Gwen deeply regretted not preemptively learning Flight.

The last time she flew, Alesia had held her hand, pulling her through the sky like a human balloon. Now she was flying again; only she wasn't in control of the elements that held her aloft. As much as Almudj aided her with the manipulation of flight, she still drifted toward the battle like a drunk trying to give backseat directions to a deaf driver, in a car without a steering wheel.

Her chest ached. It was an excruciating delay, to see that the battle was so close, yet she was physically too far to aid her siblings.

"Almudj, can we go faster?" Gwen pleaded with the air.

A sound of rustling leaves ensured that their velocity increased, but still the Tower and the dark sun loomed in the distance, with its ring of combatants mere specks. Once the euphoria of murdering Faceless faded, Gwen felt the distinct pang of contemplative self-loathing.

Then, there was the battle ahead. Gwen swallowed a reflexive surge of bitter bile when she thought of fighting Elizabeth. It was one thing, after all, to run over hot coals in a madcap moment, and another to see it smoke and smoulder while one considered the consequences.

As she contemplated badgering Almudj for another burst of acceleration, she heard the unthinkable ding of a Message spell blossom beside her ear.

Quickly, she extracted her Message device from the storage ring and activated its receiving Glyph.

The voice that came through almost made Gwen burst into tears.

"Gwen! Are you alright? Are you still in Rosebay? Have you evacuated?" Richard fired off a volley of rapid questions.

"I am… alright." Gwen wasn't sure how to explain it all. "How's everyone else?"

"We're inland, well, the family is inland - your mother included. Surya's offered up his estate as a camp. I've volunteered to stay behind as rearguard and to pick up stragglers. Where are you now? I'll come and find you."

Gwen discerned her surroundings. She mid-air and gravitating towards a deadly bout of aerial combat with a dark, all-consuming sun of void controlled by a psychotic grandma.

"I am safe," Gwen lied. "Don't worry about me. I'll join you guys soon."

"Alright." Her cousin's voice was full of relief. "I hope the Message Towers stay active— keep me posted if anything happens. I am at the Strathfield interchange; we're trying to get the NoMs as far away from the CBD as we can."

"Richard, wait!"

"Yes?"

"How's Percy?.. and Dad?"

"Percy is holding together pretty well. Huang and company should be at the estate by now. As for your dad, I can't say I know."

"Thanks." Gwen didn't want to pursue to the matter any further, at least for now.

"See you soon."

"Okay."

The reactivation of the Message Towers brought new hope, as well as anxiety for Gwen. Bidden by a naive faith, she held the device and dialled in the Glyph for Yue. An unwelcome silence informed Gwen that Yue's augur-band was either out of range or no longer existed.

"Jesus!" Gwen shielded her eyes.

Another enervating burst of foul energies erupted from the Black Sun, matching the depressing her heart, matching her breath with perfect synchronisation.

Shielding the eyes had been a good idea; without warning, a tremendous, fiery mass now gathered.

The mass that consolidated above the Tower was larger than anything Gwen had ever seen nor experienced. A raging ball of plasma over a dozen meters across! Like a shooting star, the meteor shot toward the void-sun, light and shadow meeting in antagonistic disharmony.

Gwen's hopeful jubilation was short-lived, in the next minute, she witnessed the dissolution of the fiery cataclysm into the maw of the shadowy sun. Even with the dark orb significantly diminished, its consuming void persisted in its intensity, vexing the city with its vampiric rays.

In the aftermath, there remained a flaming Efreet.
Alesia!
Gwen's eyes glowed electric with intensifying emotions, inspirited by the glorious sight of a fiery Alesia. If her Sister-in-craft had survived, then surely her friends as well!

Then once again, the reality of her companion's desperate battle darkly dawned upon Gwen. If Alesia's meteor couldn't defeat Elizabeth, if Gunther, who had instantly dismembered enemies that had toyed with Gwen, couldn't overcome Elizabeth - then what could she do?

Her highest level of offensive spell remained Lightning Bolt.
Even empowered by Almudj, she had only mortally wounded Faceless, not blasted him into atomic dust.

Even now, her Divination Sigil reeled with horrid foreshadowing. Her stolen powers of premonition howl out the writing on the wall, the vision within the crystal ball.

It wasn't as though her Void spells worked on Elizabeth.
Her Conjuration spells were at best tier 4.
Her Evocation remained woefully low at tier 3.
Most importantly, Caliban and Ariel couldn't fly.

Only a moment ago, the Void-sun had just swallowed a high-tier, strategic class Evocation of mass destruction, further empowered by Alesia's absurd Affinity with Elemental Fire.

For herself, even with Almudj's aid, her Lightning was at best an Affinity in the high six to eight.

She was just an intermediary; Gwen realised— she wasn't a force of nature. She wasn't even an emissary, like those druidic masters of European lore. She was merely someone lucky enough to possess a smidgen of the Mythic's essence, a fox borrowing the tiger's terror.

"Kin." As if sensing her despair, Almudj's resonate telepathy made its presence known, the intensity of its consciousness the scorching heat of the sun-baked clay.

"What do I do? Almudj?" Gwen felt stupid asking the Mythic, but she didn't know what else to do. As much as she was willing to join the fray, she wasn't the hot-headed Alesia, to whom victory was predetermined, and defeat merely meant one should try harder.

"Sing," came the reply, accompanied by a deep and resonate breeze that transformed into the thrum of rolling thunder building toward cacophony. "Dream."

The serpent's telepathic speech was echoed by a sound of chanting, joined by the stamping of feet. From nowhere, she heard the low song of the didgeridoo, saw the bright colour of body-paint in earthly-ochre, red-rust and bone-white. From thin air birthed the crispy clasp of the watering stick, clap, clap, clap and the undulating chant of Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!

A surge of vital, emerald energy flowed from the Kirin amulet, suffusing her body, empowering the Dream.

Round and round the corroboree went, circles within circles.

She was there, amidst the gathering, moving her body, a migloo ghost swaying to the beat of the thumping cadence. Faster and faster they went. The material world grew undefined, the edges of figures above and below her, in front and below her, less distinct.
Here was the Unformed Land.
Here was where all the world began.

"Kapi! Kapi! Kapi!"

There was the sudden sound of crashing thunder, the snare-drum hush of rain as archery, the pitter-patter kiss of dewdrops.

She was Singing the Snake, bringing the tempest.
The Dreaming was a ritual of understanding the world; of making real that which was unreal and insubstantial through the telling of a tale. It was the language of creation, the grammar of its great stories. It was the beginning of knowledge, from which came the laws of the world. It was the old-time of the ancestor beings, and the new-time of the children, whose dreams made the world rainbow-hued.

Serpents and Suns.
Suns and Serpents.

Gwen knew not what magic compelled Almudj, but she knew it wasn't the compulsion of elemental energies channelled by Sigils. It was older, more ancient; it was an act of the world, an act of creation and annihilation. She knew not what mythology this world's people followed, but she had known many mythoi of her own.

She knew now what to do.

"Almudj," Gwen felt her mind intimately linked with the vastness of the serpent's own, connected by the moment of shared Dreaming. "You must swallow the Black Sun. What belongs to the earth, must return to earth. The usurper will be expelled."

A sweeping scent of briny air flowing across endless coastlines affirmed the telling of her story to the Rainbow Snake.

She felt the residual energy of the Kirin amulet suffuse the air, manifesting into the Dreaming, calling upon the serpent, bridging the space between Uluru and the Tasman Sea.

In a second, her supernatural vitality drain away, the connection she'd shared with Almudj grew less intimate. Beside her now was the crude platform of the spell-beaten Tower, the collateral damage of battle on full display. Above Gwen, Alesia was wrestling with an elemental force that was impeding her mobility. Gunther moved to shield her, but the two became caught by dark tendrils that laid in wait for them.

A pressure began to build overhead. The troposphere grew dense with moisture as elemental mana began to swirl. Gwen's storm was coming. Gwen quickly fired off a Message spell to her Brother-in-Craft, still trapped within the tendrils.

"Gunther! We have to leave this place— NOW! The serpent is coming!"

"Gwen?" came the reply. "What Serpent?"

"No time to explain! Get ready!"

Gwen drew upon what little power that remained.

"Barbanginy!" she incanted.

A bolt of emerald lightning shredded the dark strands of void-tendrils enveloping Gunther and Alesia. Still entwined, her siblings' smoking form tumbled from the sky. Whatever had been attacking Alesia must have sensed that it was no match for the primal might of Almudj, for Gwen bore witness to the improbable scene of a female Djinn tearing itself from Alesia and dematerialising into the Elemental Plane of Fire.

With the rabid Djinn gone, Gunther resumed control of his Flight spell. The Paladin of Sydney Tower cradled the semi-conscious body of Alesia in his arms and turned to regard Gwen, who was levitating in the air.

"How are you flying?" he asked incredulously, drifting closer.

"No time!" Gwen stressed, pleading with her eyes. "Gunther, you need to take us out of here now!"

Improbably, the cloudless sky began to thunder and shower at once.
Gunther looked up, bewildered by the turn of events.

"What's that up there?"

"Gunther!" Gwen's voice became several octaves higher.

The Radiant Mage reached out and took Gwen's arm, pulling her closer.

"How far?"

"As far as we can go!"

Gunther channelled his contingency mana reserves.

"Teleport!"

Just as Gwen and her company reappeared just over a kilometre away, a vortex of water began to form above the dark sun.

As if sensing the imminent danger, thousands of tendrils sprouted from its surface, moving to intercept the rapid descent of the primal force that now propelled towards it.

A serpentine head emerged from the swirling vortex, materialising as it moved downward with the ponderous, unstoppable force of a natural calamity. Its scales scintillated, casting a rainbow hue over the darkened landscape, illuminating the failing light of the late afternoon sky with a dazzling play of colour. Then the rest of its body materialised, kilometres of it, stretching upward until it disappeared into the stratosphere.
Almudj opened its maw. Its jaws distended.

The dark sun hovered helplessly for a moment, gazing upon the beginning and end of the universe.

