Hera walked the path leading the village of the True Sons. Her clan had frequently clashed with them, but they were one of the larger and more established clans within the immediate region and gaining their support could be a great boon to the people of the Rest.

She was accompanied by four guards carrying large stone mauls and had slings affixed to their belt, as a Stonemaul druid and a blindfolded watcher. The group walked towards the palisade walls, but stopped a respectable distance away though close enough to call to the three guards wearing quillat hide armor, “On behalf of Queen Kira of the Stonemaul and of Kirin’s Rest, as her sister I have came to discuss matters of peace.”

The three guards exchanged glances, before one of them - the leader - stepped forward. “You may follow me, then,” he said, “but you must leave your weapons here.”

Hera nodded to her men, and buried their clubs into ground and then laid their slings over them, and the group approached.

The leader of the guards shouted a command, and the pallisade gates swung open. Without further words he led them into the village known as Kadan’s Hold. The largest structure in the village was also the most visible; the chieftain’s longhouse, placed atop a hill. That was their destination.

As they walked, the inhabitants were going about their everyday lives, occasionally giving the visitors glances of suspicion or curiosity. They passed the village temple, where a priest within could be heard giving a sermon. Then, eventually, they reached the base of the hill and began ascending it up to the longhouse itself.

The doors swung open and they entered a vestibule area, blocked off from the rest of the longhouse by a long, thick curtain. “Wait here,” their guide instructed - the first words he had spoken to them since their arrival, and with that he stepped through the curtain, leaving them to wait for several long moments.

Eventually, the guard returned. “His lordship will see you now,” he said simply, holding the curtain open.

Hera walked past the curtain and into the longhouse’s main room. There was a central firepit, currently empty, and two tables on the other side. On the far end was a throne, and sitting upon it was the lord of the True Sons. He was a young man, perhaps mid-twenties, who wore furs and a crown of bone.

“I am Lord Ryker. I speak for the True Sons,” he said as she walked in. “What brings you here?”

Hera bowed respectfully, “I came to speak of peace and union. I understand in the past that the Stone Mauls and True Sons feuded, but the highlands are changing and we must adapt. As you must have heard, the Kirin’s Rest is expanding and we wish that you will join us as we march into this new world.”

Lord Ryker snorted. “And why would we do that? What would joining you even entail?”

She calmly replied, “The Dunans have stopped their aggression for the time, but do you believe that this will last? Or what of the next threat to our peoples, whether it be mundane invaders or terrible monstrosity. Divided we were weak, and that is how they managed to gain a foothold into these lands in order to terrorize us. We ask that you respect the authority of the queen, but we are willing to generously compensate for joining this union.”

“You would buy my loyalty?” he asked her. “Pay me to side with one band of heretics over another?” He shook his head. “We do not need your aid. The True Father of Humanity watches over us. We, who have remained loyal, and remembered our history. It is you who should respect our authority.”

“This alliance would be more valuable than what mere materials can afford.” she replied, “But I hold that you have not forgotten how strong we were before, and we have only grown strong since. I pray that we do not turn that against the people of the land again, but do not think I can be easily threatened.”

“I have made no threats. You, on the other hand…” he glared at her for a moment. “If you seek to subjugate us, we have fended you off before, and can do so again. The Ha-Dunans, too, for Kadan watches over us.”

Hera paused, “I did not come here to subjugate you. If we wish to do so, my sister would have brought the warbands to your gates instead. No, instead I offer myself to create a union between Stone Mauls and True Sons.”

Ryker raised an eyebrow in surprise. “And in return, you would have me kneel before your sister?”

“We ask that your respect the throne and its commandments, but you may do so on your feet as lord of this settlement.” she replied.

He leaned back in his chair, much of his hostility and wariness suddenly gone. He was quiet for a time, as he gave the offer serious thought. “If I were to accept such an agreement,” he began somewhat guardedly, “I would only do so if the one I was yielding to would acknowledge Kadan and Endra as mankind’s creators and patrons. And I would expect any woman I married to do the same.”

“We shall build the appropriate shrines to Kadan and Endra, and I shall make the proper commitments to the ceremony. But we can not make those acknowledgements as a kingdom, we would lose to many supporters close to us. It is the one price that we can not pay.”

Ryker frowned. “You fear the consequences of speaking the truth,” he stated simply, his previous arrogance returning. “Whatever fools turn against you for doing so are not worth keeping around. And whatever support you lose will be more than made up for with the support of mankind’s creator.”

Hera stood firm, “We fear the consequences of imposing your truth upon our diverse people, or the consequences of so quickly abandoning those who have built us up into the sky for a blind promise. Would you even think of joining us willingly if we were to force our faith upon you? Why should we expect the same of the others? We do believe this union will only strengthen both of us, but not at the cost of the people who allowed us to make it.”

“The difference is, my faith is true,” Ryker countered. “Tell me. How do your people believe mankind came to be?”

“I can not say, and many of our people can not either. But they still will not be pleased to be compelled to your faith, regardless of how much you proclaim it true. But there is also the matter of those who do have their stories, such as our sister tribe who believe us to be the grand-children of the sun. If you wish, I could sing you a thousand songs of the origin of man, and a thousand people hold them each true.” Hera stated.

“A thousand people would be wrong,” Ryker countered. “And there lies our problem. You may claim you wish to respect our faith. Your sister may even honour that promise within her lifetime. But what of her sons and daughters? What of their sons and daughters? They may break that pact, and turn on us, or attempt to lead us astray. In order for a people to stay united, they must have a common faith, and ours is the only true one.”

True as it may be, a deep, ethereal voice echoed in the minds of all those present. I do believe you have missed her point.

The watcher fell to the floor, with one of the guards quickly catching him and gently bringing him to the ground. Hera’s face paled, but looked to her men and at the watcher and went down on one knee, with her men quickly following.

Ryker seemed just as startled, the aura of insufferably smug confidence he had just been radiating having shattered completely. He placed a white-knuckled hand on the armrest of his throne, pushed himself to his feet, and this quickly fell to his knees. “Your Grace…” he whispered.

Ryker, was it? the voice asked. I believe your father once served as my avatar for a time, did he not? Ryker nodded quickly. Yes. I thought so. It is good to see that you remembered his teachings. Truly, your faith and loyalty are appreciated. But, you should be a bit more respectful to your guests.

Ryker stammered. “Your-Your Grace. I… I only…”

Enough. You cannot convince someone by shouting at them that they are wrong, no more than you can tame a wolf by commanding it to stop eating sheep. The voice fell silent. As for you. Hera, was it? I must say, it is quite disappointing to see how many of my creations have forgotten me. It probably isn’t within your memory, but do you have any idea on how that came to be for your people?

Hera was soundless mouthing a hymn, and did not recognize that she was until the divine voice spoke to her, “I do not. Only that our peoples have been shaped by the highlands, as the highlands have been shaped by us.”

Hm. How disappointing, the voice remarked. It is a rare thing for me to reach out to my more wayward creations, you must know. Anyhow. Ryker. The deal you were offered seems a fair one, and I myself will not be particularly slighted if you accept. If any treachery is planned, then I shall see it avenged tenfold. As for you, Hera, it is my hope that your people shall eventually come to embrace their true history as a result of this union. So know that it has my blessing.

Hera paused, she attempted to hide it but her breathing was heavy. She clasped her hands together, bowed her head, “To the glory of the gods.” as though she was ending a prayer. “And so, in light of your god’s revelation, what is your answer?”

Ryker rose to his feet, with his guards doing the same. He stared at her for several long moments, as if he was still weighing her offer, or perhaps trying to get over the fact that a god had spoken to him at all. “I accept,” he said at last.

Hera and her people also stood, one of the soldiers was needed to physically help the watcher up. “I will then need to return home in order to inform the queen of your decision and to gather my possessions and return with the proper company within a lunar cycle to make the arrangements and plans.”

“I shall accompany you,” Ryker decided. “I may as well meet your queen in person. Besides, it will give me time to get to know my future wife,” he offered her a smile. “You and your men are also free to dine with me and stay the night. And…” his smile weakened slightly, as he had to figuratively swallow his pride for what came next, “I apologize for my previous lack of hospitality.”

Hera’s eyes widened at the mention of meeting her sister, but she quickly blinked it away and attempted to return the smile, “Your apology is accepted, and I humbly accept your invitation of hospitality and company.”

---

---

“Have you heard?”

“Have I heard what, Aeliana?”

“Those humans over the hill that way, the men say they are fighting.”

“The ones who wear white?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would they be doing that? Gran always said they were peaceful folk, liked to help those in need.”

Aeliana shrugged, hoisting the basket onto her other shoulder as the two walked along the sandy beach. “Many are prone to war, Cassia. Down at the temple, out near the bridge, over the hills. All directions really.”

“We are too.” Cassia said, looking down at the ground as she carried her basket.

“Well, yeah. But we are protected.” Aeliana said..

There was silence between the two for a time as the sun neared midday. Cassia looked over to her friend and noticed how forlorn her stormy eyes had become. Aeliana was one of the prettiest there ever had been within their tribe, well maybe except for some baby girls, but they were still growing up. To see her sad, felt like a crime.

“Hey, we’ll be okay.” Cassia piped up. “Like you said, we are protected. Who would dare attack us?”

Aeliana turned her face to her, long black hair blowing in the breeze. She gave a small nod. “I worry, Cassia. Humans are so… Aggressive. Cattia and her little companions give testament to that.”

Cassia frowned. “I know, but he prefers humans as his playthings. Let them be aggressive for all we should care, let them think that they have to be possessive. Better for our tribe.”

Aeliana straightened her back and eyed Cassia. “He likes us too.”

Cassia nodded with a solemn regard and silence reigned as they neared the village.

Up the rock and sandy path they went. The village itself was on a rocky outcropping that overlooked the warm waters of the sea. It was growing larger by the year and newer buildings were being constructed towards the interior, where the golden grasses touched the sands.

As the two women neared the crude gates, they titled their heads at the sight of Livia and Sabina standing guard. Usually that was regarded as a male job, but the women of the Litus tribe were no pushovers.

“Cassia, Aeliana! Where have you two been?”

“Collecting clams and seaweed. What’s wrong Sabina?” Aeliana asked, letting her basket down to touch the stone. Cassia followed suit as Sabina spoke, “Oh my, you have been gone all day?”

They nodded.

“All the men have gathered for a moot.” Sabina said.

“What? Why? Moots only happen when the white moon is full, why now?”

“Trespassers were caught early in the morning, fighting amongst themselves on our borders. Those that survived were brought back to be questioned. Not long ago, The Great Daemon demanded it. There are…” Sabina looked off into the distance before looking back at the two. “There is talk of war.”

Aeliana and Cassia glanced at each other. “Those the Venator’s captured, who were they?”

“Who do you think?” Sabina asked with sarcasm in her voice.

“Humans, of course.” Livia chimed in.

---

The Moot place was a large sea cave on the other side of the village. The ancients had first used it for shelter before more careful, crafted ways became the norm. Now, the Moot had never been abandoned but expanded upon, hewn from the stone into something grander. Chairs had been etched into the walls, rows upon rows, lined with furs for comfort and now most were all occupied.

The men of the Litus tribe were of stern stuff and of quick wit, but the normal faces of mirth and laughter had been replaced by grim expressions as most had their eyes upon the humans down in the sands before them. Broken and bloodied, tied and gagged, there remained five of them. They shook with such fear, like whipped dogs knowing not if they had done wrong, only that they had been struck. But none had struck them except their own. What gave them such desperate looks, was what the men of the Litus tribe had learned to avert their gazes from.

There, sat upon the largest chair, at the front of the Moot, sat the Daemon. Wings splayed apart, body sitting back with a fist upon his cheek, looking impassive as always. His ashen skin and white hair were trademarks of his scarred face. The armor of the damned was his clothing and his weapon, a mace of pain.

The Moot was quiet, for the Litus tribe had learned quickly- speak when spoken too and their world would be right.

"Dessus," He spoke at last, the name of his attendant. The man rose from his seat at once. "Tell me again why these… Cowering wretches exist before me."

Dessus rubbed one of his horns and cleared his throat. "They were found in our borders fighting, the Venators captured these ones alive for further questioning. From what they've said so far, we've gathered they are of two factions, fighting amongst each other over beliefs. A sad affair by any means, your magnificence."

The Daemon let out a low rumble from his throat. "They are far from home, are they not? Why come here to my lands?"

"A good question. Shall we find out?" Dessus said, moving over to the humans. He picked a man with ruddy orange hair and took the gag out. He licked his chapped lips.

"Why did you come here, human? What did you seek to gain?" Dessus questioned.

“W-We came ta gather allies for the war. The Sigeran filth found us along ta way. W-We meant no offense, I swear it. I swear upon ta gods!” he stammered.

“Intriguing. You are one of these... Druids then? The white cloaks? Helpers of the land?” Dessus asked, hands folded behind his back.

The man shook his head. “I was an apprentice under Kaer Lehon. They killed her in ta ambush.”

“A tragedy, to be sure.” Dessus put the gag back into the man’s mouth. He began to protest but one look from the Daemon was enough to silence the attempt. Dessus then walked over to another man, with black hair and a clammy disposition. He undid the gag and the man stretched his jaw.

“Speak then.”

He spat in the direction of the first man. Then spoke in a deep voice, “I’ve nothing to say but this; The Druids and their ilk speak no truths, see only evil they want to see and care naught for anyone but their own piety. They’ll do anything to keep their power. Anything.” The red haired man and another glared at the man.

Dessus stepped before him. “We were under the impression the druids existed as one, what do you and your people call themselves then?”

“Sigerans.” He said with calmness.

“Sigerans… Druids…” Dessus began turning to the Daemon. “You see your magnificence, they are fractured, fighting over religion and control.” He shoved the gag back in the man’s mouth and continued, “It is an alarming situation indeed. To have war on our doorsteps, brought about by these druids, these humans! What’s to say they begin to run out of resources, food, water- They will be forced to search far and wide and take what they want in the name of their gods and survival. Think of our women, defiled by these filthy creatures! It cannot be so!”

At this, the moot erupted into loud whispers and shouts of anger and praise. The humans began to squirm, shouting behind their gags in frustration. Several guards came over to subdue them once again as the men of the Litus Tribe continued in their talks.

It was then that the great Daemon stirred and at once the room quieted as he stood. His face became an expression of malice and he gripped his mace in hand as he descended the steps to the sandy floor.

“There will be no aid here, no salvation for the weary and lost, for humans and their ilk.” He growled, coming to a stop before the red haired man. He could not stop shaking, eyes poised on the mace. “Is this not what you were meant to be? Upon your knees, groveling like wretches and cowards. Weak and slaves.” He rose his mace and with one quick strike, caved the man's head in with a sound akin to fruit being thrown at the ground. Someone wretched and began to choke.

The Daemon looked around the Moot and raises his hands. “They came here seeking salvation, to use you for their own ends. Will we let them take what they want? No! We are Litus! Call the chiefs together, gather our supplies and prepare for war! They came seeking aid but they have only sealed their doom! We will conquer them all, drive them out and keep their lands for ourselves! Never again shall we ever think of helping those weaker than us. Now, too war!”

The room erupted into eager shouts and enthusiastic praise. They were no stranger to war, and thought it would take time, a war they would have.

“Feed these ones to the sea.” The Daemon commanded, and it was so.

”So… You all know why you’re here…” The stink of alcohol permeated the room as Gibbou wobblingly wagged a wine glass from side to side in her hand, her feet propped up on a large, round table. Seated on each of the other three non-existent corners of the circle were Qael, Artifex and the Patron. Gibbou eyed them all decisively before lifting her glass into the air. ”We gotta build a school!”

Qael had no idea what was going on. He just got an invitation from Gibbou to meet up. Apparently Artifex was invited as well. As was some strange sibling he hadn’t had the time to meet yet. Unlike the laissez-faire attitude of his sister, Qael was sitting propped up on his chair, looking awkwardly around. Four of his six eyes lit up with various shimmering colors. He just hoped it wouldn’t be a waste of time. Well, then finally Gibbou laid the cards down on the table. “A… school?”

”Da’s right!” A burp. ”The people of Galbar are stupid, so we gotta educate them!” She fisted the air and rose to her feet, one of which was still on the table. Her pose would’ve been impressive had it been a different pose, or no pose at all.

“Weeeeeeeeeell, she’s not wrong.” The Patron commented as she eyed Gibbou with amusement. She was slumped in her chair, arms stretched behind the backrest, paying attention but affecting the opposite as best anyone could. The olive-skinned woman had been, quite literally, pulled out her realm by the Goddess of the Moon and, while clearly as confused as Qael, seemed to prefer playing along over asking questions. To that end, she added, “I want secret libraries, though. Maybe forbidden towers? Oh, and some of that wine. Dragging me here and not offering a glass? Pft, rude.”

”Oh, shizz, I’m sorry…” slurred the moon goddess and snapped her fingers. A glass appeared before every god, filled to the very decadent brim with wine. ”... Also, who are you again?”

“Hglprmmm?” The Patron managed while drinking the glass in one long swig. A pair of rivulets spilled from the sides of her mouth and ran down on her dress, which was fortunately made of what seemed to be wind. Well, fortunately for her. A small spray of drops almost immediately bombarded everyone else around the table. She paused, carefully put the glass down, and answered while extending her arm and leaning over the table for a handshake, “I’m me! A god, I think. Who are you? I didn’t drag myself here.”

”Good question…” mumbled Gibbou faintly and didn’t shake the hand as much as she limply accepted it, her eyes staring into nothing. She quickly recovered, though, and smiled broadly at the god to her right. ”Arty! So nice you could, ‘scuse me - hic! - make it! How’re you?”

”I’m doing well, thank you for asking” the goblinoid shaped god replied while attempting to clean the Patron’s spray of wine from his garments with a handkerchief and failing rather spectacularly to do so. He frowned at the wine stains and then gave up ”or I was. Till this one’s” he waved a hand in the direction of the mess making god ”complete lack of table manners got in the way of my good mood.”

The Patron, having lazily slumped back into her chair, lolled her head in Artifex’s direction and complained playfully, “Hey! This is my first table. Did you just pop up knowing everything about tables? Mmm, I don’t know, tsk, seems unlikely to me.”

The goblin raised a finger to object, seemed to think about it for a moment and then replied weakly ”well. no. But in my defence at the time of my birth they did not exist,” before sighing, lifting and sipping at his wine with refined grace before attempting to get back the point ”So. Gibbou. This school. Where is it going?”

Gibbou conjured forth a map in the centre of the table. It showed the entire planet, bulging outwards to give a spherical sense. She lifted her finger and, face slammed down on the table, pointed in the middle of the Mydian Sea. ”Here!”

”Well it’s central. if a bit... out in the middle of the ocean?” Artifex said scepticaly before scratching his chin thoughtfully and then adding ”hmmm, though that could be an interesting challenge,” before pulling out a piece of parchment upon which he began to sketch on while the others spoke.

“Could make it float,” The Patron noted as she carefully leaned over and grabbed Qael’s glass of wine, giving the God of Magic a little wink as she did. Now doing her best to sip at the liquid she went on, “Or maybe a volcano? Might get a bit toasty though.”

”Active volcanoes do not make for good foundations,” Artifex commented, ”Floating could work. I believe Qael has already done something in that department?” the goblin looked up from his sketches and over at the god of magic for confirmation.

The god of magic had honestly no intention to drink the strange liquid before him. Especially not considering what it seemed to do to Gibbou. Still, it felt incredibly rude of the strange goddess to just take his goblet. She could’ve asked! No, no Qael wouldn’t make a fuzz of it. “On air… to be specific.” He quickly clarified. “A small island floating in the air. Though I fear mortals have yet to discover any way to fly so I would not suggest it.”

”Wass about a normal island, then, y’know? Jussss…” She pointed on the spot again, missing it by a few centimetres, and the map spawned a bump meant to be an island. ”Like that, y’know?”

“Boooooooooooring,” The Patron droned, before pivoting to add, “But maybe it could be underground? Have a portal lead to it, or a whirlpool? Or have a whirlpool be the portal to it. Could work for the floating island too. Oh, or-” She paused and stared at the empty bottom of her second glass, seemingly rethinking any further suggestions.

“Or an island.” Qael said in quite a passive aggressive fashion. “A normal island would be a good place to start.” The region of Mydia was indeed uniquely suited for such a school. Toraan couldn’t seem to get its act together. Local warlords were fragmenting the land and nobody seemed to be capable or willing to unite everyone for longer than one needed to destroy their neighbors. Meanwhile the goddess before him, the one without a name, seemed oddly out of place within these negotiations. Unlike Artifex and himself, she seemed chaotic. Without structure or organization. She just spouted out her thoughts in a drunken haze. Qael’s remaining two eyes turned to look at Gibbou. Well, the stranger was not alone he supposed. Qael’Naath stood up in preparation of his case: “Magic should be taught. Obviously. It’s the only knowledge worth knowing. Through it mortalkind will be able to observe and understand the world around it. I thus propose the school to be singly focused upon the arcane studies.” When he was done he once more sat down.

After taking a refined sip from his own wine Artifex said that ”I agree with the island. As, mmm, fun as this one’s ideas are, we do want people to be able to get to this school, and those of a scholarly disposition aren't always the most, ah, resilient to the trials of adventuring upon the waves.”

In order to finalise the matter, the god reached into his jacket pocket anr retrieved a pebble, which he placed onto the spot Gibbou had pointed to, giving them a basis for their creation.

”That said, I disagree that Magic is ’the only knowledge worth knowing.’” Artifex did not stand to make his argument and instead maintained a conversational tone ”Do not get me wrong, those who master the art can weave wonders most sublime. But it is not the be all and end all of knowledge. You could argue it is the pinnacle if you so desire, but even the glossiest of shining spires need a solid foundation. It is technology with which societies are built, with tools and machines that can be used by the masses. There is overlap of course, magical artifacts blur the lines, but I do not think it wise to ignore the potential of the material world to focus only on the magical.”

”Hear, hear!” praised Gibbou. ”Oughta have stuff for other people than magicians! Like, like temples to stuff - stuff like us!” She fisted the air triumphantly. ”Dibs on making dorms!”

Well… maybe Artifex had a point. Some less magically inclined mortals could benefit from a less magical education. But the god of magic chose not to mix with those. It would seem that Artifex had plenty of his own ideas already. The god of magic was quick to brush aside the trivial ideas Gibbou brought up as well. It wasn’t that dorms weren’t important, it was just that…well they weren’t important to him.

“A greenhouse and orchard for ingredients.” He mumbled out loud, and as if it was commanded blue glowing flying sand took shape around the god of magic in the form of a greenhouse with an orchard in the back. “Obviously a star observatory spire.” A spire took shape from the blue glowing, flying sand that just appeared. Showing it with a dome roof. “Large balconies suspended in the skies. Choirs. Spell-circles. Dissection altars. Grand dance halls. Runic auditoriums.” Every room named summoned another depiction of that room. “Hmmm, perhaps a complete alchemical laboratory for the joined wing.” He said mostly towards Artifex who suggested the joined wing in the first place.

”Glad to see you’re onboard.” Artifex said, nodding with approval ”Now lets see. First, the more practical concerns.”

The god pulled out a small sharp knife and began to slice segments off his sketch paper, each one coming alive for a moment, fluttering towards the pebble island he had made on the map. Wherever the architect’s blueprints landed their diagrams came to life, forming structures from pen strokes in an instant.

”First off, docks, for the arriving students” Artifex explained as the first of his diagrams came to life, creating a sheltered stone harbor, its high walls guarding its ships form storms while its long piers would allows dozens of vessels of all shapes and sizes to dock with the island.

”Paths, store houses, plumbing, a place to grow food to sustain them and store water to water them” the god added, crafting infrastructural buildings around the docks and center of the island that all would need, while also raising up a large swath of fertile farmland that would ensure the island would not be massively reliant on imports to feed itself and building large cisterns to catch rainwater for the people to drink from.

The god nodded to himself, before beginning to add the places to learn of the scientific arts, making them a mirror of the magic god’s own structures for sake of symmetry. Spaces of craftspeople of all trades were made, from forges to woodworking shops, glassmakers to potters. places where resources could be shaped and fashioned however the students wanted. Then came the labs and workshops, places for things to be built and assembled. there was little focus on what should be made there, instead the god focused on providing spaces where any kind of invention could be made. He also added a series of wharfs near the docs, so that the islanders could produce ships and a large shallow and especially sheltered section of the docs dedicated to safely testing experiments with new designs. Heavily reinforced places, ones that put the sturdiest fortress walls to shame. Any who had experience with the god’s Inventors knew exactly why this was.

He also created a swath of wild land, packed with natural resources, from ores and gems hiding in deep natural caves to woods and glens teaming with wildlife from all across Mydian. any material an inventor might need could be found if they were willing to brave the untamed lands beyond the University.

A long twirling wisp of smoke emerged from the Patron’s extended finger, and as it swept over the tiny diagram little mounds of vapor rose on the island. With a little smile she explained, “Tells. So the students think this island has been around for a while. Also, a good excuse for catacombs!”

The smoke outlined a vast network of interweaving, chaotic, catacombs whose entrances would be focused on the academy and the supposedly ancient tells, but would extend far below the island. As a final touch little spots across the catacombs, hundreds of them, began to glow. “Tombs, with spell books and treasures and secrets. For the adventurous.” The Patron openly grinned and leaned closer to the menagerie of pebbles, living diagrams, and apparitions of smoke.

She poked the academy in a few places and imposing, gravity defying, spires appeared. Long suspended bridges branched out between them forming a sort of upper academy, connected to the larger structure on the ground by the spindly bodies of the spires. The Patron elaborated, “And for masters, an upper academy. Somewhere to put all the spells that’d kill the students. It is a school after all. I’d think it oughta be safer than just poking at those spells floating around like everyone’s doing now.”

Gibbou lifted her face from the tabletop in a jolt. She pointed at the model of the academy and, suddenly, a row of large, square-shaped houses popped up by the courtyard, all decorated with gothic statues of muscled men with bat wings and faces like fruit bats. There were at least eighty windows in coloured glass on each side, meaning forty rooms per floor, and each room was furnished with two beds, two desks and a chest for each, from what one could see through the tiny model windows. In total, there were five dormitories. ”Yay, dorms!” cooed the night goddess before zapping the other side of the campus. There, even more lavish dorms popped up, these ones arranged into three great towers all linked together with bridges on every third floor: Each floor had four rooms, and there were a total of five floors, each furnished with a single bed, a desk, a bookshelf, a cabinet, and, if one looked really closely, the same fruit bat gargoyles over the door frame. ”If people feel uncomfortable sleeping -here-, then…” She sniffed. ”Then I’ll be sad…” She had another swig of her drink.

The fact that this new goddess was so concerned about hiding spell got Qael a bit on edge. Who was she and why did she care so much for hiding his creations? Perhaps she had a point, but there were less dangerous ways to hide information that should not be known yet. He himself locked it behind trial and tests. Not with hiding and obfuscation. Alas, he did not want to have the discussion now. There were other matters at hand.

“Libraries.” Qael’Naath mumbled, realizing all of them except the newest goddess had nearly forgotten them. “Not the hidden ones. Normal ones. Though surely you could come up with an easier to use medium to carry the information?” He asked Artifex, before returning to his own musings. There was already an archive of magical knowledge. One that had been growing for two decades now. Why replicate such an achievement? From those ponderings appeared once more a blue glow. Though this one did not assume a physical form. Instead it held a concept for a higher realm. One in which people could study the knowledge stored with Sancta Civitas’ Library.

