Voligan & Astus

Voligan made his way towards Astus’ base of operations, fairly easily following the direction that the 12 earth eating colossi came from. They weren’t subtle creatures, taking after their creators in that way. He needed Astus's help. He had a vision in mind for helping the mortal’s creations and their expansion, but he needed someone who was as interested in the materials and their uses as he was. That would be his brother of Industry.

He arrived at Astus’ base and was impressed, despite himself. His brother had been busy, now that land, resources, and mortals were out and about. Plus, Astus hadn’t killed anyone to make it. That was more than several of their siblings could say right now.

“Astus, it’s Voligan! I need to talk to you about something I would like your help on!” He called out as he landed on the base. His form took on a metallic, humanoid shape that was devoid of any features.

There was a crashing sound within Astus’ wooden base, and a second later a large explosion took out half of the visible structure. Black smoke rose from the debris, even as the walls began to visibly repair themselves. From the smoke came Astus, shirtless and covered in what looked like tar. His whole head was on fire, but he seemed unbothered, laughing loudly upon seeing Voligan, who waved in reply.

“Look who’s come to visit us, Astus! If it isn’t our favourite ol’ pal, Voligan.” The charcoal-skinned god exclaimed, quickly walking up to Voligan and forcefully shaking his hand. Voligan did not return the shake, but it didn’t appear he needed too. Astus continued, “I’m glad to finally meet you in person, metal man! I gotta say, you did a pretty good job setting up all this land. I’m not the only one to recognize that either am I? Our boss thinks the same. So tell me Vol,” Astus grinned behind the flames enveloping his head and slithered up next to Voligan, placing his arm around Voligan’s shoulders. “What can your pal Astus do for ya?”

Voligan waited patiently for Astus to finish his spiel, turning his head to face the other god. “I have set up the land, and you have seeded it with minerals, gems, and ores. I would like to make both of those more useful to the mortals that I’m sure you have noticed popping up all around the land. Our sister Aethel has created magic throughout the world, and powered it through a great tree. I would like to use that magic to make parts of both of our creations stronger and better than it would be normally. To make a realm where the magic of the tree is combined with land and minerals to then be returned to the earth as magical land and minerals. “
Gold that is as strong as steel, iron that resists ice and flame, rubies that increase strength, obsidian that absorbs magical energy, and countless other possibilities. On my end it would allow mortals to craft and utilize stronger and more powerful technology, helping them fight against Iqelis, Yesaris, Ruina and their creations. On your end, it would allow your industry to work more quickly, and help your servants protect themselves from the likes of Phelenia. I’m sure you noticed her tantrum over the Bjorks having the gall to make dams. It would benefit us both, and help protect the mortals that we both want kept safe. Albeit for different reasons.”

Astus rubbed his chin for a moment, face scrunched up in thought. Eventually, he nodded and relaxed. “You speak exactly how I imagined it. Yes! I agree with your line of thought, Vol. Think we have enough time to set up Mana-Infusion Pumps all around the Galbar, though? I know it’d take me about 50 terms to build enough to get started with the project.”

“I would prefer that we created the realm first, and then you make your Mana pumps. Aethel seems protective of her creation, so I would rather not risk tipping her off to what we plan and have to fight against her while trying to set up pumps, create the realm, and spread its magical creations across Galbar. You’ll have enough trouble keeping your pumps up and running after we get the realm set up, I imagine. Your creations are not popular with several of our siblings, and that’s not even including Ruina and her obsession with ‘testing’ things.” Voligan paused, looking over to the north where Aethel’s great tree was.

“Besides, your pumps will doubtlessly be better and stronger if you have experience working with the source of mana itself, rather than trying to collect it with no idea of how it works.”

Astus closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, almost as if he was in pain. Still with his eyes closed, he spoke. “Y’know what, I’ll do you a solid and follow your plan this time, Vol. Consider it payback.” He finally opened his eyes and pulled away from Voligan, dusting himself off and putting out the fire that had been enveloping his head for the last couple minutes. “So that big ol’ tree is still being maintained by Aethel, then? Sounds like an undertaking. Should’a just covered it in pesticides and go build something else. Back on topic though, in order to make this realm we will need to make sure it is securely tied to the Galbar. We should create a lotta entry points all over the world and then cover them up. My pumps can then redirect mana into the realm and let it do its thing in there.”

Voligan nodded. “Since you decided to do me a solid, I’ll return the favor and let you name the realm.”

He looked over in the direction of the tree, musing partially to himself. “Hmm. Until we can get your mana pumps up and running, we’ll have to use the tree itself to power the realm. I suggest taking a root and connecting it to our realm. That should provide more than enough mana to get us started, and make it harder for Aethel to remove it should she take issue with what we’ve done. Then, if she does have a problem, by the time she removes the root the realm will have your mana pumps to keep it afloat. Then it’s only a matter of collection for our followers, which I’m sure you’ll have no problem figuring out yourself.” He looked back over to Astus. “Unless you have a better plan?”

Astus shrugged, “Vol, I said I was gonna follow your plan and that’s what I’m gonna do. Plus, I decided the realm is gonna be called The Volilands. Heh.” Astus smirked.

Voligan shrugged. “If you’d like. Follow me to the tree then please.” He headed off towards Aethel’s magical tree without checking to see if Astus was following. The other god would. There were too many opportunities that he couldn’t afford to pass up by not following. Voligan landed at the base of the tree, his form shifting to loose and crumbling dirt as it touched on the ground. Astus landed next to him soon after, a shovel in one hand and a pickaxe in the other. Voligan looked up at the massive, shining, creation. “Hmm. I suppose we’ll have to start from the roots to create the Volilands. Digging down here is as good a place as any.” Voligan declared.

A grin broke out on Astus’ face as he threw his pickaxe onto the ground and moved to the spot to be dug, just in time for Voligan to move his hands outward in a parting motion. he ground in front of him opened a tunnel down at an angle into the root systems of the Tree of Harmony. Far down the tunnel, a bright light shone with the power of Mana. “There it is.”

Voligan then descended down the tunnel until he was able to touch the root with his hand, Astus once more arriving soon after. “I will need your assistance for this, brother. Creating another realm within Galbar without ripping the planet asunder will require both of our efforts.”

“Wait, we're doing this the magicky way? C’mon... Why did I even bring the shovel, then?” Astus sighed and threw away his shovel and closed his eyes. “Ready when you are, Vol. Guide the efforts and I’ll support you whenever you hit a snag.” He said as he crossed his arms, with all his muscles visibly tensing up as a spark came from the mana concentration. “Whoops, we can’t allow you to destabilize just yet, Sparky. Vol, get to it while I keep it stable. The Mana’s trying to scatter now that we’re here.”

“Of course we’re doing it the magic way. The physical way would take eons.” Voligan replied, amused at Astus’ complaints. Voligan concentrated on bending the mana of the root to his will. The root glowed with brighter and brighter colors as it drew from the Tree and it began to writhe like a snake in his hands.

Right as the power of the tree began to be too much for the two gods to handle, Voligan thrust the root into the ground beneath them and directed his vision. The earth beneath their feet rumbled and groaned and then exploded downwards with an intense magical force. The two gods fell downwards, blinded by a swirling storm of mana. Out of sheer instinct, Voligan unleashed his true form. One hand grasped the root which, seemingly feeding off of his divine energy, also grew in size with him. The other cupped Astus to prevent the other god from being thrown around or hurt by the writhing storm of magical and divine energy.

Voligan landed with a crash still grasping the, now massive, root. As his vision cleared he saw that the mana was acting exactly as his will desired. They were in an endless cavern that held all sorts of impossible and beautiful sights. Mountains of rubies that glowed with an inner flame, dunes that stretched down from the ceiling and up from the ground to form and endless hourglass exchange of sands, gold that flowed like water, massive mountains that rose and crumbled into dust off in the distance, a giant sunstone ground across the ceiling while an equally large moonstone moved in perfect tandem on the ground.

“Hmm. Yes, this will do nicely.”

“Nicely? Vol, this is one hundred percent amazing! Imagine all the new machines I can create with these things! Oh, I’m gonna have a good time delving in here!”

Voligan and Astus’ pleasure at seeing their work coming to fruition was cut short by gigantic bolts of mana ripping into and across the ceiling. It was trying to force its way out. If it did so in its current form there was no telling what kind of devastation and destruction it would wreak once it reached the surface. “Astus, could you take care of those bolts. Create a way out for them that won’t result in explosions across the face of Galbar, or something similar.”

Astus tapped his chin for a moment, then nodded. Immediately, he got to work. He dug up through the ceiling in many places and created vents. After some time, he came back down to meet up with Voligan and wiped some sweat off his brow. “There we go, pal. 238 Mana Vents ready for service. They will open and let out some of the pressure accumulated by the Mana currents down here every now and then. It will be safe, probably. Also now that I’ve made these vents, Volilands isn’t really fitting. Let’s go with… The Labyrinth. Tons of dumbass mortals are gonna get lost here, so the name fits well.”

“They will, especially once tell of the entrances I put all around Galbar reach them. They will be drawn to the riches promised by the Labyrinth, and the strong will survive to use those riches for their own betterment.” Voligan looked around again, pleased with their work. “Hmm. Now we only have to hope that Phelenia doesn’t murder them for daring to be industrious, or that Aethel doesn’t throw a tantrum over us borrowing her tree root.”

“Hey hey, I get tired of Gods and mortals saying ‘Phelenia this, Phelenia that’ all the time! All she did was squash some little fleshy watermelons! It was quite industrious I gotta say. To be so bold so early!” Astus laughed, both hands on his hips. “Aaand yeah, I think we’re done here. We heading home now or do you have any more stuff you need my help with, pal?”

Voligan looked around at their work, shaking his head. It was already exactly what it needed to be. "I believe we're done for now. Thank you for your help, Astus. If you are looking for other projects, mortals have been spread over much of Galbar. They could use someone to teach them of Industry." Voligan began follow the root they had pulled down, heading back to the surface of Galbar.

"Though I would caution you against brushing off Phelenia's actions. She killed mortals for building dams with wood. If you wish to expand beyond your home, consider how she would react to your devices."

They returned to the earth under the tree, Voligan now in a featureless vaguely humanoid dirt form. "Thank you for your help Astus. I wish you luck in your endeavors."

Astus nodded, “See ya around, pal. You’ve got my word--I’ll be using the resources we just created to make our world even cooler.” He said before floating out of the burrow. Voligan followed soon after, covering the burrow to make it as if they had never dug down to begin with, and then left. He had other things to create.

---

A flash of pain shot through Gahers jaw as firm, bloodlashed knuckles rippled a stream of agony through his lower row of teeth. His legs wobbled beneath him, and in that moment his body betrayed him and he fell to the grass-flecked dirt below. Above him loomed two figures, threatening to continue his punishment. Serrat, by now a name feared across the valley, with a shoddy crooked nose and small scars and bruises from a short but intense life of physicality at Masol's side. Beside him, the lanky frame of Jem, picking at her teeth with a sharpened bit of bark. He'd never met them before, but everyone in the eastern half of the valley knew their names. When they'd introduced themselves, he felt honored. When they dragged him off towards the river, that honor had turned to panic. His friends had not dared do more than shout objections. None of them had ever fought anyone, let alone Masol's inner circle.

Masol and his crew were inviting zenii from all over after the Lady's decree of peace. The stories of their proactive and sometimes violent ways spread like wildfire among the sedate groups happy to subsist on the Lady's gifts. Gaher wondered if he would be the next tall tale being told around the blackstones, but could no longer resist pleading for his life when Serrat cracked his knuckles.

"Pl-... please! The Lady decreed… I- I haven't done anything wrong! Please stop!"

There came a short snort from the woman towering over him, but his view of her was blocked when the bruised Serrat squatted down to his level. "You think we're gonna slay you? Nothing like that. I'll ask again since you weren't listening." Serrat rumbled, his lips forming a predatory smile. "How did you come upon the Beast Queen story?"

Gaher remained tight-lipped, his expression a mixture of fear and incredulity. A few moments of silence was all that was needed to further draw Serrat's ire, and the scarred zenii grabbed Gaher by the neckline of his tunic, pulling him towards him and up on his feet as the bigger elf stood. It didn't last long; Serrat pulled him close and stole any purchase he'd had on the ground. "You making me repeat myself, waterhead? How did you come up with the Beast Queen?"

"The-... the what?"

"Too late to feign ignorance, zene," Jem cut in from the side, lowering the bit of sharp bark to hound the trapped Gaher with a grin. "Lunasi told us all about how you traded your tale for food and kinship at her blackstone. Five suns ago, or so." Her words were difficult for the man to comprehend -- not because she spoke strangely, but because his attempt to look her way provoked Serrat into roughly shaking and rustling him.

"O-oh… The forest s-story," Gaher murmured uncertainly and immediately got pulled even closer to the stronger zenii. His breath washed over Gahers face, stinking like refuse. "I- I didn't come up with it! It's just something I heard. Just a scary darkday tale…" He promised with a weak voice, and dared to meet the uncompromising eyes of Serrat. Before he knew what was happening, Serrat dropped his grip and pushed on his chest with firm fists. Gaher tumbled to the ground and struggled to keep air in his lungs. He heard a tongue-click signal, and before his head cooperated two hands had gripped his shoulders. The two zenii dragged the meagerly struggling Gaher closer to the river, twisting and throwing him to the riverbank close enough for droplets of cold water to leap up intermittently and coat his skin. He tried to stand but a firm knee bore down on his back, a hand gripping his tousled, dirt flecked hair.

"Last chance before I let the river have you, zene." Serrat rumbled from above.

"There's nothing special about-" Gaher started, and felt the hand in his hair push his face towards the water. "I- I heard it from a zena! It was just a st- story among all the others! She's the one you want!" He shouted instead and the threat of drowning paused.

"Her name?" Serrat growled.

"I don't know h- No! No, please!" Gaher begged as the start of his answer appeared to displease the man above. "Wait, wait! I really do-.. wait! I can-.... I can find her!" Much to his relief, Serrat stopped pushing. Gaher mustered the courage to continue -- anything to escape a watery grave. "I don't know her name but I remember her face. I'll find her for you!"

Silence. He heard the shrug of shoulders and the resigned breath from above. The pain in his back subsided, the grip in his hair loosened. Gaher quickly scrambled away from the water, muddying his tunic further. He crawled into Jem's leg, and she swiftly shoved him in the chest when he dared look up. "Eyes at your own level, worm." She growled, and Gaher dared not do anything but comply.

"You get two days to find her, Gaher," Serrat said from behind him. "Bring her to Masol's blackstone. Personal invitation for the two of you."

"Don't make us come find you again. You get one chance to be useful." Jem cut in, and lashed out with her foot. Gaher took the strike and the threat with silent subservience.

"It's a big valley, I suggest you get started." Serrat concluded matter-of-factly. Jem took a step closer and lifted her foot - it was all Gaher needed to crawl away in panic and then scramble to his feet, running away in mud-painted haste to fulfill his duties.

Jem and Serrat stood silent by the river for a time, watching Gaher stalk the way back to his old group and presumably to try and ask around.

"Thought we weren't gonna kill no one," Jem mumbled after a while, going back to picking at her teeth.

"He don't know that." Serrat answered sharply and stepped away to walk downriver back towards Masol's blackstone. Jem chuckled with equal parts mirth and malice before following suit.

---

"Synn, was it? Much has been made of your tale-telling." Serrat offered in gentle compliment, his split lip swelling to a handsome if rough smile as he took and felt Synn's arm. Synn smiled back in turn, looking at each of the zenii welcoming her to the chaotic camp that was Masol's blackstone -- technically now encompassing so many zenii that they took up three of the warming blackstones, but Masol himself was in the center. Synn glanced around but found her gaze lingering on the man who brought her, Gaher, who for some reason had been more and more nervous the closer they came. She had assumed it was the chance to meet the popular people, but even now he seemed stiff and almost fearful. She did not get time to consider it further as Serrat gripped her arm and led her further in the camp. Her last sight of the man who brought her was a woman laying her arm over Gahers shoulders and grinning at him.

"You see, Synn, we would be deeply grateful if you would consider joining our little family here, and use that talented mouth for our benefit. I'm particularly taken with the tale of the Beast Queen myself." Serrat offered with a conversational and pleasant tone. Around them, zenii parted to give them space, even as they touched their shoulders or face as they passed. Walking with Serrat gave her the same treatment as he - a friend to all present, a lover and confidant, a trusted name.

"Gaher did say you were very interested in that one. It's not my best tale, though. The sky snake in the clouds, however-" She responded as they walked, but Serrat raised his hand.

"There will be time for you to share all your best tales, don't worry. For now I hope you will humor my curiosity. Did it happen as the tale? The Beast Queen leapt from a branch and challenged you?"

"Yes, a duel of wits. Only the clever can come away from the Beast Queen alive." Synn erupted proudly.

"So it went as I heard it, yes. That has been a problem for us, see. The Beast Queen spreads fear. Now zenii are worried about walking in the woods. We cannot care for all of us if some refuse to help. You understand." Serrat professed, and stopped to meet her gaze. Synn loomed around. There was no privacy here. Everywhere she looked there were three or more sets of eyes, following her expectantly. She was in a sea of faces she did not recall. "But since you have met the Queen, you can teach us how to beat her."

"Oh.. you… it's just a story." Synn smiled uncertainly, wriggling her arm free from Serrats gentle grip.

"No need to be modest. I'll take you to meet Masol, and you can tell him firsthand of your experiences. The Lady herself will be proud of your tutoring."

He tried to grab her again but Synn quickly shook free. "No, uhm, I-.. can't." Eyes everywhere. Chattering. People whooping and clicking. Discussing her hesitancy. "I… I made it up. From something I heard. I've never been in the woods."

There was a considerable reaction in the crowd, and a firm and stony expression on Serrats face. Synn considered leaving, but there was no longer a route out of the crowd. She wasn't sure which way she came from either, there were blackstones in every direction. "So the Beast Queen is fake?" Serrat asked calmly.

"Well… no, that's the name I heard.. but not much more. Just something about the Queen who owns the forest. I… I made up the part about meeting her."

Serrat pressed a firm grip on Synn's shoulder, sending a nervous tingle through her spine. "Thank you for being honest, Synn. I'm going to need your help, figuring out who started the story."

"I've met so many zenii, I'm not… not sure I remember." She offered after a moment of hesitation. The crowd's eyes seemed less inviting each time she glanced away from Serrat.

"You'll remember. To pay what you owe, for spreading fear among the people. Now, let's go meet Masol, hm?"

Synn wanted to refuse, to run, but neither of those were possible. The group owned her choices now, until she had some privacy. She hoped that would come soon.

---

Nimueh was dreaming so pleasantly. She was dancing in the forest with the squirrels moving across the branches to follow her hands as if she was directing them. The birds were chirping their songs like a great choir. At the crescendo, a wolf howled and she spun and she spun. Then the dream faded. Nimueh didn’t know what was happening. Someone was shaking her shoulder.

“Wake up.” That person hissed with haste, not anger. “Wake up. There isn’t much time.”

“Whaa-“ Nimeuh said. It sounded less like a word and more like a half-animalistic uttered sound of confusion. Where was she? Oh right, at the Obelisk. Zenii were sprawled all around her. It was dark. Nighttime, of course! “Sleep.” She mumbled as she turned over again. Night was for dancing or sneaking or sleeping. Clearly she wasn’t doing the first two things, so she had to do the third one.

“Wake up!” The person repeated as they shook Nimueh’s shoulder harder.

“Wha- what happening?” Nimeuh mumbled as she kept her eyes closed. She wanted to dream of the forest again.!

“Nothing yet, but you have to go.” The Zenii, whoever it was, said.

“I’ll go in the morning.” Nimueh complained as she rolled over. More chores, of course. Lonam would probably want her to go into the forest again to gather berries. That could wait though. “Dream sleep now.”

A stinging pain coursed through her cheek suddenly. She jolted up. Adrenaline fired through her limbs as she got up ready to fight or run. Well, it would probably be run. Nimueh couldn’t fight. “What was that for!?” She yelled, before whoever woke her up put a hand over her mouth to shut her up.

Rehair used her other hand to put a finger over her lips, motioning Nimueh to be quiet. “You need to leave tonight or- Hey!” She exclaimed as she pulled back her hand from a licking Nimueh.

“You shouldn’t have put your hand over my mouth.” Nimueh said, throwing the older zena a cheeky smile.

“Will you listen!? I’m trying to save you.” Rehair’s patience was running thin. And for once Nimueh realized it in time. Something was wrong. “Remember how you kept talking about the Beast Queen?” Nimueh just nodded. “You didn’t stop talking in time. Apparently some zene named Masol took interest. He’s rounding up people who talk about her and how the forests are dangerous now.”

“But the forest is dangerous.” Nimueh said. Though now she kept silent about how the Beast Queen ruled there and didn’t like it if they broke too many branches or brought those pots into her domain to fill them at the creeks. Nobody would listen and Lonam kept getting angry. Apparently though some people did listen.

“Masol is worse.” Rehair said. To her, he was also a lot more real in his threat. “And he doesn’t like the idea that Zenii can’t go too deep into the forest anymore. He’s beaten up many other zenii already.”

“But the Lady declared that we wouldn’t slay each other anymore!” Nimueh protested.

“Yes but he’ll do worse things. He has done worse things and he’ll make an example out of you because you crossed him.” Rehair then looked over Nimueh. “The sun will rise soon. You have to leave. Now!” Rehair took her hand, pulled her up and started running for the forest. Light was already creeping across the horizon in the distance.

They weren’t there in time. Lonam stood waiting at the forest’s edge with a few of his closest friends. Each wielding broken branches. “Rehair. I can always count on you to do what you think is the right thing.”

Rehair moved in front of Nimueh out of instinct. “Not wanting to hurt a fellow zenii is the right thing.” She spat back at Lonam. “If you give her to Masol she’s going to suffer by his hand. Would you really want that?”

“What I want is for the people of my blackstone to go back into the forest to gather food.” He sneered back.

“They really shouldn’t!” Nimueh shouted back from behind Rehair who tried to hold her back with one hand. To no avail really. She stepped next to her and said: “I told you the Beast Queen doesn’t like those pot things and you still went into the forest with them. She doesn’t like that.”

“Are you so greedy that you can’t even share the bounty of the forest with the whole group?” Lonam asked. “Do you really need this whole place for yourself?” With his free hand he motioned behind him, towards the Beast Queen’s forest.

“It’s not for myself. You can go in! Just not with pots or-“

“Enough!” Lonam shouted. “I won’t keep listening to your stupid little tales. Masol’s zenii will come here today. When he gets here I’m going to give you to them and be done with you.”

“And after that are you going to roll over and show your belly to Masol hoping he keeps you in charge of your own blackstone?” Rehair asked.

Clearly she had hit a painful nerve with Lonam. “Get them.” He said.

“Nimueh run!” Rehair shouted as she charged forward. She took one of Lonam’s zene by surprise and managed to smash him straight on the nose. He fell backwards on the ground as a drop of blood fell from his nose. But Rehair recoiled as well. “Ah that hurts!” She screamed as she shook her fist. One of her knuckles’ skin had split already.

Nimueh was already dashing sideways. Another zene of Lonam was chasing her and gaining quickly. “Oh please Beast Queen. Please help me. Please, please please.” Nimueh kept saying as she got further and further. Until she was hit on the back and fell down on the ground. Immediately she turned around to look at the zene looking over her. He was reaching down at her. Nimueh started to crawl backwards while she kept repeating: “No, no, no!”

She found a stray stick in her hand as she crawled backwards and out of pure instinct she threw it at the zene. The stick bounced harmlessly off of his shoulder and into the air. He threw her a vile smile and suddenly all the dangers Rehair told her about flashed through her imagination. How they’d hit her and hurt her and bleed her until she would regret ever walking into that forest. The painful hit made that very clear to her now. And she felt angry. So angry. Angry because she hadn’t done anything wrong! Angry because she wasn’t telling lies. The Beast Queen was real. She ruled these forests. There was a flash of satisfaction going through her as well. For as sure as she knew that she was breathing, she knew the Beast Queen would punish this Masol, and Lonam and every other zenii who sided with him!

The branch fell from the air back on the zene’s shoulder again. The second it touched his cloth it suddenly started glowing. Green particles from the air began to flow towards the branch. Drawing the attention of both the zene and Nimueh. And then suddenly it bursted open like an overripe fruit. Roots and vines swarmed across he zene’s body, pushing themselves into his flesh. He dropped to his knees puking up blood before Nimueh. For a second he looked up and there was nothing but terror in his eyes as the vines strangled themselves around his body the roots pushed through his flesh and bones. He dropped dead before Nimueh. Who scrambled to get up with tears flowing down her cheek.

Rehair was laying on the ground. Suddenly the kicking had stopped. She looked up. Lonam and the other zena helping him were looking towards where Nimueh had run. She looked up to see if they got the poor girl. Instead she saw the zene falling to his knees with blood drenched vines around his body. Silence fell safe for the rustling of the wind in the forest. Rehair could believe it. She had killed someone. The one thing you couldn’t do according to the Lady herself. The one rule that couldn’t be broken. “What.. have you done?” She asked disbelievingly as she watched Nimueh get up and look as if she was ready to just cry and cry. The girl didn’t hear her, probably. But a wave of disgust went over Rehair.

“You’re coming with us.” Said Lonam as he started walking towards Nimueh. “Masol will make sure you pay for your godless deeds.”

There was real hatred in his voice and Nimueh knew it. She could feel it now. Next to her own sickness. But as Lonam got closer, she felt her feet take her backwards. Away from him. He sneered at something, Nimueh didn’t know what exactly. She could hear him, she just couldn’t understand him anymore. Everything felt so weird. Almost muted. She went backwards till. And then suddenly she realized she wasn’t out of danger yet. No, she was so much deeper into danger than ever before. They would beat her so hard she would wish she was dead. Because she had already crossed that line they could probably kill her as well.

And suddenly she was off. Like a deer smelling a predator that already got far too close, she bolted into the woods. She ran and ran and tripped over roots and then crawled and got up and ran. She kept running until she saw the world light up around her. Her body was bruised and scraped by the constant running and falling. Eventually she fell again and couldn’t get up. There was no strength left in her body to get up. She had used it all up. So instead she started sobbing and crying.

"Well, well..." The deva wiped a little dirt off the lower side of the otherwise gleaming white skull. "You certainly weren't a lucky one, now, were you?"

The Iron Boar- well, warthog, really- lowered its snout, and Ea Nebel raised the skull that it might have an interested sniff. Here between some rocks on a sunny hill in an unmapped corner of the many forests of Orsus, an animal much like a lanky hairless pig had come to a pitiful end. Ea Nebel watched its memories dance before her eyes as she stroked the bone with her thumb.

Strong, bold, a devoted mother, it had gathered many years of bush-lore, only for its twin upper tusks- fine, shining ivory- to grow so long that their gentle curve had curled them backwards. Their sharp point had first scraped away the skin, then burrowed through the skull, growing further and further into the brain until it collapsed in its last and longest fit of animal epilepsy. O beast, thought the shroud maiden, you have overcome everything, save your own longevity!

She fixed her four eyes on the sockets of the skull, whispering out a divine lullaby from black lips, a sweet little nothing. It came naturally to her. As gently as she sang, the skull cracked and crumbled, falling apart in her hands, leaving only the eyes, and then only the tusks.

From the pile of shards, a young pig squealed at her, grey-skinned and long-legged. Its lower tusks just about poked from its lips. Its uppers were nowhere to be seen. Ea Nebel laughed and pet the thing roughly.

"I like you. Keep an eye on the woods for me, won't you? Your name is babiruš." With that she slapped the pig on its hindquarters and sent it scurrying into the undergrowth. The Iron Boar watched the bracken into which it had disappeared.

