 
# A Dream's Bound: Destiny Shattered

By Akravel Tamire

Copyright 2019 Akravel Tamire

Smashwords Edition

This book is meant to be free! You are hereby encouraged to share it with as many people as you please. Just don't claim it as your own and/or try to sell it for money. Some services may charge a small token price for lack of a 'free' option, but if you paid for it and that wasn't the case, get your money back if at all possible!

**Disclaimer:** This work is fiction and only fiction. All names, characters, businesses and other entities described in this book are entirely imaginary; any resemblance to real life names, people, or businesses is purely coincidental. Also, I don't always sugarcoat things; some of the characters are horrible people who do horrible things and say horrible words while they're at it. Read at your own risk!

# Table of Contents

Arc 1: Optional Prophecies

Arc 2: Undead Languages

Arc 3: A Blinding Revelation

Arc 4: The Ends of Those Beginning

Arc 5: Dream of Tomorrow

Arc 6: Alien Shores

Arc 7: Parting Ways

Arc 8: World Asunder

Arc 9: Chasing Sunset

Arc 10: Rate of Revolution

Arc 11: Dawn's Hard Light

#  Arc 1: Optional Prophecies

Destiny... each place and time had its own word for it, but they all shared the concept: the unceasing march of time towards an inevitable future. For some, it was something to live up to, a promise of certainty in their ambitious pursuits. Many others were simply willing to accept their fate in exchange for the safety and stability afforded to them. It was quite tempting to follow the image of destiny, especially when destiny promised so much... though what would be made of it when its promises were bleak? When one accepts destiny, what does one deny?

Such was often an afterthought for many of this water-laden world. It seemed a foregone conclusion for this one; all said he expected to be stuck working these fields, as his parents had been, from childhood till his demise. He'd made his peace with it, though alas, matters never really were so simple and predictable. The first slivers of light hadn't even arrived when he found himself shaken awake by the sound of a loud slam against the wooden wall of his home. Unimpressive even by the standards of other hands on the field, the rickety dirt-floored hovel creaked and swayed. A voice boomed from outside, "Mister Vorral! Akim Vorral!"

It took him a few moments to stir, a second impatient knocking finally bringing him up from the hay, rubbing a bluish hand to his green-patterned face. He was one of the sythians, the people of the seas, easily identified by the range of blues and greens on their skin, a head adorned with narrow fins and a short angular snout giving a shark-like appearance. A thin tail with prominent ribbed fins easily drove them through the waters though they were air breathing and warm-blooded despite the appearance. They stood in contrast from the land dwelling mirians who lacked the fins and had a narrower blunt-tipped snout covered in feathers, females shades of white or black with colorfully hued males. Mirians however did carry a similar tail and forward-leaning stance, warm bodied as well. The two had remarkably similar skeletons, a coincidence only guessed at over the millennia.

Unfortunately for Akim, the two sometimes found themselves at odds despite their similarities. Opening the door, he blinked, head hanging, before noticing the imposing mirian clad in leather armor looking none too pleased. Raising his head, Akim acted as if he'd bowed. "Sir?" Though he managed a smile, his stomach turned. He'd paid his taxes and dues, not run into trouble, what was this?

The mirian replied, "Lady Taron has issued orders to vacate this property. Gather your belongings; you'll have until noon."

To this, Akim was dearly tempted to ask the grounds, but questioning such orders would be a sizable mistake. "Un... understood."

He watched as the mirian adjusted his coat, trailing down the dirt road. This was seemingly out of nowhere! Had Taron lost her mind? The thoughts raced through his head, but he was in no position to complain. He had few belongings worth taking with leaving him stepping out with a humble bag over his shoulder, nothing else to his name but the plain tunic and trousers covering him as he greeted the sunrise. At least the weather was cool and gentle, the town of Aeril a good sight to wake up to, even if it wasn't much of a consolation.

Beyond the town lay seas, a world known by many names often translating to a variant of 'fertile dirt'. Among the lands of Valnor, it was known as Alkanor. The majority of this world was a vast sea, the land-bound peoples inhabiting isolated swaths of land surrounded by countless islands, the larger islands sometimes marked with sizable mountains, long-dead volcanoes, the seemingly endless waters surrounding all lands.

Aeril, touted by merchants as a very proud city with a colorful display of markets at the front and an exceptionally long history, was more accurately a simple port town surrounded by expanses of fields. Of course it could claim a long history, all the lands could under the millennia of stability granted by the oracles. Rather, if there was one thing that set this town apart, it was the ever loosening chain of lords and vassals competing with the freemen, tenants, and merchants. Said merchants gained the attention of foreign merchants in the process, especially those of icy Leneu far to the north.

Of course, contracts with merchants seldom ever carried the weight or duration of a binding oath. Looking back, as a 'free' tenant no better off than a serf but much easier to kick to the street, Akim noted how it could be for better or for worse. Often it was effectively the same as an oath only without any obligations from the lady of the manor.

Wandering aimlessly from there, he pondered the situation. He had no other prospects in this town. The fields had remained the same, while other trades had blossomed---trades he had no skill in. Oddly, he found a few of his neighbors also on the move, packing their belongings. Approaching a white-green feathered mirian, he ducked in a shared bow.

"Lilun. She evicted you too?"

He replied, "Myself, my whole family, everyone on our row. Nobody knows why though some mention finding out. None of us have anywhere to go, we'll be beggars if this goes on!"

"As will she!" Akim exclaimed. "These fields won't work themselves. This whole matter's daft!" He was eager to grumble on but he knew to watch his words. "One of the merchants she deals with may know more."

"I doubt any of them will have us around. You know as well as I they only pay attention to silver," Lilun replied, brushing back the feathers of his nose. "Though... perhaps we could get their attention another way."

Akim, hearing this, tilted his head up. "Another way? I've nothing but what's on my back."

Lilun turned, looking down the path, gesturing towards the pier. "As of today, the forty-fifth day of autumn 3818, you and I are free spirits. For the time being at least. We've nothing left to lose prancing about and finding other ways to our goals."

Akim showed a brief smirk, something desperately needed at this point. "Nothing left to lose save for our dign- ... right. Well, let's stir up a ruckus then."

A ruckus, tongue in cheek as it were as neither were intent on ending up on a spike. At least, the fact that they were hardly alone in this situation did provide a sliver of comfort. Alas, it wasn't nearly enough to take anyone's mind off the land their ancestors had worked so diligently on being swept out from under them with no notice or reason.

It was a quiet walk, the merchants hardly having had time to open their stores, some already overrun with eager customers, others seemingly open for naught. It was simple enough to find the merchant in question. As always, the bazaar happened to have all the produce that was in demand, grown ahead of time under the report of an oracle. So convenient it was to have matters simply fall into place peacefully, as used to it as they were, it was all the more jarring when the unexpected struck. Stepping under the artfully crafted imagery of spices hanging from a rope in the open air, the two approached the larger stand.

Before Akim could open his mouth, the rotund off-white feathered keeper spoke to them. "Ah, you must be Lady Taron's former tenants?"

Akim blinked, looking ahead for a moment as Lilun asked the question for him. "Word spreads _this_ tremendously quickly? We've come to learn of the cause for all this."

Checking to make sure the valuable spices were sorted properly, the brightly feathered keeper idly commented, "The oracle's report reached us, doubtless she's distressed. Unfortunate, but she'll be dying tomorrow at the hands of one of her own tenants."

A quiet moment followed. Akim couldn't help but think Lady Taron might have just provided a motive herself. Lilun asked, "And yet, nobody's done anything about this, to prevent it?"

"Apparently she's trying to do _something_ about it. Sorry you were caught up in all this, though I doubt it makes a difference. These prophecies of the oracles have ways of coming true."

Akim himself was no murderer and he knew his friendly neighbors weren't the type to hurt anyone, though even the friendliest of people could harbor terrible secrets. Lilun asked, "Should this come to pass, will her heir take us back once the killer is found?"

The merchant noted, "There's only so much written in these prophecies. I wouldn't know, though each of you are, implicitly, suspected of being future murderers or accomplices."

Neither of them were particularly fond of the title, especially Lilun. Shameless in contrast, Akim asked, "May I be of aid to you in your business?"

"Can you read?"

"No."

The merchant shrugged to that. "Perhaps you'll have better luck across the island." The merchant eyed aside. "Ah, a customer." Then back to the two. "Farewell!"

At least they had her attention until someone with silver arrived. Trailing back uphill, the two discussed the oracles; a fair bit of high flying mythology surrounded these mysterious people who appeared as fate incarnate about the world.

Legend had it that over six thousand years prior a great people lived beneath the waves, people who strode as gods, soaring higher than the greatest bird and living below the abyss. They constructed towering spires upon remote and forever hidden isles, spires that towered beyond the skies. Some say they shaped the lands and bestowed the oracles upon the world. Others, namely foreigners, doubted that these so-called gods ever existed.

The oracles themselves claimed to have descended from these ancients; most accepted this as fact. For the millennia since, the oracles had worked in unison to ensure peace and prosperity across the world, predicting the state of the world far in advance, advising royalty and the public alike. Close to them, those who had mastered the power of the mind were said to be blessed by the supernatural, gaining insight and changing the world seemingly by thought alone, a feat incomprehensible to others. Only they knew how their art could work leaving the others with only what they decided to teach.

To those such as Akim their influence was ubiquitous yet subtle, their abilities beyond the reach of thought. As a group, they may as well be deities and to many, particularly among those of Valnor, that's exactly what they were, and now they've spoken.

Looking back on it, Akim wondered, _W_ _hy was the shopkeeper so casual about one of her customers being on the brink of death? Was she the one that told Taron the 'news'? What if for some reason she'd been lying? Maybe there was something she sought to get from all this_.

Spreading the news to the rest who'd found themselves on the dirt, Akim asked about the merchant. By and large, over and over, he'd been told in response that the merchant was simply a cold person and that Akim would be wasting his time pursuing it further. As far as Akim knew the others were very well right, but he had no other means in mind to get people their homes back.

Fortunately he had some food he'd carried along, a bit more from exchanging odds and ends of his. It wouldn't last forever though. He expected to find a new place, if not in Aeril, then in one of the other towns on the island, even if wandering about like that was frowned upon.

Later that day, having fruitlessly searched and asked around the marketplace about Taron and her contacts, Akim discovered ever more evidence that what the merchant said of the prophecy was true. He strolled the markets after they'd wound down, the merchants turning in for the night as the sun faded behind the clouds. He followed the merchant, finding her abode, waiting perhaps for one of her former neighbors to arrive for a secret deal. None did.

A brief and uneasy rest in the open perched hidden against the back of a building did little to help him though at least it staved off exhaustion. Awaking before dawn thanks to the elements, he decided he had one chance left, finding the answer in the market itself... He trailed back to the market in the dull light, avoiding the patrol. A risky proposal, what he'd planned, though he'd been out sneaking around before without being caught. The store's merchandise was locked up far too tight for him to get at, but that wasn't what he was after. Making his way beneath the sizable awning, meant to give shade to the stands in front of the building but also creating an excellent shadow in this poorly lit section, Akim attempted to find a way to silently open the door, only to find it was double-locked, everything shut tight.

"Hey!"

He looked back, a silhouette seen rushing towards the shop. Jumping at this, he bolted down the wooden porch and across the division to the front of the adjacent building, nearly tripping over an old piece of lumber stripped from the broken floor inside. _An old piece of lumber?_

"Guards!" The female voice shouted. She was going to draw them right to Akim, and Akim didn't even want to think about what'd happen to him if he were thought to be trying to rob the central marketplace.

So far she was the only one to spot him though it seemed she didn't know exactly where he was as he could hear her about to run right past. He knew that if she bumped into him and called the guards, his chances of getting out of there were vanishingly small. Desperation at the front of his mind, he took the lumber up as an improvised club.

Then again, he knew of only one woman who would be waiting for her favorite merchant at this dark hour of the morning.

He would've been here investigating all the same had he not heard the details of the prophecy, as stupid and desperate of an idea as it'd turned out to be, but the prophecy rang through his head, a tenseness felt in his gut. Was he really the one?

It was a choice, to do nothing and risk imminent capture, or to follow through with what he'd intended and possibly end up guilty of something far worse than skulking around. In that brief moment, he made his choice.

He stood absolutely still. A glimpse of stark white feathers over a black dress; it was Taron. She ran clean past him, unscathed, trailing down the road. Looking down, he realized his 'club' still had sharp nails stuck through it.

Gently setting it down, avoiding a clatter, he made his way around to the alley. Darting away from the scene, across an intersecting alley, the guard marched right past behind him, never turning to spot him. Very fortunate indeed! Making his way through the alleys he emerged on the periphery of town, taking a moment to catch his breath. The merchant had nothing to do with it. It was all him? The thought ran through his mind. By his own choice and knowledge of the prophecy, he'd negated his own destiny. But what were the consequences of defying the oracles? Such was a pointless question in a sense; nobody thought this could happen to begin with.

He was aware of one consequence. He'd managed to escape capture, but he was one of only two of his peers who'd pestered that merchant yesterday, and even if all Taron had seen was a silhouette it would've been one of a sythian. Logic would point to him as the murderer in the prophecy, even if he had no such intent.

At least he had time to catch his breath. If he were right about that, the guards would be looking for him. Staying was a gamble he didn't want to try. There was nothing left for him here... looking back on it, he would've had to disappear regardless the choice he made. At least he didn't have the loss of another's life hanging over his head. He stood uphill at the edge of town as the sun rose... all of his friends were down there, but to visit them again would be to put his own life at risk. Perhaps, another day, he'd meet them again...

Turning to stride down the path inland, he considered it all. They might be given their homes back, they might not be... pondering the fact they would figure out he was the 'murderer' the prophecy foretold, he considered that he'd probably never be able to truly settle. So be it. All for a prophecy that drove itself nearly to truth through his desperation.

The path was long and narrow. A world of islands gave rise to no animals large enough for work; if one wanted to visit another town, it was a choice between sail and foot and Akim didn't want to try stowing away.

A quiet night of solitude followed, the tall trees, signature of temperate climates, arching overhead, masking the morning sun afterwards. Nobody else passed on the path. Akim kept silent on the second day, avoiding the other travelers whenever he could. As he finally found himself running out of food, he spotted the inland settlement of Garan ahead. As an inland settlement, few of his kind were seen among its buildings.

Passing the more diverse fields on the way in, he spotted room for more hands on the farms though joining the society here would prove more involved. Unlike the walk-in-walk-out contracts of Aeril, the inland towns were run by firmly entrenched gentry who demanded loyalty of oath by those below them. As inland traffic was foot traffic, news of what happened in Aeril would be slow to spread, but eventually, he thought, he'd have to move on again.

As beautiful as the tall arch-bearing vine covered walls of the centuries-old church and its surrounding buildings were, those buildings which weren't owned by the baron were tightly controlled by the guilds of craftsmen, people who were trained from childhood to become skilled artisans of valuable trades. They were the exact crowd of people Akim didn't see himself ever joining. Being the only sythian in town and a 'free roaming' one at that wasn't much of a help either, as he found some giving him looks of suspicion from the start. At least, visiting the church of the oracles, as odd as it felt, he'd been able to receive aid, lasting long enough for him to find a vacant box of straw and a landholder desperate enough to let him join to help with the last of the autumn harvest.

It seemed curious to him. The church had always been one of the kinder parts of society, though he'd expected when he had explained his ill fortune at the hands of prophetic fate, carefully avoiding the more questionable parts, they would either recognize his role in the prophecy or deem him at odds with the oracles. Rather, on hearing what he said, they'd taken pity on him, perhaps sympathy among some of them. He wasn't the only one to have been on the wrong end of the oracle's writings, not by any means. No inexplicable misfortune came from avoiding the prophecy, and none he'd asked believed he'd not fulfilled the prophecy. Rather, those he asked explained the notion as a case of those hearing the prophecy misinterpreting it.

Though he had what resembled shelter, able to stay in town thanks to his help on the fields, it was still a matter of his opportune arrival than a permanent pact with the lady of the land. The chill of winter coming soon enough, with little to do and doubtful prospects for weathering the season, he found himself pondering, perhaps, another move to another port town; at least there would be fish to eat there. More immediately however, others arrived from outside Garan, setting up a winter stand full of odd trinkets, intricately detailed bronze works from afar along with odd fabrics and foods Akim had never seen and certainly had no hope of enjoying.

The grey-feathered, fur-wearing merchant dealing with the more curious artifacts spoke oddly, sometimes shortening vowels when she shouldn't, her flap-adorned fluffy cap under a white hood unique among the rest though typical of a Leneuan. Curious, he took the time on a frosty day to have a look at these foreign spectacles, even if he couldn't afford any of them. At the rate they were selling to the affluent at the center of town, they'd be gone quickly after all.

Akim could've sworn he recognized some of her workers as his former neighbors...

"Perfect. Man of the sea?"

Akim stopped, turning. A bit surprised, he spoke, "Madam? Sorry, I'm no sailor."

She gestured a bit to the left, down through the trees towards the distant shore. "Your kind comes from the seas. Surely you're an able swimmer and know the ocean well?"

Akim rubbed his head. "Not all sythians are great swimmers... though I happen to've learned how." He never really thought it was all that useful of a skill, having never actually been out to sea before.

She leaned forward, nodding. "I'm looking for someone with few ties to break, little to lose and the ability to dive into the water without drowning. Interested in being able to do more than gawk around here?"

He definitely was surprised at this. "I see there's no coincidence we've met!"

She shrugged. "Actually there is. You're a sythian, living inland, in a temporary residence without anyone to walk with and nothing but scraps of cloth to wear. You have..." She picked a more polite approach. "... 'wandering spirit' stamped on your forehead. Swimming is a rare skill and all the other sythians I've met have been bound to their work and unwilling to join me."

He stifled a sigh. He wasn't that proud of it all, but at least things were looking up.

She continued, "How does having some loose silver to carry sound to you?"

Things indeed seemed to be improving quite quickly, "You have my attention! Though what's the full price of your silver? It's not often a merchant drags themselves inland and asks about the sea."

She showed a slightly crooked smile. "You're wiser than most."

Looking back on what'd brought him here, Akim looked down a little. "I don't feel wise. But, if you say so."

A brief but amused grin was seen at that. "Since you've asked, we come here every winter offering the more decadent goods we bring into port, in order to sell to decadent people at decadent prices. Few others are willing to put in the effort needed to move all these goods inland. Not only does it pay well, it has other benefits. Anyway, some of our business involves the sythian floating towns, so having someone aboard who can help secure hooks underwater while looking familiar to the locals would make matters much easier."

Akim asked, "Other benefits? To pushing a loaded cart all this way?"

She nodded, "Most of the other tasks we face seem much less troublesome afterwards."

In stark contrast to the portly merchant back in Aeril, this one had the look of a warrior and would easily be mistaken for a male if it weren't for the plain plumage. It was a curious thing; while her imposing form was typical for women of the sea, most merchants in general make a point to show off how easy their lives are and hide their hardships. He also suspected this wasn't what she was talking about. Logically...

"You're not like most merchants, are you?" Akim asked.

To that, she smiled. "We're not afraid of any risk. I'm Fera Aunich, by the way."

Akim looked up. "Akim Vorral. I see why you're looking for someone with little to lose then, but how much silver are you offering?"

Leaning forward, she said, "For this year... well, to someone untrained at the moment, five Kasp in cardinals."

The Valnor Kasp was a sizable unit, the cardinal a standard trade silver coin identified by its four-arrows face design, stamped rough but of assured weight. That total was a fair measure more than he'd earn otherwise. Save for his life, he really didn't have much to lose. And if he lost that, at least it wouldn't be as a vagrant. He never had imagined he had a skill people would want like that, what a lucky meeting! Though, he had his old home in Aeril still in the back of his mind.

He nodded, smiling a bit, though he was more excited on the inside than he was willing to show. "Well then, I await your orders!"

He'd make sure to check that her money and her words were true; regardless, he'd left certainty behind. The future wasn't bright nor bleak, but a vast unknown. Such was a situation entirely alien to someone like Akim, but one he welcomed nonetheless.

#  Arc 2: Undead Languages

"After the war, the Leneu crown had used all its wealth in battle. So, who supports the merchant navy?"

"It's a merchant navy. Now that the crown has lost its silver lining, the Leneu Merchant Marine supports the Leneu Merchant Marine. That's why I've choice in where I sail."

Throughout the later half of the 3700s many wars had been fought, much to everyone's surprise. The oracles had predicted a great darkening of the skies and a long winter, a prophecy that came true, upsetting the millennia-long peace as famine swept the lands. Akim, whenever he had the time, talked to the others, Fera included, about these times and other knowledge of the world. Ever since the wars ended, though an uneasy peace had been reached under the oracles' guidance, it seemed as though the eternal order had been forever weakened.

Though time had passed since his first meeting with Fera, Akim still remembered his first walk about her craft. He couldn't even figure out how to secure any of the lines! Yet, he'd learned quickly how to make his way about the rigging, he and Fera now lowering down to the deck. The frost was thawing to reveal a brilliant display of life as the spring of '19 greeted them.

All the buzz and activity and in some cases festiveness surrounding the new year and the planting season reminded him of some of the more cheery parts of his old life on the fields, but that was the past. Much of the winter Akim had spent with the others pushing carts about the island, though he had time enough to learn the basics of how to keep a vessel seaworthy and tend the rigging. He now knew how not to get a face full of sail when it came time to jibe at least. Despite Akim's obvious lack of experience, Fera and the others were more than happy to help him learn how to do things, and despite it all, he'd managed to reach a passable status among the others, though he knew it'd take several seasons at sea before he could call himself an actual sailor. At least he knew he had a future aboard the Moonrise.

Among all the tall and wide merchant ships visiting this island, the Moonrise was less than remarkable in scale but somewhat noteworthy in its design. It visibly wasn't a dedicated merchant craft, but a Leneu support craft of lighter military design used for light trade and courier work in peace time. The Moonrise was just shy of 15 meters long and 3 meters wide, a lateen sail in the rear trailing a larger one ahead of it, the lengthy bowsprit in front keeping the line taut for a jib, a shallow looking transom stern presiding over a hatch. Said hatch gave access between the upper deck and the lower deck where heavier cargo was kept to help keep the craft from tilting about. All in all, it carried a compliment of 16 of which 4, including Akim, were new from Garan and Aeril. Despite 'maneuverable' being an understatement for the Moonrise, it still carried a dinghy next to the circular gear-like mount mid-deck. Not all destinations have piers after all.

Akim discovered the stowed wooden and iron parts for a windlass-driven crane under the deck---the other parts to go with that mount. He also noticed the fact that Fera docked the Moonrise at smaller towns and moved the more interesting goods inland, not only getting a particularly great bargain but also circumventing customs. This was a practice that would be illegal if she hadn't gotten a decree permitting her sale inland, signed by none other than her affluent customers. Fera really made no secret that she was a tradeswoman of a 'highly opportunistic' nature, but when the merchants have more wealth than the crown they 'serve'...

Akim had been one of two aloft checking over the lines the better part of the day while the others secured the rest of the cargo below. Conveniently enough, the smaller carts fit through the hatch and were kept loaded on the lower deck. Being able to slide them around was one way to keep the ship evenly balanced as long as they were kept locked in place when weather hit. Such a convenience was a nice thing to have in a profession that afforded precious few! For that matter, Akim was starting to feel tired already, but... "More time left in the day, but what tasks?"

Fera gestured to the five convening by the stern. "Seems they've found a problem." Those five definitely were chatty, but the conversation seemed more amused than troubled. Stepping over, Akim didn't even have time to greet them when the most red-feathered among them immediately looked to Akim. None other than Schah.

"Akim! We've already sent two of your buddies off to move the dinghy and we'll find Nar and get him on it too. You're ready to go for a swim, right?"

Akim blinked. "Swim? We haven't even set sail!" And what buddies? Right, the other three new guys...

"Inland! A short distance, mostly north among the shore. You know that little fresh water pond behind the sand bar up there?"

"What about it?"

"That rib of wood coming out of the lake bed? We think there's something buried with the rest of it under the sand there, so you four get to dig it out. We'll be waiting for you on the way out come tomorrow morning."

Akim rubbed his own head. People had tried digging around there dozens of times only to find it a spectacular waste of time. Granted, nobody's really dug _under_ the water...

Still thinking it a waste of time, Akim nodded. "If you all say so... I'll return with the rest in the morning then."

All stifling a bit of a grumble. Well, it'd been long days for everyone preparing to set sail, but this just seemed out of the blue. At least it was a chance to take one last walk about this island before he moved on... they'd be passing by Aeril on the way out. Nobody had come for him so his past there didn't really bother him much anymore. At least he would have a chance to see it again before leaving.

Stepping down from the deck to the pier he headed into the smaller town they were docked at. The path to Garan lay among the trees, but instead he turned to move north over the beach, waiting for the other two to finish readying the dinghy... they'd be dropping the dinghy while moored? Why were they doing that? Akim found himself growing suspicious, a matter he expressed to the last of the four who joined him after finishing a chat with Fera. None of them knew what it was for either but nobody bothered to question.

A relatively unburdened and short walk took them to the sand bar, just before sunset. Clouds hanging in a colorful sky made it quite a sight, though there was no time to watch it as their light would be gone soon as well.

The terrain was more or less flat save for the lake and the small hill immediately behind it. As promised, a series of wooden ribs jutted up from the lake bed. A storm, long ago before the sand bar was there, had brought an unfortunate crew to an unplanned and permanent stop. Nobody had found anything in the wreck though.

Akim didn't fancy his chances much either; his three new friends treaded water at the edge of the lake leaving him to swim out to the wreck, his only gear a shovel and one end of a rope left at the shore. The other end tied to a tree at the shore, he took the rope out to one of the ribs, tying it securely. Fortunately, unlike half the lines he'd gotten used to, this one floated on its own.

With a line for the others to cross by, knowing Akim would be able to help if one slipped, they made their way about the ribs, Akim digging out the deepest sand near what used to be a keel now broken in two places. Spending what was left of the light digging fruitlessly, the four had managed to dig enough of the sand away to disturb the wreck. They finally took a moment to relax... and all fell silent as they noticed the ribs slightly shifting in the water. They scrambled for other ribs as the wreck began to slide, wood floating to the surface as it tilted over, sand pluming up in the water, a tapping and crunching heard as the rope-bound rib bent, fractured, and buckled.

A creaking, cracking, and thunderous splash preceded a disharmonious choir of barking profanity, two of the others falling into the water, scrambling up onto now upturned ribs while Akim found himself falling backwards in an unplanned dive. Fortunately this put the broken rib and its attached lifeline right in front of him. He nearly decided to cut the rope but managed to get it free, gasping on reaching the surface, swimming to tie it to one of the few ribs still unbroken. The hollering quickly died down once the others could return to shore.

Akim spread his arms on returning, trying with futility to empty his clothes of water. At least he didn't have feathers!

"Damn fool's errand that was!"

"Nobody's found anything here; what was the point anyway?"

Akim, thoroughly exhausted, couldn't help but smirk. At least he could enjoy the looks on their faces. And he knew he'd be sleeping well that night, hopefully. He kept quiet as the others gathered.

"I'll see if I can get a fire going."

It was as good a time as any for a brief stop to dry off and eat some food, though Akim's eyes were caught on something else. Among the rocks that the broken rib had displaced a few bubbles rose, glinting in the light of the setting sun. Despite his exhaustion, Akim saw it was a chance to find at least something to return with.

Akim stood. "I'll be a moment." He got an odd look from the others as he stepped away from what was almost a fire to go for another swim. It was difficult to see where the bubbles were coming from, and it took the better part of his breath just to get down to the bed of the lake and return to the surface. Feeling along the rocks for anything unusual, he found nothing but more rocks. The bubbles came from a pile of rocks, under which were more rocks, under which were even more rocks, each handful removed letting loose more bubbles.

As darkness set in, he could feel the bubbles rising. Following them to the source, one rock seemed in particular wedged against a... shiny silvery surface of sorts? Eagerly hoping for a silver-lined chest or any other tall-tale windfall, he used another rock to leverage that one loose, discovering none other than a seemingly endless narrow hole in the lake bed filled with air and pressurized water, shooting upwards with enough force to drive the other rocks away and push Akim towards the surface.

That little bit of silvery metal was much stronger than silver and certainly wasn't budging. How frustrating! On surfacing, he spotted one by the hill holding a torch... what was this? Swimming to shore, Akim left a trail of water up the slope.

"Did we miss a find?"

It was Nar, the green-white feathered one among them. "I'd been looking over and noticed a stir in the lake, then, a bit of dust came out of the hill here. You know they say there's a rock face here nobody can dig through? Then where did the dust come from?"

Akim perked up a bit. He would've never seen that under water! Everyone was exhausted and obviously the other two thought they were wasting their time. Well, it was yet again one last chance, so Akim joined in though he was at about the end of his stamina and feeling pretty tempted to just sleep by the sand bar otherwise. "You think after all the others we'll be the ones to dig through the undiggable rock?"

"Have a better idea than to try?"

It was a surprisingly short effort before the rocks crumbled, a loud hissing heard as the rock face slid down, revealing a smooth square tunnel, a stairwell leading down into the darkness. They looked to one another, neither having words. Rather Nar, brushing his feathers down, took the lead, heading in. Akim wasn't so sure this was wise, but followed along anyway.

Nar stopped, turning and noticing a circular plaque on an alcove in the wall. There was a small golden rod protruding from it, carrying a black crystalline core and lines of text neither of them could recognize engraved into it.

Akim stepped forward. "I don't think I've ever seen a yellow metal before."

"Is that even metal?"

Akim reached out, grabbing hold of it. "It's cold like metal..." Pulling it with a fair bit of force, shaking it a little, he dislodged it, the small fin-bottomed rod easily carried with. "But it's heavier than most metals I know."

With a loud hiss, the upper end of the tunnel sealed itself.

Akim looked back, startled. "Hey!"

"I think that opens it. Best tie yourself to that scepter if you'll be carrying it."

Akim chuckled a bit nervously. "I won't be losing anything!"

As they descended down, an odd sense of foreboding calm welled up in the back of Akim's mind. Neither of them spoke. Akim doubted he could even if he wanted to. The sight greeting them on finding the cylindrical brown-stone-walled hub didn't help: a large skeleton, looking a fair bit like that of a sythian but different than any either had seen. Akim looked to the scepter, then to the skeleton. Someone had tried to get out, but couldn't... the door never opened. At least, not until Nar had the idea to dig it out untold aeons later.

With a shared nod the two agreed to head down a rough-floored tunnel. Akim found it odd how they came to this agreement without saying a thing, yet still couldn't muster the will to open his mouth about it. Several doors were seen along both sides. Everything was corroded shut, the tunnel soon found to be caved in. Overhead and on the ground there were marks and small bits of what used to be some kind of metal structure, the only recognizable parts left a few surprisingly pristine silvery-looking pipes overhead each less than two centimeters across.

It seemed so otherworldly, as if he could leave the island behind in his mind. _Who made this place? Was it the oracles?_ Returning to find one of the other tunnels sealed he couldn't help but feel as if he was trespassing on a tomb. There was no sense of anger here though, just a sort of slow somber despair lingering in the air. Another room was found from the last tunnel, the two of them prying the door to the room open. A rectangular chamber greeted them, the ceiling above seen as a window to a seemingly endlessly deep pattern of ornate crystal which appeared to remain still regardless of how they moved, as if it were infinitely distant. All together it gave the impression that the top of the room opened to another sky despite the lack of light. The other door was blocked off by crumbled rock with small scraps of that silvery metal resting on one end, the wall worn away to reveal several cubic indentations, the back wall showing a map of the world in relief.

It was a spectacularly detailed map, laying out the islands of the world and two island-continents on the southeastern end in a sinusoidal projection, landmasses that weren't even listed on the maps he knew. Concentric circles were superimposed, centered on the north and south poles with other superimposed imagery showing several triangle shapes on the map. One triangle appeared on each of the landmasses in the southern hemisphere, three more among the islands of the north... one of them, Akim noted, was relatively nearby, among the arid islands deep within the tropics.

Nodding at one another, the two spotted nothing else to look at, nowhere else to go. They climbed back, slipping the rod back into the plaque, the door hissing open again. Nar immediately left, Akim looking back. Akim wanted to return with something tangible... piling up rocks and leftover wood in the door, propping it open, he stepped back in, removing the rod. The door hissed, moving only slightly as the wood began to buckle. Making haste, Akim climbed the stairs, hopping over the partially shut door to land on the other side. Soon after, the door slammed shut, rocks and broken wood falling all around. Looking back on it, he thought he probably just sealed that find for good... well, at least he and Nar had something shiny to show Fera!

The others weren't really sure what to say about it. Nobody had ever heard of such things anywhere on this island. Akim was ever more glad to be out of that dreary hole! With Akim and Nar finally feeling talkative again, the four soon settled down for some much needed rest. Unfortunately, there was nowhere in town to rest and the port had been blocked off, leaving them to sleep outside of town. A rough night, but at this point, Akim and Nar alike really didn't care what they slept on. Even a bed of leaves was a queen's mattress when one was exhausted enough!

The morning after, they approached the pier, only to spot the Moonrise drifting out to sea without them, the dinghy still tied to the pier.

"What, why have they left us?!"

"Forgot we're out here? Grab an oar!"

The Moonrise had its mainsail stowed, angling towards the wind, intentionally drifting away slow enough for a dinghy to catch up. No question about it---this was all on purpose!

Akim was the third to hop in, Nar taking the front, the four rowing like mad to try to catch up. Akim felt like rolling his eyes. The sea was a hard place to make a living and he'd already known the others to indulge in this sort of 'entertainment'. At least it was a small port, the Moonrise the only boat out at the moment.

Already feeling exhausted by the time their dinghy began to draw near, the four looked up to spot the other twelve at the aftcastle as the Moonrise began to turn away from the wind, picking up a touch more speed. Dark spots soared through the sky, upwards from the Moonrise, coming back down, raining a black goop all around them. Black, with chunks of white... Akim really didn't want to know what it was that just splattered all over his head!

"This whole thing. The damned errand, the blocked port, the night in the open, all of it!"

Nar couldn't help but laugh! Akim on the other hand, slapped in the face with another glob of goop, gathered it up and tossed it back. It fell horribly short, the seawater taking it right off the ship's hull. Well at least it'd be easy to clean! For Akim anyway, as it stuck to the others' feathers like tar.

All the while they approached to find the downwind side had no hook out. This left them to drop back to circle to the upwind side, all while getting pelted, to find a hook out where they could hook on without risking the dinghy slamming into the ship. As a former support vessel, the Moonrise had a pulley and winch on each side for lowering and hoisting packages and dinghies, which of course, meant the others were standing at the side to pelt them all as they struggled to hook the dinghy onto the line, the rain carrying on as they climbed to the deck. Fortunately, with both ends secured, falling from the climb meant just falling back into the dinghy and not the water, a belated relief for Nar and nearly Akim as well.

Immediately on reaching the deck, Akim took some goop he'd carried and pegged the red-feathered menace that'd sent him on the mission square in the face with it, Akim himself earning another in return, a surprisingly cheery exchange between the four and their buddies aboard until Fera called out, "Enough, enough!" with a bit of a chuckle. Even Fera had a mess in her feathers.

"And what the hell was all that for?"

The crowd finally quieting down a bit, Fera stated for them all, "Leneu merchant mariners must be willing to chase their goals through any misfortune and any weather. Even raining sludge!" She smiled her crooked smile. Akim had learned that crooked grin of hers was from an illness at sea that had cost a couple of teeth a few years prior. "So you've all chased the ship and made it in one piece. Welcome aboard, sailors! Now, bring the dinghy aboard and clean it to a shine. We've been dallying in the harbor long enough."

Cleaning the mess the others had made on top of it all! A moment to remember... especially when it came time to stand on the other end of it, though he couldn't help but think of the past once he had a moment away from the lines to look back. He was leaving the island and his old life far behind now.

Land drifted back as the day went on, the Moonrise picking up speed with the wind. Once a free moment had come, Akim and Nar asked around about their finds, the map, the golden rod key. The others often thought the four were making it all up, until Akim revealed the key he'd found. Genuinely, nobody knew.

The fall of night under clear skies let the banded brown clouds and wisps of the world's parent gas giant hover overhead, dancing light seen at its poles. A shining dot of light was seen near it, another world passing in front of it, yet another passing behind it, only to loop around the other end of the sky. Ages ago it had been a topic of major debate, one of the first events questioning the power of the oracles who at the time favored all worlds moving about the sky over fixed ground. In reality, that striped brown ball was far, far larger than their world, which was itself but a moon, second of three, the world's parent itself but a child of the sun, around which other worlds and their moons traveled. This knowledge was far over Akim's head but well known to Fera, who used the motions of these worlds to tell time and by extension longitude.

It was another long night for her making record of it all, keeping to herself, her sextant, the stars and her notes of them, until she spotted Akim.

"Akim? I'd like to speak with you. Meet me by my quarters in an hour."

He was a bit surprised to hear this, nodding. Nar was there as well, the hour ending, almost to the exact moment, with Fera stepping in and closing the door, the sound of the sea drowning out any speech from afar. All in all her quarters were rather spartan compared to what Akim had originally envisioned, though her bed, table, and general furnishings were a fair bit more than the spot they had in the front of the ship.

"Fera." They both showed a respectful greeting.

Unlike a military craft, nobody really bothered calling each other by rank. Many would be surprised the apparent lack of order didn't lead to more mischief, but on such a small craft ranks and such were often more of a formality than a strict practice.

Nar asked, "This is about our find?"

She nodded. "Keep it to yourself. Best if you keep it put away-- don't show it around or talk about it, especially while we're at port."

Akim asked after a hesitation, "Is the yellow metal it's made of that valuable? Why not trade it for silver?"

She looked back through the window, then to the both of them. "That yellow metal is gold, and nobody will trade for it. Our world has so little of it that it's useless in exchange and it's so soft that it's useless as a tool, leaving it a mere curiosity. What you've found is an artifact of the ancients. Ever see the white standard with the black circles and spikes?"

Akim nodded. "The back of the church." Nar added, "And on a document from Atswala." Akim pondered before he commented, "And buried in the standard of Valnor. And the standard of Leneu. Come to think of it, why do these different kingdoms have the same symbol?"

Fera lowered to sit at the table, inviting them to do the same. "The oracles have long been the guiding force of all these kingdoms, past the equator and the meridian as well. What you've found is something no person of our kind, peasant nor queen should have. The fact that we have it here runs against powers greater than any monarch."

The both of them were in hidden disbelief, Nar asking, "Then, what shall we do with this if it's such a transgression?"

Fera lay her head on her hands. "If I were a wise woman I'd have you throw it overboard and never speak of it again... but, I believe all of you know my sense of opportunity triumphs over my own wisdom..." She grinned. "I've seldom ever spoken of it, but finds like these are why I'm involved in the 'salvage' trade. They almost never happen, and when they do, the find is always swept away by mysterious circumstance. So, for now, keep it hidden, and never, ever talk about it. Perhaps in our travels we'll find another lock for that key of yours."

She then gestured to the map. "That triangle you mentioned, to the south? That's the forbidden chapel of Tavaria. I've been there before and I remember writing on the wall that looked like what you've found on that key. I'd thought nobody spoke it, but that writing was definitely recent. We'll be visiting Tavaria next year... I'd not want to draw unwanted attention poking about forbidden chapels, but the area around it is an open trading hub. Of course, I can't keep an eye on all of you at once... but I expect someone, or something there, might know more. Just mind what you get involved in. I can't do anything to help you if the oracles decide to act."

If it were anyone else Akim would think this was all a pile of lies. But why would Fera lie about this? In a way, it was all the more telling of its truth that rather than making an excuse to keep the shiny key for herself, Fera was carefully keeping herself half-distant from the whole matter. If she was right, Akim and Nar had both just gotten themselves in way over their heads!

Nar opined, "Perhaps, since you're more keen on the matter than we, we should surrender the artifact to you."

Fera's voice picked up. "No, no, that's all right, you keep it."

Akim rubbed his head. "This is your life's work and all. And you can read!"

Fera looked at Akim. "Though you're the ones that found it all on your own, it's your property."

Nar continued, "And... then we'll give it to you?"

Fera looked to Nar. "You two keep it to yourselves; that's an order!"

Drat! The whole gravity of it starting to set in, Akim wasn't sure what to say. "Then... we'll be keeping it, for now..."

Fera looked over, speaking with a reassuring tone, "I'll see to it that the others keep quiet on the matter as well, and all should be business as usual. You've already found the oracles aren't perfect. They don't know everything. If they knew of our transgression, we would've already seen their wrath."

That did make sense. Akim nodded, deciding to end that topic there. "You'll need me when we come across the anchorage on the way out?"

"That's right. We'll have the crane unstowed, and you'll be riding it down. Best get rest while you can, both of you."

They gave their farewells then left for a much needed meal and rest. The food was relatively fresh, but there was a reason the scraps of meat were so salty. It wouldn't be so appealing after a month or two and sleeping at the very front, where the waves met the hull, wasn't the most pleasant. At this point, Akim frankly couldn't care less. It was a bed!

The next sunrise came with a stronger wind coming from the side; the ship tilted downwind, rocking on the waves, moving at quite a speed. Akim never really had a problem with it. Nar had been somewhat ill at first, but he seemed fine now. The ground beneath the waves rose as they sailed on. The order was soon given to let the sheet lines out, the sails turning out of the wind to be stowed while the ship drifted towards the anchorage. Over a small bit of land that failed to become an island, they dropped anchor, the crane propped up on the midship mount, double-hook dangling over the water with Akim hanging onto the line, one foot on the hook as he and it were lowered down.

The wars of the previous century had sunken many ships and along with them plenty of possible riches. Of course, the sunken treasures belonged to the crowns that had lost them. Digging them up and selling them was an act that could define illegality, but where there was a will, and a way to melt down silver trinkets... how would anyone know it didn't come from another port? Fera was quite keen on what to melt down and what to take where, maintaining an immaculate reputation among her customers. By this point it made sense why her crew was so well paid and well treated. On the other end, jeopardizing that shiny reputation would earn a meeting with Fera's other side... a meeting that may or may not be fatal, but always left the target of her ire a bit different afterwards. After all, it was everyone's livelihoods, if not lives, at stake under the law.

Only a sliver of the sea's wealth could be had by a crane. A ship to search the true depths? Akim thought it was a dream for the clouds. Some of the others thought it might be possible. For now, that role was Akim's alone.

Taking a deep breath, he leapt from the cable and hook. The skies were clear and the seas calm, the light trailing down from above serving well enough below. Akim not only knew how to swim, his finned tail and limbs drove him quickly through the water. Like most sythians, he held more air in his lungs than his feathery peers.

The shadowy silhouette of a lengthy seemingly-wooden skeleton gave the site away. The grave of over a hundred. Well, time to get digging! Having already been introduced to salvaging and the teamwork involved, Akim was quick to find the impressions made by falling cannons. A dedicated military ship would be carrying more iron than silver, but weapons were a commodity in themselves.

It seemed odd how there was still a skeleton left. All the other wood had long since rotted away, leaving precious iron behind. The guns in the sand still had solid trunnions despite being covered in rust, allowing Akim to secure the hooks, surfacing to signal the others to hoist it up, quickly catching his breath and diving again at each one. The iron used in these guns itself was a fairly precious metal and even better, given millennia of wisdom at the forges, once the rust was burned and polished away they could be useful once more.

Fighting the current all the way down, hoisting one gun at a time, those silhouettes revealed themselves to not be wood at all. The skeleton of the old ship was gone save for a few bits of rusted iron scattered about, stretches of coral having grown to replace the wood. A colorful choreography of life circled about among what was once a site of death, bits of metal seen wedged in the shelf, shielded from the undertow. A wide bucket with a grated bottom served as a way to retrieve small valuables, knickknacks, and ever-valuable blades, made of the finest iron by expert craftsmen though now rusted and useless. He even found what appeared to be a thick iron cone... none other than a handcannon with its broom handle rotted away. It was an impractical weapon that was barely accurate enough to shoot oneself with, yet terrifying anyway. And if it hits... Akim definitely brought that one back! Load after load, it seemed the Moonrise, already loaded with goods purchased at port, would be fully laden soon.

Another haul in and a trip to the surface, catching his breath, Akim descended to spot a tapered pyramid of what he expected was an odd container. Finding a thick handle on the side, he set both hooks inside, returning to the surface to wave to the others.

Two on the windlass couldn't get it to move. "Whatever he's found is too heavy, we need more!"

Three, four tried. The crane began to bow and wobble as the Moonrise drifted over the site, pulled to a bit of a tilt by this effort. "If this isn't a mortar it'd better be something worth clearing room for!"

Down below, Akim gave the cable a firm tug, only to find it was already taut. Nothing was moving... except the angle of the cable. He looked up, spotting the Moonrise heeling a bit. Perhaps whatever he found was too big to fit on the ship?

As he dug below that side, the entire face of the container suddenly tore off, sounding out a muffled explosion of rushing air and metallic clattering. Cold metal slammed into Akim's head and side with impressive force, knocking him back to the reef. A sharp pain shot through his side and arm, the lights dancing above paling for a moment. He very narrowly stifled the impulse to gasp, but still found himself shaking as the spinning images finally lined up above.

Coming to his senses, he realized that he'd cried out, and those bubbles were the last of his air now casually drifting upwards, along with a square of metal and another, larger bubble. That impulse to gasp was there once again.

Having invested such effort, now reeling in as the ship gently rocked side to side, the group hoisted their grand prize: a plain metal hatch cover.

"Surely my eyes jest."

"For sake of sky and rain, Akim!"

"... Say, where _is_ Akim?" Looking out to the nearby water revealed no sythians familiar or otherwise.

Shaking and weak, Akim doubted his ability to reach the surface, but the now open container did leave an upwards trail of bubbles. Deciding to risk it, Akim moved to swim, only to find his left arm had no strength in it. Unsure of why, and not bothering to wait around thinking about it, he drove himself ahead with one arm, pulling himself inside the now open container. Thankfully he found air, taking a deep breath as soon as he could. It was stale and smelled of rust, but it was air! However, he knew he'd been hurt. Not only was one arm useless, the world still felt as if it were turning, the ringing of that explosive release still in his head. Not to mention general weakness, his breath short, and ever more pain. The air here would only last for so long.

The interior was too small for him to fit in, but at least the air pocket was big enough for his mouth. Enough to catch his breath... once, but he wasn't about to go back empty-handed. He looked down to find no valuables. There was a rusted necklace that used to be something worth taking, fibers of what was once paper drifting about, a small box present with a hunk of rust inside. Not worth taking. There was a small bottle with a paper rolled up in it... well, it was better than nothing.

Those were seconds he wasn't getting back. He looked up, still feeling dizzy, the lights dancing above... No sense waiting! Driving upwards with all of his remaining vigor, he managed to meet the surface, gasping, hanging onto the craft with one hand, the bottle dangling from his side. At the end of his strength, he looked down... only to find himself rising as the others hoisted him up and onto the deck. He knelt, knowing not what gave him the strength to press through to the surface, but he made it. He felt as though he could collapse right there; the shooting pain in his arm was all the more intense and his head spinning on top of the ship rocking left him unable to stand.

Spotting Fera nearby, he shakily held out the bottle. "I've found this, though." He coughed. "I'm afraid I won't be in the rigging now."

He forced himself to stand as soon as he could, Fera taking the bottle to look it over before extracting the contents. She unrolled the paper and read it over casually as Akim shuffled ahead, the others already taking down the crane.

"I see..." She rolled it back up, showing a knowing grin. "You did well!" She reached over to tap Akim on the arm, leaving him stifling a yelp. "We have patches, get some rope, tie that together and get back up here."

"Tie it together?" He frankly had no idea what she was talking about.

"Over here!" Ah, Schah, his red-feathered 'friend'... the two never really did get along, though at this point Akim frankly didn't care. Shuffling over, avoiding a stumble, the two descended below the deck. Those patches were nothing more than assorted planks meant to be hammered down should something puncture the hull. Fortunately they made a--perhaps not good--but better-than-none substitute for the strength of a bone, tied together with a length of thin rope.

It would do for now. Even if he wobbled on his feet and only had one useful arm, the crane still needed to be stowed, the anchor hoisted, the lateens brought out, the lines secured... he had his work cut out even without climbing the rigging.

As the sun trailed through the sky the Moonrise soon made its way north. Akim spoke his thanks for calm seas, the ringing and headache taking its time, clearing up by sundown. Now more or less steady on his feet, he remembered the dive. Below deck, moving to the front at the end of the night, he thought of all that'd happened. He could've taken a deep breath of water. If there hadn't been any air, if he hadn't reached the surface...

Nar asked, the flickering light barely enough to make out their surroundings, "You'll be right come our arrival in port?"

"Maybe... though I feel well enough. Better than dead." Akim single-handedly pulled himself up to lay on his bunk. "I couldn't count the number of ways I could've died."

"You count very far then?"

Akim huffed, "I'm not stupid!"

"No, quite the opposite. The fact you're still with us shows how resourceful you are... or at least enduring."

Akim sighed. "Enduring, maybe, more so now... Thank you." His voice wasn't cheery, but it was genuine, though he was unwilling to drag the night on any longer.

The deck left to the night watch, Fera made sure she was unwatched as she revised her maps. She'd hoped it might be a deed of land, for a title of nobility. Perhaps a claim of silver, or something valuable to the crowns. This note was none of these.

A seemingly hieroglyphic text was written with symbols resembling the ones she'd seen on the key Akim and Nar had found. These symbols had been seen before on slabs of ruins, etched into cliffs, all from the time of the first oracles. This note, on the other hand, was from the last century. The one who wrote it might even still be alive somewhere.

Even better, four words in a list weren't words at all. One symbol was never identified in the ancient writings: a decimal point, present in each of the four, ordered with two lines of two, first showing three digits in front, two behind, the next two in front, two behind. Longitude and latitude. How fortunate she was one of the few to own a vehicle for reaching far away lands! If only she truly owned it all. Deeds and all aside, sails don't hoist themselves. The crew was just as invested in their business, and only a few among them would join such a hopeful gamble of a quest... if she could even figure out what these coordinates were. Not to mention, even with the proceeds from her business, official and unofficial, ships were not cheap to run. She hadn't the funds to go chasing the sun for seasons at a time.

Still, here it was in her hands. Perhaps, one piece at a time, this puzzle might be solved in their travels. Yet again, the oracles may not be fond of this... Pondering the problem of how to even start figuring out what the text meant, she decided on copying each word faithfully onto a chart, each symbol of the numbers separately, mixed with other words, completely scrambling the meaning of the original document out of existence as she assembled a list of terms. If she knew what each symbol and word meant, she might be able to translate the original page herself. After all, she didn't want to risk showing that original page to someone who might say something to someone else.

For now she rolled the new paper up, tucking it away. She returned the older one back to its bottle, replacing the stopper, and tucked it to the back of the desk drawer, letting her records of the sky cover it. Yet another matter to be kept to herself and the crew.

It was easy to entertain thoughts of flights of fancy over the weeks of monotonous sailing and trading. Many inventive tales were heard as the arc of the sun climbed high over the equator, chasing them to the north, only to desist over the border of the tropics while the Moonrise approached its port of call far to the north.

Now in the height of summer, the Moonrise rode the gentle wind through the passage that months prior was locked in ice. It hardly felt like summer to Akim, but the locals were leaving their heavy clothes at home.

By this time, Akim no longer needed to tie up his arm. It held fine on its own, though it still felt weak. Doing all the heavy moving with the uninjured arm and testing the other with finer tasks left him with one arm a bit stronger and one arm a bit more dexterous. At least they still looked balanced enough.

With its sheet lines loose, the ship drifted towards the pier. It slowed enough to moor, the sun not so high to the south among a crisp, empty sky of blue. The path open, soon they were all moving the cargo. In these more merchant-dominated shores, customs weren't as imposing. Restrictions on docking were few, the price of license and service quite low. Still, the price for a space to put a stall was surprisingly high; Fera could vouch for that!

Over the black shore were dark trees with generous foliage bearing a purple fruit and an absence of familiar ferns presiding over dense grass. The thick wooden walls of the town inland showed buildings more adapted to the cold with the occasional rock resting on the rooftop. To think, only a year ago he was a peasant, and now here he was, standing on a foreign land. For that matter, unwelcome back in Aeril, he may as well be under no crown at all!

At the moment he had other things on his mind. Like fresh water. And food that wasn't weeks old, and maybe dallying a bit and cleaning up to get rid of some of the stink.

Fera had missed the sythians on this run. Their floating towns were always more a matter of luck in finding. Done pushing papers and ensuring everyone had their pay for the trip, she stepped out to the crisp air, putting in her part as one of sixteen.

At least this time it wasn't far to move. Nobody checked shipments here so the port town itself would suffice even for the more interesting merchandise. As such, they moved the cargo to the docks, ready to be wheeled off to market.

Fera turned. "All right, _before_ you all storm the town, remember, don't call the tales of dragons lies here, and you four from Valnor, don't go making the fish salute. It doesn't mean what you think it does here. Remember that!"

Fera knew well the dragons were far from myth. The sightings in the far north weren't fantasy at all. Dragons had a full population on this world, even if by and large they stayed to their own in the more remote reaches of it.

Nar gave a knowing grin, the other three a curious look. The 'fish salute' seemed innocent enough, a cheekily named but otherwise harmless greeting between mid-latitude sythians---but, strange lands with strange peoples...

Having arranged the security of the cargo and with the crew off to town, Fera made her rounds; the local merchants showed definite interest in these deliveries, as unusually timed as they were. The Moonrise could sail for ports further outside the trade winds than any large square-rigger could, after all. First and foremost, she and the crew loaded the cannons and carted them off in a covered cart to be hidden away until she could find a place to either sell them as is, repair them, or melt them down. The main cargo was unloaded afterwards and moved into town.

One last matter: one courier package to be handed off in town inland, another package taking her up the steps of the courtyard, towards the stone arches leading into the town office. She caught sight of black feathers and a blue dress under a soft black-brimmed hat. The mayor herself, standing outside? If Fera didn't know any better she'd think herself unwelcome inside...

Fera approached, wooden box under arm, ducking her head in respect. "Chief." Then, looking up and offering it, "A parcel from your allies in temperate Valno-"

The mayor snatched the box from her hands and proceeded to open it, checking through the papers, optics and brass tubes within, ensuring it was all there.

Fera asked, "I apologize, have I transgressed?"

The mayor sighed, spending a moment looking off to the side, her eyes then tracking Fera. "Captain Aunich, I've heard word you've been up to no good on the high seas, robbing the graves of those fallen during the war. You know very well we can't afford one of our merchants tainting our honor in the eyes of other crowns. Tell me, why is this said about you? Your ship has a crane mount, doesn't it? So what are you doing with it?"

Fera felt it hit: not fear, but anger. Someone among her crew... no, they'd only arrived this very day. Someone that was _once_ among her crew... Yet, she wore an expression of surprise anyway.

"Rumor about what? That crane mount is built into the deck, irremovable from the ship. We keep the crane to aid us in loading off the sythian docks on the sea; the seas are often too rough to dock for long." True statements, albeit with a critical omission.

She looked directly at the mayor. "Who spreads this foul slander?"

The mayor shook her head. "Find out on your own if you have the chance. I've arranged a place for you to stay."

"You have, Chief?"

"The scoundrel's inn!" The mayor crossed her arms. "You'll have the Finest Escort and will be staying there until we're done searching the Moonrise, at the least."

What an ordeal this had turned into! Of course, the Finest Escort came clad in armor to take her, one way or another, to her room--one complete with amenities including cold rock walls, a bit of a plank floor to sleep on, one large iron-barred door, and a stench to beat all. The bare cell left no escape. In all reality, running a salvage-capable ship and sailing beyond the trade winds tended to draw suspicion anyway. It wasn't the first time this had happened.

Fortunately for her, people of her position weren't broken or killed over mere accusations here and other crowns, desperate to avoid conflict, were hesitant to punish a foreign captain, especially with tensions as they were after the war. There was a reason she always had the interesting merchandise moved the moment port was reached, or beforehand by dinghy where customs weren't lax.

Plenty of silver was to be had against the word of the crown, but all things had a price. _Plenty of silver indeed_ , Akim noted to himself. The guards seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, approaching each of the crew one at a time. He thought to himself, _stay calm, and say the official mission_.

Even if his neck wasn't on the block, he wasn't about to give up such a profitable livelihood or make himself a target for Fera otherwise.

"And when you came to the port of your brethren?"

Akim replied, trying to keep it short. They hadn't even made it to the sythian town! But, it was part of their official mission. "I had little time to talk. The captain made business, we hoisted the barrels and crates aboard with the crane then stowed it to set sail."

Moving off, the formidable armor-clad inquisitor asked another.

"I was on deck the whole time. We didn't dally, moved the cargo, stowed the crane then set sail again."

And to the next.

"I didn't even see much of anything. I was under the deck moving cargo out, then in once the captain had finished trading. Soon enough we set sail under a good sky."

The guards convened, those emerging from the ship giving a report: "The cargo's already gone, very swiftly gone... but there's nothing from any plunder aboard."

"All their stories line up. They say they acquired those trinkets at a sythian floating town. The merchants seem to believe them."

A drawn out sigh was heard. "Well, you should tell the mayor, I'll take your patrol."

The sun climbing to the next day, Fera looked up to see the iron bars swing open. She stood, listening in as the larger of the two appropriately blue-feathered males at the opening spoke.

"We've finished, and our chief holds no quarrel. Apologies for the ordeal, Lady Aunich."

Taking this as a sign to egress, she did so.

The smaller of the two, a bit more sternly if not rudely, spoke, "The exit's _that_ way." Pointing insistently, muttering something about a lucky bastard.

Adjusting her coat, Fera nodded. "Thank you, sir," she said before quickly moving out. Those places always gave her a bit of a shiver, but after gathering her bags, pouches, and blade, the warmth of sunlight dispelled that quickly enough.

_Well, that was one way to spend a night_ , she pondered, stepping along. She still needed to find a market for those guns, acquire goods to sell, and make sure all the silver weighed as it should. Also, find a dragon. And find someone to translate that ancient text. Also wash those fetid stains from her clothes; water would suffice. And another item to idly add, washing the stains from her honor. _Those_ stains could only be washed out by one thing...

It was proving to be a busy stay already, but they wouldn't call it business otherwise. Stop one: get rid of those guns before someone finds them!

Fortunately she knew of a master of the metalworks in this sizable port, one who had shut windows and a sizable furnace for a reason. Stepping through town, she took a stop to rinse the grime off from her 'stay at the inn', noticing a new addition to the town. The creek had been harnessed: it was driving a belt, with wooden platforms catching the water on the bottom of the belt, serving as a conveyor upstream on the top. Convenient, even if these belts and gears would be frozen in any season but summer.

Walking through town, she gave a nod to her crew in distant passing. Their livelihood was still afloat and Fera's head was still on her neck. All was well! For now.

Passing towards the inland trail, she saw ahead the towering chimney of the forge though there was no smoke to go with it, the interior dark. She knocked on the door twice before a goggle-wearing strong-armed sythian answered, leaning his weight against the frame. Adjusting his goggles, he said, "Fera? Back on schedule, but I didn't make it through the spring here."

"Malkon, didn't make it through the spring?" She added, "You seem all right, but what of the forge? And why the goggles?"

"Keeping the dust out of my eyes so I can sweep it all clean. Another'll be setting up shop soon enough, I just can't compete with that Grounded Ironclad fellow up the hill."

She looked back towards the river. "I'd been wondering who built that lifting-mill."

He sighed. "That conveyor chain goes right to him. Annoying the heck out of the fishermen, nothing in the river now that he put that there! But more importantly, his skill with smithing and casting is unrivaled. They call me a master but I'm no legend, and my _own_ master..."

Fera was tempted to smirk, but said instead, "You haven't sold it off yet have you?"

He shook his head.

She peered inside. "Because I have a lot. Underscored. Of iron that needs tending to."

"Wouldn't happen to have a lot, underscored, of coal?"

She reached under her cap, rubbing her headfeathers.

He looked upwards. "Apologies, but I can't afford to keep the forge running."

"Quite all right, though I'd rather not have to ferry all that iron..."

"That's what the conveyors are said to be for."

"Call it a hunch, though I expect I'll be returning later."

He managed a grin for a moment. "I'd appreciate the company at least. Farewell for now then."

She gave a nod and a farewell, parting to return to the river... ah, the bottom of that conveyor! Conveniently with a building right there, a hollow, floorless shed missing a wall where the conveyor entered it. The platforms were trough sections on the bottom, catching the water, with a variety of tops for carrying various loads. The thick chain reflected the weight of the water all along the river driving it.

A sign showed how to load in light and heavy loads for delivery inland, and another listed prices for works at the smithy upstream. It even explained ways to send requests through the conveyor... well, that seemed convenient, but she wasn't about to go ferrying _these_ things in front of the town. She did however have something she wanted delivered upstream.

It seemed the easiest way to get from the greater town to its neighbor village. Checking the platform for handles before hopping into the trough, Fera settled in, having a seat and laying back. She was careful not to lean too far forward less she end up upside down on the next platform. Apart from that, it wasn't that bad, even comfy, at least compared to the last place she rested.

"Hey, that's... for _things_ , not people you know!"

She looked down at the rather concerned mirian entering after her. Much less concerned, Fera waved at her. There was nothing saying you couldn't put a person on it!

At the other end of the conveyor, or more appropriately under it, a wagon of jingling goods was carted off with another cold, hard cart on the way.

_Delightful_ , Fera thought, watching the trees pass by, _why didn't every island have one of these?_ Come to think of it, that might be something to sell parts for should it catch on...

Another cart rolled in, and those below looked up the chute. "Probably a crate? Get ready to catch!"

Fera dangled her hand down, grazing the surface of the water for a moment. Levelling off? Suddenly she found herself tossed over end, face first into another carrier now going to the side, connected by chain, over the land. Dead ahead now was a chute she didn't like the look of. Time to hop off... into the bushes it seemed!

Fera emerged from the bushes around the back of the chute, pulling a twig off her coat. Just below, a smaller town greeted her with a mountainside cavern nearby. Looking over, she spotted a teal feathered one stifling a chuckle. "The conveyor is for cargo only, you know."

She brushed herself off, frowning for a moment. "I believe I see why..." Embarrassing, but she brushed that off as well, moving down towards the cavern.

The iron pipes curved upwards, belching prodigious smoke into the sky, the glow inside showing impressive flame! Such grand displays... she thought this Grounded Fellow was probably someone short of stature in contrast. "Hello?" She peeked inside, taking a step in.

She'd been thinking these thoughts, only to be greeted with red-orange reptilian eyes in a thick plated head that seemed far larger than hers on a lengthy neck over a black-scaled grey-bellied body, easily seeing at eye level when on fours, standing over twice her height otherwise. He truly towered with immense power in his form, and the hammer at his side carried a head that looked as though it weighed more than Fera did. He blinked, looking left, right, then down, at the momentarily frozen fur-wearing mirian in front of him.

"Oh, it's you," a deep voice sounded.

Named dragons for obvious reasons, these creatures were similar to mirians only ranging from one and a half times the size to over three times depending on diet, showing plate and scales instead of feathers. Easily the largest creatures on land, they also were among the longest-lived creatures with keen senses and intellect. Despite the name, they lacked wings or special breath though it was said they had a natural talent in the mystical work of the mind's power.

They were once considered godlike. The works of iron and gunpowder had detracted from that, yet still the dragons stood above the others as powerful and mysterious creatures. This one looked powerful, even among dragons!

All the same, Fera didn't like the sound of his voice. She wore an expression of a pleasant greeting, bowing in respect. "Fera Aunich of the Moonrise, courier and purveyor of goods and curiosities abroad. I've come to ask your help in restoring old iron to a luster."

"Old iron," he huffed, raising up. "Dug from the sunken grave of noble warriors, is that right?"

A bit of disappointment and fear, but mostly frustration, sank in her belly. "No, as I said, I bring goods from abroad. Trading iron from islands with good ore is profitable, reclaiming iron forged from it especially so."

Unofficial business was common in these parts with the merchants holding more sway than the crown. The mayor using what little real power she had to inconvenience Fera and her crew was one thing, but now the dragon?

She looked at him. "I've heard you've newly arrived. Unfortunately, someone has been spreading slander about me, I admit, though my goods are genuine and I have friends you may wish to meet."

"Newly arrived?" His tone rose, "You think I'm new to these lands? Aunich, I hatched among the frozen isles BEFORE the war! I remember when this land was one of prosperity, where people respected the crown and one another, and now?!" He lowered his head to stare right at her, eye level. "Cheeky pieces of work like YOU defile the land where noble warriors once strode. I'm not interested in meeting your friends, or you, ever again."

She blinked, stunned in a sense, though knowing now this whole encounter was doomed from the start.

"Get. OUT!"

Stepping back, ears ringing, she didn't even bother giving a bow; she just turned tail right out of there. He shook his head and turned back into his home as she left.

Thoroughly shaken up, she distracted her mind on the way back downhill with thoughts of her favorite topic: silver, namely how much it was going to cost to get Malkon his coal and what would be left as a surplus after all of this. Another thought crept into her mind: all of her options on what to do with the one who decided to go barking about her.

Later that afternoon, Malkon heard another knock. About to call it a night anyway, he opened to be greeted with a pair of carts loaded full of coal and iron.

Fera smiled at him. "Malkon. Meet the crew. Four of them anyway."

None other than the four newest members! "So where'll we be putting it?"

Being crew was a bit boring at times. Akim didn't say it, but he sometimes wished Fera would have them do more on land than push carts around. Then again, being able to roam freely was nice in its own right! Even if some of the faces around seemed more intimidating than inviting.

Malkon blinked behind his goggles. "Oh, um, er, well..." He turned and gestured them inside. "Anywhere. That isn't right next to the forge anyway. Nice meeting you all! And a fellow indeed, you're always welcome."

Akim gave a grin and a nod. Then looking to Fera, Malkon noted, "So your hunch was right? Come in, your feathers are fluffed like you've seen a terrible beast!"

She patted herself down. "That's because I _had_ , earlier. Still a bit shaken." Stepping in while carrying a bag of coal, she continued, "Seems this Grounded one is enamored of the old ways and detests 'pieces of work' like me. Should be good news to you, as he'll be exempting himself from the more lucrative markets. So I hope you haven't given the title yet, you'll still be in business! Assuming you're creative with your words addressing the tax man."

Malkon nodded. "You should see what I wrote for Tarion's little delivery. _Ornamental conversation pieces_!"

Fera frowned for a moment, setting the bag down. "I remember that; even _I_ thought that was horrible."

Malkon shrugged with a smile. "That's Tarion. I'm not here to judge, I just shape the metal." He adjusted his goggles, moving in with another bag of coal. "You wouldn't want some ornamental conversation pieces of your own, would you?"

"My blade shall suffice, thank you very much. Speaking of blades... if you have any available, the crew could use a few. And there's another market for you, selling blades to people like me."

He looked up at her. "The way you say it, all I'll have to do is wait for his novelty to die down. We'll see if I can last that long. Thank you, Fera!"

At this time of day the shops were closing, and Malkon was thinking more about sleep than lighting any forges. Fortunately, he was situated at the edge of town for a reason. The cover of the thick greenery made moving the guns and blades from their little stash over to his shop relatively easy, attracting no attention.

It was a common thought that a blade was only finished, and its owner only truly an owner, once the blade was covered in blood. Fera never denied being a proud owner of her blade.

She didn't make a point of it, but the thought was on her mind once they'd finished moving all the metal and stopped for a drink at the pub come the end of the day. It was a popular time and she specifically chose the place with an eye on spotting someone familiar. There were only two such she'd left on this island and both were left in this town. With luck the right one would still be nearby.

She kept sober and kept quiet---one of the only ones to do so--- talking once in a while, though always keeping an eye out. Everyone else simply couldn't get enough of the mead here for better or for worse, but she'd planned on saving the celebration for later. As time went on... well, nobody seemed to recognize her. Eventually, frustrated, she gave in to indulge.

Finally loosening up enough to talk to people as a result, she learned the rumor had spread from the town inland past the Grounded's cave. Inland? What would either of them be doing inland?

She had the sense to remain sober enough not to let anyone know what she was talking about. Having avoided revealing her intent, the next morning brought her another trip up the river, this time walking alongside it rather than riding to the top.

It was warmer this day which made waiting around a bit easier. Of course, she'd pretend to be on business at times although the markets here, save for the few local specialties, weren't much to look at. She began to think, if only...

"Ol' Captain Aunich, is that you?"

She turned and looked around. "Who asks?"

"It _is_! Don't remember my voice?"

Seeing the mix of odd green, yellow and orange feathers, Fera knew him all right. "Valthian? I see you've not been slouching."

Valthian always had quite a bit of stamina and skill with a trusty crossbow on his back, always chasing his goals down with a keen, cold, and calculating plan. A man she could respect! But she knew there was a fair chance they both had plans for doing away with one another at this point.

"Not at all." He continued towards the eastern end of town, Fera walking alongside. "Especially come winter. Pelts of the krykal shag are especially prized these days."

"Curious I've not seen any in the markets."

"Missed the last ones by a wide berth. The moment the harbor opens there'll only be a week to do business, and every year there are fewer to hunt."

"Can't last forever, can it? In many other lands only the nobility take to the forests."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course it won't last. For this reason I hunt even in summer; best to have the greatest share before they're all gone. Then I'll find other quarry."

A moment passed. "Well then, who are _you_ hunting after?" he asked.

Fera looked right at him. Always observant, wasn't he? She replied, "I'm hunting after someone among the alleys, as not all goods are in the markets. Likewise, I expect krykal aren't all you hunt."

He looked aside. "Bread is harder to come by up north yet we all need ours. Speaking of food and drink, I brought water if you're thirsty."

She tilted her head down slightly. "After you."

"Not thirsty."

She lied, "Neither am I, but thanks." She thought that maybe she was being paranoid. She sensed that there was another out there; her heightened state of awareness found something odd. Not Valthian: the dark-feathered male back behind the shop, looking at her... only to promptly turn tail and duck away all of a sudden between the stands. She saw him wearing a rather ornate bit of cloth, a spiral-embroidered scarf and a shiny amulet. Fancy enough to draw anyone's eyes!

She brought her head up. "Pardon a moment." Then turned to follow the same path through the stands.

"Fera?" Valthian called, then waved, standing as she left. After she was out of sight, he immediately turned and made for the woods.

She trailed after the dark-feathered one... who _was_ he? She'd never seen him before. For that matter, to Fera's slight amusement, between his feathers and ornate apparel he didn't look much like a _he_ to begin with. He looked back at her then ducked his head, speeding up down the trail, into the woods. She matched his pace to follow. Before the town was out of range, suddenly he stopped, stepping to the side of the path.

Playing _that_ game? Fera looked at him briefly, passing by. Maybe it was just some paranoid inland merchant who didn't like folk from the sea. Then again...

Seeing a fork in the path ahead, she stopped. The thick woods held a few berry bushes, and sampling a bit of local flavor was one way to intentionally waste time without drawing suspicion. There he was again, speeding up as he passed her, heading down the curving left trail, away from civilization.

Tossing a few berries up to snap them out of the air, she carried on down the left as well, following along, the two of them gradually speeding up to a good jog, moving down another side path. Now there was no doubt! Rounding the corner almost at a sprint, she spotted him leap and dash over a boulder, into the woods with surprising agility. If only he were one of the portly ones this would've been much easier!

He'd done it as if he had it all planned. Fera slowed, spotting a glint of iron over the rock through the trees. Immediately she put her back to the nearest tree. That was definitely the shine of steel pointed her way!

The slope led downwards to the side of the road. She peered down the road, her glance quickly leaping from that tree to the next, then down the slope she went, using the terrain as cover to follow the road along. Ducking down, she briefly peeked through a bush. Those weren't leaves, those were green feathers; it was none other than Valthian. A brief _I knew it!_ shot through her head, but she had more important things to think about. Like how to get out of this without other things shooting through her head. She drew her well-made straight and relatively long blade, held on a black cruciform hilt with a spherical pommel.

By the time Valthian noticed something moving in the bush, she'd already ducked back down. He knew where she was and where she'd been going, but then again he also knew she was smart enough to know that and change her path.