”There are many advanced forms of information storage that I have seen down the mortals path, though ironically as record keeping technology improves its ability to withstand the ages fades. Compare stone engravings to writing on parchment for a current example,” Artifex replied before proposing that ”for now I suggest we stick to the classic stone. If we want to give the impression of age then it’s the most logical material to have survived. not that they need to stick to that material once they start adding to the work.” Artifex proceeded to populate the little libraries with stone tablets featuring knowledge old and new, while also adding saltwater papyrus like plants to the shallows of the ocean, and small colorful diving beetles who protected themselves with ink sprays to live among them, and large wading seabirds who would pray on the beetles and whose feathers would make excellent quills.

”hmmm. Though perhaps...” he then said contemplatively, before plucking out a feather, pot of ink and sheet of papyrus from the parts of their rapidly growing tableaux. Then he put the feathered down on the table, retrieved a fine needle and began engraving runes on it.

While Artifex busied himself, the Patron gave Qael an amused look and set about doing exactly what she’d promised to. The god’s playful smile grew and she leaned closer to the little mockup on the table before declaring, “But also, secret libraries. In the upper academy. Ones that don’t need stone or paper or ink.”

Once more little wisps of smoke flowed from her fingertips, but this time they stilled into a number of pools, each one becoming perfectly reflective. Within the little pools magical symbols appeared and began to shimmer, before the patron tapped each one and watched the symbols rearrange into new ones. The Goddess carefully placed the little smokey pools inside the apparitions that were the planned upper academy and explained, “Some mortals have been using a book that works like these. So I’ll add a few here. Just plop a spell into the pool and it and all the others will be able to access it.”

Having finished engraving the quill, Artifex picked it up, dabbed it in the little ink pot and started writing down instructions about how to do the bit of magic he had just done.

”Humm, what else…” grumbled Gibbou. ”Oh yeah!” She slapped down another building, this one veering slightly off the campus centre. Inside its tiny windows, one could see loads of long tables and benches to boot, and all along the middle of the house were firepits with metal pots suspended over them. ”Without their food, a scholar’s no good!” she mused happily as she also added fruit gardens and crop fields next to Qael’s reagent garden. ”They’ll have to get some foods from the surrounding islands, but I’ve heard the local, whassit, Akwanz? Whatever, there are locals who’d gladly help ‘em out.”

Artifex finished writing as Gibbou added more agriculture to the island, squinted at it as if unsure if she was adding redundancy or was just to smashed to notice his own plots, and then shrugged. he retrieved a second sheet of paper, dabbed the quill in the pot, placed its tip at its op and then let go. the quill, rather than fall, hung poised above the parchment before it began to write on its own, copying the document Artifex had just written word for word. artifex smiled, then made a second quill with the same runic engravings and repeated the process, resulting in two quills scribbling away to copy the original document.

”You can never have too many ways to backup knowledge” he said to himself, before adding a tablet containing instructions on how to make this text repliating magic to the library.

"AH!" blurted Gibbou. "Almost forgot!" With a slap of her hand on the table, she turned the empty spaces around the university into peaceful gardens for study and meditation. One grove in particular sprouted various tranquil trees with leaves specifically designed to muffle sound and provide the visitors with the optimal quiet experience. Then, around the various hills and groves, she put down small prayer houses and temples. ”There we go. I’m good.”

Qael rubbed the tentacles running off his chin for a second. The gardens, yes. How could he forget!? They were paramount for mental endeavors. Even The Library back in Sancta Civitas had one. A significant one at that. Gibbou’s gardens were no doubt beautiful but they lacked a certain…spark. “Allow me.” He said as he extended a single finger at the gardens. They were bathed in a soft blue glow for a second, as certain aspects of them returned. To respect Artifex’s balance (and eventual unity) between magic and technology, he only altered just about half the gardens. Turning them into something more magical. With floating gazebo’s accessible only through floating stepstones, or a meditative place where carved stone orbs would rise up from the ground and orbit around you in auspicious patterns. These would be the places where mortalkind’s serene creativity would flow like water, that in certain places flower up the waterfall now.

Artifex, eyeing this magical enhancement to half the gardens, added a few minor touches to the other side. A number of exquisit statues were raised, made of glass, marble and bronze formed into elaborate abstract shapes that pleased the eye. A small river was added running through the gardens, fed from a fountain, that gave the pleasant ambiance of running water to the area. He also added some hedge mazes, sundials and a hedge that could be used to track the time of year.

Having watched Qael and Artifex closely, the Patron chewed on her lip and started crafting her own garden, one placed firmly between the two major halves of the academy. It started as a shallow pool of water, no deeper than a few feet but as many as a hundred meters across. From it rose a great plume of fog, but one which grew heavy and clung to the water. The water below it grew dark, and soon it seemed to suck the light out of the already foggy air above it.

There, in the dark, little plants took root and grew. They started out as little more than lilies, but soon grew thick purple roots that found the soil deep below. Anchored to the world the plants became trees rising from the water, trees whose leaves glowed a faint blue and illuminated the Patron’s garden. Platforms rose close to them, each one a tiny amphitheatre with a stage of sorts below a descending ring of seats. Around each platform were columns of obsidian, arranged to hold up a covering dome that glowed faintly like the leaves from the trees which loomed above it.

From the edges of the garden were invisible stepping stones, as black as the water and just millimeters below its surface. They led to the platforms, and from platform to platform. A nearly invisible network of stones connecting the misty gardens pavilions. The Patron, now fussing obsessively over her mock garden, added all sorts of glowing fish to the midnight water, alongside a number of underwater plants for them to hide and nest in.

It was only after she’d spent nearly as long as Qael and Artifex combined on her garden, much of it spent on choosing the particular hues of the fish, that she looked up and, in a remarkably self satisfied tone, announced, “And done! The central garden.”

”So… Should we add some staff? Y’know, someone who knows the deal - could maybe tell people what this place is all about?”

”Magic within this institution must be overseen by the appropriate agent…” Qael’Naath mused as he stroked his chin-tentacles. There were no mortals alive whom he could offer the charge. At first he thought about his daughters. Auriëlle could never be chained down to such a place and while Soleira would make a fine guide for mortals, her magical capabilities were still painfully lacking. His mind darted to other places. An Eloxochitli perhaps? No, he needed something approachable for all races. Something that could guide them as well. Someone from Anghebad? Alas, they were only barely scratching the surface of their Labyrinth. They made him proud but were not yet ready for the task. But as his mind went over their Labyrinth, he found his answer. He squeezed his fist for a second, and then opened it again. Showing a fired-clay figurine of one of the axolotl-looking creatures and put it on the table. ”The school’s headmaster of magic.” He presented it to his siblings.

”A frog, huh. Neat.” Gibbou conjured forth a slice of bread as she regarded the statuette. ”Y’know… A place like this is bound to get pretty dirty. Y’all think everyone would be responsible and clean up after themselves after doing their stuff and things like decent mortal beings?” She looked around the table. ”Yeah, no, I agree.” She took a crumb of her bread and, in a second, it flourished with mould. The mould twisted and turned, eventually shaping into a person-like figure with three legs, two hands - one swallowed by the mushroom growth - and a bioluminescent ghostcap for a head. Gibbou placed it down proudly. ”Now we have a janitor!”

”Well now. that raises all sorts of interesting possibilities. A living member of a species that never existed” Artifex noted as he looked upon the axolotl Qael had made, ”I predict its life will be a rather interesting one. Now then,”

The Artifex leaned back in his char, swirled his wine and then took a sip, clearly contemplating. Then he nodded to himself, before pulling to rings that he was wearing off his fingers. ”I think the office of head of technology shall be headed by a mortal. The best, possibly decided by competition, but that does not mean I don’t want them to be completely without the kind of continuity and wisdom provided by magic’s ageless ruler. ” The smaller was placed inside the other and the space inbetween filled with a black mass as he spoke ”So I’ll give them an assistant” The mass suddenly grew eyes and abstract limbs, propping itself up onto them. The god made a vague depiction of a mortal, their general appearance and even species ambiguous, and set it next to the axolotl. The prototype obediently scampered over to this model, before clambering up it and sitting to rest on its shoulder like a tame raven.

”Ain’t that somethin’. This’ll be such a project, y’all!” clapped Gibbou giddily. Turning to the Patron, she frowned pensively. ”You. You adding anything?”

“A librarian would be useful,” The Patron bit her lip in thought, “Someone to take care of all the books and tablets, and my spell pools. They’d need to keep the students from killing themselves whenever some master dropped a book in the lower academy too. So not a pushover, hm.”

Her fingers drummed on the table for a moment, before she grinned and set to work on her own little figure. This one was large, far too large to walk about the university. Rather, the giant furball with a mouth full of jagged teeth and two long twisting horns was given a chamber in the catacombs. A vast cavern with glowing crystals, a small lake, and what almost qualified as a forest.

However, from the beast’s cavern the patron plucked a little tree. She twisted it until the foliage resembled an old man grown from wood. Growing from the figures shoulders was a long sweeping robe made from yellow leaves, and from its head sprouted two long wooden antlers. Once she was done she pulled a tiny thread from the beast and connected it, not just to her one wooden figure, but to the entire little forest where the beast lurked.

The Patron leaned back into her chair contentedly and said, “Our librarian, and one that won’t die once some angry kid shoots a fireball or drops a boulder on him.”

”How about that… So, how’re we doing, folks? Anymore thinga-magiggs y’all wanna add?” She refilled her cup.

“We must find a way for students to reach and return from the school.” Qael still noted as he observed the wider map. Boats would be fine for the Amazons and the Night Elves. But for the people of Sancta Civitas, Anghebad and civilizations even further the journey would be perilous and dangerous. Once more did he clench his fist, only to reveal a fairly sizable figurine of a giant lobster. From the side though, you could see inside its chest. Which was separated in several rooms and one-way magical windows that showed the ground below and the skies around it. “An emissary, guide and method of passage. All in one.”

”For a more straightforward bit of help” Artifex said as he popped a large tower down on the port’s wall, and atop it a beacon that lit up the night, guiding ships towards the safe harbor. Then he enhanced the light so that it could be seen from much further away by any who sought the island, so that they would never lose their way while they sought the island.

“And just to be safe,” The Patron commented as she placed a room deep below the tower, accessible only through a number of spelled doors in the catacombs, “Something to keep the island hidden, when it has to be.”

She eyed the little room, and the spells etched both into its walls and the walls of the catacombs that stretched out in every direction around it. With a snap of her fingers the little room glowed and soon a vast blanket of magical, disorienting, fog descended on the little diorama of a school and the mock seas around it.

”Neat! Dunno why we’d need that, but neat! Anything else, folks?”

“No.” Qael said, in response to Gibbou’s question. This place of learning had already become quite a grand creation. Uniting four gods their power into it. What more could it need still?

”I think these plans are functionally complete. All that remains is to make it real, and to find a way ‘explain’ why there is suddenly a new island with an ancient university complex in the middle of the Ocean where none was before” Artifex replied ”there are, after all, people living in the ocean who might ruin the illusion if we just put it there as a blatant divine act.

“Oh,” The Patron stood up and looked down on the table, conjuring a little sparking cloud that grew with every moment. She started twirling her finger in it as she spoke, “That’ll be easy. Just spin up a little storm, add a dash of magic to it, and tada!”

The little storm grew to cover the entire table, taking on a sickly purple hue. Below the sea’s waves became enormous breakers as the rain that pounded it started to glow like the purple lightning above. The enchanted deluge struck the little mock academy and the false water around it, mixing with the sea and rendering anyone touched by it unconscious. Magic ran deep into the sea. Wherever it went any memory of the expanse of ocean where the academy was to be placed was erased. Washed away in the storm.
The tempest grew until it was spilling over the sides of the table. It was only then, when it was finally large enough for her liking, that the Patron sat back down and explained with a content little smile, “And now nobody will know.”

”Perfect! And here. We. Go!” As if slapping a button, Gibbou hammered the tabletop with her palm. Immediately down on the planet below, the centre of the Mydian Sea began to toss and churn. A gruesome, mighty storm washed over the surrounding islands, flooding forests and villages in rain and seawater. Coastal villages screamed as a pillar of clouds and lightning could just barely be seen at the very edge of the horizon - a hurricane of power as though sent by the gods. Something about the storm seemed to hint that it had not simply gathered there out of natural causes, and as it passed, Akuan communities swimming to the shore told every islander that a miracle had happened: At the center of the storm they’d found an island. One of great development and technology, filled with buildings and landscapes more advanced than anyone had yet seen. All the cultures of Mydia agreed - they needed to hasten to unveil the secrets of this site.

---

Carn was brooding.

His spirits had lifted in the past few days, ever since he had that moment with Aurielle, and he had begun to revert back to his old self.

As the army had neared Ketrefa, they had begun to face more and more resistance. Some of the villages actually liked being under Ketrefan rule, it turned out, because the close proximity to the city boosted their trade and entitled them to some protection. Others had heard of Aurielle’s raid, and feared the same thing happened to them.

As a result, Carn had to deal with brigands harassing his scouts, sentries, and patrols. And whenever they turned up at a village requesting supplies, they were more often than not refused. In the end, Carn finally had to resort to having his men take what they needed by force. Many would go hungry as a result of this decision, but he couldn’t see any other options.

This wasn’t what troubled him, however. A weary expression crossed his features as he and Aurielle sat at the table in his tent. His gaze was fixated on the glowing sapphire ring he still wore; the one that was intended to bolster his reflexes.

The sorceress had no such reservations about taking what they needed. In fact, she had been the strongest proponent of the measure. When Carn finally gave his leave she was the first to have her assigned warband ready to pillage the nearby villages. And they did so with almost experienced scrutiny. But she didn’t get to raid for supplies every day sadly. Today she was content to sit in Carn’s tent, copying over a rune from one of the few remaining runic tablets Esiré had stolen from the Ketrefian noble. She had her notes on the essence of magic written on the clay beside the rune, but it was written in her native Acadian.

Carn looked up from his hand, and watched her for a few moments as she went about her work. “My ring,” he said, interrupting whatever thoughts she might have had. “I feel it… pulling toward the city, somehow.”

Auriëlle looked up with a frown on her face. Not because she was interrupted. She had time in abundance these days and her followers were only just learning the basics of magic. The notes were as much to learn from as it was to teach others. It was what Carn said that just confused her. “You’ve had that ring for years.” she noted as she turned to look at him. “Did it draw towards the city before?”

“No,” he shook his head. “But, ever since I found the ring, I’ve never been as close to the city as I am now.” He sighed. “How long have the gods been pushing me down this path? Since we met? Since my home was destroyed? Since I was born?”

“There’s no way of knowing.” Auriëlle noted, dryly. From her own limited interactions with the gods, it would seem that some just don’t care. Others look on like it’s amusing. Others are just simply incompetent and useless. In all honesty, Auriëlle wasn’t so sure why people were talking so reverent of the gods still. Even now with Carn she felt like he might be giving the gods too much credit. Not that she would share those views in Carn’s own tent. She wasn’t about to upset some priest or zealot. The lot of them were a plague in this camp. “But I think the ring pulling you to the city is a good sign that you’re doing according to Cadien. Cause it’s certainly not magical.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said gloomily, his gaze once more falling down to his hand on his table. After a few more moments he looked back up at her. “What are you going to do when all this is over?”

“Travel south.” She said. “I’ve heard of a land where the ground itself is colorful. Another that’s grand forests as far as the eye can see. Places where wheat grows great and golden every year, again and again. I’ll go south of the Anchor mountains probably.” For a second she let silence fall in the tent, as she pondered for a second on what Carn would do. “And you?” She finally asked, not finding a clear answer herself. The only thing she felt clear about was that he wanted to lead. Maybe reign over?

He thought about that, but only for a moment. “Perhaps I’ll go south too.”

For a second Auriëlle raised her eyebrow for a second. “Do you think Cadien will let you?”

The vaguely hopeful look in his eyes was crushed. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and his palms against his forehead. “I hope so,” he whispered, though the doubt was plain. “What more can he want?”

“I don’t know.” The sorceress admitted. These were the hard truths. Both of them were pawns in the hands of the gods. Though it seemed they were much harder on Carn than on her now. “You’ve come too far not to be branded for greatness though. Neither of us will get peaceful lives.” Not that she personally wanted such a dull life. But even though Carn had become the man she once knew again, she knew deep down that he still just wanted his brother.

“I’m going with you,” Carn decided suddenly, his voice filled with resolve. “No matter what happens. If I have to lead any more cities or rule any more armies, I’ll probably throw myself into a river or something. Assuming Cadien doesn’t just bring me back to life somehow.”

For a second Auriëlle was stunned by his decisiveness. Especially in regards to something that could go up against the god he’s championing. But then a smile, a genuine one, formed on her lips. “I’ll pry you from Cadien’s grip if I have to get you free. I promise you that.”

He chuckled. “Like an old story, but the roles are reversed.” He reached across the table to place his hands on hers. “Thank you,” he said, seriously, and then began to lean forward-

“Carnelian!” The flap of his tent was pushed aside, and Lothar barged in.

Carn leaned back in his chair. “It’s just Carn,” he growled in frustration. “What is it?”

“We need to talk,” Lothar insisted. He looked toward Aurielle, and his expression darkened. “In private.”

“What did the portents show you this time Lothar? Should I be dead yet? Did Cadien ask you to kill me?” Auriëlle said as both a jest and taunt towards the priest. “It’s not like we’re on the opposite team. Spit what you want to say.”

Lothar gave her a flint-hard stare, before turning back to Carn. “The raids need to end.”

Carn sighed. “I don’t like them any more than you do, but we have little other choice.”

“Have some faith!” Lothar hissed. “In stealing what we need, we’re no better than those we fight against. You were chosen to stop these practices.”

“I can’t do that if half my army deserts me because they don’t have food, can I?” Carn demanded.

“Have faith,” Lothar insisted. “The gods can provide.”

“Didn’t you once say that the gods expect us to be independent?” Carn asked. “Besides, I can’t base my decisions around what the gods might do. If they intended to provide us anything, why didn’t they do so before now? Perhaps Titania could have given us some food, instead of armour that barely fit half of us.”

“Perhaps she could have,” Lothar said, “if you hadn’t driven her away.”

“I didn’t drive her away,” Carn countered. “She just couldn’t accept that a god her creator didn’t like had also pledged her support! All her talk of helping people and casting emotions aside amounted to nothing once it was she who had to put in the work. Even the armour was only gifted to us out of spite, and it got four good men killed.”

“Listen to me,” Lothar insisted. “If you carry on like this, you risk drawing the ire of more gods. And the ire of a god is far worse than mortal troubles like hunger or thirst! And you may think it’s necessary now, but in your later years these decisions will haunt you.”

“And what do you know of making decisions?” Carn asked bitterly. “Seems like you let the gods decide everything. Or what you think the gods want. A rather convenient way to absolve yourself of responsibility, isn’t it?”

That took Lothar aback. For a moment, his features were tinged with regret. Then, he became outraged. “You insolent boy!” he all-but-shouted. “You know nothing of the decisions I have made, the regrets I carry, or the burdens I bear. I am giving you this advice because it is in your best-interest. Because of the debt I owe to you, and to Cadien.”

That gave Carn pause. “What debt?” he asked, confused. Lothar fell silent. “Go on, tell me.”

“The-the debt I owe to Cadien, for he is the creator of man-”

“No,” Carn interrupted. “You said you owed a debt to me. What is it?”

“You saved New Thyma…”

“No, you asked me to save that village. You gave me the sword to do it, and you helped me in the fight. It was a joint effort so I hardly see how you owe me a debt for that. So, tell me the truth. Why are you doing this?”

Again, for a few moments, Lothar was silent. “I…” he finally said. “I was at Thyma.”

“Yes, I know,” Carn said irritably. “Have you lost your-”

“The first Thyma,” Lothar interjected.

Carn’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

“I was part of the force that destroyed Thyma all those years ago…” Lothar spoke quietly. “I was arrogant and misguided. I thought I knew the will of the gods, but it wasn’t. It was my greatest regret. Helping you was to be my redemption.”

Images flashed through Carn’s mind. His village burning. His mother falling with an arrow in her neck. His father being struck down in a duel. A robed mage standing next to the killer...

He leapt to his feet. ”You!” With three quick strides he crossed the tent, seizing the mage-priest by the throat and hauling him outside.

The sorceress just rolled her eyes at the talk about faith and the gods. If faith was enough, the gods would’ve made a just world. Where there was no such thing as hunger. Where there was no pain. Instead they made this. She let the two men bicker though, knowing her own opinions were already well known. After all, she was the one who fought against an emissary of a god and survived to live the tale. It was a shame the branch didn’t leave scars. It would’ve made for a great story.

Then the conversation took a strange turn. Debt? She wasn’t aware of what had happened exactly at Thyma and New Thyma. Though she knew Carn’s version of the tale. Then the little slip up occurred and her entire face lit up. The thorn in her side for weeks now was amongst the people that killed and kidnapped Carn’s family!? Heavens she couldn’t imagine better news for herself. She followed the conqueror as he dragged the priest out, keeping a respectful distance. This was going to be Carn’s show and she knew it.

As Carn shoved Lothar out in the center of the camp, many heads turned in confusion at the sudden outburst of violence. The priest was thrown to the ground, and a second later Carn had already drawn his sword and pointed the blade at his throat. “You murdering bastard!” he uttered, loud enough for all watching to hear.

Lothar did not move.

“You’ve been at my side all this time,” Carn hissed. “Knowing what you did to me! To my family! To my people! Even before that, you were hiding out in the reconstruction of the place that you destroyed!” He pressed the tip of the blade into Lothar’s neck, opening up a small trickle of blood. “Tell me. How did you think this was going to end!?”

“In death, or attonement…” Lothar whispered as he closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. “It is your choice.”

And in that moment, an arrow slammed into Carn’s shoulder.

He staggered, stepping away from Lothar’s prone form. Instinctively his free hand came up to clutch the shaft. He turned to see who had attacked him. A lone bowmen, whose neighbours promptly drew their weapons, but before they could attack him, he suddenly burst into flames. As he fell to the ground screaming, Carn looked to Aurielle into confusion, but this was not her doing. Of all the mages present, none had uttered a single word or made a single gesture, so it couldn’t be them either.

“You should have heeded Evandra’s warning, brother…” Lothar whispered sadly.

This drew Carn’s attention back to the priest, and the anger resurfaces. He gripped the arrow hard and yanked it out of his shoulder, grunting and bringing out a spray of blood as he did so, but already the wound was beginning to heal itself. “Enough of this,” he growled. “Lothar, you are guilty of the destruction of Thyma, the murder of one of Cadien’s champions, and the attempted murder of his children. I sentence you to death.”

And with those words, Carn tossed his sword up into the air, caught it in a reverse grip with both hands, and plunged it downward into the priest’s chest. Lothar let out one final cry of pain, and then the life faded from his eyes.

Carn pulled the sword free and stood up, his breathing heavy. “The mages… need a new commander…” he whispered, somewhat numbly. He turned to Aurielle, his sword still dripping with blood, while the burning archer still screamed. “I’m taking your warband away and promoting you to Lothar’s position. Do you object?”

“I don’t.” she said, grinning from ear to ear, mostly at the corpse of the former priest. In her own dreams, it was she who burned him to cinders but she could give Carn that honor. But she did get control over the mages. Who looked at her with worried eyes. Rightfully so. Most of them were stuffy and boring. Luckily the latest progress of her own followers meant that about seven of them were in charge of protecting the mages now that they were learning magic themselves. Still, the stuffy priests and druids that accompanied them were going to be an issue for sure.

“Enough gawking!” Carn shouted. “Get back to your business. And someone, clean these up!” he said, referring to both Lothar and the archer, who had finally expired but was still burning. He looked back to Aurielle. “We have much to discuss. Come with me.” And with those words he marched back into his tent.

Auriëlle waited for a few seconds, looking at the still burning archer and the body of Lothar with a faint smile on her lips still. “You heard the man.” She then said when Carn was already inside. “Clear out and start cleaning this mess up!” With that she followed Carn into the tent. Even though he commanded her. Under normal circumstances she would’ve stepped away. Show him she wasn’t just some puppet he could have blindly execute orders. But right now there was something different about Carn. He was so much more forceful. She liked it. No she loved what he was becoming! “So what needs to be discussed?”

Carn turned to face her. There was anger in his eyes, and deep down the pain of betrayal. Religious ramblings aside, Lothar had meant more to him than he had let on, but the deed was already done. Justice, or vengeance, had been dispensed. No use dwelling on it now.

“Nothing at all,” he said as he stepped toward her and pulled her against him.

---

---

Evette trudged through the snow with confidence, despite the moon hanging low in the sky. Her companions followed behind her, dragging sleds packed with supplies. Others huddled together and did everything they could to preserve their body-heat.

It had become the Night-Templar’s custom to travel at night, partly due to their natural night vision, and also due to the fact that was when their prey was most active. Travelling during the winter was far from ideal, of course, but she didn’t have the luxury of waiting for spring. Time was of the essence, if she was to reach her destination, and she wasn’t far.

The Night Templars had grown in the years since their foundation. She had only a dozen personal companions, but she had also founded multiple other groups of vampire and troll hunters that now operated independently. There would always be a limit to how large each group would come - if they gained too many recruits it would become impossible to feed everyone, and rulers would view them as a threat. She hoped they remembered that, and she had also hoped they had not lost sight of their original goal.

Her companions were silent. Leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Well, not quite.

”And so, halfway through the game, this monkey just up and takes the card, jumps out my window and suffocates in space! Am I really that boring to listen to, that someone would kill themselves over it? Am I? Am I?!” There came some lunar glugs of presumably something alcoholic.

No, of course not, Evette replied, feeling a small trace of amusement. I haven’t tried anything like that just yet.

”Well, don’t, because monkeys make for bad playmates.” Another glug. ”Hooo boy, I’ll regret this in the evening… Sho...” There came a burp. ”Oop, shcuse me. Sho, so, you finally decided to go - venture, even - to that cursed place…”

Ha-Dûna? she asked. Well, yes. There’s a lot of war or suffering over there, or so I’ve heard, and those seem to be exactly the sort of conditions where vampires are likely to be found. She paused. Also, what’s a monkey?

”Wait, Ha-Dûna? I thought you was goin’ to Acadia! Well, in -that- case, you got nothing to worry about. You enjoy that.” Glug. ”Oh yeah, I remember vampires… I miss my batman…”

Batman? she asked, confused. My Lady… how much have you had to drink?

”That’s a personal queschun that I will -not- answer,” came a sour reply. ”Also, what do -you- know about drinking? All your people’ve got is smelly grain water! How do you even know about the effects of alcohol?”

Well… I just noticed that um, the more you drink, the louder and more… outspoken you seem to become.

”Persheptive… How’d you know I wassen just gettin’ more and more excited?”

Is excitement another effect of the drink? This… ‘alacool’ you mentioned?

”Can be.” There was a pause. ”Mostly, it just lets me take a break from things. Those big, mean thoughts, y’know.”

Hm. There’s a berry that has a similar effect - it’s quite common. Though, I never have time for such things. It’s always important to keep a clear mind when lives are at stake.

”Good girl. Berries make you fat.” Glug-glug. ”What do you do to stay calm, huh?”

I just… naturally am, I suppose. I am focused on my purpose and I have my companions to protect me. She smirked. The guidance of the gods, as well.

”Oof, yeah, do not trust the gods, girl. I mean, I’m okay - I’ve gotchu - but some of my colleagues are less than savoury folk. Gotta keep your eyes and hear sharp for their sneaky, sneaky manip… Manipuhlashun.”

She frowned at that. Which gods can’t be trusted? she asked. Aside from Neiya, I think. You already told me about her.

”Pfft, I’unno. Depends on the day, I guess. The gods are, wossname, fickle. Loyalty’s like make-up.” There came a hairy rub. ”I guess you could keep your eyes out for this, uh, what wassit, Thaa-dude. All bones and no heart, that guy. Gets very upset at living things, which, y’know, a lot of things are - alive that is. I’unno, don’t lissen to me.” Glug.

