---

"Orb, what did you want to tell me?"

Orb zipped around her head. Lucia, with Sanya by her side, had traveled a week southwest towards the Sun Lit Temple.

Her home.

Things had gotten better since then, she wasn't feeling so down and was even returning to her old self by telling stories and reminiscing about times past. They joked too, as normalcy slowly returned to the two. That wasn't the only thing that was new however.

She looked to Sanya, who was down the creek where they were camped, to see her friend training with Sorrowsting. Something she usually did in the morning. Yet Lucia watched with curious eyes at all of her movements, the thrusting of the spear, the sweat glistening off of her skin in the morning light, the way her body mo-

"Yes, the message." Orb interrupted, as he stopped in front of her face, bringing Lucia's attention back to reality. She blushed out of embarrassment, before opening her mouth to retort in annoyance but Orb beat her..

"It is from the creator, Lucia." He buzzed.

Her annoyed expression quickly melted as her eyes went wide with surprise.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner Orb! What did he say? What did he say?" She asked enthusiastically.

Runes on Orb began to glow and she heard Qael's voice. A gods voice, again.

“Tell her- Tell her I hope she is doing well and that she’s happy. I’m still grateful for our conversation and I’m doing my best to learn how to care. Though it isn’t easy for a god like me. Tell her I will always listen to her prayers. Tell her I miss her and I hope I could talk to her again soon.”

Lucia's eyes watered and she wiped away her tears as she happily laughed. "Play it again Orb, please." she said, and Orb obliged. She listened again and could hardly believe her ears. It was both touching and a reminder that he was still attempting to care. It meant a whole lot just sending her the message in the first place.

"Oh Qael… You're trying and that's all that matters." she said tenderly, in but a whisper. Before looking back at Orb.

"Thank you Orb, I'm sorry I've neglected you of late." she said, patting him. The constrict lit up for a moment and eventually said, "You are welcome Lucia. You have learned all that can teach you." He said simply.

Lucia frowned sadly. "I know, old friend. I know. It feels like such a waste leaving you in my sack… I wonder if you could teach…" she looked over to Sanya but quickly shook her head. "Bless her heart but she'd probably end up breaking you." she said with a giggle.

The wind suddenly picked up. Like the wind of a storm came roaring. From the horizon something came charging at the two humanoids and Orb. It seemed to distort the gentle colors in the sky. When it got closer, it was clear that it didn’t distort them. It was colors violently moving in the sky and it came barreling straight for Lucia. Only when it got close, the wind died. The constantly shifting waves of color gently descended down from the clouds. “Hello, Lucia.” She could hear the shapeless mass of floating colors say. Qael’Naath wasn’t talking to her in her head now. “It has been a long time but I’ve seen what you’ve achieved through Orb’s training.”

Lucia stood up in surprise. She looked up at the shimmering mass of colors and felt awe. It reminded her so much of Meghzaal that she gave pause when she heard Qael's voice. "That's… You, Qael?" she asked. From her side came the dull thud of feet over grass and rock, and within a few moments Sanya stood at Lucia's side, Sorrowsting leveled at the shimmering mass as though it stood a chance.

"Not entirely. What you see is merely a part of me. A manifestation I was able to send to Galbar.” The words were emanated from shapelessness as vibrations upon the wind. Yet they were spoken very slowly. “Forgive me. I am not used to this way of speaking. It has only been a few years since I and my siblings learned how to create these manifestations.”

Lucia blinked as she looked at Sanya by her side. She gave her a small smile before putting a hand on her shoulder and saying, "It's okay, we're not in danger." before she addressed Qael. "All is forgiven, I was just surprised is all. I received your message. It was very touching, thank you so much!" she said happily with a wide smile.

“This gladdens me.” The words echoed upon the air again. They were more strained than the previous ones. If it noticed Sanya standing by Lucia, the Winds were not showing it. Orb’s runes began to light up in various colors for a moment. Then they died down again. “Ah…that is why you have called for me. The pupil has become a master and must now continue on her own path. Alone.”

"Oh." she said, words getting caught in her throat as she looked to Orb, memories flashing in front of her eyes of all their training sessions, of all the anger and moments of triumph. She tried to compose herself, when she felt a hand on her own shoulder, a mirror of her own previous actions. Sanya looked at her, and then up to the shimmering form of Qael’Naath’s messenger. ”Not alone,” she interjected with a confident venom, even if her grip on her weapon had eased. Lucia flashed her a smile and glanced at her lips before quickly looking back at the manifestation.

In a somewhat shaky voice she said, "I see… I… Didn't think this day would come so fast, so suddenly. Where will- Where will you take him?" she asked.

“The mate cannot understand.” The words echoed through the area. The words were the only admission of Sanya’s existence. “Orb’s new place will be far from here. This is not goodbye, Lucia. Quite the opposite. I will be watching you. With great interest. But now I must say farewell. I have tarried too long. Come, Orb.” Orb’s runes flashed as it floated towards the shapeless mass. When it hung amid the colors, it stopped for a moment. “Farewell, Lucia.” With those words both Orb and the Winds of Magic shot off towards the clouds and then the south-western horizon.

"Goodbye…" she said long after they had gone. Then it dawned upon her what Qael had said and she turned to Sanya with wide eyes. She blushed again and quickly looked over to the camp as her tattoos fluttered. "We should get going, I-I think." she said quickly, walking away.

Sanya stood seemingly nonplussed for the time being, staring up at the sky and eyeing the horizon towards which the phenomenon had flown, as Lucia wandered off. She hummed a quiet and thoughtful agreement at first, and followed Lucia towards the camp, gaze still on the horizon. "So, the gods walk on the ground once more. Or the sky, at least," she concluded with a murmur, seemingly focused on her own thoughts. "Do you know many more gods, Lucia? This one was the most cryptic I've met by far," she offered with a sigh. "And surprisingly presumptuous, too."

She thought a moment before arriving back at camp and beginning to pack her bag. She then spoke aloud, ”Well… Let’s see. That was Qael'Naath, God of magic. He was the one who gifted Orb to me, I’ve probably told you that before, but I can’t remember off the top of my head. He’s not terrible, just has a hard time understanding mortal life and how to care for us. I believe he’s trying.” she mused before continuing. ”I know Oraelia. You do too.” she smiled at Sanya. ”Then there’s… Megzhaal and Aunt Gibbou of course! Those were the only one’s I met before they left. I’ve heard of the five, of course and from distant lands, others too. Though, I’m not sure if I know their original names. I’ve noticed, as the years ago by, people keep shortening or making them longer, the God’s name’s that is.” she sat on her knees and turned to Sanya, ”I know you met-” she began, before she cut herself off. ”Yeah, that one.” she said softly, ashamed of herself.

It was too late. She could see Sanya's expression sting with a dark and reflexive distaste, even if the dark-haired woman did her best to mask it. The mellow half-smile that followed did not reach her eyes. "You can say the name, Lucia. I can take it. I'm over it." she offered with a tone that tried to be convincing. "I've spoken it many times with no reply."

Lucia winced as she looked at Sanya. She knew in her heart Sanya qas lying. She gave a soft sigh before saying, "Even if they don't respond, doesn't mean they aren't listening. Best not to say her name. I'm sorry." she finished softly.

Sanya gave a small shrug in complement to Lucia's words, but it seemed as though her thoughts were elsewhere, as the woman stared quietly at a fixed spot by their camp. She eventually caught herself in the act when the silence grew too long, and subtly changed the conversation as she moved towards their packing. "At least the Sun Mother seems to be everything you've said over the years. If I'm to be honest… I had a hard time believing the stories until now."

Lucia hoisted her sack on her back and looked at Sanya with a grin. "Have I ever lied to you, Sanya?" she mused. "Now come on slowpoke we have traveling to do!" she walked over to Sanya and began helping her pack up.

Sanya scoffed at the words and rolled her eyes, but when she glanced at Lucia that subtle softness that spoke of her own levity had returned. It wasn't a smile, but Lucia knew it wasn't far off. "Good to see someone's in a rush," she added with feigned frustration. Wrapping the last up in her pack, and shuffling the pack to firmly hold Sorrowsting against her back, she managed a full smirk at Lucia. "I suppose it makes sense; the faster we arrive, the fewer grilled snakes you need to pretend to enjoy."

Lucia laughed heartily and in a sarcastic voice said, "Oh you know I just loveeeee snakes for dinner. It's especially fun to pick out all the tiny bones." she began to walk up the stream. "It'll be nice to sleep in a warm bed too." she mumbled under her breath..

Her travelling companion wasted no time in matching her speed, and within moments they had put the few telltale signs of their presence at the campsite behind them. Sanya followed Lucia with high spirits - as high as one could glean from the sorrowful wanderer at least - seemingly willing to put her burdens aside for the journey. Or at least, until a thought seemed to strike her, and bubbled to the surface. "The mate cannot understand. Did he mean me?"

Lucia stiffened her back and tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I must have missed when he said that." she lied, blushing as her tattoos seemed to flutter again. "I guess so, silly huh?"

Sanya exhaled sharply and again provided a soft noise of derision, a silent complaint about the manners of gods, or something else entirely. "Well, I'm delighted he noticed me. A marked improvement. Not a bad fate, either. Whatever the gods require, right?" Sanya mused to herself, her tone carrying that same deadpan levity.

Lucia's eyes went wide at the realization of Sanya's words and she quickly looked ahead, her heart jumping in her chest. No no no! She was getting ahead of herself, it was just Sanya saying Sanya things but… Lucia glanced at her, did she actually mean it? Noticing the silence she suddenly said, "Yep! Whatever they require!" she quickened her pace and groaned inside her head. At least the walk wouldn't be boring, especially with Sanya by her side.

---

The highlands sang a peaceful song as the Sun Mother dragged her sphere to its highest peak in the sky. Birdsong, the quiet rush of the nearby stream, the gentle breath of the wind. Together with the thud of their feet in the grass and dirt, and the irregular banter they shared, it created its own symphony of peace and tranquility. Wandering like this, Sanya felt, without anyone but your closest and nature beside you, this was the best part of life. They didn’t need to talk - although it didn’t hurt when they did - just enjoy the peace together. Sanya knew that Lucia felt the same. Her smiles were genuine, she was talking as much as a street vendor trying to push wares again, and perhaps most important of all; the sting and dark haze of her emotional turmoil had subsided from Sanya’s mind. The least Sanya could do was try and keep that feeling going. Ha-Dûna seemed like a bad dream, now, a place where she could leave her worries and lock them away. Just like she locked away the Goddess, her youth, the battle of Ramhome, and her days in Ketrefa. Memories to be ignored and forgotten. It was for everyone’s best.

She glanced at Lucia, who seemed taken with the hidden spectacles of life around them, brimming with joy and smiling to herself in moments of thought. It made Sanya’s weary heart fill with some measure of hope. All injuries heal with time. Sanya would not let anyone close who thought differently, and as they walked along the grass-studded stream she imagined herself back to more peaceful times. The few times in her life when Sorrowsting had been put aside for a few days, months, or years. It never seemed possible until it happened. Her gaze scanned for the horizon in a few directions. So far as she could see, no threats would disrupt their peace.

Or so she had thought.

From behind them came a large rumbling, as if the earth was trembling or a tree had fallen but much larger. Lucia yelled out of fright as she lost her footing and fell onto the ground. Yet as quickly as it came, the earth grew still, replaced by… loud panting? The pang of fear kicked Sanya’s nerves into high gear, and a rush of adrenaline shot through her body like a wash of cold water.

Sanya spun around, coming face to face with the largest Leoness she had ever gazed upon. It's fur was the color gold, as well as it's intelligent eyes. It's feathery wings were enormous and easily twice the length of its sleek but powerful body. It had paws as large as boulders, that could easily kill in one hit but most curious was the halo over its head and the symbol of the sun upon its forehead. It looked at her impassively as it turned its gaze to Lucia, who stood up. The Leoness' tail began to flick back and forth as it let out a low rumbling that they could feel in the air.

It wasn’t until she properly examined the scene that she realized she had reflexively searched for Sorrowsting, halfway having drawn it from its resting place before stopping herself. Centuries of travel had taught her not to bully Leons or even truly worry about them, and this one seemed like a particularly bad idea to irritate. Trying to still her nerves, Sanya watched the majestic beast with a mixture of awe and wariness, eyes skidding to Lucia intermittently to try and get a hold on the situation. ”...Friend of yours?” she managed to ask, and then finally eased her grip on her weapon.

Lucia stared wide eyed before a huge grin formed on her lips. She looked to Sanya and nodded enthusiastically. She began to walk over to the Leon, saying, "Sanya, I'd like you to meet Eesis!" she then squealed with delight as Eesis bent down and began to rub on Lucia, who fell over due to the sheer size difference. Lucia laughed wildly as the once fearsome Leoness' demeanor turned into that of a cub's before Sanya's eyes. The leoness then knelt down fully before turning to her side, huffing and letting out a deep purr that could be felt in her chest. Lucia beckoned Sanya over as she continued to talk and pet Eesis.

Sanya took a moment to rub at the bridge of her nose, sighing inwardly as she tried to fight away any residual anxiety and let her heart still. She remained in place for a time, watching the massive beast and her traveling companion play around, a sense of surreal otherworldliness capturing her in the moment as she watched Lucia smile and laugh with her gigantic animal friend. The harsh realities of the world could wait, it felt like. ”Hello, Eesis…” she eventually pressed out, following Lucia’s direction and moving closer. ”Your friends never cease to surprise, Lucia.”

Lucia scratched Eesis under the chin as she spoke. "I found her in the Prairie with Nisin, so long ago. See the halo? Mother created them even before I came to be. Eesis can heal things, Nisin can renew. The golden Leon's. Beautiful isn't she?" she said, looking at Sanya now.

In turn, Sanya nodded, daring to watch the majestic Leoness with a respectful amount of apprehension, even if she managed to keep herself calm. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the seasoned warrior within rattled off the sheer power of such a beast, even without divine blessings. Between the size, the golden fur, and the majesty, it was a truly magnificent sight. She glanced at Lucia, who seemed to anticipate a response. ”Wondrous. And more than a little humbling.”

Lucia tilted her head and smiled. "You can touch her if you want, just let her sniff you first. I promise she won't bite. Probably." she teased.

"Alright…" Sanya agreed with a hesitant tone. Her gaze found Eesis' head, and took a slow step towards both Lucia and the Leoness. Her hand stretched out slowly, carefully, halfway in both offer and cautious effort. The stir in her gut reminded her of when she was a child, that childish fear and fascination of the unknown.

The Leoness lifted her head to Sanya. Massive orbs gazed upon her with impunity. There was a brief second of silence before Eesis moved her snout closer to Sanya and sniffed her. The Leoness then nuzzled Sanya gently, blooming a fascinated small smile on Sanya's lips. Lucia beamed, "See! I knew she'd like you! This is great, now we can fly without any trouble." Lucia said, hugging Sanya from behind. "Oh I should ask, have you ever ridden a Leon before?" she mused.

"Have I…" Sanya began and immediately trailed off. The smile of a dark-skinned man flashed before her eyes. Her own embarrassed laugh as he helped her up on a Leon. His strong grip as he pulled her out of the grass after she fell off. What was his name, again? How long ago was that? "...No. Not really." she offered with hesitation, shaking her thoughts away. "Wait. Fly?"

Lucia let go and spun to her side as she scratched Eesis' chin. She smiled at Sanya excitedly. "Of course! It's easy. All you have to do is hold on. What better way to get to the Temple now? We could be there by tonight I bet!"

Sanya pressed out a hesitant smile to mimic Lucia's excitement, but that solitary attempt at levity faded soon after, as she realized that Lucia was serious. "I… If you're sure…" she murmured. A stone in her stomach seemed to form at the mere thought. Leaving the ground had never been good.

Lucia noticed immediately that something wasn't right. She gingerly stopped scratching Eesis, who looked up, and took one of Sanya's hands within her own. "Hey." she said quietly, "I'll be right there with you and I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise." she gave a squeeze and a smile.

The stone lingered in her gut, but Sanya had the wherewithal to ignore it. She watched Lucia for a long while. How genuine she looked even now. Was Sanya making a big deal out of nothing? She breathed a sigh that didn't portray as much confidence as she'd hoped, before responding, "Alright. I'll… follow your lead."

Lucia blushed and her tattoos seemed to pulse with excitement. "G-Good!" she exclaimed before turning to Eesis. "What do you say Eesis? Care to give two weary travels a ride?" The Leoness stirred before stretching and then finally put down one of her wings like a ramp. Lucia looked back at Sanya and then began to pull her up the wing.

Sanya let herself be dragged along, a restless stir flushing her skin as nervous jitters overtook the seasoned grit she was used to championing. Her gaze darted briefly to the Leoness, before finding solace in watching Lucia's calm and encouraging demeanor instead. Her hand clutched warily against golden, soft fur as she tried her best to find her place. Lucia was slow, sensing some sort of hesitation from her. When they reached the top of Eesis, Lucia let go of Sanya’s hand and grabbed her by the shoulders saying, “Here is a good spot, okay? You sit down and I’ll sit down in front of you. You can grab onto m-me or the fur, alright?” she said shyly. “Eesis is a gentle flyer and doesn’t do half the crazy maneuvers Nisin does. Though it will probably look dangerous at first, this is about the safest place to be in the Prairie.” she smiled warmly, before settling down at the nape of Eesis’ neck. She seemed so small compared to the vastness of the Leoness, but she looked back at Sanya all the same, expectantly.

The sheer idea terrified Sanya still, cold chills rippling over her skin. If Lucia said it was fine, she'd trust her. With a slow, steadying nod, Sanya reached forward ever so slightly, trying to find a good hold in Eesis fur. She glanced back to the ground; they hadn't even started and already it seemed to be much too far away. Instead, she found solace in looking ahead, steeling herself for this new challenge with a set of deep breaths. "I… I'm ready." she pressed out at last.

”Okay! Here goes nothing then!” Lucia exclaimed. ”Go on Eesis, take us home!” she said, anticipation building in the air. The Leoness’ muscles seemed to tighten as she crouched at first, before her powerful hindlegs exploded in forward momentum. Lucia leaned seemed to compress herself and she leaned forward as Eesis quickly covered ground. Her wings began to beat, like mini thunderclaps, sending air down like a hurricane. Eesis then began to jump, once, twice, three times! All the while Lucia laughed like a madwoman, squealing with delight. On her fourth jump, Eesis took to the sky and began to beat her wings as they gained altitude.

Sanya managed the bucking Leon with silent and intense focus at first, but the powerful fourth leap seemed to hit her breaking point. An intense dread overtook her, and the sharp gasp she released was unlike any vocalization she recognized herself. The reflexive reach for something safer than the fur led her closer to Lucia, and Sanya's strong arms coiled tightly around the tattooed woman, as she shuffled ever so slightly closer in search of sanctuary. She did not know where to look, so she did not look at all, clinging to Lucia for all she was worth as the wind whipped through her hair and clothes.

Lucia said nothing, but her whooping and hollering died down as they ascended further. She felt warm, very warm and her tattoos were in a constant state of flux- teeming with excitement and pure joy. Eventually, Eesis began to level out and Lucia put one of her hands on Sanya’s arm gingerly. She then spoke, her voice loud. ”Sanya, you’re okay now! Open your eyes and take a look at this view! You won’t fly away! I wouldn’t let you, I promise!”

Every fiber of her being resisted the urge to follow directions initially. She could feel air brush against her, and a strange weightlessness that came with the height, or at least knowing about it. Still, Sanya battled her inner demons, and slowly pried her eyes open to gaze straight forwards over Lucia's shoulder. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. Below them stretched the majesty of the highlands, seen before only by birds, leons and the Gods. Every stream looked like a snake, the outcroppings of rocks and stones like pebbles, cutting channels into the earth. Fields of flowers, forests of trees, lakes small and wide- All so minuscule and small and simply breathtaking. Upon the far horizon their stretched fields of gold, sparsely pocketed with pockets of green. She could even see smoke rising, cleansing the land. It was beautiful and Lucia watched her face with a small smile.

Sanya gazed out over the landscape, transfixed. For a time, her doubts and worries washed away with the wind, as her eyes fell on the diminutive details of far-off lands. It was nothing short of breathtaking. A unique and impossible view. A once-in-a-lifetime feeling. A calm spread through her alongside the fascination, and she could not help but be taken with the vista.

Then she made the mistake of looking just a little too close to the edge of Eesis fur, as much straight down as she could. The world whipped back into reality, and somewhere deep in her mind the insanity of her position wrung back into view as she felt a dizzying and disorienting fear grip her legs, her head, her body. Sanya tightened her embrace on Lucia, instinctively holding herself close as she first closed her eyes, and finally leveled her gaze straight ahead instead, more modest and uncertain than she'd felt in years.

Lucia gave a slight chuckle, her long golden hair billowing in the wind as she turned her head to look at Sanya. "You're doing great Sanya! We'll probably be up here until dusk, so I would get comfy if I were you! Hold onto me as long as you want though, I-I lik-" she paused briefly before sputtering out, "I don't mind! Whatever makes you feel safe!"

Lucia's words whizzed past Sanya's senses as she tried to stabilize her thoughts, and her fear. She hated it. Not flying - but feeling unsafe in a way she could do nothing about. Feeling vulnerable. Like a little girl, all over again. It was embarrassing, and Sanya dared not speak for fear of making a further fool of herself. Instead she held onto Lucia - her sole point of safety - and rested her head gently against her shoulder and back. With her warmth so near, she once more pried open her eyes to silently peer into the horizon, and the faraway lands below.

Lucia visibly relaxed after a while, letting herself press into Sanya slightly. She wore a smile on her lips, one Sanya could not entirely see. Her tattoos pulsed contently, as she looked out at the horizon. The Prairie, fast approaching.

---

---

Oraelia paced back and forth in her realm, an expression of deep thought upon her face mixed with concern and worry. There was much to do for her Oraeliari, much to teach them about the world and the Neiyari were still constantly on her mind. She knew not what to do with her sister’s wayward followers, only that their aspirations for war would consume them. They had to be dealt with, but not cruelly or forcefully. They had to be changed and change upon their own accord. Still, it would not be easy, and that was what haunted her heart.

She finally stopped pacing, and beneath her solitary oak tree she sat down, shutting her eyes. She had come to the basics of what was needed to be done for her Oraeliari. Food and shelter, two necessities of life she had failed to give them, but no more. She would have to follow Gibbou’s example by being more proactive from now on.

She stretched her mind out towards the Luminant, and then to her people around her Lake of Radiance. She was taken by surprise to find that many of her Oraeliari had arrived there, helping and learning from the humans who already called it home. That was what she had wanted, was it not? Shared culture, innovation and peace. There was a bit of a language barrier, but slowly and surely they were building a union and it was beautiful.

Yet this did not mean she should leave the humans to teach them everything. Around the Lake, and then the Luminant she felt the minds of her Oraeliari and gave them the necessary knowledge to not only plant and cultivate their own crops, but to build their own homes out of wood in the Luminant. The humans had helped the best they could so far, but they were smaller and did not need to eat so much to sustain themselves. That would change in time.

Satisfied, she began to withdraw her mind, but stopped when she felt the cold touch of a Neiyari. She was close to the lake, standing upon the opposite shore with scrutinizing eyes. Her mind was dark, twisted and reminded her of Neiya. Yet, this simple mortal had all the needs a god did not. Her belly was hungry and she grew awfully cold at night. Oraelia sighed, and felt pity for her and her kind.

She could not leave them to suffer just because they were different. They didn’t have a choice in what they became but it would be through love, her love, that would make them choose again. She imparted upon that Neiyari the same knowledge that she gave to her Oraeliari, and then she spread that knowledge to others. There was an immediate reaction from the woman Neiyari, a sullen look of surprise, followed by a quick retreat deeper into the Luminant. Perhaps it would be a start, a catalyst for change, or perhaps not.

Only time would tell.
But Oraelia knew she could not leave it at that, and thus back to the Oraeliari she went, thinking about what else to give. Her people were far and few in between, but more and more were arriving at the Lake and she realized, if they were ever truly going to be successful, they needed the numbers. Thus, like she had done with the druids, Oraelia blessed her people with enhanced fertility. That way they could be plentiful and change the world one generation at a time. With that done, she departed at last and opened her eyes to gaze upon her realm again.

There was much more to do for the Oraeliari, but for once, she didn’t know who she should ask. As such, she sank back into the tree and pondered it for a while.

---

Back in the Luminant, Solus sat in watchful vigil. Nestled between two fallen trees, the giant leaned forward, hand upon his chin as Oraeliari around him mingled as they usually did. They did not bother Solus and he preferred it that way. His mere presence was enough for them, it brought comfort after the Great Betrayal. Even though he had been struck down, he had quickly rebounded due to the powers of healing.

Now he thought upon his Mother's newest gift to the Oraeliari and before that, the Moon Mother's gift of protection. Generous gifts indeed, but they were still missing something.

His thought was interrupted by the fluttering of wings and the small tremors he could feel, of feet fast approaching.

"Soluri! Soluri! A group of Neiyari are coming! What do we do Soluri?" Asked a tall Oraeliari, his golden locks falling down to his shoulders as a look of exhaustion and fear bore into Solus'.

The giant avatar did not stir for several moments as he pondered. Why would they attack so boldly if they knew he was here? Perhaps they didn't know? He looked around at the faces of the Oraeliari, all looking upon him for guidance and strength. He was their protector, but even he could not stay forever. They needed more…

Gibbou had taught them how to protect themselves, Oraelia had taught them how to feed and shelter themselves and it was then that Solus knew what he needed to do. He would not teach them anything that they did not already know, but simply give what they needed most.

He rose to his full height and then boomed, "Fight!" The faces of the Oraeliari seemed to pale slightly, many frowned for he knew in their hearts they despised fighting their kin, so alike they were yet so different all the same. "Have… Faith." He said again, softer. "Remember… You are… Oraeliari… Fight for… Peace!" Many began to nod, though he could sense the doubt in their hearts. That doubt would need to be alleviated, much like the sun rising. It always rose.