From everywhere, Almudj's maw enveloped the Black Sun.

Alesia stirred in Gunther's arms; her eyes widened when she saw their new companion.

"Gwen?!"

"Alesia, you're hurt!"

As much as Alesia wanted to converse with Gwen about the when, where, how, and who; she couldn't. Her attention had been entirely usurped by the spectacle of a Mythic, kilometres in length, swallowing an enervating sun.

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"What…"

"It's the Rainbow Serpent," Gwen said appreciatively. "Almudj has come to help us."

"It has a name?" Alesia marvelled, wincing at the effort of making even the most minute of exertions.

Before them, Almudj was coiling upon itself, collecting its gargantuan form into a coil. It looked to be settling in for a vigorous digestive session.

"Tired." Gwen heard Almudj's voice within her head, accompanied the by the soft, sinking feeling of bubbling mangroves.

"Rest now, Almudj," she said to the looming presence, so large that it hurt her eyes.

Gunther and Alesia both stared at Gwen, Gunther's expression magnitudes more exaggerated than Alesia's. Gwen smiled coyly in response.

"Are you communicating with it?" Gunther inquired breathlessly.
Gwen wasn't sure what the correct answer might be, but she trusted Gunther enough to give him the truth.

"We have a connection." She nodded.

Gunther flushed with apprehension. As Paladin, threats had to be contained. "Gwen, do you know what this…"

Before Gunther could complete his astonishing acclamation, he was interrupted by two Message spells that bloomed beside his ear.

"Shit!" Gunther cursed. "Gwen, if you can communicate with the serpent, tell it to leave, right now!"

"Wha—" Gwen was taken back by the sudden turn.

"Oh no," Alesia intoned weakly beside Gwen. She too, had received her Messages. "Gwen, you have to tell it to go at once!"

The trio suddenly found themselves in shadow.

Above them, there was a shuddering of space - a tear in the material plane.

There was a sound of air displacing violently.

Two immense structures shot into existence; shunted into being via the expenditure of an unimaginable volume of crystal reserves.

The first Tower to appear was Brisbane, headed by Magister Fei Lin, the Battle Mage of the Grey Faction. Unlike the Sydney Tower, whose brutalist architecture favoured simplicity and uniformity, the Brisbane Tower was a verdant, towering modern structure of transmuted glass reinforced by rings of banded steel. The entirety of its exterior inundated with plant life, from vines to palms, to towering figs that grew between the greenhouses.

The second to materialise was the Melbourne Tower, one of the first Australian Towers to be constructed. Unlike the Brisbane, its structure was a long-bodied monastery with four elegant sandstone spires that soared toward the heavens. Stained glass depicting scenes of valour covered every facet of its vaulted halls. Where the other Towers had favoured height, the Melbourne Tower favoured length and girth; it sat atop a massive rocky platform kept afloat with embedded enchantments and carved into the stonework, altogether shaped like a sword. Its headmaster, Guldric Uther, was the fabricator responsible for overseeing the construction of Towers and Shield Stations, a veteran battle-master of the Warring Faction.

"Lin! Uther! Stand down!" Gunther shouted into the Message spell.
It was a grievous miscalculation on Gunther's part.

In the chaos of the moment, however, Gunther's warning came too late.

As expected, neither Tower listened to Gunther's eleventh-hour commands. Even if they had heeded the Paladin's warning, the chain of command remained firmly in the hands of each Tower's headmaster.

Unlike Sydney Tower, these flying fortresses were fully operational the moment they shifted into existence. Upon their decks and battlements, a full roster of just under a thousand Mages manned their arnaments and spires, operated its engines, infirmaries, and artifices.

Instantly, decahedron rings of complex glyphs powered up atop each of the Tower's spires. Mandalas dozens of layers in thickness, activating a powerful Abjuration barrier that would protect the Tower's Mages from external attacks.

Onc the shield was in place, a cascade of spells began to flow from the Tower's battlements and spires, its range and damage empowered by the inbuilt enchantments of the battle-fortress.

Explosions rocked the surface of Almudj's scales, sending shimmering shockwaves through the serpent's body.

Almudj roared, a booming cry rolling across the heavens, churning the blue sea below a frothy white. It hissed at these human-made structures, striking at them with buffeting wind and rain. A bolt of emerald lightning crashed against the Melbourne Tower, scattering across the shield and showering its inhabitants with harmless sparks.

"Jesus, Gunther." A sultry female voice announced itself audibly around the trio. "Your city's a right mess. Where's this Black Sun Eric kept harping on about?"

"We're going to need to work together if we want to take this thing apart." Uther's gruff voice came through, his baritone cutting through the noise. "It's bloody gigantic. You'll be cleaning up the harbour for weeks."

As the first spell stabbed into Almudj's scales, Gwen felt a sharp pain in her bosom as though someone had forced an ice-pick under her fingers and was in the process of degloving her hand. Whatever the serpent had felt from the assault was being transferred directly to her via their empathic link.

Gwen cried out in alarm and clasped her head between both her hands.

"Gwen!" Gunther cursed, rapidly attempting to explain the situation to the Magisters of each Tower.

Sensing her distress and agony, Gwen felt the connection between her and the serpent diminish. As if in response to her loss of favour, the charmed "air" which had held Gwen aloft likewise dispersed.

Gwen felt a sudden lurch; suddenly, she was very aware that she was half a kilometre up.

"Gunther!"

Her brother-in-craft caught her mid-fall. Gwen felt Gunther's forceful arm support her midriff, his fingers roughly digging into her skin. Before she could thank him, they began to descend. The weight of two additional women was too much for the Flight buff. A look passed between Gwen and Gunther, but neither made a move to comment.

"Gwen, get the snake to leave, now!" Gunther pivoted to the crisis at hand.

"Almudj!" Gwen begged for the serpent to flee. "Go! Leave this place!"
Almudj replied with a vision of wildfires, flaming tornados and ravaging lightning strikes raining across a verdant jungle. If these usurpers wanted to harm its life, then it would return them to the earth.

"No!" Gwen pleaded. "Almudj, you must go! Please! You cannot defeat them!"

Gwen had recalled Alesia stating that a Battlemaster of the Ten could, with the aid of a Tower, take on a mythical beast. While Gwen had a feeling that Almudj was likely more potent than a millennia year old Dragon, she was in no mind to test that hypothesis; not now, and hopefully not ever.

In her mind, Almudj was nature, a part of the landscape, akin to an ancient, sentient continent. It had no contest with humanity, at least not until Elizabeth and her ilk tried to steal its egg. It had no reason to involve itself with the city until Gwen had begged it to come and destroy the usurper.

Almudj would have been perfectly happy, entirely blissful, even if man wiped themselves from the face of the oceanic continent entirely. She did not want the creature to become a pariah, another victim of her people's selfish conflicts.

"Almudj!" Gwen pleaded. "Please go! Go home to the place where all rivers began, never return to the land of man!"

"Hold your fire!" Gunther roared into the Message Spell. "The creature is not hostile to us! It just ate the Void Mage and the Black Sun!"

"Absurd!" Uther's voice came across with annoyance. "No such beings exist!"

The mythical serpent moved its body upward. To the surprise of both Tower's Magisters, it did not attack them. Instead, it found a safe space between the Towers and began to lift itself toward the sky.

"I am standing down," Lin announced. "Walken confirmed your story."

"That man's word is worth less than Goblin shit." Uther's voice had a barking quality to it that reminded Gwen of a bloodhound.

"I don't give a shit what you think." Lin's voice was relaxed and tempered. "Is this the right time? Sydney's just been in one hell of a tiff. Whatever happens to Walken after this, let me first apologise on behalf of our Faction. We got a lot of rebuilding ahead."

"Hmmph!" Uther was far from pleased.

As both Tower's ceased their barrage, the colossal serpent raised its majestic head and ascended into the air. As sudden as it had appeared, it dispersed into fragments of scintillating light, forming a rainbow that spanned the space between the two levitating towers.

It was a surreal sight.

Only a few minutes prior they were locked in mortal combat— now the scene resembled a vision from Elysium.

"Goodbye, Almudj," Gwen intoned beside them, barely audible.

Gunther's steely eyes fell to the two of them, his voice low and severe. "Gwen, whatever happens, everything about the snake is between you, Alesia, and I."

Gwen nodded. That was the way she wanted it.

Alesia likewise nodded weakly, her body boneless and wasted in Gunther's cradled arms. Her long lashes fluttered and were still. It had been a long day for all of them, but especially so for Alesia.

"Is Elizabeth alive?" Gunther questioned Gwen. "Could she have escaped?"

Gwen shook her head.

"I don't know. Almudj couldn't say. In Almudj's eyes, we're all usurpers of the land. The only thing I can confirm is that Almudj took everything that was in the Void-sun."

"That doesn't tell us much."

"No, I am afraid."

Gunther's expression remained rigid until he forced himself to take a deep breath. When he next spoke to Gwen, her craft-sibling's voice was much softer.

"No, it's fine. Whatever happened, Sobel's lost all her profit, thanks to you. All that vitality, all that power, all taken by your snake friend. I'd wager the initiation of that ritual took a lot out of her."

"Almudj," Gwen interjected softly.

"Hmm?"

"Almudj, that the name of the serpent."

Gunther rolled the name in his mouth a few times.

"Keep it close to your heart, Gwen. The name of a Mythic being holds great power, and it gives power to the one who can invoke it. If Almudj can hear your voice, if you have that connection, then that is a rare thing which many others would covet."

Gwen agreed.

"Can you call upon it again? What are the costs?" Gunther enquired carefully.

Gwen's hand moved subconsciously to the Kirin pendant, where only a mite of Almudj's elemental essence remained.

"I don't think so," Gwen replied with a voice full of forlorn loss.

"A shame," Gunther intoned sagely. "But perhaps, it is for the best. For yourself, and for Almudj."

Gwen was in full agreement with Gunther. Almudj was not a creature their world deserved.

Now that the danger was over, the trio descended slowly; soon they would land upon the shattered steps of the Sydney Tower to inspect the true extent of the damage.