Evette had no honest clue who ‘the dude’ actually was, but somehow she got the idea that further questioning would be unproductive. Well… at least I can trust you and Cadien.

”You trust me? I wouldn’t trust me. I mean, Cadien’s loyal as a dog - for better or worse - but me? Pffft… I’m not worth it.” There came a sniff. ”I’m not worth anything…” It became a sob, followed by a series of sobs, then a weak howl.

Evette waited patiently for the waterworks to abate. You know that’s not true, she said, and not for the first time. It still felt odd, to have to console a goddess instead of the other way around. You’re the goddess of the moon and the patron of druids. That’s worth quite a bit. And you’re pleasant company too. Which was true. Emotional outbursts aside, Evette did find herself enjoying these talks.

”I’m nozz the Patran of anythiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing! Iss a group effort and I’m juss lettin the ozzers do the wooooooooooooooork!” There came another howl. ”I’m juss a useless moon-moon!” The crackle of snacks cracked in the background.

Oh no. You gave me that stone, Evette pointed out. And these conversations have been very informative. Both of those are useful.

Sniff. ”R-really? You actually use it?”

Of course I do, Evette nodded. It helps with sleeping shifts when we make camp. Sentries are never tired, so they never fall asleep, and we never get attacked. Not without warning, anyway. For all I know I could have died without it.

”Uh… Uh-huh? You mean it?”

I do, Evette nodded. And she did. She might have been overplaying it a bit, but to be able to sleep for short periods of time and not wake up tired was an immense boon, and one she would have trouble living without.

Sniff-sniff. ”Oh-... Okay. Hey, you’re real nice, y’know?”

I have been told that quite a few times, she nodded.

”Wow, okay, someone’s cheeky.” There came a snorting giggle. ”I’m juss kiddn.” A raspberry.

For a moment there I almost thought you were flirting, Evette smirked again.

”A mortal couldn’t handle me. No god nor goddess nor anything else can handle me.” She giggled in embarrassment. ”I am a wreeeeeeeeck.”

You and me both, Evette remarked, suddenly pondering her own circumstance. It was nothing like Gibbou’s, of course, but upon self-reflection Evette’s own life was hardly the most stable or secure. She wandered from village to village hunting abominations. Coming across dead ends more often than not, often relying on either charity or mercenary work for food, and never settling down. It was these thoughts that occasionally kept her up at night.

”Damn, you, too, huh? Yeah, I can imagine - your quest being what it is and all. Life ain’t easy for nightfolk, is it? Sorry about that. If I coulda made it nicer, I would.”

What’s stopping you?

There came a gritty glug. ”Me.”

What do you mean?

”Pfft, I’unno. Juss tryin’ to be poedic or somethin’...” There came a sniff. ”No matter what I do to make the night better, it always, always, always seems to make it worse for everyone. I can’t do anything right.” There came a low weep. ”... I can’t do anything right…”

Hey, we just talked about how that’s not true, Evette said, hoping to get the conversation back on track and simultaneously restore Gibbou’s spirits. Are you sure you can’t reach out to the other gods for help? Oraelia’s avatar and Cadien himself have both blessed my cause. Maybe things will be better if you work with them?

”HEY! Hey, hey, hey, no. There are -some- lines we don’t cross.” Evette recoiled in shock - for all her casual awkwardness, Gibbou was still a goddess, and if there was one thing the stories emphasized it was that a god’s ire should never be drawn. There came a deep, frustrated breath through the nose. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just… The night is -my- element; -my- home. I will not get help to fix my own element - especially not from those two.”

Especially? She raised an eyebrow. Do you have something against them?

”N-no… So what if I do? It’s nothing against them personally. Or maybe it is, in some cases, but mostly not. Why should I tell you?”

Gibbou, would you be willing to take some advice from a mortal?

There came a scoff. ”Look, the last thing I want is a lecture. If you wanna preach, go find a flock or something. I am outta here. P’chooo.” The voice then disappeared.

The sudden change in the goddess’s tone had once again caught Evette off-guard. One would have thought she would have grown used to the goddess’s mood-swings by now, or the dismissive attitude toward advice and criticism. But Evette thought she was actually close to an opening there, only to be shot down and dismissed in the blink of an eye.

Once more she began to wonder how a being with such great responsibilities could act that way. Too much power? Too little oversight? In truth Evette knew very little of the gods and her ways, despite her encounters with the divine, but if Gibbou was to be believed then the only thing holding the Night Goddess back was her pride.

Troubling. Very troubling.

---

The sun had just risen when Ha-Dûna finally came within sight. Great palisades were being erected around the larger city as though its people were preparing for an attack any day, and sleds and pulks pulled by man, elk and reindeer all flowed in and out the gates like an eternal river of flesh and hide. Small war parties patrolled the vicinity, armed with copper or stone spears, clad in thick fur clothes with their woolen family plaids proudly wrapped around their torsos. The many housesteads - ´tún in the local tongue - sported thick columns of gray smoke through holes in the roofs. Inside the city, barely visible from their position, a scattered number of tall buildings were in the middle of construction.

Evette’s wings were not visible beneath the heavy furs she wore for warmth, but it was only a matter of time before they noticed the golden halo or the glowing sword at her belt. She continued her approach. Thankfully, the roads this close to the village weren’t packed with snow, which made things considerably easier on her weary companions.

As the peasants caught sight of her, a small war party approached, led by a tall, broad woman with her torso wrapped in a blue and red tartan plaid. As opposed to the others, she wore a leather-upholstered bronze helmet and had a long dagger at her hip, also likely fashioned from bronze. Her beltbuckle, too, barely visible under her plaid, had that familiar sheen: She was very likely an officer of high rank. Her nutty hair danced in the snowy wind, and her war party behind her flanked out to flex its numbers and strength. When they reached the Templars, she held up a hand to halt them. ”Brehmse, Reiarling,” she spoke sternly. ”What dorran you seo?”

Evette grimaced. She had tried to pick up what she could of the local language during her travels. Unsurprisingly, she had yet to master it in so short a time, and her companions had not fared much better. She had hoped to find a travelling merchant who could serve as an interpreter, but very few travellers frequented the roads this time of year. Communication would be difficult, to say the least.

But an attempt had to be made. “I… Evette,” she said slowly, in the unfamiliar tongue. “Daughter of Cadien. Hero of Reiya. Listen of Gibbou.”

The officer cocked her head to the side and put her hands on her hips. The other soldiers looked at one another. ”Lytja anois, outsider.” A word Evette had heard many times in these parts. “We ”ònskan ik galningi om láan.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Go back to bórgan soemrest of your kin live.”

Evette looked back over her shoulder in brief confusion, before turning back. “Walk long way. Need home. Can’t walk back.” She knew she was making a butchery of it, but she doubted this guard spoke any language she had a better understanding of.

The guards looked at one another. Some giggled mockingly. The officer drew a curt sigh and held her hand out. Ya, yah… Gitte your klingan aug we jakr gitta you turasbo.” She pointed fervently at her sword, while the others gestured for their weapons.

It took a moment for Evette to realize what was being asked. In truth, it was a reasonable request. But she knew that if she gave away an object so priceless as her sunlit sword, she might not get it back. And she didn’t trust the snickers and chuckles of the guards. They had to have noticed her glowing halo by now, and the fact that they didn’t even comment on it suggested the sword itself would do nothing more to convince them that she had a connection to at least one of their gods.

She shook her head. “Sacred sword,” she answered. “No.”

The officer raised her brow. “Sacred? Pà what heada”?

Evette took some time to think of all the possible questions the woman could be asking. “Reiya make,” she said at last.

The guards looked at each other. “To druïthanas?” they asked one another. They nodded amongst each other, but the officer quieted them down. She eyed the templars one by one, stopping on Evette. Then she pointed at her companions. “They overgittan their klingan. You - gengangen ochm, betta.”

Evette frowned in puzzlement. “No hear.”

The officer groaned something about foreigners to her companions and tried to gesture - she pointed at the Templars, then patted her dagger, and thumbed at her warriors, who all gestured impatiently as though waiting to be given something. She then pointed at Evette, made two fingers walk down her palm, and then thumbed her chest.

Evette eyed her guardedly. “No give sword?”

“You burdan ik. They burdan.” She shook her head at Evette, then nodded at her companions. She then pointed at Evette and said slowly, “Yooooouuu… Waaaaalk… Leeeeeee... Us!”

Evette’s expression hardened into a glare, and the next thing she spoke was in Ketrefan. “The winter is almost preferable to your company,” she said, earning a snicker from one of her own men. She then gestured for them to give up their weapons, and they grudgingly complied. The Dûnans eyed the weapons hungrily, for almost all were made out of bronze. The officer smirked.

“[abbr=”Bronze weaponry, huh? For almost everyone at that! Not bad, not bad. Wouldn’t expect less from a damn Ketty.”]Balklingi, yah? Fòr all seom aon? Ei slóft, jakr seia. Slik an stygja Ketlai.” She shook her head slowly and gestured for them to follow, her war party bring the weapons ahead of them into the city. “In han is ketlamálsnakkling. We jakr finna hén fór you, beag outsider.”

Evette grit her teeth and followed. There was no doubt in her mind now that whatever the guard had said was either mocking or insulting. Probably both. But this was not her first experience in such things; sometimes her wings and halo inspired fear or suspicion instead of awe. Nonetheless, her pride was wounded somewhat, but she could say nothing.

They all walked together through the bustling streets in a long row, Dûnan guards flanking the Templars and Evette at a short distance on each side. The officer walked at the front, hammering her chest and waving at the people they passed, all of whom bowed back in fearful respect. The roads were hardly straight, and the trip took them through dim alleys and flourishing winter markets where root vegetables, dry meat and stockfish were being sold in droves. The ooze of borderline rotting food was offensive. Eventually, they passed by a tall, triangular building, which roof seemed to start at the ground and spear upwards to the heavens. Surrounding it outside were both men and women dressed in very simple clothing and no plaids, doing chores like shoveling snow and chopping firewood. A little beyond that again, another of its kind appeared not too far off the main road they were walking. However, the group had set its course on a rammed earth wall in construction at the end of the road, which was open and bustling with people like a human beehive. Inside, there were more tall buildings, as well as a great stone structure, reminiscent of a temple. Megaliths lined the roadway, upon which were painted stories accompanied by strange scriptures. When they reached the centre of the walled district, a white-robed woman approached them and bowed to the officer.

“”Helgingshelsnar, théin Hilda. Kven an?””

“”Helgingshelsnar, Kaer Cwenn. An kun ustalamlingan soem sòkan óichebo. An dritans Ketlai, kanan Ihr trû? Hatan ring om hóvuda an hóvding. Próvi faa hén seia kvifor an seo.”

Kaer Cwenn blinked and sighed. “”... Yavel.”. Uhm, pardon?”

“Do you speak Ketrefan?” Evette asked, rather abruptly.

Kaer Cwenn approached and nodded. Meanwhile, the officer and the soldiers took the weapons into one of the larger houses. The druid offered a polite smile. “I do. It’s still expected of druids to know the tongue by heart, seeing as we encounter quite a few of your kind on our travels. What brings you here?”

“I’m not Ketrefan myself,” Evette corrected. “My village was on the edge of Ketrefa’s shadow, but I have never actually been to the city. Anyway, my name is Evette, leader of the Night Templars. I was sent here to hunt vampires, trolls, iskrill, and other abominations. And also to learn more about this war, too.”

“Oh, my, a, what’s the word, monster hunter, is that it?” She immediately began suppressing a mocking smirk. “Well, I fear you’ve travelled quite astray from the right path, in that case, for there are no monsters in these lands - save for barbarians and brigands. There was talk of a vampire somewhere to the south near Kirin’s Rest, but apart from that one, we’ve heard nothing. Troll and iskrill, on the other hand, well… Try north or south. You’re free to stay here as long as you need to rest up, though.” She paused briefly. “Oh, yes, and the war is over, my child. These lands have once again been brought to peace, and we wait out the winter so these lands may once again be sown. Would you like to know anything else?”

Evette frowned. “The war is over? The things I saw and heard on my way here had me convinced otherwise.”

“Oh, but it is. Whatever you saw on the way, it was surely just the villagers shoring up their defences in response to the heightened pressure from roaming hoodlums. Highway crime has, after all, risen through the roof since the chaos of the Sigerans began. Oh, sorry - that might not have made sense to a foreigner. If you’d like, we could share the whole story with you over a hot bowl of grautan and some sour milk.”

“I’d like to hear it,” Evette said, wondering just why Cadien had pointed her in this direction if everything was resolved.

“Oh! Fantastic. We’ll get to that eventually, then. First, though…” She eyed her up and down. “Would it be rude of me to ask what a dwarf Reiyar is doing in these parts, leading a band of humans? And what’s that thing above your head? Legends say the helgen Lucia had one, as well.”

“A dwarf Reiyar?” she furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “What in Cadien’s name is that?”

Kaer Cwenn cocked her head to the side, genuinely confused. “Wait, so you are not Reiyar? A warrior of Reiya, a person blessed to serve at her side as a soldier of the sun for all their good deeds?”

Her puzzlement only deepened. “Well, you could say I am a warrior of Reiya,” she said. “I’m also a warrior of Cadien. And Gibbou. But I know nothing about serving at a god’s side - Reiya, or anyone else. And why did you call me a dwarf? I’m taller than you.”

The druid’s tone went from somewhat patronising to giddily curious. “Oh, how fascinating! A Reiyar with amnesia - with loyalties to others than the sun!” She circled around Evette with scanning eyes. “Hmm… Yes, yes… Perhaps you are midway through a sort of… A sort of transformation stage. You are taller than me, but still much shorter than a proper Reiyar - it could be that the circle over your head is some sort of marker or sign that your body is still in development. Oh, what a serendipitous specimen to encounter!”

Her confusion twisted into a scowl. “Don’t be absurd,” she scoffed. “You know nothing about me, and I’m not some research sample for you to study.”

Kaer Cwenn quickly ended up in front of her again and put on a guilty smile. “Sorry, please do forgive me. There is so much to uncover about the other servants of the gods! You wouldn’t mind an interview after dinner, would you? Just a bit more about the nature of your relationship with Gibbou, Caden and Reiya?”

She frowned, but nodded. “So long as you tell me what happened here, and provide food and shelter for me and my companions.”

“Oh, aaabsoolutely! Our home is your home! Just so you know, I will be asking a slough of questions regarding that little sword on your hip, too - looks very well forged; one could almost say it is of divine make.” She gave her a wink and then led them on to a nearby longhouse.

Evette followed reluctantly. The druidess was irritating, to say the least, but so far she was the only one here she could actually speak to, and for now that gave her little choice but to cooperate.

The druid led them into an inn of sorts - surrounding two large central hearths hissing hotly at enormous clay pots filled with soup and porridge placed in their coals were a number of benches, tables and rugs of wool, hide, fur and fiber. Baskets with oat cakes, flatbread and raw roots lined one half of the wall at the far end of the longhouse at which side was the entrance; situated opposite of the door from the baskets were clay pots large and small, some filled with sour milk and others filled with water. Next to the baskets were bowls covered with fiber towels, a bulb under the towel having left grease spots on them. Kaer Cwenn took one of the bowls and grabbed a basket with a varied assortment of baked goods. Evette and her companions, in the meanwhile, suffered everything from curious looks to hard scowls from the other patrons. Kaer Cwenn turned towards her and smiled. “Help yourselves to whatever you may want! Take a bowl from that stack over there,” she pointed to a stack of wooden bowls next to the pots of water and milk, “and take as much porridge as you want. I’ve got bread here and some cheese. If you’d like drinking horns, I’ll see if I can find some of those, too, but we usually just use our bowls. Alright? I’ll be sitting over there when you’re done.” She moved over to a table by a second hearth further inside.

Conscious of all the eyes on her, Evette did indeed help herself - within reason. It struck her as somewhat odd that a city which had just come out of a war and was now undergoing winter was so free with their food. When she was done, she took her bowl over to where Kaer Cwenn was sitting, while her companions found their own seats and began to talk amongst themselves.

The druid began to tell the story of the war. Some years ago, now, there had been an unjust attack upon their people by an enemy tribe. Appropriately, therefore, they had demanded justice be served, but an evil presence amongst them had cursed them all with the madness of the dark god Sigeran. It had thrown them into a vile rage, decimating their neighbours throughout the land. Their minds had been twisted into thinking this was a good presence, too, so they had arranged for the god’s worship and everything. Only when the time was almost too late had the mighty Fírinn given them clear sight at least, and Seeros had descended from the heavens, himself, to save the true sons and daughters of Ha-Dûna from Sigeran’s evil. They had all escaped the city, saved again by the grace of Gibbou, and for the next few years, they had journeyed throughout the land to reunite the scattered tribes under the traditional Dûnan values of peace, piety and co-prosperity.

“... And that brought us here. This city was recaptured from the evil Sigerans just earlier this winter, and by the grace of the Sun, we were not left to starve even though the city had been stripped of all supplies one could think of.” She offered Evette a broad smile and dipped her flat bread into her bowl of porridge with an anticipating grin.

Evette listened to the story with some skepticism. She had the impression that the druidess was laying it on a bit too thick, and she doubted that resolving the war had been as simple as was claimed. At the same time, however, she wasn’t entirely familiar with the situation here. “What was it you mentioned about a vampire earlier?”

“Hmm? Vhe vam-… Scooh-me…” She finished chewing and swallowed. “The vampire? Oh, well… A little over two weeks ago, some traders from the south said some Stone Mauls had banished a vampire in… Trrrrrolbane, I believe… It’s to the south, as well. Mainly ruins still, I think, but the Stone Mauls are settling in there.” She leaned in. “Stone Mauls aren’t too popular around here, actually. Pretty warmongering people, those. Best not to get too close to ‘em.” She then straightened back up and had a scoop of porridge.

She frowned. “What do you mean by ‘banished’?”

“Well… Killed, of course. Whatever else could I mean?”

That was a relief. “Normally ‘banish’ means ‘exile.’ If it had been let go… I wouldn’t look forward to having to chase such a creature in the midst of winter. Especially not with a two week head start. Now, are you certain there are no other vampires in the area?”

Cwenn shook her head. “Haven’t heard anything, at least - and these sorts of news travel pretty quickly on account of all the chaos and such.” She shrugged lightly. “As I said earlier, the only monsters around here these days are robbers and raiders. I’m sure the sanndatr would be very appreciative if you and your most capable-looking companions were to arrest some of those, though.”

It was Evette’s turn to shake her head. “I’m no stranger to fighting raiders, but I tend to avoid conflict between fellow humans when it’s not necessary. I will need to take a closer look around this city, just in case. I was sent here for a reason.”

Cwenn shrugged. “That’s your right, friend. I mean, I’m sure Hilda will have a guard or two on your tail as long as you carry that sword around with you, but don’t take it personally. People are still jumpy after the war, y’know.”

“Who is this Hilda?”

“Oh, she didn’t introduce herself? Wow, that’s… I mean, she has no love of foreigners, pardon the term, but this is a new low even for her. One ought to have the most basic decency, at the very least…” She huffed hot air. “She was the théin who brought you in - the officer. She is very, very powerful - if she’s got her eye on you, she’ll use any excuse she can get to oust you for something, no matter how insignificant.” She lowered her voice and looked around, leaning in. “Whatever you do, do -not- do anything that could get you in trouble, okay?”

“I’ve faced down worse things than a guard with an inflated sense of self-importance,” Evette said dismissively.

Kaer Cwenn frowned worriedly and leaned in a little closer. “She’s much, much more than a guard, friend, and she has a lot of influence around here - a lot. Just… Don’t get on anyone’s bad side while you’re here, okay? Please?”

“I’m the daughter of a god,” Evette countered. “I have no intention of antagonizing anybody, but I won’t be intimidated.”

Cwenn pulled away and looked down into her bowl. “Well… Let’s just hope the two of you won’t see each other anymore, then.” She then took another bite of bread.

“Now I believe you have some questions for me?”

Immediately, her mood shifted to excitement and she put down her bowl and bread. She turned so her whole body faced Evette and grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, do I! Okay, okay… First, I need to get it straight… You… Say you're -not- a Reiyar, yes? Not even a little bit?”

She shook her head. “I never even heard that term until today. I may have wings and a halo, but I am still human.”

“Veeeery interesting… So you’re not in some in-between stage between human and Reiyar? Oh, i can’t wait to present this to my colleagues! We’ll be rewriting volumes of biological literature, depending on your answers, just so you know. Well, not volumes, maybe, but at least one whole scroll. Now, how did you get that halo and those wings, if you are not some sort of inbetween stage of transformation?”

Evette sighed. “When I was a child, my village was attacked by raiders. Everyone in it was killed, and I was forced to flee. I was captured by a vampire, who broke my legs and held me captive, intending to feed on me until I died. I would have died too, if Reiya’s avatar - Solus - hadn’t rescued me. He blessed me with a halo and wings, gave me this sword, and tasked me with hunting down all the vampires I could find.”

“Wait, Solus? But he leads the Reiyar over in the castle… So you -are- a sort of inbetween stage! Or at the very least a hybrid! Oh, this is so much to consider. What are the implications of all this?!” She nearly tipped her porridge bowl onto the floor. Others were staring at her excitement with light amusement.

Evette’s eyes widened. “Solus is here?”

“Should be! Well, not here-here, but in a castle to the… Southeast! Very hard to miss, especially in the winter - not even the thickest snows can lay themselves upon that sunstone keep.”

“I will need to travel there when I have the chance…” Evette said, barely able to believe it. After a few seconds she regained her composure. “Did you have other questions?”

“Oh, a bunch!” The druid then started asking her all sorts of questions about everything from her sword to her diet to her past adventures and connections to all the gods.

---

---

Cadien stood in Antiquity, standing before the portal. “Is this the right one?” He asked aloud, to nobody in particular; he was the only one currently outside of his realm. Then, he shrugged. Only one way to find out. So, without further ado he stepped through.

It was a realm of mists and fog and cloud, of some kind of energy reeking of death. In the far distance the faint outlines of towers could be barely seen through the roiling chaos of the mists. Little else was to be seen, the ground was of a bland stone it would seem, in general however, there was a different quality to the place to his divine senses. Although the exact nature of the place was difficult to ascertain, it was clear the rules of it were not the same as one might find on Galbar or another such realm. It was fully the realm of a god who carefully controlled its reality.

Cadien stood alone in the dim light of the place, surrounded by mists stretching over stone fields to the distant towers on the horizon.

Ignored the scent which assailed his divine senses, he took a quick look around, and then spoke. “Is this the realm of the God of Death that I stand in?”

There was no immediate reply in voice to his question, however in quick order the ground began to shift around him, carrying him away from the portal. Rather than move himself the ground and realm that he was in shifted instead. Soon a dim shape in the fog came clearer from above as Cadien grew close to a tower. A great and large eye held aloft in the mist, a voice soon followed.

"That it is. You are Cadien, instigator of many mortal peoples."

“A strange way to describe my work,” the God of Perfection remarked. “Anyhow, I have some questions, if you can spare the time.”

"I have time enough, you may ask your questions Cadien."

“You are the God of Death. Does that include what comes after death?”

A brief pause occurred before Thaa ended up answering, resigned, "You like so many misunderstand the situation, a not unexpected occurrence. I am the Supreme lord of Death, the Afterlife, Souls and the Undead. I have no particular power over dying, that remains as it first was the domain of the deities of Life."

Cadien frowned briefly. “Anyhow,” he said, perhaps putting a bit too much emphasis on the word, “That brings us to my main question, then. What happens to the souls of mortals after they die?”

"They remain here, in Aquibeophates for the vast majority. Destined to remain in blissful rest with their loved ones until a more permanent arrangement can be made." Thaa paused before switching tone from half-interested answering to a sharper question. "Of what concern do you make it your own to ask this question so principally Cadien?"

“I have many mortal creations and followers,” Cadien said. “Naturally, I have an interest in what becomes of them. Now, what is this permanent arrangement that you spoke of?”

"Undecided, I have to focus my efforts in other fields for the time being so such a decision will come when many other current issues have been resolved. It will be better, moral in all sense."

“Oh? What sort of issues?”

The reply came as a sharp retort. "They are many and I have neither the time nor the desire to enumerate them to you. You have sought me and my realm with purpose Cadien, speak it now so that we may act most quickly upon it. I have little time for niceties at the current state of affairs."

Cadien’s eyes narrowed. “Briefly, then. I would request access to the souls of my followers. That they be sent to my realm instead of here.”

"An interesting request, although with many issues of its own. What makes a mortal soul a follower of yours? Do you intend to override any desires of their own in this? Or perhaps by what guarantee do I hold that you simply not perform immoral action upon such souls that you intend to take, or that their safety be guarentee'd from others? Most importantly, why should I humor such a request, what do you propose to offer Cadien?"

“Your first two questions have the same answer. If they adhere to my values, and wish to join the afterlife I have in mind for them, then they shall. If not, they won’t. As to your next question, rest assured that those who reside in my realm have always been well cared for, and I’ve never been one to break my word. And finally, your last question…” the frown deepened. “You express concern for their safety, yet you consider what I offer you in return to be more important. I did not come here expecting to receive something for nothing, but that is some cause for concern on my part.”

"Let me try to ease your concern with an explanation. I offer bliss and rest to those souls under my care because I believe it best for them, to give them to another for whatever reason in of itself proposes harm even if just the lessened state of joy.

"I have no means to securely know if you should even attempt to keep your word even if I do not doubt your honesty. Under these conditions I must already be prepared that harm may come to the souls you seek to take as I cannot ensure the protection of them.

"Therefore with this accepted, the matter of the most important becomes that which I may gain so as to better ensure that for the vast majority of souls improvement is reached. I am prepared that harm may come to ten to save a thousand from greater harm."

“What is it you want, then?” Cadien asked him.

"Little favors here and there is all, few mortals speak the name of Thaa, but many raise joyous calls to Cadien. You have influence that I do not among the peoples of Galbar, I would merely request that you leverage such influence to assist when asked for such little things as may come up. I will be sending onto to souls that you wish for this time and so I should think such a continuing boon be matched in kind."

“Hm.” Cadien considered the god’s words for a few moments. “That seems reasonable enough, I suppose, so long as the requests themselves remain reasonable.”

"And it seems fair to me as long as the requests are honored as intended, you shall get your souls Cadien, should you fully agree to this pact?"

The God of Perfection nodded. “Indeed. I accept.”

"Then the pact is signed and we are agreed. Should you allow a connection between our realms I'll simply funnel the souls through to there. As well as knowing your values as you intend them, I shall ask if any particular case is troublesome to decide."

“Very well. If you are not pressed for time, I may explain them right now.”

"By all means, proceed."

“I value those who strive to improve both themselves and others,” Cadien told him. “Those who are both perceptive enough to recognize their faults, and willful enough to seek corrections to them. I also value those who show courage or selflessness in the face of adversity, particularly on the field of battle. Then there are the champions in my employ - I would have them too, if they are willing. Lastly, there are also those mortals who currently reside in my realm: some wish to return to Galbar. Since I cannot guarantee their safety, the only alternative is to have their souls returned to my realm so I may remake them if they perish. And I will, of course, inform you if anything about my criteria changes.”

“These are acceptable conditions to so define those that would go onto you.”

“Wonderful... I suppose we have a deal.”

---

“Father, you should really reconsider. Flowers grow among the roots of the red-leaf tree that smelled of corpses, and the mad woman in front of the stall, I heard rumor that she had the ear of the queen now. You saw how her bindings came undue with her barely moving at all. It might not be a god, but I believe we have offended something we should have not.” he said, walking through the finely tended gardens of his families’ dwelling.

