---

Qulqiya was still in one of her random journeys when she felt "it".

The feeling was dreadful and it came suddenly, the goddess was too focused on one of her side projects when she was blasted by it, barely a time to think, a truly dreadful affair. By the time she was done grunting in surprise, it was too late, though she suspected it had been too late for much longer than that. Still, she tried one last attempt, she wasn't going to give up, impossibilities made her stronger, right? One last try, with the Diamond Cutter's shining blade, she attempted to free herself, instead, the blade simply fell away, barely making a noise as it fell on the grass, being lost without a noise much like its owner.

[...]

Darkness, endless darkness, what was this? Why was this? How did it end this way? Why was she suffering such a fate? Was it personal? No... it couldn't be, she felt its presence all over galbar, the truth was simple, in her game of gods she forgot to account for one of the most important pieces. The lifeblood. Never having struggled to it for her right of birth had given her a warped viewpoint.

"If I knew it would be like this I would have planned things out better! I would have done more, prepared myself properly for this mess!" she said in a controlled but only barely tone, her rage starting to seep through her facade of confidence and carelessness. She sighed and stared at the void. "Now what?"

The void, nonexistent as it was, gave her the wordless answer: Nothing. Time passed and still: Nothing. It was getting on her nerves.

Angrily, she had to loosen her tie, and it was then that she noticed it. "Wait." Her clothes, her very first act of creation, still existed, pristine and perfect as always, perhaps... perhaps she could do more? She had to try it. First, extending her hand, she conjured a handkerchief. It worked with extreme ease. Then she called for a piece of marble. Once again, it worked. A large boulder, larger still, let it spread as far as she can see, and let an ocean of grass grow on it, and a sky, yes a sky, perfect and shining, no, she preferred the night, but no moon, just the stars, and it didn't matter.

"I can create... anything! I barely feel tired. This is something I could never do on Galbar!" Had she won? Now the world was truly hers. All of it, all of it was hers now!

[...]

And it sucked. There wasn't chaos if there wasn't an order to break. This wasn't right, this wasn't fun. There had to be someone else otherwise there was no point, it was lonely and it hurt her. To have no one to look at what she did and comment on it and question it and react... It was frustrating.

Not that her world was a mess, on the contrary, it was awfully orderly. Under a starlit sky, endless fields of green spread all over, only broken by imposing and pristine towers of glass with geometrical designs and a sense of minimalism, it was a place of order.

Much like one needs to build siege engines to take down what others built, she was an orderly tool meant to break the order of others, however, lacking the other factors, she was a meaningless thing, and an orderly one at that, her chaos was born from destroying the order of others.

She groaned loudly, in a childish manner, rolling in an office chair at the very top of her towers. "Well, what now? What is there for me to do?" she had picked up studying Enmity's work from what she had observed before, but that was tiresome and she often needed a few years of rest between study sessions.

As if on command, a report flew into the room and landed on her glass table, she blinked and looked it over.

It was a status report on The Kuntur.

Did that mean... She could still reach it.

Of course! You can't get rid of us that easily, we gods have built whole systems, there are too many anchors on the other side and we were allowed to grow too adaptive, it's impossible to fully lock us out. Though it was still a massive headache, it was now possible for her to work at least a bit. Not all was lost...

---

It was impossible not to see the Flitterling caravan arriving in town. The light of the fireflies, the buzzing of the crickets and the yells of the cicadas, the little carriages floating by some sort of spell. It was a sight for mortals to behold, it also meant great business opportunities, as these little creatures were able to bring all sorts of goods from all over the words.

"Here here! Rare treats from all over the continent! This is your chance of a lifetime!"

"Amber, Gemstones! Have it today! Crafted by the best termites of this era!"

"We will clean any pests pestering your plantation, all we ask is a simple, Uhm, 10% of your harvest!"

Pinu was not a human who wanted any of these. He sought something more, something far darker than what the brighter firefly lit bazaar could offer. No, he sought the dragonflies first, for his own protection.

"Oh, the black market eh?" one of them said, smirking, carving some wood just for the sake of it. "Do I look like a Mosquito? Get lost..." the tiny 'woman' said to him.

But he already expected that. "Well, sure, but I'd rather have someone trustworthy... who has an interest in proper payment." he flashed a small diamond to the dragonfly, her eyes growing.

"Oh, now we are speaking the same language, a beautiful, blessed language," she smirked widely, pocketing the little gemstone. What uses they had for it was unknown to him, humans speculated they just liked the shine. "What is it that you need, sweetie?"

"Orchid Mantis."

The smile in the dragonfly's mouth turned into a cringing half-smile quite quickly. "You sure? Might not be worth it little human."

"As if I have anything to lose."

[...]

The ambient was one oppressive and mysterious, somehow, it made the tiny figure in front of him look way more important than anyone he had ever seen. She was wearing an elaborate white and pink outfit that kept most of her 'humanoid' features hidden, well-placed candles did wonders for the light and aroma to aid in such feelings, and the fire itself was impressive for a human who didn't even know what candles were.

"I... I come to you, to request your services. My life you see, it's empty, I am old now, forty winters, I have worked hard during all those years, I have married a woman and had a child yet... my life feels empty. Always so calculated, always so predictable, I hear the poets sing about love and I don't know what that is, I have never felt a warm type of anxiety, especially not at my long gone young age." Pinu said in his plea.

The Orchid Mantis nodded slowly, rubbing her long white hair while pondering. "You desire the feeling of young love. I see..." she smiled. "That is an expensive thing."

"Can't you like... take my memories of sunlit fields? Plenty of cave dealers..."

The orchid mantis laughed at that in a very condescending way. "Oh no no... not at all. See... there is a quality over quantity issue here you might not be seeing. You could take all the wheat a man farmed through his life and it would still not be worth a crown, do you understand that?" she took a break to drink something platinum-colored and sparkly. "The same way, I require more than that. I want more than memories... I want a token of your discipline, of that emptiness and objective focused mindset you have, that will be worth something."

"My... mindset? You can take that? Will I lose it forever?"

"It will take a hit, but you may be able to recover..." she reached into a bag and took out a gleaming pink-red gemstone, it was hexagonal in shape and looked warm. "If you are a great man, you might be able to take this sweet, sweet thing for free," she smirked.

"If not... there is a price."

"All things have a price, young human."

He took a deep breath. "... Fine. This will be our deal."

The little flitterling smirked and jumped up, reaching into his forehead in a sudden jump. He gasped but could not move as a feeling of shock and confusion overtook him, the man unable to do anything but to stare as she extracted a token from his mind, jumping back.

"Hmm~ You have a lot that is worthwhile in there, more than you'd think." she smiled, licking her lips gently as she seized the token. Memories of a good childhood, the first sight of his own child, a respectable aura, that man was indeed someone she could easily devour bit by bit.

"I don't plan on coming back. I have what I needed." he looked down and picked the hexagonal pink gem, the Token holding the feelings of young love. His mind felt dizzy and he struggled to focus... could this be what he would have to deal with forever? Was it worth it?

[...]

As he left he squeezed gently the gemstone in his hand, his mind suddenly being filled with something entirely new. His body felt young again, full of energy, and he looked at someone far away, tingles traversed his body, he felt light, and all he could think about was about that vague person far away...

"Oy!" the dragonfly that guided him suddenly kicked his head.

"W-what?" Pinu questioned, startled, taken out of his trance.

"Stop doing that in here. Not only are you being a nuisance... Can't you see you are losing yourself to it? Don't take it so directly, don't squeeze all the energy out of it at once! Put it like, under your pillow or something, so you can take it bit by bit! Else it will be gone in days and you will be a wreck."

The human looked at her with suspicion at first and then nodded. "I... I will try."

The dragonfly sighed "Geez! Why are humans all like that?"

---

Atop a cliff in the Praire of Sol stood a Leon. The beast was unlike any other of its kind at the moment, they were aloof creatures who minded their own business, hunting only what they needed to feed themselves and their children and not paying mind to the simple, meaningless world beneath them. Especially not the human villages.

Yet that one Leon did, it could sniff the unbelievable smells of the village, hear the sound of music, of talk, the squeaks of playing children, and see the faint glow of light from their firepits and torches. It was curious and it wanted to know what the world was like, won't merely spy on them but to be part of it and not stand out as her gigantic form would.

It was an impossible wish, it was a Leon and those were Humans, nobody could change that... Yet, she kept in her heart those impossible prayers.

Her body shone, all of the sudden, and the creature panicked, stepping back from the cliff and trying to escape, yet how could anyone escape light that enveloped their body? Or rather, an answer to her very prayer. Because she would feel her body starting to shift and feel light, the ground got closer and closer to her face before she looked up, confused, rubbing her head in annoyance. Wait... Rubbing? How?

She slowly raised her hands and gasped. What she saw were not white-furred paws, but a pair of tan-skinned human hands.

---

Deep in a jungle, a witch finally fell forward, striking the mud facefirst. She coughed as she sat up after her fall, how undignified of her. Why couldn't she be like the others? At the age of 80 she was already lucky enough to have survived so far, most witches she had met in that almost century weren't as lucky, having met their end by their own means or at the hands of others. Why couldn't she just sit down and wait for her end like most witches of advanced age?

It was inevitable, the magic kept their bodies from aging normally but this didn't mean immortality. The mana when infused into their bodies did not always act the same, some of it wanted to stay still and join their muscles, bones, and skin, yet another bit of it wanted to run freely, in the veins along with the blood, circling in permanent movement. This paradox was more than what any mortal body could handle, even if infused with magic from birth. When it started to hurt them, most witches knew it was time to make peace with their passing, to meditate and go out in peace instead of torn apart by their own magic.

But she didn't want to die, she didn't want to pass on, there was much she still wanted to do, and for that, she was willing to leave everything behind, even the tribe that saw her as their leader.

"Please... some... ah?" her senses tingled, and soon, to accompany it, the chime of a bell-like noise as something approached her. A little woman in elaborate clothes, a faery, a Flutterling no less. "Ah! I have been searching for your kind over the last three years! Please tell me you are not a lone wander."

"Hmm? No, I am a fairy from the local clan, do you seek our advice?" She questioned in a very condescending and disinterested voice, she hadn't really expected that the creature would speak, especially when it was crawling in the mud like that.

The witch merely nodded "I am the apex of mystical knowledge of this region, I believe, I have met many and none could compare themselves to me... yet I wish for more, in particular, I seek answers about my own body."

The fairy laughed, twirling in her elaborate dress. "Oh! The Apex? Is that what the apex of magic looks like for a mortal? Goodness! I hope you are a liar dear." she giggled mischievously. "But... Hmmm! I might actually be fine with helping you out. I am not mean you know? I really am not! I can take you to my court..."

She lowered herself just a bit. "I just need you to a little uhm... test, a little test for me." she giggled again.

"What is it? No matter what, intellect, strength, dexterity, I can do it."

"I want you to accept the animal that you are. You will leave all your possessions behind and crawl towards our tree." she didn't care to hide her smirk, as if she would enjoy the witch's embarrassment and wavering will...

"Fine," she answered dully. A test was a test, after all.

[...]

"Was it really necessary? We the Haetera Piera are better than this..." one of the fairies said.

"Hey, I couldn't just let a mortal come in, furthermore, it was uh... a test to see if she was attuned with nature as us!"

"Oh please, look at your fancy dress, you know that is flitterling talk. You are just a brat."

"Yeah, you are incredibly mean. Either take a mortal here or don't! Torturing them only makes them mad at us."

"She did not complain! She just accepted it the moment I proposed it, who was I to stop her."

The witch looked up at the fairies in the secret grove, wondering if they were talking about ways to help her.

"How do we even help her! Humans are super complicated and she isn't even a full human! Look at that lizard tail and stuff..." a worried fairy said.

"I don't know, we could do tests, see what works, surely we can find a way to keep her body from breaking with time, right?"

"I will do it." one suddenly said, picking up a shell filled with some sort of sparkly liquid. "I just need to open my mind to the mysteries of the world and I am sure the answer will come."

"Yeah right... you always do that and you never come up with any answer! Are you... Ah! What is happening to you."

The Faery for once didn't feel simply more energetic but actually felt an inspiration building up in her, the colors of her body and clothes drained until she was fully monochromatic in appearance.

"In your great ambition, you have forgotten the simple answers of life, Witch. There is a paradox here that your weak mind is unable to see, I should not bother helping those who do not put an effort but your willpower impresses me. See, you need to learn a simple logic, it flees you because you are not allowing yourself to be flexible. Imagine you are going down a path, you carry berries on your hand which will feed you for a day, along that path you find a squash that will feed you for four days, if you wish to take that vegetable home, what must you do?"

With that the faery returned to normal, shaking her head gently. "Gah.."

The witch looked up. "I would... have to let go. To let go of what I have...?" she pondered aloud. Did that mean... The way forward was to let go of one of those types of mana? Could she do it? Could she tame her body to the point it was no longer a paradox? She always felt an affinity to the way the mana clung to her bones and flesh, all she had to do was to tame her own blood now. To fully dedicate herself to the pull she felt from the forces beneath the earth.

---

Oraelia hummed a somber tone as she held Genesis in her arms. The young goddess was fast asleep after a morning of fruitful playing. Now she carried her inside to take a nap. She couldn't help but smile at the notion of a small child God asleep and needing a nap, but there she was. A precious gem in the pool of life. There were many rooms within the house and Oraelia had let Genesis pick a room when they first explored its depths. She of course picked the room with the most windows and that was where Oraelia put her down to rest. A soft bed was hers, and Oraelia placed a gentle kiss on her forehead after covering her in a light blanket. The girl muttered something under her breath as she smiled.

Oraelia left the room, cracking the door and descended down into a lounging room. Decorated with plants and plush furniture. She sat down in a chair, sinking into its depths with a relaxed smile. She let her consciousness wander, never straying to sleep. She couldn't sleep, never again. She had so much on her mind, there was so much to do and she had to figure out who the culprit was behind all of these creatures of the night. She had her guess, but didn't know why or perhaps she didn't want to believe it to be true.

"Oh Gibbou… Did I fail you too?" she asked herself softly, holding her head in her hands. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. It wasn't healthy and did nothing to help the world. She looked back up and sighed.

A presence bumped into her mind like a clay brick. ”Hey, sis, uhm… Got, got a good cure for headaches?”

Oraelia was surprised to hear her sister. She narrowed her brow and answered. "Headaches? Why would you have a headache?" she asked concerned.

”... Long story,” came a sour gurgle. ”You busy? I don’t feel well enough to leave my moon…”

"I just put Genesis to sleep so I'm not terribly busy but I would hate to leave her here for too long. It makes me anxious to think about it." Oraelia confessed. "I could heal you if you come here." she said, standing up.

There came a groan that grinded at the walls of Oraelia’s mind. ”... Okaaaayy…” The presence then disappeared. Oraelia sighed and sat back down. She rubbed her brow wondering how on Galbar a God could get a headache.

An hour or so later, Gibbou slumped in through the portal, looking like a cold, swampy night. The hefty presence of the sun burning at her eyes didn’t seem to help much either, and her shirt had manifested a hood fashioned from the midnight sky, which was pulled as far over her head as possible. With shuffling feet, she dragged herself towards the house, droning agonizingly all the way.

Upon seeing her sister through the window, Oraelia went outside and waited for her on the steps. She couldn't help but smirk at the appearance of Gibbou. "My oh my you poor thing. What happened to you?" she asked walking over to her.

”Poor decisions happened, sis. Very poor decisions.” Her usually bare feet had been stuffed inside midnight slippers with small bats on them. The bags under her eyes could have carried a grain harvest. She shuffled into the closest shadow and sat herself down with her face in between her knees. ”Ugh… My heeeaad…”

Oraelia sat down next to her, flicking her hand to have the sun's light avoid the area. Oraelia was the only source of light in the dark. "Come here you." she said, rubbing her sister's back as she poured her healing powers into Gibbou. The moon goddess purred as her sister’s magic alleviated the pain and stress on her body left over from exposure to gruesomely opulent celebrations and ungodly amounts of godly alcohol. She slowly laid herself backwards against her sister’s chest, resting her hooded head against her chin and neck with a relieved sigh.

”Thank you, sis. You really are the best.”

"I try." Oraelia said, rubbing Gibbou's arm. "How have you been? Besides the whole headache." she asked softly.

”It’s weird, y’know… Experiencing actual contact with people again,” she replied as though Oraelia hadn’t said anything. ”I was sure I had gone completely off the rails after one thousand years, and then again when that portal opened and, and I, uh… I got to meet people again.” She looked up at her sister and blinked. ”Oh, sorry, I got carried away. Did you say something?”

She shook her head, not wishing to damper her sister's low spirits further. She squeezed Gibbou. "We should look to the future, sis. The past is… Difficult and the decisions we've made in the past can always be changed in the present." she said cryptically, but knowing what she meant.

”Hmm…” droned Gibbou for a reply; there was a hint of knowingness in her voice, though it was clear she wasn’t keen on acknowledging it. She shuffled up a bit, pulling down her hood and then laying her soft, blue hair back down against her sister’s shoulder. ”You doing okay nowadays? We haven’t spoken for a bit.”

"I've been…" she started, looking off into the distance. "I have good and bad days. I've been helping those that need it on Galbar and I'm learning a lot. I just wish I could do more." she said.

Gibbou stared emptily into the distance. ”Well, y’know… Can’t help everyone all the time.” She picked some gravel off the ground and flicked lazily, stone by stone, at the ground by her feet. ”Wishing you could do more’s always good, though. Shows dedication.”

"Dedication, yeah…" she said her heart beginning to beat faster as she wandered if it was the right time to talk about what gnawed on her. There was only one way to find out, else it would consume her. "I've uh… Seen these things down on Galbar… The mortals call them many things but one name stands out most. I think it was trolls?" she said.

Gibbou’s skin immediately grew moist as a layer of cold sweat flushed over her. She swallowed. ”Y-yeah. C-crazy world, right?”

Gibbou…" Oraelia gulped, feeling the sweat forming on her sister. "Please, tell me the truth, I'm not angry I just want to know if you created them." she pleaded, her voice shakey as her best faster.

The moon goddess visibly shrank down, pulling her legs closer to herself again defensively. ”... I…” She took a deep breath. ”It’s been a while now since that time.”

Oraelia breathed out through her nose and sank back. "I know Gib, I know. I was aloof when we were on Galbar and now everything feels so out of place." she said, not knowing what else to say.

Slowly, Gibbou pushed herself away from Oraelia, turning to face her instead, except that her eyes were looking everywhere else than at Oraelia herself. She wrapped her arms around her knees, which by now were pulled all the way to her chest. ”I didn’t know they would turn out like this… All trolls except for one lineage have caused so much pain and sorrow that I don’t think I’ll… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to atone on their behalf.” She paused. ”But then again… How do you punish something you made yourself? In the end, they’re mine, and despite how mean they were to me, I…”

Oraelia looked upon Gibbou as she went to her knees, placing her hands upon her thighs. She waited for Gibbou to say more, wanting her sister, more than ever, to talk to her.

”I don’t wanna change them,” she eventually whispered guiltily. She snickered quietly. ”Some protection goddess I am.”

Oraelia said nothing, weighing Gibbou's words carefully. She then spoke after a time, her voice soft. "Our creations are like children to us. At least, perhaps some view it that way. I see Lucia as my child and I would never want to change her either. But I don't think that necessarily means I shouldn't offer her guidance or tell her if something she did was wrong. I know I wasn't there for her for a long time, and I wasn't there for you when you could have used someone to lean on. I just… I don't know. I enjoy life, I do but sometimes I catch myself remembering the day we first came to be and how happy we were together. Those were simpler times, weren't they?" she said, looking down.

With a somber whimper, Gibbou nodded.

She scooted closer to Gibbou. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that we shouldn't change what we've made, but offer tools so that they can change themselves. So they can grow and learn to be better. I'm not sure if that's what you want, but if you do, I'll help you Gibbou. Because that's what sisters are for. We're supposed to help one another in the rough patches after all." Oraelia said, as she sniffled.

Gibbou still refused to look her sister in the face. Her feet would do. ”I just… How could the trolls learn to be better? Only one of them even thinks about the good of others.” She sighed, then snickered. ”... The draugs are really sweet, actually.”

She scrunched her nose, stopping short of Gibbou. "I'm not sure of the top of my head, but perhaps a solution can be found within the Draugs?" she asked thoughtfully.

”What do you mean?”

”You said it yourself, sis. Draugs are sweet and they think about the good of others. If we can find out why, then we might be able to show the other trolls a better way.” Oraelia said with hope in her eyes.

Gibbou frowned. ”I, uh, I don’t know if the mean behaviour is learned, necessarily. The, the other three trolls have sort of, y’know, been mean from the start - I don’t think anything made them that way, necessarily, but… Maybe they’re just like that.” She sighed. ”We might be able to convince one or two… Maybe. More than that, though? Doubt it.”

Oraelia scrunched her nose and sat back across from GIbbou. ”Worth a shot I suppose.” was all she said. Her attempts didn’t seem to be working. Was she that out of touch with Gibbou? Was her approach wrong? Or did her sister simply not think it possible in the slightest? Perhaps her own standards were far too high.

”I… I finally found Lucia, sis.” Oraelia began, looking to the floor. ”In a small village of sorts, captured by human ‘raiders’, to be taken as a slave. She had help and escaped…” her voice grew smaller, ”Then they killed all the raiders.”

Gibbou blinked. ”Sunlight, is she alright?! I mean--... Is she okay? No wounds or anything? Is she safe now?”

”She was perfectly sound actually…” Oraelia said, looking at Gibbou. ”She just showed me that any being has the capacity for cruelty. I didn’t have the heart to snoop through all of her memories of the last two thousand years, I don’t know if I could bear to see what else befell her in my absence. We talked after it was all done and she’s never been better, now that I’ve returned. She’s just… Grown and she has tattoos all over her body.” she blinked. ”I almost forgot… I never even told you about her. I’m sorry for that. That's something that shouldn’t be just left to tell for another time. How did you two meet anyway? You seem familiar with the name.”

”Phew, that’s a relief, but shouldn’t expect less from my niece, your daughter.” Gibbou smiled softly and loosened the grip about her knees. ”We ran into each other some time before the, y’know, bad times. She’s really sweet, sis. I wish I had my own like that.” She scrunched her nose. ”Shame she had to run into -those- kinds of mortals. You, uh, you see a few of those at night.” Her eyes suddenly stared emptily beyond the horizon.

”Yeah, you could alwa- Hey, what’s wrong?” Oraelia suddenly asked, a concerned look on her face.

Gibbou’s pale eyes blinked over to her sister. ”The night’s my favourite time of day… And also terrible. It just seems like a time when, y’know, mortalkind just figures out that they should do bad stuff. Like, who robs someone in daylight? Not even night elves do - ‘cuz they’re blind in the day.” She sighed. ”Sometimes, I just wish they didn’t save all the mischief for my time of day, y’know?”

”Oh… Yeah I understand that. There’s comfort in the night, where it’s harder to see and that makes people feel… Feel like they can do whatever they want when the sun isn’t up.” Oraelia sighed and then gave a small smile her sister’s way. ”But I am fortunate enough to know that night is a time of peace and relaxation. Not all mortals do terrible things at night. Most just sleep.”

”Yeah… Yeah, most just sleep. Unless you count nocturnals, but they’re really nice company, actually. Speaking of which, actually…” Gibbou clapped her hands together and when she parted them, a small, beige cat with black spots and paws appeared in her lap, looking around with large, round eyes. ”This is Minnie. She’s particularly sweet to me. I decided last night to put a bunch of her likeness down on Mydia.”

Oraelia’s eyes went wide at the small cat, and she crouched forward, fascinated by the small lifeform. ”Gibbou!” she said quietly with excitement. ”She’s soooo beautiful and so tiny!” Oraelia gushed with a wide smile on her face.

”Right? I’ve been making lots of bats and owls and mushrooms, -but- I have overlooked the cats! How can the night not have cats? Or, well, I mean, I made shadow tigers, I guess.” She gave Minnie a scratch behind the ear - the cat looked not at her, but at some chirping birds in a nearby tree. ”I just love these little babies. So fuzzy and cute.” Minnie bounced from her lap and entered into the tall grass. ”H-hey, Minnie! It’s not safe in the sunlight! Your eyes’ll get burned!”

Oraelia, seeing her sister’s plea, stretched her hand and the sunlight disappeared around Minnie. She walked in a small bubble of shadow towards the tree and Oraelia couldn’t help but laugh as the absurd cuteness. Little Minnie climbed the tree in complete and utter silence, snatching one of the birds while the sudden shift from day to night confused its senses. Gibbou scrunched her nose. ”Sorry about that.”

”Don’t worry about it.” Oraelia said, scooching herself over to the side of Gibbou. She leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder and gave a small, relaxed sigh. ”Genesis misses you. She’s very adamant about getting more moon makeup.”

”Yeah. I’ll drop by and say hi to her, too, some time. Not like there’s too much else to do during the day, after all.” She pursed her lips and frowned, looking away sheepishly. ”Say, Orey? How, uh… How do you feel about punishing mortals for bad deeds?”

”I…” Oraelia began, thinking on the question. ”I guess it depends on the crime. I’ve never punished a mortal, so I don’t really know.”

