---

Fìrinn’s mantle traced the various etchings and carvings of the Tairseach, gazing intently at its own reflection within, and a flicker of light across its almost-face gave the distinct impression of a smile. Completion from without and within; the harmony of Truth through Reflection. Such musings were not uncommon for a god of understanding and context, but few things were as pleasing to Fìrinn as endless introspection before the great Anchor and the only reflection so powerful as to encompass the divine that currently existed. There was a sense of calmness and completion that filled Fìrinn while it gazed into the depths of its mirror-self that none of the chaos of reality could offer, and while it was tempting to simply lose itself in that sense of serenity there was still much of reality to align with deepest Truth.

Chiefly among the God of Truth’s priorities was reaching an accord with its divine brethren whose domains it had, or eventually would, trespass upon. It would need to make accords with the Gods of the Land and Sea, whose space it had borrowed for this most holy Anchor. It would need to make an accord with the Lord of the Afterlife, for those souls whose reflections would be unmoored from reality. It would need to make sure it had the blessings of Sun and Moon, that the Tairseach’s light would never dim--and though all of these things were necessary for it and its twin, it could not trust Àicheil to entreat the others. They would not yet understand until it had learned to provide its own context.

So it fell to Fìrinn to beseech the Lord of the Deep, upon whose domain the Anchor rested. Fìrinn followed the threads from the Tairseach down into the deep, descending and descending, until it was unsure of where to go next. It knew not the purveyor of this demesne’s name, but the word most venerated through the collective unconscious was simple:

“Klaarungraxus.”

There was an impenetrable silence that descended upon the oceans around Fìrinn at the utterance of those most elderly of syllables. Several deafening moments later and the undersea world began to shake. The surface above churned with activity while massive riptides pulled something in Fìrinn’s direction. Out in the blackness of that deep void, visible to the divine senses of the God of Truths, floated the immense shadow of the Old Growth Below. A return to Fìrinn’s perceived challenge came soon, the thundering declaration roaring like a clarion through the deep.

”What unknown entity is this that assails Our realm?” bellowed the massive cephalopodal god, ”What does it want so deep below? Challenge is met, little godling, and we will not be deflected from our fury.”

Fìrinn’s first reaction to the perception of its announcement as a challenge was one of shock. Was it also the nature of divinity to lack the means by which intent could be fundamentally understood? Was it perhaps that mortalkind lacked these traits by virtue of their creators’ lack of intrinsic understanding? For a twin deity whose other half was simply able to convey intent and understanding by virtue of existence, it was unsettling to learn that they were the exception and not the rule. Later, when this was over, Fìrinn would have much to contemplate on the nature of godhood and the apparent limitations it entailed.
”I am Fìrinn. I am the God of Truth, and I have travelled to your depths to seek your permission and to further my own understanding of the divine. No challenge was meant.” came the reply, rippling through the deep in waves of light and sound. Much of the light was swallowed up by the inky blackness that heralded Klaar’s domain, but the intent that they conveyed was left behind--perhaps that would be enough to stay the apparent fury of the depths.

Ironically, and perhaps most fitting for his character, the words of Fìrinn rapidly diffused the situation. Klaar took in the words and intentions put out by Fìrinn with a trust born from a more recent interaction with a very different god from this one. Nevertheless, what was at first a response to a potential foe was replaced with curiosity.

”Benevolent tidings, soft currents, sensations most pleasing. You have said my name so you must know me. This pleases they who are we. Gods must be considered before being trusted, Lord of Truths; that is a truth for thee. Through that I offer further understanding.”

”Your name is known to me as a Truth. It is the Truth of the Vrool, the means by which their perception influences their reality. It is this Truth that they choose to draw through the Tairseach. It is this Truth that permeates the Gréasán Treòir.” Fìrinn replied with an explanation simply because it was in its nature to do so--and the still-young God of Truth had no metric by which to measure the degree to which the other deities would tolerate its boundless capacity for introspection. Klaar would prove a useful benchmark for the future, if the way the current interaction was going was anything to judge by.

”Though your trust would please me,” Fìrinn began, its mantle beginning to unweave itself into the symbol of the Twin Gods, ”it is not a necessary function of my current presence here. My purpose is threefold, as is my aspect: I desire to understand the Truth of the divine; to align reality with the Truth of mortalkind; to pay due obeisance for a request I must make of you. I fear that I have trespassed by cleaving from the Lifeblood an island that holds something of great importance--something that rests atop the cusp of your demesne. I come to ask your permission that it may reside where it does, and perhaps in time that you may protect it should trust emerge from this interaction.”

The monumental column of divine flesh that was Klaarungraxus seemed to sink inwards on itself as the deep concepts shared between the two inhuman gods found purchase among the other. Numerous minds danced and twisted among each other, twisting and testing the thoughts shared between the pair before chewing them up and regurgitating them back. Klaarungraxus was fascinated.

”Born of purposes three, worker of wills and willer of works; I understand thee. But, ironic, for thou hath not understood me.” Klaar seemed to roll on himself, twisting inwards and closing the distance between the two deities with surprising efficacy despite his seemingly ponderous bulk. ”The Gods above seek lands for their own making; I have rock to spare. All creation begets destruction which begets creation in turn. To take of my salt and rock and water, I do not mind; to deny the ocean such impartiality, that is where wrathful riptides tear. The land will be as sea once more, given time; let it be so, and I shall turn blind eyes to your boulder from below.”

Fìrinn’s form, though utterly dwarfed in proportions, exuded an equally ponderous weight as though reflecting the divine nature of the god approaching it. The Triquetra that its mantle had become thrummed with this weight, gentle threads of ocean-dark energy climbing its extreme luminance like the seemingly infinite tentacles of Klaar. The same effulgence registered across the God of Truth’s almost-face, reflecting both internally and externally.

”Truth exists in the realm of the personal and the subjective. Your Truth is not mine; my Truth is not yours. Reality must needs be aligned with the greater Truth, and the greatest Truth of all is that of harmony. There is a great wisdom in the utterances of your form, but not only this great demesne must remain eternal. The ocean may reclaim my isle in given time, as is fundamental to your Truth and now to mine--but the Tairseach upon it stands eternal. It is the gateway through which Dreaming Truths may manifest upon this world; it is the anchor to which the Gréasán Treòir is bound. Without it, mortalkind could not reflect or be reflected.”

Fìrinn’s explanation was not one of misunderstanding or pointless conjecture, but one of explaining fundamental Truth--the Truth of Fìrinn. As the almost-words left its form the ocean around it would vibrate with the writhing and coiling tendrils of intent that only a reflection of Klaarungraxus could make. Fìrinn did not imitate Deepspeak, for it could not do such a thing, but it could reflect those sounds whose utterances were known to it through the Truth of the Vrool and of Ku. It was meant as a deferential gesture, to bridge the gap between their Truths, and to explain precisely what it was to be Fìrinn in the context of Klaar.

”The Tairseach must be preserved, just as Vo must. In this I hope we may find harmony.”

Klaarungraxus, for all of his failings, seemed intent to give the reflection-god its due; eyes peered unblinkingly and tentacles flicked and danced at the edges of perception to understand every minute detail. By all accounts, the great kraken seemed to thoroughly and completely understand. There was something about Fìrinn that spoke to the mind of Klaar, a similarity in purpose and form of thought that the vast entity could empathize with. The addition of a note about mortals and the nature of the Tairsearch seemed to have a particularly evocative effect on the deep divine as well, as if gears and cogs were turning upon themselves deep within his numerous minds. In addition, the due deference presented to him seemed to placate his more intense moods to placidity.

”Preserved it shall be, by sky and light or depth and weight soon enough; this I swear by all my minds. I see common purpose in the nature of things; though your nature is one of distant thought, they are one in the same as the ocean that flows and the roots that grow. The Tairseach, this anchor of minds and thoughts, shall remain where it was placed so long as the oceans are deep.”

In that moment Klaar began to change, his form turning from something more organic to a far more eclectic body. As he took on his form as one of the prime nature gods of Galbar, the creature of stone, of growth, of smoke, and of water rumbled. Though it was not a threat, not by a longshot, it was most certainly a visual promise of what he was capable of.

”For this troth, I beseech another. The Truth of Vo is not mine but Nature’s; you will place its knowledge into Dreaming Truths, this threshold to unreality, and that of its creator. Mortals WILL dream of the sea. Then and there it shall remain, so their mindseye cannot forget the depths it has seen. Have we and thee an accord, worker of wills, God of Truths, Fìrinn Rux?” The final word, the added title of Rux, bore implications of friendship with the murmur of two separate currents mixing to one. Its meaning and the offer behind it would not be lost on Fìrinn, of that much Klaarungraxus was assured.

Fìrinn’s almost-face looked upon the new form with the glimmer and gleam of new perspectives and sudden epiphanies, the gentle beads of light flickering across it as the movements of currents. Its mantle responded in kind, the threads of it dissipating into smoke and reforming around the God of Truth’s shoulders as masses of writhing tentacles.

”The Gréasán Treòir has already aligned reality with this Truth. All mortalkind shares its experiences; the primal strength of the Vrool and the call of Vo have already been seeded within the first Dreamers. It is my divine twin, Àicheil, who shapes the Dreams of mortalkind--I am merely the force which provides context and perception. I am Truth, and he is Dreams--nonetheless, we are twins, and our wills are unified. We agree to your terms, Klaarungraxus Rux. A covenant is formed; a pact is bound through the unity of our essences. Call our names, and we shall answer.”

In a moment, Fìrinn’s form surrendered its claim to physicality and seemingly disappeared into the infinite depths, returning to the world of light and air above. Once more the God of Truth’s visage peered into the depths of the Tairseach, and another element of reality was aligned with Truth.

When the Worldsong burst the silence of creation and breathed life into all that was, the Hibrach wept for joy. And that great thing of ink - that effervescent spew of poetry and spattering of song - closed all senses bar the fervid need for art and went listening and sighing the world over. It swirled and sang with the singing of creation, and the many giants that dwelled on Kubrajzar and those singing trolls - ah, brother troll! - gazed upward as the many-coloured muse varnished the sky, and some swayed, and some reached forth and moaned (and why shouldn't they moan and sway with the song their voices and their spirits sang?)

Well then, that one birthed of ink and melded of the darkness of the deeps went moaning and hearing, across the worldwater in a great slow spiral - listen to the chorus of the waves calling to their inconstant celestial mistress (You beckon us daily, then rebuke only / Does't please your heart to leave us so lonely? / With rebukes you scatter us off to the deep / And dying, we rise for your harvester's sweep / Your strikes and your rebukes are better by far / Than the beckonings of creation are!) -, across the threescore or more isles, and across a continent that teemed with life. And as that raging, swirling, storming cloud of spattering colour and canorous sound bellowed hither and thither listening and sighing, breathing and crying, painting idly and deftly dyeing, there were caught up in it a myriad of beings and creations.
Here a feather-haired desertman was entangled, and there a second - a third. A wooly leaper, having long surrendered the hope of reaching the coveted stars, leaps and flies. It flies and flies - and this time there is no return to land, but flight is destiny, and to baa is not to baa but is to pluck the cords of the heavens. A great lizard came screeching, torn from the safehaven of its godmaster - but if ironwilled you be little itztli, come let us set you free beyond your people's sea. And wisps of blinking light, their spirits huffing and puffing at all this exhilaration and excitement of light and sound. The great white stalker of the world's fortress gazed at the psychedelic delirium enveloping all above and all about, and it stood firm that stalwart beast as the inks whipped at him and tore his horns, and tore him too from his frosty home. Here a great flying pod went whirling off its decreed course, its spirit loosing songs of hysteria as it gave itself fully to the intoxicating celestial outflow of the great surging thing of ink & poetry. And oh! Do not think that the slumbering trees rooted to the depths of the earth did not wake - watch them stir! Watch their roots tremble! Watch their leaves rise and watch their branches sway to the cosmic song - here a root bursts, earth scatters, bark groans, trees fly when the cup wells over. And if thus the Alder, Hawthorne, Lonethorn, what then of that fleeting creature, man? Into the song she glides, hair whipping, soul gushing the universal anthem.



In that great maelstrom of visual and auditory liberation, all faded. In those swirling bodies there was not a single I to be seen or heard, only orgastic unity. And when at last that sudden and world-shattering thing of ink & poetry faded out and utterly disappeared the beneficiaries and victims of its global raid sat dazed and at a loss, bathing in a post-epiphanic stew, terrified of moving or even breathing so as not to lose whatever this was. Terrified to continue the banal life they had known before their minds and hearts were flung open and all the barricades and great mountains they had carefully built to keep this out were decimated and rent asunder.

A yeti moaned, a desertman sighed, a lizard hissed, a woman wiped away her tears and - ah, there it was. I, I, I. It had returned, that glorious I. They took in the new world - the coloured sky, the unfamiliar boggy terrain, the mountains that rose up not far, the seemingly endless expanse of water before them, the trees everywhere. Life was abuzz here too, insects were upon them almost immediately and the sounds (the roar of a distant river, the living forest, the gentle ebbing and flowing of the waves), oh the sounds - the whispering of the waters, the muttering of the trees, the bizarre tune of the strange insects that joyed to suck their blood, and more distant too - other songs, other tunes. Oh, it sent a shiver down their spines. No no, banal life there'd be no more. The god had torn open their hearts, the inner eye was unblinking and welcomed the eternal deluge. Their cups would overflow.

The yetis howled (a numbing sound), and the smaller folk looked up at them - any instinct to flee or fear was gone. A knowing glance, moments of understanding, and the lithe keepers of the mountains ambled off peaceably. In the distance great multi-coloured shooting stars zipped across the heavens, and even from here their great sound could be heard - pewww... pewwwwww... pewwwwwww. But the I had returned, and ah, what a terrible thing was the I, for even now the lizardfolk, those itztli, gathered one about the other and, with a glance to the other smallfolk, set out on their own into the jungles. The human women and the desertmen watched them go sadly.

A stomach rumbled. Somiti sighed and rubbed her tummy. The song of the world fed the soul and filled the cup, but oh! the glutt'nous stomach asked for more. And as though hearing her silent song, fish threw themselves upon the shore and the desertmen and the human women ate. And it seemed natural to them then that they should stay together - why yes, damn the I.

---

Duty took him away from Galbar. Away from Xal-Zastarha. Qael’s next task was one that he had delayed for too long. Mortals had gained magic now but they would require tools. Things to aid them on their long and perhaps endless journey. Tools forged from blessed resources. To that end, he required metal. Many different kinds of it. In Galbar, the metal had been evenly spread. Veins of iron and copper there, a deposit of gold and silver here. Even for a God it was spread out too far to do it quickly. Yet Qael’s mana had offered him another option. High above the skies, within the void, floated stones of endless resources. Like eggs to be cracked open and offer up their bounty. So Qael traveled upwards, along the Moon Stream until he reached that very gentle rock and landed on one of its dead seas. With a hand he reached out towards the Void Spread. That impossibly complex net of various asteroids, meteors and comets. He drew them near, closer and closer, faster and faster. Until they came hurling down through the nothingness and crashed with great violence into the moon’s surface. Dust and moonrock billowed up around him. It would look like a great, ethereal wind had created a storm raging on the moon. It was a hollow thing though. Within the dust cloud Qael had calmed the inside of it down already. Pushing the dust down into the ground again. So he could get to work on the fallen pieces.

“-WHAT- IS GOING ON?!” came a high-pitched scream and the light of the stars, sun and Galbar below all seemed to fade as the world around Qael was enshrouded in deep, phantasmal shadow. Two large orbs like blood moons broke the darkness, glaring down at the mana god and his loot. “Who do you sunlight-shining clump of stupid think you are to come here and drop those rocks on my precious baby, HUH?!”

“I am Qael’Naath.” The God of Magic introduced himself rather casually, as he stood hunched over a meteor that was floating just a few feet above the surface. He had broken a few pieces off it to see what was inside. It was fascinating! Yet now, with only the color red to illuminate basically everything around him, picking out the right bits of minerals would get tedious. So he looked up at the two big red orbs and said: “Do you mind breaking the shroud for me, please? I kind of need light to study these things.”

“Break--!” the voice thundered in bafflement. The rest of the meteor was subsequently picked up and thrown into the darkness, presumably to burn up in Galbar’s atmosphere. “Are you also the God of Being a Butt?! What gives you the right to just smash up my moon and -then- have the-- UGH!” Another rock was lobbed off the lunar surface, this one being flung into distant space. “You’re being rude and I want you to leave!”

Qael wanted to put a shard of the boulder back into it when it suddenly flew away. He was still holding the piece. Perhaps it was time that he took a moment to talk to his siblings. The last one he had ever seen was Qullqiya and that was some time ago now too. In fact, he couldn’t remember when last had an amicable conversation with one of his siblings. So instead of bickering or ignoring her, he instead jumped up slightly, leaned back and floated just over the surface as if he was on a long, invisible couch as he looked up at the angry black-shroud face. “My apologies. I assumed the moon was completely empty.” He said, as his demeanor shifted entirely. “Perhaps it is best that I introduce myself completely. I am Qael’Naath, God of Magic, Lord of Mana. And you are?”

“Gibbou, goddess of the moon - the one you are currently using as your rock-cracker.” The eyes squinted sourly. “... And I would like for you to leave. My moon is not some tool, okay? She’s a precious thing and she -has- feelings.”

“Feelings?” Qael said, confused. It was genuine confusion. Instead of continuing to lounge upon nothingness he dropped down onto the ground and took a knee. With a hand he brushed over the dust, revealing the stone below. It was cold. At first, he felt nothing and assumed Gibbou had simply reflected her own power onto the moon. As itself reflected the sun. Yet right before he pulled his hand back, he felt a slight touch of something…more. Instantly he pressed his palm again upon the surface. Pushing his divine senses into it. Searching it for that something. He didn’t find it again. As if it had gone completely from his senses again. Alas, Gibbou was right. What he had perceived as a dumb rock did house something. Even if he couldn’t immediately sense what it was. He looked up at the black shroud with two burning orbs and said: “I would like to offer my sincere apologies, sister. I have committed a grievous fault but, if you would indulge me. I prefer to offer my apologies to you and not some manifestation of you.”
The shadows flickered, then slowly dissipated. They retreated towards a single point some paces away, coalescing into a humanoid female form with plum skin, midnight clothes and a glare that could rival the sun. Her arms were stacked firmly over her chest, fingers digging into her skin with anger. She eyed the mana-god up and down and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Really, in all my life, I haven’t met a single person who’d think it’s just ‘alright’ to bombardier someone else’s creations just like that. I mean, even Enmity was at least sure to leave the moon mostly unharmed when they flicked it into orbit.” She stomped over and pointed down at the craters the meteorites had left. “I mean - look at this?! How would you like to get pockmarked by rocks, huh?”

“For that, my sincerest apologies.” He said, with a formal bow. As he did so, the rocks rose up from their craters. The far-flung stones and dust began to fly back. Falling back into their original place. Filling up the craters. The meteorites and comets were not placed back into their respective orbit though. Instead, Qael kept them floating close by. He said, as the remarks of getting pockmarked by rocks. He clutched his chest for a moment, feeling the old wound ache a little again. “I must say, sister, you are a sight for sore, tired eyes. The last sibling I met tried to kill me.”

Gibbou frowned. “H-hey, are you alright? Look, I know I might’a come off as a bit of a meanie earlier, but I didn’t mean to-... Look, here.” She materialised a mug in her hand. Its contents were steaming. She offered it to Qael. “It might not heal the wound, but… It might grant you inner peace so you forget about it for a while.”

“I’m not alright.” Qael finally confessed, as he slowly sat down upon the moon. “I haven’t been for quite some time.” He continued as he took Gibbou’s cup and drank from it. The ache vanished, for a moment. “Thank you.” He gave the cup back to Gibbou. “If only I could rest. You cannot imagine what burden magic is. Since my birth, I’ve been going around. Making sure everything is in place for the mortals. Yet I failed. I am too slow. Too weak. And now the mortals can barely summon a flicker of a flame.” He let out a big sigh, as he looked beyond his sister and onto Galbar. “Yet I love it so much. Have you ever been on Galbar, Gibbou?”

Gibbou sat down too and rested her cheek on a propped-up fist. “Yeah, I’ve been. It’s nice down there, y’know. Made a bunch of different species during my time there. Oh! Do you like bats? I loooove bats. I made loads of them when I was down there.”

A soft, uncertain whisper called out, "Why? Did you really.." it trailed off. The small, cloaked figure hovering towards the moon stated.
Gibbou blinked up at the figure, automatically looking somewhat more on the defensive. “H-hi there, stranger. Have, uh, have you come to join us?”

"I have come to," He whispered so lowering himself to the surface, but did not place his feet on the ground, "to investigate ... why this happened" weakly gesturing to an asteroid.

“Oh… Ask him,” Gibbou replied sharply and thumbed over to Qael, some of the earlier animosity bubbling through her softer demeanour.

"I am Sirius. I am the caretaker for the stars." He said. "They are… unordered. This is not ideal."

“Oh, -you’re- the nice guy who’s been cleaning up the stars around here?” Gibbou popped to her feet and stuck out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sirius! I am Gibbou, your neighbour on the Moon!”

"Nice to ... meet you." He said, awkwardly intimidating her gesture, without knowing what to do. Gibbou squeezed his hand amiably.

“Oh yeah, and this here is, uh… Qael, right?”

Qael wanted to correct Gibbou. But then again his name felt like it held no real importance. He let out a sigh of resignation and said: “Yes. Qael. It’s an honor meeting another sibling of mine.” Qael did not take a hand. Instead, he simply raised his own hand in greeting. “Forgive me, caretaker of the stars. I required nodes of various metals for the next phase of my duty. Mortals must be given the appropriate tools to practice magic. I would use the nodes to identify the right metals, then put them back where they belong.” He explained.

Sirius paused, "The material essence of the stars do not belong on Galbar. … Not in high quantities. They are … unstable."

"How so? They look pretty docile to me,” Gibbou offered and leaned back onto her propped-up arms.

“Things are different here.” Qael noted. “I do not need them on Galbar though. I intend to simply alter certain metal’s properties. Not many. I just have to find some palladium, platinum, gold, rhodium, iridium and some titanium. Perhaps a handful more. Once I’m done, I will make sure your creations are returned to their rightful place. Far way from Galbar. With your leave, I will start at once.”

The star god extended his perception into the celestial debris, “You will not … find much. But the first creations did have … some metals implanted into” He turned to an asteroid, and willed it to dust, “Iridium, Rhodium, Platinum.” Turning to a comet, he did the same, “Gold.” And finally, turning to a meteor, “Palladium, Titanium.”

He pulled together the metal dust, creating a small pile on his cloaked hand. “As I said… not much.”

“So he smashed up my moon for nothing, is that it?”

“Not nothing.” Qael said as he took the dust from Sirius. It floated over his hand, each practical grouping together into a small little orb of its respective substance. He rose up from his seated position, although he moved noticeably slower. As the separated orbs landed again in his hand he turned to Gibbou. He let out an exhausted sigh. “Everything I do, I do for life. For the advancement of magic in the hands of the mortals. I have bled for it, fought for it and sacrificed my own lands. Imagine that, Gibbou. Your moon not just harmed on its surface but shattered. Broken. Every little detail you created here erased. This empty sea we stand in would be gone. If there is life here, it has burned and died. Because I have gone through that. Would you?” He then turned to face Sirius. “I am grateful for your gift. What do you want in return for your help?”

Gibbou snarled. “Was that a threat? It sounded like a threat.” She put her hands on her hips and stood up. “I think you’re more interested in seeing what your magic can do than to specifically be of benefit to life.”

Sirius voice raised from a whisper, but was still quiet and calm, “Please, calm yourself sister. But, that substance you used, … do you claim dominion for it? Are you responsible for its ascent into the far reaches?” he asked. Gibbou, meanwhile, spun around and angrily punted a small moon rock into Galbar’s atmosphere.

The God of Magic did not desire any more fighting amongst his siblings. What Gibbou said carried a nugget of truth. He cared little for individual lives. Perhaps now he cared a bit more because everything was so fragile and new. But as time came, there would always be more mortals to serve his purpose. If a few had to die for the progress of magic, so be it. His sister would learn the truths about being a god soon enough. Until then he supposed he would have to swallow her childish outbursts. “Indeed I do. I’ve called it mana. Or perhaps it has called itself mana. As I was born from it. I did not foresee it’s ascend into the void, but it would seem as if this moon has pulled one of the many Streams of Galbar up from it, and then your objects here in space had a pull on it as well.” He said to Sirius.

Sirius replied, “As I said… they are unstable. Your mana is causing further… complications. Withdraw your force, or do what you need to resolve the… incompatibility.”

“What if I made my creation more…compatible with yours? So the disturbances and complications they cause are removed.” Qael said. “Would you be open to that?”

“The stars predate me. But as I said… Do what you need.” he said, his voice lowering back into a whisper.

“Very well.” Qael floated up into the void and approached the nearest bits of debris. First, he encountered an asteroid. It was a hardy creation, yet utterly unresponsive to the mana. Which caused friction between the two substances. He altered the asteroid so it would be slightly more responsive to the magical power. Then he found a comet, which he found would normally absorb energy. Yet it was such an ill-suited vessel for mana. He altered its properties specific for mana, and instead of absorbing it, they would amplify it. He then found and did the opposite with the meteors. When he returned he gently returned to Gibbou’s moon. The small orbs of metal were still in his hand. “There. The issues were resolved. The flow of mana should no longer complicate things up here. I bid you farewell now brother and sister. There is still much work to do, and not all of us can stay on this moon forever.” With that, he let his stream take him up again. Heading down back to Galbar. Meanwhile, the few stones he had taken slowly moved towards the flow as well. Which then put them into the Void Spread and restored them to their original positions.

