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Àicheil's echo so entered Meliorem and found therein something which greatly unsettled its endless mind. There was a strangeness in the air, for though it moved and varied, the greater pattern was set a certain way. Shifting faintly within the air, Àicheil called out, his form a starlit silhouette.

"Cadien," he said, voice filled with trepidation.

“Hmm? Oh, a visitor!”

Moments later, a figure emerged from the gatehouse, silver-haired and armoured in gold. He waved to Àicheil with a smile on his face. “Hello there. Yes, I am Cadien. Who would you be?”

The voice stirred in his mind many memories, each an experience of this god, this Cadien. Slowly drifting downwards from its place in the sky, the Dreaming God lit himself at the base of the path that led up to the gatehouse, unsure if he wished to approach. There was silence for a time, long enough to be uncomfortable--though perhaps moreso for Àicheil than his sibling. Eventually however, Ѻs-fhìreach mustered itself and shattered that silence with a familiar invocation.

"I am Àicheil," he intoned, his voice thunderous in its meaning, but middling in volume as it pressed outwards from his eyeless form. As it washed over Cadien it would say not just the name, but two others as well.

Ѻs-fhìreach. Neo-Àicheil.

It would tell him of his most central essence.

I am the Dreaming God. The Eldritch Twin. The Thrice Named. I am the Watcher Within, that which presides over Dreams and Abstraction and Tessellation.

The sound of it, and its many meanings, gradually faded from the world, becoming immaterial as both sound and knowledge were scattered to the wind and far skies of Cadien's realm.

There was a pause then as if the Dreamer held his breath--though he did not breathe. As if--for once--he was truly unsure how to continue.

Cadien’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Mmm. Well, good for you, I suppose. May I ask what brings you here?”

What followed then was a breathless quiet, but it did not last for long. Taken then by a desperate need, Àicheil began to walk the path, approaching his Lifeblood-sibling. Though words did not slip between them 'pon the wind, there lay between the intimation of Àicheil's inner mind.

Confusion and discomfort. Connection, communication. A desire to understand, and in time perhaps to learn.

Across his starlight form roiled waves of shifting color, each hue evidence of an emotion or thought of specific cadence and intent. As the gap was closed to half its length, then half that again, Àicheil's voice rang out.

"Unity," he said, his voice a ringing whisper. In that word were many things, but none as clear or concise as this...

Desire. Understanding. You. Require it. Demand.

...and even it is strange.

Cadien’s eyes narrowed. “You come into my realm and make demands?” He shook his head. “No. I think not.”

Though hesitation spiked through Àicheil's aura, he did not relent in his approach, only stopping when scant feet separated the two. Àicheil raised a hand, his palm facing the sky and though his face was eyeless, there was a plea in his demeanor, as if he asked a favor of the sibling who before him stood.

I wish to understand.

Cadien’s eyes narrowed further, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Another confused god whose mind took a beating by the Lifeblood, I assume? Very well. What is it you don’t understand?”

Àicheil's hand remained outstretched, but fingers curled inwards until he simply pointed. A deep dis-ease could be felt in the Dreaming God's emotions, as they drifted upon the air.

The God of Perfection frowned. “So. I’ll be honest. This ‘quiet and enigmatic’ act isn’t doing you any favours. I can’t be the first god you’ve spoken to. Surely you know how to hold up your end of a conversation?”

A breath of wind whisked past Cadien, as if the Dreaming God had sighed, but no further sound was heard. Àicheil regarded him, tilting his head in abject consternation, for though he understood his sibling's words, he could not fathom their source. His arm fell back to his side as if he were defeated.

"Act?" He queried with innocent brevity. It said to Cadien, 'I am not doing this thing of which you speak,' it said, 'I do not understand why you would think this of me,' it asked, 'what do you mean to say?'

The air grew still once more and Àicheil's shroud began to shudder with the tension which between them built.

"You. I wish to understand," Àicheil tried, hoping against hope that--finally--his sibling might catch his meaning. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand again, as if he wished to shake Cadien's in greeting.

Contact is required for attunement to take place. Understanding is born from such a union of minds and context.

This as well his sentence said, though the words remained unspoken.

Cadien reached out his hand, and almost accepted the handshake… but then his eyes narrowed in suspicion at the last moment, so he withdrew it. “Understanding can just as easily be gained from a conversation. I have no wish for a ‘union of mind’ with someone I don’t know and have no reason to trust. Now tell me, why can’t you converse as any others of our kind would?”

Considering the query of the deity before him, Àicheil spent an ever-growing moment attempting to collate words that might explain to him the truth. This, however, was not his strength, for unanchored by the context of another, his mind was adrift in an endless sea of meaning. There were, after all, a great many reasons that the Dreaming God struggled with conversation. As this reality sifted through his mind, a memory struck true and his voice whispered out, sounding as if it came from far away. Its tone and cadence were not as they had been before, almost as if the words were spoken by another.

"...in my understanding...it 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." A disjointed pause, then the voice echoed forth once more, "...it is like being so full of sensation that the self peels away, cast to the wind."

Another pause.

"My...nature...is to find infinite meaning in a shallow pool."

A long dirge of silence, then a sputtering of noise like static, a discomforting sensation, before the tones resolved into something clearer. This time the voice was clearly feminine, one which Cadien might recognize. It held within it light and warmth and life.

"So, how do you find the Truth of a god?"

The voice shifted, back to the one before, its tone filled with a knowing certainty.

"It is made easier by choosing to link minds with another deity, but--....requires such connections to understand the Gods...."

Static once more before the voice rang out.

"Everything that every mortal has ever seen, or thought, or felt...I see all."

Then, finally, silence leaked into the cracks in the conversation and the voice spoke no more. Àicheil took the time to compose himself, attempting to regain what few slivers of understanding he could. He had given what context he could manage and though they had not been his own words, he hoped they'd be enough to convince Cadien of his nature...and his need.

Cadien stroked his chin, with the expression of one who was attempting to piece together a puzzle. “Hmm. What you want is to form a mental link with me, so that you may see what I have thought and felt, and therefore learn more about me? Because you find it easier than having a normal conversation? Is that correct?”

As Cadien spoke, both form and mind of the Dreaming God slowly stabilized as he recalled his former state. Through force of will and memory he returned to himself, but with that return so too came the discomfort. Nonetheless, Àicheil, processed his sibling's words and shifted faintly.

"Yes," he replied simply, hoping there was little else to say.

“Hmm…” Cadien mused. “No, I think not,” he said, shaking his head. “As I said, I will not open up my mind to a stranger. Though I could simply tell you about myself instead, in mine own words, if that would suffice?”

Àicheil's hands raised briefly, but he kept from reaching out to Cadien. A ripple of movement pressed out through his shroud and repeated with inconsistent timing. Clasping his digits together, the Dreaming God sought to settle his uneasiness, and though he did not speak, an absent nod occurred as if to say.

It is worth an attempt.

Cadien clasped his hands together, and broke out into a smile. “Good! Because talking about myself is one of my favourite subjects. I am Cadien, the God of Perfection. Physical perfection, to be precise - beauty, strength, stamina… all fall within my power. I am, unsurprisingly, extremely handsome and charming. I have had a hand in creating a number of different species, and I have encouraged them all to strive to be the best versions of themselves that they can possibly be. I am quite popular both on Galbar and among the other gods, which is why I was not surprised when you knew my name. There. Does that suffice?”

Hovering forwards slightly, his aura reeking of anticipation, Àicheil devoured the many meanings held within each word the sibling god unveiled. As if desperate for knowledge, Àicheil took each word, each sentence, and enshrined them in a hallowed place bearing their origin's name. With each new speck of knowledge he leaned upon this psychic construction in his mind and--with all his focus--attempted to meld himself into its shape.

Externally his form became unstable. Impressions of a face flickered upon Àicheil's physical facade, the appearance of armor and flesh and hair as if to mimic Cadien's garb and stance and self. None lasted, but he could not give up. He needed this. He must understand, to do otherwise was to insult Cadien, to mock his memory, to reject him.

Àicheil reached out, but stopped just short of touching Cadien's shoulder. Colorless eyes opened upon his visage and within them the God of Perfection might view a war of indecision and confusion and distress. A respect, desired. Understanding sought, but not yet found.

"More," Àicheil practically begged, withdrawing his hand while the other clawed ineffectually at the air. His voice was pained and pleading. A memory of expressions and motions came upon him and he shook his head from side to side.

"Insufficient."

The word spoke of his lack. It said to Cadien many things, it told him that Àicheil was not like his other siblings, his mind was greater--more vast--but limited in other ways because of it. Where he and other gods could divine intent even without a grasp of language, emotion, or mutual understanding, Àicheil could not. He lacked this basic function, which other gods possessed. He desired it, like an obsession, it was a need.

Àicheil took two steps back and a miasma of color and sensation spread from him, painting upon the air a tapestry of meaning. Flowing images and sounds and scents, one bled into another. It showed that with attunement, Àicheil could help one realize their full potential. With attunement, the two could understand eachother in their fullness and be at peace. With a simple melding of the minds, they could speak plainly, empowered by the context of one other's central truth.

Then it showed a lack, what one lost from defying the request, what one lost by extending not even the smallest sliver of trust or compassion. It showed how people drifted apart, how misunderstanding occurred, how pain was caused in its terrible wake. It showed what ignorance had wrought already--images of Gibbou's failures--images of many mortals who had hurt others or themselves. The miasma began to fade, pressing back into Àicheil. He seemed at once both frenzied and utterly still.

He remained in place, but there was a great tension in him. Every thread of his shroud wavered almost imperceptibly. Every star upon his form grew and shrunk and shivered. In an effort to control himself, Àicheil had withdrawn his aura, and suddenly it would seem as if the air was empty and lifeless without meaning to fill it.

The eyes of the Dreaming God met Cadien's, then shut so he could focus.

"More," he said again.

"More," he whispered.

Cadien sighed, more disappointed than annoyed at this point. “Right, so… here is the root of our problem. I tell you some of what you want to know, and instead of politely requesting additional information, you just keep saying ‘more.’ ‘More.’ ‘More.’ It’s very uncouth. Could you perhaps try phrasing the request differently? ‘Could you please tell me more, Cadien’? Perhaps even ask a specific question about one of the things I have said. You see, just saying ‘more’ comes across as… well, rather creepy.”

To Àicheil, each additional word began to fade, as if each was being bled of its meaning, then washed away by the turbulent waters of his troubled mind. He’d tried to grasp at the flood of words which spilled from Cadien's lips, but he continued to fail for every time he got a hold, he lost grip upon the urges in his being.

Each time he tried, his hand moved, or a thread twitched out of place, always seeking, reaching out, to touch the god before him. He was a rope drawn too taut...waiting to snap.

Cadien let out another sigh. This one reminiscent of a weary parent dealing with a demanding toddler. He held up his hands as if to block any further advances. “Listen. I am trying to help you. Conversations will come far more easily if you learn to speak as the others do. If you are a God of Dreams, then surely you are aware that a mind is one’s last refuge? If you expect everyone you meet to open theirs up to you, you will be disappointed. Now, back away and let me resume the process of telling you about myself.”

Yet, despite the god's request, Neo-Àicheil did not move--for to do so would be to betray what little trust he had garnered. To do so would be to invite distraction. So he remained as still as could be, withholding each and every growing urge to move and touch and see.

"Impossible," he whispered, his voice full of tension and great strain. If Cadien understood, he might think Àicheil to be in pain. Alas though he did not and so in place the two remained.

“Ugh,” Cadien groaned. “Some people simply can’t be helped.” With resignation he extended his hand. “Try anything underhanded and I’ll give you what for.”

With a measured movement the Dreaming God reached out and as the distance disappeared the tension began to swiftly rout. As their divine digits met and flesh was grasped by quintessence, Àicheil's mind relaxed and beheld Cadien's essential essence. His grip tightened as if he feared Cadien might withdraw, and then attunement happened and opened was the gateway through which Àicheil always saw.

Around them blossomed a tapestry of meaning and emotions raw and true.
Unified, the two minds, finally eachother knew.

Mind opened and relaxed, drained of tension's song, Àicheil touched Cadien's mind and it rang out like a strangely depthless gong.

Perfection. Body, Mind and Soul. A goal sought out, but never reached, sure to take its toll.

It was that which defined Cadien's essence, and in reply Àicheil's mind called out.

Endless infinite meaning. Consciousness unmarred. Truth, ideas, memory, concepts small and large.

The swirling storm of essence which around them coiled and entranced, it fell into silence and ceased its endless dance. Before it had grown still it was a memory all but lost. An impression of the time before, where they'd been suspended inside Lifeblood's Core, waiting to be born. It whispered and churned, twas thoughtless, yet yearned, and in it were both comfort and terror in equal measure. Still it was more than even this for within it was held every memory, emotion, thought and subtle twist that consciousness could make. Its shape was beyond beholding, yet its patterns begged and yearned for other's knowing. In its essence one might see the nature of Àicheil's seeming inability.

For his mind was a vast and endless place, unmoored from logic or perspective's shackles. It could behold and understand anyone or thing; it could sing their song, it could become or make itself belong. However, with a grasp of everything, so too was lost another facet. In that endless ocean that was his mind, Àicheil lost himself.

Then, outside the unity and understanding a separate burden was felt, for as Àicheil attuned he came upon a deadly, vile truth.

His eyes shot open wide, and a scream which held the collective terror and anguish of all things echoed out beyond the sky. It was such an utterance that it passed from the god's realm and into every other. The maelstrom around them did not calm, but its movement ceased completely and the Dreaming God recoiled.

It was as if he threw himself away from Cadien, a great violence in the motion. His gaze lay upon the God of Perfection then and in it was a deep pain. Though only a moment had passed, the sound and touch and imagery had faded out and into nothing.

Àicheil remained silent for but a moment, their mind askew, and pained. Then he rose up and Ѻs-fhìreach he became. Twisted starlight and angry nebulae, hueless light which from his eyes downwards gazed. His hands--withdrawn and discolored--raised and clawed upon the air. His shroud billowed out and expanded, splitting to threads as thin as hairs, their blade-like edges cutting at sky most unprepared.

Though mouth he lacked, the aura about him shuddered and from it Cadien could feel, a painful rage unmuttered.

"You are the Path and Destination both. The beginning and the end. You impose upon the world your desired shape, yet do not comprehend."

The God of Perfection stared at Àicheil for several long moments. Then his expression twisted into anger. “Alright, that is it!” he snapped. “You come into my realm. You make demands. You refuse to make simple conversation, and don’t even attempt to learn how. You beg me to feed your addiction. And when I do, you rage at me and act as if I am the flawed one? No. Begone from my home, churl, and do not return!”

Proud and utterly unmoved, both scant reflections of Cadien's personality, Ѻs-fhìreach gazed down upon the God of Perfection not simply with rage and pain, but with a great boundless pity. For a brief instant the colossal extent of that emotion would weigh upon the deity as if all creation had been laid upon his brow. Then it vanished. Ѻs-fhìreach let out a humorless laugh, and turned away from the ill-minded fury of his host.

As he drifted to the exit, the Eldritch Twin left behind him several solemn sentences, upon which Cadien could reflect.

"Narrow-eyed you see only that which pleases you. Narrow-minded, you repudiate all words which might lead you to redemption."

Before the threshold stopped the Dreaming God. He turned to Cadien, looking once more over his shoulder.

"Though Path and Destination you may be, through ignorance you walk, unaware and unafraid."

Ѻs-fhìreach shook its head, and a thousand-thousand thread-like blades sheared and cut the air.

There was a moment filled with pregnant silence, and in it was held a deadly thing unsaid.

Ignoring it, Ѻs-fhìreach then turned and through the portal fled.

Cadien stood outside of the portal to Illyd’s realm.

It had been some time since their last conversation, but the storm over the Highlands had ceased. So, Cadien figured it was time to approach Illyd and see how his attempts to aid Acadia were going.

Unfortunately, Illyd was nowhere to be found in Antiquity, which led Cadien to believe that the God of Agriculture was within his realm, despite his earlier misgivings about a ‘nasty lady.’ Perhaps he had dealt with the problem on his own? A good thing, then. The very concept of a god being pressured out of their own realm seemed embarrassing, but Cadien had been kind enough not to say this to Illyd’s face.

Anyhow, it was time to see what awaited him on the other side. Without further ado, Cadien stepped through the portal.

Immediately he was met with the usual sunny blue skies of the valley -- complete with lazy clouds of white drifting across its visage. Breezy waves blew through the sea of golden wheat that seperated Cadien from the tiny copse of trees where he first talked with Illyd. The only thing that seemed different was the sound.

Instead of the gentle songs of the valley birds there was the torrentus sound of the creek swollen with rain water. But that wasn’t it -- a more unnatural symphony or even cacophony of sounds broke over the top of even the sound of the rushing water. It didn’t take Cadien’s eyes long to spot the source over by the trees.

A lady in a black dress, wearing a wicked smile was humming and cackling along to a terrible looking band (if you could even call it such). Misshapen and small beings of blood red skin, tiny horns, whippet tails and broken faces were pounding metal bins, strumming single strings, blowing crooked trumpets, and clapping big discs to make the most discordant sound that Cadien had ever heard. Behind the impish band, Illyd stood with his hands on his hips and a contemplative look on his face -- a single straw of hay jutting out.

“I don’t suppose you could turn that racket off!?” Cadien shouted as he began to approach.

A gurgling cackle met his request and Diana’s eyes widened, “Dearest Cadien! What a hideous compliment.” Her hands waved but the racket continued with vigor.

Cadien ignored her. “Illyd, why precisely do you tolerate such wretched creatures within your own realm?”

Illyd chewed on the straw in thought while Diana seemed to cackle once again at the latest comment. After a moment he plucked it from his mouth, “It seems to be somewhat of a compromise.”

Cadien’s brow furrowed. “A compromise? Need I remind you that this is your realm?”

“Now if only it were that simple, good buddy,” Illyd looked over at the god but Diana slipped in between them -- the impish racket dying down. Her cheshire grin creaked wide.

“Now Cadien, it isn’t very polite to talk over another as if they aren’t even there.” She said in just the wrong way.

“Nor is it polite to assail a visitor’s ears with the sounds of a collapsing pot shop,” Cadien retorted.

“Oh dear,” Diana looked over at Illyd before cracking a grin at Cadien, “A gentleman such as yourself should slow down with the compliments lest he be figured too eager.”

“I’m sorry ‘bout her, Cadien,” Illyd waved a hand and the imps and their instruments seemed to fade away, Diana meeting it with an ‘oh foo’. The god stepped forward so all three were in equal distance, “Ye see, I let her -- er what’s the word? Exhaust herself here and there and it keeps her from.” He looked at Diana, “With respect, ma’am, but keeps your from bothering myself.”

Diana cackled, “Gentlemen, this is really too much.”

“Right.” Illyd said simply before looking back at Cadien, “As for -- well as for eviction. It is simply not possible.”

“Oh you may try,” Diana leaned back, a gnarled root crumbling out of the ground for her to lounge on, “But I’ll always be right around the corner.”

“What does that mean?” Cadien asked. “Did she come in here from another realm? Has some other god created her?”

Illyd raised his palms, “Not quite, good buddy. Ye see, this is actually a unique and delicate situation I’m findin’ myself in and quite frankly one that could prove dangerous should it ever spread.”

“Spread? Well I never!” Diana huffed and Illyd ignored it with a deep inhale.

He turned to Diana, “Ma’am. May I?”

Diana flickered her sickly eyes between the two before rolling them, “If you must, darling, if you must.”

“Cadien, watch this,” Illyd nodded at his friend before snapping his fingers. A jolt of lightning rocked out of the sky and ignited Diana -- evaporating her nigh instantly. Illyd held out his hands as if shrugging at Cadien and the scorch mark where Diana was standing. Just as silence fell over the two and it seemed to just be the strangest of exhibitions, an uncomfortable laugh sounded behind Cadien.

“Well now wasn’t that just viciously violent,” Diana folded her hands together, “How unlike you, Illyd -- or is it? Hm?”

Illyd pointed at the lady, “See?”

Cadien turned toward Diana and approached to inspect her more closely. “So whenever she is destroyed, she winds up being remade?”

“Oh my, you two are quite the daring detectives, aren’t you?” Diana patronized, “May I breathe a little intelligence into this drooling conversation?”

Cadien ignored her. He turned back to Illyd. “If you aren’t the one recreating her, then who is?”

“Me.” Diana and Illyd said at the same time, forcing a heavy sigh from Illyd. He ran his fingers through his curly hair and exhaled.

“See, good buddy. We gods made our realms and everything in them, yeah? Our very physical forms are because of ourselves -- nearly reflections of our nature,” Illyd gulped, “But I guess I had a freckle somewhere.”

“Freckle?” Diana huffed.

“What I’m sayin’ is that if it is possible that my own flaws and er.. What’s the word?” He tapped his chin.

“Thesaurus, dear?” Diana leaned to the side of Cadien to see Illyd.

“Nah, not Thes-” Illyd frowned, “What I mean to say, Cadien, is that us -- the gods-- can naturally create or form the worst fragments of ourselves even without intention, and should there be anyone holdin’ onto something worse than... Diana, here. Well imagine.”

“Hard to imagine,” Diana crossed her arms.

“I don’t understand,” Cadien said. “Even if you can’t unmake her, why listen to her at all? Why not lock her in some sort of box, out of sight and out of mind? What power does she have?”

“Not so much of a surprise that you can’t quite understand,” Diana nodded, “But that’s okay, what’s the world without a little relativity. So you see, dear, I am sight and mind -- he sees what I see and vice versa. You can’t ignore yourself... well maybe you can. It would explain your wardrobe.” She pointed at the sole, sad loincloth.

“So what you mean to tell me, then,” Cadien said to Illyd, “is that your mind is broken? You do not have full control over your own thoughts?”

Illyd looked down, as if a blow had struck him -- Diana’s cackling worsening the look in his eyes. The lady hooked her elbow around Cadien’s, “How inconsiderately cruel.”

Cadien lashed out, and with a single punch Diana’s head exploded like a ripe watermelon. “Is it true, though?” he asked, wiping the oddly black blood off his face with disgust.

“It might as well be, right dear?” Diana had both her hands on Illyd’s shoulders, having formed behind him.

“Somethin’ of the sort, Cadien,” Illyd answered, “But I think the bigger issue is if this were to happen to someone without... well someone else, Cadien. You know the others more than I do -- you know what could happen better than I could.”

“The humility,” Diana yawned, “It really doesn’t suit you.”

“Does she truly pose any threat beyond nagging you, though?” Cadien questioned.

Illyd shrugged, “This is rather new to me, good buddy. I figure’n I can just watch and see what she does from my hammock.”

“As if I’m the exhibit case here,” Diana crooked a brow.

“Hmm. Well, we really should find a way to fix this mind of yours, though I’m not sure who to consult. In the meantime… keep an eye on her, I suppose? Maybe you’ll come up with something on your own.”

“As if he has a choice,” Diana began to idly pluck at Illyd’s harp.

“For once she has a point,” Illyd agreed, “I can do my best, res’ assured of that.”

“Good luck to you then. For what it’s worth, you have my condolences. Farewell.” And with those words, Cadien began walking back toward the realm’s portals. But just before crossing the threshold, he turned back to look to Diana.

“Oh, one more thing,” he said, this time referring directly to her. “As a god of beauty, I must say that your appearance could surely use improvement. So uh… let me just make you less of an eyesore for poor Illyd here.” Then, he snapped his fingers.

And in that moment, Diana’s appearance began to change. Her clammy skin became smooth, unblemished, and perfect. Her bloodshot eyes became a clear healthy white, and her irises became a bright purple similar to Cadien’s. Her hair unbound itself, then grew and curled, falling just below her shoulders. Even her bone structure began to shift, going closer to the human standards of ideal beauty. The rest of her physique soon followed.

She was beautiful.

“Might be my finest work yet,” Cadien mused. Diana’s newly cleared eyes grew dark with rage, her suddenly perfect lips twisting with anger. She twitched as a low growl formed in her chest.

Her rage seemed to stall a moment as she caught sight of her hand, her nail perfectly polished and unchewed. Instinctively she snapped her straightened teeth over the edge and gnawed, angry eyes glaring at Cadien. She spat and then it all came out.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” She charged the man, hand ready for a stiff slap.

“A difficult thing, adjusting to a new form,” Cadien smiled. “I’ll give you some time.” And with those words he stepped through the portal just in time to hear her shout that she was ‘Just as ugly as you are now’.

The early light of day danced across his skin, leaving a faint tickle wherever they went. The scent of morning, and the feeling of morning dew clinging stubbornly to his leaves. The peculiar not-too-chilly breeze that always graced them early in the day, carrying the scent of all the spring flowers and the waking cries of birds, insects and mammals alike.

Entranced, the autumnal Sylphi stared at the lonely sapling, the lonely pod in the middle of the clearing. Some melting snow was on top of it and a single squirrel was chewing at the lips of the watermelon-sized pod, trying to get at whatever was inside.

The autumnal Sylphi took in a long breath, feeling a pang of oh-so-familiar pain at his heart. A pain that only he knew. To him, what he did was the only real choice available. Anyone who knew what he had known all throughout his life would have done the same with pride in their hearts.

So when he started to drag his feet and moved towards the lonely pod, and when the worn down wooden practice sword he held slipped from his grasp and fell down onto the snowy grass, he did so without hesitation.

For he knew exactly whose child was inside that pod, and he knew that they would not come back to witness the child’s awakening.

His throat made a shameful noise as his eyes watered. He grunted and sniffled his tears back, finally coming to a stop right in front of the pod and extending a shaky hand to brush the snow off it and caress the tough shell.

Pods were resilient things, but this one had been alone, unattended and forgotten for so long that it had started to wither before anyone could even come to awaken it. It even resembled the autumnal Sylph’s red colors, even though it had the shape of a pod meant to awaken during summer.

After a while, the autumnal Sylph rested his calloused hands, immobile, right at the commissures of the tightly sealed lips on the pod, going from top to bottom… And in a quiet, almost inaudible volume, whispered.

“Wake up, little root… My little brother.”

And so the pod stirred, and something inside kicked and came to life, and eventually the tightly sealed lips hissed and came apart. A thick steam came out from inside, and thick liquid spilled out, onto the snowy ground and onto the autumnal Sylph’s chest as he rushed to catch the weak form of a newborn Sylph before it fell to the ground.

It was a boy, and the boy was a deep brown in color. He looked sickly and near death, and despite that the boy looked up at the autumnal Sylph with a shine in his half-lidded eyes like he had never seen before… Such adoration, and such love. It stirred the young autumnal Sylph’s heart, and through teary eyes he beamed down at his new brother, carefully running his hands through his brother’s wet leaves and kissing his forehead.

