After a night of sleepless inaction coupled with the guilt of having put Good Samaritans to task, Gwen decided to face her moral infirmity by engaging in the sweet escapism of regimented labour.

At daybreak, she invited Elvia and the Knights, post first prayer, to watch her and the rats ready the seeds gifted by her "Elf in the High Castle" for enrichment.

The Druidic Satchel itself was a miraculous Magical Item, for it possessed the means to sort the seeds that were otherwise unpackaged and scattered in individual piles. After Gwen made the mistake of extracting more than one type, she returned the mixed-seed cereal to the bag, then grew awed when the bag re-sorted the mixed seeds through nought but a silent, mental command.

Once she emptied the Druidic Satchel into mounds, Stian and a circle of ratty Elders learned in agriculture gathered around Solana's gifts to scrutinise the spoils.

Thus far, the land cleared of vegetation and mixed with waste from Garp amounted to some mid-forty acres, an area Gwen mentally tallied to equate just over a dozen football fields. It was a feat made possible only with thousands of Rat-kin and Garp, who not only consumed sediment but flora as a part of its daily intake, plus excreted soft, soil-like silica that, in Stian's words, "brought spice to the Sawahi."

As for the volume of seeds in the pouch, Gwen's uninformed city girl eyes could only deduce that there was a "shitload".

According to Stain, seeds meant for growing in the desert required soaking to activate rapid germination and growth, a phenomenon that only occurred during the rainy season.

To simulate this process, the Rat-kin used clay tubs filled with water, within which they would rinse the seeds in a lime solution supplemented with what Gwen suspected were anti-fungal and bacterial herbs and minerals.

Taking on knowledge learned from her old world, Gwen elected a Control Group of un-blessed seeds, then created two more groups, one solely blessed by her mixing Almudj's juice into the solution, and another that was saturated in both Almudj's and Sen-sen's vital secretions.

For the experiment, she modestly chose an acre for each, which Stian further split into rows of Starling Tomatoes sitting adjacent to Polar Beans. Every second field favoured cucumber vines beside and beneath which housed the Sunburst Squash.

The unanticipated problem was that Shalkar lacked the lumber necessary to create the lattices that would hold the cucumbers, beans and tomatoes. As a result, Gwen recruited Mathias, who had been taught to pilot military Golems, to deploy the construction suits she bought from London, taking advantage of the utility Spellblade within the manipulator-arms to transmute temporary iron-wire lattices.

Finally, when the time came for sowing, Elvia demonstrated why she was the undisputed queen of flowers and root vegetables by commanding her nature Sprites to do the work of a thousand rats, rapidly seeding each pit dug by the numberless, whiskery farmers. Once completed, stone slabs from the mud-hewn aqueducts were lifted, allowing the rats ease of access to the water needed to moisten the soil and encourage growth.

Finally, to take advantage of Golos, whose excretions had contributed to Sen-sen's wellbeing, the Rat-kin dug out a fertiliser pit especially for collecting the Wyvern's enormous dung piles, from which they first extracted Gwen's Creature Cores, then fermented the rest with cut grass. The residual Essence-Ginseng solution from soaking the seeds was then recycled in the septic pit with Garp's gut-enriched "spice".

In the future, Stian noted, if they could get livestock such as sheep owned by the Centaurs, then more fertiliser pits could be built.

From morning to afternoon, Gwen chaperoned the Rat-kin, learning from the Elders even as she taught them modern urban planning. When she was finally done, the time had come for Inquisitor Hawkford and Sir Smallwater to leave in their quest to corral the Spectre agents working in the Elementals' domain.

"Fare thee well, 'Priestess of the Pale Light'. I shall inform the Ordo within the next few days of your present predicament."

"Thank you." Gwen shook the man's hand even as she whole-heartedly cringed at the jovial jab at her Faith collection. "Please keep the matter otherwise discreet."

"Indeed," Hawkford agreed. "My part will be informing the Rectrix. She shall possess the better judgement of how you may leverage your newly founded resources."

"I think what you mean," Gwen said. "Is how NOT to touch it with a ten-foot pole."

The Inquisitor laughed, as did Sir Smallwater, who bid her venture profit and success, thereby restoring stability to the region in a myriad of ways.

"Companion Lindholm, Protector Rothwell." The Inquisitor lastly turned to Elvia and Mathias. "You must keep our Saviour of the Rat-kin hale and out of harm's way."

"I shall, Chaplain." Elvia supplicated in the usual manner of the Ordo's junior clergy to its senior leadership.

"On my honour, Sirs," Mathias' response addressed Sir Smallwater, a curious act which Gwen took as an insight into how the Ordo functioned. From what she could see, Elvia's position would grow to encompass Hawkford's lineage, while Mathias' growth paralleled that of the Senior Protector.

Once nods and bows were exchanged, the Knights lifted into the air, then thundered off into the distance without so much as a sentimental glance, leaving Gwen and her two companions levitating lonesomely above the just-finished farm.

"Okay, let's break for afternoon tea." Gwen mopped a smidgen of dust from her brow. "Afterward, Strun, Garp and I are going to check out the Murk to see if we can find some local Dwarves.

"We're coming as well," Elvia informed her. "You're not ditching us a minute after we swore to keep you safe, are you?"

Gwen had hoped that she could vent her pent-up frustrations in the Murk, which meant initially, at least, she had not planned on showing Elvia that particular facet of her current self.

"Er… of course not." She smiled at her companion. "Mathias?"

"Where Elvia goes, I follow," Mathias concurred. "Whatever a Black Zone or the Murk."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Gwen snorted at the Knight. "It's the Murk. Nothing too bad lives there. Just brain-eating squids the Library Citadel of Helzink dubbed the 'Sinneslukare', leading hoards of white-fleshed Aberrant fiends created by unknown Masters from the Far Planes between dimensions, and poisonous fungi that walk by eating you from inside-out, that sort of thing."

"Should I wear full plate armour?" Mathias said with complete seriousness, having heard the tales she told to Elvia. "Would that prevent the er… brain squids?"

"… Yes," Gwen replied with complete seriousness. "Fair warning, to achieve the same protection, I'll be wreathed in the unholy boon of Sanctioned Necromancy, so don't be startled when we dive."

Both Mathias and Elvia chuckled uncomfortably.

"I am super serious," Gwen warned the pair again. "Well, you'll see— let's do a gear check. Potions! Wands! Armour! Spell Reagents! Food and Supplies!"

As a part of their inventory, Gwen packed the master-crafted Construction Golem suits, both as proof of her closeness with Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth and as a means to shape the earth while in the Murk. While she could ask Garp to clear the way mouth-first, Gwen suspected the inhabitants of the region she was about to visit would be displeased with a tunnel-borer creating six-meter wide passages where ever it ventured.

"Gogo, you're the Head of Security while I am gone." She chose the Wyvern to be her delegate. If anything, she could trust the drake to be territorial.

"Have fun, Calamity." Golos' sleepy voice returned from somewhere in the sky. As a Thunder Wyvern, Gogo feared no flora nor fauna in the region. Together with her ninety-strong Centurions armed with Afaa al-Halak derived weapons, even a Mingat's raid would prove no threat.

Gwen motioned for Strun. "Are you ready to depart?"

"Yes. Priestess."

"Call me Mistress from now onward, or Miss."

"Yes, O worshipful Mistress."

Gwen regarded the rat. "Are you acting cheeky with me, Strun?"

The Rat-kin's intelligent eyes gleamed. "Not at all, venerated Miss. You may change your title, O tamer of the Sawahi, but in the hearts of the Rat-kin, you will always be our Priestess of the Pale Light."

"Right, though for the sake of my sanity," Gwen sternly addressed to the cheeky rat. "Spread the word of my decision. I'll finish up here and see you on the eastern border in thirty minutes."

Once the rats scattered, Elvia and Mathias closed in.

"Gwennie?" Elvia's imploring blue irises possessed such powers of purity that her heart grew sore. "Are you renouncing the Faith given to you by those you've saved? That's not like you at all."

"Is it? I didn't... desire this," Gwen answered with ambivalence. She had never done her deeds out of a sense of responsibility to another. Instead, her quest for power and its resulting freedom was derived from a jaw-clenching appetite for personal agency. If so, how could she expend the Faith of those who looked up to her? Though now they were in a honeymoon period, what if she and her worshipper's goals grew dissonant? If she must act out of goodness due to an unowed duty, then to her, Faith was no better than the golden wires of a birdcage. "I am sorry to disappoint, Evee, but I am… not as good, principled or strong as you think."

"You'd done right so far." Elvia appeared adamant in her infectious positivity. "I trust you."

"Bloody oath, Evee." Gwen hugged her flaxen-haired Cleric about the shoulders, unsure of what to say, hoping that when the time came to disappoint Evee, the experience would not be beyond salvation. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Gwen marvelled at Strun as the rat pulled on the leather lashes leashing either side of Garp's eyeless head.

With a start, the Elemental powers inherent to Garp's divine flesh began to vibrate his lower scales, allowing the Sand Wyrm unimpeded transit through the Sawahi in a manner no different from Golos' command of Elemental Air.

"Are we the first Humans to do this?" Mathias looked like the lead singer of a boy band with the wind blowing through his hair. "Riding a Sand Wyrm, I mean. It's incredible."