Ea Nebel let the tusk roll back and forth in her hand. It was so sun-warmed, so smooth and perfect. Its length was fated- it had grown only until it terminated itself.

"Just like you, Father," she murmured, comparing the length of the tusk to the stone at the hilt of her blade.

---

A pale hand swished left and right over the silty gravel of the kelp forest, sending little puffs of sand into the water.

"Ah. There you are."

Her voice carried cleanly through the blue murk, and she decided that she rather liked this body, which was much like her natural one, long black tail notwithstanding. She wrenched from the mud a skull, also like hers, only fitted with exactly two eye-sockets, no more than that. "...Until you, they did not know they could die. No wonder they just left you h- hoy- hoy!"

The thick, slick mass of gunk now coating her hand, it seemed, had been deliberately cast off by some kind of queer tentacled eel hiding in the cranium. Unable to shake the noisome slime, and too dignified to properly chase the pink-grey devil, Ea Nebel clenched her fist and seized the eyeless worm in a ball of blue mana, flickering with glyphs of willpower. It seemed to have a simple little round hole for a mouth, in between its four stubby front barbels, until its relentless snakelike wriggles showed her the nasty jawless flesh-scraper invaginated below that orifice.

Ea Nebel tilted her head, shrugged, nodded, looked away, shrugged, nodded again. The sea-hag wriggled.

It would do.

---

---

Location: The ruins of Dam Voga after the attack of the Green Murder.

---

Ruins. Ruins as far as bjork eyes could see. The raid had indiscriminately shattered stick and log alike. What humble scraps remained of their dam could hardly be called a dam anymore - the reservoir was empty, for the wall had completely broken in three spots. Out of seven dens, four had washed downriver, and nearly a hundred bjorks had been made homeless in less than an hour. The three standing dens were all in various states of brokenness, but at least they held onto their anchors in the river; one of these, luckily, had been the matriarch’s den, and Luga had come out of it to do her best to calm the masses and unite her people once more, standing atop the tallest part of the ruins.

“This is an attack! An attack, it is!” shouted one. “We must follow in the path of Mish-Cheechel the Righteous and bring down this demon!”

Luga waved her hand calmingly, but without a hint of dismissiveness. “I agree from the bottom of my heart, Psief! Those who wish to follow the Avenger, the Bane of Green Murder, may do so! All your families will be honoured and taken care of by the clan, this I swear; however, we must not let anger alone obscure the damnation the Green Murder has plunged us into!” She gestured to the dam around her. “Look at our home - our home! We cannot lose ourselves entirely to vengeance, my people - we first must rebuild!”

“But how? How can we start over from this? Not even half of us have a warm place to sleep!” came another shout.

“Our food stores… So much of it drowned in the river!”

"The White Nights are coming! Snow has been sighted on the treetops! All hope is lost!"

“Death will surely claim us now! We cannot all fit in the dens we have left!”

“Pfah! You hardly know suffering, you Rods! This was every day for us!”

Luga tossed the last speaker a rare glare. “Nolinya, you be silent!”

Nolinya climbed up on the dam so she could be seen better, but dared not climb so high as to challenge the matriarch more than she already was. “Silence is necessary at times, but not one like this, bolshaya! If our people fear hunger and frozen nights so much that they cannot bring themselves to work, then all their fearsome prophecies will surely come to fruition!” She clapped her hands. “Desperate times necessitate desperate measures! Bolshaya! I will take upon myself this task. Let me appoint a master builder and select a group to head upriver. We will gnaw over every tree we can find and float them downwards to serve as material for a greater, stronger dam!”

Luga was about to counter, but she heard the applause of the skinnier bjorks, most of which had until very recently been of Clan Nolin, and saw more and more Rods lose their fervour to protest. Luga sighed and waved her hand. “Then so be it. Nolinya will be in charge of resource gathering and she will appoint for us a builder to oversee the whole construction affair. Name your candidate, boyara!”

Nolinya raised herself on her back legs and cast her hands into the sky. “I nominate Yaroslaw, my finest builder! Yaroslaw!”

A small, skinny manbjork skittered to the front of the crowd. “I hear the call,” he responded. Nolinya pointed to the dam she stood on.

“Can you repair this?”

The builder looked hesitant for a bit. It would be an enormous job, and he hadn’t had time to give the whole structure and overview first before Nolinya had put him on the spot. However, either because he felt the need to help in such drastic times or maybe just to save face, he shouted a firm, “Yes, boyara! With skill and ease!”

Nolinya smiled smugly over at Luga. “Is the candidate likeable in the bolshaya’s eyes?”

Luga furrowed her brow angrily, but said only, “... Yes. See to it that it is done well, Yaroslaw. We are all counting on you.”

---

The rest of that day was quiet with mourning. Corpses were gathered and given their last rites. Their incisors were broken off and tread on thread as an extension of the Clan Strings that now all could bear to remember their fallen ones. The corpses were cleaned and mended where that was possible and wrapped in blankets of woven reeds. Not all of them were, though, as the dam didn’t have enough reeds left anymore. Then, the corpses were burned on a great pyre with the gift granted by the Burning Snake-on-the-Air and crude planks and flat stones were erected in their memory in a nearby marsh. Two dancers of the dead reenacted the Singing Maker’s jig in his Glade to remind the onlookers of the good times, donning red-clayed make-up with exaggerated smiles and copying the steps and erratic kicks and swings of someone who had had too much sappivo, or fermented treesap. A third actress painted her face with a blueish gray clay to look older and went from griever to griever and shared the wisdom and warmth of the Old Bjork in hard times. Even one of the Deepwood Masks, those queer, lonesome lot from the deep forests that followed the teachings of a new god named Bonetooth of the Mask, came to the ceremony with offerings of deer hide and instruments of hollow bone that he clacked together and sang to, blessing Mish-Cheechel and all his followers with luck and skill in their hunt. Many, both kit and grownbjork alike, were initially skeptical and frightened of the shaman, for he had blood in his fur and smelled like a beast. He thus wasn't accepted into the ceremony until later in the day, when the sorrow in his songs and the rhythm of his bones resonated with the growing crowd who at this point was just looking for reasons to vent. Many gathered around the dancing shaman and egged him on, cursing the Green Murder and all her cronies of the woods, and seconding the shaman's blessings over the hunters.

Meanwhile, Yaroslaw sat at the foot of the dam, though the actual foot was much deeper in the water. There, he studied the layers of clay, mud, sticks and logs inside the crushed sections of the dam. He would have to rebuild this and he would have to do it well. But this project was much bigger than anything he had ever worked on. How would he mend something dimensions larger than anything he had ever seen?

“O, Maker, o, whomever may be listening out there… How can I oversee something like this alone? How can I build something like this?”

The gentle scritch-scratching and pitter-patter of small paws on mud and logs could be heard alongside a soft humming, lilting out a sonorous tune in judgement of the dam. Clicking and popping noises joined into the chorus as, up from the back side of the dam, scurried an otter. Wait, was it an otter? The smooth-furred mustelid regularly switched from all fours to walking on two legs and looked all the part the strange love-child of numerous different species, colored and furred and shaped as he was. Eyes that glowed with moonlight even without it present peered down at the wall with intensity enough to start the flood all over again.

”Nt, nt, nt, nt, nt,” came the clicking as the critter hopped up and down for a moment, testing the density of the wall, before crooning his neck to look towards Yaroslaw, ”It’s a start, yes, yes, yes, a start. It lacks a certain finesse but there’s raw talent here, mhm, mhm. There is still learning in you yet, I think, very much so, quite, quite, quite; Yes, very good.”

The chittering-chattering tone of the strange creature filled the air as it repeated itself, clicked, hummed and hawed. In an instant the mustelid-thing hopped onto all fours, darting closer, before following the last few steps on two legs to close the distance with Yaroslaw. One eye, moving on its own, peered off towards Yaroslaw while the rest of the creature’s head craned the other way, to continue observing the work with avid interest.

”Do not worry, my friend, for a builder in need is my friend, indeed. It is so rare for a humble architect like myself to find such wondrous works, albeit somewhat rural, rustic even, left half-done. Or, undone, as it were. Yes, nt, ck, ck, yes; you will not oversee this something alone, for it isn’t a something, but a building, and you are very much no longer alone.”

Yaroslaw sniffed suspiciously - this scent was unlike any he had smelled before - but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The manbjork trundled to his feet and eyed the otter amalgam-thing, his tail raised over the water in cautious preparation. “H-how you do, stranger,” he mumbled between breaths. “I, uh, I wouldn’t come ‘round here smelling like that. The guard might catch a whiff of ya.” He pointed to the enormous dam. “B-but don’t actually leave, though! Y-you know structures like these?”

”Smell? I wasn’t aware I smelled of anything,” the odd animal mumbled, leaning in to snort at its shoulder before looking back, far more interested in the question than its own scent, ”No; I know ALL structures. A marriage of angles and tensile strengths and aesthetics, really. Absolutely beautiful, really. Yes, yes, nt, nt, nt; I know structures like these.”

Yaroslaw's eyes filled with hope and he cast a glance over his shoulder and to the top of the dam. Smells, or even absence of smells were quick to trigger bjork territoriality, so they would have to stay hidden here in shelter from the wind and pray that it wouldn't turn. He approached the stranger some more and placed a hand on the structure. "You, uh, you wouldn't be in the mood to teach me about them, right? I've been given a quest, a mission like none I've ever received before, and it is to rebuild this dam, but not just like the way it was - the boyara wants it grander, stronger - and you don't disobey the boyara," he mumbled stressfully.

The divine critter looked back to the wall of earth and mud and wood and rock, clearly fascinated by the opportunities. A mind made for far grander designs stacked stone on top of log and brick in his labyrinthine head while the mustelid-thing stood with hands on hips, looking altogether imperious in his designs.

”Yes, yes, we can do that. Don’t disobey, exceed, overcome! Grander, stronger, better; yes, yes, nt, nt. You will be my apprentice on this, so your name may be on it, and I, Lares, shall guide your paws! That way, we build it right.”

The apparently named Lares turned in such a way that his long, fuzzy neck and face had already began in one direction, practically pulling the rest of him along. He snuffled and sniffed and scritch and scratched at the materials he had to work with, looking about with interest. Little clicking noises erupted from his throat that echoed through the vale as he answered a billion questions for himself. One paw waved at Yaroslaw, wiggling enticingly for him to follow.

”Apprentice, come quick; this mud, it is silty but smells of clay. Such a deposit would make for fine mortar! But stone, and timber; these are essential. You have good wood in your wall, well picked; not good enough alone, I think. I commend your building sense, but you will need more. What is the hardness of your teeth, there, and can you appropriately quarry and chisel stone?” Lares said, looking back at his self-proclaimed apprentice Yaroslaw over his shoulder.

The nervous builder followed and scratched his head. “Quarry? Chisel stone? Never heard of no stone in a dam before, unless it’s gravel, I think.” He skipped over a divide in the ruins. “Wait, you mean we need more than wood, dirt and clay?”

Lares waggled his finger with an accusatory side-long glance, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ck, ck, ck, of course,” he asserted, thrusting the other paw down to lift a river-smoothed stone and presenting it, “Stone makes a good base, strong foundation. Wood pilings keep stable, dirt and mud fill the core. Make the dam bigger, stronger; very good, yes?”

Lares leans in and bites down, teeth tearing through stone like beaver-teeth through wood. He presents it confidently, now shaved down into a notched stone brick. Using a finger, he presents how the stones will lock together, albeit with some awkwardness in his demonstration.

”Behold! We build it right, exceed expectations! A great hall, perhaps? A temple a top? We shall see, nt, nt, nt. Expansions come later, apprentice, do not get too excited.”

Yaroslaw didn’t know whether to pry more or walk away, so he naturally concluded that he should just follow along. “Alright, teacher - I’m all ears. Please teach me your ways!”

Lares tossed the little brick aside and closed the distance on Yaroslaw, looking him up and down with a perfunctory gaze. It was, of course, important to determine the qualities of ones’ apprentice before acting hastily. Finally, one paw shot forward and grabbed Yaroslaw by the incisors, giving them a good look and a firm tug. Evidently accepting of whatever metric he was gauging their quality by, Lares clicked his teeth.

”Good, good. Nearly there. Acceptable tools, but we can do better. New tools would be wasteful, would need to teach you. Better you learn with what you have.”

With his assertion complete Lares flicked his middle finger at Yaroslaw’s incisors, his little claw clicking loudly against the yellowed teeth. A sheen rippled outward from the impact zone like a wave on water and the teeth rapidly changed color to a nearly white pearlescents, replete with almost a metallic gleam in the low moonlight. Content with his work and nodding vigorously, Lares point at the would-be dam once more.

”I will teach you to quarry stone as you chew timber, and we shall build a dam like no other! It will have chambers above for storage and structural support, but we shall address that later! Your Boyara will have her dam, and WE shall build it! How exciting! Now, let us get to work.”

Yaroslaw's eyes spread wide like blossoming flowers and he flicked his own teeth in wonder. "By the Maker! What did ya do to my teeth?!" He licked them and tasted the irony flavour, blinking as though it was candy. "Does, does this mean I can chew rocks?! Ain't no bjork ever done that before!"

Lares clapped pleasantly as he nodded with a deeply satisfied expression, clearly enjoying that the bjork was appreciating his handiwork. His praise of the maker, whom Lares could only assume was the Monarch, only pleased the little critter more. ”Yes, yes, a fine gift, eh? My apprentice shall not work with shoddy tools! Carve stone like lumber, just don’t swallow too much. Now we simply need find our quarry and carve our blocks! The work, my apprentice, can begin! How exciting~!”

---

In the days that followed, Lares and Yaroslaw set to work. With the guidance and divine assistance of his new “master”, Yaroslaw found the endurance and ability to gather the necessary materials to continue the work at a dozen times the pace of an ordinary bjork. Whenever looked in upon the strange deity would disappear, hidden from view or elsewhere other places, making sure it was never Lares but Yaroslaw who was seen doing the labors. During the day they gathered supplies and materials and during, away from prying eyes, Lares did what he does best; build.

The dam, what was originally a simple bjork dam of muck, mud, and timber, expanded under his watchful gaze. Stone blocks, cut by Yaroslaw and divinely transferred to construction locations during the dead of night, we lowered into the soft silt and loam of the riverbed as foundations, interlocking and stacking a top one another while being abutted by thick beams of timber. Criss crossing and interwoven supports were placed, each one finely carved and left bare for later detailing. Over the course of five nights the great dam grew taller and grander and soon reached completion.

Although the structure itself was a point of pride for Lares, so much more work needed to be poured into it. Gentle and subtle carvings were inlaid with claw and tooth and nose, stone shaping with the ease of supple clay. Simple carvings of bjork, of river, of trees and of lakes sprang up across the facade that instantly lit thoughts of home in any bjork that might look upon it. Internal passageways were carved from the bottom up, giving access into the inner workings of the hardy, divinely inspired dam. It was inside that the most work would be set, where comparatively spacious rooms were placed. It would be a comfortable stronghold with breath holes to keep it full of air yet insulated enough to keep all the biting cold away. Finally, a respectable hall was made, enough to hold two dozen or so bjorks comfortably and even more if they didn’t mind rubbing shoulders.

Throughout it all Lares made sure to educate his apprentice appropriately, explaining everything he did. He was, of course, the Majordomo of the Monarch and could not be matched in such things, but he could certainly teach some of what he knew to his apprentice. What good, after all, could come from an apprentice who knew nothing of the work he was meant to do? Each new piece of structure or assemblage was explained, in detail, and the physics therein loosely elucidated upon the bjork apprentice of the God of Homes.

On the sixth night Lares assembled a final piece of the puzzle, easily rigged up onto a slide to be dropped into place. The block, essential for holding back all waters no matter how high, was to be the honor of Yaroslaw’s to place. With a simple wooden beam holding it up and a solid, heavy mallet given to his apprentice to finish the job, Lares sat back and grinned his creature-smile.

”There we have it, yes, yes, apprentice! Now THAT is a dam worthy of the name! It is THE dam now, I should say, ct, ct. The honor is yours, for it is your dam from here on out.”

Yaroslaw could hardly believe his eyes. Had he truly built that? He lowered his mallet and tapped the final stone thoughtfully. He looked down at his master, then out towards the crowds in the river below, who all screamed their cheers and chanted the name, "BOULDERBITE! BOULDERBITE!"

Yaroslaw rubbed the shiny incisors given to him by the strange otter and was about to hop down from the dam and say, "The honour isn't mine!" But then, the other bjorks atop the dam picked him up and paraded him around the structure, naming him the Stonesmith, the Boulderbite, the Architect.

---

As the famed Yaroslaw Boulderbite was carried off to applaud and praise, Lares stood giddily behind his pirch upon the top of the dam. Everything had gone so perfectly! His apprentice would spread the ways of working homes properly and all would be well with the world, of that Lares was certain.

Leviane studied an old material along their travels. As they community expanded, it became harder to feed everyone. Occasionally, they had to swim further north than was comfortable. The frozen north had its mysteries in that certain places there was a barrier separately the mer from the dead space. Ao would collect broken pieces of the barrier for trinkets and curios, believing it would offer them some protection. However, it had the odd trait that it would begin to vanish when brought to warmer waters.

The pearl-keeper could begin to feel division in the community, between those who wanted to travel north for this arcane substances protection, and those who wished to continue to their journey to find more pleasant warmer water. However, there was there loyal not to their own desires, but to the desires of the Almighty Ao-Yurin and her speaker. There presence keep those from quarreling to loudly with each other.

While studying the northbound material, Leviane also studied the orb. She felt as though as she had still not understood the mer's true potency. While she peered deep into the pearl, she felt as though she understood the material better. She noticed how despite not being within frigid waters, the material had not left her. She announced to the community that like the fish, this ice material was of the mer and the work of one of the Almighty's subordinate gods. She did admit that she was still attempting to truly understand this so that she could better understanding the mer, however most where appeased with that simple explanation.

This announcement had only embolden those who wished to travel north. They approached this disagreement differently than they had before. Instead, they would gather exquisite foods and precious things as tithe to the Great Ao-Yurin and her speaker. Once the gifts were delivered, they would give their argument in manner practiced to be pleasant to hear echo through the waves. There was a moment when she tempted to agree with them, partially because it would allow her to better understand this ice and its associated subordinate god. When it seemed like the situation was shifted from there favor, those that preferred warm waters began to emulate the practice that they seen the others do. While those two positions were first upon everyone's mind, people started to mention other concerns in this manner.

It was rather difficult to decide, however cruel faith tore that opportunity from her. Some distance away, there was a subtle change in the water and shortly following it was a pillar of pure energy traversed through the mer and into the dead space above. It distorted the water around it, causing cataclysmic waves and ominous remnants remained within the water. The community was forcibly divided, not by internal strife but external tragedy.

A large group of the followers devotedly followed the pearl-keeper. She did not know if it was to protect her, or in the vain hope that she would protect them. The ominous energy chased after them, their escape made difficult by the churning of the mer. A wave came from above to crash down upon the pearl-keeper, however an Ao had quickly swam to push her out of the way. Upon watching a clutch of eggs about to escape from their parent's grasp, Leviane held tightly to the pearl pushing it towards the source of the destruction. She prayed and the sacred orb shone brilliantly. The waves around them settled and a barrier of ice appeared between them and the pursuing power. The frozen barrier absorbed the energy, before naturally begin to float to the dead-space, thus diverting it away from them.

In the aftermath, they had discovered that the crashing wave had killed the Ao that had protected Leviane. Leviane promised that their name would not be forgotten, and bid the survivors to continue following her in silent reflection. The calamity was not caused by something of the mer, but of the foundation. But perhaps it was not entirely malicious, for the pearl-keeper had realized a great many things from the encounter. Upon finishing her reflection, she had announced her discovers to her remaining followers.

The most critical lesson was that powerful forces lay below the foundation, and they were not to be taken lightly. Unlike the dead space, the foundation was not to be treated with hostility, but healthy suspicion might be the difference between life and death. She reminded those most angry at the ground below that without it, there would be nowhere for the seagrass to grow.

She revealed that in her great dreaming that the majestic Ao-Yurin could still provide them with strength. She had named this power hydromancy, after the fallen Ao, Hydron. She demonstrated it by causing the water to form into ice and then melt back into water. Leading into her final lesson, ice was merely the mer taking a different shape and that using hydromancy, they could bring the protection of the north wherever they may travel.

Knowing that they might benefit from both the protection of the subordinate god of ice's protection, while benefitting from more pleasant waters, along with surviving the rapturous waves due to pearl-keeper's power had unified all the remaining survivors under her guidance. However, she had know that some had said words bordering upon the treasonous and those echoes chased them even her. She taught hydromancy only to those who were first loyal to her, and the others accepted this. They knew not to try her patience regarding this.

During the calm, she also realized that the young Trit was not immediately near her as he should have been. She realized that she had left his care to the community, which while not uncommon along the merfolk, she did feel regretful. However, one of the Ao had guided him through the dangerous waves. Without her guidance, his poor swimming would have likely failed him. This Ao had said disloyal words before, however her actions had proved her worth. She was had also been a mother before, and by all accounts was proficient. She was appointed to watch over Trit and any like him, and everyone understood the importance of such a charge granted by the pearl-keeper.

The group continued forward. With less people to feed, and her followers more cooperative and motivated, they moved at a far greater pace than before. Eventually, the long journeybrought them to pleasant waters, overgrown with the seagrasses and teeming with fish. Nearby was a great chasm leading deeper into the foundation. While they were suspicious of it at first, but Leviane had felt an odd sense of safety from it. The deeper waters felt more attuned to the majestic sleeper.

Their travels had reached its end, they found where they would flourish.

---

Chicomoztoc remained the grandest of all the Achtotlaca realms even on the day of mine own ascension to power, for this civilization is one of the oldest, having been founded early during the reign of Tlanextic by he and the seven great clans that followed him. And even as Tlatotoque after Tlatotoque took power after the Divine One’s rule, the pattern being that each oversaw a more troubled and volatile realm, the borders were expanded at times. Even through its many wars and conflicts, Chicomoztoc grew in power over time.

--Tlatotoque Teotl, the first and Last of His Name



Understand that Tlanextic, for all his deification, remained still as mortal as any other Achtotlaca. So his brazen and molten form were not calescent; when the gods created mortals, they decreed death for us and allotted life unto themselves. Tlanextic’s fragment of divinity granted him long life, but far from immortality. As the years passed they exacted a toll upon him, and what was once entirely molten began to harden into a stony skin, and then he and any other Achtotlaca looked something alike. His innards cooled likewise, as those of our kind are wont to do with age, and afflicted him with a slowness of body in his later years -- the doom that all curse, but which so few ever seem to question, to rage against, to defeat as any other enemy.

Yet we must return to the tale. The legends continue: Tlanextic was an Iyotlaca and so all those that he had saved from that Demon of the Darkened Flame -- all those that had sworn obeisance before him as they god and savior -- followed him as he walked the endless tunnels. Like the Iyotlaca of all the other places of the world, they charted the chthonic depths, they expanded and stabilized the tunnels too small and too dangerous, they tasted from the wells of molten salt untasted and named the great caverns that ‘til then had been unknown and unseen and unnamed. So they lived, in peace, for a long time.

Eventually their wanderings ceased when they discovered the surface, a frigid waste with great stony spires and treacherous ravines and gullies, and rivers of water. Understand that such a thing as water was entirely alien to the Iyotlaca. To encounter rivers -- not of warm, red flowing-fire but of cold and loud white-clear fluid that was poison to the touch -- that rushed and churned was terrifying to them indeed. The only relief that they saw was the heavenly lights, the great sun, a fire so massive and so effulgent that it illuminated the entire surface with blinding light. Not even the sun’s incandescence could make the frigid surface bearable for long, so in those earliest of days they could only venture outside of the depths for short times.

Still, when they found a great cavern within the depths of a volcano, with a caldera that offered many easy paths to the surface, Tlanextic saw a holy sign: there was a grand circular magma chamber with a maze of labyrinthine tunnels winding all about it, and surrounding that central place were seven smaller lava tubes -- that was one chamber for each of the seven tribes that followed him -- and so he proclaimed that they would settle there. He named that city Chicomoztoc, the Cavern of Seven Chambers, and consecrated it as sacred. Grand farms were erected in the depths, and dikes and floodgates to control the coming and going of magma and regulate it even as the volcano slept soundly and as it stirred. Palaces for Tlanextic and the greatest leaders of the clans were chiseled into the stone, and temples were built too, with shrines to sacred Yoliyachicoztl, the mighty and indomitable sun, and to Tlanextic who was God-within-Galbar.

But they could not banish from their minds the memory of that Demon of Fire which did not Glow, just as Tlanextic did not truly slay that Smoke-made-Phlogiston. The beast had been defeated and banished, but not slain, never slain. Tlanextic was the first to remind them of that, for he Saw that it stirred yet somewhere in the hellish depths, and that it had to be kept at bay. Upon every so many passings of the sun over the world above, Tlanextic would remind them. In a sermon he would warn, “That which is ember may become blaze once more, if it is not quenched.”

And then with basalt chisel would he pry a wound into his own rocky carapace, and offer a trickle of his burning blood to fall into the Galbar’s own molten blood. “With this sacrifice of blood, I fortify us against the smoke, I strengthen the seal of light that binds the darkness,” he would say. And his blood was divine, and anathema to the demon, and so mayhaps his offerings of blood carried power that truly did trickle its way down to the depths and keep the demon weakened. Yet he did not explain that technicality, and so in the coming ages there would be much sacrifice.

The descendants of Tlanextic claimed to share in his divine power, and offered their blood in imitation of his fabled sacrifices that they could elevate themselves to something resembling the same lofty glory. Perhaps they did have some tiny bit of divine power to them, even. But the blood of captive Cecepaltictli, taken from lands near and far, eventually became a staple of many great ceremonies. The ever thirsty volcanoes were offered rivers of blood, and the empire was insatiable, and yet the blood of mortals did not weaken the Demon of Ebon Smog, or lull it to sleep; such blood was powerless, yet palatable, and only served to rouse it once again.

And no Tlatotoque sacrificed so many during his reign as did I!

Nimueh used to like the forest.

Not anymore. She was shivering. It was damp and cold. Once she had enjoyed the critters running about. Now their endless chittering made her paranoid. She kept looking over her shoulder constantly. It’s been two days now since she had run. At night she could barely sleep. At first she didn’t want to. It would make her such an easy prey for whatever predators roamed these woods. Eventually the sleep deprivation started catching up with her. She tripped more often and couldn’t think clearly anymore. Eventually she tried to climb into a tree to sleep up there. It was rough and horrible but exhaustion had burned her out.

But she kept waking up from the smallest sound. Now on her second day she wanted to go back. Not that was ever an option now. There was one thing no zenii could do. One thing the Lady had explicitly forbidden. And she had done it. She might as well be disowned from the Lady as a zenii. She was now.. something. Something of the forest.

The sun was dipping low again. Her stomach ached a bit. Luckily enough she had eaten some berries today. At the very least she would die of starvation. Still, her clothes were tattered and torn around her. Soon they’d be nothing more than wet rags that would cool her down. For now though, she kept them on her as she again tried to climb into a tree. She failed several times. Most of the times she just slipped and fell on both of her feet. One time she fell from a height on her back. It knocked the air straight out of her. As she looked up she saw the squirrels running up the tree as if to mock her.

For a moment she just wanted to stay down there. Just to lay still for just a second. She closed her eyes, and drifted off as she just muttered some feeble prayer for help from the Beast Queen.

She found herself on a beautiful tranquil field filled with grass. There were some trees spread around, though they weren’t close enough to call it a forest. A fox ran beside her away from her towards a creek that ran on her left along the plain sporting crystal clear water and a pebbled bottom. Nimueh was just frowning at the sight.

