[IC] The Hourglass Order

[YummyYummy]

♫

Silence. Not even a gust of wind. Everything had died in what was once called Viiqii. All that remained was a crater of salted land and rapidly decaying matter. Matter that was once the men and women of this village, now gone without a trace. Cawiuo Zast, Selena Creighton and Qelen the elder were among them too. But what had claimed the very last morsel of this land’s soul was not the horror that had made it its nest. An amalgamation of the worst things in the Hells had baptized it with his arrival. Now, it is permanently scarred.

Arcaan’toras’aamii had witnessed it all and managed to keep his head. He would never know whether Belthagor allowed it or if he was insignificant enough to not even be noticed. The once promising land he had hoped to leverage for his clan’s long term prosperity became ground zero for the most repulsive and monstrous thing he had ever seen. His eyes were hollow and his gait reduced to a limp despite being physically fine.

He found his tent an hour later, partially destroyed. Inside was Yamo’nabal’fiin, kneeling before a body wrapped in blankets. His eyes were red from tears he could not hold back anymore as they met Arcaan’s. The Aamii did not have to see what was in the wrappings to know, but he still endeavoured to see. Suulii was in it, many veins bulging all over her body with her severed leg infested with now decaying plant life. Her eyes were closed, her chest did not move with a stab wound in its centre and she looked cold.

In a land where all distinguishing factors were devoured and brought to death, where it was neither hot nor cold, where nothing lived or died, the world had never felt colder for these two men.

Esmii’nesta’tawar had vanished without a trace while Niallus Saberhagen fought off the Smiler until the bitter end to save his friend. Both were considered dead, leaving many friends and family to grieve without bodies to bury or cremate.

Few, if any, would know what truly happened in Viiqii. History would sooner forget it over the grander war that was to come and the inevitable calamities the Grand Demon Belthagor was preparing for Sipenta. But those that survived, the precious few with still their bodies and minds, will remember this day. Where the beginning of the end was birthed.

It came from the Bog.

---

Until last year, the world’s balance was held and controlled by a select few people. Some held more weight than others, but their roles in world events were undeniably above any other formal ruler of the world. Some called them the Gods of the mortal plain, others thought of them as none other than mere tyrants playing the role of a God. But now the biggest players were off the board.

Hugo Hunghorasz - Slain by everyone that mattered.

The Emperor of Nikan - Slain by his own brother.

The Silent Monk - Slain by his own hand.

Optimate Pious XIII & Optimate Justine III - Alive and poised for replacement if the need arises.

President Sanfor - Allegedly still presiding in Missai.

Half were gone, the other half nubiles compared to the ‘big three’. She bit her thumb’s nail as recalled some of these events unfolding. Exhilarating. There were now the ‘New Powers’, some already near their peaks, others budding at an alarming rate.

Emperor Cascal’umi’anthan - Emperor of Tarlon and Supreme commander of the Grey Fleet.

Empress Esuul of Tantiac - New head of the Sanguine council, allying it with Tarlon.

Karim Harrachora - Hugo’s replacement in all but raw skill and power.

The Twin Emperors - Heads of the new Sanguine Council.

Volto Dorado - The head of the Volti, now making their move.

The Mad Avatar - High Priestess of Viisan.

Juulet smirked in satisfaction as she carefully noted that particular one down. The best was saved for last, though in spite of her megalomania, she knew something was missing in this picture. It quickly broke that infantile smile of her’s.

The Traveler - The true wildcard.

She tapped her pen against her chin. Surely there was someone else of that calibre. Surely there was another extraordinary being to consider.

Of course, there was one that had been there all along. As she was about to jot it down above even the fallen ‘Gods’, the sound of a door opened prompted the one-legged Yasoi to perk up. None of the guests whom she could hear the footsteps could actually see her, instead they saw a dark chair turned opposite to them. It was one of those spinning chairs she was incredibly fond of.

♫

The rugged man content with merely a tunic and other inconspicuous clothing spoke up. “Are you about to make a dramatic turn-”

Juulet spun her chair to dramatically reveal herself to the group of guests.

“Greetings! I’ve had shrimp prepared for this early supper.” the Yasoi opened her arms to display the long dining table before her. There was a silver bell over each plate where the guests were invited to take seats. “I was real hungry, so I figured this big meet would go well with the yums.”

Viktor, briefly known as Felix, shrugged as if this was routine and took a seat to Juulet’s right. To her left sat a Yasoi of about her age. Facial features suggested more masculine traits, but the build and long brown hair leaned feminine. They grimaced the moment Juulet opened her mouth and sighed in exasperation when offered a seat. They were also the first to remove the bell, revealing large, roasted prawns with a healthy amount of spicy sauce on them.

“Where’s Merit?” inquired the androgynous individual, the voice revealing without a doubt that he was, in fact, male. His voice was dry and demanding, but he didn’t raise it nor come off as downright aggressive.

“Busy.” replied Juulet. With a bell removed, she had given herself permission to indulge after setting her notepad to the side. “She’s met with our special guests already. We’re here to discuss business with ‘em.” she munched away with little regard for manners. She was a goddess, such petty worries were beneath her.

“That way you can burn away all our credibility again after all the work she’s done? You never cease to amaze me, babe.”

“Shuuuut the fuck uuuupppp Calion.” whined Juulet, surprisingly composed for how she was being talked to. It looked more like siblings bickering than animosity, at least from her. Calion, on the other hand, had a hint of venomous animosity in his eyes.

Viktor completely zoned them out and indulged in his meal as would any man used to the outdoors - mostly using his hands to peel the shrimp.

There was another participant that had entered last. A man adorned in fine Rettanese silks with the attire itself reserved only for the highest class within the capital - The Exemplars. Clad in a mixture of gold, green and brown, this round-faced, clean shaven man looking to be in his forties employed proper etiquette from his region, from using gloves for his hands when needing to touch the foods to expert use of chopsticks.

“Anyway,” Juulet took a bite from her grub without even bothering to decorticate. “I wanted to lube us up before the big welcome. Namely with discussing dear Viktor’s report. And also I’ve had the best fookin’ idea ever.” the accent slipped there, just a little bit.

All three raised a collective brow to that.

Juulet cleared her throat.

“Viktor, I see here our guy Don Balls kind of had it coming. That kind of leaves us in a pickle, don’it?” she cocked her head like an overly naggy teacher reprimanding a young student.

Viktor shrugged one shoulder, his interest clearly geared more toward the tricky shell of the prawn he had in his hands. “He was dead before I had arrived.”

“Yeaaaaaah, but you fucked up with controlling that thing. It slipped and screwed around and now here we are.” her wide and crazy eyes peered deep into Viktor’s hollow soul.

“It did.” he answered, staring her down without a change in his demeanour.

A silence reigned briefly, only for it to be broken by Calion.

“Wasn’t that what we wanted?”

“... Yeah, but the results aren’t to me liking. I gotta blame someone.”

Calion rolled his eyes. “If it’s such a big issue, find someone else to hold your hand in that adventure down south.” Juulet glared his way, he returned the favour. “That isn’t me.”

Juulet huffed and crossed her arms. “I’ve had another job for you anyway.”

“You’re not my boss.”

“Kind of am. Anywho- Now we’ve got all this nice info on our green pet project, but a new actual issue arises.” there was a shift in tone in the mad avatar’s voice. All eyes were on her now, including the mysterious Rettanese man who seemed frankly out of place. “The Big B is out early. We’re going to adapt.”

A new voice spoke. “If the Arrogant One’s presence is a true concern, then we would have been mobilized to silence him.” the regally dressed man spoke with perfect Avincian. “If no such thing has been ordained, then the matter must be settled. I believe Mister Strauss has performed his duty and retrieved the essential information we had been seeking.”

Juulet kept quiet and had nothing witty to add. “Hmmm. Sure.” she reached out to pat the Magusjaeger’s forearm. “You did good. For a guy that’s died like four times.” she snorted and Viktor chuckled.

“Let’s get the other part done hastily, please.” complained Calion.

Juulet clapped her hands. “Oh right! Thanks Cally!”

Calion groaned and rolled his eyes. He detested that name, and her.

“So, I met this painter guy, right? Total pushover artsy type. He had this cutest rock-person! And it could shoot a big laser too!” her gestures were trying to capture both the smallness of the construct and the flashiness of the blast. “And so I thought, how could I get one of those?”

“Golems. Ersand’Enise has recently integrated them.” spoke the Rettanese nobleman. “An art specific to the Dark Mages of West Callanast.”

Juulet pointed the man’s way. “Yeah, that! I saw how BIG and AWESOME they were during that big kerfuffle of revolution, soooo …” a big grin with nearly lidded eyes was directed Calion’s way.

“... What?”

“Sooooo I thought maybe we’d get a few of our own. And what better place than the source. That art Yanii mentioned a place called An Zini or something.”

“An Zenui.” corrected Calion.

“Sure. I figured you’d be the best suited to filter out the best of the best and retrieve it for us~” she leaned toward Calion’s, almost rubbing up to him like a cat. “C’mon, say yes, before I gotta put on my boss pants.”

The male Yasoi pursed his lips and, after brief deliberation, shrugged. “Not the worst idea you’ve had. And keeps me away from you. I’ll do some recon.”

An excited Juulet clapped in celebration. “Fan-fuckin-tastic! We’re going places, I promise. Just a few more steps …” she bit her lip in anticipation.

“Oh right!” she shuffled on her seat to adopt a more proper posture. “I think our special guests are here. Let them in!” she called out to the doorman upon sensing a cluster of unfamiliar energy signatures. Three sets of footsteps entered. All Yasoi. Two women and one man.

“Welcome ladies and good sir, have a seat. I, Juulet’oli’muustii’zan, High Priestess of the Nation of Viisan, humbly invite you to my table.” she opened her arms and nodded her head in respect, though she didn’t stand.

Cherii'cola'caliman and Arsii'cola'sevenuup were first to find their seats, with the martiarch Leluun’dorii’cola taking the spot opposite of Juulet.

“And we would be delighted to discuss how we can help you settle a few misfortunate scores.”

[YummyYummy]

---

---

Dear Honourable Prospect,
Has your life taken a turn? Do you seek thrills you have long since desensitized yourself to? Or perhaps you wish to start anew?
Whatever your creed may be, one of Sipenta's mythical and lost marvels beckons the ambitious, curious and desperate alike. Deep in the frigid tundras lies the oldest gem of this world.
An expedition like none other in history to unearth a legend that can make dreams into tangible reality. A chance for a legacy. A chance for a new beginning. A new era.
The Abyssal Forge awaits you.

Whether it was morbid curiosity, a search for answers or a last chance to find meaning, you signed your soul to the once in a millenia opportunity to be the first to discover the Abyssal Forge. Its secrets beckon so sweetly, the potential infinite. The way you obtained your invitation could be interpreted as fate, a pure chance encounter, but at the back of any reasonable person’s mind, you wonder if this wasn’t all predetermined.

All invitation holders were brought to an innocuous meeting point, different for each. One was in the centre of Varrahasta inside a famous inn, another in a shed in the middle of nowhere Meatu. The response to their signed letter was a simple map with no other instructions. Most would be suspicious, but why even sign the letter if one wouldn’t even entertain the opportunity? There were no signs of danger after rigorous scouting, after all.

But the forces behind the plot had no intention of being discovered. Once in the respective rendez-vous points were found, the sensation of ants on every part of the body overtook even the strongest among you. Resistance was futile, magic had been stifled far too quickly compared to the anti-magic devices encountered in the past. Before long, the ceaseless, horrible sensation reached the head, numbing the mind as it did the body. You would awaken some time later somewhere unfamiliar, reeking of old and dust.

---

“Bzzzzztt.”

♫

You could hear the sound of static near you. It repeated in regular intervals. The sensation of ants was still there but duller. You could move, but your magic was near impossible to tug out without causing your extremities to ache and your body to falter. As you come to more and more, your vision becomes less blurry and the source of the electrical noise becomes apparent: A wooden box with gold-coloured metal meshes of a circular shape. A contraption like you’ve never seen before, barring perhaps a few similarities to Sirrahi-tech, but far more rustic. In short, it was a radio.

“Bzzzt. I- Bzzzt. See you are awake. Good.”

The box produced a masculine voice. It sounded mundane, unfamiliar to you, though the grainy filter and static veiled the finer details and intonation. Upon focusing on the box, you notice a set of egg-sized metal capsule containers surrounding it. Three for a couple of groups, and two for another. As you keenly gain in awareness, you easily realize there is one for each person with you. Along with them was an equal amount of oil lanterns.

“Before we begin, open these eggs and swallow the pill inside. Lest you wish to perish slowly as did countless others.”

---

Whether you were already outdoors or you found a window to the outside, you would at some point see where you truly are. You had likely heard of Halge Larchelon before coming, the city known to have housed the first ever great forge in history. Now a large and dead ruin in the shape of a crater. That isn’t to say what created the crater was the cause of the lifelessness, but rather this city was once built inside of it with a large tower, one compared to the Forked Tower, looming over all.

You could not see the sun, nor even the sky that you knew for that matter. A thick fog contained the borders and spread about in the city while the heavens were perpetually swallowed by a blueish cloud with only a dim light source East of the tower that never seemed to move. There was the occasional lightning and thunder clap from these unusual clouds.

It was cold. Not freezing, just cold. The wind felt unnatural, almost stagnant as if it had been the same gust circulating for a long time.

A city ruled by a dark, featureless blue, dull grey and unimpressive brown. No life to be found, no home to preserve, and thus nothing to love, hate or feel passion over. And with the absence of all life, death too became stagnant. Memories now mere dust with nothing being built for thousands of years. Nothing.

A city that even the Gods had forgotten.

GM Note

You have all been placed in different parts of the city, forming three initial groups. These will not remain for the entirety of the adventure, but they’re a start to avoid a huge cluster of people in one place.

The groups are as follows:
Juulet, Leon, Kaureerah. @Jumbus@Force and Fury
Seviin, Xiuyang, Yuliya. @Suicharte@Emeth
Yvain, Pluurii. @jasbraq

You will get descriptions of each place you are in within your distinctive threads.

Interacting with the radio:
You may ask the radio questions and interact with it. If you address the radio, all other participants will be able to hear your question and the answer. There will be a specific thread dedicated to interacting with the radio, while other threads will be hidden. Other means to communicate will be discovered as the story progresses.

[jasbraq]

Webs of Lies and Deceit

Secrets clad in silk.

Through the streets of the capital roamed an oiran who had caught the eye of some within high society. Her name was Hiraka Sayo. Her talents were prized, her beauty unmatched, but it was her skill in attentively listening while tending to the stressed men that were valued most. Night after night, the woman entertained the court’s men and women, gathering drunken gossip over sake cups.

One man, in particular, seemed to be rather loose-lipped and spilled some words for the woman tending to his needs. ”How has the emperor been?” The man stared in his cup ”I heard that the emperor might no longer be with us.” Sayo filled his cup and looked at the man questioningly. ”The emperor is no longer with us? Who rules over us in his stead?” The man stared at the oiran with drunken confusion. ”I’m not hic. . sure if he is dead. He left hastily and hasn’t seemed to have returned.” Words were shared until it was time to rest, collect payment, and bid each other farewell.

The next night, the oiran had struck gold, a third son of one of the daimyo. Nakamura Takahiro did not seem to drink too much, yet his presence was comforting if not a little tense. ”The other men don’t lie when they speak of your comforting presence, Lady Sayo.” Takahiro leaned back as he sipped out of his cup. Sayo in response to his words used her fan to conceal her smile. ”My, I am honored by your words.”

The oiran could then feel it, Takahiro was drawing. ”Truly a shame that a woman of such talents had to have ulterior motives.” The woman in response would back away. ”Lord Takahiro, I do not understand. Have I done something to offend you?” The man squinted his eyes at the woman. ”A normal lowborn would have fainted by this. It seems you are either a bastard or not what you seem to be.”

Two armed men soon entered the room as the man stood up from his seat. ”Hiraka Sayo, I hereby arrest you on the pretense of espionage on the great emperor.” The woman was cornered. ”But I heard of the emperor’s. .” ”The emperor is alive and well. Such gossip would hurt the stability of our great empire. His orders have called for your prying to cease.”

I did not want to resort to this. But it was already too late, the woman was dragged out of the room and brought to another that would be more suitable for questioning. The further they walked with the woman the more it seemed to. . . fade? The young man took notice and raised his voice. ”Search for that woman, now!”
The woman, or rather the man escaped. He cut his hair with a sigh. ”Guess that means Sayo’s role is over. Oh well.”

Never trust the word of a merchant

Hirokusa Daisuke, a man of opportunities and one of the merchants who had been forced to leave their posts within Rettan, arrived in the lands of the Nakamura. They were not as opulent as some other places within Nikan and even seemed rather poor. How can this be one of the bigger daimyos?

He soon arrived within the city that housed the Kagaku no Shiro, it stood out amongst the unimpressive buildings of the city itself. But once he met up with his fellow merchants, gossip began from his words. ”Hey, did you hear that the emperor was taken by the Rettanese?”

And as if merchants can’t help themselves, the rumor spread far quite quickly. Within a day or two even arriving within the Nakamura court’s lower high society. Who was fast to take the merchant responsible to the advisor. ”To think the dirty Rettanese would go so far as to kidnap our emperor! . . Or is he plotting something?” The man thought attentively. Was he playing with the merchant? Not that he could speak too far out of line as two samurai with antlers on their helmets surrounded his sides. ”Send him to lord Nakamura.”

Nakamura Daisuke sat in front of the merchant. ”So it is you who has spread these rumors?” The merchant bowed his head down onto the flooring. ”I just said what I heard when I was still in Rettan. I apologize for my transgression!” The daimyo raised his hand to sign to the man. ”There is no need. This might be advantageous to gain the support needed to show our neighbors up north to not mess with us.”

A soft breath left the older man. ”But in more good news, for that I know, the emperor is still alive and well.” He stared at the merchant, perhaps even at the man underneath. ”However, if you wish to know more, I would travel to the Ishii clan. If they push for a reason to speak to them, tell them it was me who sent you.”

As the merchant set off to leave in a bow the lord stopped him. ”Travelling all by yourself might be suspicious and most of all dangerous. Take some of my men with you.”

The Illusive against the Elusive

Fusuke, the renowned samurai from the Hirasou clan, who has served under the Nakamura for generations has traveled towards the lands of the Ishii. The countryside was utterly beautiful, a stark difference from his previous visit to the Nakamura. However, after feeling the mood of the residents there was a sense of anxiety in the air.

He wished to visit some of the craftsmen yet his task by the Daimyo of the Nakamura took precedence. Fusuke arrived at the daimyo’s palace and was greeted by one of his men. ”State your purpose.” The man looked right into his soul. ”I am here to find an audience by the order of Nakamura Daisuke to ask about the status of our great emperor.” The Ishii man looked rather unimpressed. ”The emperor is well.”

”Then what of the rumors?” Fusuke questioned. ”Are but rumors. The emperor does not wish to spread panic among the public.” His eye twitched. ”Then there is something going on with the emperor?” The man was about done with this rude samurai. ”You will leave this place and-” It was then that another man approached and whispered into his ear. ”You will stay. . . Lord Hirofumi wishes to speak to you. But your entourage will stay.”

The young samurai entered the Daimyo’s chamber alone and kneeled. ”Hirasou Fusuke, it is a pleasure to meet you. It has been quite a while since I last had someone from Constantia in my presence.” The man sat, stroking his goatee with a soft smile. ”Is it that obvious?” Half of his facial illusion faded to show a face closely aligned with his real face. ”For me? It is, I have lived a lifetime of trickery and deceit, a young man won’t trick this old man’s eyes.”

”Then do you know why I am here?” His head was lifted to look towards the old man. Hirofumi stopped stroking his goatee for just a moment to think. ”Perchance it was curiosity? Words from Ersand’Enise about the death of the Emperor brought a sense of adventure within your young heart?” Fiske’s eyes widened. ”Right you are, Lord.”

”The last time someone so overly unprepared entered my presence was Hugo Hunghorasz himself.” The old lord’s own words got a chuckle out of himself. ”You met Paradigm Hunghorasz?” The chuckle turned into a laugh. ”Indeed I have, we met during the war.” His laugh then faded. ”’It's a shame that he is no longer with us.”

”But if you are a curious student from Ersand’Enise.” He leaned forward. ”I can tell you about the emperor, if you do me a little favor.” The boy began to shine from excitement. For just a small favor? ”I will do as you ask of me.”

”Good, good. I’ll remember that.” He smiled contently before he began. ”Have you heard of the Sanguine Council?” Fiske stared blankly. ”The myth about sanguinaires and their spooky leadership?” He said jokingly. ”Yes, but it is not a myth, young one.” His pose then straightened.

Fiske looked upon the old man with confusion. ”But what do those stories of those sanguinaires have to do with them?” Hirofumi shook his head. ”Now, why would I tell you such a thing?”

”Are you telling me, the emperor was-?”

”He is, yes.”

”Is? Does that mean that he isn’t” Fiske stared at the man. ”The emperor is alive, as is his brother.” He chuckled at the boy’s surprise. ”Though among the sanguine council he is not known as the emperor, but as the Progenitor. His disappearance is the cause of the anxiety you must have felt before..”

”But is it not dangerous to tell me such things?” The boy looked worried as if he just gained the world’s glare upon him. ”Nonsense, boy. You promised to help me with a little favor, so it is only right I give you something in return.” His smile did not fade yet his presence became more domineering ”But you may only tell the right people. Such news must not reach the wrong ears.”

He then moved his hand, only for one of his men to appear out of nowhere. ”Now, for that little favor. I have this one from a lesser clan of us. He has been quite rowdy.” The summoned man then offered the boy a knife. ”Do you know what I am asking of you?” Fiske nodded, taking the knife. The man disappeared soon after. ”A member of a branch family messed with the main family to gain influence and potentially even rule over the main family. . . and you can’t have that.” He stared at the knife. ”And someone not from Nikan leaves no traces to you.”

The man nodded. ”See to it that it is done.”

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

The moon hung low on the horizon, its light cast over the Castle of the Kobayashi. Fiske donned attire that made him blend in further with the darkness of the night, a mask with no discernible features hiding his face. He had but one goal, to take the life of someone for the sake of another.

Slipping by the men on guard was not as he had expected it would have gone, but he is no longer the child at An Zenui who could not conceal his presence well enough that even a blind man could sense him. No, he had grown in his craft. It could be said that he moved like a shadow but even a shadow would be better perceivable.

It took some searching for the assassin to find his target, Kobayashi Noboru sat cross-legged in a dimly lit chamber. Was he praying? Not that it mattered, it only made it easier to get this dirty hit done. The blade closed in on the back of the man’s neck, but Fiske hesitated.

”You reek of hesitation, stranger.” A voice from a corner of the room spoke out, it was Noboru, holding out a knife. An illusion? He clicked his tongue. ”They don’t make killers like they used to.” The masked figure stayed silent on the matter. ”No exchange of words? It is a fight for life and death, the least you could do is make it more fun for me.”

Fiske froze up, only to charge at him with his blade. Or that was what he wanted the other to think. The real Fiske wasn’t visible to the naked eye. The man’s body collapsed but when the invisible hitman tried to take advantage of the collapse the man returned to his senses. ”So there is a little skill in you.” He dodged any attempt to slice at him. ”But to think they would send a child to deal with me.” The man then began to look more disappointed. ”I was hoping they sent someone of more renown.”

”I will do. .” The boy kept on swinging wildly. ”Hahaha, can you now? From what I’m seeing you’re struggling quite a bit.” No matter how much Fiske slashed at him, it did not connect for the man seemed to be incredibly slippery. ”Let's make it more fun, shall we?” He held his daggers tensely as two more Noboru showed up. Three different assailants to deal with? It was slightly too much for him to deal with and through the false slashes, some connected.

”Having a hard time? Guess it is time to end it.” The man laughed, followed swiftly by a long exhale. Masked lips crept up from behind the man. ”I tend to agree.” Was it another illusion? No, the stab wound was real. It disoriented the man to the point his clones dissipated followed by Fiske’s image soon disappearing alongside them.

Noboru’s legs did not move, instead they caved in. Nerves severed in one swift stab. ”Guards! . . Guards! Help!” He tried to crawl towards the door. ”They won’t hear you, I can assure you that.” Unheard screams followed until it became eerily silent. A sense of triumph combined with disgust filled the boy’s mind. His first big win against someone strong, but his first murder as well.

The Serpent’s Offer

The deed has been done, this little favor fulfilled and the boy returned to the Ishii estate. In his presence was Ishii Hirofumi and a man bearing two cups and a gourd of sake. He knelt and bore the daggers to the daimyo.

”May I assume that the deed was done without too much hassle?” The boy only nodded, his face grim from guilt. Sake was being poured into the cups and one was sent Fiske’s way. Hirofumi kinetically took his own cup and the gourd from the retainer. ”Leave us be, I will pour the drinks.” The retainer lowered his head and complied.

”You protect and ruin lives. Such is the path of men that devote themselves to the good that is balance.” He raised his cup before taking a sip. ”Do not beat yourself over it. Think instead of the lives you protected from the deed you have done.” Fiske stared into the reflection within the sake. ”But I only killed.”

”And with that one kill, you have helped uphold the balance” He poured himself another. ”Now, come. Drink with me, bearer of the Snakes..” Fiske stared at the daggers before staring back. ”These?” The man nodded. ”To the victor belong the spoils. You may be its bearer until someone worthy within our clan shows themselves.”

As the night passed Fiske began to doze off. A young lady would enter the room. ”Tsuyu, please escort our guest to his bed, he has earned it.” Tsuyu bowed her head with a warm smile. ”As you wish, lord Hirofumi.” The drunken Fiske was guided to his sleeping quarters.

The night passed and the morning dawned upon the castle. Fiske woke up feeling no hangover, instead he felt energized. The woman opened the door, concealing a smile with her hand. ”Young lord, I have placed the Snakes in a case for safe travels. I hope you will find your way home well.” Her smile then widened past her hand. ”I do hope to see you once more when you have to return the Snakes, or when you are around.”

Fiske stared at the woman who seemed rather happy to see him. ”Yeah, I hope so too.” He took the case and smiled back. ”I shall take care of these.” And thus he left his quarters to return to the school he set off from.

[dragonpiece]

Crossroad

Crossroad

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!"

Hiking through strange land comforted Tku. He had much to do in Ceboyan but traveling like this reminded him of going through Sakenga as a young boy. He was scared to death of every moving shadow and the rain only chilled his body.

He was no longer scared of the shadows but scared of the duties he set upon himself. He was Tku, and to them, his is a mage to help. He was now a mage. The rain tried to stick to him but it slid off him and his clothes, walking in the rain but never getting wet. Soon he would be upon his location and was already feeling around with his kites. He couldn't be seen.

The lights of the manor house were not visible in the storm. Its shutters had been closed and lanterns snuffed for the night. Thunder rumbled in the clouds above and rain hammered the muddy ground, but there was never much of any wind.

Almost inaudible above the din was a voice. "Here!" it called. "Here, biyahero! You shoul' not be out in tiss storm. Come wit me." There was a young man, just off of the path, behind a stand of tall bushes. He was glancing about nervously but welcomingly and waving Tku over.

Without light, Tku relied on his senses to guide him but they were still futile in a foreign land’s storm. So when he met another young man, Tku was relieved. He waved back to the man, "Ah! Thank you, friend. The storm snuck up on me." Tku approached with a smile but he still scanned around for matters that shouldn't be here things like a blade or many hearts hiding in the tall grass.

There were two other energy signatures - human, hegelan, eeaiko, or yasoi - within a shed about thirty meters off of the road. It was hard to read them well given all of the storm's ambient energy. That was, incidentally, in the direction where Tku was being led.

His tusker kites blowing in the wind's lines were pulled taught and brought closer to Tku. It is very onerous for a guard to spot them in this storm but he wouldn't give an opportunity to catch him through simple sight.

After making it off the main path, Tku offered his name, "My name is Tku." He placed his hand over his own heart to show his sincerity. "Are the others further ahead?"

The man nodded. He was only a few years Tku's senior. "Kidlat," he replied, tapping his chest. "You are young tan we expec'," he remarked, leading the way. "Other persons..." He trailed off for a moment, perhaps struggling to find the word he needed in a language he was less than fluent in, and pointed ahead, down a narrow path. "Gani an' Bato. In te shed." He twisted about for a moment. "Dali no comin'. She teter. Hard movin' in rain like tiss." He scowled briefly, before turning back. A sheet of lightning lit up the sky momentarily, and they could feel the resulting thunder, a few seconds later, in their chests. "Good par' is it makin' lotta noise an'..." A conspiratorial grin replaced a face of consideration. "Energe? Hide us pretty good I tink."

