Setting: The Northern Border of the Bones of Fortitude and the Eidolon Plains

In the distance, an eclipsing flash swallowed the horizon. The amazing brilliance of the explosion smeared an oppressive white flash over the vision of any onlookers. Only after the lingering flare blinded mortal eyes did an incredible boom follow. The baritone blast shook the ground, crumbled rock, ripped trees, and sent an opaque wave of devastation to slam against a solitary black figure.

Apostate stood as the wind screamed by him, tearing the world to shreds. His dark form remained still, his secret gaze tightening behind a metal helmet. The swathes of smoke that formed his body refused to curl against the wind and as the worst of the explosion rammed into his metal chest, an equally powerful voice blasted back.

”I will not move!”

His words were punctuated by a flood of smoke screeching out of his form and stampeding right into the winds of the blast. The explosion roared, but his smoke roared back louder. Crumbles of the world brought by the wind slammed against his wall of defiance, bursting into dust. Ripping shards of wood and plants brought in by the storm erupted into flames at the sheer friction of the engagement, and stones sparked until they were nothing.

The smoke screamed against the force of the explosion until the natural force was out of breath, now slapping weakly against stubborn Apostate. A low guttural growl resonated off the walls of Apostate’s chest and swirls of debris painted the sky brown. Even with the storm’s death, Apostate still didn’t move, his smokey limbs coalescing into the same strange metal that covered his chest and head until he was a solid statue of glossy black.

All at once, a smoke copy of the statue stepped out of the metal, effectively duplicating Apostate’s form. This new smoke form peered at the leftover statue of metal, the consciousness of Apostate remaining with the smoke rather than the other. Gradually a new chestpiece and helmet formed on the smoke ridden body and with another growl, Apostate spoke to his leftover statue.

“You will not move.”

Shifting his attention downwards, Apostate gazed upon a green line that had formed. In front of the statue was utter destruction and chaos, while behind it was a lush green land that had been shielded by his smoke. For all the god knew, all that was behind him remained unaffected by the unholy blast.

Letting his eyes fall to the ground that had found sanctuary behind him, he muttered more words.

“Your defiance is noted.”

A small yellow flower bobbed, as if showing respect to its savior, and Apostate groaned in response.

“This land is safe, for now.”

He raised his head to witness the rest of the grassy meadow, it’s plush grass spotted with both fruit trees and aromatic flowers. With the destruction over, even small animals began to bound through the dense brush of the area. A sense of respect rang inside of Apostate, and he spoke another time.

“Know yourself as a garden… a garden of hevel. And you—” He turned to face the destroyed lands that his statue faced defiantly. He outstretched his hand in a flourish, the smoke around it coalescing into a massive metal blade of black. He stabbed the blade defiantly into the air.

”Know that defiance has arrived."

His voice cut into the air, ripping into the sky.

---

It had been a less than ideal trip. Not even halfway across the Thousand Lakes region, Jiugui had felt that familiar rumble in his guts. The aftermath hadn’t been a pretty sight, that was for certain, but he had felt lighter and less dizzy afterwards. Jiugui had stood and admired his leavings for a moment - majestic, truly - before he had then conjured his cup into reexistence and filled it to the brim once more, toasting his work. Within the hour, the god was back to his tipsy self, and the man danced and sang down a cave bear’s path. After easing on down the path for a good while, his steps growing increasingly erratic and unbalanced, the drunk god eventually arrived at a roaring cave in the middle of an uncharacteristically burnt and barren part of the tundra. The snow fell thick in these parts, but melted in droves around this cave, which insides were hissing with molten tongues and noxious fumes. The drunk god squinted his beady eyes. What was this place, and why was every part of his body begging for him to explore it?

A shot for bravery, another for strength and a third to flow the former two down, the drunk god felt ready. Taking a detour in a circle around in the snow, including taking some time to fashion a snow angel, the drunk god arrived at the cave entrance around an hour after he had begun the trek of roughly a hundred yards. He stood at the entrance and smiled. The heat was most welcome - though he, a god, felt no need to thermoregulate, he could by instinct tell what surroundings suited best a drink with friends; the icy tundra, while it had its pros, was not one of them. The drunk god ushered forth a small burp and stumbled into the cave.

A long, winding tunnel of fire and stone surrounded him soon after the first half-hour, the temperature turning up to insane levels. His fuzzy mind had momentarily pondered the lack of animals seeking shelter in these caves, but he had quickly realised that it might get too hot for them here. Though then again, maybe they just hadn’t moved in just yet. He had no reference for how much time had passed since his inception; hell, he had no reference for how much time had passed since he had started drinking. The only answer he could reliably propose to the latter question was: “Not enough.”

“HALT!” came a furious shout, and Jiugui rolled together into a ball, spilling wine everywhere.

“UAAAAAAAH!” he screamed as a giant, serpentine creature wormed its way out from behind a lava stalagmite. It was well over seventy feet long, black of scales and molten of flesh, and had at least four-- no, six limbs! -- sticking out of its colossal body in a crocodilian manner. The beast encircled the little mat, snarling monstrously and baring its molten teeth.

“Little red creature who so frivolously enters the home of Yachtectzumatzim - speak your name and purpose now, or be ready to face the fate of all those who enter into my realm!” The lizard snaked its way around Jiugui in a tighter formation, fiery tongue licking at the air around the drunk god. Jiugui hyperventilated and spilled some more wine trying to stand back up.

“Now hol’ on jusshaminute, pahl…--” he managed to blurt around before his back leg gave out and sent him staggering backwards. Upon catching himself, he spilled a cupful on the skin of the beast, the spot immediately evaporating into flammable gas, which then also caught fire and left a sour odour. The beast grimaced.

“Puny!” it spat. “To think that you not only soil yourself in my presence, but that you also cast off your waste upon my elevated person! What immeasurable misdemeanour!” Yachtectzumatzim bared its teeth once more and gaped wide once. “I shall do onto you as I have done onto all the miserable creatures that dare squanter into my private home! Prepare to meet your maker, insect!”

“AAAAAH! NO, PLEASHE!” Jiugui tried to escape, but tripped over his robes and fell. This made him easy prey for the lizard, which swallowed him whole. However, the beast could not keep him inside its body for longer than a few seconds before it spat him back out again, howling and twisting in agony.

“BWUAH! BLEH! What disgusting flavour! What horrible stink!” It rolled around on the ground and gagged, droplets of sickly lava dripping from its jaws. Two pairs of limbs clutched at its throat and another grabbed its own belly. “By the Mother, what did you do to me-- HUUUUEEEEEERCHK!” The beast cast forth a line of magma from its mouth. Jiugui, meanwhile, laid flat on his back on the ground, covered in molten hot spit.

“Izzeh rude, whashu shayn’...” he slurred and sat up partially. He had another cup to drink and squinted at the squirming monster. “I’ll’ave’z you knnnow I… Jush bathéd.”

The worm made a half-baked attempt to recover, but found that its legs could hardly support its body. Its eyes felt lazy and sluggish, and its mouth seemed to drip with fiery drool while its tail tossed around with no regard for its surroundings. “Whaddev… Whaddev you done tooh mee…” it whimpered. Jiugui rolled into a stand and drummed his chin.

“Inderresdin’,” he remarked.

“You wwwworrrm,” hissed the lizard. “You’f… Pois’néd… Meeh… Gwack…” A lazy claw cast itself forward towards the drunk god, but did not reach all the way. Jiugui smirked and had another drink, speaking forth a verse to commemorate the occasion:



He then broke into a jolly jig around the defeated lizard, which snailed its way onto its back with a self-apologetic hiss: “Begahwn, y’ tauwntin’... Blergh…” The lizard tried to escape, but its limbs were useless, flopping about on the ground with no sense of coordination. In a desparate prayer, the great guardian of the tunnel, Yachtectzumatzim called out: “Mazriarg… Mazriarg, helhp… Meeh!” Jiugui, meanwhile, dastardly danced in circles around the beast, snapping his fingers and trolling a tune of triumph. The draft through the tunnel played on the strings of the air and the molten magma drummed in the beat of the drunken one’s song. A chorus of creatures living in the cave joined in on the fun, drunk on the atmosphere:





"Quite a long time to sing and drink, especially for one who so terrorizes a child of mine." A sense of heat not from lava or the magma flow radiated near the God, as would his sense tell of another of his kind near, her voice evidently announcing her presence. The small man’s torso twisted to behold the approaching presence, a lizard like the guardian, but larger - much larger - and noticeably angrier. He downed a cup for courage and rolled into a stance. What stance it was was hard to say, but it was a stance nonetheless. He pointed a finger at Yachtectzumatzin and then at the newcomer.

“HEY, I’ll’av’yoo know… HE attackéd ME foi’zt, okey?” Another cup. “_Urrp… I jusssh self-deafeneded,” he said with an aggressive shrug.

She held herself back, listening to the nigh incomprehensible speech as her burning eyes flickered between the God and Achtotlaca. A slow carefully controlled drawl replied, "I think my little one has learned their lesson regardless of the circumstances."

She eyes turned to stare deeply and intensely at the floundering Achtotlaca, "Are you not very sorry for having so disrupted my peer and have learned to take such more caution as you should have learned fromyour Elders?"

The lesser Achtotlaca cowered sloppily, burying its face beneath its front limbs. “O, Mazriarg… P’eaze dun loog’add meeh-hee-hee…” he whimpered. Jiugui clapped his hands tauntingly at the creature.

“Hoh! Now ‘e cowerz! Lo, I zzztand victoriouz!” He danced some more in a small circle. He then looked to catch a scent and squinted at the giant. “Waizzz… You’ze like me!”

She rolled her eyes, and refocused on Jiugui, "Yes I am. I happened to be nearby when I heard the cries. Do you mind retracting what influence you've drawn upon my child?"

Jiugui burst into a wild cackle. “Hah!” He skipped into the air and clapped his feet together. “No, no, no can do! ^Broiph...”

Her eyes narrowed, "And why is that? It's rare to meet a god so incompetent as to be unable to act, I sincerely hope you are not so."

Her head pulled back suddenly, and she looked at him again sideways on, as if she had a sudden thought or needed to see something clearer. Yachtectzumatzim’s eyes went as wide as his intoxicated facial muscles could make them. The drunk god jigged some more and kicked in the direction of Yachtectzumatzim’s face. “Alash! _Hurp! Drzink my wine - be drzunk for a day; but t’ dare drzrink Jiugui?! Ha-hoo, hoo-ha!” He kicked up in the air again and did a pirouette. “Idiotick! Foolizh! Stoopid!”

She leaned in close, heat leaked heavily with each word from her mouth, "And what your wisdom tell you about denying a concerned Mother's request my peer? Or do you prefer 'Singing Maker' as I would suppose that may explain a disappearance?

Jiugui lost his balance and faceplanted down on the hot rock. Recovering all-too-slowly, he rumbled and mumbled something unintelligible before adding, “Shingin’ Mager, whozzat? Shounds familler.” He staggered forwards a good few paces standing back up. “Whozzeffereemaybee,” he said to the tunnel wall before turning around. He shrugged and smiled with pity. “Gozza say I’m sohrrey, buzz no can do. ‘S like wazzer fallin’ down or plantz growin’ up - no wine more potent zhan Jiugui. Nozz even I know za cure, see?”

"I see." Her reply was as curt as her tone was hard. She stared very intently at Jiugui before lifting her head only slightly out of the way of his form to spew heat down around Yachtectzumatzim, encompassing him in warmth and soon the stone below most of his body melted- his head still resting on solid enough stone flooring. The lizard murmured his thanks and fell out of consciousness with sleep.

"We should get comfortable as I expect we shall be here a while then," She turned her head towards Jiugui once more and spoke. "And what name do you so claim to speak under then?

The drunk god shrugged. “Whazzin a name, anyway? Jiugui iz Jiugui. Jiugui speakz only underrr ze Monargh… ‘N underr influenze.” He chuckled to himself and poured another cup. “Oh, zhorry, how rude’a me, hereyegoh.” The wind carried the cup effortlessly to float by the giant serpents’ front limbs. “Sho, who’rze you agaihn?”

She took the cup in her left hand, lifting it to her mouth and poured the wine in where it promptly burst into flame, the gout of fire raising out and singing the cup. She replied after setting the cup down again, “Well Jiugui, I am Yoliyachicoztl, Goddess of Heat, Supreme Mother of my Iyotlaca, creator of the Achtotlaca, and Bringer of Flame.”

"Chsharméd," said the drunk god with a smile and a bow. He had another cupful and looked around. "Nice plashe, by zhe wayh. Cookéd id yourshelf?"

She moved her great body around past the other god, taking a hand to comfort the self proclaimed guardian. The creature was completely knocked out and his breathing was weak. She replied only after taking a moment, “I made a magma plume lead up to these far northern lands from the great many who dominate the under earth of the south.”

She turned her head, her eyes aflame as they looked at the god. “So tell me, Jiugui the Drunken God, how is it that you’ve come here?”

Another shrug. "By foot 'n fallin'. Or wazzit fallin' zhen footin'? Def-deffulidd-... Ugh, deffinidly a lotta fallin'. DHEN! … Walkin'... Waiz, wha'wasz yourr queshun? Oh, righz, how I gozz here… Sho!" He pulled up his sleeves for some reason. “I wasz walkin’... Didz I say zhat alreadzy? And then, and th-the-the-thnnn, fffffrrrtr-lelelelele!, and dhen I foundz a gave, cave. Iiiiiiii entzered... This fffffhing!” A fat finger pointed at Yachtectzumatzim. “Shorry, rude, thish very mush livin’ creashur, attack’d me.” He squinted and shut one eye, the other one balling the ceiling. “Thing thaszit.”

"Uh huh. I see. And you uh, care very much about 'wine', tell me more about that." She had settled down a bit, although her tail still moved somewhat erratically she kept her fore limbs caring for the Achtotlaca while she spoke and carried on with the drunken god.

The fat man grinned from ear to ear, his lips parting slowly like tectonic plates to reveal teeth as yellow as urine, filling his mouth like the tangents of a soiled piano. “Why, I dabbow, yesz,” he confessed and rubbed the rim of his cup with a hint of shy modesty. It filled again and he downed its contents. “Sho, wine’z whadd’appens when sweed thingz, or jusz anygindathing withz enuff shugarz innit, migses widd, uh, whater ‘n… Yeast! Yeast…” He hummed. “Sometimez the yeast iz in dhe water already… Sometimes id kinda jusz falls in dhere. Real weird how id worgz. Anyway!” He poured another cup for the heat goddess and floated it up to her again. “... The produgt begomes dis, dis jusz gread mix ov’ flavourz, y’know! Plus - there’sz algohl… Algohul… Al-go-hol innid. Y’know whadd algull iz?”

"No I don't really, why don't you tell me more about 'al-go-hol'. Something to do with the Yeast is it?" In truth she had no idea what a yeast was but the smaller deity seemed quite happy to talk about all this, and she was content to care for her mortal in the meanwhile.

“Ogey, sho!” The fat man rolled up his sleeves, which at that point had fallen back down, once again, doing a terrible job folding them so that they would sit in place. He then proceeded to slur his way through several paragraphs of brewing chemistry and all the different factors any good brewer would have to keep in mind when making beer, wine, strong wine and liquor. He went into detail about strains of yeast and how each strain brought something new to the table, either with a tolerance for higher alcohol content, a stronger appetite for sugar, sensitivity to temperature or other features that would all impact the flavour and texture of the drink. He mentioned the importance of salts, temperature, preservatives and flavourings such as hops, meadwort, sugars and, of course, made no effort to hide his very strong fascination for the effects of alcohol.

“Id givesz me insprashun, almose,” he proclaimed and raised his cup in the air. “Thish stuff… My brainz workz overtzime onnit.” Then he cleared his throat with no regard for manners and spoke, without so much as a hiccup,



He burped and bowed. “‘N das al-gool for ya. Any queshuns?”

“Is there any way to make it less cold? It seems rather flammable too at that, not exactly the universal drink.” Yoliyachicoztl flung out the little question as if she hadn’t a care and was just making conversation, but her eyes remained burning and fixed upon the other deity.

The thrumming was upon her in small part, it was manageable to an extent, although she could feel her annoyance build dealing with the less than clear Jiugui at points...

The drunk god rubbed his chin and squinted his eyes to the point where they were by all accounts closed. He hummed with deep thought and then shrugged yet again. “Nah, dunzhinkso… Ezzanol boils faster than wader, whish is unfordunate down here.” He rubbed his chin. “Couz make somezhin’ thad worgs in hozzer climades, tho’.” He sat down and conjured forth a wide porcelain cauldron. He strolled around the room and sniffed the air. Then he picked a nearby geode melon, then some golden berries, before stirring it all into lava. He then picked some metallic fuzz growing on a magmatic fruit tree and drizzled it over the pot. He then stirred the contents around and poured it into a lavastone jug about the size of himself. He twisted a mustache and cast a glance over at Yoliyachicozti. “Ogey, I gozz no proof thisz’ll work.”

”If you already had proof that this would work, that you knew exactly what to be done, there wouldn’t be much room for experimentation or inspiration as you so delight in, or have I misinterpreted your great sayings my drunken maker?”

She twirled her head this way and that as she spoke to him, taking a small pleasure in the movement. The drunk god nodded in agreement.

“Zound ‘n wise, dear colleague. Sound ‘n wize.” Whatever was happening in the jug went through weeks and weeks of fermentation within the span of a minute and Jiugui then unlidded it and breathed in the sulphurous stink of his new invention.

“... Could thiz be…” He dipped his cup into the pot and pulled it up, only to notice that his hand was empty and that the cup had melted. He conjured forth a stronger cup with a higher melting point and filled it up with the searing hot beverage. He took a sip and rolled the liquid around in his mouth, pursing his lips after swallowing. “Ogey… It definizely burns…” He filled a cup for the heat goddess and floated it up to her. “Do you taste zhe burnt notes?”

A fore limb lifted to pluck the cup up from his grasp, taking the brim close to the heat goddess’s mouth. She turned it away a brief moment, pouring a small few drops careful to the side of her head as her eye and divine sense gazed through it. Finally, she brought it back and lifting her head poured the drink in. The initial flavour could most accurately be described as smokey with a sandy aftertaste, though the texture was gooey and, not to mention, scaldingly hot (though more like a lightly cooled drink to the Heat Goddess). Then came the burn - a quite literal sear down the throat that stung all the way to the sphincter muscle above the stomach sack; in the belly, it lingered like hot coals in the hearth, filling the goddess with a faint sense of joy and satisfaction. The remnants that remained in her mouth produced a black smoke that oozed out between her teeth and left a charcoal (or perhaps more stonecoal) aftertaste. Jiugui had similar streaks of smoke pour out of his mouth, though he seemed less than pleased with the flavour. Already, he was tinkering with the contents of his pot to see whether he could achieve something different. However, just as he decided to add some more lava, the pressure inside the pot built up to unfathomable levels. Before long, the little drunken god was blown away by a colossal explosion of fire and gas, sending him flying out of the cave with a scream

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaa_{aaaaaaaa…!”}

The Goddess silently watched him go, not taking a moment to try to stop the build up nor the explosion that sent him flying. Calmly she sloshed a bit more into her cup to examine it- it would take a bit for her child to wake, and he had to learn well the making of the same mixture. Something like this needed to be preserved and protected under wise gaze, and she had a feeling he had some wisdom now at least, or she would make sure of such...

---

When the Monarch departed, Yudaiel was left alone, an entire world to herself. The moon was her jewel, her throne, her prison, her... home? It was mercifully quiet, and she had sanctified peace about her, but not within her.

She brooded over this new yoke of hers, ‘punished’ with the order to remain apart from the Galbar and deny it her molding hand. She had foreseen the need to work her will through more subtle means -- brute force, as she’d brought to bear about Ashevelen -- was neither elegant nor particularly effective, and it was taxing. It also doubtless risked alienating the other gods… individually Yudaiel feared none of them, for her will was potent, but together they could undoubtedly be her ruin.

Perhaps this was for the better. Her vastness was great, grand enough to stretch across the void and touch the Galbar even from her throne on the moon, perhaps; however, her mind’s reach went even further. Through observing and making subtle touches upon the mortals or the other gods, whether through discreetly manipulating them through visions and ideabstractions or by outright imprinting her will upon lesser minds, she could still do what was done. Whatever she pleased!

If Yudaiel possessed a voice, and space a medium to carry it, then her sudden and violent cackling might have shaken the world. She gazed forward and saw the path. The goddess was more than a mere Reverberation upon the tapestry: Yudaiel was the Lady of Far and Near, She Who is Ever at the Shoulder, the Great and All-Seeing Eye.

And let all flinch from her gaze!

---

SPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUT! went the rush of magmatic pressure, and out flew a cannonball dressed in black and white, skin red as currants, mind sloshed as the waves of the sea. To the surprise of exactly no one, this was Jiugui blasting off again, his bulbous form having been ejected from the heat of the underworld and sent flying through the storms and aftermath of the explosion that had devastated Termina and the surrounding lands. This had given his balloon-like body unreasonable lift and, somehow, not sent him away from Termina, but towards it. In fact, he had flown towards the centre of the explosion with insane speed, slurring a scream all the way.

The scream came to an appropriate halt when the orb of wine, robes and flesh crashed into water once more (smacking into some floating mountains first) - only that this was not water, but a vile, tar-filled slush of death; it was a foul concoction of the scummiest make. It was like face-planting into a mire, only that the mire also tried to sap you empty of all your drive and energy. It was the anathema of life, a black abyss that served only to make the certain end as miserable as possible for whatever was unfortunate enough to fall into it.

That was if your name wasn’t Jiugui, that is. As it turns out, the drunk god was already so sloshed, so unfathomably wasted, so lost in the liquor labyrinth, that he didn’t seem to react to the effects of the Tlacan Sea. The god stood up from where he had crashed (relatively unscathed, if compared to, say, a mortal undergoing the same thing) and staggered around in the shallows of the murky death sea for hours and even days, and the only thing the draining force of the murderous mire could do was, possibly, suck some of the alcohol out of him. He was far from immune, of course - the god grew weaker staying in there; however, like a drunk stuck in an icy storm, he didn’t make a fuss out of it. It did cloud his already overcast senses, though, so the drunk as a skunk man also became virtually blind as a bat and slow as a sloth. After his second week in the sea of doom, the drunk decided that he felt a little tired. It was time to find a place to call it a night.

So he looked ahead. Yup, that was the exact horizon he had been staring at for roughly a fortnight. He turned around: There was the opposite horizon, which hadn’t been as studied as the former, but was still pretty familiar. The god wasn’t quite sure at this point - he knew by now not to trust his senses. He stuck a finger in the air to measure the direction of the wind, which he did - a deathridden, stinking breeze blew from the northwest - but that didn’t really tell him anything about whether there was a comfortable barrel to sleep in over there.

So Jiugui plumped his behind down in the malicious silt and got thinking: How would he get out of this one, huh? He raised his cup to the moon above and produced thereforth a pleading poem for the eye in the sky:



He then took another sip and waited. Far above and across distances vast, the invisible eye turned its gaze. Yudaiel heard him.

She had seen Jiugui before, and how… curious was he! How capricious! His very aspect, every fiber of his being, seemed to be intoxication and impetuousness, with only the brief and occasional oasis of lucidity. In a sense that was revolting, disgusting, abominable; the chronically unpredictable were things that Yudaiel could hardly keep herself from loathing, especially if they were not trifling things but gods that could shape the world! Yet unlike Ashevelen, perhaps this one could be guided and steered.

His will did not seem so strong as that of the Monarch, who she hardly dared to try dominating -- not yet! -- or even Epsilon, who she’d struggled with so recently. She needed practice if she was going to subjugate and break that loathsome fly Iqelis, and it seemed as though this one, this Jiugui (as she’d heard him call himself when observing his past encounter with Zenia) not only needed, but wanted guidance. Hmph! She could give that.

A dart raced through the void, cast out from her pupil, and reached the Galbar in an instant. It was a small thing, hard to detect, and even if the Monarch might have somehow sensed it, he surely could not object to something so small… she wasn’t even touching that world below, much less bending it to her will. She sent only a simple vision to Jiugui, and none other.

The formless dart struck Jiugui with all the weight and sound of a snowflake. It probed for only a moment, then found his mind, pierced it, and thrust him into an ideabstraction.

The silent, dead, and inky sea’s mirrorlike surface was suddenly disturbed. The sandbar and shoals, which had afforded Jiugui the ability to wade even so far from the shore, began to recede as massive currents of water tore them away. Something beneath the water was drinking the deathly sea, and a great whirlpool appeared around its maw. Jiugui became a leaf in the river, mere flotsam. Titanic tentacles erupted from the water all about him and began thrashing wildly, stretching to brush the heavens and seize the stars. One by one, each twinkled light was captured and hurled into the maw of the colossal beast at the center of the whirlpool.

The moon was suddenly not overhead, but hanging above the horizon just before Jiugui. It was resplendent and glorious in its divine light, and that light reached out to grasp at the drunken god’s hand, to pull him away and to safety. Jiugui reached with his left hand, throwing it forward and ahead of his body, but the moon’s rays just barely swept through his fingers. He threw his right arm forward to try again, but missed just barely. Over and over he stroked, thrashing wildly for his life, and each time the moon’s hand -- and the beach upon the horizon! -- seemed ever closer and yet still he could not touch it.

Like a moth to the flame, the drunk hobbled forward through the muck and silt, chasing the brightness of the horizon with a silly giggle on his lips. Before long, and without him noticing much, he had left the shallows of the beach and moved onto solid ground. Here, the toxic sea no longer affected him and his divine aura slowly began to recuperate, returning his untrustworthy senses to him. Eventually, his giggles quieted down and the god was left pondering the oddness of his sight: Did light always reach out to him this way, or was this just another vision, like that pink elephant the other day? He squatted down and ripped loose a wet fart, mumbling ponderously to himself.

"Whasher you…"

The beach was blanketed beneath a cool and thick fog that seemed to suspend itself above the black seawater, for the haughty mist was pure and would not suffer to become one with the Tlacan Sea. But the dampness in the air was not so picky about other things; the cold nipped as Jiugui, and beads of water condensed upon a rocky outcrop further up the shore. In the moon’s light, they glistened like so many tiny diamonds as they rolled down the boulder, dripping into the sand.

What better drink for a parched god?

Not one to turn down a free lunch (or drink, more like), the drunk god staggered over to the rock and gave it a sloppy lick. The stoney texture didn’t sit well with the god, but he had to admit that the taste was quite refreshing. In a salute as graceful as could be, the fat man raised his cup to the moon with quite the momentum, spilling its contents in a shower all throughout the region. “Thzank you, dear moohn. These _bruuuurp theshe dropslets shall… Shall foreffez be known az…” He then suddenly squinted and peered at the droplets again. No, they needed a small detail to be perfect. He grasped a droplet with unfathomable dexterity and twisted it clockwise. Within the second, the alcohol percentage within the fluid had jumped to ninety percent - that was not “by ninety percent”, but “to ninety percent” - and the god had another lick. Forget texture, forget refreshment - with something like this in your mouth, you wouldn’t remember much of either soon enough. The god felt satisfied and toasted the moon once more, saying, “I shall calliz ‘moonshine’ in your z’honourr.”

Meanwhile, all throughout the peninsula, the alcohol Jiugui had previously spilled into the air like a nuclear fountain rained down in torrents. Most of it hit the deserts in the centre, where the alcohol evaporated and momentarily caused a cooling effect so wild and powerful that it sucked in great amounts of moist air from the coastal areas. For a few hours, the region so devastated by the battle of gods and Codex’s might, was drenched in a typhoon and a hurricane’s worth of water, and the endless dead wastes could finally drink again. Many of these wastes could not hold the water for long, of course, and much of it ran off into rivers heading for the shore. However, all the land had needed was a mere sip, and soon enough, life that had lived there before began crawling out of its hideyholes. There were lions, deer, antelopes, bison, camels, jackals, cheetahs, goats, buzzards, eagles and, of course, lots of small animals for these to harass and feast upon. Shrubs and grasses populated the inner badlands and savannah while the coasts drank deep in the mists of the Tlacan Sea and filled with thick mixed broadleaf forests. The highlands that could keep water sported flora that thrived in the rich soil and filled with all kinds of birds and cloven-hoofed ruminants. All throughout the more fertile regions, fruit trees like dates, mangoes, apples, pears, lemons, olives and many more sprouted; nut and seed plants like pistachio and walnut trees, sesame and flax; grains like einkorn, emmer, barley and spelt - everything came to magnificent fruition.

---

All of this passed without Jiugui noticing any of it. He staggered in place and grinned stupidly at the moon as though it was a lady actually paying attention to him. “Whashu thzink? Like the pun?”

The moon had no words of course, but it gleamed brightly for a moment, and in Jiugui’s blurred vision, seemed to blink. Or was that a wink?! The moonshine in his chalice was alight too with a lunar glow, imbued as it was with Yudaiel’s touch. And when Jiugui proclaimed his cheers and drank deep, the spirit within his chalice tasted of more than just fiery potency… the vapors wafting up from it were laden with the scents of smoke and brimstone and salt and blossoming flowers, of rich earth and decaying leaves and also rotting meat. The smell that reached his nose found its way to his tongue too, and there came a chromatic myriad of tastes, too: mulled wine and acrid bile, the metallic tang of blood but also the sweetness of pure water as it reached a parched throat. Every taste and smell that Jiugui had ever experienced, could ever experience, and never would experience were all there, muddled together.

It took what felt like a long time to live through all of those sensations, to reach into the whole mix but then take the time to discern and contemplate and feel each one, individually, and grasp its quintessence. By the time Jiugui understood the whole of it, the moon had sunk below the horizon and a more luminous and golden jewel had taken its place overhead. Still, the moon could see him, and he could see it too, through stone and time and space. He looked through the Galbar and met the moon’s gaze upon the other side, and then he finally brought the elixir to his lips.

He drained it all at once, but not easily. He did not gag or recoil from the flavor, but there was just so much of it, it felt as though he was drinking a lake, maybe a whole sea. A thousand gulps were not enough to empty that one chalice, but the first drop shattered his perceptions of reality! The stones, the sandy beaches, the nascent and verdant plants that had sprung forth from his influence, the wisps of dense fog -- all of them breathing and shuddering -- were aligned to one heartbeat. Though he was not out of breath, Jiugui began panting that he too could fall into the rhythm of the world. Ah, that was natural and right. He began walking across the lands that would be named Nalusa, his body in one world even as his mind was stretched taut as it was pulled into a hundred others, with nary an ounce of its being left in that plane where his corporeal form had remained.

