The Northern Steppes.

Orsk.

One of the reasons why the Horse Lords were the unchallenged species on the Steppes, Richard observed, was that no other Demi-human race or monster kind could match their aggression, numbers, and tenacity. For instance, in one day, the Horse Lords had covered four hundred kilometres of broken plains, rolling rockscapes, and a low ascent into the foothills of the Ural Mountains.

Initially, Richard had planned for a two-day journey. Yet, by twilight, the Horse Lords were cooling their heated bodies in the waist-high waters of the Ural River's rocky rapids.

"The city is over the river—" Petra pointed at the silhouette in the distance. "But Phalera's brood reports there are no lights or sound. Either the railway stations and the HDM processing plants are demolished—or someone shut them down to avoid drawing attention."

The Horse Lords chortled.

"Well, the water in the river isn't _that_ polluted," Richard added his two cents from Lea. "If there is a Necrophage, it hasn't reached here yet."

"We should still wait til morning," Petra advised from her Strider. "The Russian Mage Flights likely won't respond diplomatically to a vanguard of Centaurs, especially ones as well armed as the Cherbi's men."

His cousin's paranoia was sound, for even at a safe distance, Khudu's body spoke the same language of ultraviolence as Golos—Not to mention the Thunder Dragon would make himself known the moment combat was joined. Without Gwen here, and if these Mages tried to Fireball Golos, the reputation of Shalkar might take a nosedive.

"What usually lives here?" he asked of their furry guide. "Just Humans?"

"Your city was once named _Hom Orsko_ ," the Kobold boldly answered, her voice a deep drone of passive aggression. "We had warrens here, thousands of them…"

Richard waited to see if the Kobold had anything valuable to add.

"This is true, Warrior Richard. In the time of my Father's Father, the Khan of Khans," Khudu spoke with the neutrality of a documentary orator. "The Human Khan of your Empire paid our people to raze this place for pasture. Hahaha…glorious! Was that your kindred?"

Richard greatly admired Khudu's candour, though he couldn't say the same for the Horse Lord's sense of humour.

Turning away, the Kobold showed that silence was a virtue.

"That would be… before the Great War," Petra broke the awkwardness with her husky voice. "The city as it is now was built after the war, under the rule of the Communists. It was destroyed again in the Beast Tide, then rebuilt as an industrial outpost. There are countless tunnels here, not enough to rival our Dwarven under-city, but the shafts provide good cover against overland threats."

"Unless something's come up from the Murk," Richard added. "But I digress. If the Cherbi doesn't mind, let's wait for the first light. Khudu, I dare say your men deserve some rest."

"Centaurs can travel for many star cycles if we pace ourselves," the Cherbi spoke as he scooped a cupful of the icy water over his exposed pectorals, wiping away the dust and grime with a rough cloth. "We can still fight in our best condition, but if you insist…"

"It's not about the risk," Richard offered. "To save them through violence in the dead of night would make a poor impression, Lord Cherbi. We're here to build a reputation; the rescue is merely a process."

The Horse Lord, laconic as always, left the Humans to their devices.

"Vurtu." Richard summoned the Kobold female. "Come, you and I will go for a stroll. Lea will keep us near-invisible. Use your nose, and let's sus out some bodies…"

At first light, Mila Kutznetsova awoke in their tattered tent to the sound of hard boots kicking up the gravel just outside their tent flap. She groaned, for though her fairness betrayed her age, her body ached like an old farmer's hands from the spell fatigue weighing down her brain.

"Mikhail…" the Magus Enchanter croaked from parched lips, her voice kept low. "I think it's the Lieutenant Colonel and his men. They're outside."

" _Sukin syn!"_ her husband grumbled under his breath, his foggy eyes abruptly hard with purpose. "The bastard doesn't know when to give up."

"Hold your temper, Mikhail." Mila shared her husband's ire. Between her superior, who didn't know his place, and her husband, whose temper was made worse by their destitution, she felt an acute desire to wall herself in crystal.

Mikhail was paranoid over Lt Colonel Ivanov's overfamiliarity and dishonourable intentions. Yet, Mila could not deny that she and Sergey had a history and that she knew the man enough to understand that he intended to shame her husband into eating his inferiority. Once classmates, they were now in their forties, and what little remained of the passion and jealousy was only pettiness.

"Comrade Mikhail and Mila!" the voice that penetrated the thin fabric was not its usual haughty invitation to the Officer's breakfast mess, which Mila had refused daily, but one of forced friendliness. "We have guests. And it's someone dear to our sister. Please make yourselves presentable and join us."

Mila looked at her husband, who remained stoic and possessed. Mikhail was not the brightest of her suitors, but he was the most earnest, and her in-laws were kind and uncomplicated, very much the opposite of Sergey's elite circles in Moscow's Tower.

_Moscow..._ She and Mikhail had already lost a daughter to that nest of gilded vipers. That was why she had convinced Mikhail to take the demotion into the Frontiers, where, at least, they would be at peace. _Though_ s _ome peace that turned out to be._

Mikhail sighed. "Alright, love. Let's get ready."

Mila sensed her husband's unvoiced criticism, though she did not share Mikhail's opinion that she had made a poor decision to relinquish their Moscovite privileges. Before last week, if any member of the inner Party had announced that Yekaterinburg would fall to an implosive infestation of Undead, the Committee for State Security would pull them into a dark room for a long conversation.

It took the pair a few minutes to don their uniforms and run a quick cleaning incantation. When Mikhail, clean-shaven, finally opened the tent flap, Milas was surprised not by the face of her old classmate but by a visage as unfamiliar as it was familial.

She was looking at a younger version of herself— a girl with a face that was vivacious and aggressively sensual, with blue-hued irises that resembled twin pools of purified water.

"O— _Oomnyashka_?! "her lips stumbled. " _Petra_ , is that you?"

"Mama!" The figure embraced her with unyielding, enveloping arms. Through the fabric of her olive uniform, she felt the strange lumps and bumps that adorned her daughter's self-made Enchanter's garb. "Everything is okay now. I am here for you and Papa. The Regent sent us to find you and guide you back to Shalkar."

Mila allowed herself a dozen breaths while the world fell away, and all she could feel was the warmth of her daughter's cheek. When they finally separated, Petra moved to deliver the same welcome to her disbelieving husband.

" _Oomnyashka._ " Mikhail struggled to recover himself, still calling Petra the nickname of Papa's dearest _bunny_ from before they had sent her away. "My god, you are taller than me! I am happy you are here, but it's dangerous! The city… So many did not escape, Petra. And all of them will soon come to hunt us."

Besides the reunited family, Mila caught Sergey's impatience as the man inched forward.

"Colonel Ivanov, why don't we take our official matters over here," the Mage that spoke was not her superior but a spectacled Water Magus with a fair appearance. "Lord Khudu is out there, his patience growing thin."

"It's Lt Colonel." Her old classmate suppressed his displeasure. "I am the highest commanding officer of this refuge, and I _will_ need to verify your claims before we move my men anywhere."

"Of course." The Chinese Magus appeared completely unfazed by Sergey's assertion of rank. "But do be quick, Colonel. We are here to escort you to safety, not an unimpressed Cherbi."

_Cherbi?_ Mila's mind turned. _Horse Lords? What was her daughter doing with the Centaurs?_

"Mila." To her surprise, Sergey turned instead to her and Mikhail. "You and Mikhail will remain here while I discuss the rescue operation with Magus Huang. As members of our mage Flights, I forbid you both from exiting the camp."

_So we're bargaining chips?_ Mila read her schoolmate's intentions at once. _Just because my daughter is a part of the rescue team?_

"Did you forget we are civilians, Ivanov," Mikhail's protest was almost a growl. "We are not your subordinates. We follow orders out of duty, not rank."

"Mikhail," Sergey's retort was far less patient now that her husband wasn't so meek. The man's eyes flashed. As a Lightning Mage, Sergey was far more gifted in combat. "The city is under Martial Law. Don't make me repeat myself."

_CLAP!_

The Water Mage interrupted them both.

"Alright, I can see you're all stressed. No matter, you'll be relaxing in a hot bath soon," The exclamation of the Chinese Magus made the tense atmosphere unable to continue. "Pats, take care of your family. I'll organise the move with the Colonel here."

"Petra." Mila lowered her voice. "Is this your CO?"

"Something like that, and he's your nephew," Petra whispered back through a localised Message. "Please keep that to yourself."

With the upper echelon of their camp's leaders moving away, Mila calmed her heart.

"Bunny." she still couldn't believe Petra was taller than herself. Petra wasn't even thirteen the last time she had seen her daughter. "I heard about what happened in Shanghai. Are you alright? Is Aunty alright?"

" _Tianjin_. Babulya is fine, Mama. Uncle Jun is saved, and many others. We left as soon as we found out that Yekaterinburg had lost its Magi," her daughter corrected the name of the besieged city. The more Mila gazed upon her daughter, more larger-than-life Petra became. As a mother and a fellow Enchanter, she could sense the boundless energies within her child, which possessed a quality and volume that exceeded herself. "I am so glad you're both safe. I prayed to Varekan-Kül that you would be found, and I was right."

"Varekan-Kül?" her husband raised a brow. "Are you religious now?"

"A Dwarven Ancestor." Their daughter's fingers brushed past her Enchanter's garb, where Mila could see a dozen small plates interlocked into a pattern. "Very reliable, the Ancestors."

"Dwarven Runes?" Mila recognised the patterns. "Petra, what are they teaching you in England? What happened to Spellcubes?"