"I don't know if we're the first in history," Gwen said. "But we're probably the first in the Mageocracy's records. Strun's folks were the first to try it in the past."

"I am truly honoured." The Knight's face showed genuine thankfulness. Gwen figured the Knight Proctor might feel this way, for the everyday work of a Proctor meant boredom was a constant companion, and excitement was something a bodyguard should never desire.

"There'll be plenty of the world to see, Mathias," Gwen promised the Knight. "Evee and I will be going places, I assure you."

Elvia herself was more interested in how Gwen's Omni-directional Orb functioned, seeing that they had set out from Shalkar with no map and no indication of a specific objective. When Gwen told her that the Dragon-gifted Orb would find the Dwarves for her, the Cleric grew strangely mute.

"Don't worry, I've used it plenty of times," Gwen explained after a while. "What are you worried about?"

"Gwennie, can 'Brother' Ruxin access the Orb and control to what or where it acts as a guide?" her Cleric asked. "Its ability seems too nebulous."

"It hasn't failed me so far, not even when I wanted authentic braised pork belly."

"Y-you used a True Dragon's condensed gift of divining to find Chinese food?" The Vessel of the Yinglong appeared to swoon. "That thing should be in a museum!"

"Look," Gwen raised an excellent point for her companion. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find authentic Chinese food in the heart of the Mageocracy? It's a miracle that the Orb not only located Chinese food but authentic Sichuan cuisine. If that isn't a testament to its ability to act in my interest, then what is? You think Ruxin or the Yinglong is so bored as to scour London for al dente pork belly in garlic and chilli oil?"

"Oh, Gwennie." Elvia puffed out her cheeks. "Please be careful."

"I don't use it when I am in the company of a party," she assured her friend. "It's mostly for when I am lost."

While Elvia looked away, likely wondering when Gwen wasn't directionally challenged, Gwen squinted at her elfin companion. Wasn't Elvia a bit hypocritical for choosing the Yinglong as her patron, then turning around to harp on about Ruxin's business partner, a woman the Dragon has trusted with the Dragon's share of his jade and crystal lodes? But it wasn't Evee's fault that she could only see the surface, for the girl was herself a recluse in the higher world of the Ordo's abbey, where its merry band of Samaritans gave up nobility to live as the Poor Soldiers of Christ.

Travelling coach on Garp, Gwen enjoyed the sight of the Sawahi's many walks of life fleeing in every direction as they sailed from one territory to another. When they stopped by what looked like a Rat-kin village, Strun leapt from Garp and delivered a sermon of promise and prosperity, directed the Rat-kin toward Shalkar, then majestically sailed "Garp" into the setting sun.

From Shalkar to their new destination, the journey took just over four hours.

"Mistress, we're here." Strun gestured toward a collection of jutting igneous spires thrown up by some violent, seismic significance into the above-ground world.

While Elvia and Mathias buffed up, Gwen lifted into the air to inspect the curious-looking stones.

"Does this look natural to you guys?" she asked her companions as Sen-sen's blessed vitality saturated her skin with a nimbus of protective light. With the battlesuit she brought in tatters, Gwen had resolved to dress for comfort and rely on her Necromancy.

"I would venture to say that it looks more like the manifestation of a Seismic Disjunction," Mathias drew from memory a spell candidate. "We should be careful, Gwen. There may be Dao about."

"Garp, Strun, keep an eye out," Gwen commanded the others, simultaneously producing the Creature Core and blood vial necessary for her life-preserving Armour and Mantle. Now possessed of an abundance of mid-tier Afaa al-Halak Cores, she opted for the Sand Wyrm's exoskeleton, all the while marvelling at the mitigating effect of Elvia's "Guardian Spirit" in offsetting Necromancy's vital drain.

Stolen novel; please report.

"I know, I know." She hand waved away their suppressed consternation. "Save the lecture for when I get better Spells. Evee, Sir Hawkford mentioned you had a thing for revealing mana threads? Care for a show and tell?"

"The Prayer's full name is the Exalted Light of Holy Revelation." Elvia released her Holy Symbol into the air, where its gentle radiance suffused a region of dozen meters in diameter. "The more Faith we suffuse into the Tri-Crown, the more radiant its glow and thus, the greater the revelation."

"Is it mobile?" Gwen floated around the levitating icon.

"It can be," Elvia concurred, then walked the final fifty meters to the sunken entrance on foot while willing the Holy Symbol to hover like Gwen's Omni Orb. "Gwennie, don't use your spells— you'll disturb the mana residue."

Under Elvia's wide-area Detect Magic, their surroundings glowed a bright ochre and orange. Nearer the "entrance" to the caverns of the Murk was supposed to be, the residual mana burned as though the front row of a pyrotechnical concert. Further away, where the light fell near Garp, motes of freshly churning Elemental Earth formed a solid, opaque wall.

"Is that all Elemental Fire?" Gwen's lips made an O. "From the entrance, I mean. It's A LOT of Elemental Fire. What's the darker stuff?"

"Magma, I think. Ash as well, and yes, it is thickest coming from underground," Mathias observed. "But if you look at the trail, it goes all the way into the desert."

Gwen's followed the orange glow until it faded in a direction she could not discern.

"Alright." She chewed her lips in dismay. "You're telling me something went IN, as opposed to something came OUT. You know, Elemental Fire HDMs can be used to fuel Golem Suits."

Just as she delivered a hypothesis, her Rat-kin wandered through the hazy, phantasmagorical light. "There are many tracks here, Mistress. Large, heavy creatures with claws and enormous feet."

"That doesn't sound Dwarven," Mathias said.

"Nor Aberrant," Gwen confessed. "Else, there would be Elemental Ooze."

"Elementals?" Elvia asked. "But we're a week on foot from the Fire Sea..."

"Well, whatever this is, I guess we'll find out." Gwen indicated to her Omni Orb's downward trajectory. "Pack it up, Evee. Let's bring out the Familiars and the spell fodder."

As with her previous forays into the Murk, Gwen's veritable army of Hounds, led by Ariel and Caliban, was ready to diminish the dangers of the unknown.

Unfortunately, while their party had readied themselves for an action-packed delve into the dark, the passages that Strun had explored were discovered to be collapsed by some cataclysmic force, making progress all but impossible without a Dwarven Fabricator Engine.

"It's Garp time." Gwen resolved to straight away bring out her living tunnelling engine. As a natural sovereign of the upper Murk, the Shingleback Sand Wyrm could eat into the destroyed passage while also using its limitless earth-shaping stamina to strengthen the tunnels it left behind. Compared to Caliban's costly mimicry, Garp literally fed itself while it dug downwards through the earth, gaining mana even as it spent it. It was this prodigious ability that lay at the heart of Gwen's hopes for an underground warren city for her rats, at least until certified Dwarven engineers could install utilities, power, plumbing, sanitation and public transport.

At her mental behest, the Sand Wyrm was happy to oblige, for the igneous rocks here were more "yummy" for its constitution than the silica of the middle badlands.

As the tunnel made by the enormous living engine grew in length and depth, Gwen and her party remarked on how boring it was when an all-consuming mouth led the way of an underground adventure. Whatever encounters they had to fight were either avoided or swallowed with the swirling debris into Garp's crushing, stone-dissolving interior.

In this way, other than semi-precious sediment veins and the occasional geological curio, Garp left no prey nor monster in its wake, which was a tunnel some six meters across at chest height, and just over four meters from toe to crown. Now and then, rich deposits of sand and silica in rich, loamy sprays she chose to rename "Spice" ejected from what could only be Garp's exhaust module, proving to Gwen once and for all why Stian had called the Afaa al-Halak the lifeblood of the desert's ecology.

Dodging the meter-long mud-turds of Elemental Earth, their company strode downward into the Murk with the ease of a guided tram tour. Gwen led the way through means of a great swarm of Dancing Lights, spellshaping globes of long-lasting Evocation to light the path behind.

"Gwen, how long have we been walking?" Mathias flexed his fingers as he switched sword-hands. As she had advised the man show up in his best armour, the Knight had obliged by wearing tessellated plating complete with greaves, gauntlets and pauldrons inscribed with the Shield of St Michael. With his shiny Spellsword drawn, their personal Sir Gwain had expected to fight tooth and nail against a sea of bile-blooded Aberrants and their squid-brained masters. Instead, his only job had been diverting Elvia from walking in Wyrm turd.

Strun continued to steer Garp via the leashes tied to Garp's broad, fleshy tail. Even now, the Rat-kin observed Gwen's Omni Orb while micromanaging Garp, filling the cavern with the vibration of the Shingleback's digestive tracts at work.

"I hope you won't dig into their city," Elvia said after a while. "And fall through the ceiling."

"Garp has amazing tremor sense," Gwen offhandedly explained her strange connection to the Wyrm with a chunk of soul that now resides within her Astral Body. "Besides, Strun's still steering Garp even now. They'll know when to stop if there's a large cavern or a settlement. By then, we'll figure something out."

"Mistress." Strun chose this precise moment to leap off the wagging, fleshy tail of Garp. "We're about to hit a great cavern. Garp says the earth ahead is harder to swim through."

"Leave a safe distance and get Garp to run parallel with the cavern." Gwen tried to picture the earthen cavity in her head. For someone who struggled with two-dimensional maps, three-dimensional orienteering was a feat performed solely by her Orb. "Are we on top, bottom or alongside?"

