Artefex stomped down into antiquity via his portal. Paused. Took it all in. Clicked his fingers a few times. Then stepped back through, formed a door in his realm, brought it though and set it up in front of the portal back to his realm and set up a buzzer and intercom system on a post on the outside so he’d be able to communicate with anyone who wanted to politely enter his realm.

Artifex dusted off his hands, satisfied with his bout of remodeling, ”Right then. Now let's find out what this place is all about” he said to the small swarm of insects that had escaped his realm while the door was open, before stomping his way down to the edge of the arena stands, leaning on the banister and and looking down into the pit below.

”It is... Some kind of combat arena? Or possibly a sporting arena if I am being generous. A place of competition is not exactly a structure with the right functionality or ambiance for a meeting place between realms I feel. A forum would have been better, or perhaps a senate. I wonder how difficult it would be to renovate?” he said before looking up at Galbar hanging high in the sky ”and that is just salt in the wound. Really. Just the nicest way to get the tempers flaring. I should have words with whoever designed this place because it is just begging for trouble.”

The various colorful bugs, which had all now landed upon their creators' massive horns, said nothing in response and instead sat fanning their wings and grooming themselves as they enjoyed, in their limited way, the strange adventure they had found themselves on.

As Artifex surveyed the barren expanse of antiquity another god, one remarkable by their lack of colour as much as their conspicuous nakedness, noticed the new arrival. After a moment's consideration the tall white figure of Tekret et Heret approached their fellow divine languorously. Step after step, the man came to meet Artifex as a mortal would. Or, perhaps, a mortal with all the time in the world would.

Eventually the other god stood beside Artifex at the edge of the stands, and after eyeing the God of Insects, greeted their peer, “Artifex, I’d guess? Excuse me if I got that wrong, I’m beginning to notice that two thousand years of absence has eh, influenced, the mortal’s' depictions of us. Still, it’s the reference I have.”

”You would be correct. And yes, time does seem to have that effect. Mortals draw inspiration from each other's work sequentially and the results can deviate rather wildly from the original, even if they do still have artistic merit. There’s a rather interesting sculpture of me that is across between a goblin, a Mantarin and a Vespain, the spirit of which I rather like even if the accuracy is completely not existent. Indeed this form is a result of such a shift in perception but, ah, I’m babbling on about myself” Artuifex said before waving away his own rambling and pushing herself up and away from the handrail to face the other god ”and have not even gotten your name yet. I won’t waste our time with hazarding guesses as your appearance seems to have been handcrafted for non identifiability.”

“Keeps things interesting,” The white god shrugged before adding, “It has its downsides, though. I’m Tekret et Heret, God of Rulership, Contracts, and bearer of a couple thousand other minor titles by now, but that’s how it goes. You get it. After all, I recall your people are doing better than they might have a right to be. Your work?”

”A pleasure to meet you Tekret” Artifex said, extending a hand in greeting.

”As for my people, yes. The Mantarin were blessed with a fair number of gifts to give them a head start, though naturally those are gifts I instructed them to share. The Vespian… are doing as well as they can after I got some of them out of the whole exploding moon situation. I am aware I’ve shown some favoritism,” he admitted ”but I have done what I can for the others in a muse like fashion when their prayers find me. But there's a limit to what I can achieve with words alone, as you no doubt know.”

Tekret shook the proffered hand, and gave Atifex a little grin, “Of course, but the Vespian are alive because of those words. There’s a limit, buuut it matters. You wouldn’t believe some of the others,” The alabaster god inhaled sharply, “I know for a fact at least a few of them spent the last two thousand years napping or fighting with the lifeblood. Sure you can only do so much with a word here and a little curse there, but it adds up. You’ve my respect for doing what you could.”

”Napping? Really? Such a waste. I assume those fighting didn’t manage to get anywhere? I gave up after about a year.” the god rubbed one of his forearms at the memory of the pain that had brought before continuing ”As for you, contracts wasn’t it? Binding individuals, groups and communities together? All very good stuff. Couldn't do what I do without you. My compliments to your efforts. Oh and that lovely wall too, a fine piece of work that too.”

“Hah!” Tekret exclaimed, “It pales in comparison to yours, but I’m proud enough of it. More proud of what the Humans did with it though. Ketrefa has been one of the more interesting places down there, even if it is going through a bit of a slump as of late. Might need to meddle there in another decade or so. Though,” The god paused and pursed his lips, “I wonder if it might be better to let things run their course. I tried to give the people there some measure of stability with eh, this fancy crown I made. Holds memories, is what it does. Thought that might keep things running smoothly, but it’s no undying Queen is it? Whenever I take a look at your Mantarin they seem to be doing well enough without fancy artifacts. Hm.”

”Ah yes my lovely Queen Regina has been doing excellent work in keeping Sancta Civitas ticking along smoothly. It is a trade off however. Familial loyalty is an excellent binding agent but it is not one that facilitates expansion and, of course, there is the issue of what would happen should perish. There was an incident with a Vrool raid a few decades back that gave me quite the scare in that department. Very brave of her to fight of course but the whole thing was far too close for comfort. The Vrool are a little concerning in general really. Such a massive empire at so early a stage is impressive of course but I worry about it being, well, suffocating to progress and, selfishly, about it sweeping away my own projects in a tide of tentacles.”

“Ah,” Tekret waved the concern off, “I wouldn’t be so concerned. They’re strong, but too much like us to ever really be a worry. They’ll follow their Tyrant, but I’ve never known a Vrool to hold back if they have a chance of surpassing them. It’s just not in their nature, obedience. I had a hand in helping their empire along, but I don’t see it ever being more than it is. A success, if a bit limited.”

”Hopefully you are right. I have some ideas for how to stick claw into the issue regardless. Always good to have a few plans ready for such eventualities.” Artifex replied, his concerns somewhat addressed by the opinion of a fellow divine, ”Say, you mentioned knowing what some of the other gods have been up to, such as napping. Might I ask who you’ve met? I will be honest the breath of my socialising during our free reign was not extensive, so it would be nice to get some info on who else I might be running into if you are willing to oblige?”

“Well there’s Illyd Dyll, God of Food I think? He’s nice but eh, I think he might not be all there. Then there was Cadi-”

Just then, a familiar bare-chested figure landed nearby. “Artifex, it has been too long!” the God said with a smile. “And Tekret. How have things been?”

”This is going to be a thing with you isn't it.” Artifex joked entirely to himself, ”Greetings Cadien, good to see you alive and well.”

“Cadien,” Tekret finished with a note of exasperation and gestured to the other bare chested divine. The God of Contracts eyed the conversation's newest partner for a moment before adding, “Who was working on something interesting, last I heard?”

“I was indeed,” Cadien nodded, “and it’s done.”

”and what, if I might ask, is it you have been working on?” Artifex asked, feeling very much out of the loop

Cadien gave them a conspiratal grin. “What if I told you there was a way to more closely interact with Galbar?”

Artifex cocked his head and leaded in with clear interest ”You have? Do tell?”

“Through the creation of an avatar,” Cadien revealed. “Turns out, if you remove a small portion of your own soul, and put it in a form where it can move and possess independent thought, it is capable of travelling to Galbar. Not only that, but it can perform divine actions on your behalf.”

“Really?” Tekret muttered, “That seems... Hrm. A tad dangerous, doesn’t it? What would happen to this ‘avatar’ if it was destroyed?”

“If my avatar is destroyed, then I should be able to call the lost fragment back to me. Since my avatar is on Galbar, where we gods can’t walk, then I suppose the only thing that could destroy it would be another avatar.” Cadien shrugged. “I’m sure the hold I have over my own soul is strong enough to overpower them, if they do try to claim it. I won’t deny that it’s risky, but it’s the first real progress to be made, and it seems to be working.”

”Remarkable. You have one of these avatars I take it? Down on Galbar right now?” The god glanced up at the world hanging above them as if they could see that piece of soul simply by looking ”Is this common knowledge? Or are you in the middle of spreading it around right now? Who found this out and how?” artifex asked, bombarding Cadien with questions

“My avatar is in Galbar right now, yes,” Cadien nodded. “A few gods already know. Gibbou discovered it by accident, and her avatar wound up betraying her because she did nothing to ensure it was loyal - do try to avoid that.”

"So they have to think then, be alive?" Tekret bit the inside of his lip and ran a hand through his hair in thought, "I'm not sure it's what I was looking for, Cadien, but it is progress. Thanks for letting me know though. I'll remember it."

“Well, I don’t know if it has to think,” Cadien admitted. “Mine does. But I can see through its eyes at any given moment, and I don’t think it would be too difficult for me to take direct control of it if it turned against me. Anyhow, be sure to tell everyone else. The rest deserve to know, I think.”

”A degree of intelligence would allow for some delegation which would be useful in my opinion. I hardly want to puppet a mortal body around all day long. Thank you for this most valuable information. I’ll be sure to pass this along. Although, perhaps there are better ways to get news of this discovery than simple word of mouth? An informative memorial columb or notice board or newspaper stand of some kind perhaps. Maybe I could make letterboxes for everyone? hmmm” Artifex pondered

A thoughtful expression appeared on Cadien’s face, and the God of Perfection stroked his chin.

Then, he cupped his hands to his mouth.

“ATTENTION, FELLOW GODS!” his voice boomed throughout Antiquity, passing through the portals at its edges and into the neighbouring realms. “What if I told you there was a way to interact more closely with the world? All you need to do is bind a small piece of your soul to another form, and send that form to Galbar. It will be able to pass through without interference from the Lifeblood, walk the world, and perform divine actions on your behalf. You can thank Gibbou for this trick. Oh, and if you haven’t set foot outside your realm’s portal yet, please do; it’s perfectly safe! That will be all!”

Then Cadien cleared his throat and smiled. “I think that did the trick.”

"Mmm," Tekret rubbed his ears, "So that's what that feels like. Well, if you put up that notice board Artifex, maybe we can ask people to stop yelling. But I imagine that did the trick, yeah."

”Crude, but no doubt effective,” Artifex agreed, massaging his poor antenna ”I’ll set up the notice board so it never need occur again.” before grabbing one of the crystals floating around his head and hurling it at the door to his realm. The shard paused right before impacting with the wood, floated down and then inserted itself through the mail flap. After a few moments the door opened and a procession of dog sized ants spilled out carrying all the things he’d need to build an incredibly mundane looking cork noticeboard.

The ant god formed a simple hammer and screwdriver out of two of his crystals and quickly got to work assembling the board, complete with glass doors, plenty of sheets of paper, a selection of finely crafted fountain pens to write on the paper and pot of pins to affix the notes to the board. Once it was done Artifex quickly wrote down a copy of Cadians announcement, opened up the cabinet door covering the board, pinned the note to the wall, proceeded to write an entire second note explaining how a notice board worked, added it to the board as well and then closed the cabinet door again.

”There we go” the god said, dusting off his hands, the others having already left him to his work, ”much more civilised than yelling. Now to go throw a piece of myself at Galbar and see how this Avatar business works.”

Cult of the Horned Goddess

---

The flickering light from the flames licking the sconces hung along the wall bathed the gathering in a warm glow. The occasional murmur and bustle from the streets of the district penetrated the thick weave curtains from time to time - the sun had gone to rest, but Ketrefa was just coming to life. So too for the two dozen gathered around the long table in Akellos grand estate, feeling the warmth of spirits and fire alike as the celebration continued.

Yaren glanced about the table, recognizing only a few faces in his extended family. Akellos was such a distant relative he wasn’t sure they were related by anything but tradition tying their minor house to the rich noble line, yet his father had received an invitation all the same. The opulent mansion was unlike anything Yaren had experienced before, with a massive staff of slaves to fill their plates and goblets the moment they weren’t filled to the brim, to entertain and sing, and provide a tasteful ambience with light and appealing dress that matched the regal curtains of red and gold. The merriment was total, and they were coming in on their sixth hour of celebration now, as Cousin Elerik and his two officer sons launched into their third raucous song about the ‘virtues’ of a marriage.

The bride-to-be at the far end of the table looked none too pleased, thought Yaren. Then again, neither did her future husband, squirming awkwardly next to her. Their families however, about as related as Yaren’s house was to Akellos’, seemed to be caught up in the revelry, happily singing along, laughing, and chatting. It was an infectious feeling to be sure, to be surrounded by such luxury and excess. It was easy to be happy when the curtains were closed and the food kept coming. Davit, his brother, slapped him on the back and laughed, and Yaren was pulled along in the celebration, head dizzy with spirits.

And so the feast proceeded, merry and in high spirits, for another hour. Akellos’ contacts in the markets had ensured he had many exotic meals to offer, and one by one delicacies from distant lands were placed upon the table for the excitement of all. Yaren had never eaten so well in his life. As his goblet was being refilled for the eleventh time, the master of the house stood up and quieted his guests with a jovial gesture. The laughs died down slowly but surely, as mirth-filled faces drew to Akellos himself. The comfortably rotund man grappled briefly with his oiled mustache before animatedly sweeping his hands in rhythm to a grand speech.

“Beloved!” he began, with a grin like a lord surveying his lands. “I must thank you all for coming to this delightful feast. Never before have all branches of our grand house gathered under a single roof! My father said it was impossible, but I - I dared to dream!” He paused for applause and cheers from his distant family, most of whom were happy to oblige. “But this end to old animosity is not the only cause for celebration, nay, I dare say it is but a minor event to be noted. Indeed, let us not all forget the true purpose of this most wonderful of feasts,” Akellos grinned warmly under his bushy mustache and gestured down to the other side of the table, where both bride and groom smiled sheepishly and tried their best to shrink out of notice. “The majestic and downright divine union of Kalet and Mira! With their endless love bound together, the houses of Nikuet and Nakun shall become one, as they were so long ago. We have put the legacy of the feuding brothers behind us, and we shall enter a new era of Akellan success in Ketrefa! A toast!” Akellos raised his goblet, as did all the others. Yaren smiled briefly at a slave-servant topping up his goblet before raising his own to join the crowd.

Akellos took a moment to smile around the table. “To the strong and hearty Kalet, and his beautiful bride Mira. May the love goddess herself come down from the sky to bless your most holy union!” A round of agreements, and a solid five seconds of hearty drinking. The scrawny old woman sat next to Akellos leaned his way and murmured something to their host, and the rotund man agreed with a heavy nod.

“My beautiful and wise mother has come with a suggestion befitting of this most holy of days! Why don’t we all come together and pray to Neiya? For her blessing for this most beautiful of couples!” Akellos roared with vigor, and all around the table were sound agreements. Yaren smiled warmly himself, touching at the symbol of the Five hanging around his neck. Their host cleared his throat as loudly as he could, and to the snicker of a few around the table, dramatically raised his hands towards the sky. “Great Goddess Neiya,” he boomed with melodramatic intent. A few others intoned after him. Yaren’s brother jabbed him in the side, and Yaren repeated the line himself. “Reach down to us from your palace among the stars! Join us in our festivities for a moment, and bless these wonderful lovers with your divine wisdom and unity. For a long life together, forever bound by your eternal love and devotion!” The crowd chanted in union, smiling down at the couple, who were now starting to find warmth in each other’s presence. “Show them the endless reaches of your divine grace and affection, so that they may follow your example!”

“And the rest of us, while you’re at it!” Elerik chimed in at the end of the prayer, to the grand amusement of the table. Akellos reached for his glass to offer his cousin a jovial toast.

Then, something whispered in the room, cutting all chatter to an immediate silence. The flames flickered and wavered unsteadily, and a heavy, imposing presence began to lay over the room. Yaren found it hard to keep his eyes open, and saw others struggled with the same. Then he heard it. A beautiful, gentle voice crashing into his mind like the ocean rolling onto the shore. ”As you ask, you shall receive. My love for you, Yaren, son of Kaster and Irla, is eternal.”

Yaren could no longer breathe, and before his eyes streamed thousands of shapes, colours and lights. He heard screaming, felt the pain of a thousand blades stab into his every limb, saw the true depravity of mortals all across Galbar. A horned apparition, extending her arms. Hollow cries for help, a never-ending longing for those lost, an unshakable hatred for those who took your beloved from you. There was peace, happiness, joy. A fleeting and intermittent holdout in a torrent of endless suffering. It made him want to claw his eyes out. To rip his goblet from his hand and cut his heart out with it. There was no escape to the madness, no respite, no end. Somewhere in the timeless abyss of pain, he came to want that brief peace. That joy of a relation that would soon crash and burn - just not yet. The embrace of the horned one. Devotion. Eternal love.

Yaren’s breath returned, and reality crashed in around him. Around him the voices of his screaming relatives filled the room. He heard only the siren song of the voice in his head. ”I have given you my love, my beloved Yaren. You have shared in my pain, and now we are as one. Will you be mine, as I am yours?”

“I-..” Yaren breathed heavily, staring at the brief mirage of her beautiful, obsidian-horned visage. “I am yours forever, goddess. We shall always be together.” He replied with newfound devotion, his shocked face twisting to a warming smile. Around him, he heard others say what he had said, or pledge themselves in other ways.

”Then we shall always be together, my love. So long as you do not break my heart. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Don’t disappoint me, my dearest.”

He parted his lips to speak, but the goddess was gone from his mind. A pain gripped his soul, an intense warmth spreading throughout his body. The goddess was with him, and he felt relief. He would never disappoint her. As his gaze moved across the room, he saw that others were recovering as well. Some had fallen, their hearts given out or lives taken to end the pain. They had not been worthy of her love. Even the slaves were dragging out of a deep daze across the room, having pledged themselves to the one true goddess. No - slaves no more. Kin, in her eternal love’s embrace.

The jingle of metal caught Yaren’s attention, and he glanced down to the symbol of the Five hanging around his neck. A deep frown spread across his features, an intrinsic disgust rippling from within. He knew only the goddess, as she did him. With a quick rustle, he freed himself from the religious symbol, and discarded it on the ground. Again he looked around, and Akellos gave him a confident, stern nod.

He would never disappoint her.

---

Sirius reentered Antiquity. He had noticed the presence of many gods, and for the moment he didn’t want to involve himself with a crowd of gods. Glancing over the unfamiliar terrain, his sense fell over another portal which he quickly moved towards. He steeled himself, and passed through the portal. Immediately after entering the oceanic realm, he softly called out, his intention carried by divine will, “Hello… I am… Sirius. Is one of … kin of the lifeblood… present. There are matters … that should be discussed.”

The primal vastness that was Klaarungraxus ascended from the inky depths towards Sirius. Six huge, glowing eyes lowered their gazes to properly see the deity for themselves. The many-minds of Klaarungraxus pinged back curiosity; its form was small and soft, like the children of those mortal races made by the more gentler gods. Bipedal and at least visibly endoskeletal, as Gibbou and many of the gods the Old Growth Below had spied on in antiquity. A fascinating, if readily limiting structure.

”Tidings of currents soft and bountiful, Godling Sirius,” came the Great Devilfish’s reply, rumbling in Deepspeak that shuddered through Sirius’ mind, ”We are thee who is Klaarungraxus, distant kin so strangely made. What matters hath found wriggling purchase in thine mind’s matter that requires our attentions?”

Sirius responded, “Greetings … Klaarungraxus. There is the pressing … matter of our expulsion from Galbar. The pattern … it is incomplete.”

”Pattern? With finite measures only so many rotations can be formed to match one another; what pattern doth thine refer?” Klaarungraxus seemed to sink inwards then, leaning towards Sirius in the depths of his realm with considerable curiosity coursing through his tentacles.

“The Zodiac… The stars, they were without… order. I ensured that they would … be preserved. I finished most of the work. I just need to finalize it.. And make it accessible to the people of … Galbar.” Sirius replied, unnaturally still. The experience of being within this space was odd, and he considered if this is what Galbar’s ocean was like.

Klaar stared at Sirius as the adolescent looking deity with curiosity; his mindseye turned to those glimmering points above the waters, hanging in the sky alongside the One-Good-Orb during the darkest nights. They were admirable things, admittedly, but Klaar had seen little time to truly admire them.

”Zodiac? Stars? Hmmm. Preservation is unnecessary in all things, but needs of others always flow away from the needs of one. But . . . mortals will benefit, and thus, it must be made so; how might I assist?”

“Firstly, considering our … banishment. I need to … inquire about means to circumnavigate it. Secondly, considering … mortals, I have created … a small region to draw celestial … energies to Galbar. I now require a … method of … spreading it across Galbar and making it so … that mortals can more readily access it.” Sirius replied.

”Aaaah; it is solutions you seek. Worry not, four-limbed-kin, for I hath solutions to offer. With one tug I pulled forth mine limb and granted it a portion of my power. That small fraction of mineself traverses the realms far more freely than I; perhaps your limb separated could do the same? Or, something else, I imagine, would serve amply to thine goals.”

“I thank you … for your wisdom.” Sirius stated.