The scent was ever in his nostrils throughout the whole journey. Languidly, Jiugui’s eye drifted back to the chalice in his first hand. Chuckling slightly, he tossed the cup to his second hand. With great dexterity and none of his usual clumsiness, he caught it without a single precious drop of the moon’s milk having been spilled or lost in that instant the chalice had been in flight. He tossed the cup again, and began juggling it between his third, fourth, and fifth hands. That soon seemed trite; why entertain with such simple tricks when he could see and perceive physics and all of Reality? All secrets and desires were there before him, so he turned back to them. His whole body tingled and was hypersensitive, he perceived every grain of sand in the wind that brushed his cheek, made out the color of every tiny ray of light that came to his eye. There was an itch upon him, though -- a thirst! He looked back to the chalice and laughed, for in all his joy, it seemed he had forgotten to even savor his drink; it was full to the brim, not a drop having been tasted! He started slowly, with just a small sip.

He shivered, and felt everything so much more vividly: the warmth of the sun, the cool kiss of the gentle eddies of wind, even the rumbling and churning of his gut were all there, and he perceived each one separately and so much more distinctly than before. There was an ominous headache, too. A throbbing, searing pain erupted from his head for just a moment -- it was as though a shivering hot knife had been thrust through his skull -- and then it vanished, but his sight was altered. Everything, even space itself, seemed oddly distorted, but in a way that felt true and right. He Saw now, with his third eye, the soul of the world and the hidden nature of all things. The many truths of existence and Reality likewise presented themselves to him now in a frank manner that ideas and ideals were seldom wont to do!

A mycelium network grew out of his soles, or perhaps it was his soles that connected to a network that had always been there? As he already was one with the planet, with space and with time, he could naturally feel its every impulse like a hair standing alone in the wind. The network spoke to him in flavours and textures, and its voice was sound that became colour in patterns like fractals. The scents whispered to his nostrils, and as Jiugui crossed seven continents and fifteen seas, he arrived before that most beautiful, serene being: The mycelium of reality had led him here, to its heart and core - a mushroom rose valiantly to greet the god, and Jiugui greeted it back.

“Lo,” he said, “a cap as fine as yours is sure to outshine my nightblack bandana.” A bow met by the mushroom’s bow.

“Nay,” replied the mushroom in a billion voices and radiated forth a fractal spectacle of light and colour that threatened to draw the wine god’s tears. “What myconous maniac could even begin to measure up to you, O Gway of Joe?”

As Jiugui looked closer at the mushroom, which now had descended to one knee, music began to play, and the melody of existence carried the pair through a forest of bright lights and cicada songs. Jiugui sipped another lakeful of wine from his cup, but found as he drank that his mouth did not fill at all; then it filled way too much and an ocean flushed the pair away from the forest, but his friend the mushroom only laughed heartily as he was swept along with the tide.

“What a show, my friend!” the mushroom clapped. A great beam of moonlight came down to illuminate the pair and they were in the middle of the ocean, aboard a giant flask of… Mushrooms? The mushroom, or possibly several, each took a cup of their own and passed around a flagon of what Jiugui could only presume was more of that moonshine stuff. When the flagon reached him, the wine demon, ever the gracious, gregarious guest, poured the contents straight into his mouth. The flavour was odd -- something fiercely earthy -- but oh well. By now the other mushrooms danced around the central one - they had taken on many different shapes and colours now, so it was at least somewhat easier to differentiate them. They sang and danced as much as their limbless bodies allowed them to and proclaimed the central mushroom the Fungal Pharaoh, the Mushroom Maharaja.

Jiugui couldn’t help but grin and giggle, and it didn’t take long for him to join in on the jig, skipping around in a circle along with the mushroom minions and lauding his host, the Spongey Saoshyant. The Myconous Monarch clapped at the performance with its eighteen arms and blinked a singular eye.

“What a show, my friend!” it repeated. Jiugui, suddenly so certain that he had caught his companion off guard, pointed a finger so hard in its direction that the seas all blew away and left them in an empty desert.

“You have already said that, dear friend.”

The Portobello Prince shrugged innocently, its ten pectoral muscles flexing without a hint of guilt or shame. “Why, I thought you liked repetitive humour?” claimed the mushroom, and for some reason, this claim - nay, accusation - infuriated Jiugui. The sound of those words tasted too sour! Even now, the sight of that mushroom smelled foul! So Jiugui stood up and smashed his cup to the ground, pointing a raging finger at the mushroom; however, when he finally spoke, his voice was soft as cotton dow.

“You should know what I find amusing. If you cannot even do that, then how can you call yourself a fun… person?”

The mushroom shrugged again and pointed up. There, the moon was back, and it shone its fractal lights down at Jiugui again, an oppressively vibrant kaleidoscope of azure rays that may as well have been a lance of fire. Jiugui succumbed - it was too strong; his soul, his form - neither could bear it any longer. The god collapsed under the glare of the sky, heaving while foam and spittle left his mouth as he writhed upon the rough and ever-shifting ground of the sand dune beneath him. This soon reached a crescendo when he felt himself near death, dead, and alive all at once. He screamed from the top of his lungs like a speared boar, and the echoes of his bellowing rocked him harder than any of the ocean’s waves. Around him, darkness clouded his surroundings, and the fractals disappeared a little by little.

A voice like the growl of tectonic plates, like the clash of thunderclouds, erupted from between his legs, entering his body through the million ears of the mycelium network touching his body now that it laid against the ground. “But I am not a person,” the earthquake proclaimed, “I am a mushroom…”



And then the mushroom burst into a million-million spores that took the wind and spread across all corners of the Galbar, that fell in great clouds and greatly outnumbered even the raindrops. Everything faded to black.

In the pitch-black crepuscule, he could finally see just what had impaled him. He beheld the ghostly javelin for just a moment as it glowed in the gloom. He also saw the bloodless wound where it had pierced his gut and thrust all the way through him, down into the sand, into the roots of some queer tree that grew here on the dune. Still, the lance twisted in him as it seemed to sink deeper into the sand. But then the barbed tips of this javelin-that-was-a-harpoon suddenly wrenched at his very being as it was torn out and free, eviscerating his soul.

The smothering darkness was suddenly ruptured by a single pinpoint of brilliance, a purifying spark. The luminous dot -- which was quite like a distant star in its twinkling, and yet different for the pyretic and all too real warmth that it exuded in contrast to that cool and otherwordly glow of stars -- seemed only to grow in its ardent intensity. What had been a mere speck had in moments grown like an unquenchable flame, consuming almost all of the endless and infinite dark void. And it flickered, faster and faster, sending waves that rippled through space, that churned and tossed about his consciousness like driftwood in the sea. The pulses of blinding radiance and scorching heat came faster than he could even process or perceive, such that the void seemed both entirely black and entirely white, frigid and infernal, at the same time. His mind and body, unable to cope or comprehend, were overpowered by nausea, dizziness, and disorientation, but he didn’t stagger or vomit; disembodied spirits just floated and flew, after all.

In that place, Jiugui lost himself. The god was so swept up and consumed by the light and warmth and chaos that flooded his senses that he forgot who he was, what he had been, what had happened, and all the other things that he knew; like a nascent child, he could only feel and experience.



Jiugui was spirited somewhere even farther away, disentangled completely from life and limb and flesh, and incomprehensibly far from mortality. He found himself as a self, once more, though perhaps he was not the right self, his real self. Perhaps he was somebody entirely new now. He mulled over that, ruminating the concept of what such a distinction would imply, and thinking also over what the abstract idea of a ‘person’ even meant.

Those thoughts still in mind, he became oriented once more and perceived himself to be floating in the air of the Galbar’s atmosphere, drifting towards the watchful moon. He beheld his own statuesque body below, his closed eyes like candles as they lit his whole face in somber light. But in just a moment those candles had burnt out, his motionless and anemic corpse reeking of alcohol even as it decayed and fermented like a ripened fruit left on the ground. He left that husk behind and found that he was above the clouds now, but he could See better than any eagle! He saw each and every little blade of grass that sprung up to grow between his toes and upon his feet. Why, atop that lonely dune under the tree, he was a splotch of green, an oasis of color in that dreadfully dry desert! Being a ghost could be ever so parching, yet his chalice was gone.

He was higher up now, and a great wind caught him up and dragged him along, spiriting him far away from that desert and that dead sea and his abandoned body. It was night now! The stars above were so beautiful, but also so alien from where he flew. They looked like milky streaks of paint, twisting aurorae that coiled and overlapped and ate on another, bands of every color that existed and even a few that didn’t. One band noticed him and slithered closer; Jiugui saluted it by raising the chalice that had never left his hand.



The Rainbow Serpent echoed back his cheers. Ah, this was a great drinking partner! It even offered Jiugui a poem:



Freed now from the poison of his aspect that had perpetually clouded his senses in life, Jiugui’s brilliant mind could soar. Suddenly struck by a whimsy to be philosophical, the wisest of all the gods chuckled slightly, offering the variegated dragon a sip from his cup, just a splash of the Wine of Truth. The Rainbow Serpent eagerly accepted for it long had been curious about such power. Its pupils dilated as it suddenly found itself able to See. But fear crept into the serpent’s visage; it could not stomach the wildness and chaos of the real world, could not digest what it Saw. Madness began creeping into those gigantic pupils of the dragon, and soon it might have lost itself forevermore, and the stars and heavens would have grown that much duller without its presence. Fortunately, Jiugui was there.

“Let me guide you through the desert,” the wine demon smiled. And then he offered his listener an answer:



The Rainbow Serpent accepted this gospel and nodded gratefully to the sage for the wisdom that he had imparted. “Aeons ago, I dreamt and breathed, and the Cosmos was formed. Still, from you I have learned. Allow me to repay this kindness,” the Celestial whispered, whole galaxies like mere specks upon his cosmic visage, “and usher you to the realm Beyond.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Jiugui soberly and politely answered. The god gracefully climbed atop the dragon and took his place behind its head, and he rode the majestic serpent as it raced through the heavens, through worlds, and even through time. Borne on its back, Jiugui circled a weeping moon, a troubled sun, and then found himself conveyed through the black-velvet expanse beyond. Erelong they came across the curious spectacle of a great cyclopean being that toiled away to chisel and sculpt a whole world from a stone that He had conjured, and Jiugui curiously watched, but they were harried and chased by some snarling, four-eyed beast that ensured their racing through the stars did not come to a slow.

They were going the wrong way, weren’t they? The dragon did at least seem to be slowing down, and Jiugui realized that it was gradually turning about. Of course, flying was hard when the drag of so many stars held back your dragon and threatened to dismount you! Jiugui could only hold on tighter as they raced past a strangely distorted image of a world that bore an uncanny likeness and shared the name (Jiugui just instinctively knew!) of Galbar, though this was a queer and broken world, only a Shard that floated in a great sea of nothingness, like a bloody wound in the breast of Creation itself.

Moments passed, as did that world. There was another Galbar now, one that likewise floated in a great sea, but of blood rather than nothingness. The blood roiled, for it was alive, and like fireflies there hovered a swarm of divine beings all about the periphery of the blood. All looked through the arteries and veins, towards the beating heart that was Galbar. So focused were they upon it that none noticed Jiugui and the Rainbow Dragon as they slithered past.

Another Galbar appeared, though this one was shielded from view by a great spherical wall. Still, as a higher dimensional being, the Rainbow Serpent slithered right through that Barrier; it was as ineffective an obstacle to him as were lines drawn on the ground to anything with the legs to hop over them. Within that sphere were dozens of more spheres though -- it was an entire world, orderly and precise in its mechanisms, assembled from concentric spheres. As they passed through, violin music could be heard harmonising with the strings of a harp. Looking outward towards the source of the music, the pair witnessed an indescribable paradise crested with a tall disorienting palace. Atop the roof of the strange building stood a gentleman holding a silver violin, and as Jiugui and the Rainbow Dragon passed by, the strange man flashed them a Cheshire grin and a knowing wink. The Rainbow Serpent paid the enigmatic man little heed as it breached back through the outermost sphere, the Barrier, just as easily as it’d entered on the other end.

Their journey went on. They saw another Galbar, floating out in the vast sea of a whole universe, though in this universe it seemed that the stone and stars and matter itself were all alive, animated not by souls persay but rather some flickers of will. They came across another Galbar, one defined by a great tree more than anything else; that tree was half red with branches set aflame by some terrible dragon, and half black with branches burnt and dead. Yet somehow the tree was also alive -- between the blackened half and the burning half erupted a third half, one that sprouted still and was verdant with emerald leaves. The proportions defied reason, but perhaps reason was not so constant a thing after all.

Sanity returned as they left, and came to pass another Galbar. And then there was what looked like it could be another, and then another… finally, they’d turned around! Faster than light or the mind or anything else, they raced back through space and dimensions and the wine demon found himself deposited at the gates of the afterlife of his Galbar.

“The stars have foretold that we shall meet again,” the snake promised, before slithering away into the sky.

Jiugui bid his friend farewell and turned his head away from the sky to observe his surroundings. The Elysian Plains sprawled out before him. Everything here was green and flowering, except for that which was instead gilded. Things were peaceful and joyous here. Nature blended seamlessly together with the decadence of civilization: here was a serene but untamed forest, and right there was a nicely pruned and expertly cultivated apple tree, and then right on the other side of that was a warm and spacious dam that some bjorks called home.

“The Singing Maker!” one called out, and half a clan suddenly surrounded Jiugui. They cheered, then praised and worshiped him. One young kit held back a tear in his eye though, even as he rested in paradise.

“Singing Master, where is my pa?” the youth asked. “His name was Bish.”

A larger one stepped forth, the kit’s mother. “Bishadnik,” she elaborated, tears threatening to well up in her eyes too. “He was a tall and mighty bjork, my husband. A good bjork. The God of Souls told us that the good end up here, so where is he? Surely he deserves to be with us now?”

Jiugui chuckled at the attention and smiled warmly from ear to ear. He clapped the kit on the shoulder and said softly, “Your father, your husband, the one you call Bishadnik…” A hand combed through his beard, which had grown white with sagely wisdom obtainable only through death. “Your husband, your father, he lives still, yes. I have seen him, heard him, felt him - even now, his vow to avenge your deaths rings as clear in my head as your voices.” He nodded slowly and chuckled again. “A tragic event, yet one that so humorously demonstrates the truth of the universe: The beauty in the world is inadequate; the good is always accompanied by the evil - the bright and the dark are so closely related. In a flash, great happiness turns into deep sorrow, and people and things are no more as they were before. After all, it will be a dream in the end, and all realms, such as this one, are empty. One may think there is no use in living on as your husband has. Why act if you will eventually awaken from the dream?”

As morale among the bjorks faltered, the sober god chuckled again and sat down in the centre of the circle. “But then again, if life is a dream, why have it be a nightmare? Your father, your husband Bishadnik, and everyone else who have yet to awaken as we have the choice to make the most out of the dream, and as I see and hear and feel them do so, I realise that fate itself becomes an oxymoron.”

The little kit sniffed somberly. “I miss my pa…” But his mother and the rest of the tribe seemed at least somewhat happy again. “So he’s alive then… But if he chases after our killers, he will surely die, will he not?” asked the mother.

Jiugui nodded. “Oh, most assuredly, but change, no matter how dire, is a necessary part of all life. Bishadnik will awaken from the dream and come here to walk the path of his second life, just as you do now. Then with time, surely will he awaken from this dream, too, and move into the next realm, and the despair following his death will repeat itself - but so will the joys of his life and the joys of your lives.” He folded his hands in his lap and had the bjorks gather before him in a cone. “Do not let yourselves be ensnared by the chains of anxiety and fear change - life is all about changes. To avoid them is to welcome sorrow and dismay. Let reality be reality, and let things flow naturally from one movement to the next. Life, reality, is nothing but a network, and once you see how the tiniest vibration in one end ripples across to the other, you will begin to understand that all things change, and all change is caused by another change. Your father, your husband Bishadnik has chosen to become reality - Bishadnik has become the change, and all the world will change at his whim.”

The bjorks blinked as one and exchanged small nods. The little kit raised a paw again and Jiugui nodded at him smilingly. “But when will I see him again?” asked the little one. Jiugui let out a gentle sigh and looked up into the cyan void-like sky of the Elysian Fields.



Again, the meaning seemed to pass over many heads, but before anyone could ask him to elaborate, Jiugui looked to the horizon. There, his good friends the Rainbow Serpent (who were both many and yet was also just one) awaited him, and the sober god combed his white beard with his hand again. “Alas, it may seem that my time has come. I must return now so that I can share with the world its truths and reality, and help all see how to best live their lives.” He stood up again and walked with his hands collected neatly behind his back. The gentle breeze of Elysium sent the straps of his bandana dancing to the rhythm of the bowing grain around the bjork dam. He did not turn back to the bjorks, but the afterlife opened many eyes within Jiugui, and now he had arrived at the truth of the universe, of creation itself. The key to everything rested within him, and now he would return to the land of the living once again to share it with everyone else. He approached the Serpent and smiled.

“Dear friend, what say you? Shall we return to the other side?”

The constellations slithered down from above while the awestruck souls of the dead could only look on in wonder and confusion; no doubt each one saw something different. As for Jiugui, what he saw was just a great stream of color, like a river of hazy paint, though something was wrong! There were only a few score different pigments; the Rainbow Dragon of before had been emblazoned with more hues than one could count, could see, or could even imagine!

_{“Hurry…”} the river of paint whispered as it rushed between the stars and down the sky; the wispy clouds above were the white foam of its rapids. Jiugui crouched down, like a bullfrog. Suddenly the world flashed and pulsated, and he saw great squares, as though everything were just a series of shifted planes, turning pages in a grand book. The world still breathed -- but slowly! -- and all the vivid motion that had animated all things was beginning to cease. His hypersensitivity likewise was now just an afterglow of what he had first felt; he sensed soon his mind would diminish, and the mysteries of the world would be closed to him once more.

So without waiting another beat, the crouched bullfrog that was Jiugui leaped up into the sky, landing within the turbulence of the Rainbow River. Lethargically, it ferried him away, but winds grasped at him and tries to wrest him free of the stream, tried to yank him out of that river through the heavens and to its banks, the shores of nothingness, that he would fall back down and be swept forevermore into the realm of the dead. But Jiugui loved life too much, so he struggled against the flaying winds, and he swam downstream, ever keeping near the center of the stream! He swam more desperately than he would have if there was some kraken behind him drinking the sea. What a whimsical thought!

The dream of his journey and his life was ending. He grew wearier with every stroke that he swam, and with each blink his eyes remained closer for longer than they ought to. The fatigue was setting in, calling on him to succumb to sleep, to move on into the next dream… but then he remembered his thirst, his parched throat. Even if he had been willing to drink paint, this river of dyes was not something tangible enough to consume, so his thirst remained, biting at him. Delirious from exhaustion and thirst, he mumbled to the Rainbow Serpent, “Will you guide me through the desert?”

There was no answer save for the soft murmuring of the river, and the fading music of the dreamtime. Jiugui sighed, and finally let go.


But then, at the last moment, a single drop of water fell upon his tongue; that lone droplet coaxed his pruned body back to life. It was the purest and sweetest thing that he had ever tasted.

Jiugui found himself somewhere else, in the shade of an odd tree. He was laying upon a patch of grass that had sprouted up to crown some lonely sand dune, and he felt so terribly stiff. Another drop of water fell, this time upon his forehead. He looked up and beheld the sunset; it was dusk now. Another drop rolled off the leaves of that tree above him, and the dew of the cool desert night fell once more upon his chapped lips. But Jiugui, dangerously dehydrated as he was, needed more than a few drops! He had a craving for the good stuff, but he was so lightheaded that he couldn’t even bear to look for his chalice… instead, he cupped his hands together and let the dewdrops rolling off a leaf fill them, and then he brought them up to his mouth and drank deeply.

“Uh-uhm… Are you awake, Magnificent Sleeper?”

Jiugui stopped mid-glug and peered through the gaps between his fingers. There, a large group of small, pale-furred rodents stood in a circle around him. They were marmots, but like the bjorks, they also spoke and looked to be sapient overall. Jiugui squinted at the all-too-familiar sight. His cupped hands filled once more, not from dew but from his own power, and he had a much stronger drink. And then he took another one, and another! The creatures assembled before him didn’t disappear with the alcohol, unfortunately.

“Let me guesh,” he mumbled at last, wiping the leftover death foam from his lips even as the rest of the moonshine that had been in his hands rolled down his chin. “You’re the maramoda or somethin’?”

The creatures, now christened the maramoda, gasped as one. Jiugui’s mouth formed a flat line and the drinking god groaned. Would this happen every time he'd wake up from a bender?

He needed a hangover cure, so he fumbled about until he found his chalice where it had been set down by his side. It still was filled to the brim with some odd glowing concoction that most certainly did not seem like what he needed right then. Strange smells wafted up from the elixir, so Jiugui poured it out and allowed the tree’s roots to drink their fill. He refilled his chalice with a sweet red wine -- that syrupy stuff was always good for hangovers -- and then he drank.

---

It was dark between the Galbar and the pale moon that had been scarred and assailed by the hands of the cruel divine, but the sole satellite and its heavenly radiance called to Homura, as the goddess of honor ascended upwards by the endless reach of Daybringer.

The golden spear had extended from the surface of Galbar to the massive crater that marked the center of the moon, and allowed the red goddess to reach her destination without encountering any trouble.

Then she heard a voice in her mind, piercing and tumultuous, yet filled with cosmic lucidity.

”I s̪͌ha̰͐ll͢͡ ̱̎div͈̋ô̠rc̆ͅe my͍͠ ͈̎touch f͉͋rom̧̒ ͖̓ṱ̀ḫ̌e ̡̋G̘̕al̛̞b̍͟ar̢̓'s surfȧ̦ce͇͝,͙́ an̼̄d r͖̀ȇ͙m̹̍aiņ̑ hè͓r͚̍e. Yoủ͚ ͇̘̱͑̃̇ḧ̨̡̲̪́͊̀͘ả̘͕̜͆̀vê̪̹̄ ̄͟m͖̠͙̊̌̈́y ̟̀w͔͑͐͜ò͎͎͈͕͌́͞rd̬̼͂̊.̠̼̘̈͑͒”

A promise. An oath. Homura felt compelled to seek out the source, and further understand what had happened. She feared what she may find, but continued her ascent. The song of the stars was the only solace from the harrowing silence surrounding her.

Daybringer had not struck the moon, for Homura could not ascertain whether it was awake or sleeping, so she had aimed for right above the crater. She could see the celestial light of her weapon’s tip illuminating the desolate realm. She could see deep within the crater, at its center, the presence of one of her siblings, and all around that crater, a cobweb of fractures, ravines, and craters that reeked of Iqelis’ ruinous power and marred the pale jewel.

This massive, deep crater that hollowed so much of the moon was like one great socket, and sitting within it was an unimaginably vast eye. There was nothing about Yudaiel’s ephemeral form to see, but Homura still felt it when the Prescient’s gaze suddenly was fixated upon her.

A sea of consciousness began to reach out toward Homura from that crater, but it came slowly, like the rising tides on the Galbar’s shores below, rather than aggressively surging at her like some oncoming storm. Daybringer, leveled right at Yudaiel’s pupil, offered some cause for trepidation and caution.

In response, the weapon was withdrawn as Homura came closer and closer to the vast eye, she allowed herself to let go and be drawn in by the waves of thought towards her sister. The red goddess closed her eyes, and spoke softly. “Show me.”

One piercing note of sound erupted from nothingness and swept away the moon, the stars, the black voids between: all of the cosmos that had been arrayed before Homura’s sight were gone. Only sound remained. The note faded, but its echos resounded off of something, and in a majestic humming an alcazar was constructed.

Every bit as magnificent as the Monarch’s own jade halls, this palace was nonetheless different. All the grand columns and walls and vaulted ceiling were white, but they did not gleam like marble; it was as though hewn from the pallid stone of the moon, and upon every surface were engravings that were as beautiful as they were abstract and incomprehensible.

Space and reality moved in strange ways. All the palace was visible, and yet the walls were real and solid. In one moment Homura observed all from outside its grounds, the next from within a grand foyer, and the next from within a great hall that she knew to be its largest and finest, the very heart of this grand place. There were a dozen-dozen rooms large enough to have fit all of Keltra, the fountains and ponds outside were almost so grand as seas, and yet the scale and grandeur of this chamber seemed vaster still.

A pillar of flame erupted from a dais at the far end of the hall, and it projected a glowing warmth that filled the whole palace and made it feel somehow… homely. The crackling of the fire bid Homura welcome.

“I have spoken with our vile brother, Iqelis. He was stained by godblood after committing the most grievous of sins. I ask now, would kin-slayers such as he be welcomed in this palace?” The red goddess asked after she bowed before the pillar of flames.

The very mention of that other god’s name elicited the flames to flare brighter, and for a long moment, the heat that they exuded was not comfortable. The bone-white stone all about Homura was not brightened by the growing pillar of fire, but rather it became grayer and darker. Her own shadow grew, too, larger and larger until it swallowed the room.

From the all-encompassing darkness there came the perception motion, and then the black was revealed to be a writhing swarm of flies, incomprehensibly vast, and at its center, one insect ever so slightly larger than the rest: Iqelis, Lord of the Flies.

The glowing white floor returned somewhere below, and was visible for all of a moment or two before clouds of dead and dying flies fell down to cover it. Time accelerated, and under the Flow’s withering march, the flies became dust. Iqelis, revealed now as the obsidian and many-armed fiend that he was, had his knees likewise give out as he was seized by some force of entropic recursion. The Lord of Doom had his knees and arms and teeth into smaller pieces that in turn became smaller and smaller until they were dust, and then nothingness, and Iqelis was left there before the returned pillar of flame, naked and crippled and feeble and broken. Hardly welcomed!

A barrage of other hypnagogic scenes flashed by: the mocking words and eye of Iqelis as he had first offered his foolishness and presumptions to Yudaiel, when they had met outside the palace. Then came their struggle as the two had raced up the palace and each filled the Codex with their dueling ideals and goals and conceptions of Time, and then came a glimpse wave of doom that had been hurled at the moon to crack and shatter it, and then the piece of that same wave that had been deflected down to wreak havoc upon Iqelis’ own machinations on the Galbar, days later!

Faster and faster the fevered images had been presented, too quick to truly understand all of it, but the emotion and intent was conveyed easily enough through the medium of ideabstraction. The pillar of flame emitted no smoke, but it breathed out a hatred and frightening malevolence towards Iqelis. At some point the room had grown so torrid that Iqelis’ broken form had been reduced to little more than a heap of slag, but then the blaze’s heat grew greater still, and the whole hall became one great crucible that tested Homura’s mettle, and that demanded her to yield her own thoughts.

“I am acutely against the nihilistic nonsense he profusely pontificates, and he will suffer punishment for his grievous crimes.” Homura replied, only sparing a brief glance towards the melted manifestation of the god of doom.

The red goddess gracefully wove her hand through the illusion of reality, delicately touching each abstract atom and guiding them towards her. She resisted the temptation to recreate her champions and allow herself to enjoy their comforting company.

Her concern for them had continued to creep upon her further and further as she saw more and more of the world that the divine had built; sacred sanctuary seemed in short supply for many mortals across Galbar.

“Forgive me, for I cannot atone on behalf of our brother, but I hope you will accept my gifts.” Homura said, as she called forth fabricated elements and shaped them into three primordial humans. They lacked any facial features aside from slits that suggested where such features should be found, and their scalps were without hair, as bald as the barren surface of Galbar once was. Their smooth skin was ashen and unblemished, akin to the pure white moon before the deprivations of Iqelis had been afflicted upon it.

“Beings forged from earth, water, wind, and fire, to act as our shepherds for our creations. They will be the mortal expression of our will and desire, serving us, worshipping us. However, they are quite fragile, and their inner fires must continually feed lest they consume themselves.” The goddess of honor continued, as she caressed and cradled each of her conjured creatures in her arms. The three humans slept; softly breathing and restful as their maker held them, though they did not dream.

“They seek sculpting from the divine, you may shape and paint them however you wish. I only ask that you guide them.” Homura arose and offered Yudaiel a small smile, as she stood before the altar of fire once more.

The column of flames danced to an exuberant and rapid beat, and its flickering light made the hall glow brighter. The wisps of dreams that Homura had fashioned into the likeness of humans vanished in a blink -- ideas were ephemeral, after all -- and the hall itself dissolved away. The ruined heap that had been Iqelis was long done, the blemish vanished as soon as he had been out of mind, and the flames breathed in. Homura found herself flung forward, pulled inexorably in, but the fire did not hurt even as it burned away her body.

She was formless now, resting upon a white rock. Above her was a sky of glass with a mirrored sheen. Upon the magical mirror, the Galbar presented its face before her, and her Sight was so potent that she saw more than just the verdant landmasses and the azure seas, the cerulean ribbon of an atmosphere and the drifting clouds within: she Saw the surface itself, and could discern even individual grains of sand if she squinted at a given spot. There were more meaningful things to examine than sand, though. Great, lumbering colossi wandered across the land and through the seas. They numbered eleven now, for one of them had been broken, and they each obeyed their programming and harvested the world’s bounty so that it could be refined and bent to the Creator’s will.

All except for three, that was, for three had been captured and had their cause subverted. Those champions whose presence Homura had longed for mere moments ago were now there; she could See them clearly, and yet they could not see her. Within the innards of one colossi, the vermillion hair of Courage and Fear flew wildly as they gave chase to some metallic fiend as it fled, another strange automaton upon its shoulder. It was a curious sight, but even more ponderous was how they all suddenly began running backwards.

With the Flow of time reversed, the sun rose in the west and set in the east, the rain erupted out of the land and the seas and hurled itself up into the heavens, and Iqelis arrived to offer a gift of seven lifeless humans. Even stranger than seeing this reversal, this perversion of reality, was Homura watching herself from some omniscient and higher angle.

The Flow quickened, and they looked further back to witness her encounter with Voligan. Ten-hundred-hundred husks were arrayed before Voligan, and Homura’s triplet champions eagerly claimed them all and carried them back into the colossi. And so it was for all those other deities that had already met with the lady of honor.

Cracks appeared in the magical mirror that had revealed all these sights, and when it shattered, a new scene was apparent: the colossi were moored upon an open plain and totally voided, with all the humans that yet remained having been laid out in the dancing moonlight. A hundred thousand and then more than half that number again were there, and the moon was pleased with the gift. In the dusk, yet under the protection and guidance of Yudaiel’s ever watchful Eye, the first of them roused from their long slumber and were stirred to begin a long journey.

“So be it. You shall have your humans, but I am wondering why you would keep them on Galbar, and not here with you?” Homura spoke with a silent voice; lacking shape and sound. She considered the location she had been shown, and contemplated the meaning of Yudaiel’s choice, while awaiting an answer.

The open plains gave way to the sight of a dark and misty jungle that had come to flourish along the edge of the dead Tlacan Sea. The moon was bright, somewhere above, but this was a rainy day. Droplets fell from the clouds above down into the oily glass of the sea’s surface, and then they shuddered and became mist and rose back into the air again, refusing to join with that dreaded mire. So a great haze came to hang over the land, so thick that it all but blocked the bright lunar light.

