Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #40: The Malice of Mortals]

Log Date: [2/23/12765]

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

3:01pm LST

“It… just… doesn’t… feel right.” I murmur, tapping my pencil against my lips as I stare at the sheet music before me. Rows of neat lines on tan paper, divided into bass and treble clefs, with smear marks on the pages from where I’ve written notes, and erased them, and written them again and erased them again, over and over. I’ve been at this for over an hour now, and I’m recognizing the feeling. The feeling of knowing you have a good idea, a good concept, lingering just out of reach, and every form you try create for it just isn’t quite right. My frustration is, in large part, slowly mounting due to this.

“What doesn’t feel right?”

I glance around to see that Jayta’s come into the common room, making her way over to me. Here on the mortal plane, she’s been embracing mortal fashion, meaning that recently she’s spent a lot of time in jeans and loose, cozy sweaters. Something about seeing her like this makes me feel homey and cozy by proximity, tempting me to curl up on the couch with her and while away the time reading books. It’s a pleasant change of pace from the stiff fashion of the House of Regret, even though I myself still have to dress in a manner befitting the Lord of Regret.

“Nothing.” I sigh, sitting up at the piano bench. I’d had a piano brought into the Drift’s common room, so that I might have my instrument of choice to pass the time when I had met all of my other obligations. I’d gotten the feeling that the Drifters had wanted to protest at first, but had quickly changed their minds after hearing me play some of my warmup pieces. “I’ve been working on this piece for ages, and I just… I simply cannot make it work. I have the idea, the concept, but I can’t get it past that phase. It’s just not coming together.”

Jayta sits down to the bench with me, staring at the sheet music, but I can tell from the way she looks at it that it’s a foreign language to her. “Sounds frustrating.”

“It is. Especially because I’m stuck on what’s basically the first step. I have the motif, and that’s it. I can’t seem to build anything around it; I don’t have any lyrics put together…” Taking a deep breath, I run a hand through my hair. “I wonder if I’m going about it the wrong way. Maybe I’m starting in the wrong spot. Perhaps I need to put together the lyrics first, and then build a song around them. Or maybe it’s the instrument. Perhaps this piece isn’t meant to incorporate a piano; maybe it’s supposed to be percussion and brass… maybe strings too…”

“I’ve never seen you this indecisive before.” she says, sidling up against me on the bench. “Are you doing this to keep your mind off things?”

“In a way. It’s a distraction from the politics of the Gathering and the mess that Azra’s created. But I also owe a song to Wicked Wolf, and she reminded me about that at the turn of the new year. I’ve been working on it on and off since then, but I haven’t been able to make any progress on it.” I say, slipping an arm around her. “I need to get something to her, and it has to be quality. You can’t phone it in on a goddess of music.”

She looks up at me with those granite eyes. “I hate to be that person, but aren’t there bigger things to worry about right now?”

I sigh again, pulling her a little closer against my side. “There are. But one tires of worrying about them. It becomes consuming, and you find yourself needing a break, a reprieve, even if it’s only temporary. This is not like the regular affairs of Sjelefengsel; there is more pressure, higher stakes… the Drifters are focused on getting Kayenta back, and not worrying much about everything else Azra has done. I, on the other hand, am shouldering the pressure of all the hypernaturals that are expecting a resolution for this crisis. Technically it’s the mortals that are fixing the problem, but I am the one that’s supposed to guide them, and ensure that this entire affair is wrapped up in a neat, tidy, efficient manner. It’s something of a balancing act…” Realizing that how my complaining must sound, I give her a quick kiss on the head and rein in my griping. “I apologize. I don’t mean to dump all of this on you, or imply that I have it harder than you or the Drifters. It’s been a while since I’ve felt what it’s like to be anxious, and perhaps I’m not handling it as well as I like to imagine I would.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you anxious before.” she says, reaching up to poke my chin. “You’re always so calm and collected and confident.”

I smile a little ruefully. “Calm, collected, and confident are products of being in control. When you don’t feel like you have complete control over a situation or its outcome, it’s easy to feel anxious.” Setting my pencil down on the piano’s stand, with the sheet music, I lean back a little. “But that’s enough about me. How are you feeling? Excited about seeing your mother tomorrow?”

She shifts nervously, looking down. “Not really. I mean, I want to see her, but there’s… a lot to worry about. A lot I might have to explain. Stuff I don’t really want to explain…”

“You’re concerned about having to explain our contract to her.” I surmise. “And the circumstances that led to it, and all the complicated parts that surround it.”

“Yeah.”

I nod, mulling that over. “I don’t believe I have a good answer for that. I don’t know your mother, or her disposition. I don’t know how she would react to the truth, though I doubt she will look kindly on me, considering my involvement in how you got to where you are now. My advice would be: tell her what you feel you need to, and you are not obligated to share anything with her that you don’t feel comfortable sharing. I do not recommend that you tell any lies — decline to share information, if you must, but do not lie. Lies demand much more in the way of maintenance than silence does.”

“I’m not sure I want to tell her the truth.” Jayta mumbles. “I’m not sure I could handle the way she’d look at me if she knew the truth…”

I consider my response, measuring whether it will be helpful before I proceed. “A lie may be comfortable, Jayta; it may take the sharp edges off of an inconvenient truth. But it will eat away at you over time, and it will never be your ally. I will never counsel you to tell a lie, because I have seen the damage that lies can do, and because I come from a family that cannot tell lies. It has not always been easy to live that way, but it has allowed me to live with a certain clarity. It may not be easier to tell your mother the truth, but it will be better than telling her a lie. And if you do not want to do either, then you can always do neither.”

She tilts her head against my chest. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met you.”

I wince at that. I understand what she’s getting at — if she’d never met me, she never would’ve been tempted into the murder that put her where she was now. And I understand that this is what it means to be a Syntaritov — we are not heroes, and the people that we love often suffer the consequences of that fact, and often resent us for it. Knowing these things helps, gives me some reassurance, but it does not entirely take the pain away.

“Well,” I say after a long moment. “I am the Lord of Regret for a reason.”

“Will you be there when she arrives?” she asks.

“If you want me to, then I will be, yes.”

“I would like that.”

“I will plan on being there, then.”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Hangar

2/24/12765 8:54am SGT

“So you didn’t tell her anything about what was going on?” I ask, nervously rocking back and forth on the soles of my feet.

Jazel shakes his head. “It didn’t occur to me. After they kidnapped Kaya, I just jumped right to the assumption that I’d have to get her back on my own. I never assumed the coven would be interested in helping me, since… y’know, I don’t live there anymore, and they’ve got a new witchling now.”

“So how’d she find out about it if you didn’t tell her?” I ask, watching as the shuttle passes through the hangar’s environmental shield, following the lit strips on the floor that guide it to one of the parking spaces beside the Drift’s two skippers.

“It’s likely that agents of the Old City were dispatched to inform the coven, and instruct them to render aid.” Raikaron says from behind us. I glance back to see him checking his pocketwatch, closing it with a crisp snick as he tucks it back in the pocket of his vest. “The Old City tends to work quietly, but they have a vestment in this crisis, and they have been monitoring the situation from multiple angles. This one included.”

His eyes flick to the side, and something shudders into view on my peripherals. I turn my head in that direction, and for a brief moment, I catch sight of what looks like a girl in a black skirt, jacket, and a white button-down shirt, with a blood-red kerchief knotted beneath the collar of her shirt. Her head is wreathed in a flock of crows from the nose upwards, with only the bottom half of her face visible; and upon being noticed, she immediately straightens up, seeming to shimmer and glitch out of view.

I blink a couple times, then look back to Raikaron. “What was that?”

“One of Witchling’s angels. Mortals know them as the Faceless Ones; they work under the direction of the Watchers, and handle the tasks that the Watchers cannot be present for.” Raikaron explains. “There are two of them on the ship, presumably to be the Witchling’s eyes and ears. As far as I can tell, they’ve been here for a while; I only noticed them about a week ago, when their guard slipped and they came to my awareness. They typically manipulate reality and perception so that people overlook them even when they’re standing in plain view.”

“What’s this?” Lysanne demands as she arrives, catching the tail end of our conversation and giving Raikaron a driving look. “Is there something else on our ship that you’ve been hiding from us?”

“Just a couple of angels, as far as I can tell.” Raikaron says, adjusting his glasses. “Harmless, as far as I can tell. Likely here at the Witchling’s behest to keep an eye on things. I wouldn’t bother looking for them; they’re very good at remaining unseen, and even I have trouble detecting them.”

Lysanne glares at him a moment longer, then keeps walking. “If I catch them making trouble, they’re gonna catch my boot up their ass, angel wings or not.” she mutters as she joins Jazel and myself on the hangar floor. 

“Was there any trouble with getting resupply at this world?” I ask Lysanne as the shuttle finishes landing and rolls out the disembarkation ramp.

“We haven’t had any problems since your friend went and pulled some strings.” Lysanne says, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets. “I don’t know whose arm he twisted, but CURSE is leaving us alone, and covering our operating costs. Dandy hasn’t heard anything else from them since then.”

“Do we know how long that’s gonna last?” Jazel asks as the familiar outline of our mother disembarks from the shuttle, pulling a suitcase along behind her, and with a basket on one arm. She’s in the traditional cloak worn by the witches of our coven, making her an unmistakable silhouette.

“I assume that’ll be the case until we get Kaya back and this whole affair is wrapped up.” Lysanne says. “Not sure what’s going to happen after that, but I’m not worrying about it for now.”

“If they decide they still want to fire us after we defeat a demon goddess and seal her back into the Maelstrom, that’s their loss.” Jazel says as he starts moving across the hangar towards Mom. “C’mon Jayta, let’s go help Mom with her stuff.”

I follow him in that direction, despite the nervousness squirming about in my chest. We meet Mom about halfway across the hangar, with her setting down her basket and suitcase so she can pull Jazel into a wordless hug, and then me after that. I’d been afraid she would snub me, but her hug is strong and firm as it always was, and some of my fear subsides. Letting me go after a moment, she steps back, wipes her eyes, and sizes both of us up as she takes a deep breath. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.” she states.

Jazel nods, motioning to her suitcase and the basket. “Can we get those for you? And how much do you know?”

“Please, if you could.” she says, letting Jazel take the suitcase while she picks up the basket and hands it to me. “I’ve not been told much. The matriarch called me a few days ago and told me to come to her house, and told me that she had been visited by one of the Faceless Ones. A set of instructions were given to her, mostly to prepare me to visit you when you all arrived here.”

“Did the matriarch tell you anything else?” Jazel asks as we all start walking back to the back of hangar, where Raikaron and Lysanne are still waiting on the stairs. “About what’s going on, and why we’re here?”

“Only that it was something to do with Tirsigal, and that both of my children would be visiting.” Mom says, reaching out to pull me in and give me a kiss on the head. “I’ve been worried about you, Jayta. I’m glad you’re here.”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. I’ve been dealing with a lot over the past year… I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get in touch.”

“We’ll be able to catch up once I’ve gotten up to speed on everything.” Mom says, letting go of me. “I was told that you all would only be here for a week or so, so tell me what’s going on. You two weren’t involved in what happened on Tirsigal, were you? It’s put the whole galaxy on edge.”

“Well… not directly.” Jazel begins carefully. “You remember when we visited last year, and we were talking about families, and Kaya told us that her parents were gods…?”

“I vaguely remember that, yes.”

“Well, turns out she was telling the truth. And apparently she has an older sister…”

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Dandelion Drift: Biosphere Access Deck

8:42pm SGT

“I don’t think the mother is all that fond of me.” I admit as I slowly stroll along the access deck ringing the Drift’s biosphere, taking in the view as I go.

“There are very few mothers that would be happy to hear that their daughter is in a committed relationship with a demon Lord.” Danya’s voice reverberates back through my earbuds. “That being said, Jayta is an adult, and she can make her own choices. And you are an exceptional individual yourself, my Lord; anyone that does not recognize that within ten minutes of meeting you is a fool, and a blind one at that.”

“So you say, but I’ve been noticing that my demeanor is not winning me any allies here.” I say, adjusting my phone in my pocket before I lace my hands behind my back once more. “The magpie seems perennially suspicious of me. The same with the redneck, though he hides it better by running his mouth. And now Jayta’s mother… they are all people of the earth. Practical and straightforward; I get the feeling that none of them have ever really tasted true luxury before. But they can tell that I have, and they do not like it, or they find it disqualifying.”

“Well, my Lord, the upper classes inhabit different spheres than the lower classes. Their world is not our world, and vice versa. It will not matter how polite or kind you are; they can tell that you are not like them, and for some people, that is enough justification for animosity.”

“I don’t think that’s quite it… but there is an element of truth to your assessment.” I say, glancing up to the deck where I can see the wide, unbroken window of the common room. If I had to guess, some of the Drifters were probably still up there, discussing current events and what to do about them. “I didn’t exactly come from great means, myself. It’s not like I don’t understand the struggles of the lower classes, but I also haven’t experienced them for quite some time now. I suppose, if you spend enough time near the top of the ladder, the memories of harder times start to fade a little.”