Tku was led to a small shed, where a candle flickered inside. He saw the two other faces - both native Palaparese - only in twisting shadows. One was very young, no older than Abdel or Rikard. He introduced himself in a voice that still cracked as Bato. The other was a good deal older - perhaps in his late thirties. That was Gani. "Maybe you are preezing," he remarked, in accented but more fluent Avincian than Kidlat, "But you are also a mage, so maybe not." He had a short black beard shot through with streaks of silver, and maintained a serious bearing. This was likely his attempt at humour upon meeting someone new. "In any case, you are here and that is what matters. When we spoke with the Masked One, we did not know what to expect. We hear things sometimes, especially me, since I work at the house, but many people are more talk than action." He hesitated for a moment and the three Palaparese exchanged glances. "Even us, until recently."
Tku slowly deciphered what Kidlat was saying through what he said about 'Dali'. Either she was tethered or off balance. Either would make it difficult to move on a stormy night.

"It does," Tku complimented Kidlat. "Rain holds much energy, separating us from the rains is not an easy feat."

As they approached the shed, he dried himself and Kidlat using binding. It was delicate but well within Tku's mastery. He stepped in and removed his cowl. "I'm warm enough knowing you met with me." he offered a smile and nod to Bato and Gani.

Tku leaned himself against the wall. "And you would be right, most of the time. Which is why I would like to ask, what can I do to help you right now? I'm sure that there are those who hold that this is just talk." Tku felt a need to gain the trust of these people.

"That... is the thing," Gani allowed, stroking the stubble on his chin. "We..."

"Do not know," interjected Kidlat.

"Too long with masters makes a man less able to think for himself," the oldest of the three men admitted, "But something has to change."

Outside, a particularly loud crash of thunder shook the landscape and a couple of heads turned. It was the youngest, Bato, who spoke, rapidly and in his native tongue, shooting nervous and pleading glances Tku's and Gani's way.

What followed was a rapid exchange between the three until, finally, Bato addressed Tku directly. "Dey..." He held up a hand and motioned chopping it off. "do tis Alad." He shook his head. "No, I say." He shook it more adamantly. "No more for me." His eyes were intense. "Alad no..." He tapped the side of his head gently and grimaced. "Bad head." His eyes searched Tku's. "Good man. Bad head. He is me priend." He all-but implored the foreigner to understand his very broken Virangish.

"A healer," said Kidlat. "That is best." He shook his head as Gani and Bato addressed him once more in Palaparese and they exchanged rapid-fire words. Then, they paused: all three of them. "That is Dali," explained Gani, filling Tku in. "She has been watching us prom the cabins." He furrowed his brow. "She says you are a healer by your magics, but you would need to be a very good one, por they cut Alad's hand opp and ped it to the crocodiles."

"I understand," Tku nodded. It was an issue he read about from some of the older generation in Joru. "But just as your mind has atrophied from their rule, it can be invigorated by breaking from it."

Tku thought to himself how to help and more importantly, stir their minds so they may create the conditions for their emancipation. But his thoughts were slashed at the loud crash of thunder. He patted his chest and tried to understand what was going on. Ah, Dali is tethered! Why would a slave master keep a tethered?

They made it obvious what he needed to do next, "We can plan things more in full but I believe returning Alad's hand requires some urgency. Just know that we must be ready for when they notice."

"He is at the huts," Gani warned. "We will have to travel there." He did not ask if Tku was willing to or could make it. He simply assumed the competence that was presented to him. "I promise it is much more beautiful in the morning, despite what happens here."

Bato, meanwhile, seemed to be clinging to Tku's every word, partially just for the effort of trying to understand an only semi-familiar language, and partially because they seemed to resonate with him. "You come, Master Tku." He nodded. "I take you."

"I tink we all go," Kidlat recommended, consciously using Virangish for Tku's benefit. "I watch. Gani help. Bato scout." The three men had an extra cloak that they offered Tku. Then, with little hesitation, even as a sheet of lightning split the sky and thunder crackled across the jungle, they pushed the door open and slinked out into the night.

Tku shook his head no to Bato, "Thank you for the kind phrase but I am no master, I am but a friend." Maybe he would understand, maybe he would not. Either way, it held great importance for him to set the boundary there.

Tku took up the cloak and started to move with them. He had scanned the area thoroughly before entering the shed and he had not forgotten. Binding was an odd school of magic, being able to sense more than just energy was a blessing for the blood child.

He could feel the goma cats stalking him and his entourage and all Tku had to do was create a writhing snake to throw them off. Nothing, and I mean nothing, likes snakes. He treaded over the wet and rooted ground, parting the plants while dispersing any track behind them. He was no expert in Arcane but anyone could sparsely draw on light to dim an area.

Everything went smoothly and steadily, quickly reaching the outside of the huts. There was a gap they were going to have between the foliage that he used thus far to make it here and the hut. He reached out to people, marking those he could. With no one to observe him, he turned the thick mud dry and hard to move quickly with his companions. He let Gani go in before him as a stranger rushing into a hut could scare them.

Bato was a good two hundred yards ahead of the others, and he disappeared into one of the huts. Gani and Kidlat followed, with the help of Tku's magics. Inside was a boy about Bato's age - or slightly older - sitting up in bed. A girl perhaps Tku's age sat beside him, and a wheelbarrow waited close to the bed. The boy's left arm was truncated just above the wrist, its end enclosed in bandages. He was a lanky twitchy youth with oily hair and large eyes with bags beneath them. He regarded Tku with a wary curiosity after he entered behind the others.

"I... sorry we could nah' meet imperson," said the girl, not bothering to ask if and how he knew about her. Like Gani, she assumed competence. "I'm Dalisay. He is Alad."

"Dali..." The rest of Gani's words were in Palaparese, as was her quick response. She ushered the scared-looking Alad to his feet, even as he began to speak. "He says that he didn't know they had to give it to him," Gani translated. "He took the beans because it was his birthday. He didn't mean to break any rules. He didn't mean to make trouble."

"Don't think slave," said Bato, leaning in towards his friend, and Alad's eyes widened. They exchanged words in Palaparese and both nodded, but the maimed boy's remaining fist was clenched.

"He is angry," Dalisay interpreted, "because they change the rules and now he has to trouble for you. He only wanted to make coffee for his lola... uh... grandmother." She shook her head. "Alad's anger can be very great."

"On birthdays, they used to let pield workers - slave or pree peasant - take a handful of coppee beans por temselves, back when we had Master Gorkan," Gani explained. "Master Hakan makes them go to him and pledge their loyalty bepore they can. Alad didn't know of the change and when then caught him he defended his actions as following the rules. Things escalated and he struck an overseer and..."

"He is lucky to be alive," said Dali. "We had to beg por it and some had to work extra shipts to cover the loss." She snorted bitterly and her eyes caught Tku's. there was more to this that she wasn't saying right now, but perhaps she might say it later.

"Pive minute," warned Kidlat, sticking his head inside from the doorway. "Patro' come."

"Fas'!" urged Bato, "Fas', healer!" He looked apologetically at Tku, probably not meaning to rush him but concerned. Dali, meanwhile, unwrapped the bandages around the boy's severed hand, revealing the ragged stump, while Gani reassured him and gave him instructions in his native tongue.

Now, before anything could happen to derail it, came time for Tku to take up his craft and heal.

Tku's eyes bounced from place to place, listening to the information and feelings given to him. His time here was limited, Tku knew this. So while they filled him in on how and why, he paid close attention to Alad's clenched fist. The muscles, arteries, and veins were so much clearer than when relaxed.

He approached Alad with a careful step. "Dali, can you have Alad set his good hand next to the stump?" He looked at them and used them to mirror how they should look. He began to reconstruct Alad's hand.

Tku kneeled next to Alad as he started to compare the hands. The boy must of picked up on the panic in the room, Tku thought as he gently held his hand and started to take deep breaths. People are quick to copy those in front of them when in a panic. Slowly the breathing slowed and Tku was able to begin.

He took in the intricacies of Alad's hand. The callouses from repeated abrasion, well developed muscle to help grip his tools. A dozen or so fractures and imperfections came with doing hard labor at a young age. It wasn't hands to be envious, unlike the privileged life Tku had lived. Recreating some imperfections so he could use his hand would be more difficult than Tku could imagine.

With no time to waste, Tku began forming the spongy red marrow and the outer white layers of bone. The hand was intricate, consisting of seven central bones. They were all oddly shaped and important to stave off anemia in the future. It took much longer than he imagined and he carved out each bone to make sure they were strong enough to withstand use. With time running thin, he nearly instantly formed the fingers, tingling Alad. His eyes say his very bones sticking out of a stump and he was quick to panic. He thrashed and screamed as his friends tried to keep his calm but Tku lost control and carved into the bone, removing the small pinholes that the nerves use to enter on the metacarpals.

Tku grimaced at the wound. He understood that he would suffer from mild numbing but he had to continue, this time without Alad being conscious. His wound was open and slipping in some anesthetic along with some 'Slumber Juice' his chemical Zeno told him. "Quick, someone catch him, he can't be awake for the rest of this." Bato caught him with ease, seemingly inheriting Alad's anxiety, looking at Tku to reassure him if he would be okay. All he could do was smile and nod, he couldn't tell them that the next part was the worst.

Quickly he started to lay out loose fibers in the directions they needed, slowly sheathing them and then sheathing again and again. The Tendons were pulled taut and he prepared the circulatory system. Hundreds of feet of veins and arteries of varying sizes needed to be laid out. It was the most intricate and... Tku failed. The small veins couldn't pull away the blood. It would pool and cause it to go septic in a few hours.

He couldn't leave his hand in such a state. He drew away from his previous work and started to draw from Alad and himself to create a better system. Alad was young and would recover and Tku knew his body better than anyone, what he didn't need was obvious to him. The webbing of nerves started to fill out the gaps in Tku's creations. Linking things and solidifying its structure in Tku's mind. The skin was barely an afterthought, merely relying on the excellent regeneration of natural skin and speeding it up immensely to cover the hands and then nails.

The relief overtook him as he looked to the hand with some contemplation. It wasn't perfect, it may be his worst work and it pained him to give something so meager to someone who deserves so much more. But it would have to be good enough as it was the only gift he could prepare. This moment was only cut with Dali yelling at him that he needed to leave.

"They are just around the bend!" she shouted. "You can't be here!"

Tku wasn't quite quick enough. By the time that he reached the door, just behind Bato, he could sense that the patrol was within visual range, and he pulled back. "Hide!" Dalisay hissed. "He can be sleeping -" She pointed at Alad, "- but you must hide!"

Gani doused the lamp and flung himself onto the rough plank and hay that was his bed while Dali tucked Alad in. For herself or Tku, there was nothing she could do. That was Bato's and Kidlat's job.

The pair of teens must've known what was coming, but they did it anyway. Standing in the doorway, Kidlat pushed Bato and Bato pushed him back and they were shouting and hurling insults at each other in their native tongue. One need not have understood all of the words to recognize the performance.

The others waited in stillness and darkness, Tku ensconced among some canvas sacks beneath Alad's bed. The tethered girl's feet dangled limply over the edge, her toes just brushing the dirt. Rain hammered at the thatch of the roof and, in a couple of places, drops of water glimmered as they slipped through and fell.

Then, a new voice: "Hey!" it shouted, "You! What are you doing out!?"

"I, uh... he was say I want a'..." He trailed off, perhaps unsure of the word he needed.

"He want a' puck me sistah!" Bato announced, and there was a rapid angry exchange between him and Kidlat.

"Ung, hum, muk, gaiy," mocked the other guard. There were violent sounds and then momentary silence. "Will you speak a goddamned language people can understand!?"

The first guard laughed. "This one's sister's the cripple, right?"

Bato said something quietly, and there was a crash against the wall. Above Tku, the planks shifted, and he could practically feel Dali's distress.

"You should be thanking him. Girl could use a good fucking, and who else is gonna touch her?"

Dalisay's hands gripped the edge of the bed. Tku could see her knuckles grow white. He could feel her drawing. It was clumsy and unpracticed and she likely didn't even know that she was doing it.

Bato began to shout, but quickly, he was silenced. Instead, it was Kidlat's voice next. "Please, sir. No hurt he, okay? He a stupi' boy. Big head. Big mout'. Li'l brain. I take him back he huh' now. Okay?"

"Oh yeeeeaah," remarked the first guard. "What are you doing away from your hut after curfew anyway?"

There was no response from either Kidlat or Bato but, in one smooth motion Gani rose from his bunk. and hurried up to the door, feigning rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Master Dursun, Master Heves," he called, "I apologize por the stupidity ob these boys. I called them together to discuss their argumen', and I thought they had settled it, but it appears they are pighting again." He bowed very deeply and stiffly. "Please allow me to show them the rod and dispense Mistress Çalişkan's justice!"

There was a pause, and a wavering brightness as a lantern swung briefly into the bunkhouse. "'M afraid it's gone beyond that point now," remarked one of the guards. "An' we all know you'll just go easy on 'em anyway," snorted the other. "You fuckin' gooks are all a little cabal."

"Please, sirs, I will do right. I will do it right here and now with you watching ip you wish!"

There was a long pause and some whispered interaction that Tku could not quite make out. Then: "Hey, saaay, why are you all coming to the door?" The light swung inside again momentarily. "What don't you want us to see inside?"

"No matter wha' happens," came Dali's urgent whisper, "do not let them pind you."

"Out of the way!" barked the second guard. When Gani was slow to move, he was shoved roughly into the middle of the floor. He skidded into the wheelbarrow with a clunk and the light swept over Dalisay, illuminating her sandy-coloured legs where they dangled over the edge of the bed.

Tku could merely watch as he slowly drew in mass to sink himself, building the canvas bags around him to obscure his presence. You were slow and now they suffer, Tku swallowed his remorse and set himself to follow Dali's words. But how tempting it was. He could make them vanish amongst the storm and no one would know where they went. They would be safe.

Tku was a man now scarred by a virangish slaver and how he saw so much of that man in Dursun and Heves. But Dali, Kidlat, Bato, and Gani knew more than him. A foreign world was Palapar and little moved right now. Ridding them of 2 would only bring more pain onto all the slaves here. So he stayed quiet. He hid. He watched.

Dali, meanwhile, had no such option. Caught in the beam of the lantern, she shielded her eyes. "Figured we'd find something juicy inside," growled one of the guards, either Dursun or Heves. "You shouldn't be here," added the other ominously.

"Alad need to be comported!" Dali protested. "I'm sorry! He is sleepin' now!"

The devil was in them, though, and one could tell from their eyes. "You broke the rules, Dali," scolded the taller of the two: a man with beady eyes and a thick mustache. The second one darted in toward her. He had lighter hair and a mournful face that might've looked friendly were it not for his eerily large eyes and resting pout. "That has consequences," he taunted.

The tethered cried out and tried to throw her hands up in instinctual self-defense, but the patrolman caught her on the cheek and sent her tumbling roughly to the ground. For a moment, she was gazing under the bed, eyes wide in fear as they met Tku's. Tku could also see Bato's feet moving toward the patrol from behind. Gani's came after and restrained the youth.

Then, a hand reached down and yanked Dalisay roughly by her hair. "On your feet!" bellowed her tormenter, which was a command she couldn't follow. Instead, he released her and she tumbled to the ground. "I'd say that constitutes a second disobeyed order," scoffed the other member of the pair, "wouldn't you?"

"And, you know, Alad sure does seem out like the dead..." said the man who'd dropped her, stalking up to the bed where the healing boy lay. He began to reach for the covers.

"Leave him out of it," pleaded Dali's voice, broken and weepy. "He's simple and good and Pashdal has bless him with sleep."

"This is too much!" protested Gani, "Surely there is a better way to handle this."

"Do shut up, you old woman, or your next word costs a hand."

"Please. It's me who done bad," Dali insisted. "Wha'ever punishment you make, it's not them."

There was an extended pause where, perhaps, the pair of tyrants seemed to be considering, coming down from their cruel power trip. Then: "You know, your brother's story was that he was protecting your dignity against this other shit-eater," declared one. The light swung, perhaps to illuminate the cowering Kidlat. "but, ya know, I don't believe him," he added darkly, resting a hand on his belt buckle.

With that, Bato shouted at the top of his lungs, hurling insults and vitriol at the patrolmen, and Gani either could not or did not wish to restrain him. He hurtled towards them with all of his force and fury, only to be sent crashing into the flimsy wall and right through it with bonebreaking force.

They had the Gift.

A Crossroad

Tku shook in his hiding spot as Dali hit the ground. He hid further back, heeding her words. He grew more and more scared as the two slavers started to revel in their own brutality. The slavers were truly cut from the same cloth as Ren, but in a way, he hoped that their cruelty would mimic his and deliver a quick punishment.

But it never was enough. They show they had the power to dominate by crashing Bato through the wall. They had the gift, a blessing from the gods. They did not need to beat Kidlat, shove Gani, and strike Dalisay to the ground. They had the power to tend to this without harm but they wanted to do this.

They were not needlessly cruel. They were purposeful in their hate and derived pleasure and satisfaction. I believed in the love of man, in their ability to empathize with another and to feel their pain. Tku called upon the void and drank from its strength.

But I was wrong. I will send these Hetraxa spawn to hell myself. He drew them as he rose from his hiding spot.

It might've been satisfying, or perhaps grim, how quickly the slavers unraveled: skin from flesh and flesh from bone. They tried to fling ineffectual magics in Tku's direction, but the effort was for naught. Both perished with garbled screams.

Now, the healer had laid bare his full power and intent. Bato lay unconscious through the wall, with his body twisted at a weird angle. Gani had picked Dali up and carried her back to the bed, and Kidlat stood on, wide-eyed. Alad, finally, was beginning to stir. Now, the question invariably arose: 'what next?' Clearly, an event horizon had been passed. Could there be any turning back?

He breathed in, and then out before going to work on Bato. "I'm sorry Dalisay," he said rather loudly, "But I could not stay hidden while they unleashed the gift for the sake of brutality." Tku's words apologized but his voice showed no regret. He kneeled next to Bato and began to weave his binding through him. He had plenty of usable material around him now.

"How long until their absence is felt?" he began to stich the broken wall back together after bringing Bato inside.

In addition to a half-dozen lesser injuries, Bato had suffered a broken back that, were it not for Tku's presence, would've rendered him more disabled than his sister. Fortunately, it took a mere couple of minutes for the skilled binder to restore him.

Dalisay, seated on the bed again, was now somewhat less circumspect. She furrowed her brow, but nodded. "You did wha' you had to." She paused. "And I say thank por it."

Gani was action now. "They check in every hour." He replied, leaning over Alad, who was stirring. "On a night like this, some delay could be porgiven." He shook his head. "They were small pish. Bad ones looking to use what little power they had to hurt others and make themselves peel powerpul, but small nonetheless."

Kidlat approached hesitantly, his conspiratorial good cheer from earlier long gone. "We say Alad or no?" he asked, eyes darting from the stirring youth to Tku and the others.

"So an hour or so," Tku pondered on the situation that he had created. I acted too rashly, Tku admitted to himself, The goal was to create the foundation for a change but now that they're dead, the others will spread word and be more weary. The options for them were limited but they could still strike some sort of victory, "Dalisay, how many slavers do they have on this plantation?" he asked the tethered girl.

He tapped his foot as Kidlat approached him, What the in the 5 heavens is he saying? No, he is trying. Tku allowed himself a moment of incompetence, turning to Kidlat, "Apologies Kidlat, but I'm struggling with your words," he looked towards Gani for assistance.

There was a quick exchange between Gani and Kidlat. "Ah!" said the former, "He is asking ip we should tell Alad or leave him out of it."

Dalisay, meanwhile considered. "There is the master, his wipe, and his four brats. Only Ilkhan is old enough to be trouble, but he is in Ersand'Enise." She shook her head. "There are eight permanent overseers." Gani added.

Kidlat looked about to say something, but held back this time. "Pour magic," added Bato instead. "Two are lie dead," Dalisay added, gesturing with her chin at the dead patrolmen. "A dozen more with no Gipt," Gani concluded.

Just then, there was a precipitous cooling in the room. Dali let out a yelp and Tku turned. "Two down," said Alad, "twenty-three lept." He was drawing in arcane energy from the ambient heat, and lots of it. "They can all die."

Tku looked at them strangely for a moment before nodding, Why wouldn't we let him know? He is a part of this, isn't he? Before he could answer, Dalisay kindly informed him of the arms they faced here. Tku merely nodded, trusting in his own skills and strength to overcome the gifted.

"Gani, you work in the house, how often do the overseers and guards leave or communicate with other plantations this time of year?" If they were mostly quiet with each other, they could simply capture the regular guards and deal with the older people of the family. His foot kept tapping as he thought, working through himself and the plan. But before the conversation could flourish, Alad began to draw. It was more than he imagined of a slave but less than the Arch-Zeno's and demons he had faced before.

His mouth opened as to refute him but no words came out. Tku had only seen a small glimpse of the brutality the overseers held and he couldn't withhold his indignation for them. He condemned them to death on his own, against the wishes of Dalisay and the others here. What reason, no standing, do I have to reject his rage?

But Tku still turned to face Alad fully, "Please Alad, stay your anger for now as drawing without purpose only makes you easier to find." he raised a hand gently to him. "There will be more bloodshed, but there isn't a reason to kill those without the gift," Tku spoke firmly though he felt the stings of hypocrisy.

Gani grimaced as Alad drew, but he managed to grate out an answer to Tku's query. "A good amount during harvest season," he admitted. "They would..." He flinched as if nauseous. "They'd... notice apter a couple -"

All at once, Gani lurched to the side and retched on the floor, followed by Kidlat and Bato. Dalisay grimaced. Alad merely glared, roiling with unstable and barely-contained energies. "No Gipt, still bad," he growled. He clenched his fists and began moving for the door. "They all die."

Tku could hold his own but he watched as the others began to bend under the immense weight of his draw. So this was the 'great anger' they have danced around. So strong but with no restraint or control, Tku pitied the boy and could see how he could have flourished if in better conditions. He watched the others fall to their side in sickness.

Tku reached for his side, wearing a sympathetic frown, "But Alad," he moved to his side, revealing Bato. "Your anger hurts more than the deserving. Your friends, brothers in chain, your lola," he hoped to shock and have him empathize with his actions. "Release your magic to the rain Alad," he opened his blind eye, "I know your rage but you can't let it burn those you love, my friend." Tku smiled lightly at Alad. He had more he wanted to say but he wanted to have Alad on his side and he needed to see what rage brought when unchecked.

The youth was silent and obstinate, at first, but then he stared into Tku's blind eye with a sort of gallows curiosity and, after a few moments he blinked and glanced over at his friends writhing and vomiting. "I -" He struggled to find the words in an only semi-familiar tongue. "I nope know wha' do," he replied. He froze in the doorway for an extended period. "Hot in me. How make go?"

Dalisay, finally, seemed to steady herself. She grimaced. "Abou' two days," she finally managed. "You will need to be past." She shook her head. 'Fast', she'd likely meant. Tku had already picked up on some of the quirks of the local accent. "For now, maybe halp an hour." She hesitated, swallowing nervously. "Be carepul. They are stron'. I will help you prom par away."

It was the time for a decision and it could not be put off any further, it appeared.

Tku rubbed his shoulder, "It's alright, you're new to this." Tku demonstrated the basics of Arcane, "I am no master but this I know you can do, feel the cold rain." Tku reached out as it wetted his hand, "Your hand is cold, Let out heat onto the cold rain. Slowly."

"As for your rage, it will quell in time. Once we have made things better," he squeezed his shoulder, "You can make it better, Alad."

Tku turned to Dalisay, "2 days is enough to add to the defenses and ready ourselves but it's not great. I can contact allies far and wide to inform them of what happens here." The time for rooting ourselves and overturning passed the moment Tku acted. "We will need to remove the ones with the gift, some may surrender but we don't have a proper way of restraining them." Tku said with some grimace.

"As for the non-gifted," Tku mulched dirt and gravel into spears, "If they surrender, we can tie them up and keep them as prisoners, because we are not them. But if they fight then they leave little choice for themselves." his words hardened with his heart knowing what he set himself to.

The arts were good for so much but only the art of war will set them free here, I pray to Eshiran-Zept that we might prevail and to Dami, Ahn and Zept, that my judgment may free them.

"I cannot do this alone, nor should I.” Tku announced to the others as he continued constructing Joruban steel spears. "No man can free another from the chains of a nation without the help of those in chains, I ask you to find those that would help with this. Find your spirit and I will arm it.” he tossed spears at Kidlat, Bato, and Gani.

He looked to the sky, the rain grew a heavy fog that would not dissipate in the moonlight, A gift from the gods on such a terrible night. His mind wandered to dark corners that Tku never considered before. Never once did he set himself to silencing another in advance. As short notice as this revolt was, Tku had time to plan for its trials and traps that such an event would hold. The first was obvious to him, those scared of change or those who believe they benefit from the servitude. Gani warned of another house servant, one of mixed lineage who saw himself as better than his fellow servant for he had a drop of the gift and even more Virangish blood. But Tku saw past that, seeing a man simply wanting to preserve what he had managed for his own. Tku spoke of the nation where old men like him rose for their children and grandchildren, and they lived in a place that he would be proud to call home. The man had fire in him and he chose to stop for the sake of it.

Another was someone Dalisay spoke of, the half-brother of the master. He, unlike the last, did truly gain some benefit from the establishment here, though he was still less than anyone from Virang. It was a delusion held closer to himself than the gods he was ever pious to and that is what made him so dangerous. The former master’s gift was as potent as his son’s and the half child carried some of it with him. Tku tried to stop him with words, obstacles, with calls to something greater than himself. But none of his pleas were heard, instead, he was met with resistance and magic. Tku had no room for convincing, he sealed the man’s throat, cutting off his air. He wouldn’t be allowed to speak any longer. Once he had passed out, Tku bound him in rope and unsealed his throat, "Just be silent for long enough."

That was all he needed to handle for the traitors, the rest were to be handled by the trusted hands here and he believed in them. But piercing through the fog was a scream, the ground shifted with Tku’s movement as he quickly caught up to the girl. She was already far too close to the main house so Tku bound the women’s clothes into wrappings to bring her to the ground. He had done this a hundred times and instructed many others on how to do this. It was a safe way to restrain without too much force.

But when he went to retrieve her, she was not moving, she did not breathe. Her head had hit a rock unseen in the fog. Tku fixed her but her brain had bled too much. "You know what you must do, you can still bring her back," he said to himself as he began to run his manas through her body. "After this, all you need to do is go to the house…"

Tku’s healing halted. He had a cold realization as he felt his depleted stamina. "I’ve healed so much today, the hand, the bones, the spears…" A binder was an unending source of Oraff’s grace, they had limits. His manas deteriorated with every hand he gave, every spear crafted, and every bone he healed. If he were to revive her, undo his mistake, he may not be strong enough to face the masters of the house. He had already made his choice. He set the young, naive woman to the side, fixing her clothes to not shame her any more than he needed. He couldn’t watch over her, he had to keep moving.

The rest of the fieldhands who rose with him on this mission handled their parts expertly, not killing any innocent in the process. He made no effort to hide his sin from them as it would only deepen his guilt. Some were angry, some understood, and some simply couldn’t care in the moment. Whether driven by fear or guilt, Tku called upon old powers of blood to create a minion from a cone mushroom. It stood 8 feet tall and carried only a set of legs and a thick body. It was a hideous creature born out of wicked powers none have seen. Tku simply believes it was the darkness that spread across his mind. With its rise, Tku saw its strength for what it was, "Leave one of the overseers Cankut to it." The beast disappeared into the fog to apprehend or kill the overseer, which it did was up to the beast.

"Kidlat, Alad, I leave Frezya to you, try your best to not kill, they aren’t very strong. Dalisay, I want you with me in the house. Figuratively, I mean," he clarified. Alad was strong but he was unfiltered right now, someone weak and easy to capture for him and Kidlat would be good to start teaching him restraint.

Getting into the house was no issue with the skills of the local drunkard on the plantation. Of course, Tku didn’t ask him to come in with him. The artist knew that this final battle could get messy. He calmly walked through the house, silencing his steps with Dali leading him at range Just how did I end up here? This was supposed to be a slow infiltration, but now here I am, acting on my own, murdering people. These few moments as he walked through the empty halls of someone’s home were the first time he was alone. He was a shell of the verve he had before. But now I’m hollow. I know there is purpose in my actions and in my thoughts. My life is the one I am permitted to give by the gods but what of taking another? How does Eshiran set aside the feeling of guilt when she sees his brothers and sisters? Can I find a way to justify, to forgive what I have done? Can I even let myself forgive?