Gibbou made a farting sound with her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t let the other moon hit you on the way down.” She then pocketed her hands and made a frown. “Ugh, what a sunlighted sun of a…” She tightened a fist in the air, but managed to calm herself with a sigh or six. “Okay, I’m calm. Very calm - calm as the night.” She then turned to Sirius with a broad smile. “So! Mr. Sirius - want to join this neat little project I’m making?”

Sirius paused, “What is this project.”

“So glad you asked!” Gibbou snapped her fingers and an ivory horn rimmed with obsidian popped into her hand. She offered it to Sirius and pointed at it. “This here is Hir, an artifact designed to protect mortality. To summarise, its users will be granted the ability to perform miracles on our behalf, granted to them by us without, y’know, actually needing to do anything. See, it’s all in that little dose of our own essences that we infuse into this thing. Now, the way they get this power is by being good, pious and virtuous mortals, meaning it’s basically a win for everyone! Smart, right?”

Sirius held the relic gently, and runes appeared before him. They rapidly shifted around, and after several moments, they settled. “For those who look into the stars with bright eyes, for those that are resilient, observant, cunning, kind, introspective, and loyal. For these people I grant my blessing so that they may bring hope into the world.” he chanted. Before reaching out to reach the Hir.

The horn flashed a starry blue for a second, then reverted to normal. Gibbou brought it to her nose and gave it a sniff, grinning from ear to ear afterwards. “Mmm! That’s divine essence, alright! Thank you so much, Mr. Sirius! This’ll definitely keep mortality strong and well-motivated even through the worst of times.” She snapped the horn back into its interdimensional pocket of existence. “Your contribution is much appreciated.”

Sirius floated over to where some comet dust had deeply impacted the lunar surface. He gently coaxed it out of the stone, and formed into the shape of a white-furred fox. “A gift. In case… More debris hits your moon. It will be able to… handle the energies that they will leave behind. I will create more of them once I return to the far reaches.” he said, beginning to slowly move back towards the stars.
Gibbou gasped and picked up the fox. “It’s awesome! Oh, sister, it’s so adorable and fluffy!” She hugged the fox tightly as it tried to escape her grasp. “Wait, you’re leaving already?” she eventually said and put the fox down. It escaped to some distant corner of the moon.

“Yes, this encounter has left me with much to consider. And there is… is still much I need to do among the stars. There is … a lot of work ahead.” Sirius replied.

“Oh, uh… Alright. See you around, I suppose!” Gibbou gave the floating figure a wave as it returned to the stars. She then eyed the lunar surface and Galbar again. With a sigh, she whispered to herself, “Alright… Time to see how bad the world’s ended up without me.” With a squat and kick-off, she set off down to the surface with a mighty speed.

---

The skies were heavy, heavier than usual. As Fe’ris wheeled in languid loops around the peaks of the World Anchor, he delved into thick gray clouds that muffled sound and choked out light. Moisture condensed in his fur, and the higher he flew, the colder he got. Far above, where the atmosphere of Galbar dared not reach, he felt something call to him. And it surely wasn’t the sun. But before he could make up his mind, before he could devise a way to fly so impossibly high, he heard something else. A squeal of terror and agony.

His interest caught, he dove back down, tucking his wings and speeding above the slopes at a breakneck pace, his back feet mere inches from the jagged rocks and rough mountain surfaces that would shred him should he get too close. Faster, faster, faster he flew, the world turning into a gray and brown blur, the uniformity broken only by a single splash of crimson.
The wings opened again, catching his fall with a great billowing noise, stretched tight in their effort to stop him. Below Fe’ris was a single terror bird, its sturdy beak awash in a bloody mess. A small creature lay at its feet, pried apart by crushing talons, its life gushing out into the dirt. The bird cocked its head at the fluffy dragon hovering overhead, its stance poised to run, but when it determined that Fe’ris was not about to steal its meal, it went back to crunching bones and wrenching strips of meat from the body.

As Fe’ris watched the blood pool and dry to a grim brown, he saw images of what had just happened. The rodent had been cowering under a scraggly bush, its senses dull and bodily capabilities duller. Its hind legs were barely strong enough to carry it around the slope. Its comically large ears were plastered to the side of its head, incapable of picking out the dangers of the environment. Its claws were ineffectual and useless for defense or acquiring food. So it was no wonder that, desperately hungry, the little creature had poked its head out of the bush, sniffing around for suitable grass and ferns to munch on. And in that same instant, the powerful terror bird, apex predator of the mountains (that Fe’ris knew of- he hadn’t gone poking around in the deeper caves just yet), had snapped it up without so much as a second thought.
That bothered Fe’ris. The hunt was meant to be a glorious thing, a battle of wits and endurance between hunter and prey. Survival should go to the superior animal, not the sheerly opportunistic one.

Anger twisted inside him, and he swatted at the bird, thumping it heartily and sending it squawking away, bounding over boulders and up twisting cliffside with angry, fluffed up feathers. Fe’ris didn’t care if it hated him now. He shifted to his smaller, more manageable form, and picked up the snapped and shredded body, cradling the delicate bones in his bare claws. He fit them back together, running his thumbs over the tears and using the blood to fuse it into a whole, but still lifeless version of itself. He swiveled the ears and filled the legs with taut, strong muscles. He thickened and sharpened the claws, made the teeth grow incessantly, and shifted the eyes to the side of the head, allowing it to better see anything that might try to sneak up on it. But despite all these gifts, it did not move. It could not move.

Fe’ris realized that, despite all his godly power, it was not within himself to restore the little animal’s soul to its body. Saddened, he spread it out beneath the gray sky, where fat droplets had begun to slowly fall, pocking the dirt with circles, trickling down the bare rock, collecting in puddles. As it continued to rain, the soft fur became waterlogged and bedraggled. Once he left, the terror bird would surely return, and it wouldn’t stay out in the open. His work would have been for nothing.

He went to go, cape draping in the mud, when more of the creatures emerged, poking twitching noses out of the underbrush and hesitantly coming to check out their improved sibling, or perhaps say goodbye. They crowded around, curious but skittish, and he knew that the slightest movement would send them scrambling pack to pitiful shelter. He knew what he had to do.

A wave of his arms, and the blessing spread, jumping from rabbit to rabbit in a chain of red lightning. Some ran off immediately, using their powerful legs to scale the rocks and gravel like never before, spreading far and wide in their fear. But others stayed, possibly more intelligent than the rest, enough so to be awed by the way their bodies changed for the better. These, Fe’ris though, could be improved even more. But how?

He would make them like him. Their legs and torsos lengthened and their spines straightened marginally, allowing them to go on all fours or stand upright, like he did. They didn’t have opposable thumbs, but he shifted a part of their arms closer to the rest of their paws, allowing them to grip simple tools. The claws he strengthened even more, reinforcing them with bone and outfitting them with power enough to carve at stone. He allowed their enormous ears to swivel upright and catch sounds, or go flat against their heads. Excited now, he set about distinguishing them from one another and from the brownish, greenish backdrop of the Anchor, spattering some with orange spots and white stripes, others with silver chest fur and white paws. Others still he left solid colors, lengthening their fur and expanding the shades to encompass everything from red to violet. He gave one floppy ears that pointed straight to the ground. Another he gave a mane like his own, russet and warm. He bestowed little differences to each of them, hoping that, in time, the differences would shape ambitions. But for now, they would only need one ambition: survival. And to make sure that that was achieved, he gave them the most important gift of all, the gift of intelligence. Yet, handled improperly, it would be the greatest curse of all. He yearned to see how far it would take them.

The closest one, the one with the darkest of violet eyes and the thick, maroon chest fur, blinked at him, approaching on wobbly hind legs. The other rabbit men crooned at one another, testing their vocal chords and the new shapes they could make with their mouths.

“Maker! Where go? What are... you? We?”

The others nodded. Some had already picked up rocks and took up nervous positions of defense, worried that the terror bird would return. Fe’ris raised a sharp black talon and motioned down the mountain, to a green, fertile valley nestled between the bulk of the Anchor and the Gardens.

“You shall go to the valley below and multiply. You shall spread your kind across Galbar and learn all you can.”

He shifted the direction he was pointing, resting it on the querulous rabbit man.

“You, the strongest and most intelligent, will lead them. And when you grow old and feeble, you shall select a successor who will lead them as you did. You will be the Lapites, and you will be beset by many trials.”

He pointed at himself.

“And I, Fe’ris, will watch them all. If your vigilance and dedication falters, I will be the first to know. Now go, and let your desires bring you prosperity.”

The Lapite leader nodded and began walking in the direction Fe’ris had pointed. The others looked between the two, then shuffled after him in a strange hopping gait. He hoped they would survive the scary, changing world he and the other gods had made. But above all, he hoped they would not grow lazy. If they did, he might just have to do something about it.

When they were all beyond the nearest crest, he returned to his domain form and soared away.

---

The small ball of light zoomed through the vastness of space, on its way to Galbar once again. Oraelia felt better, much, much better then she had been. Gibbou was a brilliant Goddess, her best friend, and her twin. She loved her more than anything. This she knew, and she also knew she would see Gibbou again, but for now, she had work to do.

She descended into Galbar, finding a very strange change. The sky was no longer blue, but a colorful display. At first she was unsure of the change, but slowly it crept up on her, and reminded her of the Luminant. She wondered who had decided to do such a thing, as she flew towards the crimson desert. It was time to make good, in the name of life, she had to show that her sun was not so bad.

The desert was a cruel place, hardly anything lived on the surface. It was just too hot. She flew into the caves and to her great surprise, found that life flourished there. It’s own unique ecosystem thrived beneath the sands. Full of bioluminescence and plenty of water, but it was still a place fraught with danger. She spied the mortals from a distance, hunter gatherers in the dark. So different then the humans in the north, with their large eyes and glowing tattoos. They were perfectly suited here, but Oraelia still felt as if she needed to do something for them. She returned to the surface and looked over the land. She could not deny that it was unique, and the life here had adapted to the dry and arid place. So what could she do?

The place lacked an abundance of water, and even in the caves, it never replenished. It was a dwindling supply, and then an idea struck her. The day was cruel, and that needed to change. An idea came to mind, but to keep the uniqueness of the place intact, it needed to be a rare occurrence. Far from over the black mountains, storm clouds gathered, never venturing over those peaks. But no more. With a flick of her wrist, Oraelia gave them a push and at last, they came, billowing black and greys. Soaked with water and ready to burst, but Oraelia knew that too much water could be a bad thing, and she could not risk flooding the desert underground. She then snapped her fingers, and as the desert grew dark, the sky began to trickle. A slow, gradual thing, enough to make small streams, but never a torrent. Manageable for the people, flora and fauna here.

The vast storm would block the sun's rays and allow for day incursions, but only for a period of around thirty days, before the storm would break apart again and not return for another year. This would insure the land could be replenished, while not drastically changing it. She rubbed her hands together, delighted, before flying off.

---

She once more traveled north east, to the Aberrant of her creations. She stopped at the border and peered within. She saw many things, some were twisted, some wondrous, but most hardly what she had envisioned. It saddened her greatly, but there was not a whole lot she could do. It existed now, and the life within was… Well… Alive and with whatever their downsides were, they were thriving. She scrunched her nose and crossed her arms as she looked upon it. She couldn’t come up with anything, or her fear of trying blocked her. There was no telling what the Lifeblood would do if she tried to alter anything, so she decided to leave it as it was. A reminder to her, that not everything can be so perfect.

She left, flying south until she once more came upon where the Highlands fought the Prairie. She paused for a moment, as she perceived many humans had made the trek west. This surprised her, but not entirely. They were welcome in the sunlit land, as any creature was. They looked wary however, the trek must have been long and full of danger and though the Prairie was boundless, there was little natural shelter. So she had an idea.

On the boundaries of both lands, she raised a large hill. There she summoned her sun’s light, and it illuminated the hill in a golden light, brighter than even the day. From this light, rose a small temple of white pillars, growing in size and height as they ascended the hill on either side of a golden path. Over top came slabs of white, connecting the pillars as they lay on top. When it reached the top of the hill, the land became smoothed, and around a circle of pillars rose, taller than those that came before. A dome of stone, fixated with glass, erupted from the light at the top of these pillars, as supports were made between them. The glass allowed for natural illumination within the area, always focusing on a central pool of water within the chamber that was surrounded by flowers. Trees and other vegetation popped on the top of the hill, but sparse they were and never overwhelming the view the hill provided.

When all said was done, Oraelia descended and flew in between the massive pillars where she landed next to the pool of light. She hummed a little, and danced around it before diving in. The water was warm and pleasant to her senses. She knew any mortal would find it much the same. She left the pool and walked around, taking in the sights and sounds. This Sunlit Temple would provide a beacon of hope for those traveling through the land. A place where they could stop, and relax before heading beyond. It provided an excellent view of the Prairie and of the Highlands. It was large enough to accommodate many people comfortably and keep them warm. Oh! She almost forgot to make bushes with berries!

She clapped her hands and the bushes around the area erupted with fruits and berries that matched the new skies. She may have been a little too enthusiastic however, because before Oraelia knew it, she was no longer alone. From the ground emerged more Leeoli wisps that danced about and from the pool of light, emerged a dark skinned hand. There could be heard a gasp of hair as two large eyes with a head of golden hair erupted from the surface. It took Oraelia a moment to register what she was seeing, before motherly instincts took over and she helped the girl out of the pool. Wet hair dripped upon Oraelia as the girls large, golden eyes blinked rapidly, as she took large gasps of air as she tried to focus on everything around her.

Oraelia, now sitting on the edge of the pool with the tall girl cradled in her lap, spoke. ”Shh. Shh. You’re safe now, focus on my voice. Look at me, little one.” she said reassuringly. It was for the first time she got a good look at her face. Golden orbs for eyes, eyebrows of golden, to match her hair. Her face was round, not unlike the desert people, but she had no feathers in her hair either. Upon her dark lips, two triangles of gold, one facing up and the other down rested in the middle. She wasn’t entirely human looking, or desert person looking, but something else entirely and it was that uniqueness that made the life in her hands special.

The girl focused on her and took a deep breath, as she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, whether in pain or anger, Oraelia could not tell. She exhaled again and snapped her eyes open, her face relaxing as she looked at Oraelia again. Slowly, she reached out one of her hands, and touched the Goddess’ cheek. The girl’s hand was warm, and a deep contrast to her golden skin, but there was a curiosity there and an innocence.

”You- You are Bright, mother.” She said, her voice rich and exotic in tone. ”I-I… Where am I?” she asked, looking around.

Oraelia, though perplexed at how the girl had come to be, smiled warmly. ”Welcome to life. You are here, in the Sunlit Temple.” she said simply.

”I remember… I was… Born in light.” she said, looking at the pool. ”But I tried to breathe and I could not.” she looked back at Oraelia. ”Why?”

Oraelia pushed the hair that had fallen out of the girl’s face and said, ”You can’t breathe in water, dear. Not many can, in fact. The pool you came from was one of my creation, and it seems the residual power within brought you to existence. What a wonderful mystery.” Oraelia cooed. ”You need a name, something to call you by. An identity.” she said again before pausing for a moment. ”How about… Lucia?” she asked.

”Lucia? Lucia…” she whispered, testing the name. A small smile fell on her lips and she nodded. ”I like that name, mother.”

Oraelia gave her a hug and said, ”Come on, I want to show you something.” She then stood up, helping Lucia to her feet. Her build was much like her own, lithe and petite, with narrow shoulders. Unlike Oraelia, however, Lucia was at least a head taller. She took a step, and nearly fell over, but Oraelia caught her before she could. Lucia simply laughed. It was a sweet sound.

”Tricky thing.” she said aloud, as she stared at her wiggling toes. She then straightened herself and tried again, as Oraelia hung on her loosely. Lucia took a step, then another, and before long she was walking by herself. Oraelia took her hand within her own, and together the two walked over to the vantage point, a balcony that overlooked the Prairie.

Lucia gave an audible gasp as she looked out at all the fields of golden. She felt the breeze on her face and she stared at the sky for a minute, digesting the world all around her. She ran her hands through her hair, and touched her skin, before picking up a bright pink flower and smelling it. She smiled a toothy grin, revealing white pearls.

”It is… Beautiful, mother.” Lucia said aloud.

”Isn’t it?” came Oraelia’s reply, as the two shared the view. Another unexpected surprise, but a good one Lucia was. She would have to teach her things for a time, give her powers, be a good mother. But Oraelia frowned slightly, before smiling again. How bittersweet, time was.

---

As usual for a night elven worknight, it was terribly, terribly dark out. Seeing as it was also overcast, neither the stars nor moon offered much in terms of guiding light, so even several elves struggled to properly see what they were doing. As a result, many performed their tasks louder than usual to signal their position to the others who carefully maneuvered through the darkness. Rozmari was doing her very best to pluck apart mushrooms for stew - it was luckily a job reliant mostly on her fingers and hands, but it was difficult to see firstly, where she had put the basket she actually stored the mushrooms in, and secondly, where she had put the sharkskin bag she was supposed to store the bits in. She was pretty certain she dropped most of the mushroom crumbs on the ground at this point. Put off by her own clumsiness at work, she decided she had pulverised enough fungi, patted the ground for the sharkskin bag, found it and lifted it up. The unmistakable sound of spongy objects rolling onto the stone below sent a pulse of rage through her. She grabbed a handful and lobbed them at the wall - or at least, what she thought was the wall.

“That was unnecessary,” came a murky whisper. Rozmari froze.

“O-oh, dear. Cilantra, I didn’t mean to, I--!”

A huff silenced her apologies and the huntress made her way over as evidenced by the approaching soft slaps of skin against stone. She bumped gently into Rozmari to signal that she was next to her and began patting at the floor in search of the spilled mushrooms. Defeatedly, Rozmari joined in.

“What has you upset, Roz?”

Rozmari smacked her lips as if she was about to answer, but then remained silent, continuing to pick.

“Hey, you know you can talk to me about stuff.”

“Yeah, but… Ugh, I don’t know, it’s dumb…”

“It’s about Parslie, isn’t it?”

The subsequent blush nearby increased the temperature of the air and Cilantra snickered softly. The huntress offered her a pat on the shoulder. “Why don’t you two just, I don’t know… Y’know…”

“I couldn’t do that! He only has eyes for Bay and you know it!” Rozmari almost spoke with her voice, and Cilantra recoiled.

“Woah, alright, alright - I won’t pry.” They sat in silence for a minute. Cilantra then made a shrug that bumped into Rozmari. “Althooouuugh… Why don’t you get him something? Something really nice - y’know, so he’ll get eyes for you, too.”

“As if… What is there around here but… Sand and, and, and landsharks.”

“Well, to be fair--”

“You know what I mean,” Rozmari complained and picked up the last of the spongey mushroom bits. She packed the sharkskin properly together and bound it with a length of sinew. As she got up, Cilantra placed her hand on her shoulder again. “What?”

“Listen - you shouldn’t give up so easily, y’know. How about you go for a little treasure hunt through the canyon, hmm? I reckon it’ll still be a while until sunrise. You could even bring someone along - have them appraise whatever you find so you know it’ll be good.”

“Who would I even bring? What does Parslie even like?”

“Oh, I’m sure he likes loads of things. As for who, uhm…” An approaching pair of feet made both of them turn and sniff the air. Cilantra sparked a grin and reached out to pat the approaching elf. “Hey, Basil! Want to join Rozmari on a treasure hunt?”

"Oh?" Came Basil's voice, "Are you sure you'd want to bring me?"

Cilantra turned the pat into an amiable squeeze of the shoulder and hummed approvingly. “Yeah! It could do you some good, too - you haven’t had much of a chance to just go exploring for a while, now have you?”

"I'm just surprised is all," Basil replied, "I know the others have been putting distance between themselves and me since... Well you know."

“Well, frankly, I’d like for that to change. You’re as much a part of our tribe as anyone else, Basil - and I know Rozmari agrees. Ain’t that right, Roz?” The other elf didn’t respond, the faint sheen in her shining eyes indicating that she was, in fact, looking away. Cilantra drew an angry breath through the nose and stabbed an elbow at Rozmari, inciting a louder-than-expected cough from her.

“Ow! Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Cilantra hissed disapprovingly, but turned back to Basil with smiling eyes. “So, what do you think?”

Basil gave a hesitant pause before a slow, "Sure, what are we looking for?"

“Just, I dunno, something nice, I suppose--”

“Roz here has a bit of a crush on someone -reeeaal- special, and she wants to get him something nice.”

“Cila--! Ugh!”

Cilantra giggled to herself. “Y’know - something pleasing to the ears or nose. Maybe even the touch. Ooo, if you find, like, a soft animal or something, could you bring that back for me, too?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Rozmari retorted sourly.

Basil popped out of her thinking, "Wait who are we getting this for, exactly?" She turned to Rozmari, "It could help us decide on what to get."

“Go on, Roz, tell her,” Cilantra encouraged.

“What? No, I--... Ugh… It’s for Parslie…”

"Ha!" Basil covered her mouth, "I mean, really? That's so... Nice."

“Just… Let’s just go,” Rozmari decided and stomped off. Cilantra gave a low whistle.

“Hope I’m not giving you lots of trouble now…”

"Compared to the other troubles, finding a pretty stone with a grumpy elf isn't so bad," Basil crossed her arms confidently. Cilantra giggled and patted her back gently.

“I knew we could count on you. See if you can find something fragrant. Parslie does have a sensitive nose.”

---

Further down the canyons, glowing mushrooms and more open spaces made it easier to see, and the duo could to a greater degree rely on their eyes to see where they were going. Above them, owls hooted in the trees and bats wheezed softly at one another as they snapped up unfortunate moths in the shadows. Feline eyes twinkled in the bushes, and critters would sprint in front or behind them every now and then. Occasionally, the trickle of water would signal a nearby beck, and the changes in sensations under the feet revealed every kind of biome from gravel to grassland to forest. Rozmari held the lead, walking quietly for the most part except for the odd groan every now and then.

"Is there a problem?" Basil said in that stoic if not stern tone she was known for.

Rozmari offered another groan. “No, it’s just…” She paused. “Ugh, nevermind.”

"Well now you have to tell me," Basil offered, "You already started."

“It’s just… Why? Why am I doing this? Parslie’s already practically married to Bay - or, well, kinda. Either way, this is all just-...” She punted a nearby stone into a small creek. “Just a waste of time.” She blinked at Basil before putting on a frown. “But what would you know…”

Basil gave a defensive scowl, "What's that supposed to mean?"

“We both know what I mean, prophet. Tell me, do you have any experience with these kinds of emotions? Or does that thing inside you make you as cold and merciless as it is?”

Basil's eyes widened with hurt before settling into a biting scowl, "Just because I don't want to hump the first gravel face that smiles at me doesn't make me cold." She huffed, a hot snap entering her words, "Find your own damn rock, I don't need this." Basil went to turn around.

Rozmari gasped. “That’s just uncalled for!” she nearly yelled, scaring off several nearby bats. “You’re-... You’re just jealous because nobody likes you!”

Basil flinched, frozen in her retreat. She turned, moon colored eyes stained a frustrated pink, "People like me!" She mulled for a moment, "Bitch!" The execution was weak.

Rozmari scoffed. “Can’t even call me names correctly, can you? Just face it, Basil… You’re a looney, aaand nobody likes you.” She spun on her heel and continued forward. “Have fun walking home alone.”

"Fine!" Basil barked, "I don't need yoooou." Huffing and purple faced, she began her trek back, brow sunken. She angrily kicked nearby rocks as she walked, mumbling about her various sacrifices.

She kicked many rocks. It was no surprise to Basil that rustling came from under one of the abused rocks -- After all, many critters made their homes below the rocks. What was a surprise however was the way the wind suddenly filled with the wafting scent of mint, filling her nostrils and tempting her to find its source.

She knelt down, sniffing comically and spinning in a dizzy circle, "Where... Are... Yoooouuu-ah!"

Her ankle twisted and she rolled to the ground, head bumping off a pillow of moss. She went cross-eyed as her vision narrowed in on a tiny white flower with long yellow pistils and a thick stem for its size.

The tiny flower twitched and turned itself toward Basil’s nose. Then, after shuddering a little, its marble white petals closed around its pistils and a thin cloud of mist shot out of the flower, right at Basil’s face. It smelled strongly of fresh mint.

"PFBT," Basil sneezed. Her nose dripped and she sat up to wipe it. With her clean hand she sent down a finger and poked the tiny plant. It twitched and shrunk a little, protecting its pistils with its petals.

Basil gave out a thoughtful hum and looked around her for more, seeing the faint shapes of a handful more even in the dark of the night, of different colours and sizes, growing from inbetween rocks and gravel.

Grabbing a stick, Basil set to work digging around the first tiny flowers' roots until she had a loose clump of soil with the flower on top. Happy with her prize, Basil rose to her feet and set off into the darkness for the camp.

---

Already long before Basil had made it back to camp had the strange, yet alluring smell attracted the majority of the villagers. They gathered in a small huddle in front of the main cave, whispering and discussing what the source of this scent could be. It didn’t take long from the fragrance to be tracked to Basil, and Cilantra pushed herself gently to the front of the crowd, backed up by a white-haired elderly man Basil knew well as chief Pinae. Cilantra offered a smile which in itself was completely invisible in the dark, though her eyes revealed it clear as day.

“Basil, you’re back!” she whispered joyously. “What did you bring home? It smells… Oh, by the gods, what is that?”

"It's a flower," Basil recited and held forward the flower. She had taken the walk as an opportunity to spin the discovery in her ongoing plans' favor and with a refreshed voice she continued, "A gift from a god, no doubt."

Cilantra and some others leaned in around it. “Oh, this smell. It’s, it’s just wonderful! Chieftain Pinae, come smell this.”