The giant rose his hand and from the heavens came down a beam of light, causing many of the Oraeliairi to fall to their knees in awe, bowing in reverence. Others look bewildered and a few watched with waiting eyes. Solus threw down his arm and pointed at the spot the light faded from, revealing weapons of sunlight. Swords, maces and axes all to fit within their hands. "Take. Use." He stated simply.

There was hesitance among the Oraeliari before the same messenger stepped forth and picked up a sword. He held it high and gazed upon it with wonder. Two Oraeliari who donned halos stepped forth and took from the pile as well. Others followed and before long the Oraeliari were armed while their hearts were heavy. To take life was unthinkable to many but the circumstances dictated that they defend themselves and protect life as a whole. The Neiyari would not stop in their assault unless they were shown a better way… But such ways could easily be lost all the same.

"Come." Solus said, as he and his host ventured into the forest.

---

The Oraeliari let the Neiyari come to them. And through the branches of glowing trees and upon the grounds of plush grass, they came. Led by a Neiyari man with pitch black wings, black hair and the impassive face of the betrayers. Several wayward kin followed him, some wielding impressive sticks and the same vile expressions, or lack of expressions, save perhaps an ounce of fear. For truly, it hung in the air, thick and palpable, gripping even the hearts of the Oraeliari. Just one look at the black winged leader was enough to put terror into their hearts.

The plan had been to attack when they had crossed the no point of return mark, one Solus himself had given, but a few Oraeliari had broken from their hiding spots, fleeing in fear. This ruined the ambush, and the Neiyari halted, suspecting a trap. With the plan thwarted, the brave messenger Oraeliari pushed forward with a mighty yell, sword hanging high in the air and went right towards their leader. A frantic melee began, as the Neiyari dodged his swings, jabbing at his kin with mighty fists.

All seemed lost for the messenger, who had fallen low at a blow to his ribs, when his kin finally rushed to his aid. The black betrayer had a look of surprise upon his face, seeing the Oraeliari charge forth with weapons. It was enough for the messenger to tackle his legs out from under him. A brawl ensued henceforth, as they rolled on the ground, flattening grasses and flowers as each fought for the upper hand.

Some of the other Neiyari, seeing the newcomers with gear, took hesitant steps backwards before a few fled back from whence they came. The others went on the defensive, fighting with what they could as the Oraeliari took to the offensive. With the battle begun, Solus at last emerged, having waited until the right moment, for fear of a further trick. He was wary of Aveira and the scar upon his chest was proof of that.
Seeing Solus join in, the Neiyari who could still flee did so in earnest, not willing to risk a fight with the avatar alone. Those that remained were beaten and bloody, even a few Oraeliari who had fallen to the floor after well placed strikes. The two that remained fighting, was the messenger and the Neiyari leader, who had gotten the upper hand and was beating down upon the golden haired man.

Solus was quick to reach them, and the Neiyari barely had time to register what was happening before Solus punched him in the face. Not hard enough to kill him, but he would not awake for a time. There was then a scream and the giant whipped around to see another Neiyari take the life of an Oraeliari woman, using her own sword against her heart. He tried to flee, but he was too slow. The closest Oraeliari caught him, and began to viciously beat him as others tried to heal their broken comrade.

The solar giant was beside the stabbed woman in seconds, but even he could not save her from the clutches of death. She was gone. His attention thus turned to the men and women who beat the killer.

“Enough!” he commanded, walking over to them. The Oraeliari hesitantly obeyed, looking to the ground as they clutched their fists. Solus looked down upon the Neiyari, whose face was beaten into a bloody pulp, his wings were torn and his right arm was mangled. He listened to the shallow breathing of the mortal, knowing he did not have long. Perhaps it was pity that took him, but Solus reached down towards the Neiyari and held his hand over his heart. His mother would have healed him, but he was not his mother. A beam of light pierced the man’s chest, ending his suffering within a few fleeting breaths.

Solus raised his hand to his side, and stood straighter, eyeing the Oraelari. “You must be… Better than them. No suffering… Take life only when… Necessary. Compassion… Pity… Learn them. A life… For a life.” he said to them, many nodded, a few did not meet his gaze. “You are Oraeliari. Never forget.” His gaze then fell upon their prisoners.

Three Neiyari and their leader had been captured, only one Neiyari was conscious and she eyed them with daggers. But the swords at her neck kept her from trying anything. Solus wandered back over to the black winged man and took a closer look at him. The fear the others felt came from him, and upon placing a finger upon his head, Solus knew why.

Aveira had granted a few of them darker powers and Solus rebounded in disgust. It seemed the Oraeliari were not the only ones who had received gifts.

“Bah!” he let out, frustrated as he stood like a statue looking down upon him. There was always something else, something more unseen by his eyes. He would have to remedy that but first… Something needed to be done with the Neiyari.

“Bring her.” he said, pointing to the one awake. After a brief shove, the lone woman, her hair brunette- impure, came before him. Try as she might to remain impassive, her fear cracked through in her stance, the corners of her mouth twitching and her eyes, the greatest give away. Such fear, the same they caused like poison. Did they even understand what they did?

It mattered not.

Solus grabbed her around the waist in an instant and the woman opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. She tried to wiggle free, but Solus applied steady pressure. Her face began to grow red, so close, so clo-

“Stop!” an Oraelia man shouted, the one with a halo. “Stop this Soluri! This is cruelty!”

Solus snapped his head to look upon the man, long golden hair, a striking face with a powerful build. He looked back at the Neiyari in his hand and released her to the ground, disgusted at himself for losing himself to dark thoughts. The woman gasped for breath, lying face up as a coughing fit took her.

“Soluri, this is not the way. Like you said, we must be better and fight them both with sword and compassion, less we become like them in spirit.” the man spoke again, coming to his side.

He was right of course. Humbled by a mortal, Solus hung his head in shame before his words struck a chord within him. Become like them… Was it possible?

He outstretched his hand toward the Neiyari and shut his eyes. He felt her mind, then the deepest parts of her soul, and through the corruption he found the smallest glimmer of purity. Like an island within an ocean of black, Solus realized in that moment, even the worst Neiyari could be changed- which also meant the inverse. A dark secret, part of the Aiviri race as a whole.

He pushed the island further, letting flow into it kindness, warmth, and perhaps most importantly- love. Slowly the island expanded, piercing the black corruption and destroying it. It grew and grew until finally- He heard a gasp and his eyes snapped open to see the Neiyari woman burst into golden light, a wisp of dark fading away above her. When the glow subsided, before them lay a shivering Oraeliari, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. She looked at them before bursting into tears. The rest of the Oraeliari were hesitant to approach, but not the man with the halo. He walked over to her, and knelt down beside her, embracing the woman.

Solus quickly turned to the other Neiyari and did the same to them, finding within them faint traces of light, guiding them to precious freedom. Where once they were Neiyari, they became Oraeliari once more. He finally stopped before the black winged one and like before, ventured in. This time it was different, his island of purity was nothing more then the size of a seed, so consumed by the corruption of Neiya. Yet Solus would not relent, and after what felt like an eternity, even he was freed from her taint. His corruption removed itself from him forcibly, and flew off into the sky before dissipating, leaving an unconscious Oraeliari behind.

He took a step back to see mingling and a lot of tears between the newcomers and old. The man with a halo eventually came over to him and said nothing for a while as they both watched the scene before them. Eventually he said, “Thank you Soluri. I’m not sure what you did, but this is… A miracle.” he said with awe in his voice.

“No.” Solus said, turning to the man and pointing at his chest. “This exists… Within you. What can be changed… Can change again.” he said as a warning and the man nodded after a few seconds, his face going grim.

“I must… Leave.” he said again, softer.

“What? No! You cannot leave us Soluri, what if she comes? Who will protect us from her?” The man asked.

“She will leave… In time.” Solus began, “Protectors… You shall be.” he snapped his fingers, and a gust of wind wrapped around the man, turning his wings a golden hue. His halo radiated intensity and he breathed with knowingness. The same happened with the woman in the clearing and she looked over to them from where she stood, giving a nod. “My Cardinals…” he looked at the man again. “Thank you.”

“For what Soluri?” the man asked, puzzled.

The giant said nothing and before long, left.

He had woken with a ravenous hunger. His head felt heavy and somehow bigger. Its back was also weighing it down. As if a stone was resting on it. Slowly he opened its eyes. It was night. Good. The night was always good. Things didn’t see him at night. He craned his neck backward, to see what was weighing down its back so much. When he saw what it was, he jumped up in surprise. Those two, big, folding…things on its back. Like some of his prey had. The feathers had the same pitch-black color as his fur. They used it to go up in the air. Away from him. Could he go up too? The things, as a response to the thought, unfurled themselves from their folded state. The wingspan was large. With a few beats, he could feel himself become lighter already. Yes! With this, he could hunt even when the other things fled to!

He was nowhere near its home territory though. Home was a place of large trees and strong branches where he could sleep on during the day. It was a place where he found his prey. Big ones and small ones alike. Where he also found his mates. Here there was nothing. It was big and open. Only grass grew. How did he get here? Memories were spotty. There was a light. No, not a light. Many lights. Many lights flowing around him. Before that? What happened before? He was resting. On a branch. He had eaten a little. Yes. Then the lights came. It picked him up. He tried to fight it. He growled and slashed. Hitting nothing but air. He got weak and tired. Weaker and more tired than he had even been. Breath was escaping him. Eventually, his lids had grown heavy and he fell. Was he sleeping? He looked around. No, everything seemed real.

Then he heard something. His predatory senses made sure it could detect its prey far before they ever saw him. Yet he lowered his body into the tall grasses none the less. The wings folded back over his back. Barely making him larger. The night was good. Night was always good. The bald monkey things never saw him in the night. Not until it was too late. Though he never hunted one of them. Now though, he didn’t just feel a need to hunt. He felt a need to find things. Like one would find a good branch to sleep on. He stalked across the plains towards the voice. It was high pitched, which meant young. Yes, younglings were weak. Though they didn’t have a lot of meat on them.

Another voice joined the first. Lower pitched. Female. Her smell was on the air. She was larger. More meat. She too wouldn’t see him in the dark of night either. He got closer. They were running. The little one was careless. The older one filled with fear. He could smell it coming from her. His legs moved slower now. The purple moon gave just enough light so he could see all other things clearly. The larger one had turned towards him thrice now. Every time he froze. She never reacted. Even when he thought he would smell her. He pushed closer, and closer. They were being stupid. When he got close enough he had to make a decision. Once he would go after one, the other would run. The largest one would be harder to kill but better to eat. More meat. The little one would be easy but without a lot of food on it.

To his own surprise, as he prowled closer, two shadowy figures appeared from his own fur. Exact mimics, with the same folded wings on their back. They were not his mates or blood. They were here to steal his prey! The other two turned towards him. They suddenly gnarled and roared at each other and he snarled back. Daring them to steal his prey and threatening to wound the other one.

The bald monkey things had heard them. The larger one was already running with the small one in its higher paws. It was crying and screaming. Fear oozed from both of them now. He and his two rivals turned their heads immediately. Forgetting their feud. The chase was on. In the distance, they saw the bright lights. The larger thing kept screaming something.

Him and his two rivals were closing in fast though. They had to catch them before they reached the bright lights. The bright lights would betray him. He needed meat. He wanted them both! He was getting close. One of his rivals was on his left, getting close to her side as well. He snarled. It snarled back at the same time. Which cost them both precious moments. Something came whizzing through the air. It pierced through his rival but… it just kept on running. The straight branch was behind him. Embedded into the ground. How?

It elicited whimpers of the larger prey. She kept screaming the same sounds over and over again. When he got close he could hear it clearly now: “Iltralla!” It was gibberish and stupidity. Another straight branch came whistling from the wind. It came for him! He was not invulnerable like his rival was. He jumped aside but it had cost him his prey. For another of the bald monkey-things came charging at him. With a sharp, straight branch in hand the big monkey yelled as he passed the female thing with her youngling. The thing was coming straight for him. He got ready to pounce upon the thing and tear it to shreds. He even counter-charged at it to knock it down. One of his rivals seemed to have the same idea. The rival charged and managed to stay ahead of him. It jumped at the bald monkey and passed straight through it. Surprising everyone. Though he wouldn’t give up a chance. He jumped up. It was aided by the flapping of the wings. Allowing him nearly jump over the bald monkey but he reached down with his jaw. Biting down on its shoulder. The bald monkey was pulled down to the ground as he landed on all four of his paws. His jaw clenches down. Blood oozed from the deep wounds. The bald monkey dropped his straight branch and screamed in pain. It tried to fight. To no avail.

It grew weaker. He could feel it in his jaw. His rivals were not close so he would have this prey for himself. Finally, the bald monkey thing dropped down, unmoving. He started to tear off shreds of meat to still its hunger. Keeping an eye on the not so distant evil lights with all the other bald monkeys standing in it. There was a mixture of rage and fear in the air. He knew the smell well. His rivals sat down beside him. Making no attempt to take the bald monkey from him. When he had enough, he dropped the half-eaten thing on the ground and turned to look at the evil lights. He snarled at them, angry that he lost his first prey. They were threatening him now too. His two rivals joined the snarling. Moving each to another side of the caves-above-ground and the evil lights. Yet when they got too close to the lights, they seemed to be vanishing. Smoke rose from their backs. Though it did not seem to hurt them. They just snarled, as he did. The naked things shouted things but that one word kept returning: “Iltralla! Iltralla! Iltralla!”

Then something else caught his hearing. It was a soft thing. Like the wind that blew just right. Yet sustained instead of fleeting. He stepped back, getting further away from the stupid loud noises. Hoping he would hear the soft winds better. It came from in front of him though. From the yelling and the caves-above-ground. One of the things appeared before the straight branch holders. He had something in his hand. A white branch, with holes in it. No, not a branch. A bone. He was blowing into it and covered some of the holes with his fingers.

He let out a low grumble. His rivals turned around and head back to him. though before they could reach them, they suddenly vanished into nothingness. As if they had never existed in the first place. After a moment of surprise, he turned back to the wind speaking thing. He sat down, calmly. The soft sounds it made, it felt soothing. The loud noises stopped now. Letting him hear the thing-made winds better. It let out a low rumble of enjoyment. The sounds were good. The sounds were nice! From the darkness, he looked into the evil lights. The man was sitting down now.

He didn’t know why but he felt that the sounds would soon stop. They were coming faster now. Less like soft flowing water and more like waves crashing upon stone. Yet he did not mind it. The song was good. The thing that made the song…he was good.

The winds stopped as he had expected. Then silence raged. The song had been good. Good enough to live. It would seem that fear and hatred had subsided somewhat. Together with the loud noises. He let out a low grumble as if to say he did not desire to fight or eat anymore tonight and turned around. He walked back into the tall grass. Away from the things.

Leaving them with a story of the Iltralla that liked a song.

Act Two, Scene Five: The First Hunt

He was hungry, gods he was so hungry.

He had been travelling through the forests for a while now, and the snow had begun to set in, it was only a matter of time before he was caught in the wilds, alone, and with no food. He had no tribe to come back to, he lived alone, his crops had failed and his hunting was poor, no wonder they didn’t want him anymore.

It was hopeless, he was going to die out here, with nothing to his name, and no one to mourn him.

He sank to his knees, his hastily constructed bow falling into the dirty snow, he cried out, begging anything, anyone to save him. But nothing came, there was only silence, it was over, not even the gods had come to save him.

Then, a branch snapped, his head was brought upward, and he saw it, a deer stood right in front of him, staring him down. His hand reached out, grabbing his bow once more, before his other one grabbed one of his shoddy stone arrows, he knocked the arrow into the bow, and fired. It went wide and the deer ran.

He was quick to follow, rising rapidly from the ground to chase after it through the dense forest, he took shot after shot, but again and again they went wide, barely even scraping the hide.

His lungs were burning, legs were beginning to give out, his arrows were running out, he just had to catch this deer, he was so damn hungry.

His fortune finally turned, the deer stumbled over roots hidden beneath the snow, he could hear the legs snap as they twisted and collapsed, this was his chance. He pulled out his stone knife and descended upon the deer, it kicked and bucked, but he stabbed and stabbed, blood gushed and flowed, his hands and face were showered in the cascade of red.

His hunger had grown too great, he didn’t even care about gathering the meat to cook, he just dug in, his hands and knife clawing away chunks of flesh before shoving them down his gullet, chewing and eating with a hunger he had never experienced before.

While he ate, the deer began to melt away, instead of a gutted animal, he began to eat from another hunter, their face plastered with an expression of fear and terror, guts spilling out from a large incision. He stopped, his own look of terror appearing upon his own face, he looked upon his hands, covered in the hunter’s blood. What. What had he done?

He slowly rose, he couldn’t return now, he definitely couldn’t return now, he had killed another Weike and...and eaten their flesh.

But it had tasted so good

He found himself drawn back to the corpse once more, he was still so hungry.

He shook his head, he couldn’t do this, what was he doing? This was, just wrong. What had driven him to do this?

His stone knife still sat in his hand, he gazed upon it, bringing it closer to himself. Grasping it with both hands, the blade pointing straight at his own chest. He thrust forward. But his own arms stopped, as if his bones could no longer move.

”Now now my dear little pet, you can’t just get out of this so easily.” A voice rang through his mind, echoing and jostling around his skull, his sight grew hazy and his thoughts cloudy ”How about you have another taste?”

The knife fell into the snow with a soft thunk, and he shot forward, his mind filled with an aching hunger, and he feasted.

As he feasted, as he shoved the flesh and guts into his mouth, he began to change. His body grew thin, becoming grey and pallid, his torso and legs grew taller and longer, stretching his height to nearly 8 feet, his hands became clawed as they dug into the guts, better ripping out the flesh, his feet became cloven hooves and unguligrade, his head grew long, becoming an elk like maw and snout with the skin ripping away, leaving only bare white bone, his eyes became predator like, and long elk horns erupted from his head, twisting and shaping as he feasted, finally his hair gave way, becoming dense grey fur that grew in haggard forms across his body. When it was done, he had had his fill of the hunter.

”Flesh….feast...eat” his voice had become haggard and monstrous. He looked around, he had been sated, but for how long?

”Now now my pet, flesh will come when it comes, for now, I have something else to give you.”

A nearby branch of a tree snapped off suddenly, its twisted form becoming even more twisted and thinner, suddenly, from its top came a metal blade, long and curved, scythe like, it was rusted and as haggard as its long handle. He felt drawn to it, slowly picking it up.

”Hunt...yes...hunt.” his mind was racing, but it had finally begun to calm down, a new purpose in mind.

”Very good my pet, now, I shall leave you for now, but know, if you are injured, you need only eat enough flesh, and that blade, for every person you strike, it shall bring disease to their life.”

He had little time to think on this before sounds drew his attention, voices, calling out a name, those of his former people. He felt the drive of the hunt once more, this, this he could get used to.

---

Twenty-five years after Antiquity...

“RANDAAAALL! NOOOOO-HO-Hoooo!”

The mangled corpse of the large, mustached man laid molested in the bloody grass, flanked by the equally slain bodies of his brothers Stein and Craigh. Beside the giant knelt the druid Gene, clutching the limp head of her husband in her arms. Their sons and daughters held his hands, tears and snot wetting their faces and whimpers and gasps gagging their throats. The entire village had gathered around, which had over doubled in size since its foundation. The great sorrow spread throughout like a sickness, and soon, every pair of eyes experienced a terrible deluge.

“What has happened here?!” came the thundering voice of Kaer Teagan, daughter of the late Kaer Mihr. The crowd parted as the archdruid approached the corpse and laid a hand on Kaer Gene’s shoulder. “Who did this?”

“I-... I, I don’t know, he, he, he… Oh, gods…” the woman wept and laid her hand against his cold, ravaged torso. Gene’s brother, a farmer named Arilt, stepped forth, his grim visage matching the blue tartans of his family.

“We found them like this in the meadow… There were signs of a struggle, and all the sheep they had been herding were stolen.” He took to his belt, taking out a broken half of a bone figurine, holding it out to Kaer Teagan. “This was found on the battlefield…”

The archdruid took the shard and gave it a lookover, her eyes widening as she did. “This is no figurine of Dûnan make… No, this… This is…” She held it up for the crowd around them to see. “Our beloved Randall, Stein and Craigh were not taken by wolves or bandits, people of Ha-Dûna!” The crowd gasped.

“Then, then who, Kaer Teagan?!”

The archdruid grit her teeth. “Look! Look upon it - its markings and crevices! This, this was cut by Glaennon hands!”

“Gleannon?!” came multiple outraged shouts. Those of gaardskarl blood, in particular, looked to the frothing at the corners of their mouths, faces stained red from tears taking on a darker shade of rage and tartan cloaks waving violently as their wearers stomped furiously at the ground. The archdruid nodded and snarled loudly.

“Such treachery! Our people have always been at peace with the town of Gleann over Risenberg - not once have we lifted the hatchet with evil intent.” There came an outraged “yeah!” from every mouth. “But it seems our kind-heartedness has made us naïve and weak in the eyes of our so-called friends. This act of aggression -must- be answered!”

“Eye for an eye! Life for a life!” chanted parts of the crowd. Others began to shrink back, frowns filling with worry.

“In hours like these, brothers and sisters, the stone god Boris is unrockable - the sea god Claroon, unrelenting! We must be like the avalanche - like the storm - and strike back with breaking force! Take axe; take spear; take bow; take shield! We will make the Gleannon pay for their betrayal!”

A small, but powerful voice broke through the following warcries as both men and women brandished whatever tools they were carrying with bloodthirsty fervour. It spoke, “But wait!” and the crowd quieted down to face an elderly druid - not an archdruid, but well respected among the people of Ha-Dûna. Kaer Logan, daughter of Kaer Pinya, continued once she had acquired their attention: “The sun goddess does not condone violence in any form, my brothers and sisters - if we go to war without consulting her, it could very well spell the end of our favour with her.”

The crowd exchanged looks before looking back at Kaer Teagan, who scowled at her subordinate. “Are you defying the word of an archdruid, Kaer Logan?”

The old lady blinked. “If preaching the word of Reiya is considered defiance, then--”

“Be quiet!” came a scream from the ground and the crowd turned to look down at Kaer Gene, many years Kaer Logan’s junior, but with a face with rage that could age stone. There came gasps as they all realised the transgression she had made in treating her elder as such, but weighing it against the stress of her loss made no one comment on it further. Kaer Gene arose, flanked by her and Randall’s children, all of whom kept the same gazes overflowing with a thirst for vengeance. “The sun goddess preaches peace, that is correct, but what peace is there is allowing those we have known to be harmless neighbours to slay our loved ones unchecked?!”

The crowds growled in agreement. Kaer Logan shrunk together as disapproving glares fell upon her. Kaer Gene pointed her staff at her and shouted, “I will not stand by while our husbands and sons are taken from their wives and mothers by brigands and barbarians who roam and raid in -our- lands without a care in the world! The Gleannon will pay!”

“LIFE FOR A LIFE! BLOOD FOR BLOOD!” chanted the crowds and Kaer Teagan brought Kaer Gene in for a tight hug. Kaer Logan was pushed and chased back into town with insults and mockery.

“My daughter,” Kaer Teagan spoke quietly to her through the chants. “I cannot overstate how sorry I am on your behalf…” She gently kissed her subordinate’s forehead. “... You are absolutely right. In this case, the sun goddess is bound to see reason and sanction, nay, bless our retaliation against our foe. Understand, my daughter, that this murder - this crime - must be answered tenfold.”

Kaer Gene nodded. “What must I do?”

Kaer Teagan looked to the still chanting crowd. “Take as many as will come with you. Go to Gleann and slay anyone who dares resist you. They will without a doubt do the same to us if given the chance. If we retaliate now with full force, they will not expect it.” She leaned in a little closer. “Pacify those who surrender peacefully, and make certain not to burn any fields nor granaries, and leave any livestock you find alive. When resistance has been crushed, take the town for Ha-Dûna.” Kaer Gene’s expression seemed to falter with uncertainty, but Kaer Teagan took her softly by the chin and gently lifted it up so their eyes met. “Only then, my daughter, can your beloved Randall’s spirit be truly avenged.”

Kaer Gene’s nostrils flared and her brow darkened. “Yes, Kaer Teagan. It shall be done.” The archdruid hugged her again.

“Do this, and your and Randall’s sons and daughters will want for nothing. The archdruids will see to that - in memory of the man who could bring a smile to any face.”

Kaer Gene began to tear up again and dug her face into Kaer Teagan’s shoulder. “Thank you, sage of sages - thank you!”

---

“It went as planned, then?”

“Even better, actually. Young Gene took the death of her husband and in-laws with a heavier heart than expected. She personally leads our forces as we speak, actually.”

“Very good, very good. And you’re certain they will remember not to damage their supplies? Our granaries will be empty come midsummer if they are lost.”

“I am aware - you don’t have to remind me all the time. No, I am confident that they will obey. With Gleann’s farmlands and harvests, the sun-blessed women of Ha-Dûna can continue to boundlessly bring new life into this world in honour of great Reiya and her daughter Lucia.”

“Indeed… Say, what is next beyond Gleann?”

There came a chuckle. “Why, that list is quite long, actually…”

---

The very next day, a ragtag band of one hundred furious Dûnans armed with spears, axes, bows and clubs all thundered across the hills of Risenberg, bearing down on the small village of Gleann on the other side. Its villagers had not expected an assault. As the warriors descended the hillside, improvised militia charged uphill to meet them; however, before they could begin to climb, the earth swallowed their feet and broke their charge completely. Roots sprang out of the ground and wrapped themselves around their throats, snapping necks like they were twigs. The Dûnan druids leveled the low palisade walls of the inner village with devastating landslides, and warriors poured in by the tens, bashing in skulls and fertilising the ground with the blood of villagers. Tartan cloaks were all red on this day, as corpses were stacked high and buildings were looted until barely the skeletons were left. Even local druids that tried to stop the slaughter were cut down. As ordered, the crops, granaries, smokehouses, animal pens and other food-related infrastructure were all spared; however, the number of prisoners was likely much lower than Kaer Teagan had expected. No matter, however.