Sirius and Klaar had a long discussion about the nature of the zodiac and of deepspeak and telluric energies, and Sirius agreed to make a bridge between the zodiac stones and Ko, before formally dismissing him and returning to his realm

---

Cold, crisp air filled Zetian’s lungs as she padded silently up the gently sloping tunnel, the bare stone frigid on her hind paws. Shuffling sounds echoed behind her, no doubt her clergical entourage, but still her heart pounded. She had only heard stories of the ether before. Stories of good and evil, of Lapites driven mad by the secrets it held. Every Lord and Lady of the Warrens had their own experiences, of aunts and uncles and nephews and nieces that had caused great and terrible accidents. The lucky ones had been banished to the mines. The less fortunate had been reduced to nothing more than stains on the Flowing Ether’s walls. Zetian struggled to keep her fur flat, lest the fear-scent betray how nervous she was. A future queen did not get scared before the gods. A future queen embraced them, promising to serve them all her days. Even if it meant staying below the ground, away from their watchful gazes.

The tunnel lightened, and the perfectly smooth walls faded into view. It was taller than it was wide, etched with symbols of the gods. Qa. Ev. Bo. Gi. They danced around the floor and ceiling, inlaid in polished black glass. Each image told a tale: Qa, blessing the first Lapites with horns to channel magic; Ev, granting them fire to banish the dark; Bo, cradling them all in his paws as hard as rock; Gi, her silver ears holding up the Moon. Though Gi especially was beloved by all, Zetian had always found herself a little skeptical. How could the Moon float if it was made of the same rock they tunneled in? Stone was incredibly heavy. It sounded like just another story, made up by the Clergy to keep them all in line. But if it wasn’t a story, she really hoped Gi would be understanding. Gi was supposed to be the nicest, after all. Surely she’d tolerate a little faithlessness.

Finally, the tunnel leveled off, opening up into a chamber ten times as tall as Zetian. She gasped, and the thrumming of her heart faded away as her ears took in the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. Mana-infused water poured in through a hole in the roof, behaving like no proper liquid she’d seen before. It bubbled and boiled, evaporated and liquefied, full of vapor and glowing a gentle blue. It felt like the air was singing to her, as it pooled in a shimmering reservoir, lined with silver pots and bowls and goblets. But while the water itself was beautiful, it was nothing compared to where it poured from.

Moonlight. Real moonlight, painting every surface silver and kissing all it touched. The hole was small, but stars twinkled in the sky beyond. Icy wind swirled down from above, whisking away the natural heat of the underground. When it blew, she could hear a million, trillion somethings whispering on the surface, calling to her, welcoming her. The dark, damp world she’d always known was gone, banished by the light of the gods. She touched a dark paw to her cheek and it came away wet. She was crying.

“I’m so sorry I doubted you, even for a second,” whispered the rabbit princess. I will never forget this moment.”

A paw, draped in silk, tenderly prodded her shoulder. “It is time,” murmured the cardinal. “You must drink from the Ether, while the Moon is in approval. It will not remain overhead for long.”

She nodded and approached the ring of bowls, wondering which one to take. The water looked like it tasted of diamonds and ice. Would it hurt her? Surely it wouldn’t, if this ritual had been performed many times before. Zetian clasped a small chalice in her paws and drank.

Ice burned through her field of vision. The darkness closed back in, but this time, it pulsated with sound and smell, always dancing around her range of sight. No matter which way she whipped her head, all was dark, smelling of rumbling cave-ins and something sharp that caused her fur to tingle.

The darkness drew away again, and in her vision, she looked up, up at the formless abyss that hung like a dome. It must be the sky, the place where moonlight came from. But where were the stars? And the so-called sun? All she could see and feel and smell was grass, rippling beneath her paws, bathed in blue light. Yes, all was a calming blue, she could see that now. Rivers of mana swirled through the sky and ground, congregating on a single nexus in front of her. A nexus that bore a shape and name.

“Qa,” breathed Zetian, prompting the diaphanous Lapite to turn, so tall and willowy that he looked like he might dissolve at any second. “Is it really you?”

He did not answer, and instead pointed to the wide array of glowing, mesmerizing streams, which blended with the fabric of reality itself. She felt like she could see the whole universe from here, so far did her eyes reach. So why did it all feel so empty? Why weren’t there more moons, more suns, more stars, imbued with the power of mana? Was he saying that none of it was real, that the celestial bodies were lies as she had presumed? What did it all mean?!

Qa turned his undulating, cosmic eyes to her, scanning with vaporous eyes that bore right through her, picking apart her every thought and emotion. He could tell there were many questions bubbling within her, desperate to escape the black fur confining them. But instead of illuminating any such queries, he simply twitched an ear, and the ice swept in again.

Zetian’s eyes snapped open. She was back in the chamber of the Flowing Ether, back beneath an endless roof of stone, the chalice dull in her paws. The moon was gone, and with it, the vision. She took a deep breath. It was a miraculous experience, to be sure! ...But she couldn’t help feeling like Qa, despite all his visual majesty, had been hollow. An impression of something that should’ve felt far more substantial. And where had been the other gods? Was she not supposed to meet more, learn more? Anxiety began to gnaw at her calm temperance. But she forced it down, choking back the fear of the unknown. She was a princess! The clergy could answer such question, surely.

Zetian rubbed the disappointment out of her eyes and stood tall. Now that she had been enlightened, she could properly appreciate her classes on Godly Affairs. Hesitantly, regretfully,, she began the trek back down into the deep, away from the surface that called to her. Away from the Moon.

---

Fennelle crouched in her cave, shivering with cold, wet, and hunger. Stalactites dripped water onto her, water that had never seen the light of day. Her hair was matted, her plum skin stained crimson with blood. She hadn’t meant for it to happen. She hadn’t meant to kill Clowve. But he had just been so obnoxious, rubbing in her face how he was going to inherit the perfume business, from their ailing father, no less! Despite her being the one to tend to his every dying need. It was despicable. He needed to be knocked down a peg. So when he took her up the cliff and gestured to the Outback, saying he’d be the one to tame it and harvest all its fragrances for himself.... well, Clowve may have been full of hot air, but not full enough to keep him from becoming a purple splat on the desert floor. The business was hers, and that was that.

Or, well, it should’ve been “that,” but a night later she was hunched over in agony, too pained by the cold fire racing through her limbs and stabbing at her senses to even fetch water for her father. And when the transformation was over, when her eyes could discern the colors of the caves in the dark, and hear the rustling of cinnalyptus trees two miles downwind, Dear Old Dad became Dear Old Dead, her first of many victims.

At first, she had been ravenous, determined to snuff out the whole town, everyone who adhered so sickeningly close to that moronic emphasis on the Great Peace. Loud noises were great! The sounds of screams and gushing throats were downright musical. She could yell and bang the drums all she wanted, snap javelins and rip apart animal skins, and nobody could stop her! But now, within but a few months, they were all gone, every last one of them. The ones who could flee had fled. The ones who couldn’t had been picked off, night by night, by the monster haunting them. And it wasn’t like she wanted to kill them! But Fennelle was so hungry, and they smelled so good, and no matter how hard she tried to stay away, she just couldn’t help herself...

The former night elf wept as hard as she could, the echoes of her sobs bouncing around the damp limestone walls. They’d come for her, surely, if she didn’t starve first. There’d be hundreds of furious night elves, armed with spears and swords and other implements of destruction she couldn’t hope to stand up to with simple teeth and claws, and that would be the end of it.

Something appeared behind her, in the dark. Before, her eyes would’ve been straining to see anything at all in the pitch black. Now... they still saw nothing, as there was no light whatsoever. But she felt something, displacing the air currents and radiating cold. The sound of swishing fur tickled her delicate ears, and she choked the sobbing down from shrieking wails to a manageable level.

“H-hello?”

”Poor child. What ails you so?”

Fennelle squinted again, and this time, she could see violet orbs, glowing brighter than the pink moon to her own sensitive eyes. Despite how bright it seemed, it was faint, so very faint, and she could make out reflective, ribbed stone walls through the back of the translucent figure. When she looked upon the figure’s face, she gasped.

The cursed night elf had long thought herself the scariest creature in the cave system, but this guy definitely had her outclassed. His entire body was redder than her mouth and hands, and his skin shivered with indescribable symbols of silver. Wiry, wispy brown hair encircled his head like a fluffy halo, yet his mouth was clustered with teeth like white needles. A dark cloak was draped across his back and shoulders, fluttering in the faint breeze of the caverns. He clasped his hands over his white buttoned shirt, which were more like crow feet than hands, all black and scaly. His features were impish, sharp, like a night elf that had come out horribly wrong. She didn’t quite know what to make of him, but years of growing up in the Great Peace had hammered in the importance of being polite.

“I am crying,” snuffled Fennelle, “because my ambitions turned me into a monster. I did some really bad stuff, and now I’m paying for it.” She wiped her wet face, smearing more blood across it, and hoped that the being wouldn’t mind her awful appearance.

Fennelle’s mouth gaped open as the being stretched out on the ground, lying in a puddle of silt and mud as his long body curved with the cave walls. He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, plunging them back into absolute darkness.

”Well then,” spoke the god with a thousand teeth, “you shouldn’t mind me resting here for a moment. Monsters and monsters make excellent company.”

Indignant now, Fennelle sat cross-legged in her own puddle of mud, ears turned toward the mysterious man. “You’re not a monster! Not like I am!”

”What makes you so sure?”

“You didn’t kill your father and brother,” croaked Fennelle. “You didn’t kill all your friends and family and acquaintances.” She paused. “Or at least, I don’t think you killed anyone. I wouldn’t know.”

”But you did.”

“Yes.”

“Poor, poor thing.” In the absolute darkness, the strange man’s voice took on an apologetic tone. “You had no idea what you were in for. Your ambitions led you astray.”

“Yes, they did. And now I’m stuck down here. And I’m going to die. And I deserve it.”

She heard the sound of the man sitting up, splashing muck across the both of them as he did so. Droplets of water continued to fall from above, collecting in her hair and eyebrows, trickling down her face and arms.

“Do you know where we are?”

“No.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Also no.”

The man chuckled. ”I am the god Fe’ris, and I am going to make you a deal.”

A deal! “A deal?” She shot to her feet. “What can I do for you? I’ll do anything! I’ll even go out in the sun if I have to, just get me out of here! And make me less hungry! Please?” As if in response, her stomach growled ferociously, but it only served to make him laugh harder.”

”You are fiery, I will grant you that. But no, you do not have to go out in the sun. In fact, I suggest you never go out in the sun again; you would soon regret it. No, my deal is much more simple than you might think. But again, I shall ask if you know where we are.”

Fennelle sniffed the air, letting it roam across her tongue as she tried to get her bearings. “Somewhere in Kubrazjar, obviously. We’re far underground, but there’s still air flowing. So I would guess we’re near the junction of the Great Green Mesa, and the Outback. And the water means... there’s a spring nearby! Which means people for me to eat!” Her eyebrows dropped. “But I don’t want to eat people...”

“You shan’t, not to the degree which you have been. Forevermore shall you feed upon the living, but they need not perish before your bite. Your hunger shall not cease, as penance for your misdeeds, but it shall be curbed to be more... sustainably compelling. Now notice the water around us. Is there anything unusual to it?”

Fennelle stuck her tongue in it and immediately scrunched up her face. “It’s salty. What happened? It wasn’t like this before.”

He opened his eyes and looked emphatically at her. “Your face. Your hands. They are cleansed. They have triggered the Font, for we are beneath its headwaters. I was summoned thusly.”

She sniffed the water again, dipping her tongue into it. Yep, still salty. “The Shifting Font? What does that mean? What does it do?”

“It will make your life easier. Mortals are compelled to draw near and exchange that which they do not need for what they do. An easy source of prey, provided you do not over harvest. And the nature of your affliction will allow you to create many useful tools. Such is the nature of transmutation.”

For the first time in a good while, Fennelle smiled. “Thank you, Fe’ris! What must I do to uphold my end of the deal?”

“You must bring success upon yourself. I shall help you no further. And you shall spread word of me, Fe’ris, who granted my blessing to the fiends of blood, the Vampires. You will found the Cult of Ichor, and disperse my teachings, as the heart dispersed to the veins and arteries. That is what I ask of you, Fennelle. Now go, and perhaps we may meet again.”

The god vanished, and Fennelle stood, her head scraping the roof of the low cave. Vampire. Cult of Ichor. Transmutation. Her head spun, not with grief, but possibility. He had given her a chance, to escape the fury of the night elves and serve a greater purpose.

She would not fail him.

Life on Xal-Zastarha had been growing steadily. Though upon the floating island, as big as it was, there was only so much food. Still, the Itztli and Eloxochitli were thriving in their own unique way. Though the Eloxochitli had become somewhat reclused. Their grandfathers had talked about the great god of magic. How he taught them everything. Since that age, he had vanished though. Nobody heard anything from him.

Until that faithful day. The Eloxochitli were meditating in their respective temples. Itztli attendants watched their every move. These lizards had grown to understand their masters better than their average brethren. Eloxochitli acted slower, talked using fewer words and sometimes barely moved to request something. Yet the attendants knew full well that a raised finger meant food, two meant sun and three meant…well nobody knew what three meant. Though they were holding those fingers up now. All of them. From deep within the bowels of the temples, the attendants could not see the majestic lights dancing in the sky. Sure, the ink-in-the-sky was a constant comfort for the more artistically inclined Itztli, yet now color danced upon the very winds. Three fingers meant God. The Eloxochitli opened their voices and turned to their attendants. With a guttural roar, they transferred their command. The message was simple: open the temple. Upon the side of the pyramid, Itztli moved and grabbed heavy ropes, hanging on thick stone doors hanging off the side of the temple. They pulled with all their might, and the heavy doors slowly opened up. Letting the sun and more importantly the colors inside. All of them gazed upon the colors and heard his voice.

His wish was clear. The time of Great Absence was over. Qael’Naath had returned. With him came instructions. Demands. Missions. Most importantly: visions.

A group of older Eloxochitli, those who had survived for many centuries already, received a vision of a far-away land. Across the Great Pool. Where insects scattered about grand, majestic white stone buildings. In that vision, they saw lizard and insect alike helping raise a grand building upon from the ground. They saw deep vaults dug and strange wisps like creations fluttering about the grand halls. Which were filled with clay tablets and majestic wall paintings. Its purpose did not need to be explained. All immediately understood the purpose of the Library. Their duty was clear. For the first time in several decades, these ancient Eloxochitli rose up and began gathering their attendants. Who in turn began gathering the strongest and most skilled builders amongst the Itztli.

Departing the floating islands would not be an easy endeavor. Xal-Zastarha has kept the Itztli and Eloxochitli safely away from the world but now they had to dive headfirst into it. Of course, the nearby Eloxochitli had already created a plan. Through the subtle manipulations of mana all around them, they lured great Magnus Pods from the skies down upon the island. The Itztli then switfly bound ropes and wicker baskets on them. The first few efforts to control and tame these Magnus Pods were suprisingly succesful. When the baskets were loaded and ready, two dozen Magnus Pods floated out from Xal-Zastarha. Ushered forward by the Eloxochitli.



Months passed since the coming of the Winds of Magic. The temple sky-doors were closed again, while the younger Eloxochitli reflected constantly upon their visions. For they had received a different task. One that required a different set of tools. The Itztli temple attendants counted the passing of the white moon per their masters' command. Tensions were rising. Certain younger Itztli had dropped their tools per their masters' request as well and had returned to training. For two thousand years, they had built the temples, training to fight was generally a pass-time. But now the artisans had stopped carving wood and began carving the natural onyx upon the island. The shards they made they inlaid upon wooden clubs.

It was slow and delicate work. Yet with every moon passed, one artisan or another had managed to finish a macuahuitl. Itztli, meanwhile, were once more sharpening their predatory senses through hunt and duels. The later came with a lot of hissing, blood, and scars. Their natural affinity towards mana sorcery caused them not to just fight with wooden sticks, but with invisible forces of will. Fire or ice exploded from strikes, while others forced the roots of trees to net their opponents.

When the time was finally right, and Xal-Zastarha was finally in range of Toraan, the younger Eloxochitli marched out of their own temples as well. Before they stood the trained, armed and supplied Itztli. Ready to descend upon an unknown world and find an Abomination. None had met one, ever. They only knew how it looked through their vision. Bipedal, like they were. Yet somehow with soft skin and hair. It walked with the skins of its vanquished predators around it. Holding a power that rejected mana. Whatever they were, one had to be caught and examined. So the Eloxochitli could understand the cursed creature. This time only half a dozen Magnus Pods floated off across the horizon, away from Xal-Zastarha.

An asteroid hurtled towards Galbar at astonishing speeds, guided by an unseen hand towards the zodiac stones. Then, it woke up. She woke up. Ceres was.

The asteroid cracked in two, revealing her form, clad in earthen armor. Her skin was of the same ethereal, starry substance as her creator.

One of the asteroid shards was pulled back by the force of the stars, bound to it. She pulled it towards her, reforming into the war hammer, Libra.

The other shard glided towards the ocean, pulled by both the stars and by another unseen Galbaric force. It slid into the sea without splashing and began to grow. Massive fins escaped from the rocky shell. The large head of Xuanwu, the turtle that binds the celestial and telluric, emerged.

For countless years Ceres traveled completing her creator's pattern.

She captured an owl and caterpillar before encasing it in divine power, flying from the Zodiac Stones into the far reaches. Upon reaching the depths of the stars, she unleashed the owl, reborn as Cailleach. The great owl would absorb cosmic dust into her feathers, and then remold it into new lesser bodies such as meteors. She then freed the caterpillar, causing it to fragment into thousands of blue-winged butterflies. They would capture dust in their wings as well to bring to the great owl.

Returning to the zodiac stones, she created a guardian dog as tall as a human adult, Procyon, to protect the surrounding region. Those who touch his golden fur and embrace its divine power have their hope strengthened.

Finally, Ceres landed on the peninsula in the southwest of Toraan. It was the first time her feet had planted themselves on the ground. It was a new experience.

Pushing past that, she created the last of the zodiac animals. It was a simple animal, a newt. It had jet black skin with red and purple streaks. They could generate small bursts of heat or static, and they had very mild anti-mana properties.

Satisfied that her task was complete, and with no further instruction, she decided that she would remain in this region for at least a year or two.

Highland village of Cumae

“You should have seen the thing. It was this big!” the herdsman spread his arms wide to demonstrate “with claws like scythes and skin red as blood”

“Uh huh” his friend said, only glancing over at the supposed size of the creature for a moment before turning his gaze back to looking out for threats to their goats.

“See the thing was menacing Nancy over there, buzzing around while the brave girl fended it off with her horns. Now she would have lasted a moment if I hadn't gotten there in time, coz if the darned thing had actually worked up the nerv to take a stab at her that goat’d be good as gone. But it was noisy see, wings droning on something fierce and the goats they were bleating up a storm.”

“uh huh”

“So i comes a running and I see this thing”

“This giant wasp”

“Yeah this giant wasp. And so I take my sling and-” the herdsman mimes both the action and swswsw sound of a sling being spun before tossing his imaginary rock out with a “thwunk! And it hits it square in its hideous giant eye! Bang it up real good so it runs off back to the forest squealing and crying to its momma!”

“Uh huh. And it was a giant wasp?”

“Yeah!”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“Am not.”

The two stood in silence for a moment before the herdsman’s friend said “Bet it was just a regular sized wasp”

“No I’m telling you it was huuuge”

“Keep telling yourself that buddy”

“Bah. Fine. Don’t believe me but I swear I’m telling you the truth” the herdsman yelled before turning away in a huff.

“Hay come on” he tried, but received no response, and so the two lapsed into silence for a few hours.

“Artook. Hay. Artook”

“Still mad that you don't believe me” Artook the herdsman replied, not even turning to look at his companion

“Did. did the wasp uh. Did it look like a person?”

“Now you're just making fun of me you-” Artook shouted before spinning to confront his friend, only to see the very worried look on his face as he pointed off towards the woods.

There, walking towards them, was a creature out of a nightmare. Its skin was hard like armor and patterned with red and black stripes. It had two wings that buzzed slowly, lowering the strain on its rather spindly legs as it moved towards them with a bouncing gait. It had a large abdomen hanging behind it tipped with nasty looking stinger. It’s head was wreathed in white fur and hosted two large lime green eyes and two large antenna. The rest of its features were covered by a monstrous skull it was using as a helmet. It wore a backless tunic made out of the fur of some miss match fox owl creature, the head of which hung over one hip while a brace of long stone darts made from a trollish jawbone hung from the other. All of this told a story, but none was as simple as the one told by the large red wasp laying across its shoulder nursing it's swollen eye that squealed in anger when it caught sight of the culprit for its injury.

“Fuck”

The light buzzing coming from the insectile humanoid intensified to a death hum, lifting it off of the ground. Artook’s friend reached for his sling hesitantly, but the herdsman had a different idea shouting “Curse it no! Run for it!” before taking off at a pelt back towards the village.

Artook’s pragmatic cowardice saved his own life and doomed his companion as a large stone dart struck the man, sinking deep into his flesh. Artook ‘s friend stumbled, and for a moment it looked like he too might be able to run, but his gait quickly slowed till he stumbled and hit the dirt. Artook kept running.

The Vespain descended upon the corpse, turning it over letting it's feral sibling inspect the body. In the time it took for it to understand that this was the wrong creature, gather up it’s weapons and take flight to pursue Artook managed to get a fair headstart on his escape.

