the waterline, looming with its round head tall and daring, was the unmistakable silhouette of Atmav's old adversary, Yimbo the monstrous seal guardian.

But it was different. A large but comparatively small shape slid off the side of Yimbo's neck and splashed its feet into the water beside the great beast. It turned to face Atmav, revealing a broad, muscular male frame and a battered tree trunk carried over one shoulder. Atmav could feel his eyes on her, even through the blue haze of the rain.

“Who are you and why do you dare bring that thing back to my sight,” she called, having to pause several times to allow herself the ease of breath and a momentary relief from pain. Atmav’s vision looked between Yimbo and the figure, her feet stepping onto the sand as she dragged her sword down the sand dune. The heavy water droplets battered her face from the sky. She was but a few precious lengths away, bringing her sword in front of her to attempt a fighting stance, though her sword was barely lifted off the ground and her breath was already quickened.

“If you have come to challenge me, I have beaten Yimbo before and I will be able to again,” she growled, looking towards the one with the tree trunk slung over his shoulder.

The figure took steps to heave his legs through the knee-deep water until he reached the beach. He stood impressively taller than Atmav, but it was the silence under the falling rain that lent to the sense of impending dread.

He neared. The weight of the sword grew harder to endure in Atmav's hands. Through the pouring rain, the huge figure's vivid red skin, white hair and beard, and hide clothing stood out in her vision. The large bleached skull of a tusked dead beast clung to his shoulder like a warning.

His small, sunken eyes bored into her. "Try hurting me first," he uttered. "If you're so sure."

Atmav fearlessly gazed back at the giant, though eyeless, her resolve was there for the moment as she shakily began to raise her orvium blade. However, she was quicker to drop her blade as she doubled over, coughing up blood onto the sand, the iron taste becoming all too familiar to her. It was clear that she would not be able to act upon her words of defiance, though her head shifted upwards her fangs bared and stained with her ichor.

“I will- defend my people,” she growled, her voice weak as she began to catch what breath she could.

Thunder, distant, rolled across the sky behind her. The red man lifted one eyebrow, peering left and right.

The focus of his attention was revealed by the shuffling of selka feet over the wet sand up either side of Atmav. They were looking up at the giant defiantly with spears and clubs in their hands.

"Hmph," he sounded with a smile on his lips. "It looks like they would rather defend you."

“I am- I am their guardian, their queen,” Atmav coughed, looking to the Selka before speaking to them, “Get back! This is my fight.” Her eyeless gaze shifted to Yimbo as she spoke, slowly getting to her feet, wiping away the blood from her lips before she noticed that none of the Selka had moved.

It seemed they were ready to fight for their injured queen, despite her attitude of wanting to fight alone. While she would have been elated to know such a fact, her view of their bravery was misplaced, finding them out of their league against the likes of the giant and Yimbo. Then, that smile on his face. It had to be smug amusement at a feeble attempt to challenge him.

“What are you smiling for?” Atmav questioned, continuing her exasperated breathing.

The giant lowered himself to a squat to look closely at Atmav, draping one arm over his knee and keeping his club shouldered. Triangular, shark-like teeth shone from within his mouth while he spoke. "I'm smiling because I am proud of your tribe." His eyes wandered, wide and bright at each of the standing selka. "They don't even know who I am and they would die for you."

Atmav took a moment to process those words, her body relaxing as she looked at the giant with an agape mouth. She looked back to her equally confused Selka. Wondering why he would be proud of them or even why they should know who this giant actually was. Her mind slowly connected each separate piece before she uttered a single name, “K-Kirron?”

He grinned. "The one and only."

One by one, spears, clubs, and knives fell flat upon the ground from the hands of the selka tribe. They all stood in awe. Some began silently weeping. Some fell to their knees, overwhelmed.

Kirron, the god of blood, extended a hand. Hesitantly, the hand was accepted. Hers dwarfed in comparison to his own as Atmav pulled herself up as best she could, finding his arm giving only as much resistance as a solid rock. Even without all the facial features of his creations, she was in just as much awe.

“Did you hear my prayer?” Atmav asked, hesitantly placing one foot back.

He stood to full height. Water ran off his shoulders in rivulets. "Might'a missed one or two out of the several hundred you sent my way, but I got the sentiment," he said. "You weren't the only one here praying, either. Let alone the only one wanting help against some walking rocks." He put a fist on his hip. "There was some worse business I had to deal with before coming, but it's good to see you all held out in time."

The rain slowed to a drizzle. Through the humidity, Yimbo looked on with its massive belly and chin flat on the sand.

Atmav remained focused on Kirron, almost unable to find words for a moment before another bout of coughing brought her mind back into reality. Blood slowly moved out of the corner of her mouth before she had gotten herself under control.

“I suppose that does not matter right now. We have just encountered those things, only one, and I would have died to overconfidence if it were not for my blade,” she explained to Kirron, taking a hand to wipe away the blood from her face. Atmav chose to remain focused on the Ihokhur and the one who controlled them, ‘Kalani’, rather than allowing awe of meeting a fourth god to get in her way. Her head turned to Yimbo for a split moment, noting how it did not seem remain on guard despite its enemy right in front of it.

“Why are you here, though?” Atmav asked, returning her gaze to Kirron.

"I'm here to help you save yourselves and the tribes around you," Kirron plainly explained. "Those rock men are Ihokhurs. They were made by the same fellow that made that sword of yours. They're in these lands to kill. Used to enslave, but now they just destroy."

“Of course…” Atmav sighed before continuing, questioning. “And how are you going to help us save ourselves?”

Kirron brought his eyes over Atmav's head towards the village. Without a word, he walked past her with broad paces that left large divots in the sand. "Got any food? I'm feeling peckish."

Atmav could only watch, almost flabbergasted at the thought of feasting at such a crucial time where plans needed to be made and stratagem formed. She looked to some of her Selka and motioned for them to gather whatever food they had available before she picked up her sword and slowly began to drag herself after the giant. Being far slower moving than him due to her injuries and shortness of breath.

The blood god only slowed to a stop at the main door to Atmav's longhouse. There, he carefully placed his tree trunk club horizontal on the ground -- though it still made a resounding thud -- and eased himself inside the building.

“We should have some food,” Atmav huffed as she watched Kirron get into a building clearly not designed for someone of his stature. She followed him in after he had entered, looking back to see the Selka in a mad dash to gather what food they had lying around, clearly not wanting to displease the god in any sort of fashion. However, she did note the children running up to the mythical Yimbo in awe.

Yimbo regarded the children gently. It puffed out a jet of air from its nose, causing one selka child to stumble back. They all giggled.

It brought a slight smile to Atmav’s face.

"Yimbo told me about you," Kirron said. He sat on the floor cross-legged by the central hearth with his hands on his knees. He was at least at no risk of knocking things over while seated. "How about you tell me your side of the story?"

Atmav’s head dipped at the mention of the story, turning her head to Kirron before dragging herself to that throne of hers in silence. Her head did not meet Kirron as she sat there for a few moments, attempting to get comfortable despite the pain she felt. A small sigh escaped her lips before she spoke, her mind going back over sixty years, “To know the story of how I defeated Yimbo, I must first go back to my wretched creation in this land, to when Vakk brought me back to further his own sadistic goals. That pain… it was far worse than what I feel now.”

She drew in a breath, “Then he let me go under the stipulation that I would aid him when the time comes. I flew into a storm before I awoke in this land, I had met the Selka. At that point they did not even know what a spear was or even a hut, for that matter. I remember fighting one of those reptiles from the north, I killed it, but it caused damage to my original pair of wings.” A hand slowly went to her shoulder at the mention of those wings.

“When the Selka tried to help me, I rejected their aid and stomped off. That was when I met the tribe known as the Grottu, all I remember was anger, and when they spoke of gods all I could remember was my creation. All of the pain and torment built until I snapped. Yimbo had come to protect the Selka from my rage, and in that regard, he failed. During our battle I had lifted him and threw him upon the Selka,” Atmav leaned forwards as she spoke, her elbows digging into her thighs as she concentrated less and less on her pain. Her head finally went to directly gaze upon Kirron. He was looking right at her. “After that is unimportant. All that you need to know is that I beat Yimbo and killed many Selka in the process.”

Kirron did not shift an inch. He wore a neutral smile, contemplating. "Sounds like you regret it."

Atmav contemplated those words for a moment before speaking once more, “There were women and children who died. I never meant to kill them.”

"so what's going to be different this time, if you get the strength to fight off the Ihokhurs?"

“If, miraculously, that I get over this injury and lead the fight against the Ihokhurs, then I will fight for my people. These Selka, they-“ she paused to cough again before slowly controlling herself, “They are like the family I never had in my old life before coming to this world.”

Kirron turned his head, lifting an eyebrow in the direction of the doorway, where a handful of selka carried reed platters of fresh fish, edible kelp, fruits, and vegetables, as well as dried goat meat. They looked down from Kirron's gaze, anxious.

"S-some food for you, gods," the bravest one stuttered.

“Thank you,” Atmav chimed as they set down their platters of food, watching them leave the two to their conversation Her head turned back to Kirron before asking, “Would you like me to leave you while you eat?”

Kirron froze a second before he closed his shark-like teeth around a sizable snapper he held by the tail. His open grin faded into an affronted frown. He pointed the fish at Atmav. "Would you like me to leave while your tribe dies?" He pushed the nearest platter further towards Atmav. "Eat."

The noise of Kirron biting the whole head clean off the fish in his hand did not do favours to the appetite, though he did not sound like he was offering a choice.

"So," he said through his chewing. "If you had a past life, that confirms it. Your blood has a different smell to Vakk..." he gestured to the droplets spattered on her body from her coughing. "You're from before, like me and the other gods are."

Atmav paused as she wrapped her fangs around a piece of goat meat, pulling the food out so that she may speak unimpeded, “Vakk and I were dragged through a portal during a battle, I died before Vakk revived me with his new godly powers.” She took a moment to tear into the goat meat before she let out a sigh. “My battle-sisters are left home while I must endure here, without the pleasure of being gifted the power that Vakk was,” she continued before leaning back in her throne.

Kirron's chewing slowed. "Hm. How much do you remember?"

“Between my time of being dead? Nothing. Before and after my resurrection, everything since the Vakk’s rebellion against the Endless Talk,” Atmav said simply, picking a fruit off her platter. “My strength is the same. My training has been retained,” she cocked her head before biting into the fruit.

Kirron exhaled through his nose. "We will have to talk more about that some time," he said. "I do not remember much about where I came from. What I was. Only images and...stuff. I know it wasn't here. And it wasn't where you come from, either."

After a pause, Kirron blinked his eyes back to Atmav. "But I'm boring you. Here is important now." He planted a finger to the floor. "Here is where family is. You've learnt to be responsible with your anger around your family -- I could tell as much meeting you out there. You will be responsible with your power to repel the Ihokhurs..." He noisily licked his bottom row of teeth. "But what power do you need? Hm?" He leant back and tossed the other half of the snapper up into his mouth.

“The power to rip stone in two,” Atmav joked, before going into another bout of coughing.

"That all, huh?" Kirron smiled. "As good a choice as any. Nothing with a brain will mess with you too much if you can kill them." He snatched up a tuber and bit off a chunk. "Eat up." Two flecks of yellow food flew out of his mouth from the last word. "When you're done, I'll give you a way to put 'em into halves."

Atmav looked at Kirron, going to say something before she began to wolf down the rest of her platter with an appetite to match the god’s own.

---

The pair made quick work of the remaining food. By the time they were done and stepping out of the longhouse, Atmav realised she had stopped coughing and had a sort of energised shiver in her body.

Kirron stepped out first, planted his fists on his hips and sniffed in a deep breath. "Aaaah," he audibly sighed through a smile, looking down at what met them. The entire population of the village stared up at him like a grey sea of faces and eyes. There was a chill in the air from the still-drizzling rain, but not a single one looked uncomfortable.

“I must say, I do feel much better,” Atmav said, looking up to the god and giving him a warmer smile than she would normally give to someone. Her head swiveled as she gazed upon the form of Yimbo, almost absentmindedly speaking, “Almost as if I could go for another brawl.”

Yimbo, standing on its belly just beyond the crowd, lowered its head and let out an aggressive growl deep enough to resemble stones falling into a deep pit.

Kirron was unfazed. Although, he lifted an eyebrow at Atmav. "You owe Yimbo an apology, you know."

“Apologize to that monster? It did try to kill me, I won. I do not feel I must apologize to it,” Atmav said, crossing her arms as her gaze remained fixated on the giant monstrosity of a seal before she stepped forwards. Her feet crunched in the sand as she approached, arms still crossed.

“It’s fat, slow, reckless,” her list grew ever larger as she listed off the many weaknesses, or just what she believed of the seal. The crowd of Selka stared at her and parted as she drew near, a path being formed to the mighty Yimbo, who stared down upon Atmav with aggression in its eyes. As Atmav reached the seal, she stopped and stared at it, the two locked in a silent battle of wills. Yimbo's breath blew hot and slow out of its nostrils.

However, it was Atmav who brought the battle to wane as she reached out to touch the seal’s skin. Yimbo's breathing stopped. “Yet, determined to protect the very people I had wrongfully abused in the past.” She gave a slight smile to the seal, “For your dedication and bravery, I am sorry.”

Yimbo's eyes slowly closed. Rivulets of tear-like mucus seeped from the corners of its eyes. It let out a slow breath.

Then Atmav felt the jab of a large thumb just above her hip. She jumped in surprise, turning her head with an angered look as she rubbed where the blood god had jabbed her.

Kirron chuckled and spun on his heel. "You, you, you, you, and...you. Come here."

Five selka randomly selected from the crowd looked about themselves in surprise. One of them pointed to themselves questioningly.

Kirron beckoned again. "Yes, all five of you! Come 'ere, what are your names?"

"Shuu."
"Uh, Phiam."
"...Brottnee."
"Alium!"
"Er, Kevik."

After a second lowering his brow at the name 'Brottnee', Kirron continued. "Good, good. You all can swim?"

Phiam stifled a laugh. "Uh, we're selka...um...Mister Kirron."

Kirron grinned. "Come with us, then. You'll need to help us carry some things out of the reef over there." He jerked his head out to sea. Without missing a beat, he turned to walk down into the choppy waves. "Yimbo! Watch the rest while we're out!"

Yimbo curled its head around to watch Atmav. Its eyes were softer now.

“Wait, you want me to go along?” Atmav questioned as she stepped towards the ocean, looking down at herself, then to the Selka, and back to Kirron. “I am no Selka, nor a being like you. Swimming is not exactly my strongest area,” she said in a more annoyed voice than she intended.

Kirron stopped about waist deep in the water and slowly stepped around, head tilted and his lip curled up in confusion. It took him exactly two seconds to process Atmav's words before he broke eye contact and raised his brow. His mouth twisted before he addressed the biggest selka coming with them. "Brottnee, right?" He confirmed.

Brottnee, the thin and tall selka a few paces towards the beach from him, nodded absently.

The blood god pointed at Atmav. "Go make sure she keeps her head above the water," he said, before jabbing a big red finger at Brottnee directly. "After this, you and your friends will teach her to swim. Understand?"

Brottnee nodded vigorously.

Atmav could only sigh in response, stepping forwards and entering the water at last and wading in it until she was waist deep. Brottnee was in front of her, still shorter than the likes of Atmav, but tall enough to still support her through the waves. She cursed under her breath as she flattened her wings against her body as much as she could.

“Let’s get this over with,” she growled.

The reef only took a few minutes to reach. They might have reached it sooner had they not waited for Atmav as she uselessly kicked herself forward while Brottnee's pulled her burdensome mass along with Atmav's hands on his shoulders.

From the surface, the only hint of anything new was the dark shapes of stones and kelp below them, but every selka there had come out here to dive for shellfish in their lifetimes.

Kirron floated with his head above the water and turned to the group. "There's a cache of treasure in this reef. Came flying down from the sky, it did. Follow me; we'll be digging it up."

With that, Kirron dunked his head under the water. His two huge boot-covered feet fluked up out of the water behind him before following his body under the surface. The selka did not hesitate to follow suit, except for Brottnee. He looked over his shoulder at Atmav.

"Hold your breath," he said, before ducking forward under the water with Atmav still attached.

When Atmav’s head became submerged, it became easier for her to track movements, at least those powerful enough to cause noise in the water. Her head swiveled all around as she took a mental note of each of the Selka’s positions in the water. She kept her senses aware for anything else that may be following them in the water, not noticing the slow moving fish but only snapping her head towards the sudden movement of an eel to drag prey into its hole. The sensation was most unusual for her.

The water quickly started to press against her ears as they followed deeper. Kirron only lead them several metres down, just over a coral-coated rocky outcrop. At the base of the outcrop was a conspicuous divot apparently blasted out of the side of the stone. It was half-filled with sand, but Kirron took one of his huge hands and curled his fingers into the surface. He pulled up something which, when the murky sand cleared from it, appeared to be a number of lustrous, flat, half-ovoid shapes etched with some vein-like pattern. They were each about the size of a selka hand, though Kirron could fit quite a number just in his palm.