Still held safely in Gunther's arms, Gwen placed her head on Gunther's chest, feeling the heat of his body against the chilling wind blowing in from the sea.

"It's just us now," Gunther's voice quivered just a little.

The man was right. Gwen reflected solemnly. For the three of them, for the students of Henry Kilroy, the legacy of Elizabeth Sobel would be the fateful chain that bound them. They would have no peace, no solace, no restful sleep; until they hunted her down and offered her head on a silver platter to the Mageocracy.

"Cold?" Gunther asked, and Gwen nodded demurely.

"Alright, lets land and get a hot cuppa," Gunther replied. "Its been a long day."

Gunther Shultz loathed loose ends.

The Paladin of Sydney watched as the medical staff bundled away Alesia on a levitating stretcher; Gwen followed her sister-in-craft, wrapped in a thick blanket and nursed by a cup of cocoa.

The girls were safe, and he finally had the privacy necessary to think about the despoiled future.

Below the Melbourne Tower, dusk had brought the dying light of day. The city of Sydney, so-called the crown jewel of Oceania, the most prosperous of the Frontier Cities, was now a husk of its glorious past.
Above its ruined facade, three Towers hovered; their empowered 'Light' beams long white fingers groping for targets in the darkness below. From the CBD, columns of oily clouds rose from destroyed skyscrapers and looted suburbs, punctuated by the sound of Evokers at their terrible labour. In the space between the Towers and the city, flights of Combat Mages in groups of fives and sixes swept the perimeter, occasionally stopping to put out a fire, or start a new one.

Gunther tasted the acrid, burning air pinching his tongue. The city wouldn't be safe for the foreseeable future.

Mermen hid in the sewerage, in nooks and crannies of the city that would remain flooded until discovered and drained like abscesses.
NoMs were supposedly rioting in districts where they felt unhappy and oppressed, making them no-go areas for the rescue corps. Tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of civilians required medical treatment.

There there were innumerable people, NoMs and Mages, still trapped under rubble, collapsed passages, byways and highways.
There was the unenviable task of rebuilding the Shielding Station.
The endeavour of reconstructing the infrastructure.
The political obstacle course of repopulating the city with new migrants, both Mages and compliant NoMs.
The labour would take years, perhaps even a decade.

Gunther hated to admit it, but Elizabeth had proven a terrible point: That the Towers were the answer, they were also its greatest weakness. Inside its ivory halls, the best of them had lacked conviction, while the worst of them had been full of passionate intensity.

As a gentry Magus who had spent his childhood in a Tier 1 city; Gunther feared the future wasn't going to go swimmingly.

In the short term, it would be faster, and safer, to simply move the city's precious cargo of Mages to the nearest Tier 1 city. In contrast, the NoMs would remain to rebuild under the watchful eye of a Military Government. Sydney would be a city ruled by Martial Law until its zones were deemed safe enough for human habitation.

By that same virtue, the repaired Tower would need a new Master.
Walken was going to be lucky if he escaped permanent Stasis; Ferris lacked the gall to become the militant leader of a Frontier city. The other Magisters were busy with their domains, which left Gunther himself to apply for the position.

But Gunther wasn't a Magister— yes, his combat abilities far exceeded the average Magister. With Uther's vote and a few supporting tickets from the Middle Path Faction, there should be no questions as to his ascension. But did anyone want to assume the responsibilities of a broken city?

Gunther realised that he did.
Here was his home, his Master's city, and he would see it thrive once more.

His thoughts then turned to his sisters-in-craft.

Alesia's physical body would need both magical healing and physical therapy. Her astral body would need re-tempering and time. She had done more than what was necessary for the defence of the city, and he would ensure that she received the best medical attention that the Mageocracy offered. At that moment when she'd almost perished, he'd felt genuine distress, a heart-rending regret that he couldn't give her the happiness she so wanted while she lived.

Perhaps, Gunther thought solemnly to himself; it was time. He wasn't getting any younger, and Alesia would likely duel a competitor d'amour to the death. He was confident that Henry would have approved, happy even, that someone could finally keep an eye on his wayward daughter.

As for Gwen, Gunther's feelings were ambivalent. These crises that seemed to emerge one after another, all of them seem to somehow orientate around Gwen. First, his Master decides to take her on as a protege; then she became involved with Mark Chandler. When that was said and done, his Master wanted Gunther and Alesia to welcome their youngest Sister-in-craft. To ensure that Gwen had a smooth progression, they orchestrated the whole Inter-High fiasco, where the intimate involvement of his Master ultimately led them this dark place.

But blaming the girl was absurd, Gunther knew, even though he couldn't help feeling jaded by the coincidences that revolved around Gwen's uprising. She was like the proverbial black cat— all who crossed her path become victims of bane and boon.

"No."

Gunther took in a breath of crisp, cold air to clear his thoughts. If his sister-in-craft hadn't appeared in the eleventh hour, they would probably be all dead, and the Towers would be now fishing for their cold corpses in the ruined city below. He should be thankful to Gwen, for her sacrifices and her actions, whatever they may be, in bringing the serpent to their aid. Whatever had occurred, the city owed Gwen an irredeemable debt.

But all of that would have to wait, for the fires in the city still burned long and bright.

It was over.
The invasion wasn't over, but for Gwen, whatever troubles of the city below no longer concerned her.
Now she could focus on the tasks that mattered.
Yue.
Elvia.
Whetu.
She was sure that they yet lived. If Alesia could have escaped the Grot, then surely her friends could have fled its collapse also.

She wanted desperately to shake Alesia awake and demand to know how she survived, where her friends may be; but her sister-in-craft had fallen limp in Gunther's arms, too spent to remain lucid.

She now sat in the Melbourne Tower's hospital bays.

To the physician's surprise, Gwen had a perfect bill of health. Much to the shock of the healers: she was the most hale person they had ever seen. When the physician persisted in inquiring if she would mind participating in some tests, Gwen fled the room and joined Alesia in her private quarters.

Her friend and mentor, however, would have many months of recovery ahead. As the last night died, Gwen sat beside Alesia, waiting impatiently for the sorceress to recover from the milk of poppies and other semi-magical potions and poultices used to treat her.

Now alone with her thoughts, she was once again reminded of the last twelves hours. Scene by scene, her mind worked through the cataclysmic change that had overcome her peaceful life with such violence and velocity.

Her Master— dead.
Her friends— disappeared.
Her Sister-in-craft— mortally wounded.
Her city— a ruined hell-scape of malicious Mermen, rioting NoMs, and loose magical creatures.
Herself— an avenger who had taken the satisfying morsel of blood-debt with a smiling face.

More than ever, she felt lost and without direction. Yet, where does she go from here? What would the future hold? All she could think of was wanting to rush off to save Yue and Elvia, and she didn't even know where or how.

A Message spell bloomed beside her face.

Gwen answered it quietly.

"… Opa?"

The voice that came through was the gruff tenor of a moustachioed angel.

"Gwen, my little Cucu Perempuan! Are you alright? Tell Opa that you're alright!"

Suddenly, Gwen didn't feel so strong, so stoic, so powerful. She felt her eyes becoming cloudy with unbidden emotions that were no longer in her control, her chest heaved; she could keep it inside no longer.

"Oh…" She began, "O Opa..."


Consciousness dawned.

Gwen swivelled with haste to wakefulness that she gave herself mild whiplash. She met the surprised expression of the nightshift nurse, one hand still hovering over her shoulder.

"S-sorry," Gwen mumbled, lifting her head off the bed. Her eyes blinked, still puffed from the exhaustive emotions of last night. When a silver thread of drool lingered between herself and Alesia's sheets, she reddened with mortification. Together with her dishevelled hair, it gave her a pitiable, tragic air.

"There's a foldout bed in there, sweetie." The nurse, a middle-aged blonde woman with a gentle face, stifled a mirthful chuckle and pointed her to the guest's couch. They were in a VIP room reserved for executives and thus, the furniture allowed for overnight stays. It wasn't unusual for loved ones, Apprentices, or close associates to desire the opportunity to remain watchful over the patient.

"Thank you." Gwen removed herself from the bedside. It must be early morning now, for a soft phosphorescent escaped the drawn curtains. In a few hours, the new day's sun would shed its light on the full extent of the disaster below.

The nurse patiently recorded the biometric readings of Alesia's condition before turning to Gwen.

"Do you want something to eat, hon? We have a full-time kitchen down the hall. There's an officer's mess on the second level as well."

Gwen intended to decline, mindful of Alesia, but the motherly matron's reminder signalled to her subconsciously that she hadn't eaten since the morning. They were supposed to be having a luncheon after the Rosebay challenge, and now it was the next morning. She had gone without food for a full seventeen hours.

When her stomach loudly protested, the nurse couldn't help but audibly chuckle.

"Come on then." she inclined her head. "It's just downstairs and across the hall. I'll take you over."

Gwen stood and followed the nurse.

"My, you're a tall one!" the woman remarked as they proceeded down the hall. "You might want to get a fresh change of clothes. The canteen's a real riot of folks at the moment. Mostly junior officers."

It was then that Gwen registered that she was still wearing the loose robe she had slung over her body after her gleeful murder of Faceless. It was still speckled with dark blood, especially when combined with the hospices' slippers. If she sauntered into the mess right now, she would resemble an asylum escapee.

"Yes, I'll change first, thank you."

The nurse smiled gently and directed her to a suitable changeroom, sliding herself between the narrow doors into a mirrored cubicle.

She pulled the robe from her body and stored it within her ring, then wiped herself down with a wet towel. The cubicle had a tall mirror that ran the length of the door frame, within which she could see herself. Against all expectation, she appeared hale and well-toned, different from the anorexic body she had inhabited for the last six months.

It was the gift of vigour from Almudj, whose restorative essence had given her a new lease on life.

How long would it last this time? She wondered. How many Void spells could she sustain before she appeared spent once more?

Sobel had seemed immune to the bane of negative enervation.
As for herself, who knew?

She raised a hand and touched the jade Kirin around her neck, caught between the swell of her modest breasts. Its texture was smooth and fleshy in the manner of lamb-fat jadeite, cosy, like her flesh and blood.

