_{Location: Shipwreck Bay, Ersand'Enise
Date: 29th of Velles}

---

Mahal's eyes glanced down the shore for odd colors among the dirty sands. Her bare feet navigated over the scattered debris washed up along the strip of white. Leaving footprints in her wake, she felt Diyablos tighten his grip on her waist. His main body hung from her hip and bounced with each step. It reminded her of his recent growth spurt. It was hard to believe how small he was when he and his siblings first hatched.

Ahead of her, Puno and Supok lunged at a small flock of birds. The avians scattered into the air causing Mahal to bring her fingers up to her lips. She gave a loud whistle. The pups stopped in their tracks and raised their ears, heads looking toward her. Mahal gave her thigh a sound smack to call them back. With panting tongues, they rushed back to her before eagerly hopping up then down. She tossed a chunk of dried meat to each.

To Mahal's surprise, a third dog approached her: a Dragonhound. It trotted up beside her, big and bold and not afraid of the other dogs. It wagged its tail intermittently, curious about Mahal, her jerky, and the octopus. Not quite wary, but not quite trusting, it kept a playful distance.

When the new dog appeared, Mahal stopped in her tracks. She eyed the newcomer warily. Was it a stray or someone's pet? Her hand reached into her pouch and pulled out another jerky chunk. When Diyablos noticed the canine, his tentacles scaled up her side and onto her shoulder.

Meanwhile, both her puppies turned their eyes upon the newcomer. Puno's lips curled back and flashed her teeth with a defensive growl. Her frame pulled back against the girl's calf while her eyes stayed on the invader of her space. Supok, however, woofed for attention. Her front half dropped into a bow and showed off her lopsided grin. Another bark erupted from her chest before she pulled into a run and brushed past the Dragonhound's side. She circled about to see if the chase was on with a tail wag.

When Mahal grabbed another jerky, the dog sat and licked its chops, ready to spring when she threw it. It was a trained dog, alright. It paid the other two dogs only short glances of acknowledgement as they created commotion around him. Then, suddenly, his ears turned toward the water, and he let out a short, grunting woof. There was a light in the water, briefly, until it abruptly vanished.

A figure emerged from the water, and the dog took off to meet her. She—and it was definitely a she—was dressed in an all black, form-fitting bodysuit, and wearing a mask over the lower half of her face. The suit and mask combo reminded Mahal of the talent show, and the girl with the escape artistry act.

Mahal continued to study the dog's behavior. It was definitely not a stray causing her eyes to cast around for the owner's whereabouts, but she saw no one. She gave a low whistle that started low, then shot up before falling back down. Supok froze up then shot looks at her potential playmate and then her master. With a yip, she darted back to Mahal's side instantly. A subtle heat radiated off her flank as she glanced up for an affectionate pet. Idly, the girl lowered her free hand and scratched at the firehound's ear. A long, satisfied grunt escaped her muzzle.

Before the girl could snap the jerky into two and toss half of it at the hound, its posture changed. Her eyes followed its gaze toward the water. A feminine form emerged causing Mahal to stare for a moment. With a deep inhale, she averted her eyes while the woman continued to walk out. Appreciating hints of beauty was one thing, but gawking like a fool was another. "I guess you're owner of the dog?"

Slowly, the figure approached. Her gait was unfamiliar on the unstable sand, but soon enough it became clear who the figure was. She didn't just remind Mahal of the escape artist: it was her!

"̶͒͝Ĩ̵͘ ̷̎̄d̴͗͛ì̷̈́d̶̈́̑n̴͠'̫̒t̶̂͗ ̴̖̑e̷̚ͅx̷̀̆p̴͘͘è̸ct anÿ́one ê̄l̸̅̂s̵e to c̷͂͛o̷̔̃m̶͆̃ḝ̶ ̴̓here."

A garbled voice came from the waterlogged mask. Quickly, she removed it.

"Whoops. I forgot the voice modulator is broken." Xiuyang cracked a cheeky smile. "I didn't think anyone would come here this late. I like to look for critters and things in the shipwrecks. He's standing guard for me. Aren't you?" She regarded the dog with a coo. It lowered its front legs playfully, tail wagging. "Yesh you are." She ruffled his fur, and he responded by shaking off all the water, prompting Xiuyang to giggle. It was the most playful Mahal had ever seen the merchant, who was usually quite serious, even if she pretended otherwise.

Upon hearing the odd speech, Mahal's eyes shifted back. Her frown deepened until the woman pulled off her mask and spoke again. By now, Diyablos had scrambled onto her shoulder and settled in. His attention drifted to her long strands of black hair as he twisted his tentacles into them. She gently discouraged it with a touch of her hand. Actually hearing the voice confirmed her suspicions. She recalled the escape artist had purchased a cephalopod but she didn't see it anywhere. Supok gave a needy whine when she spotted the playfulness of the other canine. Puno remained dismissive as she huffed, not willing to leave Mahal's side. "He is well trained. I've been meaning to contact you to see how your ground octopus was adjusting." She snapped the jerky into three pieces before tossing one to Supok, one to Puno, and finally to Xiuyang for hers. "He was licking his jaws over it earlier."

Xiuyang lowered herself, hands on her knees as she looked down at the dog. "Have you been accepting jerky from strangers?" she interrogated her dog playfully. He replied with an indignant whine-grunt noise. Xiuyang grinned and fed him the jerky, resulting in many tail wags.

"Training a dog is nice and easy. Hui's in the water. I think she likes the tide. Gets antsy in her still tank water and pesters me to play in the middle of the night by blowing bubbles." She grabbed a bunch of her hair and tugged a bit to emphasize her frustration.

Supok greedily swallowed the chunk down while Puno worked diligently on hers. At the mention of the name Hui, her eyes darted over to the shoreline. The odds of her finding the white cephalopod was slim, but not impossible. Her other hand continued to rub Supok's ear. A low, happy whine erupted from her muzzle. The canine pressed harder into Mahal's calf forcing the girl to tilt her balance accordingly. "It's only easy if you know what you're doing. Supok needs more discipline and Puno still has her moments." Mahal stated as she continued to watch the girl and her hound.

Diyablos had started to slide down then stretched out his tentacles toward Xiuyang. "Ground octopi tend to be more active at night because the air is cooler. However, they are adaptable. I suggest getting her a toy for night time. Diyablos' favorite is a small, odd shaped bottle I put dried fish in." She took a breath than added, "I can design one for you if you wish."

"Hohoh? Trying to sell me something?" Xiuyang challenged playfully. "You know, I just might go for it. I moved back into the dorms hoping I'd spend less time commuting and more time sleeping, but in true Solari fashion, I've only used that time to get busier." She sighed. The dragonhound perched his chin on her knee, whining at his master's drop in enthusiasm. She ruffled his ears reassuringly.

There was, indeed, a white blob camouflaged amongst the sea foam, pale skin reflecting the remnants of evening's twilight. She clung to the seaweed as the waves rocked her to and fro, for the tide was low and starting to come in. "After all that pestering to take her with me, I'll bet she's sleeping," Xiuyang remarked as she also caught sight of her.

Mahal inhaled and then frowned at the accusation. Her arms crossed over her chest and she tilted her hips against Supok's pressure. Diyablos, seeing no engagement to his wiggling arms, started to trail down her leg. "No, but I suppose it sounds like it. Diyablos has worn a few of his toys down from playing with them so much."

Noticing the octopi had started to crawl down her calf, Mahal tsked. She shifted her balance as her leg lifted up and she snatched up the small cephalopod. His tentacles tried to pull himself out of her grasp. With a small sigh, the girl pulled close to the water's edge then lowered him down. In a blink of an eye, he darted underneath the water toward the small white blob. "I know Diyablos is also a handful when he doesn't get what he wants. I think he's a bit spoiled like Lunara."

"Hah. The lengths us responsible sisters will go to, huh?" Xiuyang remarked unconvincingly, as she wondered if she really was the reliable sister between herself and Desi. "I'm looking into something for her, actually. Mind if we walk and talk?" Xiuyang began pacing in the direction of the two octopi, her dragonhound following faithfully and amusing himself by jumping over the waves.

Hui lifted an eyelid as Diyablos approached. She let go of the seaweed, letting the tide drag her out as her brother got close. She let him chase her, engaging in a kind of dance. "Do you know anything about Raffaella? The one with the pink hair. Isn't it weird?" she added, as if she'd just now thought about it.

Mahal listened, her eyes surveying the beach. She caught sight of a large, half buried log in the sands. Her arm stretched out toward it as she spoke. "Let's take a seat over there. It will make it easier for the octopi to find us when they are done playing."

She started to move, mindful if the woman followed her or not. Her hounds kept close even when Supok attempted to nip at Puno. The smaller hound gave a warning growl and snorted in the firehound's direction. Upon hearing mention of Raffie, Mahal was quiet for a moment. Her hand rubbed her neck as she spoke. "Truthfully, I'm not sure what to think of her. At first, I thought she was a child that refused to grow up. Now, I'm not so confident about that."

Watching the octopi skirt along the shallows, she then added. "Why do you ask? Has she offended you or something?"

"She's definitely putting on a show. I just don't know what her aim is," Xiuyang replied as she followed Mahal. "Well, she insulted Ciro, but that's not really the point. My sister Desi was curious about her, but she's been told by her husband not to ask, which is really out of character for him. Apparently there's some controversy in Virang that didn't quite follow her here to Ersand'Enise. I wondered if you knew what it was—if there's anything more to it than baseless rumors."

Mahal thought back to Kiluaho. A part of her wondered why Ren believed the students were lying. Being with him the whole time, she knew he didn't step foot onto the wreck though there was a confrontation on the beach. She didn't know until it was revealed. A part of her suspected Raffaella had informed him for his favor. "I can't say I do. Palapar is mainly a colony of Virang, not directly tied to it. However, Lunara’s mother is part of the noble circle and I could possibly root up something. What that is, I'm not sure."

"I'd appreciate it," Xiuyang replied, seemingly a little disappointed. "A Solari not being able to dig up anything is unheard of. Never mind two. ...It's just not right," she added after a pause.

Mahal's gaze lingered on her companion a bit. Most of Raffaella and her interaction seemed to side on shallow rather than meaningful. Not a surprise since she rarely let others in. Her attention turned back to the sea as she leaned back. Diyablos had managed to reach the albino, flicking out a tentacle tip and then darting away. Daring her to chase him. "It is odd, but dwelling on it will only cause stress. If I find anything out, you will be the first to know. " Taking a breath, she continued. "There's one positive thing. Hui seems to be more active." She pointed out to the water.

"There's too much political uncertainty. Letting things slide is something I can't do anymore," Xiuyang replied, giving her dragonhound another round of headpats. "I have so many companions now. I wish I had more time for them," she said as she looked off into the water, watching Hui follow the current with her brother. Xiuyang appeared conflicted, like she really had to go, but was stalling for Hui's sake.

Mahal let movement outside her peripheral distract her. She tilted back to spot Supok stroll closer. The fire hound's tongue hung out at the side before she flopped down, her form lounging in the hot sand. She then laid her larger head onto Puno's smaller frame before she gave a shrill yawn. They were cute when they were exhausted.

Her eyes shifted back to the water as she spoke. "Sadly, we can't barter for more time. Instead, I was told a bit of wisdom once. Spending what little time I have on what I value most or my regrets will weigh me down when I stand for judgment before the Gods. " She let the words settle for a moment. "I don't understand what he means by it. One thing I do know is if something or someone matters to me, I will find the time. Even if there's consequences for it later. If I don't, what's the point of it all?"

Xiuyang seemed to fall into silence. Though she mentioned earlier her need to go, she stayed and seemed to reflect on something. Mahal thought maybe her words stirred something, but she didn't dare break the spell. Instead, they sat there as the midday sun gradually made its trip across the skies. Their eyes watched the two cephalopods bob in the waters and among the debris. Their minds blissfully oblivious of the world around them.

Roslyn pulled a strand of hair from her face. She dressed in a simple skirt, a dark blouse, and boots when she stepped off the boat's edge onto the dock. Strapped to her side was a satchel with her things. She had even used one of her rosy wicks beforehand to clear her mind. The eerie silence struck her first causing a shiver to slither down her spine. Don Cojones... She tried to conjure up his image, but she had been far too young to recall him properly. Just vague details. Her jaw tightened as she forced herself to relax.

She zeroed in on the Aamii tent where Lord Arcaan resided. She lightened her weight with kinetic and carefully navigated her way toward the tent. Any muck that managed to get on her was sterilized with binding and chemical. Based on how things looked, she didn't dare take risks.

“Where did Suulii go?” demanded a man's voice, fiery and with his jimmies rustled.

“Scouting, I presume.” answered a calmer and slightly more mature in intonation voice of a male.

“In the swamp?! Does she want to end up like Yasii and Olax?” the exasperated voice sighed. “We can't afford more losses.”

“We won't make any headway if we remain idle, sir. And reinforcements are a luxury we aren't likely to receive. I still stand by the fact that losses should be cut, Lord Aamii.”

“Losing Viiqii is one thing, but the land itself would be a coup de grâce, Yamo. We may as well neck ourselves here and now.”

Then, it got silent. “One moment, my lord, we have another one.”

Emerging from the tent was a Yasoi man, late-thirties with a goatee and mid-length brown hair. Very tall with an officer's garb and a longsword to his hip. Behind him, through a small opening, was a dapper younger man with colorful, almost regal-like, clothing. “We have nothing to share with prospectors.” the older Yasoi male decreed with an indifferent coldness in his tone, as if he was reciting a sentence onto yet another poor soul.

Belatedly, another portal appeared, and from it emerged Xiuyang. She appeared disheveled, as though she'd been in a hurry to make it—but in good spirits. Armed with twin pistols on her hips and the blood-sucking lance from the Trials, she'd come wearing her old thresher-hunting mask which would protect her sensitive lungs from the horrible bog air.

She took a look around, eyeing the various places and persons of interest. Noting that each had a student on the case, she decided to intercede for Roslyn.

"Nae, friend. We come not to plunder, but to preserve," Xiuyang assured him.

"That treasure which I seek is the blood of that beast which in its wrath has done this terrible thing."

Xiuyang was speaking Mycormish, but for some reason, her Mycormish was sounding a little... old-fashioned? Just what kind of reference materials did Queen Hylaenii give her, anyway?

As Roslyn approached the tent, she overheard bits of a concerning discussion. Eventually her footsteps alerted them to her presence and everyone went silent. The tent entrance ruffled shortly after as an older yasoi exited, confronting her with icy words. Before she said a word, a familiar voice spoke up beside her.

Roslyn's eyes snapped to the source. Xiuyang? What was she doing here? The girl's head tilted a bit, noting the mention of a beast. She wondered how much more Xiuyang knew about the situation than she did. Also... what was with that accent?

The older gentleman from the tent cocked his head and raised a brow. “You do not speak like any Huusoi I know.” the wary warrior stood stiff and tactically between the humans and the Aamii lord. Although the noble young man had better plans that precautions as he approached.

“Yamo, Yamo!” exclaimed Arcaan. “Are you really rebuffing help? One that speaks the tongue too?”

“I've seen one too many grifters, my lord. And Vyshta has long since forsaken this place.”

“Yamo.” an air of authority suddenly came from the otherwise established pushover. “Stand down.”

Yamo, hand on the hilt, took a moment to relent. It was not hesitation - he was sizing up the two. With the corner of his lips folding, he retreated back.

“My apologies.” spoke the Aamii, this time in Avincian. “We've lost men and we don't take kindly to vultures.” he gestured invitingly for the two to come in. “Lord Arcaan'toras'aamii, heir to this side of the Halitz and voice of Southern Qarii'muuna.” he offered his hand in a very human welcome.

“It is a grand relief to hear external relief has finally arrived. As you can see,” he looked toward his guard that had nearly kicked them out. “we desperately lack men. And we hardly even know what we are truly facing. You would think a naturalborn Qarii'muuna boy would know everything about swamps, and yet ...” a look of anxiety took him as he looked over his short guests, right at the creeping fen.

Roslyn watched the brief exchange between the Lord and his guard. "No need to apologize. I imagine being pestered by treasure hunters, day in and out, would sour anyone's mood. Especially when you need to shoo them away." When the Aamii offered his hand to her, she took it and introduced herself. "Roslyn Wicke, from Hendland."

Placing her hands back on her bag strap, she noticed where his gaze went. Don't get paranoid, she cautioned her imagination. "To be honest with you, this doesn't feel like a normal thing for a swamp. Even the animals are behaving strangely." She replied then followed up with a question, "What can you tell us about the threat?"

“It is not a normal occurrence.” confirmed the young lord as he turned on his heels to find an assortment of scrolls rolled open on the only table in the tent. “Suuli has been keeping keen eyes on the water's progress, and in the six days its been here, its thirty-seven meters in radius.” a graph with multiple re-drawn perimeters was tapped with his long and thin finger. “We do not know what it is, but it has nothing to do with nature. The most worrying is what happened before this, in Miira'moraa-”

Then Yamo immediately interjected. “My Lord, I would advise not disclosing any more.” solemn, dry and with challenging eyes, the Aamii seemed very hesitant to assert himself.

“Miira'moraa was-” still, Arcaan found some willpower.

“Arcaan.” Yamo spoke with familiarity, his demeanor quickly degrading into a look of frustration.

“This isn't the first settlement that's been devoured. This thing spreads and moves quickly.” admitted the young lord. His guard exhaled in deep exacerbation.

Roslyn edged closer to see the scrolls laid out on the table. Her concern grew the more she heard as the two clashed again. This time over sharing information causing her lips to press tighter together. Happened before, in Miira'moraa? Not the first settlement devoured?!? Spreads... like an infection? She didn't expect that and it made the situation more unsettling.

"It's only a matter of time before it becomes everyone's problem, not just Viiqii's." So many questions flooded Roslyn's brain, but she had to be selective. Miira'morra was a touchy topic, but it was obvious it was the first victim to whatever plagued this land. She decided to come back to that topic later.

"I apologize if this comes off as insensitive, but you mentioned you lost men. I assume it was whatever this is. Were any of the bodies recovered? If so, what state were they in? It might give us some clues."

“None. No trace. Only the bog.” Yamo answered Roslyn’s flurry of queries with a single unsettling fact. “They were taken silently. Only Suulii saw something, and yet she still roams the waters. In the air, but still in enemy territory.”

“But with more muscle and the information we’ve gathered, we may just-” Arcaan was cut off once more, but this time it wasn’t a guard or his own overthinking. From outside came the shriek all those in the bog would hear.

Things happened fast and suddenly. Hearing the shriek, Roslyn's eyes darted to the tent's entrance. Then came the rip of the cloth when something began to crash down on them. Common sense crumbled to instinct when she shouted, "Watch Out!" Her hand gripped her compass hanging off her bag. Glowing with the item's energy, she accelerated her movement. Her other hand reached for Arcaan's arm as she tried to pull him out of the way. Meanwhile, she drew from the vine's momentum in hopes to slow it down.

Roslyn had successfully shoved the Aamii lord out of the way, just barely avoiding getting flattened herself. The giant vine crashed into the tent, causing the whole edifice to cave into itself and furniture to fling about. Draped with the colours of the Aamii household as they landed, both Roslyn and Arcaan were deprived of sight for a brief moment - a moment where the tentacle remained very much active.

It wiggled and flailed, just barely missing the duo and bringing its attention to the sound of a blade being drawn.

“Arcaan!” called out Yamo with his straight sword raised toward the invading appendage. His intention was not to actually slay the extension of the swamp, but to distract it long enough to cover his lord's escape. Xiuyang so happened to have landed at the same side of the tentacle as he had, and upon pushing through the wave of wooden shrapnel going her way, she was free to approach this chaos however she deemed best.

"This would be why the hunters are fleeing in droves, I take it," Xiuyang remarked apathetically as she swatted away the errant furniture. She spared a glance back at the ravaged tent, but seemed to assume Roslyn had Arcaan well in hand. Instead, she regarded Yamo with a side-eye as she prepared a drink from her gourd.

"Keep the fresh yanii meat in the dark, eh? Brutal." She downed the liquid, and her Manas surged as she drew into the 9 range. As she did, she moved quickly away with a kinetic leap, perhaps expecting the massive tendril to chase her signature away from Roslyn and the other two.

Roslyn's heartbeat deafened her ears for a split second. Her hands scrambled for the edge of the tent. After she found it, she tossed the cloth up and off of them. That's when she spotted the vine and turned its attention to Yamo and Xiuyang. "From madden thresher to murderous plants. At this rate, I'm gonna be a monster hunter without trying." The girl mumbled. She shoved her compass into her pocket then grabbed her smoking bandit. "Keep close and follow me."

She began to hurry away from the danger, aiming for the healthier part of the border. Something didn't feel right. Roslyn glanced over her shoulder. The yasoi didn't follow her. Instead, Arcaan stood frozen in place. She recognized the uncertainty, having been there more than once herself. Even now, her fear crawled across her skin. That instinctive realization she might not survive pricked across her surface. She shook herself from her thoughts. She had no time for this. None of them did. If the yasoi wasn't going to move on his own, she'd do it for him.

"Sorry about this, but I'm limited on time and options here."

She drew in energies from around her. With a jerk of her free hand, she cast telekinesis and lifted the yasoi off his feet. She then tossed him to safer grounds.

After the Aamii landed up a tree, the ground beneath Roslyn rumbled. She turned to the bog and her eyes widened. What the- The towering monstrous tangle of vines and rot screeched in the distance. It lashed out a hand for something and ripped itself forward. Water sprung from its path as it rolled into a rushing tide wave. Roslyn chemically buffed Arcaan. Her ring glowed hotly and she threw up an arcane spell quickly after. "Burning Aura!"

