Unmaking

Part 9 of Tales of Morkesh

You are a child no longer.

 Vindegost smiled to himself. Warm rays of sunlight softly baked his weathered skin as he looked out across Yantilar. The floating city was alive, bustling with those who fought to finish their daily tasks so they could enjoy their nights. The markets raved, the laborers labored, everything went as everyone expected. Known toil was a comfort, a familiarity. Nobody expected the world to be perfect, nor disastrous. Life was just as difficult as it needed to be to be bearable. None of them knew how close they were to losing it all. The Abyss would gobble their world up soon enough, rending it into nothing but ideas and memories. The Abyss, the realm of Nihilin, was not a being. It was more like a force, a natural law of the universe. And as was often the case with laws, there were those who would break them. Simri was a recalcitrant deity, not content with the inevitable demise of their world.

Not demise. Vindegost corrected himself. An unmaking. 

Things were created to be destroyed, then created again. Memories would be made, then forgotten. Nothing was truly immutable. Words and laws etched into the cosmos were not exempt, for the original intent and meaning behind them would be perverted and misconstrued over millennia. No, nothing was sacred, not even to those who created these rules to begin with, and that was what Vindegost was counting on. If the rules by which the realms could be altered were able to be disregarded at all, then he would try. Erinden had thought himself the one who would shape and save the world, but he was wrong. Vindegost knew better. Simri had chosen a vessel for the rebellion she wished to wage against the force of nothingness that was Nihilin. 

And that Vessel was Domini. 

She had grown much since their last meeting. The bumbling foal she had been was gone, replaced by a cocksure, if ill reigned stallion. Vindegost made sure to check on her when he could, and the things he saw made him chuckle. The girl had a keen knack for landing in the center of trouble wherever she went. First Banesbreak, then Haletheas, then the Mutora Bastille, he suspected. She left Yantilar in obstinate denial, and yet she still followed the crude design Vindegost had drawn up for her. In addition to the pride he felt, he was also relieved that his faith had been well placed. There were no prophecies or promises, merely auguries of a future that could be, suggestions from powers older than time. 

Time. Such a fickle mistress was Time, always pressing on with no heed for the plans of men. Vindegost once had time in abundance, near to a thousand years, and yet in that time, he’d never found the key to stopping Nihilin. That honor went to Erinden, the poor soul. While time was valuable, Vindegost felt that perspective mattered even more. Fresh eyes on a millennia old problem had seen it solved, or at least revealed a possible solution. 

Vindegost turned from the window of his tower, inspecting his chambers one last time. He knew he wouldn’t be returning to Yantilar, and so made sure to drink in as many memories from the space as he could. There were many pleasant ones; his first days as the Teret Scholar, leading Audilus and Yantilar as a whole toward a more modern understanding of magic, the feeling of hope he remembered upon Erinden’s success at creating the Ostious, his despair at having ended the life of that same pupil. The memories stung, and yet they also soothed. He took them all in kind. A passing cloud provided a bookend to his reminiscence, allowing him to focus.

 The windows that surrounded the tower gave it life, making even the piles of detritus that littered the floor seem warm and welcoming. With a swish of his scepter, he commanded a precariously placed pile of scrolls into a chest. The scrolls flew across the room as if pulled by a very intentional breeze, and sunk into the chest. Vindegost looked inside. The chest itself seemed to have no bottom. He commanded several more stacks of scrolls and vellums, and even a few sets of robes and slippers into the chest as well. Vindegost wanted to be as prepared as he could. The journey from Yantilar to Favergon would be a long one. 

Not terribly long, mind you, he would be teleporting the bulk of the distance, but magical interference from the remnants of the Sunburst made it difficult. The Arcane arts were unreliable at best when one drew closer to Traver’s Sound, and so teleportation would not be wise. It wouldn’t do for Vindegost to accidentally transport himself directly into the ocean. He was expected, after all. That was doubly so for his ability to scry. When Domini had been closer to Yantilar, it was a small thing to watch over her. Once she left Vatrejem, however, her whereabouts were a mystery. He could only use his best guess as to where she’d go next, and it made sense that she would find herself with the Morkeshian Delegation that was rumored to be traveling across the sea.

Once his belongings were squared away, Vindegost turned to the Ithil Gateway within his chambers. The Gateway flowed and undulated with magic, prepared to ferry him far away. He flourished his scepter before him, imbuing the Gateway with power and intent, and watched as the image of a tower separate from his own began to materialize within it. The tower was within the Drow high city of Haletheas, a place that was rife with tumult as of late. The city’s petty political squabbles didn’t concern Vindegost, the Gateways installed there would serve him regardless. It certainly took them long enough. 

The Drow had been difficult to work with, but the work did get done, and that was all that mattered. With the Gateways installed in Haletheas, Vindegost would be able to handily ferry as many scribes and scholars across the continent as needed. He didn’t expect that they would be needed, but it was nice to have in any case. He neared the Gateway, beckoning his magical chest to follow after him like an obedient hound. From Haletheas, Vindegost would make for Favergon. He was expected to meet with Favergon’s King, Jaris IV, as well as a coalition of delegates from the disparate kingdoms of Morkesh. It was shocking, really, to see the warring nations of Xallajin and Vatrejem finally working alongside one another. Their cooperation was ultimately irrelevant in the face of the macrocosmic threat they found themselves staring down, but Vindegost had hope that perhaps their continued collaboration could help build a better world, should Simri’s will circumvent Nihilin’s. Yet that’s to say nothing about Favergon itself. 

King Jaris IV had close ties to the mages of Callibe, who themselves were inexorably connected to the Sunburst and the Abyss itself. Vindegost would bite his tongue when meeting with them all, if it meant keeping the peace. He didn’t approve of their deployment of the Sunburst, yet he could hardly begrudge their efforts, brutish though they were. Had they not done what they did, we may not have had the time needed to create the Ostious. The man responsible for the destruction of the Sunburst had been captured by the Blue Company, Vindegost was told. He mused about what sort of man would do such a thing, and why. A capable fellow, he must be. 

With the last of his belongings packed away, and the Ithil Gateway ready for him, Vindegost stepped through. Arcane power shunted him through space at impossible speed, until ultimately spitting him out within the tower in Haletheas. Ithil Gateways generally worked via short distances, but with the right elements and arcane acuity, one could magnify its power. It’s what enabled Vindegost to utilize the Gateways thusly. He’d sent Domini’s once companion for the installation, if for no other reason than curiosity. The girl had done well, it seemed, the Gateway worked as intended. She contacted Yantilar some time after the fall of the Convocation, which clued Vindegost into the breadth of the matter. He was pleased that she yet lived. Talented scribes like her were hard to come by.

He landed deftly for a man of his advanced age, his chest following close behind him. The tower he now found himself in was one made of a shining, purple stone, lit by everburning torches all around. A group of about a dozen heavily armed and armored Drow flooded into the chamber a moment later, eyeing him warily. Vindegost disregarded them and walked toward one of the thin slit-like windows of the tower. He remembered the Drow referring to them as Pillars. This must be the home of the Convocation, or what’s left of it. 

Outside the window, Vindegost saw the true extent of the carnage that had taken place. Many of the other Pillars had large gouges taken out of them, the damaged areas black with soot. He spied pathways that connected many of the Pillars, but so many had fallen away, crushing the structures on the ground far below. Craning his head slightly, he saw that a single Pillar had fallen completely, flattening the earth beneath it in a line. It was impressive how avarice could motivate others to needlessly destroy their surroundings. The House War that Domini helped to ignite was in motion, and it didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. 

“Identify yourself!” One of the Drow demanded. His elvish was crude, it was obvious he wasn’t a refined guardsman. The Teret Scholar found it curious that no mediators were present. It seemed a sinister portent of the state of things. Vindegost turned to them all. They levied spears against him, alert. 

“I am the Teret Scholar of Yantilar, Harnway Vindegost.”

They weren’t expecting him, that much was evident. Vindegost had his doubts that these new, provisional Convocation members would understand the arrangements he had made with their predecessors. It was immaterial. They wouldn’t be able to stop him regardless. The group of Drow assessed him, likely trying to determine if he was a danger to them. 

“What business do you have here?” The Drow was unsure. 

“Just passing through.” Vindegost smiled amiably. He began walking toward them, making for the exit. The Drow that questioned him hesitantly stepped to the side. He was smart to trust his instincts. While Vindegost was ineffectual in dealing with Nihilin and the Abyss, the common man was little more than a pittance to him. Unfortunately, one of the other guardsmen was mulish. He stood before Vindegost, his spear leveled in front of him. His companions stepped aside, urging him to do the same, but he refused. 

“From Yantilar, you say?” This new Drow asked. He had sunken eyes and thin, straw-like hair. “It was only when these damn Gateways were installed that everything fell apart!” 

“Pashik…” One of his comrades implored him. The Drow, Pashik, ignored them all. “I reckon this is your doing. Another attempt from the surface to interfere with the Underdark!” He was irate. Vindegost approached calmly. 

“Pashik,” he began, “perhaps you are correct. Perhaps I have orchestrated the downfall of the Convocation. I could be the very one responsible for the chaos you find yourself mired in. Now, if that were indeed true, do you believe that you have any hope of stopping me? I am the head of the most prestigious arcane academy in Morkesh, and you are but a man. Stand down, soldier.” Vindegost loathed violence, but recognized its necessity in situations like this. Pashik wavered.

“Damn surface worlders…Halerma curse you.” He spat. Vindegost moved past him, following the contoured stairs of the Pillar until it led into a proper atrium. The place was militant. Crude banners lined the walls, clerics hurried about in a panic, dispensing healing miracles to wounded spearmen. Soldiers milled this way and that, all of whom seemed ragged and despondent. It was a shame that the Drow were too preoccupied with their own inner turmoil to help the world above, but there was nothing Vindegost could do for them. They would have to find their own way, and perhaps providence would find them on the right side of events, when the time came. 

Vindegost twirled his scepter, imbuing himself with magic that allowed him to take flight. His chest followed suit, hugging close to him as he glided through the air of the Pillar to the warzone outside. He could hear spells and battle in the distance, the barbaric crunching of mail and bone unsettling him. Vindegost discarded it and wound around the city through the air, heading directly for the highway to Vatrejem. King Jaris was expecting him, and he endeavored to be timely.

1

Travertine was more of a military bastion than a city. The walls were the tallest Zave had ever seen, each one peppered with ballistae and embrasures in the walls for archers to shoot through. A host of soldiers patrolled its walls, each one shimmering in hefty plate armor. The soldiers—Blue Companymen all—chafed against the arid heat of Travertine. The city was close to Traver’s Sound, and was nearly a desert because of it. Zave felt for them. His own dragon scale armor did repel the heat to a degree, but his gambeson was still laden with sweat. Even the waters of the nearby bay did little to cool the air. Zave spied a fair amount of boats in the water, some of which looked to be warships, with cannons and lofty names painted across the sides.

Travertine was situated on a bay just north of Traver’s Sound. It was the closest habitable settlement to it; all others had been abandoned when the Sunburst arrived almost seven years ago. The damned thing went out like a candle several years passed, thank Arista, but its effects were still felt far and wide. Zave understood why Travertine persevered where no others could. The people here were resilient, principled, able to weather the harshest of environments. They were survivors, and currently, they were in the middle of a civil war. Zave rolled his eyes at the thought.

The Blue Company had fractured into two factions; those loyal to the king of Favergon, Jaris, and those loyal to the Blue Company’s original leader, a woman named Vormis Floe. Colloquially, they were referred to as the Royal Blues and the True Blues, respectively. It was all jargon that Cirro had battered Zave with constantly during their journey to the city, so he wasn’t likely to forget it any time soon. Cirro had dragged Zave along to Travertine to meet with Vormis Floe and the rest of the True Blues. For what purpose, Zave hadn’t a clue. He would’ve much rather gone with Elias to meet with the king himself, but Cirro insisted he accompany him to Travertine instead. 

A gust of wind dusted sand into Zave’s eyes. He cursed, wiping it away. The area all around Travertine was a golden desert, the sand so scalding he could see the waves of heat pass overtop of it. He tugged at the torque around his neck, beads of sweat pasting grains of sand underneath it in an uncomfortable way. Domini trudged along next to him, her sandals sinking into the sand with every step she took. She stumbled constantly, it was apparent she was exhausted. Zave considered hefting her over his shoulder, he doubted she weighed much more than Grenfi and Gilda combined. With them off playing lords and ladies with Elias and the king, his shoulders felt rather light. Domini seemed to sense his gaze and looked up. 

“Need some help?” He asked. Their relationship was…contentious at times. He liked Domini well enough, but was still unsure where they stood with one another. There had been an adjustment period after her return to Vatrejem, where she and Zave passed Elias around like hot gossip, but never interacted with each other much. He wanted to like her, to trust her, but she was an enigma. 

“We’re almost there, I’ll manage.” She politely nodded. Domini seemed much more amiable than when he’d first met her. Their months of travel had softened her, to be sure, but even then, something about her was different. It wasn’t all niceties, she still had her bouts of complaining, but her boiling point was significantly higher now. It made holding conversation with her much easier. 

“You could always ride in the wagon, you know.” Sidona called out. She sat in the wagon with Leopold, the mediator Ardra, and her djinnblood lover, Hezekiah. The Drow among them were ill suited to the sun, and Leopold loathed it even in his human form. A bunch of primped children. Their noble blood flowed thick, it seemed. They’d allowed themselves into the fold only a few months ago, but already seemed quite at home with the antics that Zave and the others got up to. Zave noticed a wordless camaraderie form between Leopold and the drow. They didn’t talk overly much, but they didn’t need to. Elias said that they were killers all, the ones from Haletheas, brutal and merciless. He surmised that that was a shared coordinate between they and Leopold, but even then, the vampire had the capacity to do more. He hoped it was so with these drow as well.

They’d had issues adjusting, to trusting others in Vatrejem. Every meal was scanned for poisons, every pillow held a secret dagger. They were hyper vigilant, and it was exhausting. Several months had filed the edges off of them, but only just. Zave suspected this trip to the surface might reignite some of those old senses of predation, were it not for Domini. The drow seemed to follow her lead, to a degree. If Domini felt safe, they would ease their hands away from their weapons. If not, then steel was always ready to sing.

“I’ve sat in that damnable wagon long enough. I need to stretch my legs.” Domini tripped over herself yet again. Her light brown hair flowed in the scorching heat, revealing her gray, sweat shined face. Several days in the sun had made her dark gray skin even darker. Sidona chuckled at her as she slumped into the sand once more. Zave pulled her up by the arm and steadied her.

“Go rest. It’s gods damned hot out here.” He nodded back toward the wagon. Domini huffed, but complied, taking a seat next to Leopold. He noticed that Domini and the mediator tended to avoid one another. 

 Zave pitied her for being forced along on this fool's errand with him. 

It was the longest he’d gone without Elias, Grenfi and Gilda since they all met. It felt wrong. His meals were drab and tasteless, his bedroll was cold and vacant. He missed them, as much as he’d miss a chunk of his very soul if it were ripped out. Sidona and her gaggle of friends were poor replacements. Leopold could hold a conversation on occasion, but he too felt melancholy on account of Hana’s absence. That left Domini. She was secretive, conspiratorial, and downright odd. 

There had been many revelations made about her, most of which Zave could scarcely believe. If Domini could be taken at her word, she was a vessel for the will of Simri herself, a magical amalgam with some kind of nebulous destiny. Elias knows how to pick them. That was the only reason she’d been forced along on this ‘mission’, as it were. Cirro thought she might be useful when it came to the Abyss and magic. He scoffed at her assertion that she was indeed somehow connected to the gods, but had her come along all the same. Zave longed for the days in the Underdark, sleeping in moist caves and eating things he never even dreamed of putting in his mouth. It was far preferable to roasting in the desert with a host of people he felt little connection to. He chuckled at the thought that the closest thing he had to a friend at the moment was Leopold, of all people.

Ahead of them, Zave heard Cirro call for their group to halt just outside the gates. They’d brought only fifty or so men, just enough to fend off whatever beasts might accost them in the desert itself. The gate ahead looked small in comparison to the gargantuan wall it was housed within. Their men shored up in tidy rows just outside the gate, Cirro at their head. Zave and the others were not Blue Company soldiers, at least, not in the traditional sense. Cirro treated them like officers and advisors, but was always quick to remind them that they were essentially his prisoners. Cirro reminded Zave of his own father, in a way, always walking around with a sizable stick wedged in his arse. 

Begrudgingly, Zave trudged forward, standing just behind Cirro. Domini and the others followed suit, the lot of them squinting against the midday sun. They wore cloaks, but it did little to shelter their subterranean skin from the sun’s effect. Leopold stood sentry next to Zave, stiff as ever. He’d taken on a human form for the time being, the process of which always made him smell of flowers. Leopold Lifescourge? Leopold Lilac, more like. He grinned to himself, then felt a pang of sadness that he didn’t have anyone to share his awful joke with. 

A moment later, the gates opened, and a battalion of Royal Blue soldiers poured out to meet them. They were led by a woman with green hair that flowed like water. Her skin was dark blue and moist, and her face was both elegant and imposing. She wore brilliant silver armor bedecked in runes that were carved to look like waves. As she breathed, the runic waves seemed to undulate softly in rhythm with her. Another djinnblood. 

“Commander Floe.” Cirro nodded. 

“Cirro. Finally finished playing hometown hero, are you? I warmly welcome you back to reality.” Vormis Floe chided. 

“You know I have no stomach for affairs like this.” 

“And that grants you permission to take a quarter of my troops to fight some undead bitch half a world away?” Vormis approached. “You might’ve done a good thing, but you’d be wise to remember who’s in charge. You and your jolly band of ‘heroes’ answer to me.” The way she spoke painted Cirro as having a rebellious streak of his own. Damn hypocrite. 

“Understood, Commander.” Cirro nodded once more. Zave couldn’t help but find amusement in it. Lemarque raised an eyebrow next to him. He suspected the vampire felt about as ambivalent as he in regards to the politics of the realm. 

“Now, with that behind us, let us move on to more pressing matters. Marlyn Gemmist is here to meet with us on behalf of King Jaris. While the king meets with the delegation that Morkesh has amassed, he’s tasked Gemmist with putting the pieces of the Blue Company back together.” Vormis nodded for Cirro and his contingent of men to follow her into the city. Zave could only hope that Elias and the others that had gone with High Councilor Therolan to meet with King Jaris would fare well. 

“A lofty goal.” Cirro said.

“Hardly. The Blue Company has only recently fractured into two separate entities. Mending that rift is fathomable. We were all brothers in arms once, and will be again, if I can help it. You speak confidently for a man who fell into our ranks by happenstance. How is dear Denithor, anyhow? I’m saddened that he couldn’t make it.” Vormis enjoyed teasing Cirro. Denithor had been pulled away for other Blue Company business, and Cirro was none too happy for it. 

“Why'd you all split up in the first place?” Zave butted in. Vormis studied him as they walked.

“When King Jaris returned from his…jaunt in the Abyss, he saw the state of Favergon and was displeased with it.” Jaunt? Zave tilted his head in confusion. Vormis didn’t elaborate.  “He came back to this realm to find warring city states, a lack of unity, and the Blue Company policing most of his kingdom, despite holding no allegiance to Favergon at all. He figured that the organization that watched over his land may as well be a part of it.” She waved to several guards as they entered the city, these ones very obviously not Royal Blues, as their armor wasn’t nearly as kempt. Access to a royal treasury had benefits, it seemed. 

Vormis continued on. “Many of us did not feel the same. The Blue Company was started as a neutral mercenary outfit, beholden only to those that paid it. Mixing in kings and politics only muddies things. In fact, we wanted to avoid this exact type of scenario. Now, instead of combatting the slew of threats that have erupted after the Sunburst’s destruction, we’re stuck having meetings about who can even sail boats through Traver’s Sound. It’s absurd.” Zave couldn’t agree more. 

They walked through the sandswept streets of Travertine, marveling at the rigid infrastructure. Near everything was built like a military barracks; shops, houses, taverns, banks, libraries, even the brothels lacked their usual flair. It was odd to see such harsh architecture paired with families walking about. Parents hung laundry out to dry, and children played games, almost in defiance of the combative environment they lived in. Most buildings were circular and squat, made from sandstone slabs. The shape seemed designed to weather the sharp gusts that would blow through the streets on occasion. It was stunning that a coalition of mercenaries was able to govern such a city. It was of a size with Anonta, but had no monarch watching over it, just a disparate council of warriors. 

The denizens of the city watched as they made their way through, moreso curious than suspicious. They thought of the True Blues simply as separated brethren, not a rival outfit, Zave thought. It put him at ease, made it feel less like they were in the den of a monster that was looking for an excuse to gobble them up. After a while of walking, their pace slow on account of their numbers, Cirro spoke once more. 

“How does this Marlyn Gemmist plan on uniting the Blue Company once more?” 

“That’s what we are finding out today.” Vormis replied. “Several scroll sniffers from Callibe arrived not a week past, and they’ve been consorting with Gemmist something fierce ever since. They’ve got something planned, and we’re to be a part of it.” Of course we are. Domini scowled at the phrase ‘scroll sniffer’. 

Cirro had been annoyingly mum about the nature of their mission, so it wasn’t shocking to learn that the mission itself was likely to also be annoying. This ‘Abyss’ thing had subsumed the minds of all, breathing up the air from every room. If it was as bad as Domini and Ardra made it out to be, then that sort of talk was warranted, and it made Zave nervous. He’d always considered the Sunburst a world away when it came about, nothing more than an oddity that was not his problem. Being in a place so close to it now, seeing the destruction it had wrought, did give him pause. If the Sunburst was this bad, then how terrible must the thing it was meant to contain be? Zave had heard plenty from Ardra about the impending annihilation of their world. She described an infinite void that would consume everything. That matched what Zave remembered seeing in Anowyn’s domain as it collapsed. He looked at Domini. She’s supposed to do something about all of this? She was a skilled mage, but she was still just Domini. She could barely carry her pack on her own, how would she stop the Abyss, whatever it was? 

Their hike through the city eventually brought them to a massive bunker of a building. Blue banners lined the whole of the circular structure, bearing the Blue Company insignia. Men patrolled turrets that dotted the top of it. Even several mages bobbed through the air, keeping watch over the city. Vormis led them up the massive sandstone staircase toward the building's front entrance. Royal Blue soldiers moved to let her pass, several even nodded their heads in respect. They left the larger portion of their soldiers outside as they entered, leaving only Zave and the others to follow after Cirro and Vormis. 

“Halerma’s will.” Sidona was awed, “Is everything above ground so ugly?” 

“Shut it.” Cirro snapped. 

The interior of the structure was wide open, with only support pillars dotting the space. It had the look of an amphitheater, with seats looking down on a recessed stage. The seats were mostly empty, save a few standouts. The stage itself held a retinue of soldiers and mages that seemed to be waiting for them specifically. A dwarf stood at their head, stately in appearance, though still bearing the gruffness that most dwarves tended to exude. He was middle aged, with graying red hair and a braided beard full of bejeweled bands. He wore a doublet distinctly apart from the fashions Zave had seen in Xallajin, with tassels hanging from the sleeves, and an intricately embroidered cravat around his neck. Cirro stepped in front of their group before they proceeded down one of the many stairways toward the stage. 

“This goes without saying, but with you all I’m not so sure; keep your mouths shut.”

“Why the hell did you even bring us if we aren’t permitted to speak? What purpose do we serve?” Sidona asked, frustrated. She was knowledgeable in the common tongue, yet her words did come out with a heavy accent. 

“I brought you because you have your uses, and that is all you need to know.” 

Domini giggled, “Gods, you haven’t a clue why we’re here, do you? You’re just as lost as we are, yet you pretend to be a part of the fold.” Cirro glared at her severely.

“You follow orders, and so do I. I never claimed to be the final authority on anything.”

“One could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.” Leopold said. “You raised an army, conscripted your own prisoners, and quartered your troops in a city that was not your own. You played quite the baron.” 

Cirro took umbrage with his words. He stepped close. “I’ll not have an undead mongrel lecturing me. I did what was necessary to save lives, which includes your own, I’ll add. We’re here to help Vormis facilitate the reforging of the Blue Company, and we will make ourselves useful to her in any way she needs for that to happen, is that clear?” 

“Very well. We’re just curious where we stand, is all.” Hezekiah spoke up. He had a similar accent to Sidona. Zave wondered if earthen djinnbloods were common in Haletheas, let alone how the heir to a Drow House fell for one. They were cagey on the subject of their time in Haletheas, as was Domini. She seemed to have few fond memories of the place. 

“You stand with me.” Cirro said, then turned sharply and descended the stairs toward the stage. He’d wondered why Cirro brought them all, and the answer was made clear; he trusted them to do whatever needed to be done, even if he didn’t know what it was yet. He put faith in them. Odd for a man with such a distaste for the gods.  

In spite of the lack of an audience, Zave did feel eyes on him. He’d not spent so much time in refined civilization over the past few years, so finding himself essentially in a noble court was abrupt, to say the least. They approached the stage, putting them face to face with the dwarven man and his entourage. He spoke. 

“Welcome, all. I hear you’ve been busy over to the west, yes?” He pointed the question at Cirro, who paled then nodded. “Good, you’ll be busy here as well.” Gods, won’t someone tell us what the fuck is going on? 

“Come now, Marlyn, don’t keep us in the dark.” Vormis said. “What have you and your mages got planned?”

“Ah, noticed the mages, have you?”

“They fly around, it’d be difficult to miss them.”

“Just so.” Marlyn Gemmist nodded. “I’ll try to elucidate things as best I can, for those who aren’t in the know. King Jaris is meeting with your delegation on the other side of the Sound as we speak. While they meet to discuss an alliance, we all within the Blue Company have been tasked with an expedition into the waters where the Sunburst once was. It occurred to me that this would be the perfect opportunity to bring the two halves of the Blue Company back together. Cooperation fosters friendship, after all.” Gemmist walked the stage, hands clasped behind his back.

“As for the mages, Callibe has sent quite a few to assist on this expedition, several of whom have intimate knowledge of both the Sunburst and Abyss. With their—”

“What about Yantilar, have they sent any help?” Domini interrupted. Cirro trained a fiery gaze onto her. 

“So far as I’m aware, no. The mages in Audilus don’t play well with others, I’m told.” Gemmist replied. Domini deflated slightly. “We have several vessels that are being primed for this trip. Our Blue Company men, along with Callibe’s mages, and the erm…’heroes’ among you, should be more than enough for a cursory expedition of the area where this Abyss is supposed to be.”

“You are skeptical?” Ardra asked. Cirro set his jaw. 

“Not skeptical, no, merely curious. We know that something is out there in the Sound, King Jaris spent the better part of five years trapped within it. What I mean to determine is if this Abyss has intent, if it is dangerous. And if so, what should be done about it?” Domini fidgeted next to Zave, but Sidona steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. Zave felt a very particular question needed asking. 

“What happened to the Sunburst?” He asked. Cirro swore under his breath. To his surprise, Gemmist smiled. 

“Why don’t we ask the man who destroyed it?”

2

Even drowned in heat, the Mutora Bastille was a cold, cold place. Gilda was drenched in sweat, but the blackened walls of the Bastille made her shiver. She wondered why in the hells a King would ever choose to meet in such a grave place. Gilda expected gold, fanciful cutlery, thick rugs and smelly perfumes, things befitting royalty. The Bastille was anything but. There was no life within its walls, not even pests like roaches or rats. The place was a grim slice of what the Sunburst had done to settlements near it. 

Gilda walked through one of the many corridors of the large main keep, which itself connected to the smaller structures around it. The Bastille had once served as a prison for some of the most notorious criminals in Favergon, Gilda was told. Superstitious stirrings from the guards in the High Councilor’s employ posited that the prisoners had all escaped once the Sunburst came about. They said the men now roamed the beach as wraiths, looking for new victims. A crock of shite. Gilda assured herself. Still, she found herself peering into the dark corners of each room and hallway, looking for things that weren’t there. 

Gilda, Grenfi, and Hana had followed after Elias when the High Councilor rendezvoused with their group in Vatrejem several months back. There were many diplomatic schemes floating around, and Gilda knew they were bound to be caught up in one of them. She just thought they would all be caught together, not scattered to the winds. Mostly she was happy to be with Grenfi, but Elias didn’t fare so well. He was dejected most days, having been separated from both Domini and Zave. Gilda missed the big bastard. She missed riding his shoulder, missed the way he would grumble about everything but still go along with it. They’d been through so much together; felled a demigod, slayed a dragon, beat on a demented undead brat. Gilda thought they were inseparable. She was wrong.

Instead, Cirro stole Zave away, along with Lemarque and the couple of dumb Drow that Elias knew. Nobody was spared Cirro’s heartlessness, not even himself. He’d sent Denithor along with Kzark to follow High Councilor Therolan and her so-called Delegation, hoping their presence would lend credence to her efforts. Constance caught wind that Elias had once been an assassin, and all but ordered him into her service. That left everyone with little choice. Cirro demanded fighters, and Constance demanded saboteurs. The damned djinnblood denied Gilda’s pleas to accompany them to Travertine, and so she followed after Elias. Now she roamed the halls of the Mutora Bastille, aimless and depressed. 

It certainly didn’t help that every ‘room’ was a poorly disguised prison cell. There were scarcely any windows, the only light coming from either torches or tallow candles that were left behind when the Bastille was initially deserted. It was odd; the place seemed ancient, very much like the abandoned crypts and cisterns that Gilda would brave in Xallajin, but it had only been vacant for five or so years. 

Constance and her ‘Delegation’, as she liked to call it, arrived less than a week prior. They found the place entirely empty, and so set to cleaning it up and making it habitable. That was a job Gilda was able to pitch in for. Cleaning, cooking, complaining, menial tasks to keep her mind occupied. She and Grenfi went cell by cell, shoveling out whatever nastiness was caked to the floors, then cleaning them to an acceptable level. Even freshly scrubbed, the place smelled terrible. She made a habit of lingering near the kitchen when possible, at least then she could smell food. 

That is, if the lead cook wasn’t terrible. 

Gilda figured that a noblewoman like the High Councilor would’ve at least brought along a capable cook, but no. The fellow that she had bumbling around the kitchen wouldn’t know a ladle from his own knob, and yet Lady Therolan insisted on keeping him on, noting that he had served King Jaris prior. Gilda had her doubts. More often than not, Gilda smelled burnt food and smoke coming from the kitchen, as opposed to anything appetizing. It showed in the dishes as well. Gilda wasn’t picky, far from it, but the dishes were just plain bad. They were bland, often overcooked hunks of trash. 

She’d asked Lady Therolan about work in the kitchens, and even made her a scrumptious beetle soup to show her skill, as well as the breadth of variety she could expect. It didn’t end well. The High Councilor made a mess of one of her dresses, spewing beetle soup all over it. From then on, Gilda wasn’t permitted in the kitchens. She grumbled to herself just thinking about it. The Bastille was like to sap every last morsel of happiness and levity from her. As she turned another corner through the Bastille, Gilda started. 

Standing before her was a spindly Drider woman bedecked in a layer of robes. Gilda calmed down once she recognized her. She was an acquaintance of Domini’s. Tish was her name, Gilda remembered. They’d all made quite the entrance when Domini returned from her little excursion to Haletheas. The Drider was hefting a stack of tomes somewhere down the hall Gilda had come from, her many arms straining against the weight. She excused herself and went on her way. Gilda continued on. She walked aimlessly, but had begun to remember the labyrinthine paths of the Bastille. She was cursed with a keen mind for directions, and so couldn’t rightly get lost, even if she wanted to. 

The path Gilda was on would eventually lead to the main atrium, a yard that led to the separate areas of the Bastille. It was where the bulk of people gathered, and it was where she knew she’d find Grenfi and possibly Elias. She trailed her sharp fingers across the cold dark stone of the walls as she walked, her bare feet plodding against the ground. Eventually, she got bored and walked on the wall itself, her sticky feet planting her firmly against it. Several guards and scribes passed her in the hall, doling out curious glances. Gods damned king says he’ll meet us here, then shows up late? The nerve. She fumed. A message from a paige assured the delegation that the king was on his way, but even so, it was infuriating. He’d likely done it so that Constance’s men would be forced to pretty up the Bastille in preparation for his arrival. It felt as though he were lording over them, even though they were supposedly meeting as equals. 

Eventually, Gilda found herself in the main atrium of the Bastille. The yard within the atrium was of a size with the Gillcrest market in Xallajin, and it had begun to look like it as well. Several meersenier companies from Vatrejem had followed the delegation on their journey, and had set up shop here. There were jewelers, tailors, and food vendors. Even a small tavern and brothel had been hastily built up from the scraps of wood that littered the yard. Hana was sure to be there, plying her trade. The impromptu marketplace was abuzz with activity. Merchants hawked their wares, delegation guardsmen ensured that no fights broke out, it was a proper town operating on a much smaller scale. In the midst of the hubbub, Gilda saw Kzark and Denithor, both men dour and listless. They idly chatted with several meerseniers—likely about the cost of leaf to smoke, in Kzark’s case.

Among the meerseniers, Gilda spotted Grenfi. There were several different guilds around, one of which was Mackson Broadfall’s. He and his deep gnomes were some of the first into the atrium, and so commanded a vast majority of the market. They walked the halls as though they were familiar, perhaps it reminded them of the Underdark, in a way. Gilda stepped from the cold stone to the scratchy blanket of dead grass that covered the yard and felt better, less oppressed. The early day sun warmed the yard, bathing everything in an overly yellow light. She made for Grenfi, who was conversing with Minbi, one of Mackson’s trusted colleagues. The way Grenfi told it, she and Minbi were cousins, though she said the same for just about every deep gnome in the guild. Like rabbits, they are. It reminded her a bit of her own family back in Xallajin, though gnomes lived much, much longer. The tents and stalls owned by Mackon’s people had coverings above them to keep the sun away. Deep gnomes, like Drow, were less than at home in bright light. 

The gnomes had taken to Gilda like family, which certainly felt nice. Gnomes had a habit of moving from place to place, and yet stuck together regardless. Unlike goblins, who had a habit of finding a nice place and simply staying there. In that way, Gilda was unlike her own kind. Grenfi’s pale purple face came alight when she saw Gilda. It made her forget how miserable things were, if only for a moment. 

“Gilly!” She scampered over and took Gilda’s hand, dragging her to Minbi and the other meerseniers. “Minbi says the King will be arriving within the day.” 

“Took the bastard long enough.” Gilda sighed. She tried to remain aloof, but could always feel a goofy grin creep across her face when she was with Grenfi. “Maybe the king will have a proper cook. I doubt he’d want to eat anything we’ve made lately. Even if it’s not poisoned, the bastard would definitely think we’re trying to kill him.” 

“Speaking of assassination,” Grenfi said, “have you seen Elias anywhere? I usually find him in the yard around this time, but he’s not about.” She looked worried, and with good cause. Elias had been spending more and more time alone as of late. Lovesick bastard. Didn’t he know that isolating himself wasn’t going to help? 

“He’s spent more time watching over the councilor lately, I’ll check for him there.” Gilda said.

“‘High Councilor’,” Minbi reminded her, “she’ll get her bloomers in a bunch if you just call her councilor.” 

“Fine, fine.” Gilda rolled her eyes. “You coming, Fifi?”

“Mhm. I’m on the High Councilor’s protection detail too, you know.” She said smugly. Once one got to know her, Grenfi opened up a great deal. The two bid Minbi farewell and pressed through the market yard. Along the way, they heard the familiar twang of Hana’s biwa and turned toward the noise. Hana sat outside the makeshift brothel in her doll form, playing for a throng of market goers. She wasn’t playing for tips, and yet both men and women flicked her coppers and silvers regardless. Hana noticed Gilda and Grenfi as they walked by, and gave them a nod of recognition. And though her face didn’t move, Gilda did feel as though her eyes were smiling. 

She wondered how Hana felt being so far from her vampire lover. If she was upset, she didn’t express it outwardly. Gilda missed the doll’s human form, but she commanded that Leopold take her creepy little magical doll with him when he left with Cirro, like the realms most unsettling memento. Gilda waved at her as they passed. They left through one of the many exits of the yard, though specifically the one that would lead to the High Councilor’s chambers. Lady Therolan picked one of the few rooms with windows, surmising that if an assassin wanted to get her, four walls and a door certainly wouldn’t stop them. That was where Elias came in handy. He, along with a few others, had been employed as Constance’s personal guard. 

The High Councilor knew that only the craftiest of killers would find their way to her, should anyone have her death within their designs, and so a retinue of her own crafty killers would suit perfectly to protect her. Grenfi held her hand as they left the light of the yard and found themselves in the bowels of the Mutora Bastille. It was isolating, even when not traveling alone. Simply knowing that the Bastille resided on a peninsula that jutted into the waters of Traver’s Sound made it all the more dreadful. 

After several turns—one of which led them right past the kitchen, which smelled abysmal—Gilda arrived at a winding staircase that led to the higher levels of the Bastille. Several delegate guardsmen blocked the path. Gilda flashed the pin given to her by the High Councilor that denoted her as being above the common traveler, and was allowed to pass. It felt strange, having such prestige. Gilda had lived her life as a smuggler who waded through the runoff of the world for years, now she was consorting with the leaders of kingdoms. Not directly, she was mostly in the background of things, but it was still incredible, especially since she had a refined distaste for those in power. 

Constance Therolan seemed better than most, but she was still far removed from the world of the common man. It was a tad ironic that the only reason she was High Councilor of anything was because of Leopold. Without his sorry excuse for a coup, Xallajin would likely still be paralyzed by indecision, and would never have agreed to an alliance with Vatrejem. 

The stairway led to the topmost floors, which housed the bulk of the guardsmen, mages and scribes in Constance’s employ. This included Tish, who they passed once again. The Drider couldn’t sweat, it seemed, but Gilda could tell she was exhausted. 

“Need help with anything?” Gilda offered.

“No, it’s alright. I just wish there weren’t so many damn stairs. For Sasho’s sake, it seems that everywhere I go is made up of nothing but stairs and corridors, it’s stifling!” The Drider was obviously not alright. Gilda suspected that she too missed Domini. They seemed close. It was another connection severed by Cirro and Constance, the blighters. 

“Why not just climb? Seems much easier than stairs.” Gilda said. Grenfi nodded in agreement.

“I’ve been ordered not to. Surface worlders haven’t spent much time with my kind, so they’re ill at ease with us.” She huffed. Nobody said anything to me about climbing around. 

“To the hells with that. You work for the High Councilor herself!” 

“Try telling that to some jumpy moron with a longbow trained on you.” 

“Good point.” Gilda sighed, resigned. 

“Anyway, if you’re looking for Elias, he’s with the High Councilor now. They await the king. Go talk to him while you can, I suspect you won’t have much time later. Politicians tend to be rather long winded.” 

“Got it, thanks. Care to join us for a drink later? Just ‘cause Domini isn’t around doesn’t mean you have to make yourself scarce.” Gilda offered. She loathed how disparate their group had become, even the ones she wasn’t particularly close to.

“If I have time, maybe. Constance keeps me busy enough as it is. I can’t imagine how it’ll be when I have to scribe both her words and this gods damned king’s.” 

“Why do you even work for her if you hate her so much?” 

“I’ve heard tale that the Teret Scholar would be coming to act as an advisor for this delegation, and I should like to talk with him about some things. In the meantime, I may as well make myself useful.” Teret Scholar? Gilda wasn’t familiar with the term. It sounded fancy, which almost certainly made him another powdered, pompous prick that she had little interest in associating with. She let Tish go about her business and continued on to the High Councilor’s chambers. Two guards at the door, these ones much more stern and intricately armored, allowed Gilda and Grenfi entry upon seeing their pins. 

It was the only set of rooms in the whole of the Bastille that didn’t smell like mildew and old blood, only because it reeked of incense and oils instead. Constance had covered the stone walls with tapestries and layers of colorful sheer cloth, in an attempt to give the rooms an appearance that was anything but draconian and drab. It was certainly a change, but no amount of primping could style this place into something comfortable. It’d be like throwing Zave into a ball gown; it just wouldn’t work, no matter how well tailored it was. Gilda cheekily grinned at the thought, her sharp teeth peeking through. 

“Hmm?” Grenfi tilted her head in confusement.

“Nothing, just missing Zave is all.” 

The main chamber housed a large circular table and an array of chairs, while the room adjacent to it was Lady Therolan’s personal quarters. It was a large room, but looked downright tiny due to the massive bed that almost leaked out into the next room. The High Councilor loved her luxuries, of that much Gilda was certain. 

The rear of the chamber held a balcony large enough for several pristinely carved chairs and a table. Constance sat there with a proper tea party before her, complete with dainty little cakes and snacks. Gilda was almost certain the kitchen didn’t make those cakes, they looked far too tasty. A large parasol hung lazily in the air to protect her from the harsh sun, likely held in place by magic. Good grief. In spite of the positively boiling heat, Constance wore a full ensemble outfit, with skirts and layers aplenty. Gilda admired the woman’s slavish devotion to vanity. She noted them with raised eyebrows, then looked to the side. They found Elias perched on the stone railing of the balcony, one leg dangling down. The balcony looked out across the roiling waters of Traver’s Sound. Something else was brewing in those waters now, if Domini was to be believed. Gilda shuddered just looking at it. 

Elias greeted them with a practiced grin. “Come to await our esteemed guest?” He joked. His sable white hair had grown long, and blew fitfully in the arid breeze. 

“Came looking for you, actually.” Gilda said. “Wanted to see how you’re getting on.”

“About as well as I can, being Lady Therolan’s captive songbird.” 

“Oh do stop it, Elias.” Constance scoffed. “We’re here to unite the known world. Put aside your feelings for a while and do your job.” From what Gilda knew, the High Councilor wasn’t entirely convinced by Cirro’s espousal about the dangers of the Abyss, yet she had a vested interest in being a part of the events surrounding it. Of course she does. Important people like to be around important things. It keeps them important. The logic was sound. 

“You’re still alive, Lady Therolan. I’d say I’m doing my job well.” 

“Ugh, I like you better when you’re quiet.”

“That's how most people prefer their assassins.” 

“For Sasho’s sake, you’re not my assassin! You protect me from assassins, nothing more.” 

“An assassin of assassins, then.” Elias grinned. This one seemed more genuine. The High Councilor was fabled among those who knew her for her calm demeanor, but Elias had a talent for getting under her skin. He’s good at pissing anyone off. Gilda rolled her eyes.

“Keep staring wistfully out at the Sound if it keeps your mouth shut. I expect it to stay that way when Jaris comes, none of this insufferable repartee, please.” Constance took a delicate sip from her milky tea. She looked down to Gilda and Grenfi. 

“Apologies, did either of you need something specific, or were we here for a friendly chat?” 

“Just came to see Elias, is all.” Gilda shrugged.

“Well, now you’ve seen him. I trust you can see yourselves out?”

“Perhaps they mean to petition you again about work in the kitchen?” Elias teased. Knob.

“That…is something we can discuss another time.” Constance choked on her tea. Gilda grimaced. Her beetle soup wasn’t that bad. It was an acquired taste, maybe, but a refined woman such as the High Councilor should have had a palate for many kinds of foods. 

Elias slid off the ledge and walked toward them both, then knelt down. “I’m fine, really. I appreciate you taking time to check on me, but I’ll be alright. Everything will be fine after this delegation rotheshite is behind us. We can all go back to being us again.” He assured them. 

“Come have a drink with us? I’ve been trying to wrangle everyone together for at least one night.” Gilda pleaded. Just then, a horn blared. It reminded Gilda of the bell in Anonta that marked the return of the hunters. 

Elias’s ears twitched at the sound. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. It seems we’re destined to sup with royalty, Gilda.” 

3

Prisons, it seemed, were almost identical no matter where one went. Sidona walked with Hezekiah and the others through a damp, dimly lit corridor within a Blue Company dungeon. It was connected to the large amphitheater room via a raised path, but the aura between the spaces couldn’t have been more different. The amphitheater had a democratic, civilized feel, whereas the dungeon felt feral. Cirro led them through, paying no mind to the poor wretches they passed. The prisoners within were not like the husks held by the Convocation; these were active, alert, and angry. Many of them snarled as they passed, like they had forgotten how to be men. Curiously, the Blue Company woman called Vormis had chosen to follow them into the dungeon, her expression pained and dire. 

“What happened to them?” Sidona asked. Just remembering her imprisonment made her skin crawl. 

“When one hunts monsters all their life, they learn to think like one.” The words came from further down the corridor, their speaker’s voice light and sullen. “Some of them forget the distinction and end up here. There’s not much to do with ones such as they. They do not deserve death, and yet they cannot live normally, not anymore.”

As they finished their approach, they came face to face with a diminutive human woman. She was brown of hair, with vivid blue eyes that blended with the cool everburning torch light all around. Her hair was tightly knotted atop her head, revealing her soft, slim face. The robes she wore were similar to that of a mediator, speaking to a fastidious streak in her. A mage. 

“And you are?” Zave asked, folding his arms. Sidona had grown fond of the man, specifically his lack of patience when it came to political ballyhoo. Though they didn’t speak much, she felt she understood him well enough. He was loyal in the way a dog was; always tromping after his master, and always drooling over his next meal. His simplicity was his strong suit. 

The woman who spoke before was situated in front of a specific cell, her hands clasped before her. Years in Haletheas had taught Sidona how to sense magical wards and traps, and she espied many around that particular cell, the air seeming to teem with them. 

“My name is Emiline, I’ve come from Callibe at the behest of the king to assist with the expedition into the Sound.” She spoke.

Domini perked up. “You’re one of the ones Gemmist said was knowledgeable about the Abyss?” 

“Knowledgeable is a strong word,” Emiline looked down diffidently, “we simply know more than nothing, though I wouldn’t say that makes us knowledgeable.” 

“Pray tell, why is a bookworm like yourself prowling the dungeons of Travertine?” Hezekiah chimed, his voice like gravel. Even though he was stone, Sidona found him to be the most handsome lad she’d ever laid eyes on. He was like a marble statue that a masterwork sculpture had agonized over for years. She watched him as he spoke, missing the warm feel of his lips on her own. Kissing a statue was quite a challenge, they discovered. 

“Well, I’ve been looking into other avenues of research in regards to the Sunburst and the Abyss ever since they came about. Progress was swift at first, then information dried to a trickle. That was why I accepted the offer to come here on the King’s behalf, you see, to further my research.” She’s a long winded one. 

“It was revealed to me that the Blue Company held the man responsible for the Sunburst’s destruction in their custody, and I figured that there couldn’t possibly be a more direct link to the events than he.” She looked to the cell fondly.

“Is that who’s in that cell?” Sidona cautiously stepped forward. A man’s voice croaked out as she approached.

“Come to gawk like all the rest?” He asked. As Sidona and the others reached the cell, they saw him; a scrawny human man with matted brown hair. He was caked with dirt and grime, and looked as though he hadn’t tasted a proper meal in ages. One of his arms pulsed with sickly green energy. Sidona hadn’t ever seen the Sunburst, she’d merely heard tell of its uncaring rays that cooked the land far and wide. She suspected it was a very similar green to the energy in his arm. He looked at them with harsh, piercing eyes. 

“They aren’t gawking, Vilkin, they’re like me. They wish to know what you know.” Emiline spoke softly to the man in the cell, Vilkin. 

“We all know what I know,” Vilkin chuckled painfully, “that is to say, not much at all.”

“Enlighten us.” Cirro spoke. He seemed genuinely intrigued by this man. 

“There’s no enlightenment to be had, djinnblood. I thought I knew best for the realm, and I was wrong.” 

“Speak plainly.” Ardra ordered. Those among them with ties to this ‘Abyss’ were especially invested in what he had to say. Vilkin looked away from them all, uninterested in continuing the conversation. Emiline supplied her own explanation in his stead. 

“Callibe as an institution was created with the express intent of studying the Abyss. With permission and funding from both Xallajin and Favergon, Callibe was built on Soller’s Isle, an island within the Sound. Little was ever learned of the Abyss itself, in truth, only that it was growing, and that much made it a concern for the realm.” She looked to Vilkin in his cage. 

“Things came out of the Abyss, creatures of Nihilin, they are called.” He shuddered in his cell.

“Nihilin?” Domini was tense.

“That was the name given to the Abyss itself. It’s not a being, necessarily. Or if it is, it’s not sentient. There is no maleficence in its actions, it is simply acting. Just as a fire is not evil because it consumes one’s home.” Emiline spoke matter of factly. She seemed to enjoy divulging information, bidden or not.

“And where does this ‘Sunburst’ factor into everything?” Sidona asked. She was mostly ignorant to the plight of surface worlders, but this particular problem seemed as though it were everyone’s problem. 

“The mages of Callibe concocted the Sunburst as a means of destroying, or otherwise halting the expansion of Nihilin.” Emiline explained. “Several of Callibe’s most talented mages combined their power to create the Sunburst, only it went horribly awry. Callibe itself was thrown into the Abyss, along with all those inside—myself included, and the Sunburst took its place. And while it did hold the Abyss at bay, it tore apart the surrounding lands.” She spoke almost apologetically. 

“Wait, you were within the Abyss?” Zave was stunned.

“Me and many others, yes. King Jaris himself was visiting at the time, and was trapped in the Abyss with us. In fact, it wasn’t until Vilkin destroyed the Sunburst that we were freed. Favergon suffered much in the King’s absence.” 

“Guess that’s what Gemmist meant when he said the king went on a jaunt. Shite, I never knew…” Zave said, his eyebrows raised high. 

“Nobody did.” Vilkin said. “Morkeshian’s, Favergonian’s, the world all hadn’t a clue. We thought the Sunburst a curse bestowed upon us by the gods, a magical retribution for some unknown slight. ‘Twas no gods doing, merely men playing with things beyond their ken.” 

“How’d you do it? How did one man destroy the Sunburst?” Cirro asked. 

Vilkin looked down at the floor of his cell, as though recalling something horrific. “I wasn’t alone until the end. Many loyal friends died so that I might live, and yet their names go unremembered, eroded by this toxic legacy of mine.” 

“But how did you do it?” Cirro insisted. Sidona was also curious, she couldn’t deny.

“I killed them. Every last mage whose body fueled the Sunburst. I hunted them to where they were interred and I killed them. The last one…gods. He warned me, and I didn’t listen. So, so many people dreamt day in and day out of destroying that plague upon our world, and I did it. I didn’t know, I couldn’t have known.” Vilkin slumped against the wall of his cell, his head in his hands. 

“You unleashed the Abyss.” Ardra was aghast.

“You say it as though I meant to!” Vilkin snapped. “I sacrificed, I suffered, I witnessed and dispensed death against my own wishes to be a savior to all, and I will be remembered as the one who doomed the world. Vilkin Suneater, they call me. My name is a curse, and nothing more.” Halerma’s will. Sidona could scarcely digest the situation. Emiline put a hand on the bars of his cell.

“He did what he thought was right, we shouldn’t damn him for that.” Something about it all did seem unjust. This man freed the King of Favergon from a dimension of nothingness, and his reward was a dirty cell. Perhaps the surface and the Underdark are not so different. Injustice flowed freely, no matter the people. 

“Yeah well, lots of people that do the right thing end up someone’s prisoner.” Zave grumbled, his gaze fixed on Cirro. Emiline narrowed her eyes in confusion, but didn’t press the matter. Vilkin locked eyes with Vormis, his expression that of a man betrayed. 

“You said I would be taken care of, Vormis. Then you locked me away and forgot me.” 

Vormis approached the bars. “It was never my intention for you to find yourself here, Vilkin. Once the Blue Company was acquired by Jaris, so much transpired at once, and—“

“And I was left to rot.”

“I’ll get you out of here, Vilkin. I swear it.” Vormis spoke determinedly. Sidona was ever so curious about that particular relationship, but thought better of picking at such an obviously fresh wound between the two.

“Much has been made clear, yet I do wonder about one thing.” Leopold joined the conversation. “This ‘expedition’ of ours is meant to determine whether or not this Abyss is growing, yes? If it is, what is to be done about it?” 

“There has been talk of reigniting the Sunburst. Only this time, they would do it correctly.” Emiline said. Zave guffawed. 

“If the brightest minds from your little school couldn’t do it properly—and they’re all dead now, thanks to our friend here—“ he wagged a meaty finger at Vilkin, “what makes you think it’d play out differently a second time?” 

