New Shalkar.

The Barsakelmes low-lands.

After the Blue Dragon's thunder, there was silence.

Not true silence, but the tinnitus calm that followed the wake of absolute chaos and destruction, a lull born from shock when nothing more could be broken.

Despite her Dragon's "wisdom", Gwen's brows twitched.

She did not like the direction their negotiations were barrelling toward but intrinsically understood that politics on the Steppes were a one-way track of escalating violence.

The Dwarves would have words about the "property" business— but that's assuming the hostages emerged alive to complain. If their Engineseer and pilots did not...

In the womb of her Astral Body, Caliban purred.

Outside, while Golos loomed large, the world awaited the Kobold Clan's answer with bated breath.

Her internal metronome swayed from left to right.

Gwen counted about ten more seconds before Golos began to draw breath, puffing out his chest so that the scales under his neck and between his collarbones grew sapphire bright with cascading energy.

"Golos, hold." She halted the Dragon Breath by touching the Dragon's wing tip. "Ten more seconds…"

The world resumed its waiting.

God knows she wanted to give the Kobolds a chance.

At the count of eighteen, a sleek-furred figure wearing robes, looking like a Shaman, spilt from the iron-wrought gate to prostrate at the looming shadow of the Blue Dragon.

"O LORD of the vast blue sky—!" Came a voice that was half-yelp, half meow. "Clan Gannrk greets your greatness with every—GARRROK—"

" _SSEJINW—!_ "

The left side of Gwen's face grew suddenly brilliant from the fusion reaction plasma pouring from her Planar Ally. The Draconic admonition delivered by Golos was a bright, retina-searing beam of lurid lightning that drew a line from the bottom of the fort to the top, exploding a section of its masonry while erasing the speaker from the Prime Material.

Before Gwen could react, the electrified door fell inward, no longer being supported by its melted hinges. As the heavy, red-hot metal fell, more screams came from inside the Kobold fort, punctuated with curses and cries of dismay.

"BRING ME MY PROPERTY—!" Golos demanded once more. "NOW!"

Gwen wasn't sure if the Dragon's threats worked, only that the survivors scrambled inside.

When another ten seconds passed, and no Kobold made themselves seen, Golos was ready to reduce the fort to molten slag.

"Gogo!" Gwen intervened, this time applying her will to the command. The Dragon was here to dominate, but she needed her Dwarves alive, even if it meant blunting Golos' ego.

The Dragon growled, straining against her mental admonishment.

"Clan Gannrk!" Her voice tunnelled into the fort like Garp. "The displeasure of the Azure Godling can be held back only so long— release our Dwarven friends, else there won't be a hovel left!"

This time, the holdup was worthwhile.

The shapes exiting the smoking hole were stout and bearded, although bruised and stripped of their precious armour. Of the four Golems lost, one was a precious Fabricator-Excavator—between the pilots and its operators, the total tally was a sacred score. _Seven_ Dwarves, Gwen had been told, and she counted each emerging head with growing relief until there wasn't.

Six.

SIX fucking Dwarves.

Thankfully, their Engineseer Greybeard was among that number, but the outcome did not bold well for the weight of the decisions that now bore down on her shoulders.

"Ariel." She conjured her Kirin.

"EE—EE!" Her Kirin somersaulted through the air, landing upon the slagged battlements beside the Dwarves' ragged cheers.

Demanding that Golos remained in place, she hovered closer until she landed beside her creature, who stood with its torso against the entrance in case a sneaking Kobold attempted to spike her from the shadows.

"Gentle brothers," she spoke in high Dwarven, bowing her head toward the Greybeard. "I see that you have not enjoyed Clan Gannark's hospitality. If I may enquire, where is your seventh?"

The Dwarves, as expected, appeared ashamed by the question. Their culture had nothing against being taken prisoner—but losing a junior and their ancestral armour was a deep grudge to bear.

"Our youngest… refused to un-don his Golem plates," the Greybeard's jaws were clenched. "He fought… killed one of the Kobold guards. They staked him until he bled out, his armour was torn apart, and he returned to the ancestors."

Gwen fought the desire to pinch her brows with each revelation.

"Where is his body?" She asked finally, throwing her internal levers into contingency mode. "That we may return his flesh of stone to the Ancestors."

"Within their citadel," one of the Golem pilots gruffly answered, then mumbled, "I have the layout memorised," under his breath.

The pilots, Gwen noted, were bruised and wounded, though the Iron Guards, selected for their grit and stamina, healed fast and had little patience for pain. The removal of their armours, she understood, would have left scars on their psyche as deep as the canals excavated by the Fabricator Engine. In their overtly rational minds, the survivors had allowed such a disgrace because they were not officially in conflict with the Kobolds. That and their Greybeard wasn't a Deepdowner and could therefore value life over honour.

"They're keeping his Ancestor's Golem Plates as a trophy," another said between bruised lips. "We knew we would be rescued… but Torkirk was too young, too hot-headed…"

Gwen exhaled a deeply disturbed breath of repressed air.

As expected, Magister Murphy's Law was in full force.

She had to be responsible here.

But responsible to whom?
Her allies here in Shalkar?
Her foes who would impede her city?
Or altruism?

"I will ensorcel all of you with flight," she said after considering her next steps. "Ariel here will guide your path toward our FOB."

The Dwarves expected a good answer from her, but the patience she wished to afford her foes was not a display Gwen wished the Dwarves to know.

The Greybeard waited for her to continue.

"You have my word, venerable Greybeard. I shall recover your looted armours, the tools, AND the Golem parts. Every recoverable component shall be returned to the Craftmen's Guild."

Her thoughts guided her audience toward the entrance to the underground warrens.

"An attack of this magnitude cannot be by accident or on a whim. It was premeditated and planned. If the Kobolds are merciful on themselves, I will extract the leader responsible, and your Ambassador may decide what to do with him."

The atmosphere softened.

"A wide judgement," the Greybeard concurred. "Clan Nodstromme shall repay this debt one day, Regent Song."

Gwen did not refute the Engineseer's claim of yet another Debt of Haj-Zül. Instead, she materialised healing potions for each of them.

"I shall return Torkirk's blessed Core to the Ancestor's Halls, regardless of the costs," she declared. "Please advise the Ambassador that I shall return shortly…"

She glanced at Golos, who drifted closer, making his purpose known.

The Greybeard wrung his beard. "We await your arrival at the base, Regent."

With the Engineseer's permission, Gwen drew the Sigils for the rune of Mass Flight, imprinting her sorcery on each of the stout Earthen men. As non-Mages, they would have little control over their "Flight", which was why Ariel, through its command of Elemental Air, would see that they smoothly made it home with minimal trauma from navigating the Himsegg.

"EE—EE!" Ariel lifted off, not unlike a single Rodolph with a string of six Santas.

She watched the men drift across the horizon.

The ordeal had taken a good ten minutes. Yet, there had been no response from the culprits.

_Thud!_ With the sound of crumbling stones, Golos landed behind her, dislodging a cascade of loose shale and mortar.

Lulan alighted as silently as a bobcat. Besides her, Richard drifted into being with the help of Lea.

"Shall we?" The Dragon licked his enormous, tooth-lined upper jaw. "I could eat."

Gwen regarded the entrance once more.

