

Known Afterlife

The Provider Trilogy: Volume I

by Trey Copeland

Copyright © 2014

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-1-62137-237-0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

Author's Note

Thank you for downloading _Known Afterlife_ , Volume I of The Provider Trilogy, I hope and trust you enjoy the story.

Volume II: _Known Resurrection_ and Volume III: _Known Transcendence_ are on pace to publish fall 2015, and winter 2016. For updates, advance notification, exclusive content and more, visit http://www.trey-copeland.com and sign-up for my newsletter.

-Trey Copeland

Chapter 1

Steffor knew from experience that the serpent would not strike. One more errant stride and the two-ton reptile would cover the hundred-foot stretch of branch between them in a blink. But not an inch closer. He sat down, confident the ancient carnivore would neither attack nor move from his perceived concealment.

Settled in one of the many grooved pockets bored into the small branch, he relaxed and contemplated deeper on the predictable nature of snakes. The snake, and dozens of other reptiles for that matter, had managed to survive long before man emerged. It had survived by relying on honed calculations; threads used to weave the fabric of its genetic make-up. The snake survived because it was secure in its strengths while being mortally aware of its weaknesses.

_But we allow it to survive_ , Steffor thought. _We, the Guardians, could destroy every species of viper and constrictor known to the Provider. But we do not. We choose to live with the snake, going out of our way to ensure its survival._

Steffor concentrated on the camouflaged trap set by the serpent, admiring its involved skill and attention to detail. "You're a wily veteran, aren't you," Steffor said, loud enough for the creature to sense the vibrations of his voice.

The hidden trap lay deep within one of nature's many intersections overgrown with bushy evergreen vines. Three small branches, no wider than thirty feet, forked upward from the larger limb. Each branch grew several hundred feet into the open sky before mingling into the broad-leafed canopy above. There, the snake laced the bottom third of its long, emerald-colored body around the three branches. The remaining two-thirds lay coiled, camouflaged within the thick vegetation and prominent root veins. Patient, it waited, ready to strike at any unsuspecting prey traveling along the trail.

"You'll catch a hearty meal by the end of this day, that much I am sure," Steffor chuckled. "Certainly more fulfilling than my paltry carcass." The truth of the statement sobered him. It was the subtext behind his compulsion to ponder the predictability of snakes. Moreover, it was the symbolic distinction separating man from other animals.

From the west, sunrays crept through an interlacing maze of stem and branch. Chirps, purrs and croaks rose from the surrounding wilderness and ushered in the gentle press of morning. Steffor set his mind adrift on the cool breeze sweeping across the branch and considered man's dominion over the Provider's wild kingdom, a quandary vexing him of late.

Guardians often aided isolated estuary villages and harvest Shifters by relocating snakes. For that matter, he had applied his unique shifting skills on a myriad of creatures posing a lethal threat to the defenseless Citizens.

The work epitomized the symbiotic relationship of Guardian and the other three races. The experience taught them early about the essence of their role, both within the Provider's ordained society and nature itself. It demonstrated how Guardians could among other actions, "persuade" predators to find a meal elsewhere. The benevolent act preserved the harmonious balance man had fostered with his fellow animals.

Intuitively, Steffor sensed those ancient, preordained roles were the root cause of his contemplation.

Despite our souls inhabiting the body and mind of the only apparent life forms capable of controlling the Provider's boundless energy, are we any less predictable?

Diminutive in size and population compared to the other animals and plant species, man's ancestors had discovered how to shift the Source out of the same primal need to survive.

_Have we not come to rely on our own set of instincts, forged into our make-up over thousands of generations? Does our spiritual connection to Source and Provider make us any different?_ Steffor did not ask these questions out of concern for man's ongoing ability to maintain their utopian existence. It was an undeniable intuition, telling him the Provider's Citizens had reached both a physical and spiritual crossroads.

The distinct sound of the Source shifted off stem and leaf—a subtle mixture of dampish thuds and electric hums—emanated from the canopy above and disrupted his ruminations. Steffor leaped from his resting place and turned around just in time to see Vejax burst from the canopy flying head first. With the practiced ease of a bird landing on its perch, the Guardian completed a half-flip, shifted a blue convex burst of the Source beneath his feet to break his fall and stuck a perfect landing.

"Huh? What d'ya think of that kid?" his friend jabbed, striking a mock victory pose with arms outstretched. "You think you got what it takes to hang with that kind of talent today?"

"Clearly I should turn back now and save myself the humiliation," Steffor replied with a smirk as he moved toward Vejax.

"No, don't do that. There is no other I would rather defeat today than you," Vejax professed, cocky as ever. "It is refreshing to have some decent competition for once."

"I am simply honored to be in the same race with two legendary Guardians such as Grimlock and yourself. Much less for the opportunity to be the third qualifier in this season's annual championship," Steffor quipped, showing no sign of intimidation to the man fifty seasons his senior.

Vejax winced at the backhanded compliment as Steffor's smirk evolved into a satisfied grin. Aware of Vejax's inflated ego when it came to the dive, Steffor knew the comparison to Grimlock—an inferior dive competitor to Vejax—was a jab hitting the mark. Vejax was the reigning champion for the past eighteen seasons. He was at the top of his game and everyone knew it. A nineteenth straight victory today would break a record that had stood for over two hundreds seasons, a feat certain to lock his name into the Deeds.

The two shared a rugged embrace. Vejax then turned sideways and, with an exaggerated genuflection accompanied by a flick of his wrist, gestured Steffor to lead the way. Before proceeding, Steffor looked over his shoulder and bid farewell to the snake.

"May the eternal balance of life and death be preserved in your hunt today, old warrior."

A half mile from their mutual starting point, they came to a fork in the branch where it merged with its twin and the primary bough from which both grew. Without pause, they turned to the southeast at the intersection and continued on their way down the twin. A thinner version of its sibling, the branch grew downward with sharp and steady bends. Side-by-side, they hiked down the narrow path shifted into the flaky, scree-like bark overgrown with dense vegetation.

"How do you plan on avoiding my power?" Vejax asked after traveling a few miles in silence.

"The Provider always shows the way," Steffor said as he shrugged his massive shoulders.

Not satisfied, Vejax pushed the issue. "Many a more seasoned Guardian has thought the same and paid dearly for the lack of respect. What is it, my young and inexperienced friend, which makes you think things will be different for you today?"

Every Guardian, be it an apprentice or seasoned Teuton, respected Vejax and his ability to shift the Source, especially when diving. The sensation of being near a Guardian Punching the Provider is a riveting experience for any spectator. It is the sensation that draws every Citizen from every region to every dive, be it a regional qualifier or today's annual championship. But the sensation for a Guardian attempting to do the same, at the same moment, is quite different. For most Guardians, the sensation was nothing short of terrifying.

Steffor reflected on the first time he had shifted the Source while diving. Newly anointed as a full-fledged Guardian, he qualified to compete in any of the Guardian Games. Unlike most new Guardians, the first event he chose to compete in was the dive. His opponent was a Teuton Guardian named Traiken.

Traiken was a Dive Champion sixteen times over. Past his prime, Traiken still had plenty to offer the crowd and his fellow competitors like, at the time, an over-eager sixteen season old Steffor. Like legends before him, Traiken competed for the love of it, both as competitor and teacher. Steffor learned that day what it meant to have the Source sucked from your core. The raw exposure to life without the Provider's energy is a sensation few survived, one Steffor vowed to never experience again.

In concept, Steffor knew the sensation of losing the Source was not real. The Provider's energy is limitless to all who chose to live the Certain Way. Every Citizen learned this creed early in life and each practiced and experienced it according to their race and life experience. The dive tested a Guardian like none other, leading every Citizen to chant before and after each race: "The dive fulfills the faith of all!"

"Faith. That is how I know today will be different for you, Master Teuton Vejax," Steffor finally replied.

"Hmph!" Vejax said through tense nostrils.

The vegetation growing around and above their shifted trail thinned the lower they traveled. It cleared as the branch narrowed to half its original width and leveled out. Familiar with this part of the journey, the two veered off the path together and peered over the edge. On a clear day, the rare vantage would provide a scenic view of the lush Deagron Fields miles below. But the sun had yet to burn off the thick morning mist, limiting their view to a few patches of grassland. Still, for people conditioned to living in a three-dimensional network of bark, wood and leaf, the novelty of seeing open land never waned.

They proceeded down the trail. After fifteen minutes of walking in silence, the two companions reached the branch's unique end. The branch they stood upon fused with a branch of similar size that descended in similar fashion from the northwest. There, shifted at the point of intersection, stood a rustic archway. The Guardians halted a few yards away and sat down before its dark entrance.

With eyes closed, the men synchronized their breathing and in moments, each began to meditate. Steffor elevated his mind from the endless flow of thought, clearing it of all but one clear image: the archway. His inner eye focused on the smoothed surface of the archway's center as he waited to receive the Provider's customized message.

Steffor welcomed the time for meaningful contemplation. He visualized the archway as a rendition of his beliefs. It symbolized the infinite connection of life, reminding him that nothing was ever isolated from the Provider. Strengthened by the image, his message from the Provider appeared.

" _Join me and fulfill your destiny. Let fear rule you and failure is certain."_

A hitch in the cadence of their synchronized breaths communicated each had received their message from the Provider. Without comment, the two rose, entered the dark space past the archway and proceeded with their journey. Darkness consumed them a few yards into the enclosed area. A few moments later, a modicum of light, leaking from a perpendicular slit cut into the left wall, revealed the narrow passage. The slit widened as they continued down the shifted hall that turned inward, to the right. Ten minutes into their descent, the left wall had disappeared, exposing the Guardians to open sky and the sprawling Deagron Fields far below.

A few strides after the hall's dramatic transformation, they reached the first step of Armotto's Staircase. The spiral staircase, shifted into the slender branch from above, spawned from the hallowed intersection. The "steps" were taller than most men and required a Guardian's dexterity and grit to descend without flailing over the open left side. Steffor followed Vejax down the harrowing path as they acrobatically jumped from one landing to the other. A mutual silence ensued as each Guardians started their mental preparation for the dive.

Knowing the journey's end neared, Steffor embraced the silence and spent the time reflecting on the Provider's recent message. The message bestowed at the intersection always related to his state of mind and life experience. Prior, Steffor's messages had been inspirational. The black and white interpretations such as "conquer thyself and victory is certain" left little to question. Up until today, the Provider's message never used the word "fear" or "failure".

_Does the Provider sense a disturbance in my soul?_ Steffor pondered the thought provoking question, resisting the temptation to discuss the topic with Vejax. Customized for Vejax and his present relationship with the Provider, his message would have little application to Steffor at this moment in time.

"Faith you say," Vejax said over his shoulder, retorting to Steffor's earlier statement. "I have faith. I believe the Provider will grant me victory. My faith is no different than a harvest Shifter or field Mystic, yet neither one of them possess the skills necessary to go down this ancient trail, much less dive." With the sound of his own words restoring his bountiful confidence, he added, "My faith equals both talent and power. I am in my prime. You—a naive novice with freakish luck about to run dry—have much to learn. It will require more than faith to survive this day."

Steffor grimaced in response to his friend's statement. It was not the words clamping his thoughts in uncertainty; they were all true, from the need to respect Vejax's power to his own freakish luck. No, it was his perspective on life, fueling his faith that caused him to pause in solemn introspection. Up to this moment, Steffor had given this unique paradigm little thought.

Since watching his first "live" dive race at age eleven, a race won by Vejax, Steffor's mission in life had been to be the greatest dive champion in history. Why now, fourteen seasons later, moments before competing in his first dive championship, does he question why and how he had managed to manifest his life so perfectly? _If Vejax only knew how much of an understatement 'freakish luck' was in describing how I came to this moment._

Steffor let the troubling question drift from his mind as he looked down at his friend's head and shoulders. He admired the Teuton's braided ponytail extending down to the base of his broad back, ending with three short tails from the last knot. Steffor reached around to feel his own ponytail ending at the base of his neck, a stark reminder of his youth and his mentor's vast experience.

Other than the length and color of their ponytails—Steffor rich auburn, Vejax jet black—there was little separating the two physically. Inhabiting bodies with heightened senses, both men stood a full head taller and weighed twice that of an average Citizen. Designed to protect the Provider's Citizens, they were both muscular in build with broad backs and powerful limbs. Physical traits today, more often than not, relegated to competing in the Guardian Games.

Content to let Vejax's comment hang in the open, Steffor instead focused on his mental preparations for the dive race, now rapidly approaching. Traversing one colossal step after the other, he found solace in their silence for the remainder of the trek down the staircase.

Their vertical passage ended at the corner of a large deck shifted from the remnant material of the staircase. The floor of Relston's Landing, patterned with alternating herringbone grains, shined with a rich veneer. Shifted from the edge of the floor, a chest high wall bordered the square deck on all four sides, giving the landing the appearance of an open box.

Ornate etchings shifted along each wall depicted the ongoing events throughout the dive's colorful and long history. Depicted on the wall closest to the entrance was last season's championship. The image captured the essence of Vejax's runaway victory, as he posed on the Deagron Fields with arms held high in victory, long before either opponent cleared the last amphitheater.

In the far corner opposite from the staircase, Grimlock sat cross-legged in front of a round opening in the floor. Grimlock by all standards was a giant: a head taller and twice the mass of an average sized Guardian. Nobody was more surprised than Grimlock to see him in this season's dive championship. Grimlock and his ability to dive were just now hitting stride. A champion many times over in the joust and wrestling, life had just started to slow down long enough for him to open the secrets required to dive. Where Grimlock was the epitome of beginner's luck, Steffor was simply an enigma.

As always, Grimlock's baby face and jovial smile negated all size intimidation. The three commenced with their customary greeting, crossing their right forearms in tandem with a firm embrace with the left arm, ended with a vigorous thump to the back.

"What took you so long?" Grimlock asked with mock puzzlement.

Steffor and Vejax smirked at the obvious joke, well aware that Grimlock's journey was a fraction of their own. He could have waited atop the staircase but neither begrudged the decision. Grimlock, all kindness aside, tended to ramble about the mundane and made it difficult to concentrate. Ironically, it was his ability to channel that single mindedness contributing to his recent success in the dive.

Civilities completed, the three men turned to the wide opening in the floor and looked down the long chute that would take them the remainder of the way to the Deagron Fields. Grimlock faced them and said, "May the Provider guide your path today."

"May the Provider guide yours as well," Steffor and Vejax replied in kind.

With that, Grimlock jumped into the opening feet first and disappeared down the chute. Steffor turned to face Vejax, anticipating his friend's probing stare.

Vejax will be spectacular today and create history in his own unique way.

The thought filled Steffor's heart with joy, enabling him to remove lingering thoughts of doubt, tucking them away to ponder another day. Soon they will begin the long ascent to the top of the world and start the dive championship; his mind, body and soul had already started the process of drawing in the Source.

"I agree with you," Steffor said at that moment, picking up from where their conversation had ended. "It will require more than faith to win today's race." Vejax opened and shut his mouth several times to reply, but in the end gave Steffor a quick nod of agreement before jumping down the chute.

For separate reasons, Steffor's final statement had a disturbing effect on both Guardians.

## *****

Vejax slowed his pace, in no hurry to reach his dive lift. Normally, the soft crackle of tall heather brushing against his garments was all it took to trigger the intense process of visualizing his pending victory in the dive. But alas, a rare bout with insecurity had quelled his desire to start the dive championship. Never experienced, Vejax could not manifest a vision of his immediate future.

Absent of a remedy, he eased his progress across the short stretch of Deagron Fields. He concentrated his sight on the vine Shifters awaiting his arrival, shrouded by the midday sun centered within the expansive horizon beyond. Their stout frames, along with the thick vine cables stationed between them that soared high above, knifed long shadows across his path. Prepared for the strenuous task ahead of elevating Vejax and his lift to the Provider's peak, in that moment, he envied the definiteness of their respective roles.

Steffor's parting words might not have bothered Vejax if it were not for their timing and similarity to the message he had received. " _This is your moment. Faith holds no past or future, the present is all that matters."_ The Provider's message was nothing new to Vejax. Indeed, he made a daily practice of meditating to various passages in the Deeds providing similar guidance. For that matter, he forged a personal connection with the Provider on his understanding of what it meant to live in the now. Regardless, he could not dismiss as simple coincidence how the word faith came into play with both Steffor and the Provider.

_Pull it together man! Steffor's faith is like none other, stop denying it_.

A rush of confidence moved inside as Vejax gave voice to his concerns. The welcome dose of confidence spurred him down a familiar path of reason. A clarity received the moment he met Steffor, but feared to explore, until now.

It was neither the depth of Steffor's faith or his commitment as a Guardian that troubled Vejax. From the day Steffor discovered his calling—saving hundreds of lives in the process—his raw ability to shift the Source had been equal to that of a seasoned Teuton. Since completing his apprenticeship over ten seasons ago, the Deeds recorded score after score of heroic acts he had committed; acts of bravery and self-sacrifice rivaled by none in history of the same age. Moreover, while his craft was still rough and growing, few disagreed that Steffor would be the next to forge his Teuton Staff.

Do I envy Steffor's growth as a Guardian?

As in the past, Vejax answered the self-effacing gut check with an assured no. Steffor, his youthful exuberance aside, was one of the few people Vejax could truly relate. Fifty seasons ago, Vejax was a young Guardian experiencing a similar rise in fame. As he had witnessed in his younger friend, Vejax avoided the pressure to exceed oneself through the growth of his personal relationship with the Provider.

Is the issue related to my competitive nature in the Guardian Games?

After all, it was hard to argue, given his rate of success to date, that Steffor would become the most successful dive champion in history; a pending reality, regardless of the outcome of today's championship. Despite Vejax's constant barrage of competitive jabs, he knew in his heart that their healthy competition held no animosity toward the other. He was content to give his all in every race and accept the outcome. It was, after all, just a contest.

No, Steffor's shared love for the dive made him more endearing to Vejax. He was proud to call Steffor a friend and grateful for the opportunity to mentor his growth in this lifetime. Likewise, Steffor's presence had contributed to Vejax's ongoing growth in ways he only now realized possible.

Realities of which made discovery of his real dilemma all the harder. While he could not articulate the reason, Vejax knew Steffor's relentless questioning of the proven truth fostered the seed of his discontent. How, since first meeting the young man, Steffor pushed at the edges of The Citizens Creed. He questioned the sacred laws that separated Citizen from animal. Laws bestowed upon man on the Day of Discovery, when Mystic first synced with the Deeds.

The moment we met, my intuition told me Steffor was different. And as I have done with every encounter since that day, I suppressed the one voice, my proven guide, that, when listened to, always spoke the truth.

Encouraged by the realization, Vejax stopped in his tracks and sent his mind out in search of the nearest Mystic.

"Joy to you Citizen Vejax. How may I help advance your journey?" The Mystic, heard in his mind and registering by the name of Domilton, was faint but enthusiastic. Vejax surmised, given how far he was from the closest village, that Domilton must be a young field Mystic. Assigned to the lower regions of the Trunk, Domilton spent most his days in deep introspection. The allocation of almost all other Mystics in the area for the upcoming broadcast of the dive championship supported this theory.

"Joy to you Citizen Domilton," Vejax replied. "I seek season 10,371, Lake Arol, Guardian Apprentice Induction, Master Kilton's introductory lecture."

Vejax waited while the Domilton searched according to his parameters and was grateful for the prompt download that followed a few seconds later. A satisfied smile crossed Vejax's face as the first images to flood his mind's eye were of the majestic knot lake and the village shifted along its mountainous south side.

He allowed his mind to take a quick detour and travel down the narrow avenues running the length and width of the mountainside. Flying over the many vine bridges spanning the falls that crested the lake's curved rim, he ended his side trip at the House of Kilton. Shifted from the smooth lake rim, he spent many blissful hours in the ancient house as a young apprentice, resting after long, toiling days of training.

The nostalgic trip down memory lane provided an unexpected but welcome lift to his spirits. He accepted the palpable gift for what it was, stowing it deep into the pockets of his soul.

He doubled back and re-synced with his requested search, sending him from the northeast across the lake. Vejax slowed his approach, still uncertain what it was he sought by visiting an event that occurred long ago.

The day had marked his return to Lake Arol since leaving twenty-one seasons prior, a time in his life when the mandatory season spent training others felt like an eternity. He was a brash, young Guardian then, itching to carve his name into the Deeds. Vejax chuckled at the irony as he did the day he returned the second go around as an anointed Teuton. Both then and now, excited to share his wisdom with the latest batch of apprentices.

It was a diverse group of recruits that season in both in age and background; the recent discovery of ordained powers the primary trait each shared in common. Twelve seasons old, Steffor was the youngest. But he was the boldest. Armed with an intelligence unencumbered by wisdom, none foretold of his innocuous charisma or the influence it would have on everyone.

He cast his spell on all of us that first day. A blissful spell, ignorant of its existence, but an incantation on the soul all the same. But was it the charm of youthful inquiry, or was it something more...perverse.

With the shape of his inquiry coming into focus, Vejax approached the moment in time he had requested with renewed hope.

An aerial view of the tri-hulled ship came into view a second later, its broad leaf sails taut with a strong southwestern wind. The simple but efficient craft, shifted from a large piece of petrified bark, trailed a sleek wake of white foam across the clear, emerald waters. Like a pride of big cats, Guardians lounged around the main deck, an oval trough connecting to the three torpedo shaped hulls. A small crew of naval Shifters operated mast and sail.

The sun was setting behind them, providing the passengers with a breath taking view of the eastern shore. The spiked range of wooden pillars were awash in warm light, a beautiful contrast to the preponderant Trunk consuming the background beyond. Vejax, recognizing the moment as the start of the evening's lecture, moved down to the main deck to assume the point of view of his former self.

"The Provider exists!" Master Kilton said, his clarion voice prevailing over spirited conversation and pervasive winds.

"The Provider exists in all of us," Vejax heard himself reply as he watched the others quiet down and a settle into one of the many platforms or benches shifted around the deck.

"The Provider exists for us," a confident voice said from the opposite side of the deck, coming from a promising young Guardian named Daltera. As Vejax recalled, Daltera had been inducted as a Guardian six seasons prior and was returning to Lake Arol for his first tour of duty as a trainer.

"The Provider exists to feed us," Grimlock the apprentice chimed, as huge and doltish as ever.

"Yes, Grimlock, a truism we are all reminded of by your presence alone," Kilton said with a wink. The unexpected humor caused the group to erupt with boisterous laughter with Grimlock's guffaws heard above the rest.

The fifth child born to two of Razum City's prestigious vine Shifters, Grimlock's genetic predisposition to be large in stature surprised no one. But none could have predicted the intimidating mound of flesh, sculpted by seasons of strenuous labor, now leaning against the ship's bow. For Grimlock spent the first eight seasons of his adult life serving society as one of Razum's vine Shifters.

Vine Shifters kept the Provider's transit systems going, propelling a plethora of passenger and freight cars around the world every hour of the day. But Grimlock had not shifted the massive vine cables across long distances like his fellow niche Shifters. For a vine Shifter shifted the Source found in both muscle and vine. Where Grimlock used his raw Guardian brawn as he shifted from the churning sea of Source welled deep within Belly Briar.

Like many Guardians before him, Grimlock did not consciously mask his true nature. The power of a Guardian is like none other, a role the soul must embrace with vigor. So, as was the Provider's way, when it was time to reveal his true nature, the need to save those he cared for most, forced Grimlock's Guardian powers to the surface.

"The Provider Exists," Kilton said, resuming with the lecture. "While significant to all, we Guardians rely on this opening verse of the Citizens Creed to instill faith again and again, no matter how dark the circumstances. In due time, brothers and sisters, we all learn the truth of those words."

Vejax nodded in agreement to the salient message, just as he had that evening. He then studied the others and registered similar understanding on each, except for one: Steffor. The boy looked comfortable enough, leaning into the curved stern with arms spread across the rail. But Vejax detected a discord on the young face as it turned to study the hull slicing through the water.

"Tell us apprentice Steffor, how does your personal experience relate to the wisdom of Master Kilton's words?" As he heard himself pose the leading question to Steffor, the skepticism etched in his voice startled Vejax.

Unaware or uncaring of the group's attention now squarely focused upon him, Steffor kept his gaze on the water for several seconds before replying. "It does not, relate that is." His steady gaze moved from Vejax to Kilton.

"Tell me Steffor, if not that, what, if any verse from the Citizens Creed, best relates to the awakening of your Guardian powers?" Kilton asked with genuine interest.

"No one aspect of the Citizens Creed captures my experience, but if I had to choose it would be: 'Life of a Citizen is purposeful.'

"Curious. Never in my seasons have I once known a Guardian to cite that verse as their inspiration, especially from young apprentices just learning how wield their powers. Tell us, what does 'The Provider Exists' mean to you?"

Vejax studied Steffor as he pondered the question. Steffor wrapped his arms around his legs folded into his chest. Appearing at first perturbed by the question, Vejax could only describe the countenance that replaced as relief. The Mysticnet logs recorded that Steffor took just over a minute before he replied. To Vejax, both times, it felt like an eternity.

"Questions, endless questions. Questions I have asked before I was old enough to sync with the Mystics. Questions that, for every answer I find two more crop up in their place."

"Your questions are for here and now. All your questions," Kilton said to the group. Everyone gave Kilton a respectful nod, grateful for the Teuton to include him or her but all were as interested as he was to hear what questions the impressive youth had to ask. Kilton turned back to Steffor. "There are no bad questions here, what is it that weighs heaviest on your mind?"

"The Provider Exists, both as the world we live upon and as our creator, yes?"

"That is correct."

"The Citizens Creed also tells us, through the Provider's eternal energy, Life of a Citizen is Continuous and that as we grow so does the Provider."

"True."

"That is where I become confused. If the Provider exists, in us, what then, are we? Am I, we, destined to become a tree, teeming with life spawned from our own energy; life that will create the human animal; the vessels in which I may expand and grow? If so, was our Provider once a human like us, born on a tree planet, given a soul by its creator? If we become the Provider, what then, does the Provider become? Does the Provider ascend to become a new form of existence? If so, what new form of existence does the creator of our Provider take? Where does it all—"

Steffor's last question came up short as he looked away from Kilton for the first time since starting his flurry of questions, startled by the shocked faces around the deck. Steffor flinched, squeezing his legs closer to his chest. To his credit, he met the eye of each before turning back to the water running swiftly by the edged hull. The first of many moments Steffor would earn Vejax's respect

"Young Steffor's questions are what The Four have posed since the Day of Discovery. It is healthy and expected for all Citizens to question that which we believe true. The truth of now empowers us and it is the very foundation of our faith. Face the morrow when it arrives and carry from the past that which improves the present. So says the Citizen's Creed: Be patient! Be active! Be grateful!"

"Thank you father! Please forgive us! We love you with our whole hearts!"

Kilton's timely words and the group's intoned prayer that followed thankfully broke the yoke of Steffor's thought provoking questions. The days ahead were to be dangerous, requiring the utmost concentration for all. None could afford to cloud the mind with questions that had no answers.

Vejax had looked back to Steffor at that moment and, again, was unnerved by the others anticipating stare. Vejax sensed boyish relief from the other, content to let the subject drop. He decided in that moment to shoulder the burden on his own, to keep his unique process hidden to the rest.

And we were all grateful he did not share it again.

As always, Vejax found conciliation in the mysteries of how the Provider fulfilled the law. Life in the present, guided by irrevocable truth, placated him beyond measure. And on the surface, Steffor lived his life the same, completing his training in less than three seasons, inducted as a Guardian by age fifteen.

Since, Steffor embodied the Guardian race, always putting others before himself. It seemed to Vejax, a daily Mysticnet feed without Steffor's name was more uncommon than not. If not for the joy produced by the Guardian Games, the one thing you could accuse Steffor of being selfish about was the dive. But none would question the correlation of his success to his love for everyone.

My charge is clear. I must confront the faith of one my closest companions, a faith that amplifies benevolence for all. A faith I know in my heart has to be flawed. Steffor must see the error in his ways. His loss today, to me, to my complete faith in the Provider, is the setback he requires to realize his full potential.

For once the young man aligned perfectly to the Provider, Vejax believed there would be no limitations to what his friend could achieve.
Chapter 2

Is it truly the solution, the missing and final piece? Will humanity finally advance to a new plane of consciousness?

These were the questions Stalling pondered the moment they first discovered the arboreal planet. Placing all trust into his proven intuition, he had bet everything—his empire, his existence, his very soul—that the answer to all of them was a resounding YES!

So why now, in the final moments before all was revealed, did he question his judgment? A lifetime of blind faith to this sixth sense, a consistent ability to listen to and act on his inner voice, had led Stalling to this very moment. The abrupt appearance of what others call doubt, a foreign state of mind for Stalling, was all the evidence he required to know something was not right. But _what_ remained a mystery.

Stalling went back to studying the three-dimensional images projected on his link visor. He knew the answers to questions about the strange planet resided somewhere within the data accumulated over the years. Encapsulated in a sphere of blue skies and white clouds, the planet's surface was a diverse canopy comprised of colossal limbs, branches, stems, leaves and vegetation. The only perceptible land mass observed from outer space formed around the equator, a greenish-brown continent that divided the planet into two distinct hemispheres.

Like a clairvoyant compass, his sixth sense pointed to the ring of earth as the solution to his quandary. Stalling magnified his view and pulled up the latest readings on the mysterious energy that emanated from the area. He held his breath, pensive as he read and reread the report.

Down 1.8 percent? That is not possible! Unless...

"Your two o'clock is prepared to sync. Are you ready?" his assistant's purposeful voice said over the audio feed of his link visor.

Damn it, not now!

If it were any other meeting, Stalling would have blown it off and stayed with his inquiry until a solution emerged.

But such are the times we are in; this is all part of the plan, no turning back now.

"Stalling? Are you prepared to speak with Archbishop Clortison?" Margaret probed again, turning on video communications this time to appear in the left quadrant of his screen.

He half met the attractive women's concerned eyes, refusing to move away from the planet's image rotating in the center. "When have I ever not been?" He finally replied, beaming a confident smile.

"Wonderful," she said, a genuine look of relief washing over her face. "I'll make the connection. Good luck!"

Stalling sighed and closed the planet visual. He then opened 'conference room 302': a drab, window-less, medium sized room with a long rectangular table. Within seconds, seven individuals materialized in seats on the opposite end of the table. The person seated at the head of the table, across from Stalling, was the one receiving his attention. The other six sitting to the right or left of the man had no purpose at the meeting beyond the conveyance of power; a gesture utterly wasted on Stalling.

In reality, the sight of the Archbishop's devoted followers by his side produced the opposite of its intended purpose. Instead, their presence provided a welcome boost of confidence. A constant reminder of what he had become: the most adept, and longest-living adversary the Church of Salvation had run across in its entire ancient history.

"Gentlemen," Stalling said by way of greeting to the room, his eyes never leaving the Archbishop. "Before we address the list of topics on our agenda, please take a moment to sync the contract located in the corner of your right screen quadrant, ensuring this address is untraceable and will be deleted upon our completion."

Each synced the document without reading, knowing full well that Stalling controlled the means to both trace and delete every address on the Auranet. Unlike their failed attempt to exude power, Stalling's gesture hit the mark.

Like any meeting hosted on the Auranet, false avatars were forbidden. Attendees saw in one another no more and no less than the creased hands, stained nails and mole speckled brows of their worn mortal vessels. Stalling reserved for himself the technological talent of seeing beyond each man's grey husk and into his emotional aura. This tool laid bare a current of anxiety pervading the Archbishop and his parade of sycophants, though an attentive child could see as much in the shifting eyes, timid gestures and hunched shoulders on display around the table.

Stalling reflected on all the anguish the Church of Salvation attempted to inflict on him over the years, hardening his heart for the events about to unfold. He vowed to show them mercy when victory was his, regardless of how little they showed him and those he cared for over the past twenty-five years.

"Seeing as you requested this meeting and set the agenda of topics to discuss, I welcome your opening comments and suggestion as to how we best proceed."

Despite the cavalier deliverance of the opening statement, the significance of Stalling's unexpected capitulation to lead the proceedings was lost on no one. Stalling took great satisfaction in seeing the strategic move throw his adversaries off their game so early in the proceedings. He was confident the men before him, or at least their legions of lackeys, had spent every waking hour over the past month preparing to react, to defend, to justify. Not lead.

Clortison was quick to compose himself, indifferent and calm as he replied. "Very well. Let us start by mapping out Stage 1 of the complete and legal transfer of Alterian Enterprises to your beloved Church and province."

Though everyone in the room knew nothing discussed today would be that simple to approach, Stalling could not suppress the impulsive rush of anger triggered by the entitled statement.

"Well, that is the root of it, isn't gentlemen? I publicly announced I would do no such thing. What do you have to inform me of today that will change my decision?"

"Mr. Alterian," Clortison said with a snide tone that could only be made by one used to getting his way, "need we remind you of the law that was passed by the electoral senate and ratified by the entire judicial panel over year ago today. The law, created to ensure our thriving economy remains stable for generations to come, states: all privately held corporations, and their subsidiaries, providing any form of service and/or products related to or within the telecommunications industry must relinquish entire control of said services and/or products to the Church of Salvation."

"I am very aware of the law that was created solely to usurp Alterian Enterprises as the most powerful organization in the world. What is not clear, assuming we continue to not comply with your silly law, is how you intend to make us?"

"We'll jerk every last one of you liberal bastards from your cozy island if we have to!" Cardinal Thortizan blurted, seated to Clortison's immediate left. Stalling's defiant statement had contorted the angled features of the chiseled man into ugly curves.

Clortison gave his underling a glare of disapproval but was quick to turn back to Stalling and see how he would respond.

"Military force is out the question, we both know it would result in an immediate and complete worldwide revolt." Stalling baited, aware the Church, if push came to shove, would rather take on a full-blown social uprising over allow Stalling to stay in his current seat of power.

"We do not share that assessment of the situation. While never pleasant for anybody, we have dealt with revolts in the past," Clortison countered.

No, seizing control of Alterian Enterprises by brute force was no easy feat, but no one in the room dismissed it as viable option.

Despite his intentions to provide them perceived control over the meeting, Stalling had grown weary of the game and wanted to get back to solving problems that really mattered. He reminded himself, the purpose of this meeting was to buy them just a few more precious days, long enough to complete the project. Stalling put his impatience in check and readdressed the group with feigned enthusiasm.

"Look, let's put our emotions aside for a moment and identify what matters. The impact A.E. has made on Antium is irreversible. The world has discovered a new way to communicate, learn and play and does not have the appetite or desire to turn back. Our intimate connection to and extensive database on the majority of the world's population places us in an unprecedented seat of control."

"Get to the point," Clortison said impatiently.

"We don't want things to get bloody any more than you do. And trust me, our issues with the law in question have nothing to do with any grandiose desires to take over the world," Stalling partially lied, selling it with a smile. "However, it does have everything to do with money. Come on guys, I know you appointed church officials aren't supposed to get caught up in all the materialistic stuff our capitalistic society promotes, but we are talking about billions here. You have got to sweeten the deal a little bit!"

"Why? Regardless of whether we believe you have a desire to challenge our divine authority, your proven hunger for material wealth is justification in itself to remove your pervasive influence from the world."

Admittedly, the 'it's all about greed' bit was stretch, even for these dolts, considering all he had done to the counter. Growing tired of the game, Stalling decided to cut to the point and pull out the trump card.

"Fair enough. But that brings us back to square one. Without the cooperation of our senior staff or me, Alterian Enterprises is worthless to you. If you still have any desire to gain control over what we have started, you have got to find some way to compromise."

The Archbishop sat up in his chair, squared his shoulders and puffed out his round chest, looking all too eager, as if Stalling had triggered a trap long in the making. For the first time since entering the virtual room, the Archbishop exuded the self-assurance one would expect from a man of his status.

"We have recently been contacted by a member of your senior staff, a Mr. Janison Satiago. His intel was very...provocative," Clortison said, staring long and hard at Stalling as the others seated in the room tried to read Stalling's reaction.

Showing none, the Archbishop elaborated, "Mr. Satiago is your CTO, yes? His detailed report on every piece of technology ever produced by A.E. was very revealing to say the least. Tell me Mr. Alterian, how do you think this unique tithe from one of our faithful followers will influence our mood to compromise?"

Stalling had anticipated Janison's eventual betrayal. At first, the revelation repulsed to the core but once accepted as inevitability, Stalling used its momentum to advance the ultimate objective. No, it was not the action causing his head to swim in a swift current of doubt. It was the timing.

Why now? Why not wait until the project was completed. While Janison had his own motivations, he had as much at stake in the project as the rest of us. Why risk losing it all now?

Clortison cleared his throat several times in attempt to engage Stalling back into the conversation. After the third failed attempt, he finally said, "Our willingness to make exceptions to the law has come to an end. We no longer possess the energy to go forward under the current conditions—"

"That's it!" Stalling shouted to the room, causing the group before him to flinch. Stalling frantically pieced together all the signs his instincts had been screaming at him for the past two weeks.

Not enough energy! How could I have miscalculated?

He had little time to relish enlightenment due to the complete absence of a solution. He needed to get his team on it now; there was no time to waste.

"I am sorry gentlemen but this meeting needs to be cut short, I have more important matters to attend to. Please contact my assistant with dates and times to reschedule in the coming weeks and I will prioritize the time accordingly. Best wishes."

The link disconnected.

## *****

Archbishop Clortison removed his link visor and glanced about the unadorned, windowless conference room. His eyes flit from face to face, registering surprise, hope, and cautious optimism. Today they saw something no one had ever seen, something he had never imagined he would see. The infallible Stalling had stumbled.

Chapter 3

Eyes closed in deep meditation, Steffor took another deep, purposeful breath. Inner silence consumed the mind as the Source merged with both soul and material body. The cheers of millions melted away as his core being swam in divine energy. He aligned with the Provider, in a dimension where the ego was powerless, shut out all conscious thought, and manifested his immediate future.

The Dive Chute below his feet unfolded before his mind's eye: an arborescent tube shifted from interwoven branches, thickets of stems and tangled vines. Steffor observed his sinewy body fly down the manmade shaft as it traversed the Provider's mighty limbs. Shielded by a transparent shell of electric blue Source, presented with thousands of course options, he dodged one bone crushing dead end after the other.

Steffor shot from the Dive Chute at maximum velocity, leading his fellow divers into the final leg of the race, a five-mile high free fall. As the Deagron Fields raced toward him, he sensed Grimlock and Vejax bear down on him in one last, vain attempt to gain the lead. A millisecond away from smashing into the lush grassland, Steffor emitted a powerful Source sphere to break his fall. Dive Shifters raised their flags, indicating Steffor was first to hit land and win this season's Dive Championship.

His vision locked with the future's pending reality, a moment yet to occur, but certain to happen, Steffor closed with a prayer: "I love you. Thank you for all that exists. Please forgive me."

## *****

Steffor trusted his garments as he did every gift from the Provider. Bestowed at induction, garments intuitively conformed to a Guardian's physiological needs. As such, his garments made it possible to survive most any condition, including the extreme altitudes of his starting block. Still, the thin, frozen air atop of the world sent a reactive shock through his system all the same.

Steffor soaked in the awe inducing surroundings. He first gazed skyward, stunned to see the curve that separated the Provider's upper atmosphere from outer space. He then trained his sight onto the panoramic view below his feet. The vast snow covered evergreen canopy, known as Toliver's Peak, sprawled for miles. Scanning hundreds of miles of the Provider's northern most branches, his heightened vision finally located the tops of Instenkul's piney foliage. A peace washed over him as he focused on the subtle point of demarcation between the two regions.

He would have stared at the majestic vista for hours the distraction had served its purpose in waking his physical senses. Steffor took one last moment to acknowledging the fruition of his dream to one-day stand atop the world. For without gratitude, nothing mattered past this point.

Steffor brought his attention back to his near surroundings. Vejax stood on an identical starting block a few yards off to his right. After a curt nod, Vejax returned his attention on the dive chute below feet.

Grimlock stood to his left. With concern, Steffor studied the big man still immersed in a deep meditative state. He ignored his natural impulse to help his friend, placated by the pending future certain to the manifest. Grimlock would not only gather his wits in the coming seconds but he'd also surprise everyone but himself this day.

Ripping his gaze away from his tormented friend, Steffor concentrated instead on the narrow stem supporting his starter block. Shifted from the rim of his dive chute, the long pole elevated thousands of feet above the Provider's snow covered peak. Despite his garment's ability to feed his body with oxygen, Steffor began to recognize the precursors of hypoxia setting in.

As if on cue, the Master Dive Shifter and Dive Mystic emerged from a square opening in the center of the observatory platform located between the three starter blocks. Swaddled in thick robes, both men wrapped their head in scarves, the Shifter an indigo blue, the Mystic pearl white.

Their ability to survive at the present altitude waned the second they arrived. Aware of this condition, the Mystic wasted no time in starting the proceedings. He stepped forward and raised his arms chest high in front of his body. A telepathic conduit to every Citizen, the Mystic looked deep into the eyes of each competitor for several moments. He then transmitted the images of the Guardians to the hundreds of Mystics placed along each dive chute and amphitheater.

With millions of expectant spectators around the world now synced with the Mysticnet feed, the Master Dive Mystic zoomed out to provide a view of all three divers. He then lowered his arms and stepped to his left as the Master Dive Shifter took his place. He then promptly addressed them with the customary introduction.

"May the Provider guide the Source in each of you!"

"May your craft touch the Provider and do his Will!" came the accustomed response from each Guardian.

A rush of silence seized the crowd in excited anticipation. The Source flowed in every leaf; its energy vibrated in each custom crafted seat. Citizens drank in the Source as all prepared to witness history. It was time to dive.

The Master Dive Shifter met the eye of each competitor one last time. He then contorted arms and hands in three brisk, succinct movements. A second later, the starting blocks dropped in unison.

Steffor forward flipped, straitened his body like an arrow and aimed for the upper left quadrant of his dive chute opening. The Source enveloped his body to form a protective 'halo'. His garments transformed into an aerial-dynamic armored shell. Protected by the Provider's gifts, Steffor shot toward what appeared to be a dense thicket of conifer branches. Reaching full speed, he hit the thicket and flew through a small, camouflaged opening.

The reward for avoiding the more inviting, wide-open entry located on the bottom right was a clear path down the left hand side of the chute. Had he gone to the right, he would have exhausted much of his energy on the first leg of the race navigating a tight weave of barbed branches. Instead, he now faced an easy flight to the first amphitheater juncture.

Steffor admired the masterful work of his chute. Sharp curves tested the limits of his shifting abilities as each produced a pleasant dose of adrenaline. After a dozen spine-tingling bends, the chute straitened and aimed downward. The brief straight away was a trellised passage replete with diamond shaped wickets. Bent sunrays splayed in every direction to create a kaleidoscope of geometric designs.

As he flew through the aesthetic patterns, he calmed both mind and spirit within their precise mathematics. He then pulled forth his vision for the immediate future. Replaying the events of Vejax, he noticed his friend had chosen a similar, not so obvious entry. His chute was relatively open but narrower, requiring him to exert small bursts of the Source to prevent being thwacked by a multitude of pesky stems. As a result, he was only a few seconds behind Steffor.

Grimlock had chosen the obvious and only entry his chute had to offer. The unfortunate start forced him down a tight passage similar to the one Steffor had deftly avoided. Grimlock would be far behind both he and Vejax come the first amphitheater. But he had passed the first test and would be rewarded with the opportunity to make up ground. Assuming, of course, he lasted long enough to see it.

Steffor entered the first amphitheater like a projectile shot from a rifling barrel. The excited crowd met his arrival with a heady dose of raw Source, a sensation akin to slicing through a massive cloud of ether. Steffor spread arms and legs wide. The action slowed his descent long enough to locate his chute reentry, found catty-corner to his entrance. Milliseconds later, he experienced firsthand the impact of Vejax's expansive power.

Vejax had emerged from his own entrance a second after Steffor. The crafty veteran then drafted a few inches behind to deliver his jarring, and potentially fatal, pulse of Source. Steffor had anticipated this move, but underestimated the Teuton's aggressive power. The impact instantly launched Steffor a hundred yards down and to the right. If Steffor had not counterpunched Vejax's Source burst in the last second, he would have smashed into the surrounding stands. Instead, he used the shove to change directions back towards his reentry.

Despite events transpiring as envisioned, his first clash with Vejax startled Steffor in ways he had not anticipated. He gathered the surrounding Source, and connected to his inner self. As he did so, time slowed. The multi-level, beehive shaped amphitheater disappeared, the roar of the packed stands faded.

Vejax's power will only grow stronger. You cannot allow the sensation to consume you. It's visceral; to believe otherwise means certain failure.

With a forward one-and-a-half somersault, he made a final alignment change for his reentry. He then darted through the upper right quadrant of his chute with renewed purpose.

Steffor's confidence returned soon after clearing the wide-open, spectator-filled stadium. In the closed quarters of the dive chute it was just him and the Provider's body.

True to his harvest Shifter heritage, Steffor embraced the challenging second leg of his chute with efficient hard labor. He pounded his way down the compact network of branches, punching the Provider to make room when needed, many of the openings only inches wider than the width of his shoulders. By the time he reached the next amphitheater, Steffor was in a full sweat and clear of mind.

The three Guardians emerged into the second amphitheater at the exact same moment. Steffor entered from the right, Grimlock from the left and Vejax in the center. Steffor located his reentry in the opposite corner. Grimlock faced the same while Vejax's was centered below. Steffor assessed the flight angle of his competitors and projected a perfect three-way collision.

The knowing look on the faces of Vejax and Grimlock led him to conclude they had surmised the same fate. Given their respective trajectories, reentry locations and experience, the situation boded well for Vejax. A reality Vejax was certainly cognizant. The outcome of this crucial juncture dictated who would become this season's dive champion.

He sensed both Guardians gather in the Source, preparing for the inevitable impact only seconds away. Steffor had started the same process of drawing in the Source but then, without clear reason, he hesitated. As was the case with every vision he manifest, the "how" it would materialize always remained blurry, sitting at the edge of his inner sight.

For how the laws governing his physical reality worked was not his concern. His responsibility was to follow, with devout conviction, the signs when presented. Steffor committed to living his life according to this simple rule long ago. He trusted the Deeds and their sacred message: the Provider is in you, and through you he will show the way.

Steffor dove deep into his core and merged logical thoughts with supernatural instincts. Based off his last run in with Vejax, Steffor concluded he could not win a one-on-one collision with the man much less the combined impact of the three. Yet, to make it through this juncture, he must overpower each of them. To go around them presented no better an option. The concussion of their two-way impact would throw Steffor way off course, ending any chance he might have at winning. He considered cocooning himself in protective garments and a dense layer of protective Source, but he knew it would not be enough to stay on course. Still lacking any solution, fear crept into Steffor's frantic mind as his ability to hold off the fast approaching future waned.

_Faith!_ The thought sliced through his consciousness, shedding new light on the Provider's message. _"Join me and fulfill your destiny. Let fear rule you and failure is certain."_ The words caressed his soul and brought a determined smile to his face. Steffor braced for impact.

If he had chosen to send his own burst of the Source into the foray, a void between the three Guardians would have formed at the point of impact. Vejax's superior skill and power would have maneuvered him through the void while deflecting both Steffor and Grimlock way off course. Steffor's plan, instead shifting his own burst of the Source, was to aim toward the predicted location of the void.

Steffor fought the impulse to flinch, ignoring the wailing child buried deep within the recess of his mind. Teeth clenched, unable to shut eyes despite the urgent yearning, he barreled into the point of impact as both Guardians unleashed the Source. The concussion ripped through Steffor's body and pain was all that registered for the briefest moment. Certain he could not withstand another agonizing second; pain surrendered to bliss. United with the Provider, an experience immeasurable by time or space, he loved everything more than he perceived possible in that instant. For in releasing all defensive thought, Steffor discovered boundless strength and the ability to absorb the Source others.

Before anyone could understand what had happened, Steffor slipped between the pair and flew through his reentry. To everyone's amazement, Vejax and Grimlock avoided colliding into each other. Making quick adjustments, they hit their reentry a few seconds behind.

Joy consumed Steffor as he sensed his competitors were too far behind to catch-up. "I've done it!" He shouted despite being in the midst of the most challenging stretch of dive chute he had ever faced. With unwavering faith, he chose one correct path after the other. As he reached the final straightaway, tears of triumph streaked down his face and his heart swelled with gratitude.

Then, as he peered the expansive Deagron Fields beyond his exit opening, a thirty-foot wide branch materialized with no warning. The phenomenon was not the result of crafty camouflage. One second it was not there, the next it was. The _how_ was irrelevant at the time of discovery given Steffor's speed and distance. In primal response—the euphoric events experienced only moments before stinging like a cruel joke—Steffor punched the branch with all the Source he could muster. Right before entering the dark abyss, he knew it would not be enough.

Chapter 4

Stalling tried to meditate to the rhythmic beat of his leather loafers pounding the marble floor. Irrevocable evidence, accumulated by years of practice, had proven that the best way to collect his thoughts was to remove them first. Nevertheless, he struggled now to apply the practice, for it required time and patience, dispositions no longer at his disposal.

Like a blindsided bladeball block, his contentious meeting with Clortison knocked loose the answer to the question plaguing his thoughts. Knowing the answer, no matter how obvious it now appeared, provided little to the process of figuring out a solution. He listened to his footsteps echo off the glass walls, grateful for the long passage between his private office and the main campus. The trip imposed patience, forcing him to slow his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

He felt the tension ease as he gazed upon the surrounding, lush evergreen rain forest. One by one, Stalling released the positive thoughts, each floating away as if a bubble caught in a slow breeze. He cleared his consciousness, embracing the emptiness, lost to the rhythmic beat of comfortable shoes echoing off paneled glass.

When he arrived at the entrance fifteen minutes later, his apprehension about upcoming events, while still present, had diminished. Stalling paused in front of the door, worked his neck and shoulders loose, took a deep breath and stepped forward.

He connected his link visor back to the Auranet and synced with Antone. "Stop what you are doing, meet me in the lab."

"I'm here now. Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for the past twenty minutes."

"I'm ten minutes away, what's going on?"

"Jennifer asked me to review some unusual readings; I sent them to you a few minutes ago."

Stalling downloaded the file located in the upper right hand quadrant of his view screen.

"I have only been studying them for a few minutes now but so far I cannot not find any previous data to explain things," Antone said with a note of anxiety.

The readings corroborated Stalling's newfound conclusions. He was downloading the data so fast he forgot about Antone waiting for his reply. "I know what this all means. I need you, Jennifer and Janison in the lab to discuss."

"Understood, I'll locate Janison." Antone severed his link.

Stalling did not think Janison would show, nor was he prepared to handle him if he did, but was sure whatever involvement he played going forward was important. Sadly, the most important issue at hand was not the double-crossing of his friend. The final and most important piece of his covert enterprise was in real jeopardy of never materializing. All the progress made over the past decade would amount to nothing without the completion of this final step.

Stalling ignored the people hustling from one place to the other as he crossed the small park. On most days, his presence on campus was an open invitation for anyone to approach him. Stalling always made himself approachable but conditioned those who chose to do so to be direct and honest in their intentions. No matter your field of expertise, honed communication skills were required for everyone at Alterian Enterprises.

Today, he needed to avoid that type of interaction. So he chose to walk along the well-manicured lawn interspersed with small tree groves, versus one of the many intersecting sidewalks. He quickened his pace and managed to reach the lab entrance without incident.

He stepped into the security booth, waited for the scan to identify him, and then hurried through the twelve inch thick doors before they finished parting. Stalling saw Antone's stocky build halfway down the descending corridor. A sheen of sweat coated the stubble of his balding head, glinting off the soft lighting as he paced from side to side. He barked orders to someone over his link visor, his hands and arms animated with neurotic gestures. Antone, seeing Stalling approach, ended the conversation and turned to meet him.

"Did you find Janison?" Stalling inquired.

"Negative. A search is underway."

"Where is Jennifer?"

"She's in the lab," he said, gesturing with his head toward the entrance at the bottom of the corridor. "Describing her as anxious to speak with you would be an understatement."

"That does not surprise me," Stalling said, already moving toward the entrance.

"Before we go, there is something you need to be made aware of." Antone's tone indicated it was important. His Chief Operating and Security Officer did not mince words. He had an impeccable talent for getting to the point, bringing only the most vital events to Stalling's attention.

"OK. Lay it on me," Stalling said.

"After observing Janison display several odd behaviors as of late, I chose to investigate further. After three months of surveillance, none of his actions alone merited suspicion but as the frequency increased my gut told me something was not right."

Stalling empathized with Antone's difficulty in communicating this news. Investigating the second in command at Alterian Enterprises was not a choice Antone would have made lightly. Stalling was overwhelmed with gratitude in that moment, comforted on many levels by the man's presence in his life. _What if I ignored the impulse to take a chance on Antone so many years ago?_

"So what did you discover?" Stalling asked, level and under self-control.

"More than I imagined possible. Sir, we have been compromised."

Chapter 5

Repulsed by his dormancy, Steffor longed for the sleek forearm breaking the mercurial surface. But he hesitated, reluctant to leave his nurturing oasis, fighting the impulse to grab hold of the outstretched hand groping for his being. Immersed in an ocean of spiritual unity, barren of individual thought or emotion, the swirling depths below beckoned him to stay.

I have been here before, many lifetimes ago. This I am certain. But I chose to depart from this plane of existence. So why have I returned?

Not only had he chose to return but did so with reckless abandon, as if a child jumping into a knot pond on a hot summer's day. Erased from memory was the means in which he arrived but the unanswered question as to why he came back at all prevented his second departure. Why, without hesitation, did he trade his identity to merge with this formless nirvana?

The gaseous plane, inhabited by beings of amber light, diffused into a blissful whole, had revived his soul with its simple but abundant energy. But the ability to distinguish his being from the ignorant yet blissful mass had waned. It was time to leave, to return from where he had been, and instinct screamed the flailing arm before him was his one shot at escape.

He took one last pull of the sweet energy, stretched the limits of his willpower and grasped the slender forearm. With one assertive motion, his rescuer pulled him free.

## *****

Steffor emerged from his healing slumber to appear back atop his dive platform, surrounded by suffocating smog. Disoriented, he gasped and coughed as the acrid fumes burned the senses. Garments reacted, encasing his body in protective armor. Desperate, his ability to stave off the poisonous atmosphere limited to a few minutes, he searched Toliver's Peak for a means of escape.

His powerful sight penetrated the black cloud and locked onto a tower rising above the canopy. Rejoiced, believing he had found the entrance to his dive chute, he prepared to dive when a burst of white flame erupted from its dark opening. Stunned and confused, the wave of heat and soot that followed knocked him back, causing him to lose his balance and topple from his platform. Honed instincts kicked in as fingertips snagged the platform's edge to avoid certain disaster.

He dangled for several long seconds, fighting the urge to scream as he registered the pain of scalded his skin caused by the wave of heat. He regrouped and, with body taut, scanned the area around the treacherous tower for some type of escape.

As he did so, he noticed with dismay how sparse the canopy had become. Once a dense blanket of green pine needles and brown cones, the top of the world was a skeleton of tar covered twigs and branches. His heightened vision penetrated the plentiful gaps between with ease to depict Instenkul's branches miles beyond.

This cannot be! What has happened in my absence?

His panic rose as he looked out across the decimated canopy to find dozens of similar towers breaking the surface. The gargantuan pipes, built from a sordid mix of wood and metal, belched black clouds into the gray sky. With halfhearted effort, he released his grip, turned headfirst and fled from the dismal setting.

His depression mounted as he threaded his way down the network of wilted branch, stem and foliage, revealing the full extent of his home's transformation. The smog diminished into a greasy haze the farther down he traveled. A mangy blight pitted the surrounding vegetation into a perpetual fight for survival against an enemy of no known defense.

Gone were the quaint estuary towns and villages set amongst the aesthetic crooks known to the upper most region's zigzagged stems and branches. In their place, Steffor flew past one grungy settlement after another, gutted into bark and branch nearest the Trunk with little thought or care to beauty or the Provider.

