---

”Aella…? Do you remember... What father looked like?” Arwen asked, her voice soft and absent. Hollow.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes were dimmed considerably behind her hair. Tired eyes, and behind those baby blues, a sadness dwelt, endless and shackling. Threatening to swallow her up completely. She almost wished it did. Her face was lean and gaunt, when was the last time she had had an appetite? Her hair was being brushed by Aella, one of the only good constant things in her life.

She opened her mouth to speak again, her lips seemed to move slowly. ”Or the taste of the sun?” she asked, moving her eyes to gaze upon Aella in the mirror.

There was the rustling of leaves, followed by Aella setting Arwen’s hairbrush down. She ran her fingers through the soft hair and sniffed a few locks. “The sun has a taste? What’s it taste like, sis? As for dad...” Aella pursed her lips and embraced Arwen from behind, resting her fern-colored face on Arwen’s left shoulder. “... He was reaally tall! And strong. He smelled kinda funny whenever he got back from the city. Um… I can’t picture his face, though. Has it been that long already?”

Arwen sighed and leaned into Aella. ”That smell was the reason he left you know. Or as… Or as the Queen Mother likes to say. But yes… It has been that long. Do you, do you ever miss him? The thought of him?”

Aella chuckled, ”I do! I miss his hugs and kisses and whenever he patted my head.” Her leaves rustled again and she rubbed her cheek against Arwen’s affectionately with her eyes closed for a moment before stopping and pouting, ”Mom never told me that the smell was the reason she kicked him out… She never really tells me much, I guess. Sometimes I think she sees me like she sees the potted plants in the rec room.” Aella said with a sigh.

Arwen blinked out of her daze and turned around in her chair, taking Aella’s soft face within the palm of her hands. She looked at her with a serious expression, her eyes glowing brighter. ”Don’t think such things Aella. You are so much more than a potted plant. It’s the Queen Mother who does not see you for the beautiful being you are. And that, sister, is her loss.” Aella stared at Arwen in surprise, before grinning and bouncing a little on her seat.

Of course, she stopped quickly. ”What about you, then? You’re beautiful and nice too but every time Mom summons you, you come back in a daze all sad! Tell me sis, what does she say to you? I will convince you of the opposite, you know!” Aella said with a nod to herself and fiery determination in her shiny black eyes.

At once the small bit of light in Arwen’s eyes faded again, and she quickly looked away, her face growing flushed with embarrassment. There was silence between the two for a moment before Arwen murmured, ”I c-can’t tell you, Aella. You wouldn’t understand. I’m sorry.”

Aella’s own spark faded and she looked down, her leaves lying flush against her skin. ”Sorry. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but she’s doing something to you and I worry about you... You’re not eating and we all know non-plants have to eat to remain healthy, right? I don’t… You’re not sick, are you?”

She looked up at Aella, taking one of her hands and said, ”I’m… Fine, Aella. Don’t worry about me.” she said, giving a gently squeeze, while feigning a small smile. Inside… her heart broke a little more but she couldn’t… Wouldn’t put her sister through knowing what their Queen Mother did alone to her.

Aella squeezed back and showed a smile of her own, relaxing and closing her eyes, ”I can picture all the smiles you’ve shown me right now, Sis. The big ones, the small ones, the weird ones and the subtle ones… What you just showed me however, wasn’t a smile.” Her smile faded but she kept her eyes closed and leaned forwards to lean her forehead against Arwen’s, ”I’m here for you, sis, I might not understand what you and Mom talk about half the time and I may not be very smart, but I’m here.”

She fought back tears as she whispered to Aella. ”I know. I know, and I love you for it. With all my heart.” she said, eyes shut tightly as she pulled away, and turned around. ”N-Now could you go see if there has been any more discoveries from the Hollow? I’m sure Elebeth would like you see you again.” she said, covering her mouth as her tears began to flow.

Aella stretched her hand toward Arwen but, at the last second, hesitated and let it rest on her lap. It took her a while, but eventually she stood up and left Arwen’s chambers.

When she heard the door shut, Arwen slowly got up from her chair and made her way to her bed. Where in she layed down and cried. She hated herself for what she had to do, but it was the only way to keep Aella safe. Right?

---

Li’Kalla gracefully went down the ornamented stairs, almost gliding through the air as she did so, and regarded the view of the Manor’s foyer with a self-satisfied smirk. What used to be a drab, unassuming foyer she had turned into a magnificent Hall, with a throne befitting her between the two curved stairs leading up to the second floor of the Manor. Gold coated the armrests, and cushions made with textile fibers mixed with gold were built into the headrest and seat, while the rest of the throne was made of silver-coated stone. Light reflected off it incessantly, and whenever Li’Kalla sat on it, the brightness would be enough to keep any mortal from looking at her too long.

Over time Li’Kalla’s hair had grown brighter. What had begun as simply white hair now actively and boldly emitted light. The same went for her skin, eyebrows, eyelashes and most importantly, her eyes. Her irises had grown so intense lately that a single look had once sent a lowly Vallamir into a coma for three weeks.

So she walked down the stairs, her eyes moving from her throne to look at the figure kneeling before the throne.

”Elebeth.” Said the Goddess Li’Kalla. The female kneeling twitched under some unseen weight placed on her shoulders by the words. Her own white hair seemed to glow slightly, a mere imitation of Li’Kalla’s.

Slowly and deliberately, Li’Kalla sat on her throne and lifted her chin up slightly.

Elebeth let out a small gasp of relief but did not lift her head.

”You may speak.”

Elebeth nodded with her head down, “Queen-Mother, the Vallamir named Oli has reported the existence of a rather interesting item in the Hollow. He says that after descending for half a day and reaching the lower level of the catacombs, he found a shrine dedicated to a golden artifact. Upon touching it, several predators were drawn to him immediately. Not unusual, of course, but when he and his team dispatched of the beasts and one of his subordinates picked up the blood-coated item... they…”

Li’Kalla raised an eyebrow, ”Continue, Elebeth.”

“I-I apologize. When one of his subordinated picked up the item, they seem to… Have turned into an ‘abomination’, and had to be put down.”

Li’Kalla perked up, ”Oh? And where’s this item?”

Elebeth kept silent for a moment, “He decided to leave it where it fell, in fear for his other team members’ safety. He requests guidance on what to do.”

”It should be evident. We must retrieve the item and bring it to the Capital for experimentation. It might be extremely useful if we can find a way to control the result of its apparent shape shifting capabilities.”

Before Elebeth could speak anymore, a young Valthumir girl wearing a simple white dress walked down the stairs and lowered her head as she spoke to Li’Kalla, “Queen-Mother, the bath is ready for you.”

”Beautiful.” Li’Kalla then turned to Elebeth and nodded, ”Thank you for your report, Elebeth. I trust you and your people will find a way to retrieve the artifact safely. You may go now.”

“Thank you, Queen-Mother.” Elebeth said as she stood up and walked out of the Manor. The massive front doors creaked closed behind her, and Li’Kalla stood up from her throne and went up the stairs once more with the young girl in tow.

---

Minutes later in the Manor’s luxurious, divine-sustained hot springs with artificial waterfalls and fancy fragrances wafting through the air, Li’Kalla relaxed. She exhaled a deep breath and watched with icy eyes as the steam from her breath mixed with that of the hot springs and eventually became one with it.

The water was deep enough that if she took a seat and relaxed her postune on the stone shelves along the edges of the springs, she would see most of her modesty covered.

Eventually the unassuming door to the rest of the manor opened and from behind the form of the young girl who had prepared the baths appeared. And trailing behind her… Arwen. Her daughter took an unassuming pose, back slightly hunched as she walked, eyes downcast, face devoid of any emotion. Her hair was tied in a bun and she wore a loose robe of white satin, tied at the waist with a black string.

The two entered the bath area, and Arwen said nothing as she silently derobed and went into the water. There was hesitation in her movements as she quickly sat down opposite of her mother, legs folded and arms crossed over her chest. She avoided Li’Kalla’s gaze.

”Arwen, you must walk with your back straight and gazing forward. It is the most attractive gait, and if you desire a worthy mate, you would do well to heed my advice.”

Without looking at her, Arwen spoke, her voice small. ”Yes, Queen-Mother.”

Li’Kalla huffed and stood up, the water gliding off her body as it was immediately replaced by her usual cold, rainy water. She spent a moment messing around with her hair to make sure it obscured none of her features, and then walked up to Arwen, looking down at her. ”You must put more spirit into your speech, as well. Truly, you’ve become quite the disappointment. As a living being you were given the best start one could ask for. With my blood running through your veins, granting you the beautiful body you live in… Giving you that smooth voice, those striking divine features… And yet you choose to act like a simple mortal. Afraid, weak...”

Li’Kalla sighed and sat down next to Arwen, her gaze never stopping its quest to meet Arwen’s even as she wrapped one arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Arwen seemed to shrink and constrict at her touch.

”That’s what you are, isn’t it? Weak. Sometimes I wonder if you are at all capable of...” Li’Kalla slowly brought her free hand close to Arwen’s belly and started tracing circles around her belly button with the tip of her index finger in an unnaturally cold and gentle set of movements. ”... Further refining our blood.”

Slowly Arwen looked at her mother, eyes hardened, face cold. ”It is not an act, Queen Mother. I am only Mortal. I apologize for being weak, Queen Mother. I am nothing compared to you, after all.” she said, blinking back tears as Li’Kalla’s radiance before she looked away out of discomfort.

”Oh, Arwen...” Li’Kalla smiled sweetly. ”Indeed, you are mortal. However, that does not mean you should act like one, especially when you are the daughter of a Goddess. You have so much potential...” The Goddess almost whispered, bringing her hands up to either side of Arwen’s head and forcing the young girl to face her mother. Li’Kalla could barely hold back her elation as she observed Arwen’s mixed expression. ”Such a perfect musculoskeletal structure… The symmetry, even when on the verge of tears… Yes, you may be only mortal, but you’re the best specimen I’ve seen, and you’re mine.”

The girl struggled at first but stopped, holding her mother’s gaze again, her pupils becoming but pinpoints. She gritted her teeth, ”I’m his too.” she said with defiance in her voice, but as soon as the words came out of her mouth and Li’Kalla’s expression hardened, she seemed to pale. Li’Kalla squeezed Arwen’s face and her nails started to dig into her skin. ”Q-Queen M-Mother I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” her voice faltered.

Li’Kalla’s eyes seemed almost ablaze with pure white flames, but she froze for a split second and then removed her hands from Arwen’s face, small beads of blood oozing out of the spots where her nails had penetrated the girl’s skin. She broke the unending eye contact with Arwen and looked into the mist again for a while, before standing up and wordlessly moving to the exit. The young handmaiden next to the door attempted to follow Li’Kalla, but was stopped by a dismissive hand gesture, and so she stayed behind… And as she went through the door, Li’Kalla stopped one last time and spoke over her shoulder, ”I might have to begin molding Aella into a proper lady. It is an undesirable situation, but with enough time I will ensure she can take your place as a viable female, Arwen.” And with that, she was gone and the door closed behind her.

Arwen touched her face, looking at her fingertips, at pinkish blood. It made her stomach churn, but she was numb to the pain as her only thoughts turned to Aella as she sunk deeper into the water.

She had failed.

---

Her heart beat quickly as she made her way through the hall. She thought it so loud it would alert the guards that she was there, but it was all in her head. The manor was dark, save for only the glow of distant lights. She arrived at the door and opened it quietly, being careful not to allow the hinges to squeak. Once she was inside, and the door was left cracked, she made her way over to the bed, a sleeping figure residing underneath the sheets.

She placed her hands on her sister’s shoulders and rocked her back and forth.

”Aella! Wake up!” she whispered loudly.

Aella groaned and groggily reached for Arwen’s face, running her hands all over it before opening her eyes. ”... hey… are we doing a sleepover or something…? Niice sis, it’s been so long, I wanna cuddle… Pet my head ok...” She said with a big yawn.

Arwen tugged at Aella’s hand. ”No no no, listen we have to go. Get up and grab your things.” she said urgently, desperation in her voice. At this Aella sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her leaves were sticking out in all directions and her nightgown was barely hanging on by one shoulder. She was a very active person even while sleeping.

”W-What’s going on, sis?” Aella asked as she scooted off her bed and stood up.

”I-I’ll explain when we’re out of the capital. Just know that we can’t stay here any longer. The Queen Mother is… She’s going to hurt you. I can’t let that happen.” she said, pulling Aella to her wardrobe. The fern-colored Foreas winced, but went along with Arwen and opened her wardrobe. There wasn’t much inside, apart from a couple nightgowns and two different, relatively simple and slightly revealing dresses. She quickly changed clothes right there and into a brown-colored dress that left her midriff, arms and neck bare, then she quickly swept her leaves into proper position and nodded before taking Arwen’s hand.

”Okay! Lead the way sis, my eyes don’t work too well in the dark.”

She smiled faintly and said,”I love you, Aella.” Arwen then squeezed her sister’s hand and into the dark of the manor they went. Only once they were outside would they be free to truly escape and run, but until then, they had to take it slow and methodical. There was no room for error.

They knew the Manor like the back of their hands of course, but at the end of the day it was essentially a part of Li’Kalla. Any foreign noise and unusual activity would alert their mother and if that happened at all, then they would have no chance to escape.

It was very late at the time. Outside, the strong reflections of light coming from Veradax barely shone through the thick cloudy skies. Chilly fall winds blew through the trees, around houses and down empty avenues… As the young girls walked down the dark corridors, a faraway whistle reached their ears, followed by muffled steps and a closing window.

Aella quivered a little and felt her knees go weak and her leaves start to shiver excitedly, so she stuck closer to Arwen.

They went straight down the corridor after leaving Aella’s room. Then it was a right as soon as they could and eventually, after sneaking down the cold corridors for what felt like an eternity, they reached the one lit place in the entire Manor. The Foyer, or recently, the Throne Room. The staircase was as clean and beautiful as ever, and below. On the ground floor, waited a very young girl, barely of age, wearing a simple dress and holding a bag on her arms. She seemed to have been asleep standing up, and as the girls stepped down the stairs, she gasped and looked up at them in fear.

Quickly, however, she relaxed and sighed out her stress. She had brown mousey hair and silver eyes, and her complexion was… Not the best, but that was natural considering her age.

So when Aella and Arwen went down and stood on the same level as her, she took in a quivering breath and extended her arms towards Arwen with a small grunt of effort, offering her the heavy looking bag.

”I-I was asked to umm… Give t-this to you two, m-my lady.” She whispered.

Arwen froze. ”B-By W-Who? Talen?” she stammered while gripping Aella tighter, who cooed quietly in interest.

The young maid gulped and nodded, eyes shut tightly as soon as she heard the name.
She let go of Aella to grab the package, and walked around the girl, but stopped to say, ”This exchange, never happened. But all the same… Thank you.”

The little girl looked down at her feet and twiddled her thumbs. The last they saw of her as they left through the conveniently ajar front doors, was her yawning while not moving an inch from her spot.

---

Some time later, after running for longer than ever, Aella gasping for breath stopped and pulled Arwen’s arm. They were in a dark alleyway and the day was about to begin. Rays of light broke the horizon ever so gently… Not that they could notice it with how preoccupied they were.

“Sis... ! Tell me… Why? Why are we running? … This place is scary..” the Foreas asked in between breaths, looking around at the simple, slightly battered huts towering over them on either side.

Arwen quickly scanned the area, and opened the sack to see… plain clothing. She looked to Aella and held her face, ”Listen… I will explain everything to you, but first, we need to get out of the city, okay? Here, bless Talen’s heart, she packed us clothing. I don’t know how she figured out I would be leaving, but we don’t have much time, knowing mother. So come on, let’s get changed.” Arwen said, unbuttoning her cloak.

Aella pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, but sighed and shrugged and did the same. Eventually she managed to get into her new oddly itchy and dull clothes. Her outfit consisted of a pair of trousers with rough patches on them and a long white blouse that reached her mid-thighs, as well as sandals made of wood and plant fibre. The latter made her shiver in disgust as she put them on, so she immediately tossed them aside.

”I’m itchy. Like when Laven rubs her leaves against me, but it’s not the good kind of itch, you know?”

Arwen turned to her, now wearing a long brown peach colored dress, brown cloak wrapped around her shoulders. She handed another one to Aella and put her hood up. ”We’ll find better clothing, I promise. Now come on.” she said hurriedly, grabbing Aella’s hand.

It wasn’t until the crack of dawn while people were just beginning to come out of their abodes that the sisters managed to find their way out of the city and got on the main road, leading west. By then Aella had been quiet for a while, and was beginning to flag. It got to a point where she was falling asleep while walking and stumbled every few minutes.

Arwen was adamant about leaving as quickly as they could, but when she noticed Aella flagging she went to her sister and began to support her. ”Would you look at that… Aella? It’s beautiful.” Arwen said pointing at the sunrise. ”You’ve done a really good job today, Aella. Let’s go rest for a bit yeah?” and she led her off the road for a ways, until the found a nice clearing of grass. She helped Aella onto the ground, laying her sister’s head in her lap as she stroked her leaves. Aella mumbled happily as she lazily took off her blouse and went to sleep on Arwen’s lap, soaking up the light of the early morning.

It wasn’t meant to be a peaceful day, however. Eventually, a voice piped up from the treeline, somewhere around them. It was a gruff, deep and sort of hollow male voice.

“The Queen-Mother’s daughters alone in a forest without an escort. Quite the sight. Especially the plant…” The voice echoed, and leaves rustled and twigs broke all around the sisters. “I’ve heard rumours about the plants’ blood being valuable. Maybe I should take her to my friends up north and get myself some land in exchange for her life.”

Arwen sat up straighter, now on edge as she frantically searched the forest edge. She shook Aella, trying to get her to wake up but to no avail. She was out cold. ”W-Who’s there?” she said in a small voice.

“I,” Said the voice of the male, as a mountainous shape walked out of the shadows of the overgrowth opposite Arwen. He was wearing several layers of clothes which made his overall build and appearance uncertain and each of his steps seemed to shake the ground. Not even his face was visible under the massive, conical hat he sported made of weaved plant fibers.

“Am,” Echoed a second voice, this one younger, more energetic, but with the same hollowness. Out of the overgrowth to Arwen’s left walked out a much more average sized shape, wearing a heavy cloak and sporting black bandages covering his entire body except for his eyes, which shone a bright golden through the shadow cast by his cloak.

“To’Reya.” Said one last voice. Female and sweet. She walked out from behind the sisters, and was, similarly to the mountainous person, wearing an incredible amount of layers and a flat rounded hat as wide as her shoulders which obscured her face.

Arwen looked between the figures and took in a deep breath. Though she was incredibly afraid, she knew she had to be strong. ”And what do you want, To’Reya? I will not let you take her from me. It’s out of the question.” she said with a bit of defiance in her voice.

“Is that so?” Asked the female.

“If it is so, draw your weapon.” Mentioned the smaller male, hunching over slightly and reaching inside his coat.

“I shall see how skilled the daughter of a Goddess is.” Rumbled the massive one, kicking up some dirt and stalking closer to the sisters, balling up his fists.

Her eyes went wide and time seemed to slow down as she realized just how naive she was being. There was no way she could save Aella, even herself. This was not how things were supposed to go. And as time began to speed back up she knew what she had to do.

”AELLA! RUN!” she shouted, getting to her feet and stepping in front of Aella to shield her. She could buy a little time for Aella to escape, couldn’t she?

And yet in the blink of an eye all three broke into a dash toward the sisters, the very air starting to shimmer and weave and shake, and then…

“STOP! To’Reya!” Shouted a new female voice, hoarse. She burst through into the clearing wearing a coat and several heavy leather items of clothing as well as belts and accessories. She was a full on Valthumir, with white hair and silver eyes and a commanding aura even while panting. To’Reya stopped its advance immediately and turned its heads toward the mir woman. “They aren’t combatants, remember what Elebeth mentioned. Stop scaring them or you might actually kill them out of fright, you complete idiot.” The woman said before sighing and recovering her breath. A moment later, the three shadows turned away and disappeared into the forest. It was then that the woman turned to the sisters.

“Well? Are you two okay? Did they hurt you anywhere? Any stab wounds to take care of, any broken bones?”

At this point Aella stirred and crawled up to Arwen. She was breathing rapidly and her eyes were wide.

”Now you wake up?” Arwen whispered under her breath to Aella as she hugged her tightly. She then looked to the woman. ”We are… Fine, thank you for calling them off. Um… Who are you?” she asked inquisitively.

“Ja’Sanna. I’m Master Elebeth’s second in command and she assigned me the task of ensuring your safety. It looks like Master Elebeth the Cardinal of Exploration is interested in your particular situation. Enough so that she saw it fit to keep me around here while she went off on a suicide mission to retrieve a Curio in the Hollow.” The woman, Ja’Sanna, rolled her eyes.

Arwen furrowed her brow, ”How did she know I- We were going to leave?” Arwen asked suspicious.

Ja’Sanna shrugged, “All we were asked to do was to watch you and ensure no foreign factors threatened your safety. We just followed you once you escaped.”

Still suspicious she asked, ”So what now?”

“That’s a good question,” Ja’Sanna tapped her chin, “I would suggest making your way somewhere the Queen-Mother wouldn’t be likely to look for you in. A dangerous place, for both mortals and immortals.”

Arwen seemed to pale a little. ”Y-You don’t mean… The Hollow… Do you?” she said, taking hold of Aella’s hand, who by now was awake enough to look around in confusion.

“Who knows. What if I did indeed mean the Hollow? Would you feel comfortable heading to such a place? A place filled with Mir who are so loyal to the Queen-Mother that they’d brave the world’s throat never to see the light of day again? You would be wise to think twice, and even wiser to get rid of anything that could expose you as a member of the Divine Family.” Ja’Sanna looked around and then put her hands in her cloak’s pockets.

Arwen looked at Aella, her fears doubling, if not for her own life, but her sisters. By now their Mother probably knew they had run away. It was only a matter of time until someone came looking for them.

Still.

The Hollow was too dangerous and unpredictable. They would not survive.

”I… We can’t… It’s too dangerous.” she said looking at Ja’Sanna again.

Aella blinked and her leaves rustled erratically. “What’s dangerous, sis? Who is she?”

Ja’Sanna furrowed her brow, “I’ve strayed far from my orders already… But,” The woman stared at Arwen and walked towards her, hunched over and with her hands in her pockets until she was at arm’s reach, at which point she pulled out a little orb made of a translucent material. Inside there was a blue cone pointing off in a direction just a little bit off from north. Attached to its surface was a tiny, rusted, and half broken hook that gave away its original use as part of a necklace. Ja’Sanna held out the orb in an open hand for Arwen. “Take it. It’ll always point toward the Hollow, should you change your mind. Master Elebeth owns an institution there which may prove useful in hiding from the Queen-Mother’s eyes.”

Arwen took it gently in her hands, eyes going wide as she looked at it curiously. She handed it to Aella so she could see and said, ”Thank you, Ja’Sanna. We have… Some things to talk about, Aella and I.” she said, looking away.

Ja’Sanna nodded, turned around and started to walk away. “In that case, goodbye. I would continue watching your movements, but keeping To’Reya in check in the wilderness is difficult even for me, so this is as far as we go. We may or may not see each other again.” And with that, the cloaked woman disappeared into the foliage.

A moment later, Aella made a sad little whimper. ”She ignored me, too.”

She looked at Aella, with a kind smile. ”It’s okay, Aella.” Arwen said, rubbing her sister’s head. ”How are you feeling? You didn’t sleep long… Will you be good to continue on?”

Aella looked at her body, stretched, and slowly stood up. ”... Yeah. I’m good. I should get more energy as the day goes on… Where are we going?”

Arwen looked out at the blue sky before them, endless opportunity on the horizons. Then she looked at the orb and then to Aella.

”Come on, will talk as we walk.” she said, pulling her hand. And off they went, aimlessly, but at least they had each other. For in the end, family mattered.

---

---

Fire. Burning bright, burning hot.

Noises. Thousands crying, roaring, screaming, running… Burning.

Blood. Scarlet rivers, ripped flesh, broken bones, fresh meat.

Kill. Kill kill kill. Kill the small, kill the large, kill the slow, kill the fast, the winged, the scaled, the horned, the spiked, the weak, the strong. Kill kill kill. Kill them all.

KILL.

---

Rain fell upon the scorched earth. Peals of thunder rattled the ground and a pair of heavy taloned feet landed in the mud. A beak nudged some nearby bones, broken and gnawed.

There was a sad croon. A deep inhale through the nostrils. Crackle of static electricity.

She was close.

There was a thunderclap and the beast returned to the storm.

---

The fire came down from the North, whipping life into a mad dash of fury and pain. What followed next was like a black wave of malice. They seemed to flood the world, burning the world as they went, stepping over corpses new and old. They moved in legion, like a giant stain upon the land, and to the south they went, closer and closer to the coast. Their Queen, their mother moved in the middle, anger pulsating throughout her stance. She wanted her enemy to pay, but she would not let that get in the way of the greater prize. Their prey was the world, and they hungered for it.

Yet behind them a storm was brewing, dark clouds mixing with the pall of smoke. Thunder rumbled behind the reaper spawn, growing louder as the storm drew closer. As the first drops of rain fell upon the malevolent horde, an ear-splitting cry rattled their bones.

SCREEEEEEE!

The black horde froze, and one by one red eyes began to look upon the storm that was behind them. Azadine looked up, letting out a small vocalization. Her body went rigid as she sniffed the air. Something had brought the storm.

A midnight blue bird dove out of the clouds. Just above the ground the bird beat her wings with a deafening CRACK of thunder, stunning the spawn nearby before landing heavily in their midst. The great bird’s beak stabbed downwards, snapped one of the blackened creatures in half with a single bite then threw back her head to swallow.

The reaper spawn who hadn’t been concussed by the Thunderbird’s landing showed no fear or hesitation in swarming towards this new foe. The Thunderbird flapped her wings again, sending a wave of thunder which stopped the monsters in front of her in their tracks. Behind her the screeching mob of beasts got closer and arcs of scarlet lightning shot from their heads to the Thunderbird. Yet the bolts of lightning sparked harmlessly across the Thunderbird’s lustrous plumage. The Thunderbird spun around with a hop and batted the spawn with a wing, electricity jolting through the spawn and causing them to drop convulsing to the ground. The Thunderbird advanced with another thunderous wingbeat and tore into the reaper spawn with beak and claw.

Another vocalization erupted through the storm, a metallic shriek of fury. The Spawn around the Thunderbird began to retreat slightly, making way for their Mother, who came with speed and anger. The Thunderbird turned to face Azadine and released a screech which would deafen most creatures and flapped its wings, sending concussive thunder towards the Reaper. The Reaper Mother took the blow directly and crumbled back at first, before digging into the ground with her claws, and gripping onto what she could to stand up.

Azadine drifted slightly, before her eyes focused back on the Thunderbird, and Azadine ripped up boulders with her two long arms and threw them at the bird. The Thunderbird squawked in alarm and flew skywards, one boulder flying lower while the other grazed her flank with a shower of sparks. The Thunderbird took a moment to steady herself then swooped towards Azadine, talons outstretched and thunder rippling ahead of her.

In a flurry of movements Azadine tensed her body, going low as she looked up at the Bird, eyes pinpoints as she pounced to meet the bird in mid air, long arms poised to rake the Thunderbird’s flesh and her small arms going for the bird’s talons. Azadine’s claws met their mark, claws sinking into the Thunderbird’s flesh and hands grappling against the Thunderbird’s feet, yet immediately electricity surged through Azadine. The Thunderbird let out a deafening screech and flapped her wings frantically, pummelling the Reaper with concussive thunder.

With a growl of frustration as her flesh burned, Azadine's grip let loose from the Thunderbird and she dropped as the thunder pummeled her back on the ground with a loud crash. Reaper spawn immediately began to swarm over her as a form of protection as the Mother slowly got to her feet.

Blood dripped from the Thunderbird’s sides where Azadine’s claws had slashed her flesh and crimson stained her midnight blue feathers. Yet the Thunderbird did not relent. She dropped down towards Azadine with talons outstretched, a wave of thunder rattling through the Reaper Spawn as she pinned a couple of spawn under her electrified feet. A beak pecked down and tore away at the blanket of beasts, trying to get to the Reaper Mother.

A long, knife like tail whipped around the corpses of the spawn and struck the Thunderbird in the side as Azadine let out another wail. The Thunderbird squawked and staggered sidewards off Azadine under the unexpected blow, flapping her wings with peals of thunder to stay upright. The Thunderbird turned to face the Reaper Mother and watched the Reaper’s tail warily.

With a flurry of thunderous wingbeats, the Thunderbird leapt towards Azadine again, talons outstretched to grapple the Reaper. Buffeted by the force of the wing beats Azadine staggered and the Thunderbird managed to sink her talons in her chest, pinning two of her arms. Azadine screamed in fury as electricity coursed through her.

The spawn went into a frenzy, throwing themselves at the Thunderbird recklessly and without care, although most could barely scratch her before falling to the ground from electric shock. Azadine meanwhile flailed with her two good arms, ripping into the bird as the giant avian pecked at Azadine. Azadine relented as the electricity began to take its toll, removing herself from the bird and retreating underneath a horde of spawn. The queen glared at her foe but made no moves to attack.

The Thunderbird stood unsteadily for a few moments, rain mixing with fresh red blood soaking her midnight blue feathers. Almost casually she flapped her wings and sent the reaper spawn around her staggering to the ground. The bird glared back at the queen, scrutinising the Reaper and her spawn. The Thunderbird squawked her ear-splitting cry and flapped her thunderous wings in challenge, sparks leaping defiantly from her feathers.

The Queen answered with her own metallic scream, back arched and tail whipping into a frenzy. She still made no move towards the bird, however. The Thunderbird prowled around the Reaper in a wide arc, eyes watching the bladed tail carefully.