Futile as her chances of a resolution, she felt obligated to make one last attempt. After that, they would resolve matters in the only language of the Steppes.

"Elders of Clan Gannrk," she threw her voice into the gaping earthen orifice through her mastery of Illusion. "I offer your people a chance for repentance. Here are the conditions given by me, the Regent of the Mageocracy. FIRSTLY, deliver the Kobold Chief responsible for the assault on our tunnels. SECONDLY, collect and return all looted Golems components, including our men's armour. THIRDLY, bring me the remains of the young Dwarf you murdered, and I shall temper my mercy."

Holding the eager Golos at bay, she afforded the Kobold Clan five more generous minutes of life.

No reply came, nor Kobolds.

"I think…" Lulan, sensing tremors with her Affinity for Elemental Earth, met her eyes with great expectations for the violence to come. "They've fled deeper into their warrens. These will be well fortified, I imagine, by their best warriors. I do not believe we should delay further, for we do not know how speedily their main population may evacuate nor how far."

"Gwen," Richard cleared his throat. "... _Regent_ , I do believe our usurpers of Clan Ix's domains have made a conscious choice. Not a good choice, mind you, but we should respect their… free will."

Somewhere above, Gwen could imagine the still-hovering forms of Jubibi and his kin nodding furiously.

Her temples throbbed.

Conflict, when it came to hearth and home, was inevitable. It was drama as old as antiquity, a cascading history of human strife harkening from a primordial Terra when Dragons still vied for ley-line nodes to nourish their beings.

Civilisation had changed the terms of engagement, but the crux of the matter had remained immutable since the dawn of Humanity and all the species that preceded it. Maybe that was why the Elves were so revered. They had their home. They remained within its confines, nurtured it, and expanded its spaces when needed through the infinite possibilities of the World Tree.

Meanwhile, here they were, the mortal races, children on an island, bickering over the conch, setting fire to each other's camps, worshipping rotting pig heads.

When she finally allowed her shoulders to sag, a quarter of an hour had passed since the Dwarves departed.

Without warning, her aura changed, drinking in the light of midday.

" _Caliban._ "

The space around Gwen violently rippled as her Familiar emerged, fresh from its long slumber within her mind womb, fattened by the dire bodies of foes who had feasted upon the world, only to serve as her Caliban's feed.

Lulan took a step backwards, as did her cousin.

Golos took off, his wings beating the air. Below, a monstrous form birthed itself, squeezing through a sieve to negate the fabric between the Planes.

A coalescing fog emerged, vaguely humanoid but hunched and hungering, so uncanny that even Gwen felt a distinct wariness for Caliban's new likeness.

The dark, Void-rich fog condensed, its acidic vapour taking shape with every passing second. As Caliban inexpertly collected itself, the viscous goo dripping from its solidifying form sizzled the sandstone pavement, making deep, weeping trenches of bubbling silica.

The result, though incomplete, was vaguely humanoid enough to be called feminine. However, Gwen knew its simulacrum nature was because Caliban fed off the psychic energies of her deep psyche.

"Shaa…" The fog shifted, its final shell metamorphosing as it moved.

Stolen novel; please report.

Gwen guided her Familiar with her mind until its exterior finally settled into place.

Caliban stood a head shorter than herself in its docile form, with a silhouette that could have been mistaken for a malicious midnight Sufina. Its body was congealed ferrofluid, though each micro-movement seemed to displace motes of Void matter, intermingled with Negative Energy, from its being.

"Strewth," Richard remarked beside her. "I infinitely prefer Cali's Spider Form. At least that made sense."

"Shaa—!" The Familiar purred, its faceless mien warping to reveal a depthless, jagged orifice.

"Caliban," Gwen raised a tender, un-gauntleted hand. "Are you hungry?"

Tendrils, forming from the immaterial into thick ropes of slime, wrapped themselves against her digits. Another distended from the Void-mist to lick her face.

Gwen allowed the gesture, stroking the tentacles as they withdrew.

The vague, featureless face nodded.

The newly reborn Caliban understood her words and intentions. That fact alone had infinitely renewed the fascination of her London compatriots.

A month before, Magister Brown consulted the rarest Bestiaries in Cambridge to ascertain what might have caused Caliban's change.

The scholar had suggested that a formidable Death Knight was serving as the Necromancer's guardian, a monster sutured together from the parts of Magical Creatures into a chimaera Core. In war, at least one always served as the sword and shield of the offending Lich, the supreme leader of a Cabal, a nasty, malicious creature tied to the soul of its deathless Master.

This particular "Death Knight" had been a resident of the Negative Energy Plane.

Ergo, her fellow Magisters pointed their wands at the possibility of a _Nightwalker_.

Also known as Death Stalkers.

Apex hunters that haunt the Negative Energy Plane.

The Major General of an Undead Legion.

The conjecture made sense—Nightwalkers were siege breakers, ancient allies of the eternal night that existed only to consume the light of the living. They possessed powerful auras of undeath that bolstered the Undead minions of the Lich and his Necromancers. When fully fed, the calamity-tier giants could grow taller than three storeys. They leapt into the armies of the living without trepidation, shedding necrotic shadows and driving allies into frenzies of undeath until nothing alive was left to feast upon.

Against a World Tree—there would be no better final hand to play than a Nightwalker, a parasitic being that grew stronger with each assault until the Elves committed enough resources to finally extinguish its Core—a cost so great as to wound the tree for centuries.

But Caliban was no Nightwalker, at least not yet.

For one, her Cali was having enormous trouble condensing its' loose strands of Void energies, making it more akin to a toddler with tremendous strengths it could not control.

Her monster needed nourishment and practice to grow—and here lay both.

"Caliban," she informed her scarcely corporeal Familiar, running a gauntleted hand down the back of her creature, her fingers dancing over the bumpy ridges of a spine. Acutely, she shared Caliban's hunger as it drooled through the flooring.

"Prune the fort," Gwen gave the command with a hardened heart. " _Feast_."

Her Familiar opened its non-existent mouth.

" _SHAAAAAAA—_ "

It was like a horrid hymn of undeath filled every inch of the fort's cathedral tunnels.

Richard and Lulan's mana shields sprang into place while Golos growled, shielding itself with a leathery wing.

As an obscene arrow loosened from a taut bowstring, Caliban shot into the tunnel's darkness, skittering on all fours, clawing at the wall's sides to accelerate its downward spiral. As it descended, the wail continued as an unceasing shriek emerging from breathless organs. It was a wail of extinction, a paralytic, panic-inducing song of undeath distinctly possessed by upper-tier Undead.

The party from New Shalkar listened to the siren song of Caliban's newfound ability as the sound grew thankfully distant.

"That—" Richard unstoppered two bolts of water from his ears. "—is God damned terrifying."

_SHAAAAAAAA—_

Lulan nodded in complete agreement, her shoulder-cropped hair bobbing to and fro. "I wouldn't want to fight Caliban…"

_SHAAAAA—_

"I prefer the Screamer…" Golos delivered his sincere opinion with great solemnity. "better than the snake."

_SHAA—_

Finally, the howling grew faint.

The party regarded one another.

"Is he…" Richard pointed at the hole. "Or she… gone?"

"No. Alive and securing a beachhead." Gwens spoke while looking into the middle distance; both eyes glazed with Link Sight from her Familiar. "Did you know it can shed little Calibans now?"