“Silence. Can’t you see I am working.” Fasthus said, taking a tap and jamming into a weak spot of the tree. The tree was harder than normal, and it took several jabs to lodge it to get at the valuable sap. When finally it dug into the tree, for a moment there was an eerie nothingness. Sound and color seemed to vanish, and when they returned, the crimson hue of the mystical tree was replaced by an eerie purple.

Vines sprouted from the ground, and grabbed around the slavers neck. He manifested a flame within his hand and used it to sever the vines from the ground as his son stood there paralysed. As he did, more vines began to grow around him and grab it which attempted to fend them off with his conjured flame when something shot out from the tap. By time he noticed, thorns covered in the sap impaled his chest. They didn’t hurt, but as he tried to wave the fire around to save himself, it vanished.

He seemed to attempt to recall it or do something, but could not. He grabbed the tap and tried to use it as a make-shift dagger to free himself. Fasthus called out to his son, “Help me get out of this. Help.”

He was still stunned, but he made one step towards his father until he heard a voice, a powerful, cold, deathly whisper, “Don’t.”

He ran.

He ran towards the city with all of his might. As he did, he noticed the area around him change and shift. Tree leaves became either blood red or oddly purple. Thorn bushes and vines sprouted at unnatural speeds, and strange face-like growths expanded outwards from wood. The strange, corpse-smelling flower began to dot the area. At times he would turn around and see more trees than he thought was there before as the forest appeared denser than was moments prior.

He didn’t need to run far, but his mind could try to suppress the thought of what it would be like when the ghastly changes were finished, or how much land was affected by the sudden metamorphosis.

As were, the student of the kindly one was teaching a mystic about augury. She felt something, and that feeling carried over and impacted on the mystic, who could only feel a dark, uncaring coldness from her fingertips that began to creep up her arm threatening to completely subsume them.
When the mystic looked up to see the women’s reaction, it was a warm, genuine smile. “And so the defiler feeds the earth for his crime. I suggest avoiding the purple forest as it will be bad for your health.” There was a silence as the presence left, and the teacher continued as though nothing was the matter and continued her lesson.

---

Within The Lifeblood, something new stirred. In a timeless expanse, it watched Galbar. It watched the clash of mortal against mortal, driven sometimes by the machinations of the other gods that had emerged, and sometimes through the actions of mortals. Conflicts came and went, and some extraordinary mortals went on to distinguish themselves as warriors. But all of this had a flaw: When the war was over, the heroes were seldom remembered. Their names faded away to history, their courage and gallantry left unrewarded save for a small amount of peace in death. After an uncountable amount of time watching, a new voice spoke within The Lifeblood.

”No. They deserve recognition. If none else, I will do it.”

Individually began to coalesce once more within The Lifeblood. A hand grasping around the hilt of a sword. A form began to take shape, followed by clothes. Then armor. Then, finally, a cloak. Moving around and coming to grips with the extent of her new form, the almost complete goddess brought the tip of her sword to bear against the surface of the lifeblood, desiring freedom from the soup of raw creation that was her birthplace.

Piercing the surface of the lifeblood with the tip of her sword, the new goddess opened her pale blue eyes to witness the coalescing shape of her realm taking form. One of the first things she felt was a distinct wave of disorientation as several new sensations assaulted her as her independence was finalized. The newly birthed goddess held aloft the sword in her left hand, taking a moment to observe the gleaming metal of the weapon. Blinking a few times at the reflection of herself in the shiny metal of the blade The Goddess slowly studied her complete form for a few moments before nodding gently. The Goddess slowly lowered the weapon before gently grasping at the scabbard that hung at her right side. Sheathing the sword into its scabbard felt natural, and the soft click of metal against metal brought some comfort. Casting her gaze around to the room at large, The Goddess blinked a few times as she saw figures similar to her own begin to set the multiple long tables. ”Perhaps my birth brought not only me into existence… Curious, but not unwelcome.”

Turning and stepping away from the ledge, The Goddess took a moment to stretch. Movement was a new and unfamiliar experience to her, and although it was instinctual the act of moving as an individual being instead of a disembodied thought process was new and unfamiliar. The finer points of movement came quickly as The Goddess continued to walk down a spiral staircase located towards the rear of the platform she had been standing on.

Stepping into the great hall that was currently being prepared, The Goddess watched as similar but not quite identical elves busied themselves in preparing a great feast. Relegating herself to merely watching for a few moments, The Goddess was almost startled when one of the elves approached her to ask if she desired anything. Simply shaking her head, The Goddess watched curiously as the elf curtsied before leaving. Thinking to herself some more, The Goddess began to head for one of the passages that her instincts told her would lead to the outside area. ”So they are not merely extensions of my influence upon this area, but are independent of my will. I am unsure why they take after my appearance so closely, but I will guard them as my own regardless.”

Placing a hand against the door that she had arrived at The Goddess pushed it open to reveal a large rectangular area of flat grass contained behind four tall castle walls and several circular guard towers. A building off to her right caught her attention, and The Goddess set off towards there almost instinctively. As she walked, she took a moment to examine how her armor gleamed in the light of her realm. This observation did not last long, as The Goddess soon found herself before the door leading inside.

Pushing the door open as she had done with the other door, The Goddess found herself standing within a room with many doors of various shapes, sizes, and materials present. Closing the door behind her The Goddess took some time to examine the room, and shortly thereafter noticed the rather central throne to the room. Approaching it, Celestine turned to observe the room for a moment before pondering to herself once more. ”A visitation chamber, perhaps? It would be the most likely thing.”

Turning back to the throne, The Goddess blinked a few times before turning and sitting upon it gently. At first she had to shift a few times in order to position both her cloak and her hair into such a position that she wasn’t tugging on them in an awkward and uncomfortable way. Slowly moving her eyes about the room, The Goddess blinked a few more times before she closed her eyes and turned her thoughts inward to examine her memories leading up to opening her eyes for the first time. They were hazy at best, but one thing that stood out clearly were the sounds of combat, pain, and death. After a few more moments of self-examination The Goddess began to remember the first few moments of her formation, of piercing the perceived surface of the lifeblood to win her freedom. It was here that The Goddess also noticed the multitude of decisions that she made in the span of a single moment. The Goddess saw the reason behind the presence of the other beings within the realm, and the intention of how the realm was designed.

Opening her eyes once more, The Goddess was finally able to push through the disorientation that had clouded her mind until now. Looking around the room confidently The Goddess spoke aloud for the first time. ”Let it be known that the goddess of soldiers has awakened. I am Celestine, and no hero shall have their death be in vain.”

It was no easy task, traversing the Blackwoods in the deep winter - its black pines darkening even more the already deep blue polar night; however, they had no choice, either. The reindeer had journeyed this way, after all - the highway of hoof prints in the snow revealed nothing less, and it was not the first time the Weike had been afoot during the zenith of the winter’s cold. The flock was erratic, these days, frightened by great migrations to the south. A campaign of sorts, heading into the Lúpmí. The chieftain hadn’t believed it when he had heard it at first, but having seen the tracks and the flocks of men, women and even children moving to Reginsvik to pledge service to the cause, he could no longer choose to ignore it. Good riddance, the younglings had exclaimed - they were ignorant of the way of the world, after all; they were innocently oblivious to the implications of this great assault.

The elders knew, however, and as did chieftain Sabba.

The Weike had long been dependent on the southern trade routes with the Dunná and the Rákká, and the peoples of the Yellow Plains. They had good relations with most of them, too, and their own crafts and products were well received among their buyers. However, with an invasion like this one, the trade routes that had just opened up again after the turmoil in the south, would once again be left sundered and weakened.

His people would be left sundered and weakened.

A bray up ahead made him hunker down. His followers slowed down, too. A knock of bone against bone and several more grunts and groans hinted that they had arrived. Sabba placed a finger over his lips and beckoned respectfully at one of his followers in the back. She was a middle-aged woman, his sister, in fact, Aile. She stepped forward slowly, her reindeer hide mittens bringing a small feathered mallet out from a red and blue wool satchel at her waist. In her other hand, she held a small skin drum. She offered her brother an assuring nod, who returned it. Then she walked past him into a clearing in the snowed-down woods.

As she stepped into the opening under the moon, she began to sing, beating the drum ever so gently with the mallet as her voice carried through the frozen winds. The reindeer stopped what they were doing to look up, eyeing the woman curiously as her feet edged ever closer to them, her soothing song begging for them to stay. Her voice was not alone, though; the wind chimed in, as well, adding ethereal high notes; the trees wished and swayed from side to side, adding the rhythm of their knocking branches; even the snow seemed to twirl around the woman to dance with her. The reindeer, listening to the chorus of the woman, the wind, the trees and even the lichen, joined in, braying and groaning to the melody. Aile’s fervour grew and her song intensified for a few bars to greet her new friends with mutual respect - they responded in turn, kicking and digging at the snow with their horns to the rhythm. Shortly after their greeting, Aile brought the song to a close, and the reindeer seemed immediately much friendlier to her, the calves approaching to knock heads with her torso. Aile giggled and waved the others over invitingly. The rest of the Weike crossed the forest border into the clearing, and the reindeer remained calm.

“Well done, Aile,” praised Sabba curtly and caught the incoming head of a curious buck in an embrace, the buck grunting warmly. Aile scratched the buck under the chin and grinned back.

“Hee-hee - that was easy! The reindeer in these parts have been quite lonely, they told me - seeing people again made them really giddy all of a sudden.”

Sabba frowned. “Is that so, huh? Then Sarak and his Loike must’ve travelled east, as well…” He sighed and shook his head. “This is troublesome news.”

“Look at it on the bright side, chief!” came a young and energetic voice. Aile and Sabba both turned to eye a smiling lad of seventeen winters, his pale face rosy in the cold. “More reindeer for us, right?” Sabba frowned.

“Firstly, they’re not ‘ours’, Kveie. They’re unbound souls, free to join us or leave us at their leisure.” The young Kveie rolled his eyes with a smirk - he had obviously heard this lecture many times. “Secondly,” Sabba continued, “our clan hasn’t got the herders necessary to drive all these reindeer from place to place.” He gestured to the flock - in this clearing alone, there were at least a hundred heads; if Sarak and the Loike truly had ventured east, then the west would hold at least a thousand heads more. “We cannot greedily request them all to join us - their stampede across the region would impede the functions of the other spirits.”

“Pfft, alright, calm down, gramps. I was just askin’.”

“Gramps?! Now you listen here, young man--”

“Sabba!” Just as the chieftain grabbed the lad by the collar, Aile took her brother by the shoulder warningly. Sabba looked down at the lad, whose face had lost its smugness to a twinge of fear mixed with uncertainty. The other Weike were staring disapprovingly at both the lad and the chieftain, and even the reindeer stepped over to intervene, braying coarsely for the chieftain to let go. He did, and Kveie staggered back to regain his balance, adjusting his collar properly. Sabba looked around, seeing the people flinch slightly when he looked at them.

“... We’ll camp here for tonight,” he commanded sternly and looked down at Kveie. “I will be taking this boy fishing… Any objections?” The others were silent. Sabba nodded. “Good. Now get to it.” While the others were setting up tents, Sabba pulled young Kveie along, two quite nicely polished fishing rods in his free hand. Multiple times did Kveie try to run for it back to camp, but the chieftain was always there to drag him by the collar. When the youngster got violent, Sabba would respond with violence, and Kveie would lose upon the first, well-placed hit to the belly. After thirty minutes of this sort of back and forth, they eventually reached a frozen-over river. Kveie grunted sharply.

“Oh, would you look at that. It’s frozen - what did you expect? ‘Go fishing’... Pwah!”

Sabba sighed and grabbed a large rock, stepping out onto the ice. There, making sure to spread his weight as widely as possible by descending to all fours, he began hammering at the ice. “When a barrier obstructs your path, kid, remove it,” he muttered. Kveie scoffed, but eventually a hole was made and the two of them dipped the bone hooks of their fishing rods into the water. There, they waited in silence. For a long time, they only exchanged looks every now and then. Then eventually, Sabba opened his mouth slightly.

“Where does all your anger come from, kid?”

Kveie scoffed quietly. “Maybe it comes from you calling me ‘kid’ all the time?”

“I call you what you act like.”

“I act like I am treated.”

“Oh, grow up. You know very well that it’s your own behaviour that’s the problem here.”

“Oh, do I? I think I might be a little too young to understand these things.”

Sabba snarled and pulled back a right hook. Kveie lifted his arms in reflexive defense, his hook flying out of the water, fishless as expected. Sabba did not hit him, however, but lowered the fist slowly instead. “It’s just… I see a lot of myself in you.”

Kveie grit his teeth together and dipped his hook back into the water. “When has that ever been an excuse to treat someone else like a brat?”

“It isn’t… However, I just don’t want you to repeat the mistakes I made.”

“What, like the fact that you’ve never had kids of your own?” The following silence brought a sudden sting to Kveie’s consciousness, and his following statement had lost much of its smug momentum. “A-actually, I didn’t mean that… I took it to far and--”

“No, you’re right. While that wasn’t the incident i was thinking of, it has, in truth, been one of my great shortcomings, that.” He nodded slowly. Kveie frowned.

“Say… Why haven’t you actually gotten yourself a girl? You’re the chieftain, after all. Shouldn’t ladies be lining up to be with you?” Sabba shrugged apathetically.

“They have been, but I’ve turned them all down. When I die, the role of chieftain will pass to my sister’s son, Tveia. He’s a good lad, that one - the clan will be in good hands.”

Kveie’s frown deepened. “But why? Why have you told them all no?”

“There’s only one lady for me, son…” mumbled the chieftain mysteriously and looked up at the bright half-moon, contrasted by the dance of the Afterlight. “... Black hair… Broad shoulders… A woman with no sense of fear nor weakness…”

Kveie blinked and shook his head. “Forget that I asked…”

---

Later that night, Sabba gathered everyone in the camp for the sermon of the day. Behind him, Aile and her children sat drumming and humming. The chieftain and some others had fashioned a small altar in the centre of the camp, built out of snow and decorated with feathers, bones and branches. The chieftain took a deep breath and spoke, “It is now that we give thanks to the North God for granting us another day of only encountering the softer hardships of winter. It is in the North God’s grace that we exist, and if their mercy is spent, we will all surely perish. We offer them this bounty as thanks.” With that, the chieftain knelt down and placed a fat salmon on the altar. He then folded his hands in prayer and continued, “Then we must remember those who have passed on into the Afterlight - they life forever in harmony with the spirits of this world, and we must ever remember that we are welcome among them as family. Fear not death, everyone, but embrace it - for in death, we are given new life, like winter becoming spring. Praise the sagely dead.” The whole camp started to sing along with the shamans, and the chieftain started dancing around the altar, tossing up snow with kicks and jumps. Others joined in after a bit, all wanting to show their appreciation for the ancestors and the North God.

The Weike had been reduced, yes, and much suffering was still to come. However, they would ever persevere, for they were survivalists - and the North God was on their side.

The warriors of the Rest gathered in an encampment some distance away from the village of Ha-Gaard, an old Dûnan settlement that became independent during the civil war. A panicked Sid looked over the regional map carved into a wooden table, the colorful butterfly insignia affixed to his shoulder.

He heard a loud voice calling his name before turning around and seeing a large woman in her early thirties, still able to carry her war maul with ease. Sid was relieved, respectfully bowing, “Hail Lara. I thought you were handling an issue in the farmlands south of the capital?”

Lara smirked, walking up to the table and examining it closely, “I was making the journey home as you were off to go fight the kins-eater. There were a few trolls that my warband dispatched. Tell me, how has the expansion been faring?”

Sid nodded, “Tak is reconsolidating the former sunstrider territories. The queen and Rik have returned to the capital. Before I left, I had heard that Hera was attempting to make peace and recruit the true sons. The Constellars have been attempting to map the region and improve the roads.”

Lara raised an eyebrow at the mention of the true sons, “They are strange people, but I can’t not say that they aren’t skilled warriors. And I have been informed of Tak’s plan, and it seems reasonable enough. How have the negotiations with Ha-gaard been going?”

Sighing, Sid replied, “It has been my responsibility to have such talks, and they insist they must remain neutral. I have seen their settlement, and they follow the Dunans example far closer than our own, I fear that they will side with them if there were ever a war.”

Lara looked at the map again, “That is concerning. If the Dunans were to take Ha-Gaard, they would be in striking distance of Sungrace.” she paused and thought for a moment, “Right now, it is not a pressing matter to claim Ha-Gaard, but we can not allow the Dunans to have a foothold into our lands. We should reposition here.” she said, pointing to a spot on the map that was closer to the settlement, “And fortify it, and create another position here.” she pointed to a point off the map that was adjacent to the path between Ha-Dûna and Ha-Gaard.

Sid seemed a bit concerned, “Do you think that might just provoke the Dunans?”

Lara looked down at the map one last time, “It could, but if we were to provoke them, we must do it now. If we delay, we only give them a chance to regroup and prepare their assault against us. Send word to Tak and the queen that ”

Some time later, Lara looked out over the path.The encampment was built into the ground and soldiers were busy felling trees and sharpening them into spikes to be buried into the ground and point outwards to any would be attackers. They have been keeping lookout for any travelers and sending them back in the direction that they came.
Lara thought about how the negotiations with Ha-Gaard have become more strained, and the pressure she had placed upon the city, but she also thought to herself how they were reclaiming lands that were already theirs and Kirin’s Rest have been compensating in food and essentials more so than what they lost in trade with the north. She could hardly be moved that they were cut off from their supply of pipe-smoke, the mind-rotting junk that it is.

Then, one day not too long after the erection of the camps, down the path between the crags leading north, there came a highland elk, topped with a white-cloaked individual. The rider was flanked on each side by ten warriors, all of whom wore their clan plaids thick to ward off the cold. Two carried spears from which tops banners danced in the wind - the green Hir, the emblem of Ha-Dûna.

A horn was sounded in response, the warriors stopping any construction they were doing to cautiously grab their weapons and stand near what fortifications have already been made.

Lara approached with two other guards, striding up to them and stating matter of factly, “The path is closed.”

The rider on the elk looked around and nodded slowly. “So it seems, so it seems. That will certainly be an issue for me and my men, that.” She pulled off her hood to reveal a wrinkly, smile missing several teeth, attached to a round head with graying hair. “I suppose we will have to talk to you to pass through, then?”

Looking annoyed, Lara grunted, “You would, and the answer is no. The path will be reopened whenever we come to a settlement with Ha-Gaard. Until then, you can leave.”

The old lady pursed her lips. “Oh, there are negotiations ongoing, is that it? Forgive us, forgive us.” She cleared her throat. “I am Kaer Oyen of the Sanndatr Boudicca’s new court of Ha-Dûna. A few days ago, we received a most distressing message from our dear friends in this here town about a most unfortunate event - it seemed that they had been surrounded by folk with quite malicious intent, indeed.” She raised a brow. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen them anywhere, would you?”

Lara looked at the druid directly, “I get enough riddles from the watchers, you can speak plainly or not at all.”

Kaer Oyen sighed quietly, barely audible in the winter breeze. “Now, now, we’re just having a friendly conversation now, aren’t we? We ask for nothing more than passage into the town so we may offer them gifts from the capital and make sure all is well. If, by chance, though, someone -were- to be blockading our vassal from the world, then, well…” She shrugged. “But that’s not what’s happening here, right?” she finished with a grin.

Still unfazed, Lara retorted, “If you want clarification, so be it. They are not your vassal. They are free to leave from the other path. And you are free to leave from this one.”

“If they didn’t consider us close, at least, then we would never have come at all. To take from them their freedom to connect with the capital - to which their culture is quite connected, indeed - is nothing short, dare I say, cruel.” She unpocketed a small leather pouch. “Let us at the very least bring them some pipeweed. They were quite adamant in their words that supplies lately had been rather… Dry.”

“Cruelty, are you sure the gods still permit you that word? If this delivery is truly that important, then you can make the longer journey can you not. We would not stop you from that.” she replied.

“Then so we will,” conceded the druid with a smile. “Just remember that these people are free to live just the way they want - such is the law of the Dlíbók, after all.” And with that, the elk and its escort turned back to begin the arduous journey to circumvent the blockade.

---

The trek cost them an extra afternoon, needing to journey around a number of impassable crags and highrises, but eventually, they reached the southern gate, where the druid spread her hands invitingly and announced, “People of Ha-Gaard - you need no longer fear! Ha-Dûna does not forget its friends so easily, and we have come with gifts of pipeweed, oat cakes, cheese and stockfish - the fruits of the north! Come, come help yourselves! Let none go unsatiated tonight!” The soldiers, many of whom had been pulling pulks and sleds with them, began unloading the cargo to share it with the approaching villagers. Kaer Oyen herself dismounted and went around offering encouraging blessings to the townsfolk.

“Worry not, my daughter,” she said to a pregnant woman. “You child will be born under the sun in a free world, safe and unmolested by foreign forces.”

She moved on to a group of young men. “Remember, you always have a friend willing to do anything for you to the north. Our people, we look out for each other.” She then patted one of them on the shoulder before moving to a colleague of hers, a local druid who eyes her with anxious neutrality. Kaer Oyen smiled her warmest smile and took his hand.

“Oh, my dear brother, fear not the future. The Eight will surely bring this war-torn land to a most harmonious peace in time.”

The druid looked away. “But is there a place for me in Ha-Dûna, sister? Druid, I may be, but my blood is southern, and my dialect would be foreign to the northerners. I…” Kaer Oyen stopped him by raising her palm. A crowd had gathered around her, though they kept their distance.

“What is your name, brother?”

“It’s Keon.”

“Remember your title, brother - wear it with honour.”

The druid seemed reluctant. “Forgive me… Some of the locals don’t always take too kindly to it. It’s too… Too…”

“Too Dûnan?” smiled the crone. The druid didn’t nod so much as vibrate his head up and down. Kaer Oyen chuckled softly and retrieved a small clay disk from her pouch. Upon it was an inscription, unintelligible to the druid and any of the onlookers. He turned the disk in his hand and raised a brow.

“What is this?”

The crone grabbed his hand and held it aloft, turning to the crowd. “This druid fears to use his title, one he has earned from a man’s age of study and devotion of the gods, all because of strife between our peoples! Let everyone know that no such discrimination will be cast over you in the north. To the north, you have family, friends.” She pointed to the disk in Keon’s hand. “This disk grants you free use of any Dûnan resthouse wherever you go. As always, we welcome our southern kin to join the fold once more. Together, the people of the Dûnlands are strong.” She let Keon’s hand go, and the druid stepped back to join the crowd. Kaer Oyen looked around invitingly. “Has anyone here not gotten their gift?”

“We want no gifts of yours, Dûnan!” came a sharp remark from the crowd, joined by some voices. Kaer Oyen kept her toothless grin and beckoned invitingly.

“And who are you, young man?”

“I am Pra, proud son of the Stonemauls, whose lineage has lived here for ages upon ages before your warmongering flock came and destroyed everything!” The crowd parted to reveal a group of eight youths aged anywhere between sixteen and their late twenties. The oldest, Pra, stood at the front, a club in his hand with a large stone tied to it at the end. “Now, you will be given to the count of ten to turn around and leave, or we’ll give you a reason to never return.”

The Dûnan soldiers who were no longer handing out goods quickly made their way over, but Kaer Oyen waved them away. She then turned back to Pra. “What is the source of your anger, my son?”

Pra recoiled somewhat. “Are you daft, old crone?! You and your people - you have taken my clan’s land and still now infringe upon our right to reclaim it!”

“What, -your- right to reclaim it?” came another voice. Pra quieted down and the crowd parted to show yet another group, led by a local shepherd, judging from his staff.

“Dreigen,” greeted Pra out of sheer politeness alone.

“Let the druid speak, you disrespectful troll! She has been kinder to us than your clan has of late!”

“You don’t get a say here, Dreigen,” Pra retorted. “There’s too much of them in you - be quiet for your own good.”

“Well, there’s obviously not enough of them in you now, is there?”

Pra stormed across the empty space in the centre of the crowd. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Ha-Gaard is a freehold, and right now, the Stonemauls are outside our northern gate, forcing our traders to trek the dangerous path around the hills just to journey north to sell their goods. Yet here you shun those who have come to us with gifts in this trying time - given back what little luxuries even the common folk can enjoy: pipeweed, oat cakes--”

Pra spat on the ground. “Your mind’s gone soft from all that smoking, man. Too soft to see what these luxuries have turned you into - a slave of the north!” The argument between the various groups in the crowd grew louder. Kaer Oyen stood waiting patiently, and then one of her guardsmen came over to her and bowed curtly, as was custom.

“All the gifts have been given away, mother.”

“Good, good. I will remain a little longer. Please, go around town and offer your aid to anyone who might need it. We might stay here for a night or so, if we can.”

“Yes, mother.”

As the Dûnans traversed the city, they found a small crowd of people gathering around Sid in traditional stone-maul dress, however he had the colorful butterfly insignia pinned into his shoulder. They could hear the trail-end of his story, “And so the Dunans paid for their hubris, and were permitted to return to their homes. They may reach out to you as brothers for the time being, but when have they done so in the past, and think carefully if they will do so in the future.”

The Dûnans exchanged looks, but it seemed as though they elected to ignore it. Instead, they each found themselves a plank or a large bone and began shovelling the roads free of snow, wordlessly. Others searched out labourers lifting heavy objects to ask to help them. It was clear that they showed disdain for the message, though, for they would cast glares at Sid every now and then between shovels and lifts.

Sid continued his stories, “And remember the most of profane of days, devoted to the most profane of gods. When Reya turned his vision from the city of Ha-Dûna, and Seros sent away his divine messenger from the cursed celebration to the more pious people of the Westfold.”

“Hey!” exclaimed one of the Dûnans. “That was the Sigerans and you bloody well know it!” She was immediately grabbed by the shoulder by her partner and pulled back into shoveling.

“Gione, you be quiet!” said her partner and cast Sid a glare that could melt iron.

Sid continued, “And where did the Sigerans come from? Did they come from the native peoples of the Westfold? Did they appear by divine providence? The privileged Dunans and their first sons were ravaging the land before they started worshipping the profane god. The land of the native peoples and the land of their younger siblings.”

The Dûnans whispered to one another and collectively decided to straighten themselves up and move to a different part of the town. Although “collective” was less of a unanimous decision and more of a forceful migration initiated by the most senior among them. One could tell the youngest were all but ready to draw axes.

In the end, after days of loudening arguments and occasional turns to blows, the Dûnans felt that the tide had begun to turn on them. The druid leading them decided to sound their retreat back to their capital before the brawls could turn into bloodbaths, and while many sympathisers came to bid them farewell at the backgate, larger still was the crowd cursing them and celebrating their exit. With great effort and discipline (and disciplinary action exercised on the youngest among them), the Dûnans hadn’t started a single conflict where words came to blows. In their defeat, as well, they decided to plant a final seed of hope for their cause for any willing to cultivate it.

“Should your new allies turn on you, you will always have friends to the north,” Kaer Oyen had announced as her final words to the Gaardans. Then they had journeyed into the snows once more.

A mere two thousand years ago Qael’Naath would not have imagined he would enter one of his sibling’s realm in name of mortals. Yet in a way, the world created had shrunk and sometimes a mere handful of mortals truly could prove to be of fundamental importance. Even the Great Designs agreed with that now. It was a fact the god of magic had issue facing, ever since he discovered his two daughters. Yet it also made him realize that those who worshipped and praised him in the ways he desired, by using and advancing magic, were worthy to be fight and protect. He did with the Cenél and he would do it again with the people of Anghebad.

Once more he his way through Antiquity, noting that in that strange mid-realm something had seemingly changed. Though he couldn’t truly put his finger on it. There was no time to ponder upon it, though. So he pushed on until he found a portal radiating some familiar energy. He floated through, only to find himself facing a massive stone door. Well, he supposed he could hardly fault Sirius for wanting to keep undesirables out. The god of magic knocked three times on the door, and then awaited the response.