“Well, I have never known you to rub your affluence in the faces of the less fortunate. I doubt their animosity for you has any justifiable foundation.”

“It would seem that way, even after the aid I’ve rendered them in multiple areas. Perhaps it’s just because emotions are running high. Maybe they will loosen up once they have their crewmate back.” I say, bringing my gaze back down as I continue walking. “At any rate, that’s enough about me. How fares the House, and Sjelefengsel at large?”

“Busy, and the other Lords resent you for it. Word has gotten around that you’ve managed to escape the utter chaos that’s come from the sudden deluge of damned souls. If the other Houses were not so busy trying to handle the influx, I think they would’ve tried to make moves on the areas and industries that our House controls.”

“A good thing that they are being kept occupied, then. Though that does put me on a bit of a timer.” I muse. “The shock from the influx will subside at some point, and things will start to return to regular affairs as Sjelefengsel finishes sentencing and settling its new residents. I will need to have this matter with Azra wrapped up before then; a House without its Lord is considered an easy target.”

“Agreed. And you are better suited for being the face of the House than I am. I do not know how you manage to be so congenial in your role, with how vexing it can be sometimes.”

“A combination of experience and perspective. Try to have patience, and do not hesitate to lean on Mek and Trinity if you need to. I will do my best to wrap up this matter with Azra as expediently as possible.” I say, pulling out my phone and checking the time. “One last thing before I wrap up this call, Danya: have Trinity locate my draughtbook and deliver it to me. There’s something in there that I need to check.”

“Understood. Will you be sending them back with the other books that you requested earlier?”

“Some of them, yes. They were not able to provide the answers that I was looking for. The others I will be keeping as I continue my research.”

“Understood. I’ll have them deliver that too you as soon as possible. Are there any other tasks you have for me?”

“No, that is all. You already have enough to do; I am not going to burden you with more.” I say. “I’m going to go see if Jayta is ready for bed now. And make sure you are getting sufficient sleep as well, Danya. I know you will overwork yourself if I don’t tell you to ease up a bit.”

“I will take it under consideration, my Lord.”

“Good. Have a good night, and as always, you can reach out to me if there is anything that requires my direct attention.”

“You as well, my Lord.”

With that, I take my earbuds out, snapping them back into their case before tucking them away. Pausing to examine the biosphere, I take a moment to appreciate layers it’s been divided into, each with their own biome. It was a modern-day approximation of the biblical ark, dedicated to the preservation of endangered creatures, and gazing on it, I find myself reflecting that this is the side of mortality that I never get to see in Sjelefengsel. Their efforts might not always be perfect, but you could see the potential, the desire to do the right thing.

And I can’t help but wonder if anyone ever looks at me, and my work in Sjelefengsel, and thinks the same thing.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

The Dreaming

2/27/12765 1:44am SGT

It was in the depths of winter

That I tasted her breath,

Sweet like raspberries

And then her lips,

Stained with their blood.

I twitch, my head tacking to one side, but I keep my eyes closed, my brows furrowing as I try to follow the echo. In the Dreaming, the eyes deceive more than any other sense; the visual feast within the dream plane often distracts and conceals. It is safer to navigate by other senses; to listen, to taste, to smell, and sometimes to touch. So it is that I focus.

On an exhalation, not quite a sigh, brushing past my ear.

On a sweetness, pale and mild, seeping from crushed drupelets.

On a warmth, soft and damp, berry-stained lips pressed to another’s.

O liar,

You were never ashamed.

It was your strength,

And your undoing.

My fingers curl shut, struggling against the temptation open my eyes. I can feel the Dreaming swirling around me, thick with thoughts and ideas and feelings, all waiting to take shape the moment I open my eyes, to form a mindscape, a definite, solid environment to occupy. But I keep my eyes closed, and it remains an indefinite amalgamation of concepts and possibilities not yet given form. It is easier to move through the Dreaming this way; things filter to the surface that would be hidden by a defined mindscape, and distance is compressed. With eyes closed, you can swim through it like a fish, chasing other things that swirl and slink through the ocean of possibilities not yet given form.

I should’ve known,

After that first dance,

That you would destroy me.

But I let you kiss me anyway…

I almost have my hands around it. An echo of a memory that will lead me to something far out there in the Dreaming, something long lost but not gone. And if I can just catch this echo, I can follow it back to the place it comes from.

But it slips just out of reach when I go to grip it, leaving me overextended and exposed, and I realize I was not paying attention to where the chase was leading me. The swirl all about me is gone, and I find myself in the midst of the void.

Lost, and adrift.

I can hear the rushing of waves against the sand when I come back around.

Opening my eyes, I find myself on a beach, the waves brushing past my feet and ankles. Slowly rolling over, I start to push myself up on my elbows; the ocean before me is steel-blue and cold, and the sky overhead is clouded. It is a winter ocean, brusque and unwelcoming, lacking the warm freckles of light that define a summer ocean.

“That was very ambitious.”

I look around to see Miqo standing on the beach in her Cafe uniform, and past her, I can see the Neko Cafe nestled into a set of dunes. Her pawhands are in her pockets, moonwhite hair hanging in the chill wind coming off the ocean. She’s not looking directly at me, instead staring out across the ocean itself.

“I’m supposing you’re the one that pulled me out?” I ask, starting to sit up properly.

“I saw you floating in the shallows and pulled you up on the shore, yes. I am sure you would’ve been fine, but I thought you would appreciate the quicker return.” she says, nodding her head in the direction of a sandbar not far from the shore. “Whatever possessed you to go looking for Kyto’s soul?”

Ah. So she knows what I was doing. “I do not think you would like the answer.” I say, starting to get back to my feet.

“Perhaps not. But I think you should humor me, since I brought you to the shore.”

“I…” I shake my head, waving a hand as I feel the embarrassment rise up. “…I thought it would be nice, I suppose. To pair them together after I extract Raiko’s soul from Aephero so I can send them on their way to reincarnation. Sentimental, I know.”

Miqo stares at me, that dark teal gaze unreadable, until her whiskers twitch and a small smile appears. “You still have a soft heart.”

I roll my eyes. “Only when nobody is looking.” Brushing sand off my sleeves, I raise the question that’s been nagging me for a while. “You knew about what Kyto and Raiko did to each other, didn’t you.”

“I did, yes.”

“And you knew that Raiko’s soul was sealed inside Aephero, while Kyto’s was bound and kept intact by the curse she laid on both of them.”

“I did.”

“So why didn’t you tell me when I came to you and told you about the vision I had?”

Miqo is quiet a moment, then turns and starts treading back up the beach to the Cafe. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up so you can have a cup of hot cocoa.”

Usually I wouldn’t allow someone to dodge my questions in such a manner, but most people I interact with are beneath my station, and I have the power to compel them to answer. With Miqo, that dynamic is reversed — as the Dreaming’s Spirit of Judgement, she commands the deference of gods and mortals alike. If she chooses not to answer, then that is that.

So I follow her up to the beach and to the Cafe, where one of the waiters greets me with a fresh set of clothes that are not waterlogged with sand and saltwater. Heading upstairs, I take a shower, and once I am cleaned up, I return back downstairs in the loose, widesleeved tunic and pants that are often relaxation attire in the Dreaming. I’m given a mug of hot cocoa and directed out to the covered porch of the Cafe; heading out that way, I find that Miqo is sitting in a chair by one of the tables on the porch, sipping on her own mug of hot cocoa. I sit down in the other chair by the table, folding my legs into a pretzel as I get comfortable.

“It is not your job to bring them together again.” Miqo says once I’ve settled. “The curse that binds them will take care of that. Focus on the responsibilities you have been given; the rest will take care of itself.”

I sip from my hot cocoa, soaking in the warmth and the smooth, sweet taste. “Do you think they’ll get it right the second time around?”

Miqo’s bushy, banded tail flicks up to where she can snag it and inspect it, combing any stray bits of dust and sand out of it. “Their curse doesn’t compel them to be enemies or lovers. Perhaps, in their next lives, they will be friends. Or coworkers. Or maybe siblings. Or maybe just people that pass each other on the street one day, and never see each other again.”

Rather than answer, I sip from my mug again as I stare out over the porch railing at the steel-blue ocean beyond, mulling that over.

“You are not happy with that answer.” Miqo surmises in my silence.

“Something in me rebels against it, yes.” I admit, still staring out across the ocean. “But it is the part of me — part of every creature, I think — that seeks for patterns. That tries to extract meaning from them. It is the part of me that wants Kyto and Raiko to get it right in their next lives, because if they can mess up that badly and still come back from it, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us. It is reasonable or realistic to expect them to be our proxy, to provide that validation for the rest of us? Almost certainly not. But the heart desires it anyway.”

Miqo lets her tail drop, cupping her hands around her mug as she looks out to the ocean. “We seek out hope because it is our nature. And we wish it for others, because we see echoes of ourselves within them. As you said — if there is hope for them, then perhaps we can believe there is hope for us.” She takes a sip, then goes on. “What echoes of yourself do you see in Raiko and Kyto?”

I don’t have to think about that for very long. “Pride. Hubris. I suppose, as they are my ancestors, you could say it runs in the family. I don’t think I have it to the extent that they did, which is perhaps a good and bad thing… their convictions gave them an indomitable certainty, an unbreakable confidence, the kind that moves nations and writes history. I think I admire that, because it is something I lack. But I also see how it was their undoing.”

“I see in you echoes of your great-grandmothers. I think it’s to your benefit that they are merely echoes, and not carbon copies.” Miqo says. “While I understand your interest in how their next lives will play out, I think you should put that from your mind for now. The next part of their story will not begin for a while, and the story that matters right now is the one that you are in, and in which you play an important role.”

I keep my mug cupped to my chest, where the warmth sinks through my tunic. “I simply pull strings and make sure people are in the right places, with the right tools and knowledge they need to carry out their role. Others are taking the risks; I am merely facilitating their courage.”

“Do not sell yourself short. Someone has to set up the pieces so they can fall into place later.” Miqo says, lapping at her hot cocoa a little. “That being said, I believe you had a question for me. Something you wanted to ask while you’re arranging the next pieces to fall into place.”

“Are you allowed to offer that in your capacity as a judge of the Gathering?” I ask, aware that there could be ramifications for her involvement. The Collective’s attempt to get her removed as judge of Azra’s case made it clear that even the slightest, most tangential justification would be weaponized if it would tilt the case in their favor.

“If the counsel I am providing is for the intent of resolving this crisis without further bloodshed, and it is both proportionate and within the realm of reason, then my contributions are legally defensible.” Miqo says comfortably. “Besides, I do not intend on taking any direct action myself. All I will be doing is giving you my advice or opinion.”

“I will be quite happy when this is all over and we no longer have to conduct our conversations under the shadow of a legal thundercloud.” I mutter. “I was examining the family draughtbook, as Dreaming draughts are a resource I’ve considered employing to help the assigned mortals resolve this crisis, and I came across a C10 recipe that caught my eye. Number fifty — I assume you’re familiar with it?”

Miqo tilts her head up, whiskers twitching as if she was conducting a mental review of a text that likely has memorized by now. “Forty-eight, forty-nine… fifty. Divinity? Tastes like white chocolate and caramel?”

“Mmm… yes, I believe so? I didn’t pay much attention to the palate description for that one.”

“To be expected, for a C10. Usually the attention is on their effects and ingredients.” Miqo says, her blunt black claws tapping against the side of her mug. “That’s a very ambitious draught, but you already know that. I do think that it would definitely help with resolving the current crisis, but the issue is ingredients and brewing time. It is extremely difficult to source the ingredients for that one, and it requires aging on the order of years before it’s reached full potency. But if you are asking…”

“One of the mortals managed to extract a fragment of Azra’s soul.” I confirm.

After a moment, Miqo sets her mug down on the table. “That is quite impressive, but also quite dangerous. Is this mortal still in possession of it?”

“He is. I told him to keep it secret, and keep it concealed for now.”

Miqo laces her blackfurred fingers together. “There are a great many things a person could do with a resource like that, Raikaron. Most of them are very dangerous, and considering who it was extracted from, carry a considerable risk of corruption. I am sure you already know that while you may have the ingredients, you do not have enough time to brew a bottle of Divinity — but I assume that looking at the recipe has given you ideas for other concoctions you could create from that fragment of Azra’s soul.”

“I have had thoughts, some of which have percolated into concepts.” I admit. “None of them finalized, but the ideas are there. I have not worked with a resource like this before, so I understand there’s an increased risk of mistakes or unexpected side effects if I incorporate it into a spell, enchantment, or concoction. So, I reasoned that I would consult you, and get your opinion on this resource, and the risks that would come with using it.”