"It sheds… Calibans?" Richard raised both brows. "Like birthing them as she… it goes?"

"It's a peculiarity of the Nightwalker form," Gwen explained. "They're just Hydras, although I am currently the battery empowering Caliban's ability. On the plus side, the fingerling Calibans are highly necrotic, and the Aura of Desolation I am empowering through Cali empowered them to frenzy."

"Do we go in?" Lulan drifted closer to the entrance, from which the unending _Shaa—_ could still be heard. "Caliban doesn't need support?"

"It's a field test." Gwen could feel the warmth infusing her icy fingers as the feedback from Caliban began. The Kobolds could fight many things—but a Nightwalker, even the mimicry of one, was beyond their ken. Steadying herself, she walked to the edge of the fort's battlement, then sat in the lotus pose. "Dick, call me if something happens. While Caliban continues the labour, I shall be… overseeing its education."

Richard wove the Water Barriers into place.

Lulan extracted her swords, then drifted into formation.

The screams of Caliban's victims echoed in her mind while silhouettes of fleeing victims filled her vision.

"Oi, what about me?" Golos' thundering voice washed over them, sounding both hurt and cheated. "This was my idea! The prize… the prize was mine—!"

Shalkar Al-jadeedah.

The Dwarven contingent had already gathered in the courtyard before the Regent of the new city even arrived.

When she appeared over the newly erected walls, all but the Greybeards made the close-fisted Sign of the Ancestor's Cog to welcome their regional administrator.

Gwen landed on shale pavement with a click of her crow skin heels, rasping the metal like a nail on sheet metal. With a wave of her hand here and there, she materialised the Golem components piecemeal, allowing them to land in resonating thunks and clanks.

Once done, she deposited the Deep Plates of the Golem pilots: re-looted from the shared treasury of the Kobold Clans.

Finally, in front of the white-bearded Ambassador, she cradled the immobile body of Torkirk Thrumkrik, a little mangled and bruised all over but still in a single piece.

"Stone Lord Yossock Axenhoff, I return your kin to the Ancestors," Gwen bowed her head deeply. "We are truly sorry for the loss."

"We thank you for returning our friends and cousins." The Ambassador received the rag-doll carcass with both arms, then rested it reverently on a levitating ceremonial slab. A metallic keening followed, shrouding the body in a thin metal layer. "Torkirk, his dishonour is avenged?"

"I have _pacified_ the region," Gwen spoke without displaying any overt emotions. "Clan Ix will bring its warriors to occupy the fort in the next few weeks. The area is now safe to continue with the construction. Lord Golos has also volunteered to remain in the area for a few days to feed... to oversee the clean-up operation."

"Then we are well satisfied," the Stone Lord sent the floating tomb slab adrift before turning his attention back toward her. "For Torkirk's Clan and kin, all of Bavaria's craftsmen brotherhood thanks you."

"It was my duty," Gwen did not shy away from the crushing handshakes the Dwarves used as a form of trust and confidence. "My only fear is that the incident will not remain… isolated."

"Those who seek fortune in the Murk know its dangers," Axenhoff gave her a grin of acknowledgement. "The Clans are not strangers to such necessities, Regent."

"That's not very OSHA…" Gwen remarked, falling back to some light-hearted private comedy to blur the heavy toll of what had transgressed. "I think, Ambassador… that it's time we sat down and discussed risk management. I know there will be dangers—but let's walk in the dark with our eyes wide open. If you open the Murk to us, the Rat-kin are more than capable of fielding Purge teams, especially if supported by Golem units."

The Ambassador stroked his beard, but then his gaze wandered.

Their discussion was interrupted by the return of Lulan, whose facial control was not made for poker playing.

"Lulu?" Gwen nodded at the Ambassador before separating herself. "I can see something's up. What's the news?"

The Sword Mage shyly drew closer before leaning against her ear.

"Master-aunty… er… requests your presence at her _wedding_." The student of Ryxi whispered. "An official message just arrived, with an official invitation from the CCP to follow within the week. You've been asked to represent the Mageocracy, Regent, at the Wedding of Jun Song and Mistress Ayxin in Shanghai."

Tianjin.

China.

"They want ME to be their best man?" The voice of Percy Song, astounded by the Message from the device attached to his wrist, quivered as a plucked zither string.

While his grandfather's voice continued to drone, Percy looked to the blue yonder beyond the windows, his chest expanding with such rapturous joy that he could barely control the desire to lift the Kirin pendant from his chest and toast the heavens.

Not far, Mei laughed at his theatrics, chortling so violently she almost spat out the breakfast congee she was nursing.

Percy smiled back, though internally, he scoffed at her ignorance. How could his fiancee even begin to understand his ecstasy?

He—Percy Song—was to be in Uncle Song and _Aunt_ Axyin's bridal party, not his sister!

What a fortunate opportunity! What a heaven-blessed fruit to be plucked! If this was not the divine will of some higher, unseen power from the Kirin tribe, Percy knew not what else to say. His father's wedding had catapulted his sister into the orbit of influence and infamy—and his uncle's wedding will perform no less for Percy Song!

"You are agreeable?" The gruff voice of his grandfather sounded happier than his usual judgemental self. Percy empathised with Guo's barely disguised joy, for his good son was finally getting married, and there was a new grandchild to add to the family roster. A literal Dragon-child, an heir to the Yinglong and, thus, the nation's longevity.

All that, and most importantly, a threat to the centrality of Percy's career and his future trajectory!

"I'LL DO IT! I agree! Thank you, Yeye!" Percy affirmed his involvement with all the sincerity he could muster.

It wasn't all good news.

"… There will also be another in attendance— a woman called Elvia Lindholm, a _Vessel_ of the Yinglong. I did not wish you to be paired with her. As you know, there is no doubt your sister will attend, this time as a guest of the Party. To pair you with Miss Lindholm would be a calamity...."

Percy looked at Mei.

The girl looked back expectantly.

Percy smiled. Of course, his fiancee would contribute to his future.

"Yeye, I would be overjoyed if Mei could partner with me as a maid. I would choose no one else as a partner to care for Aunty Ayxin."

His fiancee blossomed like a flower at his declaration.

As for Elvia Lindholm, a vision of loveliness was all Percy recalled. The girl, Elvia, had been his sister's friend—though she had never visited their home. He had seen her occasionally in those rare instances of his sister's attendance. The girl-child possessed a beauty that made the heart sore—though Percy hated the sanctimonious altruism Elvia seemed to exude.

At the same time, he recalled the tale of her unlikely ascension, that his obsessed sister had foolishly introduced the western Cleric to the Yinglong to share her favour, and that the Dragon had taken a liking to the blonde. The Party had considered the act a cardinal sin, an affront against its interests, and were it not for his grandfather and the efforts of Secretary-General Miao, his sister would have never left the country intact.

Either way, a Vessel of the Yinglong rightfully deserved a place at the banquet—for it wasn't as though Ayxin had girlfriends to serve as her bridesmaids.

From behind, Mei embraced him. Her body was warm and soft, and the mounds of her sumptuous flesh pressing against his back made his smile even wider.

There was a great danger in Lindholm's unexpected invitation—though Percy understood very well that an opportunity to be alone with a fatigued Ayxin could not and would not rise again.