So she kept walking where she was going before, down the road a ways, taking the chance to briefly peek through another bush. He was aiming the other way. Perfect! It was a window that wouldn't last forever, so she took it, hurrying across the path. She took her time sneaking up to his vantage point, taking a rock in hand from the ground... if she got too close, he'd hear her. So instead, she tossed the rock over his head, ready to lunge.

The rock landed on the other side with a thud and snapping of twigs. He turned to aim at the sound and she charged towards him, knowing he hadn't the time to turn to shoot. But he still had the time to turn, and her lunge was stopped cold by the butt of his crossbow. Heavy and iron, it left her thoroughly stunned and dazed; her attempt at a dizzy thrust of her blade missed by a wide margin, and Valthian took the moment to punt her back, his crossbow soon to bear.

Short of options, she had the sense to notice her sword held over her head. Opportune, if in a sense pitiful, she swung forward, slinging the blade right at him. He jumped at this, snarling as he brought his crossbow up to deflect. Of course, her toss was entirely ineffective; the hilt bounced off as the blade twirled off harmlessly. But it gave her a brief opening. Charging stunned like a drunkard she crashed into him, bracing her arm under his crossbow in a struggle---which he was likely to win---but it was all she needed. She slammed his hand back and the crossbow loosed its bolt; an explosive crunch was heard as the bolt embedded itself in the tree behind her.

She pushed away to the side, pulling free from a grab as she threatened to pull him over, snatching her blade up as he drew a curved short sword of his own, dropping the crossbow. He approached, but in an otherwise defensive stance. Fera attempted to thrust under it; she aimed for his belly only to have her blade knocked aside. She leapt back from Valthian's subsequent stab attempt. Her footing was steady, her senses having returned though there was no running away from him. He could outrun her and she knew it, but she still kept her distance.

He spotted her sword high, and lunged ahead with a slash low. Fera hopped back, an overhead swing of hers meeting with a neckward slice of his. His blade caught on her hilt as he charged ahead, plowing her back and over. She caught the ground and rolled back onto her feet, hopping back to regain her footing. As she was recovering, he swung down with a slice; Fera felt a flash of cold pain as his blade met her ribcage, a line of red crossing her chest as she snarled. The rush she felt kept her focus sharp as she bounced his subsequent thrust with the base of her blade, responding with a thrust of her own to the belly and up. He was a bit too invested in that one, pulling back with a grunt, a bloody spot on his belly and a new coat of red on the tip of her blade.

Entirely undaunted, he closed distance once again, his attempted cut across the belly met with her blade, but only narrowly. It sent her stance up and open, a state he exploited with a thrusting return. She pulled back, stifling a yelp as she felt the freezing bite of steel pierce her side. Drawing back and away, she moved with haste, turning to sprint.

Giving chase, he shouted, "Lay down and it'll be quick!"

Down the trail, Fera darted to leap down the incline. Bingo! She made a reach to grab a rock at the bottom as she passed, only to find herself eating one instead. She felt as if her tail had nearly been pulled off by that tug, and Valthian's foot soon pressed to her back.

"Nothing personal, old friend." He turned the sword in his hand. And failed to notice her resting on her arm. Before he could run her through, she turned and chucked the rock below right into his face, leveraging herself over, drawing one side up before thrusting her sword clean upwards.

How quickly the tables turn. She snarled and pushed herself and her blade upwards... only to have him remove himself from her blade with a loud grunt, grappling her arm but failing to disarm her. Shaky and stumbling with blood gushing from front and back, Valthian desperately held her, drawing up for another slash, which, surprised that he was still standing and fighting, Fera narrowly blocked with her blade, taking a new gash to the arm. Trying and failing to wrestle free, punting his wound, she saw him desperately hack at her again from the side as she swung around. She caught the blow with her blade, taking the moment to yank him from his footing.

It was the moment she needed. She sliced to the side and struck his belly before running him through again, pulling back and punting him down after he let go.

"This _is_ personal!"

She stepped down on his arm, Valthian fighting to wrestle away as she stabbed him again and again, slinging blood to both sides and thoroughly coating her legs and blade with it. Valthian yelled out before finally, out of breath, panted as he lay with blood pooling from his mouth.

"Former 'friend'..." she spat between breaths, wiping the blood from her nose. As if it made much of a difference with the dripping red from her chest, side and arm, with Valthian's blood all over her legs and the rather disgusting mess under foot. But, attached to that mess...

"I'll take these..." In that pouch were a fair few cardinals and copper arrows, a surprising amount to carry. More quarries than one indeed. "And _this_." That blade of his... she'd always thought curved and broad blades were for people who couldn't block well, but it was steel. Taking his scabbard and turning it, she wiped both blades clean, sheathing them. Fighting with two blades seemed ridiculous and unwieldy, but trading it for a fine dagger was an idea. Then again, an open hand to grab, strike, and throw rocks with was convenient to have.

"Fera..." A rattling breath was heard.

"Oh shut up and die already!" she snapped before looking down. "A wrap for the road..." taking his gore-covered shirt. Not appealing, but it was cloth. "And a few of these..." Snagging the tuft of his chest, she yanked and tore out a few feathers as a token. No real sound from him, though he did gurgle a bit.

"And these..." Taking his quiver to sling behind her back, Fera left Valthian behind and found the crossbow he'd dropped. Now she had two swords and range, that's a profit! Even if it came at a bit of personal cost, she thought, rubbing her nose.

Stepping back, she looked at the green-feathered heap. She took hold of him and dragged him off a short distance into the woods. "Goodbye, Valthian."

She turned back to the rock where it all started. Now to find the colorless one that no doubt had paid him.

The footprints were easy to track, though moving along seemed likely to get ever harder. Blood matted across her chest and down her leg, and as the rush wore off she found herself with a slight limp, muttering an expletive under her breath every few dozen steps. She'd wrapped it well enough to avoid leaving a trail, but the matter still drew her concern. At least her chest was still together enough to still wield a blade effectively. She kept it out of mind, distracting herself with thoughts of what she'd do to that dark-feathered guy.

The trail led to a house at an outcropping over the town, connected to the path they'd been on. Approaching from the woods, she looked it over. It was a smaller property that seemed little more than a peasant's, or maybe a hermit's, with shuttered windows to look out of, otherwise not the most impressive or most central place. The windows were open during the day to let in the light, but they'd also let anything else through. Crouching, she watched the contrastingly ornately-clad one at a desk inside. He was leaning forward, scribbling with quill and ink on a blank page. He seemed a bit shaken up still, making haste... what was _this_?

She drew the crossbow, loaded it and ratcheted it back, gritting her teeth in the process. With her chest like this she wouldn't want to have to take a second shot even if she got the chance. Catching her breath and steadying, she braced the crossbow on a rock, leaning over with her eye down the length. She waited for him to finish writing.

When he stood, she aimed right for his midsection through the window, a bit up and a touch into the wind; it'd been a while since she'd used one of these. She pulled the trigger, the silent weapon hardly heard anywhere else, and the bolt landed with a sickening splat... on his ankle! He hopped and collapsed with an alarming yell.

Not what she was hoping for but it'd have to do. She moved forward, down the incline to the window, crawling through. First things first, she stepped atop him, kneeling to hold that mouth of his shut, taking a stretch of bloody fabric she'd torn from her former friend's shirt to tie it that way. He fruitlessly tried to grapple and pull her off, and Fera punched him twice in the face in response. Pulling his arms back, she rolled him and tied his arms together behind his back.

"Don't move and don't make a whisper." She spoke softly, aiming to check around the house. She didn't know if anyone else heard him yelling but didn't want to stay around long enough to find out. First things first, that note... stepping over, she found it was covered in those ancient symbols, penned not millennia ago but right in front of her eyes. So, he knew what all these were? A secret not held in some tower of mystery or great treasure, but held within the mind of some otherwise unremarkable male scribe living in a humble home out where, indeed, nobody would think there was anything of value.

Whoever hid this was smart--unfortunately for them not smart enough to pick someone who secretly was an expert fighter or the like. Fera returned to him and showed him the paper. "This. There's a codebook isn't there? Point me to it."

He writhed in a panic, looking away from the blood-covered and thoroughly menacing intruder.

She slipped the tie off his mouth. "Tell me then, and you'd better not yell."

He grunted, gasping, "There is no code book. You fool, you think I leave things like that laying around?"

She paused, then smiled. "Ah, so the codebook is in your mind is it?"

He shut up at that.

She looked out the window. "Well, mister..." She slipped the tie back on. "Seems you'll be going on an extended vacation."

She looked down... say, those bolts were worth a few copper arrows, weren't they? She gripped the embedded bolt by the tip, pulling it the rest of the way through with a few panicked grunts from the one it was embedded in. She wiped it off and put it back in the quiver, wrapping his ankle to keep from leaving a trail of blood... now for the hard part.

She snagged him by the arm, dragging him back, before dragging him to the window, then through it. She quickly cleaned the mess inside, or at least covered what she couldn't, before dragging him out to the woods. It looked like a hermit's home but he probably had a wife, maybe kids out somewhere, and she'd rather not have them running in on her dealing with him. She made sure he was bound firmly to a tree, out far enough where he wouldn't be heard.

It was getting late and at this point she was really feeling like collapsing. "I'll be back, later."

She'd searched him and made sure there was no way he'd be wiggling out of this one, though she didn't plan on leaving him alone for too long either way. She returned, circumventing the town for the stream to clean herself up at least enough to look somewhat presentable and properly clean her gear so that it didn't look so recently used. On returning to town she looked better, even if her limp was a bit more pronounced.

The pub... well, not much else she'd do here, and she needed a quick remedy. Stepping in, she nodded and took a seat. Quieter than usual, she mostly greeted people with a nod.

"Hello, there. Had quite a day, I see?"

Fera looked up at the voice. It was written on her face, but she didn't feel like getting into the details. "A friendship ended today. Violently."

The white-feathered bartender gave a silent nod of acknowledgement. She wasn't going to press. "Came to wash it down the river?"

"Root whiskey, clear, strongest you've got." She said without much hesitation. "A mug, not a glass." Fetching her pouch, she tossed a few copper arrow coins onto the table.

The bartender quickly gathered them. "Just remember to go out back before you pass out."

Once Fera had the mug, she stood and looked back. "I'll just be a minute..."

The bartender noted, "I'll see you soon." A bit insistently. After all, there was a policy of you-lose-the-mug-you-buy-it.

Exiting and turning the corner, she pulled her coat off and removed the bandages, taking out the rest of Valthian's shirt as a replacement. She wasn't sure what the people of old were thinking when they thought of this trick, but it worked. She poured the drink on the rather nasty wound, the incredible burning pain making it rather hard to control. Very reluctantly and with a whimper, she doused the cloth, replacing the bandages with a series of stifled yelps... but it kept the blood inside and disease outside. Better stumbling from pain than horribly dying. Staring longingly at the now mostly empty mug, she drank the rest with a single swig, covering the bandages again and stepped back into the pub, not even caring about the look.

Settling back down, Fera looked to the tender. "Yourself? Slow night..."

"Time to think. I've found it fruitful; my husband has been paranoid about some sea-merchant coming for him, ever since he received his papers. Made a big deal about the captain... you, I think."

"Papers? From who?"

"He always keeps those matters to himself."

She paused for a moment, before nodding.

"He's black-feathered, hard to miss. You haven't seen him, have you?" The bartender asked.

Fera brought her head up. "Oh, I have. Passed him on the trail here. He seemed troubled and made haste. I didn't know why at the time though I suppose if I look like the one he's afraid of that explains it. Never met him before today... is he usually that skittish?"

"Not until last autumn. I really don't know what's gotten into him... I can see why he'd be afraid of you though."

Last autumn... right after the oracles sent out their notices to the world. "I've had troubles with brigands before. Needless to say they leave me alone now, though in honesty, I'm simply a merchant mariner. Fortunately the prophecies allow one to prepare for brigands." _They do, don't they? Mister black-feather didn't prepare well enough._ "Given a few years hopefully I won't need to carry so much iron around anymore."

The bartender looked up from wiping a table. "Right. We can hope at least." Fortunately for Fera, the bartender seemed to think her husband's fears were unfounded...

She had fears of her own to worry about though. A spokesman of the oracles? If anything was clear, it was that she'd have to leave nothing behind to suggest she'd done what she was about to do.

That night, she returned to the woods... as she expected, much to her captive's dismay, there were no animals about large enough to eat him, leaving him there still suffering. No words were had between her and her captive. Rather, she just kept herself covered and warm, back against the other tree, having cleared the ground to pile some leaves. It was the roughest place she'd slept in a long time, yet the best sleep she'd had in just as long, despite the pain. Waking up the next morning, she found that her wounds had finally stopped bleeding, even if she was still feeling weak and in pain.

She'd admit she had been in a swordfight, having been attacked on the paths by a former friend. Such things happen in Leneu, though she was imposing and keen-eyed enough to avoid violence even with the limp she'd carry for the next two days. It became a bit of a routine, socializing in town and nearby, setting out to arrange purchases in the day, being quite friendly. At night she was anything but, tending to her captive in the woods, making him drink his own blood and eat his own vomit given the chance, when she wasn't carving designs or plucking him bare. She'd offered to make it quick if he'd just give up the code behind the symbols, but he held out surprisingly long. Almost too long. The bartender was understandably ever more concerned and distressed, at times overtly suspecting Fera, but the others knew Fera as being a friendly and casual person. She wouldn't do something like that, would she?

Finally, the almost-not-feathery mess tied to the tree caved in a hushed voice. She attentively took note on paper with a quill handy, his note there for reference as she drew out the symbols and their analogues, words and phrases for their code. The language needed was documented deep in the tropics to the south in the common-grounds library... fortunately she was headed that way.

Having gotten what she needed, she kept her end of the deal, providing delightful, merciful release from agony with a quick stab to the back of his head. She even gave him a dignified burial, if nothing else than to hide the body. Having thoroughly covered her trails and convinced the locals that she was a nice person despite her looks, she concluded her purchases and joined her crew to move the cargo back to the Moonrise.

Even if she wasn't limping anymore, those were going to be some scars she'd be keeping and she still felt them, as annoying as it was. Her deeds however were made clear to the rest when she made a wreath with green feathers on it to adorn the interior of her cabin. Everyone knew what it meant.

Her red-feathered midshipman certainly recognized it. "I see you met Valthian?"

"Schah?" She looked back at him. "We had a bit of a talk, ended in a change of career for him. He used to be a hunter, now he's growing trees... we're late setting sail already. Akim's probably still chatting with Malkon and the others are with him. See if he's moving or not, will you?"

Schah nodded, moving off without a word. Another delay but not a bad one most likely, and the others were already at work. It gave her a moment to sort out the mess on her desk. The note Akim found... she could read the coordinates on it now. One was marked exactly southwest of Aeril, an island just south of the equator. The other marked a site just inside the glacial north. The latter was simply inaccessible by ship, the former not a convenient stop, but both were technically in range of a dedicated expedition.

Soon enough, the three returned. Fera stepped out to the deck as they boarded, a recasted handcannon on her back. "Having a chat with Malkon?"

Akim stepped aboard. "No ma'am, I met Ironclad the Grounded while you were off inland and stopped by again. Sorry for the wait coming back down here."

She looked aside toward him. He'd returned to _that_ pretentious grouch? All the same, Akim _did_ take a fair hit and kept going for the crew earlier in the year; a minor inconvenience didn't change that. "Mind the sky next time. Here, I had this repaired for you. Get used to carrying it; Schah can show you how to use it." She slid the handcannon down to her hand, tossing it up and ahead.

Akim looked up, catching the front-heavy weapon, complete with a broom-handle stock and attached grip. Handcannons: annoying to use, impractical, couldn't hit the side of a house five meters away, but frighteningly thunderous with a grievous toll for anything it actually managed to hit. For that, Akim loved these. How did she know? Probably the fact he'd been gawking over it on the way here.

Thinking it best to keep it short, he simply said, "Sky's winds, thank you!"

"Your arm's strong again, so get up in the rigging, we're about to set out!" She called the last part out to the rest as well. _Of course_ , Akim thought, _the first thing I get to do with it is to carry it around as dead weight_.

He nodded, making his way midship, the gangplank pulled in soon enough as the Moonrise unmoored, pushing out to sea, sails unfurling into a steady and strong wind under clear skies. Perfect weather, though it wouldn't last forever.

Akim noticed Fera acting a bit reserved for a while, but she loosened up given time. She didn't mention what exactly she'd done; murdering a spokesman of the oracles seemed to not bring any judgment from above or any of that at least. One of their stops on the way south, the common-grounds library, was a meeting place between the northern isles and the southern isles, lacking a crown of its own yet still well-controlled. The formidable axe-wielding guards kept the peace but didn't block passage. Finding herself _not_ targetted, Fera gladly paid a visit. A library with a collection from the world over in a great city without a flag stood open to all seeking knowledge, Fera taking notes and copying what she needed before moving on.

Over the coming seasons, Fera learned the language of the symbols. The runic mask of ancient secrets proved useful as a cypher for documents above the crowns, such as the words of the oracles and orders regarding matters of their sites.

The note Akim had found in the wreck north of Aeril detailed a plan of action issued to the three sides of the war. There were two sites which were allied to all three, and the note instructed those who received it to avoid leading any force near these two points. The one in the arctic... neither Fera nor Akim had any idea why that was a concern, as who would move forces there? Secrets of the war, perhaps.

The other point seemed a more immediate concern at the time. A fleet seeking to attack Valnor and its southern allies would've had reason to drop under the equator, then sail north where defenses were weak. That now-wrecked ship wasn't protecting Aeril at all... it was drawing the enemy there like a lightning rod, saving this tropical isle at the expense of Aeril and its neighbors. But what was on that tropical isle worth protecting so much? No crown saw fit to claim it, after all.

The note left by the spokesman was a note stating that Fera and her crew had arrived and were making plans to move to visit Tavaria, a notice to 'send ahead with force' if a further note wasn't received; he feared he might not live to send a second. Unfortunately for him, and very fortunately for the Moonrise, he hadn't lived to send the first!

The message was clear. The Moonrise and its crew were onto something big, but the keen eyes of the oracles had already foreseen it. Fera would need to tread carefully.

Fera's orders were to move on with business as usual and keep it quiet. The oracles suspected them; best to wait for the eye to lose interest before investigating further. That and Fera still hadn't the silver to go chasing the sun, though putting this little adventure on hold did give her time to accumulate more and gave Akim and his peers time to learn how to not hurt themselves with their new blades. Blunt ones for training came in handy there! It was a productive way to pass the time all said as sailing itself was otherwise rather boring.

Those in Leneu never figured out what happened to the spokesman. The next run to Leneu went without a hitch, routing down through the band of sythian towns to pick up incense in the south and a few unofficial salvage trinkets along the way. It seemed nothing would change for the time being; nothing need stir a ruckus at all as Fera silently prepared.

#  Arc 3: A Blinding Revelation

"Nar, wake up already!" Akim was about ready to pull his colleague to the floor. "We're bringing out the jib and aft sail to head out of port."

Nar stirred, if faintly at first. "Not the mainsail?" He had room to sit up. The middle and rear sections were a bit more comfortable.

Akim chuckled as Nar stood. "Forgot already, have you?"

It had been a while. It was the winter of 3823, the day before the equinox. Tomorrow would bring spring and another year, Akim's sixth year aboard the Moonrise. Tavaria was a chain of isles that barely crossed the equator, warm tropics and deserts among the waves. Home to a culture of rich traditions, its buildings among the sands had stood in use for countless generations. This was an excellent place to get salts, incense, some spices, blue dye, among many other commodities. Most enjoyed the cuisine, save for Schah---who oddly enough was Tavarian. Akim had acquired more colorful clothing in a shade of green with a broad-brimmed hat. With handcannon on his back, blade at his side, a bandolier carrying gunpowder and round shot along with the various bits of iron and match cord needed to care for and fire the thing. He'd thought it made him look wealthier than he was! Then again, his work did pay fairly generously.

Fera had announced she'd be chasing something much more high risk this time. Some of the crew, ill of health or weary of the sea, settled ashore, and that meant it was time to bring in their new peers. With the various languages among the seas, it was a boon at times to have a varied crew. Akim himself had picked up a fair bit of Leneu tongue and a bit of Tavarian pidgin during his stays, though not much more of actual Tavarian than enough to be polite.

Easing out of dock, leaving its rowboat behind, the Moonrise drifted out into the harbor and turned towards the wind. With the sails set and lines secure, Akim made his way to the aftcastle with the rest, chuckling at the three Tavarian recruits who rushed over the dirt and sand through town, back to the pier.

There they went, into the rowboat, rowing like mad to catch up with the Moonrise. The Moonrise was at sail but close hauled, traveling just slow enough for them to catch up. Fera's feathers were getting ever more weathered, but she was still her formidable self. "They look hungry, have the potpourri ready?" Nar gave a bit of a chuckle at this, the unveiling of the cauldron. What foul black mess they've cooked up this time, still nice and warm!

How tables turn given time. Akim was right alongside them, taking a handful and putting what it was out of his mind. The chase-givers below would be wiping it from their mouths anyhow. Down came the black rain! Akim in particular aimed for the blue-feathered one, chuckling as the dinghy turned back and forth.

He shouted, "You want to catch up or not?"

Part of the 'ceremony': they had to work together to actually catch up, and there they were turning about.

Fera sighed, "I'd hoped they were more adventurers than street fodder."

Akim replied, " _I_ was street fodder when you found me." A matter that he'd seldom thought about lately. And now the blue-feathered one was getting rather angry by the looks of it!

Eventually the recruits figured it out though they must've been nearly too weak to climb up the side of the ship after securing the dinghy. But they managed, even after getting a good pelting with the mess. Akim frankly expected it when that blue-feathered one pulled up to sling a hand full of slop right at his face.

Then came the swing and the connect, right as he'd wiped his eyes off. Akim could've cut him up good for that one, but instead swung back in return, hitting once and again, the blue-feathered one turning. Fera, who'd stepped in, ducked to deliver a strong punt just under the front of the knee, one of several soft spots on the mirian form. And so he hopped, collapsing, curling up in a loud groan to hold his leg. The others walked over him.

Akim felt over his own nose. "What stupid..." He shook his head and shrugged. Not enough to ruin his mood--especially with the others laughing about it!

Fera noted casually, "He'll wise up or he'll see himself hoisted for the iron tooth. Care to watch?"

Akim shuddered a bit inside. Dangling from the tail for extended periods was not a pleasant thought, nor a whip with a weighted, feather-tearing, or even barbed or bladed tip. "I'll abstain..."

She looked back to the other new crew members, taking the chance to dispel some of the tension. "At least you two know your manners. Leneu merchant mariners must be willing to chase their goals through any misfortune and any weather!... And it's a lot easier if we all work together and get along. This is Akim--talk to him about working the crane later; he'll be teaching you how to swim. For now, get moving, bring the dinghy aboard and hoist the mainsail!"

Akim was already on the lines at that point; the three fools over there looked like they could at least reel in a dinghy without stumbling over each other.

The launch was always Akim's favorite part, with a promise of distant excitement and food that wasn't half bad. Of course, neither of those things lasted very long. Word of the prophecy was that there would be perfect conditions across the equator exactly at this time of year, and the plan was to ride the steady wind right to the west-southwest to visit the mysterious tropical island. Akim had almost forgotten about it after all this time, and finally they were getting around to it with such a convenient opening. Frankly, he thought there would probably be nothing left there. The war had ended long ago; people and things move on after all. Curiously, the Tavarian delivery also had a riddle that seemed to be added after the fact: _Clear skies lay not in the corridor between the rains, but south of the tree._ Nobody knew what it meant. Occasionally these little messages were appended to the words of the oracles, often just confusing people. Fera paid it little heed at the time.

It seemed smooth sailing under clear skies, wind abeam letting the Moonrise plow swiftly through a calm sea. All seemed exactly to plan, the night passing with Fera on watch. It turned out that the blue-feathered fellow considered their little ritual to be an insult to his honor and held a grudge, leading to even further insubordination against Akim. With Fera's grace expended, the blue-feathered one made for a spectacle for all aboard... needless to say once his skin was together again he was much nicer to everyone.

Days later, Akim rose with the sun to see it was barely visible. It seemed eerie if not outright uncanny; the prophecies could be wrong as Akim had found, but they were never wrong about _this_.

Schah had taken Fera's place at the wheel... he was unusually quiet, scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes. All anyone heard from his mouth was an order to batten down the hatches. No land to see, no birds overhead; the ocean seemed to take on a greyscale of its own with the sky above, the Moonrise rocking as the wind stirred. Darkness settled in with eddies of air quickly tugging and pulling the sails about forwards and sideways. The wind was quickly changing, blowing mist over the deck as it began to rain.

The Moonrise slowed to a stop, sails pointed straight back as the wind came to steady right in their face. They were stuck and the wind held still.

Schah barked, "Damn it all!" Frustrated, he shouted, "Get ready to pull the sheet ahead, we'll be backwinding!"

The Moonrise backed away, turning, sails pulled in to come forward again. As Schah looked up, the clouds had a particular curve... the wind was sweeping towards the center through a wall of black. Once the rain slowed enough to see it all, Schah stood, gazing with a knowing, almost despairing look, mouth open for a moment... but he said only one thing: "Prepare to come about!"

The Moonrise turned, heeling as it picked up speed, only to turn back through the rushing wind. It rocked as the tack ended, with it turning away against the sky-spanning spiral above. Akim had seen nothing like this before... the storm had to be several hundred kilometers long! And these whipping winds and waves crashing about were almost unbearable, like nothing up north. He noticed Schah seemed more familiar with the event... he had the disheartening stare of a man confronting death. Ominous to say the least. It brought a chilling feeling for Akim, knowing that he'd probably be giving the same stare if he knew what seemed so inevitable.

Schah called out, "Bring in the jib and aft sail!"

Akim found himself blown about as he clung to the wet lines; the Moonrise heaved, its bow rising up then plummeting to smash right into the coming wave. Water rushed over the bow, coating the deck as the bow sprang upwards; Akim lost his hold and bounced from the deck to come to a rest by the aftcastle. Fortunately he was by the center and not high up--as he looked up, he saw the silhouettes of those less fortunate ahead, hurling over, falling ahead of the ship, never to be seen again.

The water had blasted past the jib sail all the way in front, tearing it off its line; the sail whipped about in the wind before pulling free, blown off into the distance.

"Nar?!" Akim called out, scrambling up despite his dizziness to make his way to the front. His green-feathered friend was still there, on the ground and grunting with pain, but... alas, the others. He reached down and pulled Nar up as they returned.

"The aft sail! Get that lateen secured!" Schah called out, steering the craft towards the clearest visible patch of sky he could see; the wind and waves pulled them towards the open corridor of the interior, ever further from the safety outside. The now-unbalanced sails pulled the ship nose first into the wind, drifting towards the center of the storm.

Fera stepped out and nearly stumbled right away as the ship crashed side-first against the waves. A thick mat of clouds was seen overhead as the rain parted for the moment. The beam of the sail shimmied about, the crew's scrambling to stow the sail ending with the sound of tearing fabric. One of the lines had jammed against this incredible wind! But it was stowed, more or less, for better or for worse.

Though they'd pulled the mainsail in part way, it was still on the brink of being torn loose and leaving them helpless. Backwinding again... despite these ridiculous winds; they were all blowing in the wrong direction. Akim occasionally heard a scream as the craft heaved, letting one out himself as he slipped to the edge of the deck, catching himself on the edge. Fortunately, Nar was there to lend a hand in return. Atop it all, the mist flying past made seeing past one's nose difficult.

Akim caught a glance of Fera and Schah arguing about the wheel. She took it, angling them again towards the wind, the craft nearly lurching into a capsizing turn as the lines jerked taut. She was taking them back into the rain!

It seemed mad, that riddle: c _lear skies lay not in the corridor between the rains, but south of the tree._ Heard weeks before, it was still in her head. She considered it wasn't a riddle at all; it was deliberate instructions to her. At least, that's what she'd thought.

At the rate they were headed nobody had any better ideas, though nobody considered her any sounder of mind for it.

Akim heard Schah narrowly through the gale, "--same prophecy that got us into this!"

He heard Fera alongside answer, "And you've a better idea?"

"Down the clear until we've an opening."

"Do these storms even _have_ openings?"

"Not that I've ever seen, none but the eye!"

"Then into the rain we sail!"

Neither he nor Nar could hear her desperately shouted orders on the next turn; they ducked the sway of the beam as the ship snapped into a turn, another scream heard within the mist.

As they aimed to pass right into the wall of black they'd emerged from, Akim noticed the gales inside that 'corridor'. Though it looked relatively safe at first, the speed of those winds was faster than anything he could've ever imagined. It would've torn their masts right off and shattered the Moonrise in two!

Into the black of the rain they went. The water and wind brought a deathly chill, and Akim felt that at any moment a bolt of lightning could come crashing down right atop them. It was a matter of endurance and footing, along with a fair helping of luck, that he hadn't found himself on his last swim by the time they saw a dark silhouette ahead.

The tree-like outcropping of rock indicated an uprising of land they would run aground on, if only they knew which side gave more clearance. Left it was, the Moonrise passing south of it, avoiding the crag. The hull was damaged enough as it was. Akim could hear the pounding of hammers below the bow, along with shouting. At least there were people still down there!

The lines whipped and snagged, but Akim and Nar were moving one way and one way only, that or drown! They were together about the main mast, improvising the lines as one snapped, others threatening to do the same. The ship heeled to the side to the point where Akim thought he could walk up the main mast rather than climb, if it weren't for the battering winds.

It seemed like eons upon one another before the rain finally parted, the murk giving way behind them to reveal a setting sun ahead... had it been a half a day? A day and a half? Akim wasn't the only one who felt they could just about drop on the spot.

Akim looked around, shaking as he finally lowered himself to the deck, panting for a moment, sniffing. Wet and cold, the world seemed dark about him... the deck was sparser than it had been, and it wasn't just the missing sails.

"Get the hatches open. Take a headcount!" Fera shouted.

Many were up top when the last pass through the rains happened; the winds were still whipping about as they took stock of what remained of their number. A quick count was taken, and Akim returned to the main mast as he overheard Schah and Fera speaking behind him.

"...all but Nar and Qaril gone. Lyta as well... there's nine of us left."

"Take the wheel, Schah."

"I've no sense of where to take us, aside from away from here."

"I'll need to discern where under the skies we are first. Bring us to safety... and we'll count our blessings for being among those left."

Schah just nodded at that, unable to muster words.

It was a simple matter to sail in one direction in steady wind from there. The storm kept going south... it seemed to sweep right across where they were going, though at night there was little way to tell save for the sparks of distant thunder. Akim finally had chance to rest, though a ghostly chill and quiet filled the Moonrise through the night. Seven empty beds, and everyone had one near them.

At the coming of the next day the Moonrise was barely moving at all. Only one of three sails was still useful and that one had its lines in a mess. The bowsprit was still there, fortunately, though the front end of the hull needed several patches and a few bits of the forecastle were bashed and broken. An improvised bucket brigade was enough to solve the flooding under the deck. Diligence and luck had been enough to prevent the Moonrise from taking on too much water.

Fera's skill with astronomy had only gotten keener over time. They were still north of the equator, but only by a sliver. It seemed as the storm veered west that they could follow its tail, if at a limping pace. As close as they were to the island... reaching land soon seemed the better option to trying to make it all the way back to Tavaria with only one more than half a crew and a total of one sail.

Akim mostly kept to himself and Nar as the Moonrise limped its way under clouded yet warm skies towards the island. Fera had that look... Akim could tell she had a grudge to take out, yet she was all the more accommodating to those crew who were left. The fact that the extended time it would take was offset by less mouths eating meant they wouldn't starve, but it was a bitter comfort.

The skies cleared to show the hot tropical sun; what they saw upon the appearance of land didn't bring any relief.

The harbor was filled with shattered driftwood, bits of wood adorned with shredded thatch and cloth bouncing off the front of the Moonrise as it drifted in. There was nothing left. The pier may as well have never been there. The tiny tribal hamlet that was one of the only settlements here had been entirely destroyed, with only scraps and pieces of wood and framework left to adorn the otherwise bare foundations. Many former buildings were seen with trees laying across them; many trees had been blown over, others having lost their leaves. A soaked and wasted beach offered no comfort to anyone.

That storm had cut a swath through all these lands, though the equator seemed to have reflected it back north. What if it had torn through Tavaria behind them?

Lowering to the dinghy to row away from the anchored Moonrise, Schah noted, "These storms almost never draw near the equator... and we happen to set sail on the season, let alone the year such happens!" Fera's eyes were narrowed, gaze like a blade though more directed at the sky than anyone in particular. Akim didn't know what to make of this strange and alien tragedy, only that it was likely to have 'great' prepended and 'of 3824' appended to its name.

Akim acted as ferryman, guiding the dinghy to and from shore, though it only took two trips with all the missing crew. Once ashore, they were greeted by a somber peace, gentle winds stirring among the normally arid terrain. The songs of creatures were conspicuously missing, leaving just the sound of the waves in the background.

"All right." Fera's voice drew Akim's attention. "There might be some still alive inland. If not, there may still be salvage worth taking from what's left of the village. Failing it all, we'll need to hunt, gather, and fish. We'll finish repairing the aft sail after we've found food, and with luck we'll find a replacement for the jib without having to make one." A brief pause, "If at all possible, once we know we're not stranded here, we'll explore what's left here and see to it our journey wasn't in vain. Let's pair off and see what we have to work with."

Akim nodded and stepped off without a word. Reaching out, he waved to his plain green-feathered friend. Nar was as usual wearing a white vest and shirt over brown pants, unremarkable save for the thick boots and matching white broad-brimmed hat. These hats were particularly well suited to these latitudes, keeping the hot sun out of one's eyes.

Moving inland, several feathery corpses were seen. Akim nudged a pair with a foot... no, they weren't sleeping, and the fetid smell of death gave that away more than anything else.

Nar looked over at him. "We should leave them be. Do you really think any of them would have survived _this_?"

Akim looked to the broken trees. "One may always hope..."

Moving inland revealed fallen trees blocking all the paths. One in particular had the sound of faint mumbling and footsteps behind it. Akim stepped up, leaping upwards to grab the fallen tree, pulling himself up to repeat the process, vaulting over the top to land on the other side.

He froze, spotting two very sharp stone spear points aimed at his face, a gasping shout heard. Looking behind these revealed a pair of feathery faces just as terrified as his! An expression of relief went across Akim's face as the two lowered their weapons and shouted back in an unknown language. They wore colorful yellow and white leather with backpacks and a satchel each, though no metal was seen.

Akim frankly had no idea what they were saying anyway. "Awrm... greetings!" He spread his arms with open hands, to show that he held no weapon or related intent. The leftmost of the two interpreted this differently, suddenly rushing ahead... to snatch Akim in a hug, letting out a chain of words at the brink of crying.

Nar, peeking over the top of the mess, blinked at this scene. "What...?"

"Nar, the locals are very happy to see us!"

Nar slid down to join them as Akim was finally released. "I can see that."

The locals continued their joyous banter, but neither Akim nor Nar could understand it. Nar looked to Akim. "Schah knows their tongue; he's been to this chain before. He's still at the beach searching the ruins."

Akim looked back with a nod, before waving and gesturing back to shore. "We have a ship out there, with people who can understand you!"

They seemed baffled by Akim's words.

Akim pointed to himself, then over the trees towards the shore.

They perked, barking a few words to one another before rushing away.

Akim sighed. "Perhaps we'll meet them again later then. Let's tell the crew what's here."

This time, they found there was a gap between the barricade and the nearby hill. Slipping past that way, they saw the duo from earlier emerging behind them now with more people in tow.

Akim and Nar proceeded on and the others followed them, now a group of five. They seemed all too relieved to see Akim and Nar. Akim considered that the locals likely didn't realize that their island's guests may well be just as stuck as they were at the moment.

Passing among the ruins, they spotted Schah passing through what was once a door.

Akim called to him, "Schah! We've found the locals, and they're overjoyed to meet us."

Schah looked to the locals, conversing with them for a few moments, before looking to Nar and Akim. "They hope for aid from us. Though we need theirs just as badly at this point."

Akim asked, "Perhaps they'd be willing to join us?"

Another few moments. "They say they are the last five. Entirely. To join us would mean... the end of their presence, in a sense."

Akim gestured to the nearby ruins. "Their presence has already ended... will they waste what remains of their lives waiting for the end, or will they join us to spread tales of their kind to lands afar?"

Nar noted, "We'll have to show them every part of how our ship works from the basics onward. That's something that's always puzzled me: Tavarians have been trading with these people for hundreds of years; why are they so content with stone?"

Another short stretch of time passed, with Akim and Nar watching the group as Schah talked.

Schah looked back. "They're very reluctant to abandon their lands... although they appreciate our offer. They're considering it, but it will wait for Fera's return." Then to Nar, "And they asked, bafflingly, why we're so content with iron."

It seemed a ludicrous question. The metalworks of the greater kingdoms were the height of artisanship! With ships that could navigate the world and generations of technique focused into the sharpness of every blade, what else could one ask for? And then Akim remembered that one dragon named Ironclad. The easy answer was that there was no need for anything other than what they had. Perhaps that could change some day. Neither Nar nor Akim had really considered it before.

Akim pondered about it before asking, "Where has Fera gone?"

Schah gestured to the island's dominant feature, a small mountain with a long dormant caldera at the top. "On a summit quest! Much of what's left on the lowlands is either ruined or now floating in the ocean. She seeks shelters which may have been spared the storm."

Nar looked over at the peak. "Shall we search the path to the other end of the island?"

Akim nodded. "We'll return tomorrow and scavenge along the path." The locals had always managed a surplus of food to trade with; Akim suspected that the island, even after being ravaged by a storm, would have plenty of food.

Giving a farewell, the two parted, heading inland. Crossing upwards towards the center of the island, they took a look around. The other two smaller settlements were just as destroyed as the one they had arrived in. It was difficult to tell the smallest one ever existed; its presence was given away only by the muddy clearing where it once stood.

There was plenty of fruit about, along with the occasional land critter, none of which were taller than knee height. With fresh water trailing down from a spring near the top of that mountain, food and water wouldn't be a problem. It would however be a bit of a contrivance to get enough smoked, cured, and dried meat to set sail on. Fortunately, one trick the locals were seen sharing was how to get salt from ocean water, needed if they wanted whatever they caught to last the trip.

Moving down to the clearing that used to be the smallest village revealed a few wooden posts sticking out of the ground as the only indication that anything was there to begin with. Up close and sifting through the sands, there was absolutely nothing to be had. Just as they now all the more expected... Down the beach, Akim and Nar found the sand gradually darkened to a dull black with the mountain looming nearby.

Akim fell silent, remembering the day he and Nar explored the ancient tunnel. That sense of a disaster of old was also present here, the disaster anew resonating with the echoes of the island's past. It was a distant sense; Akim thought it was just his mind wandering.

Entering the still-life village, they found one of the huts half-intact, apparently because of the wooden storage inside, crushed under the weight of the walls around it. As the sun dropped low into the sky, Akim struggled and wrestled with the storage and rubble, trying to pry it open to no avail. He was a fairly capable person but not strong enough to move a building's wall unaided.

Meanwhile, Nar scavenged around, returning successfully with a simple kit for sewing, useful cloth, leather, and thread. Inside a nearby bucket-yet-barrel was plenty of fruit as well! Much of the fruit carried worms or otherwise was going bad, but food was food, and the longer it sat the less of it would be edible.

While the sun descended to the horizon, Akim took the initiative to prop up some of the broken wood as a pair of lean-tos while Nar finished his gathering, and the both of them took residence under crude shelter for the night. At least the night was serene, without any interruptions---it was indeed the most peaceful rest Akim had enjoyed in what felt like eons.

Despite the rough and makeshift arrangements, Akim found himself quite rested upon waking. Nar was with him, but what of the others? First, he thought of a plan: climb up the mountain a bit and continue on over the ridge, using the vantage point to spot where everyone else was.

Nar agreed to it and took the lead for once. The silent trek up to the ridge revealed a clear path up the mountain, chiseled and spiral-designed stone blocks marking the intersection. One block in particular held a design of concentric circles with a line trailing uphill. Looking along that path revealed a pair of pillars in the far distance along the backside of the mountain. Positioned such, the sun would pass between them viewed from this intersection exactly once a year, at what would be the winter solstice up north.

Off to the side, back shipwards, they couldn't see anyone. Of course, it was a fair few kilometers away, though they'd expected to at least be able to see the dots of their peers stirring.

Nar noted, "They're all still out searching, I expect. I'd thought Fera would've checked in by now."

Akim peered up the hill. "There's some sort of temple up there. The locals here had plenty of time and creativity on their hands; there's no telling what could've been hidden away."

"For want of a spyglass. She's likely up there searching for whatever made this island one of note. After all, they did build a temple up there."

"It could only be there because it's a mountaintop." Akim then added, "One way to find out. Fera might need our help with the site anyway."

Stepping ahead and uphill, they reached the base of the mountain, spotting a pit at the side of the path. Upright spikes of wood at the bottom, empty... a hook was held over it, the hook itself a convenient find at least. They found some of the more preferred berries and leaves, bunching them on the hook, covering the hole with leaves. It was one way to get some meat for the cargo hold.

Ascending the steeper slope brought them to a path of mud. The occasional tree adorned with scales of bark held down the mud with its roots, the terrain packed to steps where it was too steep to climb normally, though the storm had ruined most of the path.

Climbing the shifting broken steps, they encountered fallen trees blocking the path. Akim checked around the side as Nar scaled it, only to find the tree shifting under him, sliding down the slope. Akim would've found himself practically plowed over by it, had not the slope itself been sliding downhill. He looked down and just about yelped before scrabbling over the tree and uphill, only to find Nar tumbling back into the landslide. He stepped ahead and snagged Nar, falling to his belly as the land gave way below.

He pulled Nar up to solid ground, propping himself up in the process, Nar stumbling up as Akim slipped, the situation instantly reversing. Down went Nar's hat, and while Akim scrabbled his way up, down went his as well. Akim finally got hold of steady ground; the two were covered in mud but otherwise no worse off for it.

The same couldn't be said about the landslide underway; the entire crevice of mud washed downhill, carrying trees, chiseled stone and broken planks with it. The slide painted the ground below brown, the precariously leaning trees toppled by the flow.

Akim let out a breath. "Thank you."

Nar nodded. "Likewise! Though there go our hats."

Akim felt over his head. "Better our hats than our lives. I've the impression that there used to be more temple than we're seeing. What if the secret of this island is buried under tons of mud now?"

"We could try digging... otherwise if it's buried too deep..." They'd both been avoiding the thought of all the loss before and around them. "...this will have been a tragic and ultimately pointless journey."

Akim still didn't want to dwell on the thought. Upwards they continued. Meanwhile, on the other side of the mountain, Fera, and for that matter all the others, had spotted the landslide. She'd come back better equipped, already close at hand with plans to ascend again, to find the bottom of the mud flow, trees freshly uprooted, with various debris among it. Settled neatly on top near the corner of the slope were a pair of hats. She recognized those hats.

"Nar! Akim!"

She sifted through the rubble and dirt to no avail. Nothing was left moving... "Shit!"

She snarled briefly, marching up the dry face of the slope. Meanwhile, the duo had agreed to take it slow on their dark and moist end of the slope. They crossed to the steeper stony inclines, and soon reached the summit. Looking into the caldera, Akim and Nar saw several rungs of carved stone near the bottom that served as concentric circles of steps, or perhaps seats, with a podium in the center. Toppled like the trees, the wooden trusses of several watch towers were seen among the stone, fortifications to the sides of the pathways. There was a ruined palisade gate ahead which they simply stepped over. This temple was guarded like a castle, and for all that could be said of the locals' lack of iron, their arrows would've definitely hurt either way.

Looking behind the wooden fortification, Akim pondered, "People could have taken shelter here... why didn't they?"

"Likely a forbidden temple. The Secret Powers certainly didn't want _us_ meddling here. Yet here we are. Besides I don't see much for windbreaks. Can you imagine how strong the winds must have been at the center of this storm? This isn't as safe as you might think. If anything, the winds crashing off the mountains might have killed anyone on the slope." Nar took a swig from his waterskin. It was an effort climbing all this way, though the crisper air was welcome after feeling the heat below.

Akim nodded. Nar had a point... at least for them it meant that they could just walk right in without worry. Of so many people, only five survived? Akim wondered what feats of luck led to their surviving; it was something to ask about later, if those five even felt like talking about it.

They noticed an opening near the bottom of the caldera, a rhomboidal entrance buried under volcanic stone. The caldera under the entry was flooded with water, forming a small lake right at the threshold of the door. Whatever was behind it was far more cavernous than the door itself suggested, even though everything behind the door was likely flooded too. With all the rain the storm had brought, there was nowhere else the water could have gone. Approaching, they found a curving stone corridor, still damp, with a dim light just barely providing enough to see by inside, the setting sun granting no aid.

The path continued down seemingly endlessly in a helix. There were several metal grates venting water from the path on the way down, grates that could be optionally shut. The path led to a small chamber with pipe vents on the wall and a thick door on both ends. Both doors were open. The inner wall ended further in with a glassy handrail barricading off a large inner chamber at the center of the helical path. Their descent revealed a silvery structure, a huge cone of some kind of metal, holding up a sphere which in turn held up an array of spikes and spires pointing skyward. It was dimly lit by candlelight, candles dangling under the spiraling walkway they descended by. Several supports fixed the spires and walkway alike firmly to the floor and walls of the cavern.

Akim stepped towards that silvery sphere, feeling along one of the supports. An odd sense of calm came about him, along with a sound of distant crackling and popping far beyond the island, whispers echoing from around the horizon. At first it was a bit unsettling, though in a way he found it a bit musical. He found himself in harmony for that moment, breathing easily and unusually calm.

"Akim?"

He didn't jump, rather, he slowly looked back. "Nar, you should try this; it's a delight in its own."

"You've been staring at that thing for the better part of a half hour!" Nar exclaimed.

Akim blinked. "I have?" It certainly didn't feel that long! He pulled back, though the sense of calm lingered. Despite the thinner air he felt surprisingly steady and capable.

Nar gestured back. "While you were gawking I found the entryway Fera's gone through, over here."

Akim smiled faintly, a touch sheepishly. "Right, thank you!"

The two traced her footsteps down a straight square corridor that was lit with lamps. Someone lived here. A turn to the right led them down to a room; they spotted none other than Fera slumped over, laying on a box, crossbow fallen to the floor.

The two rushed over to find that she was more or less entirely uninjured. Breathing well enough, just asleep.

"More guests? I've been waiting for you in particular."

The two turned to see a white-scaled dragon adorned with a plethora of carved and detailed bone including a double-bracelet and even a mask; her somewhat thin body, for a dragon anyway, matched the polish of the bone. Glowing blue eyes were hidden behind the mask.

Akim looked to her, back to Fera, and gave an expression of thorough bafflement. "A dragon? What've you done to our captain?" Though he felt fear, he showed none of it.

The room was furnished with several bookshelves and tables, sized right for one of her stature to use. There were a few curious trinkets and a globe around, the chair a throne of stone adorned with limestone.

She responded, "Yes, a dragon, and mythos aside we are a people like you. We hatch, live, and die and have enough of our number to keep that going around the world. We're not really all that different!"

She stepped over towards them. "Sorry about Ms. Aunich, it seemed the best option. She stormed in here saying-" Turning to one side, taking on a gruffer voice, "Be you an Oracle?" Then turning to the other, "I replied, 'Yes!'" A hand to her chest, "I am one of the oracles, known as the Fell Harbinger. Glad to meet you!" She looked to the two. "And then I sensed such pointed hostility at my person. I certainly don't think of it as deserved; I'm a polite person. All the same I think my chest is fine without any extra iron in it, and I didn't want to let her run off to gather the rest of you for an unwise quest... so I put her to sleep for now. She seemed like she needed the rest after climbing all this way... there you are, she's stirring!"

Fera rolled on the crate, then off the crate, quickly brought awake by an encounter with the ground. She rubbed her head and stood, quickly looking back. "Akim, Nar? You're alive!" She then looked down. " _I'm_ alive!"

The Harbinger smiled faintly. "You're welcome."

Akim shook his head. "She blames the Oracles for the deaths among our crew. A terrible storm crossed us during our journey, the same one that killed so many on these islands."

"Entirely correct", the Harbinger said, "The oracles _did_ try to kill you all. Fortunately it looks like we didn't quite succeed."

Fera looked right at her. "And you spare us _now_? Even after you had a hand in all this, the prophecy that brought us here?"

The dragon tilted her head slightly. "Well, yes, I did write some of it. Specifically the part about the corridor and the tree."

Fera looked as if she'd never heard such a disarming statement, and arguably for once looked apologetic. "I see..."

The Harbinger smiled faintly once more. "Again, you're welcome. I'd hoped to meet you here, for I have something to give you. Conveniently, in a place nobody would notice my doing so." She trailed back, shuffling through the mess of papers. "Have a seat, if you wish."

Akim looked around. There were more than enough chairs, and these carved wood and cushioned chairs were exquisite, like something out of a duchess's home.

She returned with a smaller wooden box with a hinge top and a tumbler lock, along with the key for it, offering it to Fera, who immediately accepted. The Harbinger noted, "You'll need the code and key to get into the forbidden chapel of Tavaria. The key is a copy of my own, sparing the signet. I'd rather them not know it was me if you lose it after all."

Fera looked right at her. "We'll be killed if we're found at the forbidden chapel!"

The Harbinger looked over to the bookshelf, having a seat across from them. "I've already risked my own life to salvage your voyage and meet you here. I'd hoped you would be at least willing to consider returning the favor."

Fera asked, "For what cause?"

She looked right back at Fera, then at Akim. "For the post-oracle era. It's inevitable, you know. I'd rather it not degenerate to a desperate power struggle, a tyranny of the mind. We can do better than that."

Nar perked up. "The end of the oracles? But your kind have been issuing prophecies for ages!"

"Yes, we have, using works of gadgetry and mind such as the one by the entryway. For ages and ages. The ancients were ingenious architects and artisans and built them to last, but everything must end eventually. The words of my ancestors tell of our sight-seeing spanning generations. Now, most of these devices don't work and the ones that do only barely do. Our prophecies can barely touch the next year. And when the last one dies, then what?" She looked back to them. "The forbidden chapel contain texts detailing the capabilities of the mind over the world. As an oracle there is no way I could misplace them without my head being misplaced first, but _you_... are another story."

Fera's mouth was agape for a moment. "You want _us_ to steal the secrets of your own kind? For all I say about myself and my crew I find this humbling." If not a bit hard to believe, she thought.

The Harbinger noted, "You've already made off with more than one secret without losing your heads. Have a better candidate in mind?"

Fera shook her head, "You understand, pardon my words, from my eyes this all seems more than a little daft..."

The Harbinger smiled, almost chuckling. "I admit eccentricity is both a requisite to and a result of my choice of career... In all seriousness, have you taken a look around? It's our job to keep the peoples of this world content, to keep the world stable and time in a never-ending circle. And then the volcano and the winter hit? War broke out, and now our world teeters between a number of brinks. After a very long time of stability, thanks to that one event in only a half-century, our precious circle shakes on the edge of unraveling. The others of my order expect to find a new balance and restore the world to contentedness. I on the other hand feel the game is over, and that it's time to embrace... well, none of us can tell really."

Nar looked startled. " _None_ of you?"

She continued, "We'll all be blind to the future at that point. Well, now that I've finished my talk and utterly betrayed my order..." She put her hands together. "Any questions?"

There were a few moments of silence... it was a lot to take in. Akim asked, "These machines... how do they work, and why am I able to violate prophecies by simple choice, without recourse?"

She answered, "I wish I knew how they worked myself, though the general concept is that the world runs on a set of rules with a messy but distinct outcome." She fetched a trinket off the table, a small pendulum with another pendulum attached to it, "Much like one of these." Setting it back, she poked it aside, the lower pendulum swinging what seemed randomly. "These machines allow one to form a conjecture on that distinct outcome. But it's only a conjecture, and a necessarily imperfect one at that. Furthermore, when you tell someone the prophecy about them all bets are off!"

She smiled at that point. "Part of what we hope for when warning of tragedy is to avert it." She looked at Akim. "Sometimes it works." Then to Fera. "Sometimes it doesn't. Yet we try."

Akim nodded. In all reality the oracles, at least this one, seemed much nicer in general than he'd expected, though it didn't change how the others among them had tried to kill him and everyone he knew.

Nar looked up towards the dragon before them and asked, "I know this may be odd, but why do they call you the Fell Harbinger? Why do you wear bones and why does everyone refer to dragons by a title?"

It was such a change, she couldn't help but laugh briefly. "Well, they call me that because I'm a prophet and I wear bones. And people use titles mostly out of tradition. I'm Raela by the way. As for the bones, all dragons are fond of a metal and suffer no ill from it, be it silver, copper, iron... some never find what metal they're fond of. I find I like the feel of bones and that throne, never found my metal though."

Nar thought about this. "Yet there's no metal in bones, is there?"

Raela looked back and rubbed a finger over the limestone adorning the throne. "Not that I know of, but there may be more to it."

Akim brought his nose up to level, a bit easier in the chair. A welcome change of mood though the gravity of the situation let none escape. He asked, "Once we have these secrets, what shall we do with them?"

Raela looked between them. "Ask yourselves! I really couldn't and honestly shouldn't tell you what to do with yourselves. That's the point. I can only hope to be welcomed around the future world for this; what you do with what you find is your own choice."

Fera thought about it. On one hand, she would love nothing more than to cause the oracles dismay. On the other, imagine what kind of wealth such power could bring! Though on the hand of wisdom, she thought, and asked, "How do we know to trust you?"

Raela stated, rather bluntly, "If I had any ill will against you or your crew, I could have easily carried it out in person, or simply never wrote that little hint in the prophecy."

Raela had spared Fera despite Fera's intent, and Fera knew it.

Raela continued, "After all this time... one incident was all it took, and now a mere half century brings our peace to crumble. It shows how truly fragile it all was, doesn't it? Fera, Akim, Nar... the rest of my peers fight one another aboard a sinking ship. I on the other hand seek to abandon it for a greener land, even if I cannot know what I or any of us will find there. You've already made it to this point and there may not be another Moonrise before it all comes down."

Akim looked aside. "It all sounds rather bleak."

Raela shook her head. "Possibly, though I hold out hope. This is not where it all ends... but where it all begins. The circle of time shall become an arrow, pointing into the unknown. So, what say you all?"

Fera took a moment before answering. "For once I can't speak for all of us though I at least find myself willing. I'd rather die at the summit of my dream than die wallowing in could-have-beens. We'll return to Tavaria once we are able, and then, those willing to stay with me shall do so."

Raela nodded slowly. "And so it begins." She stood. "I've done all I can. I'll arrange my own transit; you should find what's left of yours will suffice. And now, we vanish into the wind and fog."

Having bid farewell, she made true to her word, giving a commanding glance back to the spire before leaving the site and vanishing into the forests. Returning to the surface, Akim felt a change in the song of the silver spire. The whispers were less harmonious, pulling in a hundred directions. The spire was alight, and they all could feel it as it sang its dying song; it was a noise that drowned out the sound of their footsteps as they planned their way. As it could only be felt on this island, the other oracles wouldn't know until much later. Rather, now they were under enough of a veil to make it to Tavaria unseen.

Fortunately the trip back to Tavaria was a relatively short one, and with the knowledge available from the locals, they were able to prepare meat and a helping of fruit. Nobody among them really knew how to make a sail from scratch---it was a fine art after all---but they still managed a very visibly makeshift jib from scrap cloth and skins. It fit, and held, and billowed somewhat, though nobody had any confidence in it.

With sails as repaired as they would get and enough food to more likely than not make the trip, the crew hoisted the dinghy again, the last of the locals having joined them. As they set sail, the island was ultimately left empty; nature had reclaimed it.

#  Arc 4: The Ends of Those Beginning

Of course, that jib never did last, falling apart relatively quickly after setting sail. Fortunately the aft sail held and so did their stash of half-decently cured meat. Inside that box was not only a key, but maps and codes. The codes were a collection of images... it didn't immediately make sense, but those who'd convened agreed it likely would in the future. The maps detailed the interior of the chapel; the ancient architecture of massive stones gave the impression of an old-fashioned lot, though the locks and security would be anything but ancient.

Of primary concern was getting to the alarm bell unseen and sabotaging it. There would be no way to do this without drawing some form of suspicion; all the better if they didn't alert the city so quickly. The entrance of choice was the plumbing. It was not something to look forward to though the main problem was getting out with the books they were targeting, works describing the current state of the mind's art.

Having planned their path, they memorized it. Fera, Akim, and Nar were the only ones who agreed to go on such a wild mission. Schah had excluded himself, and the rest decided to stay with the ship. Most thought the idea was suicide. Four or five would have been preferable, but three would have to suffice.

The port of Tavaria, the open harbor it was, greeted them without any trouble. The official story the three gave out more or less matched the sentiments of many of the crew – theirs was a tragic and wasted journey in which many died and nothing worthy of note was found. It took time to arrange for a replacement jib, which made plenty of time to arrange for new cargo and a plan to head north with spices aplenty back towards Valnor. For all intents and purposes it appeared their trip was a grand failure with Fera losing her surplus silver though retaining enough to keep in business. It was business which they tended to in the area for the coming seasons, giving time for, they'd hoped, suspicion to fall. They'd timed it such that if they succeeded without raising alarm, they could continue their trades to visit Valnor on schedule in the late winter or early spring. Otherwise, they would have just enough time to reach Leneu on a straight path, resupplying in Valnor or any floating town in order to reach the icy north before the fog of winter rolled in.

As the day to set sail drew near a sense of anxiety crept over Akim, overshadowing the sting of the hot, dry Tavarian autumn. Winter was approaching, for once a relief even if he knew he wouldn't be there to enjoy it. The brown stone nearby held both signs of ancient wear and a renewed finish in parts. With Schah stepping alongside him, Akim gestured to a series of red marks on the wall. "A warning from the guards?"

Schah looked over, reading the Tavarian symbols. "Apparently Taqar's mother isn't worth her price."

"Oh really?" Akim smirked slightly. "Someone took the time to put that there and the guards don't even seem to care? Where are they, anyway?"

"Why bother? After all, only an idiot would make trouble at the chapel."

Akim looked directly at Schah. "There's something to be said about such laziness."

The two exchanged a look, more friendly prodding than anything else although Fera's plan was a risky game to go calling bluffs in. Akim made no assumptions about the guards inside the chapel.

The brown cloudy orb of the world's parent chased the sun towards the horizon. It would soon be night, and after one last stay to sample the cuisine it would be time to make an entrance, then hopefully an exit.

Akim looked over to the bazaar as they descended through city streets bordered by square flat-roofed buildings towards the harbor. "I should check in with the captain."

Schah let out a sigh. "Farewell... farewell. Not often a man has the privilege of being a captain." He was next in line after Fera, after all.

Akim frowned in disagreement. "I've noted your confidence..." But then he looked ahead. "We'll meet again soon enough!"

Akim, Fera, and Nar convened as the sun set. The Moonrise had been repaired well enough and restocked with new cargo. The locals from the island seemed to take well to their new lives, even if the strange cultures of the crew took some getting used to. Some elected to step off at Tavaria, though fortunately there were a few Tavarians who were quite eager to set sail and never return. Fera didn't ask; they'd all be fugitives soon enough anyway.

With rags to spare their noses the stench, they made their way around to the rear of the chapel where the river met the slope under the chapel's wall. Tall stone walls stood before elegant curved spires stretching with ornaments spiraling skywards, the glass windows showing candlelight within. The sky deepening its blue to black, they stepped down to the edge of the river, spotting the guard atop the wall walking away. The river wasn't particularly wide though it had been dug intentionally too deep to wade through. Fortunately, Akim had taught the other two how to swim; the three started a distance upstream and made it to the sewer pipe easily.

With the pipe extending over the edge of the river, one at a time they crawled inside. All kept silent, not only for stealth; none of them wanted to open their mouths in this stench. At least spending years aboard a ship had gotten them used to this, to an extent. Akim definitely considered his waterproof pouch a good investment now, taking the moment to ready his handcannon.

The chapel drained its occasional rainwater where it drained everything else. Fortunately that had an upside. Kneeling to fit as they ascended the grime, they saw a light ahead... and soon found themselves light-headed from the tainted air, but fresh air came as they stood under a grate. A pair of the local inhabitants passed by, the bottom of a boot clanking over the grate.

It was at this point, though none of them were particularly apt at speaking Tavarian, they noticed the Moonrise being mentioned in idle passing among talk of beer; the Moonrise both existing and coming exactly here was in itself a concern. What coincidence they'd overheard that! Or had they perhaps really attracted that much attention by simply surviving? Though the Moonrise was a topic, these passerby didn't sound panicked.

In a way, hearing himself being spoken of like this, it made Akim feel as though he were a ghost... nonetheless he was still alive and with plenty left to do. These grates had a release to allow for the occasional sorry person to tend to the sewer and prevent any gratuitous flooding. Once all was clear, Akim and Fera together hoisted the iron grate and slid it gently. The three pulled themselves upwards and replaced the grate quickly afterwards, each wiping their boots off on it before moving off.

They were quick to make their way along the inner wall... shadows crossed by as others strolled past. A few muttered disgusted words about the smell.

The three of them had gotten through more than a few scrapes ferrying around contraband; Akim had learned well how to keep a quiet footing along with a few other handy tricks. Keeping a quiet mind was another of Raela's suggestions, and fortunately for that, matters were calm at the moment.

First came first, waiting for the courtyard to clear... waiting... waiting more. Yet the longer they waited, the more likely they'd be seen from the wall. Those two at the corner seemed to just be talking with one another endlessly. Then again, it did mean they were distracted with one another.

Fera gestured back, the three slipping around to the other side of the building where there were several windows in view of the sand garden adjacent to the courtyard. Perfect: an open window to an unattended room! The three entered the room and found a kitchenette bordered by a storeroom. The nearest door immediately exited out into the main archways of the chapel, the wide open space guaranteed to be watched by guards, with the only stairway up built within. Though this was a place where prophecies were penned and acted as a great forum, it was far more than a place for the nobility to pay respect to the oracles. It was a place of study bearing secrets of the powers of the mind and it was guarded as such. What they sought lay upstairs with no blind spots to exploit getting there.

Fera narrowed her eyes, whispering, "I'll handle this easily. We'll stay in the storeroom for now."

Akim wasn't sure what she'd planned to do, but nodded anyway, stepping back with Nar to hide behind the crates. Fera joined them, checking through the crates and barrels before double-taking at a barrel, tucking her nose inside... she grinned as she noticed the fish within. Freshly caught, they would make a fine meal very soon, though there was one caveat with this particular sort of fish. The wealthiest alone enjoyed these lengthy green-scaled treats, for only the most skilled cooks knew how to prepare them. Those studying upstairs would make a point of enjoying their fortune when it came time for a late night meal.

It was simple enough to cut one of the fresh catch open, smearing the other meat with its toxic entrails. Fera's hands were left stinging as she washed the goo off using the kitchenette bucket, poisoning that as well. She then joined the other two back inside the storeroom to wait yet more.

At least this was a relatively safe place to wait. As the day's service was over it was only the guards coming in, as she'd expected, to get hold of some of that dried meat. They were forbidden from leaving the chapel and as such ate out of the chapel's supplies. The guards left with their meal, and after a while of waiting a series of grunts and coughs were heard.

Fera gestured, and the group moved ahead through the door. The guards noticed them, but were too busy gagging in paralyzed pain to do anything about it. Quickly the three ascended the steps, knowing exactly which door to slip through from the inner balcony, entering a white walled cylindrical chamber with a half-sphere dome of glass over the top revealing the starry sky above. The walls were banded with recessions turning them into shelves for numerous colorful books, with ornate pillars dividing different sections, some shelves put up near the wall to expand the collection.

A faintly blue-grey feathered mirian sat among the tables near the center... looking around to see nothing unusual, her eyes shining a blue glow. According to Raela's papers, nobody should've been in the room! Not everyone followed the schedules it seemed. Akim and Fera crouched behind the shelf as Nar gestured through the door at them, stepping off to continue upwards.

Nar climbed past the roof and over the connection to the walls. Back to the corner to avoid revealing himself to the guards on the wall, he cast his rope up into the rafters under the sizable bell at the top of the tower, pulling himself up then withdrawing the rope. It was a precarious perch, but that was something he was used to. Silently drawing his blade, he took the rope connected to the bell, held it, then severed it at the top. He tied it to the wooden support nearby and wrapped it around twice. The bottom of the rope hung at about the same place and height as it had before, only now pulling on it would do absolutely nothing.

The guards patrolling the wall behind Nar circled around, and he heard footsteps. His heart leapt into his throat as they stepped into the bell tower... and began bantering in Tavarian tongue, taking a quick swig from their waterskins. The bell was shielded from the elements, and Nar was safe, as long as the two heavily armed guards chatting right below him didn't look up.

Far below, Fera and Akim eased across, quickly moving from one bookshelf to the next. Approaching the rear, they spotted it: a locked chest containing scrolls and texts cyphered by the codes only few had known. The images provided on those papers were one key, the piece of metal Fera had brought with her was the other.

As they moved to approach, they froze upon seeing the watcher of the room glaring right at them. She noted, "I've been aware of your presence since the moment you've approached the room. I know what you're after, though you're stupid for it; there's no way you're getting that lock open, no way you're deciphering it, and no way you're getting out of here alive. So tell me why you're after it?"

Fera kept a straight face though she wanted to scoff. This one knew a lot, but not what _they_ knew... hopefully.

She stepped out into the open, along with Akim, crossing her arms. "Actually I'd quite like my own island, a statue of me, and a few beautifully feathered servants. Just lay down and we'll keep it quick and quiet."

The scholar seemed incensed. "That's _all_? Ask yourself, how many ancients are left?" Fera thought that "none" seemed the right answer. The watcher went on, "How many of _us_ do you think will be left if we follow their footsteps? Do you think they helped us set this up for nothing?"

Fera drew her blade, stopping short of twirling it but smiling all the same. The one before them seemed unfazed, staring at Fera's blade as she continued, "And how many will have to die for your private island?"

Fera smiled. "At least one more?"

The scholar narrowed her eyes. "No more, have at you!"

With a brief ringing of metal the key was flung, Akim catching it as Fera charged ahead. Have at her, with _what_? Akim didn't fancy the chances of this effete person very much, and instead focused on the chest. The key slid right in, popping open to reveal the texts and-- was that a pair of silver amulets? He didn't even bother to check what was what, lowering his backpack to shovel all he could inside.

Below, the door to the chapel opened, four feathered of the order and one sythian looking down from the doorway to spot the fallen guards, the sound of violence heard upstairs. Immediately a shout was heard, "Guards! Guards! ALARM!"

Akim had most of the chest's contents when he saw Fera stumbling back sans a sword, which now was held by her foe. Fera backed towards the door, and Akim quickly stuffed his bag shut and made for the door as well. He caught a glance from their pursuer, those glowing blue eyes shooting a gaze that spalled through Akim's head with a flash of very real agony. And then... there was a dozen of her filling the room. Akim stumbled on a floor that seemed to heave as he rounded the corner, the sting of iron biting his arm from a lunging slash that, fortunately for Akim, was poorly aimed.

Fera's blade didn't sit well in their pursuer's hand as she held it and gave chase along the inner balcony. As they passed by a table and its candlestick, the candlestick seemed to fling itself right across Fera's head, bouncing into the air as she stumbled to the ground. The table was upended and Akim hopped over it, almost falling to the ground himself as he brought Fera up, stunned and dizzy but thankfully still conscious. Nearly caught, they proceeded towards the stairs, again regaining distance. Fera stumbled ahead behind Akim, having taken the moment to pick up the still-lit candlestick.

The call for alarm had been heard. Immediately the guards reached for the bell rope and tugged a firm tug... and tugged a firm tug... and tugged again! Then, they looked up. Amidst the subsequent shouting, Nar leapt and landed at the forward arch with a grunt and a thud, pain shooting up a leg as he scrambled up, his now injured legs refusing to grant him the pace he demanded.

He didn't even make a sound when he felt the cold, cold impact of iron crash through his back. Gagging blood, he saw the tip of the bolt poking out of his chest before collapsing, his darkened view spotting the blade of a battleaxe amidst the blur. He had a brief moment to make peace before it came down to send him to the painless white abyss.

Leaving their green-feathered former foe to sit in the wind, the two guards rushed back to the stairwell.

Fera and Akim charged towards the stairwell to see the two iron-plated guards descending, blade and bloodied axe drawn. Regardless of Akim's skill with a blade, it wasn't going through those plates, and what use was a candlestick? Akim had one one-off trick in mind.

Reaching to the iron and wood held over the strap of his pack, he quickly drew forth his handcannon. He always made sure he walked in with it ready to fire. The rushing guards saw this... and hastened their charge! No time to get the matchcord...

Fera, dazed from another attack via the watcher's gaze stumbled back past Akim, pivoting around in that fraction of a second to strike the candle's flaming wick across the touchhole. Akim narrowly closed his eyes in time as the blinding flash and thunderous report catapulted the handcannon back into his grasp.

He opened his eyes to see one guard collapsed in a crying heap, the other stumbling over the first, the smoke blocking the view ahead. Akim and Fera vanished into the smoke, glowing eyes right behind them. The alarm never sounded, but the sound of gunfire would draw attention. Now or never!

Fortunately for the duo stumbling on the perceived heave of the world, the one chasing them was, despite her powers of the mind, still not an athlete. By the time the scholar had reached the bell tower, the two were already crossing the bridge to the wall. There was an opening ahead, leaving behind alarmed denizens, guards a-plenty... they glanced back to check for archers aiming at their way as they sprinted for the riverside wall.

Akim looked down and quivered a bit inside as he saw the bloody green mess of feathers, all that was left of his close friend, silent and still on the bridge.

The whistling whir of the wind, their panting breath and boots striking stone were punctuated by shouts as Akim spotted the squadron in pursuit among a dozen pointed glares, including one from the scholar in the bell tower. Fera's blade floated over the scholar's head. Akim gestured aside, and Fera saw this as well; the two ducked back as her blade was cast ahead in a spinning arc towards them, guided from afar.

Even with the aid of the metaphysical, Fera's blade again proved a terrible flying surface, cleanly landing in front of them, bouncing off the stone. Fera scooped it up as she ran past, throwing a gesture of gratitude back to where she thought it came from. The attacking scholar stomped furiously and returned to the chapel.

Akim dropped his pack into his hand as he took care to keep the both of them out of bolt's way. At least with their minds as they were, keeping their movements hard to predict wasn't a problem. He wound a toss like a vertical sling and launched the paper-filled pack outside the walls, towards the sands. Immediately afterwards he leapt forward, off the wall... off he went, diving down into the river; fortunately they knew how to properly dive and the river was deep. A moment later a loud splash saw Fera right behind him. He surfaced and motioned to her. She smiled in return as if a touch oblivious, still dazed from that mental attack.

He pointed out the way, swimming for the shore, taking up in a rush to retrieve the pack as the two vanished into an alleyway. They'd nearly emerged into the next when a bolt zipped down ahead of them... those with sight of mind were watching them through the walls and guiding the archers. Lucky for Akim and Fera that the one aiming at them was a bit too eager, firing too soon. Through the window they went, quickly moving through the building. They made a mess of the storage before exiting through the front, making their way through to a diagonal gap, across the road and into the next alleyway, obscured from the chapel walls.

Halfway to the pier all seemed quiet though doubtless the city was being searched. Akim slowed, having guided the much more dazed Fera along. "Let's stop, please..."

"For what?!"

Akim tilted his handcannon over, pulling more gunpowder out with his free hand. Should they run into more guards...

She nodded, taking the moment to switch to and reload her crossbow as Akim readied another shot.

He felt his senses gradually return to normal, and with them the pain in his side. Fera still seemed to be fumbling with the crossbow.

"Captain, are you hurt?"

"My senses still lie to me..." He spotted her pupils excessively dilated under the light.