"I do not know, Mistress." Strun's ears laid flat against his head. "In the future, I shall endeavour to learn Lord Garp's communications better."

"Take your time." Gwen gave the rat a satisfying pat, squishing Strun's floppy years with her fingers while Elvia looked on with a look of longing. With a swipe of her hand, she summoned the two Golem Suits, each about twice the height of a man. "Garp will take us close. After that, we'll dig our way through— politely."

"Yes, Ma'am." Elvia's Knight obediently crammed himself into the driver's seat, with the articulation of his armour coming as a surprise to Gwen, whose Bone Armour and Sanguine Mantle possessed no obstructions until triggered.

Using only the bare minimum number of buttons and levellers made available to a skilled operator, she switched on the earth-shaping function of the Spellsword, then carved away at the smoothly bored rock wall left by Garp, rendering the igneous strata into silica. Behind her, Mathias reorganised the debris by creating ugly-looking ribs of pillars against the walls, more so clearing the space than forming meaningful supports.

About twenty meters in, Gwen's Spellsword struck something solid and resistant to area-transmutation. Clearing more of the surface revealed runic inscriptions of what could only be a Dwarf-made tunnel wall.

"I hope this isn't critical infrastructure," Gwen warned the others before clearing another space, simultaneously broadcasting a broad-spectrum repeater signal used by the Dwarves in working in tunnels. According to the instructions that came with the rotund Construction Golem, any other Golem Engine would be alerted to their presence within a sizeable vicinity. When no response came, Gwen gathered the others to make heads and tails of the runic markings, finding no luck between herself, the Vessel, and Evee's Knight Protector.

"I guess we'll cut through and see," she told the others.

"Wouldn't our hosts be upset?" Elvia asked.

"Sure, but I brought a lot of HDMs, just in case," Gwen replied, refraining from stating that she also bought Maotai and Sen-sen, both far more valuable in befriending the Dwarves. In the worst-case scenario, the Ginseng Sprite would have to sacrifice its body to pleasure an entire host of hairy men.

Setting the Spellsword's setting to Sonic Cutter, she fiddled with the armament until it began to slice away sheets of crumbling stone from the inscribed wall.

"Those runes do not look to be empowered," Mathias remarked. "If this is indeed the shell of a tunnel, there's no possibility we can cut through it so easily."

"That's good." Gwen persisted in hewing away portions of the wall. "Anything that's turned off can't be critical."

Between her and Mathias, it took the better part of twenty minutes to create an opening large enough for the two of them to crawl through, a testament to the stoutness of Dwarven construction.

"Buck, Astro," Gwen indicated to her dogs as she switched to Link Sight. "Cali, Ariel, go!"

Her Hounds squeezed through the gap, willing their pack to follow.

"Okay…" Gwen spoke as she stared into the middle distance. "Looks like… a tunnel. My God, the inside is enormous. The surface looks damaged, erm— there's debris all over. Hmm— I think it should be safe for us to pass. Oh wow— there's a lot of damage. I'll use Dimension Door to take us through. I wouldn't want to damage this section any further."

Once the party was displaced across the wall and into the hollow interior, their surroundings grew clearer with Gwen's dispersion of Dancing Lights. It was now clear that all around them lay what could only be the aftermath of some incredible battle, for the walls were cracked and burned, and here and there, under blocks of collapsed granite, she could see the remains of scorched Golem Suits.

The air remained fresh enough to breathe, a clue to support Gwen's guess that the battle had occurred weeks or months ago.

"There's nothing… alive at all," Gwen reported after a few minutes of her Void Hounds scouring the surrounding area. "From the way the Dwarves have fallen back, there's a larger cavern with something akin to a Citadel, I hope, up ahead."

"What manner of Elementals you think they were fighting?" Mathias asked.

"Evee?" Gwen turned to the only member of their party in possession of mid-tier Divination. "Can you shed some light on the matter?"

Elvia presented her Holy Symbol once more, illuminating the path ahead and behind. Instantly, the Light of Revelation turned the colour of rust, blood and wine, so thick that it was impossible to see through the man-made miasma of residual mana.

"Magma, Fire and Ash!" the Cleric yelped. "Goodness, Gwennie. It's so dense!"

Gwen could hardly see her companions over the swirling mana motes colourised by Elvia's Divination. "Okay— this isn't helping. Shut it down for now."

Elvia obliged, and the trio, together with Strun, paced beside a stone spire upon which a Golem Suit was skewered.

"Holy fucksticks, look at this." Gwen touched a finger to the rusted interior of the suit, where the corrosive coolants had eaten away at the gears and oils. "Evee, can you lift this thing?"

"Sen-sen!" Elvia did not use her Draconic strength but relied on Sen-sen to break down the spire and retrieve the suit. Once on the floor, Sen-sen then tore away the hinged panels that gave the battle armour their airtight seal. Inside, the charred skeleton of a Dwarf with all of his facial hair burnt to cinders strongly indicated how the man had died— first injured by trauma and then cooked alive.

"Strewth," Gwen swore. "I don't think this is the work of Aberrants. Ariel, Cali, help the dogs scout."

"Kiki, Sen-sen, establish a defensive perimeter," Mathias commanded Elvia's creatures. "I'll lead— Gwen, stay with Elvia."

"Right," Gwen concurred. "We're not too far from the Citadel, according to Buck. You know what I am worried about?"

"What power could so demolish the Dwarven defences?" Mathias poked at another Golem Suit.

"Not as such. I could do this if I wished, so can Sen-sen, given the right conditions." Gwen regarded their Knight, wondering if Mathias could fight a mechanised Golem platoon by himself. "Have you noticed, Mattie, that there are no enemyremains?"

Mathias' expression grew suddenly grim.

"Yeah." Gwen pointed to the carnage that was growing more gruesome with every step toward the Citadel. "We haven't seen a single foe, bud. That means either whoever is hammering the Dwarves don't leave behind remains, or the Dwarves weren't able to kill a single besieger."

Mathias gripped his sword a little tighter while Strun straightaway disappeared into the shadows, moving only through fleeting flickers of darkness barely visible even to Gwen's enhanced vision.

After Gwen's unpleasant foreshadowing, the path ahead proved more gruesome than the scattered scenes of ultraviolence that came before her self-fulfilling prophecy.

The group grimly advanced until finally, the Dwarven Kjangtoth came into view. Beneath its gates, the three quaking Human Mages and one shivering rat inhaled breaths of stale air stinking of old fuel, scarred metal and sulphur.

The obliteration of the Citadel's gate was total and complete.

Unlike the gates of human castles, Dwarven construction utilised the weight of the earth itself to create impenetrable drop-barriers that could not be brute-forced, no matter the numbers or the size of the Beast Tide. Yet, the gate that lay in front of Gwen now was melted to slag, with its Rune-bound, composite surface reduced to shinning, crystallised shards, like the remains of an enormous dashed mirror.

Inside, the carnage finally took a turn from the refuse of war to the grotesque.

"Christ," Gwen couldn't stop swearing, despite her rare and precious company. "Did Garp take us to Hell or Hades?"

Elvia mimed the sign of the cross while Mathias incanted a spell of cleansing to ease the burden on their olfactory senses.

"Mistress…" Strun emerged from the shadows, his ratty eyes bloodshot with shellshock. "What madness is this?"

Gwen had no answers for her Rat-kin, for the horror threatening the sanity of her mind was conceivable only to one who had seen the aftermath of Pompeii.

Dwarves, thousands of Dwarves and more, lay in postures of unspeakable agony, clawing at their faces and throats. Some knelt, still clad in their mechanised battle armour. Others had the look of civilians; their charred bodies burned clean of clothes and flesh, reduced to ash-preserved statues of their former selves. Deeper into the avenue, with every step leading up the path toward the Guild Hall at the Citadel's centre, hunks of molten metal bespoke of ex-Golems of various shapes and sizes deformed by heat and blunt trauma. From Gwen's knowledge of the machines, in the final, desperate hours of the battle, the Dwarves had even brought out their construction Engines, for she could see the enormous husks of what could only be Fabricators littering the final rise into the grand spire that served as the heart of a homestead Citadel.

"Don't touch anything," she delivered a command to her creatures, Familiars and her companions. Whatever happened here, other Dwarves would want to know, and their vengeance would bear a grudge unfathomable to the mind of man.

"There's nought left of them!" Elvia was in tears, her pale face marred with horror and sympathy for the final moments of the stout Demi-humans. "Not a soul! Not a sliver of their being! Even their Cores are reduced to cinders! Whoever did this is monstrous, Gwen! Monstrous! We— we need to inform the Inquisitor! The Ordo has to get to the bottom of this!"

Gwen's Void Hounds, as well as Caliban, returned an equally disheartening report. Not only was there no "life", there lacked even motes of vitality to support luminescent fungi. However far her Hounds ranged, they couldn't even locate a fucking Murk vole or abandoned star-nosed moles, which the Dwarves bred like underground porcine by the tens of thousands.

"The Murk isn't the Ordo's domain, nor are Dwarven grudges." Mathias gently touched Elvia's arm. Raising his Spellsword into the air, the Radiant Knight sent forth a Day Light globe that dispelled the darkness in the distance, revealing more horrors even as he banished the uncertainty of the echoing dark. "Gwen, are you… you're shaking—"

Gwen grunted, unable to find the mental strength for more than a guttural acknowledgement.