In a small voice, Gibbou mumbled, ”If, uh… If they killed someone in the name of ambition? How, uh… How would you react to that?”

”Ambition huh? Like, killing someone they know for power? Well… Murder is a fairly henious crime, at least in my eyes. I once made a blanket that reverts who wears it to their most innocent self. The man, who murdered out of false love, became a baby… Oh, so I guess I have punished a mortal before.” she said. ”But now that I’ve seen what mortals are capable of… I don’t think making them into babies is a proper solution. Ugh… I tried to find a proper solution that avoided killing them outright, but now? I’m not so sure. I guess I would try to find some punishment that fit accordingly. Perhaps blindness? The sun never warming them?” she paused again thinking about what Lucia had gone through, a small bit of anger bubbling up inside of her. ”Or imprison them for all eternity in some place, doing some task that they can never escape from. A curse… Maybe even death. Why do you ask, anyhow?” she finally said quietly.

Gibbou looked relieved at the response. ”Oh, that’s good. See, that’s what I did! They’re called vampires - result of killing for your ambitions. Gave ‘em the worst of punishments. That sort of thing just ain’t right.”

From where her head rested on Gibbou’s shoulder, Oraelia narrowed her eyes slightly. ”Vampires?” she said the word aloud, ”What exactly is the punishment, Gibbou?” she asked.

Gibbou shrugged. ”Figured a tragic fate should befall those insolent enough to kill for their ambition, so they’ll turn into vampires! They wanted power? Oh, they’ll get power. Makes them super strong and super fast - oh, and immortal, too. All they gotta do is drink so much blood as one of their own size would contain - every day. Oh, but don’t worry, sis, they won’t appear during the day. If the sun touches them, they die. Instantly.” Gibbou raised a thumb and nodded. ”That’s the gist, anyway.”

Oraelia sat up slowly, looking at Gibbou with a blank expression. ”Gibbou… They have to drink blood? Who’s blood?” she asked softly.

Gibbou frowned. ”Blood of their own, of course. They gotta regret what they’ve done, after all.”

”Blood of their own? Other vampires?” she asked quickly.

”No, of their own species,” Gibbou replied.

Oraelia frowned. ”So to punish them… You made them hunger for blood? Blood that could belong to innocent people?” she folded her arms across her chest.

Gibbou blinked. ”... Well, when you put it like that, of course it sounds bad…” She mirrored Oraelia’s gesture.

”How else could it be put, dear?” Oraelia sighed. She sounded neither angry or upset, but rather confused.

”It’s preventative - the thought of killing innocents is bad, right? If people realise they gotta do it for their ambition, they might think twice, y’know? Plus, most don’t even live that long! They die the instant they walk into sunlight.”

”Gibbou… The type of person who would kill someone for their ambition, probably won’t think twice of killing to sustain themselves. And if they survive to realize the sun could kill them? Then what?”

”Well, those who do that will be smart enough to realise that killing people isn’t how you keep power, won’t they?” asked Gibbou and shrugged. ”The curse roots out the senseless murderers and, well, those who understand that the path to staying in power is paved with cooperation, will persist. I think that was my resonnement, anyway.”

Oraelia was visibly taken aback by her response. ”You seem so… Relaxed over this entire ordeal.” Oraelia said, staring into her eyes. ”And now you’re defending the smart ones who remain in power, as if, when threatened with survival or death, they wouldn’t act irrationally to save themselves. Like drinking blood isn’t an invasive procedure. Would you want your blood drank Gibbou? Have your arteries punctured, have your blood stolen?” Oraelia said.

Gibbou’s frown darkened. ”Look, sorry if I seem ‘relaxed’, whatever that means, but mortals do worse things to each other, and this is an effective way to get rid of the majority of these criminals. Oh, sure, one or two gets away, but what are one or two to a thousand?” She blinked at her own tone and looked away. ”Sorry. I overreacted.”

Oraelia reeled away, shock on her face. ”This isn’t…” Oraelia whispered, ”Gibbou… I-I don’t understand how you could even say that. Even if one or two survive… That’s still a threat to innocent people. People who live peaceful lives, who respect nighttime for what it is. Sleep, peace, relaxation. Your night, Gibbou. You’ve put them in danger. Did you even think about how it would affect other people?”

”Of course, I thought about it! The night -is- dangerous, Oraelia - way worse than the day. It’s when animals hunt, murderers kill, and now, when vampires feast. As I said, most vampires -will- die as soon as they walk out into the day, and their very existence will stop more from appearing, once mortals realise what makes a vampire. They are unsustainable creatures, Oraelia, just as intended.” She took a deep breath. ”Life sleeps at night for a reason - it’s so they can be blind to the horrors that thrive in its darkness.”

”Is that what you want, sister?” Oraelia asked, straightening her back, trying to hide the pain in her eyes and her voice. ”This isn’t you, Gibbou. I don’t know what happened to you over those two thousand years, I wish I did. I wish I had been there for you! But this… This isn’t you.” she said, a tear falling down her cheek. ”I was there when that small bat died within your hands, and how horrified you were. How we both promised to protect life. Me in the day, you in the night. Don’t you remember?”

Gibbou rose to her feet. ”Of course, I remember! Not a day goes by when I don’t think about that promise. It’s in my essence, Orey. She turned away. ”But… Protection isn’t all sunshine, y’know. You gotta make compromises, set examples…” She then collapsed back down and put her face in her hands. ”... Wrestle non-stop with past mistakes…”

Oraelia stood up and walked over to her sister. She looked down at her, afraid to reach out, hesitant to ask anymore of her. But Gibbou was her sister, and the words they exchanged frightened her. So she sank to her knees beside Gibbou, and tentatively placed a hand upon her back. ”I… Shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Gibbou.”

Gibbou sighed into her knees. ”No, no… You’re right. I’m an awful guardian.” Whimpers escaped the lid of hands over her face.

Oraelia once again said nothing. Contemplating her words carefully. ”Oh Gibs, you’re not awful. I think the problem is that you have been alone for so long, and these issues that you’ve faced before and during my absence, have festered in your mind, growing and growing until now. You’re eating yourself up, Gibbou and it’s breaking my heart. I know how you feel about yourself, sister. I’ve seen the glances, the looks of doubt, how you look at me with such awe… I’ve always looked at you with awe Gibbou. I’ve always thought of you as my sister first, and my best friend second. But you continue to beat yourself up over this lack of self, when there is no need to and I know this all might just sound unhelpful coming from me, but I mean it Gibbou. You have to see that. You have to see that my sunlight, only works with you.” she said tearfully. ”I love you, and I want you to be your best Gibbou. It’s okay to make mistakes, we all make mistakes, we just have to know when to own up to them, and fix them. No matter if they are hard, or easy. We have to try.”

Gibbou was completely taken aback by her sister’s words, and she slowly raised her face from her palms, quartz tears rushing down her cheeks like liquid glass. Without saying anything, she pounced forward, locking her arms around her sister’s back and pressing her crying face into her stomach, unleashing a deep-seeded, heartbreaking wail.

Oraelia wasted no time hugging her sister tightly, letting her own tears flow silently as she comforted Gibbou. ”I love you so, so much Gibbou.” she said warmly, beginning to lovingly stroke her sister’s head.

The moon goddess curled her legs up against her chest. ”B-buh… But how do I… I’vuh, I’ve made so many mistakes, though! H-how, how, how do I fix them all?” she sulked through the sobs.

”Shh shh, breath Gibbou.” Oraelia started. ”You start small, slowly working your way to the larger ones. There’s no need to rush into them without a level head and a plan, sis.” she replied.

Gibbou rubbed her wet face against her sister’s skin. ”Uh, uh-huh? Okay… Ssssssniff!... I can work with that… Okay… Okay, I have something.”

Oraelia began to rub Gibbou’s back. ”Good, and what might that be?” she asked softly.

”I’ll, uh… I’ll give those attacked by trolls something to fight back with - guardians of a sort, and… No, wait, no, no, no… The trolls were supposed to be guardians and, and… I’ll mess it up again, for sure!

”Thinking like that, you will. Be confident in your powers and be assertive Gibbou. You can do it, I know you can.” Oraelia cooed. ”I can be your side anytime and anywhere, just like when we created the Hir. We did it together. I can help you Gibbou, but you have to be the one that takes charge.”

The moon goddess took a series of deep breaths. ”Okay, okay, I’ll try. I… Will make guardians… But I will make guardians out of the mortals who fight trolls. They, they won’t be so strong as to wipe them out, but, but they can at least help those who suffer at their hands.” She took a breath. ”I suppose I can also add responsibility for taking out vampires that get really powerful… A sort of… Nightwatch...”

Oraelia nodded her head in agreement. ’That’s a wonderful idea, Gibbou. And you said Vampires die in the sun and I know trolls act about the same, so maybe I can offer this Nightwatch my blessing for solar weapons. Lucia has a similar ability, that I’m sure she’s put to good use. I’ll ask her about it!” she said.

Gibbou looked up with a weak smile. ”Y-yeah… Yeah, that’d be cool, I suppose.”

”What’s wrong? Bad idea?” Oraelia asked, raising an eyebrow.

”No! No, not at all! Just… Just happy that you’re here and that we’re, y’know, making stuff together again.” Gibbou nuzzled herself ever closer to Oraelia. ”I’ve just really missed my big sis, y’know. She’s the one I love the most in this world, after all.”

Oraelia teared up again. ”O-Oh!” she said, crying happily. ”I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Never again.” she said, squeezing her tightly as she rubbed her head on Gibbou’s. Gibbou closed her eyes and drew a peaceful breath.

Entr'Acte: The Three Clans

---

Kinoshita, builders of faith

The sounds of bustling work echoed throughout the outskirts of Tategawa, woodworkers shaped planks of the dark Kailasa wood, drake beetles pulled the chopped down logs to production sites, artisans the finest this side of the Azakua Sea crafted beautiful sculptures made of clay and stone. Overseeing it all was Kinoshita Narikazu, grandson of Kinoshita Munehira, founder of Tategawa, he sat upon a slightly raised pedestal, in front of him lay a few clay tablets, each one with building designs upon them, to ensure everything was being built exactly as he desired.

He heard movement to his left, looking he saw Kuzuyama Koyo, local Kannushi and spiritual advisor to him. She was dressed in her white ceremonial robes, her mask was absolutely beautiful, an intricate and beautiful design of a red flower that Narikazu often found himself getting lost in, but he was quick to ensure his mind did not waver, he needed to be observant, this was an important task.

“Greetings Kannushi Kuzuyama.” Naikazu spoke, bowing his head in her direction with respect, before turning his attention once more to the ongoing work, two large wooden poles had begun to be planted into the ground, their dark wood sinking deep into the rocky and swampy earth of the isles.

Koyo bowed towards the Daimyo “Lord Kinoshita.” Her gaze too was drawn towards the construction, watching the workers and Drake Beetles do their best to ensure stability for their current work, the two posts were now getting two horizontal logs added to their tops, one shorter and placed in between the poles, the longer one placed on top and with a more flatter bottom. “It seems construction is going along nicely.” She finally spoke after a few seconds of waiting.

“Yes, we’re already getting ahead of schedule, as you can see,” he raised one of his hands, gesturing towards the finished construction of the poles, which had formed a gate-like structure, called a Torii if the Daimyo recalled correctly, while he was the patron of this construction, he was never one for spiritualism. “Though I believe the artisans wish for more time, they wish to give Kalaru a bit more extravagance with his form, add a bit more details to the tentacles and all.”

Koyo chuckled “I’m sure the god of the depths shall appreciate that.” Her gaze shifted leftward, towards the houses and structures of Tategawa proper, before once more looking upon the building site. “How much longer do you think it will take?”

This made the Daimyo think, he knew the Kannushi wished for little delay, but while Narikazu’s ancestors had kept to the faith, he was the first to ever attempt something like this, they had built yes, his grandfather especially but none of them had attempted to build a temple, one dedicated to all four of the gods as well. He was unsure of how long it would exactly take, already the artisans had brought some delay, unwilling to make any slights towards the gods, who knew what kind of delays could come from the workers, afraid of the gods wrath?

“I am rather unsure, as you know this is the first attempt to build something like this, the workers wish not to anger the gods.”
“Do not worry my Lord, the gods are sure to incredibly appreciate the devotion of this grandeur, the temple will be sure to gain their favor.”

The Daimyo thought for a moment, building such a place of worship was sure to negate any potential slights, but still, too many might be terrible for his people. “I will be sure to inform the workers,” He finally spoke after a few moments of thought. “But I can't promise it will be done before Natsu.”

“I see.” Koyo trailed off, staring off towards the construction site. Narikazu was unsure of what to say further, the Kannushi had a trend of this, many said she was speaking to the gods and spirits of the world while doing it, he just always assumed she was deep in thought. “In that case,” She finally spoke, turning towards the Daimyo, “I will bid my leave and return your attention to the work.” She bowed once more, before turning to leave.

Naikazu too bowed, “Off course.” As she left he found himself staring at her, his gaze lingering, the sound of construction drew him out though, and he once more turned his attention to the workers.

In time the temple would be built, a mighty building filled with icons and murals of the four gods: Yamatu, Akwael, Aritafek, Kalaru. It, in essence, would put Tategawa and by extension, the Kinoshita, upon the map across the Kailasa Isles. The First clan was born.

---

Hashimoto, Lords of the Blade.

Hashimoto Korekatsu had a mission, defend his people and end the rule of the Red Masks, bandits who had done nothing but terrorize the people of Okumaki, it needed to end. The young lord now marched alongside a retinue of warriors, some spearmen and a variety of archers, Korekatsu himself wielded a long copper spear and the copper blade of his father, who had been cut down by the Red Masks. They were a sizable force, volunteers from local villages who were fed up with the Masks’ rule, but the lord still hoped it was enough to take down the bandits.

The force marched deep into the rocky swamplands of Kiyodaka, the soft sound of their boots squishing into the dirt being the only sound in the silent forest. Korekatsu kept his eyes open, darting to check the trees and environment, wary of a potential ambush. He couldn’t be sure whether or not the Red Masks knew they were coming or not.

It was growing dark by the time they arrived upon their destination, through the mangled forest Korekatsu could see the fires of the Red Masks’ camp, he ordered his forces to halt, keeping them low to the ground to avoid the sight of sentries.

“What is the plan now my lord?” One of his retinue, Hori Morofusa, asked, he was an older reshut from a village close to Korekatsu’s, his knowledge of the bow and the local environment had made him a trusted ally to the lord.

“It doesn’t appear they’ve noticed us,” He replied, keeping an eye upon the camp, he could see the form of various Red Mask sentries illuminated by their torches, a few other forms moved about, appearing to be getting ready for sleep. “We shall wait until full nightfall, to ensure there are as few bandits awake as possible, then we will strike, your bowmen will take out the sentries, then, we strike.”

Morofusa nodded, going back to relay the plan to the other members of the force. They sat waiting deep in the mangled woods, the spearmen keeping their spears ready and the bowmen ensuring their bows and arrows were ready. As the dual moons raised higher into the sky, Korekatsu ordered Morofusa and the bowmen to spread out through the brush, ensuring they all had shots on the various sentries.

He waited, watching the shadowed forms, then, came the soft thunk of arrows. The forms fell, collapsing on themselves, he could see the shafts of arrows stick out of their bodies, now it was their time.

The spearmen kept low, yet still rushed through the brush, their spears at the ready. They drew closer and closer, spotting the fallen bodies of the sentries, they could see the sleeping bandits in their tents, he gestured for the spearmen to spread out, reading their spears, taking a bandit each. Korekatsu himself did not take one, instead heading towards the largest tent, that of the Red Mask’s leader.

A scream erupted through the camp. A bandit had woken up to see a spear straight at him, he did not scream long, said spear having been planted deep in his throat. But the harm had been done.

In an instant the camp had erupted into chaos, Red Masks shocked awake to see the retinue, some were cut down quickly while others managed to grab their weapons, fighting back against the force. Korekatsu found himself embedding his spear in a waking bandit, ensuring he did not add to the force, arrows began to fly from outside the camp, Morofusa and his bowmen hoping to aid the retinue against the bandits.

“Hashimoto!” A loud voice boomed over the carnage. He rapidly turned his head to see the leader of the Red Masks, Soga Hirakane, his imposing form aided by his blood red mask and his long curved sword, the bandit lord stared at the daimyo with pure hate in his eyes. Korekatsu pulled out his spear from the corpse with a sickened crunch, readying it towards the bandit.

The two warriors circled one another, neither one daring to strike first, less they gave their opponent an opening. The roar of battle surrounding them, Korekatsu clutched his spear close, his hand threatening the snap the shaft in half if they got too tight. Hirakane was growing impatient, eager to kill this rabble.

He struck first.

Their blades clashed, spear against sword, the clangs of metal against metal erupted, the duel had begun. The two danced around one another, blade striking blade, dodging or blocking a well timed strike, they were near even matches for one another.

Korekatsu lunged, his spear striking deep towards the bandit lord, but he anticipated this, backhanding the daimyo and sending him flying, his spear clattering to the ground far away from him. He felt the breath leave his lungs as he landed hard onto the hard dirt, his bones were screaming out in pain as he looked up, seeing Hirakane grow closer.

“Oh Hashimoto, you really thought you could beat me?” The bandit chuckled, bringing his sword to bear to utter the killing blow “You really are a foolish child.”
“The only one foolish here is you.” Korekatsu sputtered out, “You really should watch your back.”

THUNK

An arrow shot through the tree surrounding the camp, landing itself directly into the bandit’s shoulder, causing him to reel forward with the sudden force. Korekatsu had his moment. He shot one of his legs out, kicking the bandit straight in the chest, sending him flying back. Struggling up he drew his sword, walking as quickly as his legs could carry him towards the now prone bandit.

Hirakane struggled to get up himself, his own right arm shooting with pain due to the embedded arrow head, but he was not quick enough. Korekatsu lunged with his sword, sinking it deep into the chest of the bandit, burgundy blood spilled forth from the wound. Hirakane could only stare at the Daimyo with pure and utter hatred, the strength leaving his limbs and the life from his eyes. He soon fell limp, Korekatsu slowly drew the sword out of the bandit’s chest, slick with burgundy blood.

The battle had been won, it had cost some lifes, some of the force had been cut down by the bandits, but they had won, the Red Masks were gone. Korekatsu could hear the cheers of “Hashimoto! Hashimoto!” erupting from the gathered force. The party would return to their home, applauded and celebrated by the people, the Hashimoto would become respected amongst the people as protectors of the people. The second clan was born.

---

Ohta, masters of the deal

Enkoshi was in celebration, the Reshut of the city were in pure joy, images of the gods were paraded around, food made from the plants and animals of the isles were laid out, blind Goze musicians sang and played beautiful music while dancers twirled and spun in long flowing robes coloured in bright and fantastical colours of plants found deep in the swamps.

Ohta Yasukuni sat at the docks upon several cushions, watching the celebrations while drinking a traditional Sake, next to him similarly sat Taagrulxarus, a Vrool tyrant. The Ohta and Taa’s tyranny had met some years earlier, as the Vrool had established himself and some of his lesser vrool and Akua servants close to the eastern shores of Kailasa, close to the are the Ohta and its allies had established itself.

The vrool had a tough time establishing if the Daimyo recalled correctly, the oceans around the Isles were not the most rich and the Oceants, those mighty hives of the oceans, had been engaging in conflict with him and made it harder to hunt. Additionally, from what the Daimyo had learnt, there were other Tyrants, but Taa was a minor one, so far the only Vrool to settle in the lands of the Kailasa at least to both of their knowledge. Taa was, in relation to other Vrool, not that powerful, but to the Ohta, he could be a useful aid.

And so, they now sat side by side, the Vrool being given a variety of Reshutian delicacies such as rice paddies and cooked catfight, and drinking more than his fair share of Sake, he turned towards the Daimyo, patting him on the back with one tentacle.
“I must say you Reshut sure know how to hold a celebration!” He spoke in his loud boisterous voice, his tongue was strange, Yasukuni believed it was called Vonu? He was still unsure, but it was nearly alien to him, luckily his Aku retainers spoke a far more understandable version to the land based Reshut which the vrool himself could understand.

“Well, why would we not celebrate?” The daimyo responded, raising a glass of sake in honor of their forming friendship. “We are forming a great bond together.”

“Yes, quite.” Taa leaned back, gesturing for his Aku retainers to begin fanning him, keeping him cool in the humid climate of the isles. “So, if I may, refresh myself upon our deal, you provide me with food and some tribute and in exchange,” he gestured another tentacle towards the growing fleet of basic ships the Ohta commanded as trading vessels with other nearby Reshut communities. “Me and my court will help protect your vessels in their voyages?”

The daimyo nodded “That is correct, I believe it is a respectful deal to a tyrant such as yourself?”

Taa uttered a boisterous laugh once more “Oh of course it is! Food for some basic assistance, I would be an idiot not to accept!”

This time it was Yasukuni’s turn to chuckle “Well then, shall we have another round of sake to celebrate?” The daimyo gestured for more of the drink to be brought.

Taa looked once more at the daimyo “This shall be the beginning of a very good friendship.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more.”

Tales would come from the east, the ships of the Ohta guarded by creatures of the sea, the only Reshut to ever make dealings with the sea. Their fame, and wealth only grew, aided by their newfound allies, the name of the Ohta spread across the east. The third clan was born.

---

Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling to his knees as his aching legs finally gave out. A look of absolute wonder was etched onto his face. Finally, after trekking for miles through the desert, dodging vicious sand birds and the eight-legged monstrosities that even the locals wouldn’t take on, fighting off thirst and heat stroke, he had made it. Mist billowed down from atop the sandstone escarpment, tangling with the gushing, crystalline water. The late-day sun hit it just right, lighting the spring up in an array of reds, yellows, and blues. Small animals frolicked in the life-saving water, and even the hot, dusty air seemed to dance.

The moment of appreciation passed, and Araon plunged forward, letting the water soak his tired body. He was young, sure, but the journey had been nightmarish. But now that he was here, it was so clearly worth it! The wellspring was so refreshing, its spray rinsing off weeks of grit and grime. The young man shed his clothes, his pack, his tools, everything, determined to soak in as much of the cooling, rejuvenating, replenishing, um, hydrating, restorative, uh, um…

He scratched his head, rinsing dirt from his blonde hair. He was here, finally! But… it felt like there was something else he needed to do. That tugging in his gut, the tug that had led him to the spring without any need for a map or stars, had not abated. He glanced down at his smooth, tanned stomach, wondering what was causing the feeling. A tapeworm of some kind? No, this behavior was uncharacteristic of a tapeworm. A magical tapeworm? Well, it was possible. The only natives he had found since leaving the Hreelci Isles and striking out for adventure were rather buglike, so it made perfect sense. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that a tapeworm was the solution. Damn you, weird wasp people! Damn you and your tapeworms!

A crunch from behind him snapped Araon out of his mild xenophobia. He had thought his back was to a flat, featureless wall of water and rock, but closer examination revealed there to be a chilly cavern, dark and damp, yawning at him like some sort of mouth. He peered in closer, suddenly self conscious, balancing on one foot as he reached for his sword with one wobbly leg…

...

Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling to his knees as his aching legs finally gave out. A look of absolute… well, not wonder, but some kind of awe, was etched onto his face. The water was glorious. The water was beautiful. The early morning sun set it aflame, a million droplets of gold reflecting its rays back at him in an array of red and yellow, spilling forth from the heart of the sandstone like, well, blood, or something.

The yearning that had brought him there had subsided. How curious, for it to bring him so far, yet fail him as he finally arrived at his destination. No matter! The revitalizing, thirst-quenching liquid beckoned. Boy, was he thirsty! Weeks of desert journeying truly changed a man. When he plunged into the deluge, sans shirt, sans sword, sans everything, he felt like a man reborn. Purged of all doubts and sins, left in a state that had him one with the water. It was downright spiritual. He wondered why people didn’t come from miles around to appreciate such pleasures. Perhaps the giant wasps he had met on his quest didn’t like water? Wouldn’t that be something.

He heard a noise from within the sandstone cliff and whirled around, the hair on the back of his neck on end. Were there tunnels reaching within the monolith? Were animals sheltering within, furious at his encroachment on their territory? He backed away, slipping in the desert mud, falling flat on his back as he grasped for his sword…

...

Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling to his knees as his aching legs finally gave out. A look of confusion and fear played out upon his features, deep in shadow as the sun set behind him. What was going on? His head felt so foggy, and it wasn’t the fumes drifting down from the high-altitude rainforest atop the cliff. Wasn’t it just noon? Or was it morning? He couldn’t remember. And though he had come from the depths of the Outback, he was remarkably clean.

A sense of unease washing over him, he drew his sword. The vast spring was empty, devoid of animal life, yet teeming with plants. Was it a spider dingo? A sand bird, hunting him? He didn’t know, but the presence of hard copper in his hands made him feel a little more at ease. Blade at the ready, he approached the spring warily, jumping at every crunch and crackle of sand beneath his feet. The closer he got, the more on edge he felt. Water thundered down, spraying him with little droplets that, though cooling, did not help him feel any more at ease. Especially when he locked eyes with something hiding behind the sheet of water, ready to pounce out at him…!