Miqo takes a deep breath, one of her white-rimmed ears flicking. “Where do I begin… I’m sure it’s apparent to you already, but the primary risk of using a fragment of Azra’s soul in anything is that Azra is incredibly willful. She is the goddess of tyranny, after all. That powerful, domineering personality will be present in any fragment of her, no matter how small it is. Any spell, any concoction, any magical construct that you incorporate her soul into — there is the risk that Azra’s fragment will bend it to serve its own purposes instead. And if it is not able to corrupt it by sheer force of will, then it may try to twist and subvert the intent instead — I know Azra, and when she cannot get her way by force of will alone, she will fall back on being clever and sly. Tyrants are not always brutes; often they are manipulators as well. Azra is capable of both.”

“So there’s a risk that whatever I incorporate it into, it may take on a life of its own if the fragment can overcome the guardrails that are placed on it.” I surmise. “What if… I incorporated it into a person?”

I can tell, by the way that Miqo’s gaze wordlessly locks onto me, that she doesn’t like where this is going.

“You see, I was looking over the Divinity recipe, and as we both know, a shot of that draught will turn a mortal into a hypernatural for about a day.” I go on, knowing that Miqo will want to know what my rationale is. “Along with all the power and the abilities that come with it. The power and exaltation of godhood, distilled into a drink, and experienced for roughly twenty-four hours — and that’s why you need a fragment of a hypernatural soul to brew that draught; you need something to fuel that state. But I thought to myself: what if, instead of condensing that state of temporary exaltation into a single day, you could instead dilute it and extend the effect across the span of a lifetime? Make it a permanent effect by dialing back the strength of the effect by several magnitudes?”

Miqo’s disapproval may not be explicitly stated, but I can see it in the set of her brows and the way her tail flits back and forth behind her chair. “You want to fuse that fragment of Azra’s soul into one of the mortals.” she says, sounding very unenthusiastic about the idea.

I bite my lip. “I mean, there is a certain poetry to it, isn’t there? Taking a piece of Azra, sticking it into someone else to empower them, so that she can suffer defeat at their hands…?”

“Poetry? Raikaron, have you entirely missed the irony of becoming what you despised in order to defeat the thing you despised?”

I wince. “Ah, right. That is… a valid point.”

“To say nothing of the burden that you would be placing on this mortal! There is no mortal soul which can contend with the soul of hypernatural; they always drown beneath its depth and breadth, and are subsumed by it. An argument can be made for a mortal being able to handle a fragment of a hypernatural’s soul without losing themselves, but that is a struggle even when dealing with fragments of a mild hypernatural. Azra is far from mild; she is young and spicy, as hypernaturals go, and the likelihood of the mortal being corrupted and overtaken by a fragment of her is very high. Avoiding being consumed by that fragment would require a will that is every bit as obstinate and stubborn as Azra herself, and that is a tall order, Raikaron.”

I set my mug down on the table, steepling my fingers. “What if I told you that the mortal I’m considering is, in fact, as stubborn and intractable as Azra?”

Miqo places her hands on her face, rubbing at her closed eyes. “You are, without question, a Syntaritov. If there was any doubt about your lineage prior to this, it has been entirely dispelled at this point. Only one of my brother’s descendants could look at a solution like this and say ‘yeah, that sounds like the best way to solve this’.”

“I think it would be good for this mortal’s personal growth. It’s a solution that would make him work; to understand and appreciate the sacrifices we sometimes make for those that we love.”

“By stuffing a shard of a demon goddess into him for the rest of his life? Raikaron, do you even hear yourself?”

“It’s not like I’m forcing him to do it. I haven’t asked him yet, but based on the conversations I’ve had with him, I think he’d be willing to do what it takes to get his mate back.”

“I’ve had this conversation with Solebarr countless times, Raikaron: just because the mortal is willing to do something stupid does not make it okay for you to enable the stupidity.” Miqo says firmly. “I am not going to tell you what to do. You are the overseer of this crisis on the mortal plane, and how you choose to carry out that responsibility is up to you. My place is to witness and render judgement at the conclusion of the crisis. But I will give you my opinion, and my opinion is that pursuing this line of thought further may help resolve this crisis, but might very well leave these mortals with a burden that lasts far beyond it. I know you think this might help them grow and improve as individuals, and it might — but I will also warn you that sometimes mortals are not as strong as we give them credit for. I would advise you to proceed cautiously if you pursue this solution, and to be honest with yourself when assessing this mortal’s ability to endure what you are thinking about putting him through.”

I pick up my mug again, sipping from it. “I presume you have given similar counsel to my ancestor as well?”

“Yes, and to generations of his children as well. You are just the most recent in a long, long line of Syntaritovs doing Syntaritov things.”

“That’s strangely comforting, knowing I’m part of a long tradition.”

“The tradition of giving your grand-aunt a headache with your questionable machinations and morally ambiguous shenanigans, perhaps. Finish up your hot cocoa; we need to get you on your way, and I need to return to the Gathering for some procedural matters. If you end up creating more paperwork for me while you’re overseeing this crisis, I’ll be very cross with you.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll make sure to be circumspect.”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

2/28/12765 1:08pm SGT

“I hate to say it, but the Church might have more tools for dealing with this kind of thing than the covens do.” Mom says, rubbing her forehead.

I look up from the old spellbook we’d been studying — one of the many that the matriarch had sent with Mom for this visit. “You mean the Church of Aurescura?” I ask.

“Yes. Legend holds that during the years of the Cycle, they were the frontline at the end of every Cycle. They specialized in dealing with divine forces — all the way from building a bridge to the heavens, to fighting Aurescura’s angels before the heavens were sealed, and then fighting the Beast at the end of every Cycle.” Mom says, flipping a page in the spellbook. “Witches, we don’t have very many tools for dealing with the divine. We have rituals that are useful for binding the divine and demonic alike, which was why the Witchling always had to be present at the end of each Cycle to help seal the Beast again. But as far as harming them, we don’t have nearly as many arrows in our quiver as the Church does.”

“Yeah, but the Church guards their spells and enchantments, right?” Jazel asks. “Just the same as the covens do. The spells and rituals don’t work for anyone that isn’t ordained as clergy of the Church.”

“True. The Church is an expert in exorcisms, but I don’t think any of us are inclined to convert for that reason alone.” Mom says, clicking her pen. “Just to be sure I understand all of this — once you cut off all of Azra’s tails, that will drive her out of Kaya’s body?”

“That’s what Maelstrom and Radiance said.” Jazel says, picking up his glass and sipping from it. “The problem is getting all the tails at once. Cut off one, and she’ll grow it back in seconds. You need to get all of them in a single go.”

“Maybe it’s not a matter of harming or overpowering her.” I suggest. “We just need enough time to get to a point where we can cut off her tails. Instead of going for raw damage or pure power, maybe we can trap her or distract her instead? That’s what most witch spells are good for anyways, right?”

“I mean, we’d really have to pile it on, don’t you think?” Jazel says. “She can walk that stuff off in seconds.”

“Seconds are all we need if someone can get behind her with a sword.” I point out. “If we go all in on the trickery and trapping, then that should buy us a few chances to take a swing at her tails. And the coven sent a lot of valuable ingredients and spell components with you, didn’t they, Mom?”

“They did.” Mom says, reaching back and grabbing the wicker basket she’d brought with her, starting to go through the contents. “The matriarch pulled out the stops; I was really surprised when I saw what was in here, but knowing what the situation is now, it makes more sense. Here’s the cicada husk we brought her last winter; some amber from the goldvein rot that was afflicting a pine tree up on the mountain; fox teeth… there’s even a raw ruby, among other things. She packed some of the coven’s most valuable offerings in here, things that you need to make exceptionally powerful or rare spells.”

“Well, I’d hate to squander any of it.” Jazel says, picking an iridescent blue feather out of the basket and looking it over. “We should probably only use what we need, and send the rest back to the coven. I don’t want the matriarch to think we’re pissing away the coven’s treasures.”

“We should probably figure out what spells you’re going to compose, then.” I say. “So you can decide what you need out of basket, and the rest can go back with Mom.”

“Well, I have plenty I’d recommend, if we’re considering illusions and trickery instead of war spells.” Mom says, setting the basket aside and reaching for another of the old books that the matriarch sent with her. “Some of these are spells that the government doesn’t allow us to use unless we get a permit. But since you won’t be using them on New Aurescura, you won’t have to worry about that.”

A lethargic snort nearly startles us, drawing our attention to Ozzy, who’s slumped in the recliner with one of the old spellbooks open in his lap, completely zonked out. He’d offered to help with our spell research, but had fallen asleep about half an hour ago, and we’d just kinda forgot that he was there.

“For someone that practices an ancient and forbidden magic, he isn’t really all that intimidating, is he?” Mom remarks as Jazel reaches over and carefully lifts the spellbook out of Ozzy’s lap.

“Never judge a book by its resume.” Jazel says, setting the spellbook down on the coffee table. “He might be a necromancer, but he was damn near useless when we were fighting Azra on Tareya. Almost gave himself a coronary and just ran in circles screaming his head off. All he was good for was keeping one of the Azra clones busy while we fought all the other ones.”

“Maybe we should visit a cemetery before we try to fight Azra again?” I suggest as Jazel leafs through the book that Ozzy had open. “A necromancer without dead bodies to reanimate is like a gun without ammunition, I figure.”

“Lysanne wouldn’t allow it. Too many ethical issues.” Jazel says. “I can already hear her lecturing us about graverobbing and Dandy chiming in about the logistics of keeping an undead army on the Drift.”

“Mmm. I can see where they’re coming from, though.” Mom muses. “I certainly wouldn’t want someone digging up my grandma and using her as fodder for a zombie army. And even if you guys did do it, those skippers in the hangar can only fit a few dozen people at most. Would be pretty difficult to move anything more than a hundred zombies around.”

“Plus the smell.” I add.

“I suppose necromancy really isn’t as scary or useful as it once was.” Mom says. “You said he was running a pet revival business on the sly back when you caught him?”

“Practical necromancy, yeah. For people that didn’t want to part with their pets. Before that, he was reanimating people for the mafia. Free warehouse labor that they didn’t have to pay by the hour.” Jazel says, pausing on one page. “Here’s a good one — the Cave Spider Cage. It creates a dome of sticky filaments in the area where it’s cast. If anything tries to leave, it gets snarled up in the filaments. It won’t stop it from leaving altogether, but the filaments stick to the creature and cling to everything around it, slowing it down and impeding its movement.”

“Mmm. I’m willing to bet that one requires webs, possibly from a specific kind of spider.” Mom says, leaning over to take a look at the listed components for the spell. “I don’t think that there were any webs included in the basket that the matriarch sent me with—”

The sound of a door spiraling open gets my attention, and I look over to see Raikaron stepping into the common room with one of the old spellbooks in hand. “Fascinating material, but this one does not have what I’m looking for.” he states as he comes over, laying the spellbook back down on the stack. “Did the matriarch disburse any black books to you? Books of forbidden or dark mag—”

He stop midsentence, his eyes locking onto the basket and the glass container with the cicada husk inside. Reaching down, he picks it up; or rather, curls his hand in a sweeping motion that floats it up into the air above his fingers.

“Careful.” Mom warns. “Those are fragile.”

“Yes, I know.” he murmurs, levitating the glass box up to where he can squint at it. “It’s been a long while since I’ve seen a cicada. Remarkable creatures, spending so long in development, then to shed their shapes and become something new for a brief time before death. Not so different from moths and butterflies, in truth. Not so different from mortals, either…” After a moment, he pulls his eyes away from the husk. “Do any of the books here have spells or enchantments that involve cicada shells?”

“There probably are. Why do you ask?” Mom counters. She isn’t exactly fond of Raikaron, though she hasn’t told me why, and I haven’t had the courage to ask.

“I have a feeling.” Raikaron says, setting the glass container back in the basket. “I’m going to go consult with my librarian. If you find any spells that make use of cicada husks, let me know. I would like to examine them.”

“You could stay and help us look for them.” I say quickly. Once it had become clear that Mom wasn’t well-inclined towards Raikaron, he had started to minimize his interactions with her, and let me know that he didn’t want to create unnecessary strife. I understood his reasons, but I wanted Mom to at least give him chance. Maybe if she could have a little more exposure to him, she would warm up to him.

“I appreciate the offer, Jay. I wouldn’t want to cut into family time, though.” Raikaron declines with a smile, giving a glance to the snoring Ozzy. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that. Tackling the problem from multiple angles may get us closer—”

The door to the common room opens again, and Raikaron leaves off his sentence to glance around. Milor is stepping into the room this time, with Lysanne and Dandy following after him. He’s scowling, and doesn’t say much as he comes over to Ozzy’s recliner and snatches up the remote.

“Is everything alright, Deputy?” Raikaron asks mildly. “You seem a little out of sorts.”

“He said he has something that we all need to see.” Lysanne says, folding her arms as she comes to a stop behind the couch. “Hasn’t said what it is, and will only say that we need to see it to believe it.”

“Oh really?” Mom says, looking at Milor. “Must be something important, then.”

Milor doesn’t answer, simply turning one of the panes of the common room’s window into a screen. He soon settles on the channel for one of Myrrdicato’s major news networks, the kind that provides round-the-clock coverage. Playing on the screen are what appears to be a collage of videos capturing a nighttime battle with bright colors and breathtaking destruction, while the breaking news banner at the bottom of the screen reads NOVA BACK FROM THE DEAD.

