Gwen's last twenty-four hours spent in Shanghai were so satisfying that she considered taking an overnight hop over to Sydney to slug a few stubbies with Surya.

It was a tempting impulse, though one overshadowed by her impending reunion with Sufina.

According to conventional Spellcraft lore, dearest "Sufi" would have lost most of her Henry-acquired Humanity by now, for without the anima or animus of a Mage fostering an Elemental, personality reversions were inevitable. Luckily, for Kilroy's Apprentices, higher-order beings like Sufina immutably retained their intelligence.

As for her present aftermath, once she and Lulu had liquored themselves up to the neck, a relieved Kusu had taken his sister and Ruì home, with Wei and Yung driving the Songs back to their respective manors. At their penthouse, Tao had made Gwen promise to contact him as soon as she had plans for the United States. Mina, meanwhile, made sure their father kept in contact with Gwen through the House of M.

The next morning, at breakfast, Gwen emerged in her silk PJs to a grumbling grandfather griping about her reckless hen-fight with Lulan, relishing the opportunity to tell her off once more.

"I'll try to come back during Golden Week," Gwen promised her family while she nestled in her Babulya's arms like a smug cat after tipping the soy sauce bottle. "Between the Isle of Dogs, the Void Union, Dwarves, Elves and Cambridge, I am going to be flat-out. I think there will be planned field exercises too. Ruxin's expecting a lot more HDMs as well..."

Her Yeye gazed at the ceiling, perhaps to question an ancestor, then bade her go her way.

"I am so proud of you." Her Babulya sighed while stroking her grandchild's hair.

Gwen agreed, self-satisfied by a feeling of accomplishment. Things had gone swimmingly for her in the last nine months; other than a dozen lawsuits and underhanded competition against London's notorious news rags, her two-year plan was well on track.

"Fingers cross I'll find my keepsake," she breathed out, hoping her run of good luck would continue.

"You are certain this 'keepsake' is with your Master's Familiar?" her Yeye asked.

"I used it on Henry last," Gwen said confidently. "I've managed without it just fine, but after everything the Elves said, it seems quite a bit more important than just a memento."

"Do be careful." Her Babulya worriedly patted her hand. "Dryads are extremely pernicious creatures, especially if they're once the companion of a master Mage."

"I'll take care," Gwen promised before turning to Percy to give her blushing brother a sloppy kiss on the forehead. "Take care, little bro. Don't push yourself too hard."

Percy's hug felt a little limp compared to her full-bodied enthusiasm. "Goodbye, sis."

"Ciao, champ."

Then she was away, escorted by silent Wei and chatty Yung back to Hongqiao's ISTC interchange. At the gate, she hired an LRM Device to quickly send Gunther and Alesia a notification that she was on route. After that, it was time for goodbye.

"Good luck, Magus Song."
"Stay safe, Gwen." The relieved Wei and Fung both bid her farewell.

"See you again next time!"

With a final nod, Gwen stepped into the blazing circle of quicksilver Conjuration, then was gone.

Singapore.
Changi ISTC Interchange.

The usually fluid flow of passengers streaming forth from the furthest-reaching ISTC station in the southern hemisphere stopped to stare at the sight of a pair of rare figures in the arrival lounge.

One was a Germanic giant with dark hair, silently simmering with a gentle, barely contained radiance. Without apparent effort, the Mage appeared a Demi-god even while dressed in an unbuttoned shirt and a loose tee, drawing wholesale adoration from the milling multitudes.

Standing beside the man was a stunning redhead, her loose head of autumn hair cascading from her shoulders and down her back. She wore red as well, pairing a light-pink top with a billowing, retina-searing carmine skirt and ruby wedge sandals, cutting a figure that appeared as bold as a dab of blood on laundered linen.

As a combination, therefore, the pair slowed the traffic to a standstill, unaccosted only because six of Changi's best security officers stood by, keeping the crowd at bay.

The arrival lounge's glass doors slid open.

"Gwennie!"

"Sis!"

"Gwen."

"Brother!"

A young woman no less distinct than the pair emerged from the ISTC portals. The crowd cooed, tantalised by the sheer luck required to win the genetic lottery thrice within the same bloodline. When the two women hugged and exchanged cheeks, there was an audible, collective sigh.

"Let's go," the man declared, glancing at the travellers forming an ever-thickening semi-circle around them. "If we stay any longer there'll be a complaint from Tower Master Lee."

Escorted by the guards, the trio soon found themselves victims to the city's unyielding summer. As always, the humidity native to Singapore was enough to glue fabric to skin.

Outside the terminal, the trio's youngest was surprised to find that there was no escort to deliver them to the docks.

"Er… how do we get to Abang? It's a hundred kilometres out. Weren't we hiring a ship?"

"No, you goose," the sister-in-red laughed. "We fly, of course."

"To Riau island chain? There are a thousand or more islands out there. What if we get lost?"

"Don't you have an Omni-Directional Orb?" the man asked. "I figured we could put it to good use."

"I haven't tested it on the open ocean," the girl gulped.

"Don't worry." The woman patted the girl's head. "Worst comes to worst; we've Teleportation Scrolls that'll take us back to Singapore Tower."

Flying through Singapore's mana-miasma made Gwen feel as though she was swimming through coconut laksa. The heat was a symptom of the city's prosperity, for the same multi-layered ring of Resonance Shields that kept the monsters at bay also served to stifle the sea breeze, transforming the bay into a giant heat trap.

Worse still, they had to fly low and slow while within the city limits, and so took almost thirty minutes to clear the harbour and shipping lanes, finally arriving on the open ocean. There, hovering above a blue meniscus horizon, she sighed with happiness as the salty breeze cooly kissed her sunscreen-smothered legs.

Once her clothes sufficiently dried, Gwen set the Omni-Orb to hover while she drifted toward Abang.

As expected, the Orb began to fly in the opposite direction.

"How useful." Alesia whistled. "Draconic Core?"

"Yep. From a Dragon sans asshole." Gwen followed the Orb. She had no idea how it worked, only that it hadn't failed her yet. Once attuned, all Gwen had to do was to will in her mind the "right" place, and the Orb would begin to float in the "right" direction in an entirely mystical manner. Once, she had experimented by desiring Chinese food after a late night of auditing on the Isle of Dogs. Dumbly, Gwen had followed the Orb for twenty minutes, finally arriving at a mid-night Hotpot joint operated by an immigrant family in Croydon. The next day, when she consulted with Diviners at Cambridge, the mystics informed her it was safest to rely on the Orb for translocation and orienteering and nothing else, lest she became misguided to places where she "had causation" but no business nor desire to visit.

"How fast can you fly?" Gunther studied the Orb with interest before turning to the women.

"About one-thirty, if I push it," Gwen said. "I am running tier 5 Transmutation at the moment."

"I can do one-fifty in short bursts." Alesia looked to Gunther. "One-ten consistently. Are we racing?"

"Unlike you two, Transmutation isn't my strong suit." Gunther laughed. "I'll be burning Crystals instead."

The Tower Master pulled up his trouser leg to reveal the inscribed pair of boots. "Primarch Roc Core… tier 16."

The corner of Gwen's lips twitched. It was good to be a Tower Master.

"It is indeed." Her Brother-in-craft grinned, reading her mind. "Something to keep you motivated, but do go at a speed of your choosing. I'll take the rear."

"Are we going like this?" Gwen pointed to her skort, which looked like a miniskirt but was, in reality, a pair of comfortable shorts, then to Alesia's flowing maxi. "There's a lot of creepy crawlies on the island. Flesh-eating plants and such. Flying's fine, but the trek is going to destroy our clothes."

"We can change into leathers once we land," Gunther suggested. "I bought enough for all of us, though I doubt we'll run into anything near our combat-class. Unless, of course, you're thinking of taking on Sufina."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Also, does Singapore's Tower Master know about Sufi?" Gwen asked. "I mean, is she common knowledge to the higher-ups?"

"They know, but they don't know," Gunther replied. "They know that Master's Grot's somewhere in the Riau archipelago, but no one knows which island or which grove. Lee knows, but he's an ally. He was also keeping out unlucky Adventurers when Master was alive, but not since."

"Do you think anyone's harrassed Sufi?" Gwen furrowed her brows. "One would presume Master's Grot holds many treasures, not that there was any while I was there, but it's logical to assume that a Master's Tower home would be as provisioned as the one I found in Tryfan."

"They'll be a nice snack if anything. You should know that Sufi could drain a lesser Dragon down to the marrow if she wished," Gunther assured her. "I don't think you ever had an opportunity to see Sufina in full bloom. Master was already past his prime when he took us on as his Apprentices, but Sufina's the type that grows stronger with age. Don't forget she's also capable of manipulating space and time inside her Grot. Who or whatever tries to access Master's home is going to have a wonderfully terribly time."

"Yeah, Sufina was the one sustaining Master in the end," Alesia concurred sadly. "Were it not for that Void bitch, Master could have lasted another century or two at least."

In the silence that followed, Gwen solemnly sent the Orb forward. When in use, the Omni-Orb traversed a little faster and further ahead than its owner, regardless of the user's velocity. It was another one of those occult occurrences only proper Enchanters with mastery over contemporary and ancient methods could truly fathom.

"I'll lead." She sent her Familiar forward as a windbreak. "Ariel!"

"EE-EE!"

Opening the flood gates of Elemental Lightning, she pumped her channels full of crackling electricity, then shot toward Abang as an arc of blue-white energy, trailed closely by a streak of scarlet and then the casual figure of a Tower Master following with neither flare nor showmanship.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Though Gwen was a Diviner, she had not received training beyond Detect Magic. As a novice, therefore, she lacked the means to attain the meditative state required to function as a Divination node. It was a lack that limited the trio to line-of-sight communications; a restriction made null by the open sea but may grow cumbersome in a dense, death-filled jungle.