“Good morning, Yper. How was your Dream?”



The world was an ugly place. And yet, it was the only place they had… Death lay waiting around every corner, lurking in the shadows of the unknown and waiting for a fool to walk by in order to take them and drag them into the darkness.

The Sun, while beautiful and life-giving, could also cause fires and burn skin. It was unfeeling, much like the clouds, and the dirt and the stones. The Great Tree, too.

And yet… It was all so beautiful. Even though they could die at any moment, even though everything they loved hung by a single thread over the abyss that was the unknown… It was a beautiful world.

There was nothing Lych wanted more than to protect the beauty of the world, to drive back what would threaten those he loved and cherished, and to feel like he was a positive influence in such an unfeeling world. He had always believed that there had to be a reason to why they were created, a reason behind the chaos of the world, and from a very young age he had realized that in order to fulfill his true purpose, he would become an Explorer like his parents had been.

He had no close support growing up, having been left behind as a seedling in Auron’s Plot almost two decades ago by his parents, two famous Explorers who had to plant him in the settlement’s communal garden in order to keep him safe while they went on their final expedition to the far north. To everyone’s dismay, the two Explorers never came back and when the time came for Lych’s awakening, years had already passed.

And so Lych grew up parentless, being cared for by a different person almost every other week. The stories he was told of his parents always brought him respite, however. Hearing about the lives of Lis and Osmon, about the things they achieved and the people they helped, it made him feel like one day he could be as amazing as them. He had to have inherited something from them after all, right?

It was never that simple, however. Just because your parents were great doesn’t mean you were destined to be so as well. He lacked a Trait and he was deemed so incompetent at Mana that any kind of training would be wasted on him… According to the elders at Auron’s Plot, at least. But he knew, deep down, that he could become the best Explorer if they just gave him the chance. He knew!

But if they wouldn’t help him, there was not much he could do. Since the age of 10 he had taken to practicing on his own and with the goblins, having made friends with them after gathering materials for them a number of times--They even made a wooden sword for him. Obviously practicing in the combat style of goblins, who were much smaller and more agile than he was wasn’t easy. They relied on acrobatics and using the environment to their advantage. But, as much as he learned with them he eventually got too tall and too slow to keep up with them in their same style, which led to Lych training on his own for years. Over and over again he would spend entire days striking at a particularly large tree a few minutes’ walk south of Auron’s Plot. Hoping that, one day, he could show what he was capable of to an Explorer, and they’d agree to being his mentor.

Not because he wanted to… but because he HAD to. If not that, if not an Explorer, what else was he meant to do in his life? Was he destined to be a simple helper in a frontier outpost? Was he destined to help load the Magnus Pods of real Explorers with supplies for the rest of his life? To never find out what happened to his parents? To never be important enough to be remembered…?

It was one dawn in early spring that Lych grew tired of striking at the same tree and walked further away from the settlement in the hope of finding something more interesting to train with. He was growing older, now in his late teens, and he felt his time slipping through his fingers. He only had four and a half decades left…

That was the day he found the one thing he would cherish the most. In a clearing, he found the lonely, almost withered pod containing the boy he’d adopt as his little brother.

Another boy, abandoned to the whims of the world by an Explorer couple who would be swallowed by the Northern Unknown.

Lych knew he had to adopt the boy, to make him feel loved, to give him the blessing of a family--So he wouldn’t live a life quite like his. So he would never feel the hands of fate slowly tightening around his throat… So he would be free to chase whatever dream he would grow to have.

That was how Lych and Yper became brothers for life, despite not sharing the same parents. And that was how Lych eventually found someone to care for, someone to lay down his wooden sword for. Since the day he met Yper, he would work twice as hard in order to ensure Auron’s Plot could be the best settlement possible, to nurture Yper’s future.



One night he had been on his way back home, walking through the woods surrounding Auron’s Plot, down a barely-there dirt path… And yet, something felt off. The tiny leaves on the back of Lych’s neck prickled up, and he felt the tendons in his hands contracting at random intervals.

‘What’s happening?’ He thought, ‘Why… What am I sensing?’

It had been an unusual day at Auron’s Plot, that day. Never before had Lych seen such a large group of Explorers pass through the settlement in one day… Apparently, something big was going on at the mouth of Buddlei Pass. Big enough to require several groups of explorers, all armed to the teeth and with somber faces on exhibition.

Something big… Buddlei Pass…

As he walked, Lych could feel the tension in the air grow thicker. He could almost taste it and touch it. And while deep in his thoughts, he failed to notice the silence… Silence like he had never heard before, a silence that he was breaking with every step and every crunch of autumnal leaves beneath his bare feet.

Racking his brain for information, he started to remember bits and pieces of things he had overheard throughout his life. Buddlei Pass was the only relatively safe land passage through the Anchor’s range, which made it popular with those few Explorers who didn’t have Pods, as well as daring merchants who spent their lives trading with the people of the North.

Something big, happening at Buddlei Pass… Could very well be an event that blocks passage, and considering how well armed and powerful the Servants that had passed by Auron’s Mount today had seemed, it wasn’t a simple landslide or avalanche at the higher altitudes. But what problem could possibly necessitate so many high tiered Explorers? Why were they wearing such grim expressions?

At last, Lych came to a stop, sighing as he looked down at his hands, cramping up and relaxing several times every minute, involuntarily. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and let his mind wander back to that which always gave him strength, Yper’s bright future. His second chance…

As he opened his eyes again, he noticed something.

He remembered a detail that he had grown so used to over the years that it slipped his mind when it was missing.

The particular area of the Eternal Forest around Auron’s Plot, which was located on a small hill southwest of the World Anchor, was home to a flower which only showed its beauty at night. Throughout the day it would be tightly closed into a green bud, hidden amongst the grass leaves and within bushes and under rocks but at night it would bloom... And it would emit an otherworldly blue glow and spread its equally glowing pollen all over the area. It was a truly beautiful event that took place every night of the year. Some people believed the pollen to actually be spirits of the forest, or even the souls of those who had passed but still desired to watch over their loved ones.

Tonight, those beautiful flowers, the Celestial Fortunes, were hidden away. Lych felt his heart skip a beat. He looked around, letting his eyes scan over everything around him… Several trees, grass, bushes, more mundane flowers, a large boulder-

A large boulder?

There were no large boulders in the path to his forest shack. Had he gotten lost while in thought? No, that was impossible. He knew the path and the surrounding area like the palm of his hand, and yet…

He tentatively took a few steps closer to the boulder, noticing the moss and mud on top of it, the soil stuck in odd places and the rather… Exotic, patterns across its surface. It certainly didn’t look like the surface of any rock he’d ever seen before.

The colourful clouds obstructing the night sky suddenly parted and gave way to the full moon… And for a split second, before the clouds covered the light again, Lych saw the moonlight reflect off of two beady things hidden in the shadows of the boulder.

He felt his breath escape his body. He lost strength in his legs and fell backwards as he took a step back and stumbled on a root.

“Oof!” He grunted, then went back to staring at the ‘boulder’. Only… It was no boulder, and the beady things that had caught the moonlight, were eyes. “W… W-Wh…”

No words came out. Instead, the boulder began to creak and pop. Dirt exploded from it in small clouds and the moss and grass on its back shook and dropped insects of all kinds everywhere.

Then, it stood up, shaking the earth.

Lych couldn’t breath. He stared at the thing, tears welling up in his bright straw-colored eyes.

At the sight of the thing, a bit of information popped into his head.

’Remember those stories about Trolls I promised you, lil tree? It sucks, but I really don’t have time to tell them… I know, sorry! But I will give you this advice instead...’ Lych began to crawl away as fast as he could until his back hit against a tree trunk. His hand fell right on top of a hidden Celestial Fortune, and his petrified stare quickly fell onto the crushed flower. ’... If you ever notice the Celestial Fortunes that bloom at night are suddenly gone, then it means that they sensed a thirst for blood. It could be a wolf with rabies… Or it could be something much, much worse, like...’

“... A… A Troll!” Lych muttered breathlessly. The thing was easily six times his height, and in its massive misshapen hand it held an actual boulder, as if it was just a pebble. Lych snapped to attention once the troll stretched its arm towards him.

By instinct he rolled to the side and stood, then began running. He panted, feeling like his chest was about to burst.

He had nothing to defend himself with… This was the one day he had decided to take a break off of training, so his practice sword was at home! Not that the wooden thing would do anything to the troll, but…

The earth shook again, and again. The thing was FOLLOWING him!

Every time the shaking got more intense, nearer… Or maybe that was just in his head, as soon the earth shook no more. He slowed to a stop and turned around, only to see those two black eyes staring at him from above the canopies of the trees, swinging its arm to throw the boulder it had been holding at him.

It was a split second, but he saw his entire life flash before his eyes the moment he saw the massive boulder take flight directly at him.

No… He was going to survive this, and he would make sure Yper was safe.

With unnatural speed, Lych jumped out of the way, falling into a roll as the ground where he had just been standing exploded into dirt and shards of stone. Several of the shards found their way into Lych’s side. Still, he survived and would have to thank the goblins for teaching him their tricks.

And just like that, the massive monster started to slowly chase after Lych. One predatory step after another, completely disjointed from reality.

This time the troll grabbed a tree and ripped it out of the soil. Lych knew what it meant to do with it, so he just turned and began running again.

Even though Sylphi didn’t see well in the darkness, he managed to make do with his own bioluminescence which grew brighter with every passing second.

Jumping over obstacles and swiftly dodging low hanging branches, Lych eventually broke out into the clearing where his shack was. In the middle was his small home, with his small little brother grinning and waving at him while sitting on the porch.

At that moment, a deep grunt echoed through the forest and the air almost lit on fire as the troll threw a tree at the shack.

“GET DOWN, YPER!” Lych screamed at the top of his lungs.

The tree crashed into the front of the shack, demolishing the structure. Lych did not stop running and came up to Yper, who was now in shock with a large splinter stuck into his right arm.

Lych grabbed him and turned around, seeing the troll come into the clearing as well.

“That thing doesn’t give up-” Just then, the troll charged at them. Lych almost choked on his words and Yper screamed.

In a flash of movement, Lych ran towards the Troll and dodged its grasping hands and slipped past between its legs, leaving the massive monster to crash into the heap of debris that was Lych’s shack.

Lych didn’t look back, instead running as fast as he could towards Auron’s Plot with his little brother in his arms.

A great, terrifying roar almost seemed to scare away the clouds.

Eventually, Lych had been running for so long that he didn’t hear the troll anymore, and in front of him was Auron’s Plot, as well as its beautiful protective palisade.

As soon as he came through the gates, Lych set down his brother, who was bleeding profusely from the wound in his arm, and collapsed, his own wounds finally taking their toll.

It caused quite the stir, and the two Guardians of Auron’s Plot immediately came to their aid, but even they panicked slightly when Yper calmed down enough to tell them of the ‘weaaal big scawy monster’ that attacked them.

That night, several Explorers found their reveries disturbed by a pair of panicked Guardians and a hasty search for the ‘monster’ was conducted. Of course, they found the debris left behind by the encounter but no monster whatsoever.

That night, the first steps towards the Doom of Auron’s Plot and its inhabitants were taken.

---

The hamlet of Greensprings was less than half a day's travel from Acadia, but to the exhausted Hal of the Order of Golden Light, it was respite -- and home; or it was. As he rode his mottled horse through the dusty dirt road and sparse hovels, he couldn’t help but feel the stares of the residents. His dirty white cape and the deep golden scallop shell that was sewed into it absorbed most of the glares. In his gut he felt the swimming of guilt, guilt for the life he left behind, the people he disappointed -- guilt for surviving Yalin when he should have fallen, but most of all guilt for breaking his will and coming home.

Shrugging his shoulders high enough that his cloak brushed away his peripherals, he kept his focus on the road ahead -- his brother’s home was just up the bend...



“Mmh,” Veronica protested.

Henry looked down at his wife, her head nestled into his lap. Above him was the canopy of an ancient willow, and above that was the azure sky of a day off. The grass that carpeted around the pair was soft and a deep green, simply tempting Henry’s right hand to continuously thread through it, the same as his left was going through Veronica’s hair as she napped. He shifted again, and she let out another mumble of protest -- eyes firmly shut.

Sucking in a shallow breath, the man accepted his fate and let his head fall back against the trunk of the willow. Letting his eyes closed he fell into a daydream. He thought of times when his children were still that... children -- before his hair started to speckle with grey, and of his brothers. He felt a sorrow echo in his chest, thoughts of his younger brothers always made him feel hollow. A soft hand threaded its fingers into his, Veronica’s voice entering his ears.

“Are you thinking about your brothers again?”

Henry opened his eyes, finding hers staring up at him. He gave her a sad grin and let out an exhale, “Can’t blame an eldest for doing so.”

Veronica tucked a cheek and patted his chest, “You’re all grown men, Hal and Renny can take care of themselves.”

“I know,” Henry squeezed her hand and closed his eyes again. This time he let the breeze take his mind far away - far away to the simple idea of bliss. He thought of his fields, his animals. He thought of an imaginary journey across the oceans to visit paradise after paradise, only to come home to his original paradise. He thought of... his stomach grumbled... he thought of food. His nostrils hungrily flared, he could smell his cravings. The buttery tang of salmon, the crisp of well toasted bread, the allure of those herbal spices Veronica is always growing by the window.... The musky scent of a horse?

Cracking his eyes open, he immediately met the gaze of his younger brother. The two froze in awe for what seemed like forever, smiles hurting they were forced so wide -- eyes watery but then Henry’s eyes whisked behind his mounted brother and a question floated between them

“Where’s Renny?”

---

The wooden chair Hal found himself on was as cold as the hollow in his chest. His rump was sore from the ride over, making the seat that more uncomfortable. His stomach was turning and across the table sat his brother Henry and his bride Veronica. Both had their heads in their hands and eyes on the table. A small speckle of tears stained Henry’s cheeks. Hal’s nephews and nieces accumulated by the entryway into the kitchen -- their faces as blank as Hal’s sorrowful heart.

His own face was twisted with sadness and guilt. He had dreaded bringing this news to his family. He closed his hands together and bowed his head. “I should be dead, as well.”

“Thank the light you aren’t,” Veronica intercepted quickly.

“No,” Henry said, the word as disembodied as his cracking voice, “Neither of you should be dead.” He slammed his fists against the table, causing Hal to jump, “I should have been there.”

Veronica put her hand on Henry’s shoulder, his son coming to put his hand on the other. Henry shrugged them off and sucked in a deep breath, “I have failed you as your elder brother.”

“There was nothing you could have done even if you were there,” Hal protested, his defense of his older brother smothering his own feelings. The room fell into another silence as everyone processed. A few more moments went by and then Henry cleared his throat.

“What now? Are you coming home?”

“You know I can’t,” Hal craned his neck, the guilt rising again, “I have a task that I need to see through.”

“Hal.”

“I need to, I can’t let what happened at Yalin be in vain,” Hal protested.

Henry gave him a hard stare, “Then what?”

“Acadia. I need to find the pious of the city and bring them to the grail.”

Silence again.

“I’m coming with you, then.”

Hal felt a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite sort at the suggestion, but his first reaction was to stand up. The chair skidded out from under him, “You can’t!”

Henry’s own chair fell behind him as he stood as well, “And why not?”

“You have a family!” Hal’s guilt was pushed back by a righteous anger.

“You are my family,” Henry retorted, “Damn your vows.” His words stabbed right through Hal.

“Henry!” Veronica raised her brows and Hal gave him a long empty gaze. The woman sighed and reluctantly stood up as well.

“I feel as if our emotions may be riding the fore of our minds rather than our Golden given rationality,” She debated, “Perhaps we should recall the advice of Saint Bartholomew?”

“When running blind, walk and see,” The two brother’s recited, eyes stuck on each other.

“So perhaps we should make our decisions in the morning?” Veronica tilted her head, suggesting heavily. Silence buzzed and she gave them each a look, “Henry, Hal?”

“In the morning then,” Henry broke his gaze. Hal nodded in silence, that ever present guilt resurfacing.

“But Hal.” Henry stole his attention. The two shared a looked, a glimmer of happiness finding Hal’s crusted heart.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

---

Carn had just finished arming and armouring himself when there was a knock at his door.

He opened it, expecting to see Ruvar, or Arika, or perhaps even Aurielle, but he found himself staring face to face with two of the village guardsmen. The guards stared at him impassively. “You are required to come with us,” one of them said. “The chieftain demands your presence.”

Carn swallowed. Well… this wasn’t good. He had feared that the priest’s ‘prophecy’ would get back to the chief, and now it had. Some part of him had shared Aurielle’s suspicion that this was a mere powerplay, but he had hoped he and his ragtag host would be well away from the village before that happened. No such luck, unfortunately.

He saw Arika being marched down the hall by two other guards. With a frown, he decided to follow his own escort. They had knocked, and they had neither drawn their weapons nor made any threats, which Carn took as a good sign. He was marched down the stairs, through the inn’s common room, and out into the village’s main street.

There, a crowd had formed. The village chieftain stood upon a raised platform. The priest stood next to him, flanked by a pair of guards and with his hands bound.

Oh, great.

Carn and Arika were brought up to the platform, their weapons taken from them.

“People of Evenstar,” the Chieftain declared in a gruff authoritative voice. “There has been a plot to usurp my authority. A plot to use this bandit threat as an excuse to depose me, and replace me with an outsider! The culprit of this plot stands beside me, our very own priest!”

The crowd began to whisper amongst themselves, with a wide variety of emotions. “The priest may be a man of the gods,” the Chieftain continued. “But in this village, my word is law. He claims that Cadien sent him a message, but let me ask you this: when have the gods ever spoken to anyone? Such a thing has never been known to occur, and for a mortal to deem themselves worthy of a divine’s attention would be the height of arrogance!”

Auriëlle sat atop a nearby house’s roof, enjoying an apple she did in fact pay for. Though she only just arrived there. If she had seen the guards march, she would’ve warned Carn. Sadly, the gods were once more cruel. Or uncaring. As the chieftain said, claiming to have the attention of a god is just hubris. She couldn’t save them now. Maybe she could kill two of the guards but then she would die too. It was a shame, really. She had grown to like Carn. At least he gave her some excitement. “Been good knowing you, Carn.” She whispered to herself so she wouldn’t get caught atop the roof.

“Please,” the priest interjected. “I speak the truth!”

“I repeat, to claim the attention of a divine is the height of arrogance! It was you yourself who told us this!” the chieftain declared with an accusatory finger. “Yet now, you claim that Cadien himself spoke to you and decided I was unfit for leadership! So what do you plea? Madness, or treachery?”

The priest frowned. “That isn’t what He said. He said…”

“What you said,” the chieftain corrected. “And though you didn’t outright call for my removal, the implication was clear enough.” His gaze rounded on Carn. “You. Outsider. You could not have known what our priest was planning, and I’m sure you know as well as I do that a mercenary isn’t fit to lead a village. Call these lies what they are, and I give you my word that no harm will come to you or your comrades.”

Carn frowned, his gaze shifting away from the chieftain, away from the crowd, and off to some distant point on the horizon.

“The chieftain asked you a question, boy,” one of the guards growled.

“Sorry,” Carn apologized. “I’m just trying to see if I can spot any bandits out there.”

The chieftain’s eyes narrowed. “No bandit would dare attack us in broad daylight.”

Carn shrugged. “I didn’t say attack. But I’m sure they’re out there. Laughing at us. Must be amusing to them, watching two men fight over who owns a hut even as it burns down around him.”

The chieftain’s face tightened further. “Indeed,” he said through grit teeth. “Now denounce these lies for what they are. Unless you intend to stoke the fires even further?”

Carn shook his head. “I intend no such thing. To the priest’s claims: I don’t know. No god ever spoke to me, but I can’t say for sure that a god never spoke to him. It is the height of arrogance to claim to understand a god’s motives, is it not?”

The neutral response caught chieftain off guard, and Carn took the opportunity to continue speaking. “The way I see it, you have two options. First option: you can punish me, the priest, and whoever stands with us. But then you’ll have to deal with these bandits yourself, with fewer hands to help you. Then, there’s the second option: give me my volunteers, let us head out to the forest, and I will deal with the bandits myself. If we fail, you’ll never have to worry about us. If we succeed…” Carn shrugged. “I just want my employer’s cart back. I’ll be on my way soon after.”

There was a tense silence, as the entire village hung on the chieftain’s next word. He looked to the crowd, and saw that indeed, most seemed taken in by Carn’s argument. If he were to try anything now, he would risk losing the favour of the bulk of the village. He cleared his throat. “Very well. You, and anyone who wishes to follow you may go out and fight these bandits. I will… I will assign you some of my own personal guard as well.”

Carn looked up to the roof where Aurielle sat and gave her a victorious grin. A few among the crowd - those who had volunteered to join him the previous night - let out cheers. Carn turned back to the small mass of people. “So, who is still interested?”

Most of those who had offered to join him the previous night stepped forward, their numbers bolstered by three or four new faces.

“One more condition,” the chieftain added, in a tone that made Carn pause. “The priest must go with you.”

---

Carn’s recruits were assembled before him; a ragtag militia armed with whatever they had on hand. Only one or two had a full set of hide or leather armour, while the rest had bits and pieces. Their arms were an assortment of spears, swords, hatches… a few even held farm tools and quarterstaffs. There were thirteen men and women in total. The priest arrived in that moment, an old oaken staff in his hand. Fourteen, not counting Carn, Arika, or Aurielle. Ruvar had wanted to join, but Carn turned him away, and Rollo was still unfit for combat.

The chieftain’s men had still yet to arrive, but Carn felt confident in his force, under-equipped as it was. “So,” he whispered to Aurielle and Arika, “what do you think?”

“They’ll do.” She answered. Though any close inspection told her half would die before they got into the fight. Alas, they just had to get her close enough so she could use her magic. That’s why she was there for, after all. The bounty and the killing. Then her eyes turned towards the priest. She still didn’t trust him. In fact right now she found him pathetic, with a weapon in his hands that couldn’t even pierce skin. Gods she wished she could have convinced the chief to just send in all six guards. They would be better armored and would have a lot more experience with the weapons they held.

Arika shrugged. “They’re not much, but… neither are the bandits, I suppose.” Brigands were, after all, not known for being particularly brave or courageous. The experienced ones only lived as long as they did by never picking hard fights.

Carn nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

In the distance, the chieftain’s guard began to approach - three in total, clad in hardened animal hide while wielding spears and shields.

The sight of them pleased Auriëlle. These were proper warriors. Those shields would come in handy. She leaned in to Carn’s ear and whispered, making sure nobody else would hear it: “They’re going to try to get you and the priest killed.” She turned around to look into the open plains and the forest beyond. Where the bandits were. “It’s what I would do.” Maybe they would try to kill her and Arika as well.
Carn smirked at the comment. He leaned in more closely to Aurielle, perhaps slightly closer than necessary. “That’s why I’ll be sending them in first,” he whispered, before pulling back. “They have shields, after all.” With that, he turned and waved to the guards. “Good of you to join us! We’ll be setting out soon.”

The guards took position in the line, looking on the rest of the militia with disapproval.

Meanwhile, Carn turned to address a villager who held a bow. “You there. What’s your name?”

“Edgar, sir,” the bowman answered.

“What is your profession?”

“Hunter, sir.”

“Good. We don’t know where their camp is, so we’ll need a tracker. Stick close to me, Edgar.” He looked to the rest of his force. Twenty in total. “We’ll follow the road,” he decided. “Find where the wagon was attacked. See if we can pick up any trails. Assuming the bastards don’t find us first. Now, let’s head out.”

---

The three guards had been placed at the head of their makeshift column. Carn had positioned himself in the middle, alongside Arika and Aurielle. The few who had bows were at the rear. The rest were in between.

“Remember,” Carn declared as they walked down the road. “They might see us before we see them. In that case, they might attack first. Some of you might want to run.”

A few nodded subconsciously, betraying their fear.

“Don’t,” Carn advised them. “That’s how they get you. If you run, they’ll just shoot you in the back, and more of you will die. But if you keep your nerve, stand tall, and stay together, you can rush them before they get their next arrow off. They won’t stand a chance.”

“Now,” Carn turned to Aurielle. “How do you think your talents can help us?”

“By letting me kill them from a distance.” Auriëlle said as she kept scanning the trees. “It will be arrows against-“ She stopped herself there. Mocking them and taunting them in the safety of the village was one thing but here she needed them to stay and fight. Or rather stay and distract the enemy for long enough so she could kill them. If she was going to break their already shaking moral it would prove to be disastrous. “Let’s just focus on finding them.” Her tone was miles more serious than the tone she used in the village.

And focus, they did. For three hours, the rest of the journey passed in silence. The makeshift warband, once vigilant and tense, became increasingly relaxed. Only a handful of the party were used to remaining attentive for hours on end without anything interesting happening. Although Carn would remind them from time to time to maintain their focus, there was nothing to stop sheer boredom from setting in.

Then, they were attacked.

A dozen arrows flew from the woods. One struck Carn in the face, the arrowhead passing through one cheek and going out the other. He spun and fell to the ground with a howl of pain. Three more soon joined him, one dead and two dying. Two other men staggered, struck by wounds which were considerably less fatal but caught them off-guard nonetheless. The warband let out cries of panic and alarm, as they were gripped with indecision: they wanted to flee but remembered Carn’s words.

It happened before her eyes. Blood splattered around. The arrow went straight through. Auriëlle was stunned for a moment. One moment she was talking with Carn, the next he fell down and bled like some beast. Then she rushed over. She raised one arm like she was upper-cutting the sky. Rocks and earth flowed. Creating a makeshift mound to protect Carn. Then she rand and slid across the ground to get near him. “Stay down!” She screamed in Carn’s face, before looking up. The band was in chaos. “Get behind the trees! Find the bastards!”

The band fell back, taking cover behind trees and foliage, while the arrows continued to fly.

An arrow landed far too close to her. She let out a yelp of surprise. Her heart was pounding now. Something had to be done. She had to retaliate. Carefully she looked from behind her makeshift barrier. She caught a glimpse of the bastard that was shooting at her. “Die.” She whispered with a venomous tongue.

The man was nocking his next arrow when suddenly his clothes just lit up on fire. He dropped his bow, screamed and began to roll around on the ground. The flames never went out though. No matter how much he screamed.

Then another arrow fell far too close to Auriëlle, forcing her back behind her barricade. “Shit.”

Next to her, Carn stirred. A gloved hand rose up to clutch the arrow which had pierced his face. With a wince, he snapped the arrowhead off. Then his other hand reached for the fletching. The white-haired mercenary took a deep breath, then pulled it out with an agonized groan. He was left with a hole in each cheek, both of which began to gush blood.