Jazel shifts on the couch, leaning forward. “Wait, are they… talking about Nova the Challenger? The one from the Songbird Incident?”

“Is this a hoax?” Mom asks, setting aside the book she’d been examining. “When did this happen? What world is this even on?”

“A day ago, in the city of Selbaredo, on the world Kasvei, in the Kantrix System.” Dandy says, her arms folded. “In such a populated area, there are several sources of footage, belonging to the city, news organizations, and private citizens. Initial reports indicated a Valiant operation and a CURSE ambush were responsible for the destruction in the city. At first, the rumor was that a Starstruck was involved in a fight with Songbird. And then more footage started trickling out, and experts started claiming that it was actually a Dark Star. And then people started noticing that the Dark Star looked quite similar to Nova before she died.” Unfolding an arm, she motions it to the panes of the common room’s wide window, each one turning to a screen that displays the channel for different news networks across Myrrdicato. “This morning, the Valiant released a statement claiming that Tenji, the CURSE Administrator, is really Nova, and has been hiding in plain sight for the past sixteen years.”

All across the window, different news organizations are running variations of the same banner on the first channel. Most channels are focusing on Nova’s apparent return; others are centered on the battle in Selbaredo and the destruction it caused; some are combing over the footage from Kasvei, isolating frames or moments that provide the clearest picture of the combatants and the proof of who was there on that night. Pundits, politicians, and subject-matter experts are all being pulled to provide their opinions and thoughts, creating a chattering, swirling cacophony of talking points, speculation, and conspiracies, all of it rendered in breathless prognostications and demands for answers.

“HAH! I was right! I told everyone that he didn’t kill Nova, but no one believed me!” Ozzy, apparently woken up by the change in the room’s conversational rhythm, has taken one glance at the news channels and immediately decided to take his victory lap. “They said I was a fool, called me crazy, said that I was a Songbird symp — well, I mean, I am, but that’s besides the point — well, look who’s the fool now! I knew he didn’t do it! It was the deep state all along! CURSE faked her death to turn her into a martyr and then released the footage as a false flag to facilitate their rise to power and bring down the Challengers—”

“Ozzy, shut up.” Milor snaps. “Nobody wants to hear it right now.”

Ozzy twists around in his recliner. “But I was right, Milor! All those fools at the college kept on calling me crazy and saying I was a conspiracy theorist—”

“Ozzy.” Lysanne interrupts firmly. “Milor was a Challenger. He lost his job and a lot of coworkers because of this.”

Ozzy freezes, possibly realizing how this might feel for Milor. “Oh. Right. Sorry about that, Milor.” He settles back into his recliner, more subdued but quietly saying “Just for the record, I was right. I never doubted. I always knew Songbird was innocent.”

“Wait, so how did she come back?” I ask, fairly certain that the question is on everyone’s mind at the moment. “Didn’t Songbird shoot her off the edge of a building and down a solar exhaust vent fifteen years ago? How did she survive that?”

“There is no current explanation for how Nova survived the Songbird Incident.” Dandy says at this point. “CURSE has not responded to any requests for comment, even after the statement that the Valiant released this morning. Until we hear from those who have direct knowledge of the Incident, it will likely remain a mystery.”

“Wait, is that true?” Jazel demands, sounding like he’s still trying to catch up. “That’s not true, right? That Tenji is actually Nova?”

“That is what the Valiant cla—” Dandy begins.

“It is true, yes.” Raikaron says, tucking his phone away.

Everybody looks at Raikaron, Lysanne hitching a hand on her hip. “Oh really. And how do you know that.” she says flatly.

“I met her, roughly a year ago. She and her top brass summoned me to request help with an artifact they were having difficulty decoding.” Raikaron answers patiently. “Despite the civilian appearance, I was still able to recognize her, largely on account of the corrupted star shard she keeps hidden within her chest. You don’t come across a lot of mortals hanging onto something like that; it’s fairly distinctive.”

“CURSE. Summoned you. For help.” Milor says, his words broken up into skeptical chunks as he folds his arms.

Raikaron gives a light shrug. “Well, they certainly weren’t going to ask heaven. People turn to hell for their requests because we’re not as picky as heaven is. The heavens almost exclusively demand your piety and worship. The hells, on the other hand, are willing to negotiate something that’s a little less demanding. Mistake me not — they’re both transactional relationships, but the nature of the transaction, well… hell doesn’t mind a one-time payment for a service rendered, whereas heaven expects a continuing subscription that you have to renew through continued devotion and ecclesiastic observance.”

“Quite the galaxy-trotter, aren’t you.” Mom says, her fingers drumming over the edge of the book in her lap.

“It comes with the territory. A demon Lord ought to be well-traveled; it qualifies him for the role.” Raikaron demurs. “Now, I do not mean to minimize the gravity of this…” He gives a broad motion to the screens on the window of the common room. “…development, but we have a more important matter to tend to. Challenger drama has been around for a century, and it will probably be around for a century more, even if it goes by different names now. A demon goddess that needs to be banished back to hell, on the other hand…”

“Yeah, maybe you can wave that off!” Lysanne says, gesturing to the screens. “But that’s our employer! We just found out that we’ve been working for Nova ever since we were contracted out to CURSE!”

“No, he’s right.” Milor puffs, lifting the remote and starting to turn off the screens one by one. “Much as this pisses me off — and believe me, it does — we don’t have the bandwidth for this right now. We defeat the demon bitch, get the kid’s fox back, and then we can figure out what’s going on with CURSE. One crisis at a time. Let’s start with the biggest problem and work our way down from there.”

“I will continue to monitor developments on the CURSE front.” Dandy says. “If there are any with the potential to impact us, I will inform you all. Otherwise, we should keep our focus on rescuing Kayenta.”

I look back to the spellbooks we’d been perusing, but I can’t bring myself to focus on them, and the same seems to go for Mom and Jazel. Milor’s started to wander away, taking his widebrimmed hat off and running a hand through his hair; Lysanne and Dandy are talking to each other in their own little corner. As much as we’d like to get back to what we were doing before, it’s like a bomb went off and we’re expected to ignore it and go back to work. It isn’t gonna happen.

I look towards Raikaron, and he seems to read my look immediately. “It seems that you all might need a little bit of time to process recent events.” he announces to the rest of the room. “Might I recommend a quick spot of lunch? I hear that does wonders to help reset one’s work ethic. Grilled cheese sandwiches, my treat. I’ve been told mine are devilishly good, and it should satisfy the vegetarian preference while also satisfying the need for something hot and greasy.” he says, nodding in turn to Lysanne and then Milor.

“Oh, I could definitely go for a grilled cheese.” Ozzy says, starting to fumble his way up out of the recliner. “Back in the day I used to have mine with a cold glass of milk, and it was divine, but between the milk and cheese, it was double-dippin’ on the dairy, and the ol’ garbage disposal wasn’t too happy about that as I got older. Youth is wasted on the young, as they say, although you could argue that I got my money’s worth out of my youth, at least as far as food was concerned…”

Milor scowls at Raikaron. “You better not slip anything into those sandwiches.”

“Perish the thought, Deputy.” Raikaron says modestly. “I don’t need to put anything into it; we both know a grilled cheese is a heart attack in a pan.”

Milor grinds his toothpick between his teeth. “Stop saying things I agree with. I don’t like it.” Reaching up, he snags the toothpick out of his mouth. “I’ll take two… no, three. I’m hungry today. Extra butter in the pan when you put mine in. And make sure it’s a yellow cheese. None o’ that pansy-ass white cheese.”

“Sunshine triple-stack, extra greasy.” Raikaron confirms, turning to Lysanne and Dandy. “Ladies?”

Lysanne rolls her eyes. “I’ll take one. And one for Dandy, if she wants it.”

“I will pass, thank you.” Dandy declines.

Raikaron continues collecting sandwich requests as we all get up and slowly migrate towards the kitchen, and conversation slowly starts to creep back into the group again, naturally centered around the topic that’s on everyone’s mind now. We all seem to know and understand that there’s nothing we can do about the Nova revelation, and talking about it won’t help us with handling Azra — but it’s a relief to get the thoughts out there instead of locking them up where they’d continue to ferment in silence. I do feel bad that it’s captured our attention when we should be putting our focus on rescuing Kaya, but I also know it’s temporary. We’ll talk about it, get it out of our system over lunch, and when it’s over, we’ll get back to the thing that really matters:

Defeating Azra, and rescuing Kaya.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Dandelion Drift: Lab 2

2/30/12765 10:01am SGT

“So you… are a Syntaritov.”

The question comes from Ozzy as he paces past me with a book in hand, his eyes fixed on it despite the conversation he’s trying to strike up. He seems to be the only one on this crew that has a serviceable understanding of what a Syntaritov is, and as a result, he’s been wary around me — as evinced by the fact that he seems to be going to lengths to avoid eye contact.

“I am fairly certain we had already established that fact at the time that I first joined your group on Rantecevang, Mr. Oxiris.” I say as I continue to take notes from the spellbook I have open on the worktable in front of me. I’ve decided to try working in one of the Drift’s labs to cut down on the number of distractions available to me, but Ozzy, with his continual fidgeting and rambling, is proving quite detrimental to my focus. “Being as that was over a month ago now, you have missed your window for raising any objections about my lineage.”

“What? Oh, no, I wasn’t planning on doing anything like that. Preposterous. I mean, who would try to pick a fight with a Syntaritov? Everyone knows that’s manifestly stupid. I mean, at least among people that actually know who Syntaritovs are. Not a lot of people know about Syntaritovs nowadays. I mean, not like a lot of people knew about you to begin with, but you know, with the diminishing of superstitions in the modern era, a lot of myths of the old days have kinda faded away. Not to say that you’re a myth, of course! Because obviously, you’re very clearly standing right there. But you get what I mean.”

I don’t look up from the spell I’m trying to draft out on scratch paper beside the spellbook. “You are a remarkable individual, Mr. Oxiris, if only for the fact that the substantive content of your dialogue is always somehow less than the sum total of its volume. It has been a long while since I have encountered someone who manages to say so little with so many words.”

Ozzy stops pacing around my table and halfway looks up from the book he has in hand. “Wait, are you… insulting me? I feel like that was an insult, but it was, like, a really sophisticated insult, kind of bundled into a backhanded compliment sort of thing.”

“It was an observation on your conversational capacities, Mr. Oxiris. Whether you choose to interpret it as compliment or castigation is up to you.”

“Hmm. Well I will… give that some thought.” he says hesitantly, still unsure of what way he’s supposed to take my remark. “Just to be sure, when you say that my dialogue is less than the sum total of my volume, does that mean—”

“What is it that you actually want to ask me, Mr. Oxiris?” I say, setting my pencil down and straightening up as I lace my fingers together. “It is clear that you harbor reservations about me, yet you have overcome your caution to try and advance this conversation. So let us do away with the pretense: what is it you want to ask me?”

“Oh. Uhm, well…” Ozzy says, taken aback and suddenly becoming very interested in the book in his hands. “Well, really, I mean, I have plenty of things I would like to ask; it’s not every day that one gets to talk to a Syntaritov, you know? Like, even I wasn’t sure that you guys were actually real, and I’m the one that people call a conspiracy theorist! Haha… uhm, but yes, well, uh, what did I want to ask you, yes, that’s a very good question, well… do you and your ancestors really do all the stuff that the myths say you guys do? Because, y’know, they are myths, and some details get fudged over time, so I was like, kinda wondering…”

“I cannot answer for the actions of my relatives, whether past or present.” I answer patiently. “I will say there are elements of truth in the myths that have been told about us, and generally speaking, we educate mortals by enabling their mistakes. The trauma that results from poor decision-making is a highly efficient teacher.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good to know. And do you plan on… y’know…” Ozzy says, using his stilted sentences to try and prod an answer out of me.

“I am currently here as a representative of the Gathering, Mr. Oxiris; I am not acting in a personal capacity.” I say. “There will be no mischief, no games, no scheming, and if there are, then I am required by my role to ensure that they work towards the eventual resolution of this crisis. You will be ill-served by trying to view me in the traditional role of a Syntaritov, as I’ve temporarily set aside that role to carry out the mandate I have been given. Now, have I allayed your concerns, or do you still feel the need to push on with this meandering interrogation?”

“Oh! Well, uhm… I suppose if you’re not planning on doing anything, uhm… Syntaritov-y, then no, I guess we’re good.” He turns to go back to his spot in the lab, then pauses and spins back towards me. “…you’re not lying to me, right?”

I give a longsuffering sigh, massaging my forehead as I quietly close my eyes. “Mr. Oxiris, if you are as much an expert on Syntaritovs as you seem to want to portray yourself as, you would recall that true Syntaritovs cannot lie or break their promises.”