Presently, midway through the Singapore Strait, Gunther and Alesia watched Caliban resupply on a shoal of Golden-eyed Travelly in its carp form, stocking up on Vitality for whatever trouble might greet the pair on Abang. Watching the hunt was hair-raising, for though Caliban's river-carp figure lacked the sleekness adopted by ocean predators, its advantage lay in two-meter long lamprey-tipped tentacle-tongues capable of snatching prey from two body-lengths away. While her Familiar ate, Gwen marvelled at the ease of collecting vitality from the ocean. Indeed, as her tutors had taught, the sea remained a limitless Frontier barely penetrated by Humanity's shipping fleets.

"Shaa!"
"EE—!"

Not to be outdone by its darkling sibling, Ariel also joined in, emerging now and then with a fish half the size of Gwen's torso, revelling in the slime and slick, drenching its fur with semi-transparent blood.

Once they were in motion again, Alesia updated Gwen on Yue's rise within Sydney's militia. While Gwen studied, Alesia explained, the infamous "Violent Flight" with Yue, Whetu and Rona had become a CC farming powerhouse throughout Oceania's coastal waters.

"Yue is an able combatant, but her Fireball diplomacy bottlenecks her promotion pathways." Gunther's Message blossomed beside Gwen's ear. "I tried putting her on administrative duty in June; she burned down the records office after a spat with one of the Senior Managers."

"Jeff was stealing from the Tower," Alesia's interjection arrived a split-second later.

"Jeff continues to be one of my best Arbitrators." Gunther looked away from his wife. "Sure, he's using Tower funds to socialise and supply favours, but his negotiations always prioritise the Tower's interest."

"That doesn't absolve him of pilfering the Tower's resources," Alesia snapped. "Once a thief, always a thief."

The Tower Master of Sydney sighed. "What do you think, Sister?"

"Tell him to fuck right off, Gwennie."

Gwen had a feeling Gunther was using her as a Wand of Persuasion, or a Shield.

"I would have demoted the man, but kept him on with a bonus. I would also promise to doubly promote him if his work ethic improves," Gwen said after a moment's pause. "That or open an expense account for the man to use if he needs extra funds to get his job done— after a public apology. I don't mind if my managers need to shower clients through the company, I mean, who can afford the out of pocket expenses as an individual? Even bribes are just an expense if the outcome is good."

"… you sound like Walken," Alesia sulked.

"And Eric's a good manager." Gwen decided to side with Gunther. "Your personal feelings are not wrong, Allie, but if you want Yunnie to be anything other than a glorified spell turret, she needs methods other than setting folks on fire. I am not critical. Gunther's just telling it like it is. Think about the Isle of Dogs and how many people are dipping into my honey pot. You can't imagine how many pies-in-the-sky I had to conjure to convince people to risk their crystals. The NoMs as well— there's over six-thousand now working for the Westferry-Millwall Printing Press. Another four thousand's working on the construction site. There are ten thousand more, servicing the ten thousand labourers, their families, and the local small businesses. No amount of Fireballs is going to make that happen."

"I want Yunnie to do better than me," Alesia confessed. "I know I am not good with these things like you."

"Don't fret, Allie. You're not 'wrong' wanting do what's 'right'," Gwen assured her sister-in-craft. "You just be you, and Yue can be herself. In the future, I'll have a spot for Evee and Lulu and Yue in my Tower. I think I'll need folk like them to tell me when I've gone too far. In that regard, we all need a bit of Alesia in our lives."

"Hear that?" Alesia snorted at her husband.

"Well said," Gunther laughed. "I wouldn't exchange Allie for all of Sydney."

Gwen's flight speed dipped as her Siblings-in-crafts crammed their moon-eyed sentiments down her throat.

"Please get a room." Gwen tried her best not to think of her Evee's milk-white face and how snugly the Cleric had fitted in between her arms. "And— hold up, what's that?"

Of the trio, Gwen possessed the sharpest eyesight by far.

Upon the simmering, fish-scale horizon, she could see the silhouette of ships, a dozen of them or more, stretching between a series of islands. A few looked like trawlers; a few more had the shape and size of coastal patrol vessels. The mothership, however, possessed the distinct cumbersome form of an 80's' supertanker, a medium-sized carrier used by militaries all over the world.

"Is that—?" Alesia furrowed her brows when Gwen pointed out the ship adjacent to their destination. "Abang?"

Gwen squinted. "This can't be a coincidence."

"I wager it might be." Gunther supplied a less sceptical perspective. "I mean, if they're here for us, there would be at least a strike cruiser or a troop carrier. Look at that thing. The barriers are so weak I could sink their cargo-carrier from here. The silhouettes look ancient. Considering where we are, they're probably from Malaysia or Indonesia."

"Then what do we do?"

"I'll go," Alesia said, exhaling sulphur. "If they attack, that's that."

Gunther stopped his wife. "Gwen, can you handle this?"

"Me?" Gwen glanced at the specks on the horizon. "Sure."

"Let's see if our sister's practicals are as amazing as her theory," Gunther said to Alesia, concurrently talking with his eyes. "Don't worry about her safety. She's got both Familiars and Dimension Door. Even if something catastrophic were to occur, I burn a Teleport Other scroll and displace the both of you before you burn your rings."

"Sounds good. Either way, let me check it out first," Gwen noted Gunther had that particular look. "Don't worry, Gunther. I'll engage if the need arises. Ariel! Cali!"

While herself remained visible, Ariel and the now Big Bird Caliban took on the guise gifted by Invisible Familiar. She then buffed herself with a suite of spells ranging from Ability Enhancers to Sanguine Mantle. She felt tempted to deploy Reactive Bone Armour, but suitable Creature Cores didn't exactly grow on trees. Conversely, there was no harm in a little blood-letting, and so Lesser Sanguine Mantle demonstrated its versatility once more.

With Gwen gone, Sydney's Tower Master turned to his wife.

"So much for exercise…" Alesia displaced her mana until her skin once more grew cool. "What do you think? Doesn't look like a sanctioned resource fleet to me."

"It's a poacher fleet," Gunther agreed. "Bad luck for them. Poaching in non-international coastal zones is punishable by Death or Stasis. Lord knows what the Demis will get up to if we don't draw a line in the sand."

"Are you sure it's coincidence there's a fleet near Sufi's island?"

"Good chance it is," Gunther remained positive. "Half of Sydney knows I am away— or at least a Teleportation Scroll away. That and I've got multi contingencies set up if something happens to either of us. Even if that's a United States strike-cruiser armed with an Obelisk of Disintegration, we'll still sink it. Besides, if need be, Lee can teleport the mobile Tower here in less than it takes to chase us down, Gwen especially."

"Think she'll handle it?" Alesia asked once Gwen's figure shrunk to a speck.

"I'll run a Scry," Gunther burned a scroll, concurrently conjuring a mirror showing the area traversed by Gwen.

"You couldn't have Scryed instead of sending her?" Alesia said. "You can be so nasty sometimes."

"Our little sister's been in polite society for too long," Gunther explained, drawing his wife closer, so they stood shoulder to shoulder. "This is the Wildlands, Allie. Gwen needs to know there are far more desperate folk out there than those who are after her profit margins. Besides, I am keen to how our little Void Fiend has gotten with the program since Blackheath. What good is a tier VI War Mage if high-living mills away her bloodlust?"

"… what do you think she'll do?"

"With her tier of Abjuration? I would say she'll suffer a moral quandary for ten minutes."

"That's hardly fair," Alesia complained. "Usually we have a party and a ship of our own to deal with poachers. Without a prison ship for prisoners, what do you want her to do with the survivors?"

"They're dead men by law," Gunther said without any particular feeling. "Besides, this close to Sufina and Master's Grot, I am not too confident in my capacity for compassion."

"Still thinking this whole thing is a coincidence?"

The Tower Master of Sydney appeared thoughtful. "If Gwen sinks the carrier, then yes."

"And if they manage to take her down?"

"Then we better save a few survivors," Gunther remarked drily. "And dig through their brains to see who is pulling strings…"

"HAILING ALL VESSELS! STOP YOUR ENGINES, POWER DOWN YOUR SHIELDS."

Gwen's air siren greeting rolled like thunder over the ships anchored across the island chain. On approach, she had the choice of engaging stealthily or openly. Considering the size of the fleet and the pressure she could exert as a Mageocracy Magus, she chose the former.

As expected, like a kicked ant's nest, the decks suddenly filled with people, with about one in a dozen possessing a low-tier mana signature.

When she drifted closer, she could see that someone had docked several of the vessels against the island where Sufina made her home. That and the fact that a long chain of floating logs trailed from the coast to the ships, with several mid-sized cargo carriers loading the wood onto their rusty decking.

Loggers? Gwen's brows furrowed in an unfriendly manner. According to Attenborough's Bestiary, Dryad Groves did produce inordinately prized lumber, not to mention Dryadic Heartwood harvested from their hearth-tree made precious wand and stave ingredients. The harvesting itself, however, was often a deadly affair.

On the island, she could see men in Golem-suits, going at the Banyan treeline hammer and tongs, filling the air with mana miasma and the crash of whipping chainsaws chewing on wood. With many kilometres to the heart of the island, either the Dryads didn't care, or there was a resonator keeping them at bay.

Around the cumbersome carrier, smaller ships in the form of rusty tub vessels were trawling for fish with enormous nets stretching from bay to bay. On the factory-carrier itself, she could see metric-tons of silvery bait-fish piled in between the crude hulls, feeding into a churning metal mouth.

Loggers and fishers? An idea was beginning to form in her head.