Akim didn't feel quite right either, but at least he had his footing back. He felt he was being watched. Fera was already ahead of him as the two carried on. He snagged her and pulled her along as she almost made an obvious wrong turn. Startled, she nearly swung at him in response though stopped short.

Whispers carried ahead on the breeze, passing them by as they crossed towards the docks, masked by the buildings' cover. The Moonrise was ahead, though the guards at the pier moved to block their path. Schah was on the aftcastle, watching the guards move, spotting Fera and Akim approaching with utter disbelief and a hint of horror.

Fera aimed from the alleyway as Akim re-lit his matchcord on a lamp. Her bolt sailed forth, striking one guard on the pier, her shakily aimed shot merely glancing off his armor as they to emerged to sprint for the ship. As they charged, she took Akim's matchcord; the both of them closed their eyes as she set the flame to the handcannon, the flash and thunder of gunshot heard once more.

The shot missed entirely, splashing down in the distance. The flash and smoke left the guard swinging blind, Akim hopping away to find himself only grazed by the swing, his other arm cut but still usable. The two rushed down the pier then up the gangplank.

Fera called out, "All hands, bring in the anchor and cast out the kedge, we're leaving!"

Schah opened and closed his mouth for a moment. He had expected word of their demise, not their return. Being Tavarian himself, he exclaimed, "I-I'll have no part in this treason!"

Fera gave him a glare. "Then I'll have your head!"

Schah shouted, "I think not!", backing to the edge before jumping into the sea.

They punted the gangplank loose, the guard behind them avoiding a dip, shaking an axe before returning up the pier. They only had a few moments before the entire city's military power would emerge to greet them. Akim considered, if Nar hadn't sabotaged the bell, the military would've killed them all already and they never would've even made it out of the chapel...

Akim sighed... but there was no time to dwell. Those glow-eyed scholars had a way of sending messages over a fair distance, no substitute for a good bell but they'd already alerted the pier. The city was already stirring as Fera's crew detached the mooring lines. Akim took the moment to wrap up the wounds on his arms, though they weren't all minor. He thanked the rush for still being able to aim.

The Moonrise drifted back into the harbor as glints of armor lined up along the shore. Across the dock was a much less civil-looking ship, lined with cannons and already preparing to set out. The towers were beginning to stir as well. Fera called out, "Get the sails out, we're fleeing for our lives here!" Akim wasn't sure how well his wounded arms would fare on the lines.

Fera looked around quickly, grumbling in frustration. Having no red-feathered second-in-command meant that she was the only one who knew what to do with the wheel.

Akim kept himself on the deck, taking over for others who he sent up the lines, trying to keep himself as useful as he could. As they brought the sails spanning overhead, the occasional pop of metal striking wood sounded out. Twice, then a third time... he looked down to see a bolt sticking out of the floor nearby. They were too far for accurate shooting but that didn't mean they were out of volley range.

Akim heard a telltale _thwap_ , a thud and a grunt; one of the Tavarians who'd joined them had fallen, gripping his leg... not a mortal wound, but it did mean one less on the lines.

Fera called out, "Akim, get water and hooks ready!" He didn't like the sound of that, but with the help of two of those descending the rigging as the Moonrise came to catch the wind, buckets of water were soon available.

A rapid succession of thunder was heard in the distance, flashes of fire sending forth from the tower, glowing specks trailing high in the sky. Splashes were heard, twice wood crunching in, followed by the two glowing specks coming down, blazing hot cannonballs embedding themselves in the deck.

Akim and the two quickly hooked one cannonball, dousing the flame. They moved on to extinguish the flame of the second, dumping the hot metal overboard, then doused the area again as the heat had already dried it. Lights streaked their way over the piers... rockets from the other ship, spreading wildly. One struck the side with a pop, the sea washing over it, then another popped its fiery payload down on the deck, needing the remaining buckets to extinguish. The three reeled in more water as the Moonrise tilted against the wind, picking up speed.

The distant artificial thunder punctuated itself with splashes and the occasional snap of splintering wood. At this rate they'd just be going downstairs for water anyway! The wind was chasing the sun beyond the horizon, giving them an expedient path out. The same could be said for the military craft three times their size, square sails catching fortune as well.

A double thunder sounded out as two guns fired from its fore, the chain-linked halves narrowly missing the sails above, the other shot coming low, raking along the edge of the deck to tear into the shrouds. Thankfully the wind was blowing the wrong way to tear them loose, though it meant there wasn't any crossing the wind now.

Fera looked back and turned the Moonrise into the wind, out of the sights of the other ship. With the wind at their backs, the military craft easily kept up. As they veered off, Fera carefully avoiding sight of the other ship's side, the chase led them into the wind. The Moonrise slowed, though kept a moderate pace.

The ship behind them struggled to face the wind, packing its square sails away, firing again and a third time only to fall short. As it fell back from the wind, the Moonrise vanished into the black of night, never to be seen at a Tavarian port again.

There were an uncomfortably large number of holes to patch, but they were still afloat.

Behind them, as the mess in the chapel was cleaned, the blue-feathered scholar addressed several of her peers. "Layer upon layer of defenses, all for naught. We should have foreseen them coming... yet _someone_ masked them from our sight. They knew exactly how to enter the courtyard, down to which exact grate wouldn't be seen by guards. They knew exactly how to reach the bell without drawing attention and knew to sabotage it first. They even knew what was in our food stores. And this..." She held up the key Akim had used, Raela's key rendered generic by the lack of a signet. "... they left behind."

She set the key down on the table. "None of them have our capabilities; this knowledge certainly isn't available outside of our order, so how did they do it? Ladies, we have a traitor within our order."

One of the others gave voice to common concern. "But who would do such a thing? This endangers our entire order, possibly the whole world!"

"Once we find her we'll find out," the blue-feathered one said. "We'll need to find every one among us who's traveled to the lands the Moonrise has and see what their memories have to say of the matter."

She added, "We must find a way to contain this." She hesitated before speaking again. "Somehow." The one key weakness of the oracles, when their ability to see ahead failed them: telepathy still had a limited range. Their word traveled at the speed of sail, as everyone else's did.

The Moonrise was, if anything, good at keeping ahead of the pack, even with such damage and wear. The night after the chase out of port, Akim had indulged a bit with the supply of drink only to find no relief, as his trusted friend wasn't there to share it with him. The fact that Fera seemed completely oblivious to the tattered spirits of some of her crew, Akim included, didn't help. At least, despite the splinters shot everywhere and several serious injuries, nobody else aboard had died.

Perhaps tearing down the mystery would be a way to distract the mind. He came to the deck to find Fera stepping out as well. She looked fairly rested despite having been wide-eyed and occasionally grabbing for what wasn't there all the previous night.

Smooth sailing meant enough free time ahead. He approached, ducking his head a moment. "Captain, you seem hale."

"I had a glorious struggle of a dream that left me with a lingering feeling of wellbeing." Her eyes looked perfectly normal now. "Strange how that is."

"I'd been meaning to ask if we should set aside some time to make sense of the texts we've taken."

She shook her head. "No. Not yet. First..." She stepped back to the wheel, holding out a hand towards it.

Akim rubbed his head. "I wouldn't know where to steer."

"You will soon enough. Schah jumped ship, remember? I can't just have someone hold it steady _every_ night, and you're at the back of the ship now."

Akim stepped forward. "All right. I've seen all the maneuvers a hundred times by now at least." But there always were those finer touches and caveats when it came to gently guiding dozens of tons of wood and iron over the sea. And here he was, at the helm of the Moonrise. It was a somber reminder of all those who'd vanished for him to reach this point.

The both of them took turns at the wheel, Akim listening in to what Fera had to say about the texts. Akim had expected the art of the mind to be some sort of gift that only those few born of the oracles could wield, a talent that would be forever beyond reach, especially for the likes of him.

The texts were a primer on the specific method to focus on one's self and one's surroundings, intended for initiates. It was a primer on what reality was to the mind, and how what the eye saw wasn't always reality. The amulets held whispers and thoughts within, words inaudible to someone without the touch and thought to hear them. Fera sought to learn how to listen in to these amulets, a sort of self-contained test. The monotony of travel at sea could prove a boon at times like these, as with steady winds came time to patch the hull and tend to the lines, after which came time to learn.

It was mostly an exercise in self control to coordinate one's mind and see the reality past the lens of one's eyes. In what moments of spare time he had, even sacrificing rest, Akim tried as well as he could to practice with it, thinking it a lottery chance. The epiphany came while he sat on the rack he called a bed, staring at the small flame providing light. So many aspects to such a simple light... he closed his hand and the flame vanished with a wisp of smoke, then he snapped, and the flame reappeared. After the initial discovery of what these were, it no longer seemed all that mysterious, but a logical tool.

It was an excellent way to break the boredom and keep his mind off what had happened; he wondered, though, what he had gotten into now. It definitely had benefits: Fera only had to shoot him a glance to convey the day's plan for starters, and the water was less of an obstacle to finding treasure below, but he knew full well nothing was without risk. The oracles were known across the world. What place would the oracles have in it when their special powers were no longer special? What would they do to prevent such a future?

Fera thought little of it, overjoyed to find that the amulets contained a basic set of cognitive tools, knowledge embedded in metal wrapped in a warm sentiment of accomplishment. That chest had contained the full toolkit used for training and it left her hungry for greater and more impressive feats of the mind. Akim found himself roped into helping her test these abilities.

Having established the foundations of these capabilities, the two looked ahead at the distant echoes of thought over the sea. To the eyes, rising over the horizon was the top of a sythian standard; the calm sea and clear sky revealed the floating buildings under it, expanses of scaffolding held up by pontoons supporting a variety of plants growing in only water. Such was a fine example of a sythian floating town, seafaring settlements born from the differences between the races over the millennia. Normally they avoided the tropics to avoid the storms, though once in a while, one would pass through for the sake of plants that only grew in the tropics. These towns had become a major source of food, land as scarce as it was, though the supply of timber needed to keep afloat at the end of the day still had to come from terra firma.

It was a healthy trade relationship that Fera was happy to exploit. The Moonrise drifting alongside the town, gentle seas allowed them to readily tie the ship to the sidelong pier with an improvised gangplank falling soon after. The visit would have to be short, as come foul weather, either the town or the Moonrise would end up leaving with a part of the other.

Akim stepped down, his boots thunking against the gently rolling pier as he made his way in behind Fera. The design of the town was unfamiliar--concentric rather than gridded, with simple sloped, curved roofs slanted away from the walkways. These roofs were distinct from the pyramid ones of Valnor, triangular frames of Leneu or the flat roofs of Tavaria. Akim found it a bit frustrating that he'd be among the ones to sit with and watch over the ship this time.

After unloading the cargo, expedited by the shipboard crane, he stood at the deck, keeping watch but otherwise idle. Of course, in the background, he saw Fera making her impression on the locals; she always knew exactly what they wanted and exactly what to say to get a favorable deal, benefits of the mind's eye and the knowledge it brought. As the day rolled on, cargo was exchanged... and Fera was missing. She usually returned to her quarters long before this hour. Frankly Akim more longed for the end of his watch.

"Is Fera still not back?" asked the grey-feathered one stepping up the gangway.

"Still..." Akim continued, "Where was she last anyway?"

"Off playing cards, doing well for herself too for that matter."

Akim hesitated, knowing the Moonrise was down to counting copper arrows at this point. "Playing cards, with what silver?"

"She walked in with a bag of it."

Akim sighed, "By the great Eye, Fera!"

"Sir?"

Akim exclaimed, "That's our silver she has on the table; there are more ways this is stupid than I can count!"

She winced a little. "Shall I take watch?"

Akim shook his head at the whole situation. "I'll return soon. Until then, do so."

The two switched places, Akim checking the chest in Fera's quarters. Sure enough, empty... he stepped down off ship and into town, asking around. He found pointers to the tavern, finding the long raft-building locked. They were technically closed but they didn't actually close until everyone had left. One leaving provided the opening he needed to slip in; once inside he turned immediately to face the stairwell. The unarmored yet still imposing blue and cyan-skinned bouncer blocked his way, sporting a narrow and pointed snout, longer fins, and a thick accent. "You, Fera's sellsword?"

Akim eyed him. "I'm her first mate!"

"She pays you?"

"Yes."

"That handcannon is real?"

Akim nodded. "And?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

Akim avoided answering the question. "I'll return."

He stepped back, surveying around for others of the crew. Three were still at a table, about ready to leave. He stepped over and took a seat.

"Akim! I'd hoped to see you here eventually."

"Fera's been taking a tour of the town, went up there to meet with some of the wealthy locals."

Akim noted, "And offering them all our silver."

A laugh. "Isn't that always the case? At least she does it _before_ she has a drink."

Another of the crew chuckled. "A bit late for that now, isn't it?"

Akim shook his head. "I mean it as I say. She's up in the attic with the rest of them, gambling with our pay!"

"Surely she isn't _that_ stupid..."

Akim leaned forward. "Why do you think I'm here regardless of orders? I would've already stormed their meeting if it weren't for _him_." He gestured back at the bouncer. Their jubilant banter soon turned to rather pointed shouts, and the four of them hurried to the stairwell.

"Hey, let us through!"

"We're going through anyway!"

Akim gestured at the crew behind him as he confronted the bouncer. "As I said, I'm her first mate and this is her justly angry crew. Stand aside!"

He stared at Akim with widened eyes. "You want to play a game of numbers? I'll have every guard in earshot here, if I don't turn all four of you inside out before they can make it."

All the hollering and annoyed shouting in the world wasn't getting this guy to budge; they were just earning a few annoyed looks from the bartender. Already one of the crew behind him was about ready to reach for his blade.

Akim looked back. "Enough! Let's not make ourselves any more unwelcome. She must come down eventually."

"With our pay. Or she'll be lucky to just lose her crew."

Akim shook his head. "I share that feeling, though it's not wise to meet stupidity with stupidity. Even by my standards!"

Finally the matter had settled down to grumbling. It was a bit late and the bartender was more interested in cleaning up than serving more drinks. Akim stepped outside, looking around, then looking up. There was a window up there and an empty cart down the path for the nearby truss field. He looked back, forth, and trailed down the path to take up the cart, wheeling it down the gently rocking pathway before parking it aside the pub.

Crawling atop the cart he carefully balanced himself, timing against the contrary motions of the walkway and the pub, before leaping upwards, snagging the edge of the awning. Swinging himself, he brought a leg up then climbed to stand atop it. He crouched silently as he stepped over towards the second story window.

Inside, Fera cleared another round. Having finished negotiations, things had in all cases seemed to fall in her favor though not all was well. She looked aside, double-taking, before looking back to the table. "Pardon a moment, ladies." It was an opportune moment to visit the privy though that wasn't what Fera had in mind.

Akim peeked narrowly through the window into a well-lit and warm interior that included a table of many purposes and a couple of paintings on the wall. Suddenly he found his own collar gagging him. He felt himself pulled back, his back soon pinned to the wall as he found himself staring at Fera's face.

"What in the depths are you doing here?"

Akim pulled himself free and straightened his coat. "Trying to find where all our silver went. What are _you_ doing here?"

At that, she let her crooked grin show. "Why, multiplying our silver of course."

"And if you lose?"

She tilted her nose down, and a bit of light was seen from her eyes. "Worry not, luck has been on my side."

Akim needed no telepathy to understand. "I still find this very unwise."

Fera shrugged. "So be it, I'll return with more silver either way. Keep your calm, and... you have someone standing watch?"

Akim nodded. "That I do."

"I'll be returning to the Moonrise soon. Relax! Though I would appreciate your keeping watch until then. Return to the ship."

At that, she trailed to the edge of the awning, hopping ahead to land on the walkway with a pronounced thunk before returning inside, past a rather confused bouncer, back to the table.

Fera seated herself once more. "Anyone ready for another go?"

It was an amazing feeling, seeing everything as it was. There was no hiding cards from her! Nor hiding sentiment... sometimes all it took was a little nudge to get someone to make the wrong choice, or even drop out prematurely. A whole new slew of tactics were open, and the other three were none the wiser as she commanded the game.

Yet another helping of silver to add to her bag... the wooden and padded seat was fairly cozy; she felt she could do this all night. Of the three well-adorned sythians in the room, two stood after losing yet again, trailing to the back of the room to look out the window and speak quietly.

"Nobody wins from that position."

"I agree, there's something unnatural about the way she acts... the deck, did you check it?"

"Yes, though that's not the only way one may rig a game."

"The land-born cheats, this we know, but how?"

They spoke in Kalvodian tongue. Fera had no idea what they were saying, but she had the impression that she'd overstayed her welcome. Having multiplied her silver well enough, she stuffed her bag with her ill-gotten earnings and gave a bow. "It's been a pleasure, ladies, though I should return to my ship." She turned to say "Farew-", to find herself pressed back to the table and wall, feeling the point of a broad and curved blade poking against her chin.

"Tell me..."

Fera tilted her head up, spotting another pair of similar blades drawn. "Tell you what? Is this some sort of bad joke?" She aimed to pull back from the blade, only ending with it pressed more firmly under her jaw.

"Tell me how you've been swindling us!"

She made a mental curse at only being able to focus in one direction... a weakness she made a note to investigate, assuming she could make it back to the Moonrise alive.

Akim had been told to go back to the Moonrise, but he knew their livelihood and captain were in jeopardy all the same. He wasn't about to walk away any further than out of sight. Outside by a nearby building, he snapped to. _Fera's in trouble!_ Without enough time to go climbing buildings, he circled ahead of the building, drawing his handcannon. He'd kept it loaded, but left his match unlit to avoid drawing the guards' attention.

Fera just grimaced briefly. "What makes you think I'm swindling you? It's simply a lucky night is all!"

The sythian in front of Fera tilted her head. "A swifter death shall reward your telling. There's no joke... We of Kalvod have a code: when a blade is drawn against another, their blood must be spilled."

Akim grumbled... no flame nearby. Fortunately, he remembered, he didn't need one. Realizing the answer, he propped his cannon up and carefully aimed as precisely as he could for the sythian in the window, before gazing at the touchhole and snapping with his free hand. There was no delay.

A flash lit the window, an explosive report heard as the round missed the window entirely, breaking through the wall and bouncing to hit nothing of importance.

The split second of confusion was all Fera needed. Moving her head aside of the blade, she shoved the sythian back and drew her own blade, thrusting it forward in a single motion, piercing just under the chest and upwards, circumventing the ribs.

A foot pressed to the sythian's chest, Fera punted her back off her blade and towards the other two, one of them brushing past in a charge. Fera saw it with her lit eyes as she rushed ahead, the bottom of her blade deflecting the one ahead of her. Throwing her weight into the collision and knocking the one ahead off balance, she came back down with a hefty slash, blood coating the floor as she sidestepped the retaliatory blow...

...only to feel burning pain cross her back as iron met her spine! It was all the more shocking to her as she hadn't braced herself, turning to narrowly evade a subsequent thrust, spotting a slice from the one with the gaping chest wound. Fera quickly parried, leaving barely enough time to duck back from another thrust from the one she'd just wounded.

The sounds of the clash had the bouncer below turning to find Akim hopping the banister. Akim caught sight of the scar-sporting man's blade swinging high already, noticing it ahead of time to duck under it before powering up the stairs.

"Incoming guard!" Akim bellowed, charging in. His voice had drawn attention, and he drew his blade in a single motion for a quick slice at those who were attacking his captain before him. He found it parried, glancing at the top-down cut headed his way, ducking past it, putting his new foe between him and the enraged bouncer. He pivoted to catch her blade by his crossguard, restraining her blade arm with his free hand. The two engaged in a struggle as she repeatedly hit him over the head, Akim pulling his blade back to carve down her side, all while keeping the fray between him and the bouncer, or at least trying to.

As Fera pulled free, she deflected another stab and turned to throw a thrust of her own into the badly wounded one behind her, interrupting the sythian's swing with another gaping chest wound. Fera pivoted her around by the impaled blade, putting her between Fera and another slash, only to view a sizable guard charging right at Akim. She sidestepped, pulling her blade back, charging past in intercept, leaving the one behind her to sway, stumble, and fall back to the table.

Akim narrowly caught the bouncer out of the corner of his eye, glimpsing the incoming lunge, and parried it only to be knocked flat on his back by his opponent's off hand and sheer weight. Stunned and dizzy for the moment, he lost his focus, tumbling to find his tail underfoot and the bouncer's sword over his head.

Fera's blade carved into the bouncer's side and up across his arm. He let her pass by... but she saw what he'd planned, guarding against one hack then another as she backed into the end table, knocking it over.

Akim rolled onto his back, hopping to his feet only to gasp at the sting of a blade drawing across his ribs and over his jaw. Mouth agape, he backed off to spot Fera's defense... he could see her thoughts on her. _Any time, Akim!_

Akim was a bit busy himself trying not to die at the hands of the two stabbing at him; sidestepping more than parrying, he found an opening. A projectile was quick at hand from his severed bandolier; he flung the pierced package of gunpowder.

Akim avoided a grapple, ducking under a slash, then snapping. A flash startled all but him... the bouncer soon realized that he was covered in fire. He screamed, flailing his arms, stumbling down the stairs, heading for the water that was immediately outside.

Below, the bartender, despite the sound of gunshots and violence, was still cleaning out glasses in front of an empty pub. She looked out to see her bouncer screaming and scrambling out the door in brilliant flame. She blinked once, and again... then went back to cleaning glasses. After all, if it was only him, at least her pub wasn't ablaze.

Fera easily knocked aside the weak and shaky swing of the one keeled over the table, knocking the blade away. She ran her through repeatedly before finally sinking an aimed thrust right into the proper spot between the ribs. Fera left her to die, spinning around to find Akim quickly turning, one on each side of him--a bad spot if there ever was one.

Akim met this challenge with a parry, a charge, and a strike from behind, merely clipping the tail of one of his adversaries. Fera charged with a thrust she knew would be parried. When it was, Fera caught the other's blade guard to guard to pull her away from Akim, grappling as she wrestled her foe to the wall. Now the tables had turned: there were even numbers, but she and Akim were always one step of insight ahead! They both saw their foe's thoughts and plans by the mind's sight... all said that was the only reason they weren't both dead at this point!

Fera gazed right into her foe's eyes, spotting the fear and the plan of retaliation. She knew just where to reach to snag the strike aimed at her throat, grappling the blade and parting it from its owner. Fera pressed back with a foot, the point of her blade drawing up under the chin of her foe. How the tables had turned indeed... Fera grinned, then shoved her blade the rest of the way through, twisting it before drawing back. The sythian's neck and mouth gushed blood for a few moments as she stumbled, soon collapsing.

Akim, no longer splitting his attention, found it almost easy to spot his remaining opponent's attacks. Parrying a thrust to land one of his own, he drew back his bloodied blade to catch a swing by the hilt of it. He grabbed hold of her blade arm, knocking a punch upward to come down with his pommel, stabbing her again as she pulled away to aim a surprise attack at Fera.

Despite being thouroughly winded, Fera already had her blade held tip down, knocking the other's swing upwards to counter with a slash of her own. The sythian retreated, leaving a trail of blood as footsteps were heard by the stairwell. She cried out towards the glow-eyed Akim and Fera, "What ARE you?!"

She turned to flee through the window with Fera right on her tail. Akim was ready by the door, knowing just when to swing. The now wet bouncer, his flames extinguished, returned to a blade in the chest immediately on entry. Akim thrust to the hilt before pulling back. The bouncer stumbled before showing a snarl, yelling ahead as he swung aside. Akim hopped back as the guard's blade cleaved into the table, breaking it.

Fera lunged with a slash that landed across the calves of the one fleeing her. Crying out, the sythian collapsed, giving Fera time to pin her and swing down with force to cleave her head open. She continued swinging several times across the head and chest until the sythian moved no more. Fera leaned down, panting heavily, before looking back.

The heavy swing left his foe open and Akim connected his cut. The ever-less-intimidating foe retreated back, knocking down the table between them, snagging the nearby chair before throwing it with impressive strength.

Akim found himself stumbling with a shooting pain as the chair nearly sent him on his back, his already wounded chest hit yet again. Yet, seeing Fera preparing, he powered ahead through it. The bouncer pivoted to swing at Fera; his attack was parried but it had strength enough behind it to knock Fera off stance.

The bouncer was unable to follow through, run through again from behind by Akim; it gave Fera the split second she needed to swing across, her blade embedding in the bouncer's neck. Akim and Fera both drew back at the same time and let the fatally wounded sythian swing fruitlessly for a few moments, neck gushing, before he dropped.

Finally the room was quiet, though the better part of it had a new hue of red.

Fera panted and righted a bloodied seat to sit on; Akim sat on an adjacent seat. "Captain... was that really needed?"

Fera, still feeling the sting of the wound to her back, chuckled. "Their customs demanded blood be spilt; I merely obliged." She looked to him. "That being said, they drew blades first."

Akim sighed. "And we'll both be sporting bandages for some time from it. And what'll we say to the crew? They expected their silver secure."

Fera finally caught her breath. "And I expected you to return to the ship, a direct violation of my command... thanks, by the way."

Akim smirked, if a bit grimly. Fera continued, "And I have at least tripled our silver, haven't I?"

"That you have." He stood, noting the extinguishable candles. "If only I'd remembered we can sense in the dark, it would have been much easier."

Fera hesitated, then smiled, standing as well. "We can, can't we? And all the other ways we make ourselves unstoppable."

Akim peered ahead. "Remember, we're racing a growing circle of awareness of our deeds in Tavaria. I doubt our tricks will help us much against an entire army." The pain of his wounds was all the reminder he needed.

The two proceeded down the stairs, Fera noting, "We'll discuss that matter once we reach Leneu."

Stepping down, leaving footprints of their foes' blood, the two heard a voice.

"Got the silver you were after? Then if you won't clean up the mess you made at least you can pay for someone else to. Sounded like I'll be needing new furniture... and a new bouncer."

None other than the bartender, who seemed less than enthusiastic about the whole matter. Fera sent over a smile. "It'll be handled. Have a good strong whiskey? I'll pay you double."

It was long after hours but the bartender sighed, "Fine..."

Having a prominent wound across one's back wasn't any aid in bearing weight, nor was the need to bandage one's chest shut. The cargo wasn't going to load itself, and with a crew short of the already meager sixteen, there wasn't much time to slouch about. Fortunately for them, Kalvod culture accepted the fact that sometimes the high-and-mighty well-to-do will sometimes kill each other over things like card games. Between that, and the fact that the technically-unofficial bouncer they killed had drawn his sword before words, meant they'd technically not committed murder under laws enshrining the right to self-defense. Somewhere out there three second-in-commands would be finding a windfall, though Fera planned to depart before the friends of the fallen could make a ruckus.

Once their cargo was secure, the next night brought their last visit to that pub. The room upstairs was a bit too clean afterwards; the new security watching over the locale was very courteous towards them, perhaps out of fear, though Akim tried to talk to him and make himself seem less of a killer. Fera seemed to lack any sense of the misfortune of others on the other hand, shrugging off the whole ordeal and embracing any resulting reputation, yet Akim found himself talking at length with her too all the same. Likely, he thought, because she was the only reliable friend he had left.

The morning after, dark clouds and, in the back of their minds the oracles' fleet, threatened to encroach. With what they had, the Moonrise set sail once more, richer from all Fera and Akim had taken. The Moonrise was its own sanctuary in all this; Akim pondered the fact that he could be leaving it once they reached the sanctuary of the kingdom of Leneu, a crown over blunted teeth unlikely to have much to offer the oracles. Fera and Akim practiced their tricks and integrated their new abilities into their daily lives. They found they indeed could spar in pitch black, still not as effectively as under light though far better than any of the others could.

Akim began to share his knowledge with the others. All his thoughts of being a special and gifted person were cheerily dashed as he found absolutely anyone and everyone had the capability to learn these abilities. It was simply another way of viewing and manipulating the world around oneself. Akim realized that this was what Raela had intended. With everyone awakened to their inner power, there would be no more dominion of the oracles; everyone would have insight and it could no longer be used to control them. And so, he shared it every chance he had.

Leaving the tropics brought a welcome cool to the air as autumn drew to its close. It would be a rush to make it to Leneu before the frosts of winter sealed off the ports, but if done right, they'd be able to arrive and then vanish as the frosts blocked the oracles' fleet. They'd thought Valnor would be an open port...

"No... damn it all!" Fera muttered, gazing ahead through her spyglass.

Akim looked back, the afternoon sun hidden behind the clouds underneath a mild but windy sky. "Captain?"

"Have a look for yourself."

Akim climbed to join her by the wheel, aiming the spyglass towards the horizon. The hills of his own home island were seen... and in port was none other than a double-masted ship, armed to the teeth. With a lack of piracy, such guns weren't common on merchant craft.

He handed the spyglass back to Fera. "You fear it's one of theirs? Should we sail around and carry on northwards?"

Fera shook her head. "We're about out of drink, and then what'll we do, drink seawater? We can't come to harbor, though we can use the dinghy. We'll have to keep ourselves ready. First we'll see if it's actually them. If not we'll come around the island and moor. Otherwise... I'll think of something."

She still occasionally straightened the feathers along the scar in her back. The healing for her wasn't as simple and quick as she'd hoped and it still left the occasional itch. After all this time at sea and the scars she'd earned in her career, her body wasn't mending itself as well as it used to.

The Moonrise circled the island at a distance. Shielded by the land, they set anchor, dropping the dinghy and rowing to shore. Fortunately, Akim had the time to mend his clothes and bandolier; he kept his handcannon loaded just in case as they snuck towards town. Good old Aeril... though Akim didn't have much time to mull over memories. His home wasn't even there anymore, several shops having swapped out down in the market. The ominous military ship in port was a definite sign of troubled times; there usually was little naval presence around Aeril save for the occasional ship come to fetch food.

The streets were clear and quiet with an occasional white-coat messenger or troop seen pacing about the fields where Akim used to live. Sneaking about the alleyways, the buildings casting lengthy shadows in the afternoon sun, Akim heard several shouts and mumbling from nearby. Ducking down below an open window, he listened.

"-are. And what business were they doing in Garan?"

"That was six years ago. I don't even remember!"

"Did they say anything about a find in the lake?"

"No?"

Akim controlled his breath. That definitely sounded like him they were looking for, and doubtless they were searching around the old shipwreck as well. In a sense he felt glad he'd sealed it for good at this point. He swiftly and silently crossed the gaps between buildings and glanced back to check for any troops in the field behind him. Sure enough, one was stepping out that way. Akim ducked between two homes a row up, quickly crossing the street.

"-then maybe you'll work as bait!"

Akim froze, listening in.

"What if they don't come?"

"Then you're coming with us, to fill your role sooner or later. You don't even comprehend what your 'friend' did, do you?"

"Stole a book?"

"The words stolen were more dangerous than any blade!"

_Friend_?

"Akim isn't the type to get involved in such terrible things. The church in Garan gave him alms, he wouldn't betray the oracles... Perhaps it's another of Fera's crew?"

Akim looked down with a bitter feeling. Little did the people of Aeril know... In a sense, Akim felt, this was his fault.

"We know all about him. He and his captain murdered four when visiting the floating town. That's it, come!"

Akim spotted the armor-clad red-green feathered warrior in a white coat dragging none other than his white-and-green feathered friend, Lilun, off and down the road. He considered himself fortunate as there was only one of them, though another would be joining along soon.

Akim followed behind, drawing his blade, keeping his feet quiet on the grass and cobblestone. Once they cleared the buildings, away from the other guards, Akim approached. His eyes were aglow as he watched with his mind's eye, waiting for the moment. Right as the soldier was taking a step he brought the tip of his blade down, stabbing under the plate of the back of the knee. Down the soldier went, bellowing out a cry as Akim struggled and wrestled his blade free, snagging Lilun off to pull him into the tall stalks of the field.

"A-Akim?!" Lilun gazed with incredulity.

"The one and only. Less talking, more running, and above all else..." He gestured silence.

The two crept off, out of town and into the woods, crossing the main paths twice. Akim looked around, nodding once they were in the clear.

Lilun still wore his old style of tunic, having not gone much of anywhere in life. He looked over Akim's apparel. "A colorful and grizzled life you've had! Is it true that you stole dangerous knowledge from the oracles?"

"More so than words can do justice."

"And murdering people?"

"That was Fera's dumb fault!"

"You've really changed, out there..."

"More than I'd wished. Ever since the day that prophecy fell there's been turmoil. Ever since the war, for that matter... Lilun, the oracles are no different from us; they deserve no worship."

Lilun barked, "Heresy!"

Akim turned, stopping for the moment. "I can _show_ you! Just watch." He then proceeded to pick up a stick from the ground, snapping to set the tip alight from seemingly nowhere. He ran his hand through the flame, displaying a glob of the fire held over his palm with the burning stick supporting both. "There's nothing special about this, I can even teach you, with many great insights to be had. How else do you think I could so easily sneak about and surprise a soldier of all people?"

"Fire is life, yet fire also razes. You've entangled yourself with these forces... to what end?"

"That it does," Akim admitted, closing his hand and extinguishing the flame. "I'd entangled myself at first to solve a mystery, of what was under that old shipwreck, and what the ancients were doing on our world. We found that the mystery of the ancients isn't just ancient, but carries on today. The oracles use the ancients' legacy to keep us all held under their sway. I say let it be a mystery no more."

Lilun shook his head. "I..."

"Ponder it later. As it stands, will you join me, seeking sanctuary to the north..." Akim looked back to the city. "Or will you take your chances with their soldiers?"

Lilun rubbed the back of his head. "When you put it like that, being hoisted as bait and left to die doesn't have much of an appeal."

Akim smiled faintly. "As grim as it is, those words are music to me. It's been far too long, friend!" He chuckled, patting Lilun on the back. "As soon as we find a way to resupply we'll be setting sail for northeastern Leneu. The Leneu crown is impoverished and lacks the power of other crowns; they'll stand no chance finding us if we speak to the right people and take care when choosing a place to settle. That being said... six years, friend, and you haven't changed one bit!"

Lilun agreed with a sigh as they continued towards the shore. "For better or for worse... I still find it incredible, all this. Does it pay well, at least?"

Akim grinned briefly. "Yes, especially with the particular way Fera does business, as long as you don't spend it all on rum and nightly partners."

"So it is true what they say about sailors?"

Akim laughed heartily. "For all the grandeur it's boring work most of the time and we make up for it when we come ashore! Though I've had plenty to do; that being said I've also plenty of silver saved."

"We'll need it." Lilun looked back. "Call me fortunate, they've left my family alone..." Though he hesitated on the thought of how he'd miss them.

"Once they know we've moved on so will the oracles, and I've only one close friend still here for them to harass. Glad I was in earshot when all that happened... sorry about all this..."

Lilun gave a grim nod in return. "Glad as well... thank you for saving me, friend."

For all the journey had cost, at least there was something to come of it. They reached the dinghy without hassle, though launching it proved a major difficulty: cargo had to be moved by dinghy as the ports were all under watch. It didn't help that, upon hearing that the Moonrise was an imminent target, several of the crew had decided to part ways. Despite Fera's threats, the threat of the oracles' wrath was far greater.

They kept hidden, doing business away from the crowd where possible, foraging or, failing all else, thieving where they couldn't. There would be no cargo for this leg of their journey, just whatever money they could bring in and enough food and drink to last them there. Having less mouths eating did somewhat alleviate the burden at least. They avoided the paths and ports wherever possible and kept to the thick of the woods. It was tiring, but relatively safe; on the other end the oracles had only a handful of soldiers in port to scout with, Fera and Akim directing their insight to avoid detection.

Not all were so stealthy though. Striding down the path, one of the Moonrise's former crew found himself promptly snagged away by the patrol then brought to the soldiers' blue and white-skinned captain. One of their soldiers with a nasty wound to the leg was seen sitting nearby, checking under the bandages.

The sythian commander looked right at the sailor, thinking him nothing but feathered flotsam. She asked, "Well, you're one of Fera's, once part of her crew? We know she and her ship are here somewhere, especially after this." She gestured to the wounded soldier.

He replied plainly, avoiding any sudden moves. "I'm just a vagrant, ma'am. A poor man trying to survive!"

She glared at him. "Liar! One doesn't acquire a Tavarian accent and brine-weathered feathers roaming the woods. So tell me where they are, where their ship is..."

He insisted, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

She looked right at him, then to the soldier behind him. "See if they have any pillories to put him in."

"But-" Silenced, he was dragged away.

She stood to watch him go. "I'll be having a bit of fun with this one. While I'm doing so..." She looked to the others. "Send a scouting party around the shore until you find where they've anchored. And keep in the woods, don't engage. We want them to think they haven't been spotted; otherwise they'll flee behind the island and we'll lose them. I have another way to deal with them once we find where they're taking their supplies from."

The distance from which one could spot an anchored ship was far longer than the distance the mind could reach. Spotted, Akim and Fera were none the wiser. Praising their luck, the seven remaining--Akim, Fera, Lilun, and the four who'd left Tavaria to, as they'd admitted, escape punishment--brought up their last crate and reeled in the dinghy before setting sail, one sail at a time as it were. The Moonrise sailed with the island between them and the other ship still in port, turning northwards after the island vanished past the horizon behind them.

The fugitive ship crossed into the biting wind as they approached the northern reaches, sailing headlong into winter. An illness set upon the four Tavarians under them, every day passing leaving them wasting away.

As they coughed and vomited over the side of the deck, Fera only pushed them onwards, until they collapsed. Yet Fera, Akim, and Lilun hadn't fallen ill.

Fera tapped one of the fallen with a boot. No movement, no breathing. She dragged him to the edge of the deck, casting his remains overboard.

Akim crawled up from the hatch. "None of them knew anything that could've brought this on, and if it were any normal illness, it would've spread to us. I... really am at the end of my wits here, captain."

Fera looked out to the water, then back to the hatch. "This all started eleven days ago?"

Akim nodded, grimly, without words.

Suddenly Fera stormed ahead and down the hatch, Akim following along. She trailed into the storage, as sparse as it was, and caught sight of an open box of leaves. A common way to prevent wasting disease at sea was to drink one of a variety of sour teas.

She noted, "Two days before that we started with the tea ration. All of them got fresh tea from this box... you and I however used the leftover leaves from the last leg. But what about your friend?"

Akim admitted, "Lilun felt it wasn't his place as a newcomer to drink from the fresh box, he'd been drinking from the old one as well."

Fera narrowed her eyes, checking through the box. "As I'd thought, they've tainted the leaves... they knew by the time we'd start our ration we would be too far out to do anything about it! Too bad for them; unlike the prim and proper officers of the navy, we let our sailors have first take at the fresh box."

"Too bad for our sailors... how will we come into port with only three aboard?"

Fera tapped her foot, taking a moment, pondering silently.

Akim shook his head. "How will we even move the sails at this point?"

Fera muttered grimly, "I'll think of something. There's always a way after all. For now, make sure Lilun knows what he's doing. It may be a fog when we arrive."

Akim nodded. He could tell something was off about Fera. She generally didn't get genuinely sad about losing crew.

"Are you all right, Fera?"

"As well as I'll be, Akim... now, let's get back to the deck."

The sense hung about. As a quiet fell under the cold winds, Akim kept alert, unsure of what was on Fera's mind.

Fera had come to a realization: Akim was sharing the art of the mind with any and all because he was committed to Raela's cause, and each he shared with would in turn share with others. Fera had wanted to wield the power of the oracles for herself, and she wasn't going to stop short of doing just that. She had her eyes set on all of Leneu, and Akim, in spreading the knowledge far and wide, would destroy both the oracles' power and hers. The moment Akim set foot on Leneuan shores, her aspirations, her once in a lifetime chance, would be dead. That meant he couldn't be allowed to make it to Leneu.

That night, the night before their arrival, with Lilun asleep and Akim on deck, Fera took the chance to hide herself all the way at the back of the ship, above the wheel. Loaded crossbow in hand, she tracked Akim across the deck as he made his way to take the wheel. It was rare, very rare in her life that she'd felt genuine regret about having to take a life... but there was no giving up now, regardless what it meant.

Akim felt a chill. It was exhausting to maintain alertness hidden behind the calm, but he knew something was wrong; now, he felt Fera's focus centered right over him. He tensed... the moment he noticed her shift, he leapt back. The bolt zipped past and crunched into the nearby deck.

He drew his blade, watching Fera hop past the wheel and onto the deck. As he backed to the bow, Fera in pursuit, he shouted, "Fera, why?!"

She was heard without opening her mouth, "Apologies, friend, but this is where we part." Charging, blade drawn, she sensed Akim's plan as he sensed hers. As shocked as he was and as much as neither of them wanted to do this, she wasn't about to stop, and he wasn't about to let himself die.

Their blades met under the pitch black of a foggy sky, each slash caught, each thrust parried, each counter dodged as they both tried to maneuver one another about the bow. The mutual insight they shared made this a game of tactics with the two of them soon taking stance.

Fera's thrust was parried and Akim countered, only for Fera to catch his arm. Akim caught hers on the retaliation; the both wrestled one another to the front before Akim managed to force her back to the ground. She rolled to her feet for an answering lunge and Akim caught it with his blade and sent it aside.

Akim snapped, and a spot of flame trailed from Fera's neck up to her face. She hopped back, a bit off balance, giving the impression of surprise. It was a lucky break and one he took advantage of, lunging at her chest with a thrust at her open stance...

... only to find himself stabbing air. Her sentiment of surprise was a false one. Before he could recover, he saw the blur of her blade meet his chest as the flames on her face vanished, the cold biting sting shooting through his ribs and back. He looked down to see the hilt of her blade against his chest, unable to gasp as she drew back.

His own desperate swing was caught as she snagged his other shoulder, pushing him to the bowsprit. She sighed, "I'll be seeing you in the Depths soon enough. Goodbye, Akim."

In shock, his own thoughts were scrambled, with one coming to the fore as she shoved him towards the sea. He had just the strength to wrench his other arm forward, grabbing hers as she shoved. Realizing all too late, the both of them tumbled over the edge.

Dropping his blade, Akim reached up, his hand narrowly meeting the bowsprit. Fera swung to snag at his leg and soon found herself splashing into the icy water, holding only a boot. She looked up at the mass of wood filling her vision, her mouth open in surprise.

Akim heard a dull thump as he shakily struggled and looked up to see a familiar face. It was none other than Lilun, awakened by the sound of iron clashing, now offering a hand up. Akim accepted, Lilun hoisting him up though Akim was soon clenching his chest; he took in quickened crackling breaths as he trailed towards the aft with Lilun in tow.

Feeling nothing but pain from the impact and the water, the cold stinging as a hundred icy daggers, Fera managed to find the surface, as futile as her effort was.

Akim called back, "Why did you do that, Fera?!" His breath tapered off as he cringed.

He heard Fera without her speaking at all. "I had one shot at greatness, Akim... and it seems I missed..." All those dead, friends and all, just for this. For naught... "I-I've been so stupid. I'm sorry, friend. I'll keep a space in the Depths open for you! But no hurrying, okay? Good luck!"

There was no bitterness to be heard, only regret.

Akim muttered, then called out, "You'll live among our memories!" Despite his bleeding wound, he still considered her a friend.

A mutual "Farewell..." sounded between the both of them.

Fera drifted out of range, and the Moonrise trailed on without her, vanishing into the fog. Soon the pain dulled as her senses faded, the cold sapping her strength. She caught a glimpse of the sun rising as her strength finally gave way, leaving her sinking under the waves. She looked up to see the bubbles leaving her mouth, the abyss below catching her eye. She had a moment enough to embrace it as the darkness claimed her. She'd wanted to make a name for herself and have a hand in changing the world; though she fell short of becoming a queen, at least she'd made her mark. It'd been a good life... despite all she'd lost, she felt fulfilled all the same.

Akim stared out to sea as the fog took on a glow. He didn't know if he'd be lasting much longer himself; Lilun was trying his best to avoid a panic over the ordeal. The hole in Akim's chest would be a fatal wound to most. Lilun gave him a concerned look; the sound of the waves and wind mixed with the occasional creak of wood was all that was heard.

After a moment... was that the call of a bird? Akim looked up to find the source of the sound. That was a bird all right. Land must be nearby! Akim stood shakily, forcing himself up the stairs to take the helm.

Lilun asked, "Akim, we'll... I suppose you're captain now. Will you be all right?"

Akim shook his head, his voice cracking a bit. "I might not make it much longer, Lilun... but when we reach shore... in the captain's quarters, open the drawer under the tables. You'll find papers, piled over texts, scrolls, books, and a pair of amulets... take these to a dragon named Ironclad the Grounded. He lives in a cave home north of Aucron, just follow the conveyor. He's a gruff one, but he means well... if anyone will know what to do with the oracles' secrets, it's him."

Lilun hesitated, but with a morose look replied, "I shall..."

The only sound to break the quiet upon the sea was the distant sound of birds leading them towards land. Lilun was silent, keeping to himself as Akim felt the bite of the freezing wind in his chest.

Just a little longer...

Out in the fog, yet unseen ahead of them was the very frigate from before. The oracles had dispatched frigates to several possible landings, as the one from Aeril had searched the path of the Moonrise and not found it adrift. They knew either the Moonrise went elsewhere or there were survivors still aboard.

"Check the pinnace, we'll be dropping anchor soon." The captain noted, white coat on white feathers, her green eyes surveying the deck.

"Ship ho!"

"The Moonrise?" She asked.

"No. It's an island courier, Leneu jack, single mast. They're on intercept!"

"Oh what _now_..." She called out, "Well, tell them to turn away!"

The crew on the side shouted at the small approaching craft, gesturing for it to turn around, lighting lanterns and shining the light into the fog. The light revealed that the little ship had no crew but one dragon, white scaled and adorned with bone and leather, blue eyes behind a horned bone mask.

"Hold fast, hold fast!" Those on the side called out. "That's... there's a dragon sailing that!"

The captain gazed to the side. "The Fell Harbinger... it's that damned traitor, open fire!"

Raela was just as much on the run as Akim was and she knew full well she wouldn't be hiding for long. Out here on these cold waters, she'd made peace with the fact that she'd find her final rest here... after doing one last deed.

Rockets rained down to splash fire across the deck of her craft and its sails. The wind was powerful, driving the boat against the motion of the frigate ahead. She ducked her head, the bone helmet deflecting a bolt as she left the wheel, a cannonball landing behind her as she moved to the bow. Raising her arms, she focused on the side of the galleon and cast her intent ahead with her mind's eye as a hammer, the pop of force creating a slight crack in the target hull.

She backed off as the ships collided, stumbling face first into the flame but catching herself, the hull ahead broken open. She ignored the flames and charged clear through to board the other craft. She'd aimed her own approach with precision, rushing past the gunners, through the pain of two bolts to the back to leap over the hatch ahead. She wished there was a peaceful way to end the conflict, but it was either this or dying in vain.

Raela stomped down, and adding her telekinetics, broke the hatch open. Right ahead of her, below the water line, were rows and stacks of gunpowder cartridges. She gazed ahead, lashing out with a flash of light spilling over all. A puff of vapor preceded a much brighter flash, a flash in silence as the shockwave swept her away.

A definite non-silence was heard elsewhere. Akim stared down the bleak fog, awaiting landfall and the moment he could finally lay down to rest...

Masked behind the fog, a flash of light caught his eye. A few seconds later he heard a double-thud in the distance, streaks of light reaching high as hissing and screeching rockets trailed off in all directions, the flame stretching into the sky. Akim stared in awe for a moment as the distant sound of splashing punctuated the sound of wind and flame. He immediately turned the wheel, aiming toward the flash.

Lilun looked back and forth anxiously. "You're seriously sailing _toward_ that?!"

Akim nodded. "If we keep going... in a straight line. We might be next... let's find out, what... what it is."

Past the wall of the fog, beneath the waves, Raela gazed dizzily upwards, tumbling in the water. The first thing that entered her mind was the fact that she was no longer breathing, aside from every motion carrying a cost in pain. Realizing she still had control of her body, she fought through it, streaming upwards to gasp on breaking the surface.

All around her broken planks and flaming scraps rained down. She didn't hear her own gasp, nor the splashes, nor the wind for that matter, just a dull ringing that faded to perfect silence. She also found it hard to breathe... but for now, the not-breathing problem was solved. Not that it mattered. She'd considered it a blessing the form of a dragon was tenacious enough to survive that experience in one piece, though now there was nowhere to go.

The boat she rode in on was nowhere to be seen. The frigate was, as she'd intended, blown to pieces. The ship's boat was capsized nearby, all of a minute away from sinking entirely. She made her way towards the sinking boat before draping herself over it, though the biting wind wasn't much of a respite.

Propping herself up, she settled to mull it over. In a way, she was morbidly curious. It's said that everyone visits the depths, but where does an oracle go when she dies? What about a rogue one? She raised a hand briefly, pondering out loud, "I leave the rest to my friends, wherever you are. May the winds lay in your favor."

Content in the fact that all of her questions would be answered shortly, she relaxed and watched the wisps above and around her. Her serenity was unbroken by the dark spot she noticed growing at the horizon.

Then, she realized that dark spot was moving. She blinked and sat up, falling into the water again as a consequence. A ship's bow pierced the fog, the rest soon following, showing three masts on a Leneuan geared support hull. It was none other than the Moonrise.

Unable to move the sails with only the strength of one and a quarter aboard, the Moonrise approached at a slow pace. Akim tilted his head up, peering at the figure among the wreckage.

"Is that who I think it is?" He then called out, "Lilun, cast out a line!"

Raela looked at the line thrown out, trailing behind the ship. She coughed, yet wanted to laugh. How she'd gotten used to her own predictions always being right! Yet how glad she'd been to throw all that away. She swam for the last chance she had. Those sails weren't coming down... she snagged the rope and pulled herself upwards, grabbing hold of the railing to pull herself onto the deck, rolling over to sprawl on her belly.

She mumbled, "If only all favors were repaid so swiftly."

Lilun hunched over the side, looking down at the others clinging to the rope, former crew of the destroyed ship. "We have two soldiers on the line, shall I cut it?" He almost felt silly asking as the obvious answer seemed _yes_.

Akim shook his head. "Pull the line in."

Lilun hesitated. "You... want me to help them board us?"

Akim coughed, "They're not boarding _us_ , we're rescuing _them_."

Lilun hesitated a moment longer before turning to the line. After being pulled up, the two sole survivors who knew how to swim found themselves on the deck of the Moonrise. Raela pushed herself up to kneel. Her scales saved her vitals for the most part, though the bolts were still hanging from her back, firmly embedded. At least they kept the sea water out of the wounds and the blood inside.

The two soldiers huddled at the bow, pondering their situation as the only two left able to finish their mission.

Raela ducked her head down, hearing their minds.

"You'd best forget your mission, lest you make yourselves unwelcome." As nice as she normally was, the dark furs and leather along with spiky bone apparel over her deathly white scales and glowing eyes created an imposing presence.

Akim looked ahead. "Now we need... to find the shore..."

Raela pointed off to the right, where they were previously heading. Akim didn't need to hear any words; her whole sense of the local area was available to him. He nodded and turned the Moonrise.

Lilun brought Raela a blanket, which she promptly turned into a scarf and hood, not interested in wearing anything over the metal sticking out of her back.

The last few minutes of the Moonrise's career came with only the sound of moderate seas. The black, freezing shore soon loomed out of the fog. Akim smiled and finally let go of the wheel, having a seat next to it, bracing against the railing. With a tremendous crash and crunch, the Moonrise's bow heaved upwards, the hull giving way under them. The ship finally came to a stop with a series of cracks, creaks and a length of tapping.

The Moonrise rolled somewhat to one side before settling in to its resting place. Lilun dropped the line again, a way to ease down to the shallow water.

Raela looked ahead then gestured to the side. "All right, go on now. Move along!"

The two soldiers stood their ground.

Raela continued, "You're not going to make us have to kill you after we've saved you, are you?"

It was a bit of a staredown, though the two saw little to gain by throwing their lives away. It was a land without chivalry, all in all. As such, once it was clear they had no advantage, they silently moved to disembark. Raela kept her two eyes and her mind's watching as they left, making sure they went out of sight.

Akim meanwhile turned back. The pain in his chest was incredible now, but he knew he'd be free of it soon enough. He gestured to Lilun, who joined him in Fera's quarters. As much of a mess as it was, they managed to get the texts and amulets along with more of Fera's papers to carry off though missing the golden key that started it all, having not found a use for it anyway. Akim gave one of the bags of coins to Lilun, taking the other to weakly toss it out towards Raela.

Bringing with all she and Lilun could reasonably carry through the woods, Raela cast the bag of texts over the bow to the shore. She looked back at Akim sitting back against the door to the captain's quarters.

She stepped up and peered closely at him. "What are you doing, Akim?"

Akim chuckled with a cough. "Dying... what does it look like?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. Up with you!"

He looked up at her, unsure of what she was thinking. She reached down and pulled him over her shoulder, taking him to the edge. Down they went, Lilun chasing after. The seawater burned to Akim as if he'd just swallowed glowing hot coals; it caused him to cringe and thrash, gagging and coughing blood into the sea. Reaching shore, he finally collapsed as Raela towered over him.

She spoke with a hint of uncertainty, "Relax, and hold still."

She was dealing with her own shakes and pain, but wore a smile anyway for a moment, even if it was more of a grimace. She gestured over Akim; there was a sickening suction felt in his chest as a vomitous pop crossed his throat. At the end of his endurance, he found himself losing touch with what was around him. In the gaps between the pain he spouted blood from his mouth and rolled over only to see more blood... and to get a glimpse of Lilun vomiting as Raela cleared even more blood from his chest.

When his senses finally cleared to the point of knowing what he was looking at, he cried out. In doing so, he noticed he could actually draw breath again! Even if each breath only seemed half as satisfying as he'd remembered.

Lilun, still holding his mouth, asked, "W-will he be all right?"

Raela looked aside at Akim. "Probably! I don't think I made it any worse..."

Akim was stunned and dizzy, but not about to complain. All being said, not dying seemed nice.

Raela offered a hand. Akim not so much stood as let her carry him along. She continued, "I know a woman who's practiced at cutting into people without killing them. I have a feeling in my back telling me I should visit her, and I think you'd enjoy her company as well."

Akim only panted in reply, too dazed to speak by the mind, though she noticed his appreciation all the same. Lilun kept up alongside them as the three left the newly-wrecked ship vacant for the land and sea. They snuck inland, keeping quiet as they sought help for their wounds.

Over the coming days the locals became increasingly curious about where that frigate had gone. They'd expected the navy to return... With the noise of the pub ahead of a setting sun, the cheery keeper of an out-of-the-way pub looked up through the amber glass window, noticing silhouettes, particularly one with a handcannon. "Ah, our guests have returned, let's- _huh_?"

The door swung open to reveal Akim, Lilun, and Raela, the latter ducking to enter, all three dressed heavy with furs for the winter, pulling their hoods back as they entered.

"Weren't you--?"

Raela look forward and smiled at the keeper. "Ah, yes, yes... that frigate. It's..." She gave a slight wave of a gesture, her smile vanishing as she continued, "... set sail for clearer skies." It was a pit in her belly, knowing what she'd done, even if she knew she had to.

In typical fashion for the locale, the keeper shrugged and smiled. "Well then, welcome to the Coveted Hall."

For all that was said of this icy realm, it had become a place where anyone could find themselves welcome.

A bit of time to relax seemed a paradise by this point. Now it seemed they had all the time in the world. Akim found himself staring at his mug. The world's best solution to pain, though what was under the bandage was only the start of it, his demeanor showing that clearly.

Raela looked at Akim, with Lilun already swaying about nearby. "So down on yourself? We may as well laugh while we can."

Akim returned the look and replied, "A laugh I wish I could share. With Nar... and Fera... and crew as we used to. But the time's passed for that." Time. How its circle had been hammered into an arrow, only pointing one way for better or for worse. Akim looked up for a moment. "At least I have you two left." For all that Fera did, she and Akim had pulled each other out of the fire too many times for Akim not to still give her respect. Fera and Nar would forever be part of his memories.

Raela nodded a brief solemn nod. Being a dragon was a lot of fun in a way, but living for centuries when one's friends weren't so gifted was at times a curse as well.

Lilun completely shattered the moment, stumbling over with a flump. He pulled himself up.

"Hello!"

Raela looked over, and showed a smile. "Take a seat, will you?"

Indeed, the arrow of time pointed only one way...but on the other hand, it did mean there was always tomorrow.

#  Arc 5: Dream of Tomorrow

Sometimes the most picturesque landscapes can be the most barren, though the snowfall did bring with it a sense of peace, a lull in the buzz of the towns. The rocky and dark hillsides of the island stood with trees too stubborn to lose their green marking the otherwise white taiga, and the encroaching freeze along with its fogs and ice storms effectively sealed off the harbors.

Several layers of cloth and fur shrouded over the black scales of the lone towering form, a dragon with a calmly contrasting grey belly and red-orange eyes. The Grounded stood alone, stepping out from the warmth of his cave, scraping away the snow from in front of it yet again. It was another dark day under a cloudy sky with fog early and late.

This weather had a tendency to have him feeling lethargic on one hand... on the other, it made finally settling down in front of the fire to enjoy a nice cup of tea all the more rewarding. These scarce times, despite the risk of hardship, brought out the best in people. Even in this nearly lawless society, most set feuds aside for the sake of all seeing the coming spring, a sentiment embodied in the Day of Ysius, in honor of the namesake goddess of fortune and storms. On that Day, when the peoples of the towns gathered for a communal potluck, those fortunate would share with others so all would have a chance to succeed in the new year with their debts of the previous forgiven.

Even if Ysius wasn't his favorite of the pantheon, the event always left him feeling cheerful and calm. Having cleared the path, he left his footprints trailing to the conveyor chute, now operating year-round after a few improvements. Like all businesses however his was often slow in winter anyway, though occasionally something dropped through. Another case of broken farm tools, it seemed; with the millennia passing as they had, restoring and recycling old rusty iron had become an art in itself. At least these wouldn't need full reforging, some welding and polishing would do.

"Hoy!" The blur of feathers hopped over him to land nearby, before emerging around the chute.

He turned, speaking calmly, "I've said time and time again the conveyor is not a ride... you're not hurt are you?"

The mirian raised his head, revealing a grin among green and white feathers. "Never better! Or at least, that's what I tell myself."

A much taller figure in similarly hooded apparel rounded the other corner, revealing white scales. "Terath! Hale and warm?"

It was a bit of a nice change to hear his familiar name spoken in a familiar voice. Terath, the Grounded, turned his head to see the white scales of the face in front of him. "Raela? You said you'd never return to these lands. All the same, it's a relief to see you still roaming about."

She sighed slightly. "Indeed... indeed, even if my former duties are no more, I'm still here. And so are my two new friends; meet Akim and Lilun."

Akim approached last, huffing short of breath for a moment before looking over. "We're already acquainted. I'm just as surprised I'm here as she is."

Akim took a moment to catch his breath. Terath looked over to him, his brow furrowed. "Ill of health?"

Akim nodded and rubbed his chest. "A wound dealt by my former captain crippled me. I'll never sail again. That means now all three of us seek a new living here in Leneu."

Raela patted the bag she'd been carrying. "More importantly, we've brought you a gift. Sorry we didn't make it in time for Ysius's day."

Terath replied, "No matter. More important than finding a livelihood?"

"More important than all of us."

Akim asked, "May we join you in your cave?"

Terath gestured to the entrance. "You're always welcome. I'd rather have friends than blocks of ice any day!"

The four entered to the welcome warmth of a wood fire. Terath's forge doubled as a comfortable fireplace when not in use; he'd been boiling water over it to share as some winter tea. Nonetheless, he understood all the more why Akim and Lilun were a bit grim about their gift once the three had explained their tale on who the oracles were, what they'd been doing, and the entire journey from Tavaria along with the nature of that gift. They'd brought to him a copy of the texts and the amulets, a primer to the power of the mind.

Terath listened closely as the winds picked up outside. "And if we don't spread this knowledge, the oracles will go from being our protectors to our slavemasters?"

Akim hesitated, but nodded. "The oracles are people like anyone else. They have their virtues, and their faults... I could see Fera's ambition during those last moments. She wanted all of Leneu. Once these spires of prophecy break down and the oracles' rule crumbles, similar ambitions will reign."

Raela continued, "We arguably were slavemasters anyway, pardon the word. The crowns of this part of the world all abide the prophecies and anything we wanted done had a way of being done by the others. When the ancients' machines no longer work, we'll have no way to prevent anyone from establishing dominion... But, the people of this world as a whole are far more capable than we ever were. I expect they're capable of more than merely aspiring for power. The ancients didn't restrain themselves."

"And there are none of the ancients left, the fate your peers seek to spare us from."

She looked up. "Is fate so certain now?"

A bit odd to hear that from a former oracle, but she had a point. Even if there were dangers, within that fog ever enshrouding tomorrow also lay potential. Terath remained to ponder as the others conversed, looking through the papers with Raela occasionally commenting on them.

The powers of the oracles, they were all abilities that absolutely anyone with time and will could learn. There were no restrictions or limits... but where did the force of this power come from? Once he knew that, how could it be reproduced? Each question yielded itself to only more questions, blossoming out into an evermore distant field that merged together into its own infinity, an infinity open to all.

He tilted his head up, letting the conversation enter his mind.

Raela asked, "Whatever _did_ happen to that key?"

Lilun rubbed his head in distraction. "We... forgot it, didn't we?"

Akim shook his head. "It's likely at the bottom of the ocean now; the tide would've taken the wreck out to sea."

Terath stood up from his task. "You mentioned needing a new home?"

Akim looked over at him. "We have enough silver left to last until spring, though, yes."

"I believe the university has some empty spaces these days."

Akim perked up. "The university? Why would they let an old piece of flotsam like me float about there? And I must admit, while I shall not complain, after all I've done for Fera I'm surprised by your generosity."

"Because if they were stupid enough to turn this down, they wouldn't be at the university. As to the second, I judge people by their deeds, not by their allegiances."

Lilun chuckled before commenting, "We all live on ridiculous adventures don't we?"

Raela smiled. "So then, you've decided."

Terath nodded. "It's true that there are some out there who would do horrible deeds for their own personal fortune; I've seen many of them here and elsewhere. However, my experience has also shown me that people, in general, prefer to stay at peace with their neighbors and with themselves. By what you've said, our world has been in a slumber for thousands of years. It's time we woke up!"

A genuine and contagious smile was seen in return. The future beckoned, though they each had their plans for it. If anything, Akim gladly accepted hanging up his hat for a more peaceful life. Lilun on the other hand seemed restless and eager to return to Aeril, if nothing else than to tell his friends and family there that he was still alive.

For now however, at least they had a place to go. The university of Vulthar isle, for all its prestige and fame, was rather humble in its interior, having fallen into disuse and in places disrepair after the war under a crown that had only meager funds to spare, the isle around it often hosting simpler businesses now. Raela and Akim however were more than happy to call Vulthar isle home.

Having awakened his mind and assured their safety, Terath returned home to tend to his work, leaving time free. Alone with time to think, he reached aside, checking his documents. Papers---he needed a specific few. Not the pile of letters, not the log of orders, blank ones. He set down the stack of papers, a broad swath of space for notes and descriptions yet to be written. Reaching down, he scooped his hand through the fire of his forge, carrying an orb of it to his nose. "An ember begets an inferno..."

Already news of the group's work had spread to Leneu and Valnor. A secret such as this took little time to travel. Already it was too late for the oracles to intervene. As the days passed, Terath turned blankness to black on his notes, picking out the patterns. Where the energy came from seemed straightforward; using it excessively drained his focus and breath and left him with an appetite.

As the frost thinned, he sent his work on the origin of force across the courts of the crowns, to the university and to Valnor, fully expecting to be disregarded as a heretic. He received a response exclaiming how wrong he was, as he expected. What he didn't expect was what was attached: a different formulation of his mechanic of power exchange, this one a better fit for what he'd seen. For once he was delighted to be wrong!

And yet, this was just the first step. The crowns had realized the tremendous potential they'd been sitting on this entire time, and when asked to forfeit the knowledge, declined with gusto, from Leneu to Valnor, to Atswala and Kalvod, back to Tavaria, right to the front of their chapel. Those within had demanded a return to the old order, but now, as all of the world's crowns sought their own rule, their demands had nothing behind them. They had nothing left on the world... the time for taking back control had already come and forever gone. The autumn of 3825 brought the final message of the oracles.

"The crowns of the world have made it clear that they no longer wish to work with us. Our coalition will still exist as an implicit alliance, though we can no longer provide any prophecy. Your use of these stolen powers cannot be predicted.

The alliance of crowns under our emblem shall be in the hands of the crowns themselves. You are on your own now. Farewell."

On their own. As they should've been to begin with, Terath ever more felt. Headlong into the unknown they went, another winter bringing frost to the fields, another spring seeing the frosts melt, the plants blossoming up from the lands and the fields. In many ways, a breath of life swept the lands, the new insight bringing entirely different takes on the old practices of art. Previously abstracted works took on an approach of shadowy overlay; wearing an insignia on a hat became ever more popular as people found new ways to express themselves. Society had begun to move. What had seemed solid as stone for eons had come to life right before them!

The entire concept of the art of trade and contest was turned on its head, with entirely novel and unexplored tactics open at every corner, and Leneu was ahead of the game. Every time Lilun returned from his travels, a task handed to his son as the decades passed, there seemed to be another crowd from afar coming not far behind, bringing never before heard tales and works along with fresh knowledge. They needed books? Kalvod had a chain-driven solution, shared among the others soon enough.

Those arriving brought a wealth in many forms, the towns abuzz with revived expansion and traffic. Leneu picked itself up from its lull as a haven of the untoward, the grime cleaned away and the glass polished, the merchants dragging the crown behind them as they established a new paradigm under a new covenant officially recognizing the free merchant and business along with a chamber of land-owners. The message was clear: status was no longer a predestined fate. Fortunes rose and fortunes fell, but Leneu as a whole only stood to gain.

Stepping along this path, Terath remembered when it was but dirt underfoot with only a trio of plain, bare, and worn wood buildings ahead. Vulthar isle and its university had come a long way. Wearing a black coat with a flared white collar over red, Terath strode through comfortable early autumn air, smooth stone underfoot as he passed through the stonework and arches of the university, concentric rings of buildings around a central tower.

The courtyard before it hosted a recent statue in dark polished stone of a cheery robe-wearing and well-adorned mirian standing tail aside, holding a tall and decorated border frame containing a sizable bulletin board. Part of it was always used for announcements and notes for visitors; the remaining space, usually the majority of the board, was available to anyone. There had been a trend of appreciation for art that had some function to its form.

Under the arch nearby was the library entrance; there were books for sale outside. The Vulthar stationery company, chartered a decade prior in 3862, used its Kalvodian presses to provide books abroad--much to the chagrin of the scribes. Fortunately for them there was always a demand for more minds elsewhere.

Peering at the many forms between the buildings... ah, there she was. He crossed the oncoming line, spotting Raela's smile before joining her.

Raela cast a glance aside towards him. "You seem satisfied. Unearth any knowledge on amulet crafting lately?"

"Not exactly, though I'm expecting our friends in Tavaria to send us copies of some of their texts. The church of Valnor is still throwing a fit over their chapel opening to the public; I'm starting to wonder how long they can keep that going. You're more than pleased yourself. Good news from the treasurer?"

She grinned broadly at that. "The expedition to explore the southerly grand isles is underway."

He raised a brow. "They're seriously going ahead with that? How do they expect to get far enough inland to find anything?"

"If nothing else, by walking. Those lands should have plenty of forage. None of us have seen ships from that direction; even my former peers saw nothing there, so it's likely uninhabited. Tavaria has its own plan along with Kalvod, and whoever reaches it first has the privilege of..."

Both of them fell silent on seeing a group of heavily-clothed mirians striding forth with equipment clanking about. There was a bit of a stormy air about them.

The group spotted the two of them and immediately began to discuss the matter. Raela immediately changed direction, and the two approached. She asked, "May I help you with anything?"

Terath could see immediately that a few of them were drunk and less than pleased.

"Shut up!"

Raela responded, "That's not very polite, now!"

Terath raised one brow. "Is there a problem here?"

"Yeah, _you_!"

Terath frowned. They had accents, likely from Valnor, and weren't well versed in Leneu tongue.

"You bastards got my grandparents killed!"

"Did have our farm taken, and money gone?"

"To prepare? And how? But no!"

Terath held up a hand to stop their banter. "If you have a problem, get proof of injury and we'll be seen before the magistrate, like civilized people." There were a number of Leneuans following the ways of the old crime-riddled days that would consider such words cowardly and untoward. Terath considered them a bunch of thugs.

Raela sighed, "We won't accomplish anything here, let's go." She looked back to the group. "Goodbye!" And off she went, Terath trailing behind.

"Big shalgath-pile!"

Terath didn't know that word of Valnor tongue, but through the sense of mind it positively dripped with hatred and earned the group a less than enthusiastic glare from Raela, something she almost never did.

"Alas..." Raela continued, "The new world still isn't caramel and pie. Though I must admit it takes a lot of good mead to say that to a dragon's face."

Terath shook his head. "Bravado. They know this is a place of peace."

Raela readily shrugged it off, speaking with a bright tone, "So! About those spires..."

Meanwhile the group doubled back, tracking their way towards the stationer's shop. Stepping inside, past the swinging door and past the bookshelves, they approached the keeper, a sythian in her prime with dark blue skin with matte green details. Her eyes were emerald green, her coat brown with a frill at the neck over white pants and leather boots, simple round glasses on her nose.

"Oh look, it's a fruit-monger."

She looked up at the sound. "I sell books. The fruit stand is in town."

They approached, the one in the back of the group making a dismissive gesture. "A tripe-skin, who gave shop?"

Flicking her tail with repressed annoyance, she noted, "Sythians don't have any feathers--congratulations on the insight." She leaned back to get some space. "Have any other cute words? We're making a list here."

"Kyril, is it?"

She pulled open a book, lowering her head behind it. "The one and only."

"Vorral?"

She peered over a page, and glared right at the one who asked... and saw their intent. "No." Her hesitation was however itself a giveaway. "I'd suggest you leave. There are a few men around who are far more intimidating than you who would love to have some excitement in an otherwise boring patrol. The fact you haven't been shown the road already is a gesture of tolerance. Don't test it."

They began bantering in their native tongue. Apparently she was the 'traitor's spawn' and she could see plenty of desire to do some rather untoward things to her. She didn't open her mouth, but her voice was heard. "Harass me further and one of you will think himself poultry for the next month, understand?"

Proving they had a collective wisdom greater than that of a rock, they trailed towards the door. Inevitably, they demonstrated an upper limit to that wisdom in a scene across the alley, creating a bit of a ruckus. Kyril looked out the window to watch them being escorted out soon after.

She sighed, getting back to her book. "If only I'd learned to laugh."

Terath and Raela eyed back at the group as it left the bookstore. "I've heard some unsavory news of Valnor, and those people didn't exactly put me at ease. I find myself curious about what's actually happening there."

Her tone was a bit lighter, "Why wonder, when you can find out?"

"We both have much to do here."

"That won't last all day. Well, in _your_ case it won't. Whoever captains the boat they came in has to appear sooner or later. Weren't you returning to Aucron soon anyway?"

"Much too soon. Though I'll return next autumn, assuming nothing prevents it."

"Well if something does prevent it I'll just have to pay a surprise visit of my own, won't I? Though it's not much of a surprise now. Ah, I'll be going that way... we'll meet again later?"

"Until then." The customary exchange of a mutual wish of wellbeing preceded their parting.

That night Kyril took a walk through town rather than keeping to her home, taking care to keep her feet and her mind running smooth with minimal noise. Down to the shore, she saw their ship. Terath was there as well. He'd paid her a visit earlier in the day and knew about what had happened. If the others were around, they'd know to be alert. Inconvenient, but not anything she couldn't work around.

Sneaking behind, she spotted one of the group that she encountered before, trailing behind as he made his way down the boardwalk. Knowing what they truly wanted and why was a matter of reading thoughts and memories, which in turn required stealth and a skill with subtle action, much like pickpocketing.

Drawing near, she divided her attention between his thoughts and her surroundings, contriving her own thoughts from watching his to mimic them as she planted genuine-looking thoughts in his mind. His mind, defenses spoiled by alcohol, accepted them, bringing forth a train of thought on the matter which she let flow into her memory without focusing on it.