The doors slowly opened, revealing the nothingness of the starry ones domain, parts of its cast in blinding light while others were soaked in the deepest darkness with no gradient between the two. Parts of the darkness soaked into the light and part of the light into the darkness, forming a path deeper into the realm.

“Sirius?” Qael called out. In the vastness he had no real clue where the god of the stars was. And his mana was often rendered useless in the realm of others. Call out was a rather mortal way of drawing attention. But it would suffice for now.

The star god’s whisper echoed, “Yes? I have created a path for you through my realm. But if you wish, we can converse from this distance.”

“Ah, no I was just not sure if you were here or somewhere else.” Qael said, softer. Knowing the god probably heard him. Slowly he floated over the path deeper into the realm.

Following the trail of contrast, there was little of note. A mortal would have difficulties seeing within the realm at all, though a god could notice the bits of space debris appearing and disappearing within the mostly empty void. Sirius floated among the nothingness, turning around to face Qael as she approached, though the way that a person could tell is by the rough-spun cloak he worn and by the geometries of his bipedal form, “Of the all of the gods, I did not expect that you were one for visiting. What brings you to my realm?”

“Anghebad.” Qael said, not wishing to draw this out into a lengthy and odd conversation like he had back with Gibbou, Artifex and the strange new sibling. “Your influence did not go unnoticed, brother.” He was simply stating the facts though, with no real expression in his voice. He let the words hang in the void for a moment.

Sirius replied in his own emotionless whisper as if stating the facts, “Yes. The issue has been resolved. There is no need for any further intervention.”

“There was an issue?” Qael said as he raised his non-existent eyebrow under his hood as he stroked his tentacles hanging from his chin. “The city has fared well even with the encounter of the Labyrinth. It's a prosperous location. I did not see an issue that had to be resolved. At least not by a god.”

“They took something of mine and perverted it.” he said simply.

“Sounds rather...possessive.” The god of magic said. “As gods, is it not our task to offer gifts to the humans?” Magic, the Topaz Texts, the Foci. Gift after gift after gift. With not a prayer expected in return. Was this not the true nature of the gods? Even Cadien offered up gifts to his followers. And even though many of his sibling’s gifts were rather self-centered. Still, none seemed quite so controlling over theirs.

“They may commit their evils with the gifts of the other gods, but not with mine.” Sirius replied, the domain grew ever slightly colder for a mere second when he said it.

“Evils?” Qael was rather shocked to hear such harsh words spoken about one of his more favorite locations. Did he miss some grave sins? Were they abusing magic and hampering its growth? Surely not. Orb would’ve known and told him. Besides, the Winds of Magic were sure to fly over often. Allowing the god of magic a sharper sight of the region. “What evils are you talking about?”

“Slavery. It is sorrowful enough that they should practice it, however to involve my creations within is where intervention was required. However, that has been resolved.” he said, almost expectedly, as if that was where the conversation should end.

For a second the god of magic remained silent. So far Anghebad’s tradition of slavery had been an immense boon to them. In fact, he was considering aiding them in their endeavors. They seemed to agree on the idea that not all mortal life, not even within the same species, was equal. And while one could certainly be born with magical talent, Qael began to see the merit of Orb’s teachings and the institutes the Mystics were creating.

“You say it is resolved, what if some other issue dawns? Will you intervene again?”

Sirius paused, seemingly confused by the question, “If they will not heed the warnings, then what other recourse is there?”

“Leaving them be.” Qael said, with a little force behind his voice. “If you believe your gifts are abused, simply remove them.” But he would not see such a burgeoning center of magic destroyed over something as pretentious as divine morality.

“If you wish for me to remove the entirety of my influence over the region, that can be arranged. Though I do not think you would like the result.” Sirius replied, his voice not betraying its calm demeanor, though the environment itself chilled in response.

He wasn’t here to argue, that would be far too tiresome. He noticed the now rather threatening tone Sirius had taken after a perfectly reasonable suggestion. If the trees were the offending factor, remove the trees. Don’t burn everything around the tree. Though it seemed his brother preferred drastic measures over sensible ones. “My wish is to see the city prosper.” Qael said. “And to tell you that it is protected. By me. I will allow the woods to stay if only to serve as a warning against your influence.” With those words spoken, Qael turned around and moved back towards the stone door and the portal beyond.

---

A thunder-like sensation greeted Gibbou as she opened her crusted eyes. Her saliva tasted sickly, and there wasn’t enough of it to wet her dry mouth. Even though the night was her element, she could barely see anything around her. She welcomed the darkness, though - sunlight was the last thing she needed now. She dragged her hand down her face, her thumb smudging something sticky at the corner of her mouth. She slowly brought her hand to her nose and gave it a whiff. She groaned.

“... I did it again…” she lamented and rolled over onto her belly to push herself up. Staggering forward and pushing into a wall, she barely stabilised herself to some approximation of upright standing. Unable to handle the taste in her mouth, she snapped her fingers and conjured forth a glass of something akin to what she had had the day before, but altered the taste a little so she wouldn’t, well, do onto the floor what she had done to her shirt. The flavour stung still, but already minutes later, it had begun to dull the aches in her body. She dumped herself in a sofa with a bottle to refill her glass, leaned over to the side to smell the pillows and then recentred herself - stretching herself as tall as possible to avoid the stink. To take her mind off of the chaos that was her dome, she looked down at Galbar below, hoping to catch some sights of the ongoings of mortality.

“Eeeey, the guys in that place took back that thing. Good for them!” she cheered in a voice like single, continuous groan before downing the contents of her glass. As she swallowed, she pondered the situation. ”Actually, why not - let’s celebrate! Drinks for everyone!”

---

_{Meanwhile… Down in Fragrance…}

“Mommy? What’s that abandoned house?” whispered the small girl while pointing at a small shack in the corner of the marketplace. The mother shook her head slowly and clicked in an upset manner.

“That’s the old flutemaker, sweety. His flutes were just too loud - nobody wanted to buy them.”

Suddenly, there came a flash of lightning, striking the shack in a mighty beam. The mother and child, as well as everyone else in Fragrance, all dove for cover, some screaming, others praying. Then, as soon as the flash had come, it went, and in its place stood a tall, sturdy hut with a large, festive stall out front surrounded by odd-smelling pots. There stood a merchant there, who held aloft two cups that smelled like a punch to the face and said, “Kwut here! Come get yer kwut!”

The mother and child stood there speechless. “By the gods,” whispered the mother and fell to her knees in prayer. The girl stuck her finger in her mouth and looked to the sky.

“Mommy,” she whispered, “what is kwut?”

---

Gibbou gave her head a scratch. ”Nah, wait, was that it? Oh, pfft…” She slapped her forehead a little too hard. ”Silly Gibby - that’sh the other place! Dumb-dumb… Here ya go - partay!”

---

_{That same moment, in Ha-Dûna...}

“Little more to the left! No, left, not-- yeah, yeah, there! Now slowly, SLOWLY lower it!” Dûnan glass was of world quality (especially considering they were among the very, very few in the world who actually made glass), and to make window panes for the temples was a task that required the utmost precision. It was bad enough that their workday had been extended long into the night - their groggy hands could barely maneuver the pane properly in the darkness.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt from clear, moonlit sky struck the nearby palisade-in-construction at the edge of the city. The workers dove for cover. When they looked back up, they were shocked to find that It had been replaced by a tall stone wall, on top of which appeared fifty men and women. They were all anywhere from thick to chubby, had massive beards or bushy hair, and all carried pots under their arms. Suddenly one of them shouted, “Want some beer?”

The workers looked at each other in horror, and more and more awoke and came out of their homes to witness the miracle, falling to their knees in prayer. “What in the gods’ names is ‘beer’?” asked the foreman before looking down. “Aaaaw, damn it, lads! You dropped the pane!”

---

Gibbou snorted to herself. ”Heh, funny… Hey, Orey, I did a thing!”” Raising her glass in the air, she was only met with silence. She waited a second longer for a response. ”Yo, Orey? You here?” Again, the dome was silent as the moon. She shambled to her feet and tripped over various misplaced objects on the floor before she finally made it to the door. Almost forgetting to properly close the inner hatch before opening the outer one, she eventually exited into the vacuum of space, the wine in her glass freezing over instantly. She gave it a frown and looked around with drunken worry.

”Sis? Ya here?” she mumbled and gave her whiskey pop a lick. Searching in a daze, she shambled out of her portal and made her way to her sister’s. Once there, she tripped into the portal and faceplanted into the grass, groaning weakly at the unfairness of the world.

It wasn't long before her sister's voice began to assault her ears, growing louder by the second. "-bbou! Gibbou! I was wondering when you would show up. I'm sorry if I made you worry but It's all wonderful! My realm is secure and you'll never guess who is- Gibbou?" a quick pitter patter of feet and a moment later Oraelia knelt next to Gibbou, shrouding her in darkness as she always did in her realm. Two hands began picking her up around her chest and waist, as Oraelia lifted her up to a sitting position and leaned Gibbou against her. Oraelia's hands began to fix Gibbou’s hair as she began to fawn over her. "Oh Gibbou, are you alright? What happened?"

”My existence…” came a hopeless retort as the corpse-like goddess barely managed to turn her head to the side, one cheek resting heavily on her sister’s bosom. ”I messed up.”

Oraelia began to pour some life into Gibbou as she murmered, "Oh, we've been here before." She placed a kiss on Gibbou's forhead. "What happened that makes you think you messed up Gibbou?"

Gibbou gave a tearful sniff. ”I punched that bitch Neiya in the throat…”

"You… Punched Neiya?" Oraelia said. "How did this happened Gibbou? Are you okay? Are you alright? Did she hurt you?" Oraelia asked with a quickened voice as she began to look at Gibbou all over.

”No, I’m not okay. I’m useless, Orey!” whimpered the blue goddess. ”I only hit her because she let me, and, and, and it wasn’t even in the throat; it was in the stomach! And then I, I lost and went home and had a drink and, and then another and…” She curled up in Oraelia’s lap and droned quietly to herself. ”I need a hug.”

Oraelia obliged, wrapping her arms tight around Gibbou. She then leaned her head on hers and whispered, "Shh, shh. It's okay. You're not useless Gibbou, you stood up to her. That's more then any can say."

”But I loooost!” whined the moon goddess and hiccuped.

"No, you survived and I'll count that as a win in my book." Oraelia cooed. "I'm proud of you either way. I just… I just wish it wasn't so."

Gibbou nuzzled up further against her sister and pouted. ”I just, I just couldn’t accept what she had done to you… I hated her - hate her - but I couldn’t do anything. She’ll just be angry now - angry enough to mess up our stuff, I bet…” She gagged somewhat. ”Ugh, I messed up so bad…”

Oraelia's embrace tightened. She did not respond right away but when she did, it was with a soft voice. "No… I'll go and speak with her. See if we can come to an accord. Before you try and talk me out of it listen Gibbou, I told you a long time ago I would have to confront her eventually. To try and redeem her but I'm not sure if it'll be possible. It's not your fault at all, it's just what she's become. But I have to try, Gibbou. For you, for me, for Lucia and Sanya and every mortal everywhere. She won't attack me, I know this but if it does go bad, I will not hesitate to call for you. "

Gibbou sniffed. ”Uh-huh,” she cooed sadly. After a moment, she looked up at Oraelia with a raised brow. ”Wait, why’re you talking about Lucia? You haven’t mentioned her for millennia. And who’s Sanya?”

"Oh please, it hasn't been that long. Only around… twenty or so years, but we made up. I still feel bad about that though." But she steeled herself and placed a fist into her palm. "Come on, let's get you sobered up the old fashioned way. With a big breakfast!" She eyed Gibbou again. "Hmm, we'll have to clean you up first though. You want to look good for your niece right?" she grinned.

”I don’t want anything to eat…”

Oraelia deflated a little. "Well… You don't have to eat. Mortals do though. If you don't want to see them that's fine. Sanya is Lucia's lover, she's also immortal so they have history together before they ended up together you know. What do you say?"

Gibbou burbled. ”Sure…”

Oraelia gave her a tight squeeze. "Hey, everything will be okay. Would you like me to cure your hangover?"

”You don’t understand, sis… There’s something inside me - deep inside - that cannot be cured.” She stared a thousand yards into nothing, a dark expression on her face. ”But yeah, please do.”

Oraelia began to pour more healing energy into Gibbou. "Oh Gibbou. Overcoming our vices, our pain and our problems makes us stronger for it. You may not see that right now but one day, perhaps you will." she stood, helping Gibbou to her feet. "Now come, let us spend time together as family, so that we might forget our issues for a time."

Gibbou sucked in the deepest breath she had all day and the colour returned to her face. Her body showed remarkable spirit and vitality despite her clothes looking like a mistreated vomit bag. ”Thanks, sis! Before we go, though…” She tucked at her shirt and gave it a reluctant sniff again. ”Uhm.. Where’s your nearest lake?”

Oraelia smiled and took Gibbou's hand. "Come, let me show you."

---

Freshly cleaned and smelling of morning dew, the dark blue summer dress-dressed moon goddess strolled giddily alongside her sister towards Oraelia’s house, all memory of her utter failure and uselessness as a goddess happily suppressed under many layers of brutally enforced feelings of warmth and joy. She wore her dark glasses to keep the sun out, and her moonlight crown was vastly outshone by the light from all around, making it almost invisible. She stopped in front of the door, turned to her sister and put her hands on her hips. ”So!” she opened, ”where are they?”

”Inside, waiting for me probably. I told them I would be back soon. Come, come.” She cooed, opening the door into the lofty house. They walked through the front doors and down the main corridor until the hallways split, then they went right and not long after they reached a room with a large dining table, full of food and drinks and Lucia, sitting on top of Sanya as they made out.
Oraelia sighed, then knocked on the wall next to her. Lucia froze then looked over at them. ”O-O-Oh you’re back, mom! With… Auntie Gibbou!” Lucia smiled as she got to her feet and walked over to hug Gibbou.

”Woah, hey there!” was all Gibbou managed to say before being tackled by a hug. Not quite knowing what to do, she awkwardly hugged back and patted her on the head. ”Nice to see you, too, uh, squirt!”

Lucia's tattoos squirmed with delight as she let go of Gibbou and looked her up and down. She smiled with a warmth that mirrored her sister's. She then gave another slight squeeze of a hug and went over to her partner. "Gibbou, I'd like you to meet Sanya. She is my love."

Sanya had rocketed up from her seat and spent the time to herself adjusting her loose clothing and straightening out. When Lucia finally turned attention on her, she bowed her upper half stiffly like a soldier on inspection. "It is a great honour to meet you in person, Mother Moon." she managed with practiced but hurried words.

Gibbou eyed her up and down and assumed an equally stiff stance, sticking her arm out like a barb for her to shake. ”N-nice to meet you, too, Sony--Sanya!” She sniffed. ”Sssssssooo… What’s up? Havin’ a party?”

Sanya stared at the hand in brief confusion before straightening out and extending her own hand to meet Gibbou's, and then the other. She grabbed the goddess' hand with both of hers, then knelt to humbly prostrate herself, lifting Gibbou's hand as though it were a sacred relic. Thoroughly enraptured by this awkward ordeal, she left it up to Lucia to answer.

”Ah!” squealed Gibbou before Lucia could even open her mouth and pulled the hand to herself. She stood frozen for a bit, massaging her hand as though it had been burned, before forcing a sheepish giggle. ”Sorry. This feels really, really weird up close.”

"Oh! N..No! I am sorry, Goddess Gibbou. I didn't mean to attack you so." Sanya intoned quickly, looking horrified at the reaction she had caused. "Please forgive my abrasive behavior."

Gibbou closed her eyes and waved her hands. ”Please! Please, don’t, don’t talk to me like that… If you would. You have no idea how weird this is on point blank range. I’m not…” She shifted between the three women. ”I’m not really the kinda goddess you oughta speak like that to… Call me Gibs, Gibby or just, well, Gibbou. No titles or stuff, okay?”

Sanya nodded twice, flustered and uncertain, with a few confused glances towards her partner briefly. "Oh, uhm. Alright. Whatever you wish of me, Gib...s. Gibbou." she intoned briefly, before following it up to avoid the awkward silence. "So… ah, do you live.. on the moon?"

The change of topic immediately brought a fire to Gibbou’s stance, and she gestured a mighty circle with her palm. ”Oh yeah, sure do! It’s pretty cool up there, actually - if ya catch my drift.” She waited just too short with the comedic pause. ”It’s very cold, see. You can come visit, but you’ll need some magic.”

Oraelia clapped her hands and said, "Sit sit, let us talk to our hearts delight now that the… Pleasantaries over! Yeah!" she said, sitting down at the head of the table. Likewise, Lucia grabbed Sanya's hand and guided her back to her seat, whispering words of encouragement and praise as they sat down on the right side of Oraelia.

"Does anyone need anything? A specific food? A drink?" Oraelia asked, looking at them all. Lucia shook her head and grabbed a roll.

”Yeah, I’ll have a strong barley wine, if I could?” said Gibbou and raised her hand.

"That's not a bad idea," Sanya mused, extending an arm around Lucia without thinking. "It's been years since I've had wine."

”Pfft, what you had probably wasn’t wine. More like smelly fruit water or something,” Gibbou mused almost mockingly. ”Here, let’s get you some -real- wine. Make that two cups, sis!”

"Well that wasn't what I…" Oraelia began sheepishly. "I don't even know how to make it, Gibbou." she relented. Lucia just looked happy to be there.

”Oh, I’ll fix it, then,” said the moon goddess and, with the snap of her fingers, conjured forth two cups of a dark brown liquid. She pushed one over to Sanya and lifted her own. ”Cheers for, uh… For the couple!”

Sanya grasped the cup produced for her without much hesitation, offering the smallest of smiles at the quick toast. "To family," she returned.

"Sanya, let me try some? Please?" Lucia asked.

"Oh, of course," Sanya obliged, and offered her cup to Lucia.

Lucia snatched the cup and drank a mouthful. She then handed the cup back to Sanya, her face frowning. She coughed, "How do you drink that, it doesn't taste good at all." she said, taking a swig of water.

Suspicious of Lucia's reaction to this mysterious new drink, Sanya sniffed the cup briefly and then brought it to her lips. Her expression lingered on a thoughtful frown for a few moments, before she lifted the cup for another sip and an ensuing comment. "I don't know, I rather like it. I thought I'd tasted everything over the years. Barley, you said?"

”The finest grain there is - a soldier’s grain,” boasted the moon goddess as though the flavour had banished all over her anxiousness.

Sanya pressed her lips together in brief thought, humming to herself before taking another taste of the mythical new brew. "I wouldn't mind an amphora of this, if you want to leave some here." she eventually managed, leaning forwards to nod at Gibbou with guarded respect. "That is, if that's alright." Sanya eventually conceded and glanced to both her tattooed partner and Oraelia.

Lucia’s hand found its way to Sanya’s shoulder. She grinned, giving her a small nod. ”Only if I can get something a little more… Fruity? Sweet? Fruity and sweet?” she pouted at Gibbou.

Meanwhile, Oraelia’s lips turned into a frown, followed by a half sigh. ”Alcohol, as we both know,” she eyed Gibbou, ”Will make you lose the wits about you. That said, for special occasions, it is… Fine. And if you like, I suppose you can leave some here.” Oraelia then slouched forward and placed her cheek on her palm. ”Just… Be careful is all I ask.”

Lucia piped up again, ”Of course mom, your house, your rules!”

”C’mon, Orey - she’s a few thousand years old now; I think she can make her own decisions.” She conjured forth a tall, thin-necked pitcher of something smelling of peach.

Lucia smelled the pitcher as Oraelia spoke, ”I know that Gibbou.” She spoke with calmness as she looked at Sanya and Lucia again. ”Enjoy yourselves.” She gave a small, reluctant smile.

Lucia gave her a nod as she poured the contents of the pitcher into a cup. She then took a sip, then another, as her lips curled into a smile. ”Now this is good! Thanks Gibbou! Here, here Sanya, try it!” she said, giving her the cup. The sweeter drink was forced into Sanya's hands, and the warrior briefly lifted it to sniff and taste. A brief grimace later, and she handed it back.

"Wonderful." Sanya offered with deadpan tone, before giving Lucia a smug look. "Tastes like my mouth is melting."

Lucia giggled and with a playful jab in Sanya's side she said, "Doesn't it, darling?" Sanya smirked ever so slightly and clicked her cup against Lucia's in an idle toast.

"It does my heart good to see you both so happy. I know I've said it a thousand times already but it's just so wonderful. A truly refreshing sight." Oraelia fawned. "Oh that does remind me, Gibbou, have you found, uhmm, you know, a partner?"

”Partner in what?” asked Gibbou blankly, conjuring forth a bowl of blueberries and popping one into her mouth.

Oraelia scrunched her nose. "Uh… Nevermind. I was thinking of something else. Anywho, Rhiona has caught me up to date on events I missed while I was away. I'm sorry about everything Gibbou. I blame myself for how the druids have acted and as such we've sent Solus to take away that pesky fertility statue. I'm not sure a tool such as that belongs in mortal hands. And soon enough, Lucia and Sanya will be going back to the Highlands to bring about some sort of peace. A storm is brewing, there are too many pieces in play."

Gibbou shrugged. ”They’re mortals - give them anything and they’ll find six ways to misuse it by the end of the day.” She ate another berry. ”It’s not your fault that they went on a rampage looking for food. They were breeding like crazy, and… And…” She paused and tasted her words, looking as though she found them sour. ”... Actually, what I meant to say was - mortals are dumb and do dumb things. It’s not your fault, most importantly!” Sanya breathed a quiet scoff at that, but hurried to hide her expression behind the cup.

"They are right you know." Lucia said, pouring another cup. "They abused your gifts and got hungry for more. Just like they abused me when I visited." she took a drink.

Oraelia leaned forward at her daughters words. "Lucia, what do you mean they abused you when you visited?"

Lucia sighed. "Well like… They wouldn't give me a moment to myself and disrespected me when they went into my room without my permission to pray. It felt so… Wrong. A violation really." she took a large swig and leaned on Sanya. Oraelia looked at her partner with inquisitive eyes, but Sanya’s own gaze was deep into her cup, a dark frown hinted above the drink.

"Lucia… I'm so-"

Lucia cut her off, "Ish fine. Lesh just talk about something elsh.", she slurred her words, taking another drink.

Oraelia gave a slight frown and turned her head back to Gibbou. "How's the other half of the world fairing?"

”Oh, y’know. It’s quiet, mostly,” she replied curtly and shrugged. ”Nothing interesting happening over there - no, siree. Like, sure, some things are happening, maybe, but most things aren’t.”

"I see." Oraelia twirled her fingers. "It seems the only exciting news we have is that mortals can come to our realms. That seems to be about it."

”Yeah, that’s pretty cool, I guess. Again, though, I don’t think they can visit mine - no air and all that, y’know. Would need some kind of protective gear, wouldn’t you, mortals?” She forced an awkward laugh to support her own failure of a joke.

Lucia gave a vague wave and a nod, taking another drink from the pitcher before leaning into Sanya to steady herself. Sanya reflexively put her arm around her shoulder. Lucia began to giggle. "Yeah! Who neeeeds air anyways?"

”I know, right?” Having found support, Gibbou’s giggle grew genuine.

Gibbou's giggling only made Lucia giggle more. She began to play with Sanya's hair as she took another drink. "And why did you make us so squishy?" As if to empathize her point she pressed a finger into Sanya's cheek. Her voice then went lower, "I like your squishy darlin."

Sanya languished in a flustered surprise, offering a terse chuckle as she glanced nervously at the goddesses present. "I'm not that soft. On the uh, mortal… scale."

"She has abssssh." Lucia said, followed by more giggling.

Oraelia in the meantime looked on with a modest sense of disappointment and horror but did not say anything. Sanya, perhaps to her credit, tried her best to steer conversation back towards something less awkward. "... Guilty. I've spent a lot of centuries fighting. Have to stay in shape."

Gibbou suppressed a burp. ”You know fighting?”

"She's the… the besht fighter you've ever sheeeen!" Lucia exclaimed with mirth, pressing herself more and more into Sanya. The dark-haired warrior breathed a light snicker and ran her hand through strands of Lucia's hair.

"I suppose I know fighting. I was put on the path of violence millennia ago, and it's followed me since. Well, until about two decades ago." she eventually explained.

”Huh. You any good?”

Sanya gave the moon goddess a jaded glance. "As good as I've needed to be. I certainly wasn't getting any assistance from my benefactor."

”Whossat?”

Lucia gripped onto Sanya, "Shhhhhh, we don't talk about heerrr." she said, dipping her head into Sanya's lap, drink sloshing.

Sanya sucked in a breath, smiling down solemnly at Lucia before reaching out to steal away her drink. "The love goddess cursed me to sorrow and anguish." she mused calmly, keeping her eyes on Lucia to keep herself centered.

”Ugh!” groaned Gibbou loudly and threw her hands in the air. ”She -always- does this! Why is she so fuckin’ mean all the time?!” She began to stand up, her balance severely inconvenienced by her alcohol permille. ”I’mma go over there and teach her a lesson!”

All at once, Oraelia stood. "No. You are not. Please sit down Gibbou." she said with a certain sternness unlike her. Gibbou, somewhat taken aback by the shift in tone, sat right back down. With shifty eyes, she mumbled:

”G-gee, sis, I was just jokin’... Chill.”

Oraelia relaxed but did not sit down right away. She held her gaze on Gibbou for a moment or two and when she did sit she put a hand on Gibbou's arm. "I'm sorry Gibbou. I didn't know you were joking." her voice was sheepish.

”Y-yeah… I totally was. I mean, what kind of idiot would pick a fight with that bitch, am I right?” She forced an exaggerated laugh and pointed at herself. ”That’s riiiiiight! This idiot!” Her smile hung on by a thread, her eyes two empty, white voids.

Oraelia tilted her head and glanced at Sanya, giving her a knowing look. Once more Oraelia got up from her chair and embraced Gibbou. ”You are not an idiot, Gibbou. You are my sister and I love you so, so much.” she cooed.

Sanya looked at the two goddesses for a time, shifting forwards to set down both cups of alcohol before leaning back and running her fingers gingerly over Lucia's hair, who had fallen fast asleep. "Anyone who stands against that fiend could never be anything but great in my eyes," she affirmed solemnly. "If it wasn't for Lucia she would have sapped my willpower into oblivion. In the same vein, I wouldn't be who I am if she'd never cursed me. Wouldn't be here."

Gibbou made a quiet raspberry with her tongue, hardly reacting to her sister’s hug. ”I’ve fucked up too many times to be great, kid - if anything, I’ve reached a nice equilib… Equilibree-oom of mediocrity.”

Oraelia pulled away one arm at a time. She said nothing but her eyes gave her away- downcast and sucked of joy.

Sanya shrugged her shoulders idly, watching them yet. "And?" she questioned, willing to let her jaded, calm tone come out with Lucia down for the count. "Life is a constant journey of disappointment and failure. No one is as great as they want to be. At least not among us humans. I doubt I could ever begin to match your grandeur, as a mere mortal. All we can do is try our best, and roll with the punches."

Gibbou sighed. ”Yeah… Maybe… Hey, Sanya - what gave you the will to be a soldier? What was that first spark?”

Sanya shifted her shoulder and flexed a grim expression past her lips. "My tribe and family were hit hard by a rampaging troll. Raiders wiped out what was left. There was nothing in my heart but hate and sorrow, and… she… put me on the path of vengeance. After that, it was all I could be."

Gibbou’s eyes, as though that was even possible, somehow lost a final twinge of life, and she slowly got to her feet. ”I… I need to go.”

"Gibbou?" Oraelia asked, backing up to give her sister space.

She looked back at Sanya, then at Oraelia. ”I need to leave. I… I shouldn’t be here.” She then ran at the door, opened it and escaped into the vast, yellow garden.