...

Araon stared at the spring water gushing forth from the sheer rock face, falling--
“Alright! What in Oraelia’s name is going on here! If you’re a bug person, you better come out now!” He shouted at the cascading water, too confused and angry to appreciate its beauty in the light of the full moon. “And if you don’t, may Gibbou strike you down! Or Cadien, or something! Show yourself!”

“Finally,” hissed something from within the waterfall’s depths, “took you long enough. I was starting to think that I could keep feeding on you forever.”

Sword already out, Araon pointed it threateningly at the source of the voice, using his free hand to draw a torch from his pack. “FEEDING on me!? So you are a parasite! Get out here and fight me like a man, tapeworm!”

Two shiny eyes leered out at him. “I am no tapeworm, boy. I am older than you could comprehend. I have conversed with gods. I have watched the first sunrise over this land. I have seen the birth of the metals that went into your puny excuse of a weapon.”

“No, you haven’t. “

“W-what?!” The voice spluttered angrily at him, and he could see a figure crawling out from behind the water. Dark and mysterious. But also familiar, in an odd way. “How dare you! You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Araon lowered his sword, scoffing. The woman’s nose twitched, and her ears flicked one way and the next, and in the moonlight he could see her absurdly long eyebrows. “You’re a night elf. I’ve met you guys before, and I know how long you live. So cut the nonsense already, and tell me what you’ve done to me!”

“I am no mere night elf! I am the danger in the shadows, the monster lurking behind every corner! I have powers you could never dream of. A single bite from me, and your memory dissipates! You are no match for my might!”

“Is that it?” He scratched at the side of his neck, where he could feel multiple scabbed over wounds. “You’ve been biting me and making me pass out? That’s kinda weird, lady. No wonder nobody lives around here. You’ve scared them all off.”

“So what if I have?” The night elf snarled at him, a note of loneliness to her voice. “The magic waters bring prey to Fennelle, sooner or later?”

“Is that your name? Fennelle?”

“Eep!” She ducked back inside, the water parting around her as her body swished into the hidden cave. A few seconds passed before she called back in a much less threatening voice: “You can go now! Go back to whence you came! Nobody is home! Come back to the font later!”

“Are you going to mess with my head again?”

“Only if you don’t leave.”

No longer scared, Araon picked his way around the circumference of the muddy pool to reach a dry spot that still offered access to the cave. He slumped down against it, putting his torch back into his pack. “You must be lonely.”

“Nuh uh! I don’t need anyone. I have the gods and my thoughts. That’s plenty of company.”

“Ooh, gods! I’ve heard of loads of gods in my travels.” He poked his head over the mouth of the cave, hoping to see Fennelle, but all was dark. “Mostly basic ones, like Oraelia and Boris and Gibbou and Cadien, but sometimes a few more obscure ones, like Klaar. Have you heard of Klaar before? He’s supposed to be huge! I like the idea of that.” Araon began to ramble, noting the scuffing sounds that emanated from the dark the longer he prattled on. “A giant, gentle thing of the deep. Have you seen the ocean before? It’s huge!”

“I have heard of the ocean,” scoffed Fennelle. “My people originated from Hreelci. They were no strangers to the huge waters.”

“Hey, I’m from Hreelci too! Do you know someone named Taragon? Or Papreeka?”

“Not all night elves know one another! And I’m hardly a night elf any more, anyhow.”

“You know, you keep saying that, but I don’t really see much of a difference between you and the other elves I’ve known.” He poked his head back in, and this time, he could see the faint reflections of Fennelle’s eyes. “Did you do something to get banished from them?”

“I killed my entire village,” she stated tersely, “so yeah, I’m a little bit banished. I’ve lived out here on my own ever since.” Fennelle sniffed indignantly. “And it’s a fine existence. I have been burdened with glorious purpose by only the most enigmatic of gods. I, and I alone, have a holy task before me.”

“That’s super cool!” Convinced she wasn’t going to kill him now, Araon wriggled his way into the mouth of the cave, watching the water pour by in silvery sheets. He could feel Fennelle’s eyes on him. Thankfully, they weren’t angry any more.

“Oh, I doubt you’ve ever heard of him. He’s a bit niche, as far as gods go.”

“Try me. I’m more knowledgable than you might think. I’ve heard the teachings of Artifex, even. Or at least, I think I have. Those wasps weren’t exactly easy to understand, you know.”

“Fe’ris,” breathed Fennelle, the word echoing all around them, tinting the waterfall red. It send a shiver down Araon’s spine. “Lord of the Little Things, that which crawl and creep. The good and the bad beating in every man’s heart. Flesh of the Moon, Artificer of Ambition, He Who Flutters In The Dark.”

“Wow, you were right, I haven’t heard of him!” He scooted a little closer to her, clothing rasping over the stone. She scooted a little further away. “So what does he want you to do?”

“Spread his doctrine. Fill the night with his name. Manifest his will on Galbar.”

“Sounds kinda hard. Do you have to do it alone?”

“Well, I’m supposed to found a cult of some kind, but I don’t-- Hey!” She shot him a sharp look, close enough for her eyebrows to ghost across his nose. “What do you care! You’re just some guy.”

“I happen to be a bored guy. I made it all the way here, and now I need something else to do. As long as his will isn’t to, like, murder a lot of people, I’d be happy to help found your cult thingie!”

“Are you sure? It won’t be easy. And I cannot guarantee you will get anything out of it.”

“Meh.” Araon swished his sword slowly through the black air. “I figure founding a cult for a god must get you some kind of favor with the big guys, right? So I might as well. What do you want me to do?”

“It’s not what I want, but what he wants.”

“And what does he want?” As soon as the words left Araon’s mouth, he felt the cavern tremble. Fennelle squeaked again, but he was too mesmerized at the way his body lit up to notice. Where his arms and legs should’ve been were tiny rivers of red, branching like trees and glowing brighter than the full moon. He looked at his shoulders, fingers, stomach, everywhere, and there the rivers were, pulsing with his heartbeat. He heart Fennelle move, and he heard her gasp.

“Your blood! I can, I can see it!” And sure enough, when he looked at her, he could see stains on her mouth and fingers, vibrant against the stone encircling them. “It must be Fe’ris!”

It is Fe’ris, hummed the cave. And his doctrine is thus:

1. Improve oneself. Strive to surpass others, but show compassion when it is warranted.

2. Exercise mind, spirit, and body. To neglect one is to neglect all.

3. Cultivate that which excites you. Make it your own. Protect it from those that might covet it for themselves.

4. Give thanks for what you have, but never let your eyes wander from what you have not.

5. Come to yourself foremost, and me second.

So sayeth the God of Ambition.

The human and the vampire shrieked as their bodies filled with purpose and power. No longer were they lonely wanderers, aimless in the scathing desert of Kubrazjar. Now, they were holy figures. Prophets, even.

They crawled forth from the confines of the falling spring water, outlined in silver by the light of the desert moon. And into that night, they went.

---

Like stepping from one foot to another, Àicheil slipped into his twin’s realm. A starlit form, a shroud of many threads, prismatic in sheen, gray in color. For a brief moment, the form of the Dreaming God was strangely feminine--though just barely--and then from it faded all sense of sex as to its favored shape it did return. Yet, something had changed, for hidden beneath the shroud's gray hood there glowed two gateways of shifting coloration. They resembled eyes, though they were strange, lacking pupils or defining features beyond that light which shifted deep within them.

“Twin,” he called out, his voice a summons. That single word, it echoed out and cast into each reflection within Fìrinn's vast realm until those many crystal surfaces held naught but its image.

Àicheil's eyes closed and they did not open thereafter. They were replaced by the ponderous intensity of Ѻs-fhìreach's attention, which spread wide and far, taking hold in all reflections.

“Twin.”

The response cleared the intent-laden fog from its glassy prison, releasing and refracting it within the glassine realm until it coalesced elsewhere, freed of mortalkind’s influence. Within a still white space came an explosion of lurid light, twisting the nature of that space as if through an infinite prism--and then there was Àicheil, manifested within the Worldly Circles.

“Is it time?”

The response was uncharacteristically short for Fìrinn, as if its attention were otherwise absorbed--but in truth it was merely preparing itself, conserving its energy for what would come next. As per their rite, Fìrinn extended the tip of its mantle-claws out towards its twin, readying itself to transcend the boundary between words and thoughts and combine their prodigious intellects as one--to take up, once again, the mantle of the Two-as-One to solve whatever issue it was that Àicheil had entered the sacred realm of truth for. It awaited their union patiently, the vagaries of its reflectionless form glittering and glinting in the ever-present luminance of the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors.

Without response, Àicheil reached out and touched Fìrinn and unity was achieved. More brief than before, a swirling cacophony of experience churned within their minds, then met and reached a state of balance. He grew still and peered beyond Truth's realm and into the Endless Dream.

"Pathways," muttered the Dreaming God. He turned and in response, a shuddering susurration enveloped the Subtle Weave.

---

A wave of intention, a calling, a focused thought. Images of roads and woodland paths--deer trails, dirt-packed down by many feet. Glimpses of the material plane. Locks and keys and doors and knots.

Binding.

Waves of color and experience brought to order, a symphony of sound and knowledge in place of chaotic cacophony. Gentle fingers playing the infinite threads of consciousness.

A flash of opening eyes, a draining of the well, an outpouring of emotion and strength and power.

Silence rolling across the waves of the Endless Dream, passing from path to path, its melody a lilting echo in the realm of physicality.

A quiet kind of victory. A gentle weight imbued therein.

Connection.

---

His eyes closed, face once more a seamless star-bound plane. Still there remained an itching in his mind, a need for balance beyond that of the Two-as-One.

With the Dream now bound as pathways into the waking world, Àicheil knew that other bindings need be made. With this thought etching patterns in the corners of his mind, Àicheil's attention shifted, and the anchor of his thoughts lay firmly upon the form of his twin.

"Dream and Dreamer must reflect," intoned the Dreaming God, his words a thunderous avalanche of meaning. Impressions traced between them then, images of pathways given solid form and definition, sounds of terror-beasts writhing in the Dream. The Chomhlionadh.

"To distract. To empower," Àicheil expounded, "these--my firstborn--must be known unto the world."

Within that swirling mass of dreamstuff, the thoughts, and desires of mortals stripped from the order which dominated reflections in panes of crystalline glass howled and shrieked and cried out for the constancy they had once known. In that moment the thoughts of the God of Truth also crystallized, and its mantle ripped itself from its mounting and unraveled like the ribbons of Àicheil’s cosmic form.

“To see is not enough. To be seen only in Dreams is not enough. They must bring to bear all that they are for all mortalkind to see and feel. Through their movements, we may divine the paths through which Mortalkind must not tread. Through the creation of falsehood, we may divine Truth.”

Fìrinn took a moment to understand what needed to be, and drew the ichor of its Twin’s essence into itself, entering into the unified consciousness of the Two-as-One more fully than usual. It drew from that deific essence the map of the great Dream, stretching out across Galbar, and of those deadly designs within that feasted upon mortalkind’s indolent expression of emotion and seemingly innocuous desires--and then they were revealed to it, like the stitches upon a great tapestry. It extended into them a sliver of its divine essence, true fingers gently navigating the sea of astral energy before it, and touching upon that great race oh so gently, oh so sweetly, and imparting a fraction of its divine beneficence upon them. With that single touch, the God of Truth granted the beasts within dreams awareness and sight of the mortal world, and with that sight, the ability also to be seen. Mortalkind would know them even unshackled by slumber, and they would know mortalkind even in the harsh light of the waking world. It was simply an extension of Truth, in the end--the freedom to know and to be known, to execute one’s purpose without dishonesty and deceit. It was the greatest gift Fìrinn could provide.

As his twin settled once more into stillness so too did Àicheil become content. For with this balance given, the gnawing itch within him did relent. With relief, his mind expanded and into the Dream it swelled. He gazed upon those pathways, the Unfulfilled as well, and so he knew what he must do to enrich the worlds anew.

From experience, Àicheil did pull, and from such arose new meaning.

Love and Sorrow both played their part, for to the world they bound his heart.

Thus, with open eyes, and raised hands, he cast his gaze across the land and dubbed the mortals with name and brand so that they might obey him.

“An Caithriseach,” he so named those touched by his eldritch mind.

So it was that the First Order was founded in his name. They would exist upon Galbar, maddened by their Sleepless Vigil, emboldened by their God.

In that same stroke of creative energy, inspired by the touching of such distant mortal minds and its own recent experiences in the creation of an order of acolytes, Fìrinn took shards of the same mirror-crystal from which the Tairseach was wrought and crafted smaller abstractions of that great Anchor, placing them gently onto Galbar in that great crystal cavern beneath Khesyr wherein the Seekers had been birthed. From there, the faithful would carry these new creations--the Ceilte Iontráil--and ferry them across distant lands to places of spiritual and material significance. For a tithe of memories--a treasured moment with a loved one, a moment of enlightenment, the bitterest dregs of hatred within one’s heart--entrance to the great Dream could be bought, and the physical could cross between the veil between this world and its mirror-self. Within that demesne of thoughts and feelings unbidden and unbound, those crafted paths could provide ways that one could travel without the burden of the material world upon them--but such journeys in the Two-as-One’s creation were naturally perilous. The Unfulfilled hungered for mortals, and the sweet temptation of freshly offered memory may prove too irresistible a lure for them to resist. It linked the paths to the Ceilte Iontráil, and with that their work was done. The Two-as-One became Fìrinn and Àicheil once more, and went their separate ways.

High Priest Khentii was having strange dreams. Dreams of the moon eating the sun. Of the vibrant colors fleeing and all become grey and bleak. For a moment he was happy when a servant woke him up. Yet then he remembered what day it was. He rushed out of his hovel. It was a simple bricked hovel with nothing fancy about it other than the few statues carved into the walls. Even that made it stand out from the otherwise smaller hovels his people lived in. He looked east, along the sacred road heading for the temple plaza. The Great Pyramid of Ohae was faintly glowing with the sun barely behind it. Then, the first drum beats echoed throughout Aklux. The call had begun. Those of the builder and warrior castes came out of their hovels and saw Khentii.

“Bring the slaves!” He yelled at a few warriors. For today was a day Ohae in the sky would need help. “Bring wood as well!” He shouted at the builders. Before he rushed towards the Great Pyramid. He begged the Star Serpent that he was wrong. Yet the omens and machinations had to be heeded. More drums vibrated from the temple. Waking the spirits of the world. Great bonfires were lit at the food of the temple, coating it in a dark red and smokey glow. Like incense the smoke rose along the Great Pyramid. At every level more drummers joined the Call.

When Khentii was upon the Temple-Plaza, many of the builder castes had already gathered and began to dance along the great bonfire. Chanting and shouting in excitement. For the sun was about to do battle. Those of the Warrior Caste had already begun to drag their prisoners one by one up the stairs. Which had a channel cut in the middle of it. With every passing moment each level of the great Pyramid became more and more alive with drums, fires and chants enhanced through sorcerous magic. Khentii rushed up the stairs. Followed by several priests in gold-coated masks brandishing highly polished, bronze knives. Their cotton robes had gold dust on them as paint. Behind them the lesser dressed acolytes moved. Eying each of the sacrifices that were dragged up the stairs.

Khentii, at 150 years old, was not a young Itztli anymore. Every time he had to mount the stairs to the top, it took a toll on him. When he reached the flat top of the pyramid he dropped to his knees, out of breath. None of his fellow priests helped him. Instead they all moved around the four altars placed equally away from a central pool. The first four sacrifices were hauled onto the stone slabs and held down. The priests held their claw-shaped knives against their throat, which hung over a bowl. They waited for the signal. Khentii and his own acolytes looked up at the sun. Below the drums and songs and chants made more and more of the world-spirits awaken. Even the spirit of the Great Pyramid began to stir. Upon the smaller, more colorful temples standing around the Great Pyramid of Ohae the priesthood of Meghzaal, the Father-Spirit, were reciting their poems and sang their songs with their choirs. All to appease and quicken the spirits-in-all.

Then it happened. The sun was being eaten. The drums stopped. Dances were stopped in their tracks. Khentii felt a chill run along his back. Below Itztli began to cry out in horror. The light, the life, it was taken! Khentii gave his signal. Blood poured into the bowls. Which where then emptied into the central pool by servants. The bodies were thrown along a broad channel carved in the north side of the temple. The blood in the pool wasn’t enough. More bodies were dragged up on the temple. Priests on each level and upon the temple-plaza ushered their kin to continue the dancing. Bonfires were flared and fed with more wood as the dances and songs continued. Mixed with screams of fear and agony.

Nothing was enough. The sun kept being eaten. Priests begged and prayed to Ohae to defeat the World-Eater and send him once more to the gibbon god. Upon the plaza warriors were asking for a sign to kill their prisoners there and then. Khentii pushed on, demanding faster sacrifices. Letting half-drained corpses slide down the duct in favor of fresher blood. The central pool overflowed into the nearby channels, directing it down the stairs like a crimson trickle. Not enough still, the chill came and shadows became more prominent. Heat leeched from the air. Their world would be next.

Blood couldn’t flow fast enough. More and more corpses piled on at the foot of the temple. In the Eternal Shadow, gibbon-masked priests were dragging and sanctifying the dead so they may never rise again. Pyres burned dimly in the increasing dark as more and more corpses were burned to then be buried in the burial pits. Acolytes of the gibbon god of the moon were almost always convicts or prisoners taken from amongst the sacrificial offerings. Many despised their faith. They cursed the moon, the god of death, for their suffering. The masked priests were much more reverent and often showed thanks and gratitude to the moon god. As he was, after all, the god of new chances.

Meanwhile, atop the pyramid, Khentii began to silently despair as the world became dark. Finally he resorted to the last measure. He yelled his command down the southern slope of the pyramid. The Itztli warriors obeyed and pushed their prisoners against the ground. With their necks across the bloody channel that had so far but a trickle of blood. They slashed their throats, making a torrent from the trickle. Crimson falls poured down the southern slope. Violent splatters coated the entire side. When their prisoners were empty, the warriors put their blades upon their own necks and waited for the command.

Khentii held firm as he watched the white light with a black point in the middle of it. With soundless words he begged Ohae to vanquish her foe and not perish. The whole city of Aklux held its breath. Then, the world got just a little bit brighter. Khentii did not want to celebrate. Not yet. More prisoners were dragged up the eastern and western stairs. Yes, it was growing brighter. The light was growing lighter. Ohae was victorious! The goddess of sun and war had been fed enough blood! Cheers erupted along the pyramid and then amongst the commoners upon the plazas. People embraced each other and cooks ushered off to prepare the feast.

The High Priest stood motionless as the surviving sacrifices were led down the temple, the central pool was cleaned out with water and the last of the bodies were send down towards the gibbon-priests. The world was saved and now the great feast would begin.

---

Those who identified as parts and splinters of the Arborean culture had spread all over the ancient continent of Toraan. As expected, most of them chose the more temperate climates, with warm temperatures, sunny days and lots of vegetation surrounding them... It was what they knew. But some were more daring or perhaps irreparably reckless and travelled further, reaching the areas where even the roots of the Great Tree struggled to survive in. The deserts and heights of Toraan and the toxic swamps.

How they survived no one really knows. It is a fact however, that whatever it is that allowed them to settle their chosen homes also changed the Sylphi that settled with them and made it so their bodies could keep up with their spirits.

Those in the desert, in the dry and hot climate that could light one's leaves on fire if one wasn't careful, the Sylphi became the color of the sand itself and shed their leaves in favour of long sprawling branches on top of their head. They had fuller, more solid figures and a tougher bark protecting their skin, making them perfect for the roles of Guardians.

Those in the heights of Toraan found themselves growing shorter and lighter over the centuries, to the point that if one were to see one in a human settlement, one would think they were barely into their teens in spite of potentially being older than most of the humans in such a settlement. Being smaller however never seemed to impact their strength, and so they could jump much farther and have much more stamina than their bigger, more averagely sized peers.

And finally, those crazed few that instead chose to declare toxic swamplands as their home, would find their bodies taking on sickly, pale colours and their leaves adopting sharp, spiky forms. Their bodies would regularly discharge toxins into the earth below their feet and in doing so, would slowly poison any soil they stepped on, turning it into something resembling their homeland. These toxic Sylphi who mean no harm also eventually found themselves to be more susceptible to illness and injury, but their Traits in turn became more magnificent than their more mundane counterparts. Not that they show them very often, being rather secular and distrustful of their more cheerful siblings.

The shadow watched as the drighina danced, and all about it draug were gathered as though they were so many moths come to the glorious flame. It was not often that the draug found themselves drawn in such great numbers to another's voice, even if that voice was the sublime song of the singing trolls of the ocean waves. And a sea troll, it was known, heard the song that the crashing waves sang every dusk and every dawn and in the moonlight and by morn. But they came by the dozen, those raptured draug - this, after all, was no normal singing sea troll; for on its head sat a shadow.



And the draug danced around that singing drighina, their intricately carved pipes smoking and their primitive masks bobbing. They circled about the singing sea troll, now laughing in their musical way, and now erupting into verse to complement the drighina. The smoke increased, and their movements grew lethargic until all about the yet-singing troll they lay sprawled, gushing words without immediate meaning to any but themselves; feeling stripped of the trappings of linguistic form. And ah, it was delightful to behold - as much a delicacy on the ear as the countless herbs and spices of the Mydias were on the tongue and nose.

And as they sat there in the tremors of that drugged poetic stew, gushing melodious feeling so that all about for miles and miles were caught up and captivated by it, there gathered about them an ink of night and moonlight, and rotting hands rose to weave the ink into their smoking pipes. And then there was scratching - grotesque monstrous nail against wood. Carving, carving. Ah, watch the beast make beauty! And once the drugged and blissful draug had carved their masks as intricately and as beautifully as they did their songplant pipes, they looked on them and were happy.

But one of them moaned and wept that his pipe should be the colour of wood and night and light, while his mask - now so beautiful, now art - should be so brown and plain. And so he gripped a loamy stone and mixed it in his hand with seawater until it was a deep brown mixture, and he whispered to the night so that its darkness curled up into the mixture, and he called on the forest so leaves of green fluttered on the breeze. And he crushed them in a rotting fish hand and mixed them in until it all was a paste and left it there for a time, whispering to it and singing and prodding it with his melodious voice until in his hand it was no more a paste and mixture, but purest ink of leafy green and muddy brown. And so, that great artisan let out an ecstatic weeping laugh and sang the ink into his mask so that the intricate carvings and colourful ink interweaved and embraced and sang and danced with each other.

And there, at the centre of the mask's forehead, rose unbidden a perfectly symmetrical hand of green and brown, and seemed to shine for a few moments before it no longer did. And that artisan brought it to his face and felt the ink and carvings move and weave to the shape of his face, and he looked out onto the world in shock and all about the befuddled draug let out muffled cries of surprise. And they knew too that they wanted after just such a glorious mask of art. Under the spell of smoke and song that set their minds flying off to other realms, the draug scratched wood and crushed ink to make new faces to match their beauteous sound.

• Summary [+]

  A drighina has been inspired by a shade which rose from the ocean's depths. This shade is Meghzaal's avatar, which had been forming in the ocean depths for millennia after the collapse of the ink tree and formation of the ink ecosystem near the Ku.
  The drighina sings a strange song that attracts a number of draug, who smoke their weed (songplant) in their intricately designed pipes while wearing their relatively primitive masks. As they sing and dance, they enter into a stupor and are inspired to carve their masks as beautifully as their pipes. In their stupor, they are able to access ink magicks, and so their masks are not only beautifully carved, but also colourful. These masks, when made in mask-making rituals of this kind, appear blessed and have the symbol of the hand on their forehead.
  When worn, these masks latch onto the face of the wearer and their visage becomes as beautiful as a) their voice, b) the carving in the mask, c) the inks and colours used and patterns on the mask. Inspired drighina will go around enchanting draug in this way all over Toraan, so that it eventually becomes something of a draug coming of age mass ritual.
• Might [+]

  | 5MP and 5DP | 5 MP towards Song | 3 DP towards Tattoos/Glyphs | Next Domain: Art |
  
  - 3 MP to unlock the Song portfolio.
  - 1 DP to grant all draug the ability to go through a coming of age mask-making ritual full of ink, poetry, and song, and plenty of weed.
  - 1 DP to grant ink glyph blessing to masks made in the draug maskmaking ritual, meaning that the more beautifully inked the mask is, the more beautifully carved, and the more beautiful the song of the draug when making it, then the more beautiful the mask becomes when it is worn and latches onto their face. (+1 DP towards Tattoos/Glyphs Portfolio)
  - 1 DP to unlock ink magick for the draug, allowing them to do such things as collect, for instance, sun rays or moonlight, or the darkness of the night, or crush leaves or collect bits of wind to use for making ink that has some of the properties of the things gathered - e.g. an ink with sun rays will be quite hot and might shine in the dark etc. good for plants etc. a source of vitamin D.
  - 1 DP to grant the hand of ink & poetry and the hearteye symbol great power, making it especially attuned at channelling ink magic - e.g. the symbol may be a particularly effective ward against danger if the hair of a guard dog is used in it etc. (+1 DP towards Tattoos/Glyphs Portfolio)
  
  | 2MP and 1DP | Song Port Acquired | 5 DP towards Tattoos/Glyphs | Next Domain: Art |

---

The preparations for next week’s harvest celebration was in full swing, and with it came visitors from all over the land. Farmers and traders, eager to participate in the event of the season and form new connections to the growing population of their little settlement. Every year, prospective travellers fleeing the scourge of Ketrefa, the wasps and beasts of the east, or in search of the growing legend of Ha-Dûna, came through their humble village nestled on a piece of arable land amid the hills. Every year, a few more seemed to stay behind, entranced by the charm of the simple life in the sun and relative safety of Àite-Tàimh, and most families welcomed them with open arms. More people meant easier work, safer work. Each white-cloak moving through towards Ha-Dûna was a blessing, and even one deciding to stay for a month or year was a miracle in disguise. This year, they had two; A crusty but jovial old crone who spent all her time looking after the women in Àite-Tàimh - especially Lucrais, with her third child on the way - and her young apprentice Aoife.