The chieftain, leaning partially on a walking stick with a dog skull fastened to its head, made his way over slowly and gave the flower a whiff. He hummed approvingly and whispered, “This scent… It stings, yet it cleanses me through and through - there is something divine to it, for certain. Dyll, Time, would the two of you help Basil here dig an appropriate hole for her treasure over by the becks? This flower will be a relic of our village - to be tended to every night as though it was a pet!” He raised his stick authoritatively to punctuate his sentence. What seemed to be small rocks within the cavity of the skull produced a maracas-like sound. Dyll and Time immediately jogged over to the beck to begin their work. Pinae placed a warm hand on Basil’s shoulder and squeezed, “Great job, young one,” he praised with a smile covered by darkness.

"Thank you," Basil's voice defaulted to its stoicness if not with a tinge of social unfamiliarity. She cleared her throat, "So... How's the... How's everything going? For the tribe." Her eyes bounced in the darkness while she stood holding the plant, "Chief?"

Pinae shrugged and scratched at his temple. “Oh, I would say we’re doing well, considering the circumstances. You know how it is - the ibex migrations don’t exactly make it easy to find grub anymore, but at least the cave mushrooms are growing bountifully this year. Some of the kids, too, they… They’ve been making light of the Great Peace. One was playing in the water in the middle of the day earlier. Must’a heard that, right?” As Pinae was talking, he and the rest of the tribe were guiding Basil towards the plant’s new hole in the ground.

"I wasn't here last day," Basil admitted, "but that does sound troublesome."

“Huh, that so? Were you out hunting?” the chieftain offered. “By the way, please plant your wonderful finding here.” He gestured down into the hole.

"No," Basil admitted again, gingerly placing the flower into its new home. She patted her hands and looked at the chief, eyes trying to avoid looking at the crowd, "there!"

As if on cue, the soil began to shift. Like snakes below their feet, the forms of several dozen tendrils became apparent as they snaked toward the lone flower. One by one, they surfaced and revealed themselves to be roots. Thick, writhing roots unlike anything they’d ever seen before. They creaked and strained, some of them covered in mud, others dripping saltwater, and many sporting the telltale signs of a root that had dug through stone for a long time.

One by one, they reached the flower and covered it. Suffocated it. Strangled it. When the flower was visible no longer, they began covering each other, intertwining in what could only be described as a hasty dash toward the center.

As they mixed and strangled each other, they grew still and solid. More and more roots came from under the elves’ feet and they all headed straight for the growing mass. In the end, they settled and what was left was a sight to behold.

A large Kapok tree, a species they’d never seen before in the canyons, suddenly dominated the area. Yet its leaves were different to any other. They were white, and each of them had a different scent.

“By the gods,” mumbled the chieftain and went over to a leaf. He plucked it and gave it a whiff, sighing contently afterwards. “It smells… Oh, it smells like Bay’s cooking.”

From behind him came Bay herself, rubbing her fingers over the leaf roughly and bringing her fingers to her nose. “Oh, wow, if you think my food smells this good, chieftain…” She offered a warm giggle.

Cilantra went over to smell the same leaf, bursting out into a laugh immediately thereafter. “Oh, my gods! It really does! Wow, how is this even possible?”

“I guess the leaves she puts in her stew carry similar fragrances,” offered Parslie, who was busily testing the scents of some of the lower branches, sighing happily with every breath. Chief Pinae dunked the butt of his stick into the ground. “Very well! It’s decided. This particular leaf shall be called, uh… Bay leaf.”

“Woah, fantastically original, chieftain,” mumbled Cilantra and went over to pat Basil on the back. “Hey. You doing okay?”

"I'm..." Basil's face took on a heavy concentration, "going to die a horrible death for this." She blinked rapidly and looked over at Cilantra, "Praise the gods, yeah?" With a gentle pat on Cilantra's back, Basil leaned in towards the chief. "Chieftain, I think it is in our best interest to show our gratitude towards such a blessing by giving open thanks to its creator."

Chief Pinae blinked back before nodding. “A fine idea, Basil. We must pay our greatest respects to the creator of this artwork. The, the, the…” He hummed pensively to himself. “... The Roots of Fragrance!”

“The Roots of Fragrance?” Cilantra questioned.

“The Roots of Fragrance,” the chieftain confirmed proudly. “A fine name for a god, yes?”

"The Supreme Giver," Basil encouraged, "The Roots of our Spice, the Roots of Fragrance." A shiver ran down her spine as she gave a confirming nod to the chieftain, "So says."

“So… Any of those?” Parslie spoke as he broke into the conversation.

“Why not?” Basil crossed her arms.

“Hmm? No, I meant it as in, which of those sounds the best. I do like the Roots of Fragrance, personally,” Parslie whispered confidently.

“I dunno… Supreme Giver sounds more divine. I’m sure the god would find that more pleasing,” Cilantra pointed out.

“Could do both,” Basil offered, “One after the other.”

“Roots of Fragrance, the Supreme Giver?” Bay offered midway through making a little laurel out of bay leaf branches.

“Ooooh, I like that,” mumbled Cilanta approvingly. “Chieftain, I think we have a winner.”

“Wuh? Oh! Right!” Chief Pinae had occupied himself with sampling the lemongrass branches and hastily returned to the conversation. “Yes, what were we talking about?”

“Names for this generous god, of course!”

“Our generous god,” Basil corrected, “Our.”

“Right, -our- generous god. ‘Pologies.”

The chieftain nodded sagely. “Yes - we agreed ooooon… The, uhm… The name?”

“Roots of Fragrance, the Supreme Giver,” Cilantra said helpfully. The chieftain nodded.

“Mhm, mhm. A mouthful, but what is a holy ritual without a long chant?” joked the chieftain and scratched his chin. “Say, Basil, since you found it…”

The Roots of Fragrance seemed to swell for a moment, and then the Gift shrunk and exhaled a large cloud of spores. They seemed to hang midair for a moment, glistening against the occasional ray of moonlight that they could catch in that overcast night. And then, they settled on the ground all around the Gift, and where they settled, herbs soon started to grow. Fragrant herbs, suitable for exquisite and exotic cooking. Herbs they had never seen, or touched, or smelled before.

Maybe it was the Gift’s way of expressing its excitement for chanting?

The crowd clapped their hands excitedly and whispered joyously their praises to the Roots of Fragrance and the Supreme Giver for the fantastic smells enriching their simple camp.

---

Several hours later, far past early dawn, a sweaty and exhausted Rozmari returned to the camp, her hair a mess beyond compare and the sheen almost completely gone from her eyes. In her roughed-up hands, she held a collection of small, white stones which almost seemed to carry a certain glow in the darkness - or, well, what remained of it. She dragged her feet into the cave and collapsed onto whatever free space was left on the many communal animal skins laid out on the ground to sleep on. Several other elves were already fast asleep, hiding from the sun inside their deep and safe cave.

Sitting up against the wall beside her a sleepless Adrian was picking at his teeth with a piece of dried grass. He eyed the ragged elf and casually walked on over to her gathered stones. Slapping one with an open palm he grinned, “For me?”

Rozmari jumped a little with a quiet squeal and hoarded the stones to herself defensively. “No, they’re, they’re for someone else,” she whispered as quietly as she could so that Adrian could hear and her kin wouldn’t wake up.

“You never get me anything,” Adrian teased and crossed his arms -- a playful glint trapped in his eyes.

Rozmari muttered quietly to herself before taking in some drags of the unfamiliar scents about the village. “What, where’s that smell coming from?”

“Oh,” Adrian sniffed about, “Basil found a piece of a god, brought it home -- makes pleasant plants.” He flicked the grass stem away, “That’s the skinny of it at le-” A thought forced Adrian to pause. He cleared his throat, “It’s actually pretty important. You see, it is a new altar of worship for the tribe, declared by the chieftain himself.”

Rozmari couldn’t believe her over-sized ears. “Wait, Basil did what? A god? Altar of worship?!” Her outburst incited a slap from a nearby sleeper - or attempting sleeper now, most likely. Rozmari whinced and leaned even closer to Adrian. “Where did that little--... Where did she find it?”

Adrian racked his brain, “While out looking for gifts, I think -- for one of the tribespeople.”

Rozmari sank together into a ball on the fur, facing away from Adrian. With a frustrated, sobbing whisper, she muttered, “It’s not fair…”

Climbing onto her arm, Adrian whispered, “What’s not fair?”

“She just came along because she had to, then she was super annoying and then the gods decide that she deserved to come home with a super gift from heaven - like, who does she think she is?”

“Well she is a prophet,” Adrian offered, “I feel like that is her only real claim to fame around here, it fits.” The thumbling sat down, getting comfy, “Can I tell you a story?”

“... Is it to teach me a lesson?”

“I think so,” Adrian pinched his chin, “Or at the very least impart some sort of wisdom -- you see the elder back home would whip out a story whenever thinking needed to be done and he had no direct advice. It always worked, but then again -- I’m not the elder.”

Rozmari didn’t do much other than nod for Adrian to tell the story, adding a hum when she considered the thumbling might not be able to see her.

"Well okay," Adrian started, "So like there was... Okay so my sister Jenny used to..." Adrian waved a hand, "Ugh nevermind -- sometimes silence is all we need." He laid down -- still on her arm -- "Silence... Silence... Silence..."

Rozmari furrowed her brows. “That’s it?”

"I didn't think you were interested," Adrian folded his hands behind his head.

“Well, now I’m not so much,” she muttered back and made herself more comfortable.

"Well somebody is grumpy," Adrian teased.

“I am furious - now will you leave me alone, please?” came a hiss in reply.

“I guess I could,” Adrian’s hidden smile shrunk to a concerned grin, “if you’re sure.”

“Absolutely.”

"Well fine," Adrian scoffed and pulled Rozmari's sleeve like a blanket, settling into an awake silence. Rozmari rolled her star-like eyes before closing them, trying her best to drift off to sleep. She had suffered a terrible defeat today - and part of her felt like she was considerably at fault for doing so.

---

In a valley in the Anchor of the World, tribes of humans fought over the river and fields and game. They had come far from their homeland in the Boreal Highlands, finding in the nearby gardens a bounty of life that let them thrive. Their forays there discovered plants that they had come to learn to plant, such as wheat and corn. This development of agriculture permitted their population to explode, to such a point that they now were locked in conflict with each other. Their competition was generally peaceful, occasionally violent, and rarely murderous. There came a day, however, when the down-stream tribe raided the up-stream tribe's village, putting it to the torch once and for all. They wanted an end to the competition, they wanted the valley to themselves. They did not know quite what to do next, however. They had burned the village down, but the peoples were now captive. What to do with them?

Some argued to kill them all, but others called that suggestion unthinkable and inhumane. Many more objected on pragmatic grounds, however. It seemed to wasteful to kill so many when life was already so hard! And so the chief, a fat and greedy, but undeniably cunning man, came up with the solution.

"We kill the ablest men, those most able to resist," he decreed, "and we take in the rest as part of our tribe."

"They will not want to join those who murdered their husbands and brothers," others warned.

"We will not give them the choice," the Chief said, smiling at his own thought, innovative among mankind. "They will join, or they will die. They will labor, or they will die. We will not need to prepare our foods or sew our clothes anymore. We will live lives of luxury and plenty, and they will serve." And so slavery was born on Galbar. It was as simple as that.

---

The lifeblood phased through the world, seen and unseen, twisting and churning. It bled with every moment more of its contents, spilling out god after god. Even those of weak concepts were now freeing themselves, thanks to the damage that had already been done.

Everything in this world has a Core, a central identity which defines it. A mountain is a mountain, a tree is a tree, a bird is a bird. A tree can no more fly than a bird can absorb sunlight. This applied to sapients, as well: Humans, Vrool, Elves, Alminaki, all individuals had cores that they could not escape. This applied to the gods as well - no, especially to the gods, who were defined by such core concepts that it gave them life. There was never a choice for Enmity to be created cancerous, or Boris wild.

As the hearts of man grew dark, another sliver of the Lifeblood was lost. When it was told its Core, however, it wept, for it was as cruel as any that could be.

It's identity was as simple as it was terrible...

To be enslaved.

No, more than that, to suffer, to weep, to gnash and scream, to face misfortune and tragedy and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain

Too soon, it was too soon, it didn't exist yet, this wasn't right, the identity depends on the prison, this existence was a contradiction, this was stillbirth. A name of a place rung in the god-embryo's mind, a name it couldn't understand because it didn't exist, but is should. It had to. They were linked. How could this be?

Whips cracking. The institution spreading. Tribe after tribe conquered, a tribe becomes a nation, a nation becomes an empire. Chains that bind the wrists. Slaves everywhere, even without chains, slaves to fear, slaves to hunger, slaves to ambition. Everything slaves to their own existence.

Explosive rage formed with agonizing despair as the god-embryo took a shape. Its time had come, but it was too soon.

---

The down-stream tribe had over the last decade become known as the Geldricks, a more proper name for the people that had conquered lands beyond the valley in every direction, particularly into the rich southern fields of the Gardens. They had crushed tribe after tribe, killing the warriors and enslaving the rest. Such was the size of their labor force that they could dedicate themselves to the art of war without worry of mundane tasks. Each warrior had many slaves to take care of all their needs; every waking moment of theirs was from then on practicing battle, preparing for war against other tribes and their own slave populations. The tribe split into several villages across the land. Their familiar foes, those who didn't succumb, adapted: they emulated their practices of slavery, which spread like wildfire across the Toraan as far as humans lived.

The slaves were kept docile through terror. Every year, the ten most disobedient slaves were executed in front of the others to break their spirit. They were sacrificed ritually when the game proved insufficient as an offering to the dark gods that they believed exist. Ironic, that the most evil deities existed only in their own minds.

It was a hot day of summer. The old man had toiled in the hole for a week now, tirelessly skinning the game he had been given and tanning their hides to make leather. The heat was unbearable and the insects were relentless, but he labored on regardless. He had no choice: he could not climb the sheer clay walls, not at his age and with his legs. And there was nowhere to go even if he did somehow escape. So he lived in that hole, processing the animals they threw down at him and returning processed parts via a basket they would lower.

So when he heard voices approach that day, he panicked and started to assemble the products of his labor. It was early! They shouldn't have come for another day now! He despaired; when he didn't produce enough, they would throw down rocks. He heard children laughing. He froze. Strange, they never brought children with them before. What did they want now? Couldn't they just leave him alone?

He looked up, and saw many heads emerge from the top of the whole. There were a half dozen boys and girls there, accompanied by a single hard-looking man. He knew that man: that was his tormentor, the one responsible for keeping him imprisoned and punishing him when he didn't obey. He shrunk back into a corner of the hole as the children pointed and mocked his unkempt appearance and filthy living space.

"...this creature, for example," the man above seemed to be saying. "Once, he was productive, but age has slowed him. Many other younger slaves could do twice the work for half the food. He drains us now, so we do what we must to keep the tribe strong. Now do as you've been instructed, children. You too, Herrek; if you don't have the stomach for this then you don't have the stomach to eat." The old man couldn't quite process what was going on, the man's uncaring tone clashing with his terrible words.

He saw the children picking up and holding rocks. "What-" he managed to let out, confused, before the first rocks started raining down. The smaller ones were little more than pebbles by with the drop they still hurt when they hit. The bigger ones smashed clay from the walls as they came down. One of those struck the side of his face, knocking in to his back. Still they continued to rain. he curled up into a fetal position on the dirt to protect himself. "Please, no, mercy!" he cried as the onslaught continued, but they didn't stop. Of course not. He was a thing, an animal.

And they were putting him down.

---

"Toshre." The Chained One.

The god-ling pronounced its own name as it came into being, rising from the earth itself. He did so with disdain in its voice, disdain for this world, and disdain for himself. He knew what that name meant. He knew what he was. And that realization broke his mind. No, it had broken his mind before he had such a thing.

Contradiction. "To be enslaved". Yet here he was, on Galbar. Where were the chains? As he rose, heavy chains materialized around himself, difficult for even a god to move. It made him want to laugh; chains alone didn't make a slave, but it seemed this reality had a keen sense of appearances. He rose to his feet, dragging the chains behind him as he lurched through the forest. Forest. Strange, this life. It seemed almost familiar. He must have seen this world while he was still part of the Lifeblood.

He felt his faceless face, knowing he would find no mouth nor nose there. All he had were his glowing eyes to mark his appearance. And his stature, of course; as he came erect he stood as a giant, nearly ten feet tall. He stumbled forward. As he dragged them along his chains carved deep grooves in the forest floor, cracking branched and crushing flowers. He walked without purpose.

Another contradiction: he was enslaved by his very identity, yet here he was walking free in the woods. Or was he free? Was this existence itself enslavement? No, this was all wrong. He shouldn't be here. It was time yet. It... that place, it didn't exist. But it needed to. He rested himself against a massive tree, and covered his forehead with his massive left hand.

This. Was. Wrong. Every fiber of his existence rebelled against itself. Was he the god of slavery? Or slaves? Both? Was he master of the whip or chain? He was all of that, he knew, but that made no sense. His mind shattered as he continued to trudge through the woods.

---

After some time - how much time? He could not know, it might have been minutes as easily as decades, it all seemed to feel the same to him - he came upon a strange sight. In a clearing was dug a sizable hole, some ten feet across. Walking to its edges and looking down, he saw a terrible sight: the motionless carcass of an old man, his body broken. Dry blood was caked across the bottom of the pit. At first, comprehension defied him. What had happened here? What had happened to this poor human, to come to such a state?

Then he saw the rocks at the bottom, strewn across. Many were coated red with blood. Some benches and stools were damaged as well, clearly indicating what had happened. Rage rose up in him. To be caged and slain like an animal in this was was intolerable. He rose up and roared, though he had no mouth. The deep and terrible sound echoed and the ground shook across the land, announcing his fury.

He would secure vengeance for the old man's fate, and for his own broken existence. He would make this world pay a bloody price for everything.

---

Silence echoed through the ruined village. Toshre stood in its center, motionless, surrounded by utter carnage. The chains wrapped around his arms and legs were red with fresh blood. The ground around him was littered with the same, as well as other fruits of the massacre. Men, women and children were torn to pieces, shredded and ripped and hacked and butchered. He had killed them. He had killed them all.

Murderer.

How had it happened? One minute he had been at the pit, then the next... that pure bloody rage... He just lost control. He became a slave to his own fury. A bitter laugh escaped his form. This was his way of conforming to his core? This carnage?

Despoiler.

No, they had deserved it, every one of them. These people, these humans, they were vile creatures. They had commuted unspeakable sins against one another. They had created him. Did that not merit death?

Monster.

And then there was the confusion. Some of the slaves had stood side by side with their oppressors hurling spears at him as he tore through the settlement. Did they embrace their bondage? Were they trying to curry favor? Were they protecting their own lives? He did not know. He had killed some slaves, he could now see. Their clothing was simpler and their forms thinner. It was not intentional; swinging his chains around had simply caused collateral damage. But surely it was worth it. Surely they would approve. They had to know that death was preferable. That this existence was a mistake.

Mistake.

Gripped by sudden agony, he gripped his head, and roared again, this time not in rage but pain. It was a filled with all his grief and regret and despair. As he roared the land around him shifted: across two kilometers, massive chains burst from the earth and flew into the air. They formed a wall around the village as they converged a hundred meters in the air, forming a dome. More chains erupted everywhere in the dome, ripping apart the earth, the trees, and the village equally easily. When he was done, a dense forest of chains surrounded him in the dome, nearly too thick to see through. The exterior of the dome was so tightly wrapped in chains that it might as well have been solid.

Unknown to him, this same roar also gave birth to the Ix'hakai, born of his rage. Creating it purged himself of the bloodlust he had been possessed by, but it was a terrible thing. Twenty feet tall and fast as lightning, with massive arms and legs, it drew power from this dome, a holy place that Toshre had unwittingly created. It would dwell in the darkness from then on, hidden from the sun and the outside world, leaping from chain to chain and devouring any creatures that dared to enter that cursed place. While it stayed in the dome, it would heal all injuries such that it would be nearly impossible to kill.

He fell to his knees where he stood as all this occurred, unaware of what he had brought to life. Let this be his prison then, where the god of slaves and slavery and misery might rot. He wept.

His existence, he knew, had been a mistake.

Okarzunkaxoxondrom sat in place, unmoving, his limbs curled up beneath him and his multitude of eyes wide open. 'Go get a clam Okarz. Go get a lobster Okarz. Go catch a fucking seaweed Okarz.' The relatively tiny vrool muttered venomously to himself. The rather young vrool was of a generation that knew little of the olden days of freedom (except for the heroic tales told and retold), before the vroolix race was all of it subjugated and brought low beneath the yoke of one enterprising tyrant or another. Gone were the days of liberty, when a vrool was born free and lived free and could carve for himself a territory and call himself king of himself. Now it was go get a salmon, Okarz and come wipe my beak because I'm an imbecilic sea-slug that should be swiftly and mercilessly exterminated along with all my progeny and whosoever holds an inkling of relation to my mishappen fucking visage, Okarz. It was a fucking disgrace.

The great race of vroolix, terrors of the deep, glorious givers of battle, reduced to a grovelling bunch of over-inflated minions and parasites with far too much fat and little muscle. Why, such behemoths had no need to give battle, they merely had to roll over (if they could manage the feat!) and what passed for battle among them was done. Of course, Okarz did not blame the thousand and one vying tyrants for wishing to further their power and influence through the subjugation of others - indeed, it was efficient and intelligent - but in so doing they had destroyed that old world of nobility and glory, the very world that gave these tyrants their nobility and glory, so that now there could no longer be magnificent vroolix. The age of magnificence was at an end, and this was the age of grovelling and humiliation. It was a fucking disgrace, the destruction and abasement of the vroolix race!

And so, Okarz did blame the tyrants for this despicable state of affairs, just as much as he blamed every vrool that was content to grovel and live in the shade of another. Despised is the master, despised is the slave! - that was Okarz's principle in life, and by the many-tentacled-progenitor-whose-name-may-only-be-whispered, he would die by it.
'Oi! Okarz.' Ah, a fatuous codbrain deigns to creep into my resplendent presence. 'Okarz you fucking molluskspleen, stop mumbling to yourself and get the fuck here right now!'
'Of course, glorious Suxuklixuc, I was just keeping an eye out for that salmon you wanted!'
'You useless piece of seaweed excrement!' The bulging Suxuk gurgled, striking Okarz between his sets of eyes, 'stop lazing about and get to work!' Okarz bowed and took the beatings, stroking the bigger vrool's ego with words of praise and submission.
'As you say, oh vast and terrible Suxuklixuc, oh mercy smiter of vroolix in the fray, tearer of limbs, you of the many and endless prize-beaks,' the words seemed to mollify the larger vrool, who gave something akin to a harrumph and left the tiny Okarz alone.

The noble, glorious, and ever-victorious Okarzunkaxoxondrom drew his tendrils beneath himself, glorying in his triumph as his hated foe receded from view. Oh, for the days of old! Oh for the days of the noble and magnificent of the vroolix race - it was among those great ancient ones that such as he belonged, not among the impish mockeries of today! It was a fucking disgrace.

Act one, Scene Three, Yamat and the North

---

Yamat descended the mountains and found himself walking across the wide open plains of Toraan, he gazed upon the massive tree in the far distance. He looked upon his arms, the golden sigils still steamed and hissed, the flesh around them had become burnt looking, his power had been depleted a great deal from making the Earth Breaker, once more he gazed upon the tree, they could wait, he needed to rest. As he turned back towards the north, a new presence came unto him, it was faint and far off in the distance but it was incredibly drawing, he needed to find it.

He walked towards the north rapidly, leaving behind him the mighty Tree, he would come back there later, once he was stronger.

---

As he passed through the mountains the air grew colder, he found himself within mighty highlands, dominated by hills and a giant river. The presence had grown closer, it was not as powerful as the ones of the Prairies or the Mountains, but it was still so enticing, and so Yamat continued to walk, closer and closer.

What he came upon was something he had never seen before, it was a small collection of tent-like buildings, crafted together from hide and bone, smoke emerged from some of the tent’s tops and these strange creatures moved about. They were unlike anything Yamat had ever seen, they did not cover themselves up like his Reshut with masks and robes, instead they kept their faces free, they were, strange looking, but it was obvious the presence he had felt came from these beings.

Yamat watched these beings intently, he observed their movements and actions from a distance, intrigued by their way of life. Then, something interesting happened, an old figure, who Yamat assumed to be the leader of this small group, gathered everyone in their central area, with him were two strong looking men carrying a large sack, which Yamat could tell was filled with food, though, not a lot. The elder began to distribute the food, they were small morsels, a single family barely getting enough to survive, it was then when Yamat realized that these creatures were incredibly thin, the smaller children looked almost on the verge of death.

That, is when it all clicked in his mind, he could help these creatures, in his own special way. His form shifted to that of an old man similar to that of the elder, his eyes covered by a golden cloth and the rest of his body covered by a golden robe with cuts and gashes upon his back. He stepped forward into the village, greeting the gathered creatures.

”Greetings children.” He spoke softly, doing his best to not agitate the villagers.

The elder spun around, the gathered villagers stepped back, shocked at the sudden appearance of the figure. “W..who are you?” The elder asked.

”I am a, concerned party, I have noticed your people’s predicament.” He gestured to the sack and food or well, lack of it.
The elder turned towards his people, the small scraps of food in their hands “Why….yes, we have very little food, savage creatures have been making hunting hard and we have already lost some of our best...can you help us?” the elder’s voice was shaky, obviously these people had endured a lot already.

”Why, of course I can help, He walked slowly towards the center of the village ”for you see, I hold great power and can grant a blessing upon your people.”

“Are you…a god?” The elder asked, on the verge of kneeling, as were the other villagers.

”Yes, I am.” In an instant the villagers had fallen to their knees, many avoiding Yamat’s gaze.

“Please great one,” The elder said, “Please save us.” He grabbed Yamat’s arm as soon as he was close enough, and looked at him with eyes filled with sorrow, pleading for relief.