But then, to Aurielle’s surprise, the bleeding stopped, and the flesh began to knit itself back together again. But before it had even finished mending, Carn spat out fragments of a tooth, and rose to his feet. With a feral roar, he unsheathed his blade and vaulted over the barricade.

Another arrow flew at him, but he brought his shield up to block it, and began to advance. Five more arrows followed in quick succession; two going wide and three embedding in his shield with a series of loud thunks. A sixth arrow grazed his shield, before taking out one of his ears. That stopped Carn’s advance for only a moment, for just as his face had mended itself, so too did his ear. The remaining militia, who had taken cover in the trees on the opposite end of the forest, stared at him in pure awe as he continued his advance. Edgar loosed an arrow in an attempt to support him, and was rewarded by a cry of pain as one of the bandits fell.

Then Carn reached the treeline, and eleven bandits emerged, attempting to encircle him with a rusty assortment of axes and swords.

A face healing that fast wasn’t normal. Hell, that didn’t even feel like magic. It was too fast, too effortless. Auriëlle kept her eye on the man she thought lost just a second ago as he jumped over the barricade and charged the bandits. “Oh gods damn it.” She said, then she looked at the others just hiding behind the tree or slowly advancing. “Well!? Are you going to let him do all the work you cowards!?” She screamed at her companions, before jumping over the barricade as well. Lightning arced across her right arm. With two fingers she pointed at two of the brigands pulling their axes. A clap of thunder echoed through the trees as lighting arced from her fingers and hit the two. The first one collapsed entirely. His body was still smoking and looked thoroughly burned. The other one was thrown backwards into a tree, suffering burns but he was still breathing.

The remaining bandits recoiled at the flash of light and the smell of burnt flesh. They had expected a loose mob led by a core of experienced fighters. A well-time ambushed and a few volleys should have surely been enough to send such a force into a retreat.

What they had not expected was a sorceress, or a silver-haired warrior who seemed impervious to all attacks. Already, Carn was capitalizing on their shock, swinging his sword across one brigand’s throat, and spilling the guts of another with a stroke across the stomach. A third bandit brought his weapon up in time to block, but that attack had merely been a feint; Carn pulled his blade back at the last moment and thrust it into the bandit’s heart.

“Go! Charge!” Arika’s voice could be heard over the fighting, and the Evenstar militia who still remained leapt from cover and began closing the distance. That was enough to break the bandits, who turned and fled into the woods, just as Carn twisted his blade and pulled it free from the bandit’s ribs.

“After them!” he shouted, taking off in pursuit, with his men on his heels.

A bolt of fire flew in between the trees. It hit one of the bandits in the back. He screamed and rolled until the fire was out. As he tried to get up, Auriëlle reached him. Flames flew from her open hand and engulfed her victim. He screamed and rolled but the flames kept flowing over him. Until he stopped moving entirely. She was smiling the whole time. The power, it was beyond anything she had ever felt. It was so much more than just intoxicating. The rest was already too far out for her magic. Which was a shame. She was now at the rear of the warband. Inspired by Carn, the most fervent of the group were ahead with him. The guards, on the other hand, kept in the middle of the group.

That soon began to change, as the forest became increasingly dense, and the pursuit turned out to be a protracted one. Men were forced to leap and climb over bushes, duck under branches, and sidestep around trees. Some bumped into each other. Others tripped. Carn did not wait for them, for fear of losing those sight of those he pursued, and some fell behind as a result.

Luckily, Carn was able to remain within sight of them. “They’re coming!” one of the bandits shouted in an accent that Carn found strangely familiar. Ahead, he could just make out the telltale sights of a camp: tents, shelters, and a cooking fire.

“Camp ahead!” Carn shouted as he quickened the pace. Only Aurielle, Arika, Edgar, the three guards, and two villagers were still with him.

They burst out from the trees, and it soon became apparent that the dozen bandits who had ambushed them were not all of the bandits. Only about four or so had made it back to camp, but another dozen had awaited them, guarding their ill-gotten spoils. Carn could see crates and barrels stockpiled at the center, some of which had been taken from the cart.

The bandits turned to face them. It was sixteen against nine, but the sixteen were scattered and disorganized. Only a handful were grouped together, and among their leader was a man Carn recognized.

The leader recognized Carn too. “Carn!?” Bellowed Yorn, with both surprise and outrage in his voice. He pointed his sword forward. “Kill him first!” And with those words, the sixteen bandits came charging at them from all sides.

“With me! Charge!” Carn shouted, rushing forward to meet them.

A loud bang traveled through the camp. Lighting lashed at one of the bandits, burning him completely and hurling him through the air until he hit a tree. Auriëlle was completely possessed now. She even missed Carn and the bandit leader recognizing each other, or the order to kill Carn first. Her ears were still ringing from the thunder clap. Her eyes were wide open though, taking in everything around her. Another bandit managed to shoot an arrow at her. It grazed her arm. Auriëlle dropped down to a knee and grasped her arm. It was just a small cut but it hurt and bled. She pushed the pain down, got up and raised her hand as if she was squeezing some invisible fruit. As she tightened her fingers, the bandit began to violently cough. He dropped down on his own knees and spat out some blood. Auriëlle squeezed just a little bit harder, causing him to violently vomit and then collapse. Beside her, Edgar loosed another arrow, pausing to give her a wide-eyed stare before he pulled another one from his quiver.

The others followed Carn, and the melee began in earnest. Arika and the three guards had spears, while the bandits did not, so they were each able to kill one as they closed. But then they drew their shortswords, and thus began the clashing of metal. Carn beat a bandit’s blade aside, then ducked under a swing and body-checked another. The momentum carried him past the bandits’ makeshift line, so he spun, swung, and opened the guts of a bandit who had turned to engage him while deflecting an attack from a second. He took a moment to kick dirt into the eyes of a brigand he had knocked over.

Then Yorn’s axe struck him in the back of the shoulder. His hard leather armour absorbed most of the blow, but the shock of it made him drop his shield. Carn turned and swung his blade low, scoring a cut along the old man’s shin. Yorn fell to one knee, and Carn brought the pommel of his weapon down on the older man’s head.

Six bandits remained on their feet, but Carn’s militia was in rough shape. Only Carn, Edgar, Aurielle, and two of the guards still stood. Arika was on her knees, a shortsword embedded in the left side of her stomach. Two broke free from the melee and attempted to charge Edgar and Aurielle directly.

A cold shiver ran through Auriëlle’s spine as the two bandits charged her. She had been barely aware of them until they’ve gotten far too close. Suddenly she was back in Acadia. Chased by specters. She fell on her back as one of the bandits took a slash at her. “No!” She screamed, as she held her arms in front of her, trying to protect her. Her eyes closed. A wave of pure heat erupted from her. The two bandits caught in the blast weren’t just burned or burning. Their very flesh got completely incinerated. The attackers got completely disintegrated. Auriëlle opened her eyes again and saw the ash and bones before her. She scrambled up, kicked one of the skulls away and screamed her lungs out.

By the time she had finished screaming, the fight was over. All remaining bandits were dead. Edgar had backed up against a tree, his hands shaking as he looked upon her with horror. Carn slumped to his knees, exhaustion finally setting in. A nearby bandit, wounded but not dead, stirred, and it seemed to take all the strength Carn possessed to pull out a belt knife and shove it into the man’s throat. Elsewhere, Arika began to cough up blood. The two guards exchanged solemn looks with one another.

Auriëlle hadn’t felt this tired in...ever. She couldn’t even muster the strength to get up and inspect the gold. She just wanted to scarf down half a pig, take a scalding bath and sleep for half a day. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon though. Victory was tasting quite bitter now that everyone, bandit or militia, was laying or sitting on the ground. “We won.” She told Carn with a feeble smile as she dragged her body towards him. “That was something.” Right in front of him she fell down on her knees. Her body was winding down from the excitement. Her arm was still bleeding and her legs were cramping horribly. Then she inspected her right arm. It wasn’t feeling right. It was tingling. The arcs of lightning that travelled over her arm had been far more unstable than she’d wished them to be. They left lines of slightly burned skin all over her, forming a web. “Damn.” Was all she could say. Then she turned to Carn. “You good?”

Carn looked at her and opened his mouth to reply, when he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

Yorn attempted to stand. Carn threw himself at the older man and pinned him to the ground, pressing a knife against his throat. “So, Yorn…” Carn breathed… “explain to me… what you’re doing… out here?”

“Carn…” Yorn rasped. “You killed the last of your people… you stupid bastard…”

Carn’s grip on Yorn’s greying hair tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Open your eyes. These are the same people we left Thyma with…”

Carn looked around, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Then he pressed Yorn’s face deeper into the dirt. “There weren’t this many back then.”

“We picked up… new members… over the years. But the core… we were all that was left.”

“You cast me out,” Carn growled. “Then you became murderers and brigands. No better than the men who destroyed our home. Yet you judge me?”

“We had no choice… your stupidity made us outlaws.”

“I was a boy,” he growled.

“You were the blood of Cadien and the son of a chieftain… you should have known better. You still don’t. You killed us.”

“You’re right,” Carn seethed. “I did.” A sharp tug, then the blade opened flesh, and more blood spilled onto the grass to mix with the rest.

She listened as attentive as she could. Blood of Cadien and son of a chieftain? Thyma? She couldn’t care if they were ‘his’ people. That was a fight for him. One he clearly decided to finish when the ended the miserable bandit’s life. What interested Auriëlle far more was someone else confirming him to be of the blood of Cadien. Which explained a lot. “So you really are blessed by a god.” She managed to say. “That’s why you heals so fast. You could’ve told me.” Then again she hadn’t been particularly forthcoming either.

Carn offered a weary shrug. “I don’t know if I was blessed directly. All I know is that my father had some sort of… bond, with Cadien, and I suppose I inherited something out of that. It… it doesn’t matter much, anymore. My home is destroyed, and if I ever had Cadien’s favour… I never heard his voice.” He cast his gaze down at Yorn’s body. “I just… try to get by…”

A shadow passed over them. Carn looked up just in time to see one of the guards raise his spear, ready to drive it through Aurielle’s back. Instinctively he shoved her aside, then raised his small knife as if it would somehow protect him against the much larger weapon.

It didn’t have to. Carn’s swift reaction gave the treacherous guard pause, long enough for another spear to pierce the guard’s back instead. The tip punched all the way through his chest, and his eyes widened, as blood began to well up in his mouth. He slunk to his knees, to reveal the second guard behind him, with an exhausted and regretful expression.

Auriëlle was about to yell at Carn when she noticed the guard that had loomed over her just a minute ago. Suddenly every bit of pain in her muscle became but a distant sensation. She shot up and raised her hand towards the second guard. An orb of fire formed in her hand, which was trembling at this point. Her eyes were staring at her target, yet her ragged breaths betrayed her exhaustion. Both physically and emotionally. “Give me one reason not to burn you alive!” She yelled at the second guard with a mixture of rage and desperation.

The sole remaining guard’s eyes widened, but fortunately he was a quick thinker. “B-because I just saved you!” he said, taking a step back. “And… and you need someone to vouch for you.”

The situation began to clear up in her rather addled mind. Especially considering the first guard laid dead with the second guard’s spear through him. She took a deep breath and let the orb of fire vanish. “Speak quickly. Why did you kill him and why did he try to kill me?”

“The chieftain ordered us to make sure Carn and the priest didn’t come back alive.” He then gestured to his fallen comrade. “He wanted to carry that order out. I didn’t. I thought it was bloody stupid, and I didn’t want to die.”

“Good idea.” She said, though she didn’t sit down again. Even though every bit of pain and aching returned to her. “So what are we going to do now?” She asked Carn. Yes, she did anticipate this. Yet now that it happened, it felt a lot more personal. She had thought she could walk away from it. Not now. Well the chieftain made a new enemy now. Her eyes betrayed that bloodlust.

Carn surveyed the carnage. Arika had died at some point during their conversation. A pity. Edgar was gone, probably fled. Carn, Aurielle, and the guard seemed to be the only ones left. “The way I see it, only one more person needs to die today,” He said. “But we need to think about our next move. If…” before he could continue, the snapping of twigs betrayed the sound of people approaching.

Carn tensed. Yet the figures who appeared from the brush were not hostile, only strays. Those in the militia who had either fallen behind or deliberately held back. There were only three of them, but two more followed over the course of the next few minutes, both limping from wounds. After that came the priest, who was clutching his side.

Carn explained the situation to them all, and they all became enraged.

“I truly had nothing against the chieftain before today,” the priest breathed. “He was strict, he was harsh, he was rude, even paranoid… but I thought those were just the burdens of his post. Now though… now I see that he must be deposed. He is cruel. Mad, even.” His eyes found Carn’s. “Cadien’s prediction must come true. You must replace him.”

Auriëlle kept her eyes on Carn now. Would he accept the responsibility or just kill the chieftain? She knew what choice she would make. The way she saw it, prophecy or not Carn had no real responsibility towards the village. He just lumbered in with some wounded and took some volunteers to get the gold back. “He’s a dead man walking.” Auriëlle casually said about the chieftain. She meant the words though.

“We can worry about replacing him later,” Carn muttered, rising to his feet. “That’s not supposed to happen until tomorrow, isn’t it?” He stepped over to the crates and boxes stacked neatly in the center of the camp. He picked a sword from a bandit’s corpse and used it to pry a lid off, to reveal glittering gold underneath. “Tomorrow can wait.” He pulled a golden amulet from the crate, with a small blood red ruby set in the center. “Right now, we divide the spoils.” He tossed the amulet toward Aurielle, and his eyes met hers. “Tonight, we take revenge.”

She caught the amulet. It looked beautiful. Perhaps even more important, it looked expensive. Like something she would’ve worn if her parents hadn’t been deadly ashamed of her existence. Without hesitation she put it on and then walked up the box. Jewels were nice but people on the road needed cold hard coins. Gold coins were always taken.

---

Sancta Civitas

The young Vespain carpenter paused in her work assembling in the beehive to stretch and get something to partch her sawdust dried throat. Buzzing wings lifted her off of the ground and out of her hive’s workshop. A quick trip down a central shaft brought her to their underground larder, and her journey back up to the surface carrying a small jar of wine attracted a number of her sisters, and started an impromptu picnic up on the hive’s roof.

Hesitant questions as to whether they could afford to be cracking open the wine right now were dismissed.

“These bee-hives and ladybird shrinez the City’z commissioning mean we’re rolling in food tokens. Iz fine to take a little break.” the carpenter, who’s name was Tadiza, said as she broke off the seal on the wine.

Before he had set out to create the Elemental Bees for Artifex Kallak had made an appearance in his Avatar persona out in the fields beyond the wall, practically ambushing a committee who where observing a goblin druid in action with an impromptu carpentry lesson. The Avatar had instructed the observers and a number of local farmers on how to first make and maintain a bee box that would allow the easy farming of honey and then also the creation of a shrine that would attract ladybirds to their fields. The shrines mostly consisted of an offering table where the farmer would put food for the beetles, which would keep them around even after they eradicated the pests (such as aphids) in their field, a place for them to lay their eggs, and a small nesting chamber below it where they could hibernate during the islands short winter.

A small amount of religious iconography. Artifex's horn crown, which looked like a pair of barbed mandibles if you looked at it another way, took pride of place on these structures, blessing them in the name of the insect god. Tadiza had been working on these since the city’s began commissioning them en masse, pulling in a fair amount of tokens for her hive. Right now however, she put the work she was doing aside and enjoyed the company of her sisters, a lovely picnic and the view from the top of their hive.

Calling the agricultural district one district was a bit of a stretch, as it consisted of several clusters of buildings nesting around the northern gateways that linked the stone coated inner city from the fertile plains of the outer, but they were all liked, and all shared a common function so they ended up grouped together. If Tadzia craned her neck she could just about see out through the gate to the beginnings of the rows upon rows of farmlands spreading out from the outer walls. Inside were homes for farmers and workshops for processing food such as mills and wine presses. There were also craftspeople who did work that helped service those farms, Tadiza’s mostly woodworking sisters being one such group.

New to all this were the large granaries that had only recently started going up, designed by the Emissaries. One was under construction within their area, slowly rising up out of the buildings around it.

Down in the streets below goblins and the odd Mantarin and Akua went about their days while the air above them buzzed with Vespian. Joining the people where the cities insectile caretakers. Giant ants emerged from their nests below the city and crawled over its walls, either to inspect them for damage or to cross over to ant trails cutting through the farmland beyond into the wilds. Above them Buzzed the giant bees known as Hivers, who lived in the tops of the towers that dotted the walls. Always a common sight in the city, what was new was the smattering of them seen among the people. As Tadiza watched a massive hiver with a goblin on its back slowly rose above the city carrying a support beam beneath it. It traveled up to the top of the granary where a few workers unloaded it and set to work putting it in place. Down below giant Civitas ants could be seen more commonly, being used as mounts or instructed to carry materials or pull large carts.

“Care for some honey’d hoof-rat?” one of the Vespain asked Tadiza, breaking her way from her people watching, “tastez different from bug meat. But in a good way.”

“Isn't hunted meat really expensive?” she asked, knowing that it’d need to have been shipped in quickly after the beast was slain out in the woods “I know I said we were doing well but that’z a little much”

“No, see, itz honeyed. Goblin I got it from kept a whole bunch in these big jarz of honey. Kept it from going bad”

“And you believed him?” Tadiza asked

“I’m not sick yet” her sister insisted, pressing the thin cut of meat into Tadiza’s hands

“Hoenyz still pretty expensive” objected another

“No, see I got a good deal coz I fixed a wobbly leg on hiz stand for him” the honey meat buyer retorted. Tadiza tuned the rest of the conversation out as she nibbled on the meat and went back to people watching. It was sweet, even if the honey had been mostly scraped back into the goblin’s storage jar.

Tadiza’s mind took it all in as she kept watching the world go by. The tasty honeyed meat, the goblins she’d seen riding one of the giant Hivers, the silo tower being built nearby, the Hivers in their tower, the beehives she was in the middle of making back down in the workshop. She clicked her mandibles together idly feeling she was on the cusp of something. Hivers. Preservation. Silos. She felt like those could go together, but the prospect of even approaching the forming idea was daunting. She was just a carpenter after all, what did she know about all architecture, food preservation and animal handling.

Far far away and yet only a short skip to the side Artifex drummed his fingers on the edge of a workbench in his inner sanctum, impatiently. Sometimes he’d peruse the going on in Sancta Civitas, mostly just to enjoy the sight of it all working nicely, sometimes to see if he could intervene somewhere useful. While doing so he’d come across the Tadiza right as the carpenter was stumbling on the edge of an epiphany. He could butt in and tell her to go for it, that her idea was a good one, but he reflected that it had been a chance that he’d found her right on the cusp. How many other opportunities floundered due to lack of confidence, knowledge or mental capacity to hold the entire plan in their heads at once without him noticing he wondered. Certainly a lot in the city, and infinitely more in the world beyond it where he couldn't see as clearly.

“Sometimes all they need is a little extra push” Artifex mused. He mentally glanced over at The Library where an eflin Akua and Mantarin woman were talking excitedly about some spell or other, the rainbow flecks in their eyes sparkling as they did so.

“Clever, whoever made them. Yes. all they need is a little push, a little... inspiration.”

---

Arborea

“I’ve done it! Arta! Arta! come see” yelled the Sylphi artificer, waking up the apprentice who stayed with her at her workshop. The young plant woman stumbled out of the living section of the building and into the workshop.

“Master. It’s the middle of the night. Why are you up?” Arta asked, rubbing her eyes drowsily before taking in the mess that the workshop was in “and why are you working!?”

“I just. I had this idea. Couldn't sleep. Here. Take this. Isn't it amazing!” the artificer handing her apprentice a strange double barreled buzzer, each one packed with spell components. “Quick. To the test range. go go go”

“I, uh, ok?” Arta said as she was more or less shoved out into the night as her master grabbed the small magical globe of light she had been using to light up the room and followed her out into the dirt clearing behind their yard.

“This is safe right?” Arta asked as she raided the buzzer and took aim at one of the badly scorched targets set up in the clearing for test purposes, which was set in front of a small cliff face that the house and test range where deliberately built next too.

“Oh I am sure i did it perfectly. Don't worry.” her master insisted “Now shoot it. Quick quick”

“I. alright” Arta replied, aiming at one of the targets they had built back here for testing and hesitantly thumbed the trigger button on the magical weapon.

Spell powder ignited, causing a complex chemical and magical reaction to occur and the signature buzzing sound to be emitted as the spell formed within the weapon. Arta expected a fireball, or some other kind of flashy spell, but instead what happened was a rather pathetic magical mote shot out, striking one of the targets and sticking there.

“Is that?” she asked

“Now hit it again. Like this” said the artificer, impatiently leaning over Arta’s shoulder and poking the firing button a second time

There was a flash of light as the gun expelled a large puff of smoke. Arta was about to suggest that the spell hadn't worked and that they should go back to bed when a swarm of bees launched themselves out of the smoke produced by the powder. The swarm roared towards the target, mobbing it and stinging it for about thirty of Arta’s rapid-fire heartbeats before the light they were following died. When it did the swarm grew still and then suddenly disintegrated into individual puffs of smoke.

Arta stared at all of this, utterly confused.

“Amazing isn’t it” her master said, beaming at her and the Buzzer.

“But. why?”

“Well it’s called a buzzer isn't it?”

“That. I.”

“See, it came to me in a dream. We can make fire and ice and stone, so why not something alive? Now with those unalive things you shoot and then it’s done, but with these whoever's attacking is in a whole heap of trouble for quite a while, plus if you miss you just need to reload the first spell which is really easy to make compared to more damaging spells. Now what i did was I got some bee wings and stingers and I” Arta’s master began to explain, rambling at length about her new invention and, somehow, Arta found herself running around raiding bee hives for the rest of the night while her master churned out heaps of powder. By morning they were both exhausted and when they woke up mid afternoon neither had any idea how they’d made the 3 buzzers and dozens of spell charges sitting i n their workshop or what had driven them to be so excited about them in the first place.

---

Taerenga

“Jimmeny. What have yu done,” the chief of a Taerengan goblin tribe yelled at his tribes smith’s apprentice “That tin was supposed tey arm thirteen of our finest warriors, and ye’ve used it ta just make one soddin weapon!”

Jimmeny the goblin looked down at the massive two handed bronze sword he had forged and then up at the murderous look in the goblin chief, “Iz a weapon fit fo a cheif?”

“Oh no, yu aint gona bribe yur way out of this sonny. I’m going to have your head fer this!” the chief yelled before waving his spear armed guards forwards “tak the sword and bring im befo me”

Jimmeny, his body well muscle from 3 years of smiting, did not go quietly. Instead he grasped the handles of the great-sword, the engraved arcane knot (which only the shaman should have known how to carve) flashing, and with cry swept it forward, smashing his enemies aside, shattering spears, shields and bones alike.

The chief stared at the ruins that the blade had made of his men, his hands shaking as they clutched a small enchanted blade of his own, the finest his tribe had ever made. It too broke before Jimmeny’s work.

“Aye,” Jimmeny said to himself as he looked down at the shattered remains scattered around him “A sword fit fo a chief”

---

South Kubrajzar

A group of Vespian swarmed around a small room they’d built in their hive as they added the finishing touches to it. Already they’d gotten a lesser Hive Crawler to dig a steep tunnel leading down from the surface hive to the underground tunnels below, where it opened over a waste pit that the Swarm Guards periodically drenched with acid. There was also a door sealing the tunnel room off from the rest of the hive, a hatch to close over the tunnel when it was not in use, a bucket full of water in case the tunnel got clogged, a nice wooden seat onto which one of the wasp women added a soft goatskin for padding while another hung up a little spring of strongly and pleasantly smelling pin needles while a final Vespian plopped down a small wooden box filled with small pieces of their races signature paper in easy reach of where the user of the room would be sitting.

The small group stepped back and admired the wonderful new edition of their hive, before immediately starting to argue about who needed to use the new waste disposal shortcut the most and who would have to slog their way down to the pit the old fashioned way.

It took six months of the smell gradually becoming unbearable for the Vespian who originally had the idea to be inspired and find a way to safely milk, store and transport a Swarm Guard's acid up to the indoor toilet so she could properly cleanse the tunnel.

---

The Highlands

The glassmaker stared at the softly glowing statuette of Cadien he’d made, and wept for he knew he’d never be able to make anything as beautiful again.

Two months later he made a cloudy cocktail glass, complete with a delightful fruity drink and little umbrella.

Half a year later, he made a set of glass marbles, each one containing a depiction of one of the gods.

Three days later an incredibly small figurine of a sheep.

The glass maker never did achieve the same greatness as his first inspired work, and the two would never be parted, but he did make a fair amount of wealth off the sales of each of his subsequent saprobic acts of creativity. He could live with that.

---

Arbarent

“Sister what have you done to yourself!” a Vespain asked as a maggoty thing crawled out of the cocoon the eldest of their Hive had sealed herself in a week before.

“Feed me!” the horrid thing moaned “I must. Get bigger. Mutate again. Prove our hive strongest. Drive the fleshlingz from our landz!”

The Vespian crowded around the maggot, a small number of them mutated with lesser alterations like scorpion tails, extra arms, bone weapons or functioning legs. They listened, they understood, and they went hunting.

One month later the first, and greatest, of the war princess emerged from her colossal cocoon, and the arbarent quaked at her footfalls.

---

Sancta Civitas

Tadiza hovered above the streets of the port district. It had been 4 months since that fateful day up on the roof of her hive. Inspiration had struck, and it had struck her hard enough for her to abandon the picnic and fly all the way to the silo construction site. Hard enough for her to demand an audience with the Embassy member running the build site.

She’d ranted to him about her idea, got kicked out, gone back to her hive and built a smoke spewing contraption out of wood, metal and magic despite never having cast a spell in her life. Then she and her sisters, who had been caught up in her excitement, had raided one of the Hiver nests using the smoker, stolen a juvenile queen and hauled it before the Emissary who had mainly asked questions about how she had made the smoker with zero training. Then one of the builder-priests listening had gotten just as enthusiastic about the plan as she was and after a lot of arguing they set Tadiza’s plan into action.

The results of that plan could be seen all across the agricultural district, the towering silos having grown even taller with the addition of a section dedicated to housing Hivers resting at the top. From these vast amounts of, admittedly fairly lousy tasting compared to that made by their smaller brethren, honey could be harvested and used to preserve the food stores in the tower. Everything could be preserved in the honey, from grains to meats to berries, because for reasons unknown nothing rotted while submerged in the golden substance. Tadiza’s addition to the silos had been heralded as genius and the girl was sick of seeing them.