“There you are.”

Nimueh looked up. There was a green-furred fox sitting next to the creek. “This isn’t real, is it?” She asked as she waved her hand around. The air felt real. Very real. As did the warmth of the sun. But she didn’t feel drenched or cold. She had been shivering for a day now yet here she felt perfectly comfortable.

“It isn’t.” The fox said matter of factly. “I have a task for you. Your kin are embracing the wrong side of this world. Civilization-“

“Can you just let me die?” Nimueh interrupted. She was dead serious. This dream - because it couldn’t be anything else - brought a strange sense of oblivious clarity. The forest would kill her sooner rather than later. If the elements didn’t then the predators would. And if she ever set a foot out of it Masol or some other zenii would beat her to an inch of her life and let the Lady finish it. Really, her life was already over.

This seemed to shock the fox a little bit. “You’re young. Your body is still somewhat healthy. Though it is wearing down fast. Why would you want to die already?”

“You don’t know what’s happening, do you?” Nimueh asked.

Which seemed to upset the fox. “Your tone is starting to displease me.”

“Will that lead to you killing me!?” Nimueh snapped.

The fury now radiating from the fox would suggest so. Nimueh had seen those eyes before. In all the wolves that eyed her hungrily on that fateful day. She had seen it in the eagle that had killed a hare not too far from her once. They were hungry for flesh. But then the creature backed off.

“Whatever, the forest will kill me off fast enough.” Nimueh said as she turned away from the fox. She knelt before the creek and let some of the water run along her hand. Here, in her dream, they weren’t bruised or scraped. She tried to drink the water. It tasted like the most refreshing, juiciest fruit she had ever eaten. But again, she was well aware it was only a dream.

“If you tried, maybe you could survive like the animals-“

Again Nimueh cut her off. “I’m not an animal!” She yelled. “I don’t have fur to keep me warm.” She kept yelling as she showed the fox her arms. “See this!?” She pointed at her worn down nails. “This doesn't rend skin! And these?” She pointed at her own teeth. “They don’t rip flesh apart if I bite something! I’m not made to live in the forest! I’m made by the Lady to sit around a blackstone!”

The fox looked her up and down. It seemed to ponder for a moment as it started walking around Nimueh. “You’re not wrong.” It said as it licked her leg for a moment while Nimueh just stood there, fuming. “Strong legs. Good muscles. But no fur to speak of.” The fox said, seemingly thinking out loud. Eventually it sat down again in front of Nimueh. “Fixing you will take too much time right now, and it would be a useless endeavor anyway.”

“Geez, thanks.” Said Nimueh. Sure she wanted things to end but that didn’t mean she didn’t have any self-worth. She wouldn’t just take insults like that.

“You’re a defiant one though, that is good. You’ll need that.” The green-fured fox said. “I’ll give you a simple solution. When you wake up you’ll be able to turn into an animal. That should help you survive in the forest.”

“Wait… you can do that? You can help me out?” Nimueh asked. Weirdly enough a spark of hope ignited in her heart. Which brought some crushing weight down on her shoulders. Suddenly the clarity of the abyss was gone. Replaced with a very mortal desperation to cling to life if there was even a chance. The fox just nodded. Nimueh fell back on her knees in front of it and hugged it closely.

The second she embraced it though, the fox turned into a snake in her arms and quickly slithered free. “At least now,” the snake said. “You can do what I need you to do.”

“What’s that?” Nimueh asked while she was still sitting down on her knees.

“Your kind is walking into the forests holding these pots and wicker baskets and other things to hold my bounty. Soon they’ll enter with biting tools that will fell my sentinels. I need you to stop them. By word or by claw.”

“All of them?” Nimueh exclaimed. “I-I can’t! I’m just me. I'm nobody. Less than a nobody to them! I just broke the zenii’s most important law. They won’t listen to me.”

“By word or by claw.” The green-furred fox repeated.

A shiver ran down Nimueh’s back. She tried to swallow her fears but she couldn’t. Just like she knew from the visions and the dreams in the past, when the Beast Queen didn’t like something she would change it. Through any means possible. It seemed that Nimueh’s lack of immediate defiance was enough for the green-furred fox. Who got up and started walking away.

Though it was stopped by Nimueh: “Wait!” She yelled. “I just wanted to say thank you first. Not just for this chance. You saved me two days ago. Or you helped me save myself. I’m not sure, but thank you.”

The fox stopped, and turned around. It tilted its head as if it was confused for a moment. “I did no such thing.” It simply said.

“But… the branch and the vines that- surely it was your power. The forest’s power.” Nimueh said.

The fox tilted its head again, and then closed its eyes for a second. For a moment Nimueh felt a strange presence in her mind. It felt as if a small fish was swimming around in her head. It didn’t hurt, but it felt so very weird. “Ah.” The fox said as it opened its eyes again. “How interesting.”

“What is it?” Nimueh asked insistingly.

“It would seem that my initial gift came with something…more.” Said the fox, seemingly pondering on something much bigger than just little Nimueh. Though it turned to face the girl again after a moment of silence: “It would seem that you called upon some inner power, which in turn manifested itself into a strange substance that covers the world which made your will reality. Yes, I’ve noticed that substance before.”

Nimueh just blinked. She didn’t understand. Not at all.

“To put it in simple terms, you used magic. You cast a spell which uses this mana to do something. In your case, it killed this zene.” There was a cold lack of empathy when the fox talked about the murder. As if it was as normal as breathing or walking. “A sibling of mine might know more. But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that your kin realize their mistakes before it is too late. I’ll be going now, Nimueh. My duties demand me to be elsewhere. But I’ll return to see how you’ve progressed. Don’t let me down.”

With a jolt Nimueh woke up again. It was night. The forest was alive though. She was lucky to not have been eaten by anything. She looked at her knuckles. They were bruised and scraped again. The dream was still in her mind though. Normally it fades away so quickly but not this one. Was it real? She got up and looked around. There was a tree still next to her. The one she tried to climb. With the squirrels that had mocked her. Now she wanted to climb into that tree as well. She wanted to join those squirrels and put out her tongue at them.

With a thought she suddenly felt her body morph and change. It didn’t feel painful, luckily. But it was still strange. To see the world become so large suddenly. The rags that were her clothes fell on her tiny squirrel shape, but she got away from them fast enough. “I can do it!” She shouted. It didn’t come out as animal speech but still in the language of the zenii. “I can do it!”

With renewed vigor in her heart she rushed forward towards the tree and started climbing it. As much as she still felt herself, she felt that her instincts were different. Suddenly she just knew where to put her claws and how to move upwards. She knew how to turn her tail to stay balanced. Most importantly, she knew how to get up the tree quickly. As a furred squirrel she managed to get into the tree for safety. She also felt so warm. Like the cold wind just didn’t bother her anymore!

Know this my kin; know this tale of our lords, our creators. I have traveled far to give you this story.

There once was a tribe, a great tribe, whose lands spread far and its herds knew no bounds and their mountains stood above all others. Their opulence was unmatched and the gifts to their allies were grander than any dwarf could even imagine. For all this grandeur, one flaw made itself clear to all who knew of them and all who heard of them; their greed was one to surpass any boundary for they were determined to keep their wealth and hoard it away from all. The tribe hid away their wealth in mountainside caves, only coming out with their herds to allow them to graze along some mountainside patches. They turned away the downtrodden, the beleaguered, and kicked away their own tribesmen for not having anything to offer to the tribe.

This was the life of the Four-Top Tribe, one of greed so consuming that at times they barely resembled a tribe for even the children were taught to have it out for themselves. The way of life drove away potential allies and traders, but the Four-Top cared little, so long as they held their hoards and herds, they were content to be isolated upon their mountains. Eventually, their friends drifted away and people stopped coming to their lands altogether for so self-consumed they were. “Wretches,” they’d be called, “Paupers,” they’d respond, even by those who cared about them most would all disappear. This did little to open their eyes, even if they had, some say that it would not have changed their fate.

One day, as the sun looked over the mountain and the winter’s breath began to caress the mountainside, there came a stranger who was haggard and without wealth. He wore a cloak that hid his form, hid his face with the exception of a long, graying beard that extended well past his chest. The stranger beseeched them for nothing more than a place to rest his head, somewhere where the cold would not bite at him and where he could warm himself. Each of the Four-Top sent him away, out into the cold and surely to die by night when the all-consuming frost came. Meanwhile, they sat by their fires, warm and relaxed, not even a thought of the old dwarf who had come to visit them had dared to cross their minds.

The next day, the haggard dwarf came back once more and, to their surprise, he had no sign of black toes or fingers; the frost had seemingly done nothing to him. They believed that the aging man had simply found a place to stay for the night tucked away from the deadly frost. When the haggard dwarf spoke once more, he asked them but naught but some wool so that he may make his cloak warmer so that the chills would not bother him and he could sleep more comfortably at night. Again, each of the Four-Tops refused him and this time said that if he wanted more wool then he would have had his own herds. Again, the haggard dwarf left and they believed that this time he might die to the frost as it crept through their mountains. They knew that none could survive twice out in the exposed mountains; death would come in time and rid them of a nuisance.

For the third day, that same haggard dwarf came back without a mark on his cloak, not seeming as if the frost had come for him in the slightest. They asked him how he survived the frost but he would not answer their question, for he did not wish to give his secrets despite their pleading. Instead, he asked if he could drink from their river to patch his thirst and then he would tell them how he survived the deadly cold. Once more, the Four-Peaks refused for the dwarf was not one of them and so he would not partake of their water, for which they had plenty. Again, the haggard one left surely this time to die of dehydration, the ultimate killer, for none could live without water.

Yet once more, for the fourth day, the haggard dwarf came back to them, this time with anger and heartache within his voice. Before they could ask how he survived the night again, he asked them for nothing but the scraps of their food, so that he may eat and then be gone from their sight. This time the Four-Tops all considered letting the haggard one have some of their food. Had they changed their hearts at this old dwarf’s persistence? All the same, though, they would each turn him away. He roared at them in anger, not for himself, not for being rejected, but for not taking kindness upon an old weary soul that would have died without shelter, in the cold, and without drink or food. He raged against them before he told them that he would have given them the riches of the gods had they once accepted his pleas of salvation.

It was only then that they fell to their knees seeking forgiveness, begging him to give them the riches and that they would become the best people that he had ever known. But it was too late and instead would look upon them with disgust in his eye before telling them that Voligan had made a mistake in making them. This wrought confusion and fear from the Four-Tops who continued to plead to the rich dwarf, even as His eyes began to glow and as He spoke to them one final time.

It was there that He said, ”You know only greed, it has tainted your souls and made you calloused to the sufferings of the weak. So, you shall walk this planet forever more, food will turn to ash, water will be dried, clothes ripped at the seams, and the frost shall forever follow you. Let it be known that the Four-Tops will be nothing more than wandering spirits who will never satisfy their wants and desires.”

And so, the Four-Tops were cursed to wander Galbar forever as spirits, the dead wanting nothing more than to merely live once again. Their own greed had blinded them, made them think that they were above the sufferings of others and now they paid for it. Listen well kinsman! Know that greed is a curse and should we see a poor downtrodden soul, we should reach out and help should they ask! For it is the great Sun God that watches over our every action!

---

---

The dam in the works already looked more magnificent than any construction ever seen or recorded in the Thousand Lakes yet. The construction did not just dam up the river and created a small lake, but it stood twice as tall as it had before, like a grand bridge connecting the opposing sides of the water. The foundation was an impenetrable bedrock of stone constructed from boulders chewed to perfect pillars. The top of the dam had been outfitted with dens and chambers on several floors, and the top was a timber spire stabbing at the sky in honour of the gods. On a floating raft stage behind the dam, priestesses and shamans of all the gods did their dances on a great stage for all to witness, the dam becoming almost like an amphitheatre when they did so. The scenes were illuminated by torches burning with the flames of the Burning Snake-in-the-Air, and fire-priests would initiate the plays in the night with dances in Her honour. Here, stories of the greatness of the gods were told over and over, and the new crowd favourite was the play of how the newest local celebrity, Yaroslaw Boulderbite, conquered the wilderness and its cruel mistress, the Green Murder, and gathered materials with his lieutenant Nolinya to construct the Grand Dam of Voga.

Now the Voganids felt safe for the first time in over a year: Their dam had already been attacked by a bear once smelling sweets within the walls; yet even bear claws could not scratch the stone and clay mortar and break through the outer wall. This new security and peace of mind set the Voganids on other thoughts: Now came the time to recover the prosperity they had had before. With the Rod, food was not a pressing issue, but this left one more important point: Recovering the populace.

In times of crisis, womanbjorks would lower their usually fairly high standards for manbjorks in favour of the survival of the pack and the clan, but this was not the case now, especially among the higher strata of the Voganid society: Luga had not chosen a mate yet, and the suitors were lining up for a chance to be selected as prime consort, that most powerful position of bolshakov. But with the recent rise of great heroes amongst their people, it was no longer enough for a simple manbjork to show how fast he could swim or how few bites it took him to snap a thick twig.

"Hah! I do not know whether I should laugh or cry!" the bolshaya had mocked the suitors. She had then pointed to the exit of her new royal den and declared, "The manbjorks of the Voga have greater skills than biting timber faster than our neighbours! Look to the Mish-Cheechel; look to the Boulderbiter - tell me that those are not worthy manbjorks! Come back once you have made a name for yourselves like they have!"

For most of the manbjorks who left the hall that day, that was the end of their dream to swoon the chieftess. They would return to the woods and continue their lives as woodsbjorks or foragers and likely be selected by a lesser womanbjork after proving their skills in the primary sector. There was one, however, who took the bolshaya's words to heart:

A young manbjork named Svarog.

Svarog hadn't been Voganid for long. During the reconstruction, refugees for a nearby dam that also had been assaulted by agents of the Green Murder had come to the Voga dam looking for a place to stay. The bolshaya Luga had taken them in on the condition that they assimilate into the Rod Clan rather than to vassalise like the Wickertooths had. The clan chieftess, Lada, had bowed down to Luga and fasted under guard until she had grown so thin that she could no longer produce her own scent, as was the custom when submitting to a mightier womanbjork. Svarog had been part of that clan, the Pine Clan, named so after the trees most used in their dam, and he had fallen in love with the bolshaya at first sight. A fat, mighty womanbjork such as her had all the luscious curves a manbjork could ever want, and he was going to win her favour no matter what.

But how would Svarog interpret the command to make a name for himself? Mish-Cheechel was way too far away to mentor him, and even if he was nearby, he might not have wanted to. Could he start his own vendetta against the Green Murder? Nah, that wouldn't be very original - no one likes a whittler copying a whittler. Maybe he could reach out to the Yaroslaw Boulderbite and study advanced construction? Nah, same problem - the sphere of dam construction already had its star, and Yaroslaw Boulderbite and his silver-sheen teeth were unmatched in endurance and strength by anything non-divine.

So maybe he’d hoard a huge treasure for the bolshaya? Okay, now he’d gotten somewhere. No one had tried doing that yet: The Voganid manbjorks were still all about self-sufficiency - a good manbjork ideally needed no clan of his own; he could gather wood, build the dam and serve his womanbjork all without the help of competing males. What if instead of the laborious path to glory, Svarog chose the wealthy?

But what would this treasure for his beloved Luga be, he pondered and thought of a memory: One day during the Reconstruction, a stranger had come to the Voga and begged passage. The guards had held her off with their fire-hardened spears, as was the custom - if you didn’t smell like a Voganid, you had no business by the Voga. And yet the stranger had been granted passage anyway through a powerful spell: The stranger had spoken soft words to the guards and planted shiny charms in their palms - beautiful, brazen shells from the distant sea. “Cowries”, the enchantress had called them, and the guards had been smitten with awe and let her pass, their eyes absorbed by the colour and sheen of the shells. How had the enchanter acquired these shells, many had asked her.

“On the distant beach, there lives a tribe of giant slothmen who always walk on two feet. However, these are not like the sloths who also walk on four legs: These slothmen are with less fur and clearer speech; they hunt in the saltwater as no bjork can, and they collect these shells off the lake floor under the Great Undrinkable Lake.”

This had sparked a brief sense of wonder among the Voganids, but it had quickly passed as the looming threat of attacks by the Green Murder compelled all to work on the dam. Now, it seemed, the event had passed out of memory for most.

Svarog had decided. He would find these slothmen and ask them to give him a basket of these cowries. His bolshaya would surely adore him for that! Svarog the Traveller set off from the Voga later that very same day, armed with a fire-hardened stone spear and loaded with a river reed basket with dried waterplants on his back. He travelled alone, for he had no wish to share his idea with anyone.

The journey was long and arduous, but Svarog was previously of the Pine Clan, and no one in the Pine Clan had ever been caught in the open by wild beasts - he was not about to be the first! The manbjork slept under the carcasses of trees and kept to the river water during the day where few of the land predators could smell him. This was not a perfect solution, as the waters had many dangers as well, and not rarely did he have to kick himself back onto land to avoid the ravenous jaws of an oncoming sturgeon or a bloodthirsty pike. The journey took him nearly two weeks of floating downriver, avoiding predators and circumventing hostile dams, but at long last, a stinky, wet and hungry manbjork by the name of Svarog reached the end of the endless web of rivers, tasting brackwater for the first time in his life. He gagged and climbed onto land the second he could. Here, nature was nothing like at home: Endless giant forests had given way to white beaches full of stinky, black, bulbous lakeweed, and then a blue lake that stretched so far that no little bjork could ever hope to see the other side, no matter how tall they were.

This had to be the Great Undrinkable Lake, Svarog thought and spat out what remained of brackwater in his mouth. Here, he would surely eventually find the home of the slothmen with the shells. He followed the beach for half a day, but it didn’t take long before he became terribly thirsty. The sun wasn’t as strong deep in the woods as it was here, and the sands cooked beneath his four feet. Before long, Svarog had to stop for a break and look for water. He headed into the woods in search of a small brook, but he looked and looked and looked and found nothing. The sun cooked at the surface of his fur, and the little bjork was certain that he would pass out any moment. His movements became sluggish; his eyelids flicked lazily up and down; his tail dragged against the ground like a dull plow.

Then finally, he passed out, and a nearby growl could be heard. Svarog’s instincts tried to fire up, but the bjork was too tired, too weak. Oh well, at least he would die in the service of his lady…

The growls came closer, a crazed, hyena-like cackle and the thundering thump of menacing steps. Svarog faded out of reality and let fate take him.

---

A wash of cold dripped over Svarog’s lips. His eyes were too crusted to open, but his consciousness reawoke and tried to make sense of these sensations. Blimey, had he slept through the summer and into winter?

A menacing wheeze hissed beside him, followed by another quiet rumble. Panic claimed the manbjork’s systems and the little creature tried to muster the strength to escape blindly. It realised then that its body laid in cool water - freshwater. He splashed and tossed, but ten mighty talons hooked around him thick as branches and held him down. Svarog squealed and squeaked, and whatever held him growled back and seethed like water on a fire. Finally the panic tugged his lids free of the crust and Svarog stared a giant in the face - a horror of the woods! The enchantress had spoken true - it was a sloth! An almost hairless sloth! A terrible, vicious, almost hairless sloth! Svarog squealed some more and the sloth, which he now realised there were two of, unleashed a hacking roar that almost seemed to mock him.

The second slothman, much smaller and much less hairy, grabbed Svarog by the fur and clawed him down the back. Svarog tried to slap him with his free tail - the creature cast some more hacking roars his way. The one that held him flipped him over and tried to mutilate his chest with his talons - they scraped and scratched, but thankfully Svarog’s fur, like any good manbjork’s, was thick and dense. Sloth claws like these could do nothing against it - hell, the attack was almost comfortable!

Svarog curled his belly and yapped at the talons, trying to get a good bite in. He missed, though, and the creature understandably snarled, but then also wagged that same digit right in front of him tauntingly, pointing skywards. Why? What was it pointing at? Svarog followed the digit to the ceiling of what looked to be a leathery cave, like the insides of the cloaks that those weird shamans would dress in. The manbjork struggled still against his captor, but to no avail: Its talons were soft and bendable, yet strong as wooden logs. He tried to bite again, but couldn’t reach. Truly, he would be trapped here, and the slothmen almost seemed to be playing with him. What heartless monsters! Couldn’t they just kill him and get it over with?

Then the largest and hairiest of them put him back down in the basin of water. Svarog tried to take the chance to escape and skipped out of the basin, but the ten talons snared around him again and put him back to the sound of a low growl. Svarog escaped again and was put back. That mocking, hacking murmur…

Kha, kha, kha, the two creatures chorused. Kha, kha, kha, kha, kha. Svarog felt smaller, lesser. They kept him here for entertainment, he realised, for who else would store their food like this? The thought sickened him - these slothmen were worse than bears and eagles.

After a while, they left him alone in the cave. Svarog was by himself now, sourly quenching his thirst by sipping the now quite sweaty water in his basin. No matter. He could surely escape this place. He hopped out of the basin and looked around. It was dark here, but dying charcoals in the centre of the cave offered a conservative brightness that allowed him to make out contours. Using his well-developed nose, he felt his way forward to a crack under the cave wall - an odd place for there to be a crack. He didn’t have his spear nor his basket anymore, but whatever - he had to save himself now. Svarog flattened himself against the ground and prepared to squeeze himself out of the crack, but realised quickly that this was no ordinary cave wall at all - this, this was just like fur, like touching the skins that, again, those weird shamans would wear. His eyes squinted at the material - was this cave made out of fur? He then noticed the faint whites of bone arching up towards the centre of the ceiling - mammoth tusks. Svarog shuddered and crawled out.

Outside, it was midday. Svarog heard growling and roaring from behind the mound of fur he had crawled out of - looking over it, it looked like the body of a mammoth if you cut off the head and the legs; like a half-orb of fur. Svarog admittedly had little love for mammoths given that they walked where they pleased and would frequently challenge the strength of dams all around the region, but this? Only shamans did this sort of weird, macabre stuff and wore the furs of other things.

A nearby roar sent Svarog into hiding again. He watched from underneath a fold in the mound a giant slothman pass, a basket in his upper legs (or were they arms?) full of wiggly fish. Fish, huh? Maybe he was still at the shore? Svarog looked around - yup, over there he could see the sheen of the white beach in the distance. Then maybe this could be the land of the cowries?

He tossed another look over to the corner of the mound where he could just make out the edges of another mound and trace the scent of fire. He kept low and snuck around, sticking to the underside of the fur flaps surrounding the foot of the mound he had been in. Thankfully, his brown fur blended well with his hiding spot, so he wasn’t easy to see even in daylight. He just prayed his fur’s sheen or his stink wouldn’t rat him out in the moment.

That was when he saw it: There, right there by another fur mound - a basket as tall as he was, filled to the limit with cowries of all sizes and colours such that many had spilled over and laid in the gravel beneath. Gods, if he could run off with that…

He looked around again. By the place where he could smell smoke, more hacking, snickering growls could be heard. He measured the distance to the basket visually - that was a fairly open space and a fairly long skip. He bit a claw in thought. Could he even lift the basket?

“Oh gods around and above,” he whispered pleadingly, “anyone - how do I take this basket?”

Suddenly, a voice rang out within his mind ”Well, well, another beaver seeking to steal, oh this must be our lucky day.”

Svarog stiffened and cowered underneath the fur flaps. “Gods!” he squealed in a whisper. “Who are you?”

”That is simple, we are Yesaris, and we help, those like you,” A buzzing sound began to grow in the air, and Svarog could notice the slowly growing number of flies congregating around, ”So you wish to steal a basket? And what does this mortal intend to do in return for our aid?”

Svarog gulped. “Th-the basket looks very nice, for sure… I’d, I’d sure like it.” He scratched his cheek in thought. “I, I could give ya some of the shells!” he proposed.

A harsh, chittering cackle was the response ”Svarog, we are a god, we have no need for shiny shells, we are in need of, better offerings and, sustenance.”

The little bjork frowned and licked his incisor. “H-how about I ask one of those weird shamans to offer some meat in your name when I get home, huh? I’ve heard that the gods like that!” He ducked underneath the flap as a slothman passed by and spat a fishbone on the ground next to him with a pft!, flapping its talons at a cloud of flies.

”Hmmm, we suppose that will work, it would be nice to gain an offering finally,” for a moment, the god was silent, as the buzzing flies began to coalesce together, ”Very well, we will help you with this, endeavor, in exchange for speaking of our name and gifting us some offerings.”

Suddenly, the flies all gathered together, buzzing into a singular mass that twisted and shaped as the flies moved about. As suddenly as they began, they flew away, in their place, settled neatly upon the floor next to the bjork, was a long cloak, made of crudely stitched together leather and skin, it would easily fit over his body and shroud his form.

”Take this cloak and put it on, it will allow you to change your form into one that can blend into the environment, letting you get away with your little thefts. Just remember who helped you out with this.”

Svarog took the cloak and packed it around himself. He still had an aversion to wearing fur over his own fur, but this was life or death. He bowed in no particular direction and said, “Ye-yes, You of Many Voices! I won’t forget it!”

”Yes yes, you will not, safe adventures, Svarog.” With that, the voice faded away, and the buzzing flies dispersed, flying off into the distance of the skies above. The little bjork tested the fabric between his fingers - it was dense and coarse, yet loose and patchy. It looked like scrappy work, but it was surely divine, right? He measured the distance again. He, he hadn’t been tricked just now, right?

He let his eyes be seduced by the shells again - how many times had the priestesses ever warned of cruel and misleading spirits? He thought this through: Never, was the answer. The gods, except for the cursed anathema of all bjorkkind, the Green Murder, were good! This had to mean that the Many Voices had to be good, too! So he clutched the cloak and skittered into the open.

…

Nothing. He hadn’t been spotted yet. He kept skittering across the open space. Some of the slothmen even looked directly in his direction and didn’t even squint. He wondered for a minute what form he had taken on in their eyes, but didn’t decide to dwell on it too much. He soon reached the basket and marveled at its size. Okay, it hadn’t been quite as tall as him after all, but it was very close, and it was hnng! heavy! He looked around - still no one had noticed him, but he heard some commotion in the mound he had just come from. Out of the opening, which he could see clearly from this angle, came the smaller slothman and growled something to the larger ones, who seemed to shrug amongst themselves. After some yapping, the smaller one seemed to get one of the larger ones to join it for a look-around. This was not good.

Svarog acted quickly. He lifted the basket with all his might and waddled clumsily into the woods nearby. Again, he had gone unseen, but it was clear his theft had caused more commotion than his escape. He slept in the heaps of moss that night, both him and the basket hiding under the cloak as slothmen with torches patrolled the periphery of his vision. He was still hungry and weak, but now he was so close to completing his quest - if he could just get this basket home, Luga would choose him as her consort for certain!

The journey home took young Svarog a whole month; the heavy basket slowed him down considerably, and it took him almost a week and a half to find his way back to a river he was familiar with. All the while, he foraged the forest for what scraps he could eat and drank sap from birch trees to stave off the thirst. His incisors grew long over the course of the journey, but he never had time to really sit down and gnaw on a good tree; whenever he would take a break to rest, he would cloak himself and his loot, but predators could still smell him and frequently sniffed at his very face behind the cloak when he slept in the woods. Once a boar had gotten a bit too curious and begun digging at his cloak. Svarog had then bitten hard at the boar’s snout and sent it grunting away in a sulk. It was both safer and riskier. When he finally reached the rivers, his travels sped up considerably. He had been nearly out of strength from carrying and dragging the basket along, but now he could float the basket on a raft of sticks and driftwood. Whenever he encountered another dam, he would make landfall and wrap himself and the treasure in the cloak, sneaking around as quietly as possible.