"This is from my studies and research." Petra appeared to search for something. "I have passed the accreditation to become a Journeyman. I came on a Strider as well, Mama. I built it…"

"That's all very good," Mikhail interrupted them. "But like I said, bunny. Here is a dangerous place. Yekaterinburg—Bah! __ By St Michael, Petra! You cannot imagine the carnage. Everyone we knew for a decade became fodder for the Necromancers or turned into monstrosities that would hunt us for our warm breath."

"As long as there isn't a Lich, it's not so bad." Petra's unperturbed tone disturbed Mila. "Mama, we couldn't tell you, but Gwen and I spent six months at sea fighting more Undead than you have seen in your lifetimes. In Tianjin, we also repelled legions. You will all be fine."

"That's a dangerous arrogance." Her husband wasn't convinced. "The Undead, _bunny_ , are beyond reason and comprehension…"

"The things Gwen summons daily are beyond human imagination." Their daughter shook her pretty head with a confidence that her husband could not comprehend. "Stop worrying, Papa. You'll see. Our Regent will be happy to meet you both finally."

Her husband nodded to humour their child. Mila felt a new worry engender in her chest. If this Regent is truly their niece, how would she take to a family that once "sold" her cousin to Moscow Tower? Petra's training in Moscow was highly encouraged by herself and Mikhail, who had wished Petra a fruitful career out of fear and hope—but they all knew how that turned out. And in their exile to Yekaterinburg, they seldom contacted Petra except for the seasonal greetings and when Petra called, leaving her entirely in the capable hands of Aunt Klavdiya. According to rumours, this _Regent,_ for all intents and purposes, was a monstrous existence, an exterminator of cities, a Void Witch famous enough to be known even in Moscow's Frontiers.

"Da, Papa." Petra's digits moved to envelop theirs. Her daughter's hand was calloused and rough from the Enchantment work. "Don't overthink, and come with me to Shalkar al-Jadeedah. Forget about Moscow. There are opportunities in our city you cannot imagine. It's Gwen's domain, and she is a fair and visionary leader."

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Her husband did not refuse their daughter's offer, and she could feel his worries growing. The loss of its Ural Frontier might weaken Moscow, but a crippled behemoth is still a monstrous existence. Its claws are long and unyielding…

As for this Shalkar al-Jadeedah of Petra's—

If indeed the Mageocracy's New Frontier was as richly endowed as her daughter promised, what rewards would the likes of Sergey see when they were inducted into its welcoming halls? At the apex of Moscow's Tower, those old Magisters were gilded Goblins wearing human-skin masks!

Tryfan.

Trawsfynydd Trading Post.

After loading up on several Large Storage Rings of rare and local goods, the Regent of Shalkar was ready to depart the Pillar of the Axis Mundi.

"ISTC, please." She bowed her head at the towering figure of Sanari. "Now that things have settled where they lie, I want to confirm a few things in the South China Sea."

"You will see to your worshippers?" Sanari's golden eyes twinkled. "Will you partake in Faith Magic to employ their psychic energies? Studying Humanity's esoteric arcanistry is a significant challenge, or so I've heard from my colleagues, but your time isn't overwhelmingly abundant."

"Perhaps one day, but certainly not now." Gwen shook her head. "I am merely arranging the pieces for our hunt for Spectre and Sobel. On land, we've reasonable allies everywhere, but the sea has remained a blindspot for too long."

“True,” Sanari concurred. "Even your Master could not tame the Coral Sea, not even with the aid of Lord Shultz and Magus de Botton. That you've somehow claimed a Shoal as your own is unprecedented in the Mageocracy's records."

Gwen tilted her head, suddenly interested in the omission of information from the Hvítálfar. "What about your records?"

Sanari's smile informed Gwen that she had swallowed a lure. "Humans have always been aquatic creatures from the very beginning. Your kind have an affinity for water. Despite the obvious dangers, your most prosperous cities are coastal, and your empires rarely flourish without taking from the sea its near-limitless resources."

"I can see how that works," Gwen nodded. "I can also think of a few land-bound civilisations, but go on."

"Of course. You've heard of _Atlantis_ ," Sanari dropped a Fireball beside her ear.

Gwen took a second to stifle the glee fleeing from her throat. "I am not familiar with it. But we all know the stories. Care to enlighten me?"

Sanari pointed at the horizon.

"Not long ago, during what your mortal race would call the Age of Antiquity, the Humans of the Aegean Sea mastered enough of their Faith Magic to summon from the Elemental Plane of Water the likeness of a God."

"An Elemental Prince?" Gwen tried to picture a being like Triton from Disney's Little Mermaid, calling up waves like a cheap Poseidon.

"An adolescent Leviathan, actually," Sanari humoured her. "The creature resonated with the Faith of these masterful worshippers of water and allowed them to build a prosperous city upon its carapace. The result was decades of absolute dominion where Atlantis unquestioningly controlled every trade route from the Aegean to the Mediterranean, enjoying a prosperity their land-bound cousins could not conceive."

"Real estate is infinitely better than handsome demi-gods." Gwen could imagine the thriving city, which would be something like an aircraft carrier of antiquity. "Go on."

"There's not much more I know." Sanari's smile remained patient, like a small, pink peach flower. "The Elemental Princes later discovered their missing flock and found it more worthwhile to eradicate their wayward kindred than to allow peaceful co-existence."

"I see," Gwen bowed her head again. "So this is history as allegory. A little slice of wisdom from my allies of the Accord for my next excursion?"

"Receive it how you will," The Druid waved her hand in an arc, coaxing from the ground a sampling that would soon become a portal to pierce time and space. "Know that there are Mermen and Elementals, native and foreign, and either can be friend or foe."

"I don't suppose there's a shorthand method of telling who's who?" Gwen took advantage of her thick skin. After all, it never hurts to ask.

"As a prospective member of the Accord, Regent," Sanari's wisdom-delivering face was more stern than her perpetually bemused self. "And a long-lived _Guardian_ at that, you should understand that we do not speak of friends or allies as mortals understand. With each epoch and circumstance, allies and enemies are merely sides of a catastrophe. More often than not, I fear, you may find that the needs of the Accord require that you aid your enemies by stifling your allies. This is the way—to be a saviour and betrayer—leader and tyrant—and often both."

" _Ominous._ " Gwen watched the vines grow into place. "I'll see you back at Shalkar, Sanari."

"Please be careful in the ocean." Sanari bowed. "And I have been authorised to allow you a small privilege of the Accord. Farewell, Regent, and stay safe."

Gwen re-materialised half a world away.

She had expected to be taken to the Shard in London, from which she would transfer to the Heathrow ISTC and then onto her various way stations.

However, when her stomach settled, and she stepped into the rune-engraved tiles similar in ISTCs everywhere, it wasn't English faces that greeted her, but soft-featured hostesses in a style of clothing she recognised.

"Greetings, Regent Sama," The aides anticipating her arrival bowed as though they had practised the act prior. "We are honoured to have one so rare visit our humble home of Kagoshima."

It took Gwen a few more seconds to consider that Sanari had taken her to the Kyushu Islands. Once her mind acknowledged her new physical reality, she nodded politely, then stepped from the dais.

This particular ISTC's whereabouts were not the concrete building's interior but an ancient construct in bright, lacquered redwood, affording an elevated vista of the city below. She could see flowering fruit trees from the open floor beside a pristine rock garden, beyond which the rest of the temple complex sprawled down the ladders of a cliff.

"This way." The shrine women, the _Mikos,_ moved soundlessly, shuffling so delicately as to glide across the polished floor, their red garments flaring like peonies.

Gwen followed.

Then, after a dozen embarrassing clacks of her heels, she levitated herself across the pristine floor.

The temple was smaller than she had expected, consisting of the main building that housed the ISTC portal and a four-quadrant courtyard. In the middle of the complex, an enormous Japanese Maple, in an explosion of autumn flame, cast its half-dome shade across the entirety of the exterior, beyond which lay her objective—The East China Sea.

_Tree Gates?_ She realised what Sanari meant by a little boon. Tryfan, in its trust, was informing her that it maintained a trans-planar transit system no Dwarf or Human could begin to comprehend.

"We sincerely hope you will return to us, Regent-Sama," the impeccably attired priestesses bowed again, making Gwen conscious that she was merely using their Tree as a way station. "The Terukuni Maidens forever serve your needs."

"I shall when the opportunity arises." She bowed in turn, then released the Omni Orb from her Storage Ring, eliciting eager gasps from the women.

Mindful of her appearance, she stepped into the air, each ladder step leaving a little circuit of living lightning. Her crow-skin cloak bellowed outward, catching the air to send her heavenward without effort.

When she finally attained a suitable altitude, Gwen felt the elements envelop her body, empowering her mastery of Flight.

Clear thunder crackled across the firmament—then the Regent of Shalkar was but a spec upon the deep ultramarine.

It took Gwen three hours before the Omni-orb declared that she had arrived by spinning in place.

Gwen ascertained that the orb was correct, for she had indeed reached the proverbial Atlantis of Sanari's musings.

She drew a deep breath.

"Lei-bup!" Her Clarion Call, delivered in the gurgling tongue of the Mer, echoed across the island. "Your Priestess has come!"

Below, now noting her thunderous arrival, sat a small island a dozen kilometres across, lazily listing from left to right as vents large enough to expel sea sprouts took deep breaths of foaming seawater. At the furthermost end, she could see a dozen eye-stalks, each a little watch tower encrusted with dark scales and fossicking molluscs, converging their gaze upon her hovering figure.

_So this is a Shoal in its natural place_. Her mind marvelled at a sight rarely seen by humans.

In its resting configuration, the Shoal resembled a microcosmic city-state with all the bells and whistles. Near its outskirts, patrols of Wave Riders, Mermen possessing mastery over the Seahorse Kelpies of the open ocean, circled the Leviathan's perimeter, now and again surging into the air in aerial displays of wondrous acrobatics before submerging once more.