Steffor witnessed a flurry of human and mechanical butchery alike within each communal atrocity. Fires burned everywhere. Not like the random wild fires that would occur with the passing of a storm, but huge bonfires contained by mammoth, brick hearths. The glowing coke produced by each hearth, moved by shovel and conveyer belt, fed giant furnaces that powered machines of gear, piston and violent churning. Chimneys sprouted from each complex like wicked plants. Each connected to massive exhaust pipes that extended up toward Toliver's Peak.

Steffor shuttered as he imagined the vast network of chimneys that must exist to justify the dozens of goliaths atop the world. The damaged caused by their relentless purge of poison into the atmosphere too much to fathom. He embraced the numbness, a thin buffer keeping insanity at bay. But he knew the fix was temporary. The horrific scenes were but moments away from consuming his soul.

He then broke through the tight knit network of upper branches and flew into open sky. He emerged miles above the Constunkeen Prairie Bough. Tears of sadness and fear streaked down his face as looked down upon the Provider's longest bough. For he could find no trace of the once wide-open wilderness he knew as his birthplace and childhood home. Gone was the sprawling terrain with subtle hills and ravines, pocked by knot lakes and meandering streams. No longer a region covered by an array of grasses, herbs, flowers and bushes and populated with the Provider's most diverse collection of creatures. Now, for miles upon miles, in every direction, a black material, sparkling with a dull glimmer in the overcast sun, encased the mighty limb.

He stared at the appalling monstrosity in disbelief, revolted by the terrifying and efficient destruction. Like termite mounds, industrial complexes covered the bough in systematic patterns. Each complex, full of man and machine, mined Source-rich bark and sapwood. Giant furnaces refined the Provider's flesh, pouring their molten byproduct into large cauldrons.

Steffor watched payloads glide away from factory along rails molded upon the paved surface. Locomotives, resembling more beast than vehicle, pulled the long trains. Spoke to hub, rails connected the satellite mine complexes to a fortified city located at the center of the bough. Three curtain walls, each replete with armed bastions and tower battlements, ringed the city. Steffor estimated the city to be over sixty square miles.

In the center of it all loomed a tower that shot skyward like a jagged spearhead in flight. The tower was constructed from a strange material that was neither wood nor metal. It's chaotic design and raw power boggled Steffor. The steep angles, sharp edges and pointed spires were a stark difference compared to the soft and natural architecture of familiar. Steffor aimed his descent toward the foreboding fortress, a sudden but welcome outlet for his consuming rage.

The trains merged into one of four primary rails that came from the north, south, east or west and led into the city. A half mile out from the city's outer wall, each rail disappeared down dark tunnels, submerged beneath the surface. Nowhere within the shantytown packed between the first and second wall did Steffor see the trains reappear. Nor did they emerge amongst the more refined structures located between the second and third.

He moved his search inward, scanning the base of the tower contained within the third and final wall. Just inside the walls, he discovered the trains. They had arrived from underground tunnel openings located to the north, south, east or west. As rails spiraled inward, lines of trains merged into one procession. The clockwise lurch delivered trains to a depot, trunk-side of the tower. There, a team worked an intricate system of cranes. Chains and hooks lifted cauldrons and poured the molten contents into a ring shaped reservoir. Once emptied, train and cauldron exited the tunnel used to enter, and started the process over again.

Like a moat, the reservoir framed a courtyard area around the tower. Small streams of the liquid energy splintered off the reservoir, fracturing the black surface of the courtyard with iridescent cracks and capillaries. An organized commotion brought his attention to a kidney-shaped forecourt before the tower's arched entrance. A crowd of people congregated on the forecourt, their attention focused an individual standing on a dais located near the entrance.

Consumed by the desire to inflict pain onto those who would commit such atrocities to his world, to his God, Steffor adjusted his trajectory toward the forecourt. Distracted by his anger, he failed to detect the gun turrets stationed along the tower's spiked top. Nor did he sense their movement, as each gun locked onto his position, now a half a mile above. If not for his helmed visor, alerting him to the incoming projectiles, Steffor would have never made it past the first spire.

Despite the bullet's disturbing speed, he managed to evade the first wave with a quick turn and dive. But the second wave had locked on with impeccable accuracy. As a result, he was forced to shift a crude Source shield at the last second to absorb the impact. The shield held but the impact concussion shocked his system, causing him to lose command of his shield and flail wildly in the air. Within seconds, Steffor regained control and righted his trajectory. Aimed back toward the forecourt, all its occupants now stared upward with rapt interest.

Made from the same type of grotesque material that covered the bough, he sensed an altered form of the Source powering the strange missiles. The refined form of the Source had caused an undeniable change deep within. As the thick residue of corrupt energy clung to his insides, he found himself wanting. His tempest of hateful emotions stifled the cries of intuition, warding him away from the dangerous change.

The opportunity to wield the addictive power arrived in short order. A third of the way down, flying parallel to and within a few yards of the tower, cannon turrets stationed within a multitude of camouflaged alcoves, opened fire. Steffor extended his right arm, shifted a thick wall of Source before him and shattered the incoming volley of fist-sized projectiles. With his left hand, he obliterated each passing cannon with targeted blasts.

A satisfied smile formed in the corner of his mouth as a mad scramble to escape his unstoppable advance ensued amongst those assembled on the forecourt. Few had cleared away before Steffor landed. He slammed the ground with a massive wedge of Source to break his fall. The impact created a deep crater, launching people in every direction. Steffor held his landing for a moment longer, kneeling on one knee with fist in the ground. He then leaped from the rubble toward the still intact dais.

"Master! You have returned!" Steffor recognized the owner of the voice as the man standing upon the dais moments before, now fifteen yards into arched entrance, hidden within the first cut of shadows. Confusion and curiosity by the others words put a momentary check on Steffor's vengeful intentions.

Why does this man look upon me with such familiarity?

Not waiting for Steffor to reply, the man shouted to those around him. "See! Did I not foretell of his return!" He looked Steffor up and down as he strode forward. "And with power beyond reckoning!" he added, gesturing with open arms at the halo of energy that pulsed around Steffor.

Steffor commanded his garments to remove his helm and stepped within inches of the man. Garbed in a scaled armor, the man did not shy from Steffor's advance. Instead, he stood boldly with chest forward and hands clasped behind his back. He met Steffor's glare with respectful attention and an air of authority earned from decisive action.

Steffor circled the large man several times and probed the other's bearded face for signs of doubt or fear, finding neither. "Why do you call me master?" Steffor snarled, startled by his evil tone.

"Lord and master of the Six, I beg your forgiveness. If it should advance your deity, I embrace your fury." With believable purpose, the other put his chin to his chest, waiting for Steffor's command.

Steffor tuned away in disarray, noticing for first time the others. Displaced by the impact of his landing, all now kneeled toward him with heads bowed low.

"Master, I pray you forgive my ignorance, but how is it you survived?" the man inquired to Steffor's back.

He said nothing, confused by the question. The rush of Source had faded and the insatiable craving for more consumed his thoughts. But the sudden twist in events kept him under control for the moment. He stared at the reservoir below and tried to make sense of things.

"We received word, before Durlirave and his minions overthrew our forces, that you had evaded the assassination..."

Steffor had stopped listening to the man, struggling to make sense of his own internal dialogue. _This is not my world yet here it exists! To what purpose does it serve? Why am I here? Am I to destroy it?_

"All of this," Steffor said with his arms spread toward the city and bough beyond, "must end."

"Yes. Your return will end all opposition. Your rule will be eternal! What is thy bidding?"

"Destroy the factories, extinguish the fires. The Source must flow free!"

"Destroy what...the Source...what do you speak of?" Despite his conspicuous deference, the other could not hide the disbelief or reluctance from his voice.

Steffor turned on his heel, feeling drained and flat, his mind and body aching for the rush of tainted Source. "Destroy it all, take every man-"

## *****

Steffor floated in black nothingness, caught between what was neither life nor death. The oppressive vise squeezed the essence of his soul as though death's hand crushing eternal life. The nothingness mocked him. The vise tightened. Language, beliefs, ideas, love, the final fibers of life, faded from consciousness. Sadness, the last emotion to register, before the void that was nothing, forever consumed his existence.

After what could have been an eternity or no time at all, Steffor's soul revived to soft, musical vibrations. The frequencies of sound massaged and healed, repairing his essence piece by piece. Surrounded by crystalline whites and rich mosaics, his reformed energy floated in a plane of infinite size and possibility.

He would have stayed in that existence if not for the sudden ping of another; one bound to his soul through endless love, forged over countless lifetimes. His guide materialized at that moment, a pulsing, violet energy contained by a faint human outline. Patient but with a sense of urgency, she pulled him from his ethereal bed, back toward the dense material plane.

## *****

The Source, guided by a divine touch, caressed like a warm shower. The touch massaged away dense knots of negative energy and aligned his soul with body.

"The flesh will heal but his vibrational resonances will not harmonize. He remains imbalanced. An energy I have never encountered is preventing true symmetry..." The voice, at first coming from the far reaches of his consciousness, was now so close he smelt the speaker's sweet breath brushing his ear.

Steffor tried to open his eyes and found he could not. A gummy epoxy had formed around his eyelids, keeping them closed.

"Let me help you," said the musical voice, still intimately close. A soft hand ran across his brow and eyelids, followed by the gush of his own tears, forcing his eyes to open. The salty sting of tears revived his connection of mind and body. The next sensation to register was his complete immobility.

Sensing his sudden panic, the voice said, "It's all good, you are in a Healer's shell."

Healer's shell? Why am I in...the dive championship...the branch...I am alive! How? I should not be alive, I do not...wish to be...alive. I just want to rest.

With new tears, tears of grief, streaming down his face, Steffor looked around his surroundings as best he could, given the tight but cushioned head-to-toe grip on his body. In doing so, he recognized the conical ceiling of the Healer's shell. He relaxed, a conditioned response triggered by the healing Source pulsing through the curved walls of the spacious room in soothing, warm colors. Given his centered proximity in the room, he concluded he was lying in a Healer's table: a waist high block, shifted from the Trunk's Source-rich sapwood.

He was no stranger to a Healer's shell. His first visit to a Healer occurred after shattering his wrist training for a regional dive qualifier ten seasons prior. The Healer submerged Steffor's entire arm into the table. The Healer then moved his hands in a rhythmic motion over the smooth, pliable wood and shifted the Source into Steffor's injured hand. His wrist healed within minutes. A pang of withdrawal followed the procedure and lingered for days after.

Steffor lost himself in the memory. Life seemed much simpler back then. Everything made perfect sense, a time when thoughts of not wanting to live were foreign. As he ached for a time past, feeling sorry for himself, he could not recall how or when her face appeared. That face, conveying love in ways he never imagined possible, instilled a new purpose to go on.

"Welcome back," she said as if on cue, beaming a relieved smile.

All Steffor could do was stare into her corroborant, gray-blue eyes. He tried to return the smile but could only muster a babbling sob. To his relief, she simply hovered over him with a caring smile. Steffor did not question this gift. On the contrary, he greedily accepted it; staring deeper into her cathartic eyes until all concept of time disappeared. The trance broke when her face contorted with an expression of mild pain and her lips parted to release a soft moan.

"Why won't you align?" She asked, sounding both disappointed and concerned.

_Because I no longer belong here_.

Instead of giving voice to his thoughts, he answered her question with the only question he cared to know the answer: "Who are you?"

Face-to-face, Steffor realized for the first time that she was lying on top of him. Rather, she was lying on top of the table, his face being the only portion of his body not submerged into the table.

"My name is Calivera. I am your Healer."

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days. By most definitions, you were dead when you arrived."

"You saved me?"

"You saved yourself. I simply helped you find your way back. Do you feel strong enough to leave the table?"

Not waiting for a reply, Calivera swung off the table and moved to his side then leaned into the right side of his vision. "No one has ever been completely submerged into a healer's table, much less for three days. If you are able, we need to make the separation."

Hard as he might try, Steffor could not feel his body. For that matter, he could not remember what it meant to have a body. The only feeling he could remember was how Calivera had caressed his soul.

"Are you ready? I will go slowly." Rejected by her insistence, he was far from ready to leave the table, to face the world, to go on. "Here we go."

Breath sucked from Steffor's lungs the moment the sapwood lowered and exposed his body to gravity. "Stop! The pain...it's too much!"

"It will pass," was all Calivera replied, continuing the slow descent of the table. Steffor fought against the pain as his tormented body shook with agony.

"Stay with me!" Calivera commanded.

Steffor turned to her in desperation, pleading to stay within the supportive confines of the table. She conveyed love and sympathy but continued the torturous withdraw.

He woke to a warm breeze caressing his face. Reclined in deck chair, on a large veranda, he sat up and peer over an the ornate railing to look upon Razum City's upper eastside. The city loomed in every direction, a forest of colossal buildings shifted from fractal branches growing from the massive limb known as the Razum Buttress. A massive transit system interconnected each structure. Hundreds of thousands of Citizens flurried along intricate highway made of verandas, bridges, escalators, cable cars and elevators. The Provider had never been more intimidating.

Based on his elevated view of the city, he concluded he was at the Primary Healing Ward that was shifted into the Razum Mesa Range. He turned away from the city in attempt to learn where he resided in that massive complex and found Calivera by his side. Positioned under one of the many sunbeams peppering the veranda, she reclined peacefully with eyes closed and arms folded above her head.

Despite himself, Steffor's eyes wandered up the length of her long, athletic body. Tall by any standard, the white tunic accentuated her perfect proportions. Images of their bodies in deep embrace formed by the time he reached her graceful neck lying on blonde tresses. Moving to her face, the full lips parted as if about to whistle then formed a bright smile as her eyes greeted his stare.

"Enjoying the view?" she asked, nodding toward the city.

"Yes. I am," he replied, not averting his eyes.

"How do you feel?" she inquired, sitting up in her chair.

"Better. The pain has subsided but I feel...hollow." On impulse, he stood up. Dizzy at first, he quickly regained his balance. Calivera shot up, giving him a mixed look of disapproval and admiration. She then grabbed a hold of Steffor's hand and gestured with the other down the length of the veranda. They began to walk.

They passed a smattering of Healers and patients along the veranda that stretched for hundreds of yards in both directions. Shifted from the cliff that separated the lowest and largest mesas in the range, the veranda presented an assortment of entrances into ward that led to various healing and living facilities, some reaching all the way to the Trunk. Positioned with the cityscape to their left and the prominent Trunk to their right, the contrast between the two made the city appear closer and smaller than in reality.

Content to hold hands with the women he had just met, they walked in comfortable silence for several minutes before the clouded memory of recent events surfaced.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Well, what do you remember?" she replied, appearing to share the same thought.

"Everything leading up to the mysterious branch."

"Mysterious branch? What makes you call it mysterious?" Calivera asked, perplexed.

"Never mind. Tell me what happened after I collided into the branch."

"Somehow you managed to break through the branch and emerge from the dive chute. By the unnatural contortion of your body and flailing limbs, we assumed you were unconscious at the time." She paused at that moment, looking at him for confirmation.

"My last memory was right before impact with the branch," he repeated, gesturing with raised eyebrows for her to go on.

"Anyway, about midway between the chute's end and the Deagron Fields you slammed into the Trunk. Amazingly, your body landed in a rut between bark-plates. As a result, you dramatically slowed your descent. You appeared destined to slide down the remainder of the Trunk and disappear into the depths of the Belly Briar. Then, as if tugged by an invisible rope, your body shot outward toward the edge of the Deagron Fields. At the last second, you formed a Source sphere to break your landing."

He knew she wanted him to fill in the blanks but the fact was he could not. "Who won?"

"Grimlock. After what people are now referring to as 'The Crossing', Vejax and Grimlock had lost too much time to overtake your lead. They emerged from their respective chutes a few seconds after you did. Vejax had a half second lead on Grimlock, plenty of time to win but when he saw your condition, he pulled up. No one knows why and neither has uploaded their experience to the Deeds. Everyone is waiting to learn of your condition."

Based off Calivera's recital and her response to the branch blocking his exit, it seemed safe to conclude, the branch had always appeared to exist for everyone else.

Could I have overlooked it? No, I am positive it was not there until the last moment. So what then?

As he contemplated Calivera's feedback, he began to notice the probing stares and excited faces around them. Word that I am alive must be flooding the Mysticnet by this time. Questions, lots of them, were sure to follow.

He still had time. Respect for each other's privacy was one of the many values held sacred by the Provider's society. Even so, truth, honesty and full disclosure held an equal value. Not coming forward in a timely manner to share his experience with the whole would set a precedent unknown in modern times. Yet he remained haunted by the pervasive thought that he should have died, never to return. He had never needed the Provider's guidance more than he did now.

A young Guardian apprentice running in their direction broke his train of thought. The boy stopped before them, leaned over and put hands on his knees to catch breath.

"What is it man?" Steffor asked.

"Guardian Steffor," he formally panted. "The Teuton High Council regrets to inform you that Master Teuton Eldrak passed over to the Provider this past evening. You are requested, if able, to participate in the Teuton Staff Forging ceremony."

Eldrak was a great Teuton but his death shocked no one. Two hundred and seventy three seasons old, he had defied the odds for the past two decades. Regardless, in light of recent events, Steffor perceived the timing of Eldrak's death as an omen.

Overwhelmed with a sense of obligation, as both a Guardian and Citizen, he still fought the natural compulsion to participate in the hallowed ceremony. The brief walk with Calivera was enough to know he was physically able to attend; Calivera was truly a gifted Healer. Yet, he remained hesitant. A few days ago, he would have failed to contain his excitement about the prospect of forging his Teuton Staff. Now, he felt nothing but cold indifference. A staleness seeped deep inside and the desire to change it absent.

Apathy aside, Steffor sensed the choice he made in the coming seconds would set in motion a series of events, the outcome of which was beyond his conception. Steffor turned to Calivera. Her pleasant face was neutral, but her eyes conveyed an intimate understanding of his struggle. She knew his body had mended before he left her table.

The wound to his soul is what both concerned and scared her. His decision became clear as he witnessed that fear, reflected in a face that had done some much for him in so little time.

He turned back to the apprentice. "Please inform the council I will be attending the ceremony."

With a nod, the boy turned to go.

Dawning on him at the last second, Steffor called after him, "Guardian!"

The Guardian turned around, respectful and inquisitive.

"Why was I not contacted by Mystic?"

The young man squirmed, looking down at his feet for several seconds before meeting Steffor's eye. "None could locate you."

Chapter 6

Compared to most days, the lab was a flurry of activity. Designed to accommodate dozens of lab technicians and their respective workstations, the spacious room somehow felt confining to its only occupant. Stalling and Antone sat in one of the many ergonomic chairs positioned around the main lab table and made a point of not getting in the way.

Jennifer jumped from one virtual station to the other with dizzying speed. She had acknowledged their presence, extending a curt fist with index finger pointing skyward, saying loud and clear: "Don't interrupt me!" Based off the volume of data her link visor streamed across her green eyes, Stalling appreciated her need to concentrate. He leaned into his chair and waited.

The northern end of the room was a half hexagon constructed by three walls of thick glass with lab tables built along the length of each. Computing equipment lay assembled across the rectangular tables. At one time, the computers managed every component of the project. Now, after laying dormant for the past decade, the machines had become obsolete relics.

In the beginning, a bastion of technicians mined data around the clock coming from the various stations. The link visor was one of the first re-engineered byproducts of that data. Overnight, the link visor supplanted the current technology. The link visor accelerated the development and commercial consumption of every product derived from the project thereafter.

From day one, the project exceeded the expectations of everyone except for Stalling.

A new round of data, flitting across Jennifer's tense face, triggered a new set of anger-laden "humphs" and heavy sighs from his top scientist. Forced to find more patience, Stalling settled deeper into his chair and gazed across the massive server farm.

The farm occupied the farthest reaches of the underground warehouse located on the other side of the glass walls. No one, outside of Jennifer, was more intimate with each box that was as much organic being as machine. From trivial maintenance, to the smallest upgrade, to a mysterious power spike, he knew the experiences of each server better than most parents do their children.

Miles of vine like cable pulsed with golden light, connecting each server to the stalagmite shaped mainframe stationed in the middle of the room. Stalling visualized the chamber located directly under the mainframe and its precious contents therein. The energy from which all else flowed had lain dormant for too long. Stalling battled with the fraternal impulse to protect, driven as if a soul mate bent on sparing a brother from life's crueler realities.

That familiar and welcome flutter in his chest, confirming vision and actions remained aligned with the Universe, helped summon the strength not to act on the urge. He had overcome too much, too often, up to this point to lose focus now. Stalling continued to calm down as he looked back at how fast his epic vision had materialized. Despite all the contrary views and beliefs from his most trusted advisers, he never wavered in the faith, purpose or definiteness of his vision.

## *****

"It's beautiful." Janison had said, his rich baritone cracked with emotion. "It's just not possible...not yet. The technology required to simply study some of the basic concepts are at best ten years away."

Janison's fervent spirit, broad intellect and direct honesty were what made him such a rare asset. If there was any one person capable of persuading Stalling to alter his plans at that time, it was Janison. Stalling swallowed his well-rehearsed arguments. He had prepared for everyone's objection, especially Janison's. Too many miraculous events had led him to that moment, now was not the time to let his ego get in the way. Experience demonstrated more than once, patience, if he allowed it, would fit every piece into its proper place.

With a slight lift of his eyebrow, he beckoned his friend to continue. "I mean, don't get me wrong, its pure genius. Your theories alone will enable technology in a dozen fields to leap frog decades of arduous R&D."

Janison drifted off as he dove deeper into schematics scrolling along on his telipad. His eyes lit up with excitement every time he reread yet another novel approach. Stalling left Janison to dive deeper into the data and surveyed the reactions of his other guests.

A vibrant fire housed by a large hearth located against the back wall, along with a half dozen antique lamps placed upon shelves and end tables, bathed the room with comfortable light. Gathered in his home were the most brilliant minds Drakarle had to offer, each with an insatiable drive to push the edges of discovery. In turn, they were the people most feared by the Church of Salvation.

Born Drakarlean, with all its entitled privileges, each had made a conscious choice to resist the norm. As a result, the Church culled them like diseased animals, removing them from the rest of the flock, where they could not infect others with their radical ideas. These rogues earned confined positions early in their careers, tucked away into the farthest reaches of the theocratic machine. Once separated, the Church leveraged their collective genius at leisure. Whether they cared to or not, they advanced technology and industry as the "Almighty" intended.

Stalling relished the look of hope invading all the faces around the table. Calculating minds dug deeper into his supporting data, transitioning from _'it's impossible!'_ reaction to _'I never thought about approaching it from that angle'_. Maybe, they started to tell themselves, just maybe, with the right people, enough resources, we might pull this off.

Dr. Jonas was the first to vocalize his thoughts. With his chin still tucked into his neck as he read his telipad, he lifted his eyes above his reading glasses and addressed the group. "I fear my heart is preventing me from making a logical argument to any of this. I've spent too many nights, in this very room, imagining these 'what ifs'. If only I had known those inspired musings were the building blocks of the vision you present to us today. Well, I might have allowed my optimism to linger once the sobering reality of morning came back into view."

He shared a brief, knowing smile with Stalling before continuing. "It's just...I don't see how we complete the first stage before-".

"They scuttle the entire project and manage to put us some place worse than we already are," Dr. Whindem interrupted. She had come directly from work, unable to change out of her stiff robes. Stalling smirked at the irony. The one person in the room, outside of himself, who resented the oppressive theocracy the most, was the one person in the room outwardly representing their order.

She pinched at the garb, plucking it away from her body, before continuing with her heated tirade. "Shame on you Stalling Alterian! Shame on you for allowing us to dream again! We have confided in each other because we all benefitted from its cathartic value. But to present this monumental goal, its a smacks to our intelligence. More appalling, its an arrow through a soul incapable of sustaining another blow." Her rant diminished into a sorrowful plea.

"Meaning no disrespect Stalling," Dr. Glitus added, "but you have yet to experience the levels of subjugation as the rest of us. I think I speak for all here today when I point out the fact that our risk is much higher than yours."

"Trust me, in the end, my risk will far exceed the rest of yours," Stalling responded, ignoring the skeptical looks. "Risk level has never been the issue. Did we not stop worrying about risks the moment our intellect told us our station in life is not preordained by some omnipotent, vengeful deity? Alone, our attempts to make significant change have failed. Even if somehow realized, we all know it would have not made a bit of difference in the end. The mission I propose is more than just reform, it is about equality for all life, an existence absent on our planet for over two thousand years! Join me on this journey and I vow to invest the entire Alterian fortune and exhaust all its associated clout in the process."

Stalling let his words wash over them as he met each eye. Many nodded their heads in agreement. The grounded science of his blueprint had already created a heady dose of optimism. The inclusion of Stalling's capital resources and political might had turned the faint spark of hope into a vibrant flame of possibility. Together, forged by a shared vision, Stalling knew they could accomplish anything, but it required all of them.

The room had fallen silent. Stalling knew most in the room would have joined with or without his personal endorsement but a few still balked in fear. He started to scramble, searching for the words to persuade those still in doubt.

To his relief, but not surprise, Janison spoke instead. "I'm in. The current system is flawed; the time for change has arrived. I trust Stalling with our future but more importantly, I trust our Savior has led us to this moment for this very reason." The influence of Janison's accession, the one member of the group with any semblance of religious faith, was immediate. Stalling had found salvation and, one by one, each vowed their allegiance toward building the road.

Leaning close to Stalling's ear to combat the din of excitement rising in the room, Janison spoke with a glint of awe in his eye. "You know, given the talent in this room, we just may be able to pull this off sooner rather than later."

Stalling simply smiled as if nothing could have made him happier to hear.

## *****

How they would solve many of the big questions at that juncture remained unclear but Stalling soon stopped being surprised when they did. Where the team assembled that fateful day built the road, Jennifer built the vehicle. Absent at the time, only nineteen years old, she was in the process of earning her doctorate in Molecular Engineering, the first of many doctorates she would earn.

The link visor enabled Jennifer to become more efficient, eliminating the need of dozens technicians. Soon after, it made more sense to have her do it all versus taking the time to bring everyone else up to speed. Jennifer was the entire department dedicated to the most important experiment the world had ever known. A few top assistants, relegated to the role of understudy in case, the Universe forbid, anything happened to her, was all they had to fall back on.

No one had logged more hours in this room than Jennifer, Stalling a distant second, her disheveled cot in the back corner of the lab her home for the past year. And the wear and tear of it all was starting to show. Now, as the climactic finale approached, Jennifer spent every waking hour focused on the project's last and most important phase.

Stalling recently confided his concerns about Jennifer to Lorissa during one of their late evening dinners. His wife always found more interest in the psychological events of his day than any scientific breakthrough. He described his concerns about the role he had played in Jennifer's hermit existence. Gifted intellect beyond measure, a drive to succeed rivaled by few, Stalling's gratitude for Jennifer's involvement grew every day. She truly was one of the few people he could say without them, the project would fail.

"What I fear most," he confessed, "is that, once the project is complete, she loses her sense of purpose."

"Did you ever stop to think her dedication reached beyond the drive for scientific discovery?"

"I don't follow. We pay her a fortune and I tell her frequently she is worth every bit and then some."

With a sympathetic expression and a smile conveying love and admiration, Lorissa had reached over and caressed his hand. "You are a good man Stalling Alterian, but so oblivious at times to the ways of women."

"You're not suggesting she has romantic interest in me, are you?"

"I swear Stalling, the size of your ego never ceases to amaze me. Yes, her heart dictates her decisions more than you realize. No, you are not the object of her love."

"Then who? Antone is more laughable than me. Who else in her life."

"Have you forgot about the one man who has been in her life every minute of the day for the past ten years?"

The question had haunted Stalling since. _When did he stop being a person?_

The clatter of Jennifer's link visor as it hit and slid across the table slung him back to the pressing present. Jennifer rubbed her temples, puffed out her cheeks before exhaling a long, bewildered breath. "Well, it appears the issue is occurring everywhere now. The Auranet, the entrainment platform, the library, everything with a direct link to the mainframe."

As she was prone to do when her mind was fried, she threw her lab coat off, jumped on the treadmill stationed in the middle of the room. Accelerating into a brisk jog, her rhythmic stride and fitted one-piece jumper accentuated her sultry curves.

Stalling had grown accustom to this quirky habit as had Antone, though his friend never failed to blush at the sight of her body in this state. Stalling found it humorous how Antone always found the need to check updates on his visor whenever he did.

Comfortable in her own skin and the choices she made in life, Stalling assumed she was conscious of the primal response that her ritual generated in the two of them. Unlike Antone, Stalling no longer hid his response. He concluded, regardless of how reclusive or geeky, it never hurt to let a woman know she was attractive. If it was not Stalling giving it to her, who would.

"I feared that would occur," Stalling replied after she had pounded out a half-mile or so.

"How is it you feared it and I didn't?" She huffed, doing nothing to disguise the anger in her voice.

Stalling had been on the receiving end of Jennifer's displaced aggression more than once. His intimacy with the bigger picture was a constant source of frustration for Jennifer. Her analytical mind either refused, or in Stalling's opinion, feared to grasp that which she had no control over.

"Until an hour ago, there was no sign, no warning. Shit, I didn't know it was conceivable until a few hours ago. What have you not told us Stalling?"

Despite his herculean patience, her accusation produced a rare bout with anger. Stalling gazed at the mainframe as his thumb absently traced the line of his manicured beard. He was not angry with Jennifer it was with himself.

"It is not a matter withholding anything. My commitment to providing full disclosure has never wavered. The issue at hand has only just now revealed itself...a mistake made by me over twenty years ago. A mistake related to the very basic tenets of my original theory."

Jennifer, who had kicked into what was a full sprint for most, met his trademark, allusive statement with a flat stare. "Well you had better devise a plan on how to fix it and fast. By my calculations, we have less than six hours before everything becomes corrupted."

"What about back-up?" Antone chimed.

"I'm confident all the back-up data is safe. But we all know, without the farm and mainframe, it's worthless," Jennifer said.

"Not exactly, the Auranet could survive. Yes, a few of our larger, corporate clients would experience a slight inconvenience. But it is nothing money can't take care of." The statement repulsed Stalling before it cleared his lips.

When did money or power become a priority?

Disturbed by these thoughts, Stalling turned back around to face Jennifer. Sensing Stalling was on the verge of making a critical decision, Jennifer got off the treadmill. Stalling let the silence in his mind settle, doing his best to clear all selfish thoughts. The action he must take next was clear the moment Clortison's seemingly unrelated words triggered the answer. He just wasn't ready to accept it, until now. His friends and followers made choices over the years using their own free will. This Stalling was sure of despite how persuasive he knew he could be. They trusted he would do the same.

"To save him, he must first die, again," Stalling stated. "Start the shutdown process, the time to bring our friend home has arrived."
Chapter 7

"Your health remains my responsibility," Calivera had said, insisting she escort Steffor to the ceremony. He did not attempt to argue or to hide his delight at the prospect of her ongoing presence.

The remainder of that day she focused on Steffor's rehabilitation: deep tissue massages, Source spas, and cleansing steam showers. By late evening, she shifted the Source to induce a deep and natural sleep. As she laid her exhausted body down to sleep soon after, Calivera knew Steffor was in perfect physical health. Her lingering concern related to his mental state, an inconsolable melancholy pervading his attitude since his removal from the table. To part ways now, she concluded, would be negligent in her duties as a Healer.

Accurate as her observations and conclusions about Steffor were and despite her exhaustion, Calivera could not sleep. She was unwilling to accept the consequence of Steffor's abrupt arrival in her life. Her recent experience with Steffor had changed her and denying that change taxed her soul with every passing moment. As if thick sediment settled at the basin of her mind, repressed memories stirred, determined to rise to the surface.

Steffor roused a power within that, up to that moment, she swore to keep dormant. The emergence and rapid growth of this mysterious power aside, before Steffor, Calivera's life had been very fulfilling. All the solace required maintain sanity she had found in the Provider's Law. Now, that past existence read more like a mundane passage from the Deeds than the life she led for the past twenty-eight seasons. Or at best, the foggy remnants of a previous life long past.

The Deeds showed no record of any Citizen, alive or past, of ever possessing her unique ability. Her discovery of it coincided with her indoctrination as a Healer. She was young and clumsy at that time, her shifting limited to healing minor scrapes and bruises. Still, even then, she knew her ability to see a wound of the soul was not normal. She managed to keep it hidden for many seasons, up to the fateful day Master Higfreid, her first teacher and mentor, learned of it by accident.

She was three months into her long awaited training. Higfreid played the role of patient, lying prone on a Healer's table. He was demonstrating how to use the table to both amplify the healing properties of the Source and the patient's ability to consume it. It was then, as Calivera shifted the Source from the Provider's spirit into the table and began to transfer it into Higfreid's body, that she lost her grip on the strange power. Before she knew it, Calivera probed his soul. She revealed to both of them his deepest, darkest wounds, dating from his current life all the way to his first incarnation, to the dawn of time itself.

It was over a few moments after it started. Higfreid had shot up from the table, breaking their connection. He then turned to her for a brief second, his face a mix of terror and awe, before moving onto the next student as if nothing had happened. From that incident alone, she learned how to keep the eerie talent hidden from her patients, but never from herself.

Whenever she treated someone for an injury or illness, she always saw that person's deeper wounds. These spiritual maladies, compiled over hundreds or thousands of past lives, influenced the wellbeing of the present. Confident in her ability to heal those invisible wounds, she resisted the temptation to do so. She feared how people might respond, feared what she might discover.

To extenuate her decision to keep the power hidden from the whole, she would recite to herself verses from the Deeds. "The Provider reveals that which we are prepared to see," was verse that provided consistent comfort. Healing the spiritual wounds from past lives of those patients who came to her for wounds of the body, she concluded, was not her purpose. She would stay active and be patient.

If the Provider intended for us to know the details of our past lives, then he would reveal them accordingly. Who am I to prevent another from learning of past mistakes, the opportunity to make the hard decisions they failed to make in the past.

Despite what she assumed a harrowing experience for the other, Higfreid remained her most influential instructor. Over the seasons of training that followed the incident, he remained a close mentor and confidant. Up to the day of Steffor's accident, Higfreid never confronted her about the unique ability. When he finally did, while discreet, his intent was clear.

They had placed Steffor on the ancient Healer's table the moment he arrived. An assembly of the Provider's most gifted Healers applied their combined experience in attempt to revive the young Guardian. Calivera and dozens of others watched as they submerged the lifeless body into the Source infused table; the curved walls pulsated so bright with the Source, one had to squint. None could revive Steffor, the extreme damage to his body, the time passed since the accident, too much. After an hour with no pulse, they proclaimed him dead.

Calivera tossed in her bed at the memory, remembering the look of frustration across Higfreid's face as he turned from the table to catch her concerned stare. Without hesitation, as if on impulse, he requested everyone to leave the shell except for Calivera. Once the room had cleared, he walked over to her and said, "If he is to be saved, it will be by your relationship with the Provider." With that, he left Calivera and Steffor to be alone.

She had stood next to the table for several minutes, fixed on the soft contours of Steffor's pale face protruding the surface, unsure of what Higfreid expected her to do. Confident, in time, the purpose of her gift would be revealed; she never imagined it would be used to raise the dead.

On impulse, not sure what would come of it, she lay onto the table and placed her forehead onto his. Without warning or permission, something summoned her power and forced it into action. The repressed memory rushed to the surface, forcing her to relive that helpless moment. As the commanding presence ripped her essence from rigid body and pulled her away as if by strong current. Calivera had waded through Steffor's heart, exploring every haunted cove and joyous sea, but could not find his soul. Then, more a ping on her own heart than words to the ear, she heard Steffor's cry for help.

It hailed from a bottomless ocean of life, a vast plane of solitude and peace. A place that she felt drawn yet feared to explore. As her energy began to fade, she realized the fear of not being able to save Steffor overrode all other concerns. Like a lifeline, she tied the Provider around her soul, trusting it to lead back home. She swam, deeper and deeper, pulled toward Steffor by a force beyond her understanding. Moments into her descent, Calivera knew she would never have the strength to return. There was no turning back.

Sleep penetrated her overactive mind, an auto-defense preventing the recall of memories to follow. It was too much, too soon.

## *****

As they set out for Teuton Valley the next morning, Steffor appeared fit as ever. Their excursion began at the base of Razum Mesa Range, a ridged stretch of landscape between Razum City and the Trunk. The Primary Healers Ward occupied the bottom two mesas, the last before the Razum Buttress leveled off and the city began. Above, rural villages and farms populated the remaining six. A network of roads, stairways, ramps and vine trolleys connected the neighboring plateaus and provided a means to ascend the Trunk.

Since appearing on the veranda the day before, images of Steffor's return had flooded the Mysticnet. As a result, every deck, guardrail, window and balcony along their ascent teamed with Citizens hoping to catch a glimpse of the reluctant legend. Sheepish children swam at his feet, clinging to a finger or caressing a portion of his garments before running off with giddy delight. Trolley Shifters yelled from their cars in hopes they could help him reach his destination, shops offered their finest wares and goods.

Still steeped in the confusion, Steffor was gracious in his refusal and projected the poise and confidence of renown. Relief washed over Calivera, grateful she remained the only one aware of the sadness etched deep into his heart.

By mid-morning, they scaled the ladder shifted into the steep cliff wall of the last mesa to arrive at the small landing that marked the entrance into the Sofelarus Pass. Shifted within the canyons formed between massive bark plates, the pass zigzagged up the section of Trunk that separated the Razum Buttress from the Sofelarus region.

They traveled up a moderate but continual incline shifted into the lower bark plates of each canyon. The far-off edges of each bark plate curved outward like scaled bluffs. Their trail skirted the smooth, inner Trunk wall, which also constituted as the canyon "floor". Sunrays sliced through bark plate openings, penetrating the long, horizontal canyons, to shine wide beams against the Trunk wall. The partial light cast the pass in perpetual shadow and cool temperatures. The mild conditions nurtured the lush carpet of teal-green moss and mushroom colonies covering the canyon floor.

On several occasions, they spotted the graceful flight of a Sofelarian hawk as it knifed through abundant creases in search of prey. A myriad of insects lived within the shaded canyon floor, oblivious to the travelers as they scurried along or across the trail. Twice, the curious, man-size canyon mouse approached, sniffing their open palms for a brief second before leaping away with lightning speed.

By early afternoon, they reached the last canyon in the pass. The walls of the last canyon declined dramatically, diminishing to a narrow ledge by its end. They stopped for a moment to gaze over the edge and survey their progress. Miles below, positioned just south of their location, Razum jutted from the Trunk and sprawled far to the west.

Several hundred yards above their ledge, a new limb grew from the Trunk in the same, western direction as Razum. They turned around and started up the stairway shifted into the limb's convex base. A half-hour later, they rounded the right side of the base and stepped onto the barren space between limb and Trunk.

The region of Sofelarus, stationed above Razum and below Instenkul, consisted of three, hardwood limbs. Each limb grew from the Trunk in relative altitude to the other. One grew downward to the northeast and another extended out and level to the southwest. The third, the one they currently stood upon, grew due west.

The longest bough's known to the Provider, Sofelarus's three hardwood limbs extended well past the Deagron Fields. If one were inclined and able to trek the entire length of any, they'd be rewarded with a rare and spectacular aerial view of the Sevorist Root Mountain Range. Long as each limb was, they were also narrowest, the greatest width of any no more than a few miles. Mere twigs when compared to the squat Razum limb or the massive Constunkeen prairie bough.

The next leg in their journey was aptly named "Shifters Way". Shifters Way was a veritable, three-dimensional jungle encased by a canopy of reddish-gold foliage, replete with lush hanging fern gardens, reefs of countless epiphytes, bushes bursting with blooms and ripe berries and thickets of creeping vines. Countless generations of Shifters honed their craft on the convolution of sub-branch, stem, leaf and plant life. The limb offered travelers a never-ending selection of trails. Each trail displayed spectacular works of engineering and architecture. The trails offered a challenge to all, from the vigorous only the most adept climbers dare attempt, to the leisurely chosen by the regions residents and visitors alike.

Steffor trained his Guardian vision up the limb's gradual ascent, to a location several miles away. "At this pace, we should reach Fregak's Ladder before evening," Steffor stated. "If all right by you, once we reach Instenkul, I would like to make a short detour to Lake Arol, to meet with Master Kilton."

"I think that is an excellent suggestion," Calivera replied. She concluded if there was one who could lift the cloud of depression clinging over Steffor's soul, it was Kilton.

They chose a well-traveled trail, lit by brilliant sunbeams and a multitude of shifted steps and footholds. A half-hour in, Steffor guided them off the wide trail, up a latticed ramp shifted from stem and vine. Like any of the Provider's Citizens, Calivera was an adept climber and welcomed the change of pace. The new trail soon narrowed to shoulder width as it wound high above the main floor, requiring Calivera to exert all her energy and focus on the next step. The exercise, she soon discovered, brought reprieve from the concerns still lingering from her restless night before. Disappointment hit an hour later when Steffor plopped down to rest.

Dangling their legs over the thin stem, they ate a simple meal of nuts, berries and a few slices of kuwani, a novel treat Calivera was pleased to see Steffor enjoy. As the day wore on, Calivera sensed a lift in Steffor's spirits. When permitted by an open stretch or wider section along the trail, they listened to the other tell stories about their separate pasts. The diversion produced frequent smiles and genuine cheer from both.

Now, as they shared a meal in silence, Calivera caught Steffor admiring her bare legs, exposed high above the thigh by her sensible but tight-fit hiking shorts. The desire witnessed in his eyes stirred her libido, for many times that day she too caught herself leering at Steffor's taut backside. His feline grace softened every move and gesture. She often leading daydreamed of his embrace. She imagined her hands moving from his supple neck and shoulders, down the small of his back, to the cleft between buttocks and thigh, as he caressed her in kind.

It is the natural bond formed between patient and Healer, she told herself in attempt to dismiss both of their behaviors.

It will pass in due time. Besides, I am not attracted to Guardians.

Guardians were a Healers most common patient and before meeting Steffor, her view of the race, from an attraction standpoint, was one of indifference. By design, she did not spend much energy—unlike most young Citizens—pondering about her perfect mate. But as an unspoken rule, she had ruled out Guardians as potential candidates.

Just like the next Citizen, she was grateful for the role Guardians played. That included a love for the Guardian Games, though she preferred the ascender to the more popular dive. But it was the same physical traits that empowered the Guardians to protect and compete that unnerved her healer's sensibilities. The ease in which they could snap any bone in her body remained a pervading thought. In the past, when in proximity to a Guardian, she perceived their brawny build like a thick hide in need of grooming over a body beckoning intimate touch.

Calivera knew a meaningful connection of the mind and soul would overcome any physical objections. Some of the most popular passages in the Deeds often described the romantic bond between Guardian and spouse and the challenges they overcame together. Yet those passages never resonated with Calivera, drawn instead to the mundane aspects of love. Calivera desired comfortable silence, laugher at the trivial, tears over the meaningful. The patrician disposition of the Guardian, she concluded, just did not lend itself to that type of relationship.

As the day wore on, she had to admit, Steffor was different. Of course she had heard about the ever growing legend of Steffor, it was impossible not to for the past decade. She was confident though that he would fall in the same bucket with the rest, when and if they ever met in person. This preconceived perception made her one of the few women that didn't swoon at the slightest Mysticnet update on his latest accolade.

Now, sitting in silence next to the legend, she relished the other's company. Despite his broken spirit or maybe because of it, she realized her preconceived perceptions no longer applied.

For reasons she could not articulate but present all the same, she quelled her softening attitude. She rationalized that Steffor being different, defying all the stereotypes she had come to rely on, blowing holes in her "Healer-patient" theory, meant nothing. She peeled away another layer of denial, concluding her feelings were the result of too many seasons of self-imposed celibacy, not to mention the tandem of Steffor's seductive physique and natural charisma.

After all, while working long, intense hours with male Healers in the past, she had developed a level of intimacy with a few that resulted in similar lustful impulses. The feelings would always pass in due time once the Provider called them in separate directions. Steffor was her patient that would soon be following a separate path. All she needed to do was keep it together, long enough for that event to pass.

She brought her knees to her chest, stowing away the remnants of their lunch. "We should get going," she said, colder than intended.

Steffor rose without comment, a dejected frown seen creasing his face before he turned his back to her and continued down the small branch.

All too soon, Calivera discovered sticking to her new resolve had boiled down to an epic test of willpower, one she was failing at every turn. For moments after they resumed their trek, Steffor led them off all semblance of trail, deep into the jungle. High into the canopy, the new course had them scaling sheer cliffs of fused stems with no perceptible holds and vertical walls of tangled vine. Climbs a novice Guardian can make with ease but one the most competent harvest Shifter dare undertake.

Several times, she found herself clinging to his arm as he swung her over a jutting overhang. Or she would be forced to wrap her arms around his powerful neck and shoulders while he navigated a gnarly web of vertical vines. She stayed vigilant in her efforts to show no outward signs of joy during these encounters. But her inner child thwarted these efforts, burning her cheeks crimson with each the intimate encounter. Embarrassed as she was by this outward display, the little girl inside jumped on tippy toes, clapping in delight, squealing: _"again, again, again!"_

Every brush of skin against skin, whiff of musky scent or tight press of body threatened to unleash her lustful desires. She soon became resolved to the fact that it was only a matter of time before succumbing to her hormonal impulses. Determined to taste his lips, she'd pull him behind the next fern grove and unleashed urgings suppressed for too long.

The sun was setting below Razum, the fat limb blocking all but a few of the days' last rays. Amber beams shot wide of their narrower limb and disappeared amongst Instenkul's needle covered twigs and airy canopy above. Either feeling the press for time or in need of a more strenuous work out, Steffor decided to test the full extent of his restored Guardian strength and dexterity.

Calivera had proven herself a capable passenger. Strong enough to hold with arms or legs when necessary, she knew when and how to lean into leaps and dives. So Steffor began to swing from twig and vines and catapulted from springy stems and leaf. Her heart oscillated from throat to pit of stomach with each bound that propelled them forward fifty to hundred feet. They floated just above the broad leaf canopy for a few terrifying seconds before gravity pulled them back down to start the process over.

Their progress increased and within minutes, Calivera began to see Fregak's Ladder, a thin thread off in the distance, slicing the open sky between the two limbs. Moments later the staircase came into focus. Shifted from Sofelarus's sturdy hardwood, the spiral staircase elevated high into Instenkul's coniferous branches.

While between leaps, they spotted the staircase's small landing some thirty yards away, located just below the canopy top. With a slight grunt, Steffor stretched to reach and grip a thin stem jutting just above the canopy. He used their momentum to complete a full rotation before flinging them in a high arc through the air, landing soft onto the small deck.

The move had forced Calivera to wrap arms and legs around his neck and waist and press tight against his body. Both covered in grime and sweat, Steffor prolonged the intimate embrace a moment longer before he placed his hands about her waist and lowered her to the platform.

Faces but inches apart, his sapphire eyes dilated with desire, the throb of his powerful heart pounding against her own heaving chest, Calivera's resolve melted away as she leaned up to kiss his waiting lips. Climax at hand, conscious or not, a triumphant smirk formed on Steffor's face and stopped her approach short.

His apparent detection of her arousal had nothing to do with her sudden embarrassment. No, he had duped her and only now did she piece it all together. The need for an intense exercise or sense of urgency to reach Lake Arol had little influence on Steffor's decision to take the more hazardous route. It was all a premeditated attempt to break her defenses and set free the feelings she had for him. The same, blatant feelings he had displayed for her the moment he awoke on the veranda. The scheme, a breath away from flawless execution, scuttled by the smugness captured on his face.

To Steffor's soon to be discovered chagrin, manipulation was her biggest turn off. In an instant, the act removed her hormonal burden, providing the negative energy to counter the onslaught of lecherousness. Lust, she reminded herself, is a natural feeling. Despite the innocence of his trickery, anger began to mount.

I am his Healer, nothing more. I will see him to his destination and then part ways as it should be intended.

Calivera pushed away and walked over to a bench shifted into the semi-circle shaped platform. She sat down with her back to him and faced the tiny waterfall fed by one of the countless streams formed by shifted twig and stem. The water splattered against a mammoth three-pronged leaf before descending further into the dense jungle. The cool mist coated the front of her body, calming her frazzled emotions while washing away the dirt and sweat from the day's toil.

Still put off but less irritated, without turning she patted a spot next to her and said, "Come Steffor, sit down with me and rest for a spell."

A few seconds past, a time she was certain he spent sulking, before he came over and sat a few feet away.

"Lake Arol is but a few hours away, yes?" She asked, keeping her eyes forward.

"That's about right. Ginllats will be full tonight, so crossing the bark peninsulas should be easy going."

"A good night's rest at Lake Arol, a short journey to Teuton Valley in the morning...you should arrive at the ceremony well rested and in plenty of time. Are you prepared for the trials ahead?" She asked, doing her best to sound like a caring but platonic Healer.

"I hope." Steffor replied.

She let the indifferent reply linger for a few minutes, not sure how to respond, when Steffor decided to elaborate. "I had hoped the trip here would help clear my mind. Memories of my past, family and friends, places, have all come back. But I cannot locate a Mystic. For that matter, I can't remember what it feels like to sync with a Mystic. It's as if my connection to the conscious whole is someone else's distant memory."

"You have no connection?" Calivera asked with concern. The concept was unnerving. "What of the Provider...of the Source?"

"I felt the presence of the Provider the moment I awoke from your table. My sense of the Source is strong. But I have not attempted to wield it, fearing I may lose control. My connection to the Provider and Mysticnet, both remain severed."

"The Provider controls the Source. Citizens are but the vessels to wield it." Calivera regretted her pious quotation of the Deeds the moment it left her lips, realizing the Guardian would be intimate with the passage. "What guidance has the Provider given?" she asked, changing tack.

"None yet."

"What?" she asked, incredulous.

"The truth is, well, I just feel...I just haven't asked!" The anger in Steffor's words increased as he tried to explain his strange actions. "I know it is not right, or even possible for that matter, but I can't shake the feeling of being betrayed by the Provider. My entire life, I have trusted the Provider," anger transitioned into a sad quiver. "The Provider always rewarded my trust. The unexplainable appearance of that branch changed it all. Why?! What lesson is there to learn from that experience?" He directed his last question to her with tear swelled eyes, imploring her for insight.

She averted her eyes, disturbed by his confession.

Turning back to the waterfall, he released a sorrowful sigh, shaking his head. "I know it serves no good purpose to harbor anger toward the Provider, but I just can't bring myself to forgive."

Calivera took several deep breaths and pondered his words before stating the obvious. "You will need to connect to both Mystic and Provider if you intend on completing your role in the Forging Ceremony."

"I know."

She opened her mouth as if to add to the statement but chose to remain silent. Steffor, sensing she had an opinion on how he should go forward, turned back around to face her. On impulse, she did the same in kind and grabbed hold of his hands. With each straddling the bench, their knees pressed together, Calivera looked into Steffor's eyes.

She hesitated, fearful of what she might say. Exhaling a long breath, she found the courage to speak. "Steffor, you are like no other I have ever encountered."

"I feel the same way about you!" he blurted, misconstruing the meaning of her words.

With a curt sigh, she continued. "It was no coincidence that led you to be my patient. When I said you were dead by most definitions of the word, I was not exaggerating." Steffor nodded in understanding, his mood sobered.

"I watched them try to save you but knew they would fail. How I was so certain still bothers me but the feeling was undeniable. At first, when I joined you on the table...shifting the Source to heal both body and soul..." She was unable to go on, unwilling to relive the terrifying memory, her gaze lost on a small knot in the bench.

She started to pull her hands away from his, signaling she had said all she was going to say.

Steffor held her fast, forcing her to look back at him.

I must tell him, I must shed this burden.

Drawing another deep breath, Calivera sat up straight and squared her shoulders. "I found you in a foreign place. My connection to the Provider was gone, replaced by a presence so vast and powerful my mind, out of some desperate need for survival, refused to process it. You were my beacon that I clung to in primal desperation. Your energy came alive at that moment. You saved me. You carried me from the depths Steffor."

"Why are you so sad? Why do you look at me with fear?" Steffor implored.

"It was that desire, the desire I still sense in you now, to never leave that makes me sad. I feel that I made a horrible mistake by forcing you to come back." She stood and turned her back to him. Her rigid composure returning, she whispered, "It this undeniable desire, the reason you may never mend your relationship to the Provider. That, Steffor, is the reason I fear you."

Calivera did not provide Steffor the opportunity to discuss the subject any further. Instead, she walked over to the first step of Frejak's Ladder and began the long ascent without him. Steffor lingered behind, not catching up with her until she was within the last few steps. They stepped onto Instenkul's Forging Bough together, alone in separate thoughts.

A firm head wind leaned on them as they crossed the barren bark peninsula. Instenkul's higher altitude, the open sky between branch and Toliver's compact evergreen canopy above, the onset of night, it all made Sofelarus's humid and confined setting feel like a distant memory.

Calivera unpacked her travel cloak and wrapped it tight around her weary body. She gave Steffor a sidelong glance and noted how his Garments had adjusted to the colder temperatures, forming a loose body suit with high collar. With hands tucked into deep front pockets, his face was blank. But his mood had changed, distant with a troubling resolve set into chin and jaw.

They crossed the sturdy bridge, the gorge between bark plates an impenetrable darkness below. Soon after, a steady incline began toward Lake Arol, a mountainous hulk of bark and wood that spanned a third of the Forging Bough's width. The volcanic shaped knot loomed dark and ominous against the Trunk's enormous outline eclipsing the night sky to the east. Depicted by its waterfall, the lake glistened in the distance as it sliced down the mountainside.

With Ginllats shining bright on their backs, the restive silence ensued as they hiked the straight trail, shifted into the smooth bark plate that led to the giant knot lake. A mile out, tall wild flowers began to crop up. At first one or two stray plants but within in minutes of spotting the first a quilt of violet, pink and yellow petals covered both sides of the worn path. The flower-infested path led them to a T-intersection formed at the edge of a cliff. They looked over the tiered edge, upon the Forging River churning within a wide basin as the bark plate walls corralled the flowing water down the bough.

"I used to dive from this spot," Steffor said, fresh with nostalgia.

Calivera followed the length of cliff down to the river basin, nauseous at the thought of diving three hundred feet into the swirling waters.

The trail leading south followed cliff-side and river down the bough, where it flowed into Teuton Valley several miles away. They took the trail to the north, which skirted cliff-side for another fifty yards to the edge of town, where it forked again. The path east led to the base of the mountain a few hundred yards away, to the town's lower avenues now bathed in Ginllats's ghostly green light. The path angling northwest skirted the western side of town, transforming into a steep and direct climb to the top.

"You are healed Steffor, my presence is no longer needed," she stated as they reached the fork, meeting his hurt expression with phlegmatic eyes. "We can part ways now. I will find lodging in town as you go to see Kilton," she said, nodding toward the path leading to the lake. "I hope and pray you find a way to join us with the Provider and once again bask in his unending love." She paused with her arms crossed long enough to confirm Steffor registered this as their final parting. With a final knit of her brow, she turned her back to him and started down the trail leading into town.

Twenty yards down the path, a confident voice, absent from his demeanor until that moment, called back. "Our bond spans many lifetimes, this much I hold true. I do not understand why you choose to deny this connection and mask your feelings, at a crossroads where we have never needed each other more. I am confident the reason will reveal itself, either in this lifetime or the next." He paused as she stopped in her tracks.

The sad boy, so prevalent since meeting him, had vanished. The Steffor of legend now spoke. With one blow, his powerful diction shattered the pathetic walls built around her heart. Yet she still kept her back to him.

"If this brief interlude is to be our only in this lifetime," he continued, "then I am grateful for it. I pray you enough happiness till the Provider sees fit to reunite us again in the flesh. If this is but the first of many encounters our souls share in this lifetime, then I pray you enough loss while we are apart to appreciate all that may become."

She lost track of time, battling with the undeniable truth of his words. Steffor's arrival in her life felt like an imposed rebirth on a life just starting its purpose. Altered forever was her perception of the world and, to her shame, she resented him for it, desiring to inflict a similar pain.