Poachers?
Was this a poaching fleet stealing from Purple and Black Zones under the protection of city-states? According to her Commonwealth Territorial Treaties handbook supplied by Le Guevel, wasn't the offence punishable by imprisonment, stasis and for the Captains, death?

Gunther wasn't expecting her to be judge, jury and executioner, was he? Gwen felt suddenly nervous. For some reason, she thought of Blackheath.

"THIS IS MAGUS SONG OF LONDON TOWER," Gwen declared via Clarion Call as per protocol. Hopefully, these dodgy looking vessels could provide some evidence of their innocence. If anything, she dreaded the inevitable use of force to convince the poachers to leave Sufina's island. "STATE YOUR—"

Her Divination senses tingled before the mana signatures below could complete their circuits. Reflexively, she erected her double-glazed Gunther Shield.

_SPAK! SPAK—SPAK!_
 _SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!_
 _SPAK! SPAK—SPAK! SPAK! SPAK—SPAK!_
 _HSSS—!_

A dozen Magic Missiles enhanced by whatever Mandala was inscribed on the ship to increase the range of the Mages' spells washed over her spherical barrier like pelting hail, turning half of her globe white with impact. The last attack was an Acid Arrow, indicating something of an Ooze Transmuter onboard the vessel. When she replenished her barrier, she could even see NoMs wielding charged-wands fed by cumbersome mana-batteries.

FUCK! She swore silently. Gwen Dimension Doored about a hundred meters out, reappearing some distance away. "HALT—"

Her Divination Sigil pinged again.

_HSSS—!_
 _SPAK! SPAK—SPAK!_
 _SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!_
 _SPAK! SPAK—SPAK!_

Another round of ship-enhanced low-tier Evocation blasted her Shield. Individually, the spells were negligible, but the sheer volume of attacks landing on her was both draining her mana and preventing her from casting. Worst of all, the attacks were unceasing, with smaller spells hitting every few seconds in between the volleys.

"Gunther!" She Messaged her Brother-in-craft back while gaining altitude. "These idiots started attacking me!"

"We can see that." Gunther's Message came back. "Poaching in Singapore's waters awards eighty lashes— effectively a death sentence for non-Transmuters. Harvesting Dryad wood and threatening the unspoken peace Singapore has established with the Demi-folk is likewise punishable by swimming with the Merlions."

"You knew they were poachers?"

"You just confirmed it."

_HSSS—!_
 _SPAK! SPAK!_
 _SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!_
 _SPAK! SPAK—SPAK!_
 _HSSSS!_

"God damn it!" Gwen growled in frustration. These bastards had a deathwish! She had already Dimension Doored three times!

"How are they targeting me?" she asked Alesia through another Message, sensing that Gunther was up to his usual tricks.

"Their command ship's got a Divi-loc on your mana Signature," Alesia's voice sounded amused. "You could fly out of range, but we need to get on the island anyway, meaning we'll have to bypass these goons regardless— unless you want to wait a day for the coast guard? So, you want to handle this or should I oblige? Gunther can be done in fifteen minutes."

"We're killing them, just like that?" Gwen demanded darkly, suddenly realising her siblings had sent her out for a reason. "Come on, that's ridiculous. There's like a hundred— two hundred people on those ships, likely more!"

"Are they not presently trying to kill you?" Gunther asked. "Need I remind you—"

Gwen corkscrewed through the air to no avail. Having studied and worked mainly outside of combat for nearly nine months, Gwen knew her Flight was rusty. Then again, it wasn't as though she could dodge Divi-guided Magic Missiles anyway.

Just as Gunther's warning reverberated through her head, a foursome of Elemental Orbs, each resembling green boils, burst about her person, fracturing the first layer of her Shield. If she had been a lesser Mage, a face full of noxious acid would be her present condition.

Slipping away through yet another Dimension Door, Gwen took a good long gander at the Mages flinging spells at her person. Through her Essence enhanced eyes, she could just make out the Poacher's leader, a scruffy Ooze Evoker or Transmuter throwing low and mid-tier spells her way, dressed in a tattered combat suit. The rest of the poachers, both NoMs and low-tier Mages, appeared to be just that— low-tier nobodies and NoMs. To her eyes, the men looked Indonesian, with oily skin the same hue as Surya's.

"Shaa!" Caliban expressed a desire to board the vessel.

"EE! EE!" Ariel suggested an Essence-infused Maelstrom.

Gwen chose to dodge for now.

Gunther's advice at Blackheath seared her brain like a branding iron, as fresh as a jagged flesh wound. In her head, however, she couldn't help but think about the same desperate people who had been starving in Millwall and Cubitt before she arrived. These guys were poachers, not blood-thirsty pirates. They're just folk trying to make a living off the edge of society by providing for the Grey Market. Is trying to make a living punishable by death? Killing NoMs for poaching was such a medieval act, no matter how Gunther framed it.

_SPAK-SPAK! SPAK!_
 _SPAK! SPAK—SPAK!_

Gwen flew up and up until she was out of range and the ships were once more miniscule.

Undeniably, Gunther was right on one point.
They DID try to kill her.
She had flown for several minutes just now without retaliation, and the bastards hadn't let up. As her Babulya would say, even Buddha loses patience when struck in the face three times.

Inside her chest, a raging torrent of hysterical electricity threatened to spill. Below, the poacher fleet appeared as tiny as sand, a mere speck, a pinprick on the goosebump of an orange, its rusty vessels the colour of rotten pulp.

And above them, their unhappy arbiter of fate hovered, an indecisive goddess holding back the power to split the bean-green sea asunder.


Nanang "The Brave" was born in the seaside port of Semarang, south of the Indonesian island chain that formed the Greater Sunda Islands.

For generations, his family worshipped the Elemental God Batara Guru, a deity-Spirit who aeons ago ordered the creation of their island home by taking one of the five peaks of Mahameru in Jambudvipa and anchoring it to the floating landmass that was Java. On his island, Nanang and his ilk believed that the fire-belching ring of fire wasn't an island at all, but a Leviathan-deity, a slumbering Naga Turtle with the Meru on its back, sleeping in the bean-green sea.

For Nanang and his people, the Sea of Java was the womb of their civilisation.
As a child, he collected cockerels and shellfish from its shores.
As an adolescent, he dived for abalone and lobsters.
And when he Awakened at fifteen, Nanang joined the other boys of similar age from the village and boarded the rusty vessels sailing from Semarang to the Frontier city of Jakarta. Standing half-naked on the shoreline, they were hand-picked by the exalted Captains of the Naga fleet in a grand auction of the local talent.

As a tier three Water Transmuter, Nanang fetched 80 HDMs, a veritable fortune for his impoverished, starving village. After that, once the Headhunter took his cut, 68 HDMs were exchanged for food and sundry, then sent back to Nanang's settlement. That night, the village celebrated while its prodigy son, Nanang, took his place on the deck of the Akimvrishka, one of the Naga fleet's many converted factory-carriers.

This year, Nanang was twenty-two. For seven years, he had worked ceaselessly on the Akimvrishka, earning the rank of Third Mate thanks to the short-lived career of his seniors. For the Naga fleet, the sea was harsh and generous in equal measure; a Deva and an Asura in one. Those who lived off her many bosomed teets had to suffer weather, accident, Mermen and zealous disputes with their Captains on a near-daily basis.

Nanang's dearest wish, if there was one, was to finish his ten-year tour and return to Semarang.

There, he could rejoin the village as one of the lucky ones, find himself a woman, father children, and pay respects to his sire, assuming the Mage was alive, then crew a small fishing vessel as its Master.

Nanang had deemed his dream a humble one, though now it seemed his last incarnation might have contaminated his present luck. For a fleet of their size, it wasn't that unusual to be accosted by the Coast Guard who could be bought with HDMs or Creature Cores. What was unusual was a random encounter with a lone Mage out in the Black Zones, one that demanded unconditional surrender. Stranger still, when the sorceress came close enough for Nanang to see, he had felt an unspeakable sense of recognition— feeling as though he had seen her supple silhouette elsewhere.

"Keep firing!" Captain Raharjo's spittle landed on Nanang's shoulder. "Take the harlot down! No witnesses!"

Nanang's chest flooded with fatigue as he conjured yet another Magic Missile. The Mandala-tuned mana enriched by the ship's defences overwhelmed his conduits, bloating his body to bursting. Around him, Nanang could see his lesser shipmates bleeding from their noses and their ears; a few had burst the capillaries in their irises, turning them into red-eyed Asuras.

As for their foe, Nanang did not believe they could slay nor capture the sorceress.

Over the last seven years, he had slain Mermen Scouts, jousted with Manta Riders and exchanged blows with Crab-clawed Heavy Infantry. On the islands the fleet passed, he had subdued flesh-eating natives, drowned crazed snake-women with scale-covered breasts that shorne like jewels and splintered walking trees that tore men apart and ate their fatty intestines. Each of the battles was hard-won, for it was only thanks to the combined force of the ship's Resonator and its make-shift Wands that they could triumph over the Black Zone.

But Nanang had never witnessed such an encounter as a Bulai who was pretty as a picture, single-handedly confronting a Naga fleet while armoured in a flimsy shirt and skirt.

Not only that, she had declared herself to be a Magus from London, and that the fleet should prepare to be boarded by her lonesome self.
Naturally, their Captain refused to suffer the insult.
They had too much to gain and too little to lose.
As for whether Raharjo made the right decision, Nanang couldn't say.
For men who lived on the crests' edge, violent solutions were a jaw-clenching reflex. Raharjo had no idea if the girl was alone, or if there was a fleet or a Flight cloaked with Mass Invisibility in her mana wake. He only cared that if their presence got back to Singapore via officious channels, the fortress city's Strike Cruisers would pursue them from Bangka Belitung to Jakarta.