Suddenly the Thunderbird ran directly towards the Queen, but at the last moment flapped her wings and came to a stop just out of reach of the Reaper’s tail. The wave of thunder washed over the Reaper as the Thunderbird hopped backwards a few steps. Her spawn took the brunt of the concussive force but it was enough to catch Azadine off guard, as she stumbled backwards awkwardly, eyes never leaving her foe.

The Thunderbird took to the air with a mighty wingbeat, then she dove towards Azadine. The bird feinted right before swerving left, electrified claws outstretched to grab the Reaper with a flurry of thunderous wingbeats. She fell for the feint, and was grabbed by the bird and electricity coursed through her veins as she screamed furiously. It was the rage that became paramount in her dire situation, as adrenaline coursed and she sent out her own flurry of blows with her free claws and tail.

The Thunderbird held on through the slashing of Azadine’s claws. The avian’s wing beats and screeching disoriented the Reaper and electricity seized her muscles, making it difficult to attack with any accuracy.

Then there was a grisly squelch and a blossom of pain and coldness. The Thunderbird looked down to find Azadine’s bladed tail in her abdomen and her eyes widened in shock.

Yet the Thunderbird gripped tighter, more desperate now than ever to keep the Reaper in her clutches. The Thunderbird cried out, a final surge of lightning arcing across her feathers and into Azadine. Her eyes burst into flame as the current scorched her body, rippling her insides into but burnt flesh, and charred bone. Slowly her flailing weakened, until the last nerve in her body was destroyed and the Reaper Mother died with it.

The Thunderbird finally let go and staggered away a few steps. Reaper spawn swarmed towards her and with her electricity spent the spawn were able to attack her. Lethargically the Thunderbird swept a wing, a ripple of thunder staggering the spawn, yet more came to avenge their mother. The Thunderbird took flight, escaping the reach of the spawn, but her flight was unsteady and she crashed down a few moments later. The spawn closed back in and she tried to fend them off with wing and beak while backing away. Then her legs gave out, she fell to the ground, and the reaper spawn closed in.

Yet they were interrupted by a rumbling in the ground. The spawn looked up, screeched in rage and ran elsewhere, their attention torn from the Thunderbird. The Thunderbird lifted her head a fraction. Through fading vision she saw an army of giant red crabs charging forwards to meet the reaper swarm.

“Caw…” The Thunderbird’s voice trailed off into the wind. The crabs might have been too late to save her, but they would finish her mission. The Thunderbird’s head dropped back down and the world slipped into darkness.

A shape flew through the sky with a silhouette of a pterodactyl yet far larger than even the beasts of Kirron’s Hooflands. A mild heat wave followed in its wake. Eyes which burned like embers scanned the razed ground below.

A spot of midnight blue stood out among the grey and brown. Swiftly the shape descended and the Phoenix landed beside the heap of blood-soaked blue feathers. “No, no, sweet Thunderbird, no. Why?” The Phoenix lowered his beak to the Thunderbird’s. Scalding tears welled up in his eyes and sizzled as they fell on the ground below. “I should have been there. I- I-” The Phoenix sobbed, his deep guttural cries echoing across the land.

The Thunderbird shuddered as if waking again, but it was just the mocking twitch of dead muscles. The ground was strewn with the dead and dying, and almost in unison the corpses seized. Those slowly succumbing to their wounds laid still save for ragged breathing or gurgling, in many ways looking more lifeless than even the dead about them.

A hazy grey figure emerged from over the horizon, flying and fast approaching the scene. It didn’t circle around like a vulture, for its senses were keen and it easily found the carnage that had attracted its attention. The ghostly figure landed besides the oldest carrion, the shredded and mangled remnants of the first beast that the Thunderbird had slain. And then it set to work. In its grasp was a long pale rod, and the merest tap of that staff upon the ground brought a reek of decay so potent that it could have been smelled from leagues away. The Phoenix, however, was much closer than that.

The Phoenix’s nostrils flared at the stench and he raised his head. His eyes locked onto the ghostly figure. He rose to his full height, towering far above the newcomer, and puffed out his chest. “Who are you?”

Zotz cast little more than a glance at the monstrous bird. “The one who is left to remedy the filth left behind by the living who are destined to slaughter one another.” His gaze returned down to the yellowing grass that withered beneath his feet and the now almost indistinguishable mounds of rancid flesh. He stepped carelessly over the bodies, raising his magical staff before the carnage and willing it all to become dirt once more. He did not know who or what the Phoenix was, but nor did he care enough to ask.

The Phoenix watched the circle of decomposing matter spread out from around Zotz. He looked around at the battlefield through eyes still clouded with tears and properly inspected it. A short distance away lay the body of Azadine, the burns of lightning clear. Around lay the dead bodies of both Azadine’s spawn and giant red crabs, slain in battle against each other. Any survivors had probably scattered and fled by now.

He looked back down at the body of the Thunderbird. Fresh tears welled in the Phoenix’s eyes as he bowed his head down to the bird. “My sweet, I shall not leave you to scavengers or decay. You deserve a proper funeral,” he said softly.

The Phoenix exhaled a breath of cinders and the body of the Thunderbird caught alight. The Phoenix stepped back and watched. As the fire took hold the feathers burst into dazzling flares of brilliant white light. As the Thunderbird was engulfed in an inferno some of the midnight blue feathers came free and billowed up with the smoke into the sky. Soon the feathers were gone and the light faded to just the flames, supernaturally hot though they were. The Phoenix released a mournful cry which carried far and wide as his beloved Thunderbird became ash.

The blaze caught the ghostly one’s attention. Zotz turned from his work and watched attentively. “Less work for me,” he concluded. When the Phoenix finished its infernal wailing, Zotz unraveled his humanoid form into a gust of billowing smoke and approached at a frightening speed, then insensitively loomed over the Thunderbird’s remnants and inspected the ashes. ”Purified!” he noted with some surprise.

“You have garnered my interest with that display. Might you burn the rest? You would make for a good assistant, better than my wretched fool of a brother--”

And then almost on queue, the ghostly silhouette of a giant monkey manifested at the edge of the battlegrounds, mouth cackling and a strange whip cracking. The corpses of the dead kicked, rolled, twitched, or seized with every snap of the whip, and even after all the years Ku couldn’t find anything more hilarious than their spasms.

The Phoenix regarded Zotz critically. “The Avatar of a God reduced to a servant of a lesser being? I think not.” His gaze cast over to Ku. “Who are you?” the Phoenix asked both of them.

“Servants of the god Katharsos,” Zotz explained, unconcerned with the Phoenix’s slight. “I am meant to decay corpses when great quantities of them are made, before their poison spreads and their carrion feeds scavengers and worse. And my brother is supposed to mark the dead that I do not disturb those that yet live; however, to him our sacred charge is nothing more than a game.”

“I do what the god told me to do,” the eavesdropping monkey called out. He never ceased flailing his whip, cracking it between every other word and grinning as he made some mangled corpses twitch and spasm so violently that they appeared to rise once again and dance in some crude fashion. “But I find my own entertainment too, because if I took my job as seriously as Zotz takes his then I’d have gone mad long ago. Ha! Maybe I already have!”

The Phoenix watched Ku’s peculiar display. Some of the brothers’ words echoed around inside his mind. “I should probably return to Muspelheim. I have been away too long already,” he said.

“Why hurry? Loosen up, take your time, stay and watch the show. Hey, see if you can light these things on fire!” Between giggles, Ku used his whip to goad the throng of ‘dancing’ corpses towards the Phoenix at a clumsy gait.

A slight smile might have crept onto the Phoenix’s face if he had lips. “Burning things is in line with Sartr’s will.” The Phoenix took a deep breath in, then exhaled an incandescent beam of heat which vaporised the moving corpses. In the thick of it all, unperturbed by mundane flames, the ghostly monkey laughed and danced. His whip flew back and forth at a blurring speed, and Ku sent hordes more of the dead forward whilst guiding their every motion like a crazed composer. Some tried to use others as shields, some tried to stealthily approach the Phoenix from behind, and still others just bounded forward like rabid beasts. Yet all fell to the flames as the Phoenix swept the beam around.

When some of the corpses from behind reached the Phoenix, having escaped his notice, they burst into flame as soon as they reached for the Avatar of Heat. As he felt their claws and teeth clatter uselessly against his hide the Phoenix paused his fire breath. He swept a wing which caught the small horde and hurled them away, leaving a flaming heap.

The surge of animated dead suddenly came to a stop, though many lumps of flesh still remained on the periphery of the battlefield where the Phoenix hadn’t bathed the ground in sweltering flame. “Pah, the rest still cling to life, and Zotz would be fuming if I tried to move them around. But good show! Working with you is fun. Say, care to do this again next time the fleshbags leave behind a big mess?”

“I had already extended him the offer. It remains from my end, still,” the forgettable Zotz whispered. The bat-shaped ghost had watched with far less glee than Ku, but he’d seemed pleased enough all the same.

“Great! So we’d only have to run it by Balam! When are you, uh...available?” Ku asked the Phoenix.

The Phoenix looked around the scorched earth around him with some satisfaction. It had been a long time since he had properly incinerated anything. “I would be open to collaboration. Although I am only available when my master does not need me elsewhere.”

The monkey’s neverending smile widened a bit at that. “What is it that you’re supposed to do, anyways?”

The Phoenix hesitated for a few moments as he tried to remember his purpose. “I burn what Master Sartr tells me to, watch the world for him, and do anything else he requires of me,” he answered.

“Huh. To have such freedom! What’s ‘watching the world’ supposed to mean anyways? You could probably bend that one to do whatever you want! Well if you stick around us, you’ll get to have lots of fun and laugh at Zotz’ expense, and maybe we’ll put in a good word to the god of death for you, eh? We’ll be able to find you next time there’s something worth doing. You’ve got a particular scent to you, and we’re sharp enough to smell a bloated corpse halfway across the world!”

Zotz, lacking words, silently backed away and began to attend to the remaining monsters one by one as they drew their last breaths. Ku’s absentminded fidgeting of his whip and the dead’s resulting motion made it easy enough to spot them once they’d expired, and then a quick tap of Zotz’s staff left them rotted within seconds.

The Phoenix looked guiltily away. “Sartr will be asking where I’ve been…” he mumbled to himself. He shook his head and looked to Ku. “If we cross paths again then I would be happy to burn things with you. I cannot guarantee when that will be, though.”

Ku shrugged. “We have all the time in the world. It’s been fun, fiery bird! See you next time!” Then the monkey fled and left his brother to finish their macabre work.

“Yes, next time.” The Phoenix then stretched out his wings and with a wingbeat which stirred up dust across the battlefield took to the skies and left.

“No that’s not it either. It’s more brown and is crispy like a nut.” Ossian explained as she examined Cerule’s latest attempt at creating a coffee bean

”Why do you want this again?” The Avatar said after a sigh. What she had at first thought of as a novel distraction had rapidly turned into a repetitive slog exemplified by the pile of strange beans currently littering the small round table the pair where sitting at.

“So we can make coffee,” Ossian explained simply, “which is a warm drink you might share with friends on a journey such as this.”

“And yes, before you point it out, I know I can’t drink it, but Azura did put a sense of smell on these things so we could still enjoy it that way,” she added. The pair where, after all, both dead souls which had been crystallized and then placed within stone automota known as Armonia and as a result neither needed, or could, eat or drink. Despite this the dead sometimes found themselves with cravings for things they could no longer consume and so resorted to smelling those things instead. It was a 50/50 shot on whether this would satisfy or intensify the craving.

”Then let’s go straight to that then,” Cerule said impatiently, before waving her hand and conjuring a coffee flask, which unbeknownst to both of them was identical in every way to the one split tooth had received and delivered, out of thin air.

The two stared at the, to them, futuristic fluid receptacle for a few moments before Ossian picked it up, popped the lid off it and took a whiff of the continents. After a contented sigh, or more accurately a deliberate mimicry of a sigh due to her lack of lungs, confirmed that “this is it”

”Huh,” Cerule said flatly, a little surprised by the sudden success after so many initial failures. ”I guess someone made the drink without making the ingredients first then.”

“A shame. We won’t be able to grow it then,” Ossian said

”Maybe I can...” Cerule muttered as she levitated a grape sized ball of the coffee out of the cup and then floated it before her. After staring at intensely for a few moments the fluid suddenly evaporated, leaving only the ground up remains of the bean behind. Then those grains clumped together to form a roasted coffee bean as it was familiar to Ossian. Then the bean turned green, a bright red berry grew around it, then the branch the berry would have grown on materialized as coffee plant grew into existence in reverse, first branches them stem and finally roots.

“Huh. Did not know that was how you grew those.” Ossian said as the plant finished being created. Years of being in the presence of the divine had sourly numbed her to the miracles they so casually performed.

”Explains why I couldn't replicate it from your description then,” Cerule replied before standing up from the little table they were seated at and carefully grabbing the new plant by the stem and picking it up off the table, ”Now let’s get this thing planted somewhere before we arrive.”

“Mm,” Ossian wordlessly agreed and in a few moments they had left the balcony, and the picturesque view it provided of the world rolling by below them, behind.

The pair strolled through the halls of the floating temple, currently being dragged south by a number of sky whales, at a casual pace, stopping occasionally to talk with others as Ossian encouraged almost everyone they passed to smell the coffee Cerule had created, until they found their way to the garden. It surrounded the temple, a great floating mass of soil bearing innumerable forms of plant life that where now joined by the humble coffee plant. These plants where the bedrock of life for the shoals of Tonnikala, great and small, that had been herded along with the island, a seed of the ecosystem gradually spreading across the Blue to every mountain peak.

This seed traveled south from its origin at the north pole across oceans and continents till it reached the heart of Atokhekwoi. On the other side of the world from their place of rebirth the dead placed their second home and the future basis of a second node in their plan to remake death itself. The great chains which the sky-whales had used to pull the vast floating structure were turned into anchors binding the floating temple to the peak of the tallest mountain in the south which, bathed in the warmth of the shining city of Heliopolis and the healing light of the Lustrous Garden remained forever a place where Galbar and the Blue where one.

As soon as the island was securely attached hundreds of soulless Armonia descended from it and began fortifying the mountain against any possible intrusions while the Tonnikala where set loose upon the surrounding area to make their homes among the floating temples above and dark mountains below.

Azura’s people, it was clear, where here to stay.

Xamari kept her expression neutral. "I didn't quite catch that, Jabu -- my ears tend to ache on chilly mornings."

That was perhaps the most honest thing she had said all morning. Yet despite the chill, Xamari was barefoot, dressed only in a simple frock and a hastily wrapped headscarf. Barely an hour past dawn, the hide-covered floor of her bands tent, which she had swept not two days ago, was still moist with dew, but she never felt cold here. The mansa spells woven within them made sure of that. In any case, it bought her a moment to calm the churning urge to break the boy who sat beside her.

Jabulani, prize pupil of Olumide the Leopard and all four wispy hairs on his sharp chin, smiled. The leopard shawl he wore was still stiff around the shoulders, not yet molded to his frame and clearly chafing at his neck. "I asked you to marry me."

No, you demanded, you soft-footed brat. “Ah, there’s hope for my ears yet.”

“Well?” Jabu said. “What say you?”

“I say thank you…” Xamari set her hands on the table between them. “For this lovely visit.”

“So my proposal?”

“It is a poor one, really.” Xamari tightened a loose fold in her headscarf and propped one barefoot over the other. The ostrich-shell beads of her anklets clacked in the early morning stillness. “I would make an awful wife.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I’ve grown to love the spear rather than men.”

The leopard's boy frowned. “We both stand at the top of our respective classes. You the greatest of Lang’engatshoni’s, while I of Olumide. A child between us would surpass us both. Imagine it.”

“Jabu.” Xamari sighed. “I would sooner burn at the pyers then sire any sort of offspring with you.” She stood, grabbed her red cloak and began walking towards the door. “I am sure that before the day is out the war drums will sound. That will give you time to build an apology worthy of the insult you have laid at my feet this morning.”

“You're making a mistake, Xamari. I pray the fires do not claim you.”

“Anu willing, they won’t.” As the floor changed from hide to the soft grass of the Knucklelands, Xamari kept her shoulders relaxed and her stride loose. Let Jabu sulk, and let his dreams die in that tent. For all his skills, he was still a boy after all, and she had no use for a boy, she had a man waiting for her at the frontlines.

---

Okonkwo sat pinching his lower lip in thought, overlooking the plains before him. The day was scorching hot, horned lions on the horizon hiding in the shade of the crooked acadia trees. The pygmy warrior had shed his blue cloak and let the sun bake at his black fur and skin. Earth-pigmented fingers rubbed at his chin and occasional hums escaped him. With his other hand, he drew plans in the soil - plans of attack against this foreign horde.

Two days ago, they had seen smoke in the far distance; the fishermen to the south had been eliminated. A raft had come to Tal Eren last night, carrying the exhausted survivors. They spoke of wicked beasts that moved with the maliciousness and recklessness of maddened beasts. To lay a plan for such was no meager task.

“Captain?”

Okonkwo turned with pursed lips. “What is it, Bolade?”

Bolade, one of Okonkwo’s own apprentices and a youth of fifteen, squatted down next to his master and eyed the plans with a smirk. “Wah, the master has been working hard.”

Okonkwo grunted. “Did you have anything to say other than that? You know how this one feels about empty praise.”

“‘Twas not empty, captain, honest!” Bolade defended proudly, “but aye, there has been a summoning for the master. Obaloluwa requests the master’s presence.”

Okonkwo frowned. “What? Is it time?”

“The golden one did not say. However, the golden one stressed that the master should be swift. It’s because--”

Bolade could not even finish the sentence before Okonkwo already had sprinted back to their camp. A small grouping of three low tents made from short sticks suspending a linen sheet roof surrounding the small remains of a fire came into view. From underneath one of the tents climbed an enormous Pygmy, his muscular stature dressed in clothes fashioned from the skin of a black-horned lion. On his face, he wore a mask shapen from bone to look like a lion’s skull, complete with a harvested mane, but with bull horns instead of the black monsters the lions were equipped with. Through the bone mask, Okonkwo could see the golden tint identifying Obaloluwa as a warrior of the Golden Horde.

“Blessings of the War-Father, the River-Father and our Eternal Majesty be upon you, Obaloluwa,” Okonkwo said and bent the knee.

“You come at last, captain Okonkwo,” Obaloluwa replied curtly. “You are to bring your maruns back to camp immediately. There have been sightings to the south - more rafts have been passing by. How are the trenches coming?”

“The warmasons have been working day and night with the mansa, golden one. Ditches and traps have been laid all across the western and southern knucklelands.”

“Your longwalkers bring back anything from the savannah?”

Okonkwo shook his head. “Only tidings of burned villages and families on the run. This one will take my marun out west and--”

“No, you will do no such thing,” Obaloluwa protested and took him by the shoulder. “Have your maruns don shields and thick hide. You are going up front for the battle.”

Okonkwo swallowed. “Th-this one is unworthy of--”

“Of the vanguard?” Obaloluwa let out an echoing cackle, his sharpened fangs coming to light underneath his mask as he threw his head back. “Okonkwo, you belong up front, where your spear-arms can be used the best. Leave your mansa and throwers behind, though - they will be joining Gboyega and her band.”

Okonkwo remained voiceless for a moment before confirming with a, “Understood, golden one.”

Obaloluwa squeezed his shoulder proudly. “Good man. You will be ready within the hour. Tonight, we will end this menace’ threat once and for all.”

With a determined grunt, Okonkwo saluted and ran to gather his warriors.

---

The dark had cast its shadow over the plains, bereaving it of all the heat of day. Heliopolis cut a blood red streak across the distant horizon and only the distant calls of birds and beasts could be heard throughout the endless plains. Though, that was not entirely true: Sheltered from the open plains behind tall rocks and linen roofs was a tiny light, a flicker of too few torches lighting a meeting of officers and their king.

“Qiang Quan’s legion has made its way to face the threat, Your Majesty,” went Shakale, leader of the Golden Horde. If Obaloluwa was a giant, Shakale was a titan, rivalled only by Anu himself in size among the pygmies. He was one of the Four Tigers, Anu’s personal guard and one of the few to be blessed with Gods’ hands: An additional set of arms growing from underneath the original pair. He had several cuts and scars across his skin and was dressed in the armour of his position: tiger’s hide bracers and ankle bands, knee and elbow protectors, a tunic and loinguard of reinforced leather and a tiger hide cloak. On his head, he wore the head of a six-legged Qiangshanese tiger for a helmet, its eyes replaced with golden nuggets. Through his nose and ears ran several gold rings. “They will make contact at any moment.”

Anu strode to the edge of the tent, parting the fabric and gazing out across the plains, just as he did so long ago when Tal Eren was but a tent much like this one. He might have enjoyed the view — the Kncklelands ever so peaceful in the evening twilight. But an ominous grey shape swelled on the horizon as the horde thundered in the distance.

The ape turned back to his guard. ”Are we ready?”

Shakale nodded stonefaced. “Yes, my king. The mansa and throwers are in position; the vanguard will charge any moment. All that remains is Your Divine presence on the field. The menace will be eradicated before His Majesty’s might.”

”And where would you have your king positioned?” he replied.

Shakale bowed deep. “His Majesty is powerful - His might will be a boon wherever He goes. However, warleader Qiang Quan recommended His Majesty takes the Golden Horde and leads a flanking attack from the forests by the river. A shock and awe assault from the woods is certain to break their lines - if they are even capable of forming one. If not, drawing their attention to the King and his Horde will allow the mansa and throwers to decimate the enemy unchecked.”

Anu nodded. ”This one finds no fault in this plan of action. Any estimates on their numbers?”

Shakale shook his head. “None who have counted have come back alive. This one thinks they far outnumber us.” Two right fists drummed his chest in salute. “Numbers will not be a factor in this battle, however; wild beasts cannot match Talemonese weaponry!” Shakale pulled from behind his back a sheathed dagger which he presented to his king. The sheathe was made of leather, but the leader was blue; along its side were embroidered symbols in stylised Shengshese, all of which seemed to spell out containment enchantments. “This is Dragon’s Tongue, one of the only four of its kind.” He drew the blade and the air immediately grew uncomfortably hot. The blade was molten, or at least appeared to be. Along its short length were written similar characters as on the sheathe, and Shakale’s hand seemed to agonise from holding it for too long. He sheathed it after a moment. “Iyawa the Mansa-Smith has spent the last year spinning mana into the copper. Two months ago, she achieved what no other mortal has managed: a dagger as hot as the day it was forged.”

The big king gauffed. ”Your confidence is to be commended soldier. But a healthy dose of skepticism is always warranted. Even in the face of what seem to be overwhelming odds.” he began, emphasizing his last words as his eyes pointed at mana-forged blade at Shakale’s back. ”We may hold many advantages but numbers, as you speculate, is likely not one of them. And from reports neither is our discipline or coordination. If we are not careful, defeat is possible.”

Shakale grit his sharpened teeth and bowed his helmeted head. “Yes, my king.”

”Nevertheless! We press the advantages we do have. Today we see just how effective this ‘Dragon’s Tongue’ shall be. The menace ends here.”

With renewed vigour, Shakale saluted again and drummed his chest proudly with all four fists. “Yes, my king!”

They gathered the rest of the Golden Horde waiting outside of the base and continued south through the forest. In the distance, they could hear the first of the war cries.

---

Okonkwo stood at the head of his warband of fourteen warriors, all of which stood merely a step behind him in a horizontal line, hide shields propped up with their left arms and copper pikes held with the right. Foot soldiers were afforded little in terms of armour: leather bracers and ankle bands, loincloths with horse or buffalo hair crests, and linen blankets if the soldier owned any. In his warband, Okonkwo was the only one who donned his azure cloak. The pygmies had all lined up behind the trenches, keeping low in the tall grass while waiting in the dark. It was completely silent.

Next to Okonkwo’s band was Lang’engatshoni’s, a respective twenty-one warriors strong. In similar fashion, the majority of those in Lang’s band lacked armor and only doned the bare minimum. Xamari and Lang on the other hand sported matching blankets, both blood red in angry contrast to the green.

The front line consisted of twenty maruns - a hundred strong - each arranged in bands of three or four. Another hundred strong held the ground behind them, and even further back were the mansa and throwers, of which there, too, were a hundred. The army had been forced to conscript from the other castes to assemble a powerful enough force - these numbered an additional hundred and were in charge of resupply or reinforced any of the other groups.

The air was crisp with anticipation. The wind blew against them and they smelled a bloody rank on it. The enemy was near.

Dark shapes began to move in the tall savannah grass, like the lions stalking their prey. Yet there was something about the way the grass barely rustled or how the glowing red eyes watched with malice as they approached. There were several sets, getting closer by the minute and no one could tell whether they knew what awaited them. The air became palpable with anticipation as the enemy advanced, and then when it seemed they would surely walk over the line, one paused, then another, until all had halted.

One tilted back it’s head and screamed loudly, a terrible ripping sound, as the others pounced forward, poised to attack!

In return, the Pygmies roared their own cries, many pounding their chest and baring their fangs menacingly. The front assumed a heavy stance, sticking forth their spears and hiding behind their large hide shields. The back line stepped forth and reinforced the weak spots in the formation in front, and the mansa began to beat their drums and sing their chants. Throwers tilted their arms back and readied a volley.

“Steady!” Okonkwo thundered. “Remember the Mẹta; remember your oaths! Talemon is your home, the King’s home, and no one harms the King’s home while a Pygmy still walks on Galbar!”

“YUH!”

“By the Gods! They come!" a warrior whispered to his comrades beside him.

"War-Father protect us."

"Eh-o, how are we going to fight them off with our line so thin?!"

Xamari heard the frightened gossip amidst her ranks, but did not say anything, for she herself was afraid as well. She knew she had to say something to reestablish their morale; but nothing could come to her mind.

"What are you doing, lieutenant?" Lang, her master, asked the dismayed Xamari.

"Captain!" Xamari said, surprised by his sudden outburst, "I was…uh I-I-I…"

"Do you not hear your brethren? Their resolve is in question, and you stand here and do nothing? You look to call yourself a leader in the future and you allow this incompetence of morale to exist?!" Lang told her, low enough where only they could hear.

"Apologies Captain! I do not know what came ov—"

"Do not speak. Only see what is done to bolster the nerves of your brothers and sisters."

Xamari instantly spun around and shouted.

"Warriors! Why do you allow fear to swell within your breast?! You are of the Ogun! The pride of the Kingdom! Yes they have numerous beasts, but we are the better warriors and we will prevail!"

“AYE”

The fear in the faces of men and women up and down the line dissolved—they realized that captain’s were right; what did they have to fear from untrained savages? They were doing what they were trained to do, slay the enemies of Talemon; why should they be afraid of their profession? Satisfied by their newfound conviction, Xamari turned to face Lang whose grizzled face betrayed no emotion, but Xamari could feel that he approved of what she said.

“Talemon!”

“YUH!”

“Talemon!”

“YUH!”

The beasts remained undeterred as they ran, building up speed. Muscles bulged and tensed, tails whipped behind them with sharp edges, their sleek figures coursing through the grass like silent fire. Their crimson eyes were full of hate and their sharp teeth bared to the world. Upon the threshold of the frontline, they attacked.

The hide shields of the front line were tough, but ravenous teeth bit and tore at them with great efficiency. Many were tumbled backwards by the sheer force of the assault. Pikes were driven into the mad beasts with great vengeance for the first who fell.

“VOLLEY!” boomed the command from the backline and a hundred javelins took to the air, boosted by mansa songs. The wind seemed to carry them like sticks on a stream, and each and every one found their marks perfectly. The smoke of magical plants rose thick in the backline, for the mansa could not lose focus for a second - all the throwers relied on their mana to throw their javelins far enough.

Okonkwo had already lost his shield to a particularly rapid spawn. He was reduced to his pike alone, with which he impaled whatever came at him. Behind him, Bolade and the rest of his maruns did their best to adapt to the fighting reckless fighting style of their foes. Luckily for the Pygmies, however, fighting wild beasts was all they ever did.

Further down the line the fighting was just as brutal. The initial shock of impact from the ravenous horde pushing the Talemonese shieldwall back.

“Hold! Hold!” Xamari shouted.

“Push them back! Do not give ground!” Lang bellowed in tow.

With the first rank being assaulted by tooth and nail, the second and third rank took initiative and pushed their shields against the backs of those in front of them, effectively halting the involuntary loss of ground. The beasts struck at the first rank with biter ferocity wanting desperately to tear the simians limb from limb, yet they were finding it increasingly difficult to find any opening in the wall of hide.

Xamari was fighting off one beast who was repeatedly raking its claws against her shield. Every time the beast brought its arms up to swipe, Xamari would simply raise her shield up to block the blow. After six consecutive blocks, Xamari moved in and bashed the thing back with her shield. The spawn quickly regained its footing and seething with primal anger, renewed its blind charge. Xamari fully extended her right arm and thrust her spear through the roof of the charging monster’s mouth and entered what she could only hope was the brain. Using her shield she pushed the barbarian's dead body back as she withdrew her spear and faced the three that replaced it.

A few of the spawn retreated a distance away behind their frantically clawing siblings. Then with bursts of speed they sprinted at the frontline and when they came upon their brethren, they jumped over them with powerful limbs.

“Backline! To arms!” Okonkwo commanded. The hind maruns, ready to pounce if their front brethren fell, scrambled to weapons and took up the fight against the jumpers. At all cost, they had to protect the throwers and casters. Another volley of one hundred javelins soared across the field, finding their marks with unrivaled precision thanks to the mansa. Unfortunately, the front lines began to struggle immensely without the support of the replacement from behind.

“Captain! Our reinforcements are in danger!” Bolade bellowed as his spear pierced the chest of a squealing spawn.

“Focus on the front, Bolade! They cannot break us! They will not!”

Okonkwo and his maruns formed a phalanx and began to push back, trusting in the reach of their spears.