Calivera knew her parting words would do nothing in the way of mending his estranged relationship with the Provider or give insight as to how he may reconnect to the whole. On the contrary, she was confident her words would only add to his insecurities and confusion. Faced with the biggest challenge of his young life, she chose to rebuke, not love.

But she had succumbed to a primal fear, hidden to the ego until that fateful moment she dove into the depths of his soul. Confused, scared and angry, she sought to explain it by making Steffor the source of her fear. She now recognized how Steffor shared that same fear, lost and confused as she was, groping for the one soul able to help make sense of it all.

Her back still turned to the one person truly capable of relating to her plight, she turned to face him with renewed purpose. She craved his strong arms around her, to have him whisper in her ear and tell her, so long as they stayed together, all will be right in the world. To know he would always be there to shine light on her darkest shadows.

Knees buckled as she locked onto the sight of his tiny form halfway up the mountainside, her desperate plea for forgiveness lost in the rowdy breeze teasing the waist high flowers carpeting the otherwise barren bark floor.

Chapter 8

"Why Janison? Why betray us now?"

Janison shot up from bed and reached to remove his link visor. His hand smacked his face, but no visor.

I knew I'd have to fight with my conscious but never imagined it would sound like Stalling.

He sat up, swung his legs around to the side of the bed and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. The clock read 3:16. It had only been a few hours since taking the sedative. The dose he took should have knocked him out well into morning. He took a long drink and put head back to pillow, his body lead-heavy and head thick with sleep.

"Trust, Janison. It's a basic principle for people like you and I. What happened to make you betray yourself?"

Janison opened his eyes in alarm. With measured calm, he turned to locate his link visor resting next to the clock on the nightstand. If Stalling was not communicating via the visor, then he must be in the room.

His pragmatic side was quick to dismiss the plausibility of that reality. He had chosen this safe house over a year ago, careful not to reveal its location to anyone. Had he gone insane then? Did his conscience truly sound like Stalling? If so, he truly would go insane if he hadn't already.

As if on cue, Stalling's voice pounded in his head. _"Put your visor on Janison, we need to talk. I could berate your sense of principle all day but I have a feeling your own conscience will be harder on you than I ever could."_

Stalling being in his head was crazier than the concept of him being in the room. Janison was off the grid. He chose this spot because it was one of the few pockets where the Auranet could not locate him, assuming of course he had disconnected, which he had. Even if Stalling had managed to broaden the signal in the past few hours, Janison had turned off his transmitter.

"Do you really think I would have divulged everything to you Janison? I love you like a brother but our mission is too important to allow the mistake of one person to bring it all down, including myself."

Janison reached behind his head and felt a dull pulse at the base of his neck as Stalling spoke. The familiar warmth generated by his implant said it all.

"Yes, I can still communicate to you without your visor or connection to the Auranet. One of the few abilities I have reserved for myself...in case of an emergency. I never imagined using it under these circumstances, but the Universe can be cruel in how it reminds us of what little we control."

Janison smiled while nodding in agreement.

"I am confident you will figure it out soon enough," Stalling continued, "but time is precious and we need to talk. Put your visor on."

Despite himself, Janison chuckled. Who was he to believe his actions would deter the force known as Stalling? After witnessing twenty years of inexplicable miracles, he should have known.

He acknowledged the part of his heart eased by the sound of Stalling's voice, even if it was just in his head. Of all the tough decisions made over the past year, letting go of Stalling remained the hardest. Blocked by Stalling's looming shadow for years, Janison had lost sight of the ultimate truth, but no longer.

God's will, that is what matters. Emotions of one soul pale in comparison. God dictates destiny, I am here to play a role in God's master plan.

He turned on the lamp, stood up and stretched. "Coffee," he muttered to the room. A blunt, earthy aroma filled the room in seconds and helped lift the sedative haze. Janison chose to give up many luxuries with the decisions he made in the past few days but good coffee was not one them.

Meandering to a bathroom, he took a long piss and then looked at his profile in the mirror. He stood up tall, pulled up his gut with both hands and stuck out his chest. In the dimmed light, he caught a glimpse of the body that made all-region his senior year. The image sparking hope, he looked himself in the eye and said, "It's not too late to get it back. Hike these mountains every day we'll trim that fat ass yet."

Admittedly, the decision to betray Stalling and his closest friends was easier to make knowing, once done, he could disappear to pursue a life of solitude. He was tired of burning it at both ends, tired of having to make tough decisions under continual gray conditions. He vowed to follow his heart, returning to the black and white paradigm of his youth, to the life before Stalling. Janison needed to rediscover a life guided by God and God alone.

He gave his oval, pale face a reassuring smile as he brushed fingers through unruly clumps of thick hair into smooth, salt and pepper waves. The blood shot eyes, ringed black from stress and lack of sleep over the years, sent back convincing cheer. With cup of coffee in hand, he returned to and sat the edge of his bed.

One more time Stalling, I guess I owe you that much.

Placing his link visor across his head to rest just below his brow, Janison did his best to relax as the wireless connection melded to his neural cortex. An instant later, a dark green static filled his field of vision. A pervasive hiss, as if the volume cranked with no audio playing, was the only sound.

"Alright Stalling, I'm here," he said, his voice sounding as if sealed in a box.

_"Thank you Janison,"_ Stalling replied, the static before him forming a fuzzy outline of his face. _"Let me start by saying you don't need to justify your decisions to me. If you feel the need, save it for another day. Our time and energy must focus on the emergency at hand."_

"It's Muzar, isn't it?" Janison asked.

_"Yes,"_ Stalling replied after a long pause. _"Your intuition should not surprise me. But for once, it has."_

Janison tampered his pride in shocking Stalling with the knowledge that Stalling knew he would be. Damn Stalling and his persuasive honesty, he knew their mutual concern for Muzar would pull Janison back.

This is why Janison decided to leave. The only way to not fall under Stalling's influence, was to avoid him altogether. Yet here he was, manipulated for the sake of Stalling's ultimate mission, again.

"Look Stalling, I don't feel the need to justify my decisions now or later. You already know that but I want to make it clear that I did nothing to harm Muzar. My actions are for personal beliefs alone. I am out of the game."

"I know Janison and for what it is worth, I understand why you made the decisions you did. The difference for me, none of this has ever been a game."

Janison regretted his choice of words but had to agree, their motives had never truly aligned.

"While I am sure the timing of your choices as of late is no coincidence, the issues surrounding Muzar's survival appear to be unrelated. The issues relate to an epic miscalculation on my part."

Wow, two self-deprecating statements in one sitting, Janison had never seen Stalling this rattled. "So what's the problem?" Janison asked. Stalling had sucked him back in before the question formed on his lips. He accepted this turn of events with eyes wide open, reminded that you don't remove the past twenty years of your life in less than a day.

"He's dying. We made the diagnosis in time for Jennifer to start an emergency shutdown but that gives us a few more hours. How can we save him? What are the short or long-term effects of pulling him out too soon? For Muzar's sake, help me find a solution."

For Muzar's sake, there it was, Stalling plucking the strings of others to produce the results needed for his agenda. Janison took another sip of his coffee and let the rich aroma and bitter taste clear the fog in his mind.

_Stop and_ _check your emotions for a moment. Could Muzar's death better achieve the same objective I set out to reach by going to Clortison?_

The memory of his recent meeting with the Archbishop made him nauseas. Janison's disgust of Clortison and the C.O.S. aristocracy was arguably equivalent to that of Stalling's, but for different reasons. To Stalling, the ancient theocracy represented the slow and arduous death of his species. For Janison, they epitomized all the inherent flaws of man, how they can corrupt even the best intentions of God.

"Faith" had become a cliché. They used scripture to instill fear, to maintain control. Janison was a new breed of evangelist that emphasized Leviatus's message of love and compassion. He cared little for the cryptic dogma created centuries later by misguided zealots. He was not alone. A silent majority grew in size and strength every day.

Stalling's proven ability to live a life of compassion was the fertile ground from which their relationship and commercial empire grew. Janison's faith led him to believe Stalling, in time, would embrace Leviatus's abundant grace. In turn, Stalling would apply newfound revelation toward helping Janison reinvent the church.

High in the mountains stranded from civilization, a self-imposed outcast to all he cared about, the memory of his past naivety stung with fresh resolve. There were plenty of omens over the past two decades to keep Janison's faith alive and strong. But as the end of their covert project neared, exceeding all but Stalling's expectations, Janison came to terms with the potential future he had helped manifest. Stalling had not seen the "light". Quite the opposite, he grew stronger in his convictions every day.

And why wouldn't he? Everything the man touched turned to gold. Faced with countless obstacles over the years, Stalling's unwavering faith in the love removed all obstacles in his way. Hindsight pointed to some logical explanation, dismissing luck or miracle. Still, Janison's personal history with the man led him to conclude Stalling could will anything to work in his favor.

Janison's awe and fear of this ability grew over the years. If not for their intimate connection when it came to matters of the heart, he would have left sooner. Stalling never coddled or held back in expressing his beliefs or disagreement with Janison when it came to religion and theology. He'd defend his views by conveying honest, respectful and insightful empathy of those opposite. Janison never focused on their differences. Instead, he always saw their common ground.

It was from these exchanges with Stalling that Janison first spawned his vision of a reformed church. Over the years, Stalling presented an array of compelling views that Janison alone could not have done. For Janison, these moments provided the undeniable evidence of God's mysterious existence.

In the end, Janison concluded, God's mission for Stalling was not his concern. His personal journey had reached a crossroads, and he chose the road toward God. He was on that road now and Stalling seeking him out in this moment validated he had made the right choice.

The decision to betray his closest friends and allies did not come easy. The tangible good they were doing was irrefutable but to continue down the same path, he concluded, meant certain destruction of the Church of Salvation. Not just its social and political structure—two aspects he himself would like to see gone—but every shred of its existence.

No doubt, Stalling's success would have advanced millions. And it still can, but not without the word of Leviatus to guide us. Stay true to your mission; leave the rest up to God.

Unfortunate does not begin to describe the circumstances that led Janison to provide Clortison and his lackeys an arsenal of intel on Alterian Enterprises. If used correctly, it would bring down an enemy that had whipped their ass for the past two decades. Committed to a life of black and white, scuttling the project in this manner was the only viable choice. For the church's survival also meant the survival of what he deemed the one and only truth.

But here I am playing the role I believe myself destined play. Who am I to conclude I am the Lord's one and only champion?

A wave of optimism filled his chest and along with it, a sense of peace absent for too long. Presented with another chance, a better choice, joy overwhelmed Janison as he prayed in gratitude: _Thank you, please forgive me, I love you._

Janison had left Stalling hanging for several minutes. True to form, Stalling waited patiently. "Muzar can be saved along with all the good that comes with his salvation," Janison finally replied.

_"I had hoped you would say that."_ Stalling's relief, even in the muffled conditions, was palpable. _"How?"_

"He must regenerate. If not, his human vessel will perish."

"I concluded the same but the solution still evades me."

"It is beyond our ability to save Muzar," Janison stated with conviction. "But we can provide him the means to create the solution on his own."

Chapter 9

Steffor found little comfort in his return to the House of Kilton. He had entered undetected from one of the town-side portals located at the far west end of the compound. He roamed the expanse of halls and stairs, passing the many training rooms, arenas, community centers and dining halls in silence. The house, shifted deep into the lake's curved rim, had not changed since his departure over a decade ago, causing his recent transformation to weigh all the heavier.

In no mood for a reunion, he avoided the score of Guardians and apprentices still active despite the late hour. He made his way lakeside, to the long hall providing access to the dozens of private quarters. The first unoccupied room he chose was like all the rest: small with three, unadorned walls, veneered smooth by their own resin that accentuated the marbled grain. A pallet occupied the corner to his left, covered with a fresh pile of soft torra leaves. A partially enclosed terrace opposite to the entrance overlooked the vast lake.

Steffor crossed the small room in two strides, flopping down on one of the large cushions littering the terrace. His gaze lost upon the tranquil waters, he released troubled thoughts upon the moonlit waves. He drifted over the eastern shore, where the rim was but a few feet above lake level.

The simple beauty found amongst the multitude of docks and piers shifted from the rim a welcome addition to his mental escape. A handful of harvest, preservative and naval Shifters sat around their boats and docks as they savored an evening meal. The harvest moon still shined bright, providing the niche Shifters the opportunity to gather a few more loads of the lake's aquatic vegetables and fruits.

Peaceful as the setting was, the emotional tension from the day's travels with Calivera persisted. Despite her undaunted attempts to countervail his feelings, Steffor's passion for Calivera had not waned. If anything, it had only grown since parting.

Women could be frustrating. This much he had learned from prior relationships and growing up with three older and one younger sister. He admired the fiery compassion found in the opposite sex and was quick to forgive their often-fluctuating temperament. Honed over the seasons, he came to trust this barometer of the female species. Its accuracy in deciphering their true feelings had never failed, no matter how much words or actions conveyed otherwise. He had picked up what Calivera was putting down, and it told him, loud and clear, without a shadow of doubt, she shared his ardor.

Even so, her parting words managed to darken his outlook. From the onset of their relationship, Calivera had treated him with respect and kindness. Yet her staunch efforts to keep their relationship platonic had caused Steffor to second-guess everything. For reasons that continued to allude, she seemed determined to deny their connection. Worse yet, she appeared bent on hurting him. Neither reality settled well.

Mired deep in doubtful thoughts, a savory aroma wafted into the room and broke his concentration. A second after he sensed the familiar presence of another.

"I always find a warm meal and cold drink helps the meditative process. Especially after a day of travel," said a women's voice from his open doorway.

"Even better when shared with a close friend," Steffor replied as he stood and turned to face Martna.

"Well, lucky for you, I brought enough for two," she replied, holding to her side with one hand a tray laden with two steaming bowls and two tall mugs.

With an alluring grin, Martna crossed the room in three long strides, stealthy with slight bounce of step and soft pad of feet. She placed the tray down between pillows before turning back to face Steffor.

Standing within a few inches, Martna drew her broad shoulders back and placed her hands flat on the small of her back. Her arms and elbows flared out in this fashion, lips pursed to one side with chin forward, hazel eyes studied Steffor with probing concern. Her friendly stare reminded Steffor how much he missed Martna's comforting presence.

"You cut your hair," Steffor commented, finding he liked the wild bangs cropping her forehead and face versus the tightly drawn back pony tail she wore for so many seasons.

"Yeah, well, I figured it was about time I started showing off the length of my tail." She turned her head so he could see the light brown Guardian tail extending several inches past her bare shoulders and feathered hair.

"It looks good, makes you look more mature," he said, in truth, thinking it made her all the more attractive. Her back still to him, his gaze lingered a bit longer and soaked in the rest. Few rivaled Martna's aesthetic mastery over garments, currently a blend of tan, brown and green. He admired the fetching halter-top connected at the neck by a thin loop. The design exposed the length of her supple back with just enough side cleavage of her firm breasts to be both provocative and unpretentious. He risked venturing down farther, following the low cut, snug pants, ending with a slight flare above her sculpted calves.

"Mature enough to be a Teuton?" She asked, turning back to face him, the movement filling his nostrils with a potent concoction of honeysuckle and oiled-leather.

"Absolutely," Steffor answered, swifter then he intended. Martna's forehead knit and her right eyebrow rose in response. As it had in their past, her look of disapproval put Steffor's rush of lust in check.

"So, I assume your arrival here means you will be attending the Forging Ceremony?" she asked, intent on holding his eye.

"Yes, I sent word as much, did it not reach here?"

"Aye, young Frestin connected to a Mystic moments after seeing you and conveyed your correspondence with impeccable detail."

"So why did you..." Steffor stopped, biting his tongue, forcing himself not to take the bait. He loved Martna and valued her friendship like none other. A few seasons ago, he would have locked horns with her and hotly debated the principles he used to justify his actions. The spark of conflict between his liberal interpretations and her rigid sense of duty had ignited a short-lived but intense relationship. Steffor recalled the relationship with pleasure. Tonight, however, it was a battle Steffor had no interest in or energy for pursuing.

"Is that Clarkston's veadle stew?" he asked as he sat down and grabbed a bowl.

"And a pint of his jinus stout," she added, content to sit down and let the subject drop.

They ate and drank, enjoying the majestic view in silence. Their meal finished, Martna turned to face him, crossed her legs, straitened her back and closed her eyes. He matched her position and within moments, synchronized his breath to her steady cadence.

Ginllats had traveled well above Toliver's evergreen canopy by the time Steffor's head nodded with a jerk. A long yawn followed as he shook the remnants of blissful conscious unconsciousness experienced by those lost in the state of lucid theta. Martna stirred in a similar way, groggy and bleary eyed.

"Thank you Steffor. We were long overdue," she said, standing up.

"Indeed," Steffor replied, standing to face her. "Thank you Martna, your presence here...now..."

Both moved to the other in that moment and embraced, strong and supportive like Guardians, close and familiar like former lovers. They held each other for several long seconds before Martna pulled her chin off his shoulder, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead.

"It is good to see you amongst the living Steffor," she said, rubbing his shoulders with affection. The second she left the room, he collapsed on the pallet and embraced a deep, dreamless sleep.

## *****

Steffor awoke to the blended scent of piney resin permeating from the walls of his room and triffle root tea that emanated from somewhere down the hall. He filled the basin next to his bed with warm water and washed with the accompanied dulsa leaf, exfoliating a layer of grime from the day prior. The first light of dawn crept over the terrace as he reformed his garments and headed out the doorway.

He did not pass nor hear another soul during his travels across the complex of halls and steps. He found this odd, considering the training facility normally teemed with activity by this point. Then, ashamed by his negligence, caught up in his own world, he remembered the Forging Ceremony was today. Most everyone must have left hours ago, completing any demanding tasks before arriving for the ceremony.

The realization pushed aside his concerns about Calivera, replacing them with a more contemplative and pressing issue. How did he plan to participate in the ceremony as one of the chosen without connecting to the Mysticnet or wielding the Source?

He was no closer to answering the question when he entered the town-side entrance hall fifteen minutes later. Steffor made his way over to the long breakfast counter located on the north wall and poured a mug of hot tea. As he turned back around, his sight followed the high-arching curved wall to the triangular skylights shifted into the domed ceiling. The artful display of windows framed a blended sky of cranberry and gray. Grabbing a warm scone, he crossed the long gathering room, weaving through the comfortable furniture occupying the open space. Past the archway entrance,

Steffor entered the large veranda, moved to a remote corner to his left and leaned elbows over the ornate railing.

He sipped his tea, relishing the stimulating buzz, and watched the sunrise from the southeast. A clear day, the panoramic vista was breath taking. The tiered town below basked in golden light and the Forging River, formed at the base of the mountain, sparkled like a jeweled necklace. The river flowed down the sloping bough, cresting the forked end to fall and form anew upon Teuton Valley. Sight of the sacred land miles away with the Forging Tree square in its midst was a stark reminder of his quandary.

"Ninety two seasons I have called this place home and the novelty of that sunrise has yet to wane."

Steffor turned toward the archway opening, delighted to see Kilton advancing in his direction.

"I have missed you Steffor."

"As I have you, Master Kilton."

Right hands clasped, forearms crossed and each matched the other's strong press. A minute later, Kilton stepped back and searched Steffor's tear swelled eyes, probing his aching heart with tender care.

"The House is clear, we are all that remain. Would you be so kind as to assist an old man and accompany me to the ceremony," Kilton said, leaning dramatically on his staff.

"It would be my honor." Steffor replied with a smile, measuring his elder with a skilled eye. Two hundred and twelve seasons old, gray temples, distinguished creases along an otherwise soft face the only physical traits revealing his age. That and a Guardian Tail looped thrice around, reaching the small of his back.

Gifted with immense physical strength like all Guardians, Kilton's stature was small for the warrior race. Still, Steffor managed to feel dwarfed by the man's presence. The experience had little relation to Kilton's extensive acts of heroism or recorded victories in the games. No, it was Kilton's consistent ability to treat all creatures with love that kept the young Guardian in awe of his master. Kilton advanced every soul he encountered, a living example of how to live the Certain Way.

In short order, they reached the lower avenues of town, where waterfall and mountainside transitioned into a narrow river with choppy rapids and ridged bark. Citizens from all over the region lined the streets to bid them farewell. Kilton's appearance always drew a crowd. Accompanied by the popular and now mysterious Steffor, added to the excitement. Top it off with the pending Teuton Staff Forging ceremony, it was a joyous event indeed, one none dare miss.

As they traveled together to Teuton Valley, to the rare event of anointing the next Teuton, made the trek. Steffor, enthusiastic as he waved and shook out stretched hands, searched the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of Calivera. He found no sign of her amongst the sea of faces.

"You locate the one you sought?" Kilton asked once they cleared the town, having traveled about a mile south past the fork he and Calivera last parted.

"No."

"Was it the lovely Healer I have heard so much about, the one responsible for bringing you back to us?"

"Yes. Her name is Calivera. Do you think she was lovely?"

"Aye, from the Mysticnet images I saw, she was very beautiful. But after a long life full of intimate submersions within a healers table, I am afraid I lost my ability to be an objective judge. At least when it comes to the physical beauty of Healers," he said with a knowing wink. "But if your Calivera is the same tall blonde who arrived in town last evening, she is lovelier than most. She caused quite a stir amongst the young Shifters and Guardians around town before departing before dawn."

"Yes, that would be the same Healer," Steffor said, pondering Kilton's comments. "While not to your frequency, I too have been under the post treatment spell of a Healer. The feelings I have for Calivera are different...they go beyond."

"Considering she rescued your soul from a foreign abyss, I'd say so."

"How did you know of our experience? I mean, I understand little outside of what she told me and of course, the lingering feeling of our connection."

"Little passes the detection of The Four."

Steffor let Kilton's comment drift in the open as he pondered his own questions about The Four. Comprised of four Masters from each race, the present Four had a combined life experience of over eight hundred seasons. Wisdom aside, The Four were privy to information and experiences not revealed to the whole.

Until recently, Steffor had never concerned himself with what the knowledge restricted to the ancient covey. Like all Citizens, he had found comfort in knowing The Four shouldered life's bigger burdens for the betterment of the whole. Now, the concept of The Four soured his thoughts. They symbolized the tip of an overarching issue that had broken the surface well before his recent experience with the dive.

"My recent connection with Calivera has altered my perception of the Provider, of my beliefs," Steffor confided.

"It would be hard to imagine it not. The Deeds have never recorded a soul resurrected into the same body."

"The world I knew before no longer exists and I now question all that has taken its place. Why did the Provider decide I must die only to return with such confusion? What purpose does it serve? It was all a mistake, I should have never returned."

"Why does fear always find a way to manifest in our lives?" Kilton's rhetorical question irked Steffor. He needed concrete answers.

"If my current existence is the manifestation of my deepest fears, then I have yet to be completely honest with myself. Unfortunately, I am far from connecting all the pieces and time is running short."

"There is only one Time. One Space. One Source. The Provider is in no hurry, it's only mission is to grow. And it grows with patience."

"In concept, that creed still applies. But the Forging Ceremony is close at hand and if I am to take my rightful place, I must join the other chosen by the end of our short journey. In that, there is no question."

"But you must join our ancient ritual for reasons outside a sense of duty. In order for a new Teuton to be chosen, the mind and soul must be clear of doubt. For that to occur, you must remain patient and leave the results to the Provider."

Steffor nodded in frustrated agreement, feeling anything but patient.

"Tell me Steffor, what do you believe?"

"My belief in reincarnation has not wavered," Steffor replied. His recent union with Calivera validated of the statement. Like the bark beneath his feet, his bond to Calivera was undeniable, something that could only be explained by a preexistence spanning countless prior lives.

"Good. A Citizen can take great solace in knowing that each incarnation is important, no matter how difficult or seemingly insignificant. It is what enables us to take on any challenge. Trusting in our reincarnations moves us closer to the Provider. Each life is one step closer toward our soul joining in the conscious participation of divinity."

Steffor struggled to link his recent experiences to that belief. "I find great purpose in being a Citizen, in being a Guardian in this life." As he heard himself speak, the foundation of his refined beliefs in the Provider settled heavier onto his heart. But it was now a narrowcast belief, filtrated into laws of the purest blacks and brightest whites. He found strength of spirit in the emerging, unalterable truth: The Provider exists and to it alone, I owe all allegiance.

"Good. Embracing the race bestowed in this lifetime allows a Citizen to-"

"But I am no longer beholden to either," Steffor interjected. A dissonance stirred in his heart. It rekindled a sense of urgency to address the evolution of all Citizens, a tugging undercurrent that had mounted since his recent rebirth. He looked to his mentor and found solace in the contentment reflected upon the pleasant face. With an esoteric glint in his eye, Kilton waited for what Steffor had to say next.

"The Deeds tell us: transcendence is not a destination, but a new branch to explore in the eternal tree of the Provider. These objectives are fulfilled by the law of reincarnation, are they not?"

Kilton nodded in agreement.

"Why then stratify the Provider's people into four distinct races? Why limit a Citizen's ability to wield the Source? In doing so, do we not limit the scope of experience and growth in each lifetime?"

"The emergence of the races saved Citizens from certain extinction. The races saved our people from a time of chaos, transitioned us to the era of peace and harmony we experience today. The rise of the races spawned the Deeds, providing us the means to reach transcendence. How can you question the races?" Kilton asked with pure intrigue.

"I have not forgotten our origins Master Kilton. Nor do I mean any disrespect with my line of questions. Simply, I no longer comprehend the need for the races." Steffor's new spiritual filter had not just altered his view of the Forging Ceremony, it made him question the very need for the four races.

"Why indeed," Kilton said. He said no more, nibbling on his lower lip, the rhythmic clack of his staff on bark with every other stride the only sound to follow. Having witnessed the countenance on Kilton's face many times before, Steffor knew the wiser man wrestled with a new, or most likely revised, revelation.

Content to let Kilton ruminate on the topic, another hour passed in silence as they continued down the bough. As they descended, the sun rose above the Toliver region. Beaming through the openings shifted along vibrant canopy of pine needles, life-giving rays spotlighted the lake, town and river in vivid light. Cliff walls that contained the river near Lake Arol now tapered off into a wide shoreline of sloped ledges and steps.

As the river continued down the bough in this fashion, it sliced through a sprawling fungi forest. Draped in perpetual shadow, the forest spanned bark on both sides of the river in every direction. Walking along the shoreline with the river to their left and giant mushrooms on the right, an ever-present cool breeze wafted a mixed odor of fertile soil, ripe fruit and fish.

The distinct smell flooded Steffor's mind with memories of the not so distant past. Full of some of the Provider's nastiest predators and inherent death traps, surviving in the forest taught him many lessons, what it meant to rely on others. With a new paradigm, he discovered a new appreciation for the rich history associated with the ancient pass.

Many discoveries were made in the century that followed the Razum Massacre. At that time, man stayed on the run, always trying to stay ahead of their relentless foe. The ancient fungi forest provided the Provider's forlorn people their first real opportunity to settle down and rebuild. The brief reprieve enabled the first harvest Shifters to emerge. As a result, man learned to shift the pathogenic organisms into vital sources of food, medicine, shelter and biological weapons.

The dense, fungi infested, bark peninsulas came to an abrupt halt as the canopy above ended, exposing the narrowing bough to the unhindered mid-morning sun. A half-mile past this stark demarcation, they reached the apex of the river and the bough's only significant bend.

The extreme drop in elevation amplified the river's acceleration, rushing it toward the bough's forked end. A massive network of capillary stems fused the two branches that spliced east and west from the bough's end to form the U-shaped Teuton Valley. From their elevated vantage, the unique expanse of soil and lush grassland floated in the open sky as if held aloft by two cupped hands.

By noon, they reached the valley's steep north wall, where the river crested the forked crook and shot outward in a powerful chute. Steffor followed the waterfall's wild descent as it smashed into the inclined wooden wall. Glassy sheets of water fanned along the smooth surface before it collected into a tall plunge pool formed at the base of the valley floor.

He allowed his mind to drift, swimming to the bottom of the dark plunge pool before pouring over the curved lip to form anew. Smaller waterfalls cascaded down the branches forming the valley's east and west walls. The descending water fed into small estuaries and streams that in turn, fed the river as it continued down the valley.

Steffor followed the swelling river as it flowed away from the sheer branch-walls near the falls, through hills and dells populated with fern and lichen groves. He continued past the ever-present Forging Tree centered midway down the valley. Once past the colossal tree, the valley flattened into a field of wild flowers and grass that spanned for miles on both sides of the narrow river. The valley widened and as cliff walls diminished into small ridges, no taller than a man. A thin precipice of interwoven stem edged the valley's end from which the river crested one final time.

Their brief rest next to the falls concluded, Kilton led them down the southern branch-ridge. A quarter mile later, they turned down a roadway shifted down the branch-side. The road weaved down the side of the branch to form dozens of narrow streets. Homes lined both sides of the streets, shifted deep into the branch. Decorative facades, archways, lattices and windows, pleached from plentiful stems, twigs and hearty evergreen leaves gave a personal touch to each home. Children of varying ages littered the streets, the younger played while the older supervised. The adults were off harvesting the tarroc vines indigenous to the region.

Once on the valley floor, Kilton walked parallel to the wall for a few yards, parting thickets of bushes and grass with his staff. He stopped before a hollow that formed between soil and the convex wall. Steffor followed Kilton down the semi-open hole and sat down next to him with back leaning against the cool earthen rampart. They sat quiet for several minutes, collecting their thoughts within the peaceful setting.

"The night after your rebirth," Kilton said few moments later, "the Provider came to me in my dreams, as it so often does. The vision disclosed secrets of a Universe beyond my comprehension, exposing fears buried deep in my heart. That fear has infected my thoughts since, hindering my ability to focus on anything else. Now, as I bask in your presence, my faith is restored."

"You honor me but-"

"There is a log in the Mysticnet," Kilton interrupted, "accessible only to The Four, pertinent to your concerns about the races. Given the circumstances of recent events, I wish to share it with you if willing."

"My trust in your wisdom has never wavered but I cannot, for I have lost the ability to sync with the whole."

"Your current dysfunction is not an issue; through the use of my staff I can show you. Do you wish to see?"

"Yes."

"Know this Steffor; the decision to share this piece of history is made on instinct alone. That be as it may, it is far from clear to me as what may come of it. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Good. Stand with me." Steffor stood up, the curved ceiling less than an inch from his head, and faced the earthen wall. Kilton drove the end of his staff into the ground then closed his eyes. He connected Tillamund: Kilton's Mystic equivalent, one of The Four, keeper of the Mysticnet and Master of the Forging Tree. A moment later, a silver beam shot from the knotted end of Kilton's staff, toward the wall a few feet away.

Animated images with grainy edges appeared on the wall, showing an aerial view of the Razum Buttress. The two dimensional projection was a far cry from syncing to the Mysticnet where all the senses are sated with vivid detail, reliving the past experiences of any Citizen as if it were their own.

"A direct link to the Mysticnet would convey the same images," Kilton explained as if reading his thoughts.

"Why?"

"The scenes that follow display the key events that took place during the Razum Massacre, centuries before the first Mystic was to evolve."

"Are you telling me we have had Mysticnet logs of the event all along?"

"While lost to the Mysticnet as we know it, we are connected to the past consciousness of all souls. Tillamund is the first and only Mystic known to the Provider capable of retrieving those faded memories, faint echoes of the few that survived the incident. He compiled those images to create an accurate depiction of the historic event."

"I see," Steffor replied, wondering what other treasures The Four had excavated from the ancient past, undisclosed to the present whole.

"I will recite the legend as you watch if you wish."

"Yes, please do," Steffor said, sensing the answers to his question captured in the space between legend and actual events.

"Prior to the races, we were a simple society, living a hunter-gatherer subsistence on the Provider's largest limb. Scattered clans for several generations, survival in numbers aggregated our people into one large tribe."

As Kilton narrated, the opening scene panned down to encompass the first Razum settlement. Giant fractals, chaotic and unaltered, spiked the fat limb, the large spaces in-between covered by moss, flower and forests of tall shrub, bush and vine. The settlement consisted of simple but efficient huts, storage houses, town centers and markets constructed from leaves, twigs, hides and other natural and available resources. Built at the cliff base of Razum's lowest mesa, their backs were secure and defendable within the cliff's shadow. Multiple streams, originating from the Trunk's run-off down the tiered mesas, interlaced the settlement. The abundant conditions provided plenty of fresh water to support human, plant and other animal life alike.

"As we live with today, the threat of predators were constant. But the mild temperatures, abundant game and edible plants made the location ideal for growth. Soon the settlement stretched for miles across the lush buttress and our numbers grew in accordance to the Provider. Life for us during this prehistoric age was a peaceful one, if not mundane. The arrival of the Deagrons forever ended this tranquil existence."

Kilton's diction soothed Steffor, lost to the steady pace as he watched the moving pictures display the generations of fruitful growth.

"To this day, the word Deagron promotes fear within all of us. Legends of our forefathers tell the Deagrons arrived from the heavens, passengers aboard a blazing white comet." The scene changed, showing the comet flying through the cosmos. It passed countless stars and planets before approaching a small star encircled by six orbital rings. Each ring consisted mostly of ice, rocky debris and dust.

The shot then moved in to ride just above the comet as it raced toward a small planet located within the third ring. The meteor is last seen rushing toward a green forest, before crashing with an awesome white explosion.

"A century would pass after the comet sighting, before our first and fatal encounter with the Deagrons." The images reverted to the Razum Settlement, now bustling with activity and expanding farther down the limb.

"At that time, our ability to travel vertically was limited to simple ropes and ladders. Due to the inherent dangers associated with traveling outside the settlement, the vast majority of the limb remained unexplored. Of the rare excursions that did occur, they were to the edges of the buttress, miles from the protective confines of the settlement. As it is today, Danilkara's thick network of leafy branches prevented viewing much past a half mile below while reduced above by Sofelarus's long canopy. Our understanding of the Provider consisted of the settlement and the large swaths of the heavens displayed within the open horizon."

"Mystic scholars agree, prior to the Deagrons arrival, the Source once flowed within Provider's earth. A stark contrast to the desolated grassland it is today." Images faded from Razum, replaced by lesser quality, more animated images. The scene depicted an oval continent from which the Provider grew. Edged as it was today by a root-mountain range, forests covered the land, teeming with a huge variety of tree species and plant and animal life.

"It is not known how many Deagrons were first to arrive on the comet. Regardless, as evidenced in the chaotic and rapid decimation of the land, they were quick to flourish. Minimal knowledge of the Deagrons remains but all research indicates they existed to feed. The Deagrons fed on anything that pulsated with the Source. Bark, leaf, branch, bough or creatures, all fell victim to the Deagrons insatiable hunger. But humans, to our discovered horror, became their preference."

"After a century of unchecked gorging, their numbers swelled out of control. Their immediate food source depleted, they soon after embarked upon their inevitable migration up the Provider's Trunk." The animation sped up to show a century of decimation over a few seconds. Then the Deagrons, seen as indistinguishable specks, swarmed over the land and began their ascent up the Trunk.

"They devoured all life in their path, leaving nothing but dilapidated sapwood in their wake as they progressed toward the Razum Buttress. For weeks, deafening clacks and buzzes filled the air as the Deagrons approached the settlement." Closer, more vivid images of the settlement reappeared as the hoard of alien creatures closed in from all sides.

"The powerful sound, while not as concentrated as the zapture clap but as debilitating in its volume and frequency, was not the first act of violence to hit the settlement. It was the stench. A nauseating wave of putrefaction clung to everything, causing the eyes to tear in pain and infiltrate all taste and smell. A few days after hearing the first sounds, waves of the hulking creatures converged on the outskirts of Razum."

Kilton's voice hitched with emotion as he struggled to go on. Steffor was awash with emotion, seized by familiar uncertainty whenever he heard the story recited. The disturbing graphics accentuated his empathy.

How would I have measured up under those hopeless conditions? Would I have made a difference? Would my sacrifice have saved enough? Any?

Despite feeling like a hypocrite, he was grateful and proud in that moment to be a Guardian. Gripped by the visceral presage, he sensed the answers he sought were close.

Kilton picked back up his narration, his voice sapped of energy but determined to finish. "Our simple structures and primitive weapons provided us no defense against the Deagrons." Scenes to unfold next showed several brave but pathetic attempts to ward off the advancing beasts. Thick hides deflected arrows and spears with the ease of a giaker trapping a lost child in the jungle. Serrated mandibles and clawed, rangy limbs mowed down the defenders, lashing and snapping with vicious speed and lethal strength.

The ensuing assault was as slow as it was relentless. Many tried to flee but the throng of Deagrons was too dense by that point. Herded toward the high cliff wall, enclosed by razor edged and barbed appendages, the hideous pen captured tens of thousands.

"Amplified by their numbers and proximity, the vile stench and hypersonic clacks soon became a potent concoction. Their relentless advance rendered those closest into convulsive mounds of flesh, wishing for a quick death. And, while it was not quick, death came."

With systematic efficiency, the Deagrons gorged on the comatose fallen. At their leisure, serpentine limbs, housed by black, oil burnished exoskeletons, probed the tangled mass of bodies. The dexterous limbs wrapped around an ankle or wrist with vise-like grip. They would then dangle the twitching bodies in front of jagged maw as protruding barbs, hooks and serrated edges fed on flesh and bone. After each feeding, narrow eye slits glowed purple and grotesque bodies shuddered with pleasure.

"Man was a delicacy the Deagrons appeared to savor with every bite. As the weeks passed, the plight of those on the edges soon became enviable to those packed in the center. Indeed, many of us, laying witness to the slaughter of all they loved too much to bare, chose a spastic coma over painful consciousness."

"According to the Deeds, both time and survival dictate the evolution of man. A few sages existed at the time, grasping the fundamentals of how to live the Certain Way but command of the Source was raw and adolescent. Man shifted the Source out of reaction, not by premeditated design. No one is certain of the exact formula of experiences that triggered the change in Toliver, though, to this date, none have grown tired of debating the subject. But most agree, if he had not, we would not be here today."

The perspective changed to focus on the shrinking perimeter, on a young man standing amongst the convulsed, many of whom must have been his family and closest friends. Eyes shut, face devoid of emotion, a dozen Deagrons within, Toliver stood strong and erect. His arms at his side with feet planted, he confronted his foe with stoic resolve.

At first, no one around Toliver appeared to notice that he showed no ill effects from the repellent sounds or lethal stench. For the majority were resolved to their fate, having grown numb to the surrounding violence. They shut down and ignored the basic receptors tuned to human observation. It was not until those next in line for slaughter that people registered how appendages flinched back in pain when in proximity to Toliver.

Out of instinct, on the verge of falling victim to the Deagrons repellent aura, Armotto, the man standing a few yards behind Toliver, gathered his wife and children and moved to stand next to the rigid youth. As if entering an oasis, the space around Toliver repelled the burst-pulsed clicks and debilitating fetor. Instead, Armotto reported the sensation of fresh air carried by a cool, whistling breeze.

Groups gathered around Toliver as others followed Armotto's example. Without warning, the Deagrons closest to them launched backward with violent force as if shoved by a giant, invisible hand. The scene panned in tight on Toliver, his eyes now wide open and filled with intense purpose. Then, making a T with outstretched arms and clinched fists, he sent another, more powerful wave of Source into the mob of Deagrons. The strange action scattered dozens of the beasts in every direction.

Their haze lifted—figuratively and literally—more and more people moved to bunch tight around Toliver. With systematic determination, Toliver parted the sea of Deagrons and led those willing and able toward freedom.

_The first Source Sphere_ , Steffor reflected, _a raw version of what Guardians practiced today_. Toliver's inability to contain the Source was the primary reason he managed to save the handful of souls that he did. The rest, the vast majority of the human population living amongst the Provider's holy limbs during that fateful age, fell victim to the Deagrons.

Kilton released a long sigh and the projection from his staff ended. Drained, he turned back around and slouched down against the wall. For the first time, Kilton looked old to Steffor.

As Kilton rested, Steffor contemplated the events just witnessed. The Razum Massacre was a story rarely revisited. This was in part due to the complete lack of any Mysticnet images surrounding the event, at least those accessible to the common Citizen. Another part related to the word-of-mouth recital of the event from one generation to the next, relegated to a handful of bard Mystics and Teutons. Steffor concluded the main reason few revisited this crucial event in history—and why The Four have withheld this rendition—was due to the unfathomable anguish experienced by so many. Thousands of seasons later, the emotional wound dealt by the Deagrons to our collective psyche has yet to heal.

"I am grateful you chose to share this with me. And while it reaffirms how and why the races were formed, for me, it shows more of why they still exist," Steffor stated.

"How so?" Kilton asked, his eyes distant and unfocused.

"The few who participated in Toliver's Exodus started to exhibit the traits and skills of the four races soon after." The combination of stressful events, along with Toliver exposing them to shifted Source, awoke the dormant skills in each. Armotto was the next, becoming the first Shifter to emerge, shifting the crude trail up the Trunk that enabled those early survivors to escape.

"Despite our eventual resurgence and lasting victory over our enemy, the trauma inflicted by the Deagrons still persists," Steffor continued, thinking out-loud. "The Deagron age etched scars deep into our souls. Thousands of short, frantic incarnations, desperate to survive and propagate, armed with knowledge that our experience gleamed from the dismal existence, no matter how brief or seemingly insignificant, added to the collective; toward the growth and survival of the next generation, a generation we ourselves would be part of."

A reactive shudder ran down Steffor's tense body as the final pieces started to fall in place. "Our fight to survive spawned the races. But the mechanism that saved us from certain extinction has now become our impediment. The races prevent us from taking the next step in our evolution."

"Impediment? Our advanced existence today is undeniably tied to the races."

"Yes but the drive to survive, triggered by our deep-seated fear of the Deagrons, still exists in our unconsciousness. Despite this need to survive being absent for over a thousand seasons, its pervasive influence still dictates our thoughts, actions and beliefs today."

Steffor's heart raced as his mind moved ahead of his words. He needed the revelation to settle, for the spirit and body to catch up to his calculating brain. Kilton stood back up and placed his hands on Steffor's shoulders. Steffor mirrored the action and looked deeply into the other's eyes.

Foreheads pressed together, they embraced for several minutes. Kilton's earlier fatigue was gone and Steffor sensed a new peace dwelling within his friend. Kilton pulled back, breaking the silence with a statement Steffor would never forget.

"You are destined to be the First Ascendant." Kilton delivered the statement in a flat, neutral tone, as if reciting a popular verse from the Deeds, an irrefutable truism.

Steffor stepped back, fumbling with his reply. "You honor me with your words master but there is little doubt in the world that it is you who will first rejoin the Provider."

Kilton listened to Steffor's protest, a patient smile forming in the corner of his mouth, a soft laughter in his eyes.

He knew nothing would change Kilton's resolve but Steffor protested anyways, irritated by the youthful squeak edging his words. "Your advancements are unparalleled while mine have just begun to grace the Deeds. My path is unclear. How can you make this assertion?"

His thoughts read by his master before he could voice them, Kilton replied in the same level tone. "The Deeds tell us: The answer to every question is within the Self. Every Citizen believes these words but none live them such as you."

Kilton's statement moved Steffor, an inexplicable but welcome validation of his fragile revelation about the four races. With less effort required than he would have thought, he fought the compulsion to deny his importance and chose instead to embrace it. As he did so, he saw a new side of himself mirrored in Kilton's face, the peace one experiences when in the undeniable presence of the Provider.

"Events in your near future will liberate all of us to a higher truth. Stay active. Stay patient. Most of all, trust the Provider to show the way. Know this Steffor; your choices going forward dictate our fate and the fate of worlds yet to come."

Chapter 10

Antone removed his link visor and rubbed his aching temples. The marketing term reviewed and approved by his legal team 'Your ability to learn is limited only by your desire' held new and pertinent meaning. He had widened the pipe as fast as humanly possible. His capacity to learn beyond most, digesting the advanced principles of quantum field theory in a few hours was too tall an order, even for him.

Frustrated, he turned the swivel chair away from Stalling's desk and peered out the glass-paneled north wall of the high-ceiling office. Poised just above the evergreen rainforest surrounding the entire campus, he set his mind free amongst the treetops in effort to calm the tempest stirring in his heart.

He hated to wait on anyone, especially on Stalling. The man left him in a lurch of confusion so often, expecting immediate and complete absorption of the latest developments upon his return.

Who am I kidding? I live for action, and no one produces it better than Stalling. It was filling the time in-between that I hate.

He could have kept busy while he waited. The list of projects, crucial to the operations and expansion of Alterian Enterprises, never seemed to end. From the active recruitment and growth of their human telecommunications network, to the prioritizing of the next suite of educational programs, to the expansive entrainment library, it all needed Antone's seal of approval.

The thought of work relaxed Antone. It evoked a rare smile of satisfaction. He lived for challenges, regardless of the inherent difficulties found in any of them. For Antone, work provided peace from a chaotic world, a sense of control that kept him sane. He was a fixer, taking on the challenges no one else wanted, turning conflict into usable parts for the great A.E. machine. He helped shape and realize a better future.

A minor twinge of panic invaded his thoughts, and he did his best to suppress the lethal emotion. For the "fix" to the biggest challenge A.E. had ever faced continued to elude him. Instinct, backed by years of firsthand experience, told him the Stalling would find a solution. A solution that in all likelihood would require Antone's unique skill set. But not since Stalling Alterian provided him a new lease on life had Antone struggled in his belief that the Universe conspired to make his world a better place.

Anger pushed aside panic and once again strived to consume his thoughts. The familiar emotion had once ruled Antone's life, dictating his impulsive and often violent actions. But that was before Stalling or Janison came into his life.

Born Ecifrican, Antone belonged to the lowest rung of Antium's ancient caste system. His anger originated from the frequent and flagrant injustices dealt by the Drakarleans to his long-conquered race. Stalling provided Antone a means by which to channel that energy toward a bigger cause, a gift he thanked the Universe for every day.

Janison's betrayal had derailed him from that cause, stoking embers of fury long dormant. Overwhelmed by volatile emotions, he was useless in contributing to the process of visualizing a solution, a role he desired beyond words. Janison's deceit made Antone question his core abilities, robbing him of his much-needed semblance of control. The deceitful act had tainted his optimistic vision of the future. Worst of all, it had caused Antone to second-guess core beliefs.

Do not dwell on that which you cannot control, the outcome of the situation and my future relationship with Janison depend on how I react now.

Despite the insightful reminder, rage continued to mount as he retraced Janison's steps over the past year. What made it so damned personal was the painful fact that for any of Janison's plans to work, it required slipping past Antone and his extensive security measures. A feat accomplished by conscious choice to betray hard-earned trust.

Antone's pride in his work was not a secret. Few understood this intimate layer of his persona better than Janison. Where Stalling provided Antone with a life changing opportunity, Janison provided him the guidance to realize it. Janison was the person Antone turned to when his pride flamed his competitive drive and threatened to consume the creative divinity within. Janison taught Antone to trust in a higher power, to alter his perception of control. His friend managed to find love in everything.

Still unsettled, he kept his mind's eye transfixed on the trees within the forest, incapable of discerning the growth of one conifer branch from the other. The elusive vista reminded Antone of how he had changed over such a short period. He retraced all the little miracles that had led him to this moment. The exercise strengthened his confidence. It reminded him that it was his decisions at those crucial junctures creating his current reality, not Janison.

Recharged, Antone discarded his thoughts of vengeance and went back to channeling his energy toward what he could control. Janison's departure meant Antone would have to pick up the slack. To do that, he had to educate himself in Janison's fields of expertise as best as possible in what time remained. He placed his visor back on and restarted the entrainment program. Wasteful thoughts soon dispersed, removed from his mind as the familiar pressure mounted behind his optic nerves. Brainwaves settled between the alpha-theta stages as his synaptic connections hummed with activity. He embraced the enhanced process of learning as his link visor streamed the basic protocols of quantum theory.

Five minutes into the arduous session, Nancy's voice cut over. "Sorry to interrupt, but you asked me to update you on any new developments."

He paused, more grateful for the distraction than he cared to admit. "No worries. What is it?"

"A representative from Archbishop Clortison's cabinet is insisting he meet with Stalling."

"Who is the representative?"

"Cardinal Thortizan."

Stalling had brought Antone up to speed on his brief meeting with Clortison earlier that afternoon. As usual, he understated the outcome when he said, "Things were left incomplete." No doubt about it, Thortizan smelled blood in the water.

"Tell 'em the usual, he's currently occupied and will get back to them according to priority."

"Give me some credit Antone, I've told them that a half a dozen times since Stalling left them the hanging. I think you will want to see today's mass service broadcast."

_What has got her so rattled?_ Capable of making decisions at the highest altitudes, only the big picture issues made it past Stalling's golden gate keeper.

On impulse, Antone switched to the satellite surveillance feed of the campus. Pedestrian traffic across the central park had trickled down to a few dozen people as most had started to clear out for the weekend. He switched his view to the surveillance cameras within each of the facilities and after quick survey of the three dozen buildings, concluded the same. The forty-acre campus would be empty in a few hours.

He panned out for a broader view of the campus, nestled at the edge of the large island's secluded rainforest. Antone followed the main magnarail leading to and from the campus, down the mountain where it fed into the primary bypass surrounding the coastal city of Gestrafa. The city was home to the forty thousand employees and their families stationed at Alterian headquarters. Antone did a quick survey of the gridded street map. He moved from the suburban developments skirting the bypass to the downtown area running parallel to the city's cliff coastline. All looked peaceful as patrons began to fill the plentiful cafes, restaurants and theaters. It seemed to be business as usual in their little utopian corner of the world.

"What's the problem?" he finally replied.

"See for yourself," she said as the left quadrant of his view screen blinked with the link.

As was the case with most church broadcasts, the setting was in the historic temple of Deltoria. Clortison sat in his ornate cathedra. He was dressed in his vestments reserved for formal occasions, flanked by his cabinet in similar attire. Antone fast-forwarded through the forty-five minute liturgical dog and pony show. He stopped as Clortison began his sermon to the thousands sitting in the pews before him and the millions watching from their telipads around the world.

"Rejoice! A new age is upon us!" Clortison's profound statement generated a frenzied mumble within the congregation. With the raised palm of his right hand, he silenced the discord.

"Scripture teaches we are all God's creatures endowed with eternal life. We, God's chosen leaders, desire a culture of life, not death." Clortison paused with a theatrical expression that he washed over both physical and virtual congregation. Nauseated, Antone fought the temptation to hit delete.

Patience Antone, they will know the true meaning of 'culture of life' soon enough.

"Unfortunately, some oppose our divine leadership, setting our beloved institution aside in the name of freedom and autonomy. They claim God's ordained scripture is no longer relevant to our modern era; that man should choose their path, not the one chosen by your creator. Is this what our species considers progress? Is the eternal damnation of millions of souls the next step in our spiritual evolution? This is regression, not conversion to belonging fully to God. Nay, it is a consecration with the Evil One himself!"

This sermon has got a sharper edge compared to their normal defensive posture. Janison's betrayal was a potential momentum shifter and so far, the C.O.S was leveraging it just right.

"We, the church of your eternal salvation, implore all of its followers to embrace the true freedom bestowed by the gospel of our one and only beloved Savior. Presently, I read to you from the book of Leviatus, chapter 3, verses 1-5, 'And I will return unto you. My return marks the dawn of a new age, ushered in by God's chosen. All hail the end of ignorance! Embark on this new journey, confident all false direction will be revealed. Beware of the false prophets, those among you who choose to advance man's agenda over that of God.'"

"Search your hearts and pray for the peaceful deliverance of our destined golden age. Pray the almighty reveals these false prophets to our beloved church. Until we commune again, I will devote body and soul to receive the Lord's holy message. Praise be to Leviatus."

Antone closed the video in disgust. Up to today, Stalling, helped in large part by Antone's conniving mind, had stayed three steps ahead of the C.O.S. All attempts to date by the church to portray Stalling as the bad guy had failed. In part because everything Stalling and A.E. had provided Antium over the past decade has been completely benevolent. It also helps when your adversary's response to each new initiative is both pathetic and predictable.

Of course they resorted to what they did best, throwing their totalitarian weight around in attempt to make the problem go away. But Stalling succeeded day one in avoiding this trap. He did so by scaling wall after wall of bureaucratic bullshit, leveraging the full extent of his in-depth knowledge of Drakarle's quasi-capitalistic society. So long as they played by the rules, the C.O.S., up till now, had to do the same. Before the C.O.S. knew what hit them, there was no stopping the runaway train of Alterian Enterprises.

They can't make laws for something they don't understand. Did Janison provide them enough information to go forward with their hostile takeover? And what of the ultimate mission?

"Contact us. Now!" the voice message attached to the file said. The simple message caused Antone to cringe, recognizing Cardinal Thortizan as the owner of the voice. He forwarded the link and message to Stalling and attached his own that said: "I'll deal with this."

He synced back to Nancy. "Thank you Nancy. As usual, your judgment is spot on. Send the Cardinal a secure address and inform him Stalling will meet with him in five minutes."

"Understood," Nancy replied.

Antone studied the double glass doors located in the middle of the room's west wall. Behind those ebony tinted doors was the "Meditation Chamber". Used for many purposes, meditation was rarely one of them. Antone visualized the room he helped design. He pictured Stalling as he sat in the recliner and applied the latest technological advancement produced by the project.

It was coming up on an hour since Stalling entered the room. Antone figured it would be at least another half hour before he had completed his rendezvous with Janison. He would be exhausted by the effort when he was done and far from being capable or willing to deal with Thortizan for some time after.

Until they discovered a solution to save Muzar, Antone conclude he had to do what he could to keep the C.O.S. from forcing their hand. As valiant as his crash course attempt to learn the science behind the project was, he knew it would do little to help the fast approaching emergency procedure. In this moment, he provided the most value by negotiating with the C.O.S.

I can only hope Stalling will conclude the same.

"The Cardinal has responded and is waiting for Stalling's arrival," Nancy reported.

"Understood," Antone said, taking a deep breath.

This is what you do best, read and react. Keep the vision on the forefront and trust your gut.

Antone opened the address Nancy provided and materialized in the virtual room an instant later. In lieu of the mundane conference room normally reserved for meetings with the C.O.S., Nancy chose the virtual copy of Stalling's office.

Located in the east corner, he sat in a contemporary leather couch facing Cardinal Thortizan sitting across from him in one of identical design. Thortizan was leaned back, his arms stretched across the back of the couch with his feet propped up on the glass coffee table placed between them. He appeared to be enjoying the virtual vista of the rainforest.

He pulled his attention away from the scenic view upon Antone's arrival but remained in the same, casual position. At the sight of Antone, a wave of disgust beyond imitation washed across his face and long body.

"What business do you have here Ecifrican scum? Don't you know there's no trash to be taken out in the virtual world?" Thortizan savored the insult with an evil chuckle as he put his feet to the floor. He then placed elbows on knees and intersected his manicured fingers. Leaning across the table, he pointed his index fingers at Antone's crooked nose. "If your master has any sense, his ass had better materialize in your place in the next few seconds or a bad situation will get much, much worse."

Antone stared into the other's eyes, allowing the silence to fill the room, enjoying the unexpected but welcome boost to his optimism. After a decade of battling his counterpart behind the scenes, he could not have been more pleased with the start of their first 'in person' encounter.

Granted, Antone was leveraging his technological advantage to decipher the true meaning behind Thortizan's words. The virtual tool reflected an internal confidence consistent with the outward. The man's prejudice toward the Ecifrican race meshed into the very fiber of Thortizan's being. All-in-all, the cocksure bigot on the outside mirrored a more disturbing, internal image.

It was respect for Antone as an adversary, revealed by his virtual talent, no matter how begrudged it may be, that filled Antone with satisfaction. Never did the man before him, Antone realized with pride, ever imagine an Ecifrican as more than an indentured servant. Antone relished the reluctant validation bestowed by his enemy a bit longer, prideful of his role in reducing the C.O.S. dynasty to what it was today.

"Stalling Alterian has provided me the full authority to make decisions on his behalf both now and in the future," Antone lied. "He wishes to convey his utmost respect for you and your colleagues and his desire to find an amicable solution to our current conflict."