In the far reaches of the young Leviathan's starboard fins, she saw the sleek bodies of yellow-finned Mermen tending to an enormous array of seaweed and algae that spanned for dozens of kilometres just on the surface.

Upon the _shores_ of the Leviathan's flank, she saw Mermen engaged in leisure, using the gargantuan's body as makeshift beaches. Shops, as strange as a fish tucker shop could be, dispensed food to lines of chattering Mermen answering to matronly looking Cods wearing aprons with a rainbow's hue, lathering grilled SPAM with a dark sauce. Elsewhere, the fry of the Shoal frolicked near the head of the Leviathan, safe in a brine pool created by entwined tentacle whiskers.

Slowly, with a tectonic gait, an enormous portion of the Leviathan's encrusted back detached, sending a thousand smaller scales to scamper in all directions. Once enough of its living armour moved out of place, Gwen recognised the elevating structure as the body of a crab as wide as the Bunker, though only three storeys tall.

Slowly, the Leviathan's upper crab carapace rose, opening to form the private sanctum of the Shoal's leadership.

A thundering blast of water erupted—clearing the skittering symbiotic creatures crowding the entrance. After that, something resembling a bi-valve and a door blinked open, revealing the corpulent figure of Gwen's many-tentacled servant, Lei-bup.

She slowly descended, her eyes wary of the Mermen who lowered their bodies as she passed, some pressing their faces into the shell-grit of the Leviathan. Even the island seemed to dip its head into the ocean, sending thousands of Mermen tumbling from its sides.

As she drifted closer, Gwen's suspicion that the Leviathan was an entire ecosystem unto itself was confirmed by the iridescent interior of its carapaced body. In addition to the Mermen tinkerers working on new tunnels and opening spaces, she saw sea worms squirming through the apertures, crustaceans living in every cranny, and tiny tendrils of anemones embedded in the sparkling walls.

"Iä! Iä! Iä!" With a mighty bellow seemingly impossible for his body, Lei-bup gathered the attention of all those who swam on the surface, simultaneously coaxing Mermen to emerge from the Leviathan's interior.

More and more, the Merman swarmed out until all Gwen could see was a sea of scales and chitin, all fervently focusing their eyes and stalks onto her feathered body.

"Your _whip_ awaits your pleasure." Lei-bup prostrated himself, as did the Mermen and maids behind him. "Iä! Iä! Iä!"

"Iä! Iä! Iä—!" The gathered Mermen leadership echoed the High Priest's gurgles.

"For our comrade who lurks at the threshold!"

"For the All-in-one!"

"For the One-in-ALL!"

The sound of the Mermen's hollers rolled like a tide across the Leviathan's back, washing back and forth across the undulating mass of bodies.

Feeling the hair on her neck rise, Gwen took a moment to take in Lei-bup's entourage. Of the Mermen present, she recognised the twin blondes, who were Lei-bup's attendants. To his right were three older and wiser Mer-women sporting the distinct shell garbs of Sea Witches. To Lei-bup's left were a more mismatched assortment consisting of a dangerous-looking Mermen with a tiger shark's patterns, a Crab-kin that looked half-fossilised, and a bipedal sea-turtle studying her intently behind algae-encrusted beaks.

The Shark-kin stuck a fist to his chest, drawing her eyes toward the uncharacteristic tendrils growing on the Merman's back where the fin should have been.

When her eyes scanned the leaders, she confirmed their shared trait—extreme body modifications.

Alarmingly, these Mermen were being digested—she was certain of it—though some appeared to possess the vital means to supply their hungry parasites and somehow draw strength from the appendages.

Her feet touched the floor of the elevated dias, which now she realised was a speech platform. Inside, bioluminescence in hypnotic patterns made the open cathedral larger than its space otherwise suggested.

Behind the Shoal's leadership, she saw a large plate a dozen meters across. Lesser Sea Witches, a trio of them, maintained an illusion of the Shoal's movements by manipulating fine grains of sifting sand.

Lei-bup, guiding her hand with a tentacle, led her forward until she was an elevated point of interest facing down the million-strong Mermen Shoal swarming below like a school of piranhas.

"The Priestess of Pale Flesh has blessed us," he announced to the Mermen, his voice amplified by the Sea Witches. "My Shoal! In the likeness of her flesh, we shall feast upon SPAM tonight!"

"As you will, High Priest." The Witches wove ripples of water into the sandcastle likeness of the Shoal. The message spread, followed by a sudden frenzy of activity.

Lei-bup stepped aside, beckoning her to take the centre space, looking downward at the gathered.

Gwen stood, forcing herself to ignore the puddle of slime climbing up her leg.

"COMMAND US! Oh, Pale Priestess of the Endless Hunger!" Lei-bup threw her into the limelight. "Tells us what we must do! What is our purpose!"

Her followers fell like wind-tossed wheat, torsos, appendages and tails striking the floor, some bowing, others prostrating.

"Iä! Iä! Iä—!"

"Iä! Iä! Iä—!"

"Iä! Iä! Iä—!"

Gwen felt her head abuzz as she scoured her frontal lobe for something to say. She had expected many things when she flew down to see Lei-bup, everything from slimy greetings to belligerents seeking to harm her life—but a speech wasn't one of them. Whatever her plans were for Lei-bup to cooperate, she had to at least pull this particular rabbit out of a hat to feed her ravening swarm.

"I thank the _Faithful_ for the welcome," Gwen surveyed what she supposed was her domain. Rationally, nothing here besides Lei-bup could be considered a product of her direct action. However, a sorceress on the warpath of revenge against an ageless Void Witch wasn't about to look a gift-Leviathan in the mouth. Tuning the mana in her conduits, she adjusted the setting of her Clarion Call illusion to Dolby-Digital THX. "As promised, I have come to speak with you all regarding the next step for the Great Shoal Forward. Therefore, Friends! Mermen! Comrades! Lend me your… listening organs!"

The last part wasn't properly translated, as she could see no ears, but her audience perked up all the same. She waited for the crowd to calm their fins, abiding the precious seconds to compose her oration to the fish nation.

"For too long, the menace of the tranquil seas—these Undead Mermen that come from the deep, have plagued the living. Through the Cult of Juche, they have become a true menace, one that seeks to eradicate all natural life! Think of Tianjin, and not just your cousins of the land! Where the Undead has swam, they sweep through the seagrass like a scythe, consuming all in its path to add to its incalculable number!"

The answering roar made the Leviathan bob in the water, engendering several localised tsunamis.

"My Mermen! TIANJIN was an invasion! An invasion of the very existence you call _sacred_. The invasion of your very being! Your way of life! Think of your fries frolicking in the water! Think of your spawning pools and egg clutches, devoured not by the cycle of life but by mindless minions seeking to pervert life itself! The Kingdoms—these Seven Kingdoms of the Deep, were they not shelters for the Mermen, extensions into the Elemental Plane of Water? Where are these Kings now?! Where are these protectors when the Prime Material is despoiled?!"

The Mermen were rilled now, their unblinking fishy faces expressing as much rage as she could discern from the foaming Shoal. When she had given such speeches to the Rat-kin, she had felt like a visionary of emancipation—but the Mermen's numbers and reactions were entirely on another scale.

"Your Pale Priestess intents to hunt down the source of this corruption, O Great Shoal! If we continue to neglect the spread of this danger, we shall all prove ourselves unable to defend our great stretches of the sea! How can we live and prosper under the constant storm of Undeath? Under the shadow of unceasing war? Such is why I walk among you, friends and comrades. We shall defend the seas where the Kingdoms have _failed_ , where these Elemental Princes and Regents have _failed_!"

"Where shall we fight? Pale Priestess? How shall we fight?" A Crustacean General raised a titanic claw. Gwen wondered if Lei-bup had prepared the man beforehand, but the exclamation felt very organic.

"Fear not! We do not fight alone! We shall descend the great Shoggoth upon the Depth!" Gwen's voice rang out. "We shall fight them everywhere we find them! We shall fight on the beaches! We shall fight in the seas! We shall fight them in the twilight depth of the Elemental Plane of Water! There shall be no quarter, no surrender, for such recourse, would be the choice of bait fish! _Trust in the Shoggoth_ , comrades! Through the Old One! Though the All-in-One! He who is the Gate and the Key! We shall find victory. We shall predate upon the Un-living and cleanse the seas! Join me in our Great Shoal Forward, and I promise you an eternity with the Shoggoth at your side!"

With her final delivery, Gwen focused her empathic link upon those fragments of the Shoggoth kept alive by the Merman's uncanny Faith.

Her Essence coursed through her conduits as waves of resonating Void Mana rang out. The appendages of the Shoggoth, which had been looted from the battlefield and grafted onto her faithful, flared into energetic action.

Her presence pulsed like a beating heart, reaping the faithful like an invisible combine harvester. Some of the grafted perished at once, unable to stomach the sudden activity of their stolen gifts. Others, more robust, howled in sickening pleasure as purple-pink tendrils sprouted from their bodies, some gifted with eyes and others with teeth or barbs.

The air grew damp and oppressive. Even the sky, which had been cloudless, seemed to have lost heat and light.

The fabric of the Axis Mundi shuddered as the will of the Shoggoth, sensing the call of the Faithful, pushed against the space between worlds. Like a giant meniscus in reverse, all felt the hair-raising presence of the Many-Eyed Hunger harkening to be born into the Prime Material.

Gwen felt the presence of her creature intrude upon her mind, its tentacles like cold icicles of death worming through the heated fat of her feverish, mana-fed brain.