As the fighting turned fierce, on the right flank of the line, a warrior of sixteen floods witnessed one of his sisters fall dead due to a spawn. Immediately he broke formation and ventured out to avenge his comrade's death, but he did not get far as he was run through in the stomach by a clawed hand that easily penetrated his body and came out his back. The boy quickly fell to his knees in shock with the arm still in his body, but only for the moment, as he quickly rose to his feet and targeted the beast without a weapon, judging that it was the thing who had fatally skewered him. Awkwardly walked up with the thing still in his body and stabbed his attacker in his throat. He knew he was going to die, but at least he earned the satisfaction of slaying his own killer. He then swayed backwards into the ranks of his brethren and collapsed in front of them and quickly died.

As the Spawns numbers began to thin, another call was issued. A painfully loud sound, like something scraping a rock over and over again. It was then that the horns of the spawn began to hum with crackling scarlet energy. And upon the frontlines, they shot their lightning into the apemen.

This magical strike immediately seared to death six shieldbearers standing a put too close to one another. Others fell to the ground with terrible burns and were dragged to the back lines. Heads turned to face the sources of the foul spells, taking attention away from the enemies. More careless recruits fell as a result. The front line was reinforced by the backline, but lightning was not something they could defend against. From the far back, Okonkwo heard the voice of M’Bani, the first of the mansa, calling for different songs:

“Mansa! Voice of Nature!” ge bellowed above the clash.

The mansa raised their hands and totems and began to chant in unison, weaving mana as a single body until the tapestry of ether was so thick it could be felt by those in the frontline. M’Bani extended his arm, high, preparing to give the signal.

“Mansa! Loose!”

The tapastry coalesced, hardened, and broke into wave of compressed air that slammed into the spawn line. The blastwave stunned some of the warriors too close to it, unfortunately, but these were brought back through the lines.

The spawn stumbled and fell, stunned as the mighty blast was let loose. Many were flung backwards and became concussed as a result. A few more got back to their feet but their motions and agility was misaligned. They made easy targets. The Pygmies wasted not a second. Maruns upon maruns moved forward with pikes aimed downwards, stabbing downwards into every spawn their eyes fell upon. It was like hunting sleeping goats.

Lang struck down spawn after spawn with brutal efficiency. He had already slain four alone despite the ringing in his ears. Sparing a glance behind him he caught sight of his ever thinning band, replaced with new faces from the back lines. He drew his face into a snarl and cut through another beast. This was no time to mourn, victory neared.

“We’re wiping them out!” Okonkwo shouted as he ripped his pike out of another carcass.

Upon the black horizon, a scarlet band of lightning briefly illuminated the area as it shot up into the sky. The lightning had been large enough to strike the heavens and it was followed by hundreds more, painting the approaching Spawn crimson. There were hundreds of them, each varying in size and running at full speed. They would be upon them within minutes.

“By Narzhak! Reinforcements! Reform the ranks!” Okonkwo commanded. Immediately, the pygmies began retreating back to the rest of the army, but a number had strayed too far and would not make it. The mansa and throwers tried their best to hold them off with enhanced spears, but the mana manipulation was taking its toll on the magicians - neither they would last much longer.

Yet before the spawns could reach the pygmy line and obliterate it, the rhythmic beating of drums washed over the battlefield, emanating from the southern jungles. Three beats later, the earth shook. Two beats followed, and the jungles bent and screamed. One beat later, and the gilded warriors of the Golden Horde poured from the treeline, the divine berserkers screaming a battle cry that shook the sky. At their head, was the king of Talemon himself, lead the charge with the Skyscythe in all its magnificent glory.

To the north a secondary force followed, charging at the spawn with similar vigor, cutting across the plains to smash into the right flank a few moments after Anu collided with the left.

Bodies were torn asunder as the god-king ripped spawns apart with the force of his unstoppable charge alone. With a swing of only his blade he cleaved six spawns in two and with a thrust skewered four. The midnight colored polearm drinking up the blood of the dead as Anu carved his way through the force.

If it all deterred by the new arrivals, the spawn did not show. Instead they continued their vicious assault upon their foes and loosed lightning after lightning bolt of their dark power. With a signaling cry, the larger of the Spawn began to challenge the golden horde members themselves with their biting teeth and sharp claws. Every part of their body a lethal weapon.

Shakale met the sharp horns of a spawn with a pair of powerful hands, clutching the bone tightly to immobilise the beast. Then, with the two additional arms given to him by the King’s Wine, he drew forth Dragon’s Tongue and cut through the black spawn skin like it was soft butter. His upper arms tossed aside the carcass and pulled out a pair of dagger-axes from harnesses on his back. With a screaming warcry, he massacred his way across the field.

Obaloluwa saw his superior and grit his teeth with competitive ire. While he had not been granted God’s arms himself, he would not be outmatched by his commander any day. His lance strikes were accurate and vicious, like the needle of a crazed hornet.

Okonkwo and his warriors saw the attack from the flank and felt their broken hearts renew. At last, their fallen would be properly avenged! The captain stuck his spear in the air and sounded his own warcry, echoed by his maruns as they charged right back into the fray.

With a soundless grunt, Anu methodically cut through the ranks of the spawn. With a single swing of his SkySythe he cleaved three in two while he battered another three into vapor with the hook of his chain. There was no stopping the king on his warpath.

As blood began to soak the ground a new sound echoed across the plains. A loud metallic screaming, followed by the largest strike of scarlet yet. In the briefest of flashes, something large was approaching. Its shape the same as its children and it heralded larger spawn that were slower than their kin but mightier in all regards.

The Mother had come.

Shakale blinked at the distant wraith. He turned to his king and shouted, “My king! A monster has arrived!”

”LOINS!” the big king roared over the cacophony of battle. Another set of drums joined the chaotic thrum of war, this one beset by a palpable shift in the air, one akin to that of the mansa when weaving a spell, though this one many times stronger.

Anu raised his Skyscythe into the sky, rallying his forces to the makeshift banner while battering spawn into vapor with his hook. Then from the clouds above came an arc of lightning that ripped dozens apart in an instant. The ape afforded himself an iota of satisfaction, reinforcements had come.

With a cry that rattled heads the sky parted to reveal a dragon wreathed in terrifying arcs of electricity, its gold scales glinting in the blue light. Ikarus dove, sending arcs deep into enemy lines as it bolted for the Mother.

Reinvigorated by the mana-god’s presence the Mansa resumed their bombardment while war drums beat rhythmically to the sound of marching pygmy singing songs of victory, signaling the coming of fresh Talemonese men and women.

The lesser spawn shrieked and growled, before the Mother let out a call, a shrill note beset by rage. The spawn were swept into a frenzy of motion. The larger spawn, those that had come with their Queen, joined the fray with their terrible arms, full of sharp claws. The Mother looked to the sky, to see the Golden Dragon, but she did not hesitate. Instead, she ran to meet it, with speed unseen in her children. With a jump, she launched herself into the air with her powerful hind legs, aiming her maw to rip out the Dragon’s throat.

Glory would be his this day. Weaving mana, Ikarus summoned a flame as bright as Heliopolis, gathering it in his throat to turn the bastard spawn queen to cinder as they clashed in the sky. There was a great crash in the air as they began to plummet, teeth meeting scales and claws meeting skin. Tearing, and biting with vicious intent. Ikarus bellowed in pain, only then realizing the folly of his action, as the ball of flames exploded in his throat. A great heatwave fell from the sky as the two titanic figures fell to the earth in wreathes of flame. The fire consumed everything in its path, sparing neither warrior or spawn.

When the smoke cleared, and the fire spent across the field, what remained was a grizzly sight. Golden ichor splattered the ground as Ikarus’ throat was torn open by the explosion, his body half charred and dying. The reaper mother, fared better, but her burns were severe. Half her face was but burnt flesh, skin, and bone, and the damage went down her right side for a ways.

She stood wearily, before collapsing in a heap before her spent foe. Instinctively, her spawn began to shield her with their bodies.

Shakale uncovered his eyes, which he had shielded from the explosion. He drew a gasp. “My king! The dragon!”

But the massive war king had already gone, heaving his chained hook across the battlefield with godly accuracy and vaprosing the shield of spawn hiding the Mother’s battered body. With a terrible bellow he yanked the chain back and the hook sunk deep into its belly while he used the moment to leap to her.

He landed heavily, his golden eyes discs of fury as he wasted not a moment sinking the spear point of Skyscythe deep into the spawn queen’s shoulder, pinning her to the ground. Spawn attempted to overwhelm him but the demigod’s rage acted as a palpable force. Mana gold in color coiled like a snake, weaving together until the force of the earth could be felt upon the shoulders of all those around him, commanding many without great strength to flatten themselves to the ground.

”Surrender!” the ape roared, his voice a force of nature.

Against the might of Anu, the Reaper Mother was powerless with her wounds. She struggled vainly, and then seeing that it was hopeless in the end, she faltered and yielded. Her spawn’s demeanor shifted, and those who had not knelt, did so begrudgingly.

Breathing heavily, the big king claimed his blade from the Spawn Queen’s shoulder and raised it wordlessly to the air. For a moment he was silent, eyeing the kneeling reapers angrily, then he let out a loud roar, one that shook the plains with its might. Victory was Talemon’s.

Cheers erupted from the warriors who saw their king’s gesture; the rest joined in posthaste. Qiang Quan and Shakale both came jogging over to his side, both caked in a number of different substances. They both fell down to their knees and kowtowed.

“Greatest king upon this world,” Shakale saluted facing the ground. “With You at our side, victory was never a doubt.” Qiang Quan hummed agreement.

Anu shook his head. ”I alone couldn’t taken this horde. Without your stalwart defense and valent offensive, Talemon would have fell. On this day, you are all heroes.”

Tears welled up in the eyes of the warriors, who were all slowly gathering around their king to pay salute. Many had fallen - that much was clear. It would take years to recover from this assault - they would be weak for a long time.

On the other hand, Anu’s warriors had been tested, and most of them had proven that the armies of Talemon will not give into despair in the face of such a tsunami of evil. Their scars would forever stand as reminders to improve, so that scars will forever remain just scars and never mortal wounds. Mourning would come too, naturally - they would have to burn this many corpses, for they had not the soil to bury them all. Talemon, however, would weep as one - for in the great span of things, they were one, and theirs was the greatest kingdom on Galbar.

Shakale eyed the spawn queen and spat. “My King - the great Ikarus has been collected and will be cleaned and embalmed as any great hero of this nation would be. What will you have us do to… That?”

The king glanced at the wonder reaper. ”She will be dragged back to the capital for the people to see. Paraded up and down its streets, an oad to our triumph here today. Then, she will know her fate.”

“A sound plan, my King,” Shakale praised and pointed to a section of the warband. “Find whatever vines, ropes and bindings can hold this wicked beast and wrap it as tightly as you can. She may have lost the will to fight now, but any broken beast may regain its fervour.”

The warriors bowed curtly and sprinted off. They passed by Okonkwo, who was mending his Bolade’s wounds. The claws had cut deep into the leg, and the young lad was on the verges of passing out. The warrior had already received thread and a bone needle, with which he did his best to suture the wound. Bolade would not die - not in his first battle. Okonkwo prayed for as much, anyway.

Back next to Anu, Qiang Quan approached the King from the side and kowtowed. “My King… A word?”

A heavy thump sounded as Anu planted Skyscythe in the soil. ”Speak.”

Qiang Quan’s lip quivered slightly. “This servant and its colleagues have been summoned… Back to His Lordship’s ship.”

Golden irises flared in the Servant's direction. ”What?! Why?!”

Qiang Quan’s forehead dug deeper into the soil. Shakale and some others of the Golden Horde had heard the king’s outburst and approached. “My king, is everything well?”

“His Lordship sent a messenger in the night. It arrived from the east before the battle and shared the His Lordship’s command with Zhu Rongyuan: His Lordship Shengshi has… Has decided to collect the servants still loyal to him and descend into Fengshui Fuyou… For how long, this servant cannot say.”

The big king growled in protest. ”There is still yet much to do. To have my council leave this early would set us back greatly.” Anu paused for a moment, then sighed. ”But his word is law. I cannot leave my people at our most vulnerable to seek him out and find answers. I make a pilgrimage to Biashara. You are free to go, Cherished Qiang.”

Qiang Quan remained kowtowing, the grind of gritting teeth ripping through the air below. In one quick motion, he sat up in a seiza position and stared straight ahead. “My king! Allow this servant to end its life while still in Your service!”

’So you would rather die than obey your creators call?”

Qiang Quan’s face hardened. “This servant would rather die with its honour as a loyal subject of its King than to abandon both Him and His people to live out its days aboard His Lordship’s vessel.”

Anu’s nose flared and his muscles tensed for a moment. Golden disks of fire burned into the kowtowing Servant, but they quickly softened. ”Qiang.” he let out a breath then his features hardened again. ”I order you to refuse the call of my father, and remain in my service. I will take on the consequences, come what may.”

Qiang Quan gasped. “M-my King! You cannot! Please, this servant is mortal and insignificant - with a thought, His Lordship could both end it and recreate it. However, if His Majesty was to disobey… His Lordship would make the consequences severe, for both His Majesty and His people.”

”Come what may, Qiang. You are one of us, a Talemonese, not a servant of my father. Therefore you are no longer of his ilk and are under my command. Now come, Talemon requires your service.”
Qiang Quan sniffed, his body mimicking the tears of other species. Though yet again, he shook his head. “This servant cannot allow itself to survive if it means His Lordship will torment the rest of Talemon.” The warrior’s eyes remained unchanged, save for the tears welling up within them. “This servant will die in its King’s service, or leave to join its maker. It refuses to live at the cost of its king’s honour or its people’s safety. His Majesty truly is a son of Shengshi, with such unbreakable will and care for His people. Yet… Nothing His Majesty can say or do will shake this servant’s resolve.”

Rivers of gold burned in silent fury. ”Then go, and return when your maker wills it.” he spat.

With a huff the king ripped Skyscythe out of the ground and lifted into the air. ”ROUND UP! WE LEAVE FOR HOME IMMEDIATELY!” he bellowed, and marched towards the capital.

Qiang Quan remained kneeling in the sand as the army returned due east. With shame filling his every fibre, he slowly rose up and began making his way to the south - towards Nanhe.

"This is grave news."

"A terrible omen."

"Are you sure, Pyouroff?"

Pyouroff stood before the five councillors of the Hyummin tribe, gathered in the dawn light. A few of Pyouroff's apprentices, including Yup, stood behind him, and the assistants of the councillors stood behind them.

"Yes. Delphina herself told me, and she was very clear. It is a deadly threat we face, but one which she says we can overcome."

"I have heard of such creatures." It was Joluri who spoke, matriarch of the Kilppundu family. "Distant stories of tribes up-beach and inland being attacked or even wiped out by murderous grey beasts or towering monsters of stone. It seems the stories were true."

"Perhaps the star-fall stirred them up," suggested Bonapyo, patriarch of Gorjapi.

Kirrethi patriarch of Korsachi crossed his arms and crinkled his brow. "Describe these creatures again."

Pyouroff closed his eyes as he recounted the scene. "They were tall beasts, about this high." Pyouroff gestured an arm's length above his head. "They had six limbs, all with terrible claws. They had sharp teeth and four eyes and a long tail and horns on their head. They ran fast and tore apart selka flesh with ease. They remind me of some of the creatures of Kirron. Then there was the big one, four times the height of a selka, which appeared to be made of chunks of stone covered in spikes. It lumbered around with a form similar to a selka. It swung its heavy limbs and flattened all in its path."

"And how many were there?" Kirrethi asked.

Pyouroff closed his eyes again and his finger moved as he counted in his head. "There was only one of the tall rock creatures. As for the others, it was hard to count them, but I saw one or two-score." Kirrethi grunted, then silently contemplated with a scowl on his face.

"What shall we do?" asked Hapena matriarch of Lornun.

"We will need to prepare our warriors, which is something I'm sure Kirrethi can handle," said Wakino patriarch of Punuphu.

"It would have been better if we had more warriors, but four days is not enough time to train a novice to be able to fight enemies such as these," Kirrethi said, "My greater worry is the stone monster. We have no weapon or defence against such an enemy."

Eyes turned expectantly towards Pyouroff. He looked at the councillors, then said, "I do not claim to be as cunning as Ippino the Wise, but I might be able to figure out something to tip the odds in our favour."

"What about your storm spirits?" Hapena asked.

"The squalls... I doubt even they will be effective against the stone creature, but they should work on the others. I will ensure my Stormbards help in whatever way they can."

"We should also send word to the K'nights. They will likely be able to help," Joluri said.

"If this horde is coming, it will likely pass through other tribes to get here. We should prepare to help those selka who are displaced," Bonapyo said.

"That's worth keeping in mind, but the first priority should be surviving these monsters," Wakino said.

"Councillors, I think we are all in agreement that we need to urgently act on this information which Pyouroff has given us," Joluri said. The other councillors gave their assent. "Good. Then let us plan so that we may prepare."

---

The barks of selka accompanied the thuds of wood and stone against wicker and leather as the soldiers of the Grottu and Hyummin ran their drills. Kirrethi prowled along the lines of sparring soldiers, shouting orders and corrections.

Meanwhile, Pyouroff had gathered with his Stormbards a safe distance down-beach, away from the rest of the Hyummin. There was some apprehension in the group. Yup spoke up.

"You were opposed to us fighting in the past."

"I know," Pyouroff said.

"When Kirrethi sees what we are capable of, he'll try to get us to join the warriors."

"I know," Pyouroff answered sharply. He took a deep breath in then continued, "But Delphina has given us this strength to be used, and now is our time. Does any of you wish for your kinsmen to be slaughtered?"

The Stormbards all shook their heads.

"Then we learn to fight. Call the squalls."

The Stormbards split off and played the song of calling, returning a short while later with a few squalls held in their thrall. Pyouroff paced before the musicians. "We already know how to use squalls offensively. That is what we do when hunting. But there are two more things we must learn. One is to use squalls defensively. It's one thing to slam a target with a mighty gale. It's another to not also knock over your friend who you are trying to protect. The other is to push the limits on controlling squalls. Normally when the squalls get too frisky we ease them off and come back later. If you do that in a battle, you leave people to die."

The Stormbards all watched Pyouroff, at least while they were not focusing on the squalls. Pyouroff stooped down, picked up his drumsticks, and walked over to a log drum. "I don't pretend to know the answers. I've never done this before either. But we'll learn together." He raised his sticks. "Ready?"

The Stormbards variously nodded or said 'yes'. "Good. Let's start with a barrier along there." Pyouroff gestured along an imaginary line down-beach of them. He struck his sticks together four times then brought them down to his drum. And together the Stormbards composed a new battle-song.

---

Joluri was speaking with a muscled selka leaning on an engraved bone club. The K'night nodded gravely.

"Eaters. The K'nights up-beach have battled with those creatures before. A dangerous adversary," the K'night rumbled.

"What can be done about them? Would we be able to warn the other tribes and gather reinforcements?" Joluri asked.

The K'night stroked his whiskers with a frown. "Eaters are fast. It may be too late for some of the further tribes. But the nearer ones, yes. I can alert any K'nights I can find, but we are spread out. We would be lucky to find any more K'nights of Tyuppa than those already in Hyummin and Grottu."

"How about the big stone monster?"

The K'night was silent for a few moments, then answered, "I have not heard of any K'night defeating those creatures."

Joluri's face was grim for a moment, then turned into a sly smile. "Perhaps this is an opportunity, then, for you to be the first to get that mark on your club."

The K'night gave a brief chuckle. Then his gaze caught on something behind Joluri. Joluri looked behind her.

"Ah, Pyouroff." She then noticed a selka being carried in a stretcher by the other Stormbards. "What happened?"

Pyouroff looked at the injured selka then back to Joluri. "We were training with the squalls when one of them slipped out of our control. Poor Antoru here was thrown into a tree before we could calm the squall down."

Antoru held the side of her hip in pain as the Stormbards carried her towards the village. Pyouroff stayed standing near Joluri.

"You're training for battle?" Joluri asked, surprised.

"Yes."

The K'night grunted in approval. "I knew we could count on you when it mattered, Pyouroff."

Joluri glanced towards Antoru again. "I hope you won't have any more accidents."

"I hope so too. Such are the risks of bringing squalls into battle," Pyouroff said.

Joluri was contemplative as she watched Antoru be carried into the healer's hut. She had gone hunting with Stormbards a couple of times. She knew the terrifying strength the storm spirits had. It was a brutish form of hunting which left meat bruised, bones broken and hide damaged, but there was no doubt as to its lethality. And against a foe as deadly as these 'eaters', it was just the boon they needed.

"We are most grateful for the aid of you and your Stormbards, Pyouroff," Joluri said.

"Thank you Joluri. Now is the time for using Delphina's gift." Pyouroff turned to leave.

"One more thing," Joluri said, "Have you got any plans for the stone monster?"

Pyouroff paused and the K'night straightened up slightly from his position leaning on his club. "Not yet," Pyouroff answered.

"Shame," the K'night said. He picked up his club and slung it over his shoulder. "Keep thinking. Let me know when you figure something out. Meanwhile, I'll go send out some messengers." He nodded to Joluri and Pyouroff before walking away.

---

"You call that a shield line? My grandmother could get past that line!" shouted Kirrethi.

"Hup!" The soldiers deepened their stance and braced their spears. Kirrethi walked up to one of the soldiers and shoved his shield as hard as he could. The soldier staggered slightly but stayed standing. Kirrethi nodded approvingly.

Pyouroff walked towards Kirrethi with his Stormbards behind him. One of them was playing a flute and a squall orbited around her as a cloud. Kirrethi looked towards Pyouroff. Then he turned back to his soldiers and barked, "Attention, soldiers! Pyouroff has something he wants to tell us." Kirrethi turned to Pyouroff with a smug grin on his face.

"You need our help to fight the eaters," Pyouroff said.

There was a twitch of displeasure on Kirrethi's face, but he pressed back. "So you, Pyouroff the pacifist, finally admit to the necessity of force."

"Kirrethi, your ears must have been clogged with sea-water during my songs. To defend one's home from attackers is a noble thing."

Kirrethi hesitated for a moment as he composed a riposte, then remembered the onlookers and thought better of it. "Indeed. Together we can defend Hyummin from outside threats today and into the future. If what I have heard of your abilities are true, then there will be none who can stop us."

"With the threat we face, let us hope that is true." Pyouroff looked at the Stormbards behind him then back to Kirrethi. "We are quite ignorant about the art of war, but you are ignorant about our magic. Yet if we want to survive this coming battle we need to cooperate. Squalls are fickle things; they can't simply be ordered about like soldiers. Yet they have ferocious strength if used properly."

"So in battle and training you and your musicians will take orders from me."

Kirrethi and Pyouroff stared each other down for a few seconds. Reluctantly, Pyouroff said, "We will defer to your combat expertise, yes."

A smirk formed on Kirrethi's face. "I thought so." He turned to his soldiers and barked, "Soldiers, watch the Stormbards closely. They are going to show us what they are capable of." Kirrethi turned on his heel to face Pyouroff and ordered, "Pyouroff, give us a demonstration of your magic."

Pyouroff winced at the order, although the Stormbards were already moving into position. Pyouroff strode in front of the assembled soldiers. "If you want to fight alongside us, we have one rule. Never interrupt a playing Stormbard. This is not a self-absorbed ego-boost," Pyouroff shot a glance towards Kirrethi. "We can only control the storm spirits while we play music. If we stop playing music, the storm spirit breaks free and will attack everyone, including us. Do you want to be thrown into the sky by a storm spirit, soldiers?"

There were some mumbles and shaking heads.

"I said, do you want to be thrown into the sky by a storm spirit?" Pyouroff barked.

"No, Pyouroff," the soldiers replied in unison.

"Good." Pyouroff turned to the Stormbards. "You may begin."

---

"Pyouroff."

Pyouroff was staring off into the sky, his mind elsewhere.

"Pyouroff."

The voice dragged the old selka out of his thoughts. "What is it, Yup?"

"Are you alright? You've barely touched your fish."

Pyouroff looked down to his lap. He had picked some of the skin off his breakfast, but it was quite uneaten.

"I've never known you not to eat," Yup added.

"Hm, right," Pyouroff said distantly. He peeled off some of the fish's flesh and put it in his mouth. "I've been thinking all night about how to beat the rock monster."

"Ah," Yup said. Yup thought for a few moments, then suggested, "Could we blow it over?"

"Probably, but we wouldn't be able to lift or throw it with the squalls. We need an advantage slightly better than just knocking it over."

"Oh." Yup paused his eating to think a bit more deeply. "Could we rain on it?" he suggested tentatively.

"And what would that do? It's a rock."

"How about we blind it with a mist?"

"But then we wouldn't be able to see it either. Hmm, unless we keep the mist close to its head. That could help. Any more ideas?"

Yup ate the last bite of his fish as he thought. He eventually shook his head.

"Oh well. Tell me if you do come up with any. Get the others ready for training. I'll stay and think some more."

Yup got up and left, leaving Pyouroff to finish his breakfast. He picked up the fish bones and carried them down to the shore. He cast the bones into the water and prayed, "Delphina guide us."

He watched the bones bobbing on the water's surface. If the bones were a bit heavier they would have sunk. Like a stone.

He looked down at his feet in the soft, wet sand. Already his toes were buried in the sand just from his weight. He pushed down one leg and it sank to his ankle. He pulled it out of the water-logged sand with a plop.

Realisation dawned and he pulled out a pair of rattles. He ran down the beach looking for a squall, called one in and returned to Hyummin land with the squall in tow. He walked along the ground inland of the Hyummin, checking the soil. When he found a patch he was satisfied with he gave the rattles a shake and the squall released a brief deluge. He led the squall back to the beach and let it fatten itself on sea water. Then he took it back to the patch of soil and got it to rain on that spot again.

He repeated this process a few times before a selka who was out collecting hay, curious about what Pyouroff was doing, approached the Stormbard. "What're you doing, Pyouroff?"

"Ah, Wolla, good timing," Pyouroff said without ceasing his playing, "Come stand here and tell me how it feels."

Wolla looked at the puddle. "Why?"

"Because I'm busy playing music."

Reluctantly Wolla stepped into the puddle. "It's muddy and soft."

"If it were wetter and something really heavy stood on it, do you think it would sink?"

Wolla shifted his feet awkwardly. "I guess."

"Excellent! Thank you for your help." Pyouroff slowed the shaking of his rattles and hummed a soothing tune until the squall flew away.

Pyouroff hurried back to the village. He found Hapena first. "Hapena!"

"Pyouroff?"

"I've figured out a way to stop the rock monster. Gather the others. I'll get Kirrethi."

Pyouroff found the training soldiers and Stormbards and signalled to Kirrethi. However, Kirrethi ignored Pyouroff for a few minutes as they continued the current exercise. Only after the exercise finished did Kirrethi acknowledge Pyouroff. "What is it, Pyouroff?"

"I have a plan for the rock monster."

Kirrethi perked up. "That is good news."

"Come, the councillors are gathering."

Kirrethi turned to the soldiers. "Take a break." The soldiers relaxed and put down their weapons. The Stormbards dismissed their squalls.

Pyouroff beckoned to Yup. "Yup, come with me."

They walked towards the council meeting point, where the other councillors were also gathering. Once everyone had arrived Pyouroff was beckoned to speak.

"I have come up with an idea for dealing with the rock monster. It is heavy so it will sink in mud and water-logged sand. We can cause heavy, localised rain which can create patches of water-logged soil. If we lure the rock monster into such a patch it will become stuck and more vulnerable. We could also cover its face in clouds to blind it."

The councillors looked to each other.

"Is that it?" Bonyapo asked.

"Yes," Pyouroff said. Bonapyo seemed disappointed.

"It might not kill the beast, but it definitely helps. A trapped beast is often as good as dead," Joluri said.

Wakino raised his hand. "I have also been considering this problem. I've been designing a weapon which could effectively wound stone. A really heavy chisel, or something. The main thing I was worried about was that such a weapon would be quite heavy and slow. Being able to immobilise the monster would solve that problem."

The councillors looked to Wakino, then to each other. "We're in with a chance now," Bonapyo said.

"Wakino, get some of those weapons made," Kirrethi ordered.

"We'll also want as much rope as we can get. The mud will help, but combined with nets and snares we should really be able to stop it," Joluri added.

"I'll need to get some Stormbards to make the soil waterlogged," Pyouroff said.

"We'll need to pick the area carefully. I also want to prepare some areas to burn," Kirrethi said.

"This is very good," Jolrui said, "Let us continue preparing. We have less than three days to be ready for battle."

---

It felt like millennia since he had sailed the Nanhe - or was it perhaps that he had sailed it so often that even the slightest change in environment was enough to mark itself as a significant and lasting memory in his mind? The snake confessed ignorance, though he most certainly felt something other than nostalgia. An orb of pain pumped in his heart, pulsing intermittently with a rift of regret in his mind. They were at the very headwater of Nanhe, gazing the short distance up to the divinely bottomless Bath. His holy ears heard the bicker of mortals from the trade town of Biashara, settled on the foot of Urhu’s ancient crater. Some would see him, no doubt, but for once, he hoped none would approach.

He hadn’t the heart to talk to mortals.

Footsteps approached from the entrance to his veranda, and he turned to see the four shattered expressions of Zhu Rongyuan, Qiang Quan, Yong Cai and Fu Lai’an, all of them kneeling despite their grief.

“These servants have returned, as His Lordship commanded,” Zhu Rongyuan offered somberly. The snake nodded.

“Good. Descend into the belly of the ship and wait there for further instructions. Before long, we will sail into Fengshui Fuyou, where we will remain until the end of time and space.”

The four servants drew quivering breaths, before Fu Lai’an spoke the single word, “Why?!” The snake raised a brow.

“Why, Lord, must we go? We were faithfully serving King Anu without issue! We had just defeated the greatest threat to Talemon and now is the time for the kingdom to truly prosper! Why leave now?!” She stood panting after her yelling, and the three others were huddling to her to keep her kowtowing.

“Forgive her, Lord! She is-- she is quite upset and not herself!” Zhu Rongyuan pleaded. The snake lifted a hand.