Kirron beckoned over one of the selka divers, Kevik, and pushed a number of the lustrous shapes into their hands. Each other diver got similar handfuls, even Brottnee.

Once the divers were laden enough to need to hold the shapes to their chests with their arms, Kirron pointed upward and kicked off the sea floor. His body shot up fast enough to leave an unseen vertical force in his wake.

As the Selka swam up, Atmav took one of the half-ovoids from Brottnee, bringing it close to her face as she seemed to recognise it. It was metal, she could clearly see that, but such a fact only confused her more. Why had Kirron brought them out here for a bunch of metal?

When the Selka surfaced, Atmav’s mouth opened to bring in a large breath of fresh air, exhaling and inhaling equally large breaths. It was relaxing to finally be able to breathe, even if the air was salty.

"Bring 'em all in! I'll show you how to use them."

After they swam to the shore again and piled the metal pieces in the sand, the onlookers grew curious and stared at the sparkling shapes. One of the divers tasted a piece and found it only tasted of the seawater that clung to it in drops.

Kirron lifted a palm. "We'll need a big stone. Wait here, I'll get us one."

The blood god turned around and ran. His legs tensed after five broad strides and with a rush of air and sand, he jumped towards the cliffs further inland.

Atmav could only look on in confusion before she took on the metal objects to inspect. She looked to the Selka before she would explain what she knew of it to her people, only taking a moment to try and understand Kirron’s methodology. “My people, this is metal. Stronger than the stone we use in our tools and very much capable of slaying some quicker than a stone spear when molded into a proper weapon,” she explained, allowing the people to take in the knowledge.

“I know not what metal it is exactly nor do I know what Kirron intends to use it for, but we shall see,” Atmav spoke, stepping back to look at the pile that they had accumulated.

One of the onlookers who still held one of the shapes in her fingers flicked as one end of it, producing the same jingling sound the rest made when piled up. "With Kirron comes strength," she said, giving Atmav a hopeful smile. "Maybe these will make us stronger?"

Another selka curled his head around towards the cliffs. "How long do you think he will be away?"

Yimbo made a rumbling sound and pointed their snout to the sky. The little shadowy dot growing from that direction answered the selka's question. It grew towards them in the shape of a large brown boulder with a red god underneath.

The tribe made yelps and stumbled away to make room for the incoming projectile, but it fell short, impacting the sand with a chest-thumping thud and sliding with enough sand plowing out to each side to look like a pair of breaking waves of yellow powder.

The boulder slid to a stop just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the pile of metal pieces. Kirron triumphantly stood up from the stone's base. It dwarfed his breadth and barely surpassed his height.

"Atmav, bring one of those treasures over here!" Kirron demanded, grinning.

Very silently, yet confused, Atmav obeyed the order of the god, picking up exactly one piece of the metal before she stepped to Kirron. She held the metal out to him and eyelessly gazed at him with what would be confusion if she had brows to furrow.

“What are you planning, Kirron?” She asked as he took the metal.

"I'm planning for you to use these." Kirron held the metal up between his thumb and forefinger, speaking as much to all the selka around him as he did to Atmav, in a low and reverent voice. "All spilt blood comes to Horizon Grotto, my home where the setting sun reflects red into the sky. All blood has within traces of this -- blessed iron. And some of this blessed iron found its way here, to the trove we all just dug up." His voice turned clear and direct again. "Hold still, Atmav."

Kirron held the flattened edge of the metal against Atmav's upper arm. It was not sharp enough to cut, even if any significant force was applied. The only extra force Kirron gave was to tap the top of it lightly with the index finger of his other hand, which in itself felt like a young selka's hardest punch.

Atmav merely watched as he did so, confused and doubtful as to how this would do anything to stop the Ihokhur from ravaging her land.

Kirron straightened and held the iron out to Atmav again. "Now go hit the blade of the iron against the boulder with just as much force. No more, no less."

She took the iron from Kirron, looking at him before she stepped towards the boulder and mimicking what Kirron had done. Atmav took the iron, holding the blade against the rock before delivering her own tap.

Clack!

A shiver swiftly rattled up Atmav's bones and made the roots of her teeth vibrate. The little noise was not only louder than expected, it went through everything as if its source was everywhere.

There was no apparent effect for exactly enough time that everyone wondered what the point was. Then, aligned with the blade, a black line opened on the boulder with a gentle scrape. The onlooking selka gasped. Along the line, the boulder rolled apart under the force of its own weight into two rough yet neatly separated halves.

The selka all voiced their astonishment in a wave of blended talk.

"It's even more effective underwater," Kirron added.

Atmav pulled back from the boulder, taking a moment to properly see the extent of damage. A wicked smile came across her face as she looked back to Kirron, allowing her fangs to be shown before she let out a laugh. It seemed that the Queen was beyond pleased with the outcome of these pieces of metal, showing her satisfaction to the god through that same maddened laugh.

“How may I thank you for this fine gift,” Atmav asked, her toothy grin still in place as she stepped towards Kirron. She stopped an arms length away from the giant.

Kirron's mouth closed to a line. He pointed to Atmav's chest. "Learn to swim and get food with your tribe. Get better, not weaker. That's all I want."

“And so it shall be done,” Atmav said, her smile still wide as she turned back to her people. Her head momentarily looked turned to Yimbo. “Tonight, we feast!” She called out to the tribe, her voice powerful.

Some time ago...

The cold mountain winds sang down the mountains and valleys of the far northern realms. That far and distant land of oak and pine, mountain and hill, valley and stream was a rugged paradise all to its own. It was a sacred place to many of the creatures that now inhabited its numerous environs, from beaches to glades to highlands. From the great exodus to the north led by their Wolf-God Roog the Vallamir of the North had found themselves a homeland challenging but rewarding to inhabit.

High on the hill beneath the mountain so-called Dun Haen in the Valla tongue the monastery of Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld sat, holding onto the rock and stone of its foundation like a perched eagle. All about the base of the hill the monastery had been erected upon now sprouted a veritable forest of settlements. Longhouses of simple planked wood, huts carved out of the boughs of fallen trees, and even the beginnings of stacked stone dwellings with branch and leaf roofing. Following in the footsteps of the Wolf-God, they too built their homes and housing by hand and with dedication that revealed much of their own spirit.

Up atop the hill the gates of Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld lay open, yawning wide and welcoming. The monastery had become a sanctuary for many, not just the Cenekyn of Roog, and its many courtyards and halls bustled with life. Each had taken an oath, either for a lifetime or for more discreet moments of their lives, to serve the monastery in some way. The Cenekyn that lived and resided in the Kynweir-Alwyld lived as guardians, protecting the local landscape and practicing their craft through constant exercise and meditation.Those Valla who had not taken the path of the warrior instead acted as their caretakers, doing menial tasks in exchange for lodging within the great monastery and time to reflect on themselves on their lives. It was not a idyllic life by any stretch of the imagination but through dedication and meditation many had found much of themselves inside those doors.

In the largest of the courtyards, a field of simple stone tiles that thrust out around the Reodweir, Roog and the Cenekyn were in motion. As he had promised so many years ago, Roog had begun teaching the guardians of the Valla the skills they would need to protect and serve their people. At first these skills had simply been those of survival, Great-Wolf teaching his followers the many secrets of the forest and forming them into competent woodsmen all their own. As the Vallamir under his care picked up these skills rapidly Roog soon found himself in need of knowledge he did not himself possess readily. Through meditation and contemplation Roog had sought to form the ways of the wolf into an art of combat, developing movements and actions to serve as martial arts the Cenekyn could eventually learn and master. It was this exact art the Cenekyn practiced so fervently now, their Order each day growing in skill.

As the Cenekyn went through the motions of his martial art or sparred with one another Roog simply sat beneath the Reodweir in quiet observation masquerading as mediation; today he had no desire to see deep into his thoughts and would rather enjoy the wind on his face and the sight of his people. His Valla form, cast in the image of himself and the Valla as one, served adequately as such a body but his thoughts always fell back to his wolfen body; that was the vessel in which his soul felt most at home. As he sat cross legged beneath the tree Roog considered the oddity of his situation; how many, he wondered, could not cross the threshold into oblivion and instead reincarnated repeatedly between forms?

Roog’s eyes flashed as he caught sight of something on the horizon, burning brightly as streaks of fiery paint stretched across the blue tapestry that was the sky. They were enormous even when seen from so far afield and each burned violently as they streaked across the heavens. Roog stood only to leap up to the boughs of the Reodweir, one hand holding him in place as his eyes followed their trajectory; these were as nothing he had ever seen. Sensations of awareness struck him like a maul, the realization dawning on him that these were not natural occurrences by any means and were ever the more dangerous for it. The Cenekyn, noticing their master’s movements, now gathered enmasse to observe the icons of destruction on their path with similar worry.

Roog! Kalmar’s voice snapped within Roog’s mind.

Roog’s eyes darted to his surroundings, searching for the source of the very familiar voice. It quickly dawned on him that Kalmar was not directly in his vicinity and had instead relied upon their mental connection to contact him. Unsurprisingly, given the circumstances. Conjuring up what he considered the most likely way to return such thoughts, Roog echoed his creator’s call with one of his own.

Kalmar, Roog’s thoughts intoned, uncertain if over such distances he could return such summons, The sky is alight, creator; I trust you have an answer?

It is Veradax, Kalmar answered. Orvus’s sphere. I am going there to deal with it. I need you to stay on Kalgrun. Get to the Hunter’s Eye, and prepare for whatever might come next.

Orvus; one of the cruel First Born. I remember your words on him well. I shall do as you say, creator. I wish you swiftness and success.

Roog needed no further prompting. With a howl half-man and half-wolf Roog leapt from boughs of the Reodweir, his form erupting in flame and smoke and ash before the great wolf burst forth from the remnants, black flames of his hide violently rippling in the wind. In an instant he was coursing across the hills and mountains, making easy travel from the harsh terrain of the North. At this pace it would take him merely hours to reach the hunters eye, his untiring limbs carrying him rapidly across the continent with the speed of a ravenous flame.

Kalmar, however, was not finished. Roog, he had said again.

As Roog hurled across the forests and fields his thoughts burned once more with Kalmar’s psychic call. His response was quick as it was brief. Yes?

There was a pause - an unusually long one - before Roog’s creator spoke again. You may consider me your father, if you wish.

Roog continued running, muscles heaving with effort. His own response was equally lengthened, consideration clearly biting at the edges of his thoughts. As he crashed forth from the undergrowth and onto the plains south of the northern mountains, now free to travel at full pace with little hindrance. A sense of dread awareness dawned on Great-Wolf and Roog paused in his run, coming to a stop as he looked onwards towards the eye.

I understand... May your steps be swift.

Roog would never hear from Kalmar again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Roog arrived at the sands of the Hunter’s Eye, his hide rippling with life from the constant and rapid travel. With the fires of his body bristling Roog stepped up to the waters around that most sacred of places and simply strode across, paws pressing to the surface but not once disturbing the placidity. His senses called to him, with sights and sounds and deeper things, telling him others of considerable power had already arrived, no doubt at the summons of their mutual creator. He knew most of them by scent alone and as he finally reached the shores of the island itself he let out a howl calling to the creature whos’ flesh had served as the crucible for Roog’s own.

The first to arrive was Fenris, from whose eye Roog had been born. He came bounding across the water, as though it was solid ground, and then looked down at the much smaller wolf expectantly.

”Fenris,” called Roog, his voice seemingly more wolf than man as he spoke to the wolf even more worthy of the term ‘Great’ than Roog himself, ”I trust Kalmar has guided you to this place as well. Orvus, dark First-Born, and his cruel intentions threaten Kalgrun; it is our purpose to resist him. I expect more will soon arrive to assist in this endeavor.

Fenris merely offered a wordless nod.

The next to arrive was a small falcon, its brown feathers speckled with red. It landed in the sands before Roog, and looked at him. You are Roog? a telepathic voice spoke inside Roog’s mind.

It seemed Roog would be in for a day of introductions if Kalmar had called the whole forest to his aid; an interesting prospect but one that gave Roog pause. Surely if so many creatures were to be called to aid the demigod then what he was to face was considerable powerful indeed. Furthermore, if Kalmar himself was needed elsewhere it spoke of even greater dangers poised against Kalgrun. Nevertheless, Roog and his would-be companions would have to face whatever presented itself.

”I am, son of wind and sky. And you?”

Arryn, Avatar of Kalmar, the bird answered, and indeed, his aura was almost indistinguishable from Kalmar’s. I do not know what might attack us, where it will attack from, or if we will be attacked at all, but Kalmar wants us all here so we can offer a unified response.

”There is wisdom in such action; the pack is stronger than the wolf. Do you know of others he has called?”

Gorm the Troll, and Shynir the Griffin, Arryn answered swiftly.

”Then here we shall wait.”

Roog’s eyes turned then to the sky, watch the streaking tails of the asteroids burning in the sky. They had continued to rain from the heavens, no doubt from the sphere Veradax as Kalmar had warned. The wolf’s eyes squinted, practically glaring at the sky, hunting for the point from which they entered into the world. Soon the rest of Kalmar’s motley band would arrive and no doubt soon after their enemy would surely arrive; then there would be violence.

Some time later, there was the distant cracking sound of splintering wood. A sound which came ever closer, and was quite familiar to Roog. Then Gorm came bursting from the forest. “Brothers,” the colossal troll boomed, earning glares from both Fenris and Arryn.

Roog paid only the slightest heed towards Gorm as he arrived, looking over his shoulder before turning back to the skies. With Arryn’s announcement of who would arrive he no longer worried himself over his companions and instead turned to deepening thoughts of what their foe might be. What could possibly warrant such a response, Roog had little clue.

Shynir was the last to arrive, landing upon the beach with a flap of her wings, before quirking her head to gaze at the others curiously.

The entire group assembled, all that was left to do was wait, as Arryn studiously scouted the fringes of the continent with Hunter’s Sight. Time passed as the sun moved in the sky, while meteors and motes continued to fall.

I see something! Arryn suddenly snapped. I’m looking through its eyes. It is huge. Everything is fleeing from it. I can’t get a better look… Then he set his gaze on Roog. It is on the southern tip of the continent, and it is coming north, destroying everything in its path. Go. Intercept it, and kill it.

The bird flapped his wings, and the three beasts of Kalgrun suddenly blinked and looked around. I have imbued them with the knowledge of its location. Go!

Roog’s eyes sweeped from above to the southward horizon, Arryn’s thoughts echoing in his skull. The answer to his thoughts had at last arrived and now there would be time for action. With no words Roog strode from the beach and entered a loping charge, once again hurtling through the forest and dodging through trees with lightning reflexes. The others would have to keep up in their own ways, either flying above the canopy or smashing through it as Gorm did. The pace would need to be swift if Arryn’s words were to be believed; destroying everything in its path was not some simple danger. Roog steadied himself and thought to Kalmar’s words, the words of a creator finally recognizes his true nature. If this vast entity was to be Roog’s nemesis, Death-Wolf could only begin to imagine the odds which his man-father would do battle with.

---

A black storm appeared on the horizon, growing in vastness with every passing second. It lorded over a valley in flames. Thick billows of smoke rose to meet the storm, fueling it further. The land began to change as ash fell, coating everything in a fine grey. This vegetation was constantly being disturbed as every sort of animal, from the smallest shrew, to the mighty Vitasaurs, ran away from the danger. Birds flocked in the skies as the ventured north to escape the raging and unnatural fires that spread with hate.

In the distance, a harrowing roar shook the very skies, as a beam of scarlet energy erupted from the clouds, tearing into a hillside with unbridled fervor. The creature was there.

Roog glared into the heavens with bronze eyes flaring with determination, the hackles on his back rising as an inferno. Glowing teeth were bared and the Death Wolf heralded the creature with a monstrous howl of its own. He picked up his pace into a loping run, paws pounding into the water of a nearby stream but not once dipping beneath the surface as he hurled himself full speed and straight towards the infernal invader. Though Roog had not spoken with the others of his temporary pack, the wolf-god assumed rightly their instincts would guide them well as his own served him. His eyes studied the beast, looking for anything at all that would hint at a weakness while its scarlet rays tore into the earth.

As he drew closer the beasts form could be seen in brief flashes. Vast barbed appendages flickered in and out of the clouds as its maw erupted across another hill. Fire spread as the world lighted in flame. Perhaps more alarming were the other creatures that flew in the clouds. At first invisible, now seen in clarity. A vast host of winged reptiles, massive in size and blackened in appearance. They were still but ants to the main threat looming up above but they had numbers.

Roog started as his eyes began to parse the sheer scale of the monstrous entity hovering high above in Kalgrun’s skies. Its size alone was obscenely daunting, not to mention the veritable horde of creatures now flocking about its personage. The Wolf stopped in his tracks, suddenly very much aware of the full threat this monster posed. Nevertheless, he could not wait until his allies arrived or the damage would be considerable; something would need to be done. The wolf in his heart roared to life, clamoring for direction, and Roog set his fiery heart ablaze.