Artook didn't look back as he found the road leading into his home village of Cumae, his calls for help and the deep droning hum of his pursuer’s wings drawing the attention, and then alarm, of the farmers working the fields lining the road. Within moments they too were in a panic, and word rapidly got back to the village where a bell started ringing, rousing the people to protect their homes. The sight of them rushing to and fro in the village, grabbing spears and stave sling to protect themselves and the appearance of village Servant from her home roused hope in the herds man’s heart, but he never made it to their side.

The droning behind him intensified and then suddenly he was struck in the back by something heavy and hurled to the ground. Artook scrambled to try and get up, but a clawed hand gripped his shoulder and hauled him over onto his front, causing him to come face to face with the Vespain as it pinned him to the ground. He froze in fear as it barked something in an alien tongue at him, then spoke softly to the wasp. The horrible insect looked him over and then screeched, raising its claws to strike.

Artook closed his eyes, expecting the end. Instead the air crackled with lightning. There was a wretched shriek that cut short as soon as it started and the weight was flung from him.

Panting and sweating Artook opened his eyes as a hideous wailing erupted from the Vespain. He looked up and saw it knelt on the ground, cradling the charred remains of the wasp in her arms.

“Artook get away from that thing!“ came a shout from Ayrandra the Servant, the dying sparks of her lighting spell dancing across her fingers, the runes of haste hovering around her feet crumbling now that she had come to a halt. Far behind her a number of villagers were running to catch up with her.

Both Artook and the Vespian’s gazes where ripped away from the dead bug and to Ayrandra, the sight of her spurring both to action. Artook back away hurriedly as ordered while the Vespian lurched into the air. Still holding onto the corpse with one arm her other hand went to her side to grab and hurl a dart at the Servent. The woman chanted something in an arcane tongue and thrust a hand in the direction of the telegraphed attack, freezing the dart in the air before it could strike her. It hung there for a moment before it clattered to the ground and she began to cast a second spell, causing sparks of electricity began to ark across her fingers once more.

Seeing this, and the incoming militia, Vespain took the only sensible course of action and fled as fast back to the woods as her wings could carry her.

“What, what in the name of the gods was that thing?” Artook asked as he got shakily to his feet.

“I don’t know,” Ayrandra admitted “But I’ll find out. Whatever the case, it’s gone now, and if it knows what's good for it” she flexed her hand, sparks flashing from finger to finger “It’ll never come back”

---

That afternoon Artook buried his friend.

That evening Ayrandra finally found another Servent who knew what a Vespian was.

That night the village of Cumae was raised to the ground by a vengeful swarm.

Crimson fliers blocked out the moon as they descended upon it. Its defenses were trampled beneath the four dozen legs of an eight meter long armored hive crawler. It’s fields were burned. Its people were butchered. Their carcasses and wealth were carried back to their hive by the victorious Vespain.

Ayrandra died surrounded by a pile of charred crimson corpses.

Artook ran and never looked back.

---

Washing off along the coast and seeking the heat of the prairie had been a desperate, time-sensitive affair. When Sanya finally entered the warmer lands that the sunlit and pleasant prairie offered, pockets of civilisation and bountiful game - life quickly returned to some semblance of normalcy. Eager to put the recent past behind her, she’d made a beeline towards her homelands in the Highlands. She made short stops at small villages or tribal settlements, trading what little remained of her equipment from her northern excursion for food or information, gleaning snippets of what had occured since last she passed by. Following the same trail as she had before, some villagers along the way even remembered the dark-haired stranger that stopped by last time. Those days she had slept under actual shelter.

It took her over a full cycle of the moon at her pace to sight the highlands properly, another two days to climb the majestic hills and enter the heavily forested terrain that made up her homeland. She continued up cliffs and hills until she could spot the two massive mountaintops that signalled the start and end of the highland river respectively, and found herself somewhere between them - far from both the northerners and the vile eastern city. That was enough to orient herself, and Sanya moved with renewed purpose towards her old stomping grounds, the tribe she had taken over so long ago - even if they remembered neither her nor their heritage.

She spent another full day watching a group of foragers as they noisily went about their business, following them as they trekked back to their village, and observing the local settlement from afar. When she was sure she hadn’t seen any weapons beyond basic hunting equipment, she slung Sorrowsting over her back with a rudimentary sling and wandered back into civilisation. The villagers were suspicious of the sudden evening arrival, but unlike both the far north and much of the western Prairie, Sanya both understood and spoke their language, even if their dialect was atrocious to listen to. She could make her case as a traveller, returning from the prairie. As was the norm, she traded her stories of the land beyond for a meal and a roof over her head. At the next sunrise, the kind old couple that took her in pointed her in the direction of the next village over, and Sanya set on her way again.

She sighted the next settlement before nightfall. A slightly more populous place, with a small palisade built out of sharpened poles no longer than a leg. Even in the evening, it was full of life, the people seeming at ease thanks to their ridiculously tiny barricade. Sanya effortlessly pushed between two poles to enter the village, and wandered up to the center, catching suspicious glances along the way. She made a concerted effort to not make eye-contact, and instead sought out the biggest cottage among the many. A few knocks and an explanation later, and the dark-haired lady was invited into what turned out to be the cottage of the village leader. He was a balding man beset with age to the point that the thick chain denoting his status seemed to be an active problem for him to carry. A young man, no older than fourteen, took Sanya’s pack and carried it inside. The old man showed her to a seat at his table, where another three people, a man and a woman, and a very young girl, had already started the procession that was a family dinner. The old man made introductions, but none of the names really stuck. The young boy could be Sabba, she thought, with a little more muscles and a stronger face. She repeated her journey to the gathered crowd, and so began the cycle of stories and food anew.

That’s when something stood out. For the first time in over a month, something ripped her out of her normalcy. A sentence. Just a few words.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sanya asked, pausing in her free meal to stare down the adult man across the table.

“Uh, well, it’s just a rumour. Avel tells a lot of tall tales,” he began. “But he came in this midday, talking about a raiding party out of Ristwick. Said they were carrying a type of person he ain’t never seen before. Dark skin, strange tattoos.”

“Those folks out west are fairly tanned ain’t they?” his wife cut in.

Sanya pushed up immediately, feeling the rush of dread and adrenaline push back into her system after weeks of lounging. “Is he still here? ...Avel?” she quizzed with a building ferocity.

“Uh, yeah, I think so. He holed up in the barn overnigh-”

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Sanya offered quickly and whipped around to leave the table. She collected her things - most importantly her weapon - and left the cottage to the brief, and surprised, protests of her hosts.

Finding Avel wasn’t difficult. The barn was simple to find, and inside there were only animals, two men tending to them, and a lounging man idling in the hay. Sanya spoke the name aloud, and the idling man looked up, having the wherewithal to look worried when he looked upon the dark-haired traveller. Sanya knew - she felt it.

“This raiding party you spoke of. You said you saw something you’ve never seen before. Describe it to me.” Sanya barraged immediately, moving forward at a pace that made the man crawl back in his resting spot. The other two men worriedly stopped working.

Avel hemmed and hawed for a few moments, before clearing his throat and offering his story. “Yeah, I was out checking on the nests down by the stream. On the far side there, them Ristwick folks were out and on the way home, I reckon. We pay ‘em off here, see, so they ain’t never come this way when they looking for folks. We produce ‘lotta food and Ristwick don’t.”

“Get to the point, Avel.” Sanya almost growled, and the two men in the back tinged her mind with their growing anxiety. Avel raised his hands.

“Fair dues, lady. So, they got a small trail of folks, see. Captives, or what’cha want. One of them is well different. Real dark skin unlike anything I’ve seen, golden tattoos all over, and real pretty hair.”

“A woman?”

“Uh, yes. Y’know of her?” Avel intoned quizzically.

“Tell me how to get to Ristwick.” Sanya pressed, frowning deeply at the man. He relented after a few moments and gave her basic directions on how to get to the stream, cross it, and follow their regular path up to the settlement. Before he could prod any more about who Sanya was, she left the barn, and the village, behind.

The journey turned out to be longer than Sanya had estimated. By the time she reached the stream, the last bit of twilight was replaced with a moonlight starry sky and growing clouds in the distance. She stalked across the shallow stream with only minor difficulty, and then wasted what felt like an eternity looking for a beaten path in the dark. Finally, in a snaking path leading beyond a nearby hill, grass turned to gravel and dirt, and Sanya trailed it southwards in search of this new settlement.

Ristwick turned out to be a mostly walled settlement nestled in a valley between two large forested hills, with torches lit to keep a watch during the night. Even from afar, the sounds of animals and shouting men gave Sanya all she needed to know. As Sanya approached, she started to feel a growing fear, panic, resentment, all radiating from the place like a flame drawing insects. The cover of night gave the dark-haired woman an uncontested approach, and she finally unslung Sorrowsting as she moved up against the wall. This close to the village, the stream of fear, anguish and rage was overpowering, clawing at her mind like an overdose of Evening Bells. She felt her face contort with emotions that were not her own. Soon it wouldn’t matter, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

Sanya swung around to an entrance in the tall palisade, and found it guarded by a single man with no real interest in watching the land beyond. When he turned to look inwards, Sanya stalked around the corner and into the settlement. She slunk behind a kennel full of nasty critters, the source of all the noise, and moved behind a smaller house to try to get a vantage point from inside. Not that many men active, most of them huddled in the centre of town, full of revelry. When she saw the opportunity, Sanya followed the stinging sensation in her head straight to a large building not unlike the barn in the last village. A single man guarded the tent-like curtain hanging like a sheet over the entrance, and Sanya quickly stalked forwards to bring Sorrowsting’s handle over his throat, simultaneously dragging him backwards into the shadows and choking him out. She dragged him out of sight - presuming she’d have at least a little while before anyone came looking. With the guard out of the way, Sanya entered the one building that seemed to radiate agony beyond all reason.

What she saw disgusted her. Crude cages of people in various states of dress. Slaves to be sold or discarded. No matter how many thousands of years passed, the rot of humanity came right back to the forefront. Sanya stepped forwards, walking amongst the cages to stare inside. Nothing. Highlanders. They cringed away from her on approach, no doubt assuming she was a slaver like the others. She re-checked the cages in desperation, but there was no one matching the rumours. Sanya sighed, about to sling her weapon once more when a creak from above stopped her in her tracks.

She looked around, catching sight of the small staircase in the dark. With nowhere to go but up, Sanya ascended the wooden stairs to move onwards. A single burning candle on a table, and a lone man sat eating a late meal with nothing but a knife, his eyes on something beyond Sanya’s view. She stalked up the stairs gingerly, almost entirely upstairs when the floorboards gave way to her weight ever so slightly and released an ominous creak. The man spun around swiftly in confusion, and Sanya swept Sorrowsting’s handle at him hard, cracking him over the temple with the black hilt and sending him sprawling to the ground with a thud.

Sanya moved across the room, and her heart stopped and pounded heavily at the same time as she laid eyes on her quarry at last. A dark-skinned shape sat in a small room of her own, gagged, blindfolded and tied up tight with rope. Even now the golden tattoos made it impossible to mistake her for anyone else. Sanya rushed across the room, settling herself down before the captive woman. She wore a rugged brown shirt and grey pants that were ripped. A moment of digging in her pack later, she brandished a small knife. The woman flinched reactively. After a quick cut to split the gag apart and take the blindfold off, Sanya set to the task of simply cutting her free. “Lucia,” she breathed. “When I heard the words, I couldn’t believe it was real.”

A small smile broke out across Lucia's face. "Sanya…? Sanya! Hey, this is a surprise! What brings you here?" she asked, almost too happily.

Sanya seemed stunned by the reaction, enough to force a pause in cutting the woman loose. “I’m-... I heard of the raid. The townsfolk said they saw a-.. Saw you,” she breathed out with a murmur, trying to redouble her efforts to finally cut Lucia loose. “I came to find you.” There was a last hesitant pause, still thrown off by her chipper attitude, but eventually the dark-haired woman managed to ask; “Did they hurt you?”

Lucia rubbed her wrists as she looked at Sanya again. "Yes and no. Not physically but well… I hate to see what they do to others, Sanya. They're no better than trolls." she spat. Her tattoos shimmered with anger as they constricted and expanded. She then sighed, she looked tired but a small smile remained. "I'm glad to see you, old friend. And come to my rescue no doubt!"

Sanya nodded grimly, caught in distant thought for a moment. “...Guilty as charged. I was in a bad place-.. I thought the worst,” she replied with a sigh, standing up and offering a hand to pull Lucia up off the floor. “After all this time, I never considered you’d be captured by raiders.”

Lucia gave a look of concern to Sanya as she took her hand and got up. She then sighed again, her tattoos shrinking in embarrassment. "Well you see… I had the bright idea that if I got captured I could help the people below. Then they took me up here and I was going to wait until they brought their leader to me. Or me to the leader." she then stood a little straighter. "I could have escaped at any time I'll have you know." she smirked.

Sanya didn’t look as pleased at that notion, but managed a grunt at the very least. “So you,” she began, moving a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. “You chose to sit here blindfolded and tied up. Of course. How foolish of me to intervene.” Her voice was borne out of deadpan frustration, the stir of negative emotions from below still visibly playing havoc with her. “Whatever would you want to meet their leader for? He’ll be no more of a man than the others.”

"Well to kill him of course, maybe find out why he's doing what he's doing. I don't know. Other then the killing part." she said sadly. Lucia then set a hand on Sanya, healing her of any physical wounds and offering a reassuring touch. "Thank you for rescuing me, Sanya. It's always good to see your face. Now come on, I can tell this place is messing with you." Lucia said, walking past her.

Sanya stood quiet for a moment, managing a half-smile. “There’s no good reason to do something like this,” she eventually offered in turn, whipping around as Lucia walked by her. She lifted her left leg slowly, testing and flexing it a few times before nodding with pleasant, if mellow surprise. “People like this - they’ve given up their humanity for pleasure and profit. They play gods with other people’s lives.” Sanya simply trailed after the liberated Lucia, lifting Sorrowsting to lean on her shoulder.

Lucia looked back and said, "I know and it sickens me. Now, how do we get out of here? I'd like to free those people and heal them but that'll probably cause a scene. Think we can handle them all?" That coaxed a scoff out of her dark-haired rescuer, who gestured to the unconscious man sprawled on the floor and the staircase beyond.

“You tell me. I’m not about to let these people stay in cages,” Sanya offered back, rubbing at her face with a sharp sigh to follow. “I visited a village to the west. If we get out, we can go there. If you’re worried, we could rally a revolt. Fighting and dying is better than being sold.”

”I just don’t want them to befall further injury, they’ve been through enough. I say, we take out all the men first then free them. Sound like a plan?” Lucia asked.

“Fine.” Sanya replied with light resignation.

Lucia nodded before leading the way downstairs. A band of solar energy flares up in her hand before she uses it to tie her hair up into a ponytail. Then from her hand erupted a short sword of condensed solar energy. She whispered, "It's night out but it'll have to do for now."

Sanya pressed down the stairs after Lucia, watching the cowed captives huddle in cages around them as the bright weapon illuminated the barn with a soft glow. She lowered Sorrowsting to grip it with both hands. “With any luck, your tricks of light will make them think we’re witches of phenomenal power.” she replied, not quite with the same caution. As the sounds of revelry and talking penetrated the curtain from outside, however, she grew quiet.

Lucia peaked through the a hole in the wall to see the revelry in full. She gritted her teeth as she spun around and walked over to the curtained door. "Tricks! I'll show them tricks." she then paused before it and looked at Sanya again. "You ready?" she asked, staring into her eyes. Sanya stared back at her grimly, her grip on her black spear visibly tightening. A quiet nod followed soon after.

Lucia nodded, turning to the curtain again. She pushed it aside, the glow of her weapon its own source of light in the dark, drawing attention to the two like bees to honey. As the men shouted and scrambled for their weapons Lucia focused and spoke in a melodic fashion as she outstretched her freehand.



And from Lucia's hand a flame grew to the size of her head, rippling with power and illumination. When the verse was completed, she reeled her arm back and lobbed it at the group of men. It hit one directly and exploded into a torrent of flame, consuming three more in the flame and licking two more. The blast also knocked most over and blinded those that remained standing. The world then erupted around them as people and animals went into a frenzy of screams, shouts and guttural noises. Lucia then charged forth into the fray, not wanting to let the moment of chaos go to waste.

Sanya was right behind her, features locked into a grim and aggressive frown brought on by both her own emotion and that of the captives - and now, their captors. Having scouted past the animal kennel housing a great deal of the now anxious and angry animals previously, the dark-haired woman sprang sideways to cut off any attempt from the blinded slavers to reach their contained beasts. Sorrowsting gave of an ominous vibration in her charge, and the first man within range, still partially blinded by Lucia’s flames, became a victim to its divine edge without Sanya doing more than shifting the handle in his direction. So the battle began on two fronts.

Lucia cut down a man with her sword, as the smell of burning flesh began to permeate the area. She felled another man in quick succession but as she brought her sword down for the killing blow on another she stopped, her eyes going wide as she looked up into the sky with a look of surprise.

"M-Mother…?" she said, star struck. It was then the man who she was going to attack saw through the blindness and pulled a dagger on Lucia. Her tattoos came alive to protect her, wrapping around the man's neck and burning him with a fraction of the sun's heat. He struggled in vain before going limp. The tattoos melded back to Lucia's skin before she could even react to what had occurred.

“Pay attention, Lucia!” Sanya called from across their little battlefield, fending off a blunt club with the handle of her spear. Another quick slash of the weapon later, and the club-wielding man fell to the ground, clutching at his shoulder in agony. The dark-haired warrior made her way towards Lucia as the remaining men in their little circle seemed to pick up on her daze. Save for one, who came rushing at Sanya instead, stopping her in her tracks and putting her on the defense as she was forced to parry a crooked saber.

Lucia seemed to hear Sanya, for she whipped her sword around and met a bronze dirk that dented the blade from her heat. The man crumpled as her tattoos took his legs out from under him. Lucia then delivered the killing blow through the man's heart. She then looked up at the sky again, tears staining her face. "This is what humankind has become! Slavers and murderers!" she said meeting another man's sword. "I'm sorry you have to see this but this is reality." she cried out, her tattoos wrapping around the man's sword arm. He screamed out in pain as his sword dropped. Lucia then stabbed him in the chest and screamed herself. "This is who I've become! Who I was forced to be to protect those that can't protect themselves! You have to understand mother!"

Sanya swung to the side as the saber came bearing down towards her, then quickly retaliated with a harsh smack against the man’s face with the hilt of her spear, sending him careening backwards with a pained grunt. He crawled, dazed on the ground, but Sanya didn’t let up, swiveling Sorrowsting in her hands and sinking it into his chest. She awarded Lucia a short and confused peer, before looking around the camp in the midst of their little settlement. Beyond the mad howling of the kennel, the battle seemed to be over. One man on the ground seemed to move and groan, but his burns made certain he’d stay down for now. A last challenger arrived from around the corner of the furthest house - the guard from the entrance. Short blade in hand, he took one long look at Sanya and Lucia, and the men sprawled on the ground around them, before lifting his hands apologetically, and simply turning around to vanish back around the corner as quickly as he’d appeared.

With that, Sanya took a long breath and finally turned to look at Lucia properly, locked in her conflict with the stars. Her resolve giving in, Sanya found herself also glancing up at the sky.

”Let me show you.” Lucia said, breathing heavily before running back to the barn structure. She pulled back the curtain and said aloud, ”You see… I- We had to free them, mother. They would be slaves, those men could not be reasoned with. They see life as a useful tool and not the precious thing you taught me it was. I don’t relish killing, even those who deserve it.” Lucia then went silent for a long time, as children cried inside, adults trying to shush them.

A golden light then descended from the heavens and blanketed the barn in an aura of warmth and life. As quickly as it came, it vanished without a trace. ”Thank you.” Lucia said, turning back to Sanya with a sad smile. ”Come on, let’s get these people free.”

Sanya stood frozen, the brief proof of divine intervention enough to grip her with an instinctual terror she did not know she possessed. The presence of a god. It was majestic in its simplicity, and over before anyone was the wiser. She stared at the sky in awe and disbelief. Beyond the claims of naturalists and the priesthood of the wicked city, miracles were not something she had seen in millenia. Her last brush with a goddess still churned inside her. Shaking the thoughts away as Lucia patiently watched her, Sanya nodded at last and moved to assist. Her senses felt dull now, as though nothing mattered. With that tense distance she followed Lucia inside.

They got to work, quickly freeing the captives. Though their physical wounds were healed, it wasn't hard to notice many sad eyes amongst the hopeful smiles. The two women worked in concert with an understanding that only comes with time; Sanya prying and breaking open the flimsy metal and wood cages with Sorrowsting as both leverage and a brute force tool on the one hand, and Lucia cleaving through chains and ropes to free and talk to the prisoners with quick words of guidance on the other. The freed prisoners touched Lucia and heralded them both as saviors. Many of them asked questions of who had healed them, others were certain it was Lucia herself. When the last person was freed, and all waited outside for guidance, Lucia took Sanya's hand. "She wishes to talk to you, Sanya."