But the humans were no longer walking, breathing creatures; their inner fire had spilled forth, and now they were candles. Through their light, the black night was illuminated, even here in such lands where the moon’s brilliance could not reach.

“Hmm… I shall lay your gifts down where calamity once struck, and you may awaken them then. The land will be reborn, and I promise I will protect your people from the depredations of doom and despair.” Without an actual body, the attempted and nonviable act of bowing became a source of bemusement for the red goddess. She simply refrained from shifting.

Though she did not suffer the strange susceptibility to illness and decay as mortals would, Homura had been able to enjoy the many pleasures offered by the ability to perceive through the senses; the yearning for touch and the feeling of being physically embraced by the many wonders of the world, the taste of thought and the music of memories cultivated through the tangible self and its interactions with all of creation. She enjoyed having a body to express herself.

Despite this, Yudaiel’s wordless articulation clearly conveyed her intentions as well as meaning, and Homura could appreciate the wonderful mingling of the abstract and the allegorical in the visions Yudaiel conjured. She wondered whether the great seer would be opposed to manifesting a physical body in the future, but ascertained that mentioning such silly concepts now would be brash.

“It will take time to return and deliver them, but I see no other obstacles. I shall make haste, but before I depart, I must ask you; what is your name, and what is the name of your creation? I am Homura, and it is a pleasure to speak with you now.” The temptation to gesture towards the pale radiance of the moon, and to herself while she spoke was prevalent, but Homura wanted to explore formlessness for a moment more.

Perhaps it was good that Homura was formless in that moment, for otherwise she might have felt a crazed whiplash as the land below spun beneath the horizon. The stratospheric winds had a powerful voice, and through their screams and bellows, a name was formed. The ground grew closer; sand stirred and billowed here in the dune-sea that had been wrought when the goddess’ mind had blasted away mountains and made dust of whole hills. The sandstorms echoed the same name as they blew and blew, over oases and through the ruined heap of the fallen metal colossus. They reached land’s end. The waves whispered the same name also, from their foaming mouths that glowed orange in the sunset, and the palm trees and their rustling fronds joined the great chorus:

...Yu̳̦̎̔d͖̦̔͂a̼͗ï̩͚̓e̺̽l̺̮̆͆...

The endless sea’s horizon swallowed the sun, but a pale opal took its place in the heavens, beautiful even with its great crater and cracks. It was the grandest and brightest of all the jewels in the night sky, the socket of the sharpest eye, the Galbar’s moon and twin sister. It was what it was.

A shooting star descended from above, a fiery trail marking its glory. It did not crash into land or water and die in a great blaze as meteorites were wont to do, but rather fell halfway through the celestial sphere and then came to rest hanging in the air just before Homura’s view.

The Gift [+]

Before her was a pearly stone, a simulacrum of the moon as it had been before it had been tarnished. She found herself with hands once more, and so she grasped it… it felt cool the touch, and smooth, and realer than any dream.

The star had no voice, but voiceless things could speak in dreams, and so the stone offered itself as a token of favor. It made a solemn vow too, to show her something wondrous or beautiful or alien… whatever thing she desired to see, it would show.

And when the dreamscape sublimated away and Homura was adrift once more before the real moon, Daybringer in one hand, the moonstone rested in her other.

And then a resounding voice echoed through the void, the Monarch of All proclaiming His will and bestowing upon Homura the highest place in His court of law, all as the Prescient had foreseen.

The moon’s stoic face was reticent to surrender any indication as to what it thought of the announcement; it offered no congratulations to Homura or either of the other ‘fortuitous’ two, but likewise Yudaiel said nothing to sully whatever pride or joy they might have felt. Flames of envy and hatred could burn, but they seared best when they did it slowly, gingerly… like the sun’s rays.

“Thank you, Yudaiel, for your hospitality and your kind gift. Hmm… whenever you have need of me, should any of those among the divine decide to bring you grief, call upon me and I shall come. Forgive me now, for I must make haste and return to my mortals and my duty. Until we meet again then.” Homura said, and found the silence of space as hollow as her words, her empty promises and attempts at offering solace were worthless if she could not adhere to them.

There seemed nothing else she could say, so the red goddess turned back to the Galbar and aimed her golden spear. Daybringer stretched forth until it had struck earth, and then carried Homura back to the planet. Her departure was as swift as her arrival, across the void and through the sky, until she descended upon land. For the entirety of her journey, she refused to look back to the moon, and the all-seeing eye that dwelt there.

Setting: The Garden of Hevel

“I should have known… You'd be here...”

Apostate’s voice rumbled out of his metallic chest, sending ripples in the air. His secret gaze pierced the smokey figure of his opponent. The copy of Apostate growled back, lifting a sword to point it at his rival.

“Of course I am…”

A pause as the two thought.

“You… asked me to be here.”

”That’s right!” The original Apostate boomed, flourishing his own blade. “And you have arrived at your doom!”

Apostate’s opposer let out a low rumble of his own, a sinister growl rolling from the smoke.

“Fight me.”

The ground shook and the wind screamed as Apostate blurred from where he was standing, his form cutting towards the enemy. With equally lightning reflexes, the opponent lifted their blade and caught Apostate’s swing. An immense crash sounded and sparks bloomed as the two stood frozen for a moment, faces mere inches from each other, looking over the length of dark blades.

Apostate let out a battlecry and as he did, a pulse of smoke formed behind him, only to charge back into his, giving him a surge of momentum. With air shaking strength, he let loose a powerful shove. A shockwave formed and the enemy was blasted from the clash, the sky whistling as he cut through it at supersonic speeds. Not wanting to let his quarry escape, Apostate went exploding through the air after him.

The enemy was a blur on the winds, the world around him and the chasing Apostate were streaks as they traveled. A large dark mass formed in the distance and in a fraction of a second, the enemy was shot through a mountainside, leaving a gaping hole, only to slam into another cliff face, this time leaving a shower of rocks and a crater.

Fist first, Apostate burst into the crater after him, causing another eruption of stones to blast from the rocky bowl. The enemy folded from the blow but before Apostate could bring his blade down to finish the fight, the copy hefted his own. Slamming the flat of the blade against Apostate, he wrenched himself free and rolled to his smoky feet.

“Come.”

Both swords swung wildly, sparking off each other as the two fought in the crater. Streaks of fire were scarring the sky with smoke from the clash, but it was an even match. The clone swung, but Apostate bounced the blade off of his own and stabbed in riposte, but the clone was ready and jumped back. Eagerly, Apostate leapt forward to close the gap and put his enemy on their back heel, oppressing their blade with heavy swings. Finding an opening, the clone bucked Apostate back a little with a jab of his blade's guard, resetting their fight.
Attempting to find a new opening, Apostate swung, but the copy ducked and rose with a stab of his own. Apostate anticipated the strike and side-stepped then swung his pommel. The pommel sank through the smoke enemy and following up, Apostate turned the blade to deliver a final stab through the chest, piercing the area any heart would be present. The two stood there dramatically in this pose until finally Apostate growled.

“Fool.”

The hazy enemy disappeared, the wisps of smoke that had formed it returning to Apostate’s body. Now he stood alone in a crater in the middle of nowhere, blade dramatically poised in an invisible enemy’s crippled body. The victor let out a rumbling groan.

“Bored.”

---

Though victorious, Apostate was defeated with boredom and so he walked back to the garden instead of taking a more action-filled route as was his exit from the garden. Even if he wasn’t a god, finding the way back would have been easy enough: if the hole in the mountain didn’t point the way, the long straight trail of destruction the fly-over caused did. The fight had happened so fast and so abruptly that even as Apostate made his way back to the garden, debris was still littering down from the sky.

By the time he reached the garden, a faint buzz bore into his heart. It bequizzled Apostate, provoking him to cup his chest with an ethereal hand. He looked down, as if he would find the cause of the anxiety. Something hurt, but why?

It was faint, and only noticeable now that Apostate was thinking about it, but deep in his heart he felt a ringing pain, as if something was wrong. It felt distant, far away, but annoying all the same. As he stood by his statue, he let out a long rumbling sigh — something wasn’t right.

Deep down, he knew that this pain meant more than a simple anxiety, and that in time it would only grow along with the world — a certain truth in his mind told him this. He knew his purpose, he knew what he was and by putting it all together he could only deduct he found the natural motivation of who he was. Unfortunately, Apostate applied, it spoke through pain.

He groaned.

“Give your worst.”

As true as the tiny pain, Apostate knew he would push against it more than it could ever push against him. He’d never buckle, never surrender. Apostate would sooner grind himself into nothing before such a trifle bent him useless, no matter how strong it would grow! Though, the god admitted (for once), he was getting ahead of himself. For now it was but a small sting, mirroring the youth of creation… but at the very least, he’d never be bored again.

The White Skulls

Keshi’s life was, in truth, not the best. She was not high up in the pecking order, especially by Bjork standards. Her scent was the lowest of the low, pretty much ensuring her life would be nothing more but labouring in the cold to build dams constantly. But she could do more, she could fight! She could hunt! But no, because of her scent, there was nothing more she was allowed to do. It didn’t help that her clan had submitted to those damn Voganids, so that just dropped her further and further down. It was a pitiful life.

That was, until the white-streaked Bjork arrived.

They suddenly arrived in the village one day, they looked old, a long white streak going from their face all along their back, and they carried with them a gnarled and rotten staff of wood. It was as clear as the rivers that they were not from around any of these parts, as their scent was nothing like anyone had ever smelled before. Keshi could even swear that sometimes, it smelled like they were shrouded in a scent of death. That wasn’t even the weirdest bit, the visitor was always smiling, regardless of what was going on, and no one was quite sure why they had come to the village, they would only claim they were passing by, but, to be so clearly far away from their home, it put everyone on edge, and everyone generally tried to avoid them.

Keshi tried not to think of it that often, it was something new in her drab life yes, but, in truth it was not what she had desired. She wanted liberation, not some creepy old Bjork. What she didn’t know at the time was that that very same Bjork, would be her ticket to a new life.

---

She was sat upon a log that fateful midday, next to her was her friends and clan mates: Orik, a large Bjork who Keshi had known since they were little kits. There was Lugan and Borof, two brothers known for their speed in their work. And finally Iga, a bjork with far more smarts than strength, sadly though she, like the rest, was not high enough on the ladder to use it.

They all were upset with their lot in life, that was for sure, Keshi and Orik both wished to become hunters and warriors for their people, Iga wished to use her mind to learn the tales of their people and pass them down, and the twins meanwhile just wanted a better life, not being at the bottom of the rung. But, their scent refused to let them do anything akin to their dreams and desires. And as they sat and chatted, gnawing upon the leaves of the trees they had just cut down, they expressed this openly, not too openly though, just with each other, when anyone else was present, they were all careful to keep their mouths shut.

That, was when she smelled it, a sudden burst of that scent that had become all too familiar to the people of the clan. She spun around, only to be face to face with the white-streaked beaver, their smile plastered upon their face, almost unnaturally. With a yelp she fell out of her seat, the others quickly noticing the newcomer as well, Orik bent down to help her back up, though her focus was entirely upon the white-streak.

“What do you want?” she spat at them

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you, I forget my own silence at times,” The Stranger chuckled, “But I overheard your conversation of dissatisfaction. And if you would indulge a lone Bjork I must ask, why do you not do something to change that dissatisfaction?”

Keshi looked at the others with a confused face, before turning back to the white-streak “How, would we do anything? Our scent has made it so we can’t do anything, even if we tried to achieve our goals we would just be forced back because of it.” It was an argument they had had many of times, there was no changing it.

Yet, the white-streak merely stared at them, smile still upon their face, and calmly replied “You can not change your scent, yes, but do not let that shackle you to your lot, you have the strength, you can break free.”

“Are you implying we break from the ways of our people?” Piped up Iga, who alongside the others had been watching the exchange intently.

“That is exactly what I am implying, the ways do not work for you, perhaps it’d be time to break them and take what you deserve.” They gestured towards themselves, “Afterall, that is what I did.”

“You, took from your clan?” they all wanted to ask it, Keshi was just the first to blurt it out, a sense of confusion in her voice.

“Yes I did, I left shortly afterwards, but I have lived, a far more fulfilling life ever since.” They tilted their head some, smiling wider at the group “But, a mere suggestion I suppose, it is not fit for everyone.”

Keshi looked at the others once more, their eyes locking for brief moments, each one of them wanted to ask more and more. They were always dissatisfied, but to just abandon the clan? That seemed, almost too much. She turned back around to ask the stranger one more question, yet, they were already gone, vanished into the wind, as if they were never there to begin with.

They spent the rest of their meal sitting in silence. Each one of them contemplated what the stranger had said, even as the smell of death still lingered.

---

Keshi had thought about it long into the night, sitting by the riverbank, upstream of the central dam. She looked out into the ever dwindling forest and swamp, whittling away a piece of wood in her hands in a sharpened point, just to give her something to do. The stranger had not said much, but what they had had really stuck with her, would it really be possible to just rebel like that? What would the other members of the clan think? Surely it was not that simple, there was no way they would just let her and the others just leave like that, though they certainly wouldn't let them stay if they did push back against the system.

Soft footfalls sounded behind her, she didn’t need to look back to recognize Orik sitting down next to her, his wide and beefy frame was easy enough to recognize. For a while, they just sat in silence, the sound of the swamp and forest playing in the far distance, as the silence of the night crept closer and closer.

“What are you planning to do?” He suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence.

“I'm not sure, to just, take what we want, to break tradition, it’s, almost tempting in a way.”

“That I can agree with, it would certainly aid our lot, our scent keeps us down, yet our strength could put us back up.”

“But, we’d become outcasts, would we really be willing to accept that?” She stared at the sharpened wood in her hand, a sense of uncertainty gnawing at her.

“I guess that entirely depends,” Orik looked towards the den, before continuing “Y’know, the guard of the food store is off in the woods today, it’d be easy to do a little test.”

“A quick in and out, nothing more.” She said, pocketing her sharpened wood.

“Aye, I can agree to that.”

And so, they got up and walked towards the den, heeding the words of that white-streaked stranger, to see if they could take what they were owed.

---

Orik was right, the guard was nowhere to be found. The stores were wide open, heaps of food laid out before the two novice thieves. Unfortunately for both of them, they hadn’t really expected this to work, so neither was prepared. They had nothing to carry any food with, and quite honestly they didn't know what to take, surely someone would notice, right?

Regardless, Orik began to grab small amounts from each section, not enough for someone to notice but certainly enough to be a nice feast when all put together. Keshi joined in, a sense of eagerness developing in her, damn the consequences! This is what it meant to live, to finally have what was owed to her.

"And what do you think you two are doing?"

The two would be thieves spun around. Standing just in the open doorway was another Bjork, a higher Bjork to be exact, and to be even more exact it was Otto, a clanmate. In one hand he had a solid looking piece of wood, and the look on his face told the two of them that there was no doubt he was willing to use it. Keshi merely stood there, a silent look of shock upon her face, luckily Orik spoke up, saving them from the silence.

"We were, asked to deliver some food."

“This late at night?” Otto’s eyebrow rose, clearly he was not buying it.

“Ya, one of the den mothers asked us to grab some.”

“And which one would this be? I’m sure she could confirm your story.”

“Well, I don’t quite remember her name, but I do know where she is.” Keshi was beginning to realize Orik was not the best at lying, and found her left hand drawing towards the sharpened wood in her pouch.

“Uh-huh, sure, and why don’t we stop by the Matriarch’s den while we’re at it.” He gestured his staff out towards the door “Come along you two.”

This, this wasn’t good, being brought before the Matriarch? This wouldn’t result in exile, this’d be full on punishment, maybe even death if she wasn’t in a good mood? Orik was scrambling for a solution out of this, but Keshi knew what she had to do. For a brief moment, she smelled a rotten scent upon the wind, and lunged.

The wood found purchase in Otto’s body, sinking deep within, the Bjork fell to the ground, clutching the now bleeding wound, gasping for breath. Keshi didn’t wait for him to properly react, she grabbed Orik’s arm.

“Get the twins, I’ll get Iga, we’re leaving.” She ordered him

The two thieves rushed out of the door, droves of food in their hands, as the wounded Otto yelled at them to stop, and then, when they didn’t, promptly yelled for the guards. They split up, rushing in different directions. Stopping by their friend’s dens, and practically ripping them from their matts, the now five criminals rushed about as the den began to awaken to the commotion, grabbing whatever they could before meeting back up at the exit.

“Where the hell are we gonna go now!” Yelled Lugan, already they could hear the footfalls of guards coming up behind them

“To the forest,” Keshi replied, “We’ll lose them there.”

And with that, they ran. Deep into the darkness past the village that had been rudely awakened, away from the guards brandishing spears they would use to cut them down. Into the forest they went, its darkness, and stench, bringing a comforting wrapping to the fugitives.

---

They huffed, and they puffed as their lungs threatened to erupt from their bodies. The group sat in a circle upon the dirt of the woods. They had lost the guards some time ago, but they kept running, just to make sure. Now, they were directionless, only a few items they could grab, and barely enough food to make it past a week. What where they to do now?

The crunching of leaves alerted them to a newcomer, they reached for the branches they had grabbed to defend themselves, yet, calmed when the smell hit them. The stench of death. The white-streaked stranger stood before them, their form masked by the darkness, yet they could all swear their smile was visible as a full moon.

“You’ve done well our kin,” They spoke, staying just out of reach. “You’ve taken what was owed to you, we couldn’t be prouder.”

“But what are we to do now?” Keshi asked, looking at her despondent friends.

“Simple, become like we are, Parasites, Bandits.”

“Bandits?”

”Yes, Bandits, steal what you need from the weak, use your strengths to take from those who do not deserve it as much as you, thieves of all, yes yes.” They all could swear the stranger’s form was warping and twisting, but they figured it was just the tiredness.

“Bandits...yes, we need to take what we’re owed, but first, let's rest.” She said that as much to the stranger as to her friends.

They nodded in agreement, and one by one, they fell asleep, the tiredness of the night taking them in. As the stranger sat, smiling just behind them.

When they woke, they were no longer labourers, they were Bandits, thieves, the very first in all of the Galbar. They would refine themselves in the coming months, learning how to better steal from the clans around them, and someday, attracting others to their banner. But for now, they were five, and in honour of that stranger who had guided them, they took a name, and dyed parts of their fur that same stark white. They were now, the White Skulls.

Rosalind the Feverfoot was quite stuck. She had wandered the length of the shore for days and had not been able to find her oar. By a stroke of luck she had happened upon the boat, half-buried in the sand and surrounded by happy, yapping seals, but of the oar there was no trace. So she sat down, at last, on the edge of the boat and huffed. The boat was of no use without an oar.

She sat thinking there for a time, seals leaping on by or lazing about, until at last her reverie was broken by a great startling boom that echoed from the far mountains. It was only a few seconds after it sounded that she realised it had been a voice - and that it had spoken. “I should have known… You'd be here...” it rumbled. The goddess stared at the mountains, eyes wide and feet trembling.

“I- well- I didn’t mean. I was just- I was about to leave.” She stammered, getting up.

“That’s right!” The voice exploded, even louder this time, making the dusk-haired Feverfoot jump.

“Ye- Yes, that’s right, I’ll be right on my wa-”

“-you have arrived at your doom!” The mountains clapped, and the echo of the deathly declaration resounded through them and into the earth, resounded even in the depths of Rosalind the Feverfoot’s hammering heart. She swallowed, trembled, and tried to speak, but her tongue was frozen and all she could think to do was run. She turned and the sea sprawled out before her, and it might as well have been a wall extending into the endlessness of the heavens. Behind her the mountains cracked and whatever it was that sought her doom spoke once more - calmly, coldly, conclusively, “fight me.”

“I- I can’t! I’m sorry! Please-” Rosalind cried out, turning to her boat and pulling it desperately towards the water. The wet sands squelched beneath her and gave easily enough, and the seals - heedless of the sound or unafraid - clapped and barked and danced around her.

“Come!” The mountains insisted, but Rosalind shook her head and pulled her boat into the waters, deeper and deeper until it was afloat, and then dragged herself - the boat rocking precariously - in. She looked back and paddled with her hand - which seemed a futile act - while the waves carried her slowly, but surely, from the coast. The mountains leered at her, and she heard that terrible voice only once more. “Fool,” it lambasted her. She swallowed and looked at the roiling waves all around and the great dark ocean extending into forever. Perhaps she was.

She sat tight as the waves carried her. They were far calmer than she had known them to be back when her boat first landed and she fell into Ao-Yurin’s furious grasp. Calmer, too, than they were during that terrible and terrifying chase to which Aletheseus had subjected her. But still, they were waves and obeyed no one now that Ao-Yurin was truly dead, and oar-less as she was they carried her hither and thither as they pleased. No waves were favourable to a boat without direction.

Rosalind the Feverfoot only sat in her boat and sighed as the waves rocked her now here and now there, and from time to time she looked up, surveyed the horizon, then slumped back down and placed her chin on her hands as day turned to night and night to day. Now and again a school of fish would pass glistening by, and the goddess would watch them in wonder and fear as they passed on. The odd pod of dolphins would leap far off or at a stone throw's distance, clicking and whistling, and at one point a great black and white beast - which she knew to be an orca - came nudging at the boat. Rosalind was rather relieved when it lost interest and let her and the boat be. She certainly did not want another dip in the waters.

Not all visitations were fated to end as well as that with a curious orca, however, for Ao-Yurin’s realm was home to things of an indubitably more sinister disposition. On one fair night, when the moon hung like a great, broken, bright pearl bedecking the broad chest of the cloudless sky, and the stars twinkled as they do only in children’s rhymes and mothers’ lullabies, a wet pair of clawed hands latched onto the side of the boat - too silently for Rosalind the Feverfoot to hear - and pulled a terrible blue-eyed visage from the murky depths. The two bright blue eyes observed the land-creature, and its face broke into a sharp-toothed smile.

“Well, hello there.” It said, causing Rosalind the Feverfoot to cry out, jerk in shock, and very nearly leap out of the boat.

“Oh! Oh my! My heart! I- what- how- you-” she scrambled away from the terrible visage, all the way to the back of the boat. “Who- what- are you? What do you want?” The creature only observed her with its unblinking crystal blue eyes- and then it suddenly blinked, which only proved more unnerving.

“My, what a pretty little morsel you are - and so many questions. I don’t mind chatting though - I’ve been awful lonely, see, no one to talk to when you’re an exile, see? The Exile, mind you - that’s me.” It dragged itself further up, its movements so gentle that the boat hardly rocked at all, and it became apparent from its manly torso that it was a male - though what species it was, Rosalind could not know. It was not of the sort - like seals and dolphins and orcas - that she simply knew, not like Voligan or Aletheseus or the Monarch whom she had simply known. “As for what I am - you look very confused, maybe you’ve never seen my like? Well, it’s no matter, for I’ve never seen your like either. I am of the Ao, and all this about you - here and here and there - all this, the Mer, it belongs to the Ao. It is our realm, our domain, our watery kingdom, and you are in it. And what of you, pretty little morsel, what form of creature are you and by what name do you go?”

Rosalind relaxed slightly, but her wary eyes remained on the Exile. “Well, I’m Rosalind. And, well, I’m not sure what form of creature I am, exactly. But my siblings are all gods so I think maybe I should be too.” She scratched her temple and moved a black strand out of her face and watched as the Exile’s smile widened.

“Ah, Rosalind the God are we? How exciting. I’ve never met god before. Here now, let me see you better.” The Exile moved his head forward and scrutinised her. “But why, what is that great black stuff erupting from your head, Rosalind the God?”

Rosalind placed a hand on her hair and half-chuckled - it became rather a quick and purposeful expiration. “Oh, but it is only hair. Do the Ao not have it?”

“Oh no no, we’ve no such thing. It looks almost like seaweed - but black! And it moves here and there, how odd - what is this hair? Is it so many tentacles, perhaps?” The Exile frowned and stared at the threadlike growth with his piercing eyes.

“Nothing like tentacles, no,” Rosalind giggled, relaxing and running a hand across her hair and bringing it over her left shoulder. It fell with a great whoosh as far as her knee and the Exile let out a whistle of admiration. “It’s just… well, hair. It doesn’t move of its own will, only with the wind and only if I move it with my hands or if I twist my head or jerk this way or that. And if you cut it, it doesn’t bleed; if you pluck it, it doesn’t much hurt. It looks pretty, but you could probably go without it if you liked.”

The Exile nodded, his eyes gleaming with a soft curiosity. “And what does it feel like? May I?” He extended a hand and Rosalind frowned. “Ah, but is it rude to touch another’s hair?”

Rosalind cocked her head. “Well, I don’t think so - but it would be odd, I think. You can’t just feel another person’s hair. Well, maybe if you liked them.”

“Ah!” The Exile exclaimed, “well, that resolves it then - for I do like you, Rosalind the God, I like you very much! You look so different and say such interesting things too, and you’re such a pretty little morsel! Wipe that frown away and let me see your smile, and if you’d honour a poor exile I’d love to feel your hair.”

Rosalind sighed and seemed unsure, but the Exile only smiled and nodded, and so she relented with reluctance. “Well, I guess it’s okay, if only a bit.” She slowly got up, stepped over the centre thwart, and sat herself down by the Exile. He leaned down on his elbow and extended an upturned hand and waited. Rosalind smiled in appreciation and took a small handful of dusky hair and placed it into the Exile’s palm. He cocked his head and felt the velvet curls.

“Now that… is so soft and sleek, I’ve never felt anything like this.” He half frowned and half smiled, incredulity lighting up his eyes. “There is nothing in all the Mer like this, nothing I’ve ever felt or seen! It is beautiful, Rosalind the God.”

Rosalind reddened slightly and her feet tip-tapped against the bottom boards. “Thank you, Exile. You are too kind.” She glanced down at the flowing locks in his palm for a few silent seconds, then a question lit up her eyes. “So, why is it that you’re an exile?”

The Exile continued to stroke the silken strands she had handed him even as he let out a great sigh at the question. “Oh, it is terrible, simply terrible. Loneliness is a terrible punishment, Rosalind the God - I would not wish it on my most hated foe, no! To be alone in the world, to be away from loved comrades and kin - what crime, however execrable, could warrant such a barbarous punishment? Away from the familiar climes of childhood, from those places one calls home - what crime, however detestable, could warrant such a heartless penalty? Shower me as you wish with shame, cast me into the abyss of lowliness, but do not rend me from those faces and places for which the heart yearns! What did I do, Rosalind the God? Is it so evil, as to require this torture, that I felled a fellow Ao? Had it not been greater mercy if they felled me as just recompense? I would have preferred that by far and justice would have been served, would it not? Why torture me lifelong? What did the slain suffer that I should suffer such? Is not death but a moment - does the one who dies even feel it? And here I am, suffering still. Were I worse than I am - that is, were I a coward - I would have slain myself, Rosalind the God, I would. But ah, the strong do as they wish and the weak suffer what they must.” He sighed and fingered the goddess’ hair.

Rosalind stared sorrowfully at him. “I am sorry for your suffering, Exile - I am sorry that you carry this name. What were you called before this all?”

“It is of no importance now. It is in the past and I am resigned to my punishment. Why, I am not just resigned - for now I have cause for happiness; had I never been cast out then I never would have had the pleasure of coming to know you. Perhaps it was destiny - the waves all flow to a destination, it is not mere whimsey, and the waves of our lives have carried us that we both, at this very moment, should meet right here.” The Exile smiled broadly and his eyes twinkled, and Rosalind too smiled.

“You speak so lucidly, I love hearing you.” She sank to the bottom boards and placed an elbow on the centre thwart even as the Exile continued to caress the dusky strands. They did not speak for a while after that, content in one another’s silent company, until the Exile glanced behind him and let out a sad sigh.

“Much as I would love to stay with you, Rosalind the God, I must leave you now. My breath grows thin and I grow hungry too, and so I must go see to my needs.” He looked sadly down at her, and she frowned and raised her head.

“I understand. It was a great pleasure to know you, Exile. I hope that your people will take you back in one day, and that you will see the faces you love and the places for which your heart yearns.” The goddess spoke sympathetically.

The Exile nodded slowly and was silent, looking at her wistfully and stroking her curls. “But before I leave, grant me only another wish - I do not know if I shall ever see you again, or someone of your kind.”

“Of course, ask freely.” Rosalind responded readily, rising to her feet and approaching.

“I have known the sleekness of your hair, but now I wish only to feel your skin. It looks nothing like that of Ao - look at me, scaled and gilled - look at these hands, webbed and leathery. Look at yours, pleasing and soothing on the eye - pleasing and soothing, surely, on the hand.” He let go of her locks and extended his hand once again. Rosalind scratched her cheek and smiled shyly.

“If that’s what you want, although I don’t think it’s as special as you think.” And so saying, she placed her hand in his palm and he wrapped his webbed and clawed hands gently around her hand, then let out a contented breath.

“Ah, with that then, farewell my sweet morsel. Farewell to you, Rosalind the God.” He descended slowly into the waters, his hand still gently about her own. She leaned forward to watch him go and as his body sank beneath the waves she slowly released his hand.

But he did not release hers. With a gentle pull - for she was leaning so far forward that all it took was a gentle pull - she hurtled head first into the briny darkness. She did not even have the time to yelp or shout in surprise. Water hurtled up her nostrils and clawed at the back of her throat, and she felt the Exile’s grip - now a vice - on her hand. She felt his form against her, felt his other arm wrap almost lovingly about her. She felt a coolness against her neck followed by quick sharp pain which exploded into agony as he ripped the flesh away. The tilting dark brine sang crimson with the blood of the divine. “Farewell, my pretty little morsel, forever farewell. It is but a brief moment, see, then I will suffer eternally while you run light and free. Can’t pass up god, see?”

And the terrible truth was that Rosalind the Feverfoot did not even mind. In fact, after the initial shock and confusion, once his teeth sank into her and she understood, she felt a sort of great relief. Now no one would think she was a coward - perhaps they would grieve her and say a few kind words, something about a tragedy, something about never again, something about too young and too soon - but no one would know she was a coward. She smiled and raised her chin, offered herself up to the Exile and awaited his next bite with nothing but a single tear that sizzled away in the cold water.

What came, instead, was a nudge and Rosalind felt herself dragged here and there for a few brief seconds before the Exile’s grip loosened and she floated bloodied and free. She opened her eyes, and through the crimson she could see the shade of the Exile swimming swiftly away, and all about her were little dancing creatures, pulsing and murmuring. Some were tiny, while others - like those that even now chased and quarrelled with the Exile - were of great size. But those ones were dwarfed by the dancerfish that rose from the depths beneath her and caught her on its nose so that she rose swiftly through the waters and soon found that she had broken through the surface and was beholding sky and sea as she sat on the enormous dancerfish’s head. She looked down at the great form of the thing and thought it more massive than even the biggest whales she had seen while floating aimlessly on the seas.