Even with his mind a mess, Tku found no struggle knocking out the children with basic blood and chemical magic. He was guided to the older children’s rooms the ones most likely to bring issues to him before he confronts the parents together. The storm had grown loud and the ghostly wail of a Fog Kracken hung through it. It was such a dreadful night and it only grew more dreadful when a small girl, no older than 6 stumbled out of her room, scared of the storm and kraken. Their eyes met and the girls bolted off to her parents, Tku reached out with his gift to capture her but all her saw was the dozen ways she could hit her head, he hesitated and turned the corner. He gave chase, nearly catching her but she made it to her parent’s room.

His breath stilled, Hakan Arap was no weak mage and he was rested, unlike the broken binder. He made a solemn prayer to himself, knowing that should he fail, those behind him would die after him. His heart pounded as Tku came into the room, walls creaking and melding into something Tku could use. But what he saw was no strong mage, ready to fight for his family one desperately trying to remove his terrified daughter from himself.

They had no magic.

Whether it was the gods giving him a sign or merely the luck of Reshta, Tku put them into stasis. He would not allow them to move. He had them at his mercy and Hakan knew that. He pleaded and offered so many things that would move a man but Tku had no need for it. "I’m sorry Hakan but there is nothing that can dissuade me, I’m just sorry that it is so horrifying for your child." Tku silenced the child with some light chemical magic, "She doesn’t need to see this," he made the sign of the Pentad. "If you have any final things to say to each other or last words to relay, I will honor them." Tku wasn’t a trained killer he had no idea if he was lessening their suffering or prolonging it. Hakan was spiteful and hateful to the end while his wife faced their fate with dignity Tku could not understand. He promised to deliver their words, one way or another before wiping them from this world with Blood magic. No clothes, no blood, no bones. It was done.

"I’m done."

[YummyYummy]

It was on the eighteenth day of Miret'thilan'dichora's absence that Zarina made it up to the attic and opened the back window to let some air in. The room had formerly been occupied by Jamboi and, all-too-often, Penny. With the pair having gone on extended leave under circumstances that most whispered had to do with the bulge in the latter's belly, the room had sat more or less empty, though it was still Ashon's space and felt like it.

Perhaps Zarina had needed to take her mind off of the happenings in Mezegol or the summons of her mother or Marceline's ongoing retreat from the world. Maybe she was just cleaning because it needed to be done. the space was getting rather musty. In any event, she pushed open the window and there was a loud 'thump' that made her jump slightly, though she likely never would've admitted such except in the company of her closest friends.

There, handing from a tree and swinging gently back and forth was a gift wrapped with a neat little bow and a somewhat crude but very fetching little smiley face pinned to a clipboard. She recognized the penmanship - or lack thereof - immediately.

Upon seeing what had made flinch, she re-thought the notion of sharing this to even her best of friends. There are enough embarrassments to poke fun out of her anyway. That said, as silly as the situation was, the hanging gift with a message dangling by it. Her first instinct was not to seize it and instead look around her, the outside. Up, down, left, right, even under her feet. She was sure this wasn't there twenty minutes ago when walked home.

At the absence of any presence, Zarina's amber eyes took in the familiar quirks of the message dedicated to her. A simple smile, one that communicated the author without a single word. Another peek of precaution out the window, one dedicated to the tree more than anything - tree people, a hassle - before giving up and taking in the spoils of her discovery.

With the smiley-message put to the side after a quick check, the avaricious part-dragon couldn't help herself. She pulled the ribbon and started to neatly undo the wrapping ... Until five seconds in and she got impatient. To shreds.

Inside was a strand of Osaian ribbonwood, imbued with manas in the manner of Tarlonese woodweaving. It was thin and flexible and slightly translucent. Attached to it was a small note that twirled in the breeze as Zarina held it.

"Dear Luuchii,

I miss you more than words can tell: your cute face and your hidden sweetness and your big ideas, so I begged my aunt to make you this so that we could be together. It's more than just figurative, too! The ribbonwood is a sanguinaire of a plant and it siphons manas. I let it bite me and take some of mine (maybe a fair comeuppance for a bloodsucker - now I know how it feels). They're in there and they can help whatever you use this for. I love you forever and always and I hope it helps you until we can be together again and for long after that.

Love,

Miret.

P.S. Have you done your laundry lately?"

“Nope.”

Zarina answered in yet another show of infantile habits. All with a massive smile that stressed her features, leaving her cheeks reddened from the extertion. The note was clutched close to her chest, her breathing exceptionally tranquil, as she leered at the peculiar plant. A sanguinaire plant, how macabre. And the visceral nature of it piqued curiosity. With some hesitation, she produced a gardening glove from one of the attic boxes she had stored and reached her hand out to the thing. “Now I need to figure out how to not have you eaten by my little feathered and fur babies, Miret.” she chuckled.

The plank was... a plank, having ceased sucking blood around the time it had been felled and carved. There was, fortunately, no danger, though its manas did seem to respond do hers immediately, trying to assimilate her colony, failing, and then settling for communing into it.

It was not too much longer, however, before Zarina found herself in the cellar, rooting around through baskets of unwashed laundry that she'd usually have used magic on or paid a washerwoman to clean. In the very back corner, after lifting one up, she noticed that something about it was 'off'. There was something solid in the middle, thumping around.

After a bit of digging and eventually meeting an anomalous addition in the dirty laundry bin - she did not revel in it whatsoever - Zarina plucked the next step to the treasure hunt. At first she was concerned with touching any of these, and still used her gardening glove. But then she realize this was Miret. Why so much paranoia? Rid of any unnecessary precautions, she extracted the next 'gift'.

There was a head of Eluuxo inside, only, it had a piece of paper with a little angry face pinned to it. "This is to remind you of what we will do when I'm back," the back of the note said. "Look your best for me, hmm?"

It was once again signed 'Miret', only in yasoi script this time.

"P.S. Have you studied for your Tinctures & First Aid exam?"

Zarina could only muster a dull stare at the cabbage. She dreaded the idea of somebody else accidentally stumbling upon it. The vegetable used for aphrodisiacs was quickly hidden away before she heeded the next 'clue.'

“Hah. Never a boring moment with you.”

Next stop was the the study where most of her course work and assignments were kept, including the practice tinctures. She opened one of the cubards under a shelf to find the box full of needles, threads, dried reagents and a few old instruction manuals.

There, she found another note and a smiley face with glasses and buckteeth. "Go to the library and take out that book we talked about, lazy bum. I love you."

Zarina rolled her eyes and capitulated to the mocking smiley's demands. The library was, well, a few feet away. The challenge was to recall what book was mentioned-

“Ah, right.”

The Greedy Dragon's Hoard, a young adult's novel about a dragon with immense wealth, a harem and the most beautiful of beasts. Eventually, one of his concubines burned down his den, and the melted gold melded into his scales, turning him gold and truly immortal. The book is mostly a variety of fables, ending with the dragon being far too heavy to leave his den. As to why they talked about it- Zarina was teasingly compared to the main character for reasons.

Zarina dug for the book and couldn't find it. Miret had returned it a few weeks ago, before leaving. Instead, where the book had been, was another note: "The Grand Library, dork. ♥"

Zarina let out a frustrated sigh. An exaggerated response given she was always smiling.

To the Grand Library! Where she sought the same book.

It was not so very long after that Zarina found herself at the Grand Library. It smelled of books and dust that sparkled in the Dorrad sunlight. Voices echoed up through the foyer and there seemed - always - to be a slight stench of pigeons at the uppermost levels, where they congregated about the great glass dome.

It was on one of these levels that she located her book, but she found more than that. There was a little bottle of plushtail oil behind it, with a little note attached carrying a worried face.

"Dear Zarina,

Please remember to drink this when it's that time of the month. I love you no matter what, but you're better when you're not trying to eat me... well, you know what I mean.

Love,

Miret.

P.S. Have you cleaned the old dragon stables lately?"

Zarina took advantage of the tranquil nature of the library to give herself a brief break. Plushtail in hand, she contemplated whether to still take this game with joy or vexed that her lover hadn't just come and said hello. The thoughtful nature of the gifts and quips made her lean toward the former still.

After a quarter-hour of putting around, she headed to the animal farm - although not before killing two birds with one stone and acquiring meats from the local butcher. Dried, harder meats that were cheaper and quite lean. A bit too lean to be enjoyed by gourmands, anyway. The sack over her shoulder contrasted with her green silks, earning herself a few stares by gossiping lordlings and snarky commoners alike. She'd be lying if she said it didn't affect her a little, but she was keen on feeding her beasts herself.

Her allotted stables held three dragons: Alqasas, Thawra and now Sassy Xiao. The eldest, Alqasas napped and had grown wise to rushing in for food, knowing it was going to come eventually. Thawra was more like an eager dog - always wanting attention, and being hand fed. Being the smaller of the two Froabas, she developed quite the needy tendencies.

Then there was Sassy Xiao, raised wild but still a chick when taken in. She reportedly made daily messes in the brief time it had been housed.

“Oi, sit.” the rambunctious critter nearly lunged at its master out of a show of affection, but the size made the distinction between playing and predation very muddied. “No. NO!” Zarina took a quick step to the side and pointed her finger over the Emperor Kite's snout, nearly poking between her eyes. “Relax, and open wide, princess.”

In time, the three dragons were fed. While Zarina did so regularly, and went about all of her usual cleaning tasks as one might expect of a responsible dragon owner, she only went over the unused stalls once a month... on a good month. The last time had been shortly before Miret had been sent off to war.

Unsurprisingly, she found a smiling face gently carved into the cleaning bucket. Inside was a note left by her lover and a small bottle.

"This is Luudus Leaf shampoo. The Luudus plant grows in colonies along the southern edge of Nanoi, where it is rainiest, on coasts and islands of swampy inland lakes. It is a writhing vine and is known to eat people when it can. Harvesting it is an immense act of bravery and personal risk - no, I didn't get this one myself. I bought this from a vendor - and seen as a symbol of the importance of personal fitness and beauty. It is also the best shampoo that money - or a few fingers - can buy and will continue to clean your hair for two weeks after applied.

This is a reminder to always work as hard as I know you do, luuchii, but to look after yourself as well. While I'm right beside your snoring self as I write this, I imagine it'll be about a month until you find it and I hope you won't be too mad at me for being away for so long. I only ever cared about Tyrel and (kinda) Chad before I met you. You helped me care about myself and my future, about causes greater than me, about people who weren't yasoi, and - most importantly - about you. Do me a favour, would you? Space these out two days when you do the rest. If everything goes to plan, you'll have the best surprise of all waiting at the end of the last one."

Love you always,

Miret

P.S. Have you checked that Stella has been replacing the grinder filter regularly at your Proving Grounds location?"

The first paragraph was taken in like all the other letters, sat comfortably inside of Xiao's pen with the needy dragon's head rested over both Zarina's legs. Idle strokes kept the beast soothed and in partial slumber while the other held the longer note. It was the second paragraph that warranted a few pause. Embarrassment, loneliness, regret, want, fear. So many emotions flooded in at once. Her forehead met the base of her thumb, eyes closed in an effort to contain her feelings. She ended up letting only a sniffle escape.

“I miss you so much.”

Zarina whispered, prompting the semi-conscious Xiao to perk up for a second before falling back into comfort. “Other side of town, huh? Little shit.” the moment ended with a smile.

Respecting the request, the young beastmaster took the opportunity to do some errands - yet another task she usually delegated to hired work - by making the rounds through the shops and finally stopping at the Proving Grounds where her next message had be found. The last for the day.

The next day, after class, it was the Biology classroom with the fake skeleton - or at least she thought it was fake - where she'd find the next smiley-clue inside the skull.

Then it was the very first kiosk she had opened for Zenobucks. Inside the bin full of discarded coffee bags they returned to the merchants every two months for a light discount on extra shipping fees. The smile had a particularly smug look to it.

Initially she wanted to call it early if the clue hadn't led her back to her house. This one was easy to find: Riesco's mane had been neatly braided without Zarina's knowledge, and inside one of the braids was the next clue. There was no smile, instead the horse turned to perform his signature tongue-wag mockery. It never failed to make his rider burst into laughter.

Early in day two, the Virangish treasure seeker found herself at the Arboretum, by the tree where she and Miret had first met. Where she sought the shade after a botched three-legged race. “Where it all began. Corny. I love you so much.” she spoke to herself as she got to the tree and just took the chance to sit and watch the dawn kiss the city of magic.

While some of the surprises had been prepared and left waiting before Miret's departure, others had been slipped into place by a series of accomplices: a Seviin here, a Tku there, a Tommy at some point.

There didn't seem to be much here except a pretty view to make Zarina wax sentimental. That was when she detected a rustle in some nearby bushes. A quick energy sweep revealed no interloper - only the telltale signs of someone masking their energy signature.

“Oi.”

In the blink of an eye, Zarina stood just a foot away from the bush, arms crossed and eyes glaring down at it. Her position was such that the morning sun cast quite the shadow over the bush and whatever was hiding inside. “Where I'm from, we castrate peeping Toms.” she smirked.

There was nobody there, oddly. Zarina looked around in tandem with an energy sweep and saw a note nailed to the tree that she could've sworn hadn't been there before. When she approached it, it read:

"Look up."

She mouthed it as she read and... there was more than her own voice. Gazing down at her from the branches, hair dangling like curtains to either side of her face, was Miret with a soft smile and cheeks flushed with colour.

“Nice try.”

Zarina cackled and fought against the urge valiantly ... Before obliging with a swift and twitchy movement of her head. “Oi!” she called out as she spotted Miret. “Do you have a loicence for that tree there?” she asked with a mediocre Enthish accent. Hands on her hips, she expected the object of her affections to come to her after trekking for two days.

Miret dropped right down on top of her. "Here comes!" she squealed, hoping to be caught.

Zarina scooped her up in a bridal carry and the yasoi laughed, leaning in for a kiss. "Sostrong," she cooed, "My hero!"

A total fluke, Miret's voice made Zarina's knees weak and the shows affection reduced her tense muscles into mush, and yet she caught the trickster. “Hah. I may or may not dabble in some shellfish lifting.”

She batted her eyelashes as they parted and she was let back onto her feet. "Like my little scavenger hunt?"

Holding Miret in such a manner, however, quickly got embarrassing. Far too manly of a role! And she feared her increasingly permanent bitchface was going to make her into one of these easily identified sapphic phenotype the girls would incessantly gossip over. Gently she let her lover back down with careful consideration. “Uh, yeah, a date's never boring with you, is it? I'm just going to say it, I can't one up you.” she raised her hands in surrender.

But she didn't keep the distance for long. A quick step forward and she was brushing up to her sorely missed partner. “What brings you here, Luuchi? All this way, just for me? I'm flattered, but really?”

[YummyYummy]

Miret's fingers found Zarina's and intertwined them. "In my heart, always just for you, luush'elar." She began leading Zarina over to a picnic basket she'd hidden, and she took a moment to extricate it from the bushes. "Work, too, though," she sighed. "Always work, even when I'm on leave."

Unceremoniously yet with incongruous grace, she plopped herself down on the grass and patted a spot beside her. "I forgot the blanket," she remarked sheepishly and, for a moment, there seemed to be something small about her - vulnerable, even - as she looked up at Zarina.

“Well, it's an honour to have your scarce break time dedicated to yours truly.” answered Zarina, choosing to not dwell on either subjects. One made her far too many butterflies and the other forced the dregs of anxiety she bottled up back up.

A seat was taken on the dry grass, announcing the end of Dorrad and the hottest days having yet to come. “Luuchi.” a gentle hand remained over the Yasoi's and a mellifluous voice beckoned Miret's attention. “How are Tyrel and Chad? Without you around ...” then, a light squeeze of the hand. “Are you alright?”

Miret leaned in. "No," she whispered. "They're watching me, so smile as if I've just told you a funny secret."

“Pfft.” Zarina immediately blurted out, even letting a few spittles bombard her unfortunate luush'elar. Bent over as if getting over a flabbergasting joke, she passed her hand over her hair to comb it over her ear. “If you want to talk seriously, I know a few places.” she whispered, eyes narrowed to feign some foxy look, suggesting she had teased or something equally as playful. “Or we can just enjoy.”

Miret forced a blush, for such was her control over her face. "We totally should," she squealed. She pulled back, standing and twirling on the spot. "Just me and you and not a care in the world." She breathed a deep breath in and out, extending a hand. "Let's do it!" For a moment, her eyes told more: "Please," they said, "right now. I really need this."

Zarina sighed, just to put up the facade as the one in control. An attempt at reassurance in a time where many felt like their fates were held in the palms of men they never met. After a tap on her knee she hoisted herself up, reaching for Miret's hand half-way there. “Thanks, love.” a quick pelvis thrust with her hands on the small of her back prompted a light crack of her spine. “You and me. And my hippo. I need to feed it, actually.” she shrugged. “Did I tell you how it almost saved a platoon's life?”

Miret arched an eyebrow in curious amusement. "Oh really?" she chirped, "Do tell." With that, she squeezed Zarina's palm and made to follow her wherever she might lead the pair.

“It put the King of the Sea to sleep.” answered Zarina with a whimsical and dramatic voice. “I would likely not be in one piece either if it weren't for that nascent warrior.”

With a quick glance to both sides, she made both herself and her lover zip through space-time to land in her bedroom. “As comfy as it is, this isn't the place.” the Virangish rushed over to the opened cage where a sleeping house hippo was plucked out to instead sleep in a handbag loaded with fresh lettuce. “Biby - check. Now then, hand!” this time she offered it whilst keeping up with the inherited habit.

This time a portal was opened and ... They were on a mountain and behind them a lonesome cottage. “Welcome to my Dorrad villa.”

Miret's eyes widened and she turned on the spot. "W-where are we?" She sucked in a great big breath of the fresh cold air. "I mean... it's gorgeous!" She seemed, at least momentarily, at ease.

“Sawand.” Zarina smiled cheekily, tugging at her partner's hand as they approached the building. “I'm willing to bet even Tarlon doesn't have folks in this little prize I've won.” and soon they were inside the warm, homely establishment.

Miret twirled about as she followed her luush'elar in. "Sawand," she enthused. "Whew-ee." Her eyes darted one way and then the next, taking in the unique architecture, the cozy homeliness, and Zarina and her odd but adorable little pet. "Was this from the Trials, Luuchii?"

“M'hm.” there was a front desk, unmanned and neat. “Ashok is probably getting provisions.” she mumbled to herself, deciding that waiting was pointless and unhooked one of the keys from the board. “The rooms are great, we get out own fireplace if it gets chilly.” again she held her luush'elar's hand, guiding her to room 3 of the cottage inn.

It was as homely as could be with a double bed, a kitchenette in an adjcent room, proper latrines and an expensive begemot rug. And, of course, the promised fireplace surrounded by stone. Zarina placed her bag on the rocking chair and sat on the bed. “If you need a place to crash, this room is always kept vacant.”

Miret curled up beside her. "It's lovely," she remarked softly, eyes roving about as she snuggled in. There seemed to be something of a wistful air to her. "A place of our - your - own." She smiled at Zarina. "I'm sorry for being gone so suddenly and so long," she sighed. "You deserve better." Her eyes darted about the wonderful room again.

No words came from Zarina, only a blush. And then a tight squeeze of her arm around Miret, tugging her close. “You came back, that's all that matters.” she laid a peck on her luush'elar's forehead. “What's been troubling you, Luuchii?”

"Heh," Miret snorted. "I almost died." She shrugged and shook her head ruefully, cracking a sad little smile. "After all you've seen and been through and all that I have, that doesn't sound like such a big deal, does it?"

She sighed. "I was doomed, to tell you the truth, and so was Chad and so were all of us if Tyrel hadn't arrived." She bit her lower lip. "It got me thinking that, aside from you, what do I have to show for my life? What have I done with it?" She shook her head again, tightly, this time. "I'm tired of war. I wanna take my family, my friends, and you, and... get out." She paused and shrugged, shooting a hopeful glance up at Zarina.

Instead of giving her opinion or pushing back against the negative thoughts plaguing Miret, Zarina merely caressed the distressed woman's head, focusing on the minute little locks of hair to neatly straighten back behind the pointed ear. “Mmm.” was her response to Miret's wants. “But we can't simply abandon our homes, now can we?” her head tilted as she peered down at the curled up Yasoi.

“I'm being called home. Likely because of what's happening in that Coffee Island - Palapar.” lips pursed and hands clenched harder. “It's coming soon. The war. And all I'm worried about, honestly, is the same as you. What have I done of real note in my life? Not because I think I'm going to die ...” although the fear lingered, even as she put on her brave face. “I owe it to my family to fight for them and become something. The same way you owe a lot to your family - Tyrel and Chad.”

Miret managed a quick, nervous smile. "You always know just what to say," she admitted, forcing a deeper breath and then a second. She smiled again, a bit more relaxed this time, but it faded quickly. "Tyrel is being called there too," she offered, "but it's a trap." She shook her head. "She disobeyed orders in Yarsoc and..." Miret trailed off for a moment. "She tore that queen - the one who'd toyed with Chad and I - apart like a plaything."

The Tarlonese shrugged. "She saved us all and won the battle and afterwards -" She rolled her eyes. "- it was retroactively sanctioned." She sat up and crossed her legs, running some fingers thoughtfully through the hair that Zarina had untangled. "You should've heard them: all the soldiers chanting her name." She scowled. "The emperor and the empress and high command will not like it. it is the job of the Avatar of Vyshta to die before her twenty-fifth birthday, and that is only a few years away now." She knit and unknit her fingers nervously. "I don't know what they'll do to my sister there," she mewed, "but it'll be bad - another bad thing in a stupid conflict all about people's pride and money - and I have to find a way to stop it."

Zarina absently stroked Miret's hair and cheek as her worries and recounts were being aired out. Once again, there was only listening with the occasional little affirmative sound to show she was paying attention. A light inhale, stronger than her idle breathing, came in reaction to the revelation of Tyrel's presence in Palapar. A crucial piece of information, should Zarina actually go there.

“You're hurting enough, Luuchy. It shouldn't always be you taking action. It shouldn't be you always getting hurt.” delicate brushes of her thumb over Miret's cheek slowly guided the Yasoi's gaze to Zarina's. “But if you must take on the world itself like a raging bull, then I'll do it with you. At worst, we both die horribly together.” she grinned and chuckled halfheartedly. “But, promise me one thing.” she stared right into Miret's eyes, digging to find her very soul. “No matter what happens with this war, you won't hate me, and I won't hate you.”

Miret was a strong woman, or had always appeared so to the world at large. She had won the Trials of Ersand'Enise. She had ended the tyrannical reign of Queen Talit in Tanso and served with distinction in Yarsoc, all before her twentieth birthday. She had shared herself with many men and some women. She had spoken before crowds of thousands and embraced the empress herself.

To be small, to be vulnerable, was not something that she ever got to do anymore, except with a very precious few she had known since childhood... and Zarina. "Speak for yourself," she snorted weakly. "When I go, it'll be either out of boredom when I'm a thousand year old elder sanguinaire, or in a blaze of glory." She smiled softly, ironically. "You're welcome to join me in either one."

The fact that their countries were enemies was not lost on her either. "I could never hate you," Miret replied softly. "I even love your laundry habits... or how you hog all the covers in bed."

A fire crackled in the hearth, picturesque mountains and blue sky filled the windows, and they were both away from conflict and politics and the worry of what others might think, at least for the time being. Miret leaned in and kissed Zarina. "Most of all, though, I love this."

“I do not!” Zarina protested without any real conviction to be found in her voice. “I just move a lot when sleeping all comfy-like. Doesn't happen often.” with that, she tugged her lover closer as to actually lie down on the guest bed for some much needed cuddles. And then a kiss.

They were to stay like this for a while. Minutes? Hours? They didn't count. This was just too nice. “What's the plan, then? If things do get worse and worse? When do we just ... Stop? Do we even?”

Miret shrugged. "I expect shit'll hit the fan, and a lot of it, and soon." She shrugged weakly. "I expect I'll fight back and I hope you'll join me." She took a deep breath and managed a brave smile. "I already know others who will." She shook her head. "Not gonna let a little cabal of beard-stroking old men tell me what to do my entire life. For now, though," the yasoi concluded, "let's just spend some time. Let's just... love each other."

Zarina flinched. “Why would shit hit a fan?” of all the things Miret had said, this just stuck. “Is that one of your Tarlonese sayings?” a cheeky grin came with the remark. But soon she settled back into a tone-appropriate demeanor. “Of course.” was her answer with conviction, even if she was ignorant to most machinations from the upper echelons of society.

Hours passed. It had been dark out in Sawand for a while now. Zarina had fallen asleep with an ease she hadn't experienced in a long time. The Yasoi she clung to may have had a role to play in that. Very peaceful. It'd be the footsteps outside of the room that woke her up. “Mmmm ...”

[YummyYummy]

They spent the next few days like that: in each other's company, making up for lost time, all other cares shunted firmly to the side. They bathed in the hot springs, hiked the mountain passes, shopped in the markets of Pashtali, and picnicked on the summit of Mt. Amathikandu. Of course, they made their appearances back in and around Ersand'Enise. Miret sent her messages to Tyrel, and Zarina to Ysilla and Ayla. Of course, Miret shared her war stories, and Zarina hers: conquests of Yarsoc and Parmoy, battles against a mad behemoth and seditious forces. These were tertiary at best, though. Both were far more concerned with the whipped cream on Zarina's nose or the smell of the ponies or their tenth game of checkers for the night.

It was, by most metrics, the most perfect week that either might've imagined. Were the Gods truly all-loving, they might've decreed that it never should end. Of course, they were not. It took only a day for the news to spread across campus: a secret bounty at the edge of Mycormii and Kerremand, a horrifying monster, Cawuio-Zast, Esmii, and Niallus killed, Sven a shambling wreck and Roslyn little better, Edyta rushed off to Varennes on urgent business. Ingrid was a fearful, listless thing. She was lost and searching, but it did not take Miret long to learn that she was searching for something in particular. It was a sign from the Gods. It was a sign that brought her into contact with Tyrel and Tyrel into contact with Chad and Ashon and Ailet, but they were not so foolish as to appear in the same place.

It was just after dinner - for Miret was loath to ruin good food with heavy words - when the sanguinaire took her beloved aside and delivered the news. "Zazzy, there's a life I need to save," she said simply, "and doing it will both risk my life and change the world."

Tales of a grand demon thwarted by a few travelers and rebellious jailers, and big sea creatures felled by the sun itself were highlights from Zarina's contribution to the dream. Was this what they meant with Vashdal's dream coming into this world on the day of Marhazanet? Perhaps Miret would be her monolith that guided her back to the hardened faith she once had.

The endless fiesta felt impervious to the outside world. In a sense, it was. Unless, of course, one of them welcomed it in. Miret was the one to disturb the nest, blindsiding Zarina completely. By her lover's demeanor alone, the Wildblood's heart began to race. “No.” was her immediate answer, lacking any inflection in tone or strength in her voice. Then, she repeated. “No.” this time she stressed the word like one would do when warning a house pet when it was clearly eyeing a vase it wanted to topple. “You don't have to.”

Miret considered for a moment, face pained, pensive, and... implacable. "It's my sister. I have to." Her brows came together and her fists clenched and unclenched. They sought Zarina's. "But... She hesitated for an extended moment. "It is so much more, as well." She shook her head, glancing at the idyllic scenes of alpine meadow through an arched window.

Zarina's nostrils flared and her gaze was avoidant while her lover's sought it. Her clenched jaw was her safety when it came to emotional outbursts and she was about to have one. But, the immense good she had experienced had done wonders. With a loud exhale of pure exasperation, she too sought Miret's eyes. “Tell me everything, then.”

Miret's face was a mixture of hesitation and resignation, and she took a breath. "Tarlon is both a beautiful and a horrifying place," she declared, starting with a simple truth that Zarina likely already knew. "From a primeval forest - the most hostile place on Sagand - we have carved a great civilization." Her lips pressed together in a tight smile and she nodded. "It is a place of rules and laws and traditions so that we soixé sil pa hax might resist our baser natures." She spoke differently than usual, with the practiced reverence one approached solemn childhood lessons.