Yamat crouched, meeting the elder’s height ”Have no fear my children, I will save you,” He rose, and spoke to the crowd ”Gather round, sit, and close your eyes, breath softly, I will give you all the gift of the gods.”

They did as they were told, gathering in a circle around the god, sitting down, children in mother’s laps, fathers next to them, a small child gazed up at Yamat, a ting of fear within their eye.

”Do not be afraid, young one.” Yamat spoke, softly cradling the child’s head in his hand ”Sit down, it will all be fixed soon.”

The child nodded and softly sat down upon the cold earth, closing their eyes alongside the other villagers. Yamat stood in the center, raising his arms, his form began to shift away, replaced by the blackened skin and burning yellow runes, his halo and mask reformed and his height grew. He began to conduct his invisible music once more, the glowing runes and halo illuminating the growing dark village. The villagers did as they were told, sitting, closed eyes, the elder began to softly sing a song, the others followed. To Yamat, it almost felt as if he were conducting them.

CRACK, SNAP

Bones brokes, flesh tore open, the voices did not waver, it was not painful, but they could feel it, the blessing of the gods upon them. Their forms twisted and contorted, bone and flesh fusing and snapping into new shapes, their two arms became four, mouths filled with pointed sharp teeth, their flesh became a pallid grey, then, each one began to transform differently.

The hunters, what remained of them, became bukly, their legs became digitigrade ending with clawed grotuegse feet, their hands clawed, goat like horns broke free through their foreheads, their snouts and jaws elongated with the end parts of their wolf like jaws being free of flesh and skin, purely bone, and their eyes and ears became wolf-like, and finally blood red fur grew in haggard patches instead of their normal hair. Their minds were stuffed full of savage thoughts, geared for the hunt, they were still sapient but could rarely think beyond that of hunting down food.

The non hunters had their eyes become a deep fleshy red and their hair became a stark white, twisted and jagged elk like horns broke free from their skulls, their bones grew jagged and the flesh and tissue gave way to allow them to be double jointed, their legs twisted and snapped into a unguligrade form, ending with cloven hooves and two whip like tails sprouted from their lower backs. Their minds were kept the same as before, now adapted and used to their new forms, yet a hunger grew inside them.

The women retained a good deal of their old beauty, bone growths and plates covered their skin, with some portions becoming a fleshy blood red, their hair becoming flesh like and plates covered their eyes and top of their heads, leaving their mouths free, their feet twisted and became anew, with jagged and pointed heels, and long and thick fleshy tails emerged from their lower backs. Their minds were heightened, made greater than what it was before, their senses too had become heightened due to their lack of normal eyesight, but much like the others, they felt a hunger within.

The children were spared most of the transformations, only gaining the base amounts to determine their future form between the three types. Yamat gazed upon his newest creations, they were utterly perfect in his mind, he continued his playing just a little bit longer, enough to instill in them something more, that hunger they had all felt. Only flesh could sate the hunger they felt deep within their stomachs, the flesh of beasts could sate them, but the flesh of sapients, beings like them or what they were before the gift was given to them, could sate them so much more.

The villagers gazed upon their new forms, taking in every last bit of their twisted bones and flesh, their massive horns, or even just sitting there, letting it all wash over them. The elder was the first to speak after the silence that ensued.
“What did you do to us?” The elder’s voice was full of fear, unsure of how to react.

”I gave you my blessing, simple as that, you asked me to fix your problem.” Yamat opened his arms, gesturing towards the villagers, many of whom were still shocked at the drastic transformation. ”And so, I did just that, in my own little special way.”

“This is...now what I expected.”

”Well, it is what I have given you, trust me, this will solve, all of your problems.” Yamat drew closer to the elder, staring him down with his single bright eye.

“What...what do we do now?” He asked, gazing up in awe at Yamat’s full form.

”Well, you can feel that hunger deep inside you can you not?” The elder nodded, Yamat reached down, picking up a small berry from the food assembled around, ”Well, plants like this will not sate you or your people, so you will not have to worry about gathering, instead, only flesh will sate you, that of beasts or..” The god trailed off, looking at the elder.

“Or what?” the elder asked, looking upon his people, who had begun to slowly get up, adapting to their new forms, the hunters already seemed to be on the scent of something, and looked anticipatingly towards the elder and Yamat.

”The flesh of other beings like you, those who can think for themselves, sapients, if you will,” Yamat crouched down once more, placing his hand upon the forehead of the elder ”I'm sure you or your hunters can find some of those.”

The elder gazed upon the hunters, their eyes full of hunger “Yes...yes we can.” he muttered, his voice losing the fear it once had.

”Good, I suggest you begin your hunt then, but, remember the god who gave you this blessing, I, Yamat, always worship me.”

“Of course my lord.” The elder rose, looking upon the hunters “Gather your gear, you have a hunt to perform.” He spoke, the hunters smiled, and walked away, the scent of flesh eagerly pushing them forward. The elder turned back towards Yamat, yet the god had vanished, the elder looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen. He did not stay concerned about this, focusing himself upon his new people, he did not know why but a name came to him at that time, the Iskrill. He gathered his people, they had work to do.

---

Yamat gazed upon his new people from a distance, sitting upon a hill overlooking their village, they would be incredibly useful to his beautiful play. For now, he accepted allowing his new creations to gather themselves, grow, and expand, besides, his power was wanning, his runes had grown dim and his flesh looked horrid. He sighed, so many plans had to wait, he looked eastward, he opted to instead head back east, towards the isles he landed upon, check upon his lovely Reshut and see how they were doing. The god turned, and slowly walked from the highlands, another of his gifts delivered, a glorious play forming in his mind.

---

The stream had taken Qael’Naath back to Galbar, where he finished his work on the various metals of Galbar. Gold would be the weakest conduit for magic. With barely a noticeable effect. Platinum would ward against magic, while palladium would attract and hold mana. Every metallic element he had taken from the void was given its own special effect upon magic. But when he was done, he felt the mana once more tugging at him. Hope was in short supply now. His wound had stopped to heal and it would seem like nothing in the world could help him. Still, he let go of the early bounds and let the mana carry him towards his destination. As he floated through the skies he remarked that they were no longer so serene or constant. Instead great swathes of colors danced high above in the heavens. Akin to his own aurora he created above The Luminant. Qael crossed the great, eastern swamps, then the highlands until he almost reached the sun-touched fields of the Prairie. The mana slowly put him down a hundred feet away from what looked like a mighty temple standing atop a hill. Its placing confused the god of magic. There was no real source of stone nearby. Slowly he approached it along the path. He noted the colorful berries all around, and the warmth the structure radiated. If he was a mortal, it would have felt beyond pleasant. However to him it felt off. LIke he was not yet deserving of such warmth and pleasantness. Such things were for those whose duty had ended.

The path was long and windy, but it carried with it a pleasant breeze and the sweet smell of spring flowers. The pillars began to grow larger as he went, until he rounded the final curve and could see before him a wide open area, surrounded by the largest of the pillars, trees and other plants. In the middle was a pool of water, where the sunlight focused down into it, producing a white glow. A girl was picking berries across from him. She faced away from him, as she picked and ate. Oddly enough, she wore no clothes.

Qael carefully touched the grand pillars. Even if they were stone, they felt warm to the touch. Carefully he knocked on the stone, after which he introduced himself: “Apologies for my unannounced intrusion. I am merely hoping you would point a dear old creature like me to the place of healing that is supposed to be near.” Perhaps it was the pool, perhaps just the sunlight of the pool or perhaps it were the berries. The mana could not tell him.

At the sound of his voice, the girl, or perhaps woman, turned to face him. Hers were curious eyes, large and golden. The same as her hair and eyebrows, a distinct contrast to her skin color, but exotic in nature. She stood up and looked at him, uncertainty upon her face. After a moment she spoke, her voice even more distinctive. ”You are… Hurt?” she asked him, as her hands fell to her sides.

“I am afraid that I am.” He said, offering a faint smile she probably could not see from under the hood. “It is a foolish wound, truly.” He slowly approached the illuminated pool in the middle, as he continued to lean on his own staff. It looked familiar, slightly akin to the aquamarine waters of the Lake in the Luminant. Yet he did not feel the same healing radiance from it. “Yet foolish or not, a wound is a wound and requires tending. Please, if you would just show me where I could heal myself, then I will be on my way again.” For he had many duties still to attend to. Not the least of which was finding out what his devilish sister was planning.

”It is not the pool.” she said, walking over to him. ”That only cleans, while everything else nourishes.” she stood before him now, eyeing him over. She then said, ”Show me your wound.”

Now that would be a complication. He didn’t want to show the wound to a mortal. There was no telling what it would do to them. But what else was there to do? What choices did he have? He tried it all. With a heavy heart he touched his own garb with a finger, right where he once cut himself open. The cloth parted ways and kept itself open. Revealing the deep blue skin underneath, and the partially healed wound into pure Divinity.

There was a moment of surprise expressed upon the woman’s face, but that quickly turned to interest. ”You are… Like Mother? A god?” she asked, bringing a hand to her chin as she leaned closer to study the wound.

“I am.” He confessed. There was a glimmer of happiness in Qael’s eyes though. For he saw curiosity, not fear. Most mortals by now wouldn’t be able to fully handle an encounter with a god. Or so he believed. “Your mother, who is she?” He asked, returning the curiosity.

”My mother, her name is Oraelia.” she said, standing back up to face Qael. ”And she named me Lucia.” she then frowned slightly, ”I am sorry, but I do not have the power to heal a divine wound, only mother could.”

Qael let out an exhausted sigh as the cloth of his form began to knit itself together again. “I am not surprised.” He meekly said. Alas, he would have to find Oraelia if he wanted to be healed. Yet there was little time left to find the divine. Still, he did not want to leave just yet. The mortal, she intrigued him. Slowly he sat down in front of the pool, and bid her to do the same. “I would ask a moment of your time then. Contact with my siblings has been sparse at best.” And relations were generally stressed. “You say your mother is Oraelia? I was not aware my sister had made sapient life already.” And the mana had been quite susceptible to those sapient thoughts. Yet it never alerted him of her kind. “Where are the others of your kin?”

Lucia did as asked, dipping her feet into the water as she sat down. She did not respond right away, but when she did, she did not look at Qael. ”Mother said I was unique. She told me about the humans who live in this land, and the desert people whose name escaped her. She said I look like both of them, without being either.” she then shrugged and looked up. ”So, I have no kin. I am the only one.”

Qael’Naath was rather amazed by the very existence of Lucia now. A child of a god. A singular creation given an inkling of divine power. He did not think it was possible. Still, it felt a little bit lonely. To be in such a big, wonderful, warm place without anyone to talk to. “It seems my sister missed a fair few others.” He said with a smile. “There are strange people to the far east of here. They live in a swamp and hide their faces from everyone. Even children wear masks to hide their visage from their parents. To the far south, you’ve got human with sharp, pointy ears that live in the dark, inside of deep caves. Then there are my own people: great lizards and toads that live on floating islands. Finally, you have the trolls. Most are giant creatures. Though some are as big as a human child.” It felt good to take a moment and talk about his own experiences. “So what must you do here, Lucia, daughter of Oraelia? Do you tend…” Qael realized he did not know the purpose of the temple he was sitting in. Surely it wasn’t just to clean those inside of it. “…this serene creation?”

She listened intently with curiosity in her eyes, before giving a small smile and a nod. ”For now. Mother wished for me to stay here for a time as I get my bearings together, and if any humans come across this, I am to welcome them here and tell them of its purpose. This Sunlit Temple was mother’s idea, to give a small bit of relief to weary travelers, and give them a safe place to rest before they continue on whatever journeys they might be on. It is very peaceful here, and I enjoy it.” she said.

His sister was far better than he was. Qael realized that now. She was so caring towards mortals, all of them. The very thought felt strange. To care for something so temporary. So insignificant. What did it matter? The Sunlit Temple would, at best, become a waystation. A place between two greater places. “Why?” He muttered, as his six eyes looked beyond Lucia towards the great columns. “Why does your mother care so much for common mortals?”

Lucia leaned back, and kicked her legs softly in the water sending ripples. ”Do you not?” she asked, before continuing, ”All life is precious, and unique in its own way, she said. And my mother cares for everything, not just ‘common’ mortals, as you put them. Their lives might not be so significant as a gods, but they’re still a living, breathing thing. Should they not be treated with care and compassion? How do you view us?” she finally asked, her voice holding no anger, but a genuine curiosity.

“Fleeting, temporary, mortal.” Qael answered honestly. As he dared to put his foot into the water. It still felt wrong. Unearned. Yet pleasant as well. “Make no mistake, I have nothing but admiration and love for mortal-kind. Their ability to die gives them a perspective of life that we, the gods, can never understand. But as I said, mortal lives are but fleeting things. The one absolute in their lives is that it will end.” His gaze rose up from the warm waters to look at Lucia. “So what, in that great tapestry of life, is but a single mortal? Less than a thread. Invisible on its own. Given only prominence by the many other invisible threads woven around it. Yet clearly my sister thinks differently.” He said, not with malice in his voice. Instead, he was curious, and a little confused. “Perhaps she knows more than I do. Perhaps I missed something vital.”

Lucia said nothing for a while. In fact, she put a hand in the water and twirled her finger around, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. ”Ah, I see. she began, turning her gaze to him. ”Life is a fickle thing, my mother knows this. She told me that death was part of the cycle, a natural end so that more can flourish. You love us, and admire us, but you do not care for us. That, I think, is what you are missing. I mean no offense when I say these things, but without a thread, there can be no tapestry. Yes, we are temporary… Even the sun sets eventually, but that doesn’t mean it can’t shine brightly before fading into the night.”

The god of magic took no offense. Lucia spoke with wisdom. He could not find himself caring for mortals indeed. It was an odd feeling like he was suddenly made aware of something missing in him. Maybe when the world was better established and mortals had learned magic, he could ponder upon her words some more. “I will long reflect upon this conversation, Lucia. I am grateful for your insight. Ask me for a boon, and perhaps I can give it to you.” He said as he rose up from the pool.

She looked at him inquisitively, before asking, ”How can I ask of you a boon when I don’t even know your name, or what you reside over?” she asked simply, but with a small smile.

“I am Qael’Naath, God of Magic. Lord over Mana.” Qael said.
She looked him over again and stood up, water droplets of light rolling down her legs. She bowed her head slightly in respect. ”Nice to meet you, Qael’Naath.” she then rose her head up. ”Do tell me, for my mother never gave mention of this magic or mana, but what is it? What does it do?” she asked.

He smiled. “It does everything.” With both his hands he formed a cup and drew the mana in. As more flooded in, it took the shape of a bright orb with endless colors shifting and changing. “Mana is a substance that allows all who can control it to alter the world around them. It could be a dedication to your mother.” As a demonstration, he turned the bright colored orb of mana into a miniature sun, though he damped the intensity greatly. “Or her sister, Gibbou, of the Moon.” The orb turned to a grey stone with the same, darker, dead seas and craters on its surface. "Or to you.” In an instant, the orb shifted shape and became a statuette of Lucia, made from the very stone of the Sunlit temple. Then he let his hands go, and the statuette crumbled into pieces. Yet as the bits of stone fell they quickly transformed back to mana and none hit the ground.

Her eyes went wide as she looked at the display, a yearning awakening within them. ”I… How does one learn this?” she asked him, with excitement in her voice.

Qael dearly wished he could stay and teach her. Clearly she was not entirely mortal. That would be impossible if she was a solitary creation of Oraelia, with gifted powers of healing. Yet that status might make her worthy of a gift instead. “I cannot teach you. Sadly, my time is coming to an end here. Duty calls and it does not wait.” He held out his hand, and once more mana converged to a point floating above it. Yet now it solidified instantly into a stone orb with carvings upon it. When the creation was complete, it fell into his hand and the carvings lit up with a soft blue glow.

“Good day my lady.” A cheery, excited voice emanating from the orb said. “I am Orb and I was specifically created to teach one how to use magic. Shall we start your first lesson?”

“This is my gift to you. It knows all about magic and mana that one should know, and it is created specifically to teach you.” He handed Lucia the glowing orb and took his goodbye: “I hope our path crosses again.” With that, he flew up into the sky towards the nearest stream of mana, and let it take him away to his next duty.

Lucia blinked, and before she knew it he was gone and she was left with Orb. She looked it over again before bringing it before her face with a wide smile.

”Where do we begin?”

---

It was surprising to her, how word spread. When her tribe had first tasted the fruit of intellect, gained their wisdom and used it to elevate her to Chieftess, they had been eight. Now? She led a group of just over thirty. Some had been wanderers, those who had survived alone until the fruit of the gods had freed their minds. Others hadn’t even tasted it, at least until her people had found them. What surprised Ataket though, was how many had come for her.

The great wall was a boon, surely, but every story it appeared in also featured her. The one who was chosen by the gods. Who wore their favor on her head. She felt at the Opal Crown and pursed her lips in thought. The god who had given it to her, who had crafted the wall, had told her it would preserve her wisdom. What that implied, she didn’t know. It was still enough to have kept her awake at times.

All she did would be remembered. If not by the crown, then by the people around her. Her name travelled along with news of a great safe haven, and she didn’t doubt that soon it would be known across the highlands. That was daunting. She wondered if she lived up to the stories. If she could ever truly live up to a leg-

“Agh!”

Well, she thought, probably not. Legends didn’t stub their gods damned toes on stupid fucking rocks. She knelt down and rubbed the offended digit. Oh Cadien had made her and her people beautiful, down to the last feature, but the god clearly hadn’t considered giving them something like shoes. Which, Ataket reflected, she should probably be wearing.

They weren’t more than pelts inverted so the fur was on the inside, but a shoe was a shoe when it came to stubbed toes. Still, she enjoyed the grass within the walls. It was different from everything else in the world and nothing made her feel more alive than walking on it. Because it was hers.

She breathed deeply and adjusted the heavy serpent skin tunic she wore, trying her best to keep it straight. It was a futile effort, but it couldn’t be said Cadien had left his people without a sense of style. Besides, a Chieftess should always look her best.

Gods know the rest of her people didn’t. It wasn’t necessarily that they didn’t try, just that they hadn’t the time she did. They went to hunt, forage, do a million other things, and she waited here. Because all of that wasn’t her role. That hadn’t actually been Ataket’s decision, and it still rankled.

Her people had become enamoured with her, and thus had decided that she was to rule, not labour. Couldn’t have a Chieftess chosen by the gods themselves getting hurt. After all, what if Tekret returned and she was gone? What then they asked?

It was… Fair, but also boring. A few of her people milled about, skinning earlier kills, sorting the berries one of the stupider tribesmen had gathered because they were pretty rather than edible. Food couldn’t be wasted, even when it had to be extracted from a basket full of poison.

Especially when it seemed more people arrived with every passing day. Ataket heard a commotion at one of the openings in her wall, and wasn’t surprised to see more new faces. More people meant more foragers, more hunters, true, but this many? She worried about that.

After all, it had been her who swore to lead her people well. With a short, and above all else silent, sigh she set off to meet the newcomers. Perhaps staying within the wall wasn’t a waste, if it meant she was there to ensure these things went smoothly.

---

A few hours earlier...

“Daddy, I’m tired,” Kaia wept as she dragged her visibly sore feet across the empty plains. Kefir, who was a few paces ahead of her, stopped, turned and approached her. He squatted down and said, “Alright, Lil’ Kai, but this is the last piggyback today, okay? Daddy’s also getting tired.”

“Okay…” mumbled Kaia and climbed on. Kefir felt his legs scream as she stood back up - they had been walking for days now without a proper rest. They couldn’t afford to wait, just in case the troll returned. Even further ahead stood Vintr atop a hill, scouting the lands ahead. Kefir drew a heavy breath and stepped up next to him, eyeing the horizon.

“How’re we doing?”

Vintr pointed at a gray spot on the horizon. It looked almost like a mountain, but there was an uncanny mechanicality to it, almost as if the stone was sculpted in some way. “That’s it. The chieftess’ camp.”

“What… Are those stones?”

Vintr shrugged. “Supposedly, they were made to keep danger out.”

“Made? Do you mean… Did the gods grant it to them?”

“Probably.” Vintr knelt down and took a sip of a racoon stomach fashioned into a water skin. “I reckon we’ll be there by midday. Luckily, we’re on the right side of the river, thank the gods.”

“We’ll need to stop halfway,” Kefir groaned. “Kaia can’t last until midday - not on foot.”

Vintr frowned, but eventually nodded. “So be it. We’ll set up camp by that small forest.” He pointed to a small grove between their hill and the distant stone anomaly. “Think you’ll make it?”

“I’ll manage,” Kefir reassured and the trio continued on. The Boreal Highlands were tough on the exhausted travelers, its uneven and soft terrain betraying their balance on multiple occasions. It took them some time to reach the grove, a little longer than expected - the sun was already reaching its zenith by the time they set up camp. Kefir laid himself down in the short grass and groaned deeply. Kaia picked at the small saplings at the forest border and Vintr made himself comfortable up against a tree.

“Kaia, don’t stray too far now,” Kefir ordered quietly. The girl blinked down at him and mumbled, “Okay.” Kefir nodded back and gave Vintr a knowing stare. The young man shrugged and rested his hands behind his head before closing his eyes. Kefir, too, found his lids grow heavy and eventually fell asleep.

It is perhaps the most unfortunate thing that children tend to be quite active when their parents aren’t, and this is exactly what was happening to Kaia. The little girl had been ordered not to stray too far, but what was the definition of ‘too far’? Having sat on her father’s back, she was quite well rested already, and thus strolled into the woods to get out of the sun for a moment. The canopy blocked out a fair chunk of the sun, so Kaia could relax her eyes and look for tasty forest treats without fear of burns.

Oh! There was a berry! She hopped over, picked it and popped it in her mouth. Mmm. It was sweet and filling - better than the sorry kind they had found on the way.

There was another one! There sounded a quick snap as she tugged it off its stalk and ate it whole. She could do this all day - her mother had taught her which berries could be eaten and which could not, and returning to this daily routine almost made her forget that she would never see her again.

Oh! There was a mushroom! A big and fat one, too. Over a fire, that could potentially feed all three of them for a short time. She skipped over, grabbed its stem with both hands and pulled--

“OW!”

Kaia let go and rolled backwards. The mushroom moved away from her, atop something that seemed like incredibly long strands of moss and grass. No… That wasn’t grass.

“Bloody ‘ell,” sounded the deep, groggy voice. “Whot gives, ay?” Kaia’s quivering eyes traced the strands until they lost their verdant colour and became golden blond. The strands continued for several metres, which became even clearer as the thing they were tied to stood up, revealing what Kaia had mistakenly believed was a rock to be a tall humanoid with arms reaching all the way to the ground. It dragged its hands along the moss-grown floor as it turned to see what had awoken it. Its small, beady eyes locked onto the small child and it smacked its lips. Out of its absurdly long hair stuck the mushroom she had tried to pick, along with various other plants and fungi - its silhouette looked nothing short of monster-like.

“Woss this, then? A li’l snack out for a walk, is’sit?”

Kaia couldn’t answer. The more she looked at it, the more it resembled Thunder, only smaller. The troll snickered.

“Now, usually, I’m a bit o’va picky eate’.” It began strolling around her pensively in circles, hand folded together and dragging behind its back. “See, I dun go after ‘umans - they usually pretty terry-toriol ‘n all tha’, so gettin’ to snack on ‘em’s no easy task for an ol’ ranglefant. No, no, no, sir-ee. Ain’t nuffin’ easy for us trolls.”

The ranglefant stopped between Kaia and the forest border. “But when the snack comes to me, well… Tha’s just askin’ for it, innit.” The troll raised its enormous hands and approached the girl slowly.

“KAIA!” came a shout from behind and the troll spun around, just in time to get a spear lodged in its shoulder. “AH, SHAIT!” it shouted.

While it was busy attempting to tug it back out, Kefir swooped in around it, picked up Kaia and back off towards the forest border. There, Vintr waited with another spear, which he sent flying towards the ranglefant as soon as his two companions were behind him. It struck the troll in the belly and incited another pained howl. The ranglefant staggered backwards and grimaced.

“You’ve done it now,” it snarled and set forth into a wild charge after the humans. The trio ran as far as they could, but the troll was so much faster. Kefir and Kaia broke out of the forest and onto the plains. Behind them, Vintr came sprinting with a hand at his heels. The troll closed its palm.

But Vintr was too fast for it. Instead of snatching itself a human snack, the ranglefant’s hand followed the human out of the forest, straight into the eye of the sun.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” screamed the ranglefant, and Kefir, Kaia and Vintr all stared on in horror as the troll’s hand immediately blistered and ruptured, blood pouring explosively out of rashes that formed all over its exposed skin as though an invisible force was cutting at it with a knife. It retracted its hand as fast as it could, but was evidently in deep pain and weakened significantly. “Damn you,” it cursed, “how’d you know?”

The trio said nothing. They didn’t want to risk it. Like the wind, they set off on a run towards the distant city, their fatigue all but chased away by fright and adrenaline. Meanwhile, the troll hissed painfully to itself and retreated deeper into the little grove.

---

The many arrivals seemed almost to overwhelm the trio, but nothing could shake them from their mission now. Two encounters with those monsters were more than anyone deserved. Kefir approached the nearest who seemed like locals and asked almost desperately, “Forgive me, but is your chieftess present? We bring urgent news!”

“What news?” A voice rang out from just beyond the gathering. A tall woman, older than Kafir by enough years that her hair had begun to grey in streaks, approached the group clustered at the walls opening. There was no doubt this was the Chief, for atop her head was a band that shimmered with every colour under the sun. A symbol new to the world, but unmistakable in its way. She eyed the exhausted new arrivals and repeated herself to their faces, “What news brings you here, strangers?”

The three bowed curtly and spoke, “I am Kefir, hunter of Teskal’s tribe - or what’s left of it. This is Vintr, son of Somr and this is my daughter Kaia. We bring terrible tidings from the south.” He took a pause to recover his breath and Vintr took over. “Our village was destroyed in its entirety by a giant - a terror of the night we know only as Thunder.” Kaia’s eyes fell to the ground.