“I never said it was a stellar idea, but we are bereft of any others at the moment.” Emiline held herself soothingly. She was a bright girl, if a bit naive. She had a very simplistic view of things, and struggled to look at the world in shades of gray. It was the type of ignorance that could only have been cultivated in a surface worlder. If only such charitability had a place in this world. 

Sidona watched as several other pairs of eyes flitted to Domini. She’d begged them to keep her origin and dubious destiny a secret, at least for now, but it seemed rather pertinent to the conversation. Domini noticed them and cringed away. Sidona understood why. To tell anyone that she was the personification of a god was to do nothing more than paint a target on her back. It would invite assassins aplenty, as well as those who would see her as a false prophet, a heretic. Then there would be those who did believe. That seemed like a burden Domini would sooner run from than to. Let the Blue Company think her a skilled mage, and nothing more. Perhaps the legitimacy of Domini’s claims could be substantiated on this expedition of theirs. Emiline bid Vilkin farewell and escorted them from the dungeon. Vormis was quietly pensive, and took her leave of them all fairly quickly. 

—

They all supped in a grand mess hall with the rest of the Blue Company men, eating of massive pies filled with fish freshly caught from the bay. Zave eagerly shoveled food into his mouth, much to the disgust of those nearby, but he didn’t seem bothered. The hall was as everything else in Travertine; built stout and hardy. The walls were sandstone and the ceiling hung low, bearing multiple large iron wrought candelabras. The hall itself was long, able to accommodate several hundred at a time, all packed tightly onto the roughly hewn stone benches that accompanied each table. Sidona picked at a portion of the pie, the gravy inside briney. She didn’t have much of a stomach for food at the moment. She couldn’t get the stench of the prison, nor Vilkin’s words, out of her head. The man was genuine, sincere in his desire to save the world, and his sincerity was rewarded in detestable fashion. Would they be treated similarly, should Domini succeed in ridding the world of the Abyss, of Nihilin? 

Folktales always told of heroes being lauded and revered for their deeds, but that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Sidona fought injustice and became an exile because of it. Zave, Aelnora and the others felled Anowyn, scourge of the Underdark, then came to the surface and delivered an entire city from the clutches of a power hungry undead monarch, and found themselves nothing more than weapons to someone else’s cause in return. Heroes did exist, and their greatest enemy was those they fought for.

 Sidona ate a heaping spoonful of fish pie. She preferred the goblin’s cooking. It was more in line with Underdark cuisine, and had more flavor. Hezekiah leaned in next to her where they sat. 

“What’s got you all quiet?” He asked. 

“Just all of this. It feels like we left Haletheas and jumped right into something much worse.” 

“We did.” Ardra agreed. She sat on the other side of the table, sipping a thin soup with a fish head in it. Truth be told, Sidona was surprised that Ardra had chosen to stay with them. She surmised it had everything to do with Domini and her supposed destiny. Ardra hated the tiefling, that much was plain to see, but Sidona could tell that she at least somewhat believed in what Domini said. The first of her flock. 

“Are you having second thoughts, Sid?” Hez asked. He lowered his already bassy voice. “We joined this outfit voluntarily, we’re beholden to nobody.” 

“No, no. We’re staying, these people have done right by us so far.” 

“We don’t owe them anything. You know that, right?” 

“I know, Hez. I don’t feel indebted to them. Perhaps I’m curious about them. These people killed Anowyn, after all. We thought her slayers to be Drow all, not this collection of oafs. They’ve a storied past, and likely a storied future.”

“Careful, Sid, you almost sound noble!” Hezekiah teased. She flicked his stony ear with her finger, then quietly winced at the pain it caused her. 

Sidona looked to her side. Domini sat with Zave and Leopold, the three exchanging only a few words between them. They all seemed pensive, and appropriately so. They’d be on a boat soon enough, sailing into waters none had trod in over five years. That was a theme with the surface world; spontaneity, nothing ever happened as one expected. Everyone always flew by the seat of their trousers. In the Underdark, one always anticipated betrayal, there were constants. The surface world required far more trust. Even if only slightly, Cirro had put faith in her and Hezekiah, and that meant something. She loathed following his orders like some idiot lackey, but she didn’t want to shatter the faith he had in her. Sidona would stay, for now, to see what all of this Abyss business was about. 

In any case, she couldn’t miss the opportunity to sail on a boat.

4

The feast was abysmal. 

Gilda sat with Grenfi, Minbi and the other meerseniers at a table not far from the Royal entourage, and she could tell they were all being served the same slop. The cook, if he could even be called that, had put together an abortion of a meal, consisting of a criminally undercooked horse meat stew, the veggies within so raw and crunchy as to be difficult to bite into. If Gilda didn’t know any better, she’d accuse the cook of serving rotten food. Luckily, she did know better, and kept her mouth shut, tonguing the slurry as she surveyed the King and his followers. 

The King, Jaris IV, was a robust man. Her idea of lords always led her to believe they were weak, ineffectual people, but this man bucked that trend. He stood tall for a human, with broad shoulders and shoulder length flaxen hair that parted down the middle. He wore a neatly kept beard, the facial hair concealing his lips so that it was difficult to see whether he was smiling or scowling. Even then, Gilda could see the displeasure in his eyes as he ate. He sat upon a raised dais in a dingy mess hall of the Bastille, his wife and son on either side of him. Standing behind him was a royal seneschal, a comely Orcish man with a thin horseshoe of hair wrapping around the back of his bald head. He wore elaborate robes of a welcoming tan color, and carried himself confidently. The man was large, more akin to a soldier than a seneschal, but then again, so was the King himself. 

The queen, a full bodied halfling woman named Collete, ate of the meal as well. Gilda admired her determination to pretend as though the food were anything but awful. Their son, a young man of shorter than average stature who was unsurprisingly named Jaris V, did not feel similarly. He scowled at every dish brought to him, contenting himself on wine and cheeses that his own people brought. It wasn’t a promising start to negotiations. Gilda allowed her eyes to pan the mess hall further. Elias was about, quietly scanning the crowd for ne’er do-wells. The hall was perilously dark and dank, even lit by torches as it was. The blackened stone walls of the Bastille seemed to drink in any light that touched them, making life difficult for those who couldn’t see well in the dark like Gilda could. Soldiers, knights, and other minor lords or ladies in waiting fumbled with silverware where they sat below the king in rows. He’d brought a fair retinue of petty dukes and governors with him for the occasion, the ones he’d managed to wrangle back into obeisance, that is. 

Constance had explained that the King had disappeared when the Sunburst came about some years ago, and reappeared when it was destroyed. The kingdom his family had built over generations in Favergon had fallen apart in his absence, and Jaris had spent every waking moment of his return reuniting the factions that had split away. That included the Blue Company, apparently, as well as Traver’s Sound and the Abyss. It sounded like usual lording to Gilda, those in power always clawing for more. 

Constance sat at a table just below the king’s, a tactical show of deference that would hopefully make him more pliable during their eventual negotiations. She’d need every advantage she could get, the food certainly wasn’t doing her any favors. The High Councilor choked down a helping of stew, then washed it down with wine. Gilda was appalled. The lout that made such a shite meal used to serve the king? She wondered if the king knew his supposed gourmet chef was cooking up abominations for him. 

Beside Gilda, Grenfi tried to stomach another bite of the stew, then stuck her tongue out in disgust. The hall was oddly quiet as everyone else did the same, solemnly sipping the gross stew. Several tables over, Kzark dumped the ash from his smoke pipe into his bowl. Hells, that might make it taste better. The only levity to be had was Hana and a few other minstrels that had gotten together to fill the echoey hall with music. It helped to stifle the sound of groans and gags. When Grenfi made to take another bite, Gilda snatched the crude silver spoon from her mouth. It was a crime to subject hungry people to such torture.

“I’ve had enough of this shite.” She hissed.

“You and everyone else here.” Minbi grimaced, poking at the stew. Most of the other gnomes from her guild sat nearby, all of them grumbling similarly.

“Tonight, once the King and all his flunkies head back to their rooms or tents or cells or whatever, we’re getting into the kitchens. I’m gonna prove to Constance once and for all that that sod needs to be taken out of the kitchens.” 

“Eh? The High Councilor wasn’t over the moon with your last offering, what could you make that’d change her mind?” Grenfi asked. 

“I’ll figure something out, but I’ll need help sneaking into the kitchens.” 

“I’m with you. Anything to be done with this.” Grenfi lifted a spoonful of the stew and watched as it dribbled back into the bowl, looking very much like vomit. 

“You coming, Minbi?” Gilda turned to her. 

“Nah, not tonight, I’ve got prior engagements.” Minbi said. 

“Prior engagements?” Gilda scoffed, “we’re stuck in a prison, what other engagements could you have?” 

“Meersenier business, Gilly. Numbers on ledgers and counting coins and the like, things your petite and pretty little head is ill equipped for.” Minbi playfully taunted. Gilda flicked a piece of rancid stew meat at her, and Minbi dodged it as though it were corrosive.

Once the lackluster meal concluded, the king filed out of the room with the High Councilor, preparing for an evening of negotiation. Elias followed them doggedly, but not before issuing Grenfi and Gilda a wave. Poor bastard. Soon after, the rest of the mess hall cleared out, an astounding number of dishes still nearly full. Young serving girls and energetic boys began clearing away the meal, taking the dishes back toward the kitchen. Gilda followed suit. Her outfit consisted of little more than a simple frock, and so she blended in well enough, save for the silvery scars that wound across her face and body. She kept her black hair short and messy, forcing Grenfi to chop on it with a dagger every few weeks. She snatched up hers and Grenfi’s bowls from the long table they ate at and made for the kitchen. 

She followed after a procession of younger boys with armloads of dishes, their arms wiry with muscle and vigor. Likely these were squires given busy work, but they didn’t seem to mind; it gave them time to flirt with the girls cleaning nearby. They walked in a line like ants delivering a meal to their queen, until finally reaching the kitchens. The space was filled with both fresh and preserved foodstuffs, more than enough to make elaborate, delicious dishes. There were fruits and vegetables aplenty, bulbs from exotic plants Gilda had never seen, purplish meat extruded into peculiar looking sausages. All of it looked so promising, and the kitchen itself wasn’t sparse either. 

There were a half dozen alcoves containing both woodfire stoves and cooking pots. A few of them were brittle, the clay and brickwork cracked and in disrepair, but still usable. Old pans and utensils from before the Mutora Bastille had been abandoned were in use, but just as many new ones had been forged by a blacksmith in one of the meersenier companies, it seemed. The larder was full to bursting with onions, carrots, rothe meat, beef, even things like cactus fruits and smoked snakes and lizards, on account of the desert climate nearby. Nothing about the kitchen gave Gilda any reason to believe that it was the problem, except the cook, of course. 

She’d met him once before, the dragonkin bastard. Edgarn, his name was. A dumb name for a dumb person. He had bright orange scales and a set of wildly curly horns. He spoke with an accent that wasn’t Morkeshian, though didn’t sound much like those from Favergon either. He was far too muscly to be a cook, she thought. Cooking was rigorous work, but not that rigorous. Curiously, he wasn’t in the kitchen this evening, nor the larder. That was good, it would make sneaking about that much easier. Gilda set her assortment of dirty dishes onto one of the counters, straining to reach it with her tiny form, before effortlessly climbing onto the counter to clean them. Grenfi followed her lead. 

They were lucky they were small, it made it easier to blend in. Big folk like Zave commanded a presence in every room. Even quieter ones like Lemarque would draw eyes simply because they could be seen above the average table, but not Gilda and Grenfi. If they stayed quiet and washed dishes, they would look like they were meant to do just that, and none would be the wiser. Once the kitchen was polished to whatever approximated a sheen in the Bastille, the rest of the servants and squires filtered out. Gilda busied herself pretending to clean spots from the floor until they’d all gone. Finally. 

They waited a moment to see if any stragglers would be coming, and when none did, they set about cataloging the available ingredients. The Councilor wasn’t a fan of the beetle soup, but she quite likes baked goods and sweet things. Gilda mulled it over. The answer became clear very quickly; with a royal larder at her disposal, she would make the most flavorful, perfect dough sticks for the High Councilor and the King. She felt inspired. Since splitting from Zave, Gilda hadn’t had the gumption to cook much of anything. Zave and Lemarque were her biggest supporters when it came to food. Without their praise, it didn’t feel as rewarding. This, though, would be rewarding and helpful. Constance would see the error in her ways and hire Gilda on as the lead cook, finally delivering them all from the clutches of this fiendish culinarian. She began feverishly grabbing up all the necessary ingredients for her royal dough sticks. 

She collected eggs, a cornucopia of spices, both those foreign to her and known, fresh milk, and flour. The flour sack was difficult, and required Grenfi’s help, as it weighed about as much as a fat human child. With the ingredients collected, she began mixing them together into a positively mouth watering melange of flavors. Grenfi hefted a deep frying pan over one of the hearths and tossed a chunk of lard into it. They did it all in utter darkness, unimpeded by the lack of light. Gilda worked quietly, yet happily, a jagged smile on her face. She looked at Grenfi while she extruded the raw dough into its signature stick shape. The gnome was hard at work trying to spark a fire in the hearth, her white eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Gilda loved her so. 

She couldn’t imagine being separated from her. Being away from Zave was hard enough, but Grenfi was another story entirely. The months spent in Vatrejem were like heaven, even if they were in Cirro’s custody. The place had become a home to them all, and Gilda loved it. She wished to go back once all of this delegation nonsense was over. 

Her reverie was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. Shite! Who would be coming to the kitchens at such a later hour? A guardsman in search of a midnight snack? Regardless, it wouldn’t do for them to be found. With the king around, everyone would think her an assassin intent on poisoning him. She’d be thrown into a cell, a real cell. She left the unfinished recipe on the counter and scampered over to Grenfi, who had also heard the noise. The footsteps echoed closer. Gilda panicked. 

“It’s alright, Gilly, we just need to hide.” Grenfi assured her. She pulled her into the unlit hearth, shuffling behind the pan they were to fry the dough sticks in. Grenfi was always calm, it seemed, and it calmed Gilda in kind. Her heart was still racing like a Morkeshian courser, but at least she wasn’t hyperventilating. A moment later, the doors to the kitchen opened, revealing Edgarn himself. He seemed to hold the door open for someone, but Gilda couldn’t see who, the counters were in the way. Edgarn moved as silently as a giant fool could through the kitchen, giving Gilda’s dough a quizzical glance before heading to the larder. Before long, Edgarn was out of sight, the kitchen silent once again. What in the hells is going on? 

She waited several more minutes to see if the dragonkin cook would return, but he never did. Grenfi shrugged when Gilda looked to her for guidance. There was only one entrance and exit to the kitchen, and nobody had come out yet. Could Edgarn have been having a raunchy tryst in the larder? Did Gilda even care? She shuffled out of the hearth and into the kitchen proper, sneaking the faintest of glances into the larder, though saw nothing. Huh? 

The bastard was too big to have snuck out unseen. Where in Plumar’s realm did he go? Grenfi shored up behind Gilda, mirroring her expression. While part of Gilda wished to simply leave, she knew she couldn’t. Everything was too fishy, and not in a tasty way. Secret meetings almost always meant someone was up to no good, except for Gilda, of course. She was just secretly making food. She and Grenfi entered the larder, hugging close to the stone floor. Oddly, much of the heaps of vegetables had been shuffled about, leaving a gap toward the back wall. Gilda approached cautiously. Sure enough, she spotted telltale drag marks on the stone where something rough had rubbed against it. She’d have spotted it earlier if the larder wasn’t so damn full. 

“Should we go tell someone?” Gilda asked. 

“Not yet. We should see what they’re up to first.” Grenfi said. Gilda knew she’d say that. All that heroing they did had gone to their heads, made them think they were untouchable. They both began pressing on the back wall of the larder, feeling for some sort of secret latch, until finally the wall gave way. It scraped quietly against the floor, opening the way to a slimy secret corridor. What need did a kitchen have that called for a secret corridor? Or more importantly, how in the hells did Edgarn even know it was there to begin with? Questions began cropping up left and right, but those were for later. Gilda stepped inside, then immediately planted herself on the wall with her sticky feet. Traps were usually on the floor, after all, not the walls. Grenfi looked at her, amused, but Gilda just shrugged. 

They padded along for some time, following the corridor as it led down, then up, then turned several times. The walls were slick with something, and it made it difficult for Gilda’s feet to stick to the walls, but she persevered. There weren’t any branching paths for Gilda to remember, so escape would be simple, should they need to run. It reminded her a bit of the cramped crypts where she’d lost Varly. That was years ago now, but it still haunted her. No matter what happened, Gilda wouldn’t be leaving without Grenfi. 

It was strange; the Bastille had little in the way of plumbing, and yet there were these massive bricked paths beneath it. They weren’t sewers or cisterns or even drains for runoff from storms, it was just a network of hidden paths. One wondered what purpose such passages served when the Bastille was in operation. Smuggling, perhaps? Regardless, they pressed on. By Gilda’s estimation, they were most assuredly outside of the Bastille. The path had turned a few times, but never enough to loop them back toward the kitchen area. Gilda’s mental map put them near the cliff side the prison stood on looking out across the Sound, or near to it. As they entered the very first proper chamber, Gilda’s suspicions were confirmed, as she could hear the harsh bashing of waves on stone, and smelled the briney air. The chamber was lengthy and low, with water flooding the far section of it. It looked to be a hidden dock of some sort. Smuggling, then. 

It made sense, all in all. When smuggling things from Xallajin, Gilda used very similar channels to get the goods out. Small boats could paddle near the shore from larger vessels to pick up their cargo, then abscond into the night, the authorities none the wiser. The dock had several other corridors connected to it, likely leading to other parts of the Bastille that nobody even knew existed. With that in mind, Gilda was now especially curious how Edgarn had found this place. Before she could think on it, she heard a voice echo through the chamber, muffled only by the foaming waves that snuck into the secret dock. Gilda and Grenfi froze, listening. Only Edgarn’s voice could be made out. 

“…practically risk free.” Gilda heard him say. She narrowed her eyes. This was no mere tryst, but something more sinister. He’s no rudding cook, I knew it! Gilda climbed the wall a little higher, and was able to make out the silhouettes of two figures in the watery reflections of moonlight into the dock. One was Edgarn, his big, horned form unmistakable. The other was someone tiny, likely a gnome or halfling, maybe a goblin. They spoke conspiratorially, their voices mostly hushed. Gilda inched forward, desperate to uncover this brewing plot. She should have trusted her nose from the start about this prick, Edgarn. She merely hoped she wasn’t too late—

The slime on the wall stuck fast to Gilda’s feet, and she fell. 

The world spun for a moment as Gilda tumbled down into the stagnant water that covered the floor of the corridor, sending out a loud splash and a yip of pain. Shite shite shite! She recovered in an instant, but already she could hear commotion ahead. She and Grenfi sprang into action, prepared to intercept both parties, even if they were unarmed. As they approached, however, they found Edgarn on the ground, his throat slit. The smaller suspect was nowhere to be seen. 

“Bendala’s bane!” Grenfi cursed. “Stay with him, I’ll see about the other one.” She took off down a shaft connected to the main corridor, its entrance small enough that the average human would have had trouble crawling through. As Grenfi’s footfalls faded into the distance, Gilda was left alone with the dying dragonkin. She inspected him, noting a deep gash in his leg to match the one in his neck. He gurgled incessantly, but Gilda couldn’t help him. She could patch up the odd scratch, not a mortal wound. Edgarn tried to articulate something, but his words weren’t strong enough to break through the pool of blood in his throat. With horrified resignation, Gilda waited until he was still, then turned out his pockets. 

Inside, she found a vial with a foul smelling torpor in it, likely poisonous, as well as a note written with a delicate hand. 

Just the boy, and just a drop. Nihilin rives us into nothing. The note read. What in the hell does that mean? Gilda shook her head in befuddlement. More cult nonsense? It reeked of Anowyn, of psychotic sycophants plotting for their false god. Grenfi returned a moment later unharmed, thankfully. Gilda looked to her expectantly.

“Nothing, she got away.” She looked troubled, as did Gilda. She handed Grenfi the note. 

Grenfi read it, her pupils shrinking down. “I think it’s time we grab Elias. We need to do something about this, and fast.”

5

Upon seeing their vessel for the first time, Domini made a startling realization; she wasn’t sure if she could swim. Their ship, a three masted barquentine named The Autumnal, was imposing and magnificent. It sat in the docks of Travertine, bobbing softly in the temperamental waters. The Autumnal was a dark reddish brown, made of imported mahogany from the Tabernacle Wood of northern Favergon. The sides of the boat were lined with small gun ports where cannons would fire from. Domini hoped they wouldn’t see any use on the expedition. A grayish yellow dawn sky framed the waters of the bay in peculiar sepia tones. The weather seemed moody, as though threatening a storm. The captain, an extremely boisterous satyr with woolen mutton chops and scant few teeth named Altizo, spoke of The Autumnal as though it were one of his own children. 

He lovingly touched each mast as they passed, inspecting the cloth canvas for imperfections. The deck was pristine and shining, having been freshly swabbed, and a series of crates had been lashed down. In the days leading up to their departure, Domini had spent most of the time outdoors, watching as the ships were packed with a seemingly endless amount of crates and barrels. Whatever she saw on the topmost deck must have been what they couldn’t fit below. The Blue Company insignia was emblazoned on a flag that flapped away on the sternmost mast. Or was it the mizzenmast? Domini couldn’t rightly remember. Altizo had very quickly inundated them all with maritime terminology, and it did not find purchase in her mind. 

Several other vessels sat in the port as well, all preparing to accompany them on their venture. With the deckhands came several regiments of Blue Company soldiers, both Royal and True Blues, as well as several mages from Callibe on each. It was much more of a production than Domini was expecting. She had assumed their expedition would be a quiet affair, yet most of Travertine stood near the port, watching excitedly as they prepared to depart. Domini stepped onto the boat and felt her weight shift beneath her awkwardly. She took several tentative steps before feeling her stomach lurch into her throat. Goodness me. She could hop through Ithil Gateways without a second thought, but a crumby old boat was too much to handle?

“Having trouble, Domini?” Sidona chortled. “I’m hardly surprised. You’ve got the grace of a one legged troll.” She stood expertly, immune to the shifting gravity. 

“Instead of minding Domini, why not keep an eye on your prized statue?” Zave interrupted, motioning to Hezekiah. “I’ll bet he can’t swim all too well.” Domini was grateful for his intervention, but didn’t say as much. Zave was pleased with his retort, the many scars on his face deepening as he smiled to himself. He was a man that had weathered much, not dissimilar to some of the boats that Domini saw stationed nearby; bulky, gnarled, but reliable. 

 Domini walked the deck just behind Zave, steadying herself on him when the waves would rock the boat around. He didn’t seem to mind. They may not have talked much, but Domini felt a quiet companionship with him. She suspected that he was still sore about her leaving for Haletheas without a word, then showing up again with Elias’s less than loved family in tow. If he was of two minds about her, he handled it well. She cherished that modicum of tenuous friendship. So far away from Elias and Tish, Domini felt she had little in the way of friends. There was Sidona and Hezekiah, but they both felt distant, not entirely devoted to the cause like she was. Am I entirely devoted? Domini wondered. She had regained her memories, but did that mean she agreed to do whatever it was that Vindegost expected of her from the beginning? No, he said from the start that Domini could choose, and she would. Just not yet. 

Leopold seemed even more disturbed by the boat than Domini. He was in his human form for the time being, and was thus safe from the sun, but it didn’t seem to be the sun that bothered him. 

“It’s the water.” Cirro said as he hopped on. “Vampires melt like sugar in hot tea when you put them in water.” Leopold cringed away as a few rogue drops splashed up onto the deck, as if to confirm Cirro’s assertion. 

“It is only running water that poses a problem.” Leopold stood in the center of the deck. 

“How fortunate then that we’ll be in the middle of the ocean.” Hezekiah said. “You and I will have to lash ourselves down, just to be safe.” 

“Why in the hells did any of us agree to this insanity?” Sidona was askance. “This seems like the absolute worst place for a vampire! Constant sunlight, water, no food?”

“He has his little doll to protect him for the most part. As for food, though…” Zave scratched at his beard thoughtfully. It was a good point. Separated from Hana, someone else would have to tend to the vampire’s need for blood.

“That issue has been seen to.” Cirro assured them. “The Blue Company knows how to handle monsters, especially their own.” Leopold scowled at being called a monster. 

They made for the lower decks, passing through several different levels in the interim. The level that held the massive metal cannons had an alarmingly familiar scent. 

“Is that smoke powder?” Hezekiah asked, his etched face twisted into concern. 

“Aye,” Altizo confirmed, “keeps our cannons deadly, which keeps our ship safe.” 

Sidona, Domini and Hezekiah shared a look of disturbance before continuing to the lower decks. Their accommodations were found on the steerage deck, and they were certainly minimal. Hammocks hung from bolts on the walls, and several barrels had been shorn in half and lashed down for use as tables. It was better than nothing, but travel by boat was most definitely…different. Altizo left them to get situated, and began seeing about the rest of the boat. He was meticulous, caring much about his craft. Zave immediately tossed his things onto one of the hammocks and plopped himself down as if he’d returned home from a long day of work. Domini took the hammock above his. Climbing into it was awkward, and the rope was far too frayed. It bit into her skin as she fumbled her way in. Once finally inside the hammock, it creaked in protest. It’s better than a wagon, I suppose. Hezekiah and the others followed suit, all looking equally displeased. Nobles…

“I don’t suppose you could conjure us up some bedding and blankets, could you, Domini?” Sidona asked. 

“I could try.” Domini shrugged. If they were to spend however long on this boat, they may as well do it in comfort. She pulled her journal from her pack and began jotting down her newly minted memories of the boat and its contents, encasing it within her mind like amber. Then she began toying with it, jumbling the memories together and shifting them about to create new ones, all equally true. In an instant, her wiry hammock melted away, replaced by a plush bed that simply floated in the air. It rocked in tandem with the boat, as though tethered to it. One by one, the other hammocks metamorphosed into beds as well. It looked downright ridiculous, and wasn’t at all what Domini had in mind. Whoops. 

That happened more often as of late. Her power grew stronger, unstable. She would mean to change small details, but would end up altering things much larger than she expected. If simple bedding turned to real beds, what else would she bungle up? The others seemed relatively unbothered by the development, happily diving into the beds that Domini had made. All but Ardra, who stood nearby, staring at her. Her gaze was unsettling, expectant. Domini turned away. She still found herself intimidated by the mediator. The small portion of the Other that remained within Domini cooed softly. It had become much more pliant since retrieving her memories, as though approving of the path she was on.

 It was that exact path that Domini felt was influencing this change in her magic. The closer they drew to the Abyss, to this…Nihilin, she felt it growing within her, writhing. She feared changing too much, irreparably damaging the fabric of the world. That fabric seemed so thin now, so easily manipulated. In the back of her mind, a question begged to be asked; if her power to create was unstable and ever growing, what of her power to Erase? The Other shrieked at the thought, and Domini left the topic alone. 

Once their belongings were stowed and Altizo recovered from the shock of seeing a fleet of beds floating in the steerage deck, the group returned to the main deck. The gray sky loomed overhead, with only faint traces of flowery yellow sunlight piercing through in places. Several winged lizard creatures skittered by on the bay breeze, like magpies searching for remnants of a fisherman’s daily catch. Domini added them to her journal. As she finished jotting down this new memory, she noticed the throng of Travertine citizens making way for a group of people. 

Vormis Floe walked with Marlyn Gemmist and a regiment of Blue Companymen. Behind Vormis, Domini saw Emiline, as well as the prisoner, Vilkin Suneater. He was shackled, but armored. His plate fit him loosely, and seemed to be melted in places, as though carelessly thrown into a forge. Cirro rushed to greet Vormis and the others.

“What’s this?” He asked, looking at Emiline and Vilkin. 

“An expedition requires experts, and there are none more knowledgeable than these two.” Vormis said.

“Vice commander Vormis insisted on bringing the prisoner.” Gemmist added. “Better to have him doing something useful than rotting in the dungeon. If there’s still use to eke out of him, that is.” 

Cirro eyed his commanding officers suspiciously. “What use would we be eking from him?”

“Well, in the event that the Sunburst needs to be reignited, I can think of no better kindling than the man who stole the power from it to begin with.” Gemmist said. Both Emiline and Vormis darkened at the comment. Vilkin said nothing, his gaze vacant. Domini felt for him. She’d been in his position too many times, forced to be an instrument of another’s will. 

“Happy for the company, we are, just keep those spells to yourself on my boat, Missy.” Altizo said to Emiline as he walked by, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Domini. Her face flushed with embarrassment. 

“Just get the mages to Soller’s Isle safely, they’ll handle the rest. Arista watch over you, Cirro.” Vormis said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Cirro rolled his eyes. 

With that, they all filtered onto The Autumnal and the gang plank was removed. In a way, it felt as though that was the first nail in a very elaborate coffin. Vormis, Gemmist, and the rest of Travertine watched as they raised anchor and drifted out to the bay proper. Deckhands scurried about, silently annoyed to have to maneuver around Zave and the others. Most of the Blue Company soldiers on The Autumnal were busy waving to their loved ones on the shore. Once Travertine was little more than a speck on the horizon, the men and women began to slowly filter below deck.

Domini found a spot midship with Zave and Cirro. Both men were approximations of each other; each bearing a big hacky sword and a testy attitude. The men stood stoically, the briney air whipping their hair about. Domini found herself curious about something.

“Cirro,” She began, “why do you have such distaste for the gods?” 

“That is a tale I’d sooner leave untold.” He said. He seemed one with the breeze. 

“You don’t believe in them?” 

“No, I do. Belief is not my issue. I disagree with them.” 

“Disagree? With the gods?” Zave eyed him. 

“I disagree with their practices. Do you remember how I said I value loyalty? That extends to the gods. I expect the gods to be as devoted as their devotees. When people beseech Arista to watch over them, I expect her to do just that. When Folnish is bade to preserve a soul taken from this world, it is his duty to do it. Gods do not have the luxury of choosing which of their followers are worthy of their blessings. Faith unrewarded is profane, it shouldn’t exist.” Cirro spoke passionately. 

“It sounds like you have some experience in such matters.” Domini said.

“Yarrage, the town I am from, follows Arista fervently.” Cirro explained, “Our town was befallen by a dark, evil being. I prayed each day for Arista to deliver us, and my prayers fell on deaf ears. I had worshiped her for as long as I could remember, her presence within me was a natural thing. But when Yarrage was besieged by fell forces, Arista was silent, uncaring. In the end, the Blue Company came to our aid. Men saved us, not gods. Any being that demands worship but cannot tend their flock is undeserving of it. Gods are nothing more than kings and barons of a plane above ours, demanding a tithe of obeisance for the chance of their love. I reject that. I pine after no deity.”

“It’s why I find your assertion to be a manifestation of Simri herself absurd. I simply cannot believe that the gods care enough to do such a thing.” He trained his bright yellow eyes onto Domini. 

“You think she’s lying?” Zave asked.

“Not lying, no. I think perhaps Domini is confused. There have been countless prophets and martyrs and self proclaimed saints in the realm, all espousing omens of doom with a solution that only they can offer.” 

“But you think the Abyss is a very real threat to us all.” Domini said.

“I do. I just don’t know if you’re the solution.” Neither do I. The Other gurgled in disappointment.

“I can’t imagine Denithor likes hearing this sort of talk from you.” Zave narrowed his eyes in a way that might have been playful.

“We avoid such topics.” Cirro was curt, his tone an indication that their inquiries should go no further. The man was especially private when it came to matters of the heart. They had pried the reason for his religious disdain from him, but Domini suspected that asking him about his and Denithor’s relationship would bear little. 

Domini let the line of conversation expire, leaving the two men to their brooding. She went below deck where the churning of the waves was slightly less intense and laid on the floating bed she had conjured. There she found Ardra sitting with Leopold. The mediator seemed to be in the middle of a spell, her eyes white with magic. Leopold waited patiently for her to finish, only paying Domini a passive glance. The effect of his doll had worn off for the time being, leaving him as a pale, hostile looking vampire.

“She wishes you to know that she has found…clientele, and that they are now meeting with Favergon’s king.”

“You have my thanks.” Leopold nodded. He looked a bit more relieved. Ardra stiffened once spotting Domini, though said nothing. 

“Was that Hana?” Domini asked. 

“Yes. Last we spoke, she said they were awaiting the King. It seems as though he’s arrived.” 

“Everything’s coming together, then. The delegation and our little meeting with the Royal Blues.” 

“It seems that way, for now.” He nodded.

“For now?” Domini was concerned.

“You’ve traveled with us for long enough to know that things always go awry eventually. Whether it be one’s past, or some new unexpected nonsense, something always finds its way to us, and we to it. You shouldn’t have come back, really. We're the most deleterious group of people you could choose to associate with.” Even with the sliver of levity that she felt coming from Leopold, Domini couldn’t discern if he was joking. She responded with a placating nod. 

“The mediator can assist, should you wish to speak to Elias. I should think he’d like to hear from you.” Leopold suggested. Domini cautiously glanced at Ardra, who scowled at her unblinkingly. 

“Later, perhaps.” 

6

Elias hated watching over the High Councilor. He hated listening to her meetings, the sound of her slurping her milky tea day in and day out. He hated the overpowering smell of her chambers, which was so unlike the musk that Zave would give off. He hated listening to the way her pen dragged across paper in a jittery, frantic way. He much preferred the long, smooth strokes of Domini’s quill in her journal. Everything about his being in the Bastille reminded him that he would rather be anywhere else, so long as he had his whole family with him. He ran a few fingers over the torque wrapped around his neck, the motion soothing his nerves ever so slightly. It all felt like an egregious waste of time. Lady Therolan feared assassins and catspaws and knives in the night.

Looking down at the body in the bowels of the Mutora Bastille, Elias finally agreed that she was right to fear. 

He stood with Gilda and Grenfi on a secret dock toward the bottom of the Bastille, the sloshing waters nearby nipping at the dragonkin corpse before them. The walls were slick with slimy algae and mosses, giving everything a deep green outline. The two women had come to him in a panic, their clothes smelly and sodden, and urged him to follow them. Once led through the secret passage within the kitchens, Elias knew something terrible was afoot. Gilda explained that the dragonkin man, Edgarn, was meeting with someone in the sewers, and that he had some sort of poison on his person. Grenfi had chased the other of the two conspirators, but lost them in the sewers. Elias found that odd for one as flight footed as she. 

Both women looked up at him expectantly. By their account, they had been attempting to cook something when they stumbled into this mess. Now they needed his help to get them out of it. Shite. Elias hated that Lady Therolan had been right to bring him along. With the King of Favergon about, dead bodies couldn’t randomly crop up. It would reek of assassination, and would ruin any chance they had at an alliance or accord. Elias was certain that the king had his own eyes and ears monitoring the comings and goings within the Bastille; he'd seen a few of them in the short time since the royal entourage arrived. They would have to conceal as much of this nefarious plot as they could while also unraveling it. He looked over the note Edgarn had in his pocket.

Just the boy, and just a drop. 

The script was refined, written in flowing, confident lines. Elias uncorked the supposed poison and sniffed it. It reeked. No doubt such a torpor would be immediately identifiable in food. What sort of assassination plot was being stirred up, and by who? Was it someone in the Constance’s camp who bore a grudge against the crown of a foreign country, or perhaps a third party Elias hadn’t considered? It was obvious they meant to target the King’s son, but why? The convoluted nature of it all reminded Elias of Haletheas, of the days when he carried out the Convocation’s wishes and uncovered similar plots. 

He sighed. “Right. First and foremost, we dispose of the body. Grenfi, find something heavy to tie to his feet.” Grenfi nodded and began searching about for detached bricks and stones.

“Eh? We’re not reporting this to the Councilor?” Gilda spoke shakily. 

“Not yet. This delegation of her’s has been in the making for some time, I’d rather not cock that up and be stuck here for any longer than we need to. Better to keep the appearance that nothing is amiss. As of now, the only ones that know anything are us, and whoever is trying to kill the King’s son.” 

“Folk'll find out pretty quick that something is up, now that the head cook is dead.” It was a fair point with an equally fair solution.

“You’re right, Gilly. We’d need some kind of replacement, someone to make food so scrumptious that nobody would dare question it…” He raised a very intentional eyebrow at her. She paled.

“I can’t just take over the kitchens!”

“You’ve complained nonstop about how awful the food is here, you’ve practically wished death upon this fool yourself!” He nodded to Edgarn, whom Grenfi was now affixing an array of heavy stones to. “Well, by some strange twist of fate, your wish has been granted. We need someone to take over in the kitchens seamlessly, so that neither the King nor Constance are the wiser.”

“This is a gods damned horrible idea! You think that the conspirators or whoever won’t take notice? I’ll be gutted first thing.” Gilda shook her head wildly.

“Grenfi can watch over you. She’s handy with a blade. And I seem to recall you know your way around that crossbow.” 

“I’ll protect Gilly as best I can, but we can’t manage a kitchen, look out for spies and solve this mystery.” Grenfi said. 

“Fair enough.” Elias chewed his lip for a moment. Kzark and Deni were about, but they didn’t seem the delicate type. “Perhaps Hana can help, she’s bound to hear whisperings in her line of work. And maybe Dom’s friend Tish, considering she works for Constance.” 

“We called you to help us, stop trying to pawn us off on anyone else! We need you.” Gilda kicked at his shin. 

“I’m not pawning you off, I’ve got my own duties to see to, which now includes protecting the High Councilor from very real assassins that are lurking about.” Elias frowned. Gilda wasn’t wrong, though. He had made himself unavailable to them as of late. In truth, he hoped to simply bury himself in his work as Constance’s bodyguard, dull though that job was. He wanted anything to help pass the time until Zave and Domini came back to him. Every day was spent idly wondering and worrying over them. It was the Waste War all over again. He worried that he would never hear from them again, and someday word would come of their untimely demise. Elias couldn’t stand it, and he knew that sequestering himself from the other friends that were still with him wasn’t the solution, but it was hard to know what the solution actually was. 

Grenfi finished weighing down the brightly colored dragonkin’s body. With any luck, he’d stay beneath the waves long enough for the mess they found themselves in to be swept away. No doubt the other conspirators would circle back around looking for his body later. The body was tied to a series of weighty stones, most of which seemed to have once been part of the walls of the secret dock, but had come loose over time. With significant effort, they three hauled the body to the edge of the dock. Beneath the waterlogged dock, Elias saw nothing but blackness. The water was deep, deep enough that Edgarn wouldn’t be resurfacing for a while at least. Were circumstances different, he would call upon Sidona for help. She’d be perfect for lying in wait until the culprits showed themselves once more, but she was gone with the rest. He gritted his teeth at the frustrating irony of it. 

With a powerful shove, Elias sent Edgarn into the hungry waters, watching as his dazzling scales sank beyond eyesight. It was one less problem for the moment, but things were far from over. Early morning light broke into the cave, sending bright spears into the dock. It was a signal to Elias that it was time to go. Clandestine meetings were not meant to last into the morning hours. Gilda was anxiously silent, her round face curled into a pout. She was obviously spooked, but just as obviously annoyed that Elias wasn’t doing more for them. He strode over and knelt to her in the dampness. 

“Fetch Hana, tell her what we know. I’ll fetch Tish and do the same, and we can all figure this out. Together.” 

She lessened her glowering. “That’s more like it.” 

—

Some time later, Gilda found herself in the scrappy tavern that was connected to the brothel Hana entertained her clientele in. It was a small space, barely even a room, really. There was no front door, just an open wall where those inside could watch the now intermingling forces of the King and the Delegation as they shopped or drank or whored away their free time. As it was barely even dawn, only the most intrepid of night owls remained awake. Several of the King’s men left the brothel with looks of insufferable satisfaction on their faces. Gilda occupied the most cramped of tables with Grenfi, Elias, and Tish. They waited for Hana to be finished with her current client, which Gilda was shocked to learn was in fact a woman. 

The two stood just outside the brothel making small talk. Gilda thought it an odd practice between two strangers that had just finished rolling through the sheets together. She was of the King’s men, though Gilda never saw her face. She both entered and left the brothel donning full plate armor, as well as a fancy looking cape fastened around her neck with a glowing brooch. Looks more like a carpet than a cape to me. The only indication that she was a woman at all was the lengthy mane of auburn hair that tumbled out of the back of her helmet, as well as her voice. With several more polite courtesies exchanged, Hana bid the knight farewell and found them in the tavern. The barkeep, a rotund gnomish man named Tahgrim, knew to pay their conversation no mind. He busied himself inspecting the taps on the kegs of his very cheap, very strong ale. 

“I was informed that you were here.” Hana said as she tenderly sat down. She wore robes of a deep green with silver trim, the former of which served to accentuate her eyes. The robes were askew, likely thrown on in haste to meet them. It allowed for a more than proper view of her prettily carved body. She put fingers like twisted vines on the rough surface of the table expectantly. Gilda always found her to be an anomaly. She was certainly off kilter—only a madwoman could love a vampire, but she had a wisdom about her as well. “Seeing you all together means that there is some sort of development, yes?” 

“You could say that.” Gilda twiddled her thumbs. 

“Do tell. Guard Captain Polaena pays well, and I cut our time short on your account. Has the King come to an accord with our High Councilor already?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” Elias sipped on a frothy mug of ale. 

Hesitantly, Gilda informed her of the goings on, the doll’s static face unchanging all the while. Tish shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the retelling of events, her arachnid appendages fidgeting with the note left to Edgarn. She examined the handwriting closely with her many eyes. She was less than thrilled to have been roped into their counter-scheme. Once Gilda finished her bumbling tale of cookery and crookery, Hana’s captivating green eyes lit up, as though a realization was made. 

“Ah, you mean for me to use my work as a means of extracting information from the King’s men.” She said.

“Precisely so.” Elias nodded.

“I’m afraid I have to decline.” Eh? 

“Hana, the fate of Constance’s Delegation, of the world at large may hang in the balance. You do realize that, right?” 

“I do, but there are some boundaries that one does not break. Knights have code of honor, as do clerics and merchants and even thieves, to an extent. This is mine. Things said between two joined bodies should stay between them. You’ve loved before, Elias. Would you wish for the things you’ve said in the throes of passion to be repeated to parties they weren’t meant for?” Her words disquieted him.

“Knights have codes, sure. But sometimes codes have to be broken for a greater good. Who will your code of honor be protecting if the world is swallowed up by this Abyss thing?” Elias persisted. 

“Do you sincerely believe the fate of the world rests on my loose tongue?” 

“It could. There is a killer about, one with designs to thwart our delegation somehow. We need to do whatever it takes to stop it. Without the delegation, the realm remains at odds, and we might never have a proper chance at stopping the Abyss before it’s too late. Please, Hana.” Gilda wondered if he sincerely believed what he was saying; that the world was coming to an end, and that Domini might be their only hope. 

Her eyes flitted about thoughtfully for a moment. “Very well. If you truly believe it will help, then I will compromise my own creeds for you.” 

“Thank you.” Elias breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I will only divulge things that I believe to be pertinent to your…investigation. My clients pay for respect and discretion, and I am determined to give them as much as I can.” Very few times had Gilda seen her so stern about things. 

“That’s all I require.” 

“Shall I relay these happenings to Leopold and the others?” Hana asked as she stood from the table. Elias was bewildered.

“Relay?” 

“Yes. The mediator among them has magics that enable us to stay in contact. We speak when able.” 

“Well then.” Elias blinked away his shock. “That would have been helpful to know these last few months.” 

“The mediator and Domini have friction, I believe. Perhaps that is why she hasn’t made an attempt.” No doubt Zave hasn’t a clue that the other Drow can even do that. Gilda rolled her eyes. Such a dullard, he was. 

“If you could, just have Ardra let Zave and Domini know that all is well,” He paused, “and also that I miss them.” 

“The nature of the spell is very limited, only so many words can be used.” 

“Oh trust me, I’m well aware how it works. Don’t tell them of the murders yet, we don’t want to needlessly worry them.” 

“You say that like we’ve got this under control.” Gilda looked on skeptically from her seat at their table, her tiny arms crossed. Elias issued her a reassuring smile. 

“Don’t we?” 

7

In all his life, Zave hadn’t ever been on a boat. He thought it preposterous; Xallajin was a port city with clear waters and temperate waves, and yet he’d never been on a boat? Many times in his childhood had his parents taken him to swim, allowing him a view of the vessels anchored far offshore. He’d never given much thought to boats or maritime life before being on one himself. The week they’d spent on The Autumnal captivated him. Zave found that he loved the rhythm of the waves that carried the ship ever onward; both a lullaby when he was tired, yet also a rousing song when work needed doing. 

The briney air tasted wonderful, and the sting of misty saltwater spraying onto his skin made him feel alive. Others in his party complained that being confined to the vessel felt stifling, but Zave disagreed. It was freeing. The ocean was vast and dangerous, and they braved it all the same. Were he a more dexterous sort, he would climb the masts and help with the rigging, or perhaps perch in the crows nest looking for far off vessels or obstructions. 

As he was, he made do simply hauling crates of provisions between decks as needed, but it still felt rewarding. Domini found him around midday, having just freshly swabbed the deck. Altizo insisted that his deckhands could handle it, but Zave carried on doing it. It was a damn sight more fun than sitting below deck with Lemarque and the others as they brooded and pontificated about what they’d find once they reached Soller’s Isle. The tiefling approached him excitedly, very unlike her usual self. Generally she was overly formal, like they were strangers that didn’t share a lover. He was glad to see her smile for once. 

“I take it you’ve got something to tell me?” Zave asked. He wrung sweat from the thin white tunic he wore. Domini grimaced at that.

“Elias sends word that the Councilor is meeting with the King. He also sent us his love, or so Leopold says.” 

“Lemarque? How in the hells is Lemarque in contact with Elias?” I thought he buried those magical stones? 

“Ardra is capable of sending Elias arcane messages herself. I merely got the information from Leopold.” 

“Well that’s a useful trick. Think you could get the mediator to teach it to you?” 

“Unlikely. She bears a grudge against me, and rightly so.” Domini leaned against the railing of the boat as it rocked, as though suddenly weary. She’d gotten her sea legs, but only just. Zave would bet a hefty sack of coin that her knees were purple and bruised beneath her robes from countless unseen tumbles across the deck. 

“Care to say why?” He joined her at the railing, hugging it with his withered arm, the one Amelia had sapped the vigor from in Banesbreak. Then, with resignation, Domini spun him a yarn of how she erased Ardra’s entire mind ‘by mistake’, then restored it sometime later. I wonder if that is what makes the mediator so damn odd. He imagined that one would be crotchety after such an experience. Zave whistled with exasperation.

“Sounds to me like you and the mediator need to talk.” 

“Absolutely not! I worry she’ll set me aflame if I walk too close to her. I couldn’t strike up a conversation, not after what I did.” 

“If it goes poorly you could always just jumble her mind up again.” Zave shrugged. She socked his arm with a feeble punch. “Kidding, kidding.” He relented. “In all seriousness, you should talk to her. She might be able to teach you a thing or two. Hells, if she taught you that spell, we could just talk to Elias ourselves, as opposed to running love letters between a mediator and Lemarque.” 

“We?” She looked up at him. Something in her gaze seemed hopeful. 

“Yeah, we. Like it or not, you and I are in this thing together. We may as well make the best of it.” 

Domini nodded, a thin smile stretching across her dark gray lips. “Thank you, Zave. I think I’ll go pay Ardra a visit—“ 

A high pitched whistle sounded off from the crow’s nest. Zave’s ears pricked up, and began to scan the horizon all around for whatever may have caused the alert. Their ship was surrounded by crystal blue water on all sides, trailing off into the distance to meet the pale horizon. Zave saw nothing with the naked eye, but stayed taught and alert. A moment later, Altizo tromped onto the main deck, his sheeplike hair a frazzled mess. He snatched a spyglass from his first mate, a dark skinned halfling woman with a tight curl of hair atop her head, and looked out across the waters. Zave and Domini stood frozen, waiting for Altizo to bark commands. The satyr snapped the spyglass shut and clopped across the deck toward Zave. 

“We’ve got several unnamed vessels flying no colors headed in this direction, lad. They’re coming from the direction we’re headed, so there ain’t no getting around them.” He spoke as though Zave were the one in charge. Zave stiffened up. Where in the nine hells was Cirro at a time like this? 

“Uh huh. What do you usually do in that situation?” 

“Prime the cannons and prepare for the worst. Pirates are bold, bolder than ye’d think.” 

“You really think they’d be dumb enough to attack Blue Company vessels?” 

“Aye they would. Ever since the Sunburst up and disappeared like a fart on the wind, lots of enterprising folk have found themselves in these waters. And if they’re out here searching for lost treasures, they’ll definitely think we’re doing the same. This is where you and your boys will earn your keep.” 

“Can’t your cannons just sink them long before they ever get to us?” Domini asked, worried. Altizo laughed. 

“Lass, you and your page-turning friends best prepare to get a little wet. Those pirates will have plenty of spells to lob around, same as you. The cannons are for when we get real close, but the battle will start long before then.” Domini gripped her journal tightly.

 Finally, everyone else found their way to the main deck. Zave noticed a fresh bandage on Cirro’s hand. He thought perhaps the djinnblood nicked himself while oiling that cleaver of his. The waves did make delicate tasks rather difficult. It was of no consequence. Soon enough, the deck of each ship in their tiny fleet was awash in blue as soldiers formed up, their cloaks billowing in the strong ocean gales. Zave wondered at how useful standard troops would be on the open ocean. Maybe they’re meant to be intimidating. 

He spotted several Callibe mages floating alongside their neighboring ships, watching over them like gulls. Seeing the mages made him wonder about Emiline, who he then saw on their own ship with Vilkin. She made use of a staff, and Vilkin a long, jagged spear. The spear was as melted as his armor, and glowed similarly to his arm. Vilkin looked more human after their week on the water. With proper meals and access to water, he filled out his armor a bit better and didn’t look half so ragged as before. He still bore the same regretful, haunted expression, but at least had the makings of a will to live. He and Emiline grouped together with Cirro and the others. 

With the prospect of battle on the horizon, they all convened. 

—

Pirates. Living, breathing pirates. Not for long. Sidona readied her khopesh, checking the straps of her armor. Surface world plate was heavy and inflexible, but it worked well enough, she supposed. Hezekiah wore a thin tunic, as armor was unnecessary on his stone skin. All across the main deck, Sidona spied the others of her party, all ready for battle. Zave and Domini stood together, hefty sword and journal brandished respectively. Cirro held his massive cleaver aloft, as did the nominally human vampire with his shotel. Ardra stood behind the Suneater with Emiline, her bright red hair one with the insistent winds. The fleet of pirate vessels was barely a mile off. Even then, Sidona could see men gathered on their decks as well, with no banners or colors to unify them. 

With any luck, the battle would be over before the vessels ever met, but if they did indeed meet, Sidona was ready. She turned to Hez. 

“No heroics. If you fall into that water, it’ll be the end of you. Please be cautious, for me.” 

He ran his sturdy fingers across her cheek. “Even if I weren’t made of rock, I’m sure I’d sink all the same. There weren’t many places to swim in Haletheas. But yes, I’ll be safe.” She kissed him deeply, uncaring for those all around. Surface worlders were slaves to propriety, Sidona had found, but she paid them no mind. It was amusing then, that the one who seemed most bothered by her display of affection was Ardra. The mediator glared at them both balefully. 

“Are you jealous, Ardra?” Hezekiah teased. 

“It sickens me to think that Vitaan died for you.” She turned away. Sidona and Hez both paled. It was easy to look at Ardra and see nothing but the miserable grouser on the surface. Doing so discounted the rest of her. She was sharp, angry, cold, but also capable of love. She grieved still for Vitaan, for the love she’d never gotten to say goodbye to. Sidona had escaped Haletheas with the thing she fought most for. Ardra had nothing. She lost her lover, her place in the Convocation, her purpose. Sidona decided she would talk to Ardra once the pirates were beneath the waves. 