"I believe in our purpose as it is told us, and so do my sister and Chad, and our other friends. You are good, Zarina." She shifted on the bed, drawing her legs up beneath her into a slouching kneel. "You see past our minor differences, but most people - human or yasoi or something else - fail. Why, we kill each other even within our own species, for any number of stupid reasons." She studied the other's eyes to make sure that this wasn't too much, that it wasn't too far off-topic. "We yasoi are outnumbered and we need to be strong and united - all of us - or we are at the mercy of people who see us as outsiders, who have shown a willingness to take our land, impose their laws, and treat us like lesser things." She shook her head. "Tarlon is our chance to not let that happen, the Grey Fleet is our chance to bring our Constantian cousins aboard, to have a chance to stand beside humans as respectful equals."

She let out a snort. "Of course, there are those among us who don't see it that way. They see that most of you don't stand as tall, both literally and in the Gift, and consider you as inferior as some humans consider us." She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "There are others who don't believe in us as a people, either. They see the Liberation as a conquest and think of how to enrich themselves." She grimaced. "We call them Huu'teshax because we are, quite frankly, terribly racist and cannot resist ascribing negative qualities that we see in ourselves to other peoples."

Miret rose all at once, pacing beside the bed. "Cascal and Esuul are of this ilk." Her heart pounded inside of her ribcage. How forbidden it felt to voice the thought, but it was out there and it was done. They couldn't see her here: not in Sawand. It was beyond their reach. It was free, truly. "Few know this," she continued, "and, of those who do, even fewer see it. They care nothing for the yasoi, nothing for Tarlon, and nothing for saving those in the Fallen Lands from the tyrants and addictions that ravage them." Miret shook her head. "It is only about their own power and their desire to live eternally as gods incarnate." There was more - much more - but she paused before getting to the meat of it.

Zarina made a point to stifle any emotion she could manifest as Miret displayed her deepest heart. Information and opinions that would be seen as scandalous by many, now all confided to a human of all people. She didn't show it, but the human had never felt closer than she did now. By all accounts, one of the "others" hearing any bit of this was a rarity. All she did was nod and keep her eyes on her partner, hand over her’s and her posture mimicking Miret's with only the sparks of wood from the hearth interjecting from time to time.

Her hand squeezed Miret's. “I believe it.” she said, eyes wide and clear windows to her honest soul. “The previous Gods in the world are dead. Now's the time for them to take everything. I understand.” she scooted closer until her shoulder met the Yasoi's, and she finally rested her head over it. “What are you going to do? I can't stop you. So I'll do the next best thing.”

"There was something that Tyrel and a couple of the other candidate Vyshtas discovered as girls, hidden on Tantas'ilwash." She was in narration mode now. Still, she stroked Zarina's hair. "Vyshta does not live as a true goddess because Esuul has usurped her: Esuul the sanguinaire, who lives eternally on the mortal plane, who recovered her leg with blood magic almost as soon as she became the Avatar."

She shook her head, adding a tiny bit of separation so that she could look her beloved in the eyes. "It's all a farce: girls chosen to act as figureheads and then killed off before they can ascend." Her fists balled. "Mine own sister, who saved me from my darkness, who lets me draw her blood so that I may draw breath, who would lay down her life for me and for her people." Miret's breathing came fast and agitated. "They will murder her. She is ten times the person they are and they will murder her because they've been doing it for a thousand or more years."

Miret's eyes flashed. "I believe in our people. I believe in our mission, but Cascal and Esuul do not. They are using us and allow none to become strong enough to challenge them." The fire tempered itself and she reached for Zarina to embrace her. "Tyrel is our best chance - the best we may ever have - but they are trying to kill her while making it look like the work of others." She swallowed. "She has always protected me. Now, I will protect her and protect this world from those tyrants." She had gone on at length, and checked to ensure that she had not said too much, that she had not turned Zarina away from her. She regarded the other, colour rising in her cheeks. "We're making a plan, you know..."

Zarina blinked, her mind locked on one specific notion: A God walked among them. A God that her own beloved wished to slay. A God at the head of the biggest threat to her home. The gravity of the situation was vertigo inducing. She had to scoot back and find the headboard to rest her back against. She needed a moment to just fathom it all. “Sanguinare Vyshta. Dami's will, Miret ...” her hands shivered a little. Hetraxa, plagued Threshers and Sand Wyrms felt so small and forgettable.

Then came the notion of a plan. It did not bring any real reassurance. A look of grave concern met Miret's gaze. “Why not just run? Hide? We have a nice place here ... They can all come. Your family. Mine too.”

Miret tilted her head. "Running's not like you," she remarked, concern sparkling within her eyes. "What's wrong, luush'elar?"

“I'm afraid of all that's coming. This is terrifying me, Luuchy.” Zarina hugged her own core. “I'll fight for my home but ... Gods? Monsters ... Someone I love's going to get hurt. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to do anything about it.”

Miret wrapped her arms around Zarina and kissed her cheek. "Hiding only postpones the bad and makes it inevitable." She held on for a few seconds. "I don't know either, and I wish we didn't have to fight. I wish there were no wars or diseases or selfish people who destroy and dominate, but there are, and I believe we're not the only ones who see what we need to do." She shook her head. "I know we're not the only ones."

Outside, in the distance, a herd of mountain goats picked their way across a slope. A large bird circled overhead, scanning the ground for its next meal. "You're strong, though - even stronger than me, just by a bit." She smiled and pinched a bit of air with her last statement. "Thing is," the sanguinaire continued, "I don't think we win by being stronger. I think we have to be smarter."

Zarina let herself fall into Miret's embrace. Safety, a sense of it anyway, was what she needed right now. Too many close calls, and it was only going to get more intense from there.

“You talked about a plan.” she remembered. “I'll help, if you will allow me. I'm scared enough to want to hide, but I won't run. Not from what matters.” as she uttered that final words, she turned her head to face Miret. “Also, you're just saying that ...” a faux-pouty face was forced. An attempt at drowning out the tension, just a little.

"Lying is a mortal sin in Tarlon," Miret replied, stone-faced. "They cut your tongue out for it if they catch you." She blinked, twice. "I meant what I said."

Zarina paused and squinted. A very brief staring contest ensued. “... No they don't.”

Miret opened her mouth wide and stuck hers out and the moment of mirth was well-needed, given their heavy subject matter. "So, basically, the plan," she chirped, "Right?" She flashed a smile that belied her own unease. "You ready for me to hit you with this stroke of genius?"

Zarina had anticipated something like this and nearly swiped that tongue once it came out! Luckily, Sanguinaire reflexes were a thing. “You know, they do have laws kind of like that in this country.” she smirked before relenting with a hearty chuckle. “Alright, hit me, Luuchy.”

"You'll have to catch me first!" she chirped, leaping free from the covers. "It's sunnier upstairs." She bounded out of the door with a cheeky smile and disappeared down the hallway. Her footsteps could be heard taking the stairs three at a time.

By the time that Zarina caught up with her, she was snuggled on the large sofa half-buried beneath a mound of pillows and blankets, grinning mischievously. "I have a question, oh dearest of dears," the yasoi asked, shifting a bit to make room. "And I promise I won't be mad, whatever your answer is." She batted her lashes. "Have you ever had to do a double take to tell me apart from my cousin?"

Zarina giggled and sighed in relief as she followed her playful puppy of a girlfriend. She wasn't as hasty and took the stairs two at a time instead with a relatively normal gait. Once she found her Yasoi buried in a grave of fluffy delight, she set her hands on her hips as if she was the responsible adult among the two. “On with it, my precious petal!” the fingersteeplers had taught her well, even the dramatic arm wave was on point.

The question, however, prompted her to furrow her eyebrows. She cocked her head and actually did a double take between the window taking in the last few rays of twilight and her lover. “It's not a trick question, right? The obvious reply is she obviously has one leg.” she shrugged, but then thought of it more. “You ... Do look similar. Very, very similar. I never thought to ask about that, actually.” she took a few steps forward to claim her seat among the pillows, a few inches from her sprawling Miret.

"Yes," the woman in the blankets admitted, the dying sun framing her in fire. "That leg is a dead giveaway." She pursed her lips momentarily. "In fact, it's the main thing that most people remember about their Avatar of Vyshta." She rolled her eyes and waved dismissively, before reaching out to squeeze Zarina from the side. "Hey luuchy," she whispered in the human's ear as she snuggled in "Wanna know something cool?"

Zarina was far too at ease to realize the dupe unfolding right before her eyes. Eyes so easily deceived, as was her ear as she took in that whisper. She sucked in her lips, the playfulness of the moment was very much to her liking. However, the smile she wore flattened. One thing she could rely on still was her nose. “You smell of curry.” she remarked, though it almost sounded like her answer to the Yasoi's question. The grin returned with narrowed, foxy eyes too. She leaned into the girl that had squeezed her, undoubtedly affectionate like a cat craving attention. “You should have told me that big goat tikka meal wasn't enough for you, Luuchy~” she stuck the tip of her tongue out. “You're really good with voices. First a rugged sailor, now my very heart? Did they teach you theatre back in Tarlon?”

Tyrel grinned. "Are you sayin' I'm a fraud?" she prodded, hugging Zarina anyway. "I missed you, luuchy-in-law, so I ate ‘something' special, just for the occasion." She made a teasing kissy face. "You saying you don't like it?"

"Hands off my Luush'elar, you one-legged strumpet!" Miret bounded out from a closet, and Tyrel only squeezed tighter. "Make me." The cousins - they almost may as well have been identical twins - sat to either side of Zarina. "This is part of the plan," Miret advised, kissing her beloved on the shoulder.

Zarina was essentially sandwiched. And by two near-identical people. It did not help that it was the very face she had fallen in love with. The feelings were beyond confusing. The kiss on the shoulder made her almost paranoid as to who had really done it. Fucking Tarlonese.

“To trap me between you two?” she squirmed, just a little, without any real desire to actually break free. This was her idea of a safe and happy life, with perhaps less kinkiness. In the midst of this internal crisis, the nature of this experiment hit her like a bag of bricks. “... You're going to pull a switcheroo.”

They both nodded at the same time. "We're the linchpin of it," said Probably-Miret. "But we're not alone," Probably-Tyrel added. now that she looked carefully, she could make out the subtle differences in their face shapes. Tyrel's was a bit more heart-shaped. Miret had ever so slightly sharper features.

"The idea," the former began - "My idea," interjected the latter, "so don't you get mad at her." - "is to buy myself some space and time, quite literally, so that I can visit the Temporal Chamber in Ersand'Enise, Tantas'Ilwash, the ruins of Sairax'Solcuun, or some other remnant of Toleus and accelerate through five years of my life."

Tyrel's smile faded as she spoke, perhaps realizing the cost. Miret reached around and through Zarina to squeeze her sister's hand reassuringly. "Thing is," the sanguinaire warned, "they're always watching her, unless she's somewhere outside of their reach, like here." Both Dichoras nodded glumly.

"So, we switch!" Tyrel declared, the worry in her tone and expression shining through the confidence she was trying to project. "We go someplace they can't track, not at the same time, of course." Miret continued.

"Teleport around a few times to throw them off." This was Tyrel.

"And then Miret elopes with you while Tyrel dutifully returns to Tarlon and plays ball."

Tyrel nibbled her lower lip, uncomfortable. She shook her head. "That's my least favourite part of it, luuchy." She brushed some hair from her eyes. "I've no right to ask so much and then just abandon you."

There was one question that lingered in Zarina's mind, one that kept mostly static in this sandwich. “The leg.” she reached out to touch the probably-Miret's very leg, almost protectively. “The ploy won't work without it. Or rather, with it. So you have an idea.” her jaw clenched, there was only one way to fool magically potent observers, and that was to not actually employ gimmicks. “I don't know how you pull this off. I'll admit, you'll fool these people with the face, voice and even the smells quite frankly. But ...” she shook her head. “You're not actually going to do that, right?”

The two Dichoras shifted uneasily, glancing at Zarina and each other in turn. "The solution is Ailet," offered Tyrel with an uneasy shrug. "I think there have to better ones. I'm... used to being how I am, but it isn't easy, I think." She regarded the others. "It isn't."

"You manage more than fine, and she's a professional fleshcrafter." Miret shook her head. "She made herself a new leg, and that's after a decade of not having one." Miret shrugged. "I can walk in your shoe for a few months. It won't kill me."

'No, but they will," Tyrel rejoined. She turned to Zarina. "She's determined to do it, and I don't think it's a terrible idea. It's our best shot at winning and gives us two shots at having an avatar ascend, but..." She twisted to regard her cousin. "There is so much risk and you'll have to spend months just learning how to walk well without always using magic."

"Well shit," Miret remarked, drawing into herself a bit. "Now you're giving me cold feet."

"Plural," Tyrel reminded her before turning to Zarina, pained. "Zazz, here we are on the precipice and I don't think I can ask her to do this, and you should have a say too. There has to be something better we can do..."

Zarina swallowed, the very hand that caressed Miret's then went to her own. Just imagining the process of amputation and rebuilding prompted a visceral reaction out of her. For a moment, she felt lightheaded. An odd reactions from a wildblood, but she had yet to have a true maiming baptism. She dreaded it, truthfully. “I-I hate this.” she spoke what was exactly on her mind. “That's a horrible thing. Fuck. Eshit Fuck.” she sank into the pillow, pupils thinned and locked into the sunset.

She swallowed again. “How are you ... Even sure it will work? If that witch has the power already- I don't even really know this Vyshta stuff. It's all so-” she didn't have the words for it. In her moment of increased stress, she sought Miret's hand. Well, who she definitely believed to be Miret. Her eyes then found her lover's. “It'll put you in so much danger, Luuchy. If they find out. If they even get suspicious ...”

It was Tyrel who answered, however. "That's why we have this bolt hole, then." She nodded slowly. "I do hope we can find a better way." Her gaze found Miret's. "I don't think you realize how much I lean on magic to keep up with everyone else."

Miret shifted in the covers, kicking them free, and stared down at her knees and her feet. A shiver ran through her. "You are under no -"

She raised a hand to cut off Tyrel's protest and the latter shifted as well, blankest sloughing away. "I know, suunei." She wiggled her toes and flexed her knees. "No more than a year?" she questioned, and the Avatar of Vyshta nodded slowly. "And you trust that sketchy four-eyes?"

Tyrel swallowed. "With my life, believe it or not." Unable to sit any longer, she stood, crutches hurtling across the room from where they'd been left beside a potted palm. "And in terms of how I take over, well... there are two theories." She began to pace and Miret made to tug Zarina to her feet as well.

Outside, the sun shimmered orange and fuchsia on the plains and snowcapped peaks and the handful of distant shepherd's huts trickled smoke from their chimneys. "You, uh... mind if we walk?" Tyrel prodded weakly. "I think better on my foot."

There was a delay in reaction time for Zarina. Far too much information at a scale she dreaded to think of. Not to mention the initial fear, now made all too real as she paid far too much attention to the amount of legs in the room. She did get up and held Miret's hand, tightly. “One year ...” her latest fixation. She peered Tyrel's way. “Suunei. What does Chad think?” he voice wasn't as shakey. Meek and considerate, as someone who could sympathize with the poor man that wasn't even in the room to discuss this.

"He tells me that he is alright with this," Tyrel replied, "that he can live a year away from me if it means that we have a lifetime together." She shrugged. "He swears that he will be by Miret's side. He will protect her and trust that I will return on time to protect them both."

She took a couple of steps and tilted her head in the direction of the balcony door. She needed to walk. She needed to breathe. Thankfully, the couple was amenable to it, and so they stepped outside and she leapt over the balcony and they followed, all three landing in crouches. Tyrel was out ahead of them, her one-legged strides long and quick, her black leggings shimmering as they picked up the vivid colours of the sun's dying rays.

She twisted about as they began to catch up and her eyes were red-rimmed. "Ypti, I'm sorry," she mewed. "Really, I am." She shook her head. "He's saying it, but I can see in his eyes that he thinks it's the end, that he worries it's goodbye." She would not let them see her face. "I'm not strong enough to stop them." She shook her head again, adamantly. "You're not." She twisted and gestured at Miret with her chin. "Neither are you -" She found Zarina. "-at least, not as you are now."

"Suunei," interjected Miret, and Tyrel slowed for a moment in acknowledgement. "Luuca?"

"Shut up." Miret hurried until she was pacing her cousin. "You're wallowing and you're not a wallower. I make my own choices, you know, and so does Chad."

"Because of me," Tyrel wept. "Because I'm the thing they wanna kill and because you wanna protect me." She swallowed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You shouldn't have to."

"It is for you," admitted Miret, "but also for us, and also for everybody who will keep suffering as long as those tyrants draw breath."

The mountain meadow was peaceful in the dusk: dew laying upon the ground, the air fresh and crisp, jagged grey-brown boulders strewn about as if by Oraff's hand. "You're the best chance we have, and you're a good one, so we're throwing what we have behind you. We're here to lift you, just like you'll lift us, just like you always have."

The Avatar of Vyshta, stripped of all her fancy clothing and titles, was just a scared young woman with too much weight on her shoulders. She stopped abruptly and sat on one of those boulders, staring out at the mountain pass and breathing. She swallowed. She turned to regard the couple and her eyes flashed. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she apologized. "We can do it," she affirmed. "I shall be empress. Sit with me a moment -" She patted the large rock beside her and looked, especially, at Zarina. "- and I'll tell you how."

Zarina kept silent. It was not her moment, but Tyrel's. Instead, she basked in the foreign land she had grown familiar with. The climate was gentle and the sights worthy of a few pages in a pretentious novel. She wasn't ignoring Tyrel, but decided to not look at the woman at her worst. She deserved to keep her dignity. She did, however, look in Miret's direction each time she spoke, fingers interlocked with her's.

When beckoned by the empress to be, she sat just below the offered stone, using instead as backrest as her eyes were taken by the sunset. A perfect view, her Innkeeper had once mentioned, of the descending sun between two major peaks. It was the end of a beautiful day and the end of the comfortable days she got to enjoy with her friends, family and Miret.

“For what it's worth-” a quarter-lidded glance was dedicated to Tyrel. “I think you have a special opportunity with everyone at the school. Gods-among-men are being replaced by the younger and ambitious, and we have this opportunity to take the thrones too. Especially if we're in it together.” she undid the bun from before, letting her hair flow in the mild mountainous breeze. “You've a chance to mould more than Tarlon, but the world. And if Luuchy believes in you-” any chance was a good one to take in her lover's gaze, and so she did. “I do as well. And with greater foresight than just Tarlon, we can make a difference. I think.”

Tyrel paused, her chest rising and falling slowly. She took in the scents and the sights. She heard and felt the breath and warmth of the two people close to her. "Thank you, Zazz." She smiled into the burgeoning twilight, face appreciative. "I needed that." She nodded. "It is our time now." She felt more certain of it after her brief crisis of confidence than ever before. If Zarina, who owed her nothing, was willing to stake her life on this plan, to be part of it, then how could she doubt the sincere words of Miret and Chad? How she could just take off running right into the sky! How immense she felt here, on this mountain in Sawand.

The Avatar of Vyshta smiled. "It all begins," she began, "with a little window - one that opens only once a millennium - during which the Gods are mortal and might be born again." How the thought of it filled her. How it made her heart race! "And that is an opportunity not only for me, but for any who may seize it."

[Emeth]

Another "Raffaella"

---

---

Mission accomplished, Zarina’s friend was thwarted and the Imam was alive. A depressing celebration of cheap red wine in one of the commandeered Virangish homes was her go-to for an evening of unwinding. Or maybe this was merely a ritual to prepare for the chat with Raffaella. Regardless of intent, two glasses of wine were prepared with the tall teen sagging into her wooden seat and her eyes focused on a small stack of papers. Copies of reports, it seemed, from the official stamps.

“Hey.” she greeted her fellow compatriot with mellowed, half-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. “How’s the duty been for you so far?” she inquired, the mundane nature of the question veiling the increased concern she had for a colleague she had once seen as the little sister of the team.

"...Evening, Zazz," came the reply, lacking the verbosity and grace of her earlier performance. The high pitch wasn't there, either, but it was a bit different from her usual pouting, too. The only explanation seemed to be that something didn't go well, and Zarina wouldn't have to wait long to find out what.

Raffie placed her hands on the armrests and hopped up into her chair. She eyed the wine, seeming to consider it. She was an "adult" now, whatever that was supposed to mean, so no one could hold it against her if she indulged a little, right? She took the glass by the stem and rocked it back and forth, ponderously.

"...Osman was right, Zazzy. That's just the plain truth of it," she sighed.

Indulged in a sip of her vintage as she crossed her arms under her chest and assessed the girl-turned-woman from neck to shoe. Her gestures were precise, the fruit of experience with her betters - very Afravalesque, she called it. It became very clear to Zarina that she wasn't talking to a child anymore. “He has said many things.” but only a couple could lead to such gloom. The older of the two swallowed her worries with another gulp of her drink. “What's been troubling you?”

At that, Raffie made her signature pouting face. Well, perhaps it was annoyance with Zarina playing coy, or perhaps she was trying to lighten the mood just a little. She certainly seemed to have the self-awareness to know that it looked a little silly, but that also meant she knew how to use it to lower someone's guard. "What do you think?" she sulked.

The temptation of the wine seemed to get the better of her, but she partook of it slowly and with class. "I've had another dream, Zazzy. Our plan isn't working. Or well, it's not going to work. If we don't change course—and I mean, like, 'hard to port!' changed then we're going to lose Palapar."

Zarina inhaled deeply and raised her chin in acknowledgement of the question and opted to indulge in her vintage before confessing something. Calm and collected, mellowed by the drink no doubt. “Our King spoke to me and Ren. I'm unsure if you've been made aware of the subject matter.”

This demeanor of her's did not survive Raffaella's second addition to the conversation. A look of concern reigned on Zarinas expression, the same one she had back at the royal garden. “A dream.” she repeated. “What dream?” she was already mentally berating herself for entertaining the delusions that had made her friend almost unrecognizable.

She wasn't done. To avoid falling in the trap of indulging too much in notions beyond herself, she presented her own concern. “What do you make of Ren?”

Raffaella considered. She sipped her wine. She considered some more, regarding Zarina with eyes that could have been wary, tired, or both. What should she say—that an international web of corrupt politicians and career criminals were plotting the downfall of Virang? No. She needed to start smaller if she wanted to gain her friend's trust back. She exhaled deeply.

"Ambitious to a fault. Not a shred of virtue. 'Might makes right.' Useful in a pinch," she diagnosed rather brutally. "I thought we could use him to break the rebels' will to go on fighting and cut the bloodshed short. It's not going to work. More massacres will happen, sparking more outrage. Soon, they'll have better weapons and become even bolder."

Zarina sighed in relief. Common ground, at least there was something to work with other than "dreams". “Your opinion is that he isn't the right tool for the job, then.” a crude summary to get to her point. “I agree. And was far too keen on following our leader's plan. Not a shred of a second thought.” stressful memories induced a desire for safety - routine. She filled her glass once more and non-verbally offered to do the same for Raffie.

“I'm not sure what to do about all of this, but it seems you've more insight than me on some things here.” an expectant look was shot Raffaella's way after a hearty gulp of the drink. Far less chic than her younger colleague. “Tell me what's been running in your mind.”

"Imam Tikli doesn't deserve to die," she observed plainly. So, it would seem she had been privately briefed on that. "He remains a faithful and active steward. He is not tired because he is old, he is tired because he believes politics interfere with his work. So, some powerful people have decided he has outlived his usefulness, I suppose, but that is for the gods to decide."

She took another sip of her wine. "I can tell you my honest opinion, because you know I'm not strong enough to stand in the way of whatever you want to do, right? So if you really want the truth, yes, I had a dream about outside forces interfering in Palapar. But the 'wise and experienced' care nothing for divine inspiration when it contradicts the set of preexisting notions they call an 'education,' so someone with actual muscle on the field needs to go prove it if we want a change of plans. I've nothing against the Sultan, but even I was hesitant to admit that he was right. Others will need more convincing."

Zarina took a deep breath. A relief, but also an exasperation. “He doesn't deserve to die, but some believe he should. If you know what I do, then do you think his death would be a boon to our cause?” she didn't drink this time, she needed to focus. Focus on every gesture made by this person she hardly knew, in truth.

“Dream or not,” she did end up drinking again, but only to mimic her counterpart without even thinking of the drink. “our good friend Tku has proven that. The question is: What do you propose? Do we go with the Sultan's plan? Do we even want to?” question after question, as if she never even knew this person from the start. Then again, this Raffaella was not the Raffie she had shared victories and hardships with.

"Well... To begin with, Osman really doesn't want him to die in his heart of hearts, does he? It was just a pretense for the next stage of the plan, I thought. So, if it's not going to work anyway... nothing good can come of it, I think." She certainly appeared to be genuinely considering Zarina's query, if only to be respectful of her perspective, though her own was biased. Still, that childlike expression was an infuriating poker face, too.

"I don't know. I really don't know. All I can do is continue to fulfil the role I've been given. I do have my security detail. If I stay close to the Imam, that can buy us some time. I could try talking Ren down, but honestly, I think he's just using me. He doesn't believe in my dreams, either."

She gave Zarina a meaningful look as she said that last word. "If you want to go through with this, Zazzy, I won't use my dreams as an excuse not to give it my all. But, I've given you my honest belief. I think we will lose Palapar. All we can do is minimize our losses. Or... we could strategize our losses." Her eyes flicked away towards her wine, evasively.

This wasn't an easy position to be in. Zarina's only real ally happened to be a girl who determined her decisions and outcomes of events through dreams. The world had never felt lonelier for the young dragon. “I will not act with the notion of inevitable loss, Raffie.” she stated firmly, her attention removed from the glass of wine that tempted her more and more to zone out everything in this very moment. “We'll get ahead of whatever machinations are at play. We may take losses, but I will fight for Palapar. We need everything we have to survive the coming storm, as a country.”

The oldest of the two ran her fingers through her hair to tight them into an improvised bun. She had grown tired of it getting in the way of her eyes. It made her look more exhausted - no, more defeated than she really was. “I'm glad you haven't fallen for the madness the brass has fallen into - that this is over because they've caught a few rebels.” she forced a smile, one that radiated something that was genuine. Was it entirely? Likely not, but there was a serenity gained from at least being heard. “It's nice to have a friend.”

Zarina cleared her throat and continued. “There's a good chance the ball is something they'll gun for. And likely not with improvised tactics. If what we believe is true, we may be seeing an attack backed by our enemies targeting the pillars of leadership. I'd like to stop that, but I cannot do this alone. And I sense I'm not going to have many fans when I fearmonger.”

Raffaella took a deep breath and exhaled. "Okay, Zazzy. Okay." She nodded sadly, appearing every bit the young girl in need of guidance that Zarina had remembered from the Trials. If there was a positive interpretation to be made of the girl's delusion, perhaps she had a reliable gut feeling that something was wrong, and the dreams were just a coping mechanism to give herself more confidence.

"I'll support you, Zazzy, because you're my friend. A real friend. Your eyes tell me so." She nodded to herself and smiled. "I'll go to the ball. Let me take the heat for being scared. You can be the brave heroine who investigates a young lady's unfounded fears and figures it all out in the end."

It was an herculean task to not see the person before Zarina as the same child she had looked after during the trials. The mannerisms were there, but the intent behind her words had actual weight. It was uncanny, like something else was piloting this individual. Still, Zazzy was neither clever enough nor callous enough to doubt it was more than eccentricities and the natural result of 'growing up'. “I appreciate your support. It means ... A lot. Especially when I know I won't be miss popular for much longer when this is all over.” big exhale, like Raffie's. “However, are you sure your place should be in the ball? If our fears are accurate, it will be a mess. A dangerous one.”

Zarina scoot closed, dragging her chair in a clumsy and almost infantile manner to close the gap between herself and Raffaella. An empathetic if a tad awkward hand reached out to touch the other's shoulder. “The last thing I want is one of my only friends on this island to get hurt. Do you reckon the Imam may be in danger as well?”

Any time Zarina touched Raffie, it was striking just how small she was. The fluff and frills almost seemed to take up more space than she did. "...Yes. But he... I, um..." She seemed to consider her words. "He is prepared to die. He accepts it. I don't want it, but... so long as I draw breath, I minister to the living, not the dead. If you need me there, I'll go. I don't want the Imam to die, but if protecting him only slows you down and delays the inevitable... am I wrong? If this is the path you've chosen, I'll sincerely do my best. You'll be there, right? So I won't be scared, then. ...No pressure. I mean, I'll be 'scared,' for our purposes, but not really."