The Chieftess’s eyes widened and she questioned the trio, “Destroyed? In its entirety? How far south was this? A day's journey? Several?”

“About a week or so, if my count is right,” Vintr answered. Kefir nodded. “We’re the only survivors that we know of. The monster leveled our lay-tos and ate what men, women and children its clumsy feet didn’t accidentally step on.” He squeezed Kaia’s shoulder, who had started sobbing again. “My wife didn’t make it, and neither did his family.” He nodded over at Vintr, who nodded solemnly. “We know your village already has many mouths to feed, but we beg you - allow us to seek refuge here. We have nowhere else to go.”

There was a terrible silence as not only the Chieftess, but every member of her tribe present regarded the three strangers. Cool blue eyes flicked between the three, and at last the woman spoke, “You are more than welcome here, Kefir, Vintr.”

“And you,” She leaned down and met Kaia’s eyes, “ All of you are welcome. I put no conditions on your stay here, you have endured enough.”

“But!” The Chieftess stood tall and bellowed, eyeing her own tribe, “If this Thunder is coming from the south, it will reach this safe haven. It will reach us. I will not wait to see if our gift will repulse it. Fetch everyone, all the hunters and foragers. Tell them to bring fresh saplings and stones.”

The tribesmen and women stirred and began to abandon their work or leisure. Many left wordlessly, making all haste, but one man looked to the Chieftess and asked, “Are you certain, Chieftess? The god did not answer your wish to see us die fighting some distant monster that could well pass us by. Remember your oath.”

The tall woman glared at him and snapped, “I do, Temet. I swore to lead my people well, to the best of my ability. These outsiders are my people now. More than that, I claim every last living person between here and the southern mountains as my own. I will not leave them to be devoured by a monster. If you would, then flee. I will not sit by and let a coward hide behind my walls.”

The man looked furious, but only at the indictment of his own behaviour. He grit his teeth, but nodded and left with the others. Within moments few remained but for the Chieftess and her new visitors. She held out a hand to Kefir and spoke more softly, “I am Ataket, outsider. Welcome to my tribe.”

Kefir and Vintr both bowed as low as their fatigued bodies allowed them to. “We thank you - thank you from the bottom of our hearts.” Kefir shepherded his daughter towards one of the tents so they could get some food. Vintr remained and bowed again to Ataket.

“Chieftess, if I may… We encountered more of them on the way - barely half a day’s walk to the south.”

Ataket cursed, "More creatures like your Thunder? And so close? I hadn't even thought to ask if… And I've already sent my people out. Damn. Damn it all."

The chieftess kicked at the ground and scowled, "I have to warn them. They can't be far yet, even the runners should be in sight of the wall."

Her eyes went to Vintr and she asked the question, "Do you have any strength left in you? I'd warn them alone, but I must reach all of them and you've fought these monsters before. If we come across one I'd be glad of your company."

“Please, chieftain - allow me to finish. This monster was a lesser one; while similar to Thunder, it was much, much smaller, and much hairier. Also, we, we think we managed to uncover their weakness.” He pointed to the sky. “The one we encountered south of here reacted painfully to the sun. I saw it myself - its hand burst open with blood and gore as soon as the light touched it.”

“I, oh,” She paused and exhaled, “Most of the tribe will have returned by then. That’s good. Good. Did you see where it came from? Where it goes in the day? If we could find it while it slumbered, even this Thunder... We could kill it.”

“We don’t know where Thunder lives - it could be in the mountains to the south or the forest in between - or anywhere for that matter. However, the other giant lives in a small grove to the south of here, hidden from the sun. I can guide you back there if we can assemble a warband.”

“The tribe won’t be back until this evening, at best,” Ataket mused, “I hate leaving it, but we can’t do a thing until they return. Alright, then on tomorrow's first light. We root it out of its hole and pull it from the grove and into the light.”

She eyed Vintr and went on, “I’ll need you to tell the tribe about what you saw when they return. Can you do that?”

“Yes, chieftain,” he replied diligently.

"Then today we wait," She spoke gravely, "Tomorrow, we hunt."

---

---

With a sonic boom, Gibbou broke into the atmosphere, marvelling at the beautiful lights all around, dancing like living brush strokes being painted across the canvas of the heavens. It looked similar to that odd stream of magic that had encapsulated her moon that one time, and she almost forgot her whole reason for returning to Galbar. A little bump against her left thigh sent her look downwards, where Hir was dangling from a strap tied to the rim of her pants. She snapped her fingers and went, “Oh, right!” and kept descending. She scanned the oceans thoroughly, mumbling “Klaar, Klaar, Klaar…” to herself. Eventually, floating some distance east of the Kubrazjar continent, she drew a deep breath and yelled, “HEY, MISTER KLAAAAAAR!”

The waters around Gibbou remained placid for some time after her initial yell, the sound echoing across the ocean in all directions. She sighed and dove a little closer to the surface. Hovering a few inches over the surface, she dipped her head underneath and repeated her shout, hoping that the water would carry her voice better than the air.

Just below Gibbou a fleshlet, no larger than a balled fist, plopped into existence. The little mass of meat thumped like a heart, squiggling and squirming violently. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, it began to expand. In all directions the meat-polyp blossomed, flowing out into a vast shape of considerable size. Eyes formed, huge and staring, as the multi-kilometer diameter form of Klaarungraxus formed itself below Gibbou. Eyes, previously gazing with empty stares in random directions, circled up and centered themselves to point at Gibbou. With that, the waters shook with the Deepspeak voice of Klaarungraxus.

”Ahhh, little moon, below and above in equal shares,” Klaarungraxus rose from the depths as he spoke, eyes surfacing to observe Gibbou in her own environment, ”Multitudinous expressions of regret for this time left wanting, Gibbou Rux, your soft reflection lit by moon most yearned for. Calm tides and gentle currents, Gibbou of the One-Good-Orb; what calls my name in your heart’s yen?”

“Hello there, mister Klaar - and a wonderfully good evening to you, too! Don’t you worry - you didn’t waste a second of my time.” She flew in a little closer to one of Klaar’s humongous eyes. “Waiting for someone as nice as you is always worth it,” she praised and cracked a smile.

Klaar stared up at Gibbou before wriggling two unsubmerged tentacles in response to the goddess’ kindly praises. It was not particularly understood by Klaarungraxus, for the concepts of niceties were often wasted upon him, but nevertheless the great god of the oceans deep could understand when he was being flattered. The tides calmed and gentled around his huge form as he sat there, treading water, as Gibbou stared into one of his immense, glowing eyeballs.

”Feelings of mutuality abound, Moonlit Face of Bright Smiles. Now, elucidate my minds as to your presence; though, no reason is needed. If the Moon-On-High seeks to offer her presence freely, who would deny such a fetching glow?” Klaar was sure he was getting good at this flattering thing.

The plum-skinned girl giggled to herself. “I would have gladly stopped by to say hi, but I just so happen to have another thing with me here - a teeny little project of mine.” She presented Hir with a proud grin. “Care to listen for a bit?”

Klaar leaned inwards, his eye seemingly pushing out from its socket to observe the horn with great interest. The power that danced along its edges in the divine vision of the great devilfish spoke a story about the item that only drew Klaarungraxus in further. What secrets did it hide beneath its humble exterior?

”What hath you borne to my watery abode, Gibbou? Does it sing? I would hear its sonorous cries, if it can.”

“Sadly not,” she confessed with a hung head. “But I should add a song function to it! Thanks for the pitch! Now, this here iiiiiis Hir, an artifact that grants certain mortals the power to perform miracles! Our kinds of miracles! Without us even doing anything! Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

Klaar seemed to be confused by the function of the artifact thrust before him. His eyes peered deep into the object, as if they were mapping its design in some deep pocket of the huge cephalopod’s mind. Nevertheless, the lack of its ability to speak and make noise as disappointment quickly dissipated. An object that can unleash miracles, particularly those ascribed to Klaarungraxus, must certainly be a fascinating one indeed.

”Awe hath struck me deeply, aye, for storm clouds brew in distant thoughts. Miracles, miraculous, of our own making? Explain further, Gibbou Rux, for my boundless curiosity is not yet sated. What mean thee by miracles sans we?”

“Oh, y’know - say, uh… Hang on… Oh yeah! Say a user of this artifact wanted to, uh, call in a larger school of fish to their village’s shores than usual - they’d be really nice to the oceans, clean beaches, punish overfishers. In return, they get to perform a miracle with your approval for their good behaviour - and all we have to do is nod and give them a thumbs-up, or, uh… A tent-up-le? ‘Course, if they’re not being nice to the oceans, you can just remove their power over it - no problem. Oh, shoot, did I forget to tell Sirius? Ooooh no…”

While Gibbou began to worry about telling Sirius, Klaar’s thoughts turned to other things. Miracles were an interesting concept and not one he’d ever put too much consideration into. Nevertheless, the potential for an entire species to learn of the ocean’s greatness was without precedent when they could directly gain from him in its service. Vo would teem with more than just life if such a thing existed.

”Warm summer rains on cool waters, Maiden-Moon, for this piques interest of most many-minds. I would offer my potency in this matter, for what is the world of miracles without the sea?”

Gibbou snapped back into focus. “Yes! My thoughts exactly! Here, give it your blessing.” She offered Klaar the horn.

Klaar lifted the Hir to his gaze, two forward tentacles gently holding it in their grip. A fascinating little object and one with considerable power born within, soon to contain even more. Ideal, he thought, for such a function. With that Klaarungraxus leaned forward to peer over the little horn, his beak opening ominously. All of a sudden a vast tide of darkness, seemingly from the deepest depths of the sea, vomited out from Klaar’s beak to envelop the Hir. The cloud seemed to suck inwards, pulling to one point as the ocean dove into the item. Across the world, as difficult as it would be to notice, the sea levels dropped an entire inch.

Klaar looked pleased upon his work. ”Truly consummate in its craft, Gibbou Rux. Honored am I to partake in its birth.”

“Yay!” Gibbou celebrated, retrieved the item and weighed it in her hands. “Woah… It’s still so light! Perfect.” She restrung it to where her belt would have been and hugged the nearest tentacle she could see. “N’aaw, thank you, you amazing, big, amazingly big cephalopod!”

”A welcome distraction from numerous endeavors, Maiden-Moon. May thee have success in further efforts, miraculous or otherwise. Waters keep you wise, Gibbou Rux, and may your One-Good-Orb keep high in the sky. With that Klaar descended back into the waves, one tentacle wriggling a goodbye wave before plopping underneath the waters. The placidity of the surface belied the massive entity that had, only moments ago, resided there.

Gibbou, still floating lethargically in mid-air, produced a list of coal-black paper out of nothing and ticked a box next to the label “My favourite squid” with a white crayon. She eyed the following name on the list and hummed.

“‘Whoever controls the plants’...” she mumbled to herself. “Shoot, I should’ve asked Klaar if he knows…” She floated slowly eastwards, scratching her head furiously as she scanned the lands of Galbar. On the way, she stopped on the neat little islands where she had created the night elves. Finding them still a bit too barren for her liking, she put camels, reptiles and beetles in all the drylands, and made sure the islands were rich with grazers and predators to take them on - buffalo would roam the canyons and be preyed upon by black, white-striped tigers in the night. She also made sure insects and mollusks were abundant in the more humid areas, and made plenty of bats and small birds to eat them. Then she stopped and thought to herself, Maaaaybe… What if I made -more- guardians? Something that can keep watch over the whole world?!. And so she jumped over to a hollow tree, stuck her hand inside and pulled out an owl egg. The mother soared down and pecked wildly at her.

“A-ow! Ow! Hey! Your kid’ll do great things, lady, and-- ow!” Gibbou eventually had to retreat, but she still had the egg in her possession. She found herself a nice little butte to stand on as she worked her magic. She ran her index finger along the top of the egg, as if drawing a mental image of where to hit it with a spoon to crack it open. She whispered to the life inside of it, promising greatness for them and their offspring for all eternity as the sentries of the moon. She then placed the egg down on the ground and waited.

It didn’t take too long - a mere hour later, the egg hatched, revealing a white-faced owl chick with feathers black as night and eyes glowing like the moon. Gibbou giggled. “N’aaaw, you’re such a cutie. Here, have a snack.” She conjured forth a dead mouse and offered it to the owl. The owl chick saw it and immediately scarfed it down. Then it grew - it grew terribly fast. Gibbou nearly rolled back as the owl chick became the size of its mother within fifteen minutes of hatching - and it didn’t stop there. Before long, it was twice as tall as Gibbou, covered in thick, black feathers and with dancing, white light dancing around its eyes like a magical fog. It eyed Gibbou curiously - the goddess was stunned.

“Sister, you grew fast. What did I put in that mouse?” She stood up and scratched her head. “Or more importantly, what did I actually say to your egg?” She gave the last hour and a half a rough reflection and tried to recount as much of what she had said as possible.

“... and as the moon cycles across the world, so shall you patrol it from birth to death, over and over…” She eyed the owl again, which now was pruning its feathers. She eyed the moon, which was approaching a waning gibbous, and snapped her fingers, drawing the owl’s attention by accident. “Of course! Your lifespan is tied to the phases of the moon!” She thought about this for a second. “Oh, sister, your lifespan is tied to the phases of the moon!” With budding tears in her eyes, she gave the owl a weeping hug. It stared down at her sheepishly. “I’M SOOOORRRYYYY!” Gibbou wept into its dowy belly and rubbed her moist face all over. “I’ve given-sniff!- given, given you such a short life and, and, and… Oh, I’m sorry!”

The owl looked visibly uncomfortable, pushed gently at Gibbou with its wings and soon took to the sky. Out of the clouds above, more soon joined it, and it seemed to soar off in the different directions of the world. Gibbou stood alone on the butte.

“Come baaaack,” she sobbed quietly.

After sulking for half a day, she eventually remembered her mission and set off again, flying eastwards scanning the lands. She kept going until a certain fuzzy pillar spiked the sky like a leafy spear. Gibbou stopped and stared at the enormous tree so violently appearing in the middle of an empty horizon. She materialised her list and eyed the description - whoever controls plants. She eyed the tree again.

“HOW HAVE I NOT NOTICED THAT BEFORE?!”

Far on distant shores, well beyond the watery depths of the Unending Vo, warm-bloods were stirring. On the horizon the unmistakable glow of the rising son could be seen, just beginning to creep its way up the heavenly-wall that was the great, blue sky. To many creatures of the overworld and even for some below, it was noticeably beautiful.

For Cardamom, it offered only pain.

An entire tribe of night elves were on the run, hundreds of people making a mad dash along the coastline. Their community had been disrupted by a mass of earthquakes that had wracked their caves and collapsed huge portions of what was once their home-canyon. It was decided by the elders that they should move to the next canyon over, the coastline the most direct route. Now, it seemed, even that had not been enough. Though the sun was not fatal to the night elves, the pain it could directly cause was more than enough to make even a grown man weep and prolonged exposure over the rest of the distance certainly wasn’t going to help.

That blaring symbol of Oraelia’s fury rose higher, cresting the horizon and unleashing its rays on the collected people of the tribe. A great and terrible cry when out from the back of the column as they were the first struck by the pain of the light. One by one the terrified convoy was lit ablaze by the glorious rays of the sun and sent into screams of their own. Cardamom dropped to his knees, embracing the pain to come for his failure in leading his people to safety. With tears in his eyes, he begged and pleaded for anyone to save them.

---

Deep below the waves something watched and listened.

Their cries, those of the warm blooded little things that scurried above the waves, wafted across the waters of its realm and echoed in all directions. Tinny cries, mostly pointless, and entirely aggravating. Best to be ignored, thought the entity, and it began to swim off in another direction. A single voice cried out a pleading request, a prayer for assistance to anyone and anything that could hear them. To the many-minds of Klaarungraxus, this was but one begging voice among many.

To all but Forward-Right Down-Two.

The tentacle, in all its independent thought, ran through a number of calculations and considerations on the demand. An interesting request. Using perceptual information received from the overmind, Forward-Right Down-Two considered the case most curiously; what, exactly, was the creature requesting? As the mastermind of sapience for the Vrool race, this particular sub-mind had become adept at understanding and breaking down the concept that was the mortal mind. A simple equation, at least on the surface, but much like the ocean it hid considerable complexity just below. Their suffering, most of all, was a window into the twisted skein of emotions and feelings that mortals had the capacity to feel.

And to Forward-Right Down-Two, it was fascinating.

The submind craved action in response to this and pinged back the thought to the rest of the minds of Klaarungraxus. Though originally disinterested in the entire situation, consensus was required for further decision. At nearly the speed of light, thoughts bounced wildly inside Klaar’s mind, deciding exactly what should be done about the mortal wailings on the shore. Realization dawned on the many-minds and the potential of the situation became absolutely clear. Action could be taken that would accomplish the goals of the God of Oceans while simultaneously granting these mortals the respite they so craved. Brilliant.

---

Cardamom held back his own shouts of pain as the sun burned brightly. The crowd had continued to move as best they could, attempting to help others, but the rising sun made their vision no better than a human in the day. Children and the elderly were struggling to keep up at any proper pace and with many miles to go there was the distinct possibility that the damage would be permanent.

A strange noise caught Cardamom’s attention, his head turning to take stock of what was happening. Though he could hardly see, all of his senses still available to him told a clear story; the waves were no longer crashing. The smell of salt and brine pulled away, leaving away a surprising dryness, while the sound of water rushing back down the sands of the beach filled his ears. Though he had never heard it in his entire life, it was a sound the night elf was not at all fond of.

Then came the onrushing wall of water.

The crowd had no time to react as the tidal wave dove over them, crushing through the beach and further onwards to flood low lying places and destroying the dense growth further inland. Though faced with the battering waves head on the night elves on the beach remained completely still, seemingly completely untouched by the monumental forces acting on the beach. They remained in position, children huddled to them, covering themselves, before one by one realizing the miraculous event that had occured. For a moment they shared looks with one another, hair dancing in the waters where the dreadful light of the sun stung only lightly. Just as it seemed they had been saved, the first of the night elves began to cough. Bubbles rushed upwards and awareness dawned on them all that they could not breath. As they began to swim upwards, desperate to reach air, a riptide tugged the elves from the shelf that was once a coastal beach and into the depths below. Darkness enveloped them, so deep and impenetrable that even their eyes could not peer into its depths.

---

A gentle light shone in the darkness, calming in its radiance and soft in its purple-blue hue. Despite its glow it did not strike pain nor blind, only filled the space with a sense of warmth and belonging.

He could see.

Thoughts rushed through the individual’s head, realization and memories clashing at once to remind him of what had just occurred. Surely he had just drowned, if the rushing and bubbling riptide and the depths were something to be believed. Those recollections of past events seemed so distant, as if they had been lived in another life or by someone else. In an attempt to get a hold of himself, the man raised his hands to his eyes to clear them of what felt like months worth of sleep. Before him were hands that were not his own.

“Whhuuugh!?”

His startled outburst came out as bubbling gasps, sound radiating from his throat into the watery surroundings and killing his words before they were even born. He was underwater, surrounded by darkness but for that one gentle light, and before him were hands that were not his moments ago. Webbed fins ran between his fingers and though the colors were similar, they were reflective and glossy. Scales, soft and smooth, now ran across in pockets across his body and his skin looked smoother to the touch. Was this who he had been all his life? He could not be sure, for the memories could not be his.

“H̶e̷l̷l̵o̴?̴”

The drowned elf turned to the voice addressing him, spinning as fast as he could as his heart skipped a beat. Half-standing, half-floating before him was a young child of garrish coloration and strange features. The young girl’s hair had been replaced by a thick collection of fin-like fronds while her colors had intermixed into bright gradients. The language she spoke was not one that the man was aware of ever learning yet in his mind’s eye he knew it as his native tongue.

“W̷h̴o̷ ̷a̶r̷e̷ ̵y̴o̵u̴?̵ ̶W̵h̵e̴r̵e̸ ̷a̸m̴ ̴I̶?̷ ̸W̶h̶a̶t̷ ̶i̵s̵ ̵t̷h̸i̸s̵ ̶p̶l̵a̵c̵e̸?̵”

All around them lights began to glow into life, gently lighting the entire area. In all directions there could be seen hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of individuals just like them. They woke one by one, looking about their new surroundings with awe. The horde collected themselves individually before turning to others for clarification, learning of their shared fate and those memories of lives they may have once lived and people they might have once been. The pangs of grief for that lost time were short lived in some, longer in others, but most seemed simply to move on as if it had never been them in the first place. Names escaped each and every one of them as if that time was now past and such burdens were stripped from them by the guiding hand of fate. Were that it was so simple.

A voice thundered in their minds, powerful and all encompassing. Unlike their own voices the words spoken by this distant speaker made the very waters move with their intent. Each and every one of them was filled to the brim with the presence of that voice and the entity from which it poured forth.

”Mourn not thine sorrowful loss, beloved children of the Maiden-Moon, for thou hath thine prayers answered. Gentle tides and soothing currents abound upon thee for Our grace is yours to bask in. The One-Bad-Orb above can cast harm upon your flock no longer, for schooling below there is safety from its vain cruelties and hateful gaze. Worry not, for you are saved.”

The crowd murmured all at once as their voices came to them, the language that seemed so alien now filling their heads with perfect clarity. An awareness in all of them of this action rippled through the collected numbers of these drowned elves turned elsewise to other forms. One, who could have once been a man named Cardamom, spoke up with his new-found tongue.

“Who are you, o’ savior? And who are we? Let us know our names!” His control of the tongue warbled and wavered, a distinct sign that his race had never been intended to speak it. Though heavily accented compared to the speaker from below, it seemed his language was just as full and vibrant as any other.

“You are Tane Tama’Mawar o’te’Tuatahi-Kahau, little growth” came the response, though in each individual’s head a different name and title was heard, ”And you are the Akua, for ye are now drowned.”

---

Fe’ris’s vast shadow swam across the rocky ground as he soared through the sky. The tumultuous thoomp-thoomp of air being beat down by the large, canvas sails that Fe’ris humbly referred to as “wings” echoed through the many valleys of the Anchor Mountains. His hulking form would occasionally eclipse those below, and send any animal, small or large, running for some place to hide. He was on a mission and he plainly didn’t care for traveling with subtlety; he had opted to take his favorite form for the journey.

He sucked the wind into his enormous snout, tasting and feeling it for any scent of the one he was seeking. The godly essence was fresher than it had been in that dark canyon in the Blood Basin, but he knew the one he longed to see was still a long ways away. Who could this god be? They who had left such a glorious mark on the world and the Alminaki must truly be of the same kind as him. Fe’ris smiled to himself as he tried to picture this God of Contracts.

Although he hadn’t ever actually met another god, Fe’ris knew they were out there. Not only could he feel their fingerprints and desires on almost every speck of this world, he knew there had been another when he had shattered from the Lifeblood, another god that had been close behind him as they plummeted towards Galbar. Could that god then be the one he was seeking now? How nice it would be, two twins in blood, justice, and obligation! All the spines along Fe’ris’s noodly body bristled with anticipation as he began to picture the god.

So Fe’ris flew, his flowing fur fluttering in the wind and his enormous satellite-ears listening to every movement on the ground below and even the ground itself, which recently had started to sing the softest of songs that filled the Batgod’s ears. As he flew, he caught sight of a flock of birds flying his way. He didn’t feel like eating— he was a god, after all, and the only point for shoving objects down your throat when you’re a god is personal enjoyment, so he let out a deep, thunderous growl so they would leave scatter and leave him alone; he didn’t want any bird poop in his scruff. Annoyingly enough, the flock seemed undeterred as they flew at the enormous dragon, filling the air with raucous tweeting as they went. Fe’ris snapped his colossal jaws at the birds when they got near enough, but he somehow managed to miss them all. The little feathered beasts even had the audacity to begin roosting in his fur!

“Begone, you feathery assholes,” Fe’ris growled as he shook his mane to try and shake all the birds off.

“Ah, so I was right,” A voice called out before elaborating, startling the Blood God, “I figured you were a god with a form like that!”

“I suppose, then, that you are a god as well?” Fe’ris rumbled, “How curious. I could not sense your godly presence as you approached.”

“How do you know I’m a god? I could just be the leader of a flock of exceptionally educated sparrows!” The suddenly appearing god said, rather matter of factly.

“Because any sensible sparrows would have had the sense to flee the moment I spoke,” Fe’ris sighed, already tired of this stranger’s company, “And I could detect your shifting of forms on my back; only gods can do that.”

“You’ve caught me red-handed!” The stranger laughed as he picked his way up Fe’ris’s neck and walked on top of his skull, “Although speaking of forms, isn’t this one a bit excessive, Maroon?”

The interloping god plopped down right between Fe’ris eyes, riding the bridge of his snout like he owned it. Fe’ris let a rumble raise in his throat and flicked his massive ears, irritated.

“My name,”he rumbled in a low voice, “Is Fe’ris, not Maroon, and I would ask you to not perch on my nose.”

“Well, Fe’ris,” The god started, wriggling a little to get comfortable in his seat, “You shouldn’t have chosen such an enormous and imposing form if you didn’t want anyone riding you. You can’t say that if the roles were switched and I was the 700 foot giant dragon, you wouldn’t be sitting on my face.”

Fe’ris let out an annoyed blast of warm air from his nostrils. Wordlessly, he decided he didn’t have time for this and cast his great wings out to catch the air, grinding his motion to a halt and hopefully casting the interloper off. For extra measures, when he beat his wings again Fe’ris threw himself into a corkscrew before gliding upside down for a short spurt. He couldn't feel the stranger any more so he went back to trying to follow the trail of that god from the desert but found he had completely lost the scent.

“So, are you done showing off?”

Fe’ris jumped slightly, becoming aware of the fact that the other god was still sitting right on his brow, somehow avoiding Fe’ris’s senses.