The air was thick with anxiety as the pirate vessels drew closer. Altizo instructed them to only attack once the enemy had, though the gods only knew why. Better to strike first, Sidona thought, to lessen casualties and make the battle quick and decisive. The boat rose and fell with the waves, the motion like that of breathing. Sidona matched her breathing to that same rhythm, shielding her eyes from the harsh surface sunlight that all but blinded her. As her breaths fell into a comfortable tempo, the boat crashed down another wave, and she saw the enemy fleet come alight with magic. 

An entire spectrum of color bloomed from the enemy, each one bearing a separate death for them. Green acid, searing yellow flame, bluish white ice, deep purple necromantic energy, all flew at them in a flurry. It reminded Sidona of her flight from the mediators in Haletheas, of how hopeless survival seemed in that instance. There were but a few of them that time, and yet they lived, spared death by Kian’s sacrifice. With a fleet of ships bolstering them, Sidona was confident they would prevail. 

Emiline and the other Callibe mages sprung into action, weaving together arcane barriers around sections of each ship. Others among them retaliated with their own spells. It was painful to have to simply wait while the vessels drew closer before being of any use, but Sidona endeavored. As the enemy barrage reached them, it collided with the arcane shielding. Portions of it held fast, dissipating the enemy magic and sparing their vessels, but others were not so powerful and were shredded like thin silk. Barbs of ice tore through the sails and masts of some boats, acid melted sections of the hull, fire burned men in their armor, the necromantic energy swarmed them like bees, sapping away their vitality. Battle and violence on the surface world was brutal. Murder without subtlety was barbaric. Sidona steeled herself. 

The two fleets exchanged several more rounds of magic while the vessels drew closer, until finally each boat swung around, preparing the cannons to fire. Sidona could see the eyes of the enemy now; disparate individuals not unlike their own expedition crew, made up of men and women of any number of races. They were just people, and yet they would die. Already they began launching themselves onto The Autumnal and the other ships, the pirates meeting the Blue Company regular soldiers. Sidona thought it high time to take the battle to them, and apparently she wasn’t alone in thinking that. Domini conjured a portal beneath Zave and sent him to the enemy vessel nearest them, the orc descending upon them in a hail of blood and destruction. 

 Cirro himself briefly took to the sky, almost seeming to ride the wind for a moment until it carried him to the enemy. He put his cleaver to work butchering the pirates. Leopold launched himself across the gap once the ships were close enough, and tore into them with his shotel, gutting men where he could. Sidona shielded her eyes as a bright green light erupted near her. She looked to the source and found Vilkin, his spear aflame with verdant magical energy. He propelled himself to a vessel further off, his strength amplified to an otherworldly degree. The vessel he’d shot to burst into flame not long after. 

It was unfiltered mayhem, and Sidona chose to make an entrance. With a psionic push, she launched herself to the nearest ship, cutting into those nearest to where she landed. Above her, Hezekiah loosed his dagger into the mast and broke it with his weight. He landed on a pirate on the way down, crushing the man underfoot and breaching his way to the next deck. The ship was awash with bodies, and more still flooded from the lower decks. The magically inclined among the pirates were by far the most dangerous, yet also the most easily cut down. Sidona weaved between the now tattered sails of the ship, dodging the rigging and swiping of swords to hook her blade into whoever she saw. A small handaxe bit into her arm, and she grimaced, finding its owner to be a colossal mountainkin man with bracers upon his arms that seemed to glow with energy. He was pale white of skin, with coiled muscles that were latticed with scars. His demeanor screamed ‘pirate captain’. 

Hezekiah pulled himself from the section of deck he ruined and charged the man, but was thrown back as though he were weightless. He very nearly toppled over the now battered railing of the vessel into the waters below, but Sidona caught him with a psionic pull. To toss Hez so effortlessly meant that this man must have been perilously strong. Sidona sized him up, determining exactly how to end him. 

That’s when the cannons fired.

Each ship came upon the other like the sun passing the moons. With it, a deluge of deafening sound and splintered wood overtook the deck of the pirate ship. Shockwaves of force knocked Sidona from her feet, and portions of the deck crumbled beneath her. She stood shakily, finding a vast portion of the enemy vessel had been shorn clean in half. Bodies both alive and dead, friend and foe, tumbled into the bowels of the ship. Water flooded in a torrent through the lower decks. Hells… 

A quick survey told her that Hezekiah was alive, if shaken, as well as the other ‘heroes’. She looked to The Autumnal and found it to be barely in better shape. The hull held together, but only just. Mages mended the wood in sections as though they were knitting together wounds, while others hurried water from the lower decks in pails. The mountainkin man still loomed before her. He was intent to kill her, his ship be damned. 

The others had all migrated back to the Autumnal to spare it from its own invaders, all but Zave and Hezekiah. They stood with Sidona against this ox of a man. The pirate captain held two hand axes, prepared to throw. Sidona charged him, khopesh ready to cut the tendons in his legs. A large man fell just the same as any other if cut in the right places, and Sidona was certain he was no exception. He hurled a handaxe at her, the head of it zooming past like an arrow. Sidona scarcely had time to deflect it with a burst of psionic energy. She came in low, prepared to use her smaller stature to her advantage. In the Underdark she towered tall, but on the surface world she was perhaps of average height. Her tactic almost worked, if not for the rib shattering kick the pirate laid into her. It sent her skidding across the deck in a ball. The pirate chuckled as Zave and Hez laid into him. 

“Ain’t nobody own these waters but us! May Nihilin rive!” He bellowed. Hez bit at him with a dagger more cautiously now, but Zave proceeded full tilt with his own sword. When the pirate hurled his other handaxe at Zave, Sidona was stunned to see him deflect it with psionics. Aelnora taught you a thing or two, I see. The pirate frowned, but pressed his attack. What he lacked in martial prowess he made up for in raw strength. His arms pulsed with power, as though blood was ready to burst from his veins. He drove Zave back with his fists, punching at the orc’s dragonscale armor. The armor sliced the pirate's fingers to the bone, but he persevered, pushing Zave toward the yawning fissure in the deck. Sidona’s body felt tired and leaden, but she forced herself to stand on shaky feet. 

She reassessed how to handle the pirate. He was strong, but not so strong that he was slow. That meant that a quick blow was needed to end things. But where? Could she get in close enough to slit his throat? No, Hez would’ve done it already. Then what? She examined him, her eyes drawn to his arms once more. His bracers! She thought, They must strengthen him. It was no wonder he could assail a fighter such as Zave with no weapon. The orc stumbled back, thoroughly stricken by his opponent's power. Sidona lunged forward, khopesh held low. The pirate saw her from the corner of his eye and pivoted to kick her once more, but Sidona instead jumped, enhancing it with a psionic push, her blade outstretched all the while. She felt as it carved through the pirate’s forearm, shattering the bone. He cried out in agony.

Zave recovered his footing and delivered a mortal blow to the pirate’s gut, then turned to let him plummet into the wrecked mass of the ship. No, you moron! Sidona gasped. She held onto the nearly severed arm of the pirate captain with telekinesis, straining against gravity. Zave looked on, confused. Suddenly, the pirate’s body gave way, the last bit of meat and tendon connecting his arm to his body shredded. Sidona was left with a severed arm. She pulled it toward her. 

“Thanks.” Zave said breathlessly. “Why’d you want his arm, though?” 

“His bracers enhanced his strength, I think.” She attempted to peel the bloodied arm out of it. 

“Perhaps we worry about the spoils later, Sid?” Hezekiah suggested, fear plain in his grated voice. “This boat is hardly a boat any longer!” 

She nodded, then bounced her way back to The Autumnal where the others had just finished mopping up the rest of the enemy boarding party. Hezekiah followed with his dagger, and Zave with a jump of his own. It wasn’t psionically bolstered, and so wasn’t nearly as graceful as Sidona’s. I’ll have to teach him later. 

Sidona looked out across the waters of Traver’s Sound, seeing the once pristine ocean now littered with shattered planks of wood and bodies. Each of the three pirate vessels was either below the ocean or very close to it. Pirates screamed and begged from within the waters, some clinging to driftwood and begging for help. The Blue Company vessels offered none. Sidona agreed that the pirates didn’t deserve it, but it certainly didn’t feel heroic. Mages and what priests had come along tended to the wounded on board. A chorus of agonized moans swept across the ocean. She closed her ears to it. Death was not new to her. Sidona allowed herself to collapse on the deck, but shooed away any priest that thought to help her. Others needed it more, she would live. 

Zave and the others had sustained relatively minimal damage, little more than cuts and bruises. They were used to such conflict, most likely. Vilkin returned to their ship like a green comet streaming through the sky, his armor almost glowing. Emiline saw to him, more out of curiosity than concern. From what Sidona could see, Vilkin had difficulty reigning in his power once it was unleashed. It fought against him, desperate to escape him. Concerning. 

Domini had seemed curiously absent during the battle, in Sidona’s estimation. The tiefling might not have a mind for combat, but her illusions would have most certainly been of use during the battle. She discarded the issue as Zave approached. The orc knelt to her. 

“What was that about the bracers?” He eyed the severed arm. Sidona forgot she had been holding it, and handed it to Zave. He peeled the arm out of the bracer as though it were a present for his name day, then tossed it overboard. After pouring a ladle over the bracer to clean the blood from it, he stuck his own arm inside, the withered of the two. The bracer fit perfectly, and immediately a change could be seen in him. His muscles didn’t bulge quite as intensely as the pirate captain’s did, but there was a notable increase in his heft. He swung his sword several times with one hand, grinning through his beard all the while. 

“Plumar’s gaze! Thanks, Sidona.”

 She nodded. 

“As if you weren’t already big enough.” The vampire joked wryly. His left arm bled in several places. Outside of his vampiric form, he was significantly less powerful.

“Watch it, Lemarque, I could toss you around like a ragdoll now.” Zave retorted.

 If he had both bracers, he’d be even more formidable. Sidona sighed. There was no way for the brutish orc to have known the bracers were magical in any way. He was simple, painfully so. With the remnants of the battlefield being picked over, Sidona took a moment to rest. The journey to Soller’s Isle was far from over, and Sidona suspected that pirates would be the least of their concerns. 

8

Creminoid caps, green slime, giant manta ray meat, seasoning. Gilda took inventory of the current ingredients at her disposal within the kitchens. Today’s meal would be some approximation of seafood, it seemed. She worked with what she was given, and often enough it was whatever the newfangled group of merchants would bring with them. With the King’s arrival to the Mutora Bastille came a whole host of hunters, trappers, fishermen, and general laborers. The fishermen always put Gilda on edge, she worried they would one day stumble upon Edgarn’s corpse, and their delicate ruse would be lost. She pushed the thought from her mind for the time being, squaring away today’s meal was far more important. 

The fishermen had caught a giant manta ray the day before, and sold it to their kitchen for cheap. Gilda had recruited several of Constance’s guardsmen to help her cut the damn thing into usable pieces. She’d spent the night prior boiling down the rubbery cartilage of the manta ray into a usable stock, the scent of which wafted through the entire kitchen. One of the manta ray glands that were harvested produced a terribly sticky substance that Gilda guessed could make a decent filling for some sort of fish pie, but was left in a jar for the time being. Grenfi stood sentry on a spice shelf nearby, her mouth watering. The manta ray soup would be served with stewed creminoid caps, which gave the dish a pleasant fungal smell. Gilda was appalled when she first saw the almost cute creminoids for sale in a wicker basket in the market, their forms that of small mobile mushrooms. Once she tried one, however, she knew she needed them in her kitchen. Cute or not, they made for exceptional stew. 

Gilda refrained from peppering the thick bread loaves she made with powdered beetle bits, as she was sure the High Councilor would have something to say about it. She did, however, glaze the crust with a rich reduction she cooked up from camel butter and smoked salamander skins. Camels were common in the desert regions of Morkesh, serving as the perfect method by which to transport goods via sled across the sands. Gilda liked their milk, and was determined to get her hands on camel meat at some point, even if it took a hefty trim from her weekly ingredient budget. The giant salamanders of Ombos would be a bit harder to get into the kitchen, as the desert folk who rode them were not keen to sell them to outsiders. She suspected the skins she bought were poached, but if she didn’t buy them, someone else would. Better to put them to use than not.

She’d taken to leading the kitchens effortlessly, even if she didn’t want to. The scope of her work was far larger than it had ever been before, but she liked it. It gave her something to focus on that wasn’t the brewing assassination plot. With her dishes simmering, Gilda put the final touches on the dessert she was cooking up. It was a candied slime dish, using some of the green gunk she slipped on in the caves beneath the Bastille, where Edgarn had been found. 

The slime was slathered on top of a chunky cake with sweet beans from somewhere in eastern Favergon. It gave the dish a taste like sweet grass, with enough texture to suit the picky palates of the nobles, she hoped. Having such access to foods from places she’d never even visited made each day an exciting challenge, a puzzle to solve. To finish off the slime cake, Gilda dusted a bright red powder overtop, from a spicy bulb plant that grew in the deserts. Elias remarked that it was similar to the Dorojia’s kiss that grew near Anonta, but far drier. It made for an excellent spice. 

With the dishes all but finished, Gilda deftly hopped from her place on the counter to the floor and began ordering about her slew of helpers to carry dishes out to the feast hall. They nodded and began eagerly scooping up what they could and scurrying out of the kitchens. When first Gilda took command, the others in the kitchens were skeptical of her, slow to follow her orders. After their first night of service, however, they knew she wasn’t anything like Edgarn. Gilda knew what she was doing, and they were delighted to serve something to their guests that wouldn’t immediately turn their stomachs. Happy lords and nobles tended to tip their servers, after all, and with food this good, the extra coin flowed freely indeed. Gilda allowed herself a prideful smirk as the kitchen emptied. 

On a battlefield she was meek, a follower. In the kitchen she was king and commander, leading her helpers like a great general in battle. A ladle was her greatsword, a frying pan her battle standard. She dabbed a ratty towel on her soaked brow and plodded up one of the kitchen walls to where Grenfi sat on the spice shelf. It afforded an excellent view of the whole kitchen, her little kingdom. The gnome kept one hand on her shortsword, which was in fact just a human dagger. 

“Anything out of the ordinary?” Gilda asked as she laid her head in Grenfi’s lap.

“Not that I could see, no. Everyone in the kitchen scarcely has time to get up to no good with how ragged you run them.” Grenfi joked. 

“S’pose that’s good then, yeah?” 

“It is, I just wish I could actually sit around and watch you cook, and not have to worry about assassins.” 

Gilda understood the feeling. She worked hard to forget it, but it did nag at her constantly. No headway had yet come from their end of things, they both had to simply wait and see if Hana or Elias could uncover something more. They sat together for a while, the ambient warmth of the kitchen almost lulling Gilda to sleep. With only a few candles lighting the dark kitchen, the brightest thing in it was the stoves, which smoldered a lazy orange now. Plates and cutlery clanging together echoed into the kitchen from the hall like a rhythmless song. Grenfi ran her fingers through Gilda’s sweaty hair, uncaring for how gross it likely felt. She let her eyes drift closed, the fatigue threatening to leave her muscles for just a moment. 

The sound of someone bursting through the kitchen’s double doors did wonders to ruin that. Gilda nearly toppled off the shelf. She looked to the source of the disturbance and found it to be nothing more than Mackson’s meerseniers bringing in a shipment of exotic vegetables. Minbi led them, using the small ramp near the edge of the counter to haul the goods up to it. They milled through the kitchen like a regiment of little soldiers, as if they knew it intimately. Minbi turned and issued them both a wave, her face bearing an unconvincing smile. Gilda turned and saw a similar expression on Grenfi’s face. She sat up, concerned. 

“You alright, Fifi?” 

“Of course, why do you ask?” Grenfi glanced away with her pale blue eyes. It was in that moment that Gilda discovered that Grenfi was a horrific liar. What’s going on?

“You just seem tense, is all.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing that awful.” Grenfi insisted, “The meerseniers have had supply shortages recently, and so were forced to raise their prices more than they would have liked. They’re none too pleased to have to deal with customers complaining about it, and I think it’s put them all on edge.” At least part of what she said was true, but Gilda couldn’t figure out what. 

“You hear all this from Minbi?” Gilda pointed a thumb at the meerseniers as they swiftly left.

“Yeah, she says Mackson is irate.” Grenfi nodded. That much, Gilda could believe. She let the inquiry lie for the moment, much more concerned with the fact that Grenfi was keeping something from her. But what? Did she and Minbi have some sort of relationship that Gilda wasn’t privy to? Were the gnomish meerseniers up to something? Was the heat of the kitchen getting to Gilda, frying her little brain like an egg? Before she could ponder further, another figure entered the kitchen, her steps preceeded by the heavy clopping of sandals. Gilda half thought a satyr would walk through the doors, but instead it was just Hana. She wore an orange robe that was sheer in places, revealing the carved curves of her body.

The doll looked up at them, her eyes brimming with expectation. 

“I passed the feast hall on my way here, and it was very nearly silent.” Her voice bounced along playfully. “Everyone was too deeply focused on ravaging the meal before them to speak. Even the king himself was speechlessly gorging.” Damn right he was! Gilda was chuffed as could be. Her food was being eaten, being enjoyed by royalty. Gilda knew she had a mind for taste, the High Councilor was just picky.

“I bet you miss it, huh? My food?” Gilda asked. 

“I admit that I do, yes, but it was a worthwhile sacrifice. I suspect I would be too sick with worry for Leopold if I had kept my doll. Food would not taste the same without him. Just as my blood sustains him, his love sustains me.” Always so dramatic. 

“What brings you to the kitchens?” Grenfi asked.

“Ah, apologies. I was so entranced by the sight of the feasting hall that I nearly forgot why I came.” Hana giggled behind her impassive mask of a face. “I believe I may have found something in regards to our…probing of the king’s men.” Gilda thought that ‘probing’ was most certainly an apt description of what Hana did. She stifled a juvenile giggle and let Hana continue.

“Of all the king’s men I have seen, many have commented on the improved quality of the food. It has actually been an excellent segue into conversations concerning the prior cook, so I must thank you for that, Gilda. Curiously, though, not a one I’ve spoken to has ever heard of this man, Edgarn, nor anyone matching his description. The king didn’t have a specific chef or cook that he preferred. It begs the question of where this information came from in the first place.”

“We’ll have to ask Elias about it a bit later. Constance doesn’t like it when we come visit him while he’s with her, and I’ll bet that goes doubly so for when the king is here.” Gilda hopped down from the spice shelf. 

“Do let me know what he thinks on the matter.” Hana bowed lightly.

“You’re awfully invested in this now.”

“Just because I am ill at ease violating the privacy of my clients does not mean I find the information they give me worthless. Elias is right to look into this, you all are, I merely dislike my place within these events.” Several serving girls brought in the first round of dishes from the hall, the bowls and plates nearly licked clean. Seeing that always motivated Gilda to try even harder the next day. The entrance of the serving girls marked Hana’s leave. She bowed to them and shuffled out of the kitchen, her sandals echoing loudly as she went. 

—

Constance sat in the small parlor adjacent to her room talking nonsense with King Jaris and a few others, and Elias wondered if this was how Leonard felt watching over his own king. Was it always so boring, so mind numbingly dull? He was still attentive and alert, ready for assassins to strike at any moment, but gods above if the droning about which country owned what in regards to maritime law didn’t make him want to jump from the balcony of the chamber. 

King Jaris sat with his wife, who was equally as vocal during the negotiation process as he. They were both attended to by the king’s seneschal, a balding orcish man that Elias felt kept his nose just a little too deep in the king’s arse. Relievingly, the king was at least well fed. He made mention of the food actually being edible, and Constance had been pleased to hear it. She was a busy lady, and wasn’t likely to check in on the kitchens of all places, so long as they kept belting out the little pastries she enjoyed. Those within the kitchens didn’t make a fuss about Gilda’s appointment as head cook. In truth, they seemed happy to have Edgarn gone. Nobody inquired about where he went, and few would question it when the personal bodyguard to the High Councilor made dictates to them about how things were to be done. 

“We’re like to go around in circles forever at this rate, High Councilor.” The King spoke. He was a stern man, though earnest. “‘Twas majorly Favergon that funded the creation of Callibe University on Soller’s Isle. I find that gives us the most solid claim to the place.” 

“That is where you misunderstand, your Grace. We do not wish to lay claim to anything. We seek open borders, that is all.” Constance refuted his complaint with a level head.

“Open borders that include allowing your now much more numerous army to cross through our lands?”  

“If need be, yes. But we already see this working practically in Travertine. Our Blue Company men are working with yours, and quite well, if the reports I've received are to be believed.”

“Your defectors, you mean.” The queen chimed. Elias thought her quite bitchy. She sat primly on a mountain of cushions so that she could be of a height with everyone else, as she was a halfling. 

“Separated comrades. A difference of opinion does not nullify the fact that they’re brothers in arms.” 

“And you wish for those arms to have free reign of Favergon?” The king asked.

“Not Favergon as a whole, no. Mainly Soller’s Isle. I understand you’re close with the happenings there?” Constance battled them both expertly. 

“We were once, yes. But my question is this: why do you have such a fervent interest in Soller’s Isle?” 

“Many believe there are things transpiring on the island that merit attention.”

“Your attention? What would you do that I cannot?” 

“I do not think to reach over you, I think to collaborate.” Constance breathed out a measured breath, calming herself. “If something foul does astir on Soller’s Isle, would it not be best to have all parties interested in addressing it be present?” 

The king became pensive for a moment. He was reticent, doling out silvery verbal barbs alongside his wife, but Constance was a master negotiator. She’d been mediating relations between kingdoms for at least a century, and the things she said did make sense. Constance hadn’t the breadth of events, hadn’t the knowledge that Domini was…whatever she might be, and still her cause was reasonable. Elias perked up, becoming momentarily hopeful that the king might finally make a decision about events, but then his Seneschal leaned down and whispered softly into his ear. With that, the king clammed up, becoming steely and curt. Constance recognized that as the end of negotiations for the evening, and called for them to reconvene on the morrow. The Seneschal looked pleased with himself. Bastard. 

Once the Royal entourage was gone, Constance allowed herself to deflate slightly. Her posture sagged, and her demeanor became that of a normal woman, not the High Councilor. 

“We were close, I could feel it.” She sighed. 

“His advisors have plenty of sway with him.” Elias sat in the chair across from her, draping his boots over the table. Constance glared, but didn’t order him to remove them. “It’s why I don’t generally allow my own advisors into the room when accords are to be reached. They have a habit of saying something at just the wrong time and ruining everything. Gods, I remember the days before the Waste War. I had such sway with King Armond, and yet the misers within his court could bend his ear with promises of coin in a way I could not. We very nearly avoided war with Vatrejem back then, if not for a few of his advisors and their snide contrarian comments.” 

“Could you not meet just the two of you?” Elias asked.

“I wouldn’t count on it. He likes having his wife nearby, as well as the others from his little entourage that braved the Abyss with him for the years he was trapped there. That is why Molthus, his seneschal, follows after him to each meeting, even when he isn’t needed. I surmise surviving such an ordeal made them all rather close. He values their opinion, even if that opinion is incongruous with what the realm needs right now.” She took a measured sip from her wine chalice, her dark lips lingering on the rim of it for a moment. “You’ve been quieter lately, far less insufferable. Has something happened?” The High Councilor asked. 

“No, it’s just that I’ve grown bored of needling you.” He lied. 

“Then I would name this the one time in my life that I am happy to be considered dull.” She rolled her eyes. A light commotion outside the door to the chamber caught Elias’s attention, and he immediately threw his feet from the desk and drew his dagger. Constance eyed him warily, but he held a silencing finger to his lips as he noiselessly padded over to the door. In a single motion, he threw the door open and readied his dagger, only to find Gilda and Grenfi outside. They sat together on the stone, as though waiting for him. He couldn’t help but smile at them both. Constance peered over his shoulder and saw them. 

“Eavesdropping? Have you two nothing better to do?” She was annoyed.

“We weren’t eavesdropping! We saw the king and his frilly wife leaving a bit ago and came up to see if you lot were done.” Gilda stood. I suppose that seneschal got bored of his charge after our meeting, the prick. 

“Must you hound Elias every day? He’s quite busy looking after me, and having distractions like you around only makes his job that much more difficult.” 

“Now that’s a bridge too far, High Councilor.” Elias drew his lips into a hard line. “They’re not a distraction. Gilda and Grenfi helped save Banesbreak and Vaeryn Sept, same as me. They deserve the same respect you give me.” 

Constance was taken aback by the candor of his statement. “You’re right. I apologize. I do, however, have to insist that you not sit outside the door like a couple of hungry dogs. At least knock next time. Elias very nearly gutted you both.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Grenfi nodded reluctantly. 

“You may go as well, Elias, just make sure to alert the guards, so that someone else might assume your duties while I sleep.” The High Councilor yawned. 

“Will do.” 

They convened in the cell of a room that Elias had made up for himself just down the hall from Constance’s. The walls of the hallway leading to it were lined with torches, both mundane and magical, but they needn’t have bothered. The blackened, charred walls of the Bastille ate up all light that touched them. The torches looked like little more than weak motes framing an otherwise pitch black hallway. His room was no different, and so he hadn’t bothered with torches or candles. The room held little more than a cot in the corner and the bare essentials for bathing. Elias didn’t need much, not without Domini and Zave. What good would a comfy bed be without someone to share it with? 

Gilda and Grenfi entered and immediately made themselves at home, plopping down on the cot. The way they fidgeted told him they had something to say. 

“Spill it, you two. What’s happened?” 

“Not much, but we do have a question.” Gilda said. “Constance said that Edgarn, the cook, was part of the king’s court and cooked for him, yeah?” 

Elias nodded. “From what she said to us, yeah. It was the only reason she kept him on, even though the food was dreadful.” 

“Where’d she hear that from?” Grenfi joined in. Elias found her more chatty when she was with Gilda. It was rather sweet. 

“I’m not sure where she got that particular information, and I’m not sure we could ask now without letting on that we know something is afoot. Why, what have you learned?” 

“Hana says that she’s, erm, been with a few folk who all say they’ve never heard of Edgarn, let alone of the King having a preference for a particular cook.” 

“Ah, and if we can find out where Constance heard that, it might lead us to our mystery conspirators.” Finally, progress. 

“That’s one possibility, yeah.” Gilda kicked her feet together. 

“What’s the other, Gilly?” Elias pressed. She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “How do we know Constance didn’t hire that bloke herself? Maybe she wanted to hurt the King’s son so that he would leave and she could do whatever she wanted out on the waters.” 

“No, she wouldn’t do that. She might be a bit rude and stuffy, but I think she has a good heart.” 

“Does she? You said yourself that she’s a hell of a politician. You sure you’re not under her spell?” Gilda countered.

“Gilda…” Elias began refuting her claims, but couldn’t find the right words. Some of what she said made sense, but he knew it was wrong. He couldn’t describe it, he just felt that Constance was on the level. Then, an idea struck him. 

“The note!” He almost cried out. “The note you found on Edgarn, do you still have it, Gilly?” 

“Uh, sure?” She pulled it from the confines of her simple dress, the paper damp and smelling of sweat. For Sasho’s sake, take a bath, Gilly. Elias gingerly opened the note. 

“Look,” he pointed, “it’s written in the common tongue, and—“ 

“And it’s written all fancy like!” Gilda exclaimed excitedly. 

“Exactly! So we know it was written by someone with decent penmanship. All we have to do is get our hands on something Constance has written, and I guarantee we’ll find that they don’t match up.” 

“Could we even do that? Compare handwriting like that, I mean.” Grenfi was unsure. 

“We can’t, but we know someone who can, and she happens to work for the High Councilor herself.” Elias grinned. 

“The drider?” Gilly was dubious.

“Indeed.” Elias nodded. “Tish notates things for Constance almost daily. We’ll have no trouble finding her writings, and Tish can tell us if they match.” He wasn’t quite sure how he was thrust into the position of proving Constance’s innocence to his friends, but Elias had to do just that. More than that though, he wondered what they would do once he proved that she wasn’t trying to kill the king’s son. That would mean that the real assassins were still in the Bastille, plotting their next move, now that their first attempt had been thwarted. We have to be quick about this. It was a race against time, and Elias felt as though time had a lead on them. 

“Let’s wrangle her into this tomorrow. In the meantime, you two should go rest, it seems like the kitchens are keeping you busy.” Both of the tiny women said nothing, lingering on the stiff cot. Elias folded his arms expectantly.

“Could we stay here tonight?” Gilly asked, her eyes darting to the corners of the room.

“What’s the matter, Gilly, your own prison cell isn’t cozy enough so you had to come steal mine?” Elias activated his wit. Gilda didn’t rise to his level of annoyance, for once.

“It just feels wrong, you know? Sleeping in separate rooms after so long?” She squirmed. He didn’t say so, but Elias agreed with her. After years of traveling together, of sharing a wagon or a bedroll or whatever else with half a dozen other people, sleeping in a room alone felt especially isolating. Being secluded in such a way gave him a new appreciation for Leopold’s own cold nature. If bereft of companionship for so long, it would be no wonder that one grew icy over time. Perhaps he could share his cramped cot for one evening. 

For Gilda’s sake, of course.

9

With every day that passed, Domini could feel the Abyss growing closer. She felt it in her journal, in how her minute changes to things wanted to jump off the page and wreak havoc on the world. It was why she felt so useless during the pirate incursion several days before. She had begun writing in her journal, shifting her memories to create illusions as she always did, but she could just barely control it. It was all she had in her to keep it from tampering with the pirate vessel that held all of her companions. Something was terribly wrong, and Domini didn’t know how to fix it. 

She could tell no one. Some people held hope that she would defeat the Abyss somehow, while others thought her nothing more than a false prophet, a heretic, a fake. Either way, she said nothing. With how her power was misbehaving, Domini felt she was more likely to make things worse, as opposed to saving anyone. She tasted Longing for Elias, she wanted to go back to Vatrejem, to enjoy the blissful blanket of domesticity that she shared with him and Zave before they were scattered to the winds. Domini sat below deck, hunched over one of the lashed barrels they used as tables. 

The weather outside was stiff and wet, forcing most of the crew below deck. She longed for fresh air, but she would have to wait. With how the winds were tossing the boat around on choppy waters, she’d most certainly flail around until falling overboard. The steerage deck was packed full of Blue Company soldiers, as well as her own companions, and the air was thick with the smell of others as a result. Domini wished she could simply write a clear sky into the world and go enjoy the sun for a while, but didn’t dare write such a thing into her journal. What if it came true? What if she did away with the rain and it was gone forever? Vindegost told her that her power could create wonderful things, but also horrid things. Domini shooed the thought from her mind, staring blankly at her journal. It was only when she felt another pair of eyes on her that she looked up.

Ardra sat on one of the floating beds, her harsh stare digging into Domini. Leopold and the others were nearby, though they kept to themselves for the moment. All but Zave, of course, who was above deck helping the other sailors. She wished he were down there with her, so that he could offer insultingly simple solutions to all of her existential problems. Domini steeled herself with a breath, then held a beckoning hand out to Ardra. Sooner or later, Domini knew she would have to confront this woman, to make amends for the awful things she did. What better time than now? Anxiety crept into her mouth, but she swallowed it down. The mediator wordlessly slid off the floating bed and sat with her. They sat in silence a moment, the buffeting winds outside casting ghostly howls down into their deck. Piercing rains clattered against the freshly repaired hull like arrows, threatening to sink the ship. 

“I,” Domini stammered immediately, “I cannot apologize enough for what I did to you. You didn’t deserve it. You tried to help me and I hurt you for it.” She met the mediator’s gaze. Ardra’s bright green eyes were heavy with malice. 

“I hate you.” She said quietly. Sidona shuffled in her bed to monitor their exchange, but said nothing.

“I know you do. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, I just want you to know that I regret what happened.”

“Your regrets mean nothing. You are a force of chaos that ruins all around it. Vitaan would be alive if not for you, the Convocation would still stand if not for you. Your machinations, intentional or not, have destroyed so, so much.” Her words sliced directly to Domini’s core. 

“I know.”

Ardra herself seemed unsettled. “I hate you all the more because I do believe you will save us.”

Domini started. “What?” 

The mediator leaned in, her expression fatal. “You rendered me into nothing, then remade me once more. You bear the power of the Abyss, of this Nihilin, to erase things, to unmake them. Yet you also bear the power to create, to remake. There is not a being in this world with the potential you currently bear. It’s why I struggle to reconcile these feelings I have. I hate you for the torment you forced me to suffer, but that doesn’t change who you are, or what you are.”

Domini loathed such deific wording. The Other swirled in her mind at that. “And what am I?”

“Our salvation, our deliverer, the one who will preserve us from this thing that seeks to unwind the world as we know it.” Dark orange candlelight painted the mediator’s face in unsettling shades of color, her red hair seemed to blend into the reddish haze of light around them. Domini felt her stomach in her throat. 

“How can you know that?” 

“I don’t know anything. You could just as easily destroy us all. But I feel that you won’t. My time in the Abyss changed me in ways I cannot describe, brought me closer to nothingness. But when I look at you, I see more than that nothingness, I see something anathema to it. It gives me hope, and that hope and my hate for you do not coexist. I want you to succeed, yet I’ve dreamt countless times of cutting your throat and watching your life’s blood stain my hands. You deserve nothing less than a painful, lonely death, but the realm deserves your aid. And so I will cast aside my odious feelings and stand with you, if it means avoiding this terminus that Nihilin has made for us.” 

Domini was speechless. Looking into Ardra’s eyes, she saw her words to be true. She did hate, but she also believed. Something about that conflict made her more human to Domini. It was most certainly not how she expected their conversation to go. 

“You always see the bigger picture, Ardra. I admire that in you.” Sidona commented from her bed. 

“It is to my detriment. I wish I could act in the interest of my feelings alone, as the rest of you do. It is simply not in my nature.” 

“I think that’s why Vitaan liked you.” Hezekiah chimed, his statuesque head emerging from behind Sidona. Ardra scoffed. 

“Don’t flatter me. We know Vitaan was not particularly choosy. She loved Sidona before myself, after all. A mistake if ever there was one.” Sidona smiled at that. 

“Thank you, Ardra, for staying with us.”

“It’s not much of a choice. I feel that I must be here.” 

“Just take the damned gratitude, woman.” Sidona sat up, stretching. Domini caught the mediator rolling her eyes ever so slightly. Witnessing that gave her the confidence to press further.

“Ardra, you said you will stand with me, yes?” She asked. Ardra nodded, unsure of where the inquiry was leading.

“Would you be interested in perhaps sharing some of your magic with me? You’re rather knowledgeable, and I think I could be of more use if I knew how to cast more than simple illusions.” Domini told a half truth. She did want more conventional magic to cast, just mostly because hers was unreliable at the moment. Ardra considered her request for a moment, looking about the cramped steerage deck. With the weather outside the way it was, they hadn’t much else to do. She sighed.

“Very well, I’ll teach what I can.”

“Be wary of Altizo.” Leopold chimed from his position, his vampiric form on display. “The captain will have words if he catches you practicing spellcraft below deck.”

“Something tells me you were the type of child to run to the headmaster when his fellow students got up to no good, Leopold.” Hezekiah taunted.

“You’d be wrong. I attended no public institution, my father hired a private instructor.” The vampire retorted.

“I can’t explain why, but you saying that makes me feel even more right.”

“Begone, I’ll not argue with a walking statue.” Leopold was offended. Domini couldn’t help but smile at them all. The steerage deck was so often as silent as a graveyard. To hear others speak amiably, and even joke to a degree, made the space seem less confining. As Leopold bickered with Hezekiah and Sidona, Ardra produced her own spellbook and splayed it out across the impromptu table. Domini stared at it. It was so unlike her journal, though she would hardly consider her measly journal to be akin to a spellbook at all, even if it was her primary method of casting outside of using her own blood. 

Ardra’s spellbook was bound in a deep purple leather that almost looked chitinous. Her handwriting was as sharp as the rest of her, the spells and incantations within written in an exacting hand. It made scribing them simple enough. The difficulty would come in learning to cast them. She tenderly fingered through the pages, looking for the arcane message spell she’d seen Ardra use prior. Once Ardra caught on, she merely furrowed her brow in annoyance. Domini made herself small, Embarrassment flowing onto her tongue. They spent the next few hours combing through the mediator’s rather extensive set of invocations and incantations, until the waves settled and travel between the decks was permitted once more. 

With that, Domini made for the main deck. She found Zave there, his clothes soaked. All in all, he fit the part of a sailor rather well, she thought. 

“No leaks below deck, I hope?” He asked. The calming skies and waters allowed moonlight to cascade across the ocean like glittering beads of green and purple. 

“All is well. The Callibe mages did wonders mending the ships.” 

“I wasn’t aware mages could do things like that.” He chuckled. 

“Magic is vast, with near limitless applications, I’m finding.” Domini recalled a slew of spells from Ardra’s book; spells for raising the dead, for conjuring beast, for immolating people whole, for elucidating the nature of things, for mischief and petty gain, for annihilation and torment. “I talked to Ardra, finally, at your suggestion.”

“Uh huh? Did you two sort out what you needed, then?” Zave asked, intrigued.

“For now, I think. We’ve made peace, but it’s only because she believes that I am…” She faltered.

“A god?” Zave assisted. 

“Something like that, yes.”

“And what do you believe? I mean hells, I’ve heard what Cirro thinks, what the mediator thinks, even what Elias thinks, but what about you? Do you believe all of this shite?” I’ve wondered that for as long as I can remember, Zave. Domini chewed on the question a moment. Vindegost explained in no uncertain terms precisely what Domini was, and she believed that he had no reason to lie about that. 

“I don't want to believe it, Zave. I don’t. I cannot rise to the expectations of the world. Even if I possess some sort of gift granted to me by the gods, I don't want to believe that they would put their hopes in someone like me.” She felt her voice begin to quaver. Zave put a powerful arm over her. It was comforting, like clinging to a stalwart tree during a storm.

“I know you don’t want to believe it, but you do, don’t you? You truly believe that you will stop all of this?” The Other shifted, as though reaching out to Domini, beckoning her. Its imperceptible noise very nearly coalesced into words. It knew what she was thinking, what she was so desperately denying, and demanded her to face it, to speak the truth.” 

“I do. Simri save me, I do.”

10

“Nope, it’s not hers.” Tish gave Edgarn’s note a wayward glance. I knew it! Elias exhaled with relief.

“Eh? How could you know so fast?” Gilda was in disbelief. 

“I deliver this woman’s missives day in and day out, I think I’d know what her handwriting looks like.” Tish crossed her many sets of arms, one of which was missing.

“Well I delivered messages for the lead Inquisitor of Anonta, and I couldn’t tell you what her handwriting looks like.” Gilda huffed. 

“Well you aren’t a scribe from Audilus.” Tish shot back. Elias felt so, so very good about their chance of success.

“Just take a second look at it, gods dammit.” 

“Very well, I’ll lay it out plainly for you.” Tish deftly unfolded the note on the desk in her modest cell, which was stacked high with scrolls and tomes and declarations made by Constance’s hand. “Look here, do you see how these letters swoop about?” She pointed with sharp, spindly fingers. “Constance never does this. And the way the tails of the letters follow after one another uniformly is another dead giveaway. She has a light hand when she writes. Need I go on?” Elias couldn’t help but be impressed by the Drider. She had a mind for words and figures, and was fastidious in keeping track of the High Councilor’s schedule and needs. Most politicians would kill for such an efficient aide, and Tish wasn’t even part of Constance’s cause. 

Domini had spoken at length about Tish, about their time together in the floating city of Yantilar, in the distant northwest of Morkesh. They were scribes together, and had uncovered whatever odd ritual that Domini had been a victim of at the time. The Teret Scholar, an elf named Vindegost, was a man Elias wanted to see strung up by his innards for how he’d hurt her. The two women had been through much together, along with another seldom discussed friend named Damil. Even though Elias didn’t know Tish overly well, he surmised that if Domini trusted her, then so could he. 

“I think she’s right, Gilly. Constance didn’t do this.” Grenfi added from atop the stack of books she sat on. The cell was cramped enough on its own, Tish’s cornucopia of records only worsened that, leaving little space to sit in the damp room. There was no bed that Elias saw, only a thick nest of webbing in a corner of the cell that looked oddly comfortable. Strands of early morning light bled into the cell from cracks in the walls, just barely serving as a source of illumination for the inky blackness of the space. The musty smell of parchment melded with the sickly sweet scent of rot that permeated most places in the Bastille. 

Gilda flailed her arms out. “Well if Constance didn’t hire the assassin, who in the nine hells did?” That’s the question. 

“Let’s take a look at what we know.” Elias offered. “A dragonkin named Edgarn was given orders from someone to kill King Jaris’s son. He was in cahoots with someone else in the Bastille, and that person got away. So by now, the offending parties know that we are on their trail.”

“But wait, why’d the other person kill Edgarn if they were working together?” Gilda asked.

“Perhaps they feared he would reveal the identities of his collaborators?” Tish replied. Elias mulled it over. Bits and pieces of the plot made sense, but others were oddly out of place. Royal assassination was a delicate thing, and many elements of the plot were pained over, while others were given barely a cursory glance. Why use such an obvious poison, for instance? It almost seemed as if the scheme were designed to be discovered. At least, the phase of the plan that involved the harm done to the King’s son was. The conspirators were steadfast in hiding their own identities. What a gods damned headache. 

Elias chewed his cheek nervously. “Continuing on, we know that Constance personally hired Edgarn on as the head cook via someone else’s recommendation.” 

“But we don’t know who that might be.” Tish fiddled with a bit of her silky hair. 

“It might be time to ask her about that.”

“But you said we didn’t want to worry her!” Gilda tilted her head.

“We know for a near certainty now that Constance isn’t involved in the plot. Knowingly, at least. Figuring out who in the hells told her to hire Edgarn would make things a lot less foggy. Without that, we’re at a dead end, and I doubt these assassins will wait much longer before trying something else.” 

“Might I beg that you omit my involvement in all of this when you speak to the High Councilor? I don’t think she’d feel comfortable having me scribe her missives if she knew that I helped you all.” Tish said, almost abashed. Elias didn’t take it personally. It had become a regular occurrence for others to view association with Elias and his companions as a bit caustic. It made sense, he thought. They’d become known far and wide for their insane antics and rebellious nature. They were useful and did good in the world, but they were a rogue element. Most people preferred a level of predictability, and they wouldn’t find that with Elias. 

“Not a word to Constance about you, Tish. I promise.” He nodded. The chitinous plates of her face relaxed.

“Well, if you’re going to lay your knowledge of this plot at her feet, I recommend doing it now. She has nonstop meetings scheduled with the King, a few meersenier guilds, and a Vatrejemi minister who wishes to bleat about his personal accommodations, and that's all happening after the midday luncheon.” 

“That’s perfect, then.” Elias smiled wryly. “Gilly, do you think you could whip up some of the sweets that Constance likes, perhaps they will soften the news we bring.”

—

Gilda couldn’t help but enjoy watching the High Councilor choke on the little pastries she’d baked her. They were tasty, some of Gilly’s best work, truth be told, and yet Lady Therolan coughed up a heap of flaky dough as Elias made her abreast of current events. It was her just desserts for being so rotten all the time. The High Councilor’s pretty eyes were wide as Elias explained Edgarn’s death and their subsequent disposal of his corpse. Gilda sat nearby with Grenfi looking entirely guilty, though for what, she wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t like they killed the stupid bastard, they just wanted to eat something that didn’t taste like muddy shoe leather.

Light spilled into Constance’s sitting room from the nearby balcony, brightening the room significantly. The colorful tapestries all around fought against the dark walls of the Bastille, and in Gilda’s estimation, the tapestries were losing. Pretty cloth was no match for these blackened walls that had stood for who knows how long. The thought made her feel small, smaller than usual, anyhow. 

Once Elias was finished, the High Councilor simply sat a moment, mouth agape as she digested the tellings. 

“There was an assassination attempt, and you thought to keep it to yourself?” She was livid, training a poisonous gaze onto Elias. He shrugged.

“We had it under control. We just wanted to clear a few things up before bringing this to you.” 

“You’re my own personal guard! Assassination is the entire purview of your job!” She slapped her palms down on the table, incensed in a way Gilda hadn’t seen before. 

“I protect you from assassins, this assassin had their sights on the king.”

“Which is all the more reason to tell me! Ugh, I’m beginning to understand why Cirro was so willing to part with you all. You’re all useful insofar as you listen, and you don’t listen often.”

Elias bristled at that. “If you want the truth, we didn’t trust you. We couldn’t know that you weren’t the one who hired the assassin to begin with.” Constance blurted out a laugh. 

“Is this some sort of jape? I’ve spent the better part of my life keeping kingdoms from tearing one another to pieces, and you think I’d hire some kind of bumbling assassin?” As the words left her mouth, she drew her lips into a thoughtful line. “I’ve made rash decisions before, and my efforts at maintaining peace have been variable, I will admit, but I have never acted in self interest. Everything I have done in my position as High Councilor has been for the longevity of not just our kingdom, but all kingdoms.” 

“Most people say something similar, but know that I do believe you, Constance. It’s why we’re here now.” Elias spoke softly, his words a peace offering. Constance narrowed her eyes at him as though she were gauging his sincerity. When she finally decided that no jest or joke would follow, she sighed. 

“Why come to me now, then? What changed?” 

“We need to know who told you to hire Edgarn. We believe they might be, or at least know the ones responsible for all of this.” 

Constance snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“Why?” Gilda asked from her seat.

“Because I refuse to believe that the King’s own seneschal would want him dead.”

“That orc fellow? Molthus?” Elias was dumbstruck.

“The very same. He’s been through much with King Jaris, far too much that I’d believe he wants to kill the man’s son for some sort of petty political gain.” 

“Then why would he insist you hire this man who turned out to be an assassin?” Elias asked.

“Not to mention that none of the king’s men knew this cook to begin with.” Gilda added. Grenfi nodded along in ardent agreement. 

“How would you know something like that?” The High Councilor asked.

“We…have our sources.” Elias scratched his head, abashed. “But all of this means that the seneschal, Molthus, did lie to you. So it’s likely that he knows something about all of this.” 

“Well, what would you have me do?” Constance waved a hand about in annoyance, “I can’t outright accuse this man of anything. Negotiations would implode, and we’d never have a chance at bridging the gap between these two nations again.” An intrusive question barged into Gilda’s noggin, and she felt she had to pose it. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Lady Therlolan’s face darkened with anger. 

“Well, you’re not in it for the power—or so you say, and you’re not a believer in all the shite Cirro says about the Abyss, so why do you care?” 

Constance swept out of her seat and loomed over Gilda. “Does one require a reason to do good? Can the right thing not be done simply because it is right? I’ve an overabundance of schooling, but even a blind man could see the writing on the walls. There are two very nearly rival powers in this world, both vying for possession of a thing that neither of them understand. The Abyss, whatever it is, is secondary. It could be wholly powerful, or wholly irrelevant. What it is perceived as is what matters, and many people find it very valuable indeed. You’re from Xallajin, aren’t you? If so, you should know better than most the cost that some are willing to pay for that perceived value.”

 Gilda didn’t have the heart to interrupt the High Councilor’s prattling to inform her that Gilda was, in fact, scarcely over fifteen years old. Her grandma’s grandma was the last of her family that was alive for the Waste War, and she looked like a piece of jerky, last Gilda had seen her. Once it was evident that Gilda had little else to say, Constance continued on. 

“I have a vested interest in the world staying in one piece. That is all. If that can be achieved via diplomacy the likes of which we haven’t seen in millennia, then that is what I’ll pursue.” 

Elias moved forward, placing a comforting hand on Gilda’s shoulder. “We want peace as well, that’s why we have to find this assassin.” 

“I’m not sure how you expect me to help. As I said before, I can’t outright accuse Molthus of anything.” Constance folded her arms, her shimmering golden nails catching the light. 

“We might not need you too.” Elias mused. “Molthus follows the king everywhere like a loyal hound. So when the king is busy, so is he.” Gilda could smell a scheme cooking. She’d developed quite a nose for it over the years, and this scheme stank about as badly as the slop Edgarn tried to pass off as food. 

“I don’t follow.” Constance furrowed her immaculate eyebrows. 

“While the king is having his meeting with you, we can steal away into his quarter of the Bastille and find what there is to find.” There it is. Constance tripped over her words trying to articulate how she felt about that particular idea. 

“Are you mad?” 

“You said yourself that you can’t accuse Molthus on your own, and we know he lied to you. We need to know what he’s hiding.” 

“Absolutely not! If you were to be caught doing something like this, we would be finished. War would ensue.” 

“What’s more of a danger,” Elias met Constance where she stood, “breaking into the King’s quarter to save his son, or waiting for these assassins to finish the job? We know next to nothing about who precisely is orchestrating all of this, nor why they’re doing it, and Molthus has the makings of an answer.” 

Constance groaned painfully. “I hate that you’re right, I really do.” 

“Do we have your leave to do this, then?” 

“Would you listen to me if I said no?” 

Elias shook his head back and forth, as though rattling the question around in his very empty skull. “Truthfully? Probably not.” 

The High Councilor sighed, snatching another delectable pastry off the table to give her hands something to do. “Know this; if you are caught, I will feign ignorance to it all, and will leave you to the King’s sense of justice. If you kill anyone, I will have you executed regardless. I have to preserve the peace we have, and I will not let this asinine escapade of yours threaten it any more than is absolutely necessary. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, High Councilor.” Elias bowed dramatically. Constance sneered at him. Gilda shuffled out of the room with the others a moment later, the familiar swirl of anxiety that came with Elias’s dastardly plans forming in her gut. This simple poisoning scheme had ballooned into so much more. Now kingdoms were on the line, countries, continents. Gilda just wanted to cook decent food for folks, not foil secret ploys on behalf of some perfumed and powdered do-gooder. Elias had said that once the accord between nations was signed, they could go back to the way things were before, living a relatively uneventful life in the comforting confines of Vatrejem. She wanted to believe that. She knew it wasn’t true, but she wanted it to be.

11

Zave held his hand before him, beckoning his blade with his mind, just like Sidona had said. The bastard sword laid flat on the main deck of The Autumnal, the afternoon sun gleaming off of it at odd angles as the boat swayed. He felt at that same part of his brain that allowed him to create crude psionic shields, stretching it like a tendon. Pain pulsed behind his eyes as he strained himself, the pressure building within him. Sidona sat cross legged directly next to him, watching expectantly. He’d come to find that she bore a very similar skillset to his, though hers was far more refined. That’s what centuries of training will get you. But Zave didn’t have centuries. 

Sidona had come to him with the offer to train him, though precisely why was a mystery. He took her up on the offer all the same. It would be another tool at his disposal when it came time to fight. He’d picked up many such tools over the years, each of them incorporated into the odd amalgamation that was his style of swordplay. He took the feral ferocity he’d found in his battle with Osira the dragonkin, the psionics from Elias, the gauntlet from the pirate, and now Sidona’s own brand of power. 

“Are you visualizing the blade coming to you, like I said?” She asked.

“For the hundredth time, yes!” He snapped. His lack of progress was frustrating, but it had been the same when Elias had initially introduced him to the concept of wielding psionic power at all. He’d come far, but he wanted to go further, he had to. Domini had unsettled him with her very grievous rhetoric lately. If she truly believed she was some sort of god-made-flesh, then she was facing something worthy of gods, and for that, Zave needed to be ready to defend her. Sidona hopped to her feet and stood next to Zave, mirroring his posture. Her eyes were thin, fighting off the blinding glare of the sun. Normally she wore a cloak, but eschewed one today on account of the unforgiving heat. 

“You’re imagining the blade coming to you, but you’re not imagining that you’re the one making the blade do it. This isn’t magic, it won’t happen because you wish it.” With a pulse of psionic energy that Zave felt as though he could sense, Sidona forced the blade into the air. It hovered a little over a foot off the ground. “I’ve seen that brain at work, I know you’ve got one in that thick skull of yours. Use it.” Hmph. 

Zave did as instructed, visualizing the blade slinging through the air to him. More importantly, he visualized that same pulse of energy, feeling it rattle his head. He felt the muscle in his mind strain, then react as the blade skittered across the deck toward him. He was so shocked by the minor success that he almost fumbled catching it. Sidona whooped excitedly, clapping a muscled arm onto his shoulder. “See? It's not all that hard! We can stop here for today, so you don’t churn up your brain too much, but next time we’ll be working on using that same ability on yourself.”

“That sounds complicated.” He relaxed, dealing with the headache that followed using his psionic power. 