"How is her Shield still unshattered?" His Captain watched the girl ascend without effort, trailed by no less than a dozen Magic Missiles pinging off her spherical mana wall. Somehow, she had even shrugged off his fourth-tier Elemental Orbs. "Bangke! What is she, a Sea Elf?"

Nanang had no answers for his Captain. He wasn't educated like those Singaporeans across the strait, safe in their fortress, he hadn't gone to secondary school or even learned to read and write beyond what was necessary for survival.

"She's out of range," Nanang observed.

"I can see that," his Captain growled. "Bangsat! She's up too high! Now we'll have to hunt her down! Sinta! Dian! Come with me!"

"Aye, Captain!" The ship's First and Second Mate, both women and both Transmuters-Abjurers, broke from the milling thong of NoMs fiddling with sizzling-hot wands overheated from the meta-magic. A few seconds later, they completed their Flight and defence buffs and hovered through the air.

"Bridge, where is she now?"

"We're tracking her directly above us, about two hundred and twenty metres, Captain."

"Don't lose her. Keep her signature locked-on."

A pulsing green Message flare affirmed Raharjo's command.

For Nanang, his superiors' flying forms, dark against the burning brightness of the water, made his heart sore. When would he have an opportunity to learn spells like Flight? Nanang lamented. His Affinity for Transmutation, according to the scribes at the auction office, was already at the right tier. For a rube like him, however, it would cost over two hundred HDMs to hire a tutor willing to teach him while under the auspice of a Cognisance Chamber. If Nanang was a woman, and a pretty one at that, his Captain might have taken an interest— but Nanang was a man and therefore both a useful tool and a potential competitor. Though his increase in sorcerous potential could help, there was little motivation for his Captain to elevate Nanang, at least not with Sinta and Dian clinging onto the Raharjo's trouser legs.

_DING! DING! DING!_

A Mass Message spell from the bridge's Divination room blossomed beside Nanang's ears.

"Unexpected Conjuration detected, Captain! Look out for—"

"SHAAA—!"

Something akin to a shadow briefly flickered at the edge of Nanang's vision. A wave of nausea washed over him; then like a mirage revealing a Dragon Turtle hidden in the mist, the monster fell upon them before anyone could react.

A twin pair of white hands, feminine and slender like that of the divine Avalokiteśvara, reached out across the aether toward Sinta and Dian and caught them, one by the torso and the other by the hip. The strangely beautiful spectacle felt so surreal that Nanang's lips naturally affected a grin, recalling how he had once seen pretty girls at the market clutching colourful dolls carved from leftover lumber.
"—ARRRRRRGH!"
"GNnnnarblergh—!"

The slender fingers squeezed.
His shipmate's Shields shattered in intermittent bursts of discordant mana.

"ACID Barrier!" His Captain forwent saving the two screaming Transmuters, for he could see their innards overflowing from between the digits of the six-fingered hands; if anything— death would be a mercy.

The spells struck, there were a hiss, an _SHAA_ and a cry of pain, then the fog in Nanang's head dispersed.

"Concentrate all FIRE!" he howled at the NoM sailors with their tethered wands. "BANISH THE RAKSHASA!"

The lower-tier Mages and the NoMs raised their weapons once more. When finally his Captain's acid slid from the creature, Nanang saw the monstrous bird in its entirety. The fiend wasn't overly large, as it had appeared earlier in his mind, but still as big as a Gull-winged Peng, the mortal scions of the Leviathan-bird of Kunlun.

What terrified his NoM shipmates and Nanang was that the bird had no face, for it was all mouth from the neck up, and now it was doing its best to devour their Captain even as he transmuted spell and shield to escape the tentacles latching onto his acid-tinged barrier.

_SPAK! SPAK! SPAK!
_ _SPAK-SPAK!_
The Wand-spells struck.
A hive of piercing missiles ricochetted from the creature's jet-black, obsidian feathers, bending nary a plume.

"B-Blink!" In a blind panic, Captain Raharjo jaunted through the aether, leaving behind a pile of rags and un-attuned clothing, reappearing near-naked some distance away on the deck. By now, the man's eyes were two bloodshot orbs of hapless desperation. "Corrosive Missiles!"

"Lesser Shape Metal!" Nanang drew on everything he had to transmute the shattered decking, hoping to snare the creature so that his Captain could reduce it into a pile of bubbling black bile.

"SHAA!" When its fingers tore through his sheet metal like paper, Nanang felt complete despair. What manner of creature was this? He demanded to know. From what demi-plane of the Gods had it descended and how could they defeat that which could not be harmed?

_CRACK!_

Before Nanang could catch up with his runaway imagination, the well-lit sky grew unnaturally, infinitely brighter.

A solid rod of living lightning, as thick as the stoutest pillar in the Obsidian Temple of Shiva in Bali, struck the water before expanding into ten thousand branches of arcing electricity, blossoming like a giant Banyan, turning the blue sea white.

Up in the bridge's castle housing, the magic-dampening Mandala must have taken damage, for Nanang could hear the distinct sound of the ship's inner conduits shriek, after which the thrumming mana beneath his feet churned and choked.

"SURRENDER YOUR ARMS!" Came the command from the heavens, the very same that had ordered them earlier. It was the girl whose likeness brushed against vague memories he could not recollect. For now, as the bird-thing smeared the deck with gore, Raharjo's Third Mate had only one thought— if this winged Rakshasa served the sorceress, then had they offended an incarnation of Shiva?

"SURRENDER NOW OR—"

"Nanang! PUSH IT INTO THE WATER!" Raharjo half-melted a fleeing NoM with one sweep of his hand. "Do it now!"

Nanang compelled his mind to concentrate, banishing the stalking bird from view. Between the bird and himself, there were some dozen NoMs who would act as his proxies before he came face to face with that bottomless gullet. His Captain was right; if he could move the armoured bird into the sea where its hands and wings were useless, maybe it would drown.

"ARIEL!" Came a shattering howl of righteous anger.
"EE!" The air above the tanker shimmered, revealing a quasi-draconic visage ten-times the resplendence of the idols in Candi Borobudur's sacred halls.

A KIRIN! By Batara Kala! Nanang's mind grew suddenly blank as ancient tales of Devas and Asuras warring over the fate of man unfurled in his head like a length of illustrated Sutra. A Kirin? Rather than an Asura, was the sorceress an emissary of the Deva?

There was a moment's pause, the calm before the storm. Nanang had only a moment to ponder if the girl was an Asura or Deva, then—

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

" _BARBANGINY_!"

— their tribulation arrived.
Nanang supposed the sorceress' wrath was a foregone conclusion, a punishment for Nanang and his ilk who had not immediately prostrated to kiss her flawlessly pale feet.

The lightning landed this time on the castle, naturally guided by the laws laid down by the Gods to the highest point of the factory-carrier. The Shielding Mandala visibly glowered for a few seconds as the materials used to inscribe the Ward turned to motes of super-heated liquid. A split-second later, the bridge erupted in a blooming flower of emerald electricity.

All around Nanang, chaos reigned. From the castle, bits of metal, some as large as crab-folk Mermen, rained down around them.

"SHAAA!" There was a brief scream. Nanang turned, caught in a dream of slow-time, discovering to his surprise not a large bird with a mouth for a face, but a six-headed Naga where the bird had been. Each faceless head had presently arrested a resistive Mage, their bewildered Captain included.

The scene all but erased the last shred of doubt in Nanang's mind. To command the Naga and a six-headed beast at that, the girl must be a High Asura, one of the ten-thousand hands of she who was the Destroyer of Worlds. Caught in the monster's mouths, his Captain had attempted another Blink, but the unpracticed Mage proved too stricken with horror to maintain his concentration. With an effortless tug from two heads, Captain Raharjo split at the seams, his entrails stringing between two mouths fighting for the upper portion of Raharjo's carcass.

Nanang knelt with the others laying down their arms. "Great Varunas, we give ourselves willingly, please return this offending servant to the Great Wheel."

A burgeoning surge of violent frustration filled Gwen's chest to the verge of bursting, releasing only when the supercharged mana left her conduits, leaving her blissfully empty.

Below the halo of heat left by the racing electricity, Ariel's quasi-divine visage grew envigorated until it was larger than even Caliban in his Big-bird form. Once fed on Almudj's Essence, its horns grew incandescent, so bright that a second sun appeared to envelop the Kirin— then both bolts discharged at once.

Of the Evocation in her present repertoire, Gwen chose Chain Lightning for its capacity to carry the necessary voltage of mana, as well as its inclination to leap between targets. Taking a leaf from the lessons taught by Patel, she had taken the time to modify the spell for range and violence, vastly inflating the spectacle of her sorcery in exchange for lethal potential.
_CRACK!_
Her Barbanginy struck, drawn to the lightning rod Divination bridge.

The initial impact shattered every shielded window, first blowing the warded panes inward before the scorched interior expelled its occupants outwards. Concurrently, the fleeing currents of blue-green electricity proved too much for the old carrier, peeling the rusty panes from their scaffolding, melting the heated rivet bolts.

From the bridge, the Chain Lightning then leapt to the forecastle, tearing up the double hull in a fantastic explosion.

Then from the carrier, the much-diminished discharge travelled to the closest trawler, one pulling blocks of pilfered wood into the factory ramp, lighting the cabin like an overblown bulb before striking an adjacent tug, igniting the crystal stows so spectacularly the resulting explosion kissed the gunwale of the factory-carrier.

Gwen took a deep breath then delivered her final ultimatum.

"SURRENDER OR PERISH!" Her vociferated warning rolled like low thunder across an oily sky polluted by streaked columns of black smoke.