"Mistress, we… should not be in any danger." Strun scampered from the rooftop of a building, emerging from the shadows cast by the Knight's light. "Everything's covered in ash and char. It's been some time since anything or anyone was here."

Gwen looked up at the spire, within which sat the Guild Hall. The etched windows, railings, and the thousands of master-crafted adornments that made the building both resplendent and sophisticated was all melted so that they drooled down the side of the basalt monolith like blackened teardrops of a weeping wax sculpture.

"Yeah-Nah, fuck that," Gwen said to her companions after Ariel took a gander through one of the multi-storey windows. The Linked Sight was enough to set her guts to gag and turn her Essence to boiling. "Christ, half the town was probably hiding in the Spire, hoping that their defenders could repel the invaders."

"Hoping…" Elvia's sobs grew more pronounced. "Oh, Gwennie, I- I am so upset! Is this the work of monsters?"

"Yes. Elementals," Gwen spoke with a note of bitter vehemence, reframing from asking Elvia if her God cared at all for Dwarven lives. "Who else could have this much firepower? I fought with the Dwarves of Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth. I stood in line with their Fire Teams, and I've individually confirmed how well their Balefire Guardians fight. Whatever happened here isn't something the Mageocracy is capable of doing without moving a Tower. It also isn't anything any local power is capable of performing except for those fucking Elementals from the Fire Sea."

"But why?" Mathias pointed to the utter desolation of the forge, the industrial Craft Hall, and the thoroughgoing demolition of the residential spire. The only remaining structure was the Citadel's ley-line foci, the central spire, the node through which a fully functioning Citadel maintained its connection to Deepholm and Dyar Morkk. Nothing was taken, and from the look of it, no one had bothered taking prisoners.

"I don't know," Gwen said to no one in particular. Summoning Ariel to her side, she sought sanity and solace by gripping Ariel's soft fur and kneading the Kirin's pliant flesh.

The party once more fell into silence.

Once her Hounds reconvened at the Citadel's central square, the three humans and a rat stood in stoic silence, unable to summon the courage to think about their next course of action.

"Let's go back," Gwen spoke for all of them after a few minutes of repressive pacing, uncovering yet more horrors of the ashen holocaust. "I don't think we can handle this, whatever this is. We need to inform folk with the means and the manpower to do something more concrete than disturb the evidence."

"Agreed." Mathias inclined his chin in agreement, looking to Elvia with sympathy and worry. "My head's a buzz. Not even the prayers are helping."

Gwen looked to her Evee as well. Unfortunately, Kiki's wilted stem, Sen-sen's floppy tendrils and Elvia's swollen eyes spoke explicitly of the Cleric's sensitive state of mind. Absent-mindedly, she summoned the Omni-Orb to her fingertips, then stowed her cursed tour guide. Earlier, she had will it to find the Dwarves. To her chagrin, Ruxin's Orb did not disappoint.

If the Elementals were to do this to her Rat-kin—
Gwen briefly contemplated the cost of bringing Shoggy to bear near the Fire Sea.
The terrible things she could do to the perpetrators of this atrocity could likely make Elvia lose her religion.

"Okay," she said quickly, willing Garp to wake up and make a loop so that they could follow the Shingleback Wyrm back up the tunnel by riding on its broad, flat tail. "Back we go. And when we get up there, I need someone to go and report our findings to Meister Bekker."

"I'll go." Mathias volunteered.

"Thank you." Gwen understood just how reluctant the Knight was to leave Elvia. Still, the fact remained that she could not leave her rats, and Elvia was a poor candidate to travel alone through the Sawahi.

"This is within my Code as well," the Knight said. "Someone has to know."

"Yes." Gwen took one last glance at the grand spire with its blown-out windows and melted mountings. Even one more minute in this museum of horrors was eroding the sanity of her soul.

Unbidden, she found her hand resting against the satchel with the Llais Leaf. "Someone has to know."


The Llias Leaf vibrated like an eco-friendly Nokia 3310.
Gwen couldn't speak for the device's ergonomic usability, but its "signal" was certainly without fault, for even in the depth of the Murk, travelling in a tunnel dug by a Shingleback Wyrm, it worked.

"Vessel of the Old Ones." Solana's voice, or more accurately, The Bloom in White's thoughts, invaded her mind via some intangible form of Elven witchcraft. "How may Tryfan be of aid?"

"I have something to report," Gwen said. "Something so terrible I am going to struggle to put it into words, so you'll have to bear with me."

"Ah—" Solana's patience, transmitted as a mote of vitality from the Llias Leaf in conjunction with her words, felt both warm and infinite. "We have received word on the troubling winds blowing your way, Magus Song. Know that Tryfan's generosity not only extends to you but to those you wish to speak for as well. If I may ask, how fares the Rat-kin of the Steppes?"

"The Rat-kin?" Gwen furrowed her brows. To care about the rats now sounded a bit hypocritical, for when had the Elves in the High Tower ever cared about the Tasmüyizs' long-drawn suffering?

"Are they fed? Have our seeds bloomed yet? The Essence of the Great Tree that has blessed our life-giving grain ensure that for several cycles, that which germinates will provide sustenance for the mortal races."

_There it is!_ Gwen welcomed the relieving hit of endorphins. If she weren't in such a dour mood, she would have punched the air for guessing the objective of The Bloom in White's creeping tendrils. The Elves must have known that she would need food for the Steppes— if so, were the Rat-kin a part of their plan?

"Oh, er… I haven't checked on the seeds yet." On the other hand, Gwen felt a stress-inducing suspicion that when she would returns to Shalkar in the evening of the new day, there might be some plus-sized and unanticipated surprises waiting for her. Hopefully, the beans would not have overgrown to the point where they're eating her rats, rather than the other way around. "That said, Solana, I am not here to talk about the Rat-kin."

There was a pause and a feeling of curiosity. "I see. What else can Tryfan do for the student of Kilroy?"

"For now, you can listen." Gwen took a deep breath, then began to transmit her latent emotions. "To build the rats a home, I thought I would go and find some Dwarves. One of my scouts reported witnessing Aberrant activity in the Murk nearby, so I took my Sand Wyrm—"

"Your Sand Wyrm? Do you mean Caliban?" Solana's transmission grew in intensity.

"Naw, Garp's new. He's one of those Afaa al-Halak. Look, that's not important. I rode the Wyrm—"

"You rode a primal—"

"—AND we dug our way through the Murk until we hit a Dwarven tunnel of some kind. It was covered in runic scripts, though I think the Runes were dormant. The interior was enormous, taller and wider than any of the tunnels I saw in Eth Rjoth Kjangoth."

There was a pause.

"How fortunate. You have likely found a section of what the Dökkálfar call the Dyar Morkk, the Low-ways," Solana sounded impressed. "Disconnected they have been for thirty season-cycles at least, but sections of it still function under the great land masses unbroken by the Elemental of Mud and Water."

So THAT's the Dyar Morkk? Gwen made a mental note. Isn't that what London's trying to unearth in their alliance with Eth Rjoth Kjangtoth? Before she left, Ravenport and the Grey Faction were all gung ho for trying to find new ways of moving cargo and troops throughout England and the greater Commonwealth of her majesty's "Ex-Colonies".

"Right, so we found indications of combat, what looks like Fire, Magma and Ash Elementals fighting against Hammer Guards of the Golem Legions. From the appearances of the burned-out corpses, the retreating defences stretched for about a kilometre, probably longer since we breached it near the middle— after which we were in there for an hour at least. When we got to the Citadel, it was a total shit show..."

The Llias Leaf, as a miraculous device Gwen wished to emulate for her future Legion project, transmitted not only thoughts but empathy as well. While Solana appeared capable of controlling what she projected, Gwen possessed no such option. Consequently, she poured her horror into the leaf without reserve, closing her eyes to best picture the holocaust of the Dwarven Citadel.

When she finally finished her descriptions and her suspicions of who might be responsible, the leaf-line on the other side of her box-and-cosmic-string magical telephone grew deathly silent.

"This is grave news—" the Bloom in White paused. The floral Hvítálfar's voice was calm, and through the leaf, Gwen perceived nought to suggest the Elf was shocked by what she saw. Nonetheless, the absence of all emotion was itself a glaring clue that Gwen took to mean the High Priestess of the Hvítálfar was thoroughly rattled. In the interim, Solana fell so silent that Gwen began to wonder if their signal had dropped. When she finally spoke, it was with a tone of finality. "We thank you for the news, dearest student of Master Kilroy. Do keep the leaf against your skin. I shall contact you once I've made the enquiries."

The pulse of life and Essence from Tryfan abruptly ceased. The artisanally inscribed Llias Leaf was once more a piece of mundane vegetation.

"So that's the Llias Leaf in action." Elvia's eyes landed on the emerald foliage. "Gwennie, I am confused. Inquisitor Hawkford said the leaves are only given to the Hvítálfar's prized agents, whose goal is to maintain the World Tree's hold on the Prime Material. But he also said you couldn't be a part of the Hvítálfar's ploys."

"Yeah-Nah." Gwen shook her head. "I am no Elven agent; we're just using each other, that's all. Not unlike me and Dickie."

"Richard?" Elvia looked relieved to change the subject from their earlier journey through the ashen hell. "He's such a dear, and he's so loyal to you."