Thortizan appeared to reflect on Antone's words as he leaned back into the couch in one fluid motion. Dressed in a stunning, argent colored, fitted silk suit, his thin lips formed a cocky smirk as he observed Antone. Younger looking 'in person', Antone figured they were the same age, give or take a year. Thortizan was a prototypical Drakarlean: tall and lean with wide shoulders, thick, jet-black hair that curled in waves at the base of his neck, olive skinned with hazel-green eyes framed by high cheek bones and pointed chin. True to his order, he wore no facial hair but his five o'clock shadow outlined a rich beard.

"This arrangement is unacceptable. We both know this. I mean, really, how do you expect my superiors to take anything that transpires between the two of us seriously?"

Antone leaned back in his own couch, casually crossed his legs and folded his hands around the top of his knee. "How you report to your superiors is not my concern. Frankly, we have reached a point in our dealings with you and those you represent where the returned value has diminished. _Significantly_. Have details surrounding our situation changed? Do you have something new to propose?"

He was grateful Thortizan did not possess the same means to detect emotions. Antone's assessment of the situation dictated the need to bluff early. He remained confident in the decision but his anxiety mounted as he gazed into Thortizan's calculating eyes, uncertain as to how his adversary would respond.

"Antone Lartisent, Alterian Enterprise's poster child! Oh, and let us not forget, author of the 'Manifesto of the Oppressed Ecifrican'. Look at you," Thortizan said, pointing at Antone with open palms and an exaggerated shrug. "You actually believe in the facade Stalling has built around you. So sad. So pathetic. Tell me, is it better to have tasted the life of God's chosen, even if only for the briefest moment? Or to remain ignorant to what can never be, much in how your countryman choose to live. I guess you will learn soon enough."

He's a cool one, I'll give him that. His primal respect keeps his knee jerk revulsion of me in check, preventing his self-centered existence from taking the bait. Let's see what happens when I let the line out a little.

"This must be hard for you," Antone replied, confident his smug smile would relay the truth of his words to follow. "I mean, it's one thing to eat the shit sandwich A.E. has served up to you and your department over the years. But knowing it was delivered by an Ecifrican, well, I don't know how you live with yourself. As we sit here in person, I will admit, the joy of kicking your ass for the past decade has provided more pleasure than I ever imagined."

Antone detected a subtle twitch in Thortizan's right eyebrow before the man turned to face the evergreen vista. "Did you know I am a direct descendant of the Knights Vorenian, Order of St. Vorenius of Drakarle? There are over five thousand of us. We are the purest bloodlines, tracing our family line for thousands of years, all the way back to the Order's formation. Indeed," he continued, turning back to face Antone, "my direct ancestor was none other than our founder and first Grand Master, Sir Bron Thorthauser. Our beloved Apostle Drestan's first born son."

Despite himself, the sound of the name sent a shiver down Antone's back.

"Yes," Thortizan said, enjoying Antone's repulsed response at hearing the name. "You now see how your manifesto's demonic depiction of the great knight would conflict with my own. We, those of us who preserve all the Vorenian Order stood for, uphold Sir Bron 'The Wicked One' Thorthauser as the most holy of champions. The only blemish of his long list of achievements for the Church, in our humble opinions, was the failure in his campaign to extinguish every last Ecifrican from the face of the planet."

Antone's mouth had gone dry as blood pulsed hot along his ears and neck.

Spurred by the Antone's visible rush of anger, Thortizan drove salt into the exposed wound. "You see, my great ancestor recognized your great ancestor's recalcitrant resistance to Drakarle as nothing short of a plague. How could God's Chosen rule the world when there were so many pagans openly opposed to our doctrine? And as you eloquently reminded everyone in your pathetic manifesto, none of the Church's leaders at the time disagreed."

"Ahhh, what glorious times it must have been," Thortizan said, leaning back into his original, relaxed position. His eyes turned up in his skull, half shut, as he imagined that gruesome age. "Think of it, commanding ten legions of the world's most advanced warriors of the day, with one objective: rid the world of the Evil One's spawn. Oh, how I look forward to our ritual meetings when we reenact the canonized butchery of the Ecifrican Crusades. An experience greatly enhanced thanks to your link visors and Auranet I might add." He lifted his hands above shoulders and waved them around the room.

Leaning forward again, looking left, then right, he spoke in a mock whisper. "Between you and me, it's still not enough. As realistic as our setting today may be, we both know deep inside it is not real. Nothing beats the real thing. So every so often, I collect a few Ecifrican servants, you know, the ones relegated to the hazardous labor, the ones no one will miss. A child or two, sick but not so weak they can't give a good chase. A young maiden or two to make the whole 'rape and pillage' bit as authentic as possible."

Thortizan absently wiped a dab of spittle with the back of his hand that had escaped out the side of his crooked sneer.

"A few of my fellow knights do the same and we put the lot together on some isolated island. We even build a few shacks; provide some food, some basic tools, all the trimmings to make it look like an Ecifrican settlement of yesteryear. After week or so, I gather the boys." Without a skip in his cadence, the image of Thortizan's three adolescent sons appeared above the table, a glimmer of pride washing over his face. "My comrades do the same with their scion and we set our camp outside the makeshift settlement. Dressed in our replica armor, armed with our replica weapons—I've taken a preference to the flanged mace, renowned for its proficient violence—we commence with our God given right, nay duty, to rid the world of evil."

He leaned back, as if communing with close acquaintances at the country club. "You cannot imagine how therapeutic the exercise has been for all us. It's the only thing keeping us sane over the centuries as we patiently wait the Savior's second coming; when we can finally finish the job our ancestors started so long ago."

The rush of anger turned into a dull throb at the base of Antone's throat by the time Thortizan finished describing his demented actions. Antone knew, if not for the virtual setting, he would have not had the perseverance to control the impulse to lock his hands around the man's throat and crush the life from his body. On the brink of going berserk on the man as he was, the imposed patience shed light on a much larger and insidious threat. A threat to the vision he swore to stay focused on before engaging this malevolent creature.

Thortizan knew that, despite the formality of signing our terms, they would keep a private record of the meeting. Their use of condemning sound bites, spoken by various cabinet members and high ranking Church officials had been a key intangible used to sway Drakarle's growing liberal sector. All of that incriminating intel combined is but a fraction of what the third highest-ranking cabinet member just confided.

Antone had maintained his cool composure throughout Thortizan's insane soliloquy. Somehow the man across from him saw through the facade, as if he had acquired Antone's technological advantage.

Janison, that sanctimonious son-of-bitch, turned the tables on us. This pious piece of shit no longer fears anything from us.

Worse, and the source of the knot gripping his stomach, unlike Stalling, he had little doubt that Thortizan would deliver the deathblow to his adversary. Antone found a level of respect for Thortizan in that moment. When it came to matters of survival, they were kindred spirits.

Antone glared at Thortizan and considered the subtle implications behind his words. History, written by the victors, described how, one by one, Antium's ancient civilization, outside of Ecifrica, chose assimilation into Drakarle's blue print for society. And why not? Drakarle offered to share their superior technology along with the promise of an open, free trade, world market. All they required in return was the complete and devout acceptance of Drakarle's preordained, divine station as God's chosen people. A small price to pay for those budding societies in exchange for peace.

Of course, that same history omits the occupation of Drakarle's advanced military might in each province prior to any choice being "given". The thought sparked his own jaded prejudices, awakening his natural impulse to fight, to survive. It was time to turn this conversation around and buy them a few precious hours.

"I have often wondered how well the warriors of those other ancient societies fought against your Vorenian Knights," Antone baited. Thortizan looked that of a cat, tired of playing with its food, ready to get down to the business of eating. However, as Antone predicted, the slight raise of his brow in response to the odd statement had peaked his curiosity.

"What of the skirmishes that never got recorded by Drakarle's historian monks. Combat I am certain your order has kept record of in detail. The battles that invariably occurred before and after the leaders of each society accepted Drakarle's tainted partnership. Those powerful minorities of each once proud society, who chose to die free over a life of bondage and servitude. Did they fight as hard as the Ecifricans?"

"After all, history does record some semblance of military prowess by the other races before aligning with Drakarle. Many possessed advanced technology that rivaled your own. For example, the Maltenoise swords sitting in museums for the past two thousand years are said to be sharp enough to cut a two-inch thick titanium rod. Surely the Maltenoise had warriors to match such exquisite craftsmanship."

Thortizan, still lounged in couch, moved his hand across his mouth and chin as he pondered Antone's words. Antone probed the man for any signs of weakness. While Thortizan remained cool and confident, he appeared genuinely intrigued by the subject. But this was no revelation, Antone had dedicated himself over the years learning everything possible about Cardinal Thortizan.

Case in point, he was well aware of the Vorenian Order's not so clandestine meetings. He had studied the graphic virtual reenactments, though he was unaware of and shocked by Thortizan's real life indulgences. Thortizan's pride in his violent heritage and consequential passion for ancient weaponry had been a subject of great interest to Antone. As a result, he was aware of the Cardinal possessing at least two Maltenoise swords for his personal collection.

With a faint nod, Thortizan permitted Antone to continue his thoughts. "But alas, I always come to the same realization whenever I ponder the subject. Unlike our Sidropan and Maltenoise counterparts, we Ecifricans did not fear the heart of our neighbors. Quite the contrary, our budding society was built on the trust of man. That, with conscious practice and determined actions, we would treat others as we desire in kind."

"Unfortunately, my forefathers could not hold out against Drakarle's military machine to realize that philosophy in their lifetime. But the spirit of it perseveres today in people like me. We stand for equality. Alterian Enterprises embodies that vision. We both know there are many among you who share this view and desire true change. Stalling's endeavors have fanned the flames of reform. We welcome and desire a future that includes Drakarle's leadership but to do so, a paradigm shift from the top must occur."

"I implore you Cardinal Thortizan," Antone said with as much respect for the man as he could muster, "let us spend our remaining time mapping out a win-win partnership that we can both take action on in the near future."

Antone patted himself on the back, proud of how well he had tucked his emotions away under such strenuous circumstances. His elation did not last long as he searched Thortizan's aura to read his emotional response. Any shred of respect for Antone keeping his true feelings in check had dissipated. In its place was a storm of rage and hate that startled Antone with both its abruptness and strength.

Somehow, Thortizan's outward response remained calm and level. "Amazing," he whispered, probing Antone as if looking at an alien creature. "The scripture warns us of the Evil One's ability to deceive but you, I will confess, are something beyond my imagination. To think it would live and breathe amongst us in such open blasphemy yet hide its deceit to so many devout using butchered scripture of our one and only Savior. Truly amazing."

Antone detected enough awe in the words to know Thortizan believed what he said.

"Despite all I have to be grateful for in life, I have so often struggled to find my true purpose, God's ultimate intention for my soul. Meeting with you today, I now have clarity on that purpose. The reason I felt driven to harden my heart in preparation for the final battle with the evil yet to come. Evil Incarnate has truly evolved into something only a select few of us in today's soft world are equipped to deal with. Thank you Antone, this exercise today has been most beneficial toward our final preparations."

The genuine gratitude detected in his words sickened Antone.

"Trust me when I tell you this: You will know the fear of God the next time we meet."

Antone swore he saw the devil wink at him from the depths of Thortizan's eye in that moment, right before the man vanished from the room.

Chapter 11

A cool breeze traveled down the valley and with it came a welcome reprieve from the muggy day. Steffor stood at the edge of an elevated fern grove, confident its bountiful fronds concealed his presence. He observed the conclave of Guardians off in the distance, swaying like saplings in the wind. He hummed along with their solemn mantra echoing off the steep valley walls and searched his heart for the courage to join his brethren.

The sun was setting. The ritual's climax was fast approaching. Courage remained aloof.

Throughout the day, Guardians arrived one by one and gathered around the west side of the Forging Tree. None spoke as they moved to their designated spot and joined the others in singing the ancient hymn. Over an hour had passed since the last Guardian arrived and the wide semi-circle of bodies was now three rows thick.

Centered between the semi-circle and Forging Tree were six Guardians, each seated around a uniformed pile of sela gourds. These six had arrived long before anyone else. It was these Guardians, the luminescent gourds illuminating a deep trance on each face, that the rest focused their purpose. One would become the Provider's next Teuton Guardian before night's end. Assuming, Steffor thought with heavy heart, he chose to stay where he stood and not take his rightful place with the other chosen.

A thick paste of guilt clung to his insides, feeling like an apostate hiding in the shadows. Steffor had set many lofty goals to achieve in this lifetime and, prior to the recent turn of events; becoming the youngest Teuton in history was high on the list. Desperation mounted, gripping his mind with self-reproach. Disjunction with the whole, an apathetic attitude toward the four races, it all prevented him from joining in a ceremony he no longer believed.

Steffor escaped deeper into the confines of his mind and reflected on Kilton's recent divination. Since parting, Steffor's lack of doubt in the Teuton's prophecy had grown. The concept of becoming the first Citizen to ascend was intoxicating. Its appeal grew once applied to all the unanswered questions accumulated from both the past and present.

But as the day wore on, the implications behind the new reality sobered his excitement. The noetic walls of reason protecting his ego, maintained and fortified over countless lifetimes, were gone, never to be rebuilt. Intuition told Steffor to fall back and rely on the same simple set of instincts that had led him to this very moment. As he grappled to identify those instincts, the memory of a moment spent with his father reminded him of what mattered most.

It was the last day he would identify himself as a harvest Shifter and the first of many the Deeds would record his name.

## *****

A strapping adolescent, Steffor was already bigger and stronger than many young adults. Yet his station in life remained undetermined.

The kuwani season was at its peak and yet another long day of harvesting the exotic fruit had ended. The fruit's sweet aroma, mixed with pungent sweat, steeped into weathered smocks and worn breeches. Odor from the day's labor hung thick in the air, trapped by the canopy of colossal leaves overhead.

Steffor and his father wended a narrow branch as thoughts of a warm meal and peaceful sleep crept in, motivating weary bodies to forge toward home. Dozens of harvest Shifters—their family, neighbors and closest friends—each worn to the bone and exhausted from the day's labor, joined their commute along adjacent leafstalks; gratification with the day's work displayed on every face and bent back.

By nightfall, the multitude of stalks had merged into one branch, herding them together to form a loose line, two to six abreast. Deep canopy thinned to reveal the sky full of early evening stars and the rise of Ginllats. The day's harvest hovered a few hundred feet above, packed into a large freight car suspended by thick haulage vines. The cylindrical satellite cast a long shadow over their trail. Its silhouette, accentuated by the moon's bright green illumination, trudged along in silence.

They had left for home well before the car started to make its way toward Razum City, having now caught-up and slowly pulling ahead. The young Steffor visualized the burly vine Shifters. He imagined their naked trunks glistening from the coordinated and strenuous movements, shifting the elongated vines over miles of prairie bough. Hours of labor later, they would deliver the kuwani packed car to market that would in turn disperse it around the world.

They all watched the car whisper by overhead. Shameless pride washed across his father's weathered face, Steffor, grimed head to toe and reeking, content with the day but restless in the spirit.

"Why did you and mother choose to settle Maseriah?" Steffor asked as he turned his attention back toward the trail.

"Maseriah chose us, not the other way around."

The ardent glint in his father's eyes, so familiar whenever he spoke of higher powers, stifled Steffor's chortle at the thought of a place having the ability to choose anything, much less a Citizen. Instead, he nodded as if understanding and arched his brow with respect, imploring his father to elaborate.

Taking a long moment to ensure his son devoted all his attention to what he said next, his father continued his story. "Your mother and I, partnered for less than a season, were contributing as novice Shifters, our raw skills relegated to the mundane but important. I, maintenance of Razum's plethora of decks and pavilions, your mother, her budding gift for food put to use as preservative Shifter at the Market. We were active, honing our craft and staying patient. When the call of the Provider came, we would follow without hesitation."

"The sign came from the Mysticnet. Our minds flooded with the images of a young Guardian named Maseriah, safely returning home after being lost and presumed dead for over six months. His disappearance was big news and his return even bigger. We were mesmerized by his tale."

"Maseriah had discovered an uncharted branch while surveying the Constunkeen prairie bough, the very branch we travel today." His father spread his arms wide, turning side to side, to emphasize the novelty. "The branch had avoided detection over the seasons. This was due to how it jutted straight down before spreading outward to mingle just below the bifurcated branches located at the bough's end. His keen Guardian eye followed the camouflaged branch for miles and was elated to discover a thriving complex of unique flora. A young and confident Guardian and a fine Dive competitor to boot, Maseriah chose his path and leaped toward history."

"He admits, looking back at it, to not giving much thought to how he would return. The impulse to explore had overwhelmed him and he was now acting on instinct. Nor did he give much thought to the perilous act of getting down to the secluded branch."

By the tone of his voice and spark in his eye, Steffor sensed his father admired the young Guardian's temerity.

"Maseriah's point of entry was a low cliff found midway in the expansive fork. The path he chose was no less intricate or harrowing than a championship dive chute. With a long free fall to start, drove through copse of stalks and leaves, punching his way through leaf and stem. As broke free of dense foliage, he formed a Source sphere at the last second on a stalk not a half mile from where we stand, no wider than you are long."

Steffor had seen the images and from his young point of view, the success of Maseriah's dive was nothing short of a miracle.

"Safely on the branch, Maseriah set to exploring. Our branch displayed many unique and unseen growth patterns and foliage. After several days, fear began to grip the young Guardian as his search for food, water and a means to return to the prairie bough came up short. By the twenty-eighth day, his provisions gone for over a week, Maseriah collapsed in exhaustion. Lost to the catacomb of stalks, he prepared to pass and join the Provider."

Somaht, their village Mystic, had shown this story to Steffor dozens of times, both with and separate of Maseriah's in-person narration. His father was aware of this fact, having participated in most of the communal recitations. Yet he told the story as if for the first time. Out of respect and partially because he had learned to be patient whenever he asked his father a question, he opted to not vocalize his frustration.

Steffor genuinely wanted to know why his parents chose to live at the end of the Provider's longest and most dangerous limb, so far from the perceived safety of Razum City. Entranced by his father's diction, he could feel the palpable emotion surrounding his father's version of history. It always managed to reveal something new, aspects of the story neither Mystic, nor the man who experienced the events first hand, could evoke.

His father took a long drought from their water gourd. As he mopped his brow with the back of his hand, he passed the gourd over to Steffor. Refreshed, his father continued his story with a renewed gusto. "It was at this moment, his soul closer to the afterlife than the physical, that a rogue kuwani, hidden by its protective leaves, fell from above and landed on the back of Maseriah's head."

Recorded in the Deeds and believed by all as a true miracle, no one more than the Shifters who harvested the fruit appreciated this understatement. No person has ever witnessed the kuwani fruit separate from its stalk without outside intervention since that miraculous day. The fruit's determination to stay connected to the Provider is legendary. Not only will it die on the vine but also refuses to fall until the next season's fruit appears. At which point it dissipated into an almost invisible sheen and floats away.

"Maseriah tore into the meaty flesh and gorged on its sweet nectar. The kuwani's abundant nutrients brought him back to life."

The climax of the story over, his father's spell began to fade. Steffor half listened to rest of the story. His mind wandered as his father described how Maseriah discovered the small stalk. How its elevation permitted the risk of leaping out and up to the small twig growing from Constunkeen's end. The broadcast of his story hit Mysticnet the moment he had crossed the prairie and came into range of a Mystic. The Provider's newest boomtown was born soon after.

All history he had learned since joining the whole as a small child. What he had not learned, the insight his young mind craved the most, was the reason his parents joined the first settlers of Maseriah. A question the Deeds could not answer yet an answer certain to shed more insight than the most important legend recorded.

Either sensing his son losing interest, or feeling he could now answer the original question, the change of his father's tone recaptured Steffor's attention. "As is the case with every heroic act by a Guardian recorded in the Deeds, Maseriah's experience inspired us. But it was not the reason we felt compelled to join the expedition and establish the settlement of Maseriah."

"Similar to most other estuary villages, we built the village of Maseriah near the end of Constunkeen Prairie Bough."

Steffor sighed with impatience as his father rambled on with his didactic lecture.

"Your mother and I, both being born and raised in Razum City, had never traveled outside the city's protective confines. Educated about the prairie bough via Mysticnet, we gave the wilderness little thought up to that moment we witnessed Maseriah's journey. After that, we filled all idle and active time with images of the expansive bough. We studied how the limb varied in altitude according to its distance from Trunk. Many a night we spent testing each other's knowledge of the limb's rich biomes of mosses, giant lichens, fern stands, wild berry bushes. The exotic creatures, both beautiful and terrifying to behold, consumed our thoughts, sleeping and awake."

"As we know, the ends of the prairie bough beckon the harvest Shifter. We are Citizens who risk life to reap the Provider's abundant bounty for others. Our appetite for adventure and connection with nature can never be slaked by the city. But up to that point, I never imagined I was a man cut from such a hearty swath. Maseriah's return changed that view forever."

"How did you know without doubt?" Steffor inquired, exposing his skepticism. "The prairie bough is full of dangers challenging the strongest Guardian. You or mother could have been killed a thousand different ways!" The thought of losing either of them, regardless of the fact they had completed the legendary trek over a century ago, stirred emotions he had made a practice of burying deep.

"Indeed, the journey calling us was perilous. I had little idea of what to expect. There were many times, both during the journey and in the early seasons of settling the village, that I questioned my decision. Almost every day, I fought the impulse to run back to the perceived safety of the city."

His father affirming his fears added to Steffor's confusion.

"One hundred and fifty two set out to retrace Maseriah's path and establish a new settlement. Outside of Somaht and Maseriah, the rest of us were young Shifters all drawn by the same, undeniable force to make the trek. It would be several seasons before a traveling Healer would follow."

With the speed of a summer storm, darkness swept across his father's face. Shadow shrouded the soft frame of his wooly beard and ever-present smile with furtive expression.

"Eighty six rejoined the Provider to start anew before our journey was complete. The giaker claimed many, but it was not the worst beast to stalk us," he recalled, shoulders hunched defensively as he scanned the branch's shadowed wilderness. His father never looked more brave or vulnerable in that moment.

The Deeds recorded the adventures of both Maseriah's discovery of the kuwani and that of the first settlers' ensuing journey. Steffor had accessed Somaht for the images many times over which had strengthened his admiration of his parents, Maseriah, friends and family alike. He still struggled to comprehend why his parents chose to embark on their journey but the concept of a place choosing his parents did not feel so silly anymore.

In classic form, his father was taking the long stem to answer his question. By the time he got there, Steffor had learned something but often forgot the original question that got them on the path in the first place. He was determined to stay on track this time. Something deep inside told him he was on the cusp of enlightenment.

"Our eight day descent down the Trunk transpired without incident. Conditions intensified once we reached the base of Constunkeen. For over ten miles, the limb elevated from the Trunk at a steep angle before leveling off into flat prairie. A thick ivy jungle covered the mountainous region, making the climb more treacherous, reducing our progress to less than a half a mile a day. It took thirty-three days to scale the mountain. In that time, we learned how legend, and the rare images recorded by the Deeds, gave little justice to vicious six legged giaker."

"Masters of stealth, equal parts mammal and reptile, the giaker can lay hidden for days without moving a hair. Every bend in our trail, every grove of innocent appearing bushes, inviting moss patch or tangled vine tunnel was a threat for a giaker attack. Maseriah ferreted out most, charging into any telltale sign of their wicked traps. He had become proficient in identifying their lairs. Dispatching of the creature with powerful punches of the Source, he would stun the beast and launch them far away in the same motion."

"But the prehistoric giaker had survived for a reason. For the dozens of attacks Maseriah thwarted, twenty-seven managed to slip his detection. Twenty-seven died by the giaker's viper fast strike, razor sharp teeth and hooked claws. Too many had to witness a friend or loved one vanish in a blink. The splatter of blood on the surrounding foliage and frantic sounds of struggle as the beast dragged their victims through the underbrush the last to see or hear of them."

"We were a tight knit group by the time we cleared the oppressive jungle, committed to a common cause and determined to go forward. Our spirits rose once we gazed upon the vast prairie. We had faced our fears and survived. Soon we would be feasting on kuwani and building our new home. Or so we thought. Maseriah was quick to temper our optimisms, reminding us we had yet to face the prairie bough's most feared denizen, the zapture."

"Traveling alone the first time, well camouflaged by his Guardian garments, armed with powers of both speed and defense, Maseriah managed to avoid the creature with relative ease. Reminded of our limited skills when it came to both, the open prairie for as far as the eye could see in every direction sobered our excitement."

In recent months, Steffor mustered the courage to access images of the zapture. Since, the creature plagued his dreams. With no natural predators, the zapture thrived on the prairie bough. Adult treledant, staple prey of the zapture, were known to kill hatchings when stumbling onto a nest or trample adults caught in a stampede. However, the giant omnivore killed out of self-preservation, not for food. The bulk of information about the nocturnal zapture stored in the Mysticnet archives came from ultraviolet images recorded by Guardians. These typical and sanitized, but nonetheless gruesome, images depicted a pride of the bipedal, winged beasts. The creatures ripped apart and fought over the mangled body of a treledant or giant sloth.

Steffor tensed up thinking about the zapture. He fought the impulse to ask his father to stop his recital. Instead, spellbound by the moment, having gone too far to turn back now, he grabbed his father's hand and braced for the worst yet to come.

"We traveled by day and hid as best we could by night. Twenty-two days passed without incident. Our trek was almost halfway complete. Despite our vigilant paranoia, we had started to become enchanted by the prairie's open sky, lush moss land and diverse animal life."

"Many times we passed within shifting distance of the enormous treledant herds. By nights end, every camp was infested with fury little kosts. We soon lost track of all the rare birds we saw, heard of but rarely seen in the city. But not once had we spotted the zapture. We had all heard their blood curdling, high-pitched squawk late in the evening off in the distance. Several times we discovered the remnants of their latest kill. Still, the bough was so massive, teeming with abundant, natural prey. We started to believe, thinking to ourselves or whispering to those closest, 'maybe we can make it without ever seeing one'."

"None of us though, had considered how difficult or dangerous it was to hunt and slay an adult treledant, even for a large pride of zapture. We learned this lesson the day we got our first up close look at zapture. Actually, it was three. The smell of their rotting flesh hit us a half a mile before we saw them. They corpses lay in the middle of our trail created by one of the many treledant herds. Covered with thick scales, the bodies remained, for the most part, intact. But flesh and organs were mashed so violently that portions of their bones penetrated the bough's smooth bark."

"Upright, squat legs fitted with oversized talons looked more suited for grabbing and tearing prey than for walking. Three arms projected from the creature's muscular torso. The two double-jointed appendages protruding from the sides were long, double-edged claws ending with a sharp point. The third, growing from its chest, appeared to be a shorter but more maneuverable version of its legs. Leathery wings, spanning over thirty feet, sprouted from taut and sinew backside."

"Incongruent with the rest of the body, the zapture's head was most disturbing aspect of the creature. Long neck supported a massive, cone-shaped skull capped by a pointed crest of bone. A maw large enough to swallow a man whole, housed row after row of fist size teeth. On each side of the broad mouth set black, beady eyes. Upon closer inspection, the lightweight of the oversized skull startled us. We would soon experience firsthand its lethal legerity."

"After that, it was not difficult for any of us to imagine how man, while not a staple part their diet, would be a welcome abatement for the zapture. Once again, remaining undetected became our primary objective. Another five days would pass without incident. Up to that point, Maseriah managed to scout out ideal campsites to conceal our presence: a stand of tall ferns, a grove of lichens or berry bushes sufficed. But on the sixth day after our discovery, our luck ran dry."

"As the sun began to set, we stood surrounded by fields of knee high moss as far as the eye could see in every direction. Maseriah had gone off ahead in one last, desperate attempt to find shelter. As dusk arrived, the zapture's squawk haunted the air. When all felt lost, our Guardian materialized as if from thin air, breathing hard from the sprint he maintained for the last hour. He ordered us to follow."

"Exhausted, famished and scared, we finally reached our campsite for the night: the east side of an elevated knot pond. The plentiful knot ponds and lakes of the prairie typically have a rounded edge, no higher than a few feet. The one we chose for our camp was a good seven feet high with a tapered rim that protruded three to four feet. Not ideal shelter but at least it provided some type of defense from aerial attack."

Steffor, struck by the sudden need of the Guardian's presence, searched for Maseriah's comforting figure. Survey of the canopy above and below and the trail in every direction, all came up empty. It was then that he remembered their Guardian had left earlier to assist Teilken back to the village after he sustained a head injury from a high fall.

His fear abated some as the canopy above cleared and they reached the stairway leading home. Shifted into the branch's steep ascent, the wide stairway led to the outskirts of Maseriah settlement. Created by his father and several other original settlers over a century ago, the stairway was a living testament to the hardships the people of Maseriah overcame.

Steffor stepped onto the first step and, as he always did, read the passage from the Deeds etched on every step. 'The Citizen, who wakes before the sun and labors after it sleeps, truly knows the heart of the Provider'. The verse epitomized the life of a harvest Shifter.

Pursued by its shadow as it moved over the steps, the freight car trudged ahead of them on haulage vines running parallel to the stairway. Steffor looked above, following the length of Constunkeen's colossal underside toward the west. Undetectable to the naked eye, he knew the bough eventually grew into the Trunk. Though, at that time, he had never traveled the prairie bough to see the Trunk firsthand, he had no problem in believing in its existence. For countless images from the Mysticnet confirmed it so.

Conversely, as his eyes traveled along the prairie bough's endless stretch of underbelly, its girth obscuring a third of the night sky, his young mind refused to believe the zapture existed, lurking this night in search of prey. He understood all the Provider's creatures served a purpose but the zapture's role remained a mystery to his young mind.

A few steps into the ascent, comforting lights emanating from the village shined over the staircase horizon to break the darkness above. Close to the top, Maseriah's chiseled form, seen and welcomed by all, descended toward them, the shepherd on his way to see his flock safely home. Soothed by the sight of his hero, Steffor found the courage to listen to the final moments of his father's tale.

"The narrow confines under the lip forced us to spread out and circle halfway around the pond, seeing a dozen neighbors to the left or right. Your mother and I, having recently done our tour of duty at the front and rear, positioned toward the middle. I watched Maseriah take his post within a perimeter of sela gourds moments before conceding to exhaustion and succumbing to a restless sleep."

"Your mother's scream ripped me from my slumber. Still by my side, I was aghast to see blood splattered across her face and torso. She looked over my shoulder, the terror in her eyes freezing her in place. A warm liquid sprayed the back of my tunic followed by the repulsive crunch of bone and flesh. Compelled by something beyond mind and body, I turned around in time to witness the legs of Guinther disappear down a gaping orifice. The zapture stood erect and turned its head to the heavens as intermittent spasms convulsed down the long neck."

"The engorged body of our companion stretched the neck skin into a thin membrane as it forced the meal down deformed throat. Instincts screamed to run while we had the chance but I could not move, hypnotized by the waking nightmare. Then, a sudden jerk of Guinther's arm in a futile attempt to survive stretched the pliable neck. The details of his braided birth bracelet sealed within thin membrane broke the spell and allowed my mind to tell the body to flee."

"I fought the urge to evacuate bowels and vomit at the same time, and managed to stand up. As I pulled your mother along with me, we began to stumble away from the pond's edge toward the surrounding open fields. We had not moved much past the lip when the screams of others began to fill the night. Screams of terror, screams for Maseriah, screams of disbelief, the unfolding scene was beyond our imaginations."

"A dense cloud cover had moved in while we slept and if not for the sela gourds, the grisly scene would have remained hidden to the night. Adjusting to minimal light, my head swiveled in all directions in search of our Guardian. I could not find him among the dozens of dark zapture figures surrounding our pathetic camp. Panic rose as we stood surrounded by a hideous forest of freakish necks bulging with the struggling outline of our friends and loved ones."

"The din of agonizing shrieks and tableau of erect beasts striking ghastly poses of ingestion was overpowered by a lurid sound. None who survived that dreadful night will ever forget that sound. The sensation was akin to, but far from accurate depiction of, standing at or near the point of impact of two hardwood branches crashing at supersonic velocity. As I turned in search of the source, my eyes fell back upon the zapture we had just fled."

"The creature remained erect facing the sky. Guinther's body had moved farther down the beast's neck to lodge at the base. At first, I found a strange consolation in the sight, believing for a fleeting moment that the zapture was choking, having literally bitten off more that it could swallow. My theory appeared validated as I watched its already gaping maw stretch wider. I stood mesmerized, cringing at the thought of seeing Guinther's regurgitated remains splayed before me. Fear mounted as the creature applied more force toward disfiguring its own head."

"I thought the jaw certain to snap off its skull. Instead, the jaws extended farther, reaching all the way back to the pointed crest, effectively turning its head inside out. Without warning and at blurring speed, the jaws snapped shut."

"The intensity of the clap knocked your mother on her back, myself onto knees. The concussion thwarted all efforts to not vomit. Bones, muscle and organs went limp as I kneeled and cupped hands over bleeding ears. It took all I had to remain conscious. When I looked back, the creature still held its gruesome pose but the bulge in its neck had diminished. A new wave of revulsion hit me as I discovered the primary purpose behind the powerful concussion. Altered by the vibrations produced by the ferocious clap of jaws, the once solid outline of Guinther had transformed into a gooey ball of slurry. With a spastic gulp, the bulging neck deflated as the liquid remains disappeared down to its gullet."

"Having devoured its first victim, its appetite far from slaked, the zapture resumed the minatory posture of a lethal hunter. Its wings, previously tucked tight to the body in a protective shell, now spread wide and low, beating the air in short, compact bursts. Stout legs recoiled and prepared to pounce as its talons tapped the ground, craving fresh meat in which to tear. The sword like arms flared out in anticipation prepared to gouge any moving target, while the dexterous middle one darted from side to side. Long neck cocked over its back, poised to strike with lightning speed. An acrid jet of steam, shot from pin hole nostrils and plastered my face. The creature's gaze fell upon your mother and me."

"Dazed as I was, I summoned the strength to stand. Your mother lay motionless, but I thought I detected a slight rise in her chest. In the aftermath, none of the survivors was shocked to learn most of our casualties were the result of the concussive sound waves. I stared at my adversary and relived the choices I made leading up to that moment."

His father stopped climbing steps at that point, letting Steffor travel a few more before tuning his son to face him eye to eye. Steffor had never doubted his father, trusting all he told him. But it was not until that moment, the dark memories of that fateful night mirrored in father's depthless eyes, he truly believed him.

"The muffled moans of others penetrated my deaf ears and broke my brief embrace with nirvana. Memories of Guinther's gruesome end came rushing back, and I became a frightened soul living a human experience once again. Determined to face my end with courage, I decided to charge. My legs buckled, forcing me to stop my fall with outstretched arms. With what strength remained, I pushed myself back up when a sudden pulse of energy from behind shoved me back down."

"To my shameful joy, a new sound of agony and terror filled the night. I looked up in time to witness the zapture slam into the pond's edge, trailed by a black figure flying over me. Bones snapped as its left wing bent back and crumpled to its side from the impact. Maseriah was a black blur as his assiduous assault on the creature came from every angle. I was forced to duck as one of the creatures bladed appendages flew past, spewing a path of blood behind it for another twenty yards before sticking into bark with a hallow plunk."

"He dodged frantic darts of the lethal middle talon toward his head and body. The Guardian then snatched the wrist with his right hand and drove the palm of his left into what passed for an elbow, rending the forearm completely off. It choked down a screech as the neck shot back a blurring counterstrike. The strike hit bark as the Guardian sidestepped, burying head deep into moss. Before it could recoil, Maseriah slammed his boot into the grotesque head. He then pivoted and drove both fists into the exposed torso in one fluid motion. As he stepped away, violet liquid gushed from the mortal punctures. Crammed against the pond edge, legs splayed in unnatural positions, the body twitched a few last times before slumping over in final defeat."

"Confident the beast was dead, heaving from his recent exertion, Maseriah surveyed the battlefield. Never had I revered or feared a soul more at that moment, nor since. The verse from the Deeds, 'Respect and honor the soul chosen to harness the power of a Guardian', held a new and literal meaning."

"Maseriah pulsed with the Source, setting the camp ablaze in an eerie blue light. Conformed like a thick, pliable second skin, his seamless garments covered his entire body in burnished armor. Rounded helm, narrow slits revealing blazing eyes, melded into a gorget form fitted around his neck and face. Smooth pauldrons conformed to massive shoulders and amplified his already prodigious width. Gauntlets and vambraces, the most intimidating feature, protected both arms and hands, tripling the size of his fists, each knuckle custom fit with gnarled spikes. A tight brigandine encapsulated torso and molded cuisses and greaves shielded the lower body while also providing two more blunt weapons to his arsenal."

"Relief washed over me as I followed his gaze around the camp. Slaughtered zapture bodies, and respective body parts, mingled about the camp along with our own dead and wounded. Faced against a foreign foe, equipped with no known defense, the remaining zapture had fled. Maseriah, concluding the same, fell to his knees and wept. Gone was the warrior with deep-seated hate and anger flashing in his eyes, replaced by the sanguine man we all chose to follow. He then stood and bellowed the Guardians' creed for all to hear: 'Thank you Father! I love you! Please forgive me!'"

Both had been watching Maseriah descend the staircase as his father retold the Guardian's heroic deeds in those final moments. Undetectable even by his heightened hearing, Maseriah explained later how a silent aerial attack caught him off guard. Nose-diving from a mile above, three zapture pulled up from the pond's west side and skimmed over its glassy surface at top speed. They flew over our protective lip without the slightest whisper and slammed into Maseriah's backside. Coordinated shrieks in the distance had distracted his attention. Maseriah had slain thirteen and wounded a dozen. Forty-six Citizens perished that night, another thirteen of the wounded the following day.

His father turned Steffor around, his face warm and loving. "Only those willing to risk going too far can discover how far they will go."

Steffor gave his father a solemn nod of understanding and continued to contemplate his words as he went up the staircase. He heard or recited that passage almost daily but only now seemed to recognize it as the answer to the question his mind could not put to words.

Steffor did not fear the zapture. No, the fear that would cause him to bite his lip for endless hours or tie his stomach in knots, was the thought of not being able to protect those he loved in their time of greatest need. Fear of having the soul of a Guardian trapped in the body of harvest Shifter. A wave of gratitude washed over him as he stopped wrestling with his mind's greatest fear and chose to view life in a new light. Unabated, glorious tears began to flow down his face.

A loud snap rippled through the serene night with an explosive intensity. Heads jerked up in unison toward the foreign noise to witness the night sky disappear, replaced by the freight car barreling directly toward them. Stunned outcries filled the night as the giant cylinder crashed nose first into the stairway ahead of them. Steffor felt the Provider moan as the branch bowed from the impact and send people flying backwards in a tangled mass.

He watched the approaching avalanche of people and reacted with newly bestowed instincts. In one casual movement, he turned to his left and leaped over the rail. He then twisted his body to grab the rounded edge with both hands, and used his momentum to swing back over to land on the spot he started. With a quick survey over his shoulder, he knew with a sense beyond his own that, outside of few minor injuries, all were safe, including his father.

With a howling screech of wood grinding on wood, the car, its width just wider than the rail, settled into the groove, picked up speed and raced toward them. His vision locked on Maseriah in the distance, flying toward them at supersonic speed. Steffor knew in that instant the Teuton would be too late. To his horror, he was all that stood between the ones he cared most for in life and certain obliteration.

The residue of gratitude, showered upon him only moments before, was the catalyst that turned horror into an excited anticipation. The Source moved through him like never before as he raised his arms high and wide. The Provider's energy pulsed in his palms, building in mass and power as it stretched his arms farther behind his neck.

Fearful he would lose control, Steffor made a weak attempt to throw his arms forward. His panic rose as his arms continued to stretch backwards as if pulled by invisible cables shifted by the strongest vine Shifters. The car was but yards away from where he stood and yet the summoned energy continued to grow.

"Use the power of your mind Steffor!" His father shouted from behind. Like a mighty hammer blow, the assured voice dissolved the clutter of frantic thoughts. In doing so, it forever removed the veil that once obscured the Guardian hidden deep within.

Body diverged from mind and hands sliced down with alarming force, clapping a blue ball of Source formed before his chest. Channeled into a tight beam, the Source shot from the pulsating ball and slammed into the rushing car. A deep pitched, explosive wave ricocheted off cylinder and launched it in the opposite direction. The projectile blurred past Ginllats, remnants of the Source trailing behind like burnt fuel.

The car pierced the bough's thick bark and buried deep into sapwood. The rounded end the only visible trace where it remains exposed to this day for all who travel the hallowed stairs to see. A monument to the Provider's most heralded Guardian, commemorating the first of many heroic deeds yet to pass.

Chapter 12

Stalling emerged from the meditation chamber exhausted. He looked outside and noticed with alarm the sun slipping behind the tree line. _Sunset already? I guess that makes sense, he rationalized, doing the math in his head. It just doesn't leave us much time to get our arms around what must be done next._

He turned to his left and located Antone waiting for him in the corner lounge. He walked over, his legs buckling several times, and flopped down onto the couch opposite to him. Antone leaned forward, poured a tall glass of chilled water and handed it Stalling. He took the glass without comment and pounded it with one trip to the lips then leaned back and rubbed his temples with the palm of his hands.

"Damn, that hurt," he said.

"Well, you knew going into it the technology was far from honed," Antone replied, tongue-in-cheek. "We have people to test these things you know."

"Desperate times...." Stalling said dryly, in no mood for humor.

In his typical Ecifrican manner, Antone cut to the chase, asking, "So, you found the traitor?"

Stalling brought his hands down to his lap and scowled. Antone held his ground, unapologetic. "Janison is not, nor will he ever be a traitor. He still plays a vital role."

His strength returning, Stalling got up and walked over to the kitchenette located behind the couch. He reached into the refrigerator, grabbed a protein drink and started to shake it. He stood in silence for several minutes, absently shaking, watching the sun disappear behind the mighty firs.

"The impact of Janison's actions is far from clear or over," he added, saying more to himself than Antone.

With that, he twisted the cap, consumed the drink in three gulps, chucked the plastic bottle in the small bin and sat back down on the couch. Recharged, Stalling faced Antone.

"Janison will arrive by magnarail in two hours."

"Two hours," Antone said, pondering the implications behind the travel time. "He didn't even bother to leave the province? Hell, did he even want to hide? Don't tell me, let me guess, he was holed up in some cabin, somewhere on the outskirts of Hashler National Forest maybe. How predictable."

"Where he chose to spend his solitude doesn't matter." Stalling replied, disturbed by Antone's accurate intuition and blatant contempt toward Janison. "He chose to come back and see this through. That is all that matters."

"What matters, meaning no disrespect, is that Janison chose to download every file related to any proprietary technology or system this company has produced over the past twenty years. He then hand delivered them to the people who not only have the desire to destroy us, but possess the power to do so. And you want me to welcome him back with open arms?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I am telling you," Stalling stated, regretting in that moment not consulting with Antone beforehand.

Antone's response to the situation was consistent with his character, traits Stalling had come to rely on over the years. Yes, Antone's free license to be candid could have a biting edge at times. Yes, his headstrong, Ecifrican view of justice could hamper one's ability to "forgive and forget". Yes, Antone was the most loyal and resourceful ally Stalling had ever known.

"Understood," Antone responded, turning his dejected face to a spot on top of his polished boot resting across his knee. He and Janison will have the opportunity to settle their issues in due time but first things first, Stalling concluded. He studied his friend for the first time since meeting with Janison. _So solemn, something else bothers him. What has happened in my absence?_

"Any other updates?"

"Yes, as matter of fact, there is," Antone said, placing a link visor in the middle of the table. He hit a button on the side then leaned back into the couch with a determined grimace. Stalling watched the holographic video of Bishop Clortison's insinuating sermon.

"I did not foresee their use of scripture like that to compound the situation. Very clever," Stalling admitted, wondering for the first time if they were aware of their true motives.

"It gets worse," Antone said, timing his nod at the projection as it segued to the recording of him and Thortizan's conversation.

Stalling watched the exchange between Antone and Thortizan in silence. He waited several more minutes once finished before saying: "It appears we have lost our grip on the dragon's tail."

"Aye," Antone said, nodding in agreement.

"Let's boil the situation down to its essence," Stalling said, leaning forward. "To date, their government sanctioned strategy to obtain complete control of the company has been thwarted due to the very real need for our compliance. Without it, control of the company's assets means little to them if they cannot maintain the Auranet and entrainment platform."

"I have never put it past them to destroy it all together over letting us continue to leverage both for our own objectives," Antone added.

"True, but that predictable, desperate move is a non-issue, assuming we complete our final step. The root of it all boils down to this question: How does the latest development change anything? Assuming we are successful in salvaging the project in the coming hours and fulfill its ultimate mission, can any of the information they obtained from Janison be used to stop us between now and then?"

"The analytical side of me says no. But, my gut tells me Thortizan has a plan, the wheels of which are already in motion."

Stalling had read Antone's detailed reports on Thortizan. The more Antone knocked heads with Thortizan and his department over the years, the more the Cardinal became the symbolic face of their adversary. Publicly, his order was responsible for pushing forward any agenda the church believed was in the divine interest of society, some made public but most not.

In reality, Thortizan dealt in pain, supplying Antium's addiction to the pervasive illusion of drama. Over the centuries, Thortizan and his predecessors perpetuated this paralysis on society. They did so with the relentless enforcement of the Church of Salvation's fixed, "faith" based worldview.

The medium of choice was fear, fear of economic instability, social disgrace, Ecifrican uprising, lethal disease or of natural, and some not so natural, disasters. Or their contemporary favorite, fear of imprisonment at Blacadoma Caverns. The means did not matter so long as man remained in competition with his neighbor. Eternal salvation delivered from the one and only true God was the lynchpin sustaining their static institution indefinitely.

Stalling concluded long ago, negating Drakarle's media triopoly was the key to creating true reform. For the past two centuries, control of the media enabled them to grow and maintain their orchestrated web of deception.

"It was their hubris that allowed us, right underneath their noses, to construct the very weapon that will lead to their ultimate demise," Stalling reminded Antone. "Despite their recent insight, I believe that handicap of arrogance will continue to prevent them from ever stopping us. It's too late; their day has come and gone."

"We are all challenged in ways we never imagined. To prevail, for the betterment of all, we must rise above and defeat our ego." Antone nodded in agreement but the brooding look on his face and stiff posture said otherwise.

"I believe this to be true, because I know Antone Lartisent will not tolerate any other outcome," Stalling added with a genuine smile. The statement professing his confidence in his friend had the effect he had hoped for, penetrating, if only for a moment, Antone's fortified emotional guard, as his friend looked up and returned his own confident smile.

## *****

Stalling noted the car decelerate moments before it came to a gentle stop. At first, fearful of people perceiving him as a hypocrite, he balked at the idea of constructing a private rail between his office and home. The mission of Alterian Enterprises was to provide equal privileges and quality of life for every person on Antium. How could he flaunt such luxury when so many could not even begin to imagine such privilege?

But it was hard to argue with Antone's reasoning. Propwing, while taking only a few minutes longer, was a security risk just not worth taking anymore. He was relentless in his defense of the expense. "Too many of the Church's adversaries have died in accidents. The statistics are appalling." He would remind Stalling of this reality with relentless frequency.

In the end, Stalling deferred to Antone the first of many major decisions he would place in the man's hands, recognizing his instinct as more than just being paranoid. Not to mention, the statistics of lethal accidents for those who opposed, open or discreet, any facet of the C.O.S. rule for the past century truly was staggering. They had never faced opposition like Stalling and none would deny his "accidental" death as an ideal solution to solve growing conflict.

The prospect of getting more out each day appeased the philanthropist in Stalling and helped him align the expense with his ultimate objective. He reminded himself daily, once they realized their mission, everyone could experience the same privilege if so desired.

Not until eight years ago, when he and Lorissa hit a major rough patch in their relationship, did he discover the true value in his ability to arrive at his home in sixty seconds. Stalling shivered at the memory, recalling how close he had come to pushing away the most important person in his life. Without Lorissa, none of it matters.

A soft hiss filled the air-compressed cabin accompanied by the assured hum of hydraulics as the car's double doors parted. He walked down the short hallway, through another set of double doors and entered his home.

Built upon a granite cliff overlooking the Baltif Ocean, his home was comprised of three levels. The magnarail station was located in the east corner of the second level. With fifteen-foot high ceilings, the open space was tiered off into three living spaces that ascended east to west. Two masculine titanium columns demarcated each tier while dividing the glass paneled north wall into three equal sections.

Stalling walked over to the large hearth carved into the east wall and turned his back to the fire. As his backside warmed, he looked about the comfortable lower room and allowed the creature comforts to ease his mind. The light from the fire made the comfortable room inviting. A dimmed chandelier centered in the gourmet kitchen located in the far side of the upper west room added comfort and, presently, the only other source of light.

Denoted as "his room", Stalling had done little in the way of decorating the comfortable den. Lorissa knew what he liked better than he did himself. Sure, the mantle housed a few keepsakes he had collected from his travels over the years. The brass sculpture of two intertwined dragons, resting on the rustic coffee table centered in the room, was his favorite contribution. The debate if in battle to the death or the throws of deep passion, a topic of conversation with guests that never ceased to get old. The rest was all Lorissa: the elegant, handcrafted rugs, furniture, tables and antique lamps, a pleasing blend of brass, rich hardwood and supple leather accented by an array of burgundy, black and beige.

He fought the compulsion to head upstairs and find his wife. Granted, his time was limited. He had an hour, tops, before he had to get back and prepare. With all that had happened today, and all that had yet to occur, Stalling's need for Lorissa had never been stronger. Still, he delayed for a few more minutes.

Honesty was the one component key to the success of his relationship with Lorissa. Honesty with each other was never hard. In fact, the indisputable trust in the other, experienced in their very first encounter, was the foundation they had built a beautiful and meaningful relationship upon for the past two decades. Honesty with himself, that was the substance determining the growth of their relationship. There was no hiding their true, innermost feelings from each other. It was when he stopped arguing with her innate ability to read his heart and instead embrace it, that their relationship truly began to evolve.

Stalling gazed upon the ocean, his thoughts lost within approaching waves reflected in the early moonlight. _I know enough about myself to recognize this twisting stitch in my chest is the physical byproduct of not being honest. Lorissa will help me sound out rest._

Acknowledging that fact will have to suffice, Stalling concluded as he crossed the room. He went up the three steps separating the den from the middle room; the dining room more often than not doubled as a conference room. Turning toward the polished granite staircase carved into the middle of the southern wall, he walked parallel to the high back leather chairs placed along the long, mahogany table centered in the room.

Focused on finding Lorissa, he almost missed the small bucket filled with ice and an assortment of his favorite ales placed at the end of the table. He gauged by the beads of sweat around the bucket and ring of water at the bottom, it had been set out about an hour or so ago.

How did she know I would come home?

He had made the decision only moments ago, forcing a reluctant Antone to take a few minutes to recharge. "We won't be home this weekend and once we complete the final step in our mission, nothing will be the same. Marlene worries about you enough. Give her the peace of mind she needs. But more important, take a moment to remind yourself why you have made so many sacrifices over the years."

While the dynamics of their respective relationships were different, the advice he gave Antone was just as applicable to him. Stalling's purpose came into focus the moment Lorissa entered his life. Her impact on his life was a menagerie of intangibles that Stalling stopped trying to label and compartmentalize a long time ago. Their connection spanned countless lifetimes, the details behind the role each played for the other long forgotten and immaterial to the present. _What matters_ , Stalling thought while gazing at the glistening bucket, _is the growth of that connection_.

He grabbed a bottle, twisted the cap off, and took a long swig. Never one to imbibe, drawn more to quality over quantity, the protein shake the only meal that afternoon, Stalling's edge dulled as the cold beverage slid down his throat and coated his empty gut. Feeling the weight of the world a little less, Stalling went up the steps in search of Lorissa.

Stalling entered the greenhouse and searched for her along the main path dividing the rectangular structure. Stifled by the pervasive humidity, he shed his light sweater as he walked down the wide path, looking left to right at each intersecting sub path. Halfway down the acre long enclosure, he paused and peered at the double doors located at the end of the path. He wondered if his industrious wife would be out in the arboretum this late in the evening.

Wiping his brow, moist with fresh perspiration, he tried not to worry about the potential of losing what little time he had searching for Lorissa in the small forest. A place she fondly reminded him was an arboretum full of Antium's rarest species of tree, bush and plant. The sudden appreciation for the dramatic change in climate within the greenhouse helped to ease his concerns. It had been a long winter. Spring was late in coming and Stalling, his demanding schedule reaching new heights over the past four months, had neglected his need to be one with nature for too long.

The tropical temperatures generated by the greenhouse stirred his somatic senses, giving rise to lethargic pleasures. Combined with a flux of alien aromas invading his nostrils, along with the strong ale sitting on his empty stomach, Stalling enjoyed the high for what it was.

The sound of pottery shattering against the fine graveled flooring of the greenhouse, followed by a "Damn it!" come from his far left just ahead. He Trotted up to the next intersection and looked down the narrow path, finding Lorissa at the far end. Her back to him, she squatted on one leg with the other extended to the side as she shoveled top soil with both hands into a small cart.

Stalling started down the path in haste. As he did so, he watched his wife work, neither concealing nor announcing his approach. Sweat stained her white tank top, spanning the width of her shoulders, tapering down to the small of her back. Snug, cut just above the thigh, khaki shorts smeared with a myriad of dirt shades, accentuated toned legs, shaped by countless hours of similar labor. She had salvaged what top soil she could from the broken pot splayed in multiple pieces along the path at her feet. As she stood up and wiped her forehead with the back of her worn glove, she turned to study a set of tall plants to her left.

Elation at seeing the soft contours of Lorissa's profile quickly replaced the disappointment in losing his ideal vantage of her attractive backside. Smooth, tawny skin of her exposed chest glistened with sweat. Unruly, shoulder length, brunette curls and bangs extended past almond shaped, hazel eyes and cropped a long oval face with sharp cheeks and petite nose. Stalling's breath snagged in his throat at the sight of her pearl white teeth delicately biting a plump lower lip. The image brought forth, with vivid detail, the memory of their first encounter.

Over twenty years later and I am more attracted to her now than I was then.

He sighed with delight, louder than he had intended, breaking her concentration on the plants. She turned at the sound, placed fists on hips with a dainty stomp of her right work-boot. "How long have you been there?" she asked with a mock pout.

"Long enough to see you have been hard at work today," he replied with his own mock disdain.

She smiled, studying him for a moment. _She reads me like an open book_ , Stalling thought as the intelligent stare probed his heart.

"Come help me pot this," she said, grasping the tall branches of one of the plants near its top. Stalling walked over without question and put his arms around the earthy root ball.

"On three...one, two, three!" Heavier than he anticipated, his under shirt was more brown than white by the time they lifted the plant and placed it in the large, clay pot next to her cart.

"Thank you honey," she said with a satisfied smile, placing gloved hands on his chest and planting a quick but wet kiss on his lips.

"Based off your messages earlier in the day, I wasn't sure if you would make it home today," she said, turning back to the plant. She began to shovel the recently recovered top soil in the cart on top of newly potted bush.

"I made the time," he said, upset by the irritation etched in his voice.

If there was one person who was more driven or passionate about their work than Stalling—and arguably more successful—it was Lorissa. The trait made her both irresistible and insanely frustrating. Lorissa was the world's most renowned botanist. Her research over the past quarter century, cured dozens of deadly diseases and discovered several renewable natural resources. The demand for an internship at Alterian Labs grew by the minute. Everyday, a constant flurry of activity occurred in and around the greenhouse, arboretum and adjacent lab.

Her success has also helped, indirectly at least, at keeping the C.O.S. at bay. Driven by the desire to end all human suffering, Alterian Labs had remained a non-profit since its inception. The revolving door of interns, while thoroughly screened by Antone's department, were invariably future servants of the church or employees of one of its many owned businesses. The work published out of Alterian Labs was free to the world to use and apply as they saw fit. And thanks in large part to A.E.'s Auranet, vast entrainment library and link visor, the innovations of Alterian Labs reached everyone, not just the Drakarlean elite.

"I don't recognize this species," Stalling commented in attempt to pop the pregnant pause. "Working on another cure with this one?"