One time, he had circumvented a fairly large dam and found that its inhabitants had stripped much of the surrounding forests bare. This made it hard to find materials for a new raft, so he tried to swim with the basket in his arms. However, this made him much too heavy and he accidentally dropped the basket, which sank like a rock. Svarog spent a whole two days picking up stray shells that had fallen out after he had fished the basket back up - he was certain he had lost many for good.

But eventually, finally, after a month had passed and his body ached like it had been beaten and tortured, Svarog reached the Grand Dam of Voga once again. With the last of his strength, he carried the basket past the guards and the damsfolk, all of whom marveled at its contents, and up to the tallest den on the dam. There, he was helped inside by the bolshaya's guards and managed to squeeze out the words:

"Fuh yoo, mah luhve…" Then Svarog, who had laboured so hard for his love, the chieftess, passed flat out on the mud floor, exhausted and barely alive.

Luga seemed surprised to say the least, and as she descended from her throne of reeds and wood, she ordered, "Medicine! Medicine for my consort!" Priestesses hurried on over with herbs and sapwine as the bolshaya picked up a silver cowrie from the basket and studied it closely. "Marvellous…" she whispered and addressed the closest healer. "Let him rest in my nest while he recovers and make certain he is fed well and often. One such as him who can bring his chieftess a treasure like this…" She smiled from ear to ear and compared the brazen sheen of another shell with her own brown, oily fur. "... He is a true manbjork."

Even though he was unconscious, one could almost detect a slight uptick in the edge of Svarog's mouth. His quest had Been completed. Now he was consort and bound to his love forever.

The Shellhunter, bolshakov, Consort-Lord of the Voga, had been born, and that night, the shamans charred and burnt a whole deer in the name of the Many Voices.

---

Fear could see the three colossi from afar, their immense forms marching across the vast sea, traveling to unknown lands. The timid champion could see her sisters led by their Maker continuing onward as they left her behind where she stood on a desolate shore in solitude. They did not need to come back for her. They did not need to see her again. Fear knew this, but the pain in her chest did not recede.

Her gaze drifted to the waves that washed along the stony shore, splashing against her red boots before receding back into the sea. The process repeated itself, again and again, and Fear listened to the song of the sea for a time, letting it soothe her hurting heart.

She wondered where her own journey would take her, if she would have the opportunity to reunite with her family and return home, or if she would remain alone and adrift until the darkness she had known finally claimed her.

Her contemplations came to an end when she heard a distant bellow, and felt the stone beneath her feet shake. She looked towards the horizon where she saw the three colossi once more, seemingly as lost as herself.

She watched as they reared back and floundered in the water, as violent waves assailed their legs and threatened to topple them, but she was too far away to do anything to help! She stared aghast as the creatures were battered and broken against the raging sea, and terrible creatures that had emerged from its dark depths came and tore them apart.

There was nothing she could do as cruel winds ravaged the last colossus that stood defiant against the storm, until it was eventually eroded and turned to nothing more than rust and rock that was swept away.

Fear fell to her knees, and wept. She cried as pieces of the great colossi were carried to shore, scarred fragments of her own colossus, and that of her sister’s. Their shattered innards, and smashed crowns, scattered all around her.

She cried as her sisters were carried to shore, pale and lifeless, all of them drowned after being overwhelmed by the tempestuous ocean and horrible monsters of the world. Fear could not look away, seeing their empty eyes stare blankly back at her, accusing her of her own failure to remain at their side.

“Where are you?” The corpse of Courage had asked her, her voice hollow.

“Maker, please save me…” Fear prayed with desperate tears, hoping Homura would come. Hoping that not all was lost, and she could be saved.

Then she had awakened.

Warm within the feathery cradle of Viho, the timid champion found herself relaxed after she had abruptly awoke, and that no more tears would come. She was grateful for the respite, and found herself seeking more comfort in the soft and gentle wings of the owl champion.

“It was just a dream.” She murmured to herself.

“Yes,” Viho’s voice came to her, “Just a dream. I heard you tusseling about, wondering if you would wake. Now here you are.”

“I’m sorry if I kept you awake. I didn’t mean to.” Fear answered quietly, feeling a little ashamed that her nightmares were becoming a burden for someone else. She didn’t want to impose further upon the one that had pulled her from the darkness, but she could not help feeling like she had no other options.

“Do you know how long we have been here?” She asked.

“You did not wake me.” He replied with a small chuckle. “I sleep when I need to and wake when I do not. As for your other question, we have been here upon this stone for a few days since you were rescued. And, I have some bad news.”

Fear let out a little “oh.” when he had explained his wakefulness, then found anxiety spreading through her like a cold fire upon hearing there was more misfortune to be had. She felt herself shaking with dread, recalling the horrifying visages she had seen in her dreams.

“Fear… I can feel you shaking. Take heart, little one, there is still time for action. These eyes of mine see dark clouds upon the horizon. It might be another storm. It might not. It might hit us if we stay here. It might not. I know you wish to wait for your Maker but Fear, we must make a choice now. Either we stay and hope for the best, or we leave with certainty.”

Fear considered his words for a time, hesitant to make a choice, to make a mistake. “She is likely busy with the others. Courage and Kindness need her more than me. I’m not alone right now.” The timid champion concluded and arrived at a decision.

“We should leave.”

Viho gave a bob and stood to full height, stretching out his legs once more with a groan. “Your decision is wise, Fear. We shall find your homeland together and all will be well, you will see. Now, have you ever flown before?” he asked.

“No…” Fear answered, and realized what he was suggesting. Her eyes widened, and she became much more aware of the sound of the waves all around. Flying over the sea, walking on the wind with wings. “I’m not afraid though.” She replied, speaking to both herself and Viho.

“Good. There is nothing to be afraid of about flying… Well only if you don’t have wings but we won’t think about that, now will we?” He said as Fear could feel him moving. “You shall climb upon my back, as I do not wish to carry you within my talons. It would be unsightly, I think. Come Fear, Say hello to the world.” He unfurled his wings and raised them high, letting the light in.

Fear closed her eyes before the light shone on her, then slowly opened them to see what had awaited her. The outside world was bright and dark, clouds filling the sky above with the white mingling with the grey, an omen of the coming storm. She did not want to greet such a world.

The sea was restless, in anticipation of the tempest to come as well, and Fear felt the winds pushing against her skin. Despite his words, the timid champion was very much aware she lacked wings, and should she fall, it would mean her demise.

With reluctance, she began climbing the much larger owl champion, until she was clinging to his back. She held tightly, her hand of ice, shimmering in the light of the day, and called out to him.

“I think I’m ready!”

“Before we take flight Fear, what should our heading be? Do you have any recollection of your homeland and where it might be?” Viho asked, climbing to a high point.

“We were following the rising sun, so Keltra would be the other way, right? The forest and sea are both red like me, so there’s that too. Does that help?” Fear offered, looking skyward to see the sun, which shone brightly from one direction. She looked in the opposite direction, and saw drifting clouds and an endless sea. Hopefully home was beyond the horizon. At least the unknown is better than the approaching storm, she thought to herself.

“That will do, look for red, shouldn’t be too hard.” He unfurled his wings once more and flapped a couple times. “Alright Fear, hold on tight and don’t look directly down if you are afraid of heights. Here we go.” Viho said with a bit of excitement in his voice. It had been some time since the Owl had flown after all. With a few flaps of his silent wings and before Fear could even blink, they were falling- then they were flying!

Up up up they went, wind ruffling feathers and hair as they took to the sky with general ease. Viho took a sloping path up into the air, well over the water below and before long he was evening out and coasting along an unseen air current. The world above was truly something special.

Fear was reminded of the colossi and her view from atop their crowns, watching as the world passed by while they wandered in all directions. They had traveled so fast on their massive machines, that often the timid champion had to hide herself behind the glowing pillars lest she become overwhelmed by the sight, or swept away from the wind.

Clinging to Viho, despite not being in control anymore, she felt more secure and connected to the owl champion than her colossus. She stared outwards at the vast stretch of water reflecting the cloudy sky above, and noticed a scarlet shimmer on the horizon. Hope filled her as she realized that her Maker had left her a path that would leave her home.

“That way! That way! Keltra is that way!” She called over the rushing winds, wondering whether Viho could hear her.

Viho angled them in flight as he looked upon the path of red. Despite the wind, Viho spoke to Fear as if he was right beside her. “Excellent eyes Fear! Are you sure this path will take us to Keltra?”

“It’s my Maker! She’s guiding us!” The timid champion answered, feeling a glimmer of hope blossom within her. Her family was waiting for her. Homura had answered her prayers, and Fear found herself wishing she could fly even faster.

“That’s Kel-mera, Keltra must be that way!” She continued, ignoring the small voice in her mind that warned her this might be a trap, or worse, another dream filled with horrible visions. She latched onto her memories of her sisters, their voices, and she latched onto the words of Viho. The Divine may be powerful, but they created mortals for a purpose.

“Then take it we shall!” Viho exclaimed and banked to angle them further towards the path. “You see Fear, we were meant to follow this path. If we had stayed upon the rock, we would be pathless. This is good!”

Fear felt conflicted upon hearing those words, but kept her thoughts to herself. She would have been happy to remain there for longer, and let go of the shame she felt after failing her Maker, her sisters, and her sleeping kin. She wouldn’t have to face them if she simply stayed swathed in the warmth of Viho’s feathers. But she couldn’t deny the part of her that wanted to be reunited as well. To see pride in her Maker’s eyes, and hear the laughter of Courage, and the gentleness of Kindness.

“You’re right.” She murmured softly, glad that she would not be alone when she returned as well. Soon she would see them again.

---

It had been a little over a year now since the Earthen King had broken off the first stone and carved within it a rune to bind a spirit to it, creating the first stonemen - the golems. As He had thrown them to all winds, the Vein of Kraang had flown south - as far as south goes, they said - and ended up on the Ousolus, the chain of islands between Orsus and Terminus that rose and sank with the seasons like the pistons of an Astusian machine. Here, the progenitor of the Vein, Kraang-Shur, had settled on the island of Shyoht-Voli - “Voligan’s castle” - and started constructing fortifications in preparation for the inevitable Yesarian invasion of Orsus to the east from the distant hive lands in the west.

He knew that he could not do it alone, however; the island was large and a single golem could hardly stand against the endless tide of the Hive. So Kraang-Shur got to constructing his fellow guardians. However, the construction took time for Kraang-Shur, and the Shyoht-Voli was an island nearly devoid of exposed and easily accessible rock. This puzzled the stoneshapen Shur, for Shur had only ever known the feel and texture of the mountain he had been spawned from, and as Shur thought the conundrum over, the season had passed and the island of Shyoht-Voli had descended into the depths. Here, light faded into nothing, and the golem was visited upon by many more than just curious birds: Here, fish, cepholopods, mollusks, mammals and seaplants all took time to say hello, taking up refuge all around Shur’s body. At first the golem had felt exposed and naked before so many prying eyes, but as his days of labour began to number tens and even hundreds, he eventually grew to appreciate his new inhabitants. In his solitude, he even named them and made up stories for them to share with their egg clutches.

There was Tef, the nudibranch who had settled in the stone shelves that had approximated themselves into a humpbacked spine at his inception; the Kras, a family of oysters who had filled out his shoulders like a mantle of grayish fur; “the Rash”, an armour of barnacles running down his right arm and leg; and all the seaweed and algae that had greened his whole body, collectively called “the Coat”. Tef was his favourite, a knight of snailkind, aspiring to the same greatness as its house, the golem. One day, the two of them would drown the Hivemind Horde in the ocean.

Given the nature of his microbiome now, Shur chose to remain in the ocean even after Shyoht-Voli rose back up. At first, he lingered around the root of the island, moving between the shore and the depths collecting material to expand his vein: His would be an order of seaborne templars, sworn in the name of the Earthfather to fend off the evil brewing in the southwest. Shur collected rock and stone, shell and barnacle; he gathered mud and slime, bones and cartilage. With these reagents, he fashioned the first of his order: Kraang-Trax. The rune of awakening was carved into the eye of the crustacean giant and the coral-clad warrior awakened to blink at her creator.

“Hail, Kraang-Shur, progenitor of the Vein,” she saluted and bowed.

“Hail, Kraang-Trax, first to be shapen. How are you feeling?”

The crab-like giant moved her limbs slowly, sand and mud diluting into the water around her joints. They seemed agile, powerful, and her crossed eye looked back up at her maker. “I sense strength within my body. My parts lack nothing and I am satisfied. Tell me, master: What is my purpose?”

Shur bowed his head. “To the far west, our enemy gathers its strength. Help me build up our army and together, we shall bring pride and glory to the Earthen King.”

Trax bowed her form downwards and said, “As you wish, my lord.”

---

Many years later, on one of the islands of the Ousolu…

It had been a rough day in the court of Kekoa Kekoa’e Ali’i Nui, the chief of chiefs of the Takahanga Kingdom. The chieftain of Motu Ikaika, Tane Peni’e Kaukau Ali’i’s son, Moana Tane’e Ali’i’e, had gotten into a bloody fight with the son of the chieftain of Motu Iti, Keanu Anaru’e Ali’i’e, and slain him in the violence. Now the Motu Iti chieftain demanded blood money for the actions of the Motu Ikaika chieftain’s son - a life for a life, as the custom was. Tane was having none of this, and the two had sailed all the way to Kekoa’s summer home on Motu Ra-Roa, the most beautiful island to rise out of the ocean in the hotter months. For a week, the two had filled his hall with their bickering, and it did not help that they had brought their families along, who only egged them on from the back. More than once he had had to stop them from drawing weapons and clubbing each other to death.

By all means, the law sided with the Motu Iti chieftain - Moana had killed Keanu and was thus to himself be killed. However, the king had been hesitant - very hesitant. The Motu Ikaika chieftain was his cousin and brother-in-law, and very, very rich. Without the constant stream of wood for boats and coral for weapons from the islands Motu Ikaika and Motu Pohatu - both under Tane’s jurisdiction - Kekoa could kiss his throne goodbye. His whole realm rested on the high chief’s ability to send his warriors to any island in his realm to quell unrest; for that, he needed boats fashioned from Pohatuan palms and weapons from Ikaikan coral. His very flagship, the Ma’man, had been a gift from Tane when he had married the high chief’s sister. No wood for ships? No coral weapons? No Takahanga Kingdom.

Kekoa gnawed his knuckle to the bone cursing himself for not being able to abide by the law, the law of his father Kekoa. His other courtiers grew increasingly impatient; they understood perfectly fine why the king delayed, but they all warned that to break the law was taboo, especially for a king, and would bring grave detriment to his man’ah. Should he side with the injured party, he would lose his kingdom; should he side with his cousin, he would lose his mandate. The Ali’i Nui had not had a wink of sleep for two days - such did the conflict bother him.

On the seventh day, the king called together his court and summoned both chiefs to his audience. Truth be told, he was not certain whether he had truly reached a decision or if any decision would be better than a heart attack at this point. Kekoa gathered the men on the floor before his throne and took a deep breath.

“I have prayed and prayed… For days now… That this feud may come to an end. In Their light, I have reached a decision…” But as he raised his hand to point to the party in the right, a guard shoved aside the bamboo leaf curtain covering the door.

“My chiefs!” panted the guard. One of the courtiers gasped.

“My king! The peasant has broken the taboo and entered into our holy hall!”

“Maui, you daft slug, can you not see he bears a message?!” the king chastised. “Speak your message, guardsman.”

The guard swallowed and swiftly relayed the message, careful not to look directly at the king. “A grave terror has struck our shores, O Son of Gods: a raider horde! Hundreds! Many hundreds! They will be here within the hour!”

All around the hall, the chieftains’ reactions differed wildly: Some took to arms and charged out the doorway; some hastened to pack their belongings and run out the doorway and away from the battle; and most remained to await the king’s orders. The king’s brow darkened, but within him burned a small flicker of relief - yes! An outside enemy to draw the focus away from the blood feud. He got out of his throne, grabbed his trusty club and stormed towards the door, his courtiers flanking in behind him.

But then a hand grabbed his and thee king looked down. It was the chief of Motu Iti, the injured party, who glared him in the eyes and said, “My king! We still have business to settle here!”

Kekoa’s inner flame flared up further with wicked victory. Just what he needed. He summoned forth his deepest, cruelest voice and scowled so that his facial tattoos gave his face a demonic shadow. The Motu Iti chief blinked in fright and loosened his grip, but the king took his hand and squeezed it with cowering strength. “U’ilani, you selfish, little snake!” The chief shrunk two sizes. “That you would use your son’s death to sate your own prideful sense of vengeance, I can just barely sympathise with, but then… But. Then. You have the audacity, the INSOLENCE, to claim that -YOUR- selfish cause outranks the safety - the lifes - of -MY- subjects, who are now being slaughtered on the beach head while we bicker because of -YOU-!” The king slapped the chief to the ground and wiped his hand on his feather regalia. “I denounce your egotistical sense of self-righteousness, you filthy rat. Consider your case annulled!” The king then stormed out. The chief, broken on his knees, looked up in search of support; none could be found. It had been a battle of mandates and the king had won squarely: The king was the gods’ son, born forth from the union of the deepest sea and the highest sky to protect the people of Takahanga, and a petty squabble over who killed who did not even come close to the top of the gods’ sons priority list. A lowly vassal like the Motu Iti chieftain stood no chance.

King Kekoa walked out on a highrise overlooking the beach. As the guard had said, much of the village was in danger of being attacked any moment - black ships had made landfall further up on the island, and a slobbering, rambling horde was charging towards the fleeing populace. The first line of defense had already been consumed by the horde, and the chiefs who had been the first to charge out of the king’s hut were helping with the evacuation and commanding the second line of defense, firing them up by leading a war dance. They roared like wild beasts and bared their teeth and tongues before throwing themselves at the enemy, black beard braids flying everywhere together with clubs and hammers fashioned from coral, wood, teeth and bone. Even a blind dwarf could see that this was a lost battle, however, and not even the earthen skin of the Takahanga dwarves could stand against a tide of monsters numbering in the several hundreds. The king’s face remained dark as he scouted the area, trying to think of a plan.

“... Take the women and children to the ships on the southern part of the island. I will take whatever meat and fish we have stored in the village and lure the hiveminders to the north.” He took Tane by the shoulder. “You will take my sister, my wife and my son to my ship and be ready at a moment’s notice to get off the island. If I am not back by the time the horde has made it within eyeshot, leave without me.”

The king’s cousin hardened his expression, but nodded and stormed off with half the courtiers. The king remained with the other half and then roared, “Well, you heard me! Let’s get going!” The king led his dwarves to the village and raided the food stores for anything the mutants could find interesting. Then, they ran past the horde, around the island, and drew some outliers after them. Then the rest of the horde slowly began to turn as the sun really got to induce the stink of rot in the fish and meat. That was proper food for a hiveminder. Meanwhile, the second line of defense retreated and picked off some outliers on the way.

However, as time went on, it became increasingly clear that the horde was not so stupid as to let the king and his men simply circumvent them. One hiveminder was foolish, but the whole flock formed a fairly tactical consciousness together - they were in fact trying to trap the king. This dawned on the royal party much too late - they had by that point been pushed to the beachhead, and it was the wrong beachhead. No ship laid in waiting for them here. The king initiated a war dance and his party followed fearlessly, but the horde was not dissuaded. They closest in with a macabre slowness that only inspired fear in the dwarves - their voices grew smaller and their gestures lost their wild tempers. Even the king’s inner flame, so empowered as it was by his man’ah grew too small to sustain his stoic demeanour. He whispered softly a prayer for his wife and son as the beasts closed in.

Then, as a godsent miracle, the waters off the beach burst into a flood of salt and foam. The horde and the dwarves were equally baffled, and what stood in place of the water when the foam disappeared inspired fear in both parties. There stood six giants of all sizes - only common description being that they were, indeed, giant: they were of stone, of coral, of bone, of kelp, of teeth and of magic. Neither the dwarves nor the horde had time to reach before the six thundered in over the beach, passed over the dwarves, and started decimating the hivemind horde. Fists barbed with barnacles and spears fashioned from volcanic vents utterly destroyed the biotic horde, soaking the entire beach in blood and gore. The dwarves huddled together in shock and awe - neither stoicism nor bravery could even begin to create a facade in the face of something this sublime.

After the destruction had passed, the six giants formed a crescent around the pile of dwarves. The most stone-like of the giants stepped into the crescent and knelt down beside the heap. In a voice like an earthquake, it spoke in a language that seemed almost instinctively known to the dwarves - the language of the earth itself.

“Hail, brothers, fellow sons of the Earthen King.”

The dwarves untied their huddled knot and let their eyes glaze over in awe. Even the king had no response. The golem continued. “You were lucky that we were here. The spawn of Yesaris may not be much of a threat when it is one-on-one, but a horde like this would have consumed you to the last patch of skin.”

Finally, the king mustered up the courage and man’ah to reply and asked, “Who, who are you, exalted sons of the Stonelord?”

The golem seemed to almost grin at the little dwarf, and the Abyssal Templars presented themselves as such: Kraang-Shur the Progenitor; Kraang-Trax Tideshield; Kraang-Hrel the Living Armour; Kraang-Fram the Brave; Kraang-Droz the Pious; and Kraang-Laksh the Tall. The golem bowed and the dwarves returned the gesture. The king and his courtiers then presented themselves, and it was as though twins who had been separated at birth had come together again. For saving his life, the king promised the Progenitor his favour, and the Progenitor promised the king his loyalty as a fellow subject of the Earthen King. Together, the dwarves on land and the golems in the sea, would create a united front against the wicked spawn of Yesaris, ruling their two realms as the Kings of Ousolu.

Setting: Astus’ Island



White held the Astawhacker with both hands. It was their most prized possession - A jury-rigged piece of equipment that his little sister had created out of scrap during the early days of the apocalypse. One whack to any of the Demon’s minions and they’d be disabled thanks to a wave of… Aethelic mumbo-jumbo, or whatever.

Sweat started to flow from behind his mask, even with his suit’s air conditioning at full strength.

Normally, he wouldn’t even be outside, but the situation called for it. Having drones floating around so close to their hideout was too risky for his liking, and if he wasn’t even able to whack some bots for his sister’s sake, then what good was he?

Two drones hummed by overhead, unable to peer down the crooked alleyway that White was hiding in. They were the small fries, those that made no difference should he take them down. What he needed to find was…

Ah.

He squinted and wiped at the moisture covering his visor, and saw the carriage-sized red and black drone floating down the main road next to him. A Neuron. Taking that thing down would disable all nearby drones, so the only thing left to do was get to work.

The Neurons had no blind spots, so trying to sneak would be useless. Instead, this would be an all out brawl.

White took a deep breath, trying to still his rapidly beating heart and pressed his hands together for a quick prayer.

‘To whoever’s listening... Should I not make it back, please take care of my sister.’

Then he stretched a little bit and walked out onto the main road. The Neuron immediately stopped in its tracks, twenty meters in front of him.

A loud humming and whining emanated from the Neuron then, and it was responded by several smaller hums from all around.

White’s heart was practically in his throat and had he not done this before, he probably would’ve turned tail and run for his life.

One Hunter drone blasted through a building’s brick wall. It was wheel-shaped and its mouth revved up. In that split moment, White slung his shield from his back into his left hand and grit his teeth.

Explosion after explosion rang out down the road, each one accompanied by a massive impact against his shield, denting the metal and pushing him back.

Finally the salvo stopped, and White dropped his shield in time to see three more Hunters flying in and the Neuron starting to get away. He dug into his pocket and threw a vial of glowing blue powder onto the ground, a large shockwave of blue energy washing over the area and sending the drones tumbling onto the ground.

He wasted no time, breaking out into a run and climbing on top of the Neuron. There, he stabbed the Astawhacker into the Neuron’s camera and pulled its trigger.

The explosion pushed him off the Neuron and onto the sizzling hot cobblestone road, where he rolled until he found his feet. There was no time for injury now--he could relax when he was back home.

As if on cue, the Astawhacker, depleted, fell and skidded along the floor beside him, a little blacker and a little worse for wear. He chuckled and picked it up.

“Thanks, bud.” He whispered and patted the Astawhacker, not even bothering to look at the dead wreckage of the Neuron and the immobile Hunters.

He froze when he turned, however… Because a Prime Astalonian stood there, watching him. Covered in the blood of its latest victim, flaking off bit by bit in the extreme heat.

In her hand was a long, thin blade, longer than he’d ever seen, and despite the slight differences in her shape and form, he could actually recognize her. Carer, the one who had cared for him in his youth whenever his parents were both at work.

He’d heard stories about what the Prime Astalonians were like nowadays, from survivors and people who’d fled as their loved ones were slaughtered. If they were true, then… yeah, he wasn’t making it back to his sister. Images of her kind, smiling face flashed across his mind. At least he would go knowing that his sister wasn’t going to be found, now that the Neuron was destroyed.

He smiled bitterly behind his mask, dropped the depleted Astawhacker, and pulled out his trusty hammer.



The Godlight crashed down upon the cobblestone roads. Blood sizzled as it splattered all over the walls of the nearest ruined building, the body of a slim male lifelessly dropping onto the stones.

Carer was exhausted… But unlike her mind, her body needed no rest. Over the years, it had gone on to tirelessly chase after the people she loved. She had been forced to stab, slash, crush, break, burn, strangle, and murder her children and despite what Astus had said before the beginning of the end, it never got easier. Everytime her body found another Homuran, she would scream at herself, trying to get her body to listen to her for once -- To set herself free. And yet it was always in vain.

Her latest victim had been one of her bravest children. He had a bright future ahead of him, with his talents and sharp mind… And there he was, laying on the ground. And why? He must’ve been a kid when the cleansing had started.

Why?

Her body twitched. A minor glitch which had developed over the last few weeks. They might have been the finest machines to ever grace the Galbar but they were still machines and machines needed maintenance. Years of getting showered in blood and overheating were beginning to take their toll.

A sonic boom wrenched her attention back to her environment, the powerful shockwave laying waste to the entire area and sending Carer flying. Only a split second after the blast, a fiery comet came crashing down onto her. It had all been so fast that her sensors hadn’t even perceived the threat.

CRITICAL ERROR. MAIN AETHELIC GENERATOR ANDSECONDARY AETHELIC GENERATOR OFFLINE. UTILIZING EMERGENCY BATTERY…

CRITICAL ERROR. EMERGENCY BATTERY MISSING.

CRITICAL ERROR. GYROSCOPE MISSING.

CRITICAL ERROR. VITAE CONDUITS #35, #87, #238, #23, AND #9 RUPTURED.

CRITICAL ERROR. DANGEROUSLY LOW LEVELS OF VITAE DETECTED. TOTAL LOSS OF FUNCTION IN 13…

12…

11...

Carer’s body creaked and groaned as it tried to grasp at the impossibly heavy weight on top of her torso, then with a last push, fell limp.

FOREIGN OBJECT IN CORE CAVITY DESTROYED. CONNECTING TO PLATFORM…

Suddenly, Carer jerked awake. She could feel her body, she could move it. A bitter smile graced her rusted face, the lights behind her cracked visor blinking on and off erratically.

7…

6...

“T…

“Thank… you…” She whispered and used the last of her strength to caress her liberator’s leg with her broken arms, the very leg that had crushed right through her torso.

3…

2…

1…

SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE INITIATED. GOOD NIGHT...

Slowly, the world went dark… And just like that, Carer finally got to rest.



Apostate let loose a primordial roar that trembled from his form, his smoke replaced with blazing fire and his metal now molten and dripping. No semblance of thought laced his scream, only the rage and pain that stabbed inside of him.

Distant crying rang out through the ruined alleyways, that of a child. With a faceless visor of molten metal, Apostate scanned the decrepit ruins that ringed the crater he stood in. Kicking scrap metal off of his leg, the god began to walk towards the crying, each step shaking the ground and leaving drips of fire.