Raffaella coaxed a smile from Zarina that grew in size the more she talked. There was familiarity, now that all the prose and metaphors were done with. Was this truly Raffie? She would not know, but it worked in softening the silver dragon. “How about you choose where you'll do best?” emotion trumped over strategy and reason, one of Zarina's many flaws. Like an orange cat far too easily brought to showing its underbelly. “I'll be at the ball. I must be. It's where our vital decision makers will be. If you feel better suited to be with me there, so be it. If you think your actions can make a difference toward the Imam's situation, then you have my blessing.”

A deep inhale, and then an exhale. Careful breathing seemed to be a theme here. Zarina spoke again. “I would rather not sacrifice a good man for our victory, no matter how slim or impossible it might be. If your intuition is true, his death would be meaningless anyway.”

Raffie shook her head sadly. "I can only get in the way of those who would do him harm. I cannot change their minds." Her eyes widened, as if she'd only just thought of something. "They may just as quickly come after me. That he is in less danger with me there might just be a tempting fantasy, beckoning me away from what I need to do. Your resolve is real. I trust it more."

She reached up and took Zarina's hand. "But if I must confess, we don't seem to be communicating very well here. We seem to be talking in circles, and I can't make sense of it. Truly we must protect our 'decision makers' if we can't decide something like this on our own. Unless there's something troubling you that you're not telling me about, and that's the real reason why you don't want me at the ball." She peered up at Zarina curiously. The demeanor changed, but the same cogs were turning. Perhaps Raffie really was a child at heart, and the students of Ersand'Enise, far away from the stuffy politics of Virang, had been privileged to see it. The mistake they had made was in taking her for a fool. "Why won't you be 'miss popular' anymore?"

Zarina squeezed the much smaller hand. Her lips pursed like she was holding something back. She addressed the last question first. “Our friends are watching all of this very closely. My efforts to win this will not only earn some the scorn of those with lofty ideals, but also our very chain of command is about to hear it from me. This conflict is drawing a hard line in the sand and I fear I'll be standing opposite to many of those I hold dear. It hurts, you know?” she let out a long nasal sigh before seizing the entire bottle with her idle hand and crudely drank from it.

“Which is why, as I step in a world where my circle of friends may dwindle, I could not take losing more of them.” the squeeze strengthened even more, not quite enough to be uncomfortable. “If our enemies go in hard during that ball, I won't be able to keep our priorities safe if they were to put YOU in danger too. My own priorities will be predictably in your favor.”

Raffie's eyes drifted from Zarina's face to the bottle in her hands. "I see. So I'd be in the way. That stings a little. But, I do get it. I'm not strong like you are, Zazz. But, can't you share this burden with me even a little? I'm already not very popular. I don't have any friends besides you and Ayla."

Raffaella was right, Zarina saw a weaker addition as a liability. But this was a concern born of only emotion, in truth she would need the numbers. “I remember how easily scared you were during that last trial. When Desmond met countless dreadful fates. Ipte forsake him that day.” she let out a half-hearted chuckle. Those weren't the best memories, even if they were good times. “I guess I still see you as the junior of the team.” she went to take another sip but abstained just as her lips were about to meet the bottle. “We made a pretty good team, didn't we?” she flashed a complicit grin. “Okay. Think you you can have my back?”

Raffie pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. "Oh, yeah! Des'm was nice to me too, but I haven't seen him in a while," she mused. "Of course we made a good team. We were the best team. Like, objectively. It was a whole thing," she said, as if declining to tell a long story to someone who wasn't there. Then she, also, smiled complicitly.

She used her free hand to fish for her enchanted rosary. A sound like a static discharge sounded off as she grabbed it, and a strange warmth flowed through Raffie's hand and into Zarina's. "Of course I'll have your back, Zazzy, if you'll have me."

Good feelings all around, and Zarina was only tipsy too. Inebriated just enough to miss that unusual sound but aware enough to feel the warmth. Her features mellowed and the bottle was put back on the table - enough for one night. “Then it's settled, we're jumping into hell, hand-in-hand.”

Zarina leaned back and sagged into her seat. “We're going to win. We were supposed to fail our revolution, but we won. We'll win this too.” her eyes had drifted away to nothing in particular, like she wasn't talking to anyone specific. “There're spare bedrooms in here. I'd lie if I said a familiar presence wouldn't leave me less paranoid at night.”

"I hope so, Zazzy." Even Raffie couldn't help but feel a little encouraged by Zarina's bold statement about the revolution, something which seemed so distant now. It certainly wasn't impossible that the outcome of a prophetic dream could be changed, but the more people were affected by it, the greater the change of course needed to avert it. Her mother's diary spoke of such possibilities. Would warning Zarina really change much, though?

It didn't change her endgame, she decided. She didn't need to be strong enough to change the outcome, she just needed to be right. If they succeeded, it needed to be because Zarina had believed in her dream warning them in advance. If they failed, she just needed to survive and minimize Virang's losses, and ensure that the losses served her and her allies rather than the enemy within.

Losing Zarina wasn't something she could afford. At least, that was what she believed. Was it based in emotion, or tactics? She'd made an agreement with herself to set the thought aside for now. Zarina didn't believe in her dreams, but at least she wouldn't stand in the way of her dreams, nor did she gaze upon her with eyes of scorn like so many others.

"How could I say no to that face?" Raffie said, mirroring something Zarina had also probably said to her before. "You know, I think I've also spooked myself a little with all this talk of assassins. The idea of sleeping alone really isn't appealing to me, either."

[dragonpiece]

An Unexpected Guest

Tku wandered around with purposeful aimlessness, dropping things from his bag from place to place. What they were was hard to tell but he did drop something that contained some mana. He shouldn't, no couldn't stay around the palace with Zarina around. Seeing how his friend had hardened without him noticing hurt his heart. Such a tragic failure. But all was not lost. No, no, no, for what Tku saw was a bright side to his week. He felt a certain mage on a ship entering port. One of enough strength to bring strength to the Virangish forces. But his senses also told him that this one's constitution was something similar to a tethered. He wouldn't dare just approach after interacting with the likes of Marci, Maura, Abdel, Jocasta... "Why do I know so many tethered? I thought they weren't that common? Another lie of the Quentics perhaps." Then he remembered Dalisay and honestly the list was starting to be longer than his family. He waved his thoughts from it and continued to spy on who the tethered was and it was... "Marci?" he said out loud, as he started his approach. What a spectacular person to see after so long, truly he was blessed at times.

Marceline started, back straightening and little hairs standing on end at the familiar voice in this foreign place. Tku, she thought, the 'enemy'. Marci was not stupid. She'd been able to pick up on that cue from Zarina. Her enemy, the tethered thought. My.... ally? She turned on the spot, cobbles jostling her as she did, and found herself facing Tku through a partially-parted crowd. Both were clearly foreign, both distinct. He... was wearing an eyepatch. "Tku..." She trailed off, setting hands to wheels and rolling a push forward. She looked him up and down. "It's good to see you." A smile bloomed on her face and she held out her arms for an embrace, motioning him inwards.

Tku made note of her newfound wheelchair but made no gesture to its presence. He was merely glad to see her smiling after what she had been through and his smile held all the warmth he could muster nowadays. He bent down and embraced Marci firmly like an old friend. "It is good to see you smiling Marci," he whispered as he let go. "Just-" Tku seemed to have many questions but settled on one, "How have you been Marci?" he asked as he went to her side, signaling they should continue moving in the crowd.

Marceline squeezed back with most of what she could muster. It had been two months but, with the aid of her mother's metabolic spell, she'd packed on a year's worth of muscle in her upper body while losing about that much below. She didn't want to hurt him, and so she just held on for a bit. "It is so good to see you." When they finally parted, she adjusted her seating a little and smiled, brushing some hair from her face. "The answer isn't exactly straightforward, but I'm here and..." She trailed off and sighed as she settled in to his left. "It's Zarina." Her eyes flicked his way before she had to return them to the diabolical cobblestones. "I came for her." She shook her head in frustration. "Not to dump this on you, but I sense you might've had something similar happen?" She blew some hair from her eyes. "The world's going mad and she's hopped so eagerly on board." There was a vulnerable shrug. "I'm worried she's gonna ride it right off the edge and self-destruct."

Tku was forced to notice how Marci, the Torragonese rat has arms like an Eskandish lumberjack. "Quite the marvelous arms you've grown," he flexed his arms and laughed at how insignificant his arms were. Tku listened, nodding very attentively when she spoke. He wasn't even phased; instead, he used his binding and 'fixed' the cobblestone for his friend. "It warms me that you came to see her and I think she could use a friend right now." Tku nodded. He seemed saddened for a moment, "I may have experienced something similar. Something embittering. I worry the same Marci, worry that she is holding on to it so that things make sense." Tku said. "But it isn't good to speak like this so publicly, she's still my most precious friend." Tku shook his head. "Would you care to join me for some tea where I am staying? Or do you prefer coffee?" he laughed light heartedly.

Despite herself, Marceline smirked. "I've had more than enough coffee for five lifetimes." She shook her head, flashing a small smile of thanks Tku's way as she noticed his work with the stones. "You lead, and I'll follow." She furrowed her brow for a moment. "and I'd like to pick your brain, too, if I can." She shook her head, coasting quickly forward, body language betraying some of the youth and restlessness that had always characterized her. "Things seem to be really... hot over here." She wasn't referring to the weather, either. "What, in Dami's name, happened?"

Tku let out a small laugh through his smirk, "It's a little far but I know you're capable." he said as he guided her, "Pick away Marci, I doubt I could lie to you if I wanted to," Tku waved them a direction. The question she asked was rather... complicated. But he sighed, "Well, let's start with why I'm impersonating Tojarra..." As they walked, Tku livened up the streets, putting things randomly, growing flowers, fixing a scraped knee when he could. It was all very random but he kept his story to her rambling from when she was injured. From the raid on the violent enclave, trading an angel feather to a crow, almost dying to an aberration, becoming a Tan-Zeno of all people, him meeting some interesting Islanders, and losing an eye to Ren, his new roommate with an old hegelan man. Not even to mention the classes he has taken up with managing Zeno Bucks and what an absolute "joy" that had been. By the time they got there, Marci was exasperated by how Tku could seemingly babble forever. "Tku," she politely interrupted, "I mean what has been happening in Palapar." Tku opened the door to his flat, "You know I was just about to get there," he rolled his eyes. The flat was filled with paintings, a very typical studio for an artist like himself. Though the art was odd, it was more akin to capturing a moment rather than a scene. What portraits were here made no effort to hide how poor the conditions in Palapar were. "A lot and a little has happened in Palapar," Tku finally answered. "Some riots, revolts, and massacres. Sadly, just another occurrence for the natives in Palapar." He rolled over a tea cart to the couch.

Capable Marceline, though. Always the focus on that now. Tku was a good man, though, and he meant well, so she smiled through it and responded with something humourous, mundane, and noncommittal. In truth, she found herself so engrossed by the scenes around her, so busy immersing herself in this new place, that she simply let him speak. It only occurred to her, after nearly ten minutes had passed, that he'd been going on for quite a while. Some of it was new to her. Some of it an insight - into the situation themselves or his thinking on it. It stood out to Marceline, at least, that Ren was a monster, plain and simple: something as bad as Juulet, in his own way. Then, they were there, and Marceline floated up the stairs - a skill she'd worked hard to master in Torragon. Once she'd settled at the top, she cast about. The space was so perfectly Tku that she couldn't help but smile briefly. Then came the part about riots, revolts, and massacres. She pursed her lips and grimaced distastefully. "See, but I don't think they are just another occurrence." The teenager shook her head. "There was something else this time - some special element - or something like this would've happened before." She tilted her head inquisitively. "What was it?"

Tku steeped the tea as he waited for the dense ball to relax and bloom."My opinion? Just as Virang sees Palapar as a necessity for the war financially, Palapar has also realized this. It's common to try something when the defenses when the masters are busy." He mainly pulled this from the way Zarina spoke at the Idasque. No doubt that someone has distinctly pointed that out to her many times. A sonic bubble formed around them as the tea finished its first steep,"That and people can't look away anymore. Not Torragon, not Revidia, not any group with a heart." Tku poured them both a glass bursting with citrus.

Marci quietly accepted the tea, and held out her hand for Tku's cup, taking it as well. He had a tea pet, sitting there forlorn and unused, and so both cups were quietly poured out into it. She poured seconds for the two of them with her kinetic abilities and set these down on the small table between them. "We don't drink the first steep, Tku," she said with tender admonishment, but it was merely a distraction from the heavier subject matter at hand. She considered how to broach it. "But are they doing it out of the goodness of their hearts?" Marceline questioned, her opinion clear in her tone. She shrugged. "Perhaps individuals within the greater body are, but I fear they're merely using these people's fight to..." She quieted for a moment and shrugged again. "...be their own people and make their own decisions to their strategic advantage." She took her first sip and flashed a smile of thanks. "I pray to Dami there's some other party working genuinely on their behalf."

Tku held the tea just inches from his lips when Marci educated him. If he had not been wearing such thick makeup, you could see him blush. "You think someone would have told me by now," his voice seemed as embarrassed as amused. He took a sip of the 2nd steep, "I will say that it is much more refreshing." Tku was rather even as she spoke, treating her with warm respect. However, there was a part of him that felt some hesitance to engage with her. He knew her only for the better part of a year and even that most of that time she was gone, taking care of herself while those who loved and cared for her carried heavy stones. Even Tku wasn't so mindful that her absence didn't sting when he saw how much damage it created. He sat still, no fidgeting with his brushes or things in front of him. It was an expression one does not associate with Tku, quiet contemplation. He met Marci's eyes, But she is here now, Tku allowed himself. "Dami has a way of giving those who are chained a path to seek their own self-determination," Tku nodded at Marci. And back to fidgeting with what he now knew was a tea pet.

The Gods are not real. It was a stray thought that rose, unbidden, to the fore of Marceline's mind, and she quickly corrected it. They are real. Perhaps they're just not truly Gods. When she spoke, however, she went with something considerably different. "Maybe she does, but she gives opportunities to all, and not all use those for the good of others." She shook her head. "Zarina and I quarreled - I'll be frank - but one of her concerns, even if it was self-serving in the end, was that they'd just be trading one tyrannical master for another. I couldn't entirely dismiss it." She took a sip of the tea, and there was a wonderful fruitiness to it. much like its owner, she thought. "I'm a believer in making your own way. You know something of me. You know that I come from a refuge, that my grand name is a sham. I was an illegitimate daughter thrown away when they found out what I was. I don't remember them." She nodded slowly, considering, and took a second sip. The tea was lovely - perhaps a recipe for Zenobucks. "I've had friends and even family who've helped me along the way, especially in these last few months." Awkwardly, she set the teacup and coaster on her lap. "It isn't easy being half a person." She shook her head and smiled tightly, as if to apologize for the moment of wallowing. "My point is that I am a product of my own free will, but also that of others." She regarded Tku evenly. "I'd not have founded Zenobucks were it not for a conversation with Zarina. I'd not have escaped that refuge if she and Ayla, Yalen and Jocasta, and the others hadn't come. I'd not have ended up a cripple had Juulet simply lain down and accepted her just comeuppance." The tea sat there on her lap. A bit had tricked over the rim of the coaster when Marci had shifted, but she did not feel its burn. "These people are not strong enough to succeed on their own against Virang, and so they will have help as Dami sends it." Marceline shook her head. "But those who help have the same free will and their own reasons for helping. They will call in their debts or, at the very least, expect certain outcomes." She lifted the coaster and the cup to her lips, noting the stain on her dress, and sipped. "I won't pretend to have no ulterior motive," the tethered admitted. "Zenobucks is how I unchain myself and I want to guarantee the stability of its supply chain, no matter who wins, but..." Gently, she set the cup back down. "Fuck anyone who keeps another in inescapable servitude." Her eyes flashed. "Fuck anyone who betrays those who trust them." She shook her head. "I know I've been called cutthroat and impulsive and selfish." She waved a hand as if to bat it all away. "I've had plenty of time lately for soul-searching, trust me." She regarded him, eye to eye, and furrowed her brow. "Thing is, I do have a side here. Virang is wrong. Zarina is wrong. But Revidia, and Torragon, and Tarlon?" She tilted her head, allowing the question to linger for a moment. "They're not in it for anything better. You seem to be, though." Her gaze searched his. "Please tell me you're not in it alone, that there's some kind of plan."

Tku had some thoughts about what Zarina said to Marci, it was not how she expressed it to himself, Imam, and the very Queen of this nation. But he would let that go, for now, he wasn't here to argue specifics of what one zesty woman says. Tku was merely here to listen to her. He learned that she was from a tethered refuge and an illegitimate child. Is that why there are so many tethered at Ersand'Ernise? Whatever the case, she seems to be selling what she is and why she can be trusted. A central conceit, her resume, and her question. How very straightforward. She laid out her reasonings quite convincingly. Maybe not well enough to disclose information normally but Marci held great power and Tku could no longer think of this as a mission of a few. Alad, Kidlat, Dalisay, the people who have already died. They relied on this to succeed. "A traveler never comes alone." As their gaze met each other, Tku's eyes wandered to a simple mask on the far table. "I respect that you must seek things for your own freedom, I have done quite a stellar job running it in your absence. Your honesty is refreshing compared to others and for that, I can try to achieve a stable line. But I need your word if you want to know more Marci." Tku simply offered. He had the information she wanted but he needed her word, that would be enough for Tku.

"My word?" Marceline inquired, arching an eyebrow. "That my intentions are genuine?" She blinked. "You already have that." She pursed her lips, lifting the cup again and draining the last of the tea. "I am loyal to those who are loyal to me. I'm selfish only to the point where it could hurt them." She shook her head. "One thing that I will not do is harm Zarina." She peered right into him as best she could, or maybe it was just the idea that she might have some sort of piercing gaze. "I assume we're on the same page with that, though."

Tku sighed, "I apologize Marci, to be honest, Zarina's coldness has shaken me at times on who I could trust. Even with what has happened between us, I would never hurt Zarina, I care for her far to greatly to do so." Tku smiled weakly, it was tiring to think of Zarina right now for him. "I promise I will not try to wrong you Marci." He poured a second glass for them. "It seems we will have much to discuss."

That, indeed, they did. Just what the nature of those discussions were, however, was known only to the two of them. When Marci poked her head out the door some two hours later, rolling down the quiet streets by night, she twisted to watch Virangish guards taking down the bodies from earlier. They, like the curfew that had pressed so strongly upon this place for the past few weeks, were gone. The tethered did not linger long, making her way towards an inn in the upper city with the help of some kinetic and chemical magic. She seemed at once more relaxed than she had been upon her arrival and more determined than she had been since a certain fateful night two and a half months ago.

---

---

Morning, Mr. Salvatore

Knock knock

Tku headed to his front door, throwing a robe over himself, "Just a moment," Tku finished his makeup as it was far more important than any guest that could be at the door. "Yes?" he opened the door, leaning on the railing. In front of him was a boy, maybe only 12 years old, with a satchel of letters and other small packages.

"Ah, Ramil do you have more letters for me?" Tku asked as he stood up and turned his head to snatch his coin purse.

The young boy nodded and just said "yesh," with a small lisp stemming from his lack of confidence.

"Since you came all the way here, I should pay you for your troubles," He pulled out 5 coins and handed it to him as Ramil handed a bundle of letters. Ramil took off quickly, running back to the streets, "Don't spend it all in one place!" Tku shook his head, That child could slow down some, enjoy his childhood a little more, Tku thought with some guilt.

He read through the letters and requests as he finished getting ready for the day, humming all the while. One portrait was chosen from them, someone named Salvatore and he could be found... here He grabbed his supplies and put his tea pet at the door. His art station was set and ready, all that was left was to make a few phone calls.

"Ring ring, Marco Salvatore," Tku said with a pleasant tone, "I heard you are looking for a portrait, yes? If so let me fill you in on how to get to me. I'm sure you can manage." After that was a somewhat convoluted direction that ended with asking a child at a bakery for a coin to get some pastries, simply pointing to the 'Coin man'. Why it needed to be so confusing was worthy of many questions

Left at the fruit stand… left, no, right at the jeweler… fuck, which alleyway was it again? Marco was slowly making his way through the city one stop at a time, while constantly reciting the directions given to him by the strange voice in his head. It was a deeply uncomfortable sensation at first, as the words felt like they were coming from his own internal dialogue. It was like having thoughts that weren’t yours. Although Pictor had repeatedly assured the Century that he could only hear thoughts that were directly addressed to him, Marco was not entirely convinced. However, the usefulness of this ability of the artist’s could not be denied, especially to a covert operation such as theirs.

To avoid trouble on his way to the Obenjan, Marco once again stalked the streets in disguise, this time as a traveling musician. He was raised as a Rezaindian through and through, but while church children were educated according to the principles of their chief deity, almost all were expected to take electives and hobbies in order to satisfy more than one member of the Pentad. To please Ipte, Marco had taken up various creative pursuits to fill the time where he wasn’t fighting or training his swordsmanship. Although he had become a good sculptor, his musical skills were actually quite mediocre. Still, the wooden harp he hastily slapped together with binding magic would serve as a pretext. Nobody would spare a second glance at a musician walking the streets so close to the palace, as more than one noble kept a bard in their retinue for their personal amusement.

By the time he made it to the bakery, Marco had gotten himself lost three times already. Thoroughly exasperated by the tediously long list of instructions he had been forced to follow, he tried not to let his annoyance color his inner voice as he reached out to Pictor.

Okay, I’m approaching the, uh… the coin man? What do I do next?

Tku enjoyed his odd routine, it was random and set by some random dice. Still, maybe it was a little cruel to send him on an elaborate tour of the city, Tku let out a devilish smile. "All you need is to walk through the door and I'll be there." Inside the 'Coin Man's' house was none other than the Obenjan. "Please, shut the door on the way in," Tku pulled a seat out for Marco's portrait, "Do you prefer coffee or tea?" Tku offered.

”Coffee, thank you.“ Marco nudged the door closed with his foot and invited himself in. He took every sarcastic remark that threatened to spill out of his mouth and buried them deep inside. As stupid as this entire errand was, there was no point questioning the painter’s motives. He was offering to help, and if he wanted to play jokes on people along the way then that was his business. As long as it sped up the revolution Marco was prepared to drink mud. At least the furniture in this house was nice. Being able to sit after such a long walk felt good.

Tku prepared coffee with some flair, almost exactly as Zarina had taught him months ago. "Here you are Mr. Salvatore, help yourself to the cream and sugar on the table." Tku sat behind his canvas and a sonic bubble dropped down on them, giving them some privacy. "Mr. Salvatore, is there any specific portrait you want me to make?" Tku began to sketch Marco as he was.

Marco skipped the sugar and stirred in just enough cream to cut through the bitterness and heat of the coffee. After taking a big gulp to quench his thirst, he set the cup on its saucer and left it on the table before addressing the painter. ”Well, there are a couple of things to consider. I am obviously a Revidian, and a young looking one at that. I tend to draw attention around here, even when I don’t intend to. I’d like a portrait that doesn’t make me look out of place, even if I were to walk into the palace to present it to the queen herself.“

"I see, something low profile, a casual portrait." Tku started to choose the colors he wanted, "Good, you know that you stand out. I can make you a portrait where you won't but why don't you give me some ideas." He peered past his canvas to Marco, "Any people or professional caught your eye on your trip here?" Tku structured his face, how would I have do his makeup to match the people here? His features are rather soft so molding him is simple. But his tones are rather light. He layered things with a pasty light color and applied layers to get to a darker complexion. Well enough.

"You know, there is this kitchen I've always wanted to work at inside the palace." Marco suggested. "Therefore, how about you paint me as a porter?"

"A most noble job," Tku nodded as he took it into his painting, the clean hands that had been soaked in water, the grease on the face from working in the kitchen. It was coming to him how he should look. The painting came fast as silence took over for a good hour or 2.

Just before the final brush stroke, Tku showed him Marco's new identity. "Is this to your liking?" It looked to be a Kitchen Porter of mixed heritage between Virangish and Palapareese. The hair on the arms was thick but was near hairless near the hand and wrists from constant abrasion. It looked simply like a porter that you would pass without much thought.

The painting sent chills up Marco's spine. Even after growing up in the future, he was never THAT hairy. He almost wanted to request a do-over, but the artist likely made him look like that for a reason. In any case, he would just have to put up with it for one night. "I don't know if this will make me pass as a native, but at least it doesn't look like me. Even if I were to bump into someone from the academy, it would be impossible for them to make the connection. I think we can make this work."

The shock at the hair was quite hilarious to Tku,"Splendid," Tku performed the last brush stroke as the portrait sucked in some energy. "When the time comes, all you have to do is look at your portrait and say its name." Tku handed him a note with the name 'Atay Sabbagh'.

"Now will you be paying in magus or kurush?" he asked.

"Magus." Marco reached for his coin purse and counted out the agreed upon sum without trying to haggle. It was rare for him to have need of the stipend given to Centuries by the Quentic church, so the money had just been piling up with nowhere to go. "Thank you again for your services. I will make good use of this." Marco wrapped the painting in a piece of cloth and stuffed the note into his pocket. Before departing, he also made sure to finish the rest of his coffee. It was more delicious than he had expected.

"Please excuse my rudeness, but I must take my leave. I have other errands that require my attention today." Marco gave a respectful bow before heading for the door with his precious cargo in hand.

"of course, everyone is so busy nowadays," making no huff about it and followed him to the door. "It was a pleasure to do this Portrait with you, live well Mr. Salvatore," Tku waved him off as he began to finish his own plans. Tomorrow will be quite tiring but I cannot slow now. No, I must stay steady until the end.

[Fallenreaper]

Mahal Agha

"What happens now?"

The Palaparese Revolution: Chapter 2

Location: Agha Plantation, Kalingnan

Open Rebellion-Feat. Lunara

*

Aziz Mesud fell in the night and, for three days, few except those who had been there knew. Then, the masked Volto had arrived, with a ragged group of would-be revolutionaries who had fled an attack in the capital that was already being called the 'Bloody Breakfast'. He had arrived and a new campaign had begun.

The plantation was transformed within a couple of days into a training camp, the manor house fortified, and it was ensured that prisoners... wouldn't escape. Next had been Nöbetçi Tepesi (Sentry Hill) and, from there, the rebels now commanded the approach to Kalingnan crossroads and could watch every coming and going in the village nearby.

Then, on the sixth day, a pair of couriers from the capital had seen the rebels drilling and run for it. One had made it south, to the city, where the news of a revolt on the plantations of Kalingnan had spread like an inflection. Now, every day, came more scouts and messengers, and the rebels had to be quick to deal with them all. So far as they knew, none had made it anywhere significant, and their exact composition, territories they controlled, and state of readiness remained a mystery to the machinery of the RoCo.

This was just as well, for over a hundred new faces had joined them, for a variety of reasons that were largely their own. These, too, drilled and contributed, while some of the originals on the Aziz Mesud plantation remained wary of these new radicals and the seemingly suicidal path they had been committed to. They were a mismatched group, beyond a doubt, drawn together by circumstance, the will of a few powerful personalities, and a shared resentment of their Virangish masters.

It was the ninth day when a messenger had made it through, rushing the opposite way that anyone had expected. He'd arrived, disheveled, scraped, and bruised, panting and hammering on the gatehouse door of Agha plantation.

“I was cutting down ferns before it got too high. The blade slipped and,”‌ Buwan commented, showed his hand to the healer. A wide, shallow gash bled heavily from the back of his hand.

“I told him not to be careless with it.” His father, Ulan, answered. His face flashed an expression between scorn and worry.

“It doesn’t look too bad, thankfully.” Selim took the hand and examined it. He drew mana and poured his binding into the wound, ceasing the bleeding. “Best the young learn their lessons now when I can tend to their wounds. The salve will help the pain and the air will do the rest. Try to keep it clean often.”

Selim held the hand in place, dipping two fingers into the half coconut shell and coating them with a thick tallow. Lightly he traced it across the length of the wound. He didn’t wrap it since air would heal it quicker now that it wasn’t open anymore. Meanwhile, Mahal stood off at the side. She inhaled sharply at the young man's answer. Her arms crossed over her chest while she watched over the healer’s shoulder. That’s when the sound of pounding on the door caught her attention. She flashed Ulan a look causing him to grab his spear as she led the way to the door. Her hand reached out and pulled it open.

Lunara's head cocked at an angle as she pulled a brush through her dark thick Virangish hair. Repeatedly, as if she weren't brushing, merely, comforting herself with each stroke. Her way of wrestling the emotional flares fighting to burst from her chest and burn everything around her. Deep down, she knew there was more to the story than Selim told, like a dog he protected his master at the cost of the truth. She knew after speaking to Oanona there was a secret behind the lies. But, it was a story Lunara's gut wasn't prepared to check yet. Instead, she brushed her hair.