The Amulet was another secret to unravel in the days to come.

Putting her thoughts aside, Gwen sorted through the folded piles of clothing held in stasis. With consideration for the company of stone-faced Mages and crisply-uniformed officers, she opted for the penguin-coloured dress she'd worn for Rosebay. Her Mary Janes, now a veteran of many crisis and combats, had seen better days.

The shit these shoes had seen— Gwen puckered her lips. Maybe one day the pair would awaken as an enchanted pair of sentient shoes. I have no mouth, and I must scream, and all that.

While she brushed out her shoulder-length hair, coiling the dark cascade into a convenient braid, she an unbidden thought struck her chest.

According to Faceless, Debora had been dead since a year ago.

If so, who was going to tell Debora's parents and how should they recount it? Would a kindly worded letter from the Frontier government suffice? Debora's parents were well aware that their daughter was best friends with her, and had even seen lumen-pictures of the two of them, cowboy hats and all, hanging out arm-in-arm in the outback.

Just the thought of those moments made her ill.

With a wave of her hand, Gwen collected her towels, her clothes and her makeup, packing away her troubled thoughts along with the miscellanea. After a final inspection of her reflection, she left the changing stall and made for the canteen.

The mess hall wasn't far from the VIP wards, accessed after descending a set of stairs and traversing through the corridors. The galleries of the Melbourne Tower were created for utility rather than security, focused upon the pragmatic delivery of goods and services to the frontline Mages. The section which Gwen inhabited was reserved for officers, with the medical wards situated on the lower floor, a few corridors from the junior officer's shared quarters, while the senior officers had their quarters on the second floor.

The nurse had been right. Gwen heard the noise before she'd even neared the rowdy premise. When she'd arrived, engineers, soldiers, medical staff and officers packed the mess to the rafters. Food was served buffet style in heated trays. Beside each counter, a loose line of hungry Mages made their way through the selection, primarily congregating near the roasts.

Curious eyes rose from saucy plates to regard Gwen as she entered, surprised to see someone of her age present within a Monastery-Fortress of Melbourne Tower. A few of them grinned, making her doubt herself. The bacon looked good, however, and so she ignored their enquiring looks. Retrieved a tin tray, she proceeded to gather a towering assortment of toast, muesli, yoghurt and packets of fruit preserves. When she passed the bacon line, she again felt her skin crawl. Was it her Divination Sigil? As a novice, she couldn't tell. A few chuckles exchanged amongst the junior officers, then much to her chagrin, one of the young men began making his way over.

Gwen found a table that was already seated and placed her tray upon the stainless steel benchtop. The already seated soldiers were pleased to see a teenage girl joining them, but then noticed the young man purposely approaching them.

The junior officer must be somebody— because the men and women around her left their seats without so much as a glance.

Gwen cursed. Lower her head; she hoped that appearing so engrossed in her breakfast that the man would surely take the hint and realise that conversation was undesired.

A looming shadow appeared over her buttered toast.

Without a clang, the young man sat across from her, placed his hands under his chin, and stared at her intently.

The presumptuous officer wasn't a bad-looking sort, but she was hardly in the mood. The single stripe of blue-on-navy by his collar indicated his rank as Pilot Officer, likely one of the Aerial Combat Mages stationed within the Tower. Gwen knew most of the young Mages stationed in the Sydney Tower, which meant this particular junior officer was either from Melbourne or Brisbane.

"Hey." the young man split his lips to reveal a set of gleaming teeth. "The name's Daniel. What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Gwen wasn't a novice in the art of the insufferable "pickup". She could read his braggadocio like a cheap book. Usually, she would move away or politely bear with the unwanted attention, but she was in no mood to be pushed around by some entitled imbecile.

She looked up from her plate and met his eyes, channelling a little lightning to her eyes so that her iris took on an intimidating electric hue. She raised a piece of toast in one hand, and without breaking eye contact, proceeded to butter it.

"If you don't speak English, I've got a Translation Stone you can borrow."

Gwen followed up by patiently lathering strawberry jam over the toast. She folded the bread over and delivered the calorie infused morsel to her mouth. Still maintaining eye contact, she chewed.

Daniel held his composure, but when his friends began to snigger, his patience was at an end.

"You know, it's rude to ignore someone who's speaking to you. Who's your Master? I ought to have a word about your manners."

Gwen's eyes glowed.

A static charge passed between the metallic benchtop and the offending heckler. Daniel tore his hands from the table as though bitten by something fierce, tumbling backwards and tripping over his seat. With a clang that drew every eye from the room, the junior officer fell onto his elbows and made a right spectacle of himself.

"You little bitch!" He spat, climbing up on all fours. "How dare you! I am an officer of the Frontier Aerial Service!"

Gwen felt such ire simmering at her throat that she was confident murder was an option she was willing to consider. Her eyes, two vehement orbs full of malice, was ready to swallow the young man whole. With a word, she'd all on Caliban, and then—

"Oi! Miss Song doesn't want to speak to you," they were interrupted by another junior officer. This one added a quick, "Sir" after glancing at her harasser's lapels.

Gwen swallowed the murder rising in her chest, and regarded the three who'd come to her aid. She was surprised to find that she knew these young officers. The one who had spoken was Julius, one of the young men she'd often conversed with on her trips to visit Master Henry.

"Out of my way, Cadet," Daniel spat. "I have business with that girl."

"I am afraid I can't do that, Sir," Julius said again.

The other two beside him stood lockstep with the cadet. Watching the spectacle, someone in the crowd asked his neighbour who might this 'Ms Song' be. Another turned to address the questioner.

"Lord Henry's protege."
"The late Lord Kilroy?"
"The very same."

A few of the watchers took on expressions of schadenfreude.

"Poor Hopkins, there goes his promotion. Wait til Lord Gunther hears about this."
"Oh shit."
"He's dogmeat."
"Rest in pieces."

Her harasser's face turned ashen.
Gwen wondered if now was a good time to brush the matter off. There were Mermen below and a city to be Purged.

"Hopkins! Stand down!" a voice familiar to Gwen called out from the corridor.

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Hopkins snapped to attention, his subliminal training kicking in.

The rest of the canteen likewise stood to attention as a man badged with triple stripes, two broad and one thin, entered the mess. A secondary insignia with a stave and two entwined serpents showed that the officer hailed from the medical corps. As the crowd parted, the military Mages moved to salute, while the civilian Mages stood aside to show their respect.

"Major!" Daniel Hopkins stood ramrod straight, sweat already beading on his forehead.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The moustachioed officer turned his seawater-eyes toward Gwen and gave her a benevolent smile.

"Jonas!" Gwen uttered in surprise. "You're here!"

"How could I not be?" Jonas replied. "I am sorry I couldn't be there when it all went down."

"I am sorry too." Gwen sighed, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face. Her voice became low and ridden with guilt. "Alesia's badly hurt."

"I know, we're here to see if there's anything we can do."

"We?"

Two more figures appeared behind Jonas, edging through the crowd.

"Paul! Taj!"

"Gwen! Good God, am I glad you're alright!" Paul came through the crowd and embraced her, squeezing her tightly. "After I sent you guys through, we'd lost contact! I almost died from worry!"

"I am alright right now, but…" Gwen squeezed the Conjurer back, feeling guilty that she had to be the bearer of bad news.

"Yeah, I know."

"Hey Sparky, I am glad you're alright."

The Abjurer exchanged a hug with Gwen as well.

"Thanks, Taj," Gwen returned the big man's hug. "Where's Billy?"

"He's locked up with the intel division until all of this's cleaned up," Taj replied. "Else he'd be here in a heartbeat. You know he's still got the hots for you, right?"

"Taj!"

The men shared a good laugh at Gwen's expense. Through dozens of years apart, what they shared in common was a special love for Alesia.
As Gwen and the decorated squad freely conversed, the crowd around them could no longer contain their curiosity.

"Did you see that?" a voice spoke excitedly. "The girl's acquainted with Major Durn."
"There's also Captain Phillip and Captain Mckay!"
"You idiot, didn't you hear, she was the late Lord Henry's protege."
"But Lord Kilroy's only got two…"
"Use your brain!"

Having exchanged pleasantries, Jonas turned to the petrified statue that was Daniel.

"No rest for the wicked, Hopkins, you're on double duty for the next fortnight, is that understood?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Daniel's voice rose an octave higher. Any punishment was preferable to Lord Gunther's displeasure.

"Dismissed!"

Daniel snapped a salute and moved past them. He paused when he reached Gwen's side.

The man bowed.

Gwen nodded, embarrassed to be the centre of attention.

"So, making trouble and its not even 6 AM." Jonas chuckled and pulled out the bench below them, offering Gwen her seat. "You want to join us in the upstairs mess? It's for senior officers, better food, better decor, less noisy."

Gwen shook her head.

"I was done anyway."

"You should eat more! You're stick and bones! Put more meat on there like Alesia."

A wane smile cracked across Gwen's lips.
A female junior offer brought them tea and coffee, setting them down carefully beside each of them. Gwen was surprised to find that she was among that number.

"So, a hell of a mess, huh." Paul began, "What'd you guys do?"

Jonas went first, speaking about his experience during the entire ordeal. With the incoming Leviathan and the loss of Message Towers, he'd gathered up the men under his command and made for the CBD. There, they'd met up with other officers leading rag-tag bands of civilian militia and made a stand against the incoming tide of Mermen. As the conversation continued, Jonas admiringly spoke about seeing Gunther flitting about the city, as well as hearing a strange story about a masked Mage with the power of pink salt, saving civilians wherever he went.

"You too?" Taj raised an eyebrow. "One of my junior officers said that she was saved by a Mage who changed the Mermen into pillars of pink salt."

"Which one?"

"Katie from the third ground division."

"Oh, she's a nice gal, glad to know she's alright. Fantastic Transmuter, that one," Paul commented with a whistle.

Their conversation skirted around the topic of Alesia for a while, with Gwen listening bemusedly to their military banter.

"So, what happened to the Rosebay girls, the juniors, I mean?" Gwen asked Paul.