His presence lit up the alleyways as he stepped into them, and almost mechanically he walked through — as if he knew them by heart — until he came to a half collapsed building, clearly destabilized by his entry. With Apostate’s approach, the crying stifled to choking whimpers.

The whimpering came from below a particularly large piece of rubble. Brick on the outside, insulation in the middle, and rusty metal on the inside. The whimpering ceased for a while, then the sobbing resumed. “Help me… W, y-you promised…!” The tiny voice cried.

“Rah!” Apostate growled, a fiery arm slapping the rubble and sending it into the musky sky. The rest of the building shuddered from the impact but as it began to fall, molten tendrils came shooting out of the god and sending them every other direction, leaving a small sanctuary right around an even smaller, cowering figure where the rubble once was. The child was covered head to toe in layers upon layers of clothes, her face barely visible behind the dark visor on her face. Tubes and such were hooked up between a pack on her back and her suit, a gentle humming coming from the pack as she stared in disbelief at Apostate.

A moment later, she screamed at the top of her lungs. “WHITE! WHITE!! H-HELP ME! THE PRIME!! H-HE-” She coughed and retched inside her visor, then fainted.

Reaching a fiery hand out, Apostate’s smoke swirled around the small girl until a shell of metal was woven around her. Just as he picked it up, the whir of machines began to sound in every direction. Swarms of hunters came fluttering onto the scene with the box-like Neurons shortly behind them.

A deep groan sounded inside the pained god, but instead of staying a rumble, it quickly turned into a mighty roar, shaking the rest of the buildings around Apostate to the ground and alerting the hunters. Their center weapons spun into action, showering the god with explosive projectiles.

A wall of smoke erupted between the god and the flurry, catching them in the thick vapor. A boom sounded and the shower of explosives shot back from the wall of smoke, slamming into the hunters and causing a ring of explosions. With the first wave turned to showering debris, the second wave opened up, but this time Apostate was on the move.

The god was a blur of fire as his towering form cut between the mechanical units. His very presence melted the closer enemies and his tendrils of magma snapped at ones further away — all while keeping the metal egg clutched safely in one of his hands, a cool smoke protecting it from his own aura of destruction.

With the ground still shaking from his movements, Apostate juked next to a Neuron and with a free hand, he clawed it into the air. A faceless visor inspected it calmly, contrasting the absolute devastation his wild tendrils were spelling behind him. Finished with his inspection, the metal box slowly turned a glowing red until it burst into a fiery ball, the shrapnel bouncing off of Apostate and stabbing into the sides of a crumbled building and clueless hunters.

Apostate turned into the direction he now knew the workshop stood, bending the flaming pillars that were his knees and adjusting his potential trajectory. His body rumbled, and with a powerful kick, he launched into the air, leaving a basin of fire in place of the ruined street.

The clouds hissed as the god cut through them, the sky a sickly orange. In mere seconds, Apostate was already arching back down to the island, his free arm reaching out just as he landed. The ground ruptured from the impact and flaming smoke erupted from the fissures created. In the hand Apostate swiped out with, he now held another helpless Neuron.

A great wave blasted from the Neuron, Apostate’s voice booming along with it.

“Defy.”

Mechanical whirrs ticked and lights flickered as the Neuron reconfigured its own programming, the other Neurons and hunters in the area copying the chorus of sounds.



Heavy, toxic music rang out throughout the workshop as the sounds of metal being torn apart blared from the speakers of the command terminal.

CRITICAL ERROR. AETHELIC NETWORK DOWN. UTILIZING ALTERNATIVE SERVERS…

SUCCESS. NOW VIEWING FEED #83

Astus swept his flaming hair back, eyes glued to the screen that showed a blur of molten metal and fire taking down the entire Southern detachment of drones. The camera struggled to follow the one he already knew to be a God, and when the feed went dark, he leaned onto the command terminal and nodded his head.

“Fuck.”

Moments later, he was digging desperately through the cabinets and drawers in his workshop, throwing stuff over his shoulders left and right until he came upon a particularly ornate thing he had crafted a while back. He inspected it closely, admiring his own handiwork. “Wow, what an adorable saucer.” He sighed then threw it as well, shattering it in the process. “How come I haven’t made ANYTHING that can counter a God?!” He shouted as he slammed his fists on the workbench, denting the surface.

“God damn, now I’m gonna have to fix that! We’re gonna have to fix that, Astus!”

“Holy shit, now that bad habit’s coming back again-” Astus felt his dead heart beat for the first time in decades. It wasn’t a good feeling, he realized. He also didn’t believe in breathing, so he definitely did not take a deep breath.

“Okay, okay, calm down. That’s the guy that stopped the blast, we definitely don’t have the equipment to fight him now so we have to think of something, and quickly.” he thought out loud, finally running back to the command terminal to read the message he’d been dreading.

DRONE UNITS NON-RESPONSIVE. VIRUS DETECTED. ANTIVIRUS PROGRAM RECOMMENDED.

Astus hit ‘No’ on the recommendation and then navigated his way to something he thought he’d never use, and waited.

Eventually, the rumbling of the earth above and the flickering of the electric lights in his workshop told him that his ‘visitor’ had arrived, so he cleared his throat and turned on the PA system for the first time since the start of the cleansing.

“HEY HEY HEY, JUNIOR. GOTTA SAY, YOU’RE QUITE THE INDUSTRIOUS ONE AIN’T YA? TO HAVE BLASTED YOUR WAY THROUGH YUDAIEL’S LITTLE SHOW AND THEN KICKED THE BOLTS OUTTA MY ENTIRE WORKFORCE IS NO FEAT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. YOU’RE NOT COMING ANY CLOSER, THOUGH. WHY? CAUSE…” Astus cut off the transmission for a moment as he pressed a button on the dashboard and all of the drones he’d ever built self-destructed. Even those inside the workshop. He overheard some screaming coming from the residential areas of the compound, and shrugged. “... ‘CAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE A DRONE ARMY ANYMORE! HAH!”

Time seemed to slow down for a second, a new sensation erupting alongside the cacophony of explosions and only thanks to Astus’ godly eyes and vision did he witness the entire action. The ground had trembled and violently shook, only ending as the encased wall right next to him burst into a shower of dust. There in the gaping maw of the destruction was Apostate, a curious metal egg in hand, and a tunnel of broken walls and floors behind him.

Despite this, the flaming god didn’t stop his charge, slamming into the opposite wall before wrenching himself to face Astus, debris shaking from the ceiling.

An alarm blared, and then the sprinklers on the ceiling activated and showered everything with water. The water caused sparks to fly everywhere, and the music that had been playing in the background grew distorted and eventually stopped. Astus pressed a couple buttons and the alarm stopped, then he turned to Apostate while he dug through the drawers underneath the command terminal.

“Apostate, right? Wanna explain why you wrecked my army, my employee, and my workshop? Or are you too far gone to talk?” Trying to delay Apostate was all he could do as he found what he was looking for in the drawers. The next time he showed his hands, they were covered in an opaque layer of liquid metal, his Second-Skin gloves that he usually wore when working.

DA-Class Emergency, bring all the Homurans you can get a hold of to my current location.

Having sent out his orders, he then turned his attention to the strange feeling he was getting from inside the metal egg in Apostate’s hand. He knew what it was -- He’d been tracking those biological signatures for years now. He pointed at the egg with both hands.

“That’s mine by the way, champ. Hand it over so I can dispose of it cleanly and put an end to this mess so we can all finally start to progress.”

"No."

The voice bounced off the walls, causing another shake of dust to fall from the ceiling. Apostate braced and darted at Astus, a blade of solid flame erupting in his free hand. Astus deflected the blade with one hand and immediately countered with an uppercut with the other, his hand making contact with the other god’s form despite its gaseous nature. Having pushed him back temporarily, Astus chuckled and wiggled his left hand, his glove flaking away after having grabbed the flaming blade.

“Look behind you, kid!” He nodded at the shapes now through the sealed glass doors leading out of his workshop. Homurans, several of them, all of different colours and ages, and all of them terrified. “Think they’re afraid of us? Nah, they’re afraid of what’s going to happen to them if you don’t leave and let me fix all those holes you made in the structure. This whole place is gonna be like an oven to ‘em! Now, I don’t know about you, but Baked Homuran doesn't sound too good, does it?”

In a fluid motion, Apostate swung out his arm, using the crook to slam into Astus. Spinning into the blow, the god turned to pin Astus against the wall with a crack. Now face to face, the molten mask of Apostate dripped with his voice.

"Is that all you have left?"

“Besides the parasite you’re clutching so tightly in your hand and the couple thousand scattered throughout the compound… Yep. You happened to crash into the city containing the last remaining defiant survivors. Little late to try and be the saviour of the downtrodden, ain’t ya kid?” Astus smirked, a bead of flame sweat dripping down the side of his face.

Apostate paused and silence filled the atmosphere. Only the sound of crackling flame, small whimpers and settling dust remained as the god thought. Finally a low growl rumbled.

"Where are they?"

“In this compound, where they’ve been for years now. If we keep fighting, they’re all going to die from heat stroke. I can promise you that.”

Apostate's grip tightened and with a lunge, one of his molten tendrils came crashing in, just missing Astus' face.

"Fix it."

Astus was unfazed. His junior really must have had a couple screws loose, right?

“You gotta release me first, dumbass.”

The god of defiance let out a low growl before ripping his arm away from him. Apostate’s flames were dimmer now, being replaced with a black smoke. He stabbed his blade in the air, the tip pointed at Astus.

“Now you fix it.”

“Hmmm…” Astus tapped his chin in mock thought for a moment, squinting his eyes. Eventually, he shrugged. “Nah. I’ll do it only after you leave. Can’t turn my back on you, you see.”

A low, pained groan rumbled in Apostate’s chest. Finally he let his blade vaporize back into smoke. With his fingers still tightly clutching the egg he took a few steps back.

“I’ll go, for now.” Before he turned, Apostate added, “but know that I will finish what I have started, the day that no homurans reside on this island, or the day that they once again call out to me, I will return and finish our fight.”

Astus waved dismissively at Apostate, rolling his eyes “Yes yes, vengeance and anger and war. See ya around, champ.”

With little else, the god of defiance pressed the egg close to his chest and backed into the hole he had created in the wall earlier. Astus heard Apostate’s heavy footsteps above his compound, which in turn slowly turned to the simple sounds of hissing smoke, until there was no sound at all.

Once it was confirmed that Defiance had left, Astus sighed, wiped the sweat off his brow and looked incredulously at the Homurans and Primes gatherers around the doors to his workshop.

“Ridiculous, ain’t it?”



Lorelei awoke with a start. She shot up and onto her hands and knees, desperately taking off the visor covering her face and tossing it as far away as she could, which wasn’t much. She wiped at her face with her gloves, getting rid of the vomit and spit that had come to coat her face. She did all of this without gagging – for she was too exhausted to do so. Once she was done cleaning up as well as possible, she sat back on her heels and let her forehead touch against the soft grass. She stayed like that for a while, the dull aches of several bruises all along her body slowly coming back to her. Eventually, she straightened up and looked around.

The first thing she saw was a bright blue sky, and the first thing she felt was a cool breeze dancing through the grass and across her body.

“C-Cold…” She whispered, deciding to take off her soiled gloves and starting to mess around with the tubes hooking her suit up to her pack. She clearly wasn’t in the same place she’d been before, and it was far too cold to be wearing a forging suit.

A woolen blanket fell onto her from above, once again hiding her away, but this time a bandaged hand with cut fingers pinched the hem and lifted it off her face so she could still see. There kneeling in front of her was a man. His face was bandaged in such a way that she couldn’t see his right eye, just a bloody stain on the white linen. The bandaged wrapped through messy black hair and disappeared under a rugged beige cloak, only to again appear on his hands. He scuffed his boots and held out another hand, a fig fruit in the palm.

Lorelei gasped and averted her gaze when she realized she’d been staring, a little trembling taking hold inside her chest. She kept messing around with the tubes until they came apart, a loud hissing being heard for a moment, stopping only when the humming coming from her pack died down to silence. After that was done, she quickly wrapped herself as tightly as she could in the woolen blanket.

Looking people in the eye made her feel weird, so she looked down at the grass. “A-Adult? H-How?”

“It’s a disguise,” Apostate answered, “do you remember a scary demon of fire and metal?” The man let himself fall backwards, landing on his rump and throwing his arms over his knees. “That was me.”

She tensed up. It was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the new place – Tears welled up in her eyes and her poor little heart skipped more than a single beat. She shook under her new blanket. “Y-You? Astalonian? G-Gonna k-kill me?”

“No,” Apostate said, “on all accounts. I am Hevel, the Apostate. Your brother asked me to save you.” He tossed the fig up into the air and caught it again. “Do you need to eat?”

She perked up, “W-White! White i-is okay? Where is h-he?”

Silence grew between the two and an ashamed crook bent Apostate’s mouth into a frown. He cast his left eye down, averting it from Lorelei. A soft groan rumbled from the man and he rolled the fig on the ground. “You should eat.”

“O-Oh…” She wasn’t dumb, she knew what that answer meant. She’d seen variations of that expression countless times already. Her tummy rumbled and she looked at the strange new fruit. One part of her told her to take it, but the other part… “N-No food from stranger. W s-said this to m-me.”

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” Apostate’s voice was soft. “That’s your ‘right’.”

Lorelei sneaked a peek up at Apostate’s eye and immediately looked away. She then looked at her right hand. “R-Right?”

“The right to be,” Apostate said. “You have the right to love, to life, to be happy — to have everything you need.”

He slowly rose to his feet and looked outwards across the garden of Hevel. Following his gaze, she could see the grass swishing in the breeze, dancing with brilliant trees. With his back to her, she noticed for the first time, the large bar of metal on his back.

“Do you understand?” Apostate’s voice came, his finger pointing towards a large black statue, a tiny yellow flower bobbing behind it.

“Y-Yep. There n-no more f-flowers back home. Why i-is cold here?”

“There was one left.” Apostate put a hand to his chest, just as a groan rumbled out. “It called to me, just like that flower over there once did. So I stood in front of it, again.”

Turning back to Lorelei, Apostate cleared his throat. “It’s cold here, only because it’s away from the heat death proposed by Astus. You’ll grow used to it, or perhaps you won’t. There are warmer places to go, if you want.”

Lorelei thought for a minute, still staring at the yellow flower. It was cold, yeah, but it wasn’t unbearably cold. What she was feeling was probably the last bit of refrigeration left over in her suit. Still, if what she was feeling across her naked hands was the actual temperature of this new place, it was definitely colder than even the coldest bedroom back home. “W said we are H-Homuran. Where is H-Homura? I-Is warm?”

Apostate thought for a moment. “Sometimes. Homurans are a little bit everywhere. Tomorrow, a bunch will be here, even. They all come from a small house in the North East.”

“I-I wanna go. W wanted to go.”

“Then you should go,” Apostate said. “I’ll be heading back there in a few days, if you don't want to go alone.”

“Y-Yeah. I will go w-with you.”

“Okay.” The man nodded. “But first, you’ll have to tell me your name.”

She looked away from the flower and down at the grass. After a moment she stood up, grunting a little in the process, and clasped her hands in front of her. “L-Lore.”

“Welcome to the Garden, Lore,” Apostate held out a bandaged hand, which Lorelei hesitantly shook.

Apostate gripped her hand gingerly before turning it around, so her small palm was facing up. With his other hand, Apostate dropped something heavy into it. It was a small cylinder of metal, brushed with ash. A notch for a handle was present down the center, wherever the handle might have gone. Lorelei recognized the scuff marks on it — the head of an old, trusty hammer.

---

For a time after the near-death battle with the monstrosity of vile ink and viscera, Mish-Cheechel travelled from clan to clan and dam to dam. He made camp somewhat upriver or downriver, or in the woods, and he traded his knowledge of bear-taming for news on the Green Murder and the happenings with the clans. He followed rumours of wildlife acting out of the norm, but no matter where he went there was no sign of the Green Murder.

So far did he and Zima travel that the bjorks they met knew neither of Clan Rod nor of the Green Murder and the horrors it had committed. He did not fail to recount the terrible happening to them, and so they knew to count the Green Murder, the eagle god, as an enemy of bjorkkind. They looked at the burned great form of Mish-Cheechel and were full of horror and awe. In conversing with the wisebjorks of the many clans he crossed, a certain idea blossomed in Mish-Cheechel’s mind - the seed of which had been planted the moment the Green Murder struck those many moons ago.

“It is terrible what you say, friend Mish-Cheechel. May the gods aid you on this your quest, for the gods are good.” A wisebjork of some distant clan told him one day.

“Are they good though?” Mish-Cheechel asked - not aggressively, but rather curiously.

“Well of course they are. The Singing Maker is good, Old Bjork is good.” The wisebjork scoffed.

Mish-Cheechel picked up a twig and chewed on it for a few moments. “But the eagle god isn’t good, friend, and it’s a god.”

“Well, yes, but-”

“And if the eagle god’s a god, and the eagle god’s not good, then it’s wrong to say that the gods are good, isn’t it? The gods aren't all good, that’s a fact. In fact, how do we know that the Singing Maker’s good? How do we know, really, that Old Bjork’s good? Where were they when the Green Murder descended on us? Didn’t they care? If that’s true then they aren’t good. Couldn’t they stop it? If that’s true then how can we call them gods? If not, do they just not know what the Green Murder did? What kind of god isn’t aware of what’s happening to its creations? Say this stuff to your kits, friend, but don’t sit there and tell me that the gods are good.” Mish-Cheechel stood and glanced down the river, then sniffed and chucked his twig away. The wisebjork was silent, watching the half burned giant. “Let’s go, Zima.” Mish-Cheechel muttered, and the misty Zima followed quietly after him.

She was often quiet in those days, Zima. No longer did she zip about and laugh with mirth, taking new forms and marvelling at the world. No, she stuck to Mish-Cheechel’s side like a newborn kit to its mother, and when it came time for stopping and chatting she would float by quietly, saying little unless addressed. On the rare occasion that Mish-Cheechel found her alone, she always seemed to be drifting aimlessly. Several times he had to snap her out of whatever she was thinking about to get her back to the present, and each time she would apologize, say nothing more, and they would go about their day. Worse yet, her voice sounded haunted, no longer carrying that youthful charm. Now muted, softer, perhaps even a bit nervous, usually dazed and lost in thought at the initial start of any conversation. It seemed Bear’s death had taken a toll on her soul and it had not been filled with vengeance like his own at the loss. No, she had been filled with sadness instead.

Mish-Cheechel said nothing of the change, merely observing his companion and watching for any change. With time, however, there grew within him a conviction that Zima would not be able to handle the arduity of the warpath and had to, in some way, be sheltered from further pain. What truly terrified him, however, as he sat camped by streams and stoking fires on those cold nights, with her hanging not too far off, was how little her suffering made him feel. He remembered the moments of their confrontation against the the demon, remembered with slow detail the manner in which Bear had been gored and how broken Zima had become in that very instant, reflected on the echo of her former self that she now was, and was nearly brought to tears by the fact that he felt nothing. Nothing, that was, other than the cold rage that burned forever in his heart - and even that rage, even the fury at the loss of all whom he loved, had become a sort of cerebral wrath. He could look on it all with detached coolness, identify that he had been wronged and that vengeance was due. He could identify, in fact, that any sort of wrong necessitated vengeance; he saw all cries of vengeance as his own cries of vengeance. And for the sake of achieving that vengeance, his life, Bear’s life, Zima’s life - everything - was cheap.

And so Mish-Cheechel had come to the conviction that he had to, as a matter of some urgency, remove Zima from his company before she ended much the same way Bear had. It was as they were trekking between the endlessly tall trees of those northern forests, with Mish-Cheechel deep in thought on this very matter, that their path crossed that of the very being the manbjork and his companion were hunting.

At first it was nothing more than a green dot high up in the heavens. It flew into one of the darker clouds in the sky, which not soon after started to rain down upon the world. The green dot flew out of it again and then headed in the general direction of Mish-Cheechel, but landed about half a mile away from him on a branch overlooking the nearby river. The Green Murder was looking upstream seemingly in anticipation while it kept flexing its wings, ready to take off at any moment.

Mish-Cheechel, perhaps as it wanted, had spotted it as it streamed across the heavens, his coal-black eyes darting after it and snapping, at last, to where it disappeared into the forest canopy. He turned to Zima. “Stay here and don’t move. Do not move. If I’m not back in a few hours go back home - to your papa or whatever family you have. Don’t follow me.” And without a second word to Zima, he dashed through the trees at the riverbank and rushed stealthily from tree to tree, his eyes alone tearing the trees and his grip causing the wood of his spear to groan. Long minutes passed before his eyes alighted on the creature. The manbjork clenched his great teeth and glared at it. There was going to be no stealth about this - he was going to look it in the eye throughout.

“Come down, you slaughterer of innocents, come down you slayer of my kin. There’s blood on your claws, demon, and you’ll be made to pay!” His voice was as thunder and the birds all around and the little creature of the forest scrambled in fright away. He held his spear above his head, an open challenge, and he beat his tail against the earth like a war drum. “This chase is at an end, and if you have a shred of honour in you, you’ll meet death like a god - or better, learn from us and meet it like a bjork!”

The Green Murder glanced down slightly to see the bjork and tilted its head. For a second it looked up again, upstream, then flew down to land before the vengeful manbjork without showcasing even a shred of fear or remorse. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” It asked in perfect bjork tongue, as if it was a natural speaker.

Mish-Cheechel did not bother to respond, but stepped forward and leapt with all his might at the creature, spear drawn back and teeth clenched tight against each other. With a great exhalation, he lurched the spear, gripping it still, at the god’s head.

It would have felled any normal creature. But as for the Green Murder, it harmlessly bounced off its feathers. “Such arrogance. But it is only born out of ignorance.” It said as it moved its head even closer. “You have called me a god. Yet you fail to understand what that entails. Do you truly believe your pitiful tool could end me?”

Mish-Cheechel brought his face close too and glared into the god’s avian eyes. “Great though you are, eagle god, you have done pitiful things - and so things as pitiful as we, this spear and me, shall bring your greatness low. By small means shall I slay the greatest beings!” And with that final cry, his two black eyes were suddenly red and alight, and his entire form - his head, his arms, his body and his tail - exploded with a great roaring red flame. The flame engulfed his spear and his teeth, and he leapt forth - a blaze, a great burning flame of vengeance consuming him that it may, in so doing, consume the eagle god.

The flames raged and hissed and burned away the leaves and shrubs, ate away at the surrounding trees and were in all ways a terrible thing to feel and behold. But eventually they died down, revealing an untouched Green Murder standing amidst the firestorm’s remnants. It glanced at the spear pressed against its chest, then at the destruction that had been wrought all around. “Interesting,” it noted. Then its attention returned to the manbjork. “What do you know about pitiful? About greatness? Your life is but a speck upon this world; it is inconsequential and irrelevant.” A fallen tree that was lodged in the bed of the river beside them started to crack and groan. The current of the water was growing in strength. “What could you know of the things I have done? You name me Green Murder, for that is the only thing you know about me with any certainty. I am entrusted with powers and duties far beyond your comprehension. Abandon this futile quest for vengeance for it has failed. You failed. Go and find a better meaning to the life you still have.”

The flame-eyed manbjork, his fur as cinders and his flesh flayed by his fires, spoke through burst lips. “My life- and their life- is- not- ingownsil- TO ME. VENGEANCE DOESN’T CARE IF YOU’RE A GOD! JUSTICE FALLS ON GREAT AND SMALL ALIKE! YOU’VE KILLED; YOU’LL DIE!” And the flames in the bjork’s eyes roared once more, the spear pressed harder against the god, and all around them was a great conflagration and the hellish fury of he who bore the righteous vengeance of Clan Rod.

It was then that Zima darted into that great forest fire, rather clueless to what was transpiring. She looked between the burning Mish-Cheechel and the giant green eagle god, over and over again. Her form became agitated and then all at once with a gasp she yelled out with considerable emotion in her voice. "Mish?!" She floated towards him but stopped as his aura of flame consumed all within its radius. She floated back and forth, eyeing them. "Mish! Stop! You'll burn to death! You'll die! You'll die like BEAR! STOP!" She screamed at him to no avail.

Mish-Cheechel’s fire claimed everything around him and the Green Murder. Great trees caught fire. Their trunks groaned. One came down with a thunderous crack. It sent a blazing wind in all directions. Zima was pushed further and further back. Cinders and smoke filled the air around them but the Green Murder remained untouched. “What justice will there now be for the trees that you are burning.” She said coldly. “What justice is there for the fawn who lost their mother to the wolf? When does the rabbit enact vengeance upon the eagle?” She inched closer again with her head to Mish-Cheechel. “There is no such thing as vengeance beyond the borders of the conscious mind. Justice is an illusion.”

As she spoke, the current of the river picked up even more. A thunderous noise echoed through the low valley in which both the Green Murder and Mish-Cheechel stood. “You are about to witness true power. Before you leave this world I will give you my name. My real name. I am Phelenia. Goddess of life! Queen of all animals! Protector of nature! Creator of all the beauty in this world! You stand before the steward of both life and death.” In the distance a huge wave of water came roaring down the riverbend.

The burning Mish-Cheechel, barely distinguishable from the raging firestorm, turned with blistering gaze on the goddess and the coming deluge. He opened his great burning maw and a ripple of scorching heat swept the air before him. “ME, GREEN MURDER. I AM JUSTICE.” His voice was a torrid billow that stirred the burning forest around them even further. “I AM VENGEANCE! I AM MISH-CHEECHEL, AND YOU- WILL- WEEP- MY- NAME!” And then he raised a still-burning spear above him as the deluge crashed towards them, and a single blazing eye fixated on Zima. “ZIMA!” He growled. “ON ME!”

There came a moment of hesitation from the spirit. She looked to Mish-Cheechel, to the Green Murder, to the flames, to the approaching water, then stopped and stared at the burning spear. Whatever was going on inside her mind in that moment was a mystery, as her features became blank. Then she roared and leaped into the inferno. She exuded cold to protect herself but still she screamed, whether out of pain or frustration none could tell but she found her mark upon the spear and upon it - within it - she lay claim. Its flames licked her and her chill burst forth like the mighty crack of an iceberg, and thus the flames became a bright blue.

The frostfire licked at Mish-Cheechel’s blazing skin, kissed his blistered and torn lips and sent a refreshing breath of coolest air into his two vast lungs. His blazing flame-red eyes did not cool, but his flame met the flame of Zima and all was perfect harmony and concord. Served hot, revenge burned all things; and so in that very moment - with his fiery eyes on the Green Murder - Mish-Cheechel learned that vengeance was a dish best served cold. He gnashed his teeth and felt ice pulverise between them, and he lurched his arm back even as he stepped forth, and with all the might and power he could conceive of launched the spear-that-was-Zima upon the Green Murder even as the goddess’ cascading water froze up before swiftly joining the great frostfire storm. The waters that promised death mere seconds before exploded all at once and the baleful grip of burning ice most unnatural spread everywhere.

Zima the Spear's scream echoed throughout the land as she tore through the fabric of the world. She ate icy flame and frost alike as the spear lacerated the stuff that air was made of on her unfailing trajectory for the very heart - what heart! Dead, hardened stone! - of the eagle god.

When the steam and cinder and frostfire cleared up at last, Mish-Cheechel could see that Zima the Spear had pierced an inch into the chest of the goddess in her eagle form - something that left even the goddess visibly surprised. The roaring water of the flood was coursing around them. With a wing she pushed away the frozen spear and it shattered when it hit the ground. A drop of divine ichor bled out of the wound. For the first time in her life the goddess felt the pang of pain, real pain! And it summoned such fury within her.