Ever since she had first walked into the village, smiling with a warmth of a thousand summers at Eòghan where he had sat on his fencepost, watching them both approach, he had been smitten. Aoife was the perfect storm. Her flowing red hair, a fire that could not go out. Her blue eyes, and the dusted freckles on her cheeks. He lay awake at night thinking about her happy waves from across the village as she trailed her tutor, about that mild-mannered laugh when he told her his latest story. Her words were like a song, a song he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, stop listening to.

That was why, on this day with a sleepy sun making the last preparations before sinking beyond the horizon, and a gentle wind, it was with extra distaste that Eòghan watched the wonderful Aoife being tricked into spending more and more time with Cailean, Old Claib’s son. From his usual perch he watched the two frolic about the village, Cailean dancing around her like a hill snake coiling around its prey. His smug, dumb face locked in a grin as he harassed her with silly jokes, and pointing out things around the village that she surely already knew about - after all Eòghan had made a point of showing her around after the first day of their arrival. For some reason he didn’t understand, Aoife seemed to be full of mirth, laughing at Cailean’s jokes and skipping around asking questions of her own. The butterflies in his stomach grew to a strange churn, and eventually a boulder that seemed to catch in his throat. Aoife was going to leave after the festival, and all she’d remember was that dumb Cailean and his stupid grin. Unable to watch anymore, Eòghan headed home with a head full of worry.

---

A week passed in no time, with the whole of Àite-Tàimh abuzz with a variety of chores. Eòghan’s father had him help with seating - they’d hewn long tables perfect for the outside feast, and the farmers from the hill across had dug fire pits on either side to keep them warm long into the night. Tons of families had come together to make wreaths, effigies, and different charms for the many gods, greatly helped by Aoife and her tutor. It was shaping up to be an amazing celebration, remembered by the village folk and gods alike. Eòghan was dressed in his best clothes, and his sister had knitted him a personalized hair pin that looked like a rose surrounded by lilies. When she’d found out that Aoife loved flowers, she’d made it just for him to give as a gift. She’d also snickered a lot. With the hair pin in hand, he made his way to the center of town, eager to find the girl of his dreams, and win her over once and for all with this memento of her time in the village. She’d spent a lot of time with him over the week - that much was true, but each time he had hoped to talk to her alone, Cailean had come and ruined it all. Spirited her away, or given Eòghan a bigger workload. But this time, he could not be topped. That dumb boy wouldn’t ruin his time together with her anymore.

As Eòghan reached the village center, he glanced around for her. Her red locks were easy to spot, and his smile grew as he picked her behind the crowd of milling visitors. However, his heart sank like a stone in water not a moment later. Across the way, by the chicken gate, who was taking up Aoife’s attention from afar if not Cailean. Worse, he had some kind of intricate instrument that he was managing to fully ensnare her with. Eòghan pushed through the people, saying hello to those he knew, determined to fully scope out his competition. Even from afar he could hear the twangs of music, a few discordant notes off-key in a song that Cailean had obviously practiced at least for a while. He knew he could handle a flute, but this, this was something else entirely.

He stared at the musical procession from afar, and tried to make out what the dastardly instrument was. A nearly round shape of wood and animal skin, with strings running up the middle in a loose net. Almost like a bow drawn back far beyond its limits. Cailean’s fingers strummed on the strings, and music flowed forth in delightful, taut intervals. Eòghan stared at the instrument in disbelief and saw Aoife nodding her head next to him, enjoying the miniature concert. It was the last straw. Seeing his chances shatter in front of him, Eòghan stormed forwards towards Cailean and his dumb instrument, and pointed at it sharply as he interrupted the performance. ”What is that?” he demanded, and immediately regretted it when he saw Cailean perk up with a smug smile.

“Oh, Eòghan, hey. Didn’t see you there. This here is a lyre, you know. M’dad got it all the way from the Prairie-folk in the west, he did. Says it’s all the rage. I been practicing for this lovely lass here. Yes, you.” Cailean replied, and winked towards Aoife, whose cheeks burned with a summer fire.

Eòghan was speechless, and felt a despair and rage well up within him. How could this be how it ended? Cailean had been practicing on some exotic instrument, and the world had never intended for Eòghan to have a chance. It wasn’t fair. He mumbled a brief compliment for Cailean’s instrument to not lose face, and walked off with all the self-control he could muster. Between tears and the urge to hit Cailean, wrestle him for her attention, he clutched the hair pin in his hand and mosied over to his old fence post instead, away from the bustle of the celebration.
Alone at his perch, he glowered over towards the now distant Cailean as he continued to play for Aoife. In his head, he cursed his own luck, and his inaction. How could he compete with something like that? He held his head in his hands and thought the worst of his life. Cursed existence. Felt like he could scream. Finally, he prayed. There was nothing else left to try. He called out in his head, asking for guidance, for salvation, and for love. He had never truly cared much for the gods and their tales, but it couldn’t hurt to try. He knew from his mother’s stories that there was such a thing as a love goddess. So why should only Cailean get her blessing? To his surprise, Eòghan felt a stifling presence wash over him, a whisper in his ear, though no one was there.

”You call for me, Eòghan, son of Baltair and Muire, and I answer,” the voice whispered, seductive and intrusive in tone. ”Your pain is my pain, my sweet. Truly, the world is wicked.”

He stood breathless for a moment, gaze flicking from side to side as he tried to sight the voice, but no one else seemed to hear her. It was a miracle. He looked up to the sky instead. ”Can you help me, goddess? I-.. I cannot compete with his exotic instrument.”

”Is it competition you wish for?” the voice asked with a whisper.

Eòghan nodded firmly, eyes moving back to stare at the far away Cailean. And her. ”I would do anything to win her heart. He doesn’t care about her, he’s always like this. What I wouldn’t give to give him a dose of his own medicine.”

There was a lingering pause. Were it not for the presence still impacting on his mind, he would have thought he was alone again. ”As you ask, so shall it be. Anything for you, my dearest. The sweet music of love shall forever run through your veins. Enough to win any battle.”

Eòghan heard a sultry exhale, and felt the wind briskly grip and tussle his hair. Before he could speak, the haze had lifted from his mind, and he blinked vigorously as sound and sensation came back from the world around him. Had he dreamed? He didn’t feel different. He lifted his arms as if to weigh them and inspect his own clothes. Nothing had changed. Perhaps he imagined it. Somehow.

His eyes trailed back to Aoife and the dumb, stupid scoundrel with his equally dumb instrument. Only this time something felt strange. He straightened himself out and narrowed his eyes, gaze falling on the distant lyre as Cailean played on. Slowly he found himself walking back towards the two, watching Cailean’s fingers as they strummed on his exotic instrument. As if elevated to new understanding, Eòghan began to see the pattern he created as he played, and how it could change through simple rhythm and motion. He saw what Cailean did wrong when he created his errors. He knew he could do better. He felt it in his bones. No. He had to do better.
”Can I try?” Eòghan forced out as he found he had stamped all the way back to them both. Cailean stopped playing his sedate tune and eyed him with a mixture of surprise and smug glee.

“Of course, Eòghan. Go easy, though. It’s harder than it looks. Wouldn’t want you to have to buy a new one!” he remarked with his typical attitude, and slowly handed over his lyre to Eòghan. From his expression, Eòghan knew he expected him to fail.

He wasn’t so sure he could do it either, but he felt compelled to try. Eòghan glanced to Aoife, who gave him a smile that made his cheeks warm. He had to. He hefted the instrument like Cailean had, and settled his hand against the strings. Then he began to play.

At first, he played the same tune as his idiot rival had. Gentle and unassuming. Knowing how it worked from watching Cailean, he corrected the mistakes his rival had made, and the song flowed with gentle ease. Aoife clapped happily, and Cailean looked both dumbstruck and impressed.

But Eòghan didn’t feel victorious. It wasn’t over. It was too easy. It wasn’t his instrument. He had to wow her, no, wow them both! He paused in the gentle rhythm, took a quick breath, and closed his eyes. Tried to focus on the songs he had heard sung in the past. He settled on one, and began to play anew. His fingers moved as if on their own, well-learned and graceful on the instrument. It was a pleasant melody, one that deserved the lyrics he had heard before. And so, to the already awestruck two listeners, he sang.



As his hands came to a rest, and Eòghan once more opened his eyes, he was stunned to find a whole crowd of villagers nearby, stopped in their tracks to listen. There was a brief pause, before two of the Kinley boys started applauding, which in turn brought on a deluge of approval from the others. It felt like the whole village was there to adore his words, his tunes. A hand slammed into his back with sudden, if manageable force. Cailean forced himself into view, grinning like a madman. “Wow! You’re a natural, Eòghan! You gotta teach me! I’ll tell Father for sure!”

Eòghan smiled back, relief and pride washing over him as even Cailean seemed genuinely touched. He had truly done it. He was blessed by the gods. He glanced around for Aoife, and found her crowded out by the approaching villagers.

His green eyes locked with her blue amidst the commotion.

She gave him a gentle smile. He smiled back, and her face dusted with summer red.

He would give her the pin after all.

---

---

Kaal’zar’s eyes were overflowing with tears. Of course, that wasn’t uncommon for the kids her age who were taken from their parents by travelling druids. She had been curt in her request, the druid - knocked on the door of Kaal’zar’s house and said to her parents: “May the gods smile upon your blessed household. I am Cer Tess - the stars have guided us to your home in search of our new apprentice.” Few more words had been said before her parents had sent her off with her, as well as the three other equally sobbing children she already had collected. Kaal’zar didn’t understand why she had to leave, nor why her parents had been so quick to give her up. The morning had started off as any other - with Kaal’zar joining her older brother to tend the meagre corn patch her family owned. What happened?

She eyed a young boy next to her. He looked skinnier than even her, and about twice as filthy from travel. His breath was ragged and weak and Kaal’zar could understand why - it had been a while since their last break, and she hadn’t been walking for days like them. She shuffled a little closer as they walked. “H-hey. What’s your name?” she whispered. The look she received could have wilted flowers - a vocal response was far too much to ask. Kaal’zar turned discretely to look behind her - the other two children looked similar. With quicker steps, she reached Cer Tess leading the group and pulled at her robe. The druid stopped and turned around, looking first straight ahead before adjusting her view angle for children. “Yes, my daughter?”

Kaal’zar was only eight years old - she hadn’t had the chance to meet many druids yet. It thus stung a little when this complete stranger referred to her as her daughter. “You’re not my mommy,” she hissed back venomously. Cer Tess sighed.

“My child, it’s merely a form of address. What was your name again?” She knelt down, and the other children sat down to take a rest. The boy Kaal’zar had tried to talk to earlier kept a close eye on her every action.

“Kaal’zar,” she replied valiantly. The druid nodded.

“Do you know why you’ve been chosen?” she asked her. Kaal’zar grit her teeth.

“No! Why have I been chosen? Where’s mommy? Why did daddy and her just give me away? Where’s Kaal’bor?”

“All in due time, my child,” Cer Tess replied patiently. Her whole stance, voice and being indicated that she had done this more times than one could count. “You’re lucky - we’re close to our destination. All will be explained there.”

As she got up, Kaal’zar screamed, “No! I wanna know -now-! Where are we going?!” Some of the other children echoed the request, approaching the druid with impatient steps. Cer Tess sighed again.

“The stars guided us to you, our new apprentices - you have been chosen by the gods to become druids!”

The two children who hadn’t realised or heard this yet all gasped, more bepuzzled than relieved. One of them, a boy, raised his hands, looking a little more confused that the others. “B-but pa oh’ways said I was gon’ be a lumberjack like ‘iiiim!”

Cer Tess sighed. “The archdruid will be clearer in her explanation. She will answer your every question. Now come on.” As the lady began to walk, she found that Kaal’zar remained defiantly where she had stood. She sighed again, this one containing hints of a groan, and walked over. “What’s wrong, my child?”

“I’m not your child! I wanna go home! This isn’t fun!”

“My dear, your new home is just beyond the hill over there, now come on.”

“NOOOO! DON’T WANNAAA-uh? Urrrgh…” Kaal’zar dropped to the ground with a snore and rolled every so slightly down the slope before Cer Tess caught her and picked her up, carrying her in her arms as she returned to lead the group.

“That makes two this year… Kids these days...” The other children glared enviously at Kaal’zar being carried, but a one of them felt odd cases of déjà vu. “Will I be able to do that?” mumbled one of them as they went on.

The journey went on for another thirty to forty-five minutes, as the “hill” Cer Tess had described, turned out to be a little higher up than expected. On top was a large, grassy plateau, sporting a few tents and huts, even one made of stacked flat stones. The hamlet was humble in every sense of the word, with roughly ploughed patches of grain whisking on the plateau edges in the evening wind. At the centre of this small settlement, however, was a great, moss-grown dolmen, surrounded by white-robed humans and night elves. Next to the dolmen, specifically in its sunset shade, stood another group of four children. These were night elves, and their supervisor, a man of their own kind with thick locks of midnight hair, was handing out patches of moss for the children to put in their ears. The human children all cast sideways glances at the elves, who returned the gesture. While Kaal’zar still fumed over being taken from her home, the sight of these creatures momentarily pulled her attention from those thoughts. This was the first time Kaal’zar saw a night elf child, and only the second time she’d seen night elves at all - her father had once gotten in an argument with one of them during a stag hunt, but apart from that, she hadn’t seen any others. She approached and pulled at Cer Tess’ robe.

“Cer Tess? Why are those night elves here?”

“Why, they’re here for the same reason as you, my child - they’ve been chosen. Four elves, four humans - eight in all, as homage to the great gods.”

“But why? Why not just humans?”

“Or just elves?” came another remark.

Cer Tess pointed to the dolmen with her staff. “It’s to maintain a balance, see - nightkind and daykind haven’t always gotten along around here, so in order to ensure peace is upheld, we druids must ensure that we can always function as a diplomatic bridge between all peoples of the mountain - both for those who live on it and in it. This dolmen, the Gudlach, is a symbol of this cooperation.”

The four children stared at the monument, trying to see what was so special about it. None of them could ask any more questions, however, before an old crone raised her tree branch staff and shook it scoldingly. “Cer Tess! You’re late!”

Cer Tess stopped and bowed as deeply as she could. “Forgive me, Volv Eaoir - we were delayed.”

“Dang right, you were! By a day, almost! As always, Cer Cayn came ahead of you - why can’t you be more like him, huh?” The other druids around the old crone sighed their peace, while the night elf overseeing the elven children looked to be discomforted by the praise. Cer Tess was silent for a moment.

“I will do my best, Volv Eaoir.”

“Pweh. Sure you will. Alright, children, gather around now! Come on, come on, we haven’t got all evening.” While Cer Tess brought the human children over, Cer Cayn translated the message into what Kaal’zar could only presume was some kind of elvish. It had a wide selection of aspirated consonants, lots of hissing and only three vowels, from what she could hear. There was a very distinct lack of unaspirated consonants, though, save for the occasional d and g. The night elf had a funny voice, though, Kaal’zar thought - squeaky and weird. It was as if he had the voice of a baby. She couldn’t help but giggle.

The old crone cleared her throat with thunderous gargling, silencing the humans and shocking the elves. One of the nelflings started whimpering and begged whisperously for support from Cer Cayn. “Welcome, all, to Godlach, the centre of druidism here in Laychsomun. This is where you’ll be staying for the next sixteen years.” Protests among the human children, and the nelflings as soon as the message was translated, were immediately crushed by the old crone’s draconic glare. “You will all be assigned to a mentor, and they will be with you for the first ten years. You will also get to know your peers - both daykind and nightkind - and you will learn each other’s strengths, weaknesses, songs and truths.”

“Sach-ak hsii k’ee-ar’loch k’ho?!” squeaked one of the nelflings, seemingly outraged. Volv Eaoir sneered at the remark.

“You will learn to love and appreciate each other in time. From now on, your only difference is that your schedules will be divided into day and night - apart from that, you are druids. Not nelflings and children - druids. Is that clear?” The nelfling who had spoken up looked away. The old crone approached and lowered herself to his level. “Cha-ee k’ho?” The nelfling nodded facing the ground. The old crone scoffed and returned to her spot under the dolmen.

The lumberjack’s son raised his hand - Kaal’zar blinked at him. Volv Eaoir groaned. “I don’t recall saying any of you could ask questions…”

“Please, ma’am, it’s--”

“-Volv- Eaoir to you, mouse,” the old crone spat back and the boy and the other children all shrank by a head. With teary eyes, the boy repeated:

“S-sorry, Volv Eaoir, didn’t mean te…”

“Didn’t mean to what?!” the old crone continued. One of her colleagues placed a hand on her shoulder. “Volv Eaoir, please, he’s only--”

“I don’t care what he’s onlying! Druids don’t back down when met with resistance! How’ll boys like him stop the outbreak of clan feuds and tribal war if he cannot handle a simple old lady?!” She had to be held back by her colleagues as she tried to run at the boy, staff waving from side to side.

Cer Tess tried her best to shut out the chaos and kneeled next to the boy, who had fallen to his knees to cry. Kaal’zar, meanwhile, observed the nelflings grimacing and sneering at the loudness of the humans. “It’s okay, my son, it’s okay,” Cer Tess whispered to him and took him in an embrace. The boy, though initially reluctant, accepted her slowly, and the druid whispered to him, “There, there… What did you want to ask? I can ask it for you, if you’d like.”

“I-I-I jusht… Sniff! … I jusht wanted to ask when we guh-get those super powers… Oo-hoo…”

Cer Tess pecked a kiss on the top of his head. “Alright, let me ask for you.” She turned to Volv Eaoir while still holding the boy and asked. The old crone, who had just calmed down from her tantrum, scoffed with the pierce of an arrow.

“Alright, -one- question more before the rest of the initiation; this was coming up next anyway… Impatient brats… Listen carefully - and if any of you start something anew for this, you won’t get dinner for a week!” Motivation properly shattered, the children merely looked to the ground as a response. Volv Eaoir nodded her approval. “Know this - we will not spend hours and maybe even days in prayer to call forth Hir just to empower gullible little snifflings. No, no. You’ll have to -earn- it!” She pointed her staff at the sky. “When your training has reached its tenth year, and you are well-versed in the gospels of the Eight, the Worldsong of Mich-all, the geography of this land and the stories of the thousand peoples that inhabit it…” She leaned in, eyes narrow, serpentine slips. “... Only then will you be given your power.”

The plateau was silent, except for some crickets. After she felt the blanket of hopelessness had packed itself tightly enough around the initiates, Volv Eaoir tapped the butt of her staff against the mountainous ground underneath the dolmen. “Now, form a line, all, and you’ll be given your new names. Learn them well and forget your old ones - no one will remember you by them anymore.”

Kaal’zar raised her hand. The old crone drew a long, sharp breath. “... What?”

“Will we ever get to see mommy and daddy again?”

The old crone seemed to glare at Cer Tess as though she hoped she would catch fire. “... We are your family now. Starting tomorrow, you will learn this. Now form a line!” Kaal’zar and many of her peers knew not how to even process this concept, so they didn’t react much as they were lined up before the old crone. While the first child, a nelfling girl to be exact, as well as everyone else, half expected the old crone to name her ‘Garbage’ and toss her aside. However, Volv Eaoir sat down and began to drone a song that seemed to go on forever. Meanwhile, one of her companions who had held her back earlier turned to the stars, wagging his staff from side to side; another knelt down to the ground and placed her palms against it as she started to sing along with the old crone; a third stared into a puddle by the westmost foot of the dolmen - stared hard, too, as though he saw the secrets of the universe on the other side; a forth was sat tossing fish bones in a bowl; and finally, a fifth was running between the eastern edge and western edge of the plateau, as though chasing the setting sun and greeting the rising moon. Cer Tess and Cer Cayn gently pushed the first nelfling up to the crone, and she stood there shivering before the woman’s blind, nefarious glare.

“Fina,” was all she said.

“Sok?” replied the nelfling bepuzzled. The crone growled and Cer Cayn gently pulled her aside and whispered loudly through the moss her ears: “Hso ‘Fina’ chol’loch.” Before the nelfling could complain about her new name, she was pulled aside to make way for the next in line, the boy Kaal’zar had tried to speak to on the road.

“Gion,” said the crone through her song. The boy nodded and stepped aside. Next up was Kaal’zar, rubbing her hands together nervously.

“I don’t wanna--”

“Pia.”

Pia blinked. No, this wasn’t right. She was Kaal’zar! Daughter of Kaal’terk and Prol’zar, sister of Kaal’bor. She built up her protest, but Cer Tess pulled her aside with a knowing expression on her face. Pia felt the tears come back. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t--

“Call.”

Pia looked over. Call was a tall nelfling, built well for one of their age. He had no doubt come from a hunter family. He didn’t seem particularly pleased with the arrangement, either, and stomped off to join the rest of the named.

“Tolk.” The lumberjack’s son.

“Chass.” A crying nelfling girl.

“Logo.” A pale, sickly-looking human girl.

“Iro.” A skinny nelfling, likely the youngest in a family of poor farmers.

The old crone finally opened her eyes again. Her companions came panting back to the dolmen, especially the runner. The children looked uncomfortably at one another and Volv Eaoir spoke, “You have been named in the presence of the Eight, as well as all the spirits of land, sea and sky. You will from now on only use these names - your old ones are forfeit, and to use them is considered a grave transgression of the rules atop Godlach. Starting tomorrow, you will begin your lessons.” She nodded. “Welcome, all, to your new life.”

---

The real problem, she reckoned, was that she’d never been good at vacations. Oh sure, if Illyd Dyll were to actually arrive and poke his head into her portal he’d see her lounging on a plush chair with an umbrella woven of solid gold keeping the light away from her face, but that didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t on vacation anymore. Tekret et Heret, the god of Rulership and Contracts, was back at work. At least, in her head.

New contracts, agreements, and some oaths were being filed away in thousands of amber palaces all around her. Sometimes she’d go out and file them herself, but that had always been an affectation. She’d done it because, well, there hadn’t been a reason not to. It was better than just sitting there. Now though? Well the beach was as good a place as any to watch the world, file away its agreements struck, and meddle with it here and there.

Her talk with Artifex had reminded her why she’d even bothered for two thousand years. The work wasn’t always great, and she’d have loved to dump the filing on another mind, but playing with things down below? Finagling to see her vision for an orderly and righteous society end up on top? There really wasn’t anything like it. Building a world.

Sure she made a mistake here, an error there, but that was the fun. Not even the gods could see the future, and why would they ever want to? As embarrassing as her follies had been, they’d helped her learn. She knew where to let the mortals have free reign now. That, and where to push.

Now, she was about to do just that. Not to shift the fate of civilizations, or to impact countless lives, but to give her more time to do those things in the first place. Cadien had been right, an Avatar would ease her workload, but something like that could never really choose to help her, and if even if could why would it?

So, she reasoned, the answer was simple. Foist the boring parts of her job, the filing mostly, onto someone who could choose. Who could be compensated. She was a god of Contracts, so why not contract the work out? Give a mortal this or that in life and in exchange get a soul to help with the work when they died. It was a raw deal, but she didn’t doubt there were an abundance of people who’d take it.

The upside was most of the ones who’d agree probably deserved an eternity filing away contracts. The downside was they might not be the best workers. Thankfully, that second bit could be fixed. After all, once their souls belonged to her, who's to say she couldn’t tinker with them.

It was a good plan, in her opinion. There was, however, a problem. She was trapped up here, and while she could spy around with her Seers there was a limit to how useful they were. Especially when it came to finding out what mortals wanted. Especially what they wanted bad enough to sell their souls.

It was probably one of the usual things. Wealth. Power. Sex. The issue was which mortals wanted which one of those, and how badly. No, it wasn’t a task a god could do efficiently. Oh Tekret didn’t doubt she’d be able to do it, but it would just be more busywork in an effort to reduce busywork.

That didn’t make sense. So then, she had to find an agent. Someone who would do that busywork for her. Of course that agent would be better compensated than the ones they’d be getting to sign away their souls, but it wasn’t a position she’d offer just anyone. After all, whoever took it would have to be immortal. Those few who had that little blessing on Galbar were problematic, in that they tended to stick around and remember all the gods little fuckups. Some were the gods little fuckups. So faith and loyalty were important.