“Oh. Right. Yes, of course. I knew that.” he says quickly. “Well then, I will leave you to it.” And with that awkward disengagement, he turns and makes his way back to his workspace across the lab. I pick up my pencil, about to return to drafting out the spell on the scratch paper again, when a flicker on my peripherals catches my attention, and I raise my eyes again.

Standing on the other side of the work table, where Ozzy was pacing, is one of the Faceless Ones.

This one is wreathed in black cats from the nose up, the sleek creatures undulating and gliding past each other in a constantly shifting mass. Occasionally, one will make its way to his shoulders and drop to the ground, immediately replaced by another trotting in and jumping up to his shoulders from places unknown. He’s dressed in a suit — black slacks, white button-down, black jacket, black tie, all of it fitted to a lean form that strongly reminds you of the sleek black cats eclipsing his head. Underneath his arm is what appears to be a thin, unmarked folder.

I press my lips together, my eyes flitting to where Ozzy is starting to sit back down to his workspace, and start to raise a hand.

There is no need for that. I have bent reality to ensure that he only perceives your presence in the vague. Our conversation will not register in his conscious mind.

My brow furrows as I feel reality ripple, certain parts of it sharpening into focus to convey the Faceless One’s intent. While the order of disruption is several magnitudes lower than when the Witchling does it, it’s still a disconcerting form of communication, even for a deminatural creature like myself. “Well, you have saved me the effort. Amnesia wards are not my area of expertise.” I say, lowering my hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The Order is aware of the mischief you have contemplated in the interest of strengthening the witchling. It has been decided that your proposition is an acceptable furtherance of the Old City’s designs, and as such, you have been granted permission to proceed with what you intend to offer him. Furthermore, the Order has composed a working version of the spell you are currently attempting to cobble together for the witchling. He is to use this design, as it is guaranteed to execute the intended function.

With that, he places the thin black folder down on the table next to the spellbook I have open. I blink at it, slowly setting down my pencil as I reach for it. “Is that so… I had not thought that the Order would approve of what I had been considering.” I pick up the folder, weighing it in my hands; it feels like there’s only a few pages in here. “I don’t suppose I will receive the luxury of knowing the Order’s rationale for allowing this.”

You are not entitled to Order’s cogitations. You have been given both the means and permission to pursue your family’s ancestral mischief; this allowance is generous, and you will be content with it.

“Hmm. The sentiment is appreciated, but mischief is a good deal less satisfying when you know it has been sanctioned by the parties it was intended to vex.” I murmur, opening the folder and examining the spell circle designs so neatly and cleanly drafted on the papers within. “Nonetheless, I thank the Order for their support in this matter. I will familiarize myself with this resource and proceed with the scheduled mischief.”

See to it that you do not exceed the permissions you have been given. The Order will not tolerate overreach, and you are no stranger to the laws of the Old City.

“In my defense, my first infraction was a matter of ignorance…” I trail off when I look up to see that the Faceless One is no longer there, with the only trace of his visitation being the folder I now hold in my hands. “…but I suppose that is not a conversation we’ll be having today.”

Closing the folder, I tuck my pencil away, and close the spellbook I’d been using as a reference. While it wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to arrive to this point, I now had what I needed to move forward with my little experiment. A functional spell design, and more importantly:

Permission.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Dandelion Drift: Kitchen

3/2/12765 5:56pm SGT

“It does not please me to say this, but I think they waited a bit too long on this bundle of asparagus.” I say, holding up a stalk of asparagus and giving it a flick around the middle. It’s fairly stiff. “It’s woody. High resistance, even in the middle.”

Dandy comes over, picking up a stalk and flexing it in her hands. “…you are right. Perhaps steaming it will soften it up?”

“I’d intended to sauté it, but with the state it’s in, steaming may be the only option unless we want to cut and cook the stalks from the middle upwards.” I say, chewing on my lip as I look around. “I’ll still have to trim the bottom third; no amount of steaming is going to fix that part. Do you have a steamer in here?”

“We don’t have a dedicated appliance for it.” Dandy says, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a layered basket and handing it to me. “Two cups of water in the bottom, asparagus in the middle, lid with the holes on top. Four to five minutes in the microwave.”

“Excellent.” I say, taking the steamer basket and setting it on the counter as I return to the bundle of asparagus and start trimming the bottoms. “How is the cauliflower curry coming?”

“A few more minutes and the cauliflower should be done.” Dandy says, returning to her corner of the kitchen. “The rice is ready as well; it’s already been plated.”

“Y’all done in here, or what?” Milor asks as he shows up in the doorway of the kitchen, gnawing on a piece of flatbread. “At the rate you’re going, we’ll be having this for breakfast.”

“I presume this is a regular occurrence?” I ask Dandy without acknowledging Milor.

“Indeed. We usually invite him to participate in the preparation, and he always declines.” Dandy confirms.

“Hey, I’m just advocatin’ for the witch and her kids.” Milor says, adopting a sacramonial air. “They’ve already got a lot to deal with, and empty stomachs shouldn’t be one of them, right?”

“If you really wanted to get them fed faster, you’d be setting the table instead of getting in everybody’s way, you lazy mooch.” Lysanne says, pushing past Milor to get in the kitchen. Heading over to the cabinets, she pulls out a set of plates and shoves them into his chest, forcing him to hold them. “Get to work. Or I’ll tell Ms. Jaskolka that the demon Lord prepared the dinner while you just stood there and watched.”

“Ouch, blondie. You’re doin’ me dirty with a threat like that.” Milor says, pushing off the doorframe and disappearing back into the dining room.

“Ozzy, where do you think you’re going?” Lysanne demands as the necromancer tries to sneak past the kitchen. “Get in here. You can put out the silverware, glasses, and napkins.”

Ozzy freezes like he was caught in the act. “Oh! I was… just about to go grab the others and see if they’d like to help with the dinner prep. Yes. Many hands makes the work light, and all that.”

“And too many cooks in the kitchen ruins the dish.” Lysanne says without missing a beat, taking Ozzy’s sleeve and pulling him into the kitchen, starting to pile silverware into his hands. “Let Katya have her time with her children; this is the first time her family’s been together in over half a decade, and she’ll have to leave soon.”

“Alright, that should sort that out…” I say, dumping the asparagus bottoms in the disposal before I start piling the shortened stalks in the steamer basket. I’m in the middle of reaching for a measuring cup when I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle up, and the room brightens as a soft rush of air billows through it. Amidst the cries of alarm from the Drifters, I turn around to see a fading pillar of light resolving into a familiar outline that I’ve not seen in a while: Gratitude.

“Regret.” he says as the light around him fully fades, and I can see he’s in a white suit with a crisp orange tie today, contrasting nicely with his dark skin. “I am here at the behest of the Gathering, to hold you accountable.”

I need a second to process that. “Oh. Not a social visit, then?”

He gives me a look. “This is not the time for quips, Regret. You were tasked by the Gathering with overseeing this crisis on the mortal plane, and guiding it towards a timely resolution.”

“Who the hell is this?!” Lysanne demands, her hand on the handle of one of the knives on the countertop knife block. Dandy has likewise reached for a rolling pin, while Ozzy just stands there like a deer in the headlights, his hands full of silverware.

“Who the heaven, actually; this is Kolob’s Archangel of Gratitude.” I say, setting down the steamer basket. “You don’t need to worry about him; he’s one of the ‘good guys’… I think. If you’re here, Gratitude, I assume that something’s happened that was apparently under my purview?”

Gratitude does not appear pleased by that. “Either you are feigning ignorance, or you truly do not know, neither of which bode well for you, Regret. You were charged with preventing Azra from causing any further damage while the mortals worked on solving this crisis.”

“Is this about what happened on Tareya?” I ask, starting to roll my sleeves back down. “I’ll grant that the crater that we left in the glacier was not ideal, but it was in a completely unpopulated area that has no apparent utility for anyone, mortal or immortal. The only mortals that were harmed there were the sycophants that follow Azra, and they’re fair game.”

Gratitude’s brow furrows. “What? No, I’m not talking about Tareya. Do you really not know?”

“I think it’s apparent by this point that I don’t.” I say, starting to button my cuffs once more. “I’ve not heard anything from the informant I have at Azra’s side; as far as I'm aware, she’s still on Tirsigal, working on her restoration project. The mortals are still in the middle of preparing to go confront her there; they will be ready soon, but they are not ready at the moment. Is the Gathering pushing to get this resolved faster?”

Gratitude presses his lips together as he finally looks around, properly acknowledging the mortals in the room. It looks like Milor, Katya, and her kids have all trickled to the door of the kitchen after hearing Lysanne’s shout. “Either you have failed grievously in your commission, Regret, or there is something else afoot that requires explanation. I personally lean towards the latter, since I know you well and doubt the former. But an investigation is still warranted. You will come with me to Tirsigal so we can dig deeper into this matter.”

“Rai? Is everything alright?” Jayta asks, squeezing past Lysanne to come into the kitchen.

“Can’t say for sure. Apparently something’s happened, and it might’ve happened on my watch.” I say, pulling my waistcoat back on and buttoning it back up. Cupping a hand behind her neck, I lean down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I have to step away to take care of this, but I should be back soon. You and the rest enjoy dinner; this shouldn’t take too long.”

“I can come with you—” she begins.

“You could, but you won’t. It is safer here.” I say, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Stay here with your family. I will be back once I have sorted out whatever is going on.”

She obviously doesn’t like staying behind, but she doesn’t argue it, instead running her hand over the one I’ve got on her cheek. “Yes, my Lord. Come back soon.” she concedes.

I nod, then let go of her, looking to Gratitude. “I am ready now if you are, Gratitude. Did you intend to go directly to Tirsigal?”

“I have been granted permission to use the Gatene, as the matter demands expediency.” Gratitude says, the floor around him starting to brighten. “I can see us to the surface of the world we’re currently orbiting around, where we can use the local Gaten to go to Tirsigal.”

“Normally I’d take you up on that, but if this has to do with Azra, I would like to speak to my informant on the way there. Gather as much information as possible before our arrival.” I reply, lifting a hand and turning it. Beside me, the air seems to prism and turn like a revolving door, providing an opening into the Dreaming where the scented colors and shifting glows beckon. “If Azra has done something, I would like to know why my informant did not apprise me of it before now.”

Gratitude does not accede right away, clearly not a fan of the detour. “Then it had better yield results, Regret. Now is not the time for games.” he says, moving towards the opening. “Let us go.”

He steps through the opening, and after giving a nod to Jayta and the others, I step through behind him. The opening closes when I twist my hand again, leaving us in a swirling landscape that’s quickly solidifying into a distinct landscape that resembles an inner city’s low-income neighborhood, with local businesses operating out of buildings that have seen better days. As the definition starts to spread, mapping out the layers and contours of a mindscape, I reach out and touch Gratitude’s shoulder. “Close your eyes. The local Dreaming region is taking the shape of your subconscious. If we let it take this form, it will become rigid and more difficult to navigate.”

Gratitude doesn’t appear to like that, but he closes his eyes nonetheless, and the mindscape that was taking form around us stops solidifying, and slowly begins to lose definition. “How long will this take, Regret? This matter is time-sensitive.”

“Normally it would take a while. Traveling between worlds, even using the Dreaming, takes a while, and expediting that requires a corresponding expenditure of energy.” I explain, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath as I begin to extend my awareness through the wider Dreaming. “But with my commission as an overseer of this crisis, I have certain allowances from the Gathering, and one of them is using energy provided by the Gathering for functions which are relevant to my commission. I simply need to locate Tirsigal in the Dreaming, which shouldn’t be hard; billions of living things dying all at once leaves an indelible crater in the Dreaming that often lasts for several centu…ries…”

I can sense Gratitude turning his head towards me, even though his eyes remain closed. “I assume you see it, then.”

I’m still trying to work past my speechlessness as I process what I’m sensing: another crater in the Dreaming, this one much larger than Tirsigal. “…when did this happen?”

“Within the last several hours. You see now why my arrival was so brusque.”

“This world had a population that was almost twice the size of Tirsigal, judging by the size of the crater… it’s hard to tell at this distance. What happened to it?”

“The Gathering was hoping you would be able to provide that answer.”

My brows furrow, even though my eyes are closed. “No. The Gathering assumes that it was Azra that did this, and sent you here to get confirmation of their assumption. I’m guessing this was also a Collective world?”

“It was. It’s now a shattered husk.”

“Azra is not that stupid. She knew that expanding her rampage beyond Tirsigal would forfeit any support she had in the Gathering.” I mutter, starting shape the Dreaming around us so that we are being propelled in the direction of the crater that Tirsigal’s left in the Dreaming. The other crater is being bypassed for now, though it’s impossible to ignore the gaping wound it’s left in the cosmic landscape of the Dreaming. “Remain close to me and don’t open your eyes; I’m moving us to Tirsigal. Tell me what you know of this other world while I get us there.”

“I know only that it was a Collective world by the name of Juncosa, with a population of thirteen and a half billion. Something large struck it at a quarter the speed of light, and as you can imagine, nobody survived the impact. The souls of their dead are pouring into the afterlives; it’s like Tirsigal all over again, but even worse this time. The Ferrymen are overwhelmed, and the Gathering is… not a pleasant place to be right now. Tempers are running hot and most hypernaturals are not happy with the most recent development. Even for those that hate the Collective, this is too much.”