The goddess quickly scrambled for her boat, leaving a trail of golden-crimson ichor behind her, which permanently coloured the great dancerfish mother’s great head. “Th-thank you.” Rosalind managed, once she was in her boat, and turned to the dancerfish. The colossal being beheld her with unblinking eyes of turquoise.

“Like tears, Rosalind the Feverfoot, we answer the cry for help.” It spoke with soundless voice. The waves danced gently before it and little dancerfish swirled in the water, and from their midst a single familiar oar arose. “Like tears, Rosalind the Feverfoot, when lost can ne’er be found - except by tears.” Rosalind stared at the oar and her breathing came shallow as her eyes grew wet. She gulped and restrained herself, however, and reached down and took the oar. She gripped it and almost sobbed. “Like tears, Rosalind the Feverfoot, hot and true and ever with you. Like tears.”

Rosalind nodded, smiled, and shed the dancing pearl tears of creation. “Like tears.” She affirmed. And, for no reason that anyone ever quite worked out - not even those kynikos at the Academy or who ranged about, not even Epsilon, not even Yudaiel or the serpents and mushrooms and barken-visages she saw - dancerfish were never known as dancerfish again, but as laektears.

And then Rosalind the Feverfoot rowed her boat, and she found that all waves were favourable to a boat with direction.

• Summary [+]

  Rosalind is stuck on the westcontinent, trying to find her oar. She hears Apostate’s shouting off from the direction of the distant mountains and thinks it’s directed at her, and so she runs away on her boat - oars be damned. She is stranded at sea for a while and meets dolphins and stuff. She also has a run-in with an Ao, the very Ao who was exiled for murder in the last Ao post. He’s a swell guy, actually, and they become fast friends. Eventually they part ways and Rosa - for no reason that anyone quite understands - falls head first into the water and sustains severe injuries of the bite wound variety. Damn orcas. >.>
  She is saved by dancerfish, who find her oar for her. Oh, and these dancerfish can apparently grow really big and are great fighters to boot. Who woulda thinked it. Anyway, they’re no longer called dancerfish but laektears.
• Vigour [+]

  Rosalind:
  

  Starting: 15 Vigour
  2 Vigour: In addition to the 1 Vigour initially spent on them, make the laektear into an extraordinarily powerful non-sapient species. These creatures can grow larger than whales, though full size tends to be idiosyncratic - some may grow to the modest size of tadpoles while others may grow into the largest sea behemoths. Those that reach larger sizes are able to filter feed by virtue of sheer size, but laektears are also scavengers and apex predators, able to hunt down even the largest whales. As they tend to move in great murmurations, their hunts are dazzling dances of mind boggling synchrony.
  Remaining: 13

The band gathered around their fallen brethren. His limbs ravaged by fangs and claws and the color drained from his eyes and markings. The salter placed her hand on his forehead, confirming the obvious. He was dead.

Marshall Edgar nodded, and organized the necessary preparations. When everything was ready, almost everyone gathered around the story-teller as he told stories about the fallen, followed by the story of Arvos’ death and made a plea that his spirit be allowed to join his noble ancestor. The story-teller then walked around to the various grieving people, giving them time to give words around the dead. Not everyone could be in attendance, as there still needed to be people to watch the sheep.

When everyone who had words had shared them, the salter took a bone knife and made a small cut where the chest marking had been, carefully removing a small crystal from the cut. She washed the crystal with a prepared bowl of water before placing it in a small leather bag. It would eventually be stored with the rarer and nicer possessions of the band.

As for the mortal remains, they wrapped the body in animal skins and then splashed it with animal blood, marking it as something unclean to any other band who found it. They then left it where it was and prepared to continue herding their sheep further south.

Once the band had crossed over the horizon with their animals, a new Eidolon showed herself. It was strange enough, among these wandering people, to be alone; stranger still to be mounted on such a beast, better suited for scrounging than grazing. The lonely one dismounted, adjusted the fine black xo fur around her shoulders, and knelt at the body, gently resting her knuckles where the sheepskin covered its forehead. It was something any Eidolon could do with little effort, but only she could do it for the dead.

Memories flickered from the body to the lonely one. She had no need for a story-teller.

After a few seconds she removed her hand, looking down over the body. If the Eidolon had been asleep, he would be comfortable, warm at night and shaded by day under the skins they had left him. With the incision hidden below, the only thing that really marked him as dead was the blood, an important token.

But why skins? The lonely one crouched and mused as a vulture circled in the distance, perhaps confused by the unnatural shape of the covered body. The Eidolons had many skins, from hunts and herds, and could easily afford to spare a few they did not need for straps or shoes or rawhide tents. It wasn’t a burden, but it wasn’t a choice, either. There was little else they could use to cover the body but soil. Perhaps burying the dead in the earth from which they came was distasteful to them.

She stood. They were a primitive people. They had done well with what they had. And they would do better with more.

---

The band continued to travel towards fresh grass. While the herd didn’t need to travel great distances for its next meal, the group was travelling faster than their usually slower pace. A misjudgment meant that they didn’t have as much water as they needed, and so they were hurrying to a nearby river.

As they approached, they saw a strange sight, a herd of black sheep mostly left unattended, and a black tent. From the distance, they could make an Eidolon shape. They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the valuable livestock, though the band couldn’t tell what they were doing.

Cautious, the marshall signalled for most of the band to keep their distance, but he called for one of his best hunters and the story-teller to follow him to greet the stranger. Both Marshall Edgar and his hunter wielded a spear, lowered by his side, and ready. They were the only two spears entrusted to his band from the noble ancestor’s supplies.

The stranger, too, bore tools in her hands, and she set one down only for a moment to wave a peaceful greeting. Whatever she was doing was plainly very important. Her head, they soon saw, was bandaged with hemp fibre, and she wore black furs. Her left hand was steady, holding a simple bone around which was turned a mass of fine black hair, and her right was busy, turning and twirling a thin, straight bone, stuck through the center of a clay ring, supporting a narrow string of twisted hair between the two. It was the back of those hands that drew their brazen eyes: the lines that traced her life-energy were coal-black, and, when she met her gaze, her exposed eye was the same.

She said, “Welcome.”

Edgar was the first to approach, with the two others a few steps behind. “Hail, stranger.” he said, “Your heart’s color is not one I have seen before.” he said, as a statement of fact. His tone did not indicate any particular judgment.

“Indeed,” she said, still focused on spinning the weighted bone around and around on a smooth concavity in a rock. “It’s not one you’re likely to see again. A curiosity I was born with, nothing more.” From this close, they saw that she wore on her neck the unmistakeable shine of three Eidolon heart-crystals, polished with great care, and secured in a curious way. They were not strung on a leather cord through a hole, as some did with tooth and bone trinkets, but caught in a fine and delicate web of tightly wound fibre, along with other precious things: a rufous feather, a glossy black beetle, and a glittering pyrite.

“My name is Ea Nebel. Come, rest, water your flocks, eat of the meat and the bulbs by the fire. You will help me- I have food and sheep, but no pair of hands that will lighten my work, and there is much wool to be spun.”

The hunter, Luca, raised his spear when he had a chance to get a better view of the stranger’s attire. Edgar signalled for him to lower his weapon, but walked over to him and let the hunter whisper to him. Edgar turned back to Ea Nebel, “My band-mate is concerned by how you are treating the dead. I find it strange myself.”

Ea Nebel listened, then smiled a little. “Indeed? You have good instincts, Marshall. There’s no safer place for them than here, with me. They were close to my heart, after all. They still are.” With utmost care, the stranger set aside her tools and removed the necklace, the length of it wrapped tightly around her wrist. The thread, they saw, was much like the spun hair wrapped around her tools, only finer, thinner, smoother, strong. She pointed out the adornments one by one. “My father- solemn, like the scarab. He, too, made provisions for my future. I never knew my mother, not since my earliest days, but my uncle honoured her with an eagle’s wing, because she travelled far, with keen eyes. I always think of her when I see one soaring. And my own choice, for my uncle- something shining brightly, all around, that struck a warm spark for me, like he did. This is part of their story. It’s how I remember.” This time, she tucked the memorial under her furs, against her chest.

While the marshall was trying to formulate a thought, and the story-teller silently observed the situation, Luca raised his spear again and interrupted, “How do we not know that your father is not the Usurper of Morning Hours? Your eyes shine with his color!”

“...Mm. Yes. That is why one of them was plucked out.” Ea Nebel tapped the hemp covering her face. “The Lord Night isn’t dead. Just wait another six hours if you don’t believe me. My father lies in a shroud of felt many miles from here, where we mourned and left him… But your band doesn’t know of felt, do you?”

Luca rushed forward, his marshall grabbing his spear but the hunter let go of his prized weapon. He reached out, and grabbed her arm where one of her symbols laid bare. She tensed, stood, backed away a half-step, but did not pull away. Luca could feel her heart through her skin: A wave of shock, fading away into nervous fear.

One did not need the empathy of an Eidolon to see the rage upon Luca’s face, “How dare you be the one surprised. You are alone and careless with your herd, and yet haven’t been parted from it. You must be some type of trickster wearing our flesh, did you take it from the departed?”

Ea Nebel’s face was like stone. Only her hand had moved: wrapping around Luca’s wrist, holding him as firmly as he held her. He felt a different kind of anger. “You have good eyes,” she said, rather softly. “But there’s one more thing that’s strange here. Haven’t you noticed?” A tiny smile. “I don’t have a horse.”

She kicked her boot against the rock she had been spinning on, and it woke up, shaking off a shower of soil and mud. The giant hog-spirit pulled itself out of its hollow and shook off the dirt, holding Luca in a cool stare for only a moment before lifting its head to sniff in his direction. It towered over the four of them, and Ea Nebel did not let go.

“Go. Watch the flock.” The beast grunted once at the Eidolon, then wandered to the riverside, where the cluster of black sheep accepted it as though it was a ram, or a master shepherd.

While the hunter and marshall remained silent, it was the story-teller who spoke next, “Unknown spirit, forgive my band-mates suspicion and hostility - his close friend had recently returned to the ancestor’s grace and our clan has been frightened by errant stories of invaders upon our lands who steal from us our precious life.”

“Luca is forgiven,” said Ea Nebel, releasing his hand and pulling away her own sharply, sparing a glance for the light bruise on her arm before she looked warily back at the three Eidolon.

Luca stepped away from the spirit, however trepidation still appeared on his features. The story-teller looked to the marshall, back to the reminder of the band, and finally to the unknown spirit. “If you would give me my curiosity, over what do you reside so that we would know better how not to offend you. Is it the river, or perhaps this felt you mentioned?”

A little light entered her eye, but only a little. “The fault isn’t yours. You were observant. Your traditions are strong, and you value discipline. I should have spent more time learning… Forgive me. I am the spirit who remembers the dead. I am the maid of shrouds.”

The story-teller glanced around once more, talking longer to think before asking, “Do you promise on the name and honor of Avros, and the ancestors of Avros, that you do not intend to harm or steal from our band?”

Ea Nebel nodded, raising her hand. “The band of Edgar has done right by its fallen. I swear it by Avros, and by the secret name of the Sun, and their honour. I will steal neither stock nor spear nor life from you.”

The story-teller looked over at the marshall and nodded. Edgar continued, hesitancy in his voice, “Then spirit of the fallen, we shall do what you ask. Whatever that might be.”

Ea Nebel met the Marshall’s gaze and repeated the words in her mind. She paused, choosing words. Somewhere behind her, the hog murmured a low grunt. “I do have only one pair of hands,” she said at last. “Perhaps… you would like to help me spin some wool?”

Despite having heard it mentioned before, now that he was not immediately distracted with other concerns, his shock caused him to repeat what he heard, “Spin sheep hair?” The story-teller immediately shot him a harsh glance, and he corrected himself, “We would be glad to assist you in your work. Allow my story-teller to go and call over the rest of the band,” he said. The spirit nodded.

---

The weighted bone, explained Ea Nebel, was a spindle, and the weight upon it, which could be clay or stone but always circular, was the whorl. The spindle was notched so as to better guide the wool being pulled away from the bundle on the wool-bone or stick, which was the distaff, and the coil of wound, spun fibre forming around the spindle as she turned it was called yarn, lengths of which could be twisted to make string and thread.

Many among Edgar’s band were wary of the stranger, or shy, but their Marshall reassured them, and the spirit did not pressure them. There was plenty of time to rest and water the animals, and much wool to work with. Ea’s flock was small, but, she explained, many animals would grow a fine fleece if they were carefully husbanded, even their own sheep. She even offered to exchange one of her rams for one of theirs, to strengthen both their flocks.

Her wool she had laid in a low tent, held up in the middle by a rare staff of wood from the north, along with many other tools of bone. Its edges were secured with yet another coil of coarse, thick fibre twisted from hemp: rope. From a long way off, its woolen walls were easily mistaken for fur. This was the felt of which she had spoken: thin, light, sometimes soft and sometimes stiff, cooler than furs and much warmer than straw. Having much wool, Ea Nebel showed them a low basin lined with hide which she had dug and filled with river-water, mixed with a soap of sheep’s fat and ash, where she made the felt by soaking it well, then pressing and rubbing it with a stone. This way, she explained, she had much to gain from a sheep, even before she slaughtered it.

The felt she made was sewn together with a fine yarn and a needle made of bone. Ea Nebel had a fondness for bone, and her tools had a rustic elegance, much like the band’s own. Among them were an array of long pins and thin hooks. These, said the spirit, were all that was necessary for yet another task. Taking a bundle of yarn and tying the end in a dextrous loop, Ea Nebel hooked and twisted the fibre in a kind of loose, endlessly looping knot, pulling and pushing her hook through the mesh that she was making, turning the yarn back and forth into itself. To do this, sometimes with one hook and sometimes with two needles, and even with a large notched square made from the long bones of xo, was to weave. When she was finished with her hook and yarn, Ea Nebel put the object gently on a child’s head, warming his ears.

“Wool and hemp can take any shape,” she said, late in an evening, tying together a good length of string by firelight to repair a net she had cast in the river. “They cannot replace hide, for which there are still many uses you have yet to learn. But they are useful. Thanks to your help, I’ve spun all my wool and mended all my things, and now there’s so much to spare… You should take all you’ve made while I taught you. You’ve earned it.”

The band accepted the spirit’s generosity, primarily concerned with not offending them, especially while their boar-beast lingered nearby. While usually they would have stopped by the river as the Lord Night reclaimed the sky, the group continued along the river away from the spirit’s dwelling. They settled out of sight, but they would not soon forget the maid spirit or her craft.

Ea Nebel let her head lay on the flank of the hog, more exhausted now than she had been by a thousand miles of travel, the fake bandage now resting in her lap. “You can go now,” she said, and the tent dissolved into a handful of blowflies. Tomorrow the sheep would wander off as well. She fell asleep, and the morning sun found her still by the side of the river, grinning from one ear to the other.

---

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Zima the Zimmer zoomed about Mish-Cheechel as the two wandered through the forest. They had traveled a ways after stopping for the hunger that ate at his belly, and the thirst that parched his throat. Then the inevitable curse of sleep- all of Mish-Cheechel’s words at the time were lost on his spirit companion. It was true, she did not need to eat, to drink or to sleep- but she did sleep willingly from time to time. Indeed, Zima was beyond the whims of Bjork needs but all the free time meant one thing.

Questions.

They flowed from her brimming tongue if she had one, and she would ask about anything. ‘Why color green? Why red? Why wet? Dry? What bird?’ On and on they went, without rhyme or reason. Like the incessant mewlings of a newborn kit, or of a manbjork whose head got hit by a tree one too many times, only devoting his life to simple questions of whys and what ifs near the end of his days. One no longer fit to act and only trying to find a deeper meaning in his time left, when there was truly none. Zima was just like that, except, as far as anyone knew, she would live forever. Would she still ask questions?

There was at least a small victory to be had, for her speech was improving and talk between the two was flowing better. Perhaps she truly was as a kit, just a child set out on the same path of vengeance as he. Now that was how one should act. There was only doing! The Green Murder was out there somewhere and it would be vanquished once and for all.

So Mish-Cheechel thought at least, but Fate had other plans, as Fate often did.

“Misssshhhh.” Zima called out. “Missssshhhhh Cheeechellllll. Mish-Cheechel!” She floated around a tree and found him at last with an excitable giggle. “There you are! Look!” The mist that made up her body transformed into a small otter-like creature, but it was much smaller and incredibly skinny. Narrow, as if made for tight spaces. “What this?” she inquired, jumping around his head.

The massive manbjork sniffed and blinked his red eyes at her, barely restraining a yawn. “Youra a zimmin hround doomus Zinma. Wassa ming or somin?” His stomach rumbled and the bear sat beneath him shook its great head and shuffled side to side. Scratching at his chin, Mish-Cheechel allowed himself to fall from the saddle and landed awkwardly, leapt now on this foot and now on his tail, then righted himself and stumbled towards the tree and placed a palm on it. “Danggreen muhr,” he mumbled as he brought his chisel-like teeth to the bark and tore groggily at it, then spat the wood out. He left a few unclean gashes in the bark and then huffed and sat down against the tree. “Imma te yasummin Zemehhh,” he rubbed his face and restrained another yawn, before stretching so that his ribs cracked and small tears bubbled in his tear ducts but did not quite fall, “ahwa zayin,” he leaned back and made himself comfortable against the tree. He paused for a second, frowned, then got up. He stood there for a few seconds, staring at Zima, then sat back down and lay as though to sleep - but he had no sooner closed his eyes before he leapt back up. “Zima!” He declared unsteadily, “let’s go!” He clambered onto the bear and sat in the saddle again, staring vacantly ahead.

He had been doing that for two days now. Zima didn't know for sure what was going on with the bjork but she knew something was more amiss then he was letting on. She stayed close as they set off at last, Mish-Cheechel rocking side to side dangerously as the bear made its way through the trees.

As the pair traveled they started to notice… movement nearby. Something big that was moving as quickly and without caution through plants as physically possible. It wasn’t coming towards them… it was just fleeing from the direction they were heading in and happened to just pass them by. A strange occurrence to be sure…

Then the rest of the stampede started. Though calling it a stampede was wrong… It was more of an exodus of animals of all shapes and sizes, running as quickly as their bodies, and the terrain, would let them away from something ahead of the pair. It wasn’t just land animals either; Flocks of birds could be seen and heard flying away… and a close eye at the river might even spy some fish that were strangely all heading in the one direction as well.

Zima went on the alert quickly, gasping in surprise at the stampede and exodus of animals. She began to growl in a high pitch. "Something is wrong. Something bad." She swirled around Mish's head, her shape losing any identity beside the usual fog. For his part, Mish-Cheechel opened his eyes wide and leapt to his feet even as the bear (whom they had named Bear on Zima’s insistence) continued plodding forth through the snow.

“I’ll show ‘em bad!” He cried as he pulled his spear from the saddle and leapt on the nearest fleeing wolf. The animal easily darted away and continued fleeing, however. Mish-Cheechel rose just as a bear dawned on him. He stared at it bleary-eyed and its great panicking snout rammed into him as he thrust his spear right between its great legs and missed entirely. He fell over backwards and squealed as one of its paws found his stomach and pushed him deep into the snow, leaving him wide awake but otherwise unharmed. “Fuggin Green Murder scum.” He managed as he rose and the great stampede was behind them. He glanced over at Zima. “What was that about now, eh?”

Zima did not share a giggle like she would normally at such a display, in fact she had become rigid in form. Almost like a rock in shape but not of texture. "Danger. Something… Someone coming. Can't you hear…?" She said cryptically. The manbjork glanced at her, adrenaline pulsing through him and bloodshot eyes wide.

“Are they now Zim? Well, let’s get it over with then.” And with that he strode forth clutching the spear in his numbed hands and wearing a terrible frown. His eyes burned, but the memory of sleep was gone. His stomach rumbled but there was no thought of food. His muscles ached but rest was for those without vengeance.

He snuck from tree to tree, glancing warily into the snow and darkness, leaping from shadow to shadow into the heart of whatever it was that caused the forestlife to panic and flee. He did not pause to wonder why bears and wolves and deers would flee the eagle god - for there was no doubt in his mind that they were now approaching that horrorsome thing. He was not without fear - that nagging voice clawed and pulled, but he brushed it off and did not hear: he only ventured forth and stalked to revenge himself and Clan Rod’s folk.

As Mish-Cheechel continued, Zima close behind, they still heard or saw the occasional slower animal that was trying to flee or make its speedy exit… but as they stalked or floated it started to finally be heard on the edge of their hearing. It was… difficult to put into words what the sound actually was: There was no rhyme or reason to it, loud and energetic but terrible and horrific at the same time as it assaulted the ears and seemed to reach deep into the part of the soul that enjoyed art and music before stabbing a knife into it and twisting the blade.

The true horror of the terrible din through was, for those lifeforms capable of higher thought… Despite how unworldly, terrible and tortuous it was to listen to, it also provoked a degree of curiosity and fascination. It was captivating in the same manner that a public execution tended to draw a crowd to witness it. Fascinating because this was what it meant to discover truly terrible music and sound, rather than just listening to songs you didn’t like or amatures that had only just started to learn how to play their chosen instrument and still weren’t very good at it yet.

The animals living in the area clearly did not enjoy it, whatever it was. The bear that Mish-Cheechel had left behind seemed to be… struggling with itself. It clearly wanted to turn around and run, but the divine will that had bound it into service compelled it onwards regardless of its natural instincts.

The closer they got to the source and the louder the noise got, the more they started to notice other animals. Some were standing, others were on the ground, but they were still breathing and rigid with their eyes glazed over. Unresponsive to anything and everything around them.

They were a creepy but more pleasant sight than the dead animals though; Birds and animals that had clearly slammed themselves into tree trunks until they had expired, horrific self-inflicted claw marks to the neck and chest… several animals, including one of the largest bears the pair had ever seen, had opted to go to the river and stick their heads underwater before breathing deeply.

Mish-Cheechel, at that point, finally paused and took in the scene. He scrunched up his snout at the smell of death and glanced at where the blood of the forestfolk dripped down the bark or grew in lazy pools on the loamy earth. It dawned on him only then that this could never be the Green Murder’s doing - it was the sort to kill wantonly, no doubt, but somewhere in its demented head there was reason to it and purpose. That was to say, some kind of rationale that Mish-Cheechel had seen and which the Murder had deigned to explain. There was none of that here. He glanced ahead, where the noise seemed to roil up like some terrible wall, and then behind him, where there was safety. After a brief moment, he shrugged and turned away. “Fuck this Zima, I don’t know what’s up there but I sure as hell don’t want to find out. Let’s go.” And with that the manbjork backed away at speed, leapt onto Bear’s back, and turned the relieved creature away from the noise and stench of death.
Zima gave no complaint to that suggestion and eagerly followed after Mish. “Sound… Wrong. Very wrong.” She murmured as she seemed to focus on all the death and insanity around them. “Death…” The mist seemed to shake a little back and forth before zipping around Mish’s head once more.

And then… the sound ceased.

There was suddenly silence… for the most part. The river still ran and the wind still ruffled the leaves in the trees, but there were no more animal noises since they had either fled, were in a presently catatonic state, or were dead. And then…

“Hi. Did you like my song?” A youthful and energetic tone asked them.

...They weren’t alone anymore.

The figure that had joined them had simply… appeared before them the moment that they looked away, be it turning to look in a different direction or blinking. There had to be some kind of magic or witchcraft afoot because there was absolutely no way that the figure could have naturally snuck up on anyone without being spotted in any sane world.

Neither Mish-Cheechel nor Zima had ever seen a being like this before. Standing on two hooved legs and wearing a beautiful white gown, the humanoid equine offered them a smile as their multicolored and ridiculously poofy mane and tail shifted slightly behind them, even as a horn rested on their forehead, jutting out. They were beautiful in their way, but if they were a male or female was impossible to pin down. They seemed to be significantly smaller than Mish, causing them to have to look up at the larger manbjork.

And held proudly in their hand was a flute made out of wood. It seemed to just be that; a flute whittled out of wood… and not even done in an artistic or masterful way. Still, the strange entity was staring right at them, eyes wide and filled with a desire to get some earnest feedback or praise for their musical talent… and completely ignorant and blind to the insanity and death that had been inflicted on the area.

Mish-Cheechel stared at the odd creature for a few silent seconds. “No, it was the worst thing I’ve heard in my life.” He said frankly. “In fact, if I were you I’d find some way to never play music or sing ever again - I dunno, rip out your tongue or something.” Lack of sleep had made him oddly loose-tongued, and any apprehensions about speaking so brusquely to this strange being - clearly more powerful than he was, and mighty enough to strike fear even into Zima’s great swirling form - was non-existent. His stomach rumbled and he cracked his own neck with a quick twist. “You know, I sometimes wonder to myself if there is some kind of torturous hellscape the likes of you can go fuck off to if you die - or even better, if we kill you off. It’d mean death wouldn’t be a mercy for you, y’know? I mean, I don’t even mind that you were killing all those scum back there, but then you come along all happy like and ask me in that stupid voice: ‘DiD yOu LiKe My SoNg?’ - no I fuckin didn’t. And, like, what even is the point? Why the hell did you do it? Was there any reason at all? Here I am, splitting my backside tearing at trees and trying to kill even one of those fuckin beasts, and you come along all frivolous and smiley and knock out half the damn forest - and there’s not even a reason behind it. Y’know, as soon as I’m done with the Green Murder maybe I should turn to wankers like you. In fact,” he turned in his saddle, brought one foot over and jumped down, spear in hand.

"Mish-" Zima tried to say but his rant continued.

“What do I care, it doesn’t even matter. Here, I’ll do you in right now. Go on, play your stupid song - whatcha gonna do, blow my brains out? Help me drown myself? Assist me in bashing my head against your skull so that maybe I’ll bash your brains out as I bash my own? Whatcha think? I like that last one, personally.” The manbjork continued raving away as he hefted his spear and casually approached the equine, a smile growing on his face, bloodshot eyes wide and pupils grown to the size of little moons.

For their part, the strange Equine seemed inclined to let the manbjork rant and rave in a polite silence, the smile never leaving their face… but their eyes slowly narrowing with what appeared to be anger. The sleep-deprived Mish-Cheechel had clearly made a mistake… through exactly what that mistake was and when he made it was debatable. As the rant came to a pause, the equine finally spoke… and did so in the exact same tone of voice they had before.

“Oh, I didn’t kill anyone. I was just playing a song to pass the time while I was waiting for you to get here Mish-Cheechel. But since you’re clearly not in the mood for explanations, I’ll just give you the gift I intended to give you to help you fulfill your oath to me and let you be on your merry way.” With the statement given, there was suddenly a multi-colored blur as within less than the blink of a mortal eye, the equine figure had moved from where they had been standing to cover the distance between themself and Mish-Cheechel, before leaping off the ground in order to impale the manbjork through the heart with the wooden flute, driving it through fur, skin, bone and muscle as if it were nothing and out the other side.

Yanking the flute out and holding the blood covered thing in a now blood covered hand, the Equine’s smile seemed to grow a little as it reached out and placed a hand over Mish-Cheechel’s heart… and the angry manbjork would feel something anchor itself to his body and soul as the light of his life faded and a body without a working heart started to fail. “Enjoy the brief respites of darkness that death will offer you Mish-Cheechel. It is the closest thing to rest you’ll have until your oath to me is fulfilled and you successfully slay the Green Murder.”

Zima screamed. "No no no! Mish!" She yelled, taking the form of wind and trying to push the Equine back. There was anger in her voice now. "You leave now Song Demon!"

The Equine didn’t budge… though their mane and tail was blown around a little bit. “Don’t worry… he’ll get better.” They insisted with a surprising amount of confidence. “I was here to give him this blessing anyway - so he could go on his way without starving or dropping from lack of sleep, because he’s been trying so hard to keep to his word but his body was slowly betraying him… So I decided to take pity on him and made it so that his body won’t slow him down anymore. He won’t need food, water or rest to function… and even death is more of an inconvenience then a stopping point it should be now.”

Glancing down at the blood coated flute in their hand, the Equine added “As for that… I’m actually okay with honest criticism because… well, lies are bad and if someone doesn’t tell you an uncomfortable truth how can you deal with it? But he didn’t have to be a jerk about it.”

The spirit growled all the same but stopped her aggressive blowing upon the being as she realized it was fruitless. She seemed to still for a long time, floating around the body of Mish like some lost thing. “Death is… Death. No reason to kill. Cruel. No reason to die. Death is undoing.” She paused in thought before adding, “If what said is true, then Mish is corpse. Walking. Undead. Undying. Abomination. Against cycle.” She said in a voice like ice before her form began to coalesce into the shape of animal bones. “Mish words truth but harsh.” She seemed to agree, her shape changing to that of a small misty dove. It looked upon them. “You are like papa? Creator. God? What is your name?”

“In my defense, he had become an abomination against life long before I got to him.” The Equine answered earnestly. Before a little smile appeared on their face again. “You are very clever. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.” They took a moment to clear their throat. “When Mish-Cheechel made his oath, he swore it on the names of all the gods, known and unknown to him. As for my name… well…” A small, good humored chuckle actually escaped before he continued “Names are important little one and I have many. But for the sake of this conversation, I am the Keeper of the Tree of Harmony. It’s an utter delight to meet you.”

Zima kept a safe distance from the Keeper, never letting her eyes off him. “Delight. Perhaps. Papa said, if ever to meet another like him, to be true. To be polite. Never assume. But… It is hard. Mish was no abomination. Do you think he knew? Of such an oath made? Just misguided. Lost and afraid. Rage… Vengeance consumed. No question such what you did, not my place. Only wonder if truly deserved.” Her form changed to that of a mink. She hopped around Mish’s body. “When will wake?”

The Keeper shrugged slightly at the question. “I have no idea. His body will heal and he’ll awaken, but I’ve never done something like this before so your guess is as good as mine. Shouldn’t take too long though… I mean it was just a stab through the heart.”

As for the rest, they tilted their head… and the poofy mane flopped cutely to the side because of it. “I doubt he did at the time… but just because an oath is made with haste and pain doesn’t make it any less valid. I confess part of my motivation in this is to serve as a warning to those who hear the tale of your friend that one should be careful when calling upon the attention of the gods. I was meeting with the Lord of Parasites when we both heard the call… and your friend should be thankful my brother decided he had better things to do.”

Zima flashed between a handful of animal shapes, undecided on what to settle on. “Parasites…” She said aloud to herself before focusing her attention back at the Keeper in the form of doe. “Warning is received. I, Zima, will make that he know better. And any we meet.” She looked at Mish again. “Hurt runs deep.” She looked at them once more. “Do you, Keeper, know the Green Murder?”

There was a small ‘hmm’ of thought from Keeper as he considered the question. “Who’s that? I haven’t met them personally yet. Maybe if you tell me about them it’ll jog my memory.”

She became an eagle in flight. “Mish says green bird. Large. Terrible. She spoke anger. Kill many bjork. Many young.” She became a small bjork kit looking up at the Keeper with large eyes. “Is why he hunts Green Murder.”