Thinking about that 'foul fruit-monger' revealed a bit of paranoia which stirred his suspicion. Before he could turn, she broke contact and vanished into an alley. Now to see what she'd gotten! Bringing these new memories to the front of her mind, she recalled the exchange. He was one of a group of people who had nothing but ill will towards her whole family over the deeds done back in the '20s. It seemed pathetic to her... none of them were even born yet at that time and her grandfather was generally considered a hero more often than not, especially in Leneu. Then again, not all lands were so eager to cast tradition aside.

Finally spotting the stark white feathered captain, Terath approached her. Normally a rowdy crowd was left to the authorities, but, Terath expected he might be able to help a crew and their captain settle things before it got to that point and jeopardized their livelihood. "Greetings, Captain."

She looked aside, then upwards, more than a little startled to see a dragon. "Oh, h-hello there!"

He could see that she wasn't that bad of a person. "Worry not, I'm just here to talk to you about your crew and why they've been harassing sythians."

She sighed. "Damned fools... I was afraid that would happen. It's cultural differences."

"Cultural differences?" He kept alongside her as they walked into town. "I'll admit I haven't been seeing many from Valnor lately, though some of my friends from there were sythian. I'd thought after the drought your people would respect them more for their gifts of food. Unless your crew used to be farmers."

She shook her head. "That's not what happened, friendly dragon."

He raised a brow, curious. "I've heard the floating towns prevented a famine."

"That's right, after we captured them. Desperate times, you know? The sythians work the sea-farms under our rule."

He frowned. "And yet they could've floated their towns clear from Valnor waters?"

She patted back her feathers, a hint of shame seen. "Not when the only ones moving them are mirians. The sythians don't have any choice in the matter, as their masters know the art of the mind and teaching the art to sythians is punishable by death. They're not really considered people anymore. It's not a matter I'm proud of personally, but it's become increasingly accepted, particularly among those loyal to the church."

The church. Oracles were worshipped there. What a revelation it was when the oracles turned out to be just ordinary people, but some people wouldn't let go of old traditions. Kyril found the group neatly filed itself in that category. Her grandfather had only kind words to say about the church, having received alms early in life and repaid them in multiple later in life. And now this...

The captain continued, "It's not something I talk about much. Many in charge of admiralty aren't all that fond of 'fish-kissers' running their ships and I'd rather not fall out of favor with them. Or even worse, fall out of favor with my crew halfway between kingdoms."

"Understandable. Is Valnor planning on settling new lands? Perhaps once it has more land its people will no longer need such methods."

She noted, "I wouldn't assume that, as it's not particularly a matter of dire need at this time."

Terath let his breath out of his nose. This was a problem in many ways, one he was surprised hadn't already been spoken of. And, as dragons' voices were heard by the crown, it was a problem on his plate too. Raela might have more inspiration on the matter, he thought. For the time being, having made sure the captain before him knew to check on her crew's deeds, he bade her farewell.

Kyril mulled over these groups, what'd happened to Aeril, and what might happen if their sentiment spread. This was the exact opposite of what her grandfather had wanted to come of his homeland. He'd be rolling over in his grave! But what was a mere shopkeeper to do? Well, ensure she and her family wouldn't become victims of the roaming drunken potential mob, to begin with.

She made her way around the town, informing her siblings of the matter. Her cousins didn't particularly take her seriously but she made little effort beyond simply warning them. Passing inland, she tipped off the patrol, hoping for the best. Returning home, she opened the lockbox in which she'd kept what valuables she had, including ammo for her pistol, plain and practical. It carried one of the other parts of her grandfather's legacy: a mirror-lock for easy firing by the mind's flame; it was the very same gun she kept hidden in the store. She loaded it and set it by the bed. Prepared for the worst...

She tucked in, keeping silently awake for a while until her drifting mind finally enshrouded itself in its own thoughts, leaving her to wade through her own reflection of the day. Yet there was an intrusion on her thoughts, a sense of being watched. She'd found she was being held in this state of timid calm, and that in itself set off a mental alarm.

She awoke to see a pair of yellow eyes in front of her. The intruder simply shushed, her hand over Kyril's mouth to hold it shut, her mind full of thoughts on a gruesome death for Kyril... She soon found Kyril's response with a gun barrel held to her nose. The intruder immediately scrambled towards the door, barking the more obscene end of the Valnor vocabulary and fishing for a gun of her own as Kyril moved her aim to the door, casting her intent to the mirror dot and closing her eyes. The flash and bang reverberated through the building, echoing outside. Once the flash faded, she saw the intruder still slinking off, thankfully having chosen to run over killing Kyril.

Standing, Kyril rushed to the door, gun held ahead, her other hand trailing behind. It wasn't loaded but sometimes the intimidation factor was enough. Not like she could aim at any real range anyway; fumbling around her coat in the near dark, she found her glasses and slipped them on. All around, others awoken by the loud bang stepped out of their rooms, some awaking to chase out other intruders having been skulking about sythian homes. Said intruders now silently signaled one another, making for the port.

The patrolmen hadn't been so eager to disregard her warning and were waiting at the gate. The group of intruders doubled back, to find the same behind and around. Nowhere to go! Aside from the dungeon.

Tucking the gun under her coat, Kyril stepped along, following as the people behind her gathered their senses. She spotted the patrolmen ushering the group of would-be killers ahead at bayonet point, uphill for their stay in the scoundrel's inn. With misdeeds this great, and the macabre 'tools' they'd been carrying, they were in for a long stay, or more likely, a short one with a terminal end.

She went back, hearing the chatter about the sound of a gunshot. She affirmed, "It was I, defending myself against an intruder who'd intended to kill me in a most unpleasant way... she's lucky I've poor sight. Apologies for the ruckus."

Once the ruckus died down, she returned home once again. She snapped her fingers, the candle on the end table coming alight, revealing the new bullet hole in the wall. She frowned for a moment, but then sighed, pinching out the candle and tucking in again. It was a mere annoyance in exchange for solving a major problem; at least tomorrow was likely to be a better day without that crowd around.

The next day came, a clear day with good wind, just the weather Terath wanted for the ride back to Aucron. He'd heard of what had happened... he'd warned their captain, but such was life. As promised, he had one last meeting with Raela before departing, Raela keeping step alongside him as they strolled towards the pier.

He kept his sight ahead. "It's a social problem and like all problems, where there's will and thought there's a solution. That being said, even if we in Leneu abhor what they're doing, in many parts of the world it's acceptable if not encouraged. It isn't any better of a principle if we impose our way of life on them."

"It's not a matter of imposition so much as giving a voice to those who otherwise wouldn't have any. The next time I take leave I might see what our options are."

He mulled it over, then smiled faintly. "You're the rambunctious type; stirring trouble for the greater good may as well be your motto anyway."

"Absolutely! That and honestly, I feel somewhat responsible. I may as well try to remedy it."

He shook his head. "It's best not to blame oneself for an unforeseeable accident. Ah, and there's the one I was talking about."

He gestured ahead of them to the white-feathered captain, who was discussing matters with a patrolman.

Raela noted, "She'll be here for a while yet, though I'll have a word with her later. Don't forget to write, now!"

He nodded and gestured his farewell, stepping by. As he passed, the white-feathered mirian looked over towards him. She knew what he'd been thinking about the matter; her eyes gave him a direct look, her mind spotting his thoughts of a passing greeting and well-wishing.

She gave him a nod. "On one end, this costs me and what's left of my crew time and silver. On the other, I'm glad to be rid of them. I'll find others eager to sail, worry not. For now, fortune find you, friendly dragon."

"Likewise to you. Until we meet again."

While ships designed for international travel often had plenty of room, the ferries between the islands of one kingdom were often smaller, built for journeys of only a few days at most. A passenger as big as Terath often found himself helping the crew balance their craft simply by choosing a good place to sit; it was an unusual but handy way to get to know the ferrymen.

When he returned home, Terath found the expected pile of assorted tasks under the chute. He'd been considering adding actual seats and a stepping off point to the conveyor for people who insisted on riding it, but for the time being... He noticed a cylinder capped on both ends in the pile, a tube with a message inside. Popping the end open, he fished out a piece of paper, reading it over while he pulled the cart of orders and metal back to his cave.

It addressed him in official capacity, bearing the seal of the queen.

Artisan Terath Rolith of Aucron,

People always assumed he was part of the port town even if he considered himself more a denizen of its northerly neighbor. Then again, his most of his business was in Aucron.

Her majesty queen Ysalia invites you to partake of the southerly expedition in the coming year. A fleet of nine dhal shall launch with provisions to establish a foothold on the shores of the eastern continent in the name of Leneu with the ends of recovering the secrets of an untouched spire and settling the eastern shore.

As a fairly wealthy person who'd signed up for the coming assembly of the chamber of owners, he'd expected they'd want him to invest in the expedition. He read down through the description of provisions. The dhal was a contemporary vessel, combining a larger version of the sleek and narrow hull of their light military craft with the full rigging and deck plan of a merchant ship, built to the purpose of trading with prospering Kalvod but exceptionally suited to riding the trade winds anywhere. Without large landmasses to block them, the alternating bands of eastern and western winds circled their world, carrying ships to lands the world around.

Leneu, situated far to the north on the western hemisphere, was in a good position to reach these lands first, as wealthy as it was with a history of shipbuilding. Valnor had been struck by a drought, and parts of Tavaria were still recovering from the hurricane of '24. Kalvod, on the temperate band north and center was closer to those landmasses on the southeastern quadrant of the map, but they hadn't announced any preparations despite their claim on the western continent. Atswala, located in the southern hemisphere south of Tavaria, was by far the nearest and had its eyes set on the same shore, though they were behind in their preparations compared to now-wealthier Leneu.

The path was laid out for a voyage in early spring of 3874. The fleet would sail south to catch the westward wind, past the terminator to the far east, before sailing to the south to reach the eastern continent. They'd projected that the journey would take between 50 and 90 days to get there and the same number back, with a year or two between.

That was a bit of a length of time to wait for a return on such a risky investment, but he had money he could afford to lose in the name of discovery and dragons seldom lost their patience. Terath wondered exactly what sort of contribution they were after though, as they hadn't numbered any coins.

As the planned settlement must be self-sufficient and capable in recovering and using the artifacts of the spire, we require pioneers suited for surviving the dangerous wilds, repairing and improvising equipment, and knowledgeable in psychic research. Her majesty has chosen to invite you, capable in all three, to join the Bird's Eye in its endeavor.

At first he stared at these words, then the reality set in. He frowned. Did they really expect him to just uproot his life? And what about the Aucron metalworks? What if he fell ill and died out there? Then again, even if it was 'just' an invitation, he'd rather not tell the queen of all people "no"... and there was the possibility of returning home with a spread of artifacts to study and a sizable deed of land. As the eastern hemisphere was largely 'from whence no ship has sailed', he'd expected these continents would be uninhabited. Being the first to set foot on them would be a tale in itself.

He had plenty of time to mull it over. Time to add a chair or two to that conveyor! Though as he was hammering away he pondered the fact that it would probably be broken when he got back. As the year carried on through winter, he arrived to meet the other owners, this particular meeting held in the court of the queen. She'd tracked him down like a huntress, immediately voicing her gratitude on his delivering a response in person. Not like he was easy to miss! Her feathers were like snow under her gem-adorned spin of elaborate purple garb, and he felt plenty of implicit pressure to commit himself to the endeavor. Terath gestured his assent and his respect, ducking his head in proper greeting.

She really didn't mean to coerce him, and had intentionally worded her request as a choice...being queen of Leneu made it difficult to not come across as being coercive at times... but she wasn't about to turn down having a famed and highly skilled dragon with her fleet. Their exchange almost silent between minds. So was his oath now to carry Leneu's standard to the other end of the planet!

The arched and creased architecture provided excellent shelter without making the court feel any less open, old and new style artwork sitting side by side past the red-carpet steps up to the table and stands. Generally these meetings weren't held anywhere near the royal court, the owners of the lands having a number of venues available, though matters of import to the whole of Leneu warranted granting the owners an audience with the queen. The expedition and major international trade deals were two such matters.

In one sense, there was an overwhelming eagerness towards establishing Leneu as a land of novelty, a sense that Leneu and her allies were on the brink of a new golden age. The belief that the problems of the day could be solved by tomorrow with effort and dedication was a sentiment Terath rallied to wholeheartedly! Though, those problems were abound, and a better tomorrow started today; he mentioned the issue of Valnor and the sythians and proposed aid to the sythians, the floating towns and those who would liberate them.

His proposal was readily shot down. After all, Atswala used forced labor as a means of righting the insolvent for millennia, and nobody complained about that. Some of his peers even voiced some envy in the matter. How convenient it would be to not have to pay one's workers!

Such was a dangerous attitude to hold in a time of change, Terath warned, as the lifelong enslaved are as a ferocious predator in a cage, waiting for the moment to break out. He left it at that as the topic shifted.

There were many dreams of a glorious era just beginning, many fantasies of the age of tomorrow, though as Raela had noted, it wasn't all caramel and pie. Some dreams had a habit of revealing themselves as nightmares.

Terath fully acknowledged this, but still kept in his heart that tomorrow would be a greener field, even if getting there wasn't always easy.

#  Arc 6: Alien Shores

Getting there wouldn't be easy in this case either, though proper preparations always came in handy. Rather than being a ragtag group of lowest bidders, these crews had been hand-picked by the wealthiest investors and the queen herself. Resourceful and intelligent, the sailors were some of the most well-traveled people he'd found. Those tasked with establishing a foothold were skilled architects and craftsmen experienced with rough weather and terrain, each hearty and adaptable with healers among them to keep them that way even come strange diseases. Even the occasional dedicated farmer wasn't just a field worker but a person known to have extensively studied and contributed to the science of agriculture. Terath himself wasn't exactly a cheap hire, and all the equipment was picked at a similar quality. Even the holder for the compass was a durable and reliable work.

Having said his farewells and announced his leave from Aucron, Terath boarded, complete with light plated armor. It was protective enough to keep his belly blade-proof while being light enough to avoid encumbrance and the need for servants to maintain it. At his side was his hammer, an excellent tool for forging, construction, and defense in a pinch; his back carried a better tool for that though, a cast cannon which arguably would count as light artillery more than small arms, all his own handiwork. Though they expected the lands were uninhabited, there was always the risk of other familiar countries interfering, or massive unknown wildlife paying a visit. A heavy-set individual to begin with, he trustingly moved his weight and equipment up the cargo gangplank over the water. Built to the same standards as the rest, it didn't budge at all.

Terath wasn't a well-versed sailor, a problem remedied with the better part of the winter spent living and breathing the art of sail from when he rose with the sun to the late hour at which he collapsed. As ready as he would get, he stepped aboard, stopping in front of the obsidian-black feathered mirian female ahead of him. "Rolith, reporting."

She broke her stern look to give a smile. "Relax; despite how it feels this isn't a military voyage." Not like it made a difference outside of conversation. Order was expected all the same. "Welcome aboard, Terath. Stow your gear, then take position under the mainsail. We'll embark a half-hour after sunrise."

The sun was already rising. Though a dragon ate the rations of several, a dragon also hoisted a multiple of the weight. Managing the sails was a cakewalk with Terath aboard, the Bird's Eye raising anchor and setting out on schedule, spotting its eight peer vessels soon enough. Tying the line off, Terath surveyed the sea through the last bits of distant fog with the skies clearing to reveal the sun and a strong yet fortunate wind taking them swiftly ahead.

He silently mulled over his own reassuring thoughts of future history, pulled back by the cheery chant of an impromptu celebration of the goddess of storm and wind for the fortunate weather, an all around buoyant air. A flawless launch and high spirits would lead into their months of travel with an unknown fate ahead a subject of optimism tempered by wisdom.

As the sun rose on a crisp spring day for the Bird's Eye, the sun set on a warm autumn day for the crew of the Kall's Will.

The segmented, flat-centered hull with an awning ahead of its aftcastle and billowing square sails overhead carried the standard of Kalvod on its lines.

"Land ho! This is it, there's rock running all north to south!"

The teal-skinned sythian captain of the Kall's Will grinned under her broad brimmed straw hat as she recorded the date and time. Her fellow sythian and first mate offered a quiet question as he stood at her side.

"Do you think those people in Leneu really bought it when our queen said she had no expedition prepared for these continents?"

"That is how it appears. I don't see any Leneuan ships. Those idiots probably think they'll be the first, and here we are, already here when they've probably only just set out. I've already recorded it. All right, light up the message. Send five ahead to the eastern shore and the remaining four to the western shore of the next continent."

The plan was simple. While Leneu and Atswala feuded over the eastern end of the eastern continent and raced each other for a shiny spike of metal somewhere, Kalvod would plant its flag all over the western continent and the western shore of the eastern continent. If the other two wanted a cut, too bad! First come...

First...? No. There was an orange glow ahead as they drew in to scout the coast. She pulled up her spyglass, gazing ahead at the horizon. The hilltops rose into view, then lines of grey. Those were roads. Next in her view was the angular stonework of the city ahead, alight with lanterns, stone steps bordering square buildings alongside terraced plots. There was even a harbor, filled with a moderately- sized ship with two square sails and rows of oars, another smaller boat setting out under a single square sail ahead bearing an unfamiliar design on the sail.

She snarled, nearly throwing the spyglass to the ground. "The fates MUST jest so cruelly mustn't they? Sink the fates to the cold depths-"

"Um, captain?" Her first mate was somewhat distracted from his duty.

"There's a damned _city_ where we've sought to come ashore. Unless the admiral calls us all in to lay broadsides into it here and now we may as well go home!"

"Pardon my intrusion, but is there not an entire other continent over there? And maybe our silver's good here."

Just a thought, as it were. As much as she hated life at this one moment, she had to admit he had a point. "All right, we'll approach to make sure we're not fired upon. If our meeting is peaceful, we come into port then."

As she gazed ahead, another pair of eyes gazed back. Featherless, the green-skinned mirian stood atop the wooden floor of a stone-bordered balcony. He was just stopping to take in the view for a moment when a particularly strange sight appeared. Those weren't clouds peeking up over the horizon, but the geometric white of sails... lots of sails. An outright excessive number of sails on an outright excessive craft with a conspicuously odd row of... hatches where oars should be? "Oi, what do you make of this?" he called out to those below.

The day was done with time to unwind for most; an ongoing impromptu get-together with drums and string instruments was creating a ruckus downstairs. It was a delightful and upbeat ruckus, but a ruckus all the same. Stepping downstairs, the mirian let out a chirping whistle between his teeth.

"Mareni? What is it? You look like you've seen a great beast! Or is it the smoke getting to you?" The green and yellow-patterned male chuckled.

"A great beast! Of wood and fabric. An enormous ship approaches from the north, like none we've ever seen."

A scoff was seen in return. "Want more plants to smoke? There's a stand selling it in the street uphill from here."

"Later! As it is, I have better things to do. Have fun!" And off he went. Down the slope, breaking into a sprint, around the line in front of the poultry stand, hopping off a terrace, drawing eyes to spot the looming masts circling the port. There was already a large crowd gathering around him when he reached the port.

What an enormous and incredible craft, with more of its kind near the horizon! Each had the same strange banner hanging from the rigging. The crew overhead bounced back and forth nervously, carefully maneuvering their large craft into a space that wasn't really intended for a craft of that size. Those people... were _feathery_? Bird-people? They cast down their mooring lines to lasso the pier, sliding down the gangplank with a pair of their kind stepping out to the dock soon enough.

Nosing to the front of the crowd, Mareni held up his hand in a gesture of peace and greetings. He spotted the foremost of them, a sythian woman wearing strange yet ornate clothes and a funny hat, mimicking his gesture though with a metal tube of some sort on her back.

Several of them emerged, waving and calling out in a strange tongue that seemed heavy on the sharp consonants. What immediately struck Mareni was the fact that they carried so much metal and ornate clothing, yet their bodies seemed relatively frail and worn. Not to mention that stench. That horrible stench.

He muttered, "Don't they bathe?" In fact, as the newcomers approached some chose to keep distance for this reason alone.

"You'd think people who come from the water would smell better."

He looked ahead, back, then ahead again. "I wonder if we can get them to follow us to the bath house? They look like they could use some time to relax anyway."

Another commented, "I'll... go ahead then?"

Of course, asking people to clear the bathhouse wasn't half as effective as the smell of the feathered ones entering, having been ushered in. The newcomers seemed excited and somewhat cheery about being led into town... until they saw that they were being guided to what looked like, to them, an over-glorified soup cauldron inset in the ground, at which point their excitement died down.

For those that weren't put off by the whole ordeal, watching these visitors as they learned how to use the bath was a bit amusing to say the least. For what it was worth, these strange people seemed amused as well, and incredibly quick to catch on to what was being shown to them.

Of course, their glowing eyes would've otherwise given away the reason. But the locals lacked knowledge of that art, and the trusted captain was too busy losing herself in the comfortable warmth to give much of a care. She commented to her crew, "Well, their leader probably isn't here but I won't complain. Then again, they will probably want money we don't have when it comes to leave. Surely this isn't gratis."

Her second in command was more busy trying to pluck the dirt out of his feathers without plucking out said feathers, though the goop the generous locals had provided worked wonders for that. "You'd think if that were the case they'd have asked for coin before showing us in. What a friendly people, they're quite cheerful; you can see it on 'em!"

"Cheerful, yes. For the record, if they start throwing in vegetables I'm leaving." Her smirk turned to a frown as she noticed a presence through the wall, subtly reaching for her clothes. "Hey you!" She flung a few drops of water past the teal-scaled would-be-thief, who immediately turned in surprise, much to the amusement of her peers.

She then relaxed. "Well aside from that, I could get used to this! Over the coming days I'll converse with their thoughts. It won't be a perfect solution but it should let us talk to them to some extent. Then we can finally ask to see their warlord or merchant princess or whoever calls themselves queen here. I wish they had one of these that wasn't out in the open here, it seems a bit indecent in a way."

She heard a female voice exclaim, "If you ask me, you look positively beautiful, captain!"

She perked up, looking around. "Who said that?!"

A few chuckles were heard in response; minds skilled at obfuscation hid the answer though showing amusement.

"Very funny." She sighed... then again, maybe it would do her well to lighten up and relax a bit.

There wasn't time to sit around in the water all night, though. Before the night had moved on too long, and with others wishing to use the bath, they egressed, their captain using a bit of conjured flame to dry off. She gave the same treatment to her closer friends, who as a result puffed up into feather-balls, leaving their drooping and dripping colleagues to shake the water off. Their hospitable hosts backed away with a bit of an unsure chuckle at seeing this alien feat. All clothes accounted for!

The spectacle of mystical flame had drawn a few onlookers inside, including Mareni, who almost jumped at seeing their leader turn to face him, glaring into his eyes with that glowing blue. He had a sense of a piercing gaze, a sense entirely alien to him, though he stood his ground.

She gestured to herself. "Karel Tavek."

He hesitated, then nodded and mimicked the gesture. "Mareni Ankion."

She spoke, and though he couldn't make out anything she said, he felt several concepts projected along with the words. _Money, for the baths?_ Why would anyone ask money for a public service? "These are public; there's no need to pay any more than to look at a fountain. You can throw money in if you wish to honor the spirits, like you do at a fountain, but if you do it in a bath someone will take it."

She rubbed her head, lighting up briefly in realization, nodding. Spreading the news to those behind her, they received it well and gratefully, moving out to the comfortable night. Karel turned back to Mareni, expressing a desire to meet further to discuss the art of conversing and bridging the gap of language. Mareni mentioned that he was more than a bit busy with his work as a clothier, but he was free in the evenings. Karel was a bit amused at the thought of a male clothier but sealed the agreement all the same.

Now that they weren't clearing the streets with their smell, those who'd disembarked explored the city. The merchants did respond to the sight of silver and copper, but oddly seemed far more interested in the copper than the silver. Not like the crew was going to complain; that meant dinner was cheaper than ever! Bartering by gesture left nobody unhappy; everyone thought they'd got a steal off the other. It was strange to Karel and her crew how _public_ everything was, from public courtyards to public arenas for sport to a public pyramid of a temple with an altar alight on top, well adorned with several animal-like designs but surprisingly few images of people. In many ways it seemed the opposite of Kalvod, where everything had an owner and a lock and the church had nothing _but_ images of people.

Moving the Kall's Will to a nearby anchorage to make room for local traffic, they spent the following days learning the local mannerisms, language, organizing trade, and falling deathly ill. Indeed, it seemed that those who'd enjoyed that bath, Karel included, quickly found themselves unable to hold a meal in a withering spell unlike anything they'd known. Alas, while the islands hosted their vermin and small creatures, the continents hosted a wide variety of large creatures, and associated diseases...

On the other end, those among the city who'd entered the baths shortly after their visitors had found themselves nauseous with a terrible headache. Those who joined after the water was cycled were fine, but the unfortunate ones who hopped in so soon after... for the most part, although it was unpleasant, recovered.

Not so for Karel's crew, as those affected took to their rest which oft proved final, those tending to them catching the same illness. Returning to Kalvod was out of the question now, though she'd seen to it that warning was sent down along the coast for the other ships landing elsewhere to heed: do not take these baths!

Karel herself recovered. Her first mate didn't. For that matter, out of fifty aboard, only twelve survived, now stranded on this strange land. At least, for all the torment and horror, they found they never fell ill with _that_ again. By and large those who died did so from dehydration, although the disease was eased somewhat through regularly drinking the local teas. Alas, the other thirty-eight weren't able to see that discovery. The locals, even after reopening their baths, kept their distance after that episode, making no objection to the remaining twelve pulling their ship in to the beach to set up an encampment. Apparently the approval of the local commoners was enough? A courier delivered the official permission of the local mayor after they'd already made fair progress. They had a mayor it seemed, but was there even a crown for this land of Lavsvai?

Meanwhile Mareni, despite a sense of nervousness about the sickly bird-people next door, still decided to trek out to visit them, Karel in particular. Despite it all, thanks to the tolerance of the locals in major part, they'd managed to get back on their feet, and Mareni was still curious about their culture. Finally they'd managed to get some measure of mutual comprehension, enough to investigate the matter of just who was calling the shots around here, Karel providing knowledge of her own kind first.

"That's right. The queen commands all, and what she says goes," Karel continued, "though people have some degree of autonomy even under orders. After all, enforcement is an imperfect task, something I have plenty of experience with personally I admit. I've seen a similar spirit here... at least if there's a silver lining to all this I won't have anyone trying to take my clothes anymore."

He shuffled across from her on the stump he was sitting on. "It brings to mind the people on the other land. They follow a god-queen with powers similar to yours. These powers are of legend here! Though they are wondrous, we thought we'd never attain them."

She shrugged. "Well, I can teach them if your people can make an offer for it. Speaking of that, you keep dodging the mention of a queen. How will we meet your leader?"

"We don't _have_ a queen."

She perked her nose upwards. "Then how do you decide anything?"

He gestured inland. "Our land has many cities reaching inland from one coast to the next. Each city has a mayor chosen by an election, where an election is called whenever people consider it needed. The leaders of each city convene each spring and autumn to discuss issues and vote on them. That is how we make decisions that affect the whole land, with mayors managing their cities independently otherwise."

She scoffed at the thought. "And so the state is a slave to the whims of the common. It's no wonder everything is public; pardon my words but I'm amazed your society lasts with the..." _Animals running the farm_ , narrowly snagged by the tip of her tongue, "decisions made by those unversed in governance."

"I'm amazed a society enslaved to the whim of a single queen stands without rebellion. Though our peoples have much strange history to share."

She smiled. "Of course!" As it stood, with the other ships having long gone on their own route, it seemed she'd be living here now with plenty of time to learn all about their society, as happy and quarrel-free as the people of Lavsvai were--despite their lack of iron. Perhaps sophistication of tools wasn't the only way a society could advance. First things first. "Though you mentioned a god-queen on the next land?"

"She is not a nice person," he said with a particularly marked stare. "She uses her power to twist the minds of her people to her whim, running a society like yours in appearance, though with no chance of rebellion and an unquenchable hatred of those not them. The presence of the clans of Altavim is the sole reason we maintain a standing navy, and why we're hungry for copper for our forges. Pray to the spirits none of your peers find her land."

Karel felt a cold weight sinking into her belly. "Y-yes... well..."

The sun hung high in the sky, only a short angle different on the next land over as a trio of leather-clad featherless mirians ascended the stone steps towards the top of the temple-palace where their goddess lived under a clean white marble ceiling. They carried spears on their backs, broad brimmed leather hats shielding from the sun with the spearhead emblem of the federation of clans on the front, one carrying a mirror-lock musket. As was always the case, their pale teal-white feathered deity-queen already stood at the front of the marble pillars. A feathered dragon, standing about twice their height, her blue glowing eyes watched them ascend. She was covered in ornate apparel lined with gold, a matching gold mask and elegantly carved staff normally completing the look for ceremonial matters though they were left inside for the moment.

Reaching the top, they knelt.

She intoned without much enthusiasm, "Speak."

"Heavenly power, an alien people from far beyond Lavsvai have attempted to invade us. At first, we stood in awe as they were feathered and gifted with supernatural power as you are! Then we learned that they are anything but holy, a false power intent to invade and settle in the name of their 'crown' ahead of other 'crowns', carried afar on enormous ships with many sails."

"And your response?"

"We destroyed them with superior numbers and the terrain in our favor, though we lost many. Not only did they have supernatural powers, when they saw our attack they lined up side by side in a row, felling several of us instantly with thunder from tubes. I have one of their thunder-tubes here." He handed over the musket. "We've also taken their ship. It has many strange pieces of metal on it."

She looked it over, looking down the barrel, noting the sharp bayonet. "An alien weapon, but this is just a tube with a mirror tool. The thunder comes from something else... and they would know where it comes from. So where are the prisoners? I'll need to ask them about their thunder, and everything else."

"..."

She narrowed her eyes. "Speak."

"They fought to the last warrior."

She shook her head slowly, "In other words you killed them all without thinking about interrogating them."

The three stood, petrified.

She tilted her nose upwards. "But you do have experience fighting these aliens now. Teach your lessons to your peers. Remember this day. I rarely give second chances, and never a third."

She then lowered her nose to look right at them, arms crossed. "You mentioned how they wished to invade and settle before other aliens could? When the other aliens come... we'll give them a warm and cheerful welcome."

Puzzled, one looked upwards to her. "I do not question, though I'm curious of our end goal in this."

"We'll let these people settle, and then you will learn their secrets through trade and espionage. It will take time, as you will have much to learn and build, but I work towards a stable future. You shall learn to travel as they do and fight as they do, then you will know how to defeat them. As for their powers... perhaps it's time I bestowed my gift upon the best among you. Now go, and tell your clans my word."

They gave a synchronized bow before turning in order. There was little need to bid farewell to a being that was omnipresent anyway. One learned to watch what one thought around her...

She had a hunch about what these aliens wanted... exactly what she was sitting on. They knew of similar powers and likely noticed its presence. "And now we wait..."

A wait drew to a close for those approaching. A refreshing breeze swept to the side of the Bird's Eye, the sun rising once more over a blue horizon. The deck was still wet from the rains the days prior. It had taken some ingenuity crossing the stormy equator during some of its warmest days, but they'd made it. Of nine ships starting, nine still sailed, crew a touch worse for wear in both senses though still quite healthy.

Despite their nonstop speed in transit, the mass of the ship and cargo kept the ride relatively smooth. The clearing skies soon revealed smoke ahead, trailing up in several streams.

"Land ablaze. Perhaps lightning from the tail of the last storm?"

Terath shook his head, "No." Hand over his brow to block the sun, he gazed ahead. "Those are from small spots of controlled flame. That means there are people there."

"I wonder if it's the Atswalans?"

"Landed successfully? That would make matters convenient, though I don't see any ships."

The mountains rolled into view, parting from the visage of the shore. The sighting announced, they aimed for the nearest plume.

The captain's voice soon drew Terath's attention. "Everyone, this land is peopled. Not by Atswala or any other we've seen, these buildings aren't of our half of the world. The coastline is wide; we've reached the continent. That means our mission is now one of trade and diplomacy, though our primary goal remains the same."

_A new people?_ Terath pondered; perhaps they had insight from those artifacts already. He took his place by the main mast, the call soon given to reduce sail as the coast loomed ahead. Lengths of spiraling roads connected into polar grids, themselves tapering out down paths inland and down the shore, the entire shoreline sporting buildings. Some were seen with a dome roof over a cylindrical wall, many a triangular shape with two walls leaning in and no discernible roof. Into the distance, combining with the yield of those oar-driven fishing boats, were expanses of vast fields, some with surprisingly large alien livestock.

Terath found himself briefly licking his lips. How long it'd been since he'd tasted fresh food! At the same time however there was nowhere to set down. The shore was full; there could be dozens of millions on this land. And strangely, they lacked feathers?

Much smaller craft were carried by oars with the occasional single sail, ferrying out to fish or visit nearby islands, essentially incapable of navigating too far from shore. The approaching fleet turned plenty of heads, although a corridor had been cleared as if they'd been expected.

The pier was open, several of the locals present waiting for a ship to tie down by the looks of it. They were indeed looking at the alien fleet, gesturing as if calling Terath and his captain over. They soon obliged, the Bird's Eye drifting in to moor. Once the gangplank slid down, everyone was eager to disembark, but Terath stood his ground.

None other than the captain and her trusted telepath stepped down to greet the green and brown skinned mirian below; the rest were instructed to stay aboard. The last thing they needed was to cause an incident over some mistaken gesture after all, and nobody knew the local tongue. The other eight ships either moored near the shore or dropped dinghy nearby, each with a similar arrangement.

The day rolled on, and the crews became ever more restless. The thought of simply having to turn around seemed a dreadful one which most simply forced from their minds. Every single time Terath looked over the edge, he was being watched by someone. It was a bit unsettling as he sensed a grave lack of trust, a cheery look seen from the onlookers shadowed with a hint of insincerity. Were the captains of their fleet in trouble?

His concern evaporated just after lunch of the following day. The nine and their companions emerged down the dirt paths, climbing the gangplank.

"All right, we've reached an agreement. The locals welcome us with open arms and wish to trade. They've even permitted us to establish a settlement near the river delta of a peninsula south of here." Those last words were conveyed with a hint of 'we really didn't expect them to give us that'.

Terath immediately perked up though. That river would not only be a good water source but excellent passage from inland as well. Applause was heard all around. Terath gave a sigh of relief, giving a few claps as well. His smile was still only faint and brief, though. The locals had misgivings about him and he felt the same towards them, he could sense it. Why would they just let him and his peers set up here?

"It's time we set out for our new lives among our new friends. This continent hosts a series of clans which unite as a federation under the Altavim dynasty, led by their namesake queen and religious leader, Xelqar Altavim. It remains to be seen whether they'll treat us as a foreign outpost or a clan among them. For now, we set out for the peninsula."

Immediately, everyone was back to their stations without a word. Prayers to the wind broke the silence as the ship completed its last leg; the peninsula soon loomed along with its hills. The delta fanned out at the near shore, the opposite shore exposed to the sea but otherwise clear. Fortunately, the sea floor rose near the shore to provide a good anchorage. Terath was part of the first wave on land, immediately tasked with laying down logs for the sake of bringing cargo ashore. The terrain made matters difficult even if the angled peninsula did form a passable harbor, but with diligence came success.

Finally having a moment to survey the surroundings, Terath spotted the river and the hill it'd done a fine job of cleaving in two. He frowned, rubbing his chin, and trailed ahead to meet the captain's trusty psychic first mate. "Am I the only one who's concerned about the fact that this terrain is among the least defensible ever encountered?"

She replied, "Defensible? Against what?"

Terath looked directly at her. "Our hosts' hospitality seems non-genuine, possibly in the utmost."

She tapped a foot for a moment. "You don't know the half of it. They showed nothing but smiles yet I've always felt a sense of contempt, and the others the same. Their society is extremely hierarchical, and they operate with a military lifestyle. And that's part of why I doubt they'll attack us: they could have slaughtered us easily then and there but didn't."

Terath narrowed his eyes at the valley. "That may just mean they want something from us they can't simply take. I suppose we'll need to wait to see what terms they offer for trade. For now, let's not settle in such a place. Yes it's verdant, but those hills are just begging for catapults to rain down upon us and the river offers an easy path of entry." He considered that such might be why this land wasn't already settled...

He pointed to the delta. "Instead, perhaps we may settle at the tip of the peninsula and dig a channel, so that we'll have plenty of water for irrigation, the mountains shielding us afar rather than towering over us, and only one real point of entry from land. Just in case what deal we make turns sour."

She looked towards the western point, its relatively flat ground confidently out of catapult range of the hills. "The only problem is that the area is more exposed to the ocean. A storm will hit eventually and that would be a grave problem for any ships moored there, not to mention how unsteady the terrain will be with the land that low."

He paused, "There's always moving further into harbor for the storm, though I see the problem with the terrain..."

The two convened with their peers. The group had seen enough hidden hostility to agree to settle on the other end of the delta, away from the hills. The issue of somewhat swampy terrain sinking under a building's weight was enough to deter the locals from settling there, though fortunately Terath and his fellow people of the isles had building techniques to work around that problem. Fortunately as well, the winter was a mild one. Unfortunately, as the near 600 people lay down the foundations of their new settlement--Kolrem they'd called it--a few, then ever more of them fell ill with a vomit-inducing disease of the stomach that made keeping hydrated all but impossible.

When the dead of winter came they were using one type of the local blue fruits, harvested rotten and cooked rotten, on the suggestion of those skilled in medicine. It seemed extremely contrary, sickening in itself, but the healers had insisted. It was known that one seldom falls ill with a disease more than once, and seeing this new illness, they'd gambled on an experiment--half-cooking a contaminated and rotten fruit and eating it. Of the three that tried the blue fruit remedy only one fell ill with a milder case, and all three gained immunity. Rotten fruit never was appetizing, but it was one treat they were reluctantly grateful for all the same. The disease claimed several, but with this development curtailing its spread and skillful treatment for those afflicted, the majority survived.

The trough was finished in time for spring, and the farm yield combined with some hunting and gathering barely broke even, but it provided enough as they'd settled in, thanks in no small part to the advice of visiting locals. At times the locals checked up on them, asking conspicuously why they'd chosen to settle on _that_ side of the delta; the common excuse given was better wind for windmills. Now better acquainted with the local tongue, and the local flora, fauna, and illnesses, suitable preparations were slated for the voyage inland in the spring of 3875.

The voyage itself was uneventful, trailing into the heat of summer, made relatively easy with the availability of strange large animals tamed by the locals, civilization always within reach, even if it was subtly hostile civilization. Some of these animals even looked vaguely similar to mirians, a curious thought... Nonetheless, after a season upon the trail, a volcanic summit loomed ahead. It wasn't often one would find such an expanse with no sea in sight; the sheer size of this land was overwhelming to Terath and his peers! In the end, a road of stone paths and stairs led the ascent towards the palace complex set into the upper slopes. The chill of the higher altitudes was a welcome respite from the heat of summer, though provisions became ever more scarce as they ascended, the occasional patrol watching them furtively as they approached.

Those skilled in the arts of the mind in particular had elected to join the expedition.

"Xelqar's guards know the art of the mind, recently learned too I would say."

"Fitting enough, the palace speaks its whispers throughout the entire land, doubtless enhanced by the artifacts laying within. They just invited us here though, a bit odd, that."

Several of the patrol had silently begun following them on their way up.

Terath looked back. "These guards have strange minds, don't they?"

Another of their mindworkers agreed. "Wrought to accept control from afar... I feel sorry for them."

Fortunately, having an armed and armored dragon along was reassuring, Terath regarding the escort politely though showing no hint of fear.

Right ahead a silhouette presented itself, a form of teal-white marked by glowing blue eyes staring down, her golden mask gleaming by the light of the sun, her staff in hand. Xelqar gestured for the group to ascend, the guards behind them standing by though implicitly insisting in the matter.

They stepped to a level surface under the marble ceiling, the clouds in the distance completing the scene of seemingly immaculate shine. The group gave a kneeling bow in respect, Terath included, even if it was more out of custom and principle than genuine respect.

She noted this and smiled as she gestured for them to rise. If anything she seemed slightly amused, regarding Terath first, the only fellow dragon spotted among these 'guests', "You're the expedition leader?"

Terath shook his head, the mind of their most prominent psychic silently translating his speech. "I'm their blacksmith. Our travels have rather been under the command of the one actually speaking to you."

Said psychic, a rather unassuming female stepped forward. "Majestic Queen Altavim, we come on behalf of queen Ysalia of Leneu, intent on befriending your people, establishing trade, and embarking on a joint venture to learn the true workings of the artifacts below our feet."

Xelqar smiled again for a moment, letting the moment pass before continuing. "In other words you want the treasure from my palace-temple, right? Competing with other alien lands, aren't you?"

"Well, we..."

Xelqar interrupted, "I'll agree to let you study my artifacts _without removing anything_. In exchange for knowledge of your own."

The psychic nodded in assent. "Right. What knowledge are you interested in?"

Xelqar cut right to the point, looking directly at Terath. "Blacksmith, was it? I've seen that iron metal before--other dragons have been fond of those red rocks--but whenever we've tried to work with it it's proven characteristically inferior to bronze. I want to know your technique for strengthening the metal and working with it. And I also want to know how your thunder-tube works and how to make more of them."

"My 'thunder-tube'? You mean my cannon?"

"Yes, your 'cannon'."

"And what do you plan to do with all of these military bits of knowledge? I have several concerns on the matter."

The expedition leader gave Terath a silent prod to the mind.

Xelqar's smile faded. "Then state your concerns."

Despite the prod, Terath continued. "While you've received us well, we still sense latent hostility. Your society, while strong and diverse, is a military one. We sense contempt from your people, and we are unsure of where you will direct your military next. It could be one of our friends, it may even be us."

She tilted her head slightly. "Is that so? I'd thought granting you the peninsula would've been enough to prove our good intent. I admit some of my people do fear outsiders; we haven't had many, you see, and the concept is new to them. That being said, we're at peace and that shall continue. Now, we both have knowledge the other wants. You're a merchant people? We should make a deal."

"Right!" The psion looked right at Terath, speaking by her mind, "What will _you_ say to Ysalia if we return empty-handed? Come on now." Then she turned back to Xelqar. "Mister Rolith will share his knowledge in exchange for permission to investigate the site."

Xelqar looked back to Terath. "The knowledge of your ironworks, and how to make more of these 'cannons'."

"You'll make as many cannons as you like."

Xelqar hesitated... then smirked. "I see what you're implying. A cannon is a sturdy and elaborate tube but anyone can make tubes. There's the other part, that gives it its thunder. Do you know how to make that?"

"Yes."

"And we have the materials?"

Terath nodded. "From what I've seen of the mountains, most likely."

She then smiled widely. "And you'll share that knowledge too?"

Terath stated bluntly, earning a glare from his superior, "Not at this point."

Xelqar sighed. "It wouldn't be a deal without a haggle. So be it, you may enter."

His superior wasn't all that pleased with him, but had little room to complain. After all, gunpowder would be a bargaining chip later, she'd considered. The group gave their gratitude, then stepped inside. Stepping down into the main foyer of the palace revealed a stately abode intermingled with the litho-metallic walls of an ancient structure, the floor warmed by carpets of masterful design, sculpted artwork adorning the end of every hall of this expansive stone-roofed mansion. A gold lining was present on many items, from tables to chairs, even the handle of her staff. For all Terath knew, half the world's supply of this impractically rare metal lay right around him, interspersed with artifacts from the chamber below which housed the base of the oddly trussed spire, the spire proper trailing up past the ceiling.

Terath introduced his knowledge to Xelqar as a package of thoughts and memories, adding in caveats of his own.

She smiled, satisfied. "That type of furnace design will come in handy, though why so uncertain of your instructions?"

"These mountains are not the mountains of Leneu. The iron here will smelt differently, and you'll need to experiment to find what works best with what you mine. Now that you have all that to think about, I'll join my peers."

He stepped off, joining the survey, though at every turn she was right there behind him... again and again. He understood why she'd want to watch them, but why was she following him so closely? Finally, he turned to look right at her. "Yes?"

"So, if you're skilled with making all these weapons, why bother with a smith's hammer large enough to double as a warhammer?"

Dodging the matter... All the same, he noted, "Blades aren't always effective against siege engines, walls, or anything with heavy armor. Hammers are. However, on these lands, I hope to only need it for forging and construction."

Normally one wouldn't dare approach a leader's abode with weapons on their back, but this leader didn't care. She invited them in without asking any of them to disarm, showing them right around her home. Why would a goddess worry about puny mortals and their 'toys' after all? ... Perhaps her 'politeness' was another way of looking down her nose at them, he considered. Getting back to the matter at hand however, he found a notably metallic section of wall with a line of metal across it. It moved, revealing a door.

Xelqar spoke up, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

There she was, near at hand, watching him from behind again! He looked back narrowly over his shoulder. "We had a deal."

Xelqar raised a hand in a gesture. "It's not my will that will stop you."

Terath called out to his peers, "We've a door here leading below. There may be dangerous artifacts, so we should proceed carefully and make sure not to disturb anything."

"I'll stand at your side."

"I'll stand... behind you, rather."

"Likewise!"

"All right, you go ahead, I'll catch up."

He opened the door to reveal the narrow passageway down: a square corridor with rounded corners, a strip of green light above, lighting walls of a kind of stone none of them had seen before.

The door automatically shut, Xelqar herself opting not to follow. With her guests out of sight, she simply shook her head. "I did warn you. Well, my condolences..."

The sound of the door echoed, a dead silence then heard through the passageway only punctuated by a distant howl of wind. Proceeding downwards, they found a series of lines in the wall... and a fog rolling across the floor.

"Ow... oh no, nono! Help!"

Terath turned to spot one of his peers practically clawing at her own face. He blinked in surprise.

"Why are you doing that?"

"The bugs, can't you see?!"

Terath reached over, only to have his hand pressed away. Soon enough she stopped, proceeding to stomp at nothing on the floor. Gasping and sniffling, she cried out, "Thanks for nothing, what, do you enjoy seeing my face eaten now?!"

Terath shook his head. "There are no insects anywhere, what's wrong?" But on closer inspection her face _was_ covered with bug bites.

She called out, "What do you mean what's wrong? What's wrong with _you_?"

"I didn't see anything either there..."

"I see the shadow of what she saw."

Terath narrowed his eyes, looking ahead. He felt it, a dull pinging on his mind at random, scattering shattered energies. "Do you sense that? A foulness in the air."

"I've never sensed anything like it before, but it's there."

"Foul place. With luck the exit's still open."

Terath shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "And what is it going to do, close--" As they looked up, the tunnel appeared to have caved in. "... behind us? A figment of my mind."

"It looks solidly blocked to me as well."

"Likewise."

The group all tried passing through the exit, but none could.

Terath huffed with frustration. "So be it, we find a way around. And I'd advise no more suggestions around this foul presence."

As they proceeded, they passed by a well sealed door, if nothing but for the twisting wisps of growling jaggedness that lay behind it. The tunnel had grown ever more menacing the further they traveled. First one pinging, then another... the walls moved; a statuesque figure appeared to one side, then again on the other. It looked much like a duo of featherless mirian statues, holding sickle-like blades.

He sensed a marked disapproval at his attempt to put them out of mind, met with the sting of a blade digging into the bottom of his jaw, hooking against the bone. Grappling with the statue, unhooking his head from the blade, he jumped and backed away. The two statues moved with surprising agility, tearing against the scales of his legs, one scraping the plate over his belly as he caught the other with his arm, drawing his hammer and bringing it down, smashing the arm off with the first blow, advancing with a full swing to pummel the head to bits, sending it down. Catching the sickle of the second on the plate of his armor, he punted the statue down, his hammer soon to follow, delivering blow after blow until pebbles remained. Given the moment, he took up his helmet, putting it on.

Terath took a couple of heavy breaths, then sighed. "Statues? Seriously? Who builds a palace on top of this?!" He let his hammer lay against his shoulder. So much for 'take care not to disturb anything', though it was a matter of self defense at this point. Despite thinking it likely a figment of his imagination, the wound still stung like fire and the blood dripping down was quite real. Fortunately the wound was also minor; maybe it really was a figment of the imagination? The look on the others' faces when he turned suggested otherwise.

"Statues! That's what you saw? Right, well, it seems we all have our own demons after us now. Lovely evening isn't it?"

Terath gritted his teeth briefly. "The longer we tarry the longer we tempt Mytt." The goddess of fate, death, and rebirth may as well have been following right behind them. "We've only one path to follow; we should make haste!"

Figments of the mind or no, they still were a real threat though they fell to blows themselves just as anything else would. Fortunately the tunnel was tall enough for Terath to move quickly... perhaps the ancients themselves were dragons?

Charging ahead, there was little time to think. The corridor twisted into a spiral about its axis, defying the concept of _up_ as the spiraling rows on the walls moved to lash out. He swung his hammer ahead while barbed tentacle-like protrusions knocked him around, scratching his plate and scales but failing to wound him. Missing him to grab his hammer, he pulled back and tore them apart, repeating this to tear them all down to a pile at the floor which he crushed with a sickening squish. A wooden barricade ahead? He charged right for it, a stream of mental focus rushing past him, extricating the heat from the barrier. He brought his hammer down on the now-frozen barrier with three two-handed blows in quick fluid succession, shattering open a hole in the middle, widening it by charging through.

The stairwell down seemed covered in shards of broken glass and torn flesh. While Terath himself simply kept his eyes ahead, it looked particularly horrifying to one of those behind him. In fact, every single thing they faced seemed related to something from their memories.

The mobile threats were a different matter for each of them, often causing them to swing their blades and send their focus and power at the air. Holding the hammer in one hand, Terath concentrated flame in the other, joining the display by torching a trio of hellish rat-like creatures ahead with beams of flame, punting them by boot and crushing them into a mess of goop with his hammer. He knew those creatures and hated them, vile vermin!

Charging into the room at the bottom, he'd noticed the group behind him dwindling. Looking ahead, he saw that the entire room was aflame. There was no way out, nothing but twisted blackness above and a writhing mess of burnt goop below, lines of glowing-orange metal twisting around them. A dead end, this infernal chamber?

All around the wisps of blue and green coalesced. Terath found himself tumbling forward in a dizzying flash, falling to the ground. He realized the following moment in his dull senses that he'd taken a tremendous blow to the head. Turning, he saw a dragon's skeleton cast in flame, raising a heavy blade high. Terath thanked his horns for his still being awake from that pommel strike and swung his hammer across to knock the next strike to the side. He rolled over and stood to find the apparition making a grab for his helmet.

Roaring, he swung through his doubled vision, knocking away the swipe though failing to shatter the arm. He tossed his flame at the face of the skeleton as he drew back, then bringing his hammer down with a two-handed strike. The blow to the head sent wisps of flame to the ground, though the apparition didn't fall. This skeleton wasn't part of his mind either. He couldn't read its moves, nor could it read his.

The skeleton spoke without moving its jaw, in a rush of concepts as the two took a defensive pose. "You should be glad I'll end your suffering here. Lay down and it'll be quick... another of Xelqar's lovers I presume?"

Terath staunchly maintained his pose. "Not by the breadth of the world; now desist, spirit!" By wasting time, Terath also had the moment to regain his senses.

The skeleton hesitated. " _I_ was. And now I'm down here... I act out of mercy!"

Terath raised to deflect and counter as the skeletal apparition charged.

"Terath, the fire! Absorb the fire!"

One of his group, still with him! He caught the blow rather than deflecting it; a brief struggle followed with futile attempts to grab hold of him ending with his backing off. There was a pillar of fire nearby. A source of power! He held out his free hand, readying to blast away with his mind while absorbing the flame, when a wrenching pain filled his head.

He dropped his hammer, clawing against his own head as he stumbled and fell, crying out, his dizzied senses caving in to the white of sheer pain and a scrambling of the mind.

Only a mumbling came across his senses, a few moments of fading half-consciousness. He awoke moments later to find himself staring at a plain white ceiling lined with green lights.

"It hurts, yes, but sets you right!"

How grateful he was to see that orange-feathered face over him, and a conspicuous lack of flame or monsters anywhere in sight. Instead, sitting up, he saw a cramped room full of silvery pipes and cylindrical devices which he didn't recognize, surrounded by green light. A series of distant metallic roars and whirs combined harmonically as a steady noise.

Rubbing his head, wincing a bit, Terath stood. "Thank you."

Though all the infernal twisting of reality had vanished, his head still throbbed with pain, and his chin was still covered with blood. Soon he heard a scream, saw a pair still swinging at the air, one of them carried over by his orange-feathered colleague to the pillar of fiery steam ascending out of a deep conduit. Terath joined in to help. Another of his peers, sythian, desperately yet pointlessly swung her blade at him. He quickly took the blade from her hand, pulling her over and drawing the wisps through her mind to the same effect.

Terath sighed. He probably looked like a towering monster to her. With the rest of the group unconscious and waiting to wake up, he surveyed the room now as it truly was. Despite all of their swinging at air back there, it seemed they hadn't actually damaged this facility, no more than it already was at least. Tremendous amounts of psychic potential passed through here, sent outwards to other parts. Down those conduits, the pipes trailed into the mountain, tapping into the fiery orange-yellow below. Perhaps the volcano wasn't as dead as people had thought?

All the same, these conduits were twisted and crimped, most broken entirely, having collapsed into the heart of the mountain. Damage done long ago by the looks of it, the result of aeons of use within a semi-molten mountain. The wisps pillaring about were coming from faults and cracks in the larger cylinders and their connections, some simply dumping heat into the room, leaving the entire area almost painfully hot.

Even this metal, doubtless the finest the ancients could muster, was starting to take on a patina and wear thin. Of eight cylinders, only two were lit. Notably, it seemed some had tried to patch things together more recently, haphazardly, trying to patch over ancient metal with bronze... a few skeletons from those who'd tried to restore the ancient machine still sat along the walls.

Terath looked back, taking up his hammer then stowing it. "I have a hunch the only real monster to be found here is Xelqar herself. We should gather everyone and make for the real exit while it's still open to us."

Fortunately, each one awakened helped to rouse the others; soon the group was brought back to reality, though they all had various wounds. In the far back of the room was an old, old skeleton of a dragon, buried among the machines, covered in the crumbling, withering remains of flesh... the very one Terath had hallucinated his battle with. The thought came to Terath's mind to cut the flow of power, but he saw no means of doing so, short of breaking the machine outright, which would kill every single one of them if it proved volatile, not to mention Xelqar would have them killed anyway even if they did escape from that...

Keeping his mind on the task of survival, Terath rejoined the group, leading the way back up the stairs, past a sealed door, to the unblocked ramp leading further upwards to the entry door; though it had closed on an automatic timer, it readily opened for them. As the group emerged with haste, Terath stayed behind to have a look through that sealed door. Now that it was no longer full of wisps, he could spot trailing lines of green behind it.

With enough effort, he pulled the door open; it surrendered with creaking and grinding, the door seized but not locked. As he entered the separating chamber, he heard whispers. The tapping on his mind became more prominent as he stepped towards the inner door, peering through the port. Inside was a cylindrical chamber, covered on all sides by spiraling lines carrying mobile green dots, glassy tubes along the walls flashing quickly enough to be seen as having a dim glow. The base of the spire linked up with them, these dusty and cracked devices as worn and enfeebled as those below. Of the three subchambers bordering the cylinder, one was covered in angled, random lines of dark blue glow, the all-too-familiar blue wisps seeping out.

Perhaps the heart of all this would reveal itself here, he thought. Swallowing his hesitation, Terath shoved the inner door open. Immediately on entering, the whispers turned to a rough static, the noise of a thousand mindlessly babbling minds twisting about his own. The senseless, maddening sound echoed about ever more as he approached, growing fourfold by the time he'd closed halfway. It tore at his senses, scrambling his thoughts, leaving him twitching and barely able to stand. And then, he saw those lines were cracks. They were fractures in the vessel behind which lay pillars of light that twisted and ground against one another in a manner uncharacteristic of the others.

This machine wasn't evil at all. It was _broken_! Finding the twitches and shakes stifling his breath, a sensation of lightheadedness overtaking him, he knew he'd be dead before he even reached it. Turning around, he retreated to the separating chamber, sealing the inner door, then exiting to seal the outer door before leaning against the wall. He took a deep breath, then coughed it out, his heart pounding a single beat in his chest before returning to its normal rhythm.

"What are you doing?! Come along, Terath--quickly!"

Breathing heavily, he dragged himself ahead up the ramp, egressing through the top door, grateful to see it close behind him. Having a seat, he took a few moments to recover. If anyone wanted to explore that machine without dying, the feed of energy would have to be stopped. But how would one do so without risking possibly several lives to begin with?... How many had Xelqar sacrificed in her use of the ruins' power?

Standing, he checked himself over before passing by one of his peers who knelt over next to a pillar. This one was staring blankly and drooling, and a second tended to the first, shooting Terath a brief look that told it all. That poor soul was too far gone to help...

At the doorway was Xelqar, arms crossed, looking vaguely amused.

Terath approached her. "You seem all too cheerful."

She gave him a direct look. "I told you not to go in there."

"You've been locking people in there?"

She shook her head, "At times, some must descend to keep the ancient well running. All are honored, but not all of them return."

He narrowly avoided speaking. _You locked your_ _mate_ _in there._

She gave him a brief surprised look, then frowned, having heard his thought anyway, a moment of silence drifting by. Then she stepped back and took hold of one of the statue bases she had in the room, moving it and its neighbor in front of the basement doorway, implying they were no longer welcome down there.

He sighed through his nose. So it wasn't just the wisps after all.

She continued, "It's unfortunate the heart of this palace-temple is so foul, though what it does for my people is a blessing."

He shook his head. "It's not foul, it's broken and leaking dangerous power into its surroundings. As the decades pass, it will only fall ever further into disrepair. You're sitting on top of a disaster waiting to happen. Altavim, if you know of a means to silence the relic, it would be wise to do so now before such tragedy befalls you and your people."

She opened her mouth slightly. "I control this spire, such will never happen... or are you trying to menace _me_ of all people?"

He stood firm. "No, I merely tell you of the horrors I've seen down below, present and future."

She narrowed her gaze in return. "I think I've entertained you long enough. Begone!"

He sighed, "As you wish, Altavim. As you wish..."

At that, he moved to exit the room, and the site. Down he went, down the steps, towards the neighboring city and its towns. The guards were all the more foul towards him, some of the citizens as well, though some of those he'd met waiting for the rest were sympathetic yet afraid to voice it.

The way she treated her people, the way it all worked was all too obvious to him now. Sure, their clans were feuding, and her ancestors brought peace and unity with the founding of their dynasty. But at what cost? Furthermore, what of the future? That spire was an enormous tool spreading the influence of the user throughout the land.

What would happen once the machine finally failed, when its power fell out of her control?

The sight of his colleague reduced to a drooling vegetable haunted him. None of the locals gave any credence to his concerns, but at least they were willing to do business. The food under the thatch-roofed stands and gazebos was good and so was his coin, though they seemed particularly interested in tin metal, of which he had none.

Their reliance on it would be coming to an end soon enough. His peers visited him to share reports and notes on their findings, with Altavim herself taking part in ensuring he made good on his deal, the both of them spreading the knowledge of ironworks. It was a duty, but not a pleasure. All the same, the locals at least gradually became ambivalent and tolerant towards him for it.

However, as the days passed, something bright came of it all. Inspired by the ruin's workings, they gathered a working sense of how these old rocks worked with the power their minds had conjured: the gems of the amulets could be used for more than just storing knowledge. They could be imprinted to respond in specific manners to different projections of thought, passing the result on, possibly to another gem in a chain. The resulting tools of the mind could channel the user's power in far more exacting and intricate ways than basic thought, and think of all the different combinations! At least something hopeful came of this, and every day brought more and more good news. An interesting discovery: it seemed that plants also had a sort of crude mind. The agrarians were all over this when word reached the settlement. For all the trouble, though they gained no artifacts, the journey was justified for the knowledge it inspired.

The Atswalan fleet arrived afterwards, settling northwards; the islands adjacent the continent were soon visited by those of Valnor, while the crown of Kalvod tended to its matters in Lavsvai, establishing a trade relationship moving copper and silver primarily. The people of Lavsvai and Kalvod warned of Altavim's malice, but since the Altavim clans had invited their guests to settle, most considered the warning premature if not vindictive, as trade with Altavim, despite the rocky start, was becoming routine.

The two halves of the world seemed ever more part of the same community, although this world community had its troubles. Among those absorbed into Lavsvai, Karel brought her friend Mareni into the business of exploration. Ever more she felt as one of them, finding herself often serving as a two-way ambassador when the ships came. The Lavsvai site wasn't as monumental as the Altavim one, though its various devices were shut down, unused, and much more pristine. While the world around moved onwards and outwards, Karel found herself ever more obsessed with this nigh-impenetrable storehouse and its mysteries.

A quiet and monotonous existence lent itself well to study, and finally, grasping an ancient green gem with its yellow glow lighting her eyes, she gazed into it, pondering the question: did she really want to live forever?

#  Arc 7: Parting Ways

It was often a dangerous and trying situation over the waters in the southerly continents, but even with entire settlements risking collapse at times, over time a sharing of knowledge brought ever better news from afar. Alas, the same could not be said at home. Those who'd tasted unrestrained power would at times become obsessed with it; nowhere had this proven more true than at the Valnor seafaring plantations, a mentality that had spread to Valnor's neighbors. Even Leneu had been warming up to the idea of indefinite forced labor, the owners ever more exclusive towards their 'subjects'.

Raela had suspected they nominated Terath to venture to distant lands to effectively exclude him from the house of the owners, as he was one of the more vocal opponents of this change. Today, she sat at the bookstore, behind the counter. Its former clerk had been granted indefinite leave by both her and Raela's request.

Kyril gazed ahead of the bow at the land approaching, a cool spring day as the gaff-rigged merchant ship sailed south of Leneu. It was the dawn of '86---and Kyril hoped, the dawn of a new line of thought on the matter. She and Raela had been talking about this for nearly a decade now, and she'd learned many skills of subtlety in the time being. She wasn't used to living rough; she knew full well that subjecting herself to the whims of Valnor could prove fatal. But, as far as she saw it, it was better to die trying to save her peers and her family name than to do nothing.

She sighed, considering how time had changed the world. She was just a toddler when her grandfather passed away in '54, dying of an infection in his bad lung that took his good lung with it. At the end of the day his old 'friend' Fera really had done him in from beyond the grave, though at 52 years, he'd lived quite long for an old scarred-up farmhand-turned-sailor. Kyril's mother had died in a crane accident in '79, just shy of her fiftieth. And now Kyril stood at 33 years of age. If the pattern continued, she'd just live long enough to see the turn of the century. If this stunt cut it short... at least she had another generation already established. Her husband knew well what she was doing and why; her entire family had been targeted for what had happened those decades ago, and even worse, there were many families suffering torment ahead... she only hoped she'd be able to see him again.

At least she was in good health. Compared to the state most of her peers in Valnor were in, she may as well subtract a decade from her age.

"Are you really sure you want to do this, ma'am? It might be wise to sit down to a cup of tea and ponder it."

She shook her head. "I've been pondering this for years. I made my decision long ago."

She noticed the pause in the captain's speech. The captain then nodded, brushing back the feathers of her neck. "So be it. Well then, we're about to reach port. You know what that means... best of luck, Vorral."

Kyril said nothing in response, simply trailing back... to be bound, taken off the ship at bayonet point once the ship reached port, down the gangplank, down the pier, into town, and into the local keeping cells. She took the time in the bare and stench-ridden cell to quiet her mind, stowing her use of mental power. Her glasses were left at home, and without her mind's eye open she would have a hard time getting around. So be it. Of course the food tasted like another creature had eaten it first, and it wasn't enough, but that would be the status quo now.

The day she had been waiting for soon came. She was dragged up and out by a pair of mirians, ahead by the binds to be set up on display on a stage along with several others and even more lined up behind her. The crowd gathering was a fuzzy blur to her eyes beyond the nearest, but she could tell it was quite massive.

"This one. Came from a foreigner---check her mind, will you?"

She looked at the blue-feathered one approaching, keeping her mind dim and distracted as he probed through her thoughts and more immediate memories. She did not want to be thrown out here, but kept it out of mind, hidden along with the true extent of her abilities.

"Nothing. No powers here."

Her thoughts were a sigh of relief, though she made no sign of it externally. The sales were made one at a time on auction. First, an entire family was sold off from a captured ship. Another, an indentured servant from the border of Tavaria sold against contract. One after another the auctions passed, until it was finally her turn.

"Captured skulking among the northern isles, still hale and capable. Starting at ten cardinals thirty arrows."

She heard another pair behind her. "They said she was a captured criminal?"

"The captain lied about that. She probably caught this one illegally for a quick bit of coin."

"Makes no difference to us, though it does mean everything else might be a lie too."

As the bidding carried on, they checked her over from afar. She looked healthy enough, and the sale was what counted...

"Sold! To the woman in grey; she's yours now."

The world had traditionally considered females the proper choice for intellectual work, being rulers, officers, the most prominent merchants and diplomats with males being the hard laborers and the grunts, few exceptions permitted. Kyril held out hope that this meant she'd be placed indoors most of the time though she didn't count on it.

Kyril kept quiet as she was brought down, handed over from the locals to the crew of the bulging freight runner ahead. Under a trio of tall square rigged masts, that boat was a bit too big to be going to a floating plantation. She'd hoped to be placed on one for the fact that a floating plantation, severed from its anchor, is an enormous ship in a sense, making movement convenient. Seemed she was island-bound.

Taken down the pier to the waiting craft, they noted how she more followed their pull than surveying ahead. Every other time she caught her foot on something it was met with a soft blow to the head, Kyril giving a glare in return though careful to do it only when they weren't looking.

"What's wrong with you, can't you see where you're going?"

Kyril admitted, "My eyes aren't the best, ma'am."

"Eyes aren't the best?" She spotted the mirian ahead, steely-grey feathers on a female form. "And lankier than I'd expected. Those swindlers sold me a defective slave!"

Kyril tensed slightly. The immediacy of her life in jeopardy was finally hitting home, but there was no turning back.

"Throw her into the hold." Kyril's new master looked right at her, "You'll either make me my investment back or die trying, understand?"

With that, the two behind her forced her ahead, up the gangplank, literally throwing her down the dark hatch, slamming it shut overhead. A thin form of a fellow sythian broke her fall.

"Ow, ekh!"

Kyril scrambled back to her feet in the darkness. "Sorry, friend."

"Don't call me friend... please..."

Kyril blinked, gazing at him inquisitively.

"They don't like it when people 'conspire'..."

She hesitated, but nodded, tilting her nose down and keeping to herself. She took in the banter as more and more were dumped in. By the time they finally locked the hatch, there wasn't even any room to sit. They'd all be standing, and when they couldn't stand anymore, they'd fall upon one another... not to mention the wretched smell atop it all.

Kyril faced her new reality in silence. Seldom anything to eat---and no privy---led to conditions that seemed to resemble the less pleasant realms described by more punitive religions. And this was just the beginning. Just the beginning indeed.

She had a habit of keeping it all locked away. The occasional half-joke about eating one another didn't help matters either. When the ship finally came to port, the hatch was opened but there was little to rejoice about. Led up top, she was greeted by a volcanic island that seemed a place of desolation with almost no greenery seen save for a farm dedicated to lumber. She'd made the passage without falling ill; a prayer of thanks to the goddess of fortune crossed her mind as she was moved down the pier and onto land. This place would be a less than ideal staging ground. So be it.

Despite calling her a 'fruitmonger' as a common label, the overseers had thrown her a pick and shovel rather than a hoe, deliberately unwieldy in one hand as to prevent their use as fighting weapons. The setup seemed straightforward. They'd be put to the mines and groves. The island itself wouldn't yield enough food to support them. Food came from the floating plantations which in turn wouldn't be able to keep afloat without the timber from the island. The two groups of slaves weren't allowed to mingle. If one group became unruly, the other would be steered away until the former either submitted or died.

Instruction was simple and bare; all one had to know was where to swing one's pick. The overseers were at least kind enough to summarize a few tips on how not to end up crippled, maimed, or horribly killed, presumably to avoid losing too much of their investment, before cramming the crowd down the dark, dank hole. The rickety planks were anything but reassuring when they stepped over the cavern bridges, and the cavern itself was an endless abyss to her eyes even if most parts of it were cramped. Many of those already there were covered in grit, occasionally coughing. But at least she stood close enough to the wall to see what she was swinging at, the cramped conditions mitigating some of her poor sight. In all though, while she'd wished to be put indoors, she found herself reconsidering her wishes.

Her clothes were taken and replaced with rags, and she was sent in with the rest. It was dull and exhausting labor, but had the benefit of being often-mindless labor, leaving her with an abundance of spare thought-time to plan with and map out her surroundings. As a slave, everyone assumed she was another dumb peon and most didn't even notice her presence.

It was a convenience most of the time, except when dealing with people paid to notice the presence of the slaves, such as the guard blocking the exit tunnel. There were three slave crews, two of which were at work at any one time. The work took two-thirds of the day, leaving one third for other matters, such as trying to recover from the day's labor, trying to gather something that counted as a meal... there was a gap for lunch when the other crew's time ended, if the owners remembered to provide lunch.

If one keeled over from exhaustion, illness, or a crippling injury, if they couldn't be cheaply treated, more often than not they were dumped out into the sea. As the rounding up had recently occurred, there were plenty of sythians to go around, and it was often cheaper to get another one than to treat a badly injured one.

She kept low and out of trouble, biding her time. With precious few moments to spare to oneself, time for Kyril seemed to proceed at a quickened pace. She'd hoped to have time enough at the end of the day to take a few looks around the island when the guards weren't watching, but by the time she got back to the hovel she could barely stand. The life of a book merchant didn't lend itself to this. She lacked the energy to evade the guards or even do anything besides trying to eat and not collapse.

She wasn't the only one in the hovel either, not by a long shot. After all, space was money too. Bare wooden walls, a dirt floor, some straw and not really much else served to house them. The dirt seemed surprisingly inviting anyway at this point.

"Say, new here? What's your name?"

She looked up and saw a silhouette in the darkness. She'd seen him earlier in the mine, a sythian in his twenties but looking a decade or more older, worn by these conditions with pale-grey lines contrasting a blue-green skin. She let the moment pass, preferring to just sleep.

"You're all right?"

She nodded.

"Don't want to talk?"

Kyril fabricated an answer. "Varey Tarkun." She memorized it as well as she could, as it was her name for now.

"Sounds Tavarian."

She shook her head. "I'm from the northern isles. Where are we anyway?"

"The middle of nowhere. You know," he leaned forward, "if you'd rather spare yourself the suffering..."

She looked up. "Dying is on my to-do list but it's a low priority. Besides, eventually they'll run low on sythians..."

"Then your job will come with a side of egg laying."

She quivered a bit inside at that, looking away. "I would rather talk about something else... like the seaborne plantations. When do they dock?"

"Monthly; every twenty-two days."

That seemed like an eternity from now, but it was either succeed in helping her peers or die trying at this point.

"So, what's your name?"

"Just call me Greenie."

She nodded. "Strange, but... all right. Goodnight."

"It's what people called me since I arrived. Hey, care to talk about all the happenings out there and what it's like up north? All-"

She closed her eyes. "Goodnight." And then let herself collapse, belly down.

He took the hint, laying back against the wall.

That night she tried the trick of walking her mind about while in a dream, but lacked the energy to even start it. She couldn't even remember her dreams. At least she was fortunate that Raela helped her train for some endurance or she felt she'd end up collapsing inside the mine.

The morning after, she awoke to a shooting pain in her arm, a hollering left uninterpreted by her groggy mind. As she was dragged up, she spotted the overseer behind her, drawing up to plant a solid kick on her back, nearly knocking her over again.

He barked, "Go on, move! Or I'll make you."

She stumbled forward, out of the hovel, spotting the line. She'd slept in it seemed... she wished she could sleep more, but it would have to do. As it were, her actions would have to be done sparingly and at the expense of vital sleep.