BANG! BANG! CLANG! THUD! BANG!

From the window Lunara snapped out of her mild trance and looked outside. Below at the gate of the Agha plantation was a man hammering on the gatehouse door. It was the kind of behavior anyone with eyes could see was driven by fear and desperation. Unlike the situation with her father, Lunara placed down her brush, checked herself in the mirror pulling her posture upright, and with purpose, strode downstairs and out into the yard.

Others were slowly growing in numbers around the gate. The frantic rattling and attacking of its steel demanded attention and questions. The echoes of Lunara's heels clicking against the wood of the manor with doors open cut the curious minds of Agha slaves and overseers. The heels pierced deeper as they struck the paved walkway to the gate and gathered strength in each step. The crowd of slaves and overseers turned to Lunara before they opened the way. Caving behind her, filling the gap they made, each watched in anticipation.

Lunara approached the gate to greet the man who slammed into it.

"Peace be upon you traveler, are you okay? What calls you to our estate?"

He was a messenger of sorts. He looked dirty and sweaty and bedraggled. There were scratches, welts, and bug bites all over him, and the feel of some drawn kinetic magic. Evidently, he had some small ability in the Gift. "My... ladies," he panted, bowing briefly, mostly in Lunara's direction. "I apologize for my disruption." He glanced worriedly over his shoulder, pausing as if he were sensing for energies. "I am Tanyag, a messenger from Ceboyan." He swallowed and took a further moment to catch his breath. "Come to warn you that there are rebels at Aziz Mesud and Nöbetçi Tepesi."

His eyes darted about anxiously. "They have a tethered and I know they are tracking me. They want to kill me and, quite possibly, yourselves as well." If he was not quite sure what to make of Mahal, he seemed to have settled on caution with regards to her. If she was a bastard or something like it, she was still likely his social better. He glanced between the two. "Is the master of this property here?" He bowed again, deeply and stiffly. "I request an urgent audience with him."

---

---

Alab was in the hills, trying to interpret the little pinches to his neck. They were annoying. He blinked back in sequence: <What?>

<West. South. West.> came the reply. <Plantation.>

"That one is Agha," Bato added. If the stories that the others told were to be believed, he was the one who had set everything into motion at Aziz Mesud - he and the mysterious Joruban Alab had met in brief. "Not as bad as Mesud, but close."

"He will spill everything he knows to them, and he has been hiding in the area for days," whispered Dani. "He has the Gift."

"I dunno why Dali couldn't just pop his heart from five miles away," Alab grunted.

"My sister is not a killer," Bato replied with quiet but firm resolution.

"It would've been impossible anyway," added another voice, and Alab's skin prickled with both fear and a healthy regard for the masked figure. "Their capacities are too close. She wouldn't have been able to overwhelm him."

Dani, crouched behind some rocks, looked up to regard their Dieci Volti benefactor. "As you say, chief, but someone will have to, or he's going to sing and Agha has resources."

A few sets of eyes, then, turned to Black King, waiting for his counsel.

Lunara blinked rapidly, startled by Tanyag's urgency. Her fingers tightened as the words rebels and tethered left his mouth. Lunara was in disbelief, yet if this man were lying, he did so at the cost of several good meals, a warm bed, and surrounded by those who would not take kindly to a liar. She chose to trust him... for now.

She waved her hand opening the gate, "Our father is... on the estate." Her voice soft yet steady.

Lunara wasn't entirely sure of what to do, she was inexperienced as a leader, but she was the one they were looking to for direction. She subtly wiped her sweaty palms on her dress and recognized this wasn't the time to hang about in thought. These were the moments all those stories as a kid were teaching, these were the moments where each one of them would be defined by their actions, not titles.

Deep breath, exhale, go. Lunara glanced toward a servant, her tone confident in giving direction, though the weight of Tanyag's words churned her stomach, "Buwan, go warn the others."

Her eyes darting over to Ulan next, "fetch our father."

Lunara gently placed her arm on Mahal, "Sister, if this man is true, they may have followed him here by the tethered. If they're here, your precious hounds will know. Please take them and see if we can't sniff them out."

Then addressing the others, "if anyone senses anything out of place, missing, or unordinary, report back. We must be ready for a group willing to murder us, take to your families and protect our home."

Her gaze cycled back to Tanyag, "You'll be safe with us." Lunara stretched out her hand and took Tanyag's. She began to escort him toward the Agha manor.

Locked on the Scent

**

Mahal stood off to the side while Lunara addressed the man. She listened closely to the words that poured from his tongue as her eyes narrowed, judging the truth of it. Her eyes darted to the jungles beyond him and scanned the greenery for signs of life. While nothing stuck out to her, it did nothing to smooth over her paranoia.

Her gaze shifted to Lunara when her sister touched her. She focused on the orders and accepted the task with a nod. A sharp whistle cut through the air followed by the sounds of excited yips and racing paws. In only a few moments, two hounds broke out into the open. Supok, the firehound, whipped her tail back and forth with eagerness to please. The updog glided in from a nearby tree, Puno acting more demure than her adopted sibling. Their heads both turned to her for farther commands.

"Would be easier if I had something with their scent, but I'll make do. Supok, Puno, come." With that command, she moved past Tanyag and into the jungles itself.

Selim made a small request toward Lunara. "With your permission, I'd like to stay here. In case she or anyone else needs healing."

Lunara permitted, "Of course, Selim, as you wish." She signaled to two of the guards to help her with the messenger. The two aided the messenger inside as Mahal and her dogs left and closed the gate.

As Lunara, the guards, and the messenger began walking up toward the estate, she could sense Miray stalking on the grounds. Her Goma cat was keeping a close watch on Lunara with a keen eye on the activity around her.

The three escorted the messenger a quarter of the way before Lunara spotted Ruslan entering from the side of the estate. "Good job, Buwan." She said under her breath. Buwan was successful in warning their father and soon they'd unite in the drawing room of the estate. From there, Ruslan, would know what to do.

Mahal listened to the gate clank close behind her. Puno and Supok paused and sniffed the air, drinking in the scents. Suddenly, the hounds barked. Her eyes jerked into the direction they faced when the shots fired out. She gripped her dagger in her skirt belt as she drew. With a flick of her blade, she repelled a few incoming shots into the dirt.

Meanwhile Selim bowed his head and thanked Lunara. Her watched her leave with the messenger in tow when he heard the hounds. The shots came next. He was not a trained fighter so his reflex was slower compared to the others. He barely realised what happen until he heard the screams. All the guards rushed to arms while others scattered. Spotting Mahal darting toward the source, he tried to call her back. "Ceren, get back in here, now!"

She was already gone.

As Ruslan finished his draw, he snapped out his wand. Electromagnetic energy buzzed in the air creating a small field. When the shots hit, they stopped in midair then dropped to the ground. The impact on the tiles echoed in the halls.

Tethered Communications

***

Back in the jungle, Mahal continued to dart through with kinetic enhanced speed. Her eyes kept her dogs within her sight while she drew in arcane energies. Once the attackers came into the edge of her range, she began to slow and crouch down. Seeing her pace change, her hounds' pulled back. Puno rushed up a nearby tree to be a look out and hide among the thick leaves. Supok, however, kept her nose up and tracked the danger's location. Lingering in the spot, Mahal picked the nearest target and then cast touch of doom. She faintly hoped that might get their attention or at least cause some chaos.

Before she could focus for more than a second or two, however, a large log came crashing through the brush towards her, hurtling end over end. She was quick enough to deflect it slightly and dodge, but her focus on her spell had to fall by the wayside. That had been a sophomoric spell, to be honest: the kind she might've used when she'd first started her magic studies.

Then, she felt a pinch behind her ear, and a series of them. While she wasn't the best with it, she recognized Pinch Code. <We. Want. Spy.> it said. <Give. Spy. No. Hurt.>

Mahal rolled back onto her feet, her eyes seeking the source. Her firehound's fur bristled as she growled. The small pup's form hunched down ready to lounge upon sight of the attacker. Puno held her ground in the tree, ready to pounce. As the girl readied another spell, a pinching sensation hit behind her ear. Mahal flinched at the unwanted touch. It reminded her of rat teeth though softer. Her knuckles tightened on her daggers as she noticed a pattern.

She recalled the messenger's words about the tether and the threat. There was no familiarity here to trust as her eyes flickered toward home. Her haste to find the attackers had led her here, but was it smart? She started to question that now.

Her forefinger on her left hand tapped against the dagger's hand in a pattern. <You. Attack. First. > She paused then finished. <No. Trust.>

<Why. You. Think. Attack. Weak. No. Hit.> replied the pinches. <He. No. You. Friend. He. Safe. We. Die.>

Mahal held her pose, her eyes still sought an individual. However, her feet didn't stay still. They started to retreat and slowly move back to the plantation. She clicked her tongue as her hounds glanced her way, their ears perked. With wariness, they began to follow her.

<I. No. Know. You. Who. Are. You.> She paused, then added. <Words. Lie. Easy.>

<No. Be. Stupid.> came the reply. <Mask. Man. Scary. Will. Kill. All. Master.> There was a momentary pause. <Give. Spy. He. Have. No. Excuse. We. Stop.> A second pause followed, longer this time. <I. At. Neighbour. No. Come. There. I. Come. I. Die.>

Mahal inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. She knew a tethered knew where she was and surprising she hadn't been killed. Either the mage wasn't strong enough or something else was up. At this point, it didn't matter. She had completed her task as another volley hit the house. It sounded worse than before causing her anxiety to rise.

<Words. No. Enough. No. Risk. It.> With that, her dogs and her rushed back toward the house's direction.

<You. Choice. But. Bad. Choice.> came a brief message. <Go. Back. Man. Break. Mother. Protect. Man. Hurt. You. Many. Be. Slave. All. Life.> There was a brief pause and then, <Idiot.> With that, the pinch messages abruptly cut off.

Goma Hunt

****

"Word's aren't enough aye? Seeing as you are still alive and unharmed up 'till now should have been a sign", an unfamiliar voice that spoke in Avincian cut in on the otherwise silent conversation.

"However right now I will need to be a tad bit more rough". With that the low rumbling roar of multiple Goma Cats punching through the otherwise quiet moment inbetween gunfire.

"Oh, I do hope you don't run too far. They might think you are prey rather than a play mate", the voice finished, it's owner didn't allow themselves to be seen. Black King began to move and prepare to 'gently' bring down Mahal as he sent a pinch message back to to The Handler. Telling them the plan to bring Mahal down without killing. A hostage is better alive. Hurt but alive.



Even if the connection hadn't been cut off, Mahal focused on getting home. Still... not many individuals knew of the abuse and fact the tethered did, bothered her. What else did this person know? Even if she wanted to, she doubted her father and sister would give into the demands. Not after the attack on the plantation.

Mahal didn't get far when someone spoke to her. Her eyes darted around to find the source, but saw only trees and jungle. Drawing quickly, she kept moving through the flora. Now she needed to make it home before they decided to kill her.

With a deep breath, she cast the spell impart momentum to boost her speed as she zig zagged among the trees. "Better hope your cats can keep up."

Mahal’s eyes darted about. Shadows slipped in and out of the trees as the goma cats tailed her. Gathering her breath, Mahal urged her hounds along. "Run faster."

Puno bounced up a trunk and raced through the trees. Supok kept pace and close to her. Suddenly, a cat leapt at her from behind. Mahal pivoted on her foot. Claw snagged her tunic and ripped free. She kicked on a spur of speed, leaving the predator behind. More shapes began to materialize around her. Another shadow tore from the jungle and raced ahead. It lounged at her front. Mahal ducked, but the claws caught her back and held on.

She muffled back a cry and pushed forward. Seeing her struggle, Puno jumped and glided down. Her throat let out a hoarse bark. The cat released with a hiss then vanished into the jungle. Mahal continued to zip and zagged, her desperation growing. More cats charged at her. One latched upon her inner thigh as she let out a scream. Still, she kept pushing herself.

Supok’s eyes flashed red. She snapped at it only to be batted away. The pup stumbled and whined, rolling to a stop a few paces behind.

A clinging cat stretched out its claws for Mahal’s face. With a jerk, it narrowly missed. She didn’t notice the older feline slid up beside her. Supok put on a burst of kinetic energy to intercept the elderly cat. In a ferocious show of skill and experience, the feline bristled then leapt clear of the hound’s jaws. It slammed into Mahal making her tumble. One or two of the smaller cats detached, but stayed close. Excited by the chase, their primal instincts surfaced. Quickly they surrounded her.

"Puno, Supok, home!" Mahal shouted.

Puno rushed away, but the firehound hesitated. Supok whimpered and lingered, an inner conflict on her form. The inchhound paused then gave a sharp, bossy yip. Following her alpha, the two hounds took off. With a thick lump in her throat, Mahal turned to fight for her life. A claw swiped at her as she grounded herself. She drew her daggers and lightning buzzed across the surface.

Two cats circled her, wary of the energy. At first, it seemed her tactic to intimidate them might work. Then the elderly female goma charged. The girl’s blade slashed out, but the cat proved faster. It slipped underneath the attack, fangs latched onto her leg and ripped it out from underneath her. Mahal saw stars in the back of her head. Her free leg kicked up into the beast’s jawline, but it didn’t hit. The goma cat dragged her across the ground.

The Masked Man

*****

A loud high pitch whistle screamed out. It was so loud and high that at one point it became inaudible to all but the most sensitive creatures. Which sent the Goma cats roiling mad for a moment before crying out in terror and scrambling from the pure discomfort and pain from the invisible assailent.

Moments later Black King came from the forest calmly like he was one with it. He looked around for a moment as he shook his head and spoke, "Can't you listen? I told you not to run too far".

His hand seeming to cast her way as he began to use chemical magics upon her to lessen the pain and put her to sleep. As the magic was working, he knelt down next to Mahal and began to look her over. Using his a mixture of chemical, magnetic, and binding magic to slowly heal up some of her wounds while taking away her ability to try and fight back.

No more a few moments later another man appeared, seeming worried and exhausted as he quickly panted out, "Is she alright?"

Black King shook his head for just a moment, "Yes, she will be fine. Injured, yet not terribly so. Rest and some healing is enough".

Kidlat seemed to lose a slight bit of tension in his shoulders as it seemed a weight was lifted off of him for a moment. He may have still been worried, but relief was all he could breath, "Thank goodness, I was hoping not to hurt her much".

Black King nodded his head, "It is good. She may be a fool, yet she doesn't need to die for it".

After the goma cat released her, it dashed into the jungle. Mahal laid there and breathed heavily, trying to will herself to move. Pain shot through her leg with every movement. It wasn't broken, but she couldn't walk on it. She pulled herself against a tree as she considered what to do next. Why didn't they kill her? She didn't understand it. Upon hearing the masked man, she tensed.

"Listening... was never my strength." She shot back through gritted teeth. A numbing sensation crawled up her skin as her body became sluggish. Impulsively, she tried to counter with her own Gift. No luck. Her efforts were overwhelmed, leaving her helpless. She relaxed and watched through heavy lidded eyes while he began to heal her. Why waste the magic? Even if they got they got the messenger, her family likely had whatever knowledge he did. No point in keeping them alive now only to kill them later.

Her mind drifted off as she listened to the men exchange words.

***

Since coming home, Mahal had suffered many sleepless nights and dread stalking the back of her mind. Each step underneath her father's roof felt like walking on eggshells as she stayed out of sight. Lunara took his attention most of the time which helped. The girl lingered in those moments of blissful peace, but all good things came to an end.

Voices penetrated the darkness first causing her haze to peel away. Her eyes rolled underneath her lids as she shifted and tried to sit upright. Realizing the sounds weren't figments of her imagination, her eyes opened and she silently took in the owners. She recalled the tethered's mention of a man in a mask causing her attention to narrow on him. One that would kill all the masters. She prayed that Lunara wasn't stupid enough to search for her.

Black King spoke with those around him, they needed to act. The more time they waited, the more time it would be for a plan to be made. If a plan was made, or someone grew worried of the area, their makeshift movement here would be done. and with word spreading, it would stop the whole revolution.

A prolonged 'siege' was not an option.

It was then Black King at Mahal. His head did not turn, yet the glowing orbs of golden fire that burned like a swirling rainbow locked onto her the very moment she awoke.

He allowed a moment for her to fully awaken before he turned to Mahal, "Well, good morning Marikit₁, are you well?"

The man spoke calmly, he had no malice in his voice. In fact it seemed quite the opposite, as he even seemed playful as he spoke with that almost signature soft Revidian rolling purr as he spoke.

Catching the compliment, Mahal's head tilted and her nose wrinkled a bit. He had to be mocking her. Never in her life had she been called something so nice unless it was by her mother or sister. They often did it out of kindness. She took note of his accent and appearance then picked her words carefully.

“Better than most in my situation.” Her eyes glanced at her leg, fully healed now. She kept her expression steady as she tested the waters with questions. "Why waste your time healing my wounds? I was in no danger of dying. "

Black King chuckled slightly as he answered, "You may have not been, however, if I worry not for another, then that would make me lesser than even some animals".

Black King then gave a small whistle, as a raven flew down, landing upon his finger as he began to feed it and lightly pet its plumage.

"And you are not my enemy. You fighting against us is not out of hate, only out of your own misunderstandings, Ignorance is not malice. Just as a raven born in a cage never knew of the sky. You don't know what you truly want, and the moment you meet it, it's frightening".

"It wouldn't have mattered much. I heal surprisingly well." Mahal said dismissively before the raven arrived. A creature of night and woodlands, rarely seen in her region. Then he mentioned the cage and she snapped.

Mahal’s expression curled into fury. She pushed onto her feet causing the air around her to tense as she drew. Her hands clenched into fists, lightning sparking about the surface. She held her face just inches from his masked face.

"Don't assume you know me. You know nothing!" It hurt more than she wanted to admit. Her eyes widened when she realized her stupidity. Like a fire doused with water, she pulled back. The charge in the air died as did the lightning.

"What happens now? There has to be a reason for this."

Black King watched on, as his people began to grow nervous, he raised his hand lightly, telling them to hold their hand. Even when Mahal leaned as close as possible and used her immense power as a display, he watched. It was not until she finally realized what was happening that she stopped.

Black King nodded as he spoke, "Of course there is a reason. Talk some sense into you, and have you understand why we are doing as we are".

Black King watched on, as his people began to grow nervous, he raised his hand lightly, telling them to hold their hand. Even when Mahal leaned as close as possible and used her immense power as a display, he watched. It was no until she finally realized what was happening that she stopped. Black King nodded as he spoke, "Of course there is a reason. Talk some sense into you, and have you understand why we are doing as we are".

"Sense? You shot at my loved ones! Target or not, you could've hurt them. If they aren't dead already." Mahal growled back and wrapped her arms about herself. The attack upon the house had ceased from the sounds of it, but the end result could've been anything. She closed her eyes to center herself, breathing deeply. It was a poor attempt.

Giving up on it, she focused on the masked man. “Then explain cause I fail to understand it."

Black King nodded to himself as he said, "Well, the shooting is much the same way as you performing that feat of magic a moment ago in your anger. That display is for many of the people here considered god like and quite threatening".

As he lightly gestured to Mahal and then to those around him, some of which were dry heaving and woozy after a display of magic and drawing from a near 8.0 mage. Others were on edge as she seemed quite upset.

"The gun fire was a display, a threat to get your attention and to get what we want. To get a point across. If it was a true attack, why would we damage the roof?" He lightly chuckled about the idea himself, almost like it was a joke.

"We are here for a man who has sensitive information about our movement. If he is able to pass it along, then many will be hurt, and even more so, the movement will be snuffed out, and even more after that, complicit or not".

Black King lightly gestured as he continued talking more about the injured loved ones, "If any are injured other than the messenger, most likely it would be superficial at best with magic. Especially if you believe the injury your leg sustained was of no concern".

He then brought his hand back to himself, "However, it is to be expected. After all, if you fear no harm will come, then the threat is meaningless. It would be as if I was threatening to take away your favorite snack".

Mahal was quiet. Her eyes shifted and noticed the chaos her mood swings had caused. Though her face didn't show it, she regretted her outburst. Pushing past her mistake, she closed her eyes and exhaled. She ran her fingers through her hair as she considered his words.

Lunara held greater experience in politics than her and could tell if this man lied. She, however, could not.

"I suppose. However… " she continued to push down her anxiety, "if Lunara got the message, there's no stopping it. She has never failed when she has a goal in mind. At least from what I've seen."

Black King began to nod his head, "Maybe, however, we still need to ensure the message never reaches the Virangish. If anything, have it take more time to do so. If they receive the message quickly, then many will die. People who just want to be free from these terrible conditions".

He looked around for a moment, "Of course we can perform a long standing siege. Attempt to blockade the farm for long enough until desperation or starvation gets to them, yet that would not work as we are not a grand enough army, nor are we secluded enough to do such a thing without having guards or soldiers asking questions".

He nodded as he looked among those around him, "Or we can attempt another assassination. Destroying any documents he may have made to transport. However, they are much more up in arms and possibly ready for it, so if anything it would either need to be when they are not expecting it, but then the information could have been passed around, or from within".

Black King looked to Mahal, insinuating the idea before he continued.

"Or. we could leave before we are to be surrounded by guards or other soldiers. Then possibly prepare for what is to come. Yet it would be much the same as if the Virangish were to receive the information. Many will die. Like that young lady who was trying to speak with you before".

Mahal considered his words, ripping herself from what she was molded to be. It wasn't easy. Habits didn't cease to exist. She rolled her tongue against her cheek in thought. Truthfully she still questioned her own judgment on this, but she couldn't ignore the facts. She was still alive and if the masked man was honest, so were the ones she considered family.

She shook her head at the mention of siege and assassination. “The plantation has enough supplies for a good month and we are expecting visitors at some point. Ren Baykara. As for assassination, you failed once from the sounds of it. If Selim is near, best not to waste your energy. He's healed me a few times from near death.”

Mahal found her feet starting to move as she paced in a circle. A few individuals shifted quickly from her path, but she paid them no heed.

“You can trade me for the messenger. I'd rather you don't harm him. I can ask her about any other information and means of sending it. There's a chance Lunara used a goma cat. It would be gone before you knew it." Her thumb pushed hard into her arm as she rubbed it. She was going to get punished for this, but Lunara's presence would delay it for a bit. “The messenger is from Ceboyan. I think he was going that direction before he came here. Could you have someone in position to intercept it? If they think it was delivered… it might give you more time.”

She then moved into the last bit on her mind. “You will need to move regardless. I suggest the mountains as it's a cold region and not many will suspect you to hide there. And it would hinder anyone coming after you. I know a few locations as I keep a Snow Wyvern in that area.”

Her eyes turned to the man, seeing if he approved or dismissed her thoughts. They were rash and ill thought out, but a start of more options.

Black King nodded his head, "I believe these are good, trading you for the messenger will give us control of him. Trying to intercept the information may not be easy, yet possible. And even the location to move to would be good. However there is one thing I would like to ask of you".

He looked to Mahal as he continued, "What are you willing to do? Since from the sound of it, you sound as if you are already with us"

He chuckled slightly, as she seemed to already be giving ideas and information freely.

Am I? Mahal realized how easily she opened up in the moment. She regretted it. However, there was no backing down now. Perhaps it might spare her family the worst of the rebellion’s bloodshed.

“Truthfully, I am not sure I am. I am not sure I trust what you told me until I see it.” Mahal again ran her fingers through her hair as she considered the emotions rushing through her.

“Yet, you didn't need to share your information either. You could've just told me to keep quiet and not to attempt anything. It is not like it would end well for me.”

She fidgeted a bit, but managed to force herself still again. “Since you decided to take a risk, I am too. In exchange for the help, I ask you to leave the plantation alone.”

Black King chuckled, "I suppose that is a worthy compromise. For your help with this and possibly future endeavors, I will not take action against your plantation". He extended his hand out to shake on it.

Black King nodded his head as he looked towards plantation, while not able to visually see it, he knew where it is. "I think we shall make a trade of peoples, taking the messenger off the board is the first one. Next, the guest you have coming, this Ren Baykara, I would like you to act as an informant on him".

Mahal stiffened at the suggestion causing her to stare hard at him for a moment. She ignores the churning in her stomach.

"The visit will likely be put off due to this incident so I doubt he will come. If he finds out I am spying on him, I'm sure he won't hesitate to kill me or worse."

Mahal stiffened at the suggestion causing her to stare hard at him for a moment. She ignores the churning in her stomach. "The visit will likely be put off due to this incident so I doubt he will come. If he finds out I am spying on him, I'm sure he won't hesitate to kill me or worse."

Black King lightly nodded his head, "True, however, in it's own right, I do believe your father would not want something like this to besmirch his reputation with such a man. However, either case, if he is to come, knowing his thoughts, plans, and what is going on with the Virangish is important".

Black King turned to Mahal as he continued, "I understand your fears. However, it is needed. Nothing comes without risk. And nothing comes without trying".

A bitter, depressed tsk escaped Mahal's lips. "He wouldn't, but Lunara wouldn't care."

She reflected on the words before she broke the silence. Her form straightened up and strengthened her voice. "I am not good at conversation or lies. If I am discovered, you are to make sure none of my loved ones come to harm because of my actions. I will accept no less."

Monsters like her father and Baykara didn't make an example of one target, but all those connected. The idea of Lunara, Selim and her mother facing the consequences of her decision hurt her heart. "We are wasting time now. Any more details will need to be sorted later."

Black King nodded his head, "You're right, we are wasting time. Let's head down now".

He looked to the others as he nodded to them and began to head down. It would only be a matter of time before things were to happen.

---

₁ Marikit means beautiful, gorgeous, or lovely.

Lunara Agha

Assault upon the Plantation

*

Ruslan, sensing that something was legitimately wrong, began drawing, as did Tanyag.

From the forest erupted a volley of shots, ripping through foliage, shattering roof tiles, and causing the master of Agha Plantation to reveal some of his abilities with magnetic magic.

Crack. Fwip. Snap. Bullets struck and tiles flew. Ruslan released his magnetic power to halt the rest in place and drop the threats to the ground.

Fear released from Lunara's glands. The estate was under attack. She pulled Tanyag forward as two out of the three guards drew to reinforce Ruslan's defense. The third assisted Lunara in getting Tanyag to the door of the estate.

Once inside, guards could be heard shutting entries, reinforcing windows and marching about in transforming the estate into a fortress. Lunara would bring Tanyag to the drawing room which was cornered adjacent to the side of the house being fired upon.

It was here Lunara began her line of questioning, "Why are they after you? Who are they? And, what are they hoping to gain from all this?"

"I'm a scout, sent by her majesty in Ceboyan to determine the strength of the rebels." He paused to scan for further energies or bullets, but they were out of his range in the jungle and reloading. "The Queen and Trading Company don't know much, but I've been here for three days, hiding out in the forest." he paused again to scan as they walked. "It started with the maiming of a boy on Aziz Mesud: draconian punishment. Conditions there were bad." He shook his head as they rounded a bend. "A healer - possibly with the Dieci Volti - arrived and helped him. He was caught, there was an altercation and then they rebelled." He went silent to scan once more. "Details are sparse about the next bit and we don't know if the plantation owners were killed or taken captive but, six days ago, word reached Nöbetçi Tepesi and they rebelled as well, with help from the rebels." He swallowed. "There is a full-fledged masked Volti among them, and they have other salamangkero and a tethered who is observing us this moment. They want to overthrow all the masters, and they are full of killers who joined them after the Bloody breakfast in Arangal."

The colonnade was full of potted palms and its columns twined round with flowering vines. They swayed as a gentle breeze swept across the mansion's courtyard, half in sunlight and half in the shadow of encroaching grey clouds. Then, the second volley began...

With the first volley defended, Ruslan raced down the hall toward the drawing room. His eyes glimpsed into the jungle before he disappeared into the room. Lunara stood next to a haggard looking man just when the peace shattered with another round of shots. Enraged by the attack, Ruslan's fury rushed along his veins. His hardened eyes glared at the shots aimed at him and his family.

"Enough!" The man roared.

His mana surged from his form. Lightning sparked across his clothes and leapt from him to one bullet then another, popping each of them in air. One... two... three. On the fourth one, Ruslan lifted his hand. It slowed then made a dead stop right in front of his face. With a scowl, he snapped his finger. The ball vibrated there for moment as it built up energy. Suddenly it shot backwards and disappeared, returning to its sender with haste.