It was with a degree of sadness that Keeper shook his head. “I have many kin and we generally have many different forms and names. All I can say for certain is that this was not the work of the Lord of Parasites, the Master of the Hunt, the Mistress of Destruction or myself. While it is true that all of us are able to inflict chaos and destruction as our duties and whims dictate, this Green Murder’s methods run counter to their desires and goals.”

“The Lord of Parasites’s hunger is great, but they prefer their meal being consumed over a period of time. The Master of the Hunt would not be involved in a messy mass slaughter, even more so when the target cannot offer a challenge by fleeing or fighting back. The Mistress of Destruction, despite her title, takes her duty seriously and strives only to test; She would have made it clear that she was only doing it to test if the bjork were strong and adaptable enough to survive in the world with no hate or anger behind her actions.” Keeper explained, before offering a small smile of their own.

“As for myself… I didn’t do it. Not only is the fact that I value my word and hate lies more than enough proof of that statement, but I can assure you that your companion would know if I had done it or not. A green eagle is such a tacky form to take after all.”

Zima shrugged. "Obvious. You are different shaped. Not green. You kill with song, not talon and tooth. Is there more to give now or would you leave before he awakes?" Zima asked, becoming like a cold serpent, somewhat reminiscent of a certain heat goddess if any knew. "He will be angry and attack you, I know. Safe for you, not for him. Understand?"

Keeper tilted his head in confusion. “What do you mean, kill with a song? I’m willing to accept that I might be something of an amateur when it comes to playing music but I honestly can’t help but think you’re being a bit over dramatic by claiming I’m so bad people who hear it die.”

The question about if they planned to stay until Mish-Cheechel’s awakening was a valid one though as Keeper rolled their shoulders a bit. “I think I might as well take my leave. I’ve done what I came here to do and as amusing as it would be to continue to come up with ways to protect myself, that would kind of be counterproductive to the whole ‘helping him keep his oath’ thing. Tell him I would wish him luck, but Luck is dead and buried.”

Zima became the flute he held. "Flute." She said. "Killed with song. Through heart." She became the small dove again. "I mean no disrespect Keeper. I will pass message along."

There was a moment of understanding as Keeper made an ‘oh’ noise before looking at the flute in their hand. “Oh right… that was a thing.” And with little more than a shrug the equine turned to trot away at a calm and steady pace, offering a final wave as they departed. “Take care little one. I’m sure there will be others keeping an eye on you and your friend as the performance continues.”

Zima said nothing else as the Keeper left and went back to circling over Mish's body. Not long after, the mighty bulk of the cave bear came and sat down next to Mish and nuzzled his body as a bear might nuzzle as a newborn cub.

"There there Bear.” Zima cooed. “Mish will be okay. Just angry. Very angry.” She twirled above their heads in the shape of a fire. “None shall now stop his vengeance."

---

The crack of ice echoed across the endless white of the frozen landscape. Icebergs and snowbanks were the only residents there in that place and they would make no complaints about the noise. Even if it had been going on like that for several minutes. It seemed even the gods needed to vent their frustration. Chailiss was no exception.

Again and again his fist hit the ice with tremendous blows. He did not scream, he did not shout, all he did was wear a mask of grief, mixed with rage. He still wore the form of his newest appearance, the Father Spirit, as the Childan deigned to call him. It gave such great expression to his thoughts that any would be able to see his struggles. For he had allowed thoughts of rape and murder to crop up in his people. He had let the bjork suffer the punishment of a foolish god and worse, he had lost his little Nisshiniek. What would become of her, lost and alone out in that realm of his? Why wasn’t he out looking for her even now?

Why-

His fist struck the ice again and the ice shelf cracked further, breaking apart. Chailiss allowed himself to sink with the weight of his failures into the cold depths below. The sweet embrace of familiar cold. The free-falling expanse of encroaching dark.

He recalled his earlier conversation with Homura and her speech of paradise and all his land being an affront to such an ideal. Worse yet, now after the Monarch’s decree, he was to be the messenger of her judgment should she say so. Would he be foolish to go against such a decree? He whose Breath Bears Icy Winds. A visit to the monarch was due, to clarify such a position as that. Chailiss was unsure if he could be at the beck and call of someone so...

His thoughts turned back to his humans. What had she expected? He had given them free will and by doing so, they would forge their own destinies. So they could struggle and grow, even if that meant that undesirable outliers would crop up. His eyes widened at a sudden realization, had he made them with such thoughts? Or had it just cropped up like some malignant tumor? What pushed men to force themselves upon another? Their wretched thoughts had turned to only lust… And worst of all, they had gotten away with it.

Was he incapable of finding them out? He was a God after all, wiser than all mortals, older than the land they walked. But, then why did he feel so inferior?

He had allowed a sibling to spring up in his land and murder the bjork. Molesting his land with their hatred and spite. He had failed them. And his champion… His poor champion. Already aware and suffering a loss he could not comprehend. He had left her too, but at least on that occasion he had succeeded in stopping a calamity. He could only guess the cause of such destruction. But the words of the Moon Goddess gave little doubt to the culprit.

A kinslayer. A murderer. Another God had been slain and he had done nothing. Because he was simply unaware. Perhaps he was wrong in assuming such a heinous thought that the Moon had committed such a crime but perhaps not. Only time would tell.

Time.

How long had he been in the arctic? Beating at ice like some fool. He was better than that but a feeling of doubt overcame him in that moment and he knew even God’s were not so absolute. He was left shaken, so, like a coward he retreated where none would see and now he settled into the ocean floor, so deep and dark below. The pressure was immense and not but bubbles of salt and heat vents did give him company.

It was strange, the peace it brought and he could have spent the longest of times there but he knew, even with all the turmoil that addled his mind, he still needed to act. To make amends. Even if rape, murder and other atrocities could be brought about by mortals and his kin, that did not mean all of them would act on those impulses. The world would be harsh but kindness and compassion would prevail, he would make sure of it. Despite the elements, the actions of a few, the dim outlook he saw- His land would be made into a bastion of hope. Perhaps even a fledgling paradise but forged by those that lived within. Wouldn’t that be a thought?

The god of cold stood and balled his fists. He could not hide in the farthest reaches of his realm forever, nor should he have even done so in the first place. He needed to act while the wounds were still fresh and in need of healing before they festered with rot. He crouched down, knees bending with great power- before he exploded forth. It was but a second later he stood upon ice, water freezing as it left his body to shatter on the ground.

First, he would alter the weapon of calamity he had saved his land with. He found the box sitting nearby from where he had sat it. The power within hummed with dark intent and for but a moment the idea of leaving it forever in the darkest depths of the ocean was tempting but even Chailiss knew he needed something that could help defend himself and his land with.

A deterrent.

He poured a bit more of his strength into it and the box, even closed, lapped it up readily. It changed, grew a bit larger and far deeper with a stain of blue color. It hummed angrily at first but the hum became a soft beat, not unlike that of a heart. Next he fashioned a chain of ice that looped through the handles of the box and tied it to his person. He would have to keep the box close, for fear of misuse crossed his mind. With that done, he moved to his next task.

Chailiss needed a servant, a champion who could leave his realm freely and act as a messenger, an explorer, with eyes and ears in the outside world. One whose heart was brave in the sight of danger and true in moments of doubt. Thus, Chailiss picked up a small bit of ice and shaped it into the figure of an owl. He could think of no better identity than the one he envisioned.

With his breath, he whispered an awakening over the figurine and placed it down before him before taking a few steps back. Before his eyes, ice cracked and grew, giving way to flesh and bone and white-brown feathers. The shape grew and grew, rippling with strength and height before all ceased back to the quiet rustling of the wind. Standing before him loomed a very large, sleeping owl, easily twice the size of his own human form. The feathers were pale colored, bits of brown and greys interweaving to form a complex pattern of beauty. Speckled within those feathers were jewels of icy blue. Its head was heart-shaped, with tan feathers forming around its eyes and pale yellow beak. True function over form, as Chailiss knew its hearing would be excellent.

It opened its eyes slowly after a time, revealing a dazzling blue that almost seemed to glow faintly. There was depth and intelligence in those eyes and it peered down upon its creator with curiosity.

”Your name shall be Viho, champion of the skies.” Chailiss said.

“I am Viho.” A quiet voice echoed around the God, as in affirmation. Chailiss raised an eyebrow, for the beak of Viho had never opened in his speech. “Is my purpose set Lord?” Viho asked, stretching out his dazzling wings.

”It is.” He stated. ”Journey far and wide, explore, and meet new faces. Do not dishonor yourself or me, for you are the envoy of this land of ours. And if you run across any creations of the Goddess Homura, give her this message. ‘Chailiss has heard the whims of the Monarch and will aid you despite any past differences, if the Lady wishes.’ Go now.”

“I will not disappoint you, my lord.” Viho dipped his head, flexing out his left talons. “These winds will carry me far and away. For now, I bid you farewell.” And with a quiet flap of his wings, Viho the owl champion flew off into the unknown.

Now it was time for Chailiss to depart. Next on his list was to find and educate his wayward children on the nature of their crimes.

---

Before there was life, there was the Dream. Stars and aurorae of color wheeled overhead, and there was serenity. A great multitude of souls drifted through the phantasmagoria like so many little fireflies in the night sky. They did not and could not speak or smell or touch or feel, but they could see, and the world was a beautiful garden. There were many dimensions, and yet there was no time to sully the majesty of creation; everything seemed immortal and immutable in its permeance, and there was only one infinitely long instant of experience before the colors faded and they were dragged into the grim reality of corporeal life.

In an instant all that they had known was uprooted, and they had been trajected to somewhere else. These first people suddenly found that they could feel, could touch, could scream and cry, and they did. But they could not See; the world was too small in its three dimensions, and that horrid yellow orb in the sky was too oppressively bright!

They writhed on the ground, dazed and confused, until sunset’s reprieve finally afforded them the mercy of being able to see. A kinder orb with a softer and more pallid glow appeared in the sky as night began to fall. It was there in the sky that their future was born. Even in the dusktime the light was blinding, but a few of them could See past it. They took it upon themselves to lead the others forward, and so a long journey began.

They walked the land in great roving bands, not staying as one great horde but splitting into many groups. They were not true nomads, for they each followed the guiding light, and knew that at the end of their road was a destination where their journeying could end. But until their arduous trek to paradise ended, they could only march.

Led by the radiance, a mob of nascent humans found a large barrier of water. Continuing their unknown pilgrimage, they journeyed along the land adjacent to it until they came across a circular pool of water, on both sides of the river it was flanked by three pillars of stone with strange symbols etched into them. A lone stranger paced around the pool, unaware of the approaching humans.

The prophet who walked foremost among the procession made for this enigmatic figure who paced among the standing stones. That man walked with his eyes closed, even in the daylight, and he did not stumble. The moon, even on the far side of the Galbar, guided him onward. Like all those behind him, his flesh had been baked red-brown like clay bricks in the sun, for he was clad like the hairless animals of the land. He hummed in his approach, and when he finally drew near enough that he felt it right to speak, his voice was soft and musical, “An auspicious light has brought us together.”

The stranger peering into the lake mused, “A light, or perhaps something else.” he said, turning to face the humans. He was dressed in the traditional furs of Eidolon. His face was different from theirs, bearing two horns with one broken. His eyes did not match each other, with one red and the other blue. If one could glance over his face and look at his arms, they would see rectangular patterns also colored one red and one blue.

He continued to speak, “I did not know that anyone else was here. This might complicate matters.” his voice trailing off towards the end. Beyond the strange color, if one looked closer they could see a certain weariness in his eyes.

The prophet opened his eyes at last, and the two mud-brown orbs gave a knowing look to the stranger before him. He Saw more than most mortals could, and perhaps more than any of them ought to. “If you keep to your path and walk ever on as do we, perhaps you will find the answers,” the man mused, looking to the lake. “It seems so wrong that with these two eyes I behold these waters and see that they are tired, so tired, all but slumbering -- and yet my third eye Sees something else, something beautiful and terrible: the water is alive and thrashing, and it surges and washes away the banks and cleanses the hills.”

”As said, your presence complicates matters. Within this lake is well and woe. It was not meant for you or your kind.” he said with a resigned voice.

“For whom was the lake filled, then, if not those who walk these lands?”

His face grimaced as he looked out to the lake, ”While you were still, these waters were here. When you return to stillness, they will remain. This a monument ” he paused, attempting to find the correct word, ”This is a monument to well and woe, unpredictability, chance, happenstance.” There was another deliberate pause, ”Potential. The word has become cruel to it and conspired against it. Within these boundaries, it is protected. However it would be a disgrace to confine it to such a small container, it would become its prison. It wanted, it needed ways to sneak back into the world that is hostile against it.”

“A monument,” the man echoed back. He didn’t understand, not yet; while his body was in its prime just like all of the other humans that followed him, they all had young minds. How could a people without history know of history or the sentiments that drove one to build monuments? “I See many things: the path that we must walk, which leads beyond this river; my brothers, who followed another and who are beyond the hills and the horizon; the moon, even as she sleeps below that same horizon; and you, who are more than you seem. But while I sense that this river bears rage and that it will flood, I know not when or why or how. This ‘happenstance’ defies order and reason. What is to become of we who must suffer its whims?”

Devoted to his cause, the stranger replied with a soft anger, ”Your understanding is not required.” He mused upon that idea. ”No. Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps you do need to understand.” He pulled something from beneath his furs, a red gemstone stained with a blue coloration over part of it. He pushed it towards the prophet, ”Take it and understand.”

A trusting hand claimed the offered gemstone, and the man curiously inspected it.

The stranger peered into the sage, seemingly annoyed, ”You are still blind to it.” A moment of revelation passed over him, ”But how can you understand without experience?” He reached over to his back and pulled something that shouldn’t be there, a grain of barley and a fruit, before eating them. He conjured another few grains of barley and a fruit before handing it as well to the man, ”Do as I have and eat it.”

The prophet complied once more, without question.

The stranger pulled a handful of water from the lake and dumped it to one side of him. He waved his hands over the ground, and on one side of him was a plate with the same amount of grain as he gave to the seer and on the other side where he had first wetted it with water was a covering of animal skins. ”I shall permit your entire group to have either what is on this plate, or what is on this other.” he said gesturing to below the animal skins.

The prophet only stood statuesque in silent contemplation. After a pregnant pause, one of his followers at last stepped forth to gesticulate toward the furs and inquire, “Brother, what is hidden beneath that?”

“Were that I could See, I would disclose that to you,” the prophet confessed, “but alas, the images are like those in the clouds, hazy and ill-defined. I see this stranger hiding a lustrous stone that glows like the sun beneath it, but I also saw him hide a fruit, some grain, some odd-smelling water that foams and froths like the river’s rapids. It must be influence of this lake; like a dust-storm, it obscures the way.”

”This is risk, danger or reward.” he said. Gesturing towards the revealed plate, ”Do you accept the mediocrity of certainty?” and then towards the hidden plate ”Or the grandeur of potential, knowing it might betray you.”

Much clamoring ensued between all of those humans that were close enough to have heard the offer, but the prophet paid them little heed. He finally pointed one finger toward the cornucopia that he could see, and a raucous outcry sounded out from the throngs behind him. For the first time, the prophet turned his back to the stranger and addressed his own people, “You looked to me for leadership and followed because I can See, and yet to walk the hidden path is to travel in blindness. Fate is like a lion; it is not to be tested or prodded.”

”It is unfortunate that you did not choose the greater of the two plates.” he said, before revealing the second plate which had a larger amount of grain than the first. At that, the tumult only grew. ”Know this prophet: there are greater forces in this world than mere lions.” he said, waving his hand and the revealed plates vanished. But as promised before each human gathered a plate identical to the disappeared one appeared before them.

A few angry outcries pierced through the din of the rest, because they questioned the Sight that their prophet had claimed to possess. The leader heard them, of course, but he kept calm even as one mighty man who towered over most of his peers advanced toward the head of the column. “This is proof,” that second man proclaimed, “that it should be the strongest, the bold, who lead us down the path and choose the way. I would have chosen the hidden bounty, and earned us more than this.”

The challenger held up his fistful of barley; it wasn’t much. Though he was hungry, he cast the grains to the ground to make a point; in time, those seeds would sprout. That band of men, who remembered his act, would uncover the nature of grain and seed. But in the moment, all eyes were upon the challenger. “The soles of our feet crack and our legs grow weaker; we have walked far enough, and with this water now, we have arrived at paradise. I say that the journey is finished,” the man dared to shout, and many nodded in agreement for he said what they had hoped to hear for many days. More quietly, he murmured, “But perhaps I will still lend my ear to you if you submit, prophet.”

The prophet was troubled by none of it, having only offered a soft ’So be it,’ when he saw that the crowds’ mind was made. More concerned with the stranger, who he had turned to face once more, the prophet finally asked, “Who are you?”

Ignoring the prophet inquiring about his identity, the stranger addressed the challenger, ”Is that so? Grant me the chance to prove your words to be more than sounds. You may settle upon this river, but know that he was not speaking false when said that one day the waters shall overtake the dry and carry away whatever it can grasp. And upon other days, it shall escape the ground and leave you with little of itself to take. You will not know when these times will come, except that will. But when the waters choose to remain steady, you will not find more prosperous land. At least, any that there are will be further than your feet could carry you. On the other hand, this is just one of several great rivers. I know a river which is far less fickle. It shall still wet the earth around it, but at times that are known to you. And rarely shall you find a lack of water there. If you settle there instead, it shall provide a meager but certain living.”

The prophet showed a hint of a triumphant smirk upon his visions being vindicated, but the vigorous and mighty contender only scoffed. “I do not fear water,” he declared, for of course he had not Seen the river’s wrath as the prophet had. “We are tired, and you say that this will be the most prosperous of lands at times, so we shall stay here. And if the river should overstep, we need only carry ourselves and our things to the high banks and the hills, and then return. Our brothers that wander the badlands still will envy us for our place beside this river, and in time, they might even come to join us here.”

Many agreed, but a few muttered dissent and looked once more to the prophet. He squinted at the stranger, and said, “If you will not disclose your identity, then at least tell us of this tame river and where we might find it, that we who care not for the fickle can make our way to it, and leave these others to their doom.”

The stranger replied, ”Choices have been made, and I shall respect that.” he said, looking towards the seer. Reaching his hand out, the gemstone shifted from the prophet’s grasp and returned to the stranger’s. ”Possibility eludes you, but the safe path will be known to you.” and his words were true. He looked towards the brute ”You are likely correct that the others shall envy you. Some shall join you, while others might attempt to take it from you. If you wish for my blessing for when that time comes, follow me.” he said, walking along the lake and towards the river.

So it was that four of every five of them followed the bull-like man-who-be-Shah as he advanced at the stranger’s heels, and the rest of them looked to the prophet, and soon took back to the badlands and the deep desert.
After walking a short distance among the river, ”For my protection, I ask that you do as the leader before you did and claim this gemstone. So that you understand.” he said, tossing the gemstone into the river.

The stone skipped once, twice, and then fell into the rushing water. So far upstream, the water carried little sediment and so the jewel’s shine gleamed even from its place on the muddy bed. It was so close to the bank where the man of great stature stood beside the stranger, and yet it was so far. “How is such a feat possible?” the man demanded. “We cannot walk upon the water, for we were meant to stay upon land. We are not like those there fish darting back and forth in the water, nor like the birds that fly. Our feet must remain upon the ground.”

”It is a skill you must learn.” he said, diving into the water and swimming as a mortal would. While he could have done the miracles mentioned, as he had said, they could not. It was important to show it was possible. He moved to behind where the shine emerged and paddled in place. ”If you can not even enter the water, why should you have a claim over it?

The eyes of the hundreds behind burrowed into the mighty man's back, spurring him on where his courage might have otherwise faltered. His bare feet stepped into the river's cold shallows with trepidation; he was afraid, and yet in that moment he was also brave. Carefully, the man watched the stranger as he swam, examining how he paddled and made strokes to push himself through the water and stay afloat. Calling out to those that he claimed to lead, the man said, "I will do as he asks and claim that stone. If I perish, remember that my name was Darius, and that I died trying to conquer the water and seize for us a blessing."

He trudged forward into the river, one step after another, and suddenly was submerged up to his knees. His body faltered, but he pressed on and took another step, and now the running water brushed against his thigh. The current threatened to sweep him away, and he hadn't even begun to swim -- still his toes clung to the muddy bottom! Strengthless he felt, and not from fear or the water's cold, but by some power that he did not understand.

But the gemstone's sparkle urged him onward, so he strode forth and the water came to his waist. His jaw clenched and his bronze head reddened, his back glistening with sweat that gleamed in the sun even brighter than the river. He suddenly threw himself forward, no longer standing but floating on his stomach, and desperately tried to imitate the stranger's strokes and swim further.

As Darius continued to flail about the water, his strength only left him faster until he faltered. His head began to fall beneath the current, and his breath was taken from him. However, within a second, he found himself once more along the shore, laying on his back with the stranger standing above him. The gemstone laid right within his reach, and after heaving and coughing out a lungful of water while the crowds watched apprehensively, he finally rose to his knees and clambered over to the gemstone.

”As I have been truthful to those who left, I shall be truthful to those who remain. Know these waters can be capricious. You will need to learn to manage its ebbs and flows, and how to cross it with your own power. Know that the sacred lake is not for you, and that I am its defender. I stole away your strength so that you will know it will not serve you against me. However, should invaders attempt to steal your land and you have not offended me or the lake, I shall grant you my aid. ” he said, before turning away from the group.

Darius grasped the gemstone and rose to his feet once more, trying to project strength even as his robustity had been shown its limits. Still, now none among those in his band would be able to fault him for a lack of courage. “So it is done, then?” Darius asked the clearly-divine stranger. “What is it that you will us to do next? How are we to flourish here in this land that you say is prosperous?”

The stranger stated, ”I did promise you prosperity. Thus, I suppose you are entitled to the secrets of its fertility.” he said waving his hand once more. Burlap sacks and tools appeared on the ground in front of him and a seed of inspiration placed in the mortal’s minds. ”The work shall be hard, but the work shall be rewarding.”

He gazed out to where the lake would be, and for a moment he was lost in thought.

“Will you return again? If we have need of you to repel some who would seize these lands by the river, what should we do?” Darius asked, sensing somehow that the stranger was not going to stay much longer.

“I am an honest soul, should invaders come, return the blue and red stone into my lake. I shall grant you aid.” he said, before vanishing.

---

Zenia was perhaps the smartest being alive. This she was sure of, as she drifted through the sky towards the north. She had told her nascent elves that she was headed towards the moon after picking up the declaration of another from up above. Initially, she had actually meant it, too. But in departing, she had hatched a masterful scheme. Instead of leaving, she had flown to the edge of the forests surrounding her cradle of elfkind, assumed the form of one of the zenii, and simply wandered back into the valley under false pretenses.

This was such a foolproof plan that Zenia had been sure no other deity would think of such a brilliant scheme, maybe ever. In the guise of one of her own creations, she had lounged around different camps, listening and making merry with the others. She spoke as little as possible, letting the stream of social interaction take her on whatever journey the mortals could think of. In the meantime, she had time to observe them in their natural state - thinking she was away, they acted very differently from when they stood expectant and reverent in her presence. Little did they know their Lady had never left! Sure, she had drawn some suspicious or confused glances a few times when she spoke out of turn or caught herself giggling with giddy mischievousness at the thought of her brilliant trickery. One man had told her she looked a lot like the Lady, and Zenia had misdirected him with a cheerful “No, you look like the Lady!” which for some reason had made the group she was in coo and whistle aggressively until the man bowed his head in shame and left.

Under this observation Zenia made sure to sample every activity the elves invited her to. She listened to them compose some kind of high-pitched whistling song, danced with locked arms around the warming obelisks, slept in a huge pile of zenii, just jumped around and laughed and hugged and kissed, played games and watched the others challenge each other to various feats of strength. Still, all was not well in the camp. Even though she had blessed them with natural physicality, or perhaps because of it in some cases, a few of her long-eared mortals ended up taking permanent naps. Violent outbursts elf to elf, dangerous and risky attempts. One died falling from the top of an obelisk - which Zenia had no idea how he climbed - directly into the water, and drowning. That’s what she heard anyway. Some brutal rivalries were beginning, and the food was slowly depleting. She could just make more of course, but she’d hoped that they’d get the hint and fix it on their own. To make matters worse, she’d noticed that the warmth of the obelisk attracted curious beasts at night, some of which eyed the elves with hungry eyes. It would only be a matter of time before they became brave enough to try their luck. Worse, those storm clouds she had remarked upon upon her initial landing so many days ago simply refused to clear. They had started to worry her zenii, and on particularly dark and gusty nights it disrupted all but the most passionate of social gatherings.

With those issues clear in her mind, Zenia had wandered into the forest and flown off for real. She wanted to teach them to make fire, but had no real idea how it worked in practice. She knew Homura was probably off on her journey, and Voligan was Monarch-knows-where. Jiugui was probably setting up for the big party, so she wouldn’t want to disturb him with trivial matters like this. There was one deity she could rely on though, that she knew would be where she left him. With her flashback sorted in her thoughts, and her intent set to reconnect with Chailiss in his frozen north. The Monarch-of-All's words rang in her mind and she knew then she had made a good choice. Sounded like the others were being recognized for their good nature.

She had barely made it over to the northern continent she had helped create when a wave of putrid bile hit her finely tuned sense of smell like a wall of garbage. Worse than the smell of dead zenii. Worse than a steaming heap of animal dung. It crawled up her nostrils, weaved cloying tendrils of pungent air around her divine brain, and threw her off balance like a master archer shooting a bird out of the sky. Zenia fell from above, sailing down across the sky spitting and scratching her tongue, all thought of her destination erased. She hit the wetlands with a sodden thud, splashing water, mud and discarded branches everywhere as she made a permanent impact crater. She lay there paralyzed, staring at a heap of dirt beside her muddy face as she tried to fight the impulse to claw her nose off.

Eventually, the worst of it wore off. Zenia grew more and more tolerant of the pungent scent, and with resigned disgust she pushed it farther back in her mind, accepting that it hadn't been a freak ambush of flying smelly clouds but something that physically released such a smell - and it wasn't going away. Brushing off the worst of the wet mud - a truly hopeless endeavor - the goddess pushed to her feet and took a steadying breath to accept this new reality. A tinge of familiarity washed over her as she grew accustomed to the scent. Jiugui’s breath, maybe? She reminisced happily about the funny man's fickle laughter and good mood, as she busied herself with clambering out of the pit of her own creation.

No sooner had she climbed out of the crater than she found herself eye to eye with her next challenge - a wolf with eyes as big as her fists and teeth like her forearms. Though it did not recognize it's accidental mother, her strange scent and divine guise seemed enough to halt aggressive instincts. Instead, the grand wolf tilted its head and stared at her with docile curiosity. When Zenia tilted her head in turn with a warm smile, the wolf sniffed the air curiously.

"Food?" it yowled with cautious optimism.

"Sorry!" Zenia replied swiftly and with genuine compassion. "I didn't, like, bring anything to eat."

"Food." The wolf insisted with a slow baring of hungry teeth, eyeing Zenia with jealous suspicion.

The goddess chuckled and held out her hands to show they were empty. "I don't have anything." to her surprise, the massive beast lunged forwards, closing its gargantuan jaws around both of her hands and forearms in a greedy assault to rip into her limbs. Zenia giggled happily, squirming under the violent assault. "Nooo! That tickles!"

The wolf gnawed on the goddess arms with as much strength as a hungry beast could muster, to no avail. Jagged, sharp teeth glanced off of her teeny arms like a bendy but firm chewing stick, and the goddess just giggled and squirmed as if it were a game. The wolf could only taste the muck and grime of the earth covering her skin. No matter the effort, there was no blood, no bite marks, nor could it pull her from her feet and devour her whole no matter how hard it tugged and ripped. Eventually the only choice left was to lose interest, and release the giggling goddess. Zenia in turn wiped her arm on her sodden dress before stroking a hand over the wolves muzzle in a friendly return of affection. "No food." The wolf grumbled and Zenia apologized again.

After this had gone on for a time, including an attempted return to eating the inedible goddess and more petting, Zenia decided to move on, waddling merrily through the wetland in a random direction. The wolf followed, not entirely convinced yet that the goddess was not food.

"Do you, like, know what that smell is? It, uhm, it's kind of, you know, really bugging me." Zenia asked of the wolf, and it pondered this as they walked.

"Tiny food. Easy find. Hard catch. Hide in sticks." the wolf remarked with a learned set of growls. "Bad hunt. Tiny food hunt tiny food, leave body for me."

Zenia quirked a brow as they walked, her smile dented by momentary confusion. "They hunt each other?"

The wolf panted in affirmation. "Not to eat. Bite and rip for dominance."

Zenia pondered this with an uncharacteristically deep frown. So deep was her worry that she did not notice time and distance passing, and the wolf followed her for what may as well be several miles. It was only when the wolf tensed by her side and stopped that she did too, and lifted her gaze to find herself looking straight at a small and wet assembly of hills made out of sticks, built to prop up a stream and create more wetlands. Small ridges dotted the landscape, and between them several brown shapes scurried down into holes. Only the closest three remained in sight, standing frozen in the middle of the makeshift village. Staring at Zenia and the wolf just as they did in turn. Bucktoothed and covered in slick fur. By all accounts, they were animals. But they stood upright, held sharpened sticks and huddled around a flickering flame. Zenia blinked in staunch confusion, refocusing her effort to scrutinize the small mammals. Fire! They knew how to make fire! They were definitely intelligent, despite being small and ugly and smelling like wet dead dog. The goddess grinned happily, and lifted her arm to wave at the staring creatures.



Zenia had only taken a few steps when the three creatures scattered in panic, vanishing deep into safe havens between ground and sticks that the goddess could barely make out. Perhaps they hadn't seen her wave. In the end, she ended up standing there, observing the fire up close and sighing to herself. Maybe it'd be enough to bring this to her zenii and let them study it? Learning by trial and error? Was that a thing? Zenia had no idea. She turned quizzically to the wolf, who had stopped a good distance away from the fire for safety.

"You said they, you know, like, hunt each other?" she asked with a frown, reaching down to scoop up the fire. It rested comfortably on her arm, greedily popping and snapping as it turned bark and small branches into smolders.

"Yes." The wolf insisted. "With sticks and stones. Free food for wolves."

Zenia froze then, despite the roaring fire trying to snack on her arm. What if the wolf would say the same about her zenii? She had seen firsthand that they could hurt each other, duel, scrap and fight. What if they started making a habit of it? This was a disaster waiting to happen. She turned to her wolf companion with a grim expression. "I need to, like, go back. My people need me."

The wolf only panted an idle appreciation at first, then released a rumbling last goodbye. "Hungry. Will see if small food comes back out. Dig into sticks."