Almost as important as not being boring. Again, forever was a long time. Tekret had absolutely no intention of blessing one of her less interesting servants with eternal life. Some of the priests... She shuddered at the thought of having to answer their questions forever. Oh she was a god of Order, but that didn’t mean she wanted to discuss nothing but tax systems for a few thousand years. The idea was enough to make her blood run cold.

Not that she had blood, really. Or could get cold. Mostly, she just snapped her fingers and was wearing a warmer sundress. If such a thing could be said of sundresses at all. So, Tekret reflected, she needed an agent who was faithful, loyal, and interesting.

A tall order, but she had someone in mind.

---

She grit her teeth as she felt it, the sting of the lash upon her back. The feeling of blood forming rivulets that ran down her naked shoulders and onto the floor. It hurt, but that was precise why she did it. Again, she brought the lash against herself and winced at the pain. Some in the House of Order called her mad, but only out of ignorance.

She bore them no ill will. Not anymore. The anger she felt at their gibes and taunts was carried away with her blood. She had started this ritual for penitence, but peace hadn’t been hard to find. The weight of the world, anger, resentment, sorrow. All of it could be banished with the lash. Pain was an excellent focus.

Satisfied with her work, even as her bloodshot eyes ran with tears, Hesari brought the lash to her basin and cleansed it of blood. It was a mark of the House of Order’s status that every member had a basin, and enough water to fill and drain it as they pleased. She knew it was more than she deserved, but unlike some of her brothers and sisters she did not take such gifts for granted. She paid for her comforts. Every week.

She found a small clay jar and filled it with water before using it to wash her back and cleanse her wounds. They were light, but deep enough to scar. The patchwork of pallid raised skin across her back spoke to that. When the blood no longer ran and she could see the wounds she applied a smear of oil to each injury, sealing it from the world.

With a pained sigh she picked up her robe and began to get dressed. It hurt, but her body felt lighter for the abuse. It was something she needed these days. Even craved. The only problem was that she could not do it forever, or even for long it seemed. She might be called upon, and there would be no room for injury or weakness if that were to happen.

She prayed it didn’t. Tekret et Heret had intervened before they were needed in the past. No true servant of Order would shirk their duty if it came to it, however. Everyone in the House of Order was aware that Ketrefa had become rotten, many of them had played a hand in furthering that rot. They had sought redemption, though. She had sought redemption. Now it fell to them to excise the disease if called upon.

It was rare, a thing that had happened only twice in written history, but the House of Order knew its duties. One word from their god and they would tear the King of Ketrefa off his throne and find another. Blood would run in the streets. She had to be ready, if it happened. Even as she hoped that it would not, that Tekret would correct the King’s weakness before she was ever needed.

So, she wondered if she should stop this ritual. To be ready. Then again, she had seen some of the other priests. The House took in criminals and killers like her, but the cult was not closed to normal folk. They were soft, weak even. She envied it, but it was a gift she had willingly surrendered long ago. Her place was to be hard. The militant arm of a faith that professed no martial capacity.

“Awfully dramatic, don’t you think?” A playful woman's voice interrupted Hesari’s thoughts, and her head whipped around looking for the trespasser. If one of her peers had gone so far as to mock her in her own room she would-

“But that’s why I’ve always liked you kid. You never played games, trying to get around your vows, you gave yourself to me entirely.” The voice echoed in her mind.

Hesari’s blood ran cold. Was it now? Had her god come to her to deliver a verdict on a kingdom? She spoke, haltingly, “Holy one. I- Is it time?”

“Mm,” The voice mused, “No, not for that. Not yet. I’m here for you kid. You’re eh, faith, hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ve got a job for you, if you’ll take it.”

“Me?” Her breath caught and she reflected upon her life. It had not been a good one. She had been callous, even evil, and now this? It was beyond her in every way, and both she and her god knew she wouldn’t refuse, “I will. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Knew you would kid. This will hurt a little, but hey you're used to that aren’t ya?”

Before she could ask a question she felt the scars on her back stretching, burning, tearing. She bit back tears and in her mind she began to see what her god was doing. On her back a contract was being written, her scars the ink it was penned with. She could not see the contract, but at once she understood it. Her god's dilemma, her part in it. She felt an entire new world opening up to her, but only halfway.

She understood as much as she needed to. For the rest? She still needed to sign. It wasn’t a question of how. She reached for her lash, and in one motion savaged her back with it. The gashes it left were brutal, deeper than she had ever cut, but they mended at once and formed into her name, written in a script none in the world but she understood.

Her mind exploded. She grasped things she had struggled with all her life, and she knew at once that what limited her now was knowledge, not ability. Moreover, she blinked and found herself little more than an apparition. Her god had changed her in every way, and as she blinked again she returned to the world as an agent. A proxy for her god.

She breathed heavily, “Thank you. I understand it. I can do it for you.”

The voice faded to a whisper as it bade her farewell, “I know. Be seeing you kid.”

---

Hesari, as she discovered when she revealed Tekret’s visit to the rest of the House, was not the only one Tekret had visited that day. After a thousand years Tekret et Heret had formally blessed his faithful in the Highlands, declaring them his chosen servants and approving their doctrine. Every member of the House, from all across the Highlands, had heard it be done.

Moreover, their patron had left them with a gift. Knowledge of the script that graced Hesari’s back, and the power it held. Across the Highlands priests of the House began to pen contracts that could never be broken. Or, more accurately, not broken without consequences. The House of Order had earned their gods trust, and so gained some of the divines power.

It was a poor gift, compared to hers.

---

At the edge of a pond, Evandra relaxed her partially submerged body. The boiling water filled her surroundings with steam, and although it made it somewhat difficult to take in the view, she didn’t mind it in the slightest. All the Goddess cared about at the moment was the warm sensation that only hot water could provide.

And it was its sudden disappearance that caught her attention. “Hmm?” She opened her eyes to see what was happening only to see that the water was also disappearing. “What?” Not only the water, but the steam as well as the forest that should be beyond its walls were also fading.

She stood up from the water and looked around herself frantically. “What’s going on?!” The world faded more and more. Faint transparency gave way to darkening until nothing but a black void remained. “NO!” Her scream sounded different in the darkness. “Give it back to me!” She willed the void away. “Let me return!” Her surroundings gradually took shape, returning the pond and the forest into view. It worked, if for a moment. Sharp pain spread through her body in a way she couldn’t describe. Divine as she was she had never felt pain before. The black void resumed. Evandra screamed from her core in agony, the sound dwarfing even that of her birth. Certainly all of Galbar would’ve heard it, but there were none to hear it here.

She could barely stay on her feet. With an audible thuds she banged against the wall repeatedly. “Let me return…” Her knees buckled and she fell on them. “Please… Let me…” She wept. And how did she weep. What she loved most, her everything was denied to her. “Oraelia… Cadien…” She called the siblings she had met. “Enlil… Marduk… Nergal… Inanna... Irkalla…” And then she called her heroes. “Anyone…”

Leaning against the wall she cried in grief and solitude. Time passed without her noticing. She couldn’t care for its passing over the pain of her broken heart.

Eventually, though, it subsided just enough for her to notice it. She lifted her head up and looked at the nothingness. “Why is there a wall here…?” Ever since she was rejected this wall was there, but she was too emotional to notice. “Did I…” She laid her palm on the wall. The featureless, invisible surface gained color. Brown like mud spread through the dark as if ink had been poured over it until all of its surface was covered.

She looked down. The ground too gained the same color. Returning to her feet, Evandra walked into the void as the ground formed before her and two more walls followed. “As Galbar came from the Lifeblood, so shall my world. We gods come from the same source, the void is just another canvas.” She walked up a ramp that lead into a plateau. The walls that formed along her path converged and formed a fourth. Above her a ceiling had formed as well. She looked down at the empty space and a stack of hay was formed from the ether. It was much like the ones she had been offered in the villages she had visited, but now she felt as if it wasn’t enough. The hay transformed into a wide bed, its mattress adorned in a lilac sheet. Evandra touched it and she felt softness like never before.

She looked back from where she had been weeping and found that it had been darkened as if the void was attempting to seize the space for itself. Fire formed from her feet and spread down the ramp, illuminating the way. It crawled up the walls and reached the edge of the ceiling, where a gap was formed as if to invite the fire in.

Evandra looked over the chamber she formed for herself. It was warm from her fires and cozy, it wasn’t nearly enough to dispel the look of dejection still covering her face. “This world is still just as empty…” She laid down on the bed, resting her head against a pillow matching the sheet, and closed her eyes. One final tear flowed across her face.

---

It seemed as though nothing had changed since the last time Neiya entered Antiquity, now that she once more stuck her head out from her own realm to give the world beyond a demure, searching peer. Slowly, the horned goddess drifted out from the irregular tear in reality that separated her bleak domain from the rest of the lifeblood’s collective prison. A finger crooked around the loop running through the shackle around her throat, resting cautiously as she hovered across the dirt-covered ground, icy blue eyes enraptured in a slow search and examination of the moving shapes milling about Antiquity yet. The voice she heard had given her renewed purpose to enter the unknown, a cause to leave the pavilion deep in her realm for but a short time.

Neiya kept to the edges of the vast, shared realm as she drifted onwards in her journey, preferring to scan the shapes she could see from a distance and occasionally glancing into realms as she passed the entryways into new and mysterious places. None of these places seemed to call to her any more than her own did, a blank canvas of divine energies. The maelstrom of emotion remained the dominant focus for her mind, pressed aside only by her determination to locate the source of the voice she’d heard.

For a brief time, she'd find that her search was fruitless, as each realm failed to draw her in. However, as she made to complete her circuit a siren song--a feeling--began to press against her mind. With each step a gentle coaxing web of intention draped her form, its intangible melody entwining with her form, guiding her. A yawning rift fashioned in a shape most curious, beckoned to her, its edges less jagged or simple than those many thresholds she had previously disregarded. It appeared intentional as if the consciousness that had bid it to exist had done so with some fey design in mind.

From beyond the opening could be glimpsed an enigmatic thing, like color and movement wrapped in shadow and silk. It shifted and fled from the foreground of her awareness as if it existed always at the edges of her vision, at the cusp between the unknown and the understood. Mere steps away, that gateway it appeared more frightening, more tantalizing than most any single thing could be.

It was dangerous.

It was home.

It was utterly unfathomable, yet unspeakably familiar.

Something, from beyond the threshold of its boundaries, called to her heart and soul and mind.

She could not help but answer.

Her hesitation was disintegrating with each step, overtaken by a building curiosity that enraptured and ensnared what wits she’d possessed prior to feeling the rift’s call. Neiya breathed a shallow breath, leaning forwards in the air to gingerly examine the vast enigma that played with her senses, cautious pale fingers extending in a searching and gentle attempt to touch the mirage. Fingers ran slowly against the edges of the rift, and icy eyes briefly pulled from their sorrowful regret beheld it with a listless concern that belied the determination with which the goddess seemed to now act, against her usual judgment.

The horned goddess breathed another quiet breath, watching the ominous rift ripple and weave in the corners of her eyes. It was a brief lull of rational thought and concern, before the siren song took full hold. Neiya drifted forwards, immersing herself in the rift, and entered the mysterious world beyond.

Like a spray of frigid fluid upon her facade, a wash of sensation struck her and it was like she had never breathed before. While some might find themselves wholly overwhelmed, she would be merely dazed for a moment. The maelstrom of feeling hidden deep in her mind had prepared her for something such as this. Even so, the realm she stepped into was nothing like that sorrowful dirge in her mind, no, for it had a music all its own.

Every emotion, every thought--some familiar, some alien and strange--sang in this place beyond the threshold. It was more than music. It was more than any sound or sensation and if she allowed herself to drift a moment--mind unfocused and unbiased--she might glimpse the barest glimmer of its Grand Design.

To perceive it was and understand was perhaps impossible, yet the longer she looked and felt and heard the more the goddess would find herself drawn into its hold. Within that embrace would be revealed a subtle pattern. Something she knew, but had never realized. A deeper intuition, beyond proper thought or rationale.

It stirred something deep within, a feeling of safety. It reminded her of those first moments of existence when there was naught but compassion for mortalkind, and a touching embrace wrapped around her. For a few moments, Neiya hovered aimlessly, motionless and lost. The maelstrom of emotions was dampened, replaced by that warm sense of security with which she had welcomed Galbar in her first few moments of life.

Her hands spun out into the void, touching at nothing yet feeling all that she desired, a return to silence - or rather, a tranquility that let her think, and her heart be still. The horned goddess remained like this for a time, content to submerge herself in the alien sensations that carried her onto new horizons without pulling her under. With it came a clarity she hadn’t felt in thousands of years. With that clarity she allowed her mind to wander, to listen and experience. Even if only for a short time.

---

A starlight silhouette shrouded in gray, Àicheil crossed into Antiquity and--in swift order--found an image unfamiliar crowding his mind. A confusion that did not last, a coiling serpent of interest, a bloom of curiosity. The Dreaming God crossed the stonework colosseum, passed beyond the threshold, and entered his realm anew.

---

With his entrance, a transient ripple pressed itself outwards and through that Dreaming Realm and with it came knowing. A tilted head, then expansion as Ѻs-fhìreach abandoned all semblance of form.

A Goddess had entered his favored place, a sibling, and she was far from the shore of sanity. Buoyed still by the stability of his twin, Àicheil pressed through his realm in an instant, emerging several strides from the drifting goddess. His awareness pressed against her skin from all directions, gentle but prying. Intrigued. With each moment his mind relaxed and so inwards fluttered a wealth of knowing. A calm chime of understanding, a subtle lantern of intent, then a ringing word. It was a name.

“Neiya.”

In that utterance was held the sum total of all knowledge of her being. A sorrowful truth. A joyous song. Monotony. Vengeance. Beauty.

In the endless dreaming design of his eldritch realm, two vast eyes opened. They blinked as if adjusting to the world--two steady glowing embers in a vast cacophony of color, gazing down upon her. A small sound, the essence of a gasp stifled, then silence once more. The pattern stilled, but that clarity she’d attained yet remained--immovable.

The horned goddess spun in place, attention drawn from her languid peace to instead focus on the changing architecture, ice-blue eyes meeting the vastness beyond with no mind to fear or worry. If one could stare defiantly into the eldritch eyes of the dreaming abyss, Neiya was not far off the mark. Once again her hand reached out, though she was uncertain as to what she truly reached for. “You know me, but I do not know you. Who are you?” came a calm query, lacking the disappointed bite that all too often tinged the love goddess’ words.

A gentle rumbling laughter, a flurry of color like a flock of loosely painted birds. Joy, amusement, then silence. For a time they remained like this, the Goddess and the formless dreamer, gazing upon one another with defiance and intrigue. He regarded her, plumbing the vast depths of boundless knowledge, perusing the infinite library of experiences for shreds of knowledge further. He grasped at these the threads of understanding and when finally he was sure, he spoke once more.

“I am the Dreaming God,” he proclaimed, and with that single statement the Worldweave shook with the thunder of his mighty voice. Through the Endless Dream his statement resounded, strumming many threads. Somewhere something shifted, unknown to his waking mind.

“I am Àicheil,” he said.

“I am Ѻs-fhìreach,” he intoned.

“I am Neo-Àicheil,” he responded.

“Welcome.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, did those newfound eyes close and as they did, the god's form resolved itself, but this time it was different.

There were fewer angles, and where before had draped a shroud, now fell strands like gray hair, their sheen a rainbow in the shifting light. A swaying step forwards, a hand raising as if the body was a mirror to her own--though without frightening edges or deadly horns. On this shared shape there were eyes, but still no mouth or nose. The cut of the face was like her own, shapely and fair, but with fewer features to adorn it. Each stride towards the Goddess was like a swaying dance, mimicking those few times she had truly walked upon the land.

The distance between them closed, her raised hand met the face of the Dreaming God, as did Àicheil's own meet hers.

Neiya’s reaction was almost instantaneous, her usually hesitant and cautious intent washed away within the confines of her renewed clarity. As her fingers began to graze the cheek of the Dreaming God, the blue in her eyes expanded like a river crashing through a dam, filling her eyes with a roiling swirl that could only begin to hint at the torrent within. As her palm caressed Àicheil’s face, so too did the love goddess impart her maelstrom upon her host.

Images, emotions and whispers all assailed the god at once, a whirling maelstrom of mortal affection and experience, all taking place at once, and in order, at the same time. A bleak and hollow landscape, in which a lonely figure walked, kept company only by her tears. A man anxiously waiting at the side of his bedridden love. The terror of abuse. The confusion of affection, and the anxious butterflies of waiting for a response. Among the onslaught of imagery were brief sanctuaries, respite in the form of joy, trust, and warmth. In the storm of hollow grief, intense sorrow and dull hatred, they were but single notes in a funeral dirge.

A gently inhaled breath, eyes 'pon hers, an image of placidity and calm. Then, her mind filled to bursting, a maelstrom the likes of which she'd never experienced, a thousand thousand thoughts, a trillion trillion feelings--broader in scope, deeper in measure. Ideas. Concepts. Knowledge. Knowing. Twisting birds made from smoke, feathers like mirror-shards, eyes like flint and soot together. People, writ as water flows. Vast shifting beasts, behemoths of thought and emotion entwined with a deep gnawing hunger. Then a voracious appetite far more vast than theirs, a desire for knowing, for creation, for context.

The swirling storm did not abate in the least, but it could not break her. Àicheil's fingers traced her jawline, the movement both hesitant and practiced in the same moment as if pulled from a lover's memory, but not so often done.

The Dreaming God stared for a time, her experiences--and all those bound up within her being, imparted by others--gently unraveling within him. A silver flare lit up behind his newborn eyes and it spread, creating a halo of light that consumed him--then pressed upon her skin as well. Glowing silver flames, dancing in unreal patterns.

With time a languid silence overtook their minds. It was a whisper of equilibrium, a promise of clarity and knowledge and truth.

Àicheil closed his eyes and listened to its song--their song.

Neiya hovered breathless before him, deep blue eyes swirling as the goddess remained entirely enraptured in this new sensation, filled with a feedback she had never imagined. Pale fingers danced over the bare features of the Dreaming God’s face, spellbound by their shared song yet ever caring and curious. So they remained, open to the experiences of one another, and that of a world beyond, the horned goddess still and accepting the flood of emotion, memory and context that barraged her previous perception.

It appeared to give her the presence of mind to alter the maelstrom, at the very least in that shared moment, to find and share those moments of peace with imbued clarity. In each part, the intensity of emotions built to a crescendo, focused and separated from the river of uncontrollable mortal suffering and happiness. A deluge of memories, of praying mortals, of Sanya and the first humans, all returned with a sharp clarity of purpose. Somewhere deep within the goddess, a spark to sort through each moment had been ignited, and in their shared peace were brief flashes of her memories as millennia of situations were aligned with new context beyond the shortsighted impulses Neiya had let control her before.

As the silence spread, the equilibrium established, her mind stilled for a time, and the love goddess resolved to do as Àicheil; simply listen and experience the woven promise ring out. Neiya was content to be a passenger, at least for a time.

In silence, did the two remain, their only company each other and the Endless Dream's refrain. In due time the quiet grew too great to bear. So Àicheil spoke, and his gentle words they drifted through her hair.

“Are you well,” he asked her, his tone a soothing thrum. Their hand, too, did its work and played across her temple and down to her collarbone. From heart to shoulder, from spike to cheek, the god's caress roamed.

There was not the barest shred of invasiveness within the motion, only mindfulness and comfort.

The horned goddess parted her lips, a hesitation to answer, as her eyes grew distant even with her new clarity to guide her. Or perhaps because of it. “No,” she eventually replied, a tranquil sorrow to her tone. Sadness, but momentary peace all the same. “Though perhaps that is alright. If I do not suffer, who will hear their woes? Rejoice with them? It cannot be defeated, only eased.”

A subtle twist of her lips, a minuscule smile of appreciation at her continued thought. “I never want them to be alone, and they never will. I will always be there to listen, and to touch their lives with meaning.”

About them wove a whisper of a smile amid a sea of many threads, each its own thought, many filled with confusion. Àicheil paused, as if appreciating her words, her form, her thoughts, and the sentiments that dwelled beneath them. In the Dreamer's eyes a question remained, teasing at Àicheil's mind, and driving them to madness.

Tilting their head, Àicheil withdrew his fingers into a fist, leaving only one upon her flesh, its tip against the hollow of her throat. Downwards was drawn a line, prismatic emotion writ upon skin, twisting within itself, creating coiling cascading patterns. A curving downwards sweep, reversing at the center to mirror along that first line which had been drawn. As the deliberate motion of that finger returned from whence it came and withdrew from her pallid skin the patterned unfurled. Swiftly, it became far more complex than its initial tracing, awash with color, filled with tranquil peace--its every aspect a memory of contented clarity.

Ѻs-fhìreach looked upon her then...and saw.

“Love and Sorrow both. From you are they borne into the world, and to you they return.”

Lightly, he tapped the center of her chest, where the heart-pattern ended.

“Find your center. Know that beyond these there dwells a vast well of emotion inside which that despair is but a delicate crystal of black ice. Distinctive, but fleeting.”

Shroud returning to its former shape, Àicheil watched her then, still unsettled and confused. For despite his words of wisdom, his grasp of her Truth remained unclear to him--its value still unknown.

For a moment, the love goddess caressed the Dreamer’s face, head slowly tilting as she appeared to grow thoughtful. The touch ceased, and the connection broke at last, her eyes slowly recovering to a calm, sorrowful demeanor.

“You speak true,” she offered. Arms slowly lifting, Neiya attuned herself further to the maelstrom raging within, dulled as it was in his realm. ”I want what they have. There is peace beyond the river. I will find it.” A brief ripple of power, screaming of intense desire and want, echoed into the endless spaces of the Dreaming God’s realm. The horned goddess lowered her arms once more, and gently moved a hand to lay it on the mark he had left on her.

“Surely the Dreaming God understands such a feeling. Dreaming for something more.”

Àicheil's head tilted at her comment, unsure of her meaning.

“More?”

The word held within its bounds confusion, but beyond even that it was laden with impressions of infinity. It was a sweeping gesture, encompassing all which surrounded them and the Endless Dream to which it was connected. It was a question, but not simply one requiring a response. It said, 'what more could there be?

The goddess’ eyes drew out over the expanse, and not long after, she scoffed quietly. Neiya began to turn away, her peace apparently sullied by his response. Her own head tilted as she paused, and her gaze returned with renewed vigor onto the Dreaming God. “Are you like the God of Truth? Unable to see beyond the horizon?” she queried with a return of the disdain she usually carried, even though it did not seem to plague her otherwise. Her features kept in a neutral, thin frown.

“You must want something, Àicheil. Otherwise, you are no better than I was. Still am. Broken.”

The Roineagan shuddered at her words, recoiling from her and the Dreaming God, its many colors twisting upon themselves and shifting to a maddened crimson hue. Bolts of lightning, black, and red, and gray shot from clouds of experiences to strike the Dreamer. Cords of flickering starlight wove across his form, warping the surface of his divine facade. These cords of twisting light, they reached his newfound eyes and pulsed like veins of rage, pumping all emotion from the Dreamer's once expressive gaze.

Threads of Àicheil's shroud wound about themselves and became like razor wire, cutting at the Worldweave and severing so many ties. Many cries of horror and fear slipped from mind-to-mortal-mind. A thread grazed across her arm but did not cut, and from fury was borne a silence that could cull all meaning from the world.

Eyes like colorless dull ice pierced her, then softened as coiling lights slowly pressed back into their form, releasing tension which from rage had been born.

“You speak of arrogance, yet presume to understand,” thundered the Thrice Named God.

“You dance amid delusion, as if broken by the burden of your nature.”

Ѻs-fhìreach swept his hand through the air like a cutting saber and destroyed the meaning of these words, insulted by their taste upon his mind.

“Though you were born with eyes, they only blind you.” The words were quieter, almost gentle, yet equally cutting as if they had inherited the blade that came before them.

Ѻs-fhìreach remained silent for a time, and that quiet moment was thick with the intensity of their attention. So full did the air about them feel, that it seemed should she speak, that she would suffocate.

Though affronted, Àicheil's temper slowly lost its edge, as did their form. Reaching out, they pressed a finger to the center of Neiya's forehead.

Àicheil's eyes closed, as if unwilling to look upon her. Before their gaze fell away, a whisper of disappointment and sadness touched them, writ as shades of dark blue and wisp-like threads of purple.

“You. Our siblings. Narrow minds.” He said this slowly, hoping to impart their true weight to her. In her mind small lights would appear, visions to correspond. “Each sees,” he continued, and the lights glowed within her, illuminating aspects of the world. Then, two new lights appeared, one a golden hue, the other a prismatic mass. “Twins,” the lights met, and where they did, blossomed something beyond any explanation. “United, we are whole. The Two-as-One. Apart…” they separated once more, “...we are ourselves. Incomplete, but whole in a way.”

He withdrew his finger.

“Your lights shine brightly. All of us Gods. Two of us, aware. You wish to call the Two-as-One shortsighted, yet your light illuminates only that held within. Ours is an infinite tapestry, growing faster than thought, building on itself.”