With a deep breath, Ruslan turned to his daughter. "Do we have any idea why they are attacking? Or who it is?"

Lunara listened to Tanyag, she could understand the fury one would feel watching a young boy beaten beyond measure. She would never approve of such cruelty on her own property if she knew of it. If she put herself in their shoes, would her heart not leap out for justice?

She understood. But, violence only begets more violence.

The second volley of shots rang out. A strong display of magical power was performed by Ruslan in thwarting off the attack. After, Ruslan made his way to the drawing room and Lunara answered his questions, "it seems under harsh conditions a boy was brutally punished at Aziz Mesud, a healer possibly linked to the Dieci Volti intervened and was caught, sparking an uprising. The revolt inspired a second one at Nöbetçi Tepesi."

She paused as the associated mental images of destruction and pain resonated as the same negative force applied pressure on their own estate, "now, they have serious support: a masked Volti, a tethered spy watching us, and other powerful mages, all determined to overthrow the masters." Her gaze drew to Ruslan as if to say, that means you.

"Many among them are killers from the Bloody Breakfast in Arangal. This man, Tanyag, was sent by the Queen and Trading Company to gauge their strength.” Lunara concluded.

She waved over one of their guards who was in the room, "Bring Tanyag's word to the Queen. She will need to send reinforcements before the rebels gain momentum and grow too large in numbers."

Lunara looked back to Tanyag, "How likely is it that the Trading Company or Ceboyan will send reinforcements? And what would the Volti want with the estates? Are they after resources or something more personal with the masters?"

Tanyag shook his head, helpless. "I can only speculate on their motives, and I know no more - and probably less - than you do." Still skittish as the second volley cleared - torn foliage, shattered glass, and ceramic dust all about - he bowed his head. "From what I have heard, the Dieci Volti are ideological..." He hesitated and shook his head. "And vicious." He swallowed. "They might very well want resources as well." He regarded them helplessly, knowing no more. "It is not my place to say so, milord," he continued quietly, "but I would caution you not to send your man yet, or you are likely sending him to his death."

Lunara took Tanyag's advise and stood the guard down, "then it seems if this Volti is out there, they won't be letting up until they get what they want... to end another life..." There was a pain in her last words. It trailed off as more of a whisper and hung in the air as the reality of fates crossed on their very estate.

Her thoughts turned toward Mahal, you better get back here safe sis.

Ruslan frowned at Lunara's mention of the punishment at Mesud plantation and its consequences. "From the sounds of it, they took advantage of a situation and added more leaves to the fire. I doubt they will leave us alone even if we give them what they want."

He continued to monitor for another volley of shots, including any glimpses of someone in the jungle. His mind weighed their options in this grim moment. "Where is your half sister? She could escort him and possibly increase his odds of making it to his destination safely. Or at least ensuring his message gets there quickly."

Lunara choked as Ruslan inquired about Mahal. She was responsible for sending Mahal out to locate the attackers and draw them off the estate. "She is out there looking for them." Her eyes looked out and into the jungle. This nixed the escort strategy.

She got up and moved to a desk with parchments and quill. Walking back over to Tanyag placing it on his lap, "if it's too dangerous to send one and too dangerous to send you, then we multiply the message. At this rate, people are going to die either way and it better not be in vain."

She motioned for Tanyag to write down what he knew on the parchments to warn the others.

The messenger did not waste any time. "They will try to kill me," he warned. "They see anyone who stands in their way as an enemy." He began writing as quickly as he could, which was not very quick, but it was detailed.

Then came the third volley, and it hit nothing but what it intended to unless deflected. Most of the bullets came straight for Tanyag, with a few more aimed halfheartedly at Ruslan to keep him from interfering too much: predictable, just like the other volleys.

Yet, there was something strange about this one. Bullets that had been blocked or deflected suddenly reappeared. Lunara did all that she could as Tanyag wrote furiously and then was forced to defend himself. Ruslan deflected even most of this, so talented in the Gift was he.

Then, one took him right in the gut and folded the master of Agha plantation. He staggered and half-collapsed onto a divan, clutching his punctured stomach. Lunara's eyes widened. Tanyag turned. Then, his chest veritably exploded in a bloody mess, cored straight through the heart. He slid sideways off of the chair he'd been seated at, his blood-splattered note fluttering down to the ground.

Some way away, in the trees of Kalingnan's primeval forest, a man in a mask exhaled. Bullseye.

Secrets Written in Blood

**

Ruslan's jawline tightened as his hand laid over his wounded stomach. With a shudder, he dragged himself over to the nearby wall. He tried to understand what happened and where the bullets came from, but it left him confused. The red hot agony flowed freely along his side. He cursed in his native language at his own weakness. "I got careless."

Selim leaned over Tanyag. His hands focused on drawing then began to stitch the man's heart back together. Not an easy task since the bullet had exploded it into a meaty pulp. The process seemed to take forever. "Lunara, I've managed to get much of the heart reformed. But the flow of blood is weak. I need your help with that."

Once that task had been completed, their healer turned back to the master of the plantation. He began to work quickly and spoke quietly. "Be mindful, they might attack again. Ceren hasn't return yet."

So it was that Selim healed and Lunara healed and Tanyag was - by some act of Oraff, it seemed - saved. Lunara guided him hurriedly to the table, but the paper he'd been writing on was both covered in blood spatter and fallen to the floor. As she asked him if he could write, she reached for it.

In the background, Selim had moved on to her father, who she'd never quite seen laid low like this. In the healer's hands, he began to recover.

That was secondary, however. That was expected. What Lunara saw on that note, however, was not. Scrawled in messy rudimentary handwriting in Tanyag's blood was a short message: Ruslan brok Onaona Selim nows its tru

Lunara’s breath caught as she read the words scrawled in blood on the note, their crude urgency cutting through the chaos that surrounded her. “Ruslan brok Onaona Selim nows its tru.” Her eyes flicked back to Tanyag, who sat dazed and pale, his wounds starting to knit together. Selim’s healing was steady, but the healer’s attention was now on her father, ensuring he regained his strength.

She couldn't decipher every detail, but the implications were clear enough: there was a fracture, a betrayal connected to Ruslan. And Selim, the healer, is aware of it.

Lunara forced herself to keep her expression neutral, though her mind raced. It was not the time to confront anyone right now. They needed to remain strong in opposition to the enemy out there. She'd deal with whatever enemies were in here later. She propped Tanyag up, "can you finish?"

The messenger's hand was pressed to the area of his chest that had been a bloody crater naught but two minutes earlier. As Lunara held his note out, he regarded it with alarm. The message scrawled crudely in blood was not his, and he said as much: "I - I didn't write that." His voice was quiet - a useful skill for one who often needed to work subtly, perhaps - but carried a great deal of alarm. Louder, he replied. "I will need a new paper. I will write the most succinct version that I can." He stumbled to his feet to fetch one, dipped a still-bloody quill in an inkpot, and - eyes wide like dinner plates - began writing.

Lunara pulled the bloodied paper from the messenger, "it doesn't seem you did." She noted the message was written in blood, not ink. Lunara gave him what he asked, a new paper, and he began writing.

Her attention then snapped to her gut. It churned and twisted. The shots were no longer. It was quiet, yet she could feel something was wrong. Her mind searched for previous memories associated with this feeling.

"Mahal." Lunara announced to the others, "She is in danger!"

What would she do? Her sister was out there because of her. If she was killed, it'd be Lunara's responsibility. Was it too late?

A Daughter's Duty

***

There were eighty of them who had been alerted, but first was Alad. Itinerant labourers, landless peasants, and slaves alike, they were armed with farming tools, machetes, and a handful of rifles. They crossed in an armed horde, from the fallen Aziz Mesud plantation, through the village of Kalingnan. There, they harmed nobody, though many were frightened. They crossed the street and made their way toward the Agha plantation. As they cleared the village and filtered into the forest pathways, they began to chant, first piecemeal, and then in numbers as it swelled: "Freedom from the Masters. Justice for Palapar. Long Live the Queen. Death to Virang!"

Selim shifted when he heard Lunara's words. Still he continued to heal Ruslan, but he observed the man's expression. A flash of bewilderment flickered across the man's eyes before it hardened. "Who's Mahal?"

The healer took a moment to enlighten him. "The name Onaona chose for Ceren before you made her change it."

Ruslan's attention moved to him as the healer ignored the tension rising in the air. Once finished, he stood upright and moved away. Before a word was uttered, a series of barks rang out from the edge of their land. Supok and Puno bolted for the gates. Mahal was nowhere in sight...

This was followed by the distant chanting of a mob drawing closer.

The chanting grew in loudness and intensity, a few of the original riflemen joining and swelling its ranks while a handful of others stood guard around Mahal. As they approached the fence and the outer fields, they began to call out to their brothers and sisters on the plantation.

"We are not here for you, but for those who call themselves your masters!"

"Do not fear! Raise no hand against us and we shall raise none back!"

"Freedom for the people of Palapar!"

"We come to liberate! Lay down your arms and you shall not be harmed!"

"This land is yours, not Ruslan Agha's! Join us and take it back!"

And then, as Lunara wrestled with what to do next, Tanyag looked up from his frantic scribbling. "It is done," he announced, breathless. "It is done and it is here!" He rose, folding the paper and holding it out to her.

Lunara took the folded paper carefully from Tanyag. Opening the message, she scanned through the contents. The mob's chants outside grew louder, more insistent. Eighty souls calling out their wants and demands. Standing at the edge of the Agha plantation, crying for freedom, justice, and death.

Once she finished reading. Lunara finally called Miray using a unique kinetic sequence that attracted her Goma cat. Miray silently revealed herself in the drawing room before finding herself beside Lunara. Lunara knelt down meeting the Goma cat's piercing eyes, "Take this to Ceboyan." She folded the paper in a cylinder container attached to the collar.

Lunara then turned to the door. Straightening, Lunara steeled herself. She had one chance to face this crowd with words before chaos took hold, "The rest of you should prepare to escape. I will do my best to address them and buy everyone time, but in the end, I fear they will not return. But if I can buy us time, I will."

Selim looked ready to protest, but Ruslan was the first to speak. His voice took on a hint of disgust at the mere suggestion of fleeing. "You cannot be serious, Lunara. They are weak despite their protest. We can easily crush them in a fight. This is our home."

Lunara's eyebrows drew together as her gaze turned to Ruslan, "Weakness?" She questioned, "What will be remembered of the Agha estate?" She pressed, "if we turn this into a bloodbath, would we not give more reasons for them to fight?"

Her worry turned to sadness, her eyes dropping, shoulders sloping, "And what then, do we kill them all? What if there are more, and we are overwhelmed? What if help does not come? Do we die for pride?" Her fists clinched tightly. "And what of Mahal's fate then?"

A single tear dropped from her soft cheeks, twinkling to the floor before crashing on the floor below. "We must leave, regroup, find Mahal, and then take back what is ours."

"And what of her?" Ruslan struggled to keep his temper in check, "You sent her out there. Once you did that, there was a chance she would die or need to be sacrificed. Let this be a lesson that if a weakness is shown, it will be struck without mercy. I've taught you that."

The man stepped closer to his daughter, towering over her. "If we run, do you think they will stop here? No. They will march across every plantation and continue their slaughter. They already proved they were willing to kill," his hand moved his robe showing the bloody spot where his stomach wound was. "Some times, force is the only way."

Instinctively, Selim stepped around Ruslan and gently touched Lunara's shoulder. His eyes softened at her before he glanced outward toward the hostilities. A pain seemed to spread across his expression as he considered his words. "I don't agree with your father on a few points, but I don't think sacrificing yourself is the way. If you go out there, I'm coming with you."

Lunara held her ground, “I accept that.” Another tear slipped its way to the ground. Her hand instinctually rose to wipe it away, and with a twitch of determination, her gaze came to meet his, steady as her father loomed inches away. “And I accept my responsibility to bring her back. Alive.”

A breath passed between them before she continued, "I don’t know if they’ll stop here. Likely not. But if they press on without meeting resistance now, won’t they seal their fate and give us every reason to return with stronger justification?”

"You also taught me to choose battles wisely, Father. To strike when the advantage is ours. If we can warn others before they’re surprised and then return ready for a fair fight, won’t we protect more than just our pride and our land?"

The sounds of Goma cats began to rise, as did the mobs. The Agha's gomas were not taking lightly trespassers about to enter their kingdom. One of the guards had Mahal's hounds inside before the mob gained more ground.

Ruslan reddened in the face... then his shoulders slacked. His dark eyes lingered on Lunara's strength and ideals contrasting with his own. His pride gnawed at him before he swallowed it. "We don't know if she's alive, but I see I can't change your mind. I'll be keeping an eye on you. If anything happens... I will not show mercy."

He turned to walk away then paused, adding. "Don't let your attachments make you weak. Your sister isn't the heir to the plantation, you are. And if your enemies know she is your weakness... they will use that to take everything, including your life, from you."

Selim looked from Ruslan's departure to her, worry clear on his face. "I still insist on coming with you."

"If anything happens, I wouldn't expect you to." Lunara acknowledged her father's warning.

Looking to Selim, who too pushed his way into the situation only to be met by Lunara, "You can't. Onaona needs you, and the rest of the family needs you; without you, they won't survive. If the mages go after them, you'll thank me you were there to protect the ones we care about against them."

Selim wanted to argue, but he didn't. She was right, "Ok Lunara, once we're clear of the plantation we'll meet you in Ceboyan." Lunara nodded with respect, and her eyes softly embraced his, "Thank you, Selim, for your enduring loyalty to this family."

A Heartfelt Speech

****

She turned to face the door. Supok and Puno were at the door, standing at attention. The gomas continued to hiss, and the mob sustained their chants.

As Lunara stepped out into the yard. She could feel her heart rate begin to rise. The sweat built in her palms. Supok and Puno followed. As she made it halfway, the servants of Agha began to gather.

"Each of you, time and time again, have shown my family your loyalty. Each of you worked these lands and made your place here. Today, you deserve to be heard - you deserve a choice. No debt of loyalty binds you here if your heart calls for change. You may go now, through these gates, to stand with those who chant for freedom. Or, if you seek another path, you may leave toward Ceboyan and find your future there. The choice is yours today; I hold you to nothing but your own will."

She let her words settle, the silence heavy as her gaze shifted to the shouting crowd of rebels beyond the gate. She stepped closer, her chin lifted in quiet defiance.

“People of Palapar!” she called, her voice cutting through their chants. “You demand justice and freedom from those who have ruled too long and taken too much. I hear your cries, and today I stand not as a daughter of Virang, but as one woman facing many. If justice is truly what you seek, let me stand before you and speak. You have claimed to fight for honor—give me the same, or show yourselves as those you claim to rise against.”

The workers of Agha regarded each other, most holding whatever improvised weapons they could out of fear, necessity, or simply because it seemed the thing to do. They shifted uncomfortably. They murmured. Some talked. Some hid behind others. Some gripped their weapons more tightly.

Across from them was a swarm of people: their countrymen and women, armed - for the most part - similarly. Yet, where the serfs of Agha plantation seemed mostly to lack conviction, to be uncertain of their next move, there was no such issue with their counterparts.

Then, Lunara addressed them. At first, they chanted over her. Some hissed or shouted her down. A man in a black mask stood in the background, arms crossed and emanating the power of the Gift.

"Don't lecture us, rich bitch!" shouted one.

"Ayyy, we won't hurt yuh's," another promised, "long as yuh stay out of our way!"

Most, however, heard her words. Some even listened. They listened as some of the peasants of Agha plantation opened their arms in embrace: to seldom-seen relatives and friends, to others who had struggled as they had, to people who now sung songs of their home - songs that they had never shared with the Virangish. They listened as some lowered their makeshift weapons and walked over and as more remained. Whatever the case, they did not harm Lunara, however.

Meanwhile, some ways away, in the forest, a goma cat ran. A secret that screamed to be let out could no longer be contained, and Kalingnan was not, ultimately, remote or defensible enough for such a nascent movement. Being tied to this place could very well mean its end before it truly had the chance to germinate. As Mahal lay on a bed of grasses beneath the tangled trees, the masked Volto spoke with his closest confidantes. He spoke of these things as he waited for her to stir.

Lunara held her ground as the cacophony of hisses, jeers, and defiant promises rumbled against her like a crashing wave. She took a breath, then stepped forward again, projecting her voice through her sonic Gift so that it pierced the crowd’s furious hum.

“Here we are, standing as equals." She called, gesturing to the servants behind her. "Many of them, like you, have toiled in the shadows, hands raw, back bent. Some have chosen to leave to join you. Others remain. And as for me?" She paused, letting the silence spread, her fierce gaze concealing the reality of her twisting stomach. "I am not here to stop you but to face you."

She opened her arms "without violence." Her arms lowered, and she gestured to the workers of Agha around her, "We all want change, but at what cost? If blood is shed now, we may set a path that never finds peace. We may find only more violence, more families torn apart, more freedom snatched from the last breaths of those who will needlessly die in this conflict."

Her eyes met the masked man in the crowd, sensing his silent power, "do all of you believe violence will be the answer to your cause? Is it the blood you want, or is it a future? If it's a future, then we stand on common ground. If it's blood...then we only set fire to our hopes to build something more than what is today."

Lunara's stomach eased and aligned with conviction in her message, "I came out here to speak because I believe we stand on common ground. I want to help peacefully birth freedom in Palapar and create a political force, a foundation by which all of you secure your freedom by law and not by force. I want to bring you to the table."

Speeches. Words and not action. Most of them had heard speeches before: promising this change or that improvement or some better deal. Little ever came of speeches. Maybe the people who spoke them did not mean them; maybe they meant what they said but did not have the power to follow through on their promises. Maybe they were silenced by others. As speeches went, this wasn't a bad one.

It was a smaller man who spoke for the others and they parted and quieted somewhat for him to do so. His voice was a bass rumble. "The problem here is that the mantle of the violent party is always hung around the neck of the aggrieved," he said, and it was clear that this man was no mere farmhand. He was educated. "The oppressor controls all of the tools of state. He first controls the executive and uses that to legalize his ownership of the purse strings of the economy and to appoint the judiciary." The man shook his head. "He uses his control over the former to enrich himself, that he might live better than his fellow man and have the resources at hand to make his voice heard over theirs. He uses his control over the latter to delegitimize any challenges to his authority and, if they arise, he is now justified in sending in the military to enforce a monopoly on violence in support of his position and against that of the people he oppresses. Perhaps he might make some conciliatory speech if he senses that the threat could fester, but he doesn't need to follow through because he has such advantage that he can suppress the people's anger through the mere spreading of his word and the illusion of positive outcome that creates."

The man shook his head. "You see, the problem is that you've never had those empty words directed at you. You've never lived 'violence' from our side of things." He snorted. "Why, our entire lives have been violence. Every day is some new violence. Oh," he admitted, "it isn't as flashy as the killing of some merchants poaching our land's resources. It isn't as brazen as the firing of bullets into your plantation, but it kills far more. It works them until their bodies break at half the age yours do." He crossed his arms. "It cuts off their hands if they steal, which they risk rather than starving. It breaks down their doors in the middle of the night and hauls them away for threatening the monopoly in some arbitrary or innocuous way, just in case. It takes their lands and homes and businesses under pretext of legality and leaves them to either sell themselves to Virangish masters or live rough until they die."

A few of the others around him nodded and voiced their agreement. "And if they choose the former and subsequently try to flee, it cuts off half of their feet so that they may not. If they choose the latter, they are criminals and dogs to be hunted, or else at the mercy of the elements. So, you see," he concluded, "the violence, Virangishwoman, did not originate with us. It came first from you. We are merely responding and now, you say, we should not do that. We should trust you that it will be different this time if we but lay down our arms and hand you back your monopoly on violence. You will stand with us. You will advocate for us. You will change things with your 'foundation'." He arched an eyebrow. "Rousing sentiments, to be sure, but forgive me if I am a skeptic. Perhaps you even mean your words, but you are not queen, and we Palaparese have bled plenty already. If the spilling of more blood is what is needed to free this land, then you will find many who will not flinch from it."

Perhaps the others, less educated, did not understand all of his eloquent speech, but this man was one of them, and they knew enough. Most cheered for him and many regarded Lunara with equal skepticism.

Speeches. Words and not action. Most of them had heard speeches before: promising this change or that improvement or some better deal. Little ever came of speeches. Maybe the people who spoke them did not mean them; maybe they meant what they said but did not have the power to follow through on their promises. Maybe they were silenced by others. As speeches went, this wasn't a bad one.

It was a smaller man who spoke for the others and they parted and quieted somewhat for him to do so. His voice was a bass rumble. "The problem here is that the mantle of the violent party is always hung around the neck of the aggrieved," he said, and it was clear that this man was no mere farmhand. He was educated. "The oppressor controls all of the tools of state. He first controls the executive and uses that to legalize his ownership of the purse strings of the economy and to appoint the judiciary." The man shook his head. "He uses his control over the former to enrich himself, that he might live better than his fellow man and have the resources at hand to make his voice heard over theirs. He uses his control over the latter to delegitimize any challenges to his authority and, if they arise, he is now justified in sending in the military to enforce a monopoly on violence in support of his position and against that of the people he oppresses. Perhaps he might make some conciliatory speech if he senses that the threat could fester, but he doesn't need to follow through because he has such advantage that he can suppress the people's anger through the mere spreading of his word and the illusion of positive outcome that creates."

The man shook his head. "You see, the problem is that you've never had those empty words directed at you. You've never lived 'violence' from our side of things." He snorted. "Why, our entire lives have been violence. Every day is some new violence. Oh," he admitted, "it isn't as flashy as the killing of some merchants poaching our land's resources. It isn't as brazen as the firing of bullets into your plantation, but it kills far more. It works them until their bodies break at half the age yours do." He crossed his arms. "It cuts off their hands if they steal, which they risk rather than starving. It breaks down their doors in the middle of the night and hauls them away for threatening the monopoly in some arbitrary or innocuous way, just in case. It takes their lands and homes and businesses under pretext of legality and leaves them to either sell themselves to Virangish masters or live rough until they die."

A few of the others around him nodded and voiced their agreement. "And if they choose the former and subsequently try to flee, it cuts off half of their feet so that they may not. If they choose the latter, they are criminals and dogs to be hunted, or else at the mercy of the elements. So, you see," he concluded, "the violence, Virangishwoman, did not originate with us. It came first from you. We are merely responding and now, you say, we should not do that. We should trust you that it will be different this time if we but lay down our arms and hand you back your monopoly on violence. You will stand with us. You will advocate for us. You will change things with your 'foundation'." He arched an eyebrow. "Rousing sentiments, to be sure, but forgive me if I am a skeptic. Perhaps you even mean your words, but you are not queen, and we Palaparese have bled plenty already. If the spilling of more blood is what is needed to free this land, then you will find many who will not flinch from it."

Perhaps the others, less educated, did not understand all of his eloquent speech, but this man was one of them, and they knew enough. Most cheered for him and many regarded Lunara with equal skepticism.

Lunara observed a small man emerge from the crowd. She listened intently, composed and somber, as the man laid bare the suffering of those around her. His words, powerful and direct, her convictions challenged, making it clear that speeches alone would not sway them. When he finished, she nodded.

"I hear you," she said softly, then raising her voice so it might carry through the crowd.

"And I won't stand here pretending I know the full depth of what you've lived, the violence that's been inflicted on you every day. I recognize I've been shielded since birth from it. But that's why I'm here-not to lecture, not to pacify, but to understand the truth of what's brought us to this moment."

She took a steadying breath. It may have been her naivety or her idealism or fear of what might happen if they decided to break the gate, but nonetheless, she continued, "You're right. It's easy to make promises, to offer speeches and solutions from a distance. And the things you describe executive, the judiciary, the economic control- admit I do not understand them, yet they sound to punish dissent if they act as you say they do, to keep power out of the hands of the people. So, I don't fault you for doubting my words or my intentions."

She gestured to the workers of Agha around her, some of whom had lowered their weapons, others still uncertain. "But look around at these faces, at those who have chosen to stand with me today, even if they're unsure of what's right, and as I admit, I do not know the best course, but I know we're caught between forces that are too powerful for any one of us to control alone."

Lunara took a deep inhale, collecting herself and letting the message hang. "And I see that for you, bloodshed feels like the only answer. But if we choose that path, if we cut each other down today, what power do we build with tomorrow?"

Her attention turned to the crowd, "I'm not asking you to trust me yet. Trust is earned in action as you rightfully point out, not in words. I'm not asking you to hand back anything either-I'm only asking that we build a new power together. A foundation that isn't made in my name or for my benefit, but to raise your voices from the streets to the world, protecting them in a way that no single leader or ruling class can erase."

Her gaze returning back to the smaller man, "I may not be queen, but I am willing to leverage every connection, every ounce of influence I have to make this more than empty words. I offer to you a beginning together to shape Palapar. I offer a way to lead that doesn't force us to lose more lives than we already have. We must think of those who come after, those who will carry the burden of our choices today."

She paused, letting the sincerity of her words settle. "I want to work with you, side by side, to return what has been taken from you." Her voice softened, "If that is not enough for some if blood is the only path forward, then I won't stop you. But know this: I stood here today not to pacify you, but to build with you. Consider the power we could create- more than a resistance-but laws, economy, and a future we can share."

The man who had spoken so eloquently tilted his head. "You speak convincingly," he admitted, "and I can believe that you mean your words." He shook his head. "But the powers that you are up against won't care for your rhetoric or your moral appeals." The mob had quieted somewhat and were paying close attention to the exchange. "They are greedy and cruel, and that includes your beloved father."

They stood across from each other, though the divide was not so great. "It is simple, Lady Agha," the small man decided, "You wish to accomplish our goals with a velvet glove, but we have tried that before and been dismissed and disappeared." He crossed his arms. "That velvet glove will accomplish nothing unless it sheathes an iron fist within."

Lunara nodded slowly, her gaze meeting the man’s tone serious and steady.

"I understand," she replied. "You're right. The powers we're up against, the greed, the cruelty... they won't bow to moral arguments or quiet negotiation. And as for my father, I won't deny his acts to protect his power and wealth, even at the cost of others suffering." Her mind snapped to the note, even at the cost of family's suffering.

Her head lowered slightly as she inhaled deeply, choosing her next words carefully. Raising her chin before speaking, "I am not against slipping the velvet glove over the iron fist. I recognize if we want change, real change, we'll need a force strong enough to move the powers above if we intend they take us seriously." She paused and scanned the entire crowd, "Your acts are justified, but your execution reveals that iron fist too early. It gives easily too many reasons for those powers to break it immediately. I stand before you to conceal it for the right moments, to cause a greater reaction where the powers that be are first forced to question their own reason before yours."

Her face hardened slightly as she continued, "Together, an iron fist and a velvet glove that fits. Let's build and break. Let's use our words and our strengths. Let's tear down what is wrong and raise what is right."

She gestured to her workers, both her own and those who had joined the mob. "These people deserve a future where they can work with dignity, instead of under the whip of fear. I offer my resolve, alliance, and commitment to give your demands weight. Do we have an understanding?"

By this time those who would've left the Agha Manor had done so. The message was rushing off between the messenger and Miray. Lunara and possibly her father, with some loyal guards, were likely all that was left on the property.

...Fin?

*****

So it was that the exchange was a peaceful one. Twenty-two of the Agha's indentured crossed the lines. The rebels who had stood at their gates did not put down their weapons and did not agree to stop, but they departed soon after, tempered, perhaps, by Lunara's words.

It was a triumph.

Agha stood strong in the face of a rebellion. Ruslan yet drew breath. Tanyag had been saved from death and his message was, this moment, on its way to Ceboyan. The plantation's walls, though damaged, had not been breached.

To Mahal, however, was left the final piece of the puzzle. It fell to her to engineer a convincing escape or release from the clutches of the revolutionaries. It fell to her to withstand her father's wrath, assuage her sister's worries, and mine Ren Baykara for information, all without arousing suspicion.

The rebels faded into the jungle, their destination unknown... for now.

Strained Kinship

*

Location: Agha Plantation, Coffee Fields
Date: a few days after Kalingnan

---

When Mahal’s fingers found the knot in her hair, she paused. She lowered her fingers into the water and then came back to the knot. Carefully, she began to work at untangling it as she brushed it straight. She gritted her teeth with each tug on her scalp while the hair came undone. Her mind reflected on that day and the ones to follow. When the tethered informed the masked man of the messenger’s absence, the plan had changed from hostage exchange to escape. Using chemical and kinetic schools, Mahal inflicted self-wounds to avoid suspicion. Far from life threatening, they still followed a pattern upon closer inspection. She hoped Lunara hadn’t noticed during her haste to heal.