Zenia nodded firmly and tried her best to put on a brave face. A churning dread built in her gut as she considered what she'd seen during her stay with her zenii. Some actions came into new, grim context. The reality of hardships and struggle dented the implacable wall of happy festivity just a little bit. Then, she lifted into the sky and zoomed off back towards the south.

The journey was swift, with storm clouds washing her clean and killing her gathered fire. She zoomed through the sky as fast as she could. She had witnessed death. If she considered it closer, she was sure they had already fought and slain each other. What kind of goddess of good would she be if she let that continue? She could already hear Homura’s voice lecturing her about keeping the mortals safe.

She dove into the valley as she returned south, hovering in the sky like a looming threat over her gathered elves. More and more stood in place, pointing up at the sky and crying out in reverence and joy when they caught sight of her. Zenia stretched out her arms and declared with a booming voice that carried much farther than the valley itself.

"Never again shall zenii slay zenii."

She lingered there in the sky for a time, watching her zenii react and watch in awe. Chatter amongst themselves or falling on their knees in acceptance. Or prayer. Zenia was about to slide down among her herd and relax at last, pleased with the outcome of this little venture after all. That's when she realized, they'd ask what the moon was like! They'd realized she'd done a fib! Changing her mind at the last minute, when zenii could almost reach for her feet, Zenia blasted off towards the moon in the sky, this time for real.

---

The mighty roar of the sea was tumultuous and terrifying as wave after wave of water crashed against the legs of the colossi that stood with defiance against the endless assault. Even as dawn approached, the light seemed to be suppressed and muted, hidden behind a subtle cloud of darkness. All of this reminded the three champions of their promise to the goddess of honor, and her inevitable return when she would discover that they had been unworthy of her faith.


Neither of her sisters immediately said anything in response to the words Fear had spoken, for they continued to stare southward where the thieves had fled upon their strange metallic vessel, and none of them could quite explain what had happened. The culprits were creatures they had never seen before, and had successfully stolen hundreds of their sleeping kin before any of them were even aware what was transpiring.

The waves had washed away the thieves and their tracks, and Fear could see no way of following after them. Even if she could, there was the great sea that stood between them, and the anxious champion recalled the last time the water had nearly claimed her life. The cold. The dark. She couldn't help but shudder at the memory and clutched the amulet that warded away the cold wind.

Courage turned and stalked away angrily, and Fear realized that her sister likely needed time to calm down and rest after chasing the intruders throughout the confounding halls of the colossus. When she had found Courage standing at the edge where a hall opened out into the outside above the sea, she felt panic upon thinking that her reckless sister would leap after her quarry. Fortunately she had not, but the shattering terror was only replaced with the throbbing pain of shame afterward.

"I promised to protect them." Fear said, her voice weak with guilt, and silent tears trailing down her cheeks.

Kindness placed a hand upon her sister's shoulder, and spoke softly.

"There was nothing you could do, Fear. But... I know She will forgive you as well."

Her sister shifted suddenly as arms reached out and held onto her. Fear let herself be enveloped in the soft embrace of Kindness, and she could not stop herself from crying as her thoughts tormented her with vicious mockery.

Too weak to stand without the support of her sister, and too weak to prevent the thieves from escaping. She was supposed to protect them, but she could not fight. She was just pretending she was anything more than a burden to those around her.

"I... I'm glad you are still here..." Kindness murmured to her sobbing sister, and continued to cling onto her. The winds were howling and tugging at them, but the two remained rooted where they stood and found themselves unbothered by its presence.

The humiliation hurt, as anguishing over their defenseless kin only caused her to ache all over, but Fear felt the pain abate a little since she was not suffering alone. She wanted to hide and flee from her failure, however her sister refused to let her go. Kindness kept her from running away.

"Shouldn't you comfort Courage?" Fear asked, and was surprised by the sudden bitterness of her own voice. The unspoken resentment.

"Please, do not do this."

"It's the truth. There is only one of you, and you should be with Courage now. Not with me." She recognized the scorn she held for herself; how she despised her desires to be of use, but ultimately being useless, pathetic in the end. She should not be keeping Kindness away from those that may actually serve a purpose.

"You deserve my compassion as well, Fear." The tender touch of her tone and the gentle strength in her arms all were akin to powerful chains that held the anxious and stunned champion now caught in contradictory pain and relief. But Kindness was wrong; making a mistake! Fear was aware that if she accepted the solace of kindness, she would only bring suffering to both of them when she inevitably failed again and again in the future. If she separated herself from her sister now, she could avoid that painful path... she could avoid letting everyone down.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Both Kindness and Fear turned to look at their sister who had returned and stood with an irritated expression directed towards the duo. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and none of the anger she had when she left seemed to have faded.

"No, it's nothing." Fear said as she stepped back and looked down before Kindness could explain. Courage shook her head, exasperated with the feeling of defeat. "Enough of that! We're going to get them back!" She shouted at her sulking sisters.

"How? We cannot. You already know this." Kindness answered, and stepped towards her brash sister. She stood between Courage and the sea beyond, refusing to let the reckless champion from continuing. The roar of the sea did not abate; the clashing waves and violent winds a reminder of the inevitable fate of any who would dare trespass in its domain.

"We walk on water, like our maker." Courage replied.

"Did you hit your head when you smashed into those walls? We cannot." Kindness spoke firmly, the difference from her quiet voice had caught Courage off guard, and created an uncomfortable silence that lingered for too long.

"Perhaps you can't, but Fear and I aren't afraid." With those words, Courage grabbed Fear and pulled her past the angered Kindness. She leaned close and whispered to the anxious champion. "We can do this. Don't be frightened, sister." Between two pillars on the precipice of the crown, the two of them peered over the edge to the sea below.

"I can't." Fear whispered to herself, and tried to free herself from her sister's grasp.

Courage simply sighed, her vice grip unbroken. "Then you would abandon your kin? You would betray our maker?" She asked with vehemence. As she spoke, her hair began shimmering, her skin faintly glowing, and her words were suffused with power.

"What would you do if you found the thieves? Will you fight them? Kill them? Is that what you think our maker would want?" Kindness interrupted and took hold of Courage's shoulder. However her subtle resolve did little to extinguish the conviction of Courage, and fear found herself alone against the world as her two sisters argued with each other.

"I would make them give me back what they took!" Courage yelled, and shook Fear with her frustration.

"And how would you bring them back? You cannot carry all of them." Kindness stepped back with sorrow in her eyes.

"I would use their ship! I'm not a fool, Kindness. I know what I'm doing, and I won't let you stop me!" Courage fiercely pointed her finger at her sister, and glowered. Her shimmering visage seemed to flicker after she had spoken.

"So be it, I will not stop you." Kindness said, but could not look at either of her sisters, ashamed after relenting to Courage's demand. Even when Fear sought her gaze, she could not look.

"I'm taking Fear too."

"As I said, I will not stop you, but... please, promise me this. Promise me both of you will come back."

Kindness wanted to cry when Courage approached and embraced her. She wanted to cry when her foolish sister spoke more madness to her. "I wanted you to come with us." But Kindness found that no tears would come. Courage continued to speak to her, as she held her. "Have faith in us, Kindness. We'll be back and laughing about this before our maker returns, isn't that right, Fear?"

Fear remained silent, but her skin began to shine, and her hair glittered with light as her inner flames stirred and crawled out towards the surface. Courage grinned and let go of Kindness, and the quiet champion watched as her two sisters stared out to the endless horizon.

"The power within us is the same as her's. We can and will do this." Courage bravely claimed, and called upon the might building up within her. The wind around her seem to sing and dance beckoned by the presence of otherworldly power.

Courage leapt from the colossus, soaring through the air, falling and falling, until she alighted upon the surface of the sea. The waves were pushed back, as they crashed against an crystalline barrier that tossed scarlet light outwards, and the water beneath the champion calmly rippled, separated from the rest of the raging sea. Akin to a truly massive beast, the waves lumbered and roared all around her, but Courage stood defiant against the great cacophonous presence.

Fear fell down beside her, afire and tense, surrounded by the sanguine sea and crystals conjured by her sister. She hesitantly took a step forwards and found that the crystals furthest behind her suddenly shattered, but the new shards were created ahead.

"We just have to keep moving forwards! We'll find them before she comes back!" Courage called back as she charged forth in the direction the thieves were last seen traveling.

Fear looked back to the three colossi, and the barely visible red figure atop one. She raised a hand in farewell, and promised that she would come back before following after her crazy sister.



Anger. Anger. All of them were swallowed by anger; the immense waves of water that raged without relent upon the scarlet shards that protected them, and Courage whom would only brazenly push onward, ignoring the calls for rest and reason from her exhausted sister.

There had been no respite, no moment of recuperation for the two champions, and Fear felt the fire within her become smaller and smaller as the crystals she conjured consumed more and more of its warmth. She was grateful that the amulets Chailiss had gifted them offered some shelter from the cruel winds and cold rain that came from above, but she could not continue this endless chase for much longer.

"Courage! Please! We need to stop!" Fear desperately called out, but her sister remained marching through the turbulent tides, ignoring her pleas and fatigue.

Summoning the last of her strength, Fear surged towards Courage and grabbed her sister by the shoulder. The action caused both champions to come to halt, then Courage turned back and snarled. "Do you see any land!?! We have no choice but to keep moving!"

Fear could see her sister breathing heavily from strain after sustaining the conjured crystals for so long. Fear felt the exact same strain and anxiety became dread as she couldn't see a way to save themselves, let alone their missing kin.

"Go! We can't stop!"

Courage pushed her forward? Backwards? All sense of direction was lost as there was only the sea and the darkened sky above. There was nothing to guide them. The crystalline barriers were fracturing faster and faster, there was less to shield them from the crashing waves.

"We can't! It's too much! We have to find land!" Fear shouted and looked back to her sister, and found only a few lingering red crystals where she had stood before. "Courage? Courage! COURAGE!"

Stumbling as she was struck by the water that rushed past the last of her shards, Fear frantically looked for any sign of her sister, her hands sinking into the bloodied sea, but grasped nothing.

Another shatter as the last crystal broke apart, and a powerful wave slammed into the terrified champion, pulling her beneath the surface.

Where? Where? Where? Fear's mind raced as she tried to find where Courage was. It was dark, and she couldn't breathe. The sea was choking her, strangling her with its immense strength. Courage... where are you?

She could the roar of the merciless sea echoing in the abyss around her, she was sinking further and further while her limbs became stiff and brittle.

Then she saw the light. Faint. Small. Red.

Courage was deeper in the darkness, but her skin still shone, and her hair was shimmering. It was enough for Fear to follow and reach out towards. So close, and yet so far. Her hand seemed to almost touch, before it broke away, and Fear could only watch as part of body slipped away and sank further. Drowning. Immersed in the memories of thousands upon thousands of corpses in the sea.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No! No! NO! NO! NO! No...

She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. She couldn't move her body as even the protection afforded to her by her amulet was not enough to resist the cold grasp of the deep. She only felt numb, the words in her head were no longer making sense. Courage scolding her for sleeping, Kindness asking her questions about her favorite flower, Curiosity challenging her in a myriad of games, Wanderer singing when she thought there was nobody listening, and Homura...

She only wished she could've seen them all one more time.

Then there was nothing.



The song of the sea seemed sorrowful as the coming of dawn painted the vast stretch of water red and orange and pink. The sun had emerged over the horizon, but its presence seemed suppressed. Despite its keen gaze revealing the truths of the world and illuminating the land with its majestic radiance, there was also a shadow. The semblance of peace seemed on the verge of shattering, as if a terrible creature had grasped the throat of Galbar in its jaws and would soon to bite down.

She had waited for their return with desperate hope. She had prayed to her maker, to the King in Heaven, to any whom might hear her and offer her aid, but she was only greeted with silence.

Kindness was alone.

With the return of the sun, she had known her sisters would not come back. She had known that the sea had claimed them. She had them go because she was weak, and found that the inner fires that blazed in her sisters were so much more brighter than her own diminished flame. They could laugh and cry, dance and dash, and become overwhelmed by their feelings of pride and shame, but Kindness could not. Her emotions were always locked behind an obstinate veil even when she wanted to feel as free and strongly as those around her.

"Kindness."

The quiet champion looked behind her to the red goddess that stood facing her with an enigmatic expression, neither joyous nor angered. The same face as her two sisters. The same face that had given them their lives and purpose. All words eluded Kindness, and she could remain still. She was surprised by a sensation upon her cheeks. The wet feeling of a tear trailing downwards.

"Come child, you need not speak." Homura stepped towards her crying champion and held her in her arms. The first sin that had stained her creations, and taken their innocence from them too soon. Homura could only console Kindness, ease the pain, but not entirely erase it. She knew that more would come, and that this was only the beginning of something sinister that had seeped into the world.

"Save them... please." The mortal in her arms whispered, pleading with her.

"We must return to Keltra." There were three colossi, but only one champion to direct them. Their journey could not resume until more champions could command the colossi, but Curiosity and Wanderer were still at the fortress.

"No, we need to find Courage and Fear. We cannot leave them." Kindness retorted.

"Shh... sleep." Homura murmured before striking Kindness in the stomach and then placing a palm upon the champion's forehead. Kindness could not react as she found herself exhausted and falling into the realm of dreams.

The red goddess lifted her sleeping champion with one arm, resting her against her shoulder, then turned to look upon the colossi that would not move without guidance as she had ordained. She held up a hand, and called upon the innate divine power as she spoke and the world obeyed.

"The Red Goddess gives you wings!"

Bursting from their backs and sides, great celestial wings emerged from each of the colossi. The massive metallic creatures lifted themselves into the air, and glowed with an aura - a red radiance that enveloped them and sang otherworldly music that echoed all around. Their wings remained motionless, but carried them upwards, and Homura stood atop the crown of the colossus in the center.

"Let us make haste. Our enemies and our allies await us." She pointed with Daybringer, and the colossi bellowed in response. Then they soared across the sky westward like a great comet coming to crash upon the earth. Homura looked to Kindness with a sorrowful smile.

"I will explain in time. I just need more time..."

Setting: Keltra

That day the wind was howling from the northwest. A chill was brought in from the seaborn air, provoking the small critters of the small woods to return to their burrows and nests and give the day up for tomorrow. To match such a day, the usually blue skies above were a bright white, not quite swollen with rain, but definitely void of any warm rays of sun. It was dreary, yet dry, a perfect day to do nothing so long as your belly was full and your bed was warm -- though not for the only non-critter resident of the tiny Keltra wood: Apostate.

No such contentment pierced his heart, and no such fullness filled him. He was devoid of any pleasure of non-doing, but instead he stood antsy and thoughtful. Today he was going to do something, as he did every day, but what it was, he didn't know -- yet. Over the night, he felt the pain in his chest swell for a moment, only to relax, signifying that someone, somewhere had thrown off their shackles for freedom.

Apostate was proud, but disappointed he couldn't have seen it for himself. This is what was on his mind on that dreary day -- action. To act, to do, to be... he could feel it thrumming through his miasma and electrifying the metal that floated along his body, the urge to do something.

The grey skies suddenly burned with cosmic radiance, and an otherworldly music filled the air as beyond the trees, beyond the fields, and high above the southern sea, soared three colossi; immense metallic creatures resembling the shape of the horses found across the Eidolon Plains, except for the numerous scarlet wings that emerged from their forms and held them aloft.

There was no flapping or fluttering, the wings remained still and the colossi simply flew in defiance of gravity. They were limbs forged from celestial light, and the source of the strange song that woke the woodland realm and its denizens. Stirred them from their slumber and kindled the inner flames of focus.

The procession traveled along the coast towards a solitary fortress in the distance, and a powerful presence lingered in its wake. The red forest seemed to respond with reverence, the mystical melody echoing through the foliage slowly faded as it merged into the rustling of leaves, the calling of animals, and whispers on the wind.

Curious, Apostate focused on the fortress and built energy in his legs. In a snap moment, He let loose an incredible bound, blasting the trees around him as he took to the skies. He broke through the clouds and maintained his focus on the fortress, arcing towards it through the air. His great leap came to an abrupt end as he slammed back down into the ground by the foot of the walls and bellowed.

"Who builds this?" His words accompanied the sound of raining dirt that had bloomed from his landing.

The three colossi followed afterwards, descending upon the nearby sea. Their arrival awoke the fury of the waves, with great watery tides crashing against the stoney shores, and the roar of the sea reached the fortress of Keltra. From the cacophony arose another voice in answer to the question from the god.

"I am its creatrix." The voice proclaimed,

The scarlet wings of the colossi vanished with the sound of shattering glass piercing the air, and Homura leapt from the massive creature in the center to the land beside Apostate.

In one hand she held a golden spear exuding cosmic power, and in her other hand, she held onto a sleeping simulacrum of herself; a mortal imbued with a small essence of the divine.

The red goddess gazed upon Apostate with fierce flames in her eyes, and a sharp smile more dangerous than the weapon she wielded. "I am Homura. Who are you?"

"I am Apostate," The smokeborn answered simply. Shifting focus, the god loosely gestured his blade at the sleeping figure. "What is that?"

"One of my champions, and she is human, another of my creations. How fortuitous that you would come here. I have more humans within Keltra, and I intended to make gifts of them for my fellow divine. Would you like to have some, Apostate?" Homura asked, and stepped closer to the wall of the fortress.

"Do they move?" Apostate questioned further. He took a step closer to the Goddess, as if getting a better view of what she held. As he did, his billowing smoke wrapped around the scene.

"They are the mortal expressions of our will and desires forged from earth, water, wind, and fire. The shepherds for our creations, capable of motion, art, and freedom. They are easily shaped and defined by our powers, but remain fragile and must preserve their inner flames lest they die." As she spoke, the wall before her rippled and shifted until it parted, wider and wider, and access to Keltra was given.

Homura stepped forth towards the red keep atop a rise in the land at a leisurely pace, and dashing towards her from the building were two more mortals identical to the goddess. "Two more of my champions." Homura said while she walked.

"I see." Apostate followed. As he did, the haze that pooled around him started to mix with the air, sneaking into the inhales of the present mortals.

Both of the champions suddenly stumbled before reaching either of the divine, but their words were easily heard. "What's happening, Wander?" One asked while holding her head in her hands, trembling with an overwhelming pain. Her twin struggled to stay still, her eyes closed as she concentrated on stabilizing herself. "I do not know." She gasped, and then opened her eyes. Dissent directed towards Homura, like a pointed spear.

"I would ask that you refrain from inflicting upon my servants disobediance and suffering unless you wish to provoke me." The red goddess said as she came to a halt, and stared at Apostate with enigmatic expression.

Apostate stopped walking and stood completely still, until his voice rumbled. "Do you challenge me?"

"No, but if your presence will cause unnecessary harm for my champions, then I will require you to wait outside. I can provide you with humans elsewhere, if you prefer." Homura replied, as she stepped forward and crossed the distance between her and the two mortals with divine agility. Her spear reached out and tapped both upon their heads causing them to go still and close their eyes.

"Hmm." Apostate thought with a grumble. A breeze picked up around him, swirling with him as the nexus. As the tiny cyclone formed, it gathered his smoke and folded it back onto himself again and again until a dense coccoon covered the god. The smoke coaleced into a metal wrapping, only to crack and crumble from the god within. Newly revealed, Apostate stood in a different form, that of Homura, save for an eyeless face.

"They will be spared from Hevel, for now." His old voice didn't quite match the image he was currently in. "I accept your gifts."

Homura remained quiet for moment, until she simply nodded and tapped both champions with her spear once more. The two awoke from their stupor and looked back and forth between themselves, Homura, and the faceless visage Apostate had taken.

"We have returned. Allow me to introduce you to each other. Curiosity, Wanderer, this is Apostate, the god of Defiance." Homura said.

Both Curiosity and Wanderer immediately bowed to the two divine, and spoke at the same time.
"I'm not sure what happened, but please forgive me!" Curiosity shouted, shaking her head from side to side and slapping her companion with her long hair.
"I apologize for... stumbling, your grace. It is a great honor." Wanderer stated in a much more composed manner.

A disgusted groan rumbled out of the faux-Homura. "You grovel. Why do you grovel!?"

Curiosity exuded dread as she stopped her shaking and became still. "I do not know!" She shouted again, while Wanderer sighed. The other champion then replied. "We were weak and these thoughts had suddenly taken us, like we were possessed of rage. I cannot explain it without disgracing myself further." Slowly the two arose from their position and looked to Homura in search of an answer.

"You are forgiven." The red goddess said, and then the duo glanced towards the other deity with mixed apprehension.

Apostate twitched, a sharp pain in his arm. With a wide gesture he pointed his pained arm at Curiousity. "You!"

"Me?" The champion's eyes widened with surprise and fear. She stuttered as words fumbled out of her mouth. "I didn't mean it, and I won't be weak again, I-I I just was tired, you see. We've been... tired..." Her gaze repeatedly averted from Apostate, towards her sister, to Homura, to the ground and sky, anywhere but the frightening eyeless mask of her maker.

The god of Defiance swiped the air, as if erasing Curiousity's excuses. "Why did you stand here and let that one-" he pointed at Wanderer, "-disrespect you? She called you weak and now you're repeating it as if it was your own. Are you weak, are you beneath her? Do you not deserve my respect, hers?"

As if struck by his words, Curiosity staggered backwards and looked to her sister for help, for something to deny Apostate's words with, but the other champion said nothing. Did nothing.
"I don't know. I don't know, I just didn't want to hurt our maker and there was nothing I could do. I was weak... but I won't be now. I want both of you to respect me!" She shouted at Wanderer and Apostate.

Wanderer closed her eyes, and remained rooted where she stood. She stayed silent after her sister's outburst and kept her eyes shut while Homura stabbed Daybringer into the ground and sat down. The sleeping champion rested peacefully in her lap.

Apostate rotated his shoulder, as if stretching the muscles hidden under the shoulder blade. With a jerking motion, he cracked his neck and cleared his throat.

"We'll see," was all he said in response to Curiousity. Turning his attention back to Homura, the god pointed again. "Tell me more of the humans that sleep?"

"Curiosity, Wanderer, look after your sister." The two called champions approached the sitting goddess and took her place. Homura stood and grasped Daybringer once more. "Shall we?" She said as she gestures to the keep, and then resumes her walk towards it.

"There is little else to explain. The humans that sleep are unshaped and undefined, awaiting the touch of the divine. I can tell you how our kin sculpted and painted them, if you wish." Homura offered.

"Very well," Apostate folded his arms squard behind his back. "How did they shape these beings?"

"Your presence is enough. Their minds will be imprinted upon, and memories of you and your will shall define their nature. I ask that you guide them, teach them the meaning of your aspect. Our brother Chailiss imbued his humans with resistance to the cold and made them much larger than their orginal shape. Our sister Yudaiel intends to make humans that stand against the darkness of doom and despair, and our brother Voligan said he would have his become protectors."

The two divine reached the threshold of the keep, its large doorways welcoming them. Daybringer illuminated the vast halls that were filled with sleeping humans, thousands and thousands of them. Homura gestures to them, offering them to Apostate. "You may have ninety-thousand humans, brother."

"Thank you." The words came out sincerely. There was a pause at first, then a question. "Protectors. Protectors from what?" He turned to Homura. "And how does Yudaiel intend to stand against such aspects?"

"There are those among us that would wreak havoc upon Galbar. They would beget din and discord, and hinder those of us that would beget beauty and cohesion. Voligan sought to protect life from such individuals and their machinations. As for your second question, the answer can be found in the question itself. If you wish for me to detail the entirety of what that would look like, I am afraid I have neither the time nor desire to do so." Homura approached one of the sleeping humans, and gazed upon its featureless face. Her attention wandered back to Apostate and she simply watched him with an amused smile.

"That's stupid," Apostate spoke plainly. "Don't you agree?"

"It is too soon to ascertain whether the paths we have chosen are either wise or foolish, however I seek to preserve that which is sacred and think those that seek to inflict harm upon others as disgusting." As she spoke, Daybringer became small and dim, and she cut her hand along its bladed edge.

"Why do you consider such stupid?" She asked while her divine blood gathered in her palm and driplets began to rise. Slowly the blood coalesced into a small shard.

"The humans, that is smart -- I see no fault in their creation." Apostate watched Homura for a moment. A low groan came from deep inside the faux-Homura and Apostate shook his head.

"You have created a creature capable of will similar to us, yet you easily diminished this achievement by allowing others to pit them straight to their demise." He pointed a finger at nothing in particular. "You said some of our kin seek destruction, so others seek to protect against destruction... using what you have called fragile. You said another seeks to use them to stand up against despair, an open ended goal that sees the complete slavery of those you gifted. You made a creature, but others are using it as a tool -- that is stupid."

Returning his attention to the slumbering beings, Apostate finished, "I will accept your gift, but they won't be tools. I'll make a tool if I need one -- I'm not a fool."

"Hmm... I am curious to see what you create." The shard flew from her hand and sank into the sleeping human beside her. Homura stepped back as the prone form was lifted up and altered, red hair sprouting from her scalp and similarly red garb adorned her form. Another mortal akin to Homura, but different.

"My name is Homura and I have created you. Know that I am the honorable servant of your Lord. You shall see His will done, for there is only His will. You shall be an instrument of creation in this world known as Galbar. The work that remains for us is indefinite, yet such is the nature of our Lord's realm." The red goddess spoke with power, and her voice echoed throughout the vast halls of Keltra.

"Your aspect is Pride. You have been blessed by my presence, and have been given the opportunity to fulfill a purpose. Come and aid me now. Protect your brothers and sisters from the monsters that would prey upon them!" The wound upon her palm had vanished, and Homura stood before newly awakened Pride.

Immediately apparent was their difference in height, as Homura was much taller than the mortal, but there were other features that stood out. Pride had softer, more round cheeks, and bigger eyes. Her hair had hints of pink, more loose and longer. Even her outfit was changed with more jewelry and pieces of finery adorning the small champion. Homura moved to stand behind her, and placed her hand atop Pride's head.
"Allow me to introduce you to each other. Pride, this is Apostate, the god of Defiance."

Metal pimpled Apostate's skin and with a quizzical look, the god reached out towards Pride. Without a word, he grabbed Pride's chin, his thumb poking into her left cheek while his other fingers poked her right. He leaned in, and where there were empty sockets on his face, smoke formed swirling eyes. "Why did you name this one such a thing?"

The small champion pushed all of the hands poking and prodding her away, and looked angrily at the two divine. Her mind struggled to find the words she wanted to say, and she realized that she did not even know how to speak. Homura shook her head with fatigue and let out a sigh before she answered. "This one will teach humanity humility. That is why."

"Ah." Were the first words Pride spoke as she scowled at Homura. When her gaze turned to the eyeless god, she frowned further expressing her disgust. "Am a god?" She asked, and Homura looked to Apostate to watch how he would reply.

"I am," Apostate answered, "and you are what?"

"Homa? Keltra? No... I am Pride. Pride? That's me..." The girl looked between Homura and Apostate in confusion, uncertainty filling her as she sought to answer the question shot back.

"Do you know what pride is?" Apostate followed.

"My name? But something else, like a face, or a smell. No, it's within me. It is an aspect of my inner fire. A light in the darkness. A sword that cuts silence. A cup that is filled with emptiness. Pride is my purpose, or perhaps pride is my essence. Oh, I apologize for not being nice before. I don't like it when others touch me without my permission." Pride brimmed with delight upon ascertaining how speech and language functioned, and then bowed before the two deities. "Welcome to Keltra, Apostate."

Apostate stared at Pride for a while, a deep groan rumbling somewhere hidden. Eventually the god turned to Homura. "What have you done to this creature, Homura? In mere moments she has been reconfigured, or perhaps pre-destined."

"It's rude to call me a creature. I did not realize that gods had forgotten manners, or are you simply a vagabond whom has stumbled here?" Pride interjected before the red goddess could reply, and the child found her vision blocked by the body of Homura as the goddess swiftly appeared before her.

"Silence yourself. You are to protect your kin. You do not disrespect the servants of the King in Heaven. Do you understand?" Homura spoke quietly, but firmly, and Pride quickly nodded. "Hmm... then remain quiet until you are spoken to." The red goddess continued, then turned back to Apostate.

"She is my hand, akin to how we are the hands of the Monarch of All. My memories have been passed onto her, and so she has become more than most mortals. She speaks our tongue and has inherited an iota of divine power." Homura began patting the quiet Pride upon the head once more, and smiled.

"I see," Apostate said. "Why was that necessary?"

"We cannot stray from the Sacred Path. Only nihilism and annihilation await at the end of all other paths." The red goddess answered, before she stepped back and swayed, her hand extended outward and caressing the air. She slowly moved to an unheard melody, magical muscles sending her into the air in graceful leaps and strides. "Only forward, never backward." She spoke softly as she danced.

Apostate shook his head and let out a defeated groan. "Very well, another tool."

Turning to Pride, the God held out a hand, palm up. "You may speak as freely as you wish, Pride." He paused. "Your creator has offered me a great many of your kind and I have accepted. Would you like to leave here with me and them, or do you want to stay with..." He looked over at the dancing goddess, "...Homura?"

"I would prefer you both leave, but I don't think that is going to happen. I intend to protect those that sleep here, and the two of you are the greatest threats present." Pride answered.

Homura remained enraptured by her own motions, twirling and soaring, rising and falling, lost in her performance.

"Indeed," Apostate agreed with Pride, "Perhaps you should force both of us to leave. For myself, I intend to leave -- but her -- I don't know. Could you tell me something, as a human?"

"Hmm, I suppose I could." The small champion crossed her arms, evidently distrustful of Apostate.

"What do you want?"

Pride frowned in response to the question. "Did I not make my intentions clear? I want my brothers and sisters to be protected. That is all." Her attention turned briefly to the red goddess as she began shimmering and conjuring strange symbols in the air. Uncertainty filled her, as she sought to understand the sight before her.

Homura continued her dance, summoning sigils and shining brightly. "The citadel shall be a sanctuary for the faithful. The citadel shall defend humanity from destruction and despair. Pride. My Pride. Will you protect humanity?" Her voice resonated with divine power, and echoed in the halls.

"Hah!" Apostate let out a single laugh, "your words are clear. I'll take my leave." He bellowed. "Homura! Where shall I meet your gifts?"

Homura slowed before coming to a halt, and stood beside numerous circles comprised of the symbols floating in the air. She tilted her head as she looked at Apostate. "Where would you like to receive them?" She asked.

"There is a Garden to the south-west. That is the ideal place for them to first wake," Apostate stated, "shall it be done?"

She began to hum to herself as she considered his question. "It would take time to deliver them with the colossi. Will you wait, or would you prefer to take them now? I am teaching my champions to command the colossi without me... it will take time to deliver them to you." Homura repeated and began to walk along the perimeter of the conjured circles.

"What is your estimate?" Apostate turned in place to maintain his observation of the Goddess. "I am in no rush, as a new pain in my chest whispers of a..." he trailed off. "How long so I can meet them there?"