"When will the wedding take place?"

"During November," his grandfather replied. "There will be a week-long national celebration during the Mid-Autumn Festival. The wedding will take place on the night of the full moon…"

A schedule that made perfect sense to Percy.

The Mid-Autumn Festival was known for its mooncakes, poetry competitions, coinciding with the national harvests. There wasn't another time as auspicious and filled with good cheer as the season mulberry trees turned to flame.

"The main wedding will take place in Hangzhou, and we will hold a flowing water banquet for all the Party faithful." His grandfather continued. "We shall be expecting you and Mei?"

"I'll be there! I'll do everything I can to make it perfect!" Percy's feelings were wholly genuine. He still had several weeks to prepare matters here in Nanjing. All the Kirin Amulet needed was a moment to approach his aunty—all the better if, as the rumours said, she was constantly tired and sleeping from the exertion of childbearing. Of that certainty, Percy knew a little more than his family members, for he alone understood that Ayxin was weaving the Essence from the Yinglong into that bundle of improbability in her womb.

And if Uncle Jun were to be away with a rare guest… such as his sister…

And if his sister could be preoccupied with her blonde…

And if he could be trusted to look after Aunty Ayxin for only a few interrupted moments…

"Hahaha..." His grandfather allowed an uncharacteristic display of emotions. "Good lad!"

"Hahahaha…" Percy couldn't help but laugh as well.

The Kirin pendant on his chest pulsed warmly.

His patron was laughing too.

"Oh—Percy..." Mei giggled beside him, tittering innocently at the prospect of being presented as his fiancee to the public.

Percy knew he must now hasten his plans in Tianjin—for when the moon grows round, both bane and boon will calamitously collide!

The Yellow Sea.

Lei-bup, the High Priest of She who Devours, ran a clawed finger up and down the numerous lesions scarring his torso.

He lounged on a throne of coral-wreathed bones—though he was not its possessor. As he had professed, the divan was not his seat of power, for the crown surely belonged to the Pale Priestess of the Great Devourer herself.

Presently, his Shoal was housed in the interior of a fledgling Leviathan, one they had rescued from the unhappy fate of being devoured by the aberrant Shoals of rot and decay. The battle was costly—though Lei-bup was glad to acquire a comrade in arms who was both shelter and siege engine.

A mermaid gently directed his hand from his flaking scales, then continued to apply the salve made by his court apothecary. The constant agony of the self-devouring flesh beneath his silken robes was a reminder of the Priestess' blessing, urging Lei-bup to continue to gather up comrades and to lead the Great Shoal Forward with humility.

"Comrade High Priest..." A Turtle-kin, one of his many advisors, presented the reports from their outer Shoal. "The Deathless Shaols are on the move. They have left the sheltered coves of the domain of undeath and are marauding toward the Human city."

Lei-bup furrowed his fishy brows. Fishes don't blink, though his eyes flashed with a dark intelligence.

"A rising tide?"

"They grow through forage, yes," the Turtle-kin stroked his chin beard, a prized symbol of his wisdom. Rapping three armoured fingers against his shell, his advisor made the final calculations. "There are six Shoals in all, converging into a Great Shoal. Our adversaries are marching for war—though we are not its objective."

"An assault on what then?" Lei-bup growled. Since that strange ripple that had shaken the seven seas some month ago, strange occurrences plagued the deep like scale rot.

Monstrosities of the Elemental Plane of Water, such as Oonerie, their rescue Leviathan, inexplicitly roamed the Prime Material, not knowing why or how they had left the abode of infinite water.

At the same time, since their first appearance a dozen moon cycles ago, the Undead Shoals had grown into an obscene, tentacled Kraken, pushing back the Seven Kingdoms' domains and erasing entire underwater citadels from existence.

The events had driven Lei-bup's Shoal into roaming the shallower depth of the Yellow Sea, always avoiding the northern depth, where the Undead grew ever more numerous. More urgently, the Shoal was short on supplies from the shore, namely their dwindling pallets of SPAM, used to induct new members into the priesthood of the Pale Priestess.

The pragmatic part of Lei-bup dreaded the prospect of becoming the leader of the only living Shoal soon to grace the Yellow Sea's once-rich domain.

Yet, a part of Lei-bup informed him that perhaps, this was the precise purpose of his being—why he, of all the fishes in the sea, had been chosen by the Pale Priestess.

"So... not an assault on the mainland. Not yet... currently, I see it as an amassment," the Turtle-kin answered Lei-bup. "Shall we move the Shoal?"

Lei-bup considered his purpose.

"No. Comrade Secretary." Lei-bup shifted his burdened body. He felt much older than his actual age, even with the aid of his Faith and the precious elixirs from the various guests of his Shoal. To kiss the appendage of a God of the Void... was to be changed forever. "We wait and see what these desecrators are up to. If they indeed instigate chaos... then we shall use this opening to raid the shipping lanes of Tianjin—"

His hands made two balled fists.

"—And _liberate_ their cache of holy SPAM!"

London.

The Imperial College.

Slylth Alexander Morden, his patience at wit's end, snatched the paper from his host's hand. For the past few weeks, he had been teaching, preaching, and living life to the utmost boredom a Red Dragon could imagine. Anymore, and he was seriously weighing the possibility of burning down a portion of the city.

Very quickly, his eyes scanned the invitation.

"Mid-November?" He looked up, his scarlet orbs flashing. "I must wait until November before I can enter the Shalkar Protectorate?"

"Our colleagues at Oxbridge were very particular about Magister Song's schedule." Magister Clyde's fatigued countenance informed Slylth that there was no more recourse and that this was the best the London Imperial College could manage. "Nonetheless, we have secured the permission. Will you attend, Master Morden?"

Against his nature and instinct, Slylth controlled the better half of his existence.

"Push it forward," he demanded of the weary Magister in front of him. "Offer them something! Tell them— I'll personally teach the girl the craft she needs! Just... no more! No more of this damned _lull_ in London!"


In modern times, Dragons tended to sleep, sometimes for centuries. This peculiarity was the basis for grand narratives of cataclysm where peaceful settlements would "happen" upon a Dragon den while mining rich seams of HDMs or harvesting countless rare herbs. In all cases, the mortals would invariably awaken the calamity and then cry foul.

Conversely, a Dragon could also choose not to sleep, arguably for as long as they wished, for such had been the circumstances of survival in the Primordial World.

Therefore, riding on Dragon juice, the Lord Regent of New Shalkar now abused this feature to level a mountain of paperwork. Together with her eidetic recall, she performed the work of a dozen executives, planning, signing, proofing, and projecting every major aspect of the city's construction for months ahead of schedule.

Of course, Regent Song was no Oracle of Delphi—and her projections are not of the future—but rather the budgetary concerns of cash flow, inventory and materials. A line of credit had also been established with the Germanic Dwarves, who would continue building their partnership, and her city, even in her absence.

Within the week, refugees would also flood into Shalkar. Before then, residences, public transportation, security checkpoints and healthcare facilities had to be constructed and skeleton staffed—with the missing roles to be assumed by the refugees.