_Not yet._ The Pale Priestess informed the Void Matter to whom she had given thought and shape. _Soon. I promise you will feed._

The creature's will clashed against her thoughts like a tidal wave, but the bulwark of her ego held it at bay. With a banishing thought, she closed the conduit. Gwen knew that her teasing of the Mermen had reached a frenzied peak. Any more, and the climax would ruin her proverbial bedsheets.

"Great Priestess," Lei-bup's trembling voice sounded beside her. "When shall we set forth?"

The Shoal's leaders, Mermaid and Mermen, crustaceans and all, fell to prostrate before the caller of the Endless Eyes.

"Scour the South Sea for the source of Undeath," Gwen gave the command she had been musing since that faithful night in Tianjin. "As for the rest—prepare an audience chamber, Lei-bup, and I shall let my desires be known."

Shalkar.

The Bunker.

Slylth Alexander Morden, rebel extraordinaire, arrived at his temporary abode, having ridden Tryfan's tree portals across time and space.

When he emerged once more into the hot, dry air, a much more enjoyable sensation than the perpetual humidity of Tyfanevius' grot, his eyes actively scanned for the mana signature of the one arrogant enough to forbade his return.

"Huh..." Slylth noted the presence of the female's Essence but not her mana signature.

He took to the air just to be sure.

True to his expertise in detecting Magic, there was no Gwen. However, he did sense many new magical signatures in the enormous square atop the Bunker, where the city mustered its Rat-kin troops.

Within the half-constructed square, hundreds of Mages who looked newly arrived were assessed by the city's chief security officers, the human swordswoman Lulan Li, and the brutal body of brother Golos, who lounged on a stage, sunning his brilliant-blue scales.

To think he had expected the female to be waiting for him, not like a dutiful wife, but at least be present.

Slylth touched a finger to his storage ring, struck by a sudden thought. Tyfanevius had given him many gifts in rare foodstuffs and elixirs. He had thought of sharing some with the angry female upon his return, but if she wasn't here to receive them...

Perhaps Brother Golos would like to partake, and in the aftermath... they could boast to the Regent the consequences of her tardy arrival.


Shalkar.

The Bunker.

"Do not doubt, Dear Lulu." The hypnotic voice of the Dragon-kin drifted across the table. "Part take! You won't receive another opportunity once it is all gone."

Lulan Li, Chief "Bruiser" at the Bunker, gazed upon the Dragonfruit with awe and anxiety.

The exotic cacti' flesh presented before her by the generous Master Morden was no ordinary offering but a real "Dragon" fruit from the ageless garden of an immortal, dimension-anchoring World Tree, reared with care by a primordial tied to the fabric of the Prime Material.

And there were only four "Dragonfruits" available, meaning if she partakes, she would be consuming the portion originally intended for her Mistress, her saviour, the Regent of Shalkar.

Yet, if she were to forgo the experience, Lord Golos would have double-dipped without a second thought—and her Mistress would have lost the opportunity anyway.

Therefore, is the consumption of a delicious Dragonfruit meant for the Regent a betrayal? That was the Wraith haunting Lulan's mind. She had already engaged the Yinglong to repay her saviour, and in turn, she had acted behind Gwen's back. The outcome had been fortuitous, for she had prevented the worst outcome for Lady Ayxin and Lord Jun—but in the aftermath, she had failed her Mistress.

Not only had she withdrawn from Elizabeth Sobel, she had failed to bring back the severed head of Percy Song, which would have brought happiness to her Mistress by lessening the guilt of Elvia Lindholm.

And now, this fruit…

"Sit, _eat._ " The tempter gnawed at her soul, opening the fruit with his polymorphed hands, letting loose the sweet aroma of vitality and life. "You're an Earthen Mage, correct? This fruit will strengthen your Elemental Affinity. Your defence and offence will improve."

_VILE TEMPTATION!_ Lulan felt her fingers flex and un-flex. "I am… I am not hungry…"

"Just eat it," Lord Golos commanded. "These things don't last once they leave the tree. I'll toss it to the Dwarves if you're not eating it. Slylth brought it for _family_ , Lulan. You're one of _us_."

_One of us?_ Lulan pondered the Dragon's words. She was the disciple of Ryxi. She wasn't a Vessel, but she had still lived on the mountain, and had conversations with Golos as a junior might have with a disciple-uncle.

Of course, Golos never acted like a senior. Consistently, he was the thuggish, layabout sibling.

A lifetime ago, when her saviour had first spared her, and they still trafficked in the small victories of life like the IIUC, Lulan had fantasised about the notion of _family_ founded in friendship.

But there was a hierarchy now. Lulan's Mistress was the Master of a domain that would only grow. The responsibilities placed upon Lulan's shoulders were unfit for a family member. She was a sword. A shield. A bulwark against the designs of avarice from men and women greedy for her Mistress' accomplishments. To perform her duties, she had to bathe in blood, as the parables foretold, to defend her saviour's interests. If Gwen were to be an Empress one day, she would be the butchering bitch heading the Embroidered Guard.

Take, for instance, this latest flux of refugees from the Russian Federation. Having lost the Urals to an Undead revolt and being powerless to stop the collapse or recover the Frontier, their survivors were now funnelling into the city by the tens of thousands.

When eventually Richard and Petra returned, Lulan suspected there would be more Russian citizens and Mages of various Oblasts in Shalkar than any other human ethnicity. Of course, the Ratkin still outnumbered the humans by magnitudes—but the newly arrived Mages didn't seem to perceive the Rat-kin as a threat. Incredibly, not even the NoMs would give the Rat-kin the time of day, and both avoided the Horse Lords whenever possible.

Comparatively, their passion for the Dwarves and the city's riches bordered on the fanatic, a fact the Shadow Mages of Manipur had been closely scrutinising.

Thus far, scuffles had only involved insults, brawls, and one near-fatal injury to a NoM resolved by Clerics from the Ordo Bath. With increased incidence, Lulan suspected, she would have to bring in heavier-handed methods to force compliance from their prideful Humanist Mages.

The problem was that she was short-handed in terms of Human Arbitrators, as these refugees responded extremely poorly to Strun's Rat-kin enforcers while complying with the Horse Lords out of unquestioning fear. Any additional Arbitrators she did recruit would be from the Urals, and she knew instinctively that such an act would be very short-sighted indeed.

With her mind deeply weighed by responsibilities, she looked to the wisened Dragons, immortal creatures of yore, for some signs of wisdom.

"Eat!" The Thunder Dragon commanded, his Dragon Fear crawling across her skin like little worms. Golos' eyes sparked as he slammed the table, sending the fruit to leap and land with eye-watering bruises.

"Don't be shy, Lulu." The Red Dragon poked a piece of pink flesh against her lips, his mien full of sadistic purpose and designs on her Mistress. "Open up… Ahhhh…"

What could she do? Lulan opened her lips obediently. She was only Human. Maybe the Dragonfruit would help her think.

Her eyes moistened as her mouth filled with the delicious scent of immortal fruit. When would her Mistress be back? Lulan wondered. How long would she have to endure the bullying of these Draconic emissaries?

The Easter China Sea

While two Dragons had their way with a faithful Chief of Security, the Regent of Shalkar underwent a culinary baptism.

"I thank you for this nourishment," Gwen said to the tentacled Fish-Priest as she sat upon the throne originally built for the corpulent figure of Lei-bup. "But there is no need to provide me with your children. I assure you."

In front of Gwen, provided by the Mermen as a sign of obedience and respect, were large, gleaming bowls of living wonder.

Caviar—the hopefully unfertilised eggs of her followers from the stoic Marlins to the brilliant pebble-sized oranges of the Prawn-headed Mer-kin, filled a hundred bowls from one end of a long coral table to another.

"Each offering is from our various tribes and Clans." Lei-bup's tentacles coiled around the cups nervously, careful not to tip the enormous loads. "By consuming them, they will know you have accepted them into the Great Shoal and its Grand Purpose."

Gwen tried to imagine herself swallowing the "caviar" and almost emptied the contents of her stomach.

Sometime after her speech, Lei-bup had invented a new Neologism— "The Grand Purpose". He had explained that this new term would involve the overarching design of her goals for the Shoal, whether to challenge the Seven Kingdoms or to erasure the corruption that has permeated the Deep Sea Mermen's domains.

"Mistress." One of the Mermaids, a Sea Witch dressed in pearlescent, skin-clad suits of interlocking shells, came dangerously close with her spiny garb. "These virgin spawn are from our Clan of Mer, the Nymphs of Kalimon, whose Matriarch was a royal hailed from the _Fourth_ _Swell of Isia Eternal._ When ingested, old wounds would heal, ailments cease, and youth would return—"

"The Priestess is ageless." Lei-bup reminded his aide.

"And though you are ageless." The Sea Witch quickly adjusted her advice. "The overworld's Star of Radiance is harsh, unlike the soft and loving waters of home…"

Gwen smiled as genuinely as she could. She was a sucker for sashimi, but these are talking, walking, fawning fish! As a Human with principles, Gwen wasn't about to pop an egg from the virgin cousin of one of her followers and let the flavour burst in her mouth like a Starburst. After all, what if she made a habit of it?

Imagine if she had asked Strun for one of his babes? No doubt Strun would give it—but what Modest Proposals would the Jonathan Swift of this world have written about the Bloody Regent of Shalkar?

_No._ Gwen told herself. The Caviar of the Faithful was _a bridge too far._

Seeing her doubt, the Sea Witch fell to her fins like Ariel from Disney. With her overlarge, luminous eyes of yellow amber, her begging played on the heartstrings. "PRIESTESS! Have we offended? Are you not pleased with this offering?"