"Gibbou…" Oraelia whispered, feeling her leave the realm.

Silence reigned for a time, until Sanya finally mustered the courage to ask; "Did I say something wrong?"

Oraelia turned to Sanya and shook her head but before she could speak, Lucia stirred.

"Thar youuuu are." she cooed, kissing Sanya on the cheek. "Whad I misssh?" she yawned.

---

Lucia sifted through the contents of the bag, placing and removing the many items she and Sanya had collected over the years. Some were practical, others were not. She just couldn’t make up her mind.

The goodbye had been heartfelt, but after their time staying in her mother’s realm, she could only hope to return and Oraelia knew this. It would not be a goodbye forever. They were connected now, once more. With determination in her eyes, Lucia placed the last of their gear into their sacks and headed out the door.

She took one more look at the place, their home for two decades now. She would miss it, but Oraelia had promised one like it when they departed Galbar again. She could hardly wait! With a giddy smile she sat their bags down and clapped her hands together. The sound of metal rang out. Her mother’s armor was a snug fit and they had grown used to the weight of it. Her hand found its way to the necklaces around her neck. She had to be careful though, for she was powerful now, more than ever before.

A Leaflits flew into her hair, followed by a dozen more. They tickled her all over and as she began to giggle, they flew away in a flock. When they arrived back upon Galbar, Rhiona ushered into the world around them several new creatures that had never existed before. She could see Gens uprooting themselves to bask in the sun and tend to flowers, while the Joyfs were spreading out by the hundreds, off to find those that needed some much needed joy in their lives. A couple had bolted for the two of them when they first stepped through the portal and their mere presence made Lucia feel happy. Sanya was much the same. They would make good companions, but now was not the time for that.

Now was the time for moving on.

”Isn’t that right, Eesis? Nisin?” She cooed over to the basking Leons. Much to her mother’s promise, their transportation was awaiting them. Now, they lounged about waiting for Sanya’s return.

She wasn’t too thrilled about that, the prospect of flying again but Lucia wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. Plus, that meant Sanya would have to hang onto her again and that was just a guilty little pleasure.

Lucia turned to the trees, waiting for her lover. She glanced back at the waiting portal. Another one that waited, for even quicker access to the Highlands. Sanya just needed to get back and they would be on their way. And return she did, breaking through the treeline in silver armor at an idle pace, the sleek black Sorrowsting laid over her shoulder as though it was never missing. Now it seemed different, however. Even from afar the addition of Oraelia's large gem shone and glittered with promise, lending a grandeur to the weapon that had been missing before. She looked ready for war, for better or worse. Sanya moved to join with Lucia and her company without word or delay, though smiled at Lucia when she caught her gaze.

And with that, they mounted Eesis and through the portal they went, into the unknown of war.

---

Sat deep within the cool stone of the palace, there lay another bath chamber, this one decadent and lit with hundreds of candles, flickering into dying light. The room was further furnished with a variety of chairs and tables, set into the crooks and crannies of the tall room. In the center of this bath chamber sat an oval pool. It was large and full of water that was covered with the last of the flower petals kept from the Highlands, giving off a very floral scent. The water was warm, heated by hot rocks at the deep center.

Lounging upon the second ledge of the pool, covered with flower petals, was Nalla. She was naked to the world as she was attended to, a rare moment of insecurity by any means but she did not show it. She was accompanied by five servant girls, all of the same build, same hair and similar face structure. All were of a modest age and all of them could be trusted. For these five girls were privileged. They were the ones tasked with the most precious position of being bathing attendants. To wash their Queen and witness her innocence. Handpicked for loyalty and looks or perhaps for the easiness of their minds to be broken. They did their jobs well.

Nalla let out a relaxing sigh. Her flaming hair was being combed by two of them, her body washed by two more on either side of her and her feet and legs were being washed by the last. There was no talking here, for Nalla preferred the silence. It soothed her and so she shut her eyes and let their rhythmic work be felt and in a rare moment, appreciated.

Though she was being washed, her precious tools of rulership sat on a table nearby. Their weight was familiar to her and without them she felt vulnerable, how silly a thought was that? Someone as her, so powerful by herself uncomfortable being without her clothes. Or was it her paranoia?

A frown found itself snaking its way onto her lips. It was true, she was suspicious of everyone and paranoid of traitors and gods having their way with her and her accomplishments. But it only took the mere thought of Neiya to make her calm again. Well perhaps calm wasn't the right word but it would suffice.

Ever since she had mingled with the Goddess, her very being had felt… Stronger, more attuned to the world. It was exhilarating, like a part of Neiya had never left her. Sometimes the world slowed to a halt, and she had an ethereal experience of surrealism. Almost as if she was part of something greater. She would keep it close, for no mortal pleasures could compare. Ah, her Goddess...

If only there was other gods as kind as her mistress. Exodus the avatar, true to her word, had not been seen or heard of since she had left so long ago and her Sylphi no longer seemed to care about worshipping their Genesis or Exodus. In fact, her Sylphi were now hers and the Blood Sylphi were growing well. In a few generations she would have what she wanted.

Tekret had been the one to give her, her crown but not a word had been heard from him since or whatever his cult had been. If they had been in the Highlands then it would seem they would stay there and far out of her authority. Alas, she knew only enemy gods and those who would not see her in a better light to be left. There was no other patronage but Neiya.

Even the Alma, the desert people who knew her to be their master now, had no gods to be spoken of. Or if they did, the language barrier had not yet been broken down. They had only managed to figure out simple things and what they would call their precious slaves, Alma.

Nalla had put them to work already on constructing her new home. One far larger and grander than any that had come before. By sheer accident had a crazy foreman begun racing about a giant temple in the shape of a triangle. Needless to say, though mad, he was let in charge of the project. It would take years to accomplish but what was that to Nalla?

Seeds from the Highlands were being sown to see if any would be viable, they were hunting what life they could find along the river and raiding parties were being sent out to secure more slaves and anything interesting. Things were on the up and up in Nallan but if food cannot be maintained in ample supply, it would perhaps be their downfall.

And it was her supply of fresh blood that concerned her most. Without healthy stocks she would starve and she couldn't have that. For now she would hope for the best.

At the edge of her hearing came whispers, not of voices truly, but sounds that clashed together, melding from yelps of dogs, the croaking of toads, the screeches of river hydra. Words came whispering in quiet unison growing softly from nothing. They came from nowhere and everywhere, from no discernable source and yet omnipresent surrounding and coming to her ears. The words were simple, repeated, growing from quiet nothing to clear but still soft.

Nalla remained still, ears and eyes on alert but she saw nothing.

Her attendants showed no sign of hearing these words spoken thus, "Nalla, daughter of Rado and Alina, Empress of Blood and favored of Neiya, are you prepared for my words..."

They would fade and soon repeat, at first from the quiet cacophony that made them unison it seemed nothing. But as they grew louder they became clear, as though echoing from some far distant place through something other than the air or the ground.

The words came again, and again her attendants showed no sign of hearing, "Nalla, daughter of Rado and Alina, Empress of Blood and favored of Neiya, are you prepared for my words..."

Nalla sat up, motioning for her attendants to cease and they obeyed her without words. She eyed the room again and stopped upon her things, heart racing with thoughts. She took a deep breath and settled upon one thought in particular. Neiya had once said the same, about her parents and she was a god. Had another been listening to her thoughts just now?

“I-I am prepared.” She uttered. The servants gave each other looks, but still, they said nothing.

The words stopped, a long silence held before the cacophony came crashing like a wave.

"Leader born of blood and strife, Nalla of the Thusly-Named-City. Most moral and righteous is your rule with all of your actions undertaken, I have watched with grave interest as your realm expanded and you gave employment to that most moral Wizardess."

"And I have watched the harm done unto you by deities most wicked, such things are not forgotten, nor will they go uncorrected. You have purpose and strength to do much good still, and so I have decided to grant you aid."

“You have?” she breathed. “And to whom do I owe such thanks too?”

"My names are numerous, as are perspectives among Galbar's peoples. You may call me Ekh-Rus, a protector and patron of your Empire. In time all fall into my domain, even as the many other gods squabble over their little patches of power. Announce to your people that you have been blessed when the time is good, and my gifts shall come forth."

“As you wish, Ekh-Rus. Your name shall be added to the few we worship here. But why, why help m- Us? Surely not because we have been wronged by the Sun?”

"Many have been wronged by the Sun, I do not aid them all. I choose to render aid because you are useful, should you prosper and succeed in creating a strong state, you shall have a wide impact of the most moral order. I wish to see this come to pass, I wish it to come sooner rather than later. Few are suitable agents."

"You are useful for making things better, for my goals and ends, for all souls. Enjoy it as best you can and serve well, few get such opportunity."

“Very well, I accept any aid, it is rude not to. But what aid is it you seek to give? I am curious.” She asked, relaxing into the water.

"Do not be so insolent as to presume upon my plans Nalla. I will say for the necessity of your announcement to your people, not to satisfy your curiosity. I will rectify your ill-suited failures to adapt to your new locale, as well as the weaknesses of your own flesh and kin. If you serve well, perhaps a boon will be granted to you and your flesh-kin."

Although there was no feeling of entering Nalla could feel the sudden effect of something having left.

At long last she turned to her servants with a bemused smile and said, “Dress me and let us be done with this.”

---

Later that night when the land took respite from the harsh sun, Nalla stood before her people again. Much like her appearance after they had arrived, Nalla wore all her regalia from head to toe. She stood over her people, singular and hungry.

She threw out her arms into the air, quieting the crowd that had gathered.

“People of Nallan!” She stated. “We are not alone! Neiya has helped us,” she pointed to the statue of the two of them, “We know that the Goddess of Love’s heart is a sea of devotion for those cast aside, downtrodden and betrayed! She loves me, she loves you… She loves us all! We worship her not because she has saved us, but because we love her in return!”

The crowd gave praises and prayer to her mistress, as all any should do.

“Yet Neiya is not the only one who has seen our plight! A new God has come forth, a protector and patron for we, of this beautiful Kingdom. And this god is known as Ekh-Rus, and we have been blessed! Ekh-Rus gives us the knowledge necessary to live in this place, so that we might thrive and grow stronger then ever before! For we are loved by the Gods! ARE WE NOT?” She put her hands into the air, and dipped her head. Ekh wanted her to speak before her people, what would they do now?

With whirling sound and wind the sky above Nallan seemed to crack open with leaking green flame. Only so slightly did the edges of this fracture open even as the wind roared up above and green flame crackled. This sight stood above the crowds only for the briefest moments that allowed them to glimpse and gaze upwards before something else came forth.

Like a wave it spread over the masses gathered in the city, no sight, nor smell, nor sound announced its presence. Instead the pounding addition of knowledge, each person's head filled with the background information gleaned from generations of desert dwellers. What to eat, what would grow, what to wear. Information drawn of the conditions to survive the desert from the massed dead, previously living souls who begat survivor after survivor after survivor. The knowledge to live in the desert was what flowed over them, although it brought minor headaches to be given so rapidly into their minds, it would bring survival if not flourishing.

However not only did the changes come to the masses alone. The land began to shift to, the river side shifted and rifted, forming into irrigation ditches and canals as would be found in any river based agricultural community. While the infrastructure may have been left behind, for the new river it came forth without the toil of the people to remake it once more.

A booming voice came from the flaming cracks in the sky, an enormous eye darting between them gazing through the breaks to the masses below. The voice came as rush, the calls of birds and the braying of reef horses, sounds of all animals coming together in a tide of sound to make one voice. "Hear my voice loyal devotees of Nalla, for you are blessed on this day by the presence and care of Ekh-Rus! Your fields stand ready and your minds have been prepared to survive the harsh challenge put before you. Do not forget that I stand as your protector through your Queen and Idol Nalla, the chosen of the gods. Know that her flesh and kin be holy and rightfully rule over you and your children for the prosperity and moral order of all times!"

A lesser voice like before swirled around the mind of Nalla herself, "You did well, and shall receive additional blessings, be known that all things come with a price and the toll you pay will be well worth it."

“And pray tell,” Nalla whispered, raising a hand to the masses as they began to celebrate. “What do you wish of me?”

"Soon there will come a time when you and all of your Vampiric Kin will be assaulted by visions of those slain, intense and all at once as a combination of all your cursed kind have known. After this, it will be broken. I will tell you this as after you will assemble those Vampires that you have close to you, I will grant all kin of your flesh and blood a gift, and another for those that serve you as well. You will continue as you have, to be a conqueror and a leader. Rule well and I may come calling again when you have grown to fit your potential more. Do you understand?"

The news made her heart skip a beat. The curse would be lifted? Oh what joy! “As you wish, Ekh-Rus. But I must admit… The curse on vampire-kind has left us… Lacking. There was another one here in my thrall but he died when the Sun moved us. Only I remain.”

"Then I shall accelerate my plans for your kin, in short your kind will be able to do a kind of reproduction, a gradual process of transformation of one extent to be a vampire as well. It may take time for them to fully come into their abilities and they will need shepherding, but I am sure you will not fail me in such a task."

Nalla stared out at the joyous crowd, a wicked smile began to etch itself within her lips. More of her kind… Ruling them all like shepherds over their flock. “Yes... How delicious it will be.” She said whimsidasically.

A pulse came from the rifts slowly closing above, barely visible to the mortal eye, but faint only in means of sight, not power. Nalla could feel a tingling sensation, an uncomfortable shifting in her flesh that remained for some moments before disappearing as quickly as it came. Something similar to all vampires on Galbar felt a change had come to their most strange race. No longer were they unable to produce more of themselves, now a vampire could convert others to their own kind, less a disease in action that may spread. But like a toxin, enough given in a short enough time to reach a tipping point to turn. It would be gradual, and not all would survive the process, but a chance given to have a real impact, and not be scarce and hunted.

It took several moments before Nalla could calm down from her excitement. When she did, she raised her hands and exclaimed. “TONIGHT! WE CELEBRATE IN THE NAME OF EKH-RUS! IN THE NAME OF NEIYA!”

And a celebration was had, as Nalla returned to her palace and a celebration of her own was had.

---

Many moons later much was beginning to change in Nallan. The knowledge provided by Ekh-Rus was a miracle in its own right, and the irrigation channels provided new access to crops- Which meant food would be plentiful in the months to come. But perhaps the most significant of Ekh-Rus’ gifts was the beauty of vampiric venom. Where once a victim would lose their memories of an attack, more and more feedings inflicted a most sinister poison into the blood streams, turning the blood sour as it took root. When it blossomed, it either killed the fledgling outright, or put them on the path to a fully actualized vampire.

Nalla took on a new role, that of a teacher. For raising a vampire and teaching them her ways was paramount in her society to come. She had a handful of fledglings that had survived on their path to adulthood but soon, they would make more and her mortal stock would produce more of their own and the blood would flow. Though the cruel sun was blinding, it was just beginning to rise upon her kingd- No… Her dominion. Empire.

But another promise was still to be had, for her vampires could not feel the curse as she did if they were to be useful. Everyday she waited for Ekh-Rus to appear without luck. She would not call to him, for such a God was not one to be angered. Thus, Nalla waited.

And there, in the dark room of her throne, surrounded by her faithful vampires, Ekh-Rus came.

There came a coiling searching voice, as though the vibrations of millions of wings, the chirping of birds and the soft nigh inaudible whispers of children came forth as one voice. One the louder to the whole, and one the quieter echoing through Nalla's mind alone. "You have done well to prepare yourselves."

_{"And you have done well to produce them."}

"Are you prepared to accept the precepts fledglings? To gain an opportunity for real purpose and power?"

Nalla watched with anticipation, knowing that such a day might come, for she had distilled in them a primal urge to aspire ever greater but not so great as to supplant her.

One by one they stepped forward, once mere servants that hoped to please her at every turn, man and woman. Including three of her bath chamber attendants. Nalla had picked well, only the most handsome, the most beautiful would be gifted with the chance to become one as she. In that moment their individual names meant nothing, for they were stripped of that right as fledglings. A new name, a new purpose awaited them now. Would they cease it? Or falter?

Nalla could only watch.

It seemed to be almost a flash through those assembled, if only a moment that convulsed between them. Brief, a bolt of the unearthly green and then it was gone.

However internally much had changed, the voice began to speak again, "The flesh of your bodies will not die easily, far more so than even the rest of your vampiric kin, additionally the healing ability has been enhanced. More importantly however are your souls, they are now secured in their devotion and protected from undue influence. These are my gifts to you few devotees of Nalla. I will warn you a storm will come to you, in your minds of victims claimed, the curse will be broken soon, I have acquired the threads so strewn, connecting the realm of the dead with those of the living. I am the master of the realm of the dead, you will be freed of this unjust cruelty."

It began as a trickle. Nalla felt a new sensation, her hands balled into fists as she saw the last person she murdered- Though Neiya’s gift made them only feel bliss, it was still an overload to feel their memories begin to flood into her mind. Her body went limp as her face and body relaxed into the back of her throne. There were so many, so many she had killed, drained, butchered, murdered- All with Neiya’s love. But had she not been intertwined with Neiya herself and felt that godly bliss? It began to pale in comparison and soon enough she began to feel differently as her memories became ones of panic, horror and shock. She lurched forward, growling as her memories came to a stop upon her first victim, her sister. It played out all over again and she felt her own blade pierce her heart over and over and over and ov-

It ended and Nalla finally breathed. And with a new breath, she began to laugh. No more would they be slaves to their inhibitions. Never again.

She looked upon her fledgling vampires, cold sweat dripping down her forward and knew this was the rebirth of a people.

Her people.

---

Around the world, a cursed people rejoiced, for their chains had been broken.

---

Covered by the veil of morning fog, a long and subdued procession of villagers shuffled along the trampled path westward. Despite numbering almost a hundred, the line of travellers was almost entirely quiet; beckoned to silence by the cold air, the early morning, and the rough road. In the distance behind them they could still catch glimpses in the mist of their old home, abandoned structures of wood, stone and leather and all else that could not be deconstructed and carried on their pilgrimage.

At the back of the procession, one couple struggled to keep the pace ahead of them. A worn woman carrying a mewling bundle, the pressure of recent motherhood scoring her otherwise ageless youth with bags and wrinkles, and a horned man fighting to drag packing to the collective rhythm of the procession trampling dirt and snow underfoot. The bundle offered a temporary complaint, and the woman halted further in her pace as she focused on her child - at least until those behind her threatened to bump into her with their presence. A few short heaves of breath to steel herself, she nuzzled her baby and hurried up alongside her husband. Breathless from the short jog in the morning sun, she pleaded with him. "Eirik… it's not too late to see reason," she pushed out between breaths. "We can go back to the others who stayed. We don't even know how far-"

Her husband shot out a sharp breath, shushing her with a frown and a glance. Hoisting the rope tying their packing together further over his shoulder, he fought a fury borne from hard labor before tempering himself enough to speak. "We have spoken of this already. Less than a dozen remain. I doubt they shall last two winters. Is," he paused to drag the large pack of supplies over uneven ground with a grunt. "Is that the life you want for us? For Ronja?'

She could not answer that with anything but a burning shame in her cheeks, staring down at the unknowing child bundled in blankets in her arms. Already small nubs were growing on her temples under the wiry white hair. Early horns were a sign of a healthy child, the shamans said.

"Besides," Eirik continued between struggling breaths of his own in the cold morning air. "Rurik and his lot may want to defy the gutakvínn and her message, but I am not going to invite that kind of doom into our household." Almost as if summoned by his words, a silhouette appeared above the front of the long procession, large beating wings dissipating fog and snow to reveal the winged, horned woman that led their excursion from the air.

"Eirik…" she breathed with worry and shame in her tone.

"Just walk, Kari. Promised land or not, we'll build a new home. We'll give Ronja the life she deserves."

---

The ruckus of new arrivals had brought with it nearly a week of debate. After the arrival of the Steinnvaetr tribe from the northeastern reaches of the snowy wastes - and they had reported a hard journey with no sightings of other kin along the way - discussion had begun to shoot through the peaceful settlement that no other tribes were coming. That the wait was over.

Kari stood in a ring of people in the midst of their valley-village, a fascinated three-year old Ronja hoisted up in her arms. For three years they'd argued whether to wait for more pilgrims before moving southwest towards the promised land, and people had begun to settle in. Only the gutakvínn pushed to keep moving - as she always had - but with every chieftain that had arrived, it was another voice against leaving this valley by the water. Now they had dragged the whole debate up again, with the chiefs and the winged messenger surrounded by the village as they debated publicly. With long horns coiling from her head, and wings of blue and gold able to spread in a wingspan beyond that of several men, she cut an imposing figure even before her height came into play. That had kept the chieftains in line during the pilgrimage, but now that they were assembled, they argued with her at every venture.

"There's just no way of knowing if more are on the way, hopeful of joining the great pilgrimage. It would do our kinsmen a grand disservice to abandon this meeting place," argued Chief Borgir, facing off against the winged and horned gutakvínn with the same undaunted arrogance as he always had in these past three years.

"Indeed," the elderly chieftain Torkil cut in to steal the word, leaning on his staff weakly despite looking as youthful as the rest. "To resume the search for the promised land could spell the doom for many hopefuls yet arrived, and uproot all we have prepared here. We are thankful for your effort in leading us here, Aveira of the Mother, but now we must trust in the song to tell us when to resume the pilgrimage."

Aveira, the gutakvínn, watched the two conduct themselves before her with disdain, but seemed more interested in the expressions of the assembled audience, and the hummed agreements their words captured. Before she could respond a third voice piped up to stack arguments against leaving; this time it was Chieftain Havardr, who had gone to the extra trouble of wearing his ostentatious reindeer helmet, covering his small horns with grand antlers. "This bay is perfect for our ways. The Song flows undisturbed, and the fauna are in harmony. To abandon it for another land would be folly, when our resources are so meager."

Kari frowned to herself, remembering when Havardr had demanded all new arrivals pay him half their supplies in tribute. To hear him speak of resources now was to spit on all things decent, and yet she agreed. She tugged Ronja up properly on her side. There couldn't be another journey so soon.

But the gutakvínn did not agree. When silence finally lingered save for some brief murmurs in the crowd, she took it upon herself to respond. Kari still hadn't adjusted to the booming echo of the divine being's voice, nor how her speech seemed to be in another language entirely, yet resonated properly in her head to give it meaning. "Your concerns are unfounded. Were we to depart, I would make certain that others of your kin were not lost. The promised land waits. All that it requires is a journey that shall only become easier the further south we travel."

A brief silence reigned as the stern, powerful voice echoed in the minds of the assembled, joined only by a few coughs and the quiet mewling of a newborn in the crowd. It was not to be, however, as old chieftain Torkil cleared his throat to warn of his incoming dissent, his staff wobbling unsteadily as he straightened his back in the crowd-circle. "Ah, it eases my heart that you would extend such a courtesy to both us pilgrims on this long journey, and our kin who have not yet arrived. What you did not account for in your assurances is the uprooting of all we have built here - the risk to families and children who have just begun to settle." Torkil gestured straight at Kari and Ronja in her arms where they stood in the crowd, casually using them to affirm his point. A strange sensation of primal fear rippled along her spine, and she felt the eyes of the gutakvínn linger on her for what felt like an eternity.

"But afore you argue this point, Aveira of the Mother," Torkil continued, dragging the winged woman's attention back to him. Kari released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "I propose before this council of peers and divine that this matter will not be settled by discussion - we must vote."

A hum and murmur of agreement spread through the crowd, and perhaps most importantly, among the seven chieftains crowding around Aveira in the middle of the circle. Aveira herself viewed them with what Kari would call open scorn, but still the winged woman relented, seeming to speak to the seven men - not loud enough for the crowd to hear.

"Wha's happenin', mama?" Ronja piped up softly. Kari sighed sharply and gently rocked her three-year old daughter gently. A sting of fear lingered in her heart, as she stared at the gutakvínn. Aveira glanced out over the crowd, and for just a moment Kari's eyes met with the unyielding and stern gaze of the winged woman. It was enough to rocket her heart into fear.

"D-Don't worry, Flower," she offered under her breath, looking down at the chieftain's feet. "We're safe here."

---

The quiet rush of water seemed to tantalize even the most restless of people with it's peaceful rhythm. The gravel-mixed sand on the beach rattled with a melodic uproar each time a wave washed up onto the land, hugging the bay in brief and fleeting moments. The sonorous rhythms of the sea followed as a natural accompaniment, each crash of waves and foam-touched wind settling in the powerful melody. Like a mastercrafted rattle snare rattled against fur, the strong ocean winds caught in the trees in the midst of their spring awakening and shook them to a gentle agitation. Eager to add to the chorus, the call of a few birds returning from the south mingled with unerring talent, completing the performance into a symphony that only nature could provide. This land had long been untouched, and the Song was strong here - so strong that even those like Eirik, who'd never busied himself with the Song, could pick up it's melodic notes with only a calm mind and open ears. The world was at peace here, in the valley that had become their home.

Judging by the impatient fidgeting, idle sniffles and murmurs among the assembled children however, not all appreciated the Song as Eirik did. He sat on the stump of the birch they felled last summer, watching chieftain Torkil try to lead the assembly of over two dozen youths in training, urging them to sit quietly and listen with extremely varied results. The two boys at the back - Roval's twins - wouldn't stop fighting over a stick, and little Embla at the front of the pack seemed more interested in whatever everyone else was doing. Rikkon's son seemed to be drifting in and out of sleep. Eirik scanned the crowd for his own daughter, and found her radiant silver hair and black horns poking up between a few shorter kids. She was sitting quiet, a determined frown on her face and eyes closed, nose scrunched up the same way as when eel hit the dinner table at home. Even at a mere eight years, Ronja was putting in an amount of effort most of her older peers did not, and it made Eirik's heart swell with pride. Even with the bustle of distracted children, he had no doubt she'd pick up the melody.

That is, until something rocked the symphony with a loud rush of wind that washed over his back, enough to drown out the Song and ruin his basic concentration. The beat of wings stiffened his back, and he knew what was coming even before the gutakvínn Aveira wandered into view to come standing beside him. Her horns coiled far longer than any merelli in Reginsvik, and she stood several heads taller. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of her first arrival, speaking of promised lands and free choice in a way that made it sound neither appealing nor like a choice.

He languished in a brief moment of tension before the gutakvínn broke the silence, speaking calmly so as to not disrupt the proceedings. Even so her voice shot through his senses like an arrow. "Which one is yours?"

Eirik hesitated until he caught her head turning towards him in the corner of his eye. Cursing himself inwardly, he gestured towards Ronja's silver head poking up in the middle of the crowd. "Ronja. She wants to be a shaman."

"A reasonable ideal. The song is a powerful tool to lead the pilgrimage forward." she returned with unyielding determination.

Eirik drew a short breath, allowing himself a glance towards the tall, winged woman. Her eyes were fixed on chieftain Torkil and the children, her features unchanged since first he saw her some eight years prior. Merelli were ageless, but she was untouched by all things. Like an ill memory that never shifted. "The vote is tonight, then?"

"Mmh," Aveira confirmed with a sharp tone. "Though I'm afraid I already know the outcome this year as well."

"Oh?" Eirik questioned with another glance at the statuesque gutakvínn. "The Mother has told you the outcome?"

His question awakened something in the woman, her nostrils flared and her eyes shifted to give him a proper look. "No. With the passing of chieftain Murla, and his successor's ideas, the votes to resume the pilgrimage are in firm minority."

"Oh," Eirik intoned, feeling a wash of relief come over him.

"But that is not why I am here. I came for you, as a matter of fact." she continued, and what measure of relief he had felt quickly drained away. "You are good friends with chieftain Torkil, are you not?"

Eirik blinked, glancing up at the winged woman before looking to Torkil weaving slowly through the crowd of children with his staff for support. "I suppose. I've known him for most of my life."