She’d been inducted into Artifex’s priesthood as soon as the effectiveness of the prototype was in. She’d met the Queen! They’d all expected great things from her and then. Nothing. As soon as the first tower was up her drive had just burned out. They’d asked here how to get more queens for the other towers and she had no idea. They’d wanted her to lead the construction of more towers, but the blueprints in her mind were gone. They’d figured it out in the end of course, and they were building more towers even as their inventor wandered the Docks. It was the only place in the city where you couldn’t see any of them.

There was one going up behind the walls to store seafood of course, but space on the external docks was at a premium, or would be according to the builder-priest's long term plans, and so the buildings consisted mainly of shipwrights dotted around the docks and a few temporary warehouses.

Tadiza hadn’t been down here before despite being born in the city. There had been no reason for her to go. But she had been in the area and had needed to get away from the sight of the towers. She buzzed too and fro, taking in the sights, watching the people and ships go by till she passed by a half built vessel laying on the side of a wharf.

“Me tell you. Sea waves” a goblin captain was saying to an Akua shipwright who looked like a salmon that had grown arms and legs “Too high. Bailing water all time and that if lucky. Sides taller, or seal rowers in. Anything. Stop flooding”

They were, Tadiza realized as she hovered closer, talking about the project to build true sea going vessels that didn't just hug the coast of their great island that had been spurred by a visiting druid’s assertion that he had come from another island like theirs. She had to admit, the idea was an interesting one. Sailing the seas, exploring far flung places, getting away from it all. The ships were interesting too now that she was getting a closer look at them. Fine pieces of carpentry, but built on a grand scale. Stone, metal, clay. These were the materials the priests loved to raise their grand buildings, but she liked wood. She felt like she understood it.

“If you make the sides taller it’ll sit lower in the water,” the Akua was saying “If youuu seal it over youuu need to make the sides taller anyway and it’ll be too heavy. Want to row something twice as heavy? Because youuu can’t. Suuure the fancy magic figureheads the mages are making’ll help youuu when its clam, but when the winds a howling and blowing youuu against the rocks youuu’ll want to be able to row it as hard as it can go. Make it bigger and youu ain't going nowhere. How’d youuu even get the oars ouuut huh?”

“More oars then!” the Goblin retorted

“Then its longer, and heavier.” The Akua said with certainty, “It’s juuust how things are”

“Excuse me” Tadiza said, interrupting the pair’s bickering.

“What?” the fish said with annoyance, before noting the ceremonial hammer and chisel hanging from her belt and managing to sound even more irritated when he added “oh joy. Another one of you landers come to tell me how to do my job?”

“I was just wondering why you can't put the oars on top of each other?” Tadiza asked

“What?”

“Yeah. that. More oars!” the goblin agreed

“Redicuuulouuuse. How wouuuld that even work?!”

“Look. ok you. Captain. Do this with your handz” she instructed, getting the Goblin to make a three step staircase with his hands.

“Ok so you have one golbin sitting here, and another here behind and above them, and then you stick the oars out though the walls here” she said “and that means you can have more rowers in the same length of boat” explaining the oar setup of what would become known as a bireme.

“Yeah. Is good.” the Goblin agreed. “Stack and row”

“No no no! That's never been done and we can go deviating from tried and true designs for something this important. I’m in charge her and we’re not-” the Akua insisted before finding one of Tadiza’s fingers pressed against his lips

“I don't care!” she said, before giggling and yelling at the top of her lungs “I don’t care!”

She took off and did a little spin before pointing at the goblin captain “You. You’re my number two. We’re taking over thiz operation in the name of Artifex and we’re making the best ship the world has ever seen!“

“Doing that” the goblin said while nodding enthusiastically, already completely wrapped up in her mania, before he scampered off to yell at the workers who had been incharge of the ship building.

“What. no youuu can’t do this” the Akua isnisted as he lost control of the situation

“Oh I can” Tadiza insisted, a spark lighting up her eyes “Because I have an Idea that it’z going to change the world, THE WORLD, and nobody iz going to stop me from seeing it though!”

The Princes of Fragrance

Chapter 2: Desert Misadventures

---

Thankfully for the duo, King Safron’s threat of casting them into the Sun Wastes was only really true if one were to follow the canyon mouth northward, which would lead you to the Bone-Ridden Pass and, subsequently, to months, maybe even years, in endless, waterless deserts which only salt crabs could hope to survive. This was known to both Cinna and Gale, so they had chosen the less threatening route and headed due east, where the vegetation was deceptively scarce to start off with, but would slowly grow denser and denser as the moist southern gusts brought rain and relief to the island’s southern half. While water and food were issues in the beginning, the jungle was quick to offer them both in the form of fruits and dewy leaves. After days of travel, they eventually reached their first destination.

The Fennel Glen was as promised, a glen filled with fennel plants circled by mighty trees easily hundreds of years old. Flitterlings clouded the canopies while Thumblings worked on the ground and in the stumps that were hollowed out into homes. Gale had left Cinna alone with the only night elf resident of the glen, a young woman named Butter. The two had found a spot by a surprisingly regular sized stone well, their backs pressed against the cool stones -- with the princling soaking in the surroundings and the otherwise disinterested Butter toying with a stick she had found lying nearby.

“So, remind me again - why do you live with these, these…” Cinna, sweaty and just barely rehydrated after days of walking, struggled to find a good synonym for vermin. “... Pests anyway?”

Butter looked up from where she was digging her twig into the dirt. Her wide eyes narrowed and she frowned, “Pests?”

“Isn’t that what they are? If we see any, they’re usually pilfering through our biscuit crates or, or stealing the shroomer’s harvest!” He made hard eyes at a bypassing thumbling farmer. “... I call such things ‘pests’.”

Butter eye'd the same Thumbling and sat up a bit more straight before whispering harshly, "That's my Dad; could you not be such a prick? It's embarassing sitting with you enough as it is."

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been taught to call an adze for an adze, so that’s what I do. Forgive me if I’m a being a bit of a ‘prick’, but I just lost my heritage, family and home, so leave me alone. It’s not like I -want- to be here, either.” The boy slid down the rugged well wall until only his head was propped up against it, the rest of his body resting spitefully on the dry, earthy ground.

Butter took the opportunity to prod him with the stick, "Then why are you here?"

Cinna’s cheeks flushed a dark purple and he rolled over to face away from Butter. “W-well, because I have nowhere else to go! This is just the lesser evil compared to the Bone-Ridden Pass or the Sun Wastes…” He waved his hand clumsily after the stick poking at his back. “Also, stop that!”

"Are you going to stop being a prick?" Butter said in a rather indignant tone, the stick poking into Cinna's shoulder.

“Owowowowow, stop it!” He twisted back over to face her and tried to snatch the stick from her hands but she quickly held it out of his reach and tilted up her chin, waiting. “Tch… Fine, if it stops you being so annoying.” He rolled back over, propping his head up on a fist instead.

"Say the whole thing," She held the stick menacingly.

"Cinna," Gale's voice called out. The Thumblings was walking up to the pair, a rather portly flitterling by her side.

“Wha-what?” replied Cinna, arms held high to block an incoming strike.

"Jasper here has a job for us." Gale said with a glance towards the Flitterling. Jasper rolled his eyes and mouthed something.

Cinna dug a pinky into both his large ears. “Sorry, what was that? Did you say something?”

“I said Jasper has a job,” Gale reiterated, “We do it and you can stay in the glen, isn’t that great?” It was Butter’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Yes, you, you said something like that… What sort of job is it?”

“We just got to pick up something,” Gale said excitedly, her voice hushing just a little as she continued, “Back in the desert we just crossed.”

Cinna blinked. “You know those’re Sun Wastes, right? Nobody - and I do mean nobody - survive the Sun Wastes.”

Jasper seemed about to say something before Gale spoke up, "Pbbt, none but the best." Butter seemed to scoff at 'best' but Gale continued, "...Us. It'll be real quick and simple."

“What kind of job -is- this? There’s nothing out there but snakes, buffalo and those copper mines my father always keep sending guards to…”

"We are just picking something up," Gale reiterated, "Very simple. Remember hands?"

“Of course, I--!” The young prince growled. “And I take it -I- don’t get to know what this ‘something’ is, do I?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Gale promised behind a viper’s grin, “The details aren’t that important.”

“Speaking of details,” Jasper finally spoke, “I want you to take Butter.”

“What!?” Gale and Butter said at the same time.

“Consider it buyers insurance,” Jasper folded his hands behind his back, “No negotiations... Gale.”

“Wait, we’re bringing her?” Cinna sneered. “Why?”

“Yeah!? Why!?” Butter all but whined.

Jasper just gave the two a hard look, “I’m not taking questions from a couple of blueberries.” With that he plucked a pipe between his lips and nodded at Gale, “Get to it.”

“Couple of--!” The prince breathed in sharply. He lifted a tight fist, holding it quiveringly as his expression twisted and turned. He eventually lowered his fist again upon seeing the rest of the glen turning to stare. Jasper shook his head and began to walk away, his useless wings twitching as he left.

“It’s not worth the debate,” Gale patted his ankle, “Let’s just do this; in and out, then the world is our oyster. You ever seen an oyster?”

“You mean those shellfish that the Akua usually sell?”

“Yeah sure, kid,” Gale smiled and tapped her foot on the mossy carpet below, “Give a lady a lift?” The former prince’s sneer intensified and he reluctantly lowered an open palm to the ground. Gale hopped on, and by time Cinna looked back up, all he saw was Butter’s scowling face.

“I’m impressed Cinna,” Gale settled on the former prince’s shoulder, “You have a knack for making friends, don’t you?” The prince didn’t respond beyond a low growl.

“Let’s just make this quick,” Butter turned away.

---

Clad in his armour, Cadien paced angrily across his throne room, hands crossed behind his back, as he reflected on Aicheil’s visit. The nerve! The gall! What gave that wretch the right!?

Deep in his woes, his thoughts were only broken when a new sound rippled through the throne-room; the now familiar quiet creak of the wooden door that led straight into Neiya’s realm. It swung open with clear direction, and from beyond came sounds of howling wind and the rustle of trees. And in the archway of that portal stepped an unfamiliar silhouette. Thinner, sleeker, than he remembered, with skin like snow stretched over a more athletic form. Horns replaced by white bone in few places, a chaotic remnant of her past form, and metallic, jagged edges draped around her like a shield in others. Fingers like talons. Even the eyes had lost their ice-blue hue for a red and black whorl. Even so, between the frown, the stance, and the simple signature of her divine essence - it was unmistakably Neiya. She wore clothes, a drape of blue and black silk that hugged her form tightly, offering an almost metallic sheen. As was common with the Goddess of Love, she hovered across the entryway, and the door flew closed behind her.

Cadien regarded her new form with mixed feelings - admiration, but also a touch of confusion, particularly toward the protruding bones. Nevertheless, he was happy to see her, for it was a distraction from his own inner turmoil. “Neiya,” he greeted her with a signature smile. “I see you have taken on a new form.”

Neiya in turn watched Cadien with no change to her expression, appearing deeply bothered herself - or simply as distant as ever. Still, she drifted over the room towards the God of Perfection, breathing out a sharp sigh. ”Cadien,” she replied briskly, as she closed the distance. ”Do you like what you see?”

Cadien gave her form another look-over, and he extended a hand to touch her cheek. “I do,” he said sincerely. “Can I ask why you made this change?”

Her white, long claw-like nails raised to offer a gentle caress of Cadien’s cheek in turn, as the Love Goddess continued her drift with a direct intent, pressing herself up against him. ”I am expanding my horizons, Cadien. I have sat idle for too long. Drowned myself in woe, when I could share myself with the world beyond.” she responded with some weight behind her words, though her glance fell to the side in thought as she did. The frown deepened briefly. ”I created an independent servant with my essence.”

Cadien’s arms wrapped around her, careful to avoid the sharp pieces of metal on her back. “Is that so? It is good to hear that you are being more proactive. May I ask what your intentions are?”

”My intentions?” Neiya scoffed quietly, managing to look offended despite not really looking directly at him. Her hand gently rested against his cheek, the other running along to grip at his armor. ”I am a goddess, Cadien. I intend to bring love to Galbar.”

“A noble goal. Galbar surely needs it,” Cadien nodded. His hand lowered to her chin, and he attempted to gently maneuver her face though that she was once again looking at him. “But… perhaps we can put this talk of business aside, for now?” And with those words he leaned in to kiss her. The goddess responded in kind.

---

Some time later, the two stood on Meliorem’s beach. Cadien had an arm wrapped around her, as the two stared out at the water. “I needed this,” Cadien whispered quietly. “It has been a long day. You were right. Some of our fellow gods really can be obnoxious.”

Neiya shifted her head gently on his shoulder, eyes tracking the gentle bob of waves. ”There truly are no two alike,” she sighed in resigned agreement. ”You didn’t seem that upset with… what was his name, again? ... Illyd... last time, though. Anyone particular, in mind?”

“I am sorry about Illyd. Truly. Though, if it is any consolation, I did convince him to offer aid to some of our worshipers.” He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “As for some of the more unpleasant gods… well, Aicheil came to mind. He came here recently. He refused to engage in polite conversation, and demanded that I shared knowledge with him. When I did - more out of pity, than anything else - he became angry, drove a number of mortals insane, and then saw fit to criticize me.” Cadien shook his head, still bewildered at the Dream God’s rudeness. “Can you believe it?”

”The Dreamer came here?” asked with some measure of surprise. Her head twisted to glance up at Cadien as he described his encounter, and the goddess followed his expression with a mixture of fascination and displeasure. She waved dismissively with her free hand, the other tucked neatly around Cadien’s arm. ”Perhaps that is simply how he is. He became angry with me as well, and treated me poorly,” she sighed quietly. ”Someone should make sure he stays in line.”

“Perhaps. He certainly won’t be allowed back in my realm any time soon. Do let me know if he ever gives you further trouble, my dear. I will not stand for it.”

Neiya ran her free hand over Cadien’s torso with a simple exhale to follow. ”What would I do without you, Cadien? I feel like the others out there will tear us apart, either by force or by trickery. There are none like us.”

“Which others?” Cadien asked. “Gibbou? I do believe you warned me about her when we reunited. What precisely happened between you two anyway?”

The idle caress over Cadien’s chest paused, a clear hesitation in the goddess’ motion before she resumed her gentle show of affection with her talons. ”Before the… change,” she began with a soft tone, a heavy sigh breaking up her sentence. ”...When we still walked Galbar. She came to my lake. I-... she showed me her true colours that day. Spoke with such spite and malice that-...” the grip around Cadien’s arm grew tighter. ”It stuck with me for millennia. She wished me nothing but harm when we parted. When I heard you speak her name, I… I feared she had taken you from me as well.”

Cadien was genuinely surprised, and even somewhat saddened by the revelation. “I see…” he said softly. “I have indeed spoken to her, on multiple occasions. I never would have guessed she was capable of acting like that. This is… troubling. I will keep what you have said in mind.” He took a deep breath. “Are there any others who have troubled you?”

”Well, no. Although some are… off-putting. The shared realm beyond ours is not for me.” she mused with some bitterness to her words. ”And… I worry I may have overstepped with a few. Not all-.. Understand me as you do, Cadien. They think I am a monster. Broken, or crazy.”

“You carry a difficult burden,” Cadien said sympathetically, recalling the memories and feelings she had bestowed upon him in their first meeting. “I can attempt to have a word with a few others on your behalf. Perhaps I might convince them to be less judgemental. You’re no monster, and you certainly aren’t broken.”

The goddess sighed contently, expression mellow as she gazed up at Cadien. She squeezed his arm, and remained quiet for a fairly long time, simply appearing to appreciate their shared proximity. When she spoke, it was of something else. ”I created a new being on Galbar.”

“Oh? Cadien asked, surprised by the sudden turn in conversation. “What would that be?”

”Would you like to see them? They call themselves Neiyari, after their mother.” she chimed in with a new fancy to her voice, watching Cadien with anticipation.

“I would love to,” Cadien smiled. “Let’s have a look.”

Neiya raised her hand from his chest, gently cradling his cheek once more. Her eyes shifted and roiled for a moment, before turning milky white. A brief jolt of energy, before she shared her senses with Cadien’s own. He could see through her eyes, and more importantly, through an avatar down on Galbar. The bright and vibrant colours of the Luminant were instantly recognizable. He felt an intent, a veiled thought, cast through the connection, and the avatar moved in response. The view turned, and revealed a group of winged humanoids, tall and youthful. Each was different, with different hues of pale or darker skin - some as white as Neiya’s new form, and with wings that shifted from black to red and brown in different combinations. The avatar spoke a single command, and they bowed deep on the ground, wings cradling in around them. ”They will spread my love, when I cannot.”

“Beautiful, diverse, versatile, disciplined… you have designed them well,” Cadien nodded approvingly, more taken in at the moment by what he was seeing than what he was hearing. “To my knowledge, the only creature that surpasses their beauty are our Merelli.”

”The merellis’ beauty cannot be matched. But what the Neiyari lack in beauty, they make up for with affinities more suited to their purpose.” Neiya returned with a sigh. Another thought flitted through the connection, and the avatar twisted to leap into the sky, a brief flutter of wings before the vision ended, and Neiya removed her hand from Cadien’s cheek. ”They cannot be stopped. Will not be. I wasted so much time, Cadien. I don’t know what I was waiting for.”

“I would ask that you make my name known to them,” Cadien requested. “Their progress may be interesting to follow.”

”Of course, my sweet. Nothing would please me more.” she professed with a calm tone, leaning her head back down on Cadien’s shoulder. She waited for a few moments before changing the subject again. ”Say, you’ve met a lot of our kin, have you not?”

Cadien nodded. “I have. What of it?”

”Well, we were talking about gods that bothered me, before-... Since you’ve met so many, maybe you know who to stay away from.” She cleared her throat quietly. ”I don’t want to find myself in another situation like… like those.”

“Most of the gods I have met have been civil. Then again, I did misjudge Gibbou. Still, I will offer what advice I can.” He stroked his chin. “Hm… Tekret and Haerthus were quite angry when I first met them, and it took some effort on my part to calm them down. Sirius was somewhat evasive, but otherwise gave me no issues. Genesis has the mind of a child, which led to a misunderstanding when we first met, but one I was able to correct. Only Aicheil was beyond reason. I find that most gods are quite easy to get along with if I pay them respect and compliments - they tend to respond in kind.”

Her long nails ran up to caress his chin and cheek, the goddess remaining quiet for a time as she processed all the names that were offered up. Eventually, she nodded, a gentle shift against his shoulder. ”I think perhaps I should stay away from these angry gods you speak of. When Fìrinn told me about Genesis, they failed to mention it was a child. Oraelia-...” she responded, a brief hesitation as she caught her own words. ”Oraelia seemed to be taking good care of her, though.”

“Well, that is good to hear,” Cadien said. “Though… the possibility that the others might try to tear us apart still remains a concern. I suppose there is only one thing that can be done about that.”

”Oh?” the goddess replied softly. ”What do you have in mind?”

“We must trust each other,” he said simply. “Should I ever hear anything that might sour my opinion of you, I will ask you for an explanation before I jump to conclusions. And should you hear anything about me, you shall do the same. Can you promise this to me?”

”Oh, Cadien.” Neiya uttered with a content mockery of resignation as she sighed. She twisted to face him, leaning in against his arm and shoulder. White talons gently grasped his cheek, guiding him to look her in the eyes. Even now, red and black stirred in a slow vortex in her irises. ”I promise you. I shall never trust another god as much as I trust you. Not for as long as we live.”

Cadien was genuinely touched by her words. “And I promise the same to you,” he vowed, pressing his lips against hers. Neiya responded in kind, closing her eyes as they kissed. Her hand moved to hold the god close, unwilling to break the moment early.
Eventually, however, her hand eased away, as did the goddess, once more gazing upon the God of Perfection in silence. It was an intense scrutiny, tranquil - though the roil in her eyes did not cease - and held with fascination. In that moment, she seemed ready to watch him for all eternity.

“Come,” Cadien said, suddenly taking her hand. “You showed me the Neiyari. There is something I must show you as well.” Neiya gasped ever so slightly as he took her hand, and gently released his shoulder, but otherwise did not object.

He led her back up to the keep, through the courtyard, through the halls of his fortress, and finally to the throne room. They came to a stop by the great wooden table at the center. “Let me tell of you Acadia,” he said.

---

And so, Cadien spent the next several minutes regaling Neiya with the story of Acadia. He began by telling her of the Iskrill, creating tiny live versions of them which ran across the table, until he snapped them out of existence with disdain. “The Iskrill are abominations,” he told her. “Ugly, cruel without purpose, and as far as I know incapable of love. If they had been created as their own unique species like the trolls, they might perhaps be more tolerable, but they were not. They were created from humans, warped and twisted against their original purpose. An insult.” He shook his head with disgust. “And soon, they began to prey on those humans who remained pure. The only ones who weren’t killed were those who fled.”

“But eventually, I took notice, and I inspired the humans to resist.” He created a small mound of dirt on his table, upon which a miniature army of tiny humans held off a similarly scaled army of iskrill. A woman stood amongst the humans, wielding fire and flame, driving the beasts back. Then, a second army appeared, taking the iskrill in the flank.

“The iskrill were driven back,” Cadien continued, wiping the scene anyway. Then he raised another one. That of an iskrill army with their backs to the sea - represented by a small puddle of water. This time, it was the humans who were on the attack. “But it was not just the humans who fought them. I called upon the Merelli for aid too, for it is only natural that they should help their cousins.” Then, dozens of Merelli warriors emerged from the puddle, driving spears into the iskrill’s backs.

Some of the iskrill were able to break away from the human and merelli pincer attack. They fled across the table, where a tiny pine forest appeared. “The few iskrill who survived fled into a broken, shattered forest.” He snapped his fingers, and once more the table was cleared. The model of a city appeared on it soon after. “And to celebrate their victory, the humans and merelli built a city, where they dedicated themselves to perfecting the art of war. The city was intended to act as a shield against the iskrill, should they ever return.”

”You said they were created?” Neiya chimed in with a musing thought. She had paid an inordinate amount of attention to Cadien’s display of war and history, nails gently tapping against the table in idle thought. ”Perhaps someone is trying to destroy your legacy. Who would twist the creations of another into something so-... animalistic?”

“I do not know,” Cadien shrugged. “I can’t help but view it as an insult. Either against me, or Evandra, for she helped create the humans too. Nevertheless, you are right: they are a threat to my legacy, and I cannot tolerate them.” He waved his hand, and the image of the city shrunk. Its surroundings turned into a map, revealing its precise location in the Highlands.

“The iskrill were driven from the northeast, but there was also a large population across the river to the west. I assumed that Oraelia would be able to deal with them, for her worship was prevalent in the area. For a time, they kept the iskrill at bay. But it seems she fell idle. A few decades before we gods were reunited, a city which dedicated itself to her was destroyed.” That very same city appeared on the map, smoking and in ruins. “Now these ruins belong to the iskrill. And if they figure out how to cross the river, they can attack Acadia from the west. Meanwhile, the iskrill who fled into the Abberant have replenished their numbers. In the south, a third species has taken up root in the Highlands, waging war with humans and iskrill alike.”

Cadien shook his head. “As you can see, the situation for Acadia is rather grim. The city dedicates itself foremostly to me, but your name there is still respected and loved - especially among our children. They may require support at some point in the future, and I would ask that you consider providing it.”

The frown that played on Neiya’s lips was one Cadien had seen many times at this point, even though her form was only wearing it for the first time. Though she made a show of watching the map, and even seeming to consider his words, she seemed distant - caught up on some other thought. Not long after, her question confirmed the suspicion. ”You’ve mentioned this-... this Evandra a fair few times now. I didn’t know she was so instrumental. Surely she cares about your joint creation as I do ours, hm?” she lifted her hand from the table, running talons gently along her own chin in sullen thought.

Cadien nodded. “She was the first deity I encountered,” he told her. “And yes, I have considered bringing this matter to her as well. But she spent the entire separation sleeping, and seemed quite shaken upon waking up, so I decided to allow her time to adjust.”

The goddess touched her own arm, pressing out a calm ”How thoughtful of you.” before she gave Cadien a smoldering glower from the side. Lifting her chin, she seemed to battle her own thoughts for a moment before continuing. ”Well. It seems to me if she spent all this time sleeping, she should be eager to catch up with those of us who actually care. I suppose I will provide support for your city. I will not abandon my children.”

Cadien shrugged. “I have not spoken to her since she awoke, so I cannot say what she has been up to. If you wish, the two of us can go speak to her right now. Perhaps the three of us might come up with something together.”

Neiya’s reaction was somewhere between a gasp and a scoff. The pale goddess lifted her last hand from the table, raising it in a mock gesture to place over her heart. She kept a sullen stare on Cadien for a time, before giving a regal lift of her chin once more. ”I think not. I wouldn’t want to stir anyone out of their beauty sleep. I’m certain she needs it to do-.. Whatever it is she rules over.”

Cadien looked at her in confusion, and then understanding seemed to dawn. He stepped closer and gently embraced her. “Neiya,” he said softly. “We agreed to trust each other, did we not? Evandra is my friend, but you are the one I love.”

The love goddess stood stiffly at first, agonizingly quiet. She frowned still, but eventually relented as she gazed away from Cadien. ”Yes. Fine,” she conceded with a sullen tone. ”I’ll not sit idle while your creation is ravaged by these creatures. I do trust you, and I want to help.” Finally, she looked back at Cadien, her displeasure warped to an indignant demand for attention.

“Do you love me?” Cadien suddenly found himself asking.

Neiya stared at him quietly, features softening slowly. Shifting in his embrace, she laid her arms around his shoulders, gaze meeting his. She took her sweet time to reply, but when she finally did, it was with a calmer voice. ”I do. I love you, Cadien. Always, and forever.”

The God leaned forward once more, and the kiss they shared was far longer and tender than any that came before.

Cyrus travelled along the crowd of people flowing in Ha-Dûna. It had been about a decade since he spent a winter within the holy city. He had since grown out a beard, and was now wearing a worn but well-mended travelling robe that had a design of the kirin constellation surrounded by a circle on the left shoulder. Following him were two others wearing similar dress, a female in around her twenties whose left shoulder had the newt constellation but no circle and a slightly younger male who had a plain robe.

The group moved towards the inner town, and afterward, Cyrus once again found himself praying in front of Seeros megalith with his head tilted towards the sky. The young women took a similar position, while the plain-robed man quietly muttered something to himself.

A crowd of curious druids soon formed around them, taking particular interest in the shapes of zodiacs on their backs. One of them, a middle-aged woman stepped up to Cyrus and cleared her throat politely.

Before turning around, he said something in a language foreign to the highlands then flipped around with a flourish, “Excuse the intrusion, we are of the circle of the guiding lights and we are acting as ambassadors for the starry watcher. I am Constellar Cyrus.” and gesturing over to his companions in turn, “This is Wayfinder Cionn, and this is Initiate Simon.” he nodded his head while saying, “May the stars guide you.”