“Very much so.” Sidona nodded. “It’s like learning to walk all over again, but you’re a fast learner. You’ll pick up enough at least to help with mobility.” 

“Mobility?” Zave tilted his head.

“Yes. You’re a stout fellow, but you’re slow. Psionics could give you an extra push. I saw you jump between the boats during the pirate raid. It’s not easy for one of your size to nimbly hop around, especially sporting armor and a bulky sword.” Her choppy, Drow accent was interesting to listen to. It added a fun cadence to her words, even if a lot of them were lectures.

“You seem to know quite a bit about this stuff.” 

“Of course I do, I trained Hezekiah. Everything he knows, he knows because of me.” She passed a longing glance to the djinnblood on the other side of the deck where he stood with Emiline and Vilkin, making what looked to be polite conversation. At least for Emiline. Vilkin tended toward quiet corners of the ship when possible, but did follow after Emiline when bade. The Suneater clenched and unclenched his fists, looking out across the water as Hezekiah droned on about something. Zave had spoken to Sidona enough in the last few days that he felt comfortable asking after her. 

“You and Hezekiah, how’d that happen? A drow noble and a djinnblood? And you trained him, you say?” Sidona immediately clammed up. There was a story there, one that had been skillfully avoided in the months since their arrival. Zave wasn’t pressed to know the truth, but this was Elias’s family after all, there was definitely a curiosity to that world. Sidona looked him up and down, a stiff, briney breeze tugging at her braided slate black hair.

“How much did Aelnora tell you of me?” 

“Only that you two have bad blood.” 

Sidona chuckled. “That’s an understatement. He swore he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. Time on the surface softened him, I think. The Aelnora I knew, the one that served the Convocation, was a merciless, selfish killer. He shirked his duty to our family simply because he could, and I held that against him.” Uh huh? 

“But what does any of that have to do with Hezekiah?” Zave asked. 

“Everything, really. Not that there is any reason to keep it a secret, but Hez isn’t actually a djinnblood. Domini…changed him by mistake. Before all of that, he was a ward to my House, a prisoner, if you will. I fell in love with him despite myself, and we tore down the Convocation because of it. I’m a hypocrite.” 

Zave awarded her with a surprised grunt. Sidona shrugged. “This is why I chose to keep it to myself. I don’t want anyone looking at Hez differently.”

Zave furrowed his brow. “No, I couldn’t give less of a shit about who Hezekiah is. I think I’m just stunned that you did all of that for him.”

“I figured you’d understand. You’d die for Aelnora, wouldn’t you?” Sidona asked.

“Until there was nothing left of me.” Zave nodded. 

“Well, that’s how I feel about Hez.” There was zeal in her, she meant every word. 

Their conversation was cut short as they both noticed Domini poke her head out from the stairs to the lower decks. She spent much of her time down there with the mediator studying spells. The two weren’t friends, far from it, as evidenced by Ardra’s need to distance herself from Domini on occasion to calm her frayed, hateful nerves. But there was a connection there, a shared coordinate between them that saw them working together. Domini would take time to come see him at least once per day, bringing whatever news she could from her newly initiated arcane conversations with Elias. She didn’t have to do that, but he appreciated that she did. It was an effort to collaborate on their shared relationship as a single entity, not disparate parts that simply tolerated each other. Sidona noticed the smile that crept across his face as the tiefling approached. Her eyebrow crept toward her hairline. 

“Keeping each other company while Aelnora is away?” 

Zave paled. “It’s nothing like that.”

“No?” Sidona was skeptical. 

“No.” He was firm. It was a subject he’d given plenty of thought to in recent days. He cared for Domini, felt for her even, but not in the way he felt for Elias. Domini was more of a bumbling little sister to him, a person he wished to protect, not one he wanted to take to bed. Her recent vulnerability toward him only strengthened that feeling. She needed someone sturdy to lean on, and that would have to be him. Moreso, he wanted it to be him. He wanted Domini to rely on him while she dealt with whatever was going on with her. Somehow, he felt that Elias would want that. Sidona took her leave of Zave for the moment, placing a gentle hand on Domini’s shoulder as she passed, before finding a place in the conversation with Hezekiah and Emiline. Vilkin had removed himself from the fold of their conversation entirely, finding a spot near the railing and looking out across the waters. Zave wondered at what the man thought he saw within the deepness.

 Domini found a stubbornly moving shadow to stand in near Zave, her robes whipping about her thin form. As had become routine, he asked after Elias, and as usual, Elias was cryptically positive about the goings on concerning the High Councilor and her delegation. Domini loathed only having twenty five words to get across a slew of emotions, but Zave was just happy to hear from him at all. He asked after her progress concerning Ardra’s spellbook, and she asked after his progress learning Sidona’s psionic tricks. He impressed her by telekinetically tugging on his blade slightly, and couldn’t help but beam at her awe. It was nice to converse with her about relatively middling things, not the fate of the world and cosmic burdens. Zave suspected that Domini wished to avoid the subject as well, and so he let it be. 

The sun drifted lazily through the sky as they kept one another company, the crew of the ship milling to and fro like minnows in a pond. Altizo ordered his men around, steering the ship to follow their charted course, yet also follow the currents and wind. By all accounts, he was a skilled ship captain. He was also the only one Zave had ever met, but still, he seemed to know what he was about. Oddly, the shadow Domini had chosen to stand in stopped moving. The entire ship seemed to have halted in the water. Vilkin still peered out across the Sound, eyes scanning for something. Zave spied the other vessels and saw the same. The water all around was almost lifeless; there were no waves, no currents, nothing. Altizo himself seemed perplexed, and Zave felt his jaw tightening. A foreboding feeling washed over him like icy water, as though something disastrous was imminent. 

Green light began emanating from The Autumnal, from Vilkin. The man’s dark eyes were wide with something like panic, or maybe hatred. Green energy seeped from his arm like an open wound, growing stronger, more intense. Zave put his braced, withered arm before Domini, prepared to protect her from something, from anything. A low rumble vibrated beneath their vessel, as though the world itself were groaning. An instant later, one of the other vessels in their fleet rocketed out of the water, fracturing in two. Beneath it, Zave saw something. A creature? A monster? Something massive, something destructive. It had tentacles the size of trees and scales across its wide, amorphous body. Inky blackness leaked from pustules all across its body, the substance like thick tar. To Zave, it looked like a massive squid, but bred to be a cataclysm. Those on the affected ship were flung through the air, screaming. Some landed in the water, while others were snatched up by even more tentacles. Arista’s grace. Everyone was so stricken, it took them a moment to react. 

All at once, the crew sprang into action, vaulting over lashed down crates and hurrying to the lower decks to man the cannons. Blue Company regulars shuffled past them in droves, forming up on the main deck. They were significantly less confident than during the spat with the pirates. Mixed in among the Blue Companymen were Ardra and Leopold, who’d taken to his human form. Zave wished this damn creature had attacked at night, they could really use Leopold’s vampiric power right about now. As the wreckage of the other vessel plummeted back down into the water with the tentacled monster, Zave formed up with his companions. He wasn’t even sure what he could do against a creature so gargantuan, but he had to try something. Cirro found them among the chaos on the main deck. 

“What in the hells is it?” He shouted to Altizo.

“I don’t rightly know, sir. A kraken maybe? Some kind of leviathan?” The satyr captain shrugged. Talk of fabled sea monsters did little to calm the nerves of the crew. Zave tugged at the psionic thread in his mind, preparing it for use.

He’d need it.

—

Domini shuddered. The day was bright and sunny, a horrible match for the slaughter she saw taking place across the waters. Soldiers and sailors splashed around in the foamy blue water before being yanked below its surface with horrifying speed by massive tentacles. Mages on the remaining three vessels began taking flight, looking out across the ocean worriedly. This threat was unlike anything they had encountered before, Domini was sure. Vilkin Suneater too began hovering above the deck of The Autumnal, his face contorted into a gnarled mask of rage and fear. 

“This is one of Nihilin’s creatures.” He spoke, his voice dripping with dread. They all waited, watching the waters all around become still. Broken bodies mirrored the broken ship all around them, bobbing lifelessly. Cirro stood before them, his brow knitted together in determination. 

“Together, we can fell this beast. Together.” The others nodded eagerly to his proclamation, and so did Domini. She wasn’t sure how useful she would be with her newly acquired, yet rudimentary magic, but she would try. Another rumble beneath the waves sent her heart into her throat. She swallowed down the acidic taste of Terror in her mouth. Several of the airborne mages saw the beast before those on the boats did, and began casting all manner of spells to both protect the remaining vessels, as well as do some form of harm to the creature. The water bubbled and rippled as powerful magics erupted beneath it. Some mages even had agency over the water itself, to a degree, and used it like a wall to keep the monstrosity from breaking the water’s surface. Their efforts, while not entirely in vain, weren’t nearly enough to keep the monster at bay. Eventually, it split the surface of the water, its tentacles flailing wildly. One managed to swat a mage from the air, sending his body splattering against the hull of The Autumnal with a nauseating thud. 

“What do we do, Cirro?” Zave urged. He held his sword aloft, prepared to do battle. 

“We wait. Most of us would be next to useless out on the water, we have to wait for it to get closer.” The djinnblood was pained to say it. Every Blue Company soldier they saw devoured wracked him to his core. 

Many of the mages began their retreat to a position higher in the sky, away from the tentacles that swiped at them. With no other immediate targets, the water fell still once more. Barrels that bobbed in the water became almost static, like the water had solidified. With no currents and no winds, their ship would be going nowhere. It means to devour us here and now. 

As if itching to confirm her worst fears, several pustule laden tentacles emerged from the water all around The Autumnal, draping over the ship like thick ribbons of flesh. Cirro took to the sky with Vilkin.

“Now!” He cried, swiping upward with his cleaver. Vilkin imbued his melted spear with green energy and plunged it into the creature—the kraken, as Altizo had described it. Green flame coursed through the kraken in a surge, and the beast rumbled beneath them.

 It wasn’t enough. 

Leopold and the others unleashed their full fury on the tentacles, hacking away at them with all their might. They worked in desperate unison, doing everything they could to keep the kraken from dragging The Autumnal beneath the still waters of Traver’s Sound.

 It wasn’t enough.

 Blue Company regulars scurried across the deck, peppering the kraken with blows where they could, like a battalion of lumberjacks attempting to cut down a sadistic tree. 

It wasn't enough. 

Their combined efforts could scarcely slow this creature, let alone hurt it in any meaningful way. 

A tentacle crashed across the deck, crushing several Blue Companymen beneath it. The force knocked Domini from her feet. She slid across the deck as the boat began slowly tipping to one side. Black ooze from one of the tentacles seeped across the deck and onto her hand. It felt cold and familiar. The Other began wailing inside her, almost ordering her to act, to do something. She reached into her pack and pulled her journal free. It brimmed with power, desperate to be used. Domini righted herself, rising to her feet, but was immediately brought back to her knees as the tentacle that enveloped their ship pulled tighter. Domini wished that she could fly as the other mages did, able to flee the immediate danger. All it would take was one swipe from the tentacle to crush her. Then where would your avatar be, Simri? Domini asked nobody in particular. 

She flipped to a page concerning her first encounter with the Callibe mages, remembering her jealousy at their ability to fly around like birds, while Domini was limited by something as trivial as gravity. With a quick rearrangement, she changed reality. It was easier than ever before, the effort put in barely even registered to her. Then, all around, gravity had become little more than a suggestion. The boat itself began floating through the air, as did the crew. 

As did the kraken. 

Dammit! Domini herself began floating upwards, the spray of weightless water all around her rolling like marbles. As usual, her spell did too much, far too much. The kraken held fast to the Autumnal as it drifted into the air. Mages from the other vessels began a full on arcane assault, now that they could see the creature fully, but even they were confused by the curious gravitational disruption. The kraken growled as magic pelted it, wrapping itself further around the ship. Zave and the others had chosen a single tentacle to focus on, and were hacking through the thick musculature of it ceaselessly. With a violent jolt, the tentacle snapped like a taut rope, and the kraken was cut loose. It drifted through the air for a moment, hovering away from their ship, before plummeting back down into the water near the other vessels. That left everyone to float uncontrollably through the air like wayward bubbles. 

Zave began helplessly drifting away from the ship. Domini reached out to him, but he had spun too far out. “Zave!” She cried, Panic rising within her. The orc closed his eyes a moment, focusing on something indistinct, then surged toward the ship. He wreathed a hand around the somewhat shattered railing and clung to it. A pale outline of energy surrounded him, much like what Domini saw in Elias when he used his dagger to blink around. She grabbed his hand, as though she could do anything. 

Zave, having caught wind of what was likely happening, turned in the air to face her. His weathered face was covered in blood and blackness from the creature. “Dom, was this you?” She nodded. 

“Can you set us back down in one piece?” 

“Do we want to be back down there?” Hezekiah asked through panicked breaths. 

“We do.” Cirro answered. “We may be safe up here, but everyone else isn’t. Set us down, Domini.” He said it as an order, but the words were cut with more respect than usual. 

Domini did as she was ordered, and canceled out her meddling with gravity. The Autumnal fell slowly at first, then careened back into the water, impacting it with a shattering smash. Most on the main deck fell flat on their backs, crying out in pain. It was a damaging fall, but the boat was still whole, for now. 

Domini sat up, realizing that her journal had been wrenched from her hands in the impact. She began tentatively crawling across the crowded deck toward it, but was interrupted by another tremor beneath the water. No! The kraken was making another pass, though not at them specifically. Other mages above the water shot spells out in a panic as the kraken wrapped itself around one of the other boats. Men screamed and died on the main deck. They hadn’t the same group of capable fighters on their ship, and had even less of a chance than The Autumnal. 

“Dammit!” Cirro slammed his fist on the chunk of tentacle that remained on the main deck. Without some kind of assistance, the other ship was doomed. Altizo couldn’t fire his cannons at the vessel and risk killing them even faster, but simply standing idly and watching somehow seemed worse. The Other demanded that she act. Domini’s journal still laid beneath the churn of plated boots all around. She cursed to herself. What did the Other expect her to do? Her power could barely be controlled. Illusions were useless against something so destructive. We cannot fight something so unfathomably large. And so what was there? A harrowing, icy realization came upon her at that moment. We wouldn’t need to fight it if it didn’t exist. 

Her power was growing in potency the closer she got to the Abyss, but would it be enough to Erase something so huge? There wasn’t time to consider what was and wasn’t possible. She strode forward and snatched Hez’s dagger from his stony fingers, running it across her palm in a fluid motion. The Other howled with an excitable dread. Hez gaped at her, wide eyed and confused, until it registered to him precisely what she was doing. 

“Dom, no!”

It was too late. 

Domini wrapped all of her memories of this horrid creature around it, and blood siphoned from her hand like sand spilling down an hourglass. Zave and the others watched, horrified. They weren’t aware of her capabilities. Neither am I. Ardra watched with rapt zeal as Domini consumed the kraken whole in a sphere of crimson memories, then Erased it. In a flash, the kraken was gone, unmade. As was most of the vessel. It looked as though a hearty bite was taken out of the entire ship, leaving a visible cross section that showed plainly the carnage Domini had inflicted onto them all. Oh gods. Oh gods, no. She was stricken with disbelief. This wasn’t what she wanted, it wasn’t her intent. She held her blood soaked hand to her face, covering her mouth, fearing the emotions that would spew from her like bile. Zave caught her as her knees gave out. 

She wanted her journal, she wanted to go back and undo what she’d done. Domini meant to save those people, not…this. She had never killed anyone. If Ardra was believed, she had just banished them to a fate worse than death; an infinity of nothingness. No pain, no pleasure, no hope, no despair. Nothing.  The others crowded around her, looking down on her like a pantheon of disappointed gods. Simri, forgive me. She prayed. Simri would be ashamed, Domini knew, repulsed by the vile misuse of her power bequeathed to Domini. In the distance, men screamed and fought against the indomitable ocean. Mages and crew alike from the two remaining vessels hurried to the aid of the survivors. Survivors. Some had lived in spite of her aberrant magic. It was a cold comfort. She laid on the deck in a fugue until waves returned to the Sound, lulling her into a pained, restless slumber. 

12

Elias nervously oiled his Karnak dagger. It was sharp as ever, able to bite into skin and bone with scarcely any pressure. The oil played across the dark surface of the metal, creating whorls of shadowy rainbow color. He wouldn’t need the dagger, not to kill anyone, at least. That was Constance’s one stipulation; infiltrate the King’s quarter unseen and leave the same way. No murders. Without killing anyone, infiltration would be tricky. Domini would be perfect for this. He squeezed the dagger tightly, as though it were a tether that kept him grounded. 

Domini had sent him arcane messages for several days, and Elias was elated by it. They got to catch up and exchange coos and words of affection. It helped time pass just knowing that she was alright, as safe as she could be on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Then, abruptly, her messages stopped coming. Days passed without word, and it sent him spiraling into a slowly building panic. His mind tormented him with images of her and Zave floating lifeless in the ocean, of carrion birds picking at their flesh. It reminded him so much of the time spent in Anonta, waiting for Leonard to contact him again. That sort of news always came slow, like a dagger pushed into one’s heart over the course of days. Stop it. He stabbed his dagger into the wall of his cell, the blade sinking in easily. The cot was cold without Grenfi and Gilda. The girls had been spending their nights in his room while they refined their plan to sneak into the King’s quarter, and Elias found that he needed them. His thoughts ran rampant when he was alone, and the dour cell didn’t help. 

The walls seemed to hug inward, smothering any comfort or hope one might be at risk of feeling. The only boon the Mutora Bastille offered was darkness. It would help them sneak about easier, especially at night. He hoped that Gilda and Grenfi were ready for it. Elias had begged Tish to accompany them, as her arachnid form would be a great addition to their efforts, but she refused. As a consolation prize for refusing to come along, Tish gave Elias an invisibility scroll that she likely nicked from the High Councilor, or one of her pompous court wizards. Such an item would likely be missed, so Elias appreciated the effort she’d gone through to get it for them. Gilda had waved the Drider off, offering up her own sticky feet for any gravity defying work that needed doing. He supposed that working with a smaller group was beneficial, it would lower the chances of failure, but it still felt wrong. So much felt wrong lately. 

He couldn’t focus on that now, however. There was work to do. He slipped the knife into its sheath and pulled his cloak over his shoulders. The girls were waiting for him in the kitchen. With the day having waned away, night had risen. A purple and green glow would seep through the walls of the Bastille in places, the moons outside trying in vain to reach this desolate place. Elias stalked through the halls, searching every shadow for hidden figures. His steps were soft, yet still echoed lightly on the stone floor. He stepped heavier on occasion, using the echo it produced like a bat, to determine if there was an absence of sound near him. Using such tricks made him feel like he was back in Haletheas, hunting dissidents for the Convocation. 

For all his efforts, it didn’t seem as though he were being followed, but one could never be too sure. Magic had many applications, and there certainly seemed to be clever, conniving people slithering through the Bastille at present. Elias strode past the feast hall, which was eerily empty for the time being. Their daily feast was earlier in the evening, and had been cleaned up by the servants hours ago. The rows of barren stone slab tables, as well as the empty dais seats, made the hall look otherworldly, like it had been prepared for a procession of ghosts to dine. Past the feast hall he found the kitchens. A dull orange glow peeked through the bottom of the heavy oaken door that led inside. He walked in, finding the girls dangling their feet off the side of the counter, waiting for him. They shared a flaky meat pie between each other, their cheeks full as they chewed. Elias smiled. In a way, Elias was playfully jealous of them, of their very simple existence. Gilda hopped up as he entered, swallowing the heaping bite she’d just taken. 

“Took you long enough.” She wiped the flecks of crust from her mouth and onto her trousers. She’d changed out of her usual frock for their evening of subterfuge, sporting loose fitting trousers and a dark colored blouse with a tiny shoulder cloak. Her bare feet padded on the countertop. “You alright? Erm, are you ready to go, I mean?” Bless you, Gilly. 

They could see how the absence of the rest of their little family was affecting him, and they worried. They didn’t want to overtly show it, but Elias could tell. 

“I’m alright, Gilly. Let’s crack on and get through this. We got everything we might need?” 

“Not that there’s much to bring, but yes.” Gilly nodded. She waddled across the counter and picked up a pack that was stuffed to the gills with disparate pieces of cookware. Elias spied a ladle, a thick, rope-like twine—likely the same twine that was used to truss the juvenile axebeaks they ate that very evening, a filet knife, a lengthy pair of tongs, a jar of what looked to be some sort of adhesive, and a small pouch of what looked like some kind of red spice. She’s resourceful, I’ll give her that. Gilda’s culinary accouterments were all they had at their disposal, aside from the invisibility scroll Tish had given them, but that was for an emergency only. We won’t need it. He assured himself, gripping the hilt of his dagger where it was sheathed. Grenfi plodded up to him.

“You sure you’re alright, Elias?” Her pale blue eyes were discerning, yet honest. Later. Elias could moan and groan about how much he missed Zave and Domini later, not now. He nodded softly. Both of the tiny women followed him through the dark kitchen, to the pantry where the secret entrance was hidden. Gilda had stacked all of her produce overtop of the secret entrance, skillfully hiding it behind a mountain of potatoes and exotic root vegetables from Favergon. Everything was meticulously labeled and portioned into the meals she had planned. She’s really taken to the kitchen well. He liked seeing her in an environment where she was able to thrive. Someday, she would be able to run her own kitchen somewhere, he hoped. She deserved a life of leisure, they all did. They had shed enough blood for several lifetimes. 

After gingerly pushing aside Gilda’s bounty of food, Elias slipped into the passage behind it. The walls were slick and the air was damp and acrid. He followed the passage as it led further down, then turned around several times, before finally opening to the same secluded dock where they disposed of Edgarn. Water softly lapped at the dock, the wood soggy and malleable. He approached the dock. The constantly flowing water eroded away any evidence that a murder had taken place at all. Elias turned to Grenfi. 

“Which way did you say the second assailant fled?” He asked. Grenfi pointed off to one side, to where a hallway slimmed down until it was little more than a tight tunnel. Elias would have to get down on his hands and knees to get through. Who in the hells built this place? 

“They fled this way, and you lost them in this tunnel, Fifi?” Elias called back to the dock. 

“That’s right. They were quick.” Grenfi nodded hastily. Elias couldn’t help but notice Gilda casting a cautious eye over Grenfi as she spoke. 

“What do we think it means that someone was able to outrun you in a tunnel? You’re a deep gnome, tunnels are your forte.” 

Grenfi squirmed. “They were faster than me, I guess.” Hmm. 

Elias didn’t want to think that Grenfi, his most loyal friend for the better part of a century, would have anything to do with this plot. But then why was she so obviously lying? Even Gilda could tell, and she wasn’t the sharpest knife on the butcher’s block. We’ll figure out what there is to figure out. 

“Gilda,” he turned, “by your estimation, how close are we to the King’s quarter of the Bastille?” 

“We aren’t rightly close, but if this tunnel keeps going in this direction, I reckon it’d take us there.”

“More evidence for our claim that that bastard Molthus knows what’s going on. Gilly, how do you feel about leading the way?” Elias asked. The goblin made herself small. 

“I suppose I can…”

“I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry. If anything is lurking in this tunnel, we’ve got plenty of tools to deal with it.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Gilda nodded and crouched low into the tunnel, but not before tying a bit of twine around her ankle and throwing the other end to Elias. 

“So you can pull me out of someone’s mouth if they try to eat me.” She said.

 “Gilly, nothing is going to eat you.” He promised.

 “Tell that to my friends that got eaten in a tunnel.” Fair point. To Elias’s surprise, Grenfi went in front of him, keeping close to Gilda as she trepidly pressed on. 

The tunnel was claustrophobic, of a size with some of the more uncomfortable caves in the Underdark. It was baffling that someone would have intentionally constructed the tunnels beneath the Bastille to be so damn tiny. Stagnant water and slime covered every surface, making the crawling part of things easier, as they could all but glide across the ground, but also so repellent. Gilda didn’t seem as bothered by the smell as he and Grenfi were. They soldiered on, their clothes sodden after only a few minutes. Elias was certain he could feel the slime squishing around in his boots, and grumbled to himself. After a while, Elias found himself almost in a daze, following behind Grenfi and Gilly and hoping they found a place to actually stand soon. His fugue was thoroughly shattered when Gilda cried out in terror. Elias pulled hard on the twine connected to her ankle, sending her flying past Grenfi. 

“What was it?” He demanded, dagger drawn. 

“A skeleton!” She breathed out pure panic. Elias crawled past her, finding Grenfi crouched low, her dagger pointed ahead like a shortsword. Elias followed her eyes to the skeleton in question. It was ancient, with positively no meat on its bones. It was wedged into a crevice in the tunnel, as though the skeleton’s owner had tried to hide from something. The skeleton was that of a normal human. More than likely, they’d gotten lost in these tunnels beneath the Bastille. Slime dripped from its eye sockets. Plumar’s gaze, what a poor bastard. 

“Don’t worry, Gilly,” Elias turned in the cramped tunnel. “he’s dead.” 

“I tell you what, how’s about you take the lead from here, yeah?” Gilly shivered to herself. 

“Fine, fine.” He chuckled. “Just tell me where to go.” 

Elias took the lead at Gilda’s behest, turning on some paths while ignoring others. Eventually, the tunnel began to slope upward, which made the climb that much more difficult, on account of the slime coating everything. 

“How are we faring, Gilly? Are we any closer?” 

“Should be. If memory serves, it shouldn’t be—“ She stopped mid sentence.

“Gilly?” 

No response. 

Elias contorted his body so that he could see behind him. Grenfi was there, as was Gilda. They both looked somewhere down the tunnel, somewhere the naked eye couldn’t see. Elias stopped moving and listened. The ambient echoing drips in the tunnel hid another sound, that of a distant sloshing. Something was in the tunnel with them. 

“Run.” Gilda said in a meek voice. “Run!” She squealed. Elias began shuffling up the tunnel, but found himself slipping. The slime on everything threatened to send him tumbling back down. Gilda surged forward with her sticky feet, pulling Grenfi along. She reached Elias quickly, clinging to him. Hells, what is back there? 

“Go go go!” Gilda pleaded. Elias pressed himself against the slick wall of the tunnel, allowing both of the smaller women past him. He worked his way up the tunnel, but it was much slower. The sloshing behind him grew more prominent, and Elias stupidly chanced a look down the tunnel once more. The skeleton was closing on him, crawling through the tunnel like a rabid animal. Necromancy? No, the skeleton wasn’t alone. It was encased within a mossy, gelatinous sludge that forced it to move like a morbid marionette. The sight was enough to motivate Elias to go faster. 

He produced his dagger, stabbing it into the wall in places, then leveraging his feet against whatever surface he could manage to pull himself toward. It was slow going. The girls were already far ahead, as evidenced by the fading of Gilda’s cries. Urgency nipped at Elias, just as much as that slime would be soon enough. Slimes were commonplace in the Underdark, and plenty deadly in confined spaces where one couldn’t simply run away. In hindsight, they had all crawled right into this thing’s lair, just like a Dorojia’s kiss. They were trapped. 

“Elias, hurry! There’s a way up!” Grenfi called from ahead. The wet slapping of the slime was just behind him now, close enough that splashes of dirty water were pelting Elias’s back. Sure enough, Elias saw the tunnel finally open up.

Into a chute that only went upwards. 

The walls of the chute were laden with slime, and the only visible break in the shear wall was almost fifty feet up. Dammit! 

“Gilly, climb up as high as you can and drop down some twine to pull Fifi up with.”

“Eh? I can’t climb, it’s too slippery!” 

“You have to try! Otherwise we’re all going to be digested very slowly.” 

“Shite, shite!” Gilda danced around nervously for a moment, before fearfully hopping onto the wall as the slime slowly ebbed into the room. She ran up the wall at a full tilt sprint, her sticky feet taking her all the way. She stumbled several times, very nearly coming off the wall, but she held firm. Elias pressed himself against the wall of the chute with Grenfi as the slime began to take form before them. It arranged the bones into the shape of a person, but the slimy body surrounding it was like that of a morbidly obese melted candle. It had a gut that protruded, with slime dripping off of it. 

Elias looked up to find that Gilly had made it to the solitary ledge, and was tossing down the twine for Grenfi. The twine didn’t reach the fifty feet down toward them, but dangled just above Elias’s own head. He grunted angrily and swept Grenfi from the ground, then tossed her in the air where she was able to deftly snag the twine and begin climbing. Bless you once again, Gilly. He knew the twine wasn’t sturdy enough to hold his own weight, compact though he was. He’d have to find his own way up.

With that, the slime almost fully encompassed the room. It lumbered toward Elias in the cramped chute, and he was sure that if that skeleton had eyes, it would be staring at him like a steaming hot meal. He cringed back, preparing to hurl his knife upward. The slime took a swipe at him, and Elias sent the knife up. It left his hand awkwardly, the throw not his best, as the handle was far too slippery. He felt himself shunted further up the chute, dangling where the knife had planted, but he felt himself rapidly slipping. No no no. Without the knife, he’d be stuck down there, left to the appetite of the slime. He’d become another set of bones for the slime’s collection. 

With a jolt of psionic energy, he wrenched the knife free and began falling back down. Grenfi hollered for him. Elias aimed for the lip of the small landing where Gilda was with Grenfi. It was a far shot, but it was all he had. At the last possible moment, he sent the knife sailing through the air, bolstered by psionic power. As the knife trailed upward, Elias came down, splashing into the slime like a pool of warm tar. He could taste it in his mouth, and he knew the slime could taste him as well. Immediately, the slime began slowly eating away at him like a million hungry mites. He floated helplessly, suspended in the deadly digestive ooze, praying that his knife found purchase in something. Elias Diamondheart, lost without a trace in the bowels of the Mutora Bastille. He thought bitterly. At least they’ll know my skeleton by the shiny diamond in the chest. To think, he’d helped slay a dragon, and had found his match in a slime. The absurdity. 

Suddenly, he was shunted out of the slime, very near to the lip of the wall. He desperately flailed toward it like a drowning man, tendrils of slime dangling from his mouth and nose. His fingers gripped the ledge tightly, and Elias pulled himself to relative safety. He retched violently, spewing out every last bit of the caustic ooze. His skin still stung, as did his lungs and the inside of his mouth. Grenfi clung to him, ensuring that he didn’t slide back down the chute to certain death. 

“Fucking hells, that was awful.” Elias wrung the excess slime from his long white hair. “Where are we, anyway?” 

“We should be in the King’s quarter now, though I couldn’t tell you where. Could be near the shitters, could be right under the King’s bed. No idea how to get out of this tunnel, either. Maybe we’ve got to go further up?” Gilda said, her voice cracked with fear. “Bendala’s bane, I hope not.” Elias laid his head back on the wall of the landing, and felt it give in slightly. He sat up. Another secret passage! He pushed on the indentation lightly, careful not to slide back down, until the wall slowly opened up. The low rumble of stone against stone was louder than Elias would have liked, but anywhere was better than being trapped in a tunnel with that damned slime any longer. With the timidity of a field mouse, Elias eased his head into the mystery chamber. The smell was awful, like raw sewage that had been stewing for years. The walls of this thin stone chamber were lined with stalls. The shitters, then. 

13

Terror writhed in Domini’s mind. She felt trapped, lost in a labyrinth of regret. She knew she was on The Autumnal, fretfully tossing and turning on her ludicrous floating bed, but her mind was elsewhere. It was floating far and away from the ship, soaring through the air toward something deep and daunting. It gnawed at her like a truth she didn’t want to confront. The Abyss. She knew. The realm of Nihilin. 

It called to her, beckoning her like the Window in Audilus beckoned her. She wanted to heed its call and felt deplorable for it. Those men and women on the other vessel were gone because of her, because of the power she held, because of her unwanted connection to Nihilin. They weren’t dead, their souls would not suffer in any hell constructed by man or god, they were simply nothing, removed from the cosmos. Domini could reverse some of the changes she made to the world, but nothing so absolute. Ink spilled so liberally could not be wiped away with ease. She prayed that maybe, maybe her power would grow even more, and she could rectify her grave mistake. 

What do you see in me, Simri? She desperately wondered. What makes me a suitable vessel? I’ve ignored you at every turn, I’ve deferred your very will. I loathe what you’ve done to me, but you will not release me, will you? 

No answer came, but none needed to. Domini already knew the answer. There was no release from what she was. She was birthed with a singular purpose, and that purpose had yet to be fulfilled. Knives were forged with cutting in mind, quills crafted for scribing. What good was a knife that didn’t cut? What good was a quill that wrote no words? Domini stirred, disturbed by it all. It was enough to jostle her from the pained sleep she was drowning in. 

She awoke in the steerage deck to a peculiar sight; all around she saw her companions. They laid across the floating beds and hunched over the lashed barrel tables, as though waiting for something. Zave stood just next to her bed, leaning against the rear post of it as he watched Cirro handily best Hezekiah in a dice game. Hez cursed to himself, flicking a silver to the djinnblood with stony fingers. It was perhaps the first time she’d ever seen anything approximating a smile on Cirro’s face. What is happening? 

Sound slowly returned to her as she came to, and Domini heard a more pronounced racket than usual. Her eyes quickly flitted across the rest of the deck, finding many more Blue Companymen than usual. It was a mix of True and Royal Blue company soldiers, but that distinction seemed pointless now. They were soldiers all, committed to the same cause and fighting the same battle. It was almost inspiring, the way they came together. They were crammed into every nook they could find, but they didn’t seem the least bit upset about it. Light filtered in through the few portholes that lined the lengthy steerage deck, letting Domini know it was likely midday. The light played around the room as The Autumnal bobbed side to side. The waters were choppy, but not tempestuous. More hammocks had been bolted into the walls of the steerage deck, making the space feel especially lived in. The smell was as rank as ever. 

Her eyes darted across her companions once more, and she found Ardra’s. Her verdant eyes were wide with alarm. 

“She’s awake.” The mediator sat upright. Her words prompted everyone to look directly at Domini, and immediately she felt panicked and small, like a frightened child about to be chastised by an angry parent. Zave leaned down, a smile peeking through his thick beard. 

“Thank the gods.” 

Domini opened her mouth to speak, but only a dry rasp came out. Leopold used his phantasmal hand to ferry a water skin to her, and she drank deeply. It soothed her ragged throat. They all looked at her expectantly, as though they had asked her a question that she had forgotten. 

“What happened?” Was all she could say. She was bewildered. 

“What indeed?” Sidona said. “You used your strange magic against that kraken. If you could do things like that in Haletheas, you should’ve told us. It would’ve saved us a lot of time and effort.” The words were said as a joke, but Domini sensed a bit of truth in them. She sank down into the bed, its plush interior more suffocating than usual.

“I didn’t know I could…” She swallowed hard, composing herself. “I just wanted to save those people from that thing! I didn’t mean to make things worse. Gods forgive me.” 

Cirro stood from his dice game.

“Make things worse? Domini, look around. Most of the men from that boat are here, alive and well. If you hadn’t done what you did, they’d be at the bottom of the Sound right now.” He almost sounded grateful.

“It's true.” Zave chimed. “Nice and crowded in here now. I’m jealous of all the sleep you’ve been getting. With all the extra folk, I can scarcely catch a wink each night.” 

Domini was stunned. They weren’t upset? They didn’t view her as some sort of abomination with unchecked power? 

“But, what of the ones I Erased?” She refused to believe it was that simple. The shifting expressions in the room confirmed that it wasn’t. They might not have thought her a monster, but they did recognize the danger she potentially posed. 

“Dom, you did plenty more good than harm. Don’t let it weigh on you too much.” Hezekiah said. It was a sentiment she so desperately wanted to attach herself to, but she couldn’t. It felt like a delusion to look at the situation as a scale that one could balance. Life taken could not be negated by life saved. It was all blood, and it stained her hands red no matter what. She sat silently for a moment, too fearful to meet any of their gazes. Thankfully, none of them spoke. They gave her much needed time to digest it all. 

Just as she gathered up the courage to speak again, a piercing whistle rang from the deck above, rousing everyone where they sat. It was the same whistle used to warn of pirates. The blood drained from her face. Simri save me, what is it this time? Cirro and the others, save Leopold and Ardra, bolted for the main deck, leaving the steerage deck almost barren. Before departing, Zave put a muscled hand over Domini’s. He didn't say anything, just nodded, but the gesture was a calming one. Domini found herself wishing she could curl up in his arms and sleep even more. It was a novel thought, and was surprisingly welcome. With that, Zave was gone. Domini settled into the stifling bed, awaiting news of more mortal peril. 

“You’ve never killed a man before.” Leopold broke their shared silence. It wasn’t a question. 

“Until now.” Domini muttered. 

“What you did was not murder. Not in the slightest.”

“I appreciate the thought, but you needn’t spare my feelings about this. I know what I’ve done.” She pulled her knees to her chest. Leopold turned to her, digging into her with his blood red eyes. 

“I have no intention to spare your feelings. Were you a killer, I’d call you that. But you’re not. Men may die because of your actions, but that does not mean you killed them. Hezekiah is foolish to say ‘you’ve done more good than harm’. You defended others from a threat, and life was lost in the process. A failure that might make you, but not a killer. Truthfully, you don’t have the…prerequisites to be a killer.” 

Domini scoffed. “And what might those be?” Her words came off as far more cutting than usual, but Leopold didn’t seem to mind. There was a flash in the vampire’s eyes, a deadly remembrance. The faintest of smiles crept across his lips, followed by abject disgust.

“You’ve never watched the life drain from someone and enjoyed it. You’ve never cut a man down, never watched as he realizes that you are simply better than he, and there is nothing he can do to change that. There is an art to barbarity, one that you do not appreciate. To be clear, that is a good thing. You might make poor decisions on occasion, but they are just that. Decisions. You would not say that we killed the Blue Companymen that died assaulting Banesbreak, would you?” He asked.

“Cirro certainly feels that way.” Domini said bitterly.

“Cirro is upset that we lied to him, that is all. The fact that we are here now, working alongside him, is a testament to how he truly feels. He understands what we had to do, just as we all understand what you did.”

Domini shook her head. “But people are dead because of me! They’re gone!” 

“I never said you were unsullied, girl.” He snapped, “Not a one of us is free of the befouling effects of this world, but you needn’t wallow in it. The men who yet breathe because of your actions do not condemn you, so you shouldn’t condemn yourself. Take my words as a consolation, or cast them aside, I care not.” Leopold turned away. 

“Why tell me all of this?” Domini demanded.

Leopold didn’t meet her gaze again. His tone grew softer. “As one who is deserving of the reviling words of others, I consider myself an authority on the subject. I’ve done much to garner hatred in this world, and still others saw fit to forgive my trespasses. If one such as myself is worthy of absolution, then you are no different.” His words left little room for debate, and so Domini didn’t. 

She wasn’t aware of the particulars of Leopold’s crimes, only that he was a very skilled killer that had helped the strange Redwater girl in his past. It was not a subject that Elias nor Zave were keen to speak on. There was much of their world she was ignorant of, and she wanted to know more. 

Perhaps when they were all together again, they could tell her over a mug of mulled wine in a private room at Magetha’s, with the hearth softly warming their bodies after a night of impassioned love making. It was a pleasant thought, one that Domini clung to while waiting for any news from the upper deck. The shuffle of boots on the deck above drew her curiosity. They hadn’t called for any alarm as of yet, so then what could it be? You’re not invalid, Domini. She reminded herself, then tossed her feet over the edge of the bed and onto the rough wood of the deck. 

Her toes tingled as she stood, unprepared to hold her upright after what must have been several days of resting. She swayed slightly, narrowly missing the bedpost with her forehead as she scoured the surrounding area for her sandals. Ardra sprung from her own spot on the floor and helped steady her, her grip firm and unfriendly. The mediator’s eyes were full of hate and wonder, and Domini wasn’t sure what to do with either of those feelings. Once her sandals were fastened, she stumbled her way up to the main deck. 

The sky had grown a curious shade of purple, though the light from the sun was still brilliantly yellow. It was odd, as though a colored lense had been cast across the world. As she settled onto the main deck, she found most everyone crowded to one side, looking out across the waters and murmuring to one another. Zave was in conference with Cirro and several mages in Royal Blue robes. Other mages tore across the sky like falcons, looking in the same direction as those on board. They seemed to be acting as scouts, to some capacity, looking ahead for impending danger. They flitted back and forth from The Autumnal and the one other vessel that remained. What is it that they see? A shadow moved across the deck, and Domini looked up to find Emiline floating down to her, a long staff held out to one side. Her robes caught wind as she drifted down, drawing them back, making her look like a majestic moth fluttering by. 

“Glad to see you’re up and about after…” The mage faltered, “What was it that you did? I’ve been curious about it ever since.” Emiline began a fevered tirade about arcane theorems and magical applications, scarcely allowing Domini a moment to get a word in edgewise. Vilkin shored up behind the mage a moment later, eyeing Domini sympathetically. Emiline hushed. 

“It seems I’m not the only one shackled to a greater will.” He said. “Though the power that binds you is something else, something wholly terrible and consuming. You bear Nihilin’s taint, don’t you?” 

The way Vilkin spoke, he seemed understanding of Domini’s plight, as though he could comprehend it. 

“Not Nihilin, no. I am of Simri.” It was unsettling to say aloud, as though just saying it made it true. The Other gurgled it’s own agreement.

“Simri?” Vilkin furrowed his brow.

“Yes, she—“ 

“She’s the goddess of creation, yes.” Emiline interrupted excitedly. “It would make sense for such a deity to also have agency over uncreation as well.” Just so. Perhaps others would understand her, then, if given the chance. Vilkin nodded, disregarding Emiline’s rambling for a moment. 

“It appears that you and I share a destiny.” 

“Do we?” 

“Whether we desire it or not. We will rid the world of the woe that is Nihilin.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand, his arm pulsing with green energy. 

“Before that, could someone tell me what has everyone up in arms?” Domini pleaded. “I can’t see a thing, and you both can fly.” 

“Ah, apologies, I meant to come down and fill you in on what you’ve missed, but my inquisitive mind got the better of me. We’ve found Soller’s Isle.” Emiline said. Domini craned her head to look past the crowd, but saw nothing but open ocean. 

“There’s nothing there.” She said, confused. Domini squinted, seeing something just above the surface of the horizon, like vapor dancing on the water. What is that? 

“That’s just it. Soller’s Isle is…well, I think it’s best if you come take a look with us.” She swished her staff in a fluid circle, and Domini became weightless. She yelped, turning over in the air a few times. Emiline steadied her. 

“I know you’re capable of similar magic, but I thought it might be best not to bring the whole ship with us this time.” She smiled. From anyone else, Domini might have taken that as an insult, but Emiline was too preoccupied by her fascination with magic to be rude. Domini allowed Emiline to pull her higher into the sky, discarding the nausea building in her throat. She clung to the mage, burying her face in her robes as they careened through the air at breakneck speeds. The Autumnal became small beneath her, and the horizon curled inward, showing more of the smooth, almost glassy ocean all around. That was, until Domini saw the maw of nothingness that was the Abyss. It started small, like a fissure on the horizon, but slowly grew with their elevation, until it encompassed a vast swath of the ocean she could see. Nihilin. 

“Where’s Soller’s Isle?” She asked, her voice barely able to register above the whipping winds. The air up so high became colder, but the sky was cloudless. Emiline pointed to an area just behind the massive hole that was the Abyss, and Domini saw it; a sliver of land. That’s it? That’s all that’s left? Nihilin must have eaten up the rest of it. The land that was left had myriad brown dots all around it, some of them almost inside the Abyss itself. Domini squinted, bracing against the winds. 

“Are those…boats?” She was in disbelief. Emiline nodded. 

“We expected the Abyss to be an untouched anomaly, nothing like this.” 

“But why? What would compel someone to embrace nothingness like that?” 

“Some people find the concept of inevitable oblivion to be comforting.” Vilkin said. He had followed them up, his right arm glowing bright green as it propelled him through the air. Emiline nodded reluctantly.

“He’s correct. Even in my time trapped in the Abyss, there were those that came to accept it as something preordained and unchanging. When we were released from the Abyss, they longed to go back. Some disappeared from Callibe after that.” She became sullen. “Perhaps they ended up here.” 

“Arista’s grace. Do Cirro and the others know about this?” 

“They do. They’re all debating with each other right now about what to do next.” Emiline began lowering them back to the ship. It was far too fast at first, and Domini cried out, but the mage adjusted the speed of their descent to a bearable level. Once back on deck, Domini smoothed her hair behind her horns and composed herself. 

“What options are there to consider?” She asked Emiline.

“Well, we were sent here to find Soller’s Isle, and we’ve done that. Outside of that, we were meant to determine whether or not it was an immediate threat to anyone, but that will be difficult with droves of other people around. We need to decide if we’re to press on, or retreat.” 

At the mention of the word ‘retreat’, the Other growled, low and angry. 

A moment later, Zave, Cirro and the others found her. They crowded around, creating a circle on the main deck by which everyone could see everyone else. 

“Needed some fresh air after being locked away below deck for a while?” Sidona smiled at her. 

“I suppose so.” Domini smiled in kind. 

“Then I take it you know the situation we’re facing?” Cirro asked. Domini nodded. 

“What are your thoughts?” He pressed. Domini raised a brow. 

“Why are you asking me?” 

“Well, as Simri’s Wisdom, you’ve got to have an opinion on all of this.” He folded his arms expectantly. Simri’s Wisdom? Domini was not thrilled with the moniker. 

“I thought you disagreed with the gods. I thought I was a ‘confused prophet’?” Domini said. 

“I’m willing to admit that I was wrong on that account. But that still doesn’t make you a god. They may work through you, but you’re still a person, and I can trust a person. Especially a person that can do what you do.” Cirro stared her down. His demeanor wasn’t derisive how it usually was, but instead pugnacious, as though he were challenging her.

Zave looked worriedly at Domini, likely remembering their previous conversations concerning divinity and destiny. 

“First of all, please, never call me ‘Simri’s Wisdom’ again. Secondly, I haven’t the faintest idea who those people at Soller’s Isle are, nor why they're here.” 

“I’d bet money that those pirates we crossed paths with came from here.” Zave said. “So there might be more pirates, and we’ve got a lot less firepower now. What with two of our ships gone.” 

“Many unexpected variables.” Emiline nodded in agreement. 

“Unexpected, certainly, but what if these people are hatching some kind of plan? Would it be prudent to leave them to their scheme?” Sidona posited. 

“Sid, we both know the dangers of thwarting plans we don’t understand. It could lead to something much worse.” Hez offered his own insight. 

“Nihilin is not a thing that will wait until we are ready to deal with it.” Vilkin said. “It must be stopped.” Cirro nodded to that sentiment. And so we are at an impasse. 

Domini wasn’t sure what to think. The area around the Abyss was inhabited, and that posed a problem. But the Abyss itself was an even bigger problem. Both options had merits and faults. We should return to Travertine. She thought. We’ve done our part, we’ve done what was asked. The Royal and True Blues are working together. Maybe we’ll even have time to catch up with Elias and the delegation. Domini said the words in her mind like an affirmation, but the Other was having none of it. The more she ignored it, the louder it became, until it very nearly eclipsed her own voice in her mind. The Other had followed Domini all this way, clumsily guiding her along to get to this point. It wasn’t about to let her walk away from it all for nothing.

 She cursed. She knew what Vindegost, what Simri, what the Other, what destiny wanted from her. But what did Domini want? I want this to finally be over. She knew it wouldn’t be until Nihilin was no more. The Other would hound her, and the Abyss would open its maw wider while Domini loafed around, pretending she was helpless. No. The time had come to end it. 

“We should press on.”

14

The space Gilda and the others found themselves in smelled foul, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t dealt with before. The room was akin to an indoor latrine, the rows of stalls separated by aged, decrepit wood. Each stall contained little more than a hole that led to the outside, likely where it drained into Traver’s Sound. She surmised that this latrine was for the guardsmen alone to use, as prisoners would try to escape through the holes that led to the outside world. She shuddered thinking about where the prisoners were expected to relieve themselves. Gilda referenced her mental map of the Bastille thus far, thinking back to the twists and turns of the strange underground tunnels, as well as the dips and climbs they had to make to escape the slime. By her estimation, they were most definitely not on the ground level, but likely several stories high within the King’s quarter of the Bastille. 

I wonder if the King’s men are using this shitter? Gilda had an idea to check how fresh some of the droppings in one of the stalls were, but thought better of it. That seemed a bridge too far for one who ran the kitchens. She followed behind Elias as he crept through the thin chamber, a dagger in one hand, Tish’s invisibility scroll in the other. There were no torches within the room, but that would matter little to most folk that weren’t human. In the confined hallways of the Bastille, there would be little in the way of hiding spots, no matter how dark it was. Elias approached the scraggly wooden door that led to another chamber. He turned to Grenfi and Gilda, his long white hair slick with slime and sweat. 

“Gilly, any idea where the King might have his chambers set up? You and Grenfi did help clean this place up, after all. I would bet that Molthus cozied up in a room near the King.” 

“Hm…” Gilda chewed her cheek, thinking. Each of the connected areas of the Bastille were like that of cell blocks for prisoners, with smaller common areas and barracks for the guardsmen who would watch them. The room that likely belonged to the warden—or whatever the equivalent of a warden was—was where Constance had set up her Delegation space and personal quarters. That left quite a few options for where the King could have gone. Gilda simply couldn’t know, as she hadn’t been in this area of the Bastille since the king had arrived. She could make an educated guess, what with her knowledge of which rooms were biggest, but that wasn’t particularly reliable. And if she was wrong, they’d be wandering around the Bastille until they were caught, and Constance explicitly said she wouldn’t help them out of danger. Gilda felt that it was an awful lot of pressure to put on her tiny shoulders. 

“I dunno.” She slouched, dejected. 

“Oh come on, Gilly, you’ve got to have some idea. Otherwise, I’ll have to use this scroll and see how far I can get on my own.” Elias said insistently. The comment was designed to play on her anxiety, and it worked wonders. Elias was stealthy, but she doubted he’d be able to sneak past the whole of the King’s royal guard on his own. Gilda quailed even further, but nodded. This was why she came along in the first place, and she would do her job. After all, they’d killed a dragon before, what were a few sods in shiny armor compared to that? 

“Fine, follow me.” She teetered up to the door and peered into the hallway beyond. Torches lit isolated corners in both directions, an indication that this area was most certainly patrolled. By her memory, there was a cluster of larger rooms in the center of this quarter of the Bastille. Likely it belonged to the guards, or otherwise was used as some sort of inventory space, but it would be the safest spot for a King who felt he had enemies. Layers of spiraling hallways were a buffer on that path, hallways likely stuffed with ornery guardsmen and magical traps. And we don’t even know what we’re looking for! They were risking life and limb for what? Evidence of Molthus’s involvement in the assassination plot? What if there was none? What if they were mistaken, and Molthus was innocent? It’s too late to get cold feet now. They stepped into the hallway. 

Elias and Grenfi stayed close behind her as they crept through the especially dark hallways. The torches were like beacons in the darkness, singular glimmering stars that pointed them onward. Gilda chose the path on the left and followed it, straining her floppy goblins ears to listen for any indication that they weren’t alone. That indication came soon enough, as a pair of guardsmen turned into the long hall they were slinking down. Shite! They all scurried to the corner, watching as the guardsmen, one human and one halfling, trotted along at a hurried pace. They held a torch between them, as neither halflings nor humans could see well in the dark. Gilda was grateful for that, the torch would make them blind to things in the distance. But how do we get around them? 

Elias tapped her shoulder, pointing up at the ceiling. In a fluid motion, he tossed his dagger into it and blinked upward, holding onto the knife and pressing himself flat against the ceiling just on the corner between both hallways. Even Gilda, who knew he was there, had trouble seeing him. She doubted these spooked guardsmen would be any wiser. Gilda climbed the wall on sticky feet, then lowered a bit of twine down for Grenfi. The deep gnome scaled to the top of the wall as though she were climbing a mountain, and they all pressed in as tightly as they could. Gilda drew a loose portion of Elias’s cloak around herself, hoping it would help conceal her further. As the two guards made their approach, Gilda heard the tail end of their conversation. 

“You sound bitter.” The halfling man of the two said. 

“I’m not bitter, I just think it’s unfair that some people are given…special treatment, let’s say.” The human replied. Both men had heavy Favergonian accents. 