“Your name,” she said slowly, though she said each word with pure venom, “is Mish-Cheechel.” She was looming over him now. Her green eagle form cast a great shadow over him as well. He was not worthy of basking in the light of her Father. He was not worthy to stand on His world. She leaned forward, and his unblinking, coal-black eyes hovered on the bleeding wound then met hers - there was almost a smile on his lips, a laugh in those coals. “Know that you. Are. Nothing.” With those words of pure hate spoken, she raised her claw and she rent his bjorkish form open like she had done to the kit on that fateful day oh so many moons ago. But it did not satiate her. Like an eagle she shrieked and screamed and kept clawing until there was nothing left of his body but a bloodied mess.

And as she flew up, away from the scene, her will upon the water vanished and both the shattered spear and the remnants of the manbjork were swept away.

The Green Murder flew over the flood wave traveling downstream, letting all the bjorks know that this was her divine punishment for their deafness to her words.

A bitter wind began to blow down from the north as the flood raged, bringing ominous clouds that foretold only one thing; a blizzard was coming...

• Summary [+]

  Mish-Cheechel spreads the wonders of domesticating bears and other animals all over the place, in exchange for news about the clans and in hopes of getting information about the Green Murder. He also spreads knowledge of the Green Murder and its terrible crimes to such clans he passes as don’t know of the COMING GREEN GENOCIDE.
  He also sits around contemplating how he feels nothing! Nothing but cold rage! But even that rage is now a sorta detached rage. Zima, meanwhile, is seriously traumatised. Mish comes to the conviction that she’s not made for this sort of thing and he needs to send her off home.
  
  Anyway, before he can get to that, they cross paths with- you guessed it, THE GREEN MURDER! So they’re sorta talking but fighting, but also shouting, but really going all ham, but also making jibes. So Mish isn’t having any of this and sets himself on fire. Phelenia is like, bro, I AM A GOD.
  
  Mish is a bit stubborn tho, so he sets himself alight again, but MORE. Then Zima comes screaming and things get exciting. Phelenia SUMMONS THE RIVER AGAINST THEM. But Mish and Zima don’t even care man, they’re in the ZONE. They do a really cool power-rangers morphing move and BANG, Zima possesses the fire spear, turning Mish’s VENGEANCE FLAMEs into baleful FROSTFIRE. Spear goes flying, Phelenia feels it; that’s gonna scar. And poof, Zimzim dies. :C
  
  So, after all that, Mish is all worn out and Phelenia just kills him like his son and lets the flood take their remains away.
• Vigour [+]

  Phelenia Start Vigor: 2
  - 1: Create a flood in a river
  Phelenia End Vigor:1
• Spirit [+]

  Zima: 13 Spirit
  

  +1 for featuring
  +1 for collab
  +1 for 10+ paragraphs
  +1 for 25+ paragraphs
  +4 for completing significant mission of finding the Green Murder!
  -21 to brave the fires of vengeance, become the blue spear of frostfire, and deal a most grievous blow to a god.
  (Then subsequently die)
  
  0 Spirit remaining.

  
  
  Mish-Cheechel: 6 Spirit
  

  +1 for featuring
  +1 for collab
  +1 for 10+ paragraphs
  +1 for 25+ paragraphs
  +4 for completing significant mission of finding the Green Murder!
  (6+8=14)
  -1 Spirit on GREAT VENGEANCE FIREBALL JUTSU!
  -3 Spirit on EVEN GREATER MORE VENGEFUL FIRESTORM JUTSU
  -10 Spirit on FIRE BALLISTA STYLE: GREAT ICEFIRE ZIMA-SPEAR OF MUCH KILLING JUTSU!
  He dead, no moh spirit!

Marshal Orzen rode up towards where a band were grazing their herd. His spear felt heavier in his hand today. Someone had saw him coming, and the band-leader came out to greet him. He carried a long stick, used to help herd animals and scare off wild animals, however at his age he had used it more to support himself as he walked. He was followed behind by four men, one wielding a spear.

Performing the customary greeting, Orzen locked hands with the band-leader. The marshal nodded his head twice to signal that the other felt joy. In return, the band-leader blinked twice to signal he felt fear, "What troubles you, marshal?"

Two of the men following the band-leader walked around the group, and took the steed away to be tend to. After he watched to make sure they weren't being rough with his horse, he turned back to the elder and answered, "The nation-leader sent me. There has been word that there been intruder attacks in this area. Have you anything unusual, or has anyone new joined your band?"

After a glance from the band-leader, the story-teller step forward. "Two travelers from the south joined us. We ensured that they had did not bleed the foul blood of the intruders. They were separated from the rest of their band by weather and wild animals in the Night Territory. They said shortly before it happen, a beam of light burst from the group and struck the sky. But we all well know that intruders and strange occurrences are common there. Let us thank the ancestors that those two survived the long journey by themselves."

When she said that, every did lower their heads for a moment in reflection. Aftward, Orzen turned his focus back to the story-teller expectedly and she continued, "I must admit that I have not heard about any nearby threats, however we have only recently moved to this area from further east."

Orzen nodded, splitting his attention between the herd-leader and story-teller, "Before I continue to pursue the intruder issue, is there anything else that needs to be addressed?"

The elder tapped his staff against the ground before replying, "It is nothing urgent, but should you find the time could you spread the word that our Gurov band is in need of lumber? We have spare yarn clothe in exchange."

Wool was rather valuable. A small amount of wool could reasonably be exchanged for a large amount of timber, more than most bands this far west would carry. Raw sheep hair was rather plentiful, and was exchanged for a pittance. However it required giving a skilled artisan a sizable amount of time in order to shape it something more than stuffing for your sleeping hide. He wasn't going to pursue the matter. Several bands were as suspicious of the Wooded Territory as the Night Territory.

He nodded in agreement, before turning to the man with the spear, "I presume you are the chief hunter?"

The huntsman nodded. Orzen continued, "Can I ask that you organize your best trackers, and a slinger or two if you have one."

The hunter nodded again, and walked off.

The band-leader ushered him towards the rest of the band, "I am sure that it was a long journey to reach us, I insist that you eat with us and rest before doing something dangerous on our behalf."

Orzen could hardly refuse. While eating, he spoke with the two survivors from the south. They were brother and sister, originally apart of the Four-horn Culture. Apparently, their marshal was harsh on them because the brother refused to fight against his fellow Eidolon. While they didn't compel him directly, the two began to be mistreated. His brother was targeted because his affinity for the sling. He seemed like a good person, and he said that he was excited because his sling would kill a monster instead of another person. It was good that he escaped that senseless violence and joined the Zelen.

He was offered an additional serving, as where everyone who was going out to hunt the intruder. He placed the dried meat in a pouch. The others prodded him about it, but it was not uncommon. A marshal can be alone with their horse for days, and a good one would be prepared.

The Night Lord presence fell upon the ground, and Orzen was the first to sleep. The herd-leader was correct that it was a large journey to reach here, and he expected it might be longer still.

---

Pride gazed into the large fire looming before her, and felt its warmth seep into her, filling her with otherworldly vigor and joy. The Eternal Fire shed its light upon the sleeping humans gathered and the lone champion watching over them, all gathered around it, as it protected them from the great shadows that skulked in the edges of the vast hall.

Time had passed since Homura had departed with her two sisters to deliver more of her kin to another deity, and another day had passed after Tuku had visited and promised to return. Pride patiently awaited when both would come back, and she could stop worrying about what may happen when the god and goddess would finally meet. Hopefully they would not fight, neither seemed like they would be hostile to each other, the small champion thought to herself.

Her gaze wandered to the two dreaming champions of Tuku, and she hoped that even if their makers could not get along, such would not be the case for their creations. Pride looked down to the egg atop the orb, both resting on her lap, and she preoccupied herself with imagining what a bird is, and what it might look like, sound like.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of far away steps, deep and echoing, as well as familiar. Pride sighed as she caressed the egg, and waited for the red goddess to arrive. She did not have to wait long, as soon the resonant footfall came to a halt. Shortly afterward came Homura, followed by Wanderer and Curiosity, striding towards the small champion with purpose.

“Welcome home, sisters. Welcome, Goddess of Honor, Highest Judge of the King in Heaven.” Pride hastily set down the egg and orb beside her, and then bowed to those that had entered the hall.

Curiosity let out gleeful gasp as she was greeted by the small champion, and looked to her Wanderer beside her. “Is she going to say that every time we come back, you think?” She asked.

Homura held up a hand before Wanderer could answer, and her attention was focused upon the two sleeping forms of Griph and Suyai. “You have had company since we left, Pride?”

“Your brother visited. He said he’d be back today, and wanted to speak with you. I ask that you refrain from fighting him while my kin sleep peacefully in these halls.”

Homura stepped forth, approaching the two champions of Tuku, and examined them closely. After a moment of quiet observation, while Pride was being assailed by her two sisters, the red goddess turned and settled her gaze on her own creations.

“Then we shall wait and see what my brother has to say.” Homura said, and approached the Eternal Fire as her champions stepped aside. Her hand reached out, and the flames flickered differently in reaction to the close proximity of the divine.

At that moment, the sound of a sharp cut echoed through the chamber, far from anyone, out of thin air. It was quickly followed by the sound of someone landing on the ground. The figure of Tuku had suddenly appeared among them, sheathing a raw energy knife as they stood up. ”Ah. Seems I have been late. I am sorry. I was summoned to some duties by father.” they could have moved in other ways, but after a battle the god just did not desire to have to deal with the suffocating hallways of the citadel again.
”Hello again Pride. And you must be Homura. Greetings. I have been searching for you, sister.” the god approached her in a casual fashion, assuming without much basis that she was not that different from Pride.

Homura turned to face the newest arrival, and proceeded to bow. Her three champions followed with respectful inclinations to the God of the Hunt as well.

“I am Homura. It is a pleasure to meet you, Tuku, Master of the Hunt.” The red goddess said as she straightened and smiled softly.

“Welcome back, your grace.” Pride said as well.

Homura studied his steps, and demeanor as he approached, keeping a tight hold of the golden spear in her hand, ready to fight, despite her inviting smile and welcoming words. The two champions beside Pride watched Tuku with awe, having seen the God of the Hunt for the first time, and remained quiet.

The movement did not go unnoticed but it did go unanswered. ”Have you ever been to the eastern continent Homura? To the lands some gods call Orsus? Beautiful land, but lacking in sentient life. It is of my interest to change that, even if those untamed lands will never be quite as populous as these.” the god of the hunt skipped the chase and went directly to their point, standing right in front of the warrior goddess.

“I assume Pride has informed you of my intentions. As Master of the Hunt, you are welcome to claim as many humans as you deem necessary. I unfortunately have not had the opportunity to visit this Orsus yet. The lands and seas nearby have taken much of my time, and Galbar is so large that it will undoubtedly take me so much longer before I have truly explored all of it.”

Tuku nodded ”Oh we did talk a lot about the topic and she explained it all to me quite well despite my rude behavior at first. She received all my questions and even a few of my worries over how you have been binding these batches of humans to this or that god. Last we discussed, and the impasse we reached, was transport. I plan to bring a hundred thousand to the east and I have the method to travel but not the method to haul. Apparently you have been using these giant things, but Pride did not know how to operate one, thus, I was asked to wait till today.”

“I can deliver your humans to the land across the sea, but it shall require some time and patience, as I have been delayed in my task by our brother, Apostate. He has challenged me to a duel, and also requested humans of his own. I promised that I would deliver his gifts two days from now.” Homura began to walk around the large bonfire, leaving her three champions behind.

”In all honesty, I have no idea who that is. But I will not bother you too much. There is something I wanted to show you, something that makes it possible for your… colossus, to make the trip without the sun moving more than a little bit in the sky. It's a secret of mine, something I discovered in my tracking of prey and what not, but I thought sharing it with you might be a way to repay you for granting me a family in the form of those two that sleep by the fire.” the god explained.

“Is this a method mortals can learn?” Homura asked.

”Indeed. The first one to cross it was not a god nor a man, it was a measly tiny rat. Walked straight from Orsus to the source of Mana in the south pole, back in the same day.” the god looked away from the fire, focusing on the distant dark sky. ”However. Even I can only truly traverse it with my knife and walking staff in hand, one to break the barrier and the other to show me the paths. The rat traveled carrying a relic of mine that shone a light at the correct paths.”

“Hmm…” The red goddess had walked the perimeter of the bonfire and had returned while considering what Tuku had said. “I am afraid I struggle to understand all of what you have described. This method of transportation requires an artifact then?”

”Think of it as a forest in a mountain path at a stormy night. Not truly blocked off, but you’d have to be insane to go in unprepared.” the god turned back after skygazing. ”My desire is to make a monument to serve as an entrance and map through this path, from here, all the way to the other side of the ocean. Those that are well prepared and with the necessary skills would be able to use it.”

“So be it. You wish to forge this monument here then? Or elsewhere?” Homura asked, and glanced towards Curiosity and Wanderer. “You two begin carrying the promised humans onto the colossi.” She ordered, and the champions hastily departed with swift bows and words of farewell. Pride stood still, attentively holding her gifted egg and orb.

The god nodded. ”To be completely honest, this building, this Citadel, to me, is incredibly unsightly, but that is my personal view and I am not the only view of this world. Its qualities are true, this can be seen even in the other side, I do not know how this was made but it must have been quite violent for it to influence the fissure. In those dark paths this area shines like a lighthouse, so perhaps… I thought it would be good to make this the first entrance, so those who get lost and unsure can always turn back and avoid greater harm” he said as he knelt and started to survey the ground of the area, looking from the wall to the fire, seeing how the lights danced around it.

“If this is how you wish to transport the humans you have been given, then I do not object. Do you have any objections, Pride?” Homura inquired, looking between Tuku and the small champion.

Pride found herself startled by the question, certain that neither deity would bother asking her opinion. “Hmm… Keltra is certainly lacking proper décor, but I’d like it if such a monument was built here. I can see its usefulness.” She said, then both her and her maker looked to Tuku, awaiting his answer.

”I am sorry… I guess the word monument gives a different idea, no?” the god sighed, having prepared a small stone pillar, about half the size of a standing man if not lower. ”Hopefully you are not too disappointed, dear Pride, but it is ready.” they stood back and showed the altar of grey stone, it seemed to not hold any particular power? At least it didn’t seem to open any gate to the between world or whatever the god of the hunt had been babbling about.

“How does it activate?” Pride asked as she approached the altar to closely examine it. Her round eyes widened with wonder, and looked to the God of Hunt for an explanation.

The god seemed to smile under the mask, he approached her and pointed at the shadow that was cast against the red wall by the pillar. ”Observe.” they grabbed a small metal object from a bag, something called a “key”, most keys would be used by inserting then into a lock, but this one, was merely left atop the altar. As that was done, there was a rush of cold wind into the room, humid and with smells unlike those of this land, the shadow of the pillar turned darker and deeper until it felt like there was nothing left of the wall, only the shadow.

Tuku approached it and grabbed at the side of that shadow door, taking one step into the dark and nodding as it seemed their design worked. ”Come take a peek. Don’t worry, you won’t fall.” he told Pride.

Stepping farther away from the light of the Eternal Fire, and into the umbral stretch beyond, Pride followed Tuku, and looked at the dark door before her. “I wouldn’t fall, you know.” She whispered, evidently trepid, but attempting to appear stoically unfazed by what she saw.

The door itself wasn’t dark, it was the world beyond it that was, a boundaryless expanse of darkness, yet, it was not a complete void. Colorful shining root-like tendrils crossed the land from horizon to horizon, maintaining their vibrance despite the lack of light. Sounds were muffled and echoed through the void like howls, and looking back, she would see that the Eternal Fire was now a blurred image, the flames dancing in a sluggish manner, as if time out there was slightly slower.



“It’s cold, but not… bad.” The small champion commented, walking farther and farther, looking at the strange sights so unfamiliar to her. She found herself drawn to the roots, and leaned close to one of the unknown life, sniffing it.

“My name is Pride, what's yours?” She asked, speaking to the colorful vegetation.

As Pride attempted to greet the root, she would almost hear it talking back, each had such a unique texture, from sandy and brittle to cold and porcelain-like, they each whispered in winds that carried their own smell, the wet smell of a rainy jungle and the wetter still smell of ocean trenches full of life. There were small vibrations that could be felt, the heartbeats of countless creatures moving by, young vigorous beats, old worried beats, and sometimes she would feel the familiar fire of a living human. With all this, it was almost as if these roots were looking back at her and saying something, outside, its voice was too faint and spread out, but here it was all condensed, and one could almost tell it wanted to tell her “Hello, I am The Galbar”.

Tuku meanwhile was a bit startled that she was trying to talk to it as if it was a friend, the god had never had the time to stop and hear the roots like Pride just had, he brushed it off as just cute childish behavior, not realizing that their ways of assuming too much as an adult was what was wrong here. ”I don’t know exactly how this came to be, but it seems to have been formed as gods arrives and shaped the land, entire continents and seas were moved at once, mana stormed through the land and divine power drowned the world as it shaped each and every detail of it. In this whole process, some of the land, mana and power moved in the wrong direction, not up or down, not left or right, not forward and backward, it crossed a boundary and ended up here.”

They pointed back to where they had arrived, the door back to the normal world, though from this distance it was possible to get a better overlook of how Keltra shone in this dark world, the shadow reflection of the brick walls were overgrown with shining red vines, that spread outward and connected to the roots. The god wasn’t lying when they said it was easy to see it from within this between-world. ”I can’t quite explain how it formed this web, but it did, and it connects the world together. It's easy to find areas a god has shaped, especially if they did it with great power.”

Pride smiled softly as she listened to the ethereal music the roots shared with her, before her gaze wandered to the bright walls of her home. “You said Keltra was unsightly, your grace. Is it because the stone there doesn’t sing? I can hear the serenade of the sea and the song of Kel-Phelena from afar, but the walls and keep are always silent... I don’t know why.”

She looked back upon the seemingly endless horizon, as the luminous roots spread far and wide, leading into the unknown world. She was enraptured with its beauty, and yearned to see what awaited her beyond, but she could not leave her kin behind. She could not leave Keltra abandoned and unguarded.

"Keltra was built on ideals of eternity, to withstand time and decay. Nothing wrong with it, I guess, but to an extreme such earnest steadfastness can go against the natural flow of things." they then looked at the void along with Pride. "We should go back, gather the others and the humans."

Pride followed the Master of the Hunt back through the doorway and into the huge halls of the keep, where Homura had waited for them. There were less sleeping humans arranged around the bonfire, Curiosity and Wanderer having come and gone, carrying them to the three colossi.

The stern gaze of the red goddess peered beyond her champion and her brother, at the otherworldly realm behind them. “Could you tell me more about Orsus and our siblings that are found there?” She asked Tuku.

” It is centered around a great mountain chain that makes it possible for the continent to have many types of climates, most of them occupied by dense forests inhabited by fierce beasts. It is a rough land, shaped by many gods but always steered towards being nature at its most majestic, not most tamable. Still, most of it is inhabitable by people who can prove their worth, why, there are already sentient beings in there, including an off-shoot of Humans, the elves, of Zenia... “

The god side glanced as if the dancer was to be found around the corner, before sharing a bit of gossip. ” Not to be rude but, their situation is exactly what made me desire to oversee this exchange myself. Humans too bound to a god, it worries me for the future but there are worries even for the here and now, as many seem outright incapable of even feeding themselves without divine intervention”

” The only area where I am afraid sentients will never take root is the core of Orsus, the eternal wildlands. It’s a shifting land that can at times be a forest under blizzards and other times a hot steaming swamp, it is meant to test hunters and be my personal hunting ground, the land itself repelling, hmm, let’s say unworthy poaching?”

“Zenia has turned her humans into elves? They are incapable of feeding themselves? This is troubling indeed. You are the God of the Hunt, and humans are innate hunters. I ask that you teach them, and guide them, so that they do not stray from the Sacred Path.” As Homura spoke, her champions returned, accompanied by another champion identical in appearance to Homura, aside from the blue amulet she wears around her neck.

“Brother, this is Kindness, and the other two you had previously met are Curiosity and Wanderer. They foolishly forgot to introduce themselves before.” Homura said, as Kindness bowed, and her two twin sisters hesitantly copied her.

“An honor to meet you, your grace.” Kindness offered, her voice quiet and sorrowful. She arose from her bow, and looked at the God of Hunt with lifeless eyes, and then proceeded to walk towards the nearest sleeping human and easily lifted the still being in her arms.

Wanderer and Curiosity did the same, and stopped when Homura struck the ground with the end of her golden spear. A ringing sound echoed throughout the keep.

“What are the three of you doing?” The red goddess spoke softly, but her voice was as sharp as the weapon she wielded. It penetrated the air, and pierced them.

“We’re, uh, moving our brothers and sisters… like you asked.” Curiosity answered, and looked nervously to her sisters for assistance. Kindness kept still, as inanimate as the dormant vessel she held. Wanderer only offered her a useless gesture with her free hand, signalling Curiosity was on her own.

“You waste time continuing that way. Carry them upon a slab. It will be much faster.” Homura stated, and struck the floor once more. It was only slightly less loud.

From afar, the red walls groaned as they rippled and shifted like the waves washing along the shore, until they parted and a massive opening that led to the south shore was made. At the freshly created entrance, a familiar stone slab awaited the three champions.

“Could you not have done that sooner!” Curiosity exclaimed, while Wanderer shook her head with frustration. The three champions set off towards the slab, bringing the sleeping kin they carried with them.

Homura nodded towards Tuku, and gestured towards the two sleeping champions that had been left untouched. “I am curious; why have you kept those infused with your being in such a state?” She asked.

Tuku looked at them and then sighed. ”They are reflections of my own being, infused with all of my essences. However, I do not desire for them to experience divinity, and matters of divinity, I want them to live like mortals and mingle among them. This first generation of mortals… they are still too close to us, they saw gods with their own eyes and hear their words in their own mind. When generations come to pass, when the first humans are born from the land and are put to rest in the land, when mortals create roots with this world, that is when they will awake. Until then, I will leave them sleeping in the deep wilds, waiting to be found.” the god explained.

”Also, about the elves and whatnot. You do not have to worry as I am aware of the issue. This is why my gift to these humans will not be a gift of my own making, but I will bring forth all the knowledge of the animals who cross the lands and give them a sample of that. I want them to feel as if such wisdom was earned not whispered by a god, to know that if animals could learn to survive in the land by themselves, so can they. he explained to his sister.

“You would shun your humans? Teach them to ignore the divine? I do not understand; surely you are not suggesting that they should abandon the Sacred Path?” Homura spoke with disbelief and tilted her head in confusion as she looked at the God of the Hunt.

The god stood eerily still for a moment, then slowly turned to face, no, stare at Homura. ”No.” the god simply declared, she was wrong and at first he didn’t care to explain. ”Look. We are gods they are mortals, the way we perceive the world may as well be as distant as that of the flying bird and the diving fish. Brute force, sister, is not the way to do certain things.” a certain sense of deja vu filled Tuku Llantu’s mind.

”You cannot drag them kicking and screaming into what you call ‘the path’. Not only will you end either with the tame and coddled like the elves, or worse, you might end up creating resentment. I do not understand the point, what is the worth of mortals if all we are to do is to brute force them to do as we wish? To me, this is equal to skipping the hunt, just summoning the already cut and cooked meat. I want these mortals to find me through their own effort, not because I glued their eyes to me, otherwise, sister, I would need little more than puppets without will.

“Brute force? Skipping the hunt? I do not coerce my creations, nor do I advocate slothful behavior. I am the Goddess of Honor, and a servant of the King in Heaven, therefore I am bound to these mortals and they are bound to me. Cooked meat? I cannot believe you would compare the journey upon the Sacred Path to something so profane and perverse.” The small goddess flared with red radiance, her eyes ablaze with cold fires burning, as she stood close and ignored the difference in their height forcing her to look upward.

“You are God of the Hunt. You seek your prey with the utmost devotion. You overcome the greatest of monsters. You do not turn your gaze away from that which you seek. The Hunt is sacred. I have seen too many of our kin taint it by suffering a mortal affliction. They surrender to their enemy, and lay their throats bare before that which frightens them, like cowards. Do not say that you will retreat. Do not say that you will perpetuate this cycle that will lead to our destruction. Please.” Homura’s shouts became filled with anger, she shook with rage, but desperation and despair festered within her, and she found herself pleading with her brother.

The hunter god continued to be still, any intentions permanently masked. ”Incredible, I did not expect us to have a third seer sibling. I have been going to extreme efforts to make coexistence possible, putting myself in harm’s way to stand at the frontier between conflicting ideas, do not take me for a fool nor insult me saying my viewpoint is what will lead to conflict, because I believe the opposite. Our siblings grow too attached, too bound, each driven to their own little corner of the world, their little kingdoms full of little people who praise and worship then, small delusional worlds custom made for their ideals. What will happen when these worlds touch, dead sister? What will happen when humans who only know one god meet humans who only know another god? Gods seem so far less able to solve conflict than mortals, less fear of hurt, less knowledge of death, you say a few words and they start burning with rage and suspicion.” Tuku wasn’t even trying to hide the sheer disgust in his tone now.

Then they sighed, and looked up. ”I cannot stop you. At the moment you are stronger than me in my prime, and I am far from that, had a busy few days, was hunting a god slaying leviathan with our father, took a lot out of me. Not that I think such frivolous matters are the concern of someone who is oh so worried about safekeeping this world, so I will skip the details. If you say I cannot take these humans, I will not, and so gone will be my plans of a land of thriving free folk, of free nations not bound to a god but free to worship the whole pantheon, of people who the gods will have to make themselves worthy of worship instead of binding their very survival upon it. Your call really sister, I have nothing to offer in bargain.”

“You speak unfairly. I was not called upon by our Lord to fight. You also contradict yourself, claiming to seek harmony when you isolate yourself from the mortals. This is wrong. However, I also agree with you. Our siblings have been poisoning the minds and bodies of all life on Galbar. Resentment will fester, and it will lead to conflict. Our names will only be curses upon mortal lips. I seek to prevent this.” She looks down at her hand, peering at the palm, along her fingers, the hand of a goddess shaped like a mortal’s.

“We have a responsibility. Our strength. Our knowledge. We can guide mortals along the Sacred Path, and find what awaits us together. Or… we can create a world where our names have been forgotten, and mortals are consumed by greed and hatred.” She shook her head, the thought of such a world sickening her. Hurting her far worse than any attack could. She looked back up at the God of the Hunt.

“You have protected this world from annihilation. I count you among my kin, and I love you, brother. Humanity does not belong to me, they belong to our Lord, as we all do. However, I would hope that you offer your wisdom to them. I cannot stop you either.” Homura found emotion had left her voice, and her words felt hollow. She could not find herself hoping that any among the Divine truly cared for Galbar and its inhabitants. She would proceed on her journey mechanically and impassive, as conviction and passion would not sway any.

The words did have an effect on the god of the hunt, who rubbed their temples with one hand and held up a grunt. ”Sister. You know what is the most infuriating part of you? That you are not hateable like some of our siblings. Your soul shine with good intentions, despite the fact you are such an unfathomable brat. I love you too, a bit.” They threw the hand back, over their shoulder. ”But I think you understood it all wrong, I will not exile myself, never said I would, I just… look, yes we have our strength, our knowledge, but what about them? What about mortalking’s own strength, their own knowledge. It isn’t worthless, right? I have not forsaken mortals, I have been teaching a few under my direct tutelage, bound to me by oath. I just don’t want to be a god-governor of the east, daddy to all the mortals there, because sincerely that isn’t what I want to do and that isn’t what they need.”

They stepped back, relaxing their posture. ”I guess it isn’t the time yet to talk about this. The world is too young and comparatively mortalkind is barely an embryo. There will come a time, after we both meet our fair share of failures, that this conversation will make sense. Until then, well, this topic will just bring anguish.” they looked around the fire, finally stopping to stare. ”Just... you know, don’t go about trying to plant a whole forest before you have even nursed a single plant. Try to step back from thoughts of world conflict a bit sometimes, okay? Once I was so focused on aiming at a distant deer, that I missed one that was grazing right by my side.”