"I'd like to assist the community even if your leaders will not see reason. Perhaps I could lend my knowledge to the children, and prepare them for a life blessed with all the knowledge of the Mother."

"I…" Eirik breathed, thinking through the implications. A generation taught by a messenger of the gods. Whatever his own misgivings, it was an honor. "I'm sure he would love to hear that."

Eirik felt a hand grip down on his shoulder, and he turned his head to find the gutakvínn staring down at him. Her face was stiff and unyielding, a strange contrast to her supernatural and ageless beauty. "I think it would sound even better coming from you, Eirik. You want a prosperous future for your daughter, don't you?" she said, and her lips creased into an inviting smile.

Somehow, Eirik felt like he was being threatened.

---

Wood clacked loudly against wood, and painful vibrations shot through Ronja’s hand. She drew her wooden weapon back to defend against retaliation, but it was too late. From out of nowhere, a long stick swung at her from the right, and smacked her in the shoulder hard. It was enough to send her stumbling to her knees, suckling a pained breath, while the clacks of wood against wood continued in frenetic symphony around her. At once, a hand extended, Hakon abandoning his position to offer her help up. “Are you alright?” he blurted out quickly, and languished in front of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was hitting that hard.”

She looked up at him as she tried to push away the pain that burnt in her arm. His square face made him look older than he was, a weird contrast to the small nubs that poked out of his forehead where his horns should be, despite his already having turned sixteen. He was a full year her senior, yet his horns were that of a newborn. That, along with his robust silhouette broadcast his heritage very clearly. He tried too hard, always said the wrong things, and swung his weapon like a dumb brute.. Still, his doe-eyed stare caught her off-guard as their eyes met, and she glanced away quickly. “I-..Idiot. You’re gonna get us yelled at again.”

Hakon retracted his hand, sighing. “I’m not going to attack you on the ground, Ronja. This… this isn’t a real fight.”

“Then you’ll lose!” she breathed sharply, and swung her weapon towards him. He danced out of the way easily, backing away back to his original position as Ronja clambered up off the ground with as much grace as she could. Her swing took too much out of her, and she nearly stumbled again when she attempted another assault. Her arms weren’t strong enough, her body wasn’t fast enough. At this rate, the Mother’s messenger would never take note of her. The botched display during last fall’s duel competition still lingered fresh in her mind. Aveira had seen her, and had been visibly disinterested. She would learn. She would push harder.

Hakon was a skilled opponent, and the two of them resumed their spar. Ronja knew that she would lose were it not for his faults, but his hesitation and complacency and her drive to succeed seemed to put them on almost equal footing. The clack of wood, sharp breaths and crunch of dirt around her seemed to fall into a rhythm as they danced in their mock battle, the cacophony of youths fighting their pitched battles in teams becoming a melody to follow, together with the mild rain that pitter-pattered around them. So it went for most of the afternoon until the winged watcher, Aveira, called for the proceedings to come to an end.

”Our time today is over. Those of you who excelled today, well done. That is all.” she concluded with the same matter-of-factly tone as she always did. Hakon gave Ronja a sheepish smile and nodded, and she felt compelled to nod back before he hurried off to catch up with his friends. Ronja caught sight of Finni and the other girls among the crowd, and was about to walk off when the presence of the tall avatar became clear. ”Ronja. I’d like to speak to you.”

A flurry of thoughts shot through her mind, fear and panic twisting her ideas before she dared respond. She would have to plead for her chance to remain, no doubt. She opened her mouth to speak but Aveira held up a hand. ”Tomorrow is the next vote for the pilgrimage to resume. I trust you understand now the need for your kind to seek out your destiny.”
“..Yes, Mistress. We must seize our chance at the promised land or be destroyed.” Ronja returned quickly, nodding with intent. Her hand gripped firmer around her wooden staff, unsure of what would come next.

”This is the twelfth vote. It should be increasingly clear to all who live here that no consensus to depart shall be made while the current council of chieftains remain in power.”

Ronja paled, watching the tall woman stare back at her with a face that belied the stern warlord she’d hinted at over the years. “So-.. Do… Do we have to-.. Replace them?”

That made the gutakvínn smile. ”Nothing quite so drastic. Power without wisdom is simply brute force. And brute force without reason is, what?”

Ronja wracked her brain, feeling her brow wet with cold sweat. Or perhaps it was just rain. “Uhm. Un-suss-tain-able?”

”Correct,” Aveira chimed in and smiled with a charming and friendly expression wildly contrasted to her usual demeanour. The divine messenger stepped forwards to place a large hand on Ronja’s shoulder. ”It’s time to prepare for a secondary path. I’d like for you to shoulder a new responsibility.”

“M-Me? I’m not-.. I’m not the strongest, though. And.. Finni is as good as me in your classes-...” Ronja argued, though she quickly quieted herself when she realized she was arguing against what she wanted. A churning in her gut built up, butterflies and strange feelings of elation.

”You’ll understand in time, Ronja, that conviction is as important as skill.”

---

”Behold, the path to your destiny.” Aveira boomed with an unbridled power, her voice carrying on the wind to cow anyone who’d dare question her intent once more. The sky crackled with anger, just as the ocean waves thrashed wildly and frenetically. The agitated water split and fell away, and from the depths rose three large and long ships of dark wood, inscribed with runes and symbols all along the wood. At the end of both aft and fore were large serpentine heads, with gaping maws to herald the power and people they would contain. Large black and red sails rolled from the masts, materialized in a simple show of the gutakvínns power. In short time, Reginsvik had a navy - warships unlike what their own minds could have conjured.

It had taken almost four years to prepare the plan and practice the ways of the sea beyond what her inherent merelli talents had given her, but it was worth it. Ronja stood at the end of their little dock, now wholly insufficient for the large ships that had appeared in the bay at the behest of the divine messenger. Aveira turned towards Ronja and the assembled youths, whipping her hand outwards to will her creative force unto them as well. Their roughspun clothes turned dark, and over their shoulders fell grand black coats of an oily, thick fabric. On their heads helmets of leather and metal materialized, capped with grandiose ram-horns to accentuate their regular horns. She motioned for Ronja to step forwards, and the white-haired girl did so without question. Another of the large coats materialized slowly in Aveira’s hands, this one bulkier, with a wide collar raised protectively. She hung it around Ronja’s shoulders with surprising reverence, and the thick material immediately weighed down heavily on her - fortunately years of martial practice and labor had trained her for this.

”Seize your destiny, children of Reginsvik. Until the day that the pilgrimage resumes, you shall find and prepare the promised land. The blessed peoples of the Mother shall overcome all obstacles. It has been seen.” Aveira shouted with a powerful voice, a beat of her wings bringing her up into the air. Ronja gently touched at the stiff fabric of her new coat, trying her best to remain stoic and push her heady feelings of giddyness down.

“Ronja..” came a voice from the side, quiet and unassuming. It was her mother, watching her with eyes that conveyed none of the pride Ronja had hoped. Instead, she looked scared, worried even.

Ronja frowned, and glanced away. Aveira had warned her of those without conviction, and as she’d grown up she’d realized just how degenerate her parents were. Cowardly, and dishonorable. Seeking safety instead of destiny. But the divine had decreed their success, yet nothing would assuage them. Not even now. Ronja sucked in a breath, trying to keep a level head. “I will find the promised land, Mother, and bring our people to paradise.”

---

---

It had been an unmeasured amount of time since Celestine had arrived at her visitation chamber, and before too long she began to ponder on the possibility of how this particular room might function. Rising from her throne, Celestine stepped forward gently towards one of the doors in the room with an idea in mind. ”If perhaps this room enables others to visit my personal realm, couldn’t I use it to visit the personal realms of others? I suppose there is only one way to find out.”

Coming to a halt a step from the door, Celestine raised her left hand and knocked upon it gently, extending her divine senses beyond the borders of her realm. Briefly, she saw nothing. But a few moments later her senses picked up the presence of other realms and other deities. Celestine paused for a moment as she considered which of these realms she would request entry to in order to begin meeting with the other emerged gods and goddesses, but soon found an answer when she noticed a common connection among seemingly all of them, even hers.

Focusing in upon the connection between her realm and this seemingly central realm, Celestine lowered her hand for a moment as she contemplated how she would carry herself forward. Confidence was natural, but Celestine could also rationalize that the other gods that had emerged earlier would likely have a better understanding of their capabilities than Celestine did right now. Thus she opted for a more cautious approach, and with a small nod she placed her hand upon the door and pushed it open.

On the other side of the door Celestine found a wide colosseum that was lined with many other portals. Stepping through the door Celestine closed it behind her and, after noting that the colosseum was empty, she began to simply walk gently around the room in order to observe the various features it possessed in peace for the time being. It didn’t take her long to find a noticeboard that had been placed overlooking the arena, and Celestine stopped to raise a hand to her chin and examine it briefly. As she looked it over, she took notice of a notice about posting notices properly, a note from someone known as Cadien on having something known as an avatar upon Galbar, a torn notice with a partial drawing of a sun with a smiling face, a note about the zodiac, and a survey. A few of these things stood out as somewhat odd to Celestine, some were quite informative, and others held information that Celestine personally deemed irrelevant for the time being.

The odd notice out was the torn drawing of a sun with a smiling face. Who drew and posted it? Who tore it? Why was it torn? Why wasn’t it repaired or replaced? What were the consequences of this piece of paper getting torn? Celestine could garner no other information from merely looking, and so she simply left it as a mystery with some possible answers to be found later. Stepping back from the board and lowering her hand to her side once more Celestine continued her examination of the colosseum at large for a few minutes before she nodded to herself a few times.

As no one else was here, Celestine resolved to merely return to her realm and wait a while. She didn’t want to leave it for long, and was almost certain that others would attempt to enter and greet the freshly-born goddess before too long. Stopping in her idle walking, Celestine looked at the portal she was in front of and noted the presence of what appeared to be a blurry castle. Celestine also noted that this portal was close to the area where she had emerged from, and logically presumed that this portal would return to her realm given that she had been within a castle when she had left. Stepping through gently, Celestine expected to end up emerging from the same door that she had entered into within the greeting room of her realm

She didn’t.

---

She found herself standing on a grassy island, with a cobblestone road beneath her feet. The path led to the castle that she had seen, but now that her vision had clarified, she could see that it was nothing like her own.

Another path branched off to the right, to a bridge which led to another larger island. This one held a village of colourful buildings and equally colourful inhabitants, and she could hear the distant sound of music.

Behind her was another island in the distance, this one with a town of its own, but also a vast open field where she could see black-clad figures galloping around on dark-looking mounts, practicing riding formations.

Before she could explore any of these things further, a figure appeared in the castle’s gateway. It was a tall man with white hair, clad in golden armour with a violet cape. He looked at her with an expression of mild surprise, but then the armoured man smiled and began to approach.

“Ah, a visitor! I don’t believe we’ve ever met before, but welcome! This is Meliorem, and I am Cadien, if you don’t already know that.” He came to a stop just a few paces away, briefly looking at her choice of attire with approval. “May I have the honour of knowing your name?”

Celestine blinked to herself a few times as she was greeted with a realm that was distinctly not her own. Letting out a soft hum, she looked around gently and noted the cobblestone road beneath her feet. ”I should see about doing something like this within my own realm. It’s certainly a lot more pleasant than just hard-packed earth.” Taking a look at the path off to her right Celestine noted the hustle and bustle of various folk that looked incredibly distinct from herself, and pondered if perhaps the creation of such similar looking people within her own realm would be considered odd to other deities. The somewhat faint sound of thundering hooves behind her caught her attention more than the music did and Celestine spun on her heel in a stance that was suddenly much more energetic than before.

Thankfully it only took Celestine a few moments to notice that the riders were both quite some distance away and not charging her down. Relaxing again, Celestine turned back around to look at the castle that now lay at her back, and she took notes of how the stonework was done and wondered if she could implement some of the design choices into her own castle in order to improve it.

The trail of thought on improving her castle was interrupted by the arrival of what appeared to be the master of this realm. Celestine blinked a few times as she examined him quickly, and took note of the interesting similarities between their choice of attire. If she had dressed herself in this manner to reflect her status as a goddess of soldiers, why perhaps might this god dress himself similarly? Such a question would have to be asked, but not now. As Cadien introduced himself, Celestine instinctively gripped the edges of her cloak and curtsied, much like the elf servant had done to her recently. As she did so, she spoke gently. ”Greetings, Lord Cadien. I am Lady Celestine, Goddess of Soldiers. I recognize your name from what I believe to be a noticeboard placed within a grand colosseum. I must apologize for the intrusion, as I have only emerged just recently and my divine senses are not as sharp as they should be. I was intending to return to my own realm, which possesses a castle of its own, and mistook a passage to your realm for a passage to mine.”

As Celestine finished speaking, she would stand normally once again and await Cadien’s reply.

Upon seeing her curtsy, Cadien’s smile widened slightly, and he offered a bow in response. “It is nice to meet you. I suppose that is a reasonable mistake to make. There’s no harm done; I’m always happy to receive visitors.”

Celestine gave a nod to Cadien’s answer before thinking for a moment. She didn’t know if it would be impolite to ask after what Cadien was the god of, but she figured that since she had given her divine association it likely wouldn’t be too offensive. ”Lord Cadien, if I may inquire, what is it that you are the god of? I have noticed that you don armor just like myself and I wonder what might motivate you to do so?”

“Because I am the God of Beauty, Strength, and War. A fitting look, is it not?”

Celestine gave a blink in surprise at this answer. Two of those three were quite relevant to her domain over soldiery. Cadien was likely someone she would want to remain on good terms with. Giving a nod, Celestine spoke. ”Indeed, the look suits you well if I do say so myself. Do you have any projects that you’ve been working on that you would be willing to share details on? Two of the three domains you just mentioned are quite relevant to my field of interest as a goddess of soldiers, and I would be happy to collaborate on something with you… On the condition that I remain a sort of neutral assistant, if that makes sense. Soldiers can come from anywhere, and I do not want to abandon those who I should shelter. I must apologize for the inconvenience that such a request likely makes, but I feel gravely compelled to remain as neutral as I can.”

Cadien’s eyebrows rose at the sudden request. “Hm. A bit forward, aren’t you?” He kept his smile to show that he had no real issue with it. “Yes, I do have a few projects, and I would love to have some help with them. But I think we should get to know each other better first, and if you a newly-emerged goddess, perhaps there are some topics I can fill you in on. In the meantime, would you care for a tour?”

Celestine gave a nod at Cadien’s alternative suggestion before speaking once more. ”Of course, Lord Cadien. You have my apologies for my forwardness, I merely wanted to start making myself useful. As for a tour and some more information I would appreciate both greatly, as there are many things that I have yet to get to grips with. If you would lead the way, I will ask questions as they come to me.”

---

And with that, the God of War and Perfection began leading the Goddess of Soldiers throughout his realm.

He started by showing her the Ink Village, and introducing her to the local Songs. He told her the story of how he had found them in another realm, the owner of which had seemingly abandoned both the realm and its people. He told her of the strange ‘Lady’, and how his attempt to wake her had only served to throw the realm into instability, so he had taken them here where they would be safe.

“I had made a pledge to protect them, you see,” the god had explained. “And I still feel partly responsible for their realm’s collapse. So the least I could do is give them a home and see that they are well-cared for.”

After watching a quick musical performance, Cadien took the tour elsewhere, to the other large island. There, he had the strange cavalrymen form up and assemble before them. Then, he told their story. How the goddesses Oraelia and Neiya had created the Aiviri, but had disagreed on their purpose, and split the species into two warring groups: the Oraeliari and the Neiyari. The Oraeliari had been more compassionate and better at healing, while the Neiyari had been better at waging war and instilling fear. Eventually Oraelia had cursed the Neiyari with infertility, and so in order to prevent the subspecies from dying out, Cadien had brought a group of them to his realm, where they would live forever.

“I did it for two reasons,” the God had said. “One was out of love for Neiya, the Goddess of Love, who is quite dear to me. The other was because it seemed both unsporting and unjust for an entire species to be sentenced to slow extinction. They had their failings, it was true - a bit too cruel and ruthless for my taste - but it seemed an overzealous punishment nonetheless.”

After taking some time to watch the armoured warriors spar and continue practicing horsemanship, Cadien once again moved the tour elsewhere - this time to his castle. He showed her the pristine courtyard, before taking her into the castle itself where she witnessed a hall of statues of various races and genders, each one sculpted to fit that race’s ideal image of beauty.

Finally he moved on into the throne room. Several paintings hung on the wall, most of them depicting warriors and battles. A great table rested in the center, with a golden chandelier hanging overheard, and at the far end was his marble throne. There were at least a dozen different side doors, but Cadien made no move to go through any of them.

“So, there you have it,” the God of Perfection smiled. “What do you think?”

To say that the tour of Cadien’s realm was interesting would’ve been an understatement. Celestine kept her external appearance and mannerisms calm and collected, reacting to everything with compliments and praise. Internally, Celestine was thoroughly impressed time and time again and could’ve truthfully spent weeks observing the details in everything that they passed by. The ink village was astounding in its construction, and the compassion Cadien had shown to take on The Songs earned him no small amount of respect.

This respect was built upon when Cadien showed her the Neiyari and explained both their origin and why he had some within his realm. Celestine would attribute generosity to Cadien’s repertoire with little hesitation. The display of combat prowess and coordination from the armored warriors and horsemen inspired Celestine to take a few notes on the techniques that were applied. Perhaps one day she might have something similar set up.

As the tour moved on Celestine was once more impressed when she was guided to the castle. She took many mental notes about the various design choices she encountered, and opted to see about replicating some within her own castle once she returned to her realm. The hall of statues was interesting, and the collection of the various races was the first thing to cause Celestine to break her polite exterior and give pause to study them. Though this was only for a moment and she would catch up quickly with an apology.

Upon arrival to the throne room, Celestine noted a small similarity to the great hall that she had within her own realm, though she did not bring up such similarities right away. As Cadien asked what her thoughts were, Celestine raised a knuckle to her chin as she thought. After a few moments she began to speak. ”It was all quite excellent. I was especially impressed by some of the design choices that you’ve made with the castle. The armored warriors and horsemen are also something that has truthfully inspired me to seek out something similar within my own realm. The statues of the various races upon Galbar were most interesting, and in particular I noticed some with longer ears like my own, though they did not entirely match my physique, nor the physique of the others that inhabit my realm. What race do those statues depict exactly?”

“I believe they are called Night Elves, or ‘Nelves,’” Cadien remarked. “They were made by Gibbou, the Goddess of the Moon.”

Celestine would once more raise a knuckle to her chin as Cadien explained before she came to two differing conclusions. With these in mind, she explained the particulars of her question to Cadien. ”Well, that explanation leads me to one of two conclusions for a small mystery that had befuddled me about the decisions I apparently made as I was being separated from The Lifeblood. The first conclusion, which I don’t think is likely, is that I have unconsciously populated my realm with a sort of copy or mutation of these Night Elves. The alternative, which I’m surprised by, is that I created an entirely new race in my image. Unfortunately I didn’t think to ask one to come along with me, but neither I nor they share too close of an appearance with the Night Elves.”

“Is that so? I would like to meet them, then. Especially if they are as beautiful as their creator,” Cadien’s smile returned.

Celestine nearly gave a blink at the forward complement from Cadien, but she quickly moved on mentally in order to avoid making the conversation awkward. ”I would be happy to show you around my realm as you have shown me around yours, and along the way I’m sure you will have ample opportunity to meet and study them for yourself. Alternatively, if you’ve things to move onto, I could simply request that a handful accompany me into… What did you say that it was called, Antiquity? So that you could simply observe them for a time in order to not delay things that you had already scheduled.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” Cadien said. “I’d be happy to see your realm. I can even accompany you once we are finished here, if you wish. But first, do you have any more questions?”

Celestine thought briefly before speaking once more. ”Well. There are a few things that I am not quite certain about… To begin with, what is the general stance on interacting with mortals? I would assume that they would be used to divine interference with the world, but I am not entirely sure.”

The God of Perfection adopted a thoughtful look. “There is no general stance,” he said after a moment. “Every god has a different attitude toward that sort of thing. I involve myself quite heavily, but Neiya doesn’t much care for them, and doesn’t understand why I care. Gibbou, I think, cares a bit too much; she wants to help them, but her actions have a tendency to backfire. Then there’s that cur Yamat, who would bring ruin to them purely for his own amusement,” he shook his head disapprovingly.

Celestine too a handful of mental notes as Cadien spoke and nodded a few times as he finished. Thinking once more, she presented another question. ”This one may be a bit… Hazardous to ask, so if you would rather decline to answer then please feel free. But how are the current relations between the emerged deities going? Is there anything I should be aware of?”

“That’s an easy enough question, so long as you give your word that you will keep what I say to yourself.”

Celestine blinked in surprise, but nodded before speaking. ”It goes against my chivalric code to lie, and so perhaps it would be best if that question went unanswered. My apologies for the awkwardness surrounding it.”

The god held up a hand. “No no, it’s quite alright. In truth, I find your honesty on this matter to be quite refreshing. I shall tell you anyway, because this information will be vital if you are to interact with the others.”

Celestine would give another nod before speaking once again. ”Very well. I will do my best to not cause undue distress upon any relations with the information provided. You have my thanks for taking this risk.”

Cadien nodded. “Gibbou and Oraelia are the oldest, and the closest. I have not met Oraelia herself, and while I have heard good things about her, I have found some of her actions - like what she did to the Neiyari - to be rather questionable. Gibbou and I have met on more than a few occasions. As I said before, she has good intentions, but her actions tend to backfire, and I believe that his has wounded her self-confidence. She deflects compliments and responds poorly to criticism.”

“Gibbou is also bitter rivals with Neiya, the Goddess of Love, due to what I believe may have been a misunderstanding - they both offer conflicting accounts on what happened. They both become angry when the other is mentioned and don’t seem open to reconciliation. Now, Neiya and I are lovers, and as I said before, she is quite dear to me. I have found her to be beautiful, witty, and calming, but…” his voice trailed off, and he seemed reluctant to continue.

But eventually, he did. “She can also be rather envious and possessive. She did not wish for me to bring the Songs into my realm, for fear that I was using them to ‘replace’ her, which wasn’t true. Sometimes it seems I can’t interact with any woman, be they a mortal or a goddess, without her casting suspicion on me. But I can say with complete honesty that I have never once betrayed her.”

Celestine gave a nod to what Cadien had said. It had been quite a lot to process, but something did occur to her now that Cadien had explained things in such a specific way, and she was quick to illustrate her concern in order to avoid causing problems in time.. ”Well. With the way you’ve explained things I’ve come to consider that it may be unwise for you to visit my realm. Not that I have rescinded the invitation, but on the consideration that I would not want to be a catalyst to disturb the relationship you two have, if that makes sense.”

For a moment, sadness flickered in Cadien’s eyes, but it quickly vanished. “No,” he said, after a moment. “Neiya is very dear to me, but she cannot control me, and she must learn to trust me. I’m sure she’ll understand once I explain things to her. I did manage to get her to tolerate the Songs, after all.”

Celestine gave a nod, and took note of the sadness that made a brief visit to Cadien’s eyes. She spoke quickly in order to shift the topic away from the relation troubles that Cadien was having. ”I understand. Do you have anything else on the other deities to share, or would you perhaps like to simply move on from this topic altogether?”

“I must talk about the others, yes,” Cadien nodded. “Artifex is the God of Insects and Construction. I have found him to be quite friendly and reasonable. And with your manners, you should have no issue befriending him, if that is your wish. Then there is Qael’Nath, the God of Magic. He, too, is also quite reasonable, but he is a bit aloof, and often gets distracted by his work. Nonetheless, I consider both of them to be friends.”

“The only god I have a truly negative opinion on is Yamat. And he is perhaps the only one of our kind that I consider an enemy. If you ever meet him, do not trust him. He has warped my creations, and made countless abominations which seek only to cause pain and misery. I suspect that he only wishes to cause suffering for the sake of suffering.”

Giving a nod to what Cadien had said, Celestine took a multitude of mental notes on the various deities that he had mentioned. She didn’t show it outwardly, but Celestine began to think of mitigation plans for encountering Yamat. She wouldn’t shun him, as it would be impolite, but precautions to prevent disaster would likely be fine. Seeing that Cadien had stopped for a few moments, Celestine spoke once more. ”Is that all concerning the others? If so, I can change topics onto something that may be a bit more comfortable to speak about.”

Cadien fell silent. It began to feel like he hadn’t heard her. But then, he started speaking again, his voice quiet. “There were other gods, too. Some of them were my friends. Some of them I never even had the chance to meet. But… they vanished. Their portals were sealed up, or disappeared entirely. I do not know if they disconnected themselves from Antiquity, or if some worse fate befell them, but I thought you should know. In your interactions with mortals, you may hear some praying to gods that you have never met or heard of. Some of these gods are mere fabrications, made up or imagined for some reason or another, but others are the gods who have disappeared. This… might help explain that.”

Celestine gave a few nods as Cadien explained. She thought for a moment if there would’ve been any kind of closure she could offer him due to recently being within The Lifeblood herself, but no distinct memories came. Instead she simply offered some comforting words as she spoke again. ”My condolences, Cadien. To lose a friend is no doubt painful.” Taking a moment to pause so that Cadien would have time to breathe and compose himself, Celestine pondered what next to ask in order to change topics. When inspiration struck she spoke once more. ”Lord Cadien, if I may inquire about this once more, do you know of any projects that anyone is working on that I could be of assistance with due to my dominion over soldiers? I am eager to provide assistance where and when I am able.”

The God nodded. “I cannot say I am fully up to date with what the other gods have been doing, but there are a few things I have in mind myself.”

Celestine gave a nod to Cadien’s reply before speaking once more. ”That is unfortunate, but understandable. If you would not mind sharing details of what you’ve got plans for I will happily assist as I can, so long as my desire for neutrality is respected.”

“Very well, then. As I have already told you, I am a God of War. There are many mortals who fight and risk their lives in my name. There are others who do not do so in my name, but their actions are still commendable. It seems a shame to let these individuals go unrewarded, and I have been rather neglectful in paying attention to what happens to my creations after they die, so I am long overdue to correct both of those oversights.”

Celestine would give a hum as she raised a knuckle to her chin once more. When she remembered the great hall that she had first opened her eyes in she began to speak once more, lowering her hand as she did. ”Within my realm there is a great hall that was being arranged for a feast. Perhaps you could do something similar? It would appear that when my realm coalesced it did so with something like that in mind.”

Cadien raised an eyebrow. “Hm? Whatever do you mean? We are in a great hall right now, are we not?”

Celestine would tap her hip for a moment as she thought of a better way to convey her idea, and after she got it she spoke once more. ”Well. It would appear that the great hall within my realm was being set to host a feast for fallen warriors, though I don’t think anyone will be arriving as I don’t believe I have control over their souls or the ability to give them an afterlife as it stands. Perhaps you could have a great feast of your own for your subjects? Assuming you have the ability to have their souls arrive and so on.”

“Perhaps,” Cadien nodded. “But first and foremost, I will need to have a word with the god that is already collecting these souls. To see if I can convince him to relinquish them.”

Celestine would give a nod of her own before speaking again. ”Of course. I may have to have such a conversation myself sometime in the future. Now… I have a more complicated question. It poses a similar risk to the question I posed earlier, and so, keeping my stance against lying in mind, if you wish to not answer then I will be happy to accept such a response. That aside, is there any particular topic among other gods that is just better left unsaid?”

“None that immediately spring to mind, no.” Cadien shrugged.

Celestine would give another nod before speaking once more. ”Very well. You have my thanks for answering my questions, and I will reaffirm that I will do my best to avoid damaging any relations with the information that you’ve provided me. Now, I think it would be best if I returned to my realm for a time. I am not eager to leave it unattended for too long. Could you perhaps show me the way back to the colosseum that I was in earlier? I don't quite remember the way.”