"Shaa!" In her mind, Caliban reported that the stunned survivors had fallen to their knees to beg for mercy. As for those that continued to attack, they now rested in its gullet.

Around the carrier, she could see that the ships which had escaped her Chain Lightning now attempted to flee. A quick assessment flashed across her mind. Catching all the vessels would require a supreme effort of using Dimension Door together with Lighting Bolts, a bothersome but not impossible task.

BUT— such pyroclastic performances would inevitably consume the lives of the NoMs too weak to defend themselves against her meagrest spell.

_I should show mercy toward these helpless NoMs_ , the white-winged portion of her conscience remained resolute.

_Ah, but is letting the ships flee mercy at all?_ The fork-tail voice of rationality mocked her conscience. _Out there was the Javanese Sea: a hot zone of men-eating Mermen; without a Shielding ship, how far could your mercy float before becoming Mer-feed?_

She didn't like the answer, and so chose not to dwell. Instead, she focused on the group grovelling on the carrier's broad-brimmed deck.

One group was on their knees, chanting in front of Naga Caliban, while the other half of the crew confusedly hollered at Ariel to save them from Caliban.

Gwen hovered mid-air, mindful of the Wands still lying within arm's reach.

"Allie, Gunther, I've subdued the ship," she sent out a Message when no attack came. "The fishing fleet fled."

Thirty-seconds later, Alesia arrived as a retina-searing meteor.

Gunther caught up a few seconds later with a non-too-impressed disposition that made her chest tighten.

"… An interesting outcome, one I assume you planned for," Gunther said. "I can see most of them are unharmed."

"I killed the belligerents."

"They're all belligerents."

"Being poor and desperate isn't a crime, Gunther."

"Attempted murder of a Magus of the Mageocracy executing his or her official duty is a capital offence." Gunther's eyes were cold as steel as they swept over her tightly wound body. He then pointed to the abandoned trawler nets and the floating logs. "As is the theft of the state's resources and the agitation of Demi-humans within the state's area of control."

"That may be, but we are not Singapore Tower's goons," she retorted. "I am not dirtying my hands to save their guards the effort of coming out here themselves."

"Is that what a future Tower Master should say?" Gunther cocked his head. "Are laws so malleable?"

"No more malleable than yours," Gwen snapped back at her brother-in-craft. "Else you'd be flaming any officers who dared to steal from the Tower's coffers, even if it's in the execution of their duty."

"Gwennie…" Her sister-in-craft looked torn between wanting to clap because Gwen had nailed Gunther with his hypocrisy and wanting to scold Gwen for not sinking every ship she could.

Gunther met her defiant amber-green eyes.

"Then I shall abstain from commenting on your methods," the man said, his tone unchanging. "I do not fault you for taking a stand, Sister. Just know that every choice has a cost."

Gwen relaxed.

"Which brings us to this—" Gunther's next words had her by the throat. "What do you intend to do with these poachers?"

Below the trio, men and women squirmed like exposed grubs, their sickly skin slick with oozy perspiration, their caramel complexions blanched with fear. From the bridge, the stench of scorched flesh drifted downwards, viscid and oily; around the deck, a stink of oxidising iron accompanied the mangled victims of the fallen debris. When the sea breeze picked up, the wafting odour of unwashed bodies, soiled garments, sweat and spoiled fish only added to the picture of misery.

In Gwen's mind, these men were floating on a veritable Raft of the Medusa. As for Gunther's question, she knew what she did NOT want to do. But she had no idea what to do.

"Sail them back to Singapore?" Try as she might, she couldn't think of anything else. "The city is only a hundred kilometres out."

"Assuming they aren't scuttled the moment they appear within Shielding range, that's a possibility," Gunther said. "Do you happen to have any diplomatic connections in Singapore?"

"… I know a Tower Master from a major power next door, whose city is Singapore's chief supplier of grain and beef." Gwen looked to her brother-in-craft. "Maybe he could help."

"I can guarantee that you can land the ship, but no one here will escape punishment," Gunther said. "Look at them, do you think they'll survive the lashes?"

Gwen's eyes swept across the crowd, many of whom stared back at her in horror. A few of the men must have understood English, for Gwen could see in their faces that a few of their prisoners understood their impending fate.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Gwen sighed. "Tell you what, though. Get me in contact with someone who's someone, and I'll put on the old charm—"

"SHE LIES!"

Her consideration was interrupted by an unexpected disruption. One of the servitor Mages, an Evoker tethered to a Magic Missile Wand, grew suddenly wild with speculation.

"She lies!" The man's eyes hid nothing of his feelings. "They won't spare us! She's Priestess to the Rakshasa! She's the Asura they worship! We're not going to Singapore! We're food! We're FISH FOOD!"

Before Gwen could respond, a low-tier Transmuter beside the Evoker tackled the man to the floor and covered his mouth with his hands.

Bewildered, Gwen looked to Alesia and Gunther, who appeared equally perplexed, then turned to the struggling duo. The siblings all sported upper-tier Translation Stones, so the Pig Latin used by these men wasn't alien to them.

Priestess?
Asura?
Fish food?

"Mistress, Bambang isn't well." A caramel-skinned Water Mage prevented Gwen from directly addressing the sobbing dissident. "He did not know your grace ruled these waters."

"I rule what now?" Gwen questioned the man, her brows furrowing. "What's your name?"

"Nanang, O worshipfulness. I am the ship's Third Mate."

"Where are your First and the Second?"

Nanang gestured behind her.

"Shaa?" First Mate Caliban cooed coyly.

Gwen nodded. "I see. What's your man talking about?"

"Bambang has gone mad, Mistress," the man explained meekly, sweat oozing from every pore. Though he already prostrated, he somehow grovelled lower. "I humbly beg for your mercy."

"You're a fool, Nanang! There's no mistaking it! She's the Priestess of the Rakshasi of the sea!" Bambang appeared to shrink as she approached. "We should have never have harvested that shoal of Mermaids! She's here for them, just like they said! The Pale Priestess will come, they said! The Pale Priestess avenges!"

"Bambang, do not irritate the Mistress!" The sailor known as Nanang swiftly kicked the man in the face, then grovelled once more. "He speaks of dreams, your worshipfulness!"

"What Mermaids?" Gwen demanded, her curiosity peaking. Without effort, her Desolation Aura swept across the deck, cowering any who dared to stare. "Show me, or I'll show you the anger of an Asura."

The pair grew paler as the Negative Energy lapped at their Astral Bodies, wearing away their will. After a moment more, their pupils grew dark and fatalistic.

"In— in the hold."

"Take me down." Gwen signalled Caliban.

A rippling wave of vertigo accompanied the sound of shifting flesh and snapping bone as Caliban assumed a multi-legged form suitable for low passages and narrow gangways. In a ring around Gwen, her prisoners kissed their heads against the rusty deck in the manner of men wishing they could meld with the metal.

"I'll be back," Gwen said to her siblings, who appeared intrigued by the whole ordeal. "Ariel. Overwatch."

"EE-EE—EE!"

Alesia promised, ruffling the Kirin's fur. "Fair warning. If they have a go at me, they burn."

Gunther delivered an assuring nod.

Led by the shaking, muttering Evoker and accompanied by the ship's Third Mate, Gwen descended into the dark.

The interior of the ship stank as much as the exterior, only with an acridness thrice as concentrated. The interior passages, Gwen could see, were far from OSHA compliant, as there were clothing, shoes, toiletry and personal effects hung all over, acting as evidence of the inhabitants' thread-bare humanity.

"This way."

The path down to the factory floor took a dozen twists and turns, confusing Gwen so much that she felt tempted to produce her Omni-Orb.

"In here, O worshipfulness." The men grovelled.

The chamber in which she and the others arrived was an interior processing unit for tinned seafood. When the iron door swung open, the result of billions of bacteria busily decomposing portions of fish struck Gwen like a mallet, overpowering even her eyesight.

"SHAA! SHAA! SHAA!" Caliban began to sing, celebrating the miasma of decay that made the dim-lit factory line so morbid to behold. As with any place where life had been extinguished on an industrial scale, there was no lack of Negative Energy.

Bathed in stench and desiring to burn her present attire, she took a moment to gather her wits.

Inside, Nanang and Bambang dragged forward a crate on casters the size of a skip bin filled with what looked like unprocessed fish.

In it, Gwen recognised what could only be sawed-off components of Mermen and Mermaids, now mingled in bloody matrimony. Despite being a stable food source, a Mer-person's upper body was usually processed into fish paste because its humanoid likeness was too much for consumers. Hypocritically, their tail was often left on display over sheets of ice, perfectly preserved through Gentle Repose and wildly popular with fine diners.

With some effort, the Mages pulled several torsos from the pile.

"Light." Gwen activated a cantrip. When her spell shed elucidation on what the men had first attempted to hide, her concentration faltered, causing the globe to flicker.

"August Asura." Bambang lowered his head. "We did not mean to harm your slaves. It was all under Raharjo's orders."

Gwen swallowed hard, doing her best to ignore the bile brushing her tonsils. The dismembered bodies in front of her displayed nautical tattoos commonly found on Mermen tribesmen and women. Culturally, the practice paralleled the Kiwi's Ta Moko, though to Gwen's knowledge, rather than ancestry, the Mermen's florid inscriptions served to identify religion, fealty and accomplishments.

Her shock, therefore, was for the likeness staring back at her.

It was her face.

A stranger might not recognise Gwen at first from the blue-black lines, but she could— for the particularity of the shape, the silhouette, the lines around her eyes and her chin and the way her hair framed her shoulders were all familiar.

It was the lumen-image of her sold to the Hormel Food Company for use on IIUC promotional cans.