“I once allowed myself to believe that I had become paranoid, and required relaxation. I chose to temporarily ignore the coming conflict, and calamity struck. I have already failed, and two-hundred thousand seeds will never grow because of my complacency. I have lost two of my heralds, another mistake, and then there is the accursed kinslayer among the Divine. I have been a fool for too long…” Homura blinked, and swayed. She stumbled forward, then stepped back, but couldn’t balance herself and fell onto the floor.

Pride, who had remained silent as the deities spoke, dashed forwards as fast as her little legs could carry her. “What’s wrong?” She called out, and kneeled beside the seated goddess that stared blankly forward. Tuku followed along, if they had regretted this conversation before now they truly felt like it had gone to all the wrong places, they stayed behind Pride, letting the creation of Homura handle their own goddess.

The sound of a stone wheel grinding against the earth was heard from the entrance of the keep, as the trio of champions tasked with transportation of the sleeping humans returned. They stopped at the sight of the two deities and their sister, but did not intervene when Pride held up a hand, silently ordering them to stay back.

“Your grace, you’ve fallen? Tell us what’s wrong, please.” The small champion asked, glancing between her maker and the hunter with confusion.

“I killed them. I let them die, and it is my fault.” Homura said, her voice filled with regret and bitterness. “I am not a goddess. I am a devil that only offers empty promises. Only lies.”

Pride shook her head, and let out a sigh of frustration. “And you think I’m a child. You said it yourself, our sisters will come back. I don’t know about the others, but you’ve protected us so far. So please stand. You look like a coward, whimpering like that, your grace.”

“What happened?” Curiosity asked, and Wanderer whacked the back of her sister’s head.

“We cannot offer you salvation, for we bring only torment and a premature demise to your kind. I fought to protect you all, but I am the poison that threatens existence.” Homura continued, speaking mostly to herself, it seemed.

Her champions contemplated their predicament, pondering solutions between each other as they communicated with small gestures and expressions alone. Kindness remained still, while Curiosity and Wanderer continued their task. Pride looked to Tuku with slight shame.

“It seems our Maker needs a nap. If there’s anything we can do to assist you, please let us know.” Pride proclaimed, and gestured with a tilt of her head for Kindness to approach. The quiet champion stood nearby, ready to help.

The god merely answered by petting the head of the young champion. ”It is fine. Once again, I can wait if necessary. I should not have pushed this topic.” they explained, before moving away and resting their back against the nearest wall.

Pride frowned slightly upon being treated like a child, and sighed once more. “Kindness could you carry her… somewhere? Take her back to the colossi, I suppose. She needs rest.”

Kindness leaned down and attempted to lift the goddess, but Homura stood up and marched out of the keep on her own. Neither Pride nor Kindness said anything to stop her from leaving. Curiosity paused as she watched her maker depart.

“It’s not your fault.” The inquisitive champion said to nobody in particular, before resuming the process of loading her slumbering kin upon the stone slab.

---

Time passed, as Wanderer and Curiosity came back and forth, over and over again until the vast hall was almost devoid of sleeping humans near the entrance. Curiosity found herself idly commenting on mundane happenings, and conversed with both the dreamers and her sister, though the two remained equally silent throughout the interaction.

Pride found herself standing beside Kindness, holding her sister’s hand, and looking to the doorway where Homura exited from. No words were spoken while they waited for the return of the goddess. The light of the Goddess of Honor had vanished during the day, and she could not be found.

Throughout the darkness of the night, the champions worked, and the fields of Keltra were illuminated by the radiance of Daybringer and arrival of the red goddess that stood atop the wall. Homura watched while her champions slowly completed their task, but kept to herself when they would look to where she perched herself.

Finally, Curiosity and Wanderer returned without the slab, and looked to the God of Hunt and their two sisters. “It’s done!” Curiosity exclaimed, and Wanderer nodded in agreement.
“We await your command, your grace.” Pride said to Tuku.

The god nodded and stepped forward after staying still for almost the whole previous day. ”Take me to them, I will open a portal of enough size, should be easy now that the monument created a permanent opening. It should be a quick ride despite the distance thanks to my shortcut.” they explained and waited to be guided, readying up their hand over the knife that looked like solid energy.

Pride looked to Kindness, she approached the quiet champion and held her hand. “I will be heading out for a bit, could you watch over Keltra and our Maker while I am gone, please.”

Her sister simply nodded, and Pride smiled with joy. Her gaze turned to the egg and orb she had placed near the bonfire, and knew that they would be well protected in her absence. She was eager to actually see the colossi herself, after only hearing their tumultuous passage and seeing a section of one briefly through the opening Homura had created in the wall.

Curiosity and Wanderer bowed to Tuku once more. “If you’ll follow us then, your grace.”

The two champions led the god and their small sister to the three colossi that stood outside the walls of Keltra, like statues that rose from the red sea. Their massive forms were connected to the shore via sturdy bridges that allowed the champions to carry the stone slab laden with the sleeping humans back and forth.

When the group passed through the rift in the wall, the bridges began burning, until ash drifted in the air, and slowly merged with the three machines. Afterwards, Curiosity grinned with excitement and turned to Tuku.

“We can direct the colossi to wherever you need them to go.” She said with enthusiasm.

The god nodded, “Then get ready, once I make the cut, simply move forward, from up here it will hard to see, but don’t worry, you will know when you cross the barrier, as Pride can attest” the god would normally rush about but they took their time, leaving plenty of room for the champions to get ready before they jumped from up the “head” of the colossi, dagger in hand, and dove down apparently cutting at the air itself. A faint pillar of blurry light and a cold wind could be felt by the champions but it was unclear for all but Pride what Tuku had really done.

Curiosity was the first to direct her colossus forward, and the massive machine stepped towards the light. Like passing through an unseen curtain, the champion and colossus passed through the barrier and vanished. There was nothing that indicated where they had gone, and only the crashing waves of the sea where they had been were signs that they had even existed.

Wanderer followed after, striking the forward point of the crown, and directing her colossus to pass through as well, disappearing as well. Pride stood beside her, watching as her silent sister hit the pillar again, and again, learning how she controlled the colossus.

The two colossi would safely move into that world of darkness, most of the roots being large enough to support the massive machines with some room to spare. The image of the shore, blurry and with slowly crashing waves, stayed visible a bit more before vanishing into darkness, though the tangle of shining red roots that was Keltra as well as the door was still visible, as Tuku intended.

The god for his part had quickly climbed back to one of the collosi, raising his staff, he planned the route ahead since they would need to only traverse wide enough roots. ”We will be following the turquoise path for the moment, do not worry, this is probably one of the safest methods of travel in all of The Galbar, if you listen to me. Slow steps, I don’t know if these giants can be rushed but I don’t want to risk damaging whatever these roots are.”

Curiosity and Wanderer gazed upon the new realm with wonder in their eyes, the inquisitive champion looked to the God of the Hunt. “The colossi won’t step on the plants here, will they? We still haven’t learned how to hold the Incantation of Sending for very long, and we can’t affect the colossi yet.” She asked, questioning the risk of safety of those in their way..

The god shook his head. ”It looks like a plant yet it is far denser than most rocks, the weight of the colossi won’t be a problem if it takes one step at a time.” they added, laying on their side atop the machine now, far more at home here among the dark and the echoing howling ‘wind’ than at Keltra, that was for sure.

“Slow and steady it is.” Curiosity said as she began the process of leading the colossus forward, and the second one followed once more. The two titans moved slowly, as slow as two mountain-sized creatures could go, and their journey through the umbral land had begun.

As they traveled, Pride and Wanderer started to sing, and the sound of their voices reached far and clear across the otherworldly realm. Curiosity smiled to herself, and wondered what awaited them beyond the sea of shadows, at the end of the turquoise path. Tuku meanwhile would from time to time raise their staff and clink it against the colossi itself, taking note and then returning to rest calmly. The group would march past a maze of blue and green roots, always staying true to the path Tuku selected whenever the roots started to tangle, one time a cloud of darkness overtook them, making the path foggy for a little while, though the god, still with the divine pathfinding staff, merely guided then past it with ease.

Finally, the turquoise path started to thin up, the colors around then started to flourish again, and, off in the far horizon, a brilliant white fog could be seen. ”That is where I live, the fog exists both here and in the real world, quite interesting. I would invite you there for a feast but I know your time is short… and I am not sure the Colossi would do well in the fog. Still, don’t be strangers, you three.” he stood up and clinked the staff. ”Our trusty path is getting too thin and slippery, let's see… there, up the pink path, I recognize the dark clouds as Zelios’ influence so we will arrive by the bay. Beautiful place really, very central too, good spot to land the humans upon this side of the world.” the god explained and then slid downward, jumping between roots before pointing to them just which of the many pink paths he referred to.

The two colossi walked up the chosen path, and at the summit, with a last overlook of the maze of colorful paths, a new portal was cut open, leading to the shores of Orsus. They reappeared as swiftly as they had vanished, stepping forth and wading through the sea nearby.

The sun atop of them had barely moved downward, the travel which would take so much time by the sea had been reduced to a stroll that was done before the sunset. They were right at the borders of the dark seas of the Bay of Zelios, as they had seen by the dark fog within the maze, though the colossi themselves were still by the bright tropical areas of the continent, a flock of flamingos taking flight as they walked ashore.

”Say, do you three prefer to travel together or would splitting up be an option” the god asked, already atop the colossi again.

“What do you have in mind?” Pride asked in awe after seeing the much more lush landscape and vibrant creatures that dwelled there. The champions had taken a moment to enjoy the view, embracing the new smells and sights that delighted their senses.

“What are those? What’s that? Oh, look there!” Curiosity commented as she pointed out various scenery that captivated her attention. With wide eyes, Wanderer ingrained the images of what she saw in her mind, and noted to herself that she would have to come back to fully explore all that she had seen.

”There are places where humans are to be delivered both in the north and south, these are, of course, two opposing directions. I was wondering how we should approach that. I thought about going farther north but, well, the maze of roots gets too tangled, it would be hard to traverse with the colossi”

“Can’t we use the Incantation of Sending?” Wanderer asked.

“We would have to stay together then. None of us can sustain the spell for long, and only a god could include the colossi. It’s a choice then, north or south?” Pride explained.

“Can we go south?” Curiosity chimed, excited.

“I would like to visit the north.” Wanderer softly added.

Pride simply sighed, both of her sisters proving to be difficult. The small champion turned to Tuku, seeking a solution. “Let’s let our guide choose.”

The masked god chuckled at this altercation. ”I see? To be fully honest, I do not actually see, but you three seem to somewhat know what you are saying, so, I say we go south first, since it's far closer to here.”

“South it is!” Curiosity exclaimed, and began leading the procession southward along the coast. Wanderer and Pride found themselves mentally shrugging, and the second colossus began following the first.

Past the coastal forest were many mountains that although not quite as large as the ones that defined the horizon line of this land were still a long trek upward, made easier by Tuku’s tracking of the best paths. Soon the lushness of the forest, still visible in that stunning panorama that could be seen from the mountaintops, would be left behind as they entered dry high altitude plains, rocky and hilly stretches broken by arbored little oasis and forests. Great beasts roamed the land but they all fled from the colossi, even the apex predators.

”And here we are, this location should provide for them to spread to all of the southern lands quite easily. What do I have to do now?” the god questioned, stopping by a moderately lush and sheltered zone nested among the hills.

“Our Maker told us to lay them upon the ground last time, so we should do that again, right?” Curiosity suggested to her sisters, and the other two nodded in agreement. Pride offered an encouraging smile, and gestured for the other two champions to begin unloading.

“By the way, how many should we drop off here?” Curiosity asked Tuku, while Wanderer patted Pride on her head, much to the small champion’s annoyance.

”Half” the god explained, then looked over to a certain human. ”And if you allow me, I will take one of my two champions, the younger girl, and arrange a location for her to wait to be awakened he added, picking her up in his arms and looking over at the horizon and starting to leap off the colossi.

“Give us some time, and we’ll have it done, your grace!” Curiosity said, as the God of the Hunt departed, and with the assistance of Wanderer, began the process of unloading fifty thousand sleeping humans safely onto the ground. They leapt back and forth each carrying one at a time, while Pride watched them with amusement, and mild frustration.

The small champion looked at her little hands, and recalled the difficulties she had just moving the humans around the keep. She did not understand how her sisters seemed to carry their kin so easily.

Time passed, and soon the task was complete. Scattered across the area were fifty thousand sleeping humans awaiting to be awakened by the will of the Divine. The three champions eagerly sought to see what would happen, none of them having witnessed their kin stir from their slumber before.

“I’m so excited!” Curiosity chimed in anticipation.

Tuku returned not too long after that, the god now no longer carrying his own slumbering human, they looked at the conglomeration and nodded knowing it was their time to do it. ”May the wilds share their wisdom with you” he said to sleeping humans and waved their staff in the air. An aurora of images, memories of the many predators and prey of the region, started to fall upon their figures, the colors slowly sticking to the humans, leather tan to their skin, but the eyes and hairs ranged from black like a gentle shadow to the whole rainbow of colors of the wild, beiges and yellows, red and amber, even white and light blue, from the memories of the creatures from under the shadow.

Tuku had imbued upon them aspects of the nearby lands, yet they would all start here, a hazy memory of still young minds. He wondered how they would react but soon the answer was given. Fear.

Why it was obvious, they had seen all animals escaping the colossi, so why wouldn’t they all run from the exact same towering giant they had vivid memories of tearing the land apart as it traveled. Groups started to form based on the reactions to this fear. Some hid in the shadows of the trees and vanished, some took the chance to run far past the thorny bushes while others had the courage (even in fear) to trek a rocky cliff-path, people forever gone from these high plains.

Five thousand however, one tenth, stood still, having seen the goddesses and the masked entity in the shadow of the colossi even among the initial chaos, they bowed to them. “W...who.” one of the leading man said, confused.

”Us? Gods and God-servants. I am Tuku Llantu, warden of the wild, this is the last time I will speak to most of you. I am not your lord nor your commander, survive for yourself. But the question of who is “who you are”. You are humans, creation of the goddess Homura. Her domain is that of Honor, and you will do good to remember that and make her proud.” Tuku felt terrible having to give these random creatures commandments, it just felt wrong but he could not go so far against Homura’s wishes as to just leave them all in the shadows without further context.

”If you three have anything to say, say now. I am leaving. There is still the north to deal with.” the god added in a lower, less “commanding”, voice to the champions, before he turned and started to leave.

“My name is Curiosity, these are my sisters; Wanderer and Pride. It’s so nice to meet you!” Curiosity said with a wide smile as she introduced herself. Her small sister stepped forth afterward.
“I am Pride, Keeper of Keltra. I extend to you all an invitation to visit, should you ever desire to do so. I would be glad to welcome you, brothers and sisters.”

Wanderer remained silent, but bowed respectfully to the awakened humans. Without further ado, the trio leapt back, soaring through the air until they alighted atop their respective colossi.

The humans, of course, hazy as their minds still were, may have mixed a few words when trying to listen and could do little but nod and gaze in awe as the gods left on the backs of the giant creature.

”Good work to all of you. Though next time, I think I will keep the memory regarding the colossi inhibited from the animal wisdom I extract. Nobody got hurt this time but I would not like to risk our luck.” the god told the trio as they climbed.

“Why didn’t you use the Gnosis?” Curiosity asked, a quizzical expression on her face after returning to the crown and readying herself to move the colossus once more. “Wouldn’t that remove the risk?”

Pride had yet to use the spell she had learned outside of practice, but she had wondered whether the colossi were supposed to leave such a path of violent change in their wake as well. She did not think the land would welcome them were it not for the presence of the God of the Hunt with them. She knew she did not like the sight of fear in the eyes of those that awoke.

Tuku’s mask almost felt like it smiled back at Curiosity. ”It would, yes. But there are things I want to test, and as such it has to be a gentle approach. And, well, while they were scared, they still were all skillful enough to hide in the forests, climb mountains and so on. I can rest assured that even if I were never to look at them again those humans would still master their land and survive.” the god of the hunt added, laying back. ”So, off to the north it is? Thankfully there are a lot of plains in that direction, once we get past the swamp and mountains under the shadow ring, it should be a far easier travel time.”

Curiosity nodded in understanding, finding most of her concerns alleviated by Tuku’s words. “Makes sense. Well, off we go then!” She said, before striking the forward pillar of the crown.

Once more they resumed travel, Wanderer and Pride temporarily falling behind as the small champion attempted to drive the colossus, but failed to strike the pillars hard enough. Shamefaced, Pride let Wanderer continue to command the colossus forward.

The sky above suddenly darkened, and the group would find itself walking in a passage between a swamp to the east and hills to the west, trees with pale white flowers seemed serene against the faint light left, while swarms of bugs that seemed to shine with colorful lights traveled as the colossi brought noise to this quiet land. Some even seemed to fly by the champions, attracted, no doubt, by the flame-like aspect related to Homura.

Curiosity pointed towards the sky. “What is that ring of darkness?” She asked, and her sisters expressed similar interest.

”A creation of the god Zelios.” the god answered lazily, before realizing again that the answer was probably shorter than necessary. ”I don’t know exactly why they made it, sincerely, never saw the man. But I like it, it's pretty, do things need a better justification than that? Creates a lot of unique hunting grounds and inspires many unique creatures. Some humans will come to live in these lands, you know? I added memories of the creatures from here in the mix so some of them could. I wonder how that will turn out.”

The heralds of honor hummed in amusement with Tuku’s answer, and expressed their agreement. They laughed when Wanderer mentioned she wanted to walk along the ring, and took a moment to ponder what sort of god Zelios might be.

At some moment Tuku left and didn’t even warn the champions, though as he returned, it quickly became obvious. They had gone past the darkness, into the dry plains up ahead, though it still had colorful trees, here the sun shone fiercely, almost blindly so, it didn’t help that the heat was enhanced by the metal coating of the colossi. It was for this reason the god had left, as they had picked the leaves from a gigantic swamp plant, each serving as an umbrella to each of the champions, all three proclaiming their gratitude after briefly enduring the fierce temperature.

Finally, the sun started to be tamer, clouds amassed and a gentle rain started to fall. They would hear the crashing waves again, but this time not from the west as they were used to, but the north, they had reached the edge of Orsus, not too far from the land where the elves had been delivered, here was a lush forest that with the rain had been blanketed in a cold mist.

”We are here.” the god of the hunt declared. ”We can stop now.”

The colossi came to halt, and three champions gathered themselves around Tuku. “Shall we unload them now?” Curiosity asked.

”Aye. This is a good location, safe from the rains that will surely come in the next hour.” then, instead of laying back again the god looked at Pride. ”Hey, would you mind coming with me for a moment while the other two do their work?” last time Pride had not been able to help so the god was aware it wouldn’t change the operation.

“Okay.” The small champion said before she looked to her two sisters, both of them had already begun carrying their sleeping kin down to the land below.

Tuku nodded and, picking up his other champion, started to walk with her deeper into that misty forest. ”So. I will be honest. My mask doesn’t let me show emotions, but, as you may have seen, I am barely able to stay up. I have been doing a lot as of late and got involved in a battle that was, hmm, quite monumental if I may say so!” the god boasted without a hint of shame. ”I am afraid, if I return to the lulling darkness of that world, the maze of roots, you know, I will just fall asleep and not be able to help you three navigate back to Keltra. But I do not feel good about bringing you three halfway across the world and just leaving you here because I need a nap.” the god entered a clearing and started cutting a bolder until it became a stone platform, letting his champion rest upon it and marking it so no forest creature or weather would dare to get close to it at risk of making enemies with the god of the hunters.

”And you know. Those two are always so busy making those big things move, and I thought, well, Pride is free, maybe she would like to be the navigator for the way back to Keltra?” having his hands free now, the god picked both his walking staff and the knife and offered them to the small champion. ”Not that I am doing this just because you are the one without a job at the moment, it is also that you seemed sensible to the winds and the sounds back when I first showed you the roots, right? Seems like a hint of talent to me.”

The little champion’s eyes widened once more, her mouth hanging agape as she beheld both the staff and knife. “Are… you certain, your grace? I… I’m honored. I shall not let you down!” Pride promised, standing as tall as she could, and accepting the two artifacts.

Tuku seemed to smile despite the mask. ”Aye. Quite certain Pride. Why don’t you try to use the staff now to see the best path to return to your siblings? Just, wave it, tap it against the ground, it should help you focus on all the little sensory clues the world gives you, the way the wind travels between leaves and branches, the weight of nearby rocks, the paths left behind by the beasts that prowl, it should all become clear to you, young flame, and the path forward will reveal itself tangled between all these hints, not unlike those roots in the other side.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Pride said, and then did as she was instructed. She waved the staff, then tapped it against the ground. The sounds all around her suddenly vanished, and the air felt heavy, for a moment the small champion did not know what to do, concerned that she had fumbled somehow, until the weight had been lifted, and Pride could feel the presence of the world push gently against her being.

She let out a breath, and allowed the feeling of the wind caressing her skin and tugging her hair to overwhelm her. Her mind could not truly comprehend the thousands upon thousands of whispers that tickled her ears, and shimmered all around her. She heard the song of the earth through the soles of her boots, as the ground seemed to pass through the material and touch her feet. She suddenly realized how deep the earth was, how much stone and soil there was beneath her.

Pride closed her eyes, and wore a childish, gleeful smile, as she swayed where she stood, using the staff to keep balance. “Oh land, so much, it’s so much.” She murmured to herself, enchanted by the magic of nature, enraptured in a moment of cosmic lucidity.

The god noticed how immersed and somewhat lost she was, not exactly what he requested but there was no trouble in that, placing humans down took a lot of time so they were not at a rush, eventually, he was sure, among that myriad of sensations she was now fully perceiving, their voice and step, or perhaps that bright light of their would soon shine upon her vision, as he had seen when he used the staff.

Darkness descended upon the land as the sun set over the western horizon, and throughout the second night, the two champions unburdened the two colossi until fifty thousand sleeping humans were once more ready to be awakened. Curiosity and Wanderer felt their strength strained, and were both exhausted after their task.

Pride felt herself regain control of her senses after hours spent listening to the plants and animals, and seeing the colorful trails that spread throughout the world. In the darkness of the night, she could see a far away light, akin to the blazing sun, except it rose from the west, not the east. The small champion knew that it was Keltra, and had mapped the path home in her head. She listened to her sisters, and found that they were finished.

With hesitation, she let go of the staff and stepped back, looking back at her immediate surroundings. She looked upon the God of the Hunt, and found she had forgotten how to speak. She shook her head, until she recalled where and what she was. “Will you come back to Keltra? You are always welcome there, your grace.” She said with reverence in her voice.

”Oh! Welcome back.” the god teased as the girl woke from her trance-like state, before nodding. ”I do plan to. Family means something to me, and that is what we are. Me and Homura, we disagree about some serious business, but for lighter conversations I think we could very well be friends. In the same vein, all of you are invited to my home too, it's… way, way smaller, but I guess in some ways that makes it sort of cozy?” he laughed and then clapped his hands.

”So! That was quite a long time surveying the land, did you find the path to your siblings?” he asked.

“I was afraid I almost lost myself, but I’ve found them. They’re waiting for us to return, I think.” Pride answered, taking hold of the staff, but refraining from tapping into its power again.

”I imagine, it can be overwhelming but I had trust you would do well. So! Once you cross into the fissure, you will need to look for Keltra, it is quite far but in that empty, condensed world, it should be quite easy to track it, it also helps you know how it looks, with those bright flame roots and what not.” the god explained as he started to leave, having no idea that Pride had already done so much more than that.

“I’m happy, your grace. Thank you for believing in me. I hope for a quick recovery, and eagerly await our next meeting.” Pride said, looking in the direction she knew her sisters waited. “Farewell, Master of the Hunt.” The small champion whispered to herself.

”I am pretty sure we are going in the same direction still, Pride. I need to get the humans, yes?” the god laughed and patted her in the head like an annoying aunt or uncle would. ”But yeah, you take care too, got the impression that you and your siblings are a tad overworked. I need to hibernate for a few seasons after all this.”

“May I have a hug? Um… our Maker doesn’t really do that, and I… would like one, please.” Pride asked quietly, timid beside the God of the Hunt.

The god looked down and was a bit shocked. ”SHE DOES NOT?” he coughed. ”Ahem. Sorry. Its just that… I was so sure…Ah but forget that. Here. You can have one for free, young flame.” the god leaned down and tried his best to give a warm comforting hug to the small champion, for once, that façade of wood covering his body felt like a massive barrier, it was meant to express nothing but cold indifference, fit for a hunter but sometimes, Tuku was a person too. ”My fourth gift to you huh? Please do not grow spoiled.” he stopped and let go. ”And you know, if I may speculate, I bet your sisters would like these hugs too..”

“Thank you. And I promise I won’t get spoiled, and I’ll hug my sisters too.” Pride said, and despite what Tuku was made of, things like shape or texture could not interfere with a child’s love for their family.

And so, with trip back to the clearing where the humans were, Tuku Llantu repeated the process as the champions got ready to leave, an aurora of memories descended upon them, minus the ones of scary big metal creatures, and soon the humans would start to gain colors, thoughts and movements. These were paler than the highland ones, though the hair and eyes were still either as black as Zelios’ night, dark greens and blues like the damp moss of the forest under the fog, and sometimes, bright like the many vivid colorful flowers of the region.

Tuku bowed to the trio and thanked them once again. ”Thanks for helping me with this, Curiosity, Wanderer. Let me handle filling these mortals in on the basics of the world, you three look worn down. I have gifted my relics to Pride, so she should be able to find a path back to Keltra, let her take the lead and she will lead the Colossi on the fastest path, I am sure of it.”

“Anytime, your grace!” Curiosity replied, while her two sisters repeated their meager words to the nascent humans. Afterward, the trio bid farewell once more, and returned to their positions atop the two colossi. Pride opened a rift into the realm they had traversed before, and the champions began their journey home.

Her hat did nothing to guard her from the heat. The sun was hot, the air was hotter, and the ash under her sandals still smouldered with fire. Ea Nebel clothed herself in the loose, simple dress and covers of a working woman and wandered that broken place, steadying her feet with her shovel.

Something under dust and ash had once been a feminine shape. She crouched beside it. When she wiped the layer of ash from its surface, it gleamed. "Your name was Carer," she said. "You came to a horrible end. There's not much I can do for you. But I'll put you with the ones you cared for. You deserve it."

The ones she had cared for were now mostly charcoal.

Immortals and mortals were a troublesome mix. Salt and water, made for one another, inseparable, until the ephemeral water dried away and left only eternal salt, thirsting yet again for its touch. Or perhaps gods were like lye, warming any water it dissolved in, sometimes even boiling it away... Lye that created many things, lye that burned. Ea Nebel had many days to meditate on this. Many days.

At night she would work.

She girded her loins and buried the Homurans by the towns where they had lived. One site for each town. One grave for each body. So many of them were in pieces that she fashioned round urns for them and incinerated them, that their shattered bones might have some semblance of dignity in the smoothness of powder before she lowered them into the once-fertile earth. The carbonised remains scattered around the town the Apostate had destroyed were given the same treatment.

She found them in the streets. She found them in their houses, where they had lain and fainted, sweating to death, fighting an exhausted battle with the heat- or committed suicide. She found them washed up on the beach. She found them in hiding-places around the country where they had been blown up by drones. She buried them. Then she buried the drones.

She saw more memories than she could have counted, had she not been a god.