Cadien smiled. “Why, of course. I do hope you will visit again.”

---

---

It all began with an aborted action. Twas evidence of turmoil within, a storm of heedless emotion within a being wrought of such, framed by little more than the remembered fragments of those it had come to know.

Time swept past, the door to a realm barred even to the allies of the Dreaming God, even to his twin. A silent, unseen struggle consumed him, devouring his attention and requiring the entirety of his intent. So turned inwards was the god, its very being inverted by the tumultuous force of its own endlessly vast emotions.

---

Crashing waves against a stone shore, the rocks of its face jagged and torn--ever-growing moreso over time. Glassine shards of prismatic power contained within a storm of pigment, writhing like angry stigmata upon the inverted skein of the Watcher Within.


Beyond the shores of Galbar's material world, there was a calamity, a great conflagration of the immaterial. Many dreams, thoughts, and minds thrown into a terrible conflict with themselves, plagued by the unleashed agony and wrath of the Dreaming God. Like shattered glass, like twisting fatal currents, like lightning in its suddenness and lethality, the unhinged consciousness wrought eons of suffering and ecstasy in equal measure upon any foolish enough to walk within the Great Weave for too long.

Slowly, with the boundless patience of time, the currents and shifting fractals of the Endless Dream began to calm. However, left behind by the calamity was an indelible mark, a change in the Subtle Web of Galbar's Collective Unconscious. It would go mostly unnoticed, but in the Dreaming God, this change was reflected with great potency.

---

Reforged once again, the shroud of the Dreaming God had been tainted by the nightmare. It was a flowing cascade of billowing pearlescent black, a sheen of red and green upon its form. Like veins, those bloody, sickly colors, they cut jagged patterns into his cloak. They were as shattered glass or fractured stone, and as the Worldweave shifted, so too did the colors, writhing and churning with dis-ease and discontent. The eyes of that most eldritch twin remained shut and tightly lidded against the world.

A low hum emanated outwards then, suffusing the Roineagan with a trembling terror. It rattled free all thoughts of peace and set alight a frightful fervor. It spread unending through his realm and past it to Galbar, and then with ease, it teased at eaves and cleaved open the threshold of his realm. Unto Antiquity, it spilled, a churning miasma of frothing sickly power. All it touched warped and curled away as if trying to escape. A mere glance could tell that the essence was a dangerous horrid thing, filled to brimming with malice and endless savage mirth.


In the mire tread a figure, his silhouette a rift in the world, as if emptiness could somehow be given form. He pressed forth until he reached the center of that stonework domain wherein deities did dance and dally.

Upon the confluence stood the figure, his eyeless gaze turning then to roving. His attention pushed the miasma further out to encompass more of the vast colosseum where it roiled, casting its sickly sensation upon everything it touched. A subsonic vibration passed from the not-throat of that Dreaming God and pressed through the stone of the enclosure unified intent had conjured into being. It cast out, and it touched the thresholds of several realms.

---

Yamat’s Endless Wastes, perhaps for the first time, came to know a devouring fog. Its drifting black soot and Umbral Star burned down upon that desolate place, yet they could not entirely banish that insidious incursion. Within the roiling fog, eddies of tumorous essence grew, then coalesced into a vast figure, its eyes closed, its cloak marred, its visage once a sea of stars. Now to look upon him would invoke only a sense of emptiness or warped vision, as if a vast lightless void had devoured the nebulae of his deific form.

“Deity of Tragedy I call upon your muse,” intoned the Eldritch Twin, his voice stirring the dead air of the place into frenetic motion. Winds swept out, carrying the murky mist that was his essence. The sudden storm invoked by his trespass at first seemed aimless in its vast and trackless dance, meaningless and empty, but as the seconds ticked, something began to resolve itself in that dead-wind movement. Where before there had merely been the absence of things, devoid of life or soul, there existed now a droning noise, a deep-wind rushing sound, which was most unnatural.

As if to punctuate the presence of the dread wind, he spoke.


It said alliance.

---

Into the Realm of Truth, a divine essence pressed, its nature most familiar. It passed through many mirrors and split a thousand-thousand times, slithering through the empty air as it multiplied. With each reflection, it grew until finally, each thread drew inwards and formed the Dreamer's form anew.

---

In its search, the vast intractable intent of the Dreaming God fell upon the Realm Between and saw in it the remnants of a struggle. The marks of claws, flashes of heat, hatred, and sorrow. Rage and jealousy.


Yet, within the mist, eyes closed shut, visage starless and black, a nameless presence ruled.

“Petty,” the presence said and its words cut swaths of hateful symbols in the stone. The air screamed and fled, slamming outwards, cracking pillars, and buffeting the walls with tremendous force. Any caught between the center where the presence stood, and the walls would be beset by a terrible pressure, though no violence would befall them.

The figure turned and strode forth, the realm of Moonlight his destination.

Théin Gomarix sat atop his elk, scanning the highland surroundings with great admiration in his eyes. The curving hills between patchy forests and rocky canyons offered much-needed nuance and texture in an otherwise snowed-down landscape. Behind him trailed a small warband, all looking very much exhausted from the journey thus far. The commander sucked in a deep breath through the nose and said, “You know, Kaer Obee - I think I have another verse in mind.”

Kaer Obee, who had aged during the war about as well as milk, offered him a wrinkled, tired stare. “Splendid, brother… Would you -please- give us your -best- performance of it?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” chuckled Gomatrix to the chagrin of his companions. He took another deep breath and spoke,



Kaer Obee sighed. “Brother, please do not use a goddess’ name so frivolously in verse…”

“What? She’s a Cenél goddess, Bee-Bee - she can’t do me anything, as she does not exist.”

“Please do not call me--”

“For there are only fourteen gods, my Bee! And neither Ynea, Malgog nor Seva are among them!” The commander fisted the air triumphantly. Kaer Obee took a deep, impatient breath.

“I pray we are alone on these plains today…”

Gomarix turned to look over his shoulder, a white shock all over his face. “Woman, you are married!”

Obee blushed and scowled back. “I meant alone from any Cenél spies, you stone head! And that’s ‘sister’ to you, théin!”

“Hmph! Why, I have never. You ought to learn some proper manners before you speak to me in that manner, siste-- Oh, look! We’re here!” Before Obee could even begin to retaliate, the officer clapped his elk’s buttox with a flat palm and rode ahead. The druid could only suppress a deep, furious growl. When they got a clearer view over the slight hill brink, the anger subsided somewhat, though. They had arrived. There, opposite a dip in the landscape with a thick forest, tree saplings had begun to reclaim what had once been the clean-shaven hill up to a castle at the foot of Tordentind, the eastmost mountains in Dûnan territory.

Grimholt.

“Or at least what’s left of it,” came a sober comment from one of the guards. She was silenced by a hard glare from Gomarix. The théin took his axe from his belt and lifted it to the sky.

“By Caden, what glory awaits us up ahead! Soldiers - today, we stand at the brink of oblivion, as so few warriors are sent to reclaim what was once the Eastern Gem of the Dûnan civilisation! There are none I would rather share this experience with than with you, loyal sons and daughters of the Trueborn Folk. Together, we will surely triumph, and those who may fall will await nothing but glory eternal in the afterlife! Now… CHARGE!” With that, the commander rushed forward down the hill and into the woods. The others exhumed a collective groan.

“He knows it’s most likely empty, right, mother?” one of the warriors asked in concern.

“At this point, I’m not sure anymore,” Kaer Obee confessed and all of them followed at a much slower pace, albeit still a small jog. Twenty minutes later, they heard the echoing creak of ancient wood, reasoning that Gamorix had opened the gates of the palisade fort and moved inside. When they themselves reached the open gates and stepped into the fortified village, they looked around for their commander. “Brother?” Kaer Obee called. “Théin Gomarix?”

They moved down the main path, passing by houses as empty as could be. The streets, once alive with trade and music, were completely deserted. The warriors huddled together somewhat, wearing mixed emotions of concern and confusion on their faces. “We heard it’d be abandoned, but I, personally, was at least expecting a few squatters or Cenél settlers. What’s going on?”

Kaer Obee felt her breathing quicken. “Théin Gomarix? Are you here?”

They then turned a corner to see the town square. There, in its centre, their commander laid dead. More specifically perhaps, his torso did. His other limbs had been arranged in a neat pile on his belly, his head topping the pile with a twisted expression on its face. His elk had been butchered, too, its limbs and entrails surrounding its owner’s pile like a wall. Many of the warriors screamed, and the others immediately went into high alert. That was when a wooden crash shook them even deeper to the core. The gate had closed itself.

Despite the fear of the warriors there was no charge, no sudden eruption of violence. Things seemed grimly quiet despite the grisly scene before them. Things were stilled, grimly so as the warriors collected themselves. The only noticeable change a chill breeze sweeping past.

“I-... I wanna go home,” came a quivering confession from one of the warriors.

“Hush now, my daughter,” Kaer Obee soothed, but she seemed anything but calm. “Let’s just… Slowly make our way back to the entrance and see if we can get it open.” Their morale stabilised by a tangible purpose, the group slowly began moving backwards to where they’d come from, leaving the mutilated corpse of their commander behind.

“What caused this, mother?”

“I-... I don’t know. It could… It could’ve been the Cenél gods, for all I know.”

“They exist?!”

“I don’t--! I don’t know, but let’s not take this discussion now. Move faster!” They quickened their pace, keeping their voices to loud whispers.

The winds picked up as they got closer and closer to the gate working their way back. Getting colder and colder in spite of all else the chill stayed and surrounded the Dûnan warband.

A door slammed open in sudden motion, nothing came out, it slammed back with the breeze. Soon others joined in this cacophony, strangely hounding the band as they moved back through the town. Shifting and other noises could be heard around corners, wind or perhaps something else that could be waiting.

One of the warriors at the back of the party hunkered down, pulling her hat down over her ears. On the other side, those at the front set off in a full-force sprint. Kaer Obee was stuck in the middle with the remaining third of the soldiers. “HEY! COME BACK!” she shouted while her companions tried to haul the last one with them. She refused to move, even kicking and screaming as they began dragging her with them. Those who had run ahead quickly disappeared out of sight behind the various houses and ruins, their footsteps and shouts deafened by the thunder of slamming doors.

The slamming cacophony of doors continued as the few warriors tried to corral her along. The wind and cold worsened, each could begin to see their breaths before them as they trundled along.

Then it stopped. The chill remained, the wind was absent, the doors no longer swung on their hinges by any unknown force. The warriors could barely move, as shaken as they were, and after all the chaos, the sudden silence seemed almost less natural. The anticipation gnawed at their bones like rot, and every cell of their bodies pulled them closer and closer to the gates, whether by sprint or by walking. They kept quiet, convinced that any sound would alert the evil spirits again, for it had to be evil spirits.

Passing corners each seemed to hold untold danger. Only frozen splatters of blood, arrows from unknown archers, and Dûnan weapons left abandoned, stained and broken.

Grim scenes that foretold the fate of those that ran off before, their assailants still left unknown, excepting the idea of evil spirits, haunting things of ill-fortune and ill-fate. The group grew ever closer to the gate, both with grim fascination and fear and hope to escape.

“I think we now know why the last settlers never wrote back,” one of the warriors whispered through whimpers. Kaer Obee comforted her with a squeeze of her shoulder. When they came to the gate, they found those who had run ahead earlier - spread in bits and pieces across an area of twenty square metres, their blood and skin curdled and frozen as though they had been dead for weeks. Kaer Obee and the four warriors that were left all sounded screams on reflex, which only scared them more, and they tossed themselves at the gates to drag them open.

They were thrown back with an overwhelming force, bringing them to the ground, landing on their backs. One or two managing to skid for a bit on the frozen entrails of their compatriots.

It became clear not just that they were not alone, but that figures were watching them from the doorways here.

Shrouded and tall, the forms of warriors for sure in build. They were men surely, too short and tall to be any kind of troll. And yet there was something so off in the way they stood and watched, motionless although they had been there the whole time. Yet what was most in concern although their clothes were darkened by well use, is the arms they carried. Axe and shield, bow and arrow, fresh blood covering near all.

At least seven had made themselves visible from the doorways, but if they were responsible for all this or otherwise had some connection to evil spirits…

“P-please! Spare us!” pleaded Kaer Obee. “We are but humble settlers! We will leave if you claim this land!”

Silently the seven walked out towards the remaining members of the warband. At each step the Dûnans felt the strength drain ever further out of their bodies, whether fear or something else. The figures surrounded the Dûnans at a distance, excepting one who approached Kaer Obee.

It lifted up the Druid with one arm, grasping an axe with the other. The stench of death and rot was nearly unbearable as Kaer Obee was brought face to face with the... ...man.

It spoke with a rasping and gasping voice, "Humble. Settlers. Nothing Dûnan about that."

It paused, drawing Obee ever closer to its face, before throwing the Druid down and speaking once more to the group, "Grimholt stands again. No Dûnan blade or blood will take us."

“H-hey, isn’t that--”

“Y-y-y-yeah… That’s Barth - I could’ve sworn Vegard took his head before, before…” Kaer Obee quieted the two soldiers down with a quivering shush and swallowed.

“W-we understand. If you let us go, not a single Dûnan shall ever set foot on your soil again…” She took a shaking breath. “B-but if you kill us, I guarantee you that, come spring, they will send another party of settlers - then another - and another. We w-will tell them never to venture here again! We swear!”

"Sworn oaths mean little from a Dûnan." Thus came the snarling reply, however he-who-was-Barth looked around at his party standing so still around them. "If Dûnans come again dismemberment will be the least of their worries. Pick druid."

Barth pointed towards the remaining warriors of the warband. "Two."

“T-two what?” the druid whimpered.

"Pick the two that will carry you." With that Barth slammed the back end of his axe against Kaer Obee's leg causing a most unpleasant cracking sound. "Something to keep your memory clear." The druid screamed and took her leg, holding it up limply while the adrenaline still held. Her breathing could barely keep up with her pained sobs as her woolen kneesock darkened with blood, and the others instinctively backed off at first, afraid they would be next. However, two of the warriors whom Kaer Obee had soothed earlier each hooked a grip under each of her arms and pulled her with them, their backs now up against the gate.

The Men of Grimholt let them leave.

Quite a few birds were already resting on Duxus’ stone carapace. It wasn’t often they could just sit down on something so high up in the air, where it was safe. The great, stone construct for his part didn’t care. Duxus was slowly but constantly seemingly swimming through the air. The giant lobster figure had flown through a heavy rainstorm already. Which he shrugged off with little care. His duty was simple and direct. Go to the lodepoints of civilization and bring those willing to the Omniversity. In the future such travelling would be easy enough. Now though, he would have to stay put for longer. Perhaps even have to convince whatever local sapient species lived in the vicinity of the merit and advantage of the Omniversity. Alas, as the birds resting had already heralded, the giant construct saw land for the first time in its existence. It started to descend and get closer to the water. With a leisure pace it approached the mouth of the river, which was flanked by two steep walls of stone.

It still took him about two hours to get close to Fragrance. He had slowed his speed significantly as he came down on the mouth of the river. Sinking his legs down first and then lowering his body carefully as not to displace too much water. It’s great claws were safely tucked to its side, while the large, blue crystal-like eyes looked in the direction of Fragrance. On the way, he passed by multiple farms and fields, full of purple skinned humanoids, all of whom immediately ducked for cover upon seeing him soar by. Upon reaching the town itself, he found it seemingly deserted - or rather, that was until his eyes took in the scene, which revealed tens upon tens of muscular males, all sporting javelins tipped with long blades of obsidian in one hand and leather shields in the other. They were adorned with armour fashioned from feathers, leather and fur. All of their ears sported thick dots of cotton. Out from behind one of the houses came one singular male, well-toned body barely hidden under a leather harness bolstered with shark skin and bones. He held no javelin, but wielded a flat club with shark teeth running the perimetre around its edge. White teeth gave some light to his dark colour and he spoke, “That’s far enough, foreigner. Speak to us your purpose right this second, or you, too, will know what it means to come unbidden into Fragrance!”

“I have come…in peace.” The men could hear the words booming through the valley. No mouth moved. Instead Duxus spoke through magic. Moving the air to shape the sentence. The tone it assumed was baritone and seemingly vibrating. Words were spoken slow, loud and clear but also seemingly otherworldly. “My purpose… as given by the gods… is to carry those willing to the Omniversity.” His eyes remained unblinking end lidless. “To learn… and then return… and apply. Your city… was chosen by the gods… worthy to attend… at the mist hidden island.”

The nelves exchanged looks, then some burst into laughter. Their leading representative shook his head and smirk. “Okay, okay. Who put you up to this? Was it Fax the Trickster? What is this ‘Omniversity’?”

Duxus remained silent for a moment. He expected many responses. Everything between awe and dread. Never laughter. “I know not…of Fax the Trickster.” He said, as he moved closer. His shape pushed the flowing water around him away. Causing small waves to form and wash onto the banks of the river. “The Omniversity… is a place… of learning. Risen… from the mists of time. Returned… to aid mortalkind’s… minds… and magic.” The soft glow of his eyes grew brighter and more focused. The light fell upon the muscled males as Duxus observed them with more attention.

The light immediately crippled the nelven attitude, everybody immediately covering their eyes and making all kinds of sounds from grunting to squealing. Even the leader recoiled in pain and clutched at his face. “Agh! Cursed-... Nng!” Pausing to tie a length of black silk over his eyes, he slowly, but surely, attempted to reclaim his smug attitude. “I-interesting, stone beast! A-and what must be given in return, then?!” The others were slowly recovering, too.

The stone giant was not blind to the effects his focus had. Quite quickly he diffused the light of his scrutiny again. Allowing his eyes to merely glow once more. “Your time… and dedication.” Duxus answered. “I should warn… It is not… a place for unearned… arrogance.” The men before him, as confident as they seemed, did not strike him as exceptionally curious, studious or creative. Instead his gaze turned towards the city as a whole as he stepped closer still. “Where… are your sorcerers… and inventors… little nelf?” Duxus finally asked as he slowly turned his gaze down to look upon the men that presented themselves to him.

The speaker rubbed his eyes. “You mean the sages? They are already educated! Go away! Leave us a--”

“Lavender! That’s enough. Let me talk to it.” Another male approached, this one dressed in jewelry, silk and fine furs: A lemur pelt had been twisted around his neck; his chest was bare, sporting a many-ringed silver necklace; his arms were sleeved up to the shoulder in black silk, and his nethers and legs were hidden underneath a black silk skirt. He greeted the stone giant with a series of clicks and touched his forehead and belly. “Good night, divine giant - you are welcome here. I am rach Rose, Sovereign of the Fragrance Merchants. Forgive my peers - they were tasked with guarding our home, and to guard is all they know.” He laughed politely. “Now, you mentioned that there are great opportunities to learn and study at this… Omniversity?” His rose perfume oozed forth like a stormfront. “I would very much like to send my youngest two boys to study at your institution. Would they be taught to be great leaders and traders?”

“I see you…rach Rose… of the Fragrance Merchants.” Duxus’ voice echoed through the canyon as he turned his attention towards the well dressed man. With no way of normally smelling, Duxus only saw a bright red miasma hanging around him2. “The Omniversity… teaches many things… your children… would learn the secrets… of nature… how this world… works… and how they can bend it… to their will… Magic… and technology… mind… and might…. How they chose… to apply the skills learned… is for them… and them alone… to decide… the Omniversity… offers tools…alone.” For a second Duxus’ attention returned to the larger whole of the city. “All… are welcome… All… will be tended to… There is food… and beds…enough.” And such was the truth. No doubt representatives of nobles and kings and sovereigns would present themselves. Offer up their children to be schooled. But the poor and the old would also be accepted.

"A proposal we simply cannot reject, I say," thanked the rach. "Please, grant us a night to gather our children and they will be with you by twilight tomorrow." He bowed deeply and clicked.

“Your wish… is granted… and more.” Duxus said, as it once more shifted itself. Moving closer to the shore, eventually beaching its head. The maxillipeds covering its mouth open up, revealing a gate-like structure it had for a mouth. Which also opened. “Inside… you will find… knowledge… about the Omniversity… and quarters… for travel… I shall stay here… for five nights… and five days… all who desire… may enter.” With that said, the glow dimmed, reducing to a mere flicker in the now dull, almost grey-looking rough crystalline eyes. In turn, inside the grooves and lines in the wall and ceiling lit up in a soft blue light. Revealing the great hall beyond.

The rach looked inside and nodded. “Wonderful. Now, everyone! Run home to every rach and his rachfi - tell them of this godsent gift and have them send at least two sons each. Their education shall carry our civilisation into greatness, fueled by the masterful teachings of the Omniversity! Now, disperse!” Swiftly, the nelves all ran back to their masters to share the news. Many of the greater and lesser lords of Fragrance were initially reluctant - their sons should grow up to be dancers and soldiers, not scholars. Scholars weren’t meant to lead, after all, but to counsel. Therefore, some had to be convinced to give up their sons - often in exchange for gifts. Eventually, though, the nelves had gathered up twenty eager and not-so-eager students who were looking forward to start their careers as scholars. They bound cloth over their eyes and stepped inside the giant’s mouth, where they made themselves at home, already steeled for this sort of absence from their parents. At the bank, all the people of Fragrance had gathered, overseeing the event. Spearheading the crowd was rach Rose, flanked on each side by sages, rachs and rachfis. Waving farewell, rach Rose bowed before the giant. “Bring them there safely, great Duxus.”

“You have… my solemn promise… rach Rose… I shall bring… your progeny… safely to… the mist-hidden Isle.” With those final words spoken, the gate-like mouth closed again, and Duxus’ maxillipeds sealed it completely. Inside the children could find their quarter and parlors. With several observation decks allowed them to look through his carapace as if it was made of glass. A soft rumble echoed from the giant stone lobster as it slowly raised itself from the water. Rising higher, and higher, until he was safely above the canyon’s walls. Then he turned gently and floated away on invisible currents towards the Omniversity.

Inside, the children did everything from burst into homesick tears, cheer at their newly claimed freedom, play around aimlessly, or sit quietly in a corner. One of those sitting in a corner, was a small, plum-dark nelfling with recently cut hair and white freckles on her face. As the sounds of the ocean could be heard outside, the nelfling dug its face into its arms.

“Hey!” came a nearby whisper, and the nelfling jump, turning to face a grinning young boy about the same age. “My name is Sage, son of Nilla! What’s your name?”

The nelfling swallowed and looked down. “I-I’m--... T-Timia…”

“Pfft! Timia! What a girly name!” mocked the boy and leaned down further to inspect the other. The nelfling hunkered down further, covering up the face. Sage scoffed. “You’re weird.” Then he ran away.

Timia felt tears well up in the eyes. Mother had been so adamant that the nelfling should venture out to bring the family pride - to bring her pride. It was rare for nelves like Timia to get an opportunity like this. Stealth and concealment of identity was adamant. After all, no one could know that she was a girl.

---

Over four thousand men.

Five hundred professional soldiers. Four hundred household guards from various nobles. A hundred acolytes from the House of Perfection. A hundred warriors from the House of Order. One thousand warriors from neighbouring villages. Two thousand hastily raised and trained volunteer militia. Several dozen mages provided by the House of Magic, and a handful of druids from the House of Druids.

This was the host Brundt had been able to assemble. It was an impressive army, larger than any Ketrefa had ever fielded before. According to his scouts, Carnelian’s army had barely half that. And Brundt had the advantage of fortifications. By all accounts, there were no doubts as to who would win a war. In theory, at least.

In practice, things were considerably more complicated. He still remembered the slaughter before winter, when a couple dozen men slew hundreds, and left the survivors so broken many of them deserted, or swore never to fight Carnelian again. Carnelian’s men had been outnumbered by more than twenty to one, and yet they had secured a decisive victory. So if they were outnumbered two to one, and somehow did the same thing…

Well, it was unlikely that all of Carnelian’s men were that deadly. But if even a fraction of them were… if they truly did have divine aid, and if Cadien’s aid was not enough to counter it… then forcing open battle with them would be suicide.

So, Brundt had stayed behind Ketrefa’s walls, and instead sent out parties to harry and harass Carnelian’s men. Destroy their supplies, take out their patrols and sentries. Slow their approach and diminish their morale. It seemed to be working, surprisingly enough, with many of these men returning triumphant.

He began to wonder if that first victory was a fluke.

But still, he held his men back, reluctant to give battle. If he could secure a victory, he would reduce their numbers and bolster the morale of his own men, but that was far from guaranteed, and a defeat would only make things worse. Especially when half his force hadn’t even seen battle before.

Many nobles had seen this supposed inaction as cowardice, and a vocal few were already calling for his removal as Lord-Captain, but not as many as one would expect. This, he knew, was due to the influence of Mira and her cult. He had honoured his end of the deal, of course, and already they were exploiting their new stronghold to the best of their ability.

The other Divine Houses fought tooth and nail to resist their influence, of course, and seemed to be mostly successful. The cult had been allowed their space of worship, and the deal called for nothing more.

But now, it was time for matters of faith and politics to be set aside. Carnelian was coming. No matter what his detractors or supporters thought of him, the greatest threat Ketrefa had ever faced was nearing its gates. They would stand united, or die.

---

“Are you nervous, my lord?”

Brundt looked up in surprise. The one who had spoken was Gelos. Gelos, his personal guard, who had been with him since he was first found by Milos all those years ago. Unflinchingly loyal to House Karras. The guard had been nothing if not kind to him; he had taught him how to play dice, and had given him sparring advice. But he had never once spoken out of turn, and now, he had done exactly that.

“Apologies, my lord,” Gelos bowed his head, understanding that despite their years of familiarity, he had still overstepped.

“No,” Brundt interrupted. “It’s quite alright.” He looked the bodyguard in the eye. “Yes, I suppose I am. But I can’t say that to anyone else, can I?”

“Leadership is always a burden,” Gelos nodded grimly. “I saw it in your father, when he took command of his first warband. And his father before him.” It was then that Brundt became acutely aware of just how old the guard was; he had aged well, but he had to be more than forty. Gelos continued speaking. “It’s a cruel thing, to be forced into this situation. No one had any right to think you were ready. But… you’ve done a good job, I think.”

He had heard plenty of compliments and praise from his supporters. Those who genuinely believed he was chosen, and others who were simply sycophants hoping to benefit from his favour. Both had more or less been meaningless, as none of their praise had been earned, and therefore seemed dishonest. But to receive a compliment from a lowly guardsman, one who had known him for years but never issued such a compliment before? That was genuine.

Brundt nodded, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. He could do this.

His thoughts once more drifted to Gelos’s advantaged age. The guard had served his family long enough. Perhaps, after all this was over, if Brundt did defend the city, and he did become King, he could arrange to have Gelos granted some sort of reward. A modest estate, perhaps, where Gelos could retire. Perhaps start a family, and his own noble house. Hopefully the humble guardsman would enjoy that. If not, he could find him something else. Perhaps…

His thoughts were interrupted when a courier arrived with more business for him to take care of.

---

Both Varsilis and Milos would stop by his office later that day, at different times, to offer their own words of reassurance. Milos had been his father, and Varsilis had been his mentor. Brundt loved them both for that, but he knew that right now they valued him more for his status than for whatever personal bond they had. It was a depressing thought. But Gelos’s words hung in the back of his mind. So he put on the mask of the dutiful champion and the undaunted leader.

Perhaps one day there would come a time when such masks were not necessary. When he could converse with friends and family alike without worrying about danger or responsibility. Yes, he was still fighting for Cadien, for House Karras, for Ketrefa, and the innocent people who lived within. But most of all, he was fighting for that. The end of duty. The end of struggle. Freedom.

---

The next day, at some point in the afternoon, a horn sounded. Brundt knew his ultimate duty had arrived.

Carnelian’s army was within sight.

---