"I mean Ravenport," Gwen remarked offhandedly, too distracted to change her thoughts and words. "The one with the Tower Ravens."

"To the secular world, Magus Song, he is Lord Mycroft Ravenport, Marshall of the Kingdom, Protector of Albion," Mathias corrected her. "The seminary teaches us that if one wishes to be respected, they should always speak of others with respect, even in private."

The Knight remained shaken from the sights in the Citadel, so Gwen forgave the young man's stiffness, likely equally anxious that he had to leave Elva for a few days to report on their findings to the expeditionary force in the south-west. Now and then, herself included, she found it hard to believe that they were only a few years out of Sydney. Juxtaposed against every other atrocity in her Path of Violent Reckoning, she had to remind herself that even folk like Mathias, who had seen war plenty, had no immunity against PTSD and not yet enough weathered to become completely jaded.

"Noted." Gwen patted Garp on its deck-sized bum, then scratched Strun about the ears to release the rats' pent up tension. "Will you be travelling forthwith, Mathias? Can you navigate in the dark?"

"I'll make a stop at Nukus, then follow the supply stations southward," the Knight proclaimed, a feat Gwen could not begin to manage without her Omni-orb. "Please keep Elvia safe."

"I will," Gwen promised. "Nothing will come close to harming her, I promise."

"Mattie, our quest was to help and protect Gwennie." Elvia slid an arm around Gwen's elbow to show her affirmation. "Besides, I've got Sen-sen and Kiki as well, and whatever happens, I can always heal myself."

Feeling a little peculiar about Elvia's superior physical prowesses, Gwen acknowledged the Cleric's confidence. How strange it was that if her sweet little Evee assaulted her and Mathias with any seriousness, she could likely concave their chest and shatter their bones.

Nodding, Mathias lifted into the air.

"Stay safe, Mathias." Gwen gave her benediction. "Tell Bekker the occurrent here, no more, no less."

"Come back soon!" Elvia did not appear particularly stricken with the idea of her companion of two years going for a stroll through a Black Zone.

The girls watched as the Knight in the polished armour glowed like a miniature sun, then blasted off into the distance as a Radiance-infused aurora.

"Well then." Gwen struck out a hand to invite her healer. "Shall we? Strun will drive Garp home. Meanwhile, we need to check on Stian and the fields."

"You've only just planted the seeds a day ago." Elvia pointed out an obvious fact. "Even with Sen-sen and your Essence, I don't think they'll be growing that fast."

"Yeah, er…" Gwen felt strangely thrilled now that their third wheel was gone, a welcome distraction to the horrors below. "I received some news that these were the giant beanstalk kind… and that er… they came imbued with swift-growth."

Elvia understood her meaning at once. "Oh dear, we better get back."

"Agreed. Ariel!" Gwen conjured her Kirin, then placed Elvia atop the purring Lightning Familiar. "Hold on, Evee. We're going to go fast!"

Mycroft Ravenport, Eighteenth Duke of Norfolk, Earl of Arundel and Surry, Lord Earl Marshall of England, just had a good day, a terrible occurrence for a man in his position.

"It's a rather quiet and relaxing evening, isn't it, Morrigan?" Mycroft couldn't help but tempt fate.

Morrigan, Ravenport's Keeper of the Kingdom's secrets, cocked her avian head with a "Caw!"

"Truly," the Duke said. "It's worrying."

"Caw!"

At noon, Morrigan had laid out the reports for his review.

Foremost of the post-new-year news was that revenue was up on all accounts, both for the London Metropolitan region and the Grey Market under Morrigan's watchful obsidian eyes. The bulk of the city's unusual income stemmed from the stamp duty offerings from the properties sold within the metropolis, almost a quarter of which took place on the Isle of Dogs. From the number of digits in a single accounting line Morrigan had pecked out, the volume of HDMs flowing through that once rural node of London not under the control of either three Factions both made Ravenport exhilarated and made him anxious for the lost benefits to him and his allies.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Apart from the passive property taxes and sky rocking land prices, infrastructure expansion and thus overall employment of the city was also at an all-time high. For this boon, he had the Dwarves to thank, who, after a long negotiation and a longitudinal trade arrangement for barley, hop, fresh fruit and Mage Flights, offered two Fabricator Engines and its crew on lease. The Royal Arsenal Commission's Enchanters, as well, had taken the opportunity to section out vast swaths of Woolwich for the creation of joint-race Dwarven arms Manufactoriums.

Another source of unanticipated income was the booming construction north of the Isle of Dogs. There, the Barlow Group's full-throttled investment into Canary Wharf aimed to contest the development across the water, resulting in the rapid gentrification of Deptford. Consequently, unemployment for NoMs and low-tier Mages in the region neared one per cent as both sides scrambled to acquire labourers.

Naturally, there were conflicts aplenty as a result, mostly involving arm-wrestling between the LoD Redevelopment Project and the Barlow Group's attempt at cashing into the real estate surge. The girl's cousin, an amicable young man with a brilliant, pragmatic mind Ravenport had his eyes on, was leading the crusade against the thuggish, underhanded work of the Militant Faction.

It was a shame that the gifted one was the girl and not her cousin, for the young man had a mindset that meshed well with Mycrofts' expectations of competence.

The Grey Faction, thanks to the young man's tipoffs and Morigan's efforts, had amassed enough evidence on the Militants' ham-fisted greed to demote a half-dozen Marquises into Earls and Viscounts to commoners. While he wouldn't want to constrict the collar of the Mageocracy's hunting hounds directly, he and the Crown's mutual offices agreed that a stern reprimand, followed by a stark and hateful penalty, was best practice— one that additionally allowed him to repay the girl's favour.

For now, he allowed the boy to borrow the tiger's terror, hilariously wielding the Dwarves' presence like a hammer whenever the Barlow group sought to usurp a portion of the yet-undeveloped property by taking advantage of the ongoing political honeymoon period. Whenever the Redevelopment Project's construction met with sabotage, an angry Dwarven foreman would lead a team of Golems next door to protest with extreme prejudice, delaying the Barlow's construction by weeks. Within the last month, London's Metropolitan Arbitrators had been summoned so often to the Isle of Dogs that the Commissioner seriously began considering Magister Walken's proposal of discounted office space for a new HQ.

And on a Dwarven note, Morigan's reports showed that investigations by The Shard into the Dyar Morkk were progressing well. Together with the Dwarve's Golem Legions, the Tower's elite Mage Flights had bulldozed Aberrant nests by the dozens, reclaiming one inactive node after another. Negotiations with the central continent, particularly with the German Councillor and the Bavarian Thanes, had also been catalysed by the hope of linking long-lost Citadels for the denizens below with the promise of practical transportation of troops and goods for the citizens above.

Thinking of further negotiations to come, a voice in Mycroft's head in the form of Morrigan's "Caw!" reminded the Duke that there was a green-eyed Calamity who was responsible for all of the above. As a self-caution, the Duke reminded himself to remind the girl that she was merely a catalyst, while the men and women of London did the heavy lifting.

On another fortuitous report, Dublin had indicated that the Wyld Hunt was officially spent and gone for ten months and would no longer harry the war budget. The Sixth Cabal's report on the insurrection in the Niger Delta was comparatively ambivalent— though that was a problem for the Militant Faction, whose greedy push via the Barlow Group was precisely for the recouping of lost revenue in the heart of Africa. Finally, the open-ended issue with the Fire Sea's expansion appeared to be contained by Meister Bekker, at least on the surface.

Worryingly, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office's plans for the Steppes, involving the pruning of the Centaur's potential and the containment of the Elemental incursion, had met with such a low body count that he felt confounded by its resolution.

Likewise, that the girl wasn't a part of the campaign and therefore did not take up precious moments of his limited attention was as relaxing as worrying, for he was confident the Shoggoth should have been necessary to distract the Brass Legion.

On his home front, there was good news as well.

Charlene would soon graduate Summa cumme laude from Cavendish in the fall semester and join the Foreign Office. Quinn, his oldest, should soon return from his Ambassadorial Office in Pretoria now that the new year had come and gone and the ides of January was upon them. His second wife, the lovely and air-headed Everleigh Eden of Avon, was also busy tending to her peer-gathering projects, which spared him the effort of facing her doubts.

Thanks to the damned Sun's baseless accusations of infidelity, both his wife and daughter had entertained the idea of meeting the girl responsible for his idiot son's death— Everleigh for baser reasons, and Charlene out of curiosity for a brother she'd rarely seen. Though Ravenport had explained that Edmund had effectively killed himself by working with Spectre, an instinctual part of him felt curiously keen to witness that meeting.

Nonetheless, while Maxine's darling hellion was away and out of Morigan's feathers, life was quiet, and therefore good, and therefore had only one direction to go.

"Caw! Caw!" Morigan chimed in.

"Ah—" Ravenport relaxed, exhaling his pent-up, formless anxiety. "Bad news? Excellent."

"Milord, you're going to love this." The Raven switched to common speech as it landed, transforming itself into the bloodless mien of a pale beauty with crow-black hair that reached her waist. In the woman's hands, she held an emerald leaf glistening with the arrogant Essence of Tryfan's Great Tree.

"… that bad, eh?" Ravenport received the Llias Leaf, took a deep breath, then allowed the Essence to infuse his mind. He was a man that believed in balance, for there was pleasantness in moderation.

"Eternal Bloom." He willed away the innate empathic link built into the Llias Leaf. "How may my humble Office aid Tryfan?"