The woman furrowed her brow. “Wait, wait, wait… Cyrus as in… Did, did you visit us a long time ago? Must be a decade by now.” She eyed him up and down again. “Yeeeaah… Yeah, you must be! Do you remember me?”

Cyrus smirked, “Yes, I never forget a name, Owyn.”

She frowned. “It’s, it’s Aewyn, but, uh, close!” The druids behind her exchanged looks. “So, what brings you back here?”

“As always, we are guided by the lights of the night sky. But today, we share the bountiful wisdom of the night’s curator.” stepping back and gesturing to Cionn, she stepped forward, she outreached her hands, tightly cupping them together. She exhaled sharply and light emerged from her hand, shaping it into the visage of a newt made of red, fire-like, ethereal substance. It enamated a kind warmth.

The druids staggered backwards from the sight, one of them raising his fist angrily. “What did you do that for?! You had no reason to conjure forth the flames of Reiya at this time! Wanton demonstration is disrespectful, moreso here in the sight of the gods!”

Cionn looked towards Cyrus, who was hiding a smile, before sighing. She uncuffed her hands, causing the newt to disappear. While she attempted to hide, her face and tone betrayed her annoyance, her accent was also very typical for the region around Ha-Dûna, “We are the faithful of Seeros and the other seven. That was the heaven’s flame given form by my conviction. I would appreciate it if you did not slander my devotion.”

Another druid scoffed hot air. “Favours are not for show. While I’ll admit that it’s pretty, that creation of yours… Actually, what is that? Never seen Reiya’s flames be used to conjure forth an animal before.”

Her eyes once again glancing backwards, her lips curled into a crude resemblance of a grin, she seemed to struggle with her words, muttering something just under her breath in the foreign language though the word Seeros clearly slipped through, “It is a newt. And it is neither of Reiya, nor is a favour. It is an expression of my piety, and of my understanding of the great pattern of the sky.”

The druids once again exchanged glances. “Explain.”

Cyrus stepped forward, causing Cionn to sigh with relief, “Sirius is a god of many names and many virtues, he has extended himself to grant those Hir-blessed with a new power so that we may aid mortal-kind, the familiars. One must understand the zodiac, and devote themselves to one of its virtues, and the star watcher will freely grant his power to conjure these spectral animals. Perhaps it would help if I showed my soul-bound familiar?” he said, once again hiding a smirk, while Cionn shook her head.

“A familiar? What?” came another voice, though a number of druids grew increasingly curious, nodding for Cyrus to continue.

Cyrus raised his hand, the stars painted on the megalith behind him began to glow. Silver energy appeared beside him before growing and shifting into the shape of a legendary kirin, formed of light in the resemblance of a silvery metal. It stood half of Cyrus height, and as it stood there, the megalith still reacted emitting a slight whitish light.

Gesturing over it, “This is my familiar.”

Once more, the druids staggered back, unable to believe the sight before their eyes. One of them pointed at the statue and shouted, “Look! The statue!” Many of them fell to their knees in response to the miracle, while others looked on in disbelief. Aewyn shifted between Cyrus and the kirin before asking, “How… How did you do this? What is the zodiac?”

Cyrus dismissed his familiar, causing the light to fade from the stone behind him. “You raised this monument without knowing the Zodiac? It is Sirius’ will, his pattern that had wove into the night sky. It is many things, and once you understand it, then you can devote yourself to its virtues, resilience, observance, cunning, kindness, introspection, and loyalty, and then you will have a familiar that is an extension of yourself and your virtue. But familiars are just one of the two gifts which the starry watcher has bestowed upon his faithful, with promise of more.”

The druids looked between the kirin and the statue, before one of the others spoke, “Could, could you teach us how to connect with him as you do? These miracles are unfamiliar to us - at least, not seen before here in Ha-Dûna.”

Cyrus replied, “I can not teach you how to do it as I do, but I can teach you the fundamentals and guide you how to connect to the pattern as yourself.”

The druids had by now all been absorbed by the beauty of this creature, and were edging at the cusp of Cyrus’ words. “Teach us,” Aewyn begged, and many bowed their heads in equal respect.

Cyrus spent all day explaining the zodiac and its many features, detailing the six northern constellations of the whale, sheep, wren, kirin, snake, and fox and their locations in the night sky above the highlands. He discussed the six virtues and physical aspects of the heavens. His sermon included bits and pieces of philosophy, astronomy, astrology and a few miscellaneous subjects.

While people came and went, eventually the crowd began to clear and the three travelling druids made their way to a resthouse. As the sun began to set and the stars once again became visible in the sky, Simon stood outside looking at the stars. He was muttering to himself in the foreign language, though even to those who didn’t understand the language, it had an obvious, simple rhyming scheme. His fingers traced the air, and he was clearly deep in thought.

“It’s getting late, friend,” came a voice behind him. It looked to be a guard of sorts, humble linen shirt and pantaloons worn under a hauberk of padded hides. A flaccid woolen hat sat atop his head, and his thumbs were resting neatly on the inside of a hemp rope belt, from which hung a lumpy copper-headed axe.

Simon looked up with a start, saying something in the different language before going, “Understand no, friend.”

The guard narrowed his eyes and scoffed quietly. “Come now, friend, you know the rules - only those sanctioned by the archdruids are allowed to stay up after Gibbou’s Curfew. If you have their permission, I’d like to see it.” He offered an open hand.

Taking a deep breath, “Understand no, druid foreign apprentice I.”

The guard put two and two together and hummed. “Oh, you’re a pilgrim, huh…” He glanced back at the house behind them. “Do you, uh…” He tried his best to convey his words with his hands, clapping himself on the chest first and then pointing at the resthouse. “... Any friends? Family?”

Muttering, “Family.” he pointed back to the resthouse, “There constellar.”

The guard frowned. “... Constell--... Oh, those, uh, new pilgrims, huh. Understood - I’ll be right back.” The guard turned and stepped into the resthouse. It was a longhouse, doorways at the short ends and pillars along the walls supporting a heavy thatch roof. The centre of the house hosted a hearth half-full of glowing, charred logs, above which was suspended a spit with a goat carcass nearly picked clean. Around the hearth were three small tables flanked with benches on each long end; along the left wall upon entry were a few sealed clay pots of drink; and along the walls everywhere else were straw beds, most full of snoring travellers. Nestled at one of the ends of tables, Cionn was dressed in evening wear and was hunched over a wooden tablet, making precise cuttings into it.

The guard approached and bowed curtly. “Gibbou’s peace be with you on this fine evening, friend. Forgive my intruding, but do you know that man standing outside staring at the stars? He doesn’t speak Dûnan, it’d seem, and I’m trying to get him inside.”

Bowing her hand, “And stars guide you. I presume you are speaking of Initiate Simon, he means no harm to the peace.”

“‘Course, ‘course,” the guard agreed. “However, as you surely know, Gibbou’s Curfew will start any moment, and we don’t allow anyone without the archdruids’ permission to overstay the curfew - the Lady on the Moon wishes everyone a good rest.”

Cionn just nodded, “I will make sure he is well-rested. He does have a performance in the morning.”

Next afternoon, after Cyrus had discussed more about the zodiac and off-handly mentioned a special spirit-singing performance at this particular hour, Cyrus quickly said a prayer to Sirius before stating, “And now time for our performance of spirit-singing, blessed by the starry watcher.” before stepping back into the background. Simon nervously walked in front of a crowd, looking behind his shoulder and saying something in the foreign language. After a short reply, he took another step forward, closing his eyes before tilting his head up and began to recite a foreign poem. It had a similar rhyme scheme to one he was practicing, but wasn’t exactly the same. After a few moments, the magic within the song followed out and those who listened to it could feel the presence of Sirius, almost as if they were channeling his favor. A new sense began to open in their mind, and suddenly they had a keen awareness of which direction was north.

The crowd instinctively all turned northwards and smiled at one another as they tried out this new mental compass. The druids intently listened to the words of the song, nodding and occasionally rumbling along.

The performance lasted for a few minutes before reaching its natural conclusion, however even afterwards Sirius' presence lingered with the audience, though the more practiced druids could tell that was slowly fading away with time. Simon nodded, “Thank you for listening.” in a way that sounded about as rehearsed as the poem, before scurrying off towards Cionn.

Cyrus quickly stepped back up in front of the crowd, “And that was Initiate Simon’s performance of the zodiac song of the dog. It is just one of twelve songs blessed by the celestial keeper, but sadly along our group we only know of this one.”

One of the druids in the crowd raised her hand. “Where would we go to learn more?”

Cyrus gave an exaggerated sigh, “I wish I could tell you, however somethings must be handled more delicately. When I have a proper meeting with an arch-druid, then I will discuss it with them.”

---

After the cart’s contents had been distributed, Carn allowed the group a period of rest. It was sorely needed. They ate rations which had been stowed away in the bandit’s camp, cooked over the still burning fire. Some caught a quick nap. Carn went to a nearby stream to wash away the blood and grime from the day’s ordeals.

At some point Edgar returned. He had not run, he had merely gone to check on the wounded who had been left at the road, then ventured off with a team of volunteers to carry them back.

Of the original twenty who first set out from Evenstar, only eleven still remained. Four of whom were too injured for any sort of fighting. All carried at least one piece of treasure taken from the caravan; though Carn warned them they may be required to return most of it.

Eventually Carn decided it was time to head back, and so the remnants of his warband picked their way to the forest until they found the road again, and they began the long walk back.

---

The sun was low on the horizon when they returned, much as it had been when Carn first came to the village. This time he had a larger party, but more wounded, and was considerably more successful. They had talked about their plan to deal with the chieftain, and it was decided that a public confrontation would be the best.

As they entered the village, a few passerbys cheered, correctly assuming they had been successful. Others worriedly scanned the group, searching for friends or loved ones who had first set out with Carn. Some were relieved. Others were not. The commotion brought more people out of their homes, whose reactions were much the same. Eventually another crowd had formed around them, and Carn called his band to a halt.

The chieftain was the last to appear, flanked by a pair of guards. He looked upon Carn with barely concealed displeasure. “Well,” he said as the crowd parted for him. “How did it go?”

It was the priest who spoke first. “People of Evenstar,” he addressed the crowd. “The bandit menace has been defeated, due to the valiant efforts of Carn and Aurielle, and despite attempts from our own chieftain to ensure he would fail.”

“It’s true,” the sole surviving guard spoke up. “He gave me orders to kill Carn during the fight.”

The chieftain’s eyes widened, and then he began indignant with rage. “You dare slander me!?” he shouted. “Arrest them!”

The chieftain’s two guards reached for their swords, as did those who were positioned elsewhere in the crowd, but Carn and his party drew their own weapons first. “The first one to step forward will be the first one to die,” Carn declared, pointing his blade directly at Evenstar’s leader.

“No more blood needs to be spilled today,” the priest insisted. “I swear by every god that I speak the truth.”

“As do I,” said the guard.

“And I,” said Carn. “I swear it as the champion of Cadien.”

“More lies and blasphemy?” the chieftain snarled. “You forsook that prophecy this very morning.”

“I didn’t forsake it,” Carn shook his head. “All I said was that I didn’t know if it was true. Now, I do.” He ran his blade across his palm, spilling blood. Then, he held his hand to the crowd, and they watched in surprise as the flesh mended itself. “I bear the blessing of Cadien himself. My appearance will be forever unmarred by wounds or scars. I stand before you as the champion of a god, and I say that the only liar and blasphemer in this village stands before me right now. To take his word over mine or the godly man that stands beside me is heresy.”

Carn’s words were pretty and the instant healing certainly gave him some credence but Auriëlle did not believe the chieftain would just surrender his throne up. She kept her eyes on the guard on his right. Ready to cast her sorcery and kill him in an instant. Gods why was she still here? She was carrying the gold she needed. If she had split up then by now she would have reached the lonethorn in the field by now. By the next dawn she would’ve been far away from here. Instead she stood next to Carn, facing down a village’s chief.

All eyes on the crowd turned to the chieftain, whose front began to crack once he realized most of the villagers were no longer on his side. He took a hesitant step back, only for the guard Aurielle had her eye on to place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time for you to step down.”

The chieftain’s eyes widened with shock that quickly turned to outrage. “I am the leader of this village! My word is law!”

“Not anymore,” the second guard said, seizing him as well.

“You have failed in your duty, chieftain,” the priest said. “To both your people and to the gods. You will never lead again.”

“What is the sentence for such crimes?” Carn asked casually.

“Death,” the priest intoned grimly.

“Hm. That’s troubling. You said no more blood needed to be spilled today, did you not?” He turned to the sorceress. “Aurielle. I don’t suppose you can think of something?”

“I could make sure his death is a bloodless one.” She said as she stepped forward. There was a malevolent grin on her face. The heat she had made in the forest, it stuck with her. Its memory would never leave her. Now she was itching to try it again.
“Make it so,” Carn said, stepping aside to allow her past. He addressed the rest of the crowd. “As you’re about to see, I’m not the only one who was touched by a god.” The chieftain stared at Aurielle with fearful eyes, as the guards forced him to his knees.

For a moment she glanced towards Carn. What the hell was he talking about? Not the only one blessed by a god? What game was he playing? It didn’t matter. Not now at least. There were more pressing matters to address.

She stepped up to the chieftain. Behind them, people were moving away. “Your guard tried to kill me first, you know.” She said with a cold but hate-filled voice. “That was a mistake.” Slowly she put his hand on his head, holding it down. Power gathered inside of her. It mixed with hate and the memory of the forest. The dead. The bones. The ash. “Release him!” She ordered the guards, who pulled away their hands just in time. Explosive, invisible heat traveled from her hand over the chieftain. One moment he was struggling, the next his ashes were crumbling to the ground.

The guards backed away in horror, and a few in the crowd screamed. The priest’s eyes widened, and he mouthed a prayer.

“The threats to your village have been defeated,” Carn declared. “Both within, and without. Some of you have lost people today, and for that, you have my condolences. They fought well against the bandits, and I did my best to keep them alive, but ultimately it was he who killed them,” he pointed to the pile of ashes. “He should have offered more aid. He should have led us himself. He did not. Those deaths are on him.”

Those who were grieving seemed to nod, as Carn gave them a new target to redirect their blame toward. “But there are those standing with me who still live. Mourn the dead, but do not forget to celebrate the living. Every man and woman who stands with me now is a hero. Never forget that.”

His words were met with several nods and even a few cheers.

“There is still much to be done. You need a leader. The goods left behind at the bandit camp need to be recovered. The dead must be seen to. That will all be settled tomorrow. For now, we rest and celebrate.”

---

The tavern was busy that night. Those who had followed Carn into the woods and were fit to celebrate still did so. Some were already in the process of regaling others with the story, exaggerating or making up certain details, for none had been present during the final battle at the bandit’s camp. There were wild tales of Carn surviving an arrow through his head, or Aurielle killing ten men with a single lightning bolt.

Carn came up behind Aurielle, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Can we speak upstairs? In private?” he asked her.

She threw him a coy smile. “Thought you’d never ask.” She got up and downed her watered wine tankard in one go. It felt good to celebrate. Though her troubles hadn’t ended yet. She didn’t appreciate Carn calling her ‘blessed by a god’.

They ascended to the inn’s second floor, and Carn led her to his room. He opened the door for her, and followed her inside. “I never had the chance to ask you,” he said, closing it behind him. “How do you feel about how today turned out?”

She sat down on the bed. It felt…too soft. “What does that matter?” She asked. “We won. The bandits and the chieftain are dead and we got the gold.” Some died, yes but that would’ve happened regardless. She wasn’t entirely heartless though. You wouldn’t see her at any funeral for them but some night she would visit their graves and say a little prayer. That was the plan at least.

Carn sat down next to her. “Today has given me a lot to think about,” he confessed.

The moment he sat down, she got up. “Yeah but I’ve got one thing to think about too.” She said as she took her place on the room’s only chair. She still had that coy smile on her face. “Why did you call me blessed by a god when I’m not? And you know I’m not.”
Carn winced. “Sorry about that. I sounded like a preacher, didn’t I?” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t said that, they might have come to a worse conclusion. It’s not every day that people see magic like yours. Especially in a small village like this.”

“That’s fair.” She said with a small shrug. People talked though. Suddenly the villages wouldn’t just hear stories about Carn, blessed hero of Cadien. They’ll talk about the red headed sorceress who is also blessed by some god. That alone would come with some annoying responsibilities if she led it. Remaining faceless would be harder now. She’d have to travel up north again, on the west side of the river. Maybe visit the sunlands. They wouldn’t hear her story there. “For all his faults the chieftain was right about one thing: you’re just a mercenary. You might know how to lead fighters but this is a village we’re talking about. You’ll have to tell them where to farm what and then count the harvest. Can you even write?” She wasn’t accusing him, even if her tone was a bit harsh. She just found herself, to her own surprise, worrying about Carn. He was a fighter not a scribe.

“I know a few words,” Carn shrugged. “Though I’m not sure where you got the idea I want to lead this place. I’ve been avoiding the subject all day. To tell the truth, I don’t much care for it. It’s a dull place, with dull people.”

Auriëlle smiled. “Then come with me.” She said. “We’ll be gone before first light tomorrow. They’ll never know we’ll have left. I’ve read about this beautiful land where the sun’s always warm. There is a temple there filled with painted walls. And big, flying lions that never hurt you. Come with me there. Let’s leave this shithole and go somewhere nobody knows us.” In truth she cared more about Carn being with her than going to the sunlands. He was interesting. Though not so interesting that she would stay in one place for him.

Carn’s eyebrows rose, and his lips curled into a smile. “That’s actually what I was leading up to. With your magic, my swordsmanship, and our dashing good looks, we’d make a good team.” He eyed her and down.

She came closer. “Well, we still got some hours before we have to pack.” She was leaning over him now, letting her hands rest next to him. Her lips almost touched his. “How about we have some well-earned fun?”
“Once again, our thoughts match.”

---

Morning came. While Aurielle readied herself for departure, Carn ventured down into the common room, where Ruvar and Rollo awaited him at a table.

“Carn!” Ruvar greeted him happily. “Well done seeing to those ruffians!”

“Or is it chieftain Carn now?” Rollo asked with a smirk.

Carn shook his head.

“Oh, I see…” Ruvar’s eyebrows rose. “Well then. I’ve got some volunteers to help us recover my belongings. What these thieving villagers haven’t filched, anyway. Some will even help escort us to Ketrefa, if we pay them.”

“That’s good to hear,” Carn nodded, ignoring the fact that it was he who gave the villagers permission to ‘filch’ Ruvar’s goods in the first place. “But I’m afraid I won’t be joining you.”

“Oh?” Ruvar’s face fell. “Why is that?”

Carn shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I never liked Ketrefa. The bastards stole my brother long ago. They may offer good coin, but,” he shrugged, “there’s more to life than that.” He also decided not to mention that he had a few gold rings in his pockets, which were more valuable than whatever Ruvar would have paid him.

Ruvar seemed genuinely saddened by the news. “I see…” he said slowly. “May the gods watch over you, then.”

“Good luck, Carn,” Rollo said, raising a tankard.

Auriëlle didn’t do goodbyes. It kept life easy in the last three years. So when Carn decided not to slip away but just go down and tell everyone they would leave, she was a bit annoyed. It was his choice though. She stayed up, getting everything ready. The ruby amulet she got from was hidden away under her tunic, while the few gold coins and rings she had taken from the cart were safely in a purse. That would keep them going for some time. When enough time had passed she came down from upstairs and headed straight for the front door.

Carn followed her. A few dozen people had already gathered outside, the priest among them, awaiting his word.

“Alright everyone, listen up.” Carn said. “On the eighth day I arrived. On the ninth day I slew the bandits. Now, on the tenth day, I must lead you. So, allow me to lead you.”

The crowd began to whisper with uncertainty. Some welcomed Carn’s leadership, but others were more reluctant - though they accepted the chieftain’s deposal, many still shared his concerns about Carn’s experience, divine champion or not. A few had even been sympathetic to the chieftain, disbelieved Carn’s story, and secretly resented his execution.

Luckily for them, Carn was about to put their concerns to rest.

“From this day forth, the position of chieftain will be decided by vote,” Carn declared. “Not by birth or by bloodshed. When a chieftain dies or steps down, the village will come together and choose a new one. That is my first act as chieftain,” he told them. “And for my second act… I resign.”

The crowd was stunned into silence. Then Carn turned away, and everyone began to speak at once. Some shouted for him to remain, while others declared their support. A few tried to shout for order, but only succeeded in producing more racket. One or two were already attempting to make their case for why they should be elected. In the middle of it all, the priest tried and failed to calm them down.

Carn ignored it all, and continued down the road.

Auriëlle was grinning from ear to ear as she walked beside Carn. “They’re going to tear each other to pieces, you know that right? They’ve been farmers and potters and gods know what else for so many years. You think anyone of them could lead a village?” She looked back at the every increasing racket. “They’re already breaking down.”

Carn shrugged. “You’d be surprised. Some people are more skilled than they appear. At least one of them has to be good at it. If not, they’ll pick someone else.” He threw an arm around her shoulder. “But it’s not our problem anymore, is it?”

---

Illyd
Dyll

God of Agriculture... and Lightning

---

Illyd Dyll sat under a storm cloud. His valley of wheat was subject to whipping winds and thunderous booms as he meditated. His eyes were closed and his jaw worked rhythmically over a straw of grass. Diana was nowhere to be scene -- a dark mansion of tatted shingles and broken steps off on the farside of the usually idyllic scene.

Blasts of lightning touchdowned in his fields, striking the dirt into violent plooms. The clouds were his, just as the soil was his. In his heart he knew there was a balance to be found here in the war between the ground and the sky -- the war that tickled his thoughts late at night, and pulled at his spirit, concerning his heart. There was so much to process and yet so little at the same time.

He hadn’t the intention to become a patron of the sky fires now raining down in cracks of electricity, but he had -- as if it had been foretold and thrusted upon him without his opinion. He felt his gentle hands loosen as such a violent new tool was thrust into them. Even as a god, was there choice -- or was it determined? If it were his choice, he doubts he would have ever made even the first storm, but he did.

What good could come from such power? Another pillar of destructive light blasted his fields and he grimaced though it was his own will. What good could come from such uncaged rage that dwells in the sky, what good- other than as a way to clear the path.

That was it. His smile turned back upwards -- though small. Left unchecked certain aspects of nature were destined to grow just as he and all other divine and mortal things were to, such aspects of forests, thickets, and weeds. A deer may clear the lower reaches of a forest, or a herd of beasts may clear a savannah into pastures, but what tool was there when this was not enough? What to do when the world would grow so much as to choke itself?

Another blast hit the ground. Perhaps it was the sky’s duty to clear the ground when they lose each other to the density of growth. Illyd could see it now, a single strike from his rainclouds, a single tool that could open up the earth, cull the weeds, leave a new slate for agriculture to flourish or even give new trees a chance where they had none.

Such violence was not without a justification, but did all violence have justification? Perhaps not, but this one did, as it was a key factor in creating new life -- by giving it a turn from that which had theirs spent.

The day was blisteringly hot and it was one of the only days where Forral liked to acknowledge his Almanaki blood. He had never once suffered a sunburn like all of his entirely human friends. Sure, he lacked the russet skin his mom had, but he was still darker and his tan seemed to rise up like a wave to meet any amount of sun. Now, he was no full Almanaki, so this was a mild tolerance, not the same kind of biological power that allows a person to go for a week without water all while radiating body heat through highly efficient sweat.

Forral was simply immune to the sluggishness hot afternoons bring on and tended to sweat far less, a trait he was silently thankful for as he looked at the young man who was gulping down water so fast that the stray droplets gushing down his chin almost matched the ones coming down his brow. He looked absolutely miserable, on the verge of collapse. Having to run all the way from Stagwood. The long looping cord he wore around his shoulder marked him as a runner, and given that a couple of the loops were cut, he had already visited a few villages before Harri.

“What news do you bring?” That was the Taev,a garying veteran with a build that one could describe as a once tall, now weathered mountain as well as the de facto head of Harri. The runner was leaning on him as he held the skin that the boy was gulping from, “Is it good or bad? We won’t be able to handle Trolls so you better say it’s good.”

“Not Trolls,” The young man gasped between mouthfuls of water, “The Grand Army is headed for Stagwood.”

“That’s a relief,” The village leader sighed, “Which Hand is it? Tasslman Vem or had Clokman Houmir finally decided to return to his post?”

The boy shook his head as he stood up and took the waterskin from Taev.

“The runner from Loggerbrook said it was the Vir himself.”

“The Vir!” Taev was taken aback, “Does that mean that the campaign against the Ndarian’s is done? But why would he come out to the Western territory, the Almanaki haven’t tried anything for over thirty years!”

“I have no idea, I’m not the Vir,” the runner declared as he slipped the multi-colored coils of cord off his shoulder, measuring out the loops, “Which town is this?”

“Harri.”

“Harri? Then you’ll need two cords,” The runned produced a knife and sliced two lengths of braided rope, one red, one silver, and handed them to Taev, “If I recall, you are supposed to have a runner that goes to Tinmine?”

“That is correct,” The village leader took the ropes, “I suppose we are the red?”

“Yep,” The runner tossed the remaining cords back over his shoulder, “The Vir was two days from Loggerbrook this morning, so he should be about three from Stagwood. When he shows up, twenty able bodies from Harri need to be waiting for him with that cord. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make it to Redbrook by nightfall.”

With that, the young man took off again, running out of the town just as fast as he ran in. a giddiness filled Forral as he watched the runner dash into the distance. The Vir himself. Forral hoped that Taev would choose him to go join the Grand Army.

The older man began barking orders at the villagers, already preparing for when he would need to send out the Harri Convoy the next day.

“Ormond, you run down to Festam’s farm down by the marsh, I know her two boys have been raring to join the Grand Army for years now. Toscgond, you start preparing equipment for the road. And Broun, where is Broun?”

The tiny center of Harri was bustling as the people who had been there when the Runner arrived dispersed to either do their given job or spread the word. Soon, volunteers would begin arriving at Taev’s house to try and be picked to join the Convoy. Luckily, Forral was already there.

The fourteen year-old marched up to Taev, who was discussing something with another older man who Forral didn’t know that well. Forral was a small kid and only went about half way up the old warrior’s chest. Taev and his companion were deep in discussion and hadn’t noticed Forral’s approach. The boy stretched himself as tall as he could go and then tried to catch their attention. They still didn’t notice him. Forra sighed and tapped Taev on the elbow.

“What!?” The older man growled, angry, before he looked down at Forral and softened, “Oh, hey Forral, are you here because you know where Broun is?”

‘What? No!” Forral scrunched up his brow, briefly forgetting why he had gotten Taev’s attention in the first place, “Why do you need Broun?”