The Dûnan Conquests had achieved their first victory.

Soleira had watched, from a distance, at her golden kin. A giant made of light stood as a sentinel amongst them. Could he see her from so far away? She could barely see him. It was better this way. The only thing she could do there, amongst the others, was feeling ashamed. That she could do here, on her own, as well. Though in her heart something yearned to go to talk with the giant. She ignored it though. His watchful vigil was vastly more important than talking with little Soleira.

Then, from behind her, she heard something upon the winds. She dove down instantly into a copse of trees and shrubbery. The local birds loudly chirped and flew away in protest. She tried to gently sush them but as they were animals, they just continued to object. Her heart was pounding in her chest as her muscles tightened. For a second she was afraid she would get caught but then the wings had flown over her. They hadn’t seen her. From the multi-colored bushes she looked at the light giant again. Something was happening around him. The light coming from him seemed brighter. Or were there more light sources now? It was impossible to tell. Once again her curiosity won from her fear as she remained in the bushes. Trying to see what was happening. Meanwhile the birds returned to their branches around her.

Some time later, the others came. The dark ones. They clashed with the Oraeliari in the distance. Shouts and hate traveled through the air. Soleira didn’t hate her darker siblings. Even though they had spilled so much blood already. She just didn’t understand them. Why were they so angry? Why did they want to fight so hard? The land, the animals, everything else, it was so beautiful! They could share it! Though neither sides seemed interested in that. “No… No you don’t have to fight.” She whispered, mostly to herself. As if it would make a difference. Her heart shrank. When she saw the first of her darker siblings die, she shed a tear as well. Even though she hadn’t known him. It was all so horrible, and it was scarring the land as well.

“Please just stop.” She said again, just hoping they would stop. Maybe she could go there and put a stop to it herself. Yet when her wings beat even only once she dropped to her knees. Clutching the ground with her hands. Her entire body was shaking with fear.. No, no she would be useless and get in the way. That’s what she told herself. Slowly she gathered herself and got up again. Only to see the battle to be over. “Thank the gods.” She whispered with a small but very unhappy smile. There was still something happening though. From so far away, she couldn’t make out what exactly. Though it had to be big. Then the giant left. Why was he leaving them?

It didn’t matter. He would never talk to the likes of her. Clearly he was a warrior. Someone who fought. She was just a weakling. With a few wing beats she got up and flew away. Beyond the horizon. To the familiar cave and forest she resided in. Near the big lake. Some of the local animals had taken a liking of her. They didn’t instantly run away at the merest sight of her.

She did understand why they were so afraid of her. After all, take away her wings and she would look just like one of the wingless ones. Who used sharp sticks and pits to wound and kill animals. At first she didn’t understand why they did it. Then one night she managed to watch a group of them hold bits of the dead animals over a fire and then eat it. Then it clicked. They were carnivores who liked warm meat. Carnivores in general had been a strange sight for her. The first time she encountered wolves she only felt horror when the animals bit down on the helpless deer. But when the whelps appeared, she realized why they hunted. Food meant life. It wasn’t their fault that they only ate meat.

The terrain around her cave was not marked with carvings or other decoration. Instead you knew you were near when you started finding pieces of bark with berries, fruit and nuts on them. For whatever animal wanted to eat them. Right now, after having witnessed so much death and pain, Soleira had an intense need to nurture life. She prepared even more pieces of bark with food on it, to put in the trees for the little critters to find. From the lake she carried a bowl with water to feed the roots she had replanted, hoping they would grow. Only when the sun got low did she sit down. Her body felt sore and ached, though that would be over after a good night's sleep. From her cave she watched the land she was tending to. Nobody had assigned it to her but she felt like it was her duty to care for it. The memories of the morning boiled up again. She tried to smile, to banish those thoughts. Those memories shouldn’t feel so painful but they did. Still, she had to keep it together. For the sake of all the animals in the bit of land she was tending for.

In the distance the sun was getting low now. Touching the horizon. Her own pain probably paled compared with that of the sun-mother. There wasn’t much Soleira could do, but there was at least something. She kneeled down at the entrance of the cave, letting the dusk light wash over her as she closed her eyes and laced her fingers together. “Dear Oraeliara. Sun-mother.” She prayed. Knowing she would at least be heard but not really expecting a response. “I just wanted to ask if you’re alright? I hope it doesn’t hurt too much to see all your children fight so much. I-I wish I could do more to make you happy but I’m just little Soleira. A few days ago I saved a little piglet and a bird. Today I’ve put up some more food for the animals and watered some plants. It’s not much but I’ll try to do more tomorrow. Still, I hope it makes you just a little bit happier.”

She suddenly felt a warm embrace all around her, like a blanket smothering gently or a rather nice hug. A trickle of warmth then entered her mind and a voice spoke softly. ”Aren’t you just precious?” it gushed. ”Hardly any mortals ever ask if I’m okay, you know. Hearing it from you, my lovely Soleira, makes it all the better in my heart.”

Soleira’s first instinct was to break her prayer and open her eyes. She fought that instinct with all she had and remained on her knees with her fingers entwined and her eyes closed. “Sun-mother!” She exclaimed out loud but also in her thoughts. She tried to repress her own excitement. “I-I… You heard me…the prayer, it worked? I’m so sorry, goddess. You must have so much to do. I shouldn’t be taking up any of your time!” Despite her words, her heart was overflowing with gratitude to even have traded a few words with the goddess of life. It would be a memory that remained with her forever.

”Nonsense. My time is my own and I wish to use it speaking to you, Soleira.” Oraeliara said in a motherly tone. ”Now,” she said softer, ”It seems you have been touched by… A familiar presence but one unknown to me still. Hmm, no matter, this does not change who you are in your heart Soleira. You are caring, my daughter, helping those when they cannot even ask or know what it is you wish to do. So, I shall help you bridge that gap.”

She didn’t understand most of what the goddess said. “Touched by…a familiar presence?” For a second she feared she had offended the goddess. Or some other deity. Then it clicked. The colorful, violently moving lights! Had that been a god as well? No, she would not burden the goddess with those questions. Not when more important questions had to be asked: “Bridge that gap? I am grateful, sun-mother. Eternally grateful. But forgive me, I don’t understand which gap you meant.”

”Go and speak to the first animal you see.” the Goddess said simply.

Soleira was not about to displease her goddess by disobeying. No matter how strange the order was. Though before she headed out, she grabbed a handful of berries with her. Just outside the cave she opened her palm. One small bird came flying down towards her and landed on her palm. It wasn’t afraid at all, as it began to eat the berries. “Hello little one.” She greeted the bird with a warm smile. “I hope you and your family have enough food with this.”

“Yes! Yes! Enough food. Food, food, food. Wait-“ The bird looked up at Soleira. “You’re not bird!”

For a second the four-winged angel stood stunned. “I-I can hear you?” She barely believed it.

The Goddess giggled. ”You can speak to animals now!” she said excitedly. ”It’s the least I can give for you Soleira, in fact…” the Goddess paused and she felt a tingle in her head. ”There! You can speak to animals and convey meaning through touch now.”

“Oh thank you so much goddess! This is wonderful! A miracle! I can care for them so much better now.” Soleira said as she kept smiling at the bird. Slowly and carefully she let her finger run over its back. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. With me. Safe.” She tried to convey the meaning to the bird. Who happily continued eating. “Oh sun-mother how can I ever repay you for this wonderful gift?”

”There is no need to repay me, Soleria. Simply continue helping those that cannot do so themselves. This is what the Aiviri were supposed to be, all along. And remember Soleira, you are loved.” Oraeliara said, before the presence vanished, but not before ruffling her hair.

She didn’t think she could ever stop believing she was loved. At least not after what had just happened. It would be etched in her mind forever. The bird flew up from her hand. Probably back to its family. Soleira rushed into the forest and began to talk with every animal she found. The birds were the most forthcoming. Though from the branches they talked so fast and repeated so many words that she had a hard time fully understanding them. In the night she also found a small cat on the hunt. It talked as if it was angry until Soleira stroked its back a few times. Then the cat began to purr loudly and brush up against Soleira. Before it vanished into the underbrush again for food.

The moon was already high up when Soleira returned to her cave. Exhausted of a full day’s work and the excitement of her new gift. Though before she went to sleep on her bed of dried weeds she turned around to face the exit of the cave. Again she knelt down with her eyes closed and her fingers laced together. “Sorry, Gibboura. I know I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. Though I hope you can forgive me. Goodnight and sweet dreams.” With those words said she got up, walked over to her bed and nearly collapsed in a deep slumber.

The Lords of the Spice

Hoàng Bảo Tín walked slowly through the docks of the capital, all around him he could hear the sounds of bustling work, dock workers unloading ship cargo, captains yelling out orders, and merchants haggling prices, it was a sound he had come to know. His job? Well it was quite the important one, he inspected each box and bag of spice traveling to and from the capital, at least, in his jurisdiction, there were countless others like him, traveling up and down the docks and markets, making sure everything was up to code. Behind him followed his partner: Suratman, the small Gotran held in his hand a wet clay tablet, settled in a small tray for ease of carry, and he wielded a thin bone rod, used to write various pictures and lines to detail their findings.

Bảo Tín wore a fairly long flowing robe, as was customary of his people, the Reska, upon his head a long hood, and of course the mask he was given upon reaching 18 years of age, his bore an intricate design of the ocean, with his eye holes serving as a moon and sun looking down upon the waves positioned upon his mouth area. Suratman wore a similar regalia, his robes though were more shortcut and resembled a tunic more than anything, he too wore a mask, his instead bore a painted design that Tin had been informed was Gotran for “Meticulous”, a fitting description.

Tin and Suratman had been working together for quite some time now, and they both had learnt to hold a mutual respect for one another, relations between the Gotran and the Reska had long been tense ever since both races' surprise appearance upon the island they lived. Gotran craftyness had conflicted with the Reska’s sense of superiority. But after long years they both managed to work together, ultimately uniting to form the city of Sarapar, where the two inspection officers found themselves today.

The pair soon found themselves upon a familiar sight, a ship had recently docked and the crew had begun to unload their cargo, palettes with large bags sitting atop them, workers were extremely careful with the goods and Tin could see the symbol of the northern reaches upon them, spices.

“Greetings Kapten.” Tin spoke, walking up towards the captain of the ship, he was dressed fairly well off, jewelry was strewn about his body and his mask was painted in a bright shade of purple. Tin could already tell this would be interesting and he was sure Suratman could as well.

“Ah! Greetings inspector!” The captain drew his full attention upon the two, leaving his crew to do their work. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“A routine inspection, nothing more, if you will allow me and my partner here a look at some of your goods, we’ll be out of your mask.” Tin could already see Suratman craning his head towards the bags full of spice, as befitting his mask he was incredibly meticulous, he made no show of hiding his goals to gain a promotion as a chief inspector, a rare sight for Gotran but something Tin would be happy seeing.

“Oh of course!” The captain gestured towards the bags, motioning for the crew carrying them to set it down. Reaching down he undid one of the robes holding a bag shut, revealing a mass of fine powder of a bright blue colouration. Blue Fire Pepper, known for its strange colouration but incredibly kick. “2 Sharins of Blue Fire Pepper and 3 Sharins of Nutmeg.” The captain declared.

Tin and Suratman quickly went to work, they would not inspect the entire ship and its contents, that would take quite some time, they just merely undid the ropes of bags and looked to confirm the ship was bringing what the captain had declared. Both inspectors would often sniff or taste the spices, ensuring they were their proposed spice, and to ensure a level of quality, the King had long implemented quality control, hoping to build Sarapar’s image as a hub of finely crafted merchant goods and great tasting spices.

After a few minutes their work was done, everything seemed to be in perfect order, sure, the measurements might be off but that was fine, one could not be blamed for a few Palins of spice. Suratman wrote down the symbols detailing the type of spice and where they were from, and the numbers of what had been brought, meanwhile Tin returned to the captain.

“Well, it seems everything is in order, here’s the token of quality.” He reached into a bag at the side of his hip, pulling out a small clay token with the symbol of the Sarapar crown upon it, used by captains and merchants to show their goods have the level of quality so desired by the King. He handed it to the captain, who inspected it before putting it into his pocket.

“Thank ye inspectors, may Artiafek bless your endeavors.” The captain spoke, performing a polite bow.

“And may Kalaru bless yours.” Tin replied, performing a similar bow alongside Suratman. The two departed, heading down the docks once more, keeping an eye out for any further inspections.

“Nearly 100 inspections,” Suratman spoke, he had an impeccable memory, and kept track of their progress, recounting every last detail to their superiors in his quest for a promotion. The Gotran looked up at his partner “Shall we make it a challenge to break it today?”

Tin chuckled “Regardless of my answer you’ll do it anyway.” He looked back at his partner, then towards the docks, where he spotted several ships having just landed “But, I think our luck just came to us.”

Suratman chuckled “Letz give them a vizit, shall we?”

“Lets”

---

King Safron sat across the room from a weapon mount, upon which had been placed the blade given to his dynasty by divine mandate. Could this be a sign? A sign that him and his son were destined to conquer their neighbouring states? That Fragrance was destined to become the sole power on Sso-Hwah? The only Nelven people to unite all the clans and states into a single kingdom - ruled by a single king.

The thought made him sweat. No, surely he was playing himself. His house couldn’t very well be the ones. His grandfather had shared many stories of the world before the foundation of Fragrance as it was today - how they hadn’t even had buildings, but all lived in caves and holes; how they spent their days foraging for fruit and mushrooms, offering half to the shrines of their great gods, the Moonwell and the Tree of Fragrance. Their days were far from peaceful, however, as control over the shrines was a manner of power, and the question of who had this power was a constant struggle.

Today, an agreement between the states of X’ao-Hwah prevent anyone from exerting direct control over these sites, but Fragrance potentially had the manpower and technological edge over their neighbours.

… And now, a divine mandate.

Approaching steps brought him out of his bubble of thought and he turned to see his son. The young boy Turmerick gingerly entered into the king’s room, holding one of his wrists with his hand. The king clicked his acknowledgement. “My son - is it time?”

Turmerick clicked a yes. “Rach Rose and the rest are waiting, father.” He paused and looked down, pibbling small mick, mick, mick noises on the very tip of his pursed lips. “Are… Are you sure I can’t go with?”

“Absolutely, my son,” the king replied with a stern vent of air through his nostrils. “Slaying those possessed by xweh-bach is no task for a young prince.” He eyed the doorway behind them. “Go see to your mother and sister - ask if there is anything you can help them with.”

“But father, I--”

“It is a -king’s- duty to lay waste to the enemy. The prince’s is to learn. Now go do that very duty, and I will do mine.”

A deathly quiet moment passed before Turmerick left. The king looked back at the sword on its mount. It is a king’s duty to lay waste to the enemy, his father had told him. Safron hadn’t finished the quote, however: ... and to empower his people. Empower… He looked out between the now-open awnings they used to roof the half of his room that was outside the cave part. The light of the moon winked temptatiously at him. He recalled the single condition for accepting the blade: ”Use it,” one of them had spoken. He narrowed his eyes at the moon, and the awesome colours that danced around it seemed to speak to him: All you have to do is to reach out and take it, it spoke to him.

The king rose up, retrieved the sword from the mount and stormed out of the room. Outside of the palace entrance, rach Rose and a warband of fifty nelves sat atop baqualos, their bodies painted with blindingly radiant, organic curves and shapes of sun ink. None of them seemed at all comfortable with the arrangement, but it was better to suffer temporarily and live than to die an agonising death at the hands of a vampire. The warriors bowed upon seeing the king and rach Rose spoke, “Ah, great son of the moon - we are eager to receive your blessing so that we may--”

“Belay that, rach Rose. I’m coming with you. Laurel, fetch me sun ink and harness.”

The warriors exchanged looks and the rach droned in bewilderment. “G-great son of the moon, surely, your life is much too dear to--”

“I will lead this skirmish, rach,” the king commanded as the druid Laurel approached as hastily as she could, blinded as she was behind layers of linen blindfolds. In her hands, she held a bowl which, even through layers upon layers of cloth and leather, still managed to emit a small, radiant glow. Rach Rose clicked his tongue in disapproval as the druid uncovered the bowl, dipped her hands into what everyone within the area experienced as a small window into a burning day, and started painting the king’s bare torso and legs with long, gibbounian lines.

“With all due respect, great son of the moon, we believe it would be best for you to remain. The seers say, after all: The wise send men in their stead so that they may lead another day. Please, allow us to--”

“The seers have been wrong before.” Laurel, who was currently painting his chest, let out a sharp tsk. The king noted her reaction with a click, but didn’t comment on it. “The weapon granted to my house is unblooded. Its use is paramount.”

“Does the great son of the moon know how to use it?” the rach commented somewhat snarkily. The king scoffed sharply.

“Watch your tongue, rach Rose. I am your king.”

The nobleman scrunched his nose. “Of course. Forgive my outburst, great son of the moon.”

The king sucked on a tooth and closed his eyes before the bright light of his war paints. The druid Laurel eventually drew back and hummed. “It’s done, great son of the moon.” The king stole a look downwards and instantly regretted it. He snapped his fingers and one of the servants came over with a blindfold, which he tied about his eyes. His shoulders and body were dressed in light clothing and just enough furs to keep warm, but not enough to smudge the ink. He was brought a baqualo with large baskets on each side with supplies, mounted it and spoke, “We ride!” With that, the king set off northwards, trailed by his war party.

---

Monsax was a four day ride from Fragrance, but it felt like a month to the king. Thoughts of the possibilities for his people if only they grew mightier and more powerful ravaged and clawed at his mind. He knew that his companions knew - more than once had he caught them grinning back at him, though no necessarily for the same reason as him. Sure, they all wanted Fragrance to grow greater and stronger, but they also knew well how the laws of land distribution worked in their society: If you claimed a piece of land and the previous owner didn’t refute the claim, for one reason or another, it was rightfully yours. Of course, killing someone over their land was taboo - it would lead to the blood sickness, after all, not to mention the death of a Night Elf! Therefore, Fragrancians, as well as the other Nelves of Sso-Hwah, followed a sort of unspoken rule: If you wanted someone’s land, you would threaten them off it rather than outright kill them to take it. If they refused to budge, you would send someone else to do the job in your stead.

The prince of Monsax, however, had failed to understand the purpose of that rule…

They arrived at the dawn of the fourth day. Monsax was by no means a town the size of Fragrance, but it had palisade walls and a population larger than many - at least in the two hundreds. It laid nestling up against the canyon wall, much like their home, but seemed to have built stairs up along the wall to reach softer rock to dig caves in. They otherwise lived in huts of wood and mud, and the entire village was silent as the grave. The party quickly found themselves a cave and laid their plans:

“Rach Rose, you will take Camo and Mile around the cover of the wall - see if you can climb over it. Hemp, you, Mon and Elberry will circle around the other side. I will take the rest to the main gate and call him out.”

The nobleman blew some hot air, but clicked in acknowledgement. “As you wish, great son of the moon.”

They all assumed their positions and laid in waiting. The king drew a deep breath, clicked for the others to cover their ears as he covered his own and he shouted, “Prisoners of the demon king! I am king Safron of Fragrance! If there are any of you left, open this gate and come out! We are here to liberate you from the tyrant who murdered his father!”

The town was silent. Safron and his escort approached the gate. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t even bolted close, and an open smidge allowed for passage through. The warriors followed their king inside, where they were met by ghost town. The dirt road streets, formed naturally by traffic rather than actual labour of infrastructure, showed clearly the debris of struggle and panic - broken pottery, spillage of oils and fluids, week-old corpses and sunbaked trails of blood caked the spaces between the empty houses. The king swallowed.

“There could still be survivors. Search every house for any signs of life. I will reconvene with the rach.”

“A-alone, my king?” asked one of the warriors worriedly. The other clicked in equal disapproval. The king scoffed.

“Finding survivors to join us in the main goal of this mission.”

“Still, we should make certain that--”

A shadow too swift for anyone to see jumped out from inside an alley and cut open one of the warrior’s throat, a fountain of crimson turned black by the nightsky flushing out and spraying down his companions. The nelves took just too long to realise what had happened and another one among them was snatched into the darkness by the same shadow, screaming all the way.

“R-run!” shouted the king in an untrained voice and the remaining warriors scattered to the wind. “No, stick together!” the king continued and bit his teeth together at the pain of his own voice. The warriors were lost in panic, however - he could only pray that the rach had heard him.

Another squeal. He turned the corner and melt a small squad of ten, all of whom pointed their javelins at him the second their eyes met. “Hold your spears - it’s me!” Just as he finished talking, however, the shadow charged into the farawaymost flank of the squad, instantly gutting two javelineers. The king snarled as the squad broke apart and began to scatter. He grabbed one of them by the throat and said, “Get back in line and kill this monster!”

“No way! This was a suicide mission! I ain’t dying for this!” the warrior whispered harshly back, slapped away the king’s arm and ran for the gate.

“You coward!” Safron roared after him and turned to inspect his other soldiers. While some attempted to reform their ranks, the vampire bowled them down the instant they readied to throw, breaking them apart again. Quickly - much too quickly - the forces were whittled down until the king, too, was forced to retreat, under the cover of javelins coming from behind improvised barricades by the gate. In his rage, he gripped one of the javelineers and whispered sharply, “Where is the rach?! Have you seen the rach?!”

“No, great moonson!” the warrior replied faithfully and tossed another javelin. The king gripped the hilt of his blade.

“It knows about the sun ink, no doubt. Form a cactus and wait for it to come to us! It might impale itself upon our spears.” The soldiers did as ordered and formed a ring, thrusting their spears out in front of them. There, they waited. They waited for a long time. Nothing came. The king felt sweat condense on his forehead. “Steady, steady…” Still, nothing came. The soldier’s stances began to falter, both from fatigue and the morale shock of the blood and guts of their comrades pooling in the street. There eventually came a gentle hum from the street, and slowly, the shade came strolling nonchalantly towards the soldiers.

“A thousand corpses drowned in mud,
Coloured black by earth and blood -
Now grab your comrades, hand in hand,
And run away from Amon’s land.”

The shadow chuckled. “Like it? I wrote that myself!”

One panicking warrior squealed, leaned back and tossed his spear at the shadow, who danced out of the way with ease. The panic spread, causing many more to hurl their weapons at the vampire, who continued to dodge them as though they were feathers on the wind. “Woah, there, is that a way to treat an artist?”

“Save your spears, men!” the king whispered again as the warriors who had javelins left began to distribute them to their companions. “Prince Amon - why have you done this to your father’s kingdom? Our people were close and--”

“Oh, please - Monsax was seen by Fragrance as a barbaric lump of rock and clay without civilisation. Do not come here and spout that sort of airy nonsense.” He gave one of his bloody hands a lick. “Your people were never interested in us, and the only reason you’re here is to opportunistically steal away my subjects whom you have looked upon as dirt for so many years. Well, think again, king Safron - you will not have a single Monsaxian join your ranks tonight.”

“Because you killed them all, didn’t you?”

“No, not all of them - most of them got away, really. Tell you what - if you manage to kill me, I will tell you which way they went.” He looked down at the corpses in the street. “However, I think I already have proven my ruthlessness - how about I show my mercy this time?” He hissed sweetly. “Everyone except king Safron may leave. Go home to your families, live another century. Don’t waste your lives following a foolish king.”

King Safron snarled. “Don’t listen to him, warriors - you are the pride of Fragrance; the pride of your king - and I-- h-hey, wait!”

The formation buckled immediately. The remaining twenty-seven warriors who had encircled their king all fled south, back towards Fragrance, leaving king Safron stranded in the mouth of Monsax’ gate. Amon snickered as he placed a hand on Safron’s shoulder.

“Wow, I did -not- actually expect that to happen! I knew they were scared, but oh my.” His fingers squeezed until the king’s shoulder began to snap. The king fell to his knees with pained whimpers. “Oh, grow up, Safron - what, you’ve never experienced hopelessness before? No, of course, you haven’t. You’ve always been on top of everyone else - just like the rest of Fragrance.”

The vampire released and the king gripped his broken bones. “W-why? Why do you choose this way of, of sin and death? You know this is unsustainable! You will die!”

“I would’ve died either way, Safron. I would rather know true power for a few years than slave under the heel of my father for one century, then your kingdom’s the next. If I die in a year, I would not regret it for a second - I have made a name for myself, and all of the Land of Great Shade fear king Amon of Monsax.” He picked up the king by the fur around his neck and burrowed his fist into his abdomen. Safron vomited up blood and brought a quivering hand to the wound. Amon snickered. “N’aaaw, shame it had to end this way. Who’s next in line now? What was your son’s name again? Was it Cinna? No, no, no, he got banished, that’s right. Then there’s just Turmerick left, hmm?”

The king’s eyes flared and he unsheathed his sword with the quivering hand. The vampire eyed it with a raised brow. “Woah, that’s a pretty one. Let me guess - it’s made of gold? Okay, okay, okay, I’ve always wanted to try this. I’ll give you one swing - one swing, so make it count - you aim for my head. I won’t dodge, promise.” He put the king down, who staggered weakly. Amon restabilised him. “Woah, woah, don’t lose your balance, my king. Okay, take your swing.”

Safron drew deep, dying breaths. He wouldn’t last much longer - so much remained unsaid. If only he could have seen his family first - offered them his final orders before… He sharpened his gaze and, with his limited strength, lifted the sword and swung horizontally at the vampire’d head.

Clang!