The other members of Lei-bup's council appeared worried as well. As for Lei-bup, the aberrant creature had declared itself sterile—which was all the better for serving the Priestess' desires until the moment of his sudden but silent death in the maw of the Shoggoth.

"Rise! I am well _pleased_ ," she informed the Mermen, hoping she had picked the right sentiment for her Translation Stone. "Thank you for these gifts. I shall collect them for consumption at a later time, and when I do partake, I shall think fondly of those who spawned them."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The appeasement seemed to work, for finally, the attention of her followers shifted from the joy of feeding her unborn children to the enormous sand-pit at the centre of the conference chamber.

"Lei-bup, you said once that you have an idea of where the tainted Mermen are coming from?" As the only member with two legs and no tail, she adjusted her posture to better address the council. "Show me."

Lei-bup waddled into the shallow quicksand. A pair of attendant Sea Witches sang in low notes until the grains began to shift, transforming into a map Gwen did not recognise.

"This is the seabed of the Yellow Sea," her High Priest explained with forbearance, tracing with a tentacle the outlines of what she guessed was the coast of the Korean peninsula. Large swathes of green, she recognised, were kelp forests; the others, Gwen possessed no idea. "The largest concentration of the Undead Mer can be found here…"

An orb of scarlet sand lifted into the air, somewhere east of Dalian, where she had first shocked the world in the IIUC.

"… We have also found traces of the Undead infestation in the Shoals here—in the Yellow Sea—and here, in the region known as the Sea of Japan."

A dozen spheres, darker in hue, lifted into the air.

"Where is the Kingdoms' outpost?" She asked. Though the Seven Kingdoms had their home in the Elemental Plane of Water, it was well known that each had sizeable establishments within the Prime Material. After all, Terra was largely a sphere of water—one of the key motivators for the Seven Kingdoms to claim the Prime Material as an extension of their domain.

The map changed again, completely disorientating her knowledge of geography.

" _Ghurghdp Hiij_ , the Bright Reef, lies here," Lei-bup spoke like a man gargling stones. "A Great Shoal guards this place, overseen by the Elemental Prince Nin Pak. He is a formidable scion of the Fifth Swell, though I do not believe he could stand against the weight of the Grand Purpose and the visitation from our Lord and Saviour, the Shoggoth."

"A Great Shoal…" Gwen was reminded of another Great Shoal on the southern edge of the globe. _Swells_ or _Vel,_ for the lack of better translation stones, were portals into the Prime Material. The notion of _five_ was literal, pertaining to the _fifth_ such portal made accessible by fate, engineering, or both—into Prime Material. Therefore, the Towers had advised that it was best to consider the Mermen cities as Forward Operating Bases, while each Swell was something like an expedition. The only reason the Fire Sea was world-famous while the Swells were hardly known was that Humans had little interest in unseen catastrophes unavailable for short-term profit. "What's their relationship to the Crown of Corals? Are there Dragons involved with these underwater politics? In Auckland, we had a whole ordeal with Miommiriorthyr's scions."

"The Elemental Princes of Nin hail from a different Kingdom to the scions of _He who Slumbers in the Crown of Corals_ ," Lei-bup explained in his slow, droning way. "The Sorceror Nin is a sly Sea Witch with the blessings of ancient Sea-kin long dormant in the Plane of Water. Bright Reef city, like ours, is a Leviathan—but older by many millenniums.

Gwen pondered the fact. Assaulting the city was not a part of the future she had envisioned in the first place—for her Master had already done that to various degrees and achieved little else apart from a multi-decade concession of peace. For the problem to evolve—for better or worse, she had to find alternative methods.

"And are they having problems with the Undead?"

Lei-bup moved aside to reveal one of the broad-shouldered Wave Riders serving as the Shoal's Vanguard. "Commander Tomasin hails from the Bright Reef. Perhaps he can tell you more."

The hulking Mermen with a comically small head and a nose that tapered off into a sharp, sword-like spine laid flat his body in supplication.

"Rise," Gwen commanded, feeling queasy in her new role as The Patron Saint of Fishes. "Speak truly, and I shall grant you a boon of life."

The giant Mermen opened his mouth, and a sharp, pipsqueak gargle emerged. Stifling her mirth, Gwen focused instead on using her Divination Sigil to process the expressive powers of her Translation Stone. For someone who had to deal with Mermen, her Master's Stone extensively possessed an excellent affinity for Mer.

"I was the expeditionary Captain of the Outriders," the high-pitched, child-like voice of the Mermen explained. "My fishes and I were abandoned when a civil strife erupted between the city's high factioneers, vying for the control of the _Vel_. The First Kingdom's scion, High Prince Sarkonnian, desired submission from Nin Pak. The two came to blows, and many fishes fled the ensuing cataclysm between the two Elemental Princes."

"Sarkonnian…" Gwen teased the tongue with the word. "Is he a Dragon?"

" _She_ is a scion of the Great Manta whose body enfolds the Elemental Plane of Water, or so the Priests of the First Vel advertises." The Mermen's tone turned sardonic. "As a Princeling of the First Vel, few dare to challenge her. The Fifth Vel is not her domain; nonetheless, she had arrived claiming as such, and the consequence is anarchy and civil conflict…"

Which—Gwen supposed, was the natural way of things. As her lecturers in Marine politics had often cited, the Mermen hate Humans on an unconditional basis, but the hatred was more generalised into something of a Holy War, a vague belief most Mermen exercised—even if they had never seen a land-dweller in the entirety of their lives.

In the ocean, the more immediate concerns were always other Mermen—with each tribe and Clan allied with larger Clans and Kingdoms into Shoals, and the Shoals war eternally for spoils and territory—which was why Humanity was left to develop unmolested.

"This is very interesting," Gwen said. "But what does it have to do with our interest?"

"Before I fled for the free seas," the Outrider Captain spoke as though in a confessional. "We heard that Sarkonnian was taking masses of Mer and sending them somewhere—both depleting the forces of the Fifth Vel and using the deportations to create space for the First Vel. At first, we imagined that she was organising a land raid for resources—but we never saw the kin who Sarkonnian's mantas had transported away—or received news of their death."

"Do you believe they were been… given to the Followers of Juche?" Gwen vaguely gestured toward the map's north.

"I do not know." The Merman's facial fins flapped in distress. He guided Lei-bup in tracing the route followed by those he once knew, then laid himself flat again. "Please punish this one for his lack of knowledge, Pale Priestess."

"Your informative is valuable." Gwen felt her spine chill. She knew a Merman Elemental Prince had to be in cahoots with the Necromancers, but now her suspicions had some bite. "Approach—"

The Mermen shimmied closer, watched by the Sea Witches, the ancient Crab-kin, and the mossy Sea Turtle.

Gwen slid off her gauntlet and then distilled a small sphere of brimming Essence held together by the telekinetic energies of her brimming mana.

"Blessed are those who pursue the Grand Purpose." She leaned closer, allowing the scintillating ball to lower until it fell into the half-open mouth of the Merman.

The others around her swallowed as the Merman gulped and gurgled.

" _Aah—ah—Gurrrghgh—_ " The Sword Fish Mer moaned as her Essence, purer and greater now in the advancement of her mana maturity, invigorated his Creature Core in a way only the blessings of Almudj could manage. There was a sound of moving bone, muscles becoming firmer, and then the warrior rose to his fins, his eyes staring into the beyond.

The phenomenon wasn't a Pokemon evolution—Gwen knew that—though the purity of Almudj's Essence _nourished_ the Core, giving creatures an existential elevation akin to a permanent runner's high.

A tendril attached to the Merman's back twirled, then struck itself back into its host's flesh, nourishing itself upon her Essence. A lung-deep grunt followed as the Mer endured the invasion—then a second appendage, blessed with several eyes and a saw-barbed tongue, lashed out into the air, tasting the warmth of its allies.

All but Lei-bup took a fin-step away from the squirming Merman. The High Priest watched on, his many tendrils writhing in harmony with the flesh-seeking barbs, nodding with a comprehension Gwen could not begin to guess.

"Thank you, Mistress of Pale Flesh!" the Mer wept milky tears of white-blue gratitude, though Gwen was predisposed to believe it was from the discomfort of losing an organ to the Void parasite rather than from appreciation.

She patted the Merman on the head, spoke a few more words of platitude, then bid the Mer rest. When she returned her eyes to her council, she found herself at the centre of hopeful, passionate devotion.

"So we have a location and an objective. However, I am unlearned in how the Mer make war," she confessed to her fishy counsels. "Lei-bup, how shall we approach this matter?"

"We shall need some time to recover from the expedition at Tianjin, to replenish our numbers, and to instil Faith in the new members," her High Priestess explained with great patience. "Pale Priestess, pardon my ignorance, but you as well would require the rites of sorcery necessary for deep ocean dwelling."

"I suppose that's true." Gwen regarded the pearl-like interior of their council chamber. "Mermen Magic doesn't work on Humans?"

"It is crude magic we use on captives." Lei-bup bowed his head. "I do not dare to gamble with the Pale Priestess' comfort."

"Right," Gwen acknowledged the Merman's wisdom. "How long until the Shoal would be ready to make the journey?"

"Four… five moon cycles." Lei-bup raised one tentacle after another. "Restoration of our lost numbers, indoctrination of the recruits, scouting a path into the Fifth Vel, and readying our young one for a prolonged siege against its elders. _Many_ will perish. But that is the price of the Grand Purpose."

"I'll be taking care of that when the time comes." Gwen pictured herself riding at the head of the Leviathan, pulled by a one-Shoggoth sleigh. If the Shoal's earlier impact on the Prime Material foretold things to come, her synergy with her Void Ally would soon reach a level beyond Human understanding of Spellcraft.