As a responsible Regent, she had to ensure her future citizens felt the state's tender care. There would be dissidents, naturally—for the paradox of the human mind made them unique among the denizens of Terra. As The Bloom in White had intimated, the strange dimensions of human desire were unfathomable. For instance, even among the refugees driven from their homes, exorcised from the summer of their lives into a desolate winter of bureaucratic apathy, a non-small volume fought tooth and nail against having new lives in Shalkar Al-jadeedah.

To be saved, given a new home, employment and a future with their family wasn't enough! They desired to be rescued—but only on their terms!

But that was a fish Regent Song would have to fry another day. Her immediate concern was the October wedding. In a world without the internet, she would have to teleport to Paris and drop some serious HDMs. After that, she had to pick up the gifts she had sourced. With great foresight, Gwen had discerned that for a Dragon princess who lacked nothing and a military hero who wanted nothing, the only worthwhile bundle was the most outrageous baby and toddler's clothes, cribs, playsets and strollers magic could afford. Uniquely, hers would range from Elf-woven masterpieces to Dwarven-tinkered perambulators. All of which would drive Axyin's future play date parents to bouts of insane jealousy!

After consultation with her city's stakeholders, she, Richard, Petra and Lulan would attend the wedding as a group—with Lulu filling in for Ayxin's side of the family. Gwen's role would not be the niece of Jun nor the grandchild of the Songs. At Secretary-General Miao's behest, she was to be the Regent of Shalkar Al-jadeedah, a high-level Magister, a diplomat of the Commonwealth Mageocracy.

When she asked Richard to unpuzzle the politics, her smiling cousin had explained that the Secretary-General did not wish any unpleasantness to ruin her enjoyment of a state wedding. With the diplomatic immunity bestowed to her, she had the freedom to do as she wanted—but would also be bound by the role to answer to her diplomat-superior, the Duke of Norfolk. Gwen had identified the arrangement as a gilded cage, and she, an exotic Magical Beast. She was disgruntled—until Richard reminded her that if anyone, Ayxin was the exhibit.

A pregnant exhibit.

Gwen then felt truly sorry for her "Aunty".

She discerned that if her spouse had asked her to parade a swelling belly on national television, she would have asked if they also wanted a Shoggoth. However, Gwen knew her uncle, and she understood the desperation of the Communist Party's need to throw an auspicious bash to undo a time of general anxiety.

Since Erebus, every nation on earth, whether because of catastrophes of destruction, or conflict catalysed by unseasonal boons, sat on geopolitical pincushions. The same applied to the Demi-Humans, be it old civilisations like the Dwarves, who jostled against the horrors of the Murk, or the Kobold residents of Shalkar, who recently "vacated" their homes for Clan Ix.

In the darkness of a long Dungeon, even a small torch was worth its weight in HDMs.

Shanghai.

Putong Tower.

The ISTC Mandala flared quicksilver, depositing its cargo of transmuted individuals hailing from the ancient Abbey of Battle.

"Putong Tower welcomes our friends from England..." The presiding Magister, Wei-Wei Xing, bowed, instructing his fellow to perform likewise. "We greet our most honourable guests from the Ordo St George and Bath."

The newly arrived entourage involved three Knights and a Companion. Two were Knight Lieutenants, sporting the dark officer's uniform of the Ordo Bath and cloaked in rich velvet and ivory Moon Moth silk. Both made a half-bow, their white gloves pressed upon the crest of the radiant sun.

Their descent was followed by a young man with ash-blonde hair and intelligent blue eyes, richly dressed in the uniform of the Ordo St George, attired in a double-breasted carmine jacket embossed with gold buttons and cut with a crested ivory sash.

Elvia Lindholm was the last to step from the raised dais of the ISTC. Compared to her companions, she appeared meek of stature but grand in the air of her presence, for she was fully cloaked in the pale blue regalia of the Knight Companion, additionally wreathed with rare mink, which made her flaxen hair all the more vivid.

As the Chinese Mages approached, it became obvious to her that the Magister's deference was not for her Knights but for her alone.

"O Anointed One." Elvia saw the man beam as he met her searching gaze. "Hosting the Yinglong's Vessel in our city is a great honour. I have made the best accommodations ready for your inspection. Would you like to rest now, or is there another pleasure I may first fulfil?"

"There is, Sir Xing. I would like to know..." Elvia spoke softly, for her mood had been grave of late, and their final arrival at the destination of everything she had worked toward had made her reticent. "If Magister Song has arrived in Shanghai."

"Magister Song?" It took the Chinese Magister a few moments to process the request, likely via Message channels. "Ah—The Regent of Shalkar has not. We are five days away from Mid-Autumn, and the Regent has informed us that she will arrive the night prior."

"Very well. Has my itinerary been modified since our last communication?" Besides her, Mathias pulled out a data slate. "We have not received an update since Monday."

"I must check with the Central Planning Bureau for Public Affairs." The Chinese Magister appeared apologetic. Though Pudong Tower was equal to the PLA Tower on paper, the PLA's big wigs comprehensively controlled every detail.

"Are we restricted to the Tower for the wedding's duration?" She asked. Awaiting their answer, Mathias casually placed a hand on the hilt of his Dwarven-made Spellsword.

"No—" the Magister quickly answered. "You have been granted total freedom, per negotiations with our counterparts in the PLA Tower. Is there anywhere you would like to go?"

"Yes." Elvia nodded. Shanghai was Gwen's city. Gwen had spent two and a half years here, knowing its nooks and crannies. "First, I would like to go to Fenbo Village."

"Fengbo... village?" The Chinese Magister appeared to be gently sweating. He quickly scanned his fellow Maguses and guards. "I've not heard of such a provincial region..."

"It's a restaurant near Fudan," Elvia explained, realising that perhaps, the place wasn't nearly as famous as Gwen had raved.

The Magister absorbed her request with every iota of his Astral Soul. "Are you meeting someone there? Milady?"

"I want to eat Beggar's Chicken."

"Beggar's... chicken?" The pause, Elvia felt, had lingered a little longer than could be considered diplomatic.

"Of course! We have prepared a limousine," the Magister recovered well enough. A few of his men immediately left, their arms raised to indicate the use of their Message Devices. "This way, Companion Lindholm—"

"Oh, and while we luncheon," Elvia swallowed the bile in her throat even as she recited the names. "Please arrange an appointment with Lord Ayxin. Likewise, before the wedding, I wish to meet Grandfather and Grandmother Song—and most importantly, I would like to commune with my fellow bridal party members, namely Magus Percy... for... reasons."

After a sumptuous meal of Beggar Chicken, Elvia and the crew were bundled into the limousine for the Yu Gardens.

"It's a historical manor that survived the Ming Dynasty," Magister Xing explained to the Knights and their Companion. "Central wanted Mistress Ayxin within the _protection_ of the PLA Tower, and we wanted her within range of our Tower in case disagreements arouse—so we figured a garden complex with rockeries and ponds similar to Hangzhou would give her privacy and peace of mind. It's an extensive palace—one I hope would satisfy Lord Yinglong. Yu Garden sits at the heart of The Bund, close to every conceivable pleasure Mistress Ayxin may desire."

"Privacy is expensive in a city such as this," Elvia spoke in the stead of her sponsor, though she knew the Yinglong could not care less about the comforts Humans may provide. "I am well-pleased that the Party cherishes my Mistress. How fares our groom? Is he just as well?"