Safron looked up and saw Amon nonchalantly gripping the blade of the sword with his teeth. He snickered, and Safron felt his final shreds of hope dissipating. ”Ee-ee ‘oo, ah? O’ys ‘uan’hed ‘oo ‘ai ‘aching a ‘eh’on ‘ih ‘ai ‘ee’h. ‘Wa ih.” However, as he bit, the metal didn’t budge. Amon frowned and bit down some more. The metal did not even bulk. Frustrated, he gnawed so hard that there came a snap - then more snaps. Before either of them could figure out what was happening, Amon’s bite broke all his teeth and the vampire staggered backwards, clutching his bleeding mouth. A single gaze was exchanged between the two of them before king Safron swung again, this time taking the vampire’s head. Amon fell over dead in the sand, and the king, too, fell to the ground. His breath became heavy - too heavy. He touched the deep wound in his belly. It barely stung, his body too weak to sense pain anymore. All he felt was cold.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” came a voice. The king couldn’t move his eyes anymore, but something about the voice seemed familiar. A tickling sensation and scraping noise revealed that he was being relieved of his sword. “We’ll bring this back to the prince. Bring the king’s corpse. King Safron died valiantly in battle against a blood demon.”

“What about the prince?”

“Leave him to us. Monsax is under our control now, and if we’re lucky, the newly crowned king will require someone to oversee it. This might spell promotions for all of us, dear friends.”

There came a series of snickers and the voices faded to collect materials for a stretcher. Ah… So that’s how it was. Well, what should he have expected? He died for nothing and relieved his town of twenty-three good men and women. This was a suitable fate for him. With that, he drew his final breath.

---

“What’s going to happen to me?” Brundt found himself asking, once they had reached the safety of Milos’s family estate. It was the first time he had spoken since his arrival in the city.

Milos said nothing, as a guard opened the door for them. He, Brundt, and Gelos stepped through, into the house’s main hall. He was Lord Karras now. With access to all of his family’s lands and finances. It was a sobering thought. But he had none of the respect that would have gone with it, for he had disgraced himself. He felt a sudden pang of resentment, for Cadien, who had forced this sacrifice upon him, and for the boy, who he had made the sacrifice for.

But he shook the thought off. Cadien was a god, who knew far more than did. And the boy was just a boy, who had not asked for any of this. To condemn a god would be to court disaster. And to condemn a child would be nothing more than cruel stupidity.

Milos exchanged a glance with Gelos, who remained as stoic and professional as ever, then looked down at the boy, who did not meet his gaze. “I have adopted you into my household,” Milos said at last. “You are under my protection, and you will be given the training and education befitting a son of House Karras. You will take the Karras name, and you will be my heir should I fail to produce any natural children of my own.”

Brundt continued to stare at the floor. Milos could not blame him. It was a lot to take in. Especially for an outsider who knew nothing of noble or their inheritance. Then he recalled words from his father.

‘Do not underestimate the intelligence of a barbarian. They are people, just like us. They lack our refinement, our culture, and our discipline, but they are cunning when they need to be, and have less to lose.’

“Do you understand?” Milos asked him.

Brundt did not look up, but he did speak. “My… they said my brother was the heir to my village,” he whispered.

Milos’s eyebrows rose. “I did not adopt your brother,” he said. “For it was you who I found, and you I brought home.”

The boy’s expression turned hopeful. “Can you find him? And my sisters too? They’d all make better heirs than me.”

Milos swallowed. He had lost his right to lead excursions into the Highlands. “No,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I cannot do that.”

Then the tears began to form. Milos cursed inwardly. He was not a father. He did not know how to speak with children, yet alone a barbarian who had lost everything. “Leave us,” he ordered Gelos.

The retainer nodded, and left the room, leaving the two alone. Awkwardly, Milos knelt and placed a hand on Brundt’s shoulder. But he could think of nothing to say, so instead he pulled the boy into an embrace, and the child began to sob into his shoulder. The highborn couldn’t help but feel sympathy. The boy had not asked for his home to be destroyed, for his family to be killed, for Cadien to take an interest in him, or to be dragged back to Ketrefa. He had even less choice in this matter than Milos did, and was far worse off.

“Wherever your family is,” Milos told him. “They’d want you to be safe. Cadien told me to protect you, and I will. I do not know what the God of Perfection has in store for you, but I’m certain great things await you, and you will be reunited with your family in the end. In death, if not in life. In the meantime, you have a home here, and… I cannot replace your father, but I will raise you as if you were my own son.”

Then the boy’s grip tightened, and suddenly became painful. Milos remembered the superior strength the boy had demonstrated during the capture, and how many men it had taken to hold him down. Still, he held the boy, until eventually the grip ceased, and they released each other.

“Gelos!” Milos called out, and the retainer once more stepped into the room. “It is late, and the journey was long. Show Brundt to his new bedchamber.”

---

Unsurprisingly, Milos soon found himself shunned by his own neighbours.

There was a woman Milos had been courting before his last raid. Now, her family forbade him from seeing her.

His friends, some of whom he had known since he was a boy, now glared at him as they passed each other in the street.

His family owned a small farming village just outside the city, tended to by slaves whose families had been owned by House Karras for generations. But selling the grain from that village now proved considerably more difficult, and his revenues dropped.

Milos had said he would give Brundt a training and education befitting a son of House Arenar. That meant hiring tutors. The few private tutors who were willing to work for him demanded extortionate prices, which he was forced to pay. Some part of him still wondered if an outsider like Brundt could even handle the lessons, especially since he was at least two years behind most boys of his age.

To Milos’s surprise, the boy not only handled them, but excelled at them. Brundt had a sharp mind, and enjoyed studying, so progress was swift. After a year, he had nearly caught up to other boys of his age. The tutors were forced to grudgingly concede that Brundt was one of the brightest students they had worked with. Milos soon took a personal hand in some of the lessons, and found himself growing fond of the boy.

However, despite Brundt’s progress, he was not accepted by the rest of the city. To many, the boy was nothing more than a barbarian. His unnatural size and strength did nothing to halt this perception, and because House Karras was shunned, there were few opportunities to demonstrate his other qualities. Like Milos, he too would be an outcast, unless he found another way to prove himself.

---

Then, one day, there was a knock at the door to his study. “What is it?” Milos demanded.

One of his household slaves stepped into the room, his eyes downcast. “Apologies, my lord. But a visitor from the Temple is here to see you.”

Milos’s eyes widened. Here, in the district known as Cadien’s Quarter, ‘the Temple’ could only mean one thing. A sense of foreboding dread filled him. “Send then in,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. The servant bowed and exited the room.

A few moments later the servant returned, with a rather athletic and beautiful woman in tow, who wore a loose purple robe with the fist of Cadien stitched on its chest. Slung across her back was an oaken staff. No walking stick; it was a weapon. There was no mistaking her: she was an acolyte of the House of Perfection.

She bowed her head. “Lord Milos Karras, it is an honour,” she smiled, though the words were spoken through grit teeth. She did not want to be here, and it was clear her friendliness was forced.

“Likewise,” Milos said, offering a respectful bow of his own. “What business do Cadien’s chosen have with me?”

“I am here on behalf of Grandmaster Varsilis,” she replied. “He requests your presence at the temple, tomorrow at noon. Bring the boy, too.”

“May I ask what purpose?” Milos questioned guardedly.

She shook her head. “He did not say,” her smile faded, “though you should be honoured to receive such an invitation, given all that’s happened. It’s not like you have more pressing matters anyhow.”

Milos grit his teeth. “I accept,” he told her calmly. It’s not like refusal was truly an option anyhow; Grandmaster Varsilis practically ran the district these days. Although he did worry about what the Grandmaster intended for Brundt.

---

The House of Perfection had lost much of its lustre. The King was no longer as supportive as the organization as he had once been. No wonder; it was something of an open secret that the temple loathed Ketrefa’s monarch. ‘The Bloated King,’ Milos had once heard an acolyte whisper in disgust. It was not merely the King’s physique that brought about this disgust, however.

The Cult of the Horned Goddess began as a nuisance. They first emerged thirteen years ago; an informal religious order dedicated solely to the Goddess of Love. To dedicate oneself solely to one god and to reject the others was blasphemy, and to commit crimes in the name of that god was worse. But the King did nothing to stop it, so as the years went on their influence grew, and soon there were rumours that the King himself could be counted among their number.

But they had not been unopposed. There were those who disdained the cult and the disorder they sowed. Rather than embrace Neiya, they turned her away, and sought the protection of one of the more established religious institutions in the city. The House of Perfection in the District known as Cadien’s Quarter was one such organization, for they had always promoted a healthy and balanced lifestyle, and in that sense were something of an antithesis to the Cult. They may have lost the funding of the King, but many other nobles in the surrounding district had stepped in to offer their support instead. Milos’s own father had been one of them, and that had almost certainly been a factor in the King’s decision to dismiss Milos himself.

And so Cadien’s Quarter had become something of a safe space against the disorder so prevalent in the rest of the city. The household guards of the nobility along with some of the temple’s own acolytes now openly patrolled the district’s streets, keeping order in place of the city guard who had long since grown remiss in their duties.

Other sections of the city had taken similar measures as well, though many had chosen to throw their support behind the House of Order rather than the House of Perfection. Districts which were adjacent to those under control of the Cult were under constant tension, and violence often broke out in the streets. For a known opponent of the cult to walk alone and unprotected into a Cult stronghold was to risk death or robbery.

Battle-lines had been drawn, factions had been formed, and skirmishes were breaking out along the borders. It was as if the city was heading to war with itself.

Fortunately, Cadien’s Quarter was far from the frontline, and so Milos, Brundt, and Gelos were able to make his way to the Temple without any issue.

He approached the pair of guards at the ornate but slightly worn looking entrance, and introduced himself. Although their eyes narrowed at the mention of his name, they let him in without resistance. Gelos and Brundt were left in the temple’s main hall, while Milos was led down a series of smaller hallways, and finally into a room. She held the door open for him, and he stepped inside.

The room was empty, save for a single table, and three inhabitants. There was Grandmaster Varsilis himself, clad in a robe with the silver Ring of Strength on his finger, as well as two others - one of whom was the Captain of the Gates.

“Lord Milos Karras,” Varsilis said, offering a slight bow. “Welcome. I am Varsilis. Grandmaster of the House of Perfection.”

“Lord Karras,” The Captain, Lord Trehe Manzprius, nodded to Milos with a slight smile, “It’s good to see you well.”

Finally came the last man, who was doubtless the oldest among them. Withered skin clung to his cheekbones, and his pale eyes regarded Milos coldly from under the dark hood of his heavy black robe. Casias of no great birth, elderly High Judge of the House of Order, only issued a grunt in response to Milo’s arrival.

Varsilis frowned. “May I introduce Casias of the House of Order,” he said an apologetic tone.

Milos’s eyes widened slightly. The heads of two religious orders, and the captain of Ketrefa’s gates, in one room? “It… It is an honour,” he said quietly, unable to believe his circumstances. “May I ask what I have done to deserve it?”

“I suppose it would be best if I cut to the heart of the matter then, and tell all three of you why I have summoned you here,” Varsilis said. “It’s about the boy Lord Karras adopted last year.”

“What?” Casias snorted, “That unwashed barbarian? I can’t believe this.”

“Watch your tongue Casias,” Trehe warned, before bringing his attention back to Varsilis, “What about him, Grandmaster? That boy has done nothing wrong, if you mean to pressure Lord Karras into renouncing him I won’t stand by and allow it.”

Varsilis frowned. “On the contrary, Lord Trehe, I have called this meeting because it is our duty to offer Lord Karras our support.”

“Our what?” Casias' expression suddenly grew severe, “Have you lost what remains of your muscle addled mind, Varsilis? The absolute last thing we can afford to do is support some outcast! You know exactly how they’d use that against us.”

Varsilis’s expression turned grim. “I am fully aware of what’s at stake,” he said. “More so than you are, in fact. Do you remember the hammer that appeared on my temple’s altar all those years ago? It’s still there. You all saw it when you came in. I told you then that it was a gift from Cadien, and that was the truth. It’s made by a metal no smith has ever seen before, and nobody in this city can lift it. Do you know why that is, Casias?”

Before anyone else could speak, Varsilis went on. “It’s because nobody in this city was worthy. The gift came with a warning, from Cadien himself.” His gaze shifted to Milos. “Tell me, Lord Karras, when you made the decision to take Brundt in, did you hear a voice in your head?”

Milos’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

“Nevermind how I know. What did he tell you?”

Milos swallowed. Cadien had forbidden him to speak of it, but the Grandmaster of Cadien’s order already knew, so perhaps it would be alright? “He said… that if I did not take the boy in, Ketrefa would burn.”

Varsilis nodded. “Indeed. Cadien gave me a similar warning.” His gaze shifted from Milos to the two older men. “He spoke of a threat to our city. One that will see us destroyed if we do not vanquish it. The hammer was meant to combat that threat, but only a worthy champion can wield it. And after all these years, I believe that champion has finally arrived.”

“Hmrph,” Casias grunted, sat back, and pulled down his hood, “I remember when the gods didn’t dance around in the street and go blessing hammers, annoying women, and little boys. Fine, I’ll believe you Varsilis. Or I will, when I see the child lift that damn ornament.”

Trehe pursed his lips as his gaze flitted between Vasilis and Milos. He’d listened intently, and now that he spoke it was both clearly and deliberately, “If... If there is such a threat, Grandmaster, I fear we might require the aid of gods regardless of its source. I am not to speak of it, but the inaction of my guard is not unprompted. The King grows... Paranoid. He refuses to speak to me, and rejects every call I make to restore order in the city. I am not certain he would even order a response, if we were attacked.”

Varsilis nodded. “We can’t rely on our King. Cadien made that clear. As to the threat… I have no doubts now. It’s the cult. Walk into any district under their control, and if you don’t get knifed in the gut, you’ll see it’s no place to live. If the rest of Ketrefa ends up like that, we will fall.”

There was a silence at that, and both Trehe and Casias could do little more than nod.
“Now then, I will have the boy try to lift the hammer,” Varsilis said. “But the boy is just that. A boy. Even if he succeeds, I doubt he will be vanquishing evils or leading us to salvation any time soon. It may be years before we see Cadien’s prophecy come to a fruition. But for now… let us see.” He made his way for the door, gesturing for the three men to follow.

---

They arrived back in the main hall to find Gelos kneeling on the ground in front of a rather bored-looking Brundt, teaching the boy how to play a game of dice. When he noticed their arrival, the veteran retainer swiftly returned the dice to a pouch and leapt to his feet, bowing to his lord. Brundt’s head turned to regard them curiously.

“Brundt,” Varsilis said, stepping forward and offering a smile. “Welcome to the Temple of Cadien. I am Varsilis, Grandmaster of the House of Perfection.”

Varsilis’s words were met with uncertain silence, as the boy stared at the Grandmaster with his peculiar purple eyes.

“You are nervous, I understand that. Fear not; no harm can come to you here.” He extended a hand. “Come. There is something I wish to test.”

Still, Brundt did not move. “It is alright, Brundt,” Milos said after a moment, and only then did Brundt take the Grandmaster’s hand.

The Grandmaster led Brundt up to the altar. “You stand before the altar of Cadien, child,” the Grandmaster said, to which the boy only nodded. He let go of Brundt’s hand. “Now, go forth and pick up the hammer.”

Brundt looked back at Milos, who nodded. Slowly, the young boy turned forward and ascended the stairs, eventually reaching the altar itself.

“Go on, pick it up,” Varsilis urged. Slowly, the boy’s hand crept forward, and closed around the hammer’s shaft.

Then, with barely any effort at all, he lifted it into the air.

In the past, two and sometimes even three grown men had all tried to lifted at it at once, but even their combined effort had barely moved it an inch. Varsilis, Grandmaster of the House of Perfection who wore a holy artifact that enhanced his strength, could not have lifted it either. But here, Brundt, an outsider and a child, had just lifted the hammer almost effortlessly. He held the hammer out in one hand, its head pointed downward, as he looked back down to the group with confusion.

Casias’ eyes bulged, and then the old man burst out in laughter. He laughed until he wheezed, which for a man of his age wasn’t more than a few seconds, but nonetheless the old man had a production of the whole affair. Only when he was done, and many sets of judging eyes sat fixed upon him, did the high Judge speak, “Well, looks like you’ve got one now too, Varsilis. Enjoy it. I don’t.”

Varsilis’s eyes narrowed. “You forget yourself. You stand before the holy altar of Cadien. I tolerated your disrespect behind closed doors, but not here.”

The old man waved Varsilis off and eyed Brundt, “I’ll be in the ground soon enough Varsilis. Long before the boy is ready for whatever Cadien has in mind. Hmpfh. Well, he looks the part, doesn’t he?”

“Blessed,” Trehe muttered, before turning to Milos, “Watch him carefully, Lord Karras. I have... Seen the consequences of incredible power given to one too young.”

Milos nodded, still taken aback by the day’s turn of events. Brundt, nervous at the sudden shift in mood, slowly placed the hammer back on the altar.

Varsilis’s voice fell to a whisper as he looked to Milos. “Send the boy here tomorrow, and I will have him undergo training and instruction from our order. Not only will this help prepare him, but the knowledge that he has my Temple’s favour should improve his standing with the rest of the city.”

Milos nodded, for that would indeed be useful.

“In the meantime,” Varsilis continued. “Let us swear by Tekret and Cadien to keep what we discussed here today a secret. I don’t believe that either the King or the Cult will take well to these developments. Just be prepared to offer your aid, when the time is right.”

---

---

The world around Tiamat hurled violently as the portal launched her; swirls of color and burned afterimages of turmoil flying by in the breach of dimensions, divine and mundane. Had it not been for her divine constitution, such a display would have driven her mad and scattered her body in a hundred thousand particles of dust, floating between the dimensions. Then, she spotted the first coherent light. The end of the portal, Galbar.

Tiamat was spat out unceremoniously. Without so much as a flash of light, she was launched through the air, coming to land in a shallow bog of mud and stagnant water facefirst. Behind her, the portal vanished. In the distance, some shouts -- someone must have heard her land. Sitting up in the mud, she sensed them, divine sight peering upon them.

She drew in her second set of arms, crossing them as their sleeves melded into her silken robes. From the air, she wove an ornate scarf, wrapping it about her head, only her horns sticking out. Then, an ivory mask, flat as her soon-to-be visitors. She mounted it upon the front of her head, tucking it into the hood. White gloves formed to cover up her metallic hands. Then, determined to be dignified before the first mortals she would ever see, she stepped out of the bog and onto flat ground. Mud slicked off her clothes, leaving them as clean as could be.

From the dense tree line came three masked figures, wearing long red robes and each wielding long spears and swords, the head of this group bore an intricate mask divided into four different colors, green, blue, black, and purple, their sword was drawn but upon seeing the fallen form of Tiamat, they lowered it.

“We heard some commotion, are you alright?” They spoke, their two companions looked around the area, seeing if there was any more people. Tiamat looked them over, picking up their language and responding, “I’m alright; I believe I must have scared an animal, and it jumped into the water.”

The head figure seemed to accept this, sheathing his sword upon his hip, he bowed as he continued to speak “Kinoshita Tanehira, what brings you to our neck of the swamps traveler?” the two others returned to Tenehira’s side, planting their spears into the ground, it was then when Tiamat noticed they all wore intricate bronze armor and were regal in their dress, their robes being of a fine silk make.

She stood up straight, saying back, “Tiamat. I’m not familiar with this land; perhaps it is unladylike to be lost, but I must profess that is the case.”

Tanehira chuckled “nonsense, the isles can be a bit of a problem to navigate, and if you are lost, our city is not a far distance away, if you wish to accompany us on our return there.”

She nodded, answering, “I would appreciate that. I am not well-suited for the swamps. Lead the way, sir Tanehira.”

“Of course.” With that he turned and headed deeper into the dense forest.

---

After a long walk, the group eventually found themselves upon a winding dirt road, eventually leading them to a set of mighty gates, carved from the dark wood that came from the swampy forests beyond, at the front of the gate stood two more masked figures, wielding similar spears and armor to the others.

“Hail Prince Kinoshita!” One guard spoke, rapping on the gate to signal it to open, which it slowly did. Revealing the city beyond, beautiful buildings of wooden make, most sitting upon tall stilts to avoid the swamp and flooding that occasionally happened. Tanehira turned towards Tiamat. “Welcome to Tategawa, capital of the mighty Kinoshita Clan.”

Tiamat peered through the gate at the city beyond, turning to Kinoshita as she responded with a slight curtsy, “A magnificent capital, indeed. Your clan is the most impressive I have ever seen, Prince Kinoshita. I thank you for bringing me here -- I would not have found it through the bogs otherwise.”

She then looked beyond the prince to the city beyond, asking, “You have taken me thus far. Though it may not befit a prince, I would greatly appreciate if you would be willing to grant me a tour of your capital.”

“Of course! I'm sure you’ll find my clan takes great pride in its city and construction and please, call me Tanehira, Im technically not even the heir to the clan,” He chuckled, his two guards joining him, “but that is for another time, for now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll start with the grand temple.”

The prince led Tiamat through the city roads, detailing small things here and there, the occasional shop or house of a prominent family or people he knew personally, the exact height of each stilt, something his father had instituted, and various other items. Eventually they came upon a massive building, in the front stood a mighty gate with two poles and and another more triangular piece of wood at the top. The building itself had a mighty pointed ceiling and held several roof-like flats surrounding a portion below it, it seemed to be built of thin wood and was coloured a bright red.

“This! Is the Grand Temple, built by my father shortly after his ascension to Daimyo of our clan, it holds the largest collection of images and statues for the gods across the isles and is what put us upon the map.” He turned towards Tiamat, obviously looking for a sense of approval. His talk of the history of the building seemed to have an air of happiness and pride to it.

Though even at the best of times, Tiamat was not built to be easily readable, she did her best to show her approval. With a clear tinge of interest, she asked, “I have not seen a construction so colorful before. I simply must learn how you managed such vivid and vibrant coloration. What gods are worshipped within?”

“The colour is a clan secret currently, as for gods, why, the four gods of course! Yamatu, our creator, Akwael, god of magic, Aritafek, god of construction and our clan’s patron god, and Kalaru, god of the ocean and the moon, why do you ask?”

She spoke, still transfixed by the temple, not looking at the Prince as she answered, “I am afraid I am not familiar with the isles. I am most familiar with the electric barons of the sky, whom worship the constant. Have you heard of them? I am unsure if they have ever elected to leave the mainland.”

The prince shook his head “I am not familiar with them no, I doubt any of our people are, we tend to stick with the four, as they impact the most in our lives.” He looked at the temple and its form, once more turning to Tiamat “You come from the mainland then?”

She finally turned from the temple, returning the gaze of her mask to Kinoshita as she continued, “Indeed. I am not from any one civilization, simply a wanderer. I have been to the sun plains, the anchors of the world and the airy fortress of the lord-regent who rules them -- made of stone and brick, yet floats as a feather, and the gardens southward. I’ve been through the seas of Kalaru and beheld its wonders, seen its reefs and its deeps. I have even been witness to the mana-islands of Akwael’s creation.”

She continued, “Now I have wandered here, to your isles, across the seas.”

Tanehira looked, thoroughly impressed, he stood there silent for a moment. “My my, that is, an impressive collection of travels, perhaps, once our tour has finished, you would like to join me to the palace? I'm sure my father would love to hear about your tales, and he would be more than happy to feed and let you rest with us.”

She gave a slight curtsy once again, saying, “It would be an honor, sir Kinoshita. I would be in your debt.”

“Well then, let us continue the tour.” With that he led Tiamat once more down the winding roads of the city. He brought her to the various lesser temples situated throughout the city, the hall of artistry where some of the finest art of the clan was placed, down to the docks where the flags and symbols of various other clans could be seen, and even to the various outer regions of the city, where the poorer citizens lived, but where the mighty architecture of the clan could still be seen.

Eventually, he led her to another massive building, one while of similar design of the grand temple, was more wide and seemed to be designed in a more regal or defendable way. In front of it was a mighty garden full of various plants from the isles, within Tiamat could see various guards and other reshut, all of an incredibly regal make, two more guards stood in front of the path leading to the palace, they bowed as the prince arrived.

“Prince Kinoshita, your father is inside.”

“Thank you Nasu,” He turned around to Tiamat, “Follow me, ignore if they stare at you, outsiders are rare in the palace.”

He led her into the palace, inside was even more regal than its outer form, mighty silk curtains, beautiful artwork, and displays of wealth were constant. Eventually they found themselves in a massive chamber, low tables and various silk pillows within, at the far end was a large pedestal, with its own table, at which sat an incredibly regal reshut, his red robes made of fine silk and a large horn like crown sitting just above his mask, upon which displayed the symbol of the Kinoshita alongside another one.

Tanehira bowed “Greetings father.”

The Daimyo bowed in return “I am glad you have returned from your endeavor son, and who is this you have brought?” He gestured to Tiamat, obviously hoping she would answer herself.

Tiamat bowed in turn, speaking reverently as she addressed the daimyo, “It is an honor to be in your presence. I am Tiamat, a wanderer from lands far. Your son, honorable as he is, rescued me from the grips of the swamps that confused my direction. I am in the debt of the Kinoshita clan.”

The Daimyo chuckled with a hearty laugh “Ah yes, he tends to do that, his incursions into the swamp bring us many a wanderer or lost person, come, sit,” He gestured to some cushions across from him “I am always interested in hearing tales from beyond my city.”

Tanehira bowed “If you shall excuse me father, I shall leave you with Tiamat for now, I wish to go about some tasks.”

“Of course my son.” The Daimyo waved, allowing him to exit, once more turning towards Tiamat.

She emerged from her bow, taking a place on a cushion across from the Daimyo. She followed with, “It would be my honor to regale my tales. I come from the mainland, and have seen a many great deal. Any questions you may have, I am prepared to answer.”

The Daimyo thought for a brief moment, stroking his mask, “Well, I guess my first question would be, what are the people like? Are they friendly?”

Tiamat paused for a moment, thinking, before answering, “The peoples of the mainland are a great many deal numerous and unique. There exists, side-by-side, cultures both welcoming and ruinous. Despoilers and enlightened lands of progress in equal numbers. There was only one land in particular I stayed in long enough to grant a good many details of -- the electric barons of the sky and the throat of the world.”

“I see, and who are these, electric barons?” The Daimyo leaned forward, obviously interested in what the traveler had to say.

Tiamat continued, looking slightly downwards in respect to the Daimyo, “The electric barons are alien, unlike any other creature of the mainland. Their domain is that of the clouds, and they care little for the surface we walk upon.”