Keeping ahead as well as she could, she freed what bit of her time she had at night, her work stretching from just after sunrise to about midnight. After midnight, once the bit of cleaning up and talking people could do was over, most immediately tucked away. Managing to battle exhaustion into a temporary truce, she rose from the floor of the quiet hovel to sneak out the door left intentionally ajar. She closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to reveal a brief, dulled glow.

The overseers were still out watching the next shift slaving away in the mines at this dark hour. The overseers, unlike the workers, spent a third to a half of the day working. They wouldn't be changing off for a while, but she didn't need that. Able to spot the minds of each, and see what piqued their interest, she maneuvered behind them and kept to cover, ensuring that their interest never landed on her.

Rounding the corner of the owner's house, she pressed her head to the wall. They were asleep inside. She entered through the front, waiting for a gust of wind to mask the faint creak of the door. The thought crossed her mind that it would be possible to liberate the island by removing the commanders and the money; these watchmen were by and large mercenary after all. But, these people had families. Better to find another way first.

Skulking through the interior of the house, she noticed a desk covered in papers through an open doorway. Perfect! She snatched the papers up and took them back to the foyer of the home, away from windows, before striking the air over her fingertip alight, giving her light to read by.

There were notices to and from other establishments, an exchange of iron and tin which were being mined for shipment to Altavim in exchange for silver which in turn, from what she'd gathered, was probably mined under similar slavish circumstances. Many other establishments were located to the west or southwest. She knew then, that from the time she'd been kept in that horrid ship, she was in Valnor's eastern frontier, south of Kalvod. Valnor's strength lay to the west, days out of reach. There was the possibility of escaping to Kalvod, but she'd have to steal a ship for that and neither she nor any of the others knew how to sail one, even if through some miracle they didn't all die trying to steal it. All the same, Kalvod didn't practice slavery, making it a convenient destination.

More immediately, Kyril noticed that their owner had excellent bookkeeping, which was relied on all too much. All this security was expensive and the overseers expected their pay on time. Showing a grin for a moment, she pondered. Stirring bad blood between the overseers and her owner would make getting around a bit easier. Then again, it probably would also end with the newly-angered overseers making up excuses to beat people. On top of it, if her tampering was discovered, matters would only get worse.

She did spot another matter: a few considered the courier their owner trusted to be a shameless 'fish kisser', and had warned her about it. That might come in handy if the warnings proved true. This was a way to send messages out, possibly.

She took the papers back to the desk after extinguishing her light, taking care to arrange them precisely as they were before. She looked at them for several moments, considering them. Taking advantage of the moment, she looked over the requisition list again. Taking quill and ink, she took it back to the foyer and laid it on the ground. Carefully, she mimicked the penmanship of her owner, affording a minor increase in the amount of food brought in, along with more fabric for bandages. Sometimes all it took was a simple added line to change one number into another. Despite her eyes, she could still read with her face near the page.

She slipped it back in place, along with the quill and ink. The wet quill might draw attention, but probably wouldn't be noticed. The owner was confident in herself and her security. Slipping into the pantry next, she quietly picked through the supplies, hunting down a few bits of medicinal leaves, usually used in teas but edible raw as well. Tucking those away along with some bread, she made her way out, trailing away from the common paths, back towards the hovel.

Steadying herself, she found her mind's eye faltering. She was too exhausted to concentrate, closing her sense. The hovel was right ahead anyway.

"Hey! Hey, stop!"

She didn't. Rather she sped up, though she had no energy left to sprint. Avoiding the hovel she belonged in, she turned between a pair of others, crossing the path behind a hovel on the other side. The thought shot through her mind: They'd seen her! But did they know it was her? Probably. She carried on, rounding the next corner as the watch turned the corner behind her. Stopping then and there, she listened.

"She's hiding inside. Come..."

Outside on the opposite end of the hovel, Kyril silently snuck away, crossing back to the one she was assigned to. Slipping inside, she let out a deep sigh... and took a step ahead, kneeling in front of a dark-blue skinned peer of hers. He sniffled in his sleep, having fallen ill.

She smiled, poking at him briefly, gesturing for silence as she lay the bread and leaves neatly in front of him. He recognized it as being from their master's pantry and stared with a hint of terror, which quickly subsided as he gave her a puzzled look. She nodded, and gestured to him to tuck it away. Shakily, he nodded, hiding the stolen food. She gave him an affirming gesture before trailing off to the empty patch and promptly collapsing in it. Normally she'd not be able to sleep with the chilling fear knowing they might have identified her, but after only a moment thinking about it...

She awoke to the others stirring. The call sounded out, another day beginning. As she rose and joined the line, the sense of terror finally sank in. If they'd known she'd tampered with the papers in the owner's house, or if they'd noticed her using psychic abilities, they would kill her, or worse.

She responded to her fear as she usually did to such matters, by suppressing it and moving on. Preventing it from showing, she kept her nose to the rocks, only hoping that the dreaded call would never come. The day carried on, and ended. The next as well as the one after that, passing without incident. Her fear began to subside.

The line was held up on the morning of the next. Some of the watchmen were looking through the line, checking over all of the females. The instant she noticed, her fear rushed back as a pointed paranoia. She was barely able to suppress it as they pulled her back, holding her head up to glare into her eyes. While her memories and knowledge remained unseen, her fear did not.

"This one!" They pulled her forward, and she instinctively pulled back, bringing a blow to her head, then another, then more to her back and arms. She cried out as they dragged her off, stifled to a cough by a punt to the belly.

She sniffed, mumbling under her breath, "No no no!" As she looked up, she saw she had nowhere to go as they took her in front of the crowd, pulling her loose from her shirt and tying her to a post. Thinking quickly, no solution came to mind. There was nothing but open terrain; she wasn't going to outrun them, even if she could somehow get free.

The red-feathered mirian behind her took a delay, briefly putting his nose behind her head to mumble, "Make a show of it and this'll be quicker."

She tilted her head back to look at him. "And what've I done to deserve this?" If nothing else, she wanted to confirm her fears so she could accept her fate.

Her question was met with the crack of the knotted tip of a whip carving what felt like a line of fire down her back. She gagged, stopping her own breath to stifle a yell out of defiance, her mouth gaping but only letting out a muffled squeak.

"Skulking about after hours, causing us trouble and being lazy!"

She couldn't quite stifle the yell on the next hit.

"Did you take your time leaning on your pick?" he continued.

The next brought a scream from her mouth. Overwhelmed by agony, she trembled and slumped.

"Those bags are meant to be filled!"

There was absolutely no mention of her invading the owner's home or being a psychic. Perhaps there was hope, but there was no time to think, as the next blow carved its line of pure crimson excruciation. Nothing to fit through her mind but pain, nothing to do but endure and ponder pain, her screams echoing as the crowd watched. She counted to ten before he finally relented, leaving her bloody and slumped crying against the post, occasionally crying out from the lingering pain.

He untied her, and she slumped down. He nudged her, then punted her in the side. "Get up!"

She coughed and glanced back at him with a terrified look behind crying eyes. She couldn't see much, but noticed him raising the whip again. Sniffing, she forced herself to stand, shaky on her legs, but standing nonetheless.

"That's what I thought. Now get back in line!"

Coughing, she forced herself ahead, finding her shirt thrown in her face on the way. Despite nearly tripping twice, she kept upright, holding her shirt but just letting the blood drip rather than wearing grime over the wounds.

"Let that be a lesson to all of you. You'd best do your part or you'll be the next show, understand?"

Kyril kept her head low, taking refuge in the crowd even if it was all too easy to pick her out of it. Most kept quiet around her. Just as well. Once she'd overcome the agony and tremors of the injury, covering her wounds with her shirt once the bleeding stopped, she had her strength back, and took her pain and pent-up aggression out on the rock she'd been assigned to.

Hearing a group laughing about it behind her reignited the angry hurt though. Looking back, she spotted the tall and formidable blue-yellow skinned female behind her. None other than Vyzi and her group of cronies. They tended to abuse other slaves whenever they could get away with it, often for the sake of the ever-valuable bread. Greenie had told Kyril all about this crowd.

She tempered her anger. Even if she had a designated target to take it out on, there was nothing to gain by possibly hurting herself further or collapsing later in the day. At least, the break for lunch was a respite from it all. Some murky water and half-stale bread, maybe a bit of old fruit. If the owners were feeling generous, there might be some jerky somewhere...

Gathering what would have to suffice for the next third of a day of work, she took to the back of the shaft, keeping to herself. As she looked up after taking a swig, she found blue eyes looking into hers.

"Oh hello there! Varey was it?"

Kyril nodded. "That's right. Hello, Vyzi." She narrowed her eyes. "You know well I'm not in the mood to talk."

Vyzi was the biggest of the bunch, and Kyril knew exactly why they were there. Kyril was weakened, and fish-of-prey always stir when they smell blood.

Vyzi stood in an imposing stance, hands on her hips. "All right, then just hand over your stuff and we'll be out of your hair."

Kyril glared at her. Vyzi glared back with a grin. Kyril held the look for a moment.

Kyril took a sizable bite from the bread, drawing her free hand back and throwing her weight into a strike right upside Vyzi's head, landing on the soft spot under the jaw, knocking Vyzi dazed onto her back. Immediately Kyril was snagged by the others, and grit from the ground rock smacked against her wounded back. Crying out as her back lit up with burning pain again, she hadn't the strength to resist as they slammed her face down against the support beam.

Stunned and dizzy, she curled up under the rain of kicks and blows, finally trying to stand only to be knocked down by a kick to the head, her senses blurring out around her.

Hearing a mumbling, she stirred, turning her head to spot the same red-feathered mirian from earlier, shouting at the group around her.

"-stupid crap like this!"

Kyril smirked slightly. She couldn't quite see it clearly but it looked like Vyzi was still pained in the jaw.

Vyzi replied, "She was the one who started it, hit me right here!"

"I've heard too much about you to believe that. Get back to work! You'd best hope we never see this again, or you'll wish you never were born."

He then turned to look at Kyril. She still winced a bit at the sight of him. He reached down, pulling her up to her feet. And then just shook his head at her with a sigh before stepping away. A lucky break, she'd thought, as she actually _did_ throw the first punch.

She took up what was left of her food from the grit of the floor, looked at it for a moment before eating it anyway, then moved on, back to the rock. Punching down Vyzi was a badly needed moment of catharsis, but it didn't change the fact that she now walked with a limp in an ever more pained and weakened state. The reality wore on past the sunset and into the night, the grim total of it all putting a fog in her mind as the crew finally left the mine. The respite let her finally wash the area of her wounds even if it was a bit late. It got the blood off at least, off her back and pants and nose and mouth. Squeezing out her shirt, she wore it again, retiring to the hovel.

Greenie was already there, wincing slightly as he looked her over. "They beat you _again_?"

She shook her head. "Vyzi and her circus paid me a visit... they didn't get what they wanted." She sighed, "Today has been disastrous for my health, but I'm still here."

He hesitated, then settled down. "You have something driving you to live. Hope is a rarity to behold, best hold onto it."

"I have a family..." She looked aside slightly. Her husband and children... it'd bothered her every single night, thinking about them. "I'll return to them, some day. I've promised them, I've promised myself, and I promise you."

He smiled faintly. "Good luck and winds at your back."

She returned the smile, if briefly. "Thanks. For talking to me, as well..." He was the only person she'd seen fit to open up to so far. "...even if you do like to talk about death a bit much. What drives _you_ to live?"

He rubbed the back of his head in thought. "Well, I'm..." He hesitated. "I admit, I'm a bit of a coward. Death terrifies me, and it's everywhere here. Part of why I might dwell on it sometimes."

"You're alive. That's all that matters."

That was a saying she kept in mind and often told herself. The two carried on their brief conversation, but all too soon exhaustion brought it to an end. The next morning brought her to rise with even more lingering pain. She decided to lay low, keep her head down and keep quiet during the day. No use getting attacked again and possibly crippled at this point.

It worked, for the most part. Her back stung whenever she lay on it, the wounds washed too late harboring an infection. She could barely recover from the daily work as it stood, but, she managed to outlast it, even if at times she wasn't sure she would.

Not all were so fortunate, as she saw too clearly the remains of a dead youth covered in an infection similar to hers, being dragged out of the mineshaft to be dumped into the sea. In these places, one became used to outlasting others, including friends, all while knowing that one was likely to be one of the corpses soon enough.

Despite the everyday discouragement, she cleared the time to meditate, drawing the notice of her peers regarding the strange practice. She gladly shared her knowledge on the matter, teaching the calming practice and its application in self control and refinement to others, encouraging them to pass it on. This was part of the plan, as when others started to share with their peers, the original source was obfuscated. Each and every mind was a weapon in itself. She took it slow and it seemed successful, a form of psychic preparation and refinement in the guise of ritual, and even the other slaves were none the wiser about it. They just knew it took the edge off the stress.

It was all too easy to lose track of time. Her 'suggestions' written into the papers went through, bringing a bit more food and much needed fabric without drawing too much attention. Such was a welcome piece of good news in a monotonous life punctuated by the sights, if not experiences, of punishment whenever Vyzi's goons didn't see fit to use her as a punching bag. She'd thought herself strong-willed enough to endure anything they threw at her---though given time, she found her spine turning to ice on the sight of them, flinching and cringing whenever she heard them yell. Given time, even a will of iron rusts.

Despite knowing now what it truly meant to be a slave, and at times considering just caving in, she pressed on. As long as she was alive she knew there was hope of her setting the island free. Those times in the dead of night when she ventured forth, evading the overseers to visit the piers and 'visit' the owner's house, kept her spirit alive.

Her plan was to silently train the other slaves in the art of the mind, and awaken them all at once. She held the hope that, faced with a horde of all too capable people now unable to be observed or controlled, their master would surrender and flee the island, leaving them to take control of the next floating plantation to dock. That would provide food until a means became available to ship everyone north to Kalvod, possibly by using the plantation itself as a ship even if it would be slow and dangerous going. Looking back on it, how suicidal all this seemed... but as it stood, they were all likely to die sooner rather than later anyway.

She took care not to let any of them know what exactly they were doing with these meditations. She could hide her thoughts from the overseers but her peers couldn't, not yet. With only a slice of time each day to put towards this, it was slow going. She didn't even bother keeping track of the seasons passing, though the winter hunger did punctuate each year. Those like Vyzi became even more aggressive. The fact that Vyzi was here for a string of murders that ended with Tavaria deeming death too kind came out in a number of horrible ways during the season, a cold one indeed. It was easy to feel one was destined to die here.

This day had proven yet another bad one. Not only had Kyril's blood and tears marked the base of the whipping post again, all over a matter of a misworded reply to their master, Greenie was nowhere to be seen. Despite it all, his presence was one of the few respites offered, even if his mind was a macabre one.

In the dead of night, as Kyril about to tuck in for sleep, he entered, sniffling and slumping down. Kyril perked, immediately sensing the horrible mental pain in him even with his lack of wounds.

He looked at her. "Varey... I need you to help me with something..."

She sat up. "What is it?"

He smiled briefly in a grimace. "I've had a reason given to me to overcome my fear... I want you to help me end it. Something painless. I want to finally rest."

She hesitated before answering, "W-what happened to you?"

He said nothing, leaning over atop his legs.

She insisted, "Tell me what happened, _please_... we can make it right. There's no reason to do this."

He looked down at the ground. "The overseers took me in, because I didn't fill my quota. They didn't whip me. Cira took me inside. She tied me down and... _used_ me. The others did too, and she came back again later..."

Kyril was a bit speechless and more than horrified at all this.

He begged, "Just, put me away from it. Please."

She took a few moments, letting it all sink in. "I... I don't want you to die."

He stated, "I don't want to live, especially not under her watch. I can't do it myself."

She stared at the floor for another moment. "Then, I'll return soon, friend..."

Looking up briefly, she stood, slinking out of the hovel, heading towards the mine. As much as she hated the idea... it would be a bit selfish to deny him peace for her own reasons, wouldn't it?

Sneaking up the hill, she spotted an overseer standing guard at the entrance to the mine. It didn't take psychic insight to see the state of the matter. He stood idly, yawning once as she approached. Keeping her back to the wall, she focused her telepathic sight on his mind. She noticed there wasn't much of a psychic capability there. These overseers were probably the cheapest available.

All the same it made her task easier, taking in his thoughts to mimic them. She gently nudged his mind off on adventures of imagination, and his consciousness was soon sinking into these fantasies as he slumped back against the wall, eyes peacefully shut.

Moving past, she turned to enter the front storage. There were a select few items around that could be used to kill, but none of them seemed particularly quick or painless... though there was the obvious iron pick. She knew of a way to stealthily kill with a pointed implement. A well aimed blow to the back of the head severs the mind from the body. At least it would be quick.

Quickly exiting out, she left the mine behind, pick in hand. On the way down, she thought about it. What these two-copper mercenaries did to her friend... the times she'd been 'made a show' of. Vyzi's campaign of beating her into submission.

She snarled. Now she had to go bury her own friend, her only close friend here over what _they'd_ done?! Looking ahead, she gripped the pick with a shaky and tight grasp, sniffling. Then, she stopped. Standing for a moment, she relaxed her grasp, the look of pained fury wiped from her face, replaced with only a neutral gaze. There was another option. She stepped forward, passing the hovels by.

On the hunt, she spotted Cira ahead, along with another. Kyril followed until the two parted, approaching Cira from behind. It was a difficult task, as her failing sight on top of the darkness left her feeling her way around at times, though the pathways were by and large clear. Matching her steps to Cira's to drown out what faint sounds her feet made, Kyril closed the distance, pick raised, then brought down with force. Cira collapsed with only a brief gag, falling to the ground with a rattling sigh, motionless. Kyril planted her foot atop the corpse's back, struggling briefly with the pick to free it from the back of Cira's head, then moved on, leaving the body behind intentionally.

As she approached the grove, she spotted the overseers ahead--two of Cira's friends who had participated in the whole ordeal. If she tried to actually fight them she was dead, so as always, Kyril kept hidden. Intruding into one overseer's mind, Kyril drew up reminders of what happened, and verified that she had indeed 'helped' with 'tending to' Greenie, and so had her friend nearby. Seemed he knew a bit about tending to the wounded. An opportune circumstance.

Kyril easily approached with her target distracted by those in the grove and the sound of their work. She brought the pick down, striking the side of the neck and withdrawing quickly. The overseer in front of her stumbled and held her neck as blood gushed out. Kyril retreated back.

The other quickly rushed over, muttering a few obscenities as he knelt down, hastily drawing out bandages even though it was hopeless. While he was busy in his panicked work, Kyril's glowing eyes approached from behind, the raised pick a silhouette of black against the night sky.

With a dull thud, he collapsed atop his friend, the pick embedded in the back of his head. Again, Kyril wrestled it free and returned to the shadows. She left the bodies where they lay and went back to the hovels, but not to hers.

Moving through the door with the bloodied pick, she knelt in front of an all-too-familiar female, the sleeping Vyzi. She exploited Vyzi's sleeping mind to ensnare her conscious mind, shocking it to action. Vyzi awoke, but her body did not, leaving her terrified and paralyzed as Kyril towered over her.

Kyril thought into Vyzi's mind _,_ _Hello again, Vyzi. It's Varey... the one you've decided to torment for probably years by now._

Kyril wiped blood off the pick, painting it onto Vyzi's clothes as Vyzi could only watch in horror. Kyril had a shark-toothed grin afterwards, satisfied with her artwork. _It appears you've just done a very grave deed... have fun!_

At that, Kyril used her stranglehold on Vyzi's mind to extinguish her consciousness, putting Vyzi back to sleep, leaving her with a subconscious stocked full of Kyril's memories of being beaten for good measure. Kyril then left the hovel, propping the bloody pick against the wall outside. The deed done, she returned to the stream and cleansed herself and her clothes of blood, using a bit of telekinetic flame behind cover to dry it so nobody would know she'd washed it. Then she returned to the hovel she was assigned.

She sat in her empty space and looked right at her friend. "Greenie, you've got your wish."

He wasn't sure what to make of it. "My..."

She nodded. "You need not live under Cira's watch any longer. She and her friends will never hurt you again, that I promise."

He stared at her incredulously. She smiled briefly, but only briefly. Part of her, the part she'd shushed, left a sour feeling in her mind. "They're dead now. A deed done by Vyzi." A lie but a necessary one.

That night, Kyril awoke briefly to the sound of her owner screaming, and the pop of glass dropping to the floor. Kyril kept an eye open for a moment, then tucked back down, easily falling back to sleep.

The morning after, the line was halted again. The cool winter air settled around them as Vyzi was dragged kicking and screaming in front of the crowd, fighting fruitlessly to escape. They tied her to the post, not with her belly but with her back against it.

"Any last words, murderer?"

Vyzi barked, "It was her!" She tugged out towards the sight of Kyril in the crowd. "That Varey woman, she framed me, she's got mind powers!"

"And my mother's the queen of Atswala. Shut up."

Kyril grinned a pointed grin at Vyzi, earning a death glare in return.

Vyzi shouted, "I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of-" Cut off by a scream that made even Kyril cringe a little.

The red-feathered one carrying it out didn't flinch at all as he'd lost friends in all this. Carrying on with the now metal-tipped whip, beating Vyzi beyond bloody with it as her screams echoed through that side of the island, a spectacle for all to see. Kyril found herself smiling briefly, even if she did cringe at the scream of each blow.

With Vyzi's front turned to a mess of red from a deadly beating, but not quite dead yet, they set the post alight, a look of incredible terror on her face as the flames crawled upwards, sweeping across the last sliver of life she had. Vyzi's last screams tapered to a sickening gag as the flames consumed her.

Kyril looked over and noticed Greenie had covered his face with his arm, ducking under the crowd. She asked, "What's wrong? Fortune has brought justice for once. You'll need not worry about them now."

He looked up at her, and asked, "Was it really needed, for all of them to die?"

She frowned, and looked at him. Opening her mouth, no words came forward. So she ducked her head and looked away.

"I... sorry." She sighed. "I'll speak no more of it then."

That part of her mind that left a sour note finally hit her in the gut. The sight in front of her seemed all the more horrible when viewed by her original mindset, and it was her doing, all of it. She was the one who deserved the lasher's fury and she knew it. One could argue her targets had it coming, but... she never fancied herself a killer. Now she was...

When the spectacle ended, it was back to the mine. Kyril mulled over what had happened. Raela had once mentioned to her how horrible it was to kill, but how when so much more was at risk, sometimes deeds must be done. Raela had mentioned it with a grave severity and regret at the ship she'd destroyed.

What terrified Kyril about it all, was that when she took those lives, she felt absolutely nothing. Part of her even enjoyed it. ... Through all the torment, how much influence had that part of her mind gained over her thoughts?

The mines were silent save for the clanking of picks; nobody wanted to talk. It gave time for her to ponder it all. What was this place _doing_ to her?

As much as she needed to enjoy _something_ , it wasn't to be found here. The irrevocable fate she brought about did haunt her. Even come following days, she felt bitter and morose. Perhaps Vyzi's last words would prove true in a sense. Greenie tried to put on a smile for her at times, though it was obvious he was in just as bad of a way if not worse. At least, for the both of them, they still had someone to lean on.

As time passed the somber silence abated. Vyzi's crowd of goons, now terrified and without a leader, learned quickly not to try to confront Kyril alone. If Kyril wanted to, she could've taken Vyzi's place, but she'd already begun gathering her own following through different means. The crew of overseers had been sparse and minimal to begin with; now three short, Kyril had more freedom at night--to move, or more often than not, to teach and encourage others to teach.

Then came the night before the courier's arrival. She'd snuck into the owner's house again. Rifling through the letters under the light over her fingertips, she read a request for a psychic along with the other odds and ends. They wanted someone to check the slaves and see if anyone had any other murderous plots in mind.

Her owner always checked the parcel before handing it over. There was nothing to gain in destroying the request or tampering with it, and she wasn't sure of her ability to remain hidden under a professional eye. She'd have to think of something. At least she was forewarned.

She found herself watching the courier ship depart with it. She never did get a chance to actually approach the captain or the green-red feathered one ferrying parcels around. She never did get a chance to send a message back to Leneu. All this time...

She sighed, sneaking back to the line and into the mine. All this time had passed by. Thinking of home only brought more sorrow. She'd tried to avoid doing so for that reason, but it became ever harder, even seeping into her dreams.

The anxiety of the day of the inspector's arrival brought her concerns to the fore. In the lineup to the mine, she spotted her friend, who immediately asked, "Who's Buram?"

She lurched slightly at the question. "Where did you hear that?"

He looked back to the hovel. "You muttered it as you were waking up."

She hesitated, then spoke, "Someone I'm... rather fond of, is all. Part of my reason to stay alive you might say."

He looked at her with a slight frown. He didn't want to point out how hopeless it seemed to cling onto someone after all this time, when in reality, the only way off the island was to leave the world entirely. "I understand. Maybe you have something else to talk about?"

"I've already told a few people to tell others not to go meditating or doing any ritual around guests to the island. It might attract unwanted attention from them." Not admitting that she knew of the inspector, but getting the point across well enough.

"Well, as long as we see them first. It's been a comfort though, doing that, and they'll see it eventually."

She suppressed her concern within herself. "I know..."

Stepping into the mine, she knew that at least she had two-thirds of a day to think it over and come up with a plan. None of the others had working psychic power, so as long as she kept out of the inspector's view, it might simply blow over. But that assumed their memories weren't thoroughly checked.

Then again, if it was another two-copper hire they probably wouldn't be. At least now at lunch the now-ex-goons tended to avoid her, giving her more time to think. She'd have to inspect the inspector to know what she was up against before anything else. Midnight brought the end of work, and a chance to query those of the next shift coming in. Passing the tail of their line, she slowed, then eyed a figure standing away from the overseers.

"Hello."

He turned, speaking quietly, "Varey? Is that you?"

She nodded, "There's been an odd person about, have you seen him?"

He rubbed his head distractedly. "Oh, him? He came through our hovels when we were asleep and looked into our dreams... it was so unsettling. He saw our ritual, and called it 'very interesting' for some reason. We didn't even know he was there until he was done. Frightening one, he was!"

Kyril felt her spine turn to ice once again. Not only was this inspector more capable than she'd thought, if he saw into her dreams he would know the truth. If she left the hovel when he approached, she would still be suspect. He was going to bring the whole thing crashing down!

She nodded, speaking quietly, "For now, I-"

"Hey!"

She looked over to spot the red-feathered one once again, whip in hand, stepping over towards them. He'd understandably been in a sour mood for quite the time.

Kyril quickly ducked her head. "I'm moving, I'm moving!" She stepped away, retreating from the mine. He stopped at the end of the line, letting her go. Fortunate, though a minor blessing in the face of encroaching doom.

That night, she approached the guest house. The mirian inside was turning in to sleep, pointing at the candlestick to extinguish it from afar. Once he was asleep, Kyril gazed in through the window with her eyes aglow, a silhouette of blue blending into the night sky. She found his mind lucid and vigilant even in sleep. He was checking his memory against itself and making sure each part tallied up properly. She could pick out what he had for breakfast, but anything actually relevant seemed obfuscated as a mix of seemingly unrelated concepts. This obviously was _not_ a two-copper hire.

But, since she was watching his mind work, she decided to inject concepts into his dreams, subtly leading him to pull in those more sensitive concepts. With luck she'd be able to make him think he already checked her hovel, or at least that he'd already checked _her_. Before she could even get to that point, his ambient dream-walking telepathy pounced onto her link, waking him and immediately bringing him to look right at her.

She closed her mind's eye and immediately ran across the path as he scrambled to rise and exit the guest house. Her body, in ailing health, really wanted to collapse, but the immediate fear of death did wonders for keeping her on her feet, across the path and down towards the hovels. His fireball lit the sky and trailed about, lighting the area... but she had already left it.

She heard his voice in her mind, an ambient, undirected shout of telepathy, "I know the look of your eyes and the sound of your mind now. I _will_ find you!"

She looked back, panting. The flame vanished, light extinguished as he returned to bed. She sighed in relief, even if it was brief. She retired to her hovel with a burden of dread. Sleeping was a risk at this point. He would likely sleep longer than her, but by tomorrow he would be watching the lines and she may as well be dead.

To attack him would be suicide; to invade his mind again would be death. Then finally, she had an idea: his breakfast often came with a side of mushrooms, she'd found that much. With this in mind she rose again. Given time, calm came again, and she snuck her way through it, into the grove. At night the grove was sparsely populated, giving her the chance to slip in. As another faceless sythian in tattered clothes, the overseers looked right at her and didn't see a problem. Making her way to the back of the grove, she spotted some mushrooms growing at the base of a tree. The volcanic terrain gave rise to beautiful white caps that cruelly teased with their presence. There was a reason the hungry slaves didn't eat them; the faint blue little rings under the caps differentiated the avoided ones from the otherwise plain ones often eaten aside a cut of meat. But that inspector wasn't an expert in mushrooms, was he?

She gathered several, making her way back to the guest house. In the pantry were a few odds and ends, with produce preserved in an ice box, a signature of someone wealthy and good with cryokinesis. Opening the box, she spotted the bowl of mushrooms, chilled over salted ice. Smiling briefly, she hoisted some out with telekinesis to eat, holding the less edible ones she'd harvested far away.

Once she'd had her fill of them, she replaced the ones she'd eaten with the ones she'd harvested, gently closed the icebox, and stepped out. She'd managed to do all that without being seen... with luck he wouldn't know the difference until it was too late. Sleep came all the easier after that.

The morning after, the lineup proceeded with Kyril keeping at the edge of the path, watching the guest house. There he was, setting up a plate. She smiled... good morning, inspector. She looked over again, seeing him eat, enjoying his favorite side as expected. The next time she looked over, he seemed to be looking down at it suspiciously while their owner was walking away after talking to him.

Kyril steadied her breath and looked ahead, moving, taking one last glance. She saw him stepping around, wiping his forehead. Her breath about stopped at that moment. Then, next she looked, he was on the ground motionless.

She let out a sigh of relief, congratulating herself for a job well done; she'd be living another day, though her relief was tempered by the fact that once again she'd ended a life. However, this time it didn't bring her down as much. She'd seen plenty of death anyway. Alas...

As the day carried on, she heard her owner talking at the front of the mine, coming along with an escort to inspect the work being done.

"-yet another murderer. Before he died he told me that he knew there was a psychic among the slaves."

"Did he say who it is?"

"No, though he referred to the psychic as 'she', as I'd assume anyway. Green eyes, though that's a common color."

"You think she's here?"

"That's the terrifying part. She could be anyone, even one of your friends." The two stepped right past Kyril, looking over her work briefly, Kyril keeping her head low.

"For all we know she could be in this room with us right now!"

"We've checked every one of them for powers though, right?"

"That's right, and you must have missed someone. But I have a plan. Someone here must know who she is. We'll ask the slaves, and if they don't deliver her I'll put my other plan into effect."

Kyril didn't like the sound of that. At the least, it would put a stop to her efforts for the time being as she lay low. She'd been careful to mask herself as the source among the slaves; most of them were taught by other slaves and discussed it with a long chain of connections.

The day ended seemingly without event, rest all too inviting. She awoke to the next day, still alive despite it all. Their owner had started taking punishment into her own hands, out of frustration and anger over the cost to her reputation and her coin purse, having had slaves and workers die seemingly for no good reason.

Kyril wound up on the receiving end for looking at her owner too often. She'd thought she'd been found out, but no, it was just the owner looking for some more catharsis. They'd asked around, and everybody pointed to someone else. They were going in circles, just as Kyril had hoped. Yet, the matter didn't blow over.

The next ship brought replacements. More slaves purchased. And some mirians coming to visit? She eyed those inbound. One looked like the courier she'd seen before. Now was her chance to finally meet him! Shifting her sleep to awake early, she ventured out in the morning, tending to her rags before spotting the red-green feathered one strolling about. It was a bit odd, she didn't remember him ever staying over like this before.

Kyril approached, ducking her head respectfully. "Greetings sir!" A risk, as slaves weren't to talk to guests unless spoken to, but she suspected he was sympathetic and there were none of the overseers around.

He peered up at her. "You? I recognize you, weren't you the one watching us set sail every time?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes sir. I came to ask about the parcels, if there's room for a message?"

"There was, lady, there was..." He sighed a drawn out sigh.

She frowned. Something was amiss. "Varey Tarkun, sir."

He shook his head. "No use calling me 'sir', we're eye to eye now."

She blinked. "You're... a slave now?"

He chuckled briefly. "Yeah, to think? I've sympathized with your plight one too many a time. And so they told me that if I sympathized with it so much I should share it."

"And simply voicing your thoughts brought you here..."

"I'm not the only one by far. The queen herself has written slavery into Valnor's property law. There is no going back to the old Valnor now, no going anywhere for me it seems."

She shook her head in disagreement. "All I can say is..." She looked right at him. "Don't lose hope. Even if you have nothing else."

He looked back at her, then nodded. "I'll try, Varey, I'll try."

At that, the call sounded out to line up. They didn't see much of each other in the mine, but whenever she had a sliver of time to do so, she gave him pointers on how to survive. Time passed for the others to settle in, before the call came down.

The next announcement was a tighter ration of food. There was less food brought in for the month. The word was clear from the owner and the overseers, that if the slaves wanted it to end, they would have to put forward the psychic among them. None of them knew who it was. Greenie had a suspicion, though he'd never actually seen Kyril use psychic power or heard her directly talking about it. Not to mention, he wasn't about to turn his friend in.

The threat of no food at all loomed as starvation ate away at all of them from the belly up. Such was a threat likely to be answered with desperate looting of the stockpile, overwhelming the sparse security in any other situation, but the psychic sight of the owner and what little extra insight the overseers had headed off any such attempt before it could gather momentum. In some cases, they even mentioned instilling behaviors right into the minds of the slaves when they were so weak, though none of them had the skill for it. A blessing, because what if they had?

Part of her cursed these powers, but it was too late to do anything about them. Such was the world they lived in. Greenie, having been there longer than she had, was in failing health. Hers wasn't much better, but she gave him some of her food anyway.

Perhaps this was the time? The others hadn't been trained as well as she'd hoped, but they had close to nothing left to lose and they were only getting weaker.

The call came to eat. Finally eat, the store was open! Perhaps the owner had given up? Desperately chowing through the store, they watched the floating plantation drift in, exchange cargo, then leave. With nothing at all added to their food supply. There wouldn't be any food left at all if this carried on!

The call was given at each line up, the owner speaking out, "There is a psychic among you. Find her, and the courier shall bring a shipment; your plight will end. Fail, and I will leave you all to starve. There shall be no requisition, no more food until she is found! And don't even _think_ about skipping work, or I'll know..."

The day rolled on with only half of the slaves getting half of a lunch. She spotted Greenie, part of the half denied anything, instead spending the time humming a tune about sinking into the depths...

"Varey?"

She stepped over towards him. "Here's a reason to stop humming that song." And then she gave him the half-meal she'd received. Even if she longed for it... having gone with reduced rations for a while, her bones were starting to show even more.

He gave her a look of concern, but wasn't going to turn it down.

She asked, as he devoured the all too small portion, "You're not under suspicion are you?"

He finished quickly. "No, they've been turning a blind eye. They're afraid to beat me since they know they would probably kill me. I wish they would for that reason."

"This will end soon, but not in that way."

He looked up at her. "You never would let me die... she'll show herself to the owner?"

She nodded at him. "Yes, she will. Soon."

He knew there was something else under the tone of her voice, but couldn't pull it out. He nodded, mostly thinking about just laying down to rest at that point. It came soon enough, the next day having no food at all. They were made to work the whole day straight, as no food meant a lunch break wasn't needed. During the nights, she scouted out the owner's house, the guest house, the overseers' barracks. She had it well mapped out, and for once her anxiety had a hint of visibility. She had absolutely no idea where this plan was going to go now.

Finally, returning to the hovel to gather what she needed, she spotted Greenie looking her way.

"Varey... you really are _her_ , aren't you?"

She looked at him, then closed her eyes for a moment. Now was the time to end her role. Secrecy would no longer be needed. "Yes. My real name is Kyril Vorral. And as I promised, master will see me for who I am."

He stared at her with a look of fright and sadness. "They'll _kill_ you, with unimaginable torment..."

She shook her head. "With luck, I'll be back shortly. If not... well, it's been a pleasure knowing you. Either way, I can't allow this to go on. I wish I knew your real name though."

He smiled faintly, shakily, a tormented smile. "My mother died before she could name me; I've lived with nicknames my whole life. The others gave me that one when I came here, since I was new. So, that _is_ my name."

She nodded. "Well... now is the time. Pray tomorrow is a better day. For now, try to rest, please."

He sniffled, "G-goodbye... Kyril..."

She hesitated a moment, then stood, exiting out to the open. Greenie was devastated in every imaginable way. Her husband and children probably thought she was long dead. Either she would succeed and it would all finally end. Or she would fail, and it would all finally end. Despite it all, she still held out hope for a better end to all this.

There was no way she could awaken the minds of her peers without being killed now. So, she planned to take matters into her own hands. Having taken the time to grind up a selection of those mushrooms into powder, she took to the owner's house first, a shifting shadow ascending to the bedroom. A handy mug of water for the bedside was an easy target for some of that powder. Mixing it in quickly and leaving, she gave the same treatment to the other members of the household who would step up to command just as quickly, sprinkling the deadly powder into their open snoring mouths. Poisoning their pantry would've been far easier, but there was no chance of her poisoning one of the last stores of food on the island.

Save for their owner proper, none of them would be waking up. She snuck about, searching by a telekinetic pull, finally finding the store where the owner kept her coins. Discovering a well-hidden chest under removable floorboards, she pulled it up, finding her failing strength barely capable of wrenching it out even with the false board used for leverage. Silent save for her breath, she carefully propped it up, sliding it out and out the door. It was an exhausting job in itself, dragging it away from the house, but she managed it. She took the false floorboard along with to use as a makeshift shovel, digging out a small hole away from the patrols to bury it. And that was that... the deed was done.

Having been out of energy to begin with, burning only willpower to keep going, she finally retreated back to the owner's house, laying down where the money used to be before replacing the floorboard over herself. Lucid as she could remain, she kept herself sleeping lightly, ready to wake on the slightest disturbance.

The sound of her owner screaming did just that. Kyril popped awake, bumping her head on the boards above her, before looking up through the gaps. Seeing nobody, she pushed them off and stood, then replaced them. Off to the beds, she peeked around the corner, spotting her owner gazing at the dead body slumped over one of the beds. The owner dropped the now empty mug and made haste for the door. Kyril kept close behind her as she huffed, slowed, panted, gasped, then fell to kneel.

Kyril circled around. The rising sun casting an orange glow over her, revealing her look as her owner gazed upwards to see Kyril's glowing green eyes.

Kyril just stared.

" _You_... Varey..."

Kyril tapped a foot. "Actually it's Kyril. Vorral."

Her owner frowned on hearing that surname. "Vyzi..."

Kyril nodded. "Knew about me, yes... and you killed her."

Kyril watched her owner keel over, lungs no longer working. She had no smile... Having come to terms with herself and depleted her anger, she held only a will to survive see her cause to its end. She looked a bit aside, adding, "If it's any consolation, I've heard in some beliefs the dead are reborn. If that's true, maybe you'll treat people better in your next life. But until then, farewell."

Finally, her owner twitched for the last time, then Kyril--and all of them--no longer had an owner. This wasn't Kyril's original plan, killing them, any of them. When she set out, she would've never imagined herself doing all this... but for once, she considered, perhaps doing away with these particular ones, for all the lives they had destroyed, actually was for the better... that was what she repeated in her mind at least. Nonetheless, she pulled the body along, away from the house.

The others gathered under the morning light, wondering why there'd been no call. The banter quieted to silence as Kyril was seen dragging the corpse up to the wooden platform, hoisting it.

She raised her voice to speak. "We'll no longer be working these mines. Ever again."

The other hungry islanders looked to her, then to the unemployed overseers, then back to Kyril.

The red-feathered one, and the others, all stood their ground. "Crimson depths, _now_ who's going to pay us?" they bantered, then stormed off to the former owner's house.

Kyril shouted, "I'll open those locks on the stockpiles, the pantry's still got food in it back in the houses. Don't gorge yourselves, remember to share!"

She fished the keys off the corpse and proceeded towards the barracks to open the door on the overseers' food. She was torn from it, thrown to the wall, and took a punch to the face as her arms were held. The overseers all crowded about her.

"Scrawny fruit-monger bastard, that was our jobs you've done away with! You'd be dead, but you have something. The money, where did you hide it?!" One of them loomed over her maliciously.

Kyril slumped back, dizzily turning her head.

He punched her again before throttling her. "Tell me!"

She gagged, trying to pull away. Realizing he was outright killing her, he relented, "I'll make you wish you were dead if you don't!"

Kyril closed her eyes, letting her head slump down, before looking up at him. "I've suffered more beatings than I can count. Do you really think you can make me talk before you kill me?"

She closed her eyes again. "Kill me and you get nothing. Prepare to leave with the next courier, and you'll all have enough coin to last until you find another job. That is your choice."

He grabbed hold of her with an iron grip, snarling right at her face, then threw her to the ground. "... Let's go..."

As they left, Kyril picked herself up, rubbing her cheek. She counted her blessings they still thought Vyzi was the murderer all that time ago. Otherwise they would've killed her anyway. She stood, looking back to the food. There still wasn't enough to last the month, especially with everyone else wolfing it down. She dug out some bread and jerky to share with Greenie, nowhere near enough to satisfy either of them but better than nothing.

It was going to be a long, hard wait, but at least now they could roam the island as they pleased. No more master, no more overseers. Most people didn't even know what to do! Kyril revealed herself, and her power. Some cursed her for the trouble she'd brought, but the majority were grateful, if vaguely. Many, alas, had only known a life of slavery, and didn't know what to do now. Though this was straying further and further from her plan, progress was being made... to where, she didn't quite know, only that they would be free on the other side. First, it was time to put her teachings to work. With the spark of light in their eyes, they took her words of the art to heart; their minds were soon awakened, slowly but surely, by a revelation that, once it had gained momentum, spread like telepathic wildfire.

She approached the red-green feathered former courier. "Myon, was it?"

He looked back. "Kyril? You should know, the minute the other couriers discover what's happened here, Valnor will come to reclaim the island with force."

"And that's why I need you to make sure that doesn't happen." She offered him the keys.

He looked at them, then to her. "What are you asking?"

She spoke plainly, "Someone needs to stand in and at least pretend to be the new owner. You know how to talk to the other courier captains, so... would you speak for us to the others?"

He accepted the keys. "I'll try, though there's a problem with that plan."

"What problem?"

He gestured down. "I don't lay eggs. People might not take me seriously as an owner."

Kyril looked to the shore. "In Leneu at least they take my friend Terath seriously... then again it's hard not to take a dragon seriously. Anyway, you're the best bet we have."

"No promises, Kyril, no promises. Otherwise, yes ma'am."

Kyril looked back to Myon. "You don't need to call me ma'am."

"Well, you are the mistress of psychic power and our liberator... and possibly our savior. One can hope, right? I'm not the only one that looks up to you."

She mumbled a little, a touch uncomfortable with that kind of responsibility, but... "I try as well as I can... we're nowhere near out of this, but we still have hope."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Leneu? Is that where you're from? Their merchants have been supporting the whole institution. They want to adopt it; Ysalia adopted the trade in treaty. Your queen will not be pleased."

She narrowed her eyes. "If _that_ is the case, then Ysalia can have a seat on a red hot spike for all I care." Words of utmost treason, yet she'd never felt so justified in saying them.

He looked sidelong at her. "Well, we were going to die anyway. At least now we die free."

She looked down a bit at the thought, then back up resolutely. "I don't plan on dying any time soon."

Easier said than done, as she knew all too well, a matter Greenie took to heart. Myon proved effective enough, the courier coming and going with Kyril's forged request for food, money dispersed among the former overseers who left peacefully. They knew what had happened, but they were more loyal to coin; Myon's presence made their story of a psychic killer slave a bit hard to believe anyway. Fortunately Myon was new enough to still look fairly well-fed, in contrast to the rest.

Next came the wait, waiting for the floating plantation to arrive with their requisitions. Myon had bought what little food the courier could spare, but it was quickly gone. They were already starved, and some gave in to it. More and more the idea of taking the plantation, of surviving against Valnor, seemed ever less likely. Some considered eating one another. Even Kyril was feeling she could collapse at any moment. She was nearing the end of her prime to start with, and her battered and starved body could hardly stand at times. If only there were any fish bothering to swim near this volcanic isle, if only there were some edible mushrooms, anything. Some ate the poison mushrooms out of sheer desperation, bringing yet more loss of life. Her eyes weren't good enough to tell them apart, but it didn't matter; those were the only mushrooms around.

The sun set to another day without anything, and she spotted her paling companion, retiring to his old spot in the hovel.

She went over to join him, the hovel empty save for the two of them as night trailed on. She asked, "Greenie...?"

He looked up at her with a slow turn of the head, smiling faintly. "It's funny, I don't even know what to do with myself now. This is where I usually go to think."

She noted, "It's the only place you've had. Why not try somewhere else?"

He shook his head. "After the mines now we starve then we face the navy and all the other slavers..." He smiled wanly. "I just want to lay down and rest, friend... for once."

She sighed and leaned back against the wall... on her old spot, now that she realized it. Habits as they were. "I won't stop you. We all do as we will now."

He settled down, smiling again at her, the first time she'd seen a genuine smile from him in a while. "Thank you... for this taste of what it means to have no master. For once I finally feel comfortable, at ease. Who knows, maybe you'll finally get to see your Buram again."

She rubbed her head, taking it to heart. Maybe... "I'll hold hope for that." For all that'd happened, nothing had really eaten at the back of her mind as much as the family she'd left behind in Leneu.

He kept his smile. "You have my prayers. But, for now. Goodnight, Kyril."

She nodded, lowering down to relax as well. "Goodnight, Greenie... I'll see you-" He was already asleep. She sighed and left it at that. At least he was finally happy about something. It brought a well needed boost to her spirit as she dozed off.

The next morning came. Kyril stood, looking outside. Clear skies. The parting of the clouds paved a path for the plantation to approach. She looked back at her friend. "Greenie, the sun's out. They'll be coming any day now! Greenie?"

She sighed. Poor guy was still curled up back there. She stepped back inside, kneeling by him. She then frowned, poking at him. She prodded him, then gazed into his mind, to find no dreams, no anything.

Her breath caught itself. His last had already come and gone. At once, she found herself overwhelmed with both fury and despair. "We were almost there, Greenie, why?!" She sniffed, "Why..." Coughing, she slumped over what was left of him. "... Well..." She sniffed again, "At long last, you finally got your wish. Hum a tune for me from the other side, will you?" A moment passed, then another. She finally gave in to cry. At least, he'd finally found ease and comfort before he went.

She cared not how long she sat there shedding tears over her friend. It'd all seemed shattered, all of it, but she knew she'd have to put these pieces of her spirit back together. There was still much to be done, and now she had another memory to drive her onwards, a memory that would live as long as she would, if not longer.

In the days leading up to the plantation's arrival, she was mostly silent and none bothered talking to her. Many had witnessed that day, and her giving Greenie's remains proper treatment and peace. By far, she wasn't the only one to have lost a close friend in all of this. A hope that those who lived after them would never have to feel that pain was all that kept their spirits together.

When the plantation's buildings appeared on the horizon, drifting towards the island, she thought about it. About Greenie, about the others, about all that had happened to her and those around her. About the fact that the owner of that plantation had her own friends and family... at this point, Kyril realized, she didn't really care anymore about her former owner.

Then again, on the other end of her mind... she remembered all of the times poor Greenie had winced and ducked and taken a grim note on the lives she had taken. Even when she'd hoisted their former owner's body, he didn't applaud. He never mentioned it, but she could see the question in his mind... if she had their money, was it really necessary to take their lives? That part of Kyril didn't care... the rest of her thought deeply about where that sort of thinking would take her, what it would mean for everything she wanted to achieve. The other owners feared the rise of bloodthirsty, vengeful slaves, seeing their slaves as animals barely kept in line. Would she prove their fears correct? Just where would that lead? As she gazed ahead, the thoughts locked in her mind. That part of her would _not_ be allowed define her work. She was done taking lives. If the others looked up to her, then they would heed her words. She knew not what would come of this, but looking back on it... she'd rather die where she stood than see her work corrupted into yet another crimson stain on the walls of history.

Myon was in position already, ready to greet their visitors in his role as owner as Kyril took her position under the pier. She sent out her prayers that her failing body would last through this stunt. The others gathered behind as the floating plantation approached. Everyone stood with their minds clear and ready. Myon stepped down the dock as the many attached hulls and platforms locked together; the piers were lassoed as the plantation moored, dropping anchor to hook into the struts provided below and ashore.

Myon, as healthy-looking as he could manage, stood to watch the gangplank fall, the owner and her entourage soon stepping down.

She looked about. "Meeting me here..." She eyed him as she continued, "Sir...?" And eyed him all the more closely. "You seem on troubled times." There was a limit to how healthy a starving person could appear.

He looked back at the crowd behind him, then nodded. "My house, it, well, caught ablaze. Terrible matter, really. May we negotiate aboard your property?"

She sensed that something was amiss. Looking around again, this time more slowly, she gave Myon an approving nod. "Your papers and cargo are all in order?" She scanned for something in particular. "Where _is_ the cargo anyway? I need lumber."

"All askew, with the fire and all; it wasn't just my house. We've all had a hard time of it. I'll have my slaves bring it here if you don't mind them coming aboard. My overseers are all busy at the moment."

She frowned, noticing a hint of his mind fabricating his response. "I _do_ mind." She crossed her arms. "Very well, we'll talk aboard the plantation, but I won't move any food until I see you have lumber and coin to offer. I'll send my own overseers to verify your stockpile? Agreed?"

What was he going to say? He needed to buy time, and it would take them time to reach the stockpile. So, he offered, "Yes, I'll agree..."

The two boarded the plantation, the owner looking to her overseers with Myon moving ahead. "Keep aware of your surroundings. There's something gravely amiss here."

Below, Kyril swam under the planks of the walkway, hiding behind and under the floating buildings. Each break in the traffic gave her a moment to swim down to where the anchors buried or hooked themselves. She wedged a small piece of wood between those hooked in and the loops they hooked into, jamming them in place. Twice she felt herself nearly faint, underwater... fortunately, if only through will, she kept going, before finally crawling to the beach and collapsing behind the pier.

The stockpile, open and empty, carried little lumber. The plantation watch prowled about, pulling through it.

"Not enough. And nobody watching it either. Where _are_ their overseers anyway?"

A grumbling was heard, as one of her retinue gestured between a pair of crates towards a pair of sythians in the distance, one with a pick over shoulder, the other with a lumber axe over shoulder, the two bantering.

"What is this crap?"

"I see. Perhaps _those_ are their overseers."

"Brinechuggers?"

"Hush, we must return. Do you remember how the one saying he was the owner looked? Like one of the others. I'm convinced the last owner didn't die in an accident. We must leave this place immediately."

Kyril shakily picked herself up from behind the pier to see them returning. Even the thought of eating crumbs off the floor appealed to her at this point, and now, that plantation stocked with food wasn't going anywhere.

The overseers shoved their way down the walkways, barging into the meeting. Myon couldn't help but be a bit overeager at the food his host had provided, but this intrusion cleared that right from his mind. He frowned as he heard them speak.

"This island has suffered an uprising! Ma'am, we must leave at once."

She gulped her drink. "You!" Glaring at Myon, she then looked over at the nearest of her overseers. "Take this fiend and tie him down."

She stomped her way out as the two snagged Myon and dragged him off. Shouting, she ordered, "Pull in the anchors, we're leaving _now_!"

Kyril smiled faintly, less fangily, more hopefully now, stepping towards the main pier. She called out to the floating plantation's owner. "No, you're not!"

She looked into the trees, several unseen gazes connecting back. Word of the mind had spread silently and quickly, and now was the time! They cast their mind's voices ahead as the sythian horde emerged, picks, shovels, and axes in hand. Kyril called out again, louder this time. "Friends aboard the floating farms, stand, as you are slaves no more. Gaze ashore; we stand alongside you!"

The mirians guarding the gangplank went just about bug-eyed. "Oh crimson depths...!" They rapidly drew up the gangplank. It was no matter: another was carried ahead along with the crowd, laid down from the pier as a second bridged the shore to the nose of the floating dock. The two mirians on the plantation punted down the second boarding plank, but the armed islanders boarded to overtake them from behind. A lightning rush with axes and picks raised high brought the horde streaming down the paths. The mercenary overseers, divided, found themselves surrounded as the islanders stormed in. Some of the mercenaries attacked, only to end up wrestled down if not dying to numerous pick and axe wounds if they refused to surrender. The wiser ones cast their weapons aside, having a seat. Though the horde carried all the pointy tools they could carry, the plan was clear; only kill as a last resort. Even if some of Kyril's peers really, _really_ wanted to...

The once-owner of the plantation climbed to the balcony.

"Rally, shoot them, shoot them!"

"With what?"

"With _anything_! Cut us away from the other buildings, set us adrift, get us-"

A wall of blue and green streamed down the paths with pointed, sharp iron highlights. The crowd all glared up at her as several of them entered the house of the owner. She looked back to spot a pair with shark-toothed grins now blocking the way down with axes.

She glared back at them. "Oh damn it all!"

The two drew in. "Well hello-"

A hand pulled back their shoulders. They turned to see Kyril.

Kyril shook her head. "Don't..."

They stared back at her. "This monster is responsible for years of torment of our peers, Kyril!"

"That she is, but there's no need to kill her or them. If we slaughter every family of owners we come across out of rage and vengeance, what would that make us?" She couldn't help but feel a bit like a hypocrite, the past considered. She gave a word on that, "I've found vengeance isn't worth it."

She gave it a moment to sink in, then continued, "Lock them all in their house. That will be their space. We'll treat them with civility, but don't let them escape."

While it was a begrudging response, Kyril's word was the only real word of leadership they had. They relented, the three taking the plantation down inside and locking the door on her and her family.

Immediately, Kyril's axe-wielding peer asked her, "Why spare them? You didn't spare our owners, the same people responsible for what happened to us, our friends, and your fri-"

She cut him off with a glare, but soon relented. "You're right, and looking back on that I know, in that moment, I really was acting as much of an animal as they'd accused me of being. I already have much to answer for when the depths call my name... I'd rather not add to the list unless it's absolutely needed. And as for my friend... I could've used his death as an excuse to proceed without care or mercy. You're right." She shook her head, suppressing a sniffle. "Instead, I choose to act as if his spirit were right behind me. Understand? We will not be known as butchers."

Though her words were cool and calm, the air about her mind spoke volumes. Even if his immediate rage was somewhat cooled, it would take more than that to convince him. "Then let us agree, that the reign of their kind must end one way or another. From Valnor to Leneu to Tavaria, we shall not stand to see our peers suffer."

That statement went far, far beyond what Kyril's original intent in all this had been. But it was definitely a cause she agreed with. "Then we stand together for the freedom of all. For now, we'll need to know what she knows about the seas. Kalvod will be a haven for us. Until then we need to keep producing food and lumber or we'll all starve again."

He nodded his agreement. "Yes, you're right. I'll work with the others speaking to our new friends. At least now we work for ourselves." Calming himself, if for the moment, the two parted. First, Kyril would need to find Myon.

Food was available for all. After one poor sythian gorged herself on fruit and died from the shock of the sudden burst of energy, the others knew to take it slow. Their quasi-skeletal frames would take time to return to a semblance of health, but at least that was now an option.

She found Myon tied up to a post. Shaking her head briefly, she stepped up, having taken up an axe, and severed the binds of his hands, swinging it to chop the upper rope around his neck free. He bent his knees and stepped forward to turn, spotting an offer of a piece of bread. He gladly snarfed it down. "Thank you, Kyril! You're all here. So it worked? I'd find it hard to believe if I wasn't standing here right now."

She nodded. "I admit, I was starting to think we'd never reach this point, but here we are. Alas, it's not over yet. We're still a distance from Kalvod, after all. For now, I'll talk to the former owner and get to know what the lay of the seas are." After a moment, she added, "Good work, Myon. Sorry all that happened to you."

He sighed, "Food on the table is well worth it. Possibly sticking around to end this plight makes it even more so." He then picked himself up. "Thank you dearly!"

She thought about it. The general sentiment was just that...many were thinking about Kalvod as she was, but many also would not leave to let their peers else-island suffer as they had. They would rather risk death at the hands of the navy than do that.

She approached the plantation owner's locked house, feeling her energy slowly recovering thanks to actual food. Sliding the bar aside, she entered and saw the husband in the other room, trying to calm his two children. Immediately, the former owner's voice brought Kyril to look ahead.

"I'm guessing you're going to eat us?"

Kyril glared and looked around. Her eyes had trouble spotting the grey feathers against the grey background of the walls, but the motion gave the owner away soon enough. Kyril spoke while she was looking, "We're going to keep you here until we've secured passage to Kalvod. The more we know about Kalvod's shipping in the area and the weather from here to there, the sooner that will be."

"Those spike-nosed idiots northeast of here? They don't come this far south, they go to the markets by the border. A shorter run for them, and we don't have to worry about them taking our slaves. You're out of luck, the navy will reclaim this island, and when they do you'll wish you'd died by our hands. You're under the crown just like me; what good do you think will come of tearing down our farms and industry? Do you want us to all be starving animals like you?"

Kyril shook her head. "Actually I come from Leneu, and I'm not tearing down _anything_ except for the mechanism of torment you've leashed us to. So we know we'll need to move north. What of the weather, the patrols, the other floating plantations?"

The owner snarled at Kyril. "You're a traitor to Leneu anyway, then! And I'll have no part in this."

"Then we'll ask the next plantation. Farewell." At that she left, barring the door shut behind her. At least she now had an idea of where they would have to go. Far from being out of luck, she met with Myon again that evening.

He smiled upon seeing her. "Kyril! What have we learned?"

"Nothing, except for the fact that the Kalvodians do business at ports north of here, out of range of us... but I've heard nothing of a courier. We have silver enough to charter a courier, don't we? We could bring the Kalvodians to us."

"But how much will we have left to make it worth the journey for them? The Kalvodians have a rather practical mindset on matters of politics and trade."

She gestured back ashore. "Between what's left of our chest, this town's chest and that of the next to dock I'd say we have far more than enough. Being as 'practical' as they are, they may be interested in a chance to sell transit and goods without needing to check in with customs. Make note of it, we'll be able to ask for fireworks as well."

"Firew- ah!" Myon's face lit up at the thought.

"Indeed, just in case our luck runs out on us, it may be handy for a last minute plan."

He gestured circularly upwards. "Or perhaps, actually using them to celebrate if we manage to truly escape."

She smiled briefly. "One may hope."

Finally, she looked around and saw that her hope was no longer a lone light. There was no escape from what had happened, no escape from the loss of her friend, no escape from knowing her poor family probably thought she was long dead. Yet, she had hope that it wouldn't all be in vain, that she would meet her family again in this life.

The next floating plantation to dock was met with much the same, the courier having been sent off prior. Once more, they found themselves surrounded by the shark-toothed grins of those liberated, trying to raise anchor to no avail. With two free farm towns and the lumber from the island, they had all they needed to sustain themselves now, and just as well. Two floating plantation towns stuck there did look a bit suspicious, didn't it?

The banner of green and white behind the Kalvodian bladewing flew behind the rigging of the two-masts-and-a-gaff courier approaching from the northwest on the easterly wind. Spyglass ahead, the captain showed an amused grin under jet-black feathers. "How convenient, they've strapped two farm towns onto their slave island... with their slaves doing the guarding?..." Her expression turned to one of curiosity, "I have a hunch we sail into strange waters here."

Kyril rushed down to the shore as they drifted in, their sails furled to moor. The fur-wearing, silver adorned captain, spyglass still in hand, was soon greeted by Myon.

He gave a courteous bow. "Captain."

She chuckled. "So, this isn't a slave island now is it? Where is the _real_ leader?" Fortunately, she spoke Valnor tongue well.

And just like that she saw right through him, and noticed he was taken off guard by it. He answered with a question, "What do you mean?"

She looked around, then spread her arms. "All of this land! And not a single mirian standing watch. Valnor wouldn't allow this! So then you're not under Valnor, I'm guessing?"

He answered with a reserved but sincere tone, "I really don't know anymore." Myon pinged a whisper of his mind behind himself. "Kyril, she really wants to meet _you_."

Oddly, the captain seemed ever more cheery at this. She clapped her hands together. "I have a hunch I've just sailed in on a once in a lifetime opportunity now."

Kyril approached, giving a respectful nod but otherwise moving right in to talk. "I wouldn't call myself a leader beyond what my peers have asked of me. We have your payment, but more importantly we need to arrange a line of transit."

The captain smiled. "First, tell me exactly what you've done with this place. Your being a sythian is a good sign."

"We've liberated ourselves from our owners, and liberated these two towns as well. Some of us seek to join you in Kalvod."

"That's what I had suspected. This is beyond excellent! I will discuss the matter with my crew and we'll come up with a deal."

Kyril nodded as the oddly upbeat captain retreated back aboard. The bantering of those on board wasn't serious or grim at all--rather a very cheery tone as if this was the best news they had heard all decade. Nobody bothered standing at the gangplank; Myon decided to step over to it, across it, and aboard their ship; Kyril followed close behind. Nobody aboard seemed to care. Already some of the crew had started stepping out onto the isle as if it was just another friendly port.

Myon gestured up the mast. "These sails shall carry some of us to freedom? I'd never imagined it would be _this_ easy to win them over! Though that brings the question: what great cause do they have to help us?"

Kyril looked back to the aftcastle, stepping over to take a seat on the steps. "We'll find out soon enough."

She stood up when she saw the captain emerging once more, who strode alongside as the two made their way down the gangplank. "You've come to a decision?" she asked the captain.

"Yes! We'll send our own couriers with space for passengers. Furthermore we'll make some of our own guns available for purchase, thirty arrows apiece, cartridges to go with them as well."

That was ridiculously cheap.

"You're giving us arms?"

"No. Treaty with the old oracle alliance forbids us from _giving_ arms, especially to wayward groups. We're selling them to you."

"For arrows on the cardinal."

"Exactly! We'll be willing to sort out any other requisitions you have on the side."

"You're running at a steep loss, captain. Not that I complain, but I'm curious; what has you so eager to help us?"

Stepping onto the shore and inland, the captain gave a sharp smirk. "We have the same means to our ends. Don't assume profit is all we care about, though. I have a heart and I personally find the institution of slavery an affront to the supremacy of the individual. My personal reasons aside, the institution of slavery has put Kalvod at a disadvantage in the marketplace."

"Kalvod never did fancy slavery, despite its lack of population."

"Rather, cultural matters aside, because of our thin numbers, and our compulsory military service. Everyone has a blade or a gun and we all know how to use them along with our minds. Between that and a conspicuous lack of disposable groups, and our competitors refusing to sell us slaves, who exactly would we enslave? Valnor has been dominating the markets both from its strategic location and from its slave labor driving prices through the floor, which in turn has encouraged further slavery in an ever expanding spiral. The institution of slavery is laying waste to the market for our exports. Now wouldn't it be handy if something were to happen to that institution?"

Kyril perked up a little. "So, you're helping us help _you_?"

"I expect the queen will compensate us for helping you help Kalvod reassert itself in the world's markets. At the end, everyone's better off. Except for Valnor and Leneu, but that serves them right."

Kyril looked slightly to the side. "Yeah..." It took a while for the fact she was betraying her homeland and that of her grandfather to sink in; though at the same time, the two crowns had betrayed her and her kind first. Already this had gone far beyond what Kyril had anticipated. Life was far simpler back when she was merely a book merchant. Now, she began to ponder the fact that she stood between kingdoms' clashing interests. And her family was still stuck in Leneu.

As matters finished and the Kalvodians set sail with several of the islanders along, Kyril found the thought of her family's potential plight bringing an illness to her stomach. Raela was in jeopardy as well. Kyril didn't know if any of them were even aware of what was happening here.

As time passed, she sent messages through the Kalvodians, relaying across the Leneu border, hoping that at least one would reach Raela. Meanwhile, the two floating towns reorganized themselves, setting out once more; they pretended to remain under the Valnor banner, flying it without heeding it. The Valnoran couriers that were arriving seemed ever more timid as rumors spread. The floating plantations had turned into floating towns before the glaring eyes of the liberated and awakened once-slaves; turned to a new cause, these towns drifted into the ports of other islands. Islands which soon found themselves greeted by streams of tool-wielding psychic sythians, marching right over their owners-no-more; their previous owners able only to watch as their livelihoods were swept from around them, the enslaved they'd kept now keeping watch over them--if the former owners were permitted to live.

Kyril insisted to any she'd seen to let them live, though it was obvious this entire matter had spiraled far beyond her grasp. And yet as promised, when matters turned dire, as if on cue, there were masts on the horizon flying Kalvodian colors.

A ship with no colors at all sailed over the horizon, approaching at speed, an unannounced and unexpected arrival. Kyril heard the shouts of the sighting and immediately rushed from her work at the grove down the hill toward the shore. She feared the worst, expecting to see navy with guns ready to greet their sight. Instead, what she saw was a ragtag assembly of varied mirians, not a single weapon among them. They were an inexperienced crew, to say the least, nearly ramming the pier when they drew in to moor but managing not to, dropping down the plank to pour out onto the island.

Picking one completely at random, Kyril approached, giving a friendly wave. "Hello...?"

The grey-green colored female smiled briefly in return. "Am I ever glad to see you! You're Kyril?"

Kyril blinked. "That's right... how did you know my name?"

"Word's spread, you know. We're all here from the west; they've been rounding up people who support what you're doing. Those of us who could... well, we set sail east. Tavaria has its own problems; they're coming apart at the seams and Leneu would've persecuted us all the same if we went there."

Kyril's breath caught for a moment. "Leneu would've done that to you?"

"They've been working with us establishing themselves as the dominant merchants of the world."

"With Valnor you mean."

"Isn't this Valnor territory still?"

"Perhaps on a map, though... I don't really know. There's no Valnor force to be seen here."

"I wouldn't say that. We caught wind of the navy recovering two islands as we passed by on the way here."

"Recover..." Kyril gritted her teeth for a moment. "Tell me, what's happening in Leneu?"

"Much the same, the owners and the crown have been working together, pressuring people to adopt the institution and they have not been kind to their opposition."

She took a moment, before looking down in thought. "By the gods, what have I done?"

"Well, it was you wasn't it? Your efforts _are_ ending a lot of suffering, setting countless families free. But nobody said it would be easy." She rubbed her head. "I'd thought you would be the one saying that to _me_ , Kyril. I and my family may be out of house and home for now, but we'll settle anew here. Better this than knowing we're living off torment."

Kyril shook her head. "It's... that, and my family, in Leneu..."

"Your..." A moment passed. "They might've made it to Kalvod."

Kyril pondered for a moment. "I'll wait for their response; if none comes, as soon as I can, I'll do what I can to help them, even if Leneu is now hostile towards me. Why here, and not Kalvod for you though?"

"I may thoroughly disagree with slavery, Kyril, but I'm still loyal to my peers. Why yourself?"

"People consider me a leader to an extent; even if it's not what I'd hoped to be, it gives me the power to encourage civility. These are my people now, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I abandoned them only to hear of chaos and bloodshed in my wake."

"We all stand together now. Though the navy may not be so keen on the idea of civility."

Kyril nodded, a bit darkly. "I know."

Past the horizon, under a cloudy sky, the Valnor banner trailed from the rigging of a quadruple-masted ship, flying over a terrifying array of cold iron guns adorning the interior of this ship of the line. Drawing towards a verdant yet small and hovel-dotted isle ahead, the ship drew to circle it, only to find a Kalvodian merchant ship on every pier. The harbor they needed was blocked by a light two-masted ship anchored just ahead of them, apparently having no excuse.

The captain stood with spyglass in one hand, helmswoman at her side. "There's a landing, and they're having a damn picnic on it. That one that's decided to drift about in the mouth of the harbor? It passed us on the way here. They're doing this on purpose."

Her helmswoman noted, "We can drop the pinnace here, captain."

"With nowhere near enough men to carry out the mission. Take us towards the mouth; I'll remind them of the law of our kingdom."

She never thought she'd see the day when merchants blockaded the navy. Drawing alongside the smaller craft, she stepped to the side of her ship, shouting down, "Kalvodians! We're bound for the harbor on a peace-keeping mission. Move your vessel and allow us to pass."

The Kalvodian captain was on deck. "One moment. I'm undercrewed and busied myself, so I must wait for my helmsman! Busy day, isn't it?"

"And where's _he_?"

"On the head. He's had trouble with his stomach, it may be a while!"

Her annoyance was barely suppressed. "Need I remind you this is an act against our crown? Either move your piece of flotsam out of the way or I'm going to sail right through you!"

The Kalvodian captain turned to notice her helmsman, pointing back. "All right, we'll be setting sail." In Kalvodian tongue, "All right everyone, up with the anchor and up with the sails!"

"What did she say?"

"She threatened to take her fat ugly ship and roll it over ours. But it doesn't matter, we've bought our customers enough time to set up their new toys. She's about to have plenty of fun 'keeping the peace'!"

They all knew this wouldn't last for much longer. Valnor and its queen Vylian were not stupid. Far to the north, trailing past in the following days, a courier vessel approached the palace of the Kalvodian queen Keremis.

The queen observed the ship as it moored. Thick silver-lined furs distracted from a black-feathered face covered in a well-made cap. Her crown, bearing the spiraling silver symbol of Kalvod, rested on display most of the time, no covering, daring anyone to go and touch it, but nobody except her ever got close.

She waited at the front of the keep's foyer, deciding to enjoy a drumstick from the last hunt. The courier's messenger approached, gave a polite bow and offered a scroll. "My liege."

She accepted it. "Send your captain my regards." He respectfully bowed again before moving off. She drew the scroll up, letting it dangle in front of her as she returned to her desk. It was a message from Vylian.

Keremis, your defiance of our law and meddling in our affairs must come to an end immediately. I am well aware of what your merchant marine has done in the eastern reaches of my land, and already my navy has moved to seize any vessel of yours found carrying any weapons within my territory. Any further alms given to the criminal slaves will be seen as an act of aggression and dealt with by force. Queen Ysalia and her men stand alongside me. Heed this warning; we are at the end of our patience with you!

You have no grounds to justify your actions here. We all stood under the oracles' alliance. You have married one of my blood to bring our people closer together, and now this? Not that I expect you have been faithful to him anyway.

She glanced through the rest, holding the half-eaten drumstick all the while. She stared at the end for a few moments, then took another bite. "You seem rather upset, Vylian."

Stepping along with the scroll in hand, she settled down in the study with a blank page, taking up a black quill. She always had preferred using one of her own feathers for it. All this time Kalvod's neighbors had sought prosperity on the backs of others, shoving Kalvod and its people to the side, denying them a place in trade despite Keremis trying the nice option before. They wouldn't have any of her offers, and now this? Unable to compete with Valnor's zero labor costs, all too many of her merchants sat with goods worthless in warehouses wherever they didn't sell at a loss, their workers sitting about with idle hands and hungry mouths, many taking to subsistence farming for themselves. Ever more of the gentry were gazing to the west with eyes of fury as their queen juggled to sort out new trades for her people and their non-slave workers. Lavsvai was still her partner in trade with plenty of silver to offer, but in time, throwing silver at the problem would run the coffers empty anyway. Well, she could think of a different way to spend it. And return all those idle hands to work. And give her people an outlet for their aggression... She brought her quill to the page.

Vylian, have you ever asked yourself what would come of your choice to forbid my merchants from your chattel markets? We both know the reason. You know I have an excellent trade relationship with the southerly nation Lavsvai, and you want to use your institution to edge us out of the continental region as you have tried to do again and again. I respect your attempt at subtlety, though that was and still is an action against me and my people. Have you forgotten that we still have the most lucrative trade in the other hemisphere, despite your meddling?

I acknowledge your threat and accept it. By the time you read this letter my navy will have already sent my regards through your walls, as unlike you, I have an admiral that actually knows how to command. And as for your brother, I am a queen, if you have forgotten. I indulge in whatever and whoever I please! It is unfortunate that he's boring and leaves me wanting more.