Roog dove into the underbrush and crashed through it, hurtling through the landscape till he neared the swarms of creatures clouding the great beast. A blood-curdling howl echoed across the hills, bouncing from tree to tree and garnering the attention of a number of the vast host. Their paths remained mostly unaffected, as frustrating as it was, and Roog quickly came to terms with the fact that he would have to bring them down somehow. For now he continued his howl, seeking to garner attention from the swarm or perhaps the beast itself.

A few of the winged creatures tore off from the clouds and headed straight for the wolf god. As they got closer more details could emerge. From their dagger like teeth, to the red glow of their eyes. They had an appetite for pain and destruction, for the thoughts of such a creature were seldom else then twisted anger.

As they drew close, their jaws opened further and from their jaws erupted red flame, not unlike the beam from the larger creature, its presence looming up above as it destroyed without remorse.

Roog watched with a glare as the swarming beasts unleashed what amounted to their wrath. From the moment they came within reach Roog was certain they posed little threat in small numbers to him. A barking roar leaped from Roog’s throat, the sound rippling through the flames of his assailants and dispersing it harmlessly. A howl followed suit before Roog burst into motion, running up the vertical trunk of a tree and leaping from it to get within striking distance of one of the creatures. Proximity told him that they would be easy prey if they remained so intent on striking him with small numbers. For now he would need to keep them busy and whittle them down, awaiting the arrival of his pack so they might deal with the far greater danger above.

Then, a familiar crashing sound was heard.

---

Although much slower than Roog, the blessing bestowed upon them by Arryn had enabled them to take the most direct possible route. That, and luck, had been enough to ensure they arrived at roughly the same time. Fenris bounded through the forest, turning aside trees, and Gorm followed in the wake of his destruction. Shynir flew alongside them, before suddenly turning upward and vanishing into the clouds.

Fenris and Gorm found Roog standing before the bodies of the winged beasts. Upon noticing the slaughter and arrival of new foes, several more dragons had now peeled off to face them. Fenris turned toward them and bared his teeth as they approached, before breaking into a run. He leapt into the air with a sudden speed, biting into one midflight. His momentum carried him past the dragons, who now had to turn to engage him as he landed and discarded their comrade like a used-up toy.

Meanwhile, Gorm looked down at Roog, an idea suddenly springing to his primitive mind. He reached down to pick Roog up…

Roog’s hide whipped and snapped at the air as more dragons dove to join the fray, the arrival of his pack turning the fight to his favor. With several allies now able to engage, Roog could hope to turn his attention towards the vast entity now darkening the sky above. Ironically, it was Gorm who presented the first potential option. Unlike their first meeting, Roog let the Great-Troll’s hand wrap him in its embrace. “Good pupper,” the troll said.

As Gorm pulled back for a throw Roog set himself ablaze, hide burning up as all but his burning heart died away to the jet-black inferno. Gorm let out a roar of pain as his arm launched forward and let go.

The throw carried the firebolt that was Roog high into the sky, hurtling like a lightning strike gone backwards up into the air. The blaze-that-flew left a trail of flame in its wake as it rapidly ascended towards its target, the multi-limbed horror hovering high in the heavens. A dragon, no doubt acting by some infernal will, threw itself in the way of the black only to be split asunder in Roog’s fiery wake.

From the black-fire burst a Valla, naked and furious of visage, that struck the body of a dragon clinging close to the hide of the Gate Lord. Roog’s hands gripped the beast by its horns and ripped, a howl-like roar scorching the heavens as he tore its head free from its form. As the body dropped like dead weight Roog leapt higher into the sky, plunging the horns of the dragon’s disembodied head into the flesh of his mortal foe as he at last made that final distance. With his makeshift climbing tool Roog began to ascend, ripping the dragon head from the creature’s scutes to leap to the next vantage on his path towards the beast’s head.

Noticing the parasite upon itself, a massive clawed hand began to fall upon Roog, poised to crush him as the creature bellowed in anger.

Roog’s eyes went wide as the talons of the massive beast hurtled towards him, slow and threateningly. The naked Vallamir broke into a sprint across the strange landscape of the monster’s body. Clawed hands and feet dug deep or found purchase where they could, desperately attempting to keep out of the Gate Lord’s clutches. With a howl-like roar Roog lept at the last second before the claws struck him, getting partially dashed aside by the oncoming slash. His own claws dug in deep, holding tightly to the hand as it receded back up into the air.

The hand was brought up and out over the crackling storm, until it hung before the creatures face. A thing of pure malice, twisted by hatred. From its maw, shot a beam of scarlet energy at Roog, seemingly careless of it's own appendage.

Roog watched as he hung from the talons of the vast creature, eyes wide as he rose above the clouds to stare directly into the face of his enemy. Jaws distended and light disgorged from the yawning orifice. In an instant Roog let his heart consume his body, Valla form obliterated in seconds by the oncoming blast. From what little was left of his form burst the black wolf Roog, howling as he leaped from the now scorched claws of the Gate Lord to savage its face with raking claws and tearing jaws.

The creature roared, fury mixed with pain as Roog did his work. He shook his head mightily, and with it’s vast hands clawed at it’s own face to remove Roog.

Roog was once again on the move, barely dodging the smashing strikes of the beast as it tore at itself to extricate him. Roog’s flaming heart pounded in his chest, black blood flowing like rivers through him as every new position was assaulted in the beasts ferocity. Where the wolf had thought he’d be safest he had quickly found himself in the greatest danger, so willing the monstrosity was to do harm onto itself just for the chance to slay the Wolf. Beginning to get desperate as the claws inched closer and closer with each new strike, starting to graze his hide as the beast caught onto his ploy, Roog hurled himself towards its eyes. Burning like a shooting star, Roog dove into the eyeball of the beast and turned into a whirlwind of gore as he urgently drove himself deeper, ripping and tearing with everything at his disposal to escape the Gate Lord’s clutches.
The very storm seemed to boom with the fury of the creature as it screamed in anger and frustration. To get rid of the parasite that had bore itself into one of its eye’s the monster plunged two long claws into the hole and tore into Roog’s sides as it pulled out, screaming as pain rocked it’s body.

Roog howled in pain as the Gate Lord finally found its mark, two of its powerful talons punching through his ribs on either side of his body. Jet black, oily blood poured from his wounds as he was retracted from the gory mess where once the Gate Lord’s eye had been. Determination ground against overwhelming pain as Roog’s weakening limbs fought against the beasts grasp. Roog’s fiery body licked at the Gate Lord’s paws as he tried to free himself, the means of Roog’s fiery suicide made all the more difficult overwhelmed as he was by the pain.

Then a screech sounded from above, and a dark shape descended from the clouds, its swift speed bolstered even further by gravity. While the monster was busy with Roog, Shynir swept down upon the Gate Lord, raking her unnaturally sharp claws deep into the creature’s back.

The creature’s tentacles shot out after Shynir, as the Gatelord let drop the man wolf, it’s claws blackened and burned. Shynir pulled her claws free and disengaged, veering off to the side. She saw Roog fall, let out another screech, and swooped down after him.

As Roog and Shynir plummeted to the ground, the Gatelord screamed again, now bloodied and bruised, it began to fly up, further and further as it burst free from the clouds. It then began to retreat from whence it came, it’s massive body raining blood from the sky.

Shynir was not fast enough to intercept Roog before he would hit the ground. Fortunately, Gorm had remained nearby, wanting to stay close to the action despite having no immediate means to join the fight. All the giant troll had to do was reach up and catch Roog in one hand, while Shynir swerved to avoid them.

Roog landed in the arms of the giant troll with a grunt, wounds pumping blood as the fires as the edges of his flesh began to set himself alight. At last Roog let go, body billowing into black flame as his corpse was dropped by the surprised troll. Roog emerged from the smoldering ashes, his Vallamir body once again returned to the world, with two obvious, fresh scars at either side of his torso. With one deep breath Roog took in the world again and looked up at the troll.

”Thank you for catching me.”

Gorm grunted. Shynir hovered nearby, wings flapping as she gazed out toward the Gate Lord’s retreating form. She looked as though she was about to pursue, but then Fenris came running toward them from the left. The Desolate Dragons still pursued him, though their numbers were greatly reduced. Shynir sped off to assist him instead.

---

By the time the dragons were dealt with, the Gate Lord had vanished beyond the horizon, his course carrying him away from the continent. Fenris was limping, one of his legs scorched by dragonfire, while Gorm’s burned hand was slow to recover. Shynir, quite sensibly, had decided not to pursue the creature alone. They gathered around Roog, as if awaiting his direction.

Roog waited upon a large boulder in his Valla form, simply cross legged and staring out across the landscape. His black brow remained furrowed and it was clear his thoughts were of distant places far from the shores of his home. At last he was stolen from his thoughts, his vision turning to the collected beasts now spread around him. A moment later and he realized they were waiting for him. Several thoughts passed through his head before he finally spoke.

”I have failed. My foe yet stalks the world and for that I am to blame. However, we have succeeded in sparing as many lives from the suffering it intended to inflict as possible; from that we can take solace. As I am, I am incapable of doing as our creator intended; I must leave Kalgrun to find the solution to my failings. As I am away I leave Kalgrun’s protection to our pack; the land will be safe in your care."

---

---

She stayed in Laurienna for a day before the curse caught up to her, this time in the form of a fox. It was easily snuffed out, but she did not want to know how challenging the creatures of fire would become and thus she left her city. Her loyal followers would ensure that the city would run as it always did and they would keep on indulging themselves in her power, becoming twisted as it took root. She was excited to see what their progress would look like.

With nothing else on her mind but staying quiet, she skirted off the desert and into the jungle of the Nanhe, taking careful note to be cautious as she approached the river. There was no telling where his lordship would be, and no doubt be now, everyone probably knew what she had done and Shengshi would no longer be so kind. Thus she traveled far over the Dragon's Foot, and away from the majority of his influence.

When she came to a boiling strait she was momentarily completed at the unique environment it had created. She explored it, stopping now and then to admire the kites(which she didn't actually know as kites but more like strange birds) and their many colors, before making her way on the land that the strait guarded. She knew not what was so strange with the land but knew the lack of diversity was noticeable. It felt as if it needed more, and her father's essence, faint as it was, was everywhere. It didn't take long before she found a clump of Orvium, the black metal was embedded in gray rock surrounded by newer dirt. Had chunks of the moon fallen here?

Aaldir approached the rock and said, "Why are we here Laurien? All we do is travel, we don't kill anything anymore and I hunger."

"We travel because you and I are cursed. Or did you forget about that? Honestly I don't even know why you feel like you are hungry. You're a sword, swords shouldn't get hungry." Laurien huffed, sitting down on a rock as she leaned forward, her arms resting underneath her chin as she gazed at an empty expanse of land.

"You were the one who let me taste ichor… and it was delicious." The sword said, floating beside her in silent vigil.

"Yes… I suppose it was me and you greedily lapped it up not even minutes after you were created. Your first taste of blood and now nothing else compares. I apologize." she said absentmindedly.

"Mhmm. Come, give me buy a little taste and make it all better." Aaldir said, floating closer to her.

Laurien turned her full attention to the sword and let out a sigh. "Like I've told you a thousand times already, the answer is still no."

The sword grumbled and the silence returned.

”And why is the answer no?” asked many voices from behind Laurien, none of which voiced any true curiosity over the subject.

She straightened her back at the sound of the voices and turned around as Aaldir entered her hands, hungering silently.

A tall, white figure stood behind her looking down upon her blackened form with its featureless form before it stepped back from its uncomfortable closeness. There were no others from which the voices could have come from as there was only the one being, unless there were more beings under the robes. It’s arms were folded behind its back as it reoriented its head to look past Laurien as it seemed to lose interest.

”What has brought you to Pāṟa?” the voices asked.

Laurien scrutinized the figure for a moment, lowering Aaldir as she didn't feel threatened. Then she spoke, "Pāṟa? Is that what they call this lonely place…" she tilted her head at the being. "Nothing's brought me here, save the wind."

”A traveler of nothing then,” the being commented before finally moving its head to meet Laurien’s gaze. ”And who might you be, traveler?” it asked with a slight curiosity.

She pursed her lips and thought a moment. She couldn't see what it's desires were, and that meant the being was of divine origin or shielded enough to escape her grasp. A God perhaps? But which one? She would have to be careful here. If it knew her name, she had to be ready.

Laurien suddenly smiled at the being. "My name is Laurien. Who might you be?" she asked.

[color=98168]”I am Vakk, Lord of Speech, and creator of the continent you stand upon,”[/color] it answered simply. It’s faceless head split as a mouth erupted to mimic Laurien’s sudden smile. The god began to step around Laurien, circling her as it seemed to study her. Her own smile did not waver.

”Now, where do you come from, Laurien?” Vakk asked as it evaluated, continuing to circle her as the many voices spoke.

Vakk. That was an old name. One Orvus had warned her about. She raised her guard slightly and said, "The Dragon's Foot, my Lord." she let herself be studied and only looked at Vakk when he was in front of her. His form was hardly unnerving, for she was used to such things. They no longer frightened her.

”Across the strait? Not many have quite the resolve to pass through such heat… not by mortal means, that is,” Vakk stated, stopping behind her. Its shadow loomed over her as it stepped towards her, arms still folded behind its back as indicated by the shadow. There was a moment of silence between the two before Vakk asked another question, ”Now, indulge me, what business does a spawn of Orvus have upon these lands?”

”Wasn’t that bad, I just flew.” she winked. ”As for this spawn of Orvus… Well, I’m afraid my answer is much the same. I travel, an unfortunate side effect of a curse.” she said.

”A curse?” Vakk asked with a clear interest, ”And what did you do to warrant such a curse?”

”Well, depending upon who you ask, I did something very, very bad.” she said, amused. ”Do you have any strong, particular love of your siblings? How would you react if, let’s say, a mortal attempted to kill a god?” she smirked.

”I care little for the other gods. They did kill me after all. If you attempted to kill a god then I would react with, perhaps, a modicum of pride,” Vakk answered, a light chuckle coming from its form before finally moving its arms to its sides. It seemed to be slightly more at ease as it took a step away from Laurien.

”You look lively, for one supposedly dead.” she giggled. ”But yes, I did try… And in doing so Arae finally decided to curse me and the blade that stabbed Orvus. I can never settle in one place for over a day, or flame creatures appear, growing in strength until they kill me. Hence, why I’m here.” she said forlornly and with a final sigh.

”Until you die…” Vakk echoed before taking a silent moment to think, ”Luckily for you, death is reversible.” It loosed another chuckle before sitting in front of Laurien, cocking its head to the side as it thought for yet another moment.

”It would seem that your death would be highly pleasing to the other gods, yes?” Vakk asked.

”Those that know what I’ve done, probably. I’m not sure who else might know now, but I wouldn’t put it past them.” she said, her hand tightening on her blade as she narrowed her eyes slightly at Vakk.

Vakk sighed as she narrowed her eyes, moving its head back up, ”Drop your unneeded skepticism, it will do you no favor with winning my favor.” It paused as it crossed its legs. ”Your death would make the other gods happier, gods that I detest, gods that would likely desire to see me put back into my grave. Killing you would bring me nothing,” it explained, the voices growing colder as it went on, ”I seek to make sure that death is something that is… reversible. I and my children are proof that it is.”

Laurien relaxed after a moment. Then she released her grip on Aaldir and said, ”Away.” and the sword flew off. A soft smile fell upon her lips as she looked upon Vakk again. ”I see, and how exactly is that possible?” she said.

”Attaching the soul to a corpse or object,” it answered simply before continuing, ”In the case of full vaporization, I do not know, but I believe that keeping the soul within an object would allow time for another body to be created, either from the object or… other means.”

”How does the soul resist the pull of the Vortex? Wouldn’t these… undead go insane?” she questioned.

”A long process that still fully eludes me. A reinforced soul, such as your own or my own, would be able to resist that pull. However, not enough time has passed for me to tell with my children.” Vakk stated.

”I’m sure with enough experimentation, a solution can be found for mortals. But I am curious… Are there any side effects? Does the soul remain the same as it was when alive?”

”It depends on how long one has been dead. I am sure that if the process was started when one has just died, the original soul can still be used. However, as is with my children, if all that is left is but bones and decay, then only a shell of the original can be replicated, but without emotion and desire to do anything unless otherwise ordered.”

Vakk let out a sigh at the fact, ”Sadly, emotion can be replicated and replaced within those souls, but the process is draining and unrefined.”

”It seems you have your work cut out for you, Lord Vakk. I am most interested in it, I do say. To die, but live on? Truly remarkable.” she said smoothly.

”I do thank you,” Vakk said, slowly returning to its feet before looking back upon Laurien. ”Perhaps I was wrong, it seems that Hermes was the only mortal that soured my view of mortals, for you seem to be the most reasonable. Even compared to the other gods.”

Vakk stepped toward Laurien, ”Perhaps a gift is in order to help you against this curse… Would you like an object that could reconstruct your body and bind your soul to it?”