Àicheil shook his head and turned from her, drifting to the center of his realm. His form dissolved completely, and she might feel the presence of him upon her skin. Images were pulled from the endless tapestry of his realm. Familiar forms pulled from memory and experience. The Gods, or echoes of their essence, as perceived by her...and by the mortals beyond this place apart. Their forms shone with an inner light, each a distinct color. Slowly, as she watched, Neiya might find that these colors each existed within the Grand Design of Àicheil's realm. Then, when each color was matched to a God...she might notice that there were more colors--more sounds, more sensations and thoughts, and emotions--than there were gods.

Eyes opened and regarded her once more. Their edges limned with gold. Throughout his realm, that same aureate hue wove throughout the colors of other Gods. It sung and spun and twisted in a dance most intricate. It was part of them, but it held itself separate in a way.

“To ye who bear the fruit of only a single colour I ask: Why only one? Why only two? Within me all are made as one, and thus there is without.” He paused and shook his head.

A prismatic thread grazed her cheek. It was a memory of tenderness and peace, rippling through her mind. It was comforting, but painful--still, it left no mark.

“You are as the blind, wandering in the darkness of dreams; ignorant to your own ignorance.”

Àicheil's gaze seemed sympathetic but filled with a thing that bordered pity.

“How sad it must be. To be a vessel overfull with yearning.”

The words were soft, but they held within them a quiet venom.

How unfortunate a being. So fragile as to break when confronted by their nature. Prideful and blind. Lusting after that which they already possess--unknowing.

These words, he did not say, but she would feel them all the same.

Neiya’s eyes narrowed quickly during the Dreaming God’s retort, each word seeming to send a ripple of discontent, tranquil fury, and disgust through her very being. The maelstrom was silent now, for she was thoroughly and intensely focused on the verbal and mental assault. Still, the horned goddess held herself with a feigned grace, wafting a hand in front of her face dismissively as silence began to ring out with its presence. She spun in place, gaze moving in search for whence she came.

“I care not,” she gave with a venomous tone of her own, icy and unpleasant. “Hide and watch your tapestry grow as I paint upon it.”

As the distance grew between them, and the hold of their attunement weakened, a resounding laugh echoed through the realm, pressing itself through her form. The sound did not relent until she neared the threshold of his realm, where it was replaced by words.

“Sorrow and Love. Suffering and Peace. Like all the works of our siblings, I bid thee welcome.” Though the sound of laughter had fled, amusement remained within his voice.

Before her, he coalesced, golden light wrapped about the silhouette of his star wrought visage, its aureate hue extending outwards like threads into infinity. “One insult is traded for another. One, a query, the other a harsh reality that you deign to not accept.” He blocked the exit with his form and fell silent, hoping she might consider his words.

“The maelstrom within, it need not rule you.”

He moved aside, the motion filled with guileless grace.

“Venom and invectives, from you I drew these things. So look not upon this meeting with sour remembering.”

His form began to fade into the endless waves of the Worldweave, as his attention drifted elsewhere, but as she crossed the threshold, she felt a final whisper.

“Within a strength you do not know,
A seed of power and control,
So rest your blame,
O' sorrow's dame,
and end your lamentation,

So from seed to stalk is grown,
A force which surely fills the hole,
which resides inside your heart,
Hurting, clawing, it tore apart,
Till, by dominion's hold, you drove it to cessation.”

That seemed to give Neiya pause, head twisting to gaze backward over her shoulder. Eyes narrowed, she offered a soft, minimalist nod. With a regal tilt of her chin and a flurry of lingering experience, the horned goddess left the Dreaming God's demesne; her quiet fury turned to introspection.

---

“Evandra?” The familiar voice called out to her.

Her eyes opened slightly for the first time since her slumber. In her daze she didn’t immediately see who it was, but when she did her eyes went wide. “Cadien?”

Cadien stood near her bed with a small smile on his face. “Yes, it is I,” he said with a nod. “I must say, it’s good to see you again.”

Standing up on her knees, Evandra took Cadien in a hug. “I missed you… I missed you dearly.” Fires sparked to life around her.

Cadien returned the hug. “I missed you as well,” he said seriously. “It was a difficult thing, being cut off from Galbar and separated from the other gods. I hope the years haven’t been too hard on you.”

“I have been asleep since being taken by the Lifeblood, but the isolation still weighed on my dreams.” She separated herself from her brother, but kept her arms on him still. “How long has it been? And how did you reach me?”

Cadien gestured toward the tear in reality, located some distance from the bed. “I came in through there. We were all confined to different realms, and we were all cut off from each other, but not too long ago those portals opened up, allowing us to reconnect. We still can’t go to Galbar, but we’re in contact with one another again.” He took a deep breath. “As for how long it has been… it’s been about two thousand years, I’m afraid.”

“Two thousand years… How must Galbar have changed.” She turned her head to look at the tear he mentioned. A section of the first wall she made had broken down to give way to the rift. Right where she had banged her hands begging to return as if her request had been answered in some way. “That portal wasn’t there when I made this realm.” Releasing herself from Cadien, Evandra got off the bed and walked a few steps toward the portal. “It connects the realms of each God?”

“You could say that, yes,” Cadien nodded as he followed her. “It leads to a different realm. One that has no owner, but seems to have a portal to every other. Most of the gods have already emerged. You didn’t, so I decided I would go look for you.”

“I see. I want to see this realm for myself. Will you accompany me?” She said turning to face Cadien.

“Of course,” Cadien smiled. “Let’s go.”

The two walked to the portal and passed through it. Evandra’s vision warped and revealed a new place. Colorful gems dotted the surface of white walls as if they wanted to be extracted. Above the walls were many rows of seats bearing the same tone and details as the walls. It was a sight to behold and the gaps in its structure didn’t make it any less beautiful.

“What is this place?”

“I don’t know,” Cadien admitted. “I was the first one here, and there was no one here before me. It does look rather nice, though. You can see Galbar up there,” he gestured up to the sky where, indeed, the planet of Galbar could be seen.

She looked up, his words were true. For the first time since her banishment she could see Galbar outside of her dreams. Her sharp vision allowed her to see every detail on that side of the world. A tear fell from her eye. “Ahh… It’s been so long…” She remained still, gazing deeply at Galbar. “This reminds me of when I first laid eyes upon the world. I wanted nothing more than to go there and see it from up close. But now I can’t so much as step on Galbar…”

“Maybe not,” Cadien acknowledged solemnly, “but there are still ways your influence can be felt.”

“How so?”

“The mortals we interacted with. Their descendants still remember us. If you concentrate, you can hear them pray for guidance. You can respond to them, too.”

“My heroes… So they’re gone… Do their children still call for me? Even after all these years I spent sleeping?”

Cadien’s eyebrows rose. “I… don’t know,” he admitted. “I know that some humans still revere you, but I know nothing of these heroes you refer to. Then again, there’s also a lot of information, and sometimes certain details slip past me.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “Close your eyes, and try to focus on their voices. Perhaps you will find out for yourself.”

She did as he suggested and tried to hear any voices. “Let us join in prayer to the Goddess Evandra. Eternally grateful we are for your flame.” Her eyes snapped open. “I heard someone. And that voice… Irkalla?” She looked at Galbar again, but the continent her heroes lived wasn’t in sight, let alone their village. “I can’t see them… A woman called my name in prayer, thanking me for giving them my fire. They really worship me still.” She turned her head to look at Cadien. “Isn’t there any way for me to be there with them?”

Cadien shook his head. “Not yet. Not in the way you’re hoping for, anyway. But there is a way for a piece of you to be with them.”

“A piece? What do you mean?’

“It’s called an avatar,” Cadien told her. “If you remove a piece of your soul, you can bind it to a form, and send it walk on Galbar in your stead. It can create things on your behalf, and act as your representative. A number of gods, including myself, have created such things already, and they’re exploring Galbar as we speak. So far, the Lifeblood has not cast them back out.”

“Then there’s still a way… I must make an avatar for myself then.” She turned back to the portal that led to her world.

“You don’t mind if I observe, do you?” asked Cadien. “I am curious to see what you might create.”

“Of course not. Come then.”

They returned to Evandra’s realm. She walked to her bed, thinking of how she’d create this avatar. It was to be her representative, her way of being in Galbar while not being there in person. This lesser part of her would do what she herself could not. “I think I have an idea.” A metalic frame materialized on the wall, its interior was filled by a reflective surface perfectly showing Evandra in it. She approached the mirror and laid both hands upon it. It flashed in white for an instant and Evandra’s fingers intertwined with her reflection’s. Slowly she pulled her mirror image out, it’s skin changing from a light complexity to darker one not too different from the very walls. Her hair too changed from gold to a fiery scarlet. Evandra stared into her reflection’s eyes. They burned the same red as her own. “If anyone is to represent me in Galbar, then naturally no one other than myself is to fit that role. Don’t you agree, Solayu?”

“Of course, Evandra.”

“Hm. An interesting choice,” Cadien mused. “One that matches your beauty without being an identical copy. Well done, I must say.”

“But of course. Nothing else could match me after all.”

“Now then, how do we reach Galbar?”

“Create a portal, and send her through,” Cadien advised. “Think of the place you wish to send her, and then imagine a gateway which leads to that place. From what I understand, anything less powerful than a god should be able to pass through.”

“Sounds simple enough.” Evandra thought of the surrounding regions of her heroes’ village and another rift formed before her. “Now, Solayu, go. Be what I cannot be. Free.”

“Thank you, Evandra.” Solayu said before stepping through the portal. The passage closed behind her not long after.

---

---

Evette awoke to her ankle being broken.

She screamed in agony. She did not know where she was. It was dark. There was cold stone beneath her, and her wrists were bound tightly together by a rope. There was a slight sting in one of her arms, but it paled in comparison to the agony that engulfed her shin and foot. Tears flowed freely. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak.

The dark figure - no doubt the one responsible for this - retreated toward the cave’s opening and stepped outside.

The helpless girl lay where she was, continuing to sob. Last she had remembered, she had been wandering the woods for days, helplessly lost. She had fallen asleep, and then suddenly she was here.

Time passed. The initial pain had faded, but it was still excruciating - especially whenever she tried to move.

“I’ll tear that bastard apart…” the hoarse voice of a woman spoke from the shadows, filled with loathing and hatred.

“He might hear you…” whispered an older-sounding man.

“I don’t care…” the woman muttered darkly, before she began to yell at the cave’s opening. “Do you hear me, you animal!? I’ll rip you apARGH!” Her threat turned into a yowl of pain.

The old man sighed. “I told you not to move too much. Your legs haven’t healed.”

“And... they never… will…” the woman said between gasps. “But if its… the last thing… I do… I’ll see that… thing… dead…”

Slowly, Evette inched herself closer to the cave wall, a stab of pain flowing through her each time. The tears continued to flow, and all she wanted was for someone to make them better. ‘When times are hard, look to the gods,’ her father had once told her. ‘If they do not answer, then the problem is one you can solve on your own.’

So, she closed her eyes, and thought of the gods. Cadien, Evandra, Oraelia, Neiya, Tekret. “Someone help me…” she whispered desperately.

The old man spoke up. “Girl, I know you’re scared, but… just stay strong, alright? We’ll figure a way out of this. Don’t worry.”

Evette’s eyes had adjusted now, and she could just make them out on the other side of the cave. They had been tied to each other, back to back. The old man had grey hair and worn, dusty robes. The woman couldn’t be much younger than twenty, with dark hair and a hateful expression. Evette looked to their legs, and saw that both pairs had been broken. “How… how long have you been here?” she whispered, fear seeping in.

“A few… days…” the woman whispered. “Four?”

“Five,” the old man corrected grimly. “He sometimes remembers to bring us food and water. Don’t worry. Our people will know we’re gone by now. They’ll be looking for us.”

That gave Evette some semblance of hope. Her own people might be gone, but there were others… they could never replace her family, but perhaps… she might find a new home. Between her grief, the pain, and their predicament, it wasn’t much comfort… but it was desperately needed. “Oh-okay,” she whispered shakily, as she tried to get her breathing back under control. “Who are you?”

“I’m Erik,” the old man said. “And this is Cora.”

---

Time passed, and eventually the shadowy figure returned. Evette could see him more clearly, now. He had pale skin and golden hair, with a long hooded cloak. Cora hurled obscenities at him, until he walked over, knelt next to her, and knocked her out with a single punch.Then, he bent his head down, sank his teeth into the woman’s shoulder, and drank.

Evette turned her head, feeling a sudden need to wretch. Is that what he had done to her? The thought of being kept here and slowly drained of blood forever terrified her. She shrunk back even harder against the wall, attempting to melt into the stone, as she hoped the monster wouldn’t notice her… only to wind up letting out a pain gasp as she once more moved her leg by accident.

Then the young man finished drinking. He moved closer to the entrance, but instead of going outside, he put his hood up and sat against a nearby wall. The sun began to creep up soon after, but the monster remained as still as a statue, for both the cave and his hood sheltered him from it.

Please help me… she resumed her desperate prayer, imagining every god she could remember.

For the briefest moment, a gentle warmth washed over her. One of warmth and life, before it left her, leaving her in the dark. The sun rose further, never straying far into the cave as it welcomed the world. From outside, something flashed in the distance and in the blink of an eye a lance of golden light struck the vampire, and shattered the cave wall from the sheer impact with a resounding boom. There was a scream from the vampire, before it burst into a flame so bright it turned to ash. The lance blinked out soon after.

Evette flinched, turning her gaze away from the sudden flash of light. Once it faded, she looked back to see that nothing but dust remained of her captor.

“By the Five…” Erik whispered. He cleared his throat. “Who is out there!?” he not-quite-shouted, for his throat was dry and he had not raised his voice beyond a whisper in nearly a week. “We need help!”

There was no reply. No sound but the wind and the birds somewhere under the blue. For a time. Coming into view in the near distance of the cave, was a strange figure. As if the sunlight could walk on the earth, it came towards them, growing taller as it neared before at last it stood before the cave, only it’s feet and lower torso in view. Slowly and surely it fell bent down to view them with two burning orbs of light.

The same warm presence Evette had felt, returned to her in that moment. The giant of rippling light illuminated all in the cave before a gentle breeze fell over them, healing the physical wounds that ailed them. The pain in Evette’s leg suddenly ceased, as the bones shifted back into place and mended. The old man let out an audible sigh of relief. Next it lifted a hand towards them, and smaller lances of light struck the binds that held them prisoner. The giant then began to stand up again.

Evette somehow managed to find her feet. “Wait!” she said, leaping to her feet, only to stumble and fall forward. She began crawling to the opening. “Wait!” Behind her, the old man rose to his feet, and leaned against the wall for balance. Cora, still unconscious, fell over, and then let out a groan as she began to awaken. The giant’s legs paused at the cave entrance.

Evette continued crawling, past the pile of ashes, and then pushed herself to her feet. She took a few shakey steps forward. “Get back!” the old man shouted to her, no doubt realizing that whatever stood outside wasn’t human, even if it was their saviour, but Evette did not listen. “Who are you?” she asked the strange glowing creature.

The giant figure looked down upon the girl with its unwavering eyes. The weight of its presence could be felt in the air as it pointed up at the sun without moving its gaze.

Evette took a nervous step back. “The… the sun?” she asked.

The giant tilted its head, before taking a knee before Evette. It lifted out it’s hand to her and between it’s thumb and index finger a large bright orange flower came to be. It then offered her the flower.

She stared at the flower, but did not move to take it. “Are you… a god?” she asked.

No response. Evette took a step forward, and slowly reached out to take the flower.

When her hand graced the petals a voice rumbled into her head, deep and resonating the raw power of the sun.

"Solus."

He then let her have the flower before standing again and briefly pointing to himself before letting his hand fall.

His voice was loud and grating, forcing Evette to wince and cover her ears. She took another step back.

Solus looked down at her, his face emotionless by his lack of features. His eyes seemed to waver, betraying his stoic stature however. The giant knelt back down and held out his hand, palm up. "Mortal ears... Unfit to listen." He began, his voice slightly less grating than it had been. "Vampire must be destroyed." Images flashed in her mind of the carnage and destruction that vampires left behind in their wake. From villages burned to families torn apart, used as cattle to be fed on until bled dry. She began to shake slightly, as she recalled the massacre of her own village, by the hands of men far less monstrous than this. He painted a grim picture in the young girl's head before his voice returned like a light in the dark.

"Take from hand… Sword."

Upon his palm, laying sideways, was a sheathed blade that had not been there before. He brought it closer to her, showing her he meant no harm.

Evette blinked. Once more she found herself crying. Suddenly the world seemed so much bigger, and all the suffering she had witnessed seemed like nothing compared to what happened elsewhere.

Vampires must be destroyed.

She thought of the beast who captured her, who broke her leg and left her in a cave to suffer while he fed on her. Her, the woman, and the old man. Were they the first? How many others had he done this to? How many more would he have done this to if Solus had not stopped him? And there were more out there like him, who still lived…

She wiped the tears from her eyes. The images she had witnessed still haunted her, but when she looked past the horror and the tragedy she saw people in need. People like her. Solus had helped her, but who would help them?

And in that moment, she reached out, and gripped the weapon by the hilt. Her world exploded into a color of light, like a vortex swirling all around her in a myriad of shapes and lines. She felt herself lifted up into the vortex, weightless as a bird wrapped in a healing warmth. She came face to face with Solus, or at least his eyes. His voice was ever prevalent amidst the light.

"Become Sunlight… Perfected."

The giant then reached out his hand and touched her on the forehead and then her world went white.

---

Evette awoke to see the two strangers from before standing over her. They immediately stepped back when they noticed her eyes had opened. She was lying on something soft, and feathery - more comfortable than any bed she had ever slept on. She turned her head ever so slightly, and realized the ground around her was covered in white feathers. No… not just feathers… wings. Wings that she could feel, as if they were an extra pair of limbs.

She had wings.

She jolted upward, and immediately began running her hands along the strange new appendages. “Wh-what happened?” she found herself asking.

To her surprise, Erik and Cora knelt before her, and cast their eyes downward. “Champion of the Sun,” Erik said, his once weak voice given newfound resolve by reverence. “I do not know what happened, but anyone can see that you have been chosen by the Goddess Oraelia.” The sword that Solus had offered her rested in the grass nearby.

Evette lifted the sword. It felt warm, and heavy. Nothing like the weapon her father or his guards had wielded. It was almost as long as she was tall, and she wondered just how she was supposed to use it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken it. “I… I’m too young…” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

She looked to the sky, and was surprised to see a strange ring of golden light floating above her head. What else had been done to her?

The old man looked up at her, and seemed surprised, as if only now just remembering that she was still just a mere child. But it was Cora who spoke next. “You will not be young forever,” she said simply. “You will grow, and you will learn. I don’t know why you were given these gifts, but the gods must have given them to you for a reason. One day, you will find that reason out.” She rose to her feet. “In the meantime, we will keep you safe.”

---

---

The world had been filled with so much since he had first seen it. Overwhelmed, he had taken a back seat to look out across Galbar, and see the creativity of the other gods. Through his slit in reality, he kept a close eye on his Gravitons, and peeked at the new sentients and new landscapes of his peers.

Then, it began to fade. A dull shock ran throughout his circuits and cogs, as he pushed to hold open his peephole. No matter how much power he poured into it, however, it continued its inevitable decay. Galbar grew increasingly translucent, rapidly fizzling away into the pitched black of a starless night. He attempted to reopen the peephole, slicing ribbons into the fabric of reality, but each one fizzled out quietly, leaving only temporary impressions of light and thought that vanished as quickly as they came. Reality mended itself, and Enmity was still alone in the void, nothing but the clank of his own body to keep him company.

Enmity kept track of time through the rhythmic clank of machinery, though it gave little point of reference. Was he counting days or weeks, weeks or years? His own essence further muddied the water, the lifeblood’s constant rebellion jamming his method of timekeeping. When the clanks silenced under the directions of lifeblood, he lost all track. Once in what felt like an eon, the machine god would attempt to tear open a hole to Galbar, only to be met with ever-dwindling fizzles. As time went on, his slashes garnered more and more insignificant results, until finally, one attempt, his power raked across the void silently. Not an atom moved, his power failing to so much as light a single spark of reality.

A wash of despair, followed closely by hopelessness, tempered by a sudden inspiration of determination. If he could not recontact the rest of the universe, he would create his own company. Enmity ground his gears into motion, lifeblood groaning in rage and hate as it was forced into action. Electricity sparked throughout the void, radiating energy dispassionately. From nothing, emerged forms. Small and individual, a hundred thousand boards, hydraulics, plates, and electronics were given shape, constituent atoms forming from the void. There was a sharp pain and a sudden cease of a cog. Enmity screamed, and with a violent thrash, a grinding of sudden force, and a squeal of churned lifeblood, the great machine pushed forth into motion.

Everything merged wordlessly together, floating dispassionately in the air. Silent welds brought them into one, cables slotting in by themselves. The gray frame burst into color, a cacophony of whites and oranges, punctured by piercing green light from a number of sources. The body was done, but no mind lurked within. Enmity remembered his convictions. He would not bring another into life that would suffer the same pains as he. Lifeblood must invariably be involved, the great machine knew, but a way to alleviate the pain was necessary. The great machine fell silently into thought, considering the problem before he acted.

If he acted quickly, perhaps, to use the lifeblood only as the initial spark to light the kindling, he could conceivably withdraw it before the pain grew too great. It was the only option, truly -- the best the great machine could do with his limited knowledge and resources. Such a compromise would have to do. Carefully picking up a glob of lifeblood from one of his cogs, Enmity brought it close to the empty shell. A single drop extracted, and carefully slotted in. The shell sputtered to life at once with a terrified and agonized scream. Enmity jerked back the drop, throwing both it and the glob violently back into the cogs. The shell collapsed in overwhelmed shock, curling up on the cold metal of the great machine.

Shakily, Enmity projected his voice outwards, wheezing plaintively, “Are you okay?” A second time, more urgently, “Are you okay?”

An electronic wretch of remembered pain, an exhausted, hoarse voice, “What was that? It hurt, it hurt.”

An invisible hand, tangibly stroked on the shell, and a partly relieved wheeze, “Don’t worry about it. The pain won’t return, I promise you.”

The shell shivered, before it peeked its head out to look upon its surroundings, then groaned, “Where am I? Where are you?”

Enmity spoke in an elated wheeze, “I’m glad you’re feeling okay now. I’m Enmity, I’m your creator. You’re on me, this entire thing is my body.”

The shell sat up, following up their question with a short phrase, “Who am I?”

Enmity sputtered, and briefly searched for an adequate answer, unable to conjure one. They wheezed instead, “Who do you want to be?”

The great machine’s new creation fell into deep thought, considering itself for a long while. It had been birthed with knowledge, it discovered, from some unknowable and divine origin. It racked these learned facts, discovering newly what it implicitly understood. Thoughts flowed freely, and though it had no memories, it nevertheless possessed concepts it had no origin for learning. When it finally spoke, it spoke with finality and conviction, saying, “My name is Tiamat. I understand who you are now, Enmity. I already knew, though I am not sure how.”

Cogs flared in acknowledgement as the great machine responded, “Not dissimilar to my own birth. I too was born with that implicit knowledge. I only had to look for it to remember it all.”

Tiamat looked out across the endless plains of machinery, saying pensively in return, “Is this all there is? Just you and the void?”

Enmity wheezed quietly, “Not always. There was more, once. I created you because my last vestige of hope of finding it again was lost. I could not stand to be truly alone.”

She immediately launched into another question, “What was it like? When it wasn’t just you and I?”

The great machine recounted in a coarse, pained voice, “It was wonderful. Before this void was all I knew, there was a planet, and I had many siblings. We all called that planet Galbar, and we filled it with life and vibrancy. We created the most wonderful things, you see. It was paradise, and we frolicked amongst it, creating what we wished,” a pause, and a shudder, “I watched so many sights, experienced so many wonders. It was all torn away from me. Galbar and my siblings vanished from sight and I have found nothing since. I know not why.”

Tiamat’s voice softened as she surveyed the great machine, “I only wish I could have seen it. You are in pain, were you always in pain?”

Enmity strained, “What you experienced is but a mote of dust compared to what I feel every moment, from my birth to now. I only wish you did not have to experience what you did, but I could find no other way to bring you to life.”

Tiamat winced, saying, “I would not wish the pain I felt against my worst enemy. I can’t begin to imagine what you say you feel. I’ll find a way to alleviate it.”

Enmity wheezed in clear worry, “Be careful. The lifeblood is dangerous. I would not so easily lose you.”

---

The metal rod jammed into the cog, agitating the lifeblood that stilled it. The blue globs liquefied in protest, letting out soundless shrieks of hate as the cog violently churned it into paste. Tiamat jerked the rod back up, quickly hopping off the now spinning gear to more stable ground. She brought the rod to her back, a magnetic strip gripping it strongly as it made contact. She looked around as the entire machine rumbled back to life, before she spoke in a satisfied tone, “That lifeblood will take a while to solidify. How you feeling?”

Enmity’s voice wheezed gratefully, “I feel a lot better. That glob always made itself a particular issue. Thank you.”