Flame sparked then circled about her. Intense heat met the swamp as the steam billowed up. Something came from the filth. A broken tree branch struck her leg. Roslyn crumbled to her knee as her spell faltered. Water swallowed her up in an instant. Once the wave dissipated, she was on all fours and coughing. "I think we found..." She uttered through gasps, "... what's been swallowing people up." The girl pushed herself onto her feet. "I'm going to get closer. Hopefully I can irritate its eyesight a bit."

Trying to hide her fear, she smiled and then activated the compass. The girl sped rapidly along the shoreline. When she got into range, she observed the beast's form for a moment. It didn't seem to have eyes. Taking a deep breath, she took aim and fired her weapon at the face side nearest the jaws. Maybe she could keep it from eating someone else. At worst, she hoped the chemical attack would at least hit and sting.

It did more than sting. After Xiuyang’s arcane lance hit, the beast stumbled forward. It began to screech only to have her goo smack into its gob. Silencing it. There was no time to cheer, however. The beast’s fist seized Yamo, causing Arcaan to plead for someone to save him, while six portals suddenly opened in various positions.

Mindful of her surroundings, Roslyn witnessed the carnage the beast brought upon everyone. Xiuyang, Niallus, Esmii and a few others suffered a rain of filth coming down upon them. Some defended easily while others failed. She smelt the stench even from a distance causing her to gag a bit. With her heart bruising her ribs, she forced down the lump in her throat. It seemed she had gone unnoticed, for now, and took her second shot. Unsure where else to hit, she fired upon the maw for a second time.

"Rifle would be useful right now." She mumbled underneath her breath. Her hand shoved into her satchel for the healing bag. She needed that last skin glue to reload.

Roslyn had her ammo in hand when she heard a howl. Her head snapped up. The beast charged at Niallus standing upon ruins, his hand sporting something red. Around the mass, water reared up and rushed at everyone. She cursed inward. Her chemical magic boosted her adrenaline causing her to move faster. Immediately, the area around her grew cold when she drew in the heat. Her knees bent as she leapt straight up into the air. Another tide wave gained on her position causing her band to glow. It zapped the water’s momentum, making it slower while speeding her up. Water brushed the soles of her shoes just before it crashed into the spot where she stood earlier.

Stabilizing herself in the air with her magic, Roslyn overlooked the aftermath. She increased the volume of her voice and relayed her thoughts to Xiuyang and Yamo. "I'm getting closer to the monster. Can you two meet me along the way? I think we can defend better if we're in groups."

Her form became hazy before she vanished. In less than a blink of an eye, she reappeared closer to the beast now. She balanced the staff of the smoking bandit in her arm while she finished reloading.

The beast looked horrid as it staggered, chunks of it heavily damaged and seemingly overwhelmed by numbers. Yet it didn’t go down.

Roslyn's heart grew frustrated at the sight. This thing's resistance reached epic levels forcing her to brace for another attack. Its jaws widened for another blood curdling screech before... BOOM! The sound of a cannon echoed in the bog as the iron ball plowed into the monster's back. It ripped into the innards before it seemed to come undone. It hunched over, holding itself up with its giant arm. Each swell of its mass, bled green and red fluids.

When Sven roared and rushed at the beast, Roslyn's eyes went wide. The familiar berserk-like energy rolled off him as he clashed with the monster. Rage rolled off his form while he managed to go toe to toe and pushed it back. She, and the others didn't waste, jumping to aid him. Finally, he delivered the final blow to misshapen mass. Where its maw was, a gaping hole stood. It sucked in all its foul substance until it disappeared into a bright light.

As a deafening sound echoed across the bog, followed by a shockwave. It plowed through the bog's ruins causing vines to burst from their hidden holes. After defending against it, Roslyn's eyes spotted Niallus. He abruptly crumbled and became still. Her feet moved before she knew it as she rushed over to him. She pulled his head above the murky water. Her eyes noticed the greenish tint in his skin as he hung limply in her arms, unresponsive. Trial and error was the only thing she could do right now. Shifting his weight, she gripped his arm. With a heavy inhale, she focused chemical magic through his system. Nothing happened. The girl moved onto binding to mend his wounds and stop the bleeding. While the gashes faded, the green tint hadn't.

"Niallus, wake up. Please... " She fought not to scream at her helplessness. Lost in her frustration, she didn't notice Sven had been impaled or the flora now growing along his skin. When he rushed forward, lashing out at Esmii, Roslyn jerked her head toward them. "Esmii!"

Sven missed his lover. A weak exhale escaped through Roslyn's lips. Again, the word 'Affen' slipped from his lips. Upon hearing that word yet again, she gritted her teeth in thought. It sounded like a word. Maybe Kerremand? If it was, she didn't know the meaning. Out of all of the languages on her growing list, why did it have to be one she hadn't learned yet? It didn't help that a strange draining sensation weighed on her.

Her eyes shifted back to Niallus. His condition didn't improve, but it didn't worsen either. She hoped it stayed that way for a bit. Using her bag to prop his head out of the water, Roslyn pushed up onto her feet as her weapon hung loosely at her side. Hesitation filled the young girl to her core upon seeing the scene.

"Get away! He's not in there right now!" Suddenly, Desmond then fired his gun into Sven.

Roslyn snapped out of her fear and rushed to Esmii's side, aiming to pull her away. "From what it looks like, he's turning into that creature. We need to figure out how to target the cause or this will continue until no one's left."

Her friend's eyes remained on Sven until Desmond's shot jerked her into the present. A spark of anger came over Esmii's eyes and she seemed about to snap, but instead relaxed.

"Rose," Esmii shouted "I have an idea. What if we targeted the flower buds that are sprouting from his wounds." She looked back at Sven, then continued "It could create an opening into his system. If you and Desmond pour internal chemical magic, to stop the roots from spreading. While you do this I could also do the same or be ready to heal him. What do you both think?"

She turned back to Sven. "Sven you better be listening to my voice. Fight this, like you have been fighting the berserk feelings. Don't let this thing win. Don't give up on us."

Roslyn's heart ached to see her friend suffer. The anger and fear trembling along Esmii's surface. Her tears streaked down the muck upon her cheeks, but there was no comfort to give her.

Roslyn didn't see the second shot until it hit Sven. The flesh tore and blood splattered away, sending their once ally stumbling to the side. Any hesitation or gentleness on the man's face vanished underneath a monstrous fury. Behind her, she heard Esmii's scream and break down.

Meanwhile, Sven charged Felix with several vines hells bent on killing the man. Roslyn tilted the Smoking Bandit to try and stop him, but Esmii ripped it out of her hand. Her friend turned it on Sven's attacker instead. The yasoi tightened her finger about the trigger and then abruptly stopped. The end lowered and then she clutched her throat. Once healthy breathing turned into wheezing.

Desmond's words hit the Hendland girl with reality. Without more knowledge or any hints, they couldn't be sure to save Sven. She took her weapon and tried to help Esmii up onto her feet. It was dangerous to stay this close to that thing. Fighting not to let her voice crack, she pleaded with her friend. "Esmii, come on. We need to move, please. He wouldn't want you hurt."

To help Esmii fight off Sven's attack, she used her gift with chemical magic. She shouted to the others. "Someone needs to grab Niallus, now!"

While struggling to reason with Esmii, Roslyn couldn't help Desmond. She watched in horror when a madden Sven started to apply sudden pressure upon her ally. Before Desmond became a bloody stain on the bog water, the Eskander clenched his head and fell forward. He withered in pain. Roslyn glanced at the incapacitated Eskandish man while Esmii went on about a plan.

Someone had to say it.

"I don't know if we can save him, Esmii. He almost killed you. The Sven we know wouldn't do that. Either way, we have to kill this thing." She paused, unable to look her friend in the eyes. She continued despite the strange growing steadiness in her voice. "You focus on yourself first. I'm going to see what I can do to keep our friends safe and help them."

By now, Laska had shown up. When greyborn turned her attention upon Sven, Roslyn felt the temperature suddenly drop. At this point, he was restrained enough for her to get close and try to purge his body of whatever it was.

Her eyes narrowed on the bright orange flowers and bark resting on the tears in Sven's skin. They had appeared shortly after he was infected. Was there a connection? If she attacked it, would it weaken the creature or just waste time? "Only one way to find out," she said to no one specific. The girl tapped into her compass and moved herself behind Sven. Careful not to get too close to him, she muttered, "Touch of Sloth. "

When Sven turned his eyes upon her, Roslyn froze. The ragged flesh seemed to have melted back into the familiar face of her friend. Was he really still in there or...? She cursed her hopeful heart as her feet started to move, her form coming dangerously close to him. "Sven, are you really in there?" She cringed at herself. Her question sounded stupid, even to her. Then again, she knew nothing else to say. It was hard to tell if it was Laska, the little old lady's, or her own spell that had made the most impact in restraining him. Sadly, it didn't seem to affect his condition at all. While focusing on Sven, she spotted Desmond reloading a rifle. He swung it around for another shot. Roslyn's breath caught in her throat when she witnessed him pull the trigger.

The bullet never hit.

No blood or flesh smeared across her dress. Instead, a scream behind her caused her to pivot around. The hunter that helped them earlier crumbled to one knee. Someone had shot him in the back, but she didn't see the culprit. Despite Esmii's earlier aggression, she hoped her friend wasn't stupid enough to shoot someone else in the back. Especially someone that had been an ally before. Then again, Desmond's bullet didn't hit Sven either. That was the strangest part for her.

“AGGGHHHHH!” the man wailed, then uttered, “S-sniper!”

Confused and scared, she struggled with what to do. Her eyes shifted to see if she could spot the sniper that hit the man.

Where was the sniper? Roslyn's eyes tightened as she scanned the bog. She saw nothing. Deep down, she knew her panic didn't help her. The threat of a surprise attack left her shocked. For all she knew, she already spotted them, but she didn't realize it.

Sven screamed in unity with the hunter, both withering in unspeakable pain. The prior collapsed into a heap, seemingly purged of his affliction. Meanwhile, the hunter's skin charred and curled off his form. His body jerked three times before he crumbled into a still smoldering heap. No one, not even her, seemed to have helped him. As the energy died down, Roslyn stood there in stunned silence. She thought one of the others would have stepped in but... that was naïve of her. Esmii held more hostility toward him than Desmond, who shot Sven twice. Desmond seemed surprised, but he wasn't as quick as last time. Laska was too busy keeping Sven down. And her? Finding a sniper instead of healing him. A lesson learned too late like always.

Miss Wick, get out of your head. Eyes up and alert! Don't think, act. Mendenhoffer's lessons on warfare surfaced in her head. Roslyn inhaled then expanded her mana sense far as she could. She tried to locate hints based on things she knew about handling a rifle or pistol. Smoke, flash of fire, and movement. Mostly movement because position was important for a sniper.

"Can anyone make some cover?!" Roslyn spotted something small rush right for her back.

Using the Gift of Eshiran-Zept, she drew from the structure of the bullet. Next she used that mana to boost herself with Blessing of Vigor as she pivoted on one foot. It narrowly missed her. Not knowing the locations of the shooters, she considered her options. They were being picked off one by one. Then she recalled Niallus and how she discarded him like a forgotten sack of barley or hops. Roslyn cursed her stupidity as she readied a spell and started to fall back to where she left him.

She rapidly scanned the tree line on the edge of her range. She rushed through the mossy pleat, letting the water dampen her skirt and ripple behind her. Her lungs threatened to explode in her chest. Still, the girl ignored it. She continued to focus on the forest past the bog's waters. Where are you? Where are you? Her eyes fluttered back and forth like a terrified bird trapped by a cat's claws.

Suddenly, a glint of metal caught her eye.

There you are! The girl's eyes widened and her heart sank. The sniper collected massive energy for something big. If it went off, she doubted anyone could defend against it. No, NO! She had to stop that sniper now.

Roslyn changed course instinctively for the tree line. She touched her compass causing it to activate. However, instead of boosting her speed, she drew the temporal magic from it. She wasn't close enough to cripple the man internally, but... she could target something else. The gun! The sniper seemed so focused on powering his attack and nothing else mattered. Maybe not even his weapon. If she managed to break it, the attack might misfire. She had seen a fellow student nearly blow off his face when pushing their limits on an ill kept gun.

Touch of Doom. Roslyn had rarely used such destructive spells. She often feared hurting someone. However, this time she poured everything she had into it. Her heart, mana, and even prayed for it to work as she flicked her spell at the sniper's firearm.

When Roslyn got a full glimpse of the man, she recognized him. The first victim of the sniper. Her eyes hardened and she forgot how bad she felt earlier. A part of her felt even angry for not seeing the trick sooner. So she naturally smiled when she saw the damaged barrel. Her grin faded when she spotted the bullet, undamaged, escape the gun's tip. Even though it missed Sven's direction, Roslyn knew the man would correct it. All magusjaegers knew this trick, herself included, as part of their basics. Her eyes locked with the sniper's. He held it there for less than a moment before he looked away, correcting his shot's course.

Roslyn frowned at the dismissive gesture. Of course he doesn't think I'm much of a threat... No one ever does! She should've been grateful for that, but it still hurt her pride. It was depressing to be underestimated all the time.

With his ranged weapon damaged, the man levitated into the air. Roslyn dug her heels into the water, skidding to a sudden stop. Her eyes kept fixed to him before he kicked off toward Sven, a glimmer of light shone off a blade in hand. The girl regretted falling back from her friends at that moment. With the attacker's momentum, she couldn't hope to intercept him. It was a better idea to mess up his insides and give Esmii a chance to defend. Inhaling deep, Roslyn eyed the blurry streak moving past. She drew from any magnetic in the air before she pointed her hand cannon like a wand at the man. Gut Wrench!

Roslyn's eyes stared in horror as the man shrugged off their efforts. Flesh, muscle, and more came off his form to land into the swamp. Seeing his surface look a bit like raw meat curled her stomach. When the man's fist connected with Esmii's face, she practically heard the force behind the hit. She didn't know if her friend was still conscious or not after it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Desmond still battling some sort of creature. The man held his own until another figure rose up from the swamp depths and grappled him.

That's when she felt a familiar magic. The memories of the monastery in Vossoryia flickered in her head causing her to shake a bit. There's got to be something I can do to help them both... She clenched her weapon. There was only one option she knew of. The girl subtly aimed her weapon to get as many enemies in her cross hairs as possible. Especially without the risk of hitting her allies.

It didn't escape her that both Esmii and Desmond were close enough to be used for shields, but she had a risky idea. The man wasn't the only one who knew a magusjaeger trick or two. There was only one issue... she still struggled with redirecting a shot. Even if she could protect one of them, she couldn't protect both. She tightened her grip to fire, but her hand loosened for a moment when she caught the man's words.

Her brow furrowed. What did he mean by that? She wished she had more time to think, but she couldn't make more. No one could. Her finger pulled the trigger as the end of her weapon flashed. The shot then split into three. One for Sven's earlier attacker and the other two for Desmond's attackers. Roslyn focused the shot going for Sven's, ready to redirect if needed. Only the Gods knew if she was skilled enough.

Esmii's water prison caught Roslyn's shot. The thick liquid began slow her shot down enough for the man's heat to disintegrate it. Roslyn cursed her luck and timing. However, the other two managed to land on their targets. One holding Desmond deflected it, causing the shot to explode and coat it in goo. Meanwhile, the attacker was stunned before Laska finished it off with her ice magics. It shattered into pieces before Roslyn's eyes.

Suddenly, another form erupted from the muck. Sven wide eyed and scared. He drew in energy and then bolted past them, rushing for the far treeline. Before Roslyn, or anyone else, could follow, Esmii started to float. Her form seemed to detach from the earth itself and climb higher and higher. Time ticked down to the final moments.

Never once did Roslyn consider the stakes of her actions. No, only her childish, selfish fear spurred her to save her friend from dying. She drew in the sunlight around her as her telekinesis jerked Esmii from the danger zone. Already the yasoi began to form a thin layer of ice about her for protection.

In the end, Roslyn's consequences suited a fool thinking with her heart rather than her head.

She whipped back around just in time to see the shock wave barreling at her. No time to defend or brace. A grim realization washed over her: I'm not gonna to survive this.

Her arms jerked up and shielded her head when the force collided into her. It shot the girl off her feet and ragdolled her across the bog's murky water. Her arms slammed into the water's surface over and over. Muscles became jelly with fractured bones. She screamed only to lose it in the ringing of her ears. Her right leg crashed into the roof of a ruin. It slowed her momentum when it became caught. Flesh stretched beyond its limits before bone fragments started to shred it. Her world went black from the pain.

The girl's body came to a rolling stop at the base of a tree, laying partly out of the water. Her long hair draped down her face. Blood darkened the water as it gushed from her leg. Her heart might've been unbreakable, but the rest of her wasn't.



The pain woke Roslyn up first. A sea of endless anguish and dizziness, her mind failing to recall what happened. At one point, she thought she heard her mother's surprised voice. Another pulse of searing agony burned the thought away. Not even her injuries in Vossoriya had been this bad. She inhaled and swallowed the lump in her throat. Drawing on her surroundings, she poured her gift through her body. Then she took in her condition. Her eyes lingered on her right leg almost detached fully from her hip.

"Fuck..." It was the only word right for her situation. She eyed up her smoking bandit then drew with kinetic energy. Painfully slow, the remaining sap began to trickle out and along her arm. It reached her leg where it stopped the bleeding. Next she reached her left arm over and pushed it closer, reattaching the bone.

It took a try or two, but she finally slipped it into the socket. Breathing heavily, she began to work on her left arm. She got the swelling to go down as muscles returned to their fibrous state. The bones were still angled too weirdly for her to mend them. Movement came from the side of her vision causing her to jerk her weapon up. It dropped from her grip and splashed in the water when she recognized Desmond.

"Scared the hells out of me..." She gasped out, feeling his binding mend her arm. She bit back a scream when he shifted her arm and forced herself to stay still. Afterwards, Roslyn took a moment to give him a shaky, weak show of gratitude. "Thanks."

She adjusted her attention back to her leg. Telekinesis shifted the bones back into place and binding reformed the flesh. The shaking continued, indicating she wasn't done. At first, she thought it was her left arm. She looked at it. No. Dread stopped her heart for a moment as she shifted on her hips. A new stab of pain filled her. It was her spine! With deep breaths, she focused on finding the dislocation. Again that stab dug into her back causing her to cry. Focus, focus... She urged herself then began to use her binding to slip the disc back into place and revive the tendons. Oddly enough, her other arm had also healed.

Not wasting time, she grabbed her smoking bandit and rose to her feet. She looked at her compass. It pointed toward her bag as she used kinetic energy to seize it.

Roslyn's eyes took in the surroundings. Her gaze followed the poisonous cloud upward as it gradually faded. The destruction made her gut curl and sink in her belly as an unwanted familiarity washed over her. In her memory, images of the aftermath in Mezegol and Vossoriya surfaced. Why couldn't she leave a place better off than when she arrived? The question forever weighed in the small brewery girl's heart. For once, she struggled to see the positive in her actions as the dust settled. She had to do better.

A distant cry caught her attention. Her eyes shifted to spot a familiar figure slicing down a sword into the ground. They couldn't waste time, but they couldn't leave any loose ends.

"I will catch up with you two later. I'm going to make sure to tie up a few loose ends." Her voice sounded exhausted and... empty of her usual hopefulness. Before anyone responded, she tightened her grip on her compass. It accelerated her quickly until she reached the Aamii's side.

That's when she saw it. Anger burned the fatigue away as she gritted her teeth. It took so much life and despite what they did, it still lived. WHY? How was that fair? Wordlessly, she drew from what residue energy still hung in the bog.

"Need help?" She asked coolly while she glared at the thing, her animosity directed at it.

Her palm extended outward as her telekinesis surrounded it. She curled her fingers into a fist, forcing the slimy thing into a compact ball around the core. Roslyn focused on her anger to keep her resolve. It wasn't easy, but she intended to finish this once and for all.

She used magnetic to empower her touch of corruption spell, focusing on its insides. With the state it was in it, Roslyn hoped it didn't have the strength to stop her. She gave a single warning. "I'm setting it on fire, be careful you don't get burnt."

Using the low level arcane spell fireball, she focused on controlling it. Temporal helped with keeping it burning steadily for several minutes. She aimed for an intense flame to burn it into ashes. Once all signs of life disappeared, she used the Gift of Eshiran-Zept to ensure nothing remained. However, she didn't let go of her telekinesis until she knew it was gone.

It was the skull of Ahn-Eshiran. You will know it well by the whispers it utters when you lean in close. They say its protectors gradually lose the soundness of their minds the longer they keep it. If this rumor is true, it is a burden I will bear alone. I fear what might happen if anyone of ill-will held it. The knowledge they would have. The hurt they would do. I swore it would not happen on my watch.

The small Hendland girl pulled back her head. It turned out her mother was right all along. With a deep breath, Roslyn carefully stowed the skull away in her bag. Above everything she ensured to secure it tightly within. She'd discover answers later, but not here. Her eyes looked up over the drained bog to see some of the treasures within. So easily it would be greedy, but likely a price would be paid later. Immediately, the signature shining near the ruined stature caught her attention. It wasn't the same as the bog monster, but something was there. The others could handle Sven, she thought and cautiously made her way over to investigate it.

Upon spotting Niallus and Laska enter back into reality, Roslyn exhaled. She waved back to Niallus. She had started to get paranoid as everyone seemed to have went their own way. "Glad to see you two are okay. And Niallus, you're up and about." She frowned and concern flooded her expression at the Eskander's greenish pallor. "I was a little... worried. You don't look so good."

In the back of her mind, Roslyn questioned if she should mention the skull or not. Her familiar self doubt began to crawl into her thoughts. What if she told the wrong people? What if they stole it from her? Was she really a good judge of character? Her gaze shifted downward for a moment and a few things bugged her. Who could she really trust, if she couldn't tell a good person from a bad one?