“No, no, you deserve to know.” His expression darkened. “In the days since we left the Temple, I have been thinking: This world, a divine world, has become a plane of mortality. It is no longer the slate of gods that it used to be. This world is now for the mortals to rule.”

Zhu Rongyuan blinked skeptically. “B-but… Mortality is still loyal and dependent on the gods! What made His Lordship think this way? What has mortality done to cause such dismay?”

“It is not the work of mortality that has brought these thoughts to mind,” the snake clarified. “It is the culmination of thought and philosophy that I have pondered in the time since Tendlepog retreated into Moksha.”

“B-but what about prosperity?! The dream of the Flow?!” Zhu Rongyuan pleaded. The snake sighed.

“Asteria, Talemon, the Synod - all have shown such varieties of prosperity and values. This diversity in goals - does it not cloud my own ideas of the true goal of life? Are a full belly and wealth truly the keys to a life of fortune? In my view, yes - and certainly in the Asterian view. However, the Talemonese also include prowess in war as an aspect of prosperity, and the Synod speaks of piety.”

“Y-yes, variations exist,” Fu Lai’an tried to reason, “but do these truly shatter His Lordship’s goals?”

The snake closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “Perhaps not, but my morale, after millennia of divine disputes, godly wars and mortal squabbles, certainly has been.”

Qiang Quan growled angrily. “So… This is about you?” The three others gasped and looked at him like he was a ghost. The snake’s eyes opened again and shifted to the warrior, reptilian slits replacing rounded pupils. “We were prepared to die for King Anu,” the warrior continued, “yet we were drawn back to join you on your final journey - all because we are, deep down, your subjects?!”

The snake hissed. “Where did you learn to talk that way? To your Lord of all creatures?”

The warrior stood stalwartly despite his colleagues’ attempts to drag him down to his knees. “This servant-- No… -This one- has done its duties flawlessly to its King - its only King. This one thought you were drawing us back for a reason, but this… This is no reason - least of all one to abandon our TRUE King!”

The snake unclenched a fist and Qiang Quan was lifted off the floorboards. The warrior suddenly reached for his throat, choking for the first time in his entire life. The three others crawled over to the snake and tugged at his tail.

“Lord! Lord, please! Let him go!” the three of them pleaded, but the snake glared fire at them.

“Insubordination will not be tolerated. Anu may have been your king, but he is MY son, meaning whatever is his is also mine. Especially that which I have given to him.”

Qiang Quan, despite his breathing issues, cast a defiant look at the snake and whispered, “Talemon.” The snake hissed and closed his fist again. The next second, nothing remained of Qiang Quan but sand, clothes and water. Fu Lai’an and Yong Cai both screamed and crawled over to the pile. Zhu Rongyuan shifted between the snake and the sand, unwilling to believe what he was seeing.

“H-His… His Lordship murdered him…”

“Since when would you, Zhu Rongyuan, see punishment of the insubordinate as murder?” the snake hissed accusingly. The scholar drew a breath before putting on the same expression as his passed colleague.

“... Qiang Quan was never insubordinate. The man was more loyal to his master until the very end.”

The snake closed his eyes. He placed his hand on the scholar’s shoulder and Zhu Rongyuan become sand and water, as well. Fu Lai’an and Yong Cai looked over, their horrified expressions sizing up their creator. The snake offered both of them a hand.

“Are there any of you who still see me as the true master?” A moment passed before Yong Cai stood up. She wiped the tears from her water eyes and went over to take the snake’s hand. The snake smiled, but Yong Cai was glaring back.

“Talemon,” she whispered, and the snake returned the glare. After Yong Cai collapsed, the reptilian eyes shifted to Fu Lai’an, who had huddled up against the veranda fence, clutching her head desperately.

“Fu Lai’an, do you still consider yourself a subject of Shengshi?”

The Servant sniffed and shifted between the three piles of sand and wet clothes. When the snake slithered over to give her a hand, Fu Lai’an reluctantly accepted. However, as she rose, she looked down and then back up.

“This servant prays, Your Lordship, that whomever judges You in the afterlife will be more merciful and forgiving than Yourself.” As the snake’s smile disappeared, Fu Lai’an reached into a small bag on her waist and extracted a vial of salt. She opened her mouth and swallowed its contents. Immediately, she started to choke and her skin began to drizzle off. As her hand melted away in Shengshi’s palm, the last of the King’s Council became a pile of sand.

The snake looked around. He then stared at the small heap of sand in his hand before closing it tightly. “Even in my final days on this planet, I still cannot act the leader I tell everyone to be…”

That moment, the clouds began to tumble and roll. A certain presence was in the air, and the snake scowled upon identifying it. The sky darkened, wind howled across the plains and picked up loose items on the deck of the Jiangzhou, and rain pelted the ground. A great shape rose out of the Giant’s Bath which a single flash of lightning outlined as the watery form of Ashalla staring down at Jiangzhou.

“There you are, Shengshi,” rumbled the voice of the storm.

“Forgive me if I am not myself in welcoming you, dear sister, but I am in a foul mood,” the snake hissed somberly in no particular direction.

“As am I.” Ashalla leaned forwards. A large watery limb gripped the bow of the Jiangzhou, causing it to rock precariously. Ashalla’s head stretched forwards until it was within arm’s reach of Shengshi, her face as large as the snake. “When you cursed Li’Kalla’s island to rot, did you consider where that rot would go?”

“Oh, is THAT why you are here,” muttered the snake and rolled his eyes. “Not to say hello, not to visit - noooo, it is always because -something- dirtied your oceans or did not go quite along with your plan. Now, did I consider in the moment that I punished Li’Kalla’s people for her insolent behaviour, that rot, like most liquids, runs towards the sea? No, I did not, and I am sorry for that.” He sighed. “There, is that better?”

The boat creaked and groaned as Ashalla shifted her weight. “I thought you to be one who cared for the cleanliness of water. I thought I could trust you not to pollute me.” The Jiangzhou shifted suddenly as Ashalla shoved it a few metres downriver, away from her. “The environmental damage has long since been rectified, but you have wounded my trust.”

The snake hissed. His crew on the deck below looked busy trying to rebalance themselves with the ship’s movement. “Of course I care for water purity; however, again, that was not quite the thought running through my head in the act, now was it? Certainly, it is a shame that this has caused this rift between us - it truly is - but know that the rot leaking into the ocean was not an intended effect. I do not know if intention is something you even consider in this case, but there it is.” He sighed again. “Are we finished?”

“Careless. Negligent.” Ashalla’s turbulent water seethed for a few more moments as her gaze bored into Shengshi. “Do not let it happen again.”

“Oh, I would not worry about that. I reckon very few such events will happen again by my hand, indeed.” The boat rocked one final time as Ashalla loosened her grip on the vessel and straightened back up to a more natural posture.

Shengshi’s gaze shifted to the Giant’s Bath. He then looked down to the deck at the unsteadily kowtowing servants, all of whom were facing Ashalla in the distance. The kowtowing servants had not escaped Ashalla’s notice either. But Ashalla still had more to say.

“None, not very few.”

“A figure of speech, sister - there will indeed be nothing at all.”

“Good.” The storm above seemed to ease, although Ashalla still stood in the Giant’s Bath.

The snake blinked lazily in her direction. “You are still here…”

“Unless you had matters to raise with me, I can leave,” said Ashalla in a voice like a running creek.

The snake pursed his lips and gave a somber hum. “... Do you ever think about K’nell?”

The storm calmed further, with the wind stopping and the rain reduced to a light drizzle. “I do.”

“What do you think about when you do? Anything in particular?”

“His music and artistry,” Ashalla said in the soft patter of rain, “Why do you ask?”

The snake sighed. “See, of late, I am beginning to think that he had the right idea. To leave, I mean.”

Somewhere in the depths of Ashalla, a bubble surfaced and popped. “Oh. Are you leaving too?”

The snake nodded at the Bath below Ashalla. “I will make some final preparations before I do, but yes. I will return into Fengshui Fuyou, where the infinity of rivers will make me impossible to find. Away from all this, this chaos of bloodthirsty gods, of ungrateful mortals, of my own doing. Peace from it all.”

“And what will you do then?”

The snake shrugged. “Maybe I will fade away with time - finally finish that book I am writing. Maybe I will return at the end of all things, broken after millennia of loneliness, and dry up every river and choke every seed. Honestly, Ashalla, I do not know. All I know is that I am tired of this life.”

“Orvus said the same thing,” Ashalla said. Her gaze seemed to freeze over, her thoughts elsewhere.

“Oh, I can imagine. He likely has more reason to be tired than me - than anyone.”

“He did,” Ashalla said. Then the rain dripping onto Shengshi’s shoulders spoke in a whisper only he could hear, “Is this how a god dies? Reality obeys our will, yet if we lose the will to live, then do we cease to be?”

“Immortal in every way, except in the heart. I wonder if the Architect ever considered this?” The snake straightened himself up and stared outward across his jungle. The distant bicker of Biashara had faded, no doubt due to the weather. “Do you ever think about giving up?”

“Such a thing is unthinkable to me. I will persist so long as there is water in this world,” said the whisper.

“Must be nice,” the snake hummed. “Yet I thought prosperity would be enough to bear me for eternity. Now look at me.” He shook his head. “My rule has been riddled with conflict and disputes. How would this world have fared if I had given up sooner, I wonder?” He gave Ashalla a raised brow. “I reckon Li’Kalla’s island would have been doing much better.”

“Li’Kalla’s island is recovering. I even gained some worshippers from cleaning up the blight,” Ashalla said, her voice returning to normal volume. “You did good in this world, Shengshi. These three rivers and the life in and around them, along with many other rivers. The cleansing of the river of Seihdhara’s ichor. The Wuhdige tribe. Hermes and Xiaoli and the Dreamers. My Kraken met Chuanwang with the city you had made for the Dreamers - a clever idea.”

“A handful of accomplishments in an aeon of existence. I am glad they happened, but looking at Asteria, at the island, at Kalgrun - many wrongs have been committed. It is almost a balance, it is. Maybe that can be written on my epitaph…” He smiled in no particular direction. “... Shengshi, a god of the balance between good and evil.”

Ashalla was quiet for a few moments, then she looked at Shengshi and said, “This is what you will. I shall not stop you. May you find the peace which you search for, Shengshi.”

The snake nodded. “Thank you, dearest sister.”

Ashalla’s watery form began to shrink, but before it disappeared she spoke again. “You may keep the painting. Let it remind you of the good you did on Galbar, and of me.”

The snake chuckled. “Yeah… I will.”

“So while the Blue is lovely, there’s something about being here down on actual ground covered by regular normal grass that... I don’t know, it just makes this feel so much more real? Makes me really realize I’m not dead anymore and that this isn't some bizarre dream or vision of heaven I’ve been living in for years.” Ossian said to Cerule as the expeditionary force rode slowly down through the footholds of the southernmost mountain range found on Atokhekwoi. Behind them the floating island they had travel here on loomed over a landscape of twilight, while before them stretched an endless untouched sea of green.

“You like? I planted some of that!” came a squawk from atop the standard the reborn void soul was carrying. It was a bronze pole with a cross stand, down from which a banner hung. It had a sky blue background upon which a depiction of a stylized representation of an Alma snatching a soul crystal from a dying flame was sown with verse. Atop this heraldry sat several Gemstone Gardeners, living and reborn, who had decided the divine artifact made an excellent perch.

“You did? When was that?” Ossian asked the Amber Macaw.

“Long ago. Place was new. Just dirt and rocks. And some big lizards. We make better.” the bird chirped.

“Huh. Well you did a fine job.” Ossian replied, her brief moment of near normality ended by the interjection of the fantastical.

“I know” the bird said, puffing up its feathers proudly.

Cerule laughed lighthearted at the birds display of ego, “Modesty not something Azura ever taught you lot huh?” she asked and then was left softly giggling when the bird clocked its head in confusion and asked her what modesty was.

“Well you're certainly in a jolly mood today” Ossian noted as her friend got a hold of herself

“How could I not?” Cerule replied, before spreading her arms wide to indicate to the landscape around them “Because your right. Being here, seeing this real actual normal ground, I feel more alive than I have in… eons? More? Whatever. It’s great.”

“Normal except for the fact that it was planted by a thousand year old parrot you mean” Ossian retorted

“And we’re a bunch of dead people wearing around in rock suits animated by music riding walking/flying sharks hunting soul destroying monsters. What's your point?” she replied jovial. Indeed the entire 3 dozen strong party where in fact dead and most rode on the back of hammerhead drakes, hulking predatory sharks they had brought with them down from the Blue. Those that did not ride had no need to do so, as the small cadre of towering Jotundar and one Ihokhetlani easily kept stride with their smaller mounted comrades.

“You say hunting, but mainly we don’t even know where to start looking” Ossian pointed out

“They’re massive black scaled demons with half a dozen horns grown out of their heads. How card could they be to find?” Cruel replied with a shrug.

“You wanna find reapers?” the Bird exclaimed upon hearing.

“Wait... how do you know what they are?”

“They live here…”

“Ok. and.?”

“... I live here. I wasn't with these ones at first. Saw big rock rive, then your comfy looking stick and joined in. Didn’t you notice?“ the bird replied, a touch offended. The other birds on the stand echoed its sentiment with cries of “yeah yeah didn't you notice?” “Looks nothing like us” and one “you very rude”

“Ok ok sorry sorry. But the Reapers? Tell us about them.” Cerule demanded, before adding a belated “Please?”

The bird considered it for a moment and then gave in to its urge to keep chattering “Scary Things. Hated us. To slow mostly, but when they do catch, it nasty. We kept away from them when could. Very dangerous. Or were.”

“Wait. Were?” Ossian asked with confusion

“Yeh. They dead now.” the Bird told the two, much to their shock. “Wanna see?”

---

There wasn't much left of the area where the thunderbird had made her final stand. Fire had scorched much of the terrain in a wide radius, but around the fringes a few carcass, or pieces of carcasses, still remained, slowly cooking under the sun.

“So” Cerule asked as she kicked at the skull of one of the monsters they’d only ever seen alive through the eyes of the dead “What happened?”

“Big old zappy lady and burny guy lived here. Very big birds. The biggest. Except Azura of course. Also Azura great. These two were bad.” The bird who had lead them their explained

“Bad how” Ossia asked

“Their stupid babies try to eat us”

“Ah.”

“So these giant birds, they killed the reapers?” Cerule asked, trying to keep them on track

“Probably. They go to mountain. Then big storm come. Then creepy people come. Then big bird come make big fire. We look later. Find this. Plant a bit. Is nice when enemies kill each other”

“Creepy people?”

“Creepy. Didn’t look more. Far away. Why go closer. They creepy.”

“Right. Well then…” Ossian replied before taking a slow look around the area before airing the awkward question “Now what?”

There was a but of aimless muttering from the others that had spread themselves out across the hill before Cerule exclaimed that “It’s one down two more to go!”

Kalani

The name continued to dwell within Vakk’s mind as it travelled north from Atmav’s little holding, following the beast that continued to sniff and claw along the continent. It knew that even despite Atmav being demoralized, she would bounce back and strike with a fury that only it knew that she could bare. It was merely a matter of when, and Vakk would bet on the fact that Atmav would refuse to die even if her people’s lives were at stake.

Soon, a howl brought Vakk back to attention as the beast looked down to see a group of the rock men that fit the memory that Vakk had seen. It nodded to the beast, who took off into the air, his job done for the time being. The god, on the other hand, marched towards the group, its arms folded neatly behind its back as an eyeless gaze inspected the chaotic rabble of rocks. Dissatisfaction grew as one decided to wildly charge Vakk, only to met with a tendril to the chest, knocking it back into the earth.

”Kalani, I have come to speak with you,” Vakk announced, the tendril that had hit the idiotic Ihokhur retracting to its place behind Vakk.

There was a rumbling of rocks, followed by a hollow laughter as the Ihokhurs moved aside to show the black one. He sat upon a rock, brandishing a terrible mace of orvium. His single gaze fell upon Vakk with impunity.

”Another god, come to ruin our fun? How unsurprising. Will you bash us apart? Send us flying? Curse us to do your bidding? Keep the small fleshy things safe?” the desolate one stood up, a sound of rock hitting rock permeated the area as he stood upright.

”What will it be this time?”

”I have come to aid you, great king,” Vakk stated, gazing up at the giant, with a twisted smile coming across its face.

”And what would you offer me?”

Vakk stepped forward, twisted smiling growing as it looked Kalani up and down before raising its arms to the sky. ”I can promise you an eternal reign over these lands, an army that will serve through eternity itself. Your forces have suffered much, I can tell. But they cannot serve in death, not without my aid,” it promised, turning to look at the rest of the rubble that surrounded them.

”You can hold the power to revive your campaign, so long as you pledge me to be your patron deity,” it continued.

The rock men were silent as they waited for Kalani to speak, and speak he did. “We are eternal, but death alludes even I. What is this power you command?”

”I control the very undoing of death, I control Undeath. Such a power will be needed for Atmav and her forces hold a power to split rock in two with ease,” Vakk stated walking closer to Kalani, stepping upon an invisible stairway until it was face to face was the Desolate Ihokhur. ”You and your men may be ageless, but you are not deathless. Nothing is deathless, no matter what you think. However, I can let you reverse this and give you the very seat of power to rule from,” Vakk continued, circling around Kalani as it spoke.

A low rumbling emanated from Kalani, as if he was mewling things over. ”Who is Atmav? And what power do they possess that could split even me?” he asked.

”Atmav is a wretched little creature who has subjugated Selka while harming support from the other gods, support that is rightfully yours. As for the power, it is not a natural one, but rather a metal that Kirron has gifted them, and it is able to do what most creatures cannot do, such as splitting you.” Vakk answered, before it stood directly behind Kalani.

”Without my aid, you are surely meant to lose. However, if you accept my offer to help, and make you a true king, you will win with ease,” the manipulator stated, leaning over Kalani’s left shoulder, as the voices spoke in unison.

Kalani rumbled in thought before saying, ”I will accept this gift, but only because this Kirron has backed this Atmav. I have seen what a God is capable of, no more shall we cower so afraid of their wrath.” he said, turning to Vakk.

The smile on Vakk’s face grew as it allowed for its tendrils to wander towards the ground. ”Excellent,” it said simply before its tendrils dug enter the dirt before dragging up the start of what seemed to be a pointed edge. That edge came up only a little before it expanded and expanded.

The Ihokhur standing nearby gazed down in confusion as the ground lifted from beneath them before running away. The tendrils glided over the sides, pulling more and more out of the ground until a massive blackened ziggurat shot into the air standing defiantly against the testament of the natural order. Vakk could only gaze up in pride at it before turning its head to Kalani.

”Your throne sits upon the top. When you sit upon that throne, you will control and raise the dead. This place is where the heart of your empire shall be, Emperor Kalani.”

Without saying a word, Kalani ascended the black steps. The promise of power too tempting to let go by. Power, in the end, was the only thing that could give him what he wanted. He looked upon the throne with his crimson eye and thusly sat down.

The Necromancer was born.

The woods burned.

Beyond the crest of the nearest hills, smoke rose like a waterfall from where one of the thundering streaks of flame had struck the ground. The blow had almost thrown Enka and her companions off their feet, though they could not have been less than half a day of walking away from the spot. The heat had followed as a gale of summer wind, passing quickly but leaving a storm of withered leaves and fleeing insects as it went. Now, the acrid, stifling smell of burning wood came to their fine noses in distant wafts, not strong enough to choke them, but steadily growing stronger.

From the upper branches of the old tree she had climbed to better see over the ridge, she watched as the fiery roots of the smoke grew wider, spilling over leafy crowns in a spreading circle. When the wind turned her way, she could smell the dead ash and hear the faint crackling of the flames. Every time, it was a little louder. The fire wasted no time feeding. If they did not move, it would catch up to them soon.

In a few motions, agile with a lifetime of practice, Enka vaulted down the coarse trunk and onto the ground where the rest of her hunting party waited for her - her brother Woram, Jorre and Aalve of old Harro and Ruard of Obel. The strongest of their tribe’s young trackers, they had struck out eastward two days before in search of rich hunting grounds rumoured to have sprung up there since the deer had last travelled, yet still they had found none of that bounty, and now the sky itself seemed to be shattering over them. Hopping down from the lowest thick branch, she fell to the ground on all fours and sat up at Woram’s side. Her brother was pointing overhead, where more shining streaks cut through the dim heavens. He greeted her with a nod and addressed the others in a voice that struggled to stay firm in spite of the incredible sight just above.

“We’ve got to keep moving. It’s falling all around-” as if to confirm his words, another distant impact rumbled through the soil under them, “the next one could come down right on us.”

“If it’s everywhere, it’s no difference,” Ruard dissented, his face drawn and tense, “Even if we move, it could get us, and they’re too big to just avoid.”

Aalve nodded. “Maybe it’s like lightning. We shouldn’t get in the open.”

“We can’t stay here, though,” Enka pointed to the north, where she could still see the smoke towering if she craned her neck, “The one that fell there, it’s made a wild fire. It could be there before dawn.”

“I’ve heard the beasts moving, that must be right.” Jorre tapped the ground with his fist. “I say we go back. They’ll need every hand back at home, if…”

He did not finish, but the grim possibility was clear to everyone. Without further discussion, they stood up in silence and began to walk back west, not spread out like on a hunt, but with the swift, purposeful steps of anxious travellers. They tread lightly on the dry, cool ground, as if fearing that a careless motion would bring a fragment of the sky down right over them, and glanced up at fiery deluge. As luck would have it, the streaks fell wide around them, though more and more struck down with every passing moment.

At length, their luck ran out.

Something large cut the air with a roar and a gleam, and the earth sang like thunder under their feet. Enka tried to fall to her knees and hands to withstand the blow, but the air struck her like a whip of damp hide, snapping her over the face and sending her sprawling. She saw a fading black shape that could have been Woram be flung against a tree, before a flash of light blinded her like a dozen midday glares at once. Dazed, with distorted spots swimming before her eyes, she grasped for something to hold on and pull herself up, but her fingers only slipped on and tore up thin stems in the undergrowth. Someone shouted, or perhaps it was a branch snapping.

The din in her head only kept growing, but she had no time to lie there. The falling thing could have brought the fire closer, or snapped the tree that loomed over her. Her hands grasped again, sharp nails digging into the soil, and this time she rose, propping herself up on her hands. Her eyes saw as if underwater. There was no light or fire, but something enormous and dark fell down from above - and rose up again, buffeting her with a stiff breath of wind. No, she still could not see clearly. Focus! She had to force her eyes to be clear again.

She squinted hard and pressed her fingers against the eyelids. The din continued and her ears could hear nothing but a drone, but some light returned into her look. She could see the vast shapes that were trees, and the small ones that were her companions, and smaller ones still, moving among them…

The smell hit her. A beastly, yet rotten thing was close. Very close, she felt, as one of the small shapes approached her and she glimpsed a leering snout with hungry eyes level with her face. She felt for her spear, but could not find it with her fingers, and her hand felt heavy, too heavy even to rise and push away the creature.

A shout to the side. Someone - Jorre? - was on his feet, his spear held ready. The impish being turned to face him, with a grunt she heard worse than the scream, and more appeared from the shadows at the edge of her vision, closing in.

They did not have time. There was another roar of a falling bulk, a strike and a crack, and suddenly Jorre was not there anymore. In his place, a shape like she had never seen. It stood tall on two legs, but it was broader than a tree, and its arms were gnarled like dead and cankerous branches. The stench became unbearable. The thing pointed at her with a finger longer than forearm and made a gurgling, swampy noise. At its call, the little monsters turned to her again.

The closest one loudly huffed and raised an arm to strike, but Enka had found her spear. She was still shaken, but her arm was strong and trained, and lashed without thinking. The creature was itself fast, and brought down its hand to beat it away, but not enough. She felt the spear’s tip hitting something soft, and heard the squeal of a struck animal. Her assailant staggered back, and that was the opening she needed. Her legs, strengthened by fear and the rush of the fight, flung her upright and threw her away, further among the trees, heedless of the falling sky. Behind her came sounds of strikes and grunts, hooves hitting the ground in pursuit, and the churning voice of the massive thing, on and off in regular surges, like water running off a stone. It was laughing.

She ran, and did not look back.

Twang.

Hujaya plucked the strings of the new lyre. She had spent the last couple of days carving the wood and she had just strung it. Now she was adjusting the knots and tightening the strings to get it in tune.

Twang. Twing. Twing.

Kaleo walked over and touched Hujaya’s shoulder. “I’ve just put Delfon to sleep. Leave that to tomorrow.”

Hujaya put the lyre down on the ground. “Okay.” She tilted her head up and kissed Kaleo. They walked over to the bundles of blankets which were their beds for the night. Hujaya and Kaleo lay down together, snuggled close. The stars sparkled above. Soon the darkness of sleep overtook them.

Twang.

Hujaya plucked the strings of the new morin khuur. She had spent the last couple of days carving the wood and she had just strung it. Now she was adjusting the knots and tightening the strings to get it in tune.

Twang. Twing. Twing.

Kaleo walked over and laid his hand on Hujaya's shoulder. "Sleep is here. Leave that for tomorrow."

Hujaya put the instrument on the ground. “Okay.” She tilted her head up and went to kiss Kaleo but as her face went to his, instead of the expected resistance her face passed through a cold breeze.

Forcing a blink, she found herself staring at an endless grey fog -- all else but herself, her instrument and her seat swallowed by the opaque blight. She picked up her instrument, stood up and turned on the spot, trying to find anything in the fog. “Kaleo?” she called out.

The only response she recieved was a hallowed silence -- something sweet slowly scrambling it. It was a low trumpet horn laughing through the fog, following an alien melody. The invisible notes of the instrument seemed to cut through the oppressive fog, urging her onward and inward to the mercy of the blinding mist. Through the mist she went, following the strange sounds. She started to hum along to the music, her sweet voice mingling with the trumpet’s sound.

Just as she found harmony with the trumpet, an abrupt stop and violent strike of a foreign instrument replaced the trumpet -- the sound of a bow striking a violin accompanied by a grainy laugh. The fog itself seemed startled by the sudden change and with a great vibration it retreated in all directions, leaving Hujaya alone in an orchard of mossy headstones under a grey sky.

A lone figure in a gentleman’s suit sat upon the tallest gravemarker, a stringed instrument tucked under the silhouette of his chin, a wild bow striking out violent notes. Hujaya looked around in confusion at the alien scenery, the strange clothing and the odd instrument. Yet there was something alluring about the music and she walked closer. She lifted the morin khuur she held and drew the bow across the strings to form a long chord. This was also an instrument she had never played or seen, but Hujaya didn’t seem perturbed by that detail.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” The grainy voice swirled behind her ear.

“I’m…” Hujaya started then trailed off as reality caught up to her. The chord squeaked and faltered. What is this instrument? How did I get it? Where is this place? Who is he? This feels like a dream. She turned her head to look for the source of the voice but found nothing there. “Is this a dream?”

The violin stopped. “Why yes it is.”

Hujaya seemed to grow only more confused. “I’ve never had a dream like this before.”

“I assure you that you have,” The disembodied voice swirled, “We all have, sometimes it’s just hard for them to stick -- if you could excuse the colloquialism.” A cheshire grin grew on the gentleman's face, nearly splitting it.

"It's in these dreams you discover the answers you've always wanted -- though sometimes the head doesn't like what it hears and as you awaken." A popping sound bounced on the air, "It's as if you never heard the truth."

Hujaya looked around herself again. Then she looked the gentleman up and down. “Who are you?”

"Who but the Lord of your dreams?" K'nell answered, "Of all dreams."

Hujaya blinked. “Okay.” Her eyes settled on the violin in K’nell’s hands. “What is that instrument? I’ve never seen one quite like it.”

"It is the violin, it's cry is unique to each individual copy of itself -- much like the mind," K'nell answered simply. He paused the voice now originating from his wide grin, "Do you want to know how to craft such an instrument?"

“Yes please,” Hujaya answered.

“I could show you, but I could show you much more than that,” K’nell flashed a cheshire grin that broke through the fog, “Tell me Hujaya, what questions itch in the back of your mind?” He looked her over as if examining something unseen, “What greater purpose is there to your life, to your beloved’s life -- to all your lives... to Galbar. What is the why and why is the what. Sure, I could show you how to build a violin, in the same way that I can show you the mechanisms of existence itself.”

“I show everyone Delphina’s strength and beauty,” Hujaya recited. Then she slowed down and thought more carefully. “I, we, help others. We have this gift and we are to share it and use it.” Hujaya looked at the cheshire grin, that unnerving smile, and the significance of what K’nell was suggesting dawned on her. She looked around at the scene around them; thought it was foreign she could sense the melancholy nature of the place. “And yet we all die. We do the best we can with what time we have, but in the end we go to the pyres or are carried away by the soul-birds to wait, a fate with no certainty. Except Ippino, who’s now with Delphina.” A soft smile came onto Hujaya’s face as she added, “Perhaps I’ll ask Delphina to take me too when my time comes.”

"Perhaps you may," K'nell offered, "But what of the others? Shall they be condemned to their fear of the unknown?"

Hujaya grew sombre. “It seems like they will,” she said glumly.

“And I suppose you won’t do much about that, will you?” K’nell sat back and began to pluck at the strings of his violin.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Is this the first time this question has come to bear?” K’nell looked past the frame of his instrument, almost idly. He waved a hand suddenly, as if banishing an old habit, “Nevermind, but hear me as I answer: There is plenty that you can do -- there always is.” He placed his violin at the foot of the grave he sat on, “You are mortal; a surprising and ingenious group of creatures. A mortal once taught me a great many things about existence, you know, so now let this immortal teach you a great many things about your own.”

He waved his hand and the fog that wreathed the scene rolled away to reveal the twinkling . blanket of the night sky -- black and infinite. Across the center a green nebula scarred it wide. Pointing his violin bow at it, K’nell spoke matter of factly, “An exit. An end to your time in the pyres, an end to death, an end to the unknown. Any and all are accepted by its gates and on the other side is paradise -- it is as simple as I say and I ask for nothing in return. Know my name as K’nell, the God of Sleep -- know that I feel love for mortalkind and that is your ticket in. Simply meditate upon the nebula in the sky, and let your worry fall to my feet. Upon the day you die, you will find yourself on the other side.”