"Actually, no. This is a Rynbios Shrub. It thrives in a small coastal belt, no wider than ten to fifteen miles, off the southern cape of Matenoise."

"Interesting," Stalling said, looking up and down the plant with feigned interest. _Trying to change the world as we know it, the climax of which is only hours away. Doesn't she know I have bigger concerns on my mind than the origins of some bush!_

She continued with her soil transplant, showing no outward detection of Stalling's false interest in her improvised lecture. "It accounts for half the surface area of the region and 80% of the plant varieties. This one," nodding to the potted bush as she stepped back and brushed her hands on her shorts, "is a vibrant species that grows in the western region."

"So what makes it so special," Stalling inquired with a hint of genuine interest.

"Well, for one thing, a new intern of mine—who happens to hail from the region—has created a phenotype of this particular species that is capable of growing in ninety percent of the world."

"To what end," Stalling asked, seeing no obvious fruit baring characteristics.

"Its inherent value is found in the unique plasticity of its strong branches. With the proper engineering and biochemistry applied, these pliable branches could be manipulated to perform many of the functions now used by lumber or even stone and steel."

"Like the foundation and walls of a house," Stalling surmised.

"Exactly. You should see the "hut" a group of my interns have created on the outskirts or our arboretum. It's very habitable," she said with a satisfied smile, admiring her husband's deductive skills.

She stepped to him, absently flicking a piece of leaf and dried-up stem from his shirt before gently placing her hands on his chest. "None of which would have been possible, at least in this lifetime, if it were not for Stalling Alterian."

"Oh really. And how is that so," he asked, placing his hands on her hips, giddy by the sudden gift of her attention.

"My intern is a sixty-eight year old retired gardener. She dreamed of one day living out her final years in a home constructed from the living organisms she tended to for the bulk of her adult life. Within a year of her retirement, thanks to your inventions, she empowered herself with the knowledge that has enabled her dream to be realized. Your dream, Stalling Alterian, helps realize the dreams of others every day."

Lorissa's grateful smile evaporated the remnants of the stitch twisting in Stalling's chest. Yes, his greatest desire was to evolve man's ability to dream, to have no limits on the collective imagination. But, he realized by the thump of his heart and tingling sensation rushing through his body as Lorissa pressed closer, he would have done it all for her.

Fulfilling her dream fulfills my own.

"What's on your mind," she asked, sinking her head into his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"It doesn't seem to matter anymore," he replied, holding her closer.

"I sense a deep-seated fear in you," she said, continuing to probe his heart. "What has the unflappable Stalling so scared?"

Stalling, gently resting his chin on her thick curls, inhaled her scent deep into his lungs and released the long breath out his nostrils. "I fear the far reaching collateral damage that may be caused by my mistakes, the least of which the death of our dear friend Muzar."

"Muzar chose to die long ago. You provided him a chance to right his soul and he gratefully took it," she replied. "We all knew, especially Muzar, that his return to us would change everything."

"But what if I was wrong, what if I altered that which should never be influenced by man?" Stalling asked with a quiver in his voice.

"Questions you have asked from the beginning, the answers to which we all agreed to honor when if they were revealed. Have you been provided the answers?"

"No," he replied. "But I sense they are fast approaching."

"Then let us deal with them when they do," she answered with contagious optimism. "This is not the time to second guess all the good that has come from Muzar's sacrifice, nor doubt the continued benevolence of his return. Not now, when you are so close."

"It will be a glorious age," Stalling sobbed, the tears freely flowing down his face now.

"Yes, it will indeed," Lorissa said with certainty.

They stayed locked in each other's arms for several silent minutes. About the time Stalling started to become aware of the sensual moisture forming between their bodies, Lorissa leaned back with a seductive smile.

"You're filthy," she said. "It just will not do sending you back in this state. Do still have time for a shower?" Without waiting for his reply, she locked her fingers with his and led him back home.

Chapter 13

Calivera sat atop the valley's southern ridge and gazed down at the sela cairn flickering like a distant star. It had been hours since the last Guardian arrived and joined the saltation around the Forging Tree. Wrapped in caped garments, their cadent sway bent the gourd's teal rays and captivated the mind. Weltered in regret since parting with Steffor, the longer she studied the faint glimmer the more it became the end of a long tunnel. A destination that beckoned her presence but a place she feared would never be reached.

"Will you join us in meditation this hallowed evening Healer," the soothing voice inquired, respectful in its insistence.

Without turning to face the voice, Calivera's flat reply startled her more than it did the Mystic, "Thank you, but no, I will not be joining you in tonight's vigil."

The deliberate silence that ensued was painful as the reality of her words edged deeper. After an impossibly long pause, the Mystic finally replied. "The unity of all Citizens is required if the Provider is to choose a new Teuton."

Despite the comforting tone, Calivera detected fear in the voice. She could no longer live with the thought of hurting another. The look in Steffor's eyes after she drove her vindictive "It is why I fear you" spike through his exposed heart was enough pain to inflict on another for a lifetime.

So she sat, determined to wait for her love to return. All that mattered was reuniting with Steffor in hopes it was not too late to mend the damage she had done. To do otherwise was to lose her already tentative grip on sanity. Until the Mystic approached, she gave no thought to participating in the meditation services.

She wiped tears off her raw cheek with a damp cloak sleeve and turned to face the woman. "My spirit is not pure Mother Mystic. I fear my presence will only disrupt the ceremony, or worse."

Disposed to empathy beyond measure, the Mystic simply spread her arms and beckoned Calivera's embrace. True to her race, the Mystic's presence was spellbinding. Pearl white robes radiated soft hues of green, blue and pink. Embroidered with varying flora along her hood, sleeves and hem, the designs shifted with her fluid movement. She embodied the Source and nourished the psyche. Solace from the sight rushed a current of hope through Calivera and drew her toward the Mystic with such force she bloodied her lip on the stout shoulder. Protected now by the Mystic's therapeutic aura, her body convulsed with a cleansing effusion.

The Mystic rubbed her back and spoke in a soothing voice. "Our deepest need is the need to overcome our separateness. Share your burden with me child and the Provider will destroy your aloneness."

Still locked in the loving embrace, Calivera pulled up to face the Mystic. "I cannot. For the betterment of the whole, I must carry this alone until my love returns. He is the only one who can truly understand..." She knew her plea for privacy would fall short. The moment she yielded to the emotional healing, she had committed to sharing her experience.

In the end, all truth is revealed to our Mystics.

The Mystic removed her hood and probed Calivera's face. Shrouded by auburn tresses highlighted by the occasional gray, her face was handsome. Her smile conveyed love but Calivera sensed deep concern creased in its corners. She tried to avoid looking into the clairvoyant eyes; absent of pupils, the pools of liquid light contained in each orb summoned her deepest secrets to the surface. It did not matter anymore. For selfish reasons alone, Calivera had to share her story with someone. Anyone to make it real, not some depraved side of her imagination unleashed to terrorize her mind.

The Mystic placed her hands on the side of Calivera's head and gently pressed their foreheads together. "Show me child. Show me what grips your heart and mind in darkness." The Mystic assumed control of Calivera's mind and shoved her ego aside. Calivera panicked as she realized her capitulation to the Mystic also revealed her unique powers and how she had used them to save Steffor.

"Wait...you should not...it is not safe..."

"Relax child. The Provider will protect you. We must become nothing to become everything."

A passenger within her own mind, Calivera tensed in anticipation. She was now helpless to hold back the super conscious state veiling the spiritual passageways known to her alone, that which she had fought her entire life to keep hidden.

"What have we here," the Mystic said within her mind. She gravitated toward the moment three days prior when Calivera awoke lying on top of the table with her forehead, nose and lips pressed to Steffor's. The Mystic shifted the Source and zeroed in on the memory. In doing so, Calivera recalled, with vivid detail, the steady pattern of Steffor's breath caressing her upper lip. Of how quickly her Healer's impulse to heal flesh and bone brushed aside the already rapidly fading memories of what had just transpired between the two of them.

"Let us learn from what you have experienced." Like a deft locksmith, the Mystic snatched those suppressed memories and forced them to the forefront of Calivera's consciousness. In doing so, she unwittingly unlocked a portal to an alien dimension. Beyond the virtual doorway sprawled an astral plane immeasurable by the physical mind. The transcendent vortex of raw energy sucked them in, ripping them away from the Provider's placid cove.

"This cannot be!" the Mystic screamed, her terror raw and exposed. "Life is eternal. The Provider is eternal. Where are you Father?"

Calivera empathized, knowing she had shouted similar cries of despair to no avail. Then, when neither believed they would survive the smothering existence, a brilliant whiteness appeared; a euphoric freedom that came from everywhere, contained only by the limits of understanding.

The Mystic jerked her head back from Calivera. They had returned. Relieved by the immediate and palpable reconnection to the Provider, an inner peace, absent before, washed over and calmed her senses. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she turned to praise the Mystic.

The light in the Mystic's eyes, vibrant and full of the Source moments before, were dim with only the faintest spark of life. Her body sagged, and she swayed as if about to faint. Calivera grabbed hold of her arms to support and instinctually probed with her power. The Mystic's soul was cold and distant.

"Help me child," the Mystic cried from the depths of her mind. "I am lost...your light is fading...." The words trailed off as if sinking down a deep well. "Hurry! We must reach Steffor before he syncs back to the whole. Without you, there can be no salvation."

"I am coming mother Mystic!" The purpose of her unique powers now revealed, Calivera propelled forward into the unknown with the freedom of one who has no choice to do otherwise.

## *****

Ginllats canvassed the valley floor with its soothing, milk-green spotlight. Volume and intensity of the Guardian's mantra had reached a climax as the harmonic blend of tenor and baritone vibrated deep within Steffor's sternum. Memories of when he first discovered his Guardian powers had fortified Steffor's confidence. Empowered by Kilton's keen insight, Steffor had found a new purpose and with it, the courage to forge ahead. Compelled by a divine interdependence, Steffor stepped out from his sanctuary and approached the Forging Ceremony with renewed hope.

"I began to wonder if you would ever decide to join us," said a husky voice from the very spot he had just left.

Steffor halted in mid stride and then slowly turned back around to see the face of Vejax floating bodiless above the fronds. His broad mouth quivered, then creased with a cocky smile, the joy in surprising a fellow Guardian too much to contain. A second later, the rest of Vejax materialized as he stepped forward to stand before Steffor.

Impressive as it was for garments to camouflage a Guardian in any setting, they were not immune to the heightened senses of another Guardian. If needed, Steffor could smell Vejax a half a mile away.

Reading his thoughts, Vejax's smug eyes darted to the top of his shoulder high staff and the blue crystal within gave a quick wink of intense blue light. "One of the rare skills bestowed by the Provider the day I became Teuton."

"And an impressive skill it is. Can all Teutons cloak themselves in this manner?"

"While I have not surveyed all of them, I have learned enough to know I share this trait with only a few. The stronger we grow, the more specialized our talents become."

"Such is the mystery of the Provider," Steffor replied.

"Such is the mystery of the Provider," Vejax echoed, intently searching Steffor's eyes.

Unlike his reunion with Kilton, Vejax never appeared to lock on familiar ground. "You look well Steffor. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, one would never guess you had died," Vejax said, looking Steffor up and down. His attempt at making the statement sound light failed against the brevity of the subject, leaving it to fall flat.

There will be no easygoing banter today.

"The body is well," Steffor said, spreading his arms with palms open, "but my resurrection has left the spirit...wanting. As I imagine you have assessed while observing me over the past few hours, my thoughts have been clouded with doubt."

Vejax stepped closer and put a hand on Steffor's shoulder. "What lies within you is all that ever matters, Steffor. Do you still love the divine energy within you, which is you, which is the Provider?"

"Yes, my belief in the Provider has never been stronger," Steffor said with conviction.

"Then why do you no longer commune with the whole? Why do you not embrace the Source? Is not everything done to you in accordance to your beliefs?" Vejax, a look of vindication captured on his face, turned toward the valley's northern wall. He then gestured for Steffor to follow, not waiting for or appearing to want an answer.

Steffor followed, concluding Vejax's appearance at this crucial juncture, no matter how covert or contentious, was a good omen. The ceremony could wait a little longer.

They walked in step up the gradual incline, skirting the ring of Guardians, toward the opposite side of the Forging Tree.

A few strides later, incline became steep wall with no discernable path shifted into its side, requiring them to climb vertically. Mid-way up, Vejax came to rest on a small ledge, just large enough for the two of them to stand side by side and face the Forging Tree. Vejax began to sway and hum in sync with the rest of the Guardians encircled below. He made no attempt at conversation, his sight transfixed on a spot along the trunk meant for him alone to see.

Steffor pulled his gaze away from Vejax, looked toward the tree and beckoned it to take the weight of his thoughts. The dark side of the trunk, outlined by the luminescent gourds placed on the opposite side, eclipsed all but a small portion of the valley's adjacent southern wall. Across the way, moonlight reflected off a distant waterfall.

The sight reminded him of the brief respite he had spent with Calivera upon the landing of Fregak's Ladder. He was relieved to find he no longer cared about the negative feelings that transpired soon after. Instead, he chose to remember the simple pleasures. The taste of her sweet aroma, the press of her body as her gentle laugh brushed his ear. Overwhelmed by the sudden and palpable memories, he longed for her presence.

The curative mantra echoing off the valley wall eased his angst, enabling him to release his fantasies about Calivera. In their place, he contemplated Vejax's open-ended questions in earnest. As always, the man got to the root of the situation with calculated bluntness. While they each processed and dealt with issues according to their own filters, they were kindred spirits when it came to what mattered most. Now, no matter how much had changed in so little time, Vejax continued to play a key role in exposing that closest to his heart.

He had grown comfortable with his altered perspective, governed by rigid laws of black and white. But Vejax's questions cast a long shadow of gray and exposed all the nooks and crannies filled with doubt. Try as he may to swim in the clear waters of truth it remained a challenge not to feel like an anachronism. He was comforted in the belief that everything existed and happened for a reason and that it was not his purpose to figure out why.

Why then can I not stop asking why?

Resolved to face the challenges ahead, these unanswered questions continued to stoke the embers of fear lingering in the dark halls of his ego.

I must relinquish control of that which I do not understand, to those who do. Vejax is in my life for reason; trust that belief to show me what to do next.

"I do not sync with the Mysticnet or shift the Source because I have forgotten how to do so."

With noticeable effort, Vejax's fluid sway turned to rigid stance. "Do you desire to do either?" he asked, still facing the tree.

"Yes, but not for the same reason or purpose as I once had."

"Does your new purpose have anything to do the four races?"

Steffor was not surprised or upset that Kilton divulged the details of their recent conversation. On the contrary, he was grateful. "Yes, it does. I do not believe my intentions to be malicious, simply, out of principle I do not wish to participate in the continual growth of that modality."

"Principle? What principle prevents you from contributing to the growth of the Provider?"

"That's just it. I no longer believe the races contribute to our growth. If anything, I believe they will lead to our digression, and soon."

"Long I have prayed for the day you finally understood that our growth has nothing to do with what you want to believe. That complete surrender to the Provider's flow, faith that living the Certain Way is all that is required of us. Do you not think your recent accident and rebirth was a message, telling you it cannot be both?"

"No, not once. If anything, my belief that we live in the Provider and, in accordance the Provider lives in us, has only grown stronger. Our interdependence is as evident as ever and for reasons I am still trying to understand, our continual reliance on the four races jeopardizes the growth for all of us."

"I can find no common ground on this subject Steffor," Vejax said, frustrated and disappointed. "For reasons of my own, I feel the flow led me to help you in a specific way but I do not share your desire to rid us of the races. Even if I did, I have no idea as to how anyone can help you in this endeavor."

Vejax's role in future events was vital, this Steffor was certain. _Much as I have had to come to terms, he too must find faith in our new reality if he is to fulfill his mission. Vejax's journey is his own and he will not fail himself or us._

"Your counsel alone adds value to my process but, as it has been from the beginning, this is my burden to bear. But, if you are still willing, you may be able to help me in a different way."

"If within my means, I will always help you Steffor," Vejax replied with flat baritone.

"The time for me to join the ceremony is upon us."

Vejax nodded in agreement. "Indeed. We have left our brothers and sisters waiting as long as we dare risk. Are you prepared?"

"I believe so but, as you so aptly pointed out, there are two crucial steps in my rebirth I have yet to take, steps that must occur in order for me to fulfill my part. Yet, I still hesitate."

"Indeed," Vejax replied, the return of his confident air a welcome sight. "Since the discovery of our ability to shift the Provider's energy, no Citizen has gone as long as you have without drinking of the Source or connecting to the whole. We both know, without the ability to do either, your involvement in the ceremony will offer little value."

"It is no longer a lack of desire as it was prior. If anything, I sense urgency within to break my fast from the Source. But as I stand here, ready to join the ceremony, I realize I have forgotten how to shift the Source."

Vejax, perplexed as he was by the notion, was quick to apply his pragmatic mind toward a solution. "I will send you the Source," he said a moment later, his brow locked in concentration as he pieced the solution together. "It has never been done but I believe it will work. I will tealk you the Source."

Tealking was named after Teuton Tealk, the legendary Guardian who first discovered, mastered and trained others in the niche technique. The act involved sending a narrow beam of the Source over long distances. It was developed in the later years of the Deagron Age, about the time man began to flourish and Deagrons diminish. Tealking was a classic example of how war accelerated innovation.

The best application of tealking occurred when Deagrons advanced up the Provider. Situated above an advancing pod of Deagrons, Guardians would tealk the pressure points and vulnerable joints of the creature. The targeted beams of Source would jar loose a Deagron's grip and cause it to falter. Other Guardians, camouflaged and lying in wait at close range, would then deliver their pointblank burst of the Source. The maneuver sent many of the ancient enemy falling to a gruesome death, ideally taking out several of their kindred in the process.

"I did not realize you were familiar with antiquated technique."

"Only a handful of seasoned Teutons know how to shift the Source in this manner today; the practice was kept alive out of reverence alone. I believe I can alter this technique in a way that will help you rediscover how to shift the Source."

"Be prepared Steffor and I will send you the Source when you are ready." With a nod, he wrapped his long cloak around the length of his body, pulled hood overhead to drape his face in shadow, and purposely started his descent down the cliff side.

Steffor watched his friend work his way down. His wide flowing cape masked his long stride, a dark, hovering shade traversing a treacherous path with deceptive grace and agility.

## *****

As Steffor approached the quorum of Guardians, he noted a slight disturbance in their cadence before backs turned in unison to provide him passage. Steffor moved through the channel of swaying bodies wrapped tightly in black capes with hoods pulled low.

Clearing the throng, he detected Kilton, Vejax and Maseriah amongst others the inner most ring of Teutons. He approached the pyramid of sela gourds and stood in his designated spot facing the prominent archway shifted into the center of the Forging Tree's broad base. Pitch black emanated from the cavernous chamber beyond the archway and greedily swallowed the cairn's abundant light.

With succinct, practiced motion, Steffor touched right palm to breast, forehead, then extended his arm, palm facing outward. He then sat down, crossed his legs and took a moment to study the others six Guardians chosen by the guild to participate in the Forging Ceremony. Bathed in the gourd's warm glow, he recognized all the faces of the other chosen. He knew several from competing in the games or from other ritual gatherings, but only two he would call close friends. Grimlock, his imposing size impossible to disguise, sat next to the Guardian on Steffor's left. Seated directly on his right was Martna.

Faces around the cairn were taut with concentration as eyelids quivered with activity. Garnered throughout the day, the chosen had reached the apex of their deep meditative state. Resolved now to participate in the ceremony, Steffor envied his peers and the time they had to prepare. He questioned his decision to take so much precious time to find resolution with the recent upheaval in his life.

Do not dwell on what could have been. Focus on the experience gained to change the now.

The thought helped quell his envy and realign his determination to prepare for the events about to unfold as best he could. With single-minded focus, Steffor reflected on his prior existence, how he channeled his thoughts to manifest the goals that mattered most.

I must not allow the concerns or beliefs of others to influence my resolve. My purpose, as is the purpose of any soul, fulfills that which is larger than all of us.

The presence of that purpose was undeniable. Much in the way Toliver must have known his destiny to be the first Guardian, Steffor knew the fate of all he loved relied on the choices he made. The _why_ remained hidden, an impenetrable mist veiling his inner eye to all but the events connected to his actions.

Once again, he found divine solace within the Deeds: _The Provider reveals only that which we are prepared to comprehend._

Steffor used the solemn chant filling the air to help further disengage his emotions. He detached himself from the hyperactive questions whirling in his head, passively observing each as they drifted from his mind. Blank of all thought, Steffor wielded the Forging Chant to bridge the gap between his analytical brain and orphic soul.

He observed a new vision of the Provider. The Source flowed everywhere, in everything. Tributaries of divine energy, fed by the same point of origin, from stream, to river, drained upon the shoreline of a small cove, pounded by waves of raw Source. He strained to maintain the vision as he sought the ocean beyond the breakers, a vast universe that instilled the fear of unknown and the excitement of wondrous adventure.

"The Provider offers the body to one so that they may serve the whole!" Tillamund intoned.

The sudden sound of the Forging Mystic's ancient voice silenced the Guardian chant. The jarring halt to the chant scattered Steffor's vision of greatness.

"So say we all," responded the Guardians. Their harsh voices, when compared to the previous hymn, added to the asperity experienced upon his abrupt bodily return. Thankfully, his malady did not linger, for the brief but illuminating state of mind had stoked a fervor, absent since his return.

Tillamund had emerged from the mysterious cavern shifted within the Forging Tree and now stood just outside the arched porta. He lifted his arms toward Steffor and the other six chosen, gesturing for them to stand. The movement within his unique, bark embroidered Mystic robes, alive with earthy browns and rich greens, created the illusion of man being one with the tree.

In unison, they stood and lined up before Tillamund. The paternal mystic moved before Grimlock and with a measured gaze, synced his opaque eyes with the giant Guardian.

Steffor closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves with the sounds filling the valley. The tall grass rustling in the breeze. The faint creak of the tree limbs above. The tranquil ripple of the Forging River in the distance. But none of it helped diffuse his mounting anxiety.

He must open a port within each of us, connecting us to the whole, so that we may feed from their abundance. He will sense, if he has not already, that the Source is no longer in me, that I cannot sync with the rest.

The Source is so close I feel it all around me. Why can't I remember...

As he opened his eyes, Tillamund stood before him. Sightless eyes probed Steffor, searching for the means to connect. A spastic twitch traveled across the Mystic's cheek and chin as his brow creased with concentration. As the other's search continued to come up short, Steffor tried to realize the gifts he once commanded. It was in that moment the jolt of Source penetrated his being.

Cognizant of Vejax's location on his left periphery, the concentrated beam of blue light, emanating from beneath the Teuton's hood, struck Steffor with fierce intensity. Fearful at first as to how others around him would react, Steffor realized he was the only one able to detect it and he relaxed, accepting the gift without inhibition.

At first, the Source being tealked by Vejax was plentiful. Steffor was a starving man given a morsel, and he was grateful. And as Vejax predicted, it was enough spark to ignite the flame. The Source rejuvenated mind and body and exposed with abrupt clarity the weight he had been carrying since his rebirth.

The novelty of his reunion with the Provider's spirit was short lived as Tillamund gripped Steffor's budding well and docked himself to Steffor's Source. Their connection securely locked in place, Tillamund moved over to Martna to repeat the procedure.

Steffor fought the coupling the Mystic placed on his heart, a cap on his newly acquired unquenchable thirst for the Source. He needed more time to adjust to the Source pulsing through his being. The reckless abandon in which he sucked wave after wave of the Provider's energy was unsettling.

The Provider's Source is limitless!

Still a bit frantic, the thought shook his concerns aside and elevated his spirits, cleansing him of the remnant melancholy of days past. The resurgence of energy instilled hope, courage of old, and the vivid recollection of all that was good in the world. Overwhelmed by the compulsive need for the Provider's grace, Steffor prayed. _Forgive me. I have forsaken you for too long._

A familiar voice from within answered his prayer. _You have not forsaken me, nor have I ever left you._

The reunion healed and caressed. The same voice, edged with urgency now, filled his mind and said, _If the first step in your purpose is to succeed, your insatiable hunger for my spirit must be contained. Trust that I will always be here for you, no matter what the physical dimension may tell you otherwise. The life you have known will never return, prepare your mind and soul._

Tillamund, having connected to the last of the chosen, returned beneath the archway and continued with his litany. "Confronted by a foe set on destroying your body and all its creation, you gave us our protectors, the Guardians. Through your Spirit, we survived and persevered. In doing so, you bestowed upon us The Forging Tree: your living embodiment and producer of our champions, the Teuton Guardian."

Extending his arms before his chest with palms inward, Tillamund opened the channel connected to the Provider's Citizens and directed it to the seven chosen. Steffor staggered from the tidal wave of Source. The rush of energy expanded the images of his recent meditative state. It revealed each Citizen as its own tributary, the four races the streams and rivers, the turbulent cove the collection of the whole and the Provider's limitless love.

Vejax's force fed stream of the Source had become a trickle and dissipated all together as he no longer required his friend's assistance. The conduit placed on his soul by Tillamund now stoked, not hindered, Steffor's ability to consume the Source, having surpassed that which he had ever known. As a leaf feeds on the sun's rays, Steffor opened himself to the whole and siphoned his fill of energy from the Provider's bountiful sea of life.

Steffor drank more and more, and as he did so, the line between physical and ethereal dimensions began to warp. His power expanded, drawing in more Source despite teetering precariously between worlds. His inner eye, its acuity enhanced by the ample supply of Source, had broadened its perspective, driven by the question deepest in his heart.

What of those waters beyond the Provider's sheltered cove, the ocean that nourished the Provider and countless other coves.

Tillamund continued with the ceremony. "We honor your love and give back your gift to us, Eldrak: Teuton Guardian, husband, father, friend and Citizen. May the body he inhabited serve us one last time and guide us in choosing his successor." The Forging Mystic looked to his left and nodded to the Guardian at the edge of the semi-circle, standing a few feet from the opening in the tree.

Upon receiving the signal, the young women promptly walked around the side of the tree and disappeared from view. Moments later she returned, leading Eldrak's corpse hovering a few feet off the ground. His arms were crossed over his staff that lay across the length of his body. With swift purpose, she deposited Eldrak and his staff into the Forging Tree.

Steffor intently watched the Guardian complete her duty. His intrigue had little to do with the ritual at hand but had everything to do with witnessing her shift the Source to suspend and transport Eldrak's body. His senses heightened to new levels, he could now see her draw the Provider's energy from all around. He watched in wonder as the Source flowed throughout her body, how the brain orchestrated its movements and bent it to her will. The mechanics of it all were both beautiful and spellbinding.

It was then that he became aware of the vortex surrounding him, visible only by his unique paradigm. He watched helplessly as it continued to expand. His unabated pull on the Source caused the space around him to bend inward, creating a concave maelstrom of energy that stretched from his being in every direction.

_Control yourself!_ The voice Steffor knew to be his soul commanded.

"Who among the chosen will fill the void of Eldrak and live the Certain Way without falter," Tillamund said with strained voice.

_"Your body. Your people. Your will be done,"_ Citizens around the world intoned.

With his arms raised toward the sky, the Mystic looked to the heavens and continued the ancient litany. "Almighty Provider, open your heart and shower the bodily remains of your devoted champion with your love. We ask that you allow another to manifest your power so that we may always defend and protect the living from evil."

Tillamund lowered his arms and turned back around to address the chosen seven. "The time has come for one of the chosen to create their staff and take your rightful place as the Provider's next Teuton. The body once owned by Eldrak is your fuel, the tree is your forge, I am your tool; you are the creator. May your actions enrich us all. Come forth and claim your place."

The Provider's knights, standing with rigid posture only moments ago, bent and slouched with effort.

I must contain the power welling inside me. I deplete them of Source faster than it can be replenished. If I do not find a way to stop, I will kill them all. And it will not stop here...

To control the experience, Steffor knew he must change how he perceived it. He looked inward, exhausting the remaining reserves of his fortitude, and shut out the drama unfolding before him. Deep within the vacuum of his mind, he poured his Self into the inner eye, trusting it for guidance, escaping to a newfound state of consciousness. Steffor hovered above his body and studied the scene below. The strange portrait captured the essence of naturalism, evidenced through the lens of the supernatural.

The temporal dimension holds no influence here, no past or future, the present is infinite. I observe but no longer dictated by emotion or the needs of the body.

With the removal of both psychological and physical governors came the immediate discovery of his omnipotence. A power he had always believed possible, only now fully comprehended. The need to realize his full potential was all consuming and immediate. He reached to the heavens, to the ocean of energy beyond the breakers, knowing the Provider's corporeal world would no longer sustain him.

Steffor pulled the Source from every Citizen as amplified his soul's pipeline. He augmented the power of his inner eye to visualize an existence beyond his world. His astral body broke past the puffy white clouds encapsulating his arboreal home, into outer space. He jettisoned far into the cosmos and lay witness to millions of stars and majestic planets, diverse worlds of earth, mountains and large bodies of water. Each world was home to a huge array of life, vessels for the soul, some like man, and others strange and alien. His heart buckled with empathy for the countless isolated souls, living on worlds devoid of love and compassion, where the collective was unaware of itself. Possessed by the desire for mass transcendence, a connection beyond the physical, Steffor wept for those captured in subsistence.

I understand now, we all come from the same divine source.

Committed to martyrdom in attempt to end all suffering, Steffor prepared to send his astral projection into every corner of the Universe. It was then the tether of life, the last thread connecting him to a material existence, jerked him back with commanding force.

_Not yet Steffor!_ The familiar voice was distant but strong. Charged by this voice, he reluctantly returned to the body he last inhabited. Time slowly churned its way back into consciousness as gravity brought physical senses back online.

"You must return to us Steffor." The sound of Calivera's imploring voice completed his transportation from the supernal plane back to the material.

What have I done?

Semi-conscious Guardians flagged on bent knees, moaning from the effort to stay alive. Panic seeped in as his pull on the Source grew stronger and unabated, wrestling with vivid images of Citizens around the world sapped of their life force in a similar manner.

"All will be well Steffor," Calivera said soothingly in response to his frantic thoughts.

Steffor turned at the sound of her voice. Shrouded by a halo of soft light, she stood at his side, appearing unaffected by his deviant power. "How are you...you are unlike the rest." The statement developed new meaning as he sensed Calivera's power, one of equal force and potential to his own. Yet where he desired to expand his essence outward, hers consecrated within the Provider. Calivera conflated the souls of every Citizen and used her unique power to shield the whole from his destructive draw.

She is my counter weight.

The sight of her radiant smile banished all lingering doubt. "I feared...our time in this life...I so need you to..." Steffor sobbed, uncertain what to make by her presence, fearful she was an illusion certain to evaporate at any moment.

Without hesitation, Calivera stepped forward and draped her arms around his neck. Steffor met her embrace, placing his hands on the small of her back. Calivera pressed her body tight, the musky scent of her hair flooding his senses. Waves of pleasure washed over his body. His hands, as if possessed by another, moved along her sleek back and shoulders and curved buttocks. Calivera pressed her body closer in response to his probing hands, releasing a small moan of pleasure as her lips, wet with desire, found his gapping mouth and kissed him.

The world melted away, their eternal bond all that existed, the simple and complete feeling of joy they shared sufficient to fill all that is emptiness.

"Send me the Staff!" Tillamund screamed.

Steffor hesitated, spellbound by the caprice to stay in paradise.

Calivera, remaining locked in his embrace, placed a soft hand on Steffor's face, her thumb absently wiping his tears. "I will never deny your love again," she whispered, "know this Steffor." She looked deep into his eyes, nodding as she did so. "Do what your heart knows must be done. Do not doubt another moment. I will be here no matter what occurs. Do you trust what I tell you?"

"With all that I know to be true, I trust you Calivera."

"Send it now! There is no other, you are the one. Do as I command Guardian!"

Tillamund's plea was desperate, his robes and long hair rippling toward Steffor as if pressed against a strong wind.

Steffor turned to face the Forging Mystic as he gently moved Calivera to his side. Fists clenched, placed on his hips, Steffor breathed deep and pieced gratitude from the past with the present and locked them into the future.

Time paused, and the Provider bellowed from the void, nature's bass, a wave of vibration leaving utter silence in its healing wake. Color ceased, detail no longer a necessity, the Source and the faint outline of its privileged vessels was all that existed within the paradox of nonexistence.

Time resumed while the deafening silence remained. His body flexed with bent arms shoulder width apart and fists turned inward. As he leaned upon the foundation of Calivera's counter measure, Steffor gathered the maelstrom of energy before him, containing it within a dense, blue orb. The last storm tendril collected, his pull on the world finally restrained, Steffor looked up and waited for Tillamund.

The storm having knocked him to his knees moments prior, Tillamund got to his feet, stood straight and faced Steffor. Steffor waited.

"Why do you delay Steffor?" Tillamund pleaded, his face vexed with urgency.

Steffor, his ability to contain the Source waning, continued to wait, allowing the silence to settle the man's thoughts. He waited for a sign, the signal that Tillamund understood his fate. That his existence as Forging Mystic, Citizen, a normal soul, was about to end. Steffor would not, could not take the next step without Tillamund's informed acceptance of his future role.

Poised to command Steffor again, the recognition hit before the words escaped his lips. His jaw went slack, unconsciously opening and closing his mouth several times. Shoulders drooped as Tillamund processed what his heart already knew. A moment later, he stood tall and composed, strength found by vatic purpose now replaced by that of personal resolve.

"So be it."

The millisecond after Tillamund echoed his last words, Steffor unleashed the Source back into the world. The electric band of energy shot from the dense orb into Tillamund, launching him into the nether regions of the Forging Tree.

Steffor felt more than saw the intense beam of energy fill the vast chamber within, then flow up the tree's hollow center. Tillamund, Eldrak's body and staff and portions of the Forging Tree itself melded to become raw material. Steffor brought forth the image of his staff and sculpted with one defining purpose.
Chapter 14

"I'll be at the lab in five minutes," Stalling reported. "Has Janison arrived?"

"Yes. He's at the chapel. I'm outside it now ready to gather him." Stalling looked into the visor at that moment and made direct eye contact. Antone was confident his practiced poker face conveyed nothing. Regardless, if Stalling felt compelled to probe, he was prepared to defend the emotions he felt towards his upcoming confrontation with Janison.

"Good," he said, appearing satisfied, looking ahead again as he walked.

He knows not to get my hackles up. More so, he is confident neither of us will do anything to endanger the success of our mutual mission.

"Did you take the time to be with Marlene?" Stalling asked a few seconds later.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for the insistence, I needed to be with her more than I realized."

Driven as he was, Antone all too often dismissed the value of being intimate with his wife. While she could stimulate his intellectual needs, raw passion filled his bucket and no one has ever fulfilled that need better than Marlene. He had not been home for more than two minutes, barely a word spoken, before they were half-undressed, making love in the hallway.

Antone tasted the remnants of her lip-gloss and inhaled a whiff of her lingering perfume, reflecting on their parting embrace. "I wouldn't be anywhere if it weren't for you in my life," he confided, choked by an unexpected rush of emotion.

"Now don't you go getting soft on me Antone," she said, giving him a stiff punch to the chest with her petite fist as both chuckled at the notion. "We are together for a reason but we both know our journey neither begins nor ends with the other," Marlene said, tucking her curly red bangs behind her ears. She then rested her hands gently onto his chest, doing her best to transition from her bubbly disposition to one of concern.

Yes, being with Marlene was exactly what he needed. He was back in control. The edge was gone and his mind was clear. His purpose and role once again defined.

"Good," Stalling said. "Jennifer informs me everything is prepared on her end. How about you, any loose ends?"

"The last wave of personnel left the campus a few minutes ago. Outside us, my security team and Tallison, who is already in the lab assisting Jennifer, the place is deserted."

"Understood. I will see you in a few minutes."

"Understood," Antone said, ending their connection.

Without pause, he opened a connection with Eitemor, the captain of his security team, and the other nine elite guards.

"Yes sir," Eitemor said upon answering the call.

"Is everyone in place?"

"That's affirmative." Antone jumped from one guard point of view to the next, double checking the parameter around the sunken lab and server farm. In the end, there was little stopping the C.O.S. from taking things by force, but at least they would have plenty of warning to escape if need be. Of course, Eitemor and his crew did not see it that way.

He switched back to address Eitemor and inspected the man who had saved his life on more than one occasion. The Ecifrican was an imposing figure, standing six foot six inches with burly physique. Black fatigues equipped with light body armor further accentuated his prowess. That, and the array of utility belts and pockets housing an arsenal of weapons and explosives. With his right arm draped across the automatic rifle slung loosely over shoulder, Eitemor looked a man at ease with the destructive power at his disposal. To complete the menacing image he had a mane of rowdy, shoulder length, blonde hair that framed a young face with a thick, perpetual five-day-old beard.

Hit by an unexpected wave of nostalgia, Antone took a moment to reflect on the remnants of his loyal cell. A decade ago, each one was a lethal terrorist prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, all for the sake of freedom. It took all his persuasive powers to convince them to stop the conventional fight, to end the bombings and the raids and throw their lot in with a rogue Drakarlean. In the end, they trusted Antone as their leader and if he said joining forces with Stalling would help them achieve their life long objective, then that was enough. Antone liked to believe, as he was about to ask them to put their lives on the line once again, that each had come to conclude the same thing he had about Stalling. That they chose to serve his cause on their own, not because Antone commanded.

"Be prepared, I will update you when I can."

"What exactly are we preparing for?"

"The final stage of our mission will occur tonight. As you are aware, our security was breached recently. As a result, our adversary now has detailed data on most of our primary operations. What is not clear is if they are aware of the ultimate objective. If they are, my gut tells me they will resort to stopping us at all costs. You my friends are the only line between us and them."

Eitemor considered his words for a few seconds. Antone read the struggle on his face, fighting his desire to know more while respecting his superior. Finally, he asked what had been on all their minds since the first day they arrived. "What is it exactly we are protecting? You have told us over the years that once the project was complete, the rest of the world will change forever. Is it a weapon of mass destruction?"

Eitemor had come a long way in a short time. He was no longer the bitter nineteen-year-old recruit with nothing to lose. Antone had molded that youthful anger into a fine tuned weapon and provided the man a vengeful outlet. The rest of them, including him, came from a similar background. All understood the principles of freedom and knew the biting whip of oppression first hand. They were the few remaining descendants of an honorable race. Men and woman whom, after generations of enslavement, still clung onto the belief that all people are equal; that a person received in life the equivalent of what they put into it.

The rest of his people submitted to their plight long ago, sadly having become the church's most devout followers. Ecifricans were a God fearing people. They blindly accepted metaphorical fantasy as facts. Worst of all, they had submitted to the belief that they must suffer for the alleged sins of their forefathers. Antone and his type learned early on that, despite his well-written and passionate manifesto, a mass revolt of his people would never happen under the current conditions. Too many generations had become willfully ignorant. The solution, he concluded, remove the power that suppressed them.

As he had so often over the years, he reflected on the pitiful attempts made by his cell and others like them to thwart their enemy's agendas. He shuddered to think about what would have been if his chance encounter with Stalling went the direction he had originally intended. If he had not listened to his gut and continued to let anger dictate his actions.

He shrugged off the dark thought with the gratitude he had for the life he and his friends now shared, the life they desired for their kindred. Not a day goes by that any of them did not appreciate the human existence they now experienced. A life serving Alterian Enterprises and living in Gestrafa, a place they all proudly called home.

But it was the entrainment technology that produced dramatic change. Each had discovered drives and passions deep within that none believed possible to discover in this lifetime. Still, despite all Eitemor had grown his ability to imagine a different world entailed violence and death. Antone became giddy in anticipation, reminded that if they succeed in the coming hours, ignorance will never hinder the soul again.

"No, it is not a weapon, at least not in the sense you are thinking. It is an innovation in our technology designed to defeat our enemy from within. Overnight, it will destroy ignorance and in doing so, forever remove its paralysis on man's evolution."

Eitemor nodded with enthusiasm, excited to be part of such a grand idea, but the perplexed expression told Antone he still had no clue as to 'what' he was to protect.

Antone contemplated leaving him in the dark, paranoid he had already said too much, but the pragmatic side of him thought twice. "When we are done, there will be man with us, someone whose signature does not currently register. He is the lynchpin to our success. He must be protected and kept alive at all cost. Do you understand?"

"Aye!" they replied as one.

"May your destiny always be your choice!"

"So say we all!"

Antone removed his visor and tucked it inside his coat pocket. He cracked his neck with a couple of quick jerks to each side, turned around and entered the large, wooden double doors leading into the simple chapel.

## *****

The mural always had a way of calming Janison's mind and opening his heart. When Stalling approved the construction of the campus chapel, Janison had the budget to create a house of worship as resplendent as St. Pontivail's or even Flaterious Cathedra.

Of course, it would have not been of the same scale or magnitude, but no less breath taking. He admits, at least today, that the young acolyte in him was more than tempted. He had always been enchanted by the pageantry and ornate treasures captured within those prestigious cathedrals. In the end, he listened to his liberal sensibilities and created an atmosphere that would foster his interpersonal relationship with God. He wanted a place of worship that fostered a personal connection to God and always challenged that relationship according to growth and culture.

The chapel Janison chose to build was a contemporary version of those built in the beginning, when the Church of Salvation was less than a century old. I was a time when Leviatus was revered as merely a man. A self-actualized, enlightened man, capable of feats no person before him or since has ever accomplished, but a man all the same. So the house of worship Janison built resembled those first established by each of the Six Apostles and their devout followers. The maverick communities served by monks, dedicated to spreading Leviatus's timeless teachings of love and compassion.

Therefore, it was to be a modest, limestone chapel, with an octagon shaped nave. A small, eight-sided alter sat in the middle while a simple pulpit was centered on the north wall opposite the short narthex. The imported block-glass creating the ribbon window along the top of each wall and the mahogany doors, pews and rails were the only opulence separating it from the humble, original blueprints. That and, of course, the mural depicting the "Homily in the Valley" painted on the wall behind the pulpit.

In Janison's opinion, the artist did nothing short of capturing the divinity surrounding the historic event. It was truly a beautiful portrayal of Leviatus in his greatest moment. Before the famous scene took place, Leviatus had been on the run for over a year. Hunted like an animal, his few followers at the time imprisoned or killed, he sought sanctuary from whomever would provide it. Yet he still compelled to teach once he arrived in the small hamlet of Drakarle.

With painful detail, the artist captured the Retriach Mountains in the background. Leviatus sat before the Tree of Enlightenment with the Apostle Drestan, an infant at the time, resting on his belly across his knee. Radiant sunbeams shined down as Leviatus preached the Way of Life to the soon to be anointed Six Apostles and their families.

If not for the perseverance of those six souls, Leviatus and his message would have been lost in obscurity, a footnote in history.

Would I have been as faithful under the same circumstances? Would I have risked the painful, elongated death of me and my family?

In a very similar way, the hollowed shell of what those original founders fought so hard to establish challenged his contemporary faith today.

But my faith has yet to be fully tested.

The sound of Antone entering the narthex halted his ruminations. No need to turn around to confirm who it was; Antone's presence filled every room he entered. The tranquility of the moment was gone, replaced by the suppressed fear he had in seeing his friend again. Janison tried to calm his nerves as he listened to Antone cross the room and stop directly behind him.

"You've come to pray with me?" Janison asked after a long minute of silence.

"It's time to go," Antone replied, flat and level.

Yes, it is time. Janison stood up from his pew and turned to face his friend. He never saw which fist smashed into his nose; it could have been a right or left for all he knew. Nor did he recall flipping over the pew behind him. All that registered was the sudden pain throbbing in his nose and the back of his head. Through the tears that had instantly appeared after impact, Janison looked up to see Antone standing above him. He threw Janison a white handkerchief and pulled his white cuffs free from the sleeves of his sport jacket.

"Get up, it's time to go," he said in the same monotone.

"I see you are still being punished by your anger," Janison said to his friend's back, awkwardly getting to his feet as he pressed the handkerchief to his nose.

Antone stopped in his tracks and turned back around. His lip curled up into a nasty sneer as he placed thumbs on hips and flared out his elbows. Janison's regret in antagonizing the man further was immediate. He recoiled from the taut body, prepared to strike.

Antone relaxed in response to Janison's pathetic attempt of defense and simply asked, "Why Janison?"

The question hurt more than any punch. _I knew the immediate impact of my recent actions would hurt Stalling, but I never feared he would find a way to empathize with my struggle. Not only did he move on, he managed to find a positive to it all. Antone is a different animal altogether but the one friend I desire back in my life more than he could ever know._

Janison stood taller, dabbed his nose that now bled freely from both nostrils and a gash across the bridge, and answered his friend as best he could. "I made a mistake. I do not regret the spirit in which it was made but I now realize it was not a good decision."

"When I first met you, you were no different to me than any other self-righteous, entitled Drakarlean. Your devout faith only confirmed this initial perception. But it was not so, was it Janison?"

Janison knew better than to answer the rhetorical question. He simply stood there, one hand held to his nose while the other probed the goose egg forming on the back of his head. Prepared as he thought he was for this confrontation, his knees still buckled in anticipation for what Antone said next.

"No, you introduced me to a Leviatus that broke through all the bullshit. You provided substance, real life meaning, to what it meant to treat others as I wanted to be treated; to not judge others; to love my enemy!" Antone spat. "Eh, Janison? Isn't that what you taught me?"

"Nothing I have done has changed any of the truth behind those lessons," Janison replied with weak conviction.

"Save it for some other puppet! I have learned the only lesson that will ever matter from you or your make believe prophet. Shame on me if I ever have to learn it again." Antone straightened, brushed his hands down the front of his sport coat and popped the collar of his starched white shirt.

Once composed, he addressed Janison in the same tone reserved for a disrespectful underling. "Let's get a few things straight. Stalling trusts you. I do not. I don't begin to think I understand the layers of experiences the two of you share that would result in your return. If Stalling says we need you to pull off this final step, then so be it. And once we are done," Antone paused with a coy smile, "well, nobody knows better than you do just how irrelevant your fantasy will have become to the world."

Janison watched Antone walk back out the narthex without another word. "On the contrary my friend, once we have completed our mission, Leviatus and his teachings will mean more to the world than ever before," Janison said to the empty chapel. He turned around turning and followed his old friend.

## *****

"Vital signs are perfect," Tallison reported. "The rest of the body checks out perfect. Muscle mass is up 23%; bone density, a up 17%; all biological systems displaying continual improvement in both functionality and performance. Brain activity is normal, at least for him. I see the anomaly you were talking about but not sure what to make of it. Regardless, I don't see how it will impact the procedure."

Physically, he is twenty years younger and most likely the most superior human specimen in history, Jennifer observed with a certain pride. She quickly tampered the rise of her self-esteem, reminded that Muzar's anatomical improvements, no matter how wonderful, were but a secondary byproduct of the project. Completion the primary objective had yet occurred.

"Excellent," Jennifer replied as she closed out the images projected from her visor resting on the table. "As always, your thorough attention to detail has proved vital in double checking my work."

"Well I'm glad you feel that way because most of the time I feel pretty useless."

"I don't blame you for feeling that way and believe me, there are plenty of days I wish I could have you do more," she said genuinely, patting the young scientist on the arm.

"Don't get me wrong, this has been a dream position. The knowledge both you and Mr. Alterian have entrusted with me over the past six years has been overwhelming. I have learned things that....well...I am still processing."

"Trust me, your day of being able to piece it all together is fast approaching. And when that time comes, your days of idleness will feel like a distant dream," she informed her trusted assistant with a broad smile. _And I will truly be glad to unload every bit of it._

"Well I am ready and able," she said enthusiastically.

Jennifer uncrossed her legs and stood up. Tallison matched the movement and turned to face her superior. Jennifer could not help but notice the way Tallison had been looking at her since she arrived, making her conscious of her altered appearance. Gone were the functional body suit, bland lab coat and comfortable running shoes her assistant was used to seeing her in everyday. In their place, she wore a tailored lab coat—typically reserved for rare public appearances—over a stylish white blouse, a pencil skirt stopping just above the knee and chunky heals. In addition, she had styled her short hair into a chichi wave, and touched up her eyes and lips with a little make-up.

The slight dilation in Tallison's pupils and the out of character shy demeanor in her assistant amused Jennifer and was an unexpected but welcome ego boost. She had been vicariously living, socially at least, through her understudy who was only a few years younger. From their frequent conversations, she had developed a healthy envy of Tallison's life as a single women living in a town populated with world's top talented professionals and scientist.

Jennifer wanted to believe, if given the same opportunity, she would have sampled the same diverse pool of possible companions with the same reckless abandon as had Tallison over the years. But, alas, her true feelings would surface, reminding her why she made the choices that she did.

Sensing Jennifer's detection of her inability to hide her thoughts, Tallison spoke frankly. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you Tallison," she said, graceful in her acceptance of the compliment. "You don't think it's too much?" she inquired, welcoming the other women's opinion.

"No, not at all. It is all very professional. It's just that I haven't seen you..."

"Much outside this lab," she said, finishing her sentence.

"Exactly. I can say one thing for certain, if you should ever decide to 'get out there', the rest of us will be reduced to your seconds."

Jennifer blushed at the compliment, surprised by the vulnerability it exposed. "Your flattery is too kind but I will take it all the same." Both shared a laugh that settled into a comfortable silence for several seconds before Jennifer looked her friend in the eye and rubbed her arm affectionately. "Thank you Tallison. For everything."

"It has been my pleasure."

"Alright," Jennifer said, reaching for her link visor and tucking it into the top of her hair. "We are done here for now. Update Stalling, Antone and Janison on our latest analysis and inform them to meet me in the mainframe."

"Understood. Good luck," Tallison said, giving Jennifer's arm an affectionate rub of her own.

Jennifer used the five minute walk down the server farm's main passage to cool her recently stirred libido. The cool temperatures of the subterranean chamber helped but she remained flushed and out of sorts by the time she reached the entrance to the mainframe. Intellectually, she acknowledged the feelings she had for a man she barely knew to be both adolescent and irrational.

No one knows how he will have changed upon his return but it does not take a romance novelist to predict the last thing on his mind will be asking me out for a drink. Still, she would not deny the fact that the only reason she chose to change her appearance today was in the hopes that somehow her long in the making crush on Muzar Tarcones would materialize into something tangible and reciprocated.

Dark tinted, glass paneled double doors parted at her approach and she entered the small annex room. Still distracted by the emotions swirling in her heart, she absently stared at the wall before her as the doors sealed behind and the hiss of invisible gas pumped from the ceiling vents to sterilize the chamber. A minute later, a green light appeared above, and the wall slid open to provide entrance into the mainframe.

Lighting from the floor panels activated as she stepped into the circular room. The black, biometric walls sparkled with life as their gel-filled centers transmitted the trillions of data packets per second between the servers outside and the three supercomputers centered in the room. The cylindrical, eight-foot tall computer towers formed a ten square yard triangle of space in the middle of the floor.

Jennifer placed her link visor back on, promptly walked over to a spot in-between the southern two towers, interfaced with the virtual control panel, entered the encryption code and then proceeded to punch in a sequence of procedures.

Once done, she took a deep breath and stepped back. Seconds later the floor space centered between the computer towers became transparent, revealing a storage chamber within. The rectangular chamber slowly rose to knee level before coming to a halt.

Every day for the past decade, Jennifer had remotely observed the contents of the chamber. Now, having entered the hermetically sealed mainframe for the first time in ten years, seeing things in person generated a response she could not have anticipated and, as if her recent emotional state were trying to warn her, it was an experience she was ill prepared to process.

## *****

"Our thoughts form deep channels in the mind," Stalling confidently stated to the auditorium packed with skeptical authorities. "This phenomenon has been well documented for the past twenty years by many of you here today. Why not manipulate this knowledge to our advantage, to do our bidding? Not only do I stand here before you today proposing Drakarle prioritize the development of such technology, I say we, as the world's leaders, are morally obligated to do so."

Dramis Clortison paused the archived video and yelled over his shoulder to no one in particular. "If we had listened to the arrogant bastard back then, we could have avoided a great deal of anguish."

Stalling was naive back then, enough so that we could have convinced him the Church was aligned with his vision. By the time he learned otherwise, it would have been too late. But we underestimated him, more than once. Maybe the innocent intentions conveyed in this public lecture was simply the first calculated move.

Dramis cut his conniving short and continued to study the determined face of the then twenty-three year old Stalling paused on the larger than life wall panel. He hit play, anxious to uncover the evidence that would affirm the hunch appearing the moment Janison surprised them with their unexpected gift.

"This is all fantasy. There is no existing technology to support any of what you propose. Neocortex entrainment? Physiological communications? Virtual networks? Maybe you ought to consider a career in writing science fiction and leave the real science to those prepared to put in the hard work it requires." A loud mumble of agreement followed by a raucous laughter erupted with Dr. Florentine's critical retort.

The young Stalling stood taller as he straightened his arms resting on the podium, allowing the din to settle.

He really was the perfect poster child for all outward Drakarlean appearances, Dramis mused. Slim, tall, athletic with a rugged handsomeness, at twenty-three, his supple youth, far from reaching its apex, openly defied the toils inflicted by the physical world. Blue-gray eyes sparkled with a thriving intellect that commanded respect and intrigue. Persuasive charisma, probing genius and the sole heir to the most influential and wealthy family in all of Drakarle's rich history, Stalling had all the tools to be one of the greatest leaders of the modern era.

Showing patience beyond his years, Stalling waited long enough for the silence in the room to become uncomfortable before responding. "One's life is only limited by their ability to be independent of the good opinion of others," Stalling quoted from the book of Drestan.

What a clever boy. Florentine never did figure out if he had been complimented or insulted, but it shut him up all the same.

"Technology is not something to be observed from the protective confines of a lab, like a caged animal," Stalling continued with his lecture. "Technology is an extension of life; it selfishly wants us to grow, to accelerate our diversity. With the proper guidance, we can and should leverage the energy inherently captured in our current information processes, within the piles of data we so cautiously study."

Clortison fast-forwarded through the next forty minutes as scientist and engineers from varying fields bantered back and forth with Stalling. None, as he recalled, made any significant dent in his theories. As he did so, the visceral response felt that day while observing quietly in the back of the auditorium stirred from the murky depths of memory. How, within a few minutes, Stalling's palpable magnetism had distorted the reality of the situation, applying his assured communication skills to alter opinions and beliefs forged over a lifetime.

Yes, my instinct on Stalling Alterian at the time was spot on. He was a dangerous threat in need of termination.

He hit play again as the camera swung to the back of the room and focused on his imposing figure, a young cardinal dressed in a fitted beige cassock trimmed with dark green piping and buttons. I was a strapping bastard back then, Dramis thought with a mix of admiration and disappointment as he unconsciously pinched the inches of his portly midsection. _I was still playing two or three pick-up games a week back then, one of many sacrifices I have had to make...._

The camera had turned to him in response to his boisterous question. "What of God Mr. Alterian? How do you intend on consulting the Almighty about your plans to alter his most coveted creation?" Much as he had that day, Dramis relished the cowed reactions of those seated in the room at the sound of his booming, authoritative voice. A deferent hush had seized the crowd. Stalling's enchantment had gone on too long; the time had come to crack the whip and remind everyone of their true reality.

The camera moved back to Stalling as he addressed Clortison's loaded question. "I apologize if what I propose derogates the Almighty and his ecumenical leadership," Stalling stated, sounding more annoyed than apologetic. "But I assure you, every one of my concepts was contrived in the same spirit that has allowed Antium's scientific community to flourish over the centuries."

"Really? Please enlighten us as to how your heretical musings are aligned with the Savior and his Father, the one and only true God."

"According to the Gospel of Leviatus, chapter 6, verses 1-2: 'And God told his chosen people, I am whole and unbroken. I am both lever and rock. I am both water mill and river. All souls will be nourished from my unbroken wholeness.'"

Yes, we have leaned on that scripture to justify more than once the continual redaction of our laws to fit the contemporary needs of society. As evidenced in the past century, when the Church devised a way to capitalize on and foster the budding Age of Science that Antium had reached. It was the solution enabling us to both support the popular veneration growing around the laws of science at that time and, to this day, provide the scientific population a sense of purpose.