Roslyn pulled in a hair closer and remained quiet, studying him. A dread curled into her heart and dragged it down into her stomach. She couldn't place the reason for it. She decided she was overthinking and pushed through it. At least he's up and about. Hopefully the green will eventually fade. She smiled at that positive thought.

"Thanks Roslyn. It looks a lot worse then how it feels." Niallus stated. "So what happened? Where are the others?"

She gave herself a brief look over. Tears, missing sleeve, filth and even her own blood covered her dress. It reflected her overall experience so far here. "Where to start? Well, after the explosion we managed to work together and heal each other. Thankfully, no one lost limbs or anything. After that..." Roslyn took a breath and ran through everything still on her mind.

"Ingrid is still missing. We need to find her and hopefully she's all right. I'm so confused why Xiuyang did that. It doesn't fit what I know of her. " She moved on to the rest, "Esmii went after Sven. Desmond... I'm not fully sure where he is. I stayed here to destroy that... thing. I used everything I had and I hope it is gone for good."

Her eyes glanced about the swamp as if expecting more nasty surprises. "I was about to investigate something over by the statue before you two appeared. I'm not sure I can stand any more surprises."

Roslyn had made her way over to the statue as they talked. She had just managed to grab one of the layered toxic darbonite and a strange stone before Laska took off. It was the same direction as Esmii went earlier. She shot Niallus, who had picked up a broken sword, a look and then she bolted after the woman. Her tired feet sprinted across the ground, jumping over any debris in her way. She reached into her bag and scrambled around for more ammo. Finally, she found a snowpepper sniffing powder. She shoved it into the smoking bandit's muzzle. Seeing Laska leave her in the dust, Roslyn used her compass to hasten her speed.

Why did I let her go alone? She cursed herself for her idiocy. Reaching the far edge of the fight, she saw Laska sliced into Sven's chest. Before she could ask what happened, her eyes lowered and spotted Esmii laying on the ground.

"Sven doesn't have that kind of healing." Niallus' statement drew a worried look from Roslyn.

"Watch out!" Laska called while freezing the demon, "He's no normal demon. He's one of the three lieutenants."

Instead of replying to anyone, Roslyn drew in sunlight. It flickered and faded about her. When she felt the heat flood her skin, she focused on the ground just behind Esmii. She imagined the dirt underneath to be a 'platform' of sorts. Just when 'Sven' finished his insult and slashed down, Roslyn rushed to the right while she jerked her hand up. A chunk of the earth that he stood on tried to fling him backwards on his ass.

She hoped it would topple the demon's balance and make him miss. That was a stupid idea in the end as the earth didn't even budge. Angry at herself for wasting time, she tilted up her smoking cannon at its head in hopes to loosen the armor on it. Another bad idea as it didn't flinch and instead lashed out a wild slash. Strengthening her skin and boosting her reflexes, Roslyn rushed to the side. It edged closer and closer until... her ring glowed giving her just enough to escape.

She snapped her fingers as Desmond shot at the blubbery mass' right arm while Laska tried to freeze it in place. At first, their attacks seemed to fail. However, a transparent butterfly floated into the bloodgorger's eyes, distracting him. Her ally's bullet hit true causing the arm to explode. The massive monster stepped back. Niallus communed with the void as it tried to fill him with power. For most of the fight, Roslyn combo defended her teammates and used her hand cannon. One by one the monster's limbs were dismembered until...

"Niallus, move!" Roslyn screamed. She watched Niallus bisected nearly in half. His body dropped while she moved to heal him. It wasn’t needed. Right before her eyes, she watched his form knit itself back together. It used Bloodgorger's own flesh and blood causing her to stop in place. WHAT the Hells?!?

She couldn't help but wonder what he ate for this to happen. Pushing the questions out of her mind, Roslyn raised her smoking bandit and fired the last shot. It took out the left leg easily and staggered the beast.

"Why won't this thing die already?" Roslyn asked, feeling the strain on her body from battle after battle.
Suddenly...

A voice, meek and desperate, cried out from the belly. A familiar lisp in the words. Sven? Roslyn's eyes stared in disbelief over the possibility. Then again, she had seen her friends survive a lot and prove their endurance to overcome it all.

Niallus' left arm grew to inhuman size as he rushed in for the gut, ripping it open. A river of blood poured out into the muck as the man continued to dig the victim out. The voice kept pleading for help.

Roslyn breathed heavily. Somehow she managed to remain up on her feet, her endurance pushed beyond her body's small limits. She had been lucky during the fight. The creature focused on her allies more than her as she managed to both defend and help finish it off. That's when she heard Laska shout for him to stop.

It was too late. Roslyn spotted the cheeky little demon up in the tree, taunting them now. The voice matching the one from inside the Bloodgorger.

What's going on... why-Then she recalled the words spoken earlier. It wasn't a normal demon. Roslyn knew nothing about demons save for what little she heard from the church. She glanced between Niallus, the thing oozing out of the belly and the creature leering down upon them. "Now what?"

A bad feeling swelled in her breast as she watched the blood covered figure topple out onto the ground. Heavy energies seemed to saturate the air and weigh her down. It charged the skeleton remains of the bog with energy. Blood began to peel and float off the dark, leathery sac. Beneath it, the ground glowed with a circle of runes. Likely hidden there all along.



The man held Sven, but none of his kindness shined in the eyes. Just a cold, emotionless and calculated gaze.

What did we ourselves into? Roslyn couldn't stop trembling as she stood there, helpless. She spied Laska's reaction from the corner of her vision. Fear drenched her expression as the nun stepped back and struggled to speak."Y-you...You're..."

"Belthagor." He finished for her. His voice mimicked the sound of divinity while he seemed to weigh their worth. At the sound of his minion, the being tilted his head and smiled. They exchanged a warm greeting that felt out of place here before his hard expression returned. He raised a finger.

When the pressure came, Roslyn fell to her knees and then her hands. Her lungs inhaled, but she couldn't breathe. Oh no... She didn't understand what was happening.

When did she get tangled up in all of this? She was no epic heroine of a fairy tale. She wasn't even that strong compared to many of her classmates. She was just a simple brewery girl born in a little country. Now... she was going to die like an insect beneath hells' boot. The realization of her fate curled her stomach and pushed up vomit into the back of her throat. It burned there, daring not to go farther. The only hope in her heart was that this would be quick.

Roslyn wanted her death to be over with already. She kept her eyes closed, childishly hoping it might protect her from the world around her. Not that there was much left of it. Any moment, she expected to feel the pressure finally crush her.

Then, all at once, the blinding light intensified. "I can see the fear in you, girl," came the Grand Demon's voice, dripping with sepulchral resonance, deep and cold and rich. "And the desire." The Demon king stood before the six youths in his brilliant white clothing and he was beautiful. "You want so very much from this world, yet dare not speak it. You fear even to love yourself."

His words wormed themselves in her ears, through Roslyn's head, and dug deep in her soul. She sensed more than heard his steps edge closer and felt his eyes upon her. He's not talking to me... Who was it? Roslyn forced her eyes to open. With a bit of struggle, her head lifted upward to see and hope they were strong enough to resist.

He reached out a hand in the direction of one in particular, but it was not Esmii, who was closest to him after Niallus. "You worry, you sacrifice, you work... and for so very little gain." The light built until it consumed her. "I choose you, and I shall lift you up to be more than you might've been."

Belthagor's eyes stared right at her. Roslyn wasn't sure if she should be surprised or frightened that he noticed her. The words dug up her doubts, fears, and pain. She realized not a single one dripped with lies. She didn't value herself much as a mage, especially when she compared herself to her friends. Always falling just short of everything. All of them had strengths she could only dream of matching, but she'd never reach. So many short comings and so few wins. Lately, all Roslyn did was worry, sacrifice, and work... and for what? She realized she had lost sight of the reason.

Too distracted by one of the Kings of hell, she had her back to Laska and Desmond. All at once, the immense pressure disappeared and Laska stood. The nun flung an iron in to the air. "Shoot it, Desmond! Shoot it with anything that warps reality!"

The girl gradually got to her feet before the Grand Demon. Her eyes couldn't tear away from the light even as it burned them. She took a step forward and then another. A moth drawn to a flame in the night.

Is this what I want? What I need? She questioned herself. Something glowed in her pocket as a small, greedy voice hissed 'yes'. Her feet continued to move as the conflict grew inside of her.

The Grand Demon's head twisted to regard the nun and the others. His lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing fangs and, for a moment, great gnarled black horns twisted out of his forehead. His inner ugliness laid bare, he glared venomously at the Red Rezaindian before his face returned to normal. Roslyn, lost in a trance, reached out a hand to touch the glowing point when his last words cut through her haze.

"The rest of you," he announced, "will feed my pet."

No.... NO! Her pupils dilated and her mind pushed back. Please, no. I can't let this happen. She tried to fight the influences tugging at her soul, but was she strong enough? By Ahn-Dami's will, this should be her choice!

Location: Unviat
Date: Unknown



Even the early Rezain in Unviat was cold. A blustering wind whipped across the nearly treeless tundra, batting Mahal's hair about like tangled snakes. She'd been following signs of a Snow Wyvern: droppings, heightened radiation, a couple feathers, and disturbed snow on the branches of the few sparse trees. Then, suddenly, she'd found blood. It was mostly dried and covered, but it stained patches of snow dark. She found some, and then more and then... well, there was a trail if she could follow it. There was definitely a hint of the tiny dragon's characteristic radiation, but was it even alive?

Mahal hated the cold. She had bundled several layers just to keep it out, but it didn't seem to matter. The frost settled on her surface and the chill bit at her flesh still. With with a deep breath, she leaned down to check the trail. She frowned upon seeing the blood and noted its age. A part of her wondered if it was alive still. Cautiously she cast sonic negation to null the sounds of her footsteps as she followed the trail. If this Wyvern had been attacked, she didn't want to draw the attention of its predator.

The blood was old, and then it was newer and then the last bit was still steaming in the snow. The wind had died down. There was a small copse of southern spruce hunkering together in the cold, a large rocky ridge with some stray bounders, and a stream burbling down towards a small pristine lake. Surely,the creature was close. Either it was food for something else here, or else it was wounded and hiding. Likely, it would die if not found and healed.



She came upon it in the clearing: the bones of a small wyvern. They were fresh and there was still meat on them. Bloody white feathers surrounded the mostly-cleaned off carcass as an Arctic Fox scampered away with a mouthful of meat. This, then, was the Snow Wyvern she had been following: dead beyond a shadow of a doubt. There were tracks all around it: foxes, dragons, a wolverine. A large crow hovered about, cawing in pitch black on the white snow. Blood trails led away in four different directions: Southeast, West, Northeast, and North.





Mahal was close to giving up. The trail seemed to have gone cold. The dragon she'd been pursuing was dead, after all. Then, through the gusting snow and the steam of a small hot spring, she sighted it, perched on a rock, its feathers iridescent as it preened itself: a Snow Wyvern.

The small creature was almost luminous. Its feathers giving off a different coloured sheen depending on the angle that it was viewed from. The wind faded and, with it, the sound that had been covering Mahal's footsteps. The Wyvern looked up abruptly, its delicate draconic visage meeting hers. There was blood on its snout and its crystalline horns, but it had carried away no meat and was not eating. That was when she remembered it: young snow wyverns, once they'd come of age, would mercy kill struggling elders rather than letting them fall prey to some other beast.

The quasi-mythical animal spread its wings, spooked but not aggressive. Perhaps it had been grieving, in its own way. It prepared to take flight.



The sight of the creature left the girl in awe. To her eyes, the Snow Wyvern seemed almost made of living ice and cold.

She avoided eye contact and made herself appear as nonthreatening as possible. The wyvern flapped its wings twice but did not take off. Instead, it eyed her warily. She could feel a rise in the latent atomic reactions within it. Its tongue flicked out and licked the blood off of its muzzle. It tilted its head and blinked.

Mahal gave an inner sigh of relief. For now, she had stopped it from flying off but it wasn't a solution. She caught glimpses of the creature's eyes as it gleamed with intelligence matching Diyablos. There was a clear difference, however. She knew her cephalopod better and the easiest way to gain his intention was curiosity. Would the same work here? A small doubt lingered in her mind, but doing nothing was worse. Slowly, she reached into her bag and pulled out some dried jerk meat. Her eyes watched the snow wyvern's reaction carefully.

The dragon glanced at the meat, glanced at Mahal, and tilted its head, unimpressed. After a moment, she could've sworn that it rolled its eyes and sighed.

"Never said it was for you." Mahal stated then bit into the dried meat.

The animal rushed forward at that - the perfect taunt - and let out a chitter. It hopped around, circling her and tilting its head. It looked at the jerky and then at her. Its tongue darted out.

Mahal tensed, but refused to move. She had been ready to draw until she recognized its little display. This time, it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "If you want some, simply need to ask. I am willing to share." With that said, she was already reaching in for another jerky and offered it up. Perk of a glutton was to always have plenty of food on hand.

The Snow Wyvern opened its mouth and appeared to motion with its wing for Mahal to throw the treat over. Its little tongue shot out again in anticipation.

"All right. Don't miss." Mahal said as she tossed it. Her eyes narrowed a bit, noting how it seemed to understand her better than she expected. But maybe, she was being silly. Animals don't understand human speech... right?

Then, just like that, there was a voice. "She's a trickster." A local man in a parka appeared over the ridge, his Avincian strongly accented but surprisingly good.

"Sikuaq," he said to the wyvern, but the rest of his words were in a language that Mahal did not know. "She is young and lost her hatchmates and parents. A few weeks ago, Alooloo, who raised her, went into a blizzard and never came back." He shook his head. "I don't know why, but now she is alone in the world and thinks that she's a person." The man shook his head.

"I am Anik. A trader, but I live around here when I'm not traveling." The wyvern, Sikuaq, fluttered over to his side, but not too close, proudly displaying her prize.

Mahal's eyes snapped to the source of the voice. She hadn't even heard his approach and that put her on edge. Intently, the girl listened to the man. Her gaze shifted from him to the wyvern as her eyes softened. She knew that feeling well some times. "Mahal." She didn't give much more about herself as she remained wary of the man.

"She has something in common with another companion of mine, Diyablos. Gets into all sorts of trouble. He tends to pout too by crossing his little arms because he saw me do it once."

She adjusted her furs against the cold. "That explains a few things now. I was following an old Snow Wyvern trail earlier and found the body. I wasn't sure if it was attacked or not. Then I found her." Mahal gestured to Sikuaq.

"She could use a family," Anik suggested, "But she's a handful. I've been feeding her lately, but I travel and I can't keep her forever." He motioned Mahal over. "Slowly," he warned, taking some sort of dried meat from his pack. "It's similar to your jerky. That's probably why she took to you."

With a deep inhale, Mahal did as instruction. She kept the none threatening posture best she could while she leaned in and drank in his words. "It's the best way to preserve the meat and I always keep some on me. Though bones work, time to time, to trick the constant hunger."

Her eyes admired the creature's icy beauty. "I have some experience in caring for creatures, especially those without families. Diyablos came from a clutch of abandoned eggs. His brothers and sisters all have new homes, with owners I believe cherish them." A part of her wasn't sure why she decided to share this information, but it left her lips before she thought about it. She couldn't take it back now. "However, a creature like her will only go if she wants to."

"You are not wrong," Anik agreed. He handed her some meat, as Sikuaq looked on curiously. He spoke to the young wyvern and she glanced between the two of them. "See if she will follow you." He began to back away. Which way would Sikuaq go?

Mahal agreed with this. She rose to her feet and started to walk the opposite way. Her arm held the jerky in plain sight while she held her breath. At first, the wyvern hesitated. It let out a low, confused cooing. The creature bobbed between Mahal and Anik with indecisiveness. After a little while, the young wyvern seemed to understand. She bounded across the snow towards Mahal and took the meat from her hand.

"I think that settles it. " Mahal said placing her hand for the Wyvern to accept a gentle stroke.

Anik agreed as the pair departed from the frigid cold back to Ersand'Enise.

Noting the rain gently pouring outside, Mahal sighed. She leaned back against the window overlooking the street below. As the corner stones darkened, people held their hands aloof and scattered for cover. Some disappeared into buildings while others into carriages. The girl's attention shifted upward when she heard Puno stir. Above her, the small canine looked at her. The large, fluffy tail casually wagged in greeting. Mahal gave a low whistle. Immediately Puno scrambled toward the end of the shelve then leapt off. Her skin flaps stretched out and caught a bit of air before she landed nearby. The Palaparese woman reached out to scratch underneath the canine's chin. "Good girl."

Her legs twisted about as she kicked onto her feet. She strolled over to a large tank resting in the corner of her room. Dipping her arm below the water's surface, Diyablos stirred. The small creature crawled out of his burrow. With a gentle grip, he climbed up her arm and rested on her shoulder. A little whine drew Mahal's attention. Supok lift her head from underneath the bed's covers. Mahal called with authority. "Halika na."

Instantly, the hound rushed to her side as she exited. The small group of a girl, an octopus, and two hounds moved quickly down the hallway. Upon reaching Lunara's room, Mahal tapped her knuckles hard on the door. "Lunara, are you busy?"

Lunara was sat on her table, in the middle of her room playing with her Goma cat Miray, Ground Octopi Terra and Lilypad thresher Kamelya. On the table were three bowls full of food, for her pet's and a tea pot with a matching tea cup full of tea. The pet food and tea was given to her and made by her new friend Esmii. Lunara found the tea to be very tasty with a pleasant smell and after taste.

Just as she was about to take another sip from her cup, she heard a knock at the door and then her sisters voice. Lunara placed the cup back down and quickly answered, her so that she wasn't waiting outside. "Come in Mahal, I'm not busy."

Mahal hesitated. It was unlike her to do such a thing as she stood there, her hand resting on the handle. Her middle twisted about like a swarm of rosy threshers in her guts. She inhaled and pushed out the sensation. Her fingers tightened and she entered the room. Supok rushed after her where she delivered a loud booming woof. She wagged her tail before she rushed to tackle Miray. Mahal snapped her fingers together followed by a command. The fire hound dug in her heels as she smacked onto her rump. Her head looked back at her master with a small whine. Mahal sighed while she approached her half sister, Puno coolly walking beside her.

"I'm sorry, Supok loves to play with Miray. May I sit?" Her hand gestured to the spot across from Lunara.

Lunara let out a little giggle upon seeing Supok wanting to play with Miray. While Miray waited eagerly for Lunara to give her the command to let her play with her fire hound friend.

"It's fine, it seems that they are really good friends. It seems Miray want to play too." she walked up to greet her sister with a hug. "You are just in time, I made tea and have some sweets, would you like to join me, dear sister."

"It is likely because when Supok tries to play with Puno, the updog climbs just out of reach. She is not very fond of rolling about." Mahal commented as she released the hound from her command. Supok rushed for Miray and began to zoom about the room, growling happily.

At the mention of having made tea and some sweets, Mahal's right eyebrow raised. She pulled closer to the low sitting table before folding her legs up and sitting down. "You made this?" She gestured over the sweets and tea. Her voice then took on a light, teasing quality. "What would Dalma say? Isn't labor suited for the slaves and servants? Don't tell me that Ersand'Enise culture been rubbing off on you. Father wouldn't like that."

Watching Miray and Supok chased each other around, pouncing and play with each other. Her attention shifted to Mahal sitting opposite her mentioning about the tea and sweets. "But of course. I am a young woman, I need some hobbies that aren't too boring. Esmii and Ayla helped me on how to make the sweets." Lunara responded. Petting the coon kitten that was on her lap, she lifted the kitten off of her person, placing it in front of a bowl with cat food in. The kitten dove straight in, eating to its delight.

"This culture was indeed strange at first, but it seems to grow on a person." she remarked, taking a sip of tea.

"Besides, father isn't here, so I don't really care what he says right now. Besides all he'll do is just complain."

Mahal's mood soured at Lunara's dismissive words and attitude. Casually her arms reached for the kettle and a cup, pouring herself some. She raised it to her lips then let the bitter, floral aroma wash over her. As she set it down, her tongue clicked against her teeth. "He isn't, but we will be returning home at some point. Sadly, it won't be you that gets the worst of his 'complaints'. It was my responsibility to ensure Ersand'Enise didn't corrupt you too much and to keep you safe. It was only reason he let me come along at all."

She set the cup down then reached over to scratch top of the kitten's head briefly. Her eyes still turned to her half-sister's direction. Her hand pulled back as she reached into her pouch for a bone. She popped it in then rolled it around against her cheek while she continued. "During the school's errand to Kiluaho, I encountered Ren Baykara. Lunara, he plans to visit the plantation at some point. I'm going to have to write father and inform him before then."

Lunara placed her cup delicately back on the saucer, while pondering on what her sister said about there father and how he reacts. "You are quite right sister, please forgive me. I only brewed the tea myself as Miss Esmii showed me how to as it is brewed differently to normal tea." She then thought and stated "I will show the servants how to brew it properly, so that no one gets the wrath of father."

She then took another sip of tea, and listened to her sister again. After her sister had finished what she was saying, Lunara thought if the name, which she recognised. She recalled all of the times a man by that name visited, her father made sure that Lunara was dressed beautifully, at the time she didn't know why. But she only saw the man for a brief time, before her mother escorted her somewhere else, then she remembered hearing the man and her father having serious talks. decided to ask. "I know Ren Baykara, or I have at least met him briefly. Do you know what his intentions are?"

Mahal relaxed when Lunara yielded to her reasoning. "Good. According to father, slaves and servants will get lazy and that isn't good."

She turned toward the door. The girl servant, Pua, stood just outside waiting for instructions. "Pua, make some suya for dinner tonight with some sticky rice and roasted vegetables. Also, bring some fried crickets and meat pies up for a snack."