She brought a hand to her chin and tilted her head as she thought for a moment. She then shook her head. ”I will have to decline I’m afraid. Life is… Precious to me and I am still unsure of what the process would do to me. Though, I am flattered that you would think of giving me a gift.”

She then blinked. Did you say… Hermes? If I might be so bold, my lord, when did you meet her?”

”I never did. She did, however, steal something from me. When I went to exact punishment, K’nell and… Shengshi fought and killed me,” Vakk explained, its voice growing slightly agitated at the memory.

”Mhmm. I see. No one ever told me the fate that befell you. I am sorry to hear it, only now.” she said softly.

”The victors often write history to make themselves seem better,” it said before stepping towards Laurien, ”Now, perhaps I can gift you something to stave off death, since you find you life so precious.”

The god looked to the ground before the tendrils upon its back emerged and planted themselves into the ground. It took but mere moments before the tendrils emerged with a chunk of orvium, bringing the substance to Vakk’s hand. The tendrils went back into the ground once more as Vakk began to crush the metal, grinding it between its hands before the expected explosion came, but rather than radiating out, the explosion seemed to be caught, and maintained, within a field. Vakk looked back to Laurien before explaining, ”A source of power.”

Eventually, the tendrils returned from the ground with a different substance, shining ever brighter as the tendrils morphed it into shape and smoothed its edged. A golden crown was formed and the explosion that Vakk held within its hands was forced and compacted into the size of a gemstone, its colors shifting from red to orange to yellow, only occasionally turning into a smoky black before the colors of the explosion were brought back. Vakk inserted the the gemstone into the front of the crown. The crown itself, was separated into three golden rows, only meeting to form a circle around the gemstone and connecting at the back .

”To protect you on your travels, it may not hold back the force of a god but it should be able to shield you from a great deal of punishment that might find its way to you.” Vakk said before setting the crown upon Laurien’s head.

She had watched the display with a child’s curiosity, her eyes wide and full of wonder. It was a beautiful crown, and when Vakk placed it on her head a small shiver went down her spine. She touched it gingerly, felt the golden rows and the gemstone of many colors. Her gaze then fell upon Vakk and she said, ”Oh thank you, thank you my lord! I will treasure his gift with all my life, I swear it.” her voice then grew softer and she briefly looked away before saying, ”But… What did I do to deserve such kindness?”

Vakk thought to itself for a moment, ”Perhaps it could be that I understand being hated by the other gods. You have shown an interest and understanding in what I do.” The Lord of Speech thought for another moment, ”Perhaps it could be that I wish to see the other gods suffer through you living… I do not know.”

It allowed for a hand to fall upon her shoulder as it spoke to her in a more pragmatic voice, ”Just do stay alive, you are the only mortal that I may actually bear the company of.”

”I can do that, my lord.” she said sweetly. ”I wish I could offer something in return, but I fear I lack the power to do so, at this time. In the future, should we meet again, or if I stumble upon them, I shall give a gift.” she said.

”Perhaps if you stumble upon Swahhitteh, maybe… that reminds me, do you know what happened to Tendlepog?” Vakk asked.

A confused look sprung on her face. ”What happened to Tendlepog?” she asked.

”It… is gone.”

”What do you mean gone? How does a continent disappear?” she asked bewildered.

”Then it seems like this is a mystery that I must solve. Another task on a growing list of things to do,” Vakk stated, folding its arms behind its back as it looked out to the horizon.

”This is where I make my leave. If you require my aid, all you need to do is pray my name, I will hear it for… not many pray,” Vakk said, looking back down at Laurien, before it disappeared to leave her to her own devices.

Laurien blinked as the god left. Her own questions coming into her mind. Tendlepog gone? She pursed her lips. It didn’t really matter, in the end.

---

The gentle intonation of the bells slowly echoed off the walls and towers of the monastery, announcing the Hour of Contemplation to have passed. Voices, not quite hushed but certainly respectfully muffled, began to pick up across the monastery’s many corridors. Soon Kynweir-Alwyld was alive with activity, bustling from base to parapet. All manner of Valla now thronged the numerous halls of Roog’s Monastery, on their way to whatever their day had in store for them.

Roog, for his part, remained where he often was; sitting beneath the Reodweir in contemplation of his own. The Hour of Contemplation had not been of his own creation, thought up by the Cenekyn as a time for reflection and meditation. They had learned much from observation as Roog was not one to provide the most direct answers to their queries. Instead, his actions served as the basis of their own. They had, on their own, developed a schedule to follow throughout their day that all monks of the Cenekyn were bade to partake in while all guests were welcomed to take part.

Roog let a hand rise from his cross legged position, feeling the tactile divots where once smooth ribs had been. The scars of his fight with the Gate Lord had been considerable and, despite his body having reincarnated into Valla form, their damage remained quite visible. Roog had pondered on that as he contemplated his future over the past few weeks, reflecting on the death of his creator and his own inability to grow past his own injuries. It seemed, for the moment at least, that even through his different lives his mind would not allow his body to heal. His failure to defeat the Gate Lord, it seemed, would be bound to Roog in more ways than one.

Roog’s eyes opened to the slight sounds of movement, a collection of his Cenekyn having already begun to gather. It was this way every morning, when the Hour of Contemplation gave way to the Hour of Observation. Those Cenekyn not out on their duties in the wilds of the North gathered to simply observe, to learn from what little Roog had to say, and begin their exercises in preparation for the day’s training.

Today, Roog decided, he would not simply sit back and share what little wisdom he felt he had. His brows furrowed and he stood, simple robes shedding leaves and bits of bark that had fallen there over the night before. His audience watched with anticipation, rare were the times where their master took action so early in the day.

”Come. This setting will not do for today.

Roog’s followers kept after him well into the walk, his pace difficult to match but easy enough to catch up to in bursts. Down the mountainside he strode, using paths walked by only him and leaping over stones he had left unturned. They remained behind, several dozen Cenekyn in obes and fur cloaks bobbing after him.

At long last they reached their destination, a great rent in the side of the valley where water pooled crystal blue. The Valla-God stood upon a stone, looking down into the quarry, before nodding appreciatively; this had been where he had done all that work, feverishly carving stone free with his bare hands to build his monastery. It had been sometime since the construction of Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld that the demigod had returned to this place but a clear sense of accomplishment washed over him.

”This is where I labored all those years ago.”

The Cenekyn seemed suitably impressed, this hidden valley one of the few places few if any had ventured and a fitting site for those holy labors their patron had suffered through. It was, in many ways, hallowed ground. Nevertheless, a simple field trip had not been what many expected.

“Great-Wolf,” came the voice well known to him, that of the Valla Emla, “What do you teach us with this? Is it to learn of the value of labors and effort?”

”No,” Roog replied, It is to teach you how to build your own homes.

The Cenekyn responded with considerable curiosity at the statement; the idea, though not alien to them, had never been within their consideration. The Cenekyn lived in the Monastery itself and had never seen a need to do otherwise. Their home was alongside their God, learning in the grace of his presence or travelling far and wide to protect the disparate villages of the Northern Valla. What could such skills possibly do for monks such as them?

”My journey will soon take me from these shores, the land of my creator and my first and only home. For how long, I cannot be sure. There is much to be done in the lands of my father and you, my Cenekyn, will be the shepherds of our people. To do this, there are skills I must teach you.”

Roog leapt from his stone down into the small quarry, the Cenekyn following suit as the Wolf-Valla walked to the edge. His hands traced the stone gently, remembering each and every groove carved by fingers and nails. They were each a monument to those days, the determination that burned in his chest during his labors. As thoughts flooded across his mind the tactile sensation of something other than stone caught his attention and his mind returned to the present. Beneath his hand lay a vein of a greenish material, rough to the touch unlike the smooth granite he had carved free.

Divine hands dug deep into stone like claws through soft soil, pulling forth the chunky material and tossing it behind him. For minutes Roog went about the process, following the vein and removing more and more of the ore. Soon sizeable piles had been formed of several different materials, Roog pulling loose large quantities of the earth’s bones. Roog turned after nearly a half hour of his work, the Cenekyn having poured over the elements revealed by their god with growing curiosity and considerable interest.

”The bones of the earth outdo all materials of mortal ken, with only the works of the divine their equal. There are many kinds that do many things, each unique as the Valla.

Roog stepped over to his piles while knocking dust from his forearms, selecting from the largest of the piles a sizeable chunk of the material. It was mostly an oxidized green color with flecks of orangeish brown visible where Roog’s fingers had dug deepest. From earlier inspections the material had seemed decently heavy and very hard, unable to be smashed or broken apart as the stones used for spears would with little effort.

”Red-metal, copper; stronger than any stone for an axe or adze. Malleable, easy to form. As Roog spoke his hands worked, crushing the metal as flakes of oxidization chipped loose to reveal the orangish metal beneath, densely crushed into a single form. Shape was given to it by Roog’s ministrations, pulled into a simple adze blade. ”With fire and heat more can be done, purifying and perfecting it as we do ourselves.

Roog moved on, grabbing up a piece of more silvery material. Black flames cooked off in his hands as he worked, staring with considerable focus at his activity. At ;ast his hands opened, revealing the adze blade changed in color with a clear edge, sharp and gleaming.

”Black-metal, tin. Alone, copper and tin are soft or brittle. Good for few things, though useful. Together they are bronze, greater than the sum of their parts. Red-metal is common, black-metal is rare. They must be brought together to attain true perfection. From flame, great works can be born.”

Roog handed out the bronze blade, letting it be passed between the many members of his Cenekyn as he travelled to the two other piles. The first was of granite, the same material he had used to construct the monastery, and the other of a deep sea-green stone he found in middling amounts.

”With tools of copper and bronze, you can cut stone as I do. Be sparing with what you take from the earth for her bones cannot be remade. Use only what you need and carve wood where stone is not needed. Green-stone, Jade, and other such stones of beauty and value reside in the earth as well. Their uses I leave up to you.”

”Now come, there is much more to teach.”

---

The following days had little in the way of free time for the Cenekyn, active as they were keeping up with their god and his teachings. Everything he knew regarding the arts of stone cutting and tool making he imparted on them, teaching them how to make basic kilns and simple forges. Some were quick to learn, picking up certain skills rapidly, while others struggled through certain sets or all of them. Nevertheless, the knowledge of how and where to gather the materials needed and the arts needed to process and refine them into usable things took up considerable amounts of time. Even with divine intervention, these were not skills easily learned.

Within a week and a half, through divine inspiration and active teaching, the skills that Roog needed to impart had been at least somewhat absorbed. The rest would be up to those Valla with the drive to learn more, developing those skills into true mastery over time. They would share those skills that they had learned with the Valla of the world and, with effort, all Vallamir would one day live in homes of wood and stone or bare sharp tools of metal. Now, during the Hour of Contemplation with over a week passed, Roog had time to reflect and prepare for the journey to come.

Each night dreams of the Red-Woman had come to him, memories of his vision calling him to action. Seihdhara, whoever and whatever she was, remained distant and unknown to him. Though he did not need sleep, meditation had become a norm for the Wolf-God and now that time was riddled with manifestations of the crimson apparition that called herself Seihdhara. Between those disparate moments of deep thought Roog filled the time with his own exercises. Roog had spent considerable time playing back the events of his battle with the Gate Lord, determining the mistakes he had made and what he could have done to achieve victory.

Above all else, Roog had decided his greatest failing was his failure to wait for his pack. Despite the blood of the wolf burning through his veins, Roog had never been a true member of a pack. Even when travelling among the wargs of his own creation, the Wolf of Demise had ever stood apart. With the battle against the Gate Lord, Roog had gone into battle with allies at his back and though they were not distinctly his equals, their powers were more than formidable. If he had waited or even organized his efforts, perhaps the Gate Lord would have been slain by their hands.

After nights of feverish effort, Roog had come to an epiphany.

”We are, in ourselves, never alone.” Roog began the day early, the Hour of Observation rapidly becoming a time of direct instruction.

”In all matters of effort, struggle is best a burden best held by many shoulders. Though I have taught you the means to defend yourselves and your people, I failed to impart true wisdom in the act. I intend to remedy this.

Roog took up a strong posture, muscles flexing and eyes flaring. A wild gleam flashed from his gaze and his toothy smile spread wide. A deep breath in and out exhaled black flame and a cloud of smoke. With his pose taken up Roog began to move, slow and purposeful for demonstration.

”Even in our own bodies, we are many; we are hearts, we are minds, we are fists.” Roog continued his motions, displaying the forms his fervent practices had birthed, ”Your own own body is a pack, poised for action; you must move as one but to many goals to defeat your opponent. In this way you must be with each new member who joins your pack. I shall demonstrate.

---

Roog’s chest heaved from exertion, a convincing mimicry of the needs felt by all mortals. Roog had found that he enjoyed the process when his divine form was burned away, the simple things that his mortal body experienced an excellent tool for focus and meditation. The days had been spent imparting everything he could to the Cenekyn, weeks passing as he used every muscle in his body and every aspect of his divine power to instill his chosen with this newfound knowledge.

The blessings all Cenekyn enjoyed regarding martial pursuits only sped up their training, greatly augmented by additional divine effort provided by Roog. The Hour of Effort, as the Valla had come to call it, had become more and more prevalent and proven its domination over all other times. The Hour often dominated entire days and Cenekyn left the Rise battered and bruised but wiser and stronger for it. Now, alone on his Rise beneath the Reodweir, Roog had time to think.

The Wolf-who-was could not help but fail to contain his joy for these were most joyous times; the depression brought on by his failure had instead spawned recognition and action. Now his chosen followers were greater in skill than ever before, practicing the arts that he shared with them. Roogada, they had begun to call it, though Roog was personally distasteful of the name; it seemed the Vallamir were similar to their Man-God creator than just his shape. Nevertheless, Roog was pleased with their willingness and desire to learn even through the hardships. Many likened the labors now to Roog’s own in the valleys and mountain sides during the creation of the very monastery they now trained in. And all the while Roog had been struck with more and more visions of the Red-Woman, beginning to demand his full attention.

The now omnipresent need to find the Red-Woman, to know who she was and to finally understand the meaning she posed in Roog’s visions was all the Wolf-God could think about as he sat, cross legged, beneath the great redwood. She was a warrior, that much was certain from what he could glean from the dreams, and in training the Cenekyn he was following in her footsteps in some way. He had been faced with a savage smile in one dream, flecked with blood and filled with violent determination; a sign of approval, perhaps? No matter the meaning, Roog knew he could not put off his journey much longer.

Now there was only the matter of the vast ocean to consider.

Roog had remained consideration of that particular obstacle for some time. Though he had no doubt he was capable of swimming, the vast distance posed greater threat of pulling him off course without mentioning the unknown risks the oceans posed. Roog could through some effort seek to run across the water itself but in the vast waves he’d seen from the coast that seemed hardly a solution to the previous problems. The beasts of Kalmar’s own creation, Shynir and the great dragon who had once provided passage across those roiling waves, could potentially present a path but Roog knew he had no way to easily contact the latter and no desire to remove the former from his role as defender of Kalgrun.

No, this was something Roog would have to handle himself.

Roog closed his eyes and imagined those vast open spaced above the ocean reaching far beyond the eyes could see. Somewhere, far from his home, lay the answers he so desperately needed. A vision of flame overcame him, black as night, the biting tips of the fire turning to feathers. Talons suddenly pulled something wriggling from the endless blue and a flash of pale moonlight vanished the wriggling thing into its embrace. A vast eye rose high into the sky, solar and triumphant as it peered across the world with boundless freedom. Roog’s ears rang from a screech that pierced the calm air, cutting through the vision like a knife.

Heart beating a slow and gentle pace, Roog’s eyes opened. There was music in his head, distant chanting from a life perhaps never lived. Bells chimed sonorously across the wind, so quiet they could barely be heard. The screech rang out again and Roog’s gaze rose to the heavens, the site of a sea-eagle high above catching his undivided attention.

The eagle’s wings carried it on high effortlessly, the tender touch of the wind barely rippling the great bird’s feathers. It was, in every way to Roog’s eyes, quintessentially ideal. There was no doubt, there was no question, and every movement emanated absolute freedom. In his fiery heart Roog felt complete balance in that moment, for one single instance in time having a glimpse at the perfect mortal image of the freedom his oblivion so offered.

This was the oblivion he so craved, a fleeting sensation of that perfection and cessation of personhood. The Eagle, free in the wind, was the idealized metaphor for the sensations of true, benevolent oblivion. The realization felt deeply profound to Roog in that moment, even if it was so simple and pedantic in the grand scheme of the universe. It was, at that very instance in time, exactly what he needed. There was an awakening in his heart, the culmination of nearly a century of effort towards one singular goal; reincarnation was unlocked, a winding path to oblivion with many steps on the way.

Roog’s heart set alight in that moment, black flame burning flesh and curling bone to ashen crisps. His Valla body collapsed on itself in a fiery conflagration, torched to cinders in mere moments. From the fiery center of his corpse burst forth a monumental eagle, taking to the skies in a burst of black fire. Each feather flickered with a life of its own, an individual fire in its own right, and moonlit beak and talons flared and flashed in the sunlight. Two bronze orbs, glowing with divine power, gazed out across the heavens now well within the Once-Wolf’s grasp.