"True, the scripture tells us the laws of science are His laws but let us not lose sight that science remains beholding to the Savior's one and only divine law: 'Through me, be delivered to our father and his eternal kingdom; for I am the wellspring that nourishes the soul with his endless love.'"

"Your vision of the future encourages man to find salvation through the self, versus the unwavering acceptance of Leviatus as your Savior. Need I remind you of the many who have suffered the rack for the propagation of ideas arguably less blasphemous?"

"With all due respect, I believe my vision of the future to reflect the very foundation of what Leviatus taught us which was to strive toward becoming one with God himself."

There it was! The drama that ensued immediately after that bold statement was all Dramis had recalled about his first encounter with Stalling. "To become one with God," he repeated out loud.

Until now, none of the information Janison provided was very useful. Sure, they could study the science behind it all and in a decade or so reengineer some of it to call it their own. But none of it revealed the mysterious power driving it all, the key behind their true objective. When Stalling decided to play within the rules, despite the public support and popularity he had garnered over the years, he knew that the C.O.S. would eventually pull the plug and take over. Janison's intel, at first glance, simply appeared to give us a head start on the inevitable.

"No, the clever boy has played us from the start, letting our own momentum do most the damage," Dramis said, causing a stir amongst his cabinet members seated behind him. "If not for my instinct to bluff this morning, we would have mortally impaled ourselves on his spear. For that matter, I have no doubt Janison's betrayal was all part of the plan. But it is you that has underestimated me this time Stalling Alterian. We will use your life's work to make us stronger beyond imagination. Somebody get me Thortizan!"

Chapter 15

Steffor shivered as clammy sweat rolled down his back and smeared into the cold, jagged rock. Exhausted, laboring to catch his breath, he could back up no further. Rock walls elevated high above and surrounded him on each side. In front of him, the gruesome mob blocked his only escape.

Why do they hate me? What did I do to deserve such malice?

Despite his questions, the evil intentions displayed on the haggard faces did not change. The leader, a vile creature barely resembling his human heritage, seeing Steffor trapped, turned to the rest of them with arms raised like an ape and let loose a grisly roar. The blood lust rose to new heights and Steffor sensed his end was near. How it came at this place, under these conditions, was unclear but the outcome seemed unavoidable just the same.

Out of primal reflex, Steffor crouched low and put clenched fists in front of his face, prepared to fight to the end. For the first time he noticed the blood. Some of it was his own oozing from multiple gashes along his knuckles, the bone exposed and jutting out on several. To his horror, looking down the length of his arms and torso, he realized most of the blood came from others.

Gory images of his recent past emerged in rapid succession. He recalled, standing in the middle of a dark, damp cave, grotesque bodies hurled at him from all angles as he fought to survive. His fists smashed one face in after the other, the nauseating sound of precise bone crushing kicks, powerful arms snapping the neck of any creature foolish enough to get too close. The destructive images, the pure hatred emanating from the horde, the stench of blood and guts dripping down his face, it was too much. Steffor lost control, doubled over and vomited.

What have I become? How could I commit such horrors? I am here to help create life, not destroy it!

The will to fight gone, Steffor slid down the rock wall and wept.

Confused by their adversary's abrupt change, his enemy paused for a brief moment. Then, as of one mind, they lurched and consumed him.

## *****

"The link remains severed," the foreign voice said.

"How can that be," Vejax asked. "Did the death of Tillamund also destroy the Mysticnet?"

"I do not know. Possibly. But if I were to guess, I would say Tillamund's sacrifice is connected to the same event," replied the female tenor. "I do know this much, it is all tied to him."

Steffor sensed the stranger and those around her focused on his condition as he lay on his back with hands interlocked across his chest. With a deep, wakeful breath, he opened his eyes, sat up and leaned on one arm.

Calivera was by his side, curled up in a peaceful sleep. The smile stretching across his face pained him, beaming like a young boy overrun by joy at the sight of a long lost treasure. Without pause, he bent down and kissed her forehead. She inhaled with eyelids quivering in response but continued in her slumber.

"She has been through more than you know recently and in dire need of rest," said the newcomer's voice, sitting a few feet away. "She refused to sleep until you awoke, only succumbing to her body's need moments ago."

Dressed in the robes of a Mystic—a field Mystic gauging by the rural flora hewn on sleeves and hem—the sight of her eyes startled Steffor: wide, clear white pupils, contained by liquid amber irises.

"It is an honor to finally meet you master Steffor," she said with a respectful nod. "My name is Leanor." Reading his perplexed response to her presence, she added, "Please do not concern yourself about my role at this time. While the Provider deemed it important, my value will be revealed in due time."

Confused as he was, there was a comfort in Leonor's presence, a solace he sensed connected to Calivera's wellbeing. He stood up and stretched his entire body while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His gaze left the rogue Mystic, turning toward the sun creeping over the valley's east wall, a fiery protuberance of heat and light. For several moments, he squinted at the sun as it warmed his face, allowing his mind to replay recent events.

From his left the sound of a throat being cleared brought his attention to Kilton, Vejax, Grimlock and Martna stationed a few yards away before the Forging Tree. Loose fitting shorts and tanks that blended into the surrounding browns and greens of the tall grass now replaced the dark ceremonial garments adorned with capes and hoods.

Kilton sat cross-legged, patient as ever. His long Teuton Staff rested across his knees with thick forearms resting on top. Laced with a solemn edge, Kilton met Steffor's eye with a welcoming smile.

To his right, Vejax lay sprawled on his right side, propped up on an elbow, his left hand plucking the matted grass on which his staff lay. His casual manner did little to hide the fear Steffor witnessed in the brief eye contact they shared before Vejax turned his attention back to finding his next grass victim.

Grimlock and Martna stood next to Vejax. Both panted, coated with a fresh sheen of sweat, having apparently been in the midst of some type exercise moments ago. _Typical_ , Steffor thought with amusement, studying the unlikely pair a moment longer. Grimlock, dwarfing most everyone, appeared even larger next to Martna, his bulging brawn accentuated by his minimal clothing. Taller than most men but average by Guardian standards, Martna looked a gangly child standing before Grimlock's hulking girth.

Despite the vast difference in their physical size, Steffor, intimately familiar with Martna's well-defined muscles and deceptive dexterity, knew better than to assume the big man the more adept Guardian. Martna is reigning Ascender champion for the past six seasons for a reason, he reminded himself.

They each returned his gaze with a reverent nod.

Steffor reciprocated the respectful gesture before focusing his sight on the Forging Tree behind them. Based on his proximity, he realized that he stood in the same spot he was last, before releasing the Source. On impulse, he stepped toward the tree for closer inspection. It was not until he had walked a few steps past his friends that his mind registered the tree's recent transfiguration. The ancient archway, its broad opening and, he sensed, the once hollowed out cavern within no longer existed. In its place was a fresh growth of wood and bark.

Fascinated, not trusting his eyes from the deception of illusion, he quickened his approach and placed both hands on the new growth. His hands traced the fine line between old growth and new, the slight variances in color the only clue depicting the two. From his left periphery, he noticed a ray of sun reflecting off a mirrored object located under what was once the center of the archway. Steffor turned toward the reflecting light and moved in its direction, his right hand caressing the bark as he went.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Steffor asked, intently investigating the area of new growth.

"It's hard to say," Kilton replied from a few yards away on his left. He had stood up to observe how Steffor would react to what the rest of them must have been struggling with prior to his awakening. "The rest of us awoke a few hours ago. Assuming today is the morning of the same day the Forging Ceremony took place, I would guess we have been out for five, maybe six hours. What do you sense?"

Steffor considered Kilton's words and question as he attempted to read his own internal clock. Thousands of lives spent connected to the Mysticnet instilled all Citizens with an innate sense of time, both of past and present. Calibrated by heightened senses, Guardians evolved this relationship with time, enabling them to slow it. This supernatural skill was most evident when competing in the Dive or other events in the Guardian Games.

Try as he might, he could not locate any record of time for the most recent events. In fact, the only record he could find was that of the time passed since waking this morning. His memories of past events were still intact but there was no time stamp to chronicle its passing.

"I have no measure of past time either," Steffor finally replied

"What of the Source? Can you now take of the Source," Kilton inquired, doing little to hide his disquieted temperament.

"Yes." Steffor offered no elaboration. Words cannot describe the sensation of how the Source now pulses through my body. In response to the thought, his soul took a reflexive inhale of the Provider's energy. _My pull on the Source remains beyond measure but now I have command over it. Somehow, it is contained._

"Where are the rest?" Steffor asked.

"After a quick consult with the other Teutons, it was agreed that the conclave should disband and send each Guardian back to their post with haste."

"Why the urgency?"

"The disturbance behind the events that just took place aside," he said, gesturing with his left hand toward both Steffor and Forging Tree, "it was our inability to connect with the Mysticnet that ultimately dictated the decision. We have no way of knowing what is happening with those we are charged to protect." In the background, Vejax, Grimlock and Martna, grumbled their affirmation on the decision.

_I am no longer alone_ , Steffor thought, struck with sudden empathy for his fellow Citizens. Still, he sensed the event was a painful step in their collective growth that must occur if the Provider and its people were to evolve.

He moved toward the once center of the archway and his eyes came to rest on the source of reflected light, his Teuton Staff. The "staff" was no longer than his forearm. It rested upon a shifted corbel, sculpted into the form of two hands held palm up. Upon closer inspection, the sun's rays did not reflect off it so much as it appeared to absorb the light, then emanate it back out. Its polished luster made it difficult to identify any specific details. Colors swirled within, from burnt orange, to forest green, to jet-black. At one moment, it exhibited qualities of a tight-grained hardwood, at others it appeared more metallic, while at others like polished marble.

"Why did the four of you stay behind?" Steffor asked, breaking the silence that had seized the group upon his discovery of the staff.

"We were told to," replied Kilton.

"By whom?" Steffor asked, his eyes still locked on the staff.

"The Provider."

Steffor's understanding of the Provider as a benevolent energy that pulsed in every living organisms had expanded with recent events. What had changed was his view of the Provider as an actual being, similar to himself. A sentient creature cognizant of the universe and its laws, a soul cut from the same piece of fabric, aspiring to ascend to a higher consciousness.

"How did the Provider communicate to you?"

"The message came to us all at the same time, in the same way. It was at the moment when you released the Source back into the world."

"Into Tillamund," Vejax gravely added.

Steffor sensed the other four Guardians now standing next to Kilton, observing him, waiting in anticipation to see what he did next.

"Did he come to each of you with the same dream?"

"No," Grimlock replied. "It was an experience akin to the hallowed intersection before Armotto's Staircase. The message was the same for all of us: 'Steffor and I are one and the same. Protect and serve him as you would me.'"

The desire to connect with his staff grew. It beckoned him in a way that made him feel incomplete, aware of a hole in his heart that he only now discovered existed. _The Provider recreates itself in me, in all of us, so that it may flourish. Our purpose is to grow, to relearn what it means to be part of the Provider. We are ready; the time has come to sacrifice what we are for what we could become. I see the possible succession of future events; how, as one, we can manifest our growth. I accept my role as the catalyst, and it starts here and now._

He hesitated one last time, turning around to address his companions. "I do not doubt your devout faith in the Provider. Nor could I have formed a better troop to aid me in the events yet to come. We will all be asked to make sacrifices, the impact of which may never be revealed to us in this lifetime. I ask each of you to look inside your heart and choose based on what you see there, not because the Provider or I command it."

Each received his statement with varying degrees of shock. Vejax shook his head in disgust and gave Kilton a look saying: _I told you_.

Kilton did nothing to discourage the look, the struggle with his own introspection plain to see on his face.

Grimlock was quick to move on, taking Steffor's request at face value, and began to meditate accordingly.

"Why do you ask this of us Steffor," Martna asked. "Is it not enough that the Provider commands us to do so? I do not see the need to choose for myself."

"Going forward, your faith in the Provider will be challenged in ways beyond your comprehension. There will not be time to meditate for answers, nor will your devout faith be enough. You must learn to trust your heart now if we expect to succeed in our mission. I can no longer accept your allegiance based only on your belief in the Provider. Your decision to do so must come from within."

"I will follow you Steffor and choose to do so free of any command beyond my own," Grimlock stated.

"I too choose to follow you based on what my heart tells me to be true," Kilton followed with fresh resolve.

Martna stood silently with her eyes shut in attempt to calm her mind.

Steffor turned to Vejax who met his eye with an anticipated glare. "I cannot embrace what you ask me to do. It is not possible for me to abandon my faith in something that has flawlessly served me in life. I choose to follow and protect you because I believe without question in what the Provider has told me: the two of you are one and the same."

Steffor studied his friend's stubborn face and grew satisfied with his reply. He chooses with his heart, he simply does not see it that way, not yet.

"I share master Vejax's view but cannot deny the presence of my soul and its own desires," Martna said with uncharacteristic feminine softness. "It tells me my role in the future is intertwined with all of you. That I must be bold and find the strength to do what must be done, no matter how much it may conflict with my beliefs. I will follow you Steffor, I choose do so on my own free will."

The love I feel for these four souls spans an eternity. Our bond emotes the supportive role of friend, sibling, spouse or parent over countless lifetimes. Each personality creating the balance and collective development required for all us to grow.

"Cheer up my friends!" Steffor said. "Let us embark on our new journey confident it will lead us toward ascension. Join me as I embrace the Provider's gift." He turned back around and waited a moment for them to gather behind him. Once assembled, Steffor denied the future no longer and grasped his staff.

Its weight was deceptive. Steffor turned the rod left to right, noting the odd resistance it produced, like pushing his hand against a strong current of water.

"The movement of its color has no relation to the direction you turn it or position you hold it," Grimlock astutely observed.

"What do you feel Steffor?" Kilton inquired in a captivated whisper.

"The endless power of the Provider..." Steffor's reply trailed off as the Source within him merged with the staff. He resisted the impulse to fight and allowed the vessel to probe his essence and connect with the raw power welled deep within his being. Similar to the day he first dawned his garments, he experienced the sensation of material and body merge as one. A second later Steffor managed to utter a startled "Oh!" before he lost complete control of every muscle in his body.

"Steffor?" Kilton said in response to his sudden outcry and rigid posture. He placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. The seasoned Teuton gasped in horror at the touch of Steffor's flesh. "His flesh is like stone," he said to the others.

Steffor felt each place a hand on his back to confirm and heard their similar astonished response to his condition, but remained frozen in place.

"He no longer breathes," Vejax noted with concern.

_I can't breathe!_ Steffor panicked, becoming aware of his lungs dormant state for the first time. _Do not place boundaries on your creation._ The Provider's familiar voice enabled him to relax, letting the consciousness of his staff seep into every fiber of his being. Seconds later, their connection was complete.

Steffor regained control of his body and faced his companions. He gripped the staff in both hands and held it before them. Without warning, a blinding burst of light flashed, causing all to flinch and shut their eyes. Upon looking back, the staff had transformed into a geometrically perfect pole standing shoulder high.

A transparent beam of blue light shot from both ends of the staff before anyone could comment on its magical change. The beams of light connected in the middle and, with the staff acting as its base, formed an equilateral triangle. Created from the same blue light, positioned to the side of the point formed by the two beams of light, a three dimensional rendering of the Provider materialized.

"Do the rest of you see this?" Steffor asked, catching his breath.

Heads nodded but none said a word, each fascinated by the architectural hologram of their world projected before them. Seeing the schematic with both physical and inner eye, Steffor recognized the image as the Provider viewed from outer space, just outside the atmosphere. Steffor reached out with his mind and rotated the image than zoomed in and out to view locations along the planet with blazing speed.

I can see anywhere, any time by simply thinking it!

_You can see and do more_ , the Provider added.

On cue, revealed with minute detail, Steffor viewed the Source flowing through the world. The allegoric tributaries, streams, rivers and shoreline witnessed in his previous meditative vision, replaced by a visible blue current of energy moving through every leaf and creature.

"Do you see the Source?" Steffor asked his friends.

"Yes." Kilton said in awe.

"I am going to attempt to rectify the recent dysfunction of the Mysticnet."

Instincts confirmed what Leonor had guessed, that the creation of his staff had disrupted the Mystics' ability to connect to both one another and Citizens alike. The condition is temporary, he speculated, it is just a matter of re-syncing them back into the proper modality.

If I assume the role of both Mystic and network, for just a few moments, the action should put things back the way they were.

He turned to the staff, the tool enabling him to both visualize and complete the intricate procedure, imploring for both affirmation and direction. A prolific voice responded.

Yes, the actions you intend to take will reconnect Mystic-to-Mystic and consequently Mystic to Citizen. Yes, in order for our society to evolve, both Mysticnet and the database of history it procures must be reinstated. No, things will never be the same once you are done.

Steffor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, opened a conduit and entered the flow of Source. Complete immersion into the energy that formed all life was instant. He was no longer limited by flesh and bone, the only remnants of either now anchored to his staff. The unique signature of the life known as Steffor, uninhibited by the ego, explored the world. Sensing everything, everywhere, being all races while none at all, elated Steffor. He honed this macro existence to explore how each race of Citizen wielded the Source.

The Guardian, the existence closest to his soul in this lifetime, was the first race experienced from this perspective. Gifted athletes with immense strength, dexterity, intelligence and charisma, the race commanded intense power shifted from the Source housed deep within Belly Briar. The challenge that faced the Guardian did not come from his physical world, but the mental. Life as a Guardian was an incarnation wrought with the highest morale challenges a soul would ever face. The warrior race was yoked by the responsibility of always choosing the good of others over oneself.

The Shifter, the most common race of Citizen, was the next to register. They were the Provider's artists, architects, builders, farmers and skilled laborers. Shifters embodied the Source accessible within the fibers forming wood, bark and leaf. In one congruent wave, Steffor relived his past roles as a Shifter, reminding him that all life was meaningful, no matter how mundane it appeared.

The rare and delicate life of a Healer was the next race to experience, transitioning from the Provider's body to its spirit. The Provider's spirit was an aura surrounding both planet and its living organisms in a protective shroud. Tuned to this natural connection between Citizen and Source, the beloved race shifted the Provider's spirit to mend broken bone and flesh, to nurture the health and growth of man, tree and all living creatures alike.

Last, moving from spirit to mind, he entered the Provider's hollowed core, the pipeline that fed the Source to all life. Here is where the Mystic shifts the Source to cultivate and maintain the telepathic network. The Mystic united the mind and spirit of all Citizens and in turn, the Provider. Steffor viewed this symbiotic relationship between Citizen and the Provider in a new light, recognizing the beautiful union as none other than the Deeds. How the collective experiences of all Citizens fostered the continual growth of the Provider.

The Deeds, to Steffor's relief, remained intact; records from the first day man shifted the Source and became Citizen up to his own recent experience in the Forging Ceremony. The flow of Source, in every measurable facet, was stronger than ever. With these potential factors removed, he concluded the issue must lay with one or more of the Mystics.

His objective close-at-hand, Steffor jumped from one Mystic to the other. He probed each communication hub for any flaws that would explain the network's recent failure. Region by region, from the cluster of Mystics residing in Razum, to the distant field Mystic living amongst the harvest Shifters, they all functioned flawlessly.

Tillamund! His removal must be accounted for. Tillamund now resides within my staff; therefore, I must restore the balance.

Steffor dove deep into the Forging Tree and blended his essence with the compounds of Tillamund, the Forging Tree and his Teuton Staff. Once done, he ignited the concoction and in doing so, forever transformed the Forging Tree into what Citizens would come to call the Mystic Tower.

When he returned, his companions were all staring up with mouths agape. He followed their gaze. Gone was the goliath tree with its layers of fractal limbs and dense canopy. In its place loomed a wooden monolith. It was a perfect cylinder, displaying the same fluid color and refraction traits of his staff. A smile creased his face as he admired his first creation.

"What have you done?" Vejax asked in a castigating whisper, his eyes still transfixed on the Mystic Tower.

"I have reestablished the Mysticnet."

Before anyone could comment further, a sudden influx of images and sounds blared from the repaired Mysticnet. "Grab hold of my staff," Steffor ordered. They did as he said without question. He then extended his power to each and leveraged the trinity of Mystic Tower, staff and Citizen to filter the stream of data into one, comprehendible message.

The map reappeared, now displaying the location of every Mystic, denoted as pulsing blue dots. Steffor navigated from one to the other, surveying the images of groggy faces and sightless eyes, each asking the same dumfounded questions.

"Is that you...what happened....the Deeds, they are still intact...what is happening!"

"What is that?" Grimlock asked, pointing at a chaotic commotion of Source located at Provider's center.

Steffor zoomed in for a closer inspection. The area in question was at a major fork in the main pipeline of Source, located near Razum City. There, inside the Trunk's hollow core just above Razum, a brackish red blight with a virulent black core had formed. Like an invasive island constricting a river's flow, the contaminated knot of energy throbbed, expanding with every pulse. The menacing image instilled the Guardians with a foreign fear.

"It is an abomination," Kilton replied. "We cannot allow it to spread."

Driven by paternal impulse, Steffor locked onto every Mystic within range of the area. With a quick tweak of the mind, he morphed the perspectives of each Mystic to create one, omnipotent view. The customized venue centered them a mile out and above Razum City, providing the Guardians a rare look at the immense limb.

"Kilton, sync with Traiken and the other Guardians within the city and update them on this development. Once done, do the same for the rest." With a quick nod, his old friend closed his eyes and relayed the message.

"What do we search for?" Vejax asked, understanding Steffor's recent impulse but uncertain as to what to do next.

"Any outward anomaly or sign that could be connected to this phenomenon," Steffor said, disturbed by the frantic pitch of his voice.

Steffor scanned the city, starting with the long mesa range of humped steppes and plateaus descending from the Trunk to merge with the thick limb. He then searched the relatively level two hundred mile expanse of bough. Framed by the limb and an expanse of clear blue sky, the city sparkled like a colossal crystal as morning sunrays sliced through gaps between tubular shaped buildings.

Fractal by fractal, Steffor looked for anything out of the ordinary. Each organic building was a township, the nerve center for countless generations and extended families. The network of structures united an advanced society propagating peace and harmony. One by one, each building came up clear.

"Our brethren are updated and are prepared to act." Kilton reported.

His confidence refortified by the thought of an elite army ready and waiting to help, Steffor went back to what he had control and continued to soak in the City's activity. As the waking consciousness of Citizens and Mystic began to re-sync, there was unrest, a natural response to losing the Mysticnet, but it was not a panic.

In fact, it appeared business as usual for the productive people, moving on from the unique event and resuming their day as usual. People hustled along the plethora of stairways and elevators. Large groups congregated and communed along catwalks, bridges, verandas and large decks. Trolley cars moved along the intricate network of vine cables spanning from one end of the city to the other, transporting goods and people.

"Look!" Martna shouted. Her terrified gaze locked onto the Trunk, at a spot several thousand feet above the mighty limb.

Steffor searched the gigantic wall of wood predominating over the city. His eyes then located the three, protruding black spikes. He moved in for a closer look, a few hundred feet out, altering their perspective to become level with the phenomenon.

"Are they thorns?" Grimlock asked, puzzled.

Indeed, the spikes looked more like thorns at close range. Coated by a dull shellac, the eight-to-ten feet tall thorns spread ten-to-fifteen yards apart in a vertical line. The sun reflected off the sharp inside edge and hooked ends of the curved protrusions, making their mysterious appearance all the more ominous.

"They do not grow from the Trunk, instead they look to escape from it," Martna observed, noting the torn bits of bark edging each thorn.

"There is something very wrong here...." Kilton said. "We must get to the city, now!"

Steffor had formed the same conclusion, a twisted knot gripping his gut the moment they got a closer view of the strange growths. Before they could act, the thorns began to shiver and to their amazement, start to move downward in ragged, jerking motions. Then, a few yards below the originals, another set of thorns pierced the surface with violent force. Then another. And another.

Steffor heard the Provider scream in agony as the angry blades tore at its flesh from its insides, plowing down and across.

"Those are not thorns," Kilton said with desperation, "they are claws."

They continued to watch the scene unfold, stunned by the horrifying scene. Claws and the thick appendages from which they grew tore at the Provider from the inside. Their deepest fears could not imagine the horrid creature capable of such destruction.

Claws ripped with fury, creating a jagged rupture a half mile across, edged by dilapidated chunks of wood and bark. They gasped in horror as the Source, tainted a black crimson, oozed from the gaping wound. Abruptly, the chaos stopped as the claws retreated back into the dark chasm. The screams from thousands of terrified Citizens, previously drowned out by all the commotion, broke their trance.

"It's as the legends foretold, a truth so outrageous and terrifying that we all welcomed its denial." Kilton said as he stared at the scene with an ashen face.

"What legend do you speak of? The Deeds have never foretold of anything like this-"

Vejax's accusation stopped short, cut off by a maligned sound emanating from deep within the newly formed chasm. A rumbling vibration more than sound, it swept over the Razum, causing it to violently quake and buildings to sway. The perverted dissonance grew louder as demonic hisses and savage clacks joined in its crescendo.

"Kilton speaks of a legend that precedes the Deeds," Steffor replied, his throat dry and raspy, sharing a knowing glance with Kilton. "Events that took place long ago that removed all mystery as to the origins of the Deagrons."

Before either could answer the confounded expressions, the noise paused. They reluctantly turned their attention back to the rupture in the Trunk. For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened. Then, like a warning beacon, the Mysticnet began to blink and become sporadic. The moment before losing the feed completely, a vile giant exploded from the Provider's gut with gruesome force.

Chapter 16

"Of course!" Clortison shouted to the assembled bishops and cardinals. "It is all so clear now. The innovations, social movements, political lobbying, just one false trail after the other. It was never about power, at least not in any material sense of the word. No, it was all a ruse used to distract us from his true objective."

Thortizan probed the other apostolic board members seated around the ornate table, registering a theme of puzzled expressions. Knowing he was not the only one struggling to decipher the cryptic speech of their ecclesiastic patriarch provided little consolation.

"I apologize for my confusion your excellence, but I do not understand what it is you require of me." Thortizan interjected, respectful of Clortison's divine authority.

Clortison flitted from the ancient tapestry hanging on the stonewall and back across the room back to the men seated before him. He ignored Thortizan and continued to sound out his thoughts.

"While not ideal, our inevitable takeover of Alterian Enterprises was never a deterrent to his ultimate mission."

Thortizan sat back at that moment and did his best to listen patiently. Familiar with the man's peremptory genius, he had come to trust their living prophet. How he processed visions sent directly from God was not Thortizan's role.

As he had so often before, Clortison released his thoughts like jigsaw puzzle pieces spilled across a table, trusting his soul to connect them and reveal their purpose. Hunched in a lurid posture, his eyes often rolling back into his head, Clortison labored to give the raw revelation structure and pragmatic substance.

An acrid loathing etched his voice, sending a chill down Thortizan's spine. Clortison broke from his rambling trance, his zealous fervor reaching its apex. "Oh what a diabolical trap he had set for us, one we helped craft from the start. Stalling Alterian is truly the most deviant servant of the Dark One we have ever faced."

Without warning, Clortison grabbed Thortizan's hands with alarming force and penetrated his heart with his fervent gaze. "He aims to destroy our God!" he proclaimed. "Not just usurp our authority with another religion of his making, but to usher in a new social existence, one devoid of any faith."

Thortizan nodded with understanding, trembling from Clortison's providential possession.

"The eve of the apocalypse is upon us, the day you and the Vorenian Knights have prepared for since the death of our Savior has arrived!"

Clortison flopped back into his high-backed chair, wiping fresh beads of sweat off his forehead and face with an embroidered handkerchief. He made brief eye contact with those seated around the table, confirming he still held their undivided attention.

Composed, back in command, he turned to Thortizan and elaborated on God's newly delivered prophecy. "Your mission is simple but far from easy to accomplish. Infiltrate the main campus of Alterian Enterprises and capture Muzar Tarcones. He resides in the depths of the underground chamber we discovered while vetting the inconclusive data provided by Janison. If you must, take the facility by force but no matter what you do, no harm must come to Tarcones. He is the key to winning the war for either side."

## *****

"Muzar Tarcones?" The lieutenant asked. "The same Muzar Tarcones that still holds every bladeball record worth having?"

"The one and only," Thortizan calmly replied

Lieutenant Wertson rubbed his chin with the tip of fingers, the perplexed look on his face growing as he studied the images projected on his telipad. "Meaning no disrespect sir, but wasn't he convicted of murder. Then sentenced to life in the Blacadoma Caverns over fourteen years ago, where he met his death four years later?"

"That is correct," Thortizan replied. He stood before the cockpit entrance, their helmet's audio projecting his voice over the pervasive scream of jet engines.

Thortizan empathized with the younger man's confusion, having recently gone through a similar thought process. He took a moment to study his lieutenant and the other fifty soldiers seated in two orderly rows on either side of the narrow cargo hold.

These are the best of the best but their true value will be revealed by the end of this historic day.

"Now listen up. This will be the only briefing on our mission before reaching the drop zone in exactly thirty-one minutes. Our mission is to locate and capture one Muzar Tarcones, aka The Hammer during his illustrious career as a Point Tackle for the Segroit Missiles."

Thortizan paused in his narrative as a string of highlights started, showing a sample of Muzar's mind-boggling exploits on the trifield. Most of the men that composed the special ops team were but babes by the time the name Muzar Tarcones became synonymous with the sport of bladeball. Given the aggressive and violent nature of the sport, every one of the elite soldiers grew up playing the game. Superior players in their own right, none were more apt to appreciate the insane skills possessed by Muzar Tarcones.

The man's entire career was one, ongoing highlight. To this date, dozens of separate fan clubs around the world debated endlessly on what plays should make the all-time top ten. As such, Thortizan was certain his men had viewed hundreds of Muzar Tarcones highlights before this moment. So for the last play chosen for his brief he chose a piece of vintage footage few had seen, showing his one and only encounter with the Hammer on the trifield.

It was his fifth and final year as a student. None of the church academies had produced a squad worth mentioning for decades but a few of the pundits were tossing Thortizan's team around as a pre-season contender. Thortizan, a seasoned player and captain of the experienced squad, had started to believe in the hype. _I still remember the palpable expectations I had for that season. Who knew, if my play kept improving, I might have been drafted._ A minute and thirteen seconds into the match, both his high expectations and bladeball career were dashed.

Thortizan rubbed his right collarbone as the montage of highlights finally reached the rarely seen footage. He hoped a few of his men would recognize him in pads and helmet, or at minimum do the math and make the connection. He had watched the play countless times since and to this day could not think of how he would have reacted any different. From the throw, to the flip turn off the wall, to the savage impact of his block, Muzar played it perfect.

A chorus of "Ooohhhhs!" escaped as they watched Muzar, flying horizontal to the ground with forearms crossed in front him, crumple a young Thortizan standing dumfounded in the middle of the field, mesmerized by the still curving ball.

_I never saw him coming. I didn't even see that impossible shot score._ He admired yet again, after the fact, how the ball completed its third and final turn, thread the extended arms of his two teammates and fly into the narrow goal. The highlight ended with Muzar timing his landing with arms extended up in triumph a split second before flashing red goal lights erupted. In the far edge of the screen, five yards away, Thortizan lay flat on his back, out cold. He came to an hour later with three broken ribs and a right collarbone snapped in two places. Thortizan's bladeball days were effectively over after that fateful play.

I was just one of many to fall victim to the magic that man created in his amateur career and would continue to perfect as a pro. Still, I consider myself privileged for the opportunity to have played against the best the game has ever seen.

"After being convicted of murder in the first degree for the death of three Drakarlean citizens..." The images moved from bladeball highlights to a compilation of sound bites and coverage of the highly publicized trial. "Mr. Tarcones, as a future lifetime resident of Blacadoma Prison, soon became known by his fellow inmates and public at large as The Law."

As the brief recounted the events leading to Muzar's fall, Thortizan reflected on his personal memories of the man. From his perspective, Muzar lived the dream life of everyman man living in the modern era. By age twenty-six, he had experienced more fame and fortune than most could imagine, much less realize. Up to that fateful day he committed those heinous crimes, he was the most beloved and admired person on the planet.

_And he threw it all away for a handful of Ecifrican scum_! It was an act that puzzled Thortizan and the Drakarlean elite to this day.

"We have all studied, with intimate detail, the enigmatic leadership skills displayed by Muzar Tarcones while incarcerated at Blacadoma penal facility. From his unique style of martial arts, to unprecedented urban warfare tactics, his influence is evidenced in all we do today." The brief transitioned into a condensed overview of the referenced archived footage. The images were procured from security cameras placed throughout the inmate run facility.

The first significant episode shown occurred about three months into Muzar's life sentence. Prior to that time, he had managed to survive in relative isolation from the rest of the population. But, by design, the lack of sufficient food, water and basic survival needs had forced him to surface to fight over a recent drop of supplies.

Push came to shove soon after a random supply drop into one of the main caverns, connected to the surface by a mile long shaft. In the midst of the mayhem that ensued, as gangs fought to gain control over the precious currency, Muzar managed to secure a bottle of water and a few cans of food. Unfortunately, he failed to escape the detection of several inmates who quickly put up chase.

Eleven inmates, all members of an Ecifrican gang known as Destiny's Charge, cornered Muzar in one of the many dead-end cul-de-sacs. Ecifricans comprised over seventy percent of the prison population, a number that hovered near a half a million. The Ecifricans allowed other provinces represented in the inmate population to form their own gangs and semblance of leadership. Of course, each had to pay homage to Destiny's Charge. All, that is, except for the tiny minority of unfortunate Drakarleans sentenced to the maximum-security penitentiary. Of those who were, all were tortured to death upon their immediate arrival.

The Church of Salvation rarely delayed or edited these public broadcasts that had emerged as the best imaginable deterrent against crime. This included their millennia long, draconian enforced capital punishment. In tandem, and to a greater affect, they used the events of Blacadoma as the primary tool used to edify their enduring propagation of the Ecifricans race as sub-human.

Muzar's first encounter with Destiny's Charge showed him first make several feeble attempts to reason with the men. His pleas met by with scoffs, the ring of bodies tightened. Each armed with crude clubs and blades, their excitement mounted at the prospect of finally capturing the elusive icon. They had something special in store for the most famous Drakarlean known in modern times, it would be an exercise in torture they intended on relishing for weeks to come.

Resolved in his decision to fight for his survival, Muzar crouched into a posture that, for a brief moment, eerily resembled his signature stance on the trifield. Attacking first, he sprung into the front line of assailants. None of the assailants were prepared for the raw savagery of that preemptive strike. In a violent blur, five bodies littered the floor. Arms, legs and necks lay twisted and bent in repulsive, unnatural positions, the flesh riddled with lethal gashes and punctures. As Muzar stepped clear, blood pooled from the heap and began to seep across the floor.

The most devastating act of violence occurred next. Shocked in anger, the self-appointed leader of the group swung his club toward the back of Muzar's head in retaliation. But Muzar was ready for the counter strike. Even when slowed down frame by frame, the awesome burst of speed and force in which Muzar thrust his fist into the man remains a natural phenomenon difficult to comprehend. The scene ended with a close-up of the dead man's caved in face, the remaining Ecifricans scattering and Muzar's casual escape down a dark hall.

Thortizan scanned his soldiers with satisfaction. The sobering scene delivered the full weight of their mission, clutching the group into a primal state of alertness. "Soon after his run in with the Ecifricans, Muzar Tarcones unified the Sidropans, Maltenoise and few Drakarleans. In the process, he seized and maintained control over three of the seven main caverns."

The brief proceeded with a few of the more epic battles that took place over that time period between Muzar's united minority and Destiny's Charge. Shots from various surveillance cameras revealed brilliant, orchestrated tactics. Muzar leveraged the confined setting of the caverns and narrow passageways to gain the advantage and ensure victory time and time again.

"A special task force, led by yours truly, was formed in response to the strange influence Mr. Tarcones appeared to be having on his fellow inmates. Our charge: to manipulate the situation with the goal of learning the full extent of what the man was capable of accomplishing." Thortizan recalled the unfettered pleasure he and his colleagues experienced while playing God the following four years.

"At first, we exploited the already prevalent law of supply and demand by cutting off all supply drops into the caverns he controlled, forcing Muzar to take the offensive. Again and again, he raided the Ecifrican camps and stole what they needed to survive. Next, we began to supply the Ecifricans with raw materials to increase their limited arsenal of crude weapons. Not only did this one-sided arms race tactic fail, but we soon discovered that his numbers and control over the caverns continued to grow in strength."

"They were united by a faith based, disciplined leadership and trained in superior combat, survival and military skills and tactics. In short, Muzar Tarcones had spawned an elite fighting force from the bowels of hell."

Thortizan had watched the hordes of condemned inmates swear their undying allegiance to Muzar grow year after year. In that time, he developed a respectful, almost paranoid, caution of the man. This despite being thousands of miles away as he observed all via sanitized security videos. His perceived control over the man's fate only added to the fear of succumbing to Muzar's boundless charisma.

Not since Apostle Drestan led our people to freedom, had man been subjected to the persuasive power of one individual. The memory helped Thortizan come to grips with his own apprehension about the pending mission.

Thortizan expanded on his exposition. "As their ranks swelled, the inmates that aligned themselves with Muzar Tarcones began to call themselves the Stewards of the Law."

Condemned to finish their final years in wretched purgatory, Stewards of the Law claimed to discover a higher purpose. Discontent with one's lot was no longer justified, as Muzar taught his followers to perceive all of life experiences as an adventure; as an opportunity to grow.

"The soul is no longer forced to fend for itself". The mantra fueled his devout followers that were all too familiar with the opposite while living in Blacadoma. Or, in most cases, their lives before incarceration. "Strength is abundant for the soul truly aligned with its brethren," was one of the man's more famous statements to emerge.

At no point did Blacadoma ever become a desired destination for any sane person. The average lifespan of the condemned still hovered around eighteen months. Few managed to avoid the typical death delivered in some form of gruesome butchery. For those who did, rampant malnutrition, infection or other natural causes would end their miserable lives. No, for the vast majority, Blacadoma remained a nightmare to the collective imagination.

But the popularity of the public broadcasts of the events taking place in Blacadoma Prison continued grew to new heights during Muzar's four year reign. Anyone with access to a telipad or wallscreen stayed glued to the happenings at Blacadoma, waiting to see what Muzar did next.

The Stewards of the Law, a cult like the world had never seen since the Church of Salvation, had begun to spread. Everyone who had studied the social phenomenon agreed. The movement spawned from the depths of Blacadoma's subterranean caves was infecting the free world at a frighteningly fast past. Muzar had gone from public icon as an elite athlete, to living deity as the savior of society's discriminated rejects.

"Inspired by the events in Blacadoma, liberals wrote essays and gave speeches comparing Muzar to every saint or apostle known. Some went so far as to claim he was nothing short of the second coming."

Even some of the church's top leaders, behind closed doors at least, had started to view the man with strange reverence. Citing examples of his actions became common place in many heated and earnest debates on the origins of race, culture or religion.

"This pestilence known as Muzar Tarcones has outlived its usefulness," Cardinal Fertinand declared at the apex of it all. Thortizan's predecessor made it clear to covert task force it was time for Muzar to disappear. Each panel member had been handpicked for the position due to their pure bloodline and staunch allegiance to the Order of Apostle Vorenius. They all understood the implications conveyed by their leader and in response, set out in earnest to exterminate the problem.

No one had commiserated on how to destroy Muzar Tarcones more than Thortizan and his team and yet every approach they attempted over the years had come up short. Desperate, they incarcerated hundreds of thousands of innocent Ecifrican men and women. By fleecing the Ecifrican compounds in this manner, they produced a fresh body of Blacadoma inmates. "We will overwhelm him with sheer numbers. In the process, we will reduce the already paltry supply of food and water," Thortizan remembers conspiring with his smug partners.

The strategic move was the biggest blunder of his career, a mistake he remains grateful was never exposed. For their omnipresent position was fatally hindered by their rampant prejudice. As a result, Thortizan and his team failed to detect the precursors leading to a truce between the Stewards of the Law and Destiny's Charge. The influx of new Ecifricans had become enchanted by Muzar's growing legend. As a result, they learned the details around his arrest, a perspective their inmate countrymen were not privy to. The bold move acted as a catalyst that ensured the tentative truce became a lasting reality.

The situation had spiraled out of control. The covert panel, never formally approved therefore having never existed, disappeared over night. Elected officials and appointed panels swooped in to find a solution to the public nightmare. The situation was but a breath away from escalating into a bona fide threat to their theocratic control.

Every department offered suggestions but none appeared to offer a solution. After much debate, Cardinal Fertinand presented the only viable plan of action. In short, send in armed troops, annihilate the lot and start over. Relief swept over the empire when, without any warning, the situation took care of itself with the sudden disappearance of Muzar Tarcones.

"Just over ten years ago, Mr. Tarcones vanished. After three straight months of no signs of his whereabouts he was declared dead. Recent intel informs us that not only is Muzar Tarcones alive but he somehow managed to escape from Blacadoma." Despite their conditioned discipline, murmurs of shock and disbelief erupted.

"Enough! Do not forget, we are dealing with an adversary that was once one of us. One of the few people in the world with both the capital means to facilitate an escape from Blacadoma and the motivation to do so."

"Drop zone in ninety seconds!" The pilot's voice interjected.

The men stood in unison at the prompt and began to double check their gear. Thortizan walked toward the rear of the jet, making eye contact and smacking men on the back and shoulders as he went. Once there, he punched a large red button on the sidewall that turned green and hydraulics lowered the back bay door, revealing a moonlit sky.

Thortizan turned and addressed his men. "Our purpose has arrived; the time has come to reclaim the world in the name of our Almighty Savior!"

A chorus of "Praise be to him!" met the close of his words as the green button began to blink. Single file, the ordained Vorenian Knights spilled into the night sky unified by a divine mission all believed was destined to occur.
Chapter 17

"Stay here. Do not move until I return. Do you understand me? I promise to come back," Steffor said passionately.

"Of course you will," Calivera replied without hesitation, "but I will not wait for your return. I will follow and, the Provider willing, unite with you soon."

Her confidence instilled Steffor with a welcome dose of courage despite her stubbornness. He looked over her shoulder at Leanor standing a few feet behind, imploring the mysterious Mystic to help convince Calivera to obey his command to stay behind. The impulsive decision proved itself a foolish one, harshly reminding Steffor how little he understood of the woman or her role.

"You must take both of us with you," she said with an assured smile.

"Steffor!" Kilton boomed, his stentorian voice heard from over a half a mile away. "We cannot delay another second!"

Steffor turned in his friend's direction. Just beyond Kilton, Grimlock, Martna and Vejax were moments away from reaching the valley's west wall. Kilton stood atop a barren knoll stationed between them and Steffor who still stood before the newly formed Mystic Tower. Poised to run, Kilton remained in place, reluctant to take another step until he saw Steffor move in his direction.

"It will take us too long to reach the Guardian Trail as it is, with the two of you in tow it will take at least half a day. This does not address the real issue of how either of you navigate the trail once there. Your coming is simply not an option."

"You possess the power to bring us Steffor," Leanor boldly confronted. "The Transcendent Age is close upon us. Calivera and I must be with you when it arrives."

"What do you speak of?" Steffor stammered, his patience wearing thin. It took all his power of concentration to block out the wave of screams heard moments before that creature erupted from the Provider's insides. The call of duty sounded, they must act now. Every second that transpired since losing their Mysticnet feed of Razum City was another moment of anguish as his soul sensed innocent life ripped from the world.

Calivera grabbed his hands, pleading his attention. "Listen to her Steffor. She....we....have seen...the Provider has revealed an existence that goes beyond our world, the transcendence that all aspire to and must reach. You are the key to realizing our destiny but it cannot be done alone."

"I do not desire to do this alone!" he said, losing his temper. "I have four, very dependable Guardians at my side and hundreds more on the way. I do not see how a Healer and a...Mystic can offer any assistance in battling the creature destroying our beloved city as we speak."

Calivera's crestfallen face calmed him, a glorious reminder of why he had not yet left.

He gently cupped her face in his hands and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Living within our boundless love is the only existence I care about. Please do not ask me to put you in harm's way. I cannot bear the thought of losing you....not again."

With fresh tears in her eyes, she acknowledged her own fears of losing their time together in this lifetime. A fear that stemmed from prior lives together never completely fulfilled. Reunited as they were, the seed of their potential life together having just broken to the surface, neither could deny the desire to become one with the other.

"You must face this fear, see it for the challenge it truly is," Leanor said, addressing both of them now. "If you do not face the fear of losing each other, then how do you expect to meet the challenge of facing the Deagron Maker. Or worse, face the events yet to materialize but most certain to demand even more courage?"

_Who was this woman?_ At first perceived as some kind of dysfunctional Mystic he would figure out later, Steffor recalled now that he did not find her among the Mystics probed when searching for a way to fix the Mysticnet. If she were a Mystic, she would have registered as such. Stranger yet, taking a moment to apply his ability to identify with any of the races, he discovered she did not conform to any.

She bares the mark of a race unique unto herself.

"I am but a faint reflection of what you have become, of what we all must become," she said, reading his thoughts. "Without Calivera and I you would have never returned," she said, steering things back to the issue at hand. "Do you deny this?"

"No," Steffor replied without hesitation. He had to acknowledge how Leanor's transformation related to Calivera's ability to connect with the soul of every living Citizen. How the relationship worked remained a mystery.

"Then use your staff Steffor," she commanded with a nod toward the weapon held in his right hand. In tandem with his garments shifting into sleek body armor, the staff had transformed into the shape of a formidable mace. He held aloft the material extension of himself and admired its unique qualities. A tailored grip conformed to every minute change in pressure or position, connected to a metallic shaft that flared into a diamond shaped head. The Guardian in him rallied, ignited by the sudden rush of power fighting to be unleashed.

_My ability to yield the Source is limited only by my imagination._ Inspired by the realization, Steffor siphoned off a portion of the raw Source pulsing within and, with his staff guiding him, enveloped Calivera and Leanor.

He addressed Calivera, his love bewildered by the sudden influx of foreign energy. "I will never lose you again," he stated. The relieved smile on her face saying all he needed, the three of them turned in unison and sped toward Kilton.

## *****

Kilton watched Steffor cover the distance between them in three massive lunges, bursts of blue Source exploding beneath his feet with each landing and launch. He continued to watch his friend after he passed, admiring how he caught up to the others in the same, swift fashion.

Compelled as he was to join them, he remained frozen in place.

It was not Steffor's unique display of power causing his dazed stasis. Nor was it the baffling sight of Calivera and Leanor as they trailed behind him with mimicked motions. No, it was an epiphany received before his inner eye locking him in place. For the vision revealed, with irrefutable clarity, a future he refused to accept.

The vision did not foreshadow any outcome related to the impending battle with their ancient enemy. Even now, helplessly locked atop the barren knoll, his body hummed with an intoxicating energy in anticipation of battle. Like all Guardians, Kilton did not fear such moments in life, he lived for them. Never was a Guardian more at peace and one with the Provider when forced to push his abilities to the limit. For his greatest fear up to that moment, if it should happen in this lifetime, was not the Deagron Maker. Up that moment, his biggest fear was not fully realizing his potential as a Guardian, failing to sacrifice himself for that which he loved unconditionally.

But the gnosis he had possessed since early childhood had never been wrong and following its sapient message, until now, was always certain to manifest love and growth. It was the compass used his entire life and lives prior, to move closer to the Provider; the tool he never doubted was leading him toward transcendence.

Now, as he processed the vivid images of his grim future, he could not help but connect it to the recent covenant made with Steffor. He replayed the words in a new light: _"...your faith in the Provider will be challenged in ways beyond your conception. There will not be time to meditate for answers, nor will your devout belief be enough. You must learn to trust your heart....."_

Kilton's True Self would rather cease to exist over fulfilling the future life the Provider had chosen for him. His stupor intensified as both heart and mind concluded the same: _I have no choice._

## *****

Vejax, Grimlock and Martna received the extension of Steffor's power and instantly synced their motions with his. Within two lunges, the Guardians harmonized their own command of the Source to Steffor's, enhancing both overall power and speed. Moving as a single unit, they formed into human vessel. Steffor sat at the point. Vejax and Martna were slightly behind to the right and left respectively. Leanor and Calivera were directly behind and in-between the two with Grimlock centered in the rear. Fueled by the Source guided by the shared coordinates and objectives of all, their bodies now acted independent of the mind as an entity in and of itself.

We manifest our future together.

Within a few moments, they cleared the valley wall, passed the Forging Falls and, with the river to their right, began to trek up the Forging Bough. No longer burdened by the need to concentrate on the next powerful leap, Steffor explored the implications of all the phenomena that had occurred since connecting to his staff. An endless stream of possibilities flooded the mind, realizing he had but scratched the surface of his potential.

There is so much more I can do as both as Mystic and Guardian. And what of Shifter and Healer? I have yet to explore the full extent of my power.

The exciting thoughts fed his confidence. But a sobering thought tampered his elation soon after, a tugging intuition present since waking in Calivera's table. _None of this should be happening._ The thought was incongruent with how he felt. Nothing had ever been more natural, more right. The ease in which his companions absorbed and grew from the extension of his power corroborated the feeling. But the thought pervaded as he wrestled with its meaning.

This is the next step, it just should not happen. Not yet, not here and now.

"Why does Kilton not join us?" Vejax inquired, bringing forth his image before Steffor's inner eye.

"He chose not to follow," Steffor replied, forced to shelve disturbing thoughts, only to tackle another. "There was no time to inquire why. No one understands our situation better than Kilton, we must trust his reasons," Steffor added. What he chose not to add was of the disturbance he detected in his friend's soul when they passed, the real reason why he did not engulf him as he had the rest. Kilton's role in the upcoming events, Steffor realized with apprehension, was no longer clear to his vision of the future.

The explanation did not appear to satisfy Vejax. But the Guardian in him recognized their limited time and prioritized accordingly, moving on to ask what he really needed to know. "What did Kilton mean by the true origins of the Deagrons? What are we about to face?"

"Until recent events, my understanding of how the Deagrons arrived was the same as yours. They arrived by satellite from outer space, how many survived the crash to propagate over the ensuing seasons the only mystery shrouding the legend. The Four, as were their predecessors, were charged with concealing a key piece of history surrounding the Deagron's origins from the rest of us."

They reached the summit of the bend and, still on autopilot, turned northeast away from the Forging River and lunged toward an adjacent bark peninsula.

"The Provider would never choose to keep anything from us," Martna said, incredulous.

"The decision to omit these events from ever being recorded in the Deeds was not made by the Provider. It was made by a select few of its Citizens. Three to be exact. But I believe it was aligned with the Provider's wishes."

"How do you know this Steffor? Did Kilton confide in you?" Grimlock asked.

"No, Kilton and I have never discussed the untold legend." It was not until Kilton spoke of it that Steffor realized he possessed the knowledge. Steffor let the magnitude of what he had said settle within each, as well as him, their bodies unconsciously leaping over several bark peninsulas in silence.

"Show us Steffor," Leanor said, sensing the group was primed to accept a new reality. "Show us what our forefathers believed we were better off not knowing."

Steffor acquiesced, accessing the concealed file and projecting the images before the minds' of his companions.

Thirty-seven seasons had passed since man had last encountered a Deagron. And while the few thousand humans alive did not know it at the time, it was the end of the Guardian Age and the ushering in of the Actualization Age. The first generation of Citizens had emerged without primal fear of the Deagrons; an existence that their parents and countless ancestors had experienced with firsthand acuity.

Life on the Provider without the Deagrons had a profound and lasting impact on the evolution of shifting the Source. It was no longer just a means to survive, relegated towards shifting crude paths up a steep branch or grafting vines down the side of a branch. No longer just a means for basic triage, healed well enough to fight another day. I became more than a telepathic connection to forewarn of attack and escape the onslaught of an approaching Deagron hoard.

The new generation of Citizens now perceived the Provider's gift as a means to improve their natural surroundings. The peaceful era gave birth to the first architects, engineers, builders, agriculturist, physicians, and psychologist. Shifters rejuvenated bark, xylem and pith, cultivated groves of lichens and bushes, and revitalized the multitude of knot ponds and lakes.

With the foundation of the beloved Razum City well in the making, man began to explore their world in earnest. Droves of hearty harvest Shifters, field Mystics and Guardians embarked on long excursions. These adventurers established many of the farming settlements that still flourish today.

It was a fragile time for Citizens, when the memories of a brutal existence still pervaded the social psyche. Slowly, cautious optimism crept in, spurred by relative peace experienced over the prior three decades. And as had always been the way of the Provider's people, optimism began to prevail.

The most important discovery during that period of exploration was that of the Deagron Fields and the mysterious root ranges and canyons of the Belly Briar. Three Guardians, Sevorist, Fregak and Triffor, embarked on this unprecedented expedition down Trunk.

Steffor picked up with the three heroes as they began their return trek home. They stood on the fringe of the Belly Briar, looking up toward the mountainous range of roots. The majestic tableau of intersecting ridges and deep canyons sprawled for miles, elevating as it moved towards the Trunk. The three were in the midst of an energetic debate, adamantly pointing toward the tremendous root architecture.

"There," Sevorist stated with authority, pointing with his left hand, running it up and down along an imaginary line, "that is the ridge we descended."

The other two followed the line of his hand but appeared apprehensive. It had been over a season since the trio last navigated the foreign land surrounding the root system. Certain they were near the range of roots they last entered from, finding the best way to reenter was proving more difficult than any of them had imagined.

"I just don't remember being so close to that fissure," Fregak said.

They all studied the ominous opening in the Trunk centered between two of the thirteen gargantuan base roots they had identified in their recent survey. Each base root reached an elevation of over three thousand feet before melding into the Trunk. From their current vantage, they could see the top half of the huge crack, its peak stretching several hundred feet above the two base roots. The remainder of the widening maw was lost to smaller roots and canyons.

"Its proximity to the path we descended has not changed, only our perspective," Sevorist countered. "We'll enter the network of lower ridges here," he said, pointing to a small root a few feet away. Ten yards wide, the root's growth into the dark soil of the Deagron Fields provided a natural ramp in which to enter the Belly Briar.

"We'll use the canyon and fissure to guide us and work our way toward the slope of either base root. From there, we can locate plenty of paths to ascend the Trunk. Let us be on our way."

They hoisted their packs laden with various treasures but dwindling of much needed food and water. The images that followed showed the three making slow progress toward the Trunk. Several times, they had to double back as the sub root they traveled would intersect with another, presenting a sheer cliff or other type impasse. After three days of frustrating travel, they had managed to penetrate deep into the catacomb of roots but soon found themselves lost within the steep ranges.

"See there," Sevorist stated from atop a large root running parallel to the Trunk. He pointed at the area between them and the fissure. "The sub roots diminish in size and frequency the closer we get to the Trunk."

"Aye, the closer we get to the base of that fissure," Fregak added, doing little to hide his fright of the dark hollow. Triffor expressed a similar fear as he nodded in agreement to his friend's observation.

"Indeed," Sevorist responded. His brow creased with concern, making the diagonal scar running from his right temple to the left side of his chin to swell a plump purple. They studied each other in that moment, testing each other's resolve to go forward, providing Steffor and his companions a rare view of the three heroes.

Cut from the prototypical, burly physique known to Guardians, Fregak and Triffor were both sixteen seasons old the day they left on their perilous journey. They were of the first generation of Guardians to receive formal training versus the "in the field training" so many others had to experience prior. In fact, many of the exercises used to hone their budding abilities into pliable skills were still practiced today by Guardian apprentices. Both left their homes anxious to prove themselves and contribute growth to their budding society. Now, three seasons later, the downy beards and freckled faces were all that remained of the doughy juveniles. The trek had hardened each, forcing them to come to terms with what they were capable.

Sevorist by comparison was a grizzled veteran born at the peak of the Guardian Age. More than a century old, the lore of Sevorist rivals most other Guardians to date, the Deeds recording his name dozens of times for acts of valor and skill. In his prime, armed with experience and determination, he was the ideal candidate to explore the uncharted nether regions of the world.