Pua bowed then promptly disappeared down the stairs. Upon hearing the last of her footsteps fade, Mahal turned her attention back to Lunara. She shrugged. "I'm guessing I impressed him during the mission? Honestly, I'm not sure. Father won't be happy to entertain him more than needed." Not wanting to linger in her dread, Mahal moved on. "I thought it was best you were made aware. So, what have you been up to while I was gone?"

Lunara on hearing her sister asking for fried crickets, her face dropped. On seeing her sister turn back to her she tries to hide her disgust. After her sister voiced her concern Lunara added. "Try not to worry about Father, dear sister, and thank you for letting me know.

Lunara thought for a moment, about what she had done recently. "Well dear sister, I went on an adventure with some of the students. We went to find a Yasoii's kidnapped son." She then refilled her tea cup, and grabbed a few biscuits and cakes.

Mahal didn't comment on the mention of father. It was easy for her sister to say and a stab of jealousy rippled through her. The girl inhaled to keep her temper in check as she caught the mention of a kidnapped yasoi boy. Her eyes stared hard at her half-sister. She struggled to keep her voice steady against her rising anxiety. "Adventure? I thought I asked you to stay home while I was gone. Did you go into that place called Mucktown or whatever it's call?"

Lunara looked away from her sister, as she knew she was annoyed at her. "Do you mean Mudville, dear sister." She stated worryingly knowing she was in trouble. "Well I got bored, and saw that they needed help. So I assisted them and I took Miray with me. I did well at protecting myself, and almost made one man urinate himself." She rambled on as she didn't know what else to do. "Anyway enough about my adventure dear sister. How was yours?"

"No, you are not changing the subject. What would've happened if you got hurt?" Mahal stated in a fuming manner. She paused, pressing her fist against her mouth to cool her temper. After a moment or two, she then asked, "What happened exactly?"

Lunara looked away from Mahal and said. "Sorry sister. I just wanted to help." She waited to get scolded off Mahal again, but on hearing her sisters words, she looked up at her and smiled. "Well we went..." Lunara went on to explain what happened over that days Mahal was away, she left out no detail and explained everything she did and saw. You could tell by her expressions that she had fun.

When Lunara finished, Mahal went still. In this moment, her father and her shared eerie similarities as she fought to keep her temper in check. Finally, her hand made a fist and slammed down on the table. It rattled the kettle and dishes. Her sister easily shrugged off the danger she put herself in, but Mahal didn't. "I can't leave you alone, can I? You willingly put yourself and Miray into danger. What would've happened if you had been seriously injured? Selim isn't here to heal you if you lose a limb."

She pushed herself onto her feet then started to pace. "Even worse, what if none of the students decided to help you? What if they weren't even there? Did you actually think about that?"

Lunara was shocked at first, however, the shock was quickly replaced by anger, at her sister's reaction, and she decided to defend herself and her decision. "Don't raise your voice at me, sister." She placed the cat on the floor, stood up and walked towards Mahal. She looked straight into her sister's eyes and spoke in a raised but firm voice.

"I am my own person, I don't just wait here for you to return. I have seen the nightlife of our home and culture without the servants around me when I snuck out at night. Being here has given me even more freedom than I could ever have imagined. For the first time, I can choose who I want to be friends with." She stopped to take a breath and think about what she wanted to say next.

"I am not the spoiled and sheltered child I was when I was younger. I have grown into a better version of myself. And I made the decision to help a family who needed me, I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. What would you have done in my place?"

Sensing the tension in the room rise, Supok whined. Her ears folded back and her body lowered to the ground. Meanwhile, Puno had climbed up a support to a shelf to escape it. Diyablos remained loyally by his mother's side though curled in and matching the carpet.

Like an angry goma cat, Mahal curled her lips and bared a bit of her teeth. Such a display back at home would've had her back handed for the disrespect. Not here though. Her eyes darkened as Lunara drew closer to her personal space, mimicking Dalma. Mahal dug her heels to resist lashing out. Her efforts crumbled when her sister mentioned sneaking out.

"Nothing I do matters, unlike you. You claim not to be the same, but I don't see any difference. You don't think about things other than yourself." Mahal's face came to rest inches from her sister's face. Fury rolled off her skin like never before and crackled the air slightly with magnetic. "When we were younger, they saw you coming back. Not me. I thought I was careless, but it was you the whole time. Let me ask you a question. Do you think everything changes because we're here?"

Mahal pulled back from Lunara and stormed off to the exit. "Let me answer that for you: it doesn't."

Lunara noticed a shift in her sister's body language and facial expression, indicating a change in her demeanour. It dawned on her, too late, that she had encroached on Mahal's personal space. Despite this realization, she chose not to retreat. She attentively absorbed her sister's outburst. As she was compared to her younger self, Lunara's irritation swelled, a fact not lost on Mahal. ”I acknowledge that I have evolved since my childhood," she retorted with escalating frustration.

Upon witnessing her sister storming out of her bedroom, Lunara followed her and retorted to her sister's previous remarks. "I am aware of the differential treatment you receive. While I acknowledge that my decision to embark on the mission may have been reckless, I made that choice independently for once." She stated, pausing briefly, she continued, "You often express your desire for my personal growth, learning, and independence. Yet, the moment I exhibit those qualities, you emulate our father by diminishing my accomplishments."

Mahal's anger rose with the chase. Her feet kicked into a fast pace and she immediately, she exited the dorm. Puno and Supok, not sure what to do, followed shortly behind. Meanwhile, Diyablos clung to her as he refused to let go. The feared what she might do if she stayed in the dorms for much longer. So her attention turned toward the only place she knew she could unleash it all: The Proving Grounds.

After her sister had disappeared from her sight, she forcefully slammed the door behind her and returned to the table where her tea, cakes, and biscuits were laid out. Sitting down on the chair, she let out a heavy sigh and reflected on the situation, thinking to herself, Well, that was a mistake. I shouldn't have confronted her like that. I'm sorry, Mahal. All the animals emerged from their hiding spots, and Miray settled beside Lunara, resting her head on her lap. Observing this, Lunara began to gently stroke Miray. After a brief moment of contemplation, she remarked to Miray, "I wonder how long Mahal's silent treatment will endure this time."

How long had it been? The rains continued to drench Mahal as her anxiety rolled off her. Her eyes rested on the main house wedged firmly between the coffee fields and native jungle. Like a jewel set in the center of a green crown. One built of stone, ironwood, and hand crafted tile. Yet underneath its surface, Mahal knew the beauty to be skin deep. She remembered the screams and blood she shed within its wall and across its grounds.

Lost in the memories, a soft whine drew her attention. The girl twitched to life and looked down. She saw both her young dogs studying her intently, their tails drooped and ears perked. Their forms waiting impatiently for her next words. Something wet slide across her neck causing her eyes to look at her shoulder. The familiar red skin of Diyablos clung to her shoulder and seemed to touch her cheek. This broke the spell over her. She turned her head forward, inhaled then walked toward the house. Shortly all four slipped under the wooden roof.

"Ipte-Zept's Blessing." A burst of heat flushed her body and evaporated the water into steam. Meanwhile the dogs shook themselves, scattering droplets across the floor. Supok yawned then half bowed, stretching down upon her front legs. As she rose back up, her head glanced about causing Mahal to click her teeth. "Stay with me. Don't go wandering off."

The pup stared at her before something caught her attention. Noticing the distraction, Mahal followed her companion's gaze. It rested on the farthermost corner of the room. Slowly, one by one, the shadows began to detached themselves from the darkness and stalked into the light. Goma cats, about six them, circled about the intruders. Mahal tracked each one before the largest, a male, drew uncomfortable close. He waited for something. Cautiously, she stretched her palm outward. The feline purred then rubbed his whiskered cheek across it.

"Forgive me in advance for this question, Imam," said the recent convert, "but I wonder why you are showing us yourself when you certainly must have much else of great importance to do." He was a younger man, local and properly pious. He bowed as he spoke, though it was not necessarily the custom here. Old habits died hard.

"You are not wrong," the holy man replied with a soft smile. There was none of the air of judgment about him that most of the locals had come to expect from the Virangish. In any event he had made this place a home for over two decades. "I have much else to do." He nodded slowly as he took them past the Silver Gate. "But none of it is nearly so important as welcoming new brothers and sisters." He spread his hands. "Others can do the paperwork and it will be done all the same. I wish for you to be welcomed as a brother deserves."

From the distant Sky Dome, echoed the soft sounds of a hundred or more prayers. Natural light filtered in from the east and people greeted each other and caught up away from the holier areas, among the columns and alcoves. Imam Tikli led them past the Chamber of Sleep and onwards, further, into the Chamber of Giving. There were no questions asked here. People left what they did not need for others. Those others took what they needed. A fountain burbled softly in the middle, hundreds of silver coins shimmering beneath the water's surface. Branching off of the main chamber were hallways, secondary chambers, and guard stations. One of the first cohort, in particular, was strongly gated and watched over by six janissaries. What could possibly have lain down it?

Not all of them were Palaparese. This was unusual.

The Thirsty Bull was infamous as a place of rough sailors, dockhands, and general labourers. The booze was cheap, the location was convenient, and it was almost clean. If there was often gambling, fistfights, and drunkenness, there was also a sort of code here. Nobody took - or was allowed to take - their squabbles further than a single night... at least, not with each other.

Two outsiders were among them, however. One of these men was masked in the way of the Revidians some had heard of. One or two had tried to get him to take it off. Others had forestalled their efforts before he'd had to so much raise his voice, let alone a hand against them. The other had come in a hooded cloak, for such was the rain this night.

It came down in torrents on what was likely Ceboyan's darkest night in years. From the sprawling terraced farms of Bundok to the squat stinking warehouses of Arangal, the vast city hunkered down against the onslaught, shutters drawn, doors closed, embers glowing faintly in hearths. It was a place of ghosts for the time being.

The men inside were more than the usual rough sorts. There were merchants and skilled craftsman as well, even a handful of farmers. All had been pouring out their anger with their drinks when the two interlopers had arrived: cheap wages, high prices, draconian law enforcement, and double standards for the Company's men. Worst of all, there was no way out: no ability to form their own companies or undertake any enterprise that could rival those of the Company and Virang. It had reached a boiling point and tonight, perhaps, the fury of these men matched that of the heavens.

The arrivals did not seem to be Virangish, at least. They seemed cut from an altogether different cloth, though it was hard to tell. The guard station was not so very far away, and they had resorted to underhanded plays of late. It would pay to be cautious.

It was late in the darkness, the rain that lay over Ceboyan and Arangal only now starting to make its way to neighbouring Kalingnan. Dogs, left out in it, howled in protest, and drops pattered against thatched roofs. In the great manor house that roosted on the hill, servants were bustling about, bringing furniture and plants in, locking up sheds, and closing shutters. In rapid succession, the lights winked out. The great evil eye that gazed over Aziz Mesud was closed.

"Dali?" whispered a voice. A moment passed. "Dalisay!?" It came back louder.

"Yesss, Bato. I'm here. Are you trying to wake the whole farm?"

"Well, you could answer the first time and I wouldn't have to be louder." A teenage boy could be seen slipping into a large hut. He was wearing a wide straw hat and loose canvas pants patched a few times.

"This takes focus, you know." A girl, perhaps a year or two older, could be seen sitting cross-legged on a bed made of planks and some hay. Presently, she opened an eye to glare at the boy.

"Can you sense them yet?"

She nodded. "But only one," she admitted, with some consternation. "Gani said we'd have real help." Dalisay opened both eyes and leaned back, posting her weight on her arms. Long greasy black hair was draped over one shoulder. The boy bore a striking resemblance to her as he joined her sitting on the bed, though his hair had a slight wave to it.

"Maybe he's just that good," Bato suggested, pausing for a moment. "Or 'she'." He tried a hopeful smile.

"It's a man," Dali corrected. She furrowed her brow. "A mage, I think." She nodded after a second.

"He must be some mage!" Bato enthused, only to be shushed by his older sister. "Oraf only gave you loud and mute, didn't she?" the girl chided, and the younger of the pair grimaced by way of apology.

Dalisay glanced about warily and her eyelids fluttered shut for a second. "Well, I sure hope he is. It's a mad idea."

Bato was already rising, but some of the simple cheer faded from his face for a moment. "If you ask me, doing what they did to Alad was the mad thing." He began to walk away.

Dali's eyes opened. "I know," she sighed. "I'm sorry." She took a deep breath and glanced down. "We all wish it hadn't happened. We all wish that things could be different." She shrugged.

"And they will be, Ate, once this man comes and shows us what we need." He turned on his heel and crouched down before where she sat on the bed. "Then we can do the rest ourselves."

"Would a healer not be better for Alad?"

"How long until the next Alad?"

Dalisay sighed and nodded glumly, but she made sure to flash a smile for her little brother. They were but a year and a half apart, though sometimes it felt like more and, other times, she felt the younger of the two. "As usual, wisdom from the mouth of babes."

Bato winked and she blew a raspberry. "I meant his head, as well." She shook hers. "You know he's never been quite right. Anyway, go now," she urged him. "Tell Gani and Kidlat that he's coming along the west road. He's tall and has a pack and some... kites." She estimated his walking speed. "He's about two miles away. Hurry and you three can pull him into the old shed."

For a moment, Bato's eyes flicked to the wheelbarrow in the middle of the hut. "Do you..."

Dalisay smiled and shook her head. "Go, totò!"

They would find him there, every morning, on the same bench in his garden. It was not a new behaviour, but not an old one either. One day, about a year and a half ago, he had started doing it. Now, it was part of his routine.

Osman III, called 'Prudent' by allies and enemies alike, was eighty years of age and had reigned for sixty-one. That all men of wisdom and decency respected him was a given. That many of those same men - and women - whispered in secret that he was not the man he had been five years ago - or even two - was also true. Did their whispers reach his wizened ears, or had time rendered him deaf to them?

Dorrad and Hundri were very much alike in Gandacar, and bees and hummingbirds hovered between the delicate blossoms, some cultivated by Osman's own hand, some as old as his reign itself. He sat among them, and who could say if he found his peace there?

Yet, this day, the tranquility of the garden was not to be his. This day, his viziers - the two of them - approached, and a gaggle of others. "But if only they could see what I have grown here," the old sultan murmured to himself before they arrived, "they would not be so quick to urge me to war."

"The young conqueror surveys his new empire and crows that it is vast, like Lake Albadón, but he knows nothing of its depth."

- Firrazene Proverb

The road west from Torra Corda stretches on into inner Torragon, straight as a line in some places. To one side is Lake Albadón and the sparse greenery upon its shores; to the other lies a vast and cruel desert, bleeding off into the horizon, seemingly endless.

It was into this scene that Ayla Arslan, a daughter of one of the greatest noble houses in the country, arrived. From the dust and winds, the endless mirror of the lake emerged, flamingos and other waterfowl dotting its surface, peering up from their animal activities at the new arrival.

Not so far from its shore lay a gazebo. A simple wooden structure, it cast a rhomboidal shadow across the whitish sands as whitish curtains fluttered in the stifling breeze. Just outside was a horse. Just within was a man. He waited at a table. The girl arriving knew who he was.

The sun impaled itself on the belltower of the Sala del Commercio, more peach, now, than grapefruit. People scurried about the business of the day, getting in those final purchases, cleaning their shops, and meeting with friends before the shadow of the Palazzo Ducale covered the plaza below. A group of boys wound their way about the place, playing a ball game, their excitable calls piercing the general din. Once, perhaps, some of the people in the Palazzo had been among that number. Now, they played a different sort of game.

One with much higher stakes.

"There are many angles, but the issue is simple at its heart: some trouble for Virang is good for us. Too much trouble is not." Prospero Malatesta, called by some L'Anguilla, leaned on the windowsill, gazing calculatingly out across the vast piazza.

Maurizio Tartarello, Minister of War, rapped his knuckles on the table, as if to draw the Doge's attention. "If this spark ignites the Twins, La Mossa Verde will fail." He scowled and shook his head tightly. "We are not yet ready."

There seemed to be a general sense of agreement on that point. The clock on the wall ticked. Shadows stretched rhomboidal. The servants replenished platters and brought drinks, but not so very many, for this was not a formal war council, but rather, a personal session afterwards with the Doge's brain trust and a few newer faces he'd invited.

Count on her, then - the only woman in the room - to be the one who broke the easy agreement.

"I think we should press every advantage we have to the hilt." Francesca la Volpe flipped her feet off of the table where they'd been resting, and placed her cigar into the ashtray. At least her boots weren't muddy this time. "Gooey Rouis' not as stupid as he looks." She picked the pineapples off of her pizza. "Is a foreign war in support of slavery going to galvanize his people enough to attack Revidia!?" She leaned back and kicked her feet up again. Prospero smiled. "Other opinions?" he offered, taking in the room.

The bells of Taicuuma rang across the Sidoilean, a final goodbye to the twenty ships who flew the Jaadas banner. Fort Ensuumax fired a rolling salute and thousands lined the capital's piers, singing, chanting, waving tearful goodbyes. If they were the Golden Generation and might achieve more than any before, more was asked of them than any other as well.

Cascal'uumii'anthan, emperor of Tarlon, knew this well. "Brothers and Sisters," he began, appearing atop the walls of the fort, "it heartens me greatly to see you here in such numbers and with such spirit." He bowed his head in momentary thanks, the Empress Esuul appearing at his shoulder, a silent beautiful apparition, hands knit before her.

"Our brave soldiers and our brave sailors do not need more strength." He nodded. "For one thousand years, this land we call home, that we found wild and hostile, that we brought to heel and coaxed an empire from, has made us the strongest people on Sagand." He smiled and spread his arms. "We have had no other choice."

"What they need most now," said the empress, stepping forward, "Is faith." Between her fingers were curled the beads of a levenii. "Faith that they will have a home that lifts them and welcomes them back, faith in the righteousness of their actions. Faith that the Gods stand behind them." She raised her fist into the air. "We have given them arms and armour, brothers and sisters, and now I say that is our final great Gift as we leave their fates to Damy and Vyshta."

Esuul bowed her head. "Let us pray." Cascal bowed his head. "Let us pray."

"Ypti," called the empress,

- "Ypti," refrained her people -

"from whom flows the love and beauty that makes life a joy and wonder,"

"from whom flows the love and beauty that makes life a joy and wonder,"

"we humbly ask of thee to hold these young women and men in your heart, to set before them reminders of what it is that they fight to protect, that they may not lose themselves to the warrior's rage or the widow's mourning."

"Shiin." Cascal's voice carried out across the piers and he, too, was echoed by his people.

"who is the light of learning, the pique of curiosity, and the sage wisdom of experience."

A thousand voices followed that of their emperor.

"We ask of thee, in humility, to let not these young souls be dulled by what they will do and witness. Bathe their senses in wonder and foresight so that they may find new and clever ways to law low their enemies and stand triumphant."

"Mother Oirase," came Esuul and a multitude more after, "from whom all that lives and breathes springs, it is our most humble request that you carry these whom we have sent on a journey close to your bosom, that you grant them the privilege of many more years alive among us."

"Exiran," thundered Cascal's voice, "Lord of War and bringer of death." All knew the opening words. "Fill thy people with vigor and violence that they might be a fighting force like none this world has ever seen, that they may lay waste to their enemies and bring victory to our people and our most righteous cause."

"Dami," said all, "Lord of Lords, we ask that you judge us and our cause worthy. We beg of you the wisdom to choose, always, the true path." As one, they dropped to one knee. "As one, we ask you to guide us to..."

"Jaadas!"

Juuras!"

"Tan'daxii!"

When they looked up and rose, the Dawn Fleet had passed the horizon and there was only ocean: pure and endless.

In all this time away, Lunara learned, home is where you make it. Her hair usually tied up was let down and wafting, stretching out her arms, exhaling softly, she leaned back on her steed whom trotted the dirt path beaten into submission by years of other riding travelers. A lady of your station shouldn't be traveling alone! Her father would've preached. Why trot in the dirt concealing your destiny when you could be out there where the people can look up to you in all your brilliance? Her mother would've prodded. Of which did Lunara listen to more? Neither. She quite liked breaking expectations, it gave her that sweet release from pressures nobility charged on her, a life she did not have the luxury to choose as she was promptly reminded again and again of her duties as a noble lady of the house. Lunara may have learned another lesson about home, she could never escape far enough. Adding to her earlier thoughts, home is where you make it, if you can get far enough away from the one you're in.

Quite honestly Lunara wasn't looking forward to returning home. She liked Ersand'Enise, she fancied the differences in culture, perspectives, and ideas. There were plenty of books and rarely any insects flying around to make her squeamish. It was a place she'd like to continue to make home. Yet, it wasn't far enough from the nudge of her parents calling her back for duty, like a noose around her gut, she was pulled between feelings of safety and vulnerability.

Not far above, lurked Miray. If it weren't for their bond it would've been difficult to sense Miray's presence. She was silent and seamlessly blending in with the dappled light filtering through the thick canopy. Lunara, ever so often would glance up to catch glimpses of Miray weaving effortlessly through the jungle above, a smile cracking across her face, beautiful. As they rounded over a slight elevation Lunara spotted what Miray had already begun to stalk, a monkey.

The jungle seemed to hold its breath. With a swift launch from Miray, the jungle burst alive with sounds and colors from other creatures scattering out of the way. The intensity of the hunt was dialed up. Lunara went from falling asleep on her horse to pacing with the excited Goma and monkey. She matched the speed of the swift movements Miray was delivering in the canopy, the monkey finding difficulty with its catch and release of the trees it hugged under pressure. Both leaped. Only one landed. Miray's powerful jaw and claws gripped the monkey in mid-flight. The two tumbled through the air and for a split second, the monkey let out a high-pitched screech, a desperate chatter echoing among the trees.

The monkey twisted and flailed, attempted to wriggle free, but Miray's strength was unmatched. Her metallic canines gleamed as she locked her jaw delivering an electric charge through her teeth. The faint crackle emitted from her canines and sharply followed was the monkey's fade into submission.