“Twenty-one billion dead in less than two months… the Collective, they…”

“They’re not going to take this lying down. They will retaliate, once they know who’s responsible. The Gathering will not be in a position to stop them, either.”

The gravity of what’s happened is starting to fully weigh on me now, making it difficult to keep my focus on condensing the distance to Tirsigal. My mind is starting to speed through the ramifications of this recent development; how it will affect Sjelefengsel, what the effects will be on the mortal plane, what actions the Collective may take in response, and what the consequences will be for the person or group that are responsible. There is much to consider, and also much that cannot be predicted yet, considering that we do not have a full understanding of how this came to pass, the means by which it was accomplished, and the motive behind it all.

“Are you still with me, Regret?”

“Yes yes, sorry. I am… thinking. This is a lot to process. The situation was already complicated before this; now, there are a whole new host of directions for it to go in, and a new set of questions that need to be answered. I do not think Azra is responsible, but it raises the question of who did this, if not her. And whether her actions have inspired other people, and created a permission structure for pursuing these genocides.”

Even though our eyes are closed, I can sense Gratitude shift beside me. “Regret, I understand that Azra is your friend, and it is because of that, that I feel obligated to remind you: you are in this position as a neutral overseer, not her advocate. Close relationships can provide insight, but they can also blind people to what is before their eyes.”

I bristle at that. “It is because I am a neutral overseer that I take the stance that I currently have, Gratitude. A suspect is presumed innocent until proven guilty; I will not approach this with the assumption of guilt. I will do my due diligence to investigate, examine the evidence available, and render a judgement based on that, and not the presumptions of circumstance. The Gathering has these processes in place for a reason; they learned the hard way, with the Inkling, what happens when you act on the assumption of guilt.”

Gratitude remains silent; for a moment I wonder if he knows what I’m referring to. Even among the immortals, not everyone is versed in the finer points of the universe’s history. Still, the fact that he does not reply indicates that either he respects my stance, or has nothing to say to it.

With the silence maintaining, I turn my attention to the Dreaming around us, focusing on the flow and swirl of its emotions, feelings, and ideas, and how they stream past us like fluid; calming my mind and letting go of my emotions, I bask in the totality of the Dreaming, the sense of being part of the greater story of the universe. It puts me close to dissolving back into the Dreaming itself, but the closer I come to that, the faster I can travel through it, and at the moment we are ripping across the distance between worlds, with a fair bit of help from my temporary connection to the communal power of the Gathering.

“You will let me know when we are there, I presume?” Gratitude asks at length.

“I will. Make sure you keep your eyes closed. If you open them now, the Dreaming will harden around us. It’ll be like ramming a jetboat into a sandbar. It will be very painful for both of us and we’ll be thrown pretty far off course.”

“Understood. I’ll admit, I have never traveled like this before.”

“We creatures of the Dreaming usually don’t have a reason to do trips like this with Wakers. It is usually because they struggle to keep their eyes closed, despite telling them the risks of doing so.”

“The Orphean temptation.”

“I’m surprised; not many people are familiar with the myths of the Milky Way. It’s been quite a while since humanity and its branches left that galaxy.”

“It’s a cautionary tale many people still relate to. It stems from a pantheon that’s all but crumbled now, doesn’t it?”

“The Grecian Pantheon, yes. I believe the only surviving member is Aphrodite, and only then because the Venusians coopted her when they colonized Venus a billion years ago. All the other members of her pantheon have either evanesced or been eaten.”

“Charming. Were any of them consumed by the Dreaming?”

“I’m sure a few were. From what I’ve heard, they were very flawed hypernaturals… it wouldn’t surprise me if the God Eaters were sent after some of the more belligerent ones. Not much history of that pantheon has survived to the current day, but the general impression I’ve gotten from the stories that are still around is that they were very involved with mortals. Constantly trifling in their affairs, setting them to war, making mischief… it’s likely that as time went on, some of them pushed the line too much and had to be curbed.”

“Not so different from your family.”

“The similarities are superficial. Syntaritovs tend to be more elegant about raising hell, and we do so usually in the interest of teaching mortals something. The Grecian hypernaturals mostly seem to have acted in fits of spite and pique, to appease their own appetites, vendettas, or wounded pride. The impression I get from hypernaturals that remember them is that the Grecian hypernaturals were incredibly petty and self-destructive… something that still shows in Aphrodite, if the modern stories of her are anything to go by.”

“Mm. Petty and self-destructive sounds like someone else I know.”

“I’ve already spoken with Azra about the cycle she keeps trapping herself in. She listens; she knows her actions keep extending her detention in the Maelstrom. But she is stubborn… some people have a remarkably high tolerance for beating their heads against brick walls, and she is something of a specialist in that regard.”

“I do not envy her parents. A daughter like that must be difficult to deal with.” He’s quiet for a moment, then: “I see the miracle thief has come quite far since you excoriated her on Vinnei.”

My focus falters for a moment, before stiffening again and keeping us hurtling towards Tirsigal with only the barest hiccup. “She has improved measurably since that time.”

“She was very quick to offer to come with you.”

“Mm.”

“And you were very gentle when you declined her offer.”

“A gentleman should be gentle.”

“I don’t recall you being that tender when you were chewing her out for going behind your back during the heist.”

“There is no point in digging for something that has already been unearthed, Gratitude.”

“I think it befits you. You seem more… complete when you have something to protect and nurture.”

I furrow my brow at that. “Complete? How do you mean by that?”

“More purposeful. Not that you were lacking purpose before, but it seemed to be a stoic sort of adherence to duty. This is more… I haven’t the word for it. It just seems like you have something more to live for now.”

“That’s very idealistic of you.”

“Deny it if you want, but I can tell there’s a difference. She’s done you good.”

“If you say so.”

Silence falls between us once more, giving me an opportunity to further streamline our trajectory towards Tirsigal. Smoothing out some irregularities in the dilation that’s propelling us forward, condensing and elongating our bubble a bit more to improve our speed — the gains might only be marginal, but on a matter with this much apparent urgency, every second counts. Gratitude remains silent; perhaps he can sense that I am focused and actively working to get us there faster, and is allowing me the space to do that. It’s only as we start to close in on the final stretch that he speaks again.

“For the record, I do not enjoy having to be the one that does this. As I imagine you do not enjoy being the one to oversee Azra’s return to the Maelstrom.” he says. “I miss our more relaxed encounters, as peers and friends, rather than as professionals.”

“I do too, Gratitude.” I reply as I start to slow us down. “I would much rather we be interacting under different auspices. That being said, I understand you’re doing your job, just the same as I am, and I don’t fault you for it.”

“That’s good to know.” he says. “Are we slowing down?”

“We are, but don’t open your eyes yet. We’re still moving extremely fast. I’ll let you know when you can look around.”

I can sense him nod to that, and he goes back to patiently waiting as I continue to slow us down. We’ve closed on the crater in the Dreaming where the dreams of Tirsigal used to be located; now it’s just a blackened patch of space in the Dreaming, containing echoes of terror and confusion. Orbiting it are large, solidified dreamscapes that are composed of thousands of minds each, on the order of a large town; I presume these are the Collective hiveships that responded to the torching and remain in orbit around the world still. Navigating around those, I zero in on the blackened part of the Dreaming itself; though it’s been turned into a Haunting patch, I can still sense some parts of that region that are solidified into defined dreamscapes, most of them clustered in one area. On the edge of that area is a familiar dreamscape, and it’s to that dreamscape that I direct us.

We arrive in under a minute, and I can feel the Dreaming start to grow more defined and rigid around me as we come up on the dreamscape’s edge. Opening my eyes, I find myself standing on a beach, one littered with scorched and burnt debris, with ashy grey seas behind us and a red sky overhead. “You can open your eyes now.” I advise Gratitude.

He does so, blinking a couple of times as he looks around. “Charming.” he remarks wryly. “I assume we’re still in the Dreaming? I didn’t think there was any liquid water left on Tirsigal after the scorching.”

“Still in the Dreaming, yes, though we can cross over into the Waking from here.” I say, moving across the sand to where a blanket is laid out beneath an open umbrella, and Raiko is reclining in a beach chair with Aephero lazily shoved in the sand next to her. She’s rocking a blood-red bikini and a pair of wide-rimmed sunglasses — aviators, I think they’re called — that she pushes up to squint at us as we arrive.

“Grandson.” she says, picking a wine glass up out of the sand and sipping from the crazy straw jammed in it. “Wasn’t expecting you back this soon. Doubly didn’t expect you to bring company with you.”

“Grandson?” Gratitude repeats, glancing at me.

“Indeed. Gratitude, this is my great-grandmother, Raiko Syntaritov. She’s currently dead and her soul is trapped in one of the mythical blades that Azra stole to carry out her plan to reclaim Tirsigal.” I say, beginning the introductions. “Raiko, this is Kolob’s Archangel of Gratitude, who is here as a representative of the Gathering, the government of hypernaturals.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean anything to me.” Raiko says, before raising her glass towards Gratitude. “Nice to meet you, by the way. Got no idea who the hell you are and I don’t really care, but I won’t complain about seeing a new face.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Gratitude nods. “If you’re the entity trapped inside the sword that Azra used to scorch this world, I presume that means you’re Raikaron’s spy at Azra’s side?”

Raiko shrugs. “For what that’s worth. Not really a lot I can do as a dead soul trapped inside a sword. I just keep an eye on things and let him know what she’s up to whenever he stops by.”

“And has she gone offworld recently?” Gratitude asks without missing a beat.

“Aside from the pit stop on Tareya to round out her fire-and-ice duology, we haven’t gone anywhere.” Raiko says, picking her straw and using it to stir around whatever is in her wine glass. “She never goes offworld unless she’s picking up something that’ll help her restore Tirsigal to its former glory. The rest of her time, she spends here, terraforming the planet. Figuring out what shape she wants the continents to be, mapping out the spots where the oceans are going to go, etc etc. Occasionally comes back to her palace to bitch and moan about how much work it is.”

“And you are sure that she has not left Tirsigal at all recently?” Gratitude presses.

Raiko stares at Gratitude, before her eyes flick to me. “…something’s happened, hasn’t it.”

“Another Collective world was torched.” I explain, seeing no reason to dance around the topic. “This one had a population twice the size of Tirsigal.”

A slow grin spreads across Raiko’s face. “Well well well. Sounds to me like someone hates the Collective even more than Azra does. And that’s saying a lot, considering she burnt Tirsigal to a crisp.”

“So Azra has not left this planet within the last week? Or sent anyone out on her behalf?” Gratitude continues with his interrogation.

“Like I said, she never leaves the planet without Aephero; it’s like her security blanket or something. Last time she took the sword on walkabout was Tareya, and that was like… two weeks ago. After she came back with Andalus, she started on the whole terraforming-and-cooling-the-planet thing, and she’s been working on that ever since.” Raiko says, stretching her arms over her head before pointing at me. “Trying to get as much done as she can before he shows up to throw his little band of heroes at her. Trust me, she doesn’t have time to go out and torch more worlds. She’s on the clock and she knows it.”

Gratitude purses his lips and looks to me, and I shake my head. “If Azra was planning on torching another world, Raiko would’ve heard about it. I don’t think Azra would’ve been able to keep her mouth shut about something like that. Plus, she would’ve used Aephero to do it, and Raiko is trapped in Aephero right now. Where Aephero goes, Raiko goes as well. She would’ve known if Azra had gone offworld, since Azra always takes Aephero with her.”

“That’s still not hard proof. We need to talk with Azra.” Gratitude says, undeterred as he returns his attention to Raiko. “Do we know where we can find her?”

“I know she’s on the planet somewhere, though I don’t know where exactly.” Raiko answers. “If you head back into the Waking and start making trouble in her palace, that’ll probably bring her back home pretty quick. Just be forewarned — she’ll probably be pissed that you interrupted her in the middle of terraforming.”

“Pissing off gods is an occupational hazard when you’re a Syntaritov.” I say, raising a hand and turning it. A portion of the Dreaming prisms open beside us, providing a portal back to the Waking. “If you come across anything else that the Drifters can use against Azra, do let me know. They’ll need every advantage they can get.”

Raiko shakes her head. “There’s really not much. She knows you and the mortals are going to get here eventually, and she doesn’t plan on going anywhere. All that’s left is for you and the crew to show up and take another swing at sending her back to the Maelstrom.”

“Even so. Anything you hear that might be of use, please pass it along.” I say before stepping through the gap in the air, coming out on the other side to what looks like a grand palace of black igneous rock. Gratitude follows me through, and as the gap closes behind him, we find ourselves on a dais with a harsh black throne, and Aephero sheathed in a block of magma rock beside us.