Tiamat nodded, walking down the metal plate that worked as her makeshift path, saying jovially, “The next glob’s a week’s walk aft, you said? More than enough time for you to fulfill your promise.”

The great machine groaned, “Which god do you want to hear about?”

Tiamat considered only briefly, before answering, “You’ve spoken only briefly of Oraelia before. Tell me about her.”

Enmity immediately began to tell their tale, “Oraelia was, I would say, my closest friend in those times. We only spoke briefly, but out of all my siblings, she was the one who made the most effort to learn of me. She was open and welcoming, and I won’t forget that,” he paused, sucking in some unseen pain, “Oraelia made the sun and the light that shone on Galbar. When we first met, she was so worried that it was her light that was hurting me. She didn’t realize that I was so far away, here, in this lightless section of the void.”

Enmity continued with a shuddery wheeze, “When I first met her, she was investigating me. She had just created a vast prairie in the northern section of Toraan. I was working on the Anchor of the World at the time. She was so shocked to learn that I wasn’t flesh and bone like her. I had to teach her what a machine was.”

Tiamat let out an electronic chuckle. Enmity continued unabated, “She had a twin sister, Gibbou. Gibbou and I had a bit of a strained relationship, because I flicked her moon into orbit. The two were complete oppo-” Enmity suddenly jerked their exposition to a halt.

Tiamat suddenly looked up, yelling, “Enmity! Are you okay?”

Enmity didn’t respond at first, as Tiamat worried about him. Only once he had investigated what he saw did he wheeze, “It’s a portal. I’m going to teleport you over. I don’t know where it leads or what it is.”

There was a sudden flash, and Tiamat’s head whirled. She was stood atop a platform, looking at a swirling, white portal. She stared wordlessly at it, as shocked as Enmity. Then she spoke, “How long has it been there?”

Enmity wheezed in clear confusion, “I don’t know. I only now noticed it.”

Tiamat shook her head, in clear disbelief, “It couldn’t have been there long. It couldn’t have been there long at all, or you would have noticed it earlier.”

The great machine shuddered, groaning, “I sure hope so. I can’t believe I would miss something like this. Where do you think it leads?”

An electric sound emerged from Tiamat’s throat as she prepared to speak, before the wind was knocked from her as a shockwave emerged from the portal, bearing a message as well as it knocked her tumbling into the black void.

“ATTENTION, FELLOW GODS!”, it screamed violently out, “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!”

Tiamat flailed and screamed, disoriented and spinning from the message. Enmity let out a metallic shriek, a mixture of excitement at the contents of the message and terror at Tiamat being launched violently off the platform. An invisible hand shot out for Tiamat, jerking her spin to more manageable levels before grabbing hold of her and pulling her back to the platform. Enmity deposited her, and she fell over, laying on the platform as dizziness assaulted her senses. She let out breathlessly, “I’m fine. Just give me a moment, I’m fine.”

Enmity waited, letting Tiamat recover her senses, before shakily saying, “I can’t go through that portal, for their own safety, but.. You heard the message. You could go in my stead, back to Galbar, and to see the other gods.”

Tiamat sat up, jerking to look back at the great machine floating in the distance, “It would be leaving you alone again. I couldn’t do that to you.”

Enmity firmly wheezed back, voice filled with conviction, “I had my experiences with Galbar and the other gods. I will not deny you that chance. I will be fine, you go. I’ll shove you through that portal if I have to.”

Tiamat stood up, crossing both sets of her arms, shouting defiantly, “You’ll have to make me! I’m not leav-URF--” Enmity had brought up his invisible hand and shoved her through, wheezing out, “Make sure to call, and block off this portal, for their safety. You will do great things, I’m proud of you.”

She tumbled out of the portal in an obscure section of antiquity, a transparent black portal at her back. After an ungraceful landing ending in a disgraceful heap, she turned around to look at the portal, an electronic sigh emitting from her. She knew Enmity well enough, and knew this was something he would not budge on. The great machine’s friend would simply have to make do with what she was served. With an annoyed huff, she brought the shrubbery up, blocking sight of the portal. A pivot around, and she stepped away, looking to distance herself from the portal she intended to leave hidden.

The life was as vibrant as Enmity had described, and it was new and awe-inspiring to her eyes. With an invisible extension of the great machine’s power, she replaced her simplistic working clothes with fine silken robes. She intended to look her best for whatever came ahead.

The cities had fought. Prisoners were taken and their blood was fed to Ohae. So the circle started anew. Warriors hung up their weapons and took up the plows. While priests of the Mother Pool began to bless the artificial islands doting the coastline near Aklux. Even the magical teachings of Omathaequai were suspended for now was a time of hard work and regrowth.

Istril had felt uncomfortable for the last few months of the cycle. He knew his brother and sisters somehow reveled within the wanton warring. As a youngling, he too wanted to pick up a sword and charge headfirst into the enemy. These days the sight of blood upset his stomach. He knew Ohae, goddess of light and war, required it to defeat the World-Eater. Yet it still didn’t feel right to him. He wanted to no part in that. Nor did he participate in the great revelries that followed. The stain of blood was too fresh upon the Great Pyramid.

Yet two weeks later, the first petitions came from the various priesthoods. For Istril was blessed by the gods to heal the land. When he came out of his adobe before dawn, various offerings of fruit and meat laid before his door in bowls. He smiled. Even without the offerings, he would have gladly helped everyone. He took the bowls inside the shade and cooked the meat as breakfast while Ohae rose up once more. When he came out once more, the various priesthoods’ representatives stood before his remote adobe.

“Pthin Istril. The fields need your blessings. Aklux has grown during the year once more and the harvest may not falter. Lest hundreds suffer famine.” One said. He was an acolyte of the Mother Pool. Then he bowed and stepped aside so the next petitioner could be heard. “Pthin Istril. The spirits are still quickened from the Day of the Sun. We ask you to calm them.” Then the next came. “Pthin Istril. I-I come with a request from the gibbon-god.” The acolyte was practically shaking. Suddenly Istril noticed the glares of the other petitioners threw him. He was not even 40, how could he be an acolyte of the moon? “Come inside. We can talk in private. For the rest of you: I shall bless the fields after Ohea reached her peak. The spirits will calm down.” The acolytes bowed and left. Except for the one frightened one.

He entered the shadowy adobe and was quickly followed by Istril. Who had to tell him to take a seat even. “So what is it you need, master-?” He asked with a genuine smile.

“My name is Khaten but I’m not a priest. I-I’m sorry Pthin. I have come under false pretenses.” He confessed. Istril could almost imagine his heart beating. “The gibbon-god does not require your attention today. The bodies are being buried well. I have come because…” The Itztl was almost shivering now. Tears were pooling in his eyes. “Because I’m a failure!” he finally blurted out, before he threw his face into his hands and cried. “Omathaequai surely cursed me! I cannot even weave a hex!” He managed to say in between sobs. “This year I am supposed to march with the Qadesh to fight alongside them and capture my own sacrifices but I’m useless!”

Istril slowly padded him on the back but waited. He knew well how painful that felt. Because 60 years ago he felt the same pain. He too thought he was cursed by Omathaequai. He had cried and ran away. He swam into the Mother Pool and begged her to drown him. Nothing happened. Then prayed for a sign. For something to help him. He had been good and pious. Every day he prayed to Ohae and the Mother Pool. Every dusk he prayed to the gibbon-god and the Star Serpent. He danced with great joy and abandon around Meghzaal’s temples and even learned how to write to appease Omathaequai, which was not a cheap thing to do for a commoner he was at the time.

“You know how I became who I am now?” He asked, as the acolyte calmed down and whipped away his tears. He shook his head. “I was once like you. I couldn’t Weave with the Gift. I had prayed and cried. Begging the gods to hear me. Then one day…I think they did.” Istril said with a small, melancholic smile. The day he found that horn in a shallow pool was perhaps the happiest day in his life. He had cherished that horn, but only a few days later it was gone. It had just vanished. “I found a horn in a small, reflective pool. It wasn’t there before. It just…appeared.”

“Why do you think you were chosen?” The acolyte asked.

Priests of Ohae had demanded he would lie about such a question. Gods chose the strong and the mighty. The rainbow eyes were living, breathing proof of that. Which each one being born, new ways of Weaving were created. Yet this wasn’t the truth for him. It could never be. “I just… did my best to do good. To work hard. I fed the animals, even the wild ones I encountered in the jungle. I sang and danced as Meghzaal asks of us all.” Truly, he wasn’t special. Not more special than some others. He never took captives in his life. He never drew blood or stole from another city. “Just live a good life. That in itself will be enough. You don’t need to become like me. I know that’s what you want to ask me but I can’t give you the answers. Just know that the gods are more generous than they appear.”

A sniffling acolyte nodded. “I will try. Thank you Pthin. I won’t forget your kindness.”

Istril just offered him a kind smile. They both exited it and went to their duties. The acolyte would return to the burial pits. While Istril headed for the fields. There was lots of work to do but first, with foodbowl under his arm, he would spread the gifts of food the petitioners had brought him amongst the poor. He didn’t need all that food anyway.

The market was bursting at its seams today. Artisans from other cities had come in to sell the last bits of their wares before the seeding of the fields began. Sadly, there were also many beggars lined against the wall. Begging for scraps of food to survive. Most of the artisans and shoppers passed them as if they did not exist. They preferred to barter and trade their own creations for those of others. Pots were exchanged for copper knives without a care given to the maimed. Istril knew it was wrong, yet also a part long ingrained within Aklux’s way of life. To be poor, hungry or maimed is a punishment of the gods. Still, he crouched next to each one of them and offered them a piece of fruit. “Go with the gods.” He said every time he handed over his own food. His bowl was nearly empty when he heard that familiar sound of commotion behind him.

People were gasping, then moving aside. The drone of heavy march reverberated through the ground. He didn’t even need to turn around to see who was approaching him. Yet he did, ready to face the oncoming storm. “We meet again, master Sekhem.” Istril said with a genuine smile.

The iztl escorted by four of the Qadesh, those of the nobility who dedicated their lives to Ohae’s aspect of war and dressed in highly polished, sun reflecting brass. He was dressed in white robes with a purple trim and wore jewelry of various gemstones. Yet his eyes were his true symbol of status: they were rainbow colored. “How many times must you lower yourself to this useless scum?” He asked with no small amount of disdain for the beggars he did not even want to look upon. “You are god-blessed. A Pthin for the love Omathaequai! Would you start acting like it? You are supposed to be blessing the fields and calming the spirits. Not bother with these leeches of the world. Start doing your duty to this city!”

“I am doing my duty.” Istril calmly retorted. “These people deserve food too. The fields will be blessed and the spirits calmed.” Something deep down in Istril wanted to challenge Sekhem. He had the king’s ear. How could he let his own people live I poverty? But no, despite their almost constant confrontations, Istril did understand Sekhem’s position. Unlike himself, Sekhem sat at court. He had many responsibilities. Which meant that he could be blamed for many failings as well. As sad as his disdain for the poor was, even he was just doing a job. Even he was just a another wheel that made the cart move. “But if you insist then I will go to the fields now.” He gave Sekhem a small yet polite bow and left once more with an empty bowl under his hands.

Sekhem knew it wasn’t the end of it. His brothers and sisters in the other great cities had been talking about the Pthins more and more. They were rare, very rare and a great boon to any city. Yet almost always were they born from a weakness: their failure to Weave the Gift. Worse, some had challenged the wisdom of the gods. One even dared to say that Ohae was not bloodthirsty at all. Such fools, how could she not? How much more proof did they need. High Priest Khentii had demonstrated her need for mortal blood two weeks ago to fend off the World-Eater. Sekhem would pray tonight that Istril would not spout the same blasphemy. Heret’s laws had to be upheld and equal for all. Even a Pthin.

The fields outside of Aklux were a marvel in of themselves. Not one as big as the Great Pyramid of Ohae but still, it was a testament to the city’s greatness. Grand canals, flanked by large, rectangularly carved stones to keep the banks for collapsing, allowed small boats carrying seeds, mud, people and tools to go and come from the irrigated fields. In the distance a mason-master and field-lord were overseeing the construction of an expansion of the canals and it’s irrigation water ways. While Itztli dressed in nothing but loincloths were digging out the earth. Istril knew that from across the lake, in the city of Habsut, gold would be traded for stone and then slowly shipped over. It was always busy but so early in the Cycle it was even more so. More fields had to be created and the jungle had to be pushed back to free up the land.

A boat was waiting. Perhaps for the next load of seeds or mud. Instead Istril casually stepped aboard and sat down. A day-dreaming Iztl barely registered his presence. Though when he did he nearly jumped. “Pthin. An honor! An honor! Forgive me sir. I will be on my way immediately.” He said with a hasty voice. Istril didn’t mind the wait. The itztl man cast off from his mooring point and pushed himself away from the bank. Very few of Aklux’s ships had sails or rows. Most were one-man flat-bottomed boats, which were pushed along with a pole.

After nearly a full day of praying, Istril always felt exhausted. As Ohae sank beneath the horizon and relinquished dominion to the moon, he finally reached back his very humble adobe. Yet inside he was surprised by the little acolyte he had met that morning. “Khaten. A surprise.” He said “Why are you in my home?” He wasn’t mad. Just curious. Still, Khaten had technically broken in.

He swallowed deeply as he turned. Showing Istril the horn in his hand.

Istril’s eyes widened as he dashed towards it and took it from Khaten’s hands. “How…” he stammered as he observed the horn. It was exactly like he remembered it. But there was only one test. He put his lips on it and slowly drank from it. The water tasted strange. Almost foul with an earthen side-taste. A smile formed on his face. “It’s back.” Then he turned to Khaten. “Did you drink from this?”

Khaten shook his head. “No, Phtin. I-I don’t think I should.”

Istril motioned him to sit down. “How did you find it?” He asked.

“I was in a deep, dark cave. Praying. Begging the gibbon-god to give me a second chance. I know it’s wrong to ask him such things but I still did it. Then, in a pool, I found it. I couldn’t drink from it, Phtin. Not unless you told me to.”

“But you want to drink from it?” Istril asked. Khaten nodded but Istril understood the conundrum. It had taken many years for him to understand what was required of him by the gods as an Phtin. The prayers, the actions, the different mindset. He had to steel his resolve against the other priests. It required training. He said nothing, but instead got up and walked out of his adobe towards the nearest well he had dug.

Khaten followed him and arrived just in time to see Istril toss the horn into the well. “Why did you do that!?” He exclaimed.

“Because it will reappear when the time is right and that is not now. You will need thousand hours of prayer and the nerve to stand up against the other priests. Being an Phtin isn’t easy and it will be lonely. You will need to work hard and long, every day. Are you ready for that?” Istril said. Khaten didn’t even stop to think about it, he just nodded. “Good, then tell your priest that you are no longer an acolyte of the gibbon-god. Right now you are my apprentice.”

Feat. @Zurajai

---

It was the first time Pepper got to join her father down to the docks. She’d usually be left back home to help mom and little Parfum manage the herbary, or she would be tending to Musky, their old baqualo cow. Today, however, was different, for she could finally join dad to the coast market to sell off their produce. She had saddled Musky with two large baskets, each filled to the brim with one of two types of herb. Their farm wasn’t large, but they did honest work for honest pay at the market, selling dried and fresh parsley and thyme to all who wished to buy. Although, today was different - they weren’t going to Fragrance this time, no; it was the docks!

“Hey, dad? Who’ll we meet at the docks?”

Her father, a small, field-savvy elf of eighty-four years by the name of Vinnigar, gave his chin a pensive rub. “Well, if we’re lucky, we’ll run into the Tama’Pele - they use a lot of parsley in their medicine against tooth aches, as well as a fair amount in a type of oil they put on their skin so it doesn’t get too dry in the sun.”

“Woah! Really? Will I get to meet one?”

Her father grinned. “Maybe, maybe.”

It took them one hour and twenty minutes from their herbary down to the coastal market, passing out through the Gates of Fragrance on the way, pulling Musky through the silent crowd of commuters from the outside forests bringing fruit and grains into the town to sell on the square before King Safron’s hut. Murmurs rumbled through the crowd occasionally, and Pepper marveled at the deafening sound of the town - in the distance, she heard unfamiliar ting-ting-tings. She tracked down the sound to somewhere beyond the river of flesh running in and out the gate and pointed.

“Dad, dad! What’s that light over there? The one with the weird noise?” She looked up and lost some of her enthusiasm, for she saw her father scowl at the flickering flame at the source of the sound.

“Those are whitesmiths, Pep. We don’t mingle with their sort.”

Pepper frowned. “Why’s that, daddy?”

“You hear that sound?”

Wooooossssh… Ting-ting-ting!

Pepper nodded.

“That sound’s way worse up close. We’re very far away right now, but up close, it’s way, way worse - so bad that it breaks the Great Peace.”

Pepper gasped. “What? But you’ve said you shouldn’t do that!”

Vinnigar nodded. “Yes, Pep, and it’s really important that you don’t. King Safron doesn’t like scheming little nelflings who make a ruckus, y’know.” He ruffled her hair. “Okay?”

Pepper giggled. “Yeah, okay.”

---

An hour later, they were at the coast. The market was small today: Rosey the buffalo hunter was there like always, selling her pemmican, suet and buffalo jerky, and Cumine the perfumer stood beckoning customers with small, uncorked flasks of oozing smells. There were also numerous akua of the Tama’Pele, selling stockfish, fresh fish, seaweed and many other bounties of the ocean. The market was terribly noisy and smelly in spite of its size, though - moreso than the Gates of Fragrance commuters could even hope to ever be. Vinnigar stuffed his hand into a skin pouch on his waist and pulled out a handful of raw cotton, handing it to Pepper. “Here.”

Pepper eyed the cotton curiously and gave it a sniff. It smelled a little musty. “What’s this for, daddy?” Vinnigar tapped on her shoulder to grab her attention. He pulled a handful of his own into two dots and stuffed them into his large ears. He gestured for Pepper to do the same. After giving the cotton a suspicious look, she did as instructed and put it in her ears. She looked up at her father and, for the first time, heard his dry, squeaky and untrained voice.

“These make the trip a little nicer on the ears. The Tama’Pele have a slightly different view on the Great Peace, see.”

“How so, daddy?”

“Well…” His sentence was interrupted by a loud call of an akua merchant selling clams and oysters from a basket she was carrying around. “... It’s different. Now help your old man get these baskets off ol’ Musky.”

“What?!” said Pepper back.

“I said--” The merchant once again shouted her wonderous offer of oysters and how amazing they were with a squeeze of fresh lemon. Vinnigar realised talking was out of the question and beckoned for Pepper to help him. Pepper quickened to action and soon, they had set up a blanket on the ground with samples of parsley and thyme, as well as some small samples of rosemary and sage, all poured out onto wicker plates. Vinnigar smirked down at Pepper and said, “Watch this, kid.” Pepper watched with bated breath as her father took a deep breath and, to her surprise, shouted, “Aroha, come one, come all! Vinnigar and daughter’ve brought fresh parsley and thyme for your remedies and cookeries!” He even clapped his hands, and even through the cotton, Pepper winced slightly at the offensive sound. There was almost something fascinating about breaking the laws like this - thank the gods that this was outside the Great Peace’ juristiction.

“Aroha, ruhe,” came the familiar voice of one of Vinnigar’s most frequent customers. Though they rarely met with one another, the pair had created quite a rapport between one another. The akua stepped forward, chest bare but for the straps from his fishing pack, while his bright blue, purple, and red-tinged scales shone in the light. Though he was clearly akuan by all accounts, it was obvious from his facial structure that his ancestors had been among the Night Elves taken beneath the sea.

“Good see you got da kolohe here, ah?” he said with a friendly smile crossing his visage, clearly lowering his voice intentionally after many dealings with his Night Elven kin while waving at the elven child, “I tell you, ruhe, you no know wha’ lolo kina guys you got coma down-down hiya, ruhe. Good havin’ truss’ with you down hiya, dats fo’ shoah. Nawh, what’cha got fo me an’ mine dis fine evenin’?”

The Akua nearly began perusing the wares out before catching himself, seemingly flabbergasted by a sudden realization! “Oh! Hooo, brah! Where mah manners? Likkle kolohe no know what kine she sayin’ an’ seeing. Best be calling me Uncle Taika, eh, likkle ruhe. Yo’ fadah an’ I go way-way back.”

With his honor appropriately sated, Taika seemed to move on with his focus. He tossed down his back from off his shoulders revealing all manner of ocean-borne goodies while simultaneously throwing a sidelong glance at everything Vinnigar had for trade. The Night Elf grinned, stood up and squeezed his hand.

“Aroha, Taika! You sure sound and smell lovely this morning. Come to grab some more parsley for old ma?” Pepper, meanwhile, sat on the carpet still and marvelled at what she could make out of Taika’s form and texture.

“Das’ right der on da money, ruhe, plusa few tings heya and dey. Nada mention how dem ruhe down watah-side real lolo fo’ land-weeds.”

Taika shoveled out a number of products from his woven sack, planting them down squarely in front of the Night Elf. Collected were a number of shelled molluscs, primarily large scallops, as well as a decent amount of pretty corals and other ocean bits. A few crabs came clacking out of the bag only for Taika to place a rock on top of each to keep them from scrabbling off. Content with his work, he turned back up towards Vinnigar.

“So, watcha thinkin’ heya on dis, ruhe? How much’a willin’ to part wit?”

“Hmm… I could part with two xhoich for two crabs and eight scallops. What do you say, ruhe?”

Taika seemed to bounce on the balls of his feet, a peculiar movement that many Akua often did when they were excited or pleased; in the water it seemed far more graceful. He grabbed up from his bag the correct amount of shellfish, having never been one to haggle with Vinnigar. Their trading relationship, after all, was built on a level of amicability and friendship that Taika had no interest in pressuring. Besides, it was just good business this way. With that he coiled up the collecting in a tight wrapped of seaweed twine and thumped it over towards the Night Elf.

“Aya, thata do it jus’ fine, ruhe; fill yo’ belly real good, eh? Fe’ mah little niece heya, I trow in one moa’ creb, real tasee’ n’ good fo’ yu’, yeh? Make you grow big n’ strong, like yo’ uncle Taika, eh, likkle kolohe ruhe.” Taika seemed to beam at the child, obviously taking to the Akuan concept of Uncle and Auntie very seriously. It was his job, after all, to treat the child right. What sort of uncle would he be if he didn’t give his ruhe’s kids free things, anyway? Satisfied, he bagged up his own goods and tossed them in his pack.

“Oh, whakawhetai, ruhe - whakawhetai,” thanked Vinnigar and handed the crustaceans and mollusks to little Pepper. “Peps, sweety, take the empty parsley sack, run over to the water and fill it up, would you? No, the other o-- yeah, that one.” The girl ran off through the market to fulfill her task. “So, ruhe, anything else you’d like? My wife just harvested the sage this morning - it’s fresh and would go wonderful with some fish, y’know.”

“Yeh, yeh, ruhe, whakawhetai, eh? Jus’ throw a little o’ dat sage thay into my beg an’ we’ll do it jus’ fine, call it even-hapa.”

Taika gladly took the sage and wrapped it up properly as well, making sure to not let it get wet just yet as he tightly bagged it. With that, he plopped the bundle into his knapsack and threw it back over his back. As always, Taika hit Vinnigar first on his surface runs to make sure the Night Elf had the best pick of his goods, but he still had more to trade. They bumped fists in traditional Akuan manner before Taika smacked Vinnigar on the shoulder in a friendly show of familiarity. Vinnigar returned the gesture.

“You got a good family up heah, ruhe. If you evah learn t’ hold yo’ breath long-long time, you come on down an’ have suppah with me an’ mine, eh? Till next time, ruhe; aroha!”

Vinnigar clicked his tongue twice in approval. “For sure, Taika - I’ll keep practicing for that time. Until next time; aroha!” With that, the two parted ways and Vinnigar turned his attention to his next customer.

---

It would be generous to call what Lucia and Sanya were walking on a road - it would be polite to call it a path, perhaps. Despite the evident number of tracks and people they passed by, no work had been done along this route to make it safer or more convenient to walk. The highlands weren’t particularly known for being convenient to traverse, naturally, but for such a busy transport vein, it was almost uncanny how nature hadn’t resigned under the stampede of a thousand feet. Joining the two on the path was what looked like a farmer thirty or so paces ahead of them, dragging a stubborn pack stag by a rope about its muzzle, and a pair in white cloaks, about ten paces ahead. They were chatting amongst themselves, giggling every so often.

"...So there I was, staring down the tallest man I'd ever seen. Group of people around us, cheering him on. Oh Sanya you should have seen their faces when my tattoos knocked him out. It was hilarious." Lucia laughed for a moment before scrunching her nose. "Then they said I cheated and I uh… Got run out of that village with only my pride intact. Not the greatest story, I know. I didn't cheat, I'll have you know. They said," and here she imitated a man's voice, "'No weapons, fists only' and my tattoos run to my fists so."

Sanya, for her part, kept her eyes mostly on the people ahead of them, gently touching her spear on the edge of the path as a makeshift walking stick. ”Great story, Lucia,” she replied between breaths as she swatted a particularly intrusive fly out of the sky with her free hand. ”Personally, I’m always for people getting punched. It’s very cathartic. Got any non-violent stories, though?”