Miray leaped down gracefully onto the jungle floor, her powerful limbs absorbing her impact. Her prey now silenced, the jungle seemed to return to the humming of casual life, background of insects and rustling leaves resuming as if acknowledging the hunt's end. Miray approached Lunara and dropped the monkey in front of her as if to say, you aren't a good hunter, so here I did it for you.

Lunara didn't much like monkeys and was always comforted that there was one thing in this life that always looked out to protect her from the things she didn't always notice were there at first, "Thank you, Miray, you're incredible, always protecting me. What would I do without you?" Lunara hopped down off the horse and graceful as Miray from the trees. Miray leaned into Lunara's touch, her fierce eyes softening, a subtle gesture of affection, another note to their unbreakable bond. Lunara remained off the horse, leading it by the reins to her home as she walked next to Miray. Why did she take the dirt path and the longer way home? Because she didn't want to leave the home she felt when she was away.

Lunara moved toward the entryway, through arches, and combed yard. She could hear her father's reproach in her mind: A lady of your station should be punctual. She imagined the disapproval etched on his face, the disappointment at the dust on her boots and the hint of wilderness she hadn't bothered to shake off. Brushing a stray leaf from her cloak, straightening her shoulders, she let out a slow exhale.

"Wait here, Miray," she murmured, stroking the Goma cat's head one last time before stepping inside. Miray settled back on her haunches, eyes fixed on the door. Once it closed, Miray bounded in the woods to see if she couldn't keep eyes on Lunara throughout the interior of the estate.

Inside, the hallways stretched out, echoing with memories of her childhood. Strange, how distant this place felt now. The ornate tapestries, the polished floors-they were relics of a life she had once been part of, but no longer felt connected to. She paused, taking a moment to steady herself. Her mind fitted back to Ersand'Enise, the freedom she'd felt, to the friends she'd made, and the perspectives she'd encountered. It was all so... far... far... away within these walls.

As she reached the door, she straightened once more, forcing a calm expression onto her face. The door creaked, there he was, seated behind his massive desk, a portrait of power and control. Ruslan looked up, his gaze sweeping over her, taking in the dust on her cloak, the wild look in her eyes that she hadn't managed to conceal.

"Lunara," he said, a hint of reproach already coloring his tone, "You've finally returned."

She met his gaze, her jaw set, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. "Yes, father," her voice steady.

She could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on her, but she refused to let it bend her. Whatever lecture awaited her, she would face it as she had faced everything else.

Ruslan held a mask over his face as he let the moment stretched on. Finally, he placed his quill back into the ink well and set the recent news aside. In a smooth motion, he pushed onto his feet and walked around the table. He slowed upon approach, his hand held out for a proper greeting.

Once finished, her pulled it back and spoke. "Though I'm glad to see some things haven't changed. I think it's time we talk about your future." He gestured for the door, indicating for her to exit first.

Lunara’s gut churned as the words ‘future’ slipped from her father’s lips. What was he going to hold her responsible for now? As Ruslan gestured for Lunara to exit first, there was a brief thought, what if she just ran and never came back. Good riddance!

Yet, she found her feet walking lock step with her father. Her mind slipping into focus and her heart steadying. Lunara was always going to end up here with him, discussing her future. Was it not what he raised her for?

It would have been more accurate to suggest they’d be talking about Ruslan’s future and how Lunara would bring his vision and legacy into the next chapter, not her’s. It was never really about her.

“Ok, we’re walking - what about my future did you want to insert your input into?” She asked sarcastically.

"I see Ceren's attitude has worn off on you." Ruslan commented then added, "Perhaps it was unwise to send her to school with you. Even for protection."

He let his words settle in the air in hopes to temper her mood. Soon, the older man moved on and addressed the next issue. He kept his pace an amble since he had much to say. "Getting upset over what is expected of you, doesn't change the role you were born in. We each have our responsibilities to serve the family. Even if we're not fond of it."

Ruslan stared off into the distance for a moment, then exhaled. "Since you left, tensions have been rising in Palapar. Especially in the lower class. Recently, a few of our slaves were caught gathering together without permission. They had stolen one of the kitchen's knives and were heard plotting. According to the overseer, they planned to murder one of the guards and make a break for it into the jungle."

While he didn't know if the source could be trusted, it was enough to ensure punishment for even the thought of it. Those who rose above their rank often brought discord into society. Everyone had their place and for good reasons.

Lunara keeping to the etiquette of her station with an upright walk replied with a tone of defiance, "Ceren's attitude? No, this is mine, father." Her eyes steeled ahead, "And, yes, duty to family over one's self." A lesson she repeated back to him, the man she learned the code from.

Her father pressed on about his woes, Palapar, lower class, slaves, caught, stolen, plotting, and murder. These were all words she selected as he spoke his concerns and all Lunara could think about was, why?

She stopped for a moment, turned toward her father, "Why do our slaves want to run?" An answer Lunara knew, yet, she was intrigued at what her father might conjure up as a serious thought.

Ruslan frowned at his daughter's statement. It was clear he didn't believe her words as he continued to lead onward.

"They are unable to be more than what they are. So they chose to run rather than shoulder their expectations. " Ruslan's voice oozed with confidence from the lessons he had learned as a child. "Little do they know about how the world works. The strong will always rule and it is by their mercy, the weak is allowed to exist."

Lunara's face was slightly down as she listened. Ruslan's words bounced in her head, his view of these people were oddly similar to his view of her. The difference was his daughter had escaped but his slaves had not.

Her eyes lifted, "By their mercy?" Lunara sighed, was it worth the trouble? She started to chuckle, "Thank the Pentad for their mercy!" Her tone mockingly in delivery. "So, what will the strong do to rectify such rebellion?"

Ruslan noted the disapproval, but stilled his tongue. If she had been Ceren, things would've been different. All it took was a swift slap to the jaw to bring her sister to heel. However, Lunara was stronger. A reason that made him proud despite her behavior.

"When words fail, they use force. Currently that is the direction I see things going if the weak don't fall back into line. That has never changed." If he was pleased to reveal this fact to her, his face didn't show it. "It would be wise to remember that or you risk becoming a target yourself. Or worse, the family does."

Their path took them in a wider room near the house entrance.

Lunara listened. She didn't believe him, but she listened. What was the use to change the ideas of a man who believed the world was always exactly how he saw it. All this talk of burdening responsibility, The burden of strength, responsibility, and the place of the weak, all were his ideas and no one else's. At the end of the day - he is what he is, a product of his environment.

"I'll remember."


How long had it been? The rains continued to drench Mahal as her anxiety rolled off her. Her eyes rested on the main house wedged firmly between the coffee fields and native jungle. Like a jewel set in the center of a green crown. One built of stone, ironwood, and hand crafted tile. Yet underneath its surface, Mahal knew the beauty to be skin deep. She remembered the screams and blood she shed within its wall and across its grounds.

Lost in the memories, a soft whine drew her attention. The girl twitched to life and looked down. She saw both her young dogs studying her intently, their tails drooped and ears perked. Their forms waiting impatiently for her next words. Something wet slide across her neck causing her eyes to look at her shoulder. The familiar red skin of Diyablos clung to her shoulder and seemed to touch her cheek. This broke the spell over her. She turned her head forward, inhaled then walked toward the house. Shortly all four slipped under the wooden roof.

"Ipte-Zept's Blessing." A burst of heat flushed her body and evaporated the water into steam. Meanwhile the dogs shook themselves, scattering droplets across the floor. Supok yawned then half bowed, stretching down upon her front legs. As she rose back up, her head glanced about causing Mahal to click her teeth. "Stay with me. Don't go wandering off."

The pup stared at her before something caught her attention. Noticing the distraction, Mahal followed her companion's gaze. It rested on the farthermost corner of the room. Slowly, one by one, the shadows began to detached themselves from the darkness and stalked into the light. Goma cats, about six them, circled about the intruders. Mahal tracked each one before the largest, a male, drew uncomfortable close. He waited for something. Cautiously, she stretched her palm outward. The feline purred then rubbed his whiskered cheek across it.

Mahal's stomach tightened in her middle. "What do you mean, tending to her? Is she sick?"

He paused, averting his gaze. Mahal pressed again. "Selim, what happened?"

"Another accident."

"Another?" Mahal's nostrils flared. She knew something would happen in her absence. It never failed and she cursed herself for not being here to stop it. Her hands tightened into fists as her teeth gritted, her form shaking.

Seeing the fury roll off her, Selim placed a hand on her shoulder. "Calm down. While misfortune visited Onaona, she is still with us. The Gods were merciful and it was not her time for judgement yet."

The tension in Mahal's shoulders fade while her eyes gave him a grateful look. "So she's okay then? Why didn't you say that from the start?"

"She's alive, but not the same as before. I wasn't here when the accident happened and I couldn't heal all of the damage. " He pursed his lips before revealing the ugly truth. "She can't walk any more."

Before Mahal could ask to see her, Puno gave a soft woof. The girl's attention shifted as her form froze in place. Her eyes met her father's. His expression darkened with disapproval. Immediately, her head tilted downward and her breath hitched in her throat. The girl forced down the anxiety rising into her pounding chest. This wasn't suppose to happen. She intended to get in and out without anyone knowing... yet she failed to do so.

Ruslan drifted from Lunara's side and stepped toward her. His voice, low and disapproving, addressed her. "You were the last person I expected to be here, Ceren. Explain."

His presence loomed over her like a predator upon a small, helpless creature. Mahal swallowed the growing lump in her throat. "I-I..." She paused, collecting her strength. "I missed home."

Lunara hasted to her sister’s side, bumping her father’s shoulder. Her arms wide open to embrace Ceren.

“Sis! I didn’t expect you to be here, glad you are though!” Wrapping her arms around Ceren. Although missing home was a stretch.

Mahal's jawline tightened. The canines at her side grew unease causing their fur to bristle and forms lower defensively. Puno looked ready to lounge at her father. It was enough to draw out Diyablos as she felt a small tentacle reach out and grip her fingers. Instinctively, her fingers curled into the comforting gesture.

Before her father spoke again, Lunara brushed past him. A subtle twitch entered his form as he fell still and collected himself. The favoritism was clear in Mahal's eyes, but she knew better than to call it out. Never the less, it fed the anger settling in her heart. Especially knowing her mother could never walk again because of him. Spotting Lunara's welcoming gesture, Mahal became distracted from her thoughts. She almost stepped back, but stopped herself. The girl freed her hand of Diyablos's grasp and then leaned into her half-sister's embrace. It lasted only for a moment. Her last words had been a hasty lie and if anyone knew it, it would be Lunara and Selim.

Ruslan's scrutinized her behavior like everything else she did. "You know you should've sent word you were here. Or does Ersand'Enise not teach proper manners?"

The tension in the air grew, electrifying it like a calm before the storm. Mahal's patience gradually began to slip underneath her cold mask. Selim sensed this and stepped forward. Keeping his posture relaxed, he directed his words toward Lunara instead of her father. "Permission to speak?"

Lunara and Mahal had not always seen eye to eye but what they both felt and agreed on were the terms of this home and their place here - it was not their own. Siblings bonded in feudal chains rather than the warmth of love. Ironclad expectations turning and twisting against their flesh and weighted down by a family they seemed to care less of who they were and more of what they were supposed to represent.

Slamming through the tension, their father's voice striking with the force of a blacksmith wielding a hammer. Desperate to shape crude metal into a fine blade. Yet, as harshly as he struck and as many times as he tried. Ruslan was as good a craftsman as he was a loving father.

Lunara sensing Mahal's tension beginning to build in her expression, when Selim proposed his question, Lunara snapped at the opportunity to avoid her half-sister from bearing fangs, "You may." Lunara nodding in acknowledgement.

While Selim was a gentle soul, he knew his worth and used it to his advantage in times like this. The men's eyes met for a brief moment. Ruslan's burned with his wounded pride while Selim took advantage of grace given to him.

"My apologizes." He prayed for Ahn-Shune's forgiveness for the half-truths he wove. "Ceren had just entered when we crossed paths. She mentioned her mother, and I spoke of her condition. I do believe seeing her daughter will lift Mistress Onaona's spirits. Especially now." He stepped carefully around the incident, ensuring the father's sin stayed hidden. May Dami have mercy on his soul over this deception.
Lunara'a instinctually asked, "What about her condition?" Her throat felt like swallowing a bag of rocks and her heart started to hasten. The tone behind Selim's message left Lunara concerned about Onaona's health.

After hearing the news Lunara’s throat choked. She was at a loss of words. Onaona had took care of Lunara since she was a baby. She was a good woman and she never thought that same woman would be in a position where she couldn’t even take care of herself.

“Where is she?”

"In her room." Selim answered as he remained behind with Mahal. He dare not leave those two alone.

Once that question was answered. Lunara took off to see Onaona at her bedside.

After a conversation with their father, Mahal wiped the blood from her lip. She found Selim shortly after and followed him to her mother's room. The healer's arm reached out and pulled the cloth door to the side. She paused then strode in. According to Selim, Lunara had finished her visit earlier though hesitated to leave.

Gradually Mahal's vision adjusted to the dim light. The shuttered remained close with a few cracks letting in rays of sun. It still made the room darker than it should causing her to squint. She paused on the woven grass mats, their texture rough against her bare feet. Mahal settled next to one of the wizard cap mushroom vases and checked the withered flowers. A painful regret entered the woman's eyes as she gently brushed the dying plants. Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she brought herself face to face with the four post bed. In the center sat a figure, slender and still, surrounded by veiled nets to keep the bugs out.

"Mother?" Mahal allowed the dogs to wander, her focus drawn to her mother.

The shadow shifted in the bed as the woman reached over, her arm pulled back the nets. "Mahal, is that you? Truly you?"

Onaona looked thinner than Mahal remembered her last. She noted the tautness and then the forgotten tray of fruit nearby. Casually, the daughter selected a dish and gave it a cautious sniff. She frowned at the sour odor causing her to set the tray to the side.

"Selim, can you tell one of the slaves to prepare some fresher food? Some fried kicker snails or marinated meat? Something good for her healing."

"I'm not hungry," Onaona protested only to be silenced by Mahal's next words.

"No. You need to eat something. Besides, we haven't eaten together in a very long time."

"Very well. I would be a horrible mother if I didn't share a meal with you." The playfulness in her voice rang in the air.

Mahal lowered herself onto the end of the bed as Onaona reached out her hand. Her gaze lingered on the busted lip, but said nothing. Gently, Mahal's hand overlapped her mother's. Despite the affection, she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. Words lingered in the back of her mind, but she dare not say them. What could she say? Sorry for leaving? No, no words could expression her shame properly. She shook herself mentally and moved on.

"Good. Ersand'Enise doesn't have kicker snails." While she wanted to bask in the affection for hours, she had little time to spend here. "Lunara likely asked earlier, but I'm asking again. It is true what Selim said? That you can't walk now?"

Onaona pulled away her hand and laid it in her lap. She forced a smile while she explained. "Yes, sadly. It was a foolish mistake and my own fault. I should've known better."

"What happened?" Mahal's demanding tone caused her mother to flinch. She regretted it instantly.

"Onaona," Selim's informal use of her mother's name caught Mahal's attention. Her head turned and studied him, noticing the care in his address. "Stop blaming yourself, it hurts my heart to see you carry this. It's not your fault."

"Selim, please. It was nothing. As I told Lunara, it was an accident. Can we not talk about this?"

He shook his head. "I disagree. It needs to be shared in order to heal. She's not the only one to feel guilty and if I had been quicker, you would still be able to walk."

Onaona defended him. "You were out collecting herbs for salves. Without them, many slaves would've lost their fingers to infection by now. Especially with the demand Virang is making on the plantations." She then added. "I was foolish to think I could get close without getting hurt. Even his first wife doesn't dare approach him during a mood. I simply forgot why..."

It was Selim's turn to sigh. He moved from the door frame and rested a hand on Onaona's shoulder. The woman pressed her lips together and the fake smile crumbled. She toyed with a strand of long, black hair to avoid speaking. Instead, it was him that cut the silence. "Stop making excuses for him, you've given him enough to last several life times."

Raising her hand to touch his, she gave in. She turned to Mahal, her voice depressed and defeated. "Both your father and you have a temper. He was already on the verge of exploding when I got too close. I thought I could calm him, but..."

She licked her lips and continued. "Selim has taught me a bit about the Gift, but it wasn't enough. He unleashed his kinetic and I crashed into a pillar. I just remember a sharp pain in my spine and passing out. I woke up here with Selim healing me. So... at least he didn't leave me on the floor."

"Yes, I suppose. Still, I pray to Oraff-Zept that it will never happen again."

Mahal sat there quietly reflecting on what happened. Her head bowed and she clamped down on her emotions. It didn't stop the frustration and helplessness from poisoning her core. Why wasn't she there? She could've stopped it. Feeling the emotional build up, her fist flung out. It slammed into one of the posts and splintered the wood on impact. Both Onaona and Selim jumped. The healer had already placed himself protectively in front of her mother.

"Sorry," She quickly apologized and retracted her hand back. Some things didn't change and she hated it.

Feeling her pain, Diyablos ventured out from her satchel. His tentacles scaled her arm until he reached her shoulder. They carefully wrapped around her neck as if hugging her close. The dogs drew nearer too. Supok bounced her front paws onto the edge of the bed. She whined and wagged her tail, pleading for attention from Onaona.

"Oh? Who's this little fellow?" The woman took Supok's large head into her hands. She started to scratch the firehound's chin and ear causing her foot to thump the floor. The young pup melted into the affection.

"She, that's Supok. This is Diyablos and that's-" Before Mahal could introduce her, the updog rushed onto the bed. Her muzzled pressed into the woman's face and tongue licking at her skin. Seeing her mother curl away, Mahal barked out a command. "Puno, down!"

Onaona raised her head and brushed off her daughter's worry. "It is no trouble, Mahal. She's just excited. What an adorable and pretty girl."

Mahal took in the shift of the atmosphere. Soon after, a servant arrived with a tray of kicker snails and other delicacies to feast upon. About one of the few benefits allowed for their station, but it wouldn't last forever. Her eyes shifted from her mother back to Selim as she recalled the moment shared between them. In her absence, something dangerous developed between them. A devotion born of hardship and need. She put it aside for now and sought to enjoy the present while it lasted.

Lake Bianca was the largest lake in the Revidian heartland. With calm, crystal clear waters and an extremely mild current, it was both a valuable source of food and an excellent vacation spot for the nouveau riche. The lake was so large that one could sail to its center and not be able to see the shoreline in any direction. Nobody on the shore would know you were there, which made it a perfect meeting place for individuals seeking to conspire in secret. Tonight was the night for such a meeting, and a suitable night it was. The rendezvous had been perfectly timed with the weather, and not a single moon’s glow was able to break through the ceiling of thick gray clouds overhead. Soon it would start to rain, and a thin mist had already begun to cling to Marco’s skin.

The only other person around at present was his boatman sitting on the other side with a strange looking pistol aimed at his chest. Its alien appearance suggested it was either a completely custom job or a stolen piece of technology. Marco was not enough of a firearms expert to know the difference. All he knew was that the masked fellow did not trust him one bit. However, it was not this man’s trust that the young Century wanted to earn. Someone much more important was coming, and their conditions for coming to meet him were that he come alone, unarmed, and without any harm done to his porter. He would have to trust that the hooded gunman had a disciplined trigger finger.

Marco would have liked to check his timepiece or stretch his legs after such a slow boat ride, but he was afraid that any sudden moves on his part would give his porter an excuse to open fire. ”Mi scusi signore.” He addressed the boat man. ”Che ora è?”

The man only answered by fingering the hammer of his gun.

Rude bastard. Marco thought to himself. Everyone was so much kinder when the world was ending... Not that he could blame his chaperone for his hostility. He had the unfortunate lot of escorting one of the church’s elite shocktroopers. They got along with the Traveler's agents like oil and water. If Marco looked closely enough, he could almost see the henchman’s hands shaking with adrenaline. It was obvious who posed more of a threat to the other’s life right now. A Century was an existence that could casually deflect cannonballs without breaking a sweat. Even the most advanced pea shooter in the world wouldn’t save this guy if Marco truly wanted him dead.

Just as the tension between the two enemies had begun to reach its peak, Marco finally spotted a dim lantern light creeping up on the horizon. At the same time, the small fishing boat he was sitting in began to drift towards that light. He looked at his chaperone, but that man’s hands were nowhere near the oars. Someone was pulling the ship along the water with magic, he could feel it.

They sure kept me waiting. Marco thought. Were they hoping I would give up and go home?

The two ships finally stopped once they were perfectly parallel to each other. In the lantern’s orange glow, Marco could make out the faint outline of a single individual.

“Marco Terranova?” The Volti addressed him.

”And no other. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” Marco replied.

“Clearly not poor Giacomo,” it answered, with a hint of puckishness. “Va tutto bene, Giacomo,” the woman addressed her subordinate. “Lo prenderò da qui. Grazie per l'aiuto.”

After a moment of hesitation, he lowered the pistol.

“You speak with one of the Dieci Volti, naturally.” She wore a red mask and, beneath her cloak, an outfit that accentuated her shape. She tilted her head as if considering. “Volto Rosso, in this case.” She did not beckon him over quite yet. “You went to quite the lengths to contact me,” she observed. “Why?”

”Before I tell you why I am here, I want you to take a very good look at this. Consider it a peace offering.” Marco reached into the gap in his breastplate and pulled out a piece of parchment wrapped in twine. He blew into his palm, casually floating the scroll into the beauty’s hands. He knew what information she would find within, because he had written the document himself. On it he had written in great detail the time, location, and methods that the Volti planned to use in one of their future operations, as well as the name and appearance of one of their members his squad had killed in the course of thwarting it. It was a plan that was not meant to go into motion for months to come, and their organization was still attempting to gather the resources necessary to carry it out. It should have been impossible for the Century to know.