Sanya once again seemed to freeze up, watching Lucia with an anxiety that wasn’t entirely caused by the residual emotion in the area - even if it was no longer a storm of panic and fear - playing havoc with her mind. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, each worse than the last. Was this the next act of divine punishment? The sun goddess had ignored her in the past, what had changed now? ”I-... are you sure?” she asked of Lucia, receiving a gentle nod back. The fear of abandonment, the terror of her punishment, all grew in the back of her mind. Yet she still nodded back to Lucia, hand in hand.

A warm presence arrived somewhere in Sanya's mind followed by a gentle voice. "Hello Sanya. It's nice to meet you, friend of my daughter. I will not delve through your memories, this I promise. I simply wanted to talk to you. Would you like to talk for a moment?" the voice asked.

Gripped with brief indecision, Sanya kept her focus on and near Lucia, even as her thoughts made her distant in the present. She nodded unsurely, before being uncertain if gods could see a mortal nod from their divine seats, and croaked out an incoherent sentence. ”...Goddess.. I.. Alright.” The warmth played tricks with her, made her feel safe, even in her dull panic.

"Wonderful Sanya. It's been far too long since I've talked with a mortal and for that I apologize. When the gods left Galbar, most worked from their divine realms but I was forced to sleep. If you've ever tried to contact me during my absence then I am truly sorry, Sanya. How are you? Are you hurt? I saw the battle and even though I abhor violence and death… Your cause was true." the Goddess spoke, her words sounding completely genuine.

The words made a certain bitterness well up within Sanya, though she offered no more thought to it than a revelation to reflect upon later, dominated by the divine presence that quelled the worst of her worries. ”Our ‘cause’ has been ongoing since the dawn of time,” she spoke with a bitter sadness. ”The injuries I’ve suffered will never heal. I-..” Sanya briefly glanced at Lucia. ”We have watched whole settlements, tribes and devotees rise and fall. There is always cruelty. We are doing what you will not.”

Sanya paused then, at first awaiting a reply, then filled with a surge of panic that was decidedly her own. She remembered clearly what happened the last time she let her temper rule her conversation with a goddess. ”That is to say-.. I… I didn’t mean any offense, Goddess. I have seen and felt much suffering. I am compelled to act.” she added with considerably more humility to her tone.

"No offense was taken, Sanya. I have failed you, as I have failed Lucia and the rest of the world who needed my help." the Goddess said sadly. "I am here now and I have seen things both cruel and kind. I will help those in need anyway I can. But first I ask you for forgiveness. I've let you suffer in silence, scared and alone. For that, I am truly sorry. Even if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me, I wish to help you." the Goddess spoke with humbleness.

Another pause, as Sanya let the words sink in properly. Millennia of self-taught hatred. She imagined all gods to be the same. Could she forgive someone who abandoned her? All of them? Had she ever forgiven anyone? She wasn’t sure. Humbled yet by the Goddess genuine words, she nevertheless made a mild concession. ”I will look ahead, instead of at the past,” Sanya threw another glance to Lucia’s look of encouragement. ”I will accept your aid. It would be foolish of me not to. I have made enough goddesses angry in my time. I wish to believe you are beyond such cruelty, Mother of the Sun, and that is why I accept.” she continued, but squeezed Lucia’s hand in a moment of internal doubt. ”I remember a time when your name was spoken with warmth and love borne of memory, not tradition. I want to believe you are still that Goddess.”

Lucia said nothing but squeezed her hand in return, a small smile on her lips. Oraelia then spoke. "Very well, I shall give it gladly." another beam of light shot down and held itself outside, illuminating the world beyond the curtain. "Step outside and into the light Sanya."

Her attention drawn immediately to the sudden beam of light and the surprised murmurs of people outside, Sanya hesitated for a few moments before nodding a last time and breaking away from Lucia to move towards the curtain. Despite her worry, the closer she came to the light, the more her determination took over, and the dark-haired woman dragged the curtain aside properly to step out into the small yard among the confused masses of rescuees staring in awe at the miracle before their eyes.

She took a few preparing breaths, doing her best to still her nerves. Suddenly the battles against trolls and flesh-tearing monsters in her past didn’t seem quite so daunting. She looked at the gathered crowd a last time, and then walked straight into the pillar of light illuminating the dark settlement.

The light wrapped around Sanya as if she was an old friend. It was warm and full of energy, bubbling with the feeling of life. The light did not obscure her vision but she could see nothing but a rainbow of color flowing around her. The Sun Mother then spoke, her presence all around Sanya. "I bestow upon you two gifts. Your body will now be able to heal itself faster so that you might always be able to help those in need and I give you a piece of me, so that you will remember in your darkest moments, that I will be by your side. Use them well Sanya and remember, if ever you need me, pray." the light then faded away, leaving Sanya standing before the people. For but a moment she glowed as intensely as the sun, a halo of light appearing over her head, before fading away. Lucia grinned happily at Sanya from where she stood, before a beam of light fell upon her as well.

A few of the released captives threw themselves on the ground at the miracles taking place before their eyes, prostrating themselves equally to Sanya as well as the sheer divine presence of the Sun Mother. Sanya herself watched her surroundings with a breathless exultation, a moment of bright warmth filling her body and spirit. She felt at ease, stilled to safety in the embrace of the goddess. Even as Oraelia’s light faded, Sanya felt a new spring in her step, as though new vigor had come from hitherto unknown wells deep within her. As she moved, she felt a gentle weight grip around her neck, and lifted a hand to examine the new sensation. Around her neck was a light chain the colour of brass, and from it hung a medallion - a smooth and round topaz encased in a ring of brass, with small tendrils of metal reaching out as the rays of the sun. It glowed softly in the dark, illuminating Sanya’s hand and clothes as she lifted it up. A piece of the Goddess indeed, Sanya ruminated with renewed purpose, and directed her attention to the crowd - and finally back to Lucia.

That light that had enveloped Lucia expanded outwards in a wave, touching all gathered. Lucia remained behind, a halo of golden light, in the form of a medium band (the same color as her tattoos), hovered over her head and did not fade away. She looked back at Sanya with a tearful smile before walking over to her, and embracing her into a hug. ”She’s back.” Lucia said. ”I didn’t think I’d see the day. But she’s back.”

Sanya raised her hand to return the embrace with a gentle measure, releasing a quiet sigh. She found a solemn satisfaction in the moment, a rare smile creeping up on her features modestly as she comforted her friend. ”Perhaps this spells a new dawn for humanity,” she replied with a thoughtful tone, calm and introspective in the afterglow of the sun goddess’ miracles. ”I’m happy for you, Lucia. I know how it has taxed your spirit.”

Lucia pulled away and held Sanya’s hands gingerly as she did. Her tattoos pulsing rapidly in the dark, shimmering and binding and pulling apart all over her. The smile on her face made it apparent she was happy, but her tattoos gave it away. ”I truly hope so, she has a lot to do, but she can do it. I know she can. Now, we should probably get these people to safety huh?” Lucia asked, looking at the men and woman, even children, who looked at the two with eyes of awe.

The dark-haired warrior looked back to the crowd, suddenly overcome with a sting of embarrassment. Exhaling sharply in the cold night air softly illuminated by Lucia and her own medallion, she took a moment to consider each person she could make out in the night, each face that they had rescued. By divine showing, or their imagined safety with the two of them, she could no longer feel that pressing anxiety, or fear. They felt safe, or at least better. ”I know of a village a small journey away. We’d be there before dawn. I think we all could do with watching the sunrise far away from here.”

---

“Cut it out, Master.”

“Huh? Cut what out?”

“You know what! That dopey half-lidded face. You put it on every single dawn. You know we’re meant to look tough!”

Cura brought a green hand up to his face, feeling every contour before stretching the muscles in his face and adopting a neutral expression. He was every bit the average Sylph, with vivid green skin and shoulders and head covered in leaves. Somehow though, every time he wiped the dopey expressions off his face, one could feel the dignity and presence of a True Guardian oozing from him.

“Jeez…” Sighed Phoria, closing her eyes and relaxing her shoulders a bit too much.

“Hah! Now who’s slacking?” Cura quickly pointed out, prodding Phoria’s calf with the bottom of his vine-decorated bronze spear. She inhaled sharply and stood straight up again, but made sure to give Cura a sideways look.

“Eeh… That’s a scary look you just gave me, Phoria.” Cura said with a slight shudder, then faced up front towards the vast fields, observing the humans file out of the Inner Tree in order to start their work days. It was a normal day, he thought. He took in a deep breath of the morning air, and tried to hide his pleasure at feeling the first rays of sunlight reach him. All of that was for Phoria’s sake though, since there was no rule that stated a Guardian had to be stoic at all times. Oh, the things a mentor had to do for his student…

There was usually a lot of silence during their watches, Cura realized. Mostly, again, because of Phoria’s disposition… Ah, he did enjoy a few chats while working… Maybe after a few more weeks, Phoria would open up and relax some more… At least, Cura hoped so.

His reverie was broken when he caught sight of a familiar face skipping past him.

“Trying to hide beneath all those clothes, Tilla? Off to visit more faraway lands, are you?” He called after the figure, who swiftly turned around and waved at Cura, grinning widely. Her pale green face was obscured by her hood, but it was still perfectly visible to Cura’s seasoned eyes.

“Uh, yeah! What else would I be doing, Curaaa?! I’ve had to go on so many more expeditions since you dropped out of our group!” She said with a chuckle at the end that Cura returned, still waving even as she turned back around and kept going on her way, her big backpack shuffling around and threatening to burst with every skip. Tilla was one of those Sylphi that looked delicate, but by the Sun, was she incredibly strong for her size and build…

Out of the corner of his eye, Cura noticed the look that Phoria was giving him. It lasted for long enough that he sighed and turned towards her, wearing the ‘What now?’ face he had grown so used to nowadays.

“U-Uh! So, that r-reminds me,” Phoria stuttered, looking away almost immediately and blushing. Her long dark green leaves twitched and rustled wildly until she finally snuck her gaze up to meet his once more. “So! You never talk about them, you know… Your old group? You talk about anything you can lay your golden eyes on, but not your group-”

“Golden eyes? Why so specific, do you like them, Phoria?”

“Eep!” Phoria yelped and covered her face with her free hand while she struggled to find what to do with the hand that was gripping her spear. “N-No! I mean… It’s not like I’ve t-taken the time to figure out their colour, staring at you when y-you aren’t looking, I just… Ugh! Y… You’re so... Wait, don’t change the subject!”

Cura watched Phoria with a smirk for a moment, before sighing and returning to his Guarding position, all proper.

“... Focus on the present, Phoria.”

“Focus on the present, Phoria.” Phoria said at the same time as Cura, assuming her Guardian position as well with a disappointed sigh.

Some time passed again, and the sun was now clearly over the horizon and shining down upon them.

“... You really want to know, don’t you?”

Phoria nodded quietly.

“Huh. Did you choose me as your mentor only because of my past?

“Well… In part! But it’s only because I really admired you! I would hear stories about the things you pulled off everytime I visited the Lake of Tears. Like that one time you outran the trolls of Vandengard! Or when you jumped from Pod to Pod during the great migration as you chased Galanthus!” With every single recounted feat, Phoria found herself raising her voice and looking up at Cura with stars in her eyes.

The taller Sylphi sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day and ran his hands through his leaves. “Listen Phoria, the stories are told by bards who weren’t there, you know? Loonies who have given their sanity to the waves in the sky. You can’t trust them.”

“But you did do those things, didn’t you Master? You’re famous!”

Cura pursed his lips and looked down at his right leg, feeling it twitch ever so slightly under his mostly decorative bone armour, then he looked at Phoria, dead serious, and said, “I did. But the stories aren’t like the real thing. You know my Trait, right?”

“Obviously! Lightning Legs, the ability to channel unstable mana through your legs and turn it into explosive movements almost faster than the eye can follow!” Phoria said, hopping close to Cure in her excitement and forgetting about her post.

“Heh… To think my student would be a fan… But you’re right, with the only mistake being that it wasn’t just unstable mana, it was also harmful mana. The reason I made my Explorer debut so late was because I had to study for far longer than my peers in order to properly counteract the damage my Trait did to my legs every time I used it.”

“But it worked out in the end, didn’t it? You were one of the best, Master.” Phoria asked, her excitement waning as it was replaced by worry.

“I was, wasn’t I? But I eventually overused my Trait in a quest that involved the whole group and ended up permanently damaging my right leg. Even now it twitches involuntarily. Sometimes it tickles or hurts… But anyway, the end result is that I couldn’t control the Mana that flowed into my right leg as well as I used to… So eventually I left the group after I caused the others problems over the following few quests due to my bad leg...” Cura said, trailing off.

“Well, um, at least you can pass your dreams onto your children now, huh? Like a human would, hahaha… Ha…?” Phoria laughed with uncertainty.

“Heh. Being an Explorer doesn’t leave much time for romance, Phoria.” Came Cura’s quiet response as his free hand trailed down to his right leg.

“... I’m sorry, Master, I just… I was just-”

“Curious, right? It’s okay, anyone would be. It doesn’t really bother me, not having a partner.”

Phoria huffed and slid up close to him, leaving her spear leaning against the wall as she gently held his hand between both of hers, looking up at him with a newfound fire in her eyes.

“I-I wasn’t talking about that! But, um, I thought all this time that you for sure had a partner, Master…” She muttered, her blush returning little by little as she began fluttering her eyes up at him.

“Uh… Phoria, we’re on duty.”

“So if it does bother you, um… M-Maybe you and I, we… We could be, you know… Maybe you’d like it if uh… If I was your partner...?” Phoria asked, suddenly pressing herself against Cura and giving him ‘The Eyes’.

“Huh…?” Cura stared at Phoria, trying his hardest to find the one hint that revealed this as an elaborate joke. He tried even as she reached behind him and began to slip her hand under his leather trousers.

“... HUH?!”

---

The walls of the cave shimmered and shone with an unknown fluid--likely bioluminescent--and the strange circular chamber hewn from the bedrock seemed oddly out of place, as if some purpose for its construction lay veiled beneath the plainness of its patterns and its carvings. Barely-spoken words floated amidst the dank, dense air of the place and held themselves aloft for a few seconds before their echoes stopped forever and the shuffling of feet punctuated the atmosphere with a strange rhythm unlike anything the land had ever heard before. Suddenly the sounds stopped, and there was a distinct clanging noise as crude metal met something more than the expected diatomaceous earth.

“The world below! It opens to us!”

The hollow caves carried that echo with them for a few moments more before frantic scrabbling and clawing permeated the thick air, and after only moments an argent effulgence overtook the bioluminescent blue like the dawning of a new sun, overtaking the vision of all present with a coruscating glare. Then, again, it was over--and the treasure hunters had discovered what they had come for: crystals, of the purest silver--highly prized amongst devotees of the God of Truth, and even more so to followers of the arcane arts. The silver crystals, mirror-bright, were capable of holding volumes of mana far beyond what their small stature suggested, and they were inherently blessed to assist in the use of scrying magic. It could set them up for life in Aislyrh if they managed to get a good haul--and even if it was just these few clusters, they would be able to live comfortably for a good many years.

Khara spoke up first, her eyes scanning the crystals with a scrutiny rarely seen in human eyes, before clawing away at the rest of the dirt and extricating a tiny chunk of the solid mass to bring up to the light emanating from the walls. She could see her reflection perfectly in the small crystals from what seemed to be a thousand thousand angles, and the first thought that came to her mind was that she looked filthy. Filthy… soon to be filthy-rich, I think.

Dhokar, an Alminaki, spoke up next--snatching the crystals away from his associate and peering into them with his preternaturally big and wide eyes. It was almost impossible to actually determine the quality of the crystals without getting lost in their reflective facets, but he’d managed to develop something of an eye for it after years and years in the business. He’d be thirty-two this year--and if he was lucky, he’d never have to work another day in his life. He tried to smile at the thought, but the sheer concentration it took to not get lost stopped the beginnings of that thought before they could fully form.

Vhirai continued his digging, the shoddy copper spade and his unsteady, shaking hands coming together to punctuate the room with a constant pitter-patter of metal meeting crystal and bouncing off harmlessly as the soft earth around them gave way. It took a few moments of probing, but he was sure that he could isolate this particular cluster and dig it out if he had some help--he thought about asking Khara to grab some of the dirt and haul it off the side while he made sure the mass could be extricated without damaging it. He slightly turned his head to peek over at her as he considered actually vocalising that thought, and internally sighed as he saw her and Dhokar squabbling over the tiny cluster of loose crystals they’d found.

“Let me look, you prick! You’re just fucking staring at it!”

“Fuck off, Khara. I’m appraising it, something you wouldn’t know the first fucking thing about.”

”If you don’t give me the crystal I’ll pluck your feathers from your face and shove them--”

A cacophonous shrieking, shattering sound interrupted the two, and they hastily turned around to see Vhirai looking straight down at a clearly sundered chunk of crystals, bits of the structure still falling apart and crumbling off of one another. Khara looked at the pile of crystals, dumbfounded for the moment, while Dhokar fought the urge to scream and rage at Vhirai, choking it down after a second before looking very intently at the crystals. Khara didn’t quite scream, restraining herself for the time being, but she very calmly walked up to Vhirai, balled up her right fist, and slammed it into the back of his skull.

He whimpered at the shock and the sudden stabbing pain coursing through his head, before turning around like the crack of a whip and bringing the crude tool in his hands to bear against her, the flat side of it impacting her cheek and sending her barrelling towards the wall of the cave. She hit it with a muted thump, scowling at Vhirai the whole time, but shrugged it off and took a moment to reorient herself.

“You deserved that.”

”... yep. Sorry, Vhirai. What the fuck was that?”

”There was a fracture from below, I think. It was too big a sound to just be that cluster… right?”

”Yeah, yeah… let’s clear it up. Khara, you bag the shards. Vhirai, keep digging--there’s gotta be something more below.”

Though she still scowled, Khara acquiesced with the order and pulled a hempen sack from her back. She picked the shards up gingerly, inspected a few as she went to make sure there were no more obvious stresses and potential breaks, and went about her work a little more groggily than she ordinarily would.

Vhirai dug around the loose earth and the crystal fragments a little more, scraping away at the base steadily, before hearing another tink of copper meeting crystal beneath the soil. After a moment of further probing, the same cacophonous shrieking as before filled the cavern--clearly not caused by Vhirai--as the earth beneath them began to rumble and shift. The three partners staggered back, Khara and Vhirai ending up on one side and Dhokar on the other. The ground gave way beneath them, a rough circle of earth simply falling down into darkness below, and the rest of the soft earth dispersed itself into cloying clouds of dust, causing the three to attempt to shield their mouths and noses as they coughed furiously, backing up further to escape the dust.

After a few moments the dust settled, and the trio peered down towards the newly found hole in the cave. They were greeted with the sight of what looked to be an entire cavern--stretching out further that they could see from their poor vantage point--full of the silvery, reflective crystals like a solid sheet that lined the walls and the floor. There wasn’t an obvious way down, exactly, but it seemed that the crystals that had sprouted up beneath the caves that they’d excavated had grown from a branch of some greater structure in the distance. Mostly recovered from her earlier ordeal, Khara decided to scale the path she could just about make out, standing up and grabbing a rope from the sack on her back. She gave it a quick tug to make sure it was still steadfast, before tossing it to Dhokar. He planted his feet as much as possible given the state of the earth, held on to it firmly, and nodded.

Khara took a ginger step down, scaling down the large shard of crystal jutting out of the ground, before dropping down onto what looked to be a conjoining branch of crystal. She gave the rope two tugs--I’m fine, I’m going to carry on--and Dhokar felt the rope go slack. He shrugged to himself, thinking little of it but what an enormous find this was, and sat down to observe the crystal fragments again. Vhirai took the time to peer down into the cave below, unable to see much on account of the darkness, and took a small wooden torch from his pack. He’d never had much of an aptitude for mana and magic--that was why he’d ended up with these two--but he could cast a simple fire spell or two. Just sparks, mostly, but it was enough to light a torch if he really focused. It took a solid minute or two of effort, but soon enough the little bundle of wood was comfortably alight--sputtering, on account of the humidity--but alight.

He tossed it down the hole, and as soon as the light hit the reflective crystals a column of reddish-white light erupted from the hole in the ground, the entire cavern below them suddenly aglow with intense luminance. The harsh burst of light soon faded to something more manageable, and as it faded Vhirai was sure he could hear Khara swearing at him like a sailor, making sure he knew that he was very colourfully being compared to the genitalia of several animals. He chuckled a little under his breath, waiting a few seconds, and then peered down into the hole once more. The light still reflected through the mirrored surfaces, and he could see the entire room, but as he scanned her noticed that he distinctly couldn’t see Khara even though he’d just heard her moments ago.

”... Khara?” he shouted down, hearing the echo immediately, and suddenly at the base of the crystal spire in the centre of the room he saw movement. Khara quickly emerged and shouted back:

”Yeah! There’s a natural stairwell in the middle of the crystal--it’s, like… this was designed to be walked in?”