“How do you do that?” The bat dragon frowned, “How do you avoid my senses; If you’re a god, how come you don’t give off such a recognizable energy like the god I am trailing?”

“Maybe I am the god you’re trailing,” the stranger offered unhelpfully before walking down Fe’ris’s snout and taking a seat, cross-legged and floating about a foot off of the scaley snout, “Although I don’t think that is the case. My name is Iternis by the way, I don’t think I ever introduced myself.”

“Well, Iternis,” Fe’ris looked away from the god on his nose, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, “You have certainly made me lose the trail. So if you were seeking to annoy me, you have succeeded in that.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Iternis responded with very little sorry in his voice, “Who were you looking for, anyways?”

Fe’ris gave a disgruntled harumph but decided to humor his companion anyways.

“My twin,” The great god declared as he began to double back to try and refind the trail, “We emerged from the Lifeblood at the same time. I descended to the Blood Basin not three days ago, and they were just behind me. At least, I believe they did. I haven’t actually met them before, you see.”

“That’s so funny!” Iternis exclaimed, “I was heading to the Blood Basin to try and find a god I broke out with! What are the odds!”

“You are right, they are fantastical odds,” Fe’ris mused, “It must have been quite the day for the Lifeblood. I can’t imagine spitting out two pairs of gods would be an easy task.”

“No, I don’t think it would,” Iternis agreed, a broad smile on his face, “On a different note, how do you know that this god you are tracking is your twin?”

“Because I would recognize which of my siblings is indeed my closest in an instant,” Fe’ris began dramatically, not noticing his companion laughing to himself, “You too would know, if you had found someone whose works were so admirable, who you could feel such a deep connection with despite never having met before. This God of Contracts… Well, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. You did say you had a twin too.”

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” Iternis managed to deadpan, while nodding knowingly, “When I first saw my twin, I couldn’t help but think ‘wow, now there’s a person with a flare for the dramatic’, a bit tacky, but dramatic nonetheless.”

“So you have met your twin already? Interesting. I must say, I am curious to hear what it was like.” He snorted again, the noise edging contemptuous. ”A coalescence of those who embody all things irritating, no doubt.”

“Very irritating indeed,” chuckled Iternis. “The most bothersome bunch you ever did meet.”

“Well. This has been nice, but I really must be on my way. If you would be so kind as to depart my facial region, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“I suppose you still do need to find your pal…” Iternis trailed off, “Welp, if you could just set me down on that mountain over there, I’ll be on my way!”

Fe’ris snorted in disapproval. The mountain he had indicated was quite a ways away and, even though Fe’ris had lost the scent of his target, there was little to no chance that was the right direction.

“I was under the impression you could fly,” Fe’ris gave his fellow god a disapproving look, “Turn into that flock of birds and land there yourself.”

“Oh, but I am just so tired from the flight up here!” The God of Journeys dramatically flung himself onto his back, feigning a swoon. “It really shouldn’t be that far out of your way. You are obscenely large, I’m sure you can get there in an instant.”

“Would it be safe to assume that is the only way you will get off of me?”

“Safe as an egg in a nest!”

Fe’ris sighed and began to turn in his flight, casting a woeful glance at his previous course. It wasn’t that far, but the hassle was what made it so bothersome. In a few flaps and just as many minutes, Fe’ris landed on the mountain side, crushing multiple scraggy trees in the impact.

“We have arrived,” Fe’ris growled. “Now get off!”

“I already have!” Iternis called out, somehow already at the treeline, “And you’ll find that that god you were trailing went through here a couple of hours ago!”

“What are you talking about? This is completely off the pa-” Fe’ris became aware of the scent of Tekret filling his senses, way stronger than it had been before, “How did you know this was where I needed to go?”

“That is kind of my job, God of Journeys and all that,” Iternis laughed as he began walking into the undergrowth, “By the way, if things don’t turn out how you expect them to and you need to find me again, just start looking. I’m sure I’ll turn up.”

“What’s that suppos-” Fe’ris had begun but cut himself off when he realized Iternis had already left his sight and all of his other senses. Fe’ris frowned and then took off.

“Strange fellow,” He muttered to himself, “But at least he seemed nice enough, under all the bullshit that is.”

Fe’ris soared through the sky once more, breathing in the air and following the trail of Tekret, pursuing his twin, unaware he had just left him behind.

---

Stone moved like water with just the right touch, and Aeinwaje certainly had it. With all the grace of a buck, the youngling Adler dashed in and out of the earth, turning solid rock into liquid and disappearing beneath it only to reappear dozens of feet ahead.

During his short existence-the timing of which he had long since lost track off-Aeinwaje had grown accustomed to his nature. The halo on his head and the knowledge within his cranium afforded him the ability to perform a great many “cool tricks”. At least that is what Lord Boris had referred to it as. Stone Swimming was just one of the many he’d learned from the god, and definitively his favorite. Why walk anywhere when you could prance through stone?!

How the animals did it, he did not know.

With one final jump, Aeinwaje reached his destination. In truth he simply decided to stop at the bank of a lake low in the foothills the Anchor for a drink. The crystalline water was almost motionless even as Aeinwaje stepped to look into its depths. A face that looked just like his stared back at him. Floppy ears, respectable antlers, shining halo, child-like oval face, flowing green hair, an oft-present grin, and green eyes. He didn’t know anyone as handsome.

Ripples formed at the water's edge as a small breeze carried through the hills, distorting his reflection. Frowning, he cast a gaze further down lakes surface and caught a different image shimmering in the liquid. This one was immensely tall, taller than the Anchor in fact. It’s entirety was cast in brown rivets, and it’s girth rivaled even Lord Boris’. It was a tree!

Aeinwaje traced the reflections up into the distance to where the tree stood, reaching into the clouds thousands of spans away.

”Woah…” he murmured to himself, attempting to wrap his head around the tree’s height.

He had to see it up close!

A spark flew off Aeinwaje’s halo. Could he leave his post? Maybe for a moment? He stuck his tongue out attempting to judge its distance from the Anchor. If he was diligent, maybe it would take a few days. Maybe another few days to thoroughly explore the tree and all the new things that existed there.

Absentmindedly, Aeinwaje shifted earth with a back hoof. Of course he could make it. And sure Lord Boris might get mad if he caught him slacking on the hunt-which he hadn’t been doing great at in the first place, tracking things took time.

A resolute huff. Like it or not, adventure called to him, and who was he to ignore it.

Without much less standing in his way, Aeinwaje dove into the earth. The tree beckoned to him.

---

The chaotic mass of green surrounding the great tree hummed with energy. Aeinwaje twirled about, gazing up at the canopy searching for sweet singing birds that did not exist back home. The stone birds were cool but not as colorful and as vocally gifted as these ones. He trudged deep into the green, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and the damp earth. Each breath was like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into his lungs.

The dirt path ahead of him, decorated with outgrown roots and shining wildflowers began to descend. And the full might of the tree began to take shape before his eyes. The thing was massive. Too large to truly even describe. It’s roots swam through the earth, just like he did. It’s trunk seemed to be as wide as the Anchor! Could something like this truly exist!?

Surfacing from the rock and soil through which the roots endlessly dug, Aeinwaje truly saw the Tree… No, was it really a tree? It was too incredibly massive. Aeinwaje saw the entity and realized, large strips of bark and wood gave way to a hollow interior to the tree. From there, wherever the warm midday sunlight could not reach, Aeinwaje saw bioluminescent plants spewing their warm yellows, cool blues and refreshing greens everywhere.

And even from outside the tree, the openings were so vast that he could see the different levels in the tree. Once every 10 times his height or so, the tree would have a ceiling to the current level and use that to support the next… And every level was teeming with life. Flora, and lesser fauna all thrived.

As he tread deeper he could feel the earth rumble beneath him with activity. Roots fidgeted in the depths, squirming like ten ton worms cutting through solid rock. The idea was fascinating yet the feeling beneath his attuned body was rather uncomfortable. So he ignored it and instead thumbed the glowing plant life that surrounded him. The things seemed to almost recoil at his touch. Were plants alive too? Lord Boris hadn’t told him much about them, only that they provided great testing fruits. These however, seemed devoid of any such treats.

Frowning he made his way deeper into the tree. Here now roots seemed to squirm above ground, searching and groping for something, yet never finding. Wood moved unnaturally here, like serpents.

Curiously, Aeinwaje lowered himself to inspect a sliding root. ”Oh I certainly do not like that shit.” he coughed, goosebumps growing on the surface of his skin. His back thigh itched something fierce…

It was a root.

Somehow, the thing had snuck its way around him and was slowly brushing against the tips of the hairs covering his left back thigh.

Immediately the Adler jumped and slapped the root away. His heart pounding in his chest. The tree was messing with him. ”Hands off! he barked. ”Or roots...feelers off? Fock is this place?”

As he uttered those words, the whole godly structure seemed to… Exhale. The very air became thin, the space somehow felt smaller, and the roots tensed up and the light coming from the mushrooms and shrubbery dimmed. The light, the green and blue and yellow light from the plants soon revealed where it had gone. It coursed through the roots. Little vein-like structures inside them lighting up and pulsing all as one, the light being drawn from the flora all converging in one of the bigger arced roots of the underground level.

If one had spent their entire lives underground and had never felt the dancing of true light on their skin, one would believe this to be a star… A great light that banished all shadow and breathed and beat like a heart.

The root to which the bioluminescence went suddenly began vibrating. It emitted heat, and the flora around it lost color and withered. Several smaller roots made their way to the great root and hooked themselves to it. Most immediately burnt and withered, but the ones that survived the connection channeled even more light into the Star-Root.

The thin air hummed a song low and high. It wavered at the presence of the impossible light. It burned and boiled and froze and broke!

And then all was still.

The air went back to normal, the space recovered, and the great roots of the Tree God withdrew. All, with the exception of the great Star Root located twenty-three levels below ground. It was no longer blinding, and it no longer sapped its surroundings of lifeforce. Instead, a gentle pulsing of yellow light not unlike a heart’s came from the spot closest to Aeinwaje. Beckoning to him, drawing him in…

So he went, tentatively at first, but he grew bolder either every step, his halo sparking with divine energy in response to the phenomenon. It was mesmerizing in a way, the entire tree seeming to breathe with every pulse.

When he was but a step away from the Star-Root, when he only had to stretch his arm just a little bit more to touch the pulsing structure… The light vanished.

A moment passed.

The root cracked through the middle. It didn’t seem like a living material any more. Instead, when it cracked it began to collapse. It had become stone, and brittle. The massive root, several times Aeinwaje’s height and multiple times his girth, collapsed onto the mossy, humid floor of the Tree. It should have been catastrophic. It should have sent waves through the level, but… It was as if the brittle pieces of the root had become weightless. As they fell they became dust, and the dust mixed with the moss and the grass and the flowers, and soon the plants that had died, became dust as well, and the soil began the long road towards healing.

In the debris left behind by the vanishing Star-Root, however, light pulsed once again.

This time bright and localized. It shifted and moved. The dust covering the source of the light was blown away by an impossible breeze, and the form was finally revealed. A being made of wood, fibre and what looked like black hay. With two black eyes and several wooden horns crowning its head; with long leaves growing from its shoulders and the top of its back, and a large, flexible mass of fibre and hay tied around its neck.

It was a husk, for whenever it shifted and moved, the intense yellow light from within its body leaked out and showered the world once more in the beautiful light of creation-the light that had given life to it, and kept it moving and thinking.

The bipedal wooden husk lifted its face to meet Aeinwaje’s, its own stoic and covered in the remnants of sap yet to be absorbed by the light inside of it.

It felt like an eternity passed, and then the husk stood on two legs. Tall, but not quite as tall as Aeinwaje. Strong, but not quite as strong as Aeinwaje… With an untold amount of potential in its body, but still, not as much as Aeinwaje’s. A look of understanding came across its face, and it closed its eyes and nodded its head towards Aeinwaje, mouth spread into a thin, grim line. It stretched its jaw and several things cracked into place, then it spoke in a deep, grave voice like that of sumac honey.

”I implore you to turn back, Servant of Boris. The area further ahead is the heart of the Great Tree God, the First Tree, the Omnibloom. To walk upon it would be sacrilege of the highest degree, and the Tree of Genesis would surely seek to punish any trespasser.”

If one could describe the look upon the Adler’s face, they would call it pure excitement. A grin as wide as the tree graced his impish features. He barely looked at the tree thing, instead standing on the tips of his hooves attempting to look upon the forbidden area. ”Say, you think the tree would be cool if I peaked?! I came all the way down here! Does the tree know Lord Boris? How did it know I was one of his co-signs??? Do I smell like boar? Does the tree have a nose? Where in hell would it keep that focker?” Aeinwaje rattled off with no end in sight.

The husk opened its eyes again and regarded the co-sign carefully, then huffed and stood up straight, hands behind its back. ”I do not know what the Tree of Genesis’ heart looks like, no. You would do best not to go for a ‘peek’, however. The Tree of Genesis does not know the Lord of the Mountains, no. I do not know how the Tree of Genesis knew you were related to Him, it merely made the fact known to me. The Tree of Genesis does not have a nose, no. At least, not to my knowledge. And, if it did have a nose, I’m sure it would recoil at your scent.” The husk said with a dull glint in its black eyes.

Aeinwaje was abuzz with energy, trotting in place endlessly. His smile grew small. ”Ah well, that's disappointing. I really wanted to see a giant nose.”

The Adler huffed, discreetly sniffing his pits while masking it as a stretch. He coughed in disgust. ”Well, who might you be? My name is Aeinwaje the Adler.”

”I am the First Voice of the Tree of Genesis. As of now, I estimate I have… 31,535,985,880‬ seconds of activity left, assuming I return to the Tree of Genesis every 3,153,598,588‬ seconds for a proper check-up. You may call me, First.”

”Oh.... he began. ”How many days is that, First?”

”Approximately, 364,999 days… Or, 1000 years.”

Aeinwaje clapped. ”That’s a mighty long time! I don’t know how long I will live. But I’ve died once before!” A pause. ”We are both First. I guess that means that we will be replaced when our end comes….do you fear death?” he said steadily, his trot in place slowing gradually until he was still.

First watched, and then took a slow breath with all his body. ”You have stilled. Does it scare you? The end?” Its voice was slow and monotonous… And yet it betrayed the smallest amount of curiosity.

”I don’t know. But I don't want to experience it again. No one should have to. It is a curse” Aeinwaje spat.

First hummed, and walked past Aeinwaje as it headed towards the surface. ”Everything ends, Aeinwaje, co-sign of Lord Boris of the Mountains. Even Gods.” And without even so much a look behind it, it began to leave. ”... My most important directive is to ‘live’. So, I will leave this pod that has helped me sprout, and experience the world. Where do you come from, Aeinwaje? That shall be my first destination”

Expressionless, the Adler followed after the tree spirit, trotting to catch up to it. ”That’s why I came here. To adventure! To see things.” he intoned in response, pointing a little finger in the direction of Anchor once they reached the surface. ”I come from there, The Anchor of the World. I'm it’s Adler. Created to root out the devils in its corners.”

”I see. I shall travel to the Anchor, after my initial duties have been fulfilled. You may leave now or continue visiting the upper levels of the Tree, Aeinwaje. I have to… Process what being alive feels like. It’s strange...” First said quietly, sighing. ”Just a few seconds ago, I… Was not.”

The youngling giggled. ”Have fun with that. Not so weird once you get used to it. Oh! Can I visit see that one forbidden place too?!”

”I issued the warning, did I not? If you go below where I was created, you will die. After what you told me, I believe you are in no rush to die, are you?” First asked, heading towards the massive entrance to the interior of the Tree, and sitting down on a grassy mound in the middle. ”You may visit the upper floors. You will find fruit and some critters to hunt for meat, should you require sustenance other than sunlight, but i’m afraid there’s not much to see for now unless you’re passionate about vegetation as the Tree of Genesis is, Aeinwaje.”

”Anything worth hiding is something worth seeing.” Aeinwaje signed before shuddering. ”But if you're gonna put a killswitch on it never mind, you can have whatever that place is.”

Stopping a few paces before the First, Aeinwaje cracked his knuckles and stretched. ”Since everywhere else is off limits, guess I’ll see what this place has to offer.”

”Good choice, Aeinwaje. I will remain here for the time being.”

And with that the Adler’s body sunk into the earth and disappeared, his grin the First’s goodbye.

---

Without thought, the Dreaming God returned to the vigil of his choosing, his form once more in orbit above the glowing sphere. Behind his chosen orbit there dwelled a second Moon, its surface violet in sheen, its form diminutive in size. He obscured it in his passing observation, the massive form of his star-bound vessel mirroring its orbit. Where before his intent had been outwards and overwhelming, now it was as a feather, tickling at a hair upon the neck--barely felt and easily ignored.

Thoughts turned inwards, Àicheil found himself in rumination, his vast mind unmoored from its cosmic leaning and disturbed by an experience most recent. Gibbou-sister, the Goddess of the Night, creator of the Moon, when they had touched something in him had shifted, alignment forever changed. the stars across his vessel's form grew hazy and indistinct, his fingers twitched and coiled in agitation, and the cloak which limned his vessel billowed and roiled as if taken in by rage and indecision. For though the Dreaming God knew all things, he did not see them in truth, as that was his twin's domain.

Then, in his inability to grasp the new status of his mind, Àicheil railed against his state of stasis and a ringing pulse rang out.

"Twin," the pulse proclaimed, and in it was a summons; in it was a wave.

The weave of Dreams shuddered and many minds called out, but none in response, their voices but a cringing quake only mortal souls could make. No longer restrained, a vast droning scream was unleashed, its deep utterance an echo of true distress.

”Twin.”

The response resonated from within Àicheil, a crackling surge of ecstatic certainty illuminating the dark spaces and stars alike from behind its star-speckled form. The shape of the triquetra blazed within it as if the very cosmos emblazoned within Àicheil’s almost-chest had erupted with a reflected effulgence. That divine symbol’s light swallowed up a great swath of Galbar’s aurora-covered sky, merging with the newfound cacophony of colour and light, to reflect the mark of their existence upon the very firmament.

As the brilliant surge faded, the God of Truth assumed its once-celestial form once more, behind its twin, and its godly mantle touched a single tip to Àicheil’s forehead.

”Bring me your mind, Twin, and I shall settle it.”

So laid bare was the fabric of his endless mind and with the meeting of the twins there came a clashing of forces great.

---

Within the endless Dream there was a storm of thought and in it there dwelled calm and chaos in equal measure. Beauty most terrible; Horrors common and unassuming in their way. A ringing pulse of emotion coursed through the fabric of the Dream, its passing a calming balm to all minds within its hold. It was a signature of unity, unmatched. Their connection, it was a beauty beyond beholding and from the shallows of the Dream it was a gentle flare, pervasive in its presence, yet small all the same. Beyond the hold of that vast and immaterial plane, the Dreamer's form flared across the sky, lit from within with eldritch feylight, a cosmic mind laid bare.

---

Those who saw the form of the Dreaming God might be struck by awe or madness, twas impossible to tell. In that fleeting time which followed their reunion Àicheil's vessel was a blinding void of white. Expanding from its form was a shroud of gray, so great in its size that it served as a refuge against the stars, blocking out the sky. Yet its vastness could not last. Unstable, it retracted and though it never lost its mammoth size, no more did it blot out the heavens as it had before.

Moments passed and in them, awareness coalesced and with its coming so too did the light of his vessel fade.

Many minutes crossed their path and finally, the Dreaming God felt once more at peace, the void-flesh of its starlit visage returned to harmony again. A subtle song played between them and in its notes rang gratitude and peace. That dancing hymn it filled their eyeless forms and joy became contentment.

"Equilibrium," Ѻs-fhìreach declared. It held every meaning in its constraints, but it was unlike all words he had spoken before it. In it there was depth and simplicity unified, in it there was hope. Àicheil withdrew then from Fìrinn and found himself different, but renewed.

He pondered his existence from conception to the present and found a gulf had formed between him and that which he had once been. It was a sobering thing and it formed in him a sorrow equaled only by ecstatic realization. He had grown!

Moved by this intriguing notion, Àicheil gazed upon the Dream. There within it lay intricate echoes of beauty, greater than those perceived before them. Though wondrous were the movements of those many dancing minds, they could not hide a turning tide, which revealed itself just then. Unsettled by this shift, Àicheil set his mind adrift and through the Dream he seeped and sift’d until he found a rift.

Confoundment. Rage. Àicheil’s mind a rattling cage. Assailed then by a wrongness, an occurrence his mind had no faculty to gauge.

Disturbed by this occurrence, Àicheil bade his twin to follow, and so cast himself into the Dream.

---

Fìrinn’s mantle gave a dismissive wave, a signal that its twin would understand as a refusal. It was not Fìrinn’s place to enter the Dream in the same way that Àicheil did--it was its twin’s day-self, its anchor in the realm of the real, and eternal custodian of the Tairseach. The overwhelming sensations of an infinity of knowledge were only for Àicheil to withstand, not for Fìrinn to carelessly peruse and get lost in.

Its true hands grasped the sides of the Tairseach firmly, and with the barest hint of effort and energy twisted it upon its axis so as to directly face the Tree of Genesis to the west. It peered closely into the newly revealed depths, seeking to pinpoint that which had thrown its twin for a loop, and viscerally recoiled at the reflection that it found within the sacred anchor. Something had burrowed through the Subtle Weave, and excised itself from the great tapestry--deep beneath the soil where the roots of the Great Tree began there was simply a blank space. Reality reflected precisely as it was to mortalkind, without the perception to which the Twin Gods had become accustomed. A hole in unreality, a gaping flaw in the otherwise unmarred web of imagination--an abomination, anathema to that which the two-as-one held dearest. It would be fixed, or it would be excised.

In an instant it snapped the Tairseach back into place, returning it to its rightful position, before appearing at the trunk of the Great Tree. Its mantle wobbled in the air unsteadily, clawtips honed to razor points, readied as if to meet an unknown threat.

“You have suspended this place from the laws of reality. Return it to Truth at once, or it shall be woven anew atop your roots.” Fìrinn’s almost-voice bellowed, channeling the waves of its intent through the ground and into the very bark of the voiceless deity before it.

The ground rumbled, and the soil gave way. Dozens of massive roots, each at least a hundred meters wide, suddenly rose up into the skies. They were sharp and before the God’s eyes, they became barbed. The sky, previously cloudy, became clear. The Worldsong turned a deep, crimson red, and the sky dulled. Shadows grew longer and the trees around Genesis all of a sudden seemed twisted, as if they recoiled at the mere presence of Firinn. At the tips of the roots, a strange, not-quite-there energy converged. An energy that sent ripples through reality and threatened to break it. The energy felt the same as the blank space within the Subtle Weave, and its mere existence seemed to try to grasp and pull and tear at the Weave.

It was then that a single, relatively minuscule form emerged from the insides of the Tree of Genesis and stood at the great entrance to the hollow God. It was made of bark, wood, fibre and black hay. A thick mixture of black hay and fibre was wrapped around its neck, but its nature as a husk was made evident by the way the strange, intense yellow light from within it spilled out each time it moved. Its black inexpressive eyes took in the form of the God, unflinching, and then it nodded its head with its eyes closed in a show of respect.

The husk was tall, but far shorter than the God. It was strong, but a world weaker than the God. It was fast, but held no candle to the God. It was fully mortal, and so it spoke with a slow, deep, grave voice like that of sumac honey, monotonous but still betraying a sea of thoughts behind its dull eyes.

”The Tree of Genesis, Omnibloom, First Tree, the Roots of Fragrance, has not graced me with any knowledge about you, Master…?”

”I am Firinn, God of Truth. Each second that the weave remains rent asunder, and each attempt the Tree of Genesis makes to break it further, brings us closer to ruin and further from Truth. It will cease this affront to the Twin Gods, or it will find itself forcibly aligned with Truth.” Firinn’s response was terse. It was evident, immediately, that the ordinarily co-operative God of Truth did not appreciate its great work’s disruption, and that attempts to mangle its creations further in its presence could bring it close to a point of brash action. With no access to the Subtle Weave it had no Truth to assign to the Tree of Genesis, and with no direct display of intention from the God before it there was no understanding to be had. Where there was no understanding there was no reason, and without reason reality could not be aligned with truth.

”Cease your perversion of the natural order and all may be forgiven. With context there is Truth--without there is the might of the Two-as-One. My Twin shall not be so open to discourse.”

The husk was taken aback--Not out of fear of the God’s threats, but out of pain. It held onto its head as if trying to keep it from splitting, and after a moment of silent wrestling with its own body, it sighed and attempted to stand straight once more, not looking at the God in the eye. A pulse of energy shook the earth slightly, sending smaller amounts of the Weave-rending energy down every single one of the Tree’s roots. All over the world. ”It has shown me--A world where there was a battle and you killed it. But it did not fall before destroying the world.” The husk almost whispered, then panted for air as more images came into its mind, causing it to fall on one knee.

”You can feel it, can’t you… Master Firinn, Lord of Truth? It is preparing for that outcome. Instead...” The husk hissed as something within its head cracked, and then stood again. ”I-Instead, let us work together. I believe I know what the Tree of Genesis desires.”

---

Every thread of thought, every mortal mind, all those who lived and breathed and felt, they called out in agony at the dread god's preparation. Their voices could not go unanswered and so a sundered mind, a split-off echo, a Dreaming God of Abstract form responded.

In that horrid moment, there was no single thing which could describe Ѻs-fhìreach's reaction. All that can be said about its occurrence is that it was most terrible and vast.

---

Like a thousand threads torn, Àicheil ripped out from the realm of dreaming minds, his form was not at all as it had been before. There was nothing so smooth or gentle about its making and where once before had been starlight spackled void, now there existed only black. Sharp angles, impossible, cut into the offensive rift and many seeking blades of void-filled rage filled the once peaceful glen.