---

The serenity of the monastery was pierced by the descent of the angelic eagle of fire. Black wings erupted and burst as the form combusted, thin bones clattering against the stone floor before crumbling to ash and being whisked away by the wind. The familiar lupine form of Roog grew from the remains, standing resplendently in the square. Hundreds of Valla had fallen to their knees, bowing low or with their foreheads pressed to the floor in praise. Whispered prayers danced across the collected Valla, fingers interlocked and hands held forward; their patron God had found freedom once more in oblivion, returning again to guide them.

”My beloved people,” Roog professed, joy and sadness written across his wolfen features in equal measure, ”You are everything I have ever hoped I could achieve; in you I see the promise of a beautiful future.”

”It pains me beyond all the suffering I have ever faced to leave you; I will not see your children grow or your families rise and prosper. I cannot know how long I will be gone or if I will ever be able to return. I pray to my creators, my fathers of Heaven and Earth, that I may return here to my home and to my people. Until that day when I return, I leave the Valla to the Cenekyn and the Natural Guardians of our home.”

Roog leaned back, chest puffed forward as his head reached to the heavens. A deep howl echoed forth, low and sombre. That most primal noise, bouncing from hills and dells across the north, spoke of intense love and pride. Those around him who held back tears hummed in chorus, matching the tone with wet eyes and heavy hearts.

”For you, my people, I offer one last gift.”

Gentle gasps, quiet and reserved, wandered their way across the throng. Valla of all ages and genders, Cenekyn or tribesmen, all watched as their skin darkened. Just as the day of ash where Roog’s first death was celebrated and mourned, their skin turned to ashen grey. They were marked, each and every one of them, as the true sons and daughters of Roog.

”Let the world see you for who you are; may they feel joy at your friendship or tremble for making you their foe. May the winter never touch you and the sun never harm you, may the shadows beneath our trees be your home. You will always be the hunter, never the hunted, and ever safe from the world’s many woes. I give you this gift so that I will know you when I return, no matter how far you have come. You are the greatest thing I ever could possibly create and will, one day, outshine even the First Born in your majesty and grace. By your presence I am forever humbled. May you live the bountiful lives you so deserve and in your many lives to come find fulfillment and boundless joy.

---

---

”East until we find a road. Do you know what a road looks like, Fenris?” Karamir asked as they walked.

“I do not,” Fenris answered simply.

The wolfman had been quiet ever since Ami and the Forean Hound had joined them. It was clear he didn’t entirely trust their new company, but ever dutiful and loyal, he had not offered much resistance beyond his initial objection. Still, Karamir couldn’t help but notice a tension in the man.

There was little that could be done about it, he supposed. Perhaps Fenris would get over it in time. ”What about you, Ami?” Karamir asked.

Ami skipped forward, having fallen behind a few steps due to the pup cutely prancing around her. It is a path. A semi-permanent one at that. The one we’re searching for must be rather wide, so we’ll know when we stumble upon it.

”Hmm…” Karamir wondered aloud, and then an idea struck him. ”Wait here. I’ll take flight and see if I can find it.”

Ami merely kept walking as Karamir took off and flew into the distance. The pup followed her closely until for some reason, it ran ahead and kept up with Fenris, bouncily walking beside him with his leafy, wagging tail brushing against his calf every half second.

“Stop that,” Fenris ordered in a dismissive tone, not bothering to look down at it.

The forean pup’s ears perked up and it looked at Fenris with shiny eyes, not slowing down and wagging his tail even faster, panting happily.

“Can this thing not obey commands?” Fenris asked disdainfully, looking to Ami. “Get it away from me.”

Ami tilted her head and made her leaves twitch. The pup looked at her and rushed to her side, allowing Ami to pick him up and hold him close to her chest.

They stopped walking and at that point Ami noticed how muddy her feet had gotten. When did they step into such wet terrain? It hadn’t rained lately… Ami sniffed the air and felt the humidity clinging to her skin and being absorbed by her body. The leaves on the back of her neck prickled.

The sky became covered with gray clouds. The air became chilly and a tense breeze scraped against Ami and Fenris’ bodies. The pup growled.

It was then that she fully engaged her Soul Sense.

A lone dragonfly flew low past the two, until it flew no more and landed on a blade of grass. A barbed tendril of mud snatched it up and dragged it down under the earth.

Fenris...

Grass was displaced as a small mound of mud rose with two pearly black orbs sunken slightly into the material at different levels. The mound seemed to stare right at them, even as the remains of a clear insect wing traveled up and down its surface, melting.

... We should keep walking.

“We should turn back,” Fenris decided, abruptly turning around and heading back the way they came.

Ami hesitated a moment, turning toward Fenris. The pup in her arms suddenly squirmed and broke free and ran off toward the mound of mud, barking.

Ami’s leaves prickled and her heart skipped a beat. The pup was small, really small and young.

Time slowed down. Ami could see every single clump of mud that the pup’s paws kicked up, she could feel the earth shift, and she saw several mounds of mud pop up around them, all staring from afar.

And then she saw a large barbed tendril spring up and wrap itself around the pup.

Her eyes widened and without thinking she ran toward it. The world warped around her as she lost some focus, but she jumped as hard as she could and yanked the pup free off the tendril with a tearing sound. It whimpered and cried, but all Ami could do was hold it tight and roll along the mud as she fell back to the ground. Lifting her head she noticed the very ground beneath her shift and morph… Becoming softer, and splitting apart. Dozens of tendrils popped up out of the ground, and the moment her Sight revealed rows of sharp bone fangs reflecting light below the muddy surface, she just ran.

With no care for direction, with no thought for anything else other than running and escaping. She stumbled and dodged and crawled through the terrain as tendrils tried to grab a hold of her.

She winced and fell on her side as one of the more agile tendrils wrapped itself around her left leg. Its barbs tore her living dress apart and dug into skin.

She reached and tried to grab onto anything, but all she could touch was mud. In her panic, she had let go of the pup and it hurried up to her face. She saw sap flowing from its waist and broken leaves all throughout its body.

And still, the pup barked at the tendrils approaching, then ran around Ami and bit the tendril holding onto his friend as fiercely as he could.

It was mud. Once its hardened exterior was cracked and broken, the tendril holding onto Ami went limp and she jumped up to her feet and picked the pup up again and ran, not looking back.

Fenris, meanwhile, had stopped moving. In one smooth motion, he pulled the bow Karamir had given him from his shoulder. In the weeks he had been with his ‘brother’, he had had time to practice, and he knew what the weapon did. He nocked an arrow, the tip setting itself alight with black fire, then took aim at the mass of tentacles, drew the string back, and loosed.

The arrow flew forward, disappearing into the mass. The tentacles closest to where the arrow had struck collapsed back into the mud.

But there were many more where that came from. As the tentacles shifted their attention to him, Fenris drew another arrow, and loosed it. With their size and his weapon’s enhancement, he barely needed to aim; simply touching the creature was enough. In only a few seconds he had drawn a third arrow and loosed it as well, scoring another kill.

Yet the creatures continued to approach, and Fenris realized he was surrounded. There was no time to transform. Armed with only the bow, he had to create an opening, and fast.

He concentrated on one particular section of tentacles, in the direction from whence he had came, where they were fewest in number. Arrow after he shot, but when he did make a gap, that gap would swiftly close as the beasts inched closer and closer. He was running out of time.

Then a bright stream of orange rained from above, bathing half the tentacles in fire. Made out of mud, they immediately hardened under the heat, then began to crack and crumble. The rest of the tentacles, evidently realizing the tide had turned, began to inch away as they receded back into the mud.

Karamir lowered himself so that he was only a few inches above the ground. He was breathing heavily. “What happened?” he asked. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Fenris answered with a shrug. “She ran. That way, I think.” He pointed.

With a sigh, Karamir seized Fenris by the hand, pulled him away from the mud, and back onto dry ground. Wasting no further time, he flew off into the direction Fenris had pointed toward. He maneuvered his way around trees and branches, and although he moved quickly, he could not see her. ”Ami!” he called out. ”Ami!”

There was no response. Perhaps Fenris had pointed him in the wrong direction, or perhaps she was much faster than she had led either of them to believe. Either way, despite much searching, even with his divinely enhanced senses he could not locate her, much to his astonishment. If he flew above the trees, his vision was obstructed by the canopy. If he flew below, the need to avoid trunks and branches slowed him down.

He searched for a long time, but it soon became apparent that he wasn’t going to find her. Perhaps she had already made her way back, and had found Fenris. But when he returned to the spot, he found that she was not there. Only the massive form of Fenris, who had changed back into his wolf form and eyed the mud warily.

Karamir suddenly regretted the decision not to have Fenris show her his true form earlier, for if she saw him as he was now without knowing who he was, he would surely scare her away from the area. Cursing angrily, he ordered Fenris to change back, and the wolf immediately complied.

He decided to wait, to see if she would return on her own, but she did not. He looked up at the sky and realized that nearly half the day had passed since he first set off looking for her.

If she had not returned, she had likely put as much distance between herself and this location as possible. He was not entirely sure which direction she had gone in. The texture and colour of her skin gave her a natural camouflage. And although he could move swiftly, he would need to slow down in order to see clearly.

He was no fool. The chances of finding her were almost non-existent.

He had told her where they were heading. Perhaps she had continued in that direction. Or perhaps she had gone back to the tree. Either way, they were more likely to find her there than by aimlessly searching the woods.

He clenched his fists in anger. The one time he left them alone…

”I found the damn road…” he muttered angrily. ”Let’s find this ‘capital.’”

---

The beast twitched, eyes wide and manic as the slightest scent carried across the wind. It was a vast creature, to be sure, and its pounding hooves or goring tusks could each provide an ample end to a life. Panic slowly subsided, its shoulders slowly lowering and eyes beginning to calm. As it were, the creature didn’t have too much to worry about in the Great Hooflands. Finally finding some semblance of calm from its animalistic trepidation, the monstrous animal returned to gorging itself.

In the low brush far off to its rear, however, other creatures were on the prowl. A small tide of dull fur and ragged scales seemed to flow like water, bobbing and shaking with unnatural unlife. They moved with purpose and soon each lump of hide found its way to a hiding place, divots and foxholes in the ground that lowered them out of sight.

The air took on a quality all its own as the wind died down and a dread stillness settled in over the plain. The lone beast remained cautious, the loss of the wind removing all benefits its sense of smell provided. Nevertheless, only creatures of considerable size could possibly harm its sovereignty over these plains and those rare foes could be seen coming from miles around. A low whistling caught its temporary attention, the sound of some bird or scuttling animal, but was quickly dismissed as a non-threat.

The tide of death burst into life from the numerous warrens in which they hid. The whistling continued, roaring noise across the plains while the pounding of drums began. The monster rose, gaze washing across the plains around it only to be struck by sudden awareness of the danger. Many dozens of the corpse-beasts had surrounded it, closing in with boughs of trees gripped in their dead hands, and the pounding beat of some far off entity unknown to the creature slammed in its head, disorienting it. It turned roughly on its rear hooves, making to make good its escape only to be faced with more of the nightmares made real.

A howl, a rolling peal of thunder, erupted from the oncoming surge; the roar of things with death on their minds. The howling whine of the whistling changed tune, screeching in the ears of the sovereign turned prey while the beat of distant drums pounded against its mind. The world was suddenly noise, so much noise, and a dizzying array of corpses that charged in from every direction.

The first spear connected with its haunches, resulting in a rough kick from the beast that shattered wood but failed to connect with the distant thrower. More sharp bites, like many large insects scouring flesh, stabbed deep into the creature’s flesh. They were painful but did not drive deep, merely flesh wounds that served only to agitate the monster further. Enraged by this unknown horde of attackers and the maddening noises that followed on their heels, the great beast rose on its hind legs, bellowing out a challenge as spears peppered its hide.

In an instant six of the corpse-beasts charged in, eyeless sockets revealing nothing of their intention. Their charge revealed a ram of considerable length held tightly between them, their momentum carrying the spike forward. Their monstrous prey, having revealed its underbelly to them in its foolish sense of invincibility and maddened state of thought, seemed to recoil as the realization dawned on it. With one last, glorious roar the tide of death drove the massive spear deep beneath the ribs of the beast and upwards, spearing liver, lung, and heart with their gruesome weapon. The spear was dropped and the killers fled, allowing the beast its death throes. Its eyes closed, those of the King of the plains, and its venerable life ended at the hands of the dead.

---

The camp was abuzz with excitement and activity even as the blood of the great beast, so named Ilokhwe, poured into the earth. As the mother’s camp set down roots all around the corpse of the slain prey, a celebration had picked up. Music rang all across the band, bellowed songs, banging drums, and howling of spin-whistles. Laughter and praise for a hunt well done accompanied the wall of noise that surrounded the camp as its deafening aura.

Amaruq stood passively, watching the mothers and their pups set about butchering the carcass. The vast creature the hunters had slain would feed the band for months if properly prepared and cured and its numerous gifts would service the band’s many other needs for far longer. It was a much needed success for the hunters who had failed in three hunts prior. The band had taken a dangerous risk coming inland from the coast, effectively waylaying their continued journey, but needs justified such actions. Nevertheless, it had come dangerously close.

Amaruq thanked the spirits for their generosity, sparing the band any more injuries; nearly half a dozen had been injured in the previous three hunts and one of those poor souls had been unfortunate enough to not recover from his injuries. His grave was marked with a rounded headstone, smoothed by the waves back on the coast, and had been left as so many others had been on this long path.

The beast-hide weighed heavily on Amaruq then and the Selka removed it from his back, taking a moment to stare into the eyeless sockets of the corpse-beast. This was his armor, his regalia in times of violence and death, and when he donned it he felt transformed. He was no longer just Amaruq when wearing the hide but was, instead, some amalgam of himself and the very beast that lost its life to give him its skin. Though he wore it with pride during the hunt, the thoughts that filled him with its donning shamed him deeply.

“Amaruq, Shoulderman,” came a call to him, the hunched form of some other long dead beast being pulled away to reveal a young hunter freshly blooded.

Amaruq smiled at the young one, his whiskers still soft on his face and undrooped from age and hardship. A single scar graced his gentle features, one of many more to come if he lived a full life. Amaruq thought to his own time at that age, when he had been graced with a different name and a different life. Long distant, now, here on the plains.

“Yes, hunter? What are your needs.”

There was a small gathering of hunters behind him, each having pulled back their dread visages to reveal their youthful forms. Each had been fresh hunters during this season, desperate for a chance to prove themselves for their band. The first three failures had proved particularly crushing to their spirits and it was clear by their expressions they were elated to have finally found success. Each grasped spears in tight fists and sported smiles and wild eyes revealing their true thoughts, the thoughts of those who first melded with their hides and felt the beasts within.

“We wished to have their heart, Chieftain. After its strings are cut, of course. We would feast on it together, as brothers.”

Amaruq held back a smile, refusing to give in so easily. He himself remembered those feelings of need when his band had made their first kill, so eager to dig in to the power of that beast they had helped in slaying. It would not do to simply hand them such a prize, of course, for a heart had power equaled only by the liver and the brain. Although all parts of a kill were valued, these three carried the most power from the beast-that-was.

“I do not know,” teased Amaruq, smile hidden well behind a veil of stern disapproval, “for it was not thee who made the decisive blow. And I believe I saw some of you at the back, edging towards the beast during the Roar . . .”

The crowd turned on themselves rapidly, accusing looks and silent judgement reigning supreme; each had known themselves to be at the forefront of that deadly melee but had not taken time to look for their brethren. Was it possible, they were no doubt all thinking, that one of their comrades had proven weak and cowardly when at last the hunt had come to blows? The young boy before him seemed to almost be at the edge, a flurry of emotions ranging from anger to utter disappointment marring his visage. One smile from Amaruq dispelled it all.

“Calm, young hunters, calm; I only jest. You did well today; tell the Mothers that I give the heart to you as gift. However, you must string it yourselves; any meat left over may be yours to eat. Feast well, for you are men now.”

The gaggle of youngling hunters now “men” cheered and charged off to the corpse, surrounding it like mayflies all goggling and pointing at the open wound where the heart lay. Amaruq smiled before turning off and away, walking the not-inconsiderable distance to the hill to the camp’s east.

The hill was one of the very few of its lonesome kind out on these parts of the plains but it provided a unique perspective difficult to find elsewhere. From it one could look out to the horizon and see the blessed blue of the ocean. Amaruq, third to bare the name, had nearly hesitated when he gave the call to travel inland. Nevertheless, it had been the right call. His band had been one of several to travel inland, with the rest of the tribe hugging the coast waiting for success of the hunting bands. The Kayuk had been spread wide across this stretch of shore for some time as they travelled north, the elders and shouldermen of the bands all cautioning against travelling as one large group. The venerable Amaruq, second to bare the name, had directed the tribe to be willing to split when needed and her advice had been heeded ever since. Now, with her body returned to the waves, the new Amaruq was faced with the dangers posed by her command.