Hujaya stared at the green nebula for a few moments as a look of wonder grew on her face. “You’re offering a life after death, one with hope?”

“To any who choose it,” K’nell answered, “It is a choice that cannot be forced, but one that should be made aware.”

“Oh thank you!” Hujaya ran forwards and hugged K’nell. The embrace lasted only a second before she remembered that K’nell was a god and she backed away with an expression of embarrassed shock. Awkwardly she bowed down. “Thank you K’nell God of Sleep. You are so kind.”

K’nell dipped his head slightly, “Now the question remains to how kind you will be.” Straightening the front of his clothes he stood up, “Know that I hear all prayers, but my own voice may be too soft for the unfaithful to hear. My answers will come, and I shall now go. I must make my leave of Galbar once more, as you surely will when the time has come -- as all who have felt Moksha will.” He looked back up at the nebula and mouthed the word ‘Moksha’ once more, inciting a strange pulse of light. Another pulse and a blinding dawn was cast across the gravestones. K’nell looked back down at Hujaya through the light and cast a cheshire grin, “How kind will you be?”

Hujaya opened her eyes to the blue-grey sky above, with the light of the morning sun cast across her face. As memories of the dream lingered in her head, she knew in her heart that the dream was real. Hujaya rolled over to Kaleo next to her and prodded him awake excitedly. “Kaleo, Kaleo, wake up!”

Kaleo grunted. “What is it?” he asked wearily.

“A god visited me in my dreams!”

Kaleo stopped, then rolled around to face Hujaya and propped himself up on his elbows.

“He was called K’nell the God of Sleep,” Hujaya continued. By now Sulingu had been woken by the commotion and was also listening. “He told me there was a way for us to not go to the pyres when we die, or to be taken away as a crystal to some unknown place. The green nebula in the sky, it’s a pathway to paradise, a life after death.”

Kaleo’s eyes widened. “That is incredible. But how would we get there? We can’t fly.”

Hujaya smiled and shook her head, her eyes growing misty. “That’s the beautiful thing. K’nell said all we have to do is meditate upon the nebula, Moksha, and let our worries fall at his feet. It’s a free gift, given because he loves us.”

Kaleo looked at Hujaya for a few moments, then embraced Hujaya tightly. “This is wonderful. It’s so simple I can hardly believe it.”

“But it’s true. I know it in my heart.”

Kaleo kissed Hujaya’s forehead. “I know, my love, I know.”

They held the embrace for a few moments longer, until Sulingu rushed over and hugged them too. “This is great news! We have to tell others,” she said.

“Yes, yes we do. And we must be kind as K’nell was kind to us,” Hujaya said. She stood up. “We need a song to mark this occasion. And we need to tell Delfon.” Hujaya picked up her lyre. She inspected the instrument for a few moments, running a finger along one of the strings. “There’s another thing. K’nell had a strange yet beautiful instrument. He called it a…” Hujaya rolled the new word around her mouth. “...violin.”

---

The shadows of dusk rippled off the waves of the sea as the Lustrous Garden peeked up from below the horizon. In the water knelt Hujaya. She was praying.

“Delphina, I have something to tell you. I was visited by K’nell the God of Sleep in a dream. You probably know him. And he offered us something too incredible to refuse. Life after death. An alternative to the pyres and the alma. All I have to do is meditate on Moksha and lay my worries at K’nell’s feet. And I’m going to tell everyone I can. But I don’t want you to be mad, Delphina, that I will be talking of another god. I will still continue to uphold my vow to you.”

In the water swirling around Hujaya she could just hear a voice. Peace, Hujaya. K’nell is a friend of mine. If he wishes you to tell others of his paradise, you may.

“Delphina!” Hujaya exclaimed with a gasp. She looked around at the water around her, although there appeared nothing out of the ordinary. Hujaya then frowned slightly. “If you know K’nell, did you also know of his paradise?”

Yes, answered the voice of swirling water. Anticipating the follow-up question, she continued, K’nell wished to keep it a secret until he was ready. It was his prerogative to give you the news, not mine.

Hujaya bowed down, her face just above the water. “Of course, Delphina. Thank you.”

Hujaya straightened up and sat in the water for a little longer, silently listening to the gentle sounds of the tide lapping about her. As sunlight faded from the sky a distant green cloud appeared among the stars. Hujaya looked upon it and smiled.

The light green Foreas sat on her knees in the darkness, the front of her body lit slightly by the glow of the fire several meters away from her. She held her eyes closed and her body was completely still, forgoing any breathing. With her body slightly bent forward and her hands firmly planted on the moist mossy ground, she felt the strange nutrients this land had to offer seep into her body.

Somehow, after almost an entire year of constantly diving into this god-forsaken hole, she understood nothing about it. How could she stay alive by merely absorbing the soil’s nutrients? There was no visible light for her to receive, which would normally be lethal to her after a few days, but here…

Snap.

Aella’s eyes shot open and she jumped up to her feet. A twig had just been crushed. Everything went silent, with the exception of the crackling of the dying campfire and the soft breathing of the one she called her sister.

Calmly she snuck her way to her sleeping sister and took a knee, unsheathing a long shiny blade from her left boot and nudging her sister to wake.

It was tempting to say it was pitch black beyond the light cast by the campfire, but that wasn’t true. The fact was that Aella’s eyes were, quite simply, not as sharp as Arwen’s and she could only see well in daylight.

But she could still smell the acrid fumes slowly filling the area. She could hear the high-pitched whistling… And she could feel the vibrations travelling through the ground as several large entities approached them.

Campfires. They needed the fire for warmth and light and yet it served as a beacon at the same time, calling all beasts curious enough to Divers like Arwen and Aella.

“Arwen.”

Her sister grumbled something, wrapping the ragged blanket tightly over her head. She squirmed slightly in the dim light of the fire as she changed positions. ”Not… Not now Aella… Let me… Shleep.” she said groggily, her voice tired. Yet not a moment later she sat up with a start, eyes focusing to alertness as they became noticeable in the dark. She threw the blanket off to reveal tanned leather hides acting as rudimentary armor, long hair dyed auburn with the root of a pickala plant, and harrowed features. She was not the same girl who had fled the capital two years ago, the scar that hid itself beneath her clothes, worn proudly upon her chest, was proof of that.

Quickly she picked up the long leather sheath beside the fire and placed her hand upon its hilt before turning to where the vibrations were coming from. She then looked around suddenly, giving a quick glance before she refocused on the where the noise was coming from.

"Where's Ami?" she asked her sister.

Aella was as still as a statue, turning her head slightly every time a new step was heard. ”At Jin’s Pond, bathing. Sis, I think it’s a herd of Crimson Whistlebacks...” Aella whispered, a shiver shook her to the core as her skin came into contact with the increasing concentration of noxious gasses emitted by the Whistlebacks.

Arwen gritted her teeth and then said, "And where in the gods names did Tashal run off too? Urgh!" she let out a frustrated groan and unsheathed her glimmering sword of star light. A gift, one she had awoken too shortly after running away. It had but a simple message attached to it, 'Use well - L'. She was hesitant at first, but as their circumstances changed, she did not complain.

She coughed slightly as the gasses became apparent to her nose. It was not pleasant in the slightest. One whistleback was an easy opponent, but several would overpower them. She let out a quick sigh and turned around, running. With her free hand, she grabbed one of Aella's and began pulling her along. [Lightblue]"Why'd it have to be crimsons?"[/color] she said at first before continuing, "Let's go get Ami and with any luck they won't trample too much of our stuff."

”I think they might be hunting, sis. Moving to upper layers as our new neighbor, the Shenwurm, makes its home below us?” Aella chuckled, grabbing tightly onto her sister’s hand. ”Lead us down a smooth path! I swear I will stumble on every single obstacle otherwise.” She said while scratching at her neck.

Arwen’s grip tightened around Aella’s hand. ”That damn Shenwurm… We should have gone higher up the minute we crossed paths with it. Maybe then we wouldn’t have lost...” she stopped talking abruptly, her voice seething with anger before the sounds of the night Hollow filled their ears. They traveled some more, and thankfully Arwen managed to guide them on a path with very little rocks and roots that could prove a challenge to Aella. Eventually, they came upon a clearing of glowing plants, with a steady flow of water beginning to fill their ears. They had made it to Jin’s pond, and fortunately, the smell and sounds of the Whistlebacks, were no more

The small body of water in the middle of the clearing shone with reflections of unseen moons. The air was clean but somewhat thin, and right at the edge of the pond was the form of another Foreas who was washing her arms. This one the colour of autumn and wearing a dress made of leaves and vines and plant matter of various shades of autumn. The reflected, ethereal light from the Pond caught around the Foreas and seemed to give her a visible aura.

She never turned toward the two sisters, but they both knew she was observing them.

’Whistlebacks? They must be having a rough time if they’re hunting at night... I’m glad you two are okay, though.’

Arwen gave no reply other than a sigh. She let go of Aella’s hand and made her way over to a rock near the pond’s edge, where she promptly sat down and crossed her arms over her chest. The light from the pond illuminated her own features further. Freckles of starlight twinkled upon her face. Her starry expression was blank as she looked into the water, yet try as she might to hide her emotions, her luminescent eyes always betrayed her. Especially in the pond, for behind those blue orbs of hers was anger.

Aella tilted her head and pursed her lips, then hopped over to Arwen and sat down right by her, pressing herself against her sister and resting her chin on her shoulders in order to stare up at Arwen’s face from a mere couple inches away with her wide black eyes. ”Hey, Sis.”

Arwen looked at Aella, her expression becoming softer, eyes no longer holding so much anger. "Hey." she said after a moment.

”We should make a grave for… You know.” Aella blinked and pulled away, her leaves deflating a little. ”I don’t think we’re getting any more sleep tonight, anyway… And we may not have the body but, uhm, it’s to send their soul off properly, right...?”

She nodded slowly, looking back at the pond. "I… I think we should go back to the surface. To let Camille and Uvon know… And we'll give everything we've found on this trip to them. It's what Viert would want." she said softly.

”Yeah… Yeah. He had a cute little sister. You think Camille and Uvon will take her in, Sis?”

Ami stood up, water dripping from her arms onto the grey-green mossy grass before it was absorbed into her body. Without turning toward them, she smiled softly. ’They will.’

This did not comfort Aella. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Arwen’s hand, then whispered to her sister. ”Yeah right! If she hadn’t disappeared back then, Viert would still be alive, wouldn’t he?”

It was a sudden change in her sister’s demeanor. Her free hand balled into a fist as she looked up at Aella, her eyes having dimmed as her anger sprung forth. Arwen’s then suddenly looked to Ami as she stood up, letting go of Aella’s hand and walking over to the other Foreas girl. ”Where were you?” she asked in an angry voice as she stared down at her. ”Why do you keep running off when we need you? Viert died and you barely seem to care...”

Ami turned to face Arwen, a curious expression forming. Her glazed over eyes scrambled around and tried to focus on the teen… And then, Ami smiled. ’His body may be gone, but his soul, that which made him into the person he was, is still a part of the world. It will always be. I grieve, of course, that we may never speak to him again--But his life was a beautiful thing. As beautiful as the dance performed by two Bluefeathers in love.’ Ami gave a little spin and the long leaves that made up her skirt flared up into a perfect circle.

’I miss Viert. I am so grateful for the time he spent with us, and I was saddened when I heard of his death... But, I look forward to the beautiful things that his soul will bring us in the future. Death is not the end, Arwen.’ She finished with a warm grin.

Ami’s words brought little change in Arwen’s demeanor. In fact, she grew tense, her agitation coming to the forefront as she trembled. She scowled and then exploded in a burst of rage at Ami, ”You don’t get to be GRATEFUL! His SOUL, it BURNS. Or did you forget that’s what happens to people like US! Honestly I can’t even de-” her outburst was cut short as she clutched her chest, falling to her knees as gritted her teeth as pain flashed across her face.

”Sis!” Aella gasped, jumping up to her feet and running towards her sister whom she took by the shoulders, ”W-What’s going on?!” The young Foreas asked, her leaves puffed out and as prickly as they could be.

Ami stood still, her smile vanishing. After a second, Aella felt a chill go through her body, and then an odd warmth enveloped her very core… ’Rau’Lien, was it? The name of your father. His blood runs thick in your sister.’ Aella furrowed her brow and tried to pry Arwen’s hand away from her chest, her own chest thumping like never before. Had her sister gotten ill? Maybe someone like Arwen was after all affected by the Whistlebacks’ gasses as well?

It was like her sister couldn’t breath, she just kept taking in gulps of air as she hit Aella’s hand away, before clutching at her shirt again.

’Arwen, breathe. It may feel like your lungs are burning, but you are alright. Just breathe… Think of the things you love.’

Arwen managed to glare at Ami, before she seemed to droop her shoulders slightly, and let out a deep breath. She leaned forward, using her left hand to support her as her long hair fell from gravity. ”I-It’s getting worse…” she managed to say.

Aella whimpered and looked up at Ami with wide, teary black eyes. As the wiser Foreas’ mouth stretched into a thin, flat line and her nose scrunched up, she spoke into Aella’s mind. ’Little Aella, my presence now is only worsening your sister’s condition. Before I go, know this--You must help your sister embrace her emotions. I think, should she manage to do so, she will not lose control.’

Aella rubbed her wet, shuttered eyes. ’But-’ It was then that Ami simple turned around and walked into the darkness of the Hollow. Soon, the warmth enveloping her core had disappeared and with it, any trace of Ami’s presence.

Aella wasted no time. On her knees in front of Arwen, she lunged at her sister and wrapped her in a gentle hug. ”Sis…! Arwen, let it go...” She pleaded, shutting her eyes tightly and sniffling.

As Aella embraced her, Arwen held her gaze on the spot Ami disappeared. Before long, Arwen let out a wail, and a flood of tears brought forth her grief. She let herself be held and sobbed into her sister’s shoulder for a long time. When at last light began to rise in the Hollow, Arwen pulled away from Aella, her eyes ringed with a faint red. Aella’s own were sapshot, tinged a golden hue.

”I’m scared.” she said softly. As Aella rubbed her eyes and sniffled one last time, she managed to grin tiredly at Arwen, eyes closed.

”Yeah…? Me too. I… Miss home. I miss dad. I miss mom… This world isn’t fun, sis...”

Arwen blinked, she looked down to the side, her eyes distant. ”We… We don’t have a home… Aella. And we… We don’t have parents… not those that care, anyways.”

Aella sighed and looked away. ”... I know, I know.” She smiled a little and stood up, offering Arwen a hand. ”We just gotta keep moving, right? Eventually we’ll find home...”

Her sister looked up at her and she smiled sadly, before taking her hand and standing up. ”Let’s… Let’s go to the surface.”

Aella smiled as both girls dusted themselves off. It felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, however little. It was true, too… If they just kept moving forward, they’d find their home. It is what Ami always said and no matter how fickle the older Foreas was, she knew her stuff.

And so at first light in the endless abyss that was the Hollow, the two unlikely sisters of different species returned to their camp and packed up whatever they had left that wasn’t trampled or half-eaten. In just a short while, they were already climbing their way out of the cannibalistic depths of Galbar with a single autumn-coloured Foreas calmly following their steps.

I wonder if… No, it definitely is. Laurien, are you here to visit me?

---

It had taken some practice, but soon Karamir had been able to master the piloting of his vessel, and had glided gracefully through the sky, all the way from the Kick to Kalgrun. As the coast came into view, he turned his ship and veered north. He saw various tribes and villages situated along the coast, the inhabitants looking at his vehicle in wonder. He waved to them, though they could not see it.

He passed Li'Kalla's bridge, now clear of remains. He had told his people what awaited them on the other end, and it had been more than enough to dissuade them from making any further attempts to cross it. He considered destroying the bridge altogether, but then decided that the wrath of the Rain Goddess might do more harm to his people than a mere bridge they already knew not to cross.

Further north he went, until he finally reached the destination he had in mind. The Donghe, the Easthe, the Nuhe... all silly names. Why did the gods feud over such trivial matters? Anyhow, the name was of little importance.

The spot he had chosen was where the Straight River met the sea. Abanoc had bestowed upon him the knowledge of boats and ships, and thus he knew the value of seafaring technology - when mortals could actually reach that point, of course. And besides, the river itself would be a vital source of freshwater.

He set the airship down atop a hill which overlooked the river. The wings lowered to the ground, serving as ramps which one could use to walk off. Of course, Karamir himself had no need for that; he simply vaulted over the railing and landed on his feet.

He took a few steps forward and knelt, surveying the flat stretch of land before him on which he was to begin building. Then, he drew his dagger, once again morphed it into a stick, and began to draw in the dirt.

His hands were almost a blur, and he sometimes had to scratch out progress just as quickly as he made it, as he began the meticulous process of planning the settlement’s layout. He couldn’t just place buildings down at random - that would turn the city into a maze. And due to past experience, Karamir was no fan of mazes.

Hours passed as he thought carefully of how he was to proceed. Until finally he finished. He settled on a workable grid system that was fairly easy to navigate, provided one knew about it in advance, which would not be too difficult to learn. The streets and pathways were fairly wide, with enough space for the carts and caravans he had visions of. He stepped away from the crude plan and then once more gazed out at the field.

Where to begin?

Steeling himself, he got to work.

---

He had begun by raising a wall around the area in which the settlement would be built. He had considered the possibility that the wall might be attacked and had planned accordingly; creating ramparts the defenders could hide behind, machicolations which would allow them to shoot any attackers who thought they could use the wall for cover as well, and evenly spaced towers at regular integrals. It would do little to deter flying enemies, however. There were two gates; one in the southwest near the river, and one in the northeast near the ocean.

That work on its own had been exhausting, lasting well into the night. In the morning he was exhausted, and sat on the beach breathing heavily with waves lapping nearby.

One wave, slightly larger than the others, made it all the way up to Karamir’s feet and licked against them. Yet rather than roll away and recede back into the ocean this wave stopped in place as it touched Karamir. Bubbles fizzed briefly through the water and formed a surprised word. “Kalmar?”

That surprised him, but only for a moment. He rose to his feet, gazing out at the water. “No,” he replied. “Kalmar is dead.”

The water rose up as Karamir did, coalescing into the form of a woman twice as tall as Karamir. “Then you are his successor.”

“I am,” he nodded. “Are you Ashalla?”

“I am. Who are you?”

“Karamir. The first Vallamir.”

“Ah, Kalmar told me of you,” Ashalla said. She quickly glanced around, as though checking they were alone, before flowing slightly closer to Karamir. “How did you acquire Kalmar’s divinity?”

“He gave it to me before he died,” Karamir answered.

“Was not Arae able to heal him?”

Karamir shook his head. “No. There might have been other ways to save him, but… he decided he’d rather pass his power on.”

The ocean was still for a moment. “Another…” Ashalla whispered distantly, like a soft breeze. Ashalla then looked back down at Karamir. “Have you claimed dominion over hunting or cold as Kalmar did?”

He paused, and then shook his head. “No, I have not. I have claimed mana.”

Ashalla rumbled for a few moments. “Well, welcome to the pantheon, Karamir. Remember your station as a divine being.”

Karamir was about to say something, but then he furrowed his brow, as a new thought suddenly occurred to him. “What can you tell me of your interactions with Kalmar?” he asked instead, in a voice that might have been suspicion.

“They were friendly. Kalmar, Phystene and I made a pact to protect each other’s creations from senseless destruction. Kalmar has personally shown me about his continent. The last time I saw him, Arae and I found Kalmar near death at Abraxas’ hand when we went to Veradax during the moon-fall, where I battled and killed Abraxas.”

“I see. Sorry if this comes across as… rude… but recently I encountered someone who changed her form in order to deceive me, and I have reason to believe she might try to do so again. Though… I don’t know if…” he then squinted, appearing to study her form more closely. “Sorry, nevermind.”

Ashalla huffed. “Such deception is unbecoming of gods. Who attempted this deception?”

“Her name is Laurien,” Karamir answered gravely.

The water’s surface seethed. “The blasphemer! Has she too obtained divinity?”

Karamir’s eyes widened slightly. “She has. I’m not the only one who ascended. While Kalmar passed his divinity onto me, I think that Orvus’s divinity somehow ended up passing on to Arya and Laurien,” he said, and then there was a brief flicker of alarm on his face. “But Arya isn’t like her sister. She’s good, and she’s kind, and…” his voice trailed off.

Ashalla rumbled for a few moments. “So that’s where Orvus’ divinity went, to his offspring. What do Arya and Laurien claim dominion over?”

“I… don’t know, exactly. Arya seems to radiate kindness and calmness, but for Laurien… whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

Ashalla huffed. She then lifted her gaze to the structure behind Karamir. “What is this you are building?”

“A community,” Karamir answered. “Where mortals can live together, share ideas, and protect each other. Hopefully in peace.”

Ashalla flowed up the beach and past Karamir. She stretched up and looked around at the walls bounding this patch of land. “Where are the mortals?”

“Not here yet,” Karamir answered, looking back at the empty expanse. “I still need to build shelters for them to live in. And a way to feed a population of this size - the Nebulites of the Eye of Desolation have a way, and I’ll need to invite them here so they can set it up. First it needs buildings, but creating structures…” he took a deep breath, “is quite taxing.”

Ashalla rumbled as she circled the wall. A pseudopod split off to investigate Karamir’s airship simultaneously. “Taxing for a little godling such as yourself, perhaps,” Ashalla said. She completed her circuit and returned to Karamir. “The aid of a more powerful deity would be beneficial to such a community. And I am already recognised by Vallamir in this region.”

“Any aid you are willing to provide would be appreciated,” Karamir nodded, somewhat surprised by the offer.

“I would request something in return, though,” Ashalla added.

“What would that be?”

“In the city of nebulites on the Taipang Delta there is a temple dedicated to Shengshi. I want a temple in this city dedicated to myself as a perpetual sign of my aid and influence.”

Karamir hesitated. “I’ve been to that city,” he said. “Laurien was one of its leaders - before she became a demigod. Most of their people were forced to live in filth, and anyone who objected, or asked too many questions, they tried to kill. She nearly killed me as well.” He sighed. “If you want to be recognized for aiding in this city’s construction, that’s only fair. Just know that I’m trying to avoid making the same mistakes as other civilizations.”

“The status of the nebulite city is irrelevant to my request. I desire a temple,” Ashalla said.

“Very well,” Karamir said with some apprehension, trying to imagine what changes he might have to make to the city’s layout to accommodate this new structure.

Ashalla burbled. Looking at the markings in the dirt she said, “I see you have started planning already.”

He nodded, flying over to where he scrawled his plan in the dirt. “There are going to be three sections,” he said. “The one along the river will have a bridge leading to the other side. The one along the ocean will have a… harbour, or port, I think the word is. A place for vehicles that can cross the water, called ships - Abanoc gave me knowledge of them. The third section is basically the rest of the city, and it’s probably where most of the people will live - it’s closest to the fields where they will need to grow food.”

Ashalla flowed over to the river and entered the water. She grew tall enough to look down upon the entire city, as wide as it was. Dozens of pseudopods rose from the water and stretched across the city, tasting the plots of land and nudging the soil. “Yes, this is good. I can start building by the water. Where shall you build my temple?”

Once again Karamir looked out at the empty space, before setting his gaze east. “Well,” he said. “You are the Goddess of Oceans, aren’t you?”

With those words, he flew down to the beach, staring out at the sea. “Any preferences for what this temple will look like?” he asked.

Ashalla rumbled for a few moments, then answered, “I leave that to your artistry.”

Karamir stood looking at the ocean. After waiting for a few moments, Ashalla turned her attention back to the empty cityscape. Her pseudopods dug into the earth and prepared foundations. The Nuhe began to flow thickly with silt, from which Ashalla filtered out clay. She took this clay and fashioned it into bricks. With a touch she baked the bricks and her many pseudopods started assembling the bricks into houses near the river.

Then it was as if the Nuhe was flowing backwards as a thick black liquid flowed up from the depths of the ocean and up the Nuhe. Ashalla pulled the pitch out of the water and mixed it with some fine mud to create mortar, which she used to bind the bricks together.

Each building was carefully crafted, its architecture and form expressing her artistry. While Ashalla made an effort to ensure consistency in architecture, the floor plans of each building varied substantially. While Ashalla had seen houses and rooms and could deduce requirements for mortal comfort she was not entirely familiar with what made a good home, so she made lots of different houses to experiment.

While she was assembling houses, something else rose up from the depths of the ocean. New pseudopods rose carrying rocks and stones. Ashalla split the rocks into slabs and used them to pave the roads.

There was then a distant rumbling in the ground and the sea rippled. A few seconds later a colossal chunk of granite, larger than the Nuhe was wide, was lifted by a titanic arm of water out of the sea and onto a patch of empty ground south of the city. Giant chisels of ice formed and fell upon the stone, hewing off pieces of rock and carving a form into the granite. When the thunderous work was completed Ashalla had a bridge, carved from a single piece of granite. The bridge was no mere structure but a work of art. Carved along the sides of the bridge were intricate sculptures depicting the natural life of Kalgrun and the sea.

Ashalla dug deep holes at each bank of the Nuhe then drove her sculpted bridge into the holes. The bridge was an arch stretching over the Nuhe, standing tall so as to better allow ships to sail underneath. Ashalla took the off-cuts of granite and the displaced soil and extended the ends of the bridge out and down to the ground like a long ramp. Ashalla then washed over the bridge to clean off dirt and smooth out rough edges.

Sounds then came from the beach to the northeast as Karamir began constructing the temple Ashalla had demanded as a price. A platform of sand and rock rose from the shallows of the sea, forming a small island. And on that island Karamir began to build the temple, dragging more materials from the sea as Ashalla had done, but not as quickly or in such vast amounts. There were several points where he had to pause to regather his strength, but he made progress nonetheless.

He modelled it after the Temple Kalmar had built on the Hunter’s Eye; the one which housed the Oracle. Only instead of the dark grey and black colour scheme that temple possessed, Karamir built this to be a lighter shade of white, with blue carvings of seashells above each pillar. Flanking the entrance on either side were stone statues of fish, and inside the temple itself was a statue of the watery nymph-like form Ashalla had first taken to communicate with him. Finally, he raised a bridge of solid stone to connect the ocean temple to the mainland.

Then, he fell into a sitting position in the sand to recover his strength. As Ashalla’s many pseudopods continued the work of building bricks, houses and roads, she flowed over to the temple. She inspected the building, tendrils of water feeling its sculptures. Ashalla burbled and said to Karamir, “It is lovely.”

Karamir nodded wearily. “The rest of the city… seems to be going well…” he commented.

“Thank you,” Ashalla said. Her pseudopods shifted downstream and started working on buildings closer to the coast. “How many mortals were you planning on bringing here? There is space for many homes within the walls you built.”

“It depends on how many will accept,” Karamir answered truthfully. “But we need more than just homes. Places where people can store goods… spaces where they can meet to exchange them… shared spaces where they can gather for meetings or activities…”

Ashalla rumbled for a few moments. “Yes, those would be beneficial.”

Ashalla’s tendrils continued their busy work. Earth was shifted and stones stacked to create wharves and quays along the river, even out to the delta. Ashalla provided ample space for many ships to dock, sheltered from the open ocean by the mouth of the Nuhe. Ashalla had to do a lot of digging and rearranging of the ground to ensure there were sheltered places, for the Nuhe opened straight into the sea. She also built a few wharves along the coast-line, although she also left some undeveloped beach.

With the wharves built, Ashalla worked inwards. She constructed major roads leading from the wharves and her temple into the heart of the city, as well as from the gates in Karamir’s wall. Storehouses were built near the docks, each given elegant facades and small windows near the top to let light in. Ashalla built more houses as she worked inland. She also built various open spaces. At the intersections of major roads she created open plazas. In some places she built walled squares of open space, suitable for meetings and gatherings. Some places she did not build any structures but left in a natural state. In a few places she constructed auditoriums, where rows of seats curved in front of a stage shaped to carry the sound into the audience.

Parallel to the roads Ashalla constructed ditches. She constructed these ditches such that water would flow to the lower end of the Nuhe and into the sea. The smaller ditches were open to the air, but they fed into larger ditches which Ashalla placed beneath the paving stones of the road. These channels were to carry rainwater and sewage out of the city.

Meanwhile, Karamir had risen back to his feet and flown over to the hill as he began the construction of another building in the city’s northwestern corner. From the ground rose a colossal spire of stone which he quickly hollowed out, giving it windows and stairs. Then he willed furnishings into existence. Considering all that Abanoc and Mnemosyne had done for him, it only seemed fitting that they were acknowledged in some way, so he raised two statues of them on either side of the tower’s entrance.

Then once more he allowed himself to fall to the ground as he watched Ashalla continue her work. Clay continued to flow downstream while pitch and rocks were pulled up from the ocean. Her multitudinous tendrils shaped these materials, stacked them into structures and carved the soil. Ashalla had fallen into a rhythm, with bricks, paving stones and mortar flying through her form in an intricate dance. Such was her focus that she no longer bothered to sustain a humanoid form.

The storm of watery pseudopods, icy tools and flying earth continued to creep deeper into the city limits. The way new buildings were added suggested an almost organic pattern to their growth. Watching Ashalla work was like watching her stitch together a living creature cell by cell, except on a far larger scale. The construction crept forwards like a rising tide, filling in the space between the walls.

As the city neared completion, clouds billowed out from Ashalla and stretched off towards the horizon. In the growing storm the wind was especially intense. From across the countryside plants were uprooted and carried towards the city. Ashalla then planted these plants throughout the city. Flowers, grass, bushes and trees were planted beside streets and in gardens.

“This looks nice,” Karamir commented, as he walked through the freshly created streets. “I’d say it’s almost done.” He shifted his gaze to the north, where a single empty space remained - the hill from which he had first devised his plan.