"Our Dear Duke of the Accord," came the effortless and ageless voice of the High Priestess. Curiously, Mycroft felt that he had detected a certain breathlessness. "I do apologise for being the harbinger of very dire news. A situation has arisen involving our _Outcasts_ and your Rogue Mages."

_Outcasts..._

Mycroft Ravenport unconsciously sat a little straighter.
Elves cast out from the Eden of their Great Trees.
Mortal— but no less masterful than their ageless cousins.
Refocusing his mind, Mycroft banished the girl, the Isle and the budget from his mind.

"Dire, you say?" the Duke of Norfolk waited on the clarification. "To what degree?"

"Uncertain as of yet, though the source is quite reliable," Solana said. "I received direct, empathic confirmation first-hand from your favourite. Are you surprised?"

The girl's smug face, in the most unwelcome sense, once more invaded Mycroft's mind. Feeling a tender throb in his kidneys, Mycroft touched two fingers to his temple, scratched his brow, then sighed. "I am not surprised at all— not at all."

"We should thank the girl,' Solana continued. "For if we mobilise now, we may yet discover the true intent behind their senseless act."

"Right." Mycroft forcibly banished all stray thoughts. "Tell me what you're willing to divulge, immortal Solana, then we'll see how London may hold up its side of the Accord."

As the Elder of Clan Jildam, Stian was no stranger to the quasi-magical flora of the Sawahi.

For years, sometimes even decades, the seeds of drought-resistant flora in the desert would lay dormant, surviving even in the intestines of the Afaa al-Halak to await the coming of the wet season, soaking up the meagre mana in the sand.

When the wet finally arrived, week-long torrential downpours would penetrate deep into the dry bedrock of the desert, refilling its deep aquifers and reshaping the dunes into momentary valleys with rivers of raging quicksand.

The result of such a natural endeavour would tease forth the dormant energies stowed within the seed pods. Overnight, in a matter of hours, wildflowers of every kind would emerge in every corner. Fragrant zones of jade foliage, together with roving masses of suddenly appearing bees and other insects, would then assail the Sawahi to pollinate and procreate in an orgiastic explosion of life.

That, in Stian's long memory, was supposed to be the way of the world.

Ever since the Tide and the emergence of the Fire Sea, however, the rain season had barely touched the desert. Even when it did fall, downpours reduced to sprinkles, and what water his Clan in its halcyon days could collect was insufficient in sustaining their pastoral wonders.

In a matter of months, the moisture farms had failed.
The crops withered.
Stian recalled that the underground aquifers and their ownership became a matter of survival, turning Rat-kin on Rat-kin, Clan against Clan.
The resulting wars in the days of Stian's youth were as epic as they were senseless, accomplishing nothing other than feeding the ever-larger Afaa al-Halak with the bodies of millions of fallen Rat-kin, a sign that the land mother was reclaiming what it had once given.

Later, as the Elder of the Tasmüyiz living under Tamir Khan's careless tyranny, he came to know that this was not the land mother's displeasure with the Rat-kin, but the result of extra-planar conflicts far greater than what ratty farmers in a desolate part of the world could begin to fathom.

Now, Stian once more saw a sight he had not seen since childhood.

Of the fields, his Priestess— or Mistress, as she now demanded to be called— the smallest acreage was already blooming with vines a handspan in length, with hundreds of the saplings already flowering after a generous sprinkling of water.

That was a miracle.

And then there were the seeds blessed by the Priestess of the Pale light's lifeblood— the hallmark of a TRUE miracle.

Foremost of the rapidly maturing plants were the beans and tomatoes. A variety the Priestess was said to have received from Demi-god protectors' of a tree that held up the world's fabric like a giant yurt-totem. Together with the beans, the thousand or so seeds planted by the Rat-kin with the help of a "Kiki" and a "Sen-sen" were already taller than the Priestess. All were now arm-thick and groaning as their length and girth visibly extended with every passing minute.

The cucumbers, comparatively, required far too much water to properly propagate. They would have to be relocated closer to the oasis, or until the Priestess' "Elemental Water Generators" could be brought from her homeland.

Most impressive of the foursome gift of seeds was the pumpkin, which she had called the "Sunset Squash." These seemed most adaptable to the poor soil of the Sawahi and appeared to thrive in the "Spice" gifted by Lord Garp.

In the fields where the "Spiced Pumpkins" had been planted, not only did they have to relocate crowded plants into the newly prepared areas, the hundred-odd remaining vines had already inundated the original plantation with a sea of broad green leaves each larger than a Rat-kin. By dusk, the field was exploding with fragrant bursts of yellow flowers, and Stian was considering getting his Rat-kin to pollinate the plants to speed the germination of fruit.

By that speed and scale, Stian shivered; just how many pumpkins would they harvest?

More importantly, at yield time, just how much fodder could they produce from the leaves, which were itself edible and delicious to the Rat-kin?

With clean water, Stian thought, and hale produce whose tonnage brought hope by equal measure, just how much of the life Stian recalled could be restored, nay, exceeded?

Yet, even as Stian's heart filled with gladness and joy, he simultaneous shivered, fearful of the coveted bounty in front of him.

Would Temir Khan come for their boon?
Would the Horse-lords demand all their produce for "protection" once more?
Would the Priestess' Mageocracy honestly care, as she had proposed, for mere rats?

Stian was wise and old enough to know that just as they could not trust Temir Khan in protecting the Rat-kin, their faith in the Priestess should remain one of spiritual gratitude instead of pragmatic reliance.

If indeed the Priestess could provide them with water and food, then he and the Prefects must hurry to enact the next stage of the Clan's restoration. They must make profits, as their prophet had foretold, acquire funds so that their walls could be built high and the warrens deep.

The Rat-kin under the Priestess were twelve Clans, many with mixed blood, split among a hundred Centurions with transformed constitutions. If they could gather the scattered tribes who fled from the war, their numbers should swell close to two hundred thousand. And as many hands performed lighter work, they could then develop Shalkar in every direction, not just the east.

As for the phage— Stian had come to acknowledge their Priestess' commandment that the disease was a blessing for the Rat-kin. However, in place of her boundless benevolence, he and the Prefects all agreed that the disease conjured by the Necromancers was lethal only to the infirm, frail, and starved Rat-kin. Even if a thousand died— a million might live a decade from now— that was a price acceptable to any slave. For they who lived under the Horse-lord's hooves, they who were playthings slain out of boredom, or be sent out and worked until their death, any opportunity, at any cost of giving their scions a better life, was welcomed.

AND, as the Elder of his tribe and a grandfather, Stian needed to remind Strun that as the Priestess' foremost representative and the first Wyrm Rider in an incalculable number of generations, it was his role to procreate as often and produce as many scions as possible in the hope that many would inherit his traits. Garp, too, if they could capture a female Wyrm, would provide the Clans with a hopeful future. Many Rat-kin would die in the endeavour, but it would be worthwhile.

Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, that was the Rat-kin's meagre lot— to seek salvation at any cost, that was the dirge song of the meek.


"Fuck." Gwen saw her emerald co-op farm from across the horizon. The sight was so conspicuous that anyone from any elevation would immediately recognise the unsheltered food source suddenly blooming in the desert.

"Oh, Gwennie…" Her affected Evee reassured her from the back of a mewing Kirin. "I am sure the plants are safe. Look, there's no fighting, and everyone looks to be busy around the fields."

But the girl had misread her woe. In her anticipations, Gwen HAD desired that the seeds sprout like Jack's beans, and that's why she had bestowed them with the primal blessing of Almudj, whose will could turn the iron-dusted earth of central Australia pink with blushing lotuses in the wet season.

"Golos!" she called for her guardian beast of the Rat-kin.

With a splintering, wincing crash, the Wyvern emerged from among the pumpkin fields, expressing the power of a brutal body build for violence. The creature took a running leap, then joined the girls hovering above the foliage lake, worshipped by the fervent eyes of Gwen's ratty citizens below.

"This happened overnight?" Gwen stated the obvious. "Any trouble?"

"I ate a few stickybeaks." The Wyvern grinned. "That and your slave-kin haven't slept since you left. They've been moving the vines and saplings to new fields, working like Ryxi on his herb field. Speaking of which, how about we breed some carp? I'll borrow a dozen from Ryxi's pond, hee hee— watching the snake protest to Ruxin should be fun."

"Oi, no S-words in my house." Gwen protested even as she considered the potential of having Draconic Carp in the freshwater oasis. Indeed, it would make for a fantastic venture since Ryxi's carp were predominantly herbivorous, and Shalkar looked to have an excess of greenery. "And yes, that's an amazing idea if you can transport the things."

"Ryxi's Water Spheres should do it," Golos promised. "A few may perish though... in transit, hee hee hee..."

"Gwennie. I think you should consult Stian," Elvia advised. "What if the Dragon Carp find Rat-kin to be the perfect fodder?"

"True that." Gwen banished the idea for later. Nonetheless, she was reminded that there was such a thing as aquaculture in her old world. The combination was said to be ideal for conserving nutrients and water in a moisture-poor environment. "Let's go down and have a look. It's impressive, eh? I expect we should have food soon."

"You have food now." Golos led the way, pointing a claw at the leaves. "Not even Ryxi's herbs can grow at the same pace. That's why they worship you. The delicious Eels in my domain showed no less worship than your furry ones."