A second body had the same visage roughly imprinted on its chest, not unlike the countenance of Ernesto "Che" Guevara on the t-shirts of liberal college girls.

Another female had her eyes tattooed near the collarbones.

Gwen's skin grew gradually clammy. A thousand questions assailed her mind, the foremost being, "Why her face was being used as Ta Moko?" Hadn't these Mermen ever heard about registered trademarks?

Yet another likeness of her, a half-body version from throat to navel, had been chopped in half by a meat saw.

"What the fuck is this?" She made her confusion known, though no answer came from her trembling prisoners. With some effort, a fifth body was pulled from the bin, exposing its back where a mass of dark markings resembling tentacles with eyes writhed.

A sudden and terrible suspicion came to her, numbing Gwen from her sweaty crown to her curling toes.

"You two, enough." Gwen halted the two Indonesian Mages from dragging more bodies from the bin. Gwen pinched her brows, banished the confusion from her mind, then tried to think her way through this discovery.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the self-philosophising Prince Hamlet. Her God-given capability and reason did not prevail. In her confined experience, no notion, rationale, justification, nor understanding could explain why her face adorned the bodies of the Mermen.

Maybe, she ventured a guess. Maybe the Mermen in the region REALLY liked SPAM and thought she was the originator of miracle mystery meat? It wasn't unreasonable to believe that the fishy masses might have confused branding with evangelising, coming to see her as a SPAM-bearing messiah.

Should she ask Ruì what their contract with Homel entailed? Gwen queried herself, shivering at the crude ink depicting her smiling face. Even if Ruì was trying to maximise their quarterly earnings, selling her image to a Mermen church seemed excessive.

"Gunther? Allie?" her voice echoed in the foul space of the iron-walled hull. Unfortunately, her companions were out of Divination line of sight.

Gwen sighed.
She should have sunk the ship.


For an ambivalent few seconds, Gwen entertained the possibility of scuttling the ship with Void Sphere. After looking around the interior of the factory floor, she deemed the unethical impulse impractical, first because the factory-carrier was a modern Titanic with a segmented double-hull and secondly because she wasn't about making fish-food out of NoMs.

"Let us return," she commanded the two men. "I've seen enough."

Disbelieving Gwen would spare their wretched existence, the tottering Mages lead her back up the intestinal-tract passageways, plodding from the tomb-like interior back into the light.

Once out in the open, Caliban huffed, displeased to be away from the reek of death and decay.

"What did you find?" Alesia brimmed with curiosity. When she came close, however, her nose wrinkled. "Fuck'n oath, what was down there? You smell like Kraken guts."

Despite the anxiety burning a hole in her belly, Gwen spared the patience to effect a cleansing Prestidigitation. "I found some shit alright. Gunther, I need your advice on this."

"I figured as much." Her Tower Master appeared happy to help. "Was the hull too thick for our little sister?"

"... Not that kind of help, though I certainly am considering it. So er— I found something downstairs..." Via Silent Messages, Gwen then communicated her discovery.

"I'll take a gander." Gunther left her standing with Alesia while he took the two crew members below. The crew followed with complete obedience, instantly falling into place as her brother-in-craft's most ardent sycophants.

"They tend to do that." Alesia brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Her sister-in-craft appeared nonplussed by Gwen's horror.

"Do what?"

"Elevate powerful beings into mythoi then worship them," Alesia clarified. "Life in the sea is unpredictable. Brutality and power are privileged above all else. Gunther has got worshippers too, after a dozen campaigns in the Coral Sea. The island Mermen living on Moreton and Stradbroke think he's some sort of Sun Spirit. Despite diplomacy missions dissuading them, he remains the head of their pantheon."

"So he's like Inti, but for Mermen?" Gwen recalled the grinning face of the amicable Prince of Peru.

"Not in the sense of organised religion or Faith Magic." Alesia shook her head. "We're talking run-of-the-mill idolatry, spawns named after him, that sort of thing."

"Hahaha, so there are Mermen named Gunther?"

"And a Clan of Soldier Crabs on Christmas Island called Shultz." Alesia laughed in turn. "Don't make that face— I am completely serious. That's what happens when you leave survivors."

"Surely the Scarlet Sorceress has a band of fishy worshippers?"

"I am far too professional to leave enough witnesses to start a cult." Alesia glanced at the damp entryway Gunther had descended. "That and you need insurmountable power, something that will displace the Mermen's fear of the Deep Creatures that control them."

"Like Krakens?"

"Sure. And any number of similar beings. Oceanic Dragon-things, Deep Flayers, Whales, Leviathans, past the light zone, the deep sea may as well be the Elemental Plane of Water."

"We're not at war with them, I hope? Cambridge says our beef is with the Mermen Dominions."

"For now, though Gunther did mention there are enormous reservoirs of liquid mana under the crust of the continental shelf," Alesia said conspiratorially. "Enough to keep our manufactoriums fed for centuries."

"But tapping those sources would lead to war?"

"Who knows?" Alesia shrugged. "It would be a strange war if anything. We don't want their land, only the liquid mana— and they desire neither our land nor our resource, only our annihilation. Do recall that the Mermen think our Earth is theirs as it possesses far more aquascape than landscape. The Kingdoms believe we are no better than predatory beasts; amphibian aliens evolved to hunt them. It's just as well that we've got plenty of other resource nodes right now. Black Zones like the Elemental Sea and the Amazon have plenty of untapped crystals, Cores, and materials."

While Gwen pondered the possibility of drilling platforms pounded into the crust to slurp up liquidised HDMs like soup from a straw, Gunther returned.

"Interesting find." Her brother-in-craft cleaned himself with a cantrip. "That said, I don't think having your face imprinted on Mermaids is as madcap as you believe."

"Are you saying the Mageocracy should be cool with it?"

"It happens," Gunther said. "I wouldn't be surprised if NoMs somewhere have a shrine to you or Sobel either. Besides, what's happened has happened, so it isn't as though you can enact preventative measures now. Do you even have the time and means to delve for the truth in the dark?"

"No."

"Do you readily know why fishes are worshipping your SPAM face?"

"Not really."

"Do you command anyone with the expertise to carry out an investigation?"

"Nope. Walken's busy, and Richard's still studying. Maybe Ollie?"

"Then, don't worry about it." Gunther shrugged. "Whatever this is, it can't be worse than being the world-famous Summoner of the Shoggoth. I am not saying you should strike this incident from your mind, but that you shouldn't dwell out of fear. Leave the investigation to the professionals, report this to your superiors."

"That's good advice," Alesia gave her two cents. "After your display on Anglesey, there was talk of what to do with you. You should thank your sponsors for keeping your detractors silent. The tattoo thing is going to turn some heads, but that's nothing compared to the clout needed for letting the Devourer of Shenyang fly around the world at her leisure."

"I feel…" Gwen tried to grasp the disappointment in her heart. "Relieved, but not really?"

"Well, are you cultivating a cult?" Gunther grinned at her. "If so, let me know. Else, let the Mermen be. What are you going to do if they start hollering your name? Spare the fish that bear your likeness from the tinning machines? Start an Undersea Union like that Void thing you're pushing?"

Alesia burst into laughter.
Gwen did not appreciate the humour taken at her expense. "Okay, so what do we do about these guys?" She pointed to the still prostrating sailors.

"Nanang," Gunther addressed the bowed Third Mate. "Can the ship sail?"

"With repairs, O lordship, we can manage coastal travel," Nanang answered. "The bridge is shattered, but we can operate the Engine Room by hand as Magus Song has spared the Enchanters."

"Good, then repair the ship and prepare to sail for Singapore. Keep the fish below on ice. Once we're in port, I'll have someone collect them, and your crew."

"We're not destroying the evidence?" Gwen raised both brows.

"Of course not," Gunther said. "Why, do you have something to hide?"

"No."

"Then tell the world you are bemused by the discovery," Gunther said. "Put it in the tabloids. The more people know, the more diminished its significance."

Gwen pondered her Brother-in-craft's advice, realised his wisdom, then nodded. "I'll put it in my paper, with pictures. And I'll CC up a quest for more information from the Shard."

"Good girl." Gunther patted her head. "You learn quick."

"And the crew?"

"Their punishment cannot be disregarded, though a compromise isn't impossible. I can put you within ear-shot of Chief Arbitrator Kwok, but you must accept his judgement, whatever the outcome. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

Seeing that Gwen was satisfied, the Tower Master turned from his siblings-in-craft, growing radiant as he rose into the air. A second later, an inspiriting wave of compelled worship bathed the trembling sailors.

"Nanang, you're acting Captain until we return. If anyone asks, this ship, its crew and its contents are now under the jurisdiction of Magus Song of Cambridge, Class VI War Mage. Until we return, repair the engine and keep the Shielding Crystal stoked."

"AT YOUR COMMAND." Nanang and his ilk wept with spontaneous affection, exhibiting so much passion that Gwen felt sorry for the mind-washed sods. "We live to serve, O Deva of Batari Sunan.

"See how easy it is to be worshipped, intentionally or otherwise?" Alesia whispered beside Gwen's ear. "Say, do you think Gunther would look dashing in a priest's coat and collar?"

"Dashing and celibate."

"All the more fun to sin with…"

"Strewth, you two." Gunther furrowed his brows at the grinning women. "Get changed!"

Alesia squeezed Gwen's arm when Gunther stepped from the lower deck, strapped from chin to heel in a suit of Aries MK IV Dragon Skin.

"So dashing..."

"Dashingly excessive, don't you think?" Gwen fought down an impulse to laugh. Standing in his form-fitting golden armour, all Gunther needed were a pair of green pantaloons and DC would be sending Sydney Tower a DMCA notice. "Who are you supposed to be, the King of Atlantis?"