He was Chieftain and Wise Shoulderman, heir to the lineage of Amaruq the Wise and leader of the tribe. He had been gifted that authority by right of birth, selected from among his grandmother’s offspring to take over in her stead. Youth was valued over age among Chieftains, for they had the longest to learn and rule; Amaruq the Wise had dictated that many rulers over few years was foolish indeed. Amaruq’s decision at the Meeting to split the tribe once more following in his grandmother’s footsteps was met with approval, his leadership viewed as a steady hand in line with the two Amaruq’s that came before him.

Disturbing rumors had travelled from the Northern bands, however, and Amaruq couldn’t help but thank the spirits for this successful hunt for more than one reason alone. With this hunt complete he could begin his band’s journey to the Meeting, reforging the Kayuk as whole once more. Runners from the many bands had been coming and going for weeks now from the Mother’s Camp, deciding what to do about this newest horror. An entire band had been destroyed, it was said, by beasts of jet black and pure malice spawned from the roiling seas. A path of blackness had surged across the spar of land before them, leaving devastation in their wake. Something would have to be done about this new threat, the decision to be made at the Meeting by the Elders and Amaruq.

Worry dissipated as a gentle hand touched Amaruq’s shoulder, easily recognized from years of experience. Amaruq turned and pulled his wife into a loving embrace, hugging the young Selka against himself. Tanaraq, who had been his wife since his own ascension to Amaruq, simply smiled and leaned into the moment for some time.

“Killik,” she finally spoke, using his first name in private as only her and their offspring could, “I am so happy you are safe. I worry for your safety now that I cannot join you on the hunt.”

Amaruq returned the smile before pressing his soft nose to her forehead, sharing in that single moment of closeness before responding to his wife.

“Do not worry, Tanaraq, I am in no danger. I have many young hunters who could slay even the great lizards; I know, for they have told me so.”

Tanaraq gave Amaruq a pleasing giggle, a noise Killik-who-was-Amaruq had become addicted to as he aged. The love of his life, to be sure. Even now her belly was swollen with what would be their first child and the thought of bringing new life into the world with her brought Amaruq considerable pride and joy. The sort of pride and joy that one felt mandated to protect against even the greatest dangers the world posed. His brows furrowed and the husband-now-Chieftain turned his head, gazing out across the waters.

“What waves roil in your mind, husband?”

“I fear the worst; more tales of dark things farther north. I worry; was Amaruq the Wise wrong to send us this way? Was my Grandmother foolish for continuing in his steps? Am I a fool, endangering what I love with this foolish journey?”

“Of course not, my love; you do what you can, that is all we can ask for.”

“Perhaps, my wife, but I fear they will ask more from me than simply what I can do; the Meeting is days away and they will demand much of me.”

“I know in you is all they could possibly ever need, my husband; of this I have no doubt.”

Amaruq nodded and placed his chin on the top of his wife’s head, looking out behind her back at the Mother’s Camp and the throng of warriors who were but minnows to his eyes. They were but few of many who were chiefly under his care and he couldn’t bare to see his people suffer so. Nevertheless, the Meeting was coming and the Chieftain Amaruq was needed far more than the man Killik. He steadied himself, determining to hold fast against the waves of their need, and would provide ample anchorage for their worries and woes to be dashed across.

---

The Shoulderman-who-was-Amaruq stared into the flames as they began to die down, drums pounding in his ears to the tune of the flames. Black wings and shadows roared in those fiery depths the spirits revealed in the shoulder bones of the many sacrifices brought before him. Livers had been spilled, auguries performed, and intestines tossed for readings for over an hour now. Amaruq in the guise of the Shoulderman was surrounded by his brethren, each Shoulderman a reflection of the others in their ceremonial masks and decorative hides. They were a surly band, prone to fits of bellowing and shouting and rampant dances. A strange lot, to be sure, but a throng the Tribe had to respect during these trying times.

At last the Shouldermen retired to their huts, for the elders they controlled to be released back into the world as themselves. As masks were pulled free the men and women who wore the bodies of the Shouldermen breathed sighs of relief, free from the power those clever spirits held over them once more. Amaruq was the last to remove his mask, the same powerful artifact every Amaruq had worn since the very first. There was a murmur of ascent to his freedom, thanking the spirits they let him return to control his body once more, before the group circled to discuss their visions.

“The endless black lies before us,” came one Elder’s voice, followed by agreements from several others, “Some great devastation has befouled the land to our north. The hunting band of Akna has fallen, slain to all but one runner. He told us of a vast tide of evil spirits that flowed across the land as a tidal wave. We are assured by the visions that the Spirits have no power against them.”

There was a momentary debate then, discussing the likelihood of the spirits intervening on their behalf if even they feared these creatures. As the elders spoke Amaruq retreated into himself, considering the nature of his vision. Black wings, feathered and fiery, across red water. Dark waves, crushing depths, and a vast danger that would devour this continent. The final portion of his vision haunted him most, of dagger in back and Selka slaying Selka. He pondered on the vision as the Elders continued to debate.

“Perhaps we should head south? Find a way around? Perhaps we have passed the place Amaruq the Wise had seen in his vision?”

More debate, heated and defiant; the idea that Amaruq the Wise had sent them on this journey incorrectly was particularly distasteful and so clothed in the thoughts of their own failure, the Elders discussed returning south. Amaruq grimaced at the idea, his own visions confirming that such an action would be disastrous. As their arguments reached intensity that threatened to spill out of the tent by sheer volume, Amaruq intervened.

“We cannot go south, brothers and sisters, for there is a danger hidden there greater than even this blackness presented before us. I see Selka slaying Selka and from this we would never recover. Hardship will strengthen us but such betrayal would destroy us. We must travel north.”

“North?! But to the North lies doom!”

Amaruq shook his head, baring his teeth in a display of disagreement. “No, to the North has passed doom; the tides always move, never settles. If the destroyers have left destruction in their wake, it is because they must keep moving. They cannot feed on nothing the same as us. We must travel past them, through the seas.”

“But our runners have told us the land ends and there is only sea above. What would you have us do? Swim out into open ocean?”

“Our home is to the North, this much I know; Amaruq the Wise and Amaruq the Guide both knew this and set us on this path for a reason. Trust in the spirits, for they will guide us. Our passage will be directed by black wings.”

---

Bells clanged away, seventy seven times in a row, to mark the end of the Month of Mourning. An entire month of ash had been observed for the departure of the demigod Roog from the lands of the Valla, the loss felt deeply all across the Valla homeland. As the Month of Ash and Mourning was finally declared over by the sonorous wail of bells at Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, the Valla world came to a standstill.

Periods of observation and reflection on the teachings of Roog were now filled with empty gaps of time, voids where once learning had resided. The blow to the Valla on a spiritual level was considerable, stabbing deep into the hearts of the Cenekyn monks and the tribes of Valla that spread out across the mountains and valleys surrounding the monastery. Despite this, life had to continue; food had to be gathered, labors completed, and rites observed. Though the loss of one’s God was a considerable one indeed, time paid little heed to such spiritual sacrifices.

As it were, the Valla world was in desperate need of change. A reliance on the presence of Roog had become essential to the workings of the Valla, particularly among the Cenekyn and residents of Kynweir-Alwyld. This need for guidance from a heavenly figure had to be dispensed with if society was to continue onwards. Emla knew this fact with ice cold certainty as she stood at the edge of Roog’s Rise beneath the Reodweir, staring out across the monastery’s tiled roofs and walkways.

“I feel his loss,” came the voice of her soulmate, her other half named Aesc, “I am empty.”

Aesc had been one of many Valla who had dulled with the loss of their deity more than most. In Roog’s presence Aesc had been one of the most vivid members of the order, constantly alert and craving the endless knowledge Roog seemed to provide. He had devoured their martial training from the very earliest steps and had taken to Roog’s new teachings of effort and labor with a tenacity unmatched by the others of the Cenekyn. Yet, with Roog’s passing from their world, that light faded.

Emla bit back her tongue as she felt the biting flame of ire press at the back of her throat. She had loved Roog more than anyone and had been a close confidant of the Wolf God since they first journeyed north from the place of their creation. Nevertheless, Roog had stressed in his teachings the skills of self-actualization and independence; if he had intended to remain forever, surely he would not have needed to teach them the skills he had? To see so many of her brethren fall to the moroseness of depression was almost sickening to her sensibilities. Fiery disdain flashed in her chest and she turned, gaze flashing across down-trodden looks of numerous collected Cenekyn, the full gamut of all the Order returned to the monastery during the Month of Mourning.

“By Roog’s Black Blood, how he would balk as your sadness,” spit Emla, addressing the crowd. Their faces seemed to contort in shame at her spiteful remark, their newly hued skin seemingly matching their sorrowful indifference effortlessly, “We are Chosen yet you mope at the loss of our creator like lost children. Did Roog so whine at the loss of His creator? The Month of Mourning is gone and passed, now is the time to move on.”

Emla turned on her heels to look back out across the monastery and beyond, into the depths of the valleys below where numerous columns of smoke could be seen from hearths and campfires. How many Valla, she wondered, resided beneath the canopy of trees that spread out as a green blanket across the landscape. Many years had passed since their arrival and though as a Cenekyn time hardly ravaged her, it had churned ever onwards nevertheless. Families had been born, an entire new generation, the first true-born of the Valla race now growing into adulthood and having their own children. She could not abide allowing the works of Roog to fall into ruin out of mourning for him.

“I will lead the Cenekyn.”

There was a momentary shift in the wind as the collect monks all looked to Emla with a mix of surprise and confusion; the idea that anyone could lead the Cenekyn other than Roog was outlandish to say the least. After the paralyzation caused by the shock of such a statement died down, dissenting voices began to speak their peace.

“Why you, if anyone at all? What grants you such authority?”

Tension in the air flared as more voices spoke up, either in support for or in opposition to Emla’s proclamation. Emla remained silent as they spoke, her gaze dancing across the viridian world before her as memories of her first laying eyes upon it came to mind. As the debate began to calm, one opposing voice rose to meet her with the support of all the others.

“We cannot do this.”

Emla’s eyes widened with surprise as she recognized the voice of her beloved ringing against her ears. His voice warbled with emotions and as she turned to regard him she saw a mask of one thousand faces splayed across his own. Tears welled around his eyes as bronze irises stared deeply into Emla’s own. The air was electric as they stood, staring at one another, and the crowd of monks remained silent before the storm. Emla, suddenly feeling a knot in her own stomach, took up a fighting stance.

“I make challenge, here and now; let Roog’s teachings decide. A Trial by Effort.”

The summons rocked the collective of Cenekyn, truly shocked to see such a demand be set forth. There was certainly no precedent for such an act and to see the challenge laid between two lovers struck hard and sank deep into the hearts of the observers. She was right, of course; her interpretation was not without merit. A Trial by Effort between two individuals could not be more in line with the teachings of Roog and His Man-Father Kalmar. Aesc, the single greatest practitioner of Roog’s martial arts, took up a stance of his own.

The two followed one another in the beginnings of their dance, marking the circle with their feet as the Cenekyn nearest to them moved from their intended battlefield. Each held low stances, close to the ground with a readiness to act. The tenseness was palpable as with each new pass they tightened the circle, closing the distance inch by inch as they neared positions where they could strike out at their opponent. Emla, impetuous as always, launched the first strikes.

A forward kick with her front leg, driven forward by Emla’s back leg pushing off from the ground, struck into Aesc’s guard, catching him on the forearms before anchoring to the floor and allowing for a spinning kick toward’s Aesc’s unguarded side. Aesc rolled and put forward two hands, deflecting and redirecting Emla’s kick to the side before lashing out with an open palmed strike. Emla leaped forward, using the momentum of Aesc’s block to roll forward just outside of the range of his punch.

The duel continued as Aesc followed after Emla, the pair trading blows as their battle wandered across Roog’s rise. It was quite evident that Aesc, despite Emla’s own prodigious skill, was the superior fighter in the match. For every blow Emla gave, Aesc followed with a block and a counter attack, and Emla could only keep up as Aesc continued his assault. Where once there had been melancholy in his heart there now sat a deep seated fire, borne entirely on the back of the challenge Emla had made. As Aesc refused to break his advance Emla continued to dodge away, realizing her own mistake in entering the fight so readily. Awareness stung at the back of her mind, warning of her of her impending loss, while a small voice raged at such indignation.

As Emla dodged away from another one of Aesc’s ferocious blows, a fallen branch of the Reodweir caught her attention. She had always been a master of weaponry, outperforming her lover during bouts with spears. With one roll she closed the distance to the bough, snatching it up during her roll so that she rose with it in hand. With one easy motion she snapped the young growth from the end, the leafy, soft end of the branch falling to the ground while Emla bared her newfound weapon with a determined grin.

The clash continued with the fight now in Emla’s favor, her makeshift bo-staff striking from angles and with speeds Aesc couldn’t possibly match with hands and fists alone. Soon his full skills were pressed to the limit, every part of his body being turned to action to stave off Emla’s attacks and attempt to close the distance to get at her. One blow, then two, and finally a third went inside Aesc’s guard and began to strike closer and closer to parts of him that would loathe to be struck. One particular lash of the branch struck Aesc on the temple, sending stars into his eyes and rage into Aesc’s belly. With a tirade of fists, feet, knees and elbows Aesc put his lover on the defensive and one, decisive strike smashed the bough in two, shattering it, and striking Emla directly center chest.

Emla practically flew several feet, stumbling as she went, before falling on her back from the sheer force of the impact. Her weapon was shattered, its splinters now decorating the floor of Roog’s Rise, and her victory with it. Emla laid back on the stone tiles of the Rise, cursing herself for her failure, as Aesc loomed above imperiously. Then, all of a sudden, Emla heard laughter. Aesc was laughing. Not in the way that one does to taunt their foes, either, but with genuine mirth. Emla opened her eyes to see a hand reaching down to help her up.

“You have won, my dear, so rise.”

Emla stared at the hand with an eyebrow raised in spite, her ashen chest heaving with exertion and doubt. At long last she took the hand, being pulled to her feet by Aesc who stared into her eyes with that stupid, warm look she so enjoyed. Moments before she had been beating him with a branch, yet now he smiled blankly at her like nothing had happened. Emla growled out her confusion, seemingly matched by the confusion of the crowd.

“I have not won, idiot. You have bested me. We all saw it. The Trial of Effort goes to you.”

Aesc laughed again, heartily as if she had said a most raucous joke. Emla began to smart at the perceived insult, the grey features of her face tightening while her bronze eyes glared at her Lover-soon-to-not-be. He caressed her face only to have his hand swatted away, a smile beaming on his face even brighter for it.

“Explain!”

“Alright, my sun-and-stars, alright!” Aesc smiled and nodded, taking a moment to catch his breath from the laughter, “You won! We fought, I bested you, yet you won. Our fight was to determine whether or not Roog’s teachings would have us change or remain as we are; it is clear that change is the only way forward. My judgement was clouded by my sadness; Great-Wolf never once wished for us to be as we are, forever.”

Emla stared, annoyed, at Aesc but with his reasoning starting to make some sense to her. A Trial of Effort was not a duel to see who could defeat the other, for such a thing Roog would never abide. It was to put the two parties through struggle and to come out of the other side purified of thought. Though she didn’t like to admit that her defeat had won the day for her, she could at least take some pride in that small victory.

“Fine. I win. But what then?”

The Cenekyn fell amongst each other then in discussion, each monk seemingly having their own idea of what this meant for the future. At last voices were silenced by Aesc who, stepping away from Emla, had grabbed up the young portion of the branch that had been knocked away at the beginning of the fight. With little effort he snapped the branch in two and bent it into shape, forming two circlets before stepping back to his lover. He set the crown upon her head before placing his own on his.

“We both shall rule; one who looks forward, and one who looks back. Together we shall find a balance in all things. What say you, brothers and sisters?”

The murmur rose into voices of acceptance and agreement, the Rise suddenly alive with voices once more. It seemed this path fit well within Roog’s plan. Two rulers there would be of the Cenekyn, one who drives forward and the other who holds on to what was already learned. It would not be perfect, but it would do.

“What, then, shall we do?” came a voice from the crowd, one of the numerous Cenekyn speaking out for the many.

Aesc turned to Emla, smiling and giving her the floor. The woman clenched her teeth before turning over her shoulder to look out across the valleys and mountains of Roog’s domain. They would safeguard this place till his return for him, keeping to his teachings and protecting their people in his absence as he had always intended. That would, until the end of time, be the purpose of the Cenekyn.

“Great-Wolf, in his wisdom, told us to build our own homes. Then we shall do this. With the skills he imparted, I command that we shall erect more monasteries across our lands. Cenekyn will be sent to build these hallowed grounds by hand, as Roog did. From there we shall protect the people from whatever threats rise to greet them, and teach the skills Roog imparted onto us to our kind wherever they might reside. As with all life there must be an Epoch of Growth; so, let us go out and grow.”