Gwen somehow doubted the Unagi-don living in Golos' fiefdom of food honestly thought of the Wyvern that way.

As the threesome landed, Gwen could see the potential her monstrous vital forces had allowed. Her plus-sized quasi-magical flora was positively Brobdingnagian because of Sen-sen's aid, Garp's poop, and Golos' obscene excretions. The pumpkin patches, in particular, were so thick with leaves the size of umbrellas that the Rat-kin were already harvesting cartloads of the stuff as fodder to prevent future fruits from missing out on the sun's blessing.

Thankfully, her labourers were doing shifts, and her dumb Wyvern merely couldn't tell them apart. While a group of rats worked, the others rested— simultaneously performing what looked like acts of vegetation veneration.

Gwen groaned.

Beside her, the "Druidess" Elvia released Kiki and Sen-sen, who must have felt some kindred bond to the plants and thus fled into the field. As for why, Gwen assumed these Dryad-like Sprites probably liked to hug the trees or something, at least before they had to face the axe.

"Mistress." Stian emerged from the thicket of deep green plants. Everywhere, she could near the droning moan of the vines' growth, making the otherwise verdant Eden sound like it was haunted. "You have returned. How fare the Stout-kin's lands?"

"Massacred by Elementals," Gwen said. To Stian, at least, she felt no need for further elaboration. The Elder, out of all the surviving Elders of her rat-pack, had more than her share of Elementals razing rat-villages from the Eastern Sawahi to the Northern Steppes in his three decades of Exodus.

"My… condolences." The Rat-kin hung his head. "Mistress Elvia tells me you were close to the Stout-kin."

"Not these." Gwen inhaled in the verdant scent of squash leaves to improve her mood. "But yes, my friends in the north will be beyond distraught. I do suspect we will get visitors soon. A fallen Citadel is a major incident."

"Shall I ask the Centurions to prepare the guests' burrows?"

Gwen thought about the roughly hewn hovels the Rat-kin used for shelter. To house the future Mage or Dwarven delegation in hovels smelling of sand and wet fur with no windows and only holes for ventilation sounded like a recipe for catastrophe. "Any chance for huts?"

Stian turned his head to regard the enormous vine plants. "After harvest, Mistress. We can cure the vine-wood, extract oil from their bark and excess seeds, then use that as material. For now, I fear we can only shape the earth."

"Gwennie, I would think any higher-ups who show up would likely carry Portable Habitats," Elvia reminded her. "When do you suppose we can expect guests?"

Gwen considered her conversation with the Bloom in White. "A week, likely two? I have no idea how the southern campaign is going though. Someone from the Shard would take a few days at least, assuming the Elves tell the Shard— or we wait for Mathias, I would guess at least six days for a scouting party. There's no Divination Towers to anchor Teleportation points that I know of, and Magister Taylor said the Fire Sea makes Teleportation outside of ley-lines extremely inexact."

"What do we do now?" Elvia had an expression that said the last thing she wanted to do was sit around and do nothing while waiting for the plants to grow.

"Evee, you keep working on stabilising the phage— remember, we want a Remove Disease that reduces virulence but unimpedes infection rates for the Rat-kin. The best-case scenario is that any Centaurs will think twice about invading without crippling themselves in the aftermath."

"Gwennie." Elvia leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "If we suceed. What if the Rat-kin want to invade the Centaur's lands?"

"It's going to take major changes for even a chance of that to happen," Gwen stated the obvious. "Stian, even when the rat fellers dominated the eastern grasslands of the Sawahi, did you invade anyone?"

The Elder shook his head. "We are not a war-like people, Mistress. Conflict isn't in our nature. With the lives and the effort lost taking what belongs to others, we could cultivate more fields and restore more of the desert."

Gwen considered her earnest Elder rat, who in his worn robes, greying piebald fur and hunched form appeared the very picture of a church mouse. As a student of history, though, she felt sceptical of Stian's wisdom. That "our folk" weren't naturally war-like was to her merely an excuse for weakness. Peaceful they may be, fight they must to the last tuft of fur. Would the forces that had aided the Rat-kin ever allow rats to live in their private Eden while war and death raged all around them? Even if she were to shepherd the Rat-kin to a new Renaissance of food security and sustainable development, wouldn't they just become targets for every other foe lacking food, water and shelter?

If so, what use were Stian's hope they would remain Ratmaritan farmers?

"Well said. Tend the plants well," Gwen answered Stain's claim with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Though let me say this. We, Stian, may not go forth and find war. But war... War will find us."

Gwen found herself unable to sleep for the three days of lulling peace that passed without incident, suffering the calm like the oppressive heat before a storm.

By day, she patrolled the emerging Rat-kin dens, visited Elvia and walked with Stian and the other Prefects, talking of matters to come.

By night, she and Elvia spoke long and soundly about the past, about Sydney, about Evee's experiences in the Ordo and Faith Magic and her feelings for Gwen's Master's thrifted, Demi-human Necromancy.

For a while, Gwen almost felt as if she and Elvia had returned to a simpler time.
In the Wildlands, there were no beeping Messages from Divination Towers and no subordinates needing her help on reports or Magisters studying her body for projects.
Just her, Evee, the cool interior of the Portable Habitat, and life on the farm.
It was an "escape to the country" experience Gwen had not anticipated, and as the days wore on, she realised just how desperately she had needed a wind-down of the pace she had set for herself.

In the meantime, her farmhands expanded exponentially to almost six thousand able-bodied rats rolling up their desert smocks to heap "spice" into new fields even as the newly-returned Garp carved out channels in the desert.

Of the labours at hand, it was Kiki, the floral Sprite that again wowed them all by using its innate powers to gather, then pollinate the flowering fields in the absence of insects, who would take weeks to arrive and to breed into sufficient numbers.

On the morning of the fourth day, after breakfast made by Evee, there came a knock on the Alarm spell left outside the Portal Habitat.

After the girls washed and dressed, Stian met them on the threshold.

There was a problem.

The "Control" field, with its mundane miracle of unimpressive growth, the rat explained, was developing in a suspicious direction.

"Mistress, it's trying to form a vine gate of some kind." Stian pointed to the beans. "We don't know if something is controlling it or otherwise, so we kept cutting it down."

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

Gwen first took stock that no rats were harmed, then she turned her attention to the unusual phenomenon.

True to the Rat-kin's words, she could see that two of the Centurions had teeth-axes in hand and were hewing away at what appeared to be fast-growing tendrils of prehensile vines attempting to form a structure of sorts.

Feeling a deep suspicion, she produced the Llias Leaf once more, having chosen NOT to keep the thing against her skin while she and Elvia shared their private moments.

Sure enough, her Llias 3310 was vibrating.

"Hello, Gwen here," she answered the leaf by holding it against her face out of habit, drawing a quizzical look from Elvia.

"Magus Song," the voice that spoke, much to Gwen's surprise, wasn't her demure and flawlessly beautiful friend, the Bloom in White, but the beetle-black Arch-Warden Eldrin. "Stop cutting down our gate."

Gwen blinked at the field and its heap of hewn vines. "Your gate? What gate?"

"The Trellis Portal." Eldrin did not nearly possess the patience of his counterpart. "What you have discovered is a matter of great significance, and we wish to send a representative to witness the fact first-hand. Without direct confirmation of the Elementals methods, Tryfan's cooperation with the Mageocracy and the Dökkálfar will suffer."

It took Gwen another few seconds to realise that Eldrin spoke of the beanstalks her Centurions were happily collecting for building materials.

"Let me get this straight." Her mind grew instantly displeased as the realisation struck. "You gave me plants for food, and the bloody food can grow PORTALS for your goons to hop through?"

"Correct." Eldrin sounded utterly unabashed by the fact. "Allow the gate to form, Magus Song."

_The bastard!_ Gwen felt an acerbic ire rise in her chest. The logical part of her knew already that the Hvítálfar gave nothing for free and that there would be a cost to receiving their help and aid. What she had not anticipated was that the food came with the means to enable an invasion.

"No way, not without answers." she refuted at once. "What are your true intentions, Eldrin? What does our dearest Bloom want for Shalkar?"

"What's good for all." Eldrin's voice made her think of a swinging, scything blade. "Food for your slaves, stability for the Prime Material, woe for our Planar usurpers."

"They're free folk!" Gwen snapped back, transmitting her annoyance. Why do all of these uppity existences speak so unabashed of the Rat-kin's meekness like it's some crime of nature? "You know nothing, Eldrin."

"Do you think they'll be free merely because of your assistance? Who do you think you are?" Eldrin's arrogance was growing on her nerves. "Will they survive the Centaur's iron-shod hooves without our aid?"

"Our? No, I'll deal with the horses," Gwen growled into the leaf, transmitting her displeasure.

"Will you be their Queen and sovereign then? A human woman, the Devourer Queen of the Vermin! That would be a first even in your sordid history books!" Eldrin appeared unfazed by her confidence. "And for how many decades? Will your Mageocracy allow that liberty. Could our Bloom be humoured by such an act? Or—"

The Arch-Warden paused as if struck by epiphanic enlightenment.