"Four days from now. Will that suffice?" Homura reached out a hand towards the center of the circle, but her eyes remained focused on Apostate. Pride approached the red goddess with curiosity and stepped beside her, attention fixated upon the symbols now.

"That would be good," Apostate agreed. He held out his hand again, to no one in particular. His fingertips began to smoke and rot into a glossy black metal. The taint slowly crept up his arm until the entire limb was crafted of smoke and metal. His fingertips pulsed a dark grey and inbetween his open hand, a small orb of smoke started to form. The orb of smoke rotated and rotated, each spin condensing it more and more until it turned as glossy as the metal, except instead of a metallic black underneath, it was a smokey glass.

"This is my gift."

He dropped it on the floor, the glass orb smacking the ground with a dense thud. It rolled to Pride's feet, no worse for wear. "It is for mortal hands only -- though do not lose it." He looked directly at Pride, a set of smoke swirling eyes appearing on his face. "For all that you protect, do not lose it."

Blinking upon hearing the thud, and seeing the dark orb at her feet, Pride turned her gaze to Apostate as eyes of smoke peered at her. "I... I accept your gift. Thank you. I, um, would like to know; will you be returning to Keltra? The citadel is rather desolate now, but I hope to change that in the future." The small champion retrieved the orb from the floor, and held it carefully in her arms.

"You'd have me return?" Apostate, for once, sounded completely surprised.

"I am the keeper of Keltra. It would become a boring place if I refused to let any of the divine visit just because they are dangerous, and I do not like the idea of being keeper of such a boring place. As long as you promise not to harm the people here, I would be happy to have you come back and enjoy what we have to offer." Pride proclaimed, pleased with her speech.

Then the roar of fire filled the great hall as the circle of sigils ignited in a blinding blaze, and Homura stepped back. "The Eternal Flame. The source of sustenance for all mortals within Keltra, the first step upon the Sacred Path. My gift to humanity." The red goddess said before she spared a last glance towards Apostate and Pride, then walked away.

Pride held a hand to shield her eyes from the bright bonfire, and almost stumbled with the weight of the orb in one hand. She balanced herself, then peered into the flames, finding that her sight had quickly adapted to its light. She looked at Apostate, and found herself struggling to speak. "Will you come back?" She asked again.

Apostate looked at the orb in Pride's hand then at her face. "It will be done."

The small champion smiled. "Then I shall look forward to it, Apostate, God of Defiance. I'll make sure my sisters do not tarry while they deliver what you were promised." She looked towards the large doorway that led out to the empty fields, and squinted at the sight of the more ambient light of the sun. "I think I shall speak with them now. If you'll excuse me." Pride marched with her short legs towards the exit, nervious and curious about what awaited outside.

"Homura." Apostate's voice echoed in the chamber. "You called yourself my sibling, yes?"

Emerging from the shadows that danced upon the walls and high up ceiling, Homura descended back to where she stood before. "I did. We are kin, connected to each other through our connection to the Monarch of All. You are neither my creator nor my creation. We are the same."
"Then," Apostate spoke. His formed began to crumble away from his body, a geyser of smoke erupting from the corpse until it filled the room. Where the smoke was the thickest, a beating heart of metal began to form, and around it a wrapping of metal. Metal bega nto weave in the smoke until it was all contained into the form of Apostate. He stood tall, massive sword in hand. "When the time is right, and you are ready, come find me -- and we will fight. As friends or foe, that is for you to decide. Come find me then."

He turned to the exit. "I will await you."

Kindness awoke to her two sisters, Curiosity and Wanderer, looking over her with concerned expressions. The grey sky above and the far away song of the sea were different from what she remembered before falling asleep. Less lively and hollow, like the world had become smaller while she slept. The two familiar faces that gazed upon her with worry were only facsimiles of the faces she had hoped to see again, and Kindness winced from the pain inside her. Her head seemed so heavy, and brittle, as though it might tip over and shatter at any moment.

The quiet champion saw that she had been brought back to Keltra, and laid down in the large fields that encircled the towering keep. The massive red walls surrounded her, and she could not tell which way the sun had risen... she felt so lost.

"Kindness... are you hurt?" Curiosity asked, gently placing her hand upon her sister's head. Her touch stirred Kindness from her thoughts, and reminded her that she was not alone. There were others that still needed her.

"No. I am unhurt." She answered, but she struggled just to speak. She realized she may have just lied for the first time. It did hurt. More than words could describe, but she would not impose her pain upon others.

"Where's Courage and Fear?" Curiosity continued, and her words struck her sister as cruel, but Kindness knew that there was no malicious intent in the champion always asking questions... she just wished that she had any other answer aside from the truth.

"They are gone."

"Gone? What do you mean? Where did they go? When are they coming back?" More and more questions spilled forth from Curiosity while Wanderer remained silent. Kindness found the weight of words too burdensome and closed her eyes.

She opened them to see... a child approaching her and her two sisters. Another human, but not one of the ones she had seen with Chailiss. No, the red-haired girl was much smaller than those in the north, even shorter than the three champions themselves. She seemed similar, but there were strands of pink among her long tresses and the fringe above her face. She also wore an attire akin to their own, and carried in her tiny hands was a black orb that shimmered in the light of the sun.

"I am Pride. A pleasure to meet you." Pride announced, and bowed her head towards the trio as she greeted them.

"What is that?" Curiosity excitedly asked, pointing at Pride with a look of awe.

"Cute..." Wanderer answered, as both she and Curiosity moved without thinking, and found themselves pinching the small champion's cheeks. Kindness could only blink with confusion while she watched her sisters interact with what she knew to be Homura's newest creation.

Her gaze drifted further beyond the three mortals to the imposing keep, to the sight of the celestial light that poured forth from every doorway and window. The light of the divine... and the red goddess that stood at the entrance.

Anger boiled within her when she looked at her maker, and the recalled the words she had said; the lack of compassion for her champions as the red goddess ignored her pleas. Kindness saw the absence of pity in her maker's eyes, and felt rage knowing that the one with the power to save her sisters had simply stood there and did nothing. Why didn't you save them?

Her attention turned back to the three before her, as Pride struggled to free herself from the grasp of Curiosity and Wanderer to no avail. "She's so round and soft!" Curiosity exclaimed, while the small champion attempted to smack her with the black orb. "Cute" Wanderer said again while she nodded in agreement with her sister's comments. Pride also attempted to hit her as well, but the orb she held was too heavy.

"No! No touching me!" She said as she stumbled and dropped the heavy orb upon the toes of Curiosity.

"AAHHH!!!"

Curiosity fell back as she held her right foot in her hand and tripped. She spasmed in agony, gasping while she clutched the injured part of her body. Pride picked up her black orb with a smug smile. "Do not pinch my cheeks, or I will drop this on you again."

The small champion turned to Wanderer with a threatening look, and saw a surprising expression of joy on the other champion's face. She stomped her foot on the ground in a (non)threatening display. "The same for you!" She stated, and was appeased with the nod of acceptance from Wanderer.

Pride then looked to Kindness, still sitting where she had woken, and approached her sullen sister. "And what is your name?" She asked, and her dulcet tone was unlike any of the voices that Kindness was familiar with. A new sound. Pity was all she felt for the one who called herself Pride, as she knew that her maker was a merciless being, and the child was nothing more than a toy to the deity. All she knew was that she could not bear to lose this little one to the cruelty of the world.

"My name is Kindness." She answered, and stood up before bowing to the small champion. Curiosity still writhed and shook on the ground while Wanderer stood over her.

"What's wrong with you? Your eyes are leaking, wait, you're crying... why?" Pride asked as Kindness came closer and closer.

The crying champion hugged Pride, holding onto her while fighting to keep back the tears. There was little the girl could do when she was engulfed in the arms of her bigger sister, and complained, "I said no touching... no, hmph!" until, "Fine! Fine..." and she allowed Kindness to hold her.

They stayed like that for a time, and only parted when Homura had approached them. The red goddess looking between her four champions with keen eyes and a cryptic mask. She was inhuman despite her appearance, moving with divine grace and precision among them. In her hand, she held Daybringer, and the golden spear was a symbol of her power, her authority.

"There is much to be done... Kindness, Curiosity, Wanderer; this is your little sister, Pride. She shall protect Keltra while we continue our journey." Homura proclaimed, and her lingering silence afterwards invited their questions.

"What happened to Courage and Fear? Wait, you really mean we're going with you?" Curiosity asked.

"Where did Apostate go?" Wanderer added softly.

Kindness said nothing as her sisters sought answers, wondering whether their maker would reveal the truth of her insidious nature or not. How she had abandoned those that followed her, and was evidently only concerned with delivering her gifts to her fellow divine. The quiet champion seethed as she considered why she had bothered helping Homura scatter her kin across the land and sea when they could have all lived here in Keltra... their home.

"The sea has claimed your sisters. You two will be joining your sister and I by controlling the other two colossi. Apostate has departed already, but we will meet him again in four days when we provide him with his promised humans."

"How could you leave them!?!" Kindness challenged Homura, enraged after she heard such a indolent answer regarding the loss of Courage and Fear from the goddess. "You were supposed to protect us!" She cried with an accusatory finger pointed at her maker. None of her sisters said anything, stunned by this sudden act of defiance in front of the deity.

"They chose to go. I honored that choice. Ask yourself, Kindness, why did you not go with them? Why did you stay still and silent as they set forth? You are still a child; one that has now known the loss of loved ones. Know this, we cannot change what has happened, and we cannot allow grief to consume us. I promise you this small solace, young and foolish Kindness, you will see them again. Your souls were all bound together upon your birth."

Homura's words both kindled the flames of rage and stirred something she had forgotten... hope. Kindness remembered the terrible pain of thinking she would be alone at sea for eternity, that she had lost everyone and was adrift in a hostile world that taken all that was precious to her. Now, she hoped once more. Held onto to the words that her pathetic maker had promised.

"If you lie, then I will never forgive you, and I will continue to curse your name until my last breath. This I promise." The cold fire in her eyes focused upon the red goddess, and Kindness could feel the ire behind the impassive mask her maker wore. She allowed herself a small smile as she had attained that small strike upon Homura and her pretentious attitude.

"So be it."

The tension in the air did not alleviate afterwards, and the other champions found themselves apprehensive about what may happen next. The first to speak was Pride. "How annoying. Well I will return to the keep. You pests can be on your way now." She said dismissively, before turning back to the aforementioned keep behind her. She came to a halt as she was lifted from the ground by Homura.

"No, before we depart there is a matter I must remedy. I have yet to teach you the secrets of your spirit, and the art of sorcery." The red goddess said, holding an annoyed Pride while her remaining champions became intrigued.



"The Gnosis is difficult to understand as a mortal, and requires both intense discipline and acquired wisdom. Knowledge is the practice of making language conform to the world, as opposed to sorcery, which is the practice of making the world conform to language. We cannot see the words that weave reality into the tapestry, but we can influence them." Homura explained to the four students seated before her.

"As a goddess, I am gifted with an innate understanding of the Gnosis. I can create and manipulate the world around me with greater ease while you will have to struggle to achieve even simple spells that define the world around you. The meaning of the words is essential, and though you need not articulate them, you must understand the essence of what you are attempting to convey. If your spirit is illiterate, you cannot comprehend the Gnosis." Her hands gracefully gestured and motioned in the air, as symbols appeared and shimmered. The mystical markings hovered and shifted in a myriad of shapes and sizes, humming quietly with otherworldly power as they encircled the champions.

"I shall bestow upon you my understanding of the Incantation of Sending, but only a piece of it. Every Incantation consists of the principle of the spell, and the many shaped forms that spell takes. Memorizing a single shape is much simpler than memorizing the entire principle. I will teach you how to walk in the Otherworld." The symbols suddenly shattered, and then reappeared upon the flesh of the four champions that winced with pain as this happened. Seared into their skin, the symbols shifted and spread until much of the the four champion's bodies were inscribed with the markings.

"To assist your minds, I have taught your bodies as well. When you call upon sorcery, the incantations shall reveal themselves to you."

Kindness stood up, and examined her arms and legs, watching as the inscriptions altered themselves. Black and serpentine, twisting and turning, the markings captivated her. The other champions were just as enchanted by what had happened, and preoccupied themselves with looking at themselves. The quiet champion saw that the markings reached their faces as well, dark swirling shapes contrasting with their pale skin and scarlet features.

"Sustaining any spell will exhaust you, so you must discover your limitations before you weaken yourself in a perilous moment, and suffer the consequences of ignorance." Homura said.

The champions quickly found themselves more and more fatigued after walking for a few moments while the markings remained visible. Pride was the first to surrender to the strenuous exertion, and Wanderer followed quickly after. The two sat down breathing heavily as their markings vanished, and then watched as Kindness and Curiosity continued to stand.

"I'm going to be the last to fall, you know." Curiosity chuckled while Kindness struggled to just stay standing. The quiet champion felt her legs burn, and her shoulders ache, as if she were burdened with a great weight on her back. She looked at her cheerful sister and could not understand how she simply stood there without expressing a hint of exhaustion.

"No... I... am..." Kindness gasped out, and stepped towards Curiosity.

Her sister continued to smile, but there was sorrow in her eyes as well. "You can do this."

"Do... no... me..." Kindness couldn't breathe, and fell before she could reach Curiosity, but her sister dashed forward to catch her. The markings upon them vanished as well, and the victorious champion held her exhausted sister with tenderness.

"You don't have to worry. You'll become stronger, Kindness."

Homura spoke from where she had observed their contest, and all of her champions turned to look at her. "Honor is sacrifice. Walking upon the Sacred Path will be arduous, but we will not stray. You have learned how to walk in the Otherworld, but before you attempt to wander far, you must train your endurance. For the journey ahead, I shall sustain the spell. Now, you have all done well. Go and rest in the warmth of the Eternal Fire. It will restore your strength."

The red goddess dismissed her champions with a wave of her golden spear, and then pointed towards the keep. Her exhausted students slowly stood and began the trek back to the lonely building. None of them spoke, too tired to try to converse, so they simply marched onward until they reached their destination.

When they entered and stood before the blazing bonfire that is the Eternal Fire, all four of them found themselves quickly reinvigorated. Its bright light seeped into them and reached their inner fires, joining with it and connecting them to the power imbued in the monument itself. It was peaceful, and each cackle and flicker of the flames lulled them into relaxation.

They all seated themselves nearby and watched the fire for a time as they were told to rest, and in the balmy presence of the Eternal fire they found their concerns and aches had faded away.

"Wanderer, you're smiling!" Curiosity said with excitement, pointing at her sister lost in her feeling of content. Curiosity herself had felt her lips tug upwards, and joy blossom in her chest. She looked to Kindness with Pride sitting in her lap, and felt more safe and happy than she had ever thought would be possible.

Homura was quiet when she found all four of her champions sleeping peacefully, and allowed them to enjoy their brief respite.

As the sky darkened, Kindness awoke to the wind caressing her cheek and tugging her hair. She atop one of the colossi among the columns of its crown. She frantically looked to see if Courage and Fear were beside her, but realized she could not hear the roar of the sea, and it was night, not day. Her return to Keltra had not been a dream. Their deaths had not been a dream...

She could hear the more gentle waves washing against the stony shores of Keltra, and saw the other two colossi stationed nearby. She could see her sisters, Curiosity and Wanderer waking upon their own colossi as well.

Homura appeared beside her, illuminating the head of the colossus with the tip of Daybringer. "It is time we continue. Show your sisters how to guide the colossi, and follow me." Without waiting for a reply, the red goddess leapt and soared through the sky westward.

Kindness did as she was told.

---

Under the moon’s frosted light, the snowdrifts almost glowed. Their luster was a bloodless white, almost like bone. Even as he crawled through it, Kono was unbothered by its chilling touch upon his bare flesh.

The woods seemed just as alive tonight as he felt. His heart nervously raced, the leaves whispered and the wind howled. He stalked further, crawling slowly through the snow and keeping to the shadows beneath trees. In the distance there was a crackling sound -- not that of twigs breaking beneath feet, but rather of them snapping in a bonfire’s heat -- and the flames’ orange glow seemed as bright in the distance as the morning sunrise. Good; that brightness only meant that they would be all the more blind to what dwelled in the shadows.

He inched closer at a snail’s pace, taking care not to brush against any bushes or bring his weight to bear upon any twigs. Beneath the snow in places where the blanket was thin, pine needles dug into his flesh, but this was worth that discomfort. When he had at last come close enough, so close that he dared not inch any nearer to the firelit clearing, he waited with all the patience of a giant sabertooth.

The words of the afternoon before echoed in Kono’s head: “So they truly gone then! It’s been three sunsets since we’ve seen them. What are we to do now without the womens’ warmth?” Wilu had asked.

“They aren’t far,” Kono had answered, “I know they haven’t wandered far. When the day is clear, I have seen the black pillars rising from where they make camp.”

“Perhaps we could steal some of them,” Honon had half-japed. “Just one or two to share, eh?” And then Wilu had laughed, but not Kono. And they must have seen the realization in his eyes, for they had immediately tried to sway him back.

“Hesutu said we are not to enter their camp, nor bother their band,” that craven Wilu had said. Well, at least Honon had been easy enough to convince. This wouldn’t be like that other time, kono had promised his friend, not like with that Lansa… that had grown horribly out of hand, when she had shrieked and clawed at them they had lost their calm. The snow in their minds had melted, and boiled, and they had acted on rage and instinct from then… all that came thereafter had been disaster, and they hadn’t even been thinking clearly enough to hide the signs of that mishap.

Ah, and speaking of snowmelt… they had stayed still for so long that their warmth had started to melt the snow about them into slush, and Kono’s simple clothes were beginning to grow damp. He looked back to his accomplice just a short ways behind him, near another tree, and was about to signal that they should reposition… but then came a sharp snap. The two of them whipped their heads to the side and peered into the darkness, making out the silhouette of a lone figure heading out into the woods. She might have left the fire on the edge of the camp and separated from her friends for just a moment to make water, but that was all the time that it took. The two Childan men silently signalled one another with hand gestures, then crept after her with rocks and balls of moss in hand.

The night was of course dark, but not so dark that they stumbled over roots or gave any warning. When they were close enough, they leapt upon the unsuspecting woman, and abducted her as easily as an eagle might take a hare.

---

Far away, through dark woods and blizzards and then some ways past a mountain that walked, there was a land with many lakes and rivers. One neck of a stream, once-wild and filled with rapids but now tamed by a small dam, was home to the floundering Blackmoss Clan. They have thrived here not so long ago, but that was before the First Betrayal and the dozen more that had come since then.

A small group of sentries paced atop the dam on that frigid night, keeping watch for any threat -- be it bjork or beast. The full moon illuminated the surrounding environs well enough to make the lot of them feel safe; it was so bright that only one of them even bore a torch -- Ruslan was that one’s name. On dark moonless nights it was easy to get on edge, for you could hardly see anything more than ten feet from your torch, but now it was easier to relax.

So relax they did, until they beheld a sable shape in the moonlit waters. It was making steady progress downriver towards their dam. Ruslan slapped his tail upon the water out of precaution, and manbjorks scrambled out from the nearby lodge with spears.

“You’re being too hasty, that could just be a log,” murmured one of Ruslan’s fellows, but Ruslan had sharper eyes and he had seen a tail bobbing behind that shape. It was a bjork, perhaps an enemy spy trying to sneak into their lodge in the dead of night…

The swift current bore the bjork downstream until it thudded against the dam. The bjork was swollen and waterlogged. “Just a corpse,” Ruslan announced, and that was met with a curious mixture of relieved sighs but also concerned murmurs.

Ruslan held the torch above the body, squinting at it. It looked as though some of the limbs had been gnawed on by fish or some other scavengers, so there was no telling (for his untrained eye, anyhow!) just what had slain that bjork, but he liked to think it was one of their own war parties camped upriver. Finally, he shook his head. “Not a face I recognize. Must’ve been one of those Wickedtooth bastards.”

A raucous cheer erupted, but a cold breeze stifled it soon after. Most of the spearbjorks went back inside where it was warm, while Ruslan and the other sentries lifted the corpse and threw it on the other side of their dam. Let it keep going downstream, become someone else’s problem. It was bad to leave the corpses out in the woods -- the smell drew in the giant wolves and other predators -- so they usually just threw them in the river and let them drift away.

Their enemies -- those of that wretched Wickedtooth Clan upstream -- cared little and were wont to just leave their slain enemies where they had fallen, or sometimes even make macabre examples of the bodies. Barbarians. At least that meant it usually wasn’t a familiar face that they found washed up on their dam.

When their shift was over, Ruslan and his fellows went to the larder and took their meal; times were hard with so many of the foragers having been slain by the Wickedtooth and so many others having been forced to take up the spear, so there was somewhat pitiful picking among the foodstuffs. A few morsels remained of that black moss for which their clan had been named, and each of the young bjorks claimed a bite or two of it to take with some berries. There were a couple of odd mushrooms too -- in recent days, those fungi had seemed to have begun growing everywhere, and never before had their kind been seen. But thus far none of the Blackmoss had been willing, much less especially eager, to try them. Hunger could gnaw, but there were many such fungi that could cause pain even worse, or potentially even kill.

Ruslan ate the berries, but left his chunk of black moss untouched. He made his way deeper into the lodge and found Tanas, a once-mighty manbjork that had been maimed by a spear to the gut, and who in the past days had begun to stink of infection. It hurt Ruslan to see him like that.

“Pa,” the youth began, “I brought you some of the good stuff.”

Through blurred vision, Tanas saw the moss in his kit’s hand and smiled at the sight. “No, savor it for yourself. You still have strength in you. Death is near, boy. I feel the fire creeping through me -- don’t think that I can’t smell it too -- and your presence is enough.”

The manbjork’s words were interrupted by a sputtering series of hacking coughs; the sound agonized them both.

“Eat something, at least,” Ruslan pleaded.

“Dust. I’ll eat dust, and save what’s left of the larder for you young lot. You know we don’t have the supplies to waste, boy.”

Ruslan stymied a tear. A warrior never showed his heart, not unless another bjork hacked open his ribs. “There is something, though. Some mushrooms we found. The others won’t touch them; we don’t know if they are good for eating. Haven’t seen their kind before. So take them, if you will have nothing else.”

“Oh? Well, I could try a few then, for the good of the clan… bring ‘em to me. I’ll tell you lot if they’re fish-shite or if they’re good to eat, ha!” his father managed, before the coughing returned.

Some time later, his son returned, and the old warrior graciously devoured the head of one mushroom in a single bite. He’d been ravenous, truth be told, and was grateful to have found an excuse to eat something. He ate the stalk of that first shroom, and then began working on a second. The fungus tasted odd, and smelled like wet fur. Still, the stuff was not as foul as it might have been, and they seemed to settle alright in his stomach. It wasn’t a terrible last meal, but of course, he would’ve rather had something else.

Or would he?

The taste was beginning to grow upon him. There was a strong earthy flavor but something more palatable layered subtly beneath; it was like aspen cambium, only muddled with a bit of dirt. More voraciously now, he consumed more and more.

“I guess you like them, pa,” Ruslan managed to chuckle.

Seeing Ruslan smile for a moment rather than give his piteous form that look did more for Tanas than anyone else could have known. Between bites, he offered back a, “Ya, not so bad. See if I don’t croak from them within the hour, and then maybe try a couple for yerself.”

Then he settled back into the mat where he’d been left to rest. The heat in his head and the horrific burning in his infected wound both ebbed, while the aches in his back all but vanished from mind. Tanas felt his muscles relax, and was at peace. It was a good feeling, not like that ominous lack-of-sensation or queer warmth that you felt in a toe before frostbite took away its feeling entirely. But was it?! Tanas suddenly felt cold, and chills wracked him as his heartbeat pounded. Was this what dying felt like? Was he being lulled into the long sleep already? He’d thought that he was ready, but panic still set in.

“Pa, what is it?” he suddenly heard, but he didn’t see his son.

“Ruslan! Ruslan, where are you?”

“I haven’t moved!”

“Oh, of course… my fever, it’s the fever. Please, I need water. Help me to the water…”

Even as a wave of coughs punctuated that request and the remaining mushrooms tumbled out of his father’s hands, the shaken youth jumped to comply. With help from Ruslan as well as what little strength remained in his limbs, once-strong Tanas clambered up to his feet. Leaning on his son, the two slowly made their way through the den and to the river-entrance. Tanas half-stooped, half-collapsed faceshift down, and he greedily began sucking down the water. But this water looked strange. In the gloom of their clan lodge one could hardly see, but some moonlight filtered through the water of the exit, and it seemed to give the water an otherworldly glow. The stuff looked odd too, its hue almost mauve, but maybe that was just Tanas’ imagination.

“Alright, that’s better. Take me back to my bedding,” Tanas mumbled. He wanted to say thanks, but some odd alliance of fatigue and pride held his tongue. Perhaps that was for the better; seeing him in such a state had to be hard on the lad; he needn’t remind Rustlan -- his little kit, he still remembered how tiny he had once been -- that time was so limited. They both already knew, but it was best to pretend that they could each banish it out of mind.

Tanas didn’t hear any reply, just the rushing of the river through the walls. How mighty was the river’s roar! And in the darkness of the den, the long shadow twisted and writhed. He saw figures in the darkness: they were fighting, they were filing out of a lodge and walking out over a dam, they were climbing a mountain. And that mountain was climbing a hill, and the trees bestride it were lurching and leaning to view the whole odd scene with better angles. “Aho,” one of the trees laughed, suddenly twisting its shadowy trunk all the way around to look right at Tanas.

He had thought that it was a pine tree, with that trunk and then the triangle-looking shadow atop it, but it was not so pointed at the top like a pine should have been… it was rounded. It was a mushroom!

“You’ll be with us again soon, I hope?” the pine-made-mushroom loudly asked. Its tone was not a forgiving one. Tanas closed his eyes, but instead of darkness between his eyelids and his pupil there was a pattern of color. Maddeningly, when he stared into the color, he saw a mushroom that wilted and became earth, a pinecone that fell, a mighty tree that erupted from that soil and then fell, and finally the divine mushroom revealed itself anew as it sprouted from the rotting log. The cycle repeated, a hundred times and one, and yet he had only taken a single step through the tunnel in that span of time.

“I’ll be back soon, we’re almost to my bed. I’m, I’m sorry for letting you down,” he found himself apologizing to those mushrooms that he had so callously cast aside. How could he have not eaten them with the rest?!

Somewhere far away, as though distorted by being underwater, he heard his son’s voice echo something back before the lad began to sob. But that didn’t matter; he could always set his kit aside later and tell him how to behave like a real manbjork, but right now Tanas needed the mushrooms’ forgiveness. It was a terrible thing to offend a god -- these parts were far from Clan Rod or Mish-Cheechel and so they had never heard of the Green Murder, but even so they just instinctively knew not to offend the divine -- and these mushrooms most certainly were divine.

Tanas understood it now. The revelation came to him, even as he felt the strange sensation of himself laying on the ground and sinking into his bedding, so too did he feel a sort of cosmic understanding as it sank into the depths of his now-so-pliable mind: the mushrooms were not organized as clans, or even as individuals. They did not have one matriarch, and nor did they have just one grand mushroom lording over all the rest as the mushroom god. No, all things were connected! The mycelium tunneled through ground and soil and stone and river and space and time, linking every mushroom altogether in one incomprehensible and vast network. They were all one and the same, collectively and cohesively a whole, and they were God, all of the mushrooms.

It was hard to grasp, and Tanas realized that as he’d grasped the truth of that arcane enigma, he’d been clenching his jaw, gnashing his teeth, and closing his eyes with an almost crushing strength in his eyelids. All of that ended at once when he threw his eyes open. He was no longer inside of that dank and sickly smelling chamber in the lodge where they’d holed him up to die, no, he was outside again and could smell the fresh air. He was curious about his son though, as a father was wont to be, so he stuck his head through the walls of woven timber and mud (it all gave way as easily as water, no, more easily -- sticking his head through was as much hindrance as walking through the air) and observed his son there, looking down upon some shuddering mass of fur that lay on the ground. Ah, that was good, his son was still safe. The thing laying on the floor suddenly vomited, and it was only then that Tanas realized that he was looking upon himself, and yet that was no reflection in the pond. He was well and truly outside of his body!

But if he’d left it behind, then surely he was dead. Yet if he was dead, how was still he writhing and vomiting right there? Tanas was a simple manbjork, but even he saw the inconsistency there. He concluded that he must not be dead, but merely liberated, unshackled, perhaps even ascended. It seemed logical. He had become a god, one with the stars and the mushrooms.

As a god, the affairs of mortals now seemed somehow beneath him. It was quite a different perspective that was thrust upon him all of a sudden, and normally it might have been hard to adjust to, but he was spurred on by instinct. So with a great slap of his tail upon the ground, he propelled himself into the sky. With that single bound, he thrust himself above the tallest of aspens. That still wasn’t good enough, so to get the ideal vantage point he slapped his tail against the nothingness of the air below him and provoked it into slapping him back (that was how bird flew, he suddenly realized) such that he was sent even further skyward, and now found himself comfortably suspended even above the pines. Yes, from here he could see a long ways away, all the way to the damned dam of those damnable Wickedtooth bastards, damn them all!

He supposed that his first act as a god may as well be to smite his enemies, or rather the enemies of the mortal that he had once been, and so he soared yonder with a malevolent mien about him. But then a soundless roar accosted him, and bid him stop. Furiously, he turned his head toward the source of the silent shriek, and then he beheld the greatest star of all in the night sky: the moon! And how had he never before noticed that Great and All-Seeing Eye socketed in its very center, that uncanny orb that stared?

“You,” he proclaimed in an accusatory tone, pointing right at the moon, “may be a god also, but try and stop me! I shall summon the beasts of the land, and conjure malady and malaise, and cast it all upon those insipid fools. Let them worship me as their god, and mayhaps I will show them mercy!”

A ghostly dart flew faster than he could comprehend. It cut through the heavens faster than any shooting star, descending from the moon all the way down to the Galbar’s sky in a thousandth of an instant, and it iskewered him through the chest, right where his infected wound had been. He felt pain again, and this time it was more vivid than ever. Even as an ascended ghost-god-mushroom, he could only gasp for air. But this was not a mere dart, it was a harpoon, and it wrenched him up into the heavens. He was spirited away at an unbelievable rate, but it felt so slow from the pain, slow like the Galbar’s incessant pull had suddenly become a push and he was left to slowly fall all the way to the moon. Still, with the push never abating, his climb grew faster and faster and erelong he was trapped midway between the two bodies, a tiny island of fur amidst the void-sea of space. Fractal lights and eyes peered at him from everywhere between the endless stars and galaxies all around, but his attention was focused solely upon the moon.

That moon was so much grander and terrifying in scale now that he’d approached it; in truth he’d always supposed the thing was just the size of a fist or so, but it sorta made sense that it was really big and just also really far. But none of that mattered; the Eye demanded and commanded his attention, and he was utterly powerless to break contact with it or to avert his gaze and it bored into his mind. With oppressive callousness, the Eye sifted through his memories, and it was as though he relived his entire life in a few quick moments. Then, seemingly satisfied, the Eye ceased and desisted -- for a moment, at least.