---

When the winter wind breathed its way across the plateau, the caged fires clutched their robes to their sides, then let go again, laughing perhaps, or wondering why they of all beings should feel cold. Then they continued their walk. They had a long way to go if they were to keep up with the spitfires.

Little by little, the green hill was growing duller, its grass getting short as the alpacas grew fat. Green Recurve Wings was one of seven spitfires directing about fifteen of them, driving them on as far as they needed to go if they were to find fresh fodder. Too often the animals got lost, when they were alone, caught in the irregular swathes of ashen grass left behind by the rain of motes.

Not so with the inseparable spitfires guiding them, of course. Between the seven of them, they knew exactly where they were, and where they were going, and could see far into the horizon where they had previously been. All day and all night they enjoyed themselves, singing sparken songs about what had over just a few weeks become their sole role in life.

Sometimes they sang too long.

Green Recurve Wings had ducked between the legs of the wandering animals many times before, many, many, and come away safely from its little stunt every time but once. It was only one, brief encounter with the lead animal’s hoof, but it was more than enough, and it didn’t take much more than a bent wing to be lethal to such a being. Stay here, said the choir of seven minus one. Stay here. That’s what the song says. You just stay here. We won’t come back.

You won’t come back, said Green Recurve Wings, dying. I’ll just stay here. That’s what the song says to do.

And so it was. The night became very cold, and awfully dark. Green Recurve Wings lay there and wondered what it would see if there was no light at all, not even its own. Would it see the things that animals jerked at when they shut the flaps that hung over their eyes? Would it see the Goddess?

You won’t see the Goddess, said the 8.6.17a3y82d9-0.6th sentence, which Green Recurve Wings almost understood. You won’t see her tonight. Only one, small part of her will you see.

The caged fire knelt over Green Recurve Wings, the gilded trim of its robes shining brightly beneath its glassy face. Everything was brilliant, now, shining and beautiful and bold under the gaze of the divine guide.

How did you find me? Said Green Recurve Wings. Who are you? You are so pretty.

The lanternhead laughed, and lowered its wooden hand over the spitfire, and lit the censer in which it carried its holy mana, and as Green Recurve Wings felt its bent steel and dew-soaked silk righting itself, it knew that, by the grace of God, it would fly again.

By the grace of the Lantern God, and the mercy of her Guides.



Chopstick stood up on her balcony at the top of the Official Pagoda, stood up from her work with the intricacies of another god’s craftsmanship, and looked out towards her own.

The sky had darkened with clouds and night, but she could see lights everywhere. From the faint, magic aura of the myriad eyekites rising from the tower and the gardens, and the bright, leaking rivulets of mana from the Generator complex below, and above all from the swarm of Spitfires screaming across the distant terraces, fueled by the winds of golden magic. Behind and below them lay a glittering swathe of pure white ice, frosted in thin layers on every living twig of the mar trees that sprawled through the wounded forest.

Wounded and not dying.

She saw the shine of her secretaries reflected a thousandfold under the canopy as they walked through that scene of desolation, looking for errors and finding none. In such a large group, the spitfires were frightfully keen in their spotting, and in no real risk of forgetting their objective. Within the hour the trees hosting that outbreak of decay would be frozen to death, and their motes would spread no further.

She looked down to the Generator that fueled this display, slowly retracting its next set of kites. The spitfires liked these, though they were strictly forbidden from playing with them. Every hour a new set of polymer wings would slowly ascend, as guided by the lanternhead and spitfire wind scouts according to the state of the weather, some to the high winds and some to the low. There were huge kites, small kites, rotary kite-like turbines and kite balloons, photovoltaic kites and lightning kites, deployed day after day to pull the turbines and conduct the electricity that would be stored by the machine.

Chopstick Eyes fiddled with the ivory necklace she had taken to wearing over her furs and feathers. She had spent a long time thinking about what the generator should actually generate. Gold was dandy and ever so classy, but tricky enough to move and work. Tusks had shared the same issues, nice as they were. Paper bills were a rather unstable form of mana, not one she was inclined to let her workforce play with too often. Shells were too weak.

Powders and liquids were the name of the game, then, and colour, flavour and aroma were always in thaumaturgical demand. Even now the Lanternheads rolled out heavy barrels of spice, brilliant dyes and heady incense, fizzling with currency mana. They were good at it. They had learned.

This bird still wonders, ‘til late hour,
What will be done with all this power.
The ash and death will soon be done.
Not long will we yet hear the Stellar Hum.

“We’ll find a use for it, Liv,” Chopstick assured her. “We’ll sell it for something. And we’ll find a use for this, too. The lampnoggins can figure it out.”

She crouched down again beside the device she had made, stroking the crooning Alma beneath the chin. There were a lot of mechanisms in the bird that she hadn’t really understood, and had left alone, but there were useful ones, too. And the more she studied the fragment of broken sun that had washed up in her Bazaar, dusty with centuries of seabed silt, the more she understood of that brand of divine handiwork also. She poured a canister of magenta mana into the enormous lens’s many maintenance tubes, and counted tics on a stopwatch as the shining and the shaking wound down.

“I think it works,” said Chopstick Eyes. “Call Glassy and Hatboy. It’s time to head south.” She stood up. Another swarm of spitfires was returning over the hills, hungry for fresh soot and wool.

I did this, thought Chopstick Eyes, seeing for the first time. I am the Lantern God.

The mountainous pillar of flame and coal-black skin brooded upon its chipped throne of basaltic stone. Gunderic, Clan Chief of the Ashen Sun, glared with surly visage at the distant wall across from him. His hall, if it could be called as such, sat as empty as it had on the day of its making. Hacked away by hand by the strongest of his hird, Gunderic had been just as irascible during that auspicious event. It had been promised to be the start of something new, a grand beginning in the armies of Satravius.

A bold faced lie.

Gunderic grumbled, his tone rolling with rocks and billowing lava. Ferocity tore at the ends of his frayed patience and powerful fingers drove cracks into the dense stone of his pointless chair. A throne fit for a failure scoffed Gunderic, standing with disgust as he did so often as of late. Unwilling to stand in the presence of that most insulting edifice of his own pathetic ambitions, Gunderic marched out of his hall with pounding gait carrying him swiftly through the yawning portal that served as entranceway.

The light of the sun was dimmed yet still bit at Gunderic’s eyes; he had long remained in the hall and the low light of that sullen place left little to be desired of the baleful gaze from above. Blinking away the shimmering spears, Gunderic looked upon his “people”. Jotundar of all shapes and sizes went about what little business they had in the crumbling ruins of what was to be one of the many fortresses of Satravius’ domain. Now it was a pitiful ruin replete with shattered walls and decrepit huts. For the most part his Clan simply lay beneath the stars, so clearly useless were the buildings that dotted the area.

This was the third time in nearly two decades that his Clan had returned to the spot. Such environs, though thoroughly healthful for a Jotundar, did not possess the adequate resources to support the clan. Instead the Clan wandered, claiming livestock from the numerous animals that made pasture in the mineral rich soil around the volcanic plains of the Cauldron. They served well enough to satiate the Clan’s hunger and the river to the North would quench their thirst whenever that spectre reared its ugly head.

Vile stuff, water, thought Gunderic, teeth grinding at the mere consideration of that most revolting of drinks. Nevertheless, Satravius had seen fit to torture His creations with a need for that most poisonous of liquids. Why he ever thought to burden them with it as a necessity, Gunderic could never guess. A cruel joke, perhaps, by a cruel master.

Gunderic’s thoughts seemingly never ceased their hateful rhetoric in most recent decades. He had found in his old age that he knew nothing but disdain for the life he lived. Oh, in his youth he had felt the rush of excitement as all his kind had; who wouldn’t, being told the world was yours for the taking in service to a God!

“Bah!”

The shout, fueled by bitter sentiments held long in the heart of the Chief, carried across the open landscape and bounced from jagged rocks and broken walls to echo imperiously for miles. The assembled members of the Clan turned to observe the source of the noise, all eyes on the Chief who simple stared back, slightly taken aback by his own outburst. His visage tightened, all pretense of embarrassment fleeing from his features, and with one wave of his hand Gunderic dismissed their attention from himself and they villagers swiftly returned to their work.

Gunderic knew well that they were familiar with outbursts from him. Though he was trusted without question by the Clan, particularly for his role in keeping them together and protected from the foul influences of all manner of entities, their expectations of him had certainly waned. He had become something of a museum piece, one to be respected and admired but little more. How he yearned to be worth their true admiration, honored for actions now rather than deeds long past.

The flaming giant frowned and kept on his solemn march, pounding right out of the now collapsed gate and into the richly grassed fields dotted green and black. Some grazing animals were visible in the distance, good eating as Gunderic remembered, and the thought of filling his belly with their well cooked haunches gave the Chief at least a passing sense of fulfillment. Perhaps he’d have to hunt them later. As he thought of hunting his mind’s eye travelled to the distant members of his Clan. There were always several bands in motion of the Ashen Sun, travelling in their roughly marked territory. Ogham stones, crudely hacked from volcanic rock, stood as markers for Ashen Sun lands and all other Jotundar knew it.

Occasionally, of course, other Clans got funny ideas. Just last season, Gunderic reminded himself, the Clan had a clash with a band of Jotundar men wandering about within their territory. The killing had been a fine respite from the usual boredom and their things made a nice addition to the Clan’s collection but their presence had warned Gunderic of dangers greater than rival Clans. According to several of the survivors who were taken as thralls, a vast city had cropped up to the South East. Tall and magnificently ugly creatures now resided there, described as smooth featured and practically glowing as the lights in the sky.

Gunderic shuddered at the remembrance of their description; smooth of features, symmetrical, shapely forms? Disgusting . . .

Nebulites, so they had been called. Slavers and hedonists by all accounts. Not that slaving and hedonism particularly wrankled Gunderic’s sentimentality, he admittedly, but it had been made completely clear that it was his fellow Jotundar that they oft enslaved. The rage he had felt at that particular gem of knowledge had shattered his favorite maul. Memories of Satravius’ promises of glory and conquest, both dashed aside and turned on their head by pretty, flying children! The insult was grave indeed. Worst of all, when they had their way with Jotundar their wretched spawn evidently were born flawed, never to grow larger than a child and with all the weaknesses no doubt carried by that vile race.

The dangers posed by these Nebulites would have to be considered more gravely, that much was for certain. The last months had been occupied by spiteful memories and disdainful thoughts but Gunderic knew well he could not keep to those fantasies for long. Tightening his belt as he often did, Gunderic nodded and ground his heavy teeth together in ascent. When next the Clan was whole Gunderic would raise the issue to the hird and something would be decided.

The old giant smirked ominously at the thought.

---

"Listen to history's tale,
About Hoshaf the accursed.
Selka mourn and cry and wail,
For this chieftain was the worst."

The light of the bonfire cast deep shadows across Pyouroff's face, with theatrically wide eyes staring across the audience of Hyummin people. Behind him were several younger selka. Two beat a foreboding rhythm on large drums, one rattled a gourd filled with stones, and another twanged a haunting tune from the string of a bow held in his mouth.

"His fall began with desire.
The girl he loved loved his friend.
Since this friend drew Hoshaf's ire,
Hoshaf struck and brought his end!"

A few gasps escaped from some of the pups as Pyouroff leaned forwards and shook his fist.

"Hoshaf Thumfaten did find,
In this scene of death and grief.
Twisted was Thumfaten's mind,
He planned to make Hoshaf chief."

A more aggressive drumbeat grew beneath the sinister melody.

"Violence cemented their claim,
Their allies fought their own clan.
Spreading lies in Kirron's name,
Here the Dawn of Blood began."

"Hoshaf was a chief so cruel,
His own people he enslaved,
No one dared defy his rule,
Hoshaf took all that he craved."

The beating of sticks joined the song, like the sound of spears beating against shields.

"One day Kirron's own bloodkin,
Found Hoshaf on the coastline.
He encouraged Hoshaf's sin,
And gifted weapons divine."

Pyouroff took a step forwards and leaned towards the crowd, the shadows across his face deepening. The selka at the front of the audience took an involuntary step back.

"This power Hoshaf did flout.
All tribes would obey his will.
When Thumfaten voiced his doubt,
Thumfaten Hoshaf did kill."

"Hoshaf wanted his friend's wife,
To seize her and kill her young.
As she fled she lost her life,
But Yupilgo saved her son."

There were murmurs of recognition from the crowd, particularly those belonging to the Grottu. Pyouroff continued his performance.

"Hoshaf, bloodthirsty, enraged,
Formed up a villainous horde.
A war on selka was waged.
Many died to this dread lord."

"Hoshaf marched to the Hyummin,
Nothing would stop Hoshaf's want.
With weapons of the bloodkin,
Hoshaf's power he did flaunt."

There were a few frightened gasps from the crowd, but more whispered in excited anticipation.

"Yet this fight was his demise.
He thought he could never fail.
Then came Ippino the Wise,
Whose fire made the horde turn tail."

There was a victorious cheer from some of the audience. Pyouroff paused briefly to relish the moment. The music then softened to the denouement as Pallamino recited the final verse.

"The violent will never know,
When the roles will be reversed.
Hear the message of this show:
Don't be Hoshaf the accursed."

There was applause at the end. There was always an applause. Yet the haunting tale lingered with them, the music, poetry and theatre causing the song to stick much more stubbornly than words alone. While for many it was a chilling story from their history and no more, some were caught more strongly by the message behind Pyouroff's song.

Two such people were having a hushed conversation to the side as the rest of the audience dispersed to their shelters and beds.

"He is undermining the tribe. Something must be done," hissed one, an imposing man dressed in sharkskin and wearing a necklace of teeth which once belonged to some terrifying beast.

"Kirrethi, it's just a song," said the other, a smaller man by comparison but still with an athletic build. He also wore sharkskin, although not as much as the first, and had a necklace with a few shark's teeth on it.

"Don't you give me that, Rennelo. It is quite clear what he's trying to do. How many new songs has he sung about how dreadful it is to fight and put your own tribe first?" the one named Kirrethi scoffed.

The second selka name Rennelo sighed. "You're right; Pyouroff is being very deliberate in the lesson he is trying to teach. But he's only one man, one voice."

"You've seen the crowds, how he commands their attention. You know as well as I do that you only need one charismatic voice to sway the whole tribe," Kirrethi said. "The youths aren't as keen on training as warriors. And his words have weight with the other family leaders."

"And what would you want more warriors for, Kirrethi? To take what you want? To claim what you desire?"

Pyouroff, whose hearing was exceptionally sharp despite his age, had sidled up to the two selka unnoticed. Their heads snapped around in surprise at Pyouroff's interruption. A snarl formed on Kirrethi's face but quickly twisted into a forced smile. "To protect the Hyummin's interests, of course," Kirrethi answered curtly, then added, "From people like Hoshaf."

A sly smile was on Pyouroff's face. "Well, I hope that the Hyummin's interests don't involve what belongs to other tribes. The K'nights don't take kindly to such intrusions."

Kirrethi huffed, "Of course not." Pyouroff's stare did not believe him.

Kirrethi looked out across the Hyummin tribe with is many selka settled across the flat beach. "We are growing, Pyouroff. The bounties of Delphina and Kirron have fed us well so far, but there is coming a time when it will not be enough. Surely you can see that."

Pyouroff's smile soured somewhat, then softened again. "I've told you of the Ubbo tribe, have I not? When they were short on fish, Arryn messenger of Kalmar, another of Kirron's bloodkin, came to them and showed them how to hunt food on land. Perhaps you need a bit more faith."

Kirrethi's eyes narrowed, but before he could answer Rennelo spoke first. "We thank you for your advice, Pyouroff, although us Korsachi are quite capable of managing our own affairs."

"Without your meddling," Kirrethi added.

Pyouroff waved a hand. "Of course, of course. Don't let the words of a wise, well-travelled old man bother you," Pyouroff said as he turned to leave. "Goodnight, Kirrethi, Rennelo."

As they went their separate ways, Pyouroff passed by one of the musicians as he was unstringing his musical bow. "Do you really want to be aggravating the head of Korsachi?" the young man asked.

"Someone's got to. May as well be me," Pyouroff said with a wink. Yet despite his confident exterior, there was visible weariness in his frame. "Well, I'll be heading to bed. Goodnight, Yup."

"Goodnight, Pyouroff."

---

The Lustrous Garden had made most of its journey through the sky when a voice stirred Pyouroff from his sleep.

Pyouroff.

Pyouroff moved slowly, stretching old, aching limbs. When he opened his eyes, though, he did not see the beach where he had laid down to sleep, neither did he see the stars or the blue sky. Instead he was completely surrounded by thick fog and darkness. He sat up quizzically. Despite the confusing situation, he still had his wits. Beneath him was the bed he had fallen asleep on, surrounding by sand, so that at least was familiar.

"Who's there?" he asked.

Delphina.

Pyouroff's eyes widened. He hadn't heard Delphina's voice for decades, not since she had appeared to the Hyummin and taught them of music. He looked around, trying to see his goddess, but could not see more than an arm's reach away from himself.

Come.