She finished her meal as she finished destroying what was left of the old alliance. The southern and western lands had always looked at Kalvod as 'those shady people over there'. Now came the time to lay out logistics, rally the fleet, and reveal the role of Kalvod and its people as a world power. With the stroke of a quill, she lay the iron-toothed mask of war upon the face of civilization!

#  Arc 8: World Asunder

A lull of calm came in the wait, biding time till winter came and enshrouded Leneu in fog. The night of a Valnoran holy day, the Kalvodian fleet drew into the northern reaches of Valnor, sails silent over the sea, the ships without light but easily spotting the lit city and base ahead. The night of a holy day, many of the Valnor crews would be inattentive if not slouched over with heads full of beer and ale.

A box full of 'fireworks indeed' lay propped up; shouts were heard as the silhouette of sails appeared along with the suppressed air of invading minds. The shouting came too late, and gunpowder thunder crashed every party in town as cannonballs and rockets rained down. The sea was lit by flashes and covered by smoke, the popping of rockets setting fire to the streets as the moored ships burned, painted up and down by rockets, their retaliatory fire from the docks splitting planks though the Kalvodians kept moving along anyway.

The ships were left to burn as flame and thunder of the mind rained back in return, bullets zipping back and forth as gunfire erupted along the shore, spare crew directing their minds to extinguish the flames on those ships afloat. More were inbound.

One of the Valnor crew dodged the flaming debris on his way out, only to spot his superior writhing about in flame, having been struck by a rocket directly; he narrowly managed to quench the flames with a drunken mind. The encroaching fleet stared down with their pointed glares, minds rested, sober, and sharp as blades. There was no more ship in port for this crewman to go to!

The towers fired back, only to bear the brunt of the assault of heavier ships rolling in. Cannonballs blasted away at stone until towers caved in, the cannons falling from the flaming tower tops as the pinnaces drew in, soldiers coming ashore in all the madness.

By the time the sun rose and the smoke cleared, the green and white Kalvodian banner hung from what was left of the fortress.

As frigates of Valnor and Leneu drew east and north, merchants circled south under the Kalvod banner. Atswala and Tavaria had given responses of "paint us neutral grey" and "we have enough problems at home" respectively to Keremis's request for alliance in the conflict, but that didn't stop them from furnishing supplies and mercenaries in exchange for the horde of Lavsvaiian silver she'd been sitting on.

Merchant craft and "merchant craft" were occasionally spotted lurking about the islands as well. It really took a while for Kyril to take in all the news, sitting with a particularly droopy look across from a particularly keen and calm refugee from the west named Pereae. News of war meant that their inevitable encounter with the navy would be delayed, but when they came they would have all the more prejudice behind them.

At this point, Kyril and the others were along for the ride. She gradually looked at Pereae. "Our resources are meager, but our friends have spread our influence across... almost all of the eastern end of Valnor?"

She thought about what she said. "I know queen Keremis would love nothing more than to turn eastern Valnor into southern Kalvod. But that means we'll all have to abandon Valnor."

"Kyril, I honestly don't see much sympathy for the queen among the people she'd have seen ground into the dirt for her greed. Ask yourself how you feel about your queen? Most of us sympathize with you, if not for the torment we've gone through then the loss of home and family we've gone through."

Kyril knew inside she spat upon the image of Queen Ysalia and she'd spit upon Ysalia herself given the chance.

Swaying slightly, Kyril showed a faint smile. "Well... we're all alone together for now, though Keremis has her own faults."

"That she does. For the time being... I know a bit about the military. Never was taken many places but I was a part of it, if you'd like me to try to prepare the isle. If nothing else, it'll keep us from being taken by surprise."

"I'm not sure how much good that will do with nowhere to run."

"Valnor is already hiding behind its arms here. The queen won't be able to send much our way with the Kalvodians between us, and if she does I'd imagine she'd want to avoid a difficult target."

Kyril nodded, thinking for a moment, before looking up with a focused eye. "And I'll need someone to set out to rescue my family... if I have to do it myself, then I'll need someone to stand in for me, possibly replace me. Pereae, I have matters I urgently need to tend to in Leneu. Myon and the others already cover most of it but a skilled organizer would be handy as well."

The blue-cyan feathered mirian asked, "Replace you? And how would you plan to get there?"

She shook her head. "I don't know yet, and it may prove a one way trip. For now, let me show you what I've arranged for us. Some supplies are short but we as liberated people stand on our own feet, producing ourselves ever more of what we need."

At least, she thought, if she lost her life chasing her family she would leave a legacy, giving her peers a chance to live free lives, a mark against the institution that had stripped that freedom away. But how would she get through the ice fog entrapping Leneu? Would they be safe until spring? Now she thought to prepare, though no means showed itself for reaching Leneu, save for braving the fog and praying to make it. The courier she'd planned to leave with instead handed her a letter from Buram, Cici, Mya, and Raela, penned by the latter.

Greetings from the Kalvodian isles!

Kyril gasped briefly, her nose to the page so that her eyes could make out the words, each one taking on its own gravity.

I have spared no expense expediting this message. As soon as we heard of war breaking out, I knew that if you're still alive, you would come back for us. A very heartwarming thought, but I wouldn't want to hear of your demise. I've taken the initiative to move myself and your kin along with as many other refugees as I could bring into Kalvodian waters. I acquired the most enduring craft I could afford, and the fog shielded us from the patrols.

We just kept going east, towards the rising sun, checking our direction every morning. We made it to harbor all alive and well, though the ship was on the brink of sinking by the time we came into port, ruined and worth more as salvage than as a ship. Planks, fabric, and coin can all be replaced though. I'll see to it your family is comfortable, then once again I'll be a roaming dragon without a cave, free to come and pay the liberated isles a visit... this summer? I've nothing left to weigh me down now!

Kyril let out a shaking sigh, sniffling. Leave it to Raela to throw away her whole livelihood at the drop of a hat and brave the fog for such a matter. She just about dropped the letter as the moment swept through her. Finally, relief on the matter, knowledge that they were safe and sound in all this mayhem. She stepped back to the bit of hovel she'd been contented with, having turned the former owner's home into a place of healing for the wounded and needy. Hugging the letter against herself, she sat, tucking it safely away. Her spirit was and forever would be covered in scars, but at least it could stand tall now, knowing that she could definitely say to herself that she _would_ see the end of all this and meet her family again.

Her rising spirits were mildly contagious, helped by the fact that all around, life had taken a turn for the better. Frigates and cargo ships under the Kalvodian banner passed through, the at-first-meager but growing surplus generated by the former slave-isles offered in return to those who would ensure their freedom; there was a growing sentiment however, hearing of Kalvod's claims and exploits, that they would only truly remain free without Kalvod's dominion. After all, even if Kalvod wasn't as strict of a society, living under fear of a queen and living under fear of an owner seemed all too similar a concept. While many aligned with and considered themselves indebted to Keremis for what she and her navy had done for them, nobody seemed intent on living under fear of anyone any longer.

Some had even elected to stand in for lost Kalvodians and join the blaze lighting the western horizon. Such was a decision not without its merits, as the Kalvodians treated mirians and sythians with equal regard, though grim tales soaked with the blood of friends and innocents cooled most claims of glory in it.

At least, even if Kyril had her misgivings about this violence, seeing those who made it back return to their families had her smile a bit. Finally, the families of those formerly enslaved could reunite, and each isle liberated reunited more. A mild summer night had her out and about. A scant few of her peers stood along the beaches and atop the towers, watching. Through the shadows, she managed to make her way into the tower. This was so much easier with a healthy body and a rested mind! The way up was a simple matter of silently climbing the stairs. Her poor eyes at least found motion, and that gave her cue enough to position herself under the floorboards of the tower top, gazing upwards.

The mind keeping watch was bored and daydreaming, perfect for silently slipping in a few thoughts. She found a bit of inspiration for him, sending his mind concocting amusing ideas, which he soon found worth sharing with his peer. As the two talked, Kyril snuck across to the old overseers' house, managing to throw together some butter toast and root vine wrap all without drawing the attention of those circling outside. The sound of the ocean helped with that. Balancing the dish on one hand, she then made her way through the gap in their sight, those two behind still chatting away, off into the captain's room.

Pereae lay tucked into his own feathers under a blanket. Smiling faintly, Kyril settled down, joining into his dream to meet with him upon the twisted wooden corridor, under the impossible staircase to the ocean hidden under the basement.

He awoke with the rising sun to see Kyril's silhouette, glowing eyes and shark grin right in front of him. Shouting, he scrambled to sit, ending up with the blanket over his head. "Holy shit!" He peeked from under the blanket. "I mean, hi, Kyril..."

She smiled in a bit of amusement. "Hi..." Then offered the dish. "I brought you breakfast. And notice of a few holes in your arrangement."

"I can see that," he admitted, finally settling down and accepting the dish before looking at it, then at her, then back at it.

She tilted her head slightly. "Oh for the spirit's cry, Pereae, I'm not _that_ cruel."

He sniffed and tasted it first, but eventually trusted her on it. "Thank you. At least I'm fully awake now."

"Any news?"

"Altavim has given material aid to Vylian."

"The continental tyrant? I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. At least she's staying out of this otherwise."

"An indirect action against their neighbors in Lavsvai is what I see. But on a lighter note, some of our friends in the 'reclaimed' isles have been freed once again, one by the Kalvodians, two by their own efforts."

"Welcome news if there ever was. Also on a lighter note, there have been several mild storms coming through elsewhere as well. The floating towns will need more lumber but we have a surplus of food out of it... at this point we may as well sew together our own banner."

"Blue? Yellow? I'm partial to yellow."

Kyril smirked, then perked on hearing a shouting outside. Leneu ship approaching!

Kyril immediately stood and rushed out the door.

She heard from afar, "No, wait. They've struck their colors! Er, they're hoisting the Kalvodian banner! Doesn't look like soldiers at all on deck."

Kyril sighed with relief, passing by, giving the approaching ship an unamused glare but all the same glad it wasn't an invasion. Those white scales... was that Raela? It _was_!

Kyril sprinted down the gravel through the warm winds, right out onto the pier as Raela disembarked, looking down as Kyril came to a stop before her. Kyril looked up with a genuine grin of cheer for once. For that matter she felt like latching onto Raela with a tackle hug.

Raela picked up on the sentiment and scooped Kyril into a hug anyway! Kyril grinned briefly, "Happy to see you're still alright."

Raela smiled, letting go. "A belated cheer for '94, friend!"

Kyril looked up, drooping ever so slightly. "It's really been that long..."

Raela nodded. "And you're still alive! I'm frankly amazed! You wouldn't happen to have a bit of dragon blood in you?"

Kyril shrugged slightly. "Not that I know of, not to mention my ancestors weren't the type for... well, I can't speak for all of them actually. Let's get settled in; I've much to tell you about what we've done."

"First." Raela reached into a pocket, offering Kyril something she hadn't seen in years. Her glasses!

Kyril looked them over. "Still pristine." And tried them on. They still fit, and finally she could see the horizon! She'd about forgotten what the sky looked like. "I owe you quite a favor for keeping these..."

"Thank your husband. He wouldn't let go of them until I mentioned checking up on you."

Kyril smiled faintly, silent for a moment. "I'll speak to him soon enough. But for now..."

Trailing inland, the two settled out in the open about the field of stumps where they'd often held meetings. Kyril explained her whole story, from her being taken in, her memory of Greenie, Vyzi, the owner, the watch, the famine. Raela listened with a neutral expression though she was ever more amazed. As far as Raela knew, Kyril really shouldn't have survived all that.

"Yet here we are." Raela nodded. "Once this horror-business of war is over and done with, hopefully the institution will be a footnote in history. And maybe I'll be able to go a century without being chased around the world. Though there is a small problem."

Kyril tilted her nose up to look level at Raela. "A problem?"

"A somewhat immediate one." Raela pressed her fingertips together. "We had the Leneu jack and all flying for a reason. We passed by a Leneu ship of the line on the way here. Good thing the captain thought quick about putting up a false flag, and let me do the talking, since I looked and sounded Leneuan. The good news is that they bought it. The bad news is that they were headed in the same direction we were."

Kyril frowned. "How long do we have?"

"They'll be coming tonight. Oh, and they relayed to me orders from Ysalia demanding you step down immediately and put an end to the uprising."

"I think I'll decline."

"I thought you would. Well, we're all treasonous bastards yet again."

"No. Treason implies we're subjects of the crown. It will only be treason if we fail. We won't."

Raela gave a pondering look for a moment. "I think you have a point there."

Kyril gestured to the side. "There are two you should meet. Pereae and Myon, I'll show you to them."

The two maintained a calm and collected demeanor, mirrored in the others as the four convened to address the island. It was quiet as the sun drew towards the horizon, even though every moment brought its own anxiety.

Out from the dark, a light approached. The call was easy to hear, but no shots were fired. The ship drifted in silently.

Pereae looked to Kyril, a white psychic light providing dim sight between them. "Are you sure you want to approach them?"

"At the very least we should try to talk this over."

Everyone was on edge, but nothing flew as the ship circled the island, dropping a dinghy. Kyril approached the beach as the dinghy came ashore, two stepping out.

"Everyone! We're here on official orders from her majesty queen Ysalia at the request of queen Vylian to bring peace to these islands. Surrender now, and bring us Kyril Vorral. If you comply, you will not be harmed."

Kyril stepped forward, spreading her arms briefly. "I'm here."

They moved forward. Kyril glared at them. "Stop... and listen." She looked around herself. "Does anyone here feel like going back to the plantations? To the mines?"

While the mumbling was quiet, their beam-like glares were almost tangibly laden with fury.

Kyril adjusted her glasses. "I think that's a 'no'."

"Kyril Vorral, you have slaughtered several here, and you've taken up arms against the queen. Surrender yourself."

Kyril shook her head. "I have work to do before I die. I wish no ill upon you or any of your peers. Sail away, and nobody at all need be harmed."

"Then you cower from justice? Your peers will suffer for it. We're military and we're not the only ship in the area. Do you really think you'll win, now?"

She sent a line back to Pereae, who responded with a thought in essence. Their odds were low against the Leneuans to say the least.

Kyril wondered if, perhaps, offering herself would buy them time. It would mean her death, but...

One of Kyril's peers spoke up, "The choice to die free or die a slave is not a hard one to make!"

Kyril wasn't afraid to die. She awoke to the fact that neither were the others.

"You shall bleed for every island you take, that I promise!"

"I'll spit on Ysalia, I'll spit on Vylian from beyond the grave!"

The sentiment spread like wildfire. Bouncing back, perhaps actually knocked back by the force of the glares directed, the encroaching crowd drove the two back to their dinghy, the two shouting and hollering as they rowed faster than Kyril had ever seen before.

Kyril sighed, then looked back. "Well Pereae, as much as I'd rather not have to... for the sake of the others, let's make good on our promise."

He nodded, "Get everyone else inside, those who can't take up arms should take refuge in the mineshaft. I'll need your help keeping paths open. We'll all retreat to the mineshaft in the end, it's the most defensible part of the island."

Kyril gestured her affirmation, striding off. The majority were behind Pereae, heading towards the hidden emplacements he'd dug. Soon enough, the cracking thunder of guns shook the air, and the hiss and pop of distant rockets set their grove and hovels alight as more sails drew near the island.

Rather than towers, by and large, small piles of rocks and debris along with sheds were the fortifications they had, with Kalvodian-forged cannons firing out through windows and doors. Pereae had shared the knowledge of how to work the emplacements, but for every two shots the emplacements fired, three or four volleys rained down upon them, a situation only made more grim by the two double-masted ships coming in.

Though they lay several scorched holes through the hulls and sails of the invading ships, their emplacements were found and pounded into the earth one after another.

Kyril moved spare powder and bandages down the cleared trails, stepping around the bodies near the ruined fortifications, bandaging those that had hope of recovering, soon guiding those left back towards the mine. As the ships drew in to set down their troops, some of her peers took up guns, blades, axes, clubs, whatever they happened to have. Kyril didn't look. The distant sound of their being slaughtered was horrid enough.

It was a hurried rush as the smaller craft's guns zeroed in on the mineshaft entrance, cannonballs thunking and crashing down nearby as they ran for the entrance, taking cover under the mountain.

"Come on!" Pereae gestured for Kyril to enter.

She shook her head. "Raela's still out there."

"You'll be killed!"

Kyril left him behind, skirting down the slope, behind cover. Night kept her hidden, but they would've seen her leaving, she thought.

Using the sight of her mind, Kyril spotted Raela in the distance, a brief glimpse before Raela went dark, quieting her mind from the sight of the invaders. Kyril's call to Raela yielded no response.

She kept low, circling about to the inland side of the entrance. As the military poured onto the piers and beaches, marching inland through the smoldering rubble, she hid outside the light. Checking herself, at least she had some equipment, a waterproof pouch, a pistol hidden under a black coat. It was a loud and annoying weapon but far more concealable than a crossbow.

She waited, spotting them ascending the slopes. They were heading for the mine with a crate carried along, scouts surveying ahead and around them. It was too late; they were going to reach the mineshaft before Raela, and Kyril was stuck in the open all the same!

Looking around, she saw the rubble of an emplacement higher up and scrabbled upwards to hop over the ruined rubble pile, crouching down to slip under the remains. Keeping her mind clear and quiet was a feat of self control as the soldiers drew near. She kept perfectly still as a pair of them approached to investigate the site.

"No bodies. They must've fled into the mine. Good riddance!"

_Good riddance_? She kept still as one of them stood on the piece of rubble crossing right over her head.

"Two minutes until the fireworks."

"They're sure we'll be safe here when the entrance caves in?"

"Yes."

Moments passed silently.

"Clear."

The two moved away. Once they were out of sight, Kyril moved the rubble from over her, carefully pulling herself out. The crate was drawing near, carried along with fuses. Knowing exactly what it was, Kyril pulled herself atop the rubble and looked down, gathering flame into her hand.

Immediately the soldiers turned. She cast the flame down, fleeing into the shadows, shouts heard as the wood came alight. They all scattered moments before an explosion shook the path near the entrance, leaving the entrance itself open.

Several minds latched onto the sight of hers. The darkness was no cover now; a bullet punched through the wooden wall between her and them, missing by a fair margin though it made it all the more clear she wouldn't be outrunning them.

She bumped right into a soft belly and felt herself pulled around and sent back to her feet, down the same path. It was none other than Raela, shouting behind her, "Keep running, Kyril!"

Kyril looked back as she sprinted, briefly closing her eyes. "Damn it all!" Shaking her head, she kept going.

Benefiting from a dragon's size and decades to learn, Raela was far more of an opponent than Kyril ever was in direct combat. As much as Raela had wished it hadn't come to this, the alternative was far, far more dire. Raela leapt down from her vantage point, her mind sending out a shockwave on her impact with the ground, sweeping the invaders back and setting them alight as the telekinetic wave condensed into flame. Her gaze scrambled the thoughts of those who looked her in the eye, sometimes sending them shooting at their own peers.

The fight was brief, though every blade she felt run through her belly was another punted over and crushed under foot, and every bullet tearing a hole through her vitals was met with another heart-stopping gaze from her sent to its source. They were far more numerous than she was; her blood poured about as she screeched, knocking the foremost back, lunging once, tearing into another, before finally lunging again and falling to her belly. Her insides were riddled with steel and lead, the blades sticking into her carved ever deeper under her own weight.

Laying in a pool of blood, she looked up, shuddering under the agony and shock of the wounds. The captain of this platoon... why, she remembered teaching his class those years prior! The world seemed smaller every day; at least she felt blessed to be able to see the new world beyond the oracles, even if that new world had killed her.

His saddened, almost apologetic voice crossed her ears, "I really wish you would've stayed home..."

She felt the cold iron of a barrel pressed under her teeth, followed by an explosion, her view filled with white as the pain left her, never to return, the ringing soon fading away with everything else.

The cracking pop in the distance reached Kyril's senses as she knelt among the shadows. She took one last look back, then kept going. "Raela..." She shook her head, her thoughts echoing within her own mind alone. _You would've made a better leader than I! Raela..._ She sighed, knowing herself out of range, and muttered, "I can only pray that I may find the wisdom you would've bestowed..."

From aiding Akim and Fera on their journey, rescuing the islanders and sparing the world the tyranny of decaying oracles, to spreading knowledge to all who would ask, to saving Kyril's family and many others, Raela had left quite a legacy. In Kyril's mind, the passing of such a fiery yet kind spirit made the world all the darker to live in.

Letting out a shuddering breath, Kyril kept going, and going... and going, eventually reaching the opposite shore. Now she took over Raela's legacy in spirit, even if she was no real replacement. She considered that she might not even be alive much longer herself. It didn't really bother her, personally. It was the fate of what she'd started that brought her concern. Despite it all, if she could keep herself alive, she would have to, and keep going even further.

A sleepless night brought to morning the sighting of another ship drifting out near the horizon, silently crossing past. It was of an odd design: two masts, and a pointed bowsprit with a fan-like gaff sail, curling into the wind. No banner was seen, though the gaff sail was marked with a spearhead emblem over grain and an arrow. Altavim... _here_?!

Kyril gazed onwards. When had they learned to navigate the high seas? But the revelation was dulled, crossing the tatters of her spirit, along with the gaze of a featherless mirian from afar. It pierced her with a feeling that for a moment managed to make itself even more foul than her feelings towards her current enemies.

The Altavim captain gazed back with a brief grin. Kyril ducked her head, returning to cover. This unsettling event on top of it all left her sitting silently for a moment, though she soon pressed on despite the tears marking her face. Whenever she didn't have an abundance of time hiding, she'd have little time at all avoiding the sight of those set on capturing her.

Her visits to the spring and creek were scarce. They often kept watch there, knowing she'd need a drink. Fortunately, an empty waterproof bag also served as a water container. Without trees or anything but rubble for cover, she settled down to hide during the day, moving at night. It was a dangerous move, using her mind to see the patrol when they could easily see her the same way; it was a game of quieting her mind and listening whenever they looked her way, and hoping none nearby were doing the same when she made use of her mind.

Stepping along the steep slopes under the cool wind of night, she watched the line advance below--another sweeping wave. The sparse terrain made them easy to spot and left little of a trail behind her. The coming of the next morning, she took refuge in what used to be a hovel-turned-fortification by the shore. The collapsed pile of planks propped up just enough stable internal space to slip herself into, conveniently providing darkness and shade from the sun turning overhead. It had already been disturbed, though; they were wise to what she was doing, and with the sun's rays spilling over the island, there was no walking away now.

She awoke to the sound of footsteps. Adjusting her glasses, she saw three approaching, white coats and fur hats, a musket and bayonet each. She kept still and held her breath as they drew near, keeping her mind clear. A bayonet stabbed between the cracks, piercing the air over her chest. Even if she survived getting stabbed, the blood on the bayonet would be a giveaway. She carefully moved her legs quietly as they stabbed in again and again.

"Any room in there to collapse?"

The loud thunking of boots against sturdy planks was heard as they stomped down, over the rustling of wood being moved about to no avail.

"It's as collapsed as it'll get."

"Clear here..."

Sheer luck had spared her, and they weren't likely to check twice. She rested, an unfulfilling rest close to waking, but better than nothing. She awoke again to the shout of a loud call, for all to return to the ships.

As she stirred she directed her gaze to the horizon through the thin gaps of her cover. Warships were inbound, a trio of lighter two-masted craft forming a fast response team, all flying the green and white of Kalvod. They'd come after the Leneuans!

Keeping low, Kyril waited. There was no way to see the mine entrance without revealing herself and she knew it. Keeping under cover, those passing went right by her and rushed to the pier. Soon enough, the flow stopped as the ships in port set sail.

It seemed the soldiers hadn't managed to either storm or collapse the mineshaft, choosing to lay siege instead. Kyril's peers had lasted just long enough! Seeing this as a chance to warn the others, she pulled herself out of her hiding place and made her way inland, trailing up the slope to approach the shaft entrance from the opposite side. She loaded her pistol on the way, just in case. Scouting around, Kyril checked both with sight and mind, easing down in front of the mineshaft before rushing in.

The green-purple feathers of a soldier appeared from under the planks over the shaft entrance. Having kept his mind quiet, she walked right past him. He pulled himself out and hopped down to the entrance, giving chase.

Kyril shouted, "The Kalvodians are here! If there's any fight left here-"

"Hey!"

One of Kyril's peers noticed the glint of a musket barrel... and the one holding it found his attention drawn by the one who noticed him. By the time they'd gathered to where he'd been spotted, he'd already left the mine.

Kyril looked back. "What is it?"

"I think someone was a half-second from shooting you."

A spike of fear sank into her belly, but there was no time to waste. "We'll have to keep an eye out for him, otherwise, we need to help the Kalvodians however we can... thank you."

If it weren't for him, she'd be dead and she knew it. He nodded and replied, "Thank Pereae as well, but we've only one cannon left!"

"Better than doing nothing!"

The two gathered three others to set out. The lone gun still usable sat seemingly pointed the wrong way, but as the explosions afar rocked the sea, one craft drew into range. Kyril kept watch around the gun as the others fired it at the smaller of two Leneuan craft. The fact that someone was on watch kept the interloper hidden off somewhere, while a poorly-aimed return volley landed with no effect below their position.

The Kalvodians had one ship dedicated to chain-shotting the Leneuan sails, another keeping that ship of the line busy, staying constantly behind it, never letting its sides catch view of them.

Collapsed masts and torn sails left the Leneuans sitting. They had superior firepower, but it meant little when they couldn't turn fast enough to bring it to bear. Several messy instances were seen of chain shot and grapeshot raking the decks of the Leneuan ships, maiming and crippling those on top, leaving them as screaming heaps, much to Kyril's disgust; it was a tactical decision however, leaving none on the Leneuan decks available to stop the fires as rockets were exchanged.

The demolishing firepower of that ship of the line sent one Kalvodian craft straight to the depths and left another billowing flame, but the Leneuans had already lost crew to their work on the islands. They lost even more to cannon fire and flames, leaving them sitting ducks under shredded sails soon enough. In the end, two badly damaged Kalvodian craft gazed upon the blackened remains of their foes, before drawing into port.

Finally, with charred timbers drifting about, the sound of the wind and ocean filled the air. Kyril looked around and spotted the others. They were all right. Their island was in shambles, but all in all, most of them had made it. Returning as the others emerged, she joined Myon. Still keeping an eye around, knowing that threat was still out there somewhere, she followed him to the pier. The Kalvodians had already joined the rest on land, having broken out various barrels of booze for the occasion after checking the ships over and securing the area, some already hammering out repairs.

The officers strode about in their broad-brimmed caps over a white and brown uniform that looked exactly like everyone else's.

"Myon! We meet again!"

"Captain? I know we've met before."

The captain certainly didn't look any better adorned than the other officers, white feathers over a bloodied brown coat, taking a swig from a mug. She approached. "Back on the Mavory islands? There's no market there anymore, they've turned it into a depot." She looked behind Myon. "Kyril?"

Kyril nodded.

Myon asked the captain, "Are you all right?"

"Some of my men got a face full of splinters I'm afraid... it could've been worse. Much worse. I've got some scars of my own out of it. You at least seem unharmed."

He nodded. "Most of us took refuge, but we've also lost a fair few fighting them... some of those debris piles used to have cannons. At least we had food and water stored down there."

"Thank the winds you came when you did... if only they would've listened, this bloodshed wouldn't have happened." Kyril then looked aside. "Apologies if I seem less inclined to celebrate."

The captain was no less cheery despite it all, "All the more reason you should. There's a reason we're all distracting each other and trying to be in good humor while getting hammered drunk. Not much to gain from wallowing in deeds done. Take a mug, why don't you?"

Kyril looked up. "I need to keep my mind sharp... after all, there's someone still wanting me dead out there."

"As you wish; they would be stupid to try to come here with everyone around."

"Pereae has already begun a search. All the same, our piers and time are available to you, but we don't have anything else to spare. They burnt down our grove and everything else. It might be several seasons before we can start producing lumber again."

"At least you still have the mineshaft to sleep in, food and water down there."

Kyril stared down at the floor for a moment, then looked up. "I should go back and make sure 'someone' doesn't get into the food supply."

Myon looked to Kyril. "I'll talk over the details then?"

Kyril nodded, silently stepping away.

"Goodbye and... well." She looked to Myon. "So, what are your plans on the matter?"

He mentioned, "At this point most of our plans are in essence to live another day until we have the materials to rebuild."

Kyril knew that everyone being out on a search meant the mine itself might be vulnerable. The entry was being watched, but she entered anyway, trailing down the shaft, finding the stores with Pereae already there, getting a ration of food to carry with himself.

"We need to-" Kyril froze, turning around. She sensed a presence rounding the corner, and Pereae saw her concern immediately. He turned and moved towards the direction of her stare. The next thing she saw was Pereae and the intruder at the corner, crashing into one another and locking in a struggle, Pereae holding back a dagger. Kyril drew her gun to find Pereae's back held in front of her. Pereae grunted and wheezed from blows, throwing a few of his own as he and the intruder struggled to stun each other's minds.

Hearing Kyril's quick cue, he pulled to the right and she moved to the left, holding the weapon aimed forward and sending her flaming gaze into the mirror's sight without delay. She closed her eyes, the report echoing through the entire mineshaft followed by groans and a thud. She opened her eyes to see Pereae standing, a bit bloodied but otherwise all right, the other on the ground with a hole through the chest.

Pereae leaned over, catching his breath. "Almost got us both there!"

"Sorry Pereae..." Tucking the weapon away, she continued, "Sorry, Greenie..."

Pereae shook his head. "No need to apologize for saving my life or your own. It's a nasty business, and thank you for not hesitating."

Kyril adjusted her glasses, thanking Raela in her thoughts. She'd have easily missed without those glasses, or even worse, hit Pereae.

"Saying sorry keeps me thinking right." She briefly shook her head, then looked to Pereae. "Thank you as well. I'd have never won that struggle myself." She looked down at the soon dead body with a sigh. That person used to be her fellow countryman... but such was history. Like everything else burned to the ground, there wasn't any returning to it.

Such thoughts echoed in her mind on seeing what was left of Raela finally put to rest, along with all the rest who had fallen. Such were yet more names to carry in her memory... A quiet came over her most times out of the day, directing with sentiment of the mind more than voice as she joined her peers in the propping up of lean-tos and the reestablishment of the grove. Myon along with other islander couriers carried the word of Pereae's requests, and craft the islanders themselves had taken brought material for rebuilding. One particular floating town stood as its own ship of war with cannons mounted to the rooftops in rows. Kyril forced the thoughts of the grim nature of it all away as her writing laid out the flows of materials feeding the effort and tending the civil needs of the islands. Pereae, studious as he was, had proven himself more talented than even he'd thought. Never again did that island see a Leneuan or Valnoran ship near it. The line of battle wavered as the seasons carried on, falling east to their ever greater concern as winter approached, Kalvodian ships taking post among the islands, the smallest vessels proceeding south.

One of those stopped by at the end of autumn. Kyril recognized Myon from half an island away now as he made his way inland. Looking over at her, he nodded and changed direction to meet her. "Well, that was very, very interesting. One thing led to another and I found myself talking to queen Keremis herself in her fortress."

Kyril pondered the implications. Myon was being treated like an official envoy, which meant that Keremis recognized them as sovereign, without even a declaration by its own people. Finally deciding to speak, she asked, "Did she say why her ships are sitting here and sailing off to the neutral south, leaving our people to the grinder?"

"They're planning on opening up the southern border of Valnor to attack. Tavaria's coming apart at the seams; even if they don't want Kalvodian warships staging a ruckus there, there's nothing they can do about it. They're pushing to make this winter decisive, but that means we'll have to give them the support they need and fend off Valnor while we're at it. At least they're still keeping Leneu busy."

"...I'm not sure if I want to ask."

"You probably don't."

"Then I will anyway."

"You really don't. I tried suggesting civility and Keremis disregarded it."

"The sooner we end this... well, if they feel this will work, I'll tell Pereae and we'll sort it out. The people of the western and southern isles are nearly at their limit, and if we don't end this it will end us. For now, at least there's a place for you to lay down."

The two said their farewells. Kyril immediately made her way to the captain, intercepting her on the way inland. "Captain..."

"Kyril, right? We left your presents just in from the pier, all coming together here?"

"As well as it will... how fares the fight against Leneu? Any exploits of note?"

"Vaurie island. We lost it to the Leneuan fleet and stormed it right the next day, retaking it all while knowing we'd probably lose it again. So the western fleet went in there, sacked everything they could, razed it to cripple its use as a port. The men took the women they wanted, the women took the men they wanted, and that was that. Not the first time, even some of your islanders get in on the 'fun' sometimes."

Kyril stood with her mouth open briefly. "Who?! That's monstrous."

"That's war! One learns to live with it. I didn't sign up for it, I was a weekend merchant until I got a notice informing me that, behold, I'm now running logistics for the southern fleet. At least if my ship is shot to pieces they'll compensate me, assuming I'm alive to accept it."

Kyril kept looking straight ahead, speaking in a pointed tone, "I'll need to talk to several people." Relaxing slightly, she continued, "It's quiet on this island for now. I've a hope out that it stays that way."

"Likewise, oh very much so..."

At least, now that the end was finally in sight, such was a hope worth having. And yet Kyril still couldn't escape the knowledge that it was her own personal deeds that brought all this to happen. She sighed... those who'd starved and died under the lash. Those dying all around still. Greenie, Raela.

Kyril had found herself somewhat defensive of her last friends, Myon and Pereae returning the sentiment. It was time to end this, as quickly and cleanly as possible.

The islanders spared nothing in the winter defense; Valnor was unable to pierce eastwards. Valnor's smaller ships were captured on the other end and turned against their former fleet wherever possible; their former crews were only able to pray their captors were under Kyril and Pereae directly.

Come winter, a series of flotillas dispersed northwards from Tavarian waters---Kalvodian attack craft, made to look like merchant ships, flying the Tavarian banner. They easily crossed into southern Valnor, any patrol more concerned with the bannerless islanders than with a bunch of couriers from the south. A tension maintained itself as they passed by the sights of Valnor guns without any shots fired.

"Doesn't help that the western fleet and those of the Myvian province think we're sitting on our butts out here."

"Forget Myvia, they only have one front to deal with. Not like they've been keen on helping us southerners anyway."

"We'll soon reach our target. Get the gunners casting ice shot."

Buckets dropped to the sea, hoisting water poured into a cannonball mold, new ammo was literally casted by careful cryokinesis. Regular structures provided foundation for psychic constructs and potential, even woven cloth and wooden lattices. Some metals, and particularly crystals, proved useful. While the strongest forms of iron were often enhanced, ice was handy and disposable.

Rolled out one after another, cannonballs of ice sat at the ready, laden with telekinetic potential. The time came, and the 'couriers' revealed their guns to the patrols and docked ships, blasting ice from fire. The barrage of ice exploded into shards on impact, leaving a frozen fog, the fast moving shards tearing apart sails and crew with ease! Such was an opening attack aimed at disabling their foes, letting them fire away with impunity.

Despite this, there was no impunity to be had; the Valnor fleet spewed flames down guides of hard iron, a return of the harpoon launcher carrying deadly power down its line setting constant fire to all it hit. Specially made spyglasses on both sides proved a handy complement to musket fire, dazzling the crew of the other side if not setting fire to a glimpse of gunpowder.

Yet still, once the Valnor ships lost their sails, they were stuck. They became easy pickings for the long range heavy cannons coming in from the southeast as the front pushed westwards, cannonballs of ice sending their deadly pointed hail flying across the roads of towns and forts alike, painting the land red under a mixture of shards. With Leneu enshrouded in winter fog, its ships abroad were engaged with Kalvod's forces alone. Valnor had no help coming.

By the time fog cleared to spring, Kalvodian and islander craft were sailing circles around what was left of Valnor's towns, and though some of their craft had fallen to the depths, there were still enough. There were well enough to show their sight across Leneu's southern border with provisions sacked from Valnor backing them. Enough to line Leneu's sides east and west, with nothing to the north but the deadly and unforgiving arctic.

There were no ships in, no ships out, save for those pressing inwards. With stockpiles emptying one after another, the forces of Leneu had no hope of stopping the Kalvodians parading in. Aucron in Leneu soon heard the sounds of boots approaching, as the old port Aeril already had.

Ysalia saw the fleet approaching. She knew she had a gun to her head metaphorically, and soon literally if this continued. With a shaky hand she brought quill to paper, an order to the admiral. It was time to strike colors.

The Kalvodian fleet saw Leneu heeding her word, ships with hatches closed, banners taken down. Relenting, they waited for further orders, which soon came on couriers. A ceasefire was declared, coupled with a meeting on Vulthar island to discuss the terms of it all. Keremis insisted they speak in person. Queen Vylian was personally surrounded by Kalvodian soldiers under confinement. Several major Leneuan landowners were in captivity, if Ysalia needed any more reasons to agree. Though Vulthar island was formerly Leneuan, no power really held sway over the eclectic isle at the moment, making it the most neutral island available... Keremis wouldn't pass on the chance to personally savor the moment all while underscoring her strength by forcing the other queens to attend the 'party' in person.

A cool wind carried across the deck of the transport. Kyril knelt silently at the front, just behind the bowsprit, hearing the sound of wind and sea, the sails flapping behind her. Aimed northwest, these cool waters brought back memories that seemed so very distant now. The sight of the island ahead, the university, the day when that drunken crowd showed their ugly faces. How far it had all come--far, far beyond anything she ever could have, or indeed ever would have hoped for. She found it difficult to sleep at times, still, knowing what she'd let loose on the world, though she'd learned to accept it. Such was history now.

Pereae and Myon bantered nearby, a Kalvodian tune soon rising in the background as the ship drifted in, Vulthar isle towering ahead. Myon seemed curious about Keremis's choice.

"Coming here herself... Seemed she'd take the world if she could; in light of it I'm surprised she's decided to annex nothing."

Pereae nodded, "Kalvod has caught a case of the schisms itself under the strain of war. She's wise not to draw in territories that don't really want to be under her rule, for further disharmony may see Kalvod blow itself apart violently. Not to mention, how would the rest of the world view that? Can they afford more conflict?"

"Not in either sense, not at all, I've caught glimpses of that. They've spent about every coin from their treasury ensuring victory, even with Lavsvai's aid. Of course, now that Kalvod holds the best market position Keremis expects she'll double her old wealth in time."

Kyril kept quiet, eyes closed for the moment, keeping sight ahead, trailing back as the ship drifted in to moor. Stepping down the pier, she looked to the side. She'd heard many far-flung, fabricated but entertaining tales in the boardwalk pub, the Sunken Trove. The pile of rubble that remained indeed looked fittingly sunk to the ground. Her old room was still intact, door open, interior trashed with everything worth taking gone, an eerie silence about the whole row of buildings.

The university proper was in somewhat better shape, polished up in preparation for the meeting. Her old bookstore, Raela's after she'd left, still stood with some of the books inside. Someone in there was still reading, only to give Kyril a look of disbelief on seeing her. Indeed, she and her store were still there, despite their torn surroundings. Kyril turned to look ahead, keeping to herself. When she set out to save Raela, looking back on it, she'd only put her own life in jeopardy, perhaps needlessly as they could've dug out the cave-in. How cruel of a teacher hindsight can be...

At least, she counted her blessings still there, as she received some food handed out courtesy of Keremis's entourage. In full sight of Keremis, Myon took his portion after giving respectful gratitude, trailing off to the alleys to offer it to a mother and child traversing the scorched roads. Spotting this, Kyril joined in, finding another needy person among the traffic with Pereae soon joining her, giving out his own food. Why not? Keremis flashed a grin and chuckle at this, finding the entire matter comical.

The three eventually entered the central building. The three queens were seated under the domed ceiling, with those accompanying them seeming to get along as if the war had ended centuries before. Kyril saw that none of these leaders really wanted the war in the first place; even Keremis had tried better options first, but nonetheless, here they were. All around were the trappings of the three crowns with the opulence of silver adornment everywhere; this particular building practically glimmered as a shining gem.

Dressed in the best cloth and buttons they could find, the three companions still looked rather ragged compared to the silver and silk of the three queens before them, and at times were mistaken for members of an entourage. Dressed well enough to be polite, the three weren't there to show off anyway.

Vylian shot the three a pointed look, then looked to Keremis, a gaze only asking, _seriously?_ Keremis smiled. Yes, seriously! "Our friends, sovereign south of us."

"Sovereign?" Vylian looked to the three. "Which one of you is the sovereign? And what do you call yourselves? And where's your standard?" Less than impressed, needless to say.

Apparantly they were sovereign now. Looking back on it, they... did have their own land, their own farms and workshops, their own ships... likely millions of now freed ex-slaves and supporters... Myon took lead as the three settled. "We are, as Lavsvai, a republic." Kyril was only there because people asked her to lead; it seemed close enough. They hadn't even agreed on a name. Kyril's thought suggested going with the most common name. Pereae noted each chain of isles had its own name! Myon invented one on the spot."The Ceremor Republic. And..." he admitted, "we haven't settled on a design for any standard yet."

Kyril wanted to bury her face in her palm at a name that bordered on being a pun. Pereae frankly didn't mind at all. The both of them were at least glad Myon had grace in rolling with this.

Keremis looked at Vylian. "As you've heard on the way here, we'll leave you and the rest of your kind be, and even aid your recovery for the sake of your people---in exchange for releasing your former slave holdings, recognizing our friends to your east."

"You'd have Valnor cut in half!"

"Recognition of Ceremor is a non-negotiable term. You'll have to make an agreement with them on where to draw the new line."

Vylian didn't exactly have any ships left to argue with.

Keremis looked to Ysalia. "Furthermore, while Altavim's influence kept our continental reaches at relative peace, much of this conflict stems from our disagreements in the area. We know you seek to dominate continental waters, but our merchant marine still has an agreement with Lavsvai. Simply put, shall we agree not to obstruct one another's trade with the continental locals and equalize our tolls among our colonies?"

"You'll respect our business in kind? And the owners among us?"

"Naturally, I'll give you your merchants back."

"So be it then."

As the discussion continued, matters clearly lined up in Keremis's favor, but she was arguably generous. She claimed none of their islands for Kalvod and left them with more than enough wealth to rebuild, showing that she wasn't unreasonable even if she was obviously making the room her stage and the world her country's. Her presence nonetheless gave the three of the new nation much needed credibility, a matter which Kyril gladly accepted. Unsure, she looked to Pereae, who nodded reassuringly.

Myon spoke up, "Our civil planner, Kyril, has a proposition to make on behalf of our people." None of them had official titles, for there was no office in newly-named Ceremor yet. Myon just had a way of pulling it out of thin air. And now, their republic, only moments past its ad-hoc founding, was about to make its first international proposal. It was something Kyril had been pondering ever since the war's toll hit home, however.

Kyril nodded, unrolling several pages and adjusting her glasses. "We propose the adoption of standards of war to follow in the event this treaty fails in the future. We've all seen our people slaughtered with unspeakable cruelty, our towns laid to ruin and gutted. Despite standing navies, we were forced to involve all of our people be they soldier or worker, to the gravest tragedy we've seen."

She passed the scroll forward for the queens to read. "I suggest we agree on these terms, limiting combat to military only, accepting any unconditional surrender, and to never feign being non-military or feign surrender, as that would encourage attacks against those actually not fighting. I have hope that future conflicts won't lead to such ruination as this one has."

The proposal circled about the assembly, Vylian hesitating but endorsing it. "For once we sympathize..."

Ysalia shook her head, not even bothering to look at it. "Why should we agree to restrain ourselves when others in the world never will?"

Keremis gave a similar response, with more of a shrug. "These standards are unenforceable. We're obviously strong enough to endure the true realities of war; that in itself ensures our treaty will remain in effect." About as blunt as a stone club, in her usual manner, but the message was clear.

Kyril looked it over. Two signatures were better than none. At least, she hoped, it was one step towards a future where Valnor and Ceremor could truly coexist. Over the coming days, Vylian accepted, or at least tolerated, their presence more and more, even if the three companions carried no entourage or glamor to showcase.

They spotted Keremis once again, leaving an actually-friendly contest of wit with Ysalia. Keremis addressed the three, sharing mutual respect. She asked, "Ceremor, among a dire world crumbling to pieces out there... are you sure you would rather not be a protectorate of Kalvod?"

Knowing Keremis, Pereae suspected being a protectorate would lead to greater and greater Kalvodian influence. Myon noted, "As a republic, we're here on the people's behalf. We'd have to hold a referendum on that type of matter."

Kyril nodded in agreement. "Right."

Pereae spoke up, "We're grateful for your help, and we'll stay your allies." Deciding to be blunt, he continued, "But I expect none of us are intent on granting any measure of jurisdiction to any crown, if that's part of your plan." He worried Keremis might try to force the issue...

However, Keremis smiled calmly. "Right to the point? Well then, so be it. Allies, friends, the future has much in store for us." She offered, but didn't push. After all, either way, she and her country had gotten what they wanted.

A short time later, they found Vylian striding the halls. She regarded them with a softened stare. "A tragic division. The Oracles brought peace and unity to the world. I fear the teachings of the church have been cast upon the mud."

Kyril gave Vylian a rather grim look. "A former oracle, and friend of mine, gave her life defending our capitol isle from capture. The reign of the Oracles is merely a chapter of history now. She knew that well, which is why we're here."

Vylian, genuinely pious as she was, took a bitter tone, "Such are your words!"

Myon tapped his foot. "Actually, actually... Kyril is very much right. Keremis knows about Raela."

"..."

Pereae added, "That was a crucial effort, and we've documented it. Would you like to see?"

Vylian later looked it over and, on realizing the implications, didn't say a thing. She was much less inclined to talk religion after that.

Finally, Ysalia hunted her way towards Kyril in particular, Myon and Pereae by extension. She met Kyril outside of the main foyer; for her, this was personal.

"Kyril Vorral. You're responsible for all of this, aren't you? Regardless of this agreement, consider this the last time you'll see Leneu. Our justice won't rest on your betrayal of _me_ , all of the blood spilt from your deeds, and all the families your peers have slaughtered. It's on your hands."

That was a sensitive spot for Kyril and Ysalia knew it.

Pereae spoke up, "With all due respect, lady Ysalia, if we all hadn't had damn good reason to take up arms to begin with, none of this would have happened. How long do you and your friend Vylian think you could've beaten us down before this happened anyway?"

Myon added, "Not how I would've said it, but..."

Kyril gazed back to Ysalia with a pointed glare. "Say that to the people, the whole race you've betrayed. Leneu was a place where people could make their own way. Ysalia, Ceremor is everything Leneu failed to be." She pushed her glasses up briefly. "Remember that all of my deeds were in no small part inspired by you and the disgrace you've brought to the name of Leneu. And so, farewell."

Kyril continued ahead, walking right past Ysalia. Leneu wouldn't be on friendly terms with them any time soon, but at least they could finally put their weapons away and go home. That particular thought was on Kyril's mind towards the end. Terms written, crossed away, and scrabbled once more were brought together to form a single document: the 3895 Vulthar treaty. The three queens signed with their entourage as witness, the three of the newborn nation of Ceremor signing with one another as witnesses; each party carried a copy transcribed into their home language. They thought to leave the original at Vulthar isle, but Ysalia didn't even want to see the thing after all was said and done. It was a bit of a trophy to Keremis, who gladly took it to enshrine in one of her own universities. Of course, dragging the monarchs there personally was its own show for Keremis, but the agreeable terms were the lasting effect. In any event, though not all ill feelings had been quelled, the fact that everyone left the treaty table unscathed made a point of the resulting peace.

Stepping down towards the shore, Kyril took one long look back at her old life before leaving it behind. She nodded to Myon as the three approached the pier. "I've moved myself to another ship, with people to meet in Kalvod."

"We'll be convening to form an office in earnest soon; you'll be there, right?"

She smiled faintly. "Of course I will."

"People to meet... I see, right! I'll keep your seat open for you."

She nodded, sharing her farewells. She didn't even look at the island as it rolled away behind her. Rather she looked ahead, forward towards those she hadn't seen in all too long.

Beneath an evening autumn rain came a knock on a weathered door. The white-patched sythian inside opened it to spot a silhouette with softly glowing green eyes. No words need be shared, his teary eyes shutting as he pulled her into an embrace.

She looked down a bit, before closing her eyes, sniffing as she returned the embrace ever tighter, a moment at long last of pure emotion shared as words wouldn't do. Finally, when they came down from it to once again hear the rain and see the world around them, he spoke.

"My love, I..."

"I'm all right, everyone is all right now... they haven't been too hard on you, have they?"

"Being ex-Leneuan didn't earn us any friends, and we're still trying to settle, but we're all alive and well. Where's Raela?"

Kyril looked aside and sighed. "A hero swimming the depths..."

"I..." He could feel the scars on her back and see the scars on her mind, scars that would never go away.

Looking over his shoulder, she immediately recognized another familiar face. "Mya?"

"Mom?"

Sniffing again, she made her way over to give a hug to her daughter, now an adolescent, quite taller than she'd remembered. How time had passed along.

Kyril opened her eyes. "Mya, I'm back for good now. Where's Cici?"

"Still upstairs... I'll go call him down!"

In a sense, her family being adrift in Kalvod made matters more convenient. She could promise she wouldn't leave them again, with a land full of new prospects, Ceremor, available immediately to the south.

There was so much time to catch up on! Little Mya had proven quite the scholar, and her brother Cici shared fishing tales every other time he got the chance. It was a moment of healing they'd all so badly needed, a final relief from all that had happened, to cement the end of the struggle. Yet her heart always would be marked with holes of those lost and the horror she'd seen. At least now she accepted it. So be it all. It was the world they'd made for themselves, and there was no changing the past.

The Ceremor republic was nothing but inviting for all of them, a banner covered in nothing but blank potential laid out to receive its design. Each chain of islands and floating towns had its own set of ad-hoc governors sent to attend the gathering to decide the grand office of Ceremor. Myon had kept his words short, calming the crowd by among other things playing a tune on some strings, something he'd taken up in what little time off he had.

Some of the others who'd taken up the fight on other islands weren't nearly as idealistic as Kyril was regarding the assembly, however. Pereae and Kyril's suggestion of a unified code of law was shot down almost unanimously. Not all of them were keen on letting just anyone vote either. It quickly became clear there would be no grand office of Ceremor. The only matters they could agree on were the provision of couriers and standards of trade, and an office of the navy which would in an instant organize the militias against a common threat. In times of peace, the first would represent the people, and should those times end, the last would defend them.

This at least was a starting point in drafting a covenant of the land, upheld over all, preventing any office from extending its reach without a referendum. It allowed anyone in power to be removed by a vote in order to prevent tyrants rising among them, as the people were to be the true leaders, those in office only their agents. As well, their covenant enshrined equality for all peoples under the law as a fundamental tenet; some may be called governor, some may be called captain, but nobody ever need call any other 'master' ever again. Unlike the queens, the new governors would feel the effects of each decision they made, being subject to their own laws as anyone else, and no law could prevent the people from discussing or changing their governance as they saw fit.

This was a power brought to bear repeatedly in the following years; one particular chain went through three governors in one year, barely managing to keep itself sustained all the while. Populations split and reconvened as those of unpopular thought found themselves subject to the edicts of their neighbors, the occasional bout of conflict breaking out in the streets between opposed groups. Even worse, one chain had so impoverished its own government, there was nobody to call on when fire swept their inland fields!

Kyril kept her eye on all of it. Ceremor's new way of governance certainly had its problems---some of them quite grave---but if there was one thing they could agree upon, it was that this was still far better than living under any damned queen. Such was a sentiment growing among not just among the isles of Ceremor, but abroad among the minds of an ever changing world, much to the marked dismay of the royalty around. The people of Ceremor had agreed to a close alliance with Kalvod, and Keremis maintained the peace as promised, but even Keremis often had her doubts about Ceremor. This talk of republics was putting all sorts of ideas into people's minds near and afar...

Ever more established towns grew beneath the Ceremor banner however, despite the initial chaos, the codices of functional law growing with the wisdom of the governors and their people. This banner's blue background held a green vertical stripe for every island chain; its center was adorned not by a fearsome creature but by a wreath of grain. It was a sight soon recognized around the world to a spectrum of smiles and frowns.

Kyril and Pereae sent the old proposition of standards of war around the world under Myon's carefully crafted words. Tavaria, seeking civility in its internal strife, gratefully adopted it and passed it about its factions. The queen of Atswala replied that it indeed was a nice idea on paper and a kind thought, but declined anyway. Lavsvai received it, waiting for their next assembly, spending time discussing it, spending more time discussing it, and spending more time mulling it over before gradually agreeing that enough of them agreed on it to sign it into full effect. Such was but one agreement of many to gradually sail back and forth; finally there was another republic in the world, a people they could relate to!

Altavim... Kyril still remembered that unsettling sighting. The reply from the deity-queen wasn't any less unsettling: a civil and respectful message of decline, hiding the unsigned list of standards, said list now showing four holes from a spear tip. The message wasn't lost on them by any means, though Altavim seemed to be keeping to her own continent for the time being, as far as they could see anyway.

The turn of the century came and went with its fireworks about as history left old maps to be discarded. The dawn of twenty-three ex-Tavarian lands settled the unrest there. Kalvod, despite being on top of the world, nonetheless failed to quell its internal strife under a single state, becoming a federation of seven provinces. They still banded together though, maintaining a collective rivalry with a Leneu that clung ever more desperately to its global expanse. Atswala all the while soon swallowed the continental holdings Valnor could no longer maintain.

The end of Kyril's time over the island left her back at her old work, not just selling books but creating them---works bristling with finely sharpened points on the art of rebellion, the idea of liberty, and her advocacy of equality and civility. Her works were almost universally banned, even in the Kalvodian provinces, but that only emboldened some of the stationers there who printed them anyway in plain defiance of their governors.

It was an entirely different world to Kyril. Looking up to a clearing evening sky, she gazed about the buildings, the port town unrecognizable from its past. Gazing at the once-volcano dominating the horizon behind, she flicked a speck of green wisp, which struck the lamp post and set its gem alight. An elegant display of woodwork on the walls hung over the patch where a particular hovel used to be. Where she'd met Greenie... where he'd died... the graves of past companions still stood, and would forevermore.

She greeted another spring day, 3957. By most measures, seeing her hundred and fourth year, she'd lived two and a half lifetimes. Knowing what she'd endured, some weren't surprised, but she was more than content with her life and met her crumbling health with acceptance. She'd be meeting Greenie, Raela, Buram, Myon, Pereae, all of them again soon enough. In a way, she was happy she lived to see all this take hold...and it wasn't often someone got to teach their great-grandchildren how to sneak away with cookies when nobody was looking, to see them mill about with mind-wrought tools she'd never imagined before, all to the alien sound of a new era's song.

However, not all was right in the world. Perhaps it never would be, with what she'd let loose, having utterly failed to clear her family name in the eyes of her homeland or her grandfather's. So be it. As sour as past and future could be, she knew her legacy and ideas would live on into perpetuity, something those of regal opulence feared but could only hope to avoid. Her ideas lived on, sometimes envisioned as ghostly silhouette, just out of sight of would-be tyrants and their would-be empires, scythe in hand...

#  Arc 9: Chasing Sunset

Death always left sorrow in its wake, giving one the realization that what one knew and loved had forever left never to return. The sepia view through the lens of memory always brought a mixture of fondness and sadness, but as all had been taught from the tales of the pantheon, death and life were interconnected. From the remains, life sprouted anew.

The days of the everlasting kingdoms were dead and gone. In its place... nobody really knew. Like everything else he didn't know, Terath was always eager to find out. Though he missed his old home and the old days of the goddesses among the ice and snow, living thousands of miles away from the queen had its advantages. During the slave war, he'd been called to arm and defend the continentals. He made good on his oath to the queen, though what came of it was not a matter he took pride in. Such was the past. The future beckoned. Though many of its neighbors had fallen, Kolrem had grown to be a formidable town on its own, proving self-sufficient enough when the Kalvodians cut between them and Leneu proper.

What came of the two after the war was an arrangement that many considered an anxious hazard, Terath finding it to be better than anything he'd imagined. The birth of Ceremor brought a firestorm of discussion and novel thought as Leneu and the eastern provinces struggled to outdo one another with ever more clever applications of the mind. It was a contest of military innovation bringing other fields ahead with it, a benevolent rivalry still ongoing.

Tick, tick, tick... the bronze cylinder with its ornately designed rim and glass face sat in his palm as he stood over the wooden table. Amber light shined from a quartz gem and its stand, the lamp that had supplanted the candle. Every one of these little gadgets had a story to tell.

This one ticking away in his hand began as an attempt to make a new gun lock: the impulse lock. The design was a failure, but resulted in a telekinetic rod that fired at a specific potential. It wasn't long before someone connected a constant-flow reservoir to it, spotting the self-contained metronome that resulted. Once people realized what they had, a race to finer tools brought a solution to the age-old problem of how-far-west, a breakthrough for global navigation and trade. Even a box of lead could prove to have a silver lining these days.

Four hours and twelve minutes till noon; there was plenty of day left and he had plenty of distance to cover. As he looked around, he saw that everything in his building was tucked away and secure. He had sturdy walls around him with plenty of room to live and tinker, a stone exterior over which to forge things--his abode had glass windows even. He'd done fairly well for himself out here. With plenty of food and drink to tide him over stored away, he moved his barrow down the stone path, pulling another cart along all the while.

Buried among the spaces of the smaller pier of the trade dock was his transit, a narrow Atswalan craft of novel design, a bit wide and flat compared to what he was used to, but curved and sleek; the sturdy single mast was capable of supporting a variety of different sail plans. Combined with new specialty sails for moving along the wind, the unheard-of speed quickly made the 'sail-and-a-half' craft the new ubiquitous light courier boat. Conveniently, the single mast meant he could use his draconic stature to single-handedly sail it.

Bringing the cargo aboard, he set the chronometer on its stand, checking the lines. The wind muttered past, whispers seeming to carry words just beyond his hearing. The words of Altavim, carried along the winds about the continent, streamed forth from the spire of the volcano. They formed an illusion of onmipresence and omniscience, granted by the ancient relic. The thought of it failing catastrophically, with its influence spread so far, still bothered him occasionally.

It amazed him how quickly they'd built themselves up. When they'd met this culture, metal was a rarity with stone being the material of choice. Altavim's guidance had, seemingly from nothing, given rise in short order to a very efficient metalworks industry; its simple oar-driven boats had been replaced by intricate craft, occasionally sighted around the world.

Then again, looking to the sea, he thought those 'whispers' might just be only the wind. _Chin up and straight ahead_ , he thought, _no time to waste_. An eccentric shadow among Lavsvai, the one known as Karel Tavek had been rumored to have solved some of the mysteries of the ancients, and what she had to say to him about her discovery was grim and urgent indeed. To meet her, he'd be racing the day's end all the way there.

Pulling in the lines and anchor, he dipped the spar to latch onto the bow, dropping the novel sail into the wind, much like a lateen but flatter and more triangular. It dipped towards the bow, pivoting about its top rather than the mast, one of the most simple yet efficient designs among the new types. The boat trailed out of port and kept accelerating ever faster, soon leaving Kolrem behind.

Like most newly-improvised tools, there was room for improvement; between bad weather handling and the same bad tack as the lateen, sailing this thing could be annoying at times, though its performance more than made up for that. The cool wind shifted to eddies as the boundary between the wind lines approached, curving around the continent, the occasional island seen in the distance. The winds grew more lively as he trailed north, visiting the continental Atswalans and the Kalvodian settlements among the islands come each nightfall.

The curved lines of their roofs and awnings over well-graded dirt paths lit by glowing copper metalwork gave a bronze tone to the Atswalan towns. Known for keeping to themselves in the world scene, some looked at them with suspicion, though their people were always a friendly and polite bunch.

Settling in for the second night, Terath came ashore, noticing several of Altavim roaming about as well, having come in force to extend Altavim's presence. Though violence hadn't broken out, there was a quiet upon the town, an air of paranoid anxiety among those of Altavim; they held no particular conviction against the others, merely doing as they were told.

Seeing the intrusion, Terath approached the nearest one he could spot surveying. Being who and what he was, he drew a fair bit of attention anyway. Terath nodded at the green and yellow skinned myrian looking back at him. "Good evening sir. Is there a problem here?"

"Ironclad--also known as Terath Rolith?"

"That's my name."

"What business brings you here?"

What business did he have asking? Despite that, Terath replied honestly, "Enroute to the Lavsvai interior to meet a peer and conduct an investigation."

"An investigation? With one Karel? On matters of anomalous aether?"

"I see Altavim's mindworks are as keen as ever."

"The Goddess sees all."

With that, the mirian stepped away.

Looking around the town, Terath quipped, "I thought we had an agreement, Altavim."

Seeing some moving busily about the piers, he returned to his craft, settling by the aft. Off in the distance a Ceremor freighter observed all the ruckus. Turning into the wind, they set their forward sails against it, leaving their mainsail with the wind, both canceling each other out. They slowed to a stop to have some tea and wait it out.

Terath heard boots clunking up the gangplank; soon a pair of featherless mirians came aboard. Terath stood to confront them. "Hey, mind asking before boarding? And explaining what you're doing here?"

"This is Altavim territory, the treaty carried no exchange of land. We're searching for contraband, as with all Altavim ports frequented by foreigners."

Terath shook his head. "This boat flies the Leneu jack. Convention states that the planks of a ship are under the rule of its owning territory, not the territory it happens to sail near. So I'll let you aboard, but I'll be watching _you_."

He stepped along, following them as they investigated the craft, ensuring they kept polite and treated his goods with care. "Though the land may be Altavim's, these towns are built and run by others. Why bother others' property? You never did this before."

"We never had to. Times have changed, and we're to stand alone." The mirian narrowed her eyes. "The Goddess has watched your world plunge into the darkness of avarice and death." _The_ indeed... Altavim was the last spire-keeper left in the world.

She continued the inspection, speaking to the side, "You came here with only the wealth of ancient secrets in mind? Lavsvai is not our friend, so understand our concern about _their_ friends. If you have nothing to hide, you have no reason to worry."

Terath gave no response. He could see it among the air of their minds that there was a tamed hostility somewhere, though they weren't showing it. He'd seen it off and on since his arrival those many years ago, and though it had started to lighten and abate, it'd been getting worse lately. Their military order still made him and those of other countries suspicious.

Then his concerns cooled as he lightened his expression, looking to the two as they turned to leave. "Altavim, she's worried her time runs short, isn't she?"

They looked at him for a moment, with a bit more hesitation than before. "Altavim is eternal..." A half-hearted claim. "We've found nothing afoul."

At that, they left. Letting out a brief sigh, he checked around once more before securing the hold, stepping out to check around the town. The Atswalan buildings were a cross between tents and wooden towers, having the grace of well ventilated woodwork with dirt floors on even the more affluent parts of town. Part of architecture was designed to keep the buildings cool using the sink of the ground and, in drier climes, the drying of water. It was a welcome shelter from the tropical sun as well, as the heat still lingered after sunset.

After those of Altavim had finished, they left, the Ceremor craft steering back to the pier once they were gone. Terath watched them disembark, looking through the circular port in the wall of the tavern, several headed his way. Fitting through the entrance was always a nuisance, but being a dragon made him a welcome conversation piece at the tavern all the same. Sitting down on the ground kept his head on a level with the others. He'd be drinking plenty anyway; the local drink lacked the richness he'd been accustomed to, but it did have a sweetness to it and did just as well for easing the nerves.

"Ironclad?"

Terath looked back. "The one and only." One of the Ceremor crew, stepping in to join the rest.

"Off and about? We'd hoped to buy some pistols and a swivel cannon. And a rocket rack, and some fire chain."

"It's an urgent matter in Lavsvai; I trust, my friend, that it's well worth the journey. I expect to return in a fortnight if you'll still be near Kolrem. Preparing for war, are you?"

"Against brigands. The chains of the Tavarian region gained alliance with their neighbors and they took the boot to their criminal problem, so the brigands just sailed northeast to give us trouble."

Terath sighed and took a swig. "Damned pirates. I'll give you shot to go with it for free if that's where it's going."

"I'll appreciate it. On the light end at least I'm getting paid more."

"Just mind the gamble you take."

"That's life these days."

"All too true." Terath looked up from his drink. "At least there are no brigands here."

"Instead we risk losing our cargo to Altavim, hardly an improvement. Their patrols are circling on the prowl around the bend north of here, and they don't take kindly to us, nor the provincials of Kalvod, nor Lavsvai or any of the other republics."

"Why Kalvod in particular? The provinces are still run as an empire."

"The provinces have taken domination of the world's markets. If you ask me, Altavim wants to change that."

"She'll hardly do it through a policy of autarchy."

"Is that why they won't buy anything? Well, then. That explains why she's started to lower the mask of kindness from her face."

"And she's seen fit to remind us that we're here at her whim."

He remembered the old days when they dreamt of finding a city of the ancients, sleeping yet brimming with old works of deific wonder. All they found was rusted junk and the useful tools far beyond anything they could make sense of--and those often turned to junk after a few uses anyway. Yet even if they hadn't unlocked the secrets of the ancients, and likely never would, it had inspired them to find their own way to understand the cosmos. _Just as well_ , Terath thought.

Trailing back to his craft at the dead of night, he retired to the cabin, continuing northwards come the dawn of the next day. The sun high in the sky as he rounded the corner of the continent, he decided to stray away from the common channels, and by extension, Altavim's presence.

The wind now at his back, he rolled out the 'half-sail' to the sail-and-a-half, essentially a specially-made parachute flown ahead with the pointed top attached to the mast. Catching the wind and holding on for dear life, the over-sized sail pulled the craft skimming the water, leaving mist in its wake.

Holding the wheel with one hand, he wolfed down a sandwich with the other, looking to the side when he sensed a mind aloft in the distance. Trailing about at such speed, it seemed unlikely to be another ship. Curious, he turned a touch off the wind, angling slightly north to draw near a small island which was covered in greenery but without trees. Stowing the sail, he drifted up on the particular craft--a sleek narrow-bottom craft, much like a canoe--with one inhabitant, a prominently-finned boom trailing behind it with a rudder on the bottom, narrow sails fixed to the sides as wings.

Spotting Terath encroaching, the yellow-skinned occupant hastily took the two wing-sails aboard, propping one up as a proper sail. The occupant projected her mind's surprised voice to Terath: "What are you doing here?! Hold! These waters are forbidden to foreigners."

"The island?"

"Especially so. Turn south, Terath! The trade lanes are down _there_."

Curving the craft windward, he made close note of the construction of that other craft as he moved the sail. He knew those sails, called 'pericon' sails among the lands. However, sideways sails weren't sails at all. All said, before its occupant moved the sails around, the 'boat' looked rather bird-like. "I shall turn south then. My apologies, this zone doesn't seem to be on my charts."

Of course it wasn't! At that, Terath seated the sail, coming about to catch the wind the other way, heading back towards the continent. Collapsing the sail to come to rest out in the open water, he gathered another sandwich, some tea, and some paper and a quill to commit his memory to record. Canoe shape, with two lofty wings the shape of billowing sails, a boom carrying a wooden rudder on the bottom, three fabric rudders for the other sides, controlled by lines held along the tail. Looking to the sky, he checked his chronometer, the clockwork sky crossing to a point on the globe.

Pericon Wings. Northeast Altavim Flying Machine (???) Sighted near Tambor Isle S 13.4 E 163.1.

Signing off an hour and fourteen minutes before noon on this fine tropical winter day, nearing the end of '97. Indeed, three more years to the millenium and Terath still hadn't figured out what he would do for it. However, the ghostly sense of being watched made it all the clearer that he had more to worry about.

The ghostly sense gradually relented though, eventually vanishing as he crossed his curve over the lines of the globe, arcing down to the west where the terraces and steps of the friendly Lavsvaian realm greeted him. As he drew in under the light of the setting sun, he spotted one of those old rowing ships, single sail. It was adrift, hosting a ceremony mixed with a social gathering, a traditional craft for traditional practice, though the piers were anything but.

The lengthy arch-supported piers on vastly upgraded docks equipped with cranes accommodated the tremendous four-masted company carriers that ran about the globe. Their shadows eclipsed sun and wind as Terath drew in to the smaller pier, drifting to a stop. He dropped anchor and tied down before hopping up to the pier. As dusk grew dimmer, the light of the brown gaseous sphere in the sky chased the sun. He climbed up to the smooth road, crystal lamps lighting his way.

"Hoy!"

Terath looked down, turning, then looked down further to see a teal-skinned sythian trailing behind him. Stark green markings and orange eyes under a broad brimmed straw sun hat, grey overcoat and pants with a white frilled shirt and lace cuffs over gloves. The patterned lace was new, but she always wore the same hat.

"The legendary Ironclad at last!" She ducked her head in friendly respect.

Terath returned the gesture, admitting, "I wouldn't really call myself 'legendary'. All the same, well met Mrs. Tavek." He returned the gesture, earning a smile from her.

"Actually I'm a Ms."

"Oh..." He looked down briefly. "Apologies."

She was unbothered. "I've always been a Ms... Anyway, follow, I have cookies!"

"And something very important to tell me?"

"Inside."

He nodded, trailing along behind her. "Then, how has business been?"

She looked up briefly. "With all the craze of novelty from home, people have been losing interest in tales of the ancients. I'll probably be selling off all the old junk soon and calling it done..." She paused for a moment. "Nobody wants the sturdy armor of old either, I'm guessing."

He rubbed the back of his head. "Unless it's a display piece. But that's all fine by me. Times move along, everyone wants a spark-lock now, and the continental cuirassiers have me as a supplier. I've got my own spark cannon to show off with; grapeshot makes mince of either kind of dummy."

She smirked. "Too bad about the Valnor Kasp you hoarded. Still holding onto them?"

They both remembered when it seemed like Valnor would conquer the world, when owning a slave was a prestigious matter in vogue. Though it was an expensive event for Terath, they both agreed: good riddance. It was a sour note, in a sense. It'd been long enough to laugh about what happened to the world, but he still remembered Raela, and all of his own deeds, even a century later. Truth be told, she was more than a friend to him, and he never got the chance to tell her.

He shook his head, looking up. "No." He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm glad to've seen them all melted down." It always was best to keep looking forward.

They soon approached the center of town; the water channels painted spiraling patterns about the central fountain. A rather invigorating sense was about it with the statue atop it gazing to the stars. The two entered an upscale inn as Terath asked, "There's a power about that fountain?"

"Public potential well. Make a wish, toss the wish itself into the fountain. A passerby may make it come true. At least, that's the concept behind it. Practically speaking it's a way for those with plenty of spare thought to share energy with tired minds."

Looking around, the inn was quite literally upscale, catering to those of draconic lineage, a comfortable change for him. He noted the glowing blue eyes on the other end as the two entered the room, hanging hats by the door.

Terath smiled. "Ah--!"

He then recoiled on seeing the skeleton standing in front of him. Karel's face barely hid her amusement.

"Worry not, it's just Mareni."

The skeleton ducked his head, speaking through the wavering glow of his eyes, polished eternal grin unmoving. "Mareni Ankion, sir."

Terath rubbed his head, unsure of what to make of this.

Karel shrugged. "Well, you wanted to know what I meant when I said that immortality machine I uncovered worked one and a half times. Here you are. One time for me, and the half for him. A fair slice of the work I've signed on is actually his."

"I'm surprised the Academy takes a scientist of the brutish sex seriously."

Terath shrugged. "When two tons of a plated person stomps your way and offers a paper, it's hard to ignore, isn't it?"

He broadcast a chuckle. "So it is!"

Karel added, "We may not be equal under the laws of women but we are equal under the laws of nature and mind. And speaking of that, we need you to help us track down the source of the apparitions drifting about the land."

Terath pulled out the canister from his coat, unrolling the page on the table. "Apparitions?"

Mareni turned the paper on the table and looked the winged drawing over as Karel continued, "Remember the theory of the cosmic mind, where the true energy of the mind comes from all around?"

"I thought that was soundly disproven. Energy was shown to come from the brain, converted from the body's stamina as we've all been suspecting anyway."

"It was, which makes mobile wisps seemingly materializing out of thin air all the more startling. Even if that theory was disproven there might be some parts worth revisiting. Self-sustaining globs of mental power float around and subtly affect the world, often in a minor and ghostly way though their presence can be discouraging at the best of times. They have appeared all throughout the continent. And, since we know that energy has to come from _somewhere_ and isn't exactly filling the air..."