She paused, before launching into further explanation, “They are principally gravity and lightning. A hundred thousand bolts of lightning make up their thought, held in place and controlled by a well of gravity that overrides the force that holds us to the ground. To near one is to know what it is like to float.”

Then, she spoke of their politics, “Their culture is one of both progress and battle, though they do not fight with sword and shield. From a wondrous castle made of stone and brick, that floats as though a feather, their lord-regent rules. It is said he was enthroned by that which he worships, the personification of the constant itself. He knows the gods and was witness to their walk upon the land in the time before.”

Another pause, to let things sink in, “From his castle, he rules over a great deal many baronies, which exist above our terrestrial civilization. Their royalty is that of intrigue, and though warfare between one another is strictly prohibited, a cowl and a knife in the back sees their advancement. It is said that the lord-regent rules only by his worthiness, that it is only him who can balance the demands of his court.”

The Daimyo was silent for quite some time, letting the details sink in “I see, quite the interesting people, but, I feel as if it is unfair to milk you of these tales constantly, so, if you so desire, you may ask questions about my people as well, for each question I ask of course.”

She nodded, responding first with, “I greatly appreciate the opportunity,” before following with her question, “on the mainland, the swamp is avoided, and the peoples of the world build only upon the dry ground, where it is firm. I am most curious how your peoples grew to accept the swamp and learnt how to build upon it.”

He chuckled “Well, unlike you mainlanders, we had very little choice, most of our isles are covered in swampish forests or are rocky highlands, we merely tried various methods again and again, my grandfather, founder of our clan, was the one who adapted our current method of construction, stilts and slight drainage of the swamps to better establish a foundation, other clans beyond ours use similar methods, though our clan is the best at it.” He pondered a few moments, thinking of his own question “So you say the people of the mainlands are diverse, I can only assume the climate is as well? I am curious as to what the weather is like there.”

Tiamat nodded, “Indeed it is. It is most generalized as hot southwards and cold northwards, but there exist notable exceptions. For example, the sunplains, which are beat with an intense heat, though exist in the icy north amongst frozen highlands and vast glaciers. It is said the goddess of the sun walked there, and bathed the land in her countenance, warming it to this day.”

She continued, “In the center of the mainland lays the tallest mountains in the world, anchors by which Galbar spins. To its south, a land of plenty, fecund soil and rolling hills, named the Garden. To the world anchor’s west, a vast desert and a sister chain of mountains. To its east, a primeval forest, all its trees merely flowering roots of a vast cyclopean mother-tree that reaches far into the atmosphere in the deep south of the mainland, amongst a vast jungle.”

The Daimyo’s eyes could be seen lightening up behind his mask, he took in the descriptions of each area in with great interest “It sounds, quite, interesting, this land sounds like quite the beauty, I do so hope my people will find their way to it someday.” He thought for a long while, before finally remembering he had a guest. “Now of course, your question.”

Tiamat looked up to the Daimyo, asking, “Your son has told me your clan is the most powerful on the isles. Of course, that means you are not the sole clan. What other clans lay claim to these isles?”

He laughed once more “While I would not call ourselves the most powerful, we are certainly one of the greater clans, we of course lay claim to the western portions of the largest island, Azakua, there are two other great clans, to the north lay the Hashimoto, they are a feisty bunch of warriors but honorable in their conduct, they are as great with weapons and blades as we are with construction and design, to the far east lay the Ohta, traders by nature, they are crafty and can sell you a broken table for the price of an artisan painting, there are several minor clans of course, some vassals of our clan, others vassals of the two other greats, other independent, there are countless."

"Now, my last question, what sort of material and power do the people of the mainland hold?"

Tiamat answered, watching the Daimyo through her mask, “As with their culture, their power varies. Small city-states who lay claim to only their immediate surroundings coexist with great imperial ventures, who marshal armies that stretch from horizon to horizon. The electric barons, by the provenance of their form, are virtually untouchable by terrestrial hands. Great stone constructions dot the landscape, from vast castles with jade roofs to cities that you could not cross within a day’s time. Others still live humbly, in small wooden huts or within dugouts of dirt and sod.”

"It seems these Barons are one of the more mightier forces there, you may have one last question, as I have nothing more to ask of the mainland."

Tiamat responded, “The barons are mighty, indeed, but share no interests with us. They need not what we have and do not deign to look upon the ground,” she paused, before continuing with her question, “I suppose my largest question that yet remains is, what do you plan to do with the tales I have spun?”

He thought for a while, pondering how to respond "Well my curiosity for the mainland is rather great, my people have never gone past the confines of our isles, I have long wished to make a foray into the mainland, and these tales can be useful as to knowing what exists."

Tiamat dipped her head in respect, “Exploration is a respectable goal. I am honored to have assisted you.”

He dipped his head in return "As am I to have assisted in helping you learn more, now, would you like to join us for dinner?"

She said back, “From my time in the baronies, I am no longer capable of eating, nor do I require it to survive. However, I would still be honored to join you regardless.”

The four-winged angel was up and about again. After a good night of sleep she ran into the forest with berries in her arms. Every bird she encountered, she talked to while she gave them a few berries. Most of them talked fast and chipper. The boars talked slower and harder. Though when she pulled up a few vegetables, even they came inching closer. Though she left them in peace to eat. If they didn’t want to talk to her, she wouldn’t force them. But now even a wolf had come to approach her. He was the leader of the pack and had called the Luminant home for much longer than Soleira had. They had an honest exchange of words on both of their places in the world. The wolf’s view was simple but clear: survive and thrive. Hunt when you must eat and feed the pack. Meanwhile the angel had a tougher time explaining her place. She eventually settled on the idea that she was just a helper. For everyone. Even the wolves. It would seem that the pack leader was content with that answer and left.

For the rest of the day Soleira was hard at work to gather more berries and roots. Though she promised the bushes she would replant some of the berries far around. Just like nature would have done with them. After a long, exhausting but fulfilling day she decided she needed to get the dirt cleaned off of her. Flying made places feel closer. She arrived at the lake in just a few minutes. On foot it would’ve taken a few hours. With child-like glee she folded her wings and let her splash head first into the water. Deep underwater she came face to face with a fish she nearly hit. She opened her mouth, trying to apologize. Instead water flooded into her. Quickly she swam up again. When she caught her breath and the surface, she looked down and yelled: “Sorry Mr. Fish! I didn’t see you! I’ll pay more attention next time!” The fish just swam away. “I hope I didn’t make him mad.” Soleira said out loud for a moment. She would hate it if someone was actually mad at her.

After a good half an hour of floating in the refreshing waters, she made her way towards the shore and dry on the ground in the late afternoon sun. In the distance she saw some of the wingless ones. Not just the men this time. She saw long haired women with tiny babes in their arms and even a few children. Something inside of her wanted to rush over and say hello. Though sadly Oraelia she would only be able to talk to animals. Right now she felt a closer kinship with the creatures of the Luminant than with the wingless ones. It didn’t matter. From the distance she just waved and laid down. None of them approach her but at least they didn’t run away either. It was a start.

After about half an hour of relaxing in the bright sun, clouds began to cast their shadows upon the colorful land. Even they were colorful though! Nonetheless, she didn’t want to get wet again. And it was close to evening. Soleira retreated to her cave. Content to sit by a small fire to keep her warm while she watched, enthralled, as the heavy rain poured from the heavens.

The rain seemed determined never to let up, and even with the inherent glow of the landscape, the world seemed to gently dim and mute in the rainfall. The smattering of water striking leaves, dirt and water filled the world and the cave with an echoing melody. That rapturous orchestra went unbroken until she was certain Oraeliara’s light had set beyond the clouds, and looked set to continue all night. That is, until another sound broke through the veil of water - a voice. It was joined by another, barely audible over the patter of rain. Still, there was only one conclusion; someone was out there in the rainstorm. The cluster of voices grew closer with each passing moment. Someone shouted a short phrase, the rain drowning out any chance of making a reasoned guess.

That’s when the first silhouette appeared in the darkness, beaten down into a hunch by the rain - the shape of wings half-lifted to shield them from the rain as much as possible. The glow of nearby trees illuminated the shape enough; the flash of dark hair and mottled wings striding past the light source straight towards her cave as other shapes appeared behind the first silhouette. Their strides were quick - almost a sprint - and the first silhouette broke through the sheet of rain into the sanctuary of Soleira’s cave, allowing the first good look at the figure in firelight. A frowning youthful brother, winged and drenched, with no more than a simple sheet of cloth to cover his lower body. Strapped around his chest was a simple harness of animal hairs and furs, barely more than a sling to carry tools. A set of gently glowing basic tools - a knife, a club - hung from the straps, seeming to have been shaped out of light itself. His dark, almost black hair was the first true hint as to his heritage, and his wings were speckled with brown and beige in patterns Soleira had never seen in her Oraeliari brethren. Looking at him was enough to stand the hairs on her arms, just like that first chaos. Neiyari.

“Oh-“ She said when she realized what, no who, stood before her. Her heart sank in her chest. She couldn’t fight it. Instinct made her take a step back. Just a moment earlier she had been waving at the silhouette to come and take shelter here. Now her arms dropped to her side. She took another step back. Behind her there was only rock and stone though. The only escape she had was in front of her. Passed the Neiyari. Fleeing wasn’t an option. Fighting was always impossible.

To her own horror, she only now noticed the animal furs strapped around his chest. It made her whimper. Why would anyone want to kill an animal for its fur!? Then her eyes fell to the tools of light hanging from the harness. Blood drained from her face.

“I-It’s alright.” She managed to say. Wishing she had swallowed every word she spoke. “W-We can share. The cave is big. T-There’s food.” She motioned at a corner in the cave filled with berries and roots.

The man stared at her with a frozen look of surprise, his wings unfurling to cease their shielding. Uncertainty flashed across his face, traded for a deep frown within moments. Whatever he intended next, the veil of rain broke behind him again as another rushed into the warmth and shelter of the cave. And a third. They shoved him aside and stepped aside themselves, as a final shape entered the cave. The last entrant was deathly pale, white like bone, with black hair and wings that seemed to suck what life there was left out of the cave. His features were like stone, carved to present a hostile and imposing visage of eternal contempt. Even his comrades seemed to shy away from his gaze and touch. None of the others were dressed any better than the first, though each had their own sets of the tools - nay, weapons. The situation repeated itself, as four sets of eyes fell on Soleira on the far side of the cave. “Oraeliari!” one of the new arrivals, a black-haired woman, called out, and drew her glowing cutter.

Her cave suddenly grew cold. Despite the warm summer and the fire. With the four shapes standing in it, there were more shadows than light. “We don’t have to fight!” Soleira said as she took a few steps back. Until she felt her wings touch the stone wall behind her. She even sank down as tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want to die.” She held her arms in front of her face. All four wings wrapped around her. Then, as if summoned by her despair, a crystalline shield formed in front of her. Meanwhile memories flashed through her head. Memories of Oraelia. Of the animals. The first chaos. “Why are we even fighting?” She sobbed with her eyes hidden and closed.

The pale Neiyari held out his hand and the woman immediately backed down, almost tumbling back as though the thought of his touch sent her reeling. "My, my," he began with a soft tone that conveyed nothing but mocking malice. "It seems you managed to find quite the treasure out here, Aziri. I've never seen one like her." He laid a hand on the shoulder of the first Neiyari who entered, who stiffened in response. The pale one continued inwards, pacing around the fire. "You are right to worry, sister, but the night is long," he offered on approach, a hand stretching out gingerly to nearly touch the crystalline surface. "Perhaps we can start anew. Can all of you do this? It is marvelous."

She looked up, her upper wings relaxed a bit. The streaks of tears were visible on her cheeks. Her eyes looked beyond the one standing before her. They all looked afraid. Not of her. Of him. What a tortured existence that must be, to be scared of the one leading you. He terrified her as well. Yet she also pitied him. Just a little. He spoke every word with a cold malevolence that made her heart crack. She kept the barrier up, even though it drained of her strength even now.

“I don’t know.” She answered with not a hint of bitterness in her voice. Though there was a little bit of compassion. “Are you going to kill me if I drop my shield?” She asked without hiding the fear in her voice.

"Would you feel better if I lied?" he questioned back at her with implied intent, features creasing to suggest he found her directness funny. "But as I said. The night is long. As long as you stay useful, I'd be remiss in my duties if I killed you. So. Sister. How useful are you?" He leaned forwards towards the shield with a smirk.

Behind him the three Neiyari spread out in the cave, looking through what means Soleira had assembled for herself. The first arrival among them, the one named Aziri, had made his way to the corner of food.

She knew what useful to him meant. Weapons. In all her fear a single courageous thought boiled up. Soleira refused to be a weapon. The day she laid a hand on anyone, even the Neiyari in her cave, would be the day she’d beg any god to strike her down. The crystalline shield began to crumble, though she remained seated. “I’m not useful to you.” There was real sadness in her voice. He was going to kill her no doubt. Who was going to care for the animals and the people in the Luminant? Maybe she had planted enough berries. Maybe she had spread enough berry bushes. She hoped the grey wolf wouldn’t kill too many of the rabbits and that the wingless ones didn’t kill too many deer. She hadn’t been able to talk to them yet. Her wings unfurled themselves from around her and spread out. She didn’t want to die. No, if there was a choice, she would want to survive.

“Just…Just tell me one thing.” She sniffed and rubbed the last of her tears away. “Why do you do it? The killing and the hate and the pain? I want to understand before I…” The word hung heavy in her throat. She tried to accept it but she couldn’t.

A pale hand extended between unfurling wings, craning forwards to touch her chin and force her head up to face his. Dark eyes loomed over her with malice and spite. "Were you not touched by our War Mother? I assumed all had seen at least a glimmer of truth before your false idol twisted your minds." He responded with something akin to pity in his voice. "This land is sick. Decaying, chaotic, and full of lowly creatures blind to the Goddess' love. It is our divine mission to improve it. All shall feel her love. Love cannot exist when false idols and bonds persist," he offered with a smile. "But don't worry. All who live shall accept the Goddess in their hearts. With our help. The world will burn, but a better one will rise. An ordered, loving world."

“But that’s not love.” She said with a meek voice. It was all wrong. Everything he said, it was wrong. The land wasn’t sick or decaying. War wasn’t love. Those lowly creatures he spoke of, they were more capable of love than him. Birds sang for each other. Squirrels snuggled up. Wingless ones kissed and embraced each other. There was no love in burning a world. He was so wrong. So blind. She couldn’t bear it.

She would die anyway. That realization made her eerily calm now. Everything told her that she should be scared. If she was going to die, by him or anyone in the cave, the least thing she could do was try and help them. Even a little bit. In a sudden move she took the man’s hand from under her chin and held it in between her two hands. The instant she touched him, she tried to channel her own understanding of love into him. It was warmth and safety. A smile, a shy glance and a bright laugh. It was conditionless devotion to something other than yourself. At the same time she tried to understand him. Why did he think so wrongly about love? What’s at the core of his misinterpretation?

His eyes widened, an almost instantaneous reaction to her grip and the resulting sensations sent coursing through his system. She could feel something gnaw deep within him. A tumultuous thought, beating out others. A roiling dark mass, spreading to everything else like a cancerous growth, tainting all it touched. It wasn’t malice, or anger, or hatred. It was a need. An obsession. A primal, base urge. Something that sent a rippling shiver through her spine, a sensation as though she was being hunted. Nothing impeded her vision, yet she saw shadowy talons reach and grip for her. Felt that same drive bubble angrily deep within herself. An impulse that lurked in him, and called to her. For just a moment, the world was flipped, and all within it was not enough. The animals were not loyal. The short ones did not respect her. Everyone had to understand. They must be made to love. Whether they like it or not. Then, just as swiftly, the sensation ended - the pale man ripped his hand free of Soleira’s grip, breaking the connection and severing the strange impulse as swiftly as it had arisen.

The pale Neiyari wasted no time; his palm swung freely towards her face and cheek, as he growled a furious “Insolent wretch!”. In his eyes was a mad panic, a fury borne of desperation and confusion.

The slap connected. It threw her face back. The pain, it stung. The courage she had gathered just a second ago vanished as she crawled away as fast as she could and as far as she could. Which was barely a meter away from the pale Neiyari. Her wings wrapped around her. The entire experience left her shivering. She was going to die now and she didn’t want to die. The cancerous growth had made her afraid. The fact that such dreadful feelings could not only exist but take root. Her cheek was still glowing from the pain. There was nothing else to do for her now than to wait and fear the end.

“You scum!” he shouted at her, and through small glimpses between her feathers she saw him move. Tense up next to her. “How dare you poison me with your wicked ways?! Ailura, give me your knife,” he continued, fuming beside her. There was shuffling about her.

“Saint Yurari,” came another voice, uncertain and hesitant. “There are a lot of different foodstuffs here. I-If she knows which berries and plants are edible, she can still be of use.”

Silence followed for a time, beyond the sound of awkward shuffling and the constant onslaught of rain. “Is that true, sun-sister?” the pale Neiyari finally asked, his fury abated for just a moment. “Can you identify the poisonous plants?”

“I-I can.” She said from behind her wings. For the past weeks and months she had eaten more than a few berries and roots that had made her violently ill. Though she never would’ve guessed recognizing those plants could ever come in handy. She replanted the poisonous and the edible alike. Would she survive?

“Interesting,” the pale Neiyari - Saint Yurari - concluded. She heard his wet feet hit the dirt as he paced away from her. “Guard her, Ailura. As long as it rains, she won’t get far. We’ll burn her wings if it stops.” he continued, and another Neiyari drew close. Some of the fear creeped away, as though it was attached to the pale man, giving her some chance at rational thought again.

“What are you thinking, Saint Yurari?” asked the hitherto quiet Neiyari, a third man.

“We can use the short ones to infiltrate and sabotage food storages. After a few get sick, they will be unable to trust their gatherers, and will have to throw out their food. Aziri, you are in charge of learning this. The more they resemble edible foodstuffs, the better.” the saint mused, further away but still perfectly audible. Even now, even with Soleira’s interference, his intent could be summarized with what he said next; “This could be an excellent method to progress the war effort.”

More movement, and the one that had first entered the cave came to mutter something to the woman, and they swapped places before Soleira. The Saint meanwhile spoke about what he had experienced. “Watch out for her hands,” he reasoned, before relating the emotional experience to the two by the fire.

Soleira swallowed deeply. Not because they wanted to burn her wings. Even though that alone was terrifying enough. It was the idea that they still managed to find a way to abuse her knowledge for war. She looked around. Attention was diverted away from her, for the most part. “I’m not a weapon.” She quietly muttered. If they forced her to talk, far more than herself could suffer and even die. “Not a weapon.” She repeated, almost as a whisper. It gave her strength though. She then turned towards the Neiyari that was guarding her. He was so young.

“I’m really sorry.” She said with no small measure of genuine regret. Before her captor could even ask why, she shot up. Her four wings spread out. With eyes closed she pushed forward. An unnatural amount of wind blew into the cave. With the crystalline shield formed in front of her to push anyone out of her path she flew out. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” She kept repeating, hating herself for hurting them. Though her wings couldn’t carry her far in the rain. Exhausted she dropped down into the mud. Though she tried to crawl away. If anything, they would have to kill her now. No-one would get poisoned because of her. Her life, for a lot of others. It was fair. Was it enough? “Oh Oraelia forgive me.” She said, fearing she would have displeased the goddess.

Then she heard something chitter and chirp. Despite the wind and rain, some birds and squirrels had come from their nests. “Nothing! It’s nothing!” She said, looking back at the cave and expecting her darker siblings to flood out in a moment. They didn’t believe her though. They began to chirp and chitter louder. More animals popped out from their hiding places.

The pale Neiyari drew closer. She didn’t hear him at first, but the chill that rose up through her spine could only mean one thing. A few of the animals, those most skittish among her friends, vanished back into the wet darkness as his voice caught through the rain. “Look at this wretch! Too weak to stand. Too cowardly to fight.”

He was right. She looked weak. She felt weak. “I’m not weak.” She grabbed the bark of a tree and pulled herself up. Bit by bit she managed to get back on her feet. Everything hurt. She was drenched in mud. The chirping from a distance grew louder though. A ruckus was brewing in the trees. Next to her, a crow landed on a low hanging branch. It cawed a few times. Soleira offered it a gentle smile. Or at least as gentle as she could manage in her state. “I’ll be okay. Really-“ She coughed violently. So violently, in fact, that she nearly fell to her knees again. The crow cawed a few times. Despite the rain. Despite the winds, it took off again. A second later, more caws could be heard in the distance. They were growing louder. Then the howling began. It echoed from far away. The second howl was much louder though. Tears ran over Soleira’s cheeks again. What they were saying, cawing, howling. She could hear it. “Please don’t hurt them.” She said.

“Saint Yurari,” she could hear the woman among the corrupted kin say in the rain. “Something is wrong.” Still she heard wet steps slap through the mud quickly, grunting as they drew closer, talking amongst themselves; almost lost in the cacophony of animal sounds and rain.

“Aziri, go with Ailura. We’ll fan out and surround her.” the pale one said in the rain. She felt a creeping dread, his very existence seeming to chill her to the bone the longer he remained.

A harrowing bellow echoed through the forest. It was a low, deep rumble. Something that pierced through all other sounds save the howling that got louder. As did the cawing. A crow landed on the nearby branch. Then another and another. They all looked at one of the Neiyari. Some chose to fly up again. They didn’t flee though. The first flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the night sky. A vortex of birds was growing over Soleira. Behind her, the black silhouette of three bucks appeared.

“Please just go.” Soleira now pleaded with the supposed saint. Even though in her heart, she wanted to run. Inside she felt torn between a dark feeling pushing her to run far far away while bravery bloomed in equal measure, strengthened by the growing presence of the animals and what they were saying. The thunder then roared through the air. “They’re not happy.” There was an intense sadness in her eyes.

The sight seemed to instill shock in at least his followers. Aziri and Ailura could be seen staring her way from the edges of the underbrush, but as the next flash came, they were nowhere to be seen. The pale Neiyari seemed undeterred, though his comrade tried to verbally continue what Ailura had begun. Finally, the Saint shouted above the din. “What a majestic weapon you could be, sun-sister! It is not too late to cast aside your folly. Return to the fold, or perish like the rest!” Despite his words, his comrade built up the courage to grab his arm, and pursued by the sound of thunder, their silhouettes began to shrink into the rainy darkness.

She wanted to return his own words. To beg him to turn to the light. She couldn’t though. The moment they were far enough, she dropped to her knees. One of the buck gently nudged her. She patted its side. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” Exhausted but relieved she was still alive, she managed to get up. Supported by the buck walking next to her. “Thank all of you.” She kept repeating. In the distance she saw the tiny glow of wolf’s eyes in the darkness. They never appeared from the darkness though. But Soleira smiled at them none the less. Near the cave she managed to find her way to her bed where she curled up and sobbed herself to sleep. Some of the birds had come inside the cave and kept their vigil.

It was late in the morning when a morose Soleira woke up. She offered every animal a faint smile. She even waved at the deer off into the distance. They let out a bellow in acknowledgement before they continued on. She didn’t say a word though. The most the birds could get out of her were some nods or shaken heads. Normally she would’ve begun the day by gathering berries. Today she didn’t. She was just looking around her cave and flew higher up the hills. It was mid-day when she came back down. Carrying two rocks in her arms. They were heavy. So heavy that even with her four wings she barely managed to get them down safely. Despite her exhaustion, she never stopped to rest. Instead she took another rock and began to very crudely fashion the faces of her two vanished siblings in them. The figures were too crude to ever really recognize but Soleira would remember. She placed the stones in the ground near her cave. “I won’t forget you. Aziri and Ailura. I promise you I won’t forget your names.” She said a quiet prayer with her eyes closed to them. Hoping they were in a better place right now.

Then she smiled again. It was a small smile. A fragile one. But a smile nonetheless.

---

Gibbou drummed her fingers on a table. Her acts as a protection goddess had been, uh, helpful, sure, but she felt like her presence was still lacking. The expansion of iskrill and Neiyari across the human sphere, as well as rumours of vampirism in Mydia and Vrool ransacking villages and the like. No, she needed more of an intimate proximity to the action - or rather, she needed a part of herself to be. Twilight had never been much help, and she doubted she could convince him to ever be, so it was about time to try a second time. She stood up and went about her dome, collecting various metals and materials she had dug up all around her moon. She dumped it all in a pile in the dome’s centre, snapped her fingers and the dome tunneled through the moon to the sunny side. She donned her shades and amplified the sunlight’s rays on the metallic heap until it melted. Then, she got to work.

With hammering tools and diligence, she turned the molten metal into armour plates - a full set of divine steel with hardness, lightness and flexibility the likes of which had never before been witnessed in the universe. The plate began to cool, and Gibbou took the time to carve and shape beautiful details into it. Once cooled, she padded its insides with mail and leather which together became lighter than feathers. She finished up the last little details and finally mounted the armour on a rack to view it properly.



It was perfect. It was as light as a feather and as hard as diamond. It was surprisingly flexible, and its only weak spots were between the legs and behind the knees. It would serve perfectly as an extension of her will to protect and defend. Now all it needed was some divinity. Gibbou placed her hand on her chest and, biting her teeth together at the pain, pulled out a fraction of her holy soul. It felt worse this time, as though the piece she had taken left a larger hole than the last one. She shook her head and the pain away and placed the orb on light in her hand against the chest of the armour. It melted into the metal and cloaked it in a flash of silvery moonlight. Gibbou took a step back, her dome digging itself back to the dark side of the moon. The armour’s light brightened, and noises beyond the ring of metal and light soon escaped it, becoming a voice.

”... Ugh, what… What’s happening?” came a soft, dazed, feminine voice.

Gibbou suppressed an explosive giggle. ”It, it worked! Oh sister, it worked!” She jumped triumphantly into the air until the sensation of the armour’s bewildered stare burned at her skin. ”Oh, sorry. Uhm… Welcome to life, my dearest creation. I am Gibbou, goddess of the moon and the shield of life, and your maker.”