Waves of images and condensed concepts, information and understanding, were forced into his mind. He caught tiny glimpses of the storms of thought that raged through Yudaiel’s vastness, and even just the smallest window into her alien mind was terrifying in a dozen different senses.

The concepts co-opted his memories and took familiar simulacrums, that they could retell his life with new meaning and wisdom imbued. In that manner, he could understand that which he could never have understood as words.

He saw the familiar shape of his aunt, the Blackmoss clan’s heavyset matriarch, only her eyes were black voids, like dried and shriveled little blueberries haunting sockets as empty as space. Instead, she looked at him through a great white glow that had been chiseled through her skull and forehead. Through that third eye, she Saw, as did the goddess of the moon. Tanas thought he could see the moon back in there, if he gazed deep enough into the white abyss.

“Y̜̌ȏ̦͔̽u͙̅ ̬̐s̗͎̓͛ę̣̿͑r͉͊v̬̈́e̺̍ ̜̲̂̓m̛͙é͉̣̚ ̠̫̇̚ṇ̙͂̇ǫ̖̽̀ẉ͎̀̃,” the matriarch and goddess stated as fact, “b̺̓͢͝ų̗͈͑͑͡ṭ͙̟́̎̕ ͙̝̳̥͋̓̑͞t͖̻̬̋̈́̈̎͟ḥ̝̘͕̏̏̃̕e̙̺̻̬̍̎͊͘n̡͕̳̗͛̉͊̔,̣̙́͝ ̬̟̩̆͗͘y̺̖̣͒͊͊o̧͍̹̹͂̾͑̀̐͟ų̨̤̣̏̒͘͠ ͎͓͋͢͡͡à̦̥̖͖̃͞͞l̳͚͈̠͑̆̇̄ŵ̧̟̼͘͠a̪̝̋̅y̻͈̦̿̐͆ş͚͋͞ ̡̲͋̄̇͟h̡͈̤̗̃͑̋̓ǎ̙̞̍̚͟v̡͖͂͊e͖̠̗͗̽̓.”

Ah, the reality of the situation was laid bare. He was a lesser god, subjugated to this great one. As all things had to be, and should be. Her truth imprinted itself easily into his mind, engraved itself into his soul, such that believing in it was at once as natural as breathing. But… what was the implication of it?

“How am I to serve your will? What is it that you want? Who shall I smite? I cannot possibly serve you if I do not know these things.”

The matriarch smiled, with teeth that were made of bloody diamonds. Then she chortled.

“I̎ͅ ď͔ó͈ ̣̐n̮͛ơ̟t ̹̽req͈̿uí͓r͔͗e̞̽ k͎̚no̢͆ẃ̗ľ͔e̜͊dg̪͑e̛̯ ȍ͇f͍̀ y͕̔ou,͙͑ ̗͋o͇̎r͚͐ ̻̀ä̲́ssen͙͝t̓͜.̠̽ M̰̍y͚͐ ̩̬͍̱̔̏͐̉̋̚͢͟w̙̦͔̦͒͆̀͋͌ͅí̻̖͘l̮̗͋͘l ͎̪̗̻̩̫͐͊͌̂͆͝Ṣ̛̙̜̝͍͗̎̾͆͘͠ͅͅH̨̦̆̄̽̋͜͟AḼ͚̪́̓̏L ̪̞͔̱̈̀̉͂b̘̫̞̫͓̀̌̂͑͒͢͠e̳͕͚͇̩͊͋͌͒͡ ̟͚̟̥̭̓͆͗̕͝d͖́ǫ̢̝̮͉́͐̽͆͝ń̼ē̛͉͙͚͈͕̑̒͗̚͟.”

Ruslan plodded into the room, a burden upon his shoulders. He laid a hand upon his father’s shoulder, and to Tanas that hand and its warmth felt realer than life itself. “You need only survive,” the young manbjork insisted. And then the dam collapsed and so too did the ideabstraction.

Ripples of oscillating color consumed his whole field of vision. Hanas’ spatial sense was completely unraveled, and so he was swept along by the mushrooms’ power just as surely as a twig was carried away by the river. Time’s subjective nature was intensified; he did not know or feel its passage, and felt simultaneously reinvigorated and exhausted when he finally awoke and saw a familiar setting of the lodge, only without strange colors or wild hallucinations. “You have to survive,” he heard his son’s voice echo from the ideabstraction, and when he turned, he found Ruslan asleep right by his side. No doubt the boy had watched over him all night, until he had lost the long battle with sleep. Tanas sighed and stood up. Unassisted. He looked down, and saw his festered wound miraculously healed over, with only a scar shaped like a crescent moon left to show for it.

The Great Bearer of Lands, The Earthheart

Aspect: Earth

Vigor: 9

Voligan headed back to the Earthheart Mountain, finally able to finish what he had started there now that things had calmed down. Or, at the very least, things weren’t so violently exploding that he had to drop everything and run all at once. He checked on the dwarves that he had established. They were doing well so far. Exploring the cave systems that he had established for them and beginning to organize themselves. One of them had risen as a natural leader and was directing those around him as they others looked to him for answers and guidance. Yes, they were doing well. They needed just a touch of guidance to help them on their way.

Voligan appeared in front of the dwarves as they went about their business, startling them as a vaguely humanoid rocky shape took form in front of them. They cowered before him, backpedaling from this faceless thing that looked over at them. Voligan held his hands out placatingly. “Do not be afraid. My name is Voligan, one of the Gods of the Monarch. I am here to help, and to teach you things that you will need to know if you are to thrive in this world.” Their leader pushed himself forward, looking up at Voligan. The fear was palpable in his eyes, but so too was the desire to protect those that were in his charge. Voligan was pleased to see that. The dwarf in front of him would be a good leader.

“What makes you a god? What makes you worthy of teaching us anything, and why should we believe that you’re not going to harm us instead?” He challenged, his voice shaking only a little. Voligan didn’t reply. They were good questions, and the first one at least deserved only a demonstration.

Voligan lifted his hand and the stone wall to his left melted away at his will, creating another long tunnel in the mountain. The dwarves all gasped and muttered amongst themselves, looking between Voligan and their leader. Voligan spoke before the leader could.

“What makes me worthy of teaching you is the fact that I created you and all of your fellows. I know more of what is going on amongst the pantheon of gods and the world outside than you could ever hope to discover in your mortal lives. I created this mountain in which you live, and I will teach you things that will make you the undisputed masters of this mountain and the range beyond it. As for why you should believe I won’t hurt you,” Voligan shrugged, and a deep pit opened up between them before rapidly closing. “I could have harmed you all without you ever knowing I was here.”

The dwarf nodded, slowly. The fear in his eyes wasn’t gone, but there was an understanding. Regardless of whether or not he trusted what Voligan was telling him was irrelevant. He didn’t have a choice but to go along with it, and he knew it. “Very well, Lord Voligan. Teach us.” Voligan chuckled, a sound like rocks tumbling together. “First lesson, do not call me Lord. I am not here to rule over you. What is your name?”

The dwarf relaxed, if only slightly, at that news. “I am called Hema.”

---

The dwarves turned out to be fast learners, once they got over their fear of him. They absorbed his lessons on the history of Galbar, as much as he knew at the very least, and hurriedly scratched crude renditions of the various creations, battles, and deaths onto the walls of a large cave. They did not want to forget the lessons and stories he had told them once he left. As quickly as they remembered and crudely recreated the stories of the gods, they also quickly picked up his lessons on how to make tools to shape the earth and how to make proper shelters that weren’t just what the caves naturally gave them. They chose the name for their group at his suggestion, naming themselves in honor of the god they lived atop of: The tribe of Aleth, or the Alethians. There was no discussion as to who would lead them, for they already knew. In all things, the dwarves looked to Hema for their cues and leadership. His direct challenges of Voligan had only solidified their choice in him.

Voligan pulled Hema aside after the final lessons. “Your fellows look up to you as a leader, Hema.” The dwarf nodded watching as the others experimented with and techniques they had been taught. “Yes. Despite my protestations, they continue to look to me for decisions and then abide by what I suggest.”

“Hmm. It sounds like you have been nominated as leader. You will need a title, and a symbol of power then.” Before Hema could protest, Voligan pulled a straight line of stone from the ground. “Yes, this will do nicely.” He held the line of rock in his hands and concentrated, forcing the dull and lifeless mineral to bend to his will and fill with his power.

The stone shifted and glowed with power. Voligan adjusted it til the artifact was to his liking, shortening and widening it until a lightly shining pegmatite scepter was in his hands. He rumbled, pleased with himself and his work. “I proclaim you the first Shaper of Aleth. May you guide your people justly and well, Hema.” A thought occurred to Voligan as Hema took the scepter. There were no other gods who built things, he was sure. It was a role he enjoyed, and one that he could step into. If he proved his skill at creation to the Monarch.

“I have to leave for now. I need to make requests of the Monarch of All, and he prefers the utmost respect and humility while in his presence. If you find yourself and your people in need of help, pray to me or whichever one of my siblings you think will help the most. The majority of us will answer and be helpful.”

Hema nodded again, staring at the scepter in his hands. By the time he looked upwards to fully reply to Voligan, the god was gone.

---

Voligan headed to the top of the Earthheart, where he was sure he would not be bothered. Before he could visit the Monarch with his request, he would need to prove his prowess. The Monarch would not willingly give up another one of his shards without proof that Voligan was deserving, afterall.

Voligan summoned a countless number of metals, gems, and minerals around him as he pondered what he would make next. “Hmm. The Scepter was a fine start, but simple. I need something with more impact now. Something that isn’t just an extension of my own power.” The cloud of materials swirled around him, occasionally stopping as he peered closer at one thing or another before continuing.

The light of the Tree of Harmony in the far distance caught his eye, and he was struck with an inspiration. Rapidly the materials all around him scattered away until he was left with metals and gems at his disposal. They spun around him, glowing with his power once more, as he spoke aloud and crafted them into shape. “Hmm. Mana is messy. Too many things that can go wrong, too much that is poorly defined. Something that can bring it into shape, no matter what is around or not around, is needed. Something that mortals can use reliably, without fear of their personalities or the nature of the realm around them changing things is what is needed.” By the time he had finished speaking, ten rings with ten gems were resting in the palms of his hands. Runes were carved into the bands, and each of the gems glowed lightly with an inner green fire. “Yes, these will do nicely for bringing order. But the mortals will have to earn them first, just as Hema earned his Scepter.” And he knew just the place to put the rings, waiting for a mortal to earn them. In his search for what was ultimately Ashevelen’s resting spot, he had passed by one of Astus’s Colossi, presumably destroyed by the blast. That would be a perfect place to put the rings, and let the mortals who found them earn their reward.

Voligan was there in a flash, carefully putting his rings in the center of the Colossus. “May mortals find you quickly, and discover your use to them.” He paused, looking up through the ruined Colossus. “Hmm. Mortals and strength.” Another idea struck him in a flash and he was gone.

Voligan returned to the top of the Earthheart, carefully pulling out the remnants of Aletheseus’s mask. It had been shredded by Iqelis and could no longer be used for its original purpose. But it could be crafted into something else, and Aletheseus’s will could live on in another way. The shredded mask began to glow a soft green as Voligan’s power filled it, and he slowly began to reshape it. This was connected to a divine, if deceased, being. Not only that, he wanted to get this perfect. Not just because the Monarch would be pleased with perfect work, but because Aletheseus, for all his faults, deserved an artifact that encapsulated him perfectly.

The tears in the metal slowly sealed shut as the mask lengthened and the many spikes and curls came back into the main body. It curled into a simple band with softly glowing smokey blue lines running through it. Simple. Perfectly made. Perfect for Aletheseus. Voligan put the crown back into his body for safekeeping, and then looked up towards the Palace. “No time like the present, I suppose.” He hoped that his nervousness didn’t show through to the Monarch. And if it did, that it didn’t get mistaken for aggression.

Sophia stalked the plains, healed by the ambient silence. In the distance, she saw a wren pecking at the ground. She loaded her sling with a stone, and began to swing it. She released the stone with unerring aim and struck the small, evasive creature dead. Walking over to the prize, she wiped the stone into the grass in a vain attempt to clean it before returning it to its sack. She bundled the bird into some hide and started carrying it back to the band.

She wasn’t sure why she bothered. Mateo, the herd-lead, was likely going to snatch it for himself or one of his lackeys and let her eat grass. Their band has always been lacking. Their first herd-lead thought it would be disrespectful to take anymore than a small herd of xo from Avros’ supply. This mistake meant that their band never possessed horse nor spear. The only reason that Sophia had a sling was because another band stumbled into obtaining it, but didn’t have the skill to use it.

She was regulated to gathering back then, but had the foresight not to turn over everything she collected to the band. This was technically taboo, but Mateo would have never used the things she kept as well as she did. Trading for the sling was the best thing she had ever done. It felt right in her hands.

Meanwhile, Mateo had only lessened their band. He had mistreated their salter until they had left for another band travelling north. Sophia thought herself foolish for missing the opportunity. Travelling far distances by yourself would only lead to the shrouded maid’s clutches. Nearby xo-herding bands were friends with Mateo. The sniveling coward would give their own precious supplies away to remain in a favorable position despite his incompetence. One half of the day, he will sit around doing nothing but let the story-teller yap and tell the same story over and over again. The other half, he will shout out commands that make everyone else do worse at their job.

Her only other option was a wool-eye band. They had plentiful resources, and their lazy bones only moved to new pastures once each season. However, you had to proclaim that Avros was the descendant of the sun spirit. She was happy to accept that the sun spirit existed, but Avros was a mortal with mortal ancestors. They shouldn’t be praising the Almighty Sun, they should be revering the Great Multitude. It was why she was hesitant to travel north, because maybe they believe in something as ridiculous up there. When she crossed the shroud and joined them, she knew that she would be right. Besides, they claimed land that they weren’t even grazing and had even hurt people to greedily keep it from others.

Being so lost in her thoughts and passions, Sophia had barely realized that a figure had appeared on the horizon, only noticing it as its features came into view. Standing alone amid the scraggly berry bushes of the plains, was a man. What stood out the most was that even at this distance, Sophia knew she had never seen this man before. He stood inspecting a berry he had plucked and despite the mellow weather and light wind of the day, he was oddly bundled in furs and strange white wrappings. The assembly of clothing was greatest on his back, giving him a cape of sorts, while his front was scant, exposing his arms and chest — only to hide parts of them again in the strange wrappings. Even his face wasn’t free from the odd accessory, with the top left quarter secreted away behind the same cloth. Despite all these oddities, the large black object tied to his hip pulled Sophia’s vision the most. It was long with what she could only assume was a handle poking upwards from the belt, while the other end dragged in the dirt below.

Believing that the old handle was a weapon, and immediately noticing that he was not the kin of Avros, she immediately reached for a stone from her bag. She loaded the stone which had slain the bird, still moist and red with its blood. She demanded, “Are you invader or spirit?”

“I’m a spirit,” Apostate answered, tearing his only visible eye away from the berry. His right eye was a slate grey, like that of smoke. “Do you eat these berries?”

Not lowering or disarming her weapon, but not raising it either, “No. Those berries cause sickness. What are you the spirit of?”

“In a way...” Apostate flicked the berry away and took a step towards Sophia. “I’m your spirit. You have hate in your stomach, don’t you?”

Mulling over, she replied, “And what if I do? I still have my ancestor’s will in my heart.” she said, patting her chest.

A deep groan rumbled from Apostate, as if in pain. “Who is it? Who is hurting you, the others..” He looked around, as if there were other people present. “Something is keeping you in place, in a status that hurts you. Something you hate, something you wish to defy... “

A pause.

“What’s wrong?” Apostate stared at her.

At this, she lowered her weapon. This spirit wasn’t as threatening as the stories told. Perhaps this one was just old and feeble. She puffed out her chest, “If my foolish band tried to hurt me, they would be the one going to the salter.” she paused. It was a common expression, but one no longer true for them. She didn’t spend a great deal of time reflecting on this. A thought crossed her mind and she muttered it outloud, “Defy? I guess.” she stopped herself.

“You want something,” Apostate stated, “what do you want?”

Glancing about, she replied, “I want to return to the quiet of bird song and light footsteps.”

Apostate closed the distance so that they were at a respectable talking distance. The god watched Sophia in silence for a while before asking, “what’s keeping you from what you want?”

Replying as if the answer was obvious, “Isolation is death. I will meet the ancestors with pride, not as a fool.”

“Then what can we do to change the situation so you can have what you want without the use of isolation?” Apostate’s deep voice was thick with curiosity and familiarity, as if they had been conspiring friends for a while.

Sophia's golden-brown eyes narrowed upon the strange spirit, “Will you haunt my ever waking and dreaming hour with questions until your curiosity is sated?”

“Maybe,” Apostate answered. “But I see your point.” The god fell to silence again, but stayed completely still — as if awaiting something.

And for several minutes, the pair stood in silence. She was not as still as the god, but she didn’t move her feet from the ground. Having a moment to think in peace, she replied to immobile spirit, “I do not trust that you shall not follow me if your questions are left unanswered. What I want is to belong to a powerful band, one that I can speak of to my ancestors without them needing to console me afterwards. But that can not happen while they are led around by the foolish Mateo and those that scrounge around for his scraps. Am I now freed from your insidious curse spirit?”

“Finally!” Apostate boomed and ripped his massive blade from its place. With a dramatic flourish he pointed it in the direction of Sophia’s home.

“You are young, I can see that — you also talk too much,” Apostate chastised without looking from his pose, “so out of my grace, I will grant you gifts to help teach you the way to deal with oppressors such as… Mateo.” He spat the name out more than said it, as if the man had insulted Apostate directly.

Sophia was stunned. She was trying to recognize if she had passed some type of test, or had only fallen deeper into the spirit’s insidious machinations. One word in his short speech clung to her, “Oppressors?”

Another deep groan rumbled from Apostate. “Yes,” he all but chewed his answer, “oppressors. They think of themselves at the detriment of others, if they are people, at least. They cause pain, and secret desire. Hate, the want to defy them, the need to defy them — so that the oppressed can express their truth. A fire in the dark!” He slammed his blade into the ground, and a burst of flames jumped out from where it struck, only to quickly evaporate into smoke.

A low growl, “the stupid let them be.”

Sophia heard the words, but attempted to truly understand. Either they were great wisdom, or important to understand how to undo whatever curse was being placed upon her. She did not know yet. However, she dwelled on his last comment and then beginning to connect everything together, she blurted out, “Are you claiming that I am stupid?”

“Are you stupid?” Apostate looked away from his vogue to stare at Sophia. “Does Mateo do whatever he wants and no one ever thinks to stop the man?”

Having abandoned Eidolon social graces in her discussion with the spirit some time ago, she retorted, “I have hid away the things I have collected. Things that he would have taken and squandered.”

“You are worthy of my gifts,” Apostate replied. He repositioned himself. “Ask anything of me.”

Sophia thought for a moment. Was this last step before redemption or the abyss? She called upon all the knowledge that she had, her history, the stories that she knew, rumors told among friends, whatever she could remember. Then she remembered a small detail that gave her courage, “My ancestors were strong and hearty, but they were cowed by false modesty. This one mistake has cost our band greatly, and has made us lesser. I shall not repeat their mistake. Spirit of Wisdom, I ask to rectify the stain left upon my legacy. I ask that you grant me a horse and a spear. With them, I shall rally my band and return to them the pride that has been stolen from them.” she said with complete earnesty.

“Easily done,” Apostate said. He wrenched his embedded blade like it was a lever and a geyser of smoke erupted from the crack it formed in the ground. The smoke swirled above before bounding back down towards the earth with a crazy winnie. As it landed, hooves pounded into the dusty grass and as the smoke subsided, a great horse stood in its place.

The horse was immense, dwarfing any horse Sophia had ever seen let alone dreamed of. It’s body was dusty grey and speckled with black, leading to a completely black muzzle. It’s mane and tail were wispy and white, and instead of falling with gravity, they seemed to swirl and curl like vapor reaching for the sky.

“He cannot die, he cannot grow tired, he will outlive you, and he will find the next who needs him.” Apostate crossed his arms, his errant blade still sticking out of the ground that spawned the horse. The creature stomped its hoof, a puff of smoke blooming from the impact. “He is made of hevel, but you may ride him — for he has chosen you by my decree.”

Hesitant, but determined, Sophia climbed atop the steed. She sat upon its back awkwardly, until she felt something change inside her. Her position shifted to be more natural and comfortable. She somehow knew how to command the horse to start walking, and did so, riding in circles. While she had this ephemeral knowledge, she still lacked experience to give it context. While partially distracted she replied to the spirit, “He shall outlive me? Then my precious descendants shall know his glory.”

“Indeed he will,” Apostate answered. He held out his hand and a staff of smoke swirled out of it, only to fall back into his grasp. He gripped the shaft and the smoke began to shift in place. Finally, a spear of bone laced with glossy black metal formed. It looked heavy, but the head of the spear was seamless and sharp, reflecting the sun vigorously.

“This weapon is light and sharp in the hands of the weary, the oppressed, the ones in need of justice — but heavy and dull in the hands of the greedy and wicked.” With little else he tossed the weapon sideways towards Sophia.

Sophia instinctively reached out and grabbed it. It held little heft in her hand. She finally returned her sling to her belt to better wield her new weapon. She held it to the sky triumphantly. She had seen others do it, and was repeating their motions. It wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be. But nevertheless, she replied, “For good or for ill, I find myself in your debt. The horse was favored by Avros, and thus it is favored by my people. Those oppressed by incompetence shall follow the hoofbeats towards renewed glory. As for the oppressors.” she said, she raised the spear again, “I believe that is the purpose of this tool, is it not?”

“It is,” Apostate answered, “in the right hands, it will make quick work of those who stand in your way.”

The god held out his hand, and from his fingertips emerged a steady stream of smoke. The steady streams swirled together in the palm of his hand until it thickened into a sphere. Furtherstill, the sphere hardened until a glossy sheen reflected the daylight off of its stormy exterior. With the glass orb firmly in hand, Apostate held it towards Sophia.

“Take this, as well, and know my name as Apostate, the god of defiance.”

Sophia took the sphere, however she was distracted by the steed and spear, and simply repeated, “Apostate, defiance.”

“And do not lose my last gift,” Apostate warned, “or all you have gained could be lost.”

Sophia nodded. As the trance of excitement faded, she looked down upon her hand. Her heart-marking color had changed from the gold-brown of her ancestors to smokey grey. For good or ill, the spirit’s influence ran deep into her core. Pushing away her doubts, she rode to her band to save them from an honorless journey to the shroud.

It had been a while. Oh, it certainly had been a while.

Astus stretched as he sat, perched, at the highest point of his home’s slanted roof, right on top of one of the protruding window frames that led into the library.

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d had the time to sit down and watch the Godrise.

Work had been busy. He’d worked on the Astalonian project for decades and gone through hundreds of subjects before he’d been successful. Since then, keeping his servants running correctly was a full-time job all on its own. Yeah, he was now able to send them out on their own on missions, but had it all really been worth it? There was a nagging sensation buried deep in the recesses of his mind, a feeling of… Disappointment.

It only grew worse as he noticed the Homuran walking out of his home holding a toolbag. A tool bag full of tools that Astus himself had made and organized. Beautiful things, they were… And now they were being used by a bag of meat and bone that hadn’t the slightest clue on how to maintain them, and had never experienced the pain and effort that had gone into crafting them.

The small sampling of Homurans that his Astalonians had managed to retrieve all those years ago had grown considerably, and thanks to his own guidance and knowledge, they were now living quite comfortably. They had clothes, shelter, food, and entertainment. They had everything they could ever want, fueled by Astus’ unending expertise and safeguarded by the fact that should anything break down, their God would come by and fix it for them.

They were pathetic.



”So, fix it yourself, small man.” Astus said.

The Homuran in front of him shrunk away a little. Astus stared into his heart, his flame dripping down onto the pavement and sizzling away.

“B-But, uh… I don’t know how…” The man said quietly. Astus took a step towards him, and the man took two steps back, avoiding eye contact.

”So, learn how to do it.”

“I can’t…”

”You can’t? Or you don’t want to?” The God asked of the man, to which the response was merely a strange, scrunched up expression.

After a moment that felt like forever, Astus scoffed and walked off and into his workshop, slamming the door behind him and leaving the man standing outside, stunned. He let the wooden toy in his hands fall to the ground, arms limp, and shakily looked over to his side, where Astus’ servant stood motionless. Her featureless neon eyes stared back at him, and suddenly she looked as crestfallen as him.

The metal woman approached him gracefully and held him, pressing his head against her chest. It was cold, but warm all the same. Eventually, he returned the embrace and sobbed quietly.

“I-I’m a failure… This was my son’s favourite toy…”

“Oh, sweetheart…” The Servant said, her voice laced with honey and smoke.



Ever since he had stopped giving them everything on a silver platter, things had come crashing down for the Homurans. They were weak and stupid and lazy, and it had been his own failure to properly teach them that had brought them all to this point.

He set down his pen as he finished scribbling the last bit of information onto the blueprints for his last Homuran project.

“Another all-nighter, Astus.” He said softly to himself as he looked at the red Godlight pouring in through the windows.

He felt strange. There was something in his chest, but he couldn’t quite place it.He slouched over his standing desk for the first time, and held his head in his arms.

“I won’t allow this, Father.” A voice, authoritative but honeyed and smokey all the same rung out from the entrance to the workshop. The only one who had the ability to open those doors besides himself was-

“Carer.” Astus sighed. “I’m not your dad, we talked about this. I’m your creator, your master, and your boss, but not your dad.”

“You taught me all I knew. You raised me into the Astalonian I am today. I wouldn’t be who I am if not for you. So yes, you are my father. Just like how I am the Mother of all Homurans under our care here! You know, the mortals you were so excited about just a hundred years ago? What happened to you, Father? Why are you trying to do this?!” Carer desperately stomped her metal feet on the ground, a strange vibration sneaking into her voice box. A vibration that he had never designed.

Astus hit his fist onto his desk, the thump silencing reality itself for a second, before he took a deep breath and walked over to Carer and examined her throat for visible damage. “There’s something odd with your voice, Carer, I’ll fix you-”

Carer slapped his hands away, “No! There’s nothing wrong with me, don’t you get it?! The only one who should be getting fixed here is you, Father! Stop this madness, please!” She begged desperately, her hands on her creator’s chest.

“... This has to happen. They’re too far gone. Too poisoned by comfort. I can’t fix them. Neither can you.” He grimaced as he turned away and went to pack his blueprints.

“You know, when you first gave me my purpose, I was disappointed. A Prime Astalonian reduced to being a babysitter for fleshy mortals? I was a mess for weeks, just ask Evoker or Knuckle!

“But… The first time I was given a smile, a true smile from one of them, I saw their value. Caring for the Homurans, frail and limited as they may be, taught me so much about everything--It taught me how to smile, how to feel, how to talk… It taught me how to love. How can you not feel love for them after all the things we’ve been through with them? How can you be so eager to murder them, even though you’ve been their Father since the moment they first opened their eyes?” With each sentence Carer stepped closer to Astus.

“You know a baby was born just a few hours ago, right? She would not stop crying, no matter what I did to try and calm her. She only calmed down once I gave her one of your figurines. Will you murder her as well? Just because she doesn’t know how to build houses, or forges, or steam engines?” Carer let her shoulders droop and covered her face with her hands. She had seen thousands of Homurans cry over the years but had never been able to do it herself. Now, even though no tears or sobbing came out, she truly felt like she was crying.

“Carer…” Astus whispered, one of his heavy, calloused hands finding its way to her shoulder. Then, he pressed a hidden switch and her body went limp.

”I know you two are waiting outside. I know you want to take her. To save her. So, why don’t you try? I thought I taught you to be more industrious than that.”

There were a few moments of silence, and then two Astalonians leapt into the workshop through the windows and went straight for Astus. They were Evoker with her cat ears and claws, and Knuckle with her combat arts.

It was no match.

In a split moment, Evoker got kicked in the face so hard she flew through one of the walls and out onto the morning-dew covered grass, while Knuckle had her head crushed by a hammer that Astus had left on his desk.

”Evoker, Knuckle, Carer… I failed you."

He sulked for a moment, before collecting all three immobile Astalonians and bringing them deep into his workshop.

Leviane and her followers travelled parallel to the north. While they could tolerate cold waters, warmer waters would be more agreeable. While a father was carefully guided their eggs through the journey, when their children spawned it was meet with a calamitous screech. Not since the first Ao died had such chaos spread through the community, tempered only slightly by Leviane's proclamations.

The mother confessed that when she returned to take responsibility over the eggs, she wished to slay her own children. The father did not interfere to save his own son. It was a loyal and pious Ao who seen what was happening and demanded that it was brought before the pearl-keeper. Instead of a glorious finned tail, he had two strange appendages. While almost all Ao could gracefully swim the moment that they were born, he shown significant difficulty in this simple task. His eyes lacked the divine blue that all others had. He even had a distasteful ridge upon his face.

When all gathered, the Ao spoke with a single voice and yet somehow it still upset Leviane. They call upon her to proclaim that he was no Ao and thus could, and should, be killed. When later interrogated, several silent members claimed that they believed that the others were being harsh but blamed it own their own folly and impiousness and begged forgiveness. Even the person who had prevented the mother from acting rashly believed that she was right, but merely acting improperly but not consulting the pearl-keeper first.

Leviane retreated from the group with the spawnling. It was the longest deliberation that she had, to the point that others began to worry. However, she eventually called others to her. She called them to the mer's border to the dead spaces of the world. Leviane proclaimed, "You have all been fools, but fools do not accept what they are told. You must bare witness."

Grasping the spawnling in her hands, she pushed him out past the safety of the mer. It was shortly where he began to thrash about, and cry out in a distorted, echoing voice. The voices of the community called out in unison once more to not kill him in such a horrific manner and to lower him back down. And as they demanded, Leviane did.

She lead all back into the deep, adult, kid and egg alike. There she announced, "I would have expelled both his parents for their indecent actions had not every adult present now shared in their blame. You are correct, this child is not Ao. He is different from us. However, he is still of the mer. He is our spawn, our precious spawn and you would have gave him a death. You cared more about your own nightmares than his wellbeing. He is not Ao. He is something lesser. But this is something tragic, he has been bewitched by the dead space. As his parents failed him, I shall raise him. In turn, he shall be my personal servant. As his parents lost all right to him, I shall name Trit. Should any be spawned as he has spawn, they shall be known as merfolk. They shall have Ao-Yurin's protection, and shall join them in their dreaming where they shall shed their curse and become equal with us. And they shall be known as the Triton. May we pray to the Almighty God of the Mer that there shall only ever be one."