"After you guys left, we holed up for a while. But when things started to get shaky, I used the emergency glyph key that Ferris left behind and opened up a Teleportation circle to their sister school, Lilith's."

"Did everyone get out?"

"Yeah, thank God. Lilith's three suburbs away from the Parramatta River, so they weren't flooded. They WERE hella surprised though when their teleportation circles fired up by themselves, though. Almost blasted us when we started appearing by the dozen."

"What did you do afterwards?"

"Tried my best to link up with the boys. Didn't find anyone, not with the Tower down."

The group kept on with small talk for a while until Jonas paused mid-conversation to listen to a Message. The medical Mage turned to the table and stood from his chair.

"Alesia's up."

Gwen stood up so fast that the bench shot out behind her, almost tripping Paul as he tried to rise.

"Let's go together," Jonas advised.

The group followed.

They made their way down the corridor and up the stairs until they reached the VIP ward. The very same nurse was clearing out a cart full of bandages and other medical supplies.

She looked up to see Gwen and her company of ranking officers.

"My, my, you cleaned up well." She beamed brightly at Gwen before turning to Jonas and tilting her head respectfully. "Doctor Durn."

"Sister." Jonas nodded back. "Is Magus de Botton's condition optimistic?"

The nurse said nothing. She handed over a chart clipped to her cart. Jonas' face turned a shade darker as his eyes scanned the report.

"Jonas…" Gwen fought the acid reflux.

"Let's go in."

The four of them filed into the room.

Alesia was leaning against a pillow, staring out the window through drawn curtains. Though early, the horizon outside had already taken on a warmer hue, casting the room in a soft, velvety shadow. The bed had been elevated, giving Alesia a comfortable incline upon which her head rested.

The once vivacious Mage's lips were bloodless, her cheeks sallow and sunken, her bright eyes became buried in two dark, concentric circles.

Gwen's eyes moistened. To see Alesia like this, so wasted and defeated, was heartbreaking. To think the first time she'd seen her, Gwen's thought Alesia the most beautiful, most vibrant woman she had ever seen in all her years.

"Gwen, everyone." Alesia's sonorous and sultry voice now had an exhausted quality to it.

"What happened?" Gwen questioned Jonas. "She wasn't this bad yesterday."

Jonas sighed deeply and moved to the bed.

"You always push yourself so hard…" he said softly.

The other two were visibly disturbed as well. Palpably, the atmosphere grew despondent.

"Jonas…"

"It's soul burn," Jonas replied. "An advanced form of mana burn. When a Mage channels mana to manifest spells, they tap into the Astral Body, via the means of command Sigils, tapping into the elemental planes to empower the phenomenon. When mana burn occurs, unspent mana lingers in your astral body and causes physical harm to your body in the material realm."

"Soul burn is when a Mage tries to over channel spells beyond their capacity and ends up exerting their Astral Body itself. When one's soul is damaged, the physical body grows frail and consumptive."

"Is there a cure?" Gwen inquired anxiously.

"Time and care," Jonas said, turning to Alesia. "Meaning no more combat for the foreseeable future."

Alesia groaned.

"I am serious," Jonas intoned sternly.

Before Jonas could speak again, Gwen reached out with a trembling hand for Alesia.

"Alesia," Gwen began. "Can you tell me if…"

"The girls are alright," Alesia replied confidently, guessing Gwen's enquiry. "Whetu as well. They're in the Grot still."

"They're alright?" Gwen asked sceptically.

Alesia nodded.

"Hypothetically, of course. What I mean is that I don't see why the trio wouldn't be alright, so long as they remain in the Grot."

"Where are they now? Where's the Grot?" Gwen inquired desperately. She wanted nothing more than to teleport into the Grot right now and rescue her friends.

Alesia's eyes fluttered with fatigue, becoming short of breath from the exertion of speaking. Jonas moved to support her back, channelling a gentle stream of positive energy into Alesia's torso.

"Thanks, Jonas." Alesia breathed out. "Gwen, I say the girls are alright because the Grot is a real place, not a pocket dimension that collapses when the caster dies. What Master had created was a direct portal that led into the mystical home of the Dryads, Sufina's private sanctum. It's in a Black Zone."

"A Black… Zone?"

Alesia nodded.

"A place not fit for human habitation."

Gwen's distress mounted.

"You said they were safe! If they're in a Black Zone…"

"I know, let me finish." Alesia continued after a short pause. "Neither Gunther or I know where the Grot is exactly, but I know that it's in a place called Kapulauan Riau, an uninhabited island-chain off the coast of Singapore."

Gwen's skin turned clammy.

"That's… Mermen territory." She recalled her Geography lessons. Most of the cities of Micronesia and Indonesia peninsular was lost a decade ago. The only beacon of human civilisation there now was the port-city of Jakarta, as well as the most significant transport hub in Oceania - the Fortress city of Singapore.

"Never fear, the Sprites who inhabit those islands are old and ancient. I would rather venture to say that they're worshipped by the Mermen, who trade them the treasures of the sea and the occasional human for Golden Mead."

"What do they need humans for?" Gwen asked alarmingly. "Do they eat them?"

Alesia's face took on a spot of colour.

"Anyway," Alesia coughed. "Usually, when a conjured a creature loses its Master, it also loses its ego, its animus, together with important, shared memories. However, sentient creatures such as Dryads have independent memories that exist outside of the empathic link shared with the Conjurer. It means that as long as the girls remain in the Grot, Sufina should be caring for them as we speak."

"And Whetu?"

"He'll be… kept busy, I imagine."

Gwen's quizzical look made Alesia roll her eyes.

"What I am saying is that they're all safe, at least for a while. Dryads have long memories. As long as they don't try to exit the Grot, they'll be fed and kept plump and healthy until rescue arrives."

"Presuming they stay put?"

"Yes."

"But Yue's with them."

Gwen's stipulated point made Alesia think about her apprentice. Her eyes stared into the middle distance after masticating a few scenarios in her head.

"They may be in immediate danger." Alesia's face took on a paler hue. "We need to rescue them as soon as possible!"

"What's the fastest way to Singapore?" Gwen asked.

"No!" Jonas lifted his hand from Alesia's back; the sorceress sagged back into the cushions. "You need to rest!"

"Jonas, please…" Alesia begged.

"No means no."

Gwen looked from Jonas to Alesia.

"I have to find them," she said sternly. "I don't know how, but I have to. I am beyond persuasion."

"It's too reckless, Gwen!" Paul interjected.

"Paul's right, you're just going on a suicide mission." Taj likewise offered his advice.

Gwen felt taken aback by their logical apathy.

"I need to go," she spat back at them, feeling a boiling, irrational resentment rising in her chest. "I'll go myself if I have to."

"How?" Taj, who was more unmediated thanks to his Earthen element, snapped back at Gwen. "You have no ship, no power, no resource, no team. How are you going to go?"

Gwen's fists balled on reflex. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to punch Taj's face. Yue and Elvia. They were her friends! Her only family in this world! What was there to live for if not for the company of Yue and Elvia? Had it not been for them, she would have lost all hope in this second life, taken by the undertow of the Void.

If only she could be like Alesia or Gunther— having the power and freedom to do what she needed! If she was powerful like Gunther, or even Alesia in her prime, she could fly off right now and save her friends.

"Shut up!" Gwen felt her voice croak. Unbelievably, the frustration was causing her to tear up. "Shut up, please."

Taj lowered his eyes. "I understand how you feel, but your wish is impossible."

"How about..." Paul interjected.

"We can't," Jonas cut off Paul's rhetorical question. "We have duties here."

"But I can't leave them! I need your help!" Gwen pleaded.

Her demand hung in the air, strangling the conversation until Alesia disrupted the awful tension.

"Alright folks, listen to me." She spoke plosively, wincing she did so, pronouncing each of her words with forceful intent.

"Taj, Paul, Jonas. I am asking you—"

"Alesia…" Jonas began.

"Shut up and listen," Alesia intoned assertively, demonstrating her famously short fuse. "I am not dead yet."

Alesia took a deep breath.

"Nothing gets past this room."

Taj nodded. He formed a circular invocation with his hands. A clear mana shield sprang up around them, cutting off sound and contact from outside.

"Gwen is the youngest apprentice of my Master."

The three held their breath.

"She is far more talented than me. She can access Conjuration, Evocation, Divination, even a bit of Transmutation."

Three throats swallowed simultaneously.

"She is in command of the Lightning element, as well as the Void."

The men turned to Gwen for affirmation.

The teenager nodded demurely.

The men quaked.

Alesia continued her merciless onslaught. "So listen well to what I am telling you now..."

"One day, Gwen will become more important than all of us. One day— she will bear the legacy of my Master, become an Omni-Mage who will carry on the will of Noblesse Oblige. One day, she may be the Sorcerer Supreme who brings peace to our cities, mayhap even to humanity itself. Do you understand?"

"Alesia, that's too much..." Gwen began, but Alesia cut her off. The exhausted Magus turned to face her teammates with eyes that were serious and purposeful.

"But Gwen is not yet strong, just as I wasn't strong when you'd all first met me. When I needed help, I had you guys to back me up, to fill in for my weaknesses, to look out for me. You guys were my pillars."

The men listened intently, their eyes filling with nostalgia and remembrance.

"Gwen also has pillars," Alesia continued. "She has a kind and loving friend with a fiery temper, just like me, called Yue Bai."

"You all know Yue and how fond I am of her. When I think of her, I think of myself when I was younger. Her talent is likewise extraordinary, and may one day exceed even mine. Assuming she has a chance to grow."

"Gwen has another pillar, her spiritual and physical support, called Elvia Lindholm."

"Elvia is sweet and innocent and loving; when you hold her in your arms and smell her hair, you can feel at peace. She is a restorative balm for the soul."

Alesia had to take a deep breath before continuing.

"Gwen cannot lose her supports. She cannot lose those girls, just like I cannot lose you guys. If any of you guys are in danger, if any of you are stuck in that Grot, I would jump off this bed right now and crawl over to Indonesia, do you understand?"