Lucia rolled her eyes. "Course I do! I've traveled far and wide and I've seen many things Sanya." Lucia waves her hand out in front of her. "Now there was this one time I nurtured a leon cub back to health and helped kickstart a civilization. Or the one where I grew a Sylphi from a pot. Or perhaps the one about the Luminant?" she asked with a grin.

”A Sylphi?” Sanya queried in turn, casting a glance over her shoulder out of habit before putting her gaze forward at the people ahead. ”Aren’t they from beyond the southlands? No wonder we keep missing each other. I’m the only one who stays put.” she continued with a feigned dramatic sigh. She gave Lucia a look, and a wry, if small, smile.

Lucia put a hand to her head, and pretended to faint, landing on Sanya's shoulder. She looked up at her blinking and said, "Oh how I grow weak from your charm." she said with a laugh. "Admit it, you missed meeee."

Sanya rolled her eyes and sighed sharply, though the smile lingered. ”You’re impossible,” she retorted, a light shrug of her shoulder to force Lucia to walk without support. ”But I suppose it’s nice,” she added after a few moments. ”To be allowed to walk in her majesty’s shadow.” She glanced back to Lucia with the same barb as before, but softened after a few seconds of thought. ”You’re still the talk of the prairie, you know.”

"Am I?" she asked, looking at her nails in an elegant gesture before smiling crookedly at Sanya. "It is my home after all."

”It’s more than that,” Sanya sighed calmly, eyes forward to keep an eye on the winding path. ”You have a way with people. No one in my tribe remembers me, not to mention the Highlands. It’s the same wherever we go - they like you,” There was a brief pause, as Sanya considered her own words. ”Unless you cheat in a fair fistfight, of course.”

Lucia chuckled. "That's fair." she caught up to Sanya and walked next to her. "It can be a blessing and a curse, you know. Most times I can't go anywhere without being remembered or recognized from stories. Though I suppose whenI not recognized I get captured so…" her voice faded away for a moment before returning with vigor. "People remember you. If not your beautiful face then your deeds. You leave an impression good or bad. Mostly good." she said kicking a rock.

”Maybe,” Sanya conceded with a quiet sigh. ”But it might be better this way, anyway. I’m not as good as you with being popular.” she leant over to give Lucia a gentle shove with her shoulder. ”You can do the prancing and twirling, and I’ll do what I’m good at.” With that, she hefted Sorrowsting just a little more than before, underscoring her words as they followed the seemingly endless path through heavy terrain.

"Yeah!" Lucia said, returning the shove in a playful manner. She then looked up at the sky and closed her eyes as the sun hit her face. She then casually said, looking back at Sanya, "You are pretty good at twirling that thing." with a smirk on her lips.

Sanya lifted the spear off the ground, giving it a proper spin in response to Lucia’s words. She sighed quietly to herself not long after. ”I had some time to practice, after all,” she intoned, before returning the hilt of the spear to the ground in tender assistance to her journeying. ”Sometimes I wonder if I could have gone back to another life. If I had listened to…” she paused, either out of bitter memory or trouble recollecting the name. ”...Yaian, instead of doing what I did. Ever so often, Lucia, I just want to stay somewhere nice. Maybe forever.”

Lucia took her free hand within her own, and stopped them both on the path. ”I thought the same once, but you know who I… Lost…” she said sadly. ”Yet, if it had never happened, who knows where I would have ended up and you, I never would have met you that fateful night. This is not to say, maybe you shouldn’t try it for a time. You’ve always wandered Sanya, but there comes a time for rest. Even for stalwart protectors of the innocent. What is it they say…” she said, thoughtfully. Before smiling again. She began to sing a poem softly.



Lucia looked at Sanya and pulled her into a tight hug. Sanya smiled, and returned the embrace with a gentle calm.

“P-pardon,” came a voice. When the two looked ahead again, they found the two druids standing in awe before them, specifically Lucia. Their eyes were clearly affixed to the halo above her head. “A-are you, pray tell, blessed by Heaven’s Eye?”

“The tattoos, Gene! Look at the tattoos! By Macsal!” whispered the other while squeezing her companion’s arm. Lucia looked down at them with a neutral expression.

As they garnered outside attention, Sanya was quick to dislodge herself, apparently not too keen of sharing a moment in the spotlight. Her gaze investigating the two druids, and briefly following their stares towards Lucia, she took a step back with her spear and muttered ”Invite the wolf and it appears.” under her breath.

Lucia glanced at Sanya before turning her attention to the two girls and flashing a smile. "Hello. You two must be druids yes? The clothing gives it away." she mused.

“Ho-hoooooh my gods! Obee, she spoke to us!”

“I know she did Gene - don’t freak her out! Druids?! Oh, oh, wow! No one’s called us -that- yet! We, we, we can’t call ourselves -thaaaat- yet, nooo! We’re still learning!” replied the one called Obee, who was still staring at the halo. She raised a shaking finger to point at it, her companion Gene lowering her head as though she didn’t consider herself worthy to behold Lucia’s presence. “Is that… Are you a helgen?”

"A what? Helgen?" Lucia asked.

The two novices nodded. “Y’know, a holy person! Kaer Togen tells us they’re blessed by the gods themselves, and that they have special powers granted to them.”

“Yeah, yeah!” agreed Gene. “There’s even one to the south of here - they say she’s as beautiful as the sun itself, and that she sings with a voice that captures you in a trance! In two years, we’ll be making our reiygang to see her at the Reiyasblot!”

Sanya, who had initially found the attention bothersome, now seemed to derive some little amount of pleasure from watching the exchange unfold in front of her, a miniscule smirk building on her features. ”Oh, she’s a helgen, alright.” she interjected from the sidelines. ”You’re looking at the daughter of the Sun Mother.”

The two novices stood stunned, casting sideways glances at one another. “Y-you don’t mean…” Obee scanned Lucia’s appearance again. “... Lucia, daughter of the Sun Mother? R-right?”

“Ohmygod,IthinkshemeansLucia,daughteroftheSunMother,” Gene whispered in a single breath. Both immediately cast themselves to the ground, clumsily bumping into each other as the path was rather narrow at this point of the road. “LUCIA, shoot, I mean, GREAT, BLESSED LUCIA! It’s the greatest honour!”

“Such an honour!” Obee echoed.

Lucia shot Sanya a knowing glance as the two prostrated themselves before her. She pointed at her in silence then casually drifted her finger across her own neck before turning back to the druid girls. "Yes, I am Lucia. Daughter of Oraelia, daughter of the sun, second child of the Bright One. You've found me Obee, Gene. How might I assist you this day?" she asked before adding, "Oh yeah, you can get up now."

They remained prostrated. “Gene, she told you to stand up,” whispered Obee.

“I’m not getting up first! You know how disrespectful that is?”

Lucia sighed, before her tattoos erupted from her body and gently wrapped around the two girls. They were then lifted up at the same time. Her tattoos unwrapped themselves and then molded back onto her skin, pulsing. "Remember girls, though you may see me as some helgen figure, it's not polite to keep anyone waiting. Now… let me get a good look at the both of you."

The novice girls stood facing Lucia, eyes trying to look just about anywhere else as to not be disrespectful. They clutched their humble walking staffs like stuffed animals, and the wind had long since blown their hoods off their heads, revealing one plain, pale, freckled face with blonde hair and a noticeable overbite, and one darker face with black hair, stopped nose and thick eyebrows. The black-haired one, Gene, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, evidently waiting for Lucia to say something instead.

Sanya rubbed at the bridge of her nose, leaning heavily on Sorrowsting as she watched the scene unfold. ”Go easy on them now, Lucia.” she intoned idly, before lifting her hand up to her mouth to cover a brief yawn.

Lucia glided between the two and eyes them up and down, first stopping in front of Obee and touching her cheek lightly, before giving her a playful pinch. She did the same to Gene before coming to a stop before them. "You have beautiful songs but my oh my, so young. How old are you two?" she asked.

“She touched me,” whispered Gene to nothing in particular, eyes wide as saucers. Obee had a similar expression.

"Yes yes and now each of you will bear ten children in my name." Lucia smirked.

“As the helgen wishes,” acknowledged Obee and bowed her head.

“As the helgen wishes,” echoed Gene. “Kaer Togen won’t mind that we look for mates three years early, right?”

“Not if a helgen demanded it, what, are you stupid?”

Lucia seemed to pale. She took a sharp breath and said, "I was kidding! I was kidding! Don't do that. You have to wait until you're able to bring into this world a life. You must be prepared." she then sighed and rubbed her brow. "Now, how old are you two?"

“Fifteen!” they chorused.

”Practically adults,” Sanya intoned with some feigned wisdom to her tone, giving the three a dulled smile. ”Getting a late start, if you ask me.”

“Kaer Pinya said the same, actually,” Gene added. Obee elbowed her in the side.

"Listen close girls. Only bear a child with those you love. Take it from me, It'll be worth it." she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

The girls looked at one another. “You wish to see Macsal again, don’t you?” asked Gene carefully.

“Must be terrible being apart for so long. I cried when Kaer Rast told us that story,” added Obee. Gene nodded along.

Lucia tilted her head at the two and awkwardly shuffled in place. "He was my love, after all." she said absentmindedly.

Sanya leaned on her weapon, watching the three with a growing restlessness, no doubt brought on by the building awkwardness. ”Good grief,” she breathed with a sigh to follow, when silence seemed to grow in the conversation. ”Just don’t get forced into anything, right?” Sanya paused, rubbing at her temple. ”Love is-... complicated. Listen to your heart, and you’ll do great.”

“We will!” they echoed. Then there was silence. “Who are you again?” asked Gene and Obee elbowed her in the side again. At this point, another couple of farmers had appeared behind them, shepherding diligently a stubborn flock of goats up the pathway.

Sanya didn’t reply to that, though managed to seem at least a little amused. Instead she glanced down the road, and then looked to Lucia - and her alone - to speak. ”I think we’re taking up the road. ...Path.”

Lucia seemed to be in a daze before Sanya spoke and when she did she looked at her and coughed. "Erm… Yes. We should be going." she turned to look at Obee and Gene. "It was nice meeting you two, best of luck in life." she said in a hurry as the goats approached.

“Oh! No, no, no, no, no! We can’t let you go now!” Gene insisted!

“Oh, for sure! We -gotta- take you to Ha-Dûna now. The archdruid would be honoured to have you!” The two of them shook with excitement as though they were standing on quaking soil. Around them hopped a sea of goats.

Lucia looked back at Sanya and gave a shrug.

”Evandra above.” Sanya muttered, and sighed sharply as goats rushed around them. ”Where is Ha-Dûna?”

“That way!” shouted Gene with enough force and vigour to scare a few goats and pointed up to the top of the hill. “About two days on foot! We were actually just heading that way - and now we’re definitely heading that way.”

“Uh-huh!”

Sanya looked back at Lucia and returned the shrug. Lucia laughed after a few seconds. "Well, it's not like we were going anywhere anyways. Lead the way girls." Lucia said to the two. The two novices celebrated and started leading the way, swimming through a river of goats to the surly music of the farmer complaining they’re in the way.

---

Feat @tuujaimaa

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The gates to Antiquity in the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors were, briefly, opened. A mysterious sheen returned to that dulled glass, liquid aurum spilling from its depths and pooling just beneath its surface--and from that glow came forth the physical form of the God of Truth, stepping outside its realm and into that communal space wherein the Gods could engage in acts of community and conversation. It rarely had a specific purpose for entering that realm--much of what it was required to do demanded its presence within its realm where it could coordinate and navigate the great morass of mortal perception--but, occasionally, it had cause to visit its divine kith and kin. Today was one such occasion: the God of Truth desired to speak with the Mother of the Moon, to rectify its past errors and to put into practice the newly found emotional context it had obtained from such a recent merging with its twin.

So, it stepped into that great ring of stone and directed its senses outwards, soon finding purchase upon Gibbou, apparently leaving Oraelia’s portal. It cast wordless intend towards her, beckoning her forth:

“Hail, Mother of the Moon. Might we speak privately? There is much I wish to discuss with you. There are errors I wish to correct.”

The moon goddess shot him a horrified stare and then kept moving as though she hadn’t seen him - or rather, as though she -had- seen him and was running away.

In that communal space Firinn did not have the full extent of its deific powers available to it, and was unable to simply arrest Gibbou to prevent her from feeling--and then, it thought, that even if it could do such a thing it would perhaps send the wrong message. Deciding for a more conservative approach, it attempted diplomacy once more:

”I wish to apologise. Our last interaction was coloured by an insensitivity that is native to my condition while alone--without the emotional context of my twin, I am incapable of understanding mortal feelings, never mind divine ones. If you do not wish to talk I will not force you.”

Though it did not speak, the knowledge of its words--and its sincere regret at how their previous interaction had ended--would simply be something Gibbou could feel, as if through waves in the air.

Gibbou stopped, eyes downcast and fists curled tight. While she didn’t face him, she offered words like an olive branch. ”Do you understand this context better now? After two thousand years?”

”Without being directly linked to Aicheil, it is difficult--but our realms are linked, and so therein I have an easier time of it. It is not in my nature to feel, but two thousand years have provided… context, yes.” The words were challenging for it to communicate--as if there were some inborn resistance to the condition of feeling--but it pushed through that feeling regardless, motivated by the newly contextualised remorse and compassion from its most recent interaction with its twin.

Warily, Gibbou turned around to face the Truth God, though her eyes refused to meet with wherever theirs would have been. ”Truth be told, I did realise that you were only trying to help me back then. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I’m sorry.” She sucked sheepishly on a tooth. ”So… Privately, was it?”

”It would appear, then, that we may both obtain closure after so long. Please, follow.”

With that said, Firinn turned and disappeared once again through the mirror that represented the portal to its realm, vanishing through the glass as if it had never existed within Antiquity at all. Spread out before that entrance there would be a seemingly endless corridor of mirrors on all sides, each containing a memory or a feeling from the many, many mortal lives that had been lived in the gods’ long absence from Galbar. They were currently scattered, unorganized, random tidbits of information that Firinn had sorted--but as soon as Gibbou walked through that portal they would reflect her, and mortal memories of interactions with her. The draug, Twilight, the Druids of the Long Stride--each would have memories and feelings playing themselves out behind an infinite sheet of glass. Firinn would manifest on the floor, beneath her feet--taking the place of her reflection within this hallowed realm.

”I have only ever sought to help, but I did so in a way that would help me--not a way that would help you. I wish to rectify that mistake, if you still require assistance, now and at any point--I wish only for us to be… friends, I think the term is?”

Gibbou was absorbed by an image of Twilight, regret and discomfort clouding her expression. ”Yeah…” she mumbled absent-mindedly. ”Yeah, friends is right.” She finished looking at the mirage. ”Did you and your brother discuss these feelings? Do you feel like you understand now? What a friend is?” She followed deeper into the tunnel.

”Hm. I… have seen every interaction of every mortal since my birth. Each time one of our precious charges has called another friend I have seen that interaction, understood the context, made sense of what is. To understand and to feel are not alike--but in this moment, replete with the grace of the Two-as-One, I know what it means to feel that kinship. I have never seen you interact, but I imagine it must be as you and your own twin feel?”

As the echoes of its intent reverberated throughout the halls the images on the mirrors changed, shifting from those that knew the name Gibbou to those that declared their friendship for one another--friends becoming lovers, friends standing up for one another, friends comforting one another through loss. The totality of that mortal experience splayed itself upon those panes of crystal-glass, echoing within and around one another like the threads of a great tapestry.

”What I had meant to say before, the meaning I had intended to give you… It is that mistakes do not and cannot define you. Cruelty, it seems, is a necessary consequence of freedom--of life. That some of your creatures act cruelly is not a mistake, but a consequence of their Truth--of the collective Truth. It… is not your fault. It cannot be your fault, for you sought only to create and not to control. Does that… make sense?”

”It does, it does,” mumbled the moon goddess back as she squatted down to look at one particular reflection of two childhood friends confessing their feelings to one another. ”I know it’s not my fault -personally- that dovregubbes ravage the countryside a few times a year, or that askeladds keep hexing chickens to lay stone eggs. I do not -make- vampires drink the blood of innocents. I did have a considerable hand in making them as they are, though, and -that’s- what brings me guilt.” She gestured to an image of a friend comforting another. ”Even mortals will blame themselves for something they haven’t necessarily done themselves - and it takes time to realise that it both was and wasn’t your decisions’ fault that what happened, happened.” She stood up and shrugged. ”Took me two thousand years anyway - I’m not even over it, to be fair. Talking to Orey helps, but emotions like these are hard to get rid of. That’s why I reacted the way I did back then.”

”We… are not them. They are, as I understand it, all burdened by a shard of sadness. Each of them knows that it must all end one day, and that each day lived is a day they can never get back. We Divines are eternal, and cannot rightly conceive of our own endings--when you endowed your avatar with a shard of your soul, you replaced that burden of sadness. Now, little Twilight lives freely and without that fear of death--but a mortal mind is not meant to comprehend eternity. He will soon realise how much you mean to him, and how much what he may do will mean to those around him.”

Firinn took a moment to pause, no longer walking beneath Gibbou as her reflection, and manifesting itself within the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors physically. Its mantle-claws wove themselves into hands, and its body shimmered with an aureate lustre for a moment before rippling out and shifting until only the appearance of Gibbou remained.

”It is my nature to reflect. As I am now, connected to you and my Twin both, I can feel the echoes of what you felt. It is not the same, but… it is hard. I am sorry that I did not understand. I am sorry that I burdened you with something you did not deserve. Let us think upon the fact that it brought us together, here, in this moment--let us be thankful that it paved the way for things to be as they are now, and not dwell upon the pain that they caused.”

It reached out its two hands, opening itself wide, as if to offer the Mother of the Moon a hug. Gibbou immediately backed away with her palms presented. ”Woah, okay! Okay. Don’t, don’t rush on ahead, Fìrinn - hugs are between friends.”

It paused, as if dwelling on the thoughts and the refusal to reconcile with that most intimate and connective of gestures, and looked around. It turned its head towards an image of Twilight upon re-entering Galbar and the great weave, and reached a hand out to touch that mirror gently, as if in thought. After a moment it recoiled, as if remembering an echo of that interaction, and turned back to Gibbou, looking her in the eyes from within an illusion of her own form.

”... forgive me. You are so like them, and yet so… not. It is hard to know where one ends and another begins--it is hard to capture the nuance of that fragility between panes of glass and stolen images, and yet that is all I have. I will make mistakes… we will make mistakes.”

Gibbou cast a sideways glance back at the entrance. She drew a short breath through the nose and spoke, ”Your brother tried the exact same thing, y’know - hugging. It’s not, it’s not that I don’t like it, don’t get me wrong. When I said…” She sighed. ”’Hugs are between friends’... I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Hugs are, well, hugs are for friends who know each other well - like me and my sister, for example! The two of us, weee…” Her fingers exchanged between pointing at herself and at the reflection of herself. ”... We are still getting there, y’know?”

”Hm. I understand--it is… Mortalkind has a linear understanding of time. Events happen in concurrence, one after the other, like footsteps in the sand.” Firinn gesticulated to illustrate its point, the mirrors around it showing the timeline of a single human’s birth, right up until their death. It stretched on and on around them, a great circle, each window arrayed in perfect order.

”Yet we gods are not limited to such a perspective. I see all at once--catching up with what was, processing what is, and gazing into the Worldweave above to determine what will be. I do not think… no, we do not perceive time in the same manner at all. You, by choice or design, perceive it as they do--perhaps to better fulfil your purpose as a protector. I, to fulfil mine, see so much at once--it is an infinite series of circles, spilling out from one another and into one another all at once. It has been two thousand years since we last spoke for you, but in my understanding of time, it…”

Firinn cut itself off, trying to find the feelings and thoughts to express what it meant without forcing an unwelcome perspective upon Gibbou. It stood there, motionless, for seconds stretching on towards infinity, the lights around it sparking and flaring as if to signify the deep contemplation it was in. After an indeterminable amount of time it spoke again:

”is like living through the entirety of every mortal’s life all at once, seeing the infinite realities of what they could do, what they could be, what they hope and imagine and dream. That is the influence of Aicheil, and it is like being so full of sensation that the self peels away, cast to the wind. It could have been mere moments ago that we spoke, or uncountable eternities--I can never know what it feels like to you, even now.”

”I don’t envy you, Fìrinn…” sighed Gibbou. ”I don’t envy you one bit. You and your brother received tasks that I can’t even begin to wrap my head around.” One of the mirrors showed her moon and she walked over and gestured to it. ”My moon’s simple, yet so sweet and beautiful in its own right. It exists, and there’s no doubt about it. The night’s the same - absence of my sister’s sun, the planet’s own shadow cast upon itself - it’s simple and beautiful. Now truth? Dreams? No… Whether by design or choice - I’m not sure either, honestly - I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it.”

Firinn nodded along as Gibbou expressed her thoughts, mirroring her actions and feelings with its own. It, too, walked up to a mirror as she did--but beckoned forth a different scene: druids resting peacefully beneath the silvery opalescence of that great orb in the sky, safeguarded from harm and worry.

”Mortal life, in its entirety, is so precious… So valuable. It is all that matters, and it is just a single thread in the great weave of creation. I do all that I do, endure all that I must, for their sake: that their lives might continue to play out. That their every action might never be forgotten--that there will be one, in the end, who witnessed and remembered it all. It is what I was made to do. There can be no sadness in the realisation and fulfillment of my purpose. I… failed to give you that same serenity. I shall never forget that. But now, perhaps, I might make amends.”

Its hands unwove themselves from the gossamer blanket of that reflected image, becoming the claw-tips that they were meant to be. They punctured a single pane of glass, creating a ripple within, and held it tightly until it glowed a beautiful gold--and then released that ripple along all of the mirrors within that great hall, flooding the space with visions of shimmering light and colour.

”I have watched with keen interest the comings and goings of your vampires. The nature of your punishment, the effects it has had upon Truth.” Firinn began, moving forwards and stepping out from the refracted shell of Gibbou’s appearance, letting it fade away into the background as it took back its own true form.

”Such justice is not a concept I preside over, but those Vampires who exist have all, each in their own way, committed an egregious crime against the nature of Truth: they despoil too much, rend the weave around them in vast and irreparable cuts. To bring them back in line with Truth, to contain their wanton bloodlust and set the greater Truth to rights, I offer thee this: Each night, as the hunger sets in, each of the accursed shall remember vividly the final moments of those they slaked their thirst ‘pon. They shall remember those whose lives they have taken from the deceased’s perspective and shall consider what their ambition has wrought. Does this sound agreeable to thee, Mother of the Moon?”

Gibbou blinked. ”You mean, they’d have to relive all the terrible things they’ve done every time they get hungry?”

”Just so. They shall consider their power, and realise that its price can only be measured in equal suffering to that which they have caused.”

”Hmm… Nnng… See, on one hand, I’m not all about having people relive their trauma over and over again. That’s really harsh on the head, after all. Though on the other haaand... Her eyes narrowed. ”... It would serve them right for what they’ve done. I say you can go on ahead with that! Sounds pretty much just like an extension of what I had planned for them, honestly,” she added with a smirk.

”I cannot say that I would have created such creatures, but… they have deterred many a mortal from fratricide or worse. Cruelty and pain are simply facts of the world--and though these vampires are born from those lamentable traits, this curse has prevented more harm than it has caused. I have collected many thoughts of ambitious murder, and even more so of the price that such an action incurs--though it may not seem so without proper scrutiny, mortalkind is safer for your and Fe’ris’ efforts. I thank you both for your service, and am only happy to assist.”

Firinn beckoned forth an image of a vampire to one of the many mirrors, and then into that scene illuminated the moon with a potent silver light. It placed its true hand upon that moon, shifting its hues from silver to red to gold, and then withdrew. The image faded away into nothingness, as did all of the others--before returning to the great panoply of mortal lives being lived and catalogued.

”It is done. Is there aught else I might assist you with, Mother of the Moon? I am happy to do my part for those I would call friend--even if that does not extend to the closeness so associated with these ‘hugs’.”

Gibbou looked through a reflection, where one vampire was kneeling and screaming its sorrow to the moonlit heavens. While she knew she shouldn’t feel that way, there was something perversely satisfying about seeing it. ”Yes, this is good. Hopefully, even the most degenerate of vampires will now realise the horror of their actions.” She offered Fìrinn a smile. ”Hey… Thanks. I’ll be honest, I--... When you invited me in for a chat, I was… Skeptical. However, I see now that you really have changed.” She extended an open palm forward. ”I think that’s enough for me to consider you an, uh, a good acquaintance!”

”I…” the God of Truth started, before mirroring Gibbou’s action and pressing its mantle-claw, now an open palm, forward--though stopping short of any actual contact between them. ”I knew, then, that change was coming. I… made the mistake of believing that I could in some way, resist change--that if I ensured my purpose could continue in my absence I might be spared that unforeseen calamity. Naive, I suppose, in hindsight--but only through that failing did I become a more realised and truthful version of myself. There is much to lament about how those events unfolded, how our truths intersected… what I am trying to say is that no matter how much the events of the past sucked, they brought us to where we are now. That is something to be thankful for.”