"Master Jun is very busy, considering Mistress Ayxin's need for rest," Magister Xing affirmed her knowledge of Jun's actions. "He's keeping a close eye on the wedding's preparations to ensure Mistress Ayxin has minimal exposure—the very picture of a model husband. Once you review the program, Companion Lindholm, you may consult Master Jun regarding additional concerns."

"I shall, once I have examined Mistress Ayxin's health," Elvia answered as politely as she could. Ayxin, as expected, had rejected all offers of health-check ups from the CCP's Healers. Elvia knew there would be nothing wrong with the child in her womb, but she still needed to ascertain the condition of her Patron's daughter before going forward with plans of her own.

After half an hour, the car pulled into an enormous gate beset by two stone Kirins each a storey tall. Kirins were the traditional guardians of China's east coast.

While disembarking, her three knights formed a vague triangle around her as the local Mage garrison assumed defensive positions.

Magister Xing flashed a jade trinket that indicated his rank and position within Pudong Tower. Messages were divined, and the guards returned to their posts, allowing Elvia's group entry into the central courtyard.

Within, serpentine corridors were built over a blue lake brimming with koi, its surface refracting the mana haze in the atmosphere. The walkways led to a series of multi-storey pagodas, themselves interconnecting nodes that pointed toward the enormous residences within the Yu Garden.

"Mistress Ayxin is expecting you, Miss Lindholm. Your companions will remain here." At the second set of meandering walkways, female Military Mages uncomfortably dressed as servants in modest qipao accosted the group, allowing only herself to proceed. Elvia accepted the conditions, diverting her companions to a pagoda with prepared plates of dim sim desserts and a Mage trained in tea brewing.

"Mathias, Sir Reginal, Sir Kass," Elvia bowed her head. "Please wait for my return."

The men relented without complaint. All of them had by now seen her—or rather—her pets, Sen-sen and Kiki, in the throes of combat.

Elvia crossed the final threshold alone, feeling like a bureaucratic scholar parting the last paper door to an empress' chamber.

Within, the rich scent of sandalwood incense aromatised the air. Elvia proceeded as one might in a Dungeon until she finally saw the reclined form of Ayxin, daughter to her Patron, half-lounged on a divan, looking down from the ceiling.

Elvia raised her head.

Ayxin was not in her Human form. Instead, the pearlescent Dragon took up almost a quarter of the enormous four-storey interior, an extensively modified space for accommodating its new Mistress.

Though she had often seen her Patron in her dream visions, the cut of Ayxin's Draconic true body still held Elvia captive. The demi-divinity was an aesthetic that made her heart ache: from Ayxin's mother-of-pearl scales to the brilliant feathers that crested its neck frills, the female Dragon was breathtaking.

Elvia curtsied as one before a monarch. "Mistress Axyin. As promised. I am here to accompany your ceremony and to examine your health."

Ayxin's head made a fatigued arch before resting a meter above her. " _Father_ slumbers... he too is exhausted by my stubbornness."

"The Lord is aware," Elvia relayed what information she felt could be forwarded. "Of the events to come."

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

"Not _events_ —but Calamities that shall soon come to pass," Ayxin's slitted eyes narrowed. Perhaps because of their mutual connection, Elvia could feel Ayxin's uncertainty—an emotion she had never imagined a Dragon could express. "But not what of. Will Father allow me the pleasure of knowing? Or shall I meekly endure like your Nazarene?"

"Lord Yinglong has made preparations," Elvia knew better than to decide for her Patron. "Milady should worry about the wedding and what comes after. The child will be months more asleep—but hungrier for Essence."

The enormous head drifted closer. Elvia comforted herself with a mote of her Patron's blessing as Ayxin's presence washed over her like the pressure from a forceful waterfall.

"Unlike Ruxin, I dislike _plots_ ," Ayxin protested in Draconic.

Elvia said nothing. The Essence in her body affirmed her silence wholeheartedly, resisting Ayxin's probing.

"Will... my child be safe?" Ayxin asked, half-sighing, half-resigned to fate. "Can you tell me that?"

"The young Master will be safe," Elvia promised.

"Will... Jun be safe?"

"Yes." Elvia's tone remained unmoved. Jun would be safe. The war hero would survive for Gwen's sake and Ayxin's.

"Then all is well." Ayxin released her Dragon Fear. "What else might matter? We each have our roles to play. Vessel. I hope Father has disbursed you well."

Elvia breathed once more.

Indeed. All had roles to play.

"Mistress," she allowed Ki-ki and Sen-sen to sneak out from her broad-brimmed robes. "I need to examine your well-being if you will allow me. It needs to be in your human form since that will be the form you will present yourself during Mid-Autumn. _And_ I am only familiar with humanoid physiology..."

Ayxin's body glimmered, forcing Elvia to shield her eyes.

When the Dragon-wife of Jun Song was done, Elvia stood only a head shorter than the diaphanously robed Ayxin, looking every inch like a fairy from the Chinese wood-cut tales of the heavenly Jade Palace. Her hair was now a mixture of blues, with eclectic strands of silver-white or pale cobalt, making her exotic beyond belief. Ayxin's eyes were Draconic, no longer mimicking Gwen's but truer to her noble blood.

When Ayxin tried to shift her body, the Dragon woman stumbled, disorientated by the complex polymorph.

Sen-sen quickly caught its grand Mistress, infusing her limbs with a generous dose of Faith-infused vitality.

"Human bodies." Ayxin's brow was shiny with a fresh sheen of sweat as she re-orientated herself on the Dragon-sized armrest. "Are so frail."

"You needn't have to transform yourself now..." Elvia regretted informing the woman of her father's wishes so soon.

"Jun will be home soon." Ayxin shook her head. "He's not often at the Garden of late and won't be until all this is over. When he is home, I want to be in this form."

The tone of love and adoration in Ayxin's voice made Elvia stiffen her spine. She as well, for love and devotion, had taken on certain forms.

"Please don't push yourself." She touched a finger to Ayxin's wrist, allowing their Essences to conjoin. As the motes circulated through their Astral Bodies, she could feel the pulsing life within Axyin's transmogrified womb.

Within Ayxin's Astral Soul, her child of impossibilities slumbered, insensible to the cost of its existence. A total innocent, bearing no sin but the hopes and dreams of its parents.

Was the young prince a being of virgin birth?

According to Gwen, Ayxin was no virgin.

But regardless, the hypothetical dilemma had caused no end of dissent and debate at Elvia's Ordo seminary.

But virgin or not, Elvia affirmed the quickening of her convictions—she would shelter the sinless child—and by that good—a greater good shall beget.

Shanghai.

The Song Compound.

With three days left until the fated wedding, the entire city and the country had stirred to joyful action. China's east and south coasts, consisting of its most populous cities, had readied themselves for the greatest "party" since the fiftieth anniversary of the Party's founding. Red Lanterns with pictograms for prosperity and happiness were issued to all citizens and all Districts. Some cities had gone the full length of funding pyrotechnical displays, paralleling the mass Propaganda of "We Chinese, The Descendents of Dragons". Across its vast landholdings, even in the remote Frontiers, children sang full-throated limericks praising the Party and its alliance with the Yinglong while on lumen-casters, cartoons and dramas glorifying the banishment of mythical _Drought Gods_ played back-to-back on every channel.