True to form, Sevorist allowed his actions and proven wisdom to instill confidence within his companions. Turning back to the Trunk, he finished explaining the revised plan. "We will stay to the ground as much as possible until we reach the opening of the fissure. Once there, we will find the best path and ascend the cliff side accordingly."

"Understood," Fregak and Triffor replied. The young men were appreciative of the right to voice their concerns but more grateful for their leaders ability to make a decision.

Related to their forward progress, the plan proved to be a sound one. The canyon floor was a patchwork of marshes, segregated by an erratic crisscross of smaller roots. The Guardians scaled the multitude of root barriers with relative ease and trudged the muddy marshland in-between without incident.

As they progressed, the sunlight reaching the inner canyon steadily diminished. By the end of the sixth day, direct sunlight had all together ceased. The light reaching the ridge tops created a bright dusk by day and an impenetrable darkness by night. Marshland transitioned into a stifling bog. Gone were the small islands and strips of dry land in which they had camped. The abundant rushes, reeds and typha, of which the shoots and nodes of several supplied the men with a nutritious energy-rich food source, had also disappeared.

On the eleventh day, the trio scaled the sub root that framed the ominous fissure within the steep canyon walls of the Trunk's base. The sub root formed a rampart wall that traveled several miles to the east and west, where it eventually folded into the mountainous base roots. Across several acres of open bog, the dark fissure predominated to the north.

A gray haze hung low over the land like an oppressive, wet blanket. Odd peat mounds quilted the murky, oil slicked, waters in an unnatural pattern. A thin line of land ascending into the vast hollow demarcated the bog's end.

"The shoreline," Sevorist said, "once there we will find our passage out of this smothering place."

Sevorist led the way though the knee-deep muck and wet vegetation. Hours later, coated in mire, they reached the shoreline that was nothing more than a strip of wet peat. The ground swayed under their steps and a faint ripple of movement dispersed around them as they dropped in the exhaustion.

"I don't feel...proper," Fregak stated once they had a brief rest on the soggy beach.

"Aye, I have a queer stirring in me as well," Triffor said in agreement, rubbing his temples with the palm of his hands.

Sevorist, not sharing the state of his constitution, stood up to study the western root precipice. "Our twilight will be gone shortly. Let us investigate the west base root first; it would be ideal if we could retrace our original path back up the Trunk."

Without question, the two younger Guardians gathered their packs and followed.

With a determined pace and eyes forward, they trudged down the strange coastline, stagnant water to their left and the fissure's dark entrance to their right. The dull twilight of the canyon was a sunny day compared to the black curtain concealing what lay beyond the nefarious cavern that appeared possessed with a life its own. Whatever dimension lay beyond, it did not require a Guardian's senses to know not to enter.

Desperation to escape the alien place mounted with every passing minute. All were relieved to reach the precipice an hour later. Wasting no time, they surveyed the steep cliff for the best path to ascend. Skilled climbers empowered by supernatural strength and agility, they were prepared for a difficult climb. The best they dared hope for was a harrowing route formed by scattered knots, odd striations or inward growths along the slope. To their joy, they found the cliff covered by a multitude of deformed outgrowths.

Despite their grotesque appearance, the protrusions created perfect holds and steps. As such, the cliff side offered countless vertical paths from which to choose. Drained and anxious to change their setting, the Guardians welcomed an easy trek to the summit, no matter how strange.

"What are they?" Triffor asked, caution countering his excitement.

"Burls I suppose, but like none I have ever seen..." Sevorist trailed off as he ran his hand over one of the gnarled growths.

"What are these," Fregak said, pointing to a spot a few yards to their right.

Gathered against the side of the root, just outside the dark cavern, was a pile of what appeared to be flat, wood chunks. The impulse to investigate temporarily overriding their need to escape the oppressive setting, the three moved over for a closer inspection. The objects varied slightly in size and shape but were clearly of the same origin. Oblong squares, six to eight inches thick, up to two feet wide, each housed a hard outer surface with a dull polish.

"It is light," Triffor said with surprise as he hefted one of the objects with both hands. "Is it hollow inside? A petrified gourd maybe?"

"Let's find out," Sevorist said, giving Fregak a quick nod.

Triffor straitened his arms, spread his legs shoulder width apart and faced Fregak.

Fregak inhaled as he shifted the Source to his left fist. With one quick motion, he punctured a hole into the object, the lingering blue trailer of energy the only evidence of the thrust. The object broke in half and Triffor laid the separate pieces on the ground before them. The inside was a fibrous webbing of strong integrity. Near where it split, was a ball made from layered leaves, brown and moist. Sevorist tore into the ball and found a dozen smaller, tan balls that look like skinned fruit.

"A seed," Sevorist hypothesized. Before either of his companions could comment, a deep moan escaped from the cavern, shaking the ground and Guardians with an intense vibration.

"Brace your self lads," Sevorist said a second later, pointing down the thin beach in the direction they had just come. A wave of land, a mound of peat rippling across the shoreline, rushed toward them with awesome speed. The three had just enough time to face the onslaught of earth and leap over before it crashed into the wall behind them. They fought to gain their balance as the ground beneath them lurched with aftershock.

"Fregak, put one in Triffor's pack," Sevorist commanded, "it is time for us to leave."

Fregak followed the command, grabbing the closest seed while Triffor emptied most the contents of his pack onto the ground. With the seed stowed, the two Guardians turned to follow Sevorist who was already forty yards up the cliff. By shifting propulsive bursts of the Source beneath their feet, the Guardians bounded up the scattered but plentiful burls with amazing speed. Within a few minutes, they had maneuvered over to the center ridge, half way up the summit.

"A few more lunges boys and we'll be there," Sevorist yelled down to his companions, squatting on a volcano shaped burl. He then turned his attention away from his trailing friends, back toward the fissure opening now parallel to his position. With greater force than before, the guttural moan reverberated throughout the canyon. From his elevated vantage, he observed an area on the beach, near the center of the fissure, submerge below the water line by some kind of unseen impact. The force jolted the fluid ground with violent force, sending set after set of land waves down both sides of the beach and across the bog.

"Something large comes our way," he said with a calm belying the fear he saw on the faces of his young companions as they came level to his spot. "Double time boys! Don't look back. I will cover the rear. No matter what happens, you must get within range of a Mystic, the knowledge of our expedition is too crucial. Understood?"

Both nodded with understanding and without hesitating another second, lunged to their next landing.

Sevorist turned back to see a dense, black smoke seeping from the fissure. Fractured, purple bursts ignited within the smoke, accompanied by a loud, clacking ululation as the Deagron Maker emerged from the bowels of the world.

With one stride, long trailers of the toxic smoke clinging to its form, the creature cleared the fissure opening to stand within the center of the bog. The monster was impossibly huge, too much for the mind to process at once. Out of necessity, Sevorist focused on the gruesome head soaring several hundred feet above his perch.

Outside two eye slits sunk deep into the skull, the head was otherwise a fluid bundle of ligneous fibers, partially enclosed by a carapace edged with spiked bony plates. The spikes grew in size and frequency down an oblong shell that ran the full length of the creature's bent back.

As it turned in his direction, dozens of knotted dreadlocks matting the top of its head flailed out and threw a putrid breeze across the cliff. The recessed eyes pulsed bright violet as it peered down at the disturbed cache of seeds. They radiated brighter as the creature's gaze traveled back up the root cliff and locked onto Sevorist.

Upon discovery of the thief, the hunched beast released a jarring bellow that sent a wave of frenetic motion across its thick hide of leather and pith. Throbbing tumors bubbled along the body beset by hundreds of fleshy tendrils twitching with spastic convulsions. The anger exuded from the creature in and of itself was enough to seize a man in mortal fear.

The Deagron then lurched toward Sevorist with paralyzing speed and agility. Survival instincts flew to the surface, drawing his attention to the lethal appendages, each a fusion of corded vine and sinew. The limbs protruded from bony bridges that locked the back shell to the imbricated plates covering the sides and torso.

"Nine!" he shouted to himself, affirming his quick count of the limbs that appeared to work independently of each other yet propelled the creature forward in one, fluid motion.

Conditioned over a lifetime to control his fear, he trained his eye and mind to watch patiently as the creature bore down on his position. It tore at the soggy ground with rangy claws as it pulled itself forward, flinging huge chunks of muck in its wake. Sevorist ignored the violent commotion and in doing so, locked onto a strange occurrence that intuition told him could not be a coincidence. The creature took great measures to avoid the strange mounds as it advanced.

He looked up to see Triffor and Fregak nearing the top, assessing soon after that out running it was not an option. He also knew, despite the lead they had, the young Guardians could not either. Knowing he must buy them time, Sevorist turned back to face the future he had already manifested. With a deep, purposeful breath, the legendary Teuton recited the Guardian's prayer: "I love you. Thank you. Please forgive me."

With the last word still passing his lips, he lunged forward. A giant fist smashed into the cliff side a second later, spraying huge chunks and splinters. His body encased by a form fitted shield of the Source, Sevorist weaved his way through the tangle of limbs and tendrils, barely evading the alarmingly dexterous swats. The powerful leap landed him near the bog's center, clear of the creature's immediate reach.

There was no effort made to counter attack the beast as it pivoted in pursuit. Instead, using every cell in his being, Sevorist squared his shoulders to the west, braced his legs, extended his arms and called forth the Source. His body recoiled from the devastating bolt of energy unleashed by his outstretched hands. The bolt ripped through the bog, burning a trench five yards wide in its wake. Sevorist grunted with effort as he swept the stream of energy across the bog, annihilating everything in its path.

The beast howled with agony as the bolt of Source severed five of its talons and several tendrils. Its screams reached new heights as the bolt sliced through the strange mounds and exploded each into piles of fleshy goo.

Sevorist completed a full turn before the Source came to fizzling halt. He collapsed to his knees in exhaustion but had enough strength to lift his head and survey the havoc he had wreaked in just a few seconds. Satisfied no mound remained, his eyes came to rest on the cache of seeds several hundred yards away. He pulled in what reserves he had left, aimed his open palms toward the pile and fired a missile of Source. A satisfied smile crossed his face a second before an immense shadow from above came crashing down.

"Nooooooo!" screamed Triffor and Fregak as the view switched to the young Guardians watching the scene from high above.

The Deagron turned toward the sound and let loose a roar in response that moments later slammed into them with gale force and lethal fetor. Stunned by the loss of their beloved surrogate father, the Guardians clung helplessly to the ivy roots and waited to see what the creature would do next.

Satisfied the two Guardians posed no immediate threat, the Deagron turned back to the crater created by the fist that had obliterated Sevorist. The Deagron Maker drew back his tawny limb and drove it back down with the same anger and power. A whimper escaped from Triffor as the two peered into the pit. Muck from the surrounding bog oozed back into the cavity, finding no evidence of Sevorist's bodily remains. With the same deceptive speed, the Deagron Maker moved back to the fissure opening and disappeared back into the hollow.

"They are all gone," Triffor said, shrugging his pack higher onto his back.

Steffor fast-forwarded through the uneventful bulk of their trek back up the Trunk. He resumed when the two were but half a mile below the Razum. With the squat bough dominating the sky above, the two Guardians had identified a clear trail through the ivy patch and mushroom caps that would have them home within a day.

"We made it," Triffor said with solemn pride.

"Not yet," Fregak replied, "we must be close enough to sync with Mystic, let us try again before continuing."

"Agreed."

Seated on the cap flat of a broad mushroom with backs leaning against a goliath bark plate, the two Guardians released their minds and searched for a Mystic. Soon after their eyes began to move in rapid sequences, moving left to right, right to left, up and down, down and up. Within a few minutes, they had uploaded their experiences to Draiken, the Mystic destined to become the first steward of the Forging Tree.

_"Welcome home Citizens,"_ Draiken said. _"Concern over your return has intensified over the past few months. There will be much rejoicing over the boon you bring back to your people."_ A long pause occurred after that to the point both Guardians got back to their feet to resume the last leg in their journey, before Draiken spoke again. _"But your mission is not complete."_

"Sevorist fell to his death as they neared the end of their journey," Grimlock said in disbelief.

Granted, the mystery shrouding Sevorist's death left many to wonder. After all, how could a seasoned Guardian disappear without Fregak or Triffor being aware. Still, attack from zapture or giaker catching a weary Guardian off guard was not an unprecedented event. It offered and a plausible explanation.

Silence met the big man's obdurate resistance to this new reality as each experienced a similar transition in light of what they had just seen. The truth, no matter how harsh it may be was a requisite they all believed to be essential for the soul to grow. If given the opportunity, would they go back in time and make different choices, decide to remain ignorant over discovering their belief system is not perfect?

"Those images, of Fregak placing the seed in Triffor's pack, are not new, they were used in the original version," Martna said with a dejected tone. "It explains the origins of the Forging Tree. But we were led to believe the seed was found in the Deagron Fields, near the meteor crash."

"As you just seen that was just one of the scenes to be edited," Steffor offered by way of explanation.

Steffor remained confident in his decision to share these secret events. He trusted the revelation would lead to a higher, more poignant truth, providing them the edge they will need to defeat the Deagron Maker. Necessity dictated his actions, and he knew he would make the same choice again given the same circumstances.

Why then, can I not shake this perverse feeling that everything I do now and the future will all be for naught?

He ended the feed. There was more to show, details that would help explain the motives behind the cover-up. But the need to do so was no longer relevant to Steffor in light of what he learned the moment Draiken entered the story. The introduction of Draiken triggered an omnipotent ability, one that enabled him to connect the present incarnation of a soul, with those of past lives.

I was Draiken!

The sudden enlightenment sent a frantic wave of insecurity through his being. _I convinced the young Guardians to corroborate the edited version of their epic adventure. They agreed images of the Deagron Maker would generate disruptive panic within their vulnerable society. But they needed Sevorist's sacrifice to mean something. Preying on this need, they were all to happy to accept Draiken's partial truth, that his sacrifice, in the end, prevented the Deagrons from ever returning._

'From the same soil, we will grow the scion of our God,' Draiken mandated as held forth the seed. 'In doing so, we will forever imprison the Deagron Maker.' _They did not understand how I held this to be true, any more than I do now, but as it has been the case with every Citizen since, they wanted to believe. The alternative was too much to bear._

If I knew the birth of the Forging Tree would halt the Deagrons, did I also, deep inside, know that I would one day in the far future transform it. And in doing so, once again release the Deagron Maker into the world?

Confounded by the provoking question, the answer that soon formulated was even more troubling. _None of this should have happened, yet somehow I knew it would._

Chapter 18

Stalling was not prepared for the oppressive presence filling the room, a mysterious energy that assaulted every sense. By the time he reached the chamber's center to stand next to Jennifer, tears were inexplicably running down his face. He turned to face his friend, hoping she would clarify the unexpected veneration with some type of scientific explanation. Instead, he was startled to see the stolid scientist suffering from the same affliction.

"It's him," she sniveled, rubbing the back of her hand across puffy eyes and snuffling nose as she nodded toward Muzar. Stalling turned to face Muzar, naked but for snug white boxer-briefs, raised face level from the submerged bay centered between the three computer towers. He was lying upward at an eighty-degree angle, securely placed in a wide, foam fitted bed. The bed was framed by the same black, biometric material used to create the mainframe's conical walls.

_Who is this stranger?_ Stalling thought as he struggled to look directly at his unconscious childhood friend. "We have surpassed our wildest expectations! Who could resist the benevolent force emanating from this creature?" Stalling said to no one, to everything.

Jennifer rubbed his back and shared in his joyful tears for several moments before the pragmatic side gained control. "The math remains consistent, the program will kill him if we allow it to finish. We must awaken him, now."

"I have reviewed Janison's patch and believe it will enable us to save him with all his knowledge intact," Stalling replied. "We will start the procedure the second he and Antone arrive. They are only minutes behind."

"Then what? Will it all be over? Did he grow enough, despite not finishing? How crucial are those final moments?" Jennifer asked, echoing the questions all of them have asked since discovering the problem.

"It will have had to be enough," Stalling said, surprised by the resolve of his words. Addressing Muzar, Stalling said, "You have done more than any of us could have hoped old friend," impulsively grabbing the others hand.

"Yes, yes he has," Jennifer added, placing her face in front of Muzar's, gently brushing her lips across his.

The show of affection surprised but did not shock Stalling. Lorissa was right. All this time, Jennifer has been near the one person she cared for most. How that came to be, he could only guess, for the two had never met until Muzar arrived in this place ten years ago and that time was brief.

Granted, Jennifer had prepared Muzar for both the mental and physical challenges of his journey before departing. But he found it hard to imagine the two of them forging any kind of meaningful relationship over those few days. No, Stalling concluded, the bond between them must have materialized during Muzar's absence over the years as Jennifer studied his life from afar.

Or their bond spans over many lifetimes prior to this one, Stalling thought with a fond smile.

Either way, the love he saw on Jennifer's face was real, not a simple infatuation. This much he was certain. What was not clear, a thought he was sure must be running through her mind, was if Muzar felt the same.

Confident the answers to which, and so much more, revealed with Muzar's return. All the sacrifices his friend had made rushed to the surface of Stalling's consciousness. Before I ever approached Muzar with my outlandish proposal, he had already sacrificed more than any of us could imagine. With vivid detail, Stalling recalled the crucial juncture in their relationship that took place over a decade ago.

The dank place chosen for their reunion was one of the many, naturally formed pockets found within the ancient limestone caverns of Blacadoma. Free of security cameras, the small space had remained hidden from the world at large. If not for the painstaking hours invested by Stalling's team to dissect every recorded movement Muzar made, they too would have never found the hidden cavern.

It was complete conjecture on their part that the cave even existed. The only form of hard evidence came from observed time lapses that occurred on more than one occasion when either Muzar or his allies traveled the otherwise nondescript stretch of hallway.

"From what we can tell by the blueprints and intel we acquired, the entire network of light fixtures down that hall has not worked for years. There must be a hidden room or passage," the elated team reported one day after months of fruitless search.

Time was pressing on many fronts and Stalling knew it was time to take a calculated risk. He went with his gut and started drilling. Ten months, the death of a crewman and several course changes later, they completed the long shaft and gained entry into the tiny cavern. It took another five weeks of waiting for one of Muzar's people to enter the room and coordinate with Stalling's agent a meeting with Muzar.

Stalling shuddered, remembering how they lowered him into the narrow shaft, lying flat on his back with arms pinned to his sides as ropes slowly pulled him down feet first. His heart raced as he recalled the hours it took to complete the descent. Alone with his fears, the morbid sound of his breath echoing off rock wall was all he had to keep him company. He feared getting stuck in the three foot wide, over four mile long shaft and dying from his heart exploding with panic. He feared not escaping, forced to live his remaining years in that hellhole. Most of all, he feared of returning empty handed, of facing the prospect of never realizing his dreams, all of which were so close to materializing.

The descent and ascent of the shaft had been the most harrowing experiences in his life to date or since. But Stalling believed deep inside that if he could convince Muzar to accept the pivotal role in his vision, it would all be worth it. Muzar is the answer, he would tell himself over and over again. He was certain the statement would manifest itself as true if he said it enough with conviction and unbridled gratitude. The thought had become his mantra, the weapon he used to keep his mounting fears at bay, providing clarity when he needed it most.

Once delivered, with that mantra fresh on his heart, Stalling squatted at the edge of the small, mirrored pool that consumed the majority of the cramped space. He waited several hours for Muzar to arrive. Calming his nerves, he had meditated on the abundant stalactites hanging from the slit ceiling, reflected on the pool by his tiny lamp. Finally, Muzar entered from the small crack leading into the room, an action that required him to turn sideways, crouch down and step like a crab.

Stalling moved to greet his old friend and was rebuffed when Muzar turned his back to him, squatted low and said in a harsh whisper: "Quite!" Muzar maintained his position for several long minutes. The silence of the man was more smothering to Stalling than the recent hours of isolation.

Satisfied none had followed, he stood back up and turned to face Stalling.

"It is good to see you Muzar," Stalling said softly.

"Yes, Stalling, it is good to see you as well. You have brought the supplies we requested, yes?"

"Yes, all that we could muster under the circumstances." He gestured with a hand toward the six, large duffle bags piled on the low ledge near the small hole his men had bore into the room.

"You have truly done us a great service," Muzar said as he crossed the room and inspected the bags.

He studied Muzar in that moment. It had been twelve years since he had last seen his friend in person but Muzar looked like he had aged forty. The grainy camera footage had somewhat prepared Stalling for the shocking changes in the man. Now, enclosed in the room together with the dreary iridescence of his pocket lamp shedding light on the finer details, he had to stretch his memory to recognize anything familiar.

To identify the person in the room as his old friend, Stalling had to recall the subtle traits, relegated in the past as secondary behind his robust personality. Despite the loss of fifty pounds of muscle and the baggy jumpsuit he wore, Muzar still moved with feline grace and purpose, each step and gesture like an orchestrated dance.

But it was the spark in his emerald eyes, shrouded by a wild mane of dark brown locks matted to his forehead and a shaggy beard extending past his neckline that assured Stalling's doubting mind that the man in the room was Muzar. It was this enchanting spark, a providential sensuousness, that Stalling recognized in that moment as the source of his conviction, his belief that Muzar was indeed the missing piece.

Content with his mental inventory of the contents of the bags, Muzar stood up, turned around and acknowledged Stalling's presence with a nod. "Thank you. The timing of these supplies could not have come at a better time. You have saved thousands."

"I only wish I could have brought more," Stalling said meekly, wondering how the meager amount of fortified food, water and essential medical supplies could have any kind of significant impact on the situation in Blacadoma.

"It's more than anyone else would do, that is all that matters. It was your generous heart that always made me proud to call you my friend," Muzar said as he stepped down and stood before Stalling.

"You have no idea the peace it brings me to hear you still consider me a friend," Stalling said.

Muzar's face flashed with a mix of undetectable emotions in response to Stalling's words, before he forced a smile and clasped Stalling's shoulder affectionately. "Come, let us sit by the pool with the remaining time we have and you can tell me the ulterior reason you chose to risk your life to see me."

They both squatted at the edge of the pool as Muzar ripped open one of the vitamin packed protein bars he had procured from a duffle bag. He took a big bite and Stalling was content to watch Muzar chew in silence for a few moments before speaking again.

"I came for you."

"To what end? So that I can spend my remaining days on some deserted, tropical island?" Muzar replied.

Despite his intentions for Muzar being far from a reclusive hideaway, the detestable tone in his friend's voice startled Stalling. "No, that is not what I came here to propose. But what if it was? Would you accept the offer?"

Muzar looked at Stalling and allowed a genuine smile to cross his face, releasing a small flash of his remote beauty. He smiled at Stalling for several long seconds, moisture amplifying the loving warmth in the depths of his eyes, before turning his attention back to the placid water.

"I lived in this hole for months. For the first week or so, I had managed to stay ahead of the mobs bent on my capture. But the more I came to terms with my predicament, the more I knew it was only a matter of time before they would catch me. I was approaching that reality, having just mugged a man laden with food and water, tasked with transporting it to one of the many caches controlled by the Ecifricans. I ran for hours without success in losing my pursuers."

"It was then that I stumbled into the pitch black hallway outside," Muzar said with a jerk of his head toward the small opening he had used to enter the room. He gulped down the rest of his bar and washed it down with a fresh bottle of water, taking his time to savor both.

Stalling waited in silence as Muzar absently flicked a few pebbles into the pool, sending small ripples across the tranquil surface. "The darkness forced me to slow down and grope along the wall to my left in order to go forward. In what I now know to be about the mid-point of the dark tunnel, where one loses sight of the light coming from either end, my hands came across a crack in the wall just below my waist. At that same moment, I knew I was trapped when I heard the voices of my pursuers coming from both ends of the tunnel. On instinct, driven by a will to live I did not know I possessed until that instant, I lay flat on the ground and pulled myself in."

Stalling peered over Muzar to study the slit leading into the cave and tried to imagine the then two hundred and fifty pound Muzar squeezing into the tight space. It did not seem possible.

"If you were here, magically waiting for me in this place at that time so many years ago, I would have left with you in an instant. For at that time, I was a man who still refused to grow; to sacrifice what I was for what I could become, a man who would have gladly lived out his days wallowing in remorse. No remorse over the death of the three men I killed, I knew the moment after the impulsive action took place that I would do it all over again. No, the self-reproach haunting me the remaining days of my life would have stemmed from my willingness to remain ignorant. How my insatiable drive to compete, to reach the highest pinnacle of a simple barbaric game, prevented me from ever seeing the world around me."

"But the world around you was beautiful," Stalling said. "You cut a wake of love and joy through the world. One could not help but feel better when they were around you. People learned to follow their bliss by your example."

Muzar shook his head and began to laugh. Laughter not heard since they last escaped to their remote spot on top of the ridge looking down upon the lush valley they once called home. It was infectious and together, as if seventeen again, they laughed until their bellies ached and tears rolled from the corners of their eyes.

"Strange," Muzar said, taking a deep breath fluttered with emotion as he regained, while less rigid, his original composure, "how the perspective of another soul can provide a glimpse of your true self when you need it most. For it is you I would have described in such a manner. It was you, the memory of those long nights on Carter's ridge gazing at the stars, solving all the world's problems, which triggered my transformation."

"Your boundless empathy for those less fortunate; your passionate anger at the flagrant injustices in the world; your belief that, if determined enough, one man could make a significant, meaningful difference; your unwavering faith that everything happens for a reason, a resolve that only intensified after the murder of your parents. I used it all, the raw material molded together to form my new self, the catalyst for my rebirth."

"Sustained by this tiny spring and the rations I had recently stolen, I lived in this place so long, I lost track of time itself. At first, fear and self-preservation kept me here. As the long hours of darkness mounted, I began to address the voices in my head that dictated my current reality. At first, the fearful child who ran from anything unknown or foreign, then the judgmental influence of adversaries protecting their self-serving perceptions of the world and finally the opinions of respected peers and role models like you. Disconnected from emotion, I listened to the voices, patiently allowing each to exhaust and fade from consciousness. It was then, in the vastness of silence, my desire for change overpowering my fear that I began to visualize a new world in which to live in."

"What if I told you I came here today to ask you to expand your influence beyond Blacadoma?"

"Who are you to say I have not already?" Muzar coyly countered Stalling's open-ended question.

_He is still the same Muzar I grew to love, the only person who truly challenged me._ He had counted on Muzar, by this point, not only being aware of the influence he was having on the free world, but also motivated by the knowledge.

"You misunderstood my question. The reality you have imposed onto Blacadoma seeps into the rest of Antium as we speak. Large groups dedicated to the Stewards of the Law are cropping up everywhere, not just in Drakarle but also in every province, including Ecifrica. For the first time in over two millennia, policy-altering schisms are being formed within the C.O.S. Everything once perceived as untouchable is now up for lively debate."

Muzar nodded with understanding. "It is all the chosen point of intention."

Stalling studied Muzar for several moments, amazed by and drawn toward the contentment exuding from the man. He had to remind himself of the harsh living conditions of this place. On average, once a week, Muzar took the life of another human being. No doubt, a fierce existence but a welcome dilution compared to the average of killing another human everyday experienced during his first two years in the hellhole known as Blacadoma Caverns. Against all odds, he has managed to improve his plight. Despite his perseverance and bountiful faith, he must know deep inside it will all end poorly, and soon. Stalling decided to take a different tack.

"Alterian Enterprises has experienced phenomenal growth since last we spoke," he said in a business like tone.

"That is excellent news," Muzar replied. "I never doubted you would succeed once aligned with a product or service you believed in. So what gift have you bestowed to the world?"

"Well, assuming we continue to maintain the same patterns of the past three years, we will have accomplished nothing short of changing how the world communicates."

"Interesting. So have you enhanced the wallscreen or telipad? Or did you focus on the infrastructure and improve the grid? That's it, you expanded the grid into the rural, less affluent provinces."

"You are close," Stalling said with a smirk, openly admiring his friend's keen mind despite being a little naive. "While my father made his fortune in real estate—just as his father, grandfather and great grandfather had done—Dad used to always say to me and others close to him: Telecommunications is a safer investment than property. Betting on where people will want to live or recreate, while not a blind guess, is a fickle thing with no guarantees. Man's desire to communicate and share information, now that is something you can take to the bank."

"Sage advice," Muzar replied half heartily. Stalling sensed the other's urgency to return to the life outside the room start to mount.

"Dad backed those words with actions and by the time he and Mom passed, he was a major stakeholder in both General Technology Company and Drakarle Telecom & Cable Corporation. Soon after we finished school—about the time your pro bladeball career started to take off—I became obsessed with learning everything possible about the industry controlled by the duopoly. Learning the technology behind it all was the easy part. It was the getting my arms around political and bureaucratic bullshit surrounding the industry that was the hardest. But once I did, it became painfully apparent that the Church had no intentions of allowing a third party into the game, at least not using the same technology."

"I may be dumb to a lot of things Stalling, but even I could have saved you a lot of time and effort."

"Well, it was not a complete waste of time. Actually, looking back at it, it was time well spent, for if I did not go through the exercise, I may have never imagined the human wireless network."

"Human...wireless? What the hell are you talking about?"

Muzar's intrigued response pleased Stalling. "As I learned more about the industry I concluded early on, if I were ever able to somehow weasel my way in as a third provider, the capital required to lay cable was too intensive. So I started to research wireless communications. Imagine having all the video and audio features of a telipad, while moving around freely rather than staying fixed in one location. The cable grid would become obsolete."

"This was not an original idea, the technology, at least in concept, had been around for over two decades. To my dismay, I learned, only because my shareholder status provided access to information others did not, that the incumbents had already received the exclusive rights to develop and maintain future wireless network and supporting equipment. Even worse, they had started the production of both over a decade ago and were simply sitting on the technology. It just wasn't in the interest of either's bottom line to undermine the present and very profitable status quo."

"So I am guessing you found a loophole, something within the rules of the dysfunctional game that got you in." Muzar said, enjoying his recollection of Stalling's persistent intellect.

"I did, but the source of the idea did not come from any preexisting technology. It came from a project I had started five years prior that, originally, I did not foresee providing a solution to my commercial endeavors to break into the telecommunications industry. The intention of the project was to provide a deeper insight into how the human mind operates."

"OK, I'll bite, why are you studying the brain?"

"The plasticity of the human brain is inherently designed to evolve. It never stops reconstructing itself from our continual pipeline of experiences to create a predictable memory system. This memory system, or conditioned sequence of patterns, is what I believe each person uses to project his or her personal version of the Universe."

Stalling turned from the spring to look at Muzar and gauged if the other was tracking with his attempt to explain his controversial experiment in layman's terms. Muzar met his eye with an intensity he was uncertain how to read. No turning back now, Stalling had thought, full disclosure is the only way. He must make an informed decision on his own.

"To put it in simple terms, each mind writes, produces and listens to its own symphony. Beautiful, magical mathematical equations created in response to the desire our shared Universe has to observe its own reflection. Diversity amongst all of us is the key to our universal growth. The more each mind awakens to its potential the faster we grow as a whole. Conversely, every detrimental practice imposed on our collective psyche by a culture whose only interest is in its ongoing replication, taints the well of consciousness and prohibits any meaningful growth. Do you understand?"

"I understand Stalling. You have never been content to rely on faith alone, no matter how tangible the accumulated evidence. Your joy of life is found in the elusive balance between the realist in you that requires the quantifiable and the mystic in you that cannot deny the existence of realities beyond human comprehension."

"Fair enough. But you need to take your understanding of who I am one step further and fold in my commitment to stay equally active to both sides; in my unwavering belief that, if aligned with a cause bigger than myself, my continual activity will yield results for both sides. What I have taken the long road in telling you, is that I have discovered that balance, a way to keep one foot in each dimension. A way to rid ourselves of our suffocating society and usher in a new one built on the foundation of equality and love."

The bromidic tone of his own voice irritated Stalling, but he was pleased to see that Muzar's body had relaxed in response to the sermon. "So what exactly are you proposing?" Muzar cautiously inquired. "Forcibly imposing your views and beliefs on the world? How does that make you any different?"

"It doesn't and that is not my objective. My only desire is create a beacon of hope for all life, a light that cannot be extinguished by the hands of man or any other material force."

"I share that desire and have come to believe it can be attained. Maybe not in my lifetime but if I can help spark that light, then this lifetime has not been wasted."

"What you have done here over the past four years has sparked that light but I fear it is a light that man can and will extinguish, sooner rather than later."

"How do you know this? Can you see into the future? All that matters is the present now and that which we have control, in how we choose to perceive the world around us."

"I do not disagree with you Muzar, it's just I cannot find a way to change my perception, given what I know."

"Which is what?"

"That the same government who sentenced you to this place for defending innocent women and children, is determined to prevent your truce with the Ecifricans from ever materializing."

"They are too late, there is too much momentum to stop it from happening."

"They have ascertained the same, which is why they believe there is very little recourse outside of erasing the situation entirely."

"Erasing? How do they intend to do that?"

"Well, according to my latest intel, they had narrowed it down to poisonous gas or sending down armed troops. Most likely, it will be a combination of the two."

"What of the public outcry? Do they not broadcast the on goings of this place to the world? How do they plan on justifying their actions?"

Stalling was surprised but not shocked by Muzar's look of genuine disbelief. "This is what I came here to tell you. The movement you have started is now viewed in very black and white terms. The Church of Salvation, at least the conservative majority in charge, have concluded destroying the fledgling movement now, before it can blossom and bear fruit and consequently they lose all hope of ever stopping its growth, and oppressing the public backlash with the same vigor, is the only option. Believing that in time, with good reason based off precedent set throughout history, your martyrdom will fade from consciousness."

Stalling fought the guilt welling inside at forcing his friend to consider such a horrid scenario as he watched Muzar contemplate the outcome of that potential reality.

"So be it," Muzar said with determined resolve sewn into his face. "Nothing has changed; I still only have control over my thoughts and actions. Let what may come, come."

"I came here to present to you an alternative, an option that, in the short-term, can prevent the wholesale slaughter of the Blacadoma inmates."

"And in the long-term?" Muzar asked, doing little to hide the hope in his eyes.

"We create a world absent of human ignorance. A world where the inherent harmony of quantifiable science and the mysterious, but undeniable, energy called God, never ceases to evolve or influence the positive growth of man's mind, body and soul."

The two turned back to face the spring and allowed the silence of the small cavern to settle over them. Several minutes passed as each mulled over the implications behind their dialogue while enjoying the quite presence of the other.

With a determined sigh, Muzar looked back to Stalling. "Over the years of my incarceration in this place, the priorities of things I miss most about living free have changed dramatically. At first, I found myself dreaming of a perfectly aged glass of ice water or one of Patrone's hot subs, do you remember, stacked so high you could barely get your hands around it!"

Stalling nodded with a laugh at the memory.

"Those desires along with all the other basic needs soon faded the day I left this oasis. As you and the rest of the world have observed, once I created the semblance of safety, my next desire to help others was fulfilled and affirmed by the people who chose to join my crusade to improve our plight. Since, I have experienced levels of comradery and love I do not believe I would have ever attained if not for the circumstances. Now, as you find me here today deep within the hollows of the world, there is a desire deep within me, a reality, despite all I have been able to manifest up to this point, that I fear will never be slaked in this lifetime again. It is the one thought, selfishly at least, that brings me the greatest sorrow and source of long stretches of melancholy. A condition I will confess has been happening more and more frequently."

"What is it?"

"In the off season, shoot it started when we were kids, I would spend months in the wilderness alone."

"I remember. You would disappear for weeks. Your parents never seemed to worry that much, always cryptically explaining your absence as 'he has gone to find himself'. I remember chuckling at an investigative article written about you several years ago titled 'Where on Antium is Muzar Tarcones' in attempt to explain your hiatus from the public spotlight."

"I never cared for the spotlight but that was not why I felt compelled to escape from the civilized world. It was both a genetic and spiritual need to commune with nature. To know what it means to be an equal part of a vast biological community is truly what it means to live in the hands of God. My heart aches with more desire than once imagined possible to wander the wilderness with nothing but a pack on my back and no other goal than becoming one with the world we live in."

"My hope and vision for peace will always dictate the action I take going forward. I believe in you Stalling and trust your vision is aligned with my own, making secondary the how it is accomplished and the role we each play. But I tell you now, I stand before you a broken, desperate man that can only be saved by nurturing this desire—no, the need—to commune with the divinity. If you tell me once I have fulfilled my purpose, that I will once again experience life with nature, I will follow you now."

"Muzar," Stalling said, holding his friends eye, "I promise that need will be met in ways beyond our current conception.
Chapter 19

Guardian Trails were conceived in the midst of the Deagron Age, when the need for Guardians to travel swiftly from one end of the Provider to other was at its height. Another millennium would pass before Citizens acquired both the shifting skills and manpower required to construct the unique transportation system. For Guardian Trails were an anomaly spawned from a rare fusion of powers, a vehicle made by Shifter ingenuity, powered by Guardian brawn.

Constructed from thousands of vines, assembled into pliable, braided cables, the Guardian Trails ran the entire length of the Provider. The Guardian Trails remedied what once required a Guardian to take a "leap of faith", jumping off the nearest edge, trusting in the Provider to show the way or worse, attempt an arduous climb wrought with danger. Today, with every major bough, and most sub-branches, having at minimum one entry point to a trail, once a Guardian reached a Guardian Trail portal he was only seconds away from any region of the tree.

Steffor and his friends released a sigh of relief as they spotted the cable off in the distance. The Guardian Trail was still several miles away, a thread slicing the otherwise empty horizon, extending from Toliver's evergreen canopy down past the edge of the ivy infested bark peninsula they traveled. But sight of the last stage in their journey before reaching Razum was enough to lift the dark thoughts settling on Steffor's mind.

With one last powerful bound, the group came to a halt on a narrow ledge along the peninsula's sloped border. Steffor released his companions from his staff, giving everyone a moment to catch their breath and adjust to the precarious setting.

The ledge, shifted level to provide a flat surface in which to stand, overlooked a deep ravine that dropped sharply away from them with the natural curve of the Forging Bough's circumference.

A few hundred feet from where they stood, the vertical Guardian Trail wended over the dark chasm, down past the protruding lip of the adjacent bark peninsula. It disappeared from sight as it penetrated the expanse of Sofelarus's foliage below.

Single file, Steffor led the group along the ledge to a long cantilever jutting perpendicular over the ravine. They crossed over the shifted beam to the platform that, through a round opening in its center, the Guardian Trail intersected. Steffor raised his staff and with a quick wink of intense blue light, brought forth the three dimensional map of the Provider. Razum City and the surrounding area was a throbbing black void that appeared to be expanding.

"The Mysticnet around Razum remains blocked," Steffor reported. "Once there, I should be able to extend my power to create a mobile version of the net and contact any Guardian in the area."

"Is it the Deagron Maker causing the disruption, creating the blackness?" Martna asked, biting her lower lip.

"I am not sure," Steffor said. "But instincts I am still struggling to familiarize with tell me the two are related but separate in and of themselves."

Steffor could tell by the round of faces that his honest but cryptic disclosure added more anxiety to fast approaching events. Calivera, the only one to meet his eye, walked to his side, grabbed his hand and beamed him a warm smile.

With the rest of the Mysticnet still intact, he did a quick survey of the Guardians located outside Razum. Once done, he calculated the approximate time it would take each to reach their own respective Guardian Trail portals and concluded what he had already feared: of the Guardians residing outside the capital—the vast majority—only a handful had arrived in Razum by this point.

"According to our last scan, before losing the Mysticnet feed over Razum, all twenty one Razum Guardians were accounted for, in addition to Teuton Traiken. As we can see," Steffor said, highlighting the Guardians to denote them from the millions of other blue dots on the map, "the bulk of our brethren are at best another ten to twenty minutes behind us. Once we arrive above Razum, we will gain the best vantage point, assess the situation and take action."

Each nodded with understanding. _Surely twenty-two of the Provider's knights will be enough to hold the beast at bay until more help arrives_ , Steffor thought with a sour bubble swelling in his stomach.

Steffor extended his power to the group and coupled it to the vine cable. The sudden union of the two snapped each person off the narrow ledge and ringed them around the six-foot thick cable. Backs clamped to the braided vines, pointing feet first, a powerful burst of Source shot them down the trail.

The subtle curves, bends and straightaways of their passage blurred by without incident as the Guardian Trail navigated them through leaf and branch at blazing speeds. Steffor had only a brief second to recognize the maze of man-sized, three prong leaves and interlacing twigs indigenous to Sofelarus before their confined surroundings vanished and gave way to open sky.

Centered below, rushing toward them, sprawled Razum City. Steffor angled their decent to the east, toward the Trunk. Over twenty miles away, Steffor enhanced their vision to get a closer look at the jagged rupture. Maligned Source oozed from the gash, black smog seeping down the Trunk, leaving a wake of charred bark and xylem. The vast cityscape blocked their view of the destructive flow past a few hundred feet below the hole but their collective imagination shuddered at the damage it would cause once it reached the city, if it had not already.

They soared toward the wounded Trunk and within a few minutes were hovering but a few hundred feet above the tallest buildings, at which point Steffor began to deflect the Source off to propel them forward. They fluttered over the remaining miles in this manner and in those moments surveyed the activity below.

The recent mayhem at the Trunk side of the city had created a mass exodus of Citizens toward the other side, inundating the complex grid of catwalks, bridges and roads connecting the magnificent structures with thousands of terrified people.

To their relief, they spotted several Guardians supervising the mass retreat. More than once, they witnessed the safe and acrobatic rescue of victims, accidentally shoved in the rush of bodies, flailing in the air for several long seconds, snatched by a Guardian at the last moment. The heroic scenes were an unexpected but welcome boost in their morale.

He recognized the disparate group of Guardians as the few who had managed to reach Razum before them.

"What news of Traiken?" he hailed, applying the power of his staff to create a mobile Mysticnet hub and lock onto the group.

"I am the only one of us to have seen Traiken before he and the Razum troop rushed off to confront the creature," a young Guardian named Delvid quickly replied, the image of his handsome face appearing before their collective mind's eye. "At the time, they were overwhelmed with the rush of people trying to escape. Upon my arrival, he delegated me to take his place with instructions to recruit any others coming from the outer regions and estuaries. That was over twenty minutes ago."

"What direction did he go?"

"Due East, toward the rupture in the Trunk."

"More are coming. Send all newcomers to where Traiken went and we go now. The rest of you must keep the flow of people moving as far away from the Trunk as possible. Do not stop until you hear orders otherwise. Do you understand?"

"Aye."

As they moved to within a half mile of the Trunk, the disconcerting chaos caused by the rush of terrified Citizens had diminished but a few people still occupied several of the buildings and transit systems. To their dismay, the majority of these stragglers appeared badly wounded. The sorry lot plodded along as best possible, leaning on their neighbors for support, adrift in lethal shock and trauma. Makeshift litters carried those too decrepit or unconscious, or already dead Steffor detected via his omnipotent senses. He could not locate a Healer amongst them.

"Release me Steffor, I must help those in need," Calivera commanded. Caught by the same impulse, Steffor landed the group on a small observatory deck atop the next closest building. Without pause, Steffor grabbed Calivera by the hand and escorted her down the small set of steps that led to an open hatch on the otherwise empty rooftop.

He turned her around to face him. "Do not...."

The forceful press of her trembling lips cut his words short. With vigor more intense than the last, Steffor lost himself in her embrace and allowed the rest of the world to fade from consciousness, if only for a moment.

Calivera was first to initiate their separation, however reluctant, saying over her shoulder as she hurried down the stairwell leading into the building, "I will not move any closer to the Trunk than I already am. Please be safe Steffor, I cannot bear the thought of losing you, not again."

Steffor took a few more seconds to watch the top of her golden locks disappear down the dark passage before turning back. He nearly ran into Leanor as he did so, the mysterious woman having followed them down.

"Don't worry Steffor, I will go with her. The two of you will be reunited soon, this much I have foreseen." And with that, she followed in Calivera's direction.

Relieved but as confused as ever by the strange woman, Steffor, once again, did not have the liberty to contemplate the meaning of her words or role.

Rejoining the anxious Guardians, he locked his power with the group. "We are one lunge away. We will assess the situation on our descent. Once I am in range, we will sync with Traiken and his team and coordinate all efforts going forward. We cannot afford to hesitate, are you all prepared to do what must be done?"

The three, the weight of their recent covenant with Steffor leaning heavy on all of them, each answered with a firm nod.

Within seconds of their leap, Steffor tried to establish a connection with Traiken and his Guardian troop. For unknown reasons, they could only receive audio feedback. A disturbing dissonance immediately flooded their hearing, Traiken's commanding, desperate barks of "HOLD! HOLD!" and "NOW! NOW!" interspersed with familiar sounds of the Source shifted into power bursts and shields, all predominated by ferocious growls and snarls. Steffor detected the battle rapidly sapping the troop's energy. Razum's Guardians were fading fast.

"Help is on the way!" Steffor conveyed to the defenders.

"Hurry, we cannot hold the creature much longer!" Traiken's strained voice replied.

At the peak of their jump, they had not yet crested the last line of tubular skyscrapers that blocked them from the action below. First revealed was the suburban homes that populated the tiered mesas of the mighty limb, the steep stretch of landscape that demarcated Trunk from limb.

Near the center of the last plateau, a ridged band of wood and bark sprawling north to south the entire width of the limb, they discovered the initial destruction caused by the Deagron Maker. An impact crater several hundred yards in diameter located a mile below the hole ripped into the Trunk.

Steffor amplified their aerial view of the disaster area. Along the cliff edge that ran parallel to Sevorist Avenue below—the primary road from which all streets running east to west along Razum's foundation grew—Steffor attempted to identify anything that resembled small homes and shops that once occupied the space. They were mortified to find nothing but an array of mangled bodies intermixed with ruble and splintered wreckage.

"The power required to reach there from the Trunk..." Vejax's astute observation cut short as they started to descend, broadening the perspective below to expose the bulk of destruction wreaked upon the forest of buildings before the cliff.

A meandering swath cut through the city, three times the width of the widest street, left a measure of devastation in its wake beyond record. Of those buildings with the misfortune of being in front of the creature's violent path, all that remained were hacked off hallow stumps; in some cases the only discernable remnants of the structures were the exposed alleys and chambers shifted into the limb creating the expansive subterranean network connecting every building to its neighbors.

Steffor scanned the debris strewn in every direction of the path in attempt to ascertain the collateral damage caused by the deagron's rampage. Tangled like pick-up sticks, the larger portions—some as long as fifty stories—lay haphazardly amongst their shattered foundations. Other portions, lopped off with such force they flew for miles, twirling projectiles wreaking secondary havoc on the city, brutally sawing off sections of neighboring buildings that would in turn contribute more damage as they toppled down.

Steffor's staff compiled the data and projected rough schematics of the hundreds of buildings affected by the wave of destruction. He soberly concluded that if Shifter assistance did not arrive soon, many more would collapse due to the structural damage. Citizens appeared within the scanned area: the living depicted in signature electric blue, the wounded a brackish blue-red, varying in shade by their condition, while the dead registered dark crimson.

By his hurried count, Steffor estimated over forty thousand fatalities and another eighty thousand wounded.

"So many!" Grimlock cried, aghast by the senseless carnage.

As they continued to survey the large aggregation dead and wounded, positioned near where the deagron first entered the city, their gaze finally fell upon Traiken and his team.

Steffor angled their decent to the spot as they traced the deagron's path through the city, a loop roughly covering a square mile that led back to the cliff side. Evident by the eight dead Guardians detected along the way, they concluded Traiken and his team somehow managed to deflect, or entice, the creature back to where it originally entered the city. There, jammed in-between Sevorist Avenue and the cliff, Traiken and his troop made the tactical decision to make their stand against the Deagron Maker.

Now only a few hundred yards above, they assessed the scene below with trained eyes and heavy hearts. The Guardians had partially pinned the deagron to cliff side and ground, cuffing five of the sinewy limbs with thick bands of Source formed between the out stretched arms of two Guardians. With ten of the remaining thirteen Guardians focused on holding the beast down, the remaining three darted along the ground, dodging probing tendrils while concentrating tight bursts of the Source at the remaining free limbs. Traiken directed the efforts of all from atop the cliff, arms outstretched, and his staff in his left as it radiated with the Source, shielding his men from the creature's relentless assault on both its captors and assailants.

While limbs and tendrils appeared to act independently of each other in their counter attack on the Guardians, Steffor noted how the deagron's eye slits stayed locked on the thousands of wounded they had detected earlier, gathered not twenty yards from the battle. The violet lights behind the slits pulsed with longing as it watched the Healers who had rushed from the Healing Ward shifted into the Trunk just above the stepped mesas. They had collected as many of the wounded as they could and were frantically shifting the Source, administering the healing energy as best possible within the makeshift triage station. Little did they know the monster would reappear in the same spot moments later.

Steffor turned his attention back to the deagron and for the first time noticed the hundreds of Citizens wrapped within the leathery tendrils that grew everywhere from the creature. Most had already perished from the constricting tendrils but a few still lingered, their last minutes of life an excruciating struggle to fill burning lungs with air. The horror continued as tendrils jammed crushed bodies into mucus-covered maws housed atop spastic tumors pulsating across the body.

"This nightmare ends now!" Steffor bellowed to all. "Vejax, relieve Traiken. Not one more Guardian dies today!"

He released Vejax and propelled him toward the cliff. Vejax extended his staff parallel to his shoulders and projected a razor thin sheet of Source, twice the width of his staff and three times the length of his body. With his Source blade before him, aimed toward the deagron, Vejax turned his staff perpendicular, pulled hands behind his head with elbows bent then chopped downward with all his might. The perfectly timed blow sliced through the flailing arm that sought to swat him from the air, cleaving the limb off the grotesque body. Using the momentum of his swing, Vejax completed a full flip before landing gracefully on the cliff's edge a few feet from Traiken.

The creature roared in pain as the fresh nub spewed blue-black blood along the cliff side, bringing its attention away from the Healers as it stared in disbelief at the dismembered limb convulsing wildly on the ground. With renewed vigor, the deagron jerked one of its pinioned arms free, launching the two Guardians who held it high in the sky.

"Grimlock! Martna! Cut me a hole in that abomination so that I may purge it from our world!"

Fifty yards above and thirty out by this point, the two shot outward in opposite directions before turning back to face the other with arms extended. Each then sent forth a rowdy coil of Source as thick as a man that fused to the others in the middle. The bite of Vejax's blow still fresh on the mind, the deagron recognized the mortal power behind the Source garrote and struck at the two flying Guardians with all its remaining limbs. Traiken, Vejax and the three Guardians below, anticipating this desperate act, expended their remaining strength with targeted punches of the Source in attempt to deflect the veracious talons.

A claw managed to sneak past the barrage of defensive strikes and rip into Martna's flank. With their entire focus placed on maintaining their connection to the other, Grimlock and Martna relied solely on armored, but limited, garments for protection. Steffor winced at the blow, the tear in her garments plain to see, but relieved to see her link to Grimlock stay intact. Successfully through the gauntlet, the two stretched the coil of Source to encompass the full breadth of the deagron's plated chest, then with one final orchestrated movement, a jet of Source burst from their feet and shot them at supersonic speed into the cliff.

Steffor landed a few yards away as the Source coil pounded the beast into the cliff side, followed by shrapnel exploding from the holes Martna and Grimlock bore on each side. The beast slumped down in anguish and released a rumbling bellow. The blow dislodged two of the limbs, previously clamped down, from their sockets while the other two jarred free. Dark fluid gushed from the fresh gash across the top portion of its thick chest, the wound penetrating deep into its body cavity. Yet the beast sill lived.

Driven by a force beyond Steffor's understanding, the Deagron Maker began to stir. Its head reared down on Steffor, eye slits pulsing violet, a look Steffor could only describe as primeval recognition and carnal hatred. The glare flushed Steffor with anger, funneling a rush of Source into his staff, making it glow so bright he could no longer see past his outstretched hands.

Fearful the reciprocal hatred for his enemy would consume his heart, Steffor closed his eyes, locked out the world around him and seized control of his vengeful emotions. He stopped being the nescient soul floundering to find meaning to his existence. The beginning of his awareness, the clarity he had sought since his rebirth, had finally arrived.

Upon opening his eyes again, his perception of his enemy, and himself, had changed forever.

_I know you,_ Steffor said telepathically to his ancient enemy. _You are the face of my fear, the last threshold before what is familiar, and that which is not. I banish you from this world, for your purpose is no longer required._

With a vile chuckle, spastic waves ran across the deagron's broken body. Then, in a voice that sounded all too familiar, it replied. _Yes, my purpose has been fulfilled. I unlocked that which you feared most: yourself. Steel yourself Steffor, for you will face your deepest fear again, sooner than you realize._

Beset by confusion, the deagron's words evoking a storm of foreign emotions, words he knew in his heart to be true. The ghoulish surroundings stifled his mounting doubt, fueling his resolve to rid the beast, and what it represented, from his world. Steffor merged with the Source, submitted to sublime adoration, and destroyed fear incarnate.
Chapter 20

"The patch will modify the source code that currently prevents him from executing a solution," Janison said. He stood before a virtual control panel as his hands skillfully reconfigured an array of files projected between him and Muzar's sedate body.

"What do you mean by _prevents him_?" Antone asked suspiciously.

"Our unique information theory, the primary reason the project has been so successful to date, is what has enabled Muzar to run his own show since the beginning," Stalling explained. "The code base, while complex in design and execution, are the simple laws the user must abide by. Governed only by this broad sequence of instructions, the results are only limited by Muzar's imagination."

"The results go beyond the imagination, Muzar's soul is the ultimate influence," Janison added as streams of code scrolled down the three remaining open files.

"True," Stalling agreed. "The imagination is what we have been able to quantify and reengineer into the Auranet, link visor and the entrainment platform. But it is the quantified experiences of the soul that we covet most and now look to salvage."

"So what went wrong?" Antone asked the room.

Janison, his back to the rest of them, fought the impulse to reply while Jennifer, standing to the left of Antone, looked to Stalling standing to his right. After a long pause, Stalling replied. "I overestimated the durability of his soul. We knew there was part of him that would be stretched thin," Stalling said, locking his sight onto the server tower on their right, "but...well the assumption was that it would persevere, no matter what the circumstances."

"And it didn't," Antone concluded as he studied the same tower, wondering what could possible cause a soul to break. "So, it is this tainted portion causing the systematic breakdown of the rest," gesturing with a nod to the tower behind Muzar and the one to their left.

"Essentially," Stalling said

"And we have no cure for this _virus_?"

"The cure must come from him. More specifically, we are assuming he has already identified the cure. We are simply allowing him to alter those laws so that he may activate it," Janison stated matter-of-fact.

"Why can't we just isolate the problem and fix it ourselves?"

"We could study the data for a lifetime and still be nowhere near to understanding why the problem occurred, much less know how to solve it." Stalling answered.

"I am confused. My understanding, confirmed by you only a second ago, is that the data gleamed from the project over the past decade has enabled everything to this point. Now you are telling me we no longer have control over it?"

"The information we have garnered is but a thimble full of what the project has produced, it is the tangible data the source code is designed to identify and extrapolate. The rest is...beyond our conception. Our ability to both comprehend and deliver it to the world lies with him."

Janison closed out the last window as Stalling finished his statement and stepped back to join his friends to gaze upon Muzar.

"It is done." Janison stated.

"What now?" Antone asked.

"We wait. If our theory is correct, Muzar will return to us in moments."

"And then what?"

Janison paused and turned to Stalling. Preparing for what came next, Stalling's attention centered on Muzar, leaving Jennifer to reply. "Then we give ourselves unto him. Muzar is the key to unlocking the door to our ultimate reality. The only reality that matters."

Chapter 21

Cloistered by his own thoughts, wistful doubt surrounded Kilton by the time he reached the outer limits of Sofelarus's dense canopy. Perched on the rogue stem jutting downward from the main canopy, he placated his apathetic mind on the dreadful lesion torn into the Provider's body a few thousand feet below.

The final moments of his friend's battle with the Deagron Maker, his perch providing an ideal aerial vantage, temporarily abated the numbness in his soul. Like thousands of celebrated passages recorded in the Deeds and viewed countless times in his long life, the Guardian's orchestrated offensive was spectacular to behold.

It is fitting the last deagron battle recorded by the Deeds be the most salient.