She looked around, still in somewhat of a disoriented stupor, taking in the sights and the fact that she was now reflected hundreds of times throughout the massive cavern. She stared at her reflected image on one of the walls, mouth agape, as she wondered two things: Firstly, how much was this place worth?; Secondly, who on earth could have made such a place?

”I… don’t think we should be here. We should take what we have and just go, Vhirai--tell Dhokar to get the rope ready.”

Though her voice carried well throughout the cavern, there didn’t come a reply. She looked back up towards the great crystal spire and its branches, back up towards the hole, and saw only blackness through it. That was odd--it hadn’t been like that a few moments ago. Perhaps it was a trick of the light? Who knew what these crystals could do with light in such immense quantities? She turned the words over in her head for a moment, trying to still the gnawing anxiety and dread building up in her breast, but it quickly overwhelmed her and she darted towards the entrance of the spire that she’d come down originally. She got about halfway before she caught sight of another reflection on the walls of the cavern and stopped in her tracks, looking at the strange figure within the crystals.

It looked almost exactly like her, if she’d been covered in some… kind of molten silver, she supposed, the form rippling and coalescing further as it turned to look at her. With a voice like the same cacophonous shriek the crystals had made earlier, but somehow softer, the reflection seemed to speak directly to her:

You tread upon the sanctum of the Two-as-One. You seek to despoil it for your own betterment, for your petty and baseless desires. Khara at-Tawil, whose Truth is that of subservience to the self and none other, this holy place shall be your tomb.

The strange reflective figure seemed to grab her mirror-self, bringing suddenly visible razor-sharp claws of glass to her reflection’s throat. She paid it no mind, intent only on running, but found herself bound as her reflection was bound--unable to move or struggle, surrounded and grasped by some force she could neither understand nor perceive.

It brought its claws across her neck and she dropped to the floor, clutching a wound that she could not see, before her blood pooled out onto the crystalline floor.

---

”She said it was designed to be walked in, Dhokar! Maybe it’s something of the gods--perhaps the Sleeping One!”

”You want to visit a place sacred to the Sleeping One? To a place where those beasts exist? You’re fucking mad, Vhirai--but we’ve got to make sure she’s okay, I suppose, if nothing else.”

---

It hadn’t taken very long for the two of them to actually get down to the crystal cavern below. Dhokar had hammered a shaft of copper into the wall of the cave and tied the rope pretty securely--it had held their individual weights as they’d climbed down, at least--and they were exploring the same crystal spire that Khara had described. She hadn’t really managed to encapsulate just how eerie it was to be looking at a hundred reflections of yourself in the walls around you and on the floor and on the ceiling--Vhirai’s breaths came faster and faster, the panic starting to get to him as he looked around. He couldn’t be sure, but the light in the room looked… different. The fire had been mostly oranges, but there was a distinctly golden hue to the light in the room now, and he wasn’t even sure if it was the torch. The torch had surely gone out by now, right?

They reached the floor in a fairly short amount of time, and Zhirai fell to his knees in shock as he saw it: Khara’s body, throat slit, blood pooling on the crystalline floor and starting to seep through the cracks.

Vhirai at-Tawil, whose Truth is a lie cloaked in gossamer delusion. Her selfishness became yours, her bitterness rests within your soul. This place shall be your tomb, that you might join your sister.

He, too, tried to run--only to found himself bound in the grip of those glassine claws, and only to feel his lifeblood running down his gory throat as the last dregs of life slipped away and joined his sister’s in the reflective embrace of eternity.

Dhokar al-Khadim…

Dhokar turned to the reflection on the wall, eyes misty from barely suppressed tears, and awaited his fate. If this is what loyalty to his friends got him--well, maybe the gods were as cruel as they’d been told after all.

There is Truth within you beyond the self. You loved them because they gave you what you did not have, but did not forgive their indolent self-delusions. They saw the world as a thing to be exploited for their personal gain--but you have always harboured curiosity within your soul and a consideration outside the self. Your trespass may be forgiven--dedicate your life to seeking Truth, and you may yet leave this hallowed place.

Dhokar took a moment to look at the thing speaking to him, tears flowing down his face, as he considered its words. It was true that Khara and Zhirai had always been self-centred or willfully ignorant, but he’d forgiven them their ignorance because it was so difficult to know better. All they had were stories and prayers, and it wasn’t like any of the gods they’d prayed to had ever actually listened. Dhokar wasn’t even sure that they existed--they’d never shown any evidence of their presence in his life or the lives of anyone he knew. Blind faith wasn’t something that got you where you wanted to go. It wasn’t something that let you live out a life that would actually mean something after you had died.

”... seeking truth? What even is truth? What does it mean?”

Truth is the limits of what you perceive and the context through which you view your world. Truth is what your world must become; Truth is the shaping of what is into what may be. Truth is what you have always sought--answers--and more. It is your salvation and your purpose.

Dhokar fell to his knees, openly weeping, as the reflective thing spoke to him. Given a choice between dying like his friends and continuing in the name of a god he’d never thought really existed… Life was the obvious choice. He would remember them always, and through him they would survive--but the world still needed help. It still needed alignment. It, he came to realise, needed Truth.

”I accept. I will seek out Truth, as you say, and make this world better.”

No more words were necessary. The mirror-thing pressed a glassy claw to Dhokar’s reflection, against his forehead, and there was a burst of intense golden light. By the time it had faded, Dhokar was on the surface and the name in his head no longer felt right. He tried to speak his name--Dhokar--but the words would not leave his mouth and the thoughts slipped through his mind like sand through his fingers. He now had a new name--Naomh Chruinne.

A new name, a new purpose, and a world to set to rights. The first Seeker of Truth was born.

Hofmar Qull-Born was riding back home and she couldn’t help but be reminded how much she hated the Gardens. Everything was so lush and verdant, not a single crag or rocky mountainside to be seen. She knew that the Gardens were a place of great life and peacefulness, but some base feeling within the witch really wanted to believe that there was a dark evil lurking under the idyllic landscape. There wasn’t, but things would be more interesting if there was.

Luckily, her wonderful mount, Forral, was carrying her away from the wretched place of loveliness and back to the foothills of the Anchor Mountains, where the Stonebird had been born and the Vir’s council was currently residing. Usually, Hofmar always stayed by the Vir’s side whenever he led the Grand Army into her home province, but a very important matter had pulled her away: a rival had been born. Well, more specifically, a rival had been born ten years ago and Hofmar was only just now finding out.

Hofmar smiled fondly as she remembered the girl. She had just started to reach the cusp of womanhood, which was a great feat for a witch that dared to be born in Virfeild. For all One Hundred and Forty-Eight years that Hofmar had reigned as the Vir’s personal witch not a single one had ever made it past eight before she had come to remove them as threats. This girl, Houll was her name — Hofmar had made a point of remembering it — might have been able to escape her for so long simply because she lived so far into the Gardens where the Master Witch never went if she didn’t have to, but she liked to think it was because Houll was smart.

Houll had put up a good fight too, not good enough as Hofmar had still won, but she had been a strong child. Most times, Hofmar killed any of the witches who had had time to come into their power (The others she usually just took out their tongues and eyes) but something and made her decide to let Houll live. Hofmar was even kind enough to let her keep an eye. It would take about forty years for Houll to get strong enough again to fight Hofmar, but by then the elder witch would probably have grown bored with working for the Vir. It is always smart to start planning for your retirement early.

Trying to keep the Vir from listening to any of those mana-loving bastards was hard work, Hofmar mused, mages from all around Virfeild wanted to bend the ear of their leader, to try and confine him to some arbitrary rules an old god had made. Well, the Vir was already obsessed with the god of arbitrary rules, Tekret et Heret, so it was more of the fact that Hofmar was a witch and follower of Qullqiya that she worked so hard at her job. She would want those damn sing-songy druids to replace her before some stuffy mana wielder in long robes way to ornate for his ability.

As the stonebird Forral thundered across the land, soft soil turning rocky, Hofmar began to doze off, trusting her mount to know the way. Out of the night, a great ripple of energy washed over the drowzing witch, almost knocking her off the stonebird. If she hadn’t attuned herself to magical surges in an attempt to rat out young witches, she probably would have dismissed it, but something incredibly powerful had just released a tone of magical energy into the world. Hofmar tugged Forral’s reins towards the epicenter of the energy, somewhere far to the Western outskirts of Virfeild territory. She was still a little tired from defeating Houll, but given the size of that magical disturbance, she probably couldn’t afford to wait before killing whichever being, young witch or otherwise, had made it.

As Hofmar snapped the reins, Forral squawked in both resistance and exhaustion but the witch forced her onwards. It was a long ways to the Western border and Hofmar didn’t have time to waste. She released some of her magic to make Forral not feel the ache from running and try to speed up the journey. The mana exploded out of Hofmar and sent a shock wave of energy around her and her mount that contracted backwards into the muscles of the stonebird. The pulse increased the stonebird’s speed tenfold and shook the ground, startling a flock of songbirds, one of which flew after her. Spriling in the air, the small creature flew faster than a regular songbird should be able to and for much longer.

She tried to ignore the bird at first, assuming it was just an animal, but the longer she rode and the longer it followed, the more she became convinced it was something more. Was it a spy sent by another witch? Or maybe a druid? It was certainly not natural. Hofmar released another pulse of magic to augment Forral who let out a great squawk of pain as her muscles bulged large, creaking louder than the trees bent by the shock wave.

The stonebird shot off at an incredible speed and Hofmar had to hold tightly to the beast’s neck to not be thrown off. She hadn’t wanted to use that spell on Forral twice, but between the bird and that pulse she had felt, she was getting a little on edge. She needed to figure out what was going on. After a moment of rest, clutching onto Forral’s neck, Hofmar looked up to see if the bird was still following. Instantly her eyes locked onto the tiny songbird flying noiselessly alongside of her, seemingly uninterested in confining to natural flightspeeds. Now, the bird had somehow produced a sprig of some plant life, the tip smoldering in flame that the wind could not put out.

“Begone!” Hofmar shouted over the rushing air, hucking a fireball from her palm at the bird, “I have a child to go kill, I don’t need some feathered bastad tailing me the whole way!”

“I was a little worried that was what you were doing…” a disappointed voice echoed through Hofmar’s mind as the fireball washed over and past the bird, leaving it unscathed, “I would kindly ask you not to do that.”

Before Hofmar could even be surprised, the sprig the bird had been carrying exploded into a flash of white light, so bright that it felt like a thousand punches on every part of Hofmar’s body that it touched. The witch let out a rather undignified “oof” and slipped off Forral's saddle and thudded against the ground. By the time the ringing in Hofmar’s ears faded, the stonebird was already out of sight, however, the witch didn't wait for the ringing to stop before acting. She exploded to her feet, casting a quick cyclone that spun around her, ejecting any and all things too close to her.

“Show yourself!” She screamed in anger, hands raised and already steaming with magic. She narrowed her eyes as she caught a glimpse of a feather flying away and immediately lobbed a ball of roiling gray mist at the bird, “Who are you!”

The mist bounced off some invisible barrier and deflected into a large mossy stone which began rapidly eroding and decaying until an area the size of a wagon wheel had aged into dust.

“I’m certainly not an innocent bird!” the voice chided her, still sounding from within her own skull, “That nice sparrow was just doing a favor for me. There's no need to kill the poor woman, she’s got a full nest of hatchlings back home!”

“What do you want?” Hofmar spat, crappling her hands together, instead of a noise coming from the action, an explosion of crystals that took the shape of a glaive, “And what are you willing to do to keep me from killing you!”

The voice within her mind laughed, “I doubt you could kill a god.”

Hofmar narrowed her eyes, whoever the hell this was clearly had an ego. If they thought themselves a god they would be easier to topple.

“As for what I want,” the voice continued, “Is simply for you not to go kill a child you know nothing about.”

“Oh yeah?” Hofmar humored the voice as she scanned all around for some magical energy; the bastard had to be projecting from somewhere, he couldn’t be acting remotely because he had deflected her mist ball. If she could just find him... “What’s in it for me!”

The voice paused then finally chuckled, ”Well, I suppose I won’t kill you right now as long as you promise to wait for about twenty years before you try and kill the child.”

Where the hell was this guy? He had clearly used magic but there was no direction she could sense that could have been the source of it.

“I think I’ll take my chances ‘god’.” the witch sneered, trying to goad her assailing, “Why don’t you come out here so I can prove that!”

“You know,” the voice sighed, “I really wish I could. But I can’t. Infact, that child you are trying to kill was going to be my solution to that predicament. Since, I can’t show you my power in person, this’ll have to do.”

“What in the world are you rambling ab-” Hofmar’s dramatic complaint was interrupted by a sudden bursting of power.

Like a dam shattering and water crashing over and over until the village can see the flood coming but do nothing but know how small they were, that is how Hofmar felt. The untapped energy blew over the witch, tearing at her and taking away bit by bit until she found herself lost in the power. She had not been even touched by the god but she felt herself being stripped. The whole world seemed strange and unfamiliar, even though nothing besides her perception had changed. She forgot who she was or what the world was. She lost all sense of self and direction. She was reduced to a no one and truly lost. Until she wasn’t.

Hofmar slammed back into herself, regaining all that she had lost, gasping for breath.

“How did you enjoy being a true Wanderer?” The god asked, the question actually seemed genuine, no ill in his voice.

“It was terrible, if I’m being honest,” Hofmar groaned, leaning over and puking.

“I’ve got to say, you handled being stripped of all your ties to the world fairly well,” the god conceded, “And I suppose you have a good reason not to go kill that child now?”

Hofmar wiped the vomit from her mouth and straightened up. Her entire demeanour shifted, she put on the posture and face she used when talking to the Vir, whenever she needed to do a negotiation.

“So,” she began cordially as if dismissing all the events that had happened before, “You are a god. I thought Y’all were gone for good.”

“We were. Now we’re back,” her target responded flippantly, “And I’ll be gone again as soon as you promise not to not attack that child. If you disagree, I’ll leave too but then you might not be “you” anymore…”

“What is your name, are you one of those Eight that the druids worship? I don’t think you are Tacsret or Kwael.”

“That was an abrupt change of subject, but if you must know, I am Iternis,” there was a brief apparition of a man in a flowing cloak appearing with a flourish, but just as she processed it happening she became positive that it was nothing but a trick of the light.

“Iternis?” Hofmar was a little taken aback, she had never heard of a god named that before, “Like Ternas and Toug? Those folk heroes the peasants like so much?”

“First of all, his name was Toog. Second of all, I… wasn’t quite as active in the whole “being a god” thing in those early days,” Iternis conceded, “Besides, I don’t see why the God of Journeys has to justify himself to a mortal like you.”

“You don’t,” Hofmar deadpanned, “You chose to.”

“Okay, maybe I have missed talking to mortals a little in these 2000 years, but either way, just don’t try to harm that child if you value your ability to form connections with people, places or things.”

Hofmar felt the god’s presence fading quickly as he turned his power away from the witch. She was losing her chance.

“Wait!” She called out, even instinctually reaching out her hard, even though she was talking to a voice in her head. She then recompose herself, “I have a proposition.”

She waited in silence for a while, trying to feel if Iternis would return. Moments ticked by and she felt nothing. A few choice insults for the god ran through her mind for the God of Journeys as she started to give up, looking around for her stonebird before realizing it was long gone.

“You don’t think you can use your godly powers to give me back my ride! That was my favorite stonebird!” She shouted into the open air not really directed at the God of Journeys. She scowled, gave a great huff, and then punted a pebble into the boulder she had partially destroyed earlier. The pebble exploded into purple flames and finished the poor rock off, “I guess I’ll just have to find some other god to make a deal with.”

“What kind of deal were you looking for?” Iternis’s voice shook out again, and Hofmar tried to keep from smiling.

“My first demand, I want immortality, real immortality,” She instantly broke out into her demands, “I don’t want to join one of the branches of Witchery so I can live forever only to become irrelevant after two hundred years. I also want you to augment my magic in whatever way you can, I don’t want to be killed by some random mage who wants to depose a witch.”

“Are you done yet?”

“No,” Hofmar crossed her arms, “But if you want to interject you can.”

“You know, mortal, you are quite ambitious. I have a brother who would really like you,” Iternis stated,” And I do find this whole “irreverence” thing amusing, but what could you possibly offer me to make you worth the while?”

“Well, you don’t want anything to happen to this kid, right? I’m not the only thing in these parts that would want to kill a very magical baby, just the first to show up. I could keep the brat safe until they can fend for themselves.”

“You know I could make a horrible monster to protect him with its life with a flick of my hand?”

“Sure,” Hofmar shrugged, “Or you could get me to do it.”

There was a pause and then hearty laughter. There was a blinding flash of light and Hofmar felt the same power as before washing over her, but this time it was giving instead of taking. She gasped as she felt the mana contract and pulse around her, growing more attuned to the magic of the world. She felt so large and powerful, like if she saw a leaf fluttering in the wind she could tell you exactly all the places it could land; every high she had ever felt paled in comparison to this feeling right now. She fell to the ground in jnoy and because her knees could no longer hold all the power.

“Consider yourself hired,” the God of Journeys boomed, “Go to the town of Harri and guide the small boy born to Halmond and Alla-”

Iternis prattled on with commands, but Hofmar was too caught up in the feeling of the divine. She had done it! She had gotten a god to give her their power. Sure, it had never been her goal, it had never even crossed her mind until the moment she realized Iternis was actually divine, but it still felt like she had accomplished some life goal.

“I just have to protect the boy?” Hofmar asked, surprised by both the excitement and new power within her voice, “And when he dies, of old age or some unavoidable fate, I can keep my powers, I will be free to do what I will with them as I please.”

“Sure, if you say so.”

“Great! Just bring back Forral- my stonebird- and I’ll be on my way!”

“Oh, you don’t need her, you can find your own way!”

“What!?” the color drained from Hofmar’s face, her finally coming down from the high of gaining more power, “She is my favorite bird.”

“Too bad!” Iternis chuckled, “I’m sure you could find another ride around her somewhere, I think my gift would make it easier.”

“If you want me to do this for you! You nee-” Hofmar began fuming before suddenly her throat seized up, no sound coming out. She tried to continue to complain more but each word she tried to squeeze out made her throat feel any tighter. She wasn’t choking or anything, but panic still boiled up within her.

“Look, lady,” Iternis sighed, if she could see him he would probably be giving her a very exasperated smirk, “I’m only giving you this job because I think it will be entertaining. I know you think you are a super powerful negotiator and are super charismatic, but the only reason you always come out on top. You need to get used to being the smallest fish in the pond.”

The spell trapping Hofmar’s throat ended and she started gasping loudly, jsu to hear herself making noise.

“Also, if you were just planning on taking your new responsibilities lightly, you should know that if you ever try and abandon your duties, I will strip everything from you just like I did before and you will be left as a no one, wandering Galbar forever,” Hofmar could feel Iternis’s prescense fading again, as if he were walking away, “and if you were thinking that you could just wait the 70 years for the kid to die and then be scot-free, you should know the kid is going to be immortal too. You’ve got a long eternity of work ahead of you.”

Iternis silencing Hofmar’s voice a second time didn’t even shoot the tirade of curses and insults the humiliated witch was throwing out at him.

---

In the small town of Harri, Alla the Half-born was cooing over her two week old baby as her husband, Halmond, was busy stoking a fire. Suddenly, the door slammed open. Alla yelped in surprise and cradled her unnamed baby to her bosom as a haggard woman filled the door frame. She looked about forty and was covered in all manner of mud and twigs. Her hair was a storm of caked dust and frazzled strands. Her clothes looked like they had once been nice but had been destroyed by miles and miles of foot travel.

“Where’s the damn baby,” the stranger croaked as she stumbled into the small shack.

Alla stood up and retreated with the baby in the back of the shack as Halmond took up a wood axe and leapt between his wife and the witch.

“Who the hell are you!” The young man shouted, brandishing his weapon.

“Hofmar Qull-Born, Tasslman of the Vir’s Council,” The very disheveled witch growled, waving her hand and causing the axe to revert back into a tree sapling, “Now where i-”

“Hey!” Halmond laughed, going in for a hug, causing Hofmar to scurry backwards like a scared cat, “You’re my quadruple great aunt! We’re family!”

Hofmar pathetically batted away the young man’s hands, “I’m a lot of people’s quadruple great aunts! Now, I have had a very terrible last two weeks, so could you just please show me the baby.”

‘Why do you want my baby!” Alla pulled further away from the woman, ignoring Halmond’s sudden change in demeanor and shooting the witch a furious gaze.

“Because,” an exasperated Hofmar shoved Halmond aside and took a step forward, “they are a child of great destiny and I have been charged with protecting them.”

Hofmar’s dirt covered hands reached out for the child who instantly began to cry. Alla retaliated by kicking the witch in the gut.

“Get back you fiend,” she shouted, “A child is safest with their mother!”

Hofmar doubled over, thrown completely off balance, and toppled to the floor. She groaned in pain for a short while as Alla’s words sunk in. A child is safest with their mother.