The armour hummed. ”Maker… Yes… Gibbou.” Gibbou felt the armour’s invisible eyes look up to regard her, and a non-existent smile formed on its equally non-existent lips. ”I am… Thankful for the opportunity to exist.”

Gibbou swallowed - all good so far. She didn’t seem roguish like Twilight at the very least. Not yet, anyway. ”What is your purpose?” she probed her. The armour hesitated.

”I have yet to be given orders, maker. I stand at the ready.”

Gibbou gasped. Did, did this one just say she was awaiting orders? From HER?! She could barely contain her excitement, and her dancing hands showed that she couldn’t at all. She would have to play her cards well to ensure she didn’t end up with another useless avatar. ”You will be given the following task: Go down to Galbar and ensure the safety of its innocent mortals. Your mission - your purpose - is to protect those who cannot protect themselves, and I have therefore given you a form that cannot be broken by anything, maybe not even godly might.”

The armour drew a proud breath. ”Affirmative, my maker. I will ensure the safety and quality of life for all innocent mortals.”

Gibbou felt her eyes well up and she had to look away. The pride in her chest threatened to choke her to death. ”You, you will act as my agent on the planet below - the shield of the night; the bulwark of the dawn.”

”My plate is the armour of creation - my mail is the barrier against evil. I am your agent to command as you wish, great master - Gibbou the Magnificent.”

”The Magnifi--” Gibbou blushed and felt she barely had the heart to send her down to Galbar after all. However, she was too good to just sit here for the remainder of creation. ”Y-you will do alright, my dear. I… I baptise you Titania, the Shield Against the Darkness.”

The armour let out a touched sniff. ”I… I am honoured, my master. No one has ever given me a name before, and I am so happy you were the first to do so. Thank you.” Gibbou embraced her and Titania let out another sniff. ”I am so happy. Thank you… My master.”

”Oh, my dear Titania… You already make me so proud. I have no doubt you will keep doing so down on, on, on Galbar. Now go - fulfill your mission.” Gibbou reluctantly conjured forth a portal and Titania was pulled in, her helmet wearing an invisible smile of diligence and dedication.

”I will. I swear it.” She was then pulled through the multiple dimensions of space and time, colours flashing all around her, until she appeared right in the middle of a large, yellow grain field, looking up at the blue, tranquil sky. There, she remained. A considerable moment passed before she said, ”Master.”

A voice came into her head. ”Mmm? Yes, my pride?”

”I cannot seem to move. Is something wrong with me?”

The voice audibly frowned. ”You can’t move? Now hold on a minute, let me see…” While magical noises came from the other side, Titania picked up some other noises approaching.

“Oi, oi, oi, now woss this, ey? Someone left a bloomin’ fine heap a’ silver just lyin’ in the fields, hmm?”

“Well made, too. Bet this’d fetch us a nice price in that burrow we just passed by.”

“Who’d’a just leave all this roight ‘ere, of all places, though?”

That was when Titania realised that her head had been picked up, and her eyes looked down to see the rest of her lying in a neat, silvery pile on the ground. Her head filled with confusion and anxiety as she tried to move, but couldn’t for the life of her. ”Master, I can’t move! Something’s wrong with me!”

“Woah!” said the one holding her and her field of vision fell to the ground again, where it stared up into the faces of three short, stumpy, greasy-haired trolls. “Bloody ‘ell, did you hear that?”

“‘Ave we just stumbled into a heap of talkin’ silver?” The three of them exchanged looks before each unleashing celebratory squals. “We’re rich, mates!” They immediately scuttled to pick up every last piece of her and sprinted off in a merry giggle.

”Help me, masteeeeeeer!” shouted Titania, helpless as she was distributed across three different forms.

Above, Gibbou finished analysing her spell from earlier. ”Oh no! I forgot to put something inside you! No wonder you can’t move - you’re just armour! Let’s fix that up nicely.” She looked back down at the surface of Galbar, but saw nothing resembling Titania. ”Titania? Titania?!” she shouted. After no response came, though, she fell to her knees.

She had screwed up… Again.

---

Sat upon the small wooden stool, Uraka surveyed her budding empire. The greased, delicate hands of four attendants rubbed the earthen mix of dye and oil over her arms and legs with practiced routine, massaging each muscle until her naturally sun-touched skin was covered with the sandy-white mixture. On her back, the gentle brush of fingertips and the brisk feel of wet paint caressed her, as another attendant decorated her with the history of her clan. A sixth attendant knelt before her, trying not to block Uraka’s view as she firmly rubbed bloodbloom dye over her chest in the pattern of snakes and teeth her father had chosen when they rose to prominence. They painted upon her as befitting of her station as a divine instrument, and beyond them, she could see the fruits of her will unfold.

Hundreds of tools clattered repeatedly in the distance, carving wood, shaping rock, digging soil. Painted men clustered the tropical jungle’s edge with axes, cleavers, and flint. Trees fell one by one, brush was cleared, burned, or uprooted. Each hour, they gained more ground inland, carving out a massive clearing between the swaying seafront and the green wilds that had once pushed up against it - but no more. Besides Uraka’s rudimentary ziggurat, work was underway to replace old huts of leather, leaf and wood with grander construction - mighty limestone blocks were rolled in on logs from the jungle, and from the southern beachfront, slaves dragged large chunks of coral retrieved from the nearby overland reefs. Her father had used his blessed eyes to envision a grand clan unlike any other, and now Uraka would see his vision grow from a paltry gathering of the clans to something unlike anything that had come before - a jewel by the sea. All who saw it would weep with joy and astonishment.

The true change had been the knowledge of the Ta’zun; a simple crafter had devised a way to divert freshwater away from it’s regular paths, and now ever more space could be made for food - without slashing and burning the jungle to find fertile soil. Uraka didn’t understand it, but the man had made grand promises that the good soil could come to them, now. That was enough to settle, and to expand her plans. Between crops and the bountiful sea, the jungle seemed like a distant path at best, skulking at the edges of her budding civilisation.

A clearing throat brought her out of her idle surveying, and Uraka shifted her gaze to find the disturbance. Her eyes narrowed as she found herself looking at her chief advisor - her brother, Nuwan. The snake on his chest was faded, and the blue lines running over his eyes were flecked and smudged over his cheeks. She felt the tightening ripple through her fingers in frustration, but let it go with a sigh. She had grown tired of reminding him to respect tradition. “What is it, Nuwan? Must you intrude when I am not ready?” she pressed out instead, looking back out over her creation-in-progress.

Nuwan cleared his throat again. Uraka stared back at him and caught him peering at her attendants. He rubbed at his cheek idly, before finally glancing away. “Do you think it wise, Sister, to accept this commoner’s request? Traditionally, a Ta’zun is not fit to be consort of a ruler,” he began, and she knew he would continue with the same argument as last time; “A Za’watem should select their mates from the Za’wal or Ta’zesh.”

“I already have two Za’wal husbands, brother,” Uraka responded. She felt a hand scrub at her back gently - which could only mean a mistake was made. She cast a glance over her shoulder, causing the attendant back there to apologize profusely and throwing herself into a deep bow. Uraka frowned, but turned her attention back to Nuwan. “I am Za’watem, am I not? It is my divine will to honor his request. Besides, a man who can move the rivers is better placed in my bed, than in that of some uppity Ta’zesh. His wisdom would be wasted.”

“A little rich to call a fluke wisdom, I think.” Nuwan cut back with a dissatisfied frown. “If he truly had wisdom, he would be a Za’wal, or marked by the gods to be a Za’watem.”

“If we require a mark to remain Za’watem, I suppose I should abdicate father’s power.” Uraka sighed dramatically, slapping the hand of her kneeling attendant away from her face.

Nuwan grimaced at her. “Don’t be absurd, sister. None but us have the means or the will to do something truly great.” Uraka could only hum an agreement at that. A moment of silence followed, before her brother decided to fill the void. “...Moving on, Wazan has requested an audience.”

“Ah, my dear husband returns. I suppose he wishes to woo me with another tale of his endless jour-...” Uraka began, interrupted by hands gently rubbing her neck, throwing her off her thoughts in mild shock. Closing her eyes, she rapturously gave into the massage of paint and oil with a sigh. “Anything else, brother?”

“Uh. Yes. Za’wal Huallar desires an audience as well, to deliver the reading of the sky.”

“Very well,” Uraka offered with another sigh, waiting for the attendants’ hands to lift from her neck before standing up. “Girls, bring me the bowl. You may show them in, brother.” Hands left her in an instant, as the attendants rubbed their hands on cloth and fur to quickly dry off, and a quick chase began between two of them to cross the room and grab the ceremonial bowl of azure liquid. Two of the others gently and wordlessly began the delicate process of adorning her with a skirt of feathers without dirtying the feathers on the outside or smudging the painted patterns on her legs. Finally, a third gently draped her neck and shoulders with fur and gold without covering the snake pattern. As Nuwan excused himself, the bowl was brought forward, the cool blue liquid within rippling gently with each unsteady motion of her attendants. Uraka lowered both hands into the bowl, staining her skin deeply with the rich blue dye. She dragged them back above the surface steadily, letting her hands drip for a few moments before one of her girls dabbed it dry gently with a cloth. It should last her a week before she needed to re-apply her proof of rulership to her hands.

The servant girls had just about cleared aside to give Uraka some space when her brother returned with two men in tow, the old and wrinkled Huallar, painted with the greens and yellows of a Za’wal. Its’ patchiness implied he was applying it himself. In tow behind him came the dark, short hair of her first husband, with immaculate paints over muscled arms and legs, and a red handprint with the insignia of her clan’s snake behind it. Something about it made her smile with glee, even if she imagined he’d only bothered because he was seeing her.

“Beautiful Uraka, your eyes glow like the moon and your voice sings like the ocean,” he began as soon as he laid eyes on her, and Uraka felt her smile grow as her cheeks burned beneath the patterns. She loved the praise, and she knew he had figured that out early. She watched her husband move towards her, and raised her hand to stop him when he came within an arm’s length. She looked into his eyes, those magnificent, strange eyes; a myriad of shimmering color only matched by the rainbow. He had the divine blessing to be sure, more a Za’watem than she could ever be, yet he had chosen the life of a listener and scholar. She did not understand it, but he was ever fascinating. And his smile made her body flutter with butterflies, even now.

“Oh, husband, your words are as sweet as a junanfruit.” She offered in return, gently sliding her hand to his shoulder, and letting her eyes roam his form. He had been gone from her bed for too long. Her thoughts were interrupted by Huallar, who took a few steps forwards and bowed his head.

“Great Za’watem Uraka. I bring most grave news,” Huallar said with a gravelly, tired voice. He looked at her with eyes that were narrowed eyes from age or intent. “The assembly of sky speakers finished this morning, and it is unanimously agreed - the color of the sky is twisting. A rainstorm is coming. We believe it will be here before two moons have slept. Until it arrives, there is no telling how long it will last.”

Uraka frowned. “So soon after the last?” With another sigh, she turned to her husband, who looked worried in turn. “The other speakers I do not care about, husband - You assured me that the ocean would not be displeased with our grand project, yet it sends another storm to wash us away?”

“That is why I am here, beloved Uraka, star of my life,” he responded, lifting a hand to idly fidget with the necklace of painted sea shells hanging down over his chest. “The ocean speaks again - I have ventured far to speak with all the voices of the water, and all say the same. A great change is coming. They did not speak of any storms, but...”

Uraka felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Had they lied to her before? She had been careful not to offend any deities. They had moved the ziggurat when the sun had worried, and now the ocean punished them. “A great change?” It wasn’t fair.

“That is what they said, my love, my ruler.”

She frowned deeply, trying to regain her resolve. Perhaps it was punishment for not truly being Za’watem like her father. Everyone knew it, but no one said anything. Perhaps that was why the ocean was angry. But she did not come this far to let rain stop her from completing the vision. “That could mean anything, husband. Perhaps it is the storm.” she offered back dismissively. Her husband looked ready to reply, but she cut him off. “We shall have to prepare for the storm. Will you let the taskmasters know, brother?” Nuwan nodded. “That will be all then. Thank you, Za’wal Huallar. Brother. Girls. Please leave me with my husband.”

The others began to file out, and Uraka lifted a finger to stop him from speaking before they were alone. She smiled at him, finally lowering her finger.

“Please, Uraka. I think there is more to the words of the ocean than a simple storm.”

She grabbed his wrist gingerly, staining it blue with the still wet dye on her palm. “I haven’t seen you in months, Wazan. We can talk about the words of the gods later.”

He sighed quietly, lifting his free hand to her arm. With a gentle pull on his other, Uraka coaxed him into stepping closer. “Sometimes I worry you do not wish to rule, my love.” he muttered quietly, leaning his head forwards to touch his forehead to hers.

Uraka closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying the scent and warmth of her husband. “The construction of Zuanwa is finally underway, Wazan. Now more than ever, I am ready to rule. Nothing shall stop me.”



Raket paced outside the hut, listening to the intermittent cries of pain from his wife from within. He tried his best to still his anxiety, but it seemed to rise back up through his legs, crawling in his muscles like ants trying to get under his skin. Two women in the village had died in childbirth this spring, another had fallen to sleeping sickness in the heat a few months after. He bit at his nails, batted away the invasive leaves from the jungle around their hut, even steadied himself against a tree and it’s vines. Nothing helped. Every scream cut into his core like an obsidian knife scoring through animal fat.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder with force, tearing him out of his spiral of panic with shock. He looked over his shoulder to find the familiar face of Larunan, and his body eased just a little.

“Relax,” Larunan said with a gentle smile. “If you die out here of worry, who will teach the child to carve?” He squeezed his shoulder gently, before touching at his own chest’s handprint and yellowed insignia. “We are in this together, Raket. As her husbands, we must be stable and provide comforts for them both.”

“I just-... she sounds so troubled. I want to hold her.” Raket sighed sharply, turning to face Larunan.

Larunan nodded in turn. “Our wife is Ta’zesh. She has fought both men and jaguars. I do not think this battle shall claim her. As craftsmen our battlefield is of the mind and the-” he did not get to finish, as a scream erupted from the hut, loud and long enough to give both the men serious pause. A long pause followed, before the gentle and soft cry of a child pierced the thin walls of their hut. The two men lit up and smiled at each other.

“Za’watem! Za’watem!” came a shout from within the hut. Raket furrowed his brow in confusion, and Larunan stared back at him with a blank expression. Shoulder to shoulder, the two moved towards the entrance with haste. Breaking tradition, they pulled aside the sheet that shielded the procession from the outside, and came face to face with the scene of their resting wife laid upon the simple bedding. Beside her, the midwife cradled a small child with an astonished expression of awe.

Larunan placed his hand on Raket’s shoulder once more just as Raket saw why the midwife had shouted. Upon the child’s head was a strange fin rising from the forehead, with small membranes running down the sides. The midwife gave the child over to their tired wife gently, before turning to the two men with a great smile. “Your son is chosen by the ocean! May his reign be long and great!”

---

The night was bright. Both the white and purple moon were full and visible. With not a cloud in the sky. It was truly a night for artists and lovers alike. Commander Xelleth wished it would’ve been cloudy. He had even begged the gods for it. Alas, to no avail. So as he walked through the streets of the city of Anghebad with a hooded cloak on. He at least hoped none would recognize him tonight. Luckily it was a night for artists and lovers, not soldiers. Few, if any tonight, would recognize his face. And so he managed to reach the small, inconspicuous house in the middle of nowhere.

As per instructions he knocked three times, then waited for three counts and knocked twice more. The door opened. Inside a fire was coating everything in a warm, yellow glow. People were talking, but not many. The man who opened the door was elderly and wore a cloak just like Xelleth but with the hood off. “Commander.” He greeted with a warm, welcoming voice. “We’re so happy you could make it. Please, come in.” He allowed the commander to enter and led him to what could pass for a kitchen. There the old man filled two fired but simple clay cups with wine and offered one to Xelleth.

Who refused. With a smile, of course. The elder man took no offense. Commander Xelleth took a moment to observe the scene. The house was small. Three rooms, with a ladder leading up to a bed. It was the sort of house lower citizens would live in. Yet the denizens at the moment were far from lower citizens.

“With everyone present, I propose we commence the deliberations.” The old man – a high priest – said. Both him and commander Xelleth took their seat at the round, simple table. Joining the three other people that had been in casual conversation. Though when the high priest took his seat, the murmur died. “Once again this shadow council must decide over the fate of this great city. The charge I lay down tonight is against our own king, once more. I hereby charge King Hamurai with negligence, blasphemy, and weakness. He has become an ambitious menace that forsook his duties of the crown. He blasphemes against the gods and is unable to raise his own sword effectively.”

Xelleth felt a need to interject: “When has he blasphemed? Every night I see him pray to Ibbon. At dawn he prays to Rea. How many sacrifices has he given to the temples? I can see his ambition but not the blasphemy. He might be the most faithful man I’ve ever met.” This earned a scoff from the woman next to him.

The high priest, still friendly, turned to him. “Commander. You’re new so I will forgive your…indiscretion. The way this works is that the charges are not put to doubt. We have faith in each other that we do not deliver these charges baselessly. But as you insist, I will explain my position: he claims he desires to bind the slaves to their masters forever. Take away any possibility of freedom. That is an act only the gods may perform. In his pursuit he has shirked the duties of the throne. Thus he must be removed.” The words were spoken softly, yet commander Xelleth felt like a boy lectured by his father again. He sat back into his chair. “Now this council must take its decision: exile or death. As he has blasphemed against the gods and his sacred duty, I declare that he must die for his sins.”

The woman next to the commander spoke next: “My late husband was wise in many things but legitimizing that bastard was a mistake. He is a vile boy who will not rest until I and my baby, the rightful king, are dead.” Commander Xelleth couldn’t shake the feeling of doubt. The king had done nothing but welcome the former queen Beddeneth and her baby. A contender for the throne. “For the humiliation and suffering he caused me, there can only be death.”

“The king has been good to me.” The older man, opposite of the former queen, said. Commander Xelleth recognized the chain around his neck. Marking him as a slave master. The fact that it was made of silver made him one the slave masters in the city. “It pains my heart that these charges are laid before us.” His voice was morose. “Exile.” There was no venom, no edge, not even hatred in his voice. Only resignation as he sat back in his chair.

Then the younger man, with a full black beard, sitting next to the slave master spoke up. “The nobles see no fault with how he holds his court. He listens and gives direction. Though he might not be the most involved king. As you well know, he attended only a few celebrations this last year. Still, his levies are fair and well used. Exile.”

All faces turned towards the commander now. He wished he could’ve bought more time. He needed more time. So he got up and went towards the kitchen. “I cannot make such a judgment without a drink.” Slowly he poured the wine and raised the cup. The wine tasted disgusting on his tongue, to he forced himself to swallow a sip. To keep up appearances. What was taking them so long?

Then, from the door, everyone heard the three knocks. The shadow council members all looked at each other in confusion. None expected a sixth member. None but Xelleth, who praised the gods under his breath when the next two knocks came. He put the cup down and went for the door. “Commander, wait!” the high priest said as he got up from his chair and made a mad dash towards the door to block it.

Too late. Xelleth had opened it. In marched ten guards. Making the whole house far too small. They were dressed in hard leather and copper. The whole house was drowned in a cacophony of chaos and screaming. People shouted and spat around. One was pushed with his face into the table. Others were literally lifted out of the house. Insults were thrown around. Though most were directed to Xelleth. He found the ‘traitor’ accusation most ironic. Though when the guards had gotten the conspirators out, Xelleth remained in the house.

He brushed his fingers against the simple wooden table. There was something great and frightening about the piece of wood. Here, kings had died. Battles won or lost. Poisonous herbs had laid in the middle of it. As well as gold, silver, and slave tokens. He took the mace from his belt and began beating it. When he was done, the table was nothing but pieces of tinder. Scattered around. If he had the time, he would’ve burned it. But the night had only just begun.

King Hamurai’s study was well lit. Candles, torches, and the hearth made the place hotter than it ought to be. Hotter than it was at day. Three of the four walls were covered with shelves holding an endless amount of tablets. Two slaves were diligently pulling or putting away the hardened clay tablets. The fourth wall was open. Pillars upheld the roof there. It offered a stunning view of the night sky. One the king hadn’t paid attention to in years as he sat hunched over his oversized desk. Which was covered with piles of tablets on both sides. He slowly repeated the words written on it.

When he heard the knock, he looked up. Commander Xelleth entered his study. “My king.” He said, with a deeper bow. The slaves continued their work.

“Commander! What a sight for sore eyes. Sit down. Sit down.” He said motioning at the chair before the desk. “Wine?” He asked.

The king knew the answer, though Xelleth chose to humor him. Again. “None, thank you.”

“Someday I’ll find a wine you enjoy, Xelleth.” The king said with a gentle smile. Then it vanished again. “So the shadow council is no more?”

There was a moment of hesitation as Xelleth tried to choose the right words. “My king…we managed to capture the conspirators but one got away. The former qu- I mean, your stepmother. She ran away. Though we managed to hold her babe as a hostage.”

The king pondered upon the words for a moment. “Unfortunate.” Was all he said about it. “Alas, you did good my friend. With this city and the crown unshackled from the council, I can finally spread its wings. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’ve only done as you commanded.” Xelleth said.

“Ah, humility. A noble man’s shield against the trappings of glory.” The king said with a challenging smile. He snapped his fingers and a slave entered the study as well. Holding a bundle of simple cloth. “For you.”

Commander Xelleth got up and began to unwrap the cloth in the slave’s arms. A sword was revealed. It was simple, unadorned. Yet the commander couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even dare to touch it. “Is this…” He didn’t even dare say it.

“Bronze. Yes. Taken by my father from some rival tribe. They say its name is Ravegg. Render.” The king said with an unfittingly casual tone.

“This is a king’s weapon.” The commander said.

“Ha! And what am I going to do with it!?” Hamurai said as he laughed. “My arm is not for wielding swords. It never will be. That sword would be useless in my hands. I’d rather give it to someone who will have great use for it.”

Slowly the commander picked up the hilt of the sword and lifted it. Whoever made it, had gone the extra mile. It was well balanced but laid firm in his hand. The edge was without a chip even. “Thank you, my king. I will not forget your generosity.”

“Good.” The king said as he too got up from his chair. “Now go and hunt my stepmother. I want her alive. I’ve got other business to attend to now.”

They put him in a cage. Like an animal. Worse, like a slave! Salomeh had railed and raged against his captors at first. Using everything from his noble family name to the promise of vast wealth if only they released him. Nothing worked. Despair began to work. For two years being on the shadow council had helped him and his family rise to the top. He guessed this was the price.

From the shadowy darkness a black, hooded silhouette appeared. Holding nothing but a stool. As he got closer, the guards gave him a quick nod and walked away. Leaving Salomeh alone with the stranger. Who sat far enough from the cage so he wouldn’t be recognized.

“What do you want?” Salomeh asked. He could feel his youthful defiance rise up.

The main said nothing.

“Well!? Speak.”

Still nothing.

“Do you know who I am?”

“A friend. Once.” The man said. Salomeh turned pale. “Hamurai! Blessed be the gods, there has been a mistake. I swear to you, I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong. Let me out of this! Your guards, the beasts! They put me in here like I’m just some common slave!”

“You wanted to exile me.” The king said unnaturally calm.

Salomeh swallowed deeply. “W-We had no other choice. The council’s rules. They force us… If I had a choice I would’ve… You have to understand.”

“Right now I don’t have to do anything.” The king got up and pulled something from his belt. He tossed into the moonlight, towards the cage. It fell on the ground with a heavy clang. Salomeh grabbed it. “Tell me, how much does your family know?”

Salomeh looked up. There was fear in his eyes. Real fear. “They know nothing! I swear to you, my parents, my wife. They’re just happy! We’ve become rich! Please don’t hurt them.” Tears welled up in his eyes.

“That entirely depends on you. My old friend. You know what to do.” The king said as he got up and took the stool with him. Leaving Salomeh alone in the moonlight.

“King Harumai!” high priest Kalemeth said with a snide voice as he saw the shadow approach him. “Here to gloat? To make an old man suffer?” he too was locked in a cage. Standing alone. With only the light of the moons. Still he had recognized the king enter. “Do what you believe you must! I have already won. The gods will welcome me with open arms in their halls. Where I shall feast for all of eternity! Not even you can take that from me.”

“I cannot.” The king said as he took place on his stool.

Which garnered a vile, confident grin on the high priest face. “So when will you finish me.”

The question hung in the air for a moment. Until the priest began to realize what would happen. “You cannot! You have to kill me!”

This time it was the king’s turn to smile. “Your tongue will be cut out, your hair cut and I’ll remove your right thumb and index finger. Writing will be most difficult I’d imagine. You’ll be starved here, for about a month. Then I’ll hand you over to a slave master. I’d figure, as a house slave, you won’t be very useful. But you will live. For many, many more years. You might be destined for a heavenly paradise, Kalemeth, but I don’t have to be the one to send you there.”

Qalem was calm as he waited in his cage. He hadn’t prayed. No god in their right mind would save a vile man like him. There was blood on his hands. Not just that of slaves. Seven years ago, when he had stared down the edge of a knife, he had accepted death. All the time since then was just a bonus. Qalem had no heir. No blood. No wife or family to say goodbye to. All he had was a legacy. One formed by slaves.

When the door opened, he did not look up. If it was his executioner, then all would be over soon. If it wasn’t, well what did it matter?

“Not an honorable way to greet your king.”

Qalem did look up, surprised to look up to the king standing near the cage. Close enough to be touched. He smiled, then looked down again. “You don’t deal in death.”

“Indeed I don’t. Rise up, Qalem. I’ve got a proposition for you.” The king said.

Qaelm rose, if only to entertain the king for just a bit. There was no reason why he couldn’t hear him out. If there was one thing he had now, it was time.

“Good.” The king said and then sat down on the stool he brought with him. “You know I want to change this city?”

“More magic. More slaves.” Qalem answered with a smile. “It’s making my people very wealthy.”