“She hasn’t wasted any time in making herself at home, I see.” Gratitude says, looking around the throne room. There’s no roof on the throne room, allowing an unobstructed view of the sky: thick black clouds bruised with lightning, roiling and swirling for a far as the eye can see, completely blocking out all light from the sun. A thin, transparent red dome is in place over the entire palace, creating livable conditions that aren’t choked by ash and toxic gases released by the shredding of the planet’s crust.

“She has followers here, I think.” I say, looking around and noticing signs of habitation, mostly in the form of leftover food on one of the tables in the throne room. “I don’t imagine they’d be able to survive outside of the dome.”

“How exactly are supposed to ‘make trouble’ to get Azra’s attention?” Gratitude says, surveying the rest of the throne room for ways to carry out Raiko’s recommendation. “I’m not exactly disposed towards vandalism at the moment.”

“Easy.” I say, making my way to the throne and sitting down in it, leaning back and resting my arms on the armrests as I get comfortable. “Best way to infuriate a tyrant is to take their throne.”

Gratitude appears skeptical, but moves over to stand beside the throne nonetheless. “You are certain this will work?”

“Fairly certain. Azra’s ego is an easy target, with how large it is.” I say, drumming my fingers on the armrest as I keep an eye on the skies. “Not that I’d ever abuse it beyond what is required, but I know many surefire ways to get her attention and keep it.”

“She must be a nightmare to work for.” Gratitude murmurs. “Didn’t she offer you a position as one of her archdemons at some point?”

“She did. I’ve received many such offers from the gods of other heavens and hells; Wicked Wolf was the most recent one. I used to always say no, since I wanted to make a difference in Sjelefengsel, but recently I’ve been taking the time to mull it over whenever I get an offer.” I answer. “That is not an invitation to try and persuade me, by the way.”

Gratitude shrugs. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But, Kolob does have a couple of open positions…”

“I’ll respectfully decline. You and I both know how Kolob and Sjelefengsel feel about side-switchers.” I reply, then notice a dim crimson glow building in the clouds. “Here she comes.”

Gratitude stiffens his posture and assumes his poker face, both us watching as a scarlet streak arcs down through the clouds and slams into the center of the throne room, a rush of air blasting through its confines. Azra’s tails fan out behind her as she stands up; she’s dressed in partial plate, wearing bracers, greaves, and a breastplate, all rendered in burning red, with an aurum trim. This kind of attire hews more closely to her portrayal during the years of the Void Wars on Rantecevang, when she was a frontline fighter.

“Give me one good reason not to nuke your ass six ways to Sunday.” she growls as she stalks across the room to the dais, her outline still trailing residual fire that hasn’t burned away yet.

I lace my fingers together. “Well, for one, if you strike me down, they will likely replace me with someone decidedly less sympathetic to your cause. Need I list any more reasons?”

Azra scowls as she reaches the throne, looming over me. “You Syntaritovs are a right pain in the ass, you know that?”

“The head of your pantheon is a Syntaritov. Have you forgotten that?” I answer with a question of my own.

Azra scoffs, turning away and hitching her hands on her hips. “He spends all his time sleeping. I heard he didn’t even answer the summons to the Gathering… he’s just as vexing as the rest of you, but in a different way.” She glares at Gratitude, sizing him up. “Bringing the holy roller with you to play good cop, then? Or is he supposed to be the bad cop, since he’s an archangel and I’m a demon goddess?”

“I am here as a representative of the Gathering, not of Kolob.” Gratitude responds coldly. “And we have questions for you—”

“Gratitude.” I say, quietly but firmly. He catches my side-eye and backs off, though I can tell some decidedly uncharitable and un-angelic thoughts are going through his head as he glares back at Azra. “Azra, I need to know if you’ve left Tirsigal at any point in the last two weeks.”

“What do you think I am, some teenager out past curfew?” she sneers. “I don’t have to give you an accounting of where I’ve been or what I’ve done, especially when you’re the one trying to put me back in my cage.”

There is a strong temptation to issue a smarmy retort of my own, but I suppress it. Azra craves conflict and contention, and if I take the bait, she’ll take control of the conversation, and I won’t get the answer I want out of her. “You are being obstinate for the sake of obstinacy, Azra, and it is not serving you particularly well at the moment. You should answer the question — you do not want to take credit for what you’re about to be accused of.” I advise her calmly.

Azra narrows her eyes, her gaze bouncing between me and Gratitude. “Is that why there’s two of you here? Spit it out, then. What’s happened that’s got the Gathering’s tits in a twist now?”

“Another Collective planet has been torched. This one with a population twice the size of Tirsigal’s.” Gratitude says icily. “It’s a world that went by the name of Juncosa. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Azra stares at us, a slow smile forming on her face. “So I’m not the only one.” she says with a low chuckle, nodding to herself as if this was validation. “It’s good to hear that other people are brave enough to hit back at the Collective… gods, they even tried to upstage me. You said the population was twice as big as Tirsigal’s?”

“You think this is funny? That it’s a contest?” Gratitude demands. “Thirteen billion mortal souls just hit the afterlife—”

“I’m sorry, but yes, I think it’s funny that you think I give a damn.” Azra cuts him off, scorn leaking from her words as she leans in on him. “I think it’s funny that you can’t see that I’m not an isolated phenomenon; that maybe there’s a pattern you’re ignoring. I think it’s funny that you think that I did this, because I didn’t, and I didn’t know anyone else was planning something similar. And that should tell you a lot.”

Gratitude doesn’t back down as Azra invades his personal space. “And what exactly are we supposed to get out of that, tyrant?”

“That multiple individuals are arriving to the same conclusion independent of each other. That I am not the problem; I am just a symptom, a reaction to the actual problem.” Azra hisses. “The Collective is that problem. And since the Gathering isn’t doing anything to rein them in, people are taking matters into their own hands. I was the first, but there will be others. Others that are sick and tired of watching the Collective steal world after world, that are done letting them get away with a slap on the wrist.”

“Azra.” I speak up at this point. “Aside from the trip to Tareya, have you left Tirsigal at all over the past two weeks? Yes or no.”

“No. I’ve been here.” Azra says, backing off Gratitude. “Much as I’d like to go torch every Collective world within a thousand-lightyear radius, I didn’t come to the mortal plane just to destroy. I came to reclaim, and that’s what I’ve been doing for the last two weeks, and it’s what I’m about to get back to doing now. Are we done here? I’ve got a continental shelf to work on, and you two are holding me up.”

I glance to Gratitude, to see if he has anything further to add. He folds his arms, glaring at Azra. “You know I have the power to order a Gazer here to take a deposition under the force of a Verity seal, right?”

Azra swings an arm wide. “Be my guest. I’ll be telling them the exact same thing I just told you. Honest people don’t have to be scared of Gryffin’s goon squad.”

“If that’s all, then, we’re going to be using Tirsigal’s Gaten to go to Juncosa and investigate what happened there.” I say, unlacing my fingers and starting to stand up out of the throne. “If you have any knowledge about what happened there, then you should tell us now. It will not reflect well on you if it turns out you withheld information from us.”

“I know as much as you do, which is apparently nothing.” Azra says, hitching a hand on her hip. “But one thing you can do for me: once you find out who was responsible for it, give them my sincerest compliments. I’d say they’re doing god’s work, but they’re probably a god themselves, so it’s just work.”

“We’ll do no such thing.” Gratitude says. “Now, the location of Tirsigal’s Gaten, if you would.”

“I’ll do you one better. Have a shortcut.” Azra says, waving a hand to the air beside her, which tears open as a crimson seam that leads to the familiar stone platform of a Gaten. “Now get off my world. You’ve wasted enough of my time with your silly little interrogation, and I have terraforming to get back to.”

Knowing there isn’t much to be gained by continuing the conversation, I head through the seam, trusting Gratitude will follow me through. He does so, and as soon as he’s through, the seam closes behind us. This portion of Tirsigal’s surface is exposed to the harsh conditions present after the planet’s scorching, and I quickly raise a hand, forming a bubble of force around us that clears away the toxic gases and ashes scouring across the surface. Gratitude also lifts a hand, filling that bubble with breathable air and temperature control to ward off the hellish heat.

“Do you believe her?” he asks me nearly immediately.

I glance sidelong at him. “You are not going to like my answer.”

He grimaces, looking away. “I don’t know her well, but even I could sense she was telling the truth. There’s something to be said for an honest monster, I suppose… but now we have another problem. We need to figure out who destroyed Juncosa.”

“We is doing some heavy lifting there.” I say, stepping up onto the Gaten. “My mandate is restricted to matters that involve Azra, and if she wasn’t responsible for the destruction of Juncosa, then that technically falls beyond my purview. I will come with you to Juncosa, and see if I can help you unearth any clues there, but I will go no further than that. I already have enough on my plate with trying to wrangle a band of very reluctant heroes in the right direction.”

Gratitude doesn’t look all too happy with that, but he doesn’t argue against it as he follows me onto the dais. “Very well. Let us get underway, while the evidence and aftermath are still fresh.”

I nod, using my foot to tap certain runes carved into the surface of the Gaten. Once the address of the Juncosa Gaten has been entered in this manner, I stomp that foot down, and light fills all the other runes as the rings and platform embedded into the Gaten start to rise up into the air. It’s not long before the rings are spinning around us, both of us quiet and deep in our own thoughts as we parse through the implications of our discoveries here:

That Azra might not be an isolated case, and there are other hypernaturals that are willing to pursue genocide as an answer to the Collective’s creeping expansion.

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Biosphere Access Deck

8:40pm SGT

Sitting on one of the benches on the access deck, I check my phone again, seeing there are no messages from Raikaron, and tilt it back down again as I stare up at the massive glass sphere that takes up the center of the Drift.

It’s getting close to three hours since Gratitude showed up, and Raikaron left with him; my anxiety’s been gnawing at me, because the last time I saw Gratitude, it was when Raikaron was rescuing me from the angel outpost on Vinnei. I’d seen then that Raikaron had treated Gratitude as his equal, and Gratitude was very obviously capable of wounding him badly enough to put one of his vessels in a long convalescence. The fact that he’d showed up now, without warning, left an uneasy feeling in my stomach — if even Raikaron hadn’t known Gratitude was going to show up, then something big had probably happened very recently, and it seemed like Raikaron might be in trouble for whatever it was. And over the past year, I’ve gone enough places and met enough gods to know that my Lord, even as powerful as he was, was not at the top of the food chain by any stretch of the imagination.

The sound of a door spiraling closed gets my attention, and I look to see that Jazel’s leaving one of the access points to the biosphere, with Mom behind him. They’d gone in there after dinner to harvest some spell components from the biomes within; the benefit of working on an arkship like this was that you had plenty of rare arcane specimens at your disposal. Mom, noticing me sitting on the bench, hands her basket to Jazel and waves him on ahead, while she turns and starts walking in my direction.

My heart sinks as I realize what’s coming next: the mother-daughter talk that I’ve been doing my best to evade.

In an instant, my mind has cycled through all the possible excuses I could throw up, and yet I know none of them are going to suffice. Mom knows me too well, and this late at night, most of the excuses wouldn’t be valid anyway. Besides, all I’d be doing would be delaying the inevitable, so I might as well get it over with.

It isn’t too long before she’s reached the bench I’m at, and sits down beside me, tucking her cloak as she does so. “I’m guessing he’s not back yet?” she asks, opening up the conversation on the obvious topic.

“I haven’t heard anything.” I say, rubbing my thumb along the case of my phone. “He’s probably busy.”

“And you’re certain he’s coming back?” Mom asks, folding one leg over the other.

“He’s coming back, Mom.” I say sharply. “If he says he’s going to do something, he does it. He keeps his word.”

Mom sighs, and even though there are no words, I can tell what it means.

Folding my arms, I lean back against the bench. “What is it that you don’t like about him? He’s a step up from any of the other guys I’ve dated before now.”

“I don’t know where to start, Jayta. Yes, he’s more sophisticated and refined, but he behaves like a politician—”

“Well, he is a politician, sort of. He’s one of the Lesser Lords of a major hell. That doesn’t make him a bad person.”

“Jayta, do you even hear yourself right now? You’re saying that a demon Lord of a major hell isn’t a bad person!”

“I know what I’m saying, Mom! I’ve spent the last year and a half literally living in hell.” I say patiently. “Hell’s a place where bad people go, but it doesn’t mean that everyone that works there is a bad person. I’m been living there and working there; does that make me a bad person?”

Mom raises an eyebrow at me.

“Don’t answer that.” I mutter. “Raikaron’s not a bad person, okay? I know he’s… different. He’s not like the people we know, the people we’re used to dealing with. He’s different from us, and he sees the universe differently. But he’s a good person, even if he tries to hide it.”

“Why would he need to hide it?” Mom asks. “Being good isn’t something a person should hide, right?”

“Mom, Raikaron and I live and work in hell. Why do you think we need to hide that we’re good people?” I say, waving a hand around.

Mom shakes her head. “Good people shouldn’t be working in hell in the first place, don’t you think?”