“This is good, gooood,” Hofmr muttered on the floor, biting her thumb furiously in thought as the others looked on at her in befuddlement, “If a child is safest with their mother, then it would be harming the kid to take it away from its mother. Even more, if I’m in the picture I could hurt the motherly bond, so really, to best protect the snot nosed brat, I should have nothing to do until it’s a snot-nosed adult! Iternis could hardly punish me for trying to give the brat the best childhood possible!”

Hofmar sprung to her feet and bolted for the door.

“Goodbye, goodbye!” She shoved Halmond aside, a frenzied look in her eyes “Find me when the little shit is fully grown, until then I will be desperately trying to live my normal life!”

“Wait!” Halmond leapt after Hofmar, grabbing onto her before she could make it out the door, “The baby hasn’t had his recognition ceremony yet!”

“And that’s got nothing to do with me, goodbye!”

“No, you should be the one to name him!”

“What!?”

“What!?” Halmond’s wife let out a similar cry of indignation, “She is just a crazy wanderer who broke into the house! Why would you let her be the one to Recognize our child!”

“No, she is Hofmar Qull-Born, look what she did to my axe!” Halmond tried to reassure his wife, “And if our son is recognized by a Tassleman of the Vir’s Council, things will surely go well for him!”

“I’m not doing that,” Hofmar stated bluntly as she made another break for the door, but Halmond once again blocked her path.

“You said you were charged with helping out baby,” he pleaded, ignoring the witches and his wife’s complaints, “If you aren’t the one to Recognize him, you’d be hurting his chances at a great life.”

Hofmar was about to just use her magic to destroy the door and make her escape, but Iternis’s threat came back to her. Would this count as forsaking her duty? The witch growled in frustration and turned back around.

“Fine, I’ll do it. Show me the baby” Hofmar beckoned for Alla to life the tiny boy up so she could see him. The baby was a hideous little thing, granted all babies were disgusting, Hofmar just hoped this one was exceedingly so, “Today, we recognize this young man, born to Halmond and Alla,” Hofmar tried to get through the rights as quickly as possible, doing the bare minimum to satisfy the parents, “May he grow ever stronger to best serve the Vir. Under the watchful eye of Tacsret et Haerad, God of Rulership and Contracts, I, Hofmar Qull-Born, Recognize you as... “ This was the worst time to blank on a name, “Forral!”

“But that’s a girl’s name!” Halmond protested.

“It’s also the name of one hell of a stoenbird,” Hofmar countered as she pushed past the young man and threw open the door, “Now goodbye.”

With that, Hofmar shot off into the night, happy to get that over with and content that she had just managed to secure roughly sixteen years of peace before she was forced into the eternal labor she had foolishly signed herself up for.

Antiquity was a breath of cool air that washed over Haerthus as he entered into the sacred realm. Deep within his bones he sensed an air of reverence for the sanctity of its unspoken laws. Newborn as he was, Haerthus knew immediately that whatever he did here in the presence of others such as him, would reflect on his future working relationships.

He blinked, catching in the new environment: Antiquity was a colliseum of a familiar and comforting architecture. He stepped into the realm, a whirlpool of emotions bubbling within his chest.

Did he announce himself? Was his presence sensed by those who already lounged within the room?

Scarcely seconds had passed, and Haerthus already wanted to return to Ardherum and lock the realm away for good.

One could say he dreaded- nay, hated the thought of socializing with a bunch of gods. Somehow he felt as though royal titles would mean very little to them, especially when he factored in that he was, after all, only the God of Hate.

Only so much he could do within his domain of power, but he had to find out just exactly where his reach lay.

And- sigh - that meant he had to strike up a conversation.

But as it turned out, he wasn’t the first one to speak to him- a booming voice erupted in his ear drums. “ATTENTION FELLOW GODS!”

Haerthus did not enjoy his first divine interaction. “What if I told you there was a way to interact more closely with the world? All you need to do is bind a small piece of your soul to another form, and send that form to Galbar. It will be able to pass through without interference from the Lifeblood, walk the world, and perform divine actions on your behalf. You can thank Gibbou for this trick. Oh, and if you haven’t set foot outside your realm’s portal yet, please do; it’s perfectly safe! That will be all!”

He had already set foot out from his unnamed realm, but his ears perked at the idea of the thought of intervention on Galbar. Divine representation sounded like a wonderful idea- it left the tedium of work towards the likes of servants, leaving Haerthus to do whatever he wanted. He just needed to find what exactly that was as the God of Hate, but he was sure he would find something to do.

He already knew he disliked having loud noises screeching in his ears, helpful as the information was. He looked around the realm, looking for the owner of the voice- he needed to mince words with the rapscallion. As his vision cleared he began to spot more and more entities gathering within the confines of Antiquity- most were aptly formed, the rest were beings who chose to remain cryptic as to their domain. What drew his attention further was how they craned their neck upwards and pointed at various things on the ceiling.

Haerthus paused his first crusade of noise complaint and looked upwards. Galbar, to its fullest extent.

After a minute of taking in the sights, he developed a crick in the neck, and already began to hate its placement.

Why couldn’t it be placed on the floor? Aren’t gods above mortal worlds? His own private thoughts - he shuddered to think if this realm made all thoughts public - hung with irritation and frustration. If the realm supported his own powers of creation, the first thing he would create was not an Avatar of himself, but a reclining chair.

This was all very frustrating, even more so when he realized how completely side-tracked he was from his original quest. It all made him positively angry, and the embers swirling around him flared.

Restraint.

He clenched his jaw. For now.

“Oh, hello there!” the God who had delivered the announcement piped, apparently having approached during the Hate God’s internal machinations. “I haven’t seen you before. Who would you be?”

Haerthus gazed upon a tall god in the form of a man who seemed more lifelike than the sum of his environments. Although he himself was not casting an aura of radiance, Haerthus had the initial impression that this was a person who would spend an hour fussing over minute details in his own creations. In contrast, he was reminded how slap-dashed his realm was created. Once the glow dissipated in his eyes, Haerthus made one very important judgement:

He no longer disliked this unnamed god. He despised him for daring to be greater than. . .than. . . Haerthus paused. Daring to be greater than whatever made us, he thought.

“Haerthus.” He chewed on air, thinking how best to proceed. He didn’t exactly want to make enemies immediately, not when he was still at a stage where his own lack of information crippled him more than his own lack of experience. Yet he didn’t exactly want to be too close to the person, so-

“God of Hate, from the realm of-” He took a look at his surroundings and frowned. “-Ardherum. Meaning ‘Land to Suffer Within’, in a language which I totally did not just make up.”

He cleared his throat and gestured towards the figure. “And you are?”

“Cadien, God of Perfection,” the white-haired god introduced himself, his smile fading somewhat. “I suppose this is all rather surprising, isn’t it?”

”Surprisingly rude to be suddenly birthed into existence without my prior consent.” Haerthus pointed towards Galbar. ”I get that we’re supposed to guide these mortals but exactly who gave us this job?”

Cadien shrugged. “Well, nobody did. We gave it to ourselves, I suppose.”

He stared at Cadien silently. When he next spoke, he did so slowly, clearly and with a very pained drawl. “Am I to believe that we have been simply born out of nothing to play with a world?”

“A world that, I presume was made because it simply wanted to?”

“I was not present when the world was made,” Cadien said, furrowing his brow. “So I can’t say exactly where it came from. Anyhow, did you say you had only just been born into existence recently?”

He was halfway inclined to scream it out, but Haerthus didn’t have the heart for it. All he wanted to do now was sit, stare blankly into space and maybe scream for an indefinite amount of time.

He wasn’t against the idea of ruling subjects or toying with them, whatever his heart desired. Yet if he had no goal, no defined guidelines beyond ‘as your heart desired’ then it took the fun out of everything. Was he that rebellious for a newborn?

Haerthus paused.

No. He just didn’t like being chained against his will, and needed an excuse to be angry at something, someone.

Frankly, this trip into Antiquity had been a very fruitful journey of self discovery. “I don’t know what constituted ‘recent’: I only know I was born when I wasn’t.”

“Hmm… I can’t say that makes a lot of sense, truth be told,” Cadien shrugged again. “Anyhow, you mean to tell me you never set foot on Galbar?”

”No? I have only seen it through the eyes of mortals and visions.” He tasted bile at the tip of his tongue. “Has everyone been galavanting around in Galbar while I was stuck as a swirling mass?” His body trembled with barely perceptible suppressed anger.

Cadien scratched the back of his head. “Well, I don’t know what your time in the Lifeblood was like, but there used to be a time when we were all allowed to walk on Galbar. Then, for some reason the Lifeblood decided to confine us all into realms, where we couldn’t interact with the world - not directly, anyway. Some claimed it lasted about two thousand years, but it didn’t feel that way for me - a few hundred, at most. Anyhow, then this place appeared, and although we still can’t set foot on Galbar, we’re all back in touch with each other now.”

”I see.”

Haerthus looked up at Galbar and reached out longingly with his arm, but dropped it to his side limply. ”I don’t suppose we can shift that viewing port from the ceiling to the floor? You know, so that a God of Chiropractic isn’t born from the- Lifeblood?” He looked back at Cadien, hesitant. “I don’t suppose the Lifeblood is sentient, right?”

At least he could find wherever the source was and spent the rest of his foreseable future screaming at it.

“The Lifeblood does seem to possess some intelligence, yes,” Cadien nodded, before glancing upward at the image of Galbar in the sky. “Although… I don’t know if we could put that on the floor. What would that even look like? Besides, this place seems resistant to all but the smallest attempts to manipulate it,” the God of Perfection shrugged yet again. “I suppose you could always just lie on your back to look at it.”

Haerthus raised a nose to that suggestion. ”And get myself covered in dust and dirt? No thanks, but thank you anyway. I don’t suppose I could drag furniture through my realm’s gate?”

“I’m sure you could,” Cadien nodded, looking to the noticeboard created by Artifex, and then the hammock set up by Illyd Dyll. “Just uh… it’s a shared space, so don’t clutter it up too much, alright?”

”Good.” He turned towards Ardherum’s gates, now with some semblance of intent, but then remembered his manners. ”I thank you for your help, but if you excuse me, I- have a strong need to return to my realm and perhaps scream for a short, sweet while.”

He paused and flourished a meaningless gesture with his smoky fingers. “You know, for stress relief.”

“Hm. I’m not sure that’s healthy, but I suppose it’s your choice. Don’t forget to create an avatar. You did hear my message, I hope?”

Haerthus nodded silently, feeling sick, tired and more importantly, very displeased about the current state of things. It was a very productive trip through Antiquity, even if he felt he was better off not learning how things truly are. ”I am Haerthus.” he reminded Cadien one last time before he took another step into Ardherum.

”And I have already begun to realize how many things there are to hate. Good day.”

Fourteen years before the burning of Thyma, somewhere west in the Boreal Highlands.

Kaer Mirh rubbed his eyes intensely, as if trying to squeeze the exhaustion out of them. He hated watching the goats at night - not because he wasn’t fond of goats; in fact, he found them to be wonderful companions, giving wool, milk and, eventually, meat in exchange for protection and permission to nibble at the grass and hay. No, Kaer Mirh’s qualm was that watching the goats at night meant he wasn’t asleep, and he loathed the thought of disappointing the moon by not being asleep.

Of course, it was only fair that he’d watch them. His brother Hama had kept watch all day, after all, and he couldn’t very well ask his pregnant wife Tegan, who had been busy tending to their two daughters. He supposed he could’ve called in a favour from one of the six other families travelling with them, but they all had their own tasks to tend to, and that wouldn’t be solving the problem either way, since, in the end, someone would have to stay up during the night to watch the goats. At least he wasn’t without conversation partners, though…

A goat bleated a song to the grass, thanking it for a wonderful meal, while another was singing her kid a lullaby. The stones, including the one Kaer Mirh sat upon, all droned along with harmonically layered bass and baritone. In the distance, some owls tried their best to outperform their song. Tamed boreal stags droned a sombre blues about the qualms of being a pack animal. A beetle squeaked a high-pitched tune praising the flavour of goat dung. Kaer Mirh considered what it must be like to fall asleep without this constant flux of music buzzing in the background - he hadn’t know the sensation for many decades, and by now, he supposed a night without hearing the lovesong of the flora to the rain and morning dew would be a terrifying night indeed.

He yawned, waking up a nearby goat kid, which eyeballed him sourly. He rose up from his stone and did his round again, making certain all fifteen goats were present. A rush of wind brought the scent of salt and sea to his nostrils - he hadn’t been this far west before, and this smell was unfamiliar. He hadn’t smelt its likeness for decades, at least. He started counting, groggy eyes following an equally lazy finger pointing out the goats among the rocks atop the hill he stood.

Fourteen.

The dissonance in expectation fueled some quickness into his mind again and waking eyes jumped from goat to goat once more, verifying what they had just seen.

Fourteen again.

He sucked in a breath through the nose and sighed. They hadn’t had a single runaway goat for a week - of course there had to be one when it was finally his shift. Well, he could either spend all night looking for it… Or…



He stopped to listen. Some of the other goats woke up and sang to him:



Kaer Mirh spun around and raised his hands in a calming manner.



With that, the goats slowly went back to sleep one by one. Kaer Mirh sighed his relief and continued down from the hilltop. He passed by some tents belonging to one of the other families travelling with him and then arrived at the border of a great forest. He looked over his shoulder at the tents and took a deep breath:



Then, a faint, squeaking song replied:



Kaer Mirh took a deep breath and sighed. Then he entered into the woods, the trees humming a sleepy plea for them to quiet down. Advance was slow, as the druid had to tap around the ground with his staff to bypass the zig-zagging pattern of roots and rocks. An owl hooted curiously at him, and a porcupine spat curses from below as Kaer Mirh’s bark-shoed foot nearly stepped on it. The druid pondered for a moment whether to plead Gibbou for better eyes in the night, but he was already overstepping his welcome by walking around when he should be asleep. Last thing he should do would be to come over as insolent and ungrateful - especially on the road like this.

The forest was thickening and the trees grew taller. The scent of the sea, which by now grew rancid with rotting seaweed, was offensive to the nose. It was an aspect of Claroon, however, and thus had to be respected and loved. When he looked up through the canopy, he saw the moon’s wink grow clearer and clearer the deeper into the woods he came. Stepping over a few more roots, the stars peeked through, too, blinking and twinkling in a dance around the bright crescent moon.



Kaer Mirh stopped to listen. The thousand voices of trees, stones, stars and animals echoed the kid’s statement. They sang:



As the verse came to a close, the spirits celebrated, and Kaer Mirh stepped into the clearing. He had seen the World Tree once, long, long ago - the trees weren’t even close to its height. Still, however, they were incredibly tall, taller than any tree he had ever seen in the highlands. Yet still, the stars and moon shone perfectly through the treetops - the whole night sky was visible above the clearing. Nearby, where he could see the foliage wasn’t as thick as the rest of the wall, he could hear the laps of the ocean licking at the beach not even two hundred paces away. Then, in the centre of the clearing, elevated on a slight rise and surrounded by spots of otherworldly clear water, was a large, sharp rock that arced towards the sky, upon which sat the goat kid, admiring the sky. Kaer Mirh approached, making certain not to step in any of the puddles along the way. He climbed onto the rock and sat himself down by the kid to join in on the stargazing. The kid bleated happily and drummed its cloven feet on the stone in excitement with a series of tak-tak-taks.





Kaer Mirh jumped to his feet, nearby tumbling forward as he hopped off the rock. He managed to skip over one of the tiny pools, but the hop finally made him lose his balance and roll down the small hill until his back crashed into a tree trunk. The kid skipped expertly down from the rock and hopped over, singing anxiously:



But Kaer Mirh only cackled, maniacally almost, waving his arms and legs around in the air as he tried to get back on his feet. Above, the moon was waning as the sun began to blink over the distant horizon. The druid finally regained his footing, kicking up mud and grass as his legs propelled him into a sprint back through the woods. The goat kid followed faithfully, and the songs of the woods followed the action with baited breath:



It took merely an hour for Kaer Mirh to return to camp, where the fourteen goats still laid peacefully, albeit now began to awaken from the ruckus. The kid bleated for its mother, who bleated back in a distracted manner as she eyed the druid run in full sprint from tent to tent, shouting for all to wake up. The kid hopped over to its mother and the two gently rammed heads in greeting. Eyeing the panting druid, the mother goat asked:



The kid skipped up and down in its excitement:



In the centre of the camp, groggy humans who had barely had time to put their clothes back on, rubbed their eyes as one. Morning mugs that believed they should’ve had at least an hour more of shut-eye affixed skeptical, even annoyed stares at Kaer Mirh, who was sporting a wicked mad grin in spite of his absolutely filthy, once-white robes. Being among his closest, his brother Hama stepped forth and spoke, “Mirh, what has you so worked up? We almost thought we were under attack when you came running, but we see neither any bandits nor bears to speak of. What is this about?”

“I have found it, my kinsmen!” He gestured to the surrounding highlands, elevations and flats of grass and stone, save for the forest behind him, appearing like an oasis in a desert. The coast below reddened in the light of dawn, and distant herds of wild highland deer skipped after their leading stag. Cool winds blew in from the north and made the children huddle closer to their mothers. “This will be our new home,” declared the druid.

The people looked around, some looking surprised, some skeptical; some satisfied, some outraged. “What’re we supposed to live off here? We know nothing of this place!” came a shout from the crowd. It wasn’t his own kin, but one of the other families.

“You said we were stopping here to rest before we continue!” came another shout. Kaer Mirh waved his hands calmingly.

“We wanted to travel west to escape Ketrefa’s expansion. We have travelled as far west as west goes - if we go further now, we will enter a land so different from what we know that we will likely be consumed by it.” He gestured to the surroudings again. “We are already almost a year’s journey from the Walled City. We are as safe here as we’ll ever be, once we get to know the lay of the land.” He pointed at the one who had shouted first. “Dairl, you and your clan used to work great fields out east, is that correct?”

Dairl, a man who could in every way be described as broad, was taken aback as he was pointed at. “W-well, yes, of course! We were gaardskarls for generations before those slavers burnt everything we had and took my cousin’s family! What about it?”

Kaer Mirh beckoned him up to the rise he stood on. Dairl followed, and as did the rest of the crowd, curious to see. Kaer Mirh pointed along the grasslain slope running down from the rise until it reached the sandy coast. It stretched as far as the eyes could see, containing both flatlands and highlands. The druid turned back to Dairl. “Could you and your kin work this soil, you think?”

The farmer’s temper subsided and he brought a ponderous hand to his brownbearded chin. “... Well… The slopes will be hard - it’s tough work to plow and sow in such stoney ground. The lowlands will be easier, though.”

“Can you do it?”

Dairl shot Kaer Mirh a glare. “What, you doubt the ability of a gaardskarl?! You better watch your tongue, or I’ll--”

“You’ll do what, exactly?” came a sharp snap from Hama behind Kaer Mirh, hand resting faithfully on his stone adze. Dairl’s sons saw the gesture and reached for their own tools, but Kaer Mirh raised his hands to them both.

“I will not have animosity between us when we’re -this- close to finding a new home! Dairl, forgive me - I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. What I meant was whether you and your kin would be willing do work this land if we are to settle here.”

Dairl scoffed and looked back over the land. Glares of challenge were still being exchanged between Dairl’s sons and Hama, who was now being backed up by his and Kaer Mirh’s cousins. As tensions began to spark, Dairl stuck out his hand in Kaer Mirh’s direction.

“We’re not doing it for you. We’ll turn this land into a garden to prove, once and for all, that we gaardskarls cannot be outmatched.”

Kaer Mirh smirked and raised a brow as he squeezed the hand. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Dairl rolled his eyes and rumbled back down to his camp along with his kinsmen. Kaer Mirh felt a prick on his shoulder and turned to see Tegan, his wife, belly protruding slightly underneath her humble leather clothes. She offered him a worried expression, now clearly visible under the rising sun, and spoke, “Mirh, I’m certain this land is as good as any other, but… -Why- exactly here? You know what happened to Ragsam and his family, right? When they ventured south? We haven’t heard from them since. What if…” She paused. “What if we’re too close to the Prairie?”

Kaer Mirh shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder. “It must be here, my love. There is no other choice. The Song sang thusly.”

Tegan sighed. “Mirh, you know I love you and trust you in everything, but… None of us can hear it. None of us can hear this song you keep telling us about it. Are you sure you’re not…”

The druid placed a finger over her lips, inciting a confused blink from her. “I’m not,” he said curtly and smiled weakly. “Trust me.”

Tegan didn’t smile back, but pressed her lips together in a somewhat worried frown. “I do.”

“Good,” said the druid. “Franser, could you come here a bit?” Kaer Mirh continued over to a different man whose trade was builder and started discussing acquisition of building materials. Tegan sighed again and caressed her belly moreso to soothe herself than the baby inside. His judgment hadn’t been wrong before, but it was never easy just accepting the existence of this mysterious song, no matter how many times he tried to explain it. She looked over at one of the goats, which looked back with its odd, flat-pupiled eyes. Another one behind it bleated loudly.

No, these creatures definitely couldn’t sing.