"You suspect Altavim?"

"That's the other half of why I insisted on talking in person where she can't hear us."

"The further she spreads her use of that damned tower, the greater the load on it, the sooner it will fail. She knows full well her days are counting down."

"And for that, she has nothing to lose. We should begin our investigation tonight. Meanwhile, we'll also want to talk about ways of shielding against mental powers."

"A way to escape Altavim's sight."

"We have much to do out here where she hopefully won't see us."

Mareni turned to gaze at Terath. "Altavim has a flying machine?"

Terath nodded. "Call it daft if it pleases you but I promise you both, I saw their machine aloft near Tambor isle. They're very protective of that island; I suspect they have several flying machines there."

"Daft? I wouldn't assume, but if Altavim wanted to keep you from seeing it she might take after you on your return."

Karel looked over the page, tracing the outline with a fingertip. "Pericon wings? That makes perfect sense. Most sail designs focus on catching the wind; the Pericon design was an effort to make use of the sail's camber and lift instead. Of course they have to steal their breakthroughs as usual."

Terath nodded, "Their military science, great for refining existing insights and inventing new uses for them, horrid at finding new insights."

Karel smiled faintly. "Unlike the three of us and our people. Speaking of that, I have some cookies for the mind as well. A fair trade, after all our peers may seek to build flying machines of their own now that you've stolen the idea for us."

Terath huffed slightly. "It wasn't stealing, it was observing!"

Karel set a satchel on the table containing several papers, her cookies for the mind, Terath soon looking through them. There were a plethora of curious and clever designs, including a rather lengthy process for refining snow-steel, a metal that cools on being charged, useful for refrigerators and the bulk production of ice. Pondering frozen chambers and equipment, he thumbed through to spot a 3941 stationers' monopoly on a peculiar type of device which restructured and reattuned psychic imprints according to rules that could be changed, a job he'd only heard of being done manually.

Terath pulled it out. "What do you make of this?"

Karel looked over his shoulder. " _That_ thing? It's a curiosity, used to make an adding machine that proved slower than doing it by hand. Most people forgot about it, but I think it has some interesting implications. Mareni especially does."

Mareni commented, looking over the winged drawing as he spoke, "I believe that widget contains the core of thought itself. That means there's nothing at all special about our brains. I don't have any brain anymore anyway, how else would I still think?"

Terath nodded in agreement. "You're absolutely right, an idea that flies in the face of many a religion."

Mareni turned his gaze back to Terath. "Religion? If anything the spirits we respect here would be proud of how we've used the minds they've given us." Mareni returned his gaze to the page, showing a glint of curious inspiration. "Even the heavens welcome us..."

"If only the others shared the sentiment. Fortunately, the worldly life is in vogue now."

Such was a bit disheartening to some, to reach out into the unfathomable beyond, seeking the great powers only to find nothing. It seemed to be a motif for the era, particularly lately, though it wasn't disheartening to all. While there were no godlike minds on the wind, there was still more to reality itself. Such was inspiration of its own; it was enough to bring one's mind to the clouds dreaming of ever greater heights. With skill and diligence, dreams could very well become real by one's own hands.

The next night, however, Terath brought his mind to more immediate ends, projecting his mind's sight ahead of his body, dream-walking in a sense. Sight accompanied a silhouette of his form from the central fountain, with Karel and Mareni alongside. Backed by the power of the town, they stepped their ghostly projections through the storehouse walls, phasing out towards the edge of town. Their bodies were still in the inn, safely and comfortably asleep.

It felt all like a lucid dream, with the buildings fading out to reveal the wisps of the pathways. At times the dreamily incandescent but otherwise invisible forms of others doing the same crossed by, giving greetings from afar. Foggily floating towards a silhouette that by a stretch resembled a mirian, Karel's sight lit up. "Greetings. Have you seen any whirlpools about tonight?"

"They're in town. One appeared right as he sailed into port!" The silhouette angled right to Terath's sight. "That way..." A dot of light circled off into the fog. "I hope he knows how to fix this..." The mirian regarded Terath with suspicion.

Karel's silhouette displayed a nod. "We're working on that... thank you."

Mareni's sight swirled in light. "Don't worry, Terath is a friend!"

The mirian still seemed a bit hesitant. "I hope you're right."

At that, they passed ahead, following the speck into the fog. Moving ahead a short distance, their sights crossed right to the opposite corner of town, a swirling of contorted blue lines over the yellow light of a waking mind busied with thought. Calling into view the waking plane, the three caught a glimpse of where their minds had landed.

Inside a well furnished house, seated ahead of a table, a featherless mirian directed the yellow glow of her eyes along a page. She always had trouble getting to sleep; a bit of reading helped. She paused for a moment, then noticed the ink well was now on the opposite table. Looking back, she called out, "You think you're clever? Get out, take your minds out of my house will you?!"

She then turned her head a bit more, noticing the vortex of blue only visible to the mind's eye. "What..." Only to notice her book reappearing on the floor, whisked about by the whirlpool around her.

Terath heard the staticy corrupted hum of a mind on the other end. The swirl menaced threateningly about the room. The last thing he wanted was to see harm befall the innocent between them, and the mind behind the swirl knew it.

Terath moved his sight forward. "Well, here I am. What do you want with me?"

Immediately, an arc of blue reached out through his sight, the hissing bolt striking right through him in an agonizing burst before he could move. Immediately awakening, he found himself disoriented and cold, cringing, his breath stopped.

Clutched by a pang of fear as he realized his vitals had about seized, he forced himself to cough and drew in a shaky breath. The sense of death at his tail was all too real, but the stinging in his fingertips subsided as his breath returned. As he looked around, he saw that the other two were still at rest. As difficult as it would be to join them once more, he knew he'd be living a menaced life until these presences were dealt with. Self-hypnosis, fortunately, was a learned skill.

Having assured his body would be all right, he trailed ahead along the invisible wisps of the city path, drawing towards the flashes ahead. Another arc of blue sailed his way, this time absorbed and reflected. His mind was locked down, his guard raised. He caught the pattern of the next attempt, and catapulted it back at the swirl it came from. He followed up with a blast of noise from his own mind, combined with a pattern of discordant tones merging in from Karel and Mareni.

Trailing back through the physical cover of the wall as the other two circled, Terath gathered himself, channeling the fountain's power. Karel spotted this and kept ahead of him, deflecting the next pair of energy bolts, one of which struck Mareni's sight, withering it but failing to eliminate it. Mareni responded with a rending tear of the mind, stringing fuzzy lines of blue about from the swirl.

The next shockwave of noise from the wisp bounced off Karel's stubborn mind, though she was nearing the end of her stamina. Mareni wavered at the blast but responded in kind with a directed shockwave of disruption, tearing ahead. Terath reached the fountain, drawing forth a pillar of the whole town's contribution, blasting clear through the wisp with scattering waves echoing all around.

When it faded, the swirl was still there despite it all! In the midst, the overlooked homeowner had spotted something else. In the now thoroughly messy study of hers, a figurine she'd recently received stood with glowing blue eyes, now covered in cracks. She took it up, the figurine stinging at her hands. Then, finishing what the others started, she threw it to the wall with a pronounced crash.

Instead of a blue wisp, the three now stared at a gray orb, inert and untouchable. Karel surveyed around. "Is everyone all right?"

Mareni sounded out next. "I'll be well once I recover my power."

Terath turned his gaze. "Right for the weak spot... but I'll recover."

"Why don't you leave already?"

Terath knew that voice. "Altavim, we _knew_ it was you. What in the depths do you think you're doing?"

"Ensuring the prosperity of my people. Regardless of what or who decides to pry into my business. You seek to invade our lands; you never held any desire in your hearts but to take the gifts the ancients bestowed upon us and our land, the greatest in the world. It's been that way since your kind arrived! I've watched your world, your struggle in the darkness. It falls to me to ensure the ancient order is restored."

He shook his head. "Your words, Altavim, fly in the face of the facts." Taking a calm tone, his mind's voice reverberated, "This isn't the world we grew up in. There are no more living gods, but don't call this 'darkness'. We are _aware_ now."

"Wrong. There _is_ a living goddess, if you haven't noticed."

Karel spoke up, "I can call myself the queen of Leneu, but it doesn't make it true. The world has no more room for this. Leneu and Valnor struggle to replace their slaves, Kalvod seeks solutions to a population shortage, both are being answered by works of the mind. We're at the brink of a wave of innovation! You and your people are invited to join us. Or don't, and the ship will pass by without you."

Mareni regained some of his light, speaking up, "The world has a place for everyone, doesn't it? Come now, we've been feuding for far too long. Let our lands and all of our new friends coexist in peace as well as we can. And what happens when your tower fails? This can't go on forever."

A bit of hesitation came before a softening in Altavim's tone. "That may be so... but do you not see this means my whole family will be damned to obscurity? That all of my people may face a horrible fate? All of the world's people? Do you not remember the fact that there are _no more ancients_? I see the future you wish to bring, one in which my lands are carved between your nations as they seek a feast in a decaying world, but I have the chance to prevent that once and for all. I would betray myself and my own people not to take it. So long as you work towards this future of destruction, I won't tolerate your presence."

Karel noted, "The world is awake to the sight of the mind. These discoveries cannot be undiscovered. The day will come when these tired tales truly breathe their last breath, then it will be too late to ever go back."

"Not if I have any say. So be it, then. Terath. Karel. Mareni. All of your peers. All of your nations. We race to the sunset. Dream as you will to push past it, I'll be the one to turn it back!"

At that the sphere vanished, fading away. The three looked between themselves before seeing reality before them, and the messy room around them.

Mareni brought his sight over to the homeowner, who looked more than a little upset at the matter. "Are you all right there?"

"I'm fine." She looked around and gestured to the broken desk. "I just bought that damn thing a month ago!"

Terath looked between the two with a bit of an apologetic air. "I'll repay the damages."

Karel added, "And thank you for helping us." Her gaze trailed over, sight resolving the broken figurine. "Is that what the wisp centered around?"

"It was a 'gift', one I aught to've been suspicious of. You're here about the wisps? ... It's broken and worthless now anyway; if you want what's left, take it."

Karel continued, "That will come in handy, thank you. We'll visit in person tomorrow, to help fix the mess as well if you wish."

At least goods could always be replaced. The night turning to sunrise, the three rose, making good on their promises first and foremost, recovering what was left of the figurine.

Terath held what was left of the figurine's head on the way back. Rolling it between his fingertips and among the orange wisps of his thought, he mimicked the tune of that bolt he'd seen, creating a blue trail circling about. The head briefly responded, the eyes flickering a sparkling blue before quickly dimming to black. The whirlpool in its eyes confined any energy directed at it to a focused line, with much less lost to ambient noise.

He tucked it away. "Curious... an anchor for lines of thought."

Karel added, "Telepathy between skilled minds may do that, though I'll have to see how someone got a simple item to do it. All the same, now we know that all we need to do is break the anchors."

Mareni gestured around. "We'll tell the whole town, and from there other towns will hear. But Altavim won't give up that easily."

Terath shook his head. "She won't need to. These are just the prelude... I know war on the horizon when I see it. After all, the famine wars a quarter millennium ago made a blacksmith of me."

Karel nodded. "Lavsvai has an abundance of silver, tin, and diamonds. I expect that outside of promoting her own goddess-hood, she still has her eyes on those resources. She would be a fool to re-ignite that old conflict though; the provinces of the Kalvodian federation have a long relationship with these lands. But, we will see."

After being pieced back together, the reconstructed but neutralized figurine adorned their room. Karel managed to repurpose it into a security measure; it now lit up when any unwelcome force passed through the room. The town was at peace the next two days, a peace interrupted by the arrival of a large fleet of Kalvodian continentals, who came to raid the local food supply and leave a trail of coins in their wake. Their trades made it obvious they were readying to carry many passengers back to the old islands.

As Terath approached a gathering of their officers, his footsteps drew their eyes. He ducked his head.

"Greetings to you."

He decided to settle nearby, tossing a Federal half-ryt to the stall for a snack that would count as a meal for two anywhere else. The puddle-shaped irregular arrows and cardinals had fallen out of favor with the lack of a mint; these were replaced by Kalvodian coinage in most places owing to the federation's dominance in trade. These new coins were neatly round, standardized, milled, and nigh-impossible to counterfeit.

"Well, if it isn't Ironclad. Already moved ahead of time, have you?"

"Moved? Not at all, I'm here on a temporary leave."

"Temporary, that's _everything_ now."

"Something has changed, has it? What has so many coming here?"

"Xelqar Altavim kicked us out."

Terath frowned. "I'm not surprised. What of my own peers?"

"You're probably next on the block, so if you haven't moved yet... hey, they haven't bothered Atswala's people for some reason."

"And what, is she just taking all the towns for herself? What of all the work we've done on the land?"

"She calls it her territorial right. Looking back on it, that contract was a bad idea anyway. At least she's giving us the coming few seasons to move out, and you might as well get ahead of the rush yourself. After all, what's left there when time's up won't be coming back to you!"

"Of course, she doesn't care _what_ we think, because she's planning on 'uniting' the continents, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't make _that_ assumption! Hopefully... I hope at least..."

"Ceremor won't stand for that, and even we Leneuans won't have it if she's planning on stamping out our innovations."

"Is _that_ what you think she's doing?" A bit of an amused chuckle at the idea.

Terath leaned forward. "I know that's a goal of hers. I spoke to her three nights ago through the spying wisp she had snooping around here. And if she takes Lavsvai, she'll have all the manpower she needs. I know Kalvod has always been short-handed; I doubt either of our peoples will be of much help if all goes wrong."

"Short-handed we may be, but we'll figure out a way. We always figure out a way! Unless you're in the northern provinces, they don't know what they're doing half the time."

The group bantered between one another. "Now watch it, my brother lives up north!"

"Well even _they_ have exceptions."

"Hey hey!"

Terath all but rolled his eyes, though at least provincial bickering was amusing more often than not. He had to admit, they had a point about their ingenuity as well. Kalvod, despite its lack of people---or some had argued because of it---had begun to overtake Leneu in the sciences. With a long list of orders and few hands to fill them, they relied on their minds more than most to get work done. It was no surprise Altavim went after Kalvod first, and by that logic, his friends here were right. His peers would be next.

This stuck in the front of his mind for the rest of his stay as he returned to the other two. Karel and Mareni were ready to split off to spread the word, hunting down the anchors of Xelqar's influence, with Terath setting sail for Kolrem.

As promised, there were none of Altavim bothering the Atswalan continentals this time around. Nothing had been taken, nothing driven away. All they had to say was that the situation between Altavim and Atswala had been resolved diplomatically.

As he came in towards Kolrem, Terath saw foreign craft in port--not Altavim, but Valnor. Staring ahead, he searched over the town with his spyglass ahead of the setting sun. There was no sign of any fighting happening, though crowds were gathered outside with Valnoran and Altavim musketeers patrolling.

He moored without hassle, immediately feeling watched as he stepped onto the pier.

A tan-skinned mirian with the speartip emblem on his coat, musket on his back addressed Terath. "Mr. Rolith? Here to collect your items?"

Terath looked around, watching and following the soldier as he checked over his craft. "What's the meaning of all this?"

"The Goddess has seen fit to revoke her grant of land use, and offer it to Valnor. They recognize our goddess, and we wish to be friends."

"Seriously? That matter was buried a century ago!"

"No. We remember."

Terath eyed him. "You're perfectly at ease being mind-controlled, and they are as well?"

"Mind control? Terath, you don't know what you're talking about."

"Then elaborate."

"Our speech with our goddess is two way. We pray to her, and she answers. When my son fell ill, I prayed and medicine arrived. When my neighbor's farm was set alight, I was one of the ones to heed the call to help. Can you say the same for the goddesses _you_ pray to?"

"I answer my own prayers if the need comes."

"We look forward to the end of our differences. We all used to have deities that spoke back."

"Yes, but that is no more. I shall carry on handling my own problems come sun or storm." His words were gruff and stern... he remembered well the days when religion commanded supreme over politics; they weren't all that long ago to him. He wasn't happy to see these days clawing their way back.

Finding nothing amiss, the soldier gave a hasty farewell before moving on to the next boat. Moving into town himself, Terath gathered his things. There wasn't even any shipyard market to go to regarding the boat, so he just kept the same one. The arrangement was similar to what he'd heard of the Kalvodians. Many of them had left aboard their ships, abandoning those who wouldn't or couldn't leave to be absorbed by Altavim. It was the same here, only Valnor would be claiming the town.

Some had left town inland, voluntarily joining Altavim. Despite the local's suspicion and sense of hostility, the nature of it had changed. It wasn't so much what Terath and his kind _were_ , so much as what they stood for and where they were going. Those who were willing to abandon their old ways for the faith of Altavim were welcome.

He kept his mouth shut while he milled about, the wind sweeping through the streets. Considering Xelqar may have tried to personally kill him, he was surprised that her soldiers let him be. Those Ceremor travelers he'd met were nowhere to be found, though.

Seeing someone passing by, he stopped by the old market; he found the new cooper and ducked his head in greeting. She addressed him, "Mr. Rolith, right? How may I help you?"

"I come seeking information. Have you seen any Ceremor ships leaving recently? Any coming into port?"

"No, nor will there be any more of _their_ kind here ever again. Altavim considers them unwelcome and I _especially_ do. I'm surprised Leneu fell out of favor though; I thought the coal trade was booming here."

Terath agreed. "It was. Then Xelqar decided she'd be fine on her own. With all honesty I'm surprised Valnor enjoys her presence; she's trying to stamp out all the progress we've made."

She looked aside briefly. "I wouldn't be surprised if that was true, but so be it. I'm not the only one who's been less than impressed with the way things have been back in the old world." She looked up at him. "Nice to meet someone like you though, Ironclad, even if the circumstances could be better."

He nodded, taking up a less weighty subject. Making it worth her time, he picked up a few more containers to hold food for his journey, though a lot of her stock had already been sold out. He wasn't the only of his peers that had been taken off guard by all this, only having one last chance to raid the market before being ejected from the continent.

There was only so much that could fit on the boat, especially with food loaded up. He had his wealth secure though, save for what he gave to others who wished to return to Leneu and otherwise couldn't afford to.

As night came he hunkered down to rest on the boat, albeit a bit concerned about what might happen to him in his sleep. That concern along with the sense of being watched kept him awake. Yet, despite it all, she wasn't trying to kill him _here_. Perhaps she was waiting for the chance to do it quietly... he wasn't going to sleep, and he knew it. Standing alone, he was vulnerable to Xelqar's sight.

Instead, knowing it wasn't the best of ideas though considering it the better option, he boiled some tea and downed it before drawing up sail and pulling in the lines. Unfurled, the sail drove him and his boat out into the black of night. Rather than circling north, he took out to the east, directly away from the continent. Yet, eying back, he could sense he was being followed.

Out of sight of town, he was headed towards the islands of the Federation. Trailing north into the easterly wind, he let loose the kite sail under the brown light of their world's parent, storms lighting the sliver of darkness on its night side, the skies otherwise clear overhead. Suspecting they would try to make a tragic accident of his journey, he prepared his gun and set it by the wheel. He propped it in place long enough for him to don his coat, cuirass, and helmet, the metal all blackened steel with 'pounce proofing' spikes along the back.

A silhouette of black marked an approaching boat, the spectre of the crew's sight trailing ahead over the waters. Terath knew what this was, but it was not his habit to act in aggression. He drew up his cannon, prepared ahead of time, while waiting for their intent to show itself.

On the first hint of their intent of force he reached out, channeling a shockwave of noise directed along his arm to scramble their sight. The light of others were in the distance, but those weren't Altavim. Terath's awareness and subsequent cancellation of their attack took them by surprise and he saw it. Thanking the advent of wakeful tea, he looked down to where their sight was aimed. There was a faint pinprick of light to the mind's eye... a trigger, right at the keel of his boat. A work of sabotage!

He kept his sails fully unfurled, swatting away their sight, knowing full well that if he drew nearer they would set off whatever it was down there, possibly sinking him right then and there. Even if he managed to board their ship, there were too many minds aboard for him to fend off alone. So he defended against their attempts, spotting rockets flying. These spinning finned rockets flew true; a bolt of fire and concussive force from Terath's hand swatted one from the sky, cleanly missing another, which popped out into shards and trails of flame, engulfing the flying sail ahead of him.

Caught between two choices, he chose the flames which threatened to spread, directing his mind to absorb the heat, pulling the flame in to gather its power for himself all while extinguishing it. The moment gave them the opening they needed; the flash of light below preceded his boat rocking under him after a loud pop. He was thrown to his belly as the wood cracked and splintered, the keel parting below. The Altavim boat turned, vanishing into the night.

Looking around, he evaluated his lack of options. There were Kalvodian craft out there... out of shouting range by voice or mind. He looked to his gun. Then, glancing back at the crystal lamp, he rubbed his chin and peered up to the clear skies.

Having packed as much power as he could within the metal of the shot, he aimed straight upwards. His thumb over the top of the spark-lock rod, he sent a spark of power through it, into the chamber; there was a thunderous report and a haze of smoke as the shot trailed skyward. Sending a wave of his power to chase the shot, the grapeshot erupted in a show of light, fanning out into a cloud of moving stars that soon rained back down, dimming and fading to nothing. Three clacked off the planks, and Terath picked them up. Tossing them up and catching them one at a time, he furled the sail before having a seat at the bow as the stern began to sink. There was no patching a shattered keel.

The stern was about underwater when he spotted an amber light approaching, two masts over a local hauler, ten aboard--Kalvodian.

Drawing alongside, their reefed sails let the ship slow. "Ahoy! Wha- Ironclad, is that you?!" Their captain laughed. "Fallen on hard times I see?"

"I could use some assistance here."

"And I could use some extra funds, if you don't mind parting with a few things for my trouble coming here."

"I'll offer eighty Ter."

"Oh really?" She smiled.

"One hundred?"

"You don't look like you're in much position to bargain now!"

Terath crossed his arms, standing firm on his sinking boat. "Turn away, my coin chest sinks and you get nothing!"

"I see... oh, all right!"

With lines thrown out, Terath's most valuable belongings were cast up to the other boat. He himself was finally on relatively dry timber in the end, hauled in with three barrels of food--the last thing hauled in. Fortunately his boat took its time sinking, but soon after he departed it, the bow sank, masts following suit, leaving broken planks and a few barrels floating nearby. Once those were pulled in and he'd paid his fare though, he was underway once more. He shook his head at the floating planks left back there, but found calm in it all. At least he wasn't drowning!

"Most people don't haggle with their savior."

He looked back and up at the captain. "I suppose not, though it's unbecoming of a 'savior' to take advantage of others' victims. Besides, I'll need most of the salvage to pay for the boat I just lost. I'll thank Altavim for that."

"Altavim? And where are they? Why would they do that?"

"Because I witnessed their plans and flying machines, sharing the details. They attacked me and left before you came."

"Oh flying machines now?"

"If you meet Karel, ask her, you're likely to get a lecture."

"Karel, the necromancer?"

"If you wish to call her that. She, Mareni, and I have been working against Xelqar's plot to restore the old order. Xelqar will have our innovations, our liberty to think, our very awareness of the mind snuffed out."

Karel's was a known name to the Kalvodians; the captain could see that Terath was honest and deadly serious, and the amusement left her expression with haste.

"Altavim is really doing that?"

Terath looked back to her. "I'd ask you spread the word in your travels."

"I'll need evidence before I go talking tall tales like that."

"I suspect you'll have more than enough soon."

Needless to say, it wasn't news she was hoping to hear. At this point these words were little more than a rumor, though one easy to believe in the face of their eviction. Though the Kalvodian continentals settled on the islands near Altavim were officially amidst otherwise neutral waters, there was a sense it was only a matter of time before Xelqar swept them away as well.

Fortunately, the wind carrying west, it wasn't long before he had the chance to continue back to Lavsvai, aboard a Lavsvai native shipping freighter. It was a bit unusual to see friendly featherless Lavsvai faces aboard a ship of Tavarian design flying the Ceremor jack, though the explanation was simple: Ceremor barely charged anything for registry. Fittingly enough, they were part of the Lavsvai Global Shipping Company, its emblem a map of the world surrounded by waving tapestries. It was a business recognized around the world, often operating among foreign powers since Lavsvai itself had no mechanism for incorporating companies.

Despite 'republic' becoming a foul word among those under crowns, Lavsvai had plenty of friends and partners. Then again, so did Altavim apparently. The more Terath thought about it the more explosive a recipe it seemed.

Stepping down to the pier, the gangplank bowed slightly, but carried his weight gracefully otherwise. Looking around, he spotted Mareni's skeletal figure along with Karel's in the distance; the two were moving a cart and gestured towards Terath in a distant greeting. Terath quickly gathered his belongings into another cart, making his way down the pier and into town to catch up. Clouds darkened the skies above, a shielding overcast without any storm.

Looking back at his approach, Karel gestured for him to combine the carts. "What happened to your boat?"

Terath shook his head, latching the carts together and joining the others at the front. "It's a long story. Valnor now owns Kolrem, and I'll never return to that continent again."

"Fair enough, I have a space open for you at my burrow anyway."

"Your _burrow_?"

"I'm not sure how else to describe it. It is where I've been living lately, a series of very sturdy chambers dug into the mountainside by the ancients. I believe they used it as a type of castle or refuge, though before we inherited the world they sealed several artifacts there to preserve them, marking it on their maps. Finding it is what got me into this business."

Mareni added, "It's nice and cool in there all the time. Too bad that doesn't matter to me anymore. We've known about that site for aeons, but never managed to open the door. It took telepathy, after all."

Terath looked up. "So that's what the mark on the map was. How far will we need to walk, and is there civilization there?"

Mareni nodded. "There's civilization everywhere, and sometimes wagons pass by the site as well. As long as we keep moving we'll get there before winter truly sets in. Not that it matters much in the savanna."

Terath looked back to Karel. "That means we'll be trapped if Altavim actually does take this land."

"So be it, these are my people now."

"Not to mention, my queen will want to know where her blacksmith went wandering off to."

"What, you expect her to just give you a new forge?"

"If conflict breaks out... actually, yes. I'll have to work to truly own it but she won't let me sit idle if more guns are in order."

"You're also part of Leneu's assembly of owners. You have a voice, don't you?"

"That's why I'm free to stay here helping you tidy up first instead of taking the first ship to the main isles."

"Fair enough, and I'll need your help. I've been trying to repurpose that anchor into a handy detector, so that people will easily find Xelqar's wisps. Once we've spread some awareness... is there a place in Leneu for Mareni and I? I'd rather work with you in person until this matter's dealt with."

"Of course there is. Though people may be surprised to meet a talking skeleton."

Mareni looked over at them with a grin. "I'm already well used to that! Call me a friendly surprise."

Karel chuckled and waved a gesture to Mareni. "You're full of surprises. Here, we'll find you something to wear around town then."

Terath looked ahead, pondering for a moment. Though the works of mind they'd made so far were incredibly humble in comparison, they worked on the same principles that the ancient relics did. The people of this world may some day build devices as the ancients did. They really were no different than the ancients it seemed, a people with clever and ambitious minds, and with hearts often noble yet often flawed.

A continent away, Xelqar watched as her sight slowly began to recede from Lavsvai. And so she closed her sight to the region. Waving a hand, she erased the image and its projection, all of her anchors falling silent and dark, as inert as their surroundings and much harder to find. She would need them again soon; times were changing all too fast.

A voice whispered to her as she closed her eyes, seated in the wind under the monolithic tower.

Her eyes opened to a blue glow, her mind's voice reaching out. "Admiral? You have news for me?"

"We've received notices from the world at large. Valnor stands by our side, along with many of the equatorial kingdoms, including Tavaria proper. The equatorial republics, Lavsvai, Leneu, all Kalvod provinces, and Ceremor decry our deeds. Atswala wishes to trade but at this time will not support our goals directly. Your aim is known to the world now. Word is spreading of our new air force; the world knows of that as well."

"Good, let the world speculate and awe at our people's creations; it will be a good distraction. Are we staged to blockade Lavsvai?"

"Kalvod has proven highly aggressive, and has already blockaded Lavsvai from _us_! Ceremor expresses similar sentiment, but they are distracted with an infestation of criminals."

"I've seen their ships. A wall of sticks to a rolling boulder. If they wish that, then we move now. We shall clean the filth from the islands around our land and move to Lavsvai. It seems most of their world has forgotten how only a mere quarter-millennia ago they embraced the oracles unquestioningly. Well, they'll have a goddess again soon enough."

Leaning back beneath the marble ceiling, she gazed into artwork depicting the military, her sight trailing onwards to spot these forces as they were. At that moment, while those little islands held their garrisons of thousands, she could call over a million on her continent to rise, rows and columns of shining plate and weaponry forming an orderly field of military marked with banners spanning to the horizon. Behind them, where the huts of feuding clans once stood rose tall and proud architecture, sturdy and accommodating stonework around the smokestacks of efficient ironworks with smooth roads spanning the continent. She had confidence in her ability to hold sway, though her confidence was never complete. She knew that regardless what the rest of the world did sitting about the shining pillars, when her tower fell it could easily take her rule with it. Unless, by that time, all minds had already submitted to her...

Despite the sacrifice of some of her most skilled thoughtweavers, those tunnels in her basement had only grown darker, a touch of noise beginning to seep through the door.

Beneath chilled winds, dawn brought the sight of the spearhead emblem on the horizon; Xelqar's forces approached the last continental holdings of the Federation. Another craft approached, then another, the horizon filling with Altavim boats. The sound of their minds could be heard from afar.

"Kalvodians. Surrender and we will permit you to leave peacefully."

Gritting her teeth, the local governor lowered her spyglass, speaking out, "This wasn't part of the agreement! Hey, you have no right to go doing this."

"To say we have equal rights to these islands would be generous in your favor. You may leave peacefully, or make good on your promise to die for your crown."

The horizon was shrouded by Altavim sails. There would be no backup, no refuge to be found. The Kalvodian captain tipped her hat, seeing the writing on the wall. The ships of that island were soon seen setting sail northwards.

Not all islands were so quick to fold, standing with firm resolve, cannons primed and ready atop formidable towers of stone and concrete. The towers' angular edges were ready to deflect cannonballs away, ready to mark their place in history with the blaze of cannon fire. Indeed, once the fires died down, they were recorded in history. The Altavim lorekeepers made note of their opponents' foolishness as the spearhead banner rose above the ruins.

The blaze continued westwards, trailing north towards Kalvodian and Lavsvai sails on the horizon. Ships of the line and frigates, with their many tall and proud masts towered imposingly over the seas, rows of hundreds of cannons ready to lay a hail of metal down on any of the puny craft approaching.

Chuckling, the Kalvodian captain looked around. "They're sending island couriers? All right, let's tell these people to go home."

With Kalvod and Lavsvai together, the Kalvodian line towered over the water. "Xelqar, these are not your waters. And what, sending little courier boats? Return to your own waters, will you?"

The small craft fanned out, swiftly approaching. Xelqar and her admirals heeded well the advice of the Valnoran admirals, who'd gained many tales from the very recent Valnor-Paka war in former Tavarian waters. Kalvod still had its old mindset from the slave wars...

The enormous ships holding the Kalvodian line let thunder out to the air, a lethal hail of metal blanketing the sky ahead of billowing clouds of gun smoke, firing out at the small craft's positions. The obliterating force came down to send a beautiful haze of mist into the air, the ocean taking no real damage.

Their highly maneuverable opponents, having already turned and moved from that spot, easily pelted the enormous wooden ships with psychic fire, the flames rapidly spreading, their enormous targets impossible to miss. Their simple, light sails moved quickly as they easily came about; steel-tipped harpoons fired into the bow and stern of the Kalvodian craft, channeling deadly power through the cable trailing behind them. Dozens of ships with dozens of captains lay down a telepathic barrage, leaving the hierarchy of the giants paralyzed.

The more mobile rocket launchers set some Altavim craft ablaze; immobilized, these were easily sunk by those massive cannons. For each of these inexpensive craft downed, another two sailed past to return fire. Even with smaller support ships aiding the sizable craft, it took less than a day for the line of giants to be devoured by the swarm. The enormous wooden ships were outnumbered, de-masted, then de-crewed.

The dawn of the next day saw the spearhead emblem appear near Lavsvai's shores. The same offer was made. Surrender and either flee or join, or stand and perish. The consensus was almost unanimous: The people of Lavsvai were going to stand and _win_.

Prideful assumptions on both sides fell short, Lavsvai moreso as the light Altavim craft made landfall regardless of pier or no, surrounding the coastal cities before pushing inland with rows of their dead foes and dead compatriots left behind. Kalvod wasn't done yet, and as the days passed, their continental admiral quickly wised up to the end of the days of giant warships. Often the Altavim musketeers would hastily return to their depot, only to find no more powder had arrived, thanks to small and stealthy Kalvodian boats raiding Altavim supply lines.

However, many lighter craft could easily evade the Kalvodian intrusion. Sailing to a steady pace, the spearhead emblem encircled the continent, back and forth, finally landing a crowd of marksmen down. These stepped into the savanna to find the secluded farm house Karel and her friends had made a temporary home of. Busting down the windows and doors, they aimed their guns in to find: absolutely nothing of note.

Pulling in the line of the jib as the winds changed their aim, the robe-covered skeleton Mareni looked back, his homeland having vanished beyond the horizon several hours prior. This sail-and-a-half boat was intended for fishing and light travel, Karel's to use when she came to shore. Now it was their home.

"Do you think we'll be able to make it north in this? We can barely carry a few days' provisions."

Karel nodded. "That is more than enough! Besides, there's always catching more fish. I'm sure we'll come past Atswalans or Kalvodians somewhere."

Fortunately, Mareni hadn't really felt the particular need to sleep much ever since his 'preservation'.

The hours brought winds and clouds, but no other ships. "Somewhere..."

Karel watched the sky pan overhead as the clouds rolled past.

"People are discovering islands all the time; my old peers must be nearby."

Terath stepped up to the top deck, the last stack of hardtack in hand, handing Karel a portion of it before sitting down.

"Ah, thank you."

"I may as well share, after all." He held the bag upside down. "Though now we have a bit of a problem."

"I'll see what the nearest island is on the map. It's, well..."

"We'll be dragging the net a while won't we? What about drink?"

"Well, do we have enough metal laying around to make a still with?"

"And feed it with what? I doubt we have much fire to boil with if you seek to make drinking water from the sea."

"We're clever people, I'm sure we'll think of something or another."

"That's been your entire plan thus far."

"Well, more or less, I suppose."

Thirst wasn't a nice way to die... though as far as they saw it, it was better than an Altavim bullet. There was always using the old casks to collect steam in; it sort of worked. The fire needed wasn't the best thing to have on a small wooden boat though, meaning someone always had to watch it.

"Hey! Look, right off the starboard!"

Karel poked her head up from the hatch. "Kalvodian or Lavsvai or...?"

"None of the above. But it does have trees on it."

Karel blinked, ascending to take up her spyglass. An island rose in the distance, no buildings or ships seen, no mark on the map.

Mareni sat back. "You did mention people discover islands all the time. I suppose it's our turn?"

Karel sighed, "A lucky break if I ever had one." She set the spyglass down and returned to lower her head back down through the hatch. "Terath, you're now a governor!"

"Me? I'm more than happy to hear of land at least!"

"Yes you, you are the Wealthy Leneuan after all! And I'm not sure if I have a homeland anymore..."

"I don't feel that wealthy at the moment. Can't eat silver after all."

A brief pause passed... ended by Karel. "Well then, I suppose that makes me queen of an island."

"I suppose so! We'll be staying here a while, won't we?"

"We'll see. We're far from Altavim... and everyone else. I wouldn't mind taking some time to rest after all of this."

In spite of the prospects of being stranded on a desert island, their spirits held strong. They were alive after all, with a perfectly useful boat and the promise of returning to civilization that came with it. It certainly wasn't the ideal way to settle an island, but at least they came relatively well-equipped; the boat, its net and all the other tools were at their disposal. Thus prepared, they were greeted by an island of moderate size, the area before them covered in semi-arid bush with trees present though not ideally thick.

Shaded ridges by a hill harbored pools of rainwater. Gathered by barrel then boiled, it was delicious to a thirsty tongue. Because the island was situated deep within the tropics, blooms of plants grew far under the waves, feeding a massive and varied population of fish. Cooked fish wrapped in seaweed with some foraged fruits, picked out by Mareni with his knowledge of Lavsvai herbalism, made for a decent meal. But, when the inevitable wet season finally came, they wouldn't want to be sleeping on the deck of the boat.

With their appetites quelled and thirst quenched, a relatively positive mood followed them as they roamed the island, the sun crawling its path through the sky under the wisps of clouds. A tree felled one after the next, carried over shoulder by Terath back to their clearing, gradually shaped up into a camp--along with their own simple pier planned to tie the boat to in case the sea grew restless.

As they lay down fresh lumber to the frame of their lean-to, Karel noted, "An Atswalan trade route passes somewhat near to the south. Our little boat won't get us to Atswala, but we can see if any Atswalan merchants are willing to carry a message for us, or bring us there."

"Is it out of sight of the island?" Terath's voice carried concern. "The last thing we need is Altavim finding us here. Atswala might not be our foe directly, but they're a bit too close to Altavim for comfort."

"They'll know where they meet our boat but not where we moor it. And besides, Atswala isn't as fond of Xelqar as she seems to think."

"No prospects for building that relationship?"

"Not in the short term. Atswala is just there for the money, as my own people were in Lavsvai at first. Being actual friends didn't come around until after Ceremor started visiting them."

Mareni looked back south as the sun set, head hung low on his hands.

Terath spotted this, then nodded, a sentiment of sympathy. By the old ways, someone of his status should've stood and fought to the end... but none of them were properly soldiers, and none of them had any way of joining the fray that wouldn't be throwing their lives away for nothing. They'd hoped to accomplish far more from the vantage point of the main isles...

Karel smiled. "Worry not! Our queens will catch word of all this, everyone will pile in to stop Altavim from advancing, and we'll be back in Lavsvai in short order."

Terath shook his head. "Don't assume. I've seen how Altavim works, though I suppose time will tell. At least we're all armed already, should Xelqar find us first."

"Well, I did bring my hunting gun, even if I won't be finding any more cartridges here. It's much slower to load than a normal musket anyway, and it's starting to wear..."

"Once we get back to civilization I'll forge a new barrel for you if you'd like. For now... which one of us will deliver the message?"

"It is my boat, and I'll eat less on the way than you would."

"Fair enough. I'll see to it we have provisions ready for your return."

It was a cozy arrangement, as far as desert islands went. When Karel and Mareni set off, they made surprisingly short work of finding a merchant ship, propping their sails to counter one another upwind of the island. Two was very shorthanded, but with telekinesis to aid and plenty of food to fuel it with, they managed.

Terath and Karel had pooled their coins. As useless as they were on the island, the merchants passing by knew no better language than the sound of coinage. None of them wanted to take on passengers, especially not a dragon, but messages and parcels didn't eat food.

As they waited, silent and secluded, the boots of Xelqar's army marched about the Lavsvai continent, their steps like clockwork. The flying machines, thought to be a terror and an awe-inspiring threat, ultimately took few lives; their frail wings easily snapped and were set alight by fireworks and telekinesis, and many lost control all on their own from the shortcomings of their crude tail-controls. The main killers were the entirely conventional soldiers coming around the flank, cannons laying their fortifications to rubble while they were distracted looking up. Yet, it was no triumph for Altavim. Each town captured was left in tatters, each step they took pressing their line forward claimed more of their numbers. Kalvod and Ceremor, the old alliance, were relentless in thinning Xelqar's fleet.

In the end she had both continents. Xelqar spread her land's name in curved text over that entire quadrant of the world. All the same, her people were hungry and weary. She watched as her sight carried north into the equatorial realms of the Tavarian region, to see fires ablaze as the distant popping of gunfire rang out past the old chapel. On an all-too-dry land, the spearhead emblem rose. Everything was taken before moving on to the old library--the contested library that used to be of the Oracles, now wrested from the hands of the equatorial republics and secured by the new face of the old order.

Her tired navy finally fell to Kalvod's relentless advancement, ignoring old boundaries, trailing into the regions of the equator, into the remnant of Tavaria proper. She pointed her gaze right to those libraries... she held them hostage. What couldn't be taken or secured would be burned should the Federation's fleet move in.

The Kalvodians couldn't care less, it seemed. They and their Ceremor allies routed Altavim out of the area, leaving Ceremor's sailors to try to recover what books they could. Their sails drew in towards the chapel and its city-state, a battle hard fought to make landfall, only to find that their foes weren't just bare-skinned Altavim soldiers, but also feathery Tavarians. There was gunfire ringing from windows, from the cathedral, from the keep, as soldiers of the Kalvodian provinces advanced through the Tavarian isles, Ceremor's dragged along for the ride. Invading Tavaria wasn't part of the agreement; the Ceremor craft had only come along on a support order, tagging along to help their provincial allies drive Altavim back from the equator.

Tavaria was already weakened though, and Altavim's strength at the equator was faltering. How Tavaria and its queen had fallen in the end! Soon she found herself in all her adornment taking aim from the top of the keep as her guards fell all around her. The announcement had been made that no quarter would be given; she had nothing to lose. The guns of this age fired in volleys from lines that left even a royal guardian's cuirass full of holes. Two lines met, but the Kalvodian invaders shot first. A royal guardsman, trained from childhood, in his last moments could only look up and see his queen wretch in a spray of red, watching her keel over the edge of the keep before he himself fell from the window. His homeland, Tavaria, was no more. With the crown laying in a pool of blood, the entire state blown apart, all that remained were clans trying to survive as Kalvod, Ceremor, and Altavim cast lead and flame all about them.

Below, towards the shore, one Kalvodian soldier and one of Ceremor entered a surrendering home, guns at the ready, covered in coat and vest without need for armor. The occupant had been shooting at them from the window. Now said occupant had his hands raised, weapon cast away, gazing at the entering soldiers.

Green-feathers under a Ceremor cap, the foremost soldier stood down. The other asked, "What brings you to take up arms against your own world?"

"We took up no arms until you came here, and for what? Altavim promised to reunite Tavaria and restore its power; we had no quarrel with your people."

"So that's what Xelqar's offering? That's a contract to watch out for. Thank you and farewell!" The report of the Kalvodian musket rang out through this home; the former occupant slumped over, a nasty mess remaining of a forehead blown open, the wall behind coated with red.

"Damn it, that was senseless."

"My orders are to give no quarter!"

The cries of the nearby family were heard as they made haste exiting.

"To the depths with those orders!"

"What kind of soldier says _that_?"

"One that values his fellow soldiers. You'll have no quarter yourself now, nor will your peers!"

"None needed. Kalvodians don't surrender."

No more threats were in the area, it seemed. A sweep of mind and eyesight confirmed it. The spearhead emblem and Tavarian eye were both torn down, the Kalvodian banner rising in its place.

"And what of Tavaria? Our captain only came here following yours, so why are we still here? Altavim has already left."

"Tavaria? You mean that name in the history book? This is a province now! And they'll recognize it and pay their tax or face death for disobeying their new queen. So, welcome to Kalvod."

"This wasn't what we agreed to help you with."

"Your guys agreed to help us drive off the Altavim forces, and thanks!"

"We agreed to help you free the equatorial realms and stop a tyrant, not this crap!"

"Don't forget you guys still owe us a favor, remember? And that being said, what do you think will happen when Altavim decides to 'reunite' Valnor?"

"If _this_ is your answer, we might not be calling on you!" Though the decades had steadied the passions of Ceremor, they still despised tyrants... particularly those who pretended to be their friends.

This was hardly the only instance of Ceremor soldiers and sailors questioning this 'little adventure'. These two had walked into this fray as brothers in arms, and now might stand as brothers no more. All in all, it certainly wasn't the outcome Xelqar had hoped for, but it was hardly the worst that could've happened for her.

She thought out to her forces on the field, "It is time to return home. We'll be at a truce with Kalvod and Ceremor, for now."

She had every intention of finishing the deed later. And so, the dust finally began to settle for now... Xelqar stepped out to the starry night as her ships made their way home. She gazed upwards... somehow, despite her successes, the sky seemed to lack the flair it carried those centuries ago. She heard a voice on that matter: her chief of the stars was calling. Those of his post once concerned themselves only with the matter of astronomy, though now he arranged the study of the cosmos and its workings at large.

"Noble power, please hear me. I have a great concern about our findings from the equatorial war."

Xelqar closed her eyes. "Speak your mind."

"These crystals they make use of. They were not mined. They were _grown_."

"They make useful crystals? I know of their ice farms, but have you found what they make these gems from or how?"

"No. We found a cache of these gems in a depot, almost all identical. Some of the other tools we've found seem more specialized than what we've seen before; their use of these gems for telekinetic aid is ever more ubiquitous."

She hesitated, leaning back against the pillar, eyes trailing to the light of dusk. "I see... I've noticed they and their neighbors seem to have more things in common lately. Their society has begun to change in strange ways."

She remembered Karel, her talk of a wave of innovation... Xelqar had hoped this would fall short of upending the world, but the peoples of the isles were actually going for it, taking a running start on the leap from muscle to metal. Indeed, she saw the world taking a running start down the path the ancients had tread before... and there were no more ancients. "In the lands of Kalvod and Leneu, something very dangerous is happening. Seer of the stars, gather your intellectuals, refine our aircraft and our rockets, and seek for a means of shielding against psi with metal."

She gathered a more confident tone. "Once we're rested and ready, we'll put an end to all this. Both continents are held by our people now. There will be no stopping us this time..." After all, she no longer had the time to stop.

#  Arc 10: Rate of Revolution

With such long simmering animosity between the two continents, most expected that Xelqar would have crushed the people of Lavsvai beneath her heel, imposing a reign of death and enslavement. Word came that indeed, she did remove all of the old republic, replacing it with her order and reign, and she did compel the people to obey her will and the might of strength and thought behind it, but there was no slaughter. She treated those who didn't fight her with civility, recognizing them as her own people. Terath, Karel, and Mareni had done all they could. With the populace forewarned, they weren't the only ones to escape, though those that remained were now part of Xelqar's rule. The matter was settled, but all realized it was a temporary truce. With the old order's facades finally crumbling to dust, nothing was permanent.

In a sense, life was starting to approach normality again for the three. Their calls for transit were answered, not by a ship to rescue them, but by four ships; each carried a full complement of colonists and assorted materials for putting up proper buildings and setting up agriculture. Civilization had come to them!

Wooden awnings over dirt paths left plenty of sky to be seen, lit up on the night of the dawn of southerly autumn with a spectacular show. There were rockets painting the dark with a variety of overlapping hues, sparks of red and white spiraling amidst the smoke, trailing beyond to dance among the clouds and stars. The year 4000 at last!

Terath took the moment to settle down on the stone floor, his own property still half-built. The night was clearly visible under a framework awaiting a roof. Overhead was a somewhat dark and cloudy sky with the smell of mist in the air.

An entire millennium was dead and left behind. An entirely new one lay ahead, open to all yet with contents obscured. Perhaps some had hoped to bury the last millennia, and make the fifth as the third was. Not here, where tomorrow was as incomprehensible as it was uncertain. The future had taken on a curiosity of its own, many dreaming of fantastic feats of innovation and journeys into the unfathomable. It held the promise of a new era, past the end of the living gods---an age of civilization, with its fantastic feats and, some feared, its woeful follies.

A cool drop splashed from his nose, another landed on his head. Soon the sound of rain washed out the sound of the colorful explosions, no more seen as the fireworks were hastily moved under cover. These events never did go as planned, but it was a festivity all the same.

Standing, Terath looked back. At least his abode stood well and sturdy, even if the shop was still a frame. His feet sinking slightly into the muddied roads, he strolled down to the port. He spotted a makeshift cover over what had been improvised into a tavern of sorts: a cargo shed with a bar and tables around--a less than impressive venue, though with a far more impressive stock garnered by trade from around the world. This season's hosts were the Ceremor independent traders, riding in on large craft, defensively armed reminiscent of the war ships of the old days. Ceremor's naval power always had played second to their northern neighbor's, with ships pulling double duty; but in return, they never needed much of a standing navy.

Terath was just happy the island was productive enough to drink something better than gritty boiled water! Settling down, holding a whole cask of the brew, he popped the top off and took a good swig. Their captain was running the bar as the ship was in port, a male sythian of an almost blackened blue. Terath had heard enough 'ladies and gentleman' in his life to find the sight refreshing. That spirit of equality, despite the passage of time, still endured as a defining part of Ceremor culture and law.

"I still ask my wife to do the talking when I go abroad usually," the black-blue bartender commented while pouring another patron's brew.

Caught thinking too loud! It was a slight and brief embarrassment, but Terath felt like talking anyway. "I would imagine so, but times change, and I find my peers more accepting of me. It truly does feel a new millennium for once, though I've heard of strife among our own."

"Strife?" The sythian paused a moment before walking over to where Terath sat.

"My own people are split north from south. The coalitionists in the south are banding together their own syndicate and the traditionalists are doing the same in the north. And your people, I've heard, are faced with a grim choice between Kalvod and Valnor."

"A false choice. The Kalvodians and Altavim are actually quite alike in a way. They both think the future will be decided by force, conquest, dominion, by the ancients or by industry---a world of tyranny. But how can one truly dominate when one's subjects can see right through it all?"

The sythian smiled under the shine of his yellow eyes. "I say, rather, the future has no place for empires. Until then, we'll do what we do best. Our own thing! At least, that's what _I'm_ voting for."

He gave a nod to that. "And much can be said about Kalvod, though _effective_ tyrants they are not."

Stacking up a few glasses, the sythian chuckled. "Well, yes, maybe you're right there, though with all their wealth they don't practically care. Say, isn't Leneu going to have its assembly soon?"

Terath nodded, "For once I'll be able to attend and give the coalitionists a piece of my mind. So why are you, captain of a bulk trader, here washing and serving?"

"I get to talk to everyone! I like the people here, and besides, this island has a bit of a secret land feel to it. Maybe when I take a break I'll stay here a while. Maybe I'll bring a few kegs to your place, or Karel's keep?"

"She's building a keep? Neither of us can afford that kind of work."

"She didn't tell you? She wouldn't stop talking about wanting to build a tower here."

"Probably a pipe dream, though there's always the chance."

Terath spotted a grin as the sythian asked, "Fond of gambling?"

"No, never have been. I prefer to plan. And I'm horrible at bluffing."

"I wonder if a keg or two will actually help you with that."

"There are some experiments even I won't try, friend! Ah--that reminds me..."

"Something explosive?"

"Fortunately not. Just thoughts of my 'hobbies' and what's beyond material..."

"Well, what _is_ beyond material?"

"That's the problem. People are trying to make something impersonal of the art of the mind, when it's fundamentally a very personal matter. Obsessing on the material, we just use our kineses to do what probably could be done with material alone anyway. So..."

"No answer to it at all?"

Terath smirked briefly. "Ask again in a few decades."

It was a peaceful night once the festivities drew to a close. The noise of banter quieted as the night continued on, leaving the clattering of rain to mingle with the wash of the sea on the beach. Inclement weather all around, it was a wet muddy walk home, but it was going to be quite a morning afterwards. He still had plenty to do, but despite it all he was in high spirits; carried along with the good mood as he trailed back, he noticed a trio on the side of the road on the way. They kept their eyes to the ground, gathering tools from the market warehouse in the middle of the night. A bit suspicious...

Terath raised a hand to wave at them, calling out, "Good evening."

Surprised someone like Terath even noticed them, the three immediately glanced back. "Ironclad? Sorry if we're in the way."

"No, that's not a problem. It's an odd hour for this, isn't it?"

"We're packing up. They decided a finished building meant kicking us to the curb, and didn't tell us until after the festivities."

Terath could see honesty in their words.

"I could use a few extra hands at the forge; come by tomorrow, will you?"

It was obvious that the trio found this offer a bit surprising. Just like that? They nodded before replying, "Yes, surely!"

_Well_ , Terath reflected, _if they could build a warehouse they could put up a roof; after that, there was always room for more hands and more production_. Even if they weren't metalworkers themselves, there were always odds and ends needing to be done, and he could always share his knowledge if he needed more from them. It was a matter taken for granted now, the sharing of knowledge and insights. Terath remembered full well the days when these trades were closed and locked behind the high walls of the guild. Now anyone with an able body, mind, and diligence could sign on, though not all was well.

It was certainly an improvement. Tooled presses and the help of his staff would let him put his metalworks into the hands of far more people than otherwise possible, that brought a rare smile to his face! The people so employed in industry would otherwise be perishing on fields; now, though their lives may not be easy, they were alive all the same. Still, it did tend to bring all those so impoverished into cramped quarters together, often trapping them under employers who took measures beyond money, sometimes forceful, to grow their power. The Valnorans in particular were fond of perpetuating poverty by entrapping workers, it seemed. Some of their islands were wholly-owned all under one corporation, competitors and independent transit denied harbor entirely by armed security standing watch. Many noted how this hearkened to older times, referring to these islands as 'steel plantations'.

Terath's philosophy was to command through respect and honesty, not through fear. His own people were relatively well taken care of, as difficult as that could prove at times. Despite his will, there was a limit to how generous he could be as competition in all fields took whatever advantage, fair or otherwise, they could wield. All too often the crown answered to coin, and who had more advantage in leveraging coin and power than those who owned the heavy hardware? Fortunately his name, known around the world over generations, was an advantage in itself, though as it stood he still had to rebuild. The clattering of wood and stone laid down however soon gave way to the sound of the furnace, the light of the sun replaced by tamed fire indoors.

There was a long list of steps to the lengthy process behind their first batch of metal. Terath kept a close eye on the red-orange glow of the iron, held within a sizable furnace, the rush of air burning off the excess carbon while he added and stirred the metallurgical stew. He absorbed the flame by hand as he imprinted the will of his mind on the cooling metal, and the batch solidified with an orderly shine. A hint of cyan---not of tempering, but of the snow steel's composition---glimmered across metal soon hammered into useful form.

A powered snow-steel refrigerator big enough to freeze a person was a nice complement to the chemical vats on the side... manufacturing had become such a process, he wasn't sure if he could cram it all into such a small space! Indeed, his shop the size of a dock's warehouse would've never been called small before, but it was now. Perhaps an even bigger building was in order some day. He was already planning on putting up a blast furnace with fuel and ore provided by the nearby islands, though his coin reserves in his chest were growing shallower.

A mild concern shared his mind with many other thoughts, mysteries of the cosmos buzzing about. Even a simple pipe had unfathomable intricacies hidden behind its plain facade. A pipe of telekinetic pattern, capable of driving any air or liquid through it, made an excellent powered replacement for bellows given a filter, valve, and regulator. Some suggested using it as an alternative to oars in dinghies as well, navies around the world already looking well into the prospect of powered craft.

It wasn't the most effective idea at the moment. Mounted on a stand, a small pump-pipe fashioned into a prototype impeller tube took a lot of mental strength to drive the thing, though every little tweak eased it slightly. About to announce his leave, Terath spotted his two friends taking their turn with it. The lengthy metal pipe was crammed dangerously full of psychic potential, yet it was doing nothing.

"You jammed it? I didn't think it was even possible to jam one of those." Terath came close for a better look.

Mareni's grinning face peeked over from behind it. "We tried feeding it noise from your furnace to see what would happen."

"That just corrodes the imprint, you know; you've probably just broken it."

Karel shook her head. "Worry not, I'll-" As she set her hand on the tube, it erupted in a blast of flame spewing forth from both ends!

Mareni and Karel rose from ducking after a moment, Terath gripped the smoldering cuff of his sleeve to extinguish it.

Looking around and finding nothing else alight, Karel continued, "...renew the imprinting when I'm done. Well! Apologies for the surprise there."

Terath blinked. "Did you just get fire from a pump pipe?"

"A pump pipe and noise, it seems. Perhaps it's a way to reuse or clean up all the bottled gibberish we've been harvesting. As you could guess, we've been spreading noise on everything to see what use it might be."

Terath remembered his first encounter with psychic noise, those decades ago in Xelqar's basement... and here was a way to clean it up.

"I think I'll be taking this pipe with me, something to tinker with while I'm in Leneu."

"Well, you might have plenty of time. I've heard the Leneuan assemblies are exceptionally boring."

"You don't know the half of it!"

"While you're entertaining the inanimate crowd I'll be here dancing among the universe's secrets, or maybe something fun will happen."

"Knowing your kind of fun, hopefully not... actually, there's something I've been meaning to ask, Karel, a different project."

"Yes? I have my own matters to tend to as well, but I have all the time in the world."

"I wish to contact people who lay in the depths."

"Ah, _her_... Raela still on your mind?"

He rubbed the back of his head.

Karel continued, "I'll try, though I haven't ever been able to talk to people who are dead more than a day. At least, you'll be able to meet her sooner or later either way."

"Won't we all. All macabre thoughts aside, thank you and for now, the both of you, farewell!"

It was a bright and clear day, easy sailing the whole way, all in all direly uneventful. All the more time to ponder the gibberish waste of dead dreams cast off from the use of the art of the mind and the new, curious flame standing aside it. He'd hoped some day their insight into the nature of the world would let them speak to the planes beyond, to all the friends he'd left behind in his long life. Though as it was, such was only a hope; some thought the planes beyond were themselves but a myth, though Terath found himself bitter at the thought.

Leneu by this point was far too expansive in its dominion and its roster of owners to have gatherings at the palace. The group of islands Terath now called home, bordering the continental isles of Federation, had its own local assembly. He wouldn't be gone for long. Reaching down towards the water under the twin sails of the rather cozy courier, Terath pulled seawater up to his hand, a ball boiling above his palm to a cloud of steam which he cast forth, watching it pop into a ring of vapor in the distance. Brushing the salt off into a pouch for later, he looked up again to spot another sail. He narrowed his eyes at the spearhead emblem and the sound of their captain's mind, her imagined voice surprisingly casual.

"Terath! Fancy meeting you here."

"You've got enormous steel fortitude flying those colors in Leneuan waters!"

"We are at peace now."

"Are we?"

"I mean you no harm!"

He noted she was sailing the same way they were, overtaking the courier and flying the 'chute to coast right on ahead.

"What business do you have at our congress? You know your scouts aren't welcome here."

"Visiting. See the crates on my deck? We're not scouts, we're designated couriers. All couriers and merchants are permitted by Leneu law."

"Right, you're _designated_ couriers." Another loophole he'd have to insist on closing.

"We might have something for you. Care to meet later?"

He sensed no hostility in her tone, letting his own calm a bit in return. "Perhaps--you have my curiosity for several reasons now. Any news from Altavim?"

"Not much, though she does remind people to reuse their cloth, claim their rations with priority and maintain proper hygiene of both body and mind while in foreign territories."

"Wouldn't want filthy thoughts of worldliness from us grimy old-islanders?"

"A perfect image is priceless. Until we meet again!"

Off she sailed, towards the horizon ahead.

Terath let out a brief sigh, only to notice more attention from much closer by.

"Ah, Ironclad, enjoying the wind?"

Looking back, he spotted the white feathers of Agaron, owner of the World's Edge shipping company and personal owner of the most elegantly decorated, ornate, and comfortable passenger liner in the region--the one they happened to be standing on. Though her company began in the Leneuan heartland, she'd taken a liking to the wayward isles the moment she'd laid eyes on them, readily taking up residence and bringing her business headquarters with her. Clad in silver opulence, she'd offered the courtesy of hosting the other owners; it gave her a chance to flaunt her wealth all around these isles!

Terath though seemed more interested in the horizon, "Just watching traffic."

"Join us in the cabin, will you? We're about to break open an Atswalan specialty, and I'm wondering if you've found the hidden compartment in the Kall statue yet."

"I've been too lost in thought, I admit; many matters are afoot back home as we speak."

"Aren't they always?"

Though he towered over her in stature, she was as far over him in wealth as he was to most commoners and she acted it. Even among owners there were markedly different classes. At least the spacious cabin was big enough for him to sit in comfortably; the statue in question was sitting to the back, a goddess figure wearing a spiraling, sprawling robe and spiky crown.

He remembered the days of functional art, then of abstract art, mirroring dreams. This new style focused on depth of detail with an emphasis on the hidden; any statue worth its price would have a compartment somewhere, much to the annoyance of customs agents. Though as amusing and intriguing some compartment surprises could be, eventually a statue would end up simply another relic of the era that produced it. Creation and death always chased one another.

Though Terath appreciated a comfortable journey, he nonetheless preferred to cast his mind among the clouds. He tried to share his thoughts; there were a few good discussions, but most of the others weren't all that well versed on recent science. Nonetheless, dressed in his best apparel, he kept relaxed but attentive, disembarking sober. All-new buildings lined the shores of this eclectic isle, the main trading hub and the seat of the assembly of these isles, the Leneuan holdings in the region now known as the Wayward Isles. Verdant and lush terrain spread forth between buildings of wood with rosy brick rising towards the center.

The sun was already low and the gathering would start tomorrow, leaving Terath to roam the town after settling in. Glancing down, he saw a package held out in front of him. Looking to see the one offering, he saw the same smiling mirian he'd seen at sea earlier.

She gave a brief smile. "For you, Mr. Rolith."

He accepted it though hesitated to open it. He wasn't expecting a package, though it was addressed to him all the same... Nonetheless, his misgivings about Altavim were no reason to be impolite. "Thank you. What do I owe?"

"Nothing."

Continuing onwards under the yellow-white crystalline light with dusk falling behind, Terath looked at her. "Xelqar follows you here in spirit doesn't she?"

"Actually no." Her sentiment seemed honest to him. "We all know Altavim to be a goddess, we all remember the old ways through her. Beyond that, she knows there is value in wisdom... she doesn't hide the world from us."

She paused and looked up at Terath for a moment. "I wonder if it would be better to say we're all gods and goddesses?"

"Wouldn't that make this rivalry entirely pointless?"

"No. Not so long as the world chases its own destruction. Just look at what Kalvod has done recently; is that what the future holds? I won't let that happen to my clan or any other."

"On the other hand, look at Ceremor, look around here for that matter. We do well for ourselves without need for the old order. This path brings promise of opportunities never before imagined. That's the future we're chasing!"

"If this path has one. Altavim wants a better world as we once had it... We all want a better world, don't we? One with peace, safety..."

Terath nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "Indeed, though I can't support the use of force and 'mental hygiene' to get there. People are by and large kind; best not to write off the lot as a failure for the deeds of a few. The clans of Altavim themselves are changing, aren't they? When I first arrived I couldn't take a step without feeling your ancestors' gazes burning at me, and here we are talking. And neither of us will be fixing the ancients' machines..."

"I suppose you're right, though a re-creation of the old order is better than some of the alternatives."

"Only the future may tell."

"Right." She smiled for a moment. "We'll meet you there."

As she trailed off, Terath reached into the pocket under his coat, taking hold of an eye gem and its iron pendant to imprint the air of her mind onto it. Though this one seemed friendly enough, he wasn't exactly going to forget Xelqar trying to kill him earlier; being a bit paranoid seemed justified. Looking at the package, he checked it for various signs of mental tampering, finding none. It seemed inert and harmless as far as his skilled sight could see.

Carefully, he opened it. Inside the weighty wooden box was an assortment of metal---personal effects he'd left behind with his old forge back at Kolrem, along with an amulet which carried the attunement of Xelqar's sight. It was a clear offer to return to her lands, to join her, their conflict wiped away, to undo all the horror that had come since the famine wars.

Frowning for a moment, he closed the box, carrying it along home, keeping the amulet tucked away. It wasn't a threat this far from her anyway. Looking around, he could sense the faint influence of the Altavim crew. They were out of sight, but not out of mind, roaming about town in spirit and mind rather than in person.

As the glow of day drew to a close, the physical motion of the town died down; the sound of banter faded away as the hidden light of those roaming in dreams whisked its way through the roads and alleys. Terath kept awake studying the hidden colors, hand in his pocket, holding the eye gem and its holder, his sight ever more concretely picking out the air of the courier who greeted him earlier, guiding him towards the bazaar nearest the inn, where some of his peers were sleeping, their defenses thus lowered.

His imposing presence made him a stunningly easy pick for others' sights; there were hidden whispers ferrying alerts, and the presences he sought, rather than greeting him, vanished away. A charge of telepathic radiance in hand, Terath ducked under the bazaar awnings, spotting a haze of white along the rooftop. It was an open link, clandestinely installed and now abanoned. Casting his thoughts forth, he drew his mind in contact with it.

"Good evening!"

A mix of odd sounds was heard on the other end... a humming sound formed the words, "Oh, that... mister, Terath?"

"Your name?"

"Agaron the--" A hesitation, then the noise cut as she awoke. "Terath, what the depths are you doing in my head?!"

Terath ducked a bit in embarrassment, rubbing his head. "Apologies, Agaron. I wasn't aware..."

"Why is this telephonic link even here?!"

"I don't know, but I do know that someone else has invaded your dreams through it! This person..." He read off the air of the courier's mind before continuing, "She's the one that made this link. You may wish to check your memories."

"You expect I'll believe that?"

"Check the binding of the link, does that look like mine?"

"No."

"Again, apologies for waking you---though do check yourself, please."

With that, he parted, draining and dispelling the haze. Another instance, another rooftop, around the same inn... rather than chasing the source, he trailed around the inn, searching for the destination. It wasn't in the inn at all, he discovered. They were now targeting the bazaar's merchants.

In another's room, in another's head; he wasn't about to follow into another's private space. The intrusion was easily detected with the aid of knowing the attacker's air, a matter he silently relayed to the patrol about. The authorities would certainly find _this_ interesting, a 'courier crew' trying to break into some rather important people's dreams...

Already warned, his target gathered to move, though the hive had already been stirred. Terath made his way about, tracing the other invaders' sights watching him back to their source. As he approached their perches, he sent up a light of telepathic radiance to blind them from one another, jolting them awake and preventing them from warning their captain of the approaching patrol.

Scattering, they fled, hiding among the shadows, taking a roundabout way back to the docks; their captain was nowhere to be found. Terath saw her minutes later being escorted away by the patrol, the night falling calm again.

Adjusting his coat, he returned to retire for the night; he woke up to find that nothing had been changed in his peers' minds, nothing stolen save for knowledge. All of Agaron's people had been targeted and afflicted with... _something_. Yet in spite of this they seemed fine enough.

Having been caught engaging in clairvoyant trespassing but with no proof of anything more serious, those of Altavim were sent back to their craft and ordered to depart as soon as possible. They were soon sailing away, trailing off to find other parts of the merchant network elsewhere. They had sent out something, but neither Terath nor the local lawmen were sure of what. Terath himself was confronted for disturbing the peace, but in light of his likely preventing espionage at the least, they decided to let it slide.

Giving a parting nod to the sheriff, he trailed towards the center of town. He soon spotted Agaron once more. Oft receiving a friendly greeting on the way, he strode alongside her to give one for a change, even if he was still a bit embarrassed for interrupting her rest. "Good morning, madam Agaron."

She didn't hold it against him, considering what might've happened had he not gone roaming around... "Did they find whoever did that to me?"

"They've kicked her and her crew off the island; did you find anything amiss?" He gave a wave to another friendly passerby.

She seemed slightly annoyed at all the attention he was getting though, but replied, "Before you woke me, my acquaintances were drawn into my dreams, all the most gregarious and well-traveled among them including some of the more outspoken merchants here at the bazaar. I'd thought a thief would try to find where I keep my wealth or something of the sort."

"Xelqar doesn't care about money. But she does want _something_ and your friends have something to do with it. Shall we ask around tonight?"

"I'd rather not bother my friends with matters beyond their control, or matters of the authorities."

Continuing on, they ascended the steps, passing by the watch on the way into the assembly.

"Ah, Mr. Rolith, a pleasure!" Her smile was welcoming.

Terath nodded, and smiled in return. "Good morning."

"And Ms. Agaron."

An unadorned greeting. Terath was a dragon but he wasn't of noble blood. Why did they take him seriously to begin with? She couldn't care less about the night before in this regard; if she had a reason to be annoyed with him it was this. Mildly frustrated, Agaron looked to Terath with a grimace. "People take small business and 'novel' entrepreneurs to heart here, don't they?"

"Not exclusively."

"All friends of yours?"

"About two hundred years ago two dragons, a mirian and a sythian, gathered among Leneu's isles to make Leneu the center of the world-without-destiny. Of the four, I'm the only one still alive."

"You're... really?"

"I found my beginnings in the metalwork business arming Leneu against the hordes in the famine wars. Much later I joined the Bird's Eye and the expedition that founded Kolrem and explored inland Altavim. I've forged arms for the continental cuirassiers, and I was along with Karel discovering Evari island south of here, the one that drew the empire's interest to the wayward isles."

"Oh... I..."

He gave a bit of an amused smile. "Surely someone as powerful and wealthy as you hasn't just been sitting behind a desk writing papers all day?"

A lack of response.

His tone was friendly enough though, "Nothing to be ashamed of. Someone has to sort out all the world's most dire paperwork and I know I'd be bored out of my mind doing business as you do; I appreciate being able to roam instead. Just remember that if I seem to have praise beyond my title, there's some local history to consider."

She seemed a bit more cheerful at that, smiling for a moment, "I understand. Even if it does sound at times as if you're an old dragon pining for the days when knights led from the fore."

He eyed aside, "That may not be entirely inaccurate at times." She smirked at that, though he continued, "Nonetheless it seems misadventure may have found us for once. Will you lend me your help finding what Xelqar wants here?"

"I suppose I will, as long as my sources won't be bothered by the authorities."

"I'll talk to them myself; that won't be a worry."

First, however, they had the matter they'd all originally gathered for. Settling in, Terath kept a keen eye on the telepathic banter and the radiances about, not in an accusatory manner, but observant. Debates were heated all around, stalling discussion of important issues. Kalvodian encroachment was one, as was the powder keg situation between Valnor and Ceremor, Atswala's potentially global ambitions hidden behind a mask of reservedness, the Lavsvai island nation...

"And that damned annoying traditionalist love of obsolete property law!"

Terath looked over, hearing the telepathic complaint, then speaking out loud, "Pardon?"

"Yes, Mr. Rolith?"

"You wanted to talk about property law?"

"The stationer's monopoly. Expensive, annoying to file, arbitrary and ultimately ineffective. How are our inventors supposed to make their investment back when the choice is either that or people stealing their invention? Not all are part of a corporation."

"My business is not the biggest and I have never had a problem with stationer's monopolies. I trust the crown's judgment."

"It was meant for books back when the printing press was a novelty; the nature of innovation today is an entirely different matter. And for the record, I _don't_ trust the crown's judgment."

Terath frowned. That would've been a head rolling two hundred years ago! A moment later he just felt old inside. Seeing the successes of the republics, the Leneuan crown had chosen to loosen its grip on the people somewhat, though it still crossed him to hear such words.

"Could you please elaborate?"

"The queen may be excellent at managing the other nations, but finding our way through the novelty around us is another matter. The market itself is the best guide, isn't it?"

"The market itself can make mistakes, especially in the face of the unforeseen. I'm sure we've all seen the problems false hopes and self-fulfilling prophecies can cause on the exchange. A conscious wisdom may benefit us, and furthermore the crown has not been overbearing. I doubt throwing away our establishments will do anything but cause needless upheaval."

"A new office would take its place, surely. One more suited to our needs and those of our children. Kalvod has already done this, and their businesses threaten to sweep us out of the market."

Terath listened closely to the noise of her mind. The split between the factions was growing to a chasm, one ever more difficult to bridge; it was something that would've happened anyway, but was hastened by certain subtle thoughts passed along from person to person. The thoughts themselves were already making their rounds though someone was taking the bellows to the inferno.

He'd seen people take apart and reconstruct thoughts, but not in such a massive or self-reinforcing way. The more he looked, the more he saw the marks that started fires in the realm of the mind. These engineered thoughts were thoroughly sabotaging their efforts to keep the factions of Leneu working together... Ever more he had a suspicion that there never was peace with Altavim; rather, the conflict had moved to another plane.