Vejax, as usual, did not disappoint. Grimlock and Martna, their unique union of the Source, earned a respectful whistle from the old man. As Steffor landed before the wounded but far from defeated monster, instincts braced Kilton for what would come next. Akin to the experience prior to Steffor forging his staff, the Source around Kilton began to dissipate. Despite being far above the scene, Kilton squinted from the blue fury radiating around the man and held his breath as Steffor's invocation reached its peak. Just when he thought Steffor might be lost to his own power, he and his furious light pierced the Deagron Maker.

The creature howled in pain, its limbs extending behind and convulsed in rigid agony. Steffor's invasive energy slowly elevated the deagron off the ground as the blue light seeped from a thousand crevices, warping it from the inside out. Rotated so that its belly faced the sky like an impaled bug specimen, the body rose past the cliff, halting high above the city in front of the hole it had emerged. A sickening crack filled the air as the shell bent opposite the hunched back. Kilton winced as the powerful light burst through and disintegrated the last deagron from the world.

A wave of silence followed the blast of energy. Kilton existed in the quiet, contemplating the meaning of Steffor's disappearance.

And so the road of trials begins. The time of reckoning has arrived.

Foresight into what the future may bring did little to relieve a heart plagued with indifference. Reluctant to embrace the role bestowed upon him, hesitating to fulfill a promise made many lifetimes ago, Kilton pleaded to the Provider for insight one final time.

"Ask me what you desire and I will reveal what you are prepared to see."

"Why request this of me now?"

"It is time. The need for your sacrifice is the irrevocable; the concordant ascension of all is predicated on your final choice."

"But why remove the blissful blinders from my soul? Has not blind faith led me to make choices for the greater good in the past? Why must I make this choice with the outcome revealed?"

"On the contrary, none of the decisions you have made to this point have required blind faith. Do the Deeds not reveal all the lessons learned from past lives? Does shifting the Source not provide you tangible evidence of my existence?"

"Yes, but all of those gifts empowered me to make hard decision, content to leave that which I did not understand in your hands. Has this devout faith not been evident in all that you have asked me?"

"Yes, and it has contributed to my growth, our growth."

"Will I remember my life here, with you? Will I remember what it means to be loved?"

"Your soul will remember me. Trust in this as you have from the beginning and know that I will always reside in your heart, no matter how dark it may become."

"Can you not make an exception this one time and instill some shred of memory of this existence."

"I am now. Have you ever known me to communicate in this manner to any Citizen?"

"No. I just...the next level...I thought I would ascend, not descend."

"Your next life will be your last in this world."

"Is the place I go really of your world?"

"Yes."

"What purpose does it serve?"

"A soul always has a choice, and it is his alone to make. The decision a soul makes affects the direction it will go, either toward me or away. To know the true impact of those decisions, a soul must experience the extreme of both. Every advance is complemented by a retreat."

"What went wrong?"

"We have been separated from the Divine Presence for too long. My ability to maintain balance has reached its limits."

"What is our purpose?"

"To show the wonders of Becoming, evolve spiritual greatness and promote life without strife or rivalry.

"Have we not already reached that destination?"

"Yes and now it is time to share it with the rest of the Universe. Your role and the choices you make in future events will directly influence us completing that final step."

"Why did I—Sevorist—have to make the ultimate sacrifice so long ago? Why suppress the existence of the Deagron Maker and the origins of the Forging Tree?"

"The deagron played a pivotal role in our early growth. They fostered the most painful step in our evolution that, without them, we would have never willingly embraced. By the time you, Triffor and Fregak discovered the Deagron Maker, the deagron's usefulness had ended."

"The original intention was for you to return safely, apply what you learned about the Deagron Maker and how its offspring proliferated from my seed. The Forging Tree would soon after be born, providing man the final counter measure to defeat their requisite enemy, leading up to an epic and final battle led by the first generation of Teuton Guardians."

"The final closure we never had."

"Correct."

"But why deviate from that destiny?"

"It was a required measure of control. Our ability to survive has been threatened by inevitability, foreseen since the genesis. The solution was not revealed until that fateful day."

"Which was?"

"Force the Deagron Maker into hibernation, a feat accomplished by the combined actions of Sevorist destroying the last generation of deagrons before they were spawned and the birth of the Forging Tree."

"Steffor's transformation of the Forging Tree....it released the Deagron Maker."

"Yes."

"But why wait till now?"

"To ensure our survival required reaching our final destination sooner than what was originally accounted for."

"We ran out of time?"

"In the corporal sense of the word, yes. As it was always intended, the deagron forced us to grow when otherwise we would have not."

"Why not reveal the outcome of Sevorist's sacrifice to me then?"

"You are always given what you are prepared to receive. Search your heart and you will know Sevorist made an informed choice."

"What of Steffor? What makes him so different from the rest of us?"

"Steffor is the physical embodiment of me."

"What do you mean? I thought you resided in all of us."

"My spirit resides in all living creatures. As life grows, so do I. Citizens exemplify this process and contribute to my growth in ways no other life form can. In order that I may complete the growth intended by this vicarious existence, there must be an intermediary to experience the process first hand. Steffor, and all of his or her past incarnations, is that agent."

"And what of the place you now send me? Do you grow in the same way?"

"Yes Kilton. But you already know this, as it directly relates to your future mission. You are the balance that will restore harmony between the two."

"So be it."

Kilton stood up, and with a renewed paradigm, faced the maligned Source oozing from the Trunk's gaping wound. With a dramatic inhale, he released a final prayer: "Thank you father. I love you with all that I am. Please forgive my questioning mind and doubtful heart."

Taking in a more efficacious breath, finding utile strength from the liturgical words, Kilton aimed his body and soul and dove head first into destiny.

Garments, reinforced from energy once allocated to faculties no longer needed, encased in a Source sphere fortified by the reserve power of his staff, Kilton plunged into the loathsome crud and forced his way down the Provider's hollow core. The deeper he penetrated the more tainted the flow of Source became. As he approached the vast lake of Source stored below the Provider's extensive root system, the flow of healthy Source had diminished to a trickle. The ability to shift his protective sphere lost, the poisonous radiation began to tear into his garments and burn away skin, tendon, muscle and bone.

"Not yet!" Kilton screamed, pressing forward with a determination born beyond the flesh.

Pushed to the limits, he finally reached the Provider's heart. Puzzled by the temporal nature of his destination, repulsed by the invasive tumor consuming it, Kilton found the needed solace in his sacrifice.

## *****

Dazed and confused, his eyes still adjusting to the strange light permeating from everywhere yet originating from nowhere, Steffor got to his feet and studied the thorny hedge. The organic wall, adroitly pleached from a species of bush he could not identify, was about ten yards wide. He craned his neck and followed the wall over a hundred feet before it disappeared into a ceiling of dense gray clouds.

Steffor turned around and peered down a long trail with no end in sight. Carpeted by a spongy green, short turf and framed by sinister hedgerows extending from the sides of the dead end wall, the trail presented the only means of exit.

I guess it is intended I go this way.

With peevish determination, Steffor started down the path. Moments into his walk, the amnesic residue coating his befuddled mind dissipated—a condition disconcertingly familiar to how he felt moments after he emerged from Calivera's table. As it did, he became cognizant his staff's absence. His confusion compounded when, while frantically searching for the staff in the vain hope that it might be stowed within his garments, he realized his Guardian garments had disappeared, replaced by a strange silver colored singlet. Skin tight but barely perceptible to the touch, the narrow v-neck suit exposed shoulders and legs just above the knees.

What is this place? Why am I so slow on the uptake?

The moment he stood up his senses would have normally logged the texture, smell and color of the weird lawn. By the first step, he could estimate the length of each blade within hundredths of inch. Why now, having traveled over a hundred yards did he struggle to register any of these basic senses. Let alone just now realizing he was barefoot and no longer wearing the garments that had not left his body since becoming a Guardian.

On impulse, Steffor extended his right arm and tried to shift a pulse of the Source. Nothing. The Source surrounded the strange place but he could not shift. He searched for the Deeds, hoping they might reveal some precedent to what he now experienced, but could not locate the Mysticnet to access them. Steffor sat down, crossed his legs, closed his eyes and tried to meditate. Due to altered sense of time, he could not decipher how long he meditated but certain it was well past the normal amount of time required to open a connection with the Provider.

For the first time, Steffor panicked in earnest. _It is all so stale! Real but lifeless, as if the Source once flowed here and all that remains is an empty shell._

"Have I died?" Steffor asked aloud. _No_ , he told himself, _confused as I may be, I know this is not the afterlife._

"You are both right and wrong," said a voice in his head.

Steffor jumped to his feet and spun around in search of the owner. "Who said that?"

"Come down the trail a little farther and find out for yourself."

The voice had an ominous tone but Steffor knew it was something else about it that swirled trepidation in his gut. Steffor headed back down the trail, robbed of the compass that always showed him the direction to go at every crossroads, for the first time believing he had no other choice.

After what Steffor estimated to be a mile, the trail issued into a wide, gradually ascending glade. As Steffor scaled the hill, the grass field continued to expand to his left and right as the gray blanket above rose higher in the sky. Within thirty minutes of steady hiking, the hedgerow walls were but faint arboreal sides to a gray dome. Within the hour, Steffor reached the top of the hill and stopped at its peak to gaze upon a setting that was both strange and familiar.

Like a wave about to curl, the hill was the same height in either direction with a steep decline that fed into dense woodlands. Positioned a thousand feet over the highest tree, Steffor scanned the top of the forest for miles without finding a discernable end; the distant tops blending into the featureless gray backdrop. Despite his eyes not finding it, he innately sensed the mysterious hedgerow encompassing it all.

With just a quick survey of the front line, awed by the wide variety of species contained within the forest, Steffor soon lost count of all the different species. Strange as the forest appeared, he recognized characteristics in each species comparable to the many diverse regions within Provider.

Subtle movement caught in his periphery brought his attention to an area below, in a small, semi-circle opening within the tree line. A man stood in the middle of the clearing with hands on hips, blatantly watching him. Steffor took in the strange vista for another moment, released a long sigh and then proceeded down the steep incline. Forced to turn his body in a sharp oblique angle and skid awkwardly down the first third of the way down. As he reached the bottom and stood upright again, he looked back toward the clearing but could not locate the stranger anywhere.

Steffor reached the edge of the semi-circle a few minutes later. He searched the expansive line of trees within the indent for the person he was both certain he saw moments ago and the owner of the voice that had invaded his mind. The dozens of trees lining the half ring were each different: from rangy, conical firs bristling with abundant evergreen pine needles to stout oaks with sprawling limbs and broad leaf hoods to towering redwoods with its fractals soaring above the rest. The diverse collection of trees had a weird calming effect on Steffor.

His eyes adjusted to the unusual tapestry of intersecting branches, leaves and vines, allowing his sight to penetrate beyond the ring. To his left, his eyes detected a blur of activity followed by the familiar crack one makes when walking on a debris littered floor. In no mood for games, Steffor bound over to the spot in a few strides and halted before a squat, menacing looking tree. The trunk, a thirty-foot wide mass of limbs, rose but ten feet before its six serpentine boughs coiled up and away from its top. An enveloping network of gnarled branches that sprouted from the main boughs accentuated its threatening appearance.

"This one is my favorite!"

Steffor looked through the enclosure of tangled branches and found the stranger casually leaning against the trunk. Dressed in the exact same body suit, the man was observing Steffor's reaction to his sudden appearance with a coy smile.

"Who are you? Did you bring me to this place?"

The stranger pushed off the trunk and stepped forward with a theatrical air. "I am Raistan, God of Fury, Ruler of the Six. No, I did not bring you to this wonderful haven. But I have been expecting you."

"How is it that you have been expecting me?" Steffor asked cautiously.

This man is dangerous! Do not let your guard down, Steffor thought despite Raistan's unassuming appearance. Just tall enough to be above average for a Citizen, Raistan could have been a striking figure in his youth, but those days were long past. Aged and gray like Kilton but Raistan was paunchy and sallow.

"The same way you sense I am dangerous, despite me not being the physical specimen such as yourself or your friend, how do you pronounce it...Kill-tun." The smile on Raistan's face grew as he appeared to relish Steffor's elevated confusion.

"We are the same, you and me. Did you know that?" Raistan said before Steffor could compose a reply.

"I can honestly say I didn't. Please enlighten me."

_Figure it out Steffor, he will not string you along for much longer._ The sudden ability to sense what the other was thinking and feeling disturbed Steffor more than the potential threat posed to his physical well-being.

"Alright, I think it only appropriate you understand from which you came so that you too can make an informed decision. But first, let's get acquainted."

Before Steffor could flinch, the web of branches nearest him shot out with ferocious speed and knocked him facedown against the turf. Like rangy fingers, the branches cocooned around his body, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to move. Immobilized, the branches swiftly swung him around to face Raistan.

Raistan stepped close to Steffor's face. His chin quivered as he sneered, emoting a dangerous concoction of hostility and delight. With violent force, Raistan smacked him across the face then cupped his chin with a quick upper cut and squeezed his cheeks.

"Oh, how I hate you brother!" his body shook as he sprayed Steffor's face with the acrid words.

Steffor felt Raistan's hatred as if it were his own.

"Sickening, isn't it," Raistan said, taking a step back as he shoved Steffor's head with a last second rake of his fingers. "To feel the energy of a soul that utterly repulses your core essence, as if it were your own."

The gravel voice had regained its composure but anger still lurked on the fringes, ready to strike without warning.

A wave of painful dry heaves wracked Steffor's body. _Sickening does not give the sensation justice_ , Steffor thought with despair.

"Indeed, the feeling is most unwelcome," he honestly replied once composed.

Raistan laughed. The laughter brought tears to tender eyes that belied the evil within.

"Yes, most unwelcome," he said.

He studied Steffor as the last few intermittent chuckles subsided. For a moment, Steffor sensed compassion in the man as sneer transformed into an amicable grin. Then, with no warning, Raistan lunged at Steffor, smashing right fist into his nose. A barrage of punches followed, snapping his defenseless head in every direction. After the first half dozen, audible "cracks", Steffor lost track of how many times he heard bones break in his face. Blood flowed freely from his nose and gashes, blurring his vision and causing him to gag with each breath.

"Wow, you are built solid," Raistan said as he turned away, out of breath and shaking the feeling back into his hands. "The pain is real here, more tolerable for some reason but real all the same." He was pacing now, moving from the trunk to Steffor.

"For example, this woman's ability to hold on to life is unprecedented in all my years of torture." He pointed at a section of branches behind the trunk with an upheld left hand, commanding them to do his bidding as they swept around to present Leanor.

"Fourteen punctures! Can you believe that? I once reached eleven with a spry juvenile but I prolonged that one on purpose, cautious not to pierce any major organs or arteries. But this one...well...started as an experiment and evolved into a curiosity."

Elevated a few feet off the ground, needle tipped, barbed branches suspended Leanor's body a few feet off the ground. The wicked branches pierced her body, torturously weaving in and out of flesh and bone to spread arms and legs taut.

The morbid scene threatened to consume Steffor's last shred of resolve. He searched Leonor's face for some sign of life and detected a slight rise in her chest. As if sensing his desperate probe, Leonor opened her eyes and stared hard at Steffor with surprising strength.

"None of this is real Steffor! No matter what happens here, we will all live on through you."

"Shut up!" Raistan shouted, commanding a thick branch from above with a swift, downward swing of his fist, bludgeoning Leonor across the head. Death was instant as the blow caved in her skull. Yet he still raged at her, yelling, "This is all too real! You speak of which you do not understand!"

Panting with rage, Raistan wheeled around and rushed at Steffor. He braced himself for another beating but Raistan pulled up at the last second and chose to berate him with words instead. "Don't believe her, this is as real as it gets for you and me. Once it is done stringing us along and no longer has any use for us, what do you think will happen?"

"What are you talking about," Steffor gritted through tears and blood. _Leonor was a good person, this I am sure. And what of Calivera? How did they get separated? Why is she even here?_ The mystery behind the woman that was once Mystic only grew with her death.

"You really don't know, do you?" Raistan tilted his head to the side, looking at Steffor with renewed interest and a modicum of pity. He sensed pure joy well up inside the man, repulsed by the realization that the source was his pain and anguish. "I could become addicted to you," Raistan said in an impetuous whisper.

He broke his trance on Steffor, turning his back to him to resume his demented pacing. "I apologize for making some broad swooping assumptions. Let's back up and connect the pieces, shall we?"

Steffor was no longer paying attention. Instead, he replayed Leonor's dying words in his head, finding strength in their repetition. _This is not real. Life continues with me._

A branch pushed him under the chin, forcing him to look up. "Pay attention to me, this is important."

Steffor looked at Raistan through slit eyelids. He stood next to Leonor, inspecting her body. "At first, the sudden appearance of this woman and..." with two swift motions of hands and arms, the branches swung back around the trunk while a new set came around carrying Calivera, "...this one was a mystery."

"Steffor," Calivera spoke his name with relief and the same palpable passion he heard at their last parting. The shock of seeing Calivera shattered all attempts to escape from this cruel and unwanted reality. Anger, an emotion laid dormant for countless lifetimes, erupted with primal force, restoring his will to fight.

"Release her!" Steffor roared with such ferocity Raistan flinched.

"That's the spirit! Fan those embers deep inside. Trust me, you are just getting started."

Regretful for the outburst, Steffor tried to calm himself as he studied Calivera's condition. Outside of few scratches, she appeared to be unharmed. Wicked branches wrapped around her arms and legs and suspended her in a spread eagle position similar to Leonor, only not as tight. Clearly frightened, the look of resolve in her eyes gave Steffor hope.

"My ability to resist the charms of this one has been very limited," Raistan said, looking up and down Calivera's body with a lustful leer. "She's got the entire package, the body, the face, but it is her energy source that is driving me mad. So pure, it's like a beacon to me, begging to be molested. If that other one had not been so peculiar, I would have started on her long ago."

Keep him away from Calivera that is all that matters now. He wants me or something from me. Give him what he wants.

"You are correct Steffor, I want something from you," Raistan said without taking his eyes off Calivera. He then pointed at Calivera with his left index finger and in doing so released a thin branch from the group coiled around her right arm. The branch snaked the length of her body, the razor sharp end randomly cutting along the surface of her tunic, leaving a trail of small lacerations as it moved before Calivera's trembling face.

"Stop! I will tell you whatever you want to know, just don't hurt her," Steffor pleaded. The branch stopped moving, poised inches from Calivera's face.

"Good. Now we can make some progress before we run out of time," Raistan said, briefly looking up to the sky before he turned back to Steffor. Steffor followed his gaze and could have sworn, though the lighting remained the same artificial mid-day brightness, that the clouds had gotten several shades darker.

"It will not tolerate my being here much longer. For that matter, neither of us belongs here anymore."

"What do you mean by it?"

"The inter-dimensional power that is connected to everything, the being that makes the laws we live by and can change them as it sees fit. The very creator of our world."

"Do you mean the Provider?"

"The what? Wait, you actually have a name for it. Fascinating! Tell me, does this Provider communicate to you in any quantifiable way?"

"The Deeds record all life experiences and are available to all Citizens to learn from. Is this what you mean by quantifiable?"

"Yes. Yes! What about its energy, can you manipulate it to do your bidding?"

"Yes, we call it shifting."

"Can anyone _shift_?"

"Yes, but the skill and ability varies according to the person's race and life experience."

"Fascinating!"

From their shared connection, Steffor knew Raistan's fascination was real. _How is it he knows nothing of the Provider? We are cut from the same cloth, him and me, this I cannot deny. But where does he hail from?_

"I hail from the other side, from your Provider's twin." Steffor stared at Raistan in disbelief even as the explanation began to answer his soul's deepest questions.

"Just as I am _your_ twin." A new type of smile crossed Raistan's face as he watched the undeniable reality sink into Steffor's heart.

"When I recently arrived here, instinct told me this was our birth place, where it, we, our father, our mother, first began to imagine our opposite worlds. It did not take long for the memories of those early lives to surface. Reliving those experiences was...exotic. It was then, as I emerged from the long flashback—forever changed—that the two women appeared atop the hill just as you did. They reeked with your energy. Well at least this one did. The other had traces of your signature, but it was as if she received it vicariously. Most peculiar. But this one, it's almost as if she swam in the very depths of your soul. It was then that I expected your arrival..."

Raistan's voice faded into a faint echo and then disappeared completely as an onslaught of once dormant memories consumed Steffor's consciousness. His body tensed in anticipation as he tried in vain to resist the data rushing to the surface.

The first scene to unfold was that of him and Raistan, or the energy that made up their true selves, living in this strange forest alone, dependent on the other to survive. They were happy, adventurous memories of the two of them exploring their surroundings. Unlike now, the forest teamed with a diversity of animal and plant life, some he recognized from the Provider, others alien.

Those early incarnations were about basic survival, the constant search for food and shelter from their dangerous environment. Lives were short, and all ended with a violent death, a continual fight to escape from flesh eating plants or demonic beasts.

Steffor lost himself to the torrent emotion surrounding those early memories and experienced the short-lived victories and the all too frequent and painful losses. Repeatedly, he relived the brutal anguish of watching his brother or sister slip from his hands and meet a brutal end.

Then memories of the first betrayal surfaced. At first, the changes in his sibling were small and seemingly insignificant: secretly hoarding food, choosing to run first and warn of danger second, always taking the more protective shelter for himself. The selfish transformation took place over many lives, forging an instinctual guard within Steffor of his sibling but not fear. He still loved Raistan despite the early development of his self-preservation modality and Steffor continued to risk his life time and time again to save the only being in his life.

Their lives finally reached the ultimate crossroads that would forever lead them down separate paths. Young men, in their prime, the accumulated experience of hundreds of lifetimes in the unforgiving environment at its apex, the duo were an exquisite unit. The daily challenge to survive had tuned senses into a perfect orchestra of movement and action, making the brothers as formidable as any creature living within the strange forest. Full of vigor, the two believed themselves immortal so long as they were together, making the memory of Raistan's betrayal all the harder to relive the second time.

On the hunt of a giant stag for days, they had worn down the magnificent beast and were closing in for the kill. The thought of fresh meat consuming all thought, Steffor blundered into a web deftly concealed between two birch trees. Tangled in the sticky cords, Steffor was helpless against the onslaught of creatures pouring in from camouflaged confines within the branches above.

Steffor's frantic screams for his brother's aid echoed for miles. Standing ten yards away, shifting from Steffor to the hordes of spiked appendages and venomous fangs, Raistan gave his brother one last glance before he bolted from the scene, never to return. Steffor relived the agony to the end, fed on for days before the mercy of death finally arrived.

Then the five appeared. It was the same existence but now, to his soul's relief, he shared it with others, not just the malevolent creature he once called sibling. They learned to exist with others, experiencing new, intricate bonds of love, along with harmful divides of hatred. Steffor fought for love. Raistan competed for allegiance. Their lives spent with the five were full of beautiful tributes of compassion and dark homage of evil.

The last life Steffor and Raistan coexisted in the same world, began with ten other souls. Unlike past lives, Steffor began that life unaware of his counterpart. The forest, while stocked with the same variety of animal life, was less dangerous; where survival was less demanding, providing the mind time to invent, to improve. He and the five chosen to be in his life lived a life of solitude, building a small village where they coupled and raised their offspring in a self-sufficient community.

The forest and land was larger then, a man could roam the woods and fields for weeks and still find uncharted territory. Game and fruit baring trees and bushes were abundant. They took what their world would yield and reveled in each other's companionship. Time passed gracefully and Steffor and his fellow patriarchs experienced three generations, with a fourth soon to emerge, when Raistan reentered his life.

In the still of night, the savage barbarians surrounded their simple village and attacked Steffor's family with ferocious attainment. The last memories of that life was of his great granddaughter's scream as she was ripped from his slumbering arms, the confused chase from his hut to find village ablaze then discovering the mutilated bodies of his sons and daughters and witnessing the raping of his children. A swift crack of club to the temple answered his prayers for death, Raistan's maniacal face squatting down to relish Steffor's torment the last sight to see before taking his final breath.

"I hate you!" Steffor screamed.

"Good for you! Soak in those memories, wallow in that anger. Let it fill you up." Raistan yelled with delight.

Consumed by rage, Steffor struggled in his bonds and felt them give moments before Raistan casually raised his hand and slowly closed his fingers into a fist. Several ribs cracked as the branches constricted. Seconds away from blacking out, Raistan opened his fist to release the pressure just enough for Steffor to take in several shallow breaths.

"I loved you! I protected you! I sacrificed so much for you!" Steffor bellowed.

"Weakness, all of it weakness. You have always been weak and deserved everything you got. Life is about survival and yet, after all this time, you refuse to accept that basic law."

"So finally, now, while a shell of what it once was, you recognize this place as our long lost home. Our origins, the proving ground for what we would soon become. I do not know exactly why we have been delivered here but I sense it was not part of the original, master plan. We were destined to depart this world from the beginning, but not like this. Something has gone awry and it has had to adjust. No matter, now that I am aware, I do not intend to ever leave. I had reached the limits of growth in my world as I imagine you have experienced in your own, naive way. But the discovery of your world has changed everything, the potential growth of my power is now infinite!"

Like the eye of a storm, a clarifying thought emerged while he listened to Raistan's diabolical monologue. _He shifts the Source. It is with a skill I have never witnessed but it is shifting all the same. If he can do it, so can I_. Kindled by the deep seated hatred of his opposite, motivated by the love of his soul mate, Steffor flamed the forge deep within and began to reshape his reality.

Raistan had his back to him again, studying Calivera as he spoke. If he had turned around, he would have seen the amber halo forming around Steffor. But he had become complacent in his perceived control, drunk with joy at the prospect of elongating Steffor's suffering.

"Oh, I will learn from my past mistakes and take my time this go around. No more wholesale destruction and mass consumption. No, the purity of just one being in your world is worth ten thousand in mine. It deserves respect and precise study. I will be departing to your home shortly Steffor and leave you and our father to proceed as you will. But first, I must taste of this lush fruit."

The desire to destroy Raistan was the target on which Steffor poured his focus. He left the protective confines of the Provider's cove and dove into the swift currents of the true Source beyond. The undertow of energy pulled him under as he allowed the current to consume him, surging his being with immense power. The need to neutralize his adversary overshadowed the terror of his transformation.

Steffor sent forth his energy and, like a sponge, the organic life soaked it in. His current spread rapidly from tree to grass blade and filled hollow fibers of the contrived world. Steffor would have fallen victim to his growth at that moment if not for the hedgerow barrier that halted and contained his commitment to eternal expansion. He probed the energy flowing within the arboreal fence and recognized it as the Source. Altered from how it appears in his home world, Steffor sensed its purpose was to shield this place from the outside. He also sensed the shield was weakening.

_Raistan is the cancer!_ Steffor concluded, remembering the black tumor infecting the flow of Source. _He has gone through a similar transformation and has been seeping into the Provider's well of Source ever since. Will I do the same?_

The branches that held him disintegrated with a burst of golden light. Raistan turned to see Steffor standing before him, pulsing with life.

"What...noooo!"

Steffor shot his arms out as Raistan contorted to shift the branches, projecting a diffusion of golden beams. The act obliterated the branches, reducing the tree down to original boughs, scarring the serpentine limbs with hundreds of scorched nubs.

"Your reign of destruction is over brother! It is time for you to depart," Steffor proclaimed.

Incensed, Raistan twisted his body and swung his arms in one motion, manipulating a neighboring oak bough to swing down toward Steffor. The move took Steffor off guard, producing a shield of energy just before the log slammed flush across his chest. The impact launched him ten yards away to land flat on his back. Steffor regained his feet instantly.

"Enough!" Steffor infused the surrounding ring of trees with his charged energy and obliterated them with his thought. Raistan looked around the empty field in disbelief. Calivera, a few yards behind him, rushed over to inspect Leanor's limp body.

"Very imaginative," Raistan said as he turned back to face Steffor. "I clearly have much to learn."

"We have learned all that is required from you. Your time away from us is over."

"I will never rejoin you!" Raistan shouted like an impotent child. "You lost the right to tell me what to do when you chose to leave me, when _It_ left me," he said pointing to the darkening clouds.

"We never left you. The objective always required us to travel great distances apart, but we have always been connected, as we always will be."

"I no longer ascribe to that plan."

"You must. We need you."

"I don't need you."

A static explosion above jerked their heads up in unison. A symmetrical ring of electric blue light expanded downward, its edges crackling with discharged magnetism, replacing the dark clouds with clear blue skies, shaking the ground with greater intensity the closer it got to the dome's outer rim.

"Your chariot awaits brother," Raistan said.

The ring was moments from reaching the hedgerow walls.

"The reunion has been an unexpected pleasure, but the time has come for us to part ways. Forever."

A tingling pitch, comprised of infinitesimal vibrations, coursed through Steffor a second after the mysterious ring of energy slammed into the hedgerow walls.

Something pulls me away!

Steffor looked over his adversary's shoulder, locked eyes with Calivera and teleported his fading being to her.

"We will always be together Steffor, our bliss is eternal." Calivera caressed his heart and calmed his fears. "Trust in the Provider as you trust yourself."

"He will hurt you in ways I fear you may never recover."

"The flesh is but a vehicle, he can never destroy my true self. We all have a role to play."

"I will not allow it to happen."

"I love you Steffor." Calivera kissed his soul one last time before the world around him disappeared.

Chapter 22

The stress that surrounded the final moments leading up to Muzar's return had distracted Stalling, causing him to temporarily lose sight of what was about to occur. Now, sealed within the mainframe, basking in Muzar's glory with his closest friends, the stress had all but melted away. The human existence was about to change and with it, Antium's future.

_The road is built, and the vehicle is perfect_ , Stalling thought as he stared at Muzar and recalled everything they had built or enhanced since his absence. _Like a brush fire, a new cultural phenomenon will infiltrate the heart and soul of everyone and our technology will make it unstoppable. Overnight, inferior beliefs and opinions will become obsolete._

Stalling, happily lost in the endless possibilities, barely registered Antone reaching inside his breast pocket to remove his link visor and place it on his head. He stepped away from the group and said in a terse hush, "Go!"

Stalling, Janison and Jennifer remained focused on Muzar but despite Antone's attempts to stay quiet, it was impossible not to sense something afoot. A few minutes later, Antone rejoined them.

"We have a situation that needs to be addressed."

"Whatever it is, it can wait," Stalling said, not turning around to face Antone.

"Do you think I would interrupt this moment if I didn't deem it important?"

They all reluctantly turned to face Antone. "What's the situation?" Stalling asked.

"Thortizan has infiltrated the campus and has the lab entrance surrounded. After a quick review of the security video and debrief with Eitemor, I think it is safe to assume the troops involved are Vorenian Knights."

The implications of the presence of Vorenian Knights had an instant and sobering effect on all of them.

"How many?" Janison asked.

"We've identified forty which means another ten or so are concealed. At least a platoon. Eitemor pulled back the team to create a smaller perimeter."

"What are our chances?"

"If it were ordinary infantry, I'd take my team of ten over a full platoon every day. But against Vorenian Knights, the best we could do is hold them off for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."

"Wait a second, you said Thortizan was here. How do you know Thortizan is among them?" Stalling asked.

"Because he sent us a message," Antone said, holding his link visor out to project the video for all of them to see.

Thortizan lounged in a fold out field chair with legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. Seated at the side of a large oak, one could see glimpses behind him of the campus lawn and portico of the engineering building, its polished steel columns reflecting off the warm street lamps less than a hundred yards away. The time stamp in the right corner indicated the recording was less than twenty minutes old.

Dressed in black fatigues laced with an array of weapons and equipment, the Cardinal's outfit contradicted his relaxed tone. "Good evening Stalling, my compliments to your beautiful facility. While a little too contemporary for my personal tastes, I can't help but admiring the symmetry of it all. Very soothing. Who knows, with time, it may grow on me."

"Now, as I am sure your loyal watch dog has informed you, we have the entrance of your lab surrounded. Your security team, impressive as their defenses may be, cannot withstand our assault. Escape is not an option. Thanks to recent intel, we have the blueprints of your entire compound, including the private magnarail connected to your home. Dr. Alterian is playing host to several of my men as we speak."

The video feed perspective switched to Stalling's private magnarail platform with Lorissa book-ended by two heavily armed Vorenian Knights before returning to Thortizan.

"We wish to avoid violence and therefore will provide you the opportunity to choose a peaceable outcome. Our request is simple: deliver to us Muzar Tarcones. You have thirty minutes."

"How the hell do they know about Muzar!" Antone yelled at Janison.

"I honestly don't know. You have got to believe me; I never said a word about Muzar!" Janison said defensively.

"Why should we believe you?" Antone asked, looking at Stalling.

"Because, while his beliefs share a common foundation with that of the C.O.S, he cares more about our shared social ideology, a vision that is dependent on Muzar's survival. A vision that he knows they will do everything possible to stop. Janison's journey has arguably been the toughest, for his belief in what Muzar's return will represent has required the most imagination and faith."

Janison looked at Stalling, swept away by his friend's insight, neither denying nor defending the statement.

"So how do they know he even exists, much less resides here in the lab?"

"Archbishop Clortison," Janison said, pulling his gaze away from Stalling. "For all his short comings, the man has an eerie track record of having a keen intuition that many believe to be psychic. While I believe in our potential to expand the powers of the mind, I fear the information I provided must have filled in the blanks, giving his intuition some final clarity. It is the only explanation I can think of."

"It's plausible," Stalling said. "Clortison has proven himself a shrewd adversary in the past. But the more important question is why do they want Muzar? For Clortison to arrive at the conclusion Muzar existed here in our lab for the past ten years and is just now awakening, then why does he bother taking him alive? Why not just destroy him and us, erasing all evidence of what we could have become once and for all?"

"The Second Coming!" Antone shouted. He then quickly summarized Clortison's sermon delivered earlier that afternoon. "At first, I was stuck on the 'false prophets' part, thinking it was one of their final public moves to justify actions against us. But the rest has been sticking in my crawl; I couldn't help think there was more to it. The Second Coming has by far been one of their best and more commonly used scare tactics, but today's sermon felt more poignant than the rest. It was the closest statement resembling a promise I had ever heard them make."

"As Stalling has astutely theorized, I will confess that my hope in Muzar's return would create a similar impact to that of which is taught about the Savior's Second Coming, at least symbolically."

"Well it appears everyone has got their own agendas for Muzar once he returns," Jennifer said. "But hasn't the end of this story always been open ended? Despite all the new technology applied to this project, did we not all agree that our understanding of it all would be grossly limited until he returned. The ultimate outcome has always been in Muzar's hands. None of that has changed."

"But the immediate circumstances have," Stalling stated solemnly. "We all know what Thortizan and his knights are capable of and I have no doubt he will proceed with taking Muzar by force if we choose not to comply. This confirms their desire to take him alive. The only other alternative, one I am not prepared to explore, is to destroy Muzar, here and now. Are we in agreement this is not a course of action any of us are prepared to take."

"Agreed," the other three said in unison.

"Then our choice is clear. We deliver Muzar unto the Church of Salvation and let come what may come."

## *****

I send you in my place Steffor so that we may all return. Trust in those I send you to, for they are our closest allies and are the key to our salvation.

I understand. I miss you already.

As I do you.

"He is coming to. Heartbeat is elevated but nothing critical. The strange anomaly in his brainwave activity persists, but it does not seem to be to affecting other vitals," a woman said.

"No turning back now," replied a man.

Steffor heard the voices with intimate detail. The women's voice was foreign yet her tone conveyed undeniable compassion for him.

The man was not familiar either but he too had a caring hitch in his voice.

"Communication skills may be one of the last processes to connect, so take it slow," said a second man's voice.

"Can he hear us now?" The voice of a third man inquired, not devoid of emotion but more business like compared to the other three.

Steffor opened his eyes. The periphery of his vision was blurry, as if smeared with a transparent gel, so that all he could see at first were the four strangers before him, the people he assumed were the ones talking earlier. Sensing these were the allies the Provider spoke of, he studied each with intent purpose.

The sooner I understand, the sooner I return to Calivera.

The woman to his far left was beautiful: rich auburn hair with intelligent hazel-green eyes, her strange clothing revealed the fetching figure of woman in the prime of her youth. She met his eyes with joyful tears freely rolling down her cheeks and a loving smile.

The man to her left, twenty years her senior, was average in height with thick waves of black and white hair. Despite the haggard look on his oval face, he had a jovial demeanor about him and an easy smile that was comforting to the soul.

The man to his left was an imposing figure. Short in stature with a shaved head, Steffor depicted the chiseled form of a warrior beneath the dark fitted jacket and white collared shirt. Steffor read the slight raise in the corner of the man's mouth as a deferent gesture. _This one is guarded, prepared for action._

The last person was the most striking. Tall, broad shoulders with slender waist, the man's comfortable looking clothes hung perfectly to his muscular frame. A short crop of jet-black hair and tight beard framed his handsome face. He too was crying freely when he said, "Welcome back Muzar."

## *****

Here ends _Known Afterlife_ : Volume I of The Provider Trilogy. I hope and trust you enjoyed the read. I am grateful for constructive feedback and want you to know that I appreciate the time it takes to provide a review on my Amazon.com page.

Stay tuned for future installments of the Provider Trilogy:

Volume II: _Known Resurrection_ (February 2015)

Volume III: _Known Transcendence_ (June 2015)

In the interim, please enjoy a preview of Known Resurrection, Chapter 1 below:

Known Resurrection
Chapter 1

A Healer's Shell, that was the closest comparison Steffor could muster to describe the chamber he now occupied. Like a Healer's Shell, the room had a round base with walls that tapered inward as they elevated. He estimated the walls rose several hundred feet before canting over. However, the strange material from which the walls were constructed made it impossible to decipher. Also like a Healer's Shell, a kinetic light pulsed throughout the walls and floors.

But that was where the comparison ended.

Where, with ease, he could identify the fibrous sapwood of a Healer's Shell, the material used to construct the room- and the sparse collection of objects that filled it- was foreign. In addition, when not illuminated by rhythmic waves of light, the walls and floors swirled with a dark material accented by a subtle mixture of gold and silver glitter.

"Bioplaster," said the woman standing before him.

Steffor shifted his eyes from the walls to the woman. He addressed her with a blank stare, content to stay motionless in the upright bed that he "awoke".

"The material flowing within the walls and floor, it is called bioplaster," she explained, canvassing the room with her eyes before flashing a knowing smile back to Steffor.

None had spoken to Steffor since the tall one addressed him as "Muzar" a few moments prior. "Give him a moment to process," Janison, the man with black and gray hair, had said. Stalling, the tall one and Antone, the stout warrior, after observing Steffor's confused state, had reluctantly agreed. They then moved several yards away to huddle close together and speak in hushed voices.

"Run a diagnostic," Stalling had ordered Jennifer, giving Steffor a concerned look as he moved away. Jennifer then promptly placed a metallic band across her brow. A second later, an apparition materialized before her, a collection of symbols floating in the air composed and organized into strings and sets. Up to his moment, she had given her undivided attention to these symbols.

"Bioplaster?" Steffor asked in a hoarse whisper. The three men halted their intense conversation at the sound of his voice.

"Yes, an organic gel infused with metallic interfaces- the gold and silver flecks. It surrounds the neural fibers webbed throughout the hollow walls and flooring that form the mainframe. It is the foundation for the entire bio-neural circuitry...our organic computer system. Without it, we could never have collected or processed all the data."

The tears that swelled the women's hazel eyes earlier had since abated. Steffor sensed discussing bioplaster had a calming effect on her but it required little effort to see the tempest of emotion still churning beneath the surface.

"What data?" Steffor asked.

"Data generated from the farm," she said with a backward nod toward an archway cut into the wall behind her. Steffor peered over her shoulder, noticing the entrance for the first time, discernable from the rest of the walls by its black tinted glass and lack of bioplaster. "Data from the mainframe," she continued, looking toward the three cylindrical towers to his left, right and behind, "...all the data produced by you." She said, probing Steffor's face for some type of response.

"We need more time!" Stalling shouted. He too, along with the other two, wore a link visor across his brow. It appeared he communicated with another outside the room, having partially turned away from the other two as he spoke. Stalling's face contorted into an angry snarl, discouraged by the reply to his outburst. A moment later, all three removed their link visors and turned to look at Steffor.

Stalling studied Steffor, calculating his next move. Steffor sensed the decisions made by this stranger in the following moments dictated his fate, accentuating his despair. So far, his ascension to the afterlife was nothing like he anticipated.

"What do you remember?" Stalling asked Steffor as he stepped forward with Janison a step behind. Antone stayed put, placing his link visor back across his brow. A second later, he turned his back to them and began to speak to another in a terse tone.

"I remember everything," Steffor replied.

"Good, that at least gives us a starting point. Listen, we have one shot at bringing you up to speed before we have to release you to Thortizan."

"What? Who?"

"Names will come back soon. The important thing to do right now is to listen," Janison said with an assuring nod.

"Exactly," Stalling said. "Here's what you need to know, the rest will come back to you in due time. Your mission is completed, though a few minutes ahead of schedule. We are still trying to figure out what went wrong but believe the mission to be a success. You are still processing but all should be revealed in a few moments. Unfortunately, we will have to delay the final step until we can devise a plan to...rescue you from the Church."

Despite not understanding anything the other said, Steffor could tell by the way he stumbled at 'rescue you from the Church' that the task would not be simple. "I understand we are pressed for time but I fear I have misspoken. When I said I remembered everything, you see-"

"Look Muzar," Stalling interrupted, "you are going to have to trust us when we tell you memories of people, places and events will return. The key now is to understand that we will get you back, we will complete the mission!"

"That's just it, I am not Muzar! I have no idea who Muzar is but he is definitely not me." Every moment spent in this purgatory was time away from Calivera and his friends, time for Raistan to wreak havoc on his world. Steffor could not tolerate the thought a moment longer. He must act now.

"It is time to go," Antone stated as he moved over to join the rest of them. "Eitemor reports they are moving in position to strike. Our two minutes are up."

"Look, I understand your situation at the moment is dire but so is mine. I need to go back. Now! The Provider told me you were our allies, if you care at all about us, you must help me return!"

Stalling and Janison exchanged a quick glance before Janison placed his link visor back on his brow. A holographic image of a rectangular tablet appeared. Janison's hands were a flurry of motion as he manipulated the "tablet" to create over a dozen more and form an organized panel. With a deft touch, he caused a stream of symbols and graphics to scroll up, down and across each tablet. The room went silent as all watched Janison in anticipation.

The symbols and images procured by the hologram mesmerized Steffor. The process was akin to how his staff had projected a three dimensional map of the Provider. Though foreign and communicating nothing pragmatic, the orchestrated formulas soothed his soul. It provided his first palpable connection to these people.

"Hold up..." Janison said, stopping on a specific tablet. Unlike the others, the formulas and symbols on this one were chaotic and repulsive. He touched the right top corner and bottom left with his index fingers, then stretched the tablet to increase its size three-fold. "What in the...why did he...what purpose does this serve?" He said to the room, rubbing thumbs to his temples.

"This is not Muzar, at least not all of him. This is an untainted portion, while the rest remained behind," Stalling assessed as he studied the strange code. "He could not create a solution; only place a temporary stop to the problem."

"He couldn't even do that," Janison said, "the infection has spread throughout the entire system. Its pace has slowed since infiltrating the second quadrant, but it will eventually take over everything."

"What is that there, in the first quadrant? Was that there before?" Stalling asked, pointing to an indistinguishable group of symbols on a separate tablet, displaying the same corruption.

Janison amplified the view. "No, it was not," he said matter-of-factly. "The entire quadrant was infected prior to bringing him back, this I am certain, just as I am certain it is no coincidence. It's as if a piece of code from quadrant 2 was pasted in quadrant 1 to..."

"Counter measure the invasion of quadrant 1," Jennifer concluded.

"Yes, something like that but it can't work, not the way it is currently written."

"It's a means to buy time," Stalling surmised.

"We are out of time!" Antone exclaimed. "We must deliver Muzar-"

A seismic rumble from above the chamber interrupted his statement. Without pause, he removed his link visor, tapped the side with his index finger and held it out before the group. A life sized, three-dimensional projection appeared above it an instant later.

Similar to how the Mysticnet broadcasted the Guardian Games, the live video and audio stream projected before them conveyed a scene viewed from a first-person perspective. Steffor hazarded the point of view was somehow being captured and sent by the same metallic band the Antone now held before them.

At first, the moonless night showed only vague outlines of objects in the distance along with featureless movement. Antone tapped the link visor again, the action enhancing the spectral range to see details as if daytime.

Their view shifted left to right with militant purpose, scanning the length of pristine lawn seen in every viewable direction framed by a row of trees a few hundred yards away. The long, low hanging, curved branches edged the field to form a quad. Captured by the backdrop of squat structures lined behind the airy tapestry of trunks and branches, one could see a flurry of movement between and around the trees ahead.

"Talk to me Eitemor!" Antone commanded

"Bumper mortars," Eitemor replied, his breath rapid but controlled. "At least twelve coordinated rounds." Eitemor looked down to his immediate left to view of a fresh crater, a haze of milky smoke clinging to the disheveled earth. "Lost contact with Gliet, Romy and Trafe. Based off movement, and mortar targets, assault on the northeast eminent!"

Eitemor jerked his head back toward the line of trees in time to catch the enemy's coordinated advance begin. Dozens of dark figures spread across the field in quick, zigzagging leaps and bounds. Eitemor raised outstretch arms that gripped an elongated machine in both hands. He aimed the assault rifle towards the advancing figures, getting a bead on several as he studied their approach.

"Regroup to sectors 3, 4 and 5. Hold your positions!" Eitemor commanded.

A few more seconds passed, allowing the enemy to cover over half the distance between them. Then Eitemor finally gave the order: "Givem' hell boys!"

"Thumf-thumf-thumf-thumf!" With systematic precision, Eitemor pointed his rifle at one moving target after the other and unleashed a set of blue-flamed bursts. Sporadic cries of pain and anguish followed as smoke filled the air and diminished visibility to but a few yards.

Antone tapped the side of his band again, switching to a different first-person view with each tap. The rapid sequence showed similar combat and destruction, though on several the fighting was more savage.

One scene showed a similar rush of figures but the rifle could not target all of them. Tackled from both sides, a mash of primal grunts ensued as the tangle of bodies wrestled on the ground. The final view displayed patches of starlit sky beyond outstretched arms. One hand clawed at a face with thumb submerged into a bloody eye socket while the other clutched the throat of a second adversary. With purple face and pursed lips, the choking man raised his right arm to reveal a bladed weapon clenched in fist. A brief flash of starlight glinted off a burnished blade right before driving down the lethal strike.

The perspective vanished with the strike, switching back to Eitemor's point of view. A few yards from his feet lay two motionless bodies. Eitemor scanned left to right, searching for new targets as the sights and sounds of combat diminished. A minute later signs of combat halted all together.

"Assuming they continue with small arms and minor explosives, Eitemor can hold the entrance for another-"

A green light blinked on the side of the link visor, cutting Antone's report short. He tapped the spot where the light appeared, switching the view to a man standing before a large tree. "My patience wears thin," said the man. "We can take what we want by force but I desire to adhere to the commands of my superiors and keep the violence to a minimum. Deliver us Muzar Tarcones now or Dr. Alterian becomes the next casualty of this unfortunate affair."

The view then switched to a narrow hallway with two armed men holding an attractive middle-aged woman between them. On cue, the man on Lorissa's left withdrew a blade sheathed to his leg, raised it above his shoulder and swung his arm down, stabbing the her in the thigh, hilt deep. A full second passed before Lorissa shrieked in pain and disbelief, at which point the man withdrew the blade, trailing a ribbon of crimson.

Before any of them could respond, the view switched back to the man standing before the tree. "By way of further penalty for your delay, we will be taking Dr. Alterian with us as collateral, assuming, of course, she survives." The man disappeared, returning them to the Eitemor's perspective.

Stalling went pale, his lips trembling as he swayed on weak knees. Antone stepped to him and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. "We must act now Stalling," he said, his professional tone softened with compassion.

"What is your name," Janison asked Steffor. He had continued his study of the tablets during all the commotion and had since narrowed it down to one, now stretched tall.

"Steffor."

"Steffor, my name is Janison. This is Jennifer, Stalling and Antone. We _are_ your allies and we intend to deliver you back to your world. Do you trust my words?"

"Yes," Steffor replied on instinct. In addition to the Provider telling him to trust these people, the intensity of the moment had evoked an undeniable bond.

"Good. To do so we need time. The only way we acquire time is for you to leave this place with the man you just saw. Right now, they perceive you as a great value. You must do what you can, with what you know, to keep that perception alive. Long enough for us to find a solution and return you to your home. We have friends within the Church that will assist us in your rescue. Be prepared for our signal."

"How long? I fear too much time away..."

"Not long, at most a week."

"I will go with him," Jennifer said. "Swap me for Lorissa. They have wanted me from the beginning. They will extract the same information from me that they would Lorissa. None of us can hold out against the serum but my training will string them along for a week or so, valuable time to help Steffor transition."

They all turned to Stalling for approval. In response, he closed his eyes, placed his hands on his hips and took a deep, controlled breath. A long second later, he opened his eyes and gave Antone a succinct nod, who then promptly tapped his link visor and connected back to Thortizan.

"We understand your demands. Muzar is on route. His physical state remains compromised, give him ten minutes to arrive," Stalling said, all business.

"You have five minutes."

"One more request. An exchange of Dr. Muselleti for Dr. Alterian."

"Done." Thortizan said, deliberating on the decision for but a second. "Until we meet again," he said with a curt nod and smug wink, ending the transmission.

"Ready?" Jennifer said, extending her hand to Steffor. The gesture and question conjured a strange mix of emotion within Steffor, a parallel intuition telling him he somehow knew this woman.

"No," he replied honestly. Comforted by the strange and sudden connection to Jennifer as he was, his reluctance to leave remained. Ignorant to how he returned home, he knew this place was the key. To leave now meant risking never finding a way back. But without the aid of his new allies, it will all be for not.

Steffor looked away from Jennifer's hand to the waiting faces of Stalling, Antone and Janison. While not as acute, he felt a similar connection to the other three and knew at that moment he must rely on his intuition like never before. He grasped Jennifer's hand and allowed her to pull him forward.

Aware of his body submerged into the molded bed since awaking, Steffor had limited his movements, up this moment, to his neck and head. Now, standing for the first time, Steffor experienced a euphoric rush of power.

"How do you feel?" Jennifer asked, having moved to his side to place her hand on his back while the other held his arm.

"Like...new," he replied, curling his arms up with clenched fists to marvel at his physique.

"New and improved," Stalling said with an appraising eye.

Steffor lowered his arms and squared up to the man. A good two inches taller, Steffor looked down at him and forced the other to meet his gaze. Stalling returned the stare, confident and honest. Steffor sensed the other's want to offer full disclosure and frustration due to the circumstances.

"I trust the Provider; it would not have delivered me to you, this world, if you were not allies. But as I have recently charged those closest to me, I make the decision to leave on my own free will. I do this with little more than a sense of good in all of you and a connection beyond my understanding."

"I can honestly say, I am not sure I would do the same, under the same circumstances," Antone stated, addressing Steffor for the first time. "But I am grateful all the same. Those are my men above, fighting to buy us time. None know you but all believe in what you are, what you represent, and are willing to die to preserve it."

The thought of complete strangers, from an alien world, willing to sacrifice their life for his sake stupefied Steffor beyond measure. Out of necessity, he shoved the thought deep into the recesses of his unconscious, replacing it with the memory of Antone's deliberate honesty.

"Let's move," Stalling said, moving toward the entrance.

Single file, Steffor followed behind Jennifer while Antone and Janison trailed. As Stalling approached within a yard of the glass door entrance, it silently glided up and disappeared into the arched doorway. They filed into a short, rectangular hallway, quickly cleared the anteroom and exited into a large cavern.

The ceilings of the subterranean place soared high above, the details lost in darkness. Steffor stole a quick glance behind to see the tip of the stalagmite shaped mainframe blend into ceiling shadows, concluding the peak lingered near the top.

Bioplaster and pulsing light also flowed on the outside of the mainframe. Thousands of cables plugged into to bioplaster sockets that lined the outside of the mainframe in orderly rows. The cables, appearing vines the more he studied them, shared the same bioplaster qualities of the mainframe but contained more light. The cables pumped amber light back and forth from the mainframe to thousands of hexagonal pillars, the bio-neural servers. In turn, each man-size server, also constructed from bioplaster, connected to the other with the same organic cables.

"Keep moving," Antone said from behind as he and Janison started into a brisk jog.

Steffor turned back around to see Jennifer and Stalling already running down their strait passage. They ran toward a thin rectangular window in the distance, elevated a few feet above the pillars. He picked up his pace, noting the ease in which his powerful stride closed the distance. To the left and right of their path, they passed one curving row after the other of servers. Steffor visualized more than saw the circular design of the dark cavern with the mainframe at the epicenter, surrounded by and connected to the symmetrical rings of servers.

Under a minute later, they reached the window that was much larger than he original estimated. The window consisted of three glass panels that jutted out from the cavern wall to form a half hexagon observation bay. Without pause, Stalling led them under the middle panel where they ascended an open stairway leading into the room beyond.

They rushed through the sterile room, scurrying past orderly rows of tables housing odd-looking tools and equipment. The transition from the cavern's cool temperatures to the room's moderate climate made Steffor aware of his partial nudity for the first time. On impulse, he glanced down at the snug shorts covering little more than his genitals, triggering a deep longing for his garments. Modesty had little to do with the impulse, finding he missed the touch of his garments that had seen him through adversity countless times. He could not recall a time prior where he desired his garments more.

Now running between jog and sprint, they exited the observation room and entered a lighted hallway that ascended for another fifty yards to a large metal door.

Halfway up the hall, Stalling stopped and replied, "Understood." He then removed his link visor and waited for Steffor, Antone and Janison to approach. "Thortizan commanded the two of you exit alone," Stalling said, addressing Jennifer and Steffor. Turning to Antone, he said, "Make sure Eitemor and crew clear the perimeter, the slightest sign of aggression could set things off again."

"They have already moved back and will take no further action without my order," Antone replied.

"Forgive us Muz- Steffor; this was not how your return was to be. We will fix this, I promise."

Steffor believed Stalling's intentions to be true. From the moment he met these strangers, each conveyed love and honesty equivalent to any Citizen. Actions over the past few intense minutes provided plenty of evidence to support this intuition.

Absent of the proper words to respond, Steffor exchanged affirming nods with Stalling, Janison and Antone before heading up the remainder of the hall with Jennifer at his side. Metal doors as thick as Steffor was tall parted with their approach.

They stepped onto the lawn, moved several yards away from the entrance and then stopped when no one met them. Steffor could tell by the line of trees in the distance and the fresh crater of earth to their right that they stood near where Eitemor had during the battle. Bodies no longer littered the ground but fresh signs of battle remained: large splotches of blood stained grass, lingering tendrils of smoke snaking a few feet off the ground and an acrid odor that clung to everything. A pang of disappointment struck Steffor's heart as his search for Eitemor came up short.

"Steffor," Jennifer said as she grabbed both his hands and turned him to face her. "They will keep us apart. Bargain, plead, beg...whatever you must do to get back to me. Word of your-Muzar's return will spread quickly, complicating our ability to get you back. The Church is not the only ones desperate for your presence, you must know who to trust," she said, casting a quick glance back toward the lab entrance.

"My instincts are all I have to guide me, telling me I must trust you, Jennifer," he said, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Earn my trust now: say what the others neglected or refused to tell me."

She hesitated, mesmerized by his insight, then replied as one at peace with their convictions. "Time flows slower here when compared to your home world." Reading the confused look on his face, she elaborated: "A week here, on Antium, equates to a much longer passage of time in your world."

"How much longer? A month, two-"

"Years, decades-" Jennifer stopped her sentence short as her hand shot up to her neck.

Steffor detected a clear needle protruding between her index and middle finger, right before Jennifer's eyes rolled back and her body dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless. Steffor kneeled down in concern, turning the women over to feel her pulse. Relief at feeling a strong beat lasted but a second before he felt a stinging prick at the base of his own neck, followed by a sterile darkness.