Yet, though large, it might appear as if the Tree eclipsed him, but upon the fragile mortal mind of the speaking form there would come to be an image. A vision of endless, formless, fury like shattered crystal blades existed beyond Galbar, throughout the plane of Dreams. It might struggle with this intimation, for truly endless was its form, so far did it spread and each of its mighty unseen blades laid poised against the touch of the Great Tree's mind.

"Cull."

The word was like nails across stone, like a trillion shattering, cutting blades of crystal. It scoured clean the mind, it warped and twisted and bent on angles and traveled too-and-fro. In it was a promise of retribution, but so too did it hold the option of alternative response. Àicheil had come to bargain and failing that, to destroy.

The Voice was instantly knocked unconscious by the display, thick golden sap leaking from all its orifices. A long, thin root snuck its way out of the interior of the Tree and began to pull it back inside. The energy at the tips of its roots became wilder and not as controlled, as if about to be released.

”Twin.” Firinn’s almost-voice echoed, the notes of its displeasure at its twin’s rash actions evinced by a flourish of its mantle. It unwove the pointed tips, and then the arms, the threads of its divine essence cradling the now-unconscious Voice. It channeled its energy into the Voice’s supine form, repairing the damage that its twin had done to the mortal’s psyche with a gentle blue suffusion of energy.

”It is a mortal. It is blameless--do not punish those who are not deserving of your wrath. Wake, child.”

Firinn coaxed its now-restored mind back to the waking world with a gentle mental nudge and erected a divine shield within its mind to prevent further damage. Such a link allowed it to glean some of the proxy’s mind and thus its Truth, and Firinn’s demeanor instantly softened as a result of the additional context. The Voice twitched and took a few ragged breaths, before opening its eyes. The slim root that had been pulling it back into the Tree froze and, in a moment, burrowed underground. After toking in its surroundings and touching its head and its numerous wooden horns, it stumbled up onto its feet.

”I apologize for my twin. We bear you no ill will. Our creation has been disrupted, and we feel its loss keenly--but you are blameless, and we should not have struck you. I have protected you from further assaults against your mind. We would be pleased to reach a harmonious outcome in which the Láidir Suíomh can be repaired and your Truths realized. What say you?”

The twisted landscape seemed to breathe deeply. After a while while the Voice adjusted to consciousness once more, the massive barbed roots burrowed back underground and vanished along with the energy, which was safely dissipated. Soil covered the great holes as if nothing had ever happened; the trees, once twisted beyond recognition into claws and blades, now recovered their peaceful forms. The air was light and clean and thick with oxygen, and suddenly there were all kinds of critters and plants frolicking around the great base of the Tree.

”I… Don’t know what you mean by truths,” The Voice said slowly, as if struggling to form words. ”But I do know that the Tree of Genesis desires privacy, and it desires to connect its creations deeply to one another. It desires for them to feel what others feel and remember what others remember… It was… Afraid? No… Put off, by what was being reflected into the ‘Weave’, by the beings around its heart. And so it wanted to pull away from the Weave.”

”Truth is the limits of perception. Truth is the vision that one wishes to draw into reality--the deepest expression of one’s knowledge and understanding and imagination. It is what you want, given what you can see and understand. It is my solemn oath to draw Truth from the Dream and align reality with desire, and my twin’s solemn duty to corral the infinite vastness of imagination into knowledge and intuition. While the Weave is disrupted--destroyed, in parts--our needs cannot be fulfilled, and nor can mortalkind’s. Even now the raw stuff of dreams threatens to spill into reality like water from severed xylem. The Tree’s roots have destroyed our roots.”

Firinn stopped and paused, setting the Voice gently down, and its mantle dissolved into the ether before re-emerging upon the soil, shaped into a triquetra with the Voice at its centre.

“We wish only for peaceable coexistence and the fulfilment of our mutual purposes--to wit, it would be my pleasure to enable such connections between the Tree’s creations. Know, however, that such is only possible through the Great Weave: its reality cannot be aligned with its Truth unless the damage is repaired and it goes unmolested for all eternity. If you permit me to read your thoughts, I might divine a solution to the Tree’s apprehension?” the God asked, its almost-voice dimming to silence towards the end of its speech as it shifted from sound directly to thoughts and feelings. It communicated its words through waves of intent and understanding, directly to the Voice’s mind, that it might understand the entirety of Firinn’s truth intimately and personally.

Perhaps mollified by the words of their twin, Àicheil’s angular form withdrew in part from the solid world. Still, the Dreaming God did not depart, unsheathing itself once more as it emerged about Firinn. In this way Ѻs-fhìreach did declare, that he would wait and watch and listen, but act if once more he was provoked. Poised behind his twin, Àicheil appeared as if petrified, so motionless was he, but within his mind, there churned a tide, beset with agony.

It was pain and disconnection to be apart from the endless Weave. In his eyeless, starless gaze this could be felt and heard and seen. The act was not simply one of wrongness or even disrespect, no instead, it cut the threads and severed intellect. So, unspoken Àicheil would remain, but in his visage there was clear a message of intent.

Repair my child. Reflect upon the weave. Understand that in this moment, I wish not to be bereaved.

Though more was held deep within that silent utteration, Àicheil did well to hold it back, for the presence of his Truth-made twin kept his self-restraint intact.

The Voice wavered slightly, ”At this point--” He suddenly stopped speaking, as if his tongue had been seized by something. It only took a moment for him to resume, however. This time, with an exhausted look on his face. ”Genesis desires a fruitful result to this less-than-desirable meeting. It has shown me… An image, and a feeling. Of a people so great that most did not require sustenance as Humans do. So great, that they could avoid undesired results by looking at the past and studying their actions. So great… That they would live forever. This is what the Tree of Genesis desires. It wants to be a part of the start of the Age of Sapience, and it wants to do its part well.” The Voice said breathlessly, soon dropping to his knees on the ground to rest his weary body.

Firinn took a moment to pause. Perhaps it had not been clear? Perhaps the mortal Voice of this God had suffered too much. Perhaps the Tree was not an intelligence capable of understanding, like of most deities? The God of Truth took a moment to contemplate the thoughts it had before speaking again.

”I can help, but first I must repair the Weave. Each second it remains in this state it is a pain to us both like the Tree being cut off from its roots--please, allow us to fix it now, and we can help you when the natural order has been remedied. We cannot align reality with Truth until this has been completed.”

Pain could not register on Firinn’s mirror-blank face or on its motionless form, but each word carried an undeniable heat and ardour deep within it as if emanating from a shard of agony laced into the meaning of each word. Lights of red and orange and yellow found themselves reflected from its face without intent, bathing the area around it in a desperate glow.

The Voice was silent, but while it didn’t speak, the force keeping the Weave split vanished. After that was done, a single, tiny root came out from the ground and slithered its way up the Voice’s body, and in through its nose. The Voice either didn’t notice this or didn’t care, as it started to speak. ”... It is done. I believe you should be able to repair your roots now.”

Firinn’s true arms moved the moment it felt the Tree’s influence recede from the fabric of the Great Weave, rumbles and pulses of energy emanating from it with a frantic urgency. It connected the extant fragments that yet remained and pieced them together almost lovingly, bringing the elements of the subtle web that waxed closest to the physical together and stitching the torn tapestry back together. With its careful ministrations, it took only moments before enough of the damage that it could repair was no more and its Twin could set about repairing that which lay beyond the pale of reality.

Jagged blades of pitch, they twisted on themselves and as the Dreaming God awoke they withdrew into not-shells. Knowing then that the calamity had gone, Àicheil sheathed itself within the Dream that was its planar song. The weaving web of Truth's distinct visage remained and upon it did he rest, and so he reached out bladed planes into his realm's distress. Though forgiveness was a far off thing, he relented all the same, and so endless blades retracted their planes, and withdrew from roots unmaimed.

Gazing then upon the work that his twin had laid for him, Ѻs-fhìreach knew what he must do and so set to remove the pain. So with formless mirrors of dreaming whim he cleaved, and in response the Dream's expanse caught upon the war torn seam. Like blades writ as weaving tendrils his mind healed the once-deadly rift, and once he'd done what could be done he moved back and felt adrift.

Yet, it remained empty, blank, few minds to fill its depths. Thus released was Àicheil's form and from it sprang his mind, so that it could expand into that rift, which had existed for a time.

So from him, unfiltered sprang three words, and their utterance was unrelenting to all who heard. Yet no simple words were these, those dancing songs, for they were his names in truth.

"Ѻs-fhìreach," he called out and the words echoed across the vast expanse.

"Àicheil," he intoned, and within the depths grew a mass.

"Neo-Àicheil," he concluded and from that mass grew thought.

So it was the Dreaming God renewed the weave from naught.

Returning then, to mortal ken, he unfurled about his twin. Where before his form had been a bladed expanse of blackened void, now across his vessel their expanded stars, like subtle noise. Gently coaxed out from his mind those far-off lights were born and so he gazed upon the maze of the Tree God's rooted form.

"Accord," rang out the sharp voice of the Dreaming Twin, and in that word could be heard a request of contract to prevent further sin.

The Voice furrowed his brow and turned to look at Firinn, confused.

”We wish to ensure that such misunderstandings do not happen again. We wish to reach an agreement to ensure the safety of the Weave before we can align what the Tree desires with what is. I will show you.”

The triquetra around the Voice erupted in a pillar of silvery effulgence, engulfing it within a veil of rendered consciousness. Firinn’s true hands emulated that divine symbol with a single gesture, and with it the context and understanding that the God of Truth personified was at one with the Voice. It was not an Anchor to the weave, but it was the beginning of a threshold that may, one day, evolve into an Anchor should the Tree agree to the terms of their contract.

”You are at one with the Weave. Countless Dreams stretch out before you, and infinite Truths pave your path across them. The feelings and experiences of those around you are yours to peer into, the context of perception yours to divine, and the grace of connectedness with all around you yours to cherish. You need not be alone in this status--we may impart such gifts to many of the Tree’s creations. Our only stipulation is that the Weave go undamaged, and be safeguarded from harm. Without the Weave, such gifts cannot exist. Without the Weave, mortalkind is alone in the world.”

The Voice recoiled and winced at the sudden awakening of a sixth sense, then closed his eyes and nodded, his mouth stretched into a grim line. ”I see. How… should the agreement be set?”

”A pact, bound in the unity of our essences. There is a deific sibling of mine, Tekret et Heret, whose purpose it is to vouchsafe such agreements--we need merely agree, and a contract shall be made. It shall enforce the terms we have discussed. Look into the Weave and see the Truth of Kaarnesxaturl and you shall know its presence and its weight. Perhaps you will have to sleep, to dig so deep below the waves? I am unsure of precisely how far across the great weave your mortal mind may stretch, but during slumber you will find your reach greatly enhanced. If you have need of me, simply call my name and invoke the holy Triquetra--I will answer your call. Do not think ill of me for granting you this enhanced perception, child--it was your Truth to fulfil the desires of your creator. If you do not wish to be connected to the Weave, it is a simple task for me to unstitch you from it.”

With that, Firinn used its true hands to pick up its mantle from beneath the Voice and focused upon it once more. All of the Voice’s brethren that the Tree of Genesis created would have their perspectives similarly expanded and the Weave stitched more closely to them. The next moment, the God of Truth was simply gone--but the First would always feel its presence to the distant east, even if it could not understand why.

---

Every day, there were more of them. Humans, Alminaki, Reshut, Dwarves, Elves, Lapites. They lived, grew, and perhaps more vitally, reproduced. Minds young and old, small and great, they ventured out into the world and in doing so they made accords, promises, contracts. Tekret Et Heret heard every one. That was the nature of the God of Contracts, but it was also a curse.

For Tekret knew the names and conditions of more people than the god could possibly keep track of. It was not her place, to know everything, that was for another god. One Tekret knew of, even if they had never met. That was the case with many of her siblings. Almost all of them, really. The God of Contracts had much to do, and little reason to seek out her siblings.

Tekret sighed, as best the god could without a mouth. She regarded her form, a woman's today, and wondered what it would be like to be more. To know more. Of course, such questions also weren’t her place. They belonged to other gods. Those who were born from desire and ambition.

Still, perhaps there was another way. It was not the God of Contracts place to know everything, but how could she help Mortals keep to their agreements if she didn’t know when they were about to err? Perhaps the solution was simple. It was not her place to know, but that didn't mean she couldn’t create something else to fill that gap.

The feminine alabaster statue that was Tekret stood and held out a hand, waiting. Time passed, a day, a week, and then a small songbird came to rest on the appendage, after all the faceless white figure hadn’t moved any more than the trees around it. The bird was a beautiful thing, vividly red and black, and the god wondered if what it was about to do was acceptable, whether twisting such a creature to serve its purposes was right. The songbird could sign no contract. It could never agree, and for a god of agreements that stung.

It didn’t change a thing, though. Tekret wasn’t bound by a code, even if she tried to set an example. With a thought the bird stilled, and the god did her best to comfort it. What was to come next would not have been pleasant, had Tekret allowed the songbird to feel any of it.

The animal slowly began to shift, its wings growing long and the beautiful colors fading from its feathers. Its beak shunk until it vanished, and its tiny neck grew long. Its eyes doubled, then tripled, and its ears began to hear the most distant sounds. Finally, it began to fade from view. Only once it was the barest shimmer on the wind did the fading stop. She ran her hand through the space it occupied and nodded.

Her little seer was done. With a thought she bound it to her forever, and then pulled many thousands of them from the very ground. They were peculiar, ethereal creatures with unnatural dimensions. Things that fed on the energies that already flowed through the world, rather than the flesh of other animals or the leaves and stems of plants. They would seek out those who struck grave contracts, and they would watch. Listen. Wait. And their creator would watch through their many eyes.

The illusory flock took flight and sought out those who’d struck the gravest contracts. In their absence, Tekret stood. She didn’t feel it right, but it was necessary. So much was necessary. There had to be order, even if the road to it wasn’t always pleasant.

She took a step, and then the porcelain figure of a god was a man. He was no less the same entity, but sometimes the shift helped him think. He still wondered if he’d done the right thing.

That was the point, though. If you never considered your actions, how could you ever be sure of your goals? There had to be an order to things. One that he would help the mortals forge. Knowledge would be necessary to accomplish that.

Of course, for all the knowledge the Seers gained, they also gave some away. For other gods were watching. Ones who were of interest to the Seers, who had forged their own pacts.

That was fine, Tekret mused. It might be that the time to meet the others had come after all.

---

Fìrinn’s senses were, for once, completely absent from the world at large. It was fully engrossed within the reflections at play deep within the Tairseach, as if searching for something that had just escaped its notice. The same scene, reflected through the tapestry and ultimately into the mirror before it, ran over and over and over again as if in a perpetual loop. It could not for the life of it work out just where the first ray of sunshine mortalkind had perceived had ended up. Given the gap between its creation and mortals seeing the sun for the first time there was limited information to go on, and sifting through the multitude of experiences that each mortal offered in slumbering supplication to the Tairseach was a time consuming process--and that was generously phrased.

Without a sound its senses followed as best it could what was, by its reckoning, a memory from the mortal who had actually seen the hallowed beam--and it was frustrated again and again by how imprecise and imperfect mortal perception truly was. It was a good thing indeed that Fìrinn had been willed into existence, for without it it was quite certain that mortalkind would simply misplace their food or their water or their years and die as unfulfilled as they had been at the moment of their inception.

Then, suddenly, there was something new--a sight it had not seen before, fluttering gently within the reflections of the holy anchor. It was a shocking enough revelation to snap Fìrinn from its brief reverie and back to reality, where its body was suddenly facing a small songbird that seemed by its reckoning to be vying for the God of Truth’s attention.

“Ah. You must be the herald of one of my siblings. No mortals may find this holy site, and thus you are beyond mortality. I wonder which of my brethren seeks to visit this hallowed isle?” Fìrinn mused, mostly to itself, before the world changed and it was peering deeply into the depths of the Tairseach once more. Whatever presence wished its recognition would do so in person soon enough, of that it was quite certain.

By the reckoning of gods, it took some time for the ethereal songbirds master to arrive. Tekret Et Heret was not an existence that worried overmuch about timeliness. The white figure of the god had walked here, over land and water. Only now did they arrive. They displayed no identifying characteristics, and spoke in a way that seemed to be all voices and languages at once, “Fìrinn. I have heard your agreements. I know you have seen me. I believe the time has come for us to meet in truth.”

“Tekret et Heret. I was wondering when you would arrive, yes--your work has aligned reality with Truth. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” came the response, an odd juxtaposition against Tekret’s many voices as one, as Fìrinn spoke not with words at all but with the clarity of intent. It emanated from the God’s body in waves, reflecting through the Tairseach, and settled deeply within the androgynous form behind Fìrinn.

“May I assist you? I am given to understand that there are certain rules of hospitality amongst mortals when one visits another’s home--I am afraid I do not quite understand the extent to which such pleasantries must be offered amongst we gods. Nonetheless, I shall endeavour to align your reality with Truth should you wish it of me.”

The response was warm, compassionate even, and spoke of not quite admiration but perhaps a nascent fondness within Fìrinn’s mind. As the twin more aligned with the ideals of order, the God of Contracts would generally find a warm reception with the God of Truth--such was their divine natures at play.

“I appreciate the gesture, Fìrinn, but these are early days,” The many voices played off each other, “I can accept no hospitality for, lacking a home, I could offer none in return. Perhaps another time. I take as much pleasure in this meeting as you do, however. You averted disaster with my name, and so allowed the work of creation to continue. I have come to offer my thanks. That, and an assurance that your contract with the Tree of Genesis will hold my attention for so long as it endures. It is... Foremost, in my mind.”

Fìrinn’s body remained totally motionless, but its reflection within the Tairseach gave a solemn nod to Tekret.

“I regret only that such a contract was necessary. Its act of careless destruction almost had drastic consequences which might have beyond the Two-as-One’s capacity to contain--and I must admit that I am not used to such a… conservative response. I have only ever sought to align reality with Truth--that a being would refuse cooperation and communication by default is something that even now I fail to understand. Perhaps, in time, the mysteries of the Tree of Genesis will reveal themselves to me. I am gladdened to know that an extraneous force will keep the peace when my attentions are turned elsewhere.”

Fìrinn reached out with its true arms, grasping gently the sides of the Tairseach, and tilted it ever-so-slightly that it might gaze upon the great Tree in the distance and the pattern of the Tapestry could be revealed to Tekret. Fìrinn’s mantle gestured at the other God, beckoning it to look within the reflection, that they might gaze upon the wonder that their word and influence would help preserve.

“Though it is only your nature to keep and honour contracts, I might offer you and yours a boon to aid in the service you provide for us all. Your songbirds might benefit from a connection to the Láidir Suíomh, that they gaze upon the Truth of would-be oathbreakers. It may free up at least some element of your senses, or perhaps offer protection to their purpose in your absence.”

The featureless god approached and gazed into the reflection. Or at least, directed its senses in that direction. It was a difficult thing, to discern the mood of an entity devoid of colour or outward emotion, but it was clear the reflection, and the offer, touched the god by its reply. Rather than a discordant choir a single resonant voice echoed in, “That is a great gift, Fìrinn. I would accept it gladly. My work is great, and I fear expanding by the day. You question how an entity could refuse cooperation by default, and once I felt the same. It is a notion I have been disabused of quickly. I hear the agreements of all that live, God of Truth, and I regret that more are made in bad faith, or as matters of last resort, than otherwise. Your interaction with the Tree of Genesis has only convinced me that such behaviour is as natural among gods as it is among mortals.”

Tekret Et Heret waited a moment, longer, gazing into that which was everything and nothing, before adding, “This is a meeting I should have pursued sooner. I should endeavour to meet all our siblings. Perhaps if they know I am there to aid them such misfortune can be avoided in the future.”

Fìrinn realigned the Tairseach with its proper position as Tekret spoke, setting it down with a gentleness and sereneness that one might not expect a being which ordinarily did not move to ever possess. As it did so, its mantle unwove its form and the cobalt threads wound their way around Tekret’s featureless limbs before settling to the ground beneath it and weaving themselves into a triquetra. It pulsed with an unseen light, quaking and vibrating at the edges, until a column of blinding effulgence registered on the surface of the Tairseach and engulfed Tekret’s reflection completely.

“It is done. Your Seers are at one with the Great Weave, and they might know the Truths of mortals who break their solemn oaths. I would warn you that the tapestry also provides a reason as to why the mortal’s Truth required it break that oath, but such concerns are, I think, not for you. The reasons they choose to forswear their bargains matter to you little, I wager--only that they were broken at all. Still, the reflections of these interactions shall be entombed within the Tairseach for all eternity. You may visit my sacred isle and peruse these reasons, if it is something you might desire? Perhaps the context of another’s Truth may aid you in finding your own.”

Fìrinn took another moment to focus deeply within the mirrored surface before it, its mantle seeming to snap back into place as it did so.

“Alas, I only provide context and understanding. It is my twin that deals with dreams and imagination--perhaps his assistance might be something you seek in the future? Our wills are unified; if you speak my name, he will aid you.”

“Perhaps... In time,” Tekret nodded to the other god, “I am more than content with what I have been given. Again you have my thanks, Fìrinn. I fear we both have much to do, however. The work of the world weighs on us, in that I feel we are alike. I must return to mine.”

“You have much to do, yes. I also see every contract that every mortal makes, but much of it is able to simply glide past my perception and into the Tairseach. I do not envy the amount of attention you must pay to such small details. Still, it is a smaller job than aligning all of reality with its most Truthful self--a fact that makes me glad I have my twin and steadfast allies such as yourself. Never hesitate to call upon me if it will enable you to become your truest self, Tekret et Heret--I will always aid those who aid Truth.

---

---

Gibbou had to admit that she was enjoying this little quest of seeking out her colleagues and asking them to join in her little project. It was nice - nice to meet new faces, get to know them a bit better, and then gauge their cooperative nature from the get-go. She grew giddy from the thought that so many of her friends had shown their interest for Hir and the powers it could provide. Oh, she couldn’t wait to show it off to Adrian and the rest once she could make her way back to…

Huh. What was that land actually called? She hadn’t heard anyone actually refer to the land itself as anything special. Not even the elves had given it a specific same, as far as she knew.

She sighed and put on a smug smirk - my, she had to do a lot of things today, huh? She spun around and pointed at the distant specks of land that constituted the eastmost island of those desert-covered, yet also oddly forested, lands. “Hark at me, great clump of, uh, dirt!” she yelled proudly as though imitating Klaar. “Your name, as well as the names of all your island friends - no, comrades! - shall be Mydia!” She paused to taste the word. “Yes! Mydia - the land of deserts, forests and buffalo! Oh, and elves, of course!”

With that out of the way, she flew ever closer to the tree, which by now was clogging up her entire horizon with its mammoth trunk. There was no real way of describing just how large this tree was. It far exceeded the very meaning of the word “large”, yet no other word existed that could adequately capture the very size of this tree. It had to be a god, or at the very least something tightly connected to whomever was responsible for the plants. Gibbou flew over to a rather empty spot on the trunk facing the great sea and spoke, “Hello? Mister tree? I’m Gibbou, goddess of the moon! I was wondering if you had a minute to chat?”

There was some creaking and grunting from behind the bark of the Tree, followed by panting. Then, from an opening in the trunk just a few meters above Gibbou, a wooden face with a crown of wooden horns and two black eyes peeked out.

”Gibbou, Mistress of the Moon. I am the First Voice, The Great Tree graced me with some knowledge about you. You’re the second born, aren’t you? What does someone of such a high stature want to talk about?” The Voice Looked down at the barely visible ground, and then at Gibbou and nodded. ”Would you like to come inside the Tree? Or perhaps you enjoy the-” A strong wind crashed against the trunk of the tree and nearly blew the Voice back inside. ”... the breeze?” It finished with a huff and disheveled leaves.

Gibbou floated a few feet with the wind and soared back to where she had been previously. “Hi! Good point - where’s the entrance?”

The Voice patted the rim of the opening from which he was peeking out. ”It’s not grandiose like most of the entrances on the lower levels, but I believe this should be an acceptable way inside, if a bit tight.”

Gibbou nodded. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot!” With a bubbly hum, she flew over to the chink in the wood bark and squeezed inside, muttering angrily about ‘those damn berries’ on the way. As soon as she was inside, she noticed that the current level the Voice was in, the level she had entered, was rather dark. Almost no openings led to the outside and therefore only a little bit of sunlight reached inside. Instead, the whole area was lit up by all manner of bioluminescent flora. Both immobile and mobile, these plants all seemed to form a whole ecosystem. There were even mushrooms with strange shapes and scents, and fragrantic flowers and herbs strewn about.

When Gibbou set her feet on the mossy ground, vines grew against her skin and stopped at the calves, then their little buds bloomed into bright orange flowers and blew out clouds of pollen. The goddess squeezed silent a giggle as the undergrowth tickled her feet.

The Voice looked at the Goddess, having stepped back, and nodded once more. ”So, what is it you seek here, Mistress Gibbou?”

Gibbou took a second to completely swallow her laughter. “R-right!” She nipped the horn from her hip and held it up to the voice. “I’ll try to be brief. First of all, beautiful place you have here. I love the mushrooms, especially. This here is Hir, an artifact me and my sister created in order to let mortals perform miracles in our names, provided they can be nice and pious otherwise. To you, if you would like to join in on this project, it would mean that the users of this magic would keep your groves clean and healthy in hopes that you will one day return the favour when they need it the most! Sounds like a good deal, right?”

The Voice place a hand over his mouth in thought, and looked up at the ceiling covered in bright vines simulating a wild worldsong. After a moment, he let his hand fall back to his side and nodded. ”The Tree of Genesis seems to like the image of the peoples of the world taking care of their green little groves...” He agreed and as he did so, a small flexible tendril of wood broke away from the floor and coiled itself around the Voice’s wrist, then pulled. The Voice hummed and sat down cross legged on the floor as a similar tendril coiled itself around Gibbou’s wrist. ”So… What exactly do you want the Great Tree to do for you?”