To breach the fabric of space and time through willpower and mana alone… was the _domain_ of beings like Tyfanevius and Sythinthimryr. Of course, hers was an admixture of factors unique to herself—while a Dragon's eventual access to the raw energies of their Elemental Plane was a birthright.

As for how _The Accord_ might react… She wasn't a member yet.

That said, she couldn't help but wonder what the Bloom in White might think of a breach in the Prime Material when used to stopper an ever larger breach from the Elemental Plane of Water. In her original land down under, they had introduced cane toads to eat the sugar beetles and foxes to eat the rabbits.

Hopefully, introducing the Shoggoth to the untold billions of Mermen in the Fifth _Vel_ would go down... just as well.

Shalkar.

Alexander Fishenko, "Fish" to his friends, lived as a sleeping Sparrow under the Committee for State Security. In Shalkar, he was an ordinary, unassuming Fabricator under the employ of the Dwarven construction teams working day and night above and under the domain of Shalkar.

Unlike the other refugees who had arrived later, Alex was one of the first Mages who volunteered in London. Originally, his goal had been to compile a dossier on the meteoric rise of the Isle of Dogs. Unfortunately, Charlene Ravenport's entry and the Crows' arrival had Alex spooked enough to find employment elsewhere.

That elsewhere was Shalkar.

Frantically, in the tiny abode of his rented studio apartment, Alexander Fishenko composed his report with his back turned toward the door, half hidden in a nook connected to the kitchen.

"To the Deputy Chairman..."

The strands of silvery Divination woven into the Message he sent "home" to urge his "family" to come to Shalkar were composed of a code only Sparrows of a certain rank could comprehend.

"This city is a rich jewel that must be absorbed into the folds of the Federation. Its true roots lie in the old lands of the Rat-folk, once belonging to the Czarist imperialists. Our maps from the Great War should still indicate that the Commonwealth has not laid claim to the Frontier, nor was it claimed or recovered by any other human nation. This new jewel in the desert would enrich our nation as much as our losses in the Urals, so it must go ahead. I say this because even now, refugees from our Oblasts filter into the city daily, sometimes by the hundreds, other times in the thousands. I have seen representatives from NoMs to highly-ranked Mages keeping their heads down. When enough of us are in this region, I will organise a Federation Nationalist movement and gather our comrades. Comrade, if we can vote on the ownership of the new city—we should be able to acquire the resources here bloodlessly..."

"The resources here, Comrade! You cannot begin to perceive the incredible riches here. The Rat-kin, those worthless and filthy labourers, tirelessly tend to plants blessed by immortal Elves. These seem to reach maturity both quickly and without detriment to the soil. From my sources in the trading department, these sanctified produce are sold to China and Europe for exorbitant prices in the hundreds and thousands of HDMs while costing the city almost nothing to grow."

"At the same time, the tithings from the surrounding tribes of Demi-humans could fill a dozen warehouses to the brim. I have seen Raw HDMs as large as vehicles carted into the bay by Centaur Raiders. Materials from Magical Creatures take so long to categorise, the Diviners in charge are paid double the rate of a Tier I city to ensure the shipments going out of New Shalkar are fulfilled."

"Below the growing city and its oasis facade lies an underground network connected to the Dwarven infrastructure known as the Low-Ways. I understand that we have long since eradicated the presence of Demi-humans near our capital—but these are the ones responsible for the Mageocracy's newest transportation systems. Controlling this node, or even destroying it, will signifcanlty impact the trans-European-Asia trade currently putting on chokehold on our exports. The Dwarves also have their most prized technology here, including an original Fabricator Engine, which I believe the Committee for Magi-Tech Acquisition would risk their lives to attain."

"Most importantly, the Regent assigned to this place is only twenty-one years of age. _TWENTY-ONE! A mere lass,_ Comrade. Can you imagine such a thing in the Motherland? She is well-connected, however, and powerful in her own right, even if naive and inexperienced in the rulership of a city. I want to remind the committee not to take her lightly, for she is the Void Sorceress after that great villainess, Elizabeth Sobel, and is connected to the same lineage. Her abilities as a Strategic War Mage are many, and I have included this in a separate dossier for the Deputy Commitee for Warfare Doctrines."

"Lastly, there are notable beings here in Shalkar, particularly a Thunder Dragon ally of the Regent, which must be bribed or neutralised if we wish to take the city in the name of our nation. To move toward these efforts, I will organise a Worker's Union as soon as more of our comrades arrive from the Urals."

The final threads of Divination ceased to glow. With some effort, Alexander compiled the Message until the hidden details were truly woven into the mana of the Message itself.

_Knock—Knock—!_

The sudden sound from the door almost unravelled the final few seconds of his spell.

"Fish, mate! We're headed to the Dwarf Bar! You coming?" The voice of his "friends" from England permeated the thin door. They were heavy drinkers, but few could drink a Russian under the table, and Alex was famous for his liver even back in the Tower.

"Coming, lads! Don't you dare start without me!" Alexander made sure his East End accent was as genuine as could be.

Sealing the spell, he sighed. If anything, the Dwarve Brew here was to die for.


Shalkar.

The Refugee Quarter.

Unlike her contemporaries, Mila Kuznetsova stepped not from the buttock-bruising interior of cargo carriages pulled by Centaur auxiliaries but from the second seat of her daughter’s towering Strider.

When the chicken-walker Golem haughtily lowered its carriage, the Magus Enchanter joined her husband in a daze, still struggling to comprehend the stories told by Petra.

Now standing in the external square set up to process the arrival of the refugees, she could see with her own eyes that Petra’s tall tales were neither fiction nor exaggeration—but understatements.

Nonetheless, her rational self struggled to process her lying vision of a city of improbabilities built in an impossible oasis. As a resident of Yekaterinburg, she knew very well that south of the Urals lay the unforgiving Black Zones of the Centaurs. Beginning at the foot of the Urals and ending against the coast of the Fire Sea, no humans could inhabit that landscape without becoming swallowed by sand, Centaurs and despair.

And yet, in their approach to the city, she saw tall canals of transmuted stone carrying vast quantities of unclouded water into vast kilometres of fields in verdant grids. Orchids, some with trees as tall as municipal buildings, reeled from the burden of fruit as large as a man’s head. Corn, maize, and multi-coloured grains grew in sizes that seemed to her mythical, lining the arteries into the city’s boundaries.

As for the city itself—she could see that much of it was under construction, with its skyline inundated by a forest of mechanical cranes. Closer to its walls, she saw more Golems than existed in the Motherland’s capital: walking, crawling, meandering and climbing in, out and atop the rapidly fabricating structures.

Among the city’s avenues, trees impossibly expansive and mature for the city’s age lined the sandstone pavements, providing shade to the resting labourers below. And among those labourers, she saw something even more incredible.

Rat-kin, untold numbers of them, wore the clothes of modern man and ran amok on errands beside their human counterparts. Near what looked like a sewerage construction, Rat-men in yellow hats lazed beside their human co-workers while a Dwarven Golem transmuted the basalt beneath into workable earth. A row of a hundred Rat-kins, joined by a Dwarf and a dozen humans, sat on an overarching steel beam overhead, eating sandwiches from tin lunch boxes.

Elsewhere, less laborious folk, possibly office workers on break, drank coffees on stone benches or discussed plans over cafe tables, with Rat-kin in collared polos speaking to Mages in Common while waving magical implements in the air.

To Mila, who had lived in the imperial capital of Moscow and then Yekaterinburg, Shalkar’s interior was an insane sight, something like a fevered picture book from her girlhood. Within the Federation, the Great Purges after the Great War had seen all Demi-humans, Dwarves included, exorcised from the nation’s holdings to ensure the purity of the national census. This extreme attitude toward Demi-humans was also the core reason the Federation saw itself as opposed to the Central Powers of Europe, particularly the Mageocracy.

Her husband whistled, choosing not to express his thoughts.

“… This is quite a city,” Mila managed to croak out words of praise for her daughter. “You say the Regent is only twenty-one? Has she had many experiences building cities and managing diplomatic ties?”

“She initiated, planned out and created the Isle of Dogs with Norfolks and the Dwarves back in London,” Petra replied. “Its strange, but Gwen’s education opportunities had never stopped her from successful ventures. For that, we can only chalk it up to her being a multi-disciplinary prodigy.”

“I see…” Mila wondered when they would finally meet this Demi-God figure her daughter is convinced to be the second coming of the Nazarene. _So this whole city is driven by the cult personality surrounding the Void Mage?_ That, in itself, was a danger.

Around Mila, unlike herself, the other refugees from Yekaterinburg were displaying mixed feelings about the controlled chaos. Along the way, she had been keeping a close eye on her colleagues from her elevated Strider.

Initially, when they had only seen Rat-kin labourers working in the orchids and the fields beside the gigantic agricultural machinery, their eyes had been filled with wonder and anticipation. On the way to the city, even the Horse Lords looked upon Petra and Richard with respect, and even the Thunder Dragon, who had visited them thrice, seemed to hold a special deference for the two Human Mages.

However, When the refugees saw the armed Rat-men with shock wands and in the city’s guards' blue-white uniforms, their attitudes grew less passionate. To be told, admonished, and God-forbid, commanded by servile Demi-humans, was a step too far for the sons and daughters of the Federation.