“Thank you,” said a burbling voice like swirling rivers. The numerous tendrils of water stretching across the city thinned in number as the final streets were constructed. “It has been fun to create. The mortals should like it.”

He nodded. “There’s still one more building I need to create,” he said, still looking at the hill. “It’ll take the most time, but I need to do it myself.”

The last few bricks landed with a clack and the watery tendrils receded into the river and ocean. “Do as you will. My work here is finished for the moment. Call me when you bring mortals here.”

“I will. Thank you for your aid.”

---

<Incomplete post was here! Move on to after the turn marker below!>

---

Dry brown needles prickled their feet. The green pines of the inland just made the three k'nights miss Delphine's cool sands more than ever. Everything was harsh, not quite dry, blistery. The wind made the Hiphaeleon the Beautiful itch.

And he did not shut up about it.

"I am near peeling my hide from my body at this rate," he complained. "Where did you say the next inland tribe lives?"

The jangling adornments across the front of the selka k'night's admittedly youthful dancer's body were irritating his skin more than any stiff breeze, Humat the Spiritual suspected, but he did not say anything.

"The tribe will be at exactly the place where you stop itching and start looking," Kyko the Smiling teased. "You complain too much, Hiphael! You'll enjoy the trip more if you take everything in." He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. "Doesn't it smell just lovely!"

Humat did not say anything because Kyko and Hiphaeleon were in perfect balance as far as morale was concerned. To push one way or another would make all three of them flip over like a canoe. Besides, the little whistles the shorter Kyko made out of his jutting front teeth had a way of disrupting whatever groans Hiphael could muster.

Hiphaeleon threw up an arm from where he walked ahead of them. A couple of bracelets gifted from the young women of the River Mouth tribe clicked impatiently. "Yes, the trees! They smell wonderful and I…" He stopped and spun with a growl. "We really let our catch slip back there, Kyko! How can you always be smiling!? I was humiliated! Why are we out here when these bumpkins can't even imagine what is over the first hill outside their huts!"

Kyko's seal head shrank into his neck as he smirked. "We'll do better next time, Hiphael. No need to shout."

"Better next time!?" Hiphaeleon realised himself. He straightened, aloof and crossing his arms. "Well obviously just talking to them isn't working. What makes you think we'll do better next time, hm?"

At a loss, Kyko's smile faded. He turned pleadingly to Humat, and Humat looked up from the divining bones he rolled in his wrinkling hands. He regarded both his companions. He dissolved their words in his mouth.

"Hiphael is right," Humat said concedingly. "The last tribe we visited did not listen to us, and why should they?" He motioned to the pine trees and tall grass around them on the rocky earth. "They have known only this for generations. They do not want to change their way of life."

Kyko leaned in and pleaded with one hand. "But Humat, we don't serve ourselves by being pessimistic. There has to be some way to do this, even if we're the first people to shift the inlanders…" he shook his head. "...I guess ever."

Humat smiled. "I was getting to that." He showed his palm to them both in turn. "Kyko, Hiphaeleon, you are both skilled like birds. You can adjust as you fly without thinking and navigate any obstacles without knowing them in advance." He poked Hiphael's itchy belly. "You improvise. But what we face more challenging. We need to be like orcas."

"Orcas, Humat?" Hiphael said, lifting an eyebrow. "You're saying we need to kill and eat them?"

Kyko snorted, amused.

"Nah, nah," Humat shook his head through a chortle. "We need to coordinate. To plan. We are a pod of three orcas with a goal in mind. Some improvisation will be needed, and you will both be prepared should the need arise, but let us first think about how these tribes behave and try to work around that. They are only fellow selka after all."

"Still not sure if I'm getting the metaphor." Hiphael angled his head. He was a little slow.

Humat patiently took him by the arm. "Hiphaeleon. When the girls flock your way at the welcome feasts, why do they do so? What do you do that attracts them so?"

Hiphael pressed a finger to his large lower lip and looked at the horizon as if contemplating such questions for the very first time.

"Maybe we should just seduce them all?" Kyko laughed.

"The theatre dancing," Hiphaeleon stated. "I always join in the theatre dancing. Everyone is enraptured by the stories. The women, and the men, and even some of the married women and men, that's when they all look at me in that way."

"Hmm, well that is a starting point-" Humat started before Kyko clicked the fingers on both his webbed hands.

"That's it! I know what we can do!"

"Seduce them?" Hiphael guessed.

"Better than that. Captivate them!" He pointed to them. "We've been boring! Telling the chiefs that there's an unseen danger coming like it’s a big bear or something." He spread his arms. "We need a great and exciting story. We need a performance!"

---

Kyko the Smiling One raised his club to the noontime sun.

"Selka of the Sparrow Trees! Hear this! The words of adventure from the chosen k'nights of Kirron's bloody Red Horizon! For the words you hear are that which this man's eyes have witnessed! And this club's notches have marked!"

The volume of Kyko's voice drew everyone's attention, though it was not his scant hide clothing and plain luggage that kept them there. It was the feathers, bark, and improvised masks scrounged together and worn by Humat and Hiphaeleon. The selka men, women, and children gathered from the huts of their lakeside village to watch the ruckus.

Hiphael leaned over to Humat. "This is ridiculous. Real theatre has painted bodies, torches burning in the night, props, and...more than one and a half rehearsals."

"Just do your dancing, Hiphael, and let Kyko deal with the particulars," Humat reassured before taking his first place. "And when in doubt, fly like a bird."

"Everyone gather! All shall hear as it is Kirron's will!" Kyko beckoned them all forward, circling his club in the air. Some of the tribesfolk murmured, but many sat on the ground to allow those behind them to see. "Our journey to tell you now began on the coast to Delphina's domain. Upbeach we marched, notched with deeds good and helpful, all that ranged from humble to great spanned our experience and our specialities. But it was this adventure that lead us to legend. On the trail of missing tribes upriver! Now keep your ears unblocked and your eyes unblinking, for you may not believe what you hear until you see the truth in my eyes..."

Humat and Hiphaeleon took on their first roles, as Gralph the First K'night and Kirron. They each puffed up to look large and recited the exchange Gralph had relayed to them long ago.

"My servant Gralph! Long have you wandered these lands righting the suffering of selka in need," Humat said, casting his fingers across the land. "I have for you a task you must take with great importance."

Albeit, the words chosen had more weight and seriousness than Gralph's off-handed tact, but it did not help improve the situation: The delivery was stilted and the costumes hardly ideal.

"I, Gralph the Mighty, first K'night of your Bloody Red Horizon, will take any challenge as a gift and a duty!" Hiphaeleon thumped his chest. With his nudge of thespian effort, something new took the stage.

It was an imperceptible phenomenon. Imperceptible to the selka present, or any other base onlooker who might have witnessed the performance, for it was a bright yellow mana under the bridges of their senses. It travelled through the message of the play, its words and images, and flickered.

The audience gasped. Their imaginations wrought before them a broad and muscular selka giant with a club that could fell a tree. He conversed with a radiant red selka god with fists braceleted with boulders, talking from the top of a bleeding cloud.

"Take your k'nights upbeach to the river mouth, Gralph!" The illusory red god was more than real. His sharp teeth gleamed like snow-capped mountain peaks. "There you shall find your new recruits and face the darkness in the west. Fear not, for your effort shall show all how to turn it back! But brace yourself for the greatest fight in your life!"

The play moved on to meeting the horned tall creature Anshumat, who manifested in the minds of the participants as an impossibly tall thin white and black humanoid crustacean with an ivory beetle's skull for a head, but with such quickness on the land that defied reality.

"I swear to be Kirron's ideal!" The giant Anshumat cried with a spear to the sky. "By my word, selka shall go beyond all they have known!"

More fantastical scenes played out before the audience, taken by the mysterious force holding them in Kyko's poetic and exaggerated dream.

"Turn back to the village, k'nights!" The hulking Gralph stopped the army of k'nights behind him with a raised palm. It was more selka, let alone k'nights, that the audience had ever imagined. But the evil Ihokhurs were stronger. "There are too many, and they must be destroyed on our own terms! Fall back, make a plan! I will hold them off with Kirron's blessing!"

"Gralph! You'll be killed!" A wondrously powerful version of Rephaemle the Fair, Gralph's second in command, cried out with tears that tugged the hearts of all the Sparrow Trees tribe.

Gralph grinned with cocky sureness. "Then may my club break doing my greatest deed…"

He turned and charged, club raised, as to his left slid in a colossal leopard seal and to his right swooped in the flaming maw of a gargantuan blind dragon. The entire scene was engulfed in fire and the shattering stone bodies of the evil monstrous Ihokhurs, and children in the audience pushed their crying faces into the arms of their mothers.

The final scene drew together all the remaining characters in mourning, including the friendly Ihokhetlani Kreekh, all the k'nights, and Anshumat himself, towering over all like a sapling reaching over mourning grey grass.

"Gather all your men! Gather all your selka might! You are Kirron's blood and none can stand agaisnt us united!" He turned to the k'nights, addressing each one with a praise. "With determination. With loyalty. With innovation. With courage. With skill. With might. With wisdom, resilience, endurance, speed, and well placed strikes. These stones will be broken and our lives saved."

The crustacean-bodied Anshumat pointed a five-fingered pincer at the audience.

"With you. With you! And you! Every one of you! We can avenge our hero Gralph and show the true strength of selka on the land and in the sea! Our love for life is the loving grip between Delphina and Kirron entwined! Come to the river mouth and prove why no stone can tear them apart!"

The reception was positive, the three of them thought. Unaware of the power at play blessing them to inspire the masses, they shook off the crowd of determined cheers and smiles as the reaction of simple folk who had never seen any theatre before in their lives.

They moved on to the next tribe as quickly as they could after some brief hospitality from the chief, who was packing things away as the three of them supped.

"You know, Hiphael," Kyko said.

"Yeah, Kyko?"

"You almost made me tell you to tone it down back there."

"...Really? You?" Hiphael tore off a layer of onion with his teeth and raised an eyebrow.

Kyko looked to Hiphaeleon with a look of utmost seriousness. "If I ever do tell you that, just go bigger and better, okay."

Hiphaeleon grinned an oniony grin.

Humat suspected that the rest of the journey would have less in the way of morale issues.

And indeed, it did not.

---

The sounds of the wilderness had been replaced by those of primitive industry across the landscape, the lands hunted laid bare to sustain the growing population of the River Mouth in anticipation of the harvests of fields. The impacts of stone against wood thumped continuously throughout the day, their progress marked by the falling of timber.

The landscape had been transformed nearly overnight. What was once unspoiled wilderness thick with tamed fields and open clearings was now cultivated to best serve their new owners. The small village of the river mouth tribe had swelled from merely a small number of huts to a sprawling proto-city, huts and hide tents scattered across the landscape.

Great palisades of staked logs had begun to take form, creating deadly funnels for any enemy. Heaped upon their battlements were large, chiseled hammers. They were sized for two Selka to wield at once, and a single fall from the hammer could smash apart the hardest of rocks. They knew -- they had tested them thoroughly. Throngs of Selka trained with them daily. Behind those, the deadly stone-throwing mankonels also grew in number.

Specially selected Selka trained daily with the mankonels, becoming more capable with both the operation and the aiming of the war machines in the day and the night. Anshumat watched them with a careful eye and corrected them into a much-needed perfection.

As everything progressed, Anshumat found themselves looked to more and more for leadership. The tribal chiefs degraded in power as tribes intermingled for jobs. Cooperation sprung forth. The common goal was understood just well enough to work together. It was by no means a perfect unification, but it was nevertheless a remarkably efficient one.

Anshumat, for their part, was spread thin, even though they worked both day and night. Endless clashes of custom or minor feuds between slowly dying tribal rivalries constantly flared up and needed quenching. Between the planning of the fields, the planting of crops, and the preparations of the vast arrays of defenses, little time was left for rest. Indeed, the K'nights of Red Horizon present in the process went to their beds every night well-worked for all that was delegated.

It was to all of this, the unrecognisable scene more possible in dreams than reality, that three pivotal selka men walked so curiously that they hardly minded where they put their feet. Humat the Spiritual was the only one who had the best guess where he was going through the crowds and the complexities. Hiphaeleon and Kyko were too lost in amazement to do anything but wander their eyes all around them as they slowly walked. Wooden mallets plonked stakes into place. Stone scraped and chopped. Pairs of selka carried pieces of greater artifice on their shoulders. The returning k'nights were captivated.

Humat spotted Anshumat easily from a distance with the demigod's height and features. He closed in to speak with a hushed voice. "Anshumat, are all these people…? How did...?"

"I've never seen so many selka at once in my life," Kyko said with a finger picking nervously at his big overbite teeth. "I would guess there're more here than when the first selka walked the beaches."

Anshumat looked down at the k'nights, motioning some other Selka they had been directing to move on, before saying, “It is very well possible. We have more Selka than even I imagined -- it is best described as the beginnings of a city. This is no longer just tribes, it’s a burgeoning nation.”

"A…nae-shun. Another new word. Hmph." Hiphaeleon frowned.

Humat raised his brows. "New words are needed, for new sights are seen. I have not heard of a city or a nation before, but if they are what is before me now, they are all too real."

Kyko smirked. "Something tells me our songs and theatre didn't bring every one of these people here. What else has been going on since we were away, Anshumat?"

The demigod swiveled their head, taking in the sights, before saying, “I never planned for the only tribes here to be the ones you contacted. Word spreads. Many will come fully of their own accord, to be integrated into what we are doing here.”

At that, the reality of the situation made the group lose their words momentarily. They looked out to all the new families working hard and doing their part.

Hiphaeleon brushed a finger up to his cheek and blinked his eyes to Anshumat. "They will be getting close by now, won't they?"

“At most two days. We’ve been preparing for it, and I think we are ready. We will have to be, if we wish to protect what we have created here,” Anshumat responded, turning their gaze to the layers of palisades and ditches.

"Hmm," Humat noticed, raising an eyebrow at the demigod's empty eyes. "Interesting choice of words. Especially given the new words you shared with us. Do you not intend for the tribes to disperse again once the threat has passed?"

Anshumat then looked back to Humat, answering, “Disperse to where? The distinctions between tribes are breaking down, and the land around us will never be the same. For better or worse, this is not an endeavor easily reversed.”

Humat did not have a moment to respond before another voice directed their attention.

"About time you flounders decided to flop your way back upbeach!" Rephaemle the fair stomped up towards them with a broad grin on his face and a new feature on his body -- two long coils of endlessly useful hemp rope. He approached flanked by Anboor and a few other sturdy selka labourers. He shared a hearty laugh and hug with each of Humat, Hiphael, and Kyko. The reunion was complete with fists clapped against backs and words of welcome. "You fellas really outdid yourselves here. None other than your charms could move people so. Well done, and welcome back."

"Welcome," the broad Anboor added with a wave. "We were just coming by to report to Anshumat here. We, uh, we got the southern edge dug out and staked, Anshu. The visibility is still a little sketchy, but I got people clearing out the taller grasses out that way."

Anshumat glanced at Humat, before looking back to Anboor, saying, “Great. I’ll head over to take a look. We can figure out the best places to focus on with the mankonels.”

Kyko breathed out a laugh. They really were doing this, he realised.

---

It was one night a day later.

Two sprinting selka leapt over fallen logs, jutting roots, and sleeping stones. Their patrol had been four, but two were spotted. They had no imagined idea that could have compared to what they saw. With hearts racing and their breath loud on their lips, they ran for dear life through the night and broke through into a clearing.

Beyond were the yellow lights of the rivermouth stronghold. They almost tripped up over their own feet speeding and wheezing for safety.

A watchman was quick to notice the frantic movement. He had been leaning on his barricade, but straightened and lowered his brow at the two figures closing in.

The two survivors were so panicked that the obscured whites of their eyes lit up in the torchlight. They could hardly speak but for dire barks between breaths.

"Hh!...hhit!…It!..."

The watchman's eye went to the night sky. Another dark shape flew towards them, getting much larger and braver than the bird of prey he thought it was. He gasped.

"...It's them!!"

The dark shape crushed one of the runners with a deep wooden sound -- a tree trunk flung from beyond the tree line.

The watchman turned around and shouted. "ALAAAAAAAARM!"

The shout was echoed by others awake in the night, creating a cacophonous wave of sudden activity. Warriors grabbed their weapons. Engineers went to their stations. This was what they were ready for, as far as they could possibly know.

The watchman himself went immediately for the torch near the barricade and slid to the bonfire. One of many lit up in less than a minute to show them their foes and to alert those out of earshot.

Anshumat entered the middle of the fray within moments, shouting out commands to bring order from the chaos of the alarm, “Two Selka to a hammer! Man the mankonels you trained on! Three Selka to each spike, keep them in the ditch! The mankonels will deal the killing blow!”

The fresh legs of many awoken selka padded along the dirt in fits and shouts of their superiors. Those at the barricade first were young men with the faster legs of the population and a torch in each hand. Their long legs hurdled them over the barricades in a graceful current of flickering fire. Their objectives were the fire pits just beyond, which they took their torches to with their eyes forward.

They saw the trees and branches struck aside like sticks. They saw the black, jagged shapes of monsters with single red eyes each. And as the fires grew, the saw the monsters lit up as hulking giants of viciously spiked dark grey stone.

The k'nights were up and down the line in pairs, commanding where Anshumat could not and supporting where they could. The nearest to Anshumat, Antoph the strong, the tall and powerful k'night who could pick up the demigod with one arm if he put his mind to it, looked upon their adversary and had one response.

"Theeeeeeere!..." his warsong began. He struck his chest with both fists in an intimidating thump.

"There marches them, slayers of our friends!
Theeeeeeeere!..."

Anshumat could see the familiar red mana oozing from his limbs and his stare, unknowingly suring up the hearts of all around him.

"There marches them, heartless men of stone!"
"Theeeeeere!..." The next nearest k'night, Takos the clever, with his mankonel teams winding up the first shots, joined in.

The next line echoed low across the field. The k'nights' teeth thrashed and their throats bellowed out their taunting song. "We feast upon our fear of you! We feast upon our fear of you!
Theeeeeeere!" When the k'nights thudded their chests, every selka felt it in their lungs.

In spite of the magical courage and strength running across the selka like a red cloud, the heartless stone giants did not slow their advance. The k'nights barely got their next line out before the first stake team hefted their log with great effort to hold back the first Ihokhurs by the arms and the chest.

On a tower near a mankonel, a Selka yelled out, “It’s in the first ditch!”, the Selka on the war engine below him beginning to pull back the rope. Their mankonel groaned as it was brought to tension.

The Ihokhur, who had fallen and gotten caught in the ditch, made clumsy grabs at the spiked log holding them in. The three Selka hefting it pulled it back every time, before shoving it forwards once more. They huffed with effort as the creature bellowed in rage. Then, from the backline, a violent creak of shifting timber.

"Our hearts will beat you back and you have none! None!"

The Ihokhur managed to grab hold of the spike. It took it in both hands, beginning to lift it up, before, suddenly...

CRACK.

The beast went limp as the boulder smashed its head in, a cheer going up along the line of Selka.

"Our hearts will beat you back and you have none! None!"

The sharp cracks of more mankonel stones impacting the Ihokhurs' bodies rang out over the jeers. Not all found their mark on a lethal spot. Many stones thudded uselessly across the ground.

The hammer teams ran up to keep the many still-living Ihokhurs down. Their operation was to plant the haft of their great maul upon the ground and lift as a team, with the hind selka pushing up with a forked rod until they overcame the centre of gravity. The hammers came down all on their own, beating rising Ihokhurs back to the ground or outright shattering parts of their bodies.

"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood! Blood!"

Another volley of stones was being prepared. The Ihokhurs took the time to rise.

"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood! Blood!"

The mighty stone giants' second rank came forward as their remaining front rank knocked aside stakes and hammers. Their cold spiked fists flew and splintered wood and tools. Bones cracked under the grey skin of the selka trying to avoid them. The dark colour of blood flying in the nighttime joined screams of pain as the lumbering creatures had their turn.

Anshumat yelled out into the dark, mirrored by messengers yelling up and down the line elsewhere, “Fall back to the second ditch! Abandon the first ditch’s tools! Survivors, help the second ditch teams!”

Not even the courage of the warsong stopped a few from the first ditch to run early, though where Anshumat signalled them all to fall back, it also rallied them for their next hold.

"Tremble 'till you fall apart, stone men of the west!
Fall apart or break upon the fists of Kirron's bless'd!"

The second line were more assertive in jabbing back the advancing Ihokhurs, just as the Ihokhurs swung their arms this time to bat aside those without the proper timing.

Another flurry springing mankonels aligned with the k'nights holding their wrists and putting their fists to the ground with a resounding word arching up and down with the stones.

"Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall!!!

The red mana thrummed. And through it, the zeroed-in mankonels cut a swathe through the Ihokhurs.

Enraged, the standing Ihokhurs flew their arms into the dirt, kicking up a spray that blinded the second line for crucial moments before they trampled past the hammers and stakes. Their fury was nigh unstoppable, heavy and cruel as they were.

“To the wall! Everyone, pick up extra hammers! Smash them as they approach! Mankonels, cease loosing!” Anshumat shouted out, picking up a hammer of their own as they climbed to the battlements.

This time, as the dirt and dust settled, far fewer selka emerged to man the last line. They ran with the same panic and tears in their eyes as the patrol that spotted the attack.

"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood! Blood!"

The song of the k'nights kept the remaining force unbroken. They gritted their teeth, held up their weapons ready, and braced for their final test. They heard the words and the entire wall cried out.

"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood!! Blood!!"
"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood!! Blood!!"

The Ihokhur's red eyes ran aloft on ground-shaking footfalls. They ran so hard upon the dirt that the palisade wall shuddered and threatened to collapse if it was any more intense. A few fleeing selka were beaten down and broken before the song's beat. The song itself grew punctuated with tools and weapons clacking rhythmically upon the battlements.

"Where darkness comes we light it with our blood!! Blood!!"
"Where darkness comes we light it with our BLOOD!!"

The hammers and stakes slowed a few. The rest felt the wall get struck with holes and breaks from furious boulder-like fists. The next volley of mankonel fire came rushed and flustered, with few properly aimed as the selka faltered.

The song lost its coherence as the k'nights joined the fight. Antoph the strong used one of the hammers on his own, even if its heft made it impossible for more than planting and dropping its head. The rest tried their hardest to replace the fallen and beat the creatures back. Selka warriors backed off and picked up handheld rocks that bounced off the Ihokhurs' stony hides ineffectually. As the swinging stone fists broke a big enough hole in the wall for the Ihokhurs to emerge, the k'nights were the only ones not ready to rout for the sea.

Antoph responded with an effortful shout as he ran for the breach and planted his hammer upon the sand from a run up, using his arms and legs to all but throw the hammer head up in an arc and onto the red eye of the first monster through the gap in the wall. It fell in a heap and its red eye went out.

The Ihokhur behind picked up a piece of its predecessor's foot as Antoph dragged the hammer back. It hurled the dark stone into Antoph. His sneering face fell away, and he was struck to the ground in a bloody heap.

The blood made some selka scream in terror.

There could not have been more than a few Ihokhurs left, but Antoph's fate was all that it took for the red mana to lift and the nearby warriors to lose their courage.

This was the end. The song was forgotten. In that moment, nothing was left but to try and run for life.

Then, a blinding light lit the fields. A blast of unnatural white. Selka all around stopped, and with arms over their eyes, looked towards its source. A flaming halo of white fire formed against the brow of Anshumat, roaring incomprehensibly as they strode towards the remaining Ihokhur.

With every step, the earth below trembled, and with every moment they roared, every creature present was shaken to their bones. Without even raising a hand, Anshumat projected outwards, great shackles of flame pulling the surviving rocky beasts into unnatural positions, their joints crumbling under the pressure exerted. The shackles melted what rock they touched, digging ever deeper to keep their grip.

When they then spoke, it was in a great booming voice that seemed to project from everywhere at once. It continued even as their mouth closed, “You think yourself a master of violence? That you may take what you wish, that you have sublimed the act of obliterating those who stand before you?”

Two of the Ihokhur melted, screaming in terrible pain as heat enveloped their bodies. The other eight were forced to watch the grisly fate. Anshumat continued, the voice rumbling as though a portent from the earth itself, “You kill with your bare hands. The battered Selka strewn about you did so with weapons. But if you will not accept their abilities, then you will accept mine. I do not need to touch you, I need no weapons. I need not flex a single muscle to kill a hundred of you. My indifference could kill thousands of you just as easily as my rage.”

Another two white hot Ihokhurs melted, screaming as well, “See how easily I turn you to ghosts. Is it not wonderful? You made a living striking down those below you, firm in the belief that you and you alone were worthy of rule.”

The shackles receded, as Anshumat stood in front of them, “I invite you to prove it. Strike me down! Show me your mastery of death!”

Those Selka that had not run and hidden themselves were curled up on the ground, cowering. Those that were not cowering stood paralysed in awe. The Ihokhurs, even, were hesitant to shift from where they were bound moments before.

Only now did one speak out in a soundless, depraved voice.

"We were made by that which would kill the divines. We will rip you apart or be replaced by a creation that shall. Such is our god!"

The Ihokhur speaking broke into a run for Anshumat, poised to thrust the spiked end of its arm through their heart. The rest of the standing Ihokhurs followed at speed.

Anshumat did not move as they charged. They stood silently, watching the Ihokhur lumber forward -- and one by one, as they got close, their bodies began to give up on them, rock crumbling into loose salt until they were gone. Anshumat stopped once there was only one left, holding it back with an invisible force.

The booming voice rumbled out again, “I have defied gods long before yours. I have trifled with powers far beyond yours, suffered great tragedies and celebrated triumphs far beyond what any could imagine. You believe yourself capable of ripping me apart?”

The Ihokhur could only look at its arms as they slowly began to slake away into numb salt.

“You have failed to understand. You believe yourself a master of violence? As you stand there, defeated utterly by an opponent who is so beyond you that they need not even move?”

Without moving, Anshumat then forced the disintegrating Ihokhur into prostration, the booming voice growing in intensity, “You will return to the dark pits that spawned you, and you will warn them. Here lives a sovereign of the act of death, one who could cause your very extinction without even knowing. You will know well to never return, living in fear of what you have created.”

Once the Ihokhur’s arms had been totally slaked away, Anshumat once again released the beast. It fell heavily upon the dirt on its front, unable to lift itself but by curling its body inwards and raising itself up to its knees. Its head stayed bent forward and showing only as much emotion as its single static red eye could share. It turned its head to look at the ruined wall, the shocked selka, the shining demigod, and then shuffled to its feet, stepping back as if Anshumat radiated an unbearable heat.

"If you think me spared, defiant god," it growled fearfully. "If you think any of these filthy creatures are spared, you will meet your better in time!" It stumbled into a run out of the breach in the wall and thundered away into the night.

As it stumbled away, Anshumat simply rumbled, “I am no god. I am sovereign, and those under me shall see my protection.”

The night grew voiceless when the last Ihokhur made its retreat. The selka could hear nothing but the sound of their own breaths and the soft crackling of the fires around them. One by one, they emerged from their hiding spots or stood up from the ground. Their faces emerged from where they were tucked into their arms, at first cautiously, and then with mouths agape and eyes shining.

Murmurs and whispers carried out. They had won, apparently, but through what power they had no comprehension. Nothing except Anshumat's form and booming voice.

Humat the Spiritual was the only one who dared creep closer. He had his head held low and his eyes looking up at Anshumat with a measure of fear, dragging his bone club along the sand behind him like an afterthought.

"Ah-...Eyebiter?" He all but stammered out. "What did you do? How..." He continued in a breath. "What you wield is the power of Kirron's kin."

Anshumat slowly turned their head to look at Humat, quietly responding, “I am no kin of Kirron. I am no god. I do nothing but take my own destiny and forge it to my liking.”

Humat's eyes downcast. "Sovereign," he repeated. "New words for new sights are seen." He turned his head up again, worrying the corners of his eyes. "And what will you do with us, sovereign?" he asked as one knowing he had no comparable power.

Anshumat shook their head, “I do not intend to force my command upon you as I did the beasts. It is not fear nor blind obedience that produces greatness. I will do nothing with you, for you are not mine to command except by your own will.”

Some other selka had gathered. Anboor and his entourage wandered in to hear the conversation. Other fighters or engineers, all those not bringing in the wounded, closed into the crowd gathering around Anshumat.

Anboor breathed all the way in, drawing attention with his voice. "I want to be with the nation!" he declared.

"I want to be with the nation!" Another selka said.
"And I!"
"And so do I."
"And me!"

"We will not!"

The crowd went quiet at the voice of Rephaemle the Fair behind them. The de facto leader of the K'nights of Red Horizon knelt beside the ruined body of Antoph the Strong, holding Antoph's blood-stained club in his hands, weeping without a sob. He peered up at Anshumat with a tight frown. The rest of the k'nights stood behind him, though none showed any hostile intent.

Even Humat the spiritual let out a breath from his nose and strode over beside Rephaemle with a measure of understanding.

Reph stood up. "Anshumat! Us K'nights are Kirron's folk. We can be friends, but we cannot trade dependence. I am sure you see."

Anshumat strode over, kneeling next to Antoph, before responding, once more quietly, “I would never intend to fatten your reflexes and your hardships with decadence -- it is the crucible of experience that creates heroes. But, heroes cannot be made if powers too great to fight are left unchecked.” They shook their head sadly, “I would not steal from the K’nights struggles. You and the Selka deserve a fair chance, that is all.”

"It is not our struggles I'm afraid you'll steal," Reph replied. "We have an island home to see to. We have people to help. But we are not conquerors like some chiefs wish we would be for them. That is why we cannot be yours to command." He looked over his shoulder. "K'nights. You fought well. Take a notch."

Each k'night took out a knife and sawed a small wedge out of the bone of their clubs.

"And you, Eyebiter," Reph continued. "The notches you carve here will eventually break your club. That is what all k'nights strive for in the end. Thank you for saving us all."

“It is my failure that I had to resort to such measures at all,” was all Anshumat said, as they reached down and closed Antoph’s eyes.