"I see now. You wish to exercise that which is the natural talent of your phage-like race— you could prune the Centaurs from existence. Eradicate them once and for all— a feat not even your mid-land ancestors could achieve seven centuries ago. Over their bones, with your mastery over the Sand Wyrms, the Steppes could be tamed and transformed into your personal property. Better yet, you could use your filthy Svartálfar sorcery to subsume their souls, empower your magic, and force them into servitude. Is that what you wish, Devourer Song?"

Absorbing the abuse like a sponge, Gwen turned to her Rats.
If The Bloom in White had asked and asked nicely, with a promise of giving her some secrets of the Llias Leaf, then she would have being satisfied with building infrastructure for the Hvítálfar. Eldrin, on the other hand, could eat a big black Caliban.

Now that she knew what was going on, what's interesting was that only the "Control" field appeared to be sprouting a Trellis Portal. At the same time, the seeds affected by her and the Yinglong's Essence seemed to be unmoved by the trans-Planar command from Tryfan, which, when she thought about it, made a mystical but logical sense. If so, her accidental foresight to garner produce was doing her far more favours than just making food.

That and Evee's Inquisitor was right.
Fucking Elves and their agendas.

"Stian, uproot the Control field. Gogo. Burn all of it," she gave the command to send in the men and women with their teeth-tools.

"Magus Song, you would show such insolence?" the voice from the Llias Leaf rose in volume and hostility.

"Caliban! Ariel! Help out!"

"Shaa!"
"Ee—EE!"

Her creatures stood at the ready to return the plants to their senders.

The Llias Leaf grew uncomfortably silent.

After a dozen seconds, likely to see if she was tearing the vines apart, of which she was, another voice sounded on the Llias phone.

"Magus Song?"

It was her masseuse, Sanari.

"Hierophant Sanari," she answered the pleasant, female voice. "How can I help?"

"Allow me to apologise for Arch-Warden Eldrin." The Druid's diplomacy was far more to her liking. "Matters have grown somewhat urgent, even for those of us for whom time does not flow. Although I fear we cannot bestow undue details without inviting you to join our communion of like-minded forces, I do beg for your patience and generosity. Tryfan requires access to the Steppes, and you are our closest Essence root to the source of our troubles."

Gwen's anger subsided at the apology.

"I don't particularly mind delivering this favour as repayment for the seeds," she said. "I should thank you for the food and the foresight. That said, I don't like being surprised."

"Again, we did not mean to be so abrupt. Warden Eldrin has been shocked, as we all have, by recent developments."

"I'll buy that," Gwen concurred. "So, what happens after you send an army? What happens to my rats?"

"An army? Magus?"

"That's Eldrin's job, isn't it? Pruning folk like stems from a Bonzai? What's going to happen to my freed rats?"

"Nothing," Sanari explained. "They are yours, Magus Song. Tryfan merely wishes passage for its allies, nothing more. By the Bloom's wisdom, I shall personally attend in place of Arch-Warden Eldrin. For now, please recognise the urgency of the matter."

"Who are these allies?"

"Common friends of circumstance," Sanari replied. "I promise that we shall minimally utilise the gate. In any case, its energies remain precious and limited."

"Fine. That's a promise then." Gwen did indeed recognise the urgency of the horror below despite the interval that must have passed since its inception. "Also, Eldrin mentioned that the Bloom could be convinced to be a patron of the operation I've established here?"

"We shall be amicable to discussing your needs if it so pleases you."

"… good." Gwen accepted that a verbal agreement was as much as she could coax before things took a turn for the sour. Unlike Eldrin, she had no desire to slap the smiling Sanari, and The Bloom had been pretty good to her, and supposedly— she was mates with her Master.

And at worst, once she repaid the favour, she could pollute these plants from Tryfan with her and the Yinglong's Essence, preventing further surprises.

"Stian, tell the men to fall back," she commanded. "Let's see what miracles our friends from the north can use to offset the impediments of space and time."

"Okay, that's a miracle, alright."

It took the better part of a day for the vines to grow into a Trellis Portal four meters in height, wrought of intricate Elven Sigils and interwoven sorcerous structures hidden from view.

Meanwhile, Gwen set about readying storage solutions for the rats' future Sunset Squash harvest. While she planned out ways to maximise space and economy, Stian gave lectures teaching the others that pumpkins could be stored for close to six months if kept in cool and dry places, flipped upside down to divert seedy ambitions.

When she returned to the field of interwoven beans and tomato vines, the Portal was in full bloom, likely because of the energies Tryfan was pouring into the structure from some unseen ley in the world.

The sight, Gwen had to admit, was to her a worthy spectacle.

The Trellis Portal was a four-meter, self-constructed arch in the middle of a field, under the ultramarine sky of the Sawahi, in a Black Zone. On its exterior, emerald foliage swayed with the wind as yellow, carmine, lilac and white blooms erupted in spontaneous bouquets.

A poor man's Star Gate? Gwen mused to herself. Just what was the limitation of distance on these things?

At the promised hour, the space between the frame came alive with the unique magic of Druidic Tree Striding, something the Hvítálfar had not been shy to demonstrate during her visit.

A white hand appeared, thin and elegant, elfin and a little alien as it pierced the veil of space.

Sanari, Hierophant of Tryfan, strode through the gate, followed by a second elf in beetle-black plate mail, with a scimitar the thinness of insect wings hanging from one thigh. The planar membrane behind them swelled like a bubble, then popped as its latent energies fled.

The thousand or so armed Rat-kin watching the entry turned their eyes from their Demi-divine visitors to their Priestess of the Pale Light. At her word, she could see, they would swarm the Elves with tooth and nail.

"Welcome." Gwen extended a hand to shake the two-meter woman with the guise of a humanoid praying mantis.

Sanari's golden eyes, pearlescent like that of a jewelled scarab's shell, swept across her rats, then lowered to regard her hosts— first to Gwen, then to Elvia.

"Thank you for your generosity." Sanari tilted her head, sending a lock of flaxen hair sliding past her ear. "I am among august presences, I see— not one, but two Vessels of old ones. I now understand why you did not fear Eldrin's ire, Magus Song. Thank you for receiving us. My companion is Elder-Warden Thiel, my instructor during my Cycle as a Warden."

The Elf in armour gave them a curt nod.

Gwen nodded back, choosing to refrain from formality. "To save time, I can show you where we found the Dwarves. Shall we?"

"We shall await our allies," Sanari surprised her by rejecting her offer. "They should be arriving very soon to assess the extent of the threat."

"The threat?" Gwen silently remarked that she had better not be the threat. "From who?"

"Outsiders, outcasts from the Great Trees." Sanari remained as cryptic as ever. "The details, I cannot relate. However, I may inform you that our common foe, that cabal dubbed by your Mages as Spectre, is likewise working with the Elementals and that their designs extend far beyond a mere, Dwarven outpost."

"Can you clarify?" Gwen asked.

"Clarity is what we're trying to discern," Sanari said. "Our Divinations thus far have been... impeded."

"Right." Gwen considered the situation at hand. Her curiosity demanded answers, but she had far too much on her plate already. "Can you tell me who has been informed and who I should expect?"

"I can." The softly spoken Elf considered her request. "To my knowledge, the Bloom has informed your Kingdoms' Duke of War, who has promised to invite the Thane-King of the Dwarves under Red Peak. News will undoubtedly travel fast to the Middle Kingdoms of Humanity in what you call Central Europe and the Commonwealth of the Mageocracy. The forces you have fielded in this part of the world will soon return as well, your Mages and the Horse Lord's horde. They shall soon convene where you've made the Rat-kin a home."

"... That's way too fucking soon." Gwen swore, then immediately regretted her reflexive vulgarity. "Sorry— what I meant was that's hardly good news for what I've got here. Any idea who will be the first to arrive?"

"The Dökkálfar would have been the first, consideing their grudge— but their low-ways have since been sundered, so they must now travel by borrowing the rudimentary sorcery of your Mageocracy. Thereby, assuming your young Knight Protector finds your southern expedition without fail, we should be expecting Meister Bekker first and foremost. The Khan's representative shall arrive shortly after, though for a different reason than the others."

Gwen noted the unconscious "rudimentary" slipped into the Elf's words. Of the incoming folk, she could imagine the Dwarves doing their grim business, after which she might ask for a few favours to help her build the rat's city. Bekker as well, once she saw the merits of Shalkar, should be taking the Rat-kin's side.

As for the Khan's representative, who could that be?
Saran? Or one of his generals? A scouting party lead by a Tumen could possess anywhere between a thousand and ten thousand horses— enough to give Garp a fatal injury and overrun the rats.

"Sanari." She considered the implications should the Centaurs prove less than diplomatic. "Can I trust you and the Bloom to support what's been built here?"

"We will always do what's best for the Prime Material's wellbeing," Sanari replied without commitment. "That is the design of the Great Tree and the purpose of our being."

"Does the propagation of life back into the Sawahi serve that purpose?" Gwen changed her phrasing. "Does restoring the biodome of the eastern grasslands aid Tryfan's cause?"

"It does."

"Would the destruction of Shalkar, its fields, and the eradication of Rat-kin move against The Bloom's will and expectations?"

Sanari paused as if listening to a voice borne on the wind. "It does."

"Good," Gwen affirmed their common goal, understanding that so long as their mutual benefit exceeded what the Horse Lords could offer, her position remained unassailable. "In that case, stand behind me when I make my case to Meister Bekker and Ambassador Taylor. Together, Accord or otherwise, we'll bring some stability back into the Sawahi!"