Such was the sentiment when Mila’s fellow refugees finally realised that the Humans living in Shalkar were not masters but equals. She felt the cold arrogance typical of her origins taking root in their cold gazes, their minds actively seeking the bitter waters of anger and envy. Shalkar is a Human city, conceived and built by the hands of a Human being. _Why were these animals enjoying the same rights as Humans?_ Why were the Demi-humans wearing the same clothes, eating the same food, and working in the same spaces as the Mages? They traded and trafficked in the Motherland with the Demi-humans, but the capital was a Human domain! None would eat, drink or pray with the creatures that once called the Oblasts home.

But what Mila feared more than anything was the prosperity of this developing city, its youth and seemingly unworried citizenry… She could sense the gears turning in the heads of men like Sergey. It was an awareness she had learned as a girl-child, for a young woman possessing extraordinary comeliness must mature quickly or lose themselves completely.

And now, she saw in the eyes of her fellows from Yekaterinburg the same gaze Petra used to receive outside her all-girls school in Moscow. That was partially why she had sent Petra into the Tower, where she had hoped that men with better designs had plans for Petra to achieve greater things.

And now, her daughter had achieved _great_ things.

Amazing things.

Unbelievable things.

But these things are also fragile, and prone to theft.

“Halt! And Welcome!!” came a booming voice from above.

A piebald Rat-kin, the most human-like of its kind Mila had seen, emerged from the wall gates adjacent to the refugee’s temporary shelter spaces. What was more daunting than the aura of command and authority the Rat-kin possessed was his uniform—something of an Officer’s garb in solemn navy with flourishes of dark gold, accentuated by a pair of what had to be Spellswords.

When the Rat-kin hailed the Khan’s Cherbi, Mila felt a jolt of disbelief as it and the Horse Lord performed what could only be the Human social ritual known as the “high-five and low-five”, after which it leapt almost six meters onto a rogue sandstone platform to address his audience.

“REFUGEES from Yekaterinburg!” The Rat-kin spoke Common effortlessly. “Welcome to Shalkar Al-Jadeedah, the dual city of our Regent, Magister Gwen Song, and our allies, the Dwarven Masters of _Mimm Agaeth Kjangtoth_! Your journey has been long, though I hope it has been uneventful…”

Having known Strun’s history from Petra, Mila knew the pride of the Rat-kin was well-deserved. Still, she could clearly see the disbelief on the faces of some of her comrades, especially when the Rat-kin began to lecture the values of equality and fresh starts and the boons of a clean slate. More unsettlingly, Harpies with vibrant plumage took up the corners of the square, their exquisite faces making their unblinking observation all the more intimidating.

“…Here in Shalkar, you will be given two choices. If you have relatives, homes, or a place to accept your old citizenship, our Shalkar will provide the necessary resources to return to those places! However, like many refugees before you and many more after, should you find yourselves no longer possessing a home—know that Shalkar is a place of _gainful_ employment! Our Pale Pri—REGENT will consider your talents once registered in the boarding camps. You will be given positions suitable to your ability! Ergo, present yourself earnestly! If you align with our Mission Statement, you will have a new home. A new life in the heart of the fastest-growing trade hub in the world! A new city to interlink Europe and Asia!”

To hear these words from the mouth of a Diviner Commissar’s mouthpiece would be completely within the expectations of men and women of the Federation. However, to hear those inspirational words erupt from the fanged maw of a talking rat—Mila bit her lips.

She stole a quick look at the group huddled around Lieutenant Colonel Sergey Ivanov, consisting of the surviving high command, the Commissariat, and members of the inner Politburo. The men did not speak, but their body language spoke of barely suppressed insurrection, as though they had just witnessed a tap-dancing dog reciting the Federation’s sacred manifesto.

However—Before Mila could decide to warn her daughter to moderate the Rat-kin’s proposal, the ground began to shake.

As the refugees toppled and fell, an enormous concavity opened beneath Strun, revealing a creature's rotating maw so large and hideous that Mila’s chest constricted out of fear and disgust.

Like a living nightmare, a skyscraper sprouted until it towered above the new arrivals, while on its head stood the uniformed Rat-kin with its furry, piebald face, its arms crossed with oppressive authority.

“Newcomers, allow me to leave you with a final lesson,” the Rat-kin’s voice echoed across the courtyard. “Life is _harsh_ in the Steppes, but it is _fair_. New friends and family of Shalkar Al-Jadeedah, remember this, and you shall prosper.”

While the refugees stared, the sandworm retreated into the earth with the Rat-kin, leaving no trace of its passage.

Heart-in-throat, Mila turned to her child.

“P-Petra.” She could hardly keep her heart from leaping at her throat. Such was the recollection of this all-consuming sandworm. Such was the intangible aura it sowed of death and destruction. “Where do we get registered?”

“Oh.” Petra took her hand. “No need. Richard will arrange an interviewer, so relax until after…”

Mila’s pale eyes scanned the milling, terrified refugees. Reluctantly, Sergey and his ilk were filing into line.

“…After lunch.” Petra’s laughter made her all the more flustered. “Come, Mama. You won’t believe what the Dwarves can brew with potatoes!”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Name?”

Alexander “Fish” Fishenko, volunteering his free weekend to accrue Contribution Credits, gazed up at a face he recalled quite vividly. In truth, he wasn’t here for the credits; he was here to see who had survived Yekaterinburg to collect the necessary information to execute his plans.

The “refugee” in front of him was Lieutenant Colonel Sergey Ivanov, the eldest son of General Ivanov of Moscow Tower, one of the nation's rising stars—at least until his jurisdiction fell suddenly to ruin.

“Ivanov, Sergey,” the Colonel did not recognise him, which was within Fish’s expectations. He was just a teenage trainee at the Tower when they were visited by the then Captain Ivanov and his father, an utterly unassuming cadet undergoing the trials to become an agent of the Federation.

“What was your employment, Mister Ivanov?” Fish feigned disinterest, watching the man’s lips twitch, hovering his pen over the forms like a bored bureaucrat.

“Military.” Ivanov gestured to his lapels. “My rank is Lieutenant Colonel. I was one of the COs in command of Yekaterinburg’s garrison and commander of its Mage Flights. In Moscow Tower, I would hold the rank of Magister.”

Fish’s pen paused. He made sure to look shocked, just as those around him also stopped their processing to regard the Lt Colonel. For the old families of the Federation, such ranks were half merit, half nepotism, so officers who hadn’t survived a few Purges and a dozen wars were rarely taken seriously. Nonetheless, the title was impressive in Shalkar, where the only senior military advisors were Militants returning to pad their retirement funds.

“Do I have to repeat myself, Mister Fishenko?” Ivanov read Fish’s name tag.

“No, Sir.” Fish lowered his voice. “Sir, I cannot process someone of your rank and abilities. May I escort you to my supervisors?”

“You may.” The Lt Colonel finally seemed pleased by Fish’s deference. “Do it now.”

“Yessir!” Fish meekly signed and filled in the forms for the Colonel, pushed back his seat, and then guided the man down the corridor meant for unexpected VIPs. Along the way, a few checkpoints with Rat-kin NCOs questioned Fish’s intentions but lacked the authority to make the correct judgement. In this manner, with only minor impediments, they made their way toward the Central Security building. Subtly, Fish slowed his step until he was almost in lockstep with his superior.

“You are from Moscow, Sir?” he asked.

“I am.” Ivanov’s tone soured further. Perhaps the man was expecting fanfare and a red carpet—but Commander Strun had been very clear on the deliberate treatment of the refugees to foster upon them the reality of Shalkar’s aid as practical rather than charitable. “Your last name is not uncommon in the Motherland. Which Oblast do you hail from, Mister Fishenko…”

“I am a London boy, second generation.” Fish laughed, his accent true to his lies. “Is Moscow as cold as it is grand? My mother used to say there are countless pigeons in the city. Pigeons that do not fear the cold and forage for the smallest seed.”

“Nothing survives our winters.” Ivanov did not appear to notice the code for several seconds. Then he did, and their lockstep fell into disarray for several meters. “Your… mother’s memory must be muddled. How long has it been since she saw a Moscow winter?”

“Fourteen years since she last saw the Festival. She missed it dearly, though she is gone now.” Fish answered.

“I am sorry to hear that.” Ivanov’s face lost its flush as quickly as it had come on. “Do you still speak the Mother tongue, Fishenko?”

“Not since my mother passed,” Fish replied, completing the code. “I don’t remember enough of it to speak fluently.”

Ivanov patted him on the shoulder.

Further ahead, the towering basalt exterior of Central Security loomed above them. Fish made his case to the Centaurs guarding the entrance, who then moved aside to allow them entry into the building’s interior. Within, the central complex was still a mess of construction habited by Dwarves in Golem Suits working alongside uniformed human Mages, transmuting Enchantments and other magics into the building that would service the city’s policing needs. An aide guided the two through the foyer, passing an enormous, multi-level, open-plan office before they finally arrived at a set of double oak doors sitting flush upon gleaming guide rails.

The doors slid open, revealing the interior of yet another office space surrounded by filing cabinets and workstations, positioned in a semi-circle toward an enormous desk fit for an Ogre-sized humanoid.

Fish could guess who would be sitting behind that enormous table and also knew from rumours that the “thundering” leader of the Security Bureau usually roosted atop the Bunker at the city’s highest vantage point and not deep within the belly of its paperwork-laden warrens.

What instead caught his attention was the strange sight of a young man with flaming hair loitering around the record cabinets, flipping through data slates and files, mumbling to himself.

Unfortunately, his attention was diverted by another. Accosting the pair, the unassuming clerk exchanged forms with Fishenko and directed them toward the central desk.

“Colonel!” A voice called out from the oversized desk’s right, in a sunken pit that created a little private space of its own. “I had expected to see you here sooner. Did you _actually_ line up with the proletariat? I am impressed that you’ve taken the values of our home to heart!"