“He’s our town runner,” Taev briefly turned back to his original talking partner and said a few quick words. He went away and the town leader turned back to Forral, “I figured he would need to leave rather quickly if he would want to get back before the Convoy leaves tomorrow. So if you could go fi-”

“Broun’s going with the convoy!” Forral interrupted, bouncing up and down a little in place. Excitement was bubbling up in him again, he couldn’t wait to go and serve the Vir in the Grand Army with his friend, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about!” Forral assumed the most soldierly position he could manage, “I am here in the Grand Army, in the name of the Vir!”

Taev looked the boy up and down, a frown dressing his face. Forral thought he saw the older man’s gaze rest a fraction of a second longer on the line of trimmed feathers on his brow.

“Maybe next time,” Taev declared, patting Forral on the shoulder with his heavy hand, “Right now I need you t-”

“Why not!” Forral shouted, throwing away Taev’s hand, “Broun is going! I should get to go too!”

“Broun is older,” Taev crossed his arms and looked down, “And he-”

“Only by two years!” Forral interrupted again, throwing his hands in the air, a pleading look entering his eyes, Is it because I’m small? I’m not done growing! By the time I’m done training I’m sure I’ll-”

“Forral!” The village leader boomed, rising to his full height. The boy cowed, Taev let himself soften back up and use a gentler tone, “It isn’t just age or size, Forral. I don’t really know how to explain this to you, but it is just that-”

“My mother is Almanaki,” Forral hissed, not waiting to hear what Taev was going to say.

“No, that isn’t at all what-”

“Yes it is! Of course it is!” Forral fumed, his hair seeming to stand up as he raged, “You don’t think I’m good enough!”

“Forral, stop.”

“No, I won’t! You just don’t want to admit it! People are always making comments! And you always dance around the subject, but it was your idea for me to trim my feathers! You know I used to like my feathers!” Tears speckled the corner of Forral’s eyes and his jaw clenched so hard that his temples bulged, “Admit it, you just don't want me to go because you hate me!”

At that last part, Forral threw down his foot in an angry stomp, his voice booming louder than a fourteen year-old should be able to and the ground itself shaking slightly. Neither he nor Taev took note of this as the two stared each other down.

“I don’t hate you,” The elder growled through gritted teeth, ‘But this- This right here- is exactly why I’m not sending you to the Vir’s army.”

Forral shrunk down, all the energy that had been swelling up in him dissipating in an instant. The angry tears that had been about to fow were dammed up as they changed and lost their heat. Taev sighed and looked down at the dejected boy. Forral went to slink away but Taev caught his arm and softly turned him back around.

“Hey, kid,” Taev started, as Forral tried to shakeaway, “Just because I’m not sending you with the Convoy tomorrow doesn’t mean you can’t still prove yourself.”

Forral looked up at him, quickly wiping the corner of his eyes. His face was hardset and it was clear he didn’t believe Taev. Taev slipped the silver cord the runner had given him out of his pocket and held it out for Forral.

“Someone still needs to deliver this message to Tinmine,” The man declared, “And since I still don’t Broun is, I think it would be good for you to deliver it.”

“You want me to do an errand for you,” Forral frowned, looking down on the cord with disdain.

‘Well yes,” Taev conceded, “But it is an important errand. Part of the reason I trust Broun to go to the army is because he was such a responsible Runner.”

Forral snatched the cord from Taev, his face still furrowed up in mid anger, “Fine, I’ll take it. And when I’m back, I’ll prove that I can go join the army”

The two maintained eye contact for a while longer. Neither openly showed any of the emotions darting behind their eyes.

“Do you remember what a silver cord means?”

“At least five men and a cart laden with as much ore and tools as possible.”

“Don’t get lost.”

“I know the way, Broun has talked about it before.”

“Along the ravine until you hit the creek, then follow the cairns up the mountain.”

“I just said I knew the way.”

With that, Forral broke the stare and dashed away, the message cord clutched tightly in his palm.

“Make sure to give that to Altor!” Taev called after the boy, “He is the head miner! And don’t forget what the Silver Cord means!”

Forral didn’t respond and Taev stood and watched the determined figure run through the hot air towards his destination. Taev knew his counterpart in Tinmine knew what the cord meant and he knew that Forral wouldn’t forget. He just wanted the boy to feel like he was outshining the expectations of him. Taev sighed as Forral vanished over a hill. He shouldn’t have sent him, he should have found Broun and made the runner do his job. But the village leader hoped that this would maybe let Forra blow off some steam and accept that he was never going to be sent to the Grand Army, at least not while he was still in Harri.

Taev looked after everyone in his town, and he knew a lot more about each and everyone one of its inhabitants than he let on. He knew that Forral’s parents, Halmond and Alla, were fugitives from something and that, for one reason or another, both were terrified of someone very close to the Vir. Taev could not in good conscious send Forral towards whoever that may be.

---

Four days hard march from Harri, the small city of Woodcrest was swarmed by small gray tents. The orderly lines surrounded the walls of the city and stretched into the farmland surrounding. The sound of many shouts, hammering ringing, and stoenbirds calling filled the air. The Grand Army had besieged the city, raiding all its stores and draining the resources like locust. All the while, volunteers and conscripts from Woodcrest and the surrounding settlements poured into the camp, bearing their Cords of Summons.

Woodcrest would strain to support the Grand Army and indeed the Army would hurt the city for a few years to come, robbing it of resources and men. But every single citizen knew that they were far safer suffering terribly trying to maintain the army for two days than if they refused at all. Hofmar Qull-Born laughed to herself as she sipped from her chalice and looked down at the scene from the tower of Woodcrest’s lord.

Behind her, the fat man who was like all the other fat men in Virfeild blubbered and prostrated in front of the Vir. When the Grand Army was on the other side of the nation, he would declare himself King of Woodcrest and maybe even war against his neighbors. But the moment true power returned, he was reduced to a snivelling chick, peeping incessantly to try and dissuade the fox from eating it.

Hofmar turned around and went back to the lavish table that had been prepared for their arrival. The Vir, of course, sat at the head, a silent pillar in the room roaring with the sounds of many soldiers reveling. His tall, broad form cutting the air around him like an obelisk thrust in defiance against the gods. He was in his full battle regalia, as he always needed to be. The gray at his temples and age creeping into his eyes seemed to add to the power his handsome face radiated. He did not seem to be listening to nor caring about the lord of Woodcrest, just smoldering into the middle distance. He did perk up when Hofmar slid back into her seat at his side.

“It is good that you chose to come with me on this expedition,” The Vir rumbled curtly before turning back to the lavish steak that had been set in front of him. He did not smile as he said it and nor were the words ones of praise, but Hofmar knew the man well enough.

“It’s honestly my pleasure,” She smiled as she snapped for someone to refill her wine.

It was the lord’s wife who came to do it. She was far too pretty for him and had clearly been dolled up just to show off to the Vir, “Thank you dear.”

The woman bowed slightly and murmured some platitudes, but Hofmar couldn’t help but notice the steeliness set in her eyes. She clearly hated having to do this, to be paraded about. Hofmar had to stifle a laugh as she saw this determination. Sadly, the lord’s wife had made the mistake of not seizing power when she had the chance. Now her defiance was wasted. Hofmar found it oh so pitiful. Still, the woman was pretty despite her passive nature, the witch may need to visit her later.

Hofmar sent the woman away and turned back to the Vir, who was slowly chewing the meat set in front of him.

“So,” she began, “Do you have any specific reasons for coming out to the Western province besides a regular subjugation round?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t need to tell you,” The Vir growled as he choked down a bloody chunk of meat.

“Well, I’ll have you know I happen to have an errand to run around these parts,” Hofmar laughed as she watched him eat. He hated meat, yet that was all people ever served him, “Just a little something I have to pick up.”

“Is it important?” The Vir grunted.

“If it was, I wouldn’t need to tell you,” Hofmar laughed as she took another draught of wine.

The Vir looked up from his slab of steak, his brow knitting together and eyes smoldering. Hofmar sighed, he was such a child sometimes. She snapped her fingers and the steak vanished, being replaced with an enormous steamed gourd, crowned with all kinds of spices. The Vir looked shocked at his food and then looked around at all the other generals and such who were at the table.

“Don’t worry, everyone else still sees the meat, you can maintain your image,” Hofmar finished her glass and stood up and began walking for the exit, running her hand along the back of the Vir’s chair and onto his shoulder, “I’m going back to the room.”

There was a pop and the witch disappeared, teleporting away. She loved this life, and she wasn’t about to give it all away because she had made a deal with a god. All Hofmar needed was to pick up the boy and make sure he joined the Grand Army. All those soldiers blindly followed their leader, and once Iternis’s favorite mortal joined the army, then the god would be unable to make her leave.

Hell, if she eventually made the kid the Vir, she could live large for the rest of eternity.

Into the coliseum of Antiquity passed the Dreaming God, eyes once more closed to the world, his face a featureless void, his form bereft now of starlight. His shroud trailed out behind him and its form seemed to tear at the atmosphere of the place as if they’d come to quarrel. Though he did not remain for long, his essence lingered in that place, and any who walked through it would feel a deathly chill.

---

Crossing the threshold of his realm, Ѻs-fhìreach arrived to the sight of a storm beyond anything that had ever existed. It was a tempest through-and-through, and within it, all meaning had been sundered, replaced only by mindless rage. With a careless motion of his hand, he stilled the Roineagan and silence rang out almost as if it were itself a sound.

He stopped then and raised his hand and found its starry substance marred. Absently, the Dreaming God let out a call.

"Fìrinn," it said.

Awaiting his twin, Ѻs-fhìreach observed the wound he had sustained from contact with Perfection's get. It was like a scar composed of a thousand cosmic rifts as if nebulae had ruptured and left their blazing mark upon his arm. The Roineagan stirred and he held out the hand which yet remained whole. A whirling dirge of hatred and vile, venomous malice engulfed its unmarred form and it was in that moment that a reflection's ripple grew.

Àicheil's eyes opened to bear witness to his twin.

The sound of stillness was not broken by the usual refrain--that of the simple and necessary unity that only one word could provide--but instead of a far more unusual response.

“Ѻs-fhìreach. You do not call for your Twin, but for an avenger of deific proportion. You do not call for my essence, but my aid. What has happened, One-of-Three, that this aspect of yourself dominates the others?”

The reflection-laden form of Fìrinn thus appeared within the heart of the Worldweave, its words a herald, and immediately its true form recoiled and flinched as the sensations of that maddening ripple assaulted its senses. Shortly thereafter, the effects of its twin’s scream of anguish and utter corruption of purpose reached it and it, too, let out a cry of similar sound and purpose (though lesser in magnitude, as if reflecting only its echoes).

It reached out a tender hand--its true hand--and placed it upon the still-searing wound that its twin had suffered. In this place, this close to its twin, it could actively feel the sadness and the rage. It could feel the undulating thrum of pain as it surged through each individual star and nebula within its twin’s shroud. It could feel the minds of those unlucky mortals whose consciousnesses had borne the brunt of that terrible and unintentional assault. All this, without direct attunement, was enough for the God of Truth to feel--for the very first time--what it might be like to actively fear.

Nevertheless, it pressed on with its ministration. Nothing would ever stop it from coming to its Twin’s aid, no matter how daunting or dauntless it might be--their bond was one beyond love, beyond life, beyond even perfection. Theirs was a bond that was fundamental to themselves and to the world, the very foundation of thought and imagination and understanding--it would not be so easily sundered. With an almost grim sense of determination, the lights reflecting upon Fìrinn’s almost-face dimmed, one by one, and were replaced with tenebrous clumps of starlight. It pressed forward, and it felt the searing heat of that wound upon its true form. It attuned to Àicheil, and then to Ѻs-fhìreach, and then to Neo-Àicheil. It attuned to all three at once, so that it could understand without words.

Yet with words did he reply, for though his mind was open to his twin, within it was a storm. Nonetheless, emotionless as slate, words exited the maw of his eldritch consciousness and struck themselves across every thread of Fìrinn's being.

"Cadien," he muttered.

"Path and Destination both. He is the beginning and the end," Àicheil swept out his uninjured hand, and the Roineagan shuddered at its motion and its patterns grew ever more complex. At the center of his realm, there was born a new pattern, and it twisted out and took hold of all that they perceived. For a nigh fatal instant, all sense of self or awareness blinked out. Their forms vanished, their minds stilled, and the quiet thunder-call of the Lifeblood's womb once more sung its well-known refrain.

Then emergence as the Two-as-One reclaimed their entire selves. Ѻs-fhìreach seemed unaffected by the display--though the fear which polluted his mind might speak of other things.

"To that which we emerged, we will return. This, his essence yearns to cause. Unknowing, unaware."

With an ease ne'er seen 'cept within the hold of true union of the twins, Ѻs-fhìreach spoke, a certainty in his cadence, a promise in his tone. In the far reaches of his mind and the central schema of his soul, Fìrinn would come to know a truly deadly thing. While from other gods, Àicheil had drawn only fragments of utility and meaning, from Cadien he had gained a thing most dangerous in its wholeness.



"This cannot be," Ѻs-fhìreach proclaimed.

Fìrinn’s reply was the suggestion of a solemn and contemplative nod. It took time to process and weigh its twin’s words carefully, allowing them to take root within the God of Truth’s infinite mind and blossom into new ideas and considerations. It drew from the reflective portal running through the Worldweave to conjure forth images it had seen and recorded and began to file through the previous interactions all mortalkind had had with their so-called Master. Each interaction with Cadien--or the idea of Cadien--that mortalkind had indulged in since their banishment played through Fìrinn’s mind, and then--through their link--that same feed of knowledge was offered up to Ѻs-fhìreach like a fresh spring of water to sup from. It was more of a precaution than anything, to not share it directly--for once, Fìrinn was quite unsure as to how its twin would react to such information. It would simply be a matter of observation until they each individually processed what had happened--and then processed it again as one.

Fìrinn’s mantle cut through the starspace around them in soft, swaying motions--its claw-tips elongated and pared out into almost wing-like razors. On an invisible wind, they flitted to and fro, their idle movements an unconscious rhythm for the God of Truth to focus upon while it processed the gargantuan amount of information it had called.

“I see him not as you did. Prideful, boastful, arrogant--destructive, and even childish… but his actions, barring those with you, do not seem to suggest a desire to return all things to the primordial womb. I know you do not lie, as to do so in my presence is impossible. I know that whatever you have glimpsed is your Truth, and thus the Truth of the world--but it is something I must come to see in my own time. It is something that the Two-as-One must agree as both Two and One.”

A flowing river of memory, gifted by his twin, fed into his mind and attempted to suffuse him. A chord was struck, deeper than the rest, and the Worldweave bent and shook, brought to great distress. Ѻs-fhìreach turned its head and gazed down upon his twin, and as Fìrinn's words reached him his hand shot out and grasped him. Tenderness had fled, agony laid bare, Ѻs-fhìreach raised his hand, and with it rose the Truthbound Seer.

The Roineagan it shuddered, and from it all color drained, as into the Dreamer's gaze, a tempest grew insane.

"Freagraíonn tú glao i ndáiríre, agus a chuspóir ar eolas agat. Ach, ag smaoineamh go mícheart, an stoirm a chuirfeá as duit?"

His voice thundered through the realm, like lightning it tore and burned, and as into Fìrinn's mind it passed--it scorched and it churned. Ѻs-fhìreach thrust his arm out and slashed his arm in disgust from his twin, tossing them away. His gaze shifted and the Endless Weave swiveled around its locus, its movements anchored to his mind more tightly than before.

With slow deliberate thought, Ѻs-fhìreach drew forth a torrid swell. Its shifting prismatic hue rose like a tsunami and then upon Fìrinn fell. A drowning cascade of emotion and endless provocation, experience and thought, intention hidden beneath facades. Each act it mirrored inside of Fìrinn's mind, it showed a darker shade of thought and intent malicious and divine. Yet outside that terror torrent, which to the Truth God did speak, Ѻs-fhìreach refocused and reached down into the deep.

Within each fragment of that maelstrom was another maelstrom--within each of those, the seed of a Truth that Fìrinn could know and understand, but not feel. As the tumultuous waves tore away its lack of understanding like so many scraps of paper before a flood, Fìrinn experienced each of those moments anew, salt-licked by the freezing sting of the emotions it had seen but not felt. It lost itself amidst those moments, the fury of its twin and the flaying influx of foreign emotion tore into and lashed against the God of Truth’s skin until it flayed that reflective outer shell from the deific essence beneath.

He grasped then Fìrinn's hand, true and mantle both, and pulled him from the deluge so that his gaze he would surely know. Drawing his twin close, Ѻs-fhìreach took hold of their connection. Where before Fìrinn had always stabilized and clarified, now the Dreaming God did so, the endless tendrils of its mind reaching deep into Fìrinn's divine soul. With slow deliberate silence, and insidious inception, Ѻs-fhìreach dissolved further, and the twins became a greater deific ocean.

Around the chaos of their united form, the Worldweave altered its endless swirling patterns. Mirror glass and shards of reflected knowledge, bound by Truth and experience became its essence and its creed. Crystals cascaded in shattering displays, and each refracted others, till to infinity they bade.

“A thread of the Great Weave, hidden beneath something one must feel to understand. I see.”

Though the state of the Two-as-One was a fundamental completeness that ameliorated and soothed Fìrinn, it pulled away from the conjoined embrace and became itself once more as soon as the understanding was upon it. As it left that state of harmony, it emitted a rippling wave of agreement and understanding--an unspoken agreement to something even deeper than speech and even deeper than unity. From mere seconds--or perhaps fractions thereof--all of the context and understanding, the imagination and the feeling, became a single thing embedded within them both.

“Cadien was cruel to you, Twin. Unabashedly, unashamedly--insularly self-involved, condescending, and haughty. I understand and I feel, and it pains me in this moment as much as it pained you then. With that in mind,” Fìrinn began, collecting itself and appearing in front of Ѻs-fhìreach in an instant. It touched his face gently, with its true hand, and locked him in an eyeless embrace.

“Never presume to direct your wrath upon me again. If there is a next time, I will cease it as it begins.”

Acknowledged, thought the Thrice-Named God, the whip of its words too much. Carefully, Àicheil pressed its injured hand upon Fìrinn's and they shared a silent moment--intimate and content. Then he withdrew, his thoughts a writhing mass of black acidic fervor. Turning from his twin, the Subtle Weave refocused and blurred against the limits of Ѻs-fhìreach's dreaded shroud. Blackest night, and darkest terror--passion's lashing tongue, love's intimate embrace, the burning flames of rage, and the venom of a threatened serpent. Each and every one bled like spilled blood into his cloak, and stained it from grey to black acid and liquid fire of silver, gold, and crimson so that when all was done it was as the god had clad himself in a nebula of wrath.

He did not repent nor apologize for the biting poison of his rage, which upon Fìrinn he had unleashed, but he kept his distance. Their auras and essences intertwined, but attunement was left untouched--unmarred by his fury and reproach, as if to keep unshed tears from falling.

"Twin," he echoed, "I will go. A council must be gathered, many others well informed." There was a pause and it was full to brimming with unsaid admissions of atonement. For though rife with rage and pain, the Dreaming God should not have harmed its twin. Nonetheless, it did not say these things, and kept them safely in.

"You will aid me."

It was a statement and a question. A thing he knew, but could not ask in earnest; for to be denied would break him more surely than any blade or Lifeblood core.

“There is no I, Twin--there is only we. We shall go, we shall reveal the Truth of this treachery to all who will listen. Truth demands it--but more than it is Truth’s desire, it is our desire. We are Two-as-One in all things--even this.” Fìrinn placed its hand upon its twin’s face, mimicking precisely the action of another against it in an era long-gone.

“I am Fìrinn, and my love for you is eternal.”

The words washed through the tightly wound consciousness of the Dreaming God, and it softened slightly the twisted knot of pain within his being. Still he was unwilling and unable--as of yet--to let his sorrow in earnest sing. So it was that Ѻs-fhìreach bobbed its head in affirmation, the skein of its form a coruscating furious, nebulous thing.

Then, its purpose met--its wrath and love renewed--that eldritch dreaming entity it swept off to do as it knew the Two-as-One must do. Without further thought or sentence pressed into the air, it passed beyond the threshold, to set upon another's lair.

---

At first it came in slowly and was an itching surprise rather than an annoyance... but then it just never stopped. Worst still, Cadien could hear every prayer intoned in her exact voice.

“Cadien! It’s me again, your favorite Diana. Listen, you should really start thinking about a much more classy wardrobe fitting for a gentleman. I have some ide-”

“Cadien! It’s Diana. I’d bother someone else about this, dear, I really would, but Illyd Dyll doesn’t have so many contacts you see. Anyways, Illyd Dyll has holed himself up away from the rest of his realm and I need a large quantity of bees-”

“Cadien! I found a rabbit today, it looked quite displeased with life and I couldn’t help but think that-”

“Cadien. Illyd is still holed away, so in all due apologies I must INSIST you bring over a good bundle of poison ivy and the means to form some imps-”

“Cadien. I was thinking about that wardrobe again and perhaps you’d like to try dark dyed and itchy wool?”

“I also noticed -- this is Diana, by the by -- that you could really use a... Well quite frankly, dear, you’re hideous and there is no excuse for a god of perfection to be hideous.”

“Speaking of hideous constructions, Cadien. I am privy to the idea that you change me back to my previous and much more acceptable appearance. This has gone on quite long enough, don’t you think?”

The next prayer seemed to just be a racket from Diana’s old band as well as some colorful insults.

Had it been any other being, Cadien could have simply tuned it out or ignored it. But Diana had received a permanent blessing from him, even if she would not call it that. She had a connection to him, and blocking out her messages proved to be considerably more difficult than it would have been otherwise. Not that such an act wasn’t possible, but it was rather tedious to do when he was attempting to hear the prayers of thousands of other mortals and bench-press a boulder at the same time. Not just tedious. It was aggravating.

“Hmm… this cannot stand…” Cadien finally grunted, launching the boulder he was lifting up into the air and out toward the sea. It crashed down into the water with a massive splash. The God of Perfection rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and approached his portal.

One leap across Antiquity later, and he was standing before the portal to Illyd’s realm. With a shake of his head, he stepped through.

The valley was blustery with rain-swollen wind. Dark clouds loomed above, sending down pillars of electricity here and there. In the distance the creek raged with the freshwater, and the copse was cut off from the realm with a dark wall of stormy wind. Further down and near the slopes of one of the mountains that formed the valley was a beaten up mansion that seemed to just be surviving the pounding of the storm.

Cadien took a single step forward and then came to a sudden stop. “Oh dear,” he said quite suddenly. “I appear to have forgotten something.”

And so, the Lord of Perfection spun about and walked right back into Antiquity.

---

He returned minutes later with a jar of bees fresh from Artifex’s realm. “Right then,” he said, and began his approach to the rather dark and dreary mansion. The stepping stone path was aggravatingly unaligned and lead not to the center of the slanted stairs but to the side of them, making wonder to why they were even there. In fact, most of the exterior seemed mismatched or disproportioned in just the right way to be a huge annoyance to the skeptic eye.

The door, thankfully, had a doorknob. Unfortunately, however, it seemed to have screwed off its mount when Cadien went to turn it -- releasing the latch just enough for the stormy wind to bust it open with a large slam, leaving Cadien alone before the dimly lit maw of the mansion, a jar of bees in one hand and a broken doorknob in the other.

“This house is poorly built,” Cadien remarked, tossing the doorknob aside and stepping inside.

Inside the wind could be heard pushing the supports of the house into creaks and moans.Only now and again was there a source of light, be it from an unfortunate crack in the wall, a nearly finished candle, or from slips between the boarded up windows (that were oddly enough hiding what seemed to be perfectly fine and artiful stained glass from the inside).

The flicker of one of the candles brought Cadien’s attention to a glimmer that seemed to catch the light. The flames danced in Diana’s eyes as she stood in the shadow of the god. Slowly her cheshire grin stretched across her face, catching more of the light on her pearlesque teeth.

“Did you bring it?”

“Bring what?” Cadien asked innocently.

“Oh Cadien, you cannot lead me to believe that you are that ignorant,” Diana’s smile seemed to grow as she laid eyes on the jar.

“Ah,” mock understanding seemed to dawn on Cadien’s face. “Right. The poison ivy. I’m afraid I did not.”

“The bees, dear, the bees.” Diana corrected and held out her hands.

Cadien shook his head. “I have not brought you any bees, I am sorry to say.”

Diana narrowed her eyes, seeming to sulk in the shadows, “I think it might be best if you just leave.”

“Hm. That’s rather disappointing. I thought you invited me here to discuss my wardrobe?”

She crossed her arms, “I invited you over in hopes of good company, but here you snuck over with the desire to simply disrupt and disappoint.” She paused, “How do I know if you’d even care for my advice if this is how you deign to treat me? You shouldn’t promise a lady just for your own sick gain, dear Cadien.”

Cadien shrugged. “I have made no promises. Anyhow, there was another matter you wished to discuss as well, was there? Something about… hm… what was it again?”

“Don’t pretend that you actually want to talk to me,” Diana said a little quieter than normal, “It isn’t exactly the most flattering look for you, Cadien.” She cleared her throat, “I wager you’re simply here to find a way to silence myself, no?”

“Perhaps I simply came to admire your newfound beauty?” Cadien asked. “But yes, if you could perhaps reduce the frequency of your messages, that would be ideal. I am a busy man.”

“I doubt it Cadien, I truly do,” Diana’s voice was hard before she waved a hand, “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you again, persecution for trying to make a friend isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“And what precisely is a friend to you?” Cadien asked her. “In the brief time I have encountered you-”

“Someone who doesn’t come over just to humiliate myself,” Diana shouted, “You understand I’m trapped here, that I have nothing? You’re the only name I really know, didn’t know I’d be damned for knowing it. Was there anything else, Cadien, or do you need help twisting the dagger?”

Cadien frowned. “In the brief time I have known you,” he continued, “you have insulted me, you have laughed at the misfortune of poor Illyd, you have been so intolerable that he left his own realm, all while having a simply dreadful taste in both music and fashion. So, I ask again. What is a friend to you?”

“I suppose a simple yes to my last question was in order,” Diana flinched. There was a pregnant pause, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am not,” Cadien confessed. “I suppose that must bring you some joy?”

“Don’t pretend to be my friend,” Diana said with a hint of sadness before walking past Cadien and up to a chair that had been hiding in a dusty corner. The lady plopped into it, the uneven legs nearly splaying outwards from the sudden weight.

“I make no such pretension,” said Cadien. “But nonetheless, you said it yourself: I am the only name that you know.”

“I’d rather be alone than subjected to your endless judgement,” Diana said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but there may have been an auxiliary glimmer under one of her eyes. “You can leave now, I guess just take the bees with you.”