The trio listened intently; a gust of dust must have blown into the room, for allergies simultaneously afflicted their eyes.

"I can't tell you the specifics, but I am telling you right now, that were it not for Gwen, you'd all be dead. We owe her our lives, all of us! My life, your life, his life, Gunther's life, every Mage in the damn city! She did that for us, without asking for anything in return. So when I ask you to help Gwen, it is so that you and I can pay back just a little of that debt..."

The room was silent but for the sound of Alesia's exhausted panting.
Jonas was the first to reply, then the others followed earnestly.

"I understand."
"Me too."
"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. I am tired." Alesia sunk back into bed, her face white as a sheet. "You ungrateful bastards almost killed me all over again."

"Thank you." Gwen held Alesia's hand and kissed it. She raised the cold flesh and placed it upon her cheeks, where it became stained with the wetness escaping from her eyes.

"Little fool," Alesia said quietly. "Take care of my men."

"I will."

The four of them watched Alesia once again fall asleep, her chest rising and falling with comfortable cadence. They filed out of the room and gathered in the corridor.

"We're in your care." Jonas nodded solemnly towards Gwen.

Gwen turned to the three of them and bowed deeply.

Paul interjected, preventing her from making the full supplication.

"We're all banking favours with a future Magister," the translocation specialist joked. "Anyway, we want to do this. For you, for Alesia, it's important to us."

"I am glad I can help as well. I was feeling something awful back there," Taj confessed. "Though we're missing a number for a full party."

Jonas tapped his fingers against his knees.

"Don't get too ahead of yourselves," he warned them. "We still got a major hurdle ahead."

The three turned to regard the Major.

"What?" Jonas looked at them incredulously. "You don't think Lord Gunther is just going to let Gwen waltz into a Black Zone, do you?"


Gunther's temporary HQ found its home in the Melbourne Tower, where the residing Master, Guldric Uther, had been kind enough to lend the Sydney Mages a portion of his Tower as a Forward Operating Base.
Upon her arrival, a plague of reporters was already beating down the door to the sanctum, swamping the Paladin.

Thus far, the opinion of the press centred upon two narratives— one, that Gunther and the Tower have failed the city, two— that Gunther was a saviour wunderkind who pushed back the inevitable.

Within the Tower itself, there was the matter of Walken's punishment, Henry's negligence over the issue of Elizabeth for the last three decades, and finally, the old Master's funeral.

The funeral especially became a point of controversy, as some argued that a dead Magister served a perfect scapegoat. In response, Gunther promised retribution and blood for anyone who dared taint his teacher's obituary.

With the death of their Master, the fact that Alesia and Gunther were Henry's pupils escaped into the public domain. As for Gwen, her inclusion among that number would wait, for the crisis and controversy of the moment would only serve to endanger her. For the interim, at least until Alesia was back in shape and Gunther could solidify his base, her anonymity offered the best protection.

Likewise, the power vacuum left by the sudden department of two Magisters, both Henry Kilroy and Eric Walken, as well as the death of over a hundred Mages, opened up Tower positions which were salivated over by those whose aspirations had been stifled by the influence of the incumbents.

Gwen walked behind the men as they approached the double doors to Gunther's office, appearing as an attaché to the Major and his two Captains. Quickly, the reporters parted. While Alesia's adventuring party wasn't as famous as the flame-hearted madcap sorceress herself; the reporters knew well that Major de Botton had fought beside Gunther Shultz and was mortally wounded.

Still, some couldn't read the mood.

"Major Durn, can you comment on the current condition of Magus de Botton?"
"Captain, what is your opinion on the unknown phenomenon known as the Dark Sun?"
"Major! How do you respond to accusations of negligence in duty on the part of Lord Kilroy?"
"Captain!"
"Major!"
"Sir!"

The group pushed through the reporters, whose keen noises could smell the story cascading off their uniforms. It was unfortunate then that none of them noticed the pretty girl demurely following the men, looking like a nervous intern. When they'd reached the entrance, two guards opened double doors to reveal Gunther at his table, inundated by a mountain of paperwork.

The team passed through, then the doors boomed close behind them, cutting off the reporters.

"Good to see you guys. Gwen, I am happy to see you've recovered."
As he spoke, Gunther pulled himself away from the hilly terrain of crisis-reports with the expression of a crystal miner who's finally seeing the light.

It was the first time Gwen had seen Gunther in such an officious capacity. The room that her brother-in-craft had appropriated was an impressive rectangle with tall, vaulted ceilings covered with murals of demons and angels. Behind the Paladin, twin bay windows looked out into the still smoking city below, a reminder of the man's precious time that they were taking up.

With a word, Gunther waved away the men and women who'd been working through documents and memos and told them to take a coffee break while he sorted out some private matters. Several of the staffers looked toward Gwen with knowing familiarity written over their faces; one of them even acknowledged her presence and made a little nod.

Gwen approached the table and bowed, causing the Radiant Magus to stand. Gunther skirted the table and gave Gwen a cordial embrace, telling her to be at ease and to treat the place as if her own. He then left the table and opened up the alcohol cabinet, pouring out several glasses for the gathered guest.

The men received whiskey. Gwen received a glass of icy water.

Gingerly, Gwen sipped the chilled water to calm her nerves. She waited until they were all settled in, then informed Gunther of her request.

When the group had finished their tale, the Paladin fell silent.

"All feeling and no brain, I'd thought you better than this, Gwen," Gunther noted displeasingly. "Now of all times, to send you away is something that complicates matters unnecessarily."

"Gunther, I have to help them. I can't back down on that..." Gwen met the Magus' steely eyes with her own, trying her best to keep her tone controlled and tempered. She had already presented their case and now engaged the issue from another standpoint. "Besides, it's our Master's Grot! It has to be you, Alesia, or myself, and I'm the only one who's free. After all that happened, God knows what Sufina would do if strangers forced their way into the Grot. The place is special for all of us, if only because Sufi is our companion."

Gunther clinked the ice in his glass.
The atmosphere was reserved at best. Gwen and her companions nursed their drinks and held their breath while the gears turned in Gunther's head.

"Fine," the Paladin said finally.

The team breathed sighs of relief. If they were to leave without Gunther's blessing, the matter would be infinitely complicated.

"But I am not letting you just go out there without some contingencies. You're still missing a member."

"Who do you suggest?" Taj inquired, swishing the melted ice in his drained glass. Gunther motioned for the crystal decanter, but the Abjurer declined.

"Someone close to Gwen, who knows how to keep a secret. Someone highly competent, capable and trustworthy, who wouldn't expose Gwen's secrets."

"Surely you're not suggesting yourself?" Paul raises an eyebrow. While it would be pretty amazing to have Gunther himself joining them, it would come at a high cost to the city, to Gunther, and the Towers. Unlike Gwen, the de facto leader of the Sydney Tower can't just uproot himself in a crisis and go galavanting into a Black Zone.

Gunther returned the half-glass of amber liquid to the mahogany table with an audible thunk.

"I know the matter is urgent, and that you're desperate to leave." Gunther turned to Gwen. "But give me a day, at worst two, to sort out transport, identification and the location of your last member. For the time being, I highly recommend going to see your Grandfather. If you should recall, he was Master's squadmate. He can probably tell you more about Sufina, as well as the whereabouts of the Grot."

Gwen felt sudden epiphany dawn upon her. She'd been so anxious over Gunther refusing their request to rescue her friends, that she'd completely forgotten about Surya! The Old Codgers Club had known each other since they were young men and women, serving in the Saurian Conflict and then through the Coral Sea War. Undoubtedly Opa could shed some light on the matter.

"Thank you..." With a moist twinkle in her eye, Gwen allowed her next words flow over her tongue before allowing it to escape her parted lips. "Brother Gunther."

Gunther paused for a barely perceptible moment; then his face broke into an earnest grin.

"With one title, you've dug a hole I can't possibly escape from," he chuckled accusingly. "You're better than a Mind Mage, Gwen."

"I am grateful, Gunther, Really," Gwen implored emotively. "Thank you for helping my friends."

The rest of the group watched on with indulgent, tender faces. As Mages serving the Tower, they've all experienced the intimacy of becoming someone's brother-in-craft. Sometimes, a sibling rivalry sours when competing for the favour of their Masters. Other times, something beautiful is born - a bond of trust and camaraderie created from shared goals and convergent philosophies.

"Come, sister."

To Gwen's surprise, Gunther leaned across, opening his arms. Her astonishment lingered only a second before she wrapped her long arms around his broad waist. Though it was unfortunate that Gunther smelled as though he'd worked through the night, Gwen didn't mind. With her entire being, she welcomed the warmth of a brother with such an unshakable sense of responsibility and diligence for duty.

"I am sorry about our Master."

"I am too."

When they parted, Gunther gingerly took Gwen by the arm. His bear-like mitts extended to hold her small white hand within his own as incanting a familiar invocation that Henry had performed in the past. A gentle glow suffused Gwen's body, and she felt something disappear within the realm of her astral body.

"The… Geas?" Gwen marvelled. She had forgotten entirely about her Geas! It was by blind luck that she hadn't given up anything about her bond with the Rainbow Serpent, else things would have assuredly taken a turn for the worse.

"Give me your Tracking Ring, Gwen."

Gwen removed the Enchanted tracker from her ring finger. It was a gift from Henry that revealed her position when scried by a Diviner and placed it in Gunther's hands.

Beside her, Gunther likewise removed a silver band from his fingers.

"Don't let Alesia see this," Gunther joked. "Knowing her, she'd immediately misunderstand."

Gunther's band was a loop of pure mithril, glinting with that distinct, mana dense aura specific to the ultra-rare mineral. Meeting at the apex of the crown was a priceless cats' eye that sat between tiny claw-footed mountings.

"A Contingency Teleportation Ring," he announced. "Made with the core of an Evil-eye's optic Core."

Beside him, the eyes of Taj, Paul and Jonas glowed with appreciation and desire. An item like this was like a second life.

"If you are mortally wounded, the ring will teleport you to the closest Tower," the Magus explained.