“I mean, they were locked away in another dimension for a few years, you don’t think they deserve their promotions?” 

“Well it’s not about whether or not they deserve it, it’s about the chain of command!” The human insisted. They were just nearly rounding the corner, their torch illuminating the dark hallway. “I worked hard to be where I am. Just because these sods were locked away somewhere and came back doesn’t mean they get to break that chain.” Gilda rolled her eyes almost involuntarily. If there was one thing guardsmen knew how to do well, it was complain about their superiors.

“Like I said, you sound bitter.” The halfling plodded along, obviously annoyed with his colleague, but intent to keep the conversation going, if for no other reason than to focus on something other than the ghoulish halls of the Bastille. The human scoffed, fingering at a glowing jeweled brooch that pinned a royal purple cloak to his chest. Pretty. 

“I’ve nothing against Polaena, but do you really think she makes a better squad leader than me? I’ve worked the patrol rotation for almost five years, for Sasho’s sake! You might call it a reward for her service to the King while they were locked away in the ‘Abyss’ or whatever, but I call it favoritism.” They passed by the corner of the hallway where Gilda and company hid, both men too consumed by their conversation to notice anything amiss. 

“You won’t be calling it much of anything if Polaena hears you talking about her like this.” The halfling said as they disappeared down the other hall. As their griping faded off with their torchlight, Elias eased himself down from the ceiling, bringing both smaller women with him. They stood alone in the inky hallway, the path forward clear. Well, as clear as a path could be when surrounded on all sides by men that would stab you without a second thought. They pressed on. 

Elias took it slow, walking only a few steps before examining their surroundings. It made the whole excursion that much more anxiety inducing. Gilda fidgeted behind him as he studied the air. 

“What are you looking for?” Gilda demanded.

“Arcane wards.” He squinted. “But this isn’t my specialty. Gods, I wish Domini was here.” 

“Trust me, we know.” Grenfi playfully whispered. Gilda eyed her in the darkness. There was something amiss with Fifi, but Gilda couldn’t guess as to what. She hoped she was overthinking things. 

They continued spiraling through the halls of the Bastille, past old, decrepit cells that were far too sullied to be of use to anyone with a sense of smell. Gilda wondered again why the King ever picked such a place for the delegation to meet. They made their way further and further into the depths of the place, which also happened to be further and further away from any chance of escape. Gilda felt fortunate to have a mind for directions, otherwise they would have been hopelessly lost several turns ago. After several more turns and close calls with clueless sentries, they came across the first arcane ward. It coated the air in front of them like a thin film that warped with a phantom breeze. Elias prodded it with a light finger, then sucked his teeth. 

“We could force our way through, but I imagine it would alert whatever mage constructed this ward. We can make our way around common soldiers with half a brain, but mages and wizards would suss us out in a heartbeat.” 

“Well, what do we do then?” Gilda asked, her voice a light whisper.

Elias ran a hand through his hair, detangling bits of it. “I’m not sure…It’s far too late to turn back, but barreling forward would be suicide, and we likely wouldn’t even have time to find what we’re looking for.”

“So I ask again; what do we do?” 

“Well I’m open to suggestions, Gilly.” He huffed. 

“Didn’t you used to do this sort of thing?” 

“Generally, I would lie in wait and kill people, not politely sneak around stealing things. The Drow equivalent of espionage is a few shades bloodier than this.”

The din of several more guardsmen bumbling by interrupted their quiet argument. Gilda skittered up the wall like a cockroach, and Elias tossed his knife up and hid. Grenfi bundled herself beneath his cloak as they passed, and Gilda noticed that one of these guards also bore a shining brooch upon their chest. They came and went without incident, as bumbling as any of the others. Once they were gone, Gilda unstuck herself from the ceiling and landed adroitly, then turned to Elias. 

“How do they get through?” She asked. “They’ve got no mage with them.” 

“More than likely, they bear some sort of magical effigy that grants them allowance. Getting our hands on it would be nigh impossible, though. I’m nifty, but I’m not the best pickpocket in the world.” 

“I think it might be the shiny brooch that some of them were wearing. It looked important enough, anyway.” 

Elias smiled with his eyes. “Well, aren't you keen? But how do you suppose we get the brooch from any of them without killing them, and without them noticing?”

“Hells, I dunno.” Gilda shrugged. Then, a brilliantly absurd idea popped into her head. “Actually, I think I might have something.” 

Elias arched a brow. “Do tell.” 

—

In another life, Gilda could have been a criminal mastermind, Elias thought. Hells, there’s still time. The goblin sold herself short most of the time, but she was crafty. Whether it be in the kitchens, or miles below the earth in the caverns of the Underdark, or deep within the guts of the Mutora Bastille, Gilda had tricks up her sleeve. This plan was positively unhinged, but it was that very characteristic that attracted Elias to it. It was the sort of plan that a child would draw up, something so ridiculous and fanciful as to only exist in a realm of make believe. Even if it wasn’t likely to work, they didn’t have much of a choice. They needed to uncover this plot, no matter the cost. The fate of the Delegation, and by extension, the well being of Domini and the others, was at stake. Whether the threat be empire spanning war or unfathomable gods devouring the world, the Delegation was the solution. He clutched his dagger as he dangled from the ceiling, waiting for the next round of guardsmen to pass by. 

Gilda waited in a nearby cell, her lengthy bread tongs held between the grubby fingers of one hand, while the other held the invisibility scroll. Grenfi hid nearby with her blade ready, should the worst come to pass. Elias fingered the pouch of powdered pepper dust. Just smelling it through the pouch was enough to make his eyes water. Gods, I hope this works. 

After several minutes of waiting, the quiet hallway was disturbed by armored footfalls. Elias tensed, ready. Everything would have to be done in a fluid motion if it was to work. The men drew closer, passing by the cells on the opposite side of the arcane ward. Elias spied the brooch on one of the sentry’s cloaks, the jewel within it glowing a dull blue. He looked to Gilda, and saw her fade into nothing like a mirage, the spell scroll disintegrating in her hand. As the guards neared the threshold of the ward, Elias loosed the thread around the lip of the pouch, prepared to tip it over. Halerma, guide me. 

The guards passed just underneath Elias, entirely unaware of him. He used the opportunity to flick the powdery pouch through the air, dousing everything in a fine mist. Both men stopped, looking around quizzically, before rubbing at their eyes furiously. Yes! Elias pressed the moment of confusion, and threw his knife through the air just as one of the men began a sneezing fit. The dagger cut through the pin that held the brooch in place, just a hair’s width from slicing the man’s throat. With that, the cloak came loose, and the brooch began to slide off the sentry’s armor. Elias blinked to his dagger, though it had landed a ways from the two men. Come on, Gilda. 

Her one job was to catch the brooch as it fell, and Elias hoped she was up to the task. The brooch slid, the jewel twinkling as it fell through the air. The men continued their coughing and sneezing, both cursing the dirty air of the Bastille. Only about a foot from the ground, the brooch halted midair, then began bobbing toward the magical ward. Without a breath, Elias hurled his knife straight at the threshold, landing just before the magical veil. The floating brooch passed through with ease, the veil undisturbed. Elias followed just behind it, his steps inaudible underneath the hail of sneezes from the men. He looked back, watching as Grenfi scurried along, her tiny form low to the ground as she passed the two sentries. 

“I’m telling you, mate, it’s damn spores! We’ll be growing mushrooms out of our ears at this rate!” One of the guards said as he removed his gauntlets to better wipe at his eyes. Elias and the girls were long gone before the men recovered, the brooch now theirs. You’re a gods damned genius, Gilly.  

They made their way further into a more well lit area of the Bastille. It was evident that this area was lived in, as many of the cells had curtains crudely thrown up to make them into approximations of rooms. Men and women snored on the other side of some of the curtains, while others played card or dice games, or otherwise held hushed conversations about the state of things. Elias was sure that at least a couple of the cells they passed hid folks doing something indecent, and it made a surly smile curl his lips. 

The brooch still bobbed about next to Elias as they crept along, the only assurance that Gilda hadn’t run ahead without them. As they rounded further and further through the labyrinth of hallways, occasionally clinging to the shadows, they came across another magical barrier, then another. It was confirmation that they were headed in the right direction. They began to encounter less guards, and more servants and paiges milling about. They were far too focused on their duties to mind the Drow lurking on the ceilings above them, luckily. It was concerning that so many people were active at such a late hour, especially among humans and halflings, but Elias supposed that the political machine of an entire kingdom didn’t have the luxury of sleep. Elias wasn’t certain of the hour, but he did feel as though they should take care of their little mission sooner rather than later. In the peak hours of the morning, they were certain to be spotted. 

“We’re almost there, I think.” Gilda’s disembodied voice said. 

“Excellent. Let’s start looking at nearby cells and rooms for where Molthus might be.” Elias replied, his words light as wind. 

“You might not have to look far…” Grenfi said from beside him. 

He followed her sightline down to the far end of the hall, to a dimly lit corner where a man seemed to be hiding in the shadows. He was hiding poorly, but hiding all the same. Elias recognized the thin strap of hair around the orc’s balding head, as well as the ornate robes he wore. It was Molthus himself. Isn’t he supposed to be with the king? Elias was perplexed. It was just their luck that the one day they were counting on Molthus to follow after King Jaris like a bitch in heat, he would be sneaking around the King’s quarter instead. But maybe, just maybe, this was an opportunity instead of an obstacle. If they could catch Molthus outright, they might not need to do this whole song and dance of gathering evidence to present a case against him. 

“Let’s follow him.” Elias crept forward. The brooch shook violently. 

“Elias, wait! We were supposed to snoop through this sods stuff, not spy on him directly!” 

He turned to face the brooch. “Gilly, you’re literally invisible right now, and you have the one key that’s needed to leave the King’s quarter unnoticed. If anything happens, just run, okay? You’ll be safe.” The brooch grumbled its discontent with their plan, but followed along. Elias picked up his pace slightly, so as to not lose track of Molthus in the winding halls. They passed several other cells as they rounded the corner into a much wider hall, likely the main thoroughfare that prisoners and guardsmen would’ve used when the Bastille was still operational. Molthus turned down a slim corridor, and Elias began to follow, stopping just shy of running into two guardsmen from an adjacent hall. He held his breath. Chastising himself for being too focused on Molthus. After the sentries passed into another hall, Elias chucked his dagger into the wall of the corridor Molthus scampered into. 

He blinked to it, just narrowly catching the shine of Molthus’s bald head as he slunk into a chamber off to the side. The door to the chamber was almost hidden, and the entire corridor reeked of the metallic stench of blood. This was a familiar environment to Elias. A torture chamber. He looked to Grenfi, who wore her discomfort plainly. He closed the distance to the hidden door, then listened from the outside. The door itself was riveted and reinforced with metal bolts, and Elias saw ancient fingernail scratches on the edge of it. Every facet of the Bastille was an age-old monument to brutality. Molthus could be heard shuffling about on the other side. Elias crept forward, eager to know what this fool was up to. He found the faintest of gaps in the doorway and peered through to the other side, watching as Molthus rummaged through one trunk among dozens in this repurposed torture chamber. It was being used as a storage closet, it seemed. Somehow, that seemed disrespectful, as if it discounted the misery of those who suffered here. Elias focused, there was nothing he could do for the dead.

After a moment of tossing items about the chamber, Molthus produced a very intricate mirror, replete with glowing golden inlay and runic carvings. Even in the lightless room, Elias could see the reflection of the mirror was odd. It was a pool of onyx, shadowy and unnatural. Molthus held the mirror forward, staring into it expectantly. A moment later, a face that was not Molthus’s appeared in the mirror's reflection. Elias was no arcane buff, but even he knew a magical trinket when he saw one. Likely, this mirror was used to communicate long distances, as his sending stones had done once upon a time. The face in the reflection was that of a man with tightly cropped hair that seemed to glow bronze, as did his eyes. His skin was golden and flawless, housing a face bereft of imperfection. There was an unsettling quality to the man, a sort of inhumanity. The man in the reflection spoke, his voice otherworldly.

“Molthus.”

“May Nihilin rive the world, Proclaimer Gothi.” Proclaimer? 

“Speak.” The man, Proclaimer Gothi, said. The word was spoken in Elvish, curiously, but Elias couldn’t quite place the accent. 

“Edgarn is dead, we suspect.”

“And the poison?” 

“Lost to us.”

Gothi nodded, as though taking the information in. “What of our lordship’s son? He yet lives, yes?” 

“Yes, Proclaimer. Whoever did away with Edgarn did not think to use the poison on him.”

“Let us be thankful for that.” 

Elias was bewildered. Why were these men thankful that someone else hadn’t thought to kill the King’s son? To what end did they do all of this? He was becoming increasingly aware of how long they’d been standing in the corridor. Molthus continued on.

“An alternative to the poison has been identified, and we will be implementing it immediately.” 

“I’ll expect word on your progress soon. Events here may necessitate a hastening of things.” 

Molthus furrowed his brow, concerned. “Proclaimer? What transpires on the Isle?”

“An unexpected element has made itself known to us, and will be seen to soon. However, you are to be prepared, should we need drastic measures taken.”

“Understood, Proclaimer.” Molthus did his best attempt at a bow while clumsily holding the mirror. With that, the mirror became a blank pane of blackness once more. Molthus exhaled, allowing himself to sag slightly, before tucking the mirror back into the trunk from which he grabbed it, then striding toward the exit. We must get our hands on that mirror. In an instant, Elias hurled his dagger into the ceiling and blinked to it, watching as Molthus made his way from the room. He missed the brooch floating lazily next to the wall as he retreated back down the hallway he had come from, as well as the deep gnome that likely lurked nearby as well. All in all, the man did not seem particularly conspiratorially minded, though perhaps he thought himself secure so deep within his own people’s territory. 

But are they his people? Elias wondered. They aimed to poison the King’s son, yet didn’t want anyone else to poison him? Coupled with their mention of Nihlin, something foul and foggy was afoot. Perhaps Constance could elucidate some things, if they were able to get back to her in one piece, of course. Once sure that Molthus was gone and no other parties were interested in the torture chamber, Elias dropped to the floor and entered the room, squinting painfully at the racket the door made as he opened it. He went straight for the chest Molthus had been looking through, finding the mirror tucked away under a polite mountain of robes befitting a nobleman. The mirror was inert for the moment, and Elias had no desire to use it quite yet.

 Along with the mirror, Elias snagged several missives from the trunk; small things that weren’t likely to be missed. He supposed Tish could confirm that Molthus had been the one to write Edgarn’s instructions to begin with. It was all evidence, just like Constance asked for. He tucked the mirror away into Gilda’s now invisible pack and made to leave. If Halerma thought to watch over them, then perhaps they’d make it back to their own quarter of the Bastille unmolested. With the brooch, things will be much simpler. All things considered, their caper was a success. They found precisely the information they needed—and then some, but still, Elias felt uneasy. They knew who was responsible, at least partly, they knew the ‘how’, but the ‘why’ was as elusive as ever. He didn’t know who this Proclaimer Gothi was, only that this man had ties to Nihilin, and perhaps the king himself. What a mess. 

Elias slipped back into the shadows of the Bastille, prepared to present his evidence to the High Councilor.

15

The Autumnal drifted toward what remained of Soller’s Isle, a large white flag whipping along the main mast. Ahead of them, Sidona saw near to a dozen other vessels all also flying a white flag. Altizo said that a white flag meant neutrality on the open ocean, and Sidona hoped he wasn’t mistaken. With only two vessels left to their meager fleet, they would be handily trounced in any naval engagement, regardless of Domini’s power. The closer they drew to Soller’s Isle, the stranger the world around them became. The sun hung high in the sky, but it didn’t seem to give off much heat. The sky was deep purple, and the stars were startlingly bright, the constellations beaming along with the sun. Some of the constellations reminded Sidona of Kian, of the beautiful tattoos he’d had all across his body. 

Along with the strange atmospheric behavior, the ocean was behaving anomalously as well. The waves seemed to pull them toward Soller’s Isle, regardless of whatever wind was influencing them. Soller’s Isle itself wasn’t spared either. Maritime maps that Altizo had shared suggested that the Isle was large, large enough to house the entirety of Callibe—which Domini had dubbed ‘the second largest arcane institution in the realm behind Yantilar’—as well as the means to sustain such a massive population, but none of that was seen. In fact, it seemed as though the rest of the Isle just disappeared, vanishing into an unseen horizon. It’s like the whole island was eaten up. 

Mages capable of flying described the Abyss from up high as a massive gouge of nothingness in the middle of Traver’s Sound. That, coupled with what Sidona saw with her own two eyes, painted an apocalyptic picture. And we’re sailing straight into it. Sidona was in favor of the plan to disrupt whatever was going on in the Abyss, but that didn’t make it any less daunting. Pirates were conceivable, maybe even a kraken, but an eldritch plane of nonexistence was not fathomable, not manageable. Maybe not for me, but Domini… 

Seeing what Domini was truly capable of gave Sidona ample reason to believe what she said about being an icon of Simri. It made everything else far too real and present, especially the dangers. If Domini truly was the vestige of a god, then the Abyss was as imminent a threat as had been described. Before any god slaying could happen, however, they would need to see who resided just outside the Abyss. 

Sidona stood at the foremast with her companions, her fist clutching her khopesh. Those on the remaining vessel in their fleet, The Dancing Flame, were on high alert. Their own company of mages stayed on the boat, but were prepared to defend the vessel if necessary. They drifted closer, pulled toward the Abyss. As the island of Soller’s Isle came into focus, so did the opposing vessels. They were a disparate bunch of ships, with no unifying colors or architectural features to marry any of them to each other, but they all flew a white flag on their masts. The ships were moored near the shore of Soller’s Isle, and as they drew closer, Sidona thought she saw the makings of a dock, or perhaps a crude port.

 She saw structures, but something was amiss with them. They seemed incomplete, as though whole chunks were missing. And yet, the structures still stood. Rudimentary wooden shacks were built with only a single wall in some cases, and yet it still held its roof up. The dock was built of planks that connected to no visible beams in the water, just floating as though the open air beneath them was enough support. The existence of such structures flew in the face of gravity, and Sidona chalked it up to Nihilin weirdness. In a way, this place reminded her of Domini, of the queer, nonsensical way her magic tended to operate. She looked to the devilkin, who stood sternly next to Zave. 

Hezekiah drew closer to Sidona, his stone skin rubbing against her plate armor. He held his dagger at his side, prepared to defend himself, but Sidona could see plainly the terror that held him. She felt guilty, like maybe she had brought him closer to danger than he needed to be. But what was preferable; living in blissful unawareness of the impending end of the world, or fighting to stop it? Sidona draped a comforting hand around his waist, holding him close. 

They were well within range for the enemy to begin hurling spells, should they wish, but none did so. In fact, most of the vessels Sidona saw weren’t entirely manned, and those on board weren’t paying much mind to their approach at all. What on earth? Smaller paddle boats bobbed across the unnatural waters near Soller’s Isle, delivering goods between ships. Sharply dressed merchants of various races spoke amiably, as though everything was perfectly normal. Upon closer inspection, most of the vessels nearby weren’t even equipped with cannons. 

“What in the hells is going on here?” Zave asked, suspicious. Too many had died for them to simply let their guard down on account of a few friendly-faced meerseniers.

“This is Soller’s Isle,” Emiline started, “but…this isn’t how I remember it.”

“You don’t say?” Zave grunted.

“Not just in terms of the Abyss. We expected monsters and beasts and crazed fanatics. These are people.” She shuddered. 

 Altizo looked to Cirro for guidance, and Sidona could see that he too was unsure of what to do next. He shot a quick glance to Domini, who furrowed her brow at him. 

He readied his cleaver, a phantom breeze shifting through his white hair. “Maintain course. Prepare for landfall.” 

—

Whatever Soller’s Isle might have once looked like, it was now an alien landscape. Zave felt it as soon as he set foot on the island itself. Cirro had Altizo moor The Autumnal near the shore, but far enough away from the other vessels as to not invite attention. Once their raft skirted against the coarse pebble beach, he lunged out, prepared for anything. Nothing sprang on them right that moment, but everything seemed askew. There were trees, living breathing trees, but they were shaped into houses, or in some cases wagons or carts. Nobody was around to occupy them, they just seemed to have grown that way. Even the taste of the air was wrong. The perpetual scent of sea salt that had found a cozy spot on Zave’s pallet these last few weeks was gone, and wasn’t replaced by anything else. The foliage all around, the ocean, the distant cook fires near the misshapen dock they had seen, none of it gave off any sort of smell. It was as though the concept of scent was forgotten in this place, carelessly tossed aside with several rules of the cosmos, like gravity. 

Mages hovered overhead, looking into the confused tree line that framed the beach, and found nothing. The crew of The Dancing Flame followed shortly after, the non combatants of each vessel staying behind while the Blue Company soldiers began their trek into the unknown. Altizo gave them all a salute from where he stood on the Autumnal, the gesture surprisingly sincere. 

Zave helped Domini as she fought with her robes to disembark their small raft. Put on some trousers, dammit. Behind her, Leopold and the others came onto land as well, just as ready as he to wage war on this very unsettling place. Vilkin specifically was jumpy, his deformed spear held in a gauntleted hand that shook with rage. It was a rage that Zave understood well, one that he was intimately familiar with. A rage borne of vengeance. The Abyss, Nihilin, had wronged Vilkin, just as Leopold had once wronged Zave. The only difference was that Leopold was capable of change, of growth, of repentance. Nihilin was an entropic force in the world, it couldn’t be reasoned with, and it wasn’t a thing to condemn or forgive. He hoped it was at least something they could stop. 

Once the remaining Blue Company soldiers formed up on the beach, they lined up in columns, allowing Zave to somewhat accurately guess that they had around a hundred men, give or take. Not much. Certainly not enough to assault a magical anomaly, he thought. They crept along the beach, weapons held firmly, and approached the area where proper civilization could be seen. Zave spied other figures flitting through the air that were not their own mages. In fact, these other airborne folk didn’t seem to be mages at all, but instead normal people dancing around in the skies. They began slowly drifting toward the ground the closer they got to the shores and strange port of Soller’s Isle, while those nearer to the Abyss proper flew much higher. He raised an eyebrow at that, and watched as Domini jotted something down in her journal. 

As they finished closing the distance to the peculiar port, breaking through the line of misshapen trees and hitherto unseen flora all around, the denizens of Soller’s Isle finally paid them mind. They looked on curiously as the Blue Companymen approached in their rigid formation with their weapons drawn. They weren’t fearful or alert, just quizzical, as though they were watching a traveling troupe of musicians playing instruments very poorly. One man broke from the rest of the meerseniers on the dock and approached. He was dwarvish, with short hair and a braided beard that looped around his neck like an amulet. The man held out a friendly, yet halting hand. 

“Ho, all!” He called in a booming, effusive manner. “No need for the weapons and scowls, I assure you. All are welcome on the Isle.” 

Cirro spoke first, his tone as diplomatic as he could manage. “What transpires here? Who are you all?”

“That is a question for the proclaimer.” The dwarf replied. “To most, the only thing that transpires here is rest and enrichment. I myself am nothing more than a meersenier, come to replenish supplies on my trek across the Sound. You may call me Sidern Mansehead.” The proclaimer? 

“Where may we find this ‘proclaimer’?” Cirro demanded. 

“He is further inland, near to the Window.” Sidern said. Zave felt Domini stiffen next to him. 

“What is the window?” Emiline butted in, her slight voice scarcely carrying the distance to Sidern. 

“‘Tis the threshold between worlds. That is where the proclaimer and his votaries gather.” 

“To do what, exactly?” Vilkin stepped forward, spear in hand. Sidern was evidently taken aback by the Suneater’s truculent demeanor. 

“These are questions for the proclaimer and his votaries, I'm but a simple merchant extending a greeting to newcomers.” Sidern issued their force a smile and went about his business, almost daintily skipping toward one of the vessels in the port. As he stepped across planks of wood that seemed to be held up by nothing but positive affirmations, they held fast, holding his weight as he returned to his ship. Cirro took a moment to address their group, his voice carrying far.

“For now, we’ll sheathe our weapons and approach cautiously.” 

Vilkin shook his head. “Is that wise? We know something is amiss.” 

“We do, but we don’t know exactly what. It would behoove us to approach in a neutral stance, as opposed to behaving like some type of occupying force. These people have shown us hospitality thus far, we should respond in kind. Let’s pay a visit to this…proclaimer.” 

They all descended upon the port, taking it in. It was nonsensical, almost whimsical. Zave observed fishmongers with their daily catch, the fish themselves marred by the same pestilential black sludge that afflicted the kraken. The buildings and stalls where every odd person was hawking wares and baubles were incomplete, like half finished thoughts. Some of the structures seemed older, possibly from the same time as Callibe had been there, but they were missing chunks that looked to have been excised like malignant tumors. The port led further into the Isle via a cobbled road, which was lined with more oddities and people. 

Zave saw meerseniers, brothel workers, pirates, and thieves, but he saw just as many clerics and missionaries to any one of the gods. One of the buildings seemed to be an Aristan temple, much like the ones in Anonta, but large chunks of the walls and stained glass were missing. It allowed for a decent look inside, at the congregation that prayed and held sermons. Clerics inside tended wounds and invoked rites of purification, all under the languid purple light that permeated this place. 

“What do you suppose draws them here?” Hezekiah mused to nobody in particular. 

“If it’s as that Sidern fellow says, this place is a waystop, at least for some. Just as many seem to have taken residence here, though.” Leopold opined.

“Whatever it is, it’s not right.” Zave said. 

As they ventured further inland, the sky grew darker, the shade of purple more intense. Curiously, Zave felt lighter than usual, his armor and sword not weighing on him nearly as much. Overhead, mages and denizens mingled like leaves in a tempestuous breeze. They zigzagged through the makeshift town, the streets all punctuated with those same misshapen trees, which Zave supposed were some flavor of palm tree. They were similar to ones he’d seen in Xallajin, but Zave was no horticulturist. 

Domini stayed close, her two arms wrapped around his larger one. He leaned down to her.

“Having second thoughts?” He asked. She shook her head, her brown hair bouncing in lazy ringlets. 

“Not second thoughts, no. Truth be told, it’s hard to hold a thought at all in this place. It makes me feel…scattered. The people here might be jovial, but I’m worried about this Proclaimer character.” Concern tinged her every word. 

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, just stay close, okay?” Zave said. He encompassed her space with his hulking form, and Domini seemed just a bit more at ease for it. 

After a time, the buildings fell away, becoming less and less material until there was nothing left. With the buildings went the trees, then the cobbled road, then the ground itself became immaterial in places, with nothing underneath but blackness. The ground sloped up ever so slightly, building to a small peak. From above, Zave could hear concerned mutterings from the mages that flew ahead. Soon enough, he saw what concerned them. Folnish preserve us. 

Everything material fell away into a city sized pit of nothingness. It swirled around in a dizzying circle, like an unimaginably large tornado. Within it, Zave saw bits of stone structures flowing along in the maddening current of inky nothingness like islands. In that moment, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they had finally found it. 

“Nihilin.” Domini said in awe and despair. She laced her reedlike fingers through Zave’s. Next to her, Ardra spoke a silent prayer in her harsh elvish tongue, her eyes wide with familiarity and anguish.

“This must be the window.” Cirro stood just at the precipice of it, where the world of laws no longer applied. “But where is this proclaimer?” 

As though answering a call, a figure took form in the nothingness, and approached them through the neverending gale that was the window to Nihilin. The figure was a man with almost metallic golden skin and a shock of short hair in shades of bronze atop his head. At first glance, he seemed to be wearing form-fitted robes, but as he drew closer, they turned out to not be clothes at all, but instead a wreath of darkness that shrouded his body. His face was unnaturally beautiful, as though shaped with intention to be perfect in every way. Zave hadn’t ever encountered someone like him before. He looked angelic, in a way. From behind him he heard Vilkin murmur.

“Gothi.” 

Zave started, “You know him?” 

The man known as Gothi spoke, his voice carrying across the tempest behind him. 

“Suneater, welcome. I see you’ve brought company to witness the fruits borne of your ill conceived heroism.” 

Vilkin stepped forward, his spear firm in his hand. The power of the Sunburst flared within him, a hound that barely came to heel. “There was nothing ill conceived in delivering the world from a harrowing fate. My work was incomplete, and I have returned to finish it.” 

Gothi chuckled where he floated in the air, his shaded garb pulsing with every breath he took. “There is nothing to finish, Suneater. Nihilin is here. In a way, I should thank you; without your foolishness, Nihilin would never have returned to our world.” Vilkin gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

“You’re the proclaimer then?” Zave piped up. As always, he felt as though he wasn’t privy to just about anything, and wanted some damn answers. Gothi trained a wayward glance at him, as though he were an insect barely worth his attention. 

“I am. Nihilin does not speak, and so someone must dictate its will.”

“If Nihilin doesn’t speak, then how in the hells could you know what it wants?” Zave crossed his meaty arms. 

“What does a fire seek at all times, if not something to burn? What does water seek, if not a place to flow? The sun seeks a place to shine, the moons and stars a night sky to paint. These things simply are, and we do not question their wants, we only know that they do want. Nihilin is the same, it seeks to unmake all. Just as a fire would consume a forest until everything was ashen and black, Nihilin would see the world reduced to its most base form.” 

“And what form is that?” Cirro asked.

“Ideas. Before anything can be anything, it must be a thought. Nothing comes into being by happenstance, everything starts as nothing more than a potentiality.”

Zave knitted his bushy brows together. “What does that mean? It just sounds senseless, barbaric.” 

“Not senseless, no.” Gothi shook his head. “Flame may melt the skin from your bones, the ocean waves may dash you against rocks until there’s nothing left of you, gravity may slam you to the earth, but these things are neither senseless, nor barbaric. Nihilin is a law, the strictest of them in all the worlds, and yet permissive in so many ways. Imagine living as an idea, something with no true form or reason, malleable in every way. Able to exist, and not exist simultaneously. It’s a thing of beauty.”

“What does a world like that even look like?” Zave interrogated.

The question seemed to be the one Gothi wanted to hear, for he finally looked at Zave, really saw him. “Allow me to show you.”

“You’re not worried we’ll try to stop you?” Sidona added defiantly. Zave appreciated her courage in the face of something so utterly inconceivable. Gothi shook his head calmly.

“Not in the slightest. Not because I don’t think you’ll try, but because it would be a futile effort. You all are mere men with swords and elementary magic, you could no sooner fight Nihilin as you could the air we breathe.” Gothi held a hand toward them all. “Come, see Nihilin’s intent made manifest.” 

Gothi waved a hand forward, and a bladed quarterstaff solidified into it, coalescing from the vaporous shadows that clothed him. He opened his arms, as though welcoming the Blue Company force into his home. Everyone shuffled about, unsure. They stood at the precipice between the material world and nothingness. From where they stood, it looked as though the cliff fell down into an infinite swirling void, and yet Gothi beckoned them regardless. 

“This place subsists on ideas, making them reality. Imagine a bridge, and it will appear. Imagine anything or anyone, and it will be yours, as will the absence of things. You could imagine a world where gravity does not confine you, and Nihilin will make it the truth of things here. Flesh and blood define nobody in this place. You are what you wish to be.” This is utter rotheshite. 

And yet, in spite of his misgivings, Zave allowed a passing lament for gravity play through his mind, and felt as he began lightly floating above the cliff. He started, and Domini tugged him back to the earth, clinging to him. She was desperately terrified.

—

“This is wrong, so wrong.” Domini said to Zave in a shaky whisper. “Coming here was a mistake. Gothi is right, we can’t fight this.” 

Her power was burgeoning, practically ready to explode from her in a violent burst. The Abyss amplified her power by orders of magnitude, and it was almost impossible to control now. Every errant thought that Domini had needed to be contained, or it risked spilling out of her head and into the material world. The Other was humming incessantly, almost vibrating with anticipation inside of her. It scared Domini. She knew she needed to be here with all of these people, but she didn’t know what to do. From behind, she heard several Blue Company soldiers cry out in surprise as they began to take flight. Above many people, Domini saw their thoughts clumsily manifesting in the very air around them. Cirro thought of Denithor, Leopold thought of a man that looked nearly identical to himself, and Ardra thought of Vitaan. Simri, guide me…

 Others among them conjured random items that they had thought of, while a few disappeared altogether, their armor clattering to the ground in a heap. A mix of wonder and panic washed over them all in a wave. 

“Why show us this, Gothi? What is it you want us to see?” Vilkin pressed. 

“The inexorability of Nihilin.” He said, his voice softly exuberant. He pointed to the spots among the Blue Company where soldiers had disappeared. “Already, some of your ilk have found a place within Nihilin, their flesh rivened and their minds unraveled to their barest forms. They will live on as concepts and potential, an endless amalgam within Nihilin. Some of you will resist, that is a certainty, but it will be ultimately meaningless, Suneater. I know why you’ve come, you cannot fool me.” 

The history between these two men seemed fraught.

Vilkin gave Domini the slightest of conspiratorial glances. “Tell me ‘proclaimer’, why have I come?”

Gothi waded back and forth in the darkness before them, almost playfully. “You seek you set the sky alight with the Sunburst once more, putting up yet another useless resistance that will doubtlessly fail. This ruthless pursuit has seen you handily punished once before, is that something you’re willing to subject yourself to a second time?” 

Domini understood the veiled purpose behind Vilkin’s question. He was trying to discern if Gothi knew about her, about her purpose and capability. Clever. The bluster with which Gothi spoke led her to believe that he was none the wiser. He thought he knew everything, and Domini was content to let him think that, at least for now. Everyone else was smart enough to keep mum, not sparing her a glance. Not even Ardra, who so ardently believed that Domini was meant to halt whatever the proclaimer was setting in motion. Domini was thankful for that. 

Vilkin continued. “Very well, Gothi. Show us your god.” He took to the sky, rising to a height with Gothi. Both men swirled around each other, a green comet circling a black hole. 

“Nihilin is no god, Suneater. Gods are ideas, just as you and I are. They can be unmade in kind. Now, come along, I will introduce you all to Nihilin’s realm.” Gothi drifted away into the ocean of blackness. It was odd how he could be so shrouded in utter darkness, and yet Domini could still see him, still feel his presence all around. This man was attuned to Nihilin, just as a pyromancer was attuned to flame itself, or a necromancer to the dead.

With little recourse, they followed Gothi into darkness.

16

Gilda sat in Constance’s Delegation room, a dainty cup of milk tea before her. The cup itself was of fine porcelain, crafted by artisans in Xallajin long before the Waste War, Constance was sure to note. Light from the Sound played across the surface of the tea, casting spirited glares onto the sheer tapestries that adorned the oppressive walls. It was odd to be treated with hospitality by Constance after weeks of indifference, but Gilda certainly wasn’t going to complain. She took a sip of the tea and nearly gagged. Perhaps at least one complaint was in order. Gods above and below…To call the drink in front of her ‘tea’ was charitable, Gilda would’ve been more likely to label it as syrup. It was so nauseatingly sweet as to make her teeth ache with just one sip, and Gilda could see she wasn’t alone. 

Elias, Grenfi, and Tish both drank of the same vile concoction, and their abilities to conceal how terrible they thought it was varied wildly. The chitinous plates of Tish’s face almost peeled away from the softer flesh beneath, as though trying to flee from the absurdly saccharine beverage that had been forced upon them. Grenfi took measured sips, her sky blue eyes narrowing in displeasure with each one, while Elias downed the entire cup in one swig, as though he were drinking spirits in a tavern. Hana sat nearby as well, and Gilda found herself jealous of the doll; at least she didn’t have to drink this gods awful tea.  

They waited as a group for Constance to finish dressing in the adjacent room. They had all come to her in the wee hours of the morning, before she’d had time to begin making herself decent. Gilda underestimated exactly how long that process would be. They had blown past breakfast hours ago, and were very nearly coming upon lunch when Constance fetched several servants to make up some tea and cakes for them while they waited. Gilda knew that the cakes at least would be edible, she helped make them, after all. 

Tish chittered angrily where she sat, ill at ease to have finally been roped into their scheme fully. She all but locked herself into her cell-chamber with webbing from her spinneret, before acquiescing and following Elias and the rest. They had initially gone to her with the writings they nabbed from Molthus to confirm that the note given to Edgarn was in fact penned by his hand. But once they had that, they couldn’t go to Constance without her. They knew Constance wouldn’t simply take their word for it, and they sorely needed the High Councilor’s blessing for the madness they had prepared next. 

Hana had come along as a formality, to lend credence to the rumors she had been collecting. The time had come for them to lay all of their cards on the table for Constance, and every assenting voice would help. The doll sat primly, her violet and red robes tied tightly about her sensuous body. The fabric of her robes was reminiscent of the tapestries strung across the Delegation room, and it made Gilda wonder if perhaps the two bought fabric from the same meersenier. 

After suffering through her cup of tea, if for no other reason than to be polite to this most crotchety of politicians, Gilda began fidgeting in her raised seat. The sugar worked through her like a tonic, making her restless. She felt like she could run across every wall in the chamber ten times over and still have enough energy to cook the night’s feast and take Grenfi to bed after that. This is how the High Councilor does all her meetings, I guess. The tea had certainly sharpened Gilda’s mind, but perhaps it had made it too sharp. She was like to cut herself with her own thoughts at this rate. Elias put a hand on her noggin to settle her, and she eased back into her seat. 

Finally, Constance graced them all with her presence. Her blue dress was more comfortable looking than her typical fare, sporting a corset that didn’t make it seem as though she’d snap in half at the waist, and reasonably hemmed sleeves that would allow her arms to potentially do more than just lithely dangle at the sides of her full figured body. She spared no expense for her makeup, however. Her eyes were painted up as though they’d been dusted with powdered gold, and her cheeks bore a rosy hue that complimented her dark skin. Her lips took in light from the world outside and reflected it in an appetizing way. She was an absurdly beautiful woman, and Gilda surmised that half of her political prowess could be afforded to that fact. It would be difficult to deny a woman that you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in bed with. Not that Gilda had a mind to be unfaithful, she would love Grenfi for all time, but the High Councilor had a magnetism that could not be ignored. 

She affixed them all with a worried gaze. “I’ve been dreading your return from the King’s quarter. Part of me hoped you wouldn’t be back at all, but you’re here now, so tell me what you’ve found.” 

Elias began recounting the previous night’s events in agonizing detail, leaving no minutia to the Councilor’s imagination. He told her of Molthus, of the mysterious man in the mirror, of the notes they’d pilfered, even of the strange tunnels running beneath the whole of the Bastille. None of it triggered any recognition for her until they mentioned the mirror-man’s name; Gothi.

“A man named Gothi was an arcanist that served under King Jaris. He had close ties to both Favergon and Callibe. Last I heard, he went missing some time ago, and hadn’t been seen since. It seems as though he’s been busy.” She rubbed her flawlessly manicured nails through her thickly braided hair, now consumed by the same puzzle that had a hold over all of them as well. This man, Gothi, was associated with the Abyss to some capacity, and it seemed as though he had designs to keep the king of Favergon from reaching an accord with Morkesh, but why? 

“Why would that man want to poison the king’s son?” Elias asked.

“But also, he didn’t want anyone else to poison the brat either.” Gilda noted. 

“It doesn’t make any damned sense!” Tish huffed. 

“It is confounding.” Hana nodded. 

“Okay, okay.” Constance swiped a hand in front of her face to hush them all. “Let me think for a moment.” 

It was a long moment, the entirety of it spent expectantly staring at the High Councilor while she idly puzzled to herself. Gilda was practically vibrating with impatience. Once Lady Therolan’s moment ended, she posited her own theory. 

“Could Gothi, Molthus, and the King all be in league with each other? You said Gothi spoke respectfully of the king. That’s not something you do with a man you mean to bring death to.” 

“If that were the case, why come to the Bastille at all? What would be the point of putting on this charade in the first place?” Elias asked. “You said yourself that you felt as though you were getting through to the king during your negotiations.”

“Indeed.” Constance nodded. “Several times, I’ve felt like he was ready to concede, up until Molthus and the Queen got in his ear. And from all I know of Jaris—which is a lot, I promise you, he’s an honorable man. I can’t see him plotting to murder his own son, falsely or otherwise. It smacks too much of cowardice, and he’s anything but.” 

“So then for now, we must operate under the assumption that Molthus is in league with Gothi, and Gothi alone, yes?” Hana joined their roundtable musings. 

“That seems the most prudent option, yes.” Constance confirmed. 

“Regardless of who is involved, so long as the king isn’t, we can expose this to him, show him that he is being played for a fool by his own people, and see this whole mess finished.” Elias said hopefully. 

“And how do you suppose we do that without irreparably damaging the tenuous peace we currently have?” Constance’s brow crept upward. 

“It’s simple,” Hana said, “We make a production out of it.”

—

It felt good to be back in the kitchens for a spell, after a night spent covered in goo and also possibly sewage and remnants of corpses. Gilda was not terribly fond of bathing, but she and Grenfi took an exceptionally long bath in preparation for the night's events, their newly cleaned clothes smelling floral and lovely. Before they began preparing the evening’s dishes, Gilda helped Grenfi twist her long white hair into braids, though she wasn’t nearly as skilled at it as Grenfi was. One of her braids came out tight and immaculate, the other frayed and shaggy. Gilda used the moment alone with her lover to talk candidly.

“What’s been going on?” Gilda asked, her voice scratchy and soft. Grenfi cringed beneath her.

“I can’t tell you, Gilly. Not yet. After tonight, I’ll tell you everything, I swear.” 

Unsatisfied with her answer, Gilda pressed further. “Is it Minbi?” 

“What?” Grenfi paled.

“You’ve both been acting funny recently. I don’t know much, but I do see things.” Gilda squirmed, suddenly very uncomfortable with the topic. “I know I’m smelly, and I’ve got a temper, but if you’ve gone and started buggering Minbi, then just tell me now and—”

Grenfi whipped around and kissed her. 

“Gilly, I love you. I swear to Halerma herself that it isn’t anything like that. But please, I need you to trust me for now.” 

The gnome’s kiss and words of affection were more than enough for Gilda. She swayed back and forth for a moment, dazzled by the love she felt. She trusted Grenfi, through and through. If she said things were on the up and up, then Gilda would believe her. She would have her answers eventually, but it could wait one more night, at least. Finally satisfied that Grenfi wasn’t having a seedy affair on the side, the two women began their savory scheme, their culinary conspiracy. 

Gilda snatched the jar containing the manta ray glue she had acquired a while ago, and began planning a dish around it, one specially for Molthus. The glue smelled terribly fishy, and her initial plan for it was a fish pie, but that proved untenable. Even just a little bit in a pie almost glued her mouth shut for several hours. For Molthus though, it would be perfect. In order for their scheme to work in any way, he’d have to be silent. She began slicing away at vegetables for the Molthus Glue-Pie with Grenfi, while the rest of the kitchen toiled away at everything else Gilda had prepared. There were candied fruits across bread puddings, one of which sported sugary glazed nightcrawlers, though Gilda was certain the High Councilor would avoid that one. In addition to the puddings, there were an array of fried fish dishes, platters of pickled snails placed on beds of spiced fermented cabbage, even a turtle meat soup, courtesy of the fishermen with whom Gilda was becoming fast friends. 

For this evening, Gilda had conscripted Tahgrim, the gnomish barkeep, paying him directly from the High Councilor’s pocket to bring his strongest ale and mead for tonight’s feast. All was going according to plan, even Elias made an appearance to assist them in the kitchens, but you’d think the man had never held a knife in his whole life, for how abysmally he butchered the potatoes that went into the turtle soup. That’s men, for you. Gilda suffered over her pie plot, ensuring that it was almost irresistibly flavorful. She wanted Molthus to devour it, so that he would be thoroughly silenced. Sweat bled into the handkerchief that Gilda wore around her head as she worked, her little fingers dipping into every complimentary spice she could think of to enhance the dish to its full potential, before finally stuffing it into one of the ovens and waiting. 

She could hear guests gathering in the feasting hall, all entirely unaware of the spectacle they would soon be witness to. 

“I hope Hana is ready for this.” Elias slouched against the blackened wall of the kitchen, as though he’d done even half the work that Gilda had. 

“She’s a performer, I’m sure she’ll be up to the task.” Grenfi said from her position atop the spice rack. 

Just as their spurious pie was finished baking, Tish popped her arachnid head into the kitchen, unsettling several of the staff who weren’t used to seeing driders. 

“The king and his entourage have arrived, hurry up!” The chirruping in her voice sounded urgent. Gilda quickly pulled the pie from the ovens and inspected it, running a silver spoon over the top to feel how perfectly crispy the crust was. It smelled divine, so much so that she was saddened to waste something so wonderful on a wretch like Molthus. She begrudgingly plated the pie and waddled into the feast hall with it, making absolutely certain that it was the closest dish to Molthus before anything else. 

She retreated from the king and his entourage, her head not even level with the royal feasting table on the dais where it stood. Sure enough, like a fly drawn to honey, Molthus dug a serving spoon deep into the pie, helping himself to a heaping glob of it. Gilda hoped he wouldn’t take much note of how stringy the filling was, almost like melted cheese, in a way. She wondered if perhaps it could be used as a gelatin, with the right measurements. Focus! 

Gilda and Grenfi found a spot near the rear wall of the feasting hall to stand, just next to Elias, who stood at Constance’s shoulder while she picked at her own meal. Tish was awkwardly perched upon a chair in the crowd below, waiting, and Hana milled through between the tables with her biwa, singing and filling the hall with a melody that complimented the passive racket of warring silver and dishware. In the crowd, Gilda spied Denithor’s straw yellow hair. And though he was sullen, he did eat hungrily. Gilly allowed herself a moment to bask. From her position just behind Elias, Gilda saw the strange magical mirror that Molthus had used to contact Gothi hidden in the waist of his trousers, just behind his cloak. You couldn’t find a better place for that? It was integral to their plot succeeding, and he had it stuffed in the crack of his arse? Gilda shook her head. 

While the feast carried on, Constance spoke with the King and his wife, their conversation cordial. The king’s son, Jaris V, was delighted by the food on offer, and stuffed his face plenty. Gilda was happy for that. She begrudged the boy nothing but his upbringing; it wasn’t his fault that he was born as royalty, and maybe developing an appreciation for food cooked by a stinky goblin woman would motivate him to treat the common people fairly whenever he came into power. One seat down, Molthus had grown especially quiet, and Gilda noticed that he had indeed grown suspicious of the pie to some degree. He could still open his mouth, but little more than confused garble could escape it. Halerma, please let this work. Gilda prayed. She tugged Elias’s cloak, who then waved for Hana to make her way to the dais. A moment later, she was there, her song trailing along behind her as she clopped her way up the stairs. 

The king grew confused, as did his wife. No bards had ever been so bold as to approach the dais so openly. Several of his royal guardsmen lined up before her, one of which Gilda recognized as Captain Polaena, the woman that had been with Hana the night Edgarn was assassinated. The front plate of her helmet had been lifted so that she could eat, revealing the badly burned visage underneath. Her marred face held captivating steel eyes that looked to have seen much battle. Captain Polaena faltered as Hana approached, her sword held forward with little motivation at all. There was no spell over the captain, so far as Gilda was aware. But she knew that look in the woman’s metallic eyes. Love. Gilda rolled her own. The guard captain allowed Hana to pass without issue, though her fellow guardsmen were still on high alert. Gilda watched everything else play out with her nails digging into her palms. She’d done her part, now she had to let everyone else do theirs.  

Elias swiftly handed off the mirror to Hana, who continued her approach.

“What is the meaning of this?” King Jaris demanded. He wasn’t frightened, moreso just suspicious. The powerful drink flowing through the crowd, courtesy of Tahgrim, had dulled the king’s senses somewhat, making him amenable.

“Tonight, we thought to put on a performance for you, your lordship.” Hana said, bowing reverently. The king softened, but wasn’t entirely disarmed by her. Molthus clawed at his mouth, attempting to pry it open, but could not. The king gave him a concerned glance before continuing. 

“Did you know of this, Constance?” He asked the High Councilor.

“Indeed, we thought to spice up the proceedings slightly, as it has grown rather droll, if you don’t mind my saying so.” She nodded. 

“Very well, let us see what sort of theatrics you have in store.”

17

They drifted down, further and further, into a lake—an ocean of tenebrous nothingness. Domini swiveled her head back and forth, taking in the torrent of amorphous thoughts and ideas that ceaselessly crashed into her. Images of random objects, of foreign memories, tastes, sensations she’d never known, they all ran through her consciousness like a jagged blade. Her companions, as well as what remained of the Blue Companymen, followed along, floating deeper into the Window to Nihilin’s realm. The landscape was difficult to comprehend; the best way for Domini to parse it was to look at it like a several mile wide whirlpool into Traver’s Sound, though it wasn’t water that was swirling around, but instead darkness, a progenitorial sludge of thoughts and concepts and ideas. There were structures flowing along in the current, from bits of rooms, to castle turrets of varying architecture, to whole keeps that somehow didn’t crumble away into nothingness. It was, in a word, otherworldly. 

Gothi led them like a shepherd tending to his skittish flock, constantly turning back to look at them, making sure they didn’t stray far. Domini could see plainly that he enjoyed their awestricken expressions, a self satisfied smile creeping across his unsettlingly perfect face. Domini looked up, seeing the outside world, the purple, star speckled sky above slowly dimming and falling out of focus. The Other hummed anxiously, its nonsensical murmurings almost intelligible. After looking up, Domini looked down, further into the Abyss. To her surprise, it seemed to be growing brighter, a light at the end of an unknowably long tunnel. There was no way to gauge distance in this place. The bottom of the Abyss could be a few hundred feet down, or a few hundred miles, she simply couldn’t know. That’s not true. Domini breathed steadily, acknowledging what she knew was true; there was no bottom, no end. The Abyss was infinite, it fell away forever, and it was hungry. 

As they continued their slow descent, they came upon what looked to be a settlement floating along in the Abyss, with several vastly dissimilar looking stone structures that were connected by haphazardly placed platforms made of a variety of materials. Startlingly, people walked around the place, idly going about their business as if they weren’t currently in the mouth of a cosmic thing. Judging by the architecture, one of the buildings looked like a church or temple of some kind, as it was more showy than the others it was connected to. It had a domed roof with intricate stone carvings on the outside, some of which Domini was certain were of Arista and Folnish. Chunks of the roof were absent, giving Domini a decent view inside as they floated toward the ground of this landing. Inside, half a dozen heads were bowed in prostration, though to what they submitted was unknowable. 

Once making landfall, as it were, they all stood expectantly, waiting as the strange denizens of the Abyss began gathering around Gothi. They didn’t worship him necessarily, but they did revere him a great deal, as though he were some kind of prophet. 

“Is this what you meant for us to see,” Sidona said incredulously, “that you’ve built yourself a convent of people that buy into the same lunacy as you?” 

“Lunacy would be worshiping something that isn’t real. Do you think this place a falsity, dark elf? If you readily deny what is before you, then perhaps you are the lunatic.” 

“I see what you’re doing,” Vilkin realized, “you want us to know there are people here to deter us from stopping you. Were we to ignite the Sunburst once more, we’d be killing them all.” He screwed his face into a pained scowl. Vilkin left the rest unsaid; that Domini attempting anything would likely have a similar effect, and she didn’t want any more blood on her hands. Gothi said nothing in response, but he didn’t need to, his silence confirmed all. In essence, these people were his hostages, which forced Domini to weigh their lives against the whole of the world. She looked out across the Abyss, to the other structures she saw whirling about. It was likely they also had people in them that had been seduced by Gothi and his apocalyptic rhetoric. As she considered it, a halfling man found Gothi, this one bedecked in elaborate religious robes that had a slight wisping taint of darkness ebbing from them. He bowed respectfully to Gothi before speaking. 

“We have awaited your return, Proclaimer.”

“Votary Faldus.” Gothi nodded. The man named Faldus was older for a halfling, his head and feet that jutted from beneath his robes covered in thick, graying hair. He had a bulbous nose and sunken, tired eyes. He looked past Gothi to Domini and her party quizzically.

“Who are they? We weren’t prepared for company, especially not a group of this size. I suppose I could whip something up with the ol’ noggin, though.” Faldus tapped the side of his head. He could’ve been someone’s quirky uncle, were he somewhere normal.