"It's a bit much, eh?" Gunther flexed his Leviathan-scale gauntlets. "This is only the second time I've worn it. Would you believe me if I told you the design favours function over form?"

"You're going to draw every Dryad on the island." Gwen shielded her eyes against the Dragon scales, each polished with a Mithril solution then Rune-carved to enhance Gunther's Radiant Aura. "You know how they like men and Radiance."

"All the easier to lead us to Sufina," Gunther said, toning down his passive aura. "If you're that uncomfortable, I've got a normal suit of armour as well, standard military issue."

"No, no." Gwen shook her head. "Think of it like this. We'll see you coming even in a dense jungle."

Standing beside the Tower Master, Gwen felt her stylised Shen-teī cloth-plate had lost its lustre. Alesia as well appeared meek in her combat suit, despite it being visually titillating and dyed in her favourite colour.

"Then let's not dawdle." Gunther's scales bathed the deck in light. "Gwen, do you remember where the Grot was?"

"Sure." She produced her Omni-Orb. "I think."

The trio had three routes to reach Sufina.

One was to enter from the edge of the forest and trek their way toward the Dryad's Grot; the safest but the most time-consuming path.
Another involved flying overhead until the Orb ceased movement, then dropping down spells-blazing to clear whatever critter or monster lurked below; the fastest route.
The final method, curtesy of Gwen thinking of alter-world GPS, was to triangulate the whereabouts of Sufina's Grot by flying circles around the island and taking note of the Orb's directional changes. After that, the party could penetrate the tropical jungle by clearing an inconspicuous patch of forest a convenient distance away.

After careful deliberation, the Apprentices chose the third route to avoid becoming bogged down by monsters hiding in the tall grass, furthermore repelled by running Desolation Aura on full-blast. Small, poisonous critters attracted to the warm flesh and blood of the casters would be naturally wary against an aura of all-consuming hunger. At the same time, monsters and Demi-humans strong enough to resist would know to avoid the trio.

Ten minutes in, they found their first Dryad half-draped across a Banyan's fanned bowers. Upon sighting the invaders, the island nymph swung down on the tree's tendrils, her willowy hair a waterfall of flowers, her long limbs tanned Fragipanni stems bespotted with pale blossoms. In the Dryad's hair was a matching host of pink blooms, adding a dash of colour to the hard-bodied native.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"You?" The Dryad's eyes alighted on Gwen. When the woman tip-toed forward, Gwen once more questioned the intelligent design behind gifting Dryads ginormous bolt-ons. "I know you."

"We're here to see Sufina." Gwen raised both hands to communicate her peaceful intentions.

"The Lady knows of your arrival, although..." The Dryad licked her lips. "Perhaps my sisters and I can entertain your companions on her behalf? Your last visit thoroughly seeded the grove."

"Not this time. Our business is urgent and private." Gwen fought down a throatful of bile as she imagined a host of Hai-wrought seedlings skipping about the place. "If you could take us to Sufi forthwith, your kindness will be much appreciated.

"How appreciated?" the Dryad made eyes at Gunther.

Gwen had planned and rehearsed her next response, and so quickly produced a mote of Almudj's Essence. "How about a taste of paradise?"

The Dryad's eyes widened, revealing the hard yellow orbs beneath the mossy lashes, both burning with desire. "Oh, you sweet thing, I could just eat you up."

"The feeling is mutual." A jolt of Void Mana circulated through her Desolation Aura. Visibly, the moss and grass around her feet wilted.

"Come." Gwen watched as the woodworker's wife stiffly obliged, evidently changing her mind. "Lady Sufina awaits. And I trust you not to renege on the reward."

As before, the woods seemed to part, cleaving a path from the wilderness. Lead by their guide, the trio met no resistance, feeling both silly and overdressed.

Some thirty minutes later, the woods attained a density akin to Amazonia. The number of Dryads coming out to watch them had also increased to about a dozen, each more nymph-like than the last, all making moon-eyes at the stone-faced Tower Master. The atmosphere grew incrementally more fragrant as well, becoming so thick with pollen and perfume that Gwen wondered if they had stumbled into a supernatural bordello.

"We're in an arboreal sub-space," Gunther informed the two of them, his nose wrinkling. "Did you sense the change, Gwen?"

"Yes. It feels like when I quested in Peru." Gwen felt thankful they came prepared after all. In a sub-space like this where distance grew arbitrary, anything could happen.

"Keep your eyes peeled, and don't touch anything."

"Right. Should I bring out Cali?"

"No, let's just keep going. Allie?"

"Gunther," Alesia whispered conspiratorially. "Check out the tits on that one."

"I shan't." The wisest man Gwen knew walked on like a monk.

Much to the trio's relief, their anticipation for a perfumed ambush proved unfounded, for the forest path grew gradually familiar, becoming akin to the sheave-strewn passage in their collective memories.

"We have arrived." The Dryad withdrew beside her, drawing to Gwen's height.

Gwen dispensed a tiny mote of her blessed Essence, then watched the wood-woman susurrate with joy as she retreated.

"Oh my…" Alesia grew misty-eyed as she walked the landscape of their yesteryears. "This is Master's…"

"I know." Gunther touched her arm.

While her siblings indulged in the past, Gwen felt overwhelmed by an inscrutable feeling of familiarity, one that blended with recollections of her Master's Grot, obfuscating her attempts at elucidation.

Her time to think was short, for after another stretch of dubious distance, the Apprentices of Kilroy promptly arrived at their desired destination.

In front of a vined gateway, the unmistakable profile of Sufina stood beside the atrium of Henry's Grot.

Spontaneously, the girls' eyes misted over, for though Sufina was a changeless being, the Familiar had nonetheless changed.

During their halcyon Sydney days, Henry had suffered Sufina to assume whatever guise she coveted. Sometimes, when the mood was right, Sufina toyed with wearing Gwen's likeness, while other times, she wore Alesia's. Now, Sufina was herself— a flawless, peerless beauty, but one deeply entrenched in the uncanny valley of human-mimicry. Now, from her fiery tresses of mossy hair to her pale blonde skin to the dagger-feet stalks that made up her disproportionate lower limbs, their former "Mother" appeared the perfect creation of an otherworldly doll-maker.

"Lady Sufina."
"SUFI!"
"Sufina…"

Three separate namesakes emerged from their lips, each indicating the place the Dryad held within their hearts. To their eldest, Sufina was a feared matron, a mentor and a tangible manifestation of their Master's valour. Alesia, alternatively, saw Sufina as a mother of sorts, filling the void of womanly-affection in her formative years. As for Gwen, Sufina was a companion of her Master and her teacher, as well as a friend.

"Children grow up so fast." Sufina's lukewarm response dimmed the fire in their hearts. "And what is this? Combat suits? Are we foes and not friends?"

"Master taught us too well." Gwen bowed in an immediate attempt to thaw the icy atmosphere. "You're to blame, Sufi. The Familiar we know is, after all, a force of nature and a peerless princess of thorns. I wouldn't dare intrude on your domain without a certain conviction."

"Do you fancy yourselves a match for me?" Sufina's hair lengthened, adding to her menacing air. "A Dryad Hierophant, now untethered from Henry, with the might of my Grot at my beck and call?"

"Sufi…" Alesia stepped in front of her husband and Sister-in-craft. "Sufi, we would never hurt you. Ever."

"Allie." Sufina outstretched a hand. "You always were the sweetest one. Come to Sufi, dearest."

Their Sister-in-craft went to the Dryad despite Gunther tugging on her suit.

"My child." The Demi-goddess of Abang cradled the murky-eyed Alesia close to her bosom with the infinite patience of a Saintess. When she gazed up at Gwen and Gunther once more, they could see the mocking defiance in the Dryad's eyes, as if to deride them for their faithlessness.

"Sufina." Gwen felt her heart soften at once. Though she hated the uncertainly, she chose to err on the belief Sufina yet recalled their time together. "It's good to see you again. May we see Master?"

"You may." When their mother-figure stroked Alesia's hair as one might soothe a kitten, their adult sister began to sob like a lost child, making Gwen's heart sore. "This way."

The tunnel of roots the trio passed through wasn't a tunnel at all, but something of a pocket-space, the kind materialised by willing the Astral Plane into substance. When the party re-emerged, the scene that accosted Gwen was nothing short of dreadful.

There in front of the trio lay Henry's garden.

And there, under the leafy pavilion of a great Banyan with impossible autumn colours, sat a lone figure beside a vine-wrought table, occupying one of four chairs. There was a basket of manna bread on the table as well, sitting beside a trio of cups and a jug of what could only be Golden Mead.

At the sight of Henry's propped-up body, Gwen felt every follicle raise in alarm.

"Master!" Alesia pulled from Sufina and ran for the life-size diorama.

Gwen attempted to retrieve their sister, only to be intercepted by her brother.

"Let her be," Gunther said, shaking his head. "Allie needs this."

"But—"

"There's no Necromancy here," Gunther assured her. "This is Alesia's way of keeping a part of herself... alive, I guess. As for Sufi..."

Gunther sighed.

Gwen's chest rose and fell, ambivalent that her Master's body was being used as a prop. Meanwhile, Alesia reached Henry Kilroy's reposed remains in a matter of seconds. From afar, it would almost appear as if Henry was alive and receiving his second Apprentice.

The implication of Sufina playing dolls with Kilroy's carcass made Gwen question whether Sufina's lingering sentiment should be extinguished after all. The dead must have peace, or so she was taught. Or was that a prejudice she had inherited from her previous incarnation? Logically, shouldn't a lucid Sufi trump all else?

"Gunther, do you think…"

"I somehow doubt we could." Gunther's eyes scrutinised their sometimes summer home. "There's a tangible difference about the Grot, do you feel it?"