Agaron's aide revealed that the effects had spread through the bazaar and all it was connected to; as all such thoughts were already there to begin with, there was nothing to do save trying to keep people calm. It was a doomed errand in the end, as the days ended without a consensus. The matter of patents wasn't the only thing the coalitionists had elected to enact on their own.

The Wayward Isles were distant from the capitol, and so the will of the crown held only a tenuous influence over it all. The two factions had left each with their own code, enforced by their own private enforcement, superseding the law of the land.

Looking back to the island as he caught the wind south, Terath sighed, "The queen is _not_ going to be happy..."

His muttering was lost to the breeze. It was a quiet ride back, at least. Terath spent most of his time out towards the bow, committing his thoughts to paper, thoughts of pyro-kinesis and the science of heat. As well, thoughts of mental cleanliness and possible mental toxins, courtesy of Altavim. And what of Leneu and the wayward isles? Outside of the royal guard, were any of the peacekeepers truly loyal to the crown alone anymore? For that matter, what would it take to make crystals and metal a better medium for this than paper?

He had plenty of time to think about these things and more, as Agaron saw no need to have any passengers help the sailors. Catching sight of his home island however, he saw a sight he hadn't seen in a long time. Inland, sails spread over a building, was the workshop Karel and Mareni had made use of. While Karel had busied herself studying noise, thought-waste, death, and life, Mareni had kept his nose skywards whenever a free moment presented itself.

Now Mareni stood perched, the tropical winds blowing clean through his hollow form, leaving his coat and its tails to billow in the wind. His coat was fixed to a vest weighted down with a sandbag, giving him the weight he needed. A specially shaped canoe was set on a rolling track; the contoured tail held no linkages, lengthy sails falling to the side as wings locked in place with struts, long and narrow---unlike the Altavim design. He'd found it yielded less drag that way.

Throwing the notion of linkage control along with caution to the wind, he cut the rope. The enormous ballista of a launch track sent the assembly rocketing down the line, shaking, before falling silent in the wind.

Shifting backwards, Mareni brought the nose up; the fabric caught the air and held him aloft---a control scheme inspired by the shifting of cargo to balance ships at sea. It wasn't nearly as effective as a rudder tail, leaning about, but it worked well enough to stay aloft! The sun blinked to those below, and they looked up to see the glider banking through the sky, headed seawards as its pilot waved down, showering greetings upon the town.

Invented under the boot of Xelqar's rule, this experience was nonetheless one of the most liberating. Looking about, the glow of Mareni's sight saw endless options, a circle of anywhere to go. As small as this circle was yet, perhaps some day it would have limitless span... though for now, gravity always won in the end. At least he could choose his landing, right beside that ship. He'd launched with the intent of meeting Terath and his friends anyway, so why not say hello?

Swooping down, the craft rocked and bowed; the wings bent unsettlingly as Mareni banked above the sails below, slowly turning to come about, descending ahead. The bowing wings spilt air in the turn, and the nose dipped and nodded in a rocking motion. Turning by weight had seemed a good idea on paper...

Desperately putting his weight at the joint of the tail, he brought his wings to bite the air. The wing on the left bowed upwards far beyond its bounds, then sailed overhead with a loud snap. The one remaining wing turned the craft in a spiral, soon landing upside-down and tail held high in a spray of a splash!

Finding himself being dragged to the depths, Mareni discarded the sandbag, pulling off fabric to web his hands with, managing to drive himself up to the capsized craft as the ship he'd aimed for drew near.

"Goodness, sir! Are you all right?!"

He pulled up to look at the captain. Agaron recoiled, falling back with a thud. Terath was seen next, looking over, offering to help her up. "Yes, he's a walking skeleton. Everything alright?"

She accepted, giving him an all-OK, Terath then casting out a line; Mareni affixed it to the nose of his upturned craft as Terath moved to the back of the ship. Mareni sat on the underside of his craft, now in tow.

Once back to the pier, Terath approached as Mareni took his craft ashore, dragging it up the beach; what remained of the flying surface left a trail of water the whole way.

"Mareni?" Terath gestured in an offer to help. "Everything all together on you?"

Mareni nodded, stowing the remaining wing and taking the other end of the craft. "Can't say the same for my aircraft. More wisdom to apply to the next one! Once I have funds for it... thankfully your crown has been generous in that regard."

"She takes Altavim's air force seriously and wants gliders of her own, even if by and large they're coffins aloft." He eyed the broken glider. "At least you're still walking..."

"Very much so! If only there was a metal lighter than steel but still structurally useful... Was it as boring at the assembly as I'd imagined?"

"Not nearly, unfortunately. Xelqar may see fit not to attack with steel, but her people are spreading the word and sight of her mind far and wide all while working to split our kingdoms apart."

"Despite wishing to reunite her allies? She may seek to split apart her enemies then reunite them under her own rule, but as we've all seen, some things once shattered can never be reunited. A folly if you ask me---she may just spell her own doom."

Terath nodded in agreement. "We can hope, although, at the same time..." He then looked up. "I suppose even I'll miss the old world. I fear that Leneu's time draws near even though we seem to be doing so well in the world."

Proceeding inland, the two returned to the workshop to end the day. Indeed, a thought often echoed in the back of his mind: his own study on the workings of heat and Karel's on noise bringing numbers and relationships to an old bit of wisdom. Once thoughts turn to noise, and once heat was lost, there was no going back. Orderly thoughts would always turn to noise eventually; sooner or later, everything would fall. It was a thought Terath committed to paper with a bit of a grim glare.

"The cruel side of time... circles into arrows, no going back..."

However, even as the towers of old withered, the diffuse presence of tamed heat brought with it potential. In the thousands of forms which iron could take, thousands more in which it could be imprinted, the light of the next state of the world unfolded. Despite Xelqar's best efforts, there was no stopping it; the universe itself denied an eternal order.

Ever more jarring at first was the quick tempo of it all; every day brought a word of new insight, a new promise. They'd even heard from the cold climes; people crafted their crystalwork from ice because, at the rate they were improving their designs, they'd be replacing it in a season anyway!

Despite Terath's ardent denial of the new office, the old stationer's system was cast away, papers to the wind, to the demonstrated betterment of all. As always, he gladly accepted his fault and adopted the new system, but dozens of new issues continued driving the two factions apart.

Nobody really knew when it had happened in particular. There was no one day to pin on such a gradual happening, a bloodless relabeling at the end of what had started two centuries prior. When the queen of Leneu found many shirking her law, her tax, she demanded justice, fighting tooth and nail to recover her influence. She even demanded the heads of some of the owners, only to find a wide open sea of private enforcement blocking her will, her words limited to her capitol. Just like that, while Leneu as a _nation_ was alive and well, Leneu as a _state_ was no more. Terath and his peers in the northern Pereci Republic retained their home island and the eastern end of the wayward isles, their Croeth Coalition counterparts taking the rest, two syndicate-states without need for military empire.

The same couldn't be said for all. The Provinces had split into more provinces as the Kalvodian banner found its way around the wayward isles, to the contested lands about Atswala---even about the borders of Ceremor as the two engaged in an occasionally explosive bout of philosophical contest, the queen of the provinces looking to bring an end to Ceremor's eroding her rule. Yet, despite such incredible betrayal, those of Ceremor had always insisted, by letter, over the market, or over a mug, that it would all be resolved quickly and effectively.

After all, they knew well, as mighty and towering as Kalvod seemed on the outside, within--like most other parts of the world--they were falling to bickering pieces. The Kalvodian queen was absolutely right that their words eroded her rule. Yet, what did it say of her rule's actual strength that it could be worn down by mere words? They only needed to keep their fortifications sturdy and wait it out.

With the turn of the fourth decade, well into the century, the world was already a more different place for this generation than it was for the last. Fortunately, not all was strife. Terath remembered well how seemingly not so long ago a hearty meal went for forty-one ryt-cents. Now, with the science of agriculture refined and snow-steel ubiquitous, those two digits were reversed.

Once scraping the bottom of his chest for coin, he found no shortage of it now; his furnaces under the Rolith Ironworks logo towered far higher than he would've ever dreamt before. The furnaces absorbed their own tremendous waste heat and recycled it to slash fuel use and the cost of metal in general, a use of the kinetic conduit he was proud to've had a hand in developing. Not all was well, though. While he sent most of his coin back to his business, its people and its wellbeing, most saw cheaper prices as an excuse to pay their people less, those meant to compete instead working together to make a wondrous life for themselves while those under them were still under the same drudgery if not worse off for it, what was left of the crowns all too often caring more of their power and imperial reach than their peoples. Despite his gains, Terath wasn't smiling. His mind still carried the hopeful dreams of the earlier eras, the insight of science paving the way to an ever brighter tomorrow. Those dreams all too often seemed dashed if not corrupted into nightmares before his eyes.

Not all was well elsewhere, either. Beneath tan skies and above murky seas, new illnesses and troubles were born with the boons. Collecting his messages by the dying light of dusk, Terath let out a worried sigh as he found a slight shake in his hands, hands that had wrought many pieces throughout history yet were all too often stained with lead and mercury used chasing his investigations. It was a reminder that nothing lasted forever, not even dragons. It was also a reminder, alas, that his works had their own curses... some of which may fall upon the masses as the fruits of his labor were taken up abroad.

He looked to the starry sky for a moment, trailing down the stone road under the false daylight of the lamps about, thinking to himself, _Most are still a kind people. I still hold hope they live better than I ever have... though I cannot say I envy the people of tomorrow. Not only are they cursed with our legacy, they face problems none of us could've dreamed of. Yet there's still hope for the old dream to carry on, somehow, some day..._

Among the many notices from Coalition peers were annoyed requests that he put his workers in their 'place'. He and many of his peers saw fit to treat their workers well, though almost all of their Coalition peers saw nothing in their workers but an inferior and disposable kind more replaceable than the machines they ran. The idea that wealth could fall to anyone and that there were no 'inferior' people was a common thought to common people among the Republic, much to the chagrin of Terath's Coalition peers. Though even Terath's ironworks simply couldn't afford to pay everyone enough to be comfortable in the common sense, they were better off than some of their neighbors, a matter which threatened to cause even further discontent...

Looking to the side, he spotted glowing blue-green eyes behind glass, his own handiwork of metal giving a shine to the cloak-wearing form of Mareni. His bony friend had decided that a visage less skeletal was in order; Terath had been happy to oblige, and fabricated a copper-trimmed ironwork plate visage with glass eyes resembling goggle lenses, bringing Mareni's weight and stance back to roughly that of a full person. On top of that, metal's crystalline capabilities were a major benefit to Mareni's psychic workings.

Terath nodded in greeting. "Mareni, good evening. Set for tomorrow are you?"

"Likewise to you and yes! Off to Kalvod... off to survey what's left, and recover a 'secret measure'. She assures me it's well worth the journey."

"A secret measure... have they finally found a way to spare us from Altavim?"

"We'll know once we reach the capitol." He looked at the stack of messages. "Seems you'll be busy as usual anyway."

Terath had always worked sunup to sundown just as his workers did; managing a large business was no easy task, and often left little time for dallying about the town, let alone adventuring. To his own chagrin, he'd finally found himself bound to the desk like many of his peers... the twitch in his hands showed he wasn't up to big adventures anymore anyway.

"As always, along with a colorful mix of letters from my peers who've forgotten what the spirit of opportunity is about."

"They still won't raise?"

Terath's mood darkened for a moment. "They've forgotten history--how all this started as a way to grant opportunity, not stifle it. We've seen it time and time again, when an order starves its own people, those people will rise to vilify and destroy that order, and replace it with something else."

"If such happens to the reign of owners as we know it... well, I hope what comes next is an improvement, and the transition is bloodless."

"I'll take the time to explain to each and every one of them how my generosity reflects my concerns that it won't be. Hopefully they'll show some wisdom."

"Given time; this way of life is still young. Otherwise these may be problems for another day. As it stands, we still have yesteryear's problems to tend to; even after all this time, we're still living on Altavim's doorstep."

"You expect this little island to conquer a continent?"

"Not in the traditional sense perhaps, but to do _something_... that was the original idea after all, when we sailed here: come back later to finish what we'd started."

"The curtains are falling one way or another, aren't they? I'll await your return and your word... best of luck to you, and all of us."

With a nod, Mareni took his leave. It was the dead of winter up north; Pereci and Croeth were shielded from the rest of the world as their ancestor Leneu had been. If there were a time for Xelqar to make a move...

Come the next morning, Mareni trailed to the wisp fountain; it was radiant with invisible power over its well-adorned stonework. It was an old style public work, with a contemporary statue atop and novel thermal drive below, it provided a spare five kilowatts for free use. Holding out a plated hand, Mareni grazed the fog of power pooled at the bottom, drawing enough to revitalize himself before stepping down to the pier.

With three masts and an abundance of sail to catch the sidelong wind, the clipper he'd bought a ticket for would make short work of the journey. Sending a wave and the sentiment of a farewell back to Terath and his peers, Mareni climbed to the deck, joined by Karel. It didn't take any words for the both of them to share their feelings. This was the last old-style adventure they'd have... perhaps the last, period. No more grand unknown lands, no more folk legends, no more ancient mysteries holding sway over the world if they succeed. In light of it all, they thought, good riddance.

#  Arc 11: Dawn's Hard Light

The grey skies of winter followed their journey as they drew north of the tropics, arcing around from the east to return to Kalvodian waters. Despite all the time that had passed, the snapping cold of these waters was still familiar.

Kept warm by a grey scarf and mittens, with a fuzzy fur cap covering her head fins over a long-tailed coat of black, Karel felt that the wind seemed the most welcoming part of it all; it passed by quiet towns where livestock outnumbered people, to contrast with the gritty bustle of the smokestack-laden cities spewing black among the grey.

They saw land ahead, the capitol island large enough for several cities and interconnecting roads now crossed by Kalvod's first railway, the wood and brick gateway to the keep towering over the well-lit streets. Its main city was neat and well-kept, in contrast to the grime of most other provincial holdings.

Karel noticed more than a hint of anxiety in a fellow passenger as she knelt to sit in view of the bow. A mutual recognition was shared as Karel drew near, her curiosity spotted easily by the other passenger.

"I've heard they watch your every thought by the castle now. I admit I have second thoughts of coming here under such paralyzing conditions."

Karel took the adjacent seat. "Even if they have the capability, the only paralyzing element is your own fear."

"It's far easier to watch one's words than one's thoughts."

"Everyone thinks afoul at some point, including the people doing the watching. There's an old proverb from these parts, though they likely don't say it much anymore." She leaned back. "A person has exactly as many liberties as they think they can get away with."

In the following moment of silence Karel let out a sigh, thinking somewhat out loud, "I start to wonder if there is much difference between Xelqar and the queen, save for their preferences on oathkeeping."

"You really dare ask that?"

"Absolutely."

The cool wind settled as the ship drew into port; upon mooring, Karel and Mareni found themselves facing a thick crowd. Leaning left then right amidst the banter, she couldn't even see where the front of the crowd was, or even if there was a front. Something had happened here... perhaps it was no coincidence she was summoned at this time.

At least some shops were open about the periphery, enough to keep them from getting hungry waiting for passage inwards. The crowd thinned, and the two made their way to the front only to immediately be stopped by a pair of guards at the gate.

"State your names and allegiance. No firearms or armor without official permission. The decree was made two days ago, sorry for the inconvenience." The guard recited the words with a hint of boredom.

"I'm Karel Tavek, this is Mareni Ankion, serving Kalvod and Lavsvai. And you don't want to see him without his 'armor'."

On hearing her name, his tone became noticeably less welcoming. "Lavsvai doesn't exist anymore."

She looked back again to Mareni, briefly. "It has a population of at least two. That being said..." She reached into her coat, fishing out a pair of papers marked with a salt imprint, "This is an official matter."

He looked it over. "So you really _are_ Karel..." He checked it again, then a third time, closely looking explicitly for something to have her taken away with.

She raised one brow. "Why the hostility?"

He was _very_ familiar with her peers' research... but said nothing of it. "Let me see what you're carrying."

Karel reached into her coat, showing the pistol and prybar she carried around, her primary weapon on her back.

"Hunting gun, tribarrel pistol... what's that?" He gestured to the left side of her coat. "A prying bar? Smuggling burglar's tools?"

"That's not considered a weapon, which is why it's not on the paperwork."

She then continued, looking at him, mind to mind, "And if you have me taken away on this pretext, which isn't even a legal one, the royal academy will hear about it, then they'll talk to the captain, then the captain will talk to _you_. Does that sound like a good day to you?"

He looked them over again, marking the papers before all but shoving them back to Karel. "Move."

She straightened them out before tucking them away, and proceeded in, Mareni in tow. Once out of earshot, Mareni had a look around. "Such a friendly and welcoming air."

Karel grimaced. "I'll have to find out what our peer did to attract everyone's ire. Until then, we should keep our heads down. This place certainly has 'come a long way'. The last time I was here nobody cared if you brought your guns into the tavern or wherever; if anything they were functional apparel."

"Though the mind is a weapon of its own... are they going to ban having thoughts too?"

"I wouldn't put it beyond some people. When a person goes to war, it changes them." She looked around, her eyes aglow under the grey skies, sensing suspicious sight watching them from those dark, shrouded alleys between the brick buildings where even the street lamps couldn't light. "When a country goes to war, it changes them..."

Their trek through the inner reaches of the capitol, behind the towering walls, was uneventful. The keep's oversight being ever-watchful, none said anything about Mareni and his iron plating clanking with each footstep.

Then again, passing a heavily armed blue-scaled dragon plated in iron and adorned with rutile, neither Karel nor Mareni could forget they were under an invisible hammer. Even their dreams weren't safe from the watchful eye afar; fortunately though those eyes oft looked elsewhere.

The next morning wasn't any warmer or clearer than the previous evening. Not that it mattered. They used their permit patterns, then ducked through the crystal pattern-locked entrance to the warehouse behind the academy, searching around. Nobody there. Mareni looked back, and Karel raised a hand, gesturing ahead. This was her colleague Verdemal's workplace; it was windowless, insulated, all behind sealed doors shielded to prevent psychic intrusion. Its tables hosted an assortment of crystalline iridescent meshes, steel tools, chemical baths for synthesizing crystals, and many cages in the back. The cages were empty, though the area didn't smell very appealing...

Stacks of papers were seen, many with illustrations, all covered in complete gibberish. Crystals held noise--noise with a pattern but otherwise a garbled mess.

Mareni gestured over to a peculiar assembly of metal and crystals connected in an orderly grid, taking up a door's worth of space behind a hidden panel. "This explains all the gibberish. Terath and I made this model as a prototype... I wonder how it ended up here?"

Karel looked back. "A thinking machine? I suppose there's little other way to use that cypher you were working on. But you were one of the ones who made it, so our Leneuan friends know how to break it?"

Mareni shook his head. "Breaking the cypher itself is mathematically intractable, that's why we don't care if anyone discovers its workings. What more concerns me is that the prototype that Terath and I kept in the company was reproduced _here_."

Karel shrugged. "Frankly, I'm not surprised someone stole the thing. Nobody thought thinking machines would be worth anything back when we handed the papers to Terath, after all."

"Stealing? Speak for yourself, going through my things!"

Karel quickly looked over at the outcry and spotted a dark grey feathered mirian sporting goggles under her cap, hiding the violet glow of her eyes. None other than Verdemal!

"Mrs. Ikyran! Greetings, colleague, we were waiting for you. Why the glare?"

Verdemal pointed up to the ceiling. "The relay noticed your thought of inquiry and set off an alert. Next time, wait outside."

Karel looked up. The metal of the building's support beams carried an inlay, watching the air of their thoughts. "Oh..."

Verdemal smiled. "Welcome all the same. For your knowledge, these areas are under the protection of the royal guard. They saw you searching for something and assumed a spy had broken in. Consider yourselves lucky I arrived before the guard did."

Karel frowned. "Understood. So then I'll ask you directly. What is it that you've been doing to attract such infamy?"

Verdemal trailed about the edge of the unofficial laboratory, setting several custom-grown crystals alight while dimming the lamps above. "There's a rumor going around that we have been sacrificing prisoners in the name of our country's military research. One of the gate guards has been giving my couriers trouble because his brother died in captivity and he blames us."

Karel walked slowly around the center table. "And these rumors, are they true?"

Verdemal replied nonchalantly, "Absolutely. There's no other way to properly test mind-weaponry. Laboratory animals are simple-minded beasts and cannot always stand in for a person. Half of why I use cryptography is secrecy, the other half is safety protocol. They're safe to handle while they're noise."

Mareni clanked his tail to the ground. "So why are you telling _us_?"

"Because you two already know where this all started, you know how to get to Altavim and you know everything we need to build a means to deploy the weapon."

Karel looked aside. " _That_ artifact... the one that drove people who used it to suicide?"

Mareni looked over. "What artifact?"

Karel had found many artifacts in her work and travels... some of which, she suspected, were part of the answer to why the ancient civilization had ended. "Trust me, you don't want to know. Frankly I wish I didn't. I'd hoped that story died when the cursed thing was destroyed. I see my hopes are now crushed... so how many others know the workings of... this?"

Verdemal picked up one of the crystalline meshes and peered into it. "Well... none. Most others don't wish to dip their minds into this mire of a topic. I however have spent my life refining the art of mental destruction; restoring this ancient pattern to its full use will be the culmination of my work."

Karel looked at Verdemal. "So you hold in your hands alone the power to make dragons weep and perish on a whim."

Verdemal smiled. "Indeed. Exciting, no?"

Karel spread her arms briefly. "As long as it brings down Xelqar, I don't care. Her intrusion is why there's such ridiculous security around the whole city, or is it all because of this project here?"

"It's because of problems here at home and a daft threat made by someone in the Tiprisian province, but don't worry about that. Watch for anyone from Tiprisia or Ceremor by the way, the former aren't allowed into the capitol, obviously, and the latter are yet again no longer allowed in Kalvodian waters."

Karel had a hunch there were other reasons beside a 'mire of a topic' that kept others from joining Verdemal. As distasteful as this business was, the two kept it out of their minds. The sooner they delivered this insanity in a can, the sooner Altavim's rule would end.

Karel had only known the pieces of this 'puzzle' as cursed patterns at first. Only in the last decade did they even have the knowledge to recognize them as parts to a weapon. Even still, they had much work to do in order to figure out how to put them all together. The ancient word of doom would be revived in a new form, a cultivated madness that would quickly fester and spread; these thoughts would leave nothing but death, sickening mind-noise and the twisted reverberations of dying minds in its wake. Behind the closed doors of the 'warehouse' they worked with a hushed efficiency, all relays blocked; the crystals laden with lunacy were handled at a distance behind protection, as even a glimpse could spell a horrible end. Verdemal was obsessed with her work restoring the ancient 'final thought', a work now filled with her own personal quirks as a work of the mind, a terrible power... Karel saw all too well how this 'scientist' cared less about uncovering the workings of the cosmos, and more about furthering the power and dominion of her beloved country.

Each day, they went in and left without a word, having been given modest yet comfortable accommodations. The national bulletin was printed every five days, which kept them informed of passing events. The Kalvodian equatorials pitted their minds against Valnor and Atswala along the hot tropics; the frozen reaches of Leneu were alternately menacing and menaced by the encroaching Altavim presence, with the wayward isles in the southern hemisphere trading incendiary thoughts with both Atswalans and Altavim proper. Altavim showed, for once, a fault: they were beginning to fragment, some now considering all people gods---they were becoming a nation spread far too thin, with ever greater numbers regularly sailing beyond Xelqar's sight. The same could be said for Kalvod, awash in its own hateful propaganda, even against 'traitorous' and 'pirate-loving' Ceremor. In it all, Karel could only hope Terath was all right.

The local banter was almost, but not quite, enough of a distraction to forget the encroaching sight watching them all. Karel thought it was all for the better as she stepped in on a routine day, surveying over the counter space, finding all tidy, nothing amiss. Leaning back against the wall, she found that the pipes leading up from the converter furnace were warm. Perking up, she turned. "Mareni... were you running the thinking machine overnight again?"

Mareni shook his head. "No, why?"

"Someone was using power, not long ago. The pipes are still warm!"

Without a word Karel climbed upwards, checking the relay while Mareni looked over the equipment and papers for anything missing. The relay... held nothing. Literally nothing---it'd been imprinted with emptiness. Immediately Karel suspected Altavim; they'd followed her around, even here!

Mareni searched about, spotting a capture device meant to isolate and subdivide the waves of a psychic air still connected to the pipes. He'd forgot to shut it off, so when the power was switched on, so was the device. Within the device was the disassembled likeness of a mind of... another of Kalvod, focused, dedicated.

"A 'compatriot' on a mission, and somehow they got through the door. They're probably still nearby!"

"All the same..."

Karel stormed through the door, Mareni punting it shut behind. Sharing the air of their target, Mareni split apart from Karel and headed down an alleyway. As the two circled the keep, they saw him: a sythian of greyish-blue complexion, goggles and a black coat. Immediately on spotting Mareni he fled, losing Mareni behind the crowd.

The interloper sped off only to spot Karel from afar, bouncing into the crowd once more. She gave chase, but soon fell behind. As she looked up, she noticed the tall clock tower rising over the other buildings. Waving about and trying to alert the guards accomplished all of nothing, as if they'd decided to ignore her. One alternative...

Hearing Mareni's mind from afar, Karel sent her thoughts. "Push him towards the gate, I will handle the rest!"

Climbing up the lower side to vault into the second story, she proceeded upwards. She bumped right into a locked door at the top of the stairwell and pulled out her trusty prybar, wedging it into the door and snapping it open. She climbed to her vantage point under the bell. As she knelt, the cold wind carried its snap; she drew her gun from her back, the curved grooves of the long rifled barrel centered around a line down towards the streets below. Though she'd have a lot to answer for, it was preferable to seeing their work of doom fall into unsafe hands...

As promised, her target rushed towards the gates. For all she knew, he could be carrying that deadly gem... the fog from her mouth stopped as she held her breath.

"Karel, the castle!"

She heard Mareni's voice echoing over the waves and replied with a thought of her own, "What about the castle?"

"I sense trouble, look to your left!"

She turned and spotted one of her majesty's entourage in the keep, peering down into the courtyard, reaching for a pistol. Her former target was not merely a thief but a distraction. Immediately, Karel trained her sights... it was a long shot, with winds stirring in eddies over the buildings, but she knew she had this. The snap of her mind sent a crack echoing throughout the capitol center.

The black-coated mirian she'd been aiming at flinched as the others around him ducked at the report. Hopping on one leg, the other covered in blood, he raised the pistol anyway, and a flash was followed a second later by a distant pop. The overwatch of the crystals and the keep flashed in disarray, with the noise of their pained leader's mind stunning those she was in contact with.

Karel let the barrel of her gun rest to the floor, a puff of fog escaping from her mouth as she exhaled. Over the years she'd grown confident in her aim, perhaps a bit to confident.

The guards, complicit in the murder and having heard several pops below, were soon looking right at her. Ducking to rush downstairs, she heard a _ping_ above her head and slung her empty rifle to draw her pistol.

"Karel, what in the spirit's name just happened?"

"She's dead, Mareni, the queen is dead, and we're fucked!"

As she scrambled down in the chaos, more pelt-wearing gunmen filtered through the gates. The guards atop the gates continued to sit around, one smoking a pipe. The thoughts of the realm's new lords began to rise above the shouts of the crowd. So the queen thought Tiprisia was kidding, did she?!

Karel checked the road... all seemed clear. She darted across, joining Mareni as they crossed through buildings and alleys to get back to the lab. All through the city they were being hunted, the Tiprisians intent on capturing the nobles, the high financiers and researchers, in order to absorb all the hidden advantages of their former rulers.

The warehouse door was open, and Karel's sight spotted two inside. Rounding the corner, she froze with a chill inside as she felt cold metal pressed to her back.

Mareni immediately turned and knocked the gun aside, striking back with a swift blow. It landed with a dull thunk, the report of gunfire was immediately heard in response. Despite the pinging of bullets, Mareni followed the gunfire up with a flashing burst of his own power, dazzling the shooters' sight, physical and otherwise.

Karel slid about-face the moment she no longer had a threat at her back, aiming her gun down at the blur of a mirian to fire. She backed off as she shot again at the glow of his eyes, and turned to fire a third time into the thick smoke between them at the glint of another.

A sickening gagging and grunting sound came from behind the gunsmoke. There were two fatally wounded, Karel was unscathed and Mareni... She looked over and saw three massive dents under his torn clothes and a sizable hole in the plated joint of his torso.

Still standing, he looked down then carried on behind her, "Didn't hurt as bad as I'd imagined, though then again..."

There was no time to reload. Karel stormed into the warehouse, aiming right at Verdemal's orange-feathered captor with Mareni right alongside her. She eyed the aggressor. "You have a wife and kids, no? Perhaps you should go back to them instead of playing here."

After a brief hesitation, Karel continued, "This gun has already spilled blood, and I have two barrels left." A bluff, but she kept a cold stare and an obfuscated mind.

Seeing no way to win this, the orange-feathered mirian let his paler shade show and hurried out the door.

Verdemal gave a quick gesture of gratitude. "Was that out of generosity or out of your gun being empty?"

Karel kept a neutral look as she reloaded her pistol, taking the time to cram another round down the tube of her rifled musket. "I prefer not to answer." She then nodded to Mareni. "Thank you."

Mareni ducked his head briefly. "A fortunate instinct, though how are we going to escape?"

Karel looked at Mareni, then at Verdemal. Verdemal replied with a direct look of her own. "If I knew an easy way I would've taken it. Though there is the front gate..."

"And how are we supposed to get through _there_?"

Verdemal pulled open a hidden drawer behind the bench, taking out a bracer covered in coils and rods. "I'll handle that."

Karel looked back. "You're using this, in the capitol? Are you serious?!"

Verdemal retrieved a series of gems, tucking all but one away before slipping the last one between a pair of plates on the bracer; she locked it down as it took on a wavering blue glow. Saying nothing, she climbed to the relay, having keyed in the codes to decrypt the contents.

On the other end, Tiprisians listened in, eager to gain control of all these secret facilities. A curious light soon danced about before them however, bearing an unearthly pattern of thought. Such a colorful pattern...

A refined and weaponized trick of the mind was let loose in a world where few thought telepathy was effective for killing directly. The listeners didn't have much of a way to think about it after the divisions between the parts of their minds corroded away. Their barrier against the outside world wore down as their minds erupted in a dazzling air; they stumbled back, spouting gibberish as the burning light worked its way down towards their breath and pulse.

When the others noticed the noise, they checked on those scouting the room; they opened the door to find a room of corpses, filled with an eye-catching, alien air of the mind. The psychic power set free from dying minds had torn the room to shreds, all but detonating the hardware while leaving a lingering light. Such a colorful pattern...

After the sound of gagging and popping had died down, Karel unlocked the door and peeked out through a sliver. The path was littered with detritus from the damage caused by psychic power run amok, several people laying motionless on the ground. She kept reminding herself not to look at the light...

The light bounced from the lenses of Mareni's eyes, but he kept his mental guard up and cut it from his mind, announcing all around, "All who can still think, flee at once!"

Verdemal shushed him, and he gave her a glare as the three quickly made their way to the gates and out to the island proper, ducking down to trail inland. Behind them, set alight by a thought from Karel, the warehouse went up in chemical-fed flames. The three of them had taken all the free gems and papers and thrown them into the vats, letting them irrecoverably dissolve. Ahead, the docks were full of Tiprisian ships---no escape that way. A tireless run brought them through the woods; Mareni took the lead, Karel followed a distance behind, and Verdemal brought up the rear, huffing and puffing, unused to such excitement though soon slowing down as the clamor faded behind them.

Ahead lay towns in turmoil; the different provinces turned sovereigns on their own jumped upon one another to fight over the capitol isle pie. Karel kept her guns put away; these forces were well enough distracted with one another to leave the three alone as long as they stayed out of sight.

Karel looked back at Verdemal. "So, to what province do you owe allegiance? We may be able to find transit in one of their held towns."

"I owe my allegiance to Kalvod, none of these damned traitors. Death to all of them for all I care."

"Verdemal... I believe when the dust settles we will find there is no more Kalvod. The empire is over, forget it."

"No, once this has been settled and these infernal traitors have been disposed of, her daughter--"

"--will have a grave next to the queen's if they don't bother cutting the corpses apart."

"How can you say that?!"

"What, you think I'm in this for 'glorious' Kalvod?"

"You saw what the machine did to those gunmen. We would be unstoppable with this knowledge, we could have the world!"

"Nobody shall have the world. I'm in this for the express purpose of stopping Xelqar and anyone like her."

"Kalvod is nothing like Altavim."

"Oh, really? Is there a difference between picking past and future if both paths lead to mind control? We have a job to do, and until it is done, take your imperial supremacy and shove it."

The two seldom spoke at all after that, despite Mareni trying to converse with both. Fortunately for them, they weren't the only ones in a mess; there were refugee camps soon found propped up along the shore and in the woods, with enough food gathered and water from the rivers to tide them over. It was relatively safe compared to the besieged cities, if not exactly the most comfortable arrangement. The three found themselves well-received as Karel and Mareni had volunteered to defend a camp near the shore. It was a vital but boring task as fortunately the action was much further inland. Despite it all, Karel managed to keep her spirits up, helping the others do the same by extension. After all, she no longer had to watch what she was thinking or saying. In fact, despite all that had happened, despite sleeping on dirt and eating only what they could forage, even if this whole situation wasn't ideal, she felt more relaxed than she had in quite a while now.

However, as the situation simmered with many having no banner nor land, another force drew near. As he spotted an approaching provincial clipper after dusk, Mareni waved back, keeping down. Anxiety was high; that red-green bird of prey emblazoned on the ship's jack was an unwelcome sight for some, but welcome enough to earn it passage through to the contested isle.

The sythians and mirians aboard were a mix of bare and feathered, looking nothing like Kalvodians up close despite wearing stereotypically Kalvodian clothing. A pinnace dropped, and ashore they came, with an air of friendliness and an open-armed greetings!

Karel drew near, listening in. The crew's Kalvodian tongue was garbage.

"To across help we are!"

"Verebeniz swimming aboard."

"Welcome out into waste bin."

Karel waved, approaching one of them. "Are you from Ceremor?"

He smiled slightly back at her, speaking post-Valnoran tongue. "That obvious?"

"Your disguises are crap. Also, a ship's hold is karatvot. _Karakvat_ is 'waste bin'. All the same, we're glad to see you! I'll translate for you if you wish."

"I admit I would appreciate it. We're here to help with the refugee situation, moving people off to better places."

"Better places?"

"The further reaches of the provinces, or off to Ceremor for people who'd rather leave the whole matter behind."

"You wouldn't happen to have the wayward isles on that list, would you?"

"That's a little close to Altavim for our taste, but I'm sure there's someone trading with Pereci who could take you there... why all the way down there, anyway?"

"It is a long story." Karel showed a hint of it being a sensitive matter.

"Interesting. But I won't pry, outside of getting a list of where everyone wishes they were."

She nodded and led him into the camp. Mareni greeted another of the crew, helping to speed things along. Most of the refugees had left everything behind to escape the wrath of opposing once-provinces, many fortunately with their families together in tow though now with nowhere to go. The Ceremor crew wasn't intent on spending too much longer in Kalvodian waters; they didn't want to risk coming into any towns and with a boatload of refugees their supplies would be quick to dwindle.

After a stealthy exit, the clipper hull was filled with new passengers, all sans fare. Mareni and Karel offered to pull their own weight followed by some hoisting the pinnace out of the water and setting back out into the night. By the time those seeking conquest arrived to the camp, there was nothing left but a burnt out fire and a few scraps of fabric. As little as they had, nothing was left behind. This was not an isolated event, not by far. Several ships--- from small couriers and freighters to clippers and even the occasional frigate---arrived to secure and move ex-Kalvodian refugees. With the new states feuding so direly between one another, there was little effort to spare for aiming at Ceremor.

Settling to tend to his torn clothes under a welcome sight of sun, Mareni commented to one of the crew, "You have my thanks, but what inspires this? Not objecting in the slightest, nor questioning benevolence, but it seems odd to mobilize a small navy out of the goodness of one's heart."

Ceremor didn't practice slavery or such, so he knew _that_ wasn't the reason.

"We're here to show that our conflict with Kalvod is done and to try to help clean up the mess."

"It has been a shadow war, hasn't it? I see..." Mareni carried on helping the crew whenever they needed an extra hand; the crew themselves were happy to have any help they could get.

"Kalvod kept trying to trample on our territory and send agents in, so eventually we let them, and gladly took their uniforms and clothing to return the favor and rouse some rabble. The common thought was that your queen would have to back away from our islands, and at worst something similar to the dissolution of Leneu would happen here. It... didn't go quite as planned... apologies... but, at least, hopefully, all their would-be future victims can rest easy now."

"She's certainly not _my_ queen and I certainly won't miss her. All the same, one tyrant down, no? One and its allies left..."

"Altavim? They have an army bigger than their opponents' entire combined population; I hate to think of it but it is probably a lost cause."

"Don't be so sure about that; I have a hunch not all factors are as they seem."

"That's a thought. What's more horrible, Altavim, or something that could defeat Altavim?"

Mareni hesitated before answering, "Indeed, that is a thought to consider..."

Saying no more, he stood beside the crew member, the sky turning its dance as they made their way through ex-Kalvodian waters. A culmination of centuries of refinement in the art of sail granted exceptional speed even to such a sizable craft. Torn from her high perch in the comforts of the capitol, Verdemal's biting frustration gave way to a quiet reservation, with moments of verbal sniping at those who tried to talk to her. Karel didn't even bother trying, making no secret of how she considered Verdemal a burden.

Winds carried them to the east. Sliding past across the horizon were sails all too familiar; small ships carried past, sporting the spearhead emblem. The provinces were too busy feuding among one another to resist Altavim's advance; it was another unforeseen consequence of meddling in Kalvodian affairs. Xelqar already had her sight spanning two-thirds of the world and more would come once her ships carried west... The ceremor ship turned back, leaving the weakened provinces between them and Altavim. They were southbound; no turning back now.

As promised, once they reached Ceremor, there were others willing to offer transit. Not all had gotten behind shattering Kalvod, but enough had. Even without a vote or the will of their state, people had a way of banding together in like-minded groups to enact their collective will. Such was the case of the syndicates of Croeth and Pereci. Such were many new equatorial republics. Such was the way of the new era, even if Xelqar was well on her way to making it a brief one.

Despite it all however, below the marble pillars and ceiling, Xelqar herself wasn't so sure of her own inevitability anymore. As her sight gazed across the land of the clans, her mind crushed thoughts of dissent along the lands of her former rival Lavsvai. She could see the wayward isles, over the lands of Atswala and Valnor, into the fringes of Pereci and Ceremor, across the shattered equator, and now sweeping across what used to be Kalvod. The whole globe was within her reach, and she finally saw what that little caveat about irreversible events meant. The whole world was in shambles, and even if she took it all, it would still be.

With a shaky hand holding yet another cup of wakeful tea under the starry sky, she found herself missing some of the simpler comforts, such as sleep and time to tend to herself. From keeping peace between Valnor and Atswala, to making sure the freighters were properly maintained, to ensuring allies were paying and watching their captains well, every ten issues resolved saw another hundred dumped on her head. Though her domain had grown far greater in its span, and exponentially greater in technical and social complexity, her means of control, her faith and sight through the ancient works, had only been slowly decaying.

And now, she heard a hint that something... truly nasty, had been created in Kalvod, within the whole problem of the entire region exploding like a heap of powder kegs. The writing on the wall gained contrast every day: the amount of effort it would take to glue the world back together was more than she could muster in a dozen lifetimes... and that was with a core homeland that loved her and with genuinely loyal and competent officers helping her. To try to hold the minds of the world in sway without that... would be a nightmare dire enough to make her lose touch with reality. So, she ignored her more free-thinking researchers and sea captains contemplating all people being gods, even if she would've killed them for it in an earlier time. She couldn't afford not to trust them now.

The more power she gained, the more powerless she felt in grasping the true magnitude of what she'd gotten herself into. There was no going back now; her life was now devoted to bringing the world together and sealing away the genie that thug of a smuggling 'merchant' and her criminal crew let loose those centuries ago. But, just in case, Xelqar had one act done in secret.

A trio of young dragons, carrying with them an assortment of gems in unadorned bags, had taken the appearance of dragon islanders as they set out to sea. Their feathers would always give away what part of the world they came from, but they didn't need to admit their lineage. They carried with them Xelqar's thoughts, her philosophy, and her wisdom earned in the hardships she'd faced, to the far corners of the world. Xelqar had taken every measure she could to ensure that her children would not be there to witness should it all go awry, and now she bid them farewell.

There was a nagging sound at her sight, and she ignored it as she watched her children make their way out... but she couldn't ignore it for too long. Her influence in the wayward isles had attracted familiar eyes.

"Close these rifts or I'll close them for you."

"Terath... a pleasure as always. Still clinging to your faith despite the unspeakable consequences?"

"The only unspeakable matter is that of you."

"Really? Then why don't you tell anyone of what you did during the slave war? You always leave that out when listing your accomplishments, and I know why... on top of it, for all we know, the gun that shot Raela was your own handiwork."

"That's dangerous territory, Xelqar, don't go there."

"You're not in much of a position to make threats, are you? Those tragedies never would've happened under the old order, and Leneu would still be around. Why do you insist on this?"

"There's no undoing what happened during the war. I did what my oath to the crown demanded to protect my peers, and I'll be damned if I see the deaths of that war fall in vain. We'll find peace, but it won't be through your order..."

At that, Terath sealed the rifting link, banishing Xelqar's sight from the area. He'd been ever more attentive to her intrusions into the isles, swatting her peeping holes of wisps shut whenever he had the chance. Despite all Kalvod's shortcomings, their presence balanced Altavim's in the world.

Now there was nothing stopping Xelqar and her allies from sweeping the world in half a year's time if that. As fond as she normally was of drama, she wouldn't hesitate. Yet he'd seen the truth behind those rifts.

Afar, beneath Xelqar's feet, wisps of static carried their sparks through open air behind the door to that ancient chamber, its crumbling pipes spewing flame. Under the light of orange and blue, fine metal strands among the machines strained and popped, fatigued metal and worn gems running hot with wasted energy. Beneath Xelqar's seat of continental control, the door wouldn't hold back these maddening flames for much longer. As he rested the night away, Terath could practically feel the final advance approaching. The question he had in mind: who would hit first?

The spearhead emblem and the Atswalan banner flew side by side, encroaching from the southwest, while from the northeast, a single Ceremor vessel approached, two masts carrying an array of square sails.

As the morning sun crawled through the sky, Terath left his papers behind and trailed out to meet it. He saw the cognitive glow of the encroaching fleet. This morning, Karel and Mareni were due to arrive. This was not going to end well! Unless...

He looked at the docks, then at the spare mooring lines, then back to his own home, and finally to Karel's lab and its tower. Running back to his home, he found his chest of coins. Heavy as it was, it was only a sliver of what he spent on his business monthly, though likely more than enough for his needs. Hauling it to the pier, he approached the light courier moored there and tied more mooring lines behind it, throwing rope over onto the deck.

"Excuse me sir... Ironclad? Is there something I can help you with?"

He nodded. "I need your boat, _now_." He tapped his foot on the chest. "Here's this, you might need it. Gather your crew, send word around to get to safety."

"But, um..."

"Altavim's coming with force! I won't be needing the money anymore; take it, and spread the word. Our people must make it to safety. We've only got one chance to put an end to this and I'll need your ship for it. There's a Ceremor clipper right over the horizon, they'll be able to take you and your crew."

There wasn't much of a word of exchange after that. Alarm already rose about the island. Everyone had dreaded the day Altavim would finally charge in. Tying the ship down as its former inhabitants departed, Terath kept it steady, held in port while he set the sails, catching the wind, using the mooring lines to aim the boat northwards.

Snapping flame into a hand, he seared the lines apart, cutting it loose, taking the helm afar with telekinesis to guide the craft out of port, letting the boat drift out of range. There was no telling where it would go, only that it would be headed in sight of his friends.

Then he rushed to Karel's lab, ascending the tower despite steps cracking under his weight, reaching his sight out to the northeast.

Spotting the top of the buildings on the horizon, Mareni focused on hearing a voice from afar, shuddering slightly.

Karel looked over at him. "What is it?"

"Terath... he's warning us, that Altavim and Atswala are invading. He's rigged a boat to sail towards us, it's small enough for us to use ourselves."

From afar, Terath projected, "That project you were called to Kalvod for, will it somehow spare us from Altavim?"

"Yes, I think so, but if we use it here she'll see what it is and defend against it."

"Then it's up to you two to finish what we've started here. Take that boat and make off east."

"We could use your strength out there!"

"No, as big and obvious as I am I'll be a lightning rod for her; there's no fighting Xelqar's forces on her own land. I'll stay here to make sure my people get to safety---as for you, don't be seen! Maybe I'll see you again, but for now, gods' speed, my friends."

With that, Mareni lost contact. "I see... either now or never then."

Karel looked over, waving to the captain and helmsman. "You heard that, yes? We need to get close to that boat adrift out there."

"Don't expect me to risk crashing into it, or do more than pass the shore if there's an invasion about to happen."

"Fair enough."

No other words were shared save for a nod of thanks and a wave; the crewless boat drifted a chaotic course at the whim of wind and sea, with enough sail to move, without enough to send it flipping over. As they passed by, there was no sending any lines down, just hopping from one deck to the other with a running start.

Despite the warning, the helmsman had drawn arguably recklessly close, much to the fortune of Karel. She landed from her brief windy flight with a loud thunk, tumbling over with a grunt of pain. Pulling herself up, her legs still held her even if she carried a bit of a temporary limp after that. Verdemal's landing was a bit less graceful, more pushed than anything else; she landed into a roll and sprawled on her back with a cough. Mareni came down with a louder clatter of metal crashing down, but despite that stood without any issues, briefly shaking off to help Verdemal up. The three of them watched as their former transit turned to pass near the island, now receding in the distance. Karel gave Terath a nod from afar before looking ahead to the wide open sea.

Rushing out the lab door, Terath made his way towards the shore. The town was alight with shouts of the mind as people scrambled for cover, the army and navy bringing their defenses to bear. One of the Atswalan craft turned in the distance, scouting ahead, likely to pass northwards. It was angling right for Karel's location.

First stop, Terath returned to his home as they approached, retrieving his armor and his gun, loading it on his way to the shore. As they swarmed in, he heard their usual offer... surrender, flee, or die. Some opted to flee. The offer would not be made to Karel, or Mareni, or him---that much he knew. The navy stood to fight a hopeless battle, though the island had already served its purpose. Now they were biding time.

He never acted out in aggression, but that didn't mean he couldn't draw attention. Raising his gun to aim up and far ahead of the passing boat, he aimed carefully, hands shaky but still steady enough. The air shook at the explosive thunder of his gun, the recoil pushing his heavy frame back as the cannonball soared forth, curving in the wind to land right ahead of his target. Startled by the splash, the Atswalans immediately turned to send their sights after him.

He'd wrought his old armor sturdy against the burn of their gaze, but it didn't make him immune. No cover was perfectly safe against their sight, trading shot for their burning projections. Over the horizon, Karel and Mareni sailed clean out of range. True to their promise, those of Altavim ignored those fleeing to join the passing Ceremor ship. The rest faced inevitability.

Among the barraging thunder of cannon fire, flashes within the stormy haze of gun smoke provided a brief view of the invading force. Bullets zipped by as Atswalan soldiers led the advance, dragons of their own taking the front. The islanders' bullets bounced off the tough dragon scales and armor briefly; they quickly resorted to cannon fire to try to pin their opponents down.

Stepping along the walls of his own shop, seeing his workers gone, Terath rounded the corner, grapeshot at the ready. A psychic blast of noise from behind drew his alarm. He pivoted about and unloaded his cannon like an oversized shotgun into the street, clearing out two of Atswala's infantry. He sent them to their backs as a pair of broken heaps, but they'd relayed his position and kept doing so. He sprinted across the street, only to see the flash of an explosion. An explosive shot arced in from afar, the blast sending shrapnel streaking past and shoving him down to his belly, though his plate fortunately caught the shrapnel for him. It was a lucky miss; with his armor damaged Terath picked himself up, hearing nothing but his ears ringing as he moved ahead.

A grazing bullet plinked off his helmet as he rounded another corner; ducking through a building he charged right through the mirian-sized exit to leave a larger opening behind him, avoiding another cannonball. Then he looked up to realize it was for naught. Silently banking above, a glider sporting biplane wings circled the battle---little more than wings, a tail, a frame and a pilot, with the lower wing narrower than the top. Just like that, he and all of his people were found and known to enemies still hidden to them.

Ducking through an alleyway to try to shake their sight, he thought he might be able to strike against one of Atswala's dragons. He started moving towards a two-story factory, loading round shot on the way, but despite his efforts, they had him locked in. Rounding the corner, he was greeted by the sight of two of Altavim's forces armed with rocket and rifle, and a pair of Atswalan dragon soldiers standing in front of them. Spotted by mutual sight through the wall, they and Terath both had their weapons trained already.

The crack of explosions sent Terath's cannonball sailing past a metal-tipped rocket, sending the leftmost of his draconic opponents to the ground with a sickening snap of the leg. A blink of an eye later, the rocket found its target, the blast sending shrapnel across Terath's belly, into his chin and knocking him off his stance. The followup cannonball knocked his helmet loose, Terath sent down upon his back.

His dizzied mind was left defenseless; he gazed down to see the one he'd downed staring back with green eyes. A flash of searing light of the mind shot down his head through his back. It struck at his old weakness, known well by Altavim. He couldn't breathe, as that base part of his mind had been scrambled; his chest was tight with a pained emptiness as he fell back, light-headed. His last thought to them was, "You're too late..."

Staring up at the blue sky as his dizzy sight faded he felt fear and sorrow, but also acceptance. Everything he'd helped bring to be---the chaos of it all, his allegiance during the slave war---he'd thought he'd take his regrets to his grave, and so it was. At least now, in his swirl of final thoughts, he considered that he'd finally be able to meet Raela again...

The sound of wind and sea, mingling with the tapping of wood and lines, drowned out the distant thuds and pops. The flame of the conflict was visible by the mind's eye, and Karel looked back from the helm, her home ablaze far behind her. Having returned to her old sun hat, she glanced back another moment before tipping the front of her hat down, looking ahead with a sigh.

Mareni looked ahead as well, holding a line in one hand. "Seems odd, this falls to us, even though none of us are warriors."

Karel kept a stoic look. "We failed to properly weaponize the fatal nightmare into anything that can be wielded. So of course we're here, we're the only three who can deploy the damned thing, and we're the only three with defenses against it... We'll need to plan this out. We can get the weapon into Xelqar's mind if we attract her personal attention, as she doesn't know what it is in any detail."

Verdemal volunteered, "I'll set it loose in one of their cities; if _that_ doesn't get her attention nothing will."

Karel shook her head. "The moment people monitoring the city fall dead, Xelqar will seal it off and look anywhere but there. She's smarter than that, and so are we."

Mareni gestured ahead. "That assumes we'll even be able to _reach_ one of those cities."

Verdemal looked over at Mareni. "You forget we have the world's most powerful mind weapon."

Karel gazed ahead. "But it won't suffice to reach Xelqar's home. We can't afford to tip our hand."

Time passed with a quiet pervading the deck. Looking back was always a distraction, but lately less of one. In Karel's numberless days, she'd already outlived many friends.

Mareni thought back to Karel in particular. _I'd expected Verdemal to be cowering away, but she seems unsettlingly eager... considering what she did in old Kalvod, I'm a little worried here!_

Yes... but at this point, it doesn't make a difference.

After another several moments, Karel looked up. "There's only one way. We'll have to be invisible."

Mareni considered her words. "She'll still see that _someone_ has entered, and then she'll have people hunting us down until... ah, I see what you're getting at. Those relays of hers that Terath met her through?"

"We'll evade her until she finds us herself, and the moment she comes to swat us down we'll send the damned thing down her throat."

Altogether it wasn't much of a plan but none could think of any better. A sleepy calm settled over the empty seas as they rounded the continent over frigid days. It was the southern spring of 4050, a number now coldly burned into their memories. Karel and Mareni could only hope they wouldn't regret it.

Mareni kept on watch, his keen sight guiding their boat away from patrols. One unused piece of paper, with some strands of imprinted metal added, folded into winged form and thrown skywards gave some extra range of sight; over the horizon, Mareni spotted smoke stirring in the wind.

Soot-stained sails carried the spearhead emblem on two masts over a hull plated with iron and bronze, a smokestack raising between the masts, the glowing racket of their machines visible to the mind's eye afar. It moved at a steady pace, despite angling upwind. Armed with a pair of odd antenna-shaped telekinetic projectors on rotating platforms, its power extended far beyond defying the wind; its plates were hardened equally against cannonballs and psychic strikes.

Mareni shared this image with his companions, along with the question, "Do either of you recognize this? What should we do?"

Verdemal looked off towards the horizon on the side. "I've never seen or heard of any ship like this... once Kalvod regathers itself we'll have to make some of our own."

Karel shook her head. "With exchangers as inefficient as the ones we have, they won't carry enough fuel or provisions to be useful at long range. Then again, Altavim's aren't any better. That explains why we're the first to see one here; they'll need to set up a chain of depots before they can deploy these afar." Turning the wheel to gently angle to land, she added, "Either way, it means we're coming to shore early."

There were a surprising number of holes in Altavim's shoreline sight; though the one they found was only a momentary one, it allowed them to beach the boat safely and disembark. They just had barely enough food and drink to make it, only a few snacks worth to carry. Without words the three hastily vanished into the swamps as the sight of the novel ship encroached. Projectors aimed skywards, the ship's crew beamed their banter back to their admiral. Xelqar knew of the trio's arrival already!

Orders received, the ship's crew then aimed those antennae down. A blast of a fiery ray enshrouded the trio's boat in a flash of orange sparks, setting the entire craft alight at once. No escaping that way now!

Spotting this through the gaps in the trees and vines, Mareni commented as he moved ahead, "More efficient hardware is possible; those ships could ride their sails for most of their journey as well. Even Kalvod would've had nothing on those!"

Karel trudged ahead through the mud, hunting gun in hand.

"Unfortunately for Xelqar, we're hitting first."

Mareni hesitated to reply, but his doubts were clear.

Karel narrowed her eyes briefly. "We'll succeed. We _must_."

His skeletal form plated in crystalline metal, Mareni's sense was the keenest of the three, granting him sight of the patrols and troops around and the sprawling network of minds under Xelqar's control. Rather than the shining aura of omniscience he'd expected, he found a fragmented array of decaying links, relays flickering in and out under the strain of managing two-thirds a world. A distant, sorrowful hum leaked from the twisted core of that faraway mountain and echoed through the lands; within it all was the sense of a woman who was as desperate as they were.

The coming of rain in night washed away their trail though it didn't wash the tension from the air. Not a sound was heard... Approaching a town to retrieve provisions in the dead of night, Karel made short work of a farm's storehouse lock with a prybar. Grains and flour, some beans, no meat, but it was enough along with foraged food.

A gesture from Mareni called his peers' attention... a panicked farmer had arisen to spot them from afar, rushing back to a nearby well. Why the well? No matter. The farmer had seen the air of their minds, and if that reached Xelqar there would be no escape. Kneeling down in the rain, Karel steadied her breath, aiming ahead with the aid of Mareni's sight.

A brief speck of light flashed amidst the rain and the dark of night; a moment passed before the distant, muffled crack of sound arrived, and the poor farmer's chest erupted in a mist of red a split second later. Doubtless the horde that had accumulated behind them was already homing in on the sound. With little time to spare, they drew near the well, Karel stepping around the body she'd felled to get a drink. She noticed the owl-like figure carved of wood with gem eyes glowing a faint blue above her. It was a relay for Xelqar's sight. Mareni reached up to disable and dismount it.

Karel looked up at him. "They'll know exactly where we are if you do that."

"I know, but we'll be running anyway, and we might need this."

"Perhaps. All we're doing here is attracting the sight of local commanders."

Taking it with them after darkening its eyes, Mareni took lead as the three returned to the swamp. Less than an hour later, riflemen swarmed through the farmlands, searching about, noting the death and the stolen relay, much to the horror of the family in the house.

But, such was war. Mareni tried putting it out of his mind, but Karel didn't even seem bothered by it, simply moving on. Verdemal seemed amused, actually; she considered Altavim and her people all vermin anyway. Silently pressing through a sleepless night, they forged ahead under the cover of the thickening trees to approach a larger settlement.

Karel eyed around Mareni's side, and spotted the wood and stonework grid of the city ahead, covered in a blanket of inhabitants' sights all around. "This frankly seems suicidal..."

Mareni looked back. "We only need to get close enough to put it in range of their overwatch." They'd booby-trapped the owl with their can of nightmares...

With a brief exchange of glances between the three and a nod, Karel took the darkened owl-like figure, slinging it behind her back as she leapt up to catch a branch. She made her way as far up a nearby tree as she could to mount the figure atop, in plain view of the city.

As Karel made her way back down, Mareni lit the figurine, letting the sight of the city reach out to contact it. Nodes of thought serving networks of minds reached out, the barriers between them melted away, sights flooded with noise, flickering before going dark in a wave across the city. It was a strike not against a person, but against the civil network itself; none could call out to see what happened as the problem showed itself all the way up the chain. There were no screams of death, no actual people hit, only silence from ruined relays; doing it this way made it look like a massive equipment failure. Finally, a blue wisp of a link appeared to investigate.

As the three stood under the towering hurricane of power, Xelqar's sight gazed through, instantly spotting the source of the problem. " _You_!"

Karel smiled grimly. "Xelqar. Have a present."

Verdemal made no hesitation in casting her mind's nightmare through her bracer, right up into the swirl, pinging off the nearby town, arcing from one to the next. The blaze continued all the way to strike the ancient tower itself, down the line, to the rotted haze beneath Xelqar's feet. The flash of color was however absorbed in the blue flame, stopped cold.

Xelqar snarled, "Did you really think I hadn't foreseen mind viruses? How insulting. We've been looking into the super-weapons of ancient minds as well! So be it, you want my attention? You'll have it for the rest of your lives!"

Immediately, Mareni kicked dirt behind him as he rushed ahead, a spiral of telekinetic thunder striking down nearby. As the three fled the scene, the shadows themselves lashed out at them, tearing into Verdemal's side and denting Mareni's arm.

And yet, he looked up... and saw Xelqar's tower through the wispy projection. All of it. The whole network, the crumbling machines; even far down below, the fetid stew of madness that had been brewing for eons was revealed. Even if Xelqar herself was protected, the barriers of her machine had burnt away. Down far below... there was another.

Mareni called back, "Terath mentioned another-"

Karel narrowly closed a shadow out of her mind. With a gesture, she acknowledged Mareni... there was another. There were many other whispers echoing behind Xelqar's presence... tormented thoughts left to linger below Xelqar's feet.

Gazing right through the shadow, Karel sent her thoughts ahead of Xelqar's response, manifesting her own study on the art of immortality. Her thoughts locked down upon the whispers of ghosts in Xelqar's basement seeping through the machine, bringing them forth. The shadows, both around and hidden far below, were far more real than they would seem. Terath had known that well, and shared his tales of it.

Xelqar had already moved to block this, but, found that she couldn't. That barrier that isolated her power from the tormented echoes below had already been corroded away by time and misuse... such was the only reason Karel managed this feat in the first place. There was no shutting it down; her mind took hold of the machine's controls, and the corroded and corrupted hooks and handles may as well have snapped at her touch.

"What have you _done_?!"

Karel hadn't anticipated this opening, but she'd taken it nonetheless, sending her late dragon friend her belated gratitude. "A message from Terath, Raela, Kyril, wherever they may be: Your former mate has words for you!"

Up the stairs from the fiery pit, past the noisy heart of the ancient obelisk, up to the door... the skeletal ghost practically knocked the rusted facade right off its hinges.

Xelqar spotted this. Her whole tower was flooding with the essence of madness itself now! Seeing this for what it was, she turned, gathering her gold mask on the way out the front, only to be yanked back to her belly. She watched helplessly as the mask tumbled down the steps. Her tail held, she rolled to have her head stomped to the ground and pinned, with his voice booming in her ears.

"Why WHY WHY WHY WHY?!"

His unbound rage and misery spilled down at her. Xelgar snarled, tearing up as she drove herself to wrestle free, swiping and lashing out with her tail, only to spot the skeletal figure shifting aside.

"You locked me. Down there. FOREVER!"

Without words, she blasted her own scrambling sight back at him, the two locking together in a struggle of mind and force.

"We had an oath to stay together..." His bones twisted apart as arcs of ghostly fire cracked along the floor. His maddened power fueled by the ruptured machines below pierced into her mind as he knocked her to the ground, shattering her link with the obelisk. "And now you'll make good for it!"

The obelisk, now entirely out of control and with its defenses collapsed, sat open to the wills of the three afar. Mareni saw the chance. He was going to turn its own power in on itself and destroy the whole structure. Altavim's land was already on the brink of a change of mind and heart... now change could finally come.

He sent his thoughts forth, only to find himself shunted out by Verdemal. He glared at her. "What are you doing?!"

Verdemal's sight trailed down the arcing links, drawing to the core of the central tower, the ancient machines still dangerous even at their last thread of life. The truth of the matter was, the word of doom they'd assembled was only _part_ of the weapon, the core of the payload. With access to an ancient tower, the true, full power of the ancient horror could be unleashed. Her life's work would be complete. Her mind patterned in the nightmare of the gem, a solitary attack falling into the light as her sight retreated. And so, the ancient word of doom would ride the dying light of the last obelisk.

Mareni couldn't believe what he'd just seen. "V-Verdemal... what, what have you just done?!"

Xelqar dashed a second slash from her ghostly opponent's heavy blade, which shattered the side of a marble pillar. Her mind attacks were doing little here. The both of them traded sorrow for sorrow as he knocked her down again with a pommel to the head, shattering her arm with the follow-through before running his ghostly blade through her chest and into the floor, pinning her down. "Stop. Struggling... I don't want to drag this out any more... Xelqar..."

She looked up in her breathless gaze to see his eyes flickering alien lights which seemed to emanate far from below, rising upwards; the skeleton collapsed as its animating ghost dispersed into wisps, the barriers binding it all corroding away. Those dazzling lights...

Desperate and with her last moments counting down, Xelqar tried to reach down with her failing sight to the controls, forgetting about herself to try to save her peers and her people. The controls were still just as broken...

They were all gone.

As her mind faded, her sight beheld the last views of her old power, the flash of colors lighting the mountain, arcing out to the towns. She beheld the consequences of her failure... they were dead now. All of them. With what was left of her power, her mind sent out to Karel one last message.

" _This_ is your victory?... You wanted to let loose what I sought to hold back from the world? You wanted to make sure history would never forget Glorious Kalvod? Congratulations... In both, you've succeeded."

Alone, knowing what had come of it all, she finally yielded to fate, letting her pierced lungs release as the light engulfed her.

Doom spread through the old network, a burning terminus sweeping the land, the terrible wrath of the ancient past obliterating all defenses as if they weren't even there!

"Run, RUN!"

Karel called back, the three forgetting the soldiers as they carried themselves as quickly as their legs could muster into the wilds. Mareni looked back, his long-reaching sight sending one last message over the network ablaze: a warning of what was coming, notice to cut away. He could only hope it reached Lavsvai and the rest of Xelqar's former dominion before the nightmare did.

A beam exploded down from the heavens, and lights erupted across the city. The screams of the people filled the streets as over a hundred thousand minds let their power flood out into the open, barriers burnt away by the light, the crystalwork of their machines shattering in a glow that shone off the black riveted lenses of Mareni's eyes. Then came the maddening noise...

"Mareni, get down here!"

He turned and ducked away behind a hill before the whole pattern could reach him. The light swept past the horde of soldiers that had been tracking them. The light swept past the farms, workers looking up from their fields, looking up from the carts they were pulling to witness their last sight. Past the gliders circling the swamp, the light of annihilation swept through the air. The light shined down, sweeping past the old landing of the Bird's Eye. Kolrem, Terath's old forge, was engulfed along with the ships about, all left twisted and ruined among lingering ghostly howls, echoes of the screams that filled the streets.

Hidden away behind the terrain, Karel looked at Verdemal, and kept staring.

Verdemal looked back. " _What_? Call me a monster if you wish. I'm not dying today. And, with this power, Kalvod will rise again!"

Karel spoke with a quiet, low tone, "Call you a monster? No... you've made monsters of _all_ of us..." She hesitated, then sighed, "As well."

Verdemal's eyes widened as she saw what was on Karel's mind, turning to flee as Karel drew her pistol. Karel was quick as ever, firing with the crack of three shots in succession, Verdemal falling without a sound with her chest, head, and side gaping open.

"You're wrong _twice_."

Mareni saw this and didn't say a word. They had no more Altavim after them, nothing at all to bother them now. Peace had finally come... a peace most terrible.

All around them, civilization was no more.

They kept away from the flashing storm of lights. Until the light faded, approaching any town would be quickly fatal. Neither of them were sure how they were getting off the continent, or if they were leaving at all. It took a while walking before either even felt comfortable with talking.

Mareni looked around as he walked along, sights of ruination afar. "Now we're the only two who know the world's most terrible secret. Perhaps we should forget, to stop others from taking it."

Karel shook her head. "No. The world has to know what happened here, what it is, how to prevent it, to know where this path leads. Or they'll just walk it again. You don't think someone can repeat our research and reproduce this weapon? With control towers and relays of their own design?"

Mareni rubbed his head in thought. "Most of our work was built using ancient components, most of which we couldn't fully make sense of. Reproducing it all, Xelqar's tower especially, seems unlikely in the near future."

As incredible the ancient relics seemed, Karel knew well that they were just tools... made by peoples no different than their own. There would be other empires in the future who fancied themselves 'glorious'. There would be other Verdemals...

Karel narrowed her gaze. "I give them fifty years." Looking skyward, she continued, "Until then, this is our burden to bear."

The thought lingered in her mind: how the ancients had strived to make sure the nightmares they'd conceived would never be thought of again. How the ancients had failed...

Mareni followed her gaze. The fires above and around continued into the night. There were no words between them, no words for this. There was just hunkering down, away from the towns, shielded by the terrain, to see another day. He could only hope others had heard his warning and done the same; though even if they had, most would've been unable to escape...

The coming of the next day saw the lights reduced to a faint glow, a silence hanging about the towns, dead animals lining the outskirts as they made their way back to the shore. The sound of wind, rain, and sea washed about the piers, the only sounds to be had. Many of the piers and boats were ruined--the release of telekinetic power had shattered the machines, the chronometers. The ships and sails had been set alight; some were relatively intact, but many had been burnt to charred wrecks.

Beneath the grey skies and relentless rain, Karel and Mareni spotted one of the relatively intact craft. The relay and chronometer had all but exploded, but the sails and hull were still usable. As nobody was on it at the time, there were no provisions inside.

Mareni kept his power topped off by siphoning from plants. They provided a scant but widely available power source, though he found himself wondering how he'd keep awake if they chose to set sail.

Karel gestured into town. They needed a thermal converter, of course, if there were any that still worked. It was worth a search, perhaps, trailing among the bodies on the messy roads. It was indeed worth searching before the stench got any worse. Below were the charred fragments of wood and glass from buildings fatally twisted by all that power set loose, upturned carts, a crashed glider standing as a landmark in the road. Above, the relentless rain brought lightning... lightning writhing unnaturally through the ghostly howls of the wind, following lingering trails of noise.

A fog of noise still hung about the town, carrying dying screams and maddening thoughts as whispers on the wind. Silhouettes of the mind shifted in the shadows, ever moreso toward the center of town. Stepping around the wrecked glider, over broken glass, they passed by the town center. Mareni held up a hand, pointing back... the fog ahead was still thick and somewhat alight with its maddening air, their deadly nightmare burnt into the metal held by those poor people when it all happened. The sense of the shadows encroaching was reminder enough not to stay around too long.

Ruptured ice chests spilled their contents in stores and warehouses. It was a scavenger's bounty, though it'd all be rotten soon unless they found an ice chest that worked. There wasn't one; they found nothing but twisted snow steel and Karel was no metalworker. However, a surplus storehouse carried with it hardtack and salted meat, well enough, along with drink scavenged from the ruined central tavern. The patrons of the tavern were sitting as they were on that fateful day, hunched over their drinks, still held in hand. There was even a board game left half-done. Alas, in the end they'd both lost; now the damaged ceiling and broken windows let the rain blow in, washing the pieces away.

After the boat was loaded as well as it would be, Karel took refuge in the cabin, waiting for the weather. With a contrivance of a salvaged kinetic pipe and reflectors to gather power from the sun, Mareni found himself waiting for the sun as well, keeping to the woods, as silent and lifeless as the forest had become.

Finally the rain relented. The clouds parted below the stars, a faint light growing as dawn broke, a colorful sight. The sun's rays filtered through clouds to trail down upon the silent and glistening terrain as Mareni returned to the ship. Unfazed as ever, Karel readied the lines as Mareni set up his collector, and the two set sail away for Lavsvai. What was left of it.

Giving one last look to the dead city, she guided the craft ahead, into the sound of wind and sea. Dead was Xelqar's dream. Dead was the union of the oracles, dead were all the old grand dominions. Dead were the tales of ancient mystery, living gods, legendary heroes. And yet, the world still turned.

Despite all that had happened, another day lay ahead. People no longer needed these past things, for they no longer looked up but forward. So dawned the era of science and the oft awe-inspiring, oft-terrible secrets of tomorrow. Upon the ashes of the old dominions, new nations were already well at work building up their new empires. This era would have plenty of tales yet unimagined, perhaps yet unimaginable to those standing at its dawn, some dreams, some nightmares... Whether the ancients in their effort to prevent the world from reaching this point were foolish or wise would be a debate for the ages.

Karel and Mareni strode the streets of what was once Lavsvai. Hearing afar of what was once Atswala, most had survived in these peripheral reaches, but the structures of control they'd been held under were gone. The Lavsvai continent was entirely without leaders now. Yet, the people seemed to like it that way. For a generation having known nothing but Altavim's boot, none seemed keen on replacing her.

Death and creation, as always, chased one another, and life went on. The streets of the Lavsvai shore were tidied up given time. Karel continued her work, studying some of the world's most dangerous thoughts with the intent of spreading awareness so that the peoples of the world could steer their nations toward better futures. She made no secret of what happened. Mareni sometimes followed her, though more often than not remained with his people, chasing his passion for the sky and the workings of the mind. Such unfathomable and sublime knowledge on the very machinery of existence awaited those clever enough to find it.

Whenever she visited a town Mareni was in, she always looked up. If not in a glider, always in a balloon, Mareni sent her greetings from up high. The luminous crystal displays of novel ventures greeted her as well when she traveled afar, taking their gamble in this era of new and unheard-of ideas. It was another time for new minds to dream, to strive, to live and die, to dare for success and failure in the face of the unknown and the yet unknowable, limited only by the bounds of their dreams.

And despite their trials, people around the world stopped to leave their intriguing handiwork on display. Karel couldn't help but smile on seeing a small animated metalwork bird squawking the time on a clock, even if it would get annoying to hear it every hour. Looking past it, a sign showed the presence of Rolith Ironworks in heavy-set sturdy lettering; it was an industry that motored ahead even if its original operator wasn't with it anymore. She let a breath out through her nose, looking at it for a moment, then continued on.

As promising as this era was, it had its problems---and then some. Between the ever more angry and destitute commoners, penniless once-artisans, the haze and muck, and the new and dangerous discoveries happening every season, every miracle came with a curse attached. Fortunately, no generation had ever been so keen on solving problems. They'd need to be so; this world was no longer a clean and simple map but an ever changing and ever more complicated globe sporting hundreds of groups vying for the world's spotlight.

Karel thought to herself, "Just don't screw up like we did."

Far off, spread among the regions of the world, Xelqar's children found their own lives. They would find their separate paths in a world that grew more alien to the one they once knew with every passing day. All the while, hidden in the brooding black beneath the waves, the key that Akim had found centuries ago still rested, waiting for a lock to open.

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Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my work, feel free to visit my smashwords page, or look me up on your favorite ebook distributor.

One wonders how many cycles of history were broken by the invention of the printing press...