This year, Percy needn't pull strings to receive his Golden Week vacation, usually a metric to test a cadet's Guan-xi.

While the consensus was that there would be no exceptions for individuals missing families, mooncakes, or loved ones, those with connections in the Party almost always appeared just in time for banquets before sneaking back to the barracks. While penalties were harsh, they were often watered down by sympathetic superiors who themselves had done no less in times of peace. It was a humanised loophole in an unforgiving system that Percy had manipulated innumerable times in Tianjin, taking advantage of his role as the "Best Man" to the Dragon Princess to free up his duties.

For the last two weeks, he had religiously toured the old city's remnants, rediscovering the ancient wells of power left behind by the Kirin tribe. Some were easy to find, such as a mana-rich lode of jadeite hidden beneath a Confucian Temple of Piety. Others were problematic, having been built over a dozen times. Thankfully, the Ming Dynasty had only repurposed the sites, and the Manchurians who had arrived later knew nothing of their history. As a result, except for two nodes now made into shopping malls, Percy could transmute, tunnel, and ensorcel his way into six of the eight tetragram Mandalas.

Unfortunately, the "Eye" node was where Tianjin's regional Tower sat, rising from the riverside as a monolithic concrete atrocity of Communist Brutalism that stabbed into the sky like an inverted lance. From the deep ley-node beneath it, the Tower drank deep the mana meant for the upkeep of the Kirin's domain, using it to project the semi-sphere shield sheltering the deep-water harbour from oceanic threats.

With each successful excavation, Percy had become more convinced of his Patron's past usurped destiny, one that mirrored his own. After the wedding, once the mote of its original Essence had reinvigorated the Kirin, Percy could return to the city and "cultivate", as his Patron had so archaically prescribed, into an existence rivalling the Sea Dragons.

What Percy Song had not expected was that the moment he stepped into his home, a visitor was already waiting on his pleasure.

"Percy, do you know of this Elvia Lindholm?" Mei asked beside him of the reported guest. "That's who they're talking about, right? The Vessel to the Yinglong?"

Percy shrugged. Like Mei, he had no idea why Elvia was here, though the rationale for her presence was sound and logical. If they were both going to be on Lumen-casts in two days, it would be natural to be acquainted before final rehearsals, especially if his sister, Gwen Song, wanted in on the action.

Steeling his nerves, Percy buttoned his uniform, covering the Kirin pendant.

With Mei in tow, he made his way through the crimson-lit courtyard with its blazing lanterns to arrive at the main hall.

Inside, his babulya and grandfather were having tea, smiling gently at a richly robed Cleric who looked younger than Mei, sitting demurely in the guest's parlour.

"Percy, my boy! You've arrived!" his Yeye was kind enough to rise from his seat. Astutely, Percy Dimension Doored inward, bowing as he went, forcing his grandfather to return to his redwood chair.

Once the oldies were appropriately satisfied by the show of filial piety, not to mention the supernatural smoothness of his Spellcraft, they returned to nursing their teas.

"Good evening, Companion Lindholm." Percy bowed from the waist. "We're not strangers, but you are the Yinglong's Vessel."

"Percy." Elvia stood, then curtsied. "My word, it has been a long time. The last time we met, you were just a boy! Now look at you! So handsome! Gwen would be so proud."

It was only now that Percy noticed that others were in the room, seated deeper into the rows of spaces provided for guests. One was a blonde-hair youth studying him with a solemn intensity.

The other two were older, and their gazes were less devoted to peeling him like a banana.

Their uniforms were nothing short of outrageous.

Knights of the infamous English Ordos! Percy's mind registered the emblems. The English Empire's oldest surviving militants with a history that traced back to the Faith Wars of the Holy Crusades.

Could he take one on? Percy wondered. His craft had grown more significant than anyone in the PLA could have imagined—but he had also never fought a Faith Magic user. If indeed their sorcery exceeded the practical understanding of Spellcraft, he had little desire to find out.

"You look the same as always." Percy grinned at the Healer currently inspecting him like a side of char-siu. "Not a day over... sixteen? Was that how old you were that time we met in the city? Sister was taking you out for lunch—I think—that or you were shouting her—"

"I was shouting." Elvia's countenance blossomed like a flower at the recollection. "Your sister wasn't always so wealthy, you know. I dearly miss those days."

The two of them shared a well-earned smile, breaking the ice.

"This is Mei," he introduced his future spouse. "She's my fianceè and partner for Aunty Ayxin's wedding. Do you have a partner, Miss Lindholm?"

Mei waved.

"Mathias will accompany me," The girl indicated to the Knight. Percy gave the man a nod and a sunny smile; the man nodded back, withholding all expressions. The laconicism, Percy guessed, probably made the man more attractive to the ladies, for he looked exactly like those picture books Knights of the Ordo that he had read at Prince's.

"Did you have time to sight-see?" Percy asked, sitting beside Elvia while Mei sat further away to give them space to converse. "Shanghai is a changing city, very metropolitan."

"We visited a restaurant already," the Healer explained, describing the Beggar Chickens she and the Knights had demolished. "They have a picture of Gwen by the door, endorsing the chicken..."

Percy attempted to imagine the scene—three Knights of the Ordo and a sweet saintess Vessel—four gweilos eating clay chicken with their hands shoulder-to-shoulder at a stall, attired in dress garbs.

The vision was... _amazing._

"Will you stay after the wedding?" Percy asked, unsure of how to proceed. "I am not sure if Gwen will be staying, but if you are..."

"I will. I suspect there will be a _great_ deal to do after the wedding," as Elvia spoke, Percy found her utterly unreadable. Knowing that Elvia was not a Radiant Mage, he could only assume that this was the effect of her absurd Affinity for Positive Energy.

Against the pale flesh of his collarbones, the Kirin Amulet throbbed.

He sensed a deep yearning—not just for the Yinglong's Essence, but the rich seam of Positive Energy the girl exuded. Of all the Mages he had thus encountered, the Kirin Pendant had never acted so enthused, indicating just how much of an elixir the girl would be for his "cultivation".

But draining the friend of his sister, a Vessel, and a Knight Companion of the Ordo was so ludicrous that even Percy felt a shuddering of the soul.

Quietly, he drank his tea, made a show of despairing at the lukewarm temperature, and then heated the water with a showy cantrip.

"Are you looking forward to the wedding?" He asked. "There's a lot for us to discuss, for sure."

The Cleric, to his surprise, sighed. "Mistress Ayxin is very tired from her exertions," Elvia explained. "I'll be taking care of her, but even then, I would advise Secretary Miao against asking my Mistress to maintain the _form_ the Chinese public desires for the duration of the entire celebration."

"I hear Aunt Ayxin is very... sleepy of late?" Percy felt his heart palpitate. Against his chest, the Kirin Amulet performed likewise.

"She's extremely lethargic," Elvia confirmed. "I met with her earlier. For the day Wedding, we will be retreating directly to the Yu Gardens after the show and tell. Your uncle will be very busy once that happens, considering the speeches and the public praises to come. I hear the Lumen-cast program is almost ten-hours long, from midday to midnight?"

"We can appeal," their Babulya replied with genuine concern. "Our daughter-in-law will be the top priority."

"We have Secretary Miao's full support," Guo added confidently. "Miss Lindholm, if there's a medical rationale for Ayxin to retire early, do not hesitate to let us know."