"I do!" Gwen nodded vigorously. "Doesn't it feel too... real?"

"Aye, the sub-space here is unusually stable, more than even when Master was alive," Gunther agreed. "I don't think I can disrupt it even if I tried. Breaking out of here is going to take a lot more than a Mass Teleportation scroll."

"Is Sufi tapped into the ley-line on the island?"

"She's entrenched deeper than that," her brother-in-craft replied. "Something's different about Sufina as well. Dare I say she is possessed of a higher bearing than I had anticipated? She says she's a Hierophant-class, but that's a lie."

Across the room, Alesia knelt, holding Henry's limp hands. To both Gwen and Gunther's chagrin, she kissed the dead man's palms, then placed the cold flesh against her cheek.

"How do you mean?" Gwen shivered.

"Like Golos to Ruxin." Gunther met her gaze. "Or… like the Yinglong to Almudj."

Gwen's throat bobbed twice in quick succession. "My Essence can elevate Golos' chicks. Sufi has my Scale, maybe. Do you think..."

"It's a possibility, but the Scale is yours."

"I made Master draw on its Essence to help him recover from Sobel—" Gwen tried to recall a fuzzy past. "By which I mean, I told Sulfina to oblige in Master's stead..."

The two peeked at Sufina, who was presently observing the father-daughterly interaction between Alesia and their Master's remains with immeasurable benevolence.

It took a whole other minute for Alesia to take her place on the chair Sufina had set up, after which both Dryad and sorceress awaited Gwen and Gunther's arrival.

The very idea of Sufina serving tea to three alive Apprentices and a dead man unscrewed her brain from its spinal stem, but what else could she do?

Following her laconic brother, she arrived at the table, joining her sister as Alesia mopped up snail-trails left by overwhelmed eyeliners.

"I am so glad Sufi preserved Master." Alesia dabbed the corner of her eyes. "To think I never saw Master again after that arch-whore tricked us out of the Grot."

The two of them humoured their middle sister while Sufina flittered about the foursome, placing plates and forks, filling their cups with Golden Mead from the jug.

"Drink," the Dryad commanded, her amber orbs holding captive Kilroy's wayward children. "Partake."

Alesia took a bite of the manna bread, moaned softly with remembrance, then drank the mead.
Gunther took a sip to wet his throat, then swallowed the manna slice wholesale by rolling the dough into a ball.
As for Gwen, the moment Sufina's Golden Mead graced her lips— she found the source of her earlier befuddlement.

ESSENCE!

There were motes of Almudj's Essence in the Golden Mead, mixed in with the Dryad's life-force!

To the others, the dew might revitalise their mind and body. But to Gwen, she felt akin to a stagnant billabong long cut off from a meandering estuary refilled by a thundering wet season.

There was no doubt in her mind now that Sufi had kept Amuldj's keepsake.

"You know, I dreamt of this moment." Sufina's voice came to them as though in a hazy daydream, filling the chamber with its echo. "Henry and our Apprentices, sitting under the shelter of my bower, drinking mead and breaking bread, speaking of things tomorrow would bring."

"In this, I think you and Master's wills are one," Gunther said. "Our teacher's kindness enfolds us all, even in his passing."

"But of course, your Master's gone," Sufina continued to speak. "But this moment doesn't have to be. Wouldn't it be nice if we remained together like this, forever?"

The garden grew suddenly silent. Above the trio, the Banyan tree's accomodating canopy turned gothic. Sufina stalked about their Master's body until she cradled Henry's head against her bosoms.

"Sufina." Gunther swilled the liquor in the cup. "I sincerely hope that was a passing fancy and nothing more."

With her hands placed on Henry's shoulders, the Dryad's exquisite face looked down on Kilroy's most auspicious Apprentice. "Is that how a child should speak to his mother?"

"Gunther doesn't mean it as a threat," Gwen intervened, realising she had to diffuse the situation before Alesia could add kerosene to the embers. "Sufi— you love us, I hope, and we all love you. We're not going to harm you, and I know you don't want to harm us. If you did, why go to all this trouble? Why put together this scene if you cared to hurt us? We can't humour your wishes, not exactly, but we can compromise."

Sufina's expression grew pained.

"Master's gone." The Tower Master's tone softened as well. "That thing in your arms is a cicada husk. Were it not out of consideration for you, Sufi, I would have cremated Master to protect his remains against Sobel and her allies."

"Why are you here if not for Henry?" Sufina asked.

"Respect, assurance and closure," Gunther explained. "That and we would like to enquire about Master's surviving Grimoires for Gwen's sake. We're also here for Almudj's Scale— if you have it."

"The Scale…"

"Yes." Gwen gulped, realising the moment was upon them. "Sufi, I understand what happened to me now, both during the Field Trip and while repelling Sobel. Almudj had made me his Vessel, and the Scale was my Conduit to my Patron. I need it back."

The Dryad studied their youngest, her gaze landing on Gwen as though for the first time. "Henry had an inkling… but you were so weak back then, so insignificant and mewling. How could someone so meek be a Vessel to a Mythic? Your body would explode like an overripe melon."

"I wouldn't say I am meek anymore." To illustrate her point, Gwen circulated Essence until her presence appeared magnified. Then, the formerly 'meek' Vessel cupped her hands as if in prayer, filling the void in-between with simmering, rainbow-hued Essence. "You see, I've hit a growth spurt of late. Care to check for yourself?"

To the trio's relief, the Dryad nonchalantly sauntered from Henry's seated corpse to stand beside their youngest, conceding her earlier threat to the realm of impulse. With the bare bark of the Dryad's belly an inch from her face, Sufina cupped Gwen's hands with her long digits, then dipped a finger into the Essence puddle.

The flesh of Gwen's palm tickled as a mossy mass of micro-roots kissed her skin like a host of dancing spiders.

"Oh…" The Dryad's face grew flushed, causing the woodgrain beneath her complexion to darken. "This… the Elder One, and yet it isn't…"

"What you're tasting is 'me'." Gwen grinned. "I've been cultivating Essence on my own. Do you like it?"

Sufina placed a hand against Gwen's cheek. "What have you become, Gwennie? What would your Master say?"

"I am a Void Mage, a self-sustained variant." Gwen affectionately wrapped her arm around the giantess' waspish waist. Unexpectedly, the Dryad's torso was warm and supple. "Master succeeded in me, Sufi. He has found his Omni-Mage, and I'm not even half as crazy as Sobel. My sanity is certified if you must know— I passed all my Mind Mage evaluations with flying colours. If Master were alive now, he would have no more regrets— Sobel aside, of course."

"Sobel…" Sufina's lips curled into a snarl. "She's still alive?"

"She is." Alesia hung her head in shame. "It took us some time to recover after Sydney."

"When will I see the harlot's head?"

"After Gwen's graduation," Gunther said. "We who are Henry's hounds will purify Master's legacy. Would you like to join us, Sufi? If you aid us with Tree Stride and Terraform, we'll make far better progress cornering Sobel."

Sufina wasn't the sort of Demi-human who needed to breathe, but she sighed nonetheless in a humanistic manner. "I fear not."

Both Gunther and Alesia appeared puzzled by her refusal.

"I would have imagined you to possess more zealousness," Gunther commented. "But of course, if your feelings have dimmed…"

"They have not." Sufina played with Gwen's hair, then left their youngest Apprentice to walk toward the Banyan at the centre of the grove where her Heart Tree rose up and above them. "And they will never diminish. Because of this…"

At the Dryad's touch, the tree's bark parted, revealing a network of fibrous sinews tethered around what looked like a root-knot. When the Apprentices channelled mana into their eyes, they saw that the knot was roughly spherical and semi-transparent, with what looked like a pulsing bean of intense vitality inside an eggshell of tender green fibres.

"The Scale!" Alesia yelped. "Eureka, Gwennie! That's your Scale!"

Gunther's eyes glowed with diagnostic magic. "I don't think that's her Scale anymore."

"I know." Gwen herself inherently understood the "Conduit" they now observed was no longer her keepsake, else the resonance she should be feeling would have filled her with unbidden euphoria. "I don't feel anything from it."

"That's because it's waiting." Sufina steered Gwen toward the heart-tree of the Grot with a hand. "It awaits your awakening touch."

"It is?" Gwen looked to Gunther for instruction. Finding none, she looked toward Sufina for elucidation.

Sufina extended a lithe limb over the Heart-Scale, then let drip a drop of Gwen's Essence.

The Scale pulsed.
The Apprentices suddenly heard the roar of rough surfs eroding golden shores, soothed only by the bubbling silt caught between the peeping roots of mangroves.
They smelled in their nostrils the hard clay and felt the fine sediment of the red soil baked until cracking by a harsh, cloudless sky.
They tasted the brilliant fragrance of eucalyptus on their tongues, spicy, aromatic and enveloping.
Then in their eyes, they briefly saw a pink lake of such largess that their feeble human minds struggled to encompass its full expanse.

"There is always a Tree," the Dryad said, finding no unusualness in her aphorism, using no enjambments or emphasis, not even a lilting syllable to punctuate her point. "And there is always a Serpent."

Alesia nodded, as did Gunther.
Comparatively, Gwen's cognisance thundered with the force of an August storm whipping fields of cane into mass hysteria.

"There is always a Tree."
"And there is always a Serpent."

In between her well-rounded ears, the Elf Queen's truth at the Tree of Tryfan trumpeted in her brain with the force of a Barbanginy.

_Tree_.
Serpent.
 _Sufina_.
Almudj.

_Holy fucking shit!_ Her mind grew riotous as her eye once more rested on the eggshell enveloping her Scale, now nestled in the womb of Sufina's Heart Tree.

Did... did her patron Serpent just _knock up_ her patron Dryad?