She did not hide her reaction, though her mask did, to a degree. “Oh my,” she mouthed, before folding it crisply and tucking it into a pocket. If there were any chemical signals to pick up on that would’ve told him more about her reaction, they were well-hidden. “I Conoscitori devono amarti,” she observed. There was a simple nod of acceptance, then: “So, my question: why do you come to me?”

”I propose an exchange. In return for my sword arm and any information I can deliver on the Century’s movements, I want you to let me into the organization.” Marco leaned back, causing the boat to rock backwards. Now that he wasn’t under the gun he could afford a measure of relaxation. ”I know it may seem strange given the position I am in, but I have my reasons for wanting the Dieci Volti to succeed. Do you want to make a deal?”

She shrugged, removing her mask, and pursed her lips. If this face was to be believed, she was in her early to mid thirties and strikingly beautiful, with a small mole beneath one eye. “Ah,” she replied, “what I want is but a little fish in a great sea, zi’. What the Dieci Volti need comes first.” Without a detectable draw, she leapt into his boat, standing mere feet from him. “Scusa, Giac.” she nodded at the boatman and he nodded back. “You understand that, in a group like this one, you don’t ‘join up’.” She was studying him and making no secret of it. A bit of a blush came into her cheeks. “This is good intel.” She patted the pocket in her cloak where she’d slipped the note. “It has my attention and will get others’.” She blinked a couple of times. “But we operate on trust.” She shook her head. “There is no other way for us. I need your reasons in plain speech and…” She smiled. “then you get a question if you like.”

Marco sighed and slowly got onto his feet. He was hoping this woman wouldn’t ask the difficult questions, but it seemed he had no choice but to be as straightforward as possible. With a swift motion he removed the helmet concealing his face. The Century who spoke with the authority and confidence of a man appeared no more than 15 years old, but while his face was soft and boyish, his eyes were deeply tired.

“If you demand the truth then fine, I’ll make this quick.” Marco took a breath. ”The world is going to burn, and YOU are the only group of people I could think of who might be able to stop it. The amount of blood that has been shed between our people is a drop in the bucket compared to the calamity that is about to befall the entire human race. Your leader the Traveler, although we call her the enemy, she is a real hero. She knew all of this to be true. And now, so do I.”

Her face lost its playfulness quickly and Liscia appeared less surprised at what he was saying and more at the fact that he was saying it. “So you know our great purpose,” she observed, mouth a grim line, “but the century are no laughing matter.” She tilted her head. “Why not try to work through them?” She shook it tightly. “After this, I have no more questions.”

Marco hesitated to answer at first. He appeared to be thinking about something. His eyes quietly shifted between Volto Rosso and her manservant. After a few seconds of silence the century licked his lips and, slowly, began to speak. ”I trust my brothers and sisters in the Century without question, and I know that if I revealed the existence of our enemy to them, they would join me.” Marco crossed his arms and nodded. “What I don’t trust is the integrity of our leadership.”

He suggestively pointed a finger upwards. ”I think someone is corrupted. Someone up high. Some of our archbishops perhaps, or even… ” Marco covered his mouth in disgust as he interrupted himself. ”No, I dare not suggest that…!”

Liscia smiled, predatory. “Your Optimate.” Her bright red lips formed a crescent against her pale skin and black hair, the mask moving as if it were her true face. “Leaders are a cancer on those they command, robbing the commons of their agency and initiative.”

For a moment, she and the boatman exchanged a look. Then, she twisted back to Marco, tilting her head. “The only way to lead is by example. Anyone else,” she spat, “is just a parasite.”

The boats bobbed gently on the darkened waters and the boatman shifted the oars a bit for stability. “I believe you, even if I don’t trust you all the way.” She shrugged. “More sophisticated operations have come about before - and failed - to take down the Dieci Volti.”

“I believe the last attempt was made by the church.” Marco sighed. “We received several of that individual’s fingers before getting him back in a box. Many of us disagreed with that stupid plan.” He uncrossed one of his arms and pointed at her. “But enough about that. Will you agree to work with me?”

“Veleno,” she mused aloud, mostly under her breath. “Your ill-begotten attempt placed command magic in the hands of Hugo Hunghorasz, but…” The mask smiled again, toothily, this time. “Also into ours.” The smile fell away, to be replaced by a scowl. “Or, rather, that of our ‘leader’.”

There was a hint of fog about, and the air was muggy as it often was in this place at this time of year. The boatman’s eyes watched each of the other two figures.

“To answer your question, though, the Dieci Volti value actions more than words.” She nodded slowly, mask fading to still and stony. “You may work with us, as an initiate, first, like any other.”

Marco placed his helmet on his head and tightened the neck straps. ”So be it, but let us not waste any time. If you think there is any work you can entrust me with now, I am ready to move at your command.”

“You’re not a quick learner,” Liscia remarked, “are you?” She regarded him for a moment. “This is not your century. We do not command, here.”

A small gust of wind licked at her hair, causing it to flutter slightly. She sighed. “Those of us who know tell you about a threat or opportunity. You either follow up on it or don’t.” She shrugged. “Miss a few and you have scruples.” The mask pursed its painted porcelain lips. “Miss too many, and maybe you’re not in line with us.”

There was an extended pause. Then: “The people of Palapar are soon to overthrow the colonial tyrants who own them,” she began. “I and others know it for a certainty that they cannot take much more.” Volto Rosso regarded him steadily.

“A rebellion?” Marco rubbed his helmet. “And which side do you hope to see victorious?”

The mask narrowed its eyes. “The people,” its bearer responded, almost before he’d finished. “Always, the people, darling.” She smiled again. “You’ll find us less utilitarian than those you’re used to working for.” She shook her head. “Most of us, anyhow.”

Marco could feel sweat beading on his forehead. He was honestly perplexed by her responses. If this was the type of fraternity he was dealing with, it would take a long time for him to shake the rigidity of his military training. ”I see. I will try to take that to heart.”

She nodded. “Please try. You won’t be alone there either, so don’t worry.” Now that she’d accepted him and he, apparently, the opportunity, her voice had become a blanket to soothe. “Volto Blu - Soldato - will be there with you. He’s new to the position and one of our most radical members, but I trust that he will show you what you need to see.” She ended on a cryptic note, their surroundings suddenly taking over: still, silent, and isolating.

”Soldato? Heh, I wonder why they call him that,” Marco replied in good humor, while Liscia smiled at the remark through her mask. “I think you’ll be able to make your own judgment soon enough,” the Volto purred. “But now, much of a pleasure as it has been, it’s time to part.” She regarded the boatman for a moment and he nodded. Then, she reappeared on her own craft. The cloaked man raised a hand and the ghost of a smile and, the next thing that Marco knew, he was standing onshore.

After his meeting in Revidia, Marco was quickly caught up in a whirlwind of preparation. Thanks to the “tip” he received, which Liscia made abundantly clear were NOT orders, he decided his next move was to go to Palapar and help drum up support with the locals. After hearing about the rebellion, the Century vaguely recalled learning about the troubles between Palapar and Virang, but because his institution was not personally involved in the turmoil happening overseas there was little useful information he could call upon. Quentism had a weak presence in that part of the world, and the only informants the church had in Palapar were a handful of missionaries who were quickly forced to return home as soon as the first casualties began to appear. In short, Marco was about to witness an unknown side of history firsthand. It was extremely fortunate for him to be given this opportunity, as the Century immediately realized how aiding the rebellion could further his goals in the current timeline.

Marco hoped he would be able to learn more about Volto Blu on the ride to Palapar, but things didn't work out the way he hoped. A boat ride to Palapar from the mainland would have taken at least a week, and there was no such time to spare. They had to risk the use of a portal and get started immediately or else they would be too late to have an impact on the uprising. Each of them had hastily made arrangements to sort out their alibis and means of arrival before linking up at the agreed upon rendezvous. In Marco’s case, he was supposedly on his way to provide protection for the chapel in light of the recent unrest and, officially, was on a charter ship en route to a port rented out by the Virangish coffee merchants. Nobody on his side would suspect that he was already present in Palapar as a double agent. As long as he kept his face and name hidden, he could continue to maintain his good standing with the Centuries without suspicion.

---

”Look there, a guard post. Are you sure you want to try this here? We could get ourselves locked in the pillory.” Marco pointed to a sentinel carrying a spear and lantern, who was posted next to a large brickwork building that stood out like a sore thumb among the wooden huts occupied by the Palaparese laborers.

The hooded figure walking alongside him chuckled and patted Marco on the shoulder. ”Locked up? No, my friend, we’re not getting locked up. We’re going to stir up a little trouble tonight, and no-one is going to get in our way.” Soldato peered at his fellow conspirator through a mask of steel. ”What’s the matter Red Jack? Afraid of a little danger?”

”It is not danger I fear, but the consequences of courting it. Neither of us can afford to fail tonight.” Marco grumbled. Red Jack, that was the code name he was given for this mission. He was no Volti, at least not yet, so a temporary alias was needed in order to conceal his real name. For the sake of hiding the organization’s presence in the country, Soldato chose to call himself Black King in solidarity with his new partner. The names were fitting given their respective standings in the group. He may have been the newest member, but as a true Volti he was in some way Marco’s superior. While neither of them were at liberty to give each other commands, to Marco’s great relief, it would be foolish for the young knight to disregard his ally’s plans. Espionage was not the captain’s strong suit, so it was unlikely he would choose to act on his own without a good reason.

”Of course, of course…” Soldato chuckled.

The two foreigners entered the Thirsty Bull under the cover of a storm. From what Soldato was able to gather from questioning the nearby residents, this was an infamous gathering place for Palapar’s laborers, dockhands, and sailors. The booze was cheap, and as far as dives went it was kept clean enough. Seeing outsiders was a rarity though, so the agents of the Volti had to act with caution, as they would not be hard to pick out among the other patrons.

The wooden doors of the Thirsty Bull were thrust open, allowing a cold gust of wind to blow into the room, followed by a pair of outsiders that the Palaparese had never seen before. One man was armed and armored in the way of the Revidian cuirassiers, his face hidden under the visor of his metal helmet. Standing next to him was a gentleman who covered his head and body with a hooded cloak, which should have drawn little suspicion on account of the heavy downpour.

A red in the face sailor, who appeared to have had too much alcohol in his veins, stumbled towards Marco with a cup in hand. “Oy! What are ye, one of Virang’s mercenaries? Take tha’ helmet off and show some manners you!” His arm flailed towards the Century’s face in a clumsy attempt to grab his head gear, but before Marco even had to move to protect himself one of the man’s mates came to collect the drunken mess.

“That one’s a Revidian you idiot! Do you want to make us even more enemies!?” The sailors quickly made themselves scarce. Once the annoyance had been cleared away, Soldato and Marco were free to approach the bar. They each took a seat and ordered drinks, and after giving their money a suspicious bite, the bartender poured the strange pair a cup of demon water. The Revidian pulled his visor up just enough to free his mouth and took a sip. He would have felt ripped off by the taste if the swill wasn’t so cheap. Stealing a glance at his partner, Marco noticed the Volti didn’t even bother to take the mask off, and yet his cup was somehow empty already.

The two nursed their drinks for a few minutes while listening to the chatter around the tavern. One spirited conversation seemed to catch Soldato’s attention, who patted Marco’s shoulder and pointed at a group of merchants and craftsmen. It was hard to hear over the drunken revelry of the other patrons, but it wasn’t hard to pick out the general points of the debate. Low wages, high prices, draconian law enforcement, and preferential treatment for the Company’s men. The locals were trapped by the oppression of legislation, and the combination of poor income and high taxes meant it was impossible to undertake any kind of competitive enterprise in Palapar that could rival the strength of the Company and Virang.

The Company... Marco already knew a bit about the northern coffee trade, but thanks to the information he received from Soldato he was now up to speed on the political climate as well. While they weren’t an official arm of the Virangish government, the Royal Palar Trading Company was, unofficially, an extension of their economic and military power in the region. If anything or anyone threatened to destabilize the Company’s control over Palapar’s economy, an armed response was all but guaranteed. Without outside support, the citizens of Palapar would have no hope of overcoming the massive gap in fighting power between them and their oppressors.

And that’s where we come in. Marco thought as he finished the last of his rum. Before he could ask for a refill, Soldato suddenly got out of his seat and motioned for him to follow. Marco set his cup down and followed his partner’s footsteps as they approached the gathering of rowdy men. He could hear the Volti speaking to them, but Marco’s attention was mainly focused on watching their surroundings. Someone had to keep an eye out for danger.

"Good evening, gentlemen, lovely night is it not?" Soldato introduced himself. I was curious, do you want to get back at those Virangish dogs?

They'd been in the middle of a rather spirited discussion when the outsiders had decided to introduce themselves. "Aye, and he said - with a straight face - that it wasn't worth making a fuss over!" one man, large and bearded, roared, his face and voice incredulous. There were shouts of support and shaken heads at the sheer audacity of those RoCo. goons. "Well I'll be damned," the man continued, "If that in't worth making a 'fuss' over, then what is!?

"They raised their fees on suppliers again last week," added a quieter voice in a more cultured Virangish accent. "You don't make a profit anymore if you pay your workers fair wages and offer fair prices." A few eyes turned his way. The man was tall, spare, and scholarly, with round-rimmed glasses and better clothes than the others.

"Eh, you can just pass it onto us!" spat the first man, who seemed rather deep into his cups. "Or the rich fuckers on the other side of the sea." He shook his head angrily and downed some more of his mystery drink. "Can't even buy the stuff they make us pull offa the trees," he spat.

"Hey!" said another voice, this one belonging to a strong-looking man who seemed a bit older than the twentysomethings and perhaps half-Constantian. "You remember he's one of the good ones." He placed a firm hand on the drunk man's shoulder. "He's helped a lot of us out over the years."

"Well good for him." spat the first, "or bad, I guess." He shook his head. "One decent guy can't do nothin' on his own and we need something to change now."

"Alab isn't wrong, you know," said a fourth voice, and it came from a smaller man, his voice a bass rumble. "Every time that we don't dig our heels in, that we just let them get away with things that seem small, they take more."

"And when we fight back without a plan, they use it as an excuse to make more rules and give us less," the large man replied.

"Both can be equally true," replied the Virangishman, "but it's good to see you here taking Anok's advice."

"How much?" replied the fourth man to Anok, and the larger man regarded him now, waiting for further elaboration. "When you were hurt - what was it - ten years ago?" Anok nodded. "When you were hurt, how much did you get?"

"Five hundred." Anok scowled. "It was enough for my family until I found work again."

"And now you make less than you used to."

"Now I work less than I used to."

"And what has Kilat's family gotten?" demanded Alab, slamming his now-empty cup on the table for emphasis or a refill or both. It was at that point of the conversation that the two figures who hid their faces appeared and posed their question.

"Aye," one replied to Black King. "That's not a bad idea, but who the fuck are you!?" he shook his head, face red and voice loud. "'Round here we don't hide our faces behind masks like lit-"

"Silence, Alab," warned Anok. "Do not disgrace your mother's teachings." Eyes searched the newcomers and each other.

"These men could separate your head from your shoulders before you could finish your sentence," concluded the man with the deep voice, "Though I doubt that's why they're here if they are who I think they are."

Anok scowled uneasily. "Speak your piece, then, as Dani says." He appeared skeptical. "We have had many would-be rebels before, and they've only made things worse." He crossed his arms. "But that is a mask of the Dieci Volti." Did he believe that Soldato was the genuine article? Did the others? Their tone of voice made it hard to guess.

"Wonderful! Seems introductions are not needed." Marco could hear the good cheer in Soldato’s voice. "Well, gentlemen, me and those who are with me are here to strike against Virang and free Palapar. Unlike many of those would-be rebels with their hopes of fighting against bad practices and for a better future, I'm not here to bring back the so-called good times."

After allowing the words to sink in, Soldato continued to explain his intentions to the men in a rather poetic fashion. Their interests aligned with his, and they had much to gain from working together to fight off Virang’s oppression. As for Marco, the words went in one ear and out the other. It didn’t really matter to him what was being said as long as it was convincing enough to bring these men to their side.

There were some who could get onboard with Desmond's admission of converging self-interest. He looked the part and they wanted some kind of action. Some were just drunk and angry and would've taken any excuse to storm out that door and carry out an act of violence. Others were less impressed, and as the discussion took a turn for the worse, Marco could no longer ignore what was being said between the two sides.

"That man is a killer who cares no more for you than your cruel and corrupt masters do," said the lone Virangish voice in the room. He was seated at a corner table, glasses glinting in the light of a lantern. "If you work for him, you will throw any of the righteousness of your cause away. You will forfeit the support of reasonable people in Virang and abroad who can see what is happening here and are waiting for the right moment to act in your interest."

"Sit down, Virangish devil!" roared Alab, bolting to his feet. He was taller than he'd looked before, and he glowered at the lanky man with the glasses.

"I am not your enemy..." He clenched a pipe between his teeth and struck a match.

"Yet you sell the fruits of our land for your profit," interjected Dani, in his low rumbling voice.

"...Nor this masked murderer's," the Virangishman concluded, "though he has unilaterally chosen my people as his."

"You are not master here! You have no voice among us!" Alab threatened.

The lanky man had lit his pipe. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "I have a voice wherever I am brave enough to speak with it."

"He will gut you like a fish, or I will!"

"My people have hurt enough of yours already. I am sorry for their actions."

Alab pushed his chair out and marched towards the corner booth. "Then give back all the money you stole!"

"Enough, Alab!" shouted Anok, rising to his feet or - rather - foot. The large burly man's left leg ended in a stump a few inches below his hip, and he leaned on a single crutch. "Ghazi has been nothing but a friend to us. He pays his workers well. He buys us drinks. He sets fair prices."

"And yet, a true friend might work to change matters for his less fortunate counterpart," Dani suggested.

"But nothing has changed!" shouted Alab, leveling a finger at the Virangishman. "You feed us crumbs and words and rely on a cripple who is in your debt to speak for you! You shouldn't be here! None of you should!"

Dani sipped from his flask, watching from the bar with narrowed eyes. Anok twisted where he stood and began to hobble over. "I speak of my own free will and sense of -"

Ghazi held a hand up to forestall him. "I thank you, old friend, but there is no need to put yourself at risk on account of me." The Virangishman snuffed his pipe and began to put it away in a small ornamented case. "I had hoped to be of use to you, but I see my presence may cause more harm than good." On the top of his head, he settled a blood red fez. "I will leave as soon as I am finished my drink." He reached for his walking stick. In front of him sat a half-full bottle.

Others were fired up and emboldened by drink and Desmond's and Alab's speeches, though. All of their attention was on the budding confrontation. "You will leave now, dog!" the younger man roared, and time seemed to move slowly. He struck forward, straight for the bottle, and his hand sent it spiraling towards the Virangishman.

Marco was the one who finally stepped in to intervene. Until he knew which of these men would be the most useful to the operation, he couldn’t allow anyone to come to unnecessary harm. With a flick of his wrist, he nudged the bottle with a sliver of Kinetic energy, sending it off course just enough to make it look like Ahab had simply missed his target. Then he jumped between the quarreling men, holding one hand towards each of them in an attempt to create some distance.

”Now hold on just a moment! There is no call for such violent actions until everyone has said their piece!” He shouted.

Alab seethed and very nearly struck Red Jack, and perhaps he would've were it not for Anok. "Think, Alab! If you strike these outsiders, the guards will come." That pulled him up short, barely, with a few others echoing the warning. "If you are on our side," the young man suggested, raising his chin challengingly. "Then show us how you deal with this." he flicked a hand in Ghazi's direction.

Throughout the entire ordeal, the Virangishman had not so much as flinched, and he didn't now. He reached for his drink as if it was still there and, when it was not, he heaved a little sigh. "I appear to have spilled my drink," he remarked. "How clumsy of me." He shook his head ruefully and began to scoot out of the booth. "Please allow me to pay for this mess." He started to reach into an inside pocket of his cloak.

Marco's instincts took over as soon as Ghazi reached inside of his cloak. Suspicion of a hidden weapon or similarly dangerous object drove him to suddenly turn away from Alab and grab Ghazi’s arm. There was a second of pause as he realized how strange his behavior looked, so in the spur of the moment Marco pulled out a handful of coins from his pockets and slammed them on the table. ”No need. Respectfully, your generosity rings hollow given that your profits come from the blood and tears of these people before you.” After pulling that line out of his arse, Marco glanced desperately at Soldato from behind the cover of his helmet. They needed a transition out of this situation, and they needed one now.

Ghazi didn't fight it. Perhaps he could not or perhaps he simply knew that he was outmatched. "Perhaps Alab speaks for you all," he remarked, still perfectly well-behaved. "Perhaps the sudden guarantees of these men you do not know speak louder than my actions of the past ten years." He shrugged, eyes sweeping the room but, for a moment, “Red Jack” could've sworn he noticed something: they lingered for just a little bit too long on Dani, and something brief but meaningful passed between the two men.

A handful, near the back, found the courage to speak up against Alab, finally. Ghazi was not like the other Virangish. Ghazi bought them drinks. Ghazi had donated to their families when they had lost a loved one. Others, however, shouted him down. "Now, sir," he challenged, amid the cacophony, "Are you going to hold me here and punish me for the crime of being Virangish, or do I still have my freedom?" For the first time, the mild-mannered man's eyes narrowed. They darted Soldato's way and then back to Marco.

At the height of tension, the Volti raised his hand, gesturing for a minute of silence. When it was quiet enough for his voice to be heard, he spoke.

”That depends.” Marco saw his partner make a gesture at Ghazi. "My hatred is not towards men and women who carry blood that comes from Virang. Only those who wish to forward its backwards practices for 'prosperity'. Those are the Virangish people. The rest who come from that land are the used, the abused, and the ones who need to choose. So-" Soldato leaned against Ghazi’s table, and his voice grew dark.