“You see this as judgement, when it is in fact an experiment,” Cadien remarked. “So bear with it a while longer, and I will no longer plague your life.”

“I said go!” Diana stood up, her tears free now, “I am not an experiment, you don’t have my consent to be here, and most of all I find your attitude towards this disturbing. I only wonder who else may just be an object to you -- get out!”

Cadien shrugged, and began walking toward the door. “One final question,” he said, stopping at the threshold. [color=violet“What is perfection, to you?”[/color]

“You getting the fuck out of my house!” Diana screamed.

“What in the--” A warm voice like a babbling stream came from the swinging door to the outside. Illyd Dyll stared at the scene in shock, “Cadien buddy, what’s going on here?” He ushered with his hands, motioning a shocked Cadien out of the house.

“An error, on my part, I think,” said Cadien after a moment. He snapped his fingers, and in that moment, the curse he imparted on Diana was undone. He was silent for several long moments, and then looked back at the house. “Forgive me,” he said, though it was unclear who precisely he was saying it to. He turned back to Illyd.

“I sought to learn more about Diana and her nature. In the process, I fear I only made myself seem insufferable,” he sighed, falling into a sitting position on the uneven steps. “I do not understand lesser minds, Illyd.”

Illyd put a hand on Cadien’s back and sat down next to him, “We all make mistakes, good buddy.” The god of Agriculture looked uncomfortable, “But ye... well ye know. Ye didn’t touch her did ye? She is a living being, Cadien.”

Cadien winced, recalling his first interaction with Gibbou. “I did not lay a finger on her, no. Nor would I ever do so,” He said to the god. “Still, I conducted myself in a way that I think any other deity would find… petty, and immature.”

Illyd let out a sigh, “Oh boy.” He paused, “Cadien, ye... ye can’t just do that, good buddy. What if ye.” He thought for a moment, “Well listen here, I’ll give Diana a really nice week, yeah I will, and maybe after some time if she is open to it -- ye can come back and make things right? No need to fret, good buddy, I know this isn’t normally ye.”

“Do not feel compelled to subject yourself to her on my behalf,” Cadien spoke ruefully. “This is solely on my shoulders. I did not intend to make your situation worse than it already was, so I apologize for my shortsightedness.”

“No harm done... to me at least,” Illyd gave a reassuring smile, “But listen, it’s no trouble at all -- but maybe ye should take yer mind off of this for a while.”

“It’s a strange thing,” Cadien mused. “When I first met her she was insufferable, and our meeting ended with her trying to strike me. Then she bombarded me with inane prayers, messages, and insults. I came here expecting further attempts at abuse, yet when we met she was civil, and it was I who was the insufferable one.” He sighed. “She is no divine, Illyd. I cannot regard her as an equal, like some of our other kind might, and I fear I may never understand her. Or those like her.”

“Sounds to me like ye got some things ye need to work on, good buddy,” Illyd rubbed the back of his neck, “But ye know, nobody is perfect.. And I know- I know that’s not what ye want to hear, but ye gotta accept some fault before ye can bring it back up to par, ye know? If ye can’t level with someone who is a fragment of divinity, then imagine how that will affect ye relations with the mortals who’s very lives depend on ye understandin’ ‘em?”

“And what of you?” Cadien asked him. “How have your own attempts to understand her gone?”

“Patiently,” Illyd nodded, “Patiently.”

“Has your patience yielded any results?”

“I’m not really comfortable talking about her behind her back, especially after today, ye know? But I can safely say that as far as my concerns about the other gods finding themselves in this situation I am in, I think as long as they approach it with a level head and don’t give in to the temptations of anger or depression, they should be alright -- assumin’ their fragment is as benign as Diana, here.” Illyd slapped his knees and stood up “All we can do is stay strong for Galbar, yeah?”

Cadien rose to his feet. “Indeed,” he nodded, before sighing. “My apologies again. In addition to stirring up Diana, I have also subjected you to my personal anxieties.”

“Nyah it’s what friends ‘r for,” Illyd smiled and clapped Cadien on the shoulder, “I’d say come by anytime but just give it a bit for the water to simmer down -- but if ye be needin’ me I can always meet ye somewhere else.”

“You would be welcome to visit me in my realm,” Cadien nodded. “If I am not… otherwise occupied, I mean.”

“Look at ye, romancin’ it up,” Illyd chuckled as he led the god to the fissure to Antiquity, “Well good on ye.”

“Do give this to Diana,” Cadien said, holding out the jar of bees. “I had intended to give it to her in the end, but… well, I botched that, as you saw.”

Wrapping his hands around the jar, Illyd raised a brow, “Cadien, ye know we have plenty o’ bees in the valley, ye? Wouldn’t be much of a God of Agriculture without a lotta bees.”

“Tell that to Diana, then,” Cadien shrugged. “Perhaps bring her some poison ivy too.” And on that note he stepped through the portal.

“Aha, you got it, friend,” Illyd gave a concerned look but waved goodbye all the same.

---

---

It had always seemed as though the Vo forever had declared Juraantoxagrul to the be tyrant of Truulnax, the reef of the southern current. Whenever the thunderous rumbles of the Deepspeak would send tremors through his little reef, all vrool who heard him would hear of his triumphs in a thousand battles, of the authority his reign had garnered him, and of his splendid, unmatched cave - its walls polished to the point of pearl-like sheen, its floor stacked high with tributes of flesh and stone. Every sunrise and sundown, his many lackeys would announce the cosmic scope of Juraantoxagrul’s feats for all the vrool of Truulnax to hear, and for anyone beyond the southern currents to grit their beaks at. Every vrool in Truulnax could only dream of a fortress like the one Juraan possessed - the home of his great clutch. Not even his lackeys were given proper caves, but naught was more hungered for than a cave like Juraan’s.

Truulnax was, however, not particularly large, and physical space became an issue when wanting to dig out a hall like the one belonging to Juraan - for if one were to accidentally bore holes into his cave as a result, one would most certainly become his afternoon snack, and as more and more vrool subjugated themselves under Juraan’s uncontested rule, the reef began to grow too populous.

Yoraxinatruul was a lesser vrool, barely even considered a rookie among Juraan’s lackeys. Hers was a position below sandgrains, tasked with tending to the filter-feeding mammoth mussels whose only purpose for existence was to provide soft, gooey meat for the titan crabs - she was tending to the food of the food. A lower rank in their society was downright unachievable. What did she even do? Flick parasites off the mussels? Scrape off barnacles and kelp growth? What proud, mighty vrool would settle for a position as base and unfulfilling as that of a musselsitter?

No. She couldn’t just accept a life like this - not anymore. She had already toiled and worked these mussel fields for more full moons and tidal floods than she could even recall. She hadn’t even been deemed worthy enough to fight in Juraantoxagrul’s skirmishes. She was far from hardened by battle, and her slimy hide was unscarred and weak as a result. Today, that would all change.

Yora smelled her surroundings and laid her gum-like body flat inside a crevice in the reef. Any minute now, one of her superiors, a slim, but cunning one known as Ulaaxinagrul, would be making his rounds to ensure everything went along with Juraan’s wishes. Ulaax was only marginally larger than her - perhaps this was the time for her promotion. As predicted, Ulaax came floating by a minute or so later, his three eyes scanning thoroughly for any trace of the mussel-watcher.

“Where did that subpiscine, little water nymph swim off to?” Ulaax bubbled sourly to himself. He stopped for a moment, eyes following what seemed to be a trail. Yora remained as still as she could, appearing almost one with the stone. However, Ulaax would not be so easily tricked. He rolled up his tentacles into a great mantle of arms ready to defend himself and spoke, “You utter cretin, subplankton parasite! What manner of loitering is this supposed to be?” Keeping a distance, he began to circle around her hiding spot. Yora looked desperately for a way out. While she was preoccupied with that, though, Ulaax managed to come close enough to reach out and grab one of her limbs. Yora struggled, but Ulaax was stronger in the end. “If you refuse to work, your useless cadaver will be fed to the titan crabs - would not that be a step up for the likes of you?” With a mighty tug, she was ripped out of the crevice. She couldn’t even regain her bearings before another set of tentacles grabbed hers tightly and began to pull and tear. Yora wriggled and twisted as she felt her tentacles give out. Desperately, she tried to peck and bite at the parts of Ulaax she could reach; however, the measly spots she could nibble at were, at best, the surface of some small limb - in contrast, Ulaax could chew directly into her torso, and he did. Black blood clouded the water. Yora ripped and twisted, but couldn’t seem to break loose from Ulaax’ grasp.

They bumped against the reef floor, and Yora felt something sharp brush against the back of her head. It left a cut, but it was clear what it was. In a lightning motion, she flicked one of her arms behind her back and pulled it out of the sand, bringing it up to saw straight through one of Ulaax’ arms - her weapon was a blade-like fragment of a mammoth mussel. Ulaax’ growled, black blood spilling out into the water. That cloud was just the distraction she needed - she burst forth with aching tentacles, arriving in Ulaax’ face before he could react. She swung, the sharp blade cutting the water as well as skin, right across two of Ulaax’ three eyes. He staggered again, and Yora went for the killing blow, biting out his last eye and just continuing to eat, gnaw and stab at the larger vrool’s body until resistance grew dull and weak. As they sank to the surface of the reef again, Yora rolled off of the carcass of her former superior, inspecting her rended, ravaged tentacles and skin. She would be scarred from this… Scarred for life.

She snickered to herself and started swimming towards the Tyrant’s cave.

Finally.

The god of Tragedy was once more on the move, he had a tendency to wander aimlessly when he wished for ideas to come to him. He had found himself once more in that great meeting place of the gods, he could see the various portals of all the gods, he recognized some, knew of others, and there were still some he had yet to meet, but yet, he didn’t quite feel like meeting those who he saw, none of them, popped out to the playwright.

Of course, this always changed, and changed it did when he found one portal, he found it, enticing, its surface seemed to reflect like a mirror, oh this could be interesting. Only problem, he had no clue of how to pass into it, or if the god within even wished for visitors.

He slowly walked up to the reflective pane, his curiosity driving him ever forward, that was when he noticed the, being? If one could call it that, in the reflection, it was strange looking, silvery and reflective much like the mirror it was in, yet it possessed wicked claws and sharp horns, Yamat took a liking to it quickly.

”Greetings.” He spoke to the mirror, not caring how weird it may make him look ”Are you the guardian of this gate?”

The wicked thing of glass and claws trapped behind the reflective surface of Fìrinn’s portal took an equal interest in the God of Tragedy. It pressed the tips of those claws into what seemed to be the surface of the mirror, trailing them down it in careful and measured strokes, before flourishing with a bow as if to reciprocate the greeting. Though it lacked a face the sparkle of silver and golden lights across its form gave the distinct impression of thought and careful scrutiny, and after a moment of this eerily still prognostication it stepped to the side, gesturing inwards with its claws, and exiting stage left (as one might say).

The mirror retained some of the unnatural sheen from the lights that had danced across it, and somehow seemed to be more alive, more solid--and clearly, given that it was a portal, ready to be entered.

Yamat’s curiosity was most certainly peaked, and befitting of it, he pushed forward, entering into the portal. He entered into a long hallway, reflective mirror like surfaces surrounded him on all sides, in each one he could see the scenes of tragedy and suffering, even those not of his handiwork, which was surprising to say the least. He could see the massacre of Solaria by his Iskrill, the troll wars between human and troll, the destruction of a far off moon full of insects, plagues and famines, war, conflict, death, the lowest points of mortalkind for what seemed like ages.

Yamat himself took each one in, often criticizing the scenes under his breath, pointing out their flaws if they were not his make, or how he could do better if they were, yet his curiosity for the realm itself had never diminished, what kind of god lived in a realm like this? He just had to know. Yet, he could see no other god, he looked at every reflection, trying to find any outliers, until his gaze was drawn downward, where his reflection was, instead there stood another being, they seemed to walk upon water, dressed in beautiful clothing and lacking a face much like the guardian outside, Yamat believed he had found the god.

”Why, hello there.” he bent down a bit, trying to get himself a bit closer of a look at the god, ”You must be the god of this realm, I, am Yamat” He bowed as he always does, though this one felt more awkward due to their positioning.

”Ah, yes--the playwright. Greetings. I am Fìrinn, God of Truth. It is curious that you happen to stumble upon my realm now, of all times, when tragedies are being composed all ‘cross the worlds.”

Fìrinn did not speak, as such, but the meaning of its words and thoughts were impressed upon Yamat’s consciousness in a brief moment of what could only be described as intense lucidity--the sensation of epiphany, and opening one’s eyes to a greater truth than could have been perceived before. Then, as quickly as it had struck, it was gone--and only the echoes of those words remained within his essence. It was a cold, and almost clinical experience, completely devoid of the emotion so common in mortalkind and in the other deities--but in the absence of that emotive component was a deep sense of understanding that proved to be quite uncommon.

It looked up at the God of Tragedy from beneath its glassine perch and appeared to vanish, before re-emerging within one of the infinite panels of mirrors lining the hall and now seeming to walk alongside Yamat instead of beneath him.

”I have watched your handiwork from afar. You have brought tragic, cruel endings to many mortals--and in so doing, have altered their Truths irrevocably. Many might chide you for what is ostensibly an evil thing, but without tragedy there is no joy. All must be balanced ‘fore the scales of Truth, and to give new perspective and purpose is a goal of the highest order--it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Fìrinn reached its mantle-claws out, passing through the mirrors as if they did not exist, and touching upon a particular image in the Hall of a Thousand Mirrors. It seemed to grasp the immaterial essence of that scene and tear it apart, suffusing the realm with the memories and feelings contained therein, and all of a sudden the argent glare of mirrors was gone, replaced by an immersive view of that scene. It depicted Acadia and the Iskrill, waging a bloody war against one another. Scenes of brutality and tragedy flitted through the air and lodged themselves within the God of Tragedy’s mind, replaying them from the perspective of those who had directly experienced them. A pair of lovers, back-to-back, surrounded by a mountain of half-chewed bones and shredded viscera wielding sorcery and sword against the almost-inhuman horrors closing in upon them. Their last moments together, one tragically falling in battle, and the primal agony and horror of losing one’s love before succumbing to the cold embrace of death. Then, the scene was over, and Fìrinn stood in front of Yamat.

”There is an artistry to these scenes, cruel as they are. Many of our kith and kin have no great love of cruelty, and I cannot say that I am cruel myself--but nor am I merciful, and nor do I judge those who act in accordance with their nature.”

”Well, you are most certainly one of the few, I am always glad to meet another who can respect my great works, to me they are very important, as you’ve said, without tragedy one can not know true joy.” Yamat looked all across the scenes and mirrors once more, before once more turning to Fìrinn ”So you are the god of truth? Must be quite the work to maintain something like that.”

”It is…” Fìrinn paused, taking a moment to compose itself, before resuming.

”No more difficult to me than creating Tragedy is to you. It is a function of my existence, and one that I am happy to do. It does, however, require much of me in the way of focus--so perhaps you are right. It does require much to maintain. Still, the rewards of my maintenance are there for all to feel--when one’s lover meets a tragic end, it is the Subtle Weave that allows their partner to sense that distant tragedy and feel its pain keenly within their mind. This is a fact that you are no doubt appreciative of.”

Fìrinn did not quite smile, but lights danced across and through its body to suggest a sense of mirth and amusement--a happiness, perhaps, in the fulfilment of its and another’s Truth. A sense of completion.

”Now that we are introduced, is there anything in particular I may help you with?”

Yamat chuckled at both the god’s question and his answer to his”hmm, that is quite the question, I tend to just find myself with other gods and the plans form as we talk. Perhaps, you may be able to help me, have you heard of the Reshut in your watching of Galbar?”

Fìrinn nodded--or, at least, gave the impression of nodding.

”I see all that every mortal sees. Within this realm is contained all sights, all thoughts, all feelings--all that mortalkind perceives, all that they are, is within my demesne. I am familiar, yes.”

”Then i am sure you know they are quite important to me, as i am to them, but i must admit that i have not been as focused on them as i should be, so, i was perhaps thinking you may be able to aid them, give them a bit more of an edge compared to the continental races, of course in exchange, i am more than willing to aid you in anything.”

Fìrinn took yet another pause to mull over what it was that Yamat had said, its mantle gently tapping the tips of its claws against one another. Each beat of the impromptu rhythm caused new images to flood the mirrors lining the God of Truth’s realm before quickly being replaced by another, as if they were directing their attention to a river of images flooding by and perusing them at great speed. The only consistent theme among them, it seemed, was the Reshut--various individuals, various points in time, all coming together as Fìrinn mused upon their nature and what it would require to, as Yamat had said, aid them. Then, breaking that moment of silence, was a peal of gentle laughter.

”Hah. Is this how the other gods barter their divinity? An exchange of bartering, one expenditure of our divine power for another? Very curious indeed. I do not require anything of you to help the Reshut fulfil their Truths, Yamat--it is my design and my purpose. It is my sole motivation to align the Truth of all beings with their respective realities, and to safeguard that grand design from destruction. It is my purpose to remember all that has happened, so that the future might move towards its goals, even as those goals shift and change around us. I am happy to help you, without witness, without hope, without reward. You need not reciprocate, only do as your Truth demands of you.”

Fìrinn began to pluck individual images from the ether with its mantle-claws and true hands both, an aureate hue enveloping its form as it summoned forth its power to influence Galbar and the Reshut.

”Ah. The three clans, each ruling their own little spits of land without concern for the greater whole. With unity, they could be greater than the sum of their parts. They value privacy, and others shun them for their perceived lack of openness--this I can remedy, and keep their Truths intact. Through the Collective Unconscious, all mortals are linked to one another. Most remain closed to the possibilities and existence of this fact, unaware that within the depths of their minds lurks a spark which may be ignited if it is nurtured and cared for--and they might use it to divine and transmit meaning without the physical tells that mortals so often rely upon. Is this agreeable to you?”

Yamat thought to himself for a second, he knew his children did value their privacy, to be able to do what Fìrinn had offered would be a great boon to them, they could still function while retaining their beliefs. He nodded to the god of truth ”I can agree to that yes, they would most certainly appreciate that.”

”Consider it done. Is there aught else I might do for them?”

The reply was simple and swift, as while the meaning of what it had said made its way to Yamat the God of Truth was busy at work. It would not deign to make an anchor near the Reshut, for they had obstinately refused to worship any but their creator. Worship, Fìrinn had found, was not a necessary component for it to succeed in its task--mortalkind often entreated its aid without meaning to, through meditation and thought, through the Worldsong, or through the Endless Dream--those druids who had dedicated themselves to Fìrinn had helped anchor the God ofTruth as one friendly to mortals, at least in the periphery, and the nature of the Collective Unconscious was such that those sorts of ideas tended to compound upon themselves.

”I am not sure what, precisely, you had in mind for the Reshut--or if you gave thought to their eventual purpose at all. Mortalkind often finds a way to create its own purpose, I have found. What is it, precisely, you wish for them to accomplish--other than parity with the other civilisations?”

”I have given them thought, as of the plan for them right now, i merely wish for those three clans to gain some more power, eventually i wish for them to unite under one of them, and of course for them to survive, they will surely play importance in the great play, at least, if i have anything to say about it.”

”Perhaps, then, an awakening of a boon that might display their innate talents and proclivities? I see that the Kinoshita fancy themselves architects, and worship you with particular fervor… For them, I could offer a fragment of my influence over memory--a means by which their grand designs and rituals might always be remembered, even in the face of untimely demise? The Hashimoto swear by the way of the blade--perhaps, then, they might use the Collective Unconscious to divine the moments and intentions of their opponents in combat that their aim be more true and their dodges more swift? As for the Ohta, perhaps they would benefit from access to the panoply of magics I offer my druids and those awakened in the Collective Unconscious? They could use the Great Weave to determine the desires of those interested in business, to avoid duplicitous dealings, and to scry for particular objects that they or their clients might desire? All these are simple enough, and will allow for the Reshut to thrive as the upcoming centuries turn.”

Yamat nodded once more ”Yes, that would be more than perfect, each clan more attuned to its chosen path, that will be more than perfect for their place amongst the great play. I must thank you Fìrinn, many are not so willing to aid a god such as myself without some sort of deal.”

”Many,” the God of Truth began, sweeping its mantle-claws through the air and grazing against the mirrors as its true arms pressed against them and the divine power that would influence the Reshut flowed through them and into Galbar proper.

”Are too insularly self-involved to see that there is more to our existence and purpose than ourselves. It is interesting that you should use the word ‘perfect’, however, as there is one word of warning I will give to thee: The so-called Lord of Perfection is not to be trusted. See for yourself, and decide where it fits in your Truth.”

With that, the God of Truth called to the forefront another recollection of memory--Cadien’s interaction with Aicheil, the feeling of horror (and a grim reminder of the scream of madness and rage he would no doubt have felt), and the maelstrom of emotion in which he had enveloped Fìrinn itself in. All of these events, the feelings, the thoughts--Yamat’s to understand and to cherish, exactly as the Two-as-One had perceived them. When it ended, Fìrinn was gone once again--returned to its initial position as Yamat’s reflection.

”I will guide you out of my realm, if there is nothing else you wish to discuss?”

”Yes, i have heard of him, i will keep my eye out for him, and i do not believe i have anything else to discuss, of course if you desire anything, my realm is always open.”

The open plains
Fleet stag
Falcons at your wrist
The wind in your hair.

These things might not be best in life, but to Mirak of the Arrak they were nearly just as good.

Atop his war-buck the zhaan of the Kurhah Clan breathed deeply. Before him stretched the endless plains of the Mauda’a Tawil Jiilshaa. Golden grasses rose up in all directions, unbent by wind nor rain even after the dissipation of those dread storms. The Jiilshaa was strong and healthy, made of sterner stuff than the rages the sky threw at her. She was as her people and Mirak felt pride in this. A hand fell to his side where a heavy object, wrapped in blue linen, weighed him down in a particularly satisfying manner.

A throaty call of a distant stag summoned his attention from the endless plains, back towards the forest that hugged the world. The drivers signalled with sonorous cries from their bucks that the herds had all been brought into the forests, the migration of this season coming to a close. Mirak nodded to himself appreciatively; the skies were with them and for that he could be thankful. With a gentle pat of the neck and pressure to its sides, his war-buck loped from the hill it previously stood and galloped down the plains towards the forest. As the wind whipped through his long hair and his stag thundered beneath him through the golden plains, Mirak wished then only for a falcon to go hunting with.

---

The elk-drive had been long and arduous, nearly three months out on the open-steppe constantly keeping close care of the massive herd. To the numerous clans of the Arrak, those hardy people of the great plains and forests, the herds were life. The relationship between arrak and antlered-steed was a unique one, for no other men shared their understanding of these four-legged kin. It was said that an arrak was born on the back of their mother’s buck, would sire their child upon theirs, and be laid to rest on the back of their last beloved mount. To the Arrak, their steed was their brother and kinsmen, as much a warrior of the Clan as any of their number. They were respected, honored, and treated as equals.

It was from this relationship that the arrak sprung, all that they were born from this connection. Vast herds of female elk and their progeny were kept by the clans, the strongest males weeded out from these herds to serve riders well. The females were kept for milk, fur, and meat as well as all the other products they could be used for. Arrak bows were made from bone, wood, and sinew, glued using a foul mixture of stag and sap. Their yurts were laid with wooden poles hewn from the forests and covered with hides unused for clothing. Even antlers, regularly discarded before the coming of snow, were used in all things. It was the way of the world and if the Arrak cared for their herds they were assured their clans would never know hunger or squallor.

The Arrak created from this bounty a life worth living. To the north and east there were people who did not live this way and for them Mirak felt only pity. He had been to their villages and cities, seen the refuse they lived amongst and called homes. Mirak could not begin to imagine a world where he caged himself so willingly. For his people the open plains or the thick forests were enough. There was only one place where they gathered in great numbers, the single place that could be called a city of their people.

Angetenar.

Mirak grinned as he entered the open clearing, if a space of such size and magnitude could be named as such, with the expansive city of Angetenar stretching outwards as far as the eyes could see. It was not like the cities of the settled peoples, for they were lovers of stone and walls. Those who consented to be caged could keep their trappings of fineries and halls of rock, for the Arrak had a better life. The city was one that grew and spread freely, wandered about the clearing and into the woods as it willed. Trees would be cut down if space was needed and when clans left the trees would be replanted, their seeds carried from this place to spread to the far winds. Massive clan yurts were assembled, room enough for whole bands, while long-huts full of goods were set up in a huge circle, leaving an open clearing for stalls and goods to be laid forth for viewing. Here were treasures from half-a-world away, drawn in by the many clans and bands that travelled far and wide.

With Mirak at their head, the Kurhah rode to their ancestral grounds and began to assemble their camp. The Kurhah were a powerful clan, large and with great history, and so their grounds were kept well for them. Though no conflict was permitted within the clearing of Angetenar, that did not apply to outside beyond the forest edge. Thus the Kurhah were given free reign like all the other Great-Clans. Within hours the kraal of the Kurhah was fully assembled, her herds left to wander freely with the daubed markings unique to their clan. There was no thievery of elk in this place for it was not only difficult but sacrilege.

With his clan assembled and their camp prepared, Mirak set off with a group of his retainers. They were his khayhar, tent-guards, and each clan had numerous like them. Khayhar were selected for their size, for their skill with spear and bow, and for loyalty above all else. With them came several of the hunting hounds of the clan, always bound to follow their masters. In their plains regalia the band made for an imposing sight, beeling deeper into the ever changing city of Angetenar.

“May death take pause at your sight, Mirak il’Kurhah Zhaan.”

The warband halted before the speaker as they arrived at the metaphysical center of the city. The Great Ovoo and the compound around it dominated the center of Angetenar like a cancer, constantly in a state of growth. Around the ovoo stood the only true barriers found within the city and even they were an oddity. Wooden posts, no higher than a man’s knee, encircled the area of the shrine in a large, oblong ring. Each post was carved into the sneering face of an ancestor-spirit, teeth bared and eyes wide. They were the spirit guardians of this place and respect for them was mandated; all things had a soul and they were no different. The speaker was an older man, wizened by sunlight and life spent roughly. Though his robes were colorful and danced with geometric patterns, he himself seemed like old chewing leather spit out one too many times to dry.

It was a great honor to be speaking to him.

“Zawiah Shadhu,” called Mirak to the Ghost Talker, bowing his head low, “May time turn from you. You honor the Benya Kurhah with your greeting.”

Behind the Zhaan of the Kurhah the warband bowed while simultaneously unbinding their weapons. Spears and bows were thrust forward, tied together before entering the city in the first place, and the bundles were taken by the Shadhu one by one into the ring. With them set inside, consecrated by the spirit circle’s power, Zawiah stepped aside and allowed the band to pass. The group entered individually, taking a moment to bow their head at the small entrance into the circle, before waiting for the rest to all pass through. Even the hounds gave reverence to this place, trained well by their masters to respect the spirits of the world and their sacred places.