Humat the Spiritual nodded sagely beside them. "True strength is to move the tides with only small nudges."

One by one, the new nation of selka behind Anshumat shuffled a little closer, quietly betraying the welling grief on their faces at the loss of Antoph the Strong. The excitement of the battle would be in their minds for the rest of their lives.

"Tides come in~" Anboor lead with a more traditional song. "Waves go out~"

A reluctant chorus joined from the selka. "By blood, we're warm~ And the pups do shout~"

The mournful song brought Reph to open sobbing.

"But seals we were~ And life'll contend~
Like the sea~ We're cold in the end~"

---

The first night was the hardest, picking up the pieces and mourning the lost. Tribes had lost chieftains, shamans, warriors, and hunters in equal numbers. Each one had to be given a funeral. Such was the efforts of the first few days, the erection of monuments to those lost.

But once the fallen had been laid to rest, all selka had to look to the future. There were deep wounds in the land and the populace, both of which had to be made right. Ditches were covered, palisades ripped up. The primitive mobile huts and tents of the Selka were first demolished, then replaced.

In their place, a haphazard of stone structures, carefully carved and transported from a quarry upriver. Roads were laid, and districts planned. Soon, the collection of tribes and huts were no more, replaced by a sizeable city-state which sprawled across the river mouth. Ferry stations transported goods up and down the river, while lone Selka simply swam the gap.

Then, the memories of the first night still sore in the minds of all, the attention lay upon the walls; all effort was bent towards the quarry, and great stone blocks built not for creating habitation but defense were transported. In the place of the log palisade, there now formed a great, tower-lined stone wall. It encircled the city, cutting the districts into defensible parts, and circling about Anshumat’s dwelling, as the final line of defense.

And then the harvest had come in.

It was meagre, many of the beans dying, malnourished in poor soil. But, there was still a harvest, and many still got food. The land about the city was hunted bare, and offered no help. The Selka hungered, but they did not starve.

Toraph did not like it.

Anshumat could shield him from blame, but he saw the privation for himself, even without the help of his enchanted hood showing the pits in everyone's stomachs. He made it clear every time Anshumat patrolled the city to see progress.

"There's got to be a way to make things better," Toraph said while the pair of them walked with other supervisory selka officials trailing behind them. The town had a few coughs of sickness, but at least the new stone structures hid the full breadth of it all. "This nation thing...I don't know how people haven’t all wandered off to places with more food by now." He sighed guiltily.

Anshumat continued to walk, looking straight ahead as they said, “The first months, even years of any city such as this one will be hard. This was not naturally grown, and it will take time for nature and even the selka themselves to settle into it.” They shook their head. “We will survive, whether times are easy or hard. Without your harvest, the selka here would have all starved by now. You have helped, Toraph, and while you have not created luxury, you have created life.”

"It wasn't good enough," Toraph said with his eyes to the ground. "I don't do words to solve things, Anshumat. I do things. My brothers couldn't hold enough fish in time for sundown? I made a small raft." He looked up with more enthusiasm. "Listen, you know how the women have been weaving string into these sheets for holding pups and keeping warm? I got this idea when a gust of wind came and blew one down the beach. I've got this idea for boat with a big sheet on a stick to spread it out, and I think it'll help make boats faster than with pushing or paddling. It's the wind, it's faster than any of us, you know?" He put his hands up before him. "I was thinking I could use that to go travelling downbeach and learn if anyone else has tried planting seeds or…" Toraph trailed off as Anshumat stopped in place, looking down the street to their right.

The entire procession slowed to a stop behind them.

“We don’t have enough stew! Find someone else!” A Selka cried, leaning out from the entry to a home. A thin, sickly looking Selka stood on the steps, cowering as the other yelled. Then, they withdrew inside, slamming the door behind them, leaving the hungry one out in the baking sun.

Toraph looked on sympathetically. "That would not happen two years ago," he said. "Leaving out someone in need. That's how I know my ideas were not enough, Anshu."

Anshumat looked to the sickly Selka, then to Toraph, saying, “You gave them life. It is up to them to use it well. I am going over there, whether you wish to stay or to follow me, I will not decide for you.”

Then, immediately, Anshumat strode over to the house and the sickly Selka, a look of awe on his face as his Sovereign took notice of him.

Toraph tilted his head curiously from a short distance. He observed with crossed arms.

Anshumat knelt down to the sickly Selka, asking, “By what name do you go by?”

He responded, quietly, and sorely, “I’m Treen, Anshumat.”

Anshumat nodded slowly, standing up as they said, “Stay close to me, Treen. I would not see you starve,” as they walked over to the door of the home that had rejected Treen. Anshumat rapped their knuckles on the door twice, and a voice from inside called out, “I thought I already told you to go away!”

Another two raps to the door, and it was hastily opened. An angry Selka looked out, their brief glare immediately melting away as they realized who had been knocking, saying quickly, “Anshumat, I meant no offense!”

Anshumat did not make pleasantries, immediately saying, “I have starved, and you have refused me. I was a stranger, and you sent me away. When I was sick, you tossed me to unforgiving streets. Why?”

A look of bewilderment came across the Selka’s face, as they responded hastily, “I’ve never done that, and I never would. What are you talking about? When have I done that?”

Anshumat sidestepped, revealing the sickly Selka, saying in an eerily calm manner, “What you have done to the least of us, you have done to me. What you have refused him, you have refused me. All of us will starve with cold hearts, or survive through the generosity of our neighbors. All of us.”

The Selka begged, “But I don’t have enough for myself, let alone him! I --”

“You sit in a home, built for you by the hands of men like Treen, eating stew made possible only by the work of those of Toraph’s make. You do not go hungry, and you are not laid low by sickness. You will survive -- it is not a matter of your life. If you would refuse Treen, who has done as much as myself or any other selka here, you would refuse all,” The demigod said in an even voice.

Anshumat continued, “And what, pray tell, will you do when it is you who is hungry, whose home has sunk into the ground and left you on the streets? When sickness grips you? Will you lay down and die, secure in the knowledge you did not offer nor take help from your neighbors?”

The selka stayed silent for a moment, before shaking their head, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Anshumat followed up, “What is your name?”

She responded, “It is Sophaia, Anshumat.”

“Remember what I said carefully, Sophaia. Tell those you see of it. I will not see selka who only months ago struggled with you and everyone else in this city for their very lives, starve in the streets they went on to create,” Anshumat finished, stepping out of the way to let Treen enter the home.

Anshumat closed the door as Treen entered, taking one last glance before walking back to the procession.

Toraph traced Anshumat's shell-like head up beside him. "How much does she have, really?"

“Enough,” Anshumat responded, “She will not go hungry, and now, neither will Treen. They will not live in luxury, but now neither of them will starve.”

Unfolding his arms, Toraph smiled. "Sounds like something Kirwon would say," he remarked.

Anshumat said evenly, “When the land is poor, it is only through the generosity of those around us that we will survive. We all would do well to learn that.”

They walked on. The selka in the procession felt a little better, even with as small a gesture as it was.

A day had passed since Ashalla’s visit, and the Jiangzhou had moved into the Giant’s Bath, drifting lazily in circles around the centre of the pool. The lush overgrowth of the jungle below had, with time, crawled up along the crater side, clawing to the stone banks of the Bath itself in the form of verdant shrubs and plump trees. Lillies and lotus littered the shore, and mudworms were frolicking on the tiny, ring-like beach encircling the pool adjacent to the crater edge. A few Servants had gathered on the beach to say their farewells to this world, and a host of Talemonesians from Biashara had come to marvel at the presence of divinity, forming a praying crowd on the eastern side of the crater. The snake sat atop his tower, plucking at the strings of his harp absent-mindedly. A small flock of birds perched atop the roof of his castle tower, singing joyously along with the harp.

“How go the final preparations?” mumbled the snake in no particular directions. Out of the shadows, almost, He Bo came out and kowtowed.

“They proceed as planned, Your Lordship. All will be ready within the hour.”

The snake blasted a puff of air through the nose. “Within the hour… To think…”

“My Lord?” He Bo offered.

The snake shook his head while still facing away from the servant. “Nevermind. See to it that there are no delays. We leave when the preparations are completed. See to it that everyone is aboard - those that are not, will be left behind.”

“As His Lordship commands,” He Bo affirmed dutifully and disappeared back into the palace. The snake let out a sigh and continued to survey the landscape to the song of the birds and the harp.

The water overboard splashed in tune.

Or perhaps not entirely in tune, for, while there was a rhythm to its rushing, it was not so much musical as the prosaic sound of something paddling, one sweep after another. It came closer, until a thud sounded from the lower side of the keel, followed by grumbling and a scrabbling sound. Something black and wormlike emerged from beyond the parapet; then, a misshapen iron clutch that grasped its edge, then another, and, finally, a head with more than one mouth too many.

One of the hands saluted by rising in a clenched fist, which almost sent the figure flying back down. By some miracle, however, it held on.

”Superintendant Vrog, reporting to His Lordship for audience!” it gargled, loud enough to spook away the singing birds. In a lower tone, another mouth added, ”Permission to speak freely,” and a third, “And to come on board, it’s a spitting bother to hang here.”

The snake spun around in a haste, knocking his harp over and causing it to partially crack. “Ugh! Foul creature! Who are you?! What are you doing here?!” He gave the air a sniff and grimaced. “Did Narzhak send you?”

”Heh, thanks.” The various mouths bristled with the smiles of sharp and unclean teeth. ”I’m the big one below’s special-works gutface. You could say he’s sent me to do scrap, but here? I got a thing as brought me that’s just between you and me.” He picked at one row of teeth with a finger. ”Bit hard to talk when I’m swinging here, though.”

The snake blinked bepuzzled, but quickly reclaimed his furious expression. “No - no! Forget I asked. I care not who you are or what your business is. Now begone from my ship, lest I will make you!” As if to stress his point, the snake pointed angrily in a direction leading away from his ship, which, in all fairness, could have been any.

There was a collective grunt from under Vrog’s helmet. ”Always like this, ain’t it,” he wheezed, ”Always the same spit. Soon as I turn up, it’s on with the get outs and gut offs. Nobody cares what I got, if maybe I just want to have a cup-” one of the black tongues dipped out of sight and came back with a brightly polished steel flask, ”-because it gets spitting dull crawling around with ghouls for company, or what. Nope! Always the threats! Is it cause I look like a slagheap? Didn’t get asked, if you want to know. And now you too. Gut it, Shengshi, you’ve drunk with the boss himself, and you know he ain’t better than me in a thing. So what’s up now? What’s happened to ya?”

The snake smacked his lips uncomfortably. “I, uh… Well.” With a huff, he curled up his tail and sat down upon it. “... I apologise. I failed to realise that you, too, are an outcast. Forgive me - I was rash and uncouth. It has been a, a rough week.” He gestured to the floorboards before him. “Have a seat, if you wish… And are able to sit still.”

”Hrah, ‘s good. Gut knows I don’t help my case sometimes.” With a series of dimly nauseous sounds, Vrog hauled himself on board, landing with a squelching crash. He rapidly picked himself up and shuffled closer, crouching in the indicated spot. For once, he only left a few faint traces of filth as he passed, no doubt thanks to his watery arrival.

”So, fore we get down to talks,” he held out a hand, and the flask landed on it as if he had just tossed it up, ”wasn’t spitting about the drink. Helps in scrapping times, I can tell ya.” A hooked finger snapped off the lid, releasing a strong waft of sweet and spirits, and slid the container over to Shengshi’s coils. The snake sighed and took a swig with a cringing expression.

“Where did you get this filth? The Cauldron?”

”All my work,” Vrog rapped his belly with his finger with pride, though it was hard to say if it was sincere. ”Got the idea from a friend. I ain’t much for the flavour, so it’s yours. Reward a slave you hate if it’s not for you either.” Another flask, much less shiny, materialised in his hand, and he took a gargling sip. ”Speaking of which,” he continued, ”I feel you got a scrap-pile to do, so I won’t hold you long. You know whatsaface, K’nell been out for a while now, right?”

The snake sheepishly put the bottle down and pursed his lips. “Yes, he has. Were you a… A friend of his, by chance?”

”You could say that. Not really his his, but…” he made a few gestures which could have been supposed to point at himself and someone absent, if in a rather roundabout way, ”Sort of his his. You know what I mean. I’d been trying to get to sort of him, catch up about some scrap, but you can guess, no luck. I got it you were in with him - real him, so it been the same spit for you too?”

“If by the “same spit”, you are referring to leaving this world to mortal hands, then yes - it has been quite the same spit,” the snake conceded. “What is it to you, though? Has Narzhak sent you to stop me?”

Vrog’s mouths gaped briefly in befuddlement. ”Is a gutted pandemic with you people,” one of them muttered, before they gathered themselves together. ”Not really what I meant, but gut me if I can blame you. Place’s always been a spithole, and’s only been getting worse. Narzhak, though…” A mouth made a poor attempt to whistle with its ragged excuse for lips. ”You’re lucky he doesn’t know. The way he’d already lost his spit when he found out about K’nell was slagged something. He ain’t keen on desertion.”

The noisome being rubbed his fingers together. ”Me, though, I’m not messing with that. You want to go, you go. Been thinking ‘bout that myself. That’s why I’m here, actually.” He snapped a finger up to point at Shengshi. ”So, this thing here, it stays our little secret, you and me. Boss’s not gotta know. Just gotta tell me, though, where K’nell’s gone gutted off to.”

“Your discretion is most appreciated,” the snake replied politely. With a few wrinkles of his nose as he eyed the creature before him up and down, he drummed his finger tips together and hummed pensively. “You speak much of what I, too, believe in, so I reckon we are, deep down, brothers of the same view - that this world is no longer meant for us. However, I must ask - if I were to give you the key to the gates of heaven, what would you do there? I have never met you before, but your…” He once more stared down at the remains of puss and filth riddling the form, as well as scraps of crusted blood and rotting guts between its multitude of teeth. “... Form seems catered to a narrow selection of purposes, most revolving around murder - and I would be doing my beloved brother a very disrespectful dishonour if I let a killer into his peaceful realm.”

”That’s the thing, isn’t it?” A few of Vrog’s mouths struggled to put on a melancholy smile, though their efforts were marred, besides their deformity, by the macabre residue around them. ”Ripping things up, gutting, killing, that’s all I’m made for. Been doing a good bit of it all around, you ain’t wrong. But it’s the same spit as my looks. I’m slagged sure not the one who’s asked for this. I kill ‘cause I’m told to, break things ‘cause I’m told to. Be good to try something different for once, you know? Just, I dunno, go around, taste things, maybe get better at…” he motioned at the clean flask, ”making ‘stead of breaking, yeah? No gutted way to do it here, not with them four eyes always over the shoulder. But another place, that’s another thing. If you’s leaving, you get that, no?”

The snake looked sympathetically upon the abhorrent heap of guts and metal, flicking his tongue at the pungent odour emitted from it. “So you are saying you wish to make an effort to change, is that it?” The snake snorted a giggle, then it evolved into a cackle. He slapped his tail a multitude of times and wheezed for air he didn’t truly need. Eventually, his laughter died down and he wiped a tear or two with a clawed finger. “My… First laugh I have had for a while. Such humouristic irony is difficult to come by these days.”

Vrog splayed his asymmetric hands out with a range of grins over his face. ”Feel that, that’s already something else I can do. Wouldna call it this much as calling the hits myself for a change, but you get the gist. Maybe they’d like me over there much like some people here’d want me to get out.”

The snake smirked. “To think a creature such as you, molded and conditioned to murder and slay, can devote yourself to such deep, foundational reformation - yet I, a holy entity of creation, cannot even change myself along my own moral guidelines. Oh, you… Vrog, was it? You amuse me.”

”Ain’t really that hard if you think of it.” Vrog scratched the back of his head, without moving the arm itself more than an inch. ”Just gotta be smelling something that makes that worth it. Me, I want to get out of this slagyard, so get to it. You… I dunno what them morals got going for them, but it’s gotta be hard finding spit you can’t have straight up if you’re a god. Maybe it’s that.” He poked at his drink with a tongue. ”Listen to that, when’d I start philosophying? Gut me if I know what I put in this stuff.”

“Philosophising, and yes, I would frankly not have expected it from one of your form - although, Narzhak was deceptively wise for his, so I suppose the lesson here is to never judge the scroll by its cover.” The snake shrugged. “But, one question remains - and that is whether you the qualities necessary for me to trust that you wish to turn your life around as you say.” The snake squinted. “How do I know you are not lying?”

The finger scraped the head again. ”Beats me how, less you got a power like that,” Vrog mused, ”I’d not advise poking into my head, or he might know. ‘Sides, I don’t know it matters. K’nell’s got to be gone to a place he knows good. He’s boss there. I get in and start scrapping stuff up, I’ll be first to get the smackdown.”

The snake hissed. “True. Very true. Tendlepog can be paradise to those who treat it well - and purgatory to those who seek to ruin it.” The snake snapped his fingers. “Very well. I will tell you the secret to enter heaven. Swear that you will not harm its residents and the key is yours.”

”Good by me.” The mouths sneered again, and Vrog’s left hand closed a second time in the fist salute. ”I swear it on my head I won’t bring pain to any there.” He relaxed the hand. ”That do it?”

The snake smirked. “Yes, that will suffice.” He gestured for Vrog to lean in. “Now, the key to enter heaven, or Moksha, as it goes by, is to meditate upon it.”

Insofar as it was possible to discern, Vrog looked pensive. ”That’s another one I haven’t tried before. How’s that work?”

The snake tapped his temple. “It should not be too hard. Simply take in its beauty, its energies, and have them fill your mind with its wisdom and peace. Once your mind harmonises with Moksha’s spirit, a copy of your soul shall enter it on your behalf, while your mortal form disintegrates and joins the Pyres.” He then shrugged. “Perhaps your divine origins could even help you along to achieve this outcome faster?”

”Could be. I’d already been one of the first in once. Maybe I’ll even find a better use for this mound of spit than that - as helps somebody, I don’t know - but that’s for me to figure.” A few tongues prodded skywards like curious snakes. ”Full of peace, that’s gonna be a first,” he smirked, ”I owe you one, Sheng. You’ve been a friend. ‘Fore I go, I’ll make sure he” a finger pointed downward, ”remembers you like that, no strings to it. Least I can do for this.”

The snake nodded. “Your visit proved to be everything I had not expected - pleasant, most of all. Thank you for coming, Vrog… And thank you for being a friend in a dark time.” The snake bowed seated. “I pray Moksha will accept you as it accepted my brother, my children… And my better half.”

”I’d better hope it does.” Vrog nodded and rose from his crouch. However, he did not move further. ”You get me thinking, though. If that many of yours are there already and you know the way, why’ve you not gone there too? Not like they ran from you to get in.”

The snake shrugged. “I likely will some day. I just felt it would be appropriate to move my belongings into my realm and seal its gates first,” he said with a wink. “I reckon time in heaven passes much quicker than here, so perhaps we shall all be reunited there within the week?”

”Who knows, maybe we’ll be. Not the first time I’d have weird run-ins in that kinda places. You’re right about closing gates, never know what spitters could get in.” With heavy steps, Vrog shambled back to the edge of the deck. ”Well, got some scrap left to do myself ‘fore I disappear. Hand in my resignation and all. Been good smelling you.” In a cumberous half-vault, he was balancing, rather precariously, on the parapet.

“Farewell, Vrog! May you find your way into Moksha!” The snake gave the mass of sludge and filth a wave and a shake of the head.

Vrog raised a claw in a waving motion, then, in what was either a dive or losing his balance, toppled overboard. There was a loud splash and a string of muffled cursing before the rushing sweeps came again, this time fading more and more until they became one with the sound of the waves.

The snake cast a final glance after his new friend and chuckled to himself. As if divinely ordained, He Bo came out of the shadows once more, making a quick kowtow.

“All is prepared, My Lord.”

“Good. The wait is over, worthy servant. Soon, we will have peace eternal.”

The servant gave an affirmative hum. “Yes, My Lord.” He then rose and disappeared back into the palace. The snake took a deep breath and raised his arms. The centre of the pool began to bubble violently before the familiar arc, which hadn’t opened since the intruder dammed up his realm all those years ago, rose out of the waters, the dew dripping from its top hinting at the mirage of Fengshui Fuyou on the other side.

The snake hesitated. He cast a look behind himself, gazing across his jungle one final time. He would miss it - it and its beasts, its inhabitants - perhaps more than anything. As the ship slowly drifted forward towards the portal, he cast a look towards Moksha, too.

“I should have taken your offer, my friend. I hope it remains open.”

Then Shengshi, Lord of the Thousand Streams and King of the Harvest, left Galbar forever.

---

A thousand miles away in the empty oceans south of Kalgrun, there drifted a lonely stone turtle. Lonely? No, for atop its back lived a buzzing village of Dreamers, hardy and committed to their work day in and out. They had been content knowing that no one would come for them and that their hardworking life on chaotic Galbar would be rewarded with an eternity in Moksha’s glory. Like so, life had continued for decades.

Today, however, would be no day of work. Ill tidings had spread from the palace, the same that had spread three years ago. The emperor had taken ill, and the last child of Hermes and Xiaoli was lying on his deathbed. The crimson shadows of the red silk curtains couldn’t bring colour to the dying man’s face. Surrounded was the bed by as many of his people as his room could hold, with even more waiting in the hallways outside. His cold hand was held closely by his weeping daughter Bei, her shoulders each held warm by the hands of two of her brothers, Tian and De. Next to them sat Yang, painting a sheet of rice paper with the will of his father, and Mei, Ping and Anhe all knelt praying on the opposite side of the bed. Wenbo smiled weakly at all eight of them.

“... And for my youngest daughter, Anhe… Oh, Anhe…”

The woman, now in her later thirties, shuffled a little closer. “Y-yes, father?” she sniffed.

“... You were a beam of light from heaven above to all of us… You should have our jewel box from the mountains of Atokhekwoi.”

Gifts couldn’t make any of them truly happy at this point, but she smiled politely nonetheless. “Yes… Thank you, father. I’m honoured.”

Wenbo laid his head down on his pillow and sighed. “Good. Good… I just hope it’s enough. To think I--” He suddenly coughed violently, keeling upwards in ways he hadn’t moved for days. His children immediately tried to lay him back down and give him some water.

“Don’t strain yourself, father!” Tian cautioned. Wenbo snickered.

“To have children like you all - is that not a piece of Moksha in itself?”

The eight of them teared up even more, as did the rest of the people in the room. A considerably more scarred and bruised general Ming struggled to keep her composure. Somber pops rolled around the hall from saddened cloudlings. The emperor took a deep breath.

“I would say, ‘do not weep’, but not all tears are of evil. The greatest regret of any father is to leave his children behind in a world worse off than the way it was to him. I pulled you all along for this… This ‘adventure’...” He gave a sniff and squeezed Bei’s hand as tightly as he could. “Because of me, all of you were born in this mortal world. Can… Can you ever forgive me?”

The children looked at one another, and Bei gave a sobbing grin. “Father, c’mon. There’s nothing to forgive.” Wenbo pressed his lips together.

“Adventure is, is in our blood, dad,” Tian added with as big a smile as he could muster. “We’ll all be united in Moksha anyway, right?”

“Yes… In Moksha,” mumbled the Dreamer King. “Ai…”

“You’ll see her soon, father,” Yang said soothingly as he tried to not get tears on his paper.

“... Yes… Soon.”

The king breathed his final sigh. The desperate calls of his children and people faded away into nothingness. He was pulled out of his body, floating above the disappearing crowd closing tighter in around his corpse. He soared far above, above Chuanwang, who almost seemed to look up and give him a wink. Wenbo felt the pull upwards accelerate, and in the sky far above, he saw glowing flickers of flame, licking menacingly at the nothingness surrounding them. So, these were the pyres.

However, just as he exited the upper atmosphere, he was once more tugged away - or rather, he felt as though he was being pulled in two different directions. The feeling disappeared, then returned, then disappeared again. Finally, his vision blurred over from an unfathomably bright light, and all sensations went haywire. He felt burning heat and brittle cold simultaneously, and the colourful void that filled his vision blasted his ears bloody with sound all while remaining dreadfully silent. His mind felt pulled and pushed, kneaded like dough by the experience. It went on forever, and it was over instantaneously.

A sweet familiar smell woke him up. He was staring up at a blue, feather-clouded sky, with red grass crowding the edges of his vision. The ground was soft, silken almost, and the wind was gentle to the skin. A number of grunts and crunches caught his ear - as did curious little pops on the wind. A shadow blocked out the light of the sky and Wenbo’s eyes needed time to adjust.

An unseen hand grabbed his and he heard a voice swathed in an accent that he hadn't heard in a lifetime, "Welcome home, brother."

---

---

Upon a throne there rested a withered husk, once mighty of body, but now with flesh yellowed, wrinkled, and sagging. His throne had become his sarcophagus, his palace a tomb and his house of eternity. The thunderous pounding of footsteps reverberated through the stale and dusty room, rousing the sleeper from his sepulchral reverie. But even now, the god did not seem alarmed. Never was he surprised, for he claimed to have already seen all things. So it was with something resembling expectancy in his eyes that he looked to the visitor and whispered through the tongue of the mind, ‘I foretold this day. Your efforts were admirable, A̴̢̡͠͠ḿ̡҉̵ṕ̡͝͠ḩ̵̀̕͟ì̶̶͞b̶̛̕̕҉ò̸̵̡͟l͏̕e̢̕s͏̶҉̵ , but your toil ultimately in vain.’

The visitor never stopped his advance, calmly walking past row after row of golden pillars down a great hallway leading to the dias and the throne atop it. Nothing remained of the once-magnificent rug beneath his feet save for a few fraying gilded threads.

‘Mortals are like the brazen wicks of so many candles; fickle, bound to fade away. On rare occasions one might be truly great and spread, and create a great inferno, but in the end there will be only ash all the same. They are flawed by nature, and can never grow to be greater than the sum of the might and labor that you put into the making of their wax, dousing of their wick, molding of their form...it, like all things, is bound to one day end, for not even gods have vigor enough to carry on for perpetuity.

‘And did I not warn you that when the toil became too great, as I see it now has, that you would release yourself of the burden and finally abandon your fruitless labor? I bid you look down now and witness for yourself: with the last of us departed, all heavenly and guiding voices have fallen silent; the fruits of the land rot, the soil turns barren, and the very air sickens in sullen stagnation. It is in this manner that old age befalls the world, as it already has done unto us. In this final age, darkness shall be preferred to light, and death thought more profitable than life; no one shall raise his eyes to heaven, the dead shall far outnumber the living, and finally there will remain nobody at all upon the mortal plane. Wind and weather shall persist, in a fashion and for a time, and aided by such forces ruin and disorder will claim the world. Only the remnants of temples and obelisks shall remain to tell of us and our acts, yet in due time even the stones are destined to become dust and then nothing remember. The world will return to Chaos, as if we had never existed, and none shall have been any better off for all the years that you had delayed what was inevitable.

‘That is why I counseled you to cease your rebellion; warring against Destiny is as foolish a task as one might expect to be conjured in the mind of a madman, and yet you did so and always insisted upon your sanity to the contrast of all your peers’ supposed madness. Do you accept now what I tried to teach you so long ago? By now even one so stubborn as you should have realized the truth of my words--the only purpose of life is to inward perfection, and to prepare yourself for death. Immortality is unattainable. Accept this wisdom and grow from it, and I suppose that your labors shall have then at least borne some small fruit, late as the harvest was.’

The visitor was mounting the steps to the dias, nearly upon the throned god now. He climbed, and stopped only when he loomed directly over the decrepit god. He narrowed his one eye, and asked, “And when the winds stop blowing, and we move and think no more, and the world slips back into its primordial state of Chaos, what is to come then?”

‘Perhaps there will be another tiny spark that spawns a great blaze, and for a time, there will be a new cosmos and a new world, and the wheel shall have turned once again until that fire burns out.’

Ả̶̢̬̻m̸̲͆̆p̷̰͕̠̔̚h̸̻̜̞͑̓͠ḯ̷̠̦̗̎b̷̯͓̐͐̾o̶̙͔̖̓̌l̶͍̉̎͜͠è̴̥̒ͅs̴͕̳̏̆͜ allowed the hint of a triumphant smile to etch its way onto his stoic face. “I think so, too. But you misinterpret my intentions, O Wise One; I would live through the long night to see this next dawn, for I have yet to abandon my greatest burden--that burning desire for eternity.”

A frown might have appeared on the decrepit one’s face if his muscles still had the vigor to move. Instead, he conveyed his frustration and displeasure through telepathy. ‘Do you not listen? You remain blind, even now, to the impossibility and futility of your raging against fate? There is no way to sustain yourself long enough to see that day, no guarantee that it will even com-’

And with that the final brick crumbled, and everything collapsed with a sudden violence.

“I will MAKE a way! A new world will arise, for I shall be the Architect of its making, even if I must labor until the ages of ages and expend every last ounce of my strength...and of yours.”

He raised a massive fist and struck down the God of Gods with a single mighty blow to the head. From the corpse of his oldest friend he drained every last ounce of power and might, all that could sustain him, until withered flesh became as paper and then as dust, and bones no more than sand. And then he collapsed, somehow wearier for it. In the days to come, he would do the same to each and every one of his fellows, and to what remained of the dying world’s mortal life. That grim task brought to a close, he found himself truly alone, sitting upon his former master’s stone throne.

He felt weak even after all of that. But his willpower was stronger than it had ever been; it was stronger than the foundations of the earth, than words could describe, than the imagination could even grasp.

The true work hadn’t even begun.

---

The Architect wallowed in a fevered state, even if he masked it with smoke and projections of majesty and power. The great, bulbous, all-devouring eye about the center of his head was of course an illusion, for no eye could truly see all things and stare directly at a dozen gods at once. First it had been his skin; he had taken on a mummified look. His stone throne and palace, those that had been his former master’s, had been the only tangible relics of the past that he had brought to this new world before its foundation. He had done so out of practical reasons, in truth. The palace, buried deep within a moon, had been a suitable vessel for traversing the void of space, and time and energy had of course been of the essence. He hardly could have afforded to fashion his own vessel even if doing so might have freed him from carrying the burdens of the past.