To their shock, Gunther slipped the ring onto Gwen's ring finger, where her tracker had been.

"As usual, there's a tracking enchantment to allow for easy scrying from the Tower. Don't ever take it off. If you lose it without wilfully commanding it to disengage, it will send a teleportation Marker and an SOS to the closest Tower."

Gwen felt the warmth of the ring on her finger; her white legs were already knock-kneed when Gunther dispelled her Geas— now, they were jelly. Having seen Edgar escape certain death thanks to his ring, she knew just how precious this item was. Her brother-in-craft was lending her his second life.

"No! Gunther, I can't! It's too precious! You need it!"

"Nonsense!" Gunther waved a hand. "I'll be stuck here for the foreseeable future; until I move back into the Tower. Then I'll be stuck there for the foreseeable future. What need do I have for Contingency Ring when I am battling paperwork?"

"But!"

"No buts!" Gunther appeared taken with the role of a benevolent elder sibling, finding the secret joy that Henry must have felt when doting upon a young apprentice. "If you die saving Alesia's apprentice, do you think Alesia will let me have peace so long as I live? If you were killed, by say, a faction of Mages from Singapore, do you think Alesia will leave the city standing?"

"Err…" Gwen felt the words catch in her throat.

"Think of it as helping us, helping you," Gunther smirked, touching the emptiness on his finger where a contingency ring had sat for a decade. "Let the ring be insurance. Promise me you'll be more of yourself and less of Alesia out there. Don't put yourself in unnecessary danger. Know your limits and trust your friends and allies. Don't try to do everything yourself. Listen to Jonas and the others."

"I'd look ten years younger if Alesia did that," Jonas quipped, citing his white handlebar moustache.

"Agreed, I am losing hair," Taj joined in.

"That's just male pattern-baldness..." Paul interjected, fending off a deathly glare from Taj.

Gwen felt the ring on her finger.

The weight of it was incredible.
All that expectation and hope, anticipation and trust, bound up in one Mithril band.

"If you're not going to wear that ring, Gwen," Paul noted sternly. "I suggest you stay on the PT boat while we bushwhack the jungle."

Gwen met Gunther's steel-grey gaze, her own striking hazel eyes returning his benevolent gaze with gratitude and thankfulness.

"Thank you, Gunther," Gwen intoned gratefully to her brother-in-craft.
Gunther rubbed the back of his head with a newly discovered embarrassment. He dispelled the awkwardness by moving to teach Gwen the glamour used to make the ring nondescript.

"So, it activates when my life-force or biometrics is deemed critical?"

Gwen wanted to make sure that she won't accidentally activate the ring casting Void spells or in the performance of some calculated incantations.

Gunther affirmed the need to be very careful with her Void spells, as the designer of the Ring had probably not taken self-draining Negative Energy into account.

"So what if I…"

Gwen paused, her body becoming rigid.

"What if you..?" Gunther regarded his sister-in-craft, who'd seemed struck by something awful. Suddenly, Gwen's expression twisted with palpable horror as she processed an epiphanic hypothesis.

Stolen novel; please report.

"GUNTHER!" Gwen spat with furrowed brows and trembling lips. "Oh, God!"

The rest of the team regarded her quizzically. Was the gift of the ring too much?

Within Gwen's mind, her thoughts were racing a thousand calculations a minute. She figured it out! She knew! How could it have been so obvious! The answer was there all along!

"Gunther… if a Tower is in Contingency Mode, can the ring still save my life?"

"Of course." Gunther nodded. "The Glyph-script within the ring is affirmed by a Treaty. The ring acts as proof of your allegiance. Even if you teleport into a Tower held by another Faction, they're honour bound to keep you safe, even if it's a temporary stay in an anti-magic prison. It's a Quid Pro Quo system agreed upon by all parties."

"Can the Contingency ring be tuned to a specific place, like your tracking ring? Can a student be teleported to the whereabouts of a Master?"

Gunther nodded.

"Yes, that's one of the most popular uses for the ring—"

Gwen's face flushed with exhilaration, her lips glistened.

"Gunther! I get it now!" She intoned jubilantly at her brother-in-craft. "I know how Elizabeth Teleported into the Tower!"

There was silence in the room at first, then Gunther slammed his cup onto the table. The office became a whirlwind of gesturing hands and fingers as Gwen explained her theory to Gunther, who began calling in assistants and advisors. As they talked, calls were made, and experts on the matter consulted.

Gunther delayed his appointments for the next hour while the group shared a light luncheon.

When all was said and done, Gwen was proven right; at least in theory and at least until practical experiments could be carried out.

It was indeed possible to use a Contingency Ring's bypass Teleportation design to force oneself into a Tower's systems. Furthermore, though untested, it was also possible to forcibly teleport oneself into a restricted region such as the Grot, which occupied both the Tower's space as well as the Grot's parallel pocket dimension. Though the theory had been floated once or twice before, there were no precedents. Thus, the warning had been forgotten in times of peace.

Gunther sighed.

"I was going to nail Walken with abetting the enemy and letting a hostile Magister teleport into the Tower," he told them conspiratorially. "Now it seems, Gwen may have saved his life."

"Oh." Gwen expression soured.

Gunther waved his hands in the air, suggesting that she shouldn't worry about the mislead politician.

"Keep the ring," Gunther insisted. As for the potential loophole, greater powers in higher positions would be the ones to lose sleep over it, certainly not the genius sister-in-craft who had uncovered it.

"There may be Contribution Credits involved. I'll keep you posted."

Gwen blinked. She had heard the term from Richard before but hadn't chased upon them since that night they'd exchanged some closely guarded secrets.

"What are Contribution Credits?"

"Something immeasurably useful, or utterly useless, depending on where you are." Gunther mused. "But nothing's finalised so I wouldn't worry too much about it. You'll know when the time comes."

With luncheon finished, it was time to go.

"Take the Teleportation Circle down to Shielding Station 46, that should give you a direct flight path into the Hunters' region," Gunther advised.

"I'll have number five sorted out soon, as well as your travel documents."
The group thanked Gunther and marched out. Once more, Gwen resumed her invisible intern persona while the burly men fended off the lumen recorders and pushed away nosy reporters baying for blood.

Gunther turned to his table, where a stack of reports had caught his curious eye. The foremost of which read: Preliminary Site Investigations - Watson Bay Shielding Station.

Regret.
Morye knew regret like one knew an old jilted lover.
He loathed the feeling, but like a moth to an old flame, he kept returning to her embrace, suckling on her magnificent teat with the ferocity of a newborn babe.

He had escaped the old country to start a new, carefree life in this Frontier City, and yet all he did was rack up one baggage after another, becoming embroiled in a dazzling display of love-debts.

Was he a playboy? Morye certainly didn't think so. He wasn't the sort of man who'd go and hit on women or used their injury to feed his ego. He wasn't a man who was lascivious or addicted to lovemaking; Morye merely enjoyed the company of woman more than most - their scent, their beauty, the softness of their voices, and the giddiness he felt when they held his arm for comfort.

The only problem was that he couldn't stomach the responsibility that inevitably came with the possessiveness. The desire to start a family, to settle down, to choke him with a collar called the breadwinner and demand that he picked up the kids after school.

Morye couldn't do that.

Helena had once demanded he explain himself, and so Morye imparted the wisdom that as Abjurers shielded and Evokers shot Fireballs; so Morye Song was incapable of becoming the stereotypical husband.

Such as the way of the world, Morye had explained.
Same as that water flowed down from high and dragons hatched as hermaphrodites; he was a man who couldn't help himself when it came to beautiful women.

After the nasty incident at Shield Station, he'd used the psychotic Dust Mage's Teleportation Scroll to will himself away. He'd ended up in Town Hall, a fair enough distance, not too far from Rosebay if a Mage took a crow's path to his destination.

His daughter needed rescuing, and Morye felt responsible for not once picking her up from school. At least this one time, he had told himself, he should do it. It was going to be a bloody and dangerous rescue, after which he would have executed his fatherly duty and could be at peace with his delicate conscience.

He had travelled no more than a dozen blocks when the tidal pods used by the Mermen started to rain down on the city, spilling fish-headed gooks of all shapes and sizes all over the broad avenues of the city.

The Mermen were a strange lot in Morye's opinion, their preference for raiding human cities likewise made no sense when one considered the logistics of expending troops for negligible gain. He'd heard the popular theory that they were out for revenge, after all, humans ate a shit-ton of fish; as well as the notion that war against humanity was kind of holy crusade issued by the sea-priest to thin their overpopulated numbers.
The over-population theory had met with resistance in the academic circles. After all, if the hypothesis held, why bother raiding the human cities and taking prisoners? Why not just file into the human cities and declare themselves sushi and sashimi? Morye was confident that humanity could handle as much seafood as the Mermen could march out of the sea. If so, the Lords of the Sea could thin their numbers and trade for goods and services!

Having survived the Northern Front, Morye had little sympathy for the stupid NoMs who'd ignored the call for shelter and remained wandering through the streets aimlessly.

Little sympathy that is, until he spotted a lovely brunette number being dragged by two thuggish looking brutes into an alley.

Immediately his blood was up.
They were in a crisis for God's sake! A horrid assault upon the city! Only blocks away, there were Mermen chopping people apart with claws, tearing them to shreds— to shreds! How can these NoMs behave like such animals at a time like this?!

"Salt Skin!"

A smooth layer of pink, crystalline-salt covered Morye's body, adhering a film over his face, forming a featureless mask. As one of his favourite signature spells, he had spent a goodly number of years sculpting the invocation so that the transmuted carapace resembled a suit of crystalline-white medieval armour tinged with marbled pink, giving him a knightly, although anonymous, air.

With a hefty thunk, Morye landed in the alleyway. Within, he accosted the sight of a struggling woman who was half-way undressed at knifepoint. He took a glance at her dishevelled stated and shot two shards of monomolecular salt toward the thugs. The sound made by the crystalline projectiles slicing through flesh and bone was silken, punching through their limbs like a well-honed flenser carving ham-in-bone.

The men crumpled.