“Indeed it is.” Hamurai said. “Though some would say we are getting too many slaves. Not enough die and too many flow in. They risk a revolt we cannot win this time.”

“So I’ve heard.” Qalem said.

“You don’t believe it?”

Qalem let the question ruminate for a minute. The king let him. Silence reigned. There was no reason to lie now. “Oh I do.” Qalem answered. “Two slaves for each free man? Issues are bound to happen. Slaves are making this city rich and one day they’ll rip us apart.”

“You’re quite right.” Harumai said.

The king’s words shocked Qalem. “You were the one to get more slaves in the first place? You knew how many were dragged over the floors of the markets. Why did you let it happen?”

“Anghebad needs to grow. It needs to overthrow its opposition. We need money and soldiers for that. Slaves are making us rich. I intend to use that wealth. But I’m in a race against the sands of time here. If I cannot find a way to control the slaves, they will destroy us.” The king said.

“You have put the city on borrowed time.” Qalem said, realizing what was happening. It was so clear now. How did they not see it before. “It’s you finding a way to chain the slaves forever against the inevitability of a revolt that would destroy you us.” He laughed. It was a desperate, terrible laugh. One uttered when you saw doom coming and you know it will never get to you. “And Kalemeth called you ambitions! You sire, are stark raving mad!”

“Perhaps.” King Hamurai said. Unphased by the sudden bout of insane laughter. “But that means I can ill afford to kill a slave master. You now know the truth. There are three paths from here. Either you help me and keep the slaves subdued for as long as you can, you swear not to breathe a word about this and carry one with your life or you die here.”

“I will help you.” There was no hesitation in Qalem’s voice. None.

On that cue, a guard entered and whispered something in Hamurai’s ear. The king just nodded and said: “Hand his body over to the family. Along with my condolences for his sudden suicide.”

Rea’s first light was just visible on the horizon. Fighting against Ibbon’s darkness. It would still take an hour before dawn would fully start as King Hamurai stumbled into his study. “No rest for the wicked.” He mumbled to himself. He felt exhausted, but as Qalem had said: he was on borrowed time. Time which was rapidly running out. He needed a way to bind a slave to his master. The tablets of his ancestors about magic were at best incomplete and at the worst completely useless. Magic would be the key though. He knew that. Once again he took his seat behind his desk to read over a tablet. To he could only fight off sleep for a little while.

When he woke up, a stone orb was laying on his table. He looked around. The slaves hadn’t come in yet. Nor had anyone else. Not a single tablet was touched. How did the stone get here? Natural curiosity made him touch it. Instantly lines and strange figures on the orb began to glow. He jumped up in his chair and dropped the stone. Which began to float low over the table.

“Good day sir. I am Orb and I was specifically created to teach one how to use magic. Shall we start your first lesson?”

Chaos had engulfed the Luminent, one born of a people made and then divided for the Aiviri where a people at war with themselves. They ran amuck, spilling each other’s blood in acts of aggression or self preservation whenever they met using the crudest of technologies and powers they barely understood. At the same time they battled the elements themselves, clinging to life however they could as nature did its best to snuff them out.

The Aiviri where in a unique situation unseen since the times in which the gods walked the earth and molded mortal races from clay with their own hands. They knew nothing, having been cast into the world and then left, mostly, to their own devices. They were beset by endless problems that none of their kind had ever attempted to solve before. Struggle bred death in many cases, but it also bred innovation. Desperate Innovation. The Aiviri’s chaotic birth also spawned the highest concentration of Inventors the world had yet known, adding a volatile new ingredient into the already uncontrollable situation boiling over in the Luminet.

Contraptions made from twigs, bones, vines, chunks of metal ore and all manner of other easily acquirable materials began to be made, crude things bearing incomprehensible magics and fueled by the infinite core of MUSE.

Some brought life. Plants were fostered, supplies were located, wounds were sealed and the elements defied, yet many more spread death. Neiyari built weapons of slaughter and in response the Oraeliari weapons of protection. When the two clashed, the results were often explosive. They were also highly educational. Opposing inventors who could not best another became, in effect, rivals. They strive to outdo one another in the name of their faction, forcing each other to create greater and grander creations in the name of survival. Inevitably the saints and the cardinals picked up these Inventors, and put them to work towards their opposed causes.

As the conflict ticked along down below up in the realm of Artifex MUSE devoured the data produced by the war. Designs were tested. New and innovative ways of harnessing the forces of the world were concocted as the Aiviri pushed the limits of their people’s limited technological knowledge to a breaking point. The frenzied activity and progress soon caught the eye of the newly minted god of civilization, who turned his narrow gaze upon the glowing forests.

---

Arsarri hadn’t eaten in days. Not that this was unheard of among the Aiviri as they struggled to survive, but Arsarri ‘s hunger was entirely self inflicted. He could have sent his minions to fetch food for him. Indeed they tried to do so on their own initiative before being shouted back to their posts. There was simply too much to do. A grand vision burned in his mind. Grandest of all his visions by orders of magnitude and, he was absolutely sure, a vision far grander than any other Aiviri had ever had! He giggled to himself as he imagined the looks on their faces when his work was completed, for at last, none would beagle to doubt his worth, his power, his genius!

In accordance to his vision, Arsarri had used his earlier inventions to first capture a beam made of strange metal that resonated with ancient otherworldly power from a human tribe who had been using it as the center to a shrine. Then he had carefully carved into pieces using a superheated sunblade to form the basis of a series of six contraptions. These now formed a ring around clearing in the forest, where Arsarri and his minions busied away, threading crude materials together to call upon powers they did not comprehend. Solar tools, bones, stone, stolen metals and string were placed in intricate configurations, calling dark spheres of negative light, arcs of lighting and twists in space into being within the machine.

As they worked a Saint watched their progress, his eyebrows furrowed as she tried to comprehend what the Inventor was making, as he had done during two of Arsarri’s earlier bouts of Inspiration. Many technologies had begun to be learned from the inventor’s work, from the mysteries of magic to the humble hammer and nail. Yet whenever he tried to apply his divine gift to the heart of the inventions his mind seems to slip off of them and when he asked the Inventor and his minions to explain they babble incoherently about “negative spatial distortions”, “parallel dimensions”, and “electricity”. All inscrutable madness, and yet he was unable to refute the usefulness of the end result. The saint’s little group was doing far better than the average Aiviri thanks to the Inventor's creations and the insane drive of both himself and his minions.

The success was good for the cause and for his people yes, but even though he was in charge, it still filled the Saint with envy and concern for his position in equal measure.

Eventually the work was complete. The Saint could tell because Arsarri started laughing maniacally: “I’ve done it! Ahahahahaha! It’s finally ready”

“And what, exactly, is it.” the Saint asked, unimpressed by the bulky contraption the Inventor had managed to tie his hand too, “how exactly will this help organize the war effort and give us shelter as you said it would?”

“You’ll see! You’ll see. Soon they’ll all see!” Arsarri replied unhelpfully before calling out to his minions. “On my mark, begin the activation sequence!”

The other Neiyari called back affirmations after which Arsarri told the Saint to “stand back, and witness my genius!”

Black lightning suddenly arched from one contraption to the next, causing the Saint, who refused to be ordered around by the madman, to stumble backwards as the power formed a ring of energy. As the Saint and his people watched in awe the ground within the circle suddenly exploded upwards, showering the surrounding area with soil as a vast pillar of dark uncut stone burst from the ground, climbing high, high into the sky. It grew and grew, an endless stream of stone pouring up from Galbar till it towered above the glowing trees of the Luminanat, casting a great shadow across the land.

The marvels did not stop there. The black lighting flowed upwards, encasing the towering monolith in its energy.

“I have my materials, now the real work begins” Arsarri announced, as the same dark power flowed up and over his arm from where he had bound his hand to the device. The Inventor's limb spasmed and shook for a few moments and then grew still and accustomed enough to the power to the work. Energy burst from the enveloping field, carving great swaths out of the tower in accordance to Arsarri’s designs, forming from it a dark tower.

Sat atop a sheer cliff of stone, the actual construction did not start until above the treeline, where stone sliced off of the tower was crafted into arial landing pads for the winged Neiyari. Inside past imposing gateways energy bored corridors and grand rooms fit for royalty and a vast throne out of which a ruler might look out over the Luminat at their domain and at lands still left to conquer. At the very top sat a dungeon shaped like a bird cage, where the Neiyari could keep wingless and crippled Oraeliari prisoners where they had no chance to escape.

Eventually, the lightning died, and the Inventor stumbled back, looking up in awe at his creation even as the machine’s that had built it crumbled, burned and then disintegrated in a series of small explosions.

He turned to the Saint and his people, raised his hands to the sky and called out “Behold my creation! Witness my majesty! All who look upon it and kneel before my genius!”

As he said those words, a final piece of the wonder came into being, but it was not a physical thing, but instead it came alive in the hearts who witnessed it. Who could question the right to rule of someone who owned such an awe inspiring structure? The watching Neiyari fell to their knees. All but one.

The Saint picked up the wicked hatchet of light he wielded and advanced upon the Inventor. “Stand! Stand you whelps. This tower does not belong to him, it belongs to the Sainthood! It belongs to me!”

“No. No! Can you Saints do nothing but steal from your betters!” Arsarri growled back “Minions! Defend me! Do not let this thief take my Invention!”

The inventor brandished a small wand like Invention in defiance but his minions were too exhausted front he work, and no longer energised or motivated by his Inspiration, to help. The other Neiyari meanwhile were too stuck between the new power and the old fear to move to the aid of either claimant.

The saint charged, roaring in wordless anger as Arsarri raised his small weapon towards him, the machine humming and clicking as it charged up.

“DIE!” Arsarri shouted as the weapon fired, a beam of energy arching out of it. Yet his unsteady hand and the Saint’s skillful dodge caused his shot to miss, instead striking one of the onlookers who fell to the ground writhing as demonic ichor overwhelmed their body.

The Saint’s axe flashed, sundering the hand holding the weapon from Arsarri’s arm before the Saint kicked him to the ground, and planted a foot on the Inventor's chest, raising his axe to strike a more deadly blow.

“No. No wait! I yield! You still need me! Think of what i could still create for you!!” he pleaded, the fear of the Saint overwhelming his former arrogance in an instant, before the axe came down on him twice more.

---

The saint sat upon the raised dark throne of tower and looked out upon the Luminent though the wide gaps between the pillars holding up its roof. His axe sat against one side of the throne, while the Inventor’s weapon rested on the arm on the other side while his people prostrated themselves before him. Life was good.

There would be contenders, his fellow Saints of the Maelstrom would no doubt be drawn towards the tower, but he was quite certain that none could compare to his right to rule thanks to the unique and overwhelming majesty of his dark tower.

Or so he thought.

As he admired the world that was soon to be his familiar lighting flared in the distance and bright white stone rose skywards as an Oraeliari Inventor completed their own constructors, summoning and carving a looming structure of their own. The Saint gripped the sides of his throne in anger at first and then rose raging and fuming as sunlight began to reflect off of the shining golden surface of the domed structure, bathing the forest in a second sunrise that none could ignore.

High above Arsarri, his wings reduced to bloody stamps, bore witness to his rival’s creation as he clung to one of the bars of the prison built atop the tower and laughed and laughed and laughed.

And yet higher still, in the heart of MUSE, a goblinoid Artifex smiled a fang filled grin as his awareness of the region blossomed into pristine detail where before there had only been the scattered pinpricks of the Inventors.

”Now then, lets see what you can make of yourselves.”

Sirius looked down and peered into a particular cave, though this was perhaps a misnomer. He was feeling the senses of his new praying followers, and yet he couldn't help but rearrange his vision to come from the far reaches.

He felt a tinge of guilt, they were extraordinarily gifted in his new magicks, but there was a steep cost. To open up their new senses, they had to forsake their old ones. They wore heavy gloves and clothes around their mouths and noses soaked in material to dampen their smell. Lighting was sparse, and food was bland and flavorless. The cavern was mostly silent however, occasionally, there were songs sung in whispers or instruments quietly played. Of their mundane perception, their hearing was the most important.

He had taught them of his new secrets, and while he gave them the knowledge of the mechanics to inform their choice, he never advocated for it. Despite his aversion, their merits were impressive. Their whisper-sight was only something he could grant them due to their training, the ability to tap into a small portion of the divine to see through falsehoods. Only one person among the circle had been able to harness it, but they all hold the potential to do so.

As they prayed, they revealed their stories to him, and none of them were particularly pleasant. Not everyone who came was entirely innocent but was duty-bound to accept them as his followers. He could only wish that they would find peace in the new understanding of the world that they were discovering.

---

At first, being selected to serve in Aveira’s honor guard had been both a comfortable and easy job - and one that elevated you almost instantly in status to rival that of the Saints. The truth was that Aveira simply did not need guarding. She did not seem to sleep, aside from fleeting moments of inactivity. She did not eat, at least never around her honor guards, and as long as you stayed out of her way, she was even pleasant to be around. Standing by her side was powerful, other Neiyari learned to fear not only her, but her chosen few. It was a life of being hand-fed the bounties of the Luminant, taking any consort you wanted, and escaping any responsibility. Aveira did not care, so long as her will was carried out, and so long as she was not bothered in her enigmatic rule. For the ten that served, it was a paradise.

There was a plan, and that plan was never shared with anyone, but it meant travelling all over the Luminant to put Neiyari communities in their place, spreading death to the lesser beings, and enjoying the occasional skirmish with cowardly sun-kindred. Few Neiyari had any more than rags and basic tools, but the honor guard had clothes fashioned from the small ones’ designs, bark and bamboo armor, and spears of light that Aveira had forced them to construct. None had ever failed to maintain their spear, and no one wished to find out how Aveira felt about failure.

The life of an honor guard was not particularly demanding, and for a time, it was even better than being a Saint; what was a leader, next to the guardian of a god? But all things change. Almost two full years after their ascension to guardianship, Aveira’s plans carried her above the trees beyond the Luminant. Now, she had said, their real mission began. So their wings carried them away from the forever-glow of the luminous landscape. They flew north, towards trees and mountains barely visible on the horizon, even from afar.

The sun had time to set and return, and before long the Luminant had become a memory rather than an observable phenomenon, even from the skies. After Azera complained about being tired, getting a few hums of agreement from some of the others in the honor guard, Aveira finally descended to the trees - and the ground below. Exhaustion was immediate, food was low, water was scarce. Flying for this long without preparation had been taxing, extremely taxing. Physically and emotionally draining, with nothing but other terse and violent degenerates to keep any sort of company. Aveira, who had been unusually quiet, watched the group file out on the ground, and then simply stared up at the sky.

It was a ruddy brown haired man, a dark expression on his eyebrows mixed with exhaustion and the tell tale signs of anger, who spoke up. "Where are we going?" He spat. His name was Malri, and he was the newest member of the guard. A man who was as arrogant as he was cruel, always demanding a great amount from the lesser races and doing with them what he pleased.

Aveira lowered her gaze to examine the man, as though she had never bothered to do so before despite having picked him for the task herself. ”To push a few pieces into place.” she answered, and before long she glanced back up at the sky, content that her answer would satisfy even the most curious of souls.

"But that doesn't mean anything to me. What pieces? What place? We were perfectly comfortable in the Luminant before you decided to fly us off to gods know where!" Malri said angrily again.

"Oh shut up Malri. Ever since we left you've been complaining about everything." Said Tulara, a black haired woman with a painfully impassive face. She didn't even look tired.

"If I wanted to hear you speak, I would have addressed you, Tulara." Malri shot back. "I'm talking to Aveira."

Tulara scoffed and opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Enzari. "It doesn't matter where we're going, it is her will and we will follow it."

Malri crossed his hands as he gazed daggers at the rigid posture of Enzari. "Always one to kiss up, aren't you En?" He mocked. "Are none of you curious what we're doing here? Or am I the only one who can think about the future? At the rate we keep going, we will die of exhaustion. She will have us drop dead and for what! She's not even paying attention to us!" He shouted now, pointing at the avatar.

”I suppose you are right, Malri,” Aveira offered with a calm voice, lowering her gaze from the colourful sky.

“So where are we going?” Azera cut in as she sat leant back in the grass, emboldened by Malri’s rebellious words.

Aveira once more refocused on the group, eyeing first Azera, then Tulara, and finally Malri himself. Her eyes were cold, conspiratorial, and calculating. Even before she spoke again, Malri knew he would not like the reply. ”I suppose you can go home. It was a mistake to assume you were ready for this.”

"Ready for what?" Malri asked in disbelief, his left eye twitching. "Ready to travel? Ready to move the pieces? Go places?" He took a deep breath then said, "You still won't tell us why we followed you here and now you tell us we can just leave? Is this some sort of sick joke? Why did we leave our positions in the Luminant just to travel with you!"

"Leave, stay, go back. It doesn't matter to me," Aveira returned with an even, dispassionate tone. Azera managed a brief gasp but was undercut as the avatar of the War Mother continued. "Be happy that you were recognized for your talent, and served a purpose beyond your kin. Catch your breaths. We leave again shortly. Those who cannot keep up can go home."

"This is-!" Malri started but was cut off by Enzari who said, "At your command."

Malri looked at Enzari in disbelief, as others took both sides of the argument. Some began refusing outright and others were hesitantly agreeing.

"You can't be serious! You would follow this… this bitch!" Malri shouted, and the entire party quieted immediately, all eyes on him. He puffed out his chest after a moment and continued, "Avatar of the War Mother or not, she continues to lie to our faces! She does not and will not care when we drop dead from exhaustion! We are not Godaris! I'm going back, all of you be damned." He spat.

Tulara, who at first had looked deeply disturbed by the unfolding events, decided to vent her frustration at Malri, who swiftly became a target for her, and those among the group that considered the senior Neiyari an authority. “Figures you’d turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble, Malri. Crawl away like the snake you are.” she spat out, and Terani, who had been quiet until now, gripped his spear a little tighter behind her.

There was no chance to reply, as Aveira unfurled her wings to beat a single time, a gust of wind rocking the clearing enough to ruffle feathers and demand silence. The avatar lifted into the sky, eyeing the near dozen Neiyari on the ground. "If you are unable to keep your thoughts on your divine mission, you are not necessary. Pray that there is enough worth left in your frail forms to garner the War Mothers’ favor.” the avatar spoke, with a dismissive and matter-of-factly tone, lifting further into the sky. Most of the Neiyari were awestruck, confused, or furious. Only Enzari lifted off of the ground to immediately fly after her.

Malri gazed upon the two, fists clenched tight. "Good riddance." He muttered under his breath before turning his back on them. He rolled eyes as he looked upon those that remained. "That's what I thought. Better to be alive, than a simple tool."

"I'm camping here for the night and tomorrow I'm heading back. Do whatever you want." He intoned sarcastically. He knew they would stay as well, tired as they all were. The tall Neiyari set his spear next to a rock and slumped down in front of it. A sigh escaping his lips at last.

High in the sky above, the two shapes vanished out of view, sealing the fates of the nine who remained. Azera stared up at the sky anxiously, holding a hand to her temple. "She really did it. She really left us. She's coming back, right? Right?"

"Azera, you spineless harlot. Think for yourself for once. You traded one master for an even worse one. Congratulations." Tulara cut in with an aggressive grunt, gesturing to Malri and his comfortable rock. A few of the others exhaled sharply. Worried eyes shifted between the sky and the gathered. "I'm going back as well." Tulara concluded, and moved to find her own place.

“Ah, that’s what I thought.” Malri twisted the corners of his mouth into a smile as he set his hands on top of his head. “I can’t be so bad. After all, I’m not getting you killed by exhaustion, now am I? Better get some sleep you lot, long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Many grumbled, postures tense and expressions impassive as always, but it didn’t stop them from finding their own spots and before he knew it, night approached.

---

He lost track of time. It seemed the belief that their path had been a straight one, was false or some other force was at play. It had been days since that fateful night and the Luminant was still missing. They couldn’t even see it’s glow in the night and many were beginning to doubt him. He, who had saved them from death, who had stood up to an avatar, who had decided to lead them home. They were ungrateful, petty, and beginning to annoy Malri. Even Azera had turned tail, to join Tulara’s ranks of malcontent. A dam had been filled, threatening to burst and Malri grew paranoid. But paranoia would have to wait, for he was hungry.

From his height he wound back his arm, muscles bulging under sunlight, ready to erupt. There, foraging in a small clearing, was a foraging animal. Brown matted fur, small tusks used for digging and a ripe body full of flesh. Sustenance. When the animal turned to its side, Malri threw his spear. It struck the creature in the side with a tremendous THWACK but the creature did not die immediately. It ran, squealing as if it was being devoured alive. He cursed under his breath, giving chase so that he didn’t lose both his spear and the sustenance.

He landed before the edge of the clearing, his gaze rather annoyed at the dense thicket before him. But hunger had an odd way of pushing. So he went in, following the blood trail. The thicket was dense with biting barbs and stinging plants and Malri cursed again.

“This better be fucking WORTH IT!” he yelled loudly, swinging madly at all the plants in his way. After several more minutes of this, the thicket widened and he could follow the blood trail more easily. It was a straight shot, only veering once through a small gully before he came upon the dying creature. It had landed on it’s side, breathing heavily next to a down tree.

Malri leaned down over it. A victorious feeling swelled up inside of him. “You see, even running only delayed the inevitable.” he gloated. Yet the creature still had an ounce of strength as it thrashed it’s head up, cutting Malri on his cheek with a tusk. The man howled in pain, clutching his cheek, but his pain quickly turned to rage and he took the spear out with a squelch and began stabbing the creature over and over again.

“You filthy creature! You inferior-!” he screamed, before kicking at it’s head. It eventually caved in and exasperated breaths came from his lips as he looked down at the carnage. Most of the meat was now wasted for in his anger he had not spared any of the beast from his wrath. He cursed again, grabbed his spear and took off.

He arrived back at their makeshift camp to uncaring eyes. Tulara and Azera looked him over with their disappointed eyes, their mocking eyes. It drove him up a wall. He had had enough of their treatment. He had saved them! They should be kneeling at his feet!

“I’ve made a decision!” he said, thrusting his spear into the ground and holding out his arms. “You all look at me like some sort of failure! That I didn’t save you from certain death! You were all too blinded to think for yourselves and you're still blind to my greatness! Therefore, I shall call upon the WAR MOTHER herself for guidance!” he said madly.

“Do you really think that wise, Malri?” Tulara spoke again. Malri snapped his gaze to her and he snarled.

“Do not question me, Tulara! I see how you look at me, how you’ve always looked at me! Just remember, you would be dead if you had left with her and instead, now all I get, your savior, is scorn. Your place is on your knees.” he spat with malice.

Tulara began to walk forward but Azera caught her arm, shaking her head at the taller woman.

“That’s what I thought.” Malri said, “Now is there anyone else who wants to voice their opinions!” he waited, but no one said anything. Many turned their heads away from his gaze, folding their arms across their chests. “Good, then let’s begin.”

Malri looked up at the sky and exclaimed, “War Mother! Neiyara! Answer your faithful!”

Silence. It lasted much longer than imagined, though not all had imagined anything would come of his attempt. As those most disinterested began to turn their attention aside, the wind appeared to grip onto Malri, and brushed through his hair. The air grew tight and cloying, and he could have sworn someone was behind him, breathing down his neck - staring at him. It was hot, hard to think, and imposing. Something claimed the air around him. In the distance, he saw Tulara speak again, yet her words did not reach his ears. The others did not seem to feel the change in the air. Then, breaking the barrier of growing silence filled only by his own breath, a soothing and honeyed voice crooned from the ether. "You call for me and I listen, my sweet. Such spirit, it demands to shape the world." the voice offered gently in his ear, though no one was there.

Malri’s eyes went wide and he laughed maniacally. “She’s here! She speaks to me because I am worthy! Mother please! I need your help to return home!”

A few eyes turned back to him among the group, confusion rife among them. "You were put on the world to make it yours, my love. If you lack a path home, why not make another?" the voice carried on the wind, lining up almost perfectly with Azera's moving lips in the distance, despite not being her voice or spoken in any place but his mind. "There is a word for those who expect love and aid to come to them, instead of acting. Oraeliari."

Malri’s words caught in his throat. What did.... No! No, this could not be! “You do not understand Mother! The Luminant is m- Our home! Our seat of power! We must return to it if we are to serve you properly!” he said, slightly angry.

A brisk wind tussled his hair with a hollow warmth. "You understand better than a goddess, my one and only? To fight, you must be allowed to be lazy. Safe. Sated. Is that not so? You wish to be a lamb, playing at being a predator."

“N-No! I am a predator! I have slain so many in your name and for survival! I am not a lamb like those Oraeliari!” he clutched his fists and furrowed his brow. “I understand now that divine words can hardly be Trusted! Your avatar showed me that! I should never have contacted you if all you’re going to do is toy with my emotions and offer hollow help!”

The others now stared at him, a few having taken a few steps forward. Terani spoke, but instead, the goddess voice filled the air. "I will not debase my great warrior so. To offer you help would be like caging a wolf. You are owed the world, my sweet. So take what it is you want. You don't need to be gentle with me."

“What are these words you say, they make no sense but to only aggravate me! Why do you mock me so, I only asked for help! But I see now, you will give no help willingly, it must be taken, is that it? How does one take from a god!” He snarled, before looking at the other Neiyari coming closer. “I spurn you! I should have known better! Urgh!” he screamed, going over to Tulara and slapping her. “Give me what I want! Neiyara! The power to god home so I can do whatever I want to these ungrateful beings! They do not see me for what I am, but what they think I am! I am a warrior! A champion of Aveira! I shall take from them everything!”

Tulara toppled over like a leaf gripped by the wind, cast aside and to the ground as his slap connected. One of the cowards behind her shouted at him, and it briefly broke through the cloying haze around Malri; a muffled and angered expression of exasperation. "Aveira left you, beloved. You are nothing to her. Perhaps you are nothing to me, too. They are better than you. Perhaps everyone is better than you." the voice claimed as Terani came running at him.