"-Are you Virangish?" Then he gave another option, his voice lightening up a little, "Or, are you Palaparese?"

Ghazi, despite looking like a harmless beanpole, would not be easily intimidated. His eyes narrowed and he did not flinch from Desmond's gaze. "I could speak to you of the rolling green hills north of Izan, of the songs that the washerwomen sing as they work, of the village festivals and the merry songs and the shy first dances and blushing glances of the preteens. I could go on at length about the old men who gather around the hookah in the morning to speak of the news of the day, or the sweat and tears of the artist as he works on a great mural for the idasque just the same as the old woman who knits colourful stockings for her granddaughter." He shook his head sadly. "Might I speak of the taverns by the docks where men little different from these gather to drink and commiserate, or the rocky hills where shepherds watch over their flocks, warding off wolves and dragons so they might shear their sheep and trade the wool for the food that they and their families need."

Ghazi crossed his arms obstinately. "All of those things are Virang, not only the cruelty that you see from a select few parasites who have taken their evil from my country and brought it to Palapar. I am ashamed of those men and how they represent my people, and I grieve for what they have done here, but I am Virangish and not ashamed to be. Do what you will." He spread his arms, palms upward, in a gesture of nonthreatening acceptance.

Then came a reply. "So, are you here merely to flee and have been run down by them anyway in this place so far from your home, or will you do more than just talk, Ghazi?" It was Dani, coming up beside the masked man and crossing his arms.

"There are many ways in which a man might help another man," the Virangishman answered cryptically, "And many in which he might hurt him." He nodded, eyes darting about. "For some, you might take his strength." They settled momentarily on Anok. "For another, perhaps his pride and sense of freedom." He gazed straight ahead at Dani. "For still more - and most, I believe - you hit them in the coinpurse." he regarded Alab last. "Those who have little money will feel every slight against it with a rightful and burning desperation, and taking what little they have may well push them over the edge."

He snorted and shook his head ruefully. "But for those who are greedy, it smarts nearly as much, for it is what they value most." He leaned his head in the direction of the harbour, where a huge new shipment of coffee was ready to go out on three galleons the next morning. "Imagine how much it would do to those money-grubbing creatures if something were to happen to those goods they value more dearly than people's lives." His eyes narrowed once more, and they passed about the space. "Now, you tell me: should I stay or should I go?"
Soldato allowed Ghazi to speak his piece, and after he was done talking, the Volti pointed a finger. "Finding men like you is hard to come by. Even if you carry blood from the same land as those men". He nodded in affirmation. "So please, stay. I believe you staying would be good. For many reasons".

"He is one of them!" Alab spat, but he was in the minority now, and “Black King's” support seemed to have been the final word in swinging it. "Sometimes allies look like enemies," Anok told the man, pulling him briefly aside. "You know I know this well." He pressed a hand to Alab's chest. "Pick your shot wisely."

Dani's gaze swept the room. "He is right and, now that we have... professionals helping us, we should make ourselves heard." He twisted towards the Virangishman. "Ghazi, you said there was a shipment ready to go out?"

Ghazi nodded. "Worth a fortune."

"We should take it!" shouted one patron.

"We could resell it!" another agreed.

"On what market?"

"I want none of their stinking money," Alab spat. "I just want them gone."

"Well then, I'll spend it!" the first man shot back with a rueful laugh.

"If we spend it," said Dani, his low voice cutting through the din, "Then we are traceable and little more than thieves." He shook his head. "If we want to make a statement, we will dump the whole lot and watch them scramble like tamarins to recover their whole stinking hoard." He grinned wickedly.

Marco had nothing to add to the discourse, so he stayed silent as the men made their plans. He was used to leading soldiers on the battlefield, not skulking about in the dark. This business was wholly unfamiliar to him, and so far he had resigned himself to playing the role of a bodyguard and enforcer to Volto Blu. His only interest was preventing any casualties on both sides unless someone's death served to further Black King's rebellious scheme. He didn't really care whether they took Ghazi's side or Alab's, no matter what he said to keep their tempers in check. All that mattered was that they find a way to hit Virang where it hurt, and that his contact with the Volti survived.

I must admit, the kid has a way with words. Until now I have only spoken to the Volti with my sword, but after working with one this closely, I've begun to understand how they are so capable of fostering dissent. Marco smirked.

Soldato was clearly not one to look the gift horse in the mouth. Ghazi’s eloquence could have its uses. He was, fundamentally, a man of action and a clear course had presented itself.

It was a manic euphoric sort of energy that carried them out of the Thirsty Bull, then. Despite the rain, despite the darkness, they tumbled into the streets, a horde of fifty or so men and a handful of women. Some shouted, some sang. Some walked with a quiet stern sense of purpose. They walked unerringly for the harbour, for the ships laden with product stolen from their soil and destined for foreign markets where it would be sold for hundreds of times what they had been paid to grow it.

The hammering downpour drenched them. They did not care. The muddy streets sucked at their feet. They were not bothered. The ambient noise of the storm muffled their cries for fairness and justice. This, perhaps, was for the better. The guard station, with its uniformed Virangish soldiers, was dangerously close, and were they to find out what was happening, it would simply not happen.

Having a mob at the Volti's disposal was useful, but these were civilians they were working with, not trained soldiers. Most of them had had something to drink, and there wasn't a hint of discipline to be found among any of them. Even the pouring rain wouldn't be enough to suppress the noise of their shouts and footsteps once they reached their destination. If the group was to approach Ghazi's marked ship without being detected, measures would have to be taken to mask their approach. While both men were dangerous in their own right, Marco was the clear winner compared to Soldato when it came to raw magical power, so it was agreed that he would provide the stealth while Soldato worked to knock out the ship's security. It took all of his concentration and capacity to create a sonic bubble large enough to squash the sound of fifty men and women marching across the street and stomping up the boarding ramps, but he got the job done. However, as long as he was channeling the spell he wouldn't be able to help his partner with his own task. Soldato was on his own as the Century entered a deep meditation in order to sustain his spell for the rest of the night. He would not learn the specifics of what occurred on the ship until morning...

A familiar itch crawled across her arm as she recognized the source. A portal. Those allies, able to run, rushed for it and left the rest behind.

“Do you trust every single member of your group unconditionally? Do you even know who most of them are?” A voice from the past came back to haunt her.

I thought I did... She realized she knew nothing at all.

Then came Esmii's apologetic shout, adding more salt to the wounds. One of her best friends had simply given up. No fight or resistance, just a flat cold acceptance of the situation. Would Sven have wanted this? Roslyn might've not known him nearly as well as Esmii, but she knew one thing.

She wouldn't simply accept this without resistance. Demons couldn't be trusted, she'd seen the evidence and she doubted it would be better to let one 'lift' her up.

"It's kind of you to offer..." Roslyn struggled to push back the temptation. Her head became dizzy as she dug in her heels, "...but no...thank you." Using whatever she had left, she channeled all of her gift into the arcane spell 'Light of Ahn-Shune'. The girl hoped it might distract him or break his hold. This was her last chance. She pressed her thumb to her middle finger then snapped them together, activating it.

"Rose I’m not going to let that thing have you.” Esmii's words cut through the air. The red haired Yasoi raised her pistols and fired. "Balthagor, you may have taken my love from me, but I will not let you take my best friend without a fight."

Meanwhile, Niallus continued to clash with Evil Smile. He looked ragged and torn, his body pushed past human limits toward the end. The demon's hand extended into a powerful beam that erupted forward at his prey. Lips curled back into an unnaturally wide grin filled with hungry teeth. Suddenly, a surge of mana gathered. Niallus' arcane lance punched through the attack and right into the demon's mouth. A gurgling wail came before the demon slumped forward, dead.

Despite Roslyn’s hope, she watched her spell fizzle then died. It hadn’t even reached the Grand Demon. That was it. A familiar numbness snaked its way from the back of her mind and swallowed up any remaining hope. There was nothing she could do now. Her limbs grew heavy with exhaustion as her arms dropped down to her side. Helplessly, she watched Belthagor turn to Niallus. He lowered himself and scorched the vast emptiness with each step, approaching her best friend.

Like puppets on a string, both Esmii and Roslyn twisted about and followed him. Despite the wasted effort, the young girl tried to stop herself. Her body didn’t listen to her anymore. Gradually, her gaze lowered to the ground. Her tears, born of anger and frustration, streaked down her cheeks.

"You," he admitted, "are stronger than I thought."

When Roslyn heard Belthagor acknowledging her friend, she doubted it was a good thing. Her head tilted up in time to see the man open his mouth and release a thick, strange smoke. It spread toward all three of them. As it started to curl about her, her skin prickled at its presence. She forced herself to speak.

“I-I want you two to know, I’m glad I‌ met you. You both showed me what it’s like to have real friends and I wish it didn’t end like this.” The girl braced herself for what was to come.



"I think I shall need a replacement for my underling," he declared. "Perhaps you'll do."

Time seemed to slow, leaving her to watch the haze swallow Niallus. Many regrets came to mind before the foul vapor finally recoiled from her friend's form. He stood upright then caught her eyes. Something inhuman writhe behind the once warm gaze. Roslyn's breath caught in her throat.

She noticed the Grand Demon turned his angelic guise upon them next.

The smoke raced from Niallus toward Esmii and her. It snaked itself around her boots then climbed her surface until she saw nothing, but white. The wispy tendrils burrowed into her pores. Something dark and oppressive weighed in her chest at first, then webbed out across her veins. The weight became sharp, painful pricks that pushed her into a tiredness. Her focus began to slog as memories began to flicker across her mind.

Wake up, please wake up. I have to stop this. This can't happen!

As if it heard her, the sensation stopped. She hung there like an exhausted fly forgotten by a spider. Her mind lingered in an eerie place between death and sleep. At some point, time passed and melted into the back of her head. No sense of it existed... until she sensed approaching figures.

Their power exceeded her own, but she didn't know why they were here. Then, suddenly, Belthagore's host body twitched. Bones cracked and wrenched back, distorting from their natural angles. Seemingly an involuntary and painful act. A colossal flash cut through the hazy veil. Roslyn shot backwards when the light touched her. The familiar darkness of unconsciousness followed as her mind slipped from awareness.

Something had gone wrong in the demon's plan. Whatever that was, she'd never know. At least the nightmare was over, giving her a peace of mind that she didn't expect.

When the cold seeped into Roslyn’s skin, the girl twitched to life. She jerked upright, the vertigo hitting her harder than she expected. Her right hand pressed into her temple as the dizziness passed. When her blurry vision began to sharpen, her attention turned to her surroundings. Gone were the swampy scents and flora. In its place stood a cozy, underground room from its stone floor to its decorative ceiling. Her lips pursed. She had no faint memory or sense of familiarity over this place. Where was she?

She took a deep breath and tried to recall her last moments. Figures approached then a flash of light before she found herself here. Was there some sort of clash or fight? It still left questions on how she ended up here.

A voice, heavy and faint, caught her attention. Her head turned to see Sven laying not far from her and looking like himself. She relaxed then glanced about. No signs of Esmii or Niallus. Were they the only two to escape this nightmare? In the distance, she caught the voices of the others that left her behind. A bitterness coiled about her heart as she turned her attention to her friend. She weakly pushed onto her feet and walked toward him, checking him over for wounds. When she lowered down beside him, she spoke. “No. Afraid not, it's just me. Roslyn.”

Uncertain if he suffered any internal wounds, she reached out with her gift and prepared to heal with her binding. She continued to speak, holding back the emotional cracks in her voice. Right now, it is better to focus on anyone other than herself.

“I don’t know where Esmii or Niallus are. I’m not even sure where we are or how we got here.” She licked her lips nervously and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall much. Do you remember anything?”

Sven shook his head regretfully, wincing partway through. "She wash with me," he groaned. "She hash to be here shomewhere." He appeared utterly consumed with his concern for Esmii, stumbling to his feet and walking, trancelike, around the well-appointed room.

"Eshmii?" he called desperately. "Eshmii!" It was not very long before he stumbled into the others... at least some of them.

Roslyn remained seated when Sven rose up, her hands retreated into the folds of her skirt. The calm in her eyes weakened before she closed them and inhaled. As she collected herself, she heard him call for Esmii and her heart ached. Her fingers tightened their grip on her dress then released. I don’t understand, how did we escape? What happened?

A thought occurred to her. The skull… was it still there? She reached for her bag and pulled it open, searching through the interior. When her fingers hit something hard and covered in cloth, her breath stilled. She cautiously pulled the wrap aside to reveal white bone. Her whole frame relaxed instantly. Thank the Gods. I didn’t lose it.

She reflected on the new set of questions rushing through her head. If she tried to talk with Esmii, and her friend was alive, would it fail? Would that prove her best friend was at least alive? But what if Esmii’s voice came out of the skull? Her stomach churned at the possibility as she bit her lip. No, they had to be alive. They had to be. She pulled the wrap back over the skull as her hand took out the compass. Her mind envisioned Esmii’s dual pistols. While eyeing the needle, she got onto her feet. She looked up from her item when Laska was the first to arrive.

“Didn’t expect to…” She struggled with the words for a moment then finished her thoughts, “... see you all again.”

Roslyn ignored Laska’s glance in her direction. It wasn't like she mattered to any of them as her attention fixated on the compass needle, half listening to things. The thing jittered but didn't move. Frowning, the girl spun in a circle. It didn't change direction and still twitched.

Sven's face lit up momentarily upon seeing the door open and people stream through, but it quickly fell and he slumped to the floor. "She ishn't here," he mumbled, "ish she?"

Edyta's face softened and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sven."

"And Niallush too..." Sven moaned, utterly bereft. Everything about his appearance seemed to mourn his loss.

"I am... sorry... it happened," she tried, "but Mother Eshiran will care for all of them. This, I promise." Laska struggled with consoling him."For now -" She was quick to move on. "- we need to find our way out."

She clicked the compass lid shut, giving up on her endeavor for now. "Well, I'm confused. I'm wondering if this thing has a sensing range or something." Her eyes turned to see Sven on the floor, grieving over Esmii and Niallus. A hard lump swelled in her throat as she considered what to say. From her own personal experience, words did little to spare the pain one felt from losing loved ones. Her footsteps drew closer to draw his attention.

"Esmii is not dead." Perhaps it was denial or something more, only those who had gotten to know her could tell. "But I don't think she's here. Once we get to Ersand’Enise, we’ll figure out what to do next. If there’s any chance Esmii and Niallus were saved, I won’t stop until we find them."

At the stone wall’s sudden movement, Roslyn froze in place. She couldn’t handle any more surprises today. Her fingers held on tightly to the bag strap as she waited to see what was behind it. The familiar stench of dragon dung hit her first. She wrinkled her nose and turned to follow Laska through.

“Three dragons, five people. That means two people are carrying an extra…” Her voice trailed off, knowing there was a chance they might leave Sven and her behind. After all, no one knew how they had escaped the Grand Demon’s grasp. “I have to confess, I’ve never ridden a dragon. Mainly just fed them and focused on keeping all of my fingers..”

Suddenly a wall beyond the hearth shifted and moved. Roslyn froze in place. She couldn't handle any more surprises today. Her fingers held on tightly to the bag strap as she waited to see what was behind it. The familiar stench of dragon dung hit her first. She wrinkled her nose and turned to follow Laska through.

A stable of sorts greeted them. Three large wyverns, a coldfire and two crowned, waited within the large room. Constructs ambled about to tend to their needs. The great beasts paused before their fiery eyes turned upon Desmond. They stood there for several moments before their heads lowered into a bow. Meanwhile, Roslyn spotted Laska snagging something off a table.

Her eyes turned back to the dragons.

“Three dragons, five people. That means two people are carrying an extra…” Her voice trailed off, knowing there was a chance they might leave Sven and her behind. After all, no one knew how they had escaped the Grand Demon’s grasp. “I have to confess, I’ve never ridden a dragon. Mainly just fed them and focused on keeping all of my fingers...”

What is the revolution about? Who is doing it? What is it exactly for? Where does an aspiring revolutionary need to go exactly? These are things that any revolution leader probably needs to know. They were questions Leon could answer far too few of when he arrived on the 4th day after the ocean was fed a lofty amount of coffee. Obviously, he needed to spend some time in San Sameno gathering information.

What was a world-renowned performer supposed to do but spend a couple of days at the enclave's largest watering hole and make some friends? Despite the dour mood, he danced, sang, played, and drank his way to the people's hearts. If you were to ask him, there wouldn't be a single person in port who would keep a secret from him by the end of it.

Shouting rounds of drinks, he made friends with a young man named Bayani, who quietly let loose about his participation in 'that night' after plenty of booze. The two talked for a long while and Leon got informed about the revolution. The performer also used this as an opportunity to learn the local language. No man can become fluent over two drunken nights but he covered the basics: hello, goodbye, yes, no, and most importantly, follow me.

"While I appreciate your honesty Bayani, you've trusted me with something rather dire. I am hardly more than a stranger to you, are you not afraid your secret could get out?"

"No. You have a Revidian accent, the last one got us to do all that in the first place. Even if I shouldn't have followed him, I at least know a Revidian won't sell me out to those dogs." Leon frowned at the response, *he* was supposed to be the only Revidian on the ground.

By the sixth night, Leon was ready to depart for mainland Palapar as planned. However, it had become readily apparent that Virangish inquisitors were knocking at San Sameno's door looking for dissidents like Bayani and his yet-to-be-wed partner Tala, who had a child on the way. For all the help Bayani had given Leon, he couldn't leave the couple with enemies so close. He resolved to stay until the threat had passed.

On the eighth day, Bayani and Tali wanted to get married. The young pair feared for their lives and wanted to make sure they had wed before the Virangish inquisitors entered the enclave. Neither were Quentic so neither wanted to go to the chapel for it. Leon, however, had the authority to hold weddings. Even if it was still technically a Quentic marriage, the lone performer gave them the degree of separation they needed and it was the best they could do. He married them together beneath the nicest tree in San Sameno.

On the tenth day, beneath the grey clouds and light rain, Leon was absent from the square where the Virangish inquisitors met the Torragonese. Instead, he sat in that very same tavern now dead quiet compared to the night before. He kicked up his feet on the table and tuned his lute for the fifth time that morning while whistling to himself quietly. Holding the unmatched power of the sun within you made hiding from magical detection a rather difficult feat. However, it gave an excellent cover for the less gifted refugees hidden beneath the floorboards, their magical footprints were drowned out by his encompassing aura.

While he tuned his instrument again, Leon's mind drifted to Zarina. Even though Palapar was on the other side of the world, this conflict still involved her home country and also the coffee trade. He imagined the draconic lady following the situation with bated breath back in Ersand'Enise. At the very least it would stop her from crying her eyes out about Miret again. Honestly, Zarina needed to find someone who would treat her better instead of leaving her by the curb like that. As a matter of fact, he had three bachelorettes in mind...

This terribly productive train of thought continued for the next few hours of the morning up until the Virangish entered San Sameno. Perhaps one would expect the performer to be worried for the lives of the refugees or even his own, but that wasn't the case. After all, he was the strongest mage on these islands without equal.

---

The first was Yuli. The two girls were tough, kind of scary, but had plenty of moments of sweetness. They made for a good pair and he would be killing two birds with one stone by getting the Vossoriyan some action. The second was Elizabeth Wright. A kind Enthish woman who, rather rudely, discovered her attraction for women immediately after kissing him at a party in the first year. The third was...

TWANG!!!

Leon frowned in confusion and looked down at his lute, the source of the horrendously out-of-tune note. The performer had been tuning his instrument periodically over the last three hours; a note even slightly out of place couldn't have happened. But it did. He looked at the tuning pegs, saw his wrist, and finally acknowledged that his hand had slipped. That was unusual, it was a mistake for amateur musicians and certainly not the sort of thing he would do without noticing. Something was off.

Then he felt it. Where his mind had been other places before, he could feel the weight of another mage's energy; it rivalled Juulet or Jocasta. He looked up from his instrument and focused on that feeling. It was moving closer and closer without detour. Whoever this was, whatever this was, it was approaching him. His heart began to pump faster.

Leon realised then that he hadn't been whistling since the out-of-tune note had been played. He didn't want to appear as though this figure had disturbed him, so he returned to the lute, fixed the note, started whistling again, and ignored the approaching dread. The mask of the Sun King remained tied to his hip; he was just the performer Leon Solaire and that's what he *had* to be today.

As the figure stood just behind the entrance door, his eyes slid to look but he didn't move his head.

The Boot and Shoe was a place of escape: one within nearly a stone's throw of the Ivy Gate that carved San Sameno from the rest of Palapar, one where a person not looking to stay for more than a night or two in the enclave could book a cheap room and never have to interact very much with it, one where he might book passage from his troubles at the bottom of a cup.

Leon Solaire had come to this place, however, and one had to think that he had done so with purpose. In the intervening period, he had made it far more conspicuous. If many Palaparese did not know who he was, any Torragonese, Virangish, or Revidian with a daughter certainly did. The proprietor of the humble establishment was one such person, and he thanked Dami for sending Leon his way.

Until this moment.

The door creaked open and in strode Ren Baykara, his boots thumping on the wooden floorboards. The man behind the counter had been grimacing even before his arrival and, now, he gagged, and again. Turning on the spot, he hurled into the washbasin.

Had one no concept of magic, they still would've struggled to miss that here was a man of consequence. The head inquisitor was neither tall nor especially remarkable in appearance, but his clothing alone may have cost more than a tavern owner's lifetime earnings, and the dozen figures who remained outside, unflinchingly at his command, told the rest of the story.

Some might've made a quip at the barkeep's expense, something like, "a little early for that, isn't it?" Others might've started softly, to toy with his hopes out of some sense of sadism or for their personal amusement.