A path opened in the fog. Pyouroff crawled to his feet and slowly walked down the path. Although the fog was still opaque, Pyouroff made an effort to orient himself. If he was oriented correctly, this direction led to the ocean. His elderly pace quickened in anticipation.

The path indeed opened to the sea. Yet rather than seeing the light of the moon and stars dance beautifully in the ocean, a dark cloud covered the sky and more fog surrounded the empty scene like the curtains of a tent. The sea itself was uncannily calm.

I have come with a warning of an approaching danger.

Across the water from Pyouroff, a figure emerged from the fog. It stood on two legs and had four arms with a long tail. Its horned head looked from side to side, like a predator sniffing out prey, then its head snapped towards Pyouroff, light glinting off four eyes. A shriek chilled Pyouroff's spine and the creature ran towards Pyouroff, leaning its torso forwards and with its long tail flicking out behind it.

Fear rooted Pyouroff to the spot as more similar figures burst from the distant fog. Some were smaller, some were larger. Their shapes and faces varied, some Pyouroff might have described as bear-like, or fox-like, or wolf-like, or even selka-like. Some ran on their two legs, while some made a loping gait on four or six limbs. All, however, were terrifying with claws, horns, teeth and menacing eyes.

In his terror Pyouroff did not notice more figures appear in the near-darkness between him and the monsters. They were selka. The selka saw the monsters and turned to flee, but were not fast enough. The monsters lashed out with their viscous claws, liquid spraying out from the selka where they were slashed. Some selka fell, collapsing into the ocean below them, while some were dragged off by the monsters into the fog.

As the slaughter continued, a new being entered the scene. This one was four times the height of a selka and appeared to be made of crudely hewn chunks of stone or ice. Spikes covered its body. The large being lumbered over to the selka on its lanky legs and swatted out with a long arm, an unlucky selka reduced to a spray and a splash. It continued to lumber forwards in its unstoppable advance, swinging arms scattering all in its path.

Pyouroff then saw one of the monsters break off from the massacre and run towards him. Pyouroff tried to back away, but tripped and fell backwards onto the sand. He tried to scramble backwards as the beast came closer. He could see clearly every detail of its form as it hurried closer, its rippling muscles, its glistening teeth, its twisted horns, its elongated claws. The thing pounced. Pyouroff screamed and covered his face, waiting for claws to rip into him.

It never came.

He opened his eyes and found the scene as empty and featureless as when he had first arrived. Pyouroff was trembling and breathing heavily as he sat in the sand.

Remember this scene. These monsters will reach the Hyummin in four days.

Pyouroff gaped, then stammered, "De-Delphina, please, spare us from these terrible beasts!"

I have already acted against these creatures. If I had not, you would be overwhelmed. Yet I do not allow you to face trials you cannot overcome. Now stand.

Pyouroff climbed to his feet, still trembling.

What was your oath, Pyouroff?

Pyouroff knew the oath well. He had made all his apprentices take it as he had done. "To always worship you, who gives me my strength. To use my power and skills to show your strength, and create beauty wherever I go. And to teach others as I was taught."

If your strength comes from me, why do you fear?

Pyouroff opened his mouth, closed it again and hung his head. "I am sorry, Delphina."

They will arrive in four days. Show all my strength through you.

The fog lifted and the clouds parted, and Pyouroff was looking out upon the open ocean under the night sky. A shiver ran across his body. Then he heard footsteps behind him.

"Pyouroff. I heard you scream. I thought- well-"

Pyouroff turned to see Yup running towards him. Yup was clearly relieved to see Pyouroff unharmed. Yet when Yup saw the terror in Pyouroff's face, evident even in the darkness of night, Yup slowed to a stop and anxiety entered his own voice. "What happened?"

Pyouroff took a deep breath to steady himself. "Delphina visited me and gave me a most terrible vision. Gather the others. I must speak to them."

The small monkey sized Armonia launched itself onto the Curator, scrambling over the passive construct as it hovered through the checkpoint built at the base of the stairway entering the Vault of Souls. The little Armonia did little to hinter the floating custodian but its melodic screeching did draw the attention of Auk-Ra-Shatara. The reborn Aroiox had been leaning against the banister that safeguarded vault travelers from the great pit at the vault’s center, which had grown ever deeper as the years passed. Though light now flooded the dungeon the depths of the central shaft where still mostly lost to the black other than a barely noticeable red glow far far below.

“Ah, little watcher-sniffer.” the bird like mortal cawed upon hearing the construct’s racket. “Have you found-discovered another lost soul?”

On stone talons Auk-Ra briskly caught up with the Curator and inspected its haul of crystals that had alarmed their watchdog. Among many pristine specimens one stood out. A wretched purple bile flowed through it like oil, cracking and rotting the crystal wherever it went. Auk-Ra tutted a few times at the sight and then grasped the stone, whistling softly as he did to both call of the soul decay detecting Armonia and to authorize the removal of the crystal form the Curator’s possession.

“Let’s get you heal-fixed my friend” he told the crystal before walking up the stairs leading to a large structure that had been built into the ceiling of the vault. Hanging suspended as it was the inverted bunker was out of the way of regular traffic and safe from the endless flow of heat that billowed up from the depths. Yet it still had great sighlines for almost the entire of the vault and allowed for easy access to all its levels via a spiral staircase penetrating down into the depths.

Inside dozens of undead busied themselves with the last of a construction had been ongoing for nearly all of the past decade. The new lighting had been an early introduction, as had the addition of garrison posts and checkpoints to help facilitate the eradication of Orvus’s soul decaying bugs. For the past seven years a great works of metal, the same that lined the wings of the soul collecting Alma and vaults of the mighty whale armor Bruna, had been added to the bare stone of the vault. A spider web of the unnatural metal spiderweb out into the halls of the vault before all coalescing back in the central vault. It spiraled down to the lowest shelves and also up, higher and higher through a tunnel that had been bored skywards through the roof of the shaft. At the center of the chamber a central core, a blue whale sized cylinder of luft stone covered in hundreds of Soul Gems and veins of metal, now hung motionless in the open air seemingly unaffected by the aircurents racing through the vast cavity.

Auk-Ra paid none of this any mind, as he was by now used to it all, and exchanged only simple pleasantries with his comrades as they fiddled with various alters or called out instructions to Armonia automatons.

He had a soul to save.

The crystal was set upon an altar, the first of many that had been built all across the vault. It was a simple thing, a flat raised bowl of stone with songs of verse carved into it and then painted with pigment made from one of Azura's feathers, causing the Verses to glow softly. A small depressions the center sat above a large jar stored beneath the raised stone. With practiced ease Auk-Ra popped the soul crystal into position, adjusted it a few times to get it just right, and then softly sang a few notes to activate the altar.

The soul was surrounded by gently flowing verse of a myriad of colors which caused it to rise in the air as the magic took its hold. The hungering corruption that had been merely slowed by its pray’s untimely death was drawn out and gathered in a glass jar set into the alter. Drop by drop the soul decay incarnate drained into the almost full jar while the crystal gained its rightful luster for the first time. The damage that had been done already began to slowly repair itself cracks sealing shut. What was lost would never be returned. Memories striped away by the vile blight, cornerstones of personality forever shifted or warped. But the crystal was whole once more and, should it awaken one day, it would be able to try and make sense of the gaps and making new memories safe from the decay.

With a clink the crystal dropped back down onto the altar. Auk-Ra collected the crystal, turned it over a few times to ensure the process had worked correctly, and then tallied down the date on a tablet set near the altar. Dozens of such tablets had already been filled and stored up above in floating archives. Fortunately, the rate of corrupted gems arriving had slowed dramatically after an initial burst of right after the day the moon had shed its destructive payloads.

The corrupted and decaying still came in in dribs and drabs, but with their project so close to completion the goddesses had been loath to step away for even a second to investigate the source of the decay.

As Auk-Ra descended part way down the stairs to return the crystal to the hands of the curators he spotted a small group of Armonia clad dead entering the vault and heading straight for the bunker. Among them where Ossian Bem, who like Auk-Ra had been one of the first to rise. She had been teaching the dead her otherworldly knowledge and ideas and had risen to prominence among them as a result while Auk-Ra had remained simply one among the many risen dead. He didn't really mind. The voidsoul was presently enwrapped in quiet decision with the avatar Cerule. The memory of Azura’s former self had The Watcher, a strange Void soul that none of the dead really understood or interacted with much, draped itself across her shoulders.

They began to ascend just as a curator came to retrieve the crystal, leaving Auk free to greet them after his charge was sent on its way.

“They’re not restrictions, but rather agreements of procedure to ensure that...” Ossian was saying as they approached the Aroiox.

“Hello-hay there. Are we almost ready-prepared for the big event?” he asked, interrupting the present line of conversation as he joined the party's ascent.

“Ah. Shatara. Good to see you again.” Ossian replied, a touch of irritation in her words that she quickly erased as she informed him that “That we are. Seven years of work are moments away from coming to fruition.”

“Infact I’m quite sure that when we step in they’ll tell us that...“ Cerule began, before cutting herself short as they entered the bunker propper. Their entrance garnered a far greater response than Auk’s own had, bringing the work going on inside to a momentary halt.

“Ah! Cerule. Ossian. And company! welcome!” said a former Servant as he stepped away from an alter displaying knot of glowing verse that looked like the trunk and roots of a tree “We’re just moments away from being ready, we’re simply awaiting Alfarn’s return. He should be here any”

The Servant was interrupted by another arrival, this one coming in from a doorway that opened out onto the central shaft. As the Armonia, a Nebulite known as Alfarn, stepped through the doorway a two pairs of fin like glossier wings folded down behind their back. These were attached to a limpet like creature which adhered itself to their stone back. Behind them in the central chamber numerous curators and other Armonia bourn by the same type of wings as the new arrival or crawling along the ceiling where in the process of vacating the open space between the vaults corridors, carrying various stone tools and freshly mined rubble with them as they left.

“Ah, there they are” the former Servant concluded.

“We’ve finished the last installation” the Nebulite informed them as the rest of his motel construction team entered the bunker behind him. “I hope we didn't keep you waiting, there were a few issues linking up the two spiral structures perfectly. We uh, had to get Azura to rotate the upper section by about a thumb.”

“Don’t worry, we’re both right on time.“ Cerule informed them with more than a hint of smugness at her own near perfect timing. Auk-Ra was impressed, as where most of the other except for the feline watcher who muttered something in the Avatar’s ear and eliciting a wordless tone of annoyance from the Avatar.

“And don’t worry about the minor error.“ she continued “I’m sure my dear Azura though nothing of making the correction“

Alfarn nodded in appreciation and joined his colleagues.

“Now, I’m not one for speeches, I’m sure Azura has me covered up topside, so how about instead we let actions speak louder than words and activate this marval we’ve built together.“

There was enthusiastic agreement among the crowd, to which Auk-Ra added “yes-yes. Let’s get moving-going!”

“Then my dear Ossian, if you’d care to do the honours“ Cerule said. The Void soul nodded and, as Auk-Ra and the others watched, the avatar tore open her own stone chest, into which Ossian plunged her hand and tore out the goddesses soul. The body she had worn slumped to the ground as the general carried Cerule’s soul crystal to a great altar set on a raised dais at the front of the bunker, overlooking the central chamber. The Watcher discarded its perch on the abandoned body and followed after its charge to watch the proceedings. The altar was shaped like a ship’s wheel, though none but Ossian would recognise this shape. Crystal was placed into a crevice at the center of the wheel filled with strange metals. For a few moments nothing happened as Ossian stepped back. Then the Alter flared to life, verse streaming up out of the crystal in and into its spokes. As it did so too did the Vault of Souls.

A steam of Verse burst forth from every corridor in the vault, following along the surface of the metal veins that had been installed by Arrmonia automatons. The streams power, glowing with every color of the rainbow, flowed out into the open air between the catwalks, pooling and swirling into a pure white mass around the central core of the vault before the very eyes of the amazed onlookers. They had known this would happen, but to see it in action was something else entirely.

The white energy pulsed and thrummed as if it was the heartbeat of a great beast before it suddenly burst upwards, flowing into the tunnel in the ceiling, guided by the spiral of metal lining its surface as it accented.

High above in the Blue Azura was indeed in the mists of making a speech to the vast majority of the revived mortals that inhabited her domain. They were gathered in the stands of the Lightning Dome while azrua stood before them with her back to the sky bastion.

”Each and everyone of you has contributed to this project in ways great and small. Over three long years together we charted our course and drew up our plans. For seven long years we have worked to plan and perfect the construction. The vault of souls fully realised as more than just a resting place, but as as beating heart of the knowledge and power of the people of Galbar. Now, today, our toils come to fruition as we take the next step in our journey to surpass death itself!”

With exquisite and dramatic timing the energy from the depths of the vault arrived just as she finished her proclamation, leaping skywards up out of the tunnel bored all the way through the north pole mountain, through the center of the sky bastion and up into the blue.

The great beam of power lanced up until it reached the warped space found at the top of the sky, up where distances shrunk. From below it seemed to spread across the sky as it accented until it reached the point where all horizontal direction was one and the same and it engulfed the entirety of the vault of heaven. Across Galbar the daytime sky suddenly went white for the briefest of moments before the test was completed and the energy beam sputtered out, returning the sky to its usual hue.

Sitting together watching this where Garna’Tenth and Kabarna. The former, who had only arrived a few days ago and was as a result not caught up with the plan asked with awe “What on Galbar was that supposed to be”

“Power.” Kabarna replied “Power accessible from everywhere in the Blue that we will used to rewrite the laws of death itself.”

Down below Cerule’s soul was extracted from the alter via which she had sparked the ignition of the vault and was placed back in her body. As she awoke and was helped to rise once more by Ossian the assembled undead where staring in quiet awe both at her and at the energy still coalesced around the central chamber.

“Did it work-function?” Auk-Ra finally asked

Cerule glanced up at a seemingly specific point in the ceiling for a few moments before nodding. “Yeah. The power went up and out. The warped space interacted with the energy just as you said it would Watcher. Zero point energy. Amazing really.”

“A few simple tweaks and it could do so much more.” informed her

“We’re trying to solve problems, not cause more. Breaching the Void will do exactly that. Plus, ‘a few simple tweaks’ is a massive understatement.”

The cat that contained a tiny fragment of an eldritch horror simply shrugged before it leapt atop her shoulders once more and went back to silently observing the proceedings.

“And the other purpose of the vault?” asked one of the other undead whom Auk-Ra recognised as an archivist.

”Right right.” Cerule responded before stepping up to the wheel shaped alter, that remained active even after her soul had been removed from it, and gripped two of its spokes with her hands.

”Vault?”

After a moment of silence the ball of power surrounding the core pulsed and rippled as it spoke back ”Listening. What is your query?”

The avatar was silent for a few moments before stepping away from the wheel and glancing at the small assembly ”Well, what do we want to know? The wisdom of a whole world is at our fingertips.”

There was muttering and discussion at this. While the archivist went searching for their notes on what to ask Auk-Ra glanced at the tablet he had added too, and the jar of corruption below the decay curing alter. Both where almost full and yet represented but a fraction of the harm the decay had inflicted upon the dead.

The Aroiox stepped up to the wheel, grasped it, and asked the Vault of Souls to “Tell-speak about soul blight-decay.”

There was a pause during which Auk-Ra felt the vault gently prodding at his soul till he offered up a more complete understanding of soul deacy before querying the untold number of lifetimes it had at its disposal for souls who could and would provide answers to the questions.

Images began to form, displayed in thin flat projections hovering in thin air in the same way the Alma did. It showed the wave of decay that had spread out from the gateway to Veradax before suddenly stopping, only to begin again for but a short time while the moon wept. It showed the reapers advancing towards the Pigmy’s city thought he eyes of a Jotunder who was killed moments later by a meteorite fall. Through the eyes of a Selke it saw the fate of those beset by reapers. They aslo saw the cruel slavery and butchery wrought by the Ihokhurs and through the eyes of an Ihokhetlani their creation.

And finally through the eyes of Nebulite they saw the source of all this destruction. A god who had made himself into simple farmer and a family man who showed not a hint of having committed these atrocities to those who called him creator.

“I don't understand-comprehend. Why do all of this-that.”

“My parents told me he abandoned us and that was why they went to live in that wretched city.” Alfarn noted “After seeing what he was doing, maybe that was for the best. Better to suffer there than have my soul tore apart when he got bored of us.”

“The next phase of the plan doesn't need us to be here” Ossian said carfuly, glancing breinfly at Cerule for confirmation before continuing “We need to go out there. Build ‘Monuments’ to facilitate the rebirth of all those stored here. And we need those monuments to be safe, which they won't be with all of those monsters of Orvus roaming around out there.”

Cerule nodded in approval while Auk-Ra wondered where she was going with this.

“We’ve built, we’ve trained, learned and strategized. It's time we set out to put all that work to use.” The the otherworldly General said with firm conviction. There were nods from many around the chamber, just as there would be up above when she made the pitch again. Many had wanted this for years, and now it finally felt like the right time. The dead would march forth and as they had pledged to Azura inorder to be awakened they would make the world a better place, no matter who or what stood in their way.