With Mirak at their head the band closed the distance towards the center, ignoring the numerous other spirit shrines and even their own clan’s ovoo; that would come later. The towering pile that formed the Great Ovoo stretched upwards before them, surrounded on all sides by the tents and yurts of their resident shadhu and his disciples. The ovoo itself was a man-made hill of stones and refuse, piled high towards the sky with boughs and poles thrusting from it festooned with blue or yellow dyed fabric. Amidst the rocks were strewn helmets, weapons, bone, and trophies from half-a-world away, given to the spirit of Angetenar. The ovoo was the center of it all, the body of the great spirit that represented all Arrak on the spiritual plane.

Mirak stepped forward and lifted from his hip the newest offering to be given to the ovoo of Angetenar. With reverent movements Mirak slowly unwrapped the object from its soft, blue trappings, to reveal a beautifully rounded stone. It was heavy and the size of a child’s head, found on the distant shore to the far north. With a humble nod Mirak pressed the stone to his forehead then lowered it to the pile, finding a snug place for it to lay. With the rock set he reached for the nearest pole and tied his linen upon it, making sure it was tightly fit to weather the worst storms. Content with his offering he stood and stepped away only to kneel and bow his head to the earth. His retainers followed suit while their dogs sat patiently behind them. Nearly five minutes passed in this time of prayer and reflection before the band stood to smile and give praise to the spirits and each other for this successful journey.

“At last, it is done! A long trip, most tiring, my Zhaan.”

“But well worth it! Many calfs were born healthy and strong; the wise-woman spoke rightly when she said the salt air of the blue-plains would birth them well.”

“Ah! But the sight of that vast place did my heart well; it was as the Mauda’a Tawil Jiilshaa, but ever more vast and holding the color of the sky! To ride upon it would be a gift.”

Mirak beamed at his brothers as they all burst into friendly conversation and laughter, discussing the journey at long last. It was considered an ill-omen to speak of a journey unfinished, practically begging for the ill-will of the world upon you. Death did not pause before weak men and the world took great strides to do harm to those who believed themselves immune. Talking freely for the first time in months, the warband moved back out away from the ovoo. The next step was their clan’s ovoo and the numerous family plots that surrounded it. This sacred place for the Kurhah held the dead of hundreds generations if the shamans were to be believed and the nature of that deathly presence was clear to see. Though the Arrak did not bury nor burn their people, it was wrong to leave a body completely untouched. Teeth, locks of hair, finger bones, and trinkets of personage were added to family ovoos where the bodies could not. Corpses were left to the wild, their soul free and unbound, while these little gifts were stolen away to be returned to the clan and the Arrak.

“Blessed day, at last I might be rid of my grandfather’s one good tooth. You died well, old man, but your tooth was no fine travelling companion. Did I tell you how he bit me from the otherside for carrying him undignified?!”

“Then you should not have stuffed it in the backside of your pants, fool! No wonder he bit you!”

The crowd burst into laughter as the warrior placed his grandfather’s tooth carefully into the crook of several stones. Despite the humor this was a sacrosanct occasion; even as they spoke the spirit of that old man was reunited with his long lost family. Mirak wondered of that moment, how beautiful it would be; to step into the spirit realm of your ancestors and be greeted by faces lost to you and others you never met. Though he would strive to make that as distant from the present as possible, Mirak would not despise its arrival.

The band remained there for some time, basking in the aura of their clan’s most sacred place. It was the belief of the Arrak that in doing so their families long past would hear them and join in the conversation, giving them more things to speak fondly of in the afterlife. Stories were told, deeds recounted, and words of love and longing were spoken to long lost family. The spirits were generous and great things, those of earth and rock and sky, but there was nothing more worthy of love and worship than family.

To the Arrak there were no gods; those were creatures for the caged-peoples to fawn over. Though their works were great and their powers mighty, they were no more worthy of worship than another man. May the Terrible Spirits continue in their misdeeds and leave the Arrak out of it for they already had all they could need.

A warm fire
Friends close at hand
Family at your back
And a tale on your lips

These things were best in life.

---

---

It had been days since they arrived in Ha-Dûna and Lucia's spirits were running low. Wherever she went, the swarm of people never disappeared: Whenever she’d move through the market square, the bartering crowds would instantly turn their attention away from the wares and customers to the daughter of the sun - the customers would fall to their knees in prayer while the merchants bombarded her with baskets and pots of food and drink, heaps of furs and textiles, and every the occasional live goat or stag; whenever Lucia would go to the outskirts, the farmers would drop their tools to the ground and run up to her to praise her and her mother, showering her in whatever they had, whether it be their harvest, livestock or family relics; whenever Lucia would go to the inner town, the one spot she might be safe from most of the common folk, she would be shadowed by druids eager to serve and wait on her every breath.

She had thought she had grown used to such attention but little by little it was beginning to break her down. It was hard to find a moment to just breath. The constant stream of people in need, who wanted to converse, to thank her for being who she was, it was all so draining. And somewhere along the way, she had lost Sanya, or knowing Sanya, she didn’t want to be around so many people and Lucia couldn’t blame her. Still… It would have been nice if she tagged along. If only the druids could see past her! Sanya was even more so a ‘Helgen’ then she could ever be but that was a secret shared between them.

Lucia would never betray her friend like that. She couldn’t. Because she knew the truth about Sanya, a shared memory, so long ago. She was angrier then and Lucia had been scared, but a bond was forged nonetheless. They barely got to see each other since she had arrived. Only brief snippets of conversation before Lucia was whisked away by the druids and Sanya disappeared into the crowds.

She snapped back to reality briefly. She was on another tour, led by Pinya and flanked by several more she didn't know the names of. They wandered around the inner town, telling her about it, but Lucia’s mind went elsewhere again. She could feel it inside, an old enemy returning. One of longing and frustration. Negativity and anger. Slowly and surely, like a cold knife being plunged into her heart, it came stripping all to numbness. She hid behind her smiles, forced to be genuine, when all she wanted to do was cry. It was good and well that no one knew that her tattoos were ingrained to her emotional state. They weren't just there to shimmer but rather, tell a story. Today, they were as she felt, small and diminutive. Shimmering slightly everytime someone conversed with her but they were duller than usual.

The druids, they talked about wanting to reunite her with Megzhaal, her love. Yet no one ever bothered to ask her if she wanted to be reunited. He was her love, yes but his voice had faded from her mind. There were no more poems, no more songs. He had been there by her side after his banishment and for centuries did he keep her company but slowly and surely, Megzhaal retreated into the depths of his realm and his responses became… Foreign... Until nothing at all. That had been… five decades ago? Six? She did not know. It was after the fall of… Solaria at least.

All she knew was that talking about it still brought about similar feelings when she had lost both her Love and her mother. Feelings so dark and crushing- Only time made them subside and time brought them back. Here and there, now and again. A feeling of hopelessness, of bleak prospects. Like the ocean, pressing her down into black depths. There was no escape, no light at the end of the tunnel.

She knew what triggered it.

For Ha-Dûna was bustling with life, love, happiness - things she did not deserve. Or was she just… sick of them? She had never met a town so content, so blissful and full of peace. They all knew their purposes and who they would spend the rest of their lives with and have so many children with. Why was she so important to them when they had all of this? All she did was help those when they needed help, she didn’t ask for anything in return, why did that make her so special? Was it the tattoos? Was it the halo? Was it her eyes? Her face? Her hair? Couldn’t she just disappear for a time?

She had tried that though, hadn’t she?

It never worked.

She had to help people, it was just who she was, but still… She didn't deserve anything. She had seen so much pain and suffering. It went on and on over the years. There was no depth cruelty could not fall to and it broke her. She had bore witness to all of it and by some miracle, survived each time. Why did she get to live while so many others had their lives snuffed out? She had learned early on her own, that life simply wasn't fair. There were good moments in the sea of bad, happy memories she held onto tightly. People and faces she would never forget and honor even if others had forgotten. She enjoyed people, after all.

Yet now, all she wanted to do was be alone, just to cry. Just to breath! But Lucia remained walking, a smile on her face. She took some small solace in the fact the day was ending and maybe she'd get to talk to Sanya. She knew her mother would listen and share her sympathy but her mother could never know how she truly felt. It would destroy Oraelia. Lucia could hardly imagine what she would feel and she did not want to. No, she would talk to Sanya, even open up to her because Sanya would sense her emotions. There was no hiding it. She told herself that that night would be the one they catch up in. It had to be.

They passed by a hexagonal hut with a tent roof, through which top and wall cracks oozed clouds of thick, smelly smoke. One woman came walking out and sat down on the entrance step, a long pipe in hand and a smile about her relaxed lips. She looked at Lucia and barely seemed to react, although after a few seconds, her smile broadened and she lifted her pipe in greeting. Kaer Pinya, who was leading Lucia’s entourage stopped at the sight of the lady and grinned back, turning to Lucia.

“Oh, great Lucia, a thought just struck me! How about before we head to the Flynns as planned, we offer you a pipeful of our finest blinkweed? It is our latest fashion here in town.”

"Why do you call it blinkweed?" she asked absentmindedly.

“Oh, the smoke stings a bit on the eyes in the beginning, and it makes you all drowsy and warm on the inside. It’s a wonderful experience, and the younglings have been so much more relieved in their studies after it was given to us. Oh, what pleasantries the gods bestow upon us!” She lifted her hands skywards.

Now this caught Lucia's attention. She looked over the woman who held the pipe. She did look relaxed, didn't she? But would it help her? "Does it dull the mind?" she followed up.

“We prefer to say ‘expand’,” came a soft addition from one of the other archdruids, a middle-aged man Lucia knew as Kaer Togen.

Lucia frowned for a moment before returning to a neutral expression. "I'll pass for now but thank you." she said, forcing a smile at them. Kaer Pinya and Kaer Togen, as well as the four others in her company, all closed in around her.

“Please, oh great one, we insist!”

“Do you think we’re blind to those wrinkles forming around your smile? We work with people every day and can tell when someone’s exhausted.” Kaer Pinya took her by the arm. “Come on now, sweety. It’ll do you good!”

It hit her like a boulder. A feeling of being ignored, told what's best for her. She had had enough. Her tattoos flared up and pushed Pinya away from Lucia, then flicked the others who surrounded her in the chest, shoving them away. She then said loudly, "I said no! And if you knew I was exhausted then you would let me just breathe for a moment! I'm going to my room, don't follow me. Don't come knock on the door. Just let me have the rest of the day to myself!" and before any of them could respond, Lucia took off in a dead sprint. The six of them exchanged desperate looks of confusion, proceeding to jog on after her.

Wherever Lucia ran, whoever was nearby turned to look and greet her. Florists threw flowers after her; farmers threw grain. As she reached the house she and Sanya stayed at, the finest resthouse in town, typically reserved only for the archdruids, the guards at the doorway jumped aside to dodge her charge. Inside, a few other archdruids turned to see her, eyes blinking in bepuzzlement.

“Great Lucia, what are you doing here, pray tell?”

She had to think of something fast. Her voice was shaky when she proclaimed, "Reiya uh, requires my presence! I must be alone till tomorrow. Do not disturb me or you disturb Reiya! Bar anyone from attempting to see me save Sanya!" she said before hustling to her room. She hated doing that but in this instance, he mother would approve. As she ran towards her room, the archdruid who had spoken went, “But! Great Lucia, wait! There are--!”

When she neared her chambers, she noticed a line of people leading in through the doorway and back out, with prayers coming from the inside. Her heart sank further as she realized what was going on. Why they kept her away from her room all day. She was mortified. She held her head as she leaned with her back to the wall. This wasn't happening, she told herself over and over. As she turned the corner to look inside, she saw the people walking along the walls of her chamber in a counter-clockwise direction, their right hands gently stroking over various objects she would come into contact with - her chair, her table, her bed, her chamberpot. They all had their eyes closed, and some would occasionally suck in gasps of breath as through divinity entered them with the touch of every object. In the centre stood a trio of druids singing the spiritsongs of the sun in her glory.

Anger boiled in Lucia, replacing the low she felt with unbridled rage. "Shame…" she whispered at first. "Have you no shame!" she shouted shoving her way into her room. The three druids turned and bowed.

“G-great Lucia, if we have done anything to offend you--!”

"Get out! Out out out!" she said pointing to the doorway. "You've betrayed my trust, you've violated my privacy and you've lost my favor!" she said, angry tears flooding down her twisted face. She frantically began to grab her things and began stuffing them into her pack. "If this is what means to be a Helgen then I refuse! I'm a person! Not some object of worship!" she said out loud, before shoving her way out of the room again and into the hallway. She needed to leave. The druids looked heartbroken.

“B-but we merely meant to praise you and your mother’s glory, great Lucia!” Meanwhile, the others were heading out.

She turned to face the one she spoke and said, "If you think Oraelia would want you to violate her daughter's privacy to praise her, not even to mention myself and how I feel about it- Then you'd be wrong!" and on that note she spun around and made a hasty retreat to the exit. In the hallway, she bumped into Kaer Pinya, Kaer Togen and the others, all of whom appeared to have heard the commotion. Kaer Pinya reached out with a frightened frown on her face.

“My dear, please! Know that they didn’t mean it to be unpleasant for you - none of us have intended so!” she pleaded.

Lucia's tattoos prevented Pinya's touch with a careful flick. "I don't care what you thought! If you want to worship, then worship the gods! Not me! Everyday you've held me on some platter not once asking how I felt or if I wanted to be praised! And yet you treat Sanya like she doesn't even exist! My mother sees all as equal! Pray to her for forgiveness because I'm done." she said pushing past them.

The druids looked at one another, completely baffled. As Lucia left the building, one of them asked, “Who is Sanya?”

That sentence came like a blow, but instead of turning around and confronting the person she kept on walking. Those too blinded by faith, only saw what they wanted to appease their gods. She kept on walking and she didn't look back.

It was like a thick blanket had been lifted from her mind.

To her, it didn’t feel long at all. In fact, it was about as long as a single blink. And yet when she opened her eyes again she felt different, and she knew how long it had truly been.

Sometime through her reverie, Genesis had half-awoken and realized she was on a gigantic soft bed, covered by a thick blanket. Now, the bed didn’t feel as big and the blanket wasn’t as heavy.

Still, she realized she had yet to fully awaken. Even though she had just opened her eyes, she felt them beginning to close once more, her eyelids as heavy as mountains.

To combat this, Genesis threw the blanket off of her form and forced herself up. Once she was sitting at the edge of her bed, she stretched and yawned. She rubbed her eyes and loosened her jaw and neck, then took in a deep breath and looked at the large windows letting copious amounts of light into the room.

Her leaves twitched as she blinked slowly and with half-lidded eyes.

She yawned again, a tiny high pitched whimper escaping her throat as small tears formed at the corners of her eyes due to the intensity of the yawn.

It felt like she sat there for months, but it was probably just half a minute. When ready, she floated off the bed and turned to look at it, seeing several leaves and vines strewn about, no doubt her old dress, which meant she was now essentially naked. Genesis groaned at this realization and floated over to her dresser. Not because she had spare clothing in the drawers (they were empty), but because she wanted to look at herself in the mirror.

What she saw staring back at her made her tilt her head and raise her eyebrows. She had grown, apparently. Quite a bit. She wasn’t quite at the point where her mom was, but if the reflection was correct, then she was a quite a bit shorter and uh, slightly less developed. Also, she was cute. She smiled faintly at her reflection and rubbed her hands through her leaves in a way to get them to stop twitching excitedly. She kinda resembled Exodus… But green and yellow, and with far more leaves growing from her head and upper back.

Another yawn, and she shrugged and floated out of her bedroom, completely disheveled and still half-asleep. As she was floating down the stairs and into the living room, she called out in a familiar but more mature voice. ”Mama!”

There was no response, so Genesis took it as a sign that Oraelia was probably out and about. Maybe she was with Auntie Gibbou… Genesis pursed her lips, rubbed her eyes again, and scratched her right leg and butt.

”Ah… Sleeping for so long makes Genesis itchy, doesn’t it...” She told herself, then floated past the modestly furnished living room and out of the front door. Thankfully there had been enough light spilling into her room that she didn’t have trouble adjusting to the brightness outside. Instead, she relished it and immediately felt reinvigorated. Still, she was incredibly dehydrated…

So she let her bare feet touch the ground and she walked to the nearby river, following the sounds of flowing water. ”Ma-ma, Ma-ma~” Genesis muttered in a sing-song tone as she came upon the river and got down on her knees to drink directly from it with her eyes closed gently.

She was there for a while, every gulp giving her more and more energy, until she had her fill. It was then that she heard some skittering coming from a tree behind her, and she turned sharply to see a squirrel sitting on a low hanging tree branch, nibbling on a herb and staring directly at her. Genesis stared back.

Then she huffed and suddenly pointed a finger at the squirrel, ”You there! Fluffy furry squirrel! Come here and let Genesis kiss you!” She demanded, opening her hand and offering her palm to the squirrel as she jumped to her feet and drew closer.

The squirrel tensed up its tail and stopped its nibbling. It was almost like a statue, and when Genesis had come close enough to almost touch it, it pooped and scurried up the tree, leaving Genesis staring at thin air and a dirty tree branch. She now knew why the squirrel was nibbling on that specific herb.

“Bleh.” She stuck her tongue out and scrunched up her nose in disgust, then walked off back towards the cottage she shared with her mom. Only, when she had arrived and was about to enter the house again, she caught something odd at the corner of her eye. Underneath the lone tree cresting the hill up a ways from the cottage, sat a yellow figure in the shade.

She remembered Oraelia and herself would often go to that spot to watch the prairie beyond, long ago. It couldn’t possibly be Oraelia though, as the figure was too dim… And Oraelia had always been incredibly bright whenever Genesis saw her before.

After a moment’s worth of hesitation, Genesis turned from the door and made her way to the figure, running up the hill. What if it truly was Oraelia? What if something horrible had happened to her mom while she was asleep so comfily on her bed? Her heart started to beat faster and faster, up until she came to be in front of the figure.

”... Mama?”

Indeed it was Oraelia, who sat looking blankly off into the distance. She was only barely glowing, revealing more of her features then ever before. She wore a white dress, hair unkept and her face was haggard. As soon as Genesis spoke, Oraelia seemed to snap out of her haze and she looked up at Genesis, flinching. Slowly her face morphed into one of surprise as she brought her hands in front of her mouth. She eyed Genesis up and down, before tears began to well up in her eyes.

”G-Genesis?” she asked, her voice full of emotion.

It didn’t take long at all for Genesis to beam at Oraelia and then jump on top of her, hugging her and kissing her all over her face and neck. ”Mama! You’re here after all! Genesis slept for so long, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise! I missed you so much, Mama.” She said rapidly, laughing with happy tears in her eyes before quieting down and nuzzling her face against Oraelia’s neck and taking a few quick whiffs, not realizing her leaves were all twitching against Oraelia’s face.

Oraelia sobbed uncontrollably as Genesis fawned over her. Her mother wrapped her up in a fierce hug as her tears fell down onto the top of Genesis’ head. Her sobbing eventually changed to that of happy crying, as her color and warmth returned a bit. ”It’s okay.” Oraelia replied shakely, ”It’s okay my love. M-My daughter.” she breathed the word, gulping down air as she began to cry again. ”I-I-I missed you too.” she nuzzled the top of Genesis’ head.

After taking one last whiff of Oraelia’s scent, Genesis let out a happy cooing noise and propped herself up on her arms to look at Oraelia’s face. ”Mama. How are you? I want to know what you’ve done while I slept. I want to listen to Mama’s voice.” She said softly, wiping her eyes and rolling off of Oraelia in order to cuddle up to her side and get back to nuzzling up against her neck with her eyes closed.

”I… I’m better now, Genesis.” Oraelia said, as she put an arm around Genesis, stroking her head with her other hand. She then cleared her voice and sighed. ”I’ve done... “ she paused for a moment. ”I’ve done many things.” she suddenly cooed. ”I met Gibbou and we talked about many things and then Aunt Evandra came and I ate delicious berries and then I… And then I…” she began to breath quicker. ”That’s about it.” she finished quickly.

Genesis giggled and cooed happily under Oraelia’s affection, ”Your breathing got quicker when you talked about Aunt Evandra… Who is she? Is she like Gibbou to you, Mama…?” There was a short silence, ”... And, why were you so sad when I found you?”

”O-Oh, aunt Evandra is my younger sister. So yes, she is like Gibbou. I was there when she came to be. Did you know she came from the sun? My sun?” Oraelia spoke, more silence followed before she spoke again. ”I was sad… Because I… Missed you so much. But don’t worry! I’m happy now because you awoke! And you’re so much older now. How strange is that?” her voice was still shaky, as if she was forcing herself to talk in a strong voice.

”I’m bigger now, aren’t I? Like, I saw myself in the mirror and thought I looked a lot more like big sis Exodus!” Genesis said, then sighed happily and ran her hands along Oraelia’s figure, eventually reaching the hand atop her head and feeling the strange, definitely foreign marks on it. ”Huh?” She muttered and took a hold of the hand in between hers and brought it into her field of view, where she inspected what were obviously claw marks. ”Huh… M-Mama? Did someone hurt you? Are you really okay? You know Genesis knows how you sound when you’re actually happy. I can tell you’re hiding something.”

Oraelia stilled, her face going blank. She looked down at the claw marks and how Genesis gingerly looked over them. She leaned back against the tree and spoke again, her voice losing its forced happiness, replaced instead by a profound sadness. ”I-I’m not okay, Genesis.” she began to break down, ”I wanted to make a race of protectors, beings who would love life and be compassionate towards it. So I went to… I went to Neiya and she… She helped me but at a terrible cost Genesis. She twisted them but I saved some as they should be…” she wiped away her tears and sniffled. ”She is Love but she’s consumed by all the negative aspects of it. Instead of joy, she sees sorrow, instead of generosity, she sees envy and on and on. She-She showed me what she felt and it lingers still… I want to help her… I do… But I don’t even know if I can help myself. This pain… It hurts.” she clutched her heart with her free hand and looked to Genesis. ”But don’t get me wrong my daughter,” she smiled weakly, ”I’m glad you’re here. Right here, by my side and look at how you’ve grown. So beautiful, with a kind heart.” She reached out to place her hand on Genesis’ cheek, rubbing her thumb softly upon it.

Genesis blushed and smiled up at Oraelia, ”W-Well, I don’t think anyone can help someone who doesn’t want help in the first place. But you can talk to me, Mama. I will listen, if there’s anything that makes you sad… But really, Neiya being that way is so lame...” Genesis sighed and rested her head on Oraelia’s shoulder. ”But your hand is okay, right Mama? Does it hurt?”

She wrapped Genesis in another hug. "I love you, so, so much." she whispered, resting her head on top of Genesis'. "My hand has healed but the scars… They'll stay for a time."

”Mmm...” Genesis sighed and after a while pulled away and wrapped her arms around herself. ”Well, I think your hands look cool with the scars, like a warrior queen. Now, where um, where do you think I can find leaves long enough and vines to make myself a new dress? Being naked is kinda… Yeah.” She blushed and looked away, at the landscape.

"Oh you poor thing!" Oraelia said sympathetically. "Here!" she snapped her fingers materialized in the grass several dresses of varying color and plant material. "There you go. I've recently found clothing to be quite… Comforting and cute. Hopefully you can find one, or several you like." Oraelia said enthusiastically, glowing a bit brighter as she waited to see what Genesis would pick.

And truly, the selection was rather varied. At least a dozen different dresses suddenly materialized on the ground in front of the pair and Genesis’s eyes widened at the sight. It took her a good while to decide as she went over every single set at least five times before settling on the final one. It was a dress much like the one she had originally been wearing when she was younger, as green as her own leaves, with tinges of yellow as accents here and there, but this one was considerably more well-fitted. As she tried it on she marveled at how well the ensemble complimented her figure and how comfortable it felt. Her favorite part must have been however, the skirt. It was long and parted in the middle, with a single long, wide leaf covering everything important. It was breezy, and allowed her legs quite a bit of sunlight. The way the leaves were intertwined with one another and the skillful usage of weaved fibers also made sure the dress wouldn’t fall apart suddenly and even if a section got damaged, it’d be relatively easy to repair.

She loved it. She did a few twirls which almost made the skirt go too high and then settled down, continuing to inspect the sleeves along her arms and the integrity of the dress around her chest. It left most of her midriff exposed as well as her shoulders and back.

Upon being satisfied, she grinned and turned to Oraelia, striking a cute pose. ”What do you think, Mama? In a few minutes once I finish fusing with the dress, I will be able to sustain it for a long time. Thank you soo much!” She said, twitching and gasping a little every few seconds.

Oraelia clasped her hands as she looked over Genesis. "Oh how gorgeous! It fits you so well and compliments your shade of green! You're so welcome sweetheart." her hands went up to cover her mouth as her eyes began to water again. "You've grown so much." she said misty eyed.

Genesis stuck her tongue out playfully at Oraelia and sat down next to her, ”I have, haven’t I? But don’t be sad! When Genesis first saw herself in the mirror, she wasn’t sure if the reflection was right... How did I grow, anyway? Did you plant me in the fields while I slept, Mama? Like a tree or a potato?” She asked, grabbing Oraelia’s hand with both of hers.

Oraelia giggled at that before giving her a smile. She shook her head and said, "No silly, last I looked at you, you were still small. You must have had a growth spurt!"

”Oh, that’s cool actually. Maybe I will grow more next time I go to sleep…” Genesis said, then after a moment sighed, ”I don’t wanna grow more than you though... Do you think I could become as bright as you one day, Mama? I think I’d like to make everyone feel warm and relaxed whenever I’m around, like you do.”

Oraelia squeezed her hands gently. ”It doesn’t matter if you grow more then me, Genesis. You’ll always be my daughter. And hey, you’re already bright. You don’t have to glow like I do to make people feel warm and relaxed. You do that just fine already.” she said warmly.

”You’re just saying that! But, to be fair, my eyes do glow in the dark. Like, like two golden halos. I also have some glowy markings along my body that light up at night… So, maybe I’m not too far behind. You know Mama, when Genesis looked in the mirror this morning, she thought she looked really cute. I think it is because of all the light you’ve been giving me. Thank yoouu.” Genesis said and hugged Oraelia again, then pulled away and jumped up to her feet and offered Oraelia a hand. ”Come on, stand up! What will we do today? Will we play? Cook? Go on a walk? We could even visit someone! I wonder what they’ll say when they see I’ve grown!”

Oraelia took her hand, then grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her over again. Eventually she grinned and said, ”We can do whatever you want. Anything at all.”