Gothi held out a placating hand. “These are nonbelievers, and I would like for you to…show them what it means to submit yourself to Nihilin.” 

“We aren’t submitting to a damn thing.” Zave said from next to Domini, his stance unsure, but combative. 

“Have you come to fight, or have you come to learn, orc? Swords have yet to be drawn, and I should like to keep it that way.” Gothi said. Cirro held a hand toward Zave, urging him to stand down. He reluctantly complied. 

Domini understood his anxieties. Nothing about this situation boded well for them. They were likely trapped here with no recourse but to eventually fight. But she had to admit that Cirro was right; it was in their best interest to learn as much as they could about Nihilin and its intent, in the hopes that some sort of weakness was revealed. Faldus approached them, sizing them up.

“I’ll see what I can do, Proclaimer.” He sighed, almost playfully. Gothi took to the air once more, as though pulled up by a breeze. 

“You have my thanks, Faldus. I shall check on you all soon.” Gothi produced an ornate mirror from the folds of darkness that wreathed him. Vain and utterly out of his mind? A winning combination.

“Wait, where do you think you’re running off to?” Hezekiah demanded. “We’re not letting you out of our sight.”

“I shan't be far.” Gothi assured them. “I have business to attend to in the temple, and I figured you might be more keen to listen to someone that isn’t myself.” He looked directly at Vilkin. 

“You’ll forgive us if we send a few men with you. Your votary can espouse his message to everyone else just fine.” Cirro said. “Leopold, Zave, Domini, accompany the ‘proclaimer’ to his duties.” Hells… Domini wanted to be as far from this man as possible. Gothi rolled his angelic eyes. “Very well, send your men with me, it matters not.” He flowed into the temple like a ghostly current, and Domini followed after Zave and Leopold, both men’s weapons drawn. 

—

The wheels were in motion, nothing was going to stop them now. Elias had to keep from holding his breath as Hana stood before the feasting hall, Molthus’s arcane mirror clutched between her viny fingers. The moment Molthus caught sight of it, he panicked, standing from the table. In a trice, Elias flung his dagger at the royal feasting table just next to Molthus and blinked to it. He tore the dagger from the table and brought it to Molthus’s neck in a fluid motion, much to the horror of the crowd below. King Jaris shot up from his seat, incensed. 

“Unhand my seneschal this instant!” He commanded. 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, not until you see what we have to show you, your Grace.” The High Councilor said in as diplomatic a tone as she could muster, given the situation. The King refused to return to his seat, but watched expectantly. 

“If you hoped to achieve an accord by taking a hostage, you’re even lower than I was led to believe, Lady Therolan.” He muttered disapprovingly. 

“You’ll see, your grace. Hana, if you would?” She beckoned the doll. 

With that, Hana used her parlor tricks to shift her form into that of Molthus himself. It was a perfect replica of the man, from his beefy body to his balding head. A stir of anxiety drifted through the crowd as Delegation guardsmen slowly removed themselves from the tables they shared with the king’s men, and vice versa. Even Denithor and Kzark drew their weapons, their free hands clasped around their Folnite amulets. They were preparing for a complete bloodbath in the feasting hall, but Elias wouldn’t let it come to that. Just next to the King, his wife and son were beside themselves with fear, the latter of whom looked particularly furious about the whole ordeal. Once Hana finished her transformation, she held the mirror aloft, as though admiring her new, stolen countenance. The moment dragged on in tense silence, as everyone waited to see what would happen. Come on, come on! 

The King grew impatient, slamming his fists into the table. 

“I’ve had enough of this mummer’s farce, whatever it is!” He shouted. “Release Molthus, now, and pray I don’t declare war once we’ve—” 

A figure appeared in the mirror, the same man from before, Proclaimer Gothi. The King fell silent, a look of recognition flashing through his eyes. 

“Molthus.” Gothi peered through the mirror expectantly, waiting for ‘Molthus’ to say something. It’s just as we thought, they have a code phrase for their meetings to prevent this exact thing. It was good then, that they had eavesdropped on one of their meetings directly. 

“May Nihilin rive the world, Proclaimer Gothi.” Hana said through the visage of Molthus. 

“Speak.”

“All efforts to implicate the Morkeshian delegation in an attack on the king’s son have been thwarted thus far.” Hana said, adding a regretful affectation to her words. She had a remarkable talent for taking on the guise of another. 

Gothi drew his lips into a line. “This is one failure too many, Molthus.” The proclaimer looked off to one side, as though looking at someone they couldn’t see. “Time runs short, far too short for this sort of ineptitude. You will stage the attack yourself, and swear by your allegiance to Morkesh. The Delegation must not be allowed to interrupt our dealings here.”

“Understood, Proclaimer.” Hana nodded. King Jaris was slack jawed next to her, his gaze slowly turning to the real Molthus where he was held by Elias’s dagger. Jaris V, the king’s son, trembled in his seat. With nothing else to say, Gothi’s face disappeared from the mirror, leaving it a fancy trinket for the moment. 

Tensions in the feasting hall remained high, but now the King’s ire had fallen squarely on Molthus, the real Molthus. You’re a brilliant performer, Hana. The doll gently set the mirror before the King and Queen, their most incontrovertible piece of evidence. They had gotten precisely what they wanted from Gothi, an unwitting confession before the eyes of the King and all of his men. Without averting his eyes from Molthus, the King spoke. 

“Explain all of this, now.”

“Your seneschal was in league with this other man, Gothi, in a plot to kill your son. Or at least a plot to implicate us in a conspiracy to kill your son.” Constance said. Elias was more than happy to let her take the lead. They would need her silvered tongue to smooth over this most unorthodox of situations. 

“I know Gothi well, we spent the years in the Abyss together. He was a loyal man, as was Molthus, why would you do this?” The question was aimed at the seneschal. The man still had difficulty speaking, but was able to utter a few words.

“We…must go…back.”

“Back where?” King Jaris pressed. 

“To Nihilin.” Molthus choked out. 

“You’d kill my son because of a fixation with the Abyss?” He bellowed angrily. Molthus shook his head violently. 

“We…never would have…hurt him!” Molthus insisted, and to Elias’s surprise, he found that he believed him. 

The obvious poison, the instruction to only use a drop, the hiring of a patsy to take the fall. In some twisted way, it seemed as though Molthus and Gothi were acting on behalf of the king, or at least thought they were. None of their actions were meant to bring harm to the king, but instead the Delegation. Coupled with the obvious worship of the Abyss that both men passively engaged in during their conversation, a clear picture was coming into focus. These men were attempting to thwart an alliance between the crown of Favergon and Morkesh, so that both parties would not work together to investigate whatever was happening in Traver’s Sound. Exactly where Domini and the others are. 

“These men have attempted to shatter the peace that you and I seek to forge, your Grace.” Constance began. She seemed to have come to a similar conclusion as Elias, all things considered. “This is all the more reason for us to work together.”

The King breathed deeply, his expression unreadable beneath his beard. “I agree.” He finally said. His words allowed the tension to bleed from the room. Delegation and royal guardsmen relaxed, no longer ready to cut into one another over dinner. Kzark immediately took the opportunity to light his pipe, though his hobgoblin eyes never strayed far from the dais. Denithor watched the proceedings curiously.

“Now, let’s not be hasty!” The Queen piped up, obviously flustered. “This could all be some sort of elaborate ruse on the part of this woman and her cohorts.” 

Her outburst gave the room pause, and the King was not having it. 

“We will continue this conversation in your chambers, High Councilor.” He said, then turned to the feast hall at large. “To the rest of you, go about your business as you usually would. All is well, now, we have rooted the traitor in our midst.” 

—

A tour. They were in a hostile dimension that sought to reduce them to nothing, and this halfling was giving them a tour of the place like it was his farm. Sidona couldn’t believe it. She trailed behind the halfling and a score of his votaries, but could hardly entertain his ramblings, not while Domini and the others were with Gothi. It seemed like a profound waste of time to be idling with this obviously delusional man, but they didn’t have much of a choice, short of floating back up to the real world, if they even still could. Sidona wished she could conjure up an answer as to what they were supposed to do, but it seemed like this ‘limitless’ dimension of creativity and thought did indeed, have limits. Behind her, she could spy the occasional oddity being conjured from the minds of the Blue Companymen. While many of them were alert and hostile, many others seemed enamored with the Abyss and its ability to conjure things from the cloth of one’s mind. 

Sidona was flanked on either side by Ardra and Hezekiah, both of whom were dumbstruck by their surroundings. 

“Is this what it was like when you were down here, Ardra?” Hez asked. 

“No. We have barely scratched the surface of the Abyss. I was…much further down.” The mediator was disquieted. 

“Will we be going down that far?” Sidona asked.

“Not likely,” Emiline butted in, her expression one of refined malaise, “the further down one goes, the more of themself is given to Nihilin. We knew that much at least, from my prior time in the Abyss. Gods, to be back here…” She shuddered. Vilkin found a spot next to her, his arm forever agitatedly pulsing with magic. 

“We will stop Gothi, no matter what he says. Countless times was I told that the Sunburst was indestructible, and I proved the world wrong. We need only find whatever it is Gothi seeks to keep from us.” He added in a hushed tone, “He is ignorant of our most valuable asset.”

“How do you mean?” Hez asked, his syllables harsh.

“He knows nothing of Domini. He thinks that I alone was sent to stop him, and so he will focus his efforts on me. She is our secret weapon, as it were.” It seemed as though many were resting their hopes on Domini. Hells, aren’t I also? Sidona couldn’t imagine trekking through a foreign plane of existence with anyone but Domini at the helm, even if the devilkin didn’t want to be.

Ahead of them, Faldus began a demonstration of the awful power that the Abyss afforded him, conjuring a small house from nothing at all, and setting it to passively float along with all the rest nearby. He encouraged them all to try it out for themselves, but Cirro showered the men with a disapproving glare in opposition. Some men cowed to him, but others did as Faldus bade, and conjured more things from their minds. Some conjured food, real food, after so many weeks living off rations on the ship. Others conjured items, either weapons or clothes or jewels. Some morphed into entirely different races, their body’s shifting around in a dark blur. A few more disappeared entirely, becoming one with the dusky torrent all around them. Dammit. 

“Enough, gods dammit!” Cirro roared. Every man lost was a knife in his heart, a personal failure. Things were devolving rapidly, their force was slowly but surely being chipped away at, and they couldn’t even attempt to defend themselves.

“Sid,” Hezekiah started, “do you think I could make myself how I was?” He looked at the shifting bodies of their soldiers with want. 

“Hez, don’t. Don’t even think it.” Sidona didn’t want to consider what might happen to Hez, whether he would further deform himself, or otherwise disappear altogether. 

Emiline seconded Sidona’s notion. “You may get what you want, but Nihilin still takes something from you. It is an equivalent exchange. It’s just as Gothi said; everything is composed of thoughts, it’s what makes up reality as we know it. Trading away bits of the idea of yourself to make something new won’t end well. You won’t have anything left to give after a while.” 

“And then what?” Hezekiah asked. Eminline simply looked to several of the vacant sets of armor and leathers that now littered the stone beneath them in response. To really cement the point, Sidona grabbed his wrist, holding him close. 

“I almost lost you once. Not again, okay? If this form of yours bothers you that much, we can try to find some other way to deal with it once we get out of here.” She pleaded with him. 

“If we get out of here.” He was dejected. 

“We will.” Ardra said from the side. She was fearful, but determined. 

“I wish I had your confidence, Ardra.” 

She shook her head. “Confidence is not what drives me, it’s faith.”

—

There was a very particular aura swimming around Constance’s delegation chamber after their stunt in the feast hall; a potent desire to get to the bottom of things. Gilda couldn’t help but squirm where she sat across from the Queen of Favergon, the halfling woman sizing her up like a turd that had gotten stuck to the bottom of one of her slippers. Molthus had been taken to the King’s mobile dungeon outside of the Bastille, which Gilda found to be a tad ironic. Constance sat across from the King himself, Elias just behind her. Hana had been pulled away by Captain Polaena once the dust settled, and confessed her love to the doll in plain view of all. Hana respectfully rejected the guard captain, who was devastated, but honored Hana’s response all the same. Gilda could only imagine how Leopold would react to that, were he around. In what must have been a fit of insanity, she found herself hoping the vampire was safe, wherever he and the others had ended up.

Molthus’s arcane mirror sat in the center of the large table that filled most of the delegation chamber, its face drinking in the torch and candlelight of the room, much in the same way the walls did. Grenfi pecked at a stale cake that was left from earlier in the day, as she and Gilda had missed dinner, on account of the scheme they’d spent the entirety of their evening planning. After a bloated pause, the King finally spoke. 

“While I’m…less than thrilled with how you’ve chosen to handle this whole situation, I understand why you approached it the way you did, High Councilor. Even if my son wasn’t ever in any real danger, you kept him safe, and for that, I am in your debt.” His tone had taken on just a hint of respect. 

“Consider all debts seen to, your Grace. I don’t mean for you to owe me a favor, I mean for us to come together and discover what transpires in Traver’s Sound. I hope an accord can be reached, now that you know my people truly have both of our best interests at heart.” Constance steepled her fingers. The King nodded and began to speak, but was cut off by his wife, the queen. She whispered furiously in his ear, her words tightening the king’s face with concern. Oh for Sasho’s sake! Gilda had a right mind to put some of that manta ray glue in her mouth as well. 

“Something to say, my lady?” Elias asked, his arms folded across his chest where the glittering diamond peeked through. Constance groaned at his outburst. 

“Excuse me?” Queen Colette was appalled. “You dare refer to a queen with such indifference?” 

“What my very inquisitive bodyguard means to say is that you’re free to speak your mind to us all, your Grace. There need not be secrets in this room.” Constance recovered the fumbled conversation, her captivating eyes sending a lethal warning to Elias to keep his mouth shut. He shriveled up underneath her gaze.

“My wife has reservations about this accord, about your ferver to broker peace.” King Jaris said. 

“Advocating for peace seems to me to be a goal one would strive for with gusto, not passivity, no? The Blue Company has begun stitching itself back together in Travertine, why not build more bridges between our people?” Constance insisted. 

“From what we’ve been told, Travertine lost contact with the expeditionary force they sent out into the Sound, so I wouldn’t sing the praises of their joint efforts just yet.” The Queen huffed, obviously on edge. Elias’s expression darkened at that, but he said nothing. Constance's words came sober and serious.

“That is all the more reason for us to come together. As first hand witnesses to what transpires in Traver’s Sound, do you not think it merits further investigation?” 

The Queen opened her liberally painted lips to say more, but Jaris trained a heavy gaze on her, its contents similar to the look Constance gave Elias. She scrunched her face up in agitation, her long nails tapping on the table. Serves you right. 

“I’m not an expert on the Abyss, that is why I employ others who are. And while I have my own opinion on it, I fear it may be…tainted, by my time there.” King Jaris was thoughtful. Without Molthus and his wife pouring honeyed words into his ear, he seemed finally ready to make a decision. 

“I agree to a tentative accord between our nations. We may mobilize our forces for joint efforts and travel between borders freely.” 

“You’re too kind, your Grace!” Constance beamed in spite of herself. King Jaris held a hand up. 

“Mind you, this is provisional, and is subject to change based on what we find. As I said, I’m no expert on these matters, and I have been waiting for one such expert to join us for these meetings and give his informed opinion.” 

“Whom do you speak of?” The High Councilor was intrigued.

“The Teret Scholar of Audilus, in Yantilar. A man named Vindegost. He says he has information that he thinks I will find to be of great import, yet he has been indisposed, or so I’m told.” 

Gilda couldn’t help but hear the tightening leather of Elias’s gloves as he clenched his fists at the mention of this ‘Teret Scholar’. 

“Regardless, Vindegost may give his thoughts when he arrives. Until then, I will act in what I believe to be the best interest of Favergon.” Jaris stood from his seat and held a hand out for Constance. She took it in her own with poise and grace, likely basking in one of the great moments of her entire life. 

Peace had been made between nations that had once wanted nothing to do with one another. No matter how tenuous, it was destined to be inked into the annals of history for all time. And Gilda was present for it, Gilda! She had gone from a lowly sewer dweller to…well, she still spent time crawling through sewers, but it was for a better cause now, at least. Gilda reached out for Grenfi’s hand, intent to drink in the moment together. 

Milky tea splashed through the air as the Queen sprung from her seat and onto the table, snatching up the arcane mirror. What in the nine hells? Gilda shrieked. The dark reflection in the mirror showed no other figure, but the Queen screamed into it all the same. 

“We’ve failed, Proclaimer! It is up to you to bring Nihilin to the world!” There was such desperate fanaticism in her speech. Elias scaled the table in a single motion and grabbed the Queen, but not before she smashed the mirror’s face into a thousand onyx shards. Elias held her, looking to Jaris. The King was dumbfounded, his face a portrait of betrayal even through his bushy brows and thick beard. 

“Colette…why? What have you done?” 

“We have to go back, Jaris, we must!” She trembled with unsettling avidity. “I know you feel the connection with Nihilin as I do, do not try to deny it! You see it in your dreams, you know it is coming. Gothi saw the folly in our spiriting from the Abyss, he and Molthus both. These Morkeshians seek to destroy Nihilin, to lock it away as we did once before, and we cannot allow them to succeed!” 

All at once, everything clicked into place. The focus on keeping the King’s son safe, while putting him in perceived danger, Molthus and the Queen’s insistence on joining the King for his meetings, all of it. The downright silly plot was made bare in its entirety. She had been in league with these other men in an effort to keep eyes away from the Abyss. That means there’s something to hide. 

The King ordered Elias to unhand the Queen, and he complied. The damage she sought to cause was done, and they would have to wait to see what came of it.

18

The chapel they stood in with Gothi was profane. It might have been a place of hope and harmony at one time, but now it was oppressive. The gods this church once facilitated the worship of were absent, eaten up by Nihilin’s all consuming nature. Bendala, Arista, Plumar, Sasho, none of them could reach this place, and that made Zave feel very, very far away. Simri, though…

Gothi floated near the temple dais, a mirror clutched in his hand. He’d just finished talking into it as though he were having a conversation, and from its contents, the conversation hadn’t gone well. There was talk of kings and plots and Morkeshian delegates. Fucker’s working against Constance and the others. Though even while scheming, Gothi seemed troubled, lost in a labyrinth of thought. For all the bluster this angelic man put forward about the futility in trying to stop Nihilin, he sure did seem preoccupied with worrying over those who did just that. Just next to Zave, Leopold held his shotel to his side, ready to strike. His human form had worn off during their descent, and Zave was glad for it. 

The way things were going, they would be fighting their way out of this strange place soon enough. He and the vampire shared a knowing look, a preamble to imminent bloodletting. It always comes down to this. They’d followed Gothi into the temple in the hopes they would learn something of how to defeat him, but they’d come up short. The only thing they found out for certain is that he had his fingers in other schemes elsewhere, but that wouldn’t help them in the here and now. Zave knew that Gothi hoped to convert them, or otherwise trick them into doing his bidding, but he and his friends were too smart for such base ruses. 

With his conversation concluded, Gothi gently bobbed through the air toward them, hovering over several other figures that still bowed before the dais. He wasn’t a large man by any stretch, but the proclaimer did loom above them. Domini made doubly sure to hold onto Zave, as though he were a boulder amidst foamy rapids. 

“I take it you were listening to my conversation?” Gothi asked. 

“It would’ve been difficult to ignore the man speaking into a mirror.” Zave nodded. He flexed his withered fingers inside the bolstering bracer, ready. 

“Facilitating Nihilin’s intent from within the Abyss itself can be tricky. We make do with what we have.” The Proclaimer smiled, swishing the mirror before them.

“It is interesting to me that Nihilin should be so interested in the politics of mere nations.” Leopold said, his sharp, predatory mannerisms on full display. “Or perhaps Nihilin is not as all encompassing as you make it seem.”

Gothi nodded along. “It’s true, I am still but a man, and I prefer to have certain assurances, even if they aren’t warranted.” What a crock of shite. It was all airs, Zave hoped. 

“Come,” Gothi beckoned them, “my business has concluded, let us see how your compatriots are getting along with Faldus. He is persuasive in the ways of the Abyss.” He floated on by, and Zave could feel Domini cringe next to him. More and more, he wondered what she was meant to do for them—for the world—in such a state. 

Just as Gothi swooshed a hand before him to open the temple doors, a voice rang through the ornate mirror in his possession. 

“We’ve failed, Proclaimer!” A woman’s voice cried out in despair. Gothi froze, pulling the mirror toward his face as the woman within it screamed and lamented. For a single crumb of time, Zave caught a glimpse of the mirror. The face within it was not Gothi’s, but instead a strange woman he’d never seen before. But in that moment after the woman screamed, another face could be seen in the reflection. 

Elias.

The mirror fell silent, as did Gothi, as did the whole of the Abyss. Zave could feel a shifting in the tide of the Abyss itself as Gothi regarded them all. His impeccable face twitched with rage, his cool frame thoroughly shattered. All at once, the moment to strike had arrived, and Zave did just that. He and Leopold both dove at the Proclaimer with their blades, tearing into the darkness that sheltered him. Gothi cried out, but didn’t falter. He held a hand aloft, allowing his quarterstaff to materialize into it, and pointed it at Zave. Lemarque swiped at the man again, but Gothi was able to flow to the side like a breeze, avoiding the strike. 

Then, without even realizing, Zave found himself under the effect of gravity once more, only it didn’t pull him toward the ground, but toward the far walls of the temple itself. He found himself falling at a quickening pace, rapidly approaching the walls. With the strength granted by the bracer he wore, he dug his sword into the ground in an effort to stop himself, but it was useless. The gravity that held sway over him was far more potent than normal, making his body feel several times heavier than usual as he fell. He was helpless, watching as Leopold crossed blades with the Proclaimer, while Domini scribbled in her journal like a madwoman. Within the walls that Zave fell toward were brittle stained glass windows that barely held up ancient portraits of Arista and Folnish. Hells. If Zave busted through the windows, he’d keep falling through the Abyss forever. 

The only option was to grab at the lip of the window and pray that it didn’t rip his arms off. Before he could, however, he found himself lurching to a halt in the air, dangling just above what was the floor for everyone else. He looked up, confused, and found Domini pointing in his direction with her journal. And I thought I was supposed to be protecting her. 

In the midst of his clash with Leopold, Gothi took note of Domini and what she had done. Namely, superseding his own control over the Abyss. He swirled away from his battle with the vampire and swooped down on Domini with his quarterstaff. She narrowly avoided the blow, a chunk of her robes having been sheared off in the process. 

“You…” He said, amused yet concerned.

Gothi took to the sky, dashing through one of the many holes in the domed roof of the temple. Leopold regrouped with Domini, and Zave finally found his footing once more. The trio sprinted out of the temple, finding Gothi hovering above his votaries and congregates. Cirro was on an adjacent smattering of land with what remained of the Blue Company force, which had dwindled from about a hundred men to less than half that. 

The ramshackle walkways that connected the temple to the other Abyssal islands shook and scattered like porcelain, separating them from one another. This did little to stop Cirro and the others, however, who found their own way over, either via teleporting daggers, psionics, or the good grace of the wind itself. They landed alongside Zave, Leopold and Domini, prepared to slay this would-be diviner of Nihilin’s will. 

Before all others, Vilkin shot into the sky like a verdant meteor, his spear prepared to run Gothi through. The men collided in the air, whipping about one another like a bright green candle fighting off impending darkness. Waves of green flame bloomed in the air, whipping about Vilkin and Gothi. Zave gritted his teeth, he wished he could do more. 

“What in the hells happened?” Cirro demanded. A selfish breeze held him aloft just above the ground, his cleaver slung over his shoulder. 

“A scheme of his didn’t bear fruit, I think. Now he seeks to harvest it another way.” Leopold said. He prepared to dissolve into mist to fight Gothi, but Zave stopped him. 

“We’ll fight him together.” 

“How will you reach him?”

Zave looked to Domini, who was already writing in her journal. The small book glowed with power, and Zave felt himself begin floating, as did everyone else around. Makes sense, I guess. Gothi said that gravity was mutable within Nihilin’s realm, and Domini was able to take advantage of it. With nary a thought, Zave was able to whisk himself into the air. He was met by the few Callibe mages who were left, as well as his companions. Some of the Blue Companymen were beginning their own contentious relationship with gravity, but it was slow going. The others in the band of soldiers began their own melee with Gothi’s votaries, the battle a peculiar one. The votaries had no traditional weapons, yet held their own through the power of Nihilin’s strange conjuration. Zave knew they would have to fight Gothi without the full might of their remaining force, and he hoped it was enough. Sidona and the others followed after him, slowly building speed as they climbed further up through the Abyss. The higher they climbed, the more of the sky in the world outside came into view, the stars bleeding through the inky blackness. 

Zave felt his stomach lurch into his throat as he began rocketing through the air with the power of his mind alone, entirely unused to being airborne. He didn’t understand how Vilkin was able to move at such breakneck speed through the air, turning at angles sharp enough to cut skin. Domini matched speed with Zave, her brown curls weightlessly bobbing around her horns like a halo. Her lavender eyes were so very hollow, her mind elsewhere. The journal trembled within her grasp, the words on the page swirling around, taking on a life of their own. She was ready to buckle under the pressure of it all. Zave placed a hand on her back as they flew closer toward the ongoing battle, trying to ground her in the moment.

“Stay close.” He said.

 The green light surging from Vilkin’s arm lit her face, and he could see her return to the present. 

—

The Other was insistent, rising to a crescendo in Domini’s mind. She could barely think for all the effort it took to block it out. Ahead of her, her companions stormed toward Gothi, prepared to cut the man down. He was a swirling cloud of darkness, able to will things into existence as she did, and rend others into nothing. As he engaged in a pitched chase with Vilkin, dashing through the island buildings that littered the Abyss, Gothi would unmake sections as he went, or birth new ones in an instant from his mind. It was difficult for Vilkin to avoid these unpredictable obstacles, and yet he did, pushing his body to its absolute limits as he streamed between the nonsensical structures. He was deft in his ability to navigate the skies, but contending with pure creation was a losing battle. Gothi could fabricate new things, change gravity, even teleport in some instances, and Vilkin would have to adapt on the fly. Zave and the others seemed just as concerned as Domini in regards to how they were going to catch the Proclaimer.

I have to help him, I have to do something! 

She flipped through her journal, every page alive with intent. Small, minute memories would blister off the pages as she flew through the air; a mug of ale, pillows, daggers, spiders, blue scales, coins, slippers, any remembrance she’d ever jotted down. But she didn’t need any of that right now, she needed to stop Gothi, to Erase the things he created. The Other hummed in rhythmic disquiet as she channeled that dark, cold power. 

The Proclaimer whipped through the air, a convoluted trail of structures and scattered ideas following behind him like a smokescreen. Domini focused on it, on all that he made, and attempted to Erase it. In an instant, his creations ceased, leaving Gothi shocked and exposed. Vilkin sped toward him, his spear couched like a lance, and ran Gothi through. 

Gothi cried out, the green flame of Vilkin’s spear searing his insides. The momentary lapse in his creations allowed everyone else to close the distance to him. They laid into him all at once, a litany of blades and spells ripping through him. Any normal man would’ve been killed in an instant, but Gothi was anything but. It was difficult to say he was much of a man at all, after all the blades were finished with him. Limbs were torn away, guts were spilled aplenty, but Gothi remained. Shadowed afterimages of his arms and legs subsisted after the corporeal ones fell away, and they held firm to his eldritch looking quarterstaff. With a flourish, he sent them all reeling through the air as he shifted gravity again, wrenching Domini backward hard enough to strain her bones. 

She willed herself to slow, but before her momentum could reverse, Domini found herself on a collision course with the temple. She closed her eyes and braced herself, preparing for her bones to shatter along with the temple’s stained glass windows. Before colliding with the temple, a sturdy form enveloped her, absorbing the impact for her as they crashed through the windows and pews. She opened her eyes, finding herself within Zave’s arms. He groaned, rolling off a pile of destroyed wood. 

“Zave! Are you alright?” 

“That’s why I said to stay close.” Jagged splinters of wood were lodged deep into his arm, wedged between the draconic scales of his armor, but he stood up all the same. 

“You’re hurt.” 

“It’s nothing I haven’t felt before, let’s go, we’re not done.” 

—

Sidona hurtled through the air at a nauseating clip, streaking past whatever contraptions and objects Gothi would send her way. She, Hezekiah, Ardra, and Cirro closed around him, trailing just behind Vilkin. Fighting near the Suneater was a challenge, as the heat emanating from his arm was hot enough to scorch skin even from several meters away. Emiline found out firsthand. Her robes were singed black on one side, but she fought on, staying as close to Vilkin as she could bear while loosing a gout of spells at the Proclaimer. The vampire had particular difficulty with it, seeing as the light that bled from the Suneater was, in a way, sunlight. His own pale skin bubbled and flaked, but he persisted in the fight, his butcherous blade ripping through Gothi again and again.

Gothi’s body healed in the most peculiar of ways. His limbs and skin would regrow, but as things other than what they were supposed to be. His skin was wooden in some places, metallic in others. Parts of him were water, other parts were smoke, or scales, or hair, anything and everything he could pull from the cosmos became a part of him, and they cut away at it without end. 

Sidona was on a warpath. She’d just watched as Domini and Zave crashed through the temple below them, and they hadn’t emerged yet. This singular man was the one holding the key to this hellscape, and Sidona would carve it from his malformed heart if she needed to. She tapped into her psionic power to boost her through the skies, allowing her more precise control of her body as she flew. Hezekiah would toss his dagger as needed, teleporting to it, but that would exhaust him soon enough. She would have to end this fool before it came to that. She would not lose Hez to Nihilin, not while she lived. Seeing his enemies closing around him like a trap, Gothi released a burst of creation in all directions. 

An entire castle turret bloomed from nothing and blasted toward Sidona and the others like a missile. Just before she could psionically wrench herself to the side, Cirro dashed forward with his cleaver and cut through the wooden floor of the turret, allowing them all to speed through its interior, before bursting through the other end. The shortcut brought them closer to Gothi, who now looked like a confused mess of a being. Dusky shadow began to surround him, as it did whenever he was preparing to teleport, but Sidona launched her khopesh at his chest before he could fully evaporate into the air. The blade sank into a stony chunk of his flesh and stayed there, not heeding Sidona’s telekinetic pull. Dammit! Without her khopesh, she had little with which to fight, and Sidona was not going to idly watch as everyone else bled and fought for their lives. She dashed forward with reckless abandon, propelled only by her mind. As she reached Gothi, she wrapped her hands around the hilt of the blade and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge.

 In fact, the blade seemed fused into the stony skin beneath, having become one with it. What in the hells? She made to pull away, but found her hand stuck to the blade as well. Her fingers fused to the hilt, and darkness began flowing into her. She kicked away from him with one leg, but felt it pulled into him, as though she’d stepped into a pool of tar. She felt herself, the very marrow of her being, growing dull and numb, changing into something she no longer recognized. Gothi’s voice rang through her mind. 

“Nihilin marries into you.”

“Sid!” Hezekiah cried out. 

He hurled his dagger at Gothi, but it melded with his body as her khopesh had, as Sidona was currently. She couldn’t move, she was no longer the one in control of her faculties. Help me, Halerma help me. She could scarcely move a hand to Hezekiah as he rushed to her. She couldn’t let him get close, she couldn’t let him be perverted by Nihilin like this. Still in control of her thoughts for the moment, she used a burst of psionic energy to send Hezekiah reeling backward. He flailed helplessly in the air, crying out. Sidona’s whole right arm and leg had been consumed by Nihilin, her body becoming one with his amalgam of flesh. 

Ardra looked at her pityingly, her magic doing nothing to stop Gothi’s consumption of Sidona. As more and more of Nihilin’s will and intent flowed into her, Sidona felt as though she could understand it. It was filled with one thing; want. It wanted all, and it had no regard for anything else. Sidona felt her vision glazing over, a faint red haze clouding the area around the right side of her body. It wasn’t until she was severed from Gothi that she realized what the haze truly was. She looked to her arm and leg and found them gone, Erased, unmade. Domini. In a fugue, Sidona canvassed the Abyssal sky all around and found the tiefling, her hand slashed open, bloody words pouring forth from it. Gothi was dumbfounded, completely and utterly. Sidona could see in his face that he just realized how much of a threat Domini truly was. She drifted through the air like debris, until Hezekiah and Ardra caught her. The stump of her arm began at her shoulder, and it bled profusely. Her leg ended at the knee.

“Sidona…” Hezekiah was inconsolable. Ardra cauterized the wounds as best she could with magic, but she was no healer. Already, Sidona could feel her body growing colder, her vision fading away. At the very least, she was happy to slip into death as herself, and not some piece of Gothi. She used the vestiges of strength left to her to cradle Hez’s beautiful, stone face. She was grateful to have loved him for the time she was able, grateful to have moved mountains to protect him as best she could. Theirs was a doomed love, it had been from the very beginning. Either he was going to die, or she would, and Sidona was glad that it was her. As she fell away, she saw Emiline fly over and begin frantically raving to Hezekiah and Ardra. That girl loves to hear herself talk. 

—

Domini was the key, Zave could see that now. Anything Gothi could conjure, she could unmake. She could alter his creations as he made them and turn them against him. Everyone else fought the Proclaimer with traditional means, but only Domini had the power to truly foil him. Zave saw it in how she saved Sidona from being eaten by Gothi. She was being seen to by Hezekiah, but Zave couldn’t stop to help, he had to do everything in his power to keep Domini safe. She flowed through the Abyssal skies like a raven, her tattered robes whipping behind her. Zave kept close, prepared to conjure a psionic shield, should she need it. Lemarque misted through the air nearby, having devolved into his dreadful, malformed state in order to continue on. His hair bled color until it was white, and his shotel fused into his arm, becoming one with it. Zave hated seeing him like that now; it reminded him too much of Amelia. 

The vampire had difficulty getting close enough to Gothi to cut him, what with Vilkin mercilessly dogging him, but he tried all the same. Gothi didn’t concern himself much with Leopold, now that he saw the danger Domini posed. He made his way to her slowly, hampered by Domini’s ability to negate much of his power. Zave was ready. Seeing what had happened to Sidona, how Gothi had taken her into himself, very nearly consuming her whole, Zave knew there was a danger that it would happen to him as well. But better him than Domini. Zave could hack away at Gothi with a sword, but she could hack away at reality itself. He readied himself as the Proclaimer approached, his blade held in a high stance, prepared to cleave the man down the middle. Spells from all around impacted Gothi, chipping away at him, but portions would always grow back, the only exception being the chunk of his chest that Domini had unmade when she rescued Sidona. In that area of him, there was a void, almost as though the rest of his constantly reforming body was afraid to tread there now.

“Dom, can you do that blood thing again?” Zave asked her. It was the most cogent way he could think to ask the question.  

“Blood thing? I…yes.” She seemed to grasp his meaning. She still held her journal, but her writing hand was impaled by a shard of wood from one of the temple pews. She’d done it purposely, but even Zave, with his fatally limited knowledge of magic, could see that it drained her a great deal to use. 

Gothi was upon them, his sights set solely on Domini. Vilkin sent a lance of flame at him that burned away a swath of his corporeal form, but he kept coming. Domini began threading bloody words through the air, then focused them on the Proclaimer, encircling him with it. Reflexively, Zave veiled Domini in a psionic shield. Gothi was far too close for comfort, and he couldn’t afford to have her eaten up by him. It was a prudent decision. With Domini focusing her sanguine spell, Gothi was free to move about and conjure things as he pleased. He teleported across the dreamscape that was the Abyss adroitly, ending up just behind Domini, where he attempted to run her through with his quarterstaff. Zave’s shielding just barely deflected the blow, allowing him the fleetest of moments to retaliate. He dug his sword into the Proclaimer as far as it would go, until it too became lodged within him. Zave let go of the handle immediately, watching in woe as the last heirloom he had of his father melted away like snow in a spring thaw. And yet, the sacrifice was worth it. 

Domini finished channeling her magic, and a crimson orb surrounded Gothi. She sundered his body, splitting him almost in half. Gothi was just barely able to teleport away before his entire body was consumed, but he did not escape unscathed. What remained of him was a bit of torso and an arm that held his quarterstaff. His head just barely clung to the torso, his expression one of horror. In spite of his current state, he was indeed still alive, or whatever constituted life in the Abyss. Zave supposed that if he wasn’t entirely annihilated, the near-corpse he was still counted as life according to ‘rules’ of the Abyss, whatever those really were. 

Zave glanced over to Domini, and found her just about ready to faint. He used his psionics the way Sidona had taught him, and pulled Domini toward him just as she began to drift down. He took her in his arms and held her close, careful not to nick her with the jagged scales of his armor. Cirro and the others formed up around Zave. 

“Is she alive?” Cirro asked. His yellow eyes drifted to Sidona where Hezekiah and a few others were suffering over her, trying and failing to ignore mounting losses. 

“Domini, yes. Sid, I’m not sure.” Zave said. 

“We need to regroup and get the hells out of here. This was a mistake.” The djinnblood drifted down toward what was left of their Blue Company force. Their conflict with Gothi’s votaries had left them bloodied, but mostly alive. The scene around the temple was a confused massacre, with bodies extruded and transformed in grotesque ways by the votaries, as though they had willed their enemies to change into other things entirely. There were men and women that took on the shapes of furniture, or farming equipment, or animals, yet still maintained their skin and consciousness. It was disturbing, and far too reminiscent of the barbaric transformity Zave had seen in the septs. 

 Faldus himself was nowhere to be seen, which Zave found odd. He scanned the nearby islands and sky for the halfling bastard, but didn’t spy a thing. Then, a swirl of darkness enveloped the pathetic remnants of Gothi where he drifted along like a branch in calm lake water. Zave spotted Faldus clinging to the Proclaimer’s torso, the two teleporting away. Bendala’s bane! He cursed. Without Domini, they couldn’t stop the men from escaping. Vilkin howled, darting out to Faldus like an arrow. He just missed the men with his spear as they teleported downward, toward the area of the Abyss that Ardra and Emiline had warned them all away from. Zave saw them reappear further down. They continued on, drifting and drifting into nothing. Vilkin cursed, prepared to pursue, but Leopold called after him. 

“Stop! There will be nothing left of you if you follow them, and we need you here!” His voice was a twist of his own and Amelia’s, a malignant vestige of what he had once been. It was curious to see such a hellish creature speak…selflessly. Domini stirred in Zave’s arms. He was relieved that she yet lived. 

 Vilkin reluctantly complied, reigning in his power as best he could, and they all reconvened with the remainder of their band of troops. Sidona laid upon the ground, Hezekiah never leaving her side. Zave hadn’t known her overly well, but he knew for a fact that she didn’t deserve this. Her right arm and leg were gone, rived clean from her body, the wounds still leaking and deadly. Emiline stood over them, pacing frenetically, as though chasing after a solution only she could see. 

“I should know this, I should know this.” The mage rambled to herself. Ardra stepped to her level.

“This is a realm of pure creation and thought.” She said, simply stating the fact.

“It is, but it’s not that direct!” Emiline despaired. “We cannot simply think up a healed Sidona, there must be an—”

“An exchange. To change oneself means to divest oneself of the things that comprise us.”

“Yes, precisely.” Emiline seemed perplexed by what Ardra was saying. “But Sidona is in no state to do that! She’s not even conscious, she doesn’t have the capacity for it.” 

“Would the same law apply to altering others? If I were to divest myself of what made me who I am, could I…mend Sidona?” Ardra asked. There was compassion in her that Zave had never seen before.

“I’m…unsure.” Emiline admitted. 

“We haven’t the time to concern ourselves with theories, we must do something, if she is to live.”

“But you don’t know what will happen! You could kill her and yourself, or worse. I’ve lived in the Abyss, I know its dangers.” 

“You’ve lived in the Abyss, girl, I’ve been part of it. There is a gulf between treading the black waters of this place, and being forced to drink of it.” Ardra knelt to Sidona

“Ardra, what are you doing?” Hezekiah asked as he cradled Sidona’s limp form. She looked him over with vibrant green eyes, a finality to her gaze. 

“Ever since I returned from the Abyss, I’ve felt hollow, incomplete. Though all of the pieces of me are here, I feel as though something was lost along the way. I will never be the person I once was, though that need not be so for Sidona.”

“What are you saying?” Hezekiah demanded. “What about Domini, about your belief in her? You’d really let this place tear you apart again?”

“Whether I am myself or…something within Sidona, a purpose will be served. A new blade forged from the scrap metal of a battlefield will cut just as cleanly. I will remake her, as I was once remade.” 

19

Domini awoke from her dream only to find herself in another. The inky purple blackness of the Abyss swirled around her in a spiral, cascading down below where she could see. Zave loomed above her where he sat nearby, he and Leopold both looking her over with concern. She’d fainted after her encounter with Gothi, but very quickly saw the consequences of that battle. Their small force of around fifty men were huddled on the temple island where Gothi had initially taken them, the votaries that inhabited it slaughtered. As Domini sat up, she saw the mangled remnants of Sidona. She paled, remembering what she’d done. Domini scrambled onto her knees and began crawling toward Sidona languidly, her muscles resisting. Zave caught her as her arms gave out. 

“Easy, Dom.” His grip was firm. Blood still seeped from the wound on his arm. 

“I have to help her!” Domini insisted.

“She’s being seen to.” Leopold assured her. He’d reverted into something resembling a man again. 

Just off to the side, Domini heard Cirro and Vilkin speaking with several Blue Company soldiers, the men trying to come up with anything resembling a defense in this place. Gothi had escaped with the help of his lackey, Faldus, from what she could gather. He had been bested, but the battle wasn’t over quite yet. The Other made incomprehensible proclamations in her mind, its hummings and screechings its own language now. Domini wished she could understand it. Perhaps it could give her a clue as to what she was meant to accomplish in Nihilin’s realm. 

“Domini.” Ardra called to her. There was a undeniable finality to her, her green eyes looking almost hopeful. Zave grudgingly carried her over to where Sidona lay dying. Domini knew he wanted to shield her from the very real horror of her actions, but she needed to see it. The mediator spoke.

“No matter what happens, no matter how my being fractures and frays, I’ll carry my belief with me. Promise me here and now, that you will destroy the Abyss.”

“What are you talking about, Ardra? What in the nine hells is going on?” Domini was profoundly lost. She couldn’t have been unconscious for more than a few minutes, and yet so much seemed to have happened in her absence. Ardra repeated herself firmly.

“Promise me, Domini.” 

It was a promise Domini wanted to make, but could she? Was she able to make such a proclamation in good faith? She wasn’t sure what she was meant to do, how she was meant to solve any of it. There was so much pressure. From Ardra, from Cirro, from Vindegost, from the world. Her minute alterations to the fabric of the cosmos were inconsequential, imperceptible. There was no way for her to tip this grand, deific scale with her minuscule, mortal fingers. The Other badgered her, instilling in her its reassurances that that wasn’t true, that Domini was more, that she was capable. Ardra looked at her as though she were the one lying near-dead on the ground, and not Sidona, as though these were to be their parting words. 

“I swear to Simri herself, I will destroy Nihilin.” Domini said—and to her own surprise, believed. The words bore a heavy truth, one that Ardra took in readily.

With that, Ardra exhaled, her expression softening. It wasn’t an expression the mediator had ever chosen to show her before. Ardra placed a hand onto Sidona’s still form with the gentleness of a lover, then closed her eyes. Her tight, red curls played across her face as the Abyssal wind tugged at them, until slowly, they began to dissipate. Ardra, what have you done? The mediator began slowly fading into a smoky haze that surrounded Sidona, her clothes falling away as her body unraveled. That smoke then flowed into Sidona in any way it could; through her mouth, her nose, her pores, the very wounds that she currently bled out from. Then, as with any idea that was given intent in the Abyss, Sidona began to change. Domini watched in awe as Sidona’s body was reformed, remade by Ardra from the inside out. A shadow swirled about her, its darkness the ink by which Sidona would be rewritten. 

Sidona’s raven black hair took on the fiery red of Ardra’s, one of her fluttering red eyes took on a shade of green. Pieces of Ardra filled into Sidona, remaking her severed limbs, bringing life back to her. Sidona’s broken body was a puzzle that Ardra used herself to solve. Hezekiah held her, desperate amazement holding him captive. He waited for something—anything to happen. A moment later, a modicum of lucidity poured back into Sidona’s eyes, and she spoke. 

“Hezekiah?” It was as though Ardra’s voice was leaving Sidona’s mouth. Hezekiah simply hugged her tighter, gravelly sobs escaping him. Simri’s wisdom.

To Domini, what Ardra had done was eerily similar to what Gothi tried to do to Sidona, but also what Vindegost had done to her. The creation of Domini as she was, as the Ostious, was a rudimentary replication of the Abyss’s power to manipulate ideas and concepts. It was a marriage of their forms into one being, two ideas crushed together until there was no distinction between them. Be it two mortals, or a mortal and a god, they could be brought together. Ardra was no more, though then again, the same could be said for Sidona. The two women had come together into something new, different. They’d crossed a rubicon, from the known and understood to the foreign and enigmatic. It was terrifying and magical and familiar.

—

A spate of memories bombarded Sidona. They weren’t hers, but they were. She recognized them as being a part of someone else’s life, but somehow she intrinsically knew them as though she’d lived them. The memories showed a girl in Haletheas, her family from a long line of mediators. The girl was principled, buried beneath a mountain of familial expectations. The girl lived up to them, and then some. She went above and beyond in her duties as a mediator, comporting herself in a way that served Haletheas first and herself second, very unlike her contemporaries. Ardra. In the memories, Ardra found love with Vitaan during a routine inspection of House Astrael, both women forming an intense carnal relationship. Sidona didn’t have to see Ardra’s memories to know what love with Vitaan was like, she lived it herself. Even then, she relished the memories as they filled her, remembering Vitaan’s luscious lips and lasciviously full figured body. With the new memories came a fresh, festering grief for Vitaan. It was like losing her a second time. 

Vitaan’s death was followed by memories of the Abyss, of being hopelessly trapped there. It was unbearable, like being a disembodied spirit bereft of everything, and wanting anything. She begged for pain, for suffering, for any stimulus to prove she was anything more than the banished idea of a person. Sidona nearly lost herself in those memories, but was suddenly shunted back into the world, into the memory of Ardra’s return. The shock was enough to make her cry with happiness, were it not for the one who’d brought her back. Just as an overwhelming sense of hatred for Domini bled into Sidona, her eyes opened. She uttered Hez’s name, so happy to see his face before all others when she came to. 

All their other companions gathered around as Hez buried his face into her chest. They looked upon her with disbelief. She could feel something stirring within her, a presence.

“Are you uh, alright?” Zave asked, astounded. He wasn’t alone. Every Blue Companymen nearby was equally enraptured by this miracle they’d witnessed. Sidona sat up, resting on her newly formed hand, the skin an unfamiliar shade.

“I can’t tell. Something has changed.” She paused, the barrage of memories she’d seen faded into the deep crevices of her mind like a vivid dream. “Ardra! Where is she?” 

“She’s within you, now.” Emiline said, ecstatic. “I thought this place could only breed despair, but she proved me wrong!” 

“What in the hells are you on about?” Sidona rose to her feet, then swayed about dangerously. Her body was different. 

“I dunno how to explain it, but the mediator put herself inside you to keep you from dying.” Zave said. 

“Succinct.” Leopold nodded. 

The moment Sidona panned over to Domini, she knew for certain they weren’t mistaken. Rage flared within her, but it was companioned by zealous belief. The stirring, wordless presence within her was Ardra, a new piece of her, an extra appendage attached to her soul. That rage would now live side by side with Sidona’s bemused fondness for Domini. She stalked over with her newly minted body and wrapped Domini up in a hug. The devilkin was tense in her grasp, but softened once she realized that Sidona wasn’t going to hurt her. 

“You’re not upset for what I did to you?” Domini asked, her voice already quaking. 

“No, gods no. I’d be dead if not for you, or worse.” Sidona said with a giggle. Ardra shuddered within her at the thought of returning to the Abyss. 

“Maybe in the future, though, be a little more mindful of what parts you lop off me?” 

“I just wanted to get Gothi away from you, I never meant to—“ 

Sidona brought her into an embrace once more, hushing her. She could feel a panic rising within the girl, a panic she didn’t deserve on Sidona’s account. Ardra bristled uncomfortably at their closeness, but allowed it. It was novel, to feel another’s emotions as her own. 

“Speaking of, what happened to Gothi?” Sidona canvassed the Abyss. 

“He…escaped.” Domini deflated in Sidona’s arms. 

“But that one fact means he is scared.” Vilkin joined in. “He knows that he, and by extension Nihilin, are fallible.” The Suneater strolled the temple grounds, peering over its edge to the limitless depths below. 

“But now that he knows we possess an effective weapon against him, he will be seeking Domini specifically.” Leopold noted. 

“I’m not a weapon.” The tiefling was stern. 

“It wasn’t meant derisively.”

“Well it certainly feels that way.” It was amusing to watch Dom argue with the vampire while still within Sidona’s embrace. 

“What I think Leo means to say is that having a solid purpose can be a good thing.” Zave said.

Leopold nodded. “I mean to say. I envy your known destiny. Look at it not as a burden, but instead as a challenge to rise to.” 

“But I’m not even sure what I’m meant to do! I want to help, I’ve accepted that I’m supposed to, but I don’t know how!” Domini gripped Sidona tightly, then realized she had done it, and finally released her. Hezekiah fell in behind her, to keep her from wobbling as she adjusted to her body. His hand around her waist made Ardra squirm within her, but Sidona enjoyed it. She even found herself enjoying Ardra’s discomfort in a teasing sort of way. 

“We can elucidate the nature of your power once we’re out of here.” Cirro said. “We need to retreat to the Autumnal and regroup with the Blue Company in Travertine. We’ve seen enough to know that this place is a threat.” 

“You’re not planning on forcing me to use the Sunburst’s power to stop this?” Vilkin asked.

Cirro shook his head. “No. That was never my plan. Gemmist might have wanted that for you, but you deserve better than that. Vormis had you come along to get you away from Gemmist and the others. She knew what they did to you was wrong. In any case, I don’t know that it would even work, now.” 

Sidona had never thought much of Cirro, but knowing he wouldn’t sacrifice the Suneater simply because he’d been ordered to did much to prove that he had a heart. The djinnblood was rebellious, but his nature was not one of spite. He was compassionate, if misguided at times. For all Sidona knew, Vilkin’s sacrifice could very well buy them much needed time to escape, but that line of reasoning just felt wrong. Vilkin seemed relieved, yet troubled. He was like Domini, he wanted to know his purpose. 

“Let us retreat, we’ll return prepared—“ Cirro was interrupted as the Abyss shifted, a low, rattling rumble shaking the floating islands. Ardra sent a cold, fearful chill through Sidona’s spine. Something is wrong. 

Everyone stood at attention, looking all around as the swirling walls of the Abyss began spinning faster, more erratically. An overwhelming sense of dread overtook Sidona, and she felt as though her entire being were being pulled down, down toward the infinite depths of Nihilin. She looked up, toward what remained of the sky, and found it had been consumed entirely by the Abyss. What’s more, the rest of Soller’s Isle, the boats and small community there, had also found their way into the Abyss. It’s growing larger! 

The chunks of Soller’s Isle that had been drawn in by the Abyss cracked and crumbled into pieces. From far away, they seemed small, but as they drew closer, their scale was made horrifyingly clear. Some of the chunks were of a size with some of the Halethean Pillars, spanning hundreds and hundreds of feet in any number of directions. They were like freshly born meteors swirling in a tempestuous circle, crashing into one another, breaking into smaller pieces that destroyed even more.

Among the bedlam, Sidona spied The Autumnal and The Dancing Flame, each vessel still in one piece for the time being. They bumped around with all the other vessels and structures that made up Soller’s Isle, each one fighting for supremacy of the now very crowded sky. 

“Shite! What happened? What do we do?” Zave demanded. He held onto Domini as the ground trembled beneath them. 

“Gothi did something, he agitated Nihilin somehow, willing it to grow.” Vilkin’s arm surged with power, desperate to escape him. 

“We’re being pulled further in. Gods, at this rate…” Emiline despaired. 

“At this rate we’ll be unmade, and Nihilin will consume the realm.” Domini finished the thought, confirming their fate. 