"A cup of water, please," said Ren, coming to a stop with a loud thump of his boots. He regarded Leon Solaire, who was known to him and, for the barest of moments, something monstrous - monstrous and anticipatory - flashed across his countenance. "And some music." He sniffed, as if he might've had a runny nose or something of the like, and held his hand out expectantly for water.

Leon did find himself following Ren with his eyes as he entered the room. He kept regarding his lute and gave the sleepy yawn of someone who just had an eventful night before. On the request for music, the performer smiled and nodded to Ren once before calmly strumming his lute. There was no need to start a fuss over nothing given the stakes.

The sounds of Leon's playing filled the air at the Boot and Shoe. If it wasn't his most complex tune, it displaced any other noises that might've been made.

Hurriedly, the tavern owner filled a cup with water and raced to push it into Ren's outstretched hand. The moment that it touched his skin, however, the inquisitor let it fall and shatter on the floor. His head twisted all at once to leer at the man. "You would serve your superior from your unwashed hand after vomiting?" he snarled. He walked towards Leon, who could begin to sense movement under the floorboards as others struggled the same way that the barkeep had.

"Disgusting and unsanitary," Ren concluded with a sneer. "Clean the mess you've made up." He drew closer to Leon. "Is there nobody else here capable of providing a hardworking ruler with a clean glass of water?"

It wasn't just the tavern keep or the patrons disturbed by the aura Ren was emitting but those beneath the floorboards as well. He could hope that the noises and commotion above-board would cover those below. But the regular patrons were starting to leave in the hopes of keeping their dignity leave just himself, Ren, and the poor barkeep Ramiro who just wanted to keep his place clean. Leon no longer had the luxury of being a passive participant in this affair; although he didn't like that he got the sense Ren wanted that.

Leon placed his lute calmy on his table and looked up to the Virangish noble with a smile. "You'll have to forgive Ramiro. There was a difficult drunkard last night who hit him on the head. He is still feeling a little dizzy today if I had to guess." Leon kicked his feet off the table and stood. He looked to the poor, poor barkeep who had a world of cleaning to do after this. "Ramiro, how about you go take some rest? Its been a while but I can serve drinks quite well." He chuckled. "I'll keep the place safe."

Ren held an arm out and clenched it into a fist. "Captain Balik!" he called, and a uniformed woman hurried up to the door and saluted. "Sir!"

"Nobody is to enter or leave this premises until we are finished our investigation. You are encouraged to detain but authorized to use any force necessary...if necessary."

She bowed her head crisply in acknowledgement. "Understood, sir."

Ren turned back to Leon. "What are you doing here, minstrel?" he asked, glancing back at the semicircle of guards who were containing the people who'd tried to leave. "and do try to answer honestly."

Leon looked over the tavern to see military force keeping people in. He kept his cool, the patrons had the choice and he trusted them to make the right one and stay. They hadn't committed any crimes after all. Calmly, he stood around the sick that coated the floor, grabbed a clean glass, and fetched Ren a cool drink of water.

Placing the glass at the bar, Leon gave Ren a discerning look. "You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere? I can't say I know many inquisitors, but you dress far too nice to be a soldier and have a face too handsome." He smiled, trying his best to be disarming.

Ren crossed his arms. Beneath the floorboards, Leon could feel a handful of the refugees moving as the weight of the inquisitor's latent energy only increased. "I am asking the questions," he replied, eyes narrowing. "You're doing a terrible job of answering."

Leon nudged the glass of water closer to him. "Vacation. Someone told me that the Palapar weather was excellent this time of year. I intend to call him a liar when I get back to Constantia." He kept a positive attitude.

Ren lifted it to his lips and sipped, still as a coiled snake otherwise. "Interesting time to have arrived for tourism," he remarked. "Perhaps you should not leave your friend waiting and return." He set the glass down on the table with a 'clack' that carried audibly. "You'll find that I can also take good care of the people here."

Leon poured himself a glass of water and sipped alongside the Virangish man. His ears were all too keen now to the noise happening below. It must have felt like sitting in an oven beneath the floor and constantly battered by Ren's reckless mana released.

Tala had told him earlier that day she was lucky the baby hadn't been born yet, at the very least, she wouldn't have to try keeping a baby quiet. It turned his stomach, happy that her baby wasn't born to be kept beneath the stairs like rats. Forced into the lowest of places all to escape the clutches of the man who stood before him now. No person should live in fear to that extent and yet Tala cowered for her life not even a meter below his feet. She hadn't even been there for the crime.

"Portals make me sick. I was waiting for the next boat out, but it seemed they wanted to hang back and not get caught up in any blockades... I'm sure that has something to do with why you're here?"

"Forty-two sailors and guards murdered in their sleep aboard their ships in Arangal," Ren responded, "strangely, just before you decided to take your vacation here." His eyes narrowed. "Their crime was being Virangish - " He snorted. " - Though not all of them even were." He began sliding the glass back and forth - almost restlessly - across the tabletop, from one hand to the other. "I intend to find their murderers and punish them to the full extent of the sultan's wishes so that nobody will even consider another act like this." At the very least, the act seemed to keep him occupied and the sound covered any that the refugees were making. "I will find them and I will execute them, publicly." He shook his head. "This doesn't concern you, Solaire." All at once, he stopped sliding the glass. There was dead silence and, from below, a cough. He narrowed his eyes and drew. "Unless it does."

If he didn't know before, he knew now. With the cough, it was only a matter of time until he found the people beneath the floor. He could stand back and let him take them away. Some guilty in the revolution would see justice and the end of a noose, but plenty more whose only crime lay in familial ties to the criminals. Or he could get in their way with the hopes of taking their place in judgment. If he waited, Ren's overwhelming draw could kill them by itself. It was one or the other, and he chose neither. He looked into his glass and chuckled.

Would you do this if someone presented a threat to you, boy? Elder Colex's words echoed in his mind. If your opponent wasn’t weak?

With a slip of the hand, Leon splashed the water of his cup on Ren's face to catch him off guard. Then Leon launched himself at the noble sending them both out of the window and into the street. They tumbled into the street water Ren had tried so hard to avoid.



When you choose to act, it must be with strength and leave none to question it.

Leon was the strongest. It meant he didn't have to choose the lesser of two evils or let some suffer for the betterment of either. He only needed to defeat this man and they would all be safe.



Yet, Ren had already drawn nearly to full capacity and it was M A S S I V E. "There it is, Solaire," he howled, rolling away and springing to his feet. "That's what you wanted!" The blast of raw power that thundered forth in every direction had him as its epicentre. "Time to let it all out!" Leon, perhaps not ready for such an immediate and overwhelmingly powerful response, was flung backwards into the side of a building and right through its wall like a misfired cannonball. "But so will I." Leon was not the only one who needed to worry, however. All around Ren, buildings twisted on their foundations, glass turned liquid, rain froze or burned or simply disappeared. Debris hovered in the air. Bricks imploded. The very land trembled. Without so much as a though, the weak were annihilated like the insects that they were, Ren's mercy in allowing them to live temporarily suspended. Again, he drew, paying no heed to the nothings around him: only Leon Solaire, the treacherous Revidian and the only being present who might actually require his full effort or something like it.

Leon was doing this for them, he wanted to see them safe, yet he couldn't avert his gaze from Ren. The battle would not afford him such a luxury and he had no desire to see anything else. As the noble unleashed an overwhelming show of force and made the world melt around him, Leon's eyes could see the destruction but his mind failed to acknowledge its consequences. Ren Baykara was a threat and needed to be defeated. This was the way forward. The state of anyone else in that equation was secondary.

The performer's first thought was to dodge the attack and find an opening to slip through, but the blast was uniform. Then he tried to resist it, but that thought didn't last long. His momentum dropped quickly and it became a matter of trying not to be flung away. His clothes rippled violently under the pressure along with his body. It was like swimming into a wave, or rather a tsunami. It was better to move along the current than fight against it. He shifted his shoulders forward and flung skyward; he was reeling from the blow but faired much better than if he had hit a nearby building.

Flip, flip, flip, the performer tumbled again and again in rapid succession until he found stability far above the destruction below. His now-tattered cape fluttered in the wind, in his hands rested the lyre humming from a chord freshly played, his visage covered in the Sun King mask which he had donned during the flips, and his smile was wide and toothy.

Ren had cleared the space around him and he alone stood below. Leon let the gravity take him and descended. Flame built up around him and focused on one leg. He began to spin back again in a series of front flips. He dropped down in an incandescent ring of flame to deliver a fiery axe kick onto the noble.

Leon sped towards his target and the attack was so telegraphed that any mage taking it seriously might've simply dodged. Ren Baykara was not unschooled in combat and he was not stupid, but arrogance was a drug that held him utterly, and so he met Leon's kick head-on.

The results were devastating. His hair and clothes burnt away, his skin creased and crisped, and his chest caved in. It was a near-instant fatality, in a single blow, for such was the wrath and power of the Sun King.

The problem was that it never happened, or perhaps it had, in some timeline or another. Ren Baykara was not unschooled in combat and he was not stupid; he had anchored himself temporally. One didn't need to be Hugo Hunghorasz to know some of the basics of that greatest of magic schools.

Leon descended from the heavens, wreathed in flame like the sun burst through the grey ceiling of clouds. Such was the power of his attack that the very oxygen in the air around him ignited and the paving stones melted. Such was the power of his attack that Ren could not fully resist it. With split seconds to spare, he hurled himself free, landing on a rooftop.



His hair and clothes were singed and he trailed a thin veil of whitish smoke and steam as he skidded to a halt. Did his hands tremble? One would not have seen it, for they were clenched into fists. He drew, then, with utter abandon, from the sky, from the buildings around him, from the earth below.

Nobody could say how many casualties there had been in the surrounding area for, when giants clash, they have little attention left over for what they might step on. People fled, disorganized and in terror, in every direction. Those who had some magic used it to protect themselves and their loved ones. Most did not.

The Boot and Shoe, meanwhile, had suffered much of one wall collapsed, its windows shattered, and the canvas awning over its side door set aflame. People were streaming out from it, choking and staggering, but most were not people that Selma Balik or any of the others could recall. Were there yet more inside!?

Then, Ren raised one arm to his side. "I have been attacked, Balik, by a Revidian agitator sent to kill me and deny our legal rights of investigation. You will take your people and carry on with the rest of your duties. There is something that reeks in San Sameno." He sniffed the air, sneering. "I will pull from the root. You will pluck its blooms."

With that, he shifted the direction of his arm and opened his fist. A Revidian bakery across the street exploded. "How many lives am I worth to you, minstrel?" He shook his head. "And how many of these replaceable nothings would you trade for your own?"

Aylin was minding her own business after the conversation, positioned near the chapel. She had given instructions to some of her guard to do some clearing up after the guardias gansos to ensure nothing fell into the wrong hands after their arrests. The Inquisitor had also made his intentions clear regarding the chapel and his agenda, but she firmly informed him that it was not an option. She wasn't going to let things escalate by leaving it unattended. As she dealt cards with her gloved hand to start a game, a commotion erupted already near one of the taverns.

"¿Qué hicieron ahora?" she muttered angrily, pushing her chair back as she donned her long white jacket. She signalled to her guards, gesturing for two to stay by the door. "Nadie entra ni sale. Nadie." With the others, she made her way toward the disturbance to investigate.

The devastation was rapidly damaging the surrounding infrastructure, as sturdy buildings were being reduced to ruins, and Aylin wasted no time in shouting orders, “Evacuen la zona.” She swiftly gave further instructions to the guards to empty the buildings and clear the area of civilians.

Surveying the scene, she shook her head at the chaos. Two young men had made a mess of her enclave. She raised an eyebrow toward Ren then nodded with her head toward the tavern, the one he had already torn through, and a nearby bakery, with his new friend. “Official or personal business?” she asked, her tone sharp. With a quick gesture to one of the guards, he tossed her his catchpole.

Aylin gripped the semicircular pronged staff firmly in her hand, as she banged on the ground with the other end. “Explíquese” she pointedly addressed the man with Ren, “Explain your actions.”



A flash, a vision in his mind's eye. As Leon brought his leg down upon Ren's shoulder, he could see the noble had failed to defend against it. Flames took him, melting skin, singed hair, and a look of pain in his eyes as he looked into Leon's. It drove the performer's heart out of pace as his smile dropped. In a moment of panic, Leon tried to withdraw the attack, and soften it to save the man's life. But it was too late, his leg had ripped through him.

Then he blinked. He could now see Ren on the rooftops, a little burnt but safe. Leon hovered above the ground to avoid burning his feet, all the remained around him was melted street and the ghost of memory that never was. It was an illusion made to mess with his mind and nothing more.

Leon didn't panic when Balik was sent to get the word out about a Revidian agitator. That was inevitable and nothing could be done about it. He could only have faith that the Revidian government could avoid a war with his lack of official ties to the state. He was a rogue actor, he could trust Zappa to sell that, if nothing else.

He looked shocked at the bakery explosion. But his sight didn't linger enough to even acknowledge it was Revidian. He couldn't afford to look away from Ren.

"If I surrender, innocents die. If I fight innocents die." He called up to Ren on the rooftops. "And if I stand back and do nothing, then you would do the same. One man alone dictates the suffering in San Sameno, Ren Baykara."

He could hear the sounds of someone addressing him in the back of his mind. He ignored it and continued to focus on his target.

"Surrender and leave with your inquisitors. This can't be worth your life." Would he really be willing to take another man's life if he refused? It wasn't something he wanted to think about now. Leon was starting to feel out of breath, he would need to charge soon and this needed to be ended quick.

Ren had felt another energy - one significant enough to matter - as the building had collapsed, and so came Lady Aylin. Thus, he had no chance to respond to Leon's absurd offer. "I was attacked while doing my duty," he responded honestly. "searching at the tavern for those who evade justice for the murders of two weeks ago. I was attacked by this Revidian who was trying to hide them." He leveled a pointer at Leon. "I have been forced to defend myself and now another Quentic appears." His gaze twisted towards her. "I should hope you were as sensible as you appeared and have come to rein in this mad dog."

Leon kept his eyes on the man who just blew up a bakery for fun. Certainly no one was buying his plea for the moral high ground. "Their children and families are also fleeing your *justice*. If the law allows you to hang them too, then it is a mockery of Dami."

His gaze passed onto Lady Aylin and he gestured to the bakery. "Will you sit back and let a man like this dictate the future? At the very least, stay out of my way and let me do what is right."

In the event, the choice was taken from Lady Aylin's hands. A man came running out of a collapsing building, eyes red and bugged out, and launched an artless lance of heat at Ren. Perhaps it was suicide by the inquisitor. Perhaps the man had lost somebody in the collapse or just before. Maybe he honestly thought that he could get the drop on Ren while the Virangishman was distracted.

The energy was absorbed and shot back at him tenfold, and only Leon really could've stopped it quickly and completely enough. He stepped in and the beam bounced back at Ren and Lady Aylin managed to step in and knock the would-be attacker - a semi-trained mage of about 6.5 - out with some chemical magic. She delivered a stinging rebuke to both for endangering the peace and the citizens, but just as great of one to the now-unconscious man for attacking a government official and foreign envoy.

The fact of the matter was that Ren was now trying to kinetically crush Leon and the Revidian had resorted to flinging the the energy away wherever he could, leaving craters and debris to form and fly about. Lady Tojarra, for all that she seemed quite capable indeed, was simply not a match for either in raw magical power. Leon, forced onto the offensive, began to melt the ground beneath Ren but, so monstrous was the Inquisitor's capacity, that he drew all of the heat from it and turned it into an explosion focused on Leon's chest.

Burnt and hurled backwards, the performer tumbled down the street, coming to a rest on all fours, battered, panting, and bleeding. Then, as Ren stalked forward confidently, to a backdrop of screams and skittering rubble, two slabs of pavement lifted themselves up from the ground like a beartrap and crushed Ren between them.

A cloud of dust and rubble obscured the area as Leon staggered to his feet, some words of counter-rebuke or perhaps apology gestating in his mind but as yet unspoken. He reached out with his senses, daring to hope but not sold until Ren's signature was...

The Revidian doubled over, clutching at his temples, and staggered to the side. His eyes began to grow bloodshot and there was a red trickle from his nose.

Ren Baykara, the most powerful mage in San Sameno, emerged from the haze, utterly unscathed. "And now you learn," he addressed Leon, "that you are not the strongest here and that your actions have consequences." He gestured at the people screaming and running. "For them, and for you."

Leon was trying with all of his might to resist - to counter the magnetic reactions depolarizing his blood, but he wasn't at full power anymore and, impossibly, Ren was stronger. Instead, he let what was going to happen happen. His temples pounded. His hearing faded. His senses screamed. He conjured a colossal arcane flash and Ren staggered back, blinking.

Disengaging at breakneck speed, Leon put everything he had into reaching for the power beyond this world and manifesting more energy. He reached out, but... it was as if somebody had closed the door and locked it and he did not have the key. He tried a second time, and a third, and now Ren was rushing towards him, kilij drawn and intent on finishing it the old way. For the first time in... he wasn't sure how long, Leon believed that he was going to die.

Then, there was Lady Aylin, stepping decisively in between the two of them: a barracuda among sharks and yet utterly unafraid. "Gentlemen," she declared, "Perhaps I wasn't clear. I wasn't asking you to stop."

The world around them wavered and, in their minds' ears, they heard both the greatest and least sound they had ever borne witness to. Both stopped in their tracks, grimacing and scarcely able to move. "That was a command." She glared daggers their way, and Leon's in particular.

Aylin lifted her catchpole and thrust it forward with precision. The hooked tip locked around the performer's neck, as it clamped him into place with kinetic magic. It was only natural to use a touch of chemical magic to subdue the Revidian’s temperament. “This is more than disturbing the peace, chico,” she said, as she gestured to the surroundings, and waved over two of the guards. “Disarm him, strip him down, and remove anything he’s carrying.”

She tipped her pipe, as she focused on the performer’s face, her smirk widened. “Well, well, who do we have here? The Sun King.” She turned and cast a dark, toothy smile toward Ren, her gaze briefly dropped to the bared kilij in his hand. “You can go ahead and kill this imbécil egocéntrico,” she remarked with a dramatic pause, as she turned back to look at the performer. She didn’t retract her words, as the guards finished their task, where they removed the mask and left the performer with only the clothes on his back.

Inhaling from the pipe, she exhaled a cloud of smoke as she continued to appraise Leon. Just before Ren moved to strike, she added, “You’ve caught yourself a fat prize here. Leon Solaire, favoured of Prospero Malatesta himself, and betrothed to his precious daughter, the cara de cerdo,” she sneered. She leaned forward, as she tapped the pipe, letting ash drift on the ground in front of Leon. “This estúpido is wearing a mask. Doesn’t he know captured Volti are executed on the spot?”

Aylin stepped forward, as she offered the handle of the catchpole toward Ren to take. “Death’s too good for this anguila,” she murmured, her eyes raked over Ren with an impressed expression. “Nothing a firm hand like yours couldn’t handle. We could not have stopped a man like this. No wonder the agitators have been slippery, with Revidia sending one of their top agents.”

Ren yanked the catchpole from close to Leon's neck, making him lose his footing and stumble forward. He looked down upon the singer brought to hunch from his leash. He hoped that someone of interest would be in San Sameno but looking at him now, the performer was nothing but a paper tiger brought low so easily. It reminded him of a story. 'The bird who flew so high and carefree took his freedoms for granted and never worried for what was below him. He had been turned into a worm, the lowest of earthly beings, to pay penance for disrespecting the ground others tread.' He wondered how long it would take to break this one in.

How did I get here?

It was the one thought that ran through Leon's mind as he sat on his knees with hands on the ground struggling to grasp his breath. The energy he held dear that wrapped him in a warm embrace had fled from him. He could only wait, cold and alone, for the judgement of others to be passed on his fate. He called out for it again, that place in which his dreams could be made manifest, and it refused to answer. He looked up and saw that man, Ren Baykara, looking back at him with eyes like a hawk. The noble delighted in his weakness.

Why did it have to be like this?

He looked around at his surroundings. The town called San Sameno had a chunk ripped out of it, decimated by the destruction wrought by his fight with Ren. Innocent people fled the scene, some fine, some gravely injured, did some die here? He just wanted to save Bayani and his wife, he just wanted to save those kind people who wanted nothing more than to live. Why did fighting for them mean many more suffered in their place? He was doing the right thing and it only brought pain to others. Why, why, why did it have to be like this? Was this how the world was? His mask hid the tears that flowed.

He made no attempt to resist the catchpole that clamped around his neck. He looked up at the Torragonese woman who sought to condemn him, were they not supposed to be allies? Then, before long, he was brought face to face with Ren, defenceless and unable to escape. The noble's grip on the clutchpole rattled his neck and the performer no longer had any control.

"No, I'll keep this one for myself." Ren's eyes were fixed and his words carried like icy hands wrenching away everything Leon cared for. His dreams, his hopes, his ambitions, and those he cared about would all be taken away by this man. Leon struggled to catch his breath, he called out again, that place, that wonderful place, why had it abandoned him? He couldn't let it end like this.

When he was marched outside of San Sameno, Leon took the opportunity to act. Mustering everything he had, he summoned a wall of flame between himself and Ren then in the confusion expended kinetic to launch himself away. The catchpole dug painfully into his neck but it didn't matter, he would be free, he only needed to make enough distance to change and he could fight again. He couldn't lose here.

If he could only charge...

However, within the split second Leon had made some distance between himself and Ren, an unbearably bright flashbang went off around the performer blinding everyone who was looking upon the scene. When everyone regained their sight, Leon was gone and the catchpole clanged against the cobbled stone floor. It may have looked as though the Revidian had simply ran under the cover of flashing lights, but any skilled mage would know better. There had been no resistance against the catchpole and no damage done to it, he hadn't even broken out of the tool's hold. He had simply vanished into thin air and no sign of him could be sensed in the entirety of San Sameno.