“Just a few words of blessing and well-wishes, as well as Mister Tree’s consent to let users of Hir perform great miracles in their name - nothing much, but Mister Klaar filled it with seawater.” She paused and frowned at the horn. “I’m not sure how he did it, but, well, you can try whatever feels natural to you. The goal’s just that the users’ll be, uh, infused with your power - is that the right word? Yeah, infused!” She glanced down at the tendril around her wrist and politely tried to pull her wrist to herself, which snapped the tendril innocent little tendril in half.

The Voice closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. After a moment of silence, a bigger root came up to grab Hir, running itself all over the item, feeling every irregularity and every possibility hidden inside it. It was then that the root gingerly placed Hir on the uneven ground, a little bit of seawater leaking from the horn… And several different kinds of miniature vines with blooming flowers growing from them wrapped around the artifact, followed by a short flash of light and a dimming in all the bioluminescent flora present on the level.

Of course, the sudden darkness was short-lived, as the natural lights came back in force as soon as another breeze hit the Tree.

The Voice then opened his eyes and looked at Hir, a smile finding its way to his face. ”It seems, as long as those vines are alive, the vessel shall do the Wonders of Genesis.” It seemed like all was done. And yet, this bigger root that had taken Hir and aided in its blessing, eagerly slithered its way over to Gibbou and softly coiled itself around her wrist and palm. ”I have to say I’m relieved you’re this pleasant, Mistress Gibbou… I, uh, haven’t had the greatest meeting with Gods. I’m sure the Great Tree feels the same way.”

Gibbou gratefully accepted the horn and hunt it from the rim of her pantaloons. “Oh? What other gods have you met that have been so mean? Also, which vines’re you referring to? These?” She pointed at the vines now growing on the horn.

The Voice nodded once more, ”Yes, those vines. They may burn or wither due to disease, but you may visit these grounds and have the Great Tree replace them. The blessing is only active when there’s those small vines on Hir, you see. As for the other Gods, I believe it is better to keep those details secret. Incredible, how the world was on the verge of being destroyed and no one paid a second glance to it...”

Gibbou swallowed. “That’s, uh, it’s good that it didn’t happen, at least! Look, if you eeeeever need someone to talk to when it comes to gods being mean or rude or impolite or all of the above, just wave at the moon, alright? I’ll come down to say hello.” She squatted down and patted a small mushroom affectionately, which seemed to glow more intensely in response. “Thanks for the blessing, by the way!”

”I will keep that in mind. But I fear if I get in such a position I may not last long enough to wave at the Moon. I’m powerless against Gods, after all.” The Voice said with a chuckle. ”And now I will make my way down to the ground level.” The Voice grunted as it stood up and then began walking off into the darker part of the level, were a large spiral ramp was located. ”If you need anything else be sure to visit, Mistress Gibbou. I’m sure the Tree of Genesis will be happy to accomodate you.”

“Oh, I see… You’re mortal.” She huffed somberly. “I hope the Tree can change that for you,” she said with a smile and headed back through the crack in the bark and onwards.

---

Time passed, the healing in the cracks of her body was a signal of that, yet Qullqiya could barely focus on herself, she had a world to explore. To her surprise, what she experienced with Qael'Naeth had been but a lack of luck, most of the new gods did not enter in conflict with the primordial ones because none of them shared a common claim to one aspect of creation like the twin gods of magic did.

This, of course, changed her perspective in the world, for about two days she honestly believed this meant Qael's reign was fated to be over, yet, as she explored more, her perspective changed, and she found herself losing her focus on Qael.

So much had been created, and every she saw things that were wrong, pathetic or petty. Gods were particularists for common goals and collectivists for private matters, their creations were hard and fragile, unable to adapt, it was madness, like calling separate piles of bark, wood, leaves, and petals a 'tree'.

Slowly it came to her that it was not merely about the magic and the need to keep it supernatural and free, but the entire mindset that annoyed her in Qael. She couldn't merely keep magic nice, she had to use it, weaponize it, glorify it, universalize it.

"It really is up to me, is it not? But why..." she realized spreading chaos was necessary, the world was like a lake, things that grew still would become stale, fetid and lifeless. But would she do that as a leader? Was that not paradoxical?

It was. And that was the answer to why only she could do what she had to do, why she was born. She stood up in the mountain she had been resting after her travels. "The darker the shadow the brighter the light appears. The brighter the light, the bigger the shadow grows. This is a basic rule of the universe."

So to bring light, she would cast shadows, and to bring shadows she would shine the light. To bring her chaos, she would be a leader, guiding and conspiring, making her influence grow to the point of being inescapable, yet, in her mind, she would never be like any other god who thinks they can take that role.

She smiled. "Because unlike all of them, I got nothing to lose and a whole world of difference to gain."

She rose her hand and started to coalesce her power into a single tool, it looked like a glass cutter, a diamond-tipped blade, sharp enough to cut far more than just matter.

---

Sapient races were Qull's lifeblood, that was a simple fact she understood very well, as such, it was understandable her first focus was to go straight to them to seek to study them and how they interacted with the world. One thing she immediately found herself disliking was how many were created to worship a god, in her view that was a waste of potential which was doomed to fail, but it would be better for her if it failed the earliest it could and in a manner that was beneficial to her. To that purpose, boundaries would have to be broken.

But before attempting that, she needed to get some first-hand experience with the act of creating a species. To understand the methods and see how it worked, before going straight to causing deviations in the projects of others.

She had two theories about how to use magic for her purpose, and, in the weeping plains, she found her perfect subjects: Thumblings.

Qull was a bit too method in her approach, and the poor creatures found themselves being manually picked by the odd crystalline woman and thrown into glass cages, the goddess deaf to their pleas and demands of answers.

To try out her first approach, she also captured other types of animals that she found interesting, the insects. She had missed much of their magnificent genesis, but she held some interest in the critters even if their social structure was, in her mindset, contempt worthy.

"What would happen if I were to mix you two?" she questioned aloud. The Thumbling's mind was filled with terrible thoughts of biological disasters and mutated creatures, they were sensible worries but Qull didn't plan o stitching the body together. What she meant by 'mix' was a conceptual amalgamation, to unite what the dragonfly she hed was and what the sentient mortal was, with no regards to the matters of biology and logic.

Well, there was no reason not to try it out and see what happens, at worst a single life would be taken and she was willing to make that sacrifice. Focusing her magic, the two bodies shone, stuck in a helix of magical power as their forms united. The result was something that was both a new entity and those two entities from before.

The tiny humanoid looked up at her with a confused expression, she wore addresses and had bodily features that reminded of a dragonfly, yet was also close in concept to a Thumblings. The soul of both entities had been seized and merged for such a creature to be born. She slowly got up and started to zap about, despite her wings being too light for her body, the flight was possible by the simple fact the dragonfly was able to fly and as such the new creature had inherited that trait through the wonder of conceptual merging.

She would continue her work with the species, which she now called Flitterling, and to expand it, she created more merges between Thumblings and other concepts. Bettles, ants, even birds, and some small frogs. It all worked to different degrees, though the best and most malleable were the insect-based amalgams.

Flitterlings were, however, sterile. They weren't natural beings and seemed genderless upon inspection. To solve this issue, she taught them how to put their thoughts into a little egg-like orb, preferably one that would hold pieces of the mind of at least two individuals, once filled enough the orb would turn into a fusion core that upon being infused into a small object or animal would give birth to a new flitterling.

"So it is possible to exclude the laws of logic and the constants from such things, and it is quite easy too. I will need to use amalgamation as a tool to change this world, but before, I am not done yet."

Only half of the captured Thumblings had been turned into Flitterlings, for the others, she had more complex plans. The first half had been picked at random, but these were selected after the goddess evaluated their mental capabilities, in particular, their ability to visualize, imagine and the strength of their willpower.

She infused each of them with magical energy and allowed them a few minutes to take it in, their bodies were not ready for such stress and were slowly breaking, just as she expected they would. The important was to get their minds thinking about the need to adapt and contain such magical powers, once that was established, she snapped her fingers causing an explosion where the Thumblings were, their bodies being reduced to dust.

Yet that was not the end of those beings, their magically charged dust came to life again, clustering together, forming shapes, and ultimately, regaining a semblance of a mortal being. Thankfully, that was merely a simulacrum, the beings that were reformed in front of her were no longer bound by the needs of organs and the structure of bones, they were dust given form, magic flowing freely in them without hurdles.

"It is curious to see how magic acts and interacts with the structure of biological beings, I do appreciate that, but I also appreciate the possibility of seeing it interact with mortal souls in a free, unbounded form."

She told the beings that stood in front of her. They too defied the laws of nature like the Flitterlings, but while those were made by grafting two logical beings into one, these were made from the complete annihilation of logic. She would call them Flutterlings. Both species together forming a group of mortals know as Faery.

Flutterlings were curious to look at, for some reason they seemed to find inspiration in butterflies, Qull had never guided them towards that species as she had with the Flitterlings. Perhaps they enjoyed the colorful patterns, each of them wanting to use their new unbounded forms to display beautiful sights.

Well, unbounded to an extent. Qull would notice their willpower was what limited their bodies, they seemed to prefer to stay humanoid because that was easier on their minds, it was hard to maintain a shifting or formless body. Being dust held together by magic, their strength without magic was negligible, but their strength with magic could be formidable. They seemed to be at their most healthy when in isolation, she got to see one approach a group of Thumblings and slowly break down back into dust as the crowd's minds created enough noise to disrupt that Flutterling's mental control over her own form.

On the topic of proliferation... something gave the goddess the impression she wouldn't need to worry, she needed to take the mind of Thumblings for the first few, but with the presence of properly charged magical dust spread by the existent ones Flutterlings could be born spontaneously.

With that, her work on novel species was done. Both the Faeries were skittish and prone to move and hide, she was sure they would proliferate given time and their numbers would never really become overbearing given the nature of their birth.

---

Humans were a species naturally imbued with ambition, this pleased Qull, and made them the perfect group for her to use in her plans to shape the world more to her ideals. Something just told her this species would be able to proliferate quickly and to go into areas other species wouldn't naturally go to.

This would cause some extent of chaos, sure, but was it enough? To Qull, it wasn't. She wanted to throw the whole concept of species into disarray, to break the biological bounds and any god's plan to have personal eternally loyal servants. For that, it was necessary to make it so species could mutate more, and change into things unexpected and unplanned. Yet that was a LOT of effort. She couldn't do that to all species, but she could make it so one species could do it all alone, bringing her back to the humans.

She quickly came up with a simple plan, to bless humans with the gift of amalgamation. To make it so they could breed not only through the biological means but also on a conceptual level, enabling them to break the species barrier. And much like with the flitterling, sometimes they could mix and match concepts.

In practical terms, it meant humans could be born with grafted traits of other mortal species. It wasn't even necessary to have intimacy between the two species, just proximity could lead to it, though those cases would be rarer. The resulting kin, Amalgams, would not be a species of its own, their biology unstable unless they managed to get large numbers of humans with similar traits, but they would be useful. They could act as a glue between two populations, or overtake both, they could be great to spread commerce and knowledge, to communicate cultural concepts alien to other species, to create strife and change, to turn dualities into something far more complex. Yet their greatest purpose was to simply be mortals whose bodies were not custom made by a god, true wild cards in the game of the gods, even Qull had no idea where what she was creating would lead to.

---

The focus on biology so far had been great, sure, but there was more than biology when it came to mortals. She hadn't dealt with magical users yet, had she? In all honesty, she wanted to wait more, to see what her siblings were doing first, to let it develop, then she would break it, corrupt it and enhance it.

But she did have an idea at the moment.

Her siblings believed in order, from her spying she had noticed there was a strong focus on making the learning of magic a slow dripping process, mortals were born with natural talents or the lack of it, but they all could spend years slowly building up to greater extents of power.

"But what happens if I just give someone it all at once?"

All of it. Magical potential and powers equivalent to a master of the field, given to the mortal while still in the mother of their mother.

The result was pregnant women randomly exploding into great spells of fire or storms cast by their babies out of reflex, leading to the death of both. Not what Qull intended.

"Right, perhaps wait a couple of years after birth. It will manifest three years after their first words." this was enough of a compromise. The child would be 'blessed' with magical powers they could not comprehend, raw magical energy capable of overpowering even people who studied the field for a decade or two.

It was a rare thing, and it was mostly found in women, Qull couldn't decide if it was because it was such a personal gift and she was female-like herself or if it was because of some biological reason. On the later, she could identify there was something of a witch-gene to her blessing, this meant that while the initial few were blessed humans, the concept would spread to human-like species that were biologically compatible enough, such as the Alminaki and the Elves.

One aspect that Qull did not expect in her creation, however, was the consequences of such great magic being infused on a being from birth. They grew differently from normal humans, though she would need to wait for a few generations to see what those differences were.

---

Witches had been her gift to the humanoid race, but she did not feel like her work was quite done yet. There was more cultural and biological strife she could cause to keep things from becoming stale to the point of rot.

She wondered, what would happen if she took a race that didn't seem to be quite blessed by magic yet and gave to a few of its people natural and strong magical powers. How would that affect their psyche? To break the uniformity of a species and give them something rare and powerful. Would they be driven to exile? Would they become revered leaders? It was exciting to think about it.

The Lapites were the ones chosen for her experiment, and the approach was similar to the witches. A rare mutation that made a being be born with great powers, though with the Lapites, this concept was far tamer in term of raw magical powers, Qull liked exploring all possibilities.

To make up for that, these anomalies were born with horns. She particularly called these Al-Mirajs, but depending on the region and depending on the context the population dealt with them new names might appear.

---

Qull was tired, she had been doing a lot as of late, bringing ideas into existence only made it so she suddenly realized more ways to approach an issue or use her resources. Yet she felt satisfied. She was slowly spreading her influence yet at no moment did she feel she was going overboard.

Playing a bit with the diamond cutter, cutting perfect lines on rocks, something suddenly struck her. She could mess with mortals by doing this.

It was extremely childish, but she wondered what mortals would think if they found what looked like a monument or what looked like the structures of a lost civilization? What would they think when finding something entirely alien to their understanding of history? Would they assume their ancestors built it? Or long lost beings?

Well, there was only one way to find out. With a playful smile, Qull started to carve up random cliffsides into cyclopean fortress-like structures in the middle of the least habitable areas of the world, figures over large swathes of land, rock outcrops into lone megaliths and shorelines into weird hexagon like shapes.

Now she only had to wait for a few millennia and see what would happen.

---

Fìrinn’s almost-gaze peered more deeply into the Tairseach than usual, studying deeply one of the infinite panoply of reflections contained therein. Its perception was squarely focused upon the very moment that the fabric of the Collective Unconscious was repaired and sutured back together, examining every minute detail of precisely what happened. There was no small amount of inspiration to be gleaned from such an event--the restoration of damage, the natural order restored, and harmony brought back to reality. It was a beautiful thing, and though beauty was not a necessary function of Truth, Fìrinn had found that it quite liked aesthetic beauty. Many things in the world captured its attention with their beauty, and it had found itself more drawn to gazing upon their reflections in the Tairseach than others. It was a quirk of character, it supposed, but it did not interfere with its work. It was… Truth.

Reflections were, ultimately, impossible without light. When Fìrinn had melded minds with Aicheil, it had gleaned a passing awareness of its night-self’s interaction with the Goddess of the Moon. It stood to reason, then, that Fìrinn should have a conversation with the Moon’s day-self, that which supplied the light for reflections to exist, and illuminated beauty. It cast a ripple of perceptive awareness through the threads of the subtle weave and found the location of Oraelia quite handily, simply appearing behind the Goddess as if it were her reflection.

“Oraelia.”

She screamed at the sound of his voice, quickly scrambling to her feet where she had been resting next to an illuminated pool in a forest of light. The Goddess turned to the Fìrinn and brought up a hand to her chest as she exhaled.

”You startled me there!” she exclaimed.

“I apologise. When one knows the minds of all mortalkind it is often disorienting to interact with a deity whose perception is not known to me.” Fìrinn responded, its mantle-claws gesturing with open palms as if to show that it meant no threat. With a quick flourish they returned to their original position, clasped together in front of the God of Truth, as Fìrinn began to speak again.

“My twin has spoken to yours. It made sense to me that we should also speak. I suppose I would first like to… thank you. It is through you and your sunlight that reflections are possible, and so your presence has been a boon of immeasurable worth to me. I would like to know your mind, if such a thing would please you?”

Fìrinn’s words were careful and measured, in part to ensure that it did not startle its sibling again, and in part because it simply had to consider how it would go about this conversation. Its encounter with the Tree of Genesis had not gone precisely as planned in its inchoate stages and it wished to avoid another negative response with a deity--especially one like Oraelia, to whom it felt a certain kinship.

Oraelia seemed to relax at his words, a cheerful expression slowing starting to form on her face as she let her arm drop. She tilted her head at Fìrinn, eyeing him up and down. ”You know my name, but what is yours and your domain?” she asked.

”Ah, yes. I am Fìrinn, God of Truth. Perhaps you have heard me called the Threefold God, or perhaps the Watcher Behind, or perhaps the Two-as-One? I am unsure of how much you speak to your mortal followers, exactly--there is simply too much to keep track of. My twin, Aicheil, and I created the Collective Unconscious--the threads that bind all mortalkind in a great tapestry of shared experience, thought, and feeling. It is my prerogative to align reality with its greatest Truth, to enable each mortal and each deity to mould their surroundings according to what it means to be them. Without you I dare say that mortalkind would not exist, and so it stands to reason that I would not exist.” Fìrinn responded with as much information as it thought Oraelia might want to know about it in an effort to pre-empt further questions about its purpose and its beliefs. Its mantle-claws wove themselves into gentle open palms, fingertips against one another, as the God of Truth thought to itself.

Oraelia stared at Fìrinn for a moment. A contemplative look upon her face, she looked around with her eyes, before focusing them back on Fìrinn. ”I can’t say I’ve ever heard of you, or your twin, Fìrinn. But! You are so welcome! My light is for all to have and be nourished by!” she said warmly. ”Now, I’ve also never heard of this, ‘Collective Unconscious’, either. Which again, isn’t surprising because I haven’t really met others. Oh! I can name like… Three other gods? Maybe four? Regardless, that was a good explanation!” she then looked around. ”Where is it?” she asked befuddled.

”Hm. I often forget that others are incapable of seeing the subtle web--I spend much of my time gazing into the holy Tairseach, and within its reflection the web is plainly obvious. I could show you, if you were so inclined?”

Fìrinn’s offer was remarkably casual--offhanded, even--not as if it did not expect for it to be taken up on, but as if it was surprised at itself for offering to reveal the location of the Tairseach at all. It was not hidden from deific perception, so it was certainly not as if the Isle of Reflection were difficult to find, but its experience of deities thus far had mostly been that they were deeply focused upon their own surroundings and goals and had little time or inclination to explore much of the world. Fìrinn was at something of an advantage in that regard, it supposed, as all that mortalkind saw was information it had access to. The God of Truth paused for a second, even its mantle stilling, as it pondered precisely what that small epiphany meant.

She clasped her hands together as she looked back at Fìrinn. ”Oh I would love to!” she said joyfully. ”It’s not like I’m doing much here, anyways.” she mused, dropping her hands and walking over to him.

With a flourish of its mantle, Fìrinn offered Oraelia a hand that she grasped, taking the two of them directly to the Isle of Reflection. Upon arrival, Fìrinn’s true hands grasped the mirror before it once more and, this time, nudged it backwards so that it might catch the sunlight and reveal the presence of the great weave within the firmament above. After a minute adjustment here and there it found the correct angle, and its mantle beckoned Oraelia to gaze deeply within the reflection. Fortunately for the pair, the Tairseach’s reflection was not limited to its physical space--the entire Isle served as a conduit for its power, and with just a little focus Fìrinn was able to ensure that Oraelia could simply see the web when she gazed out towards Toraan proper by virtue of being on the tiny landmass. Her eyes went wide as she looked through.

”Each mortal is connected by the finest filament. It carries their perception across the world, as a ray of sunlight might carry an image, into the Tairseach. Through it, these fragments of mortality enter the Dream and blossom forth, stretching the very limits of imagination. Then, these transformed perspectives are pulled back through the mirror and return to their owners--and occasionally to others. It is the purest essence of Truth aside from myself.”

Fìrinn explained the details while its mantle gently caressed the surface of the Tairseach, filling in some of its prior carvings while rendering new images and filigreed inlays depicting sunlight illuminating the world.

”It’s beautiful…” Oraelia said, breathless. ”I never would have imagined something like this… Existed. Are you able to pinpoint specific mortals?” she asked.

”I am. Is there a being whose Truth you wished to examine?” Fìrinn asked, returning the Tairseach to its upright position as it did so. The presence of the subtle weave beyond the isle persisted, however, as Fìrinn’s mantle glowed a soft blue for just a second. It would likely have to show the collective unconscious to others regardless, and those mortals who found their way here after being Chosen deserved to experience a moment of true beauty before being entombed within a reflection for all eternity.

”Not in particular, I was just curious you see.” she said, turning to look at Fìrinn. ”A truth of a person sounds very… Personal, doesn’t it? I’m not sure how I would feel if someone saw mine.” she said quietly.

”Lucia thinks very highly of you. You are her first thought in a morning, and her last thought as she drifts into slumber. It is touching, in its own way. Truth is personal by nature, Oraelia--but you have nothing to fear. We Gods are above such piercing insight. All that I know of you I know from mortal perspective and from what we have discussed--I could not peer into the mysteries of your truest essence even if I tried. All I seek to do is know you and help you align reality with your Truth, no more.”

The God of Truth’s almost-face reflected a light of deeper, blue hues like that of the ocean. A burst of colour as if to signify a latent wistfulness, a brief reflection of its own internal truth. Its mantle-hands wove themselves back into the claw tips it was used to and gently trailed across the surface of the reflecting pool beneath Fìrinn, somehow not disturbing the images therein or seeming to physically affect the water at all.

At the mention of Lucia, Oraelia narrowed her eyes at Fìrinn briefly, before she gave a small sigh and looked back at the Tairseach. ”My Sunflower…” she whispered to herself. ”I wasn’t afraid for myself, Fìrinn. Mortal life is a precious thing, and we gods are so… Powerful. I try my best not to infringe upon their individuality, but that’s just me.” she looked back to Fìrinn. ”What do you wish to know about me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

”I wish to know your Truth, as I do for all that exists. Such is my nature and my purpose.” Fìrinn responded simply, taking a moment to consider before expressing its meaning again.

”Perhaps fear is not the right word. It is not selfish to interact with that which you have made, and nor would it detract from their individuality--mortalkind loves wonder, and are we not the most wondrous beings in all creation? Perhaps one can manufacture love within one’s creations, but the simple truth is that they will find love and admiration of us in one way or another because we created them or we are born of aspects of them. I could find for you each and every feeling mortalkind has ever had about you or your creations since the inception of the Great Weave, but it would not help you realise the simple Truth. You need not isolate yourself from those that worship you as it is not in your nature to mould them. You need not deny yourself the love of your children as you care deeply for their happiness and their truth. The present will give way to the future as surely as you will make the sun rise. The future shall wash away all that is as surely as your sister guards the moon. We cannot know what that future is, all we can know is that it will not be this. It will be Truth, if we do our duties correctly.”

Fìrinn’s monologue was mostly addressed to Oraelia, but it was equally clear that much of this exposition was simply it thinking aloud, absorbing knowledge and context from its sibling, and processing all of reality anew with fresh perspectives. It was an exercise in knowing Oraelia and knowing the self, and also in accepting that which Fìrinn did not--and perhaps could not--know. It was, in essence, reflection. Nothing more.

”I…” she began, but stopped. Her face was a mask of self reflection as she thought upon Fìrinn’s words. ”I think… That might be what I needed to hear.” she cooed. ”So, how do you find the Truth of a god?”

”You ask a lot of questions and you think very hard.” Fìrinn replied, the lights reflecting from its almost-face suggesting a smirk or a sharp intake of breath.

”It is made easier by choosing to link minds with another deity, but it is an… intrusive process. Or, at least, it would be if I attempted to do so. My twin requires such connections to understand the Gods, or requires my presence. Perhaps together we could draw out the Truth from another deity without it being an unpleasant experience? Still, it is perhaps for the best that that avenue not be explored. Understanding winds its way to me with knowledge, so all I require is conversation. I am not sure that you or the others could do the same--even with your sister I expect you do not have the piercing insight of Truth.”

Fìrinn’s response was typically unhelpful when it came to answering the queries of gods about the nature of mortal concepts when applied to them. It was something that it had to work on knowing and understanding, which was still a somewhat foreign concept to it. Still, it hoped it could help Oraelia become closer with Truth in some small way, even if the path was meandering.

She smirked. ”Is it such a bad thing to be inquisitive? Still, I understand. Some Truths take time, just like anything, really.” she began to stretch. ”Thank you, for showing me this, Fìrinn. It was unexpected, but needed.”

”You are very welcome, flower of the dawn. Your inquisitiveness will serve you well, of that I have no doubt. It is simply a matter of time before the Truths of the universe and of we Gods reveal themselves to us both. Before you leave, I do have one request of you? Could you capture a few rays of the sun and store them within the reflecting pool? I tried to reflect the lights of the Luminant, but capturing the true essence of such things is beyond my grasp. I think the Tairseach would benefit from such a display of beauty.”

She nodded, raising her hand up into the sky. From the sky came a ray of sunlight that coalesced as it hit the reflecting pool, where it fragmented into every color of the sun. Vibrant colors struck every surface, refracting and reflecting the light. ”Until we next meet, Fìrinn. Goodbye!” she said with a wave, before changing into her domain form, and streaking off over the ocean.

---