Ea Nebel knelt at the top of the little hill-cliff, staring down at the great pile of dronescrap she had dumped at its base. It was the only grave such things wanted, needed, or deserved. She'd learned rather little about the Apostate, who had appeared in smoke and fire to punish the massacre. She had learned a lot about Astus.

Gods had strange natures. Ea Nebel's own father was very far from human. She didn't know how close to the mark she was, herself. Of course mortals would die when they touched with the men of eternity- they were mortal. The god Astus had raised them up with industry and and with industry struck them down again, according to his nature. She could not begrudge him that. The stolen Homurans of Astus, slaughtered for sin, may as well have been blown away by a fickle wind.

And yet, the more bodies she burned, the more bitter memories she retrieved from broken skulls, the more she understood whose sin that was.

'The door! I'm gonna make it, we're gonna make it, it's right there-'




'I won't drown. I won't drown. I won't I won't I won't I...'



Ea Nebel heaped the last spadeful of earth over the place where Carer lay among her people, and threw the shovel down onto the dirt. It was stirred up with her footprints in every direction. Behind her, six-hundred and seven unmarked stones in what had once been a meadow.

"ASTUS!"

A fell wind leapt into life and started to wail, blowing away the working clothes and leaving her once more in her black coat, wide stance, fists clenched beside her.

"I am Ea Nebel, Goddess of the Tomb! Look at the work of my hands, Astus! Listen to the memories I have read! You took up the project of Man and Woman, and you failed!"

A man named White, crushing that which could not bleed, building war-weapons out of mere scrap. Two carriage-drivers racing fine animals across field and ford with such passion that their wheels were sent up to be repaired, again and again. A mother, crafting new life out of nothing but milk and bread. Visions flared behind Ea Nebel's eyes as she spoke the voice of power.

"Idleness and dependence- No weed of vice grew on this island that you had not bred! You cut down the tree that was waiting to be pruned. The industry of these people has been wasted in your fire! I could have done better, Astus! A pauper could have done better!"

The field of urns around her began to rise in a rippling mat of faint light. Hundreds of souls separated from the mass of power, ripped out from the Grey, the Ashen Plains, even the silvered Elysian Fields, flickering like barely-visible warning lights in the searing sky.

"You were lazy, Astus! You insulted me for nothing!"

The gale moaned and whined and spiralled around the center of the island, muffling the stranger and more horrible sound that emanated from the whirling souls, unleashed from death to complete their final task in the realm of the living- sightless, mindless revenge.

Seek a pyre, the deva commanded, and the ghosts did seek it, tunnelling through the earth, through the parched and brittle dead-woods, spiralling, moth-like, in every pond. Some found it. They infested wires, pistons, gears, fatiguing metal, lighting fires, or simply imploding in a violent snap of soul-energy. Seek a pyre, she commanded, so they made one out of every machine and mechanism they could find.

And those that never did- they whirled across the land, hiding, waiting, in their thousands.

Heavy boar-prints appeared in the dust-dry soil. Ea Nebel flicked her coat as the wind died down, and stood on the island no longer.

---

---

Homura’s warmth and fiery hair were gone as quickly as she had appeared, and so the Great and All-Seeing Eye was alone once more, an eremite on the forlorn throne of her moon. Still, the words of the newly ordained judge resounded clearly as Yudaiel vividly relived that moment again, and then again. They echoed a third time, those words: ”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?” Every word carried a thought and conviction behind it that normal dialogue could not; Homura had spoken them within the dreamscape of the ideabstraction, and so Yudaiel had been granted a window into the goddess’ mind and essence. She hadn’t merely heard the words, she had felt each one as well as the conviction behind it.

She didn’t know. Not yet, at least, but eventually she doubtless would come to discover what fate had befallen wretched Ashevelen. The Prescient, for all her foresight, had still been forced to act brutally and without finesse, striking first and striking hard so that there would be no battle or rivalry or war, just a clean victory -- a righting of universal wrongs. And yet that had left evidence below on the Galbar’s surface, and that other one, he who called himself Epsilon, was left to stand as a witness also.

Yes, Homura would come to know the truth eventually. Bound by her promise that the moonstone-gift carried, Yudaiel was willing to even show Homura the truth, if the Red Goddess ever asked to see it. Perhaps through ideabstraction she would manage to convince Homura and all the others of the necessity of her actions, but then that hadn’t worked on the Monarch.

It seemed better to instead try befriending the others, letting favors and kindnesses in the present and future wash away what they might view as the filth of the past… those who could not see and relive the past were bound to care little about it, perhaps even to forget it. And perhaps knowledge of her deed would instill fear and respect into the others, and she would be regarded highly among the pantheon just as her moon commanded a lofty perch in the heavens.

The Prescient ceased reliving that conversation; what was done was done. Ruminating upon it was only useful insofar as letting her determine which forks in the path ahead were best, and she had an idea now. So her thoughts drifted back to Epsilon!

In truth, she understood why the god of knowledge had acted as he did; she could even relate to him and his purpose, could even afford a respect to his aspect that she did not give to many others. Yudaiel was introspective enough to recognize that perhaps he was the second closest to herself, though of course she still cared little for him, or for the wretched fiend that was even closer… and while she possessed empathy, she had little sympathy, and so any kindness or pity was easily set aside. She held a grudge, a vendetta even, against Epsilon for the interference that he had wrought upon her carefully crafted plans... had it not been for the interventions of him and the work of that wretched Fly, she might have been able to fell Ashevelen much quicker. It would have been a cleaner death. There would have been less collateral damage. She would have expended less energy, been able to cover her tracks… all of that had been unraveled by the acts of just two interlopers! Predicting the future was a difficult and perilous challenge indeed.

Still, her vendetta demanded that she take action if only to appease her own pride. What better petty vengeance would there be than to discern Epsilon’s plans and hopes and then insert herself into them, to sow as much chaos and disruption as she could? He was not prescient; he lacked the power to simply look out and See and feel what she had felt. But she could show him, indeed.

---

Yesaris, in contrast, cared not for many things. The ongoing disputes and pledges and annoying, annoying announcements bothered them not. All they cared about was their unending hunger, and sure, their most recent endeavor has done some good, but just one group of novice thieves would barely do anything for them. And so they sat, blood caked around their maw and upon their clawed hands as their hundreds of teeth tore into the leg of a fresh kill. It was something, that was for sure.

They pondered their options, already they had done so much, but their hunger had been settled so little. The great pain that boiled over in their stomach still remained, settled uneasily in their thoughts. Nothing was seeming to work, and it was starting to get annoying for their hungered maw. What to do, what to do, that, was certainly the question.

The night’s air was more than crisp -- it was bitterly cold, there in the Giantlands. Much of the creatures that inhabited this place were now hiding and slumbering, even though bright, dancing, rays of moonlight twisted between the clouds and illuminated the environs enough for one to get by without much trouble.

Another bite from the carcass did little to satiate the ravenous god. Blood and meat were devoured and dissolved in an instant, and Yesaris left no scraps, yet even these giant beasts were mere morsels... But what if there were things that tasted better than fresh meat, things that were softer too? Things that lacked substance, but that could be digested all the same?

Yesaris shook their head, trying to grasp their mind away from the strange thought. It was not their own that was for sure, but, it posited an interesting idea, something that lacked substance? But could be digested? Surely there was no such thing, at least, not that Yesaris knew of. And surely if it did, it would not taste better than flesh. No, this thought was of no use to them, they would have to think of something else for their feast. For now, they bit into the hunk of flesh in front of them, savouring the taste upon their tongue.

A pair of blue glowing orbs, shining as though behind a lattice, emerged from one of the nearby bushes. It remained there, silently watching Yesaris. A slight scratching emerged, the wet slick of frozen mud being moved aside as though with a piece of metal. Biluda had arrived, and had come across the bloodied god-creature through following the sounds of its eating. They drew it from the bush, scurried lines in the mud. Yesaris was, too engrossed in their meal at present moment, devouring more and more of what they had, paying little heed to the noises emitted nearby.

Biluda finished their initial sketch of the creature in the mud, and next took to scratching notes next to the sketch, of what the creature was eating, how it ate, its coloration; they dutifully kept track of it all. They lifted their head to get a better look, shifting their foot -- and then the twig snapped. They had stepped on a dropping from the bush, and its snap echoed throughout the otherwise quiet forest around them. Biluda froze completely still, staring at the creature, seeing if it heard the sound.

The creature’s head shot up to look, a piece of meat stuck mid-bite within their maw. It swallowed the piece whole and scanned the area around them, finally locking in on the bush BIluda sat in.

”Who goes there? Bad luck to disturb the feast of a hungry god.” They called out, their teeth locked in their eternal smile.

The answer was immediate, and tinged with disbelief hidden behind a forced passivity, “I speak to a god? One of the creators of the world?”

A chuckle came from the shrouded face ”Yes yes, we, are Yesaris, and would very much like to know why you disturb our meal.” they stood up, letting the scattered meat that was in their lap fall to the ground.

A slight pause from the Kynikos, before the response, their emotion forced down in an attempt to avoid seeming like a threat to the god, “I am Biluda; I heard you eating and came to take notes on you. I assumed you were merely fauna.”

The smiling head turned downwards, then back up. ”We suppose we can not fault you for that, we care not for the regalities of our kin, not when food is needed.” They picked up some of the flesh once more, before continuing, ”Speaking which, what are you? We have not seen your form before.”

This one is a curious specimen. It sustains itself through eating knowledge, the lord of parasites suddenly and inexplicably realized. They shook their head again, more of those thoughts, but, eating knowledge? There’s no way.

Biluda stood up, stepping out of the bush to reveal their metal mask and heavy clothes, their two blue eyes peering out from behind the mask’s lattice as they answered once more, still guarded, “I am a creation of my lord Epsilon, who has.. Cut me free, as it were. Does every creature eat each other?”

The devourer shook their head, ”No, some eat the plants, our own spawn consumes only small portions, eating slowly from others. Tell us, what do you consume? It is our interest to learn what the other gods let their creations consume.”

The response was hesitant, as though Biluda was not sure it was their place to answer the question, “My kind eats new experiences and discoveries. We need not the meat or plants.”

Huh, guess those thoughts were right. Yesaris made a note to thank them later. ”Interesting, we have not heard of that before...are there, more of your kin? It would be a shame that such a, unique, method of consumption, not be used to its full effect.”

Biluda looked around the landscape for a moment as if looking for more of his kin in the area, before answering, “Yes, I suppose there is. None have followed me this far, but they are out there.”

”We see,” They paused, Biluda might even have sworn that the god’s smile had grown wider. ”now, this experience eating, does it have to be your experiences?

Biluda shifted uncomfortably, “It depends on what you account as my experiences. I could be sustained off of the stories of others or the notes of a fellow explorer.”

”Huh, We apologize for the questions, we are a curious sort, much like you.” They cleaned off some of the blood upon their face, growing deeper in thought ”Perhaps you’d sate a god’s curiosity, and help out with an experiment we have in mind? You could use it as some of that, new experience.”

The Kynikos took a step back, their two glowing eyes narrowing slightly, “I’m afraid I would require further explanation.”

”Just a test on consumption, new experiences are bound to dry up, but, if our idea works, we might be able to help your kin alleviate that.”

Biluda shook their head, “You have yet to tell me what you want me to consume. Why?”

”As in truth, we are unsure if it’d work, in short, we wish to see if you could consume the thoughts, or memories, of another mortal. Well, less consume we imagine, and more learn from their experiences in a direct manner. If you’d indulge us, we could learn if this is even possible.”

Biluda crossed their arms, and spoke once more, “Would that not also be achievable through reading their writing, or speaking to them? This doesn’t feel right.”

”But you could experience so much more, and through their eyes no less, surely that would be interesting no no? There are certainly memories there that no writing could explain, or what the mortals themselves can’t even write, it’d open so much for your kin.”

The response was flat, the masked Kynikos still eyeing the god suspiciously, “You’ve yet to mention the catch.”

”Well what catch would there be? You do not consume the knowledge as we do with our flesh, you would merely be learning from the deep memories of the mortals, which could be delectable for knowledge eaters like you, you could uncover old memories from wisened sages who might not have the capacity to remember them by themselves, learn the first-hand accounts of warriors just upon their deathbed so that it may be written later in great sagas. Such knowledge could be invaluable, could it not?”

Another flat response, tinged with incredulity, “You’ve been trying very hard to sell this idea to me. I do not trust it.”

It was clear at this point the god was getting annoyed. ”What more could you want, it is test, sating curiosity, we have given all that we may know that would happen, do you not even wish to know what would happen? One test. That is all.”

Biluda explained, as they took another step back, “Your insistence on just one test suggests to me that one test is all it takes for the catch to manifest itself. I seek new experiences, but not to the point of foolishness.”

”Yes,” they began, taking their own step forward, a chittering sound beginning to emit from their void of a face, ”yet it would be even more foolish to deny a god for much longer, wouldn’t it?”

The Kynikos backed against the bush, as they said, the slightest tinge of fear in their voice, “Ah, so it was never actually a choice. I see.”

The lord parasite chuckled, beginning to close the distance between the two. ”No, we suppose not, but really, you could’ve made it, so, so, much easier, yes yes. Come now, don’t make it even more difficult.” They held out one of their arms towards the fearful Kynikos, their ever present smile widening.

Biluda’s shoulders sagged as they clambered forward; they made no effort to disguise their disgust of the situation, however. Their two glowing eyes narrowed into a glare of hatred as they approached the god, and they held out a hand to accept the offer, with a muttered insult.

Yesaris took the hand, their smile as wide as ever, and clearly ignoring the insult from Biluda. They let go, and turned back around to survey the surroundings. ”Now, we just need to find ourselves a Bjork, you wouldn’t happen to know any good places?” they asked, turning back towards them. Biluda shrugged, tilting their head to further make their point that they didn’t know.

They then followed up, “What is a Bjork? I’ve not seen anything other than simple creatures. Are they one of the woodland animals I have scared off?”

Yesaris shook their head ”No no, they are not animals, beaver folk, unsure if other sapients around, so they best bet for this test.”

Biluda responded, their voice still tinged with hatred, “So, are you expecting me to find one, or do you already know where they are?”

”We know their direction, we just came from some, were good starts for fun. We’re sure they won’t mind another visit from us.” They looked around once more, before finally settling upon a direction deeper in the cold lands. ”Should be, that way, come come.” They began to walk in that direction, clearly intending for the knowledge eater to follow them, regardless of if they wanted to or not.

It took the two wayward beings a while to find what they were looking for. Though it was aided by the light of the moon. But it was certainly there in front of them, a fairly large wooden dam built upon one of the many rivers that criss-crossed the region. No light emitted from within, and there was none outside the dam either. It looked as if the entire area was empty, or more likely, fast asleep.

”Good, good, this will make it easier for us. Come now, we have work to do.”

Yesaris crept towards the dam, slowly twisting their body into a new shape, within seconds their insectoid form had been replaced by that of a beaver, a long white streak in their fur, and a rotten wooden walking staff in their hand, yet, that horrific smile remained. They briefly turned to Biluda, before speaking in their same harsh voice.

”The plan will be simple, we’ll sneak in and find ourselves a sleeping host, and from there, you do your thing, and we get the results, simple simple.”

The god didn’t wait for a reply from the knowledge-eater, and promptly worked their way into the dam. Leading Biluda silently through the tight wooden pathways carefully, so as to not disturb the sleeping Bjorks that lay within. It did not take long to find a suitable host, a bjork sleeping within their own little cove of the dam, it was minimalist, with little beyond a few tools and smatterings of clothing. Yesaris knelt just next to the Bjork, gesturing their hand to the sleeping creature, instructing Biluda to go ahead, and perform the test.

Biluda hesitantly reached their hand out to the sleeping Bjork; their glove lightly imprinting on the creature’s fur. They felt a tug, as instructions came to them, foreign to their mind. A light glow emerged from under the palm of their glove, bathing the room in a dim light. Biluda could feel the folds of the Bjork’s mind, and they ran through the memories, both vivid and faded. They could afford to cherry pick, to avoid too much damage.

One memory would do, one that would not be missed. Biluda snatched out a two-day old memory of the Bjork’s breakfast, and found it particularly feeble. It did not fill the Kynikos, but that was the point. They went to pull their hand away: their hand did not move. Their gaze slammed over, finding a fuzzy hand clasped on their shoulder. The god was grinning at them, a horrific, unnatural grin that should never have fit on the face of a Bjork, disguise or not.

Biluda grabbed their trapped arm with their other hand, desperately pulling at it. They tried to scream, but found the sound did not emerge. They could not feel their hand beyond the steely, unbreakable grip of the god. Memories flashed through their head as the world spun. With horror, Biluda realized the source: The god had taken control of their hand. Their mind swam with crisp mornings, the taste of a fish, the Bjork’s secret love, the vagaries of birth.

The next realization hit. The god wasn’t making them take just some memories, no, Biluda was taking everything. They slammed their first against Yesaris’ grip, but the Bjork hand stood still as though Biluda were nothing more than a breeze. Unfamiliar sensations were flooding their head, as they took an involuntary gasp for air that they did not need. The Bjork wasn’t moving, they weren’t breathing anymore. Biluda fell to their knees, gasping as their body tried to make use of lungs that did not exist. There were no memories left in the Bjork, so Yesaris had made Biluda take something else; the deep-seated memory of the muscles and the bones.

Biluda couldn’t feel Yesaris’ grip release. They collapsed to the floor, catching themselves only barely with their hands in an instinctive motion as they gasped. They retched, though nothing came as there was nothing within to regurgitate. The identity of the Bjork clashed in their mind, fighting to free itself from the confines of the memories of Biluda.

Yesaris merely watched Biluda writhe upon the ground. Their eyes wide in interest and fascination, their smile widening as it always seemed to do. They allowed the knowledge-eater to suffer through their new sensations for a moment, before finally poking them with their rotten staff. ”We’re going to guess by your reaction, it is quite the new sensation. We’re sure you’ll become use to it in a few mere moments, but, we must know if they taste good.”

Biluda slowly sat back up, hazily staring at the Bjork laying dead in their bed. It looked almost peaceful; as though their body had simply stopped. The Kynikos did not answer the question, but rather said, their voice hateful, “You’ve turned me into a murderer.”

”Now we wouldn’t call it murderer per say, yes, that feeding may have been a bit, overboard, but moderation is a lesson best learned rather quickly, besides, you didn’t murder that creature, merely, fed off of them.”

Their gloved hand raised to point at the body in the bed, unbreathing. The Bjork’s heart was still, their brain nothing but inert matter now. Biluda breathed, “They’re dead. You forced me to murder them. Everything they are is gone and will never leave me.”

Yesaris turned towards the lifeless body, poking it with their staff as well, ”At the very least, death in sleep is a calm, peaceful way to go. But we should not worry about that, what we’re here for is what you’re feeling, the sensation, the taste especially.” Their eyes were wide and filled with curiosity.

Biluda silently stood up, shaking their head as they turned away. They muttered, “If you really want to know, I’m sure you’ll just pluck it from my head anyways. Leave me be.”

”Hmmm, we suppose we could, it would not be difficult to begin with,” They tapped upon their chin some, before beginning to transform once more, this time into a large, almost dog sized, white bat, with that same, horrid grin plastered upon it, ”Besides, we’re sure we can find some of your kin for further tests, but, for now, you have done your end of the test, so, we shall leave you be; try not to get too hungry.”

They stretched out their wings, suddenly shooting themselves past Biluda, down the wooden tunnels of the dam, off to continue whatever their plans were. Surely to feed upon more and more, and corrupt more to their ways.

Biluda, for their part, gave one last glance to the Bjork, laying dead in their bed. They shook their head in disgust, and walked out of the dwelling. The moon lay high in the sky, but they would need to flee if the death was to be blamed on luck rather than malice. Taking the route that Yesaris first showed them, they made their way out of the town, floating in the middle of the lake, and swam to the shore. They put distance between them and the Bjorks, walking for hours into the night.

Once Biluda had come to a suitable distance, they stopped, sitting against a tree as they looked up at the moon. A queer thought entered Biluda’s mind; it seemed almost as though the moon was looking back. Of course, it was easy to feel as much with that great big spot in the middle of it that resembled the pupil of an eye, but this time something felt different.

And that was the last thought Biluda had before being gripped by some unseen power. The Galbar now longer held sway over Biluda, whose body suddenly seemed to yearn to be united with the moon. Slowly for a moment, but then with increasing rapidity, Biluda was wrenched upward by a pull that could not be resisted. Biluda was a murderer, and guilty no doubt; but they were hardly ready to surrender to their fate. They grasped at whatever they could reach; tree branches whipped by them, then open air. Hands grabbed nothing, wisping through the clouds as though they were never corporeal to begin with. With a sense of sardonic amusement, the Kynikos realized even now they were classifying that information away. They looked down at the clouds receding below them, however, and any amusement vanished.

The air around them began to thin, though this was of little concern to them; the sun sat on the distant horizon, revealed as Biluda left the curvature of the Galbar behind. It was hazy, covered by a blue glow emerging from the planet. They spun around as the atmosphere pulled on them, their vision rapidly switching from the Galbar to the moon above. Their arms flailed, almost involuntarily as their body gained momentum in its spin.

There was a shift, but it was imperceivable at first; with the heavenly bodies so massive and yet so far, it was difficult to even discern any translational speed, much less quantify it. Still, Biluda’s velocity was lessening, until it eventually became nothing and the lone kynikos was left stranded in the libration point between the moon and the Galbar; the two bodies’ gravity perfectly countered one another’s pull, and after a time, Biluda realized that all their motion relative to either of the two had been arrested. When a fish was similarly caught within a maelstrom, it could thrash and flail and try to swim its way out of the whirlpool -- and perhaps meet with some success -- but here, any such efforts would be utterly futile. There was nothing, not even air, to push against. Even if there were a way to move, the islands within the black void of space could offer no refuge to a trapped fish; to fall back upon one was surely to die.

So this was it, then. Nothingness! Imprisoned in a void with nothing to touch or feel. There was also precious little to so much as look at, once the awe-inspiring view of the heavenly bodies and the countless arrays of stars eventually started to sink in, grow old, and become trite. One could only marvel at something for so long before it lost its luster, after all. Subconsciously, Biluda had been trying to look away from the ominous moon with its many scars and cracks and craters; its face was eerie from below the Galbar’s night skies, with the one great crater that resembled a pupil, but from here it was more disconcerting still.

Eventually something compelled Biluda to glance back towards the moon, though, and a flicker of motion disrupted the monotony and stillness! Light reflected off a small, distant object that was rapidly approaching from the direction of the moon. As the object drifted ever closer, its pinprick of light became a discernable shape -- humanoid, with four limbs and a head. But it did not so much as twitch as it raced ever closer, so stoic that it might have been a corpse, or a statue.



The Kynikos reached out to the body, feeling it as their mind worked. Biluda was not slow on the draw; they understood what was happening. What use would an empty body be to a Kynikos except to inhabit? Their mind whirled, however, at the unspoken question: who, or what, was giving them the body? With a glance down at Galbar, and a half-hearted glance up at the moon, Biluda abandoned their old form.

The transfer of essence to a new body was not comfortable without the distraction of inspiration. Their soul felt squeezed, the work was tiring, and they could feel pressure in the back of their mind. Their old form slowly lost cohesion, the cloth fluttering loosely as the magic that glued it together vanished. Metal and wood floated absently across the void. Finally, even the glowing blue eyes behind the mask vanished, sucked through the cloth and out the arm, into the new body.

They opened again; two glowing pinpricks out of the hauntingly white mask. The ruin of the past form drifted slowly away, looking feeble and small. Something was different about this new one; it carried a power to it, and memories also.

These memories were alien, and their arrival was strange and abrupt. One moment there was nothing, and the next held understanding of all that had transpired, memories of a goddess muddling subtly into the mixture of Biluda’s own and that of the poor bjork’s. Biluda recalled a horrible, bitter rivalry – a vendetta, no less – sworn against Epsilon, her very creator. She recalled watching the Academy from afar, observing the discord among the ranks of Kynikos as they had looked to the moon as a crowd (and Biluda down there among it) found strange inspiration from the moon… she had not directed or caused whatever affected the kynikos, but it had given inspiration, as well as a desire to claim some of the Kynikos for herself, to turn them against the Academy and bring it to ruin from within. So she had Seen what had to be done, and guided Fate such that Biluda happened to chance upon Yesaris in the dead of night, and such that that god came to think of a means through which the Kynikos might be twisted into something different, something deadlier, something stronger – call them the Keftes.

And then of course there was the familiar and fresh memory of abducting Biluda into space – a good demonstration of power, and a way to all but force compliance even if that shock and awe was not enough – and then of shaping that suit of white armor from the moon’s rock itself, imbuing it with divine power, and propelling it to Biluda: the prime keftes, first of many, chosen champion, the one to bring low the Academy.

Yes, this moon goddess was insidious and manipulative, perhaps even worse than Yesaris, but there was nothing to be done; the moon would watch, and its will would more likely than not be done; the moon goddess simply Saw too much and could reach too far to be defied for long. It was disconcerting to think about, so Biluda fled, instinctively conjuring some power from the new moonstone simulacrum and using it to soar back down to the Galbar, leaving the old body and innocence and normality forever behind, stranded in the dead of space.

A lone bat vertan wandered the northern plains. If he was given a name by the other vertan, he had long forgotten it. He had never relied upon subterfuge, and thus never needed to steal a name from a prey-walker. Having lived within the Forever-Dark, the sun was heavy even upon his mortal guise. He hated that he had to make himself weak and vulnerable, however he stubbornly refused to let the day kill. He refused to waste the precious hours of darkness, but the light had made sleeping difficult for him.

He cursed the other vertan who had driven him from his hunting ground. The myriad swarm thrived within the darkness, however that merely meant that there was more of his kind to try to steal his food away from him. Had he only been stronger, they would be the ones forced to endure this humiliation.

As soon as the day ended, he had reverted to his mighty true form. While walking through the night, he had saw a group of prey-walkers chase after him. It was a preposterous notion that almost made him laugh. Perhaps this new land would be even better than the Forever-Dark. His keen hearing let him them discuss about how easy he was to track, and that perhaps this was a trap. Why would need to bother with such measures.

The one on his horse dismounted, and another huddled up next to him. Perhaps if he had remained on the horse, he would have been able to escape. He remembered that the only other person who dared to try to strike at him also rode one of those animals. They charged forward together, but the beast was smarter than its rider. It reared back, throwing him off and ran away.

They wielded pointy sticks that might be effective against other less vertan, but he flew into the air beyond their pathetic reach. Made if they had waited till day, they could have traded all of their lives to inconvenience him. However, something flew through the air and struck his wing. It hurt and found himself subconsciously descending as his wing began to waver.

The next time, he saw it. One of the prey-walkers had struck him using a strange tool to propel a stone through the air. He had only been able to graze his wings, however that was enough to make remaining airborne difficult. The prideful prey-walker who hurt should be the first to die.

He used the rest of his height to glide towards the slinger. The one who rode a horse tried to stab him with his pointy stick, but he missed and was in placed in front of him. He saw the slinger try to hit him with another stone, but he missed. He broke the wooden impediment with easy, grabbing him with both hands. His fangs clasped around the prey's neck.

The life-force was delicious. His hunger took over, and he began to greedily consume the replenishing energy. It was then he felt something on his back, or in his back. Despite being in the process of consuming a meal, all of his strength was leaving him.

They pulled the pointy stick from his back. It was now two Eidolon who grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away from the prey corpse. When he tried struggling, another hit him over the head with a rock. Eventually, he lost all of the strength to struggle. Despite this, they waited even longer. He started to see blood from where it had escaped him.

One of them eventually volunteered to end him. The others stood a good distance away with their spears, while he approached with a sharpened stone. As he bent down and readied his weapon, he whispered to him, "You went to far north, Bat. But if it is a small comfort, your death aids the myriad swarm."