---

A year passed, and the settlement had grown from a population of thirty-three to eighty-one. During the four month, all forty membres of the Circle of the Long Stride had arrived to behold the Dûna, the moot stone, guided to it by a blinking star that had shone brighter than all for the duration of a moon cycle. All the druids who had arrived agreed: The Dûna was a holy place, and it would serve as their meeting stone for all eternity. The growing settlement created work for those of neighbouring villages who had nothing to inherit, and bonds of allegiance formed between Ha-Dûna and its neighbours, as well as sparks of rivalry. Language barriers were hard to breach, but trade and favours spoke a thousand words. The druids of the Circle of the Long Stride decided the first year that the Dûna and Ha-Dûna by extension should serve as the centre of their circle, and should strive to be a core hub of druidism in the highlands. Whenever they would go out to other villages to spread the word of the gods and tend to the inhabitants’ qualms, they would also make sure to spread the message that Ha-Dûna was a haven for druids and those devoted to the gods, and would accept all who would be willing to work in the name of divinity. After that, the meeting adjourned, and the druids once more travelled out into the highlands to perform their tasks, eager to see their capital grow into a jewel the gods could be proud of.

A bastion to the glory of Fìrinn, Claroon, Gibbou, Reyia, Macsal, Seeros, Boris and the World Tree.

---

A whipping crack vibrated off his vision. His enemies fist slammed into his nose, popping it in a burst of pain and sending a shockwave that blurred his mind and vision. He felt the pain black out his mind for a spare moment, only to flicker back on for him to see another fist coming for his teary eyes.

A resounding slam dug into his face. He felt his head rip backwards, his brian sloshing to the back of his skull and flipping his consciousness upside down. FIngers went numb and a stabbing fizzle radiated across the skin of his body. Dirt clogged his nostrils, the cobbled floor shredding his back. A flash of metal.

A terrible clang bounced off his forehead. He felt his mind snap away from his body with the blow, leaking in an inky blackness. Another clang and he felt his presence rip away from his pained body for a moment again. A third clang but the pain gripped him tight this time, only blinking out when his mind refused to work.

Whack. Pain stabbing his bones. Crack. Blurry vision fading. Slam. Slam. Slam...

---

“Renny!” A voice bellowed out over the battlefield. Soil churned to a reddened mud. Buildings reduced to cobble and splinters. A once outstanding town and small stronghold of the Order of the Golden Light, smashed to bits by their many enemies. Bronze clad enemies had torn the walls asunder and had flooded the streets. The sky had cloaked the sun from the scene with storm clouds. Swarms of soldiers pushed against each other, shield to shield, through the narrow streets of Yalin. The air was choking, flaked with dirt and hazes of blood and sweat.

“Renny!” Hal’s voice ripped through battle screams again. The soldier was being jostled in the front lines of the battle, his shield screeching against an enemy’s in a push. His eyes peered past a restricting helmet at the lifeless body of Ren, an enemy soldier straddling the corpse and planting the end of his shield repeatedly into the boy’s malformed face.

“Open!” The familiar voice of Talun croaked over the nasal helmets and swinging blades. A hand behind Hal pushed him forward, creating a divet in the line of the Order’s soldiers and allowing the enemy to spill in to meet their spears.

“Close!”

Hal wrenched himself back into the line, nearly tripping on a fresh body. Only a good handful of the soldiers of the Order found themselves in Talun’s formation. It was quickly made and wedged between two buildings with the front taking the brunt of the enemy assault and the back bare and open for the enemy to pinch them off -- which was only a matter of time. Outside of the formation the Order’s soldiers were being ruthlessly slaughtered alongside the citizens of Yalin. Women were gutted, men were nailed to the buildings. The only mercy was the quick death of the children. Hal couldn’t help but wonder where the Golden Light had gone.

“Open!”

Hal was pushed out of place, and the enemy spilled in. Strong spears thrusted forward and skewered them quickly.

“Close!”

A thick hammer slammed into Hal’s ribs, launching him from his position. He landed on the ground, a sharp, sticky pain pounding in his side. His breathing was quickened as he looked down to see a spear of white bone sticking out of his broken chain shirt. His breaths turned shallow and he tried to peel his vision from it. Looking up all he saw was the enemy take advantage of his now empty spot, his brothers forced into open combat with the enemy.

A spray of blood painted his face as Brother Jermand’s neck was cut. Hal clenched his teeth, attempting to wiggle away from the scene, a gushing slosh dribbling from his rib and soaking his pants. He felt weak. He felt defeated. He felt his mind slipping from his body. He felt his lids slipping over his eyes.

---

Brother Talun’s throat was caked with dust and pain. It was hoarse and yet he still felt his commands roaring as he swung his blade. The enemy had broken his ranks and have swarmed him. Renny was gone. Hal was gone. Jermand was gone. The Light was gone.

He gnashed his teeth as he put his reserve energy into a might swing, his blade catching the chain of an enemy and pushing them to the ground. He felt the squish under his boots as he kicked down repeatedly. An elbow hit the back of his head and he tried to turn, the enemy had flanked them -- his own soldiers were being pushed into him from the front and back.

All was lost. He felt his spirit leak out of his chest, only to be replaced with despair. All was lost. Then a sudden roar threw him from his doubt. The clouds had parted. Rays of light beamed down -- they were brighter than the sun!

The enemies reeled at the sudden shift in light -- nearly being blinded by the beam that collected over the remaining soldiers of the Order. Talun felt it in his stomach and he lifted his sword, “THE LIGHT IS WITH US!”

What few brothers remained let out a whooping call, forcing what energy they had left in their bones to push their advantage. They were distracted by the fight, a confusion flooding the enemy, but Talun saw it -- a figure descending alongside the light. He pointed his sword in the direction of the shadow as it landed on the ruins of a building.

Slowly all but the most heated of the fighting stopped to witness this shadow -- the light engulfing its features. Frightened by the implications, the enemies slowly began to recede and when a godly voice boomed in an ancient and terrifying tongue -- they ran.

Talun fell to his knees, his brothers alongside him. His right eye was punished shut from the fighting and his ears were cauliflowered under his helmet. Most of his brothers were bloodied and mute with exhaustion -- and in this sudden silence, Talun could hear the gurgle of Hal. His reverence for the figure was pushed aside by his care for his brother and he scrambled over the gore to his fallen companion. He lifted Hal’s head and placed it on his lap, a bloody mouth gaping up at him like a fish.

“Hal...”

A hand gripped Talun’s shoulder and he froze in fear. The godly presence was behind him. In his peripherals all he could see were unsullen sandals that seemed to ignore the wash of blood and bile on the ground. The soldier did not dare to turn -- and he didn’t need to.

A gentle hand reached over to him, offering him a simple wooden cup filled with water. He took it, eyes looking down at Hal’s. Talun brought the cup to Hal’s lips and tipped it, the water pouring into the gaping mouth until the cup was empty. Hal sputtered in response and closed his eyes. A tear stung Talun’s own visage and he closed his own.

His eyes shot back open almost immediately, Hal’s head lifted off his lap. A brightness was in Hal’s eyes. Talun looked down at Hal’s torso, his skin uncut at the rib, his wound gone. The two looked behind them at the godly figure. He wore simple robes and a pleasant smile. His eyes were the color of the earth just like his hair.

“Keep the cup.” The figure said.

“Keep it, let it help you.”

The Itztli managed to land their Magnus Pod steeds gently enough in a tall grass-field. From the skies they couldn’t believe what they saw, yet on the ground it became quite clear. Massive flowers, the size of trees, stood over them. Filling the whole plain with a gentle but pleasant smell. The tall grass grew upon very fertile ground. That wasn’t all. Grand bushes grew to the size of an Itztli, and their berries were the size of lemons. At first the lizards touched them carefully. Expecting them to explode or fall apart. They didn’t. The first lizard who took a bite was quick to share just how delicious the big, black berries tasted. To the warmblooded Itztli the colder temperature didn’t really matter but the Eloxochitli felt uncomfortable and sluggish. Everyone rested for a moment. But then, by order of the Eloxochitli they rose up and marched down south. There, just over the horizon, the great insect-city should be.

As they marched, more oversized marvels revealed themselves. The great ants, bees and red wasps who roamed the land were remarkably peaceful and sedated, showing little interest in the new arrivals other than to skitter around or buzzing over them as they went about their days. Of the mortal population only the bright red Vespian were reliably sighted, often as they caught sight of the procession and flew either south as well or moved clear of their path. The other two races were only spotted for moments by the most eagle eyed before they blended back into the long grass.

Eventually the procession caught their first sight of the ancient city, the corner of its great wall coming into view where it met a river where it flowed into the sea. Several stone based aqueducts fed off of the river a ways upstream, flowing down under the outerwall and into the land beyond. Clustered around the river mouth was a small series of wooden warphs hosting a number of sailing vessels sporting up to four dozen oars along their lengths, although most were smaller, likely fishing vessels. Oddest of all was a very small ship transporting the carcases of a large armored deer like creature coming in to dock right as the lizards watched, powered by the wing beats of a Vespian sat gripping the sides of the vessel at its back acting as what Artifex would have described to an uncomprehending audience as an air based outboard motor.

The majority of the vessels still in dock seemed to be for transporting foraging parties and their gains across the river. A glance to the west revealed the location of the docks sister, or one of them at least, found by a small town resting upstream. A glance east found a saltwater port made of and guarded by stone walls where goods would eventually end up in bulk transport.

The sailors and dock workers were goblin or Vespian, with only a smattering of the larger and bulkier Matnarin women sprinkled among them doing the heavy lifting, the last of the goods from the docked vessels being transported into the city via a small gateway in the wall. Atop these walls a crowd had gathered, brought by news born by Vespian hunters. Guards, mostly Mantarin women, were scattered around this crowd keeping order, but most seemed to be regular citizens coming to see the strange new species gracing their island’s shores. They were clad in clothing made out of furs of forest beasts, chitin, flax, and preserved giant petals, generally woven in the form of a toga.

It was clear that the people were being moved out of the way of their arrival as the last of the ships were unloaded and the workers politely urged inside or back onto their vessels which then sailed either away or to a place they could watch. Some of these were chased further off by Vespian soldiers but it was clear that while the leadership were somewhat concerned about the risks the lizards might pose, most of the citizenry were more curious than frightened by their sudden arrival as the large numbers of onlookers watching them with anticipation could attest.

From the east came a ship far more opulent than the sturdy workships docked in the harbor. Adorned with silver trim, carved from the finest wood and sporting a figurehead carved in the image of Artifex himself, the spaciouse vessel clipped along at a steady pace until it reached the bank upon which the embassy found themselves. The deck of the ship hosted a number of individuals from all species but it was a Mantarin male clad in a toga as white as the walls of the city, who approached them, wings humming as he walked down a lowered gangplank, his arms spread wide to demonstrate his disarmed state. He paused at the end of the wooden ramp, perhaps unwilling to risk the embarrassment of his heeled feet sinking into the earth and bowed before the embassy and asked, “Greetings to you travelers, do you speak the language of our divine father Artifex?”

The Itztli, for their part, were dressed in nothing more than loincloths. Upon their torsos and limbs painted lines traced around them. Forming crude glyphs upon their skin which had mostly aesthetic value. Meanwhile the Eloxochitli wore large mantles with edges painted bright red. It hid their mostly bulbous, toad-like body. On their belts were only stone and some few copper tools. Chisels, hammers, axes and such. The biggest weapon they carried were small copper knives. The Eloxochitli who was leading the expedition, Toltecatl, bid all his Iztli to move backwards and stand behind him as he approached the sandy banks of the river. They did as told. Though some felt an uneasy tension rise. The insect-warriors, as they appeared, seemed to be herding civilians away. With focused eyes they watched the opulent ship arrive. The few Iztli artisans that had come with meanwhile marveled at the construction. The silver trim. The figurehead! They wanted nothing more than to board the ship and observe everything upon it. While asking an endless barrage of questions. The hunters kept an eye on the guards on the ship though. Even more so when one insect walked up to their reverend leaders. Except he stopped right before he got off the ship. Perhaps it was a safety measure. So he could quickly run up the ship again and flee.

Toltecatl was determined to have peace though. Even if the strange creature spoke with clicks and clacks he couldn’t understand. He guessed that if he spoke in his own guttural tongue made mostly of short, low growls and grunts the diplomate wouldn’t understand him either. High above all of them, the colors in the skies which usually moved slow and gently like clouds became agitated. They started to twist and edgy around. Like some unknown force was twisting and churning them. Toltecatl felt the presence of his god once more. Urging him not to speak with his tongue, but with his mind. He bowed down before the insect and summoned up the visions he had of the mission. Of how he was supposed to come there and pass the great walls. He summoned up every thought he had about peace. About dropping weapons and Itztli embracing each other. His imagination added to it, replacing one Itztl with the bug-diplomat that had come before them. These thoughts he bundled. Slowly but surely he tried to reach out with his mind towards the one before him and offered up the bundled thoughts.

The insectoid diplomat gripped his head and stumbled, generating sounds of alarm from those on the ship. However the Mantarin quickly steadied himself and waved his concerned compatriots back from attempting to intervene. He looked Toltecatl in the eyes, nodded, glanced at the ground, steeled himself and then carefully stepped off of the gangplank. His foot sank a little in the mud, causing the Mantarin’s skin to flush the lightest of greens, but he pressed forwards onto firmer ground as he approached Toltecatl, arms spread wide.

For a moment Totlecatl was afraid he had harmed the diplomat. It would seem that his companions thought that as well. At least until he waved them off. Which put the Eloxochitl at ease as well. When the bug descended the plank and sunk slightly in the mud, he even summoned a very small smile on his face. He received the bug diplomat with open arms, embracing him like he embraced his brothers. Which was a bit of an awkward sight considering his quite small arms and the carapace having insect pushed into his bulbous body. None the less, they embraced. When Totlecatl released his friend he turned to his brothers and charges. Three distinct grunts came from him. The Zasterhian word for peace. All Itztli cheered and hissed in excitement. Meanwhile Totlecatl turned back to his newly made friend.

In his own mind he brewed up the memories of a vision he himself barely understood. It were visions of bright white stone like he had never seen before. Piled high up, not like a pyramid but like a wall. Four walls, each with grand columns carrying the beams. It looked like grand wall, with a majestic vaulted ceiling. Stairs coiled around thick columns or up walls. Creating stories with which great piles of tablets laid. In his vision he could see the grant building be raised up again and again, but within the walls. He once more offered these memories and pointed at the great white walls. He uttered the Zastarhian sound for library.

The Mantarin stood stock still for a few moments as it took in this information before his skin turned a sunny yellow. He nodded, turned, and clicked something to those onboard the ship who had a similarly jubilant reaction as the Itztli, before pointing at one of them in particular, a goblin woman in black robes decorated with yellow thread wearing a similarly colored crown with two large curved antlers or horns on it. The two seemed to argue briefly before she too walked down the gangplank. As she approached she reached to her side and retrieved a hammer and chisel from a holster at her side, each carefully decorated with unknown symbols and iconography while also showing clear signs of use. Both she presented reverently upon upturned palms to the Mantarin diplomat Mantarin diplomat who took them and in turn presented them to Totlecatl with equal care as he had received them while uttering a crude mimicry of the Zastarhian sound for Library.

Totlecatl carefully took the tools in his hand. He observed the symbols to see if they had any magical meaning. They didn’t. None the less he slowly raised the tools for all to see. Then he telekinetically raised them even higher. The Itztli behind him began to chant the Zastarhian word for Library in exhilaration. Even Totlecatl’s Eloxochitli brothers uttered the noise for library in an approving tone.

---

Several months and a great deal of xenolinguistic research later
The inner city of Sancta Civitas had grown a lot since the days when the Mantarin had effectively squatted in one of its gatehouses but was still far from reaching its full potential. Rather than a singular mass the construction work within the city had developed into four separate towns camped within the grand walls. The first hugged the majority of the western inner wall but clumped mainly around the gates leading out into the cordoned off farmland and managed wilderness and dealt primarily in the processing of the agricultural produce of the city. The second sat next to the gates to the seaport and was a center of commerce, ship building and the city’s military. Between these two towns and sitting away from the road connecting them was an industrial sector that was segregated away from where anyone wanted to live so that the fumes of smelters, forges, tanneries and the like wouldn't choke the life of the other districts.

Finally, sitting atop a hill near the back of the city was one situated around the palace that had been built by Artifex himself. Scattered around the city’s seat of power where most of its other major civic buildings, including a modest Amphitheatre, the grandest and most gloriose temple in the city dedicated to both Artifex and Cadien, a smaller one dedicated to Tekret Et Heret who’s lack of grandeur obfuscated how integral it was to the training of the cities bureaucrats, a rudimentary hospital and the city's first public bathhouse.

The latest addition to this was the library. After an initial bout of linguistic learning, planning and convincing the city’s bureaucrats to fund the project construction had begun. Guided by the embassy's designs and aided by their reptilian hands and telekinetic minds, numerous builder-priests and scores of laborers turned stone and wood imported via ship into art on a grand scale, raising a monument to arcane knowledge such that the world had never seen before.

It was truly a grand testament. The path leading from the main road was made of the same white stone the city was so known for. A colonnade led you towards the stairs that would carry you to the entrance. The columns were chopped far too thick to carry the simple entablature. Yet the Eloxochitly insisted upon it. For one day the columns would be chiseled down into statues of the grand mages of history, upholding not just the horizontal beams depicting the great feats of magic. The crepidoma led to the main elevated level. Which carried the cyclopean columns that upheld the large, domed roof of the main hall inside. The dome, however, was not complete. A hole in the middle of it allowed some light to pour in. Within the grand entrance hall stairs snaked around the inner columns or along the inner walls. Small openings led to long hallways. Filled with rooms, big and small. All suspiciously empty. Only a few rooms were furnished with benches, tables and the likes. It was a true labyrinth that surrounded the main hall. One that went up and down with no clear, standardized levels. Some passages led to tunnels carved into the earth and stone. Leading to deep vaults. More often than not, corridors ended abruptly. As if something was to be built at their end but the builders hadn’t gotten to it yet. Deep under the ground the tunnels stopped in the same, sudden manner. The Eloxochitli insisted that this was all per design.

Some doors led one outside. Into the large gardens. Much like the inside of the library, the outside had no care for level terrain. Small, artificially raised mounds surrounded the large, circular building. Some places were hedged, others paths led to grand terraces sitting in front of small insect-made waterfalls. Meditative rock gardens were tucked away in hidden corners and small arbors were planted with among others: alder, rowan and hawthorn. It was a gentle, soothing place.

On the day that work was deemed complete a celebration was held, with people coming from all across the city to bear witness to the latest addition to their city. The Mantarin Queen Regina herself made one of her rare appearances to take part in the ceremonial blessing of the construction, before the floor was briefly handed over to the Mantarin Diplomat Amulius, who had first welcomed the Embassy to the city.

“Thank you one and all for coming on this historic day where we celebrated not just a new addition to our city’s architecture, but also once again celebrate our latest and newest friends and members of our community, the Eloxochitli and Itztli,” a cheer went up from the crowd as the Mantarin swept a hand towards the Embassy’s people, “and a celebration of the gifts that they have brought. Magic!” the mantarin raised a theatrical hand, spoke a few words, and conjured a simple glowing sphere. It was an amateur's display of magic by most standards, but to the masses, most of whom had never who had never seen such things in their lives, it inspired first silent awe and then wild cheering.

“Thank you, thank you. I am told that this is the least you will see today, for the structure we have built together is to be one of the centers of magic, not just on our island but on the entirety of Galbar! ” more cheering “and now, to officially open this wonder of the world I hand the stage over to my good friend: Totlecatl!” Amulius announced before bowing to the crowded and making way for the head of the Embassy.

A proud Totlecatl moved up the stage to face the crowd. The Library had been constructed as per their masters visions. As his new friend Amulius said, it would form a center for magic across all of Galbar. “Friends of all races!” He boomed across the open plaza before him. “Today will be immortalized forever. We could not have done it alone and therefore we wish to offer our thanks to Queen Regina and her countless advisors for allowing us to build this magnificent marvel here. Without them, The Library would never be made. They have our gratitude. And so do all of you have our gratitude for allowing us into your city. For helping us, teaching us and in turn letting us teach you. Maybe the gods forever bless Sancta Civitas!”

An Itztli got upon the elevation upon which The Library stood and handed over the ceremonial tools that were first offered to the Emissaries when they arrived. The three brothers of Totlecatl who had come with each closed their eyes and lifted their arms. Totlecatl, telekinetically, was raised up until he hung in front of the entablature and carved not the Zastarhian word but the Artifexian word for Library into it.

Then the eternal faith of the Eloxochitli was answered. They had insisted at every moment it came up that the Library should be almost entirely empty. For a blessing would fill it. As Totlecatl was lowered back down the colors in the skies became agitated again. Just like the first time the Emissaries arrived at Sancta Civitas. Yet now it came closer and closer. The Itztli and Eloxochitli were calm and content. It was their god who came down, after all. The Winds of Magic entered The Library through the oculus in the dome and filled the main hall almost entirely. Light flashes a hundred times within. Then the Winds ascended back towards the heavens. Leaving behind tiny wisps of blue energy floating everywhere in the main hall.