"Miss, are you alright? It's not safe here." Morye helped the woman up. She had erratic eyes that were wild with messy mascara and full red lips that were a little smeared. The scene was so titillating as to make Morye's mind wander into dangerous territories of his own.

"Thank… Thank you." The woman avoided looking at the whimpering men beside her; one was holding a spurting arm stump, the other trying to piece his leg together. "They are my co-workers— I didn't... I didn't think..."

"The shelter's that way." Morye held her as she stumbled from the alleyway, her dress worse for wear and covered in blood. He materialised a jacket and hung it over her shoulders, lest she attracts other unkind eyes.

Morye wanted to leave right there and then, but the sight of her fixing her dress despondently while her eyes flashed with desperate signals made his protective instincts engorge. In the end, he took a quick detour and dropped the woman off at the entrance to the shelter, presided over by a few Militia Mages ushering folk into the bunker.

Having resumed his merry way to Rosebay, Morye was determined to get to Gwen as soon as possible. His daughter was the target of some very unpleasant people, and it was pivotal that he reached her before other, more nefarious forces.

Then Morye had turned the corner, only to see a group of Mermen beating down a battle group of Militia Mages. The Mages were pushed back by the burly Crab-men, who served as shields for the weaker fishheads. From the looks of it, the crustacean carapace exceeded the tier 1 to 2 Air spells utilised by the novice Evokers. As living battering rams, the beasts smashed through the Abjurer's earth-shields, snapping up the poor bastard with a swipe of their claws. When two of the burly crustaceans pulled the man apart like a blood-sausage piñata, it proved too much for the Evokers.

Dark lines creased all over Morye's forehead. Here is why amateurs were useless in war.

He had just about left when one of the Evoker women pulled off her cumbersome hood to reveal ash-blonde curls framing a dazzling face. The girl appeared young, maybe in her late teens, at best her early twenties, screaming bloody murder as she scampered on all fours away from the Mermen. Morye paused mid-air, torn by indecision. He had to save his daughter! But how could he leave these Mages undefended, destined to be fish-food?

The second Evoker stumbled and fell to her hands, which became bloody with nasty abrasions from the broken debris. When the first girl went to help her, she threw off her backpack and hood, revealing a similar head of flaxen locks matted by sweat and blood.

Sisters! Morye realised with a pounding heart. It would be a tragedy if their mother, who must also be a lovely blonde matron, were to lose two of her children in a single day. It was his duty as a Mage of superior power, gifted by fate, to ensure that these young women lived to see another day.

Behind the two girls, the Transmuter who had tried to bring up the rear proved too fragile to withstand the assault of the cruel Mermen. Even with Bark Skin and Enhanced Strength, he found himself caught between a dozen crab-claws, held in the air while coral tridents skewered him like a kabab.

Horridly, some of the Mermen began to eat, digging for the young man's guts, his liver, his heart and brain, even as he screamed for the mercy of death.

The sight of their companion being eaten alive erased any thoughts of resistance from the girls. They fell on their bottoms, all courage and strength depleted, failing both the tests of fight or flight and instead choosing paralysis. Morye marvelled at their gamble— were the girls hoping that the Mermen were interested in living prisoners? If captured, what awaited them was infinitely worse than death.

Just as one of the fishheads approached with a seaweed-strew net; the sisters found themselves staring upward at a salt-carapace Demigod.

"Foul beasts," Morye spat. "Know the retribution of man! Pillar of Salt!"
The modified Flame Strike materialised from thin-air and slammed into the group of Mermen with a terrific force. Negative energy flooded the surrounding space, draining the life from the Mermen. At the same time, crystalline shards dug into their skin, sliced into the flexible joints between their carapace, drawing out the moisture from their bodies.

Easy, Morye grinned. Like sauntering garlic-butter lobster.

The elemental power of salt was brutally effective against water-based creatures by the simple virtue of its desiccating passive effect. Even if the Mermen survived the initial blast, the loss of moisture from their bodies ensured the ultimate collapse of their organs moments later.

The Mermen crumpled.

Morye turned to the two women, who by now was staring at him with doe-eyed worship. The last survivor of the group of five, a plain-looking, nondescript broad, fled the scene.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Magus!"
"Thank you, Sir!"
"I am June, and this is Summer."
"We owe you our lives!"
The girls were beyond glad that in the eleventh hour, a Magus with a rare Mineral Element would come and save them. Morye looked at the two women, whose faces were similar, but each had their unique appeals. The taller one had a freckled nose that gave her a cherished air of vitality and youth; the shorter one had large, glassy eyes that hinted at a high level of compliance with a low level of situational awareness.

"I am glad you're alright." Morye landed, feeling pleased with his efforts.
June and Summer were in a dishevelled stated by now, their tattered clothing revealing their graceful surfer's bodies beneath the robes.

"I should escort you to safety," Morye announced. "The shelter is not far from here."

"We need to join up with our battle group," one of the girls replied guiltily, reflecting upon their cowardice when the Crab-men had bested their spells.

"Fine, I'll take you over, just point me in the right direction."

Unfortunately for Morye, another battle awaited him. When they arrived at the girls' FOB, he found the leader of their rag-tag battle group entrenched in a melee. The Militia had barricaded themselves with furniture, cars, road signs, and any other opportunistic bric-a-brac they could find. A full three dozen of them were fending off hundreds of menacing Mermen, lead by a burly looking shark-cum-reptile.

Without a word, Morye dropped a Blade Barrier around the barricade, instantly turning the Mermen assault into sashimi dinners. As the pink-crystal blades churned, the shark-leader bellowed a challenge at Morye.

Morye moved to confront the shark-headed beast. He wasn't stupid enough to melee it. Instead, he dropped a Cone of Salt the moment he was close enough to cover the Shark-captain and his guards. As usual, the desiccating spells proved too much for the fish folk. After the magic passed, all that remained were comical dried fish-jerky wearing armour and carrying semi-enchanted weapons of the depths.

The leader of the Militia was a young officer called Katie Rhodes, who introduced herself and supplicated before Morye, demonstrating the most heartfelt genuflection she could show.

Morye examined the young commander. She had cropped hair about her ears, with liquid, brown eyes were alive with hope and vigour, giving her face an enduring quality that made one want to embrace its beautiful symmetry and aesthetic curvature. Morye felt his heart aflutter, feeling a little lost in the innocence of her face.

"Sir, thank you for saving us..." Such vivid eyes the girl possessed! So intimate and familiar, so pretty—

Morye blinked.
Shit! Gwen!

Without a word, Morye steeled his resolved and flew into the sky, no longer keeping his eyes upon the disturbance of the ground below.

Gwen! He told himself. I am coming!

And finding his wayward daughter he did.
Though the outcome was somewhat more ambivalent than Morye had hoped. There was no tearful rescue, no screaming for help. Instead, he had to act as a witness to her horrid mutilation of some poor sod. After, watched her blast off into the sky with a green glow and realised that his daughter all grown up. At that moment, he felt like a useless father who'd spent years neglecting his daughter, and when he'd finally found her again, she'd married a seven-foot biker and was holding a baby sporting a rat-tailed mullet at the tender age of three. Then the biker-husband turned to Morye and asked, 'who the fuck are you?'

"Fuck it," Morye recalled finding himself instantly distant. "I am out."

His first goal had been finding a way to return to his peaceful life as a useless Abjurer, laying low while the whole thing blows over. Surely, with all the drama happening with the Shield Stations, the department wouldn't be too interested in a senior technician who'd gone awol.

At least that was what he'd naively hoped.

Instead, just as he had met one of his ex's, coaxed her into providing him with temporary shelter, when a message spell bloomed beside his head.

Unlike a personal message spell, the glyph for this one was silver, indicating that it came from a Government authority.

"Shit," Morye said to himself. "Sorry Margerie, I gotta take this."

The NoM woman kissed his shoulder, walking away without so much as a sliver of cloth. Morye marvelled at the gentle, soft curves of her body, admiring the good fortune that despite the years since their last tryst, she'd kept well, maturing like a well-seasoned mango.

"Morye Song." The voice that spoke was stern and commanding.

"Yeah?"

"This is Gunther Shultz, interim Master of the Sydney Tower. I am invoking section 5.7.8 of the Frontier Military General Article 7. I am conscripting you for mandatory duty while the city is under Martial Law."

"Why? I am just a no-good Abjurer. What can I do?" Morye protested.

"Katie tells me otherwise, Mr Song."

"I don't know who that is."

"Perhaps I'd be more convincing if I called you by your new title?"
Morye furrowed his brow. What title was that?

"The Pink Salt Saviour."

Morye choked on his spit.

"That's fucking ridiculous!"

"Nonetheless, I have a quest for you, one you cannot possibly refuse. It serves neither of our purpose for the headlines to tell tales of your wondrous exploits."

"We'll see about that."

"From your colourful past, no less. From the old country to the New, so many women wondering where you'd gone."

"... I am listening."

"Good, because you wouldn't want to turn down my offer regardless. It involves Gwen, and your refusal to participate will directly endanger her."

"Fuck me sideways." Morye had a sinking feeling.

"It's not so bad." Gunther's voice was caught between amusement and self-control. "If you participate, I will keep your talents a secret for you. Otherwise, you can prepare to live the rest of your life in Oceania as a renowned public figure."

"No, no," Morye succumbed quickly. "If it's for Gwen, I'll do it."

"Good," Gunther replied. "You are to rendezvous with her at Surya's estate. I have a team ready to head out."

"Out to where?" Morye became suspicious. "Who else is at the estate?"

"Out to a Black Zone," Gunther said. "Your wife and son, as well as their stepfather, are all thankfully safe and sound— at the estate. They eagerly await your unexpected arrival at the estate."

Morye moaned silently. He was happy that Percy was safe and sound; that Gwen too was alright, but the mere mention of Helena made his chest sore.

"I wish you the best of luck," the Paladin intoned, satisfied with his recruitment drive. "Good hunting."

The Paladin silenced the Message conference.

Morye felt his world turn dark. He felt like a Merman stuck in a crab cage. He hadn't thought about it before, but he knew it now— there were indeed fates worse than death.