"I'll help," Percy offered himself selflessly. "I'll carry my Aunt back to the Yu Gardens alone if Uncle Jun isn't there... assuming I am strong enough."

The gathering laughed, including his grandfather, who rarely shared their delight in anything.

"Then, in my Patron's name, I shall thank you all." The Cleric stood and bowed, which made them all rise to return the courtesy, lest the Dragon felt insulted.

All lowered their heads while Elvia remained bowed, awaiting the Vessel to be seated before they could lift their heads.

" _Master Percy._ " The cordial atmosphere was cut short by the unusual tone of the pale blonde priestess. There was no Dragon Fear, Percy was sure of it, but still, his heart skipped a beat. "Would it be too much to ask if I wished to speak to you alone?"

The Kirin Amulet flared hot under his t-shirt, matching the palpitations of his heart.

_Unwise._ His Patron warned. _Tread with care. Prepare to shelter._

His little finger tingled. A man in his position must have preparations, and Percy had two Contingency Rings prepared. One to the PLA Tower in Shanghai, gifted by his Yeye, and the other to Tianjin, bestowed by his Regional Secretariat. If the Yinglong were to attempt something untoward, his first rule of thumb was to retreat to the shelter of unknowing allies and then observe how the crisis may play out.

"Of course." Percy made sure not to falter. With a nod at his grandparents and then Mei, the pair left the banquet hall for his Yeye's study, where he knew Guo had protective Mandalas embedded.

The Cleric followed, unperturbed by his choice of location.

Once inside, Percy shut the double doors, then bid the Yinglong's Vessel take a seat while he took up the chair usually used by his grandfather.

Unhappily, the girl sat next to him in his babulya's chair.

"What would you like to speak to me about?" Percy asked, fighting the strain in his facial muscles.

"Your _sister_." The Cleric was uncommonly forthright.

"Oh." Percy maintained his guard, his hands growing clammy. "What of Gwen?"

"She loves you," came a reply he had neither inquired nor expected.

He forced himself to raise his head. From the tone of Elvia's voice, Percy suspected that this wasn't one of those lectures from Yeye where he could hang his head and think of Sydney until it was over.

The Kirin Amulet pulsed. A meter away, the young woman's eyes were two pools of limitless ultramarine, so pure and clear that he felt consumed by their sincerity.

"Gwen can be a bit difficult." The Cleric reached out with a gentle gesture. When her fingers made contact with his icy hand, he felt the invasion of a warmth that possessed depthless compassion and empathy. "She has had a hard life. Yet, each time she and I are together, she speaks about her family in Shanghai, how happy they made her, her babulya, her uncle, her cousins, and her little brother."

"Not Yeye?" Percy chuckled. He subtly attempted to remove her hand, but the girl's fingers had somehow arrested his own.

Elvia chuckled in turn. "Less so, I'll admit. Percy. I know from Petra that you and Gwen have had some differences due to your mutual inheritance, but I can vouch for her unconditional love for you. Are you willing to believe me? A Faith Cleric of the cloth?"

The girl, Percy could swear, wore a fucking golden halo.

However, since his Mind Magic devices had not triggered, his vision could only be contributed to being dazzled by an earnestness that could be metaphysically manifested. A part of him wanted to suddenly cry, to utter his sister's name and confess.

On his chest, the Kirin Amulet throbbed.

His heart rate slowed, restoring the clarity of his emotions. Quickly and thankfully, the rush of heat and colour left his cheeks.

"I love her as well," the white-gold vision that was his sister's companion confessed to something amazing. "So much that sometimes, I find it hard to be myself. But I don't think I'll ever possess what she feels for you. And that makes me incredibly jealous."

This time, Percy successfully withdrew his hand from those dangerously soft digits.

"She _saved_ us, you know. All of us," the girl continued as though in a trance. "During the Royal National, she saved me and Yue. Then again, when Sydney was attacked. From the IIUC to Shalkar, your sister's calling card is to save the desperate and downtrodden... then give them gainful employment and a pension."

Percy attempted to read between the lines of the Cleric's words. All he could recall was those sermons from Prince's—the psalms about the Nazarene—about salvation and saviours. Was his sister one of those? The notion was simply absurd.

"I... see," he muttered. At least now, he knew this wasn't a ploy from the Yinglong but a kind-hearted wish fulfilment attempted by one of his sister's stooges. "That's nice of her."

"Gwen saves." Elvia's eyes once more pierced his soul, forcing sweat to ooze from his neck and back. Thankfully, his quasi-magical clothing showed no sign of his discomfort. "One day, she could save you too, Percy."

Percy caught the weighed words like a brick wall receiving a Catapult from a high-tier Transmuter.

But it wasn't gladness that he felt.

He discerned no need for his sister to save him. Hadn't he communed with the Kirin on his own? In the last three years, Percy Song, alone, had navigated the paranoia of the PLA, plucked the talents from those Rogue Mages, and uncovered the secret places of the Xia, all without the aid of others. He had trained day and night, abused his body to exhaustion, and threw himself into mortal danger in every engagement with the Undead. These were _his_ achievements. Not Gwen's, not anyone else's.

She might "Save him?"

Was he a damsel in distress?

Was he like this mewling Vessel of the Yinglong, begging him to be nicer?

To say that the simmering irritation inside him was igniting into something of a rage would be an understatement.

"Thank you for your concern." His facade faltered, but he held on. "My sister's affection is something I've always cherished. You're right. I should be more thankful for it, considering the power she now wields."

The girl's warmth waned.

It was a mere flicker, but Percy caught the subtle signs of a sad sigh before Elvia's blazing flames of affirmation and boundless compassion continued their retina-searing brightness.

He felt a bit thrilled by her dimming confidence. He knew very well the position this blonde Vessel held for his peers in the PLA. He also knew of his sister's obsession with her. Seeing Elvia like this was a strange pleasure and a gentle affirmation that he had confidently walked the right path.

They talked a little more about their past, their mutual lives in Sydney, Lilith's and Prince's, and then the ritual was done.

"Shall we return?" Percy gestured toward the direction of the hall.

Wordlessly, the pair reentered the hall, where his family entertained the Knights.

_DING—_

A Message chime chose this precise junction to blossom beside them, simultaneously filling their ears with the capsuled voice of its originator.

"It's from Gwen!" His babulya was the first to address the returnees. "How fortunate!"

Percy silently played the Message, as did they all. It was indeed from his sister. As Gwen's sultry, husky arrogance filtered through his Divination Sigil, he once more felt the Kirin stir, this time from the excitement of what would soon come to pass.

His attention, however, was arrested by a bonfire of positivity erupting beside him.

The ever-lovely Elvia Lindholm seemed to grow more beautiful than he could imagine, becoming so blissfully happy that a flora Sprite accompanied by a root-vegetable leapt from the folds of her clothing and began to dance a jig.

"She'll be here— _tomorrow_?" Percy repeated the only part of the Message that mattered. For some reason, his scalp crawled. "To watch the rehearsal?"

"Yes," came an affirming cry, not from his babulya but from the Vessel of the Yinglong. "Aren't you excited, Percy? Your sister, the Regent of Shalkar Al-jadeedah, shall be personally overseeing your performance!"