Fishenko recognised the voice as belonging to one of the city’s most infamous administrators, the always smiling Master Richard Huang, cousin to the Regent, and by reputation someone far more unpredictable than a life-devouring Void Witch.

Behind the Water Mage floated his Spirit, the equally infamous Undine worshipped by the Rat-kin, an integral member of the city’s agricultural efforts.

“Magus Huang.” Ivanov lowered his chin in a mock bow. “I had expected that you would be here as well, though I had hoped we could speak more personally sooner.”

“Mister Fishenko, you may return to your duties.” The city’s administrator waved Fish goodbye. “I’ll take Ivan through the hoops. I hope you’ll stay, Colonel. We could use men like you in the days to come.”

“Shalkar is a majestic city, Magus Huang.” Ivanov gave Fish a nod, bidding him to leave. “May I sit? There is much to discuss. And I doubt that I shall remain a Lt Colonel after Yekaterinburg, so please address me informally.”

“Very well, Sergey.” The Water Mage produced two crystal glasses and a bottle inscribed with Dwarven Runes, his voice fading as Fish retreated. “I am glad you’ve come around. Come, sit. Let us discuss how we can put your talents to gainful employment…”

As Fish tidied his thoughts for future endeavours with Magister Ivanov, his mind naturally drifted toward an important question.

Where was their neglectful Regent, and _what could she be up to?_

Singapore Strait.

The island informally known as _Abang_.

Gwen Song, the Regent of Shalkar, had yet to return to her abode, for the Regent was confident that the _regents_ she had left in charge would not burn her shinning city to the ground.

Her final errand was both bitter and sweet, for after leaving behind the Mermen Shoal, she had to fly a day and night southward to arrive at the epicentre of her past life—the island housing Henry and his ever-watching guardian.

With the Omni Orb, there was no waste in the time it took for her to locate Sufina’s grot, well disguised among the hundreds of islands with their man-eating ecosystems, deep within the reclassified Black Zone beyond the Batam Shielding Stations.

Gingerly, Gwen landed on the canopy, then levitated her way into the thick jungle until the entrance to the past was once more visible. Sensing her presence, the trees bowed, parting like an Elven Trellis Gate while laying down a soft carpet of ferns.

Since her last visit, the stakeholders have been consulted, permissions have been given, and the groundwork has been prepared. The timing of the _promise_ was still a little premature, but the necessity of gaining Sufina’s aid grew with the size of her city. The construction of Shielding Stations within Shalkar would not be logistically feasible thanks to its many species of residents, implying a need for contingencies not padded with the corpses of her Militia.

“Sufi, I am _home_.” Gwen felt the fabric of reality distend and snap into place as her body penetrated the meniscus of reality into the Grot’s interior. As she made her way inside, the quasi-magical maze undid its twists and knots, robbing her of the opportunity to rethink her choices.

Barely a hundred meters in, she found Sufina exactly as she had left her, half lounged over the eternally preserved body of her Master, her doll-like body groggy with sleep.

“Welcome back, _daughter._ ” Sufina’s bedroom voice was familiar and comforting. “Did you miss your _mother_ and _father_ while you were carving up the world?”

Gwen laughed out of habit. Moving closer to the casket, she ran a finger gently across the dustless facade of the living tomb housing Henry’s body. With each step, invisible weights piled upon her heart. She had thought the grief had passed and that she had moved on—but like the stasis of her Master’s body, the renewed woe assailing her organs spoke loudly of her failed catharsis.

There would only be one form of release, she suspected.

_She had to find Sobel…_

“You’ve grown more beautiful, though I do prefer your younger self,” Sufina interrupted her thoughts. “Have you a boyfriend yet? Or a girlfriend?”

“I’ve got better.” Gwen felt soothed by Sufina’s roleplaying. “I’ve got a city of my own.”

“I see. A very large possession to fill a very large void. How Gwen of you.” Sufina slowly rose from the casket. Embedded in place of where a heart should be, Gwen could see the tendrils entwined around Almudj’s Scale. “It took Henry far longer than yourself to acquire his first domain. He would be proud to know you’ve taken up his mantle.”

“Well, it's not exactly by choice. Did you know Spectre has set half the world on fire and drowned the other half?” Gwen sat beside the Dryad. Drowned by nostalgia, she held the creature’s wooden hands in her lap while waiting for her emotions to find their place. “I also had a run-in with Sobel. This time, face-to-face.”

“What has happened?” Sufina wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You can confide in me.”

Gwen sighed as she gathered her thoughts. With as much rationality as she could muster, she relayed the sundering of Tianjin with Elvia and Percy’s involvement. When she finished, even Sufina’s false breasts were heaving with simulated emotion.

“… I am very sorry, daughter.” Sufina’s reward was a mugful of her Golden Mead, which Gwen part took with more recollection than effect. “Your brother has grown to be such a coil of poisonous ivy. I am just glad your _Sobel_ isn’t Elvia. You were close, correct? But not _that_ close. Maybe this is an opportunity. You can both clarify your feelings while you hunt Percy down. Until he’s dealt with, it doesn’t sound like you’ll be able to sit together in the same room for long.”

Gwen didn’t know what to say. In moments like these, she was reminded that The Dryad was simulating human emotions through Henry’s Empathic Link.

“Well, you’ve come to me for a reason.” The Dryad moved on. “For what it’s worth, I am here. How can I help our Henry’s child?”

“Sufi.” Gwen accepted that now was the time to make her case. “Shalkar is almost ready to receive you. I’ve consulted both the Dwarves, Elves and Almudj. There will be oppositions, but not enough to prevent what we have planned.”

“Truly?” Sufina’s expression was one of surprise. “So… soon?”

With more ease than she had anticipated, Gwen pushed away her feelings, leaving behind the cold logic of reason. “Now is an opportunity, I think, to capitalise on the distractions occupying the old stakeholders of the world. While there's famine, trade disruptions, regional wars and civil strife… We can begin to nurture our World Tree by taking advantage of this crisis. Once established, so long as Shalkar remains central to trade, no particular power broker will be able to spare resources to deal with us—”

“I see.” The Dryad pondered her words.

Gwen waited with patience. The original proposal came from the Dryad. If Sufina no longer wished to be a part of it, she would find another partner.

Sufina’s affirmation came a split-second later.

Slowly, with the delicacy of a surgeon, the Dryad raised a hand toward her heart, where slow sprouting tendrils wrapped around Almudj’s Scale until finally, something akin to a seed pod the size of a coconut migrated into the palm of her hand.

Fighting the shock of their suddenly evolving circumstance, Gwen fumbled with her clothing until she produced the Ilias Leaf, her evergreen storage for magical plants.

Sufina moaned. Her wooden exterior audibly groaned as its fibres struggled to revitalise the damage caused by the visible exhaustion. The jade leaves overhead abruptly changed to autumn—sending a swirl of flaming leaves to turn the summer grot into an amber room.

Then, just as quickly, those same leaves lost their vibrancy, embracing rot and decay before landing on the dry moss floor.

As one sensitive to life and vitality, Gwen felt the grot’s waning life force. The Essence in her conduits raced, stimulated by the enormous volumes of living mana stowed within the seed pod housing Almudj’s scale, resonating with the endearing energies contained therein.

When Sufina looked up again, her youthful mien was marked by old bark. The only thing that remained unchanged was Henry’s casket and its precious cargo.

With reverence and care, Gwen slipped the seedpod into her Ilias Leaf, where the powers of a true World Tree would nurture the immense Essences stowed within both scale and seed.

“Sufi…”

“It will pass,” the Dryad assured her. “I’ll manage.”

“This seed…”

“Place the seed where you wish the new tree to tap into the ley-line. Water it with Essence from the Old One.” Sufina’s voice was no longer echoing throughout the grot. They now spoke face to face through her mock vocal cords.

“What will happen to this place?” Gwen touched a hand to the casket. “Will it be moved?”

The Dryad shook her head. “I will remain here, but the better part of me will be reborn in Shalkar.”

“You’re not… coming?” Gwen struggled to understand the revelation. “We can move Master’s body, surely?”

“I shall be with you… but not exactly as I am,” Sufina’s voice regained some of her vitality. The bark peeled away, revealing new, greener growth. “Here is our tomb, daughter. The part of me that was Henry’s will remain here. It’s where Henry found me, where I had taken root—To leave this place, this grot—would cost… more than I am willing to give.”

Gwen fell silent.

She didn’t like leaving her Master’s legacy on an unknown island off the Singapore Strait, but she could respect the Dryad’s sentiment. Where else had she seen such a display of fierce, selfless loyalty? Of devotion so wholesomely disturbing that it would span the stretch of knowable eternity?

She thought of Elvia… but found only the face of Percy’s grimacing growl.

“Fret not.” Sufina’s bell-like laughter lightened the mood. “There will be a connection when the new tree is strong enough. My two selves will find each other through the immaterial world, and there will be a path. Henry will slumber here with me, and we will watch over you and your shinning city together.”

Gwen slipped the Ilias Leaf back into the pouch sewn into her outfit’s interior. Nestled within the astral space of the leaf, there was no bulge to prove the presence of her cargo. Yet, she felt the radiance of her first gift from Almudj, and now Sufina, as poignantly as a piece of her flesh.

“Thank you, Sufi,” she spoke from the deepest recesses of her heart, her voice a living thing escaping from her contorted diaphragm. “For everything.”

Sufina leaned forward, touching her forehead to Gwen’s.

Gwen understood that there was nothing more to be said.

Woman and Dryad sat side by side against the morbid bed of their slumbering father, mentor and teacher, savouring snippets of memories from a simpler time. When their mutual recollections concluded, one would leave for the future—and the other shall entomb the past.