“It’s not that simple, Mom.” I sigh with exasperation. “It’s complicated, just like the real world is. I mean, not that heaven and hell aren’t any less real than the mortal plane, but… whatever. You know what I’m saying.”

“How did this happen?” Mom asks, gesturing a hand to… somewhere. “How did you end up working for a demon Lord? Didn’t you want to become a scientist; weren’t you going to college for that?”

“You didn’t like that I wanted to be a scientist!” I exclaim.

“Well, being a scientist would’ve been better than dating a demon Lord!”

“It’s a little too late for that, Mom!”

Both of us fall silent with that, Mom massaging her forehead while I run a hand through my hair. As expected, this conversation is neither comfortable nor enjoyable.

“You know I say all this because I’m worried about you, right?” Mom goes on after a moment. “I’ve been worried for a while, but you weren’t answering any of my calls. And then the Coreolis police visited, and…”

My heart drops as I realize where this is going. I can’t bring myself to look at her, so I don’t, keeping my gaze fixed on the railing across the deck from us.

“Is it true, Jayta? Did you kill that girl?”

I press my lips together. “He cheated on me.”

“Jayta…”

“You don’t understand.” I say, my hands curling into fists. “She looked just like me, except…” My jaw locks up as I go back to a place I’d left almost a year ago. “…more. Better. Taller, prettier…” Even if it’s over now, the hurt is still there. “Raikaron knows. He understands. He knew how I felt, how much it hurt, how angry I was…”

I know Mom’s looking at me, watching me carefully and trying to read me, but I still can’t bring myself to look at her. If I do, I think I might crack. Might admit I was wrong. “Jayta.” she says carefully. “Did he make you kill her?”

And in that moment, I can see how far I’ve come.

Before, I would answered in the affirmative. I would’ve said yes, Raikaron forced me to kill her, tricked me into killing her. Saying that, believing that, was easier than acknowledging the alternative. I didn’t want to believe or accept the alternative, the alternative that Raikaron had reminded me of every time the topic came up, every time I tried to pin the blame on him. And it would almost certainly be easier to tell Mom that it was Raikaron’s fault, that he made me do it.

But I don’t. And something in me can’t bring myself to do so.

Is it because we’re together now? Because I love him and don’t want to give my mother ammunition to use against him? Or is it because deep down, I’ve always known the truth about what I did on Coreolis, whatever truth that is?

I’m not sure.

All I know is that I can’t bring myself to validate my mother’s implicit accusation.

“Jayta?” Mom asks when I haven’t said anything for a while.

“We can’t change the past, Mom.” I say, my gaze still locked on the railing across the deck. “There’s no way to rewind the clock. We just have to learn from our mistakes as we go.”

Mom doesn’t say anything to that. I think she senses that she’s not going to get anything more out of me on the topic. The silence settles in again; I’m not in the mood to carry the conversation anywhere, and I haven’t really given Mom anything to work with. Eventually, she stands back up.

“I think I should’ve told you this before you left for college. With the way things are now, I wish I had. Maybe if I had, things wouldn’t be the way they are now.” she says softly. “If things don’t work out, Jayta, and you need a place to go, I’ll always keep a room for you at the house. Just the same that I do for Jazel.”

With that, she leans down, gives me a kiss on the head, then turns and starts heading back along the access deck. I don’t look at her, biting my lip as my eyes well up with tears. For a moment, there’s nothing I want more than to leave my contract in Sjelefengsel, and come back to the mortal plane. Start fresh like I was a kid again, living in my parent’s house. But I don’t want to leave Raikaron either, and I also know that it wouldn’t be a fresh start. I’d still be wanted for murder. That won’t go away for a long time; I’d have to create a whole new life, new friends, new name, new identity, far away from anyone that ever knew me.

And even though I don’t want to leave the man that loves me, I also want, so badly, to be able to go home and be with my family once more.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Juncella: Mons Mara

9:04pm SGT

“And all we know is that something large struck the planet at a fraction the speed of light?” I ask as we stare up at a sphere in the sky that looks like a blackened, cracked egg, veins of red running through it away from the point of impact on one side. Upon arriving on Juncosa and finding that being on the scorched surface was unhelpful to figuring out what had happened, we’d decided to take step back and relocate to Juncella, the moon of Juncosa, to get a look at the bigger picture.

And it wasn’t a pretty picture.

Whatever had hit Juncosa, it had hit it hard. Hard enough that the impact had ejected chunks of crust from the surface, sending them high enough to leave Juncosa’s atmosphere and become temporary satellites. That same impact had also kicked the planet out of its current orbit, shoving it closer to its parent star — only by a few miles, and not enough to leave its habitable zone, but enough to compress its orbit and put it on a more elliptical track. If the planet had had any artificial satellites in orbit, then they’d been shredded by the debris that sprayed into orbit, or ejected from alignment by the planet’s sudden orbital adjustment. The overall result was a scorched planet wobbling along in a new orbit, dragging a trail of ejecta along behind it, some of which was falling back to the surface, and some of which was raining down on the moon we were currently standing on, peppering both bodies with a whole new set of craters.

“That is all we’ve gathered from initial reports. The Gathering has probably already dispatched others to investigate, but I need to have something to take back to them.” Gratitude says. “The assumption was that Azra was responsible. Since she’s not, I need to be able to tell them who is, or at least point them in a direction.”

“You mean you need to give them someone to blame.” I say, pulling my pocketwatch from my vest and checking it.

“Telling them that we don’t know who did it will not make them very happy.”

“The Gathering is many things. ‘Happy’ is rarely one of them.” I say, turning about and studying the sky. “Do you know exactly how long ago this happened?”

“Not the exact time, no. Within the last twelve hours, at least.” Gratitude says, watching as I keep turning about. “Do you have an idea?”

“Something of the sort. Normally I eschew this sort of thing, considering how expensive it is, but since I have a blank check to draw on the Gathering’s reserves of energy… I believe I should be able to rewind the clock about a day or so to get a peek at what happened here.” I say, popping the cover on my pocketwatch.

“Rewind the clock?” Gratitude says, sounding confused. “Not even hypernaturals can go back in time, Raikaron. There’s a hard embargo on that; the Chrono Legionnaires will stomp you down before you get five seconds into the past.”

“We’re not actually going into the past. That’d require more temporal energy than I’ve collected so far, and you’re right, the Chrono Legionnaires would come down on us in an instant.” I say, pulling out one of the bezels on my pocketwatch and starting to spin one of the hands backwards. “What I’m going to do instead is an echo runback. Instead of trying to go to the past, we’re just looking at it — watching the echoes of an earlier moment in time. Think of it like… rewinding a video. It’s a record of something that’s already happened; you can rewind and watch it happen again if you like, but you can’t change the outcome — it’ll play out the same way every time.”

“Oh. Okay. You had me concerned for a moment there.” he says, relaxing visibly. “I assume it’s akin to what a Gazer would do when they gaze into the past?”

“The mechanism is different, but the result is similar, yes.” I say, slowing down the spinning of the hands as I come up on the twelve-hour mark. “You said within the last twelve hours?”

“From what I understand, the Gathering became aware of the issue somewhere between eight to ten hours ago, so yes, it should’ve happened within the last twelve hours.” Gratitude says, watching as I push the bezel back in. Golden rings form around us, taking the form of clockwork gears that serve as a scaffolding for a shell of champagne light that encapsulates us within a thin dome. “Color me surprised. I had always thought that was ornamental.”

I glance at him. “What, this?” I say, tilting the pocketwatch. “Goodness, no. I use it sparingly, granted, but it is far from ornamental.”

“I don’t recognize the design, so I assume it’s not something that was issued to you by Sjelefengsel?” he says, taking a step closer to study it.

“You don’t recognize the design because it’s custom. I designed and built it myself.” I say as the gears of light around us start to turn, clicking and ticking away at a regular pace. “It’s a Syntaritov tradition. Assuming we have more time at a later date, I can tell you about it then.”

“Yes, of course.” he says, his gaze coming up once more to as the movement of the gear rings starts to speed up, and with it, begins winding back echoes of what has happened in the near past. Meteors that have recently fallen on the moon zip back up into the sky, craters start to fill themselves back in, the spray of debris spiraling out from Juncosa slowly starts to run in reverse, clotting back together and returning to the point of origin as the planet likewise turns backwards in its rotation. “Can we slow things down here? It looks like we’re getting close to the point of impact.”

I lift my free hand, tilting it a little, and the winding gears start to slow down, with the ejecta from Juncosa starting to coalesce towards a single white-hot point on the planet’s surface. As we watch, a ripple travels backwards over the planet’s surface, centering back on that point as the crimson cracks in the crust seal themselves up again, and that glowing point of light becomes a straight white line that zips over our heads and back out into the far reaches of this solar system.

“That’s it, there, can you pause it?” Gratitude says quickly, twisting in place to follow the streak of white light. “We need to know where it came from—”

I tilt my hand the rest of the way, the gears slowing to a crawl. Wherever the streak came from, it’s beyond our view from here, so I spread my fingers wide, magnifying the region of space where it originated. Outside of the dome, everything seems to bend and warp as distance is compressed to zero in on the streak, following it all the way back… to what appears to be a fully unfolded mass beacon, holding open a breach into tunnelspace, and a structured, prismatic bridge of dark matter within it.

I snap my fingers to hold us fully frozen on this magnified moment, and both of us are quiet as we stare at the image, processing what it means.

“That’s… a mass beacon.” Gratitude says after a moment.

“Indeed.” I agree.

“And the design is…”

“Well, it’s not Dragine, that’s for sure.”

“It doesn’t seem advanced enough to be wereckanan tech, either.”

“It doesn’t seem advanced at all. I can spot some odd alterations here and there, but this looks like industry standard for most of the major nations in Myrrdicato.” I say, zooming the image in a bit more to study the frame of the beacon, the various antennae and sensors mounted on it, and the fusion core modules.

Gratitude folds his arms. “Do you think…?”

“I don’t think a hypernatural would use mortal tech to carry out an attack like this.” I say, shaking my head. “Not unless they were trying to throw someone off the trail, hide their tracks. And most of them are too proud to do that; they also know that the rest of the hypernatural community would find out eventually, so they may as well be truthful about it to begin within.”

“Most. There are the few—”

“Gratitude.” I cut him off softly, glancing at him. “You told me earlier not to be blind to what is before my eyes. I would urge you to do the same here.”

His lips draw tight. “To say that this was carried out by mortals… Regret, the calculation needed for something like this, the deliberation and brutality—”

“Higher powers are not the only ones capable of atrocities, Gratitude. In fact, we are far less likely to perpetrate such acts simply because our elevation requires that we adhere to a different set of rules, and a much higher standard of conduct.” I say gently. “But mortals, though… mortals, who are so very flawed, who so often have fear and anger in their hearts… take it from someone that handles the souls of the damned on a daily basis, Gratitude.” I return my gaze to the frozen image of the mass beacon, thinking back upon the long line of damned souls that have passed through the jurisdiction of the House of Regret during my time as its Lord. “Mortals are very much capable of something like this.”

That somber assertion fades into silence as Gratitude takes a deep breath. Both of us are working through the implications, for there are implications; if this was carried out by mortal hands, then the Gathering can do nothing to avenge or punish it, since it is a mortal matter. That will fall instead to mortals, who will resolve it in the only manner they have available to them for an atrocity of this magnitude:

War.

“I will have to pursue this further. I cannot assume that mortals were responsible just because the attack originated from a mortal installation.” Gratitude says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I will locate the mass beacon and examine it. Once I have determined where the other end of the tunnelspace bridge was, I will head there and see if I can find any clues as to who is culpable. I know you said you would only come this far, and since Azra is not culpable, further investigation is beyond your jurisdiction, so it seems that this is where we part ways for now.”

I nod, closing my pocketwatch with crisp clik. Around us, the clockwork rings dissipate, and everything twists and bends back to the present, with Juncosa hanging in the sky in its current state of devastation. “I would come with you further if I could, and if there was nothing else for me to do… but you already know the responsibilities we have been tasked with. Tirsigal is my case; it seems that Juncosa will be yours.”

Gratitude grimaces. “I should hope not. I will be needed in Kolob, with the number of souls flooding into the afterlives. I will continue my investigation, deliver my report to the Gathering once I have my answers, and let them do with it as they will. We all shall busy for quite a while to come.”

“So we shall.” I agree, tucking my pocketwatch away once more. “Travel safely, Gratitude. Hopefully our next meeting will be under less dire circumstances.”

“Agreed.” he says, nodding his goodbye to me. “Fare you well, Regret.”

With that he turns and pushes off the ground, enveloped in a nimbus of pale yellow light as he takes off in the direction that the mass beacon was last spotted. As he fades into the sky as another dot of light among many others, I return my attention to the black, cracked surface of Juncosa. Some of it is shrouded in clouds, and with the debris released by the impact and the gases being vented from the exposed mantle, it won’t be long before it’s wrapped in a suffocating, dark grey death shroud, the way Tirsigal is right now.

It’s proof that the malice of mortals, when sufficiently motivated and planned, can rise to levels that match the wrath of gods.