And what burdens they had been! It was to his horror that his flesh had started to take on the dessicated and mummified look of his dead master; for a long time he had refused to so much as look upon the stone throne for fear that he would grow like the one who had sat on it previously. So he always toiled, confident that labor would spare him the fate of growing so decrepit, but instead the endless burdens of erecting the Seals around his chosen place and carving out an entire universe from nothingness had left him even more broken. Muscles tore, and his body and strength had begun failing.

Dismayed but not dissuaded, he had compensated for the sickly constitution by relying more and more upon the power of his mind and magical might. The atrophy continued, and eventually even the ligaments and tendons below fell off or else rotted away.

Now his bones were ancient, yellowed, and cracked; exposed to the world save for a thin layer of slime and the vaporous illusions that he wove around himself and wore like clothes. The slightest movement required a telekinetic heave, and that was the true reason why he had collapsed upon his throne and not moved since he’d sown the seeds for this world.

Fortunately, none of the seeds that were to become caretakers seemed to have perceived his weakness. He thought back to the one with a head of fire; her challenging of his might had been terrifying, for he knew all too well that even the greatest of gods could be slain, but it seemed that through stifling her first acts of rebellion, any thoughts of rebellion that the others harbored had been slain in their infancy.

So he had waited in a half-delirious state while they had set themselves upon the field he’d built. They furrowed it and helped the other seeds to grow for generation upon generation and his plan had come to fruition. It was slow but sure by the notions of mortals and gods, but to his warped sense of reality, it had been hardly an instant before he could sense that the time grew near.

Roused by the scent, he shook himself out of the trance that he’d lapsed into. Fully lucid once more, the Architect ordered his palace to move, and so it began to journey its way through the Celestial Spheres and descend ever closer and closer to Galbar.

Before the construction of the city.

---

Before departing the Kick, Karamir had decided to pay his respects to an old friend…

And so he found himself flying into the mists of the Feasting Forest. Although he was above the treeline, the fog made navigation difficult, and he soon realized this was an utterly stupid idea. He had no reliable way of finding the destination he sought, so he had instead resolved to carry on. Eventually he would fly all the way through the Forest, and out the other end. Besides, he could always find some other way to contact…

A large shape came into view, mostly obscured by the fog, and just barely visible. His eyes widened, and he willed the ship to a sudden halt. “Shit…” he gasped, his hands shaking somewhat as he pulled them from the wheel.

It was the Official Pagoda, he had realized. And the bow of his ship had been mere inches away from colliding with it. A startled- presumably- Lanternhead on the balcony made what might have been eye contact, then ‘back up’ motions with its hands. Awkwardly, he placed his hands back on the wheel, and slowly began to reverse the large metal vessel.

Backpedaling awkwardly through the cloud bank seemed to shove a clear gash into the fog, revealing gardens that were still familiar after their endless remodelling. Something like a swarm of fruit flies was clustering around the winged ship’s hull, carrying dots of light, sounding like a metallic beehive.

Chopstick Eyes stood on a motionless kite, her fingertips on her temples, her eyes wide enough to provide for an entire sushi festival.

Karamir released his grip on the wheel, looked toward her, and then slowly waved. “Hello?” he greeted her in a tentative voice, before his gaze briefly snapped to the building he had almost collided with. “Um… sorry about that. The fog makes it hard to see.”

The goddess exhaled a very large breath. Her fingers made pinched gestures. “Have you considered...” Then pointed up. “Flying above the cloud?”

“That would probably be safer,” Karamir acknowledged, and then bowed his head slightly. “Again, I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. You could’ve made a real dent in… whatever that thing is. Big metal bird? So long as you don’t come around from the other side, that’s where the generator kites...” She shrugged a big ‘oh well’, and all was forgiven. “Meet you on the top floor! You can have the proper view.”

Again Karamir gripped the wheel, and again the ship moved, although this time instead of going forward or backward, it rose.

Once the fog was cleared, the staggering height of the Abacadarium made itself known. It was as if all the landmarks that should have occupied this region had been conglomerated into one, leaving the forest barren of navigational aid elsewhere, and comically well-marked in this one spot. It was busier than Karamir remembered, with swarms of incoming and outgoing Spitfires dancing around, and a whole new array of big kites somewhere to the left. After a few seconds, Chopstick clambered up onto the viewing gallery, huffing. “...Stairs. Damn, Karamir! You’re doing well for yourself! Look at this thing!” She made big gestures to the vehicle. “That thing’s a- Hatchling transistor? How do you say it. A chick magnet!”

Karamir had no idea what a magnet was, so he simply shrugged in response. “I think it’s called a ship,” he said. “I haven’t given it an actual name yet. I didn’t build it alone, though - Abanoc helped me.”

Choppy started to bubble some speech and stalled halfway. “...Abanoc helped you? Not Shengshi? Abanoc?” Her sticks focused. “It is less fancy than Shengshi’s. More sporty. Abanoc, huh… East of here?”

Karamir nodded. “There’s a platform with a book on top of it. That leads to his sphere.” Chopstick tapped her scarred lips with a finger.

“That… checks out. I hadn’t been… Hm.” She waved a dangly arm and a pumpkin-headed robe turned to her. “Gourdface, compile everything we have about that one place that sees the stars. As for you-” She waved her other arms. “This thing is, very clearly, the Humungus Karamirific Aero-Megambulator.”

“The Megambulator… that works,” Karamir said with a smile. He stepped away from the wheel, and flew over to the balcony on which Chopstick Eyes stood, landing next to her, or maybe crashing into her. It was hard to tell given how soon he was hugged.

“Karamir! Long time. You smell… Bigger. You have a big smell.” And like Abanoc. She filed that scent away in her messy dorm room floor of a brain, and didn’t try to categorise the others. Rain, sea, wet dog, the unnamable sensation of being whole but for one thing… the usual travel smells.

Karamir lightly hugged her back. “Well… I did recently become a demi-god...” he revealed.

Chopstick stared, cocked her head slightly. “Is that like a demi-glace?”

Karamir blinked in confusion. “Uh… I don’t think so? It means… that I’m a lesser god, basically. I can create things, but I’m not as powerful as the original ones. I need to claim Kalmar’s sphere if I am to become a full god.”

“Ah, an heir. Got it. That sounds like some magical, heavenly bullspit.” She tapped the side of her head and thought herself awfully clever for making the connection. “Can’t much help ya, but if anyone tries to tax the bequest, leave them to me. I’m sure I can find some loopholes on the estate.”

“Well… thank you for offering,” Karamir said, unsure of how anyone could tax anything in this context. “So um… you are aware that Kalmar is dead?”

A shrug. “I am now, I guess. I dunno, I never met the guy. The clone told me a bit about him.” She softened. “I hope it wasn’t bad, or anything. He sounded like a really nice dude.”

Karamir nodded solemnly. “It was bad,” he said grimly. “But it was also what he chose. Do you remember that incident not too long ago? Where all those meteors began to fall from the sky? Kalmar put a stop to that. He fought the creature responsible for it, and it wounded him. In the end, he decided to let himself die so he could pass his godhood onto me.”

Chopstick held a knuckle under her chin for a fair while. “...I think I owe you. As his heir. The shit that came here, the rot… It’s hard to see through the clouds, but there’s still a meteor on yon hill that I had to bat off, and the lamps are still hunting monsters in the south. It was fun, but I guess I didn’t take the worst of it. Haha...” she trailed off.

“A lot of people suffered,” Karamir said. “I can tell you the full story, if you have time.”

“I love stories! Let’s sit somewhere nice, I want to see your metal bird. Gourdy! Bring pillows and send for Streetbulb.” Chopstick clapped her hands, and the gourd-faced lanternhead, who had only just finished making it up the stairs, paused for a second, then slowly turned and went back down.

---

The ‘Megambulator’ was unfurnished, so Karamir more or less chose a room at random, where they sat on the large, glossy silk pillow lugged out with some difficulty by ‘Gourdy.’ Streetbulb, a frail-looking thing with a shaded glass orb for a head, stood in the corner with an easel. Karamir looked somewhat uncomfortable as he began to retell the familiar story.

He began with the story of Orvus, and how the God of Desolation had created two daughters: Arya and Laurien. Laurien had fallen in love with a woman named Silver, but Silver was a fragment of the Goddess Li’Kalla, and Orvus had needed to kill her in order to see Li’Kalla restored. In retaliation, Laurien tried to kill Orvus.

But her actions awoke a creature within Orvus, named Abraxus, who took Orvus prisoner. Instead of warning anyone about this new threat, and afraid that she would be discovered, Laurien took half her people and fled to the Dragon’s Foot, abandoning Arya and all the rest. Choppy perked up at the name, putting threads between threads in the ever half-finished tapestry of her memory. Laurien settled in the desert, and somehow, they built a city.

A city named Laurienna, thought Chopstick, with more starry people, and burning hair.

“Ten years later, I came across that city - it was shortly after I left you, actually. Laurien welcomed me in, but there were signs that not everything was right; I was just too naive to see them. Eventually I learned that there was some sort of power struggle there: the people were oppressed, and they kept rising up in an attempt to overthrow their leaders. People died on both sides every time they tried.”

Streetbulb’s soft, distant scratchings at his easel paused, and he turned a new page.

“I thought this was unnecessary, so I asked if there was another way to stop it. Laurien insisted there was no other way, but I doubted that. I suggested going to Abanoc - he sees everything, so he might know something that she didn’t, and that might have a solution. But Laurien was afraid that in going to him, I would discover what had happened with Orvus and Abraxus… so she tried to have me killed.”

He lifted his shirt to reveal the scar where he had been stabbed. “They almost succeeded. But when I refused to die, Laurien instead chose to decay my soul.”

“Oh jeez,” Chopstick knew what kind of thing left god-scars by now, or special-mortal-scars. “That got kind of intense fast.”

”I managed to escape, and my cloak carried me to safety… to the Eye of Desolation, where Arya lived, and where Kalmar’s Avatar - the one who made the cloak - had been visiting.”

Chopstick wondered if Penelope was still there. It didn’t sound like a nice place for her.

“While I was unconscious, the meteors began to fall. Abraxus was trying to destroy the world. Kalmar went to stop it. He fought Abraxus off, then freed Orvus and put a stop to it, only for Abraxus to return and catch him off guard. Arae and Ashalla intervened, but it was too late - he was already wounded. Orvus gave up his divinity to weaken Abraxus, and Ashalla killed it.”

“Meanwhile, I had awoken from my injuries - Shengshi had healed me, at some point. But I had lost much of my memory, and my personality was… different. Arya was trying to help me remember things, but we were interrupted. A creature named Vrog came to the island, and he brought an army of monsters. He threatened Arya to get information, fought her, cursed her, and nearly killed her.”

Both Gourdface and Streetbulb turned their heads very slightly to Chopstick, who did not return their looks, nor move any other muscle that mattered. Her cheek twitched.

“But Abanoc intervened, and convinced Vrog to leave - but he still left his beasts behind, who went on to kill many of Arya’s people. Abanoc then fixed my soul and left. Not too long after, Kalmar was brought to me… wounded and dying. Instead of finding some way to save himself, he decided to allow himself to die, by passing his godhood onto me.”

Karamir shrugged wearily. “And that’s how it happened,” he concluded.

Chopstick’s fingertips had gone to her forehead, and she was resting her oversized head against them, feeling heavy in the pillow. She pulled out one of her sticks and threw it at Streetbulb. It pinned itself to his robe, and she could still see a little from it, looking at sketches on his easel.

The scenes of Karamir’s story were preserved as he had told them, last touches still falling onto paper like leaves in the autumn. Karamir strode through the world in a string of his familiar poses, patient and strong and ever watching a world he did not fully know, falling and thrown into strange cities and distant islands. They were cities drawn by a creature who had never seen cities, and people drawn by a being who had known a very different people. Everything was somehow lantern-ish, from the loosely candle-like visage of Arya and Laurien to the muted rays of the sun, and the texture of skin and god-might and lines of motion and sound was drawn like folds of fabric flying about in the wind. Laurienna resembled a collection of very small Abacadariums. The gods all looked rather much like Karamir or Chopstick or both, except for Vrog, who was depicted perfectly. Karamir’s eyes narrowed. Chopstick still did not look up.

“...Is Arya still… in the Eye of Desolation? Do you think she’ll be alright?”

The mention of Arya brought his attention back. “She is,” he nodded. “But I’m sure she’ll contact me if anything goes wrong, and we have a way to recognize each other if Laurien tries to impersonate either of us again. Though… I do admit I am still worried.”

Chopstick tapped her foot on the floor. “...Yeah. Arya’s sister, she’s hard to tell apart from people? How do you do it?” Another question bubbled. “How do you think she can reach you? I’d… like to know.”

“Well, the knife you gave Kalmar - he passed it on to me. If I decide to teleport it to Arya, and it doesn’t show up in her hand, then I know the one I’m talking to is an imposter,” Karamir explained. “I can contact the real one through prayer, since we’re both demi-gods. It’s… not ideal, but I have a plan that might bring us both together.”

Chopstick pushed a very difficult smile through closed lips. “Mmm! Very not ideal. Mm.” Could gods pray? Maybe she could recognise Arya by smell. Maybe she needed to go travelling east as soon as possible. “Is the plan a secret plan?”

He shook his head. “Not particularly. I did some thinking, and I realized there was a pretty big problem with this world: all the people, they’re spread too far apart. They have all these different ideas and concepts. If I get them in one place, they can share those ideas with each other, and they can work to protect each other. So, I’m going to build a city. Not like Laurienna, or that place Li’Kalla’s followers built - I’m not going to make the same mistakes they did. I’ll do better, and then I’ll bring people to live there.”

This was an excellent idea! Chopstick forgot the bulk of her concerns immediately.

“Oh wow! Do you think you have a location for them yet? Make it big! Then we get you and Arya and V- and all the other cool interesting people all in one place and have a party. And I can finally meet all these interesting people!” It would do her clone some good to sit still here and mind the office for once, too. Karamir seemed like a responsible guy, he could probably pull it off, like he did the moving sky house. “Does Arya know?”

“She knows,” Karamir said, before his expression became troubled. “Although… she doesn’t know if she wants to go, yet. She’s worried some of her people won’t want to leave the Eye, and if she leaves them behind they won’t have any protection. I can only hope that I can convince all of them… or that she decides to go anyway, though…” his voice trailed off.

Chopstick waved a hand. “She’s not their babysitter, is she? If a few of ‘em don’t wanna come, they can handle themselves. And if they can’t handle themselves, I can put them on a private security contract. Arya sounds like she’s doing pretty well for herself, she can afford it.” Shrug shrug. “She should at least visit, give the place a look once you’ve done it up, make up her mind better. Phase one, huh?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m sure she’ll visit, at least. I hope. You’re welcome to come by too, after it’s been built.”

A nod. “I will, if I can… get the paperwork. You’ll have to tell me where unless you want to take me blindfolded, though.”

“On the plains of Kalgrun, where the largest river spills into the sea,” Karamir answered, and Choppy thought, Shengshi!. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

“Or don’t, I’ll puzzle it out,” said Chopstick, poking her tongue out. “Does this place have a kitchen? The boat.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t even have furniture,” he admitted.

“I’ll fix that. You’ll be transporting mortals soon, they’ll need to eat,” said Chopstick, putting on the chef’s hat that emerged from her pocket, its puffy white peak scraping the ceiling.

And she did.

---

---

It was early in the afternoon when the vessel arrived.

It soared through the sky, its sleek metal hull shining brightly in the tropical sun. Some would be reminded of Shengshi’s ship; it had the same core structure, though it had wings, and lacked buildings at the top.

It passed over the village, to the fear or wonder of its inhabitants, before landing in a large clearing just on the outskirts.

It did not take long before Arya, wearing her large sun hat, descended upon the scene with a giddy smile on her face. She was amazed by the flying fortress, it reminded her so much of Ohannekeloi’s and Shengshi’s but was neither of them all the same. She could only imagine who it was, but she had a sneaking suspicion. She approached with little caution, and before long was able to see the figure behind the wheel. Karamir.

She quickened her pace, and with outstretched arms, she flew in to give him a hug. Karamir’s arms wrapped around her as he returned the gesture. “I hope I wasn’t gone too long,” he whispered into her ear. She pulled away and looked at him for a moment before exaggerating, ”Oh Karamir! How I’ve missed you so!” she brought her hand up to her forehead and pretended to feign distress before bursting out laughing.

As she laughed, a knife appeared in her other hand, before vanishing just as quickly, and a look of relief crossed Karamir’s face. “Well, I certainly missed you,” he said, stepping forward to embrace her once again.

She embraced him back, growing quiet. After a moment she spoke. Her voice soft and peaceful. ”How have you been?”

“I’ve been great,”Karamir said. “How have things been here?”

She once again pulled away and smiled up at Karamir. ”Peaceful.” she started, ”I’ve begun to mend fences with the Mir, but I know in their hearts just how saddened they still are. The rest of the Nebulites… They want to learn how to fight, how to protect with more than just sticks and spears. Your mana has helped, and for that I am thankful.” she finished, and grabbed his hands with hers. ”You did not leave here with this.” she mused, looking around the deck.

It was then that she noticed they were not the only two on the deck. A dark-haired Vallamir man clad in furs was ascending the stairs up to the helm, a spear in his hand and a sling at his belt.

Karamir nodded. “I spoke to Abanoc, and he taught me how to make this. Among other things. Chopstick Eyes wanted to call it the ‘Karamirific Megambulator’, or something like that.” Then the man had finished his ascent, and was standing nearby. “This is Karlyn,” Karamir introduced the stranger, who gave Arya a respectful salute.

Arya awkwardly saluted back at Karlyn. ”Nice to meet you.” she said with a friendly smile. She then looked back at Karamir and rose an eyebrow. ”So it was Abanoc, and here I thought you drew inspiration from uh… Ohannekeloi!”

Karamir shook his head. “I’ve never encountered Ohannakeloi, but I know quite a few gods made structures like this,” he said, before deciding to change the subject. “It’s not the only thing I built. The settlement… it’s done.”

Her eyes went wide. ”Truly? That’s… That’s wonderful Karamir!” she said excitedly.

Nearby, Karlyn nodded. “Yes. I walked the streets myself, and I have to say, it’s quite possibly the most eerie place I’ve ever seen. It’s so empty,” he said with a frown, before twisting it into a smirk. “Which is why we ought to get some people there before the wolves move in instead.”

”Then now comes the hard part.” she sighed. ”Who will go, and who will stay? It seems, we are about to find out.” she mused.

Karamir nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Have you already spoken to anyone about this?”

"Only a vague mention, here and there. I did not want to say more, for fear something would delay you." she said softly. "I'm sure most will be receptive, we'll just have to see."

Karamir placed a hand on Arya’s shoulder and gently squeezed. “Let’s go, then,” he said, before levitating off the ship and onto the ground, while Karlyn descended the stairs and approached the ladder.

She watched for a moment, hesitant but eventually followed after Karamir. Heart weighing heavy with anticipation.

---

The denizens of the Eye were assembled in the village center later that evening, once they had finished their work in the fields as well as other activities. The Vallamir had been astonished to see one of their race who was a stranger to them, dressed in the pelts of an animal from another continent, and rumours had already begun to spread about his presence here.

“I understand I haven’t known you all very long,” Karamir began, addressing them from atop a roof, “but I have an announcement to make. I know you’ve heard rumours, and it’s time to put them to rest.”

“I told you all of the existence of mana, and then I left without explanation. While I was away, I consulted Abanoc, the God of Recording, who gave me new knowledge. Using that and my own judgement, I journeyed to the north, to my homeland of Kalgrun. There, with the aid of Ashalla the Ocean Goddess, she and I built a settlement far larger than this one. It has strong walls to keep out foes, powerful guardians to help protect it, and vast lands to explore and grow food in. There is enough space for all of you, and more.”

He pulled raw mana from the air, condensing it so that all could see, and then shaped it into a golden image of what he had built - with its walls and its tower and its temple, and a building Arya might find vaguely familiar overlooking it all. After a few moments passed he carefully dispersed it.

“I can offer a place for all of you there, if you want it. Not only will you be protected, but you will meet new people - not just Vallamir, but the rest of the peaceful races too - who you can build a community with, exchange knowledge and ideas, and work to support each other in times of need. I know it’s a lot to ask, for you to leave what you’ve built here behind, but your children and your children’s children will be better off for it.”

“So…” he concluded, allowing his words to sink in, “who is in favour?”

Arya gave him a side glance and stepped forward. "What Karamir means to say, is that no one needs to make a decision right now. Take your time this day to think it over and the day after next, those that want to leave, will go. I am in favor of this decision and I will be accompanying Karamir there as well. This does not mean I will be abandoning Nebulan, however. I will have to ensure this place is protected, for those that want to stay." she said, stepping back. The crowd immediately began to talk and questions were answered to the best of their ability. All in all the sun began to set when the last Nebulites strolled away. Many seemed interested in going from what they could gather, but some did it show any interest at all. They would have to see who joined them.

Once it was over, Karamir turned to face Arya, appearing somewhat dejected. “You were right,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t sway all of them.”

She smiled softly. "It's okay. This place… It's where they were born. Some never want to leave their homes to go out into the unknown, but those that do, risk everything for a chance at something new. Something better. Do not be sad, be happy that you tried. Some will go, I know it." she said.

Karamir returned the smile, and took her hands in his own.

---

The next day Arya ventured to the home of her father, leaving Karamir to his own devices on his ship. So far, all the Mir had gathered their belongings, and had chosen to leave Nebulan. She knew they would not be the only ones, but first, she needed to see what her family was planning. Orvus had built this place, most of it, from his bare hands ages ago and it would not surprise her in any way if he wanted to remain behind. But she needed to see what he would say, anyways.

She walked up the steps of the old porch, and without knocking, opened the door. She was greeted by Ellowyn, now a toddler, who came running up giggling as children do when they are in a good mood that was. She smiled and picked up the small Nebulite child, a feeling of warm entering her chest as the small girl cooed softly. She walked into the dining room a moment later, to see the others sitting about. Rowan, Orvus, Ava, Lily and Ciellion sat around the dining table, while Doron, Phoset and Andromeda sat on the floor, mingling with themselves. All of them were in their human forms, save the children.

She was happy with Phoset and Andromeda’s progress, they had come a long way from when they first arrived, scared out of their minds. They still displayed some worrying personality issues, but that was to be expected as well. They would still not tell anyone what they had seen at her sister’s hands, but perhaps one day.

She gave Ellowyn to Ava with a smile, who immediately squirmed her way to the floor and ran off to the other children. Rowan was the first to speak to her as she sat down. ”Arya, welcome dear, can I get you anything?”

”No, but thank you.” she said kindly, offering a smile. Rowan nodded as silence came over the table, with only the occasional whispers of the children being heard.

She sighed and looked at Orvus. ”I didn’t say anything about what Karamir planned, because I did not know when he would return, or if he would do it.” she waited for a response, but when none came except stares, she continued. ”So, I know it’s a lot to ask suddenly, but… Will you join us?”

Ava and Lily shared looks, and Ciellon stared at the table. Only Rowan offered a small smile. Then Orvus spoke. ”We’ve been discussing what to do since last night, my dear. I believe we’ve all come to the same understanding. The same conclusion, I might add.” he paused. ”We will go.” he said at last.

Arya sat a little straighter as she blinked. She had not been expecting it to be that easy. ”I… You will?”

”Yes. This place, it is a home, our home. Birthplace of the Nebulite people, my safe heaven for eons, but it is no longer so safe as it once was. It is only a matter of time before a new threat comes, and even you, cannot be in two places at once, unless you create an Avatar that is. But what’s to say, if Laurien returns and you are not here? I fear for my family, for my people Arya. There is safety in numbers, my dear, and if what Karamir has promised is true, we will be much safer there.” he looked to the children. ”I do not know what I would do, what I would become, if something happened to them.” he said, voice soft. Rowan put a hand on his, and he looked to his wife and smiled before looking back at Arya again.

”Besides, it might be nice to see another part of the world. I was banned from Kalgrun, you know, but I think my new existence will allow me to fit in more naturally and I promised an old friend that I wouldn’t sit around here forever.” he said with a chuckle.

Arya couldn’t help but smile as she looked to the twins. ”Are you sure?” she asked.

Lily shrugged as Ava nodded. Lily then said, “Well you know, like what dad said, change of scenery and all that.”

“I think it will be wonderful, an entire new world practically!” Ava said excitedly, before squeezing Ciellon’s hand. He looked up with a small smile before looking at Arya with determination in his eyes.
”I know this might sound silly…” Rowan began, ”But as long as we are all together… That’s home enough for me.” she said with a beaming smile.

Arya clasped her hands together over her heart and her heart was full.

---

In the end, what remained of the Nebulite people upon Nebulan, decided to embark upon the journey to Kalgrun. Only a few dozen would stay behind. Their reasons ranged from fear of the unknown, to being unable to leave behind the homes they built. They would stand the test of time, or they would falter and fail. They were gifted with everything Nebulan had to offer, or what would remain behind.

Upon the day of departure, Arya stood with Orvus on the deck, overlooking the Marble Star and the homes he had built so long ago. He did not shed a tear, nor did he say a word, but after a long moment of thought, he patted Arya on the shoulder. A look of pride in his eyes, and he made his way off. It left her feeling good, the problems they faced in the past now almost a distant memory.

Karamir nudged his way through the crowded deck, sparing only a moment to glance out toward a colossal black griffin in the distance. He had ordered Shynir to follow him here, and to only reveal herself on the day after his announcement. His ship was not large enough to carry all the Nebulites; only a few hundred at a time. Thus, multiple trips were needed, which meant those who remained behind would need a protector.

Shynir had not been happy about it. She possessed no love for Orvus or his creations. Yet she had been created by Kalmar, Kalmar and Orvus had reconciled, and Kalmar’s heir had made the request, so she grudgingly obeyed. Of all Karamir’s animalistic siblings, only Gorm had been receptive toward the idea, but Karamir believed the other two would come around.

He climbed the stairs up to the helm, and took his place at the wheel, with Karlyn standing nonchalantly by his side. They exchanged a knowing look - Karlyn had, after all, helped him come up with the speech he used to convince the Nebulite people.

Once more Karamir’s eyes scanned across the deck, finding Arya’s, and then he beckoned for her to come join him.

She strolled over with curious eyes, and came to a stop before him. ”Yesss?” she said with a smirk.

Karamir returned the smirk and pulled her in for a short, light kiss. “Is everyone ready to set out?” he asked as he pulled away.

She nodded with a slight giggle. "All who are aboard are ready to embark this round."

“Good,” he said, and then turned to address those still on deck. “We’re going to depart now. I’ve modified this ship so that no matter what speed or angle we’re travelling at, you’ll always keep your footing, even if we’re upside down.”

“You’ll still fall if you jump over the railing though, so don’t do that,” Karlyn added cheerfully. Arya heard Myra laugh from somewhere on deck.

And on that note, Karamir gripped the wheel, and the ship slowly began to rise up into the air. Once it was above the treeline, he turned it northward, toward Kalgrun. And then suddenly it jolted forward, the ground beneath them becoming a blur. Despite the intense speed, those on deck would barely feel any momentum at all.

---

They had passed ocean, tropics, temperate forest, and grassy fields. It was the first time Arya had been to Kalgrun, ever since she first departed it with Arryn, all those years ago. Arryn himself was perched on the rail, staring at the landscape as it passed by. The familiar sights had raised his spirits greatly.

Scars from the Catacylsm and the Gate Lord’s attack still remained, but had mostly healed - not that the mortals onboard would have been able to notice anyway, given how fast they were travelling. The vessel’s flight had received mixed reactions - some were excited, while others were terrified, or had been shocked into a numb sort of silence.

Karlyn spent most of his time walking the deck and engaging with the latter two, assuring them that he was just an ordinary mortal like them, and had made this trip before. At some point Myra had decided to follow him, to hope that the presence of a familiar face would make Karlyn’s words more reassuring.

After nearly two days of travel, Karamir’s vessel began to slow down, before eventually coming to a halt. Karamir turned the wheel, pointing the vessel westward.

“If you look to the right, you’ll see our destination,” Karamir said with a smile.

Those on deck quickly made their way to the right hand side of the ship. There, far off in the distance and on the other side of a vast river, was the city he had spoken of. It was surrounded by a tall stone wall, and within that wall were hundreds of buildings - the most prominent of which were a massive stone tower, a temple in the sea, and a large white palace overlooking it all from atop the city’s largest and only hill.

There were many exciting states and long sights of exasperation. Arya herself stared awed at the sight, along with the rest of her immediate kin. She floated over to Karamir and with glee in her voice said, "It's beautiful Karamir. It's hard to believe that you were able to build something in such a small amount of time!"

“Ashalla did most of the work,” Karamir admitted, his cheeks reddening slightly. “And the knowledge Abanoc gave me helped too. But I was the one who planned the layout. I built the wall and the three largest buildings. The first two took a few hours, but that one,” he pointed to the palace atop the hill, and his voice took up a note of pride, “took much longer. I had to gather the right materials together and I wanted it to be perfect.”

Her brow raised slightly before she followed his gaze. "What for?" she asked.

“For you,” he answered, before his cheeks reddened further.

She looked back at him with wide eyes. "You didn't…" she started, her expression changing to that of joy. "You didn't!" she laughed, playfully pushing him. "You built that palace for me?" she gushed, whispering slightly.

“I-I did,” he stammered. “I thought you’d like it.”

She took one of his hands within both of hers and said, "I do, Karamir. It is not often I am given gifts. But before I can really say anymore, I have to see it up close." she said smiling.

Karamir blinked, then seemed to snap out of his nervousness. “Of course. I didn’t build it just so we can stare at it from afar.”

And with those words, he resumed his place at the wheel, and the ship began its approach toward their new home.