20

King Jaris retired to his chambers, giving assurances that he would deal with his mad bitch of a wife. Constance was more than happy to let him go. Her accord had been signed, after all, what else could she ask for? But at what cost? Elias thought. The Queen alerted their enemy, what consequence would that have going forward? He stood in the Delegation chamber with Constance and the others. Hana and Tish had joined them after the ruckus the Queen made, both women equally disturbed by the happenings. This Gothi character meant to impede them, and very nearly succeeded. It was all in service to the Abyss, to Nihilin. It made Elias sick with worry for his loved ones that were out in the Sound. Glittering shards of blackness littered the floor and table of the Delegation chamber, the remnants of Molthus’s arcane mirror, and the Queen’s betrayal. 

“So what do we do now?” Gilda asked. She walked on the railing of the balcony just outside the Delegation chamber, the green and purple moons using her tiny form to cast grand shadows against the walls. Constance looked over the signed accord as though it were a newborn baby. Elias was sure he heard her coo at it at least once. After a moment more of fawning over the embodiment of her diplomatic efforts, Constance finally spoke. 

“We wait. There is nothing left to do until we hear from Travertine. After that, we can amass our own joint force and perform a formal investigation of Soller’s Isle, as well as the rest of Traver’s Sound.” 

“We haven’t heard back for a while though.” Elias said, pained. “Domini and the mediator could send messages, but they haven’t gotten in contact for days. What if something’s happened?” 

“Hmm…” Constance mulled, “we give it a few more days, then we will proceed regardless. We can’t rush into this. I’m sure King Jaris will want to spend a few days acclimating his men and underlings to the idea of working with us. The ink is not dry just yet, we’ll have to be patient.” As if it were so easy. Elias paced the room. 

Call it a feeling, or a sixth sense, but Elias just knew something was wrong. Letting the Queen send her little warning was a grave mistake, one they would dearly pay for. Gilda stopped her spidery acrobatics for a moment and looked out across the water of the Sound curiously. 

“Eh? Elias, where’s all the water going?” She looked out across the waters. Elias rushed to her, eager to see what she meant. Arista’s tit. Elias’s fears were confirmed. The waters of the Sound were rapidly receding, as though rushing away from the shore in a desperate panic. It left scores of fish and crabs and gargantuan manta rays flopping about on the silty ocean floor. Constance and the others rushed out and gasped. 

“Councilor,” Elias gritted his teeth, “I don’t think we have a few days.” 

 “Plumar’s gaze.” Constance’s mouth was agape. “What is this?” 

“This is the power of Nihilin, I’m afraid.” A voice emanated from somewhere nearby, its timbre old and sagely. Elias drew his dagger. 

“Who’s there?” He demanded. He was unnerved that someone had been able to sneak up on them at all. 

Just then, a man rose through the air over the Sound, his shadow eclipsing Gilda’s own. He was an elderly elf of pale yellow skin, a long white beard fanning out in the evening breeze. He looked like a wizard from every story Elias had ever read; a scepter in one hand, a long winded lecture in the other. His appearance scared Gilda half to death. Grenfi had to snatch her up to keep her falling into the Sound, even with her sticky feet. Both women toppled over the balcony, but were quickly caught by a chest that rose to a height with Vindegost. The elder wizard’s robe flapped incessantly as he looked at the now vacant ocean floor below them. Several fisherman began crying out from the impromptu docks that had been constructed, wailing as their vessels were pulled further away. 

“You’d best identify yourself now if you want to keep those robes clean of blood.” Elias threatened. He was in no mood for this old man’s theatrics. 

“Elias, that’s…” Tish began, but was cut short.

“My apologies!” The wizard guffawed, “Long weeks of travel have sapped away all my manners. I am the Teret Scholar of Audilus, Harnway Vindegost.”

—

“We have to reach higher ground, now!” Cirro ordered. A cacophony of noise thundered all around, as more and more colossal chunks of Soller’s Isle began fracturing. Pieces of earth the size of houses collided with nearby islands, breaking them to pieces. It was apocalyptic, far worse than watching Mitlar Sept fall away in the Underdark. Zave searched the nearby islands as they sped by, carried on an Abyssal current. 

“How in the hells are we meant to escape?” One of the Blue Company soldiers, a hobgoblin woman with jutting tusks, asked. To Zave’s surprise, Domini stepped forward to address them. 

“We’ll use the rules of the Abyss to our advantage.” She began scribbling in her notebook as she spoke, her injured hand quivering. “For all the grandstanding he did, Gothi did show us one important thing; the Abyss is malleable.” 

As she finished scrawling in her journal, the pages began to glow with power, and every one of the Blue Company soldiers, as well as Cirro and the rest, began floating just above the ground. She’s taking charge, she’s rising to the challenge, like Leo said. 

“Your mind is the engine by which you will escape. Use it to the fullest extent.” She said. 

“We make for The Autumnal. Stay close, everyone!” Cirro bolted through the air. He and Vilkin led the charge as they began their flight from the Abyss. One by one, Blue Companymen began following behind them, tentatively rising upwards by the power of their minds. A few were too stunned by the whole ordeal to move, and were crushed as a massive pillar of earth shattered the temple island they were on mere moments ago. Zave looked away as they plummeted downwards, more fodder for Nihilin. All around, Zave saw his companions. Emiline flew alongside Hezekiah and Sidona, helping the latter acclimate to her fresh limbs. Domini glided through the air just next to Zave, her journal in her hands, ready to remake reality at a moment's notice. Leopold flew on the other side, his black hair whipping through the air behind him. 

They all trailed through the air like a school of fish, narrowly avoiding lethal obstacles as they came upon them. Zave barely had a handle on how to simply think of going in a direction to steer himself, but it worked. They flew upward, desperately clawing against the pull of Nihilin as it attempted to consume them. Looking down now, Zave saw the same infinite, hungry maw that he’d seen in Anowyn’s dominion. It would consume for the sake of consuming, and would leave nothing left. Ahead of them, a massive field of debris from Soller’s Isle blocked the path, each tiny piece scraping Zave’s skin as they barreled through it. He put a psionic shield around Domini to protect her from the brunt of it, his brain straining for the effort. 

They had to bob and weave past uprooted trees and buildings and boats, corpses and mounds of dirt and land, then rush through amorphous blobs of water, all to gain just a little more ground. It was madness, like fighting against ocean tides with one’s bare hands, and yet they resisted regardless. Vilkin and Cirro led the charge, each man cleaving through whatever obstacles they could to make the path more straightforward for those that followed after them, but so much of what they encountered was beyond the ability of even the Suneater. Much of the debris shot toward them like bolts from a crossbow, chunks of it even denting Zave’s dragon scale armor. A particularly large chunk shredded the psionic barrier he’d placed around Domini, and it ripped her journal from her hands. No! Domini cried out, and Zave tried to reach out with his mind to pull it toward him, but his thoughts were spread in too many directions. The journal began plummeting down, its contents doomed to the void. 

From what Domini had said, that journal contained her memories, everything she drew from to make illusions. Would she be okay without it, could she manage? Thankfully, Zave wouldn’t need to find out, as a flash of magical energy coalesced around the journal in the form of a hand that then brought the journal back to Domini. The hand was feminine, with delicate nails and small, lithesome fingers. Zave immediately recognized it as Leopold’s phantom hand. The vampire soared through the air, though a portion of his focus was placed on Domini. 

“Tread carefully, Domini. I suspect we’ll have need of you yet.”

—

Vindegost. The bastard that had put Domini through so much excruciating suffering stood before Elias. He exhaled, his breath streaming through clenched teeth. This bumbling old man was not what Elias thought of when Domini had told tale of Vindegost. He expected a conniving madman drunk on knowledge and power, a narcissistic whoreson that used and abused her for his own means. The man before him was slow, deliberate. He almost seemed dim-witted in the way he carefully chose each word he spoke as though he were selecting the ripest apples in the market. He hovered in the air just above everyone on the balcony of the Delegation chamber, his withered, decrepit feet dangling under his robes. Elias resisted his snap reaction to sink a dagger into the man’s neck, at least for now. King Jaris said he was expecting the fucker, so he’d live long enough at least to meet with him. 

“What do you want?” Elias asked. He had no room in him to exchange false pleasantries with the wizard. Tish looked in his direction, the plates of her face contorting in shock. 

“I’ve come to visit with a young lady I believe to be accompanying this delegation. A comely tiefling girl of gray skin, she might go by Domini.” Part of the response was aimed at Elias, the other at Tish. 

“She’s not here, Teret Scholar.” Tish answered. “She traveled to Travertine.” 

“Travertine?” The old wizard’s bushy brows furrowed in concern. “Whatever was she doing all the way out there?” 

“She and others traveled to Soller’s Isle, in Traver’s Sound.” Elias supplied. He was eager to know precisely what sort of business Vindegost had with Domini, that he should seek her out specifically. 

“Ah, well that’s troubling.” The wizard’s hooded eyes widened in surprise. “Troubling indeed.” 

“What do you want with her? Are you not here to meet with King Jaris?” Elias pressed him. 

“Me and the girl have a history, and I was hoping to—“

“I know all about your ‘history’.” Elias interrupted. “She told me what you did to her, that she fled Yantilar because of you. I’ll ask again; what do you want with her?” 

Finally, the old man’s expression shifted. Beneath that homely, aloof visage, Elias spied a glimmer of brilliance. The next words from Vindegost were spoken with candor.

“If she’s spoken of me, then you are aware of what Domini was created for.”

“I know you bungled her up something fierce and tried to shackle her with some ridiculous destiny.” 

Vindegost swished his scepter across the changing waters of the Sound. “Does this look ridiculous to you? The world fluctuates before our very eyes, and Domini was birthed to address that very fluctuation, to keep it contained. I was hoping to help guide her along, but she has once again made trouble.” He chuckled breathily. Once again? 

“These happenings,” Hana started, “are they Domini’s doing? Do you know what transpires on Soller’s Isle?” 

“‘Tis not Domini’s doing, no. The Abyss stirs, and it worries me that Domini has chosen to meet it, to enter into its malicious medley.” Vindegost ran a hand through his beard. The chest that floated with him hugged close to him like a fearful hound.

“Why does that worry you, if this whole Abyss nonsense is what she was bred for?” Elias asked. 

“Because I worry that she…will not know what to do, when the time comes.” 

“And what is it she is supposed to do?” 

Vindegost descended, meeting Elias and the others on the balcony. He wasn’t a threat, not at the moment, but Elias still felt guarded around him. The wizard spoke softly. 

“She was born into this world bearing a mantle of agony and torment, and she will leave it the same way. She came into being as a marriage of the deific and mortal, the dowry for which was the power to alter the cosmos. We can only hope she uses that power appropriately, now that she is bereft of guidance.” 

It’s true, then. 

Domini was everything she said she was; a deity made manifest in the form of an indecisive, beautiful, perfectly imperfect woman. What Vindegost said worried him, however.

“You said she would leave this world the same way. What does that mean?” 

“I had hoped to find her here, to better instruct her on how to approach Nihilin. I didn’t suspect she would head there on her own. She’s grown rather bold, really.” Vindegost began to reminisce. “When I first met her, she was a frail thing, barely able to comprehend what she was. Now she’s out in the world taking initiative. Truth be told, I was counting on her meekness, perhaps I underestimated—“

“Can you still help her, guide her from afar somehow?” 

“Unfortunately, she is beyond my grasp.” Vindegost sighed. “‘Tis why it took me so long to get here at all. The Sunburst—what’s left of it—interferes with magic of all kinds. That is why my journey from Yantilar took the better part of a month!” 

“A month?” Constance was bewildered. “Travel from Yantilar to Favergon would take nearly a quarter of a year on foot, not a few weeks. You’d be crossing most of the continent.” 

“And for an old sod like you, I’d bet it takes a while to get around.” Gilda noted in an equally inquisitive tone. 

“Well, luckily I was able to expedite a portion of the journey, courtesy of young Tish, here.” A fond smile crept through his beard. Tish furrowed the chitin of her face for a moment, until the realization came upon her. 

“The Ithil gateways. That was why you had them installed in Haletheas! You used them to travel, since traditional teleportation wasn’t an option.” 

“An astute girl.” He nodded like a proud parent. 

“So you came all this way to meet with Dom, but what will you do now that she’s not here?” Elias wasn’t letting the subject of Domini stray far. 

Vindegost stroked his chin. “That is a good question, young one.” 

“I’m no child, don’t treat me like one.” 

“Elias, calm yourself.” Constance snapped. “You’re speaking to the leader of the foremost institution of the arcane arts in Morkesh, show some decorum.” 

“It’s quite alright, I see that the lad has an affinity for ‘Dom’.” Vindegost nodded along like a doting grandparent. Elias felt what little patience he had eroding very quickly, the more Vindegost spoke. He wasn’t even certain the old bastard was trying to get a rise out of him, but he did nonetheless. The old wizard continued. 

“In response to your question, I’m not sure what to do next. My plan did not account for her absence.” Your scheme, you mean. 

“You mean to say that you went through all the trouble to summon some godlike being into the body of a mortal woman, and just let her wander? You didn’t have some sort of contingency in place?” Elias was aghast. 

“The gods ill enjoy when mortals attempt to shackle them. I could no sooner have stopped her than you could.” 

Those words, at least, rang true. Domini had a habit of blazing her own trail, the designs of others be damned. But I’m not trying to shackle her now, I’m trying to help her! Elias accepted Domini’s place, that she held importance in some way.

Elias pleaded. “There must be something you can do!”

—

Nihilin ate the world, chewing it up bite by bite. Each land mass they dodged was more fuel for the godlike machine. Domini watched the world above slowly fall away, down into the infinite unknown. After a certain point, everything the Abyss took in simply disappeared. Whether it was land, boat, tree, or man, they were all unraveled the same way, big knotted threads of ideas and thoughts laid bare and malleable. Domini helped where she could, using her power to at least protect these few people around her. Of the less than fifty Blue Companymen that remained, a fraction of that still flew alongside her and the others. Many had failed to weather the obstacles thrown their way and found themselves part of Nihilin’s will. Domini was determined to help who she could, until they inevitably found themselves stewed into a vat of shared thoughts and consciousness, courtesy of Nihilin. The Other chided her angrily for her defeatist attitude. 

Above them, The Autumnal drew ever closer. Domini was unsure if they were moving closer to it, or if it was moving closer to them, but they were on course in any case. She suspected they wouldn’t be escaping with the power of thought alone, though. The lack of sky was proof enough of that. Whereas before she could vaguely see the stars bleeding through, now the ceiling of the Abyss was only blackness. And even if we were to make it out of the mouth of this place, how far could we travel with the power of thought alone? They’d be pulled right back into Nihilin’s current the moment they left. No, they were trapped. 

Several more soldiers were flattened by a massive chunk of a dock that whizzed by, their screams fading off with them. I have to do more. Cirro and Vilkin cleared the way, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The obstacles would need to be removed entirely, not simply carved into smaller, more jagged bits for those behind them to contend with. Domini held her journal tightly, desperate not to lose her grip on it a second time. She tapped into her power of Erasure, which was very nearly omnipresent in the Abyss. With each stroke of her quill, she was able to unmake things at will. Large masses of keeps, or old walls from the remnants of Callibe would hurtle toward them, and Domini would blink them out of existence, dissolving them into nothing. 

It’s working, it’s working! She carved a direct path to the Autumnal. They were close enough now that she could see Altizo on the top deck, holding onto the rigging and looking out across the Abyss as though it were an ocean. He and a few other sailors watched in awe as Domini and the dozen or so remaining soldiers collapsed on the deck. 

“Folnish preserve you all, where’ve you been?” Altizo took a long, deep pull from a smoking pipe. “I thought you lot were done for!” 

“How in the nine hells are these boats still in one piece?” Cirro asked, amazed. It was a good point; everything else around had been obliterated, but The Autumnal and The Dancing Flame persevered. 

“Same as always,” Altizo shrugged, “we sail the damn boat! I say portside, we go portside. I say starboard, we go starboard, easy as that, lad! It’s rough waters though, all kinds of crud gumming us up.” Is he delusional? The sailors still hoisted the masts as though that mattered at all when the vessel was airborne. And yet…it did affect their movement. As Altizo whipped the helm wheel from side to side, The Autumnal did in fact drift across the Abyss like an ocean. It was how they’d avoided the cosmic debris thus far. Without even realizing it, the captain has used the power of the Abyss!

 The satyr captain seemed to be in denial about precisely where he was, but he sailed just as true as he would on open waters. Domini and the others took a moment to collect themselves on the main deck of The Autumnal as it slowly skimmed across the edges of the swirling Abyss. They’d found relative safety for the moment, but they were all on borrowed time that they would have to pay back sooner rather than later. 

21

Elias wanted to carve out Vindegost’s old, decrepit heart. He wanted to, but he couldn’t, not while the old blighter held the keys to helping Domini and the others. Vindegost had taken a seat at the Delegation table, a fresh cup of tea brought in for him. He sipped it daintily, the wiry hairs of his beard soaking it in in places. Gilda waddled across the ceiling, a wary eye following the Teret Scholar. Vindegost found her amusing, asking after the silvery scars that ran across her body. Gilda told him to sod off. 

Elias paced the chamber, looking out across the Sound from the balcony. The ocean had receded further, and it had drawn the attention of much more than just fisherman now. King Jaris would be roused soon enough, Elias suspected. Constance insisted on giving Vindegost a moment to recuperate from his weeks of travel, but Elias couldn’t help but feel like they didn’t have time for these civil pleasantries. Vindegost himself said that Nihilin is responsible for the water’s disappearance. Something powerful enough to hold sway over the ocean itself was something that Elias felt needed immediate addressing. 

He turned on his heel and studied the old wizard where he sat. The man did sip his tea, but his eyes were vacant, as though his mind was somewhere else entirely. So deep in thought was the Teret Scholar, that he didn’t register Constance’s question concerning what Vindegost was meant to discuss with King Jaris. He’s playing the part of the aloof wizard, but he’s as bothered as we are by these developments. Vindegost had expected Domini, and her absence disquieted him, even if he didn’t let it show. That one detail both unsettled and eased Elias in different ways. For such a premiere wizard to be caught unawares was concerning enough, but it showed that perhaps Vindegost did care for Domini, in a way. Vindegost took note of his staring and finally set down his cup. 

“You wish to say something?” He asked. 

“You can help her. I know you can.” Elias insisted. 

“I wish I could, I really do. But even one as knowledgeable as myself would have difficulty contending with a power like Nihilin.” Vindegost sighed.

“Difficult doesn’t mean impossible!” Elias stabbed his dagger into the table, incensed. He hadn’t meant for such a violent outburst, but he had so much pent up frustration and anxiety, and it had to go somewhere. 

Vindegost scarcely moved. It was evident that he didn’t consider Elias to be any sort of threat. 

“My words cannot reach her, no matter how much I try. All things are connected by arcane tethers, you see, but Nihilin is quite adept at tangling up those tethers. My words scatter across the cosmos before finding her.” That’s why she hasn’t gotten in contact. Elias clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. Vindegost continued his prattling.

“Even teleportation was out of the question. I was more likely to find myself in another plane of existence entirely, should I have tried.” 

Elias leaned in. “But it is possible.” 

“It is possible that I could find a path to Domini, yes. It’s just as possible that I end up amongst the stars, forever drifting through the sky for my folly. No, I think the realm is better served if I am here, I’m sorry to say. Perhaps some unseen solution will reveal itself to me.” 

Elias fitfully swept across the room, his mind a tangle of worries and woes. Constance and the others watched, unsure of what to do or how to help. Even Hana seemed disturbed through her unmoving face. Vindegost would not put himself in peril, and his message could not reach Domini and the others. In Elias’s mind, that left but one option. 

“Send me.” 

Vindegost opened his eyes a little wider, amused and surprised. “You?” 

“Yes. You have a message that needs to reach Domini, and you’ve no way to get it to her without risking yourself. Tell me what she needs to know, and send me to her.” 

“Elias, I’m not sure that’s wise.” Constance remarked. 

“We’ve no choice, High Councilor. Your Delegation—all the work you’ve put into this, will be for naught if we don’t do this.” 

“You do realize what such a thing entails, do you not?” Vindegost asked. “This spell will be unstable, highly dangerous. And even if it is successful, you’d find yourself within the Abyss, as that is likely where Domini currently resides.”

“If it means a chance to save them all, I have to try.” 

Vindegost rose from the table, the man looking down at Elias like a proud elder. 

“Very well. Let us begin.” 

—

The Delegation table was easily moved, courtesy of Vindegost’s powerful magic. He swished his heavy scepter, and the table shrunk down to the size of something befitting a dollhouse. Gilda took it into her hands, amazed by the Teret Scholar’s power. From there, Vindegost called his loyal chest into the Delegation chamber and opened it, revealing a veritable trove of arcane artifacts and components. He rummaged through it as though it were a trash heap, flinging various items across the room. A scroll here, an ancient tome of unknown origin there, none of it seemed particularly important to the man. After a time, he finally found what he was looking for in the form of what looked to be a jagged bone. He held it like a writing implement. 

“What’s that?” Gilda asked him, morbidly curious. Vindegost ran a few arthritic fingers over the bone lovingly. 

“‘Tis the proximal phalanx of my brightest pupil in Audilus.” He said with pride. Gilda nodded, though it was evident that she hadn’t the foggiest idea what a ‘proximal phalanx’ was. Vindegost noticed her bewilderment. 

“It’s a finger bone.” He clarified. 

“Why do you have your mate’s finger?” 

“He was very knowledgeable in the arcane arts. Pieces of those well attuned to the threads of magic make for  excellent spell casting components.”

“Sounds like necromancy to me.” Elias said from his position in the corner of the room, his arms folded.

“No no no,” Vindegost shook his head, “it’s the furthest thing from it. In a way, it’s an honoring of the dead, a repurposing of useful assets. I’d never dream of resurrecting my pupil, of removing him from Folnish’s embrace. However, that doesn’t mean that he cannot still impact this world.” 

“How’d he die?” Grenfi asked. At that, Vindegost grew slightly somber.

“His pride saw him killed.” Touchy. Gilda decided to let the subject lie. 

With the finger bone, Vindegost scribbled across the ground of the Delegation chamber in sweeping arcs. It was a piece of art, almost. The way the strange runic carvings blended into one another, the way they pulsed with power the more he drew, was fascinating. Gilda was content to watch the man work, but felt a slight tugging on her blouse. She turned to find Grenfi there, the gnome gesturing for her to follow her out onto the balcony. Gilda followed behind, and both women sat on the railing, looking out across the now dry seabed. The sky was a pale bluish gray. The sun would be rising on a changing world soon enough. 

“Everything alright?” Gilda asked her. She felt awkward, as though she were dancing around the subject of Grenfi’s deceit, and Gilda was a horrid dancer.

“I think it’s time I came clean about what I’ve been hiding.” Grenfi’s gray face was even more pale than usual. “Since we’ll be following Elias into this portal thing, who knows what is gonna happen? I wanted to clear the air before that.” 

Gilda nodded. It needn’t even have been said that they would follow Elias. Gilda knew the moment Vindegost mentioned teleportation that they would be doing just that. In truth, she was happy for it. She longed to be reunited with Zave and the others. Life was incomplete without them. 

“Go on, then.” 

Grenfi took a cavernous breath. “The one who was down in the secret tunnels with Edgarn was Minbi. I lied when I said she got away.” 

Gilda felt a pit open in her stomach. “Why? What was she doing down there with him?” 

“Mackson and his smugglers had been using the tunnels and the secret dock to smuggle in illegal goods, and Edgarn had found out about it. He threatened to report them to the King if they didn’t help him.” 

Several whopping pieces just fell into place. Gilda always wondered why the meerseniers business boomed so much more than any of the other traders, as well as why they seemed so familiar with the layout of the Bastille. Gilda sat slack jawed, waiting for Grenfi to continue. 

“I didn’t want Minbi to get into trouble, so I lied for her. It would’ve been too much to explain in the moment, and after a while it became such a sticking point for everyone that I worried what they would do to her if they found out. But Minbi is blameless! She killed Edgarn in a panic when he was distracted, then fled. The meerseniers have nothing to do with the plot on the King’s family, I swear it.” Grenfi trembled where they sat, as though a ghostly chill had come upon her. She was afraid. Gilda threaded her fingers through the gnome’s. 

“Thank you for finally telling me.” She said. 

“You’re not upset?” 

“Of course I am!” Gilda flicked her ear with her free hand. “That would’ve saved us a lot of time, but I understand why you did it. You were trying to protect someone important to you.” 

“You’re important to me too, Gilly. I should’ve said something to you, at least.” Grenfi looked down sullenly. 

“Well, now you know for the next time we have to thwart a kingly assassination.” Gilda joked. Grenfi hugged her tightly. Both women lingered in each other’s arms a moment, as Vindegost finished his grim art project on the floor. Curiously, when she looked back, she found a figure in the doorway, blonde of hair and worried of expression. Denithor? They’d all been so wrapped up in Vindegost’s ritual that they hadn’t seen him enter. In a way, Gilda was relieved to see him. He’d been on the periphery of things for a good long while. Elias addressed him before the High Councilor could admonish him for entering without knocking.

“What’s going on?” He asked, thoroughly confused. He had especially long ears for an elf, and Gilda had always thought they were a bit cute. Like goblin ears, almost.

“You’ve seen the ocean outside, yes?” Elias responded to the question with his own. Denithor nodded.

“Well, we’re seeing to that.” 

“Does this have anything to do with Cirro and the others?” The elf was tentatively probing, though it was evident he knew something. “I…prayed for Cirro today, and Folnish responded to me. He said that he couldn’t find him, that there were threads missing from his tapestry, that fate and preservation was becoming undone.” 

“Well that certainly doesn’t sound good.” Elias raised his white brows. Denithor eyed the sigil on the ground.

“You’re going to them, aren’t you?” 

“I am, yes” Elias nodded. 

“Take me with you!” Denithor pleaded.

Elias bobbed his head side to side. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Deni.”

“Please. Folnish wouldn’t have spoken to me for nothing. He wishes that I help restore fate, that I help you.” 

“Deni, you don’t even know what we’re doing here, where we’re going.” 

“That doesn’t matter.” He was resolute. “Folnish bade me follow you. And if it leads me to Cirro, all the better.” 

“Fine, fine.” Elias relented. Gilda found the zeal with which Folnites followed their god to be inspiring, if a little creepy. They waited for Vindegost to finish his ritual.

After the floor was thoroughly covered in enough magic sigils to make Gilda’s head spin, Vindegost crushed the finger bone he’d used to do his scrawling into dust, then scattered it through the air like a powder. Instead of dissipating, the powder hung in the air, moving around in swirling circles. Gross. 

“This aspect of the spell works best if there is some sort of item to ground you to the one you seek. Something for the threads of magic to cling to while you travel. Envision it in your mind’s eye, and perhaps it will aid you.” Vindegost stood straight, stretching an achy back. Elias touched the gold torque wrapped around his neck. 

“Got it.” 

Then, as if interacting with some unseen force, the bone dust solidified into an oval shaped portal. It was akin to the crude Ithil Gateway that Bren had made for them years ago, only a bit more morbid in its creation. Elias stepped up with Denithor, prepared to walk through it. Gilly, Grenfi, Hana, and Tish stepped up behind him. He wheeled around in shock. 

“No way are you all coming along for this.” He held a hand out. Hana brushed past him.

“If we are in as much peril as you suggest, then we’d be foolish to let you go with only a priest by your side.” She said, her silver tongue leaving no room for argument. Elias looked to Grenfi and Gilda. 

“Are you sure? This might be it. We might not even find them.” 

“It wouldn’t feel right to let you go without us.” Grenfi stood defiantly. Gilda nodded her assent. 

“We’ve been split up too long, and I’m tired of seeing you mope around.” 

Elias cast his eyes over to Tish. “This will be no place for a scribe. You know that, don’t you?”

She snorted her response to his concern for her safety. “We made it out of Haletheas in one piece, Domini and myself. I’m sick of worrying over her while she’s gone, and I’m not content to stand idly while everyone else looks for her. If you can bring the little priest boy with you, then you can bring me.”

“I’m a fully ordained cleric of Folnish.” Denithor said, as insulted as Gilda had ever heard him. “And I’m almost a hundred years old.” 

Tish brushed him off. “The point stands. If the priest can come, then so can I.”

Gilda could see that Elias was touched by their insistence to join him. Even if he was fearful, he was happy to have them.

Constance approached them all where they stood before Vindegost’s bony portal, an arcane wind whipping at her dress. She had a sincere look of concern tugging on her pretty face. 

“As much grief as we’ve given one another, I am grateful for your service.” She said, looking at Elias, then Gilda. “All of you.” 

“Careful, Lady Therolan, you’re dangerously close to sounding like you care about us.” Elias smirked. It was a desperate little grin; a thin, brittle mask to conceal how he really felt. Gilda had grown to recognize it. The High Councilor discarded his teasing. “I care about the harmony between nations, and I know you do as well. You wouldn’t do the gods damned foolish things you do—like this—if you didn’t care.” 

She pulled a small handkerchief from the folds of her dress and offered it to Gilda. “Safe travels.” Gilda took it in her hands, smelling saccharine perfume on it, then tucked it away into her pack just next to her wooden spoon and ladle for safekeeping. 

Vindegost stepped forward, offering one last chance to change their minds. 

“The realm of Nihilin is tricky, nonsensical. I dedicated the majority of my life to studying it, and I haven’t even a tenuous grasp on it. More than likely, you will die the moment you step through this portal, or otherwise will be tossed into the depths of the Abyss, where your minds and bodies will unravel into nothing. Are you certain you wish to pursue this?”

Gilda was a coward. She always would be. She was scared out of her wits every single time they did something insane like this. But in the end, she always followed along. Even if someday, it didn’t work out, it’d be worth it if she met her end beside all the friends she made along the way. She missed Zave and Domini, even if she was a little weird. She missed Lemarque and his compliments to her cooking. She missed the other drow and her stony lover, she even missed Cirro, the blue bastard. She missed cooking for them all and listening to Hana’s soft singing in the barracks in Vatrejem. It was the closest thing to a home she’d had since Xallajin, and she wanted it back. She stepped forward, locking her fingers into Grenfi’s and Elias’s, who then grabbed hold of Hana, who wrapped an arm around Tish. Denithor held onto his amulet, Folnish guiding him forward.

“Send us through, you old sod.” 

Vindegost smiled at that. “Very well.” The portal expanded further, like a yawning mouth that led directly into a void. Gilda gulped, suddenly very unsure of herself. All the bluster left her, but she couldn’t back out now, could she? Just as the portal prepared to hungrily consume them, Elias remembered something.

“Wait! What is the message for Domini?” 

The portal yawned wide and ate them up. But as they fell into a transitional void, Gilda heard Vindegost’s voice echo his message.

“There must be a union.” 

—

Domini leaned onto the railing of The Autumnal, helping Altizo slowly steer the ship past any large obstacles. Those he couldn’t avoid, she would Erase with her journal. It kept the vessel safe, but they still drifted ever downward. Eventually, they would reach a point where the ship itself would be unmade, and they would follow soon after. She sighed, defeated. Part of her felt as though they were already dead, and her resistances were just the spasms of a stubborn corpse that refused to rest. No solution had availed itself just yet, no epiphany to save the day. They were surrounded by thoughts and darkness, and Domini wasn’t sure which was scarier anymore. 

She kept Despair from thickly pasting her tongue, but it was a constant effort. The Other echoed words to her, some of which Domini could understand now. The veil between worlds was thinner in the Abyss, almost nonexistent. It brought Domini closer to the Other, in a way. 

Be…one. 

The words came to her in her own voice; a distant, separated piece of her that had been trying and trying to make contact for years at this point. But what did it mean? Be one with the Other? Domini had been trying to do that for as long as she could remember. This one, tiny revelation served only to frustrate her even more. The Other mirrored that frustration, clawing at the walls of her mind with sharp fingers that made her head ache. Across the deck of The Autumnal, the others of her party sat in small groups, awaiting the end of things. All but Vilkin. He stood defiantly at the helm with Altizo, as though waiting for something. Domini joined him. She felt a kinship with him, the two of them both damned by fate and circumstance. 

“I see it in you, you know.” Vilkin said.

“See what?” 

“A determination to do what you need to do, no matter the cost. I bore that very same weight once before.” 

“How did you know what to do?” Domini asked, feeling especially vulnerable.

“I didn’t. I did what I felt was right.”

“But you were punished for it, imprisoned and tortured!”

“That doesn’t mean it was the wrong thing to do. My suffering was a necessary byproduct, in a way. Had I not destroyed the Sunburst and incurred all that came with it, you would not be here to finish what I started.” He looked up, his face painted a pale violet in the strange ambient light of the Abyss.

“So you’re saying that in order for me to stop all of this, I will have to suffer?” 

Vilkin’s eyes found her. “But of course. That is what we mortals do. We suffer for birth, we suffer for love. We toil away for our whole lives, the struggle ever present. Gothi and the Abyss would take away that suffering, that struggle, washing away what it means to be alive. We all on this boat have a part to play, a loose script dictated by gods, writ in their own blood. There is no fate, no preordained destiny. But if the cost of preserving the world is our death, then we will have to choose whether or not to pay that price.” He spoke as though it were so simple, as though a single decision could preserve or unmake the world. It was a tempting way to view things. 

“I hope you’re right, Vilkin.” Domini said. She was appreciative of the malformed wisdom he would espouse on occasion.

For the first time since she’d met him, the Suneater smiled. It was a weak thing, barely a twitch of the lip, but it registered. “I rarely am.” For old time’s sake, Domini chose to jot that specific moment into her journal, capturing it.

He took a position next to Emiline as she quietly looked over Sidona in her newly reformed body. The mage was dazzled by it, and Sidona was annoyed by the constant attention. Domini was just glad she was alive, even if her form had changed drastically. Hmm.

There was something significant bubbling in Domini’s mind, but she couldn’t quite reach it. They were pieces to a puzzle she hadn’t realized she was solving.

Before she could continue contemplating that, however, a crackling sound like lightning arced above them. She peered upward, seeing what looked like a dark maw as it spit out several people. Arista’s grace, what is that? They soared maladroitly through the air until Domini saw a telltale flash of purple, then another. Each flash echoed the beating of her heart, the pace growing more and more frantic. Gods… As the figures plummeted, they began to flail and branch out, but one of them spat a silky web toward the others, then pulled them close like a fisherman’s net. Domini held her breath, her heart in her throat. She wouldn’t believe it until she saw them. It could’ve been a manifestation from her mind, a cruel trick played by Nihilin. Zave and the others crowded around and watched along with her. Everyone was mired in as much disbelief as she. They wanted what they saw to be real as badly as Domini did. 

“They’re falling too fast.” Hezekiah noted. “They don’t know how to use the Abyss to their advantage!” 

He was right. At their current velocity, they would slam into the deck with enough force to turn them into paste. Domini scribbled in her journal, relieving those falling of the burden of gravity. Now they sank as though through water, and as they drew closer, Domini was finally able to see them. 

“Gods above and below,” Cirro said, “it’s them.” 

Elias, Gilda, Grenfi, Hana, Tish, and Denithor descended like clumsy angels. Their expressions were ones of desperate happiness, of a similar disbelief as everyone on their ship. 

Elias and the others swept across the deck of The Autumnal in a wave, crashing into everyone else forcefully. He buried his beautiful purple face into Zave, and wrapped his other arm firmly around Domini, clutching onto her robes as if she would drift away otherwise. Gilda and Grenfi climbed over their heads like a couple of driders and latched onto Zave, tears streaming down their cheeks. Gilda dabbed at them with a very finely embroidered handkerchief. To the side, Leopold embraced the doll, her robes stained with his blood red tears. Cirro fell to his knees in front of Denithor, the smaller man holding onto his head where he knelt. 

Elias peppered both Zave and herself with as many tear soaked kisses as he could. She ran her hand through his beautiful, white hair, her fingers meeting with Zave’s on the back of Elias’s head. She held his hand. They’d grown close without Elias, and would grow closer still with him. Elias collected himself for just long enough to nod behind, and Domini found Tish there. More tears flowed as the two cradled each other, Tish’s myriad arms stroking Domini’s hair. All of their hearts had been riven in two when they left Vatrejem, and they had only just now been made whole again. They took time to bask in this return, Nihilin be damned.

It had been too long. Far too long.

22

Elias was an incandescent beam of hope in the gloomy Abyss. Zave had felt nothing but despair since they found their way back to The Autumnal, but having his friends—his family—reunited filled him with renewed hope. If not hope, then a contentment of sorts. He was happy to have them all, even if it meant they faced the end of days together. They’d taken a bit of time to catch Elias and the others up on the events as they developed, telling them of Gothi, of the way the Abyss worked, of the dangers it posed to one’s own mind. They took it in stride. Oddly enough, they already knew of Gothi somewhat, that he had been scheming with others outside of the Abyss to some end. It was just like Elias to find himself in the middle of something dangerous while on a mission for peace. Zave chuckled at that. 

He watched as Elias bounded across the main deck of The Autumnal to dote on everyone else; first Leopold, who took the drow’s hugs and words of affection as though he were being strangled by a large snake. Then Cirro, who was very nearly glued to Denithor’s side. He met with Emiline, giving her a cordial greeting, and remarked on Vilkin’s arm and very nifty looking spear, before finally settling on Sidona. The exchange between them both was tense at first; two members of the same family, separated by a gulf of betrayals long past. Once Elias inquired about Ardra, however, the conversation became more sincere. They explained the marriage of their bodies into one being, and it seemed to trigger something for Elias. 

“That reminds me,” Elias blurted out, dashing across the deck to Domini. He’s all over the place. 

“Dom, the Teret Scholar has a message for you.” 

“The Teret Scholar? Vindegost? You met with him?” Her mauve colored eyes went wide.

“How else would we have gotten here, a wagon?” He grinned. 

“He met with the Delegation because he thought you’d be there. When you weren’t, he had to…adjust his plan.” Tish explained further. 

“That is to say, he didn’t think you’d be mad enough to hop on a boat and sail directly into the Abyss all on your own.” Elias said. 

“She is hardly alone. You are not the only reliable entity in the realm, Elias.” Leopold noted. Zave nodded his agreeance. Elias beamed at that, no doubt happy to see them working harmoniously.

“Let’s not get distracted.” Domini shook her head. “What message did he have?” 

Elias sobered quickly. “He said ‘There must be a union.’” A union? 

“Any idea what that means?” Zave butted in. Domini seemed ponderous, a quiet war waging behind her eyes. The Teret Scholar’s message was something she needed to hear, it seemed. 

“A union…” Sidona said, her voice a vestige of Ardra. Whatever was left of the mediator bled through at times, specifically her analytical mind and understanding of magic. Watching that very complex knowledge filter through Sidona was entertaining. She shared a knowing glance with Domini. Both women were now products of Nihilin, new things made from the parts of broken ones. It connected them, gave them an understanding of one another that didn’t exist prior. 

“Well, whatever ‘union’ this Teret Scholar spoke of will likely have to wait.” Hezekiah shrugged, his carved form shifting around like plates of stone. “The Proclaimer lives still, and I sincerely doubt he’s finished with us.” 

“He fled toward the lower reaches of the Abyss. I’d bet he’s waiting there for us.” Zave said. 

“So what, we just sit around now, waiting to die?” Gilda shuffled uncomfortably where she stood horizontal on the main mast. Grenfi patted her head in consolation.

“Do you have a desire to rush to your probable demise?” Cirro asked. Gilda huffed at him. 

The deck became abuzz as everyone talked, several separate conversations intermingling. Even some of the remaining Blue Companymen joined in, offering their own thoughts on any odd matter. Whether it be asking Denithor for a prayer of preservation in Folnish’s name, or inquiring about Tish’s spidery body, conversation flowed. Several of the soldier’s eyes wandered over to Hana, and they were met with Leopold’s icy glare. He didn’t mind her work, it seemed, but hungry glances outside the red haze of a brothel would spell trouble. Zave found Domini separated from the rest, her lithe form leaned against the railing of the ship. He met her there. 

“So, what’s the union?” He asked, then added more before she could offer any refutations, “I know you know what that message meant.” 

Her face darkened with embarrassment. “It’s as Hez said; we will address it when it needs addressing. There’s no sense agonizing over what it means until Gothi is dealt with.” It was evident that she didn’t want to confront it. Or maybe she already did, and didn’t like the conclusion she reached. Either way, Zave let it lie. They both leaned on the railing and looked out across the Abyss, admiring it. It was destructive and fascinating; a natural disaster one was powerless to stop, like a tidal wave that would sweep away the world and leave nothing behind. 

“I never thought I’d see you two seeking each other’s company. When we met on the road to Banesbreak, you both couldn’t stand one another.” Elias said from behind them. He squeezed between them where they stood, happily brushing shoulders with them both. Zave draped an arm around Elias’s shoulder, while Domini snaked a hand around his waist. They held onto him tenderly. Were they not trapped in a hostile dimension, Zave would have had a right mind to carry him below deck with Domini and make up for their months away, but that would have to wait. 

“Being trapped on this boat made friends of us all, I guess.” Zave joked. “Even Leo made nice with Hez and Sid.” 

“There’s been all kinds of ‘nice making’ going on.” Elias looked between them both pruriently. “Did I miss something?” 

“Nothing like that.” Domini answered fretfully. Elias let out a soul-soothing giggle.

“I wouldn’t be upset if something did! I’m happy to see you two get along, that’s all.”

Domini shared a look with Zave. It was the sort of glance that said more than words could, the kind that let him intuitively know that she cared for him, and he for her. There was a feeling there, and Zave was comfortable calling it love. It may have worn a different face than the love he had for Elias, but it held just as much potential. Her eyes narrowed at him fondly. Elias noticed the exchange with curiosity.

“Well now I just feel left out, don’t I?” Was he always so needy? 

Zave scooped him up and kissed him deeply, with not a care given to their circumstances. Once he was done, Domini planted a kiss on his lips as well. Elias looked happy as a cat in cream when they were finished with him. 

“I love you both so, so much.” 

“From now on, we stay together, yeah?” Zave brought them both close. “No more running off to scheme with Drow assassins or play Kings and Ladies with the Xallajinian council. We stay together, all of us.”

“Even Leopold?” Elias challenged him, looking at the vampire where he sat on the deck with Hana. She’d taken on a human form, and Leopold clumsily attempted to braid her hair with his real and ethereal hands. It was an aching sliver of domesticity in the chaos of the Abyss. Severing his connection to Amelia had helped build him into a proper man, one Zave could respect, if given enough time.

“Even Leopold.” Zave confirmed.

“Sounds perfect to me.” Elias exhaled peacefully. He spoke as though it was a foregone conclusion that they would be escaping the Abyss. Zave felt that they needed that levity. Those that had been within Nihilin’s realm longer were fresh out of hope. Perhaps Elias’s arrival would inject some much needed vigor into them all. They descended further, but they did it together.

—

The way Emiline treated Sidona like a freshly dissected frog drove her mad. She poked and prodded at her reformed limbs, asking her dozens of questions, then piling on even more questions before she could finish the first round. Sidona understood that the girl was bright and curious, but both she and Ardra had to stifle the urge to stuff a length of rope into the girl’s mouth to keep her quiet. Ardra found such a visualization quite titillating. Oh hush, you slattern. Hezekiah watched the exchange, thoroughly entertained. He was happier than she would’ve expected, given their circumstances. She imagined he felt similarly to how she did when his own life was in mortal peril. Now look at us; a man made of stone and a woman of two souls. 

Their unmaking would come soon enough, all of them reduced to pure thoughts and ideas. Sidona wondered if the process would hurt, but Ardra within her helped her realize the truth of it. It would be worse than pain, it would be nothing. She remembered Ardra’s memories of being banished to the Abyss, and felt a renewed sense of pity for her and all she went through. Ardra still maintained an insistent faith that things were not yet finished, and Sidona clung to that feeling so that she could show Hez a convincing smile. She hoped the idea of herself would make sure to cling to the idea of him, once they were gone.

After a time, The Autumnal no longer had to shift around to avoid debris, as most of it had been sucked into the reaches of the Abyss and unmade. Their vessel stood alone in the chasm of uncreation, resisting the esurient pull of it, but ever failing. Time fell away with most other laws of the cosmos, and Sidona was unsure precisely how long they drifted for. It could have been hours, or maybe days, she couldn’t know for sure. That is what this place does, Ardra whispered in her mind, it takes away all that is not itself. 

Hunger was immaterial, as was sleep. They drifted along like specters, ghosts being ferried into the afterlife by Folnish to be preserved for all time. Sidona found herself enjoying the lull of it all, her mind slowly relinquishing control as Emiline’s interrogation became ambient noise, and Ardra had to ring out in agonied alarm to keep her from losing herself completely. They were further down now, deep enough that unguarded minds would be undone with ease. Looking across the deck, she found it to be true. Several more Blue Companymen fell away like forgotten thoughts, leaving only a scant few. Shockingly, Altizo and his sailors seemed unphased. They toiled away at their usual tasks and seemed better for it, entirely unconcerned with whatever Nihilin could threaten them with. 

Sidona steeled herself, willing her thoughts to stay grounded in the moment, to focus on Emiline and her inane questions with sincerity and fascination, if that’s what it took to stay above the dark waters of the Abyss. Once Emiline finished her onslaught of inquiries, she contented herself mulling over the information. That left Hezekiah and Sidona nominally alone. Or as alone as could be when one shared a body and mind with another. Ardra bristled within Sidona at their shared closeness to Hezekiah on the deck, but she made no efforts to shy away from it. Just as Sidona now understood Ardra’s fervent belief in Domini, the mediator was brought to understand her fiery love and devotion to Hez. 

Their time alone was cut short, however, once Vilkin called out to the vessel as a whole. His alert splintered the communal revery that had captured the whole ship. He took flight, hovering above the deck on wings of green flame, gazing into the lower Abyss with hostile, ready eyes. Gothi? Everyone else mirrored his posture, prepared to fight. With no khopesh, Sidona was forced to use an awkward Favergonian longsword, the weapon both familiar and foreign. Zave got his hands on a battle ax from one of the unmade Blue Company soldiers, his bolstering bracer enabling him to hold it with a single hand. Sidona had her doubts about how effective any weapons would be against Gothi. He could simply integrate them into his malformed body, leaving them no avenue with which to harm him. She approached Elias where he crouched low with his dagger drawn. 

“While you might be tempted to attack him headlong, I’d advise against it, cousin. Traditional weapons aren’t likely to do much in this place.” She displayed her newly reformed limbs to help make her point. Elias simply nodded. They waited until whatever Vilkin saw finally came into focus. At first it was difficult to comprehend, but once she finally allowed herself to see what barreled toward them, Sidona felt a stark fear welling within her. Rising from the depths of Nihilin was Gothi, only now he was monstrously large. There were echoes of the mortal being he had once been influencing his massive form, but they were faint. The thing before them was perhaps a hundred feet tall, with a shifting body that was amorphous and confusing to look at. It was liquid in how it undulated, as though it was indecisive about precisely what it wanted to be, and so chose to be everything all at once. Gothi levitated toward them, arms outstretched like a deity ready for worship. 

“Nihilin’s will has been made manifest. It will inherit the world and unmake it anew.” His voice boomed from everywhere at once, rapturous and gleeful. It was barely conceivable to attempt fighting such a being, but they would have to. The odds had been stacked against them many times before, and they had prevailed. Whether it be the Convocation, a roving band of pirates, or an Abyssal kraken, they always found a way. Resolve flooded into Sidona as Ardra’s influence emboldened her.

They would find a way.

—

Everyone from The Autumnal and The Dancing Flame took to the air like a murder of crows, spinning around the titanic Gothi. Nobody dared attack, for fear of being absorbed into his gluttonous form. All except for Vilkin. He slashed wildly with his spear, bright green gouts of magical flame searing and severing chunks of Gothi away. The Suneater fought alone, the others mere distractions. Domini whizzed through the air, frantically scrawling into her journal to Erase any pieces of Gothi that she could. The Proclaimer made it difficult. He conjured landmasses and weapons and monsters from the air and sent them hurtling toward Domini and the others. It was all she could do to keep from being flattened. 

And while it seemed like she and Vilkin were inflicting some amount of damage to Gothi, his affinity with the Abyss allowed him to manipulate reality so completely that he could circumvent Domini’s power. Pieces that were Erased or lopped off by Vilkin would reform, making their resistance seem especially futile. She persevered, tapping into the deepest wells of her power. The Other fought alongside her, a stalwart companion now. Domini knew what it meant when it said to become one, she just had to figure out how. 

As much as Gothi might have thought himself the emissary of the Abyss, Nihilin’s personal lapdog, he was not truly. Domini would have to find Nihilin itself, wherever it roosted.

 Gothi swung massive arms like pillars around, one of which slammed directly into The Dancing Flame. The sailors on board plummeted down through the Abyss as the vessel cracked in half. The ship came alight in a brilliant explosion as the smoke powder on board ignited, breaking Gothi’s arm off. The Proclaimer cried out, evidently still able to feel pain in his ascended state.  

Heroes all capitalized on the moment, releasing hails of magic and arrows into him. Vilkin slashed the Proclaimers face with his spear, his entire body alight with feral energy from the Sunburst. He burned too hot, singeing the skin of his companions, but he couldn’t help it. The fight required all he had to give. In a move that twisted Domini’s mind, the massive Gothi disappeared, teleporting to a space further away from them all to recuperate after The Dancing Flame’s last hoorah. 

“Bendala’s bane!” Vilkin cursed, his flames flaring even brighter. He soared after Gothi like a man possessed, leaving them all behind. 

“Domini!” Zave called out, “Can you make a portal for all of us?” 

“I’ll try!” She scribbled in the journal, reforming her memories of the Abyss with ease, manipulating its pieces and rules until there were none anymore. A portal yawned wide before them all, larger than any one she’d created before. It swallowed them whole and teleported them directly to Gothi, allowing them to harry him once more. As soon as they exited the portal, Domini felt her skin heating up unbearably. Vilkin was burning too bright. His armor glowed orange and green, ready to melt away from his body, and his spear looked more like a rod of energy than any normal weapon. 

“Vilkin!” Emiline cried above the fray. She’d thrown up a magical veil to shield herself from the heat, but it melted away like a sheet of ice. Only Zave could stand to be anywhere near him, the scales of his armor absorbing the heat. Emiline met Domini in the air, both mages' robes in tatters.

“Something is wrong!” Emiline scanned the battlefield wildly. She and Domini looped around another gust of creations that bloomed from Gothi. 

“What do you mean?” Domini dashed words across her journal, Erasing what she could of Gothi. 

“The power of the Sunburst is no longer within his control, it eats away at him!” 

Indeed, what Emiline said was true; Vilkin’s armor became malleable, forming against his body like a second skin. His anguished cries rang through the Abyss, yet he continued to fight. Domini saw the skin of his face melting away, his hair, his sanity. He had eaten the Sunburst, not realizing that it would one day eat him in kind.

—

Sunlight burned through Vilkin as it had the day he killed Keldreth the mage. Every movement was punctuated by pain and fury, but he couldn’t stop. Visions of Dagmar came to him, of his many companions that died to prop him up as the savior of Gohalia that he wanted to be. They were dead, dust, nothing anymore. The remembrance fueled him further. He flared his power, hearing the voices of his new companions cry out in protest. His skin had flaked away, leaving his armor housed by a slowly cooking body. His bones felt dry and brittle within him, kindling for the horrid flame. Vilkin knew there was not much left to him. He endeavored. He thought of Vormis, of her regretful expression when she saw him huddled within the cell in Travertine’s dungeon. She had arranged for his release so that he might do exactly this; utilizing the Sunburst’s power to stop Gothi, to stop the Abyss. I must persist. 

He swung his spear, jabbing at Gothi’s monstrous form. When the Proclaimer moved or attacked, Vilkin flared his power to dodge and pursue. His body was wracked with the immense pressure he put on it, and it was failing. Bones crunched under his armor, organs splintered and ruptured. Vilkin disregarded it all. He had been treated like a monster for so long that he felt that that was what he was now. Gothi, the Abyss, it all made him forget what it meant to be a man. He was a force, a resistance, pure and simple. Cries from his companions rang through the Abyss, begging him to stop for their sake, but he couldn’t, could he? 