He said nothing, but waited for him to arrive and when he did, he deftly dodged to the side and struck him with his elbow right in his back. He went down and Malri blew up again, “No one is better than ME! Without me they would have died like sheep led to the slaughter, I saved them!”

Another voice came into his mind it, was nothing like the mother’s, it was more jaunty and strange, ”Saved? Oh that's what we’re calling this now? Come now you can’t truly believe that.”

“Who… Who is this? Another Godari come to poke fun? Is that all you bastards do?” Malri tightened his fists, looking for another fight. He wanted to attack them, make them suffer! For now… His kin would do. He descended upon Tulara again and began to punch her face. The woman tried to in vain to shield herself. Before he knew it, another body tackled him, sending them sprawling. It was Azera, who clawed at him angrily. He kicked her off with a powerful push lunged at her, swinging but missing. This only caused him more anger. “Azera! I saved you from your own stupidity and this is how you repay me? This is how you all repay me!”

The others began to pile upon him, using their numbers to try desperately to hold the mad man back. The jaunty voice chuckled in his mind ”Now what’s this about repaying? It's not like you did anything of worth, can’t even beat these upstarts now can you?”

No more words came out of his mouth. He ran for his spear, tripped by another Neiyari into the dirt with a grunt. Something hard struck him in the back and he growled before rolling onto his back and shielding himself from another blow. Malri then swung his legs and knocked over his attacker, who was none other than Yevara. She fell on her back and he wasted no time to scramble for his spear, desperately clawing at the dirt towards it. Someone grabbed his foot and he looked back to see Yevera again and several others racing towards them.

“Get off!” he roared, kicking her in the face with a resounding crack. Blood erupted from her nose and she howled in pain, letting go. At last, Malri grabbed his spear and began to get up but before he could turn around another sharp rap hit him in the side. Something broke and he screamed in pain, finally turning in his fury. He began to see only red and Terani sneering at him. In one labored move, he thrust his spear, only for it to be blocked by Terani, who then rapped him in the chest. He bit his lips, drawing blood and Terani came forward, lifting the spear high, but this time, Malri was ready and with a scream of pain, thrust his spear into his fellow Neiyari.

There was a sickening squelch and the tearing of flesh as he pulled back. Terani’s face was a mix of shock and fear before he crumpled into the dirt. There was a quick moment of silence, as if the world had paused, allowing him to stand up and get into a defensive position.

Barring his teeth he said, “Come on then you ungrateful fucks! Come and die.”

The jaunty voice came back again, it was starting to get annoying ”Now now, that's no way to fight,” Within an instant the spear had turned to dust in its stead a mace with a rotten wooden handle and a sickly green head ”Use this, it’ll be far more fun.”

He felt his chest swell and his muscles tighten, an odd itching sensation as his body became enveloped in a flurry of red, black and white. It pushed against him, weighed him down, like waves of energy crashing against his body. His makeshift armor changed under the assault, warping into something entirely different - something metallic. Heavy, powerful. A small ache rung through his head, an urge to hurt the others. A haze of fury and determination. "The God of Tragedy has spoken, and sealed your fate; but do not forget that you are mine. Die for us, Malri. It is all you are good for, is it not? Even backed by two gods, I doubt your odds."

He no longer listened.

What came next was a flurry of movement and the tearing of weak flesh. His rage was overwhelming. His pain was gone, replaced by a strength he never knew. The others hesitated and that was their mistake. With renewed vigor, he attacked, beating Yevera’s head in with a single blow, reducing it to nothing. Her now headless corpse crumpled like a doll to the ground. Others screamed, and a brave few attacked. Thrusting their spears into the armor. If they were even wounding him, he did not show it. He broke the spears in half, and then swung again, pulverising someone’s arm and then caving in another’s chest.

He fell upon Unari and Hekatra with berserk rage. They tried to plead for his forgiveness, that they were sorry, but it fell upon a visage of blind malice. He swept Unari to the side with a single blow of his guantled hand, and then grabbed Hekatra by the throat. Her eyes went wide as she struggled to break free, but Malri could feel her windpipe crush against his strength. She too, fell to the ground in the agonizing reality of her own despair. He moved on Unari, who struggled to stand, only to be met with a spear in his back. He shrugged it off, and stomped on the man’s head, crushing it against his boot.

Then Malri turned to see the newest attacker- Azera. Her face was enraged but in her hubris she had miscalculated. He pulled the spear in close as she attacked again, and head butted her with a sickening crunch of metal on skull. She caved over and for good measure, he used his mace to smash her chest in.

He looked around to see Tulara and Aermri escaping through the sky. Cowards! He hefted Azera’s spear up and then reeled back, aiming for Aermri. He flung the spear, and it’s mark was true, hitting the man in the chest. He plummeted to the ground with a scream. That just left Tulara. He gave chase, beating off from the ground in one heavy motion. She was faster then he, that was true, but she was not carried by his all consuming rage. He had to have her. He needed to make her suffer!

Thus like a hawk, he flew higher and higher until she was far and small away, and then he dove like a madman, something all Neiyari and Oraeliari knew not to do. His speed increased tenfold, only dragged down by his armor, but Tulara neared, oh did she near. With sick glee, he tackled her out the air, Tulara yelping by the surprise. They slammed into the ground, both dazed for a moment before Tulara made a mad dash to get away from him. Malri managed to grab her by her leg and trip her, he then used his bulk to pin her to the ground as he got on top of her.

Through his helmet, his voice now diluted by terror he spoke, ”Did you really think I’d let you run away? No… No… Now you’ll see… You’ll see that you shouldn’t have ridiculed me.” he paused, ”Or perhaps, you won’t see at all.” He placed his hands upon her face, and set his thumbs over her frightened eyes.

Tulara struggled, screaming, “No! No! No! I'm sorry! Please! Please! Mercy!”

”There is no mercy.”

And Malri applied pressure.

---

He staggered out of the hole, his wounds were real now and the pain was unbearable but it was worth it. He clutched his fists, looking over the mace and becoming revolted by it. He threw it to the side and wandered off, he would not use some weapon given by a bastard Godari. He then took his helmet off, and looked upon it. It was heavy in his hands, and bore the visage of some demonic looking skull. The eyes glowed with molten fury and the horns were twisted like a ram’s. He looked down to see the same regalia patterned on the armor he now wore.

Now this… He reluctantly found fitting.

It would be a useful tool to enact his revenge upon Neiyara. He knew what he was going to do. Return to the Luminant and kill them all. Every man, woman and child. None would escape his wrath. For to hurt Neiyara, it was the only thing he could feasibly do.

He donned the helmet again.

The cloying presence clung to him yet, like a humid cloud pressing down on him from above. In the aftermath, it had been easy to forget, but with nothing but stillness and pain, it was just as easy to feel watched again. It was confirmed when a honeyed voice rang in his ears again. "You are every bit the monster I expected, my sweet. And such admirable thoughts. But as expected of such a simple creature, you think too small. The only way to hurt me is to find me, my love. I'll be waiting."

Then, came a sadistic chuckle, the jaunty voice "Aww, you abandon my gift? Well, suppose we can't have you go about the climax just yet, so I'll make this a bit harder on you." Suddenly, Malri felt his body surge in an unexpected direction, flung like some mere puppet, the force made his stomach churn and his body ring out in pain, landing with a large thud in the middle of a vast plain of nothing, freezing cold with icy winds howling. The mace lay at his side.

Malri quickly scrambled to his feet and screamed in rage at the land around him.

---

Meanwhile a continent away Tulara was returned to the Luminant, flung too, but this time to safety, somewhat.

---

---

Cadien sat on his throne and ruminated.

He was the God of Perfection. Beauty, Strength, Resilience, Speed. The master of all things physical, and those who sought improvement. And yet, in his absence, people had begun to associate him with concepts other than Perfection. Such was the nature of mortals. All those he had first spoken with two millennia ago were now dead, and this teachings had survived only through retellings, as well as the few corrections he made when he did occasionally reach out to his followers.

So it was perhaps not unsurprising that some people had begun to associate him with aspects other than his original purpose. Take Acadia, for example. He was the god of physical perfection. Strength and reflexes were vital for combat, were they not? And so, in Acadia he was revered as a God of War as well as a God of Strength and Beauty. Other regions had associated him with additional concepts as well, but War and Combat tended to be the most common - aside from Perfection, of course.

Normally, he disliked such interpretations, and would have sought to correct them, but as he heard the prayers of warriors and saw battlefields through their eyes, he began to reconsider. There many reasons mortals went to war. Some did it for personal gain, or simply because they enjoyed it, both of which Cadien found to be somewhat churlish. Those who saw war solely as a means to fill their pockets or as an excuse to commit atrocities were distasteful creatures.

But some had less materialistic reasons. There were those who took up a spear out of loyalty to their leader, or out of duty to their home and family. There were those who would put their own life at risk for what they believed was right. There were those who, after defeating an enemy, would gracefully accept a surrender and help them back to their feet. These men and women were admirable.

And deep down, Cadien could not deny, there was a certain thrill in watching the battles unfold. Seeing the best warriors on both sides clash, as well as the tricks their commanders had in store for one another.

Suddenly, the idea of being seen as a God of War seemed considerably more appealing to him. Other gods had expanded beyond their original purpose. Why not him? And in that moment, Cadien found himself accepting this new role, even if the idea had not originally been his.

---

---

Deep in the Luminant, a warband of twelve Neiyari had sought to ambush a group of Oraeliari.

But the hunters became the hunted. As the small group of six Oraeliari passed, and the Neiyari pulled their blades free from the bundles which concealed their light, the sound of snapping twigs could be heard behind them. So concentrated on their ambush, they had not noticed a second force of Oraeliari appear behind them.

The Neiyari spun around this new threat. There were a dozen of them. Their leader, a blonde haired woman with white wings, whistled. The Oraeliari who would have been ambushed turned, levelled their weapons, and began to approach the Neiyari from behind. Then there was rustling in the trees, as six fell from the canopy, with three landing on either side of the Neiyari warband.

They were outnumbered two to one, and they were surrounded.

“Nobody needs to die today,” the leader implored. “It is not too late. Lay down your arms, and surrender.”

As she spoke, the Neiyari warband closed ranks and formed themselves into a circle around a rather large tree. They were led by a woman named Ashara. Tall, even by the standards of her race, with tan skin, brown hair, and crimson wings. She scowled at the Oraeliari, and then spat hatefully.

The Oraeliari leader offered a sad sigh. “So be it.” She raised her sword and brought it down, signalling her warriors to attack. They closed in. Then the flashing and clashing of blades began.

Had the Oraeliari not made an attempt at parley, and instead attacked immediately, the battle would have been a one-sided slaughter. Instead, they had foolishly allowed their foe to ready themselves, and now paid the price. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the first six of the Neiyari’s assailants were cut down.

The Oraeliari briefly faltered at this vicious and stalwart resistance, but then their leader raised her blade high and rushed into the fray. She and Ashara crossed blades. The two Neiyari on either side of the crimson-winged angel moved to support her, but then the blonde-haired angel’s warriors rushed back in to support her.

The intensity of the combat increased, and then one Neiyari fell, a spear piercing his gut. The Oraeliari who slew him pulled her weapon free, before driving it into the side of a female Neiyari who stood next to him and had been occupied with a foe of her own. With that one breakthrough, the tide turned, as more Neiyari on that side of the tree began to fall.

Meanwhile, Ashara and the Oraeliari commander continued their duel, their blades ablur. But then Ashara slipped up, responding to an attack on her left side that had in fact been a feint, for suddenly the Oraeliari’s blade came up and severed her right wing. Ashara staggered backward, her back striking the tree, and her remaining wing made contact with that of another Neiyari, who had also been driven back.

His name was Dakari. There was nothing especially remarkable about Dakari’s appearance. Somewhat tall by the standards of his species, with long jet black hair, black-feathered wings, and alabaster skin. He carried a glaive, which was stained red with blood.

He was breathing heavily. The odds were not in their favour. Ashara had been a fool, he realized, to have tried to stage an ambush so deep in Oraeliari territory without considering the possibility that the enemy might find them first. He had protested, but she had silenced him, threatening to remove his tongue if he spoke out of turn, and over time he had eventually persuaded himself that the ambush was worth the risk. But now he realized his instincts had been right. His hands tightened around the glaive’s shaft.

Three more Neiyari fell back to the tree, while the rest were cut down. Where there had been twelve, there were now five, and all except Dakari carried some sort of wound.

Thirteen Oraeliari still stood, their leader among them. She pointed her blade at Ashara. “It is not too late,” she repeated. “Lay down your weapons, and surrender. This is your last chance.”

Ashara heard nothing, and saw nothing, save the sword which was now coated in her own blood, and the one who carried it, expecting Ashara to meekly surrender after crippling her. She clenched her teeth, and with a feral roar she launched herself forward.

Once again the blades of the two angelic women met, only this time it was three against one. But blind rage gave Ashara a certain speed and strength. Her foes were barely able to meet her ferocious thrusts, for the crazed look in her eye took them aback, and when combined with her aura of fear made them hesitate. Step by step they were driven back.

Meanwhile, the remaining Oraeliari converged on the tree, where the desperate melee resumed. Three approached Dakari, who kept them back with wide sweeps on his glaive - none of their weapons could match his reach. He feinted a thrust, which suddenly turned into a swing, cutting open the throat of one man. Another attempted to use this opportunity to close in, but a swift backswing slashed open her stomach.

He then maneuvered his weapon to block the swing of his final opponent, before stepping forward and bring a knee into his foe’s groin. The Oraeliari doubled over in pain. “Hesitation killed you,” Dakari muttered contemptuously, driving his weapon into the fallen foe’s back.

Meanwhile, Ashara fought on. One of her foes lay dead at her feet, and the remaining two were hard pressed.

Then the Oraeliari leader had an idea. As Ashara moved in for a lunge, she parried the blade. But rather than move the Neiyari’s blade away from herself, she directed it down toward her leg. It pierced her thigh and she let out a cry, but in doing so the weapon had become stuck, and she plunged her own blade into Ashara’s heart.

Ashara’s eyes went wide, and she slumped to the ground.

Back at the tree, Dakari turned to see four Oraeliari approaching him from either side. The Neiyari were on the ground, and if any were still alive they were hiding it well. Two more approached from where Ashara had just been slain, their leader limping heavily.

Six against one.

Dakari brushed a stray strand of hair from his eyes as the Oraeliari slowly closed in. No mercy was offered. They had seen most of their comrades killed, and by the murderous looks in their eyes, he knew they wanted revenge. Even the Oraeliari had their limits. He slowly stepped backward, to prevent them from surrounding him, as he desperately tried to think of a plan.

He could not think of one. To surrender was weakness. To retreat was weakness. To pray for help was weakness. And weakness was death.

“NEIYARA!” he screamed as he suddenly launched himself at his foe. He batted a spear thrust aside with his glaive, blocked a swing from a longsword, seized the swordsman and flung him into the path of an axe, then drove his glaive into another Oraelia’s ribs. The weapon was stuck and he had no time to retrieve it, so he abandoned it, and dropped to the ground - narrowly avoiding a swing at his head.

He rolled onto his back and his hand closed around the hilt of a sword, which he swung just in time to deflect a downward spear thrust that had been meant to finish him off. He followed up the swing with a lunge at the attacking Oraeliari’s groin, earning a howl of agony. Then three weapons came down at him at once, so he let go of the sword and rolled away. But the leader’s blade pierced his wing, pinning him to the ground.

He grit his teeth and resisted the urge to cry out. Believing they had him beaten - he was, after all, disarmed and pinned - they did not immediately finish him off. The three grouped together, taking a moment to breathe.

That was their mistake.

His hand closed around the sword, and one of the three let out a cry of arm just as they realized what he was doing. He yanked the weapon free, even as a spasm of agony burned through his wing, then leapt to his feet. His veins coursed with adrenaline. One Neiyari came at him with a spear, but he seized the weapon just below the tip and pulled him forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s throat. He then brought his sword up to fend off the axe, before shoving the bleeding body into his latest attacker. The axeman caught it, and after taking a moment to overcome his initial shock, he was forced to push it aside. That moment was his death, for as soon as the body was out of the way Dakari’s stolen sword pierced the axeman’s gut.

Dakari pulled the sword free, then turned to his last opponent. She had not entered the fray immediately, for she needed time to retrieve a new weapon. She stood with a new sword, clutched in a shaky hand. He wasn’t sure if it was shaking out of fear for him, or out of grief for her fallen comrades. He assumed it was a mixture of both.

For several long moments, they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Just go…” she said at last. “Leave.”

“I’m no fool,” Dakari shook his head. “Soon as I leave, you’ll heal as many of them as you can, and come after me.”

“I… I won’t. I give you my word.”

“Even if I believe you, why should I let you reclaim so many fighters?”

She had no answer for that.

Then, an idea struck him. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, after a moment’s thought. He surveyed the carnage, and saw that one Neiyari’s chest rose and fell. Another twitched. And he could sworn he heard a groan coming from a third one. “You heal my fallen comrades first, then we’ll you live, and be on our way.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why should I trust you?”

“It’s either that, or we fight. One of us will die. If it’s you, you won’t get to heal anyone. If it’s me…” he shrugged, “well, you might heal a few, but some will have died during the fight.” He gave her a cold smile. “So, what will it be?”

There was a pause. And then, after a great deal of hesitation, the Oraeliari nodded.

---

In the end, only two of the Neiyari could have been saved. A man by the name of Jakri, and a woman by the name of Azara. When they came back to consciousness, they had both been distrusting toward the Oraeliari, whose name turned out to be Allura.

“The rest are beyond saving,” Allura reported afterward, her eyes downcast.

Azara scowled. She had blonde hair, and might have passed for an Oraeliari herself if not for the black wings on her back. “Why should we believe you?”

Allura took a step back. “You… you can see it for yourself. Nobody else is breathing.”

“If that’s the case…” Jakri snarled, taking a step closer as he lifted a sword. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Allura’s eyes widened, and her hand went for her own sword.

“No,” Dakari said, stepping next to Jakri and placing a hand on his sword arm.

Jakri was astonished. “No?”

“We had a deal. After she healed us, we would leave.”

“Nothing stopping us from breaking that deal,” Azara pointed out.

“Maybe not,” Dakari conceded. “But then, who else will make deals with us in the future?”

Jakri scowled. “The Oraeliari are our enemies. We do not make deals with them.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you gone soft, Dakari?”

Dakari’s glaive was raised in a flash, the blade resting against Jakri’s throat. “Soft?” He asked with an amused smile. “No. This is pragmatism. If I never made this deal, the two of you would be dead. So I reckon you should be grateful.”

He pulled the glaive away, then looked at Ashara’s corpse. “I’m in command now,” he declared. “And I will not tolerate disobedience. It’s time we head back to camp.”

Allura and Jakri exchanged a look. Neither of them wished to challenge Dakari’s authority after the carnage he had inflicted on the Oraeliari. “Very well,” Azara conceded through grit teeth.

“Let’s be on our way, then,” Dakari said, unfurling his wings, which had been healed by Allura. And with that, the trio took flight.

Allura watched them disappear above the forest canopy and breathed a sigh of relief. She then hastily began healing her comrades who could still be saved.

---

Six pale eyes stared out at the world around them with hunger and fascination.

Mere moments ago for Galbar but practically a lifetime for Tewaka, the second avatar of the God of Oceans had been remade among reality. It had been a troublesome birth, this side of the lifeblood. Just as he had been within Saxus, so too was Tewaka oddling shaped and deformed in the waters of the world. Nevertheless, it was no different from his understanding of life; he was an oddity and this was not displeasing to the marked one. With curling scarification glowing brightly to form whirlpools of light about his hulking personage, the vrool-like entity was at last set free. The power, of course, to release him had been in no way minimal; it was no wonder it had taken so long, mentally, for Tewaka to arrive. Through is connection to the overmind, as independent as he was, he could feel the exhaustion on the part of Klaar.

That was, however, the Old Growth’s problem and not his own. With undisguised glee, as much as such things could be undisguised in a vrool-like shape, Tewaka set off into the world. Much of it wasn’t particularly of interest to the creature for he had seen much of it already. The relevance of his perception as but a limb of a greater whole wasn’t taken into account; these things surely couldn’t be that much different now that he could see them himself. Life, as it were, was utterly boring to the new-born demigod. And with that, Tewaka left the pool of his birth to explore the oceans vast for something, ANYTHING of interest.

---

The Avatar’s wanderings had been experienced both in mere moments and eternities all at once; his perceptions had, undoubtedly, been thoroughly harmed by his odd creation. The very stuff of magic, both Telluric and the mana of another god’s making, travelled through him with ease. The world itself glowed in his vision, his eyes more akin to magic receptors than those of organic make. It made for a colorful cacophony of light and colors indescribable for most. In some ways it was legitimately beautiful. Tewaka had watched that particular flow of energy for some time before eventually becoming bored.

What had really interested him was how the life of Galbar used it all.

It had been a simple enough thing to notice. The Vrool and their Akuan kin beneath the waves were, obviously, the first peoples Tewaka had noticed. He had vaguely remembered their creation but it had always been now-Mawar’s interest and not his. Little did he realize how fascinating they were when given the ability to use the magics placed before them. Their imagination, though limited, had proven to produce all manner of curious results. In particular, their willingness to use magic on each other in increasingly negative ways made Tewaka’s tentacles coil with glee. Even the Akua, whom he had originally believed to be weak and boring, had quickly shown their Shamans to have a cruel side to them where magic was concerned. How bodies pulped, erupted, burned, froze, and other more curious methods had become of particular interest to Tewaka.

Most of all was what they made with them. Peering into the caverns of a so-called warlock coven, Tewaka had seen first hand the creation of demons. These were creatures unknown to him yet for all their flaws they were perfect in his eyes. Malleable, able to take multiple shapes, and utterly animalistic. Each one was handmade by warlocks, dipped into containers of water in air-filled caverns. The demi-god had been quick to determine the rules of their creation and was further fascinated by their source. This was a god Tewaka was most avidly desiring to meet. Nevertheless, he was focused on the work at hand.

Despite his own fascination there was some level of envy burning in the heart of the oddling avatar. The God who had created these creatures, these demons, had provided the vrool warlocks and no doubt many other races with endless amounts of entertainment. It would be his name prayed to, his accomplishments noted, and he to receive the accolades. This simply was not acceptable.

The machinations of his mind now set free from the overmind ground into motion. There was work to be done.

The coven that he observed owed fealty to one named Xes, a warlock of evidently some renown in the service of the All-Tyrant, Kaarnesxaturl. Their lair was vast and complex, filled with endless caverns and carved out rooms for experimentation and study. These were among the servants that Klaar had intended to aid in his release from the current prison he wallowed in. All things considered, this was still a valid goal for Tewaka to pursue. Thusly, they would be the first ones to receive his numerous gifts. Phasing through rock and stone, his body turned into material so fine it could travel through even the least porous of materials like the bedrock that formed the walls. Soon enough he had mapped the caverns completely, determined what each room was intended for, and marked the movements of the coven members. It was best, he determined, not to be noticed in this crucial time.

At long last Tewaka set about his intended path. With little difficulty the odd vrool demi-god formed for himself a cavern of his own making. The space was cut into strange and contradictory shapes with the walls marked by the same sigils that danced across Tewaka’s hide. Parts and pieces needed for his work had been gathered from about the lair or otherwise fabricated directly through his own powers and by now a collection of materials had piled high. The finest ivory would form the structure of his creation, taken from whalebones and other such creatures, while a material of another making would form the muscles and sinew.

Tewaka’s beak clashed and bent into a hideous facsimile of a smile.

In an instant Tewaka voided the cavern of water, pushing the liquid through the solid rock to form globes of condensed water just past the caverns walls. One such orb was drawn forth and let to pool at the bottom of the cavern while tentacles worked feverishly at their task. With limbs carving ivory like it was butter, one by one the parts and pieces of Tewaka’s artifice came together. The shape came to resemble that of an Akua in form, born instead with six limbs but otherwise remained aesthetically similar to the rest of the Akuan silhouette. Extra attention was set to ornamentation, making sure the exterior of each piece was appropriately marked with runic symbolism or scored internally with criss crossing patterns. Despite the aesthetic value of the work, it would serve a further purpose.

With the body completed Tewaka turned to the pool. Following the rituals he had observed performed by the warlocks, with relative ease the demi-god did summon his first demon into the world. The numerous creatures swelled to fill the pool with their writhing bodies, forming a liquid of their own forms. The tentacled monstrosity that had summoned them scritched and scratched away at the edge of the pool in a runic alphabet of his own making, clicking and clacking contentedly. With the script written out elegantly Tewaka poured into it the mana surrounding him, followed by the motive energies of Telluric sorcery. The skein of runes glowed with power both within the visible spectrum and the symphony of energies seen by the demi-god. At last, it was ready.

With one quick motion Tewaka directed the energies inward; the subsequent bloodcurdling squeals of the demonic entity made Tewaka wriggle with joy. It was perfect!

The glowing, sickly red lights of the demon were slowly overtaken by a bright, almost neon blue. The overwhelming glow burned to the very center of the demonic mass until nothing was left of the old creature. It was, in every way, still a demon; Tewaka had made sure of that. Nevertheless, this one had been slaved to a very specific purpose and changed at its very core by the natural magics of Galbar to obey the rules they so deigned necessary. Unlike the ravenous, unbound form, these would serve as simple muscle and sinew. All life had been drawn out of them, as intended.

With that Tewaka dropped the parts and pieces of his new creation into the pool and one by one they were bound into the flesh of his glowing demonic flesh. The scoring served as perfect structure for the new-found muscle to bind to while the runes that covered the rest of the form kept them thoroughly bound. Soon enough all the make-shift flesh had bound to hand-crafted bone and the entity stood, staring with blank, glowing blue eyes from behind the ivory skull of its endoskeleton. It would be the first of many and Tewaka would share this knowledge with the warlocks and then, once they had mastered it, bring it even further afield; there was no doubt in his mind that the creatures of the surface would appreciate this creation all the same.

With that the first Simulacrum was born. It truly was perfect.

---