“Enter The Library, friend. Call for wisps.” Totlecatl said to Amulius. The first Vessel would be filled with the most humble display of magic.

The Mantarin ambassador nodded slowly and then walked towards the library, his carapace tinged with black, which Totlecatl now recognised as the Mantarin color for awe. It was an emotion reflected by the gathered crowd, who held their collective breath as they craned their necks to see inside. Just past the doors of the Library Amulius raised his hands to the wisps and spoke the incantation for the same light spell he had demonstrated to the crowd.

One wisp shot off straight to Amulius. It stopped in between his hand and began to glow brightly. The otherwise gaseous looking wisp began to solidify as the glow vanished. Creating a rectangular tablet in between his hands. Upon it was written, in Artifexian, the incantation for the spell and the specific instructions towards the mana it carried. It fell into Amulius’ hands once the tablet was fully formed. The diplomat stared disbelievingly at it for a few moments before raising it up for all to see “First spell recorded!” Boomed an excited Totlecatl over the cheering of the amazed crowd, “Endless more to eternalize!”

---

Hekti stilled as a labored breath broke the silence in the room. He motioned for Nalla to pause, eyes pinpointed at the sleeping figures before them. One changed positions underneath the fur coated bed. Tension seemed to flood into the room, weighing Hekti down. It was palpable. His heart bounded in chest, limbs poised, dragged gripped. They waited in the shadows for the silence to return and when it did, they moved forward.

They neared the bed, Hekti on his side, Nalla on hers. There was a twisted smile on her face, one that sickened him but Nalla wanted the same thing he wanted. Hekti looked down at the old man, a cruel human. His father, the village chief, sleeping next to his favorite bitch. A woman Nalla detested even more than he did- Her older sister.

It was their job to make it look like a fight had broken out between them. A sad situation they would say, ending in death. With both of them out of the picture, Hekti could take over the chiefdom and Nalla would be free to do as she pleased, no longer living in her sister’s shadow. Hekti knew what she wanted though. Every human had a seed inside of them, one that hungered for power, and who would throw away being the chief's wife?

With their plan clear, Hekti nodded to Nalla and plunged the blade into his father's heart. His father's eyes awoke as he gasped. Hekti began to feel hot, his blood pumping as he silenced his father with a hand over his mouth. He was a large man, his father, but Hekti held him as he struggled, feeling him grow weaker and weaker through his fingertips. Eyes full of hatred as they fluttered shut at last. Hekti looked over to see a similar scene with Nalla, though she had decided to stab her sister several times. The smell of blood permeated the room, coating the bed furs in crimson liquid.

Mouthwatering.

Before he could wonder why the blood smelled so good, he witnessed Nalla licking her dagger. He grew hot, uncomfortably so as he looked at his own dagger, still embedded in his father’s heart. It called to him, ever second his heart beat, every moment he felt thirstier and thirstier. With inhuman speed he wrenched his dagger free, and held it up high, letting the blood drip into his mouth.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He smacked his lips, let the blood coat his face as his hands shook. Every drop, so delicious, so intoxicating. He stabbed his father again, repeating the process to his delightful smile. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nalla feasting upon her sister’s corpse, drinking and licking the blood that ran from her wounds. Hekti, aloof to his own reality, looked down upon his father and did the same.

It didn’t take long for his crime to take root in his mind, so caught up in the moment of the blood, that with startling clarity he pushed himself free and fell to the floor. He looked upon his shaking hands and to his horror he found them drenched in his father’s blood. He looked over to see Nalla, still lapping up what little remained.

“N-Nalla, what have we done?” he asked, holding his head.

The girl with the flame red hair looked up, her face stained in dark crimson as the moonlight glinted in her eyes. She was terrifying to behold. She spoke, her voice silky smooth as ever, “Tsk tsk, we did what we wanted and the gods gave us power for getting rid of these… insufferable people.” she said, walking over to him. Hekti flinched as she knelt beside him, pulling him into her bosom. He began to speak, but was silenced.

“Shh shh. No need to make a fuss. We did what we had to do to survive Hekti. Now you can be chief and I can be your wife. Should we…” She twirled his curly hair with a finger, leaning into his ear and whispered what all souls need from a lover.

The two got up, leaving the two corpses behind as they made their way through the silent halls of the long cabin. His home was not far, but first they needed to dispose of their clothes and clean themselves. He still didn’t know what was going on, or the new strength that pulsed through his veins, but the chiefdom was his and Nalla was his. What more could he ask for?

He pushed open the door to the outside world, the first few rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon. One hit him, and before he knew it, there was a flash of intense pain and then nothing.

Nalla, who had remained inside the cabin, watched as her ticket to power burst into flame before vaporising into ash. Instinctively, she lurched back into the safety of the shadows, now knowing what the sunlight brought. She tilted her head, a bemused look on her face.

“Well… Better him than me.” she said with a toothy smile, before licking her fingers.

---

It was a sunny day today, Ceres noted, as seemed to be usual around these parts. It was far different from the weather south of the Zodiac Stones on that particular part of Toraan, to the far southwest after passing one of the two thin strips of land connecting the peninsula to the main continent. But as much as it was impressive, it was also somewhat expected, as the surreal image of a tree that pierced the skies dominated the landscape. Massive primordial roots sprung from it, sometimes breaking ground and created massive natural arcs, and from those arcs grew strange flora, only seen in that particular land, and from those arcs hung all kinds of things. The most common were long, vivid green vines which little primates used to climb up onto the top of the arcs; but there were also structures built all around the roots, both above and below them. Small settlements, it seemed, but from so far away Ceres couldn’t care enough to actually pay attention to the detail of those settlements’ inhabitants.

Saying the land was thriving and full of life was an understatement. As soon as Ceres jumped down from her vantage point above a root, she began to take in her surroundings with much more care.

Every single centimeter of land seemed to have some sort of living being on it. Most of those living beings happened to be plantlife of some kind, and by Sirius there were lots of kinds.

Even without paying too much attention to single details, she could still catch a fair few glimpses of the sheer depth and complexity of the almost exclusively plant-based ecosystem. At one point she looked above her to see a bundle of fluffy leaves and twigs looking back at her, before flapping its ‘wings’ and flying off into the thick canopies above. Some time later, she saw what at first looked like a squirrel but turned out to be an awfully agile misshapen mass of bark being dragged by a set of thin green tendrils into the innards of a tree through a small opening on its side.

Ceres wasn’t in a hurry, not really, so she spent her time walking aimlessly through the lands, with the only vague goal inside her mind being finding out if the massive Tree whose canopy dominating the skies was indeed real or not.

And so time passed, day turned to night and night to day several times as she traversed the tricky terrain, circumventing great sinkholes or massive ravines likely caused by the great roots all over the land. She was easily able to avoid such things by hovering around them, but a part of her wanted to travel the land as if she was mortal.

Then she stumbled upon a lamb. It was a small, fragile thing, standing almost frozen, suspended in a ray of sunlight in between three tree trunks. It quickly snapped its head around to stare at Ceres, unflinching even as its legs seemed to shake slightly from… Fear? Exhaustion? It was impossible to know. Regardless, Ceres drew close to it, close enough to extend her hand towards it.

The tiny creature attempted to bite her earthen armor, “No, tiny creature. You can not eat that.”, to which it just bleated. It felt as though it was trying to pull her somewhere. She could easily toss it aside, but decided to humor the lamb.

Finding a new burst of energy, the lamb rushed off with Ceres floating behind it. Leading her to a small, injured and softly crying plant-girl. She rested her feet back on the ground, she placed her weapon on her back, the stone of her armor reaching around and holding it in place. She stepped forward, reaching her hand towards the little young thing. “Who are you?” The girl gasped and shied away, covering her face with her arms and revealing her scraped knees in the process, leaking a golden liquid.

“D-Don’t eat me!” She said in a quivering, small voice.

“I don’t intend to eat you.” she said, tiny lights reminiscent of stars began to hover in the air, illuminating the immediate area.

The girl sniffled and looked up at Ceres, her cream-colored eyes shining like two halos in the dark. “... I’m lost… I followed Whiteseed into the forest but then I fell and… And...” Her lower lip quivered and she looked at her knees, not daring to touch the injuries. The lamb named Whiteseed however, went up and started licking the scrapes, letting out a few quiet bleats in between each lick and eliciting a soft hiss from the girl.

Each of the specks of light began to emit a subtle, comforting warmth, “It will be okay. Where do you live?”

“Um… Ar… Arborea. I live in the big tree. Umm… Why don’t you have a face, are you from beyond the sea??” The girl asked, her gaze following one of the closest specks of light.

“I crossed the sea to reach here.” she said, re-reaching her hand out, “Why don’t we walk back over there?”

The girl slowly went to grab Ceres’ hand but hesitated at the last moment. “But my knees… I fell and now they hurt and they are bleeding…”

“And now you need to stand up and walk over to someone who can tend to that. You have the strength to do so.”

The girl scrunched up her nose, grabbed onto Ceres’ hand and forced herself up onto her feet, grunting and whimpering as she limped. Whiteseed immediately ran up to the girl’s side and stomped on the ground happily.

The two and the little lamb walked through the forest, with the little girl occasionally losing her footing only for Ceres to catch her weight and gently correct her steps. This continued until the thick forest gave way to a bright -and utterly massive- clearing. Placing atop a hill growing from the middle of the great clearing was the beginning of the Great Tree, with its wide canopy so far up that its shadow impacted the crops planted surrounding the Tree’s base no more than a passing cloud would.

There were three paved roads, made of quarried stone. Every single one lead back into the seemingly endless forest around them, disappearing into the thick foliage in different directions, and around the roads were several hundred acres of farmland with a few dozen homes dotted across the landscape here and there, and many times that number of barns. It was midday, so even from afar one could clearly see the figures of the hundreds of humans tending to the fields, as well as the ones filing in and out of the barns, carrying different supplies or wielding different tools.

It was a thriving city, made more apparent by the occasional terror-bird pulled cart full of trade goods heading out of or into the city. And a city it was even if only vertically, for the openings that led into or out of the Great Tree were abuzz with activity during that time of the day, with temporary stalls set up and people mingling and enjoying their lives in the light. Clearly artificial structures were built on top of platforms peeking out of the Inner Tree, with some of the platforms even being nearly completely bare as they were used by the city’s inhabitants as landing pads for their strange flying mounts. They would climb on top of them and secure their grip, and then the pod would fly up and then shoot out in one of three directions, all aligned with the paved roads along the ground.

Suddenly, Ceres was snapped out of her reverie by a tug on her left hand, only to turn around and see the young girl grinning and pointing at a small cluster of structures no more than a couple kilometers away, hopping happily on the spot and seemingly having forgotten all about her scraped knees, even though they were still bleeding a little.

“T-That’s my home! With daddy and mommy! Daddy gave me my dress last year cause I asked him for human clothes, he said potatoes used to wear it before me, so it’s a very nice dress!! Come, come!!” She said quickly, then took off running and skipping with Whiteseed in tow towards the tiny village with no more than a handful of structures.

Ceres, of course, followed. Though she was careful in doing so, eventually she had come up to the village and saw the Girl pulling on the leafy dress of an older looking plant woman, with a pale brown skin color and striking grey eyes, as well as dark green leaves. The woman was holding a basket full of wool, which she quickly set down once she saw the state of her daughter. Gasping, she knelt down and patted her down and checked her all over for more injuries, before looking her in the eye and hugging her tightly.

“Hedera! I knew I shouldn’t have let you go into the Forest on your own, it’s too dangerous in there… Look, you scraped your knees… And you’ve been crying!” Hedera’s mother said breathlessly as she caressed her daughter’s head, up until Hedera pulled away and huffed.

“I… I wasn’t crying ok! I just um… Yeah! I just did like the humans and peed from my eyes!” Hedera said proudly, putting her hands on her hips. Meanwhile, her mother had taken in a deep breath and couldn’t help but chuckle in relief.

“Oh, you little berry! Humans don’t pee from their eyes, who told you that?”

“Huh?! They don’t?!! Jackie lied to me!!!” Hedera said with a pout, while her mom laughed some more and brushed her fingers behind Hedera’s ears, making the girl shiver and yelp. “M-Mom!”

“So? You walked all the way here by yourself with those two big injuries? Aw, my little cube of marrow, you’re so brave!! Who’s a brave girl, who’s a brave girl?” Hedera’s mom asked as she went to scratch much more directly behind Hedera’s ears, making the girl drop to her knees and do a weird mix between unbridled laughter and panting. “You are, you are!!! Yes, you are…!” After a while though, she stopped. Some other villagers walked past as if nothing out of the usual was happening. Well, nothing except for the large, armoured foreigner. But even then they didn’t seem scared, just curious.

“Uuuuuh…” Hedera panted for a few moments and when she had recovered, she turned and pointed at Ceres, who was standing cautiously a few meters away. “Nuh-uh, the nice shiny black lady from across the sea showed me the way after I got lost. Uh, I mean, I didn’t get los-” Hedera stopped talking when her mom patted her head and stood up, walking briskly over to Ceres and nodding her head in thanks and respect.

“Thank you for helping my little girl come back home. I mean it. I’m Hamame, and my girl is Hedera. My partner runs a weavery in the Inner Tree for the humans, so the humans kindly give us some materials to keep going… I don’t know what I’d do without Hedera. Really, thank you. Could I ask what you name is, though? I’d like to remember…” All through her mother’s little speech, Hedera had been staring up at her with her mouth slightly ajar in surprise and by the end she had managed to grab a hold of her mom’s hand.

“It is Ceres.” she said. Before turning around, and starting to walk away.

“W… Wait!” Hamame shouted, springing forth to hold Ceres’ hand, “Would you, uh, like to join us for a meal? You’re not Sylphi right? So you must eat a few times a day. Please, let me thank you for what you did today.”

Ceres stopped, “I do not eat. If you wish to repay me, then pass the favour to someone else less fortunate than yourself.”

“... I see.” Hamame said dejectedly, tightening her hold on Hedera’s hand and sighing, “You’re an Explorer, aren’t you? Even though you’re not from around Arborea...”

“Not an explorer, but perhaps something akin.” she said.

Hamame chuckled and turned toward Hedera and asked, “Hedy, do you remember what the kind Explorer we met ten days ago told us?”

Hedera gasped and grinned, “YOU DO NOT NEED A BADGE NOR RENOWN TO BE A TRUE EXPLORER!” She practically shouted, eliciting snickering and laughter from a few human villagers passing by, to which Hedera replied with a massive smile.

“Well, there you have it Ceres. If even the Explorers say it is so, then you might as well be one. You will be welcome into my home any time, you just need to ask the Guardians at the entrances to the Inner Tree for Hamame and Itoper’s Weavery and they will give you proper directions.” With that, Hamame let Ceres’ hand go and nodded again. “I'll get out of your leaves now, then. We have to get back to the Weavery… Both to bring the wool and get little Hedy’s wounds treated. Bright day, Ceres!” She said and went to pick up her basket of wool, then walked off with Hedera in tow, who waved one last time at Ceres and pet Whiteseed, who was following the girl closely.

The wool shifted slightly as a metal disc materialized inside of it, an intricate design was on one side as to measure the position of the celestial bodies, while on the other was inscribed a message, ‘For Hedera, May The Stars Guide Your Way.’

---

The walls of Ketrefa were like nothing Brundt had ever seen before.

The wooden palisade around Thyma had been maybe ten feet high at most. But the walls of Ketrefa were easily six times that, and made of solid stone. Brundt could not imagine any force on this world that might break them, and it made him wonder why his village thought some oak logs would protect them from people who lived in a place such as this.

It couldn’t even protect them from other tribes…

The boy cast his eyes downward, as he once more thought of all that happened. His home, destroyed. Some druids left him at another village, only for him to be taken from there as well. He would have tried to run, or perhaps make another attempt at fighting, yet before they took him… Cadien had spoken inside his mind. Cadien, his father’s god.

The God of Perfection had told him to be calm, that the warriors of Ketrefa would take him elsewhere, and that he must go with their leader. He was told that he had to be strong, and that he must learn all he could. For his trials were not over, but his siblings still lived.

It was a lot for an eight year-old boy to take in, and he had spent most of the trip walking in morose silence, glancing briefly at the leader - Milos - or the warrior, Gelo, who was always behind him to ensure he would not try to run. He had been told he would be safe if he did not resist, but it was hard to feel safe while constantly being watched by strangers.

Now they had arrived. As they approached the gates, the standard-bearer held Ketrefa’s banner high, and the great doors swung open…

---

Milos knelt before his king, hoping that none noticed the small bead of sweat which slowly oozed down his temple. Gelo and Brundt knelt behind him as well, the boy having been confused about the process, until Gelo simply placed a hand on the child’s shoulder and firmly pushed him down.

“Your majesty,” Milos began. In the absence of a Lord-Captain, commanders were to report directly to the King. “I have returned from an expedition in the east. I regret to inform you that we failed to acquire any plunder.”

Some seemed pleasantly surprised by this. No doubt while he was away and his father was dead, some had been conspiring for ways to claim the rank of Lord-Captain for themselves. The fact that he had failed to obtain a single crop or slave on a raiding expedition would only make whatever they planned far more easy.

But Milos held his tongue, and awaited the King’s judgement.

From atop the looming gilded throne, beside which tall magical fires cast their glow across the court, the corpulent mass of the king leaned forwards. Amurat III, King of Ketrefa and rightful Sovereign of all Humanity, loosed an open scowl as he spoke, jowls waggling, “You tell me you’ve failed, and yet I see a slave brought here. Before me. Tell me, Milos Karras, why you throw filth upon my floor and lie to me about its presence?”

“I speak the truth, your majesty,” Milos said, keeping his tone neutral, even as he felt a sense of outrage at the King’s accusation. “This boy is no slave.” He then took a deep-breath, steeling himself for whatever might happen next. “I am adopting him into House Karras.”

A violent silence gripped the room as the eyes of the entire royal court fell upon the disfigured boy. Nobles felt their attention shift between the foreign child, and the king, as they braced themselves for what could only be a legendary anger from their ruler. After all, Amurat was not a man known for his joy. Not for fifteen years, anyway.

It was to their surprise, then, that the grotesque mass of flesh that had once been a handsome young king began to laugh in that wheezing manner which could only be imitated by those upon whose lungs rest the weight of a number of men, “You’re doing what? Adopting that, that damaged barbarian? Hah!”

The court held their breath as the king laughed until tears began to run off the folds of his face. Eventually, long after the man had exhausted his breath and then some, he eyed Milos more seriously and inhaled, “It’s an amusing joke, but not one a Lord-Captain should make. Maybe you’d be better suited as my fool, and that boy as your idiot assistant. You’re lucky your father never failed me, Karras. If he’d not been as capable as he was I’d have you exiled for this offense.”

With great effort Amurat gripped the armrests of his throne and heaved himself upright. The room shook slightly as his bulk impacted the ground, and he pointed at the scarred boy, “I’ll let you keep that thing as a favour to your house. If they see it that way. Your title though? It is forfeit. You aren’t fit to lead this city's armies, you aren’t even fit to lead raids. Keep your lands, but surrender your sword. That is the price of failure.”

Milos bore the King’s mockery in cold silence, his teeth grinding in rage, but he had not been allowed to reveal the true reason he adopted the boy, and so he was forced to hold his tongue. But that final insult? That was too much. In a flash, Milos rose to his feet and drew his sword…

...then dropped it to the ground. The blade clattered across the stone floor.

“Very well,” the young noble spoke through grit teeth. “There is my sword.”

The King grunted and waved Milos off, showing as little regard for the man as he might for his slaves. There was a susurration, but none spoke. One man, near the back of the room, stepped out while attentions were diverted, but beyond that? The only movement was an enterprising guard gathering Milo’s sword and stowing it at his side like a souvenir.

Milos turned and walked out, ignoring the dozens of eyes on his back. Gelo had turned as pale as a ghost, but regained his wits and followed, ushering Brundt along. The trio approached the large double doors they had first entered through, and instead of waiting for the servants to do so, Milos pushed them open himself. Then the three disappeared from the court, which was now eager to turn to other matters.

As they turned into the hallway a man in polished, if aged, bronze mail stopped them. The Captain of the Gates, Trehe Manzprius, was as recognizable by his armour as his face. A face that was still young, even if its bearer was in the grips of middle age. The Captain’s blue eyes appraised Milos and Brundt carefully before speaking, “I’m sorry, Milos. It was a greater punishment than you deserved. I don’t understand why you’d risk all this for that boy, but I do grasp the sentiment. Your father was a good man, and I owed him before he died. If you need anything... Well. You understand.”

Milos’s pride initially compelled him to object to such an offer, but he had enough sense to avoid doing so. The reality was, he had lost almost everything. He had his lands, but he had been forbidden from leading raids. He would never hold a military position and again, and all his friends or allies would soon desert him. “I will keep that in mind,” he said softly. “Good day, Captain.”

And with those words, the newly-disgraced nobleman carried on toward the exit.

---