“Vilkin, please!” Emiline shouted above the tumult. He turned to her, seeing her through eyes of flame. His power had burnt her, had burned them all. Vilkin froze for a moment, the situation so familiar to his first journey to save the world, only magnified. Then, it was Dagmar and the others from the guild, and he left them behind to die, so that he might save Gohalia. He called them heroes, and called himself a savior, but he wasn’t. He toyed with things far beyond his knowledge, barreling forward with disregard simply because he could. Now he stood against a cosmic threat again, and he threatened to jeopardize those who stood with him. His own words rang through his head, his words to Domini about a choice needing to be made. They were prescient, though he didn’t realize they would apply to him in such a way. Vilkin had a choice to make. He wished to be a savior, and failed. Now he wished to be a martyr, but he was failing in that, too. It was not as simple as tossing himself onto the pyre and feeling accomplished while the flames consumed him, no, not while others held the means to put out the flame itself. 

Vilkin slowed, but the flame that consumed him was no longer within his grasp. He would have to do something with it, lest it consume them all.

—

No, no!

Vilkin represented their bulwark, the thing that held Gothi at bay while Domini performed her ministrations in the background. With him gone, they would have no way to stop Gothi from focusing his full wrath on her. Zave zipped around as fast as his mind could carry him, always staying close to Elias. Both men could scarcely harm the Proclaimer, but they refused to do nothing. Vilkin was barely a man anymore, his body had been so thoroughly melded to his armor. He looked like a revenant prepared to haunt both the living and the dead. Zave called to him, but his words fell on deaf ears. They needed Vilkin, they needed the power of the Sunburst. Without it, Gothi would happily unmake them all. Zave propelled himself forward, bracing himself against the heat. Elias shouted at him, but he ignored the call. Protecting him and Domini was paramount. 

Approaching Vilkin was like stepping right into a blacksmith’s forge. The heat bubbled his skin and stung his eyes. Just as he nearly reached him, Gothi teleported again, and what remained of Vilkin screeched like a banshee, prepared to dart after him a second time. Zave strained his mind and lunged at Vilkin, wrapping his fingers around the Suneater’s tainted arm. It pulsed with fiery power that was not content being chained. His grip was a tether that brought Vilkin back to himself, his tremulous rage subsiding as he regained a breath of lucidity. He looked at Zave with eyes made of smoke, housed in a body made of flame.

“Zave Shadowsbane, they call you.” Vilkin said, his voice roiling like a blaze. He took Zave by the wrist. 

“The blaze consumes me. I haven’t the power to destroy Gothi. I haven’t the power to keep the blaze from consuming all of us.”

“What will you do? We need you!” 

“I will…make a choice, as I should have long ago. I will use the Sunburst to forge a weapon that might challenge Gothi, use it to protect Domini.”

“What does that mean, gods dammit? Are you mad?” Zave couldn’t believe his ears.

“There will be no madness anymore if we fail. This is my mantle to shed, finally, and with it, my life. You must take it upon yourself, but don’t misuse it as I have. Become the Suneater, Zave Shadowsbane.”

“I…” There were no words.

“My yoke becomes yours. Shadow fears you. Make the sun heed you likewise.” 

Vilkin’s hand solidified where it gripped him, his body losing its shape. He became flame incarnate, gathering up the melted pieces of his armor and twisting them together into the form of a large blade. Then, with what remained of himself, he imbued the blade with every last iota of the Sunburst’s power, encasing it within. His body was a poor conduit for such immense power, and so forged a new vessel for it. Folnish preserve me. The flame bit at Zave as he watched it happen, but he didn’t care. Everything happening around him carried such immensity that something so mundane as pain hardly registered. The final wisp of Vilkin spoke, his voice a candle ready to wane. 

“In the end, my choice was not for naught. I was a hero, wasn’t I?” 

Zave gripped the hilt of the blade, still in the form of Vilkin’s hand. It pulsed with power, pure and righteous, just like the tortured man who had formed it.

“You are.” 

23

They’d fought a dragon, a demigod, an army of undead, every odd the world could think to throw at them. Now they fought an Abyss, its power an unrelenting current of entropy. Elias soared across the sky of Nihilin’s realm as though he were in a dream. The deific form of Gothi barreled through the air like a ship breaching harsh waters. This is no dream, it’s a nightmare. He narrowly avoided one of Gothi’s gargantuan hands as it made to swat him. The Autumnal, the vessel Zave and the others had taken to Soller’s Isle, bobbed around whatever creations would sprout from Gothi. Odd monsters borne of thought would burst from the Proclaimer like seed pods, then harass their ship. Elias, along with most everyone else, fought to keep such creatures at bay. The ship was their last bastion. Without it, they would surely perish.

Gothi’s beasts were random in their creation; some were fish, some were avian creatures, or owlbears or griffins, even the odd drake or wyvern, but they were malformed, half remembered things. Parts of them were missing, or replaced by others. A few of the monsters even were unions of two entirely separate beasts brought into one. Elias fought them alongside his companions, desperate to protect what little was left of their fleet. Cirro had said there were four boats and hundreds of men when they set out, now they had this. On The Autumnal itself, Elias spied Hana casting simple spells to ward away some of the smaller creatures, while Sidona and her lover fought whatever else got close. Cirro hacked through the larger ones in the sky, his attacks bolstered by Folnish, courtesy of Denithor. The two Heroes of Lenos worked harmoniously, as though they’d fought countless battles together. Battle brothers. Elias was glad to have brought the cleric along. 

Leopold arced through the air like a blood red arrow, slicing away each creature he came across. He donned his monstrous visage, using the power it gave him to its fullest extent. And yet, even as a monster, he protected others. Leonard would be proud of the man he’d become, Elias knew. In the midst of the chaos, Elias heard his name called out. He turned to find Gilda and Grenfi zigzagging through the air like a couple of flies, a strange mushroom shaped behemoth trailing them both. 

“Kill the creminoid, kill it!” Gilda shrieked. Before Elias could hurl his dagger at it, Cirro bisected the fungal foe, then turned his attention back to the ship. Both small women met him in the air, staying close. They scanned the battlefield for Zave, finding him at the heart of it all. 

Time was difficult to parse in the heat of battle. They could’ve been embroiled in it for minutes, or hours. All Elias knew for sure was that at some point during it all, the strange spear toting warrior named Vilkin had burned away like a funeral pyre, leaving a blade in his stead, a blade Zave now wielded. The blade burned like green sunlight, releasing beams of caustic energy with each slash Zave made. He whipped around Gothi cutting away bits of him where he could. Domini followed close behind him, the two nearly inseparable. Elias wished he could do more to help them both, but he had to be where he was most useful, and that was helping those on the Autumnal. He would have to hope that Zave and Dom could find a way to hack the would-be demigod to bits before they were all sucked into the Abyss. 

Elias dove back into the clash, keeping a pace with Leopold, fighting alongside him, his son. 

—

Zave held a ray of sunshine the way an executioner wielded an ax. In the depths of that ray, he could hear the lamentations of every Callibe mage that had sacrificed themselves to birth the Sunburst, as well as Vilkin. They were a chorus that sang with every swipe of the blade, their power tearing through Gothi. Where Zave would cut, Domini would make the wounds fester, her power creating vacuous voids in the Proclaimer’s regenerative body. Gothi would try in vain to loose creations at them, but Zave cut through them frictionlessly, and Domini could unmake the parts his blade missed. They were the perfect set of tools to excise this cancerous mass from the realm. 

“Even if you fell me, Nihilin will not be undone by blades.” Gothi’s voice rang out like thunder. The words were meant to instill despair in them, but they left him shakily. His fear emboldened Zave to fight on, to resist. 

Gothi made to teleport again, retreating like a coward to fold himself further into the Abyss, but Domini interrupted him. She pressed her hand into her journal, the words bleeding into her fingertips, then flung them at Gothi. It kept him stationary long enough for Zave to plunge his starlight blade into Gothi’s chest. A torrent of something spilled from him. It wasn’t blood, but instead pure thoughts. They assaulted Zave in a rush, his mind flooded with thousands of disparate ideas all at once. It very nearly drew him into a fathomless pit, a tar-like pool where his mind was dangerously close to ripping away from him. It was enough to daze him, and Gothi used the opportunity to swat him downwards with bone crushing force. Zave cried out as he felt his ribs crunch against his innards. He plummeted down, further into the Abyss, his companions screaming for him all the while. 

The further down he fell, the more difficult it became for Zave to keep a handle on his mind. It fought against him, becoming malleable and weak as he drifted. No, dammit! He fought against himself and tried to fly upward using the Abyss’s power, but it betrayed him, his mind betrayed him. So thoroughly scattered were his thoughts, that he could scarcely maintain his sense of self. Everything became dark, amorphous, unsure. His thoughts became contextless and he forgot why he was there at all, why he so fervently held to the idea of being a formed being. 

—

Gilda dove after the fucker. 

She did not hop through a planar portal into a nightmare to find Zave, only for him to die. He was a big bastard, but he wasn’t the brightest, Gilda knew that. Neither of them were particularly bright. Except that damn sword of his. Now that was bright. It was the only thing that allowed her to see where Zave was as he sagged further into the Abyss. The bottom of Nihilin’s realm—if it could even be called a bottom—was bright, almost white, and it hurt Gilda’s eyes to stare into it. She focused on the sickly green of his new sword as she fell toward him. Grenfi called for her, her slight voice barely carrying above the gales all around, but Gilda painfully ignored her. Everyone was so damn busy fighting and dying that Zave was sure to be lost in the maelstrom. 

She did as she had been instructed during their brief bit of downtime, and used her mind to propel herself downward faster. Her minute form sped through the Abyss like an anxious bolt of lightning. She blurred past Domini, who squared off against the giant monster man that they all fought. That was the one boon of being Gilda; she was small and unthreatening. She was able to zip past the monster fellow with nary a glance and continue on toward Zave. The time had been too short, she hadn’t even had the opportunity to cook for any of them yet, for Sasho’s sake! 

Zave drew closer to her, his face bearing a concerning placidity. He was never so content, not Zave. He was always grumbling about something or stuffing himself silly with food. Gilda refused to let this place have him, to remove what made him the bloke she felt happiest with, not after everything they’d been through together. Nihilin gnawed at her mind like a piranha to fresh meat, trying to tear it away in chunks. She resisted as best she could, the sharp nails of her little fingers digging into her palms. She was closing on Zave, and Nihilin was closing on her, wrapping its maw around her mind like Salavirn had when they fought him. 

Finally, Gilda slammed into Zave as though he were a brick wall. She held onto his armor for dear life, the sharp scales of it slicing into her arms and chest. They spun in a wild circle, ideas, thoughts, and memories ebbing from them like blood. It would unmake them if they let it, but Gilda wouldn’t. 

“Zave!” She shrieked. “Wake up, you fucker!” 

Zave’s eyes were glazed, vacant. She slapped him as hard as she could, pounding on his chest to no avail. With no recourse left, Gilda dug a solitary hand into her pack and produced her wooden spoon. Then, channeling the very soul of Zave’s own mother, she jammed the butt of it directly into his temple.

“WAKE UP!”

 He jolted awake violently, remembering where he was all at once. His eyes swirled around until they found Gilda. 

“Gilly? What in Plumar’s realm are you doing?” 

“Shut the hells up and get us out of here!” She squealed. There was most certainly no time for conversation. Zave smiled through his beard at her.

His sword came alight in a flash, and he held Gilda close as he rocketed back upward, back to Gothi and the others. Gravity pulled at Gilly’s chubby cheeks as they wound through the Abyss. She held close to him as he drew his fiery blade straight through Gothi’s monolithic body, quartering him like a slaughtered pig. It was madness, plain and simple. To see the sheer amount of stuff that leaked out of the Proclaimer was enough to make Gilly’s brain go gammy. Domini shored up next to them, following his devastating attack with her own. She looked relieved, and gave Gilly the fleetest of glances for her efforts. For the personification of a god, Gilda thought she was alright.

Gothi flailed about, his body having difficulty reforming itself. Zave twisted around him, Gilda still wedged firmly against him. He peeled her off and looked at her gratefully.

“Thank you, Gilly, thank you.” About time you recognize everything I do for you, you knob.

Then, as he had done dozens of times before, Zave flung Gilda as far away as he could, only now his throw seemed even stronger. Gilda soared toward Elias and the Autumnal at a nauseating clip, barreling into the drow fast enough to topple him over in the air several times. Even after they slowed, however, Elias wouldn’t let her go. He hugged onto her tightly, and when Gilda looked up, she found tears cascading down his face. 

“Don’t you ever do something that…brave again, gods damn you. It was stupid!” Elias said through barely dammed sobs. Gilly could tell he didn’t mean a word of it. She stayed within his grasp and watched as Zave and Domini fought on. 

—

What were memories? Domini had that very question in her mind as she continuously Erased Gothi, blotting him from the world like an indelible stain. Her journal pulsed in her hand, the words in it an amalgam she no longer recognized. The words and pages within had been so thoroughly altered and swapped around as to be hardly recognizable now. But that was just it; Domini didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, what truth was held by everyone else. That didn’t matter.

Be one. The Other said, its voice powerful now, demanding. 

Domini continued her magical flourishes against Gothi, tearing him asunder. Zave carved through him likewise, the two of them resisting the Abyss with everything they had. Gothi’s body was a wretched thing, misshapen and grotesque. He was all perverted ideas and thoughts that couldn’t meld together swiftly, and so he merely twitched about ferally like a lame deer. At last, he was vulnerable, his form susceptible to one last Erasure. Zave recognized the moment and loosed one final swipe of radiant light at Gothi, then retreated, allowing Domini her opportunity to finally end things. His glowing blade dimmed, its power entirely used up. The Proclaimer snarled and hissed like an animal, stunned, furious, and terrified that he had been superseded in the domain he called home. 

“May Nihilin rive.” His harsh whisper echoed through the whole of the realm.

 With a final channeling of power, Domini waved a hand before her. Memories jumbled, becoming one, becoming none. With it, Gothi blinked out of existence, unmade. He became one with his precious Nihilin, gods damn him. In his place, a void was made, a smaller approximation of the Abyss itself. The area all around was pocked with them over the course of the battle, each one a vacuous black hole where nothing existed. Nihilin’s power is an awful thing. 

With Gothi gone, the Abyss was quieter. It still howled and tossed them around with pitched winds, but no longer did horribly malformed monsters assault them all. Everyone limped back to The Autumnal, even those who were airborne could scarcely stay afloat long enough to make it back. Blessedly, the crew had managed to survive, as did the scant few Blue Companymen who were left. Many had hid below deck, coming up only after the fighting had stopped. Zave collapsed onto the deck, a steady trickle of blood oozing from his mouth. The blow dealt by Gothi would’ve killed any normal man, but Zave was stout, resilient. The heroes all convened on the deck, taking an inventory of losses. To everyone’s amazement, only Vilkin had passed. Domini stole a glance at Zave’s sword, the blade like smooth, green glass. Bless you, Vilkin. Without his sacrifice, Domini wasn’t sure they would have been able to best the Proclaimer. 

Domini sprawled across the deck with Zave, her mind as tattered as her robes. Cirro came upon them both, his blue skin marred and bleeding in places. He looked across the Abyss, then to Domini. 

“We’ve defeated the Proclaimer, and yet we’re still here.” He was correct. No portal had opened to let them leave. None will. The Window to Nihilin’s realm has shattered. Domini could feel it; the Abyss would draw in the world, not allowing a single piece to escape it once caught in its orbit. 

“We’ll find a way out.” Elias said through labored breaths. His nose bled profusely. “This isn’t our first time hopping into another plane of existence, you know.” 

Domini wished she could buy into his devil-may-care attitude, but she knew the truth of it. This wouldn’t end until Nihilin was gone, and one couldn’t simply destroy it. Vindegost’s words from their meeting in his tower in Yantilar came to her. Nihilin was not a thing to be destroyed. The most powerful opponent of absence was creation. Within the Abyss and without, Domini could forge anything, marry concepts and beings the way Gothi did. She was the product of a god melding with a mortal. 

Could such a being not be one with uncreation itself?

The path forward was clear, and yet Domini couldn’t know where it would lead. She looked about the deck of The Autumnal, to these disparate people she had come to know and love. They had come with her into her own hell, fought her nightmares, and still they stood. This was the choice that Vindegost, that Vilkin, that the Other, that Simri herself had been waiting for Domini to make. There was no fate, no destiny, nothing was written in stone. Domini could sooner shirk what was expected of her and work to find another way out. She might even succeed, for a time at least. But it would always be a duty deferred, something she would have to face eventually. She pulled herself from the deck and walked to the railing of the ship.

Below, the Abyss yawned. It pulled them lower. Already, Domini could feel it gnawing at her mind. Cirro found a place next to her.

“Elias likes to think he knows what we face, but he doesn’t. None of us truly do except for you. Tell me, are we fated to die here?” He asked her. The question held no fear, merely a desire for confirmation. He wanted to know if he needed to fight on, or give in to their fate. Domini gripped her journal. She had made her choice. Vindegost be damned, his designs for her be damned. She would do what needed to be done for those she loved, not because it was expected of her. She turned to face Cirro, her purple eyes meeting his yellow ones.

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was right to put my faith in you, Simri’s Wisdom.” 

“I thought I said not to call me that?” She chuckled wryly. 

“Someone has to recognize you for what you are.” 

Domini took to the air, levitating just off the ground. she spotted Tish as she emerged from the lower decks, her arachnid eyes unbelieving of the world around them.

“I’m a person, Cirro, nothing more.” 

She rose through the air above the railing, then hovered out across the Abyss. That’s when Elias and Zave saw her. They sprinted across the deck in a panic. 

“Domini!” Zave bellowed, his brown eyes wide.

“What are you doing?” Elias demanded. It pained her to see him so distraught. Domini attempted to swallow down the Anguish in her throat, but it spilled from her. Tears streaked her vision as she looked upon them all. 

“I’m doing what I must!” There was no composure left in her. Her whole body shook, fear overtook her. Fear of the unknown, Fear of being wrong, Fear of losing everything. 

“The union.” Sidona said, realizing. Emiline and Hezekiah stuck close to her, the three of them concerned.

“To the hells with Vindegost’s gods damned prophecy!” Elias resisted. Gilda and Grenfi hopped onto the railing as well, their eyes begging her to stay. Even Leopold and Hana met the rest of them there. 

“I don’t do this for Vindegost, I do this for you.” Domini began descending, but Zave reached a hand out and held her in place with a psionic touch.

“What about what we said?” His gruff voice quavered. Blood trickled from his nose and into his beard for the effort it took to hold her there. “We said we wouldn’t run off on our own anymore, didn’t we? You can’t just decide this by yourself!” You sweet man. Domini had grown to care so deeply for them all. She loathed goodbyes like this, it was why she always left without a word. Domini tossed her journal to Zave, who caught it with a withered hand. 

“I’ll be with you.” She said, “Remember me.” 

“Dom…” Elias made to climb the railing, but Cirro held him back. He flailed violently, not content to let her go. Zave simply stared at her. 

“We couldn’t ever forget you,” His eyes glistened, “we love you.” She could feel his psionic power over her weakening. Her heart ached. 

“And I love you.”

The telekinetic tether between them snapped, and Domini began falling. The Autumnal became a small thing as she fell, a singular point that carried everything she cared about in the world. Her only company now was the Other, and it was more vocal than ever.

The Abyss surrounded her as she plunged headlong into the infinite. Her mind was pulled in countless directions at once, threatening to unmake her, but the Other kept Domini grounded in herself. She could feel Nihilin closely now, as though she were within its very essence. She waded through it like the darkest of oceans, sinking deeper and deeper, losing all bearing of which way was up and which was down. After a time, it didn’t seem to matter. Every direction would take her further into Nihilin. 

Domini felt as her body fell away, the flesh and bone that housed her stripping from the soul within. That soul was a cracked, fragile thing, but it persevered. It didn’t give in to Nihilin, even when her material form did. And though Nihilin was this cosmic force, this natural law, it did have an origin for her to seek. Just as every tree was borne of a seed, and every fruit borne of a tree, Nihilin, in all of its endlessness, had spawned from somewhere. She sought that beginning, her vestiges drifting through the Abyss blindly, relying on feeling to find the way. There. 

Among the tempest of thoughts and potentials, Domini found the most base forms of everything. It was like that of a calm pool of sludge, a soup where everything Nihilin absorbed eventually ended up. It spanned forever in all directions, and Domini stood at the center of it, her nonexistent toes hovering just above it. All around was darkness, and yet the pool seemed to shimmer, as though light came from somewhere. She looked up. There was no light, nothing to see by but the pool itself. The Other hummed to her, its song excited and prepared. This was it, this was where the Other had been guiding her. 

Be one. 

Domini reached down and touched the pool with her ethereal fingertips. She felt Nihilin flow into her, and she into it. It spread darkness through her, infinite and unfeeling, but Domini spread into the Abyss just as well. The power bequeathed to her by Simri flowed into Nihilin, the power of creation and the power of annihilation becoming one. Domini had been the vessel for Simri’s wisdom, so that it might touch the Abyss. The mindless entropy that was Nihilin was given that which it lacked; thought. Simri’s wisdom both empowered the Abyss, while also incapacitating it. It became one with Domini, a marriage of herself and the Abyss. And even though it was infinite, it could not overtake Domini. She held the power, felt as she became the pool of thoughts and memories. She felt the ceaseless hunger for nothing that the Abyss had, and stifled it. 

Gothi thought the Abyss an inevitability, that it was destined to unmake the world. He paralleled it to a fire consuming a forest, but he was wrong. Nihilin was as fire was; able to be controlled, to be used. Things would forever be created and forgotten, just as fires would burn and smolder. They were cycles that one could influence. A fire fed would persist, as would entropy, if left to run amok. With a thought, she opened the Abyss. It felt like opening her throat. She felt things exit her like her emotions did; creeping from her mouth and into the world. And just like her emotions, sometimes they would get caught in her throat. She felt Elias and the others aboard The Autumnal as they were forced from the Abyss. She could feel their anguish, their relief, their disbelief. She tasted their emotions like she tasted her own, a bitter melange. Once her throat was vacant, she closed the Abyss once more, completely this time. Nothing came in, and nothing went out. It became quiet, tranquil even, like a lake after a harrowing storm. Domini sighed, and the Abyss sighed with her, a great rumble of finality. 

Now what? She wondered to herself. Was her lot in life to sit with the Abyss for all time? To keep it company and temper it so that it would not consume the world? Thinking back on it, Domini supposed she might have acted a tad rashly. But the deed was done. She had made her choice, and could do nothing to reverse the tide. The Other whispered, but the voice didn’t come from her mind now. Instead, it formed in front of her like a version of herself. It’s her, the original Domini. This was the Domini that had worked alongside Erinden to birth the Ostious, the beginning of it all. She had existed inside of Domini as a fractured set of memories and emotions, but the Abyss had allowed it to reform, to find the scattered pieces and become one again. 

“Domini.” The Other spoke. It had gone from Domini’s nightmare, to her grumbling tagalong, to her stalwart ally. She was happy to formally meet her, as it were. 

24

Another love wrenched away by the cruel hands of fate. Elias sagged against the railing of The Autumnal, staring into the deep waters of Traver’s Sound. Soller’s Isle was entirely gone, only their single vessel remained of the whole conflict. They had been spit back into the world, expelled from the Abyss before it clammed up and disappeared beneath the waters. Elias wished to go back. He couldn’t live with himself knowing Domini was down there, alone. 

Purple and green moonlight scattered across the Sound, the smell of brine wafted through the air. Foamy water lapped at the ship, jostling them. It all felt so very alive, but it was hollow. Domini had bought this freedom for them, but she couldn’t experience it with them. Damn you, Simri. Damn you. Twice now, had the gods taken a loved one from him. Zave wrapped an arm about him, holding him tightly. Elias leaned into him. On the other side, he felt Leopold put a cold hand over his own. Everyone crowded around, their weight bowing the ship slightly. It gave an excellent view of the stygian waters that now held Domini.

—

“Hello.” Domini greeted the Other awkwardly. 

“You have done as Simri wished, your purpose has been fulfilled.” The Other said, then waited a moment. A silence grew between them, as though the Other were waiting for Domini to respond.

“Um, now what?” Domini finally asked. It felt rather unceremonious, after everything they’d done together. 

“Now, it is time to relinquish the mantle of Ostious.” Domini’s nonexistent blood ran cold.

“But I am the Ostious. This is what you made me for, is it not?” She was askance. 

“You were made to carry Simri’s wisdom, for I could not do it myself. You were never meant to bear the Abyss, that was always to be my duty. That was what Erinden and I had planned.” 

Domini was relieved in a way, but ever so confused. “What happens to me? If I give up my hold on the Abyss, what will become of me?” 

“That is for Simri to decide.” 

Domini scoffed, and Nihilin rumbled along with her. It was as the Other had been, a cerebral companion, always chirping and chiding. All this time, she was nothing more than a glorified messenger, carrying a power she was meant to divest once she was no longer needed? Would she be unmade, returned to the nothingness from whence she came, like the countless other failed versions of the Ostious that Erinden created? Would Simri seek to reward her for the toil she was forced to endure? Domini held untold power, power she could use to challenge Simri herself, but she had no desire to do such a thing, she never did. 

All she wanted was the life she had begun creating with her loved ones, and that was a creation that didn’t require any sort of magic. She could only hope that the thoughts that comprised her found their way to Elias and the others somehow, that her memories would persist with them. Perhaps then she could live on, in a way. Domini opened her hands, divesting herself of Nihilin’s power and giving it to the Other instead. She waited to see what fate Simri had in store for her. 

—

After a time, most of the crew drifted below deck, called to action by Gilly’s cooking. Tish had given her a recipe for some sort of stew, and Gilly was eager to rise to the challenge, what with their very limited ingredients. Elias could hear Hana’s biwa and singing below deck, her voice a fabulous bookend to a day of horror. He stayed topside with Leopold, Zave and Tish, the four of them sharing the open air in silence. Zave had given the drider Domini’s journal, and she held it near her heart tenderly. Once the silence became too much to bear, Elias broke it. 

“So, what now?” He asked nobody in particular. 

“Now we go home.” Zave said. 

“Where even is home for us? It seems like the world is never quite finished falling apart, is it? Will home always be where the fighting is thickest, until there’s none of us left? Will I be forced to watch you all die, or otherwise become trapped in some other plane because the gods say so?” A deep, enraged sadness overtook him. 

“Bren is gone, Leonard is gone, Domini is gone, my daughter is gone. I can’t bear to watch you all go, I can’t.” 

A cold hand fell onto Elias’s shoulder, Leopold’s. 

“Don’t you dare suggest you’ll ever find yourself alone.” His red eyes glistened in the moonlight. They were full of fiery intensity, and love. “The gods themselves could not claw us all away from each other again.” Leo, you sweet boy.

“I preferred you when you were silent and brooding.” Zave said, “This sappy side of you will take some getting used to.” 

Leo smiled with sharp teeth. It was a world weary smile, so much like his father’s. “I’ve plenty of time, Zave. You’d best get used to my cloying.” 

Elias smiled through his tears at them both. He’d lost much, far too much, but he had more still to cherish. Gilda called them below deck to try the stew, her squeaky voice carrying up to them. Leopold nodded to Elias, then vanished into a puff of mist that trailed through the thin hatch that led down. He was sure the vampire held him close to his dead heart, even if he’d never say it outright. 

“Come find me when you’re ready.” Zave said. He rubbed the tears from Elias’s cheeks with his calloused fingers, then left. That left only Tish, who approached him near the railing. She held the journal out to him.

“I think you should have this.” She said.

“But we gave this to you.” Elias backed away. “You and Domini studied in Yantilar together, you deserve something to remember her by. For Sasho’s sake, you’re a scribe, books are your whole thing.” 

“I’ve plenty enough memories of her, all the different versions of her. And besides, the last time I held onto her writing, she found her way back to me. Maybe she’ll do the same with you.” She thrust the journal onto him again, forcing him to accept it. Elias held it close, smelling the ink and dried blood that permeated it. 

“You won’t stay with us?” 

Tish shook her head, her wispy hair flowing behind her. “No, I think I rather enjoyed working with Constance. I’ll find my way back to her, if I can. Maybe we’ll see each other if you cross paths with her again.” She angled her arachnoid form through to the lower decks, leaving Elias with only the moons for company. 

He stared across the waters for a time, listening to the desperate merriment on the deck below. It was the sound of people who were happy to be alive after facing a macrocosmic foe they should never have taken on in the first place. Am I not? He was grateful for the life he still held, he knew, it would just take time. All wounds became scars that then became distant woes. He looked up at the moons, the one thing the surface world had that the Underdark did not. He bathed in their cool light, eyes closed, Domini’s journal held close. He hadn't known her overly long, but that had been the case for all of his loves. They were brilliant flashes of joy that reminded him that life meant something. 

As he stood there, cradling Domini’s journal and the brief memories they shared, he felt the journal become light in his hands, almost weightless. His eyes snapped open, and he saw the journal glowing in his hands. It shivered, like it was anxious to get away from him. What in Plumar’s realm? 

He let the journal go, and it flapped out across the waters with its pages, almost like a bird. He watched, entirely enthralled by whatever it was he witnessed. Then, the journal came to an abrupt stop and yawned open, its pages spread toward the sky. Purple and green moonlight painted the pages, illuminating their words. The words came alive and began swirling off the page. Each page’s words peeled away, joining the quiet maelstrom that amassed above the book. They took form in the air, the form of a woman. Elias saw long, spindly arms and legs, a tail, a lithe body he longed to hold once again, horns that wrapped about a head that held a beautiful face. Dom. 

The words solidified, making the shape of Domini material. Real. She hovered delicately before him, her eyes closed. She looked peaceful enough to have been in an infinite slumber. The ever present moon framed her body, coloring her deep gray skin various shades of purple. Domini’s journal slowly disintegrated in the air, its pieces becoming part of her.

“Domini?” He reached quivering fingers toward her. At the mention of her name, Domini’s eyes flashed open, the very color of the purple moon above them. Clarity flooded her gaze, and she saw Elias. She descended upon him like an angel, wrapping her arms around him. Elias fell to the ground in disbelief. 

“Thank you Simri, thank you.” He sobbed. Elias had just finished cursing the gods, but perhaps time was needed to see their designs completed. He clung to her desperately, content to stay there on the deck for all eternity if it meant she never went away again. Footstep sounded from the deck below, the low timbre of them smacking of Zave’s particular gait. 

“You’d best have some stew before it gets cold. It’s got bugs in it, but it’s not half—“ Zave stopped dead, the stew bowl clattering to the ground. He rushed across the deck and embraced them both, sweeping them off the deck effortlessly. 

“Dom? It’s you isn’t it? Is it really you?” He was as excited as Elias had ever seen him. He spun them around in a circle, as though they were dancing at a Convocation pageant. 

“It’s me, it’s me, now put me down before I vomit!” Domini’s eyes swirled. It was then that Zave realized Domini was entirely naked. He swept Elias’s cloak from his shoulders and draped it over her. The commotion led the others to the top deck, and each of them swarmed Domini in kind. It was a flurry of amazement and disbelief. Many of them sobbed, though no tears came. Those had all been used up already.

“How is this possible?” Cirro asked. He’d grown a vested interest in her divinity, it seemed. 

“Simri was finished with me, I suppose.” Domini pulled the cloak tight around her, embarrassed to be surrounded in such a state. 

“So, what, the Abyss just spit you out like a cherry pit?” Gilda asked.

“In a sense, yes.” Domini nodded. “I think I am…no longer needed, no longer bound by Simri’s wisdom.”

“Damn right you aren’t.” Elias said, then immediately apologized to Simri in his mind. 

Emiline tentatively approached. 

“This is…incredible.” She was damn near salivating over Domini, enough to make Elias hold her just a bit closer. Sidona wrenched Emiline back with a psionic tug. 

“You can gawk at her later. Leave the poor girl be, for pity’s sake. She said it herself; the gods are finished with her.” 

“Simri might not need you any longer, but we do.” Zave said. Domini yelped as Zave scooped her off the ground. “Let’s get you some clothes, I’m sure there is something around here for you.” 

“Maybe you can find her some actual trousers, and not just robes. Halerma knows I’ve watched her bumble around this deck enough. We wouldn’t want her tripping overboard and back into the Abyss, would we?” Hezekiah japed. 

“Nonsense, I’m sure we could sew something together from the sails. I’d bet that canvas material would make for some damn sturdy robes.” Sidona piled onto the teasing. 

“Like hell you’ll touch my sails!” Altizo clomped onto the deck. 

25

Domini was immersed in pure chaos. She’d braved the Abyss itself, become one with Nihilin, then forwent its godly power, and even that paled in comparison to what she now faced. Gothi couldn’t instill within her the kind of fear she felt right now. In moments like this, Domini wished so fervently that she had held onto her illusory magic, maybe then she could flee, run far away to safety. As it was, she was trapped. 

It was her day to help Gilda in the kitchen. Folnish preserve me.

The goblin ran the kitchen like a tyrant, always ordering her about and expecting her to do things without ever telling her. For someone so small, Gilly could instill fear like few others could. If she caught Domini idling, or sneaking away for a quick break, she’d unleash her full wrath, replete with as many curses as Domini had ever known, and then some. They all took turns helping the goblin in the kitchen, and Domini dreaded it every time. She was all thumbs when it came to cutting up vegetables and quartering meat. More than once did she end up running across the barracks to find Hana so that she could mend her wounds. 

It wasn’t a barracks, not anymore, but Domini still thought of it that way. The kitchen certainly looked like it was meant to serve a squadron of soldiers, with its lines of stoves and long, stone hewn countertops. The stoves were of expert make, as was all masonry in Vatrejem. Gilda made use of them all, baking pies both savory and sweet, roasting whole rothes and pigs, searing delicious skewers of centipede meat with veggies aplenty. It was all Domini could do to keep pace with her. She readjusted the bandana that knotted around her horns to hold back her curly brown hair, and focused on the task she’d been given. 

Today’s meal was a special one, as it marked half a year since the Morkeshian delegation signed its accord with Favergon. For the occasion, Gilda had ordered ingredients specially. She wanted to whip up a briny fish pie, along with a few puddings. She said the meal was significant, though Simri only knew why. It’s not my place to ask questions, not while Gilly is like this. The goblin ran rampant, striding across the walls like a little green spider, chastising Domini for how slow she was. She acted as though they were serving royalty and not just their own little family, it was absurd. Grenfi was about as well, but Gilly didn’t hound her quite so viciously. 

Just a little longer. Domini assured herself. Once her end of the food preparation was taken care of, she could retreat to her room and lick her emotional wounds. 

“Dom, fire!” Gilda ordered, pointing her little finger toward one of the stoves. Thank the gods. At last she was given a task she couldn’t bungle up. Domini placed her fingers on the silvery torque wrapped around her neck and channeled magic through it. The torque grew warm, though not uncomfortably so. She focused on an incantation in her mind the way Ardra had taught her, and felt as that warmth flowed from her neck and into her palm. In a flash, a gout of flame shot from her fingertip, setting the stove alight. The dried bits of mushroom they used for kindling burned softly within, the smell different to actual wood. She rubbed the torque lovingly, enjoying its weight upon her neck. It was a gift from Elias, fashioned from steel imported from Karnak, she was told. She, Zave and Elias all wore them, each bearing a smaller band from the same metals as the others, to denote their shared union. “Karnak steel is nigh unbreakable,” Elias had said when offering himself to her, “as is my love for you.”

The whole thing was terribly dramatic, done in full view of Constance and her delegation once they all returned to Travertine. Hana played during the ceremony that followed, writing a startlingly beautiful ballad for them. It made Domini tear up whenever she thought of it, and it didn’t help that it was quite the earworm.

 Constance was in Karnak for the time being, ironing out a great many issues with King Jaris, though their ongoing communication seemed promising. Domini would send arcane messages to Tish on occasion, to see how she was getting on with the High Councilor, and Tish would have Emiline send messages in kind when Domini was too lax in her communication. There’d been several nights where Tish had strategically instructed Emiline to send her messages in the dead of night to scare her, the bitch. 

Domini missed her dearly, but understood that Tish wouldn’t have been content lazing about Vatrejem with the rest of them. This is hardly lazing about. I’m being worked like a slave. Domini huffed, then finished up her prep work. Gilda came and inspected her work like a sergeant inspecting his men’s uniforms for imperfections, checking each individual chunk of vegetable, making sure they weren’t too big or too small. Then she checked the fish Domini was ordered to debone, ensuring that not a single sliver of bone had gotten past her. Domini felt sweat forming beneath her robes, robes that were already saturated with fish juice.

“Perfect.” Gilda clapped happily, a jagged smile stretching across her face. Thank the gods. Domini scurried away before Gilda could think of anything else she might want her to do. She escaped the kitchens and fled down the hall toward the common room, her sandals slapping against the stone floor. The common room seemed so much smaller now, what with the myriad tables and chairs replaced with plush furnishings. Hana sat on a fainting couch, tuning her biwa. She was in a human form for the moment, her hair silken and beautiful. The fresh puncture marks on her neck told Domini that today was feeding day for Leopold. 

Sidona sat at a desk nearby with Hezekiah, intensely focused on a magical grimoire she was creating. Purple everburning light from a small candle lit her workspace pleasantly, and she poured over the grimoire in the way Ardra had. The portion of her that was Ardra maintained an affinity for the arcane, and so Sidona put her mind to studying it. She and Domini were both students in that regard. Without her illusory power from Simri, Domini had only conventional magic to rely on. She had made significant headway in the months since they returned, scribing a great many spells into her own rather mundane spell book. They were afforded access to some of the finest arcane materials Vatrejem could offer, courtesy of a word from Vindegost himself. Domini still had reservations about the man, but she wouldn’t balk at the opportunity to learn. Sidona looked up as she entered the common room. 

“Is Gilly finally done with you?”

“Yes, thankfully.” Domini plopped down on a plush seat next to her, sinking into it. Hana had been in charge of furnishing the barracks when it had first come into their possession, and Domini was glad for it. She adored soft things, and the dark red coloring of most of the furniture felt very carnal and fun. They’d come into possession of the barracks after returning to Vatrejem, as the Blue Company no longer had any use for it. Truth be told, it was probably the best place they could’ve ended up; it housed a group of their size perfectly, and met just about every need they could have. Leopold needn’t worry about the sun, Zave and the others loved the environs, and it was secure, offering protection from the surface above and the Underdark below.

“No injuries today, then?” Hana asked. It might have been a tease, but her voice was so soothing that Domini couldn’t bring herself to take offense. “No injuries. I’m a portrait of good health.” 

“You might look fine, but you certainly don’t smell it.” Hezekiah pinched his nose for effect. “I’ve smelled corpses that don’t reek half as bad as you.” Ah, the fish. Domini sniffed at her clothes, and they were rather fishy. Bother.  She’d have to take a bath at some point, but that could wait. She’d been in the kitchens for most of the day, sequestered from the outside world. She wanted some fresh air, but more importantly, she wanted to see Elias and Zave. 

“Do you know where the boys are?” She asked. 

“Where do you think?” Sidona licked the tip of her quill to wet it. The yard. It was just as well then, perhaps she could convince one of them to bathe with her.

“I’ll go gather them up. Gilly’s feast will be done within the hour.” Domini tromped across the common room, leaving them to their lounging. She turned down several stone hallways until she came upon the mud room that led to the rear of the barracks. ‘Mud’ room was most certainly an apt descriptor of the place, as it was filthy. The boys would spar in the yard, then dump their soiled boots and gambesons in the mud room for later cleaning, if they got cleaned at all. A slovenly lot. Domini thought they sorely needed a housekeeper. She gingerly tiptoed over a pair of hulking boots that were sure to be Zave’s, and stepped outside. 

The view of Vatrejem, even from their meager training yard, never ceased to amaze her. Light streamed through the massive glacier that loomed ever presently above the city, bathing it all in colorful beams. One specific beam of bright purple light crashed directly into the training yard. They’d paid the Vatrejemi ministers handsomely for such access to the light, as it could be directed with mirrors from the tall towers that littered the city, and the ministers were more than happy to entertain a request from Traver’s Champions. It was a silly moniker, really, though it stuck. Hana made sure of that. She had been instrumental in cementing their legacy as heroes once they returned from Traver’s Sound. Travertine even held a parade for them, much to just about everyone else’s dismay. They all just wanted to go home. Not Zave though, he was more than happy for all the food. Speaking of…

In the yard, colored by purple light, were Zave and Leopold, both men circling one another with dulled practice blades. Elias leaned against the rail of the training yard, watching with rapt enthusiasm. Zave and Leopold were both filthy, their gambesons—which had at one point been blue—were dark brown and glistening with mud. They were focused, in the throes of a pitched battle. Leopold had ferocity in his eyes, the look of a predator. Zave was focused, his demeanor cool. They all trained together, honing their already razor sharp skills, but the bouts were always especially intense when it came to Zave and Leopold. Domini stayed silent, determined not to interrupt. It was fascinating to watch the men go at one another, even if it was a bit barbaric. 

As she stood there, the men clashed. Leopold struck out, spinning his curved blade at Zave, who deflected the attack with his own. Zave retaliated with a stiff shoulder into Leopold’s much leaner form. The vampire recovered, snarling, and lept through the air around Zave. The orc swiped at him in the air, but Leopold deftly hooked his blade around Zave’s own, and used it to sweep his body into Zave, kicking him with both feet. They broke away from each other, recovering, then charged once more. Each man had murder in their eyes, their hearts alive with battle. Domini held her breath, captured by it all. It was a dance, a—

BANG BANG!

Domini nearly jumped out of her skin as a thunderous sound rang out from just behind her. In the training yard, both Leopold and Zave slipped through the mud, crashing into each other. Elias whipped around to see what the racket was. Domini turned to find Sidona standing there with Gilda. The goblin hovered just in front of her, held aloft by psionic energy, a cast iron pot in one hand, a spoon in the other. She clanged them together, the sound ear piercing. 

“Wash up! Dinners almost ready!” Gilda called out. Sidona couldn’t help but smirk, having been instrumental to the disturbance. 

“Was that really necessary?” Domini couldn’t hide her frustration.

“Of course not, I just couldn’t help myself.” Her differently colored eyes were thin with glee. Domini thought that perhaps the part of Ardra that existed within Sidona reveled in how she could tease her. She was surprised by just how much of Ardra made it into Sidona. It had influenced a great deal more than just her severed limbs and hair, and Sidona was happier for it. Hezekiah smiled just behind her, his stony face impeccable. She and Sidona had searched far and wide for any sort of cure for the malady that Domini had inflicted upon him, but none could be found. It was unfortunate, but that was what fate had decided. Nihilin had shaped many of them in strange ways, and it was something they would simply have to live with. Domini was content with that, with living as she was. 

There were many things she had to make peace with once returning from Nihilin’s realm, chief among them being the fact that she would never undo the damage to Damil. She wanted to, but without Simri’s power she was nothing more than a novice mage. She assured herself that she and Tish would make a pilgrimage to Yantilar someday, and maybe she could build another friendship with Damil, one that wasn’t tainted by the powers of the Other.

It was quiet without her, Domini noticed. The Other had been with her so long, subtly guiding her, that her absence left a void within her. She hoped the Other fared well in the Abyss. It wasn’t a fate that Domini felt anyone should be saddled with, but if anyone was to have it, she was glad it was her.

In the interim of her musings, both Leopold and Zave pulled themselves from the muck of the yard and started toward the barracks. 

“Your head was almost mine, Lemarque.” Zave started.

“Nonsense. Flailing your body around won’t get you far in a fight. I’d have gutted you swiftly.” Leopold retorted.

“At least I don’t fall back on the same stale moves over and over. You’re predictable.” 

“There is a gulf between being predictable, and being refined. If my moves are so stale, how is it that you keep falling for them?” The vampire shot back. The men admonished each other’s skill, but Domini always noticed that these arguments were punctuated by smiles. They enjoyed the challenge, the rivalry. It was an amazing thing, Domini thought.

She’d heard the tale of how they first met, of how Leopold had deeply wronged Zave, and how Zave had found it within himself to forgive him. It allowed her to look at both men differently. She saw the capacity within Leopold for depravity, but also the lengths he would go to for those he loved, and she saw within Zave the bounty of his heart, that he would forgive such a travesty. It was another reason to love him dearly.

 Elias jogged up to her, then tilted his head, his nose twitching. 

“Is that stench you, Dom?” 

“Says the muck covered brute.” Domini rolled her eyes. She didn’t smell that bad, did she? Gilda smelled far worse, and nobody gave her any grief about it. 

“It seems we’re all a bit filthy then, aren’t we?” Elias grinned. “What say you to a nice bath? Hana bought some of that sweet smelling soap for Leopold, and I could nick some for us, if you want.” 

“You’ll be bathing with no hands.” Leopold added from behind as he peeled his sodden gambeson from his body. 

“Aw, come on, Leo, let us borrow it just this once? It really does smell rather lovely.” Elias pleaded.

“And let that wonderful soap be tainted by Zave’s body?” The vampire shivered. “I think not. You insult Hana by even suggesting it. I know of your lavatory…proclivities, and I want nothing I own to be party to that.” Oh for Sasho’s sake. Leopold had barged in on them once, but he seemed determined to never let them forget it. It wasn’t their fault that the bathing space was communal. Knock next time.

Everyone from the yard tossed their soiled linens into the mud room, and were greeted by a hail of sucked teeth, courtesy of Grenfi. She wore meersenier leathers, with a snazzy shoulder cloak. She and Gilda worked closely with the meerseniers, it was how they got the sought after ingredients for their kitchen. Zave scooped Grenfi from the floor, rubbing his mud caked face onto her. 

“Yuck!” She kicked at him, then pulled his beard hairs to escape him. Elias snatched her up before she could flee and held her close, like a child would a teddy bear. 

“We’ll clean it later, Fifi, honest!” 

“That’s what you said yesterday, and last week before that!” Grenfi squirmed. Domini couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all. She studied Elias as they all filtered through the barracks, breaking into their little groups. His eyes were brimming with happiness in a way she’d never seen before. Even exhausted as he was, he carried an infectious energy. It made Domini feel young and playful, as though they hadn’t all endured mounting horrors. And to be sure, the world still had its share of problems. None of them would train as religiously as they did if they thought their blades wouldn’t be needed again someday, but their little barracks in the military staging yard of Vatrejem was a world away from those problems. Haletheas was embroiled in a civil war even now, the Grand Houses still clawing for power. There were stirring rumors of necromancers in southern Morkesh brewing up some sort of trouble, trouble that Cirro and several other elite Blue Companymen were sent to deal with. No, the world was not perfect, but it never would be. They would simply have to wait and see if the world required their particular brand of ‘assistance’, as it were. 

Domini followed after Elias to the baths, and Zave followed her. The bathing area was a recessed pool in a lower area of the barracks, cut clean from the stone beneath. The water that continuously flowed from it was heated via highly sophisticated plumbing. Domini was proud to say that she had lit the fire that heated the bath, via her magic. Before they even fully entered the bath, they all began shedding their clothes. 

“Gilly must have really cracked the whip today, huh?” Zave asked from behind as he slipped Domini’s robes off her shoulders with his gargantuan hands. 

“As always. It was brutal.” She rolled her head side to side, stretching her neck, knowing it would prompt Zave to massage the muscles there with his sturdy fingers. He had a talent for getting at the knots in her muscles in a way even a Folnite priest couldn’t heal so completely. She groaned with relief. In front of her, Elias allowed his tunic to slip off, revealing his scarred, purple skin. The diamond glimmered in his chest, always drawing her eye. He grinned as he noticed her staring, lowering himself into the water, allowing it to wash over his breasts. His long white hair cascaded around him like a brilliant halo as he leaned back into the water. 

Domini followed him in, the warm water almost instantly lulling her into a languid trance. She pressed her back against the cool stone of the bath to jolt herself awake. Elias swam over to her and leaned himself against her, his firm body warming her more than the water. Domini wrapped her hands around him, twiddling the diamond in his chest. A wave rippled through the bath as Zave entered, his hulking, muscled body barely covered by the water. He had to practically sit all the way down to bathe properly. He met them both there, lowering himself to Elias. Both men began scrubbing the grime of the yard from their bodies, allowing it to slough away into the water. Domini hoped the water helped get rid of her fishy stench. 

She felt as Elias’s hands wandered across her body, probing at the places he knew she liked. Her insides clenched with anticipation, and her head swam from the heat of it all. 

“Don’t fall asleep just yet, dearest. We’ve still got dinner after this.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I do, I’ve got nothing left in me. Gilly really worked me hard today.” She allowed herself to sink further into the bath. Elias leaned into her even more, all three of their bodies pressing together. 

“What if I wanted to work you hard as well, hmm?” His voice was slight and lurid. Halerma’s will… It was so, so very hard to deny him when he spoke like that. Domini knotted her fingers through a tangle of his hair and pulled, watching as his handsome purple face twisted with delight. Zave watched them both, thoroughly entertained. There was a bit of time yet before dinner, Domini noted. Perhaps they could carve out a moment to enjoy each other before then. 

—

Halerma’s tit, this is tasty. 

Zave shoveled another heaping spoonful of fish pie into his mouth, savoring every morsel. As that bite slid down his gullet, he shoveled another into his mouth. He couldn’t get enough, really, it was just that good. Gilly’s cooking always did that, always stoked a hunger within him that couldn’t be sated. The long day in the yard coupled with their excursion in the bath left Zave famished. He grinned to himself just thinking about it. Love with Domini and Elias never lost its luster. It was as grand as the day it began, and he savored them just like he savored the fish pie. As he dumped another few spoonfuls from the serving dish onto his plate, he saw the others looking at him from across their dining room table. 

The dining room had at one time been Cirro’s war room, where he formed his battle plans to assault Banesbreak, but they had swept all the maps away from the space and threw a tablecloth over it instead. Now they had all their meals here, courtesy of Gilda and whoever happened to be her kitchen lackey on any given day. Aside from serving food, apparently they all served dirty looks as well, if the glares Zave was receiving were anything to go by. He swallowed his final spoonful and wiped the rest from his beard. 

“What?” 

“Can you even taste the food when you gobble it down so quickly?” Hezekiah asked. Zave found the sound that silverware made when it clinked against his stone lips rather amusing. 

“It’s because the food is so good that I eat like this.”

“I’ll have to remind Gilly to make the food a little worse, then.” Sidona chided. Zave snorted.

“We’ve shared our meals here for months. You’re not used to it yet?” 

“Should anyone be used to dining with a giant bore?” Leopold added his own cutting words. 

“Shut it, Lemarque, you drink blood.” Zave wagged a spoon at him, flicking pie gravy across the table. Leopold shielded his girlish face with a phantom hand.

“I drink blood, and I do so gracefully, not like a vile creature.” He stuck his chin up. Zave simply muttered the word “brat” and returned to his meal. From across the table, he saw Elias grinning at him in that mischievous way he did. He liked when they got at each other, Zave knew. 

Being a gentleman, Zave let everyone else get seconds before he decimated what remained in the serving dishes, damn near licking them clean. As per the nightly task chart that Gilda had so lovingly put together, it was Zave’s night to help clean up the kitchens. He sighed, but went about it all the same, scrubbing away at the countertops and cleaning the ash from the stoves, while also making sure to pop the odd pastry into his mouth when Gilly wasn’t looking. They were delicious, especially the ones filled with ground candied snails, those were his favorite. Unfortunately for him, Gilda had taken to counting the pastries at the end of the night, and wailed on him something fierce with a spoon for pilfering her hard work. With a full belly, he retired to his quarters for the night, finding Domini and Elias there waiting for him. 

Hana had commissioned an especially large bed to accommodate the three of them, and Zave couldn’t thank her enough for it. He climbed in next to both of his lovers, enveloping them in his trunky arms. They all exhaled a contented sigh in harmony, shifting so that their bodies were as close together as could be. The day was the same as any other day they’d had in recent memory, but he wouldn’t trade it away for the world. 

Before closing his eyes, he took one final glance at his lovers. Domini leered right back at him, her purple eyes blending with the light from outside. Elias smiled between them, his purple lips still flush with color from all the violently passionate kisses he received earlier. Life for them all had been a fraught battle for so long; always clawing for whatever scraps of bliss they could find. Seeing where they’d all ultimately found themselves, Zave knew their search was over.