Some time afterwards, Mahal had snuck into her father’s study for a map and marked it. She left it in a tree outside, instructing the tethered of its location, before returning to bed. It was gone by morning. In a few days, she’ll know if they had picked her location as she needed to check on Sikuaq.

A pain rippled across her scalp when she ripped a tangled knot free. Her fingers held it before her causing her to frown and apply binding to numb the area. Once she finished with her hair, the girl got dressed and exited her room. She stepped slowly and lightly, aware of her surroundings. If she could make it beyond the property…

Her heart stopped when she felt a familiar pressure of mana being drawn.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Ceren… or should I call you, Mahal?” The venom in his voice chilled her blood.

“Who?” Mahal turned to face her father, spotting the fury glowing in his glare. Her breath caught in her throat and heart threatened to escape her ribcage. Selim wasn’t here to distract or heal her. Her fingers curled into fists as she braced for the approaching storm.

“Don’t act foolish with me. Lunara revealed it when she worried over you of all things.” His lip curled at the thought, his form towering over the girl.

Mahal’s eyes stayed on him, her spine straightening against the pressure. Seeing it having no effect, Ruslan ceased and continued. “Lunara should’ve known it was a waste sending you out there. You couldn’t even accomplish your task before you were caught.”

“You think I wanted that to happen? It just… happened.” Mahal snapped back, her temper rising. Impulsively, her hand lingered near one of her daggers.

What had she done?

The Agha plantation had transformed, and Lunara, along with it. She lay on her bed, counting the ceiling marks- was it worth it? Tears slid down her soft cheeks. Her mind retracing the last 72 hours. Her instincts to save her family clawed her out of a pack of wolves and into a den of vipers. She knew her people too well. Some would see giving freedom to those who deserved it worthwhile; others would target her as threatening their position. Lunara felt utterly lost in the transition; she felt alone.

Lunara pushed herself up from the bed, the familiar weight of her body feeling foreign against the mattress—it was softer than she remembered, and the walls seemed to close in more tightly around her. The air in her room was thick, suffocating, as if the space had shrunk under the weight of recent days. She crossed the room, her hand brushing lightly over the doorframe before gripping the knob. With a slow turn, she opened the door, stepping into the quiet, cavernous halls of the manor.

Her feet moved on instinct, carrying her down the grand staircase, but each step felt heavier; the weight of the past clung to her ankles like chains shackled to stones. The home assumed a hollowness that Lunara couldn't shake. The walls bore scars—holes from gunfire—each one a gaping wound in her mind. They stared back at her, unblinking, like the eyes of a thousand demons.

As she neared the drawing room, the world around her blurred, and the visceral clarity of that day returned in sharp, unforgiving detail. She could see the messenger collapsing, his lifeblood pooling faster than they could stop it. Her father, once so imperious, his voice commanding, now silent as crimson bloomed across his chest and splattered the walls.

Her breathing quickened. The silence of the manor was deceptive; in her mind, it was deafening, filled with echoes of gunfire, the sharp crack of bullets splitting wood, the desperate cries of those caught in the chaos. The weight in her chest tightened as she moved toward the open front door.

She stopped at the threshold, her fingers brushing the frame as if grounding herself in the present. The dawn stretched before her, soft and indifferent, offering none of the solace she had hoped for. She drew in a deep breath, her lungs expanding painfully. As the air filled her, she realized the truth that had haunted her since she woke: this place, this home, once vast and secure, now felt impossibly small, its walls unable to contain the enormity of what had happened within them—or the weight of her promise.

Then she heard the bout of voices lashing back and forth. A father and a daughter counting the days the other would die. Rather, Lunara couldn't hear it, she could sense it. Her sister's mana bubbling in moments of fear and anxiety. She could feel it so intensely that it capsized everything else. Following her senses, Lunara captured Ruslan and Mahal outside. Mahal is in a defensive posture while her father aggressively presses forward.

"Stop!" Lunara commanded. Both of their heads twisted to their surprise as Lunara's voice caused a pressure that, if tested, might have snapped the neck of a wild beast. A resonance Lunara didn't recognize.

A pain swelled in her heart, to see her family standing at what appeared to be odds after nearly being stripped of their lives days earlier. The family she made promises to save by sacrificing herself to fight a political battle against Virang's elites. Her teeth were as sharp as were her words.

“Have you both lost your senses?” she snapped, her voice slicing through their quarrel.“After everything—after nearly dying to keep this family and estate from crumbling—you stand here, about to tear each other apart as if the enemy isn’t already at our gates?” She glared between them, her words biting. “What in Oraff’s name could possibly be worth this now?”

Upon hearing Lunara's shout, Mahal watched her father's next reply die on his lips. Her hand retracted from her blade as she straightened upright. However, her sister's words continued to lash at her pride. From the coffee plants nearby, her hounds trotted into view and stood by her legs. Despite her sister's worries, Mahal knew the threat had passed thanks to her. For now.

"I was merely noting how she preferred a different than the one she was gifted at birth. Then the conversation turned to what she learned, or rather didn't, after her escape." Ruslan turned to face his favored daughter and twisted the truth slightly.

Mahal's lips pressed tightly together, but said nothing. Her father knew how to twist a narrative to his advantage. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and then pivoted on her heel. Her canines swiftly followed her attempt to escape the conversation.

Lunara's eyes dropped down, "Twice." her tone between silk and steel.

"Twice, you've chosen to lie." Her eyes raised with an icy gaze. "And these are the only one's I can account for." Her teeth clenched, fist balled, "How many more have you told?" The rhetorical sentiment in her question was evident.

"At the most crucial time of our healing, after saving your life, you've chosen again to lie." She paused and approached only steps away from her father,.

"Do you think I can't see you, Ruslan? The lies, the façade - you wear them like armor. Since I've been home, I chose to look away. I believed there was a truth between the gaps in your lies. I believed you would begin to change after what happened three days ago, yet here you stand, lying again. Your armor is cracked now. Your blood on the walls of our manor proves it. You're not the one who saved our home. I am. You didn't make the hard choices or sacrifices to keep this place from becoming a slaughterhouse. That was me. All you did was throw a few spells with a wish to inflame the circumstances. You even criticized my decisions when you weren't willing to make any of your own. I carried this home in the face of war. And I won't let you stand here and lie to me any longer. You're either with me, or you're against me. Do you understand?"

Lunara wasn't tall, but her presence grew tenfold as she lectured her father about who was commanding the Agha estate from now on. Between the ominous letter, Ruslan's behavior, and his aggression toward her and her sister, Lunara was no longer willing to remain silent or push his antics aside. She would be taking the reins for the consequences of failing to deliver her promise, which meant the people of Palapar would return to her family's home and burn it with good reason.

As Lunara finished her lecture, her head snapped in Mahal's direction as she attempted to evade the family meeting, "Where do you think you're going?"

Ruslan's nostrils flared when her accusations turned on him. He stood in place while his daughter threw her fit and lashed at him. Once her childish tantrum died, he let the brief silence cool the tensions. His eyes flicked to the side of his gaze before they returned to her. "I've only done what is necessary to protect you, this family and our legacy. It is something you will eventually learn."

He didn't deny or admit anything. Instead, he moved to the next important part. "I did offer a different solution, but you had already sent out Ceren. We could've held down this place for a month until help arrived. However, you had another plan and despite the criticism, I didn't interfere, did I?"

"Away from here. Nothing I say matters anyways." Mahal stated, not bothering to stop.

Lunara barked at her sister, "Not true!"

Then she turned her sights back to Ruslan.

"I'm going to make this clear. I know what you are. You've done what's in your best interest for your legacy." Her eyes were burning, her voice cold.

"The real lesson you taught me. Not duty. Not honor. Just self-preservation wrapped in lies." She turned sharply, disgust lacing her words.

"You didn't offer a solution-you laid a trap. Your grand plan? To dig in while Palapar's fury pounded at our gates. Hope we'd outlast it, hope I'd fail so you could play savior." Her voice dropped into a venomous snarl. "But it wasn't your strength that kept this place standing. It was my will. My fight. And that wound bleeding out your arrogance."

Lunara turned her back to Ruslan, to Mahal, and began to approach her.

Ruslan’s lips pressed tightly together, the storm brewing beneath his mask. His fingers tightened into fists before he forced them to relax. He’d not stand here and be insulted. With a deep breath, he twisted about and began to depart for the main house. His words lashed back in his wake. “It was better than throwing our lives away. One day, you will learn that things are far more complicated than you realize. Until then, I will do what I‌ must to ensure this house survives.”

Mahal continued to increase the distance from her family. Her bare feet dug into the ground and crushed the leaves under foot. The last thing she wanted was to fight with her father and his outdated values. She retorted back toward Lunara. “Not worth it.”

Lunara stepped beside her sister, "You're right, he isn't." She kept up with Mahal's pace. "You know, we never got a chance to talk about what happened three days ago," her voice gently pressed.

Her hand falling to grab her sister's, "May I ask you a question?" Given the opportunity, Lunara would ask, "what happened out there?"

Hearing her sister’s steps come in from behind her, Mahal slowed her pace slightly. Her anger began to shimmer down now that their father had disappeared. Then Lunara’s question came. She tensed at the words and her eyes flickered in her sister’s direction. She had two choices: tell the truth or lie. Each one held their own consequence.

A moment of silence passed when she replied. “I was ambushed when I got close to the attackers. Attempted to kill one, but I forgot about the tethered. Tried to run back. Most of it is still pretty hazy, but I recall a man wearing a mask.”

Mahal shrugged at the information she shared. It was part of the truth, but many of the details were left out. She moved on quickly to a different topic. “How did you stop the mob from storming the gates? Or keep Father from slaughtering them?”

Lunara replied, “my voice,” cracking a smile. “Apparently I said the right things that disarmed the mob and had them change their tone, including our father.”

Lunara slid her hand down to Mahal’s and clasped, “I’m sorry I put you in danger, I’m happy you are okay.” Her eyes were wide and sincere.

“About what happened, are you able to walk me through from the time you left the estate to when it gets hazy?”

Lunara was searching for a story, not a summary.

Mahal slowed when she felt Lunara's hand take hers. Her fingers wrapped about her sister's fingers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Of course, I forgot who I was talking to."

She meant no insult from her words. It was simply how things were. Ever since they were children, her half sister's very presence demanded attention. Most days it felt as if she was blessed by their ancestors and left none for her. A serpent of jealousy reared its fangs and bit her, spreading its venom into her veins.

Pushing it to the side, Mahal brushed off the apology. "Not sure why you're sorry. We each have our own roles to play. Yours is to eventually run the family. Mine is doing the dangerous stuff and staying out of the way. Not much has changed since we were kids."

Hearing the request again, she frowned. "How much more detail do you need? I don't know what they hit me with, and I barely recall going down. I've already had this discussion with Father and he made it clear about his thoughts."

"I am sorry because I should have been more thoughtful in how we could have had you run the dangerous stuff." Lunara squeezed back. She didn't apologize for their roles but for her carelessness in acting before thinking.

Lunara had put her sister in a disadvantageous position in the jungle against their attackers, and it wasn't necessary. She recognized that her responsibility was to protect her family and the estate but not at the expense of exposing them to unnecessary risk. Instead, patience and decisiveness were the more appropriate path and imminent lessons learned.

She could hear the defensiveness in Mahal's voice as Mahal brought up their father.

Stepping back to give Mahal her space, Lunara could sense the defensiveness in Mahal's voice. The word father never left Mahal's mouth with ease. As to not test her sister's patience and tolerance, Lunara nodded, "I understand. You've shared all you could, thank you."

Mahal's gaze shifted toward Lunara, noting her sister pull away. Her temper had always been a wall to others. Anger toward her helplessness and weakness, no matter what she did it never mattered. She often wondered what it might be like to be on the other side of being a constant failure where her sister stood. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more. "

A moment of silence passed between the siblings before Mahal added. "I will always fight to protect you and my family. No matter what. Now you should get back to the house before Dalma starts to worry over your absence. If I recall anything, I will seek you out first."
Lunara's arms dropped, more? Her eyes tilted to the ground, a tear perhaps, or sweat from the humid climate dropped from her cheek.

"You gave your life." Her voice firm and on the edge of breaking. "What more could I ask of you?" Lunara's head rolled up, her eyes narrowing on Mahal. She let the question hang in there for a moment as she walked by her sister.

Right as she was shoulder to shoulder Lunara spoke, "I trust you will." She kept along the path and headed back to the estate.

[Emeth]

That's Amore

---

---

It was Ardanes, now: well into Rezain. The days were a little bit shorter and the nights a little bit cooler. In truth, it was a welcome reprieve from Dorrad's searing heat. They sat on the balcony of a handsome townhome in Cantativa, away from the hustle of Civitalunga or Avincia, with one platter of bruschetta and another of fritto misto. There was a bottle of red wine on the table and a great full Ciero in the sky.

Ciro Volta sat across from the woman he would marry, trying to eat like a gentleman. He had business to discuss, but food was to be enjoyed first. There was no need to sour the taste of it. "I could tell you something like, 'that's my mother's recipe'," he chuckled, "but I think neither of us would be afraid of the truth. It comes from the kitchen of a poor woman in Farrodiné who was well compensated and is a bit less poor now." He smiled appreciatively as he chewed.

Xiuyang sat across from her lover, clothed in her finest silks. The first time they'd spoken, she had worn a mask. Then, she'd borrowed her sister's face, and thought he wouldn't notice. Then, she'd decided to learn how to apply makeup, almost from scratch. Now, there were just a few precise and gentle touches. Slowly, over time, her face had become more visible, her smile easier and more confident, more genuine.

It had also made her face easier to read. A smile could mean many things, and her smiles were becoming easier to tell apart—a product of their time spent together as much as it was the girl's heart mending. The smile Ciro saw now was a happy and contented one. She was admiring him as much as she was admiring the food. It was no secret that she loved his generosity and good taste.

"My compliments to our chef. I'll savor this moment to her success. It looks delightful." She had her chopsticks ready—was it poor manners to eat Revidian food with chopsticks? Surely Ciro wouldn't mind. She seemed to be in a similar conundrum to her beloved: how to eat this bruschetta like a proper lady. The chef may have been poor, but the ingredients were quality and not used sparingly. Her attempt at a ladylike nibble ended with a small dab of tomato sauce on her nose, to which she snickered before wiping it off and taking a more adventurous second bite. All was well. She would enjoy the food for several minutes before the wine would even cross her mind. She hardly drank these days.

Ciro tried to bend the bruschetta slightly, to make it concave. He'd have ended up feeding the table and his lap had he not caught the pieces with kinetic magic. He made a makeshift heart shape out of them in the air. "Did you realize there would be this much cheese when you sat down tonight?" he asked.

Xiuyang rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Big Cheese," she replied, responding to one double-meaning phrase with another.

"And this is why I love you," Ciro remarked, holding out the bottle of wine and arching an eyebrow questioningly. He shook his head as he poured. "Many other reasons, too, of course." Two full moons loomed large in the sky. The waters of the Green Canal shimmered under their light. "But you are the partner I need: the one who I don't have to act seriously around, the one I don't need to explain my jokes to."

His face turned pensive, then, and perhaps a bit troubled. "I know the nature of my family, and some of that of yours." He regarded the deep red liquid in his glass before his eyes snapped upwards, finding hers. "Promise me that we will never let them use us or turn us against each other." He fairly bled anxiety into the night.

Xiuyang nodded at the offer of wine, taking up her glass and holding it out for Ciro to fill. A light blush formed on her cheeks, another perk of the lighter use of makeup. The feeling of ease and safety was mutual. She was glad to hear of it.

The night moved forward as smoothly as the boats in the canal, but something was about to rock their boat. Dark clouds were brewing, and Xiuyang moved to shoo them away with all the authority of a Zeno welcoming a new year of students to the school. Nothing and no one would intrude on this moment.

"Never," she agreed, soberly and with a kind of held-back intensity. "I swear it. ...It's not my sister, is it?" she suggested preemptively. Desi's husband had chosen her over Maria or Xiuyang, and Maria's jealousy would flare up from time to time. Her charms had not worked on him, and they'd likely not worked on Ciro either, but she had to be sure.

Ciro shrugged almost... evasively, and glanced out over the canals. "Well, I get a bad read from her: bitterness." He shook his head. "Grasping." He pursed his lips. "A desire to move up." He tapped the table with a finger. "My uncle was the same way, and it cost me my father. Oldest tale in the world."

The food was all-but finished. He'd timed it that way. Telling her more about himself would build trust with Xiuyang, and that was something that he needed. In truth, the family's mercantile ventures were not as profitable as they had once been. Trade was moving, increasingly, to the oceans instead of the Ensollian and Revidia hadn't a ghost of a route there. Banking was the future. The Solaris could keep the ships.

And yet... he found that he did not see them as enemies. He did not want to ruin them, not in any way, unless they acted first. There was no such thing as a wealthy merchant in Revidia who had not stabbed backs or cut throats, figuratively and, in an indirect sense, literally. Ciro was just shy of his eighteenth birthday and still not fully in control of the Volta Company, but he had ruined people. He'd had men killed. He'd been utterly ruthless. "Amore mio," he said softly, as a sonic bubble took shape around the pair, "he didn't work alone. There is another who must pay Ecceran's price." He glanced down at the blood red wine in his glass and then back up at Xiuyang, mysteriously, searchingly, darkly.

Xiuyang was about to crack a joke about how Ciro had just described most noblewomen when he'd suddenly dropped the bombshell. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine..." The words felt hollow in her mouth as she gazed into her wine. In many horrible nightmares, she had seen Juulet come for her family. She had seen the church come for her family, led by any one of the students who knew that she was a Facemimic and claimed to be her friend. But, to be betrayed by her own blood? It was unthinkable. Even Maria, for all her bluster, would never dare to pull the trigger, because—

Xiuyang felt the familiar presence of a sonic bubble as Ciro addressed her so fondly, so softly. She wanted nothing more than to move to his side, but the weight of his words kept her in her seat, engaged in the careful dance of discussing matters of great import while appearing to have only a casual conversation. The conflict played out on her face as her eyes grew in their intensity and her appetite for wine along with them.

After a longer drink, she placed her wine glass down, but not for a refill. She tented her fingers. "We Solari have an understanding with one another. We wear many faces, and we each have our own hopes and dreams, but we are all one 'Solari.' He who makes an enemy of one, makes an enemy of all." Her eyes flicked to meet Ciro's, shimmering like the reflection of the moons in the canal below. "Who broke your heart, amore mio?"

Ciro listened and he wasn't certain, to be truthful, though he did not entirely let this show. "We Volta are, in theory, much the same... or at least, we were."

He drank no more, for he was master of himself. "It is l'Anguilla himself, though he is not aware that I know, so far as I can tell." He picked at his last bit of food idly - poor manners, to be certain, but he could relax that way in front of Xiuyang. "And now he comes to me," the merchant prince continued, "with a task that I know is a trap, but which I cannot completely refuse, lest I lay bare my suspicions and allow him to wonder if I know still more." He twisted to reach into his satchel, left beside his chair under the moonlight, but he paused. "I will admit, it is an intriguing thing, and I welcome your insight on it."

Xiuyang's face blanched. Her blood turned cold. "...The Doge himself..?" She looked upon Ciro with eyes that didn't want to believe what her ears were hearing. "How could this happen..? Should we..?" Her voice trailed off as she at once considered and dismissed every option that came to mind. Tell her father? No. He had told her quite young never to tangle with the Eel, but when asked by innocent young eyes if the Doge was a "bad man," he had replied only that people were more complicated than simply being good or bad.

Should they flee Revidia? No. The keys to the future they were building together were here, and the future of all Constantia stood to gain from their success. There was too much on the line to let one man stand in the way, even if that man was the Doge himself.

Kill the Doge? It seemed the height of madness. The kind of chaos that would result... but Ciro knew this. He knew, and setting aside whether or not they should, the fact of the matter was that Xiuyang could not, even if she tried. He was not asking her to commit treason, any more than Seviin had been suggesting that she kill Juulet. Ciro was simply stating facts, for the time being, and she trusted his judgment.

She did not cast judgment on him for killing his uncle, for the penalty of betraying one's own blood could only be death. So it was for the Solari, and so she imagined it must be so for the Volta.

"What is the nature of this task? This trap of his?" she asked, holding back the true heat of her emotions, but not the presence of them. "If he plots ill against you, I will bring those plans to ruin. Every fiber of my being, every tool at my disposal. I'll hold nothing back. Please, let me help you," she pleaded, reaching across the table for his hand. She knew that Ciro had been bearing his burdens alone while she had been making him to share hers. It was unfair, and she was making an effort to change it, but he had to let her in first.

Ciro lifted his glass of wine to his lips and drank. One could not see the lower half of his face. After a moment, however, he placed it back on the table, settled, and took Xiuyang's hand. He breathed deeply, twisting to pull a sealed envelope from his bag, though the seal was broken. "It says little," he remarked, extricating a folded letter from it, "though I know more, and he knows more than me, still. He held it out for her to see and opened it, letting her read and wonder before any commentary.

Dear Honourable Prospect,

Has your life taken a turn? Do you seek thrills you have long since desensitized yourself to? Or perhaps you wish to start anew?

Whatever your creed may be, one of Sipenta's mythical and lost marvels beckons the ambitious, curious and desperate alike. Deep in the frigid tundras lies the oldest gem of this world.

An expedition like none other in history to unearth a legend that can make dreams into tangible reality. A chance for a legacy. A chance for a new beginning. A new era.

The Abyssal Forge awaits you.
Signature: __x

Please send this letter through your local post office.

Xiuyang took the letter and inspected it. Anxiety gave way to confusion, which was always conveyed through her most amusing faces. "He... wants you to sign a letter and put it in the post," she assessed, deadpan, with a tone that suggested an anti-climax. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can something this shady-looking really be an important task from the Doge? This looks like bait for the desperate. Is he insulting you?" she asked, irritation evident on the curl of her lips. "A chance for a legacy, a new beginning." There was a time such words would have tempted her to action, but now, she saw them in a new light: manipulative.

But slowly, the clever girl's cogs began to turn, and after a moment, she gave her true assessment. "No, I get it. He wants to send you on some fool's errand so you'll be out of his hair. It means he is about to make a move you disapprove of, right?"

It wasn't quite right, but it wasn't quite wrong, either.

"But we have tricks he doesn't know about." When her eyes met Ciro's again, it was his own eyes that he saw looking back at him from within Xiuyang's face. It was only for a moment, but it was a little uncanny. "As I said, we are all one 'Solari.' If he requires 'you' to go away for a while, I can become 'you.' Someday, you might be able to become 'me' as well. Until then... while they aren't exactly pocket sized, they are 'portable.' The mirrors, Ciro. Being in two places at once isn't a dream for you, it's a reality!" Her hushed whispers got a little excited.

"I think he wants to have his cake and eat it, too," Ciro offered, leaning in conspiratorially and mouthing a small kiss. "At least, that's my impression." He smirked and leaned back again, sipping the last bit of his wine.

"There is something to the Abyssal Forge beyond the ability to create things: something strategic for him both personally and in the interest of Revidia." He pursed his lips. "I have done some digging and I think that the Tarlonese are connected to this. Minister Padovan's office has been unusually busy, but not Materazzi's or Barone's. Tartarelli has been salivating over the coming war for months, now, and Zappa is inscrutable as always. I think there is an effort to pull them over to our side, perhaps as counter to what the Torragonese have been up to lately with Virang."

He shrugged. "My take is that they need something there and can't get it, or need backup, and we stand to gain. If matters go well, then it is a clandestine operation but, if they go south, l'Anguilla will have cause to disavow whoever was involved." He sniffed. "It's me he's out for. We've been playing this shadow game for some time." Ciro examined the letter idly. "I could not live with myself if you stepped in and something happened."

"But then, what will you do? It's the same for me, you know. I can't imagine a future without you in it. ...No pressure." She squeezed his hand lightly, giving him a warm smile. Then, she narrowed her eyes in thought. "So, you're saying this isn't just some wild goose chase, but a real lead. You're also saying it might be dangerous, but here you are, asking for my opinion on our best course of action. If you had someone more capable than me that you could ask, I think you would have—and if I had someone like that, you'd have skipped the middle man. ...Well, it's me, so maybe you wouldn't." She weaved her fingers with Ciro's, playing with them a little.

"I trust you, Ciro, and I trust your judgment. I'd be in a lot of trouble if I didn't, since I'm something of an advisor of yours," she japed. "If you would rather I not go, then let me know how I can help, and what needs to be done while you're gone—but, I am willing to go on a little adventure. Considering everything that's happened, with the doppelganger of me that appeared in Qari'muuna and attacked Ingrid, and the incident in Palapar... maybe it'd be good for me to escape the public eye for a while, again, rather than become a distraction from the good you're trying to do." She sighed, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on the thought like she would've done before.

"Like I said, you can sign it and send me. I won't get cold feet. Or if you think it's too risky, or if there's some benefit to having the Doge know you sent me, I'll sign my name and go as myself. Do we know if anyone else will be there? Anyone we trust?" she asked curiously.

Ciro listened as she spoke, his attention - for all intents and purposes - undivided. "I believe we should test him, just slightly," he concluded. "If you would like to lose some heat, you should at least go as yourself." He tapped the tabletop rhythmically, pondering. "Change one element he anticipated and thought he would control." His eyes flicked from his tapping finger to Xiuyang. "See how he reacts."

Regardless of his discomfort, he flicked her the letter, eyes large and deep and settled upon her. "I love you, Salomé Solari." In the background, the crickets chirped and a fresh breeze blew up the hill from the ocean. "I will have someone ready - someone useful - to switch with you if you are in danger."

Xiuyang nodded in understanding. Ciro knew the Doge, and this was his move to play. With Xiuyang signing her name, she could be satisfied that they were keeping another of their cards hidden, as well. She had reached for her quill and was just about to sign the letter when Ciro reaffirmed his love for her. Her hand hesitated for what could've only been a fraction of a second before the deed was done.

The delivery was so serious, it could have been a final farewell, and if it were anyone else, she would have had second thoughts—but, she'd made a habit of putting her faith in this man, and watching as things worked out for the better. Now, while she was doing it again, he was also doing the same with her, and the weight of the moment was not lost on Xiuyang. She smiled warmly as he reassured her that she would have an out if things went south.

"And I love you, Ciro Volta. More than you could ever know."

---

---

"When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie... that's amore~♪"

"When the world seems to shine, like you've had too much wine... that's amore~♪"

Xiuyang sang softly to herself as she walked the dirt roads of some small town in Miatto, appearing to have no particular destination in mind. She had memorized the map several days ago, after all, and walked this road several times before. She had observed the shed in question and peered inside with the Gift, as she would do this time.

There was a sudden chill, and the inexplicable but all-too-familiar sensation of being watched. Was there a rustling of more than just the wind?

"When it's all on the line, but you're still feelin' fine~♪" she improvised, drawing a pistol, a smile forming as she brought the muzzle to her lips, like a finger shushing a partner in crime who was absent.

"What's that?" she spoke, rather than sang the line, as one would do to build drama in a musical.

She ducked around a corner, peering into an alley, her gun pointed at a barrel. A rat scurried. A homeless man coughed.

"Don't you see? Why couldn't it be?" she said as she looked around, to quell her nerves.

All was still in the night. Xiuyang tapped the barrel of her gun against her chin contemplatively, as though it were her finger, resting just outside the trigger guard.

"Yup! That's amore~♥" She smiled brightly.

She would continue on until she reached the rendezvous point, at which point the weight of the risk she was taking would hit her stomach like a ton of bricks. You promised you wouldn't get cold feet, she softly scolded herself. If your word means nothing even when given to Ciro, then... The rest didn't need to be said.

She bumped the door of the shed open with her shoulder. The first two times she had opened it, it creaked horribly. Last time she was here, she had ensured it would not do so again. She relied on her beanie to show her the truth, looking for any dark figures lying in wait. She saw nothing, however. Instead, she saw the static before she began to feel it crawl on her body. She tried to draw, but instead felt her knees grow weak as she lost her balance. It was in her mind, now, obscuring her vision along with the fog creeping inside the shed. It drowned out the all-consuming cacophony of the frogs nearby.

What... is this?! Is this magic? Is it an episode? I can't see... myself. Can't hear... Can't ...think...

"Ciro..." she mumbled as her eyes glazed over. "a... mo... r- re..